#❝ ʙʟᴀsᴛᴇʀ's sᴇᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ sᴛᴜɴ ᴛᴏ — ❞ [ queue ]

[stillsolo]

@forcenexus 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: you have to talk to someone, eventually. it doesn’t have to be me, but. you need to.

              𝙲𝙾𝙲𝙺𝚈 𝚈𝙴𝚃 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙻-𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝙳 𝙳𝚄𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁.     subsequent interactions were a mixed bag: whip-smart and frighteningly perceptive at times, a touch imprudent here and there—especially when rowdy, drunken bastards couldn’t leave a man well enough alone, but still a solid cut above the usual crawl.  a distinct mechanical aptitude and a willingness to talk shop served well to distract from the haunting stillness he’d seen in those blue eyes, the rough corners and jagged edges that bespoke a hard life lived.

now, han couldn’t help but wonder whether this was part of an elaborate façade, an unnecessary continuation for the sake of appearances, or if this was a genuine naïveté he never saw coming.              half-draped over the bar top, solo took in the colorful scenery of club kasakar, downing the remaining half of his whiskey before slanting a pointed glance at the other man.

❝loose lips in my line of work can lead to a lot more than hurt feelings.❞   like empty pockets or a one-way ticket to the top of every bounty hunter’s list working out of coruscant’s capital.  not exactly how he pictured himself going out—though that was hardly the point.   ❝who says i’ve got anything to talk about, anyway?❞

it was almost comical to consider, damned near absurd to even entertain the concept of opening up to anyone about anything.  what good would it do?  moreover, what could he say that wouldn’t immediately land him in a world of trouble?  ‘talking’ wasn’t meant for riffraff like himself—spacers whose lives often hinged on the mercurial moods of powerful men and women.  besides, unburdening to strangers was among the few tricky habits he’d managed to sidestep completely.  solo couldn’t imagine starting now, inside a seedy nightclub on the lower levels of coruscant, and with a total stranger to boot.

[stillsolo]

anonymous 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: You're walking in the woods. There's no one around and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye you spot him: The Shadow Stalker. He's following you about 30 feet back. He gets down on all fours and breaks into a sprint, he's gaining on you. Shadow Stalker. You're looking for your car but you're all turned around. He's almost upon you now and you can see there's blood on his face. My God, there's blood everywhere! Running for you life, he's brandishing the Hate, lurking in the shadows-

             𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝚃, 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙶𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙰𝚂 𝙷𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙷𝙾𝙻𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 , cursing when the release lever caught the tail end of glossy leather and knocked the power pak out of place.   son of a blasted karkin’ murglack — why the hell hadn’t he bothered purchasing a new gun belt?   ah, right, because the origin system didn’t have anything close to what they had back home.  adrenaline flushing his veins and yanking him around the corner, han plastered his back to the wall, teeth gritted as he thumbed the release of his blaster, switching out STUN for KILL.

❝STALKER!❞ han called out, pressing himself into the wall.

    ❝long time no see! ’been about five years since we last chatted on—LUA, was it?  heh.  if you weren’t always a few starships short of a fleet when i’m around ya, i’d imagine you’ve got a crush on me.❞ . . . \\ @desiccation

that really wasn’t what he’d have preferred to declare, but it would have to suffice for now.  he needed the distraction really, until this wretched bloom of cold in his stomach settled, along with the meager contents of his stomach.  ❝my offer still stands, y’know, ’bout how we should talk things out ’nstead of you tryna kill me?❞              when nothing but the low hum of corpus machinery droned on, han had to suppress the urge to thrash against the wall, send a fist flying into the permacrete behind him—anything that could help mitigate the resentment of knowing stalker found him yet again.

under jupiter’s burning skyline, han’s gaze swept aside, surveying the vacant lane that led to his ship.  his mind darted to thoughts of teshin and where he was these days, and the realization struck him like a heated plasma bolt straight to the ribs — hells teeth, he hadn’t seen teshin in over a year!    peering down at his trusty blaster as if the DL-44 he clutched had a mind of its own, solo muttered in a low voice, deadly serious, ❝i say… when we get outta this mess, we — uh, should comm that bastard for a drink.❞

