#14 year old me felt my heart stir when he said that stuff about ‘I march to the beat of my own drum’

[silkhy-john]

Recently restarted pokemon conquest and remembered all the characters I had crushes in for various reasons like???

[harryandmolly]

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *5*

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, NSFW (unprotected sex), The Reckoning pt. 1 (this warning brought to you by Georgie Kingston)

wc: 4.7k

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“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. I mean… wow.”

“I know, right?”

Shawn and Lilly are sitting up in Lilly’s bed, her sheets pooled around their naked hips. Her phone sits between them, glowing the only light in the room. Her home screen is a picture of Lauren dressed as the Statue of Liberty from Halloween in college.

At first when Lilly checked the time, she was sure it said 5:04 PM. But given the time of year, it was too dark for that to be true. Shawn stirred and they inspected it together, equally bewildered. 

5:04 AM. They slept for a clean 14 hours. By the way they each stretch and groan, neither of them moved a muscle the whole time. Lilly feels like she’s at the brink of atrophy, with a comfortable soreness between her legs. 

She looks over at Shawn. He’s bleary-eyed, extra flushed from all the body heat they produce in the same bed together, with pillow marks on his cheeks and chest. Lilly has a mark across her side from the weight of his arm. It’s like they’ve been asleep for years.

Lilly lets her phone screen go dark. Dawn isn’t coming for a while. They’re alone. Their breathing syncs. Shawn yawns. Lilly follows. The quiet aches.

She reaches over to her nightstand and flicks on the lamp. The orange glow is made warmer than usual with his big brown eyes watching her. It’s different, though, than it has been. He’s not watching her like one of them is impersonating a dog in an ASPCA commercial. It’s curious and gentle, but there’s a confidence there, too. It seems she’s missed it.

“Hello there,” she sighs, coming down onto one folded arm on her side. He follows, mirroring her.

“Hi.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, looking him over. He squirms a little under her gaze.

“Thanks for shaving the gross facial hair.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “No problem. My mum made it pretty clear that she was going to ask me to shave it every time I FaceTimed her, so it was just delaying the inevitable.”

Lilly’s brows lift. “Did you like the gross facial hair?”

Shawn chuckles. “No. I guess I was just curious. I don’t really get to try shit like that most of the time. So.”

She nods, continuing her inspection, as though she hasn’t looked at him in the weeks they’ve been in Mandeville Canyon together. She doesn’t comment on his weight or the pallor of his skin. She has no business, given the way she’s been treating her own body. She internalizes it and moves on.

Timidly, she lifts her hand through his hair. His eyes flutter shut, he nuzzles into it automatically. She feels that ache between her thighs again, more prominently this time.

“But about the hair… maybe I should cut it. If you want me to.”

Shawn’s eyes brighten. “I didn’t know you could cut hair.”

“Oh, I can’t. I mean, I haven’t yet. But I’ll watch a video, we’ll be fine.”

He hesitates only for a moment, surprising her. “Ok. Yeah. It’s probably time.”

Lilly feels an odd sensation getting out of that bed and it can’t be blamed on low blood sugar or dehydration. The writer in her feels a scene ending when Shawn pulls himself up and walks into her shower, leaving the door open when he turns on the water and inspects his hair in the mirror, along with a couple of zits. The finality is an illusion, because life isn’t so neatly told like a screenplay. Even though she feels the scene is over, she has to stand up and find a clean pair of panties and think of some search terms to find a useful hair cutting tutorial on YouTube. There’s another scene and she doesn’t know what it is yet. She doesn’t even know what she wants it to be. But there’s putting the laptop down and walking away. There’s no stopping it.

Lilly wanders into the kitchen in panties and a tank top, too preoccupied to notice the utility scissors when she opens drawers looking for them. His footsteps are house-shakingly loud as they carry him from her side of the house to neutral ground. He arrives with a towel around his waist. His hair looks even more like sad limp noodles when it’s wet. He stops in the doorway, watching her. He waits until she pulls a chair into the empty space between the breakfast table and the island, under a bright cluster of lights. He takes the invitation to sit.

He even smells warm, somehow. Lilly’s urge to lick up the rivulets of tepid water coasting over the mountains and valleys of his back is disorienting.

They watch the tutorial together on her phone. It seems a small concession to make, given what he’s putting her in charge of. He doesn’t have any specific direction to give her beyond longer on top, shorter on the sides. So she goes hunting for some inspiration.

You would think she would know better than to dive into the “Shawn Mendes” tag on Tumblr. The seizing half-hiccup, half-pseudo stroke sensation she gets from accidentally coming upon a hoard of pictures of them together is back. Lilly blames a recent lack of exposure for the completely noticeable, pity-inducing reaction. Her callous has softened. After an awkward few seconds, she pivots to Google.

“I think we’re going for… like… February 2019 hair. That was really good hair,” Lilly insists, plowing ahead, gesturing to photos of him on the red carpet at the 2019 Brit Awards.

“Yeah,” Shawn replies, “That was good hair. Maybe a little longer on the sides though. I liked what I had going, like, before quarantine.”

Lilly grumbles something under her breath about googling photos of that era over her dead body. Shawn relents.

“It’s fine, you should cut it-- just cut it however. It’s fine.”

Lilly begins by balling up a little tuft from the top of his head into a teeny bun. She stands between his legs to arrange it, making sure it’s even on both sides. His eyes remain on his feet the whole time.

She starts at the back of his neck, smoothing his curls out to decide how much to trim. Her fingers are more helpful than the comb, she soon realizes, in keeping them flat enough to judge. She begins by cutting it shorter at the base of his neck so the short curls can do the sproing thing she likes. As she moves up the back of his scalp, she leaves it longer until she hits his funny little man bun. When the silence breaks, she’s so jarred she has to ask him to repeat himself.

“I…” he clears his throat, “I think it’s time that you ask me some of those questions.”

Lilly hates that she knows him so well she doesn’t have to ask which ones. She fluffs out the back of his head with her fingers and decides it’s not completely tragic, so she moves onto his left side.

There are considerations, of course. Is her stuff in a state that she could easily pack and bail in a short time frame if he reveals himself to be dumber than originally feared? Is digging up old dirt to toss it over a wound that won’t heal really necessary?

Is it a good idea to have this conversation while she’s wielding something that could easily be used as a deadly weapon?

Lilly takes a long moment to blink and sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, eyeing the way his hair wraps over the tip of his ear. She brushes it with the pad of her thumb. It reddens.

There’s a preamble in her head, one that lectures him about the absolute necessity of honesty in this situation, the futility of the exercise if he’s not willing to be completely transparent. When she notes the way his knee bobs anxiously, she stops it in its frilly-worded tracks.

She pulls curls off the side of his neck, right over the freckles she likes, and snips.

“When did it start?”

Shawn doesn’t shrink or react in any noticeable way. This isn’t a surprising question.

“I started feeling it when we were in working on Senorita. We weren’t really talking much before that. We started texting a little. It was the first time I felt anything for her since you and me started.”

Lilly sections off the hair above his ear and starts to feel herself working slower. She remembers the first time she heard about the idea of the Senorita collab when he told her over the phone. He sounded tired. Lilly was enthusiastic, knowing he and Camila had been closer before Lilly was in the picture. She felt some guilt for driving some kind of wedge between them, however unintentional. The collab seemed like a nice way to reconnect with a friend.

“The music video.”

Lilly doesn’t phrase it as a question. She doesn’t need to.

“That was when things came more… into focus. She and her ex were in the process of breaking up. I didn’t know for sure then what was going to happen. But it was the first time I thought something actually might.”

Lilly focuses on the way his hair sits above his ear, debating about how short to cut it. She recalls FaceTiming with him from rehearsals. He was so excited. He was nervous about dancing. Lilly teased him. He reminded her repeatedly that he loved her. She wonders if it was more for him to hear out loud than it was for her.

“What exactly happened between you before you broke up with me?”

Shawn flinches slightly. Lilly feels the sick pleasure of it sizzling in her fingers, imagines a tick arriving with a satisfying ping in her nonexistent column.

Shawn takes a deep breath. “It was… at one of the viewing things before the final cut of the video. We got drunk.”

Lilly’s heart slams in her chest like a fish out of water. This was a mistake.

“I knew she and Matthew were done but I asked anyway. We were… we were the last ones there and just fucking around, being goofy. I kissed her.”

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Shawn doesn’t ask to look at whether she’s defacing one of his calling cards.

“Anything else?” Lilly asks coolly, wondering if a fuck might’ve actually felt like less of a soul-deep betrayal. Doesn’t matter, probably. She still lost him.

“Not until after.”

Lilly systematically strokes her fingers through his hair as she switches over, angling to determine if the sides are even. Her stomach hurts.

“Did you tell her you were going to leave me before you did?”

She watches him swallow.

“Yes.”

Lilly remembers the image she had of her sitting in the back of a dark Uber Black, hunched over her phone, waiting outside Lilly’s house for the deed to be done.

The questions are sprouting faster than Lilly can come up with a strategy for dealing with them. She takes a weed whacker to her mind unsuccessfully.

“What did she-- how did she--”

Lilly stalls out and drops her scissored hand by her side. Shawn looks over at her patiently. He doesn’t cower or turn away or guilt her out of this line of questioning with a glance.

Lilly shakes her head and waves her not-sharp hand for him to turn his head back. She gets to work evening out the sides, pinching his strawberry-scented ringlets, making a focused effort not to yank at them.

“All the pictures�� the paps, whatever. Did you consider what that would do to me?”

Shawn keeps his head forward, eyes fixed on the refrigerator at the other side of the room. He wets his lips and speaks, “I… didn’t really let myself focus on it. I told myself it wasn’t really my fault, I wasn’t the one calling them and doing all that shit we did in the beginning. I told myself it wasn’t about me and Camila, it was about the single, so anything we did to promote the single was ok.”

“That was a very long-winded no.” Lilly keeps her voice even.

“There’s so much I did that I handled completely fucking wrong. We, I mean you and I, we were hitting this point, this weird, shitty point where we were both really busy and couldn’t be around each other that much. It had been over a year and the, like, giddiness wasn’t there at the time. Like, neither of us was that happy then.”

Lilly’s nostrils flare. Her lips purse and begin to part, ready to unleash hell.

“I used it as a shitty fucking excuse for something I was probably going to do anyway.”

Lilly takes a step back. She drops the scissors beside him and crosses her arms, staring expectantly. Shawn takes the scissors and fiddles with them.

“The honest, stupid fucking truth is that I had this… I dunno, this thing for her. I could never totally let go of it. That’s not to say I wasn’t happy with you, or that I was thinking about her when I was with you… that was never it. But when she started showing interest in me, when she was telling me about the shit with Matthew, I just… I think I felt like it had to happen. Like something I had to get out of my system. I romanticized it at the time; it felt like fate, maybe.”

“I’ve heard the song, Shawn,” Lilly snaps. Shawn blinks hard, but is otherwise still.

“I know. I know you, Lill, I know you’ve been through the whole catalogue, tearing it apart, deciding what was about her.”

He’s not wrong, Lilly thinks bitterly.

“I felt this weird kind of instant relief when I was sure she wanted me. It checked this old box that felt like it was going to stay unchecked forever. I felt so shitty, calling it off with you, but it felt like I was doing what I was supposed to. But it wouldn’t have felt so shitty if it were really what I was meant to do.”

“Do you realize how entitled and selfish you sound right now?”

“Yes.”

The tightness in Lilly’s face relaxes, her expression blank. She wasn’t expecting such an easy response. She wasn’t expecting a real response at all.

“I do. It’s ok if you don’t believe me, I don’t really blame you. I haven’t given you any reason to. But if we have a shot in hell, and fuck, I hope we do, I think you need to hear this. I don’t think you’ll ever stop wondering unless I really lay it all out.”

Lilly swallows a lump in her throat and releases the tuft of hair, sliding the elastic back on her wrist. As she ruffles through his damp hair, Shawn’s eyes slide closed.

“Keep talking,” Lilly whispers.

“So I did it. I ignored how fucking bad I felt after that initial relief. Like, not just bad because of our fight, just… bad. I had done the wrong thing. I made the wrong choice. I do still think it was the choice I was going to make because I’m fucking young and stupid. I just--”

His jaw tenses, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Lilly waits patiently, parting his hair.

“I might’ve always wondered. I’m a hopeless romantic idiot. But at least now she’s not the one that got away anymore. She’s the one I tried it with and realized it didn’t work.”

Lilly closes her eyes and exhales through her nose. She waits for the words to hit all the spots they did before when he tried to talk this out with her, the pain points. Spots that made her snarl and retch and wail and slash at him. Instead they feel like a rising tide around her knees.

“So… what happened?” she whispers.

“For a while we lived on the high of the single. Both our teams were so focused on it and on us. The VMAs and everything, finishing tour. By the time the Grammys came around I think we were both so fucking sick of that song. The backlash that came from all the media attention… it didn’t just go away like we hoped it would. I started laying really low on social. She was getting ready for tour and I was working on the album. Not being focused on the same thing, on promoting one song, it helped put things more into perspective I think. Pulling away started to feel… natural.

“And then the pandemic came. It felt like a time to hit reset. I went down to Miami and felt pretty stupid because everything just got so much worse every day and I was worried about not even being able to leave. But… we were on the same page, basically. It wasn’t fun, but it was… right. Neither of us wanted it. We tried it, it ended. I think… I mean, we don’t hate each other. I don’t think we’ll be like, writing friends again. But maybe eventually we’ll talk again.”

Lilly sucks at her front teeth. “You haven’t talked at all since you left?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Shawn looks thoughtful. “Not… yet. I don’t think I have anything to say that we haven’t said already. Maybe… I dunno, maybe that was part of it. I always felt like I wanted to talk to you, like I always had stuff to tell you, even stupid stuff. Me and Camila ran out of stuff.”

Lilly shifts to stand in front of him, keeping her gaze on his hair, though her eyes are not in focus. She sifts her hands through it while she thinks.

“I still have more questions. I’m just…”

She trails off. Shawn nods carefully.

“It’s ok. I’m… not going anywhere.”

Lilly’s eyes shut. “I think it’s important for you to understand that when you say things like that, my head immediately comes back with “but you did.” You did go somewhere. You didn’t come back for a long time.”

Shawn pauses, then nods again. Lilly sighs.

“I’m not saying this to punish you anymore. I don’t want that. It’s not doing anything for me. But you need to understand that I can’t just turn it back on. Even when you make me want to.”

Shawn’s expression clears. He turns his head slowly as she continues ruffling his hair, snipping odds and ends. She doesn’t look down at him.

“I do understand. I’ll wait, Lill. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“And what if I don’t know what I need?”

Shawn looks unconcerned. “Then I’ll wait for you to.”

Lilly continues sculpting his hair like a topiary. He looks older with his hair this way. She thinks it’s not a total disaster, maybe.

“I have another question,” she announces. Shawn waits expectantly.

“If the pandemic didn’t happen… when were you going to end it? When were you going to come to me?”

Shawn’s brows raise, but he looks far away again. ���Truth is I almost did a few times. A bunch of times after the holidays. I had this countdown clock in my head because I knew as soon as we finished the album, I wouldn’t just be able to spontaneously come see you, not if I wanted to spend any real time with you. I just kept scaring myself out of it.”

She understands that, especially given the way their first meeting went down.

Lilly internalizes the answer, then turns back to her imaginary notes. Each question has a line through it. Nothing new materializes. She frowns.

“I don’t have any more questions.”

Shawn bobs his head, watching her closely.

“I might have more questions later,” she continues. His expression doesn’t change.

Lilly drops her hands to his shoulders. He blinks but reorients himself, slowly guiding his hands to her hips. She steps closer. His knees widen. As Lilly folds herself over him, pressing her face into his hair, he collapses into her, his forehead against her sternum. Her relief is narcotic. Her head hasn’t been this truly empty since… she can’t remember when.

He smells like her. He’s holding her. He’s breathing her air. He’s hers. Little by little, she’s starting to believe it.

Lilly steps around his legs and lowers into his lap. Their eyes are nearly level. Shawn locks his arms around her back. His nose brushes hers.

“Ok,” Lilly murmurs.

Shawn inhales and exhales deeply. “Ok.”

Lilly’s hands rest on his chest as he kisses her. He doesn’t come at her with fire and brimstone this time. He has nothing to prove. He knows exactly how good it feels. He seems to want to slow down and enjoy this as much as she does. He kisses her long and slow because they have the time. His hands remain mostly still. He seems to feel that she needs the stasis, despite their frenzied night.

Shawn’s kisses whisper to Lilly with each pass -- is this ok? How about this? I don’t want to push it. I care too much to push it. They’re the easiest sentiments to believe when they’re said like this.

Lilly drapes her arms around his shoulders, enjoying the breadth of them, plucking her lips away in shorter bursts until they’re pecking innocently, smiling with closed eyes between points of contact.

“Do you want to check out your hair?” Lilly offers, shifting back in his lap. He’s the most marvelous shade of pink.

“Oh,” he starts, pulling a hand up into the still damp chunky strands, “I can look later. I’m sure it’s great. It feels way lighter, actually.”

Lilly is smug. “You just want to sit here and keep kissing.” His smile is megawatt. She’s blinded.

“Can you blame me?”

Kissing him is… completely lovely. Lilly refamiliarizes herself with him in a way she didn’t yesterday. Her fingers find the tendons in his shoulders, the ridge of his adam’s apple, the little hoop in his earlobe. It���s a redundant kind of flirtation, given that she’s already in his lap, but it might be more for her than for him.

His lips skate down her neck as they break for air. He tucks kisses under her hair over marks she doesn’t remember him leaving. Lilly closes her eyes and exhales slowly, letting herself hate them a little for tearing each other to shreds. It wasn’t like them. Even when they were at their most frantic together, it wasn’t like that.

Lilly feels a lump in her throat. He must sense the change in her breathing. But instead of pulling away to check on her, Shawn pulls her closer, fills all the spaces her body leaves until she’s cradled against him, chest shuddering. He presses his nose into her hair and rocks her softly, back and forth, until he feels her tears dripping off his shoulder down his bare back.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, the vibration from his voice tremoring through her body, “If it feels good to cry, you should cry.”

Shawn has a way of saying things to her that would bring her no relief to hear them from anyone else. Even though she believes him, and she’s pretty sure he’d sit here into the night and let her cry herself dry against him, she pulls back. He looks her over. She stares at his swollen mouth. He sweeps his thumbs beneath her eyes.

“I’m sick of crying,” she tells him with a short nod. He nods back. His eyes are clear and so warm. His hands sift back into her hair and hold it all, scrunching tumbling, escaping strands like he can’t bear to let any of her go. He kisses her breathless.

“Be gentle with me,” Lilly pleads on a sigh, releasing him only long enough to undress. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

He’s always been patient, even when she could barely stand to let herself be touched by him. He waits until every sound out of her chest is nearly a whine and her fingers curl into his freshly cut hair, cajoling him. When their bodies finally connect, he’s slow and deliberate, the tips of their noses together, their fingers clenched together against her thigh. She doesn’t thrash or force or scrape for him. He doesn’t stop until she’s melted for him, draped over his shoulder, panting with need. She clings, he gives. When she’s finished, she cups the back of his neck and whispers until he’s shaking beneath her.

They slither to the kitchen floor, exhausted, reluctant. He tosses tufts of his shorn hair at her. She pretends to put it back where she cut it off. They order from a local cafe for breakfast and kiss until the food is cold.

+

“So when do you want me to cut your hair?”

Lilly looks up from the Instacart order in progress on her phone. His arm is around her shoulders, his fingers sifting through the dry ends of her gold hair. He said it like he’s reminding her of something she had already asked of him. Her brow furrows.

“You’re not cutting my hair.”

Shawn looks down and mirrors her expression. “What?”

“I’m not letting you cut my hair, Shawn.”

He gawps. “But you just cut mine!”

“Yeah, what the fuck were you thinking? Your hair is like half the reason people like you.”

Shawn’s eyes light up. His grin is so big she thinks his face is gonna split. This time, she’s the one mirroring him.

“You seriously don’t trust me to cut your hair? It can’t be that hard, your hair is straight. I just have to keep it even.”

“But I have layers,” Lilly explains patiently, turning to pull her legs up beside her on the couch, “And my stylist uses thinning shears, which we don’t have. And also… you’re not cutting my hair, Shawn.”

He huffs and pulls away. “Maybe not when you’re awake anyway.”

Lilly looks up from her phone. He’s wearing an impish smile. She kisses it until his lips are soft and pliable against hers, and he’s making the little content sounds she likes.

Shawn gets curious and trails his kisses off down her jaw. Lilly’s eyes are shut. She’s getting ready to crawl into his lap for the third time in 24 hours when her phone buzzes with a news alert.

LA County extended shutdown to all but essential business through July.

They stare at the phone together. Shawn’s brows lift. He rubs a hand over his mouth.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

Lilly chews her lip. July?

July.

Quietly, because they’re both in their own heads, they make their way to the kitchen to continue taking stock of the groceries they have and what they need. Lilly’s head is swimming in numbers -- will the bump in unemployment continue? Is she going to have to ask for her parents’ help with rent? Could this go through the end of the summer, or even longer?

She senses him behind her even through the haze of her own anxiety. He places a hand on her hip, his thumb rubbing the worn cotton of her t-shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, more as a request than a demand. Lilly turns and tucks herself into his arms. He rocks her back and forth on their bare feet, which make a soft smushing sound against the cool tile. He’s sturdy enough to rest her weight against. Her hands clamor up only as far as his shoulder blades. It feels good.

“I know it’s really, really bad,” Shawn says into her ear, “Like, really bad, if they’re shutting down through July. But… I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Lilly rolls her eyes and lifts her head as her hands drift down his back.

“Yeah, seems like your plan is working out nicely. Taking me hostage, and all.”

He seems pleased with her teasing. He nods.

“Yep, got ya right where I want ya,” he admits, shrugging.

Lilly shakes her head and dives deeper into false dramatics. “Luring me here in my vulnerable state. You’re like Dracula. This is Stockholm syndrome. I should know, there’s a One Direction song about it. You’re holding me here against my will.”

Shawn grins again, that same face-breaking grin from before. It warms Lilly through more than the afternoon sun streaming in through the kitchen windows. He presses his forehead against hers.

