#Trieste I think?

[blackghostm2oart]

Ok! I SWEAR that I’ll stop spamming.

Here’s another doodle :)

Unmasking

[pietroleopoldo]

It's very fun that whenever I tell people that my only vacation this year will be in November they seem to assume that it's because I want to go to somewhere hot like southern Spain or Greece and I get to tell them. No actually you know that city in Northern Italy that's famous for its strong and cold wind.

[toomuchedgeroslyn]

Tonight, at a sushi restaurant, after a work day, by myself.

The happiness and freedom of deciding to go and eat in a restaurant on my own. The best thing is knowing that I can pay for this, be independent.

I've been working on this achievement for years.

Independence. Finally

[www-pinkhearse]

I love making at least 1 character in every story of mine Italian fucking watch me

[pandaofsecrets]

I like to think that Luka and Juleka are immigrants from the former Yugoslavia. Luka's name has a very on-the-nose meaning in both Serbo-Croatian and Slovene (namely, "port, harbor", which goes with both his family's nautical aesthetic and his personality). Both of them also have issues around language, what with Juleka's mumbling and Luka's tendency to communicate through guitar chords. Being an immigrant would definitely do that to you.

As from where they're from specifically, any of the six former Yugoslav Republics would work, but I'd go with Slovenia:

First of all, the memes are just exquisite. Imagine Chloé going "Do you people talk in Slovakia?", to which Juleka looks at her like "Ha ha, never heard that one before. Very funny, did laugh." Or Lila doing Lila things and Juleka going "Ugh, Italians", to which someone asks her if she's still mad about Trieste. Or Luka talking about how Ljubljana is the real City of Love. Or Purple Tigress, Viperion, and Cat Noir annoying Ladybug with increasingly over-the-top diminutives for the Slovene version of her name, to the point she throws all three of them in a trash can about it. Or Luka saying that he hasn't dodged the Slovenian femboy stereotype (yes, that's a real thing). Or, since "A greste?" is Slovene for "Are you (pl.) going?", Luka saying "Agreste? A greste out of my life, more like."

Speaking of the Slovenia-Slovakia confusion, I dig the irony of Juleka, someone who really wants to be seen, being from a country that's most well-known for being mistaken for another country.

As of 2022, Slovenia is the first (and only, unfortunately) Slavic country to have legalized gay marriage, which I again like due to how it relates to Juleka.

The emblem of Ljubljana is the dragon, and I'm Lukagami trash like that.

[nipuni]

We went to see Phantom Madrid last weekend!! ❤️ Geronimo Rauch was amazing!! I'm going to write my thoughts on the whole performance under a cut for those interested 😊

I am going to be comparing it to the London version for reference since it's the only one I've seen live. I think my first impression was that It was better than I expected it to be! I read opinions about the Trieste production and I was a little worried but I found that I enjoyed a lot of the things I've seen being criticized.

The stage spinning around was awesome and added so much depth to scenes and made transitions very smooth. The backdrops were very nicely done!

As for costumes I think they were pretty good with the exception of Aminta's dress and the Masquerade costumes being kind of underwhelming.

The singing was good overall, although the translated lyrics are weird sometimes. The main songs translate well but some others become very confusing in Spanish, some wording seems forced and some notes are slightly altered to fit the phrases. Raoul is very calm and soft, maybe a little too much at times, Christine is very neutral and simple. Geronimo was amazing tho no notes!

Now the acting! I have opinions 😫 This show was very Christine and Raoul centric to such an extent that it flattened the plot for me 😬 Christine seems scared and disgusted from start to finish so there is no conflict in her character. She is never torn, she recoils from the phantom's touch during Music of the Night, and during Final Lair she sings the "pitiful creature of darkness" lines looking at Raoul the whole time backing away towards the phantom and steeling herself and only turns reluctantly at the last second to kiss Erik. She comes back to return his ring and just leaves it on the organ stool as soon as he turns around because she's scared to get close to him, when he sings "I love you" she shakes her head at him 🥹 like girl please give us something!!

Geronimo's phantom is a delight tho!! He whimpers, crawls, cries, screams, pants, it's great. He's acting his butt off and is the highlight of the show for me.

A thing that I really liked was in the end when the mob comes Erik is curled up in his bed crying and Madame Giry finds him there and tells him to hide under the covers and leads the mob away from him, I thought it was sweet and transitions into LND nicely.

OH also!! I really enjoyed the Phantom swinging on a rope across the stage during the ballet and Buquet's hanging, it's so good!! the flaming chandelier scene is also good!! in Final Lair they actually hang Raoul in the air which was very nice too! (and with his shirt still on) and even the angel wings and flying that I've seen people hating on was honestly so cool. It didn't look as goofy as I expected it to, it's very smooth and the lighting makes it scary, he casts thunder and flies!! the wings are not very visible since the scene is very dark. The light work was super good in general.

Masquerade and Don Juan were a bit of a let down, much simpler but not bad. I think my main issues were about the choices for Christine really 🤔 and I think some scenes needed more movement, especially the roof one (they couldn't move because they are sitting on a ledge)

The show in general feels a bit one note compared to the West End version but it was good!! I'm just nitpicky 😂 also I want Geronimo's autograph!! I love him 😭

Anyway if you want to see/hear more let me know on discord wink wonk 😁

[obsessioncollector]

Hi friends! Inspired by @librarycards I wanted to make a post celebrating Women in Translation Month! Anglophone readers generally pay embarrassingly little attention to works in other languages, and that's even more true when it comes to literature by women, so I will jump at any chance to promote my faves 🥰 Here are some recs from 9 different languages! Also, I wrote this on my phone, so apologies for any typos or errors!

1. Trieste by Daša Drndić, trans. Ellen Elias-Bursać (Croatian): An all-time favorite. Much of Drndić's work interrogates the legacy of atrocities in Europe, particularly eastern Europe. Trieste is a haunting contemplative novel centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman whose family converted to Catholicism during the Mussolini era and were complicit in the fascist violence surrounding them in order to protect themselves.

2. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur (Korean): A collection of short stories that are difficult to classify by genre–speculative fiction in the broadest sense. The first story is about a monster in a woman's toilet, which sounds impossible to pull off in a serious, thought-provoking manner, but Chung does so easily—these are the kind of stories that are hard to explain the brilliance of secondhand.

3. Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Tim Parks (Italian; Jaeggy is Swiss): Another all time favorite! The cold, sterile homoerotic girls' boarding school novella of your dreams.

4. Toddler-Hunting and Other Stories by Taeko Kono, trans. Lucy North (Japanese): I think I read this in one sitting. Incredibly unsettling—these stories will stay with you. They often focus on the unspoken psychosexual fantasies underscoring mundane daily life.

5. The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector, trans. Katrina Dodson (Brazilian Portuguese): I think Lispector is the best known writer here, so she might not need much of an introduction. But what a legend! And this collection is so diverse—it's fascinating to see the evolution of Lispector's work.

6. Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, trans. Melanie L. Mauthner (French; Mukasonga is Rwandan): Give her the Nobel! Mukasonga's books, at least the ones available in English, are generally quite short but so impactful. Our Lady of the Nile is a collection of interrelated short stories set at a Catholic girls' boarding school in Rwanda in the years before the Rwandan genocide. These stories are fascinating on many levels, but perhaps the most haunting element is seeing how ethnic hatred intensifies over time—none of these girls would consider themselves particularly hateful or prejudiced, but they easily justify atrocities in the end.

7. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 by Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Yvette Siegert (Spanish; Pizarnik was Argentinian): Does anyone remember when my url was @/pizarnikpdf... probably not but worth mentioning to emphasize how much I love her <3 Reading Pizarnik is so revelatory for me; she articulates things I didn't even realize I felt until I read her words.

8. Flight and Metamorphosis: Poems by Nelly Sachs, trans. Joshua Weiner (German): Sachs actually won the Nobel in the 1960s, so it's surprising that she's not better known in the Anglosphere. Her poems are cryptic and surreal, yet deeply evocative. Worth mentioning that this volume is bilingual, so you can read the original German too if you're interested.

9. Frontier by Can Xue, trans. Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping (Chinese): Can Xue is another difficult-to-classify writer in terms of genre. Her short stories are often very abstract and can be puzzling at first. I think Frontier is a great place to start with her because these stories are interconnected, which makes them a bit more accessible.

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 07 - "Only For Emergencies"

New Tawhoque was a dangerous place for Ssaelit, but if a woman knew just what crooked street to turn down and upon which unmarked door to knock, she might find a sanctuary or two open to those of the Way.