[stillsolo]

             𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙾𝚁 𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙴, 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 your typical high-ranking military official: tall, a gaunt face with graying hair, dead beady little eyes, and no doubt armed with a protracted lecture about the myriad consequences of failing to follow protocol.  there would be the usual unambiguous threats if he ever failed to comply with orders, as disobeying an order was to disobey his Lordshipfulness, the Esteemed Emperor Vader, along with mentions of his poor academic record and brief praise regarding his test fight runs. the lecture would then wrap up with a heart-to-heart moment, consisting of the old blowhard lamenting they could see themselves in him, that he held so much promise, if only he learned to keep his head down and his big mouth shut.  put talent to good use; let actions speak for him, the usual platitudes han never once asked for.

except, the man awaiting his arrival was unlike anyone solo had so far encountered within the imperial forces.  the grand inquisitor stood apart, not merely due to his bizarre title unaffiliated with the army, but because he was one of the few remaining force users that still used a ’saber.  han had seen him on news broadcasts, often shadowing his Exalted Lordship and his family, or somewhere nearby, always within spitting distance, though always with the helmet on, never without it.

to see the man’s face now, unadorned and exposed, was new and rather unwelcome.  han wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw.  the grand inquisitor was no more than a few years his senior, and that incongruous piece of information splintered the impression of the imperial army he had formed and grown to hate within months.

              ❝with all due respect,❞ solo began with his usual laconic drawl, ❝my men had already deployed ’n took point.  if i’d waited for some wet-behind-the-ears rookie t’ back me up, we’d be picking up pieces of our fleet right now.❞

just who the hell was the one making assumptions here, anyway?  han had been up since zero dark thirty, overseeing the blockade and planning their next move.  if anyone had made wild assumptions, it was this godsbedamned kid who didn’t look a day over twenty!

❝look—sir,❞ he tacked on the formality almost as an afterthought, ❝i acted alone, no one else.  judgment call was on me, ’n it worked out.  lucky me.  i’d do it again if it meant keeping my men safe.❞

after all, with the imperial navy’s lousy track record, han couldn’t exactly trust anyone but himself to keep them alive, now could he?

in han’s experience, confidence was one way to get yourself noticed; arrogance was the quickest way to get yourself killed.  it was common sense to han solo, a fundamental understanding of life in a world that granted no second chances.  this awareness had shaped his view of the brass, whom he perceived as seasoned military types—only old age and cynicism, he reckoned, could breed such callous arrogance.

the reckless abandon with which these monstrous kreetles dispatched their battalions into the fray, as though blind to the prospect of alternative strategies that could mitigate the toll of war, had not only painted a damning portrait of their character, but showed their hands stained with the blood of those who trusted their leadership would keep them alive.

the way han saw it, half of these guys shouldn’t even be called leaders.  they were nothing but a bunch of cold-blooded bureaucrats, no different from the greedy, plump politicians who would preach about all the good they did for their homeworlds, despite carrying the same brand of underlying contempt for the very people they served.

Typically, it wasn't his job to reprimand others, not unless they were directly under his command. Especially when it came to a mission he wasn't even apart of to begin with, not until the 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞.

It didn't help Solo's case that Cal demanded someone let him pilot a TIE Interceptor, even though there was absolutely no reason for him to be involved. It only added to the stress Cal was under, and the other things he had to take care of for the day. The Grand Inquisitor wasn't even supposed to be flying today. However his 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 gnawed at his conscience, concerned of all the outcomes of this because-- This young man snuck off and did something he should not have done.

And the last words that Solo uttered made him want to bash his head against the durasteel walls not too far off.

