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forever-rogue · 4 years

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A Good Man - Part 3

A/N: Hi friends, so I have a confession to make. I am a liar, a dirty, filthy liar because I said this would be 3 parts. Yeah, no, it’s gonna be more than that. I’m aiming for 5. But you never know apparently. So! Enjoy part 3 :) As always, comments and feedback is welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! xx

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k (oops?)

Warnings: yearning, oh so much yearning; sm**ches

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Opening the brightly colored box of tea, you held it up to your nose and let the warm citrus and spice notes overwhelm your senses. Humming softly in content, you pulled out one of the sachets and delicately placed it into your favorite teacup, figuring that only the best would do. You read the back of the box, finishing just as the kettle started whistling on the stove top.

Grabbing it, you filled up your cup and made sure the bag was fully submerged, debating on adding just a drop of honey, but quickly decided against it and put the little bear shaped container back into the cupboard. Picking the cup up, you were planning on high tailing it back to your room, to avoid any sort of questioning from Sarah. She would surely be home at any time now, and you wanted to avoid any confrontation.

"That's an impressive new collection of teas," her voice startled you so much that you almost sloshed the tea all over yourself. You had been so wrapped up in your preparation that you hadn't heard her come in at all...or she'd been extra quiet to try and catch you up to something, almost as if she could sense something was up.

"Yes," you gave her a dismissive look and made it a point to avoid her eyes as you tried to sweep past her.

You just knew she wouldn't let it go. No - that was not her style at all.

"These are all...uncommon," she commented and you swallowed the lump in your throat, "isn't that one tea shop in Austin the only place that sells this?"

"Huh, yeah, maybe so," you knew exactly where they were from. You'd paid the place a few visits yourself over the years; that's how you know the significance of the gift, "look, I've got a lot of homework to do, and this paper to finish up."

"When did you have time to go and get these?" you stopped dead in your tracks as you quickly tried to think of an excuse, a reason, somehow you could have gotten the teas without her knowing. And she knew damn well that you had been home all weekend, working away on various projects and your paper for Javier's class that you were determined to make perfect.

"It was a delivery," it was a quick lie, the first one that came to mind. You turned around and gave her a nonchalant shrug, "it was here when I got home a little bit ago. My mom sent them over, thought it was a nice treat."

"Your mom stopped over in Austin and sent them to you?" she could tell you were getting close to snapping, but was going to keep pushing and pushing until you broke, or she dragged the truth out of you, "and wrapped them with a ribbon? Where's the shipping box?"

"I threw it out already..."

Her hands were on her hips as she stared you down with a cocked eyebrow, your name rolling off of her tongue in an accusatory tone, "where did you get the teas?"

"Sarah, stop," you tried to be firm; resolute. Instead it sounded more like a plea than anything else, "it's nothing."

"If it's nothing, then tell me where you got these," her ocean gaze was searing as you let out a long breath and bowed your head slightly.

"Javi," you finally admitted, letting his nickname hang in the air for a few long, pregnant pauses, "they're from Javi."

"Holy shit," she said after a few moments, but all you could do was nod as you stared at your feet. It didn't sound so...normal when it was finally out in the air. Maybe you had both overstepped your boundaries. But, even if you did, you couldn't really find it in your heart to care, "he really likes you. Or he's got absolutely way too much free time on his hands."

"Should I not have accepted?" you felt silly, almost like a child getting scolded for doing something naughty. But you were both consenting adults, and neither of you had technically done anything wrong, "h-he had it waiting for me at my desk. I didn't know what else to do."

After the class had ended, and you'd spent the lecture basically staring at Javi and vice versa, you'd been determined to go and speak to him. But instead, your nerves had only increased as the time went on and you weren't even sure what to say, where to begin. Instead, you hastily packed up your bag and left along with everyone else, keeping yourself hidden in the zombie horde of other students. You'd felt guilty about it since, and hoped Javier wouldn't take offense...maybe he'd just think you had somewhere else to be right away.

"No, no, no babes," Sarah could practically hear the gears turning in your head as you thought of every negative outcome, every bad possibility, "that's not what I meant. I just meant that...obviously, there’s something to this all. Think about it - you don't just go out of your way like to keep up something special for someone you don't give a shit about. You know?"

"Yeah," you agreed as you set the cup down on the counter and ran a hand through your hair, "I know. It's just...I feel like that I like him...as more than a professor. Its definitely a crush, and I still barely know the man, but..."

"But you want to," she easily concluded as you groaned and threw your head back, staring at the ceiling as if you were begging it for answers, "there’s nothing wrong with that. You're just two people who happened to meet a certain way. Imagine if he was man that you'd met out one day, like a bookshop or while getting a coffee. You wouldn't be having reservations then, would you?"

"Most likely not."

"Then think of it that way," she insisted, stealing your cup and taking a sip of the sweet tea. She instantly made a face that suggested it was delicious, "just because he's a professor-"

"My professor!"

"Doesn't mean it has to be weird," she insisted, "in a few months he won't be your professor any more, and by the end of the school year you won't be a student anymore. Think of it like that."

"What if, and this is a big if, something were to happen between us, then what? He could lose his job," you couldn't think of doing that to him, no matter how much he didn't care about the position. It would never sit right with you, "I'm not...going to do that."

"Babes, nothing is going to happen," Sarah promised as she pushed the tea back towards you, "you don't even know his true feelings yet, although I believe my suspicions are correct. Talk to him, and see where it goes."

"I wish it was that simple," you took the mug and finally tasted the tea for yourself. It was divine; you wondered how carefully he'd chosen this particular kind, "I feel like I'm over complicating things."

"You are," she gently tapped your head and caused you both to laugh, "a classic over thinker...next time you see him, just go and talk to him. Everything will be fine."

"I could just call him," you murmured under your breath, more to yourself than anything else, but Sarah much have had supersonic hearing because her mouth had just about fallen to the floor.

"Excuse me?!"

"He...he gave me his number," your cheeks were surely a brilliant shade of crimson by now, feeling hotter than ever, "when I went to see him last week. He told me to call him if I needed help with my paper."

"Help with your...oh hell no," she was almost jumping with excitement at the revelation, "he totally didn't give you his number so you could call if you needed help. We all know exactly why he did it."

"Ummm...." you were at a loss for words, staring at the tea and the playing with the string attached to the sachet, "I guess not."

"Call him," she insisted firmly, "call him."

"Yeah?" you asked and she fervently nodded, her curls bouncing wildly. You bit the inside of your cheek as you slid off the stool and grabbed the tea, "maybe I will. But do not, and I mean this, do not listen in."

"Scout's honor," she gave you the three finger salute as you marched off to your bedroom, practically shaking with nerves at the possibility of calling Javier. Before you could close your bedroom door you heard her shout, "good luck!"

You could do this. You totally could. No if, ands, or buts about it. It was just going to be a friendly conversation ti thank him for the more than generous gift he had given. Right? Right.

Then why did you feel so damn nervous?

Your hands were practically shaking as you sat at your desk, pulling the phone towards you. Catching your reflection in the window, you let out a sigh at yourself and how panicked you looked, almost like a little deer caught in headlights. It was dark already, a small rainstorm had started earlier; the perfect environment for a cup of tea.

Picking up the receiver, you dialed Javier's number; you were almost embarrassed that you had it memorized it already, having repeated it to yourself so many times over the weekend. Pathetic, you bemoaned yourself, a pathetic girl with a silly little crush.

Once you dialed the number, you held the phone close to your ear waiting for baited breath to see if he would even answer. Maybe he didn't answer calls from unknown numbers. Maybe it could go to his voicemail. Would you even leave a voicemail? Should you? Should you have called from a blocked number? There were so many things spewing through your mind.

It rang and rang, seemingly endlessly, by just before you were about to hang up and let it go, he answered. His voice was still as warm and rich over the phone as it was in real life and a pleasant shiver ran down your spine as you listened to him say, "hello?"

"J-Javi? It's me," you said in almost a rush as you realized that he might not realize who me was. You sighed quietly as you said your name, wondering if you should cut your losses and hang up already.

"Hey," he seemed to relax slightly when he realized it was you, "how are you? Everything's okay, right?"

You tried not to grin from ear to ear at his question, mentally calming yourself down, "yeah, Javi, everything's fine. I just...wanted to thank you. For the tea. Its wonderful, truly, and I can only imagine the trouble you must have gone through to get it. I appreciate it, I'm drinking one actually, the citrus spice one, and its delicious."

"It was nothing," he promised but for some reason you couldn't help but think it was a lot more then that. It definitely was; if only you could have seen his face when he'd heard you say his name, "I just wanted to thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"Being the one student I've had in three years that gives a damn about the class," he said and you couldn't hold back your laugh. He liked that sound - he liked it a lot, "you don't know what it's like to go through this same bullshit all the time. Its nice to get a break from the routine, the norm."

"Thank you for helping me," it was weak trade off, but you were happy to give it to him. You were happy to listen to that warm, rich timbre any time, to watch those honeyed, syrupy eyes any time, "I appreciate you giving me your time. And I'm sorry for running out the way I did earlier.”

"Why?" he asked softly as he waited for your response with baited breath. He desperately hoped that he hadn’t scared you off for whatever reason, or come on too strongly, "why did you leave?"

"I wish I had a good answer for you," you cradled the receiver between your shoulder and ear, nervously twisting the cord between your fingers, "I got nervous. So I just left...I just...it wasn't you, or anything."

"Do I make you nervous?" Javi sounded almost...nervous himself. Worried? There was a quality to it that you hadn't heard before.

"No, not really," you admitted. It wasn’t Javi himself that made you nervous or anxious, it was all the ideas or possibilities or what could, of what this could turn into. You just hoped that you weren't about to make a fool out of yourself. How were you supposed to face the rest of the semester if you were completely wrong about this? You squeezed your eyes shut as you mulled over your next words carefully, trying to figure out what to say, "its just...I hope I'm not reading this wrong. Or making something out of nothing."

There was a sharp inhale of breath on the other side and you could just picture him, sitting at home, frustrated looked on his face. After a few moments of tense silence, you heard him again, "what do you think this is? What do you what it to be?"

"Javi..." you let his name hang in the air, trying to get your point across without needing to expand. Letting out a shaky breath you thought about just hanging up then and there. But no. You were already in too deep, "I...don't want to be just your student."