This one was a public house (semi-private house, really, they did not allow Gefendur) called Arbert's. A woman slipped its heavy front door closed behind her and pretended she didn't notice the wall of eyes move to sweep across her from the bar. Finding the newcomer hidden beneath a dumpy rain slicker and a waterproof bonnet, the collective gaze rolled back towards their whispered conversations and their glasses of imported beer. She chose a hightop in the corner, asked for a cheap pour of Trieste, and unwrapped her hand to see if the bleeding had stopped.

"They cut your finger off," a male voice observed behind her. She jumped a foot in the air, then collapsed forward over the injury to hide it from him.

"It is nothing!" she said.

"It is nothing now," he agreed, "But until recently I think it was your right index finger."

"Oh, why do you care? Did you want it?"

She turned. Her shoulders hunched even higher to discover an unreasonably tall man looking down at her, his face half a void of shadow. "Perhaps," he admitted at length. The words sounded strange. Artificial. Pymaric? What a strange thing to say, and in what a strange voice to say it! "Which of the gangs have you crossed?"

"I did not 'cross' any of them!" Her head lashed back and forth in pain, then anger. "I am a good and honest woman! I went to the constabulary! I went to report all my hens dead!"

"O-oh!" He seemed to suddenly lose a foot of height, shocked. Perhaps he loved animals too?

She continued: "I think my neighbour's hounds had at them in the night. One of the constables said it would cost thirty sem for them to go and investigate the scene. I pointed my finger in his face and called him a villain. Then he said he would have that finger, and before I knew it he had nipped it free with a spell! Have you ever heard of such a thing? That is not how policing works!"

"Naught works in the expected manner here," the stranger whispered. For all his prior forwardness, he suddenly seemed to be avoiding the sight of her gory hand. "I… am afraid I can be of no help confronting the local lawmen, but I would happily pay for your drink and direct you towards a more honest physician than the twin-eating sawbones you will find on the high street."

His voice was unnervingly tinny, but there was warmth there. In spite of her anxiety and her throbbing hand, she tried to wind down. She hadn't been in town very long but even the Ssaelit she had tried to befriend were standoffish. She was beginning to understand why. Sharteshane was a land of traps and predators; everyone was waiting to see what you had, and if you were strong enough to protect it. Why she had supposed the law would be different, now seemed beyond her. A final illusion shattered.

"Is it still raining?" he prompted when she took too long to decide on an answer. "It is forever raining here. It is as though the city must be kept wet, or its amphibian skin will crack open."

"And out will pour the bloody flies," she agreed, removing her coat. It had done little good. The clothing beneath was sodden, draping, and she coloured to realise how prominently her bosom rose. Oh, dear, her nipples were visible too. These cheap Sharteshanian weaves simply did not reflect her patterns correctly-

Now it was the stranger's turn to give a start! He shuddered and stumbled away as though burnt. Had it been the fly remark that had disturbed him? He was surely scandalized to hear such language from an Aldishwoman. Of course he would be! Soon she would be a ribald Sharte, all cusses and swears-

Ach, no, no. He was trying not to look at her chest. A gentleman! Of course.

"You must forgive me, sir! I dove into the rain after the attack without first buttoning my slicker and… and…" Her good hand fumbled at her bonnet, slipped it free of her head so he could see her earnest green eyes. Oh, a mistake! Now he would see she was a Soud, and hate her-

He stumbled again, struck, and grabbed at his midsection! Then from her eyes to her hair his attention alighted once more upon her missing digit.

"What is it?" she demanded, "Are you ill? What is wrong with you!"

"D-did you keep your finger?" he sputtered, almost wailed, "Or did the constable take it?"

"What a question! You monster! Bartender!"

"Bartender!" he echoed, "Aye, please bring to me my emergency order! I require my emergency order!"

A moment's pause, and a broad-shouldered Bronze suddenly jumped the bar. He was nearly seven feet tall, with a touch of the Glut about him. A steaming hot bar towel was in his grasp. The stranger grabbed it, two-fisted it with all the alacrity of a drowning man reaching for a watertight coffin. Then she swore she heard a hiss as his impossibly perfect white teeth bit down upon it hard. When he started gnawing it like the hounds last night had surely gnawed at her poor hens, she flew from the pub, never gathering the courage to ask if he'd been the one to leave nothing in that coop but two beaks and a pile of bloody feathers.

[propertyofwhitney67]

Hiiii, may I ask what would Remy, Harper and Briar feel/react to a PC who is infatuated with them, and always Trieste to be the most well behaved and best Cow (for Remy)/ patient (for Harper)/ and Stripper (for briar) and always sticking around them for rewards for being good?? :) have a great day<3

ooo I like this

Remy thinks it's really cute how hard you try to be such a good cow. He doesn't want to play favorites but how could he not with you!

Harper is very pleased of how good of a patient you are and rewards you accordingly

Briar thinks it's both cute and amusing at how hard you try to get in his good graces. He supposes he could give you a reward every now and then

[filthybonnet]

So this year has really been difficult for me. It's also been difficult for a lot of people around me. It's been especially hard when I compare to how wonderful 2023 was for me. However I've been really pushing myself to get into the Christmas spirit this year, more so than I ever have and it's been working. Really learning some hard lessons and how to really appreciate this time of year in a way I never did before.

I haven't been on here in over a month, and I was thinking about last year and actually got some messages about it. So a little Christmas link and reminder so you don't have to go hunting for it. As far as we know, I am the only person who has a full video master of the 2023 Italian Phantom of the Opera Production. It is from the 7/15/23 Evening Show in Trieste. I made it available for any and everyone who wants it, regardless if you hate me as my way of sticking it to the boot trading world. NO ONE should ever make you trade or pay for this boot.

If you haven't seen this production yet, I hope you love it as much as I continue to do. Seriously I didn't think Ramin could improve on the perfection of his 25th performance but he did. This is his best Phantom yet.

[chickpea0]

𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒑!𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒅𝒚 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒓 moodboard for @fizzzystarzz, who also helped with the headcanons below!

Headcanons:

The type of caregiver/babysitter who would hand "kiddo" a toy- a see 'n' say, etch a sketch and the like- to keep them busy while he runs his store

I can imagine him also having one of those to cash registers for whoever he's looking after to play with while he's using the real one, like those baby steering wheels :-)

He likes explaining things! Both while regressed and taking care of someone. While not regressed he explains his process of whatever task he's doing at hand, or his methods of shelf organisation, or what order he's packing and the neighbours regular shopping needs. When regressed it's bits and pieces of that while also just yammering on about whatever's in his mind. Whoever he's looking after for the afternoon will come out with enough knowledge to pass business 101

Sometime he even forgets they're regressed but he asks for confirmation on something and he's like, oh right-!

He regularly calls people kid but might not clock that who he's talking to regressed which leads to: 'Why're you looking at me like that kid?.. ooohhh Kid.'

When regressed I think he generally hangs around in the big kid age range

If he and the other neighbours are playing games, he likes to take a sort of back seat to play a Dedicated Role like the banker in Monopoly or if they're playing make believe, like "zoo" he's the guy selling peanuts! Which may on the surface appear like he's separating himself from the game but it's how he has fun

If he could eat (made of felt 😔) He'd be a picky eater. If it's not the right shape, texture, colour he is NOT eating it. Though he's more fussy/offended about it rather than panicky or distressed. Would drestroy a fruit plate cut into shapes though

Triest to bribe and squirm out of anything he doesn't want to do. Bedtime? Welllllll what if he mopped the kitchen floor for an extra 20 minutes? He's already gotten a toy that week? Hmmmm but what if he saved up for it himself? Part of it, at least.

Of course... if he drifts into a younger age range, he likes sleeping wrapped up super tight in a blanket. Swaddled like a coocoon :-) goes the same if he's upset or unwell

THAAANK you fizzzy! they're the one who got me into welcome home AND helped brainstorm for this! Does it count as a gift if they helped with a good deal of it? hehehe

[eleancrvances]

i think it should be illegal to sound like this when your colleagues surprise you by dragging you out of your box to perform, but well. here he is. (complete with my incredulous gasp.)

from the rehearsal room - trieste; 10/25/23 *please do not repost outside of tumblr.*

[pietroleopoldo]

It's a total of like 8 days between Trieste and Milan so it's gonna be a battle but I got tickets in worse conditions I guess...

Oh nvm they announced the dates and places for Les Mis world tour in Italy. Day saved

[sae-444]

never forget the chapter where Kenny reads the Communist Manifest and is like "preach" lol

I think is S22 C10 but im nor sure.

