#the last line is my favorite ever…also this is an excerpt and i chose my favorite lines🥺
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#the last line is my favorite ever…also this is an excerpt and i chose my favorite lines🥺#spilled ink#poetry#poem#writing#words#bpd#poem excerpt#angelcandy#loveserum#weaksorry#4tray#writerscreed#spilled words#spilled writing#spilled poetry#spilled poem#4bella#hazyaffection#actuallyborderline#actuallybpd#love#sad#1k#5k
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Sneak Peek—Through the Rising Tide
(changed title from Lay By Me)
Summary:
The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.
Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle, and a questionable past.
The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.
Oh, and apparently their taste in women.
Or rather, one woman.
Feisty.
Blonde.
Gorgeous.
Green-eyed Goddess.
Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother-the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she's dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse...
Until Liam dies in a motorcycle accident.
Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.
Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.
Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further in the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.
A/N: So I made this post the other day, and then this fic happened. If you haven't seen it, please read the summary before starting this story or becoming invested because it’s very angsty. First of all, this starts out as Swan Jewel? I don't know what their ship name is or if there is an official name, but yes, Liam and Emma are in a relationship in the beginning. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, so read the summary first because this excerpt doesn't hint at a Liam and Emma relationship or what will happen. It just takes place further into the chapter and I didn’t want to give too much away.
This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.
“Hey Jones, can I get two Blue Ribbons?” his good mate calls over the blaring music.
Killian chuckles and grabs the desired beers, popping off the caps before handing them over. “Taking it easy tonight?” he asks, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge with both hands.
“Aye. Regina doesn’t like the hard stuff. She’s more of a wine person.”
“Ah, I see.” Killian nods; he can definitely see that about Regina. He doesn’t want to say this to one of his best mates, but the lass can be a little stuck up and quite bossy at times. She makes Robin happy though, so he keeps his mouth shut.
He chats with him for a few minutes, finally getting a few minutes of reprieve. As Robin heads back to his girlfriend, Killian takes the opportunity to wipe down the bar top. But before he’s finished, someone approaches the counter. His eyes are still trained on his task, but he can’t miss the long blonde hair and fantastic cleavage, seeing as the view is directly in front of him. “What can I get you?” he asks, throwing on his most charming grin as he lifts his head.
His smile is cemented on his face the second he looks up and sees her face.
Killian’s accustomed to seeing pretty women entering his brother’s bar and parading around in clothes that barely cover their essential parts.
Yet nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the woman standing in front of him on the other side of the bar counter.
No, not woman.
Goddess.
Emerald green eyes, soft pink lips curved into a shy smile, smooth creamy skin, long golden hair cascading over her shoulders.
Good.
God.
She’s breathtaking.
Stunning.
“What would you recommend?” she asks in a teasing tone.
Fuck.
Her voice is that of an angel’s. Pure and sweet and innocent.
She looks like everything he doesn’t deserve but wants every fucking part of.
“Uh… I um…” he stutters, scratching nervously behind his ear. He can’t form a cohesive sentence as he looks into those hypnotizing eyes. He wants to get lost in them. “What are you… what are you in the mood for, love?” he finally musters, adding another one of his signature grins. “I can make you anything your heart desires.” What he wants to say is, “I can give you anything your heart desires,” but even that may not be true. As gorgeous as she is, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be the man she deserves. He’s never been the guy women like to take home to their parents, anyway. He’s the guy chicks like to have around for a good time before they eventually settle into a serious relationship with Mr. Perfect. He’s definitely no Mr. Perfect, more like a Good Luck Chuck, but at the moment, he feels like he could be fucking Superman for this woman. And he's only exchanged a few words with her so far.
She arches a brow, and it’s literally the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. “Anything?”
He senses a challenge in her tone. “Try me,” he encourages.
She bites her bottom lip in thought.
He lied. Now that’s the most adorable and sexist thing he’s ever witnessed.
“What if I said I wanted a Baby Yodarita?”
He arches a brow, very much intrigued. “A Baby Yodarita? Never heard of it.”
She laughs, and the sound is music to his ears. “That's because I made up the name. But I figured it would be a green drink that looks like baby Yoda.”
“So, I take it you’re a Star Wars fan?”
“Are you a bartender?”
Just as he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, since he’s behind the bar serving drinks, he catches her drift and flashes a smirk.
Could this woman be any hotter? And yes, as he’s asking this question in his head, he’s picturing Chandler Bing and the way he would say it, emphasizing the word, be. Gods, he hates that he knows that about Friends. He hates that he actually likes that show.
“You don't really have to be a Star Wars fan to be a baby Yoda fan, though. He's so cute, he's trending on the internet, haven't you seen?”
He chuckles. “Aye, who hasn't?”
She plants her hand on her hip, donning a sultry smirk. “So, are you up for the task, or not?”
He licks his lips and leans over the bar counter, his eyes locked with hers. He wants to ask her if she fell from heaven. Or if he died and went to heaven. But he has a feeling cheesy lines wouldn't work on a woman like her. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific as to what task you’re referring to.” But who the fuck is he kidding? There is nothing he could do for her he would consider a task.
Only a pleasure.
Blush paints her cheeks and she leans over, meeting him halfway until her face is mere inches from his. “I have a few in mind… but how ‘bout that drink, first?”
Bloody. Fuck-ing. Hell.
Her voice is a mixture of sweet and seductive. He doesn’t know how she manages to pull off a combination like that. His eyes drop to her lips and he’s seriously considering kissing the holy fuck out of her over the bar counter, audience be damned. He almost groans just thinking about her soft, luscious looking lips pressed against his, but he swallows the sound before it leaves his throat.
He lifts his eyes to hers. “Sit tight, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” she says with a smile and takes a seat on a barstool. “Oh, and a Cosmo for my sister-in-law.”
“Coming right up.” It takes every ounce of strength within him to pull away, but somehow he does.
He has to take slow, deep breaths to peel his mind from the fantasies he’s already having of him and the blonde temptress watching him intently as he prepares her drink.
#cs ff#captain swan#cs sneak peak#swan jewel#frienship#healing#forced roommates#roommates to bedmates#pregancy#Lay by Me#Hannah writes
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Breathing Room... but the whole thing 💕
oh nonnie i couldn’t possibly do the whole thing, at least not in one ask. i’ll pick one of the scenes instead, and if you’d like to hear more send me another one!!
i chose the training scene in the gym, right after izuku goes down, and aizawa gets him through it. i thought it would be juicy to break down a bit.
"Easy… just take a breath. In… and out."
Izuku pulled his knees up. He breathed. He felt the rhythm and struggled to catch up. He couldn't do it. But Aizawa-sensei's voice rocked over him—in, out, in, out. When he could breathe again he started to cry, hiccuping until he lost his breath to the sobs that wracked him. Izuku had felt like he was dying. His chest had been carved into. He felt his arm move until he could cry into it, sleeve going damp.
This little part was one of the saddest for me. Izuku’s just felt like he’s practically dying, and this is the aftermath as he’s starting to recover. So one thing I wanted to emphasize in this scene was not just how much physical pain he was in, but emotionally how tired and hurt he was feeling. The moment he can breathe again, he starts crying. The Quirk wouldn’t have killed him (probably), but it hurt him so terribly much. And the last part: Izuku turns and cries into his arm, a conscious choice, as he’s hiding from Aizawa.
"Midoriya, can you hear me?" Again.
His shoulders shook. It made his body ache.
"Ye-"
Izuku shuddered, wheezing. Aizawa-sensei—Izuku felt him move closer, felt it in the way a stabbing pain made itself known. He threw an arm out, crying again, and through his blurry vision he saw Aizawa-sensei stop.
"Ple- please," he croaked. "No- no…"
Aizawa-sensei shifted back in one fluid, quick movement. The look on his face was stricken.
During this part of the scene, we dive into (limited by Izuku’s perspective, but a lot of implications) how Aizawa is feeling about the situation. He is so concerned, and just starting to have a faint idea of what’s going on. Izuku starts to answer, but then stops as Aizawa moves closer and throws his hand back out in the air, so Aizawa stops. Izuku can feel physically the distance between them on a measure of how much he can breathe. And the moment that Aizawa stops is the moment he realizes that he has an effect on how much pain Izuku is in, and that breaks his heart.
But Izuku wanted…
"Sensei," Izuku whimpered. He heaved in a breath. And before Izuku could stop, he felt himself unfurl like a plant towards the sun, and reached his arm across the cold floor.
Aizawa-sensei carefully took Izuku's hand, and contact made pain rear its head. Izuku took in an unsteady breath— he choked out a sob, and felt his body shudder fully.
"Sen- sensei…"
Oh, man. I love this part. The entire fic is about this terrible juxtaposition: wanting comfort, but every time you get close to someone it hurts you. In this scene, like in a few others, Izuku gives in to the want and takes the pain because the comfort helps him more.
"Midoriya," Aizawa-sensei said, voice soft, "can I come closer?"
He flinched. Aizawa-sensei let go of his hand and drew back, but Izuku thought it made everything worse even if it hurt less. He whined, too tired to be embarrassed, and Aizawa-sensei took his hand again. Izuku shut his eyes and tried to disconnect the feeling of the hand in his from the feeling of invisible rope around him pulling tight.
Same as above. Aizawa lets go after Izuku flinches. Still, Izuku spends this scene feeling really pathetic and childish and tired, but he’s been so hurt that he doesn’t care.
He blinked, swallowing against a dry throat. "It hurts…"
"I know." He felt confused. "I know, Midoriya. I'm going to take you to Recovery Girl in a moment. Do you think you can handle that?"
Izuku groaned. He slid his fingers along his ribs. The pressure built. How long had Aizawa-sensei been there, kneeling, holding his hand? Light bloomed behind his eyes.
"It hurts," he said again. He wanted someone to hold him. No one could. Izuku stopped being able to breathe again, but words slid out between his attempts. "Sensei, it hurts."
He pulled his own hand away, curling away from Aizawa-sensei. Pulled in a deeper, more even breath.
Aizawa-sensei was silent, but Izuku was afraid of looking. He didn't know what he would see. Or if it would hurt.
“It hurts,” is one of my favorite lines of dialogue to write a character say ever. I can’t get enough of it reading and I can’t get enough of it writing. To me, it’s such a perfect, simple line. It hurts. No need for a metaphor, no need for a complex line... it just hurts. You understand so perfectly how Izuku is feeling in so little words. That he’s hurt, and he wants it to stop.
Also, that little rhetorical question: How long has Aizawa-sensei been there, kneeling, holding his hand? As a writer, I don’t have a set answer to that, but I wrote that question in to indicate that Aizawa was willing to be there for his student for any length of time, as long as he was needed... and that he was there, for Izuku, for a while offering what comfort he could. Even if it was just kneeling there holding his hand.
Edit: came back to add a little because Izuku is also so afraid of looking at Aizawa. I don’t really say it, but he’s scared that Aizawa is going to be mad at him, a fear that comes back later.
"Am I," Aizawa-sensei began, "hurting you?"
Izuku didn't know if it counted. In. Out.
"No," the word came out in a whisper. Then, even quieter, "yes."
This is what ended up in the summary because I felt like it captured the right feeling of the entire fic, while being an interesting excerpt. It’s such scant few lines, but it tells you everything.
There’s that middle line as a “breather” for the reader also, a moment for both Izuku and the reader to reflect. He didn’t know if it counted. Breathe in and breathe out again.
Am I hurting you? Aizawa is and isn’t. No, then quieter, yes. Because to Izuku in this moment: no, Aizawa is helping him... but he’s also scared and ashamed (his voice gets quieter) to say yes, because Aizawa really is the source of his pain.
send me your favorite scene/chapter from one of my works + i’ll write commentary on it!
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Oh where to begin? I just stayed up all night re-reading chapters 1-14 again and I even copied some specific lines I will bring up shortly.
Now you may be asking yourself: why would I spend so much time re-reading and annotating well over 50k words of this fic? The answer is simple, really. I have no social life and I obsess over fictional characters so much so that they influence all my life decisions. In this essay I will explain how truly astounding and beautifully written I Do Bad Things With You is.
Firstly, I'd like to point out how incredible each character is written. Their struggles, their trauma, their personalities, their backstories—all of these and more make the character feel REAL. And Tay, you do a fantastic job of doing this. It's not only the characters themselves but how they interact with others. The relationships in this story feel so genuine. You can tell from the way they act around each other that they undoubtedly love each other so very much. I especially like the dynamic between Rhys and Elain and this line always makes me smile: 'Rhys walked into the kitchen. “Hello Ellie,” he said, placing a light kiss on her cheek. “How’s my favorite surgeon?” I love how him and Cassian both act like an older brother to her. Elain also calls them "overgrown children'' which I think may be my favorite thing ever.
There are so many tiny details I picked up on when re-reading all of the chapters again, but what I liked most was that upon seeing Elain again he calls her 'Ellie' because it's just habit for him even after all these years.