“Your hands are on my asscheeks right now,” he points out.

She squeezes them. He flinches and somehow smiles even wider.

“Stockholm. Syndrome,” she insists, giggling until his lips meet hers again.

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Taglist: @smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod​ @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven @shaawnie @shawn-youth​ @graysonmendes​

[bigasswritingmagnet]

When History Comes Calling ch 2/14

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken  captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to  make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high,  and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But  when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel,  the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the  thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember  what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes!

belated and special thanks to @reblob-blob for beta-ing, and @snuffes @thehumantrampoline for their assistance <3

---

His plan had been sound - find the largest assortment of refugees in the safest location. Keep a low profile. Get the lay of the land in the world outside batarian space. He remembered the Citadel being touted as a beacon of safety and civil obedience, but after 15 years in his… particular profession, Vondur had learned that there was always a seedy underbelly. Sure, he was going to have to start from scratch, but with his skills it wouldn’t take long to rebuild his reputation. 

In practice, though. 

In practice, it was hundreds of shipping crates stacked on top of each other, the smell of unwashed bodies and dirty laundry, a constant jumble of voices crying and shouting and arguing, bright lights glaring down like spotlights. Guards at the exits, eyes suspicious and watchful; dull-eyed bureaucrats processing the new comers without sympathy or interest.

It felt like the slave pens. 

He found a dark corner out of sight of the main crush of people. It looked out over one of the Citdael’s arms, the orange city glow dotted with spots of black where the power was lost or the buildings crushed to rubble -- the night sky turned inside out. He wrapped his hands around the railing and tried to find the moment. 

It was a technique his very first instructor had taught him, and one that he had come to rely on heavily. Ignore the past, ignore the future, ignore even the present. By the time you acknowledge the present it is already the past. Find the moment you are in. The breath in your lungs, the beating of your heart. The feeling of cold metal warming against his palms, the light reflecting off passing ships lighting up the insides of his eyelids...

The feelings that the present was stirring up - old fear, nausea, memories of being helpless and alone -- all faded, leaving him clear headed and calm once more. 

When Vondur opened his eyes, the world had righted itself. He was still here, but now he could think. And he could notice, consciously, the person coming up behind him. He’d been aware of their presence, but only by instinct. Now he could analyze the clues he’d picked up -- perfume, the rustle of clothing, the weight of the tread -- and know not to attack the civilian human female coming up behind him. 

“Excuse me?” 

He pretended to be surprised when he turned. The human gave him a shy smile. She was small, about five foot even, with her blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Younger than he’d been expecting - maybe 16 at the most. Either fashion hadn’t changed in the last 15 years, or the colonies were more fashion forward than he remembered them being, because her clothes would have been considered retro when he was her age. 

Most interesting, however, was the lanyard around her neck. From here he could see the word ‘volunteer’ in big orange letters on the ID card that hung from it. 

“Hi there! My name is Sarah. I’m a volunteer for the Citadel Refugee Project. I help new arrivals get settled in after they’re processed.” 

Her words had the patter of a memorized script, but suddenly she hesitated. 

“So, um, I’m not sure if anyone told you-- and I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but I’ve been seeing a lot of them and-- I thought, if it was me I’d want someone to make sure I knew-- I just-- it’s just that I--” 

“It’s okay,” he said, giving her a casual, nonthreatening tilt of the head. 

She straightened up and cleared her throat, and didn’t quite meet his eyes when she said “administration can get you in touch with a doctor who can deactivate and remove batarian control devices.”   

Vondur, having only just righted himself,was once more knocked off course into a whirl of unpleasant memories.

Like all slaves, Vondur had received the implant when he was first captured. At first, he had been constantly aware of it, perpetually afraid that any bump or electric shock would set it off. As the years passed it had become normal, a part of him the same way his biotic implant was. Filomet never had cause to threaten him with it, let alone put it to use. Most of the time, Vondur didn’t think of it at all. 

Vondur reached up a hand and touched the back of his head. In the soft place at the base of his skull was his implant. Just above it, a thick ridge of scar tissue that did not completely hide the small, hard lump of the device.  

Remove it? 

Why shouldn’t he? He was a free man, now. Able to choose his own path. He would never need to answer to anyone else ever again. Yes, he’d planned to keep up his… profession, but now they would be his jobs, his choices. The payment would be entirely his, not whatever sliver of a percentage Filomet felt generous - or frightened - enough to pass his way. 

He could choose who he would kill. 

Sarah was looking up at him nervously. He did a mental check of his expression - impassive, neutral, displaying no trace of the shock she’d given him. Good. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice as level as ever. “I would like to see the doctor.”

 Sarah said she would walk him to the office -- a handful of desks -- located in one of the courtyards -- the squares of space the shipping containers opened into. It was staffed by actual employees of the CRP. They managed identification paperwork, locating families, finding temporary housing, medical support, ensured steady supply delivery, and in general jumped the bureaucratic hoops Citadel administration demanded be jumped.  These were the souls who actually solved the problems, Sarah said. 

“The Citadel set up the camps and they send food down but they don’t really care. They spend more time making sure nobody gets into the rest of the station than they do helping people.” Her voice held a heavy bitterness that surprised him; the kind that came from experience. 

“You’re a refugee,” he said, and she gave him an awkward half smile and a one-shoulder shrug.

“Yeah. I mean, I was. I guess I’m technically a citizen of the Citadel now. But I came in on one of the shuttles. I made a lot of friends down here, and I knew what it was like. It didn’t feel right to just… leave and never come back” 

“Understandable,” said Vondur, who didn’t understand at all. He had made friends - or at least bonded - with some of the other slaves in the pens. When Filomet had taken him away, Vondur had not looked back. He wanted to get as far away from that part of his life as possible. 

I did help them, he thought, irrationally defensive, I saved them in the arena. I stopped Filomet from using bait slaves. There was nothing else I could have done. It’s not like slaves can buy slaves, or free them. I needed to focus on survival. There's nothing wrong with that.

Sarah was still talking. She was, it seemed, quite the chatterbox. And very… peppy. 

“It’s not so bad down here. Especially now the war is over. The Reapers were kind of a major bummer, y’know?” She flashed him a grin. 

‘Major bummer’. Billions dead, worlds destroyed, your understanding of galactic history and your place in it completely upended… 

“Mmhmm,” he said. 

“They do holiday celebrations, and you can go to virtual classes- oh, and we have vid nights now. You should definitely submit a suggestion, because they’ve played Fleet and Flotilla like a billion times. What kind of vids do you like?” 

Vondur floundered for an answer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched an actual film. It would have been on Mindoir, but he couldn’t think of a single title, couldn’t even remember what kinds of vids he used to watch. 

“I don’t watch a lot of vids,” he said. That was a legitimate response, right? Plenty of people out there didn't watch vids.

“Oh. Well what do you like to do?” 

This one was even worse, because Vondur did have answers, and not a single one of them was something he could say to this girl. He liked working on upgrades for his sniper rifle. He liked to spar and train to improve his skills in killing people. He liked to practice shooting. 

He liked to work. Not to kill. But everything up to that point, the challenge of it, the rush of adrenaline. There was, in his heart, a grim satisfaction in a difficult task completed.  

“I like to read,” he said, lamely. Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, he said "And you?"

“I love vids. I want to make my own when I’m older. I especially like the classic stuff. Did you know the Blasto vids are based on a human series from the 1970s? It’s called Dirty Harry; you should check it out. Blasto wishes he could be that cool.” 

“Definitely,” he said, wondering what the hell a Blasto was. An argument broke out ahead of them, catching Vondur’s attention. And oh, by the glorious Pillars of Strength, there was a familiar face in the crowd. 

Vondur stopped suddenly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I think I see someone I know.”

Sarah beamed up at him. 

“Of course! I’m so glad for you! I’ll see you around-- wait! I forgot to ask you your name!” 

“Thomas,” Vondur said. He'd chosen the name as one that was average and inconspicuous, but not too average or inconspicuous. Then, because it was a thing he remembered people said, added “Call me Tom.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Tom,” she said, and stuck out her hand. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing, but just a moment. He shook it, and gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. It wasn’t a very big one. 

“Same to you.” 

He waited until he was sure she wasn’t going to stick around to watch, and headed for the group of arguing batarians. They’d lowered their voices, but their body language told him they were barely holding on to their tempers. They were too busy to notice his approach, and Vondur liked that just fine. 

It was so much more fun this way.

“Hello Ukarem,” he said, and watched the batarian go rigid. Very, very slowly the batarian turned and looked up at him. Vondur felt no small satisfaction seeing all four eyes go wide with stark terror. 

“Vondur,” he rasped. 

“Isn’t this a funny coincidence. Glad to see you made it to safety.” 

The batarian opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled groan. Vondur glanced at the other batarians. He didn’t know them, but from the looks on their faces, they knew him. 

He put a hand on Ukarem’s shoulder, dug his fingers in. He could feel the batarian trembling. 

“Let’s take a walk. I’d love to hear all about it.” 

“But…” one of the other batarians tried, braver than the rest. Vondur looked at him, focusing his entire attention on the lone soul who dared. Holding eye contact, Vondur tilted his head back ever so slightly. You are so beneath me, so little a threat, the movement said, that I do not need all four eyes to watch you. 

It didn’t matter that Vondur didn’t have another pair; body language was body language, and Vondur knew how to send a message. 

The batarians edged backwards, and Vondur steered Ukarem away. 

They walked in silence for a minute or so, as Vondur led them to a less crowded area. 

“I have money,” Ukarem said. 

“That’s good,” Vondur said, mildly. “Financial stability is very important.” 

“If this is about that job on Camala--” 

Ukarem had provided wildly inefficient intel on the state of the target’s security. Vondur had been shot several times, and very nearly died. His target had managed to escape; one of Vondur’s few failures. Because the target was human, rumors started that Vondur had botched the job on purpose out of species sympathy. He’d had to kill several humans in very nasty ways to repair the damage to his reputation. 

“Clouds long cleared,” Vondur said, in that same mild tone. “How long have you been on the Citadel, Ukarem?” 

“I was in the Terminus system on business,” he mumbled. “Came here as soon as I heard they were taking people in.” 

“Really? Why not Omega?” 

“Seemed safer. The reports that were coming through…”

Vondur walked him over to the railing where they could watch the ships go by, hidden behind several large potted plants. Ukarem tried to dig his heels in, babbling nervously. 

“Look, Vondur, you don’t have to do this, I can make it worth your while, whatever it is--” 

“I need a favor, Ukarem.” 

The batarian froze, then relaxed, relief pouring off of him in waves. 

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, sure. Name it.” 

Vondur leaned casually against the railing, looking out at the ships rather than at Ukarem.

“I think my least favorite thing about the Citadel is how suspicious they are. You can’t just walk in and out. You need paperwork. An ID card, birth certificate, background checks, proof of citizenship…” He looked over at the batarian. “You know what I mean. You have to be in the system if you want to get anywhere out here.” 

“Yeah” he said, but his expression was puzzled. “But… you were born out here. Couldn’t you just…?”

“I wouldn’t want to raise a fuss,” Vondur said. “A lost child, presumed dead, escaping his dreadful masters and regaining his freedom, rising from the ashes of destruction to take back his old life? That would attract a lot of attention. The kind of attention that could be very…  disadvantageous for someone in my field of business. But most importantly, Ukarem, I don’t want to.” The last was said in a voice hard and cold and full of dark promises.

“Right, right, sure, of course.” Ukarem was nodding very hard. 

“Besides, if I went the legal route, well, I wouldn’t need your help. You’d become rather useless to me. And you like to be useful, right Ukarem?” 

More nodding, Ukarem having apparently lost the ability to speak. 

“You have friends on the Citadel, right? Friends who can get me what I need?” 

The nodding continued. 

“You should let them know I’m willing to pay a little more for express delivery. I’m in a bit of a rush.” 

Nod nod nod. Vondur worried Ukarem’s head would go flying off.

“Oh, and before I forget… I’m still getting settled in, but once I am, you can let your friends know that my services are available. On a case by case basis, of course.” 

Ukarem froze mid-nod, his eyes very wide. 

“Really?” he blurted out. “But-- but you’re not-- you’re--” 

Vondur patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave. 

“If your friends could get back to me in the next two days, I’d really appreciate it.” 

As he mixed in with the other refugees, following the herd towards the daily food distribution, Vondur wondered why he didn’t feel as light as he’d been expecting. He’d just solved several major problems in one go. Now he had the right connections, he was going to get the documents he needed, he’d be able to find some work…

So why was there some deep, biting dissatisfaction in his mind? 

It was Ukarem’s surprise that he was looking for work. The sentence he hadn’t dared to finish. ‘But you’re not a slave anymore.’ Idiot. This was his trade, his craft. Throw away fifteen years of work honing and perfecting his skills just because he didn’t have to? What else was he supposed to do? He didn’t know how to do anything else. He didn’t need to know. And this life had been his choice. Filomet had stood in his cell and given him options, and Vondur had chosen. A short, brutal life in the mines, or the best weapons and training Filomet’s money could buy. 

It had been an easy choice, and it had been his. 

It had.

[stardancerluv]

Gotham Lockdown 2020

Part 14

Summary: The holidays always bring out the intensity of emotions.

Warning: Fluff, language, memories of Roman being quite a scoundrel, angst

Roman, had wrapped an apron around his middle, as he stirred the softened sweet potatoes with the cinnamon and sugar. It was an incredibly sticky recipe but so good. His mouth watered, he loved recipe so much.

He sighed as he felt you wrap your arms around, his middle. “Careful baby,” He warned. “I don’t want you to get hurt by any of the splattering butter.” He felt as you gave him a squeeze before pulling back.

Soon you were beside him, as you moved your ingredients for your stuffing. It would be nice and savory. He was certain it would be a no e contrast to the sweetness of his dish.

He was fascinated watching Victor and his girl making a vegetable casserole. Seeing the balance between the two of then.

Catching, sight of you he smiled. You were his favorite. He watched as you bit your bottom lip, tucking some hair behind your ear as you sprinkled some more sage into the stuffing. Damn, he’d never have anyone burn that in his penthouse ever again.

He flipped some more of the potatoes before before placing them in the dish. Then dusted them with just enough nutmeg and all spice to give it a kick.

*****

You stood beside Victor’s girl as the boys brought out the turkey. After putting it down, the two quickly got out the platter and brought it out to table with the rest of the food.

“Wow, how how are we going to eat this all.” Your remarked when you saw it all.”

Victor, gave you a huge smile. “Little bird, I am starving. I have brought an appetite.”

*****

The the candles flickering, soft music playing Roman got up to carve the turkey.

“Want me to do that boss?” Victor asked with a wicked grin across his face.

“I got it.” He gave a half smile then he became serious. “Look, I never had a family I cared for. I made a point of becoming my own man. Victor and you,” He looked at Victor’s girl. “These last few months you’ve become family. And you,” he looked at you. “You have dealt with my moods,” Victor coughed. “Alright you have too Victor.” He smiled at that. “You are my queen, there no else I’d want here waking up and probably driving crazy half the time.” You giggled. “So hey...Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!” Roman, then began carving the turkey.

Plates were held out. Clinking glasses and silverware filled the air. There were giggles and hushed voices. A considerable amount of food and then some the desserts that came out disappeared.

On heavy feet, the two of you watched as Roman and Victor staggered upstairs to watch something. Neither had ever been in to football but something was bound to grab their attention as whatever had been left was being wrapped up.

Roman, slumped on the sofa after undoing his belt. He looked at Victor as he did the same in the over stuffed chair he always tended to sit in.

“Victor...”

“Yeah, boss.”

“You and I have to go out and get a diamond.”

Victor, sat up a little straighter. “What are you talking about?”

“I want her.”

Victor, chuckled. “Roman, she is yours. No one could take her away.”

“They certainly try.”

Images of your watery far off look before vomiting surfaced in his mind. He closed his eyes to the pain it caused in his heart. Anger still lurked in the shadows, not enough blood had been spilled for that.

“No I want a propose, get down on one knee....All that romantic stuff. You’d be my best man.” He paused. Those thoughts didn’t cause a tightness in his chest. It made him feel good. “Maybe, her and I could even try for a little Roman Jr. or a little princess like her.” A chuckle burst from him. “You’d be Uncle Victor.” He chuckled.

Victor scratched where his hair met the back of his neck. “This is big Roman.” He pressed his lips together.

“I know.”

“Look, its been what two and a half years?”

“Just over three, Victor.”

“Alright, three damn wow. Look I adore her. She is the baby sister I always wanted. I realized thanks to this damn lock down.”

“I am glad Victor.”

Victor, nodded. “But, boss if you do this. You can not go back.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I still remember the days when any girl that came walking in would be yours if you wanted.”

Roman, chuckled despite his sentimental feelings.

“Sometimes, there would be two girls Roman.”

Roman smirked. “I was rather notorious.”

“And it wasn’t just those girls either.” Victor smirked. “Sometimes, you had your choosing of the dancers too.”

“Well, hey can you blame me?” He smirked. “I have a huge libido.”

“Yeah...you’re lucky that never came back to bite you in the ass.”

“I sweet talked them Victor. They left happy. I was able to charm anyone’s skirt I wanted lifted up.”

“Including mine?” You voice was flat. There was not a tremor of emotion.

Roman, snapped his head in your direction. The smugness of the memories vanished. As he saw your face. You were pale and hurt, he could see how your eyes were watery.

You walked away then.

“Fuck.” Barked, Roman.

“Oh shit.” Victor mumbled.

“Come back here, Y/N.”

You looked back, as he struggled to his feet. He pulled up his pants and fixed his belt. He met your eyes, under hair that had flopped in front of his eyes. He really needed a hair cut, the thought despite the situation. “Y/N.” He said again, reaching out.

You looked away, continued to your studio.

Walking faster he almost caught up you but got inside and he heard you lock then door.

“I have the key.” In desperation he called through the door.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He banged on the door. Of course, he wouldn’t this was your place, your sanctuary. Like where he kept his mask or downstairs where the weapons were.

He exhaled and then tried to gather a calming breath.

“Look, that was the old me.” His voice was loud. “I was never like that with you.”

He was practically knocked off balance when you opened the door suddenly. “How? We fucked within an hour of meeting.” He could see the tears that were staining your cheeks. How he wanted to rub them away.

In the past, he knew he did something right when there were tears. Easier fear or cutting off of emotion. But damn it, not fucking you.

“Because you recaptured me under your spell.”

“I recaptured the attention of the man who in your words, had two girls in one night having such a huge libido?”

“Yes, damn it. I was intrigued with you when you came in with that fucking purple hair, fresh from the rain, dripping in my club. And again when Victor offered you up to me handcuffed on a chair.”

“I am so fucking sure.” You said through twisted lips then slammed the door shut.

“You don’t believe me? Well its fucking true.” He practically ran over to the bedroom you two shared. Going into his closet. He tore open one of the drawers. He found the first pair of cufflinks he bought himself with money he made himself. Not from mommy and daddy. They did not even have his initials. Simple and rather elegant. He should, no he wanted you to wear them somehow, he thought.

He went over to the door. “Look, these were the first steps to me becoming that man I wanted to be. Even if in those fucking days I had no idea what that really fucking meant till you were in my life.” He slid them under the door.

He heard as they scraped against the floor and your sniffled. He saw the movements of your shadow but then nothing. “Y/N...talk to me.” Silence and more sniffles came.

“You’ll see.” He hollered.

No more fucking way. He wasn’t the fucking romantic type. He was going to do things his fucking way. Going back to his room, he pulled off his suit jacket fastened his holster on, he slid in his only guns, knives were his favorite but no close quarters tonight. Opening another drawer he found the gloves he needed. He slipped those on. Grabbing sock and pair of boots he came out and pulled them on. They were not as clunky as the boots he wore earlier. He slid back into his suit jacket back on, grabbing his peacoat he went to find Victor.

He snapped his fingers. “Come on Victor. No time to lounge. I’m getting the ring for Y/N. No time to wait.” He snapped his fingers again.

Victor looked half asleep. The turkey and food was weighing down on him. Roman snapped his fingers again. His patience was gone.

Victor, rubbed an eye and getting up he stretched. “Let me get dressed and tell my doll-face.”

“Alright, hurry up. I’ll meet you in the garage.”

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obession @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @starwarsprequelfangirl @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @whyisgmora @theblackmaskclub @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @primadonna-girl23 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @impairedmuse

[babsxkean]

the sea of my own doubt

Endlessly, For you I'll always wait, Caught in the waves of hesitation, Lost in the sea of my own doubt, Endlessly, For you I'll always wait, For you I'll always wait

who: barbara kean-gordon, carmine falcone, featuring mentions of @twxcethetrouble

when: june 14, 2020 (barbara’s 43rd birthday) 

where: carmine falcone’s mansion, the kean-gordon family home

barbara asks carmine falcone for a favor, only to find a surprise birthday present (or two) when she gets home. 

tw: death, brief allusion to body issues 

On the morning of her 43rd birthday, Barbara Kean-Gordon woke up, fed and dressed her infant son, and left him with a babysitter.

She drove out of town, to the elegant manors flung out over the acreage that remained between the city limits and the state border. Pulling up to a pair of wrought iron gates, she didn’t have to stop -- they opened smoothly for her, because he knew she was coming.

The winding, oak-lined driveway was familiar, not only because she had visited this particular house before, but also because it reminded her of the one she had grow up in. Her family also had deep roots in Gotham, going back to the founding of the city. She had never quite known where their wealth had come from, at first with the innocence of a child accepting her world for what it was, and later simply due to the fact that she became increasingly sure it was better not to know.

She -- finally -- reached the end of the driveway, and before she could open the door herself, a uniformed butler had materialized and done so for her. “He’s expecting me?” Barbara pressed, because in these circumstances it certainly didn’t hurt to be sure, and the man nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He led her inside, and as they crossed the marble entryway, Barbara felt, fleetingly and faintly, like herself for the first time in days. There was something about the sound of heels on a hard floor that she had always loved. It made her feel powerful and in control.

