#stashing in the queue to disguise what this is about

[bereft-of-frogs]

I just wish that more people recognized that not all fiction is allegorical, and you don't have to constantly be grasping at real world parallels to figure out what the 'correct' moral interpretation of fiction is, you can just sit with the story

[nostalgiaclown]

Staring Role

Claude Delecroix - He/Him - 45(??) - Antivan Crows - ??? Optimistic -Eccentric - Secure - Theatrical - Reflective - Loyal

Everyone wears a mask, to hide their hurt, their wants, and their fears.  The mask that you believe gives you additional autonomy can also strip you of your power, though you may not realise this, at first. I am a man of many faces, which is your favourite? Do you know which one is real? Will I ever show you, I wonder...? A mask torn from the face leaves an ugly scar, which cannot be removed. You cannot undo that kind of damage when you forcibly take. The other must remove the mask willingly, must want to be known, seen. Will you gain my trust? Will I show you what’s beneath the mask?-

“Claude-! Get your pointy nose out of that perverted little diary of yours and help us!” The Antivan swore as he took down another Qunari soldier -(??) muttering under his breath as he continued to dodge and evade. “…fucking Orlesian- why did I get paired with this guy, is this my divine punishment? I make one mistake…” 

Claude gasps with dramatic offence, snapping the little book closed and stashing in the breast pocket of his coat. He grips his staff that was resting in the crook of his elbow with his left hand and lifts it, conveniently hitting one of the attackers in the head just behind him. 

“Oh! mon dieux!” He jumps to the side slamming his staff down to create a thunderous wave to knock the assaulter back before they can regain their balance.

A single bead of sweat drips down the side of his face below the mask he wore.

That was... too close for comfort. 

Now, you may ask, how did an Orlesian Theatre actor, a mage, end up as a Crow?

Well, I would also like to know.

“And scene!” The last of the qunari falls to the ground in a smouldering heap. 

“Well, all things considered, that rehearsal was not too bad- ah!” A blade pressed to Claude's neck halts his speech, lips pressing into a fine line.

“You! Almost got us both killed! What do you NOT understand about stealth mission? We were to get in, and out, swiftly. Not barge in through the front doors screaming “Hello we're here to kill you!””

Claude's mouth twitches up, he gently places his hand over Marzio’s wrist, the tip of their blade digging a little deeper into the scarred flesh on the left side of his neck.

“I did not… ‘scream’, I project! And the line was ‘A good evening to you all! We're here to find a Monsieur- well, whatever his name is, could someone please direct us?’ I did not say anything about killing-” The made motions idly with his free hand as he speaks.

“You think you can just waltz in, dressed like that?! And they'll just happily take you straight to him? You're not even in a disguise, you don't need to say anything for it to scream ‘I'm here to kill you!’-”

Claude can sense the man's rising panic, of course it's understandable, this mission was to be a way for him to redeem himself, prove his usefulness to the Crows. 

The taller mage, seemingly not too worried about the knife at his neck, takes a look around.

“Waltz? Well there is no music, but if you want to dance… we certainly can, my friend.” The mage turns his head back to his fellow crow, his thumb applying pressure to his wrist, he successfully catches them off guard, their grip on the knife loosening. Of course, a Crow has many hidden blades, but, this Crow has only the one left. Claude knows, he was counting. 

You see behind the masks and theatrics, is a highly observant man, he knows well, everyone's places, queues, the stage direction, costumes… of course he made sure to count how many hidden blades __ stashed away on his person.

“Claude-! What do you think you're doing?” The crow flusters when the mage rests his other hand on his lower back. 

“Oh, you did not want to dance, mon chéri?” Claude applies more pressure and the knife drops with a clatter to the ground.

“If you do not know the steps, I can teach you, bébé chien!” 

“Claude! We don't have time for- your theatrics!” The man's voice is a little higher now, urgent, his eyes flicker to the charred corpse near their feet, he does not really want to have to go toe to toe with a mage, unarmed. Especially not here.

Claude doesn't miss his tells, that's… not good. The mage contemplates how this man made it this far, his acting is atrocious, he can see why he was given his mission now, oh, a pity. 

Claude pulls the man closer, takes his hand. “You know, a lot of people find this glance to be quite scandalous…” 

“We really don't-”

“You know, it was not your fault, yes?”

“What?”

Claude sighs, before side stepping and pulling Marzio into a slow waltz. The man follows along, out of fear? or perhaps he's simply going to grab one of his discarded blades from one of the corpses as they pass and do away with the mage.

“It was not your fault, you would not have known they used a decoy, a body double, a very good one too, the likeness was quite startelling.”

“How… Do you know about that?”

“Oh that is not important, chéri!”

“Now, you have a few options to choose from, on how the story here ends…”

“Un, you attempt to take my life, who knows, maybe you succeed, but alors how do you explain that one? Especially if you return empty handed…”

“Deux, this one, I am not fond of, I extinguish your flame… and report back that, unfortunately, you were not cut out for this after all, bébé chien!”

“Trois, I use my impeccable skills, set the stage, giving you the starring role! Put you back in the, how would you say it, good books.”

A myriad of emotions cross the man's face as he takes in the older mages words, why does he know about that mission? Clarity crosses his features and dread sets in his stomach, they really sent this guy to test his usefulness to the Crows? That's beyond embarrassing to him. 

“What do you mean, starring role?”

“Oh excellant! I did hope you would pick that option, mon chéri.”

