#and still the thought of losing you hurts so much that I’d rather just concede to whatever you want

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[cottonraincoat]

WIP wednesday

happy aro awareness week! loveless quinlan is a gremlin, and I can only say that this version of aro!obi is very dear to me

I had hoped to share the story by the end of the week, but that is looking quite unlikely, so here's what I got) (the bigger story will be much less sad as well)

---

For all that he found the holodramas frivolous and vain, thought himself steadfast and unwavering in his march towards the goal, the dream of becoming a Jedi Knight— he hadn’t realized just how much he was inclined to give his heart away. 

Melida/Daan was the first time. And even that was only a variation on the theme of his reaching towards Qui-Gon, a Master that, in spite of everything, showed so little love, and being needed. 

This was why Obi-Wan wanted another loose canon to check himself against, knowing what he by himself was susceptible to. It’s been many years and many Love Days of eyerolls, but Obi-Wan could not shake this damning knowledge of himself. That he loved, and loved deeply. And he couldn’t say why. In a way the rest of the world and their flashy Love Day adverts thought inconsequential, or unseemly to talk about.

He asked Quinlan about it, only once. Love Day, when he was seventeen.

Whose entire answer consisted of a grimace, along with “it gives me the hives, Obes. This whole love thing.” 

Which Obi-Wan was glad to hear, because really, it too ‘gave him the hives’. But ‘the hives’ simply wasn’t all of it. 

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s creepy.” Quinlan gestured wildly. “It makes people so fucking sad, you know what I mean? It makes them lose their minds.” 

Obi-Wan, who’d already known by them how much sadness his heart was made of, went quiet. 

Quinlan went on. 

“I mean, sure, they’re happy sometimes, but you’ve never touched a ring or a locket and seen what they carry— people become obsessed— possessed, even. It turns them into someone they don’t recognize, and I swear sometimes I’d rather touch a Sith holocron than stare at the way it makes them grieve. You’d think the world ended. But no, it’s just love.” 

Obi-Wan, who’d felt like he’d lost his Master when Qui-Gon lost Tahl, lowered his head further still. 

“Maybe it’s just me,” Quinlan conceded. “I’m always spending time with the evidence of how it twisted and hurt them. It’s not the happy endings that needed investigating. But still…” Quinlan trailed off, and at the look on his friend’s face, shut up completely. “Uh, Obes, you’re alright there?”

“It’s fine.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, really. Forget I asked.” 

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain

A/n finally writing that Kaz Brekker x reader angsty-fluff where the reader is all sunshine-y and Kaz is dramatic as always lol 

Might make this a blurb series bc i like this dynamic so much lol

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y reader 

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Kaz has a conversation with the reader (who’s a runaway princess) about what happens to people who stay near him. 

-- 

He once said that he didn��t believe in Saints. A moment later he conceded that perhaps they existed in order to appease Inej, but he was quick to tact on that if Saints existed they didn’t care about him. Inej and I had exchanged a look, she pleaded with me in silence to let him be. I opened my mouth despite the look in her eyes, but he had walked away before I could get any words out. 

He believes that the Saints don’t care about him, but as soon as he was dragged in by Jesper, bleeding and more broken than usual, it had started to rain. The rain is a promise. The rain is a sign that he will wake up. 

I tap a finger against the forgotten book on my lap, ignoring the dried blood I’ve been too anxious to wash off. When Kaz wakes up he’ll either scold me or partially tease me for waiting here by his bedside. The rain continues, cascading down invisible hope. 

“Save your prayers, even for you the Saints won’t regard me.” Kaz. His voice is raspier than it should be and his slight condescension is blighted by the tired flatness of it. But it’s him. He’s speaking. 

I tear my gaze away from the window, almost forgetting to tamper down my relief before finally looking at him. I haven’t known him long enough to see him in any level of defeat, but I’ve heard enough stories. The fictional exaggeration of those that fear him have made him seem so immortal. Some part of me must have internalized that because to see him like this, to see him so human is too intimate. 

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Something about Kaz always leaves me feeling challenged, like each comment is some kind of dare. I adjust my posture. “I wasn’t praying because I knew you’d be okay.” 

His expression is unchanging. “So much faith in me?” 

There’s a soft edge to his words, an attempt to twist some kind of awkward denial out of me. Some days I don’t think Kaz enjoys anything and then other days I think he enjoys any misstep in my words. 

I shrug, pushing down the flood of relief still attempting to crawl out of my chest. “You’re always okay.” I scratch the back of my wrist idly. “It seems the safe bet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been taking gambling advice from Jesper.” 

I half roll my eyes. “No--Jesper and I don’t play together anymore.” I let out an easy sigh. “Last time I beat him he bordered on a hissy fit.” There’s the slightest hint of upturning at the corners of his lips. “I should go tell Jesper and Inej you’re awake.” 

“I think you should change out of that dress first.”

He was more likable when I thought he might die at any second. “Wow--Kaz Brekker the professional stylist.” He has no right to judge the formal gown I’m in. Yes, my outfit is ridiculous, but I’m only wearing it because the Crows needed someone they knew at a merchant’s party for a part of some scheme they wouldn’t share the details of with me. “Yes, I’m aware that this dress is more tulle than anything else, but I’m only wearing it because I was helping you.” 

I wait for some retort about how he could have managed without my assistance or some kind of comment about how I didn’t need such a large dress to flirt and distract the guards as the Crows snuck into the merchant’s private office. “You fit in there more than you said you would.” 

From anyone else, I’d consider this an insult. “I was making an effort for the sake of your plans.” 

“I saw you before I went into the office, you knew the dances, the man took your hand.” 

That’s the weirdest observation I’ve ever witnessed someone reflect on. “That’s how those dances tend to work.” I don’t hide the confusion in my expression. “How much blood did you lose?” 

Kaz’s piercing gaze drops to the blanket on his lap. “Not a concerning amount.”

“Why do I feel like we have different definitions of ‘concerning’?” 

His eyes flit upwards, a partial smirk playing at his lips. “We define a lot of things differently.” He pauses, “You defined the life you slipped into so easily tonight as something you could never do.” 

“I can’t.” What is his problem? “One dance is different than an eternity of planning teas and marrying some man who only keeps me so I can rear his children.” 

“You’d end up marrying someone who could give you things.”

He better not be implying I should be having children. I’m seriously starting to hope he did lose a significant amount of blood because that would be some kind of explanation. “I don’t want anyone to be giving me children right now, but I guess your concern is ni--”

“No, no,” he screws his eyes shut for a long second, “You know what I meant.” I stay silent. “You’re technically a princess, y/n, you could have more than the Barrel.” There’s an odd silence as he pauses. “Someone like you should have more than the Barrel.” 

He speaks like his word is law. That’s the one habit of his I can never seem to forgive. Is Kaz telling me to go home? To go back to a mother who dreams of marrying me off and a father with a temper that often leads to violence? He may be Dirtyhands, but he is no one to tell me who to go back to. Not after I risked my anonymity to get him into that merchant’s office. 

I shut my book and stand in one swift motion. “I’m going to tell Jesper and Inej that you’re awake.”

“Y/n.” I ignore him. “Y/n.” Again, I ignore him, approaching the doorway. The rustling of sheets leaves me frozen, hand on the doorknob. “Y/n.” 

Without thinking, I turn on my heels while glaring. There’s no way he’s proud enough to have climbed out of bed wi--and he’s standing. Standing almost directly behind me. 

“Kaz Brekker, I am going to say this one time and one time only.” I keep my words measured and my tone flat. No room for argument. “You just had nine stitches put in near your heart, get your ass back in bed before that is no longer your only injury.” 

He pauses, lips pressed together into a tight white line. And then his mouth opens, pried open by an oddly light sound. Did he just--Did Kaz Brekker just laugh? He doesn’t laugh. I didn’t think he was physically capable, and now he laughs while I’m threatening him? I should hit him on principle alone and damn the consequences. 

“Did you--” I’m gaping at him with a rage I am not accustomed to. “Did you just laugh?” 

Kaz is quick to shut his mouth. “You did swear you’d get me to laugh one day.” 

Saints--now he chooses to have some kind of sense of humor. “Not while I was threatening you for being an idiot after saying my lineage means that I’m meant to be trapped in the life I desire least.” 

“I didn’t say that.” I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve more than this because of your family, you deserve more than this because--” He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. “Do you remember what happened the day we met?” 

He had wanted to return me to my father for the money. I had managed to convince him I could be more useful working for him without profit. The first day had been tense, I had sworn to myself that I would hate him forever. 

“I remember really hating you.” I remember thinking him beautiful despite his darkness. “I remember it started raining on our way here.” 

“You had a hood, but you pushed it off your head to feel the rain.” I don’t remember that because indulging in the rain is instinctual to me. “You looked at the rain, and you smiled--and then you saw a woman with a child and you took off your hood and gave it to them.” 

“What does that have to d--” 

“Watching that felt like intruding on an intimate moment I had no business knowing about, but it wasn’t that to you. That moment was nothing to you because that moment was who you are.” 