She was shown into a parlor near the back of the house. A swinging door beyond must have led to the kitchen -- she could smell something baking, a touch of cinnamon swirling through the air. The butler pulled out a chair at a table by the window, and she sat. In the blink of an eye, there was a cup of tea in front of her, complete with a small pitcher of milk, a bottle of honey and a sugarbowl.

“My goodness, you’re expedient,” she murmured. The butler only smiled blandly before withdrawing from the room.

She was alone only for a few moments before the swinging door opened, and Carmine Falcone filled the doorway.

He still cut an imposing figure, even at his age, she thought. Tall and broad-shouldered, his solemn face enlivened by bright blue eyes, he was impeccably dressed, as always. She wondered if he had put on the beautiful, three-piece Italian suit just for her, or if this was just what he wore every day.

“Barbara,” he said, and reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I am so very sorry for your loss, my dear. I knew your parents for many years, and as for Jim…”

Her chest tightened, and Carmine gently placed her hand back on the tabletop. “He made many mistakes in defense of this city, but they came from truly noble intentions,” he said. “There are few good men left in Gotham, and I believe he was one of them.”

She glanced down, nodding. “I think so, too.”

Carmine slid into the seat across from her, taking up much more of his chair than she did of hers. “Now,” he said, as the butler reappeared with a cup of tea and its accoutrements for him. “What can I do for you?”

Barbara took a deep breath, looking up at him. “I want back in,” she said softly. Carmine’s expression didn’t flicker at all from its polite interest. “I don’t expect to get my territory back, but I was hoping…” She swallowed and straightened up, lifting her chin; at that, she thought she saw a ghost of a smile. “I was hoping you had a place for me in your organization. Or if you could help smooth the way for me.”

She waited as he fixed his tea, stirred it with a delicate silver spoon, and took a sip. “You gave up the life for your baby,” he said. “For your family. Why do you want to return to it?”

I want to watch this city burn, she thought. I want to watch its people suffer for what they took from my family.

The city of Gotham had only ever caused the Gordons pain. From Jim’s father dying in a car accident that may not have been an accident at all, to Babs suffering at the hands of the Joker, to Jim losing his life defending Gotham one last time, it was like the city marked them out for special disfavor. Not to mention how little the GCPD or the population at large had ever appreciated Jim, had ever appreciated everything he had done for them. His victories had never been enough for them, and his defeats had always been written large in their collective memory.

But Carmine Falcone, as inexplicably as her husband had, loved this city. So she knew she couldn’t tell him that. “The only way to protect the people you love in Gotham is if you have enough power,” she said. And even then, that wasn’t a guarantee. But it was better than nothing.

“That’s true,” Carmine agreed.

She waited while he took another sip of his tea, his eyes on hers over the rim of the porcelain cup. He set the cup down, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and reached across again for her hand. “Gotham is in tumult,” he said. As if she wasn’t well aware of this. “But I will do what I can for you. Territory is up for grabs that normally wouldn’t be. I will pull some strings in the coming days, and see what I can land.”

He squeezed her hand before letting go. “And if you need me for anything else, please, don’t hesitate to ask,” he added. “Not just territory. I’ve always admired you, Barbara Kean-Gordon. You have the strength and the steel to do what needs to be done. That’s a rare quality.”

She managed a faint smile and stood up. Carmine stood, too, putting his hand lightly on the small of her back as he walked her to the door, where the butler had appeared yet again to guide her out. She and Lurch were halfway across the front hall before Carmine called out.

“Oh, and Barbara? Happy birthday.”

-

In the end, it turned out to be much simpler than that.

She had told Carmine that she hadn’t expected her old territory back, and that had been true. Truth be told, she really hadn’t given Old Gotham very much thought -- she’d assumed that she would be handed a new, inconsequential parcel of territory to babysit, and she would have to work from there. But as long as she had to wait for Carmine to pull his strings, she figured she might as well try.

Not to mention, it was on her way home, and she had no desire to go back to that empty house, especially on her birthday.

Barbara had gone in expecting some resistance, if not an argument, but to her surprise, Twice -- she assumed it was Twice rather than Ronni, since Twice always spoke to her like they were enemies on a teen soap opera -- had just flippantly agreed.

She’d opened her mouth to ask why Twice was being so agreeable, before she came to the conclusion that, much like the origin of her family wealth, it was probably better not to know.

She left with the feeling that she’d just been given a present, one that she wanted, but one that came with a price that she herself would have to pay for. With a shake of her head, she climbed back into her car and finally headed home. If something was finally going right for her after the past week, she shouldn’t question it.

-

After she picked up Peter from the babysitter, she drove home. She caught a glimpse of something on the front stoop as she pulled into the driveway, and her heart skipped a beat for a moment -- this being Gotham, and this being their family, her first thought was some sort of bomb.

But as she peered through the windshield, hand on the driveshaft to reverse back down the driveway, she realized they were flowers.

With Peter’s car seat dangling from the curve of her arm, she bent down to pick up the flowers with her free hand. Lilies, her favorite, tied together with a pink ribbon, with a card tucked among the long green stems.

She left the flowers on the front hall table as she took Peter back to his nursery, changing his diaper and putting him down for a nap. There wasn’t any sign of her daughter, so she neglected to start dinner; if Babs came home, they could always order takeout, and if not, Barbara had virtually no appetite anymore.

(She tried to ignore the small, bitter flicker of pleasure that gave her, thinking of how her mother would -- would have -- approved.)

Eventually, she returned to the flowers, expecting them to be from Oswald, or Zatanna, or perhaps Lee, if any of them had remembered. She slipped the card free and opened the envelope, idly trying to recall where the vase was, when the sight of familiar handwriting made her breath catch in her throat.

Happy Birthday, Barbara!

I know I’ve been really busy with work lately. I know I’m always busy with work. I’m sorry.

Let’s go out for dinner tonight when I come back from work. Even if I’m not up to it, just bug me until I agree again. I’m writing this a couple weeks in advance, just to make sure you get it for today.

I’ve never really been great at this romantic stuff but I hope you know I love you.

Love,

Jim

She put her free hand to her mouth, her lips trembling, and she wasn’t sure if they were trying to frame a sob or form a smile. There would be no dinner, of course, no begging him until he agreed. But she knew, if he had been here, they would have gone -- perhaps they would have brought the children, perhaps it would have been just the two of them, but they would have gone. He had never missed her birthday before, from 16 to 42.

Even when he’d been in the army, she remembered, both years he had managed to call her, and they had eaten dinner together over the phone.

I hope you know I love you.

“I know,” she said, her voice so soft that it was almost inaudible. “I know.”

He had loved her more than she deserved, and yet, at the same time -- the disloyal thought came to her for only a moment before she pushed it away, but it came nonetheless: not enough. He hadn’t loved her, or their family, enough to put them first.

If it had been her, she would have dispatched her men, no matter how thinly spread that made them, and then she would have found her family. She would have gathered them to her, and made sure they were safe. She and Jim would have weathered this storm together, keeping themselves and their children out of harm’s way. And let the rest of the city and its woebegone inhabitants be damned.

But Jim lacked the selfishness, or the self-preservation skills depending on your point of view, that Barbara had always held in spades. She cared predominantly about those in her inner circle, and those outside of it could be left to fend for themselves, or fail to do so, if the circumstances dictated. By contrast, Jim thought he could save everyone, and if that meant sacrificing himself, she suspected that was all the better for him.

She gave a hard shake of her head as if to clear it, and she took the flowers into the kitchen, carefully tucking the card into her pocket. Digging around in the cabinets, she found the vase and began to fill it with water.

The sound of the water splashing around in the crystalline throat of the vase almost drowned out the text alert on her phone. Turning the faucet off with one hand, she reached into her pocket with the other, frowning in confusion when she saw an unknown number.

[text: Unknown]: Next year, I’ll be there. Have faith. Even in the darkest times, there will be light.

It took her a moment to understand what she was reading, and the implications of the words. She sat down hard at the kitchen table, and it was frankly only serendipitous that she had been standing by a chair; if she hadn’t been, she would have gone right to the floor.

(Like she had that night, when Harvey Bullock had called her to tell her -- his voice choked -- that Jim was either missing, or -- )

She had presumed dead, even though there had been no body, because there was no way Jim would have gone this long without coming home to them. Not unless he couldn’t come home.

But maybe, she thought, staring at the text message -- it didn’t occur to her until it was too late to try texting the number back, and by then it was out of service -- she had been right, in a way. He couldn’t come home.

Yet.

He was out there, somewhere, and she hoped he was somewhere safe, away from all of this. She didn’t know why he’d had to leave, but she knew it must be to keep them -- herself, Babs and Peter -- out of harm’s way.

Perhaps the Joker had forced his hand somehow. She would figure it out later, because it mattered; but for right now, she focused on the fact that the love of her life was not gone. At least not forever.

The text message she sent in return, too late, was something that she hoped he knew, even if her words didn’t reach him.

I’ll be waiting. I believe in you.

[onwardintolight]

Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue

Soundtrack

~~~

Author’s note 11/2019: Major spoilers for Solo: A Star Wars Story

Warnings for chapter: none

~~~

It was a relief to relax again; to simply enjoy the feel of each other’s lips and hands on each other for a little while, there in the circuitry bay. Leia tried hard to quiet her worries, and for a moment, she almost succeeded.

That moment was soon interrupted, however. Chewie stuck his head in the door, braying something about it being time for food, with an addendum about how it would be great if they pursued their mating rituals somewhere outside of his sight and hearing.

«Besides,» he noted, «I’ve prepared something special.»

Duly chastised, they made their way to the dejarik table. Emotionally, Leia felt as though she’d just flown through some particularly rough in-air turbulence, and she wasn’t that hungry—at least, not until she caught the scent of whatever was in the bowl Chewie was carrying in. He deposited it on the table in front of them with a flourish.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he disappeared again to the corner of the hold, quickly returning with a large plate of ration sticks and reconstituted Bilbringi pies.

«A feast,» he announced. «I made a sauce to go with the rations. It will make us feel like our feet are rooted to the ground again.» He passed out bowls and utensils, and the three of them eagerly dug in.

Leia dipped a spoon into her sauce-covered Bilbringi pie and lifted it for a taste. Immediately, she closed her eyes, savoring the rich, spicy flavor. “How in the galaxy did you manage this, Chewie?” she asked.

Han cut in between bites. “Oh, he always keeps a bunch of spices and stuff around, just in case.”

«One never knows when they’ll be stuck onboard for three weeks,» explained Chewie. «It’s good to—» here he made a series of sounds Leia wasn’t familiar with, and she looked at Han inquisitively.

“He means it’s nice to have something special to break up the routine.”

“I’ll say,” she replied, taking another bite. It wasn’t just the weeks on the ship; it was the endless cold rations on Hoth, too. When had she last had a proper meal? Ord Mantell, maybe? “Honestly, Chewie,” she said, “this is as good as any royal feast I can remember.”

After their stomachs were suitably stuffed—Leia had only found two Wookiee hairs in her bowl, and the last bite was every bit as mouthwateringly delicious as the first—Han turned on some music and conjured up a sabacc deck and a handful of Corellian ales. Soon the hold rang with laughter. Leia had generally been too caught up in her duties to play the game much, but Han and Chewie, while fiercely competitive towards each other, were rather generous teachers. Soon she was holding her own—which for now, she surmised, meant not losing every hand. She suspected Han was going easy on them.

After a long time the music quieted, the album having played through twice already.

“And… Pure Sabacc.” Han layed out his hand triumphantly. Chewie bellowed, waving his arms in frustration. Leia laid out her cards in defeat—she’d had a good hand this round, but at twenty-one points, it wasn’t nearly enough. She briefly thanked the old gods that they weren’t playing for a sabacc pot; otherwise she might have just lost… a lot.

“You’re watching a master at work,” Han crowed, tipping back his second Corellian ale, and Leia and Chewie both rolled their eyes.

She took a small sip of her own drink. “Where did you learn to play sabacc, Han?”

“Oh… around.” He waved dismissively.

«Han was already a master of it when we met, and he was barely more than a cub in human years, then.»

“So… you learned it on Corellia?”

Han shrugged. “We may have been scrumrats, but we were still kids. It was one of the few ways we had fun.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Do you ever miss your home planet?” Leia asked.

“No,” Han said firmly. There was no hesitation in his voice.

Leia nodded. She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, and thought for a moment. She needed to tread this conversation carefully—considering the lightheartedness of the evening and the alcohol Han had consumed, she suspected he might be a little more open than usual to talking, but she still didn’t want to push too hard. “When you finally escaped… how did it feel? Did you feel free, or was it bittersweet?”

Han and Chewie exchanged a brief look. Then Han leaned back in the seat, raking his fingers through his hair. “Uh,” he muttered. “It’s… complicated.”

She nodded, giving him space to go on if he wanted to. After another mouthful of his ale, he did.

“So, uh, there was this girl.”

Leia stiffened a little, but she just as quickly relaxed again. Of course there was a girl, she told herself. There’d been multiple girls; she was already well aware of that. Don’t be silly; listen. She didn’t want to miss out on this part of his story just because of some childish sort of jealousy.

“We tried to escape together,” he continued. “But… I made it; she didn’t. They grabbed her right as we went through the gate at the spaceport, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.” He shrugged. “I spent the next three years in the Imperial Navy planning out how I was gonna buy my own ship and go back to Corellia. To find her. So yeah, as much as I hated Corellia, you wouldn’t’ve believed it back then.”

“Did you do it? Did you go back and find her?”

He took another sip. “Didn’t have to. Turns out, she was sold right after I left—to Crimson Dawn.”

Leia’s breath caught in her throat.

“She was owned by one of the syndicate’s head honchos,” Han continued, “and somehow she managed to work her way up to being his lieutenant. We ran into each other on my first job after the Empire. Chewie n’ I were with a crew doing a job for Crimson Dawn, and she came with us to Kessel.” He face lit up in a grin. “The trip where I made the run—”

“In less than twelve parsecs. We know,” Leia said, rolling her eyes. “So what happened to her? Did she ever get free?”

“She… no, she didn’t. At least I don’t think so. I, uh, thought, at the end, that we had won, and that she was gonna come away with me and Chewie. She killed the guy who owned her. But… I guess she had other ideas.”

Leia frowned, feeling the glimmer of deep pain in Han’s past. “She took his place,” she said, the realization coming as she said the words. She wondered if this girl was still alive… and if she was still at the head of the notorious cartel.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Eh, it was a long time ago. I was a kid, naïve. She’d always been like that; a survivor, a climber. In it for herself, no matter what—or who—was in her way.” His words, even after all these years, sounded bitter.

Leia raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like somebody I once thought I knew.”

Han ignored her comment. “It wouldn’t’ve worked out.”

«Hmm. It wouldn’t have,» Chewie agreed. «But Han was sad for a long time.»

“Thanks, fuzzball,” he retorted. “It’s not like nobody ever broke your heart.”

Chewie chuckled. «There was a young Wookiee before Malla,» he explained, turning to Leia. «I was also sad for a long time when we ended the hunt.» He paused. «These things are hard. But when you meet the right person, the sadness of the past seems very small next to the happiness you’ve found.»

With that, Chewbacca stretched and rose from the dejarik table. «I’m going to leave you two to continue your mating ritual. Just stay away from the number three hold.»

Leia blushed. “Chewie, it’s not—we’re not—”

The Wookiee only laughed, eyes twinkling. «Goodnight, cubs.»

The main hold was quiet for a little while in Chewie’s absence. Then, Han scooted closer to Leia on the bench, putting an arm around her and shifting his ale to his other hand. He massaged her shoulder, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve had a lot of disappointments. A lot of heartache.” He took another sip. “Everyone I’ve ever cared for has either abandoned or betrayed me, the whole lot of ‘em.” He made a scornful sound. “Usually both. And I never… I never took it easy.” He glanced at her. “I’ve had to learn to face the galaxy on my own. Well, not completely—I’ve got Chewie, but you know what I mean. I’ve had to learn not to trust people, not to commit to anything.” He swallowed, looking into her eyes. “I… Leia… I want that to be different, with you.”

Leia opened her mouth to respond, then she closed it again. She wasn’t sure what to say. His words had stirred something deep within her, and her mind was still working through what all it meant. He wants to commit, she thought. He wants a life together. How impossible that would have sounded, once. Still sounded, if she were honest. Was it? All she knew was that she desperately wanted it, too.

“I love you,” he murmured again, and bent down for a lingering kiss. They parted, and she laid her head on his shoulder, nestling into him, wishing she had more to give. Several minutes passed in silence.

And then, finally, she knew what to say, what to do.

She took a deep breath. “On Alderaan,” she began, “women’s hair is regarded as sacred, in a way. There’s all sorts of meaning behind how we wear it.” She paused. “And… there’s a lot of meaning behind who gets to take it down. It’s… incredibly intimate.” She sat up, trembling. Slowly, she drew a pin out of her hair and laid it in his hand. His eyes widened.

She hoped he would understand. It wasn’t a spoken “I love you,” nor was it a lustful consummation. But it was a sign, and, she hoped, a promise of things to come. A powerful act, words without words. Would he hear them? She rotated on the bench, presenting him with the coil of braids that were wrapped around the back of her head.

Slowly, he reached out and touched them. Then he kissed the nape of her neck, making the tiny hairs there stand on end. She let out a shaky breath. He began to search, his fingers wandering over the braids. He pulled out one pin, then another. Every time he removed one, he planted another kiss—this one on her shoulder, that one on her cheek, another one on her neck again.

Finally, the last pin was out and her hair was unraveled. She felt it spilling like a waterfall over her shoulders and back. From behind her, Han made a quiet, agonized sort of sound. She’d never worn her hair down around him before. With reverent care, he dug his fingers into her loose tresses, slowly running through them, gently smoothing out the tangles. “Leia,” he murmured, voice cracking. “It’s… kriff, you’re so beautiful.” He buried his head in it, kissed it.

Once again, Leia didn’t know what to say. A lump had formed in her throat; it seemed to come from a bubble of joy inside her that was growing larger and larger by the second. There were no words for this. She simply turned around to face him, drew his forehead to hers, and then kissed him again, long and deep, while his hands wove through her hair.

[misstinfoilhat]

The Boy in the Belfry, part 14. A Bungou Stray Dogs fic

It was another week before Dazai was lucid and able to stay awake long enough to actually answer a couple of the many questions that Kunikida had written down in his book of Ideals (without scowling at the chair at his bedside and accusing it of judging him- Dazai really didn't react well to being medicated), while Fukuzawa lingered in the back. Ranpo was there too, as an observer and had gotten the task of calling out Dazai if he tried to bluff. Atsushi was there mostly as moral support.

Dazai sat propped up by pillows, wearing a metal back-brace, and his leg had finally been properly dressed in a hard cast. His head was bandaged after a couple of stitches to the back of the head, and Yosano had tried her best to replicate how he wore his other, usual, bandages. 

Old wounds, new wrappings.

Dazai sported his trademark crooked smile as Kunikida stared him down, waiting for the answer to his first question; what the fuck?

Dazai scoffed. "Yeah, I know, right?" 

He rolled his eyes wryly and shrugged his shoulders as mundane as could be. 

"Leave it to Dazai to be kidnapped by an old demented paranoid schizophrenic preacher," Dasai tsk'ed and shook his head in such disappointment of himself.

Dazai's inability to take anything seriously enraged Kunikida more than he could put his words to, but he had to keep his temper under control if he wanted to avoid being kicked out of the room by Dazai's doctors, and keeping his ass from being kicked by Chuuya (or Atsushi for that matter, who was staring at him warningly).

Kunikida's dissatisfaction with him was clear as day, which Dazai obviously had expected.

"Stupid questions get stupid answers," he concluded, reaching his tongue out.

"To be fair, it was a pretty... vague question," Ranpo added carefully.

"Don't you have some glasses to polish?" Kunikida snapped back, receiving a mournful look from Ranpo, being reminded of the grave loss he had experienced when he couldn't figure out what was going on with Dazai.

"Kunikida..." Fukuzawa warned.

"I'm calm!" 

… 

"Okay, I'm not calm." 

He took a deep breath and held it for ten seconds as he walked a couple of laps around the room.

"Dazai-kun, there's really no need to withhold any information anymore. We already know more than I know you would like us to... The only thing we really need to know is why," Fukuzawa said calmly.

Dazai's smile didn't stir, but there was something sad that shadowed over the usual twinkle in his eyes and dulled them considerably. He chuckled, but there was nothing humorous in it.

"Yeah, I-" he tried. 

Something in him wanted to tell them everything. At least everything he knew or could remember. He really wanted to... be understood. He wanted them to know why he was the way he was. Why he couldn't express his feelings, because, it wasn't that he didn't want to express himself, he just didn't know how to. 

Every emotion that once possibly had come naturally to him, he had been stripped off before he could even remember.

No crying, no laughing, no smiling, no anger, no sadness, no happiness, no weakness, no fear, no love, no hope.

His stomach started to feel queasy and he realized that he had been glaring at his feet for way too long. They were all looking at him, With the expressions, he knew was 'worried', which, they probably could feel for real. 

All the while, he was still smiling, which was the wrong expression,

He mentally swift through his "emotional library" and tried to fit the situation to his facial expression, but it was all too much and his stomach was feeling bilious and the feelings that he did have, that he had no control over, completely overturned him as his heart started to race and the bile was halfway up his throat. Panic. A feeling that turned physical, that he couldn't wean, only hide.

What happened next, he didn't know if was a blessing or a curse. 

But vomiting, he didn't need to fake. That came naturally.

He threw up all over the bed, panting with raspy breaths in a mix of discomfort and pain between the dry-heaves, as Atsushi tried to keep a straight face while stroking his back and Fukuzawa ordered Kunikida to do- something- Dazai didn't hear, didn't care, as Kunikida ran out of the room.

...

The following hour went by with a bath and a change of rooms. Dazai was reminded of how much of a pain in the ass it was to get clean with a cast on, and he tried his hardest not to react to the way the male nurse who was helping him watched his bare skin as he undressed the bile-covered bandages with that compassionate and surprised look they always got. 

He was so, so sick of it. Wished he could crawl out of his skin, shed it like a snake, and rid himself of it once and for all.

All the fuzz had made him tired, as well as the strong pain medication he had gotten when they had to move him around as much as they had to. His co-workers had left, but he knew they'd be back tomorrow to try again to get the answers they wanted, probably armed with barf bags.