There was a tangible shift between the two of you as the air remained silent for some time. All you heard was a few shaky breathes on his end. You wished, desperately so, that you could see what was going on in his mind. Little did you know, Javier was sitting there, his stack of papers now long forgotten as he tried to retain his composure. He ran a hand over his tired face, almost wishing he hadn't asked, almost wishing you hasn't told him what he wanted to hear. This wasn't part of his plan. This wasn't how he was supposed to be a good man.

"Javi?" just when you couldn't handle the still, tension feeling hanging in the air, his name came out almost like a pathetic whimper.

"Are you free this weekend?" he blurted the question, not letting himself linger too much on it before he changed his mind, "maybe we could go and get a tea?"

A blush blossomed in your cheeks at his question, your stomach erupting in butterflies at the sheer concept of spending time with him outside of school. You realized you were nodding silently, before finding the proper words, "I'm free this weekend. I'd like that...a lot. Maybe we can even settle and get a coffee instead."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you almost whispered into the phone. Your voice was so soft and quiet that almost weren’t sure anything came out. But then you heard a soft sigh, almost like a relieved breath on the other side.

"Great," he couldn't believe that this was happening, couldn't believe that he was getting nervous over all of this, like a schoolboy. He’s been out with countless women in the past, seemingly nothing phased him, but here he was, genuinely terrified, but excited at the prospect of what could be. He bit his bottom lip before deciding to make sure his intentions were crystal clear, "then it's a date..."

"Yeah," you agreed, begging yourself not to sound too eager or excited, “it’s a date. How about Saturday around one? I can meet you at the old cafe near the other side of town? I forget the name, but it’s the only decent one in town and they’ve got pretty good coffee.”

“You’re sure you don’t want the tea?” he joked and you felt some of the tension and nerves subside. This would be fine, everything would be.

“Positive,” you promised, “we’ll get tea next time.”

Your promise of a next time, that you were confident enough to think this could go somewhere was enough to make him realize that maybe this wasn’t a horrible decision after all, “how does that sound?”

“I’ll see you then,” you twist the cord of the phone so tightly, trying not to completely freak out. You had a date with Javier Pena. Granted, it was only an afternoon meet up for coffee, but a date was a date, and he’d confirmed it, “have a good night, Javi.”

“You too,” how was his voice this dreamy? You could listen to it for hours and hours, even if he would have been recited the phone book to you. Hell, you practically did that in his class every week anyways. You couldn’t wait to hear it, with no restraints, no pressures from being in your roles as teacher and student. To get to see him, just him, as he was, “good night.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you put the receiver back in its cradle, leaned back and staring at the ceiling. Holy shit. You had actually just agreed to a date...with your professor.

Before you could actually think too much about it, your bedroom door slammed open and Sarah burst in, ambushing you from behind and you squealing into your ear. Your face warmed up as you realized that she already knew.

“Sarah!” you moaned at her, trying to hide your face out of pure embarrassment, “I told you not to listen in on my call!”

“I didn’t listen to your call,” she insisted, “I just sat outside your door and listened to your end of the conversation. That’s not technically listening in on the call, because I didn’t hear his end of the conversation.”

“Of course,” you playfully nudged her, “you would find the one loophole.”

“What can I say?” she seemed very proud of herself indeed, “I’m a pro. But you! Can you believe? A date with a hot professor. What a dream!”

“Please,” you grabbed her arm and looked at her with wide eyes, “don’t so much as breath a word of this to anyone. I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea or anything.”

“I would never,” she promised, “your secret is safe with me, babes. But, I will expect a full report after your date.”

“Maybe...”

“I’m your best friend!” she pouted, “it’s girl code, practically the law!”

“We’ll see...”

“You can’t bone the hottest professor on campus and not tell me!”

“SARAH.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Javier," Chucho shook his head at his son, watching as sweat dripped off of his face and neck. Javier spared him a quick glance, finishing up the fence post he was working on before wiping the sweat from his brow and catching his breath. He'd been helping his father to fix up his fence all afternoon, virtually wordless, but glad to be at his father's ranch again. Stevie had been ecstatic to come along, running around all afternoon and studying the various animals around the ranch and trying to play with them.

Javi had the day off, a rare occurrence these days, and decided to make the most of it, leaving early in the morning to make the several hour drive to Laredo. It had been some time since he'd seen his father, and he'd been itching to spend some time with him. He was completely breaking through every other one of his normal routines, why not do this as well? Despite being a man long grown, he still often turned to his father for his advice, and general comfort when be really he needed.

"What's up, Pops?" his hands went to his hips as Chucho came over and offered him a cold bottle of water.

"You've been working out here all day, barely said a word," he noted and Javi shrugged at his father's concern laced with all sorts of silent accusations, "are you going to come in and talk to me, mijo? Or are you just going to stay out here for the rest of evening?"

"I don't know what you're talking about papá," he wasn't even sure why he was lying to his father. He could read him like a book, almost better than anyone else. Chucho raised an eyebrow at him but shook his head, turning to go back inside. He beckoned for Javier to follow, which he begrudgingly did, feeling like he was a small boy again, about to be scolded for something or other.

"I made tamales," a little spring suddenly appeared in his step at the thought. He never bothered to cook extravagant meals or anything fancy for himself, so he was always glad to come home and get a warm, delicious meal, "your mama's recipe."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javi piled his plate high with the delicious foods, gratefully accepting a cold beer from Chucho as he sat across the table from him. Before he could even get the first bite into his mouth before being interrupted.

"So, mijo, what's on your mind?" Javi groaned inwardly as he set his fork back down. He clasped his hands and rested his chin on them as he tried to figure how, and what, to tell him.

"Can't I just want to come and see you, papá,?" he asked with a noncommittal shrug as Chucho's brown eyed gaze remained fixated on him.

"Absolutely, you're always welcome," he answered, "but I am your father. I've known you since birth. I know when you've got something on your mind. Que pasa?"

"Papá,," he shoved a huge bite into his mouth and chewed on it, mulling over his words, "I'm just...I guess...thinking about things a lot lately."

"Colombia?"

"Sí," he swallowed his mouthful and slumped slightly in his seat, "there are times when it still hits me. At night, more than anything. I just can't help but think I could have done it all so much better. Cleaner. Less blood on my hands."

"What you did wasn't easy, mijo, it was never going to be," his tone was softer but Javier refused to acknowledge it. He'd gotten this speech at least ten times before from his father, and countless times from others, but it never made him feel better, "you did your best, you know that everyone knows that."

"I just can't help but think that things could have turned out differently," the image of Horacio Carillo killing the young boy, and countless others, without hesitation, directly in front of him were a frequent theme in his darkest dreams, "all those innocent lives that were wasted...when we were taking out Calí cartel, the wife of Franklin Jurado, you remember him right, she called me a piece of shit. She meant it, I could hear it in her voice. Sometimes I think she was right."

"You are not a piece of shit, Javier," Chucho insisted firmly, almost slamming his fist down on the table. He hated knowing that this was still plaguing his son, "you are a good man. You've done a lot of good for a lot of people. The work you did was good."

Javier scoffed at him at him as he just shook his head. He tried to be a good man, lord knows he was trying. But lately he was wondering how well he was doing that in the department, "it was a load of shit. We brought down Escobar and Calí for what? Just for more scumbags to come out and stake their claim? To show just how fucking corrupt our government and those in Colombia are? To show that that everything is completely fucked up and nothing will ever change? Yeah, I did that. It was good for a little while, soon it'll all go back to normal and nothing we ever did will matter."

"Javier," his head almost whipped up at the sound of his name, coming out so sharply from his father's mouth, "you didn't know better at the time, neither did Steve, or those two young ones you worked with in Calí. You did what you had to at the time. If you had known any different at the time, you would have it differently. You're a good man, Javi, you've always been a good boy mijito."

"I wish I could I see it that way," he took another bite, trying to get his father's words into his mind. He knew he was true, that he did his best with what he knew at the time. He always thought that the end justified the means, that sometimes in order to catch bad men you had to do bad things. But at the end of it all, he wondered if it all had been worth it. It had to be right? He had made a difference, he wanted to believe that his work wasn't for naught, "sometimes I wonder."

"Tell me, if you had know there was a different way to do things, would you have done it?"

"Of course," he nodded, taking a long drag from his beer as he wiped at his brow, "I would do whatever was best."

"Exactly," Chucho wished he could get his son to see him in the same light he saw him in. But he was hard, and he knew he could never truly know the full extent of Javier's inner torment, "there is no use ruminating on things that are in the past. You cannot change them now. You shouldn't dwell on things that are done. Your path is not behind you, it is in front of you."

"Lo sé," he agreed, finishing up the tamales on his plate and downing the rest of his beer. Even if he had a hard time believing what was he saying, it made him feel even minutely better, "it's just hard sometimes, you know?"

"I do," he agreed, "now tell, what else is on your mind? And don't tell me it's nothing, either."

Javi got up and grabbed his plate, bringing to the kitchen, rinsing it as he sat it down in the sink. He leaned against the counter as he contemplated getting himself another beer, but opted against it.

"I think..." gods, he felt like nothing more than an anxious child at this point, drumming his fingers along the aging counter top, "there's, well...I might have met someone."

"Oh?" this time Chucho almost gave himself whiplash as Javier refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing his attention on the floor, "a woman?"

"Sí," he answered.

"That's wonderful, mijo," the older man stood up and brought his own plate to the sink, and stood across from Javi. He put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, "you deserve someone special. Especially after you'll been through. It would be nice to know that you have someone looking out for you."

"It's a little more complicated than that, papá," he'd already told him so much, he figured that he could probably just go on and tell him the whole truth. Nothing bad would come of...or at least he hoped it wouldn't.

"Please tell me she's not married..."

"No-"

"Is she pregnant?"

"No-"

"Then what's the problem, mijo?" Javier swallowed the nervous lump in his throat as he looked up and met the gaze of those wise, dark eyes.

"She's a student," he admitted, waiting for his father to yell at him, to freak out, or something. But instead, nothing came. Only a few moments of silence as Chucho waited for him to expand, "she's in one of my classes."

"What's the problem with that?"

"She's my student...she's younger..." he shrugged his shoulders, "it just feels off, I don't know."

"She's an adult, right?" he asked as Javier nodded, adding that she was a senior, "then what is the big deal? You're both consenting adults. Then there's nothing wrong with it. If you like her, Javi, and you think she's good for you, then go for it. Just keep a level head and do what's right. You know what to do son, your mama and I raised you right."

"You don't think I'm a horrible person for being interested in a student?"

"You're not the first and you won't be the last," he stated with a laugh, "what if you had met her at the grocery store or something? Would you be experiencing this hesitation then?"

