#I think I've hit 10k for this chapter so far

[jayyydez]

Luigi was barely breathing, staring up at him with wide eyes. Still, the king of the Darklands continued.

“And don’t misunderstand me. I’m not- I’m not some selfless goody-two-shoes hero like your brother.” He nearly spat the word out, that underlying animosity surfacing in an instant. “I’m not. I am selfish. I have and do still serve myself first. I will take care of me and mine above anyone else, and I will flatten anyone who tries to keep me from doing that. It just happens that me and mine includes my kingdom. So let them think I’m a tyrant. That I’m cruel and horrible and a plague upon all other kingdoms. To them, I will be. I am not a doormat, I will not be played with. I will be the monster under their bed and their cautionary tale to scare children for centuries if I have to be.”

[gothcsz]

part ten of the neighbors series. i hope everyone who has been reading so far enjoys this chapter, because i definitely shed a tear or two during the writing process. one of the more difficult things i've had to write because that writer's block hit me good and hard multiple times throughout this, but i am pretty proud of what came out of it! mwah, love you all... please come cry about this with me ok thank u 🖤 oh and a big big big thank you to @persephone-girl for always being there for me when i'm ranting about how i don't know what the hell i'm doing and for reading over the parts i was struggling with. ¡te amo, cleo!

javier peña x f!reader. ~10k word count. (oops) the angst we've all come to know and love, canon typical violence (please proceed with caution), feelings are confessed, anything procedural that occurs comes from the small knowledge i have and just pure vibes (let's suspend our belief real quick), translated spanish, mateo is a piece of shit, reader is going through it, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

The sharp buzzing of your pager against the kitchen table jolts you out of your book. You frown, sliding a ribbon into place to mark your page before rising to see who’s paging you this late.

Mateo glances over from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. “¿Quién te llama tan tarde?” (Who is calling you so late?)

“No se,” (I don’t know) you pluck the device from the table and squint at the screen. A number you don’t recognize flashes, accompanied by the name of a local hospital. 

You blink in confusion, picking up the landline and dialing the number, tapping your fingers against the countertop as you wait.

A brisk receptionist answers, eventually redirecting you to someone who can actually help you in English.

Your Spanish is good but not that good.

“Javier Peña is here and you’re listed as one of his emergency contacts.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your grip tightens on the receiver. “Is he okay? What happened?” Your mind races through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“He’s alright,” the nurse assures you, “Much less intoxicated than when he was brought in. He was involved in an… altercation at a bar. We need someone to sign his discharge papers before he can leave.”

The knot of anxiety loosens slightly, but in its place comes a flare of exasperation. Of course. A bar fight? You rub at your eyebrow, closing your eyes.

You’ve done everything possible to create distance between you and this man, and still, somehow, he finds a way to pull you back in.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat. “Yes—sorry. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, you let out a sharp breath. Why do you keep doing this? Even though you tell yourself you’re just being a good person, there’s a part of you that knows better… that secretly wonders if you’re glad for an excuse to see him again.

You straighten up and head back to the living room where Mateo is lounging, and his eyes shift to you expectantly.

“¿Quién fue?” (Who was it?)

“The hospital downtown. Javier’s been injured and I need to go help him.” You move around the room, grabbing your things.

You feel the shift in the air when he mutes the television and stands, his brows furrowing. “Javier? Your neighbor? The one who nearly ruined our first date?”

You pause, bending to put on your shoes, catching the sharp edge in his tone.

“Yeah,” you admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m listed as one of his emergency contacts, so…”

His body language shifts into something more rigid. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“My girlfriend is being called out in the middle of the night to pick up some malparido who’s clearly into her. That’s what I mean.”

The snort that escapes you is involuntary. “You’re being ridiculous. We’re just friends.” Barely that anymore, you think. That word feels like a fragile label for whatever exists—or existed—between you and him. But Mateo doesn’t need to know the messy, complicated details.

You’ve deliberately kept it that way to avoid exactly what’s happening now.

“Friends,” he repeats, the word heavy with doubt. “No me gusta.” (I don’t like it)

“It’s a good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You don’t see how strange this is?”

You let out a breath, straightening your posture as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mateo. All I have to do is sign his discharge papers and call him a cab home. That’s it.”

“It’s not your responsibility. He’s not your responsibility.”

You blink at him, taken aback slightly. He’s always been steady, easygoing, and this possessive edge is new—unwelcome. Jealousy, you realize. You understand it to a degree, but it makes you wary.

“I know that—”

“You don’t see me playing knight-in-shining-armor for some random woman I barely talk to anymore.”

“Javier is not just some random guy—”  You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh, hating how defensive you sound, feeling uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has made.

Mateo’s expression darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Exactly,” he mutters bitterly. “He’s not some random guy. Y ese es el problema ¿no?” (And that’s the problem, isn’t it?)

You can feel the heat rising in your face, a mix of anger and guilt twisting in your gut. “We’re just friends.” You reiterate, trying to sound as resolute as possible. “You can believe that or not, but it’s the truth,” you retort, ending your side of this argument before grabbing your bag from the entryway table.

“Are you coming or not?” you ask without looking back.

There’s a long, agonizing pause that makes your heart pound in your ears. For a moment, you think he might refuse, that he might dig his heels in and escalate this further. But then he just sighs, shuffling to gather his own things.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The nurse ushers you through a brightly lit hallway and into a larger room lined with hospital beds, each one partially hidden by flimsy curtains that do little to offer privacy. At the very end, you spot Javier.

He’s perched on the edge of a bed, his broad shoulders slumped forward. His arm is wrapped in gauze, a deep gash on his eyebrow held together with fresh stitches. His lip is swollen and split, a constellation of bruises littering his face, one eye swollen shut.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

“Javier, oh my god!” Your voice comes out squeakier than you intended as you rush toward him. You stop short, your hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you, instinct screaming to pull him into a hug. But the injuries hold you back.

Even with the ache radiating through his body, the sound of your voice and the sight of you standing there softens the edges of his pain, offering a brief, soothing reprieve. He can’t believe you actually came.

“What happened?” You ask, your voice cracking with worry despite your efforts to keep it even.

Javier looks up at you, his gaze glassy but warm, a tired smirk tugging at the corner of his injured mouth. “Guys talkin’ shit at the bar,” he mutters, his voice raspy and slightly slurred. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t mention how he courted the violence, drunk and bitter, until it exploded into a fight he couldn’t win. Three guys dragged him outside, taking turns landing blows.

The shameful truth is, he relished the pain. It was sharp, tangible—more real than the numbness he’d been drowning in with booze and meaningless sex. 

It was a culmination of all the bad decisions, every scar his job had etched into his soul, and the emptiness he couldn’t seem to escape.

“You are not fine, Javier,” you snap, your frustration spilling over as you gesture to the mess of bruises and bandages covering him. “You got the shit beat out of you.”

That earns you a low chuckle, though it quickly morphs into a wince as he presses his uninjured hand lightly to his ribs. “Always so dramatic,” he teases, his gaze sweeping over you. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. How he’s able to be a flirtatious bastard all the time is lost on you. You cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He grins wider, which only makes him wince again. “That’s why I’m laughing.”

You let out a sharp breath, your emotions roiling—frustration, worry, and relief that he’s fine.

“I handled everything up front,” you say firmly, needing to regain control. “We just need to go outside and wait for your cab.”

Javier’s expression falters, his brows pulling together. “You’re not coming back home with me?”

The casual way he says it makes your stomach flip. You bite the inside of your cheek, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m going home with Mateo. He drove me here.”

For a moment, Javier is quiet. Too quiet. You watch as his body stiffens, his bruised jaw clenching tightly.

“He’s here?”

“Yes,” you reply as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, dropping your arms to your sides. “He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Javier swears he’s never sobered up so fast.

The urge to tear through the room rises, and he almost gives in to the intrusive thoughts, but instead, he tamps it down, the only outward sign being the sharp scowl twisting his swollen, beaten features.

“Couldn’t leave him at home?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows shoot up.

“I don’t need an audience for this.”

“An audience? He’s my boyfriend, Javier. Of course he’s here. This isn’t even about him,” you’re feeling déjà vu from your argument earlier.

No one really prepares you for how dramatic relationships can be.

“This is about you—about you acting out and dragging me into it. You show up at my place drunk, claiming you miss me after ditching me for months, fall asleep at my door like I’m some kind of lifeline for you. You pull me in so many different directions, and it’s exhausting.”

Javier’s mouth opens like he’s about to fire back, but then he deflates. The irritation in his eyes dims, replaced by something that looks a lot like regret.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, partially relieved that Mateo wasn’t allowed back here, or this confrontation would have spiraled into something much uglier.

“Try by being sincere. Every time you apologize it feels like you’re only doing it to save your own ass.”

“Because I was. For the longest time.” He admits, gingerly slipping off the bed, slowly walking over to you and you swallow harshly as the distance between you decreases. “Then I realized how much I took you for granted and I’ve been falling apart since.”

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? Why does the apology you’ve craved for months suddenly feel like the hardest thing you’ve had to hear?

You cross your arms over your chest again, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and the honesty radiating off him. You don’t even know what to say.

Javier inches closer, his voice softening further. “I’m sorry for treatin’ you like shit and for being a terrible friend. I just... I need you to know that I really mean that, and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you… if that’s something you even want from me anymore.”

You look at him then, really look at him—the bruises, the stitches, the exhaustion lining his face. There’s no wall of deflection in his eyes this time, no trace of the usual excuses he uses like armor. Just unguarded sincerity.

You rub your temple, trying to soothe the headache forming.

“I appreciate your apology,” you finally manage to find your voice. “And that you recognize what you’ve done wrong. But it’s going to take more than just words to fix this.”

The admission feels dangerous, like opening a door you’re not sure you’ll be able to close.

Is it even a good idea to let him try to fix this? The memory of the argument earlier replays in your mind, and you know without a doubt there will be more fights like it if you allow Javier back into your life.

Mateo made his feelings about him abundantly clear.

But beyond your boyfriend’s disapproval—and that glaring red flag of jealousy you haven’t entirely processed yet—there’s the deeper question: can you handle this? Can you handle being just friends with Javier? The last time you tried, it nearly destroyed you.

And if he does follow through? If he becomes the person you’ve wanted him to be this entire time? That might be worse, because you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep your feelings in check.

The storm of thoughts threatens to overwhelm you, so you silence them, focusing instead on the immediate task: getting him home safely.

Javier’s expression softens at your words. Relief flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “I know. I’ll be better.”

You let out a heavy sigh, toying with the pendant around your neck as you try to ground yourself. “Come on,” you say after a beat, resigned. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He follows you out of the room, each step betraying just how much pain he’s in.

When you step into the waiting room, Mateo is standing by the entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His dark eyes sweep over Javier, taking in the full extent of his injuries, before landing on you.

There’s no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath his calm facade.

Javier straightens despite the visible discomfort it causes him, his sore muscles screaming at him. His dark gaze meets Mateo’s, and for a moment, the two men size each other up.

You can practically hear the things they’re not saying. Mateo’s scorn is written all over his face—This is the guy? The one who’s causing all this bullshit? And Javier’s defiance is just as clear—Yeah, I’m the guy. What are you going to do about it?

“Mateo,” you say, your voice cutting through the charged silence, “this is Javier.”

“I remember.” Mateo’s tone is clipped, his eyes narrowing slightly as they linger on Javier’s injuries. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s wait for the cab outside.” You quickly add, anything to keep these two and their manly, dick measuring competition at bay.

As you lead the way, the two men follow like a shadow, heavy and unavoidable, their stares burning into your back.

“Oh—I forgot to grab your meds. Wait here,” you quickly pivot back toward the sliding glass doors before either of them can protest.

The moment you’re out of earshot, Mateo takes a step closer to Javier, his gaze hard and unyielding. “No sé cuál es tu obsesión con mi mujer,” (I don’t know what your obsession with my girl is) he begins to confront him, “but that shit ends tonight. Basta con estas tonterías de ser contacto de emergencia o de andar con ella, fingiendo ser su amigo. I can see right through you.” (No more of this emergency contact bullshit or hanging around her pretending to be her friend)

Javier’s jaw tightens, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. He’s already had his ass handed to him once tonight, but the temptation to go another round—this time with Mateo—is almost too good to resist.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah? Then maybe you should be the one hittin’ the road,” he retorts, his tone like gravel. “Keepin’ her locked up at your place like she’s some fuckin’ doll that doesn’t have a life of her own to live. Eso no es amor, es control.” (That’s not love, that’s control)

Mateo snorts, a humorless sound that sets Javier’s blood boiling. “Locked up?” he echoes, his lips curling into a sneer. “Le doy todo lo que necesita. Está feliz conmigo—ya no es el desastre que era cuando andabas por aqui. Cree que no me doy cuenta, pero no soy idiota. Desde que desapareciste de la faz de la tierra, está contenta. No necesito que regreses y me lo arruines. Stay the fuck away from her.” (I give her everything she needs. She’s happy with me —no longer the upset mess she was when you were around. She thinks I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot. Ever since you dropped off the face of the earth, she’s been content. I don’t need you coming back and ruining it for me)

The words hit Javier harder than any punch he took earlier that night. He knows there’s some truth to them. Hell, he’s been kicking himself for months over how he left things with you.

But Mateo’s entitled delivery makes his fists clench, his chest puffing out in barely contained fury. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lunge forward and break his fucking nose.

Before either of them can escalate the situation further, you reappear, a white paper bag in hand. You stop short, glancing between them, your brows furrowing at their postures.

“Instructions are on the bag,” you say, handing it to Javier. “Your cab should be here any minute.”

Javier takes the bag, his eyes darting to you briefly before landing back on Mateo. His fists relax slightly, but his shoulders remain rigid.

You shift uncomfortably, the atmosphere heavy and you wonder what you just walked in on. 

Mateo steps closer to you, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you to his side. You let it happen, not fully grasping that this isn’t just affection—it’s a display of dominance. He’s making a point, staking his claim on you in front of Javier.

Javier notices. Of course he does. It burns him up inside, but he bites down on the simmering anger, knowing now isn’t the time to say anything. He’s just been given a sliver of hope to fix things with you, and he’s not about to jeopardize it by getting into it with your asshole boyfriend.

Moments later, the cab pulls up to the curb. Javier exhales slowly, steeling himself as he moves toward the car. He tries not to wince as he slides into the backseat, his body protesting every movement.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him softly, still standing at Mateo’s side. His arm has snaked around your waist now, and Javi’s stomach twists at the sight.

He doesn’t respond, just nods, his expression unreadable. The door closes, and as the cab pulls away, Javier’s head falls back against the headrest.

He knows this isn’t going to be easy. Fixing things with you, proving he’s deserving of your friendship—it’s going to take a lot of fucking effort.

A nagging doubt then creeps in: has he set himself up for failure?

The room is stifling, the warm glow of the desk lamp barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and exhaustion. Papers are strewn across the table, maps, routing numbers, and satellite photos spread out like the world's most maddening puzzle.

Javier leans back in his chair with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Trujillo flips through pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I keep seeing the same routing number attached to some of these shipments,” Steve mutters, ashing his cigarette into an overflowing tray. He leans forward, his tone carrying a spark of determination. “Something’s telling me we should check it out.”

It feels like it’s been months of running after ghosts while Escobar and his men continue to outpace them. “Half of these are fake accounts set up to throw us off,” Javi states. “Even if there’s drug money in ‘em, they don’t give a shit. It’s collateral. They’ll make that back in days.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” Steve counters, unbothered by his partner’s irritation. He taps the paper. “Could be our needle in this fucked-up haystack.”

Javier exhales heavily, rolling his neck like he’s trying to shake off the weight of his own weariness. He has no desire to chase another dead end tonight. “You handle it. I’ll stay here with Trujillo, see if we can find another angle.”

Steve shrugs, already slipping on his coat. “Fine by me. Need some fresh air anyway. Smells like ass in here.”

Trujillo snorts, his laughter muffled behind his fist, but Javier doesn’t even crack a smile. His focus is already back on the satellite photos sprawled across the table—grainy images of the barrios where Escobar’s operations are most active.

He traces the outline of one, his coffee mug dangling precariously from his other hand, its contents spiked with enough liquor to numb the ache of his lingering injuries.

The hours stretch thin, blending into each other, the occasional sound of shuffling papers or Trujillo’s half-snore the only break in the silence. Javier barely notices, remaining focused to find anything that could give them the upperhand.