Now I would like to bring up my favorite lines. Starting with my all time favorite, This quote is from chapter 15 when Azriel and Elain are watching Friends on his couch: "He knew there was no going back on how he felt for her. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to go back on it. He would shout it from the rooftops to the world if she’d let him. Or he’d whisper it in her ear because she was his world. His everything, even if she had no idea." This is everything. He'd shout it from the rooftops to the world ... Or he'd whisper it in her ear because she was his world!!!!! I love this part so much because it shows exactly how much he truly loves her. He would do absolutely anything for her, from yelling at the world to whispering to only one person—One person who means the world. This line is so poetic and beautiful and it literally brought tears to my eyes.
These next excerpts I copied down aren't as meaningful as the first quote but I chose these because I absolutely love them. This first one I highlighted mainly because I thought It was hilarious: 'It practically melted and Elain couldn’t help the moan that slipped from her lips. “Wow, that is damn good,” she said looking at him just in time to see him cross one leg over the other.' [...] 'He cleared his throat, taking a drink of water. “Thank you,” he finally managed to get out.' I love this part because he obviously got turned on by the sound she made in response to her food and he's just trying to hide his boner lol.
The last excerpt I just had to bring up is from chapter 2 I'm pretty sure and it's: "Elain stuck up her nose, though he was a full foot taller than her at 6’4”..." I'm such a sucker for height difference tropes. A full foot taller?!?! She would literally have to tip her head all the way back to make eye contact with him. Elain at 5'4" is adorable. She's like a little munchkin.
This is already getting pretty long so I will wrap this up with my thoughts, predictions, and questions.
I'm not a stranger to fanfic. I know how this goes, alright? It's been calm for way too long now. Azriel and Elain have been living together all peacefully for too long. My suspicions have risen. With the charity ball coming up, I just know shits about to hit the fan. Something bad is definitely going to happen. And with Azriel and Elain both attending, one of them is for sure going to get into trouble. My prediction stays the same as before: I think something bad is going to happen to Elain (but when she's safe again it will lead to.... A love confession!!) Boom!
This is not the only thing I'm suspicious about. In the first few chapters it was mentioned that Keir died. “Mor’s father turned up dead about six months ago. Az swooped into his role and now controls the entire Velaris mob.” I don't know if I completely skipped over it but did Azriel kill him? Or will this little fact be coming back? And nothing has happened since Amarantha died so that's making me even more anxious. You just love to give me never ending anxiety with this story, huh?
I seriously don't want to make this any longer than it already is. I don't even know if an ask this long will be visible to you or not. I just had to get all my emotions out in one go.
So in conclusion, for anyone reading this, I highly suggest reading I Do Bad Things With You. I assure you, you will definitely not regret it.
That said, can you hurry up and make them kiss already? I'm losing my fucking mind.
Well, when you said you were going to send me an essay, you definitely weren’t lying! 😂 I’m going to try and break down my responses point by point.
First off, I want to say thank you for sending me this. I’ve said this before and I’m going to say it again, I NEVER EXPECTED PEOPLE TO RESPOND TO THIS FIC LIKE THEY HAVE. Like truly, I did not anticipate you all loving this fic as much as you have and it makes me feel so goddamn accomplished. Like I’ve been working on a novel for years and the confidence you have given me to actually pursue finishing it is indescribable. Thank you for this. Like seriously, thank you. 💕
One of the biggest things I wanted to include in this was the relationship between Elain and Rhys and Cash. The boys really stepped in when Az left. They were two of her biggest supporters and helped her get through a lot of her pain. But her and Cash’s relationship took to a new level after her assault. You’ll see how protective Cash is of her later on but the reason they’re so close is because he was the one who pulled Grayson off of her that night. He and Nesta found her at her most vulnerable moment and it bonded them deeply because of it. Also, Elain calling them overgrown children was my favorite line ever. 😂
Az is in so deep with her, he’s just barely scratching the surface. And Elain, she has no idea just how far gone he is. But yes, you will see Az get a little “happy” around her a few more times. 😈
Height difference? Definitely my kink. 😘
I can neither confirm, nor deny something happens at the hospital benefit. Nor the love confession...
Ah, Kier’s death. It is never explicitly stated, but heavily implied that Az killed him. The answer is yes - he did kill him. I haven’t decided if that will come back around yet, but it’s not off the table to get more clarification. Also, you’re anxious that nothing has happened since Amarantha died? Can you imagine how Az must be feeling? The waiting around for Hybern to strike. Only for it to happen when you least expect it...
Again, thank you for sending this. I thoroughly enjoyed reading through this a bunch of times. I hope I hit everything in here, but if I didn’t, you know where to find me. 😘💙💚💜
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(also on ao3)
***
i heard Apollo sing—
you are walking through an olive glen, when you hear a rich voice carrying on the wind, in words you don’t necessarily understand. it is dark and twilit, and you are alone in the glade, but only minutes from your village. you walk through this glade every night, because you like to watch the branches of the leaves blowing in the wind, because you like the feel of the cool crisp air on your skin as a respite from the day’s long hot swelter. you could walk the opposite way, to get a kiss of the sea breeze instead, but you’ve always liked the trees better than the waves in the port. the port has its own charms, with merchants unloading their wares at all hours of the day, but it is the ever presence of men there that dissuades you. here you can find blessed solitude, can revel in the beauty of nature around you, like Bacchus – but your solitude is disrupted now.
the voice is rich and deep, and though it sounds far away, somehow it feels impossibly close, winding around you and blotting out the setting sun, so heavy in the air you can almost see it on the wind, can taste it on your tongue, feel it between your eyes, in your lungs, smell it like a heady flower in your nose. it is a song unlike any you have ever heard before – none of the cheerful skips of a folk song, yet without any of the droning of a ballad. it meanders from note to note, in no particular rush, yet each tone is so perfectly robust and full it brings tears to your eyes. it spools out as if it proclaiming great truths, yet retracts as if it is confessing intimate secrets. though there is little repetition, it never becomes bothersome or tedious – each new piece of it remains novel and enticing.
you realize you are no longer walking through the glades, but standing stock still, only listening now. It shifts with each moment, always becoming something new. you wish you could only understand the words, because the emotions the voice carries and conveys are moving you to tears. you cry silently, but go on listening as the song winds through emotion after emotion, story after story, from low places to high, conveying ancient forgotten places and distant impossible futures, all at once. it so completely fills your mind you feel as if you are standing inside a rainbow, the quiet beauty of your favorite glade forgotten, paling in comparison to this strange song that goes on and on and seems to unspool you as it goes.
you think all music must be ruined for you after this. it is something beyond music, what you are hearing – something a human could never create. Joyful and proud, boisterous and determined – but with soft edges that pull back. you understand – you’ve caught a god singing. and if this god, if he goes on singing for the entire span of your life, you will have no hope of escape – you will have to stand exactly here, listening exactly as you are until the moment you die – and you will waste away like Narcissus, caught in this beguiling song, and die much younger than you otherwise would have. and if the men come to harvest the olives from the trees, they will be caught too – and if their families, and the other village people come looking for them, they also will be snared. hundreds, thousands of people – the entire nation of Greece, the whole empire, as many as can fit in this glade could be standing around here listening, and you would barely notice them. the nation, the empire could die here, trapped in this song and unable to escape – and as far as you are concerned, it would be worth it. this song is worth all those deaths, worth complete eradication and disappearance from the face of the earth, and even knowing it would be the case, you would still stand here and listen.
you have never been particularly religious. but this song is enough to make a convert of you, enough to amaze and dazzle you. it is like staring openly into the mind of the god, like receiving the smallest glimpse of understanding into a god’s perspective, and it is great and terrible, majestic and heartbreaking, and you think it has been enough to break you. your mundane life will seem even smaller now, even more insignificant. the days will be even longer, even more interminable. you already know you will never hear this song again.
for you weren’t meant to find it in the first place. gods move about as they will, and there are many beautiful empty places, far from villages and their citizens where a god might find blessed solitude to sing his heart on the wind this way. it is only sheer luck, only the lightest intervention of the fates that has made it so he happened to choose what you have come to think of as your glade on this one evening, this one eternity, this one eon. he did not know you would come, even now probably does not know you are here, listening. he will not become attached to this glade as you did – he will choose the millions of other places on this wide earth, places deeply, troubling beautiful that no human eye will ever see – places you now think he must have been singing about in this song, in the more beautiful parts. that he may be singing about now.
for one night, he chose a mundane glen of olive trees out of the whole world. He will never choose it again. you know now that not only are you ruined by the terrible beauty of this song, but the glade is ruined too. you will continue to walk here in the long nights of your life – but you will always hear the whisper of a memory behind you as you go, and each moment will be pregnant with the desperate hope that you were wrong, that he will grace the same glade a second time, that the first notes of his song are only a breath away. and your ears will ache from straining to hear the music that will never come, and you will walk home, not restored as the glade once made you, but depleted by despair at what you have lost – a treasure you never should have been given to begin with.
you will begin going to his temple. you know it. you will give meager offerings as you can in Apollo’s name. you will look upon his statue and imagine it is singing to you. you almost wish you could see him, but it is a foolish wish you know. his song has so devastated you – to behold him would be even more terrible.
you will haunt his temple as his song will haunt you. you will wander it, hoping at every turn to hear his music there, but you will not. you know he has never sang like this in any of his temples – if he had, they would be perpetually overflowing, with lines streaming down their steps. you will even become so desperate that you consider joining his order – and eventually, give in. you will rise through the ranks, always imagining that at the next level of devotion, finally you will reach the level who is blessed to commune with him personally, blessed to hear this song again. but you won’t.
for the rest of your life you know you will try to find the song again, through any means – returning to this glade, night by night, travelling to distant spaces and searching out the most remote locations, unintended for human eyes, in the hopes of catching him there, will settle and become one of his monks and rise to the level of high priest, will consort with conjurors and charlatans, praying that somewhere there is a charm that works which will put you before him so you could only hear his song one last time.
you know, as the song is dying on the breeze and Apollo is departing unseen, that this will be your life. you will search for him all your days in desperation, you will try all you have thought of and more, at any cost, and you already know you will never find it again. you will do all you have planned, knowing all plans will already fail, and you know you will pray every night, and all prayers will be unanswered, but still. You will do it all anyway.
you will do it all anyway for the delusional hope that you are wrong. you will bring yourself into alignment, into true expression of the ruin you have already become, and you know you will only face failure in all you try.
but you will do it all anyway, with his song in your heart.
***
(if you like god/human as a trope, consider checking out my novel. it's basically this, but more. see for yourself in this excerpt.)
#prose poem#prose poetry#second person pov#prose#greek mythology#apollo#my poetry#one-sided#god x human#god/human#poetry#poem#original poetry#greek gods#greek god
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Alvin Chronicle - excerpt from ch.4: Alvin visits Elize
For @ekalinasari. You asked about the parts with Elize; I’m only including the very first one for now, because the others have them discuss his story, so I’ll do them once I get those story bits translated.
This is the beginning of the 4th chapter, aka the first chapter of the sub-story called “Longing for Elympios.”
Note: this author’s style isn’t so good and makes literal English translations sound very stilted. Since this is just an excerpt, I’m keeping it literal. Sorry if it sounds weird. (If I ever manage to finish the whole chapter, I’ll have it edited into better English.)
----
Sharilton was bustling with activity. It had been a thriving city for a while already, but it had managed to get even more animated in the past year. Alvin truly realized that as he was walking through the central plaza.
Everyone would agree that the biggest city in Rieze Maxia was Fennmont, followed by Kanbalar. And no one would argue if you claimed that Sharilton was third. That is how impressive that city’s prosperity was. There were even talks that it was the city that benefitted the most from the unification of Rashugal and Auj Oule into the single nation of Rieze Maxia.
Alvin agreed. The reasons were various, but a big one was that the long-term tensions between House Sharil and House Fenn had been dispelled, and travel between Sharilton and Fennmont had become smooth as a result. In the past, goods and merchandise were often stopped at the checkpoints at Fort Gandala, but this wasn’t the case anymore.
The people’s faces were cheerful as they went about their day. That was probably because they no longer feared that a war would start with House Fenn or even Auj Oule.
Wealth grows where people gather.
The current Sharilton was an important city Alvin could not ignore. Many shops were lined up at the edge of the plaza. When he passed in front of one of them, a young woman called out to him.
“Hello, Handsome. Are you looking for something?”
Alvin stopped in his tracks.
It was a florist, with colorful flowers brightening the storefront. Red flowers, blue flowers, white flowers, yellow flowers, large flowers, small flowers… There were flowers of all kinds, shapes or forms, perfuming the whole area.
“Sorry, but I’m not from here. I wouldn’t have a place to adorn, so…” He almost finished with “if you want to talk someone into buying them, find another dupe,” but he changed his mind at the last minute. “No, actually, I should get some for the occasion.”
“Thank you! Which ones would you like?” she asked, grinning from ear to ear.
“Let’s see… Something seasonal, maybe…”
Alvin chose flowers to assemble a bouquet with the help of the florist.
“Thank you for your patronage!”
He responded to her enthusiastic parting by raising his right hand, and left the shop.
He left the plaza and walked toward a residential neighborhood where one could admire rows of the wealthy class’ elegant mansions. However, Alvin’s destination was not there, but a school located a bit further than the Sharil manor. As the Sharil heads had all favored education for generations, Sharilton’s school environment was quite developed. For that reason, children from other towns would even enroll in Sharilton’s schools. Alvin knew that because she had told him about it in her letters.