Dazai didn't know how he was going to be able to tell them, rubbing his face with frustration, as he heard a strange knock on the window.

It could only be one person, as his new room was on the fifth floor.

Dazai's bed was placed next to the window by his own request, and he pulled the curtain away and cracked the window open, letting Chuuya manipulate the gravity to pull the security lock open himself and climbing in.

"There's a perfectly fine door over there, you know," Dazai said tiredly.

"The receptionist told me visiting hours were over," Chuuya answered nonchalantly and very carefully crawled over the bed- to not repeat the disastrous 'butt-to-fracture action’ he had caused a couple of weeks ago. 

"Also, you know I have a love for the dramatics."

Dazai smiled, for real. Chuuya could sometimes bring that out of him, which he appreciated.

It made him think...

"Chuuya, I need to ask you something."

"No Dazai, the hospital gown doesn't make your ass look fat," he sighed jokingly, looking in the mirror that was placed over a sink on the other side of the room, fixing a couple of stray hairs that had gotten loose from his pony-tail on his way up the side of the hospital.

"I know. I have a bony ass. You've told me," Dazai said exasperated. Maybe Chuuya wasn't the right person to talk about this with after all.

Chuuya seemed to sense Dazai's tension and regretted his ill-timed joke. 

"I'm sorry," he said and turned back to Dazai. "Are you okay? Kunikida-san messaged me about the incident with your... stomach contents."

Dazai's lips twisted into a slightly curved smile. "You and Kunikida-san seem to message each other a lot recently," he commented, acting hurt.

"Yeah, well, it's hard to have joint custody of a twenty-two-year-old."

Chuuya placed a chair next to Dazai's bed and sat down. 

"So, Dazai-chan," he said softly in a slightly higher pitch, as if he was talking to a child, receiving a tired smile from Dazai, and returning the smile calmly.

"What's going on?" he said, changed back to normal. Or, maybe a bit nicer than his normal, normal.

Dazai seemed to search for his words.

"I think- I think you are my oldest friend," he started. Chuuya's arched an eyebrow.

"I also think that, except for Mori, you're the person who knows the most about me, and... the stuff that has happened, you know, before..."

Chuuya nodded, unable to look Dazai in the eyes, knowing that Dazai probably looked the other way too. When Dazai didn't continue, Chuuya assumed he was stuck.

"Kunikida also told me that you blanked out..." he told him, realizing without much effort that there had to be a connection between Dazai's sudden sentimental statements and the events that had unfolded earlier that day.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Chu... I-I don't know why it happened. I actually wanted to tell them everything. Is that weird?" He looked on the other with genuinely questioning eyes.

"If you're referring to blanking out to the point that you puke- yeah, a bit. But, about letting your friends know what's been going on with you? No. Not at all. I think it'd be good for you to tell them."

"I couldn't. It felt like it got caught in my throat and when I finally got it unstuck- it came out as bile."

Chuuya sneered. "Well, I guess the imagery is pretty accurate."

Dazai only hummed in response, and leaned back in the bed, watching the city outside of his room.

They sat like that in silence for a little while, both reflecting on the years that had led up to this moment, where they were finally able to sit by each other's side as friends again, somewhat fucked up and complicated friends, but, there was nothing that wasn't fucked up and complicated with anything in their lives.

"Maybe you could write it down," Chuuya suddenly suggested.

"Huh?" Dazai turned to face him again, confused and weary.

"Write it down, what you want to tell them. If you're not comfortable with saying it... without spraying it," Chuuya looked way too smug about his own joke, "then maybe you'll be able to write it down."

Dazai grimaced. "I'm on a sick-leave for another 6 to 8 weeks. I don't want to write a report. Also, you know my handwriting looks like chicken-scratches."

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me. I'm sure you remember who wrote all of our hand-written reports for three years. But, it's not going to be like a report. It might actually put some weight off your back, and you only have to write what you want to write. I can bring you your laptop tomorrow."

Dazai thought about it for a second. Then, he looked back up at Chuuya with an undecipherable smile and gave a faint nod.

"Yeah, that's- that's actually a good idea." ...

The next day, before lunch, Fukuzawa was a little surprised to find an email from Dazai in his inbox. Even though the title said "DO YOU WANT TO INCREASE YOUR PENIS SIZE BY 51%?! WE HAVE AN INSANE OFFER FOR YOU!!!" he decided to open it. His anti-virus program was pretty air-tight, after all.

Also, he knew Dazai.

I am sorry about yesterday. I can't seem to actually talk about this whole mess, even if I kinda want to. So, I'm going to try to write it all down instead. Please tell Atsushi that I truly am sorry for puking on his shirt, and to Kyouka, who probably had to clean it. And to you, Fukuzawa-senpai, if you're insecure about the size of your penis. 

(Fukuzawa edited this part out of the email before printing it out).

I don't know my father's real name. I've only ever called him Father. Neither do I know my mother's real name, but my father told me to call her Yariman -Slut.

She died when I was eight. I also had two older sisters, which both died before I was born. Father only wanted a son. They are buried with my mother under unmarked graves in the Shinja graveyard, I've never known where.

Much of the events of my early life are not relevant to the case. I might be ready to share some of it with you someday, but not today. What is relevant, is that Father's ability is called A Sinners Chagrin. As you might have guessed, it's the ability to make anyone's greatest fear appear before them. He spent most of my childhood making sure that my greatest fear was of God. Which it was, for a long time. A child's mind is easy to corrupt, and his ability started in the form of a generic boogyman and slowly turned in to my own depiction of God. After that, he was able to prove all his horrifying tales of what God would do to me, as he manipulated his ability to do just that.

(Fukuzawa: I ask that you are the only one who reads this next paragraph and that you remove it before anyone else can read it).

I'm sure the question all of you are dying to know the answer to, is how he was able to use his ability on me, and I'm afraid that the answer isn't as exciting or spectacular as you might think. It's simply because I'm afraid. And when I'm afraid, my body shuts down and disassociates, which apparently leaves me open for attack. I have never experienced it with anyone else but Father, but then again, he is the only one that has ever made me truly scared. Except for myself, apparently- considering the latest form of Father's ability. No idea how that happened... Nope. Guess that one will remain a mystery.

As you probably understand, this is information that leaves me in a pretty vulnerable position if fallen into the wrong hands, which is why I ask that no one else reads it.

(…)

(Baha! I just explained to Fukuzawa why Father's ability works on me and asked him to delete it before any of you scavengers can read it, suckaaaas)!

I guess where to go next is how I came about to join the Port Mafia. I have my suspicions that there is a little more to the story than I know for sure, but anything other then what I can actually recall will be speculations.

As Father was able to make 'God' appear by using me, he started to do exclusive performances to the elite of the extremist Christian societies around Japan. You all saw what the man had become- a deranged and utterly useless preacher that actually believed his ability to be a miracle, but he didn't start that way. He was a con-man. He knew what he was doing from the day he started doing it.

Sure, some of the pure insanity was there from the start (runs in the family I guess- so don't come for me), he did kill his wife and two daughters after all. I'm not an expert on family dynamics or anything, but I'm pretty sure that that is a kind of thing that isn't supposed to happen in the stereotypical nuclear family.

Anyway, the former main physician- turned boss of the Port Mafia, Ougai Mori, somehow got a whiff of Father, and decided to arrange a showcase of his "ability to make God appear" in front of the former boss, with the pretense of recruiting him. I was ten at the time and had recently started to develop some issues with Father's ramblings of how there was nothing worse than the wrath of God, which I guess somehow had been a pretty big part of my entire life at the time.

We did our usual shtick, and, I screwed up. I had no fear of his 'God' anymore, but I did have a great fear of him. Father.

The pain he had caused me was very real and very much caused by him and him alone. So, that was who showed himself that day, and ruined everything for him.

I don't know what happened the next hours. I have no recollection of it what so ever until I awoke in the belfry the next day and let myself drop to the ground.

I have never tried to hide my wish of dying. This was the day I first tried actively to make that happen. The day I decided that I wanted it to happen by my own hands.

As I am writing this, it won't come as a surprise to any of you that I failed. Whatever happened the next couple of days are as defuse to me as what happened the hours before. I woke up in Mori's care and stayed there for a very long time. He told me during that time, that I did not need to worry about Father anymore, and later told me that he was dead. Clearly, he was wrong.

One thing that both Father and Mori both had in common, was the fact that their goal was to make me unable to feel anything. Not physically (far from it), but emotionally. This is the reason I am writing this. Because as much as (this is hard for me to even write) I know I have overcome, the part of real emotion is one thing that I can not...

I'm sorry. I just don't know. I can't.

(Chuuya is threatening me with releasing a video of me while I was going through puberty online if I don't leave that last part, and I just realized that severe self-consciousness is a feeling I have gotten back).

The Port Mafia trained me to be a numb pawn purely made for withstanding torture without giving in, and killing. That is my design. What I am. Or was. I don't know.

That leaves me to address what happened the night I was injured, when this whole mess started.

During the night (I actually do sleep sometimes), a letter was slid through the crack under the door of my room at the dorms. If you want to see it, you can, but in short terms, it said that he was back, and wanted me to come back to him. I don't know what made me go- the feeling of terror I guess (another feeling I guess still lingers). So I did. I was instructed to go to the belfry, so I also did. I blacked out, and I didn't understand what had actually happened until that day we were all in Shinja. He had used his power, and as it took the form of myself at ten years old- I did get scared. I didn't think it was real, which was my mistake.

I told everyone that I was pushed off the tower, which I was, technically. I pushed myself off. I don't know if that counts as another suicide attempt, but that is what happened.

…leave it to Dazai to be a suicidal maniac while trying to survive an attempted murder on himself, committed by himself.

And I think you all kinda know what's been going on after that. Except that- yeah, I did know what Mori was planning. I also knew that Chuuya was in on it. But don't tell Chuuya.

(Chuuya just hit me).

(and he told me not to write that, so I did). Fuck you, Chuuya.

I'm going to finish this off with a request that the contents of this letter are never to be read out loud.

Whoever within the Agency that wants to read it can read it, but after that, it is to be burned and never spoken of again. I don't want to know who reads it, and I don't want to see traces of its content in any of your eyes. I'm still shitty-Dazai, bandage-waisting-device, the office slacker and an annoying piece of shit.

I hope this answers all of your questions, Kunikida. This is the best answer I could make of 'what the fuck?'

Within the next hour that Kunikida read Dazai's letter, he stood by his bedside. Dazai was apprehensive, as the stern man walked steadily to his side.

The first time Kunikida actually believed that Dazai relaxed, was the first time he ever hugged him. "Dazai, you are so, so, so wrong. You feel plenty. I know you don't understand it, but you do. You are a good human being."

Somehow, Dazai did believe it. Even if it wasn't true, really. But, if Kunikida believed it- he wouldn't prove him otherwise.

[lavender-hemlock]

the be honest meme. - ALL OF THEM! -From ya know who.

Breathes. I am going to kill you. Everything of the honesty meme is under the cut you absolute fruitcake @kazexvoss . 

1.     What would prevent you from following someone?

Possibly if that person isnotoriously opinionated and hateful towards any opinion that opposes theirs.That’s about the only preventive thing. Just unbearable and toxic people. 

2.     Are aesthetics important to you? If they are, why?

Sure, I think aesthetics aregreat outlets to demonstrating outside of screenshots and prompts what yourcharacter is about in an array of colors, art, or examples. It’s beautiful.

3.     What current rp trend do you hate? Taken.

4.     How do you explain rp to someone in the real world?

Hahah- I don’t, but I would probably compare it to my lovefor literature and writing if I had to. I’m writing stories and adventures.

5.     Do you prefer interacting with male muses or female more? Why?

I don’t have a preference!

6.     Do you prefer writing male muses or female more? Why?

I write female muses because it is simply easier for me to put myshoes in the shoes of a female muse. For obvious reasons I should hope. However,I have written with a male oc in the past. I want to, just haven’t found theright dynamic yet for ffxiv. I had a male Au Ra by the name of Xathun- but nowhe is simply my retainer that brings me stuff he deems is shiny. 

I love himeven if he brings me level 5 rocks.

7.     What’s your opinion on call-out posts?

I think they are both useful topoint out harmful individuals who have harmful or greedy intentions – andharmful because some call-out posts I believe are just posts to continue a potstir off the platform itself or off the drama seeping from another dms. Thereis a time and place for all things.

8.     Name any three things about the rpc that bother you. Taken.

9.     What is your opinion on exclusivity? Do you practice it? Why / why not?

I think exclusivity iscompletely up to those who choose to practice it. I only practice it on whetherI am comfortable. Very few people can make me feel uncomfortable- but my guthas yet to fail me in this. I will not RP with anyone who makes meuncomfortable or if they are just looking for ERP. I’m not about it.

10.   Have you everhad a bad experience with commissions? As either someone who makes them or assomeone who buys them?

I have not had a bad experiencewith commissions. I really need to seek out one.

11.   What do youknow now about rp that you wish you knew when you first started? Taken.

12.   Have you beeninvolved in drama? Do you regret it?

In this community, I have onlybeen involved in one instance. It was during my first few months joining FFXIV,super early on. A RPer tried to guilt trip me for not responding to them forone day. One day caused a lot of drama from someone else’s greed and possessivenature.

I don’t regret it. It just demonstrated another example for me to be wary of everyone’s intentions. Unfortunately. It isthat split-second decision that you want to think the best in everyone that brings the failure. Oops.

13.   Have you everthought about leaving rp? What caused it? What changed your mind?

I probably considered leavingRP when I was leaving a forum base that I had invested eleven or so years of mylife into. I had grown so much through it and watched as it died out bit by bitonly for trolls to really remain. None of the inspiration was there and noone truly seemed passionate about anything but bars. Taverns. 

I changed my mind when I joinedFFXIV. At first I played the game because it was something to do. I wasbored and things were dying down for me. I have loved the FF series for such along time, so I thought, why not? Screw the pay wall. I just played through AtRealm Reborn and focused that down in a binge. Over time I got the itch Iwanted to write, and that had propelled me right into the RP crew in Siren.Then that branched onto the Tumblr. Creating my blog has led me to meet such wonderful people along the way. 

14.   Do you think rphas had a positive or negative affect on your life or you as a person?

Positive for sure. RP helped meduring the years I was unsure who I wanted to be, what I wanted to express, andhelped me communicate more when I said so little. I was so much moreintroverted, and the writing RP brought was so uplifting.

The character, Haine, I madeyears ago is a force in my life that influenced my traits as a role model. She’llalways have a special place in my heart.

15.   How has rpchanged you personally?

I suppose this builds on thelast question, huh?

Without finding RP as anoutlet, I don’t think I would have been ready to embrace what I could be.Things could have been far worse in my life, and I like to think some of thetraits I had crafted Haine to be throughout the years helped me remain true towho I should be rather than what everyone wanted me to be- or knock me down tobe.

16.   If you couldchange one thing about rp on tumblr, what would it be? Why?

I don’t think I want to changeanything- I would just want to encourage others to write and express themselvesmore in their outlets. Which can be writing, drawing, aesthetics. You do you.The passion is my favorite thing to see in others.

17.   Have you eversent a message to yourself on anon? Why?

No. Why would anyone do that?

18.   Have you eversent hate to yourself on anon? Why?

Why… would anyone do that? Arethey okay?

19.   Do you deleteanon hate or post and address it? Why?

I am content to say I havenever received anon hate. Yet.

20.   Have you everfelt pressured to write something you weren’t comfortable with?

No. I refuse to put myself inthat position.

21.   Have you everfollowed someone because you felt like you had to, not because you wanted to? Taken.

22.   What would makeyou block someone?

I try to avoid blocking becauseI believe most things can be recovered- because if I put you on that block list,I am never looking at it. You’re gone. You must be very toxic to get put there-or annoying. There was that one guy…

23.   Have you everstolen something from someone else?

Does luck count? Because Iswear I stole someone’s luck once and it was the funniest thing I had everwitnessed.

24.   Have you everhad something stolen from you? If so, how did you handle it?

Yes. I’ve had the alias Hainefor over ten years. I carried that name from my old RP community and thisperson that I used to call a good friend disappeared. She came back under a newname, and then I went on a hiatus. I come back, she’s going as the name “Haine.”She pretended she was just an anonymous person and not the friend I always knewbut playing stupid never was her skill.

I was… indifferent at first.Yet, it felt like a part of me was being violated. I knew her. It hurt. I hadmade Haine as this love child of my creativity. I tried to be reasonable butthen this person began to start discourse so it would go. “Did Haine do this?” “Whydid Haine do that?” It was confusing to always say “It was the other one.” Whenoften duplicate alias’ were not typical.

It was upsetting to say theleast, and after a while, as above it as I like to be- I started getting prettyangry. It was never pretty. I can regret a bit of it.

25.   Are you open toduplicates? Why / why not?

As in duplicates acrossservers? I do that! I had stared on Siren originally before I made a characteron Balmung before world visit opened up. I think duplicates are helpful in caseyou want to keep your strong attachments in both data centers.

26.   How do you feelabout vague posting?

Vague… posting?

27.   Do you followpeople even if they don’t follow you back?

Of course! Someone I followdoes not have to follow me back. I love their content and I want to stay tuned!That is the entire point! If they follow back, it is just equally delighting.

28.   Do you readpeople’s rules before following or interacting?

If they have rules, yes. Ithink it is very important to have OOC communication to express what you willallow or what you find inappropriate.

29.   What is youropinion on “reblog karma” and do you practice it?

I don’t.. understand.

30.   How have youresponded to popular slang used on tumblr? Do you use it in every day life? Doyou use it at all?

I don’t follow tumblr trends enough toknow?

31.   Is theresomething you don’t know the meaning of but you haven’t asked anyone becauseyou think it’s supposed to be general knowledge? Was there ever something youhad to ask someone to explain?

OH! I think I did this once. Beingnew on Tumblr awhile back, I did not understand a lot of things. So some of theterms was lost on me. I think I remember asking what on earth a “mun” was. Itwas lost on me.

32.   Have you everexperienced discrimination?

Yeah.

33.   How do you feelabout personal blogs following your rp blog?

The more the merrier! I thinkthat makes it more flattering to see. It makes me think that something on myblog had to be nice for someone to want to keep up on their personal blog.

34.   Have you evercried while writing a reply?

Oh go- Yes. Recently. The plot lines that make me feel things are the best kind. Happy, excited, nervous, bittersweet, thrilled. I love it. 

35.   Do you readother people’s threads or do you only read your own?

I read other people’s threads,and my own. I read mine several times because I figure it can be better. I love reading thewriting of others.

36.   What’s onething that other people seem to hate that doesn’t bother you? Taken.

37.   How do you feelabout tagging triggers? Do you tag them? How do you determine what istriggering content and what isn’t?

I don’t feel anything for themor tag them.

38.   What advicewould you give to someone new to rp?

 Embrace what you want to be and do not divert from what youare comfortable with. Feel free to go to public places and watch others work.If I know the person who is new to RP I would usually offer to be their partnerto get them into the cadence.

This exhausted me. I felt things throughout this journey of asks, and through it all I give to you- 

[catboythanatos]

Adrinette April Day 4

AAAA this one’s really cutting it close, but it is still the 4th where I am, so its okay I think. I didn’t really have any ideas for this last night so I didn’t get a head start on them like I have been doing, and I had school today, and was busy after and just AH its been crazy. im not used to writing in this much of a crunch but its actually fun in a way!

this actually..... didnt even end up being adrinette-y but hey its what i did and it still follows the prompt... and im planning on writing the obligatory adrien-falls-for-marinette fic for this pretty soon so.. bear with me. heres some gabriel agreste stuff! which is something i had never written before today! enjoy!

Day 4 Prompt: Dinner w/ parents

Marinette felt awkward enough as it was, sitting on Adrien’s couch, in Adrien’s room, in Adrien’s house. When a knock came at the door and she heard Gabriel Agreste’s voice, it was like a nightmare.

“Oh, Adrien, I didn't know you had a friend over,” he said as he stepped into the room.

Marinette felt herself starting to sweat as the tall, stoic man eyed her up.

“Yeah, we were just working on homework,” Adrien explained.

Marinette gestured wordlessly to the books in her lap, thankful for the millionth time in her life for Adrien’s ability to speak like a normal person and not embarrass himself and everyone around him. She just didn’t know how people did that.

“I just wanted you to try on this outfit I designed for your next photoshoot. There are some new items in my collection, and I'd like to see them showcased.” Gabriel handed a coat hanger with a full outfit’s worth of clothing hanging from it to Adrien. Marinette gasped as she caught a glimpse of it.

“New items from your collection?” she echoed.

Adrien accepted the clothing with a shrug. “Thank you, Father, I'll go try it on.”

Marinette watched as Adrien trekked over to the bathroom. He gave her a small smile and wave before disappearing, leaving Marinette alone with his dad.

She peered up at him, timid. He said nothing for some time. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like years before he finally spoke:

“...Marinette, right?”

“Huh? Uhh, y-yeah, yeah, that’s me,” she laughed awkwardly.

“Your parents run the bakery?”

“Yes, yeah, they do.”

It was clear that Gabriel felt awkward in this situation as well. He was more of a lone wolf, no-bullshit type, and certainly not a big small talker. Marinette liked the man’s work, but she heard a lot of bad things about him from Adrien, so she didn’t know how to feel about him at all. She didn’t like how it seemed like he was staring at her. She kept her eyes cast down at her lap, tapping her fingers lightly on her book.

Finally, Adrien emerged from the bathroom with his fancy new clothes. Marinette gaped at him.

Adrien blushed and rubbed his neck, embarrassed. Gabriel eyed him for a second, silently.

“Good,” he concluded eventually. “Very good.”

“So I can change?”

“Yes. I'd like to see the items treated nicely though, they're brand new.”

“I know, I will…” Adrien turned around to change back in his bathroom. This seemed very standard for him.

Marinette expected Gabriel to leave, but he didn't. She was stuck in an awkward silence with him once again. Only this time she was certain he was staring at her.

“Your earrings…” said Gabriel, causing Marinette to stiffen. “Where did you get them?”

Marinette looked up at him, cautious. He was giving her a very suspicious, serious look, which put Marinette on edge. “J-just some store at the-the mall.” She swallowed. “It was a while ago.”