“It was so clever of you to stage a distraction, slip away, and collect the letter we needed, I would applaud you were my hands not already…occupied.” Claude squeezes his hand and pulls him just that little bit closer, scandalous indeed. The mage let's out an airy chuckle.

“Why would you do that for me..?” 

Of course he is suspicious.

“Oh, simply payment for indulging me with a dance!” He dips the man and pulls him back up close to his ear now his voice soft and low. “But if you're amenable you can thank me later, bébé chien!” He laughs when the man pulls his face away, but Claude can see the colouring of his cheeks and curiously behind his angered face. 

“Hah! You are terribly easy to read, mon chéri. If you'd like I can give you a few lessons, we could even make it a little more… exciting.” 

“Are you like this with everyone?”

“Ha! No, I just like you. bébé chien!”

“You keep calling me that, what does it mean?”

“Oh! Hm… a puppy.”

“P-puppy??” Oh now he's flushed. 

“Oui, you still need training. Now, have you made a decision? The smell of burnt flesh if not one I enjoy, or, are you going to kill me, bébé chien?” Claude releases the hold he has on the man. Eyes never leaving his. 

“My guess is you already got what we came here for then…?” 

Claude produces the letter from his inner pocket, holding it between two fingers. 

“Now I won't ask again, how is this story going to end, chéri?” The mages voice is more firm now, but still holds a playful edge.

The Antivan looks at him for a few more beats, weighing up his options. He takes the letter, pulls one of his blades from a qunari corpse, pauses, then stows the letter in his own pocket, sheathing the blade and turning his back to walk towards the entrance.

“Let's go. Smells awful here.” 

Claude chuckles and follows behind, placing a hand on the antivans back he leans over towards him as they walk.

“You should not turn your back on an enemy, you know?” 

“Good thing you're not one, then.” 

Claude laughs louder and the man winces and screws up his face.

“Oh, I do love the drama of this place! The game was starting to get rather stale, you know?” 

“Are you ever quiet?”

“When the performance calls for silence, oui.”

The Antivan shakes his head, but makes no move to pull away from the mage as he contemplates his motives. What does he have to gain from doing this for him? Will he simply betray him when they return? He would rather he killed him now than face whatever punishment he would receive. 

“I am serious, you know? If you'd like me to teach you to better control your emotions, school your features, just ask.”

Claude moves his hand away now, putting a more respectable distance between them.

“Or, I can do this for you, then simply leave you to your own devices, I'll watch your folly from the side lines.” 

The antivan is once again thrown off by the man's tonal shift, his voice is calm, serious, missing that playful melodic edge to it. Similar to when he told him it wasn't his fault. He also, begrudgingly realises he misses the gentle pressure of the mages hand on his lower back. 

“I think I'll reserve my answer until we report back.”

“Oh! He does not trust me! But that's good, maybe I won't have to train you as much as I thought, bébé chien.” 

Oh. There he is, back again with that playfully light tone.

“Please don't call me that back at base.”

“Oh? Reserved for private times, hm? Scandalous.”

“Claude…”

“Oh I'm just teasing! If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop. But I think you like it. Hm?” 

The Antivans silence answers for him. 

Claude chuckles again as they make the rest of the way back in silence.

If you look closely, you'll notice the ends of the mages hair by the nape of his neck curled slightly, sticking to clammy skin. If you were to remove his mask, you'd pick up on the slight twitch of his lip. If he was not moving his hands so much as he spoke, you would notice the slight tremor in the right. 

Yes, Claude was confident in his ability to talk his way through a plethora of situations, but put him in combat? Physical battle in place of a verbal sparring? 

He's afraid.

Fights are chaotic. A complex dance that you must be quick to learn and adapt to.

There's no set script in battle.

No rehearsal, it's improv, but mistakes cost lives. 

Claude can only keep up this act for so long, words and wit will only get him so far.

Joining the Crows then seemed like a good idea, at the time. 

Immerse himself in the tangled web of lies, deception, death. Great writing inspiration!

But he is untimely afraid, when that threat of death is but a whisper away and he has no control when it's time for curtail fall.

“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts." 

But, who is the real Claude now? He's not sure even if he knows anymore. But, he would very much like to meet him again, or perhaps, you will be the one to find out for him? 

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

A/N: Looking for a beta reader for a personal writing piece, let me know if you feel like you're a pretty good editor! Also this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 months, and IDK maybe I'll do more of them since it's kinda fun.

* Omg this freak is so stupid into the fact that you literally create universes with those godly hands

* I’m not kidding, I think a good 80% of his initial attraction to you was because you’re writing will literally make you immortal

* “You’re going to live forever,” Satoru says slightly breathless as he holds one of your print publications in his hand

* You’re just like ‘wtf’ so he explains-

* “You die twice, once when your body can no longer sustain itself, and the second the last time someone says your name.”