Anyway, to me Kyle would be a total leftist that actually makes an effort to improve himself and learn from all the different truths and perspectives the propaganda of the western world hide from him his entire life. And has super interesting dialogues with Kenny, who is also a leftist, and together they have this nutricious exchange of ideas and perspectives that is so necesary and revolutionary in a world that triest to keep us constantly distracted and isolated

[jo-harrington]

Luminous Beings - Chapter 5: When Ambush Comes to Shove

Art by @monologichno || Beta Read by @undead-supernova Part of the @eddiemunsonbigbang

Summary: Eddie’s world comes crashing down around him as he realizes his hopes and dreams could have come true, if only in a kinder world.

Word Count: 5.8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x OFC (Thalia Trieste)

Warnings/Themes: Star Wars AU, Fluff, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Distrust, Mention of Alcohol and Substance Use, Minor Canon Inaccuracies/Adaptation, Galactic Politics, Mention of Death, Vague References to Order 66 and the Jedi Purge

Note: We're at the half-ish way-ish point! This one is a little more lighthearted, I think. Just a nice little transitional chapter...nothing important happening...or will it? I actually felt really proud of it upon my reread before posting; it's very funny how last chapter was filled with a bit of dread but this one I'm super confident with. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks again to everyone for reading.

Luminous Beings Masterlist - Jo-Harrington's Masterlist

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

Hyperspace, 10BBY

Eddie sat in his seat on the bridge, practically catatonic. His thoughts swirled in his head about as wildly as hyperspace swirled just beyond the transparisteel.

How he had found himself here twice in the span of a few days, he really couldn't say.

He truly couldn't say much about anything. Who he was, why he was the way that he was, how he was feeling about all of this, especially the big revelation that...

He was a Jedi.

He'd found some amusement in the possibility of flying home to Bracca to drop the big revelation on Wane, who would offer some off-handed insult towards the failed Order. Wane, of course, would still ask Eddie if he could use some latent force ability to move the old husk of a washing machine out of their flat.

He also got a kick out of imagining Thalia's dramatic eye roll and playfully clarifying statement of "You're not a Jedi, bantha brains."

Then he'd get lost in the semantics again.

Force. Path. Jedi. Sith. Light Side. Dark Side.

They were all words that had been spoken a little too much over the past day. He didn't really know what they meant. Or, he supposed now, what they meant when it came to him.

Eddie was so lost in his head, he didn't notice when the pneumatic door hissed open or the footsteps that clunked across the bridge. Not until Jeff dropped into his usual seat beside Eddie at the console.

Jeff sat in silence for a while; he didn't even look at Eddie. He just made sure the ship's computer had them on course, checked some readings, flipped a few switches. And then when enough time had passed and he was sure Eddie wasn't going to lash out like an untamed loth cat, he spoke.

"You know," he began with a deep inhale. "If there was any of us who I expected to have Force abilities, it would be you. Lucky asshole."

Eddie couldn't help but crack a smile. He reached over and slugged Jeff in the arm lightly.

"Did you ever have a...feeling?" Jeff questioned. "Or an idea of it? All the times we played Jedis back home?"

"I don't think whacking broomsticks around would've awakened any natural abilities, Jeffy," Eddie scoffed.

"Hey, gotta exhaust all possible ideas." Jeff laughed. There was a beat before he asked again, "So...did you?"

"Not at all."

"Do you feel anything different now?"

Aside from confusion?

"No."

"Then I don't see why you're acting like you've been transported to some strange, upside-down, alternate universe where your hands are your feet and your head is in your ass." He paused. "Your head is always in your ass."

They both broke out in laughter, and Eddie felt the weight of the world finally lift off his shoulders.

"Thanks," he told his friend once their levity subsided. "I needed that."

"I noticed. You spent a little too much time being a grouch the last few days."

"Can you blame me?"

"Not really. But am I glad you're going through it and not me? Absolutely." Jeff reached over and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "So, what are the next steps, Captain?"

"Next steps?" Eddie frowned. "What next steps?"

"Well, it sounds like you just earned yourself another target on your back," Jeff elaborated with a nervous chuckle. "Thalia seems to think that you're gonna go with the others to this...Bogano. And if you do...well, it's not like we're gonna abandon you. Not because you can supposedly use the force now."

He'd been so overwhelmed by the revelation that he was somehow connected to the force that he missed it. Thalia's "consider yourself saved" didn't mean that she was simply saving him from a bleak and unadventurous future. She was trying to save him from the Empire, too.

From being hunted down. Hurt. Killed.

Eddie suddenly felt spite slowly build in his chest.

Spite towards her, yet again. But also, spite towards the Jedi. Tenfold.

If the Order knew he had some kind of power, where had they been? Surely if he wasn't special enough to be saved then, there was no reason for the Empire to come looking for him now.

How had Thalia even found him? Why did she care? Mostly everyone else aboard her little stowaway container was...well, they were kids. And given what she'd shown him, he could understand why she felt some sort of obligation to keep them safe.

But Eddie? All his life, he'd taken care of himself. Taken care of his friends.

He didn't need to be saved.

He hadn't needed the Jedi then, he wouldn't need them now.

So no, he’d tell her thanks but no thanks. He wouldn’t be going to Bogano.

"Well, you guys have nothing to worry about," Eddie finally assured Jeff. "The only place I need you guys to follow me to is Corellia to see if we can get a last minute set at a club in Coronet City."

"Seriously?" Jeff stumbled over his words. "Aren't you worried...about the Empire? A-about anything?"

"Nah." Eddie reached up and flipped a switch to divert more power to the sublight engines and hopefully get them to Coruscant faster. The sooner Thalia and her band of misfits were off his ship, the sooner he could forget this ever happened. "If anything happens, which I doubt, I'm sure I can handle it. What could possibly go wrong?"

To say that Eddie was hostile towards Thalia and the rest of his unexpected guests over the final few days of their journey was an understatement.

If he’d hadn’t been annoyed before, he sure was now. Actually, annoyance didn't begin to cover the array of emotions that he felt over his suddenly-crowded ship.

The ship was constantly noisy. He couldn't get a lick of privacy when there was always someone using the refresher. The big Nikto guy—Hoppor—kept pointing out everything mechanically wrong with Eddie’s ship. 

The worst of it all was that the rest of his friends didn't seem to be as cranky as he was. They enjoyed having, essentially, the equivalent of a full crew aboard.

G'areth enjoyed the compliments he got over the meals he carefully crafted, especially since the newcomers had been eating rehydrated rations in the container. Jeff told stories of faraway planets and creatures to the kids. Dayv found a challenge in the twi'lek girl, Na'ancee, who seemed to beat his high score at the sharpshooting sim he loved.

Even D5-TN had seemed to make friends with a few of the younger boys. The little punk. Eddie always made jokes that he was a real kid in a tin can body; seems it wasn't so much of a joke after all.

"This is not a...babysitting ship," he grumbled to his friends one night. His crew, who he thought would listen to him and, at the very least, take his side on the principle of the matter. "This is a smuggling ship."

"Technically it's an old republic transport vessel," Dayv pointed out matter-of-factly. "We just retrofitted it to help us smuggle things bec—”

He trailed off as Eddie glared at him.

Eddie didn't try to bring up his frustrations to them again. Instead, he suffered alone.

"I have a question, your jedi-ship," he snarked at Thalia one afternoon as she passed on the way from the refresher.

She stopped in her tracks and stepped into the crew's bunkroom to find him lounging with his guitar. He and the guys had tried to practice together, but their unexpected audience kept requesting songs they didn't know.

If he had to teach these kids what Heavy Isotope was...well, no, he wasn't gonna bond with them. He was gonna stay grumpy. They could keep their bad taste in music.

"I'm not a Jedi," Thalia reminded him for the millionth time. She leaned against the threshold of the room and held her pack against her chest, almost like it was a shield that could protect her from whatever he had to say. "And what question?"

"I know you answered Jeff's question about payment in the commotion," he began. "But I'd like a little assurance. Because the terms have changed, this isn't a regular smuggling job anymore. There's no mysterious benefactor paying for goods to be transported across the galaxy. And last I checked, eighty percent of nothing is...oh, let's see...NOTHING."

Thalia snorted and rolled her eyes, which made Eddie seethe even more.

"Come on, how do you intend on paying up?" he asked. He hoisted himself up into a seated position. "I didn't know that Star Tours paid so well that you had a stockpile of credits to dish out. Do you even work for them? Was that uniform just a fake? Like everything else about you? Or does this...Hidden Path have a special reimbursement account with the Intergalactic Banking Clan?"