“Which mall?”

Marinette bit her lip, trying hard to convince herself that Mr. Agreste’s intentions were innocent. He was a fashion designer; he probably just liked the way they looked or something. She needed to stop panicking.

“Um, I don't remember, m-maybe, Beaugrenelle?” Marinette sputtered out the first mall that came to mind.

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something else, with a look set on his face that frightened Marinette greatly, but was interrupted by Adrien’s re-emergence from the bathroom.

Marinette let out a small sigh of relief, and she swore Gabriel gave her the stink eye.

Adrien handed the hanger of clothes back to his father and he nodded, turning to leave.

But in the doorway, he hesitated. He was eyeing Marinette once again.

“Hmm. Would you two like to join me for dinner tonight?”

Adrien’s eyes widened. “Dinner?”

“Yes, Adrien. Dinner.”

“You’re free? You'll be here for dinner?”

“Mhm. And I'd like to have dinner with my son.” Gabriel flashed what could probably be called the world’s smallest of smiles. But it was a smile nonetheless.

Marinette watched Adrien’s face light up. Despite her nervousness and caution towards Adrien’s dad, she was excited to see him so happy.

“Okay!”

Adrien turned to Marinette after his father was gone and let out a long exhale.

“He doesn't usually have dinner with me. Is something wrong, you think? Or does he really just wanna spend time with me? I hope he does.”

Marinette’s heart felt like it was about to burst at Adrien’s nervous rambling. He ran a hand through his hair as he sat back down on the couch next to her.

“Do you normally… eat dinner… alone?”

“Often, yeah. He's usually busy or whatever. It's weird that he would ask to do dinner. Maybe he likes you?”

A sort of chill ran through Marinette at those words.

“Yeah, maybe,” she laughed dryly. Despite the fact that it was unlikely to be anything other than innocent, she couldn't help but be afraid of Gabriel’s intentions.

--

Gabriel, his son, and his son’s blue-haired, blue-eyed, pigtailed friend from school sat at the dinner table. It was mocking him, really, how sure he was that the girl could be Ladybug. However, only weeks after he had wrongly suspected his own Adrien of being Chat Noir, he felt a little flustered, wondering as if perhaps his emotions were interfering with his judgement.

The girl seemed awkward. He almost felt guilty, as he knew that he was probably making her feel this way, but if she had nothing to hide, wouldn’t she be relaxed? Would a girl with nothing to hide really dodge questions about something so simple as her earrings?

He looked over at Adrien. He realized not for the first time in his life that he really didn’t know what was going on in his life. Not just the newly discovered sneaking out, no... His school life. He was glad that his son had made friends at school, to an extent. But superhero friends? When he was trying to be a super villain? It really made him think. Of course he knew that Adrien would probably disagree with his lifestyle, had he found out. He might even do something drastic. Gabriel couldn’t let him know. But something just stirred in him thinking that his son could be hanging out with Ladybug, even more so than when he entertained the idea of his son himself being Chat Noir.

Adrien and Marinette were awfully quiet. The mood was almost a grim one at the table. Gabriel wasn’t feeling ultra-inspired to lighten it, though. He was feeling a little dreary himself.

He couldn’t deny that the pair looked good together… but it was infuriating in a way. Green-eyed, blond haired, taller boy, and blue-haired, blue-eyed girl? How many times did these combinations appear? Often? Not often? It probably wasn’t rare at all. He just was so sick of that superhero duo that they were infiltrating his daily life and disrupting his work. He hated it. He suddenly seemed to remember why he had called this dinner in the first place. He pushed all thoughts of the oh-so-infuriating Ladybug and Chat Noir to the side, and focused on the two 14-year-old kids in front of his face that he was clearly rendering uncomfortable.

“So, Marinette,” he cleared his throat. “You’re interested in fashion design?”

Marinette’s head seemed to snap up from where she had been staring at her fork, pretending to be casual. “Yeah! I’m really, a big fan of your work, actually…”

“Oh?” Gabriel pretended to be surprised.

“Ah, yeah,” Marinette chuckled nervously.

“I remember your entry in that contest a while back. I hope you’ve continued to make things. It’s very good to have a passion.”

Marinette looked over, wide-eyed, at Adrien, who also seemed surprised at hearing his dad say so many nice words. Or so many words at all. But the excitement was short lived.

Gabriel’s phone beeped.

“Oh dear,” he sighed. He had forgotten in his outburst of fear that he did actually have obligations later that night. His fear that Marinette could be Ladybug, and his fear that he was being both paranoid and too hard on both his son and his public school friends were both very heavy and consuming feelings.

“You have to go?” The look of dejection on Adrien’s face looked far too practiced. Gabriel knew that he had seen it time and time again.

“I’m sorry, Adrien.”

“It’s fine. Marinette and I will finish up.”

Gabriel flashed a sad smile as he turned away from the table.

Marinette and Adrien went on to enjoy a nice dinner together, laughing and flirting and flushing red.

And Gabriel left, caught between knowing he should be more present for his son, and knowing that if he does, he’s going to break his heart someday when he finds out...

[tkmedia]

'It wasn't the way I wanted to move on but it just had to be...'

4:47am, 03 October 2021 Telusa Veainu was enjoying an autumnal day off from Stade Francais last Wednesday when RugbyPass unwittingly took the pep from his step by mentioning over the phone the deflating news that had broken in England the day before. Wasps had provided a seriously disappointing medical bulletin on the status of Malakai Fekitoa, the former All Blacks midfielder who was recently able to change his Test XV allegiance to Tonga after representing their 7s side in June in the Olympic qualifier head in Monaco. ADVERTISEMENTRather than now giddily going on and playing for the Tongans in the upcoming internationals versus Scotland at Murrayfield and England at Twickenham, a shoulder dislocation has ruled out the 29-year-old who earned the last of his 24 All Blacks caps in 2017. The revelation about Fekitoa had eluded Veainu, who had spent his Tuesday winding up his football-mad Stade teammates at training by claiming he was a Manchester City fan before that night’s clash with PSG at the Parc des Princes across the road from his current club’s Stade Jean-Bouin stadium. 

What happened when RugbyPass went behind the scenes with the Tonga national team

What happened when RugbyPass went behind the scenes with the Tonga national team“I’m not really a big football fan but I know boys at the club are big PSG fans. I was supporting Man City just to stir the pot a little bit. It’s the hottest ticket around town at the moment, the PSG ones,” he quipped at the start of the interview with RugbyPass.Veainu went on to be playfully polite and well-spoken on a myriad of topics, even when it came it reflections on his delicate contract rebel exit from Leicester in July 2020. However, the prognosis about Fekitoa now being unavailable for the internationals on October 30 and November 6 left him flustered. “Is he (out)? I didn’t even know that. Ah, f**k that… ah s**t!Ex-All Blacks midfielder Malakai Fekitoa was all set to represent Tonga against Scotland and England but Wasps have now issued a disappointing update #Wasps #Tonga #AllBlackshttps://t.co/sMqvGEjplm— RugbyPass (@RugbyPass) September 28, 2021“As soon as he qualified a lot of the boys sent him messages, ‘This is awesome’. It was just a good vibe. I spoke to some of the boys from the 7s and they were so happy to see him come back and to give back to Tonga. It was really good.” ADVERTISEMENTIt was 15 months ago when Veainu’s change of a different type of allegiance made headlines. Financially worried Leicester were demanding across the board salary cuts but the Tongan international, who had been in the East Midlands for five years, stuck to his guns along with Manu Tuilagi, Noel Reid, Greg Bateman and Kyle Eastmond by refusing to stay for less. He’d nothing lined up when he took his brave stance, but it didn’t take long for his talent to find a suitable suitor in Stade Francais and a three-year deal was quickly agreed. Sweet. “At the time they did what was right for them in terms of the pandemic and I was doing what I needed to do for my family and to support them and that was the decision I had to make based on that. “At the time I didn’t really have any options and it was just when things started to break down with Leicester and the news started to be published that Stade heard about it and came through. At the time all the clubs had finished all their signings and I was very fortunate to be picked up by Stade. I owe so much to Leicester and they will always be my team. It has a special place in my heart. It’s where everything took off for me and I’m always cheering the boys on, supporting them from afar. “Welford Road is probably the best place I have played in front of fans. Every time I went out and played I just wanted to showcase myself, to put my best foot forward and it gave me a confidence and an arrogance that when I stepped out at the stadium I was never going to lose. ADVERTISEMENT“But looking back at the decision I made, it was just the right one at the right time for me and it was probably the change that I needed. They were fine, they had Freddie Steward coming up as a young kid. He had all the potential and we knew he was going to go out and showcase it, so it was just a matter of time. For me, it was just the perfect time to move on. It wasn’t the way I wanted to move on but it just had to be.“As a Pacific islander, your faith comes first and then your family and then it’s either football or food. That was part of the decision and the other one was just to try and experience something different. Experience a different culture. I’d been there for five seasons and just wanted to try something different.”Paris is proving to be exactly that – very different in so many ways. To begin with, moving there in a pandemic wasn’t exactly ideal. “It was crazy,” he admitted. “It was pretty stressful on my partner and my daughter at the time, especially not being able to speak the language and coming here trying to settle in. The training was tough and we were all in little bubbles.”Stade eventually finished sixth in Veainu’s first season and while they are currently bottom following four defeats in their opening five games this term, the latest coming at Brive on Saturday, it is still very early days. “Top 14 is a long season and it’s definitely more about how you finish,” he explained. “It’s a marathon. For us it’s just focusing on what we are trying to do, trying to play some good footy, getting those combinations right and believing in our own ability.“Gonzalo (Quesada) has been awesome. He has been all about getting to know the person, allowing individuals to express themselves when they go out on the pitch. He is also big on family and the off-field stuff. He has got a very simple game plan as well which I really love and enjoy playing. It worked for us last year and when we do things right we can punish some teams.  “I just like how the French embrace life,” continued Veainu. “Rugby can’t be everything to them. It’s about balance. They like to have a cigarette here and there, have wine with their lunch and all that stuff. It has definitely opened up my eyes. When I was at Leicester it was all about rugby, rugby, rugby. Even when you went home it was rugby, rugby. But here they are able to switch off and they are able to go and have a nice dinner together. It’s just different. “When I first came here I thought, ‘No, this is the wrong way’. Then I realised there are more ways, different ways of skinning a cat. They have just got a different way of doing it. You think the French are unprofessional but they are not, they have just got their own way of dealing with how they play rugby and their approach to it. They are a lot more emotional. There is so much more passion in it, which is a bit more different to what I experienced at Leicester. It’s just crazy sometimes but it is just such a refreshing attitude on rugby and life as well.”Not since after the 2019 World Cup in Japan has Veainu made it back to Christchurch. Home is where the heart is, where the 30-year-old’s rugby story started in league before switching to union and accelerated. “I’m from a big family, one of eleven. A Christian family brought up in New Zealand, we didn’t have much. My parents were very hard workers, my dad worked two jobs to provide for us. I owe a lot to my parents for the sacrifices they made for me and the family… They watch my games, but Peppa Pig is dominating the TV back home at the moment. They are just more happy they have got grandkids.”When Veainu started out it was with notions of being the league superstar. “I thought I was Benji Marshall but I was nothing like him and when I saw the rugby (union) boys getting really cool kit, I decided to switch. We were playing league on Sundays, rugby on Saturdays. I just played along with my friends, then started to make a few rep teams and that was it, I stuck at it.“I still played league all the way up until I was 16, just dipping in and out, just keeping it quiet and not telling the rugby coaches about it. I was on a scholarship in my school so when they found out we had to stop and I wasn’t allowed to play anymore so I just had to focus on rugby. “I’m not the type of person that gets down and would be gutted about things like that. It was, ‘Oh it was fun while it lasted’ and I moved on. At the time I was training in the academy at the Crusaders and then made New Zealand U17s. From then on that was when I was really thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, I was so, so fortunate to be in the top 50 players in New Zealand’. Coming back from that camp I was on a high. I realised I could make a decent career out of this if I trained hard and put my head down.”It wasn’t enough, though. For sure he had the potential. Just look at his pedigree with the World Cup-winning Baby Blacks, scoring a hat-trick for New Zealand in the 2010 Junior World Cup final. However, Veainu couldn’t crack Super Rugby. Unfulfilled spells at the Highlanders and Crusaders led him to the Rebels, but even there it didn’t happen for him and by June 2015 he was considering his options outside the game. Then came a life-changing call from Tonga.  “I was sort of at rock bottom and then Tonga threw me the lifeline for the Pacific Nations Cup. I played a few games and the coach at the time asked me if I wanted to come to the World Cup. Obviously, they had a load of good wingers and full-backs at the time but I just said, ‘Yeah, why not, I’ll come along as baggage man’. Next thing you know I’m playing all of those games and I’m picked up from Leicester after that. “In Melbourne, I didn’t get much game time. I was just doing a lot of training and playing club rugby. Really low in confidence because I wasn’t getting selected. I felt at the time I could offer something different but I wasn’t being used. I was still doing everything I could but I just wasn’t getting a crack. The coach at the time just wouldn’t give me a look in until everyone got injured pretty much.“When I came back to New Zealand and I was, ‘Far out, I need to get a job’. I’d a few interests in rugby but at that point of time, I just wanted to be home with family, be surrounded by them and seeing them motivated me to get back into rugby and find the love for it and literally two, three weeks later I was at Tonga training. When I went to Tonga it felt, ‘This is where I belong’. Being back at home in the motherland and just seeing my people was awesome. It gave me such a refreshing perspective on rugby.”Welcome to Tigers @tveainu #Tigersfamily pic.twitter.com/1gKxekKnQx— Leicester Tigers (@LeicesterTigers) October 28, 2015It’s a perspective Veainu would love the global rugby authorities to appreciate and nourish rather than allow their reputation to be tarnished by embarrassments such as last July’s 16-try, 102-0 hammering by the All Blacks. It was never a fair fight, the result highlighting how difficult it is resources-wise for tier two countries such as Tonga to bridge the gap to the rugby elite. “How long has this been going on for, and it’s the same for Fiji and Samoa. Fiji are a lot better now but there is just no fair game for us in the Pacific Island nations. They asked us for a game but there were no MIQ spots. Everything just seems to go against us.”If there was one thing Veainu would change overnight it is the eligibility rules. The last rugby league World Cup demonstrated the positives that can materialise as a strengthened Tonga were transformed and packed out stadiums in New Zealand. “By being able to switch alliances you don’t know how much that impacts the young generation. Instead of wanting to play for the Kiwis they want to play for Tonga now and you have guys who have had one or two Tests for New Zealand or Australia, they can now offer their services to grow the game here in Tonga by playing for Tonga and bringing their high profile over.“The Tonga fans don’t have much but they give their voices and literally would give you the shirt off their back. They just love rugby and rugby league. Can you imagine if Tonga was a tier-one nation? Oh my goodness! The towns would be painted red and there is a lot of support in New Zealand as well. We have had training in Auckland and there were a lot of supporters turning up, bringing us fresh watermelon, coconut juices and things like that. We just loved putting a smile on their faces.”It’s two years now since Veainu earned the last of his twelve Test caps before the world ground to a halt, but he hopes to soon add to that tally with the upcoming games in Scotland and England as Toutai Kefu has been in touch. “I’ve spoken to him a few times. He is quite a bubbly guy and he is pretty happy. He just wants to get busy again. He is recovering (from being injured in a robbery at his home) and I’m really happy that he came through alright.“I’m definitely putting my hand up to be involved in the game. I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t been able to play for Tonga in a long time due to the pandemic, so I can’t wait to see the boys again.”

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[gracetrack-higgins]

3am

I already posted this on Ao3 but here it is again for all you lovely Tumblr people!! Spot and Race adopt a baby and Spot gets very introspective and sappy at 3am about it. 

this is the cutest thing i’ve written to date. soft spot conlon wrecks my heart.

Ao3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13425714

*

Spot Conlon was used to staying up late and never really had any problems with late nights, or even all-nighters. But his lifestyle changed a lot the older he got. The stamina for the all-nighters he’d had in college was significantly less. He had a schedule now. Go to bed by midnight, up by seven, out the door by eight, in the office by eight-thirty. When he was younger the thought of stability and routines were both terrifying and repulsing, but now that he had it, Spot wished he didn’t waste so much time avoiding it. He’d spent a lot of time as a young adult avoiding the life he loved now, and was internally fighting regretting all the wasted time.

Younger Spot was terrified of the things that made Older Spot so happy. Younger Spot was afraid of school and doing anything that wasn’t sports. Younger Spot was afraid of the way he felt about his best friend. Younger Spot was afraid of getting a job and an apartment. Younger Spot was downright terrified of getting married or having kids or settling down.

But Spot faced all his fears. He quit sports, went to law school, got a great job as a lawyer at an extremely competitive law firm in downtown Manhattan, moved in with his boyfriend, eventually got married to his boyfriend, and settled in a life together.

And now they just adopted a child. Which was sending their lives down a whole ‘nother crazy road Spot never wanted. But now that he was on it, he didn’t know why he’d ever wanted anything else.

It was three am, way too late for Spot to be happy about being up, but this time, he didn’t mind. He stood in the lush apartment’s kitchen holding a baby in one strong arm, rocking her as she fussed, simultaneously making a bottle with his free hand. He bounced the baby gently, screwing the lid of the bottle on tight and shaking it gently before offering it to the infant, letting her eat.

Spot and his husband Race finalized the adoption of their daughter only a week and a half ago, and despite the parenting classes, baby books, social worker visits and advice from their friends, having a baby was still an insane change. They’d waited for years for the chance to adopt a baby and went through a rigorous adoption process once they were finally off a waiting list and matched with a child.

And then just like that, Brooklyn Higgins-Conlon was theirs. Their apartment became overrun with baby supplies. Bottles and toys and strollers and diapers and blankets and onesies filled every corner of their formerly-typical-guys’-apartment. Instead of takeout and beer, their fridge was now filled with baby food and formula. Race and Spot had been taking turns staying up with their new daughter as they attempted to get her on a sleep schedule like all the books said they were supposed to. But like her fathers, Brooklyn Higgins-Conlon seemed not to care too much about rules, or following them.

Spot swayed back and forth, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched Brooklyn drinking from the bottle hungrily.

“Geez kiddo,” he said softly, “Ya only ate a couple’a hours ago, you’s actin’ like we’s starvin’ ya.”

Brooklyn’s big dark eyes were drifting shut as she continued to eat.

“And now you’s gonna crash on me?” Spot teased, “After all’a that fuss?”

Brooklyn snuffled, finishing the bottle and sighing a little as her tiny eyes shut and she promptly fell asleep. Spot set the bottle down on the table and shifted the baby in his arms so she snuggled into his chest. Spot glanced at the clock. 3:34am.

Rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand, Spot carried his sleeping daughter back to his and Race’s master bedroom, setting her down in the crib at the foot of their bed, and then climbing back into bed next to his sprawled out husband. Spot just slid his hand around Race’s waist, getting comfortable and closing his eyes, when he heard whimpers.

Nononono. Please stay asleep.

The whimpers turned into whines.

Ugghghhhhh.

The whines quickly turned into cries, which reached screeches within seconds. Spot groaned, Race stirred next to him, shoving his head under the pillow, slapping at Spot lazily.

“Spottyyyyy,” Race whined, and Spot shushed him, quickly slipping out of bed again to pick up the screaming baby.

“Alright missy.” Spot said as he held the baby to his shoulder, bouncing her as he left the bedroom, closing the door with his foot and going back into the small family room, pacing back and forth, trying to get the baby to stop crying.

“C’mon Brooklyn,” Spot muttered, patting the baby’s back lightly. After a few moments she calmed down, but refused to be put down, so Spot sat on the couch, holding his four month old daughter in his arms, trying to get her to go back to sleep.

“You’s a handful, Lil’ Miss.” Spot told her softly, letting Brooklyn suck on his fingers. “It’s almost four in the mornin’. You’s lucky I took time off’a work, otherwise I’d be a very grumpy Daddy havin’ ta get up early.”

Brooklyn cooed and Spot smirked.

“Ya think it’s funny?” he snorted. “One’a these days I ain’t gonna be able to stay home all the time, an’ then it won’t be so funny.”

Brooklyn gurgled a laugh and Spot shook his head.

“Yeah yeah, go on an’ laugh.” Spot pulled his fingers from the baby’s mouth and she shrieked in protest. He quickly shushed her, handing her a baby toy to play with instead. “It ain’t gonna be half as funny for me, Princess. ‘m already dreadin’ it.”

Brooklyn waved the toy at Spot, who grinned a little. He made a face at her, which prompted a new bout of giggles.

“I wish I had your energy.”

Brooklyn giggled more, bouncing in his arms. He bounced a little too, hushing her as her giggles turned into shrieks.

“Shhhh, Papa’s sleepin’, you’s gonna wake ‘im up. He already spent all night up wit’ ya last night, ya lil monster.”

Brooklyn seemed to get the memo, shoving the toy back into her mouth, resting against Spot’s strong arm as he held her close.

“Finally gettin’ sleepy?” he asked, rocking her instinctively. He was surprised at how easily some of this baby stuff had come to him, since until Jack and Kath’s kids were born, he’d never even held a baby. And at first, the prospect of raising a child, having a kid relying on him for food and shelter and life and…well, everything, was terrifying. But now, at four in the morning, holding Brooklyn in his arms, he wanted to give her everything and anything. It put everything in perspective. He didn’t want to go to work. He wanted to stay home and change diapers and make bottles and watch her nap. He wanted to hear her first words and watch her take her first steps and be there for everything. The thought of having to be at work all day instead of at home with her and Race made Spot’s stomach ache a little with sadness. And they’d only had her for a little over a week. How was he this attached after such a short amount of time? Why did she feel like a piece of him that’d been missing?

“There we go,” Spot said encouragingly as Brooklyn started to calm down, and he replaced the toy in her mouth with a pacifier instead. He rocked her back and forth gently, running his free hand lightly through her soft dark curls. “That’s my girl.” he smiled.

“I ain’t never thought I’d be sittin’ here,” he told her softly, “In my own place. Married to anyone, let alone your Papa.” he booped her tiny nose. “Holdin’ you.” Spot sighed contentedly. “Now I dunno what I’d do without ya.”