* Ah, so he thinks you’ll live forever in the sense that someone will always reference your work

* “That’s not exactly true though, one day the sun will swallow the earth whole, turning everything we love to dust”

* Satoru thinks you sound just like a writer when you say stuff like that

* “Well, unless we find another planet and have a database there or something”

* Satoru googles ‘how to buy a planet’ and ‘how much would it cost to set up a database in space’

* He’s got no respect for your craft- and by that I mean if you’ve got a deadline you’re trying to meet for a submission period or for your editor whatever, he’s just got no respect for it

* Queue Gojo shenanigans where he’ll hide all the pens in the house, or hide your laptop or something just so he can see you all flustered and panicked

* “I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS I ONLY HAVE 12 HOURS TO GET THIS IN!!” You shriek running from one end of your home to the other looking desperately for your laptop charger

* It’s too late in the game to order another one, and you don’t trust leaving Gojo alone in this house

* More than once you’ve left the house to replace whatever Satoru stole only to return to see even more of your things were gone now

* One time he rearranged all the furniture

* “It’s up there,” Gojo says grinning, and you look up to the ceiling fan to see your laptop charger idly hanging off one of the panels

* “I’ll get it down for you if you give me a kiss,” he says cheekily

* There’s sort of a method to the madness

* Part of it is yeah, Gojo loves to laugh, and nothings funnier than you when you’re flustered

* But part of it is you’ve been hunched over your laptop for days now, and you’re starting to be mean to yourself because you’re frustrated

* You need a break

* One he’s more than happy to offer

* And a teeny tiny portion is because he’s lonely

* Whenever you get sucked into a project it’s like you forget about him completely

* So he just wants to remind you he’s here

* And that he loves you

* You sigh, giving him a quick peck, and with a wave of his hand he brings the charger down

* “I expect a better reward when you’re done with your story”

* I think Gojo is probably a pretty big fan of your work

* In fact he’s probably your #1 fan

* But he’s super low-key about it.

* Buys all your publications on pre-order (never in large amounts so you don’t notice)

* If you’ve got into a bigger journal/magazine, or have a book at a bookstore will buy a copy every time he passes by one and see’s it

* He keeps one copy of each work on his bookshelf in the living room

* And then stores the rest/extra copies in a velvet storage box in a temperature-controlled area

* He also has another set that he notoriously marks up with notes/annotations

* “This part sounds like the time I brought them food and took them on a spontaneous date” he’ll say, scribbling furiously into the margin

* Gojo see’s your writing as an extension of you- of your soul

* So he does his best to try and figure out where you get inspiration from

* He’s especially delighted if he notices something he did, inspired something you wrote -

* “Ah the villain hid the hero’s laptop charger so they couldn’t turn in their assignment on top,” he says with a sigh

* - Even if it’s not always positive

* Honestly he plays it so cool you think he doesn’t really think anything of your profession until you come over to his place for the first time and see all your works in a neat line on his shelf

* And even then you think he’s just supporting you because he loves you, after all, they’re all in great condition, he probably hasn’t even opened them.

* And then a little further into the relationship, probably when you move in together or something

* You find all those marked-up copies

* Gojo Satoru has never been redder

* You’re genuinely concerned he might combust

* He’s acting like you just found his porn stash or something

* You wait for a few minutes for him to stammer out an excuse or something

* But when he can’t seem to form any words after several minutes you sigh and close the box

* “I didn’t see anything”

* He just nods

* You start giving him copies of your work yourself now that you know he’s so interested

* “O-oh no it’s fine-“

* It’s actually one of the rare times you see Satoru flustered

* “It’s fine, I insist, I’ve got too many contributor copies anyway”

* He takes them in his hand blushing

* He would show up to all of your readings or signing events -

* Disguised Ofc

* “Hey you should be careful, that guy looks super sketchy-“

* You look to where your manager is pointing, to a tall lanky guy wearing a black hair wig, and these tacky thick-rimmed pink glasses and you sigh

* “No need to worry, that’s just my moronic boyfriend”

* “You don’t have to show up in disguise you know”

* “Well what was I supposed to do? You didn’t invite me” he’s doing that thing where he gets all shy, a blush on his face and his fingers tugging a strand of hair

* You sigh

* The dork is oddly lovable

* “Well, from now on you’ve got an open invitation to all my events”

* He smiles so bright you would think you just offered to blow him in the middle of the bookstore

* He’s got his shortcomings

* “SATORU DID YOU HIDE ALL MY REFERENCE BOOKS?!?!”

* But you couldn’t have asked for a more supportive boyfriend

* “Kiss me and maybe I’ll tell you where they’re at”

* Or a better muse

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 141

Last week I posted a day early because vacation was doing vacation things to my sense of time.... This week I forgot to queue the chapter up because Monday was a work holiday, so I forgot today was Tuesday. *insert facepalm here please*

Thanks on this one go largely to @baelpenrose who rightfully pointed out that one part made very little sense to him and therefore was unlikely to make sense to a reader.  The clarification smoothed things out quite a bit, I think.  Just in case, whoever spots the area I’m talking about gets a cookie as soon as travel restrictions lift.

As always, thanks go also to @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname for completing the corners of my support system. And, a super-duper extra-special to @drinksteawithcake! I don’t know if I am allowed to tell everyone why, but you know why you get the extra-special, and I hope you are having fun!

BWAAAAAHP!   BWAAAAAHP!

“Uhhh?” I squinted in complaint as flailing arms clambered over me. One pair snagged me around my waist to drag me from bed before depositing me shakily on my feet. “What are you - ?”

BWAAAAAHP!  BWAAAAAHP!

Any trace of sleep was shoved out of my system, replaced by sizzling alertness when I realized I was hearing ship-wide alarms.  Shoving myself into the first clothing I grabbed, not even bothering with shoes, I was hot on Conor and Maverick’s heels as we raced out of our quarters and into the corridor. We paused only long enough for both men to kiss me and for “I love yous” to be exchanged before they turned and headed toward the areas indicated on their datascreens, while I hauled ass toward the Archives, ducking and twisting to avoid anyone in my path.