"No...not nearly as much anyway," he admitted. The age different might still have bugged him slightly, but he knew he could get over that, "I just don't want it to seem like I'm taking advantage of her because of my position or anything."

"She sounds like a smart girl-"

"How do you know?"

"She's interested in you, right?"

Javier snorted with laughter as light flush of color rose up in his golden cheeks. Leave it to his dad to be his best friend and biggest supporter. They'd butted heads numerous times over the years, but at the end of the day, Javier loved his father most of all.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, son," he promised, giving him a gently nudge, "just be smart and make good choices. You always do."

"Papá," Javier let a small sigh as a smile worked it's way on his face, "gracias por todo."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sat up, bolt right, trying to catch your breath, feeling impossibly hot, despite the chilly morning. Once you realized you were awake and in your own bedroom, you laid back down and staring at the ceiling. You'd just woken up from a dream starring Professor Peña and yourself in a very compromising situation; naturally though, your mind hadn't let you get to the best part, stopping just before you managed to get him stripped of clothing.

Groaning, you rolled over and glanced at your alarm, seeing that it was still much earlier than you would have liked.

Saturday morning had rolled around much sooner than you had expected, and your stomach was in absolute knots. Maybe you could still back out now?

But no - you wanted to do this. You wanted to see Javi.

Instead of talking yourself down, you slid your legs out of the bed and decided to spend the morning relaxing and taking the time to get ready and treating yourself to some much needed relaxation. You spied the outfit you had picked out the night before hanging from the back of your closet. You wondered if it was too much, or not enough...

It was a simple floral shift dress that you planned on pairing with a pair of your favorite chucks. It was still just warm enough it sport, despite being almost fall and you vowed to take advantage of the weather for as long as you could. The dress was innocent enough, bordering on too short and maybe slightly lower cut than it needed to be, but you liked it, and you hoped he would too. Not that it mattered...but still...the idea was nice.

Before changing your mind, or thinking too much about your decisions, you stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting it get hot before jumping in and scrubbing yourself from head to toe. You just want everything to go well. This was really important to you for some reason or another.

»»————-　♡　————-««

When you arrived at the cafe, you were early, despite your best efforts not to be early. You hadn’t wanted to appear too eager, but your nerves had gotten the better of you, and found yourself out the door earlier than expected. You’d even walked, making the decent trek to the other part of town, hoping it would kill more time, but apparently there had been too much spring in your step, and you’d arrived with some time to kill. Instead of ordering your drink already, you’d walked to the back of the cozy cafe, sitting at a small table and pulling out the book you were currently reading - you always keep one in your bag for situations exactly like this. The weather had slowly shifted, and it now looked like it was about to rain; you cursed yourself for walking, but the euphoria of the moment really won over.

You sighed lightly as you looked around, watching all sorts of different milling about, going about their days. It was calm here, quiet and cozy, just like you preferred. Turning your attention back to your books, you attempting to read the page you had last ended on...but it was proving to be a challenge, and you ended rereading the same sentence about ten times before finally getting the gist of it and moving on.

You weren’t alone long however, but had gotten absorbed enough into the book that you hadn’t noticed Javier appear across the table from you. He reached over and gently tapped the spine of your book, captured your attention and startling you slightly. He had a smile grin on his face as he watched your eyes widen in surprise, quickly closing the book and slipping it back into your bag.

“Hi,” your voice was but a mere, breathy whisper as you tried your best not to let your cheeks flush too much, “I-I hope you weren’t trying to get my attention for too long. I didn’t even think my book was that interesting!”

“I just got here,” he admitted as he studied you, his dark eyes taking everything in, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary on your chest, something you didn’t think was too intentional. He looked good, more casual than when he was teaching but still almost unfairly handsome. He was sporting a pair of jeans that hugged him in the all the right places, accentuated nicely by the black button up with the rolled up sleeves. He wasn’t wearing glasses today, but he still looked....so good, “how long have you been here?”

“A little while,” you said sheepishly, “I got here a little early. I wasn’t waiting too long.”

“Good,” he jerked his head towards the counter, “come on - let’s go and order. You look very pretty.”

“I, ugh,” you were instantly stammering over your words, trying to remain cool and composed. Instead you found yourself spewing out, “you too.”

“You think I look pretty?” he teased, and half of you expected to be embarrassed, but instead you just rolled your eyes at him and gently shoved his shoulder.

“You know what I meant,” you bemoaned him, as he laughed and nudged you towards the counter. The woman behind the counter glanced at the two of you for just a moment, eyes flicking between you and Javier before settling on him, and zoning in on him. You had no doubt her thoughts were immediately all consumed by him. You wanted to roll your eyes at her and her obvious attempted to capture his attention, but stopped yourself. He must get this all time; but if he did, he didn’t let it phase him, keeping his gaze trained on you instead.

“What are you having?” she grabbed a pen to take your order, making the most obvious eyes at Javier, who just ignored and put his hand on the small of your back.

“I’ll just have a black coffee, a little bit of sugar,” he told her before looking at you, attempting to guess your order, “and she’ll have a coffee with cream and sugar.”

You looked up and shook your head lightly, “close, very close. An iced coffee with extra cream and raw sugar.”

“I was almost there,” he insisted as he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. You attempted to grab his hand to stop him, but he moved slightly out of your reach, shaking his head at you, and you decided not to argue with him, “I’ll have it right next time.”

Next time. You really liked the sound of that.

“Whatever you say, Javi,” you said in a sing-song voice as he handed the woman behind a twenty dollar bill and told her to keep the change. He followed you over to the pick up counter.

“Extra cream?” he said as he watched your coffee being made. You stuck out your tongue and shrugged at him, “so you’re drinking some coffee with your milk, huh? And iced? Dios mio, you might as well stick to tea at this rate. This was not how coffee was intended to be consumed.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his mock tirade, watching his face shift through various expressions before your coffees were placed in front of you. Grabbing yours, you took a long sip and ended with an exaggerated ahh, “delicious. Better than that bitter bean water you’re drinking. Black? Do you hate yourself that much?”

“Not as much as you apparently hate yourself for drinking that poor excuse of a coffee. They would have roasted you in Colombia for that,” the last part slipped out before he could help, and he stiffened slightly, but you instantly relaxed when he noticed that you weren’t hung up on anything. You weren’t going to push him to talk about anything he didn’t want to; you’d already made that up in your mind a while ago

“That was a horrible joke,” you laughed as you slid back into your seat, and he took his place across from you. It was a small and intimate, a fireplace going somewhere near by, casting a light glow around the space and chasing away the chill from the cold, early fall day, “they would have roasted me? You should stick with your day job. And I’ll stick with my tea. I make a coffee exception once in a while, like today.”

“I don’t know how you do tea all the time,” he sighed dramatically, “I’ve been drinking that matcha I got in the mornings, but it’s just not the same.”

“You got matcha?” your eyes widened as you realized he’d taken your suggestion to heart. He took a long sip from his coffee and nodded, “it’s good though, right? Most tea is, just different from coffee. All the ones you got me are delicious...thank you for them, really. It’s such a thoughtful thing.”

“It was nothing,” he insisted, smiling so brightly that his dimple was on full display, “but I am glad you like them.”

“You should...try them sometime,” were you pushing the envelope too much? Did you really care? No, not really, “I-I have plenty, if you’re ever interested.”

“I’d be interested,” he said with a glint in his dark eyes, “I’d be very interested.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Being with Javi was easy; fun to the point where you almost never felt awkward, fun to the point where you were almost laughing the entire time, not questioning if whatever you had said was dumb or too much. He was kind, much more open and relaxed than he ever appeared in the classroom, asking you all shorts of questions about yourself, and answering whatever you wanted to know about him. Within reason. You hadn’t really broached the subject of his time with the DEA in Colombia, and while you were naturally curious, you figured if he wanted to tell you, he would.

But it didn’t deter from the lovely afternoon you were having. He was animated, using his hands as he talked, his dark eyes expressive and lively. You liked him, how normal and easy this all seemed. You only hoped that he felt the same way about you. Little did you know that he did; he liked you very, very much. He loved how passionate you got when you talked about things you liked, how you had a habit of tapping your chin when you were searching for a word or an answer, how your eyes crinkled in the corners when you laughed, how you leaned in closer to him, listening to him and making him feel you truly cared about what he had to say.

When he realized just how much he liked your smile, he knew he was fucked. So fucked. But then again - so were you.

The day had quickly turned to evening, and it was almost completely pitch back outside. You cursed yourself for deciding to walk, knowing it would be horrible to get home. But as soon as Javier realized that you didn’t have your car, he insisted on driving you back to your apartment. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer; and frankly, you would have been loath to turn down his offer because you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

You gave him directions, he deemed you the worst copilot ever as you were horrible with directions, but eventually he found your place and pulled up front, turning off the car while the two of you remained in silence for a few minutes, neither of you wanting your time together to end.

“Well,” you said finally, avoiding his eyes as you moved to open the car door, “I guess I better get going.”

“I can walk you inside,” it wasn’t a question, more like a subtle plea. Shifting in your seat, you found him watching you with a hopeful expression etched on his features. Biting your lip, something that Javier had noticed you had a tendency to do, you almost drove him crazy. If only you could see how beautiful you were. Nodding, you opened the door and stepped out, waiting for him to come to your side before walking in the direction of your apartment.

Deliberately making each step as slow as possible, you could feel how warm he was as he walked alongside you. When you reached your front door, you sighed lightly, “well, this is me. Thank you for today...I had a really good time.”

“I did too,” he said gently, his eyes softer than you had ever seen him. You wished there was a way to convey to him just how much, how terribly much you had enjoyed his company, and how reluctant you were to say good night.

You watched each other for a few moments, feeling your heart race as neither of you made any move to leave. But then - suddenly - before you could fully process what was happening, Javier put his hand on either side of your face and crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you with intensity, a searing passion that you took your breath away. You wrapped your arms around his neck, carding a hand through his dark locks as his hands found purchase on your waist and pulled you close.

His touch, his taste, his smell, everything combined in a way so delightful that you’d never experienced before; surely this was what sheer bliss was like. He felt perfect against you, there was no fumbling awkwardness, instead it felt like the two of you had been doing this forever. He break apart from you only when you were thoroughly breathless, feeling drunk off his kisses.

Javier studied your face, your eyes wide and lightly swollen lips as he wondered if he’d just made a huge mistake. A million thoughts were running through his mind as he tried not to panic, and reminded him that surely, he couldn’t have read the signs all wrong. But when your expression slowly turned into a shy little smile, a warmth heating up your skin as you looked at him with the sweetest eyes, he knew he hadn’t made a mistake. He reached over you and brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face.