I don’t understand what he sees in something I can barely remember. “Kaz, what does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’m the monster that children believe live under their beds, I’m the bastard of the Barrel, I’m someone who gets blood on everything near them.” His gaze is harsher than I’ve ever seen it as he focuses on the dried blood splotched across my hands and arms. “And then I can’t even help you wash it off.” 

Those last words are the closest to broken I’ve ever heard him sound. “Kaz--”

“And you’re the girl who looks at the rain like it’s a gift from the Saints.” 

Is he implying what I think he’s implying? Even if I believed him such a source of evil, even if I felt like touch mattered that much--why would he care? I keep the much more frightening implication at bay as I exhale. Clarity will only make this conversation worse. “That doesn’t matter.” The words leave me in a low whisper. 

I stare at the ground until his silence is something I can no longer bear. Looking up as cautiously as possible, I take in his expression. I’ve never seen him look so--so enraged. “It doesn’t matter?!” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s practically seething. “I’ve viewed your presence here as temporary since you first came and despite that, when I saw you there…” The breath he lets out is practically pained. “When I saw what your life is meant to be--I didn’t want you to go.” 

The admission breaks something hard in my chest. “I never wanted to go.” My eyeline drops to the ground. “I didn’t want to go when you were trying to make me, I didn’t want to go when it was only for that evening.” I swallow a lump of emotion restricting my throat. “When you were bleeding out and Jesper had to carry you back here I let myself imagine what it’d be like if you died. And it hurt. It hurt so badly I asked myself if I would rather never know you than feel that pain.” 

“Would you?” His voice has gone hollow. 

I finally look up again. “No.” That word leaves me more bare than any physical touch ever could. 

“I stain everything that stays with me,” his voice has seamlessly shifted back to a tone meant for business, “Me wanting you to stay is more than enough reason for you to leave.”

My chest aches as emotions I’ll never be able to place a name to pound against my chest. “I’m a princess that ran away from her family and tried to befriend her kidnapper--you can’t possibly be narcissistic enough to believe that you’re what’s corrupted me.” 

“Y/n,” his voice is gravely again, the way it was when he first woke up. 

“No. What could you possibly think I’d say to that?” He’s insane--I’m not even sure I understand what he’s implying. “You know I’ll never agree with what you’re saying, so I have no idea what kind of reaction you’re looking for.”

“Maybe a genuine one.” 

The comment is so frustrating I can’t help but roll my eyes. The irony of Kaz Brekker asking for a genuine reaction to an emotionally heavy comment is almost laughable. “My genuine reaction is that you’re acting like an idiot because I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but calling someone an idiot after they’ve been stabbed in the chest is a little insensitive so I can’t give you my genuine reaction.”

Kaz half-scoffs, “You don’t agree? Y/n--are you hearing me!? I want--I want you to stay.” Even angry, the admission warms me. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “More than that I want--” 

“What?” 

He shakes his head once. “I want something that can never be because I can’t give what needs to be given to get it.” 

“Kaz, if it involves me staying you don’t need to give anything for that because I don’t want to go.” 

“I-want-you-to-stay-with-me.” The admission is pried from him by some invisible force. He speaks so fiercely the sentence comes out as one angry word. 

He speaks so quickly a part of me is convinced that I misheard him. I watch him as he moves back to the bed, sitting down in a way so resigned I wonder if I blurted something out on instinct. 

“Kaz,” this is embarrassing, “I wanted to stay with you even when I wanted to hate you.”

I take in his measured expression, the only thing implying any kind of reaction is the way his eyebrows draw together. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand what that means.” 

“Why? Because you’re convinced you’ll ruin me?” 

“Y/n, we’d be together with a wall between us, keeping us from ever touching.” 

“I will tolerate any amount of damage you’re so convinced staying with you will bring, I will stay with you and never touch you and think nothing of it--but I will not stay with you just to stand in front of a wall.” I let out a tired breath. “I will stay with you but my one condition will be that you have to let me know you.” 

Kaz’s intense gaze wavers. “The first thing you’ll know is that me allowing you to stay is a testament to my greed.” 

I give him a sharp look, “It’s not greed if I want to be here.” 

He half sighs, leaning against a pillow as he turns to look out the window. “It’s raining,” he muses, “The Saints must have done that for you.” 

The sentiment is so soft my heart feels like it’s constricting. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Saints.” 

“If they exist, they do so for people like you.” 

I push past the emotion in my chest as I move to sit in the same chair I was in earlier. “I was honest when I said I didn’t pray for you.” I scratch the back of my arm, a coldness passing over me. “I didn’t pray because I knew you would be okay because you had to be.” 

“They wouldn’t have saved me,” he mumbles, “Or maybe they would have for you.” 

I shake my head once, staring at the rain with more fascination than before. 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship

[makeste]

hello! I’ve seen some debate as to whether the 2nd meant allies in general would bolster izuku and although I do think that’s true (ofc any sort of support system that he lets himself rely on would bolster him) I feel like if that was what was meant it would’ve been made clearer? maybe instead of just katsuki showing up, the final panel would’ve had several students burst onto the scene. what are your thoughts?

agreed. and incidentally this is another big reason why it's not Toga. if it was her then Horikoshi wouldn't have devoted any time to OFA II's little hype speech. it just makes it kind of pointless, unless this whole time we've been sleeping on Toga's hidden ability to bolster Deku lmao.

but anyways, yeah. and I mean, Two's commentary here is really just acknowledgement of something we've long since known already. Kacchan is the one who will ultimately be able to reach Deku. we don't actually need a piece of dialogue to tell us this, because the manga has been showing it to us since day one. his resume is fucking stacked. I mean, let's go through it.

he is mean.

I love this you guys. I honest to god love it. because the thing is, if you ask anyone what Kacchan's absolute worst quality is, this would be the obvious answer, right? "he's an asshole" lmao.

but that's exactly what we need right now!! someone who's not afraid to tell it like it is, and won't try to sugarcoat things. someone who's not afraid to argue back and risk hurting someone's feelings. because right now Deku is walking all over anyone who can't do that. All Might tries to feed him lunch and he's like "nah I'm good, anyways bye." Endeavor tries to tell him to rest and he's all "I'm fine" and fucking hangs up the phone. nuh uh. enough of that. what we need is someone who will call him out on his shit. "hah!? don't tell me you're fine when it's obvious to anyone you can barely stand on your own two feet, dumbass."

he is stubborn.

kind of ties into the other thing, but yeah. right now we need a bullheaded asshole who won't take no for an answer if he thinks he's right. good luck trying to sweet talk your way out of this one, Deku.

he understands the situation.

this one is important, because in fairness, simply standing in front of Deku and saying "you shall not pass" isn't gonna be enough to actually accomplish anything here. ultimately he's going to have to be able to reason with Deku too. and so in that respect, it certainly doesn't hurt that Kacchan is someone who understands the OFA situation as well as anyone, and has always had clear judgment about it. he understands the threat of AFO ("they all died young"), and he understands the burden of All Might's legacy. he knows what Deku is dealing with, and that's going to give him an edge when it comes to finding that elusive-yet-critical talk no jutsu knockout blow.

he's been where Deku is now.

Kacchan knows a thing or two about burdens. granted, they've more often than not been ones that he's put on himself, but that didn't make them any less heavy. Deku right now is struggling not just with his feelings of responsibility, but also with all of the misplaced guilt that's feeding into it. AFO is targeting him. if innocent people get caught in the crossfire then that's on him. every minute that AFO stays out there getting stronger and causing more chaos is all on him, because he hasn't defeated him yet. and so on and so forth.

and Katsuki knows what that's like. because he blamed himself for what happened to All Might. that feeling of "if I'd only been stronger" is one that he's intimately acquainted with. that feeling of blaming yourself, of not being able to look someone you care about in the eye because you think it's your fault they got hurt. this is something he knows. this is a road he's already been down. and so if Deku tries to pull any "you don't understand" nonsense, Kacchan is uniquely situated to immediately shoot that shit right down.

he's immune to low blows.

lol I keep thinking of all the different counterarguments that Deku could make, and all the different ways in which Kacchan is perfectly equipped to handle them. anyway, so this particular thing is a very recent development, but very fortunately timed. so as we all know, Kacchan was a first class dick to Deku during their childhood. something which Deku, with his abnormally kind and forgiving nature, has never once confronted Kacchan about, even though he would have absolutely had the right. but anyway, so here's the thing though -- right now I fully believe that Deku can and will do or say just about anything in order to get Kacchan and the others to leave. and that includes hurting them in order to save them. so it would not surprise me at all if Deku goes as far as to throw Katsuki's old, cruel, selfish behavior back in his face as part of a last-ditch effort to get him to back down. desperate times and all that.

and maybe there was a time when that actually would have worked. but here's the other thing -- we know something Deku doesn't. namely, that Kacchan has recently leveled up emotionally and has finally unlocked his atonement quest. he finally understands that it's not all about him. which means that it doesn't matter even if Deku pulls out the big guns. he may hurt his feelings, but he's not going to scare him off, because Kacchan's focus right now is on atonement, not forgiveness. he's not doing this for a pat on the head. he's doing it because it's the right thing to do. and no amount of insults will be able to sway him from that.

he learned from the best.

