DONE. And with love for Mithrigil! &hearts
Am finally finished with my grad school application for the Graduate Center at this ungodly hour! I hate hate hate hate HATE writing about myself, since it always comes out looking horridly artificial, no matter how hard I try to convey exactly who (or should that be what?) I am in all the reams of essays and interviews they put a prospective student through. But it's done and I don't have to worry about another app till the end of the month (who, me? procrastinate? never!) and I am feeling as high as a freaking KITE from happiness right now. &hearts
Also, just to show I haven't abandoned fandom completely (though oh god, I owe replies back to so many people AND there are at least 3 brill fics on my f-list that I have squeed over and owe long, detailed reviews for, hi Mi, Ace, Moony, I love you all so very much), I have a snippet of upcoming fic. It's inspired by Mithrigil's brilliant FFXII universe and especially by her latest master-work, which made me tear up and wonder what the heck Penelo was doing on the day the LOVE OF HER LIFE decided to go off and get married to some royal tart after spending six years by her side.
(You can read this lovely little ficlet to understand the exact circumstances over which she and Larsa parted in the first place...)
So, I wrote a bit of an AU fic based on her adventures after the fact. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's completely hopelessly been derailed by the inclusion of Vaan (who spends much of his time threatening to kill Larsa and being grossed out by the fact that Penelo and Larsa have had SEX in the past) and it will probably never get finished because this is actually the best of what I've written so far. But, in any case, I hope you... enjoy (if that's the word) this one.
---
She had fled and she had gone first to Ashe, who had looked at her with sad, calm, beautiful eyes and told her that men could be cruel sometimes, even out of love, and that there was no weight greater than that of a kingdom that longs for much and receives all that a ruler can bear in return. And afterwards, as soon as she had realized that even greater distance had been needed because of what lay inside her, she had flown even further south, to Balfonheim and to the finest friend she had in the world, to someone who had clung to her as tenaciously as faith and hope did now.
“I can hit him for you,” Vaan had offered her in the months before, with all the seriousness of a man offering to slay a dragon or two to please his chosen lady, and this had provoked the first laugh she had had in days and once she had started, she found that she could not stop, could not let go, that her very breath now seemed to rattle in her throat, ready to choke her as even the worst they had faced together never had.
Through the choked bouts of her laughter, he had continued on. “I will, you know,” he told her with the same quiet, seriousness that he had used on his first quest to rid the world of wrong, that same seriousness she knew enough by now to never underestimate or stop admiring. “He’s a plotter and a bastard and I can’t believe he’s throwing you out for some royal piece of you-know-what after so many years and I won’t kill him because then Ashe and Basch might just kill me… but I will hit him a lot if you want.”
Vaan was Vaan, as always, and he was as brave as ever, and as loyal as ever, and she had tightened her hands against his shoulders and buried her face in his chest and known that she could not have found a better friend in all the world if she had traveled to the ends of the earth. And though she had said not a word about that, could not trust herself to speak without shaming herself, he had held her afterwards, traced the curve of her back with shaky hands and let her sleep against him that first night she had come running to him, as they had done when they were first orphaned and known that there was little else left to them in the world.
In the morning, he had bought her breakfast and then held out a wastebasket when she threw it back up right afterwards.
“I will, if you want me to,” he said, after she had stopped heaving her heart out, and anyone else might have not even recognized him at that moment, Vaan Ratsbane, sky-pirate of strange pleasures, with tears in his eyes, holding a woman so tenderly when she was not even his own. “He deserves it almost much as his brother did, for what he’s doing to you.”
“Maybe,“ she finally tells him, and what could almost be a smile feels utterly foreign on her face right now. “But then you’d just get tossed into the nearest dungeon and I think my child could probably use a good godfather about six months from now.”
The look of shock that had come over him had almost-- almost-- made everything that had come before worthwhile.