“Umm,” you breathed out as you rode out the euphoria of the best kiss you’d ever had, “I...wow. Javi...I had a great time today.”

“Me too,” he agreed, already beginning to miss the feel of your lips against his. He let out a small laugh, almost not believing his luck as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “I hope you have a good night, dulzura.”

“Good night, Javi,” you beamed at him as he slowly turned around to head back to his car, watching until he was just to make sure he was safe...and to admire the view of course. He gave you one last wave before you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaning against the door and trying to calm yourself down. Despite your best efforts, a small squeal of delight pass through your lips. Bringing a hand to your lips and tapping your fingertips along them, you could tell they were plump and plush from all of his kisses.

Holy shit. This had actually happened. This was all a reality.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Note

Loved your Hondo and Aurra one, can you write something with cad bane being enamored by a new bounty Hunter or something of the like?

Okay, so this ended up almost a thousand words longer than I meant it to be! Still, I hope you enjoy!

The Bounty

Bane hated Coruscant. The whole cursed planet was a city and the teeming life made the reptile in him want to get as far away as he could and just curl up in the sun. But bounty hunters - even the best ones in the galaxy - had to work sometimes, and the Triple Zero had more prime targets than any other planet.

He was walking down a side street on one of the mid-levels in search of his current bounty. Despite Todo’s fretting, he and the droid were safer here than anywhere above or below. He had to give his target credit: they knew how to hide. The level was high enough that there was no need to watch your back just so no one would stab it, but disreputable enough that someone hiding from the authorities wouldn’t stand out.

Still, Bane was in a foul mood, and it was only getting worse as he continued to be unable to find his target. After he circled the same filthy block for the fourth time, Bane let out a blistering curse.

“Are you Cad Bane?”

He whirled, hands resting on the butts of his blaster pistols as he cursed himself. How long had it been since someone had managed to sneak up on him? Too long to start making stupid mistakes now.

“Who’s askin’?” he growled, scanning the dark alleyway. His red, slit-pupiled eyes adjusted better to the gloom than those of most other species, but even he had trouble picking out the speaker until they moved.

As the shadowed form stepped closer, Bane noted with some distaste that it was a human female. Duros had invented hyperdrives and had settled all across the galaxy, but it was the humans who were the most prevalent species. Nothing in the universe was fair.

This particular human looked to be nothing special. Her hair hung in limp strands - probably due to the humidity from the steam vents several buildings away - and her clothes looked like they had seen days in levels a lot lower than this one.

“I have some information for you,” she said, her voice pleasantly low and pitched to avoid being overheard.

“I’m sure,” Bane snorted.

“It’s good information,” she assured. “Worth a credit or two?”

“Dat’s not how dis works, girlie,” he said with a menacing chuckle, drawing one of the blasters and aiming in less time than it took to breathe. “Tell me da information an’ I’ll decide what it’s worth.”

She looked frightened, but nodded. “Th- There’s another bounty hunter after your target. I was sent to warn you that the guild gave out t-two biometric fobs.”

“Who sent ya tah warn me?” Bane demanded, absolutely livid. First, he was ousted as the Fett brat's godfather, and now the guild had issued another fob for his target? Ridiculous and insulting. Maybe that's why he was pressing the human female so hard, and why he hadn't put his blaster away yet.

“I don’t know, I swear!” she answered quickly. “He just pointed you out to me, gave me some credits, and told me what to tell you. Please don’t kill me!” She fell to her knees with the plea. Her actual skragging knees.

Bane shot her a disgusted look and holstered his blaster. In a few steps, he was at her side and tugged her roughly to her feet. She was heavier than she looked, but he had no problem getting her to stand - or keeping her close, even when she had started to struggle in an effort to get away from him.

"Are ya lyin' tah me, girl?" She shook her head frantically, but he noted with a spike of deep-buried interest that she had glanced at his mouth. It wasn't uncommon for people to mix up fear and interest, especially on a lower level of Coruscant.

Bane knew he had nothing to fear from this small human. He could read her every thought in her wide eyes and the expressions on her honest face. There was no reason not to have a little fun.

He pulled her closer, so close that the brim of his hat brushed her forehead as he continued, "So ya just thought to trick some extra credits outta me?"

"Uh, Master?" Todo chirped irritatingly.

"Shut up, droid," Bane snapped irritably as her gaze slid over to the techno-service droid instead of being fixed on Bane's own red eyes. He missed their weight, their heat. "D'ya know what I do tah people who try tah trick me?"

And there it was, her gaze flirted to his mouth again and lingered, just for a moment.

"How ‘bout ya earn those credits a different way?"

Offense crossed her face. "I'm not a-"

He lunged in for a kiss before she could tell him what she wasn't.

Duros didn't put much stock in kissing as an expression of anything, but it was the best way Bane knew of getting humans in the right headspace for more… inter-species recreation.

"Master," Todo said urgently and Bane fought a sigh. He hated the droid sometimes, but it was right. He had a target to find and now, there was a deadline.

He nipped at the human's lower lip with his sharp teeth and pulled away. "I've gotta go take care-a dis. See ya around."

She blinked up at him, looking rumpled and more than a bit confused. "But-"

"Master!"

"Shut up, droid," Bane snapped. "Can't ya see I'm goin'?"

When he turned back, the female was leaving. Bane spared a single thought for her, wishing momentarily that he had gotten her name, but he had bigger things to focus on. He had to find his bounty, cause some pain to the guild member who had issued a second fob, and figure out why he couldn't feel the vibroblade in his boot.

Wait…

Bane patted himself down and found that he was missing the pouch with his credits, the vibroblade from his boot, and the tracking fob.

"Master," Todo said again. "I've been trying to tell you: that girl was stealing from you!"

Bane hissed, whipping around to fix his gaze on the female. She was just rounding the corner of a building and saw him looking her way. Rather than the fearful look she had worn through their interaction, she grinned and sent a triumphant wink his way.

"Next time, just tell me!" Bane snapped, running after her. "Now I gotta track an unknown through da planet!"

"I traced the water from her hair while you were… occupied," Todo volunteered. "I believe she came from the steam vents three blocks west."

Bane changed directions and picked up speed, Todo soaring through the air beside him giving directions. At a certain point, he slowed, “I cannot go further. The steam will short out my circuits.”

“Fine, just wait dere,” Bane ordered over his shoulder. “Dis won’t take long.”

When Bane got to the steam vents, he immediately recognized the female's silhouette standing next to a nondescript, illegally parked ship. She was facing the opposite direction, speaking into a comlink hidden under her grimy sleeve.

"Well, keep me updated," she said, clearly disappointed with the person on the other end of the line.

Bane was on her before she could lower her arm, twisting her around. However, her reflexes were better than he had expected, and she turned and kicked him away in the same moment. Still, Bane hadn’t lived this long being taken by surprise. He grabbed her shoulders as he was pushed back, and levered her along with him. In the end, his balance was caught by a wall, and his grip pulled her against him until there was not an inch of space between their bodies.

"Gimme one good reason I shouldn't blast ya to pieces right now," he snarled in her face, one blaster already drawn and pressed to her temple.

Though this was a lot less friendly than the last time they had been so close, she wore a crooked little smile. “Because I can give back everything I took?”

“Yeah? An’ how is dat gonna make up fer da fact dat ya thought it’d be smart tah steal from me?”

The smile widened and took on a saucy look. “I think I more than made up for it back there. And there’s more where that came from. But first! Credits, fob…”

She hesitated before handing over the vibroblade. “I really like the knife. Any chance I could keep it?”

“I could shoot ya right now an’ no one would blink - least of all, me,” Bane hissed.

She pouted a bit, but passed the blade back. “Now, where were we?” she purred, moving as if to slide her hands up Bane’s arms.

Bane knocked her hands away and her comlink went off. She hit the button that allowed it to transmit, and Bane was less than thrilled, “I didn’t tell ya tah answer that.”

“We’re clear,” the comlink said.

“Who’s clear-a what?” he asked suspiciously, the end of the question muffled by the human female’s lips meeting his mouth once more. He obliged her, taking control of the kiss with a hand in her hair, holstering his blaster so he could use the other to angle her jaw.

“Bane,” she moaned at the contact.

Bane broke the kiss and tried not to pant as he said, “Ya got me at a disadvantage, darlin’. Ya know my name, but I never caught yers.”

“Oche,” she told him, giving a mischievous little smirk. “And that’s not the only thing you didn’t catch, bounty hunter.”

He was already furious by the time he tried to reach for her and found his wrists caught in magnetic binders, attached to the wall behind him.

“Well, that was lovely,” Oche said chipperly. “I do wish I could stay longer. I would love to see if all the rumors about you are true.”

Her gaze drifted downward and Bane growled at her, knowing full well what she would find if she looked too closely.

“Anyway, looks like we’re both done here.”

As she began to root through his jacket, Bane glowered. “So, ya were tryin’ tah steal my bounty all along.”

“Not really,” Oche said after a thoughtful pause. “It’s more like… a partnership. You found the guy, I got the fob, and Embo got the bounty.”

Embo. Bane should have guessed that the Kyuzo would be one to steal a bounty. He had already tried to steal Bane’s signature wide-hat style. Aloud, he just said, “And when am I gonna get my share-a da payment fer this little partnership?”

“Well, your portion was done on more of a volunteer basis,” she hedged.

Before Bane could tell her how little he cared about volunteering anything, she said, “I’m taking some of your credits, the fob, and the vibroknife. I really did like it.”

As she stepped away, Oche added, “Embo said to tell you thanks for the bounty. He didn’t know if he could find them alone, but you were a big help. And don’t worry, those cuffs will come off as soon as my ship leaves the atmosphere.

With that, she scampered off, climbed into her ship, and blew him a kiss goodbye through the viewport. Bane bared his pointed teeth at her in return.

Oche was right, though: the binders fell off only minutes after her ship had risen through the air. Bane spent only a moment glaring at the sky before he walked back in the direction of his own ship, lost in thought.

Fett had Wesell, Embo had Oche, even Ohnaka had Sing. Was he the only bounty hunter left in the galaxy who still worked solo? Where was his apprentice?

“Master!” Todo cried, hovering beside the Duros’s face. “Did you find her? Did you get the target?”

“Oh, I gotta target, all right,” Bane said darkly. “An’ I’m not gonna stop ‘til I get ‘er.”

He would find Embo and Oche, he would get his money for the target he had found, and then… Bane and Oche would finish what they had started.