When Steve returns, the sound of the folder slamming onto the table jolts Trujillo awake. He blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent, while Javier looks up, his expression more bored than curious.

“What’d you find?” he asks, his tone flat, tired.

“Open it,” Steve says, a sly edge in his voice.

Javier grabs the folder with little enthusiasm. But the moment his eyes land on the photo inside, his entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens, and his chest constricts as a surge of panic bolts through him.

It’s Mateo.

Steve keeps talking, his words distant and muddled as Javier stares at the picture. “Just like that account is attached to the shipments, he’s attached to the account. The bank he works at is owned by some powerful and shady people. I’m almost certain he’s on Escobar’s payroll. At this point—who isn’t?”

The rest of Steve’s explanation fades into background noise as Javier processes what this means.

For months you’ve been involved with someone who has ties to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

It can’t be a coincidence. Mateo sought you out. You work at the American embassy—not in a high-ranking position, but enough to get the attention of the wrong people.

That night at the hospital… it wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just him ‘staking his claim’, telling Javi to stay away. Mateo knew. He knew that if Javier got too close, he’d find out.

Now all of the violence, the lies, the endless cycles of chasing men like your boyfriend have spilled over into your life, staining the one good thing he’s tried to keep untouched.

“Javier.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him back to the present.

“What?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “What do you think we should do?”

Javier exhales through his nose, rubbing his lips together as he stares down at the photo again. His mind is already spinning with strategies, balancing the need to act against the risk of tipping Mateo off too soon.

Then he thinks about how you’ll react when he tells you. He knows you’ll need more than just his word. He’ll need proof. Otherwise, you’ll think he’s doing this just to sabotage your relationship.

“Tail the guy,” he finally says, his voice steadier now. “Follow him around, gather intel. We need to be sure we’re not just jumping the gun because it fits the narrative we want it to fit.”

Steve nods, but Javier barely notices. His only priority now is making sure that you remain safe while they think of a plan to bring this man in. 

“Cariño, hold up.” Javier’s voice cuts through the cool night air as he jogs toward you. You’re halfway to the entrance of Mateo’s building, keys in hand, when you stop and turn, startled to see him.

“Javi?” Your brows furrow, confusion flickering across your face as you take in his familiar figure—black button-up shirt, jeans, and those scuffed boots that have somehow become as much a part of him as the shadows he carries. “What are you doing here?”

Things between you two aren’t as strained as they were, but they’re far from how they used to be. Those easy conversations and shared meals feel like a distant memory, replaced by brief, polite interactions at work and the occasional glance that lingers too long.

At least you’re acknowledging that he exists again.

Javier hasn’t pushed, though. He’s been careful, letting things progress naturally, giving you space while silently yearning for the warmth you once offered so freely.

But right now, his usual restraint is gone. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to tell you.” He glances around the semi-populated area then gently takes your elbow, guiding you away from the open street to a nearby alleyway.

Your heart sinks. You don’t know what he’s about to say, but the hardened look in his eyes tells you it’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

He reaches behind him, pulling out a stack of folded papers he had tucked into the back of his jeans. He holds them out to you, his expression unreadable, as if bracing for impact. “Mateo is working for Escobar,” he says bluntly.

For a moment, all you can do is blink at him, your mind scrambling to process. Slowly, you take the papers, your hands trembling slightly as you unfold them. 

The photos hit you first: Mateo in various locations, surrounded by men you don’t recognize. Beneath the images are detailed reports, routing numbers, bank transactions—a web of evidence you don’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry—what?” You let out a laugh, but it’s strained and hollow, a defense against the disbelief clawing at your chest. “Are you serious?”

“The bank he works at launders money for Escobar’s operations,” Javier explains, his voice steady but tense. “Fake accounts, hidden transfers, branches overseas—he’s tied to all of it. We’re building a case now, but—”

“Stop.” You cut him off, shoving the papers back into his hands. Your head shakes instinctively, refusing to entertain the possibility. “No. No way. Mateo would never. He’s always talking about how much he hates those men, how they’ve ruined this country. He wouldn’t work for them, Javi. He hates them. And honestly? I’m kind of hurt you’d even accuse him of this.”

The man Javier is describing—some slimy criminal playing a dangerous game with the cartel—doesn’t resemble the Mateo you know, the Mateo you’ve spent nearly a year forcing yourself to feel something for. And now that some feelings are sticking, here comes Javier with this metaphorical anvil, dropping it right over your head.

Your brain scrambles, frantically searching for some explanation that could make it all untrue.

You’ve seen his disgust at the violence that plagues this country, the way his jaw tightens when the news shows another bombing or assassination. You’ve heard his impassioned speeches about wanting to see real change, about how the corruption needs to end for there to be any hope.

Your chest tightens as the thoughts contort inside you: What if you’re wrong? What if Mateo’s perfect facade is just that—a facade? It feels impossible, a cruel betrayal by the universe itself.

Because if it’s true, then you’ve let yourself fall for a lie. And you’re not sure how you’ll cope with the weight of that.

Javier’s face hardens, his frustration nipping at him. He says your name firmly. “This isn’t about some petty rivalry. I’m not making this up. It’s real. He’s dangerous.”

But you shake your head again, denial eclipsing reason. “You’re wrong. This is just…” You exhale sharply, the words tangled on your tongue. “It’s absurd. You don’t like him, so now you’re trying to drag him into this?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face at your lack of acceptance, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by sheer exasperation. “This has nothing to do with how I feel about him,” his voice rises slightly before he reins it in.

He steps closer, his hands gently gripping your forearms to stop you from walking away. “I’m not lying to you. You have to trust me. Mateo isn’t who you think he is.”

“Much like you, right?” The words escape before you can stop them, cutting deep and twisting in the space between you.

His jaw twitches. “Cariño, por favor—”

“Let go, Javi.” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t.

He wants to shout, to demand you reconsider, to tell you how these things usually end. But he doesn’t. The thought that you’re safer because of your government ties is the only thing keeping him in check.

He stares at you for a long moment, his grip loosening before he finally lets go. “Fine,” he says, “don’t believe me. But you’ll see soon enough. Just…” He swallows hard, “be smart. Be safe. If something happens to you…”

He trails off, looking down, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. You don’t know about the ghosts that haunt him, but you can see the weight of them now, heavy in the lines of his face. “Por favor, cuídate.” (Please take care of yourself)

You straighten your shoulders, masking the turmoil inside with a veneer of indifference. “I’ll be fine. Goodbye, Javi.”

Turning away, you walk back toward the building without a backward glance. Your steps are steady, but your chest feels hollow, your mind buzzing with too many thoughts to make sense of any of them.

Behind you, Javier stands in the shadows of the alley, watching until you disappear through the doors of the building.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, frustration and dread curling in his gut.

What happened earlier with Javier clouds your line of thinking as you lie naked beneath the silk sheets of Mateo’s bed, his lips lazily dragging across your shoulder before finding their way to your mouth, kissing you passionately.

“Join me in the shower?” He mutters, his large hand massaging your thigh before it trails up to cup your breast. 

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, hoping it disguises the unease you’re beginning to feel. “Yeah, just give me a second and I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t think anything of it, kissing you again before slipping out of bed. You listen as the bathroom door shuts and wait for the faint hiss of water hitting the tile.

Wrapping the sheet around yourself, you rise quietly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The small voice in your head that’s screaming at you to stop is drowned out by the rush of adrenaline as you start rifling through his belongings.

Nothing stands out—just the neatly arranged trappings of his life, curated to look perfect. But perfection doesn’t leave room for secrets.

If he’s hiding something, it wouldn’t be here. Your gaze shifts to the hallway where the closed door of his office is.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, you push the door open and slip inside, the sheet still wrapped tightly around you. 

The air in here feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. You move quickly, sifting through drawers and shelves, your heart a riot in your chest as you search for something—anything—to prove or disprove Javier’s accusations.

Then you find it: a loose bottom in one of the desk drawers. Your fingers fumble as you pry it open, and there it is—a leather-bound ledger, hidden away like a dirty secret.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before flipping through it. Familiar initials, dates, and sums that match too closely with what Javier showed you earlier. Names you’ve heard on the news, men associated with violence and destruction.

Your stomach turns as the realization washes over you—Javier was right.

You’re so caught up in the revelation, that you don’t hear when Mateo curiously cuts his shower short after you failed to join him, padding down the hallway until he’s at the door of his office, catching you red handed with the ledger in your possession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice slices through the air like a whip, and you flinch, clutching the damning item to your chest. Turning slowly, you meet his glare, the heat of his anger so palpable it makes your skin prickle.

“What is this, Mateo?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, heat flooding your face, panic building at the base of your spine.

He steps into the room, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“You need to explain yourself right now,” you demand, though your hands tremble. “Or else—”

“Or else what, lindura?” His voice drips indignation as he closes the space between you in an instant. “You gonna call your friend at the DEA? Snitch on me?”

Before you can answer, he crosses the room in two long strides. The ledger is ripped from your grasp, and his hands are on you, shoving you roughly against the wall. Your cheek presses against the cool surface, and he yanks your arms behind your back, his grip on your wrists unrelenting.

The cool silk of the sheet clings to your skin, but it does nothing to shield you from the shame burning through your body. His breath, hot and sharp with fury, ghosts over your ear as he leans in close. “You had no right to go through my things.”

“You lied to me,” you spit back, struggling against his grip. “You’re working with those monsters—you’re just like them!”

He laughs bitterly, the sound lacking humor. “You don’t know shit about how this works.” He presses harder, keeping you pinned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know what you are,” you hiss, your voice breaking. “That ledger proves everything. The accounts, the shipments—everything Javi said was true.”

At the mention of Javier, his grip tightens painfully, and you let out a soft gasp. “Javier.” The way he spits the name sends a shiver down your spine. “Of course, this is about him.”

“You’re deflecting,” you accuse, though your body betrays you, trembling against the wall. “If you’re innocent, explain it to me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Mateo lets out another harsh, humorless laugh. “Wrong? Wrong?” He releases one of your wrists, only to grab a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back until your neck strains and you wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You’ve put both of us in danger.”

“I’m not the one working with murderers!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You lied to me, Mateo. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he might actually hurt you. Instead, he yanks you back from the wall and spins you around to face him, his hold on you still bruising.

“This world isn’t all black and white like you think it is. People like me—we do what we have to, to survive.”

“Survive?” you repeat, disbelief lacing your words. “You chose this. You chose to work for men who ruin lives, who destroy families. You’re just as bad as they are. You’re profiting off the misery and destruction of others. That’s not survival—that’s greed.”

Mateo’s face twists with fury, his hand flying up like he’s about to strike, and you brace yourself for the hit, but he stops himself, his chest heaving.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths.

He steps back, releasing you abruptly, and you stumble, clutching the sheet tightly against you.

“You know too much. I can’t risk you running off telling them everything, especially if they’ve already been tipped off. Fuck!” He swipes at his desk, sending a glass trinket flying and shattering against the hardwood floor. 

You try not to let fear swallow you whole, but it’s hard not to—especially when you know how brutal these things can end.

You remain silent, watching Mateo pace the room with a towel wrapped around his hips, not daring to say anything because you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

He doesn’t let you leave his apartment for three long days, the hours stretching endlessly under his watchful gaze.

Being held in his penthouse—perched high above the city like a gilded cage—only amplifies the suffocating isolation.

The thought of trying to escape crosses your mind repeatedly, but you know better. Running would make things worse. Right now, staying put and waiting for Javier to come through is your best, and only, option.

You can’t stop replaying the moment he tried to warn you, the worry etched into his face, the edge of desperation in his voice.

You’d brushed it all off, blinded by your need to believe Mateo was different. That he could be something good. 

You should have listened to him. 

Now you see the truth. He wasn’t special; he was just another man playing a role. You hate yourself for letting your heart cloud your judgment so easily.

Calling in sick to work is a delicate operation. Mateo looms nearby, arms crossed, glaring at you as you speak to your supervisor. You carefully mask the tremor in your voice, saying all the right things to ensure no suspicions are raised.

He keeps his own phone calls confined to the balcony, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that’s too muffled and too quick for you to decipher. You strain to catch even a few words, pressing your ear to the glass, but it’s futile. The conversations are long, tense, and only heighten your paranoia.

You’re not sure what his plan is, but since the initial explosion of anger and aggression when he caught you with the ledger, he’s been disturbingly composed.

His calmness is almost off putting. 

He finally approaches you one evening, the sun dipping low behind him, his voice is unnervingly steady. “You can go.”

You blink, sure you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“You’re not a threat. Too low-level for anyone to care about. By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone.”

His nonchalance unsettles you, and you hesitate as he disappears down the hall. When he returns, he’s carrying your shoes and bag, as though this were a casual parting.

“So that’s it? You’re just letting me leave after keeping me here like a hostage?”

“I had to make sure everything was in place first,” he explains. “I couldn’t have you running your mouth before things were handled.”

His packed suitcase in his closet flashes in your mind, along with his endless phone calls. Maybe he really is more worried about disappearing than dealing with you.

But the cartel doesn’t let loose ends walk away. Your heart pounds as you weigh whether this sudden freedom is genuine—or a trap.

You slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder, the need to escape drowning your caution. Still, you pause, unable to shake the uneasy feeling settling in your bones.

“What?” Mateo’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “You don’t believe me? Want me to drop you off myself?” He steps toward you, and you instinctively retreat.

“Why were you even with me?” you ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Was it my job?”

He tilts his head, his gaze cold and calculating. “No,” he replies, his tone devoid of emotion. “I was attracted to you. Then you mentioned your job, and I figured, why not? But you turned out to be useless for that. Didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks—companionship, a warm bed…”

The insinuation in his voice makes your stomach churn. “So you used me.”

“As much as you used me,” he counters, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightens and your gaze flits down to the floor. His detached demeanor cuts deeper than any heated argument could. When he says your name, it pulls your attention back to him like a leash.

“Leave.”

The word releases you, your body moving before your mind catches up. Stumbling toward the door, your trembling hands barely manage to turn the lock. The moment it opens, you bolt, refusing to look back.

Your necessities are in your bag, everything left behind purely materialistic.

You know you can’t go back to your apartment. They know who you are now, and no matter how insignificant Mateo says you are, you can’t risk staying. 

Your fingers dig into the strap of your bag as you mentally map out an escape plan. You’ll go straight to Javier. He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you safe.

Upstairs, Mateo leans against the window, the burner phone pressed to his ear. “Ya se fue,” (She’s gone) he says, his tone devoid of emotion. “Hagan lo que quieran con ella, pero no le disparen.” (Do whatever you want with her—just don’t shoot her)

Javier has been restless all night, unable to shake the weight of worry that had clung to him since returning from his assignment in Medellín.

The information about your sudden “illness” hadn’t sat right with him. Too convenient, too vague. He hadn’t pressed his team tailing Mateo for more than the facts—they’d seen nothing suspicious—but the absence of evidence did little to calm him.

So when the muffled sounds outside his door reach him, he’s on his feet in seconds.

He swings open the door to find you struggling to unlock yours, your entire body trembling as you fumble with your keys. Relief washes over him so suddenly, it nearly buckles his knees. “You’re okay.”

The second his voice cuts through the silence, something inside you begins to break. It’s soft, concerned, carrying a weight of relief that only makes you feel heavier.

The ache that has swallowed your body whole now reaches your chest, blooming into something sharper. You feel like crumbling right there in the hallway, letting the floor catch you because you don’t think you can hold yourself up for much longer.

This pain is a hum that pulses through your entire being, dull in some places, jagged and relentless in others. It numbs you in strange ways, yet it’s all you can feel, consuming every fragile thread of strength you have left.

You don’t even know how you made it back, how your trembling legs carried you through shadowed alleys and along dimly lit streets. Survival instinct? Perseverance?

It all happened so fast.

You stepped off the bus from Mateo’s place, unaware of the storm waiting to meet you. A few minutes of walking was all it took. They came out of nowhere, grabbing you roughly and dragging you into the shadows. Two of them—large, brutal—landed punches and kicks like you were nothing more than a punching bag.

The pain blurred into one endless wave, but their words cut even deeper. They spoke mockingly, almost laughing, about assaulting you in ways that made you wish they would just pull a gun out and end it all right there.

When you finally fell limp under their blows, you heard one of them mutter something. A boot nudged your side—testing, checking—but they didn’t bother to confirm. No pulse, no breath. Just assumptions. They left you there like discarded trash, their shadows disappearing into the night.