Brooklyn’s eyelids started to drift as Spot continued to rock her.

“I know I ain’t gonna be great at this,” Spot told her next as Brooklyn’s little tan hand wrapped around his finger. “Bein’ a dad. I didn’t have one, so…” he shrugged. “I’m not too sure what ‘m doin’ half the time. But I promise, I’ll do everythin’ I can to make sure you’s happy an’ you’s loved, ‘kay?”

Brooklyn’s little eyes closed and he smiled.

“Good.” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, still rocking her gently to make sure she stayed asleep.

“I think you’s pretty great at this.”

Spot looked up at the sound of his husband’s voice and rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, you heard that?”

Race smirked, curling up next to Spot on the couch, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” he smiled. “It was real cute.” Race looked at the baby asleep in the crook of Spot’s arm. “An’ she’s sleepin’, so you’s definitely doin’ somethin’ right.”

Spot groaned lightly, but tilted his head to rest against Race’s.

“Bein’ a dad is a lotta work.” he said, and Race nodded.

“Yeah, it sure is.” Race yawned, reaching one hand over to gently to brush at Brooklyn’s curls. “‘s a good thing she’s cute.”

Spot smirked. “I think she knows it, too. She knows we’ll let her get away with anythin’.”

Race breathed a laugh. “Yeah, an’ that’ll only get worse as she gets older.”

Spot nodded in agreement, both his and Race’s eyes watching their sleeping baby.

“‘m real glad we’re doin’ this,” Spot whispered, “I’m sorry I made ya wait so long.”

Race shook his head. “If we didn’t wait, we wouldn’t have Brooklyn.” he said simply. “An’ she’s perfect.”

Spot smiled. “She is.”

“An’ so’re you.” Race added, and Spot rolled his eyes jokingly.

“Ew, affection.” he whined, laughing as Race flicked him in the head and then pulled him into a kiss.

“Love you,” Spot offered between kisses.

“Love you too.”

Race smiled as they parted and stood from the couch, holding out a hand for Spot to join him. He did, taking Race’s hand in his, Brooklyn still asleep in his arm.

“Maybe she’ll finally stay asleep.” Race said hopefully as they started back to the bedroom.

“She can just sleep with us,” Spot joked, “Since she’s so attached.”

Race shoved his husband’s shoulder lightly. “Allow me to reference chapter 14 of every parenting book ever: Co-Sleeping Is A Trap Do Not Do It. We ain’t doin’ it.”

“I know, I know.” Spot laughed, setting the baby down in her crib gently, watching her for a second before joining Race back in bed. “If she cries again it’s your turn.”

Race mocked offense. “After last night? How dare you?”

Spot pushed Race down against the mattress, tucking a hand around his waist and pulling him close as they got comfortable.

“You overheard my private sappy conversation with our baby. It’s the least ya can do.”

Race snorted, burying his face in Spot’s t-shirt as he snuggled against him.

“Shut up an’ go to sleep.” Race murmured and Spot smiled, kissing Race’s curls and relaxing against him.

“Night, Racer.” Spot whispered.

“It’s mornin’.” Race mumbled.

“Mornin’, then.” Spot amended, smiling as he felt Race’s smile against his chest.

“Sleep, moron.” Race drawled, and Spot grunted, getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

Now please don’t wake up again. He thought to his daughter as he finally drifted back to sleep.

*

[szopenhauer]

Do you have a Beatles shirt? why would I? Do you know anyone who is going through a hard time? ... me?... Do you stay up really late, or are you one of the first people asleep? stay up late

Do have any plans for this evening? nope How has this day been for you? sigh... Did you get to sleep in today? nope Is life at all what you expected it to be when you were a kid? pfft The last thing that made you angry? What about sad? no comment Do you think about the way things used to be often? mhm Is there anyone that you would like for things to be the same with? grandma for example What do you feel like right now? ugh... The last text message you recieved says? “Może coś pooglądam” When was the last time you totally freaked out? recently

What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before? had sex

Did anyone close to you give birth this year? my ex friends

Did anyone close to you die? no one close

What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020? health, money, peace or however to call this state

Did you suffer illness or injury? sadly

What was the best thing you bought? can’t decide

What song will always remind you of 2020? shitload

What do you wish you’d done more of? eat if possible

What do you wish you’d done less of? worry, spend time visiting doctors, paying for meds, suffering, waste of time and money <yadda, yadda, yadda> *wash hands - jk

What did you want and not get? medical help and job

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? nothing has changed

What kept you sane? internet (music, games, tumblr and such), my gf, dad, sleeping, shopping... 

What issue stirred you the most? mine or world problems?

would you ever watch a bullfight? I’m against bull fights would you ever travel to Greece? not interested what sound can you hear right now? sawing wood and washing machine

Do you remember what you wore yesterday? had my blue pants with daisies and SW tee with plaid sleeveles shirt over it What is your favorite kind of fabric? cotton and polyester? Would you consider your voice high, low, or in the middle? childish, weird

When did you first hear of Harry Potter? my elementary school bestie been obsessed with it

How many pictures do you take a month on average? *shrug* Are you the type people should take seriously, or should they think you’re joking most of the time? I’m often joking but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take me srsly at all, you know? What do you think of therapists? useless Do you have a bad temper? do I? What do you think about how around Halloween a lot of people harm black cats? that is a dumb excuse, not that anything gives you right to hurt cats in other situation than protecting yourself/someone from an attack Would you ever go to a sperm bank to get pregnant? creepy Do you have the same initials as anyone else you know? no one I know has initials like I do What do you think of people who use the saying, “Ignorance is bliss” in defense of something?  that’s true but we can’t be ignorant all the damn time  If a little kid walked up to you and asked, “Are you goth?”, how would you respond? awww thx but I’m not Does it annoy you when people say their heart is “broken”? only when they reffer to crush they never even spoken to once  Would you rather hang out with friends, hang out with one close friend, or be alone? be alone Would you know exactly how to help a person if they were choking on something? in theory, I’d try my best What are you listening to? Talor Swift - Love story Have you ever painted one of those “Paint By Numbers” things? several times

What color is your carpet? no carpet in my room

Do you have shower curtains? we don’t 

Do you think Oprah is lame? Ellen is

Do you play with dead bugs? *screams and runs away*

What was the last bug you killed? mosquito?

Do you flush trash down the toilet? that can clog the toilet so nope

How many country songs have you heard today? not a single one

How many yellow shoes do you own? 1 pair

Don’t you just love those ‘Axe’ commercials? they’re incredibly stupid and irritating

Did you know that the average human eats 8 total spiders in their sleep? I heard

If you had to switch races, what would you be? asian?

What is your favorite shade of blue? navy?

Have you ever thought about getting a mohawk? in middle school I had this idea for a moment :x

What’s your favorite extinct animal? mammoth, dodo, moa

What’s your favorite eating utensil? tiny forks are cute and wooden spoons are nostalgic

When was the last time your stomach growled in a quiet place? this or last month *awkward*

Have you ever rolled around in wet grass? not wet

Where was the last public bathroom you used located? KFC

Have you ever dipped a guy’s hand in warm water while they were sleeping? I’m not an asshole

Do you ever imagine random people in their underwear? whaaat?

Do you have any asian neighbors? our neighborhood ain’t diverse

Does your grandmother/grandfather use a walker? cane

Do you die without chewing gum?apparently not. I haven’t had gum in years and I’m still here.

Are you glad it’s summer? yasss How many calories would you say you take in a day? fuck off Have you ever pissed outside? more than once Ever not liked someone because of their race? I’m not a racist Are you pregnant? I an asexual lesbian and have period rn... Do you wanna be? no way in hell Do you share a bathroom? with fam Do you hate it? YES Describe your entire family in 3 words. mom, dad, sister Do you shower once daily? yep

Are you by any chance a perfectionist? slightly How would you react if your artwork became famous? wow

Would you turn people into stone if you could? waste of space, who would want to look at those statues?  Have you ever cooked a cake over a campfire? (I have, it worked ^_^) it’s possible?! good to know Are there any orange clocks in your house? why orange... Do you put shampoo in your left or right hand? ... left? When you take a drink of something, do you hold your pinky up? often  Which shoe do you put on first? whichever What will you eat next? rice or oatmeal? Name something that you have more than 28 of. problems  Do you like peas? why not Do you enjoy llamas? yup

[ofstarsandvibranium]

99 Reasons

Fandom: Marvel

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: It’s Steve’s 99th Birthday, so you give him 99 reasons why you love him.

A/N: On July 4th, 1918, Steven Grant Rogers was born…HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVIE!!!

Warning: ULTIMATE FLUFF ALERT. also, this is pretty lengthy. but whatevs.

You were awake really early today. You were just too excited. It was your husband, Steve’s 99th birthday. Big wow! For the first 5 minutes after you woke up, you just watched the super soldier sleep. His face was neutral, but you could tell how content he was. You heart swelled knowing that you were the cause. 

You cautiously kissed him on the forehead and slipped out of bed walking towards your dresser. You opened the top drawer and dug underneath your clothes to find the little cards. This was your birthday present to Steve. 

You crept quietly to the edge of the bed and laid out the first 10 then brought the rest with you. You went to the kitchen and set 10 more onto the counter island, then began to gather the things you needed to make breakfast.

Steve began to stir awake. He felt around the bed for you and was met with nothing. His brows furrowed in confusion as he slowly opened his eyes to find that you were not there. He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and sat up. He stretched his arms above his head and gave a groan. Then his eyes settled on to pieces of paper that were laid atop the foot of the bed.

99 Reasons I Love You Said the first card.

1.  I love you for the way you make me feel when I am with you

2.  I love your humor

3.  I love how we complete each others thoughts

4.  I love your smile

5.  I love your eyes

6.  I love how I see myself through your eyes

7.  I love how you make me smile

8.  I love that we will grow old together

9.  I love that you are my best friend in the whole world and always have been

10.  I love it when we stay up all night talking about nothing

Said the next ones. Steve smiled and gathered up the cards. He got up and put on some sweats and made his way to the kitchen.

His eyes fell on you. You were wearing his shirt and swayed to the soft sound of Glenn Miller on the record player. You turned around, plate of bacon in hand and smiled up at Steve, “Mornin’ birthday boy.” 

He walked to the counter to see 10 more cards laid out:

11.  I love it when we stay up all night talking serious and not remembering what we talked about the next day.

12.  I love how your body feels next to mine

13.  I love knowing that if I died tomorrow, that I found my soulmate before I did

14.  I love the way you look at me

15.  I love the way I look at you

16.  I love that you respect me

17.  I love that even though you know everything about me you still look at me the way you do

18.  I love the way you love me

19.  I love the way I love you

20.  I love your touch

Steve smiled and caught your eye, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You shrugged, “I mean, I guess.” You gestured to the barstool seats, “Go ahead and sit. The food’s almost ready.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said sitting himself down and watching you cook. 

You plated his food first and tucked 10 more cards onto his plate, then slid it over to him. He read them:

21.  I love how you enjoy the little things I do for you and think they are big

22.  I love the sparkle in your eyes

23.  I love cuddling with you.

24.  I love how our bodies connect like a puzzle when I lie on your chest

25.  I love how we communicate so well

26.  I love that you listen to what I say

27.  I love that you tell me what you feel

28.  I love that you are the last voice I hear before I go to bed

29.  I love that I am the first voice you hear when you wake up

30.  I love how you complete me

Steve was beaming. You slid your plate next to his then turned off the stove. You walked over to the other side and you stood in between his legs and kissed him. Kisses with Steve were always so gentle and loving and always made your heart skip a beat.

“Happy birthday, Steve.” You whispered to him.

His forehead rested against yours, “Thank you, my love.”

After breakfast, you told Steve that you had made plans for him. So you told him to take a shower and dress up. As he was setting his clothes on the bed, you quickly taped 10 cards onto the bathroom mirror. You kissed Steve’s cheek as you exited the bathroom and he entered. You already started the water for him, so all he had to do was wait. He looked at the mirror and read the next cards:

31.  I love the way you play with my hair

32.  I love the way you carress my face

33.  I love the way you kiss my neck

34.  I love watching you with my friends

35.  I love that you take time for my family

36.  I love your generous nature

37.  I love your outgoing personality

38.  I love your laugh

39.  I love your warmth and kindness

40.  I love that you love spending time with me

He smiled and shook his head. He felt the water and then hopped in. 

When Steve stepped out of the bathroom, you were already dressed and ready to go. He stepped towards the bed to see, yet another set of cards, :

41.  I love that your ticklish

42.  I love how you make me laugh

43.  I love the way we finish each others sentences

44.  I love the fact that I will never give up on you

45.  I love the way I can’t imagine a day without you in my life

46.  I love how when I dream of my life partner, the only person that I can see is you

47.  I love your thoughtfulness

48.  I love your tenderness

49.  I love the way you treat my friends

50.  I love the way your voice sounds over the phone

Steve gathered them and held them up, “You know, these cards are kinda making me not want to go out and just want to spend the whole day with you. In bed. Naked.”

You laughed, “Maybe next year, soldier. But today, I made a whole list of things for us to do. So hurry up and get ready!” 

Steve chuckled, “Okay! Okay! I’m going!”

As Steve began to dress you made your way to the front door, “I’ll be in the car waiting!”

Steve hollered back, “Alright!” Then quickly pulled his clothes on.

Steve jogged out of the building and hopped into the passenger’s seat to find more cards taped onto the dashboard.

51.  I love the way your voice sounds whispering in my ear

52.  I love how our romance feels like the perfect romance movie

53.  I love the way you protect and defend me

54.  I love your intelligence

55.  I love your passion for life

56.  I love how everytime I look at you, you take my breath away

57.  I love how I thank God everyday for bringing someone as wonderful as you into my life

58.  I love how my heart skips a beat when you walk into a room

59.  I love the ways you choose to show your affection for me

60.  I love the way you inspire me to be more than I am

Steve pulled them off and pocket them with the rest. He then pulled you by the back of your neck and planted a loving kiss on your lips, “I love you,” he mumbled.

You smiled, “I love you too.” You started the car and began to drive. 

During the short drive to the location that was unknown to Steve, he kept guessing what plans you had for him. You just laughed.

“Babe, I’m not telling you! It’s all a surprise!”

He hung his head down and laughed, “Alright. Sorry.”

“What? You don’t trust me?” You asked playfully.

Steve rolled his eyes at you, “You know I do. I’m just anxious!”

You giggled at his giddiness, “Calm down, old man. Before you get a heart attack.” That earned you a poke to your side and you squealed, “Stop it! You’re going to make me crash!” He stopped but continued tot giggle.

You drove up to the sidewalk of Central Park and parked. Steve rose a questioning eyebrow, “Picnic?” 

You winked at him, “Help me with the stuff in the back, Cap.”

“You got it, doll.” He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and hopped out of the car. Making his way to the trunk. He opened it and read the cards that laid in front of a picnic basket and a pink box.

61.  I love you just the way you are

62.  I love our life together

63.  I love the way you look when you’re sleeping

64.  I love your strength of character

65.  I love the way you take the time to thank me for doing everyday things

66.  I love your confidence

67.  I love your ability to make me feel better when times are tough

68.  I love the way you support me when I’m off track

69.  I love your openness to try new things

70.  I love your ability to talk things through

With every card he read, Steve could tell he as falling even deeper in love with you. And he didn’t think it was possible. He swiped up the cards having them join the rest of the deck and he grabbed the picnic basket. You came and picked up the pink box.

“What’s that?” You gave him a look and he gave a defeated sigh, “’It’s a surprise’. Okay. Okay.” You two walked down the ever familiar trail. You then walked down the familiar trail. Steve’s hand held the basket, while his other rested on your waist as you two walked. You two walked in a comfortable silence, until you “ran” into a familiar face.

“Buck?” Steve asked as his best friend walked up to him.

Bucky smiled, “Happy birthday, Punk.” He gave his friend a hug and pulled out a card giving it to him. 

Steve looked at you and you nodded. A silent confirmation that it was part of the rest. He turned it over and read it:

71.  I love your courage to be you

Steve was smiling again.

“You got an incredible dame there, Stevie.” Bucky said smiling at you.

Steve kissed your temple, “Don’t I know it.” The three of you continued to walk until you ran into a line of Steve’s friends and fellow Avengers.

First it was Nat, who smirked as she handed him a card:

72.  I love your greatness

Then it was Sam:

73.  I love the fact that you want to be with me

Then Tony, with, of course, a snide comment, “Man. You’re older than sliced bread.” Earning a frustrated shake of the head from your husband.

74.  I love you for you

Wanda:

75.  I love your body

Clint:

76.  I love the way you take the time to show me how much you love me

Bruce:

77.  I love that you have a movie addiction just like me

Vision:

78.  I love the way you treat my family

Sharon:

79.  I love that my family loves you

And then Peter Parker, which shocked Steve. The young man stood there giddy, “Hiya, Captain! Happy birthday! Again, I’m really sorry for-”

Steve chuckled, “Thanks, kid. And it’s alright. I’m glad you’re here.” Peter was beaming with pride at the comment.

80.  I love the way you are not scared to show your affection when we are in public

The group of you all walked to the open field where there was already sheets laid out to sit on accompanied with their own picnic baskets. Everyone happily plopped themselves down onto a spot and began bringing out the food.

You all sat around eating and laughing with each other. You then took out your camera and started snapping pics of Steve with everyone.

“Alright! Hand it over!” Tony exclaimed coming to your side. He snatched the camera out of your hands, “Go pose with the icicle before he melts.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Tony!”

Tony smirked, “What? You think I’m gonna respect you even if you’re technically older? Biologically, you’re younger than me! So respect your biological elder, Rogers!” Everyone laughed, including you, and you sat down next to Steve smiling at the camera. 

“Ugh. You both disgust me with your puppy love.” Tony said as he continued taking pictures. You stuck your tongue out at him and smiled when you heard Steve’s laugh. You then pulled out more cards from your pocket and handed them to him:

81.  I love that you love my cooking 

82.  I love the way you take care of us

83.  I love your willingness to share everything, espescially your heart

84.  I love your way with words

85.  I love that you call me your “doll”

86.  I love the special moments that we share

87.  I love your passion for your hobbies and interests 

88.  I love your competitiveness

89.  I love your ingenuity

90.  I love the surprises you do for me

“I can’t believe you’re doing this, doll.” Steve said looking at you lovingly.

“I’d do anything for you, Steve. And I want you to always know all of the reasons of why I love you.”

“You’re incredible.” Steve mumbled as he leaned in for a kiss.

“GAG ME WITH A SPOON!” Bucky cried out interrupting you two. You laughed as Steve balled up his napkin and threw it at his chuckling best friend.

“I think it’s time for cake.” Nat handed you the pink box and you set it in front of Steve. You opened it to reveal a medium sized cake in the shape of the famous Captain America shield. Written in icing was “Happy Birthday Steve!”

Nat then handed you two candles that were shaped into 9s and you stuck them into the cake.

“Oh thank God. I thought you were actually going to stick 99 candles in there.”

You scoffed, “Nobody has time for that!” You then lit the candles and everyone began to sing: 

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday, dear Steeeevve!

Happy birthday to yooouuu!

Steve took a breath then blew the candles out earning some cheers and applause.

“Did you wish for something, Captain Rogers?” Peter asked.

He shook his head, “Nope.”

You frowned, “Why not?”

Steve smiled and pulled you close, “Because I have everything I could wish for right here.” That earned some aws and eye rolls.

“You’re so corny, Rogers.”

Steve chuckled, “I blame you, Mrs. Rogers.” He gave you a quick peck on the lips and then began to cut the cake.

A couple hours later, everyone cleaned up and was ready to head back home. You and Steve said your good-byes thanking everyone for their help and presence. You two then walked back to the car hand in hand.

“So did you enjoy yourself?”

Steve nodded looking at you, “Of course. I was surrounded by my wife and family. How could I not?” 

You hugged him, “Good.” He hummed with contentment.

The short time back to your apartment was filled with a comfortable silence. You both headed to the bedroom immediately wanting to relax after today’s events.

You both were now situated in bed. Steve’s arms comfortably around you. You then handed him the last set of cards:

91.  I love your sensuality

92.  I love how you demand respect but aren’t controlling

93.  I love how I would do anything for you to make you happy

94.  I love how you would do anything to make me happy

95.  I love how even when you’re not with me I still feel like you’re right here with me

96.  I love the way you won’t let me compromise myself

97.  I love the way that you won’t compromise yourself

98.  I love that you are always there for me

After not finding the 99th card, Steve looked at you in confusion, “Where’s the last one?”

You bit your lip as you handed him the very last card:

99.  I love that you’re going to be an amazing father.

Steve’s breath hitched and he felt like time stood still. He read the card over and over again and then looked at you, “You’re-?”

You nodded and handed him the pregnancy test that had a plus sign staring at him, “You’re gonna be a dad.”

Tears started welling in Steve’s eyes, “I’m gonna be a dad.” He whispered. He broke out into a smile, “I’m gonna be a dad!” He dropped the card and small stick and pulled you to him. His lips capturing yours, “We’re gonna be parents,” he whispered with excitement.

You laughed and nodded, “Yeah, we are, Stevie.”

Steve hugged you, “This is the best present ever, doll.” 

He then let go and slid down becoming eye level with your stomach, “Hey, baby. This is your daddy. I can’t wait to meet you. You’ve already made me so happy.” He kissed your stomach then craned his neck up to kiss you, “I love you so much, Y/N Rogers.”

You smiled, “And I love you Steve Rogers. Everything about you. 99 reasons and more.”

[captain-zajjy]

Solstice, Chapter 22 - A Final Fantasy XV Story

Pairing: Ignis x Female Original Character

AO3 | Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

A/N: Again, I’m really sorry for the long absence, but I think the break did me some good. 

Tagging @gudetamazing​ per request, and @roses-and-oceans​, @geochic03​, @bespectacled-girl​, and @blightyonfire​ for leaving such nice comments on this story in the past. And of course, my one and only beta and editor-san @calilumina! Hopefully I haven’t lost anyone with my long hiatus.