Whether it would be finished with blasters or something more primal, he wasn’t certain, but it would be finished either way.

#fic request #anonymous fic request #cad bane #todo 360 #bounty hunter #cad bane is easily distracted #for a bounty hunter #original female character #mentioned #embo #jango fett #zam wesell #hondo ohnaka #aurra sing #threats of violence #dubious consent #sfw though #just kissing #and death threats but whatever

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bitch-of-ren · 6 years

Text

“you’re not doing this, the effort would kill you”

okay guys, so I’ve been thinking for a while about a couple of Kylo Ren’s lines that I don’t find obvious in terms of meaning/justified by the plot at the point when he says them.

namely, these lines are:

“you mean the murderers, traitors and thieves you call friends?”;

“you still want to kill me” from TFA (which, I think, are both connected to some other lines from the novelizations)

“you’re not doing this, the effort would kill you.” from TLJ

I will hereby present my take below (and also a bit of context interpretation which is necessary to highlight in order to make my points clear - however, I’m not doing a full Reylo dynamic or Kylo Ren’s character analysis, because there are many excellent ones out there and I don’t have anything intelligent to add), but I’d also like to know what you guys think, so feel free to share your thoughts!

also, this is my first analysis whatsoever, so be gentle please :P

tl;dr summary at the end ^^

also, I used some gifs I found on Google, which are not mine - I noted the source each time, which I hope is okay. I mean no harm and don’t want to step on any toes, so if there is some other way I should approach this, please let me know.

all right, so my initial hypothesis will be that there are a couple of lines which are a bit ambiguous and not obvious from the narrative perspective, both in TFA and TLJ, and separately these lines can be interpreted in various ways which make sense, but put together they have another meaning and shed some extra light on Kylo’s state of mind and how he thinks about Rey.

so what we see in TFA is this:

Kylo Ren gets a report about a lost droid and he’s a bit pissed off about that (understandably). he throws a tantrum when he learns that Finn helped BB8 escape, and then calms down - being his sarcastic, dry self, asks “anything else?” and Mitaka is dumb enough to tell him about A GIRL as well. this shouldn’t be that important, right, to get him from destroying objects to harming people? he has already learned the worst part, so basically Kylo Ren has no actual reason that we know of to be triggered enough to Force choke poor Mitaka and again lose his shit. but he does. “WHAT. GIRL?” of course, possible explanation here is that it’s just the final straw for him in this situation, as we know that overall he is not the most patient and put together character in the galaxy.

(gif from Inverse)

he again hears about THE GIRL who was spotted headed west with a droid once he arrives fashionably late to the battle field on Takodana. he proceeds to hunt her down like a goddamn tiger as she fires at him repeatedly. he doesn't harm her in any way though, but instead freezes her in place - even though he does not know that she has seen the map at this point, so he does not have a tactical objective to keep her alive yet. THE GIRL he’s heard so much about. yup, like literally twice, and mostly that she existed and was pals with BB8 but okay. again, it’s not uncommon to use that kind of line as an indication that despite that’s the first time characters meet, they’ve already caused some trouble for one another.

then of course he hovers over her closely during initial interrogation, and is a bit spooked out once the stormtroopers show up, at which point he stops touching her face and takes a step back from here immediately, like a teenager making out with his girlfriend after parents suddenly burst into the room. and btw, I didn’t expect stormtroopers to be able to sneak up on Kylo Ren like that - the guy who is normally quite focused okay:

(gif from Uncyclopedia)

but hey, girls are distracting. she knocks her out, bridal-carries her to the ship - my head canon is that he held her all the way to the Starkiller Base - and then we head into The Interrogation Scene.

(pic from Jedi Council Forums)

Rey wakes up restrained, on the goddamn bed torture chair, with a dude who hunt her down and kidnapped her crouching right in front of her. she has every right to be freaked out and not be very friendly towards him, right? she immediately demands to know where she is. he says she’s his guest, which is a villain enough, ironic line which has been used before and can easily be attributed to Vader parallel and generally “bad guys being good hosts”.

note: in the book, there is gentleness to his voice, and in any case less hostility than expected in this situation.

and then.

“where are the others?”

“you mean the murderers, traitors and thieves you call friends?” in a condemning tone (sniffing disdainfully, as the book tells us).

okay, so what is happening here? a guy who ordered a whole village to be killed suddenly has something to say about other people? he accuses them of being murderers, but also traitors and thieves? like, stealing is a problem for Kylo Ren now? yes, they did act in a way that caused problems for the FO, but what is with this self-righteousness? yes, Kylo Ren is an elitist, but there is something more happening there as well, I believe. again, he is referring to Finn and Han, and so this line could be attributed to his father, particularly considering Kylo Ren’s thoughts from the novelization - “not a general, not a hero. just a small-time thief and smuggler.”; “Han Solo’s days of cheating and disappointing people were over” - Kylo doesn’t have that great of an opinion about his dad and he expresses it here (not to mention Finn the traitor, and I guess they both shot a number of people so technically are murderers). but I think it’s something else as well.

for now, he says he has no idea.

note: in the book, he also highlights here how he could lie to her and tell her they’re dead, but he wants to be honest with her. from the beginning. of the interrogation, but only? why would that matter if he was honest with his prisoner whom he could interrogate with the force? he didn't seem much concerned about that with Poe...

“you still want to kill me.” with an adorable head cock. like. what else does a sound person expect from a prisoner in this situation? it is perfectly logical that a person strapped to the interrogation chair, kidnapped and about to be tortured for information, wouldn’t exactly have much love for the person responsible, right? also, the “still” part is what I find interesting, because it’s like something has changed in the meantime that - in his mind - should change her attitude. was it that he spared her friends?

note: in the book Kylo Ren said that in a response to reading her mind; Rey was worried before he said that line and she warned herself to be careful around him because he might lose his shit at any point if she does something to trigger him. again, she didn’t exactly think of harming him then.

then we also have another lines from the TFA novelization which are not in the movie, but were also interesting.

“something... there is something. who are you?” when they first met at the forest, even before he proactively read her mind. he knew her. he sensed her. she was his.

then, during the interrogation, Kylo Ren sees something in her mind and thinks that “there was something there, of interest. not the image of the map. that would take another moment. but definitely something worth investigating.” in the end he doesn't get there, as she responds with the Vader thing. WHAT IS IT?!

then there is famous line of “Hux was not worthy of such attention. the girl, on the other hand...” mmhhmm...

“taken aback, he whirled - to see the weapon land in the hand of a girl standing by a tree. Rey appeared equally shocked that her reach for the device had exceeded his. she gazed down at the weapon now resting in her grip. <<it is you>>, Ren murmured. his words unsettled her: not for the first time, he seemed to know more about her than she did about herself”.

(gif from We Heart It)

I can't how he looks and sounds like young Snape in these forest scenes

now, moving on to TLJ.

first force time.

“you’ll bring Luke Skywalker to me.”

she huffs and does nothing.

“you’re not doing this. the effort would kill you”.

like, what?

basically from this point onward, Kylo Ren loses interest in tactical knowledge about Luke Skywalker. he becomes more interested if Rey knows his version of events and how Luke screwed up, so she doesn’t see him as a monster anymore. he's also very curious about the force time and how it works, enough to relieve potentially tactically relevant information to her - “I can’t see yours.” he never asks her anything about Luke whereabouts again.

of course, the first line serves to establish that he can’t manipulate her into doing anything she’s not willing to do (explicit in the novelization).

the second line though? like, this is something a girlfriend might say to her boyfriend when she asked him to do something 2hs ago and he’s still playing Battlefront II or whatever. this does not fit into the situation.

now, I read some analysis that this is related to Luke’s sacrifice, namely Kylo Ren knows how the force projection works and understood immediately that his uncle would die and was devastated because of it.

while I think it does make sense in general, I disagree with this interpretation, because if you put all of these pieces together, I think you get a more holistic interpretation which convinces me a bit more.

additionally, in the first line he doesn’t mention force projection or teleportation, I don’t think it makes much sense for him. what would happen? she would show up with Luke, without being able to do anything to him (the blaster bolt didn’t hit Kylo Ren, so he didn’t have much basis to assume he could kill his uncle via force projection - “so no, this is something else”) - and I doubt that Kylo Ren’s intention were to talk it out in “it was 2 AM!” style. I think if Kylo Ren thought much about force projections, he wouldn’t have humiliated himself as he did in front of his new army on Crait, because - being a smart ass - he’d figure it out. so no, I think he wasn’t referring to force projection effort there.

tl;dr summary and overall conclusion and The Point I want to make:

I think Kylo Ren knew about Rey for a long time now. she saw him in a dream, in a nightmare, and since Kylo is 10 years older, I think he’s more aware of this connection and its nature than Rey is. it might have been dreams, it might have been glimpses, but she’s been there with him.

I think because of that, in his head, they are way more advanced in this relationship than would make sense based on the plot thus far, and it’s almost surreal for him that they’ve just met, because they were connected for so long now.

that’s why he's freaking about when he hears about A GIRL. that’s why he is not happy with the company she keeps, while he would be obviously a superior choice. that’s why he is surprised she wanted to kill him while being strapped to interrogation chair, because he himself was so gentle (in context) with her. he is sassy with her and oblivious to her rage at the beginning, because in his head they are on another level.

#reylo #star wars #kylo ren #meta #tfa #tlj #force awakens #last jedi #rey #force bond #tlj novelization #tfa novelization

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gloves94 · 6 years

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White Holes [Cassian Andor] [1/10]

Warnings: None Pairings: Cassian Andor/OC Summary: Captain Cassian Andor was an Officer of Rebel Intelligence for the Alliance. An emotionless tool. There was nothing more to his life than following orders and working for the Resistance. Hell! His only friend was an Imperial droid named K-2SO. So what happens when he is struck by a love at first sight and meets Dr. Lya Stryker? Will their story have a happy ending? (CassianxOC)

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

The sun rose to see another day on the moon also known as, Yavin 4, and so did the injured man in the medical ward's bed. He could feel his whole body aching. He felt as if he had just been torn up, shredded and consumed by the wilderness of the galaxy. He opened his dry mouth in an attempt to speak, instead came out a painful groan. His free hand reached for his stomach which he clenched in horrendous pain. He couldn't remember what had happened. The last thing his memory had recollected was the almost ship crash as he was doing an emergency landing back at the Rebel base. He had been lucky to avoid one of those massive pyramids that the ancient Massassi had built on this moon.

"Ah, you have woken." A smooth voice said from somewhere in the room.