It took minutes, maybe hours, before you could even think about moving. You waited, your breath catching on sharp pains that confirmed what you feared—broken ribs.

The air burned in your lungs, and your head spun so violently, it was hard to tell if you were standing or lying down.

Eventually, with no other choice, you dragged yourself upright, ignoring the protests of your battered body.

The world tilted as you took your first step, and then another. Every ounce of strength you had went into putting one foot in front of the other.

When you finally reached your apartment door, you were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to hold your keys.

Trembling hands fumbled with the lock, missing again and again. Your vision swam, blurring the keyhole into an indistinct smudge.

And then there’s Javier.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. He says your name, but you don’t respond, your focus locked on the useless, agitating hands that can’t seem to do anything right. How could you possibly move on from this?

You’re just standing here, struggling to breathe, struggling to exist, as the weight of everything presses harder and harder on your broken soul.

His relief is short-lived. Something’s wrong.

The second his voice reaches you, your whole body seems to collapse inward. You clutch the door frame for balance, your breathing ragged.

Javier’s stomach twists as he takes in your state—your disheveled hair, the cuts on your hands, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them.

He steps closer. “Hey,” he says softly yet firmly. “Look at me. Mirame.”

You don’t. Your head shakes faintly, and the motion makes you wince.

It’s not purposeful ignoring; you’re hurt. He notices it now, the stiffness in the way you hold yourself, the shallow rise and fall of your chest like every breath is a struggle. His jaw clenches. What the hell happened to you?

His plea is more urgent now. “Cariño, please. You’re worrying me.”

Your lip quivers, and slowly, you start to unravel—one tear falls, then another, then another until they’re streaming freely down your cheeks.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. In two strides, he’s in front of you, slipping between you and the door, his large frame a protective shield.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze, your silence loud and barbed.

Javier’s jaw tightens, his hand twitching at his side. It is taking every ounce of restraint not to reach out and cup your face, tilt it upward, make you look at him.

The tension is unbearable, the space between your bowed head and his searching eyes buzzing with unsaid words.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at me.”

Finally, you do. And it breaks him.

Your face is battered—one eye nearly swollen shut, a deep gash across your cheek, your lip split, nose still bleeding.

The vulnerability in your gaze hits him like a freight train, and he fights to keep his rage at bay. His nostrils flare, his entire body tensing as red creeps into the edges of his vision.

Every mark on your face feels like a personal attack.

This isn’t the time to lose control—not when you need him steady. Not when you’re crumbling right in front of him. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters.

His grip is careful, as though you might shatter beneath his touch, as he gently cradles your face into his hands. “Did he do this to you?” He has to know, though the answer seems to be glaringly obvious.

The sob tears from your throat like a wounded animal’s cry, raw and unrestrained, echoing down the hallway. It shakes you to your core, unraveling the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to.

Before you can hit the ground, Javier is there—solid and unyielding—catching you in his arms and pulling you carefully against his chest then guiding you into his apartment.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his anger and helplessness.

The pain hits you all at once and you cling to Javier like he’s a lifeline, allowing him to move you until you’re sitting on his couch and he’s crouching in front of you.

Through choked cries, you manage, “Two men... they pulled me into an alley and did this.” The words spill out in fragments, each one more pained than the last. Your whole body quivers, and your heart races so wildly that you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He is woefully underprepared to deal with you in this state, you need proper care and he needs to deal with the fury that’s engulfing him by finding this piece of shit to beat his teeth in for what he’s done to you.

Your eyes widen. “No,” you croak, your voice hoarse from crying. “They’ll know they didn’t kill me. I can’t, Javi. I can’t.”

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do–remaining calm and fucking collected right now, suppressing the rage that’s clawing at his chest and threatening to spill out in a way that would terrify you more than you already are.

His mind spirals, circling back to that same godforsaken question: Why does it always come to this? First Helena, now you. This job—this life—it’s a parasite, sucking the light out of anything worth a damn.

Why can’t his penance be his own? Why must it reach everything he loves?

Fuck, maybe Connie knows enough to help you in the time being. If not, he’d find a way to make sure you got the care you needed while flying under the radar.

He’d tear down the goddamn world for you if he had to. Move heaven and hell, break every rule in the book—none of it matters if it means keeping you safe.

He looks at you again, seeing the fear trembling on your lips, and something solidifies within him. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I won’t let them take anything more from you, he swears silently, his gaze softening despite the storm raging inside him. “I’ll take care of it,” he says aloud, his voice steadier now, resolute.

He starts to rise, intent on getting help, but your hand darts out, catching his wrist with trembling fingers, even though the motion sends a fresh wave of agony through your ribs. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Don’t leave me.” The sheer terror in your eyes is enough to tear him up from the inside out. 

“Never again.” He promises, reaching over for the phone on the end table with one hand while the other stays on yours, dialing the familiar number.

Javier leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, listening as Connie explains your injuries.

The words feel like punches themselves—broken ribs, bruises all over your body, stitches across your cheekbone, but nothing that needed immediate intervention.

When he finally forces himself to ask, his voice is gruff, barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

Connie’s face softens, the professionalism in her demeanor giving way to quiet sympathy. “No,” she says firmly, meeting his eyes. “I asked her. I didn’t see any bruising or signs of trauma around her pelvis. She says it didn’t happen, but we won’t know for sure until she gets a kit ran.”

The tightness in his chest doesn’t ease, even with her answer. The mere thought of those men doing that to you has his fists clenching so hard his knuckles ache. His fury simmers low but steady, like a kettle on the verge of boiling over.

He nods curtly, his voice rough with gratitude. “Thanks for coming, Connie. I owe you one.”

She waves him off, already heading toward the door with her medical bag slung over her shoulder. “It’s the least I can do. You make sure my husband gets home safe all the time. Just… make sure she rests, takes the pain meds. No heavy lifting, no unnecessary stress.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of meaning. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When he closes the door behind her, he exhales slowly, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on his chest. The apartment feels too quiet now, and his eyes drift toward the closed bathroom door where you’re still inside.

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck before knocking gently. “You good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

There’s a long pause before he hears your voice, quiet and weary. “Yeah… you can come in.”

Pushing the door open, Javier steps inside, his boots scraping softly against the tile. The sight of you in the tub stops him cold.

You’re hugging your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around them despite the obvious strain it puts on your ribs. The water is cloudy, tinged slightly pink from where Connie had cleaned your wounds. Steam curls faintly in the air, the room heavy with the scent of lavender soap.

His chest tightens again, a mix of anger and something else entirely. You look so small, so vulnerable, your face drawn with exhaustion and pain. Your head tilts slightly, your damp hair sticking to your cheeks as you glance up at him, your expression guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Javier’s throat works as he swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face to mask the guilt flashing across his features. “I don’t think you’re broken,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I think you’re strong as hell.”

You huff a soft, humorless laugh, resting your chin on your knees. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

He takes a careful step closer, his hand brushing against the edge of the sink as he leans back against it, his eyes never leaving you. “You survived,” he says quietly, his voice thick with conviction. “That’s strength.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the water as if it holds answers you can’t quite find. Finally, you sigh, your arms loosening slightly from around your knees. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Javier says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretches between you like a fragile thread until your voice breaks it, soft and raw. “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Javier’s head snaps up, his expression hardening—not with anger, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that has become second nature to him. “Don’t,” he says sharply, the words thick with conviction. He shakes his head, his voice softening but no less intense. “Don’t you dare apologize, cariño. None of this—none of it—is on you. This is on men like them, who run through life hurting innocent people for their selfish, fucked-up reasons.”

Your face crumples, and you press your trembling lips together, trying to stave off the tears threatening to spill over again. “I was stupid,” you choke out, the words a blade against your own heart. “I thought—God, I thought he was just going to let me go. He made it seem like… like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience. And then…” Your voice falters, the memories clawing at you, and you shut your eyes tight, forcing a deep breath the way Connie had just taught you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Seeing you like this does something to Javier that he’s never quite felt before.

He’s seen grief, fear, and pain—hell, he’s caused more than his fair share—but this? This helplessness, this guilt? It’s a hollowing thing, gnawing at his insides with ruthless efficiency.

He thought what happened Helena had broken him, but this is different. This is you. You. And he’s here, but it feels like it isn’t enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” you ask,  barely above a whisper, as though afraid of the answer.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the tips of his boots, jaw tightening. 

The logical answer is simple: those bastards who hurt you should be found, arrested, and thrown behind bars to rot. But he’s not naïve. Justice doesn’t always come cleanly. More often than not, it doesn’t come at all. And the thought of leaving it up to the system? Doing nothing would be more beneficial somehow.

Ever since Connie showed up to treat your wounds, an idea has been gnawing at the back of his mind.

He could visit Berna… one of his more resourceful informants, and get everything he needs to track those motherfuckers down. Handle things his way.

But he can’t tell you that, especially if he decides to follow through with it.

“You’re going to stay with me until I can guarantee that you’re safe,” he says finally. “Or, I can arrange for you to go to a safe house—”

“No.” The word comes sharp and immediate, your eyes snapping open to meet his. Despite the pain radiating through your battered body, you sit up slightly, holding his gaze with surprising resolve. “I’d rather stay here. With you.”

He exhales a long breath, nodding slowly as he scratches at his jaw, considering his next words carefully. “Do you remember that night you got drunk with Maria from HR and almost threw up in my car?”

The memory hits you, sharp and vivid. It was after you and Javier had mended things following the night he stood you up for Helena. You cringe a little at the thought of how self-deprecating you’d been then, how you’d spilled your guts—both figuratively and literally—once you got home.

This unexpected shift catches you off guard. For a moment, the ghost of a smile tries to tug at your lips, though it’s swallowed quickly by the weight of the night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “One of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had.”

Javier chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Tequila’ll do that…” His voice trails off as he thinks about the confession you’d made that night—about your discomfort in your own skin, your doubts about whether you even belonged here. He remembers how, in return, he’d told you then how much you meant to him, how much this job weighed on his conscience.

“I should’ve told you then. That I loved you.”

The confession rams right into your heart. Tears spill freely, and you bury your face in your arms, your entire body shaking.

As tender and sincere as it is, his profession doesn’t soothe you.

You want to feel comforted, to let his words wrap around you like a shield against the horror of the night, but instead, they do the opposite.

The timing feels wrong, the weight of his love pressing down on wounds too fresh to bear it. It feels like trying to breathe through shattered ribs—too much, too soon, and it hurts more than it heals.

Fuck. shouldn’t have said that—not now, not when you’re at your most vulnerable. He stands frozen for a moment, unsure if he should move closer or stay where he is. His hands grip the edge of the sink so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Finally, you lift your head, your face swollen and red. “Don’t say that just because of what h-happened,” you stammer, your voice cracking. “I don’t need you to feel obligated to feel some type of way because of it.”

“This has nothing to do with what happened tonight,” Javier says firmly, your name falling from his lips. He pushes off the sink, crossing the room to crouch beside the tub.

Neither of you seem to care about your state of undress—it’s not about that. His gaze locks on yours, steady and sure.

“It’s how I’ve been feeling for so long now,” he continues, his voice low but full of conviction. “And I’ve fucked it up so many times along the way when I should have just been honest. But I was so scared—scared of hurting you, of not being able to give you all of me. Of not being the man you deserve.”

You blink at him, your mind swimming in the gravity of his words.

They hit you like waves, powerful and unrelenting, pulling you under even as you struggle to stay afloat in this overwhelming moment.

Javier loves you. Despite the scars he carries, despite his mistakes, he’s offering you a truth that feels too big to hold right now. It’s not just one-sided; it never has been, and that realization aches in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, a sigh that escapes like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One of your arms unwinds from around your body, trembling as you reach out and rest your hand on his where it clings to the edge of the tub. The warmth of his skin against yours feels grounding, even as everything inside you is unraveling.

His gaze locks onto yours, those soulful brown eyes glinting with hope and desperation under the soft bathroom light. He leans closer, as if every ounce of him is hanging on what you might say next.

“Do you mean that?”

“With all my fuckin’ heart.”

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, conflicting emotions tearing you apart. “I can’t even begin to fathom that right now,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“And I’m not expecting you to,” he says quickly, his grip tightening on the porcelain edge of the tub. “I just needed you to know. I guess what happened tonight finally put my ass in place. Made me realize how much of a dumbass I’ve been. Te amo, cariño. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You want to tell him everything—how you’ve carried feelings for him from the very first day you met, how his mere presence lit up spaces you didn’t know were dark. How you’ve loved him in ways that scared you, in ways you tried to push down. But the words stay trapped, locked behind the barricade of pain you’re still trying to process.

“I wish we could have had this conversation before all of this.” Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in a tentative, instinctual show of affection, and his whole body seems to soften under the touch.

“Me too,” he admits, “But we can’t change the past, as much as we want to. Whatever happens after this… we’ll get through it. Together.” His voice lowers, a quiet promise lingering in the air. “I meant it when I said I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time tonight, you feel a fragile flicker of safety, of something unbroken, even if you’re not ready to hold it just yet.

You nod, biting your lip as tears spill over yet again, and Javier’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, his fingers brushing against yours in silent reassurance.

For now, that’s enough.

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[malt-rants-and-stuff]

Having some Tashiro (and prev pres) Thoughts

mostly just re-hashing things my fellow tashiro fans have said but I just felt like making my own post about it. be warned i wrote this while on a 4 hour drive on paper so im not sure how the length translates into a post, this will be a long one haha. also beware of inconsistent caps lock usage.

OBLIGATORY WARNING FOR SASAMIYA FIRST AND SECOND YEAR NOVEL SPOILERS

This whole thing was mainly brought on by two things, one is my non-ssmyverse friend dming me a twt screenshot with the most bland and uninspired description of tashiro's character ive ever read, signaling to me that tumblr has really spoiled me with the good tashiro takes. the other thing was that i got inspired to bring the first and second years novels with me on my previously mentioned long drive, which means that i got the pleasure of rereading both and, most importantly, rereading Tashiro Love & Passion. safe to say i had a lot to think about afterwards.

The whole thing really reminded me of the aspect of tashiro that i've always found interesting: his observant nature. And i dont just mean how he views others, but also how he views himself. How this perspective breaks the most of what we'd expect from a character like him, something Harusono loves to do with their characters.

From the first couple of pages in L&P alone, we get a lot of insight on how tashiro sees himself and how he bases much of that on how others view him.

He mentions a lot of clubs that he was a part of in the past or helped out with, describing his tendency not to stick around one club.

"The all-rounder." A "pinch player" anyone could call on.

I feel like this is an important place to start because just from this we see a bit of how Tashiro breaks from the mold of what an unassuming reader may expect him to be.

In the Sasamiya manga/anime, we dont really have too many chances to really view tashiro for who he is as an individual. with our limited perspective of him, we get to know miyano's friend tashiro, a bright, fun, and earnest character who says whats on his mind and is apparently on the ping pong team with hanzawa which is neat.

and if you werent a bit unhinged like myself and some others, this would be a fair assessment of his character. but ohhh boy once Love & Passion hit the towers there was no turning back.

there have been some posts getting into the themes of this chapter that i feel analyze it better than i ever could, so i wont do that, but i do want to talk about how tashiro's character is portrayed throughout the chapter.

And by far the main part that i want to focus on is how hardworking he is, and his and other's perspectives of him are effected by this.

Because tashiro is someone who wants very very badly to win, as he says numerous times throughout the chapter. Even under the guise of someday getting to quit the ping pong club, he pushes himself to get better; even going as far as practicing against the grannies and grandpas at the bath house that totally didnt adopt him.

For all his complaints, it would be easy to push off his actions as comedic. maybe, and im just making stuff up as i go, saying that he is only behaving as a stereotypical fun-loving slacker would. that his only motive truly is just to leave the club and drift through the rest of his high school days.

But then, that just isnt true is it? what kind of slacker would put so much time and effort into a club that he never even wanted to stick with in the first place?

This my dear friends, is how the Tashiro brainworms Fucking Get You.

Because why indeed, why is tashiro, who drifts through life wondering if he'll ever find his purpose, his Passion if you would, so impressive to the Previous Ping Pong Club President (prev pres) that he finds himself in line for future president?

While tashiro never really seems to figure this mystery out himself, we can take a few guesses.

While we will probably never see prev pres' thought process here (unless we get those 10k words of hanzawa lore that he'd probably be a part of) his actions speak for themselves in a way.