Valeria woke the next morning with a start, blinking bleary, heavy eyes at the unfamiliar surroundings. She wasn’t home - home, Insomnia, was gone. It wasn’t the abandoned country house of some stranger where she’d sought temporary refuge from the daemons; the daemons were still out there, but they couldn’t be close, not with all the light pooling beneath the door and the soft sounds of a child’s voice filling the hallway. She remembered, with a heavy heart, that she wasn’t in Ignis’s tiny apartment either; he had gone back out on the road to chase his wounded pride, gone and left her with Gladiolus Amicitia’s sister and the boy, Talcott, grandson of the Amicitia family’s butler.

Valeria couldn’t quite bring herself to resent Ignis for leaving her, but it still hurt, and it took her back to a time when she was ten years old, watching her father’s motorcycle take off down a quiet city street. He’d come back - once in awhile, whenever it suited him, not nearly often enough to fill the void he’d left behind.

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, exiting the bedroom (Iris had slept in her brother’s room, allowing Valeria to use her bed while she stayed) and made her way to the bathroom with a deep yawn. As usual, she hadn’t slept much, and what rest she did have was plagued by nightmares of daemons and Magitek and Ignis screaming as he was torn apart.

Talcott was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a piece of dry toast with a small glass of orange juice that looked like it had been significantly watered down.

“Good morning!” Iris chirped. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Valeria shook her head and slumped down at the table, envying how well-rested and just plain optimistic the younger girl seemed. Ignorance, as they all say, is bliss. Talcott was rehearsing some kind of history report, and Valeria could only offer a wan nod when he turned to look at her, having only heard about a third of it.

“I think that’s an A plus, Talcott,” Iris said.

“Really?” They boy’s large, blue eyes were wide, eager.

“Seriously. I didn’t even know half of that stuff.” Iris handed him a metal lunchbox with a chocobo on the front of it. “Did you?”

“Oh, I...” Valeria shook her head. What had he been talking about? Something about the Caelum dynasty? “I’m more of a math person,” she offered, trying to disguise the fact that she hadn’t been paying attention.

“I hate math,” Talcott grumbled as he pulled on his backpack. “But Grandpa said I have to get good grades in everything, not just the stuff I like.”

“Yep,” Iris said, walking him to the door. “Have a good day at school!” she said with a wave, shutting the door behind him.

Valeria regarded Iris for a moment - still in her pajamas and slippers as she lazily scrubbed at a dish in the sink.

“Aren’t you going to school?” Valeria asked.

Iris looked up for a moment, then seemed to purposely put her head down. “No.”

Valeria didn’t know Gladiolus all that well, but from Iris’s reaction, she was almost certain this was an argument the Amicitia siblings had - probably more than once.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because it’s pointless,” Iris snapped, her cheerful demeanor giving way to something far more forceful. “How is learning, like, geometry going to help save anybody stuck out there?” She pointed toward the apartment’s window. “I want to help people, not....sit around.”

“There are plenty of ways to help people that don’t involve fighting.” They weren’t always glamorous, especially to a teenager, but that didn’t make them less valid.

Iris looked her in the eye. “I’m an Amicitia,” she said, both pride and expectation in her voice. “We fight. It’s what we do.” What had she called it? A family curse? Perhaps it wasn’t just the men who were affected by the weight of that family name.

Valeria merely shrugged. If her brother hadn’t been able to talk Iris out of it, there was no way a woman she’d only just met was going to.

“They say this isn’t going to last forever,” was all Valeria said on the matter. “Things will go back to how they used to be.” Mostly. Maybe.

“Whatever,” Iris replied, putting the dishes away. “I’ll fight then too. When Noct comes back...” Her voice trailed off, her eyes glazed over with a longing sadness Valeria immediately recognized, recognized because she had seen it in herself. She loves him , Valeria thought. She loves the Prince.

“He’ll come back,” Valeria offered with a smile. He’ll come back, just like Ignis will come back, like he promised.

Sometime well after the city chimes sounded that it was past noon, the door to the suite abruptly flew open, a bulky, tattooed man filling the entire doorway.

“Gladdy!” Iris shrieked, bounding off the couch and into her big brother’s arms.

Valeria pushed past them, her heart in her throat.Ignis. Where’s Ignis?

He was there, standing in the hallway behind Gladiolus, looking rumpled and tattered and alive and well. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“Iggy,” she whispered, then threw herself into his arms with a pathetic whimper. “You came back. You came back to me.”

“I told you I would,” he replied, squeezing her tight. If only we could stay like this forever, Valeria thought, burying her face into his shoulder. But she became acutely aware of the eyes of the Amicitia siblings on them, and turned to see them both beaming at her and Ignis with knowing smiles.

Valeria felt her cheeks burning crimson as she quickly broke the embrace, her eyes fixed on the grubby tiled floor. Romance is a waste of time , her mother chided in her head. It’s not like that. The lie came to Valeria automatically; she’d programmed herself into believing her own bullshit. But she didn’t have to lie anymore, to anyone.

“Iris, forgive me for rushing off,” Ignis said. “But I’m afraid I’m simply exhausted.”

“Of course,” Iris said. “I’m just glad you guys are back safe and sound.”

Valeria thanked Iris for allowing her to stay, then led Ignis down the stairs and out of the Leville. Relief was crashing over her in waves, so violently that she stumbled as her knees grew weak.

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asked, his strong grip on her arm keeping her upright.

“Nothing.” Valeria turned to smile at him, the man she held above all others. The man she loved. You came back. “Nothing at all.”

After taking a shower and a long, peaceful nap, Ignis stood over the worn clothes he’d laid out on the bed, running his fingers over the stiff spots that signaled the presence of dried blood. More than just his gloves had been stained; there was spatter across the front of his shirt and sleeves of his jacket.

Fortunately, Ignis knew a simple solution for that; they’d slain enough beasts on the road that he’d had plenty of opportunities to field test a remedy. He grabbed a can of salt from the kitchen and carried his soiled things into the bathroom, asking Valeria if she needed the sink before proceeding to fill up the basin.

“No,” she replied, following him in - or half-in - the tiny room. The gentle touch of her hand on his back, the feeling of her body pressed close against his side, made his pulse quicken in such a way that he once would have lamented his body betraying him. But now, it just felt like he’d always known it, in his bones and in his heart, what his head had stubbornly attempted to deny all along. Even so, he wasn’t ready, not quite yet. There were so many things that frightened him, not the least of which were all the ways he’d been altered in the past few months.

“What are you doing?” Valeria asked, curious, as he dumped a generous amount of salt into the cold water in the sink. “Oh,” she said as he opened his mouth to reply, undoubtedly noticing the blood on the clothing he’d piled atop the lid of toilet.

“It’s best to soak the stains in salt water for a few hours, before laundering,” Ignis explained as he stirred the water with his hand, letting the salt dissolve.

“Really?” she asked.

“It’s worked in the past.” Ignis pressed a wet finger to his lips, testing the saline levels, before tossing in a bit more.

“Did you have bloody clothes often?” Valeria asked, her tone probing.

“It was animal blood,” he replied, fully aware of what she was getting at. Ignis hoped that, in time, he’d be able to forget the pathetic way the dying man had clutched at him, pleading for his life.

“It’s not animal this time?”

“No.” Ignis turned to grab his clothes, plunging first his gloves, then his shirt into the sink. Valeria stopped him with a touch on his arm before he could add the jacket.

“Wait a minute.” He heard her walk across the apartment and then return, taking the jacket from his hands. “Let me see if I can put this on a hanger, so you don’t have to put the whole thing in the sink. It’s silk isn’t it?” Ignis nodded. “I bet if I can hang it on the mirror, the stained parts will reach...Ah, perfect.”

“Good thinking,” Ignis said, quietly grateful for her narration of exactly what she was doing. He was growing accustomed to filling in the gaps of what was going on around him with suppositions and imagination, but it was frustrating, particularly for someone as analytical as himself, to have to rely on such an incomplete picture much of the time.

The clothes would need to soak for several hours; there was no reason for them to stay in the cramped bathroom, but they both remained where they stood, her chest pressed into the side of his arm.

“Are you hurt?” Valeria asked him quietly.

“It’s not my blood,” Ignis said. “What you said about the people out there - you were right.” Valeria said nothing, but slipped her hand into his. “Aren’t you going to gloat?” he asked, trying - and not really succeeding - to lighten the suddenly dark mood.

“Not about this,” she said. “I didn’t want to be right about this. They attacked you?”

“And tried to abscond with our supplies.” To think that common bandits would plague Lucis’s highways in this day and age... As he’d said, Valeria had been right, been right about everything. People were frightened and hungry and cruel.

“Did you kill them?” Her voice was quiet, flat, unreadable.

Ignis swallowed. “Yes.” He half-expected her to push him away in disgust, but she squeezed his hand.

“Have you killed anyone before?”

“Imperial soldiers.” Most of them had been Magitek, but some were flesh and blood, just like him. “These weren’t soldiers. I doubt they were even as old as we are.”

“You did what you had to do, Iggy.” Valeria rested her head on his shoulder. “They would have just kept hurting people.”

Ignis stood there, taking comfort in her words and her presence, until he realized exactly what she’d said.

“So did you,” he said.

“What?”

“You did what you had to. Whatever it was that happened to you out there, you don’t have to be ashamed.�� He heard her inhale sharply, felt her grip falter on his hand.

“I...Iggy...”

Ignis shook his head, chiding himself for speaking so carelessly. “I wasn’t trying to conjure bad memories.” He slid a comforting arm around her back. “Would you allow me to take you out for dinner?”

Valeria let out a startled laugh. “What?”

Ignis grinned. “I happen to know of at least one restaurant in Lestallum that still exists - after a fashion. If you’d like-”

“Of course I would,” Valeria replied, her mood audibly brighter. “Just let me change my clothes.”

They walked past the market, to a street corner Valeria must have passed a dozen times, only now noticing the half-lit sign that said ‘Cafe ’ (or ‘AF’ if one was going by the letters that were still illuminated).

“Oh,” Valeria said, peering in the narrow windows. “It’s really crowded.”

Ignis shook his head. “I doubt most of them are patrons.” As Valeria pushed the door open, a bell dinging softly overhead, Ignis quietly added, “The owner has far too big a heart.”

The owner in question, a heavyset man of about thirty or so, looked up from the counter, a broad, excited smile immediately lighting up his face.

“Scientia!” he boomed, making his way toward the pair. Ignis stuck out his hand and the man shook it vigorously.

“My friend, Valeria.” Valeria was surprised when the man gave her the same vigorous handshake, threatening to wrench her shoulder from its socket. “Valeria, this is James, the proprietor of this fine establishment.”

“‘Fine,’ he says.” James let out a hearty laugh. “You’d be singing a different tune if your eyeballs worked, my friend.”

Valeria recoiled at the glib way the man spoke of Ignis’s blindness, but Ignis merely chuckled.

“The cuisine is quite fine,” Ignis said. “That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to forgive the ambiance,” James said to Valeria, shooing away a group of people loitering near a small table in the corner. “Move it,” he barked at them, although not entirely unkindly. “And don’t bother the paying customers.”

A few of the people regarded Valeria curiously, undoubtedly wondering just what sort of person went on a dinner date at a time like this. A date... The realization made her blush as she followed James to their table, but that’s exactly what it was. She was tired of lying to herself about these things.

“Here you are,” James announced with a sweeping gesture toward the table. “Give me just a moment.”

As he dashed back off toward the counter, Valeria took Ignis’s hand from her elbow and placed it on the nearest chair back; rather than take the seat, he pulled the chair out and motioned for her to sit, pushing it back in after she was settled. Valeria rolled her eyes, although she was hardly annoyed; you damned, chivalric fool, she thought as he felt his way around to the chair at the other side of the table. But she wouldn’t have it any other way.

James quickly returned, spreading a blue and white checkered tablecloth across the tabletop and setting out napkins and silverware. He even placed a small, dented lantern in the center of the table, lighting the votive within with a match.

“Can’t leave this stuff out,” he explained. “I swear, they’ll pocket anything that isn’t nailed down.”

“But you let them in?” Valeria asked, scanning the crowd. They had the same tattered, defeated air that she’d had when she first entered the city.

“It’s the damned kids,” James said, then slapped his forehead. “Pardon my language. But I’m a real sucker for kids. Anyway...” he spread his hands in a welcoming gesture, “I’m afraid I can’t really host a menu, per se, not with the way the food deliveries have been, but I do have a nice cut of behemoth steak a Hunter dropped off yesterday.”

Steak? Valeria felt her jaw drop open even as her mouth began to water.

“That’ll be fine, James,” Ignis said, removing his gloves and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

“More than fine,” Valeria said.

“Excellent! I’ll get that started and bring you something to drink.”

Valeria turned to Ignis as James left, a smile spreading across her face. Steak, a restaurant, a date...and most of all, Ignis. Ignis came back.

“What?” he asked, his expression bemused.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“It seems as though you want to.”

“I...” Valeria tried to think of some eloquent way to dance around the subject, like they always did, before stopping herself. No more of that. “I’m just happy,” she said honestly.

A flush crept up the sides of Ignis’s neck, his ears. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“Is that bad?” Valeria looked around all the people crowded into the other corners of the restaurant, people who weren’t about to dine on steak, who had probably lost the men and women they loved.

“No.” Ignis shook his head emphatically. “Don’t feel guilty for being happy. Don’t ever feel guilty for that.”

Valeria felt something swell inside of her and had to look down, avert her eyes, busy her fingers with picking some lint off the tablecloth, lest she get all emotional in public.

“Iggy,” she ventured, still not able to look at him directly. He was too bright. “Have you been here before?”

“Well, I...” His eyebrows knitted together. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean before...” Valeria let that trail off, hoping he’d catch her meaning. Even if Ignis didn’t mind others cracking jokes about his blindness, she still felt hesitant to bring it up.

“Ah. No. Noct’s preferences leaned more toward the greasy spoon.”

“Oh, right.” Of course they did. “I could, um...describe it to you. If you’d like.”

The smile that played across Ignis’s lips was small, cryptic. “I would,” he said quietly.

Valeria looked around the small restaurant, suddenly wishing she had more of a way with words. She had asked, and yet she was uncertain where to begin.

“It’s not a big place.” She decided to start broadly and narrow down to the details. “There are maybe ten or fifteen tables, mostly for two.” Valeria wondered if, in the past, it had been filled with young couples, like herself and Ignis, shyly regarding one another over the golden light of a small lantern.

“The walls are exposed brick,” she went on. “Red. But there are patches where the bricks have faded pink from the sun. The floors are scuffed too. You know,” Valeria leaned with her elbow on the table, even though her mother would have snapped at her for that. “This whole town is kind of like that. Everything in Insomnia was so...slick . Perfect. The signs of wear here, I guess it should feel shabby, but I don’t know... I think it’s kind of quaint.” Romantic , she thought. It’s all terribly romantic. Or maybe that was just her present company.

“I always thought Lestallum was a charming town,” Ignis said, nodding. “Perhaps, because it is so unlike the Crown City and what we are accustomed to.”

He was right. Valeria wouldn’t want to live here forever, but it wasn’t the first time that she’d thought if things hadn’t been so dark and crowded and miserable, it would have been romantic. Romantic. She pushed away how that word made her blush, every time, and continued to describe the restaurant’s layout and decor to Ignis. She’d just gotten to the tablecloth when they were interrupted by James, setting down two glasses of water.

“Red wine’s the only real way to enjoy a steak, I know,” he said. “But water’s all I got.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Ignis said.

Valeria turned to the restaurant owner. “If you don’t mind me asking, why bother to stay open?”

“You have any idea how hard it is to get a permit?” James asked the question like it was meant to be rhetorical, but when Valeria shrugged and stared at him blankly, he explained. “Figured you were a Crown City type. It’s tough to get a business off the ground here, unless you’ve got a connection to someone up in the Ivory Tower. And it’s even tougher when that business is male-owned, like this ‘fine establishment.’”

“Oh,” was all Valeria could say.

“I’ve always wanted my own place,” James went on. “Ever since I learned how to cook. Now, Scientia here tells me this catastrophe isn’t going to last forever. Even if it means hemorrhaging money and giving out more handouts than serving paying customers, well...that’s just what I’ll have to do.”

“I did say the Darkness might last quite a while,” Ignis added.

“Then I got quite a while of feeding freeloaders. Hell, maybe once all of this is said and done, some of ‘em will remember and come back as paying customers. Or even,” James’ eyes took on a faraway gleam, “investors. Ha!” James clapped Ignis on the shoulder. “Keep dreaming, right?”

“So that’s why all these people are here,” Valeria said, glancing at the listless crowd. “You cook for them.”

James seemed to shrug off the implication that he was running some kind of charity. “Can’t rightly throw food away when it’s about to spoil, not with so many hungry people in the city. But don’t worry - the steaks are fresh. I wouldn’t try to pawn off anything that wasn’t fresh onto my paying customers. Plus, Scientia would definitely call me out on that, wouldn’t you, friend?”

“Well, I-”

Before Ignis could properly respond, James went on. “First time he came in here, he had a twenty minute conversation with me about spices, and I thought, ‘Damn, James, you better step up your game.’ Speaking of, I better check on your supper.”

“That conversation was mostly one-sided, I assure you,” Ignis said after James had left.

Valeria snorted a laugh. “I believe it.”

“He might be overly loquacious, but he’s an excellent chef.”

“And a good person.” Valeria once again regarded the others, now shunted to the opposite side of the small restaurant. “I wonder what other businesses do with things once they go bad...” Convincing business owners to give away all their products to the starving might be a tall order, but surely they’d be willing to part with things that were on the cusp of becoming garbage.

Ignis cocked his head with a small smile. “I sense the gears are turning.”

“You can read my mind now?” Valeria asked playfully.

“After a fashion. Experience tells me that when your voice trails off like that, you’re usually hatching some sort of scheme.”

“‘Scheme’ sounds so nefarious,” Valeria said.

Ignis arched an eyebrow. “Yes. And?”

Valeria made a sound of mock outrage. “Iggy!” She gave him a playful swat on the wrist, but Ignis grabbed her hand, gripped it firmly, his expression suddenly serious.

“I’m not going to go back out there again. Not if it isn’t alright with you. The last thing I want is to cause you harm.”

“Iggy...” Valeria felt her lip begin to tremble. This man, this beautiful, wonderful man - what had she done to deserve him? “Your duty, I understand,” she babbled. He cut her off with the tight squeeze of his hand.

“Noct is gone. Gone where I cannot follow, and putting myself in harm’s way will not hasten his return. It’s been a struggle, but I...I think I’m beginning to accept that.”

“I’m sorry,” Valeria mumbled.

“As am I. My duty is to the King and the people of Lucis - and there are plenty of people right here that I can help.”

How very gallant. Valeria liked to tease him about that, but at the moment, she thought the man sitting across from her, holding her hand, was the very portrait of bravery and honor.    

“Tell me,” Ignis went on, his expression softening. “Will you be terribly cross if I give my dinner away to someone here who truly needs it?”

Valeria grinned. “Not at all. But I think James is going to be disappointed.”

Admittedly, she was looking forward to steak, but she followed his example, and the two of them ended up hand-in-hand in the market, sharing a bag of popcorn for dinner.   

[fureniku]

The return of my blog or something idk

Looks like in my last blog I said I’d not post my semi-private stuff here, only to a private blog.

Honestly, I can’t remember the name of the private blog; let alone the login/password. I think I only made one post there, to zero followers, and kind of lost the point of doing it. So fuck it, lets just go back to being here.

Days since last post: 614 Todays date: 30th September 2019 Start time: 20:39

Well, I guess we have some catching up to do.

I don’t know how many people on here were following me before. So, I guess I’ll start with a sum-up. My previous blog was just me ranting about anxiety/depression related things. It was a good platform for me to vent my thoughts without real life friends knowing; I had a few RL friends who followed it which was great as they could give me some support, but most of them didn’t know about the blog, which was also great as they then didn’t know a side of me I’d generally prefer to keep private. That blog was deleted in early January 2018, when the drummer from my then-band found it. I had made some comments about my frustrations in the band which were true, and I stand by them - but naturally it caused drama. I deleted the account, and instantly regretted it - I only had maybe 50 followers, but now I have two, so yeah.  Life since then has been... chaotic. Not specifically in a bad way, just a lot of things happened. When the blog ended I was; - Single - Playing guitar in a band - Working a dead-end job in a Warehouse - Had no ambition/drive to progress life

Three of those things have since changed; I’m still single (not for lack of trying but whatevs). I guess I’ll cover a timeline? Jan 2018: I deleted my old blog, and made this one, and a second one with a more secretive/anon name. I made a couple of posts on each, then abandoned it. Instead, I started relying mostly on just one friend to help me. May 2018: I got a new job, working for a games developer. It literally changed my life. Anxiety/depression started to clear up a lot, things just generally improved. June/July-ish 2018: I left my band. There was an argument about the fact another band was using our space for free, after we had offered it to them at a split rate and they declined. I instigated the argument, other members didn’t see eye to eye with me, so I quit. It was a final nail in the coffin kind of thing, but it was certainly the healthy thing to do. The whole situation had been kind of toxic for a little while, but I now get on just fine with all of them - I think if I had stayed much longer, that might not be the case. Our vocalist left very shortly after me as well - I don’t know the reasons why, but it seems the terms were... less happy.

September 2018: I started taking Japanese classes. Met a girl, had a crush on her for a bit, it didn’t go anywhere as usual. No biggie.

December 2018: Depression came back a bit, as it always does around then. Not much I can do about it so I just power through.

February 2019: I got made redundant from work. I was cool with it, I could see it coming for a while and there was like 12 other people too, my boss had fought hard to keep me but the game wasn’t doing so well, so I totally get it. I got a nice redundancy pay (which they by no means had to give me, so I’m super grateful). I applied for a job with another studio; quite a big one called Jagex. They were far from me so it would’ve involved moving and stuff, so quite scary. I made it to the final stages, but didn’t get it.

I now had a fair lump of cash (I had been saving for a house anyway), but not quite sure what to do with it. Followers of my previous blog can probably guess what I decided to spend it on...

April 2019: I went back to Japan! My mental-health-reset trip mark 2. I spent about two and a half weeks there (despite fucking up and accidentally buying a ticket to return mid-may... whoops). I got detained in China on my way home too but that’s a whole other story (it was all sorted and fine in the end).