He found himself momentarily blinded by the bright light above; his eyes focused on a blurry figure before him. He suddenly felt a strange sensation. As a cold hand on his burning forehead. He couldn't help but initially flinch at the foreign touch, but somehow he managed to relax at the touch. He emitted harsh breath and his eyebrows knitted. Despite his pain, he could also feel that a fluid IV was attached to his arm, pumping much needed cool fluids and nutrients into his weak body.

"Rest." Despite the relaxed tone, the statement had almost sounded like a command to him. "Rest" The voice repeated.

In defeat, won over by exhaustion he allowed his eyes drop once again. He couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time they shut. He couldn't go like this. Had he given his entire life up for the rebellion just for it to end like this? The hand briefly rested on his forehead once again, and a pair of long fingers slipped to tangle his knotted brown hair.

Lux, a female nurse, and doctor in training observed the Doctor, her mentor, carefully. "Place him on some antipyretics," the Doctor began. "I want him in intense observation, and I want his fluids carefully regulated. Don't want him to lose his strength." She held a deep breath and observed the features of the man before her. He had long dark eyelashes, an unshaven face and dark shaggy hair which almost reached his shoulders. It appeared as if he had dug his own grave. He wasn't well. She closed her eyes and sighed. At this point, it was best to trust that the Force would do what was right and just. She could feel it was strong with him. Part of her knew he would make it. She adjusted her white lab coat before picking up the patient's clipboard and heading out.

"Let me know if he awakens, again," she tossed back to her younger apprentice.

There it was again- the blinding light. The one that seemed to burn past your eyelids and into the back of your brain. The Captain couldn't help but wonder if this was the afterlife? If it was, he certainly didn't feel at peace or any ease.

Mixed voices rang in his ears. The aching pain in his stomach, now more bearable served as a gruesome reminder of his current mortal status.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, this time with much more ease. He blinked away the blurriness and saw that before him stood two women and a man. One of the women was speaking. He didn't listen. He couldn't. The Captain found himself lost in a pair of azure violet eyes. He had never met a creature with such peculiar colored eyes. He noted that her mouth continued moving. He couldn't make out the words. She wore the formal attire that most medics in the Rebel Base wear, a white lab coat over her brown clothes. Her brown hair was styled short to her shoulders and was messily held up in a fat bun behind the nape of her neck. Her brown bands were nearly combed asymmetrically framing her eyes nicely.

At that moment he was struck.

Feeling extremely self-conscious, the hospitalized man ran a hand down his sharp jawline trailing his unshaven face. He couldn't bear removing his eyes from the intense violet ones before him. He was so aghast that he didn't even realize when she was beginning to explain his perilous situation to him. The Doctor revealed that he had been poisoned on a mission and that thanks to the Force he had made it just in time for them to inject him with the antidote.

"...Do you understand the gravity of your situation?" Adair, the male apprentice, and nurse repeated tapping on a clipboard impatiently. There was an uncomfortable silence in the small curtained room and the air filled with sudden tension. The Captain had a pair of bottomless, dark, eyes that seemed to peer into your soul. "Captain Andor?" Lux inquired with a small voice. The Doctor kept her eyes fixed on his not faltering for one moment. Both of the nurses looked at the Doctor concerned. They couldn't help but wonder if the patient had maintained brain damage from the crash. Regardless she kept her eyes glued to his dark ones. He didn't respond. Instead, he removed his hand from his beard, eyes still focused. It was hopeless. This had never happened to Cassian before. He had never had the use for friendships or any type relationship before. They were of no use to him. The closest thing he had o a friend was a droid named K-2SO, it wasn't even human. He was a Rebel. He had a vital cause to work for: freedom. Whatever relationships he had had in the past had all been short-lived.

'Fuck it...' he thought to himself. He felt a stirring inside him something consume his consciousness.

"Go out with me." Were the first words he uttered to her. For a moment the had forgotten the aching pain that trembled in his stomach. And the pulsating headache that made him want to rip his head off. Adair looked away with wide eyes attempting to ignore the awkward tension in the room. Lux blushed vibrantly and brought a hand to her face to hide her growing smile. They both turned to face the Doctor once again who had recuperated from the surprise and kept her cool. The corner of her lips turned upwards into a charming smile and she shoved her hands into her deep pockets as she shook her head from side to side. 'Well, this is a first...' She thought. "Captain Andor-" she spoke carefully in an attempt to correct the situation. "Cassian." He corrected her, and she noted he had a thick accent which belonged to a distant land. "As flattered as I am, you don't even know my name." She said still wearing that small smile. He kept his eyes alert and read the tag on her white coat. "Dr. Stryker," he said slowly. "Go out with me." He repeated determined. She observed him cautiously for a moment. Maybe he did have brain damage. "No," she said with a smile before walking away, still with that coy smile worn on her face. Her apprentices followed after her snickering at the idea of the usually serious doctor having such a bold suitor.

It became almost like a soap opera.

The scene would be reenacted every single time the Doctor would walk into the small curtain room to make her rounds. And every single time she would only shake her head with a smile. There had to be something wrong with this man's head. That crash landing hadn't been good for him. Cassian wouldn't give up. Whenever he asked it was never a request; it was always a demand for something he needed. He wondered if this was what it was like when sailors fell eyes upon the lost sirens in the depths of space. It was a lost cause. An obsession. He had been struck by an arrow and starred into the sun blindly. There was no way he was letting go now. He could remember the tales that his father told the mother he never met. "I saw her, and it was like time stopped." He would say to Cassian in his tender youth. "That's how I knew we had to be together."

Regardless, her answer never changed. He persisted.

"As flattered as I am, do you know how unprofessional that would be of me?" was one of her excuses. "Captain Andor, I'm afraid you are lucid," was another response. "I said no yesterday, and the day before and the day before. What makes you think I will say yes today?" She would always ask with a playful smile. "Captain Andor, if you already know what the answer will be, why do you keep asking?" She asked as he struggled to sit up in the uncomfortable bed. She sat close listening to his heartbeat with her stethoscope. There was no other excuse for his sudden infatuation "You must've hit your head really hard." She commented as she examined his cranium. Surprisingly he was quiet for a moment. The nurses had come to enjoy their interactions and would often merely attend to witness the fruitless attempts of the captain. Their unwanted presence was greeted with a severe glare from the Doctor and a "Have you finished your reports?" "Because there is always hope," he said calmly as he reached for her warm hand. The Doctor noted that despite the calmness in his voice his heart was aggressively hammering through her stethoscope. She saw the determined glint in his eyes. His calloused hand squeezed hers. She removed both of her hands from his person. She merely attributed his infatuation to something called Florence Nightingale syndrome. It wasn't uncommon for injured individuals to feel a sudden attraction for their caretakers. "Cassian," she began slowly. He looked at her surprised noticing that she had addressed by his first name. "Listen," she said reaching and placing her stethoscope around his head. She was about to speak again but was interrupted by her pager. She ignored it and resumed. "I want you to listen to something-" She said picking up the mouth of the stethoscope.

Again, that darn buzzing. It was an emergency. Embarrassed at the fact that petty flirting had gotten in the way of her medical duties. Without another word she bolted out of the curtained room Cassian mentally cursed as he spilled back into his hospital bed. He starred at the off lightbulbs above his head that he had grown used to. i'What was she going to show him?'/i He ran his hands over his face in frustration and slid deep into the covers. At this point, he was no stranger to failure.

The following afternoon, Dr. Stryker was making rounds as she usually did. However, today was different. She could feel the bottom of her stomach flipping with anxiety. She inhaled a deep breath and braced herself before swatting away the curtain that served as the door to Captain Andor's room, and she could feel her anxiety turning into panic at the terrible sight.

He was gone.

Panic surged through her.

He was gone.

His bed empty, sheets tangled. There was a terribly sick man wondering around the medical ward unsupervised. She immediately brought up her pager to her lips and alerted the other medics in the medical ward. This wasn't possible, he hadn't been discharged. After being in such delicate condition, it was compromising for the entire camp and especially for him to be casually walking about.

Especially after being poisoned and almost dying...

"Nurse!" she shouted as she ran out of the room breathlessly. "Nurse!"

When she reached the outside of the room, she was suddenly brought to a halt. In front of her, barely standing on his own feet stood Cassian leaning against the wall weakly, He wore a pair of beige hospital robes which contrasted with his shaggy appearance. On the one hand, he held a bouquet of bioluminescent violet orchid flowers, one of the native flowers of Yavin 4; he approached her stumbling on his bare feet. She rushed towards him, and he grasped onto her waist tightly allowing his weight to collapse on hers. She kept an equally tight grip on his arms keeping him on his toes. His grip tightened when he realized how close he was and he offered the flowers to her accidentally slapping her chin with them.

"S-sorry..." He apologized nervously. Once again he cursed at himself inside his head. "Idiot!" She exclaimed unhappily. He could've gotten hurt! How could he be so careless?! She called for assistance once again.

"Lya Stryker, will you go out with me. Please?" He asked with a smirk. She took the flowers in one hand and tossed them over her shoulder carelessly.

"Lya Stryker, will you go out with me?" he repeated as she carried him back to his hospital bed.

"Lya Stryker-" He was about to ask one last third time.

He wasn't going to give up. Every single time his eyes met her vibrant ones he felt it. That knot in his throat that fight or flight instinct kicking up inside of him stirring his stomach and usually focused emotions.

"So how did you get her to notice you?" He had asked his father that same day. The man scratched his chin and smiled at the memory of his late wide. "Just- if you ever find her son. Don't give up." He had smiled down at his son and patted his back shoulder.

It was rare to have such tender moments during the time of war. Perhaps that's why he remembered it so well. It was before the Clone Wars. Before his father accompanies his mother in the afterlife.

He was taken back when what sounded like agreement reached his ears. "Fine!" She exclaimed. "Maybe." She fumed hands on her hips. Her eyes focused on him with a sharp glare. This man... She wanted to ask if he was like this with every single woman he met.

A smirk edged on Cassian's face at the look on her face.

Perhaps, a maybe was better than a no. No?

AN: Let me know what you think I always appreciate feedback!

Chapter 1: [Here] Chapter 2: [Here]

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billy-rxsso-archived · 6 years

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Rules

Note on Triggers:

I am bad at tagging shit. Things like alcohol, guns, and violence will come up in threads. Do not expect these to be tagged. I also will not tag drugs if/when they come up. The Punisher is a violent show by nature and this will be reflected on this blog. If this bothers you I suggest not following me.