Afterall, this is the same president that got him stuck in this club to begin with, the same one who watched him complain, the same one who'd help drag him back whenever he would try to skip.

He's also the same president who watched him keep to their deal instead of just trying to find a way around it and quitting anyways. the same one who played against him at every practice, watching him learn and grow as a player. who saw him work hard, determined to not bring the team down, even if he wasnt as into it as the others. who saw him stick around.

in his perspective, tashiro takes multiple chances to not how he feels different from the people around him, that he has never known their "love" and never felt their "passion".

He finds himself surrounded by the Passion of others each day. His teammates, his friends, his bath house grandparents, just about everyone in the whole world. but what about him?

i mean, its not as if he's not interested in anything, he has things he likes. hobbies he enjoys. he just... never got that burning Passion, that unabashed Love for something like everyone else seems to have.

I think prev pres understood this part of him. that he saw what tashiro, for all his insightfulness, couldnt see for himself.

because for all tashiro believes that he doesnt have Passion, he sure does love to watch others indulge in theirs.

he takes note of what little he can catch while kuresawa and miyano talk BL, just so he can ask questions later. he gets to know the people at the bath house, listening as they talk about their lives and interests. and while he may not be "super into" in the ping pong club in general, he still wants to see his teammates succeed. he may never have stuck with a club for very long, but he still made himself reliable enough that he's seen as someone they can call to step in when needed.

in my mind i think that is what prev pres saw in him, how tashiro's dedication to see the Passions of others flourish assured him that the club would be safe in his hands.

and, while i cant say tashiro's passion is one specific thing right now, i can say that it encompasses every dream he wants to see grow. every love he curiously watches bloom. every ping pong match he fights to win.

[ladysomething]

oh hun, and anon whose birthday was Idk when (hbd by the way! and don't worry, you're still young, love) if you guys feel old, how am I supposed to feel (early 90s baby here) 😖

the only reason I have not gone insane this week over the lack of wygig, has been weariness. first time I'm actually thankful for my shitty working hours.

and you know who IS going insane?? my brother! who actually has normal working hours! good for you maddie, having a random man drooling across the world, crawling up walls waiting for your moment to come back. (talking as if I was not the same) and nahh, the fisting is nothing. they've seen me read this stuff for yeaaaars. well not exactly but you get what I mean

honestly I shall praise. I have nothing else to do right now, and as I can't over analyze this week's chapter, I must yap about why I love your way of writing. and over analyze the snippet.

1. your way of writing is one of my favorites in ao3. you have this talent to get in people's heads and make them NEED to see more. crack. cocaine. I guess my mom would be much more happy that her children are addicted to this rather than irl drugs. mad(s) respect for that.

2. you're kinda a mastermind as well. everything is so well thinked and planned. kudos to saiyanwitcher as well for helping you out with this one. beautiful.

3. your characterization kills it. look, I've NEVER met this people, let alone think they would actually be in this situation. but. if they had to go through something like it. this is the way I think they would be like. I can bet on it. swear even. it just. fits. lovely.

4. I love that you make these long chapters that feel like nothing. you just inhale them. every time I read you I'm always looking at the little bar in the screen that tells how far along we are. I just don't want it to end. but even if you leave a cliffhanger, the chapters always feel complete. like it was meant to finish there. no more no less no further ahead. perfect.

5. I love how you engage with us. feed us crumbs and see how the world sets in fire, sometimes going insane with us too. is just refreshing. I like to imagine you in your couch, throwing us a bone and laughing at how we go nuts about it.

+1. I love the Max crush that you created in me. thank you very much for that. lives were changed. eyes were opened.

+2. my brother and I were going crazy over jealous Charlie. I quote him "oh lui è innamorato. che bello. y no se da cuenta! sei molto stupido Charle" (that's 'oh he is in love. and he doesn't even realize! you are very stupid Charle' for you) Imagine that with angry hand movements and frustrated pacing through a kitchen with a pan on his hand. proper italian, my brother. lost some points throwing some spanish in there but I would still give him like a 8.3/10 for the performance. go and sink us even more in the stereotype/jk

+3. I was today years old when I found out saiyan was the way english speakers write saiyajin. I even had to google and triple check it because I wasn't sure whether it was actually like that or my dislexic brain was just messing with me.

all to say. I love everything you write. give me that fire changed my brain chemistry first. I also found out way too much later than I would've wanted that it was your fic as well. not today but still not so long ago. lovely beautiful thing it was too.

birthday anon started it!!!

also what can I say ... thats my sheer power .. random men drooling across the world ... 💅 but also, them knowing that you read that stuff and reading it with you is very different I fear.

thank you 😭😭 that's very kind, and I'm so happy that that's the effect it has. it's exactly the effect I want!

@saiyanwitcher is the real mastermind tbh. I just write it!

personally I think characterisation is one of my strongest points as a writer, so I'm glad that it hits for you like it does for me!

ahhh I'm so glad they go fast! sometimes I write a chapter and I'm like ... this is 10k of absolutely nothing .. how boring.

I do absolutely laugh, I'm sorry. I laugh a lot.

+1. I'm so glad I've encouraged you to see the light. my Max crush rages fiercely every single day.

+2. YOU'RE ITALIAN?! please remind your brother that my DMs are open if he and his gf break up.

+3. I'll be so for real. I have no idea what you're talking about.

omgggg I'm so glad you loved GMTF too. my fave fic of mine tbh.

thanks for dropping in as always!!

[mamadoc]

1, 2, 11, 20😊

1 - Talk about someone who changed your life.

Okay. I took far too long to think about this. Since we're all in a post 6x6 and TTPD era, here's a vulnerable, tortured answer.

I had a very close friend for several years. My husband and I were very close to her and her husband. Our kids were friends. We went to the same church, all loved to travel, had similar interests and tastes, had all lived internationally, went on double dates, etc. We even considered having them raise our kids if my husband and I both passed away. In sum, we were super close.

Then COVID hit. As a doctor COVID was difficult. I struggled a lot because I was taking care of sick patients. I recall one tearful day of talking to a pregnant mom who was about to be transferred to the ICU and was saying goodbye to her other children. It really wasn't safe or comfortable to go to work for a long time. I wasn't really dealing with it well, especially with the people around me treating it like it didn't matter. I was really depressed for the first time in my life.

This friend didn't understand that or if she did, she didn't care. So, when I said I wasn't interested in going out in public and having any type of birthday celebration for my birthday (who wants to celebrate turning 41 anyway?), she started attacking me on a personal level. I was already in a dark place and instead of being a good friend and supporting me, she just keep sending me hateful messages.

That was the first and only time in my life I considered suicide. I reached out for help and got it. I wasn't in that dark pit for a long time. I'm much better now. I mostly have my sister to thank for that.

I brought her flowers for Valentine's Day with an apology note a few weeks after that. She never apologized. I brought treats to her a few weeks after that with an apology note explaining why I felt so hurt. I tried to call to explain how I felt so that I could heal. She never answered the phone.

I'm still not sure what I have to apologize for or why she never seemed to accept or offer an apology. But that was two years ago. We still don't talk. Our husbands don't talk. Our kids don't play together anymore. For a long time, I didn't like going to church because I knew I'd have to see her.

Most of that is better now. I'm just sad for a lost friendship and for the dark place I had to crawl out of.

I've used a slight modification of her name for a character in one of my stories who betrayed Lucy. I thought that might be therapeutic, but it just brought the situation up to the surface again.

Uhhh... I can't believe I just wrote all of that. I'll try to keep the rest of the answers a bit lighter.

2 - Talk about something you really want to do.

I LOVE to travel. I've been to 47 states and 16 countries. My husband and I had all of our plans in place to get to all 50 states before we turned 40. Then COVID hit and all of our plans were dashed when travel shut down. We're going at a slower pace now, but we're getting close to it. #48 (NM) in October, #49 (HI) July 2025 as a 20th anniversary trip, and #50 (AK) the summer of 2026.

11 - Share something you're proud of.

According to AO3's stats, I've posted over 339k words since I started posting 7 months ago (plus another 9-10k chapter I hope to finish tonight). I know there are those that blow me out of the water (Ahem, ahem @girlintotv and @centralperkchenford) with their numbers, but I'm pretty proud of that as a first-time writer and working mom with 4 young kids.

20 - Share with us a random fact or two.

I'm afraid I've already overshared. *yikes* But here we go.

I'm the oldest of 6 kids. The first 4 of us are all 23 months apart, then 27 months apart, and 25 months apart. So, we're essentially every 2 years for 10 years with all of our birthdays clustered together. 3 boys and 3 girls.

I had the chicken pox for my eighth birthday. My grandparents came to visit for my birthday, but they were afraid of getting shingles. So, I had to stay in my bedroom on the second floor, and they stayed on the first floor for the whole time they were visiting. I still remember standing in the hallway near the dining room while they sang happy birthday. One of my siblings blew out the candles for me and my mom brought me a piece of cake in the hallway. (Man, I'm still rocking those depressing TTPD vibes, aren't I?) I was officially not contagious the day my mom came home from the hospital with baby #5 in our family, and I remember being so excited to be healthy enough to hold my baby brother.

Sheesh. Now you probably won't ever ask me anything again. Between TTPD, 6x6, and the angst I'm supposed to be writing right now, I'm coming up with some strange answers.

Sorry to be the Eeyore in the crowd. Thanks for asking me to play though.

Ask game

[sighonaraa]

🌹 sorry if I’m actually being crazy but I can not rest until I read this bear fic you have their voices down so well and that is not an easy thing to do!! I’m obsessed

PLEASE do not apologize it's so so lovely to hear that people are interested in this fic and it's ESPECIALLY lovely to hear that you think i've got their voices down when i hold your own fic in such high esteem!! thank you so much MWAH <3 here's a bit from the first chapter (which just hit 10k eep):

He does recall… something. Tina. Materializing out of thin air at his elbow has he stirred the pot with the broth. It’d been boiling, and it should’ve been simmering, and he’d been determinedly circling the spoon through it until Tina scared the ever-loving shit out of him. “Jeff,” she’d said. He remembers the cadence of her voice. That’s how he can trust that this, at least, was true. “Jeffrey.” It had taken a second for Carmy’s brain to make contact with his mouth. “Huh? What? What, what’s—what’s wrong, what’d I—” “Nah, nothing’s wrong,” Tina had said. There’d been a furrowed crease between her brows; for what reason, Carmy hadn’t been able to parse, and he still couldn’t. “Just… you doin’ okay, baby?” “What? Yeah, I’m fuckin’—I’m fuckin’ fine, and you should’ve said behind, T—” “Behind,” Tina’d said, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, Carm. I know you. You talk to Richie since last night?” And Carmy has no idea what happened after that because his entire body had gone numb and far-away. No, he hadn’t talked to Richie. He hasn’t talked to Richie. The more important thing is, there’s no fucking way Richie wants to talk to him. Which. Carmy can’t blame him, he can’t blame him for any of it, because it was his fault. His fault. His fault. If Richie’s decided to leave, to go off somewhere nice and sunny and Carmy-less like fucking… Los Angeles, or some shit, it’s only Carmy that’s responsible. But: No Richie. Carmy can’t remember much, but he remembers the absence of his cousin. It had clawed its way in through the fog. It had made itself felt.

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

a few asks for end of year writing asks: 4, 12, 15, 19, 28

Thank you so much for the ask! I did already get 12 & 15, but I will get through the rest!

4. total number of words you wrote this year

Oh, this is hard math because I forgot to keep totals when I started and how much edits have added. So roughly:

GoS: 100k finishing it + ~20k so far in edits

MoaH: ~10k in editing the first 23 chapters + 800k new words written in the omnibus

For roughly 930k so far. I'm aiming for a million before the year's out. I got 150k last month with Nano, so I think I'll make it.

12. favorite character to write about this year

I lied, I wanna do this one again. Can we talk about MoaH Zelda because oh my god I love her! What a legend. She is amazing, I would never be able to meet her, she's terrifyingly intense.

15. something you learned this year

More life lessons? From me? Sure.

There is only one wrong way to create and that is to not create anything. A bad first draft is still better than nothing being made at all.

19. any new fics to start next year

Well, book 2 of MoaH will start releasing, but I'm on track to start writing book 4 pretty shortly into the year. And at current pace, probably hit 5, 6, & 7 next year too. Plus hopefully a GoS pause to get my other three imported over.

Reading wise, I've got a list as I'm working through the EH TBR. Adjustments as more works are added to EH, of course. That's a lot of links to grab, forgive me in directing folks to @expanding-hyrule's archives instead of linking them all again here.

Fics

ATHU

Stone Fate (both parts)

The Princess's Heart

Hero

CotS

The Mage's Lantern

No More

Good Morning

Remnants of the Past

The Triforce Awakens (Currently reading)

Void's Grasp

Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore

The Hero of the Dunes

Captain Link Araki & the Harbinger of Destiny

Princess Link

The Golden Chain

ALTTS

Unbroken

Legacies and Bloodlines (because of length, this one will probably remain my last read regardless)

Comics/Art Projects

Alternate Triforce

The Sea's Prophecy

Divine Gemstones

DadLink

Triforce of Power

The Curse of Demise

CotS

ALTTS

Untold Myths

28. longest fic you read this year

I think the longest fic I read this year was Hero by @karama9. I've been saving most of the longer fics on the EH TBR for later though, so my early next year is stacked with some heavy hitters and I'm super looking forward to it. Longest comic was yours, @alternate-triforce. Both works with high recommendations.

And thank you again for the ask @doomed-era!

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

Hello fellow internetians,

So to start this off, I write and draw but I'm working may way up to accepting art requests so I'm starting with writing first since I've done so before.

The names I go by are Ash/Arena so please address me by either of you need to. About a year ago now, give or take a couple of months, I got sick and ever since I've been having to rely on my mother's income. I want to help her out and so I'm taking commissions in any of the fandoms I list on the first page. Rules will be included below and I have a goal in mind that I wish to reach.

Currently said goal is 500 a month but I want to keep a hold on this goal for periods of time so every time it hits I'll reset.

I'm still getting accounts to other platforms set up so if needed I can be reached across various different platforms so I can keep up with everyone and so you all can keep up with me.

-

Hello Everyone,

As I listed in the description this book is for commissions and for the most part I'll be collecting requests from this book while also posting the requests in this book so you all don't have to search far to find your story after I'm done writing them.

My name is Arena, though Ash and Ashes are other names that I don't mind you all calling me by either. I am 20 years old and so most of my work will be for adults considering I am one. If you aren't an adult though you can still request but you'll have to go to the 'Underage Requests' Page and do it there which I'll be making before Post an 'Adult Requests' Page. Please do not lie to me about your ages because if you do I'll be upset.

Now for my story:

About a year ago, give or take some months, I got sick with Guillain-Barre and so I haven't been able to work thanks to being currently disabled. I have written commissions before on here and ao3 (archiveofourown) on different accounts so I'm doing that again. When I have all my accounts fully set up I'll mention them on this account by name under my account so you all can branch out and find me if needed. As stated I haven't been able to work or attend college like I was before so this is my way of making some much needed cash for myself and my family.

If you don't have the money that's fine, I'm not talking to you, but I do appreciate you reading my book and sharing it to bring more people to it in the future.

From this point on I expect to have people contacting me so I'll go ahead and list my fandoms and prices.

I do write for OCS as well though so if you are looking for that just go ahead and skip to the next chapter which will be talking about my few rules for OCS. I also roleplay so I'm happy to accept and adopt other roleplayers that are literate like I am. If you are not looking for a partner but instead want to commission me to write out a certain scene from your own roleplays that's of course welcomed and accepted.

Fandoms:

- Castlevania

- My Hero Academia

- Diabolical Lovers

- Avatar/Legend of Korra

- Avatar (with the big blue ppl)

- Hellsing

- Black Butler

- Obey Me

- Stardew Valley

- Naruto Shippuden

- Across the Spiderverse

- The Arcana

- Records of Ragnarok

- Mortal Kombat

- Resident Evil Series

- Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

- Detroit Becomes Human

((Keep in mind that the fandom list can and most likely will grow so if you are interested but your fandom isn't listed it is okay to ask me if I'll still write them. I'm in a lot of fandoms I just couldn't think of all the names at the moment))

Prices:

- 500 words for $5

- 1000 words for $15

- 2000 words for $25

- 3000 words for $35

- 4000 words for $45

- 5k words for $55

- 6k words for $65

- 7k words for $75

- 8k words for $85

- 9k words for $95

- 10k words for $105

Considering situations, sometimes stories will be longer than what was paid and it's okay, I won't go over to the point where the story leads into a different price range but a few extra words will go over the limit sometimes. If that happens, don't worry about it. It's free of charge after that so you don't have to pay extra.