I said this in another post a couple of weeks back, but yeah. Angsty Nomad Deku has nothing on early Kacchan in terms of pushing people away. early Kacchan was the motherfucking king of pushing peeps away. if you so much as LOOKED at this kid in such a way that SUGGESTED you might even be THINKING about possibly trying to save him, he would straight up throw a ten-year hissy fit lmao. Deku's "All Might, you don't have to tag along anymore"s ain't got SHIT on all of Kacchan's "STAY BACK DEKU"s and "I'D RATHER LOSE!!!"s and "OMFG HOW DARE YOU BE THE ONLY PERSON TO TRY TO SAVE ME FROM THIS RAMPAGING SLUDGE MAN WHO'S ABOUT TO SUFFOCATE ME TO DEATH"s. Kacchan is the undisputed goat here lol.

but anyway, so what this means is that he has accumulated a whole HOST of iconic lines and fateful parallels which he can throw back in Deku's face at a moment's notice. and the best part is that he learned it all from THIS EXACT MOTHERFUCKER, RIGHT HERE. what is Deku even gonna do!! argue against his own past actions?? "well, uh, I guess now that you mention it I should have just sat back and watched you die all those times" OH REALLY?? YOU DON'T SAY. THAT SOUNDS SO CONVINCING.

and so guess what, Deku -- if Kacchan was worth saving, then you're worth saving too. it's an ironclad argument. congratulations son you played yourself.

he always wins.

okay so real talk, we all know that what's really driving Deku right now is his fear of losing people. he's helpless against that. he saw Kacchan get stabbed right before his eyes and it fucked him up. he saw all these other people getting hurt and killed because he couldn't save them, and he straight up could not deal with those emotions at all. he's scared. he's more afraid of that happening again than of anything else. and AFO knows that, and that's why he's resorted to his current tactics, which have isolated Deku even further and caused him to push even All Might away.

what Deku is missing right now, and what he needs to have restored, is trust. trust is the antidote to fear. and when you're as scared as Deku is, it takes an extraordinary amount of assurance in order to ease those fears. basically you don't want to place your faith in anything less than an absolutely sure thing.

but Kacchan is exactly that. this is the exact type of situation that Kacchan's "aiming for the top" overkill confidence was made for. he's the one who never loses!! the hero who's going to surpass all other heroes!! Deku inherited All Might's compassion, but Kacchan inherited his determination. Kacchan is someone who brings reassurance. his confidence is unwavering. and in the end, I think it will be strong enough to pull even Deku back out from the darkness.

he is strong.

Kacchan is Deku's rival in every sense of the word, and I fully believe he's capable of matching him step for step even now. and so Deku can try to push him away, but Kacchan is capable of withstanding that force and staying his ground. Deku can try to run, but Kacchan still has him matched for speed. and as a last resort, Deku can even try to defeat him -- but Kacchan won't ever concede to defeat.

and all of this ties back into what I was saying about trust. because Kacchan is strong. strong enough not to die. strong enough to live. strong enough to not make others worry about him. and that's what Deku so desperately needs right now in order to finally let go of his fears. Deku needs someone who can get him to trust in others again, and to do that, he has to be able to trust in their strength.

and last but not least...

he has a secret weapon up his sleeve.

several, as a matter of fact. his hero name reveal. his apology, if he chooses to give it now (though I could see him waiting for a more sincere moment, rather than whipping it out now when it could be misconstrued as a manipulation tactic). but perhaps most importantly...

never underestimate the power of an iconic role reversal. because that's what I'm getting at here, if it wasn't clear lol. this probably would have worked better if I had a picture of him actually reaching out to Deku. but I mean, that's kind of the point lol. I don't have one because he hasn't done it yet. BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE. good luck withstanding that, Deku.

so yeah. look at all that. he really is a one-man Deku-saving army. which is not to say that the other kids won't have a part to play as well, or that it's not important for them to be there, because it is. but as far as the lead role goes, it's Kacchan. like that astronaut meme guy says. always has been.

oh and as a bonus he was smart enough to finally leave the mask at home today lol. LET DEKU SEE THE SINCERITY IN YOUR EYES. YESSSSSSS.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song." 

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention. 

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard." 

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night." 

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked. 

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking." 

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band." 

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right." 

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid. 

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring. 

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!" 

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!" 

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation. 

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover. 

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?" 

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me." 

"What does it look like?" You asked. 

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one." 

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told." 

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it." 

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned? 

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back. 

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine 

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner. 

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table. 

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this." 

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care." 

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-" 

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor. 

"It was a gift." He finished anyway. 

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head. 

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much." 

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered. 

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering." 

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me." 

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.” 

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage. 

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help? 

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition. 

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly. 

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack. 

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975 

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile. 

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you. 

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?" 

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy." 

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music. 

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush. 

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone." 

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans." 

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?" 

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side. 

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

[gaitwae]

"I would rather die a thousand times;" with loki please?

Warnings: argument, hurt/comfort, cringey crying, ambiguous ending.

Summary: You decided to ask Loki if the two of you could ever have a romantic relationship. Loki, who knows this question might be from some weird Midgardian infatuation instead, gets defensive.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter  @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @lokis-high-priestess @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz

Happy ending! I’m sorry for the (mostly) angst!

+-+--

The sun sank low beneath the horizon long before Loki had said a word. You were biting at your nails silently. The god was yet to make his decision. Time dragged on and on, ticking along with the clock on the mantle. The sound it made was horrendous. The sound of silence would have been worse. You wanted an answer, but it would take years and years before the two of you could reach an agreement. 

You just wanted to know if there was a possibility.

“Loki?” you whispered. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Hmm?” Loki picked up his head and faced you. He had that sad look in his eyes, again, his fingers curling nervously. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I was still thinking, Y/N, I apologize.” He pulled his hands over his knees, then back over his thighs. “You really think that he’s out there, don’t you?”

“Who?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You didn’t want to give in to his let-down — not when you still had some shred of honor left. You found your feet very appealing, suddenly. 

“That man; the ‘One,’ you’ve called him.” Loki heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He wiped his face. Your heart plummeted. Dipped. Your belly was set ablaze and your eyes felt scratchy. You knew what was coming. “Listen, I don’t know if we’d ever be… together, but I would feel much better if I knew your ‘One’ was still searching for you, too.”

“Loki,” you pleaded, “that isn’t fair.” You swallowed the tears down — if you cried now, it would show how weak you were — how much you relied on him. He would be scared off, wouldn’t he? Would he lose respect for you? Would he despise you? What would be the outcome? What would happen? “That’s not fair at all…”

“No, it isn’t,” he conceded. He turned his head away from you. You knew he couldn’t handle your tears well. His voice raised slightly as he continued, “But asking such a fragile question isn’t fair to me, is it?”

You felt the tears slip down. You wiped them away quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Loki…”

“Is it?” he snapped, causing you to jump. “Did you have to ask now, Y/N? Did you have to let your emotions get the better of you when we’re trying to escape this blasted planet?” With each word, more rage slipped into his voice, his tone, his whole manner. He was furious with you. You had upset him.

“Loki, I —” 

“Asking me to be your partner is out of the question! I would be dead first, Y/N! The situation we’re in, the pressure we’re under, I would rather die a thousand times than put our lives at risk for your silly fantasy!” He threw his hands down. You didn’t remember them flying so high. “Dying like a hero is far better than dying to protect your flimsy, mortal heart.” His chest peaked, then fell harshly. “You change so frequently; I’m surprised you even figured out that you wanted me. Perhaps it’s the thrill of danger, yes? The possibility of becoming a legend? An idol? Or is that too much glory for you? Are you hoping for rescue? To be saved like you had been taught from so young?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how; after all, you hadn’t really been on the receiving end of his scolding. Well, that wasn’t really scolding. That was just… degrading. He was insulting you, peeling away your confidence layer by layer with a steady glare. He was angry — no, he was embarrassed — at your query. If you knew he would react this way, you would have sewn your own lips shut. You thought you could trust him. You wanted to trust him. You wanted that more than anything.

“You’re being cruel,” you pushed out. “You have no idea what I want.”

“I know you’re a small, witless child,” he growled. Loki stood from his seat. You ducked your head and stared at your knuckles. He grabbed your chin, jerking your face up without hurting you. “You’re simply an… an insect in the grand scheme of things who imagines greatness for yourself. I’m something you haven’t attained, that you haven’t experienced. You don’t want me for who I am, but rather what. Y/N, you’re a dreamer. That is why you follow me. Yes?” The god’s eyes searched yours with a frantic need. You clenched your jaw, removing his hand from your face. 

You said nothing.

“Answer me,” he spat. He dropped his arms, spreading his legs apart in a warrior’s stance. He was battling this topic more than you had imagined. Unless you were seeing things, Loki’s blue eyes were shining. His lips were tight against each other. Why was he losing his temper so? “Answer!” 

You kept your eyes focused on his; you wouldn’t say anything, you couldn’t, your tongue wouldn’t let you. Your knees shook. Your hands tingled. Your cheekbones tingled, too. Your throat hurt. Your nose burned. The longer Loki saw your tears, the wetter his own orbs became. Your body hadn’t racked with sobs yet, but they were waiting to erupt any moment. 