"Unbelievable," she scoffed. He grinned cockily, knowing he was getting to her.

"I need a number, sweetheart."

"Well what would make you happy? Forty thousand credits? Sixty?"

"A million."

"In your dreams, laser brain." She pushed off the wall and turned to leave. Annoyance now radiated from her like the heat of a dwarf star. "You'll get your money. Not a million, but you'll get it."

She avoided him for the rest of the trip.

Eddie didn't know if he felt relieved or disappointed.

The Core Worlds, 10BBY

The day they were set to arrive on Coruscant came before they knew it.

"Good," Eddie grumbled as D5-TN alerted him to the imminent arrival. He dropped into his seat with a huff and began the sequence to exit hyperspace. "The sooner we get through this, the better."

The stowaways were all corralled back into the container, with the promise of a new home just a few short hours away. Thalia then sent word via commlink to her friends that they'd be there before long.

"Landing Platform WB11-05," she relayed to Eddie and the others. "Just outside of CoCo Town. They'll be waiting for us."

"Well I didn't think you were gonna have us land on the Emperor's personal platform," Eddie snarked at her, earning a vulgar hand gesture in reply.

The sun was setting on the old Commerce District by the time the Dragonborn began its landing sequence, but the golden glow didn't do much to fix the overall dilapidated look of the place. Buildings were coated in pollution from the nearby Works and the traffic lanes were bumper to bumper with support staff and maintenance crews trying to get home for the evening.

WB11-05 was public platform, playing host to more than a dozen bays with ships coming and going at odd intervals; actually, Eddie would say that it was more of a landing field than a platform, given how large and busy it was, with a whole slew customs droids and speeder taxis ready to take people away. But no landing beacon, no flight control.

Most surprising of all—though a blessing—the Empire was nowhere to be seen. Eddie expected at least one inspector flanked by stormtroopers to be hovering nearby. But nothing.

As soon as the boarding ramp was down, the lead customs droid rolled right into the ship, boredly demanding the ship's cargo log and clearance codes. D5-TN handled it all in a jiffy. Once the customs droid was done,  it beeped something in binary about sending pit droids over to inevitably handle the transfer of cargo, and then it was off to the next ship.

"We've been landing in the wrong neighborhood, boys." Eddie whistled in awe to his friend. "Trouble doesn't have to be our middle name anymore."

D5-TN whistled a joke in question, asking how people would know they were related if they didn't all share the same middle name. Eddie mashed a hand on top of his dome affectionately and then strutted down the boarding ramp to get a breath of fresh air.

Or as close to fresh air as you could get in this part of Galactic City.

With the opportunity to visit Coruscant right in their laps, his friends had all voted for a brief vacation in the Entertainment District, rather than an immediate departure to Corellia. And he couldn't say he hated the idea.

They could crash at old Lip's place and play at the Outlander's club, just like the good old days.

Eddie could taste the cold Tarisian Ale and Death Stick smoke already.

So, as the container was unloaded from the Dragonborn, Eddie's friends began unloading their own cargo. There were small pieces of luggage and instrument cases, hauled off as they called a nearby speeder taxi over so they could make their getaway after the transaction.

The last one off the ship was the woman of the hour herself.

Thalia squinted into the sun as she stepped off the boarding ramp and back onto solid ground. She was back in her blue-and-orange finery, the Star Tours logo proudly poised on her uniform. She lifted a hand to shield herself from the light as she glanced around the platform at the various ships.

Eddie sidled up beside her and whistled. "Don't tell me you're off on your next adventure so soon. Luring the next idiot into helping a poor, defenseless flight attendant? I thought we had something special."

There was a pained look in her eyes when she turned to him.

She hadn't been happy when he told her that he wouldn't be going into the Jedi Protection Program. But she still respected his decision.

That didn't mean she wanted them to part on bad terms. To be honest, neither did he, but he was too stubborn to admit it.

"Are you ever gonna let this go?" she huffed. "I made mistakes, I wasn't entirely truthful. That doesn't mean I'm a bad person. I'm doing the best I can to help others. To help you."

"I don't need help, sweetheart." 

Thalia hummed in response and looked away, and Eddie felt a pang in his chest. Guilt. He wasn't a bad person either.

He felt the urge to say something, do something, because, yeah, she hadn't been so bad. Her company was nice, even, He was just a grumpy piece of bantha shit. But just as he was about to take her hand, maybe say something of the sort, D5-TN rolled down the boarding ramp and gently nudged her leg.

She looked down at him with a smile.

"Hey bud," she greeted. He whistled at her. "Yeah, I'll miss you too."

Dustin went on and on about the ship not being the same without her and her stories. That she was the only one who really listened to him when he talked about SU-S7 and didn't make fun of him. Of course, his dome rotated to shoot a pointed stare at Eddie, who raised his hands innocently. But it got a chuckle out of Thalia and relieved some of the tension.

Dustin said one last goodbye and then zipped back into the ship, leaving Eddie and Thalia alone once again.

"So...where are you headed to next," Eddie asked.

"Ord Mantell," she responded after a beat. "Taking a week off to do this was hard to pull. Had to cash in every favor I could. So as soon as that container is with Benny and Bob, I'm heading to the Eastport to serve juice to screaming passengers and get very little sleep."

"Doesn't sound very fun."

"Not all of us chased after adventures, Eddie," she said quietly. "Some of us just needed to survive."

Her expression shifted then. It was like a mask that she slipped on, but he could still see the turmoil in her eyes. The pursed lips shifted into a bright smile, eyebrows no longer hitched in worry, and her posture straightened to something less defensive. And it was all at the arrival of a Latero male in a red and white flight suit, his four arms outstretched as he approached.

"Well, well, well," he greeted fondly. "If it isn't our fearless leader, back from another perilous trip into the Unknown."

Thalia closed the distance and he pulled her into a fond embrace.

"It's good to be back, Ben," she said, voice straining as he squeezed her tightly.

Eddie noted, a little bittersweetly, that it was the kind of hug that Wane would give. All back-pats and squeezes, warm and familiar.

"And who is this?" Ben asked as he pulled away from Thalia, shooting a glare at Eddie. "This guy bothering you?"

"Uh," he cleared his throat. "Eddie Moonsun, Captain of the Dragonborn." He held out a hand to shake, but quickly grew nervous about which of Ben's hands he should be reaching for.

Luckily, Benny slapped a hand in Eddie's and then laughed. "Ah, you're the smuggler sleemo our girl had been going on and on about for days." It was said jokingly, and Eddie chuckled and sent Thalia a questioning glance.

"You went on and on about me?" he asked her.

"Research," she blurted out, cheeks burning in embarrassment. "I was doing research. Damn it, Benny."

"What, I think it's my right to humiliate you sometimes," he said in a fond, fatherly tone. He turned back to Eddie. "Benny Hammond, Captain of the Stranger Mantis. Thanks for taking care of her. She gets reckless sometimes. I worry."

"Excuse me, are we talking about the same person?" Eddie scoffed. "Thalia is reckless?"

"She might act all reserved and uptight sometimes, but I've got stories to tell."

"Please do." Eddie folded his arms across his chest.

"Oh look at that! I think Bob has your credits, Eddie," Thalia announced, trying to distract both men from the conversation.

Luckily for her, it worked. Another short, portly human crossed the distance with a bag full of clunky credit chips. He introduced himself as Bob Newbee, the Mantis' mechanical diagnostic specialist—a nicer term for slicer, in Eddie's experience.

Compared to Bob, Benny was probably considered stoic; the newcomer was chatty as all hell, talking about tracking and missed communications and ion storms along the Hydian Way, and how they were worried that something had happened on the trip from Nar Shadaa.

On and on he went.

It was a one-sided conversation that Thalia and Benny seemed helpless to stop once it started. And although Eddie tried to get the bag from Bob, it seemed that he wouldn't until the older man decided that he was ready to hand it over.

He was able to take that moment to notice how comfortable Thalia seemed around the two. How her calmness returned, her demeanor. The ease of her smiles and her laughter. She'd been the same way with the Assobs back on Nar Shaddaa. Been that way around him and his crew too; at least, she tried to be.

Since that day on Outpost 86, she held herself a little more defensively. Nervously.

Because she didn't just surround herself with good people; she was inherently good herself. And she'd seen that good in him too, which was why she'd tried to open up. Except, every time she'd tried to reach out...he'd only pushed her way.

The guilt returned, turning his stomach.

"...and that's when I said to him, 'Greedo, I don't know who you think this Bounty is on. But it sure isn't old Bob, I'll tell you that much.'"