“Oh.” Vaan had said. Then-- “Oh! You mean he-- and you-- you two actually-- oh my god!” And before she could roll her aching eyes and ask him what he had thought she and Larsa had spent most of their nights together doing-- Playing board games? Waxing nostalgic about all those times they had verbally abused him together?-- Vaan had picked her up and twirled her around and she found herself dancing with him again, as they had done far before, back when their families had still been alive and she had bribed him with enough star-fruit to guarantee a turn or two out of her reluctant partner. They had danced gleefully around the bedroom he had placed her in, hips bumping up against maps and charts and table tops with wild abandon, only stopping once he realized that he might be hurting her (wrong) or that her morning sickness hadn’t quite receded yet (right.)
“I still want to hurt him a lot,” he told her, quietly, his own eyes looking more pale and faded in the light as the last strains of the past once again left their side. “But if you’re not willing to do that-- though I bet I could make it look like an accident if I really tried-- I can at least be… be your baby’s real father now.”
“All right, first of all,” she had replied, as practical as ever, effortlessly slipping into the role of best friend and confidant that she had spent so much of her life carving out and that she had missed with a desperation she had not even realized till now, “you’re not clever enough to pull off “accidentally” assassinating anyone. Did you or did you not forget that time you tried to go around pretending to be Larsa? You’re a lot of great things, Vaan, but stealthy is not one of them. And second--”
And second, no one would ever believe that she had abandoned Larsa for another, though even months before she would never have believed he was capable of doing the same to her. No one would believe she would have left his arms for those of anyone else, let alone Larsa himself. And there were just some things about Larsa that, in all the years she had known him, from a boy of 12 to a man of 24, that she knew she had never quite understood, and now she never would have time to learn more about. But she knew just as well as she knew her own heart that if he knew she was pregnant-- if he knew she was carrying his child-- he’d come for her.
He would come and he would woo her back and she did not know if she would have the strength to refuse him once again.
Saying no the first time around had broken her heart; she did not want to know what refusing a second time might wrench out of her.
In the end, she had never finished saying what the second thing was. Afterwards, Vaan had just smoothed out her unkempt hair with one rough, calloused hand and said not another word about Larsa afterwards.
They had talked about the child for the rest of the time she had stayed in Balfonheim, Vaan gleefully suggesting names out of the blue
(“How about we name it Hashmal if it’s a boy? That sounds pretty tough, right?”
“Vaan. Please. I am not naming any child of mine after hell-spawn. Between me and-- you, I think we’ve racked up enough crazed-monster-hunting karma.”)
and loading her with baby presents
(to this day, she still didn’t understand where on earth he could have found a miniature replica of the Strahl small enough to fit a baby‘s hand, though she had turned it in her own afterwards and cried until he had sheepishly rubbed his nose and told her he hadn‘t realized it was that bad)
until it was time for her to leave and fly further south, out of the eyes of any one
(only one)
who might want to track her.
“I’m going to murder Larsa the next time I see him,” he had promised her, right before she left, and she had kissed his silly forehead and made him promise that he’d be a free man (“C’mon, how many Archadian prisons have I broken out of already? They’re not really good at holding the best damn sky pirate alive“) when it was time for him to visit her.
“How will I know, if you’re going to go into hiding?” he had asked her, his hands preoccupied with measuring out her (still flat at the time, damn it) waist until she had shooed him away.
“I‘ll find a way,” she had told him, cheerily, and waved and waved and waved at him afterwards until he was nothing more than a speck of the best damn sky-pirate alive
(sorry, Baltheir, you were wonderful, but the apprentice succeeds the master at last)
…on the ground as the air-ship carrying her away lifted above and away.
---
I seriously don't know if this will ever be finished, since I've got, um, 3,000 other projects (both in real life AND for fandom) and because I tend to get the shakes when I look at Mithrigil's writing (oh baby, why are you so good to fandom? how do you turn out so much quality fic in so little time?!) and then compare it to mine. But, anyway, there it is. Here's hoping it does not completely disgrace me now.