I also want to mention that I also write for 'Monster Fuccers' so if you have a thing for DnD or some monster OC you want to hunch on I accept requests for those as well so don't by shy.

If you have questions on what I will or will not write even after reading all the pages that will be posted after this chapter then just comment here or dm more for answers. ÙwÚ

That's all for now I believe so for now I'll be checking out. Please excuse any typing errors if there are any, I'll be correcting them in my own time. (no, of course I'll make sure to double check and correct any errors that my be in your requests before sending it to you ) As I've said, if you have questions my dms and comments are always open so don't be afraid to ask me anything.

My payment methods are PayPal and Cashapp though PayPal can be a bit frustrating for me so depending on things I might close that option and only make Cash app my way of payment.

Thank you all for reading into this and I hope we can get along and can happy things rolling soon. Everyone who deserves it, have a blessed day! ✨✨✨

- A

EDIT: 07/02/2024

Here's my MASTERLIST for anyone who wants direct links to fics, art, headcanons and everything else I'm posted on this account so far. I tried putting in my bio but I literally don't know how to do it ^^'

[alexandraisyes]

For fanfic writer ask game:

🤗🤩🍦

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

It's not a contest, or a competition, and don't get hung up on statistics. If you're not enjoying a story you're writing, or hitting a roadblock it's okay to put it to the side. You don't need to feel guilt about leaving something behind if it's causing you stress or you just aren't having fun anymore.

Take breaks during writing, get up, stretch, walk around, drink some water, you'll find that your stamina lasts longer. Try to write a little every day, it doesn't have to be for your current fic, but you'll find the longer you go without writing the harder it is to get back into the habit. Pick up journaling, document things from your day, challenge yourself by doing new literary techniques.

Read shit. Not just other fanfiction, read whole ass books. Big ones, old ones. Read classic novels, read modern series. Read Shakespeare and Charles Dickens and Stephen King. Stay up late absorbing the works of the masters, expand your vocabulary, learn new words. Follow that niche interest that you stay up at 2 am reading about. Do research for your fics.

Never say no to an idea. If you have it, it's a good one. In art and writing bad ideas don't exist. There's no such thing as failure, just keep pushing. If you aren't satisfied try again or adjust it to make it work. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, even if you think it's too happy, write it out anyways, put it to the side, keep it for later in case you need it. There is no such thing as a story being "too dark". It's okay to write about uncomfortable topics.

Learn what "romanticization" means. There's a lot of fear in fandom spaces about "romanticizing" dark topics, because obviously no one wants to offend victims of horrible situations. Romance and romanticize are not the same thing. You cannot romanticize a situation in fiction, because romanticizing is reserved for situations that happen in the real world, or sincerely wishing a fantasy would play out in the real world. Fiction will not reflect upon your reality, you are not romanticizing uncomfortable topics by writing about them.

Figure out what your afraid of. Bleed that out onto the paper for raw emotion in darker moments of your writing. You'll find you work best with tragedies and horrors you've already lived through.

Kudos and comments are nice, but don't forget that you're writing for your own enjoyment. This is a hobby, not a job.

If you struggle writing on your own find someone who has similar ideas as you and write with them. And for stars sake, get a beta reader. You will thank me later when you don't find 5 typos in one paragraph because you never reread it after editing it at 2 am.

I just got an ask for 🤩 and this is getting long so I'll answer that one in the next ask.

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

Okay so Sweet Tooth isn't out yet, we're working on chapter uhhh 5? It was supposed to be chapter 4 but we decided to add a chapter in between this one and the last, and I'd say that one is pretty sweet and wholesome. It does deal with some sensitive topics, so I'll have to say overall my "sweetest fic" is Errors In Resentment, which is a friends/qpr fic about Eclipse and Ruin. There is a second chapter planned but I started that one alone and I'm having trouble writing it on my own. Whatever burst of motivation I had that made me sit down for 7 hours and just slap out 10k words in one sitting has yet to return.

But it's a very wholesome fic about them becoming friends and such. I like it a lot, it's probably my favorite dynamic I've written so far.

Ask Game - Writer Edition

[kwanisms]

How do you have the motivation or the time to write these heavenly fics of yours?

I struggle to write up to 500 words a lot of the time, you're here writing novels and I'm inspired-

How do you keep the mental endurance up for so long?

Hi! Hello! ((And thank you :> ))

So I'll be honest, sometimes I struggle to write a lot. I've only recently gotten out of a mental brain fog and I have the ateez concert to thank for that. The massive bursts of inspiration I've had lately are due entirely to that concert because that was an ✨️ experience ✨️. I'm gonna put everything under a read more so the post isn't too long cause sometimes I be yappin lol

The main way I'm able to write longer fics is by establishing a detailed setting. Worldbuilding is one of my favorite parts for longer fics and series. I spend a lot of time early on in the planning period doing research, making sketches, floorplans, and finding inspiration pics for my fictional towns, cities, and worlds.

I also make character profiles for all series to establish their likes, dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, fears, goals, etc. It helps with my worldbuilding. The more detailed a fic, the more details in the character profile!

Another major thing I do is sit down and decide what my main conflict is in the story and how do I want to resolve it? I then write down major plot points and keep a note of all of these in a Google doc. Then I can start outlining around these plot points. Outlining sometimes takes the most time for me because I tend to change my mind sometimes. For chapters, I like to establish a climax for each but nothing that would overshadow the main conflict. I also write above the outline for each scene so I don't stray too far from it but still have room to wiggle. I also tend to let the story do what it wants and add things or change them around a bit as I write. I also implement rough, second, third, and even final drafts for stories.

I also sometimes share what I have done so far with my close friends/mutuals on here to get their opinions and that also helps motivate me to keep going! @yoonguurt @anyamaris and @nebulousbrainsoup see a lot of my sneak peeks or get access to docs to read, give feedback, and help with grammatical errors. I also take a lot of screenshots of some parts and send those to them on discord without any context and when they scream, it motivates me to keep it up lol I like to torture my friends with content about their faves. It fuels me (:<

For some series, I like to make playlists to listen to when working on them. I pick songs I feel embody the characters and plot as well as some that just sound like they fit the vibe. And sometimes one song really gets my brain going and I play it on repeat until I'm sick of it (Halazia has been my saving grace with these Library of Illusion prequels. I put it on and my brain just does the thing. It's like magic).

I also have a plethora of visual content to help me when I'm feeling like I don't know where to go. It's silly but I make a ton of moodboards for stories that never get shared on here because they're just to motivate me.

I also use tools like sprint bots in discord to force me to get something down. I'm competitive by nature so I like to use sprinto which tells you your wpm at the end and if you sprint with others, it ranks you by who has the fastest wpm. Sometimes I get up to 80 wpm with that thing.

I also like to make goals for my wips, in the form of word counts, plot devices, etc and when I reach those goals, I can either close out the fic or set a new goal. Most of my goals are word counts. I take into consideration how long the outline is and pick a reasonable word count that I think I could hit. And sometimes, I don't hit that goal and that's okay because if I finish writing and I'm happy with it, that's all that matters really.

Most of the time, I churn out anywhere from 5 to 10k because I've been doing this for 6 years now. And sometimes I sit down and accidentally write 40k and edit down to 30 because I can't seem to stop yappin lol

I highly enjoy reading stories with intricate plots and lots of worldbuilding so that's what I like to put out ((:

It's not easy for sure and sometimes I do lose inspiration but when that happens, I always change gears and work on something else for a while. I do this often within one story. If a scene I'm working on just isn't flowing, I'll move to another scene. For oneshots, I often write the smut first and then write around it. I never write from start to finish unless it's something under like 5k. I'm always bouncing around from scene to scene lol

And as far as time, I work a job where I'm able to pick my own hours and shifts. I was also sick with covid for half of August so I had a LOT of time to sit at my laptop and just write lol as football season in America picks up, I'll have less time than I did while I was sick lol

But that's basically it. And if you have any questions about specific processes like outlining or worldbuilding, I'm happy to answer them! You can send in asks or DM me! This goes for anyone reading this, too!

[rigelmejo]

More progress updates, because I'm having fun!

Glossika japanese: did 1248 sentences, 10,055 reps so far, it says I'm High A1 20.4%. I believe that based on the sentence quality I am getting, they are A1 sentences vocabulary wise. The grammar includes various higher level stuff, but the vocabulary is fairly basic and mostly review of stuff I've learned before and just forgotten or gotten rusty with). Glossika has articles that claim a good first goal is 25,000 sentence repetitions for a noticeable improvement in speaking. So i'll give a little review on progress compared to glossika's claim, when I get to 25,000 reps. Their articles also indicate the eventual goal is to do 100,000 reps in glossika for speaking fluency (i'd argue i'll probably have B1 speaking skills at best by then, but glossika's app claims B2 or C1 so i'm going to score them a bit harshly regardless). I dont think it will be especially hard to do 100,000 reps, as Ive done 10k from around 1000 sentences, and the app has 6500+ sentences, so just going through all sentences ill be around 65,000 reps and then its just a few weeks of reviews.

Reading 默读 by priest: I've read 3 chapters now. Both extensively (not looking up words) and intensively (looking up every word I don't fully know/remember the definition of or pronunciation of). My conclusion is that I am comprehending about 86% percent (like yesterday's calculation) CLEARLY and then another 10% I can guess roughly what's going on and be close enough to use those guesses to learn, or I can guess based on the plot I remember. With that much at least roughly comprehended, it makes reading 默读 extensively doable if I want to do it. I recognize most the hanzi, so when I slow down and read very slowly, I understand closer to 90% of the words (just having forgotten pronunciation), and then using context guess the few unknown hanzi and the words they make, so there's not a huge hit in story understanding. If I read fast, reading along with audio as it plays, I make vaguer guesses about what descriptions mean that use hanzi I know/one I dont in ways I'm unfamiliar with. So far my guesses have been rough, but generally in the ballpark, so I've been able to keep reading without pausing to look stuff up if I choose to.

I am thinking of doing an experiment with 默读. I will read it while listening, because that forces me to practice reading at a faster pace (speaking speed). I will only look words up if I feel like it (so not all the time, probably only occasionally). And I will note if in 20 chapters, 40 chapters etc, I am noticing if I have "learned" significantly more words, noticing if I've gotten better at comprehending words I know quicker while following along to spoken speed (so clearer understanding). The idea of reading comprehensible material to you (say 95% words you know or more), is in theory you pick up more vocabulary through context, and improve reading skills, over the course of reading. Growing up, literature classes and reading assignments basically give you mostly comphrehensible materials to read and that's a major way your vocabulary and reading skills build in your native language. Yes, some classes make you look up vocabulary for a particular literature book assigned (or defined terms in a science textbook). But the vast majority of free reading time is: pick a book for your age level, teacher encourages something slightly challenging but comprehensible. I have read simpler chinese novels extensively, and made progress. But 默读 would probably be the highest unique-vocab book I'd try it with. The upside is? I could potentially learn more new vocabulary from this book. And then in the future it will make reading other stuff easier. So yeah, I'll update on progress later.

Read chapter 3 of 默读. Listened to modu audiobook chapters 1-3. I noticed my listening skills just... fucking suck lol. I can read so much better than I can listen. I was getfing through the audiobook based on phrases I recognized and the dialogues, despite being able to READ those chapters... listening to them I just couldnt recognize as many words. I will also be extensively listening to the audiobook, as see how much sheer Volume of audio listened to helps me improve. I guess on the upside: i used to not comprehend the audiobook much, so this does feel essier, even if its still miles away from full comprehension.

Other things of note:

i find it funny that after a week of getting back into things, im quietly saying the hanzi as i read again. Apparently pronunciatioj WAS locked in my read somewhere, it was just rustier than visual recognition.

I may watch Absolute BL/zettai bl season 3 in japanese. Since its out?!! It exists!!! Which is news to me. It isnt fully translated yet. However, my japanese sucks so i might fail miserably. I Cannot Reach You On Netflix would be another choice (wirh japanese subs available and english). But i miss Mobu. ToT

Its shockingly weird how much reading skill works? Like... it rusts and you "forget" but then if you use it, it always comes back within a week or two. Thats what happens with reading french for me, and apparently with chinese too. I havent read in 6 months ish. Last week I tried to read SCI, i was fucking terrible. Confused as hell, even though it should be easier than modu. Well this week I'm reading modu, which has more unique words in it, and it feels fine and doable and fairly okay to understand. And to be fair, part of that is I just am much more comfortable parsing priest's writing style. So I go back to try reading SCI again today. Well? Easy. What the fuck. It was barely parseable last week. Now I can read: 办公室的门在受到撞击前的一刹那打开了，两人刹车不及，直接摔了进去，双双落地，正中地板。就听楼下有人隔着窗户朝上大喊：“你们刑警队的就不能消停一天？再这样下去，哪天真的地震了，整个楼里的人都不知道跑啦……” 张龙和王朝从地板上爬起来，就见白玉堂手上端着杯咖啡，靠在办公桌边似笑非笑地看着他俩。just fine. It's easy. Okay then.

Oh and also. Tao rans name? 陶然 the fact its the same ran as huran/turan/mengran so many "suddenly" words that come up at the beginning of a sentence, and tao ran's name Also comes up at the beginning of sentences, keeps throwing me off when I listen.

[galacticwildfire]

Fire Meet Gasoline | Poe Dameron

Three

Poe Dameron x Solo Original Character

Hope Solo’s haunted by the night the temple burned. Having gone rogue she hunts the First Order in search of answers until a fateful encounter with Poe Dameron brings her back to the Resistance and Leia puts her daughter under his command to find Luke Skywalker.

Word count: 10k

Tags/warnings: simp poe, exhausted leia, (those may as well be permanent tags), the meet cute, Poe giving oc an existential crisis with his jawline alone, flirting, attempted x-wing race, ego's, rizzpoe, resistance command having a panic attack, mentions of war crimes/systematic kidnapping and indoctrination of children, trauma, first half is sexual tension second half is angst. Leia trying her best to be a good parent to a traumatised child. They will make up I promise.

All my stories are written for adults with adult themes, I use appropriate tags but read at your discretion.

A/N: I have three chapters of the prequel published on ao3/wattpad. the story kicks off properly in this chapter.

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Hope

By late afternoon the hanger's quiet enough that I can work on my x-wing in peace, which thankfully hasn't been repurposed. Although Mom knows if she ever gave my x-wing to anyone I'd probably blow it up out of spite, and she knows this because I'd threatened as much.

Major Brance ducks in and out of the entrance several times in the hours that pass as I run maintenance, as if ensuring he isn't hallucinating and looking disappointed each time he realises he isn't, speaking with greater levels of panic into his comm each time.

"We had six months of peace after she left and then Dameron was recruited. Now there's two of them," I hear him ranting as he exits the hanger again, thinking I'm out of earshot. "Two of them!"

I can't help but smile to myself a little in intrigue, finding myself growing increasingly curious about this commander who seems to give Brance the same headache as I do. That might just be enough for me to overlook his rank. Almost.

His ship sits on the other side of the hanger, the orange and black paint noticeably standing out from the rest, and I'm chuckling to myself in satisfaction at noticing the paint's been touched up since I called it beaten up. Although now mine is the one that needs a touch up by comparison.

The next time Brance comes in Statura accompanies him and gives me an awkward wave from across the hanger before pulling Brance back out, thankfully that's the last time I see them. 

"Gee R2, you'd think they weren't happy to see me," I remark as I get to work installing the new parts after finishing general maintenance and he beeps at me. "Alright maybe I'm enjoying it a little."

At least my infamy's still feared by high command, even if that doesn't extend to a commander who should very well know exactly who I am. All things considered I should be more concerned by the thought that Mom could arrive here at any moment, but I can put off that anxiety for a little longer. 

My hands are stained with soot and engine oil, but my mind seems to quieten as I tinker. Something I always thought came from my father, until my grandmother's surviving handmaidens told me it also came from my grandfather, among other things. Thankfully with the years I've found some level of acceptance with that fact, even if the memories sharpened with Ben taking the mantle Vader left behind. At least Lando can share my humour at calling him Grandpa Vader even if Mom looked like she wanted to hit me over the head the first time she heard it. And every time afterwards. Turns out dark humour only goes so far.