Thalia and Benny laughed at the anecdote, breaking Eddie from his thoughts, and he forced a laugh as well.

"Well." Bob let out a satisfied breath and handed the bag over to Eddie. "It was nice to meet you again but it looks like the crew has transferred that load of, uh, dried pappelroot for us. Time to head out, eh Ben?"

"And not a moment too soon." Benny nodded, then said to Eddie out of the corner of his mouth, "Usually his stories are twice as long."

Benny and Bob said their goodbyes and headed back towards their ship.

"Guess this is goodbye for us too, then," Thalia said and turned to Eddie. "Thank you for everything. For putting up with me, for getting us to Coruscant."

He reached up to scratch the back of his neck as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Nah, I need to thank you," he replied. He shook the bag in his hand. "For the credits, but...I guess you put up with a lot of the shit the guys and I had to dish out, too."

"Did I?"

"Yeah." Eddie coughed nervously. "Surprised you got any sleep with Dayv's snoring."

"Eddie."

"And I might have been...as rude as a herd of aak dogs. Always barking at you for one thing or another."

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "I understand," she said gently, smiling the way she always did. "Don't worry. And I don't blame you for your aak-dog-ness. We do that when we're...afraid, confused...out of control. Believe me, I'm always out of my depth."

"You hide it well."

"Thank you." Thalia let go of his arm and held out her hand to shake. "Maybe I'll see you around one day, Eddie. Next time you're on Coruscant."

"Or..." he offered nervously, slipping his hand into hers. "If you ever find yourself back on Outpost 86. Gotta get those fried topatoes."

"I'm looking forward to it." She grinned. "May the force be with you, Eddie."

He was about to return the sentiment, but a sleek starshuttle soared overhead with a roar that had both of them—everyone on the platform—covering their ears.

With disregard for the shoddy order of the platform, the shuttle touched down smack dab in the middle of the staging area, sending passengers and droids running while small pieces of cargo got crushed.

There was a tense silence as the entry ramp hissed and dropped open, revealing two helmeted-figures clad in black and flanked by troopers with dark armor, rather than the usual stark white.

Eddie saw Thalia visibly recoil at the sight of them.

There were rumors after the Clone Wars ended, about the Emperor's personal squad of Jedi Hunters. For years they'd go to planets, villages, and kill force users in hiding. Whether they were part of the Order or not. And any innocent people who might go out of their way to help? Well...they were acceptable collateral damage.

Of course, they were just rumors. Whispers. Things you'd hear in cantinas.

Kriff, there was a lot that you heard in cantinas.

They were the things you never thought to fear until they were standing right in front of you.

The Inquisitors.

But now they were here, and they were real.

Eddie had reason to feel fear.

"Guess I'm calling out from work," Thalia muttered. She took an obvious step forward, in front of Eddie, almost like she was shielding him from their view as they stalked closer and observed the crowd around them.

"What a time to make a joke," Eddie hissed in her ear. He grabbed her by the back of her jacket and tried to stop her from taking any more steps forward. "What are you doing?"

"We both know why they're here," she snapped, turning on him.

"Do we?"

"For the kids, for the container, for you."

"Well, they can have me and they can see I'm just your run of the mill smuggler," Eddie bit out.

"They'll kill you before you could even think to lie," Thalia insisted. She poked a finger in his chest.

"And what about you?" Eddie asked.

"What about me?"

"What if they're here for you?"

"We're here," a cold, mechanical voice came from the first inquisitor. Wide-shouldered, tall, with a thin, glowing red visor on their helmet. "Seeking a dangerous fugitive. She is a traitor to the Empire. Loyal to the treasonous Jedi Order."

"Oh kark," Thalia muttered.

"See?" Eddie hissed.

"And the crew of outlaws who've offered her passage to Coruscant," the other inquisitor added, long and lithe with a visorless helmet.

"Well, kark," Eddie parroted.

"See?" It was Thalia's turn to hiss at him.

The inquisitors kept walking and talking, inching closer and closer. Eddie's mind raced as his eyes darted from Thalia to the Dragonborn, to his crew who were further down the platform loading their cargo onto a speeder taxi, then down to the Stranger Mantis that was preparing to take off.

Eddie knew that Thalia was worried about them the most, so if they got away, that would be one less moving part to worry about.

He also knew he couldn't put his friends at risk, so if he created a distraction, a diversion, they needed to stay safe too.

But what kind of diversion could he create?

"Is it too late for you to get onto the Mantis?" he asked her urgently.

"Probably not if I tried to send Benny a comm."

"Then get going." Eddie pushed her in the direction of her ship. "I'll handle this."

"Eddie, what are you—"

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and kept his hands as far away from his blaster as he possibly could, then he stepped forward through the crowd of travelers on the platform. He loathed leaving the bag of credits behind, but it was either his money or his life that he could take into his own hands.

And he'd always wanted to be a hero.

His friends were going to kill him.

The inquisitors were enjoying the sound of their own voices when Eddie piped up. "I might have some information!"

The inquisitors turned their attention to him, with the crowd around all staring at him like he had a death wish, but he just shook off the nerves and shrugged.

"For a price, that is." He grinned cockily. "I have a buddy who fakes flight logs for the Migrant Merchant's Guild. I'm talking millions of ships coming in and out of Coruscant. If your traitor and her outlaws are anywhere, I'm sure he can find them."

On and on, Eddie kept talking and walking, counting every second that ticked by. He could hear people run and ships take off and he hoped with every fiber of his being that Thalia was able to get away.

"So, if we just take a little ride down to the Old Galactic Market, I'll probably be able to help you. What do you say?"

The red-visored inquisitor laughed as Eddie stopped before them. He stepped, almost toe to toe with Eddie, and with a friendly energy, spoke.

"There's just one problem with that." He paused and looked Eddie, up and down. "We can tell when someone is lying."

"Of course I'm lying," Eddie scoffed, trying to play off his own panic. "I'm a criminal, too. Obviously. Otherwise what would I be doing in a place like this. That's how you know you can trust me."

He felt the heat before he heard or really saw the red blade of a lightsaber ignite and find its way to the side of his throat. It was raw, burning, hateful energy that singed the stubble that grew along his jaw. And Eddie knew that if he moved or even spoke again...well, then he wouldn't know anything anymore.

"There's no honor among thieves, outlaw scum," the inquisitor spoke with a deadly calm. "I know that the pirates of the Outer Rim make sure to take care of their own, but you won't find any sympathy here. There's no reason to try and protect people you don't know. No honor in protecting a Jedi. Especially this one."

Eddie, of course, didn't know what was good for him. His big mouth had gotten him and his friends in more trouble than he would ever care to admit. That same big mouth had also gotten them out of it. Many times.

But there was something to be said about an explosion.

It was unexpected, as good diversions are, which logically meant that Eddie's attempt at a diversion was actually a bad one. He was honestly lucky that the shock of the blast hadn't led to his accidental decapitation via lightsaber.

But one second he was standing there, trying to stop himself from shitting his pants from the threat of his imminent demise, and the next he was on the ground, ears ringing.

There was one large explosion, then a secondary smaller one, and flaming ship parts rained down from the sky. The platform fell to chaos as passengers and crew ran, ships and taxis immediately taking off. Eddie tried to recover as quickly as he could so he could take off running himself, but he immediately hit the deck as blaster fire soared in his direction.

"Eddie, run!" He heard, shouted over the din of blaster bolts and the lightsabers that tried to deflect them.

Who was he to ignore orders?

He pushed himself to his feet, weakly thanks to the confusion that ensued after the blast. But once his head cleared, he drew his own blaster pistol and shot a few bolts at the inquisitors and their flank of troopers—

He felt good about himself as his shots found a home, one taking out a trooper, and another hitting that red-visored bastard's helmet.

—and then he turned tail and ran.

At first he turned and tried to head back to the Dragonborn.

But it was either disorientation or confusion, because the Dragonborn wasn't where he had just left it. Instead, it was a heap of flaming metal and ship parts.

"No," he muttered and looked around. Then he shouted, "No! What the f—"

D5-TN zipped past him with a mechanized scream and Thalia followed close behind, blaster rifle in hand, firing shot after shot to offer him cover as he stood there like an idiot with a death wish. Where she got it, he didn't know.

"Come on! Run!" she shouted as she passed.

With one more incredulous look at his ship’s flaming wreckage, he spurned into action.

He was hot on her heels, filled with rage as they headed straight for G'areth, Dayv, and Jeff. The three men had their own weapons in hand, covering the others as they ran.