“Forty minutes,” Tyche told me crisply as I basically fell through the door, panting. “The Ark could be invaded and the battle over by the time you make it.”

“I ran….huff….the whole….ugh….way….” I managed to gasp out.  Part of me felt like puking, but I was pretty sure the muscles in my abdomen were too busy to figure out the logistics.

Clicking her tongue, she pulled me up from the floor. “Alistair, make a note to suggest to Xio that Sophia’s quarters be relocated once we have a better idea of when we are dropping into real space.”

I nodded numbly. “And probably… amp up… sensors… give… earlier… warning.”

“Nice outfit, by the way,” she laughed quietly as we finally reached the shelter point within the Archives.

Glancing down, I had to suppress a sigh. The first thing I grabbed to dress myself had apparently been a pair of Conor’s boxer shorts and a very filthy t-shirt that I assumed belonged to Maverick, since Conor’s was usually under coveralls. “At least you can’t say I took my time getting dressed.”

Her shaking head was greeted by faces in various states of wakefulness - this had been a drill, and woke nearly the entire Ark during their sleep interval on Delta shift.  But we weren’t out of the woods, yet: the drill didn’t end until all of Xiomara and Evan’s scenarios played out, including the mock combat and various tests of concealment for the other shelters.  As such, Tyche stood guard over the choke-point into this section, while Alistair had stayed behind at the entrance.

Early on, when the drills started, there had been fifty-fifty odds that the mock-invaders would make it this far, but over the past few weeks, that had narrowed to maybe twenty-percent.  It was still too high a chance in my judgement, and Xiomara clearly agreed as she stepped up training schedules and randomized the timing of the drills. 

Taking a swig of water from a stash of bottles, I queued up my datapad and stood next to Tyche, watching the ‘casualties’ from a point where no one could see over my shoulder to avoid panic, which I would have done in a real situation. “They didn’t find mess hall seven this time,” I murmured.

She glanced at my screen. “Acoustics are still too damned high. She must not be simulating for that this go around.”

One of the decoy locations lit up. “Looks like this time it’s heavy on thermal.” The location in question had been equipped with a cooking surface, triggered to activate when the klaxons that had woken me up went off.  Which Xiomara knew, but did not tell the ‘pirates’ for authenticity.

“How did they get past the combatants this time?” She asked, both curious and slightly worried.

Rolling back the sensor data, I watched it carefully. “Looks like these got in during the initial breaches, multiple points. But the line has held since, that’s good.”

Doing another check toward Alistair’s direction, she didn’t seem to see anything concerning. “How many?”

“Four,” I confirmed.  “Sam’s thermal camouflage is working beautifully, though.”  I couldn’t help but grin, and Tyche snorted at the same time. ‘Thermal camouflage’ was a bit of overkill as a name, but it was working well in every round. Potential access points were equipped with fast-acting environmental simulators - originally designed for temporary habitats on inhospitable moons - modified to release atmosphere like a Terran equatorial rainforest within one minute in an enclosed space.  It was a much more simple and elegant solution than any others we had found for giving combatants defending the Ark an advantage - instead of trying to create technology to make them look colder, make the entire area match human heat signatures.  Boom, instantly blinded enemies.

A tense half-hour later, the ‘all clear’ sounded, queueing grumbling from those who had dozed back off as everyone stood to make their ways back to their quarters. I waited with Alistair and Tyche for everyone else to be accounted for on the way out, and the three of us headed back toward our quarters together.  Alistair peeled off first, living closest to the Archives, and no sooner had my sister and I reached my door than the page sounded for the post-drill meeting.  She waved me off as she answered on her databand, and I did the same as I pushed into my quarters and flopped on the couch. “Councillor Sophia Reid, present, audio only,” I answered. “And no jokes, Pranav… I look like I smell awful.”

“Alistair Worthington, present, audio and video. I can confirm that she does, and she does.”

Laughter filled the comms and the rest of the group leaders and Councillors joined the debrief.  Finally, everyone was present and Xiomara called the meeting to order.  First, the leaders of each shelter reported in, as those usually went the fastest. There were a couple malfunctions in the deployment of the shielding to disguise the entrances and hide heat and electrical signatures, but nothing Huynh’s team couldn’t fix.  Tyche and Alistair made the recommendations around earlier detection and the need to move those sheltering in the  Archives closer as we approached time to drop out of relativistic space. 

Once that was out of the way, it was on to the combat and invasion teams. Overall consensus was that Sam’s trick with the portable environments was a rousing success and would be installed at each point determined to be most likely as a breach, with trigger conditions to be determined later. “I hate to say it,” Michael sighed, “but we also need Charly’s team to crank up the scovilles on the arrows and grenades.” His team had played the ‘invaders’ this go around, equipped with sensors and readouts to simulate the effect our defenses would have on the various species who most commonly were found on pirate vessels.  Evan had worked intensely with Pranav and Derek to ensure that the strategies provided by the readouts were modelled after similar strategies based on which ever species each team member was assigned, to ensure we weren’t accidentally drilling against human tactics.

Michael hated it, but he was strict about his team complying nonetheless.

“Seriously?” I squawked, and I wasn’t the only one. “One of those things accidentally went off in my quarters…. Can confirm, they’re pretty potent.”

“They dissipated too fast against my team, and also the contact element left a lot to be desired. Charly, you may want to consider adding a sticking element.”