Cal, with his helmet tucked under his arm, breathed in deeply. Chest expanded and lowered as he turned his head to the side and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a throbbing pain that was knocking at his brain and he knew, from this moment onward, the rest of his day was not looking too great.

He lowered his gloved hand and white sleeve of his uniform before turning to face Solo. BD-1 clung to the back of his dress uniform and glanced between the two, the antennas perked up, followed by a flash of blue light to scan Solo. Cal didn't do anything to stop the droid. He thought it was 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 if Solo was temporarily flash banged by the rays of light. It only took a few seconds, so it should not be anything to complain about.

❝ And is there anyone applauding you, Solo ? ��� He glanced around the room as his next words started off with a huff and some laughter, only to end with a deadpan expression. ❝ Because there's no accolade here. You could face serious consequences. Vader— ❞

He stopped himself. Didn't even want to consider what would happen, had Vader been in his place. But maybe that's why Cal is the one present instead of his adoptive father.

A whir, coming from BD's antennas, sounded from behind him. Probably lowered the rods. Maybe Cal had started to raise his voice, as that's something BD usually does when that happens. Cal sighed.

❝ I'm letting you off with a warning. ❞ Though there were countless things Cal could have done, like revoking Solo's license as a pilot. Even a warning seemed absurd, but the results Solo delivered was deserving of some amount of generosity.

❝ Though, you are aware that your assumption could have killed others, correct ? ❞ The Grand Inquisitor had caught up on the word around this part of the Galaxy, anything that pertains to Solo's reputation, though only hearing the worst news as he directly asked superiors who the kriff Han Solo is and what was he doing in the sky.

❝ You made the assumption that everything would go well. Sure, you know how to fly a damn TIE. But you also have to take account the others following you. Especially the rookie. ❞

[stillsolo]

“Whatever you come up with, you can count me in.”

Mass Effect starters: All the Whispers   @sentinelmade | accepting 

INSTANT SATISFACTION AND THE IMPULSE TO DISMISS had a brief but furious war in han’s mind.  ❝thanks,❞  he managed, when neither came up victorious.  ❝didn’t think you’d believe it—me.  your precious council sure as hells didn’t.❞

a fraught silence hung between them as han scrubbed his knuckles across his chin.  questions haunted, just as they had before, with diffuse intentions;  prospects strung together, rattled by the seismic rush of destruction and change and yet, for the first time, han perceived the faintest spark of HOPE within this darkness.

kaidan alenko, human SPECTRE, had sided with him.

           but where was he when the GETH had stormed his home planet, CORELLIA, and tore it apart?  where was he when the EMPIRE had worked the blitz to their advantage, seizing dozens of worlds on the outer rim, weakened by war and starvation?  han cursed under his breath, threading tense fingers through shaggy hair, exasperated by the resurgence of bitter memory.   buncha irrational kraat,  han thought, as he collapsed in a chair, weariness gaining a hold on his face.  from what he gleaned off this SPECTRE, they weren’t super-humans—but if they could take down even a single GETH warship, han figured he might as well consider them as such.

❝what about your ALLIANCE?❞  solo peered up and met alenko’s open gaze.  ❝ … or is it ‘cause i’m an ‘alien’, they won’t help.❞

[stillsolo]

"I used to go home every night cursing myself for not having kissed you. Kind of wish I had the courage now."

oblivious-to-love starters | @faithprevailed

Between one thought and the next, Solo held himself still, in a wide margin of florescent light that reflected off of exposed durasteel, sharp and gleaming where paint had chipped and lay bare a better part of his ship.  Much like how he was now, exposed to Luke, his long-worn independence stripped away to reveal a rusted hull beneath, with all the sharp edges he couldn’t ever bear to uncover, too frightened to behold anything that could solidify actuality.

     So afraid to HURT.