“Why could you possibly want a relationship with me, Y/N? I’m not yours to study, to toy with. Greatness cannot be the basis of love.” He looked between you and the door. His escape was too far away. The confrontation was hurting far too much — it was evident, written all over his face. “You can’t love me. Why would you?”

“Because you’re a hero,” you whispered. Your eyes followed him, but your limbs disobeyed every order to stand, to turn away, and walk out the door. Your last chance to spare your own feelings was slipping through the door. “If you weren’t, I would have been gone long before asking the question.”

“So… it is greatness,” he said quietly. “You want the persona.” He sniffed sharply, settling back into his chair. He raked his hands through his hair, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t sit still, but you still couldn’t move. “Not… me.” He wiped under his eye with his thumb. Finally, you understood why Loki was so offended by your question.

After all, who could ever love a man if he was a concept? What woman was loved wholly when the world focused on her beauty?

Your own heart shattered as you watched his crumble. Before you understood what was happening, you stood and walked to the prince. The forgotten prince. The prodigal son who had been thrown away, cast aside, and crushed like a cigarette under a boot. Once a bright flame, but quickly reduced to dying embers. Oh, and you had the nerve to ask him if there was a possibility of having his heart… you were like a child asking to hold something frustratingly delicate. 

You held his head, petting his hair for him. Your lip wobbled, as did Loki’s. He shook his head with agony. He buried his face in your body, clinging onto your hips with arms wrapped tight. You kept running your fingers on his head, scratching his scalp, and playing with his hair. His arms shook against your person. He tugged you between his knees to grip you better.

“I love you,” your voice came, echoing the ringing thought in your nearly empty mind. “I would love you even if you weren’t a god; I would love you if you lived under a bridge and smoked gasoline.” You tried for some humor. Loki’s fingers dug into your shirt. “Your greatness comes from your heart, Loki. Isn’t that what matters? Your heart?”

His shoulders jerked forward, the pace faster and faster as a heart-wrenching noise escaped from him. You tightened your grip on him. His sobs kept coming, over and over and over. They weren’t loud —  they sounded more like whimpers than anything else. It didn’t mean that the sound wasn’t enough to tear someone’s soul in half. It was tearing your soul in half. Seeing him like this… you didn’t know what to do other than to be his anchor. This was so unlike Loki; at the same time, this was Loki. 

This was every piece of hurt he had been holding onto for who knows how long. You had just found the weak spot in his armor. Loki loved you deeply and you could care less if it was platonic or romantic. Your stupid selfishness had caused a breakdown… 

Yet, it was healthy. He needed this. He needed this. 

You didn’t need an answer tonight. You didn’t need an answer for a while. 

This was more important. You’d rather die a thousand times than walk out on him in a moment of need.

The clock passed midnight long before Loki calmed. By the time he had stopped making that tear-jerking sound, the clock was seconds away from chiming. When he stopped shaking, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. You had moved to sit next to him then. Loki rested his head on your chest and shoulder. The only words spoken were your affirmations and your coos. For the Norns’ sakes, the crying was awkward; just by the way he stared off into space, you could tell he wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said once it was over. “That wasn’t very… very heroic of me, was it? He laughed sourly. You continued to stroke his hair. “I wail like an infant and you’re still here…”

“I thought it was very brave,” you said honestly. “Breaking down in front of someone who might not truly love you? I’d just run away and hide.”

“You’re pushing it,” he mumbled, deadpan. “If this was me years ago, I don’t suppose I would have even let you see me like that. I would rather be dead, first.”

“I’m glad we solved something, tonight,” you told the giant in your arms. “But next time, I think we should talk about it slowly.”

“Agreed.” Loki closed his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” you yawned. The clock ticked quietly. It was like a lure to sleep. You felt safe, squished in this seat with Loki. 

If someone wanted to take you from Loki, you’d have to be dead first.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty: Party on Pasaana

Plot: Poe, Y/n, Finn, Rey and the rest of the gang journey to Pasaana to try and find the Wayfinder.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none really

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: I’M BACK! This is by no means my best or favorite chapter but it moves the story along and boy, is there a lot coming...Hopefully you’ve stuck around this long and if not, I’m not offended. Hope you enjoy!

----

Despite the fact that I’d spent my day fixing the Falcon, me and Chewie still ran every diagnostic possible on it before even thinking about taking her up. She was too temperamental to be treated any differently.

“You know I love flying with you, but don’t feel like you’re obligated to come with, Chew,” I said, closing up the last panel on the underside of the ship, “This one isn’t going to be a simple supply run.”

Chewie groaned in protest at my offer to let him stay on base, reminding me of the promise he’d made to Dad. That he’d protect me and he didn’t intend to stop doing that anytime soon.

I conceded to the Wookiee and emerged from underneath the Falcon. I found Rey finishing her repairs as Poe stood nearby, patting her on the arm, “We’re going with you. Chewie, you get that compressor fixed?” “No, I did,” I answered, dusting off my hands on my pants. The two of us still hadn’t spoken since our fight earlier in the day. “What do you mean you’re coming with us?” Poe separated from Rey, revealing Finn and the droids behind him, and led me to the side of the Falcon. He kept space between us, probably because he didn’t know where we stood after our fight.

“Do you honestly think we’d let you guys take this on by yourselves?” he asked.  

“Poe,” I shook my head, “Rey and I don’t even know what we’re walking into, I don’t want to throw you guys in the line of danger.” “So it’s too dangerous for me to risk my life but not you?” he asked with raised brows, wedging me between a metaphorical rock and a hard place, “Y/n, we’re a team. If one of us goes, we all go.” I hung my head in frustration, these were the type of situations that I hated the most. I couldn’t protect everyone, that had been made clear, and I certainly couldn’t justify to Poe why it was okay for me to charge headfirst into a fight but not him. Though I’d try every time, even if it was bound to end in failure.

“Fine,” I relented, shrugging and letting my hands fall against my legs, “But I’m flying us there.”

“Understood,” Poe agreed, pulling a corner of his lip up in an almost smile, “I am sorry about today, y’know…It was stupid of me not to think about how much the Falcon means to you.” “Me too,” I sighed, remembering all the harsh words we had flung at one another in contrast to the white flags me were now waving. This wasn’t the first makeup we’d had lately. Not by a long shot. Poe and I had been fighting more than usual, tensions were high with all that was going on and our relationship wasn’t escaping un-scorched. There was never any doubt as to whether or not we still loved each other, but we needed to find better ways of dealing with our stress rather than taking it out on each other. “Chewie told me there was only one escape route and you took it. You guys coming back alive is more important than anything else.”

Where there should have been a kiss or intertwined fingers, there was only silence and our best attempts to smile. There was so much lying underneath the surface that we didn’t ever have time to deal with.

“I wish you’d tell me.” I tried my hardest not to look phased, “Tell you what?” Poe swallowed as he stared into my eyes, “Whatever it is you’re keeping from me.” Every hair on my body stood to attention and fear shot through my veins. I knew he’d become suspicious of me but we hadn’t addressed it out loud before. Once the words of distrust hit the air, it became a true issue. The bottom line of it all was if Poe knew I had been in contact with Ren, he would never trust me with anything ever again.

My tongue peeked out to wet my lips as I nervously shifted my weight to my other foot, “I need you to trust me that what I’m doing, I’m doing for the good of the Resistance.” “We don’t keep secrets from each other, Y/n,” he shook his head and placed his hands on his hips, “That’s not us.” “You wouldn’t understand it, it’s Jedi stuff.” He bit his lip and nodded sarcastically, “Oh, so because I’m not a Jedi, my little average brain couldn’t possibly understand whatever problem you’ve got? Thanks for clearing that up.” “Poe,” I took a step and reached out to grab his forearm, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just please trust me. Everything I do, I do it to keep us safe.” I watched the emotions flicker in his eyes, changing from confusion to anger to desperation to hurt. The thought of confessing to him came through my mind at least ten times a day, but it wasn’t possible. Selfishly, I didn’t want to watch him learn of my betrayal. He would never look at me the same way and I wasn’t ready to lose that.

“I trust you more than anyone,” he finally said, stiffening his voice to hide his emotions, “I just wish you felt the same way about me.” He shrugged out of my hand’s hold and made his way up the ship’s ramp. I chewed on my bottom lip and leaned my forehead against one of the Falcon’s legs. There was nobody on any planet in any galaxy who I trusted more than Poe. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me and the fact that he was beginning to doubt my trust in him was a sucker punch. This time he wasn’t at fault, he only wanted to help me shoulder the burden. But there was nothing he could do to aid in the mental torture I was inflicting on myself.

I turned on my heels to go find my mother but froze at the sight of her and Rey locked in an embrace. I could sense the sadness in Rey that came with leaving her, the only mother figure she could remember having. Watching as she turned away, clipping Uncle Luke’s lightsaber to her belt, I took my cue to say my farewell.

“We’ll check in when we can, if we can,” I stated, partially as a commander but also a daughter to her worried mom, “Who knows, maybe we’ll be back in time for dinner.” A lame attempt at humor, yes, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do to try and make her smile in the most concerning of hours. “Look out for each other, don’t take too many risks,” she instructed, taking my hand in hers, “And come back in one piece.” There was some feeling in the air that I couldn’t put a name to, but it was there nonetheless. I never liked leaving Mom but with the stakes as high as they were, I felt a new sense of dread. I wasn’t immune to fear of losing my life and the reality of something happening to me and leaving her on her own caused a new urgency inside me to come back alive.