Alvin reached the school just as students were being let out. He could see the numerous children wearing various outfits go out the school gates and run toward their families waiting for them outside. Despite the congestion, Alvin spotted her immediately. She was walking with two other girls who looked about her age, most likely her classmates.
She had grown a little since the last time he’d seen her. She looked a little more mature, probably because she had a new hairstyle. Her navy blue blazer suited her well.
Alvin thought people must find him suspicious—a man like him, waiting alone in front of a school, looking intently at a young girl. Just when he was smiling at the thought, she turned toward him. Perhaps she had felt his gaze on her. Her green eyes widened in surprise when she saw him.
“Alvin…!?”
“Yo. Been a while.”
Alvin walked toward the girl—Elize—and casually handed her the bouquet.
“It’s not much, but I got you a little something. Would you accept it?”
“Eh… That’s…”
The two girls at her side squealed.
“Wow, he’s offering you flowers. Elize, you’re so popular!”
“Hey, is this the boyfriend you were talking about?”
“N-No…” Elize’s cheeks turned red. “I… I said nothing like that.”
“You did! You said you were close to an older guy!”
“That’s… We’re just exchanging letters. And there’s Jude and Rowen, too…”
“Huh? You’re three-timing?”
“Ah, excuse me, little misses?” Alvin tried to intervene.
“Alvin, you stay quiet. You’ll only make things more complicated,” Elize retorted sharply.
“Okay, okay…”
A while later…
Alvin went back to the central plaza with Elize, and they sat facing each other at a café’s open terrace.
“You should have told me you were coming. I was really surprised,” Elize said, looking displeased. She slurped her soda with a straw.
“Sorry. I had urgent business in the area, so I didn’t have the time to send a letter,” Alvin answered. He then brought his coffee cup to his lips. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Isn’t it? Everyone at school is talking about this café.”
Elize seemed happier now that he had praised her favorite café. She had looked sour the whole time since they had left the school, but now she finally smiled.
“You’re just like a little lady from a good family. Your tastes have become refined.”
Elize was the one who had picked this place. Alvin had suggested they have tea, and she had decided to show him her favorite place—dragging him here by the arm.
The other girls had squealed about her going on a date, but she had vehemently denied it.
“You should have brought your friends along. I could have treated you three.”
“No… That’s not good…” Elize shook her head.
“Why are you so against it?”
“Because…” She looked down and breathed into her straw, making bubbles in her soda. “You know… Just in case…”
“In case of what?”
“…Anyway, no is no!” Elize raised her voice to indicate this topic was over. She looked a little flustered.
It seemed like it was better not to pursue the topic. If he teased her the wrong way, she would get in a bad mood again, and he wasn’t confident he could recover, then.
So Alvin decided to change the subject. “Looks like you’re doing well at school.”
“Y-Yes. Quite well,” Elize nodded. “I had a lot of worries before… But once I started attending for real, everyday’s been really fun. I’ve also made some friends.”
“I see.”
Elize went on to talk about her school life to Alvin.
For example, she talked about her lessons. According to her, her grades were quite good. Her guardian, Driselle, was quite strict about studying, and scolded her when she was slacking off. Her favorite subject was, surprisingly, mathematics, and she had no weak subject.
She also talked about her friends. The two girls she was with earlier had approached her on the first day of class, and they had been friends ever since. They even spent time together after classes. One of them had a crush on one of the boys in their class, and Elize and the other one were encouraging her. Elize’s expression looked bright. She sounded much less timid than before. It was the proof that her current life was so fulfilling that she was becoming mentally stronger. A full year hadn’t yet passed from the time she would tremble if she was separated from Teepo. Girls her age really grew up fast.
As Alvin thought fondly about Elize’s growth, he realized that the fact that he was looking at children that way must mean that he had become older.
“Oh no. I’ve only been talking about myself.”
“It’s okay. Your stories are fun.”
“Really? I’ve just been talking about normal boring stuff.”
“It’s nice because it’s normal.” Alvin finished his coffee and set his empty cup on the table. “I’ve never attended school, so every little detail sounds interesting to me.”
“Ah…” Elize looked guilty. “I’m sorry… I got carried away…”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I’m moping about my circumstances. Even if I didn’t go to school, I learned a bunch of things.”
“Now that I think of it, you’ve never talked about what you were doing when you were my age.”
“Do you want to hear about it?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied.
“Okay. It might not be a bad thing to talk about it once in a while. But before that, I’ll order another cup. Do you want a refill?”
“Ah… I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to refrain, you know? Why not get cake instead?”
“Please don’t tempt me. I’ve been resisting this whole time.”
“Sorry.”
He almost commented that this was very lady-like of her, but he kept it to himself. Alvin ordered another coffee from a waitress who was passing near their table, and started talking while waiting for it.
“This happened around thirteen years ago, when I was fourteen…”
With that introduction, he started recounting…
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7, 17, 27 and 49 for the fanfiction writer asks xx
7) When is your preferred time to write?
I am a night owl and always have been, so I do my best writing late at night. Not always great for my sleep schedule, haha, but for whatever reason some of my best ideas come to me then.
17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.
So this is an excerpt of a fic I started… a year ago now I believe? It’s a royalty/fairytale AU where all of the worlds are ruled by the royal family of Radiant Garden. There are ruling families for the other worlds as well. Kairi is the princess of Radiant Garden, Riku is the heir to the ruling family of Destiny Islands, and Sora is training to be a knight. Plot happens, Destiny Islands is lost to darkness, and everyone thinks Sora and Riku are dead. Kairi, mourning their loss, starts training with her family’s Keyblade to make sure no more worlds fall to darkness. Several years pass, and at a masquerade ball for her eighteenth birthday (where her parents want her to find a suitable husband, etc.), she runs into a masked stranger that seems to know her quite well…
Full disclosure: I want to return to this fic, but I’m also working on some other projects I haven’t publicly disclosed yet. So we’ll see if this ends up ever getting finished/posted, but for now, enjoy this snippet :)
“And who do you think I am?” she asked. A test, to see how he would answer, to see if he was just like all the others.
He was silent for a moment. “A fox,” he finally answered. “Though if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll call you Miss Fox.” He looked in the direction of the refreshments table. “Looks like Mr. Weasel will be making his grand return soon. If you’re still wanting to hide, now would be a good time to escape.”
“Well, Mr. Leopard, take me away,” she said, giggling as she offered her hand. He took it, and off they went, winding through the crowd with ease and getting lost amongst the throng of masks and colorful costumes. His grip was strong, the skin on his hands rough and calloused. Probably from holding a weapon – perhaps this mysterious stranger was a warrior of some kind.
He led them away from everyone else and into the garden outside. The evening breeze was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of her dress and mask, and she sat down on the smooth marble of the fountain. A sculpture of one of her ancestors held a koi that spat a steady stream of water into its basin, and Kairi dipped her hand into the cool liquid.
“Now that we’re away from prying eyes…. Who are you, really?” she asked, running her fingers through the water. “I feel like I’ve met you before.”
“Maybe you have, princess,” he said softly.
Drat. So he did know who she was. Still, it was hard to ignore the way her heart had sped up at the change in his voice.
“Are you a prince?” she asked.
“I’m a leopard,” he said as he examined the nearby rosebushes, searching for something.
Kairi chewed her lip. His tone made it clear he didn’t wish to discuss the matter any further, but she really did want to know who he was. It was only fair, since he knew her identity.
“How do you know who I am?” she asked as he turned his attention to the next flowerbed.
“The mask doesn’t hide your hair.”
Kairi sighed. She should have worn a veil or hood if she’d really wanted her identity to stay a secret. “What, is my hair color famous now?” she asked. Red hair wasn’t that unusual, even it was a trademark of the royal family.
He paused, bent over a group of snapdragons. “Your beauty is spoken of throughout the worlds, yes.”
“Is it really?” This was news to her. Maybe that explained the increase in suitors lately.
“Yes. And they say you grow prettier every day,” he said.
“What else do they say about me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual as she flicked water onto the koi statue.
He straightened and turned to her. “That you’re becoming a great warrior. That you’re shaping up to be a worthy successor of your father. And… that you refuse to marry despite your parents’ wishes.”
She thought she saw his lips twitch at that, but then he turned away and resumed his search.
“Well, the last one is certainly true,” she muttered, her hand going to her necklace and fiddling with it. “This whole ball is a ploy by my parents to find me a husband.”
“What, you don’t want to get married?” His tone was inquisitive, almost disbelieving.
She sighed. “Not to any of the princes they have in mind, no. None of them suit me, and I’m not right for them at all, either.”
She thought of the latest meeting with Prince Hans. Nope, not her type. Not her type at all.
“So you aren’t against marriage, just against marrying the wrong person,” he said, running his fingers across the velvety leaf of a Lamb’s Ear before turning his attention to the next group of flowers.
“Exactly,” Kairi said. Why could this stranger understand when her own parents couldn’t?
“Was there ever… was there ever a right person?” he asked.
She was taken aback by the boldness of his question. He had no right to know such things, and yet… she found herself compelled to open up to him.
“Yes. But he’s… he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was far heavier than she was expecting it to be.
“It happened several years ago,” she said, as if that somehow lessened the pain. Everyone expected the wound to have healed, but no matter how much time had passed, she still couldn’t get over his loss.
“And yet your voice betrays you, princess,” he said, his voice low. “There were rumors, you know. Rumors about a prince—”
“He wasn’t a prince,” she said. Why did everyone always think it was Riku? It was true, Riku was her friend, but he was like a brother to her. And yet everyone always thought he was the one she—
“He wasn’t?” the stranger asked, his voice slow and deliberate with just a touch of surprise.
“No. His friend was. He was training to be a knight.”
“A knight?” he asked, his voice going up a few pitches.
“Do you have something against knights?” Kairi asked, raising her eyebrow. Too bad he couldn’t see it through her mask. It was true, the other royals tended to be snobby about class, but… for whatever reason, she’d hoped for better from him.
“No, it’s just that I—” He paused and cleared his throat. “I thought the royal family only allows its heirs to marry members of other ruling families.”
She shrugged. “It does, but I don’t care. As soon as I’m queen, I’m changing the rules.”
“You haven’t given up hope, then,” he said. “You think he’s still alive.”
Kairi’s hand went to her heart. “Yes. Because… because I can… oh, forget it,” she said, her cheeks flushing. She was grateful the mask was hiding her face right now.
He smiled sadly and held out a purple flower, plucked right from the garden around them. “You should listen to your heart, Kairi. It’s never lead you wrong before, and it sure hasn’t now.”
An aster. Her favorite flower. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. The deep voice, the slicked back hair, the disguise concealing his face—she hadn’t realized. She hadn’t known. But the moment he’d said her name—
Heart pounding, fingers trembling, she stood and reached for his mask. He lowered his head so she could more easily inch it off his face. First his nose was visible, then his cheeks. His features were more angular now, the plumpness of childhood almost completely gone, but as soon as she saw his eyes, she knew. They were as beautiful as ever, no, maybe even more beautiful – blue as the sky, but hinting at a depth of experience and wisdom that hadn’t been in them before.
He’d changed in their years apart. But his smile – well, that would always be the same. She smiled back and touched his face. His skin was dry and rough, like he’d spent hours and hours outside in the wind.
“You’re alive,” she said softly. “You’re really here. This isn’t a dream.”
He closed his eyes and melted into her touch. Her fingers traced a path across his cheek, and he took a deep breath and sighed. She found a small scar that hadn’t been there before, a little dent on his forehead. Frowning, she ran her thumb across it, wondering how it had happened.
“All this time, I believed you were alive,” she said. “And yet— I wouldn’t listen to my own heart. Everyone told me you were dead, and I—”
His eyes opened. “Who told you to doubt yourself?” he asked, catching her hand and putting his over it, the ridges of his fingertips brushing over her own. “Who told you to doubt me?”
“I… I was afraid—”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’ll always come back to you, Kairi. I promise.”
She fought back the tears. She’d dreamed of this moment, but she’d never thought it would actually come true.
He reached for her mask and gently tugged it off, a look of awe and then wonder filling his eyes. “The rumors were true,” he said, almost reverently. He ran his hand through her hair, brushing the parts that had gotten tousled out of her eyes.
The mask was no longer there to hide her face from him. What did he see in it? Were her feelings on full display?
She had the sudden urge to tousle his hair. It didn’t seem right for it to be slicked back like that. So she did, running her fingers through it in a way she only could have imagined before. His hair was softer than she thought it would be, its strands smooth and silky. As each spike returned to its rightful place, he looked less like a stranger and more like the Sora she knew.
“There’s a lot I have to tell you, but now’s not the time,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We need to find Riku first.”
Hope you enjoyed! A lot more than a line, but I’ve been itching to share this part for a while anyway. And yes the masks I chose were intentional ;)
27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?
Went into this in a little more depth for another ask, but for oneshots, I go with the flow, and for longfics, I always make an outline. I write out of order, so an outline helps me keep track of everything.
49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?