Things I will always tag:

blood (as far as images go)

all nsfw, written will always be under a cut

pregnancy

Nsfw tag is {it'd be wrong not to share the wealth: nsfw}, all others will be tagged as ‘X tw’

- If you need anything else tagged, let me know.

Basic Info:

18+ only! I will not write with those who are underage or do not have their age somewhere on their blog.

Independent rp blog, almost entirely based on the Netflix Punisher series.

Selective and mutuals only. As much as I’d like to write with everyone, I simply cannot do it.

Due to many instances of personal blogs not knowing or bothering to learn basic rp etiquette, my general rule of thumb is to soft block personal blogs who follow me. If you have an rp blog as a side blog, please please please shoot me an ask or an IM if yours isn't linked in your description so I don't accidentally do this.

I will not follow if: - You are a personal blog - You frequently post about social justice or political topics unrelated to the fandom - You have frequent other/non fandom posts. Ooc I do not mind. - You post fandom drama or vague post. - You post a lot of nsfw photos and gifs, especially if it’s straight up porn. - You do not trim your threads. - You do not have a rules and/or an about page that I can find. I need to know your guidelines for interaction before following and I need to know what your muse is like to be even interested. - If your muse is not MCU canon, I need a verses page so I can figure out if they would even be able to interact. This also gives me inspiration for potential plots. - I do not rp with other Billy Russos. I’m sorry but this is entirely for my own sanity.

This is a sideblog that follows from ass–sass–sin. This is my Dragon Age rp blog and my main.

Tracking billy rxsso

Expected Etiquette:

Note, I expect ALL of my followers to abide by this section specifically, not just roleplay blogs. By following me, you agree to follow my rules and breaking any of the ones in this following section WILL result in one warning, and further offenses will end in you being blocked.

Do not godmod. If it’s something small for sake of plot progression, shoot me a message first, I’ll probably be ok with it. Just check first. For combat/action threads, I’ll be all up in your IMs wanting to talk shit through as the thread progresses.

Do not reblog threads you’re not a part of.

As a general rule of thumb, do not reblog personal posts. If it’s ok to reblog, it will be tagged “ok to reblog”.

Do not reblog my headcanons.

As of now all icons are from here.

All originally posted screenshots are mine, feel free to reblog these.

If you wish to turn an ask into a thread, please move it to a new post and tag me in it. This way it looks neater, and also I’m less likely to miss a reply (which I very much do not want to do).

Triggers: - I will always tag nsfw. Anything else please ask and I’d be happy to oblige.

I do not do reblog karma and I do not expect it. However I am not a meme blog, so do not treat me like one. If our only interaction is you reblogging memes from me, I will block you.

While I will only write with mutuals, non mutuals are free to follow, like posts, reblog appropriate posts (see above for what is and isn’t ok), and send asks.

Roleplay Information:

IC =/= OOC. This shouldn’t need said, but with Billy being Billy, I promise you that he and I do not see eye to eye on many things. He is an asshole and a villain, there’s a very high chance he will hurt your muse in some way, shape, or form at one point or another. While I will happily explain why he does what he does, I do not necessarily condone his actions.

I will write anything from one liners and crack to multiple paragraphs. While sometimes I’ll drop a novel on you, it’s usually difficult to write replies of that length on a regular basis.

On that note, do not feel like you need to keep up with my length. However with the exception of crack and one liners, I’d appreciate getting at least 4-5 lines in a reply. While sometimes short replies happen and I understand that, I do get frustrated if I’m regularly getting 1-3 line responses when I’m handing you one or two paragraphs.

If you want to rp occurring abuse, you must talk to me about it first. Otherwise I’ll simply ignore it.

If I accidentally break one of your rules, kindly let me know. I will always read them before following and interacting, however I am only human and will make mistakes. I also do not send in passwords as they make me uncomfortable and I do not have one myself.

Thread Tracker In case you want to see what all I’ve got going and if I’ve hit your reply or not.

If we have a thread going, please do not pester me for replies. If it is in tracker, I have it, I am aware of who’s turn it is, and I will get to it when I can. If it’s a starter or an ask moved to a new post to be continued, if I’ve liked it, it’s saved in my drafts folder.

I am a slow roleplayer. I have other rp blogs and I work. Sometimes it takes me a month to reply (though I do my best to keep it from getting to that point). Waiting a week or two for a reply is not uncommon. If you expect fast turn around on replies, this blog is not for you.

I do not participate in chain messages. If you want to send me them anyways, that’s fine. I won’t unfollow you or block you (unless you send multiple daily or something), but I won’t post them or forward them. To me, they seem cheap and insincere. If I want to spread positivity, I’ll write my own and send them to someone.

If I follow you, I want to interact!

Exclusives:

For canon muses, I am 100% open to discussing being exclusives. I do ask that we write together some first to get a feel for muse chemistry and see how our writing styles mesh though.

Sometimes the exclusivity will only be on my end (ie I will only write with a certain Frank Castle but the Frank will write with other Billys), sometimes it will be mutual. This will be discussed privately and on a case by case basis.

Do not harass me about being exclusives.

Currently exclusive with: - tba

Shipping and Smut:

Mun is 21+

I reserve the right to be selective in who I smut with.

All smut will be tagged.

Smut =/= Ship. Billy sleeps around and doesn’t like being attached to anyone or anything. While your muse is free to assume otherwise, do not assume he is going to end up (or is) your muse’s boyfriend. That will just piss everybody off.

Do not ask about insta-shipping because I will not do it. I need to at least see how the muses interact before jumping in.

I do not ship Frank/Billy. While I respect those who enjoy the ship, my Billy is straight and I'll be much happier writing their friendship (and subsequent falling out).

Contact Info:

Ask and IM are open for all, mutuals or not. If I don’t respond quickly to an IM, I’m either at work or asleep. Asks I may take a day or two at most to reply to if it’s ooc.

Discord available for mutuals only.

If I don’t follow you and you want to interact, shoot me a message! As long as you respect my right to decline I have no issue with this!

About the Mun:

Hi, I’m Trip. I’m 23, located in Florida, a cat mom, and work full time. I’ve been roleplaying since October 2015 on my main blog with a Dragon Age OC. I’m always down to chat on IM, and Discord is available for mutuals.

#blog rules #updated May 8 2018

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maclitpub · 7 years

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12 or 20 (small press) questions with Angelo Colavita on Empty Set Press