“I love you,” I whispered, squeezing her hands tight as tears began to fill my eyes, “So much.” “My darling,” I could hear the emotion in her voice that she was pushing down, “You are the greatest love I could have ever asked for.”

There wasn’t much more that could be said as I bent down to hug her, there was so much meaning inside our few words. We’d survived for a year as a family of two, something we were never meant to do, but we’d somehow done it. Mom’s health had begun to worsen with her age, but the incident on the Raddus had forced what was natural to happen prematurely. She got tired quicker, she required a cane sometimes and needed my help more often, though she always tried to avoid asking. I didn’t think it possible but we’d somehow grown closer in the last year, which made it all the more important that the mission go right and I return safely.

She whispered against my ear, “May the force be with you.” I pulled back with a watery smile, “We’re gonna need it.” With a kiss to her cheek, I forced myself to head back to the ship with a deep pain in my chest. It felt like I was tied to both the Falcon and Mom, the more distance I put between her and I, the more I began to hurt. It lit yet another flame of determination inside me to come back victorious.

Rey had waited for me outside the Falcon, attempting to act like she hadn’t witnessed the tender moment. The two of us shared a hopeful smile before we walked up the ramp together. When we arrived in the cockpit, it was apparent that it was going to be a tight fit. Rey moved to take the empty co-pilot’s chair with Chewie standing in the back, waiting to be called to action. Poe and I didn’t bother to make eye contact choosing instead to bury our pain for a later date. I gave Finn a good natured slap on the shoulder before sinking into the captain’s chair. I’d flown the Falcon hundreds of times by now and yet each time I took the controls, I felt like a child way out of their depth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, there was no time to waste on fear. All that mattered was the mission.

“Next stop,” I narrated as I readied myself to lift the ship off the ground, “Pasaana…” ————

“You sure this is it?” Poe asked from the front of our group.

“I followed the coordinates perfectly,” I panted, already missing the jungle heat as opposed to Pasaana’s dry kind, “Right, 3PO?”

“Mistress Y/n is correct, these are the exact coordinates that Master Luke left behind.” We rounded the bend of the hill we’d climbed to find the least likely scenario on a planet we’d thought remote; a party.

“What is this?”

“The Aki-Aki Festival of the Ancestors,” 3PO explained, “This celebration occurs only once every 42 years.” “Well, that’s lucky,” Finn commented from beside me.

“Lucky indeed, this festival is known for both its colorful kites and its delectable sweets.” Under normal circumstances, I have had all the patience in the world with the droid I’d spent my whole life around. But now, overlooking the obstacle that would make it harder to find the Wayfinder and ultimately save the galaxy, I joined my friends in staring him down. “3PO, read the room.” “Let’s get down there,” Poe directed with a thumb tucked into his holster, “This is gonna take way longer than it should.” Having spent the better part of my life traveling, I loved getting to immerse myself in different planet’s cultures. It was one of the reasons my diplomatic skills were so highly tuned, I knew how to connect with all different types of people. So there was a small part of me, though stressed, that made a note to take in the sounds of the Aki-Aki’s chants and the array of colors in the crowd. I wasn’t the only one interested in the details either…

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” a wide eyed Rey commented as Finn and Poe passed us by.

“I’ve never seen so few Wayfinders,” Finn retorted.

“Take in what you can, we won’t be back for another 42 years,” I bumped Rey with my hip before following our group.

“There’s always random First Order patrols in crowds like these, so, keep your heads down,” Poe turned to look back at us, zeroing in on the only one tall enough to stick out, “Chewie. Let’s split up, see what the locals know.”

Rey was too taken by her surroundings to fully register what Poe was saying and Finn had gone with my boyfriend, leaving me to follow along with them. As soon as I did, Poe turned to me, “What are you doing?” “…Coming with you?” “We’ve gotta cover as much ground as possible,” he gestured over towards a grouping of tents, “Try talking to some of the traders, see if they know anything.” Thinning my eyes at him in shock that we were on a mission and Poe didn’t want me with him, I decided that now wasn’t the time to fight back. “Fine, Bee,” I called to my boyfriend’s droid hovering near Rey, “You’re with me.” The two of us made our way through a couple vendor’s booths, unsuccessful in getting any information about the location of the Wayfinder. I didn’t even have to do much talking with them, my senses could tell me whether or not my question brought up any memories. Which was good for me because I wasn’t in the mood to do a lot of chit chatting. Bee must have picked up on my silent frustration because he nudged me in my calf, urging me to talk. “He could have said it about ten other ways,” I vented, “But instead he had to make it sound like I was doing something wrong by going with them.” You know how he can be when he’s stressed. “I’m stressed too,” I cried, gesturing to my chest, “And maybe I wanted to go with him because I feel a little less worried when I’m with him. It’s never mattered what’s going on, we’ve always partnered together on missions. Clearly he doesn’t need me this time.” Didn’t you two have a fight before we left? Do you think it has something to do with that? I sighed defeatedly, “Probably…Or the fight we had earlier today, or the one we had just before he left a few days ago…” There was no shortage of examples I could have given as to why Poe didn’t want to be around me. “Things aren’t great between us right now.”

Maybe you should talk to him about it.

“Not right now, Bee. There’s bigger things at hand then Poe and I fighting. Nobody here knows anything, let’s go find the others.” When we made it back, Finn and Poe were engrossed in a conversation with an Aki-Aki. He turned his focus to me, “Got anything?” “I’d probably be a little more enthusiastic if I did, Dameron,” I remarked, taking a spot across from him instead of next to.

He looked between me and Finn, who was trying to remain focused on the Aki-Aki in question, “Whoa, what’s going on?”

The saddest part of why I was angry was the heart of the matter, Poe and I weren’t functioning like the inseparable couple we’d been for the last year. We were functioning like soldiers, ones who bickered at any chance we were given. And while I wanted nothing more than to talk to him about how I felt and ask him when things had gotten like this, not even love could come before war. I looked up at him, the frustration and hurt clearly painted clearly across my face, “Nothing that matters right now, I’m gonna go question some others but don’t worry, I’ll do it by myself.”

Just as Poe was opening his mouth to reply and I was ready to turn away, Rey came running in our direction. “We have to go. Back to the Falcon, now,” she ordered.

“Why?” Finn asked. “It’s Ren.”

Despite the anxiety running through my veins, I took a contradictory step forward. “He’s here?”

“He’s on his way,” Rey answered, her eyes wide and locked with mine.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Poe began tracing our path back to the Falcon with his eyes, “It’s back this way.”

We ran through the festival with our heads on a swivel, until Poe shot his arm out as a barrier when we came face to face with a stormtrooper. “Freeze! Hold it right there. I’ve located the Resistance fugitives, all units report-“ A dart whizzed past us and landed perfectly in the trooper’s eye. We turned to see a figure holding a crossbow standing behind one of the tents, dressed in robes and his face covered with a helmet. “Follow me.”

With no other options in sight, we trusted in our mysterious savior and followed him. We climbed into his vehicle slowly rolling through the festival. “Leia sent me a transmission,” his modulated voice said before speaking in an alien language to the driver. “Okay, how’d you find us?” Finn asked what we were all thinking. The man reached to take his helmet off and I was greeted by a face I hadn’t seen in years. He grinned, “Wookiees stand out in a crowd.” “Lando!”

Chewie moaned his excitement at seeing his old friend and shoved his way past us all to hug him. “It’s good to see you too, old buddy,” he laughed before turning to me, “Look at you, the princess is all grown up.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed for the first time all day, “I can’t believe you’re here.” “This is General Lando Calrissian,” 3PO said from behind us.

“We know who he is, 3PO,” Rey gently admonished.

“It is an honor, General,” Finn said, a big smile gracing his face. “General Calrissian,” Poe spoke up, “We’re looking for Exegol.”

Lando looked between our crew before centering on me, “Of course she’d send you.” I scrunched up my nose and tilted my head, “I didn’t give her much of a choice.” He shook his head with laughter, “You’re her daughter alright…” he flicked his wristlet on and a holo of a Wayfinder appeared, “Only two were made.” “A Sith Wayfinder,” Rey said, “Luke Skywalker came here to find one.” “I know,” Lando chuckled, “I was with him, Luke and I were tailing an old Jedi hunter,” he changed the image on his holo to a creature, “Ochi of Bestoon. He was carrying a clue that could lead to a Wayfinder. We followed his ship halfway across the galaxy here. When we got to his ship, it was abandoned. No clue, no Wayfinder.” “Is the ship still here?” I asked.

“It’s out in the desert where he left it.” “We need to get there, search it again,” Rey suggested.

My posture straightened as the sound of ship engines filled my ears. I peered out a window to see a small bunch of First Order ships flying towards the festival grounds.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Lando muttered before turning to us, “Ochi’s ship is out past Lurch Canyon. Go!” “Thank you, General,” Poe said before beginning to help each of us out of the crawler.