“Duly noted,” she chimed in with a yawn, her normal pep doused by being woken up and then the drop in adrenaline post-combat.

“What about the sonic weapons?” Xiomara asked, moving the meeting along.

“Still less effective than Nixe is on her own,” a familiar voice I couldn’t put a name to responded with a sheepish tone.  “How hard would it be to train more people to shatter glass with their voice?”

“Incredibly,” Grey stressed. “It takes a very unique combination of training and the right vocal chords.”

“Then we may need to work on adding a projection component.  The sonic devices can match the pitch, but not the actual tone and direction. They’re very effective given time and especially contact, but we need something more immediately disabling.”

Xiomara groaned. “Are we back to Mariah Carey on this one?” Objections exploded until she muted the comms. “It’s that or opera.” Votes started scrolling up the screen, and I could see Xio nod. “Opera it is.  Let’s find a suitable piece and try using more analogue-style speakers.”

“I still say that death metal would work better,” Arthur suggested as soon as the comms were back on.

“Annnnd we already tested it, I will remind you. The volume works, but the pitches aren’t high enough to hit a broad enough population of species sensitive to sound.” After that nearly-obligatory objection, the meeting continued going through reports from each combat team until finally Xiomara announced the end results. “I have to admit, this was one of our best drills yet. Ten percent casualties of the combatants defending the breaches, only two percent among non-combatants, and the invaders were only able to traverse three decks before they were subdued.” She let the cheers go for a couple seconds before getting everyone’s attention again. “Yes, great job on the improvements, but let me remind everyone - those numbers still leave us below threshold for a healthy genetic population. Engineering teams, make the necessary adjustments with whatever resources are necessary. Shelters Three and Seven, you will start training for armed and unarmed combat with Shelter Fourteen and Combat Team Two daily.  Sophia, your team will coordinate schedules. Any questions?”

There were no arguments, not even a groan or mutter as the meeting was dismissed. Before I could even add the new task to my agenda the next day, I received the notification that Alistair had beaten me to the punch.

Glancing at the time, I wanted to hit something.  I had to be back up and at work in four hours, and the realization weighed me down with exhaustion.  The guys had come in and gone to bed while I was in the debrief, and I could already hear synchronized snoring coming from the bedroom.  Rather than risk waking them with my now-frozen feet, I pulled the quilt off the back of my couch and rolled myself into it.  Only minutes later, a heavy weight oozed across my hip and started purring furiously.

“Yeah, buddy. I agree. We need a nap.”

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[cactuskate]

Chapter 4: Navarro

an: as promised!

Summary: Y/N, Chewie, and Han make it to Navarro, where they are looking to find a high paying guild job. Y/N -- being the badass she is -- gets the information Han and Chewie need, but not without a little jealous angst from Han. Queue a fight in the cockpit and a sweet ending!

word count: 4190

----

You wake up the next day feeling restless. Your feelings got the better of you last night, and your lack of good sleep proved that. As you start to shift to get out of bed, the pain from your ribs shoots you back to reality.

The second day of travel goes by without any major incidents - Han-related or otherwise. You keep mostly to yourself, finishing your repairs and cooking enough food for a week. With Navarro in sight out of the window of the cockpit, you and the crew buckle in for an easy landing. Of all the places in the galaxy you could imagine visiting, of course the first place you go is another sand dune planet. Han and Chewbacca unload the cargo to the delivery point within an hour of landing, proudly boarding the Falcon with more credits than when they left.

“I take it you two got paid well?” you ask, chuckling at how giddy these grown men seem.

You are sprawled out on the couch in the living quarters, changed into your best desert-night-out attire - a matching tan ensemble, exposing your sunkissed arms and a plunging neckline. Your top and pants meet at your hips, covering the bruising that has gotten worse. You are still cradling your side, but the sight of your crew is enough to distract you from the throbbing pain from your ribs.

“Onto the next gig,” Chewie growls happily, stashing his share of credits in a bin he keeps above the couch. “Are you ready to hit the town? I think she’s going to be our secret weapon,” Chewie asks you, turning to Han who looks at you with a hint of concern in his eyes as he realizes you're wearing an outfit that conceals your injury.

“I was born ready, let’s go,” you smile, getting up from your spot on the couch.

Han hands you a communicator and instructs you on how to work it. You place the speaker in your ear and clip the controller around your wrist. Your other bracelets disguise it perfectly. Han and Chewie test their communications before the three of you leave the Falcon.

You follow the pair at a distance that makes it seem you aren’t part of their group. They lead you to the cantina where the guild members tend to hang out. Han and Chewbacca take a seat in a booth close to the entrance. You wait a moment at the door, scanning the crowd for someone who looks like they’d give you the information you need.

“We’ll sit just out of sight while you look for information. Keep your mic hot when you find someone. Once you get the location of the guild meeting, we’ll slip out the front and meet you back at the Falcon when we get a job,” Han chimes in over the comm, his rough voice echoing in your ear.

You don’t respond, as to not indicate to anyone paying attention to you that you are in cahoots with your crew. There. You spot a guild member seated at the bar, keeping a low profile but just buzzed enough that he’s looking for some entertainment.

Approaching the bar, you slyly click your comm’s mic on, making sure not to meet the man’s eyes that you now feel burning on you. You sit down next to him, and order your go-to drink for missions like this - a drink that takes most men by surprise that a lady like you would order it. Whatever that means.