Han hesitated a moment longer—but wasn’t that what he was always good at—living in the moment?  Taking anything offered, with both his hands.  What they could have       surprise relaxed Han’s features, his gaze, flickered into jarring recognition.  If this was a dream … One end of his generous mouth curled up at the poignant notion.  Caught to freedom, to the extreme boundary of this feeling—LOVE—a limit inside him he had yet to overcome …

❝Every night—❞    Solo wavered with an abrupt, uneasy chuckle, his dark gaze and stiff grin thrown to the side.  Filled close to BURSTING with expectation, and nothing to catch his fall …  Looking at Luke through the fringe of his bangs, he swallowed almost nervously, desperate to measure the distance between them.   ❝An’ how many nights was that?❞

         One thought repeated in answer:  me, too.

[stillsolo]

☄ idk if you are accepting but !!! for son in law !!!

       ☄  –  A LONG HUG  |  @amidalc

Although  she  wasn’t  the  LAST  to  fly  in,  judging  by  the  furrow  in  her  eyebrows,  the  hastened  pace  in  which  she  walked,  her  heels  click-clacking  against  polished  linoleum,  Padmé  may  have  considered  the  guilt-wracking  notion  as  her  reality.   Han  rose  from  a  line  of  chairs,  head  shaking  as  the  woman’s  expression  twisted  into  a  grief-stricken  frown,  swift  pace  warming  into  a  frantic  shuffle  until  Han  met  her  half-way  and  pulled  his  mother-in-law  into  a  tight  embrace.

Like  Leia,  Han  felt  again  the  minute  tremors,  and  it  tugged  at  his  chest  worse,  than  when  Anakin  had  barged  in  earlier  this  morning,  OUTRAGED  and  SHOUTING  on  the  very  top  of  his  lungs.    Leia  had  been  at  her  wit’s  end  to  stop  the  arguing             not  that  there  was  much  to  argue.    Anakin  hadn’t  been  wrong;  Luke  was  in  the  hospital  because  of  him.    ❝ Hell, ❞   Han  said  and  tried  not  to  choke  on  the  thickness,  lodged  in  his  throat.

                                           ❝  Padmé         ’m  so  sorry.  ❞  

[stillsolo]

✾ ( from luke!! )

            ✾ – A PASSIONATE HUG             // … @brokcnsouls

For a fleeting instant, Han was absolutely certain there could be nothing more he could ever want in this galaxy.  Little could compare to the sweet warmth of Luke’s body, pressed up snug against his tall frame, and the weight of his hands pulling his shirt down, clutching desperately still …  Luke had wanted the stars and now, Han — what more could he ask of life?  A precarious, greedy sort of love, balanced on the razor’s edge of pitfall and addiction, daring him to surmount or yield …

Han gently pushed Luke away by the shoulders, somewhat surprised the grip on him only became more vice-like.  Sighing, Han curled his fingers under Luke’s chin, lifted to meet hooded eyes, alight with feeling.  ❝I love you,❞  Han said quietly, a complete redundancy, given everything they’d gone through; incongruously, he continued in an even softer voice, ❝but I can’t do this anymore.❞

[stillsolo]

HE CAUGHT IT.          Without a doubt, Han caught it     the hastened, half-muttered remark, flung to launch him off-course the real issue, likely thought of the odds to ruffle his feathers, toss him into a dither or steer him towards another direction, far away from the actual matter in question and call it off from there.   Not a chance in hell, kid.    The boy’s chin had dipped somewhere along the lines, eyes darting anywhere and everywhere as if he hadn’t thought about what if Han heard him, and yes, Han heard him all right.  Squinting, he straightened up from his work-space to scrutinize his son.