"In, in, in." G'areth helped hoist D5-TN into the speeder taxi and then hopped in himself. Thalia and Eddie followed suit, as they lept in and landed practically in the laps of the others. "Go! Go! Go!"

The driver didn't need to be told twice.

Unfortunately, the taxi got approximately twenty feet off the ground before stalling. Eddie sat up and was about to let the driver hear an earful, but there was movement at the corner of his eye.

The inquisitor—the one who had his lightsaber on Eddie, the one he shot—had one hand out and stalked slowly towards the taxi. His helmet was half-way gone. Cracked in half, revealing half of a face. Human. Pale skin and brown hair, an eye that, even at this distance, he could see had burning hatred in it and a mouth perpetually baring teeth at the effort to hold the taxi back with the force.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Eddie growled, and aimed his blaster to take another shot. But it was quickly deflected by the lightsaber and sent soaring in one direction, then another. "What's this guy's problem? Just. Kriffing. Die."

Thalia shifted until she was knelt beside him, staring at the inquisitor in horror. It took a beat before she had a hand held out as well. With great effort, she sent a nearby crate on the surface of the landing platform flying towards the inquisitor. 

It wasn't much, but it was enough. The inquisitor seemed to sense the object flying towards him, releasing the taxi to wield his saber with two hands and cutting through the durasteel container.

"Drive!" Thalia shouted as she collapsed against Jeff. The taxi accelerated and zoomed into the skyways of Coruscant.

Eddie watched as the platform got further and further, smaller and smaller until he could barely make out the tiny form of the inquisitor and the burning husk of the—

"You blew up my ship!" He turned his attention to Thalia.

"What?" G'areth, Dayv, and Jeff all shouted.

"Had to be done," Thalia dismissed breathlessly.

D5-TN beeped energetically, noting that he was actually the one who set off the explosives.

"I'm going to leave you out in the rain," Dayv snarled at him. "Let you rust."

"Benny and Bob are bringing the Mantis around to the Westport," Thalia noted, fishing her commlink out of her pocket. "We can meet up with them there."

"You were supposed to be on the Mantis," Eddie snapped at her. "I was buying you time."

"You were about to get yourself killed. I had to do something."

"Well, you certainly did something. And now what? Our ship is gone. What do we have but some clothes and our instruments? We're smugglers. We can't smuggle without a ship."

"I'm sorry, would you rather be dead?" Thalia snarked back at him.

"Yes."

"Well, just turn this taxi around, then." She took a breath, ready to shout at him a little more, but she deflated at the lost and defeated expressions of the crew of the Dragonborn. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I roped you into my nonsense yet again. You were almost out of it."

Jeff softly reassured her that they'd been in worse messes, and Dustin sadly whistled, saying that at least they all made it out alive. Even Eddie felt that guilt creep up on him again for blaming her for trying to save his hide. 

He was still mad, that was for damn sure.

But maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought. It could be worse. They could be dead.

Nah, it was still pretty bad.

He swallowed his anger and reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder after a few moments.

"It'll be alright," he said softly. "Let's just...get to the Westport and we can figure out where to go from there." 

Thalia nodded and laid her hand on his, then looked to the others with gratitude.

They all sunk into their seats as the taxi made their way to the next stop on this endless adventure. And as Eddie sat and listened to the ambient sounds of Coruscant, he thought back to the platform.

He thought about the Inquisitors. How they knew exactly where to look to find them. To find Thalia. He thought about the one inquisitor and how much he looked like the boy from Thalia's memory.

How much he looked like Steev.

Next Chapter: Episode 6 - Hopeless

The Tag List for Luminous Beings is currently open; please comment/ask/DM to be added.

[lunarubra]

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: In this AU set during the summer of 2010, Cillian has just wrapped up the final Inception premieres. Now, he and Jiyan are traveling through Italy, seeking some peaceful downtime together.

Warning: Fluff, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Hospitalisation, Mention of Suicide, Angst, English Not My First Language.

Words: 4599

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Chapter 2 - Praeteritum ambulans in nobis

STACK.

The cue ball hit the red 5-ball, but instead of a clean shot, it bounced off the side of the table and accidentally hit the solid green ball, which rolled straight into the pocket.

"Sagbab," Jiyan cursed under her breath.

Cillian chuckled before taking a sip of his beer. "Not your sport, Fabris?"

"Oh, shut up. You’re just lucky we’re not playing darts. I would’ve annihilated you," she retorted with a playful glare.

They were out at what was supposed to be an Irish pub in Trieste. It had become one of Cillian’s odd little traditions during his stays abroad—he would search for the most Irish-looking pub or bar in whichever city he was visiting and spend at least one evening there. The pub in Trieste hadn’t exactly disappointed him, but calling it Irish would’ve been a stretch.

A few days earlier, they had left Venice and come to stay with Jiyan’s mother to spend the final leg of their trip with her family. From there, they'd fly directly to Dublin. Cillian had to start prepping for a movie he would soon be filming, along with another overseas project that would keep him busy through October and November. Jiyan, on the other hand, had just wrapped up her PhD and was waiting for her final evaluation.

After two days of sightseeing, where Jiyan had taken on the role of tour guide, and plenty of family time spent with Mika and Solin, they decided to take an evening for themselves. It was a chance to enjoy some quality time before they returned to their routine in Ireland—though calling Cillian’s actor life a "routine" was a bit of a stretch.

Jiyan didn’t have a clear plan for what came next. She had finished her PhD, and several universities had already approached her with research offers after her publication in May. But there was nothing from Trinity College, where she had been working recently. Aside from Cillian, she had no strong ties to Dublin, and that uncertainty weighed on both of them. Cillian had encouraged her to accept a very promising project at La Sorbonne in Paris, but she had turned it down. Eventually, they sat down and had a real conversation about it.

She had told him, in that calm and resolute way of hers that left little room for debate, that over the past few years she had never paused—not even when Samyah died—to think about what she truly wanted. Now that she had finally finished her PhD, she was happy. She hadn’t expected Ireland to be the place where she found her balance, but here she was, and she wasn’t willing to disrupt that stability for another research project in a different part of Europe. She had some savings, a master's degree, a PhD, and a successful publication. She spoke more languages than most academics, including a few dead ones. For now, she wanted to take her time and look for something that genuinely fulfilled her. She deserved that.

Cillian could only nod, admiring the strength and certainty of the woman in front of him. He was relieved, too. He realised with a touch of surprise that he would have moved without hesitation to wherever her next project took her. His work was flexible enough, and with the experience he had now, he didn’t need to be anchored in one place to secure good roles. The thought of a long-distance relationship didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t good at keeping distance from her.

Jiyan huffed, bringing him back from his thoughts. She was glaring at the pool table as if it were to blame for her not winning, or for the balls refusing to follow her will. Cillian smirked, amused by the way she pouted—she looked incredibly cute. Setting his beer down on a nearby shelf, he stepped behind her, pulling her close. He kissed the side of her hair, breathing in her intoxicating scent of amber, spices, and sea salt.

"You’re rushing the ball, Aji," he whispered into her ear.

Though she kept pouting, unwilling to admit he might be right, her body instinctively arched into his embrace. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more room to stay close.

"I don’t like pool," she muttered stubbornly.

Cillian chuckled softly. "Come on, for once I’m the one who gets to teach you something, not the other way around."

He guided her arm from behind, savoring the closeness and the way she leaned into him. His pulse quickened—he’d grown so intensely drawn to her that even the smallest touch set his blood on fire. It was clear she felt the same, as her gaze met his with a playful, suggestive look that said, Are you sure you want to teach me here?

He swallowed hard, trying to focus, and finally helped her aim. Together, they hit one of his balls, sending it smoothly into the left corner pocket with a satisfying swish.

She turned to him, almost disappointed. “Show off.”

“You’re doing great. It’s okay if you’re not perfect at everything,” he teased, kissing her sweetly. But what he intended to be a quick, cute kiss quickly deepened into something slow and intense, stirring something primal inside him. He felt his jeans tighten uncomfortably. When they finally broke the kiss, they lingered, simply staring at each other. Jiyan’s tan skin hid her blush, but her dilated pupils gave her away. Cillian could tell she was just as affected.

But once again, something outside their little bubble shattered the moment.

“Jiyan?” A voice broke through their conversation, startling them. A young man stood nearby, his gaze fixed intently on her. Cillian felt Jiyan freeze beside him, her fingers tightening around his arm like she needed an anchor—or perhaps a shield.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. The moment stretched awkwardly, a silent pause in which Cillian felt distinctly out of place, like he was intruding on a scene he wasn’t meant to witness.