“One fuzzy tauntaun, please,” you say to the bartender, sliding enough credits for the drink and a tip across the bar. You casually toss your hair behind your shoulder, exposing your collarbone and neck to the man seated next to you, still feeling his gaze adjusted on you.

“I would have never pegged you to be a fan of the fuzzy tauntaun,” the man says to you, flashing you a smoldering look.

You smile flirtatiously, knowing that the oldest trick in your book worked once again.

“You seem like too much of a lady to enjoy such a strong drink,” he says, shifting in his seat to get a better view of you.

“I like to keep people on their toes,” you say sweetly, reaching for the drink the bartender placed in front of you, taking a long, slow sip of the fiery alcohol while keeping your gaze on the man in front of you. You feel a familiar set of eyes land on your back. Han. He shifted in the booth to watch you engage with this man, intently observing your body language.

“What is someone as pretty as yourself doing in a place like this?” the man asks, carefully watching your drink release from your lips and land back on the table. “It’s not everyday I get to sit next to the most beautiful woman in the galaxy,” he adds.

What a line. You’ve heard that one before, never sincerely though. Every man uses it with one goal in mind. Hearing it, though, assures you that you’ve picked the right person who will bend just enough to give you the information you need.

“You flatter me,” you squeal, mustering up the most flirtatious tone you can, softly pushing the man’s shoulder away, then moving it to settle closer to you than it was before.

The man flashes a smile as you reel at his compliment, and you linger your touch on his shoulder just long enough to peak his interest. Slowly bringing your hand back to your legs, you respond, “I’m here for the same thing as just about everyone else - a job.” You bat your eyes and smile, as you bring your drink back up to your lips, hovering before you take a sip to ask, “Do you know how I could get a good paying job with the guild as an outsider? I’m new to Navarro, but I’m just passing through looking for work,” you say just softly enough to get the man to lean in even further. You take another long sip, maintaining his gaze.

“I’m not really supposed to say,” the man trails, pausing for a moment, entranced by your presence. You narrow your eyes slightly, willing him to bend.

“The guild only allows outsiders to take jobs at the recommendation of a member,” he says after you slowly move your hand to his knee, still not breaking your gaze on him. You feel Han’s eyes intensify behind you.

“The guild is handing out jobs in 20 minutes three doors south of here. Tell them that Kain Malo sent you, they’ll let you pick from the highest paying gigs,” the man tells you, short of breath because of your touch. You smile at him.

”Kain Malo?” you ask, “Is that your name?” The man smiles and nods, as he takes a sip from his drink. You shift your gaze from his eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes. “It’s the perfect name for a man as handsome as yourself,” you say, hoping to get more out of him. After a moment, you add, “When I get a good gig, I won’t forget your kindness,” sliding your hand up his leg a bit and slowly returning it to his knee. You feel his breath get short and you smile. “I’ll be sure to give you a nice cut as commission.”

“What is your name?” Kain asks, flustered by your advances.

“Nadya,” you smile, giving him a false identity. You extend a hand for him to shake, saying sweetly, “It’s getting late, I should get to the guild meeting.”

“Nadya…” Kain says softly, grabbing your hand and placing it back on his knee, “I’m staying here, at the inn attached to this bar. Room 319. Once you get that job, why don’t you come back and celebrate with me? We could talk about that commission,” Kain trails, his gaze turning seductive. You smile, standing up from the barstool and bringing your hand to rest on his face, softly grazing your thumb over his lips.

“It’ll be a big commission,” you whisper, leaning in so only Kain and your mic can hear. “You know I’m good for it,” you say softly, dragging your hand down his face and to his arm, beginning your walk towards the cantina’s entrance. You turn your head to look at Kain one last time, winking at him before turning to continue walking.

“You two got all of that?” you ask softly over the comm as you walk past the empty booth where Han and Chewie were no longer seated.

“We’re on our way to the guild now,” Han huffs over the comm.

“You’re good at this,” Chewie growls over the comm, his voice cloaked in awe.

“Let’s plan to meet back at the Falcon in an hour or so,” you announce over the comm, turning to find the Navarro Union headquarters. “I need to turn my comm off for a bit, but I will check in when I’m on my way back,” you say.

“Whatever,” says an annoyed Han. You switch your comm off as you walk down the stairs to the Union’s headquarters.

------

You slip through the back of the room of the Union’s headquarters, being careful not to distract from the dealing of missions that have already started. While you couldn’t accept any due to your probation, you wanted to make contacts at this location for future use.

Shit. Your side reminds you of its injury. You are in the most pain you’ve ever felt. After the assignments are over, you’ll go see the Union nurses.

Watching the slides of targets get dealt out among the members, you shudder when the last target is introduced. It’s Kain, the man you just swindled back at the cantina.

“This final target is at the top of the most wanted list for the Union of Navarro. We’ve confirmed he is currently on-planet but do not know much more about his whereabouts or what he plans to do,” the Sister continues. You stand up, requesting to interject.

“Excuse me, Sister. My name is Y/N, I’m a Union member from Tatooine, recently turned interplanetary. My member ID is K-2199.” The Sister nods, allowing you to continue. “I made contact with this target about 10 minutes ago in the cantina down the road. From our conversation, he is under the impression I will be joining him in his inn suite later tonight. I have no intentions of visiting him, as I gave him a false identity and only needed him to tell me the location of the guild meeting,” you say, aware the entire room has turned to your attention. “I cannot accept a mission at this time, but I have his location - room 319 of the inn attached to the cantina. You can use my false identity as an alibi for getting close to him. I told him my name was Nadya.”