I believe it was Sholio’s fic set post Captain America: The Winter Soldier called The Care and Feeding of Traumatized Ex-Assassins over on AO3. I was so moved by Bucky’s story in the movie (even though I knew the plot twist going into the movie lol) that I was desperate for new material, and I knew the next movie wouldn’t be coming out for a couple of years.
So I turned to fanfiction (which I had previously written off before because I thought it was all badly written because of the infamous ones like My Immortal - how wrong of me to assume so!) to see some sort of resolution for his story. And there are a ton of talented writers in the MCU fandom, they really spoiled me, haha. I found plenty of beautiful fics that scratched the itch that the movie left until Civil War came out.
It would still be a few more years from when I first regularly started reading fics till when I started writing fics, though.
Thanks for the ask! :)
#kingdom hearts#sokai#sora#kairi#writing#writing ask#ask meme#phoenix writes#answer#permanent-t-pose#my writing#long post
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Hello, you have been identified as An Awesome Writer™! Congrats, you rock! So that all of your readers can shower you with some extra love today, please tell us your favourite five (or as many as you want) stories of yours and why you like them and then send this to another five fic authors you think deserve this title!
Thank you @thestarbirdfromtheashes & @thenewleeland for sending me this! I’m so flattered! I know I’ve taken forever to respond.
if i wait (will you stay?)
Excerpt: She’d made the decision then, when he’d leaned down towards her, so close she could see his eyelashes, and she leaned up towards him, so close to feeling like she belonged. She’d made the decision with the conviction she used to have, before Saw abandoned her in a bunker.
Summary: Just after Scarif, Jyn waits for Cassian to wake and debates whether she’ll stay.
Notes: This just came to me one night when I was falling asleep, and I was still thinking about it when I woke up the next morning. It flowed out really easily, and I’m really proud of the prose, style, etc. It’s probably one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I’ve thought a lot about ‘when do Jyn and Cassian get together after Scarif,’ and this is the result of that.
I’ll Find You in the Morning Sun
Excerpt: They stare at each other, at an impasse, neither of them willing to disrupt the balance, to take the first step towards a lighter world. Both of them know, at least in some hidden capacity, that something floats between them, something could lift them, could show them how to fly. But they are not dreamers, with their heads in the clouds, and the talk of war weighs heavy on their shoulders. And falling from such a great height hurts; they’ve borne such bruises since they were children.
Summary: A World War II AU for csectumsempra, for Rebelcaptain Secret Santa. Told in a series of meetings (or not meetings) each December, spanning 1939 to 1945.
Notes: Before I wrote this, I didn’t have a huge interest in WWII AUs, and I was even a little intimidated by the idea (there are already so many wonderful WWII AUs out there, and it’s such a complex time period to get right, I think). But this setting gave me an easy angle for the “mutual pining” prompt, and once I found a satisfactory role for Jyn (I wanted her on the front lines!) I took it and ran and had a blast. (I also learned a ton! And learning is fun.) I do think it’s a little rougher around the edges and would have liked some more time to polish it. Still really like how it turned out though.
Whatever I Do (I Do It To Protect You)
Summary: When Orson Krennic landed on Lah’mu, Lyra Erso made a choice. She chose her daughter. Now they move from planet to planet, identity to identity, rebel cell to rebel cell, until they wind up at the center of the rebellion.
Notes: My first rebelcaptain fic! I started writing this on January 15, 2017. Holy crap. It started as just an idle daydream and turned into this huge thing. It took me nine months to finish – much better than my ASoIaF Gendrya chapter fic, which took a year, exactly. (And WID has a higher word count, too.) So a great opportunity for me to practice writing more consistently. This was also an exercise in planning and outlining. Halfway through, I completely changed the ending and had to rework it (which is why it took as long as it did).
(Also mothers die way too much in Star Wars and this needed to be rectified. One day I really want to see a fic with Padme, Lyra, and Mothma just running the rebellion because how awesome would that be?)
this is the way (we move)
Excerpt: This is the way they run: They push each other, drag each other, carry each other. Bodhi waits and they sprint to him. All they ever have to do is find Bodhi, and he will carry them the rest of the way. They sprint through jungles, fat green leaves smacking them, blocking them, whipping them. They dash across sand, burning through the soles of their feet, sucking them back each step as they stumble in the shifting dunes. They scurry across rocky cliffs, slip and slide across icy plateaus, squelch through swamps, and it doesn’t matter the terrain, they just muddle through it with only one goal in mind: Bodhi’s ship. Home.
Summary: Vignettes of the post-Scarif Rogue One team. For the Rebelcaptain Week Tumblr prompt “Family.”
Notes: My favorite out of my Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week fics. (Incidentally, also, the first one I wrote.) This plot bunny attacked me during the two-hour car ride home from my sister’s; I was of course listening to the Cassian Andor spotify playlist and “The Way We Move” by Langhorne Slim & The Law came on. What a fun and upbeat and positive song in what is mostly a mellow playlist! This song just implies so much movement, which is very fitting for the RO team and that’s what I wanted to evoke here. Really fun to write.
when did you last let your heart decide?
Summary: When Cassian runs into Jyn Erso in the marketplace on Jedha, the rebellion can’t resist the opportunity to convert the daughter of an Imperial weapons scientist into an asset. But after years of recruiting, of coaxing others to give in to their own impulses, Cassian hesitates. Can he bring himself to persuade the first person he’s loved in years to risk her life? (Canon divergent, Imperial!Jyn, Aladdin AU)
Notes: So here is a fun fact about me: for four straight years in a row, I was Princess Jasmine for Halloween (K - 3rd). Then in 4th grade, I was A New Hope!Princess Leia (incidentally, I met Mark Hamill almost 20 years later to the day and was dressed as Endor!Leia so that came beautifully full circle). When I realized this, it just seemed kind of obvious that I’d write a Star Wars/Disney princess crossover, lol. Lots of fun with: Cassian’s immediate heart-eyes for Jyn, exploration of Cassian’s commitment to the cause and subsequent self-sacrifice, and Imperial!Jyn.
I had more ideas for this that didn’t make it in (K-2SO filling the role as Abu, in a ‘skeptical of Cassian’s crush on Jyn, but still totally has his back’ kind of way; more montage scenes of Jyn and Cassian exploring the galaxy a la ‘A Whole New World’; and an actual confrontation with Krennic when Cassian and Jyn return to Coruscant). Also I got several comments regarding an expansion SO one day I just might write that. One day.
#thestarbirdfromtheashes#thenewleeland#liz replies#my writing#rebelcaptain#thank you!!!!#this is so nice#congratulations you are being resqueued
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8, 28, and 38 foe the fic meme!
answering #8 last because the excerpt I chose is so long!
28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.
YOU, dear, and I know you weren’t fishing for that and I mean it 100% because you come up with some of the most vivid imagery and poetic descriptions I’ve ever seen, I feel l could walk into your prose the same way I feel when I’m in front of a really good painting
@communistkenobi (whose work I really need to catch up on because I’ve been so out of Mando fandom lately) turns out the most ridonkulous word counts and not a single word is wasted, I’m in awe and “A Real Backwater Skug Hole” will always have a place of honor in my heart
@sputnikcentury, whose ideas sprout from the tiniest little details and always kick me in the gut with feelings and stay with me YEARS after the PacRim fandom days
38. Talk about a review that made your day.
honestly every time I see a comment notification from AO3 my day is made. I just got one the other day on “night comes on” from someone saying they read it over the course of a week because they didn’t want it to end, and that was lovely because I felt the same way while writing it
oh! and there was one a while back on “the grounding of a foot uncompromising” where the reader was picking out all the little changes in Nile’s attitude in the AU versus the movie and it was a total thrill to see that attention to detail!
8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
ahhh I still get a kick out of basically all the dialogue in “starving faithful” but especially the part in the jail. sticking it behind a readmore because I started cut and pasting and the excerpt got longer and longer, whoops
“There is another reason we came,” Andromache said.
Nile turned and looked, truly looked, at Andromache. “I’ve seen you,” she breathed. “All of you. How is this possible?”
“Nile,” Nico said gently, “you have been given a great gift.”
Yusuf put his hand out, nodded at the catwalk where the guard could surely hear.
Nico nodded. "No weapon formed against you shall prosper,” he quoted.
The weaver looked at him searchingly. “Are you a priest?”
“I once was.”
She was swift--even in manacles she seized Nico’s hand before he could withdraw. Where a moment before she was torpid and mechanical, now words tumbled from her lips as one would throw oneself from a burning tower, and it seemed the same dire light was in her eyes. “They will not give me confession, nor last rites. Not with the monk dead, and the priest his dearest friend. I will be hanged unshriven. I have no one to pay my burial. I will be left where those boys were left.”
“What boys?” said Yusuf.
“You will walk free from this cell,” Quỳnh promised.
“You can’t die,” said Andromache, exasperated.
She heeded none of them. Her inkwell eyes were wide, shining with fear for her soul. “Will you hear my confession?” she begged Nicolò.
Nico set his free hand over both of hers. “I will. In the morning, I will come back.”
The weaver’s face furrowed in relief. She wept then, and bent her head to kiss his hands despite their dirtiness. Nico sighed, looked at Yusuf, looked away. Under any other circumstances it might be amusing, to see him play the priest again. But this woman who could not die had resigned herself that her life was forfeit, and the cleanliness of her soul was the only thing left to her.
Quỳnh stooped beside the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. “How long have you worked at your trade?”
Nile raised her head, eyes shut, breathing in through her nose. “Five years. Two in York, and three here when the old weaver left. He preached dissent, they said.” Remembering herself, she released Nico’s hand.
Conscious of the guard, Yusuf signed in the gestures they devised for this purpose, What boys? Do we know of any boys? But none of them could answer.
“Do you make good wages here?” said Quỳnh.
“It’s piecework,” said Nile. “And meager. Last month I sent a letter to the guild bailiff to request proceedings--an inquiry.”
Quỳnh glanced back at them. “How inconvenient for the lord.”
Killed for a wage dispute? Yusuf signed.
We have seen worse for less, Nico signed.
“Have you many friends here?” Quỳnh asked.
“I thought I had,” Nile said. “But none have spoken for me. You are my only visitors.”
We should free her now and run, Andromache signed.
This was good sense as well as compassion; if the weaver was hanged and they found she could not die, she would be put in much worse places. Here at least the guards would present no difficulty. The four of them had come unarmed--but were any of them ever, truly?
Nico made a slashing gesture. She is in no state. She is confused, and she’s scared. It is worse for her to leave while they still think her guilty.
Yusuf stared at him. They sat in the very shadow of the gallows-tree. Leave her imprisoned? And who will advocate for her? he asked. They had no gesture for advocate, so he held the back of one hand up like a shield and struck it with the blade of the other as he would for defend.
Nico nodded in a way that encompassed all of them.
And Yusuf expected this, of course--was half hoping Nico would answer precisely so, like lines rehearsed by players, but it was still an effort to accept it.
They could free her, and do it within the bounds of justice, which would be a first. Capture had only ever been the most temporary affair for them. Mankind had not yet devised a prison strong enough.
But Quỳnh, who prized freedom of choice above all, spoke very softly. “Nile, would you like to leave this place?”
It was not a thing the weaver-woman had the capacity to answer. The role they had laid on her of murderess was a prison of its own. “I think I will be released very soon,” she said, voice trembling.
She would be pursued, if they broke her out; that was tantamount to confessing. She would never be free until she was found innocent, and she would not come to terms with the far more significant thing that happened to her until this was truly over. She deserves to have her name cleared, Yusuf signed.
Andromache pushed to her feet, startling the weaver. Yusuf took this opportunity to lean forward and catch Nile’s eye. “Would you permit us, journeyman, to look about the grounds of your home?”
this fic was a triple fusion (with the novel Morality Play and its very different film adaptation The Reckoning), and there are two conversations happening here in two languages, and I flipping love when characters sign at each other, and I really enjoyed Quỳnh’s involvement here in particular, and I took this scene as an opportunity to give Nile some very Joan of Arc vibes, so basically I delighted myself many times over while also wallowing in miserable feelings
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What Amy Forgot Chapter 5
When Amy wakes up in a hospital, she thinks she's 27, about to start working in a new precinct. She's actually 37 and married. Now, with a life she has no recollection of and a husband she no longer knows, she must uncover the pieces and find herself once again.
The Rest
...and there’s a small light in the corner of her eyes. It’s him. She knows. It’s him. Pleaselethimbeokaypleaselethimbeokaypleaselethimbeokay she closes her eyes tightly and then the rag is torn from her eyes-
Amy blinks up at her ceiling, trying to calm her warring heart currently raging against her chest. What was that dream about? That memory...it was too real. If she was to reach her arms out into the bare nothingness, she would come back with arms full of that memory. Not fluffy and light but dark, laden and heavy.
She closes her eyes and covers her face with her comforter.
She doesn’t push it. she isn’t sure she wants to remember that. There was a dark feeling in that memory, something that clings onto to her teeth like taffy. She tightens her eyes, shunning any dark emotion from her body. She tries to make those dark memories into smoke; tries to blow it out until it’s gone.
A knock at her door startles her. She uncovers her face enough to see her father peeking over her slightly open door.
