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.
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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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Sends you the sun in a box :') A box IMPERVIOUS TO FIRE
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steals this meme #likeaboss
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The 03rd (Eroica) ( ... )
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Sergio sometimes curls up within himself and refuses to answer the phone or the door. These are the days he lies in bed all day, stripped down and thinking about his tattoos, remembering their stories.
He runs his fingers over his left inner arm. There is no relief, not really, but it's been with him for long enough that he can trace the letters, tengwar, even with his eyes closed.
(I will never forget you.)
It's maybe impossible to only have one association for anything, and today Sergio thinks of Fernando. His right inner arm, the tengwar. Put their arms together and sometimes Sergio thinks these words are the ones tattooed on his heart, are the ones every cell in his body chants with every beat of his heart.
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EXCUSE YOUR LIFE
I WANT THIS
WHY
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FIVE TIMES DAVID VILLA PROMISES HE'S GOING TO COME CLEAN TO HIS WIFE????? I WANT??????????
AND THE B SIDE???????????
SECONDING SUMMER ON THE SERGIO/NAVAS ONE!!!!
okay why did everyone include their wip list i didn't.
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1. The first time they kiss. Silva doesn't like the words "first" and "kiss" in close succession; "first kiss," like that. It makes him feel childish and juvenile and like a teenager (nothing that David doesn't incite in him, anyway), nothing he particularly wishes to recall.
It happens in a rush and Silva isn't sure of how, exactly, and neither is he sure of how David feels or even of how he feels, himself. He watches David closely, after, and there is a flicker of something Silva cannot place, until he realises that there is the same hunted, skulking guilt on his own reflection in the mirror. So that's it, he thinks. It will be all over the papers, maybe not tomorrow, but surely by the end of the week ( ... )
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Olaya is almost three months old when David hands him the invitation - thick, creamy paper, addressed in beautiful calligraphy. "Patricia insisted." David shrugs. Silva has a fleeting urge to rip the card into pieces.
It's a disaster from the start, if you can measure disaster through emotional damage sustained: David opening the door, holding Zaida's hand; Patricia coming to say hello, Olaya in her arms; Zaida asking Silva for a hug; a family portrait on the wall with Olaya already in it. Silva grips his champagne flute so tightly that his knuckles turn white, so tightly that David leans in and mutters, "Don't break the glass."
Silva laughs, harsh, until he realises that David isn't joking. "Sorry." He clears his throat, smiles at Patricia and the (oh God) children. "Excuse ( ... )
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