‘Cept, from across the garage, it bordered near distressing to watch the disquiet come alive on Finn’s half-ducked features, imparting an inordinate yearning for either he or Han to take a hike already.  Walking out would only yank at the unwelcome questions, one of the many unflagging facets they were both aware of.  Acknowledged but untouched, such concepts had hibernated somewhere deep and safe with never a sign …

Upon the exacting pull in his chest, Han cursed and set aside his tools.  ❝All right, junior.❞  Han supplied his usual laconic drawl while rubbing his temples, acknowledging his resignation and felt weariness spread into his mind the second he dragged a hand down the middle half of his face, flushing the skin ruddy.  Why here and now, in his garage of all places?  No time to contemplate a better approach …     // @hedefects

For another moment more, Han stood with his hands on his hips and his face turned towards the open driveway, towards chill air and the distant rumble of thunder, his eyes filled with the darkening sky out there as he remembered.  Savored the untainted feel of happy memory, because few things in his life weren’t overcast with the paradoxes of asperity.

              Maybe this’s part of the process, he thought, too fast to stop himself.                           They grow up.    Then, they don’t need you anymore.

❝Let’s talk.  Y’know—’bout the stuff you've been hiding from me,❞  Han gestured vaguely, awkward, and broke off again to make it an outright question.  ❝What the hell ‘s been goin’ on, Finn?  You've been in your own goddamned world ‘n I can't reach you.❞

[stillsolo]

ａｎｉ | @adxesperascit

He’s sinking into himself, for it’s all before him now. The darkness; the cold; the look that moves within a silhouette in his eyes; the storm within the quiet.

He is the dominant one, victorious and alive; protecting what is his. Anakin’s in control. His life and those around him exist because he’s willing to do anything it takes to ensure their survival. He tells himself this as his eyes move from corpse to corpse, ensuring their presence gone, believing his own lie because it’s an easier truth for him to face.

❝are they dead? did you ... kill them?❞

Feeling the fury closing in, he’s slow to inhale.

There’s no remorse in his tone, as blue eyes moved to bare themselves before Han. There was a truth to the intensity behind his gaze, as he felt both broken and complete. Some shackle somewhere in his mind breaking off from his person and clattering to the floor, exposing him.

❝Yes.❞ He speaks with such presence and absolution, yet it overtakes him that he feels nothing but triumph in their deaths. ❝They were slavers, Han. I couldn’t—❞ his gaze drops and his left hand shakes with the memories that those people dredged up within his mind. How different his life could have been had it not been for scum like these rodents who lay unmoving around Anakin, the boy from Tatooine. He squeezes his hand to still his anger over a life that he once lived, yet it fades onto his face with the furrowing of his brows, ❝I had to.❞

He can’t look at Han, not like this. Not when all of who he is branded before the other man, whom he needs in this world more than anything. His jaw clenches as he swallows, clipping his lightsaber onto his hip.

From blackness, a glittering cityscape emerged from the rows of windows, infinitely remote in the gloom of his chambers.  Han watched him across the shadowed distance he alone had to sail.  To trace the haunted stillness that enfolded the man, feel it wrap around him and loosen into obscurity, and know he could diffuse it back into the midnight, where it belonged.

Han presented his thoughts to leap with the flickers of candlelight, dancing on the floor’s reflective surface as the mind flitted back and forth, frantic in touching base with several notions at random.  When he opened his eyes, lightning tore the sky and lit the window over the door.  Han stared at him, half of his face contoured by the pale, yellow candlelight, the other half veiled in shadows.  Something lurked in his chest, familiar as it was inexorable.

He needed time to contrive—to lay waste to the strain that drew his thoughts back to the nights before, spent struggling to counter The Empire’s ambush at Tyrena.  Anakin hadn’t been there, nor was he during the long months prior, the weeks Han spent preparing the marked capitals for a full-scale war.          He’d needed Anakin then, more than ever.

❝So you did whatcha had t’ do.❞      He picked up his own steady breathing in the stillness of his quarters, loose strands of starlight weaving outside, cajoling the night sky into peerless beauty.  He tasted again the surge forming under his tongue as he revived the moment Anakin turned up at the gates.  Disbelief and the startling sweep of indignation wrote a bizarre mixture—but nothing could reach as close to the sporadic tension in his body now, collapsing the distance within himself.