“Thank you, Y/N. Damasa, you will lead this mission. We must act quick, form a team with Sister Lor to make a plan,” the Sister says. “That will be all for missions tonight, please stay around if you wish. Y/N, will you come see me?”

You make your way to the front of the room, being greeted by smiling members and choruses of thank yous. When you reach the Sister, she takes your hands.

“Sister Carrie informed the interplanetary council of your updated status as a member. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, and even more thankful for the information you gathered about the target. Is there anything you require while you are on Navarro?” the Sister asks, with genuine appreciation in her face.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome,” you say. “I sustained a bad injury several days ago, and was hoping to meet with a Union nurse if possible.”

“Of course, right this way,” the Sister says, ushering you to the medical corridor.

----

“Well, Y/N, it looks like you have three broken ribs and severe bruising. I’m glad you came in when you did,” the nurse says, giving you a concerned smile. “I think the best course would be a bacta shot.”

You wince. Bacta shots, though the most effective medicine, are also the most intense of remedies. You agree to the nurse’s suggestion, and she prepares the shot.

“I heard about what happened to you on Tatooine,” the nurse says, distracting you as she injects the shot just below your ribs in your abdomen. “I also heard that your injury was nothing compared to what that trooper got,” she smiles, impressed by you.

“He got it much worse, that’s for sure,” you chuckle, as you pull your shirt back down over your ribs.

“Now, this shot has some side effects,” the nurse cautions, as she disposes of the syringe. “It’s going to start affecting you in about thirty minutes. You might feel dizzy, maybe feel a bit of a high. You shouldn’t operate any machinery or drink any alcohol. The best way to endure the side effects is to go to sleep. You understand?”

“Yes,” you agree, this was not the first time you had a bacta shot. The nurse grabs a few supplies and throws them in a bag, handing it to you.

“What is this?” you ask, seeing she had given you four bacta shots, an assortment of bandages, and some other medicines. “I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. You are one of this Union’s best fighters. Now, more than ever, you need to be protected,” she says, earnestly. “Is there anything else we can help you with?” “Thank you,” you smile, doubting her compliment is remotely true. The best Union fighters wouldn’t be on probation. “I’d like to purchase something from the armory. I’ve recently joined a crew of smugglers and think it’s time to get something a bit more serious than my staff,” you chuckle.

The nurse leads you to the armory, where you pick out a small hand knife and a belt. You attach the belt just under your chest, with the knife in it’s slot at the center of your back. You cover your new weapon with your shirt and pay the fee to the armory.

You thank the members for their kindness, and start your journey back to the Falcon, hoping you get there before the side-effects of your shot kick in. You check the communicator for any messages you missed from Han or Chewie. There weren’t any, so you go back online to send an update.

“I’m back online. Be back at the ship in five minutes,” you click over the comm. You don’t get a response. You figure the two were still bargaining for a job and you’d beat them back to the Falcon.

------------

“You’re late,” Han huffs, not even looking up at you as you enter the common room. Chewie is seated next to him at the game table, seeming happy to see you.

“What do you mean? I didn’t think we had anywhere to be,” you ask, genuinely confused at Han’s hostility.

“You said we’d meet back here in an hour. You’re late,” Han says, still not meeting your eyes. You check your watch. You’re six minutes past the suggested rendezvous time.

“Six minutes, Solo. I’m six minutes past a loose timeframe I set,” you say, matching his annoyed mood. “Was the lead right?” you ask the two of them, hoping there was some good news.

“Yes, we got the highest paying job. A delivery to Han’s friend,” Chewie growled proudly.

“That’s great,” you respond, genuinely happy you were able to help out your crew.

“Not great,” Han huffs, standing from the table, finally meeting your gaze.

“But, Chewie said it was the highest paying and it’s for a friend? That seems like the perfect job,” you say, furrowing your brows together at Han.

“He’s not my friend,” Han says, pausing for a moment as if to determine who this person was to him. “It’s complicated. But I know he’s going to try to shortchange us. It’s not an easy job.” Han breaks your gaze and paces over to the desk across the room.

“Don’t be so dramatic. We’ve dealt with Lando thousands of times, we can do it again,” Chewie grumbles. “I’m going to bed,” he announces a moment later, giving you a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into his quarters.

You set the bag of supplies the Union gave you down on the game table, looking in Han’s direction trying to get a read on him. He’s sitting in the desk chair with his back to you. His left ankle is resting on his right knee, while his hand holds his chin. He’s clearly thinking about… something. Suddenly, without warning, Han shoots up from the chair and storms to the cockpit. The mechanic squeak of the cockpit door opening and closing echoes through the Falcon.

You roll your eyes, and start to head to your room. You stop before pushing the door open, and turn quickly on your heel. You march after Han and fling the door to the cockpit open. Han jumps in his seat but does not turn to face you.

“Hey!” you yell. “Want to tell me what that was about, Solo?” you ask angrily. You’re not sure why him being a jerk set you off. Maybe it’s because he was rude, maybe it was the bacta shot rushing through your veins, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t even say thank you for getting him the information he needed.

“I don’t want to talk, Y/N. I’m in a bad mood,” Han huffs, still not facing you. You move to the front of the cockpit in between the pilot chairs to be in his sight.