Empty Set Press publishes chapbooks of conceptual and experimental poetry by writers who challenge the functions of language, form, and imagery, producing work that is innovative, new, and exciting. Based in Philadelphia, ESP strives toward a synthesis of local authors, visual artists, print shops, and venues within the city’s thriving literary landscape to broaden the horizons of the greater artistic community as well as the community at large. Founding Editor of Empty Set Press, ANGELO COLAVITA lives and writes in Philadelphia, where he hosts Oxford Coma, a nihilist poetry reading series and serves as Poetry Editor for Limited Editions Quarterly Journal. His work has appeared in Apiary Magazine, The Philadelphia Citizen, Mad House, Rolling Thunder Quarterly, Be About It Zine, Outcast Poetry Journal and elsewhere online and in print. His first chapbook, HEROINes, was published in March 2017. 1 – When did Empty Set Press first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process? I started Empty Set Press back in March. I was basically just following suggestions. After an extended absence from the poetry community, I started bouncing around, doing readings again. A few people asked where they could find more of my work. I’ve had a few pieces published in magazines here and there and online, but several people told me I should have a chapbook out. I was reluctant to self-publish, and to be honest, I was ready to move on from the stuff I was writing during the years I was MIA. But I figured, I might as well. It was sort of a ruse. I came up with the name and a logo and slapped it on the back of a collection that would become Empty Set’s first release: HEROINes. Pretty slick. In an effort to legitimize the whole thing, I filed for an LLC with student loan money and set up a website. I turned to Chris McCreary, who’d been running Ixnay Press in Philly for some advice on how to make my next move. He suggested I publish someone else as soon as I made my money back with the sales from HEROINes. So that’s what I did. The first person I thought to solicit was Maryan Captan. We were friends in the poetry scene for a while at this point and connected greatly on a creative level, so it made perfect sense. I’m really proud of Copy/Body. It’s a lovely and unnerving chapbook. So what started as a means of getting something out that I could potentially peddle at readings turned into something I could use to publish poets I loved that were kind of on the outer ring of the inner circle, so to speak. And there was room for it in the Philly scene, so why not? The chapbook is a vital part of publishing history, especially among poets. I go for work that is weird, dynamic, written by poets that aren’t going to shy from toying with form and language and a bleak aesthetic. One thing I’ve learned that I’d never considered is how helping someone bring their concept to life, give it flesh, would give me another creative outlet beside the writing itself, and still within the realm of poetry. 2 – What first brought you to publishing? As I mentioned before, what first brought me to publishing was the publication of HEROINes. But what’s keeping me going is so much greater than myself. I enjoy editing and layout, designing covers, booking readings… It’s more of a lifestyle, in my opinion. Every aspect of my day-to-day life revolves around writing, be it my own or my friends’ or anyone else’s. 3 – What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing? Small publishers have this advantage of working intimately with their authors. Seeing their authors’ ideas through is what a small press is not only capable of, but also, responsible for. When I read something I love, or hear someone read that totally blows me away, I feel it’s my job to take that writing and put it in print in a way that highlights its personality with respect to the author’s voice. The aesthetic of the book is terribly important to me. It has to look and feel like the poetry sounds. The art on the cover has to speak on the words on the page. The fonts have to be cold if the writing is cold, delicate if the writing is delicate. The empty spaces are as much a part of the book as the poetry is, and should be treated as such, so the margins and linespacing need to reflect that. Then there is the promotion and everything at that end: launch parties, readings, etc. I try not to just book readings or events on my own as Empty Set, but also support local monthly reading series in the area as well. This is what I commit to when I publish a book. It’s a matter of fully integrating the poetry and the poet with artists and venues and a readership. I’m a midwife, so to speak. 4 – What do you see your press doing that no one else is? I love experimental poetry. Stuff I have to read several times over. Stuff I want to read several times over. I love collections that move from one poem to the next, that share some kind of symbiotic relationship. I like to be challenged. If there is one thing that will separate Empty Set Press from anyone else, is that you can count on being challenged intellectually, emotionally, aesthetically… It takes more than wearing your heart on your sleeve to write solid poetry. Use the form. Abuse the form. Get uncomfortable. Otherwise, why do it at all? 5 – What do you see as the most effective way to get new chapbooks out into the world? Right now, I’m just selling books through the website (emptysetpress.com) and at poetry readings. It’s not uncommon for me to carry chapbooks around with me in a backpack either. It’s keeping the press afloat for the time being, though, with everything in store for the press within the next few months, I’m going to have to make bigger moves. I’ll probably be setting something up with SPD (Small Press Distribution) for the next release, Maris McLamoureary’s DICTIONNAIRE INFERNAL by Chris McCreary & Mark Lamoureux (due out sometime this fall). This thing is gaining momentum faster than I ever expected it would and it’s already time to expand a bit. SPD can reach a wider audience than I can on my own. I want to avoid the whole Amazon thing. I feel that’s unnecessary. I’ll avoid chain stores and corporate bullshit at all costs. They’re unnecessary. This is a time when artists can have complete control over their output, marketing, and distribution, so there’s no need to rely on anyone else outside of our own communities. If I’m going to publish local, emerging writers, I’m going to use a local printer to print the damn things and in the near future, I’ll go through an independent distributor to get them out to people. But that’s in the near future. Right now I’m doing well on my own, with the support of the Philly arts and poetry community, and elsewhere through Empty Set’s website. 6 – How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch? I suppose that all depends on the content itself. I’ll read a manuscript many, many times over before I make any edits. This is after I have some kind of sit-down with the author. So far, the authors I’m publishing have been poets I’m quite familiar with already, so I have a fairly good understanding of their voice. But I also keep in mind the intent of their concept and the feel of each individual poem as much as I do the book as a whole. That said, I’ll run through once for punctuation and spelling issues, once for linespacing/layout purposes, try a few different fonts or font sizes, page breaks, stuff like that, cut what poems work with overall mood of the book, sequencing. By the time I send the file off to the printer, I’ll have gone over it about twenty times or so. That’s not an exaggeration. With Copy/Body, the biggest issue was really sequencing and uniformity when it came down to things like capitalization or caesurae. I’m now working on Cynthia Jones’ new chapbook, The World Sucks, But Some Things Don’t, and that’s a bit more involved. She’s a strong performance poet, so I’ve had to come up with more dynamic ways of presenting her work on the page that represent her delivery on stage. She handed me a pretty hefty manuscript and all of the poems fit nicely together, but I’ll have to push my own sentimentality aside in order to cut it down to a chapbook-length collection. With Maris McLamoureary’s DICTIONNAIRE INFERNAL, Chris and Mark put together a pretty solid manuscript. There wasn’t much for me to do aside from sequencing the poems and making their punctuation styles uniform -- for instance, Chris will use two spaces after a period, while Mark will use one. I can pretty much tell you which of the two make what kinds of typos. Mark whips out Middle English or some arcane 17th Century French words that traditionally will have four different spellings amid modern references to Star Wars or Dungeons & Dragons, so I’ve had to shoot him text messages while working on that manuscript to see what he prefers. And that’s one of the things I love most about that book. 7 – How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs? For the past two chaps, we’ve done a run of 125 each, for the first editions. For the Maris run, it’ll probably be more like 200, since there are two authors who live in two different states and therefore have twice as many readers. I use Fireball Printing, a local Philly print shop, to handle all the printing and assembly. They’ve done such amazing work and are so accommodating. They really go above and beyond and print a high-quality chapbook. As far as distribution goes, anyone can order through Empty Set’s website, emptysetpress.com. If any bulk or international orders come in, I ask that you shoot us an email, rather than the online shop. We ship through the US Post Office, so shipping charges on those kinds of orders vary. Makes the paperwork easier on both ends. One thing we’ll be doing starting with the Maris book is using SPD, which will make shipping internationally way more convenient and affordable. 8 – How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks? Up to this point, I’ve been the only one editing and handling layout. The experience has been great, but as we get busier, I imagine I’ll be turning to other to help out with that. It’s been pretty easy keeping true to the author's’ voice and vision with a single editor. However, it’s definitely time consuming along with all of the other things I’ve got going on, communitywise. After Dictionnaire Infernal and The World Sucks…, I’m moving on to three more manuscripts from Patrick Blagrave, Phil Mittereder, and a book of short stories by Christine Jones. There is no shortage of poets and editors in Philadelphia, that’s for certain. 9– How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing? I’ve definitely been experimenting a lot with form lately. I’m interested in how the line interacts with the page -- how the page forces the line, how they transition from one to the next. Lately, I’ve been drawn to very minimalist poetry, with more blank white space than poem. So that is a recent development. On the other hand, I’m knee-deep in writing a series of Hexagram poems, which happen to be dense blocks of text between thick margins. One of the greatest pleasures in writing, for me, is experiencing the mode and form dictate the language of a piece of literature and how that manifests into the physical object of a book. 10– How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant? HEROINes was published under Empty Set Press, but that was more or less just to get it off the ground. I may or may not do that again. With future manuscripts, I’ll shop those around. If I had my way, writers would all run presses and publish each other. Of course, it all depends on the manuscript, really. I’d probably consider it on a project-to-project basis. One can say there is a certain degree of vanity and narcissism in publishing your own work, but then again the same can be said to expect someone else to publish you; there is a sense of validation that comes along with it. I think a bit of narcissism is necessary in the business of any art, and if an artist can have complete creative control over their work, then by all means they should take it. But when it comes to community, which is vital to a life of poetry, I’d rather let someone else publish my work, if only to participate in broadening the foundation. More people benefit from that sort of relationship. So, to answer your question… I don’t know. It’s probably irrelevant. That question itself isn’t irrelevant; it should be asked and definitely explored. But any answer to it is probably irrelevant. 11– How do you see Empty Set Press evolving? Experimental poetry isn’t a style of writing. That’s a common misconception. It just means you are trying something new, seeing if it works and what you can do with it. There are writers of all styles who like to explore new ideas, so I’d like to work with writers from a variety of other scenes who are doing this sort of thing. I want to publish your harebrained hullabaloo. I want the results of your scientific research. Eventually, I’d like to publish some kind of anthology. Maybe move on to perfect-bound full-lengths. And touring. Touring is definitely in the cards for Empty Set. We’re only a few months old now, so it’s hard to say for certain, but I’d like to load up who I can into a van and take ESP on the road. There is also a plan in the works for a brick-and-mortar venue: kind of a flophouse where poets and artists can create, hang out and crash, which would double as a performance space. 12– What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration? 13– Who were your early publishing models when starting out? Chris from Ixnay Press and Shanna Compton from Bloof Books were instrumental in helping ESP become a reality. I was really into early Soft Skull releases. I grew up reading New Directions paperbacks. I love what Dalkey Archive has been doing. Green Integer, too, and their formatting is ideal. 14– How does Empty Set Press work to engage with your immediate literary community, and community at large? What journals or presses do you see Empty Set Press in dialogue with? How important do you see those dialogues, those conversations? I book readings pretty often, and I try to attend as many other readings as possible. I mean, I love going to poetry readings, but it’s also a matter of being present and active in the community, talking to people, etc. Apiary Magazine is a Philadelphia institution. They’ve been very supportive of Empty Set Press from day one. In fact, the first short story I’ve ever had published was in Apiary back in 2009, and we’ve had a close relationship ever since. Mad House Magazine is another great publication. My buddy Phil Mittereder runs Mad House and we have similar creative philosophies regarding writing. He’s in the process now of putting together a new manuscript which will be published by Empty Set soon. It’s vital for a small press to have a good relationship with other presses, magazines, reading series… Especially in poetry. The tighter the community, the stronger everyone’s output is, on the whole. 15– Do you hold regular or occasional readings or launches? How important do you see public readings and other events? I’ll book readings pretty often, whether they’re strictly Empty Set Press, or not. There are also a million great monthly reading series in the area, so we try to jump on their bills, too. As far as launches go... Yes, every chapbook release gets a launch party. I’m trying to tailor the party to suit the book itself. For the Dictionnaire Infernal launch, we’re having it at The Strange & Unusual, a local oddities parlor, and the band God Root is going to play an acoustic set. There will also be several other poets reading and a few other surprises in store at that launch, which I won’t get into here. It is shrouded in mystery for the time being. 16– How do you utilize the internet, if at all, to further your goals? Like most businesses, we do almost everything through the internet. Communication, promotion, marketing, everything. It’s 2017 -- the internet is as real as the air we breathe. I’m pretty sure Empty Set would not be as far along as it is now without the internet. At least not as fast. 17– Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for? Right now, I have several titles lined up waiting for editing and layout. So we’re not accepting any unsolicited manuscripts. At some point we’ll open up for submissions, though. I’m not interested in publishing any of the New Confessional stuff (it’s fine for what it’s worth, but there are plenty of presses that will publish that), I’m not interested in memoirs or your diary. I will never publish anything that might be described as Bukowski-esque. No bar-brawl war stories, misogyny, or other American vitriol. Absolutely no hate literature whatsoever. And no kitschy humor (you can submit that stuff to McSweeney’s, I’m sure they’ll give it a go). 18– Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special. Maryan Captan’s Copy/Body was our second release, but I see it as our first. Maryan is like my sister, and her poetry never fails to terrify me in the most tender way possible. We worked really hard on this book together and I couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. It’s actually two collections in one that meet in the center of the book; one side is Copy, and the other is Body. They have their own individual identities, but they share a certain dialogue with each other that is certainly magical. In October, the pre-orders for Maris McLamoureary’s DICTIONNAIRE INFERNAL, will be available. I’m really excited for this book to come out. Once a year, Chris McCreary and Mark Lamoureux write a poem together every day for the month of April as “Maris”. This chapbook is a collection of 24 poems, each for a specific demon. I borrowed a few style cues from an old edition of Aleister Crowley’s Book of Wisdom or Folly, as well as other esoteric/occult texts, to design the layout. Tattoo artist Kyle Fitzpatrick designed a sigil for the cover based on pentacles from The Lesser Key of Solomon. The poetry itself is a fantastic barrage of language, every line propelling you forward. After that, I’m releasing Cynthia Jones’ debut collection The World Sucks, But Some Things Don’t. Cynthia is more of a slam poet, so I’m working on getting her poems down on the page in a way that speaks on her performance. The book is essentially about trauma, and it’s various forms, so the pages are all color coded as a sort of trigger warning. Like, if you’d rather not read poems about depression, skip the pink pages; if you want to avoid poems about suicide, skim past the blue pages… Sounds like an intense read, and it is, but the best thing about it is there is this thread of hope that runs throughout the entire manuscript, the rainbow of pages, because that’s really who she is and what she’s about. 12 or 20 (small press) questions; from macalester http://ift.tt/2yMt0Eo via http://ift.tt/2gNulE5

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