“You awake? I have mom’s birthday breakfast ready.”
“Yes.” she slowly throws her blankets aside and follows her father to the kitchen. It was her mother’s birthday and birthdays were joyous celebrations in the Santiago household. It was always the birthday person’s choice what they wanted to do during their birthday. Amy always chose her favorite place, the planetarium.
Her mother loved going to watch a show and out to dinner but this year, four of her brothers were out of the country and the other three were unable to make it, too. So her mother chose to have intimate dinner at home with just the three of them and Jake. Jake and Amy, like every year, were assigned cake-duty.
Her father sets the plate of food in front of her waking mother. Her face lights up automatically at the array of food and Amy can’t help but smile at the astonished look on her mother’s face.
“Happy birthday, mom.” she tells her with a kiss to her cheek. Her mother thanks her and kisses her father. Amy smiles but the dark leftover feeling in her stomach from the dream remains, sheltered and real.
“One time, we went to Jersey for the weekend and we got bed bugs.” Jake says as he tosses a box of cake batter into the basket. Amy scrunches her nose at him in the dimly lit grocery store. “I had picked the hotel, obviously.”
“Obviously.” she grins. Jake grins back, his nose wrinkling with his smile. They were shopping for her mother’s cake ingredients. Her mother had asked for chocolate cake, her favorite.
He goes off to the side, distracted by some samples and Amy remains in the cake section, looking for frosting. Vanilla frosting or chocolate?
She doesn’t even notice the man until he’s grabbing onto her arm and calling her name. She stumbles back, perplexed, heart in throat. He’s a dark skinned man and his smile is open and full. His eyes are filled with the familiarity reserved only for friends; he knows who she is. She tugs her arm free, almost tripping over clumsy feet. Where’s Jake? Who is this man?
“Amy! Why are you acting so weird, girl?” The man points to himself. “It’s me, Judy.”
“I don’t-” she mutters. Finally, Jake spots them and springs to help her.
“Judy.” Jake says, his hand settling on her arm. Amy stops shaking but her heart beats loudly in her ears, almost drowning out the conversation.
“What’s up with your girl? She doesn’t recognize me.”
Jake stutters, eyes darting over to her, “This is Doug Judy, Amy. He’s an ex-criminal and-”
“His best friend.” He finishes and nods towards her. “What’s going on?”
Jake glances over at her, licking his lips in nervousness. “Um, Amy had an accident and she, um-”
“I forgot the last ten years.” she says quickly, wanting to get it out of the way.
This Judy guy raises his eyebrows and looks at Jake with a pitying look in his eye.
“You guys just can’t seem to catch a break, huh?”
Jake rubs his neck, obviously nervous. Judy leaves after a minute but not before telling Jake that he’d call him later that week. To Amy, he gives one last pat on her shoulder and a “Hope you remember me soon.”
The walk home is quiet and as they bake the cake, the silence grows into every single crevice of the room, into every sharp corner until it makes it difficult to breathe. Finally, she snaps and just says, “Doug Judy? The man who tricked you and Rosa? The one from the cruise?” she remembers him from the binder. His mirthful smile didn’t make sense then but now, now that she knows they’re actually friends, it makes total sense.
Jake stops making the batter and nods slowly. He cleans his hands off on a paper towel and clears his throat.
“I’m sorry about not telling you more about him.” he apologizes. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while now.” Jake shrugs. “He’s been out of the state for a few months now.”
She tries to melt the ice-block, but she’s slightly bothered by it. She doesn’t know why. “I’m just surprised you’re friends with an ex con.” Jake almost fearful eyes mellow into a relieved puddle.
“Best friends, remember?” he says. “Although, don’t tell charles.”
“Is he a close friend of boths of us or-?”
Jake looks sad for a second. “He officiated our wedding.” A small pause. “He also helped us while we were in hiding.” With that, he turns back to the cake. The dark, taffy-like feel returns.
The candles in her mother’s cake refuse to light up.
“Jake, are you sure you didn’t buy trick candles?” Victor asks as Amy tries for the fiftieth time to turn them back on. Victor raises an eyebrow. “Like at my last birthday, remember?”
“That time was just a hilarious accident! But no, I promise that I didn’t.”
“Ay, who cares? Put some matchsticks and let’s call it a day.”
“Camila-”
“Victor, I’m very hungry and it is my birthday.” Camila interjects with a quick raise of her eyebrows. Victor nods dejectedly. Victor glowers at Jake’s shiteating grin which quickly quells.
“Fine.”
Amy lines six matchsticks atop the cake and lights them up one by one. The gleaming orange lights up the room and their faces crowded over the cake. Her mother smiles warmly and her father’s face mirrors hers as he looks down at her. Her father sets his hand on her mother’s shoulder and leans into her ear.
“Happy birthday, amor.”
Amy looks away and sees Jake’s eyes watching her closely. Over the light, his face shines like a thousand suns into one. Just one look at his face and all past darkness evaporates.
She loves that he’s the only one that has that effect on her.
After the cake, Jake says goodbye to her parents. Amy walks him to the door and Jake drags her over the threshold, obviously wanting to have a private conversation. Amy closes the door behind her, curiosity prickling.
“I’m sorry for springing all of that information on you just like that and not elaborating.I’m not being a very good memory restorer.”
Amy shrugs it off. “Jake, it’s fine. You don’t have to keep worrying about me. I’m okay.”
His face glimmers with some doubt but it loosens like an untangling knot.
“Okay. You’re right. You’re not a baby.” He kisses her lightly. It’s a crescendo in her ears. She’ll never get used to this. Did Old-Amy ever get used to feel of the Earth shaking beneath her feet? God, to live in this moment, she thinks and wishes. To have those long, sustained moments playing over and over again. Feeling the Earth shaking beneath her feet and the feeling that this is what she’s supposed to be doing for the rest of her life. Jake pulls away and Amy begrudgingly opens her eyes but doesn’t drop her hand from his cheek.
“I should go home.” he says, his hand slowly grazing from her cheek down to her hip. Amy shivers and nods, but doesn’t move away from him, relishing his heat. Jake slowly untangles himself from her but Amy can tell he’s scuffing his feet as he does, eyes and hands lingering on her as long as possible.
She hates the fact that he goes home to an empty apartment and the fact that her nights are spent in her childhood bedroom. She misses him in the middle of the night. She misses him up and down. She wants to go home to their apartment with the lavender candle and the warm rug. She wants to go back into the life that she was learning about. Hopes that she can jump into an open page of the binder and land in that timeline.
Her mother was aging, everything was moving but here she was: biking up a steep hill. Jake, stuck in neutral. Under the streetlight as Jake leaves, she decides it.
…took me like three hours to pick the ring. Not only because I was poor as hell but also because it had to be perfect. You are perfect and the ring had to reflect that. But, after more than fifty ring boxes and a disgruntled shop employee, I found it. And it was perfect.
Excerpt from Amy Santiago: A Life in a Binder by Jake Peralta
“I’m going to Jake’s.” Amy says, tying her shoes. Her mother looks up from her book.
“Okay. Want me to make you food or are you eating there?”
Amy stares down at her shoes as she speaks to her mother, her own embarrassment making her ears red, “Actually, I’m staying the night.”
She doesn't know why she’s so embarrassed or so shy. It’s not like she’s 16 and she’s been caught with Luis Gomez in her room with the door closed. She’s married, she’s 37, but her skin blushes despite it.
She peeks at her mother over her eyelashing, gouging her reaction. Her mother nods, face unchanged.
“Okay, see you tomorrow, then.”
Amy lets out a relieved breath. Her mother would no doubt tell her father. Two people told, now one more to go. Jake, that is. She hadn’t told him about wanting to spend the night and the thunderous roar in her ears made sure of that.
It was time, she thought. Thing is, she wasn’t sure if Jake thought the same thing.
That night, after his ‘Amy History Lessons’, as he liked to call them, he offers to drive her home.
“Actually…” she trails off and Jake looks up at her. “I was going to stay.”
Jake’s eyes widen and he swallows. Amy curls her toes as she waits for him to speak.
“Okay, I’ll sleep in the sofa.”
“...with you.” she finishes. Jake lets out a gust of air and nods.
She changes into one of her leftover pajamas and waits while he showers.
It’s less romantic than she thought it was going to be. He stays in his side of the bed and Amy mourns the large space between them. She feels like he’s a galaxy away. She builds courage like a bridge and finds his arms in the dark. She aligns herself in them, feels the fluttering of his breath on her hair and she presses her nose against his shirt. He smells clean, like lavender and like something else, something warm. His hand rests on the small of her back,and Amy looks up at him, finding his eyes in the black.
His eyes are the sunlight in a dark room. A lighthouse guiding her home.
Her lips finds his. Her body remembers him, knows him like the back of her palm and she relaxes onto him. She kisses him harder now and one of her hands struggles with his shirt. His hand stops her.
“Not yet.” he says quietly. “I think we should wait a little.”
Still, she kisses him dark and heavy until he has to pull away with shaky hands. His breath comes out in small shakes, eyes so dilated she could hardly see anything but his irises. She’s sure she looks the same, a mane of hair and a hurricane in her chest. The small gulp he lets out as he gazes down at her is more than enough proof. He rolls off of her quickly and says, “Goodnight.” Amy tries to hide her disappointment with her own quiet goodnight.
She spends three more nights at the apartment. She eats breakfast with him and when he goes to work, walks around the apartment, rereading the parts from the binder that they had gone over already. She tries to recreate them and remembers some of them.
Their first fight in the living room over milk. The sofa cushion that can’t be turned over because Jake stained it with marinara sauce months ago. The fight that followed after that after he didn’t tell her about it, instead choosing to turn the cushion over.
When he comes home, she has take out ready. He tells her about the precinct and she tells him of the bookstore.
“Lauren came over to the precinct today and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rosa so red.” he says one night. That night, they don’t talk about Amy leaving. Instead, he hands her one of shirts and they drift into bed together. They spend hours whispering to one another. Jake continues his Amy History Lessons, sayings, you see that glow in the dark sticker in the corner? I put that there months ago to see if you’d notice it. Took you three minutes and the lights weren’t even off.
In the morning, she wakes before him. She showers and is reading the newspaper by the time he’s up. She glances up at him and just says what she’s been thinking for months as he makes breakfast.
“Maybe I should just move back in.” she says casually. Truth is, her heart is beating like a drum in her chest, her palms are sweaty and there’s a nauseating feeling in her throat. She’s nervous and scared that he’s going to say that they should wait. As he’s said that night ago and as he says every time things become a little too heated between them.
She knows he doesn’t want to but she wonders what’s stopping him. (secretly, she’s scared that things have dimmed on his end and that her previous relentless struggle against him has dulled that flame between them but then she remembers the prickle on her skin as his eyes follow her as she walks around a room; there’s nothing dull hiding there but he’s pushing her away and she’s scared to know why.)
Jake almost drops his plate, his hands shake and he catches it before it reaches the floor.
“Uhm,you-you want to move back in?”
Amy looks up from her eggs and nods, hides her shaking hands under the table. She crosses both of her fingers for luck. Jake blinks quickly in surprise and then his face slowly alights.
“Okay. I think-“ he clears his throat, swallowing down the big lump of happiness in his voice. His eyes are huge saucers full of joy, betraying him before he speaks. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”
Amy loosens her fingers from under the table and grins widely, not hiding her happiness. She leaps up and kisses him tightly. And this time, when Jake stumbles with the plate he doesn’t catch it.
His hands are holding her waist closer and the plate, eggs and all, clatters and shatters on the floor.
It falls deaf to their ears.
Jake goes to work grinning over her over his shoulder and promising dinner later. He leaves with the biggest smile on his face and half of her heart. When she’s alone, she reaches for the phone and calls Lauren first. After a thirty minute call, she closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, summoning up courage. She calls to her half heart in his pocket across Brooklyn. Then, she calls Captain Holt and asks for her job back.
Jake helps her pack that same night. Her mother comes home to find her stuff being packed into boxes and her smile almost breaks her face in half. She changes into some sweats and then comes help. Jake doesn’t mention her unpacked bag from her first day there. Amy ignores it, too.
Her father comes home to most of the stuff already packed and makes them coffee while they finish. He catches her alone, grabbing one of her books she forgot.
He leans against the door frame, “Leaving again, huh?”
“Yes, I think it’s time.”
He’s quiet for a second.
“You know that I support you in everything you do, right? Be it what it may?”
Amy raises her eyebrows, not used to her father being so openly sentimental. “Yes, I know.” she narrows her eyes. “Dad are you crying?”
“Nope.” he straightens up, tucks his hands into his pockets. “Just…” he searches for a word. “proud. You’re not the scared Amy that you were when you first arrived.”
Amy hardly remembers that her, doesn’t recognize her.
“Yes, I’m not her anymore.”
“You two have been through a lot but-” he nods towards her. “-you two sure know how to remain strong through it all. I’m proud of you two.”
Now she’s the sentimental one. “Thanks, dad.” she hugs him. At this time, Jake walks back into the room.
Jake gasps. “Family hug?”
Her father protests but it goes deaf to Jake as he wraps his arms tight around the two of them. Victor grumbles under his breath but then lets himself be hugged. Amy smiles.