Chewie moaned his happiness at seeing Lando again, something he reciprocated. Before taking Poe’s extended hand, I quickly embraced my non-biological uncle. “We’re on Ajan Kloss, come join us. We need pilots.” “My flying days are long gone,” he gently declined before taking my hands into his, “But do me a favor, give your mother my love.”

“I will, as long as you consider coming,” I said before kissing his cheek and allowing Poe to help me out. My heart ached to walk away from another member of my family…

“Can’t believe I never put it together that you’re a princess.” Poe said from beside me as we sprinted through the desert. I was hoping no one had noticed Lando’s long standing nickname for me.

“Of a planet that ceased to exist long before I was born,” I panted, “I don’t think that counts for much.” “Doesn’t matter, I’m still going to call you Your Highness,” Finn called from ahead. “There,” Poe pointed, “Those speeders,” he tossed his gloves off, slid beneath the vehicles and began hot-wiring the vehicles. The yelling of a group of Aki-Aki, presumably the owners of the speeders, made him hurry through his work. “We gotta go!”

Finn, Poe and 3PO hopped into one while Rey, Bee, Chewie and I crowded into the other. I didn’t have time to look back as I began steering but I could sense that Poe was surprised that I didn’t come with him. The urge to turn around and yell at him for the exact same thing that had happened moments before was strong, but once again not our highest priority. What was important was the stormtroopers tailing us. Rey took over on offense while I piloted us, it wasn’t until her cry of my name that I turned around. The troopers were flying through the air using jetpacks, something none of us had ever seen. 

“I can’t get a clear shot!” Rey yelled.

“Switch with me!” 

She continued firing her blaster as she moved to the front of the speeder where I let her take the wheel. I ducked down next to Bee and calculated what angle I needed them to be at for my plan to work.

I’ve got an idea. “Bee, not now,” I shouted over the engine, turning back to the problem at hand. Ignoring my ignoring him, Bee began tapping away at a stray canister in front of us until it shot up into the air. A yellow explosion burst from the canister in front of the stormtroopers. When one emerged from the cloud, his disoriented driving sent him off a ramp like cluster of rocks. Rey turned and took a perfect shot, the trooper’s speeder exploding in the air.

“Never underestimate a droid,” she grinned.

“He’s doing my work for me!” I replied, standing back up and nudging Bee, “Now where’s Poe and Finn?” “Y/n, look,” I joined Rey at the front of the speeder, “Ochi’s ship.”

Parked atop a large structure of rocks was a modest craft that hopefully contained the answers we needed. 

Rey’s face turned serious, “I’ve seen that ship before.”

“Y/n! Rey!” 

I whipped around to see Poe and Finn’s speeder flying up behind us, “You get all of them?”

As I inhaled to answer triumphantly, the speeder was thrown forward and us with it. We flew through the air before landing roughly in a pile of dark sand, the screams of the rest of our group following directly after. I rolled over with a groan and looked up to see one last trooper whizzing through the air. Finally getting to go through with my original plan, I got to my knees and raised one of my hands, force pushing him into one of the cliffs.

“So they fly now,” I exhaled, falling back on my heels. As soon as my full weight landed in the sand, it began collapsing into itself.

“What the hell is this?” Poe exclaimed, I looked over to see the same sensation happening to him.

“Sinking field,” Rey cried, “Try to grab something!”

I struggled against the pull of the field to try and reach a piece of our smoking speeder, but my torso was already below the surface making it nearly impossible. I had landed somewhat near Poe and tried to wriggle my way to where he was, him already doing the same. I stretched my arm out as far as it could and barely brushed his fingers when his head dipped down below the surface. “Y/n!” he called out just as I lost sight of him. “No!” I yelled, throwing my arm into the pit and fishing around to try and grab him. “Rey, Y/n,” Finn said frantically, “I never told you tha-“ he disappeared into the black sand, lost to us. “What? Finn!” Rey called, it was the last thing I heard below my body was pulled under fully. 

What followed was pure darkness, I kept my eyes squeezed shut as to not get anything in my eyes. In a flash of panic, I flailed about and tried to swim upwards back to the surface for a breath of air. All I could do was struggle and pray that I met the bottom, I didn’t want to die in a pit of sand. After a few seconds, I crashed through something hard and my back hit open air. I fell to the ground with a groan, Bee’s beeps and squeals a homing beacon in the dark. “Poe,” I sat up, feeling around the dimly lit cave for him, “Poe…” “I’m here,” he replied, I could barely make out his silhouette as he crawled on his knees to me. His gloved hand wrapped around my arm, making his close presence known, “Are you okay?” In a rare moment of tenderness, something we hadn’t felt in a long time, I reached up and laced my hand through his curls bringing his forehead down to meet mine. “Where’s everybody else?” Poe pulled me to my feet and unsheathed his flashlight, “Rey! Finn!” 

“You didn’t say my name, sir, but I’m alright,” 3PO said, coming in from the other side of the cave.

The sand seeping out of the ceiling of the cave followed by loud grunts sent Poe and I bolting towards it just in time for him to catch Rey and ease her down to the ground. “You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “Where’s Finn?” “Where’s Chewie?” I asked, rotating my head rapidly to try and get a full scope of the cave. On cue, Chewie dropped harshly from the ceiling with a moan, I ran over to him and helped him sit up.

Finn climbed out of a hole behind us, “I’m good. What is this place?” He stumbled towards us, the four of us huddled together for a relieved reunion. 

Poe had one hand on Finn’s shoulder and one clutching my waist, he pressed a quick peck to my temple. “I thought we were goners,” he panted, I savored the feeling of being close to him even if it had taken thinking we were going to die to get there.

“Which way out?” Finn asked.

I squinted as I looked at our surroundings, “Can’t see a thing.” One step ahead of me, Rey unclipped her lightsaber from her belt and ignited it, lighting our path. Poe stepped forward as well, clicking his inferior flashlight on as if it would make a difference next to the luminous weapon. Shaking my head at my boyfriend, I ignited my own saber and followed Rey, “We need to hurry if Ren’s on his way. “So what was it?” Rey asked as Finn joined us.

“What?” he replied confusedly.

“What you were gonna tell Y/n and I?” A beat passed, “When?” “When you were sinking in the sand, you said ‘I never told you…’” Rey spelled it out for him.

He inched closer to the two of us and lowered his voice, “I’ll tell you later.” “You mean when Poe’s not here?” the man in question asked from behind us, staring Finn down as he squeezed between the three of us.

“Yeah,” Finn replied confidently.

“We’re gonna die in sand burrows and we’re all keeping secrets?” Poe deliberately turned his head to look at me when he hit the word ‘secrets,’ a wave of guilt washing over me. 

“I’ll tell you when you tell us about all that shifty stuff you do,” Finn fired back, referring to to hot-wiring of the speeders and no doubt something else he’d seen Poe do recently.

“I do not wanna know what made these tunnels,” Poe commented as he took the lead at the front of our group. 

Ever the helper, 3PO jumped in to give an answer. “Judging by the circumference of the tunnel walls…” Poe turned to the droid, “I said I do not wanna know. Not,” he realigned his focus ahead of us, spotting something in the shadows, “What’s that?” “Is that a speeder?” Finn asked. “An old one,” Rey answered as she got a closer look. “Wonder if it still runs,” I said, running a hand over the dusty vehicle, “We’re gonna need a way out of here.” “Perhaps we will find the driver,” 3PO said hopefully. I think they’d be dead by now.

“Yep, BB-8, I think dead too,” Poe responded to his droid’s astute observation.

“Oh, my,” 3PO pointed towards the symbol on the front of the speeder, “A hex charm.”

“What’s a hex charm?” I asked, shining my saber over the detail and getting a look at it myself.

“A common emblem of Sith loyalists,” 3PO answered. “The Sith…” I mumbled under my breath, running a finger over it and catching the dust in my hand.

“This was Ochi’s?” Finn asked. “Luke sensed it,” Rey stepped forward, “Ochi never left this place.” “And he ended up down here,” Finn continued the train of thought.

“He was headed for his ship,” Poe completed the sentence, “Same thing happened to us, happened to him.” I followed Rey who was hot on the scent of something, the two of us spotting the skeleton at the same time. “So how did Ochi get out?” I took a breath, “He didn’t.” The four of us moved as one to examine the carcass, mangled and broken into pieces but clearly bearing resemblance to a creature. “No he didn’t…” Finn muttered.

“Bones,” Poe said from beside me, turning away for a second to stifle a gag, “I don’t like bones.” “Bones? Never a good sign,” 3PO commented.

My eyes flitted over the scene while Rey searched deeper, spotting a bump in the sand with Bee and helping him to unearth it. She pulled out a unique carved dagger, I could sense the same thing upon seeing it that she could. “Horrible things…have happened with this,” she trembled. “The writing…” I crouched down next to her, running a finger over the weapon and trying to figure out what language the script was written in, “I don’t recognize it, 3PO?”

The loyal droid came forward and took the dagger from my outstretched palm. “The location of the Wayfinder has been inscribed upon this dagger,” he announced, “It’s the clue that Master Luke was looking for.” “And? What does it say?” I asked with a hopeful smile.

3PO turned to our group, “I am afraid I cannot tell you.” “20.3 fazillion languages and you can’t read that?” Poe asked in confusion.