My mind's focused on the adjustments to the thrusters, transferring over the parts I'd taken off my N-1 at the lakehouse so the modifications are similar, making it far faster than ties and any other navy starfighter. Faster than any other x-wings on base as well. I was tempted to get R2 to pilot the N-1 here for me but considering what I've been using it for I thought it best it stays in storage on Naboo. I'd forgotten how old these x-wings are in comparison to the newer models of ships, my N-1 was average in comparison to the models I grew up flying, but still newer than these. So while some of these parts might be a little overpowered for my neglected x-wing I can make them work, it'll make it highly illegal, but fast. 

Just how I was taught.

At least I don't have to pay to replace the proton torpedo I'd used up now, it might have been a bit overkill considering they're generally used to attack larger capital ships or freighters but I'd always wondered what would happen if I shot them into a bunch of tie-fighters and now I know.

I'm quite content working while talking to R2 until a now slightly familiar voice calls out to me in the empty hanger.

"Need any help up there?"

"No," I answer automatically, too caught up in what I'm doing to take any real notice. R2 chides me for being rude like he isn't worse and I realise Threepio's yet to talk my ear off which means he must be with Mom, wherever she is. "But since you're offering toss me up a wrench will you?"

He chucks it up and I catch it before tightening the last bolt and only then do I recognise the voice. Suppressing a smile I look down and see him standing back, trying to figure out what I'm doing. "Problem? Because I can tell you those parts have too much kick for a T-70."

"That's the point," I reply, swinging my legs over the edge of my ship so I can take him in and find that he immediately recognises me from the stunned look that crosses his face, the look in his eye leaving me pleasantly surprised after all the wary stares of the afternoon. Although I'm more surprised by the immediate effect his face has on me now that I can see it properly. I don't expect to like it as much as I do, pegging him as the type that's ridiculously handsome and knows it, although it's certainly not without reason. "Once I'm done my baby's going to have more engine power than any of the newer models, might need some reinforcements but I'll make it work."

He shakes his head, grinning up at me with white teeth that stand out against the shadow of a beard on his certainly well-chiselled face that reminds me of the statues that adorn Naboo's art museums, but it's his dark eyes that take my attention as he studies the engine and my other modifications, recognising them with equal surprise and respect. "You know those mods are illegal right? The type you can only find in blackmarkets in the Outer Rims."

"I should know since that's where I found them, but considering this is faster than any of the New Republic's ships, and yours, I don't have to worry about that do I?" I smirk a little too proudly and find myself saying. "I see you gave the General my regards."

He looks at my ship and then to his with the slightest jealousy after mine had outrun his in the field and I just smirk to myself from my ship. 

"I did," he says, something about the look in his eye drawing me in. He still doesn't realise I'm her daughter, that much is clear, and so I play coy. "I told you I could put you in touch didn't I? But just a warning, we might be a paramilitary but she doesn't like us breaking too many New Republic regulations."

Oh, he has no idea and I can't help but tease "If you're going to report me for breaking regulations don't bother because she's already given up on me."

"I take it the two of you have some history then?" he gathers and despite the curiosity in his eyes he still doesn't put it together, which means Mom has definitely lied to the Resistance about where I've been for a commander to have no idea who I could be, but I shouldn't expect anything else by now. 

"Let's just say I've done some work for the Resistance, had some disagreements and ended up where you found me," I explain simply, revealing just enough. When I'm used to everyone knowing my name it's almost nice to be a mystery. "So illegal modifications will be the least of her worries."

He makes a surprised sound, running a hand through the almost black curls atop his head. "The General must like you then to let you get away with this type of stuff." He looks me over with slightly nervous eyes before putting on a charming smile. "You must have been stationed on the Raddus because I know I would've definitely remembered meeting you before."

A self-satisfied smile comes to my face at his attempt at flirting and find myself amused, but more surprised by the fact that I don't actually mind it. "I've been on this base far longer than you have commander, you're the one who's new here."

"General recruited me a few months back from the Republic Fleet," he says and my eyes narrow now, wondering how the hell a new recruit could possibly be made a commander when I never was after years of service. But I swear behind his self-confidence there's a sincerity to his words as he says "You know, if you were new to base I was going to offer to show you around."

"Really?" I say, leaning forward from the edge of my ship in intrigue, giving him my full attention as I look him up and down. Somehow only finding more things to like much to my own surprise considering I've never been the type to be partial to a flyboy, or much to men in general.

"What can I say?" he shrugs but the look in his eyes is a little less carefree than what he's trying to portray as he returns the gesture, tongue running over the seam of his lips as he takes me in. Leaving his intentions maybe a little less innocent than his sincerity. "You're a hell of a pilot, one of the best I've ever seen. You left an impression to say the least."

I can't help but feel warmth come to my face at the look in his eyes that I've never quite seen in anyone else's and turn my head, not knowing whether to be frustrated he's actually having an effect on me or flattered I have a commander standing here flirting with me, but I do like the attention. As for flattery well... that's something I've always received little of.

So maybe I'm being a little bit of an asshole, but I genuinely don't know how to do anything but rebuff him considering it's second nature by now. "What was your name again?"

I remember it, but I want to see how he reacts to his ego being bruised. Somehow he's not put off and just challenges "You know now I think of it you still haven't given me yours."

Wanting to get a little closer I hop down from my ship to find that he has half a foot on me, maybe a little more although it's not exactly hard when I inherited my mother's height. His face is closer now and somehow even more striking up close much to my frustration, a problem I've never had before or at least not to this degree. The sudden proximity leaves me a little more bashful than I'd anticipated but I may as well enjoy the moment considering it'll be over once he learns my name, for a multitude of reasons.

"You can call me Captain," I state. I might have had that title stripped away with every other privilege I had when I was grounded but if she wants me back she's going to have to make compromises.

"Captain?" he repeats back in surprise but respects it. "Alright Captain..." he trails off for a moment, considering his options but inevitably deciding to go with one of the riskier ones. "How long have you been away from base for?"

"Almost a year," I answer, curious to see if that leads him down any trail of thought but he doesn't seem to be using his head to think, although unfortunately for me that face makes up for it. He's older, late twenties,  a man who clearly takes pride in his appearance judging by his hair. Again, he has good reason too and even more unfortunately I'm too susceptible to that damn face. 

"Then let me give you a tour of the new and improved facilities," he begins before changing tactics, his voice deepening slightly as he leans closer. "Or I could take you out to a spot just outside base with a clear view of a constellation I think you'd like, and maybe by the time we make our way back you'll like me enough to be on a first name basis." His eyes are kind, but there's a mischief behind them that draws me right in. "If that's alright with you?"

It takes me a moment to register what he's saying let alone asking, and when I do I'm convinced that surely I've misheard him or definitely misinterpreted his words. But his interest is something I definitely I haven't misread, intentions are another matter, but this... this was the last thing I'd prepared myself for when I returned to base. I've had passes made at me sure, but certainly never this.

It leaves me speechless for a moment longer than I'd like, but I manage to quickly regain myself and my dignity. I've been back here for five minutes and I'm blushing over some flyboy's pickup line, a flyboy who holds the rank I'd sought for longer than he's been a part of the Resistance. 

Oh no this, whatever it is I'm feeling, this won't do.

"Alright commander," I say, making sure whatever happens next is on my terms. "I'll consider it, but first how about you show me what you've got and finish what we started in the field."

"What I've got?" he repeats as I look at the x-wings. "Sweetheart you're speaking to one of the best pilots in the galaxy."

"Sweetheart?" I repeat and actually laugh knowing it didn't end well for the last guy that tried to call me that, and he momentarily panics before seeing the glint in my eye, only more determined to put him in his place before I can consider maybe, just maybe, taking him up on his offer. "Alright then flyboy, get that ass in an x-wing and prove it."

He's tempted, tongue running across the seam of his lips as he leans down and crosses his arms over his chest. "As much as I'd love to do that, I don't want to get put on probation in my first few months and neither should you."

I whistle, taking pleasure in taunting him. "I got the big ego part right but I didn't take you for a pussy."

Now I've got him. "Oh no, I'm not a pussy."

I look down at his astromech who beeps at him knowing it's a bad idea, just as R2 gives me a beep of warning to not get myself in trouble but I've already made up my mind and so I look back up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

His dark eyes are locked onto mine with determination and I find a spark in them that's the same as mine. "Really."

Knowing I must have some effect on him I tilt my chin up, smirking as I challenge "Prove it."

I must look like a hot mess after hours of maintenance with my braid falling out and the top of my white blouse unbuttoned and stained with oil, my body's covered in engine grease wiped off my palms and smells like it, but he seems to like that.

And I definitely like his face.

Maybe I was right in coming back to base after all.

"Alright," he agrees, physically closer than I've let anyone come to me in a long time. "But you'll lose."

"Fifty credits," I bet knowing I've certainly returned a lot richer from my exploits, even if most of it's gone into my ship and weapons, and he doubles it.

"Hundred."

"One fifty," I challenge to raise the stakes and see that same restless excitement in his eyes. Pilots, people who live on risks and rushes of adrenaline, they're a disaster waiting to happen when it comes to gambling. "You on?"

"How about this, I win and you let me show you around base," he says, the glint in his eye proving to me he might be more of a worthy opponent than I'd originally taken him for. "You win and you're the one who gets to show me around."

He knows he's got me there, and I'm shaking my head with a stupid smile on my face knowing it too. It's a win-win situation for him although I'm curious to see if it would be the same for me, silently cursing how something in his eyes makes me electric. He might be a flyboy but he's one smooth bastard and I've got to get him back. "Alright then hotshot, first one to circumnavigate the planet's atmosphere and land back here wins."

"Atmosphere?" he repeats, knowing atmospheric flying in one of the more dangerous thrills a pilot could partake in, but he only grins back at me with that spark in his eye. "You're on."

"Let's see what you've got then commander," I say, waiting for him to realise he's screwed with the work I've done on my ship but again, he's thinking with anything but his head, and I tease "Then we'll see about me showing you around."

I'm not the only one with a stupid smile on my face and his eyes follow me as I walk back to my ship. Maybe I'm guilty when it comes to liking the attention, I've had my fair share of it not that I've ever entertained it, but none have ever looked like him or had that spark in their eye. I go to pull the ladder over, considering using the force to leap up might give him a little bit of a shock, and hear him call out "Need a foot up?"

"Piss off," I laugh and he flashes a teasing grin at me that only feeds my own determination. "You know you're going to lose right?"

"Don't worry I'll go easy," he promises as if he's doing me a favour.

I raise an eyebrow, not afraid to pull a dirty card to throw him off his game. "Because I'm a girl?"

"Oh no, no, no," he quickly corrects with a nervous laugh, his momentary panic only confirming that he isn't that type of flyboy. There shouldn't be any of them on base considering who the General is but you never know, I mean she did marry one after all. But still, I find an awful amusement in how quickly he refutes it. "Women are just as capable in a cockpit I can promise you that, but as damn good as you are you haven't seen me in action yet."

"Because I'd taken care of all the action before your slow ass ship could get there," I reply and he's all the more ready to try to show me up and my ego meets his as I smirk. "Don't worry I'll go easy."

The droids beep at each other in question as to whether or not they should get involved as he takes on the challenge, jumping up into his x-wing and I climb into mine, only for another ship to suddenly appear in the atmosphere as our droids get into their respective astromech ports. I blink in confusion at the ship, only to sense her before I begin to register who the ship belongs to. "Shit."

He looks at me as to ask if I'm ready to take off and he flashes a confused look as I give him the fall back gesture and shrink back into the cockpit as the ship lands, seeing the same look of panic on his face when he realises who's caught us.

I'm wearing a guilty smile as Mom comes out of the ship, walking with purpose but stopping in her tracks the moment she senses me, whatever emotion fills her face is quickly replaced with exasperation as she looks up at me, and then to the commander, shaking her head at us both.

"Get out of those x-wings."

The commander panics as we both climb out of the x-wings and I come to stand in front of Mom for the first time in almost a year. She wears the familiar expression of frustration, but thankfully I still see the fondness amongst it. I open my mouth but find myself lost for words as I suddenly clam up. 

"General," Poe stammers beside me. "I was just-"

"I'm not blaming you, Commander," she sighs and turns her head towards me. "I know my daughter has a habit of causing trouble."

He does a double take, one I've seen often when the men on base have realised they've attempted to chat up the General's daughter. Although none have admittedly been as successful as him. "Daughter?"

Mom just gives a slight shake of her head as she sighs, as if she hadn't expected anything else. "Commander Dameron meet-"

"Hope Solo," I say shaking his limp hand, he's stunned as I meet his eye and for just a moment I see the faintest flicker of recognition amongst the pure mortification. "General's daughter."

"Unfortunately for my sanity," Mom remarks and shakes her head at me as Brance rushes into the hanger to meet her only to go unignored as she asks "Did you seriously try to drag my newest commander into an x-wing race?"

Brance looks between the commander and I at those words and suddenly seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he marches back out of the hanger as quickly as he came. Again, Mom looks as if she hadn't expected anything else.

"Maybe," I admit as Poe scratches his head, clearly more than a little blindsided. She looks at my x-wing, mechanically literate enough to realise the parts I've put in aren't cheap or legal and I try to smile and exploit the big eyes that seem to work on everyone else but her. "Miss me?"

She raises her eyebrows in warning and I quickly shut up.

"Commander, considering you've already become acquainted with my daughter you can be gracious enough to escort her to intelligence where she will hand over the information she has on the First Order outpost she destroyed before Snap could gather data on it," she says, barely reigning in her frustration with me but it's the disappointment in her voice that stings. "Then you'll meet me in my office, Hope."

"Yes General," we both say in unison and she shakes her head as walks past out of the hanger, leaving the commander and I standing there in shared awkwardness. While I feel guilty he's purely mortified, and I actually feel slightly bad now.

It's silent until he breaks it. "I'd say you were trying to set me up if she wasn't so happy to see you."

"Yeah," I say, his sarcasm being nothing but truthful. "Won't lie, I was hoping for a warmer welcome back but it could have been worse."

He looks at me now with his own eyebrows raised, standing there in a state of barely constrained panic. "It could have been worse? Worse for you you mean?"

I look at him in surprise. "A flyboy who actually cares what his commanding officers think of him, how rare."

"When my commanding officers are war heroes, yeah I care," he says defensively, incredulous that I don't share that sentiment. The tension between us is just as thick as it was moments ago but different now.

"Well commander, you'll come to learn your heroes are quite human," I assure him, knowing how every person on base reveres my mother, which is fair as she deserves every bit of it, but their reverence for Luke and my father is less justifiable. "Legends are often disappointing."

If I'm the last hope for my family then I'm only proof of that.

He looks at me now how they all do when I don't live up to the expectations they have of their heroes, little do they know their own heroes don't even live up to them.

But my own reputation? Well I can certainly live up to that.

He takes me in more carefully now, with equal caution and curiosity, but also with the slightest bit of wonder in his eye as he says "So, you're Hope Solo."

"That's me," I say, shrugging my shoulders despite knowing the weight my name carries. "Am I missing some grand reputation I'm meant to be living up to?"

From the way he stammers I know I am and it usually falls into two categories, a Jedi or a political scandal. My reputation as a pilot clearly isn't as prominent as I'd like it to be despite my stint as a racer.

"Well," he begins and I can tell he's not quite sure what to make of me. "I- you aren't what I expected."

I'm intrigued now as I take him in, sensing nerves beneath that cocky exterior. "And what did you expect?"

I don't miss the way his eyes skim over me and so I return the favour, somehow still quite liking what I see despite his fleeting defensiveness. "Well-" he coughs to try to cover himself. "Not you."

That's an answer I don't quite mind and I laugh under my breath. "Acceptable."

"So," he continues, keeping a respectable distance from me as we continue through the base, suddenly taking a very different approach towards me now he knows I'm the General's daughter. A fact that inevitably scares off anyone who looks at me how he did, although I can't quite say anyone has, not like that at least. "How did the General's daughter end up rogue in the Outer Rims?"

"That's quite the story," I say, realising what I did must have stayed classified outside of high command. "And not a pretty one."

"Alright," he says, he doesn't push but asks "So what did you do here before that?"

That's the question.

"Well I'm the General's daughter," I say, repeating what everyone else does with some embellishments. "Best damn pilot here, but considering I prefer blasters to negotiating they tend to keep me out of the loop."

He raises an eyebrow, a glint of almost childlike excitement in his eye as he asks "Not a lightsaber?"