A few mornings later, she stands over the suitcase she had packed all those months ago and slowly opens it. Instantly, she was taken aback to that night: her quick packing and Jake’s efforts to make her happy by folding her clothes neatly, when all she wanted to do was leave as soon as possible. Amy fingers the unwrinkled suits,pressing them to her nose trying to remember that desperate feeling in her heart then. Not because she yearns it but because she wants to look at it with nostalgia as one would their younger 12 year old self. Wants to chastise herself.
She wonders if things would have gone differently had she stayed with Jake. Would she be staying in their room alone for weeks on end while Jake was ten feet away desperately wishing for her? Would she, in her own loneliness, push him even farther away? Or, had she stayed, would she have fallen for his kind eyes, his generosity and the warmth that followed after him like he had how own personal sun?
Would she have knocked in his guest room in the middle of the night, wanting solace and fearing solitude? A girl lost, dropped in the place that she no longer remembered, clinging to the last dregs of her past life. Jake, desperate and willing to do anything for her to come back to him, in any shape or form. Would he open the door and let her in?
Now, Amy looks up from the floor to his sleeping face in the bed and smiles. She would’ve found him in any way possible. Jake once told her that he would go to the end of the world for her and now, as she walks over and kisses his sleeping face, she thinks she would, too.
When Jake awakes, Amy is already in the kitchen eating. He stops at the threshold, surprised at her pin straight hair and her neatly pressed suit. His eyes glimmer and shine as he makes his way over to her. Amy pretends not to notice the hearts he’s sending through his eyes.
“Where are you going?” he asks quietly, the excitement threatening to leak out of him and envelop the whole room.
“Oh, hey.” she says faux-casually. “I’m going back to work today. I talked to Holt a few days ago and he said that it’s fine but I’m on desk duty.” She contains her excitement within her voice. “Basically, I’m going everyone’s paperwork which I don’t care about; I love paperwork.”
“But you still haven’t…” he trails off and Amy nods along.
“Yeah but I’m getting there.” she says and stands, straightening her jacket. Jake eyes her up and down, as if he can’t believe she’s really here, dressed as she used to do. Amy walks over to him, sees the stars within his eyes, tries not to be blinded. “I’m remembering it slowly, Jake and you know what Doctor Masina said.”
“They’ll come slowly.” Jake repeats. Amy nods along. Jake sighs but his eyebrows furrow, “What about your headaches?”
Amy shrugs. “The headaches are almost gone, Jake.”
“Your medication?” Amy pats her coat pocket.
Jake nods and his eyebrows relax. He smiles gradually. “Okay.” His face turn serious. “But if you feel bad, like your head starts hurting or anything--you tell Holt.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Okay, dad.”
The squad has flowers on her desk when she appears and Boyle cheers louder than anyone.
“I literally prayed to God you’d return soon.” he says with Amy swears tears in his eyes.
“Creepy.” Jake comments.
“Glad you’re back, dummy.” Rosa says, lightly patting her head. Holt nods at her from his door as she sets her stuff down. She’s glad she’s back, too.
Days later, they hold hands under the covers as Jake reads from the binder. Amy tucks her face closer to his neck and Jake stops reading for a second. His eyelashes flutter close and he says, “You’re distracting me.” His voice carries a playful lilt and Amy grins against his collarbone. “Don’t you want to know what happens?”
“What does it matter? We end up together, don’t we?”
“Well, yeah but I’m almost to the good part.” he says. “I’m about to propose to you. My proposal was pretty epic.”
“Okay, okay.” Amy untangles herself from him. Jake clears his throat dramatically and Amy presses her smile against his shoulder.
“Anyway, as I was saying-”
-...the red blooms like poppies and all she can do is stare as the red fills her sleeve. She’s incredulous. This isn’t happening, not right now. Not when things are going so good and not when everything that she’s ever wanted is just a hand’s reach awa-
“Amy! Amy!” Amy blinks and she’s back in bed with Jake, who has thrown the binder to the floor in suprise. It lays there, the clips open and the papers strewn all over the floor. He’s still shaking her slightly and Amy doesn’t move, the taffy-like feel in her mouth again. She whimpers, closes her eyes and then face collapses into itself as she cries. Jake automatically holds her closer and just lets her cry against him.
“The shot.” she say through her tears. “Remember?” Jake pulls back, arms still holding her close. His eyes are open wide, mouth a thin line.
“What?”
“The shot. What happened? Why?” she sniffles, the tears still coming but quietly.
Jake shakes his head. “We’re not there yet.” he says quietly. Amy stiffens in his arms.
“Don’t shy me away from the bad stuff. Don’t.” her voice is a string about to snap. “I deserve the right to know.” her ragged voice scares him because everything drains form his face in worry. “I know you want to tell me the good stuff but I also deserve to know all of it. All of my life.”
“You got shot because of me.” he says quietly. “Because I was stupid and I pressured Holt into letting me tease Romero into coming out of hiding. I just wanted it to end. I thought we had him but somehow he knew and he went after you. He called you and said that he had me, that’s why you went to that warehouse.” he quiets for a second. “But I wasn’t there. He kept you there for a few hours and then,” he smiles proudly. “, you got away. While you were leaving, you got shot.”
Amy blinks up at him, tries to make sense of it. She remembers bits of it. The dingy warehouse, the flesh-eating worry eating her alive inside. Amy closes her eyes and she can see it now; opening her eyes to a worried Jake in the hospital, the idea that things were not really over, his guilt that sat like a fog around the apartment for weeks on end. His heavy eyes, the weight of his brow and the way he sat her down to discuss the baby. The anger in her chest that she swallowed down because she agreed. This was no place to raise a child. The space between them in their shared bed that night. Her unblinking eyes staring at the closet, up in the top shelf where the baby names book sat, the one they bought while in hiding. Her finger absentmindedly tracing her scar and the simmering sadness in her chest. Jake, on the other side of the bed, watching her still back with his own unblinking eyes. His hand reaching over to her waist but it stopping before reaching it.
Let’s wait until he’s gone, he pleaded but Amy heard the finality in his voice and the fear.
Now, she opens her eyes at him.
“The exam.”
Jake nods. “We thought that once I passed the exam, I would have more leverage and we would get rid of him faster.”
“He’s still out there.” It’s not a question. Jake nods. “Are you scared?”
“Yes. He escaped jail, Ames. God knows where he is. They say they’re looking for him but who even knows. Holt said that if I passed, he’d be able to bend a rules and get me my own team to search for him.”
Amy remains quiet for a second. “Then take your exam.”
He almost scoffs. “It’s not that important right now. I have other things-”
“Jake, it is important.” she says and Jake ceases talking. “You can take it again, right? Or do you have to wait?”
“No, I deferred.”
Amy nods. “When’s the next one?”
“Two months.” he says quietly, ashamed of knowing the schedule and Amy’s heart glows thinking that he’s probably been checking the schedule regularly.
“Okay. We can do it.” He raises her eyebrows. “I passed it, right? I can tutor you.” Jake looks apprehensive and Amy raises her eyebrows. “Are you underestimating my teaching abilities?”
He smiles softly down at her and kisses her once. “Hardly.”
She glues post it notes to every part of the apartment. Jake can’t eat an egg without looking at Police codes and without being hit in the face with studying material. At work, she quizzes him as they walk in or on the ride home. He doesn’t grow tired, he grows with confidence. His smile dazzles even more and everytime she corrects him and goes off on a tangent, his eyes gleam.
He’ll be ready, she’s sure of it. When she’s alone in the apartment, she lets herself cry a little with worry. Worry about the future, about her memories, about Jake’s exam.
...Amy plays with one of the evidence boxes. Her wedding dress is tight against her skin and it makes her itchy but she doesn’t know if it’s the taffeta or the worry. When she tried it on, her mother said, “Jake is going to love it”. Now, in the evidence room, waiting for information about where her husband-to-be was, she wished he would at least get to see it. Even if they didn’t get married.
She isn’t even sure how it happened. It all happened too fast. The drive on the way to the venue and then the sudden stop. The distant gunshots and Jake calling her and begging her, “Stay in the car.” Nobody telling her anything for half an hour while she worried herself to death, sitting in that damn car, alone with just the driver. The poor driver almost being driven crazy with her insistent questioning.
Captain Holt, opening the door to the car and telling her to come with him. To Holt driving them to the precinct, Holt locking himself in his office with a suited man. And Amy, with no one telling her things, went into the evidence room.
“We haven’t heard from him.” Holt had said, still in his tux. “His car got intercepted by Romero.”
That was half an hour ago and Amy plucks the bobby-pins from her hair, letting her scalp breathe. Her hair falls into wispy curls around her face and she brushes the hair behind her ears.
The door creaking open startles her and she nearly sobs when she sees Jake, his hair disheveled and his eyes red.
His eyes widen and sweeten with love as he sees her in her full wedding attire. “Amy...you look..” he trails off, shaking his head. Amy smiles but it falls quickly, her eyes filling with tears. She’s filled with relief at the fact that he’s here but she’s also shaking in fear. Why was he gone so long? Why is there a sliver of blood staining his tux? Who’s is it?
“Jake.” she whimpers. He nearly runs over to her, pressing her against his chest.
“Hey.” he says quietly.
“What happened?”
“He got away.” he pauses, something hidden in his eyes.
“What’s going on? Is there something else?”
“Yes.” he pauses again.
“Jake.” she begs.
“I have to go into hiding again.”
Amy doesn’t answer. She anticipated this. He’d been hunting at them for a few months now. This is what it was leading towards. Now they’re at their destination. Who knew where they were headed next.
“When do you leave?”
“Tonight.” he pauses again, brings her hand to his cheek, kisses her fingertips lightly. “Come with me, please. I can’t do this alone. Not again.”
She pauses for a second; the sheer fact that he was going to be gone for God knows how long terrifies her. The fact that she wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with this alone. The fact that if she said “No”, this might be the last time she sees him for a long time.
She doesn’t think of anything else as she looks at him and says, “Okay.”
She packs their bags while he calls his parents and then hers. His voice is calm as he deals with their questions. She tells her mother that she loves her and calms her father’s worries as Jake talks with Holt at the door.
When the bags are packed, Amy glances around the now quiet apartment while Jake watches her from the door, eyes not drifting away from her. He’s still in his tux, tie loose around his neck and Amy with her wedding dress wrinkled. She threads their fingers together as they walk out to meet Holt.
And for the first time, Amy says goodbye to Amy Santiago.
Amy drops the perfume bottle in her hands and falls to her knees in shock.The glass shatters around the room, drenching it in a coconut smell that’s sure to last for months.
She crawls over to the closet, throwing all the clothes aside. She doesn’t think of anything else as she searches for it. She has to find it. She snaps a fingernail as she throws coats to the floor and it bleeds over one of her white tops. The blood is the least of her worries. Then, there it is hidden in the very, very back. Her wedding dress. As soon as she makes contact with it, she closes her eyes, still holding to that little sliver of it. She holds it up to her face, remembering buying it with her mother. Loving the tightness and the billowing material below her knees. You look like a mermaid, Jake had once said to her and that dress made her one.
She sniffles, not really crying but just letting the memories come. She remembers staying at Rosa’s the night before the wedding and Jake calling her in the middle of the night. Remembers talking for hours and his voice like honey saying, “I can’t wait to marry you.”
When Jake arrives, she’s still in the closet holding that piece of dress, caressing it slightly. Jake stumbles around the clothes on the floor.
“You remembered.” he whispers. Amy nods. He holds a hand out and Amy grabs it, lets go of the wedding dress slowly. They sit hip to hip on the bed, in the quiet. She isn’t sure what to say. She has no questions. She remembers every single detail about the wedding. Or the wedding that wasn’t.
Jake gouges her reaction but Amy doesn’t give him one, she just closes her eyes and remembers the relief as he walked in the evidence room doors.
Outside, the moon says hello and gleams like a pearl in the sky. The light of the moon streams through the open window, the curtains billowing with slight wind.
His face is illuminated with silver and Amy wants to know how a man who is so much like the sun could also be like the moon. She wonders what she is but then she decides that she’s the stars. The ones that glitter around him, the ones that shine when he’s down. The ones that shine on their own.
She doesn’t know who starts it but all she does know is that his lips on hers feel like the Big Bang itself, like the creation of the Universe has begun again. His arms are tight around her and Amy wants him to pulls her closer, wants to crawl into him. Please, please, please she thinks.
She doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing but the feeling doesn’t leave. If not for his arms, she’d float out into the universe, become roommates with Mercury, dance on Jupiter’s rings, become best friends with Venus.
She doesn’t even know when she begins to cry but he kisses the tears away.
“Shh.” he tells her and kisses the rest of her tears away. His shoulders shake and she notices that he’s crying his own silent cry. Their tears blend together onto her face. She kisses the next one off his cheek, reveling in the salty taste.
Their grief slowly leaves their bodies, in forms of cries and tears, kisses. She loses her shirt and Jake does, too. His hand pillows her fall onto the bed and his warmth keeps her toasty. They lay in their eachothers arms, shirtless and warm. They kiss until their lips are tired and until their eyelids droop with tiredness. He tucks his face into her neck and falls asleep with his lips to her pulse.