AND, if you've been wondering what Penelo's bebe might come out looking like, you could compare him to pictures of my own new born nephew...
That's his grand-ma with him in the last picture. His name is Zheen (sp?) and he peed on me the last time I held him so I'm not sure how fond he is of me but. Regardless. He is adorable!
Also, just to show I haven't abandoned fandom completely (though oh god, I owe replies back to so many people AND there are at least 3 brill fics on my f-list that I have squeed over and owe long, detailed reviews for, hi Mi, Ace, Moony, I love you all so very much), I have a snippet of upcoming fic. It's inspired by Mithrigil's brilliant FFXII universe and especially by her latest master-work, which made me tear up and wonder what the heck Penelo was doing on the day the LOVE OF HER LIFE decided to go off and get married to some royal tart after spending six years by her side.
(You can read this lovely little ficlet to understand the exact circumstances over which she and Larsa parted in the first place...)
So, I wrote a bit of an AU fic based on her adventures after the fact. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's completely hopelessly been derailed by the inclusion of Vaan (who spends much of his time threatening to kill Larsa and being grossed out by the fact that Penelo and Larsa have had SEX in the past) and it will probably never get finished because this is actually the best of what I've written so far. But, in any case, I hope you... enjoy (if that's the word) this one.
---
She had fled and she had gone first to Ashe, who had looked at her with sad, calm, beautiful eyes and told her that men could be cruel sometimes, even out of love, and that there was no weight greater than that of a kingdom that longs for much and receives all that a ruler can bear in return. And afterwards, as soon as she had realized that even greater distance had been needed because of what lay inside her, she had flown even further south, to Balfonheim and to the finest friend she had in the world, to someone who had clung to her as tenaciously as faith and hope did now.
“I can hit him for you,” Vaan had offered her in the months before, with all the seriousness of a man offering to slay a dragon or two to please his chosen lady, and this had provoked the first laugh she had had in days and once she had started, she found that she could not stop, could not let go, that her very breath now seemed to rattle in her throat, ready to choke her as even the worst they had faced together never had.
Through the choked bouts of her laughter, he had continued on. “I will, you know,” he told her with the same quiet, seriousness that he had used on his first quest to rid the world of wrong, that same seriousness she knew enough by now to never underestimate or stop admiring. “He’s a plotter and a bastard and I can’t believe he’s throwing you out for some royal piece of you-know-what after so many years and I won’t kill him because then Ashe and Basch might just kill me… but I will hit him a lot if you want.”
Vaan was Vaan, as always, and he was as brave as ever, and as loyal as ever, and she had tightened her hands against his shoulders and buried her face in his chest and known that she could not have found a better friend in all the world if she had traveled to the ends of the earth. And though she had said not a word about that, could not trust herself to speak without shaming herself, he had held her afterwards, traced the curve of her back with shaky hands and let her sleep against him that first night she had come running to him, as they had done when they were first orphaned and known that there was little else left to them in the world.
In the morning, he had bought her breakfast and then held out a wastebasket when she threw it back up right afterwards.
“I will, if you want me to,” he said, after she had stopped heaving her heart out, and anyone else might have not even recognized him at that moment, Vaan Ratsbane, sky-pirate of strange pleasures, with tears in his eyes, holding a woman so tenderly when she was not even his own. “He deserves it almost much as his brother did, for what he’s doing to you.”
“Maybe,“ she finally tells him, and what could almost be a smile feels utterly foreign on her face right now. “But then you’d just get tossed into the nearest dungeon and I think my child could probably use a good godfather about six months from now.”
The look of shock that had come over him had almost-- almost-- made everything that had come before worthwhile.