“Kareem?” Jiyan’s voice carried a note of surprise, edged with something harder to pin down—discomfort, maybe, or a flicker of unease. Before Cillian could process it fully, her words shifted into a language he didn’t understand. The rhythm was familiar, though. Kurdish? Turkish? Arabic? 

And then it clicked. Ah, so this was him, Cillian thought, the puzzle pieces snapping quietly into place.

He loosened his embrace slightly, sensing the tension that now coursed between Jiyan and the man—Kareem. Yet her fingers stayed locked on his arm, clutching as if to ground herself against the swell of emotion that had unexpectedly crashed over her.

Recognizing the unspoken need for privacy, Cillian decided to step back. Jiyan had told him once that she hadn’t spoken to Kareem since moving to Dublin. Judging by the startled looks they exchanged, this encounter was as unexpected for Kareem as it was for her. Gently, he took her hand—still clutching his arm—and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her curls.

“I’m going to grab another pint,” he said softly, his tone warm and reassuring. “I’ll give you two some space to talk.”

“Cillian…” she murmured, unsure whether she wanted to thank him or plead with him not to leave her alone.

“I’ll be right across the pub, watching the match,” he reassured her, offering a small smile that he hoped would steady her. “Take your time.”

As he released her hand, Cillian turned to Kareem. Extending his own, he offered a polite introduction. “I’m Cillian. Nice to meet you, Kareem.”

Kareem blinked, seemingly jolted out of his daze. He hesitated briefly before taking the offered hand. His accent was rich, an intriguing blend that Cillian couldn’t quite pin down—part Middle Eastern, part Mediterranean. “Nice to meet you too,” Kareem replied, his words slow, as if he were still processing the situation.

Jiyan wasn’t sure how to process the sight of Kareem standing in front of her. The shock of seeing him again had left her momentarily speechless.

“You’re back,” Kareem said tersely, switching to Farsi.

“Yeah, I mean…” She took a steadying breath, trying to collect herself. “We’re here visiting Mum and Mika. Flying back to Dublin in a couple of days.”

“Dublin…” he repeated, his words lingering in the air before he added, “You never called.” His voice was emotionless as he sat down at a nearby table and began pulling out tobacco to roll a cigarette.

“You didn’t either,” she replied flatly, lowering herself into the chair across from him.

They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. It felt oddly like a scene from a cowboy movie—a Mexican standoff, tense and unyielding.

“And you’re good?” Kareem asked, raising an eyebrow as he tapped the freshly rolled cigarette against the table to pack the tobacco tighter.

“Yeah, yeah.” She fidgeted with her hands, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I finished university.”

“Congratulations,” he said, the word falling flat, his tone devoid of genuine warmth. Jiyan could tell his interest wasn’t really in her academic achievements. “You staying in Ireland?”

“For now, yeah,” she said. “I’m taking a break. I need some time to figure things out.”

Kareem let out a harsh chuckle, shaking his head with exaggerated sympathy that teetered on mockery. His frustration simmered just below the surface, threatening to spill over. “So now you’re taking time?” he asked, his voice sharp with anger. “Now you’re taking time?”

“What do you want me to say, Kareem?” Jiyan ran her hands through her hair, her frustration mounting. She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and she didn’t feel ready for this—not now. “Yeah, I’m taking some time for me. I… I’m in therapy. I want to be better. A lot has happened—”

He cut her off with a bitter, scornful laugh. “A lot has happened? Really, Jiyan?”

“You’re angry. You’re still angry,” she said quietly.

You’re still angry at me. The words hung unspoken, but they weighed heavily between them. Having Kareem in front of her again was stirring up conflicting emotions—an undeniable pull, but also a sense of relief. It felt as if she could finally confront him, perhaps mend the bridge that had always lingered, broken, between them.

“Of course I’m angry!” Kareem snapped, dragging her back into the moment. “You just disappeared, and now what? You’re happy, just like that? Like nothing happened? Like my sister didn’t die? Like you—”

“Don’t say that!” Jiyan interrupted, her voice low and threatening, her words seething through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare say that, Kareem, or I swear I’ll punch you.”

She swallowed her rage, fighting to stay in control. They both knew exactly how to hurt each other. Kareem, even if he regretted it later, was an expert at cutting her where it hurt the most. Years ago, she’d been just as skilled at that game. But she didn’t have the energy anymore—didn’t want to wield that kind of pain again.

“Punch me? Go ahead, Jiyan. I’m right here,” he taunted, his voice daring her.

Jiyan looked at him closely for the first time. He was shaking, his pain radiating off him in waves. She imagined she probably looked just as raw, just as frayed. They were both exposed nerves, all their hurt, anger, and betrayal laid bare. They’d both been destroyed by Samyah’s death, drowning in grief and guilt. But Jiyan had found tools to help her navigate the wreckage. Kareem hadn’t. He was still lost, still drowning.

“Don’t make me the villain here,” she said, her tone softening. “Just don’t. It won’t make you feel better.”

“You shut me out, Jiyan,” he said, his voice quieter now, trembling with hurt. “After everything—after ten years together—you just shut me out.”

His head dropped, his gaze fixed on the table. The weight of his words settled heavily between them, unspoken truths and unhealed wounds pressing down on the air like a storm about to break.

“You shut me out too” she said, hurt in her voice. 

After a few seconds, she looked around, realizing too late that half the pub was staring at them. No one could understand their argument, but two Middle Easterners speaking loudly in Farsi wasn’t going unnoticed. She could feel the tension in the air, expecting someone to call the cops if they didn’t calm down soon.

She glanced across the room and saw Cillian watching her, his untouched beer in front of him, his eyes seemed to ask, Are you alright?

She nodded back, a silent, It’s alright, I’ll be there soon.

“Come on,” she said, standing up and turning back to Kareem. “We’re going outside before someone calls the cops. And you’re going to listen to me.”

Kareem, who had followed her brief exchange with Cillian, shrugged. Without a word, he got up, grabbed his freshly rolled cigarette, and headed outside. Jiyan sighed and cast one last glance at Cillian. His concern was evident, but she offered a faint smile before following Kareem.

Outside, the cool air was a welcome change. Kareem leaned against the wall, already smoking.

“The Irish prince isn’t coming along too?” he muttered.

“Shut up, Kareem… just shut up and just listen,” she said sharply. “You are not alone. We were both wrong, but you’re not the only one who’s hurt here. Whatever happened between us—it wasn’t just my fault, alright?” Her voice rose with exasperation.

“It’s true. I shut you out before I left. I couldn’t anymore—I just couldn’t—but you shut me out first. After Samyah died…” She faltered, steadying herself. “I know a piece of all of us died with her, but it was like you were the only one allowed to grieve. Living with you felt like living with a stranger. We were both not okay, but it felt like you blamed me. Like she wasn’t my sister too.”

She paused, taking a deep breath to keep herself composed. She wouldn’t break now, not here.

“And I ran away,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I know. And I’m sorry if I hurt you. I am so sorry, Kari.”

Kareem exhaled a stream of smoke, his eyes unreadable as he studied her. “I know you felt like it was all on you,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “But I never said it was your fault, Jiyan.”

“You never said it wasn’t,” she replied, her voice numb, the weight of the words settling heavily between them.

“Yeah,” he admitted, the truth difficult to swallow. He nodded slowly, his voice laced with regret. “I’m sorry.”

He was looking at her now, his expression searching, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to come together.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry for being such a dick. I didn’t know what to do. I never thought…” He paused, his voice breaking as he swallowed hard to suppress a sob, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

“She really broke us,” he said quietly. “I was—still am sometimes—so fucking angry. At everyone. At the world. At you. At my sister.”

He glanced down, his hand coming up to rub his temples as if to hold himself together. “And then, when you were in the hospital…” His voice cracked, and he pressed a hand over his eyes. “I was part of it too, Jiyan. I should’ve been there. If it weren’t for your mum calling me, I wouldn’t have even known. You didn’t call me,” he said, his voice breaking again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his words.

All the anger he’d unleashed earlier seemed to have drained away, replaced by a quiet, aching exhaustion. Hurt, raw and unguarded, lingered in his expression as he finally looked at her again.

Jiyan hugged herself, trying to swallow all the memories she had avoided confronting for years. “I couldn’t,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. Only then did she realize tears were spilling down her cheeks. “I just couldn’t. I didn’t even have the words to explain how I was feeling. You’d already lost your sister—how was I supposed to tell you that...” Her voice broke, her sobs cutting her off.

A hand settled on her shoulder, pulling her closer. Kareem held her, letting her cry, knowing they had both become experts at avoiding this moment—avoiding admitting how deeply they had failed each other.