The instinct to go searching all but staked its claim on him a dozen times and over, and of course, there hadn’t been a choice.   There never was.   He’d gathered and set aside the fierce regret, aware of how much it cost him — a payment made at the heart’s expense.

       Time rearranged itself into its linear progression, and the sky lit up again.                                                        ❝Do you feel better?❞

[stillsolo]

"you're not going anywhere without me. especially anywhere dangerous."

        Turning on his heel, Han drove a savage glare toward the young man.  When cornered into points of uncertainty, Luke’s tolerance ran as thin as ever.  Would’ve appreciated it a helluva lot more if Han didn’t HATE when it turned up at the worst of times.  Almost as touching as it was PROVOKING, like grappling with a wall of karkin' permacrete.

        Han narrowed his eyes, an explicit indignation held trapped between clenched teeth.  ❝ Yeah, keep standin’ on that ankle ‘n we’ll jus’ SEE if you’ll be of any godsdamn help when there’s ‘DANGER’. ❞  There was a satirical spin on the words.  He was not in the proper state of mind to assert peripheral stamps of authority, regardless of his title.  ALLIANCE GENERAL or not, uninjured or not.  Couldn’t shuffle all the aces when conditions read as grave as he’d been dreading.

[stillsolo]

6.  Washing their hair [ x ]  |  @techniiciian​ 

In no doubt was it inconvenient in the sort of way that Han found humorous, which made the whole thing even more awkward, but a helluva lot funnier.  Given, it was laughable for him and maybe not so much for Luke or Matthew, but it was still amusing.  Because really, how was Han supposed to know how easily a Corellian male his age, could pull a muscle?  Sure, Han had seen the backside of thirty a couple of years back, still smooth sailing to his forties.  It was nothing to make a fuss about, he was in his prime as Chewie had once said.

All in all, pulling a muscle was just as common as a teenager spraining their ankle, right?                  . . .  Right.

Except, when it came to standing upright, along with doing a few more essential things a man like him needed doing, Han had been quick to discover he couldn’t do much.  AT ALL.  Forget trying to bend over, simply raising his arms above his waistline was already a nightmare.  

And so, life suddenly became startlingly difficult for this man, a hot-blooded Corellian who lived and breathed independence as though he could one day embody the very concept.  

❝Ow— owww —OW!!❞  Yelping, Han tried to twist his head around, then cried again when his stiff muscles screamed in protest.  He slumped in the chair they’d hauled into the water shower, some salty discharge pricked the corners of his eyes, watering them.  Han blamed the shampoo suds sliding down his left temple.  

      Han huffed.    ❝Could ya hurry it up already?  I’m pruning.❞

[stillsolo]

“I’ve done… questionable things.”

      By biting down on his cheek, Han successfully stifled the impulse to suck on his teeth, his upper lip twitching rapidly in annoyance.  As much as he wanted to remain hostile, he was aware it was simply a facade he couldn’t maintain.  In the end, Han could hardly blame him.  However, that didn’t mean he would spare the kid—no, not this time.  Han had let Luke go once before, marked it still as one of his greatest regrets to date; he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

      ❝ Right.  Questionable. ❞  The sharp knob of his throat bobbed as he downed the remaining half of his whiskey.  Han blew out a long, winded sigh, then slanted a pointed look to the so-called, SITH LORD.   ❝ An’ what am I s’posed t’ do about that? ❞         // @adarkpath

[stillsolo]

  ✩*:･ﾟ  ⏤⏤⏤   @techniiciian

Don’t be grumpy dad. I’m not gonna run off and join the glee club.

Annoyance burns up Han’s throat, loose and wholly irrational, at even the faintest notion of Matthew ever joining his school's club.  If his son wants to sing, that's fine by Han.  So long as he keeps his grades up, Han wouldn't have a single care in the world.  Though, that’s beside the problem; Han just doesn't like that one kid.