In the middle of the night, she wakes and stretches, his head still heavy against her neck. He awakes with her and then slowly, their lips meet again like two magnets. She’s clumsy, hands shaking as she undoes his zipper and he’s shaking when he kisses down to her collarbone. It’s picking off right where they left off, like taking off the bookmark and continuing the book. It’s like arriving home, she thinks, as she shivers as he takes off her pants and tosses them.
Amy doesn’t wake up till almost two in the afternoon the next day, boneless and naked. Jake’s watching her sleep, a content look on his face.
“Morning.” she croaks. She feels like she’s swallowed sand and she’s a little guilty of waking up so late.
“Morning.” the tips of his fingers graze her cheek and she leans into it, closes her eyes like a cat. Lets the heat warm her to her marrow. Let’s every part of him fall into her.
And she doesn’t ask herself twice what this is, because this is falling in love for the second time.
#probably the longest chapter so far#b99#brooklyn nine-nine#brooklyn 99#b99 fic#jake and amy#peraltiago fic#what amy forgot#idlewheelposts#brooklyn nine nine fic#peraltiago#jake peralta#amy santiago
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reading + listening 10.20.20
My review is a day late because I allocated some of my weekly reading time to binge-watching ENOLA HOLMES on Netflix (based on a book, so had to check it out). What a charming, beautifully constructed, well-acted show! The closer we get to Election Day, the more easily-consumable content I need, which basically means non-stop Bake Off and/or novel adaptations from here to November 3rd.
Without further ado, my reviews:
All Stirred Up (Brianne Moore), aBook (narr. by Mary Jane Wells). I actually ended up receiving an ARC of this audiobook last week, despite the fact that the release was earlier this month. Not sure exactly how that happened but here we are all the same! My 3-star review from NetGalley:
I confess I chose this title based almost entirely on the fact that it's narrated by Mary Jane Wells, one of my favorite narrators of all time. MJW could narrate the phone book and I'd probably give it a fair listen, but luckily her material in Brianne Moore's ALL STIRRED UP is considerably more dynamic--not to mention a perfect canvas for MJW to flex her range, accents, and humor.
ALL STIRRED UP is pitched as _inspired by_ Austen's Persuasion; it is NOT pitched as a Persuasion retelling, which seems to have escaped several other reviewers. The trendiness of Austen comps has made me wary of contemporary titles that lay claim to a comparison, especially since many of them are so atrocious. I would much rather see Alcove and Dreamscape market this title around more realistic comps: SCHITT'S CREEK meets DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME, with a helping of GREAT BRITISH BAKING SHOW heaped on for good measure. Like Mhairi McFarlane's work, ALL STIRRED UP features a slow-burn, second-chance romance, and two protagonists who have a number of personal demons to excise before they can get to the business of loving one another. The plot largely relies on external, non-romantic conflict to move forward, but Susan's family drama touched on compelling (if at times heartbreaking) issues that brought the Napier clan to life in brilliant detail.
Make no mistake, the romance itself is not the central conflict here; marketing should stress that this is contemporary fiction and/or women's fiction. While the history between Susan and Chris gives rise to emotional tension throughout the book, their relationship is NOT the central conflict -- and therefore this is not a category romance. I stress this because a good number of reviews seem to dock stars for the fact, but the book delivers on its promises if you actually read the blurb. Again, marketing might have considered a cover that doesn't lean so heavily on romance cues (feature more of the Napier family, feature Susan alone, accentuate the dueling restaurants rather than their owners, etc).
I was mostly charmed by ALL STIRRED UP, despite some emotional blows from parent/grandparent/friend deaths (in the past, not in the action proper), former drug abuse, and depictions of an anxiety disorder/ptsd. Ultimately, I found this novel heartfelt and uplifting, with the added bonus of authentic-feeling foodie content. MJW's narration is absolute perfection, and I hope we get more Moore/Wells collabs in the future.
The Project (Courtney Summers) eBook ARC (pub date: February 2021). Slam-dunk five-star read from my favorite suspense author. My review on NetGalley:
Few writers do suspense as artfully as Courtney Summers; years after reading SADIE, I can still easily recall the tense, aching anxiety I felt while reading it, and my heartfelt sadness at its conclusion. Summers' latest, THE PROJECT, delivers big when it comes to tension, aching anxiety, and heartfelt sadness all -- but it is also a masterclass in dual timeline structure, emotional depth, enigmatic characterization, and subtlety.
Lo's and Bea's relationships to one another, as well as The Unity Project and its mysterious leader, Lev Warren, propel the action of the novel forward. Lo sets out to answer a central question: Where is Bea? And second to that, is The Project a good-works-driven charitable organization, or a cult of personality with a dark underbelly? The more Lo uncovers about The Project, the less clear its purpose becomes -- while at the heart of it all stands Lev Warren, Redeemer and redeemed, lover and beloved.
Summers is one of those very rare authors writing true "crossover" -- fiction that could be as easily assigned to YA as adult audiences. To limit THE PROJECT to either category would be to deny its importance to both. About young readers, Summers recently wrote in a PW article, that they inhabit "a world where the cost of their education could be the bullet that kills their dreams, a world where they’ve witnessed the gross government mishandling of a pandemic, a world where the brutal killings of Black Americans at the hands of police go largely unanswered for, and a world where the flagrant disregard of their future by politically powerful climate change deniers is pulling us ever closer to a global crisis from which there will be no return." Lo's life reflects the complexity of today's young adult experience without dragging the specifics of _now_. The result is nuanced portrait of a young woman living a decidedly adult life, rarely of her own volition, and with the added complication of a traumatic history.
THE PROJECT is an up-all-night, read-til-its-done page-turner that kept me guessing to the end (and I'm hard to surprise!). I'm hopeful that Netflix will pick this up for series development, as it would utterly crush when translated to the screen. Looking ever so forward to more from an author who just gets better with every release.
From Blood and Ash (Jennifer L Armentrout), eBook. Imagine if you would the most reductive, hackneyed mash-up of SJM and Twihard, and you’ll get close to understanding what FROM BLOOD AND ASH is all about. For several days last week, it felt like the readers I follow on social media were obsessing over this book; they praised the OTP romance, dynamic world-building, and nonstop plot. But what I found instead was a poorly developed world rife with all the old familiar tropes, a romance that brings up serious issues of consent and gaslighting, and reliance on poorly reinvented plot lines from better trashy fantasies. Le sigh.
Perhaps it’s my old age, but I’ve lost my taste for books that spend significant time and narrative space developing the in-world cultural, social, political, and religious structures, only to “gotcha” the hero(ine) and reader by revealing it was aLL a LiE. This book does that in last-gasp attempt to salvage some conflict late in Act III, and it’s not okay.
Also not okay is the power imbalance between the heroine and her very-obviously-the-mysterious-baddie-no-one’s-ever-seen counterpart. Review after review praises the hot heat in FBaA, but I couldn’t get past the hate-banging. Men who yell TELL ME YOU WANT THIS while practically inside their partners are not enacting a sexy, heroic, impassioned version of consent; they’re just ticking a box for “not rape” that has nothing to do with actual desire. It’s a hard pass for me.
This was almost as much of a letdown as Serpent & Dove, but both titles can battle it out for Most Derivative Trash Fantasy 2020.
The Bromance Book Club and Undercover Bromance (Bromance Book Club #2) (Lyssa Kay Adams), aBook (narr. Andrew Eiden, with Maxwell Caulfield on book 1). I snagged the first of this series from my library’s digital collection when I was looking for some easy listening over the weekend, and I’m so pleased to tell you this is an incredibly charming series. Adams turns some familiar romance tropes upside-down by focusing on a group of men (the titular book club) who read romance novels -- aka manuals -- to better understand their relationships with women. This hunky group of alphas has a collectively soft underbelly; they live by the lessons gleaned from the romances die-hard readers love, such as “always run for a grand gesture” and “back story is everything.” In Bromance #1, we have excerpts from a regency romance interwoven with the primary narrative, which focuses on Gavin and Thea’s almost-totally-broken marriage. Do I wish the major marital conflict had less to do with orgasms? I do. But was it a fun, intriguing, well-narrated listen with a great secondary cast and some bona fide laughs? It was. Positive rep for speech impediments added to the magic. In Undercover Bromance, Mack and Liv work the enemies-to-lovers trope to fairly great effect, though the story touches on some troublingly dark topics (CW for sexual predation, murder, domestic abuse, abandonment, childhood trauma). Still, both Liv and Mack bring some unexpected features to the narrative, and it’s great to see the dynamic secondary cast further developed from book 1. My only real complaint is the forever-dull “dead cell phone” gimmick late in Act III. I can forgive Adams this one hackneyed indulgence, though I hope she doesn’t make a habit of it. Book 3 in this series (Crazy Stupid Bromance) release October 27, and the cat/hunk/romance novel featured on the cover is all the motivation I need to preorder.
#all stirred up#the bromance book club#undercover bromance#from blood and ash#the project#netgalley#book review#romance#fantasy
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Pretty Little Liars may have ended earlier this summer, but that doesn't mean that fans' adventures in Rosewood need to come to a complete stop anytime soon. After all, there's a PLLspinoff television series in the works, featuring Sasha Pieterse and Janel Parrish, and author Sara Shepard is reportedly hard at work on penning new stories about our favorite Liars — including three e-books completely focused on Alison DiLaurentis.
And that's not the only PLL-related tale that Sara has been working on. She has also created a short story titled It's Not Easy Being "A" — which is exactly what it sounds like: a look inside the mind of the OG villain in the black hoodie, Mona Vanderwaal. The story will be available inside the paperback release of her novel The Amateurs, which is on sale as of today (Tuesday, October 3), along with the second book in The Amateurs series, Follow Me. And if you can't wait to read all about what Mona has to say, you're in luck, because Teen Vogue has an exclusive excerpt right here.
In the short story, Mona takes the reader on a journey down her path to becoming "A," going back as far as the day that Ali disappeared. She explains that once Ali was gone and out of Rosewood, she tried to befriend the other Liars, but was only able to secure Hanna's companionship. Still, she couldn't let go of the way Ali had bullied her all throughout middle school, and she slowly decided to get revenge. "I started to think about Ali's whole posse," Mona explains in the story, adding: "They didn't have a clue what it felt like to be teased the way they'd teased me — and they probably never would. I wanted to give them a little education."
From there, Mona describes the very moment she decided to become "A" — and it's a chilling scene involving Ali's old room, lost memories, and a secret diary. The story itself is the perfect dose of nostalgia for fans who are missing the series, especially the early seasons leading up to Mona's huge reveal. Ahead, check out the excerpt of the short story, and be sure to read the entire thing once you get your hands on a copy of Sara Shepard's The Amateurs.
Excerpt from It's Not Easy Being "A", by Sara Shepard:
I wish I could say I’m humble. The sort of girl who fades into the shadows after pulling off something amazing and says, Oh, you know. We all worked hard. But forget that, people. You don’t get far in life by sharing the spotlight. I’ve been kicked around too much already—life owes me. Nope, I want all the credit. I want to go down in freaking history. And you know what? I think it might just happen.
It’s Friday night, and I’m at the Rosewood Country Club, where the welcome-back masquerade party I’m throwing for my longtime bestie, Hanna Marin, is about to start. It’s a typical Mona Vanderwaal party. You know, where a huge party tent is transformed into a casino swanky enough that supermodels and high rollers would beg to play here. There are faux-marble walls and velvet banquettes. I called in professional card dealers from Atlantic City. A fleet of hot waiters roams about with canapés. I even rigged a Cleopatra-style platform for Hanna to ride in on for her big entrance. Basically, Vanity Fair and Us Weekly should be photographing this thing instead of the lame-ass Main Line society blog . . . and I’m the mastermind behind all of it.
I hear a crackle on my headset. “Okay, Hanna’s in position.” It’s a sophomore loser whose name I can’t remember; I chose her from a list of minions who begged to help out with the party. Little do these girls know they’ll be helping out with a few other details tonight, too. Namely, spying.
“Great,” I say into the microphone. “DJ, let’s get some entrance music for my girl.”
The opening notes of classic hip-hop swell from the DJ booth. The tasseled platform, held aloft by a team of muscled models, parades into the tent. Hanna, her banged-up face concealed with a satin mask, sits atop the thing, waving like a queen. Welcome back, Hanna! reads a banner over the entrance. Before I hung it up, I had everyone at school add personalized messages, cheesy things like We were so worried about you! and So happy you’re okay! Girls Hanna never even spoke to signed that thing like they were her soul sisters—but, hey, when a girl is mowed down by a car in a dark parking lot, everyone’s going to rally around her. Naturally, I added my own message, a long note about how I was so thankful that all that had happened to my bestie in the hit-and-run was a mild case of amnesia. It felt a little disingenuous writing it—because, well, yours truly was the one who was driving the car that fateful night. I had to do it, though. She’d figured out I was A. She knew too much.
Not that Hanna remembers that.