And there's that one final legacy that Luke left me when he went into exile, that of the last Jedi. When the news of the temple's destruction broke they all looked to the supposed sole survivor for answers, but some looked at me as a suspect. The Jedi Killers grandaughter being the only survivor of a fire that killed all of the Jedi... that's one other legacy I've been left with.

But he only looks at me with an awestruck curiosity, not too dissimilar to how I'd look at Luke and the other students before I'd started my training, back when the Jedi were still mysterious to me. I can't quite remember anyone looking at me that way however, not until now. 

"Oh I've got my lightsaber but I've been frequently reminded that it isn't a good look for the Resistance to use it for combat," I explain as we walk through the hanger towards intelligence, not quite sure why I'm still speaking to him when I'm about to get torn to shreds by my own mother but he's listening and perhaps I don't mind the sound of his voice. "And then there's the fact we aren't meant to engage the enemy first."

"That's a big one," he says keeping his tone light, playful even, but I can feel a mutual frustration there. "Something tells me that's part of it?"

"I might have gotten a bit carried away once or twice," I admit, something tells me with an ego like his he has as well, but not to the severity I did. "But there's nothing like practice."

He meets me in the middle there. "As frustrating as it is not being able to engage the Resistance is better when it comes to action than the Navy, I can promise you that."

"Yes but be warned commander, a little too much action and you'll get yourself grounded," I say with a bitter edge to my voice. "I would know."

"Too much action or insubordination?" he asks in amusement and if his face wasn't enough to take a liking to him that's sealed it. 

"Well there's no point committing insubordination if there's no action," I remark and he laughs, something tells me he's no stranger to it either.

"I like the way you think but I'm glad I'm not your commander."

"I prefer to work alone so rest assured you won't have to deal with me," I say as we reach intelligence but something in his eyes tempts me against my better judgement, strikes a boldness in me I had never quite realised was there until now. "Unless you want to?"

But as expected he's suddenly hesitant. It's typically seen as disrespectful to even look at your superior's daughter that way and well no one wants to disrespect the general, but it's a little late for him to pretend like he wasn't quite interested just a few minutes ago.

He quickly becomes nervous, trying to laugh it off before not so subtly changing the subject. "So uh- I guess I will be then if you're going to be flying?"

"I will be," I state as he clams up, putting on his friendliest face and the gives me an awkward thumbs up of all things before guiding me inside the command centre. Usually I wouldn't care, usually I'd laugh when I'd watch them suddenly clam up, but it seems this one's left an impression, for better or for worse. 

Brance stands there as we enter the room and hesitates at the sight of us. "The General said you had some reconnaissance data about First Order patrols?" he swallows and I can't recall what I did to make him like this, but he's in charge of intelligence. He knows exactly what I've been doing. "Around Tatooine I presume?"

There's judgment in his voice upon mentioning Tatooine, but Brance's judgment's only a fraction of what I'm about to get from Mom. 

"Well, I don't exactly have it," I say looking at R2 but he's hardly been collecting any. "I saw an outpost and I blew it up, twenty four tie's in total including the ones this commander saw me take down, three squadrons, not much else to say." I turn to the commander now, since these patrols should be his area of jurisdiction, but mostly because I don't like to walk away without the last word. "But if you'd like a report on all the First Order outposts I've cleared in the outer rims you can come and find me."

Poe stops and blinks at me in slight alarm. "Cleared?"

"Cleared," I confirm and leave him to put together what I mean as I dismiss myself with a sly smile. "Commander." I nod my head to Brance who's turned pale. "Major."

Both their eyes follow me as I leave the room, forcing myself to keep a straight face as I willingly send myself to the interrogation chamber.

~

The encounter still plays on my mind as I wait to speak with Mom, it's almost a welcome distraction from what's waiting for me. But it's hard not to dwell when it's left a bitter taste in my mouth. 

I'd once joked to Lando that no one would be brave enough to take a chance on me with who my family is, little did I know then just how true it would be, and that was before the entire galaxy found out I'm the heir of Darth Vader himself. In the public's eyes Mom was never a Jedi, she as far as they know can't wield the force. They could throw every accusation of treason and conspiracy against her but that, the claims of being a danger to society because of our blood was reserved for me and Luke and Ben. 

Not to mention I've become the sister of a pretender. 

But he's not the one accused of being the Jedi Killer, how can he be when much like Anakin Skywalker the galaxy believes he died with the rest of the Jedi. Like Luke he left me to bear those accusations alone. To carry this name that's only gotten heavier with each passing day. 

But for a moment I liked being a mystery, and I liked it even more when he still looked at me with awe instead of apprehension after learning my name. Poe Dameron. I hate to say it but unlike the other flyboys that come through here I actually like this one.

Wait.

"Are you fucking serious," I whisper under my breath in irony into the empty space of Mom's office and remember where I've heard his name.

It was just days before everything went to hell. I'd travelled to Theron to be with Dad after I'd gotten myself expelled from university after a rather dramatic display that I'm still quite proud of. Lando and I sat watching the Five Saber's races when a man had caught my attention in the stands below, or if memory serves me the force had drawn my attention to him. Not that it would have mattered to Lando, all Lando saw was his niece staring at some guy.

"Oh no, now I know for a fact pretty boy down there's too old for you," Lando had laughed.

I'd just reminded him about how much older Dad was than Mom when they met and he laughed with me while trying to hush me. I don't know how the conversation had descended into what it had, with me expressing to him my juvenile worries no one would ever want to take a chance on me with who I was. Perhaps now I don't care about something as silly as love, I've experienced enough of it to know how it ends, but back then I did, what sixteen year old doesn't? He tried to ease my worries, giving me the sort of pep talk only an uncle can give, Mom had echoed similar statements not long after but Lando's words stuck with me over the years.

I'd thought that had been the end of it until I'd sat in the cantina as Lando went to the bar and I watched the same man introduce himself. Growing up with war heroes for parents, especially Han Solo, I was never a stranger to having aspiring pilots wanting to meet their heroes and so I'd watched from a distance as they spoke, happily out of sight.

"General Calrissian," Poe Dameron had said shaking his hand. "It's an honour."

"General?" I heard Lando repeat in amusement. "No one's called me that in a long time."

"You fought with my parents on Endor," he'd said and I'd been slightly more interested.

"Wait don't tell me, I know that face," Lando had said and laughed in realisation. "You're Kes and Shara's boy aren't you?"

He'd given his name "Poe Dameron."

I'd recognised his parents names, particularly his mother's since she'd defended Naboo during Operation Cinder. More than anything I just remember being confused by the strange nagging I felt, almost as if I knew him, or rather that I would know him. It seems my intuition was correct.

All things considered, that day is something I'd all but forgotten about until now and it leaves me unsettled. Nothing good ever comes when the force starts throwing these coincidences at me, or rather as it seems wrapping up loose ends. There was more to the conversation I struggle to recall, conversations about the navy and whatnot, but I do remember them talking about his mother. 

As an aspiring pilot I'd taken an interest in the women who flew such as her and Hera Syndulla. Dad would often feign offence when I'd beg Mom to be able to come with her to meetings with General Syndulla since they'd had a friendly rivalry back in the day. Although Hera never abandoned her kid despite him being force sensitive so I know who I like more. Wherever he is I'm sure he's glad he was grown up by the time Luke began taking students, with Ben's age group having been the oldest ones he trained. The youngest however... that still pains me to think about. 

I'd disappeared before Lando could introduce us, so at least some of my anonymity remains intact. While I'm vaguely familiar with him, all he knows of me would be reputation and that's how I prefer to be known. 

Although the force isn't finished with me yet, the lingering tension from the last time I sat in this office still remains, bringing back other more uncomfortable memories.

"What do you mean I'm grounded!" I raged at her after coming back from what I thought was a successful mission. "I did everything you asked me to-"

"I sent you to run reconnaissance not to engage!" she yelled, as beside herself with anger as I'd ever seen her. "Instead you used the force to interrogate an officer and not just that, you engaged an entire squadron of stormtroopers with a lightsaber-"

"And I took them out!" I reminded her, proud of my accomplishment even if she was horrified, or at least proud in the moment. 

"And potentially started a war!" she snapped and slammed her hand down on the table. "What is the one rule I ask you to follow, the only damn rule that matters!"

Still I didn't care. "How are we meant to stop them if we can't fight them-"

"We stop them through these missions you think are pointless, through collecting data and using it to secure whatever funding we can get from the very few allies we have in the senate," she tried to make me understand and she grit out "Hope, we do not have the numbers or the facilities to enter into a war. The Rebellion was thousands strong, we have less than a hundred and the Resistance cannot afford to lose the only Jedi we have because she decided to go rogue and take matters into her own hands with the very weapon that should never be used for such violence."

Those words rubbed me the wrong way "So that's my role, the one symbolic Jedi. Not a pilot, not a fighter, not even your daughter-"

"Don't go there," she warned, the mother-daughter relationship we'd finally forged during the scandal with Vader having worn away with every disagreement over strategy. "I am speaking to you as your general, not your mother, and it's time you learned the difference. Which is why you aren't just stripped of your rank, you are grounded until you can pull your head in and not endanger this entire resistance on a whim. You tortured a man Hope." The way she looked at me made me sick. "You used the force to torture a man like-" she cut herself off but we both knew damn well who she was comparing me to. "For someone who can see the past you sure as hell don't know how to learn from it."

"He mentioned Ben," I ground out and she couldn't meet my eye. "He's calling himself Kylo Ren and has made himself the First Order's enforcer. Did you think I was going to let that officer go without finding out everything I could about what my brothers been doing!"

"I'm more concerned about what you've done," she said, terribly pale. "Saving those children at whatever cost, that I could excuse, that I would have even promoted you for. But the carnage you left behind and giving the First Order grounds to attack us I can't excuse. Using the force for that- as the last person with any authority to tell you how the force should be used... I am disgusted Hope."

But not as disgusted as I was at what I'd seen. "He was dragging children screaming from their homes-"

"And what intelligence did you torture out of him?" she asks me and that's when I clamped my mouth shut. "You could have asked where they were to be taken, how many, where their battalion is stationed, but no. You weren't just reckless you were selfish. If you were going to take your anger out regardless you could have given us something useful instead of chasing after Snoke. Tell me how did you rationalise the thought that a low ranking officer would know where either of them are?" I opened my mouth but she cut me off sharply. "Every single member of high command across all of our stations has petitioned for your demotion and an official court martial which has never happened before in the entirety of this organisation. They want you not just grounded permanently but banned from any Resistance operations and frankly I agree."

I gaped at her, betrayed. Command could believe whatever they wanted, but this was my own mother. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"I think you have been nothing but angry and spiteful these past years," she confessed to me as I stood there with tears burning in my eyes. "I understand you went through something horrific, I understand why you're acting out, but right now I can't trust that-"

"I won't end up like Ben?" She still couldn't meet my eye and I felt more betrayed by her in that moment than I ever did when I discovered the truth about Vader. "You think I'm like him?" But I knew there was something else. "No, you don't think I'm like Ben. You think I'm like him. Your father."

There was a bite to her voice. "Don't call him my father and don't you dare think for even a moment I would believe you could become what he did."

"Then why?" I whispered, tears of anger wetting my cheeks. "Why don't you trust me?"

"Because as of this moment you are too unstable to be trusted with important missions, or any mission for that matter," she said carefully, but the words hurt just as much. "I can't protect you from the law if you decide to let darkness take control, which is why you have to work where I can keep an eye on you. I want you to go to Hosnian Prime to work with the few allies we have left in the senate, Varish will look after you. You spent years being educated for a career in politics and I gave you your title so you could take my place in the senate. If I can't trust you in the field then that is your assignment."

I shook my head. "No." She was leaning over her desk, head hung in distress. "If you won't let me fight then I'm not staying here."

"Hope," she argued. "Please for once in your life think before storming out."

"I have," I said. "If you don't trust me then I'm going to find the one person who does." She looked up in fear, and I knew what she assumed. "Not him, Dad."

She sighed. "Honey, your father-"

"Is out there," I said, tired of failing to live up to her expectations. "And if I'm too much like him for you, or any other man in this damn family, then I'm going to find him!"

I'd stormed out with hot tears running down my cheeks, now I sit here cold as she enters the room and sits down across from me without a word, neither of us knowing what to say until I break the silence.

"Am I being court-martialed?"

"No," she answers shortly, her voice difficult to read.

"Lando convinced me to come home," I say, unable to calm the defensive tone in my voice. "I was hoping for a warmer welcome considering the speech he gave about how much you've missed me, how worried you've been."

"I was worried," she says, struggling to hold back her frustration. "I was worried sick that you were hurt or out of your mind but no, I find you the same as ever going off to race x-wings whilst I've been in the core worlds doing the job I'd asked you to do." I just shake my head to try to fight off the guilt and look away until she relents and asks "Did you find Han?"

"No, but Lando will keep looking," I answer stiffly and get to business. "He said you had a mission for me."

She nods, but if I thought she was going to let the past be the past I was wrong. "We will get to that, but now enough time has passed I hope we can speak honestly now about what happened so let me begin by saying what you did horrified me Hope. My barely nineteen year old daughter torturing an enemy officer and committing a massacre beyond what was necessary to protect those children. Even after they were off the planet you went back to finish the job to ensure there was no one living to testify to what you did. You committed a war crime, several I might add."

Against my better judgement I retort. "Legally it's not a war crime if we aren't technically at war."

She shakes her head, having not expected any different. "A cold war is still a war and it's only getting worse."

"Which is why-"

"Why you've been hunting the First Order for sport?" she finishes and I'm glad Snap gave me a warning. "Commander Dameron told me all about your encounter before you decided to come back and try to- what- what the hell were you even doing?"

I put it simply. "Trying to prove a point."

She just sighs and puts her head in her hands. "Hope you've been back five minutes and you're already giving me a headache."

"You asked me to come back," I remind her, wishing I'd stayed gone. "Sent Lando to beg me to come back-"

"Yes because you're my daughter and I love you despite how infuriatingly stupid you've been," she says bluntly and pure anger suddenly fills her eyes. "Working for Boba Fett?"

Shit.

Despite my panic I hold my ground. "He pays well."

"He pays well?" she repeats. "I should think so considering the money he got from giving your father over to Jabba the Hutt."

"Well that's his own fault for making shitty deals and not following through," I say, knowing well enough by now how it works. "You say I don't learn from the past but he's the one repeating it."

"And you should be smarter than to get into the same mess for the sake of spiting him," she lectures. "Because that's why you did it in the first place isn't it? To spite your father and when he didn't come back to drag you off Tatooine you decided to take the credits and take your anger out on tie fighters."

I remain unremorseful. "Would you rather me use a lightsaber?"

I'd almost forgotten that like myself, she gives as good as she gets but it's a comparison that doesn't phase me anymore. "Like Vader did?"

"I was once told Anakin Skywalker was a war criminal," I say, remembering that history lesson on the Clone Wars after years of Luke making our grandfather out to be the ultimate hero in Ben's eyes. "It only seems right I continue his legacy."

She does not like that answer. "Alright then I was wrong, you haven't matured enough to take on this mission."

She gets up to leave and I relent "Wait, Mom." She looks at me expectantly and we've been through this enough times I know what she wants to hear. "I'm sorry."

She still waits. "For?"

"For being a smartass about committing a war crime, no matter how justified it was, and running away for a year," I say and watch her inhale deeply to keep herself calm. "And for being a smartass now."

She sits back down and leans back in her chair. "A year Hope. I would have thought being gone that long running around the Outer Rims would have matured you at least slightly."

I actually scoff. "You really thought that after being married to Dad?"

"For one single minute can you not be a smartass," she pleads and raises her index finger. "Just one."

I wisely keep my mouth shut and nod, knowing it won't last.

"Long enough has passed I believe I can convince command you've grown up and have seen the error of your mistakes," she begins, moving to negotiations. "Now we both know that's a load of crap but if you want to get back in the field they need to believe it. I might be the General but there is only so much I can do to help you because I can't be seen giving my daughter or any member of this Resistance special treatment. While you've been gone I've done my best to try to rebuild your reputation for the day you inevitably came back, most of the base believes you've been studying politics on Naboo and completing your education."

I scoff in offence and suddenly it all makes sense why a commander would see someone pull off what I did and never even think of my name. "That's the best lie you could come up with, that I willingly went back to university after they expelled me for arguing with that old Imperial bitch?"