“I have read it, sir, I know exactly where the wayfinder is,” the droid responded, “Unfortunately, it is written in the runic language of the Sith.” “And?” I asked, inklings of impatience seeping out of my voice.

“My programming forbids me from translating it.” “So you’re telling us the one time we need you to talk,” Poe shook his head, “You can’t?”

“Irony, sir,” the droid answered, backing up to face us head on, “I am mechanically incapable of speaking translations from Sith. I believe the rule was passed by the Senate of the Old Republic.” I wasn’t listening, none of us were listening as he went on, instead focusing on the large serpent that had appeared behind 3PO with a growing growl. The four of us took a startled step back and held out our various weapons. It let out a meaning roar followed by a loud hiss, alerting 3PO to its presence. “Serpent! Serpent! Serpent!” Surprisingly, Rey placed a hand on top of Poe’s blaster and lowered it as the serpent showed off its razor sharp teeth once again. Keeping her eye trained on the beast, she blindly handed her lightsaber out for Finn to take. “Rey…” he cautioned, gripping the weapon tight in his grip. I could sense what she was sensing as I watched her approach, the serpent was crying out in pain more than anything else

“I’m gonna blast it,” Poe said quietly, his blaster once again aimed at the snake.

“Don’t,” I whispered, contradicting my words as I kept my saber activated in my hand, ready to fight if necessary. Rey kneeled down next to the snake, her eyes still locked with it as she laid her hand over its body. It snarled at her but she didn’t flinch, shutting her eyes and doing what I suspected she would do. She healed whatever wound the serpent had, receiving a small non-threatening moan in thanks. It snaked away down another pathway of the cave, revealing an exit that lit the cave up with the sunlight of Pasaana.

Bee rolled forward to ask Rey what she had done as she rubbed her hand, “I just transferred a bit of life. Force energy from me to him. You would’ve done the same.” “Luckily, we won’t have that problem again,” I said as I deactivated my lightsaber and clipped it back onto my belt, helping Rey up after, “Nice job.” Our group climbed out of the hole and we got a good look at the rock structure that displayed Ochi’s ship we’d seen during our speeder chase. “Looks like we’ve got our ride,” Poe commented as we walked up the rocks.

“We cannot possibly fly in that old wreck,” 3PO interjected. 

“We gotta keep moving, find someone who can translate that dagger,” Poe replied, “Like a helpful droid.” “I suggest we return to the Millennium Falcon at once,” the droid said as forcefully as he was capable of being. “Troopers’ll be waiting at the Falcon,” I said, pausing my steps to try and shove aside the pain I felt at the thought of leaving my beloved ship behind, “We’ll find a way to get it back.”

Not more than two seconds after I spoke did each hair on my body stand up straight and a cold wave run through my body. I twisted to look out upon the miles of sand and rock, sensing the familiar presence of Ren yet not being able to see him. Rey and I shared a look, concern mixed with understanding that someone had to deal with it. I could feel that it was her that needed to confront him, I wasn’t the only one that shared a complicated history with the Supreme Leader. I nodded understandingly to her, the two of us not needing to speak a single word.

“What is it?” Finn asked, approaching the two of us. “I’ll be right behind you,” she said, handing Finn her staff and bag, “It’s okay.”

She passed by both of us, heading back down the way we’d come to go deal with our problem. “Let’s go,” I directed, turning back towards our new ride, “She’s got this.” The rest of us climbed the rest of the rocks until we hit Ochi’s ship, opening the ramp and heading into the heart of it. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Poe said, switching on the flickering lights, “Let’s get those converters fired up.”

Finn, Poe and I marched to the cockpit, swiping at dusty cobwebs that adorned the ship. Poe flipped open the shutters and started her up proudly while Finn and I were more focused on looking out the windows for Rey. “Where is she?” he asked me.

Poe interrupted before I could form an answer, “Guys, help me out over here.” “Chewie, tell Rey we gotta go,” Finn ordered the Wookiee, who looked to me for confirmation. I gave a short nod and ran off the assist Poe in getting the ship up and running.

“What is she doing?” he grumbled as he sat down in the captain’s chair. “She’s helping us out,” I sat down in the seat next to him, “Trust me.” “That’s all I get?” he asked annoyedly as he flipped various switches, “Another Jedi thing I wouldn’t understand?”

“Are we really doing this right now?” I snapped, pressing a few buttons to help prep the ship.

“We wouldn’t have to if you would just tell me what’s going on,” Poe shot back, his voice raising to match mine. “It’s Ren,” Finn interrupted our fight, anxiety creeping into his tone. He bolted out of the cockpit leaving Poe and I to ourselves. “Finn, wait!” I yelled, taking off after him before he tried to intervene. I caught up to him outside of the ship, “Finn, you’ve gotta let her do th-“ My feet stopped as I spotted what Finn saw as well, Chewie was being loaded into a First order transport along with the dagger. Finn and I dropped to the rocks, crouching down and watching the scene unfold as the Wookiee pushed forward into the ship, hunched over and handcuffed. My natural instinct was to run and free him, but I knew that spelled too much potential danger for us all. And with Finn’s hand tightly gripping my arm, there was no way he’d let me go. It was one of the worst tortures I had to endure.

“We need to find a way to stop the ship,” I said quietly through my unshed tears, “If Poe could get that thing in the air…” “If we fire, the whole thing goes down,” Finn ended the idea as soon as it had been born.

I buried my face in my hands and rubbed furiously, my mind spinning with adrenaline and worry. The sounds on an approaching ship caught my attention, I rose to my feet and followed the noise across the rocks. Yards away from us stood Rey, lightsaber ignited with her back turned to the ship that undoubtably belonged to Ren. She took a running start as the craft advanced toward her and what happened next even I could hardly believe as I watched it. Rey flipped up in the air, letting her arm hang down and slicing off one of the ship’s wings. While she landed gracefully in a cloud of dust, Ren’s ship split violently until it was just the round cockpit rolling across the field of sand before exploding against one of the rocks. My breath caught as the flames engulfed what was left of his ship, I searched for any life left in the wreckage, sensing that he wasn’t dead yet. With my focus momentarily on Ren, I hadn’t noticed Finn had climbed down the rocks and was calling out for Rey.

“They got Chewie! They got him!” he pointed to the skies, I looked up to see the transport containing him had taken off.

“No,” I mumbled to myself, sticking my hand out to stop the ship using the Force. Rey had the same idea and aided me in my efforts. At that moment, a familiar cloaked figure emerged from the flaming wreckage, slowly making his way towards us. I could feel his stony, emotionless stare even with the great gap between us. Even so, I kept my focus on trying to pull the ship out of the sky. Ren extended his hand as well, creating resistance for Rey and I that only made us try harder. The three of us stood locked in our stances, throwing the ship from side to side as we battled for the life inside. 

Then suddenly, the fight was over. From Rey’s outstretched hand came thick strands of lightning that wrapped around the ship. It took mere seconds until an explosion ripped the ship apart.

“Chewie!” Rey shrieked in horror. “No!” Finn cried.

I dropped to my knees in shock, watching as the wreckage floated to the ground, Chewie buried somewhere inside. One loud guttural sob escaped my lips and I clutched my stomach, crying out for the loss of another part of my family. 

“Guys!” Poe’s voice broke through my grief, “We gotta go! They’re coming!”

Through my tears, I looked above to see Poe standing above me next to the ship and heard the noise of incoming fighters. I had to summon the strength to rise to my feet, my eyes drifting back to Chewie’s fiery grave one last time. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. I spared a final look to Ren, who I could sense was just as shocked at what had happened as I was. I sensed something in him, the same thing I had sensed when Mom had been thrown out of the Raddus. Sorrow. I wished I could have said I cared, but all I felt towards him was anger. He had contributed to Chewie’s death.

As Rey and Finn approached, I snapped back into action and climbed the rocks, Poe helping me and pulling me up the final foot. We bolted for the ship, racing to the cockpit and taking our assigned seats. He had gotten the thing in flying shape and as soon as we had everybody on board, Poe lifted it off the ground and shot us into the sky and away from the fighters. It was only when I knew he could manage without me that I slipped out of my chair and out of the cockpit.

A distraught Rey was waiting in the hold for me, she stood as I entered, “Y/n, I’m so-“ I breezed past her and Finn, I ignored the droids, I didn’t even think to go to Poe for comfort. Instead, I locked myself in the refresher and let my tears freely fall, mourning the loss of my life long friend.

----

A/N: I promise the next chapter will have little more going on...Let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged ☺️

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[crystaljins]

River lead me home | 09 FINAL

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis:  Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Ahhh. We’re finally here. At the ending. 

I feel like so much happened since I started writing this fic. I’ve been through so many ups and downs, and so have my characters. And you guys are probably the same; I wonder what adventures you guys went on as I posted this? I hope they were fun ones. 

Anyway, thank you for sticking around for this long journey home. I hope you enjoy the final chapter, and I hope you enjoyed following these guys on their adventure. 

Till next time, my loves.

Tags: @blue1928​ @veeparkersstuff

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

It’s a long journey home. The three of you stay with the mice long enough to see the first of the recovered victims poke their little noses out of their burrows. The mayor, a harried, round little mouse with hay coloured fur and absurdly long whiskers, cannot express his gratitude deeply enough, other than to procure the three of you a comfortable stay in a nearby inn. 