Thus, Matthew’s father reacting with an almost reliable manner of disapproval, scowling deeply and running his mouth the second he has lifted his head from his breakfast, hell-bent to clarify more than a couple of things.  Except, a tiny voice that sounds a helluva lot like Luke, informs him he really shouldn't unless he wants a comfy spot on the couch tonight.  ❝I ain't grumpy,❞  he mutters, suddenly sobered, then points his fork at Matthew with one brow mounted high.  ❝Tease me again an' I'll stop pickin' up those avocados y' love so much.❞

[stillsolo]

@tatooinelight liked for an x-mas starter   ––––   !

🚙 Our muses drive/walk around to look at peoples x-mas lights at night!

❝What?❞  Han prompts, even as the answer drops on him, plunging down from the sky like the meteor he's hoping will end him, right here, right now, so he won't have to endure the near cringe-worthy embarrassment rising at the back of his neck, red and scorching and fanning vibrant color over his cheekbones, flushing his skin worse than the falling snow around them already has.  

All right ━ FINE.   Solo could yield to the rapid rise of likelihood.  Maybe, just maybe—walking with Luke, in the middle of the night, in a neighborhood neither of them even lived in, just to look at random people's holiday decorations draped over their front yards is ... a little weird.   Just a little.  

❝Don't gimme that look.❞ Han sniffs and pulls up the collar of his coat, avidly avoiding Luke's laser blue gaze.  It's blinding.  The kid's blinding 'cause he won't stop grinning.  Probably can't stop 'cause he looks like an idiot.  Why did he take Lando's advice?  The hell's so charming about a freezing-cold walk and looking at houses?  ❝Don't tell me you ain't ever stopped to look at a ... a nicely decorated house.❞

[stillsolo]

💕 [however you want to interpret it/have it go down :v]

Send 💕 for my muse to give yours a New Year Kiss!   @sensitivewanderer

Han supposed he probably should’ve stuck with the latter choice.  Not only was this dive not his usual scene, the crowd’s joyous laughter rang obnoxiously and the native’s music was considered, more or less, complete racket to Han’s ears.  However, his clear-cut annoyance hardly dulled the surprise of when he felt the initial tug to his shirt-front, and for exactly two, incredibly long seconds, Han teetered wildly atop the tall bar stool, a feather’s touch from tipping the hell over.  

By the time he gathered enough sense to slam the heel of his boot down to the floor and steady himself, the tug returned with a newfound vengeance, but instead, yanked him down.  This time, Han yielded for all of the four seconds it took him to discern what the hell was happening.  Amidst Han’s utter bewilderment, a warm mouth had pressed against his own.

Shock held him still for a brief lapse of time, up until the cogs in his brain began to turn once more.  Han’s line of sight fell down to the short stack practically hanging off his filswikin’ neck, New Year’s countdown echoing still.

❝Well, well, well… junior,❞  Solo drawled in open amusement, then pulled back some so he could get a good look at who, and or what exactly, kissed him.  This flea-bitten bar was about as classy as any of the other establishments Han would haunt in-between runs.  Except, there was no denying he hadn’t seen someone as easy on the eyes as this kid was, in a long, long time.

Han offered a lopsided grin.     ❝Happy New Year t’ you, too.❞ 

[stillsolo]

ｐｒｉｎｃｅ

❝I won’t be given to anyone!  Especially an arrogant, pampered brat!❞

   For a moment, it was as though a glint of flame flickered behind blue eyes. He had received worse insults before, from people in even more important positions, so why had the Corellian man’s words drawn such a reaction from him? Anger, raw and unchecked, crept into his countenance - but soon after it appeared, something seemed to cause it to withdraw.

   He knew that if his father had been spoken to in such a way, he would have immediately reached out with the force, closing it in coils around the offender’s neck, tightening until no more of such things could be said, until his point had been made; but Luke was not his father. Instead, he took on an officer’s stance, hands clasping behind his back as he looked Solo up and down with a piercing, scrutinous gaze that could have made most stormtroopers squirm behind their pristine white armor.