While in Japan, I had time to clear my head and think. I decided I wanted to go back to university, so started thinking about how that would work. Here in the UK, we get a student loan to pay for university. It’s a bit complicated, but the way it works is you get your course length plus one year of funding. The day you set foot on campus, you use one year of funding. Now, I had already been to university previously - I studied music production. Totally dead industry, I dropped out about three weeks into my second year. That meant, I only had course length minus one year’s funding left available. So I have to pay the first year of university myself. At a cool £9,250.

My dad agreed to pay one term, so one third of that. I managed to save up another terms worth by working over the summer. I’m sat in my uni dorm right now, still not quite sure how I’ll pay for the third term... but I’ve got 6 months to figure that one out.

May 2019: I returned to my original job, back in the warehouse. Picking and packing sacks of bird food, so much fun. My mental health naturally slipped again, although everyone was really friendly to me while before it was kinda like I didn’t exist, so that was nice.

Around this time, I also joined an Overwatch team. It was a pretty big team with maybe 14-15 members, it was cool to make some new friends. Except one guy, was a dick. This OW stuff is like a whole side story from hereon... Anyway, I said to my squad leader (We’ll call her SN) that this guy is a dick. She said ok and she’d go talk to him. She said do you agree you’re being a dick, he said no. She said do you acknowledge one of the squad members thinks you’re being a dick? He said no again. Some other stuff I don’t know happened, and he got kicked off the team. He turned a load of people against her, caused loads of drama, and everyone blamed her when it was 100% my fault. So that was fun. The only reason I didn’t leave the team right then is because if I had, the entire drama would’ve been for nothing.

June 2019: My old boss who didn’t work there appeared at the end of may. I have a job for you. Ominous... but ok. Turns out, there was a new system being implemented on another contract. As I had experience with QA, and had done some IT stuff for them before, they wanted me to help with the testing and implementation. It was a job that would test my brain, while requiring little physical work - it was perfect for me. I really enjoyed it. It was supposed to be a four week thing, but we found lots of niggly little problems in the system... as far as I know, it’s actually only just gone live - but may have been delayed further.

While working up there, obviously there was downtime while waiting for fixes to be implemented. “What, you want this label a different size? oof, that’s gonna take about three weeks”. However, I got to stay in the office, doing odd jobs and stuff. One of the “odd jobs” ended up being a full on Android app, that my boss and me developed together. It was super fun to work on and really rewarding. That was worked on on-and-off between June and August.

July 2019: an interesting month. There was a major incident at work where a shelf holding very heavy metal shit stirrers collapsed. (The contract was a water treatment etc company, who provide all the clean water and water recycling for my local area. The things on the shelf literally stirred shit.) No one was hurt but it was a lot of drama, which was kind of entertaining to me as I was totally bunking off for the whole week where it happened. Not just the occasionally check Facebook on your phone at work kind of bunking off; I literally just messed about on Discord and worked on Minecraft mods for about two weeks straight. They had given me quite a big project to do, I automated the process... gg ez.

Around this time, the game I had been a part of before was to be officially cancelled. My old work invited me down to the studio to be a part of the formal funeral for the game, which was a big honour. I even got to fly the sky-whale which was awesome. It was bittersweet though, as the game meant a lot to me and had literally changed my life.

August 2019: haaaaaa august was a meme. I’d gotten kinda close with a girl (we’ll call her AP) in my Overwatch team. Like, we’d arranged to meet up at the end of August anyway but yeah, she was the first crush in a long time who actually knew I liked her. And she had certainly implied she felt the same way... like she’d been sending lots of hearts and stuff and talking to me 24/7, tagging me in “X has to take you on a date to Y place” memes and so on.  Anyways, so SN had apparently picked up on the fact I liked her, and started getting super pissy with me. I was pretty good friends with SN and we got on well, but in August she suddenly started getting crazy angry with me over tiny things. It all came to a head when I let AP kill me in a game (long story). Turns out, SN was like in love with me... despite breaking up with her boyfriend of over a year like 2 days before this conversation. So yeah, she told me to fuck off and that was that, she left the team etc, which thanks to chain of command meant that I was then in charge. fun. 

Anyways, get to the end of August, and I was due to meet AP. We met up, it was pretty cool. We hung out at a gaming festival, then suddenly like half way through she was like “lets split up for a bit” and I was like ........ok thats weird but alright. We didn’t meet up again until literally when she had like 2 mins to go, but it seems like she had a lot more fun without me being there. Clearly I’d done some major fuckup, which I still don’t actually know what it was. I had an anxiety attack before I even reached my car... and not a little one either. It’s quite possibly the biggest anxiety attack I’ve ever had, I barely made it to my car before having a total meltdown. It was the first one I’d had for about a year and it hit hard. It took me about 30 mins to calm down, then I headed home. 

I messaged her that night and asked her what happened, and she replied with “oh I never said I liked you”. It hurt a lot, like I’d been totally lead on. But hey whatever, that’s my life in a nutshell right? “Oh you want this happiness? this happiness right infront of you? HA nah”.  She said in the same message that I “seemed cool” and she’d like to hang out again sometime. But literally within a week she was clearly interested in another guy, so yeah whatever. We’re still friends and play games from time to time but I know she likes this other guy, so yeah. I still like her but whatever, not much I can do about it.

Work was a meme as well. I got taken off the fun and interesting projects to do paperwork. Literally, my job was to scan 35,000 documents because they couldn’t find a couple of bits of information. I suggested much better and more efficient ways, but the boss of the contract was like “no thats bad do it this old fashioned way we don’t want any fancy apps or anything” (I had suggested a spreadsheet or database). It took me about 3 weeks of just standing by a scanner which would jam up every 15-20 sheets in. It was mental health hell, especially in the last week after all the AP stuff had happened.

September 2019: I had one week left at work. I finished the hellish scanning project on Monday afternoon. “Oh as a thanks for your massive hard work we’ll make sure to find you things to do for the rest of the week” No it’s fine, I’m happy to just finish a few days early so I have more time to prep for uni. “No no no, we’ll find you stuff to do” They did not find stuff for me to do. I literally sat there, with nothing to do bar a few odd jobs “hey can you fix this printer”, for four days. It was incredibly mind-numbingly dull. The only thing ticking me over was “hey, maybe they wanna give me a card on my last day or something to say good luck and bye and thanks for doing this literal £20/hr job for half that because you’re agency staff”. But nah, a few people said cya later, but a lot forgot I was leaving entirely. So that was a fun way to finish what had mostly been a decent job...

I then had two weeks of freedom, before moving to university on the 21st. I was nervous; who wouldn’t be? but it was cool. I finally moved out of my house, and had a place where I could make a lot of new friends (LOL). On the day I moved in, I met up with someone I’d spoken to online a few times who was living in the same building as me, we’ll call her S. She was nice, we got on well, and it was kinda cool to have a friend who was a girl that for once I didn’t have a crush on (coz I’m still totally hung up on AP). We ended up going to a club in the evening which I’ve literally never done in my life, and she brought me out of my comfort zone a lot. She was great for my anxiety and really helpful. We’ve hung out a few times since, but I kind of feel like I was just a “filler friend” until she made new friends. She actually totally blanked me when I walked past her today, so that was fun. She has my Switch atm too coz I let her borrow it, I’ll probably just get it back later this week and then be done, its like I put in all the effort to be a friend and she couldn’t care less.

Anyways, so as I said I moved in on Saturday. I met one of my four flatmates on Saturday and another on Sunday, but hadn’t seen the other two at all. It gets to Thursday and I’m tidying the kitchen a bit, my mum’s about to pick me up so I can move in my last few things, and one of the mystery people appeared - she hadn’t actually moved in yet and was just unloading her stuff. She had loads of kitchen stuff, seems she’s really into her cooking.

Anyway, mum picks me up, we go to get my stuff, then we’re driving back, and my phone starts blowing up. S: Are you in? Me: No, why? S: Your building’s on fire. Me: lol nice joke S: no really *picture of everyone evacuated with fire engines outside* S: It’s your floor too, idk which flat. I wasn’t far out, so found her outside when I arrived. I’ve seen people going in, not being funny but one of them looked like [one of my flatmates]. Shit.  A few mins later, the girl who had just moved in came over. You know it’s our flat right? Shit. Turns out the extractor fan on the cooker malfunctioned. I won’t share the video itself coz one of my flatmates is in it, but yeah it just started spraying molten something all over the hob and surfaces. (They said it looked like molten metal, and they were there - but I don’t see how it would’ve gotten hot enough to melt any metal. My best guess is fat that hadn’t been cleaned from last years tenants)

So yeah, we got moved into another flat. The open cupboard right there was my one - I rescued my custom cup from it that the games studio had given me. It’s no good to drink from now, but it still looks ok so I’m glad I can keep it for decorative purposes at least. The rest of the food is waste, and I have to wait for the plates etc to get cleaned. I’m currently eating ready meals out of their cook-in containers, because I don’t have any plates, and only one fork and spoon. I bought some paper plates today though so I’ll use those from tomorrow, but I still don’t have any saucepans or anything.

I wasn’t around when they sorted out the replacement accommodation. Because of that, the other four from my flat went to the same new flat together, with one new person. I was put into a different flat which also had one other person in, my building manager assured me they’re “really nice”. I asked if they knew I was coming, BM said “they’ll know when we get up there :)”. That was Thursday, today is Monday. The only food in the kitchen is mine, I’ve not seen anyone. I’m 100% positive I’m alone in this flat.

And so yeah, that’s my uni experience so far. I had my first lectures today, it was cool because I already knew all the stuff so I got to feel smart (I’m doing computer games programming, and it was mostly about design docs which I read through extensively while working at the studio, so I knew exactly how they worked etc). But, I didn’t really make any friends. I kind of joined in with a couple of other people in each lecture, but it seems like they weren’t really interested, so whatever. I had an anime society taster this evening as well, and it was when I was on my way to that that S blanked me and I just got hit my like a wave of loneliness. I didn’t make any friends at the anime society, so I kinda just gave up and came back to my flat, and started writing this. As I was getting the fire picture from above though someone asked me if I wanted to hang out, so guess I’ll see how that goes. Not holding out much hope tbh and I’m at the point of becoming a full on hermit... I mean hey, at least I’d get a perfect score on my degree if I just focus on that and eliminate any social aspect right?

Finish time: 21:38 Length:  3,302 words/16,759 characters

[onwardintolight]

Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue 

Soundtrack

~~~

Warnings for Chapter 11: none

~~~

Leia sat on the floor of the main hold, going through Han’s music selection. He was in the far circuitry bay tinkering, but he’d answered a query of hers before he left by pointing her towards the wall compartment where the music datacards were stored, all in a jumbled heap. She’d raised an eyebrow at the mess, then gathered them up and set them on the floor, sorting them alphabetically as she perused with interest.

She examined one of them closer. Kloo Horn Blues by Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes: she’d vaguely heard that the jizz band was popular in the Outer Rim. She’d have to give it a listen sometime. Nebula Songs by Aurodia Ventafoli—a classic; it seemed like everyone in the galaxy knew and loved the “Chanteuse of the Stars.” Her music practically dripped with romance, and Leia made a mental note of it for later (just in case). More jizz bands she wasn’t very familiar with. Khyyynett, the late Wookiee clarion trumpeter—probably one of Chewie’s favorites. Kor Vella Fever by The Bloodstripes, the upbeat album they’d listened to towards the beginning of the trip, and Those Old Spacer Blues by Grondorn Muse, another Corellian who had performed once or twice for the Alliance.

There were some classical albums: Kithra and Berltagh’s sonatas, Mondegrene’s Fugue in K. She gasped to see Tofli Argala’s Spring Symphony; the Nabooian composer’s masterpiece was often played in the Organa household while she was growing up. There were a few dance albums, too: the critically acclaimed B’ssa Nuuvu by Telindel and Saerlock, and even the Alderaanian band Heartbeat of Istabith, which increased her nostalgia even more.

Suddenly, Leia froze, eyes widening at the name spelled out on the datacard she’d just picked up. Melodic Order. That was the Alderaanian cloister choir she’d rescued after the Battle of Yavin! How had Han known about them? Their music was so unlike anything else in his collection; contemplative and ethereal and so very classically Alderaanian that she had a hard time imagining him listening to it.

But perhaps the more curious question was how Han had managed to get hold of it. She stared at the album title and frowned. Forever Lost, Forever Onward. An album she didn’t know, with a name that hinted of… she caught her breath. He must have picked this up recently, within the past few years. She wondered why he’d never told her about it. Trembling, she inserted it into the dataplayer.

She leaned back against the bulkhead, closing her eyes as the beautifully haunting, melodious strains washed over her. She’d grown up listening to Melodic Order and countless other Alderaanian choirs. Hearing them again felt so familiar, so like home and family and love and security, so like the innocence of a forever-lost childhood that she couldn’t stop the tears from welling.

The first song ended, and Leia opened her eyes, blinking. Han stood at the entrance to the hold, a sheepish smile on his face. “Er… I forgot that was in there. I, uh, remembered you talking about that choir. Found the datacard on the black market during one of my supply runs. Was saving it to give you as a gift, but…” he shrugged. “Guess you beat me to it.” He frowned. “Look, I’m sorry if it’s the wrong thing right now, I didn’t mean—”

In a moment she was off the floor and across it, flinging her arms around him. “It’s perfect,” she whispered into his chest. “Thank you.” He held her close, and she felt him relax. Leaning down, he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

The next song had already started; this one was a little bit more buoyant and upbeat. “It’s pretty,” Han remarked.

“Come and listen.”

Han grimaced. “To a whole hour of this? That could get boring pretty qui—” he caught sight of Leia’s face and stopped short. “Then again, it is really pretty. I’ll bring some stuff in to work on while we listen.”

She grinned, triumphant.

A few minutes later, they were both settled on the floor—Han against the bulkhead with a magna-driver and a gravity compensator module, and Leia lying on her back near him, eyes closed once more as she tried to savor every lovely, heart-wrenching note.

The music rose and fell, soaring like thrantas over the River Wuitho. It was at times as merry as a field of starflowers and as solemn and mournful as the wind on the peaks. But woven through it all like the threads of a tapestry was a sense of longing so immense that Leia felt like her heart might burst from it. The lyrics intensified it; the voices sung of grief and remembrance, of yearning for what was no more, but also for what might someday be. Along with that yearning, hope was named, a hope Leia clung to like a rock in swift water.

The album was over halfway through when all at once her eyes snapped open and she sat up. “What did they just say?”

“Hmm?” Han mumbled from against the bulkhead as he strained the magna-driver against a particularly stubborn fastener.

Leia frowned as the song reached its chorus.

Symbol of hope, wreathed in white. Our death she saw but stalwart she fights. The remnant she gathers, our hearts she stirs, our doom she defies. The princess will bring us into light.

“No,” she whispered. Suddenly feeling very ill, she got up and stumbled to the corridor.

“Leia?” She vaguely heard Han’s concerned voice calling after her. Jamming her hand against the controls to the crew quarters, she lurched towards the ‘fresher and sank down on the floor beside it. Han caught up with her. “You all right, Princess?” He frowned. “You look really pale.” He sat down next to her.

Concentrating, she tried to slow her heartbeat. She had already begun to swallow down the initial wave of nausea, but she was still reeling. “Did you hear what they were singing?”

“Uh, something about hope and light?”

Leia stared at the wall across from her. “It was about me,” she whispered.

A cloud passed over Han’s eyes. “The hell do they think they are? You saved them! If they’ve been talking trash—”

“No, Han. It’s not that. It’s….” She felt lost for words; it was hard to speak at all right now, much less clearly. How could she explain this? He laid his hand, palm up, on the floor between them. She clasped it and took a deep breath. “They sung about me like I was one of the old Alderaanian gods.” She shook her head. “A ‘symbol of hope.’ Like I was going to make everything right.” She clenched her teeth as another wave of nausea swept over her.

Han gave her a funny look. “But you are a symbol of hope, Leia. To the whole galaxy. You agreed with the ol’ stooges in high command when they decided to make you one. It’s important, right?”

“Yes, Han, but this is different.”

He opened his mouth like he was about to argue some more, but then he seemed to think better of it and sat there, waiting. Wise move, whispered the wry part of her mind that was somehow still hovering nearby, outside of the body that trembled and felt sick. He squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes, concerned.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she sighed. “I can’t be their idol, Han. I can’t be their goddess of light now that Alderaan is gone. If they knew… if they knew what part I played in their loss, they wouldn’t say such things. They’d be praying that the god of justice destroys my soul.” She gritted her teeth; the last words had come out sharp and hard, like a gavel.

“Leia—”

“Han, I don’t care what you say. I don’t deserve this. I will never deserve this. I may not be directly to blame, but you know just as well as I do that if it weren’t for my actions, Alderaan would still be here. I chose to rebel.” She paused, voice breaking. “And what’s maybe even worse is that I’m still glad I rebelled. Maybe that makes me a monster, or maybe I just believe in something greater than all of us. But I’m implicated. I can take steps to bring justice and peace to the galaxy and what’s left of my people, but I will never be able to assuage my guilt or bring Alderaan back.” She laid her head on Han’s shoulder. “I can’t be their perfect symbol of hope, Han. And I’m not. A whole lot of people do blame me.”

Han was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned over and kissed her head. “You did the right thing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You, and your parents, and, hell, all the Alderaanians who wanted somethin’ better than the Empire.”

Leia paused at his words. She exhaled slowly as the implications hit her.

It wasn’t just you.

He wrapped his arms around her. She let herself be drawn in closer, and they both rested there, quiet for awhile.

Her mind was still a mess, but eventually she felt the nausea dissipate and her heartbeat grow calmer. She was struck by a sudden desire to move on with things, to leave this awkward little episode behind. Gently she untangled herself and got to her feet; he followed suit.

“Well,” she said awkwardly, stretching her arms on her hips.

“I shoulda known that wouldn’t’ve gone too well,” Han said apologetically.

“No, Han, thank you. That music…” she shook her head. “I needed it. Maybe not the one song, but the rest… it means so much to me. It’s home.” She looked at him standing there, leaning against the wall, worry lines fading from his face, and she smiled. Suddenly she had a thought—a small opening, a chance to dig a little deeper—and she took it. “You ever have any music like that?”

“Music that reminds me of home?” He chuckled bitterly. “I haven’t had a home worth remembering, ‘cept the Falcon.”

Leia winced inwardly at her mistake. “Oh, I don’t mean like that. I mean the kind that goes down really deep. That means something important to you.”

Han looked thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess I do.”

“Can I hear it?”

Moments later they were back in the main hold, and Han was digging haphazardly through the piles of datacards she’d nearly finished organizing. She considered that her efforts to bring a little order might well be hopeless, and she shook her head, amused.

Han found the datacard he was looking for. A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he examined it, and then he tossed it to Leia. “The M-68s,” Leia read aloud as she inserted it into the player. “That’s the name of a speeder, right?”

“The best in the galaxy. Or it was, awhile back.”

The music started; more raucous Corellian ballads, similar to what they’d listened to before. The first song seemed to be an ode to the band’s namesake.

Han leaned back on his arms, his eyes distant, as if he were picturing the speeder right in front of him in all its glory. “Powerful, variable thrusters… modifiable 289-hirep repulsorlift generator… sleek, beautiful lines….” he whistled. “Every street racer worth their stuff on Corellia wanted one. But by the time I finally got my hands on one—”

“Wait, you were a street racer?” She leaned forward, intrigued.

Han shrugged. “Yeah, when I had the time. I built a speeder of my own. Raced it a couple of times. Did pretty damn well, considering that I had to steal every minute with it right from under Lady Proxima’s oily nose.”

“Lady Proxima?”

“Head of the White Worms. Horrible being. I, uh, worked for her for awhile.”

Leia raised her eyebrows.

“All right, smuggled. Stole things. All sorts of illegal hijinks. Happy now? Not that I had much of a choice. I was just a kid trying to survive.”

Leia’s expression grew softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Han made a dismissive sound in his throat. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I suppose being an Alderaanian princess didn’t give you much experience with underground cartels.” Leia opened her mouth in defense, but Han beat her to it. “And that’s good. I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with ‘em.”

“We had some underground illegal activity, but nothing like the cartels on other worlds,” Leia conceded. “And you’re right, I never had much experience dealing with them directly.” She paused, searching his face. His eyes were focused elsewhere. Was he ashamed? “Tell me about it,” she said gently. “Help me understand.”

Han considered for a moment, then sat up, fiddling with his holster. “The White Worms were the biggest gang in Coronet. Controlled the black market there. Any kid on the streets desperate enough eventually ended up with them.” He paused, his distaste palpable. “Easy to get in, not so easy to get out.”

Leia shuddered.

“It was better than being alone on the streets, though. We at least had a steady source of food.” He shrugged, then stopped speaking. Leia guessed he was hoping that would be the end of it. Despite her curiosity, she felt it was unwise to press him too hard just yet, so she went back to the subject beloved by the gritty, spirited anthem still belting from the datacard player.

“You said you were able to get your hands on an M-68?”

Han let out a wry chuckle. “Didn’t have it for long. It’s, uh… it’s actually what helped me escape. Nabbed it on the streets; crashed it the same day trying to shake off the White Worms. It got us almost all the way to the spaceport before that though.”

Leia listened intently. This was exactly what she had been hoping for; a more concrete glimpse into his past. Still, even this story seemed to hint at so much more that he was leaving unsaid. She wondered what kind of horrors he had gone through that had led up to that desperate decision to escape. She wondered what the White Worms would have done if they had caught him. She wondered what “us” meant.

“So is that why this band means so much to you?”

“Yeah, I guess. That, and street racing. And flying.”

Leia nodded. “Things you’ve always had a passion for.”

“Yeah. I dunno, I guess it feels like I was born to do those things. Being in the driver’s seat of a speeder or the pilot’s seat of a ship….” He shrugged again. “It’s me. ’S who I am.”

Leia snuggled against his side as the next song came on, this one a joyous exposition on the thrills of speeding. “I like who you are,” she said, kissing his cheek. Han looked down at her, affected; the guarded vulnerability in his eyes melting away into a softening joy. He leaned down and kissed her.