“Oh.” Vaan had said. Then-- “Oh! You mean he-- and you-- you two actually-- oh my god!” And before she could roll her aching eyes and ask him what he had thought she and Larsa had spent most of their nights together doing-- Playing board games? Waxing nostalgic about all those times they had verbally abused him together?-- Vaan had picked her up and twirled her around and she found herself dancing with him again, as they had done far before, back when their families had still been alive and she had bribed him with enough star-fruit to guarantee a turn or two out of her reluctant partner. They had danced gleefully around the bedroom he had placed her in, hips bumping up against maps and charts and table tops with wild abandon, only stopping once he realized that he might be hurting her (wrong) or that her morning sickness hadn’t quite receded yet (right.)
“I still want to hurt him a lot,” he told her, quietly, his own eyes looking more pale and faded in the light as the last strains of the past once again left their side. “But if you’re not willing to do that-- though I bet I could make it look like an accident if I really tried-- I can at least be… be your baby’s real father now.”
“All right, first of all,” she had replied, as practical as ever, effortlessly slipping into the role of best friend and confidant that she had spent so much of her life carving out and that she had missed with a desperation she had not even realized till now, “you’re not clever enough to pull off “accidentally” assassinating anyone. Did you or did you not forget that time you tried to go around pretending to be Larsa? You’re a lot of great things, Vaan, but stealthy is not one of them. And second--”
And second, no one would ever believe that she had abandoned Larsa for another, though even months before she would never have believed he was capable of doing the same to her. No one would believe she would have left his arms for those of anyone else, let alone Larsa himself. And there were just some things about Larsa that, in all the years she had known him, from a boy of 12 to a man of 24, that she knew she had never quite understood, and now she never would have time to learn more about. But she knew just as well as she knew her own heart that if he knew she was pregnant-- if he knew she was carrying his child-- he’d come for her.
He would come and he would woo her back and she did not know if she would have the strength to refuse him once again.
Saying no the first time around had broken her heart; she did not want to know what refusing a second time might wrench out of her.
In the end, she had never finished saying what the second thing was. Afterwards, Vaan had just smoothed out her unkempt hair with one rough, calloused hand and said not another word about Larsa afterwards.
They had talked about the child for the rest of the time she had stayed in Balfonheim, Vaan gleefully suggesting names out of the blue
(“How about we name it Hashmal if it’s a boy? That sounds pretty tough, right?”
“Vaan. Please. I am not naming any child of mine after hell-spawn. Between me and-- you, I think we’ve racked up enough crazed-monster-hunting karma.”)
and loading her with baby presents
(to this day, she still didn’t understand where on earth he could have found a miniature replica of the Strahl small enough to fit a baby‘s hand, though she had turned it in her own afterwards and cried until he had sheepishly rubbed his nose and told her he hadn‘t realized it was that bad)
until it was time for her to leave and fly further south, out of the eyes of any one
(only one)
who might want to track her.
“I’m going to murder Larsa the next time I see him,” he had promised her, right before she left, and she had kissed his silly forehead and made him promise that he’d be a free man (“C’mon, how many Archadian prisons have I broken out of already? They’re not really good at holding the best damn sky pirate alive“) when it was time for him to visit her.
“How will I know, if you’re going to go into hiding?” he had asked her, his hands preoccupied with measuring out her (still flat at the time, damn it) waist until she had shooed him away.
“I‘ll find a way,” she had told him, cheerily, and waved and waved and waved at him afterwards until he was nothing more than a speck of the best damn sky-pirate alive
(sorry, Baltheir, you were wonderful, but the apprentice succeeds the master at last)
…on the ground as the air-ship carrying her away lifted above and away.
---
I seriously don't know if this will ever be finished, since I've got, um, 3,000 other projects (both in real life AND for fandom) and because I tend to get the shakes when I look at Mithrigil's writing (oh baby, why are you so good to fandom? how do you turn out so much quality fic in so little time?!) and then compare it to mine. But, anyway, there it is. Here's hoping it does not completely disgrace me now.
AND, if you've been wondering what Penelo's bebe might come out looking like, you could compare him to pictures of my own new born nephew...
That's his grand-ma with him in the last picture. His name is Zheen (sp?) and he peed on me the last time I held him so I'm not sure how fond he is of me but. Regardless. He is adorable!