“After you got out of the hospital, when you moved in with your mum and refused to see me,” he began, his voice tight with hurt. “When you sent Mika to pick up your things from my flat… I knew, Jiyan. Even before Samyah killed herself, I knew we hadn’t been a couple for years. Even with the open relationship, it was like we were running away from admitting the truth. But the way it ended—it felt like it was all happening again. Like I’d failed all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Kareem. You’re not a failure—you’ve never been,” she said, cursing under her breath as she straightened up.

She ran her hand through her curls, her fingers trembling. “When I was at my mum’s, I just… I shut down. I think I spent a whole month not talking to anyone. I didn’t have the strength to face you. I felt like the failure.”

Kareem looked at her, his hand firm on her shoulder as if to steady her. “What a mess we are, eh?”

Jiyan chuckled weakly, drying her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt like she was standing in front of one of the closest people she’d ever known.

“I know I never said it before, and I’m ashamed that I didn’t. But it wasn’t your fault, Aji. None of it was your fault.”

She said nothing more, just nodded, another wave of tears threatening to spill. She stared down at her shoes, trying to hold herself together.

“Aji…” Kareem said softly.

Jiyan finally met his gaze. And in his face, she saw the echoes of Samyah—the same eyes, the same lips, the same dark curls. She had always thought they shared the same smile, the same spirit. He wasn’t just her older brother; he had been her first boyfriend, her closest confidant, her partner in rebellion. How much had changed.

“I missed you,” Kareem admitted. “Not us being together—” he paused, looking up at the night sky. “But the three of us…”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone else could understand you like that, isn’t it?” Jiyan said, finishing his thought.

Kareem nodded, a small, pained smile flickering across his face. “I know I was the first to disappear,” he admitted. “But when you left—for Ireland, after everything…”

“I thought I’d already lost you, Kari,” she interrupted, taking a deep breath. “After everything that happened, we were both wrecked. And we couldn’t figure out how to face it together. Then, when I ended up in the hospital, I just… I couldn’t anymore. I don’t even remember half of those months. My mum didn’t know what to do with me. Somehow, she convinced the university not to drop me from the PhD program. That was the only thing that kept me going.”

Her voice wavered, but she pushed on. “When the opportunity in Ireland came up, I knew it was an escape. But I needed it. I don’t know how you stayed here, facing all of this every day. I had to run. I couldn’t breathe anymore—I couldn’t stay another day in this place.”

“I’m still not sure why I stayed either,” Kareem admitted, exhaling. “When you left, I wanted to say ‘screw it’ and leave too. But somehow... I didn’t.”

“You’ve always been braver than me,” she said softly.

“Nah,” he teased, his voice lighter for a moment. “Just slower. And terrible with planes. Maybe I could’ve crossed the border to Slovenia, but they’re even more boring than here.”

She chuckled, unsure of what else to say. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, leaning against the wall, watching the street across from them. It was always easy with Kareem in some ways—it always had been. Even when they were hot-headed teenagers, they rarely fought. Between the three of them, Kareem had been the one to pull Jiyan and Samyah out of trouble, the reluctant voice of reason.

In the past few months, as therapy forced her to untangle her emotions, Jiyan had reflected often on her relationship with Kareem. She wouldn’t dismiss what they’d had, but she saw more clearly now that they were always better as friends than as partners. He would always be someone she cared about deeply, and she knew the feeling was mutual. Still, she had to admit—when she left for Ireland, a part of her had been relieved to be single again. The way she’d ended things, though, still weighed on her. Now, seeing that Kareem’s resentment wasn’t about their breakup but the lack of closure, brought her a strange sense of peace.

“So, Ireland?” Kareem asked, breaking the silence.

“Save the jokes,” she said, shaking her head. “I still don’t know how I’m surviving in a place where it rains all the time.”

“And are you happy?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding slowly. “I still have moments when it all comes rushing back, but I’m happy there. It’s easier. What about you?”

“I’m better,” he said after a pause. “Not always, but I’ve been working for an NGO, helping migrants. It’s helped me deal with everything.”

“Wow, Kareem,” she said sincerely, touching his arm. “That’s… wow. I’m so proud of you.” “Always so eloquent,” he teased, his smile wry but warm. “Yeah, well, I had to stop feeling like an asshole at some point.”

She laughed softly, her smile lingering as they let the silence stretch out between them. It felt easy, natural, in a way she hadn’t expected. They’d said more to each other in these few minutes than they had in the entire year following Samyah’s death.

“And the guy? Is he good to you?” Kareem asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

“Cillian?” Her smile softened, spreading across her face.

“Aww, look at you! So, it’s serious, huh?” he teased.

She playfully punched his arm, just as Cillian, as if sensing he was the topic of conversation, stepped out of the pub. His eyes found her immediately. She smiled at him, feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted.

“Yes, it’s serious,” she answered Kareem, still smiling at Cillian, unaware of the look in Kareem’s eyes as he watched her.

Cillian walked over, his concern evident as he approached. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know I told you to take your time, but I just wanted to check if you’re alright.”

“It’s alright, mate,” Kareem said, attempting a British accent but falling short.

“I’m not British,” Cillian replied, stiffening slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m Persian—not a big fan of the British myself.” Kareem grinned, extinguishing his cigarette against the wall. “Anyway, I should go. I’m already late to meet some friends. I only came to grab some tobacco.”

He turned back to Jiyan, hesitating for a moment before pulling her into a hug. He held her close, the connection between them finally beginning to mend. “Just let me know next time you move, alright? And call me sometimes,” he said in Farsi. Switching to English for Cillian’s sake, he added, “Nice meeting you, Cillian. Next time you’re in town, let’s play pool. We both know Jiyan’s terrible at it.”

“Hey!” she protested, laughing.

“You know I’m right,” he chuckled. “Call me when you’re back on that sunless island, alright? I’ll try to visit—have to see what makes you stay there over Venice.”

With a wink, he shook his curls and pulled up his hood. “Alright, I’m going,” he said with a final smile. “Bye, guys. I see you soon, okay?”

She nodded taking him in and everything that just happened, almost as she just found him again and he was already gone. But she felt lighter, she never expected they could finally sit down and talk about some of what happened.

“Bye, Kareem. Take care, okay?” Jiyan told him.

Kareem just nodded before turning one last time, crossing the street and jogging toward the bus stop on the other road.

“Are you alright?” Cillian asked gently, his voice soft with concern.

Jiyan turned to him, her green eyes puffy and red, their usual spark dimmed by the weight of the evening. Without a word, she stepped closer, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her tightly as if shielding her from the heaviness she always carried.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, his touch a quiet, steady reassurance. He wished he could lift the weight of the past that resurfaced so often, the hurt that lingered beneath her strength. But all he could do was stand beside her, as she faced it all with the fierce resilience he admired so deeply.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—her head resting against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and calming. Slowly, she pulled back, her gaze searching his. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling, and in that shared closeness, the world seemed to pause. It was just the two of them, finding solace in each other.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she whispered, brushing a light kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, gently tucking one of her unruly curls behind her ear.

“For being you. For letting us talk… For always knowing how to be here.”

“You do the same for me,” he said simply, his voice warm.

“I hope so,” she replied softly.

“Did it help? Talking with Kareem?”

She paused, reflecting, before nodding. “Yeah, it did. Even if he ran off at the end, we talked, we listened, and we apologised. It’s… a start.”

“He’s important to you,” Cillian said easily. “I’m glad you saw him tonight, even though I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed him again. “Even if I’m glad I met him, I want to enjoy these last moments of peace with you before you go back to being a world-famous actor doing whatever it is you do.”

He groaned dramatically, remembering all too well that their quiet escape was coming to an end. Soon, they’d return to Dublin, where preparations for his next film awaited.

Taking his hand in hers, Jiyan grinned. “How about a walk to the port? I know a spot where it’s not too windy. We can lie down, watch the stars… and if we’re brave enough, maybe even skinny dip.”

Cillian arched a skeptical brow. “No way. You know how much of a baby I am about cold water.”

“It’s summer, Cill…”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s dark, the water’s cold, and who knows what’s lurking in there,” he replied, dead serious.

“Such a scaredy cat,” she teased, laughing as she held him closer, his arm slipping easily around her waist.

Together, they began to walk under the quiet night sky. With Cillian by her side, the air felt lighter, her thoughts less tangled. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jiyan realized she wasn’t running from anything anymore. Instead, she was moving toward something—toward herself, toward peace, toward love. And in that moment, she felt free.

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