"Yes," she states and my frustration only grows, that I'm only known as the spoiled princess sent off to Naboo instead of what I've worked hard to become.

"So you discredit the fact I'm the best pilot in the Resistance so everyone believes I'm just some spoiled princess playing politics at some prissy university to the point your shiny new flyboy can't even realise who I must be and thinks he's actually better than I am?" Her eyebrows shoot up at that remark. "That's your solution to rebuilding my reputation? By utterly falsifying it and discrediting the one thing I've worked hard to be." I stick a finger into my chest as I grit out "I started flying when I was a child, I begged and pleaded to join the starfighter corps when I was just twelve years old and have spent my entire life working damn hard to be the pilot that I am. It's bad enough everyone just dismisses me as being Han Solo's daughter when I'm a better pilot than he ever was, but for no one to even recognise me as a pilot and just think I'm off prancing around Naboo-" I have to cut myself short. "How could you do that?"

She sees I'm genuinely hurt but remains firm in her decision. "How do you think they'd take it if I said you were running around with pirates and hunting the First Order on some mad vendetta?" 

"They'd think I was actually doing something worthwhile," I say and she blinks at me incredulously. "You might think I've been acting like an idiot but I've been smart about it."

She's unimpressed and bites back. "Words right out of your father's mouth."

"I made sure even if people pieced together I was the one in that starfighter they couldn't do anything about it because I was being legally contracted to defend a system from an unwelcome force, hell I had an invitation to the bounty hunters guild that I didn't accept because I knew it would be a bad look for the Resistance and for you. But I've been damn good at what I've been doing and I'm not going to apologise for it."

"Congratulations," she deadpans. "In trying to piss off your father you've become him, running away from your family for the thrill of making credits and blowing things up."

That finally shuts me up, Vader I can take being compared to, but not him. Not when I know she looks at me and sees him more than anyone else. She suddenly looks remorseful and reaches for my hand.

"Hope, you are my daughter and I love you more than you could ever know," she says and I wasn't prepared for those words, looking away as I force back tears. "But you need to realise your actions have consequences, if your father's situation isn't evidence of that I don't know what is. Luck inevitably runs out."

"It hasn't for you."

Her eyes are sad. "It ran out a long time ago, but yours hasn't. Not yet." I don't expect the ache when she reaches for my face and forcing back tears has not felt this hard in a long time. "You've grown up."

"Yeah well, that happens," I say curtly and she withdraws her hand. "I know you think I ran off like Dad did but you didn't give me a choice."

"You had a choice and you made it," she says gently, the love in her voice only making it worse. "But now I need you to own up to it and make better ones."

"If you want me to be ashamed of what I've done and apologise for it I won't," I say and finally she listens. "I did make my choices, and don't think I wouldn't make them again."

"Alright," she says upon seeing this won't go the way she wants. "Do you want to hear the truth?"

Believing there's nothing left she could say to hurt me I shrug. "Shoot."

"I never believed it when I was told the Skywalker blood ran strong in you, but I should have. When Sola and my mother's handmaidens told me you reminded them of my father I didn't listen. When Luke warned me dark things would come of your training I should have listened but I didn't and you were nearly killed as a consequence."

"Mom-" I immediately whisper at her blaming herself.

"I knew something was wrong between you and Ben, I knew something was wrong with him, but I sent you back to Ossus with him regardless," she says as if Ben gave her a choice in the matter. He'd taken me as his apprentice, and his eyes his authority overuled our own mother's. "Days later everything was gone. Ben, Luke, eventually Han. Everything was lost in that fire except for you." Her voice breaks. "I have tried in every way I know how to help you Hope, but you aren't helping me. It is a fact that you share many similarities with your grandfather, more than Ben ever did. Everyone who's ever lived to know both of you has said as much. I am aware of the darkness that's clung to you ever since you discovered what he became and I want to help you Hope, but I need you to let me."

My throat's tight. I've always shrugged off the comparisons, but they've never come so strongly from my own mother, the one person in the galaxy who has the most cause to despise him. Yet in my travels I've only found more people who've confirmed what I've tried to deny for years. "So that's why you can't stand me, because I take after him?"

She shakes her head in disbelief that that's the conclusion I'd come to, voice incredulous as she whispers "No, Hope that's not what I'm trying to tell you."

"Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to live up to you?" I ask her, remembering now just why I ran. "Trying to live up to a perfect hero but no matter how hard I try I'm told time and time again that I'm my father's daughter, or worse that I take after Anakin Skywalker. Never you, never Padmé Amidala, only ever them." Frustrated tears burn in my eyes that she truly can't fathom. "I don't want to hear that, I don't want to live up to anyone's legacy. I've spent years training to make my own path, I've spent another year out there in the Outer Rims not even recognising myself in the mirror trying to make a name for myself just to have all these powerful people look at me and tell me I'm just like a man I never knew. Desperate for validation, living up to a self-imposed prophecy, the one to restore balance and save us all only to lead the slaughter. Or worse that I'm like the father who abandoned me."

She quickly becomes unnerved at the cynical laughter that escapes me along with the tears. "Hope-"

"I don't want that, I just want my family but I can't have that," I say with a barely contained primordial rage burning in me. "All because of a voice in Ben's head." She's deadly quiet as I finally look her in the eye. "So if killing stormtroopers is as close as I can get to killing Snoke then that's what I'm going to do."

For the first time I sense a deep fear within her and she again reaches for my hand only for me to sharply pull it away. "I need you to listen to me."

"No!" I yell, a trembling mess as I slam my hand down on the desk. "I need you to listen to me when I say that if I can get my hands on Snoke I can end this! Or if I can just find Ben I know I could bring him back or convince him to turn on Snoke, but to do that I need to get my hands on these First Order officers and-"

"And you'll what, torture information out of them?"

The answer's simple in my mind. "Why not?"

"Because it's torture hope!" she yells. "For the love of-, you are not going to be torturing anyone for information. I know how much you loved your brother, I know how close you were and you are not the only one who wants him back." There's tears in both our eyes now. "But you are simply not prepared to take on Snoke."

"Luke took on the Emperor didn't he?" I retort. "He convinced Vader to turn on him and so will Ben. I know him better than you ever did Mom as much as you hate to hear that. I know he was screwed in the head and delusional, hell I know that better than you ever could and I have permanent scars to remind me of it every day!" There's nothing but pain in her eyes. "But everything he did was to protect me as twisted as it was and he would never let Snoke do to me what he's done to him. I know if I bring him back we will destroy Snoke."

She tries to steer me away from the subject, to de-escalate, to distract me from the spiral I'm heading down. "Someday yes, but for now I need you focused on proving to the senate what the First Order is truly doing so we can prepare. I promise you the day will come when you can use your saber but until then we need to build up the Resistance before starting a war we can't win and you are only one person. We need the support of the New Republic and the senate-"

"When are you going to realise we need to damn what the senate says and go after them ourselves?" I exclaim and it's then I fess up. "Do you have any idea how many of those bastards I've killed before they could gain a foothold in the Outer Rims?" Her face turns to stone. "How many outposts I've destroyed-"

"I don't want to know," she says hoarsely. "I don't want to know how many people you've killed or how many outposts you've blown up. I just want you to do what I'm asking you to do."

"What are you so afraid of?" I ask her at a complete loss. "I am capable-"

"You are too capable and you know it which makes you dangerous," she states factually and years worth of anger finally comes out. "You think you're smarter than everyone else in the room, but you're not. You think you are better and that you know better but you don't and it's past time you heard it. You don't do what is asked of you, you either go too far or disobey. You have always been all or nothing Hope. You run away for a year and now come back asking for me to trust you but I can't. You're impulsive and rash and not in the way we need. You don't think before acting and still refuse to do what is asked of you. You always have and I had hoped you could be mature enough to sit down so we could both apologise and move forward so I could give you this very important mission but no, you're too defensive and too defiant to even listen to me without interpreting me trying to get through to you as an attack!" Her voice breaks and for one of the very few times in my life I see tears running down her face. Three times I've seen it, but never solely because of me. "I love you, but I cannot trust you when you're like this."

Her words hurt, they're true, but they still hurt.

No, they don't just hurt, they tear me apart and I've never craved to be back in my bedroom on Hosnian Prime so badly. Back when I was still a child, back when I was still young enough if I cried I knew someone would come to comfort me, whether it was her or Dad, or most often Ben. Back before everything went to hell, and I can't stop the tears from coming now.

She goes to take my hand again but I pull it away, shaking my head as I stumble back out of my chair away from her, my flight response taking over. "Hope!" she calls out as I head for the door. "Wait-"

I'm already out the door and halfway to the hanger when I slam into Poe Dameron as I round a corner, he catches my arm and goes to ask if I'm alright but I pull it free, not stopping to make conversation as I rush to find R2 so we can leave.

For good this time. 

[forest-hashira]

Hi i just wanted to tell you i appreciate you for keep going, i know it gets tiresome sometimes when you write with such dedication and it gets less interaction its heartbreaking actually, but know this i am so proud of you and i love your fic noble blood i hope you keep writing, it might feel hard right now but trust me its just a faze it will go away you are just not discovered yet , trust me you will be found someday i believe in you and your fic noble blood have great potential..... Trust me i will be right here when you hit your first 10k , i promise i will keep interacting with you even when no one else does you're important, your art is important....i hope you remember that

Also i have a feeling reader is about meet their dragon.....

I hope my guess is right

nonnie, i need you to know that i've kept this ask in my inbox for the ten days since you sent it bc i kept coming back to read it like. at least once a day and every time i either cried or almost cried. this means so much more to me than you will ever know. i've needed to hear these words for a while, i think, so being able to come back to them. but i think now i'm ready to share your kindness with everyone else. whoever you are, i love you so so so much and i am giving you the biggest hug in the world (if you're okay with hugs).

as far as your guess...... just know we'll be meeting Several new dragons in the next chapter, possibly next two chapters (it depends on if chapter 8 runs away from me at any point, haha) 💜

[whimsyswastry]

Writing Goals 2024

I know I'm like 6 weeks late, but here it is... [2023: 14k] [2022: 83k]

Goal: 40k Achieved: 29,697

Works in Progress

Synopsis || Eliza Shepard finds herself torn between duty and love when she’s paired with her ex-partner Kaidan for a confidential spectre assignment. Goal || 21k, Second Draft Start (1/1/2024) || 73k, Rough Draft Finish (12/31/2024) || 18,141 Words, Second Draft

Synopsis || Scott Ryder has no choice but to accept Reyes’ help when his crew is left stranded without a pilot. Will Scott ever be able to forgive Reyes for all the lies? And what happens when Scott finds out there’s more lies to come? Goal || 25k, Rough Draft Start (1/1/2024) || 18k, Rough Draft Finish (12/31/2024) || 20,117 Words, Rough Draft

Synopsis || Thief and magebane addict Ellaria Trevelyan tries to keep a low profile in Kirkwall, but finds herself inextricably linked to a Templar knight haunted by his past. Goal || 10k, Rough Draft Start (1/1/2024) || Skeleton Outline Finish (12/31/2024) || 870 Words, Rough Draft

Synopsis || Lucette de Sardet rebels against the reins of royalty when she falls in love with her master at arms. Duty and station have kept them apart, but Lucette has had enough. Will she ever find her moment with Kurt before she leaves the country on a diplomatic mission? Goal || 8K, Final Draft Start (1/1/2024) || 6K, Second Draft Finish (12/31/2024) || COMPLETE

Accountability Recap, 12/14/2024

Decided to do my Acountability Recap a little early this year because if I don't do it before January 1, it'll be half way into February before it gets done due to all the other new-year reset responsibilites.

Honestly, given how many health issues cropped up this year, I'm very excited to have almost hit my goal. But I am MOST excited to announce that after FIVE YEARS of it being on my New Year Resolution list, Masquerade & Mysteries is finally complete and posted to AO3.

It didn't get as spicy as I had promised, but it turns out, I'm just not that into writing smut. It's something I've always struggled with and wrote this ficlet in part to help with that. But I don't feel like it needed the big pay off. Especially since M&M is a prequel to the entire Lucette Saga.

I probably could've hit my word goal for 2024 if I hadn't gotten sidelined by Dragon Age in November. I spent far too much of the last six weeks in my head rotating Finnegan and Rowan in my head like the world's slowest-roasted rotisserie chickens. Which, while lots of fun for me, doesn't move the needle on either of my Mass Effect fics.

Maybe I'll put Finnegan's story on my Accountability 2025 post, but I think I'll probably stick to more achieveable goals. Like finishing Leviathan. I'd truly hoped to get it finished this year, since the bulk of it was already written, but it needed a LOT of polishing. I mean, entire chapters were skipped...so...the fact that I'm posting chapters at all is a miracle.

TL;DR -> I didn't hit my goal, but I did achieve more than I thought I'd be able to, especially when I consider how much I struggled with my stomach ulcers.

My hope for 2025 is fewer health issues so I can spend less time surviving and more time thriving creating.

[abalonetea]

Hi, question: how can you manage to write 10k words per day? How much time does it take?

I write 1k in an hour and I feel my brain being fried in the process... In 15 years I think the maximum words I've written is 2000 in a day, so to me you are really impressive!

Hi! Honestly, it's just because I do ghostwriting for a living, so it functions as my 8-4 job.

On average, I can do 10k words for work in 6 hours, and I can do it in 8 hours on a bad day, and 5 hours on a good day. The most I've written in a single day is 26k words and it nearly killed me, tbh, I never want to do that sort of word count in a single day again.

Keeping a running word count on tumblr helps motivate me a lot, and so does making sure you aren't hungry, thirsty, too hot, or too cold. Make yourself comfortable, and find somewhere that is JUST for work.

For example, I do my work-writing at a desk in my room, and my personal writing in Everywhere Else (usually the living room). The desk is ONLY for work-writing, which means it helps get me in that kind of head space.

Also, plan out your writing the day before. For example, I'll figure out the night before whether I'm working on Project A or Project B, how far into it I'm going to try and get, and what the vague idea for the scene is going to be.

An example would be...

decide to write for Fantasy Story A

decide to do 5k words for Fantasy Story A

decide that it will be split between scenes one and two

decide that scene one will cover the Bar Fight and scene two the 'soft meeting' afterwards

That way, you don't sit down to write and have to waste time figuring out what you're going to put on the paper.

Another tip for large word count sessions is to figure out your start point/end point. So, I often do ghostwriting based off of outlines.

If the outline has one sentence for four chapters and I need to get the story to 10k words, I will write the full outline how I feel the pacing should be. Then, once I've hit the end of the outline and the story is completed, I scroll back to the top and add any remaining word count into it.

So, I'll write four chapters at 2k words (or close to it) each, and then start at the beginning to add in scattered sentences to make up that last round of 2k words!

[meili-sheep]

Haha, you know how I said I wasn't dead when I came back from Christmas? Lmao

Right after New Year, I got a bad cold and was dead to the world yesterday. I sleep on the couch for like 6 hours. BUT. I AM ALIVE! And I have more solid dates for shit. And I will hopefully be settled next week.

In the meantime, I have been writing. So Ummm Yeah, It's probably not what you guys expected, but here is that update.

So the thing that hit me like a truck over the holidays is a "sent back in time"/"reincarnation" thing feat. uh, this might come as a shock, but Crepus! The idea hit me randomly about having him being stuck in the delusion. Witnessing Diluc's 4 feral years and realizing. "Oh, my kid doesn't think I love him." but when Diluc breaks the delusion Crepus gets sent back in time and decides to prevent any bad ends for Diluc! It's absolutely gonna have a cheesy title and be very headcanon-heavy with Varka and Alice as godparents, and Vent's gonna make an appearance. So far, it's been fun. I cranked out like 10k words in 4 days.

The second is a modern Chiluc AU. Look, my beloved hot doctor wife sent me a manhwa, and I speed-ran all like 50 chapters. And a Chiluc AU I already had needed some work, so I took some inspiration and have been working on a rewrite for that.

Then as I've mentioned before, a little add-on to the Ice Prince Diluc AU. With the Harbingers and baby Diluc. Pierro has bought a parenting book. That's all you need to know about that.

I've also been working on a weird AU where it's sort of based around Diluc and Childe's bis artifacts. So a Crimson Witch Diluc and Heart of Depth/Pirate Childe. That's getting a little closer to being finished.

In the finished pile is an Albeluc thing that I feel needs some work and a third installment of my Ayatoluc series. Which is feeling super indulgent as I just keep slapping my favorite troupes on them.