   “Yet, you have been brought to me, all the same.” Emboldened, he stepped closer, realizing belatedly that he would now have to look up at him in order to maintain eye contact. He could feel the many sets of eyes watching them, watching him as the hall had gone silent. Suddenly, he felt… an unsettling sense of eagerness from some of the Empire’s assembled guests, as though some of them expected his reaction and the captive’s fate to provide some form of entertainment. In that moment, he felt ill.

   That sort of amusement was not something that he cared to provide.

   A slow breath was drawn, held, then released. He did not retrace his steps to move back, but instead moved to the side, around him. “I trust that your treatment thus far has been up to Imperial standards.” For a split second something seemed to trouble him, but he pushed it away with a shake of his head as he came around to the man’s other side in a continuation of the slow circle. He made a sweeping, yet somehow vague gesture to their surroundings. “It is impressive, isn’t it?”

It stung.

Han’s wrists began to sting before he’d stepped foot on the Death Star.  Tight leather restraints had rubbed him red and raw in the Imperial cell, welted bloody when they’d hustled him out, then cuffed him quickly again with new, shiny metal bands.  Han shifted on his feet as he looked at nothing in particular, only able to recall the sensation of adrenaline flying up his gut, as well as the stark terror that chased recognition.  Imperial stun cuffs; distributed especially for the disorderly types.  Clearly, his new cuffs were a maximum-security prison grade, exceedingly painful when discharged.  

There was no need for a test run.  Imperial stun cuffs weren’t designed to tame rowdy convicts, it was so Imperials wouldn’t have to squander the energy needed to control boisterous inmates.  He was certain of what it could — what it would do to humanoid brains.  Past colleagues may have confidently pinned it on Imperial brain-washing and vicious torture methods, but Han had always known better.  Knew because he'd cuffed criminals like himself, back when he’d slipped into Imperial ranks, all game to try anything that’d help wipe his past clean.  

He’d seen enough people fry their bodies with just a few shocks, saw what they were like afterward; how they couldn’t even put one foot in front of the other — and that was if they survived.  Elka always said that he couldn’t run away from his past forever.  Inescapable like the wheel in the sky, his past would turn and round back to him.  Except, Han never would’ve expected things to pan out like this.  

Borderline humiliating was what it was, standing in front of the Prince of The Empire in nothing but the attire he normally donned for extensive starship repairs, well-worn but loved, and thickly caked in a mixture of engine grease, sweat, and blood.

Although Han arrived utterly disheveled, downright filthy against the backdrop of polished nobles gathered, the lot of them either pinching their noses in an exaggerated manner or murmuring quietly, utterly awestruck, as if they’ve never once seen an ordinary man — buncha godsdamned pampered kreetles surrounded him — Han held his head high.  Elka taught him better than to cower now, of all times.  Han leveled a sneer at Skywalker’s question, his haughty laughter jerking his shoulders slightly.  

❝Y’know, your worship, I ain’t one t’ ever ask for too much, but don’t you think this was just a bit unnecessary?❞  Hazel eyes flickered down to the cuffs binding Han’s hands together.  Eh, it was worth a try.  ❝So…❞  Solo tossed a wink to the crowd, their scandalized gasps merely goaded him tenfold.  Lolling his head back, Han’s grin fell lopsided as he attempted a desultory sweep of the grand ballroom.  It slid off completely by the time he questioned again.  ❝Wait, this’s what you call impressive?❞

Across the distance of several inches, Han met icy blue eyes.  Features frigid, the corner of Han’s mouth twisted into a feral sneer, a blackness inflating below the surface with a distant spark of promise.  ❝’Cause all I see’re a buncha plump politicians havin’ a fancy tea party while their home-worlds suffer.  Their people starvin’ t’death under your Empire’s rule.  … Actually, I gotta say that is pretty impressive—fallin’ that low.❞