“Good, I’m going to talk then,” you huff back. “Did I do something to piss you off? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you should be thanking me for getting you the information you needed to get the highest paying job on this planet.”

You’re livid. You don’t even care that he didn’t say thank you. You’re more upset about being subjected to his rollercoaster of emotions - a ride you’d rather not be on. Han’s eyes finally dare to meet yours.

“I told you, I don’t want to talk,” Han says gruffly, shooting up, turning to the side wall of the cockpit to mess with some buttons. You follow him to the side, staying in the center aisle of the cockpit, but still within range of his sight if he dared to look at you again.

“It seems my intelligence gathering skills will be feeding us for the next month,” you shoot at him, wanting to strike a nerve.

You were looking for an answer to what you did wrong. The only way to get that out of him was to push him. Han quickly turned around to face you, a look of bewilderment painted on his face.

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit,” Han sneers, stepping closer to you. “Your skills,” he mumbles, shaking his head, meeting your eyes once again. “It seems like all it took for that guy to bend is a pretty face willing to sleep with him.” Han huffs, taking another step towards you, allowing only inches between your bodies. “Judging from the fact you turned off your comm for an hour, and, not to mention, the look of satisfaction in your eyes, seems like all it took for you to bend was a little sweet talk.”

It feels like a balloon is swelling in your chest, ready to pop. You are angry - no, upset? - that Han would even think you would be so reckless to sleep with someone while they were off job hunting based on information you gave them. Han stands in front of you, not moving, set in his convictions.

“You’re one to talk!” you yell at him. “Fuck you,” you whisper after a moment, shoving him back as you take a few steps towards the door of the cockpit.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” Han taunts, stopping you in your tracks and causing you to turn around. Regaining your voice, you catch his eyes.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, remember?” you hiss, bringing up the only condition that you really cared about.

Han rolls his eyes, his body language tensing more.

“You really think that little of me? That I would be so naive to sleep with a strange man I just met on a planet I’ve never been to before?” you shoot at him.

You shake your head, laughing, at how dumb this fight is. Han looks at you, confused. Your expression turns serious once more.

“You might think you know me, Solo. Like every other man in this entire galaxy, you must think that I’m a flirt, that I’m easy, that I’d sleep with the first guy to call me beautiful,” you pause, watching your words pain him. “I don’t care if that’s what you think of me. I care that you would think I’d turn off my comms for-” you pause for a second, before changing directions. “I need you to know that I’m in this. I’m part of the crew. You and Chewbacca are my priorities. I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”

Han watches you for a second. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but closes it again. You sigh. You’re not sure what you want from him at this point.

“I need you to tell me when I piss you off. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me,” you say, softly. Han says nothing. There’s nothing left to say. You turn on your heel and leave the cockpit, retreating to your room.

----

Han stands in the cockpit, looking at the place where you just told him off. He didn’t know why he was in such a bad mood. You were right, tonight was a success. After a moment of processing, he decides to go after you.

He stops cold at your door. What am I going to say?, he thinks, taking a step back from your room.

“What are you doing?” you ask, faintly. Han turns around to see you sitting on the ground, leaning against the couch.

“What are you doing?” he asks, crouching down next to you, a look of worry across his face. “Why are you on the ground?”

“I couldn’t make it to the couch,” you say, trying to adjust yourself to sit up straighter. The bacta was working, alright. You tried to make it to your bed, but you felt dizzy and needed to sit. The ground seemed like the best place to go. “You didn’t answer my question, Solo.”

Han smiled slightly, though his eyes were still worried.

“I didn’t get to ask- I wanted to know how your side was,” he said, stumbling over his words. He gently starts to untuck your shirt from your pants, careful not to accidentally brush your bruises. You catch his hand before he can lift your shirt.

“Stop,” you say. “I can do it.”

Han moves back slightly, giving you room to move. You unbuckle your new weapons belt from under your shirt, placing it on the couch behind you. Han’s eyebrows raise, curious as to how long you’ve had that.

“It’s new,” you shrug, answering his question.

You use Han’s shoulder to help you stand. Han carefully spots you until he’s sure you can stand by yourself. You turn to face him, lifting your shirt just enough to show the blotchy yellow bruise that shows you’re healing. Han’s eyebrows furrow as he examines your side, noticing the point where the bacta shot was injected, softly brushing his thumb across your side. You reel at the touch; not because it is painful, but because it is dangerous. You quickly lower your shirt, forcing Han’s hand off of your skin.

“A bacta shot?” Han asks quietly, meeting your eyes, realizing his judgement of your satisfied look was from the medicine and not a one night stand.

“Guess you figured out where I was tonight,” you huff, grabbing your weapons belt and starting to walk across the room to your door.

“Y/N…,” Han falters. You feel his gaze on you and your stomach churns.

“It doesn’t matter, Solo,” you say, pausing briefly before entering your room, locking the door behind you.

Falling into your bed for the night, you can still feel his touch on your stomach. You touch the spot a few times, making sure his finger wasn’t still there. The pit in your stomach grows, sending a warmth through your body, aching for Han.

No, you think. This can’t happen.

You try to recall the nasty fight you just had with him, his glares, his arrogance. It all comes to mind in a rose-colored facade. Fuck. Before you know it, the bacta effects overcome you to sleepiness. The medicine distracts you from the allure of one Han Solo, just long enough for you to get a full night’s sleep.

[bereft-of-frogs]

I love when something gets popular and all the 'ahem I am SO much cleverer than you' posts start up