“Woot!” Hanna cries under the mask. Everyone from Rosewood Day cheers. I plaster a fake smile on my face until my cheeks hurt. Enjoy it for now, bitch, I think as the guys bobble Hanna’s platform even higher. Because it’s all going to be over soon. And this time, I’m going to leave you with a lot more than just bruises. Let the party begin!
I'm really not one for sob stories. I don’t want you to pity me. Yes, I, Mona Vanderwaal, used to be a girl I don’t like thinking about anymore, a girl with qualities I’m so far removed from I’m not going to bore you by talking about them. And I just happened to live on the same street as Alison DiLaurentis, one of the cruelest girls I’ve ever met, a girl who took great pleasure in making my life miserable. But whatevs, right?
Others might wallow in this sad past. They might make anti- bullying proclamations on their Facebook pages or start a charity, and they’d definitely slouch through high school as a weird, nichey nerd. But I never wanted to be that girl. When Ali and her little crew—Spencer Hastings, Hanna Marin, Emily Fields, and Aria Montgomery—teased, taunted, laughed, and humiliated me, I might have run away with my tail between my legs, but I was pissed.
I didn’t have anything to do with Ali’s disappearance the very last day of seventh grade. Still, the day the news broke, I shut myself inside my bedroom and stared at myself in the mirror. There was a wide, freaked-out smile on my face. I laughed silently for what felt like hours. The universe had finally listened to me. It was a miracle.
My parents were glued to the TV that whole weekend, horrified that the most magnetic, beautiful girl in all of Rosewood had disappeared from our street. They joined the search parties. They went to charity events in Ali’s honor. But can you guess what I was doing? Crossing my fingers and toes. Throwing coins into fountains. Coming up with every superstitious way to wish for that bitch to be gone for good.
Once eighth grade began, a light switch came on, and all of a sudden, my social life improved. With Ali still missing, I realized I could scoop up one of her adrift friends and start a new clique. That’s right: My first instinct was to befriend those bitches, not to ruin them. What can I say? I idolized them. I wanted to be them. Fun fact: My first choice was Spencer Hastings. We were in the same honors classes together—not that she ever noticed me—and our houses were across from each other. I spent every day staring at the large, stately gates that surrounded the Hastings property. Spencer, in all her preppy, purebred Rosewood-ness, felt right.
But Spencer ignored me same as ever. Guess we don’t always get what we want.
Hanna, the group’s weakest and most insecure, ended up a great second choice, though. Together, she and I got hot. Straightened our hair. Discovered self-tanning. Basically, we became swans. Kids I’d known since kindergarten thought I was a new girl, I looked so different, and with Hanna at my side, I had instant entrée into popularity. You’d think I’d be satisfied with that.
Oh, people. All that glitters . . . well, sometimes it turns green the moment you put it on your finger.
The thing is, even after Hanna and I started sharing sushi bento boxes for lunch and shopping out of each other’s closets, there were still these moments when I’d look over at her and think, I can’t believe you. Let’s face it: Hanna might not have been the one dishing out the insults, but she’d stood there like a tree stump and let Ali tease me again and again and again. She never stuck up for me. She never looked conflicted about what Ali was doing. And you know what? After we became close, Hanna never apologized about it. I kept waiting for this big mushy moment between us...but it never came.
So after years of friendship, I started to get bitter. I started to think about Ali’s whole posse, actually, and what they were up to now that Ali was gone. They didn’t really seem damaged by any of it. They didn’t have a clue what it felt like to be teased the way they’d teased me—and they probably never would.
I wanted to give them a little education.
Cue the DiLaurentis family finally moving out of their house. Cue them dumping all sorts of shit on their curb for the garbagemen. Cue nosy me noticing their garbage, which included framed boy-band posters from Ali’s room, which her family had kept like a shrine for four long years. It might sound sort of perverse, but I really wanted those posters. I wanted something from the girl who made my life hell hanging in my bedroom. As a reminder, maybe. As a weird sort of vision board.
What I found beneath those boy-band posters, of course, was far more valuable: a diary full of dirt on Ali’s best friends. It turned me into a whole new person: A.
Yep. I want credit for that, too.
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6, 13, 21
6. favorite character name you’ve come up with
Ember Deyanira Thorn, my Harry Potter oc. Her name is by far my most original, and most unusual. I chose her first name because years ago I was listening to “Remember” by Ember McLain from Danny Phantom (I never watched the show, I just somehow ended up listening to the song, probably by way of another cartoon song video). I took her last name from the lead singer of the Hex Girls in Scooby Doo, since I always loved the name “Thorn”. Her middle name was from a list of dark names that I’d compiled back in my sophomore year of high school for a story for class. Her first name is heavily related to her powers, and in turn to her character, though oddly enough her name is the reason she even has those powers to begin with.
13. favorite line you’ve written
“I am Morgana, daughter of Fornjot and Fulla, wife of Loki Laufeyson, queen of Asgard, commander of Asgard’s forces, and the goddess of war. As such, I will be damned if I let the likes of you rule Asgard. You may or may not have killed my husband and his brother, but you will most definitely not kill me. Nor will you ever rule this realm. How dare you come to my kingdom and threaten not only my people, but also my family! Your claim to the throne was invalidated when you were cast out, and it will never be revalidated. Now go back to wherever you came from, you conniving cunt, or I will make certain that you never leave Asgard alive.” (set during Thor: Ragnarok)
21. longest piece (word count) you’ve ever written
I’ve revamped several stories, so some used to be longer, but now there not. Recently, my longest piece would be an excerpt (8,270 words) from my Person of Interest story. The story itself is currently pretty short, but that’s because it’s based on such a fast-paced show that I have to write excerpts before the actual story.
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Barcelona: Where all the sangria was had
We caught a late flight on Friday to Barcelona for a long Easter weekend. We saved Saturday as a day for exploration. We started the day with brunch, of course, and it did not disappoint. We then strolled into the main parts of town, down Las Ramblas and through the gothic quarter. It probably makes more sense to allow the photos to document our day. The day ended on the docks at La Barceloneta followed by a fancy dinner at a Spanish tapas place. I had made reservations for 8 pm and we were the first ones to the restaurant. They really do run on a different schedule in Spain!
The following is an excerpt Ryan wanted to write due to an entertaining experience while on the docks:
After Mariah and I walked around all day, we sat down at the pier to relax. Next to us was a British family. Two young boys play with the birds as their mom and dad watched on. However, the situation became a lot more fun when the oldest brother (probably high school freshman) joined his family. He apparently really wanted to get to the Barcelona FC football (soccer) game, but is also passionate about his rests (naps). I shit you not, this kid actually recited the following monologue. Cue cheesy, nasally stereotypical British accent:
"Mother," the brother said, "we really should get back to the hotel. We need to have a proper rest before the match. If we don't leave now, we won't have time to get dinner before the match."
After a pause, he continued, "Oh, well I know. I suppose we could get a hot dog at half time."
I think what sold it for me was the fact that his parents completely ignored his complaints. He must do this sort of thing all the time. I was on the floor laughing at the absurdity- it was amazing.
The park where we decided Barcelona is our new favorite place
Gaudi’s Casa Battlo
Some of all of the sangria
Barcelona’s official cathedral, The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia. It was impossible to get a decent photo, as it was surrounded by buildings on all sides.
Barcelona’s Arch of Triumph. Actually built for a World Fair.
The only kind of lobster I like
View from the pier
We got up early Sunday morning, Easter, and walked to the Hard Rock Cafe to meet up with a tour group. We hopped on a bus with some new friends from Atlanta currently living and working in Helsinki and were off to Montserrat. Now, I had heard of Montserrat several years ago and had always wanted to go after seeing the incredible photos online. I must say, it definitely lived up to expectations. Legend goes, according to our tour guide, that a black statue of the Virgin Mary was found on the mountain. The dude who stumbled upon her tried to take her down the mountain to show the village people, but she eventually got too heavy to be moved! Instead, the people decided that must be where she was meant to stay, and they built a monastery around her. Some believe it is also the location of the holy grail, and people frequently make pilgrimage to the mountain.
Anyways, we went into the chapel in time for Easter service and had the privilege of hearing the world’s oldest formal boys’ choir sing. Afterward we had the opportunity to explore the mountain. We hiked up to St. Michael’s cross and took in the incredible views of the valley before hitting up the gift shop to sample the liquors made by the monks right there on the mountain. (It was delicious. If we could have taken liquids on the flight home with us, I am certain a bottle or two would have made its way back to Amsterdam!)
View from Montserrat
Outside the monastery
The black Virgin Mary is up there ^^^
A smaller chapel located on Montserrat
St. Michael’s Cross and the view of Montserrat from the cross(top pic).
The second half of the day was reserved for wine tasting. We had a delicious lunch on the winery grounds then had a quick tour and finally got to taste some wines. Again, delicious, and if I could have taken a bottle home I definitely would have. The area is known for its Cava, similar to Champagne, but the winery we visited actually focused more on red blends. The winery, Oller del Mas, has been owned and operated by the same family for more than 1,000 years. I was slightly disappointed not to have been the heir of that castle…
Lunch on the winery’s golf course. Montserrat in the background.
Ryan helping Sandra explain wine fermentation
Wine tasting in a castle!
After our tasting we headed back to Barcelona, where the night was still young. Our lovely tour guide, Sandra, recommended several restaurants to us, and we chose a taco place she said was popular with young locals. Best Mexican I’ve had in eight months!
Easter Monday, which is a national holiday in most of Europe, we had a second tour lined up. This time we were going to a region called Costa Brava. I chose it because it had beautiful pictures of beaches. Ryan chose it because Game of Thrones. Win-Win!
The day started in a small town north of Barcelona called Girona, which may be the most charming place I’ve ever been. (I tried to find a good In Bruges meme to insert here, but a quick google search is not turning up a whole lot.)
We explored the old Arab bath grounds then made our way up to the city walls. We walked the length of the city, taking in the scenes from above, before heading back to our meeting point. However, not before crossing the Eiffel Bridge, or the Pont de les Peixateries Velles, and stopping for some fancy ice cream from a chef who owns the only 4-star restaurant in Catalonia. It was so good. So. Good. I don’t think I can eat Ben & Jerry’s ever again. (Those of you who know me well know that’s a lie.) But-- it was so good. I got a lavender coconut ice cream with lavender-flavored marshmallows, honeycomb and strawberries. Ryan got a silly nose-shaped popsicle.
Girona
Several Game of Thrones scenes have been filmed in Girona, including Arya’s fight and flight through the narrow passageways to escape the Waif.
Jaime Lannister climbed that tower.
Eiffel’s lesser known work, Girona’s Pont de les Peixateries Velles
World’s best ice cream gelato. And a weird red nose.
Then it was time to hop in the van and head towards the coast. We stopped a small town called Pals for about half an hour then ended up in a true little coast town called Palafrugell. (Basically our tour guide walked us to a shop in Pals that gives him kickbacks if his tourists shop there. He literally made us wait outside while they gave him free liquors. Oh well.)
Quick stop in Pals
Palafrugell was absolutely beautiful, but unfortunately just a bit too chilly to enjoy the beach to its full potential. We stepped into a small beachside seafood place where I made the ultimate sacrifice of giving up a meal I might actually eat in order for Ryan to have some seafood paella. With risotto and paella dishes throughout Italy and Spain, we always found that at least two people have to order for them to make it. I don’t particularly like eating meals with bright orange crustaceans involved, but I gave in and tried to eat some of the rice. Unable to get a bite without bright orange antennae stuck in my fork, I gave up and let Ryan enjoy his meal. After an hour or so exploring the little beaches, we hopped on the tour van back to Barcelona and ended the night in a cool little beer bar called CocoVail. I had some stellar tacos and sangria, while Ryan tried out some local brews and filled up on chicken wings.
How I feel about meals involving exoskeletons
Cool street art
Tuesday, our last day in town, was all about Gaudi. But first, breakfast. We went to a place called Brunch & Cake and pancakes will never be the same. I had green tea matcha pancakes with a strawberry syrup and Ryan had a waffle topped with scrambled eggs and gravy. Glorious. Then we headed to Barcelona’s top attraction, La Sagrada Familia.
Yes, we take photos of our food.
The basilica has been under construction for more than a century, with a potential completion date of 2026. Gaudi was one of many architects to work on the church, and he died in a tram accident before it was even a quarter of the way finished. We bought extra tickets to go up one of the finished towers, and we chose the Nativity Tower. It was incredible to see workers meticulously placing tiny mosaic pieces on new construction ten feet away from statues that have been worn down by the weather for more than 100 years. I’ll let photos tell the rest.
Apologies for the photo dump here
After the basilica we headed north for Gaudi 2.0: Park Guell. Gaudi designed this park with another architect for the wealthy residents living on the hill in northern Barcelona. We spent about two hours wandering through the park and hiking behind it before making our way back down the hill.
Inside Park Guell. Gaudi lived in the house on the left for a bit.
The entrance to Park Guell
With about two hours until we had to be at the airport, I insisted we hit up Las Ramblas again, so that I could have a second serving of that lavender coconut ice cream. The ice cream shop, called Rocambolesc, had two locations, and I wasn’t going to pass it up. We got our ice cream and strolled back to our hotel to grab our bags and head back home.
Gelato 2.0 to wrap up a wonderful trip
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