Give me a link to one of my fics, and I'll give you details that didn't make it into the fic. Background canon, deleted scenes, or a look into the future. My choice, but if you have a specific question you can ask it in your request.
(from
nautisch.)
some of my fics are locked, but if you really want to read something, or if you've read it before and want
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I set the two up to be parallel to one another, although I can't remember anymore how that would have worked, exactly, since this prompt is, while third-person omniscient, still limited to Silva for the most part (I did the B-sides completely third-person limited, I think). I really, really like this WIP; it's probably my favourite one. I wish I could have finished it, but I just... got stuck and never figured out how to work past it. Mostly, I think, because I began to feel like it was just a regurgitation of every other fic (including my own, maybe) in which Villa is greedy and a dick and Silva has to deal with inner turmoil because he feels guilty as hell, but still doesn't want to let Villa go.
If I had finished these, I would have posted them together as one fic named Growing Pains. I think I might have gotten that from a song, but it's appropriate, because part five (which I didn't write for either prompt) would have been the one where Villa finally came clean to Patricia and, basically, let Silva go. Villa realises that he has to make a choice between his wife and Silva; he can't have everything, and Silva knows it, too, but he still... needs to grow out of Villa (and his shadow, kind of), essentially. It takes time, the break-up (though Silva would rather not call it that) hurts, but at the end of everything, they've grown up.
3. August 18, 2009.
A new baby girl, named after Fernando Torres's wife, for Christ's sake. Silva's not sure why that matters, but it does.
David says the name as he is running his fingers through Silva's hair, a prelude to the rest of what Silva assumes will end in an argument, and Silva says, "Don't. I know what you're going to say -"
"It's not fair to her," David says, his voice muffled into Silva's shoulder, "To any of them."
It's not fair, Silva thinks, to me. He rolls over onto his side, away from David, and says, "You should go - Patricia will be, and Zaida-"
David covers Silva's mouth; whispers into Silva's back, "Don't." (But I will, this time. Just not yet.)
Silva gives in. He always does.
Ramos/Navas
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