The journey back is only slightly less fraught with danger. The Saishtas think the two of you are dead, and not long after you part ways with the mice, new begins to circulate in the local areas that the might, evil Saishta queen has died and that her kingdom has fallen into disarray. You come across one or two of the insidious lizardpeoples after that but none of them approach or acknowledge you. Why bother, when they failed to save their queen?

After hearing that news, it’s more of a relaxed journey. You all head on from town to town, purchasing supplies and another bed roll for Jungkook. Jin is strangely eager to spend what little currency you have on the most comfortable bedroll he can find, and when Jungkook suggests he just continues to share in the interest of saving funds, Jin nearly has an aneurysm. 

Jin’s behaviour is probably the strangest part of the journey. He’s not cold or standoffish like he normally is when having a crisis, but he’s definitely gentler. More reserved but also warmer. It’s not unwelcome. In fact, you can’t help but wonder. If the war had never come, would this be the life you had with Jin? Endless adventures amongst the thrilling dangers of your home realm? 

You bring the thought up to Jin and Jungkook one night, while the three of you huddle together over a fire, snacking on some of the dried meats you’d purchased from the last town. 

Jin looks surprised at the thought. 

“I’ve always thought it would be you and Taehyung going on the big adventures.” He points out. “The two of you were never able to hold still, even for a moment.” His smile is warm and fond as he recalls your childhood. 

“You’d have been dragged along.” Jungkook counters through a particularly chewy mouthful. “You’d probably be married to (Y/N) and forced to follow her around keep her out of trouble.”

Oddly, you expect Jin to flush, or protest, or attempt to strangle Jungkook. You certainly feel a bit flushed at the thought. But Jin is unfazed- he merely offers a secretive smile and tilts his head curiously at you. You couldn’t decipher the look if you tried, but it has your throat feeling tight. 

You change the conversation topic after that, but it’s not the only way that Jin has changed. A few days later, the three of you are attempting to cross a little slippery creek when you lose your footing. 

You stumble over a few rocks and land on your hands and knees. Even in the deepest part of the creek it only comes up to your mid-thighs when you are on all fours. 

Jin skids to a stop beside you, crouching before you in the water. He doesn’t seem to care about the way his clothes become soaked. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands. You take stock of your injuries- a scraped knee, a bruised shin, the palms of your hands rubbed raw. Nothing that won’t be gone in an hour or two. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure him. 

He nods awkwardly for a moment and then offers “I could kiss it better?”

It takes you a few blinks to comprehend his words, and even then, it makes you re-evaluate the severity of your injuries. 

“What?” You demand, shocked. He shrugs and looks away. 

“Like when we were kids. I could kiss it better. You used to always refuse to stop crying until I kissed you. We could try that again.” He offers nonchalantly. You must have hit your head. It’s the only explanation. You can only stare, your mouth dropped into an “o”. 

“I guess that’s a no.” Jin finally says, oddly sulky in the way he says it. “Just thought I’d offer.”

You wish you could say that it’s the strangest of his behaviour, but it’s not. The rest of the journey goes like that- if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jin was flirting. Albeit, in a weirdly awkward, tentative way. Even Jungkook notices it. 

“Do you think he’s finally gone mad? Maybe the extreme social media detox has made all his brain cells shrivel up and die.” Jungkook whispers conspiratorially one night while the two of you wonder a small village that is throwing a little festival. Colourful lanterns line the streets and the various creatures that inhabit the village are dressed in bright colours. Jin had decided to stay back at the inn but the two of you had wanted to explore. 

“It’s the only logical explanation.” You concede, as much as it physically pains you to agree with Jungkook in anything. 

“All I have to say is, if this is how he flirts I have no idea how he gets so many dates.” Jungkook laments, and your eyes widen. 

“Stop.” You laugh. “He’s not flirting. It’s Jin. He thinks of me like an unwanted houseplant.”

“What if he didn’t, though?” Jungkook asks suddenly. His gaze is probing, and the mood is oddly serious for what you thought was a joking conversation. 

“What?” You ask, caught off-guard. 

“What if he’s actually flirting? Hypothetically. What would you do?” He questions. 

You go silent, as you contemplate your answer. Honestly, you’re not stupid enough to entertain the thought of Jin liking you back. But something about Jungkook’s earnestness has you genuinely considering it. 

“I don’t know.” You finally admit. You sigh, suddenly feeling tired. 

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks, tentative and almost gentle. He tilts his head curiously. “Do you like him?”

The question startles you. It feels like it’s been so long since you came to term with your feelings that you forgot not everyone else was aware of your revelation. Honestly, even to yourself it had filtered to the back of your mind. An unchanging fact, rarely acknowledged. The sky is blue. Jungkook is annoying. You are in love with Kim Seokjin. 

“I do.” You finally admit. You’re reaching the end of the street where most of the festivities are taking place- the crowd is thinning and more distance separates each lantern. 

“Then, if he were flirting... wouldn’t the answer be that you’d date him?” Jungkook asks. He’s pulling a face like he’s working out a rather complex maths problem. “Why don’t you know what you’d do?” 

The two of you settle at the end of the street. Roughly hewn chairs are scattered randomly across the little square. In the corner, a large, greyish being snoozes, and a small group of little humanoid trees laugh over something and chatter in a foreign language. 

“I feel like there’s too much to sort out first. Like... to date him I’d have to be better. I’d have to have a job. And I’d have to have apologised to my mother. I’d need to stop spongeing off the people around me. And maybe live out of home. Be a proper, human adult.” You list. “The me that I am now... I couldn’t date Jin. I’m not... I’m not...”

“Good enough?” Jungkook finishes the words gently. There’s a sad look in his eyes, and it surprises you. 

You nod. 

“Yeah.” You admit, and your voice is oddly choked. It’s weird- you had thought you were at peace with your feelings. You were meant to be happy with whatever scraps of affection Jin threw your way. But you’re not- there’s a deep, miserable ache in your chest that won’t go away. 

Jungkook uses his sleeves to dab at the tears you didn’t even know were slipping down your cheeks. 

“For what it’s worth,” Jungkook offers. “Jin doesn’t actually care about that stuff. The only reason he makes a big deal out of it is because he thinks you’ll be happy if all that stuff works out.” He tells you. “And hey. Someone once told me that the best things are the scariest to start- maybe this is one of those times?”

After that, you call it a night, and Jungkook doesn’t bring the topic up again. But you can’t forget his words. The closer to the portal the three of you draw, the more the ache in your chest grows; the closer you get to going back to normal life. What happens to you and Jin when you step back into the human realm? 

What if Jungkook’s words are true? Would you... would you have to return to normal? Could you have more? Is it stupid that a part of your stupid, traitorous heart longed for it to be true with each new step towards home?

There’s a surefire way to find out; if you ask him. But you can’t. The words die in your throat every time you even consider it. You remember how he freaked out when Jungkook suggested it earlier on the trip. He likely already knows your feelings despite your denial, and it is only your constant denial otherwise that allows the two of you to exist in this strange limbo. If you stopped denying them, he’d have to address those feelings and then what? It would be back to square one- the avoidance and awkwardness as you cling to the shambles of your friendship.

You can’t go back to that- you’ve fought so hard to fix what is between you, to salvage things. Would it be worth risking it, just in the hopes that you and Jin could be more?

The night before you reach the portal, all the nerves and worries you have build up to the point that you find yourself gazing up listlessly at the canopy overhead. The branches interlace and you can perk glimpses of the stars beyond. This is the last glimpse you will get of these stars. You have already decided you won’t come back here. It’s time to stop looking back and only look forward. 

Yet, despite your resolve, despite everything, sleep evades you. Tomorrow, real life awaits. An existential sort of dread has gripped you.

With a sigh, you sit up. To your right, Jungkook has curled into a tight ball as he peacefully rests. But to your surprise, Jin’s bedroll is empty. You’re surprised you didn’t hear him move. 

It doesn’t take long to locate him. Only a short distance away, where the vegetation is a bit lighter and a clear patch of sky shimmers overhead, Jin lounges peacefully. He gazes thoughtfully up at the sky overhead as the starlight gilds his face in breathtaking silver. 

Wordlessly, you step towards him. A twig snaps beneath your feet and Jin whirls around in surprise. When he spots you, he smiles and gentle pats the open space beside him. 

Awkwardly, you settle beside him, hugging your knees to your chest. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He questions, his eyes closed serenely. The soft sound of wind and distant sounds of wildlife filters through the night air. 

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice heavy with a sigh. He blinks open one eye to peer curiously at you. It’s the most relaxed and open you’ve seen him in a long time. “What about you? You couldn’t sleep either?” 

Jin shrugs. 

“I could have.” He informs you. “But I thought I’d enjoy my last night in this realm instead.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Jin has made it clear throughout the trip that this journey has been anything but enjoyable. 

“Enjoy?” You say, only slightly incredulous. He nods and opens both eyes to stare up the sky. 

“I’m as shocked as you.” He concedes. “This place has only ever meant bad things to me. It’s why I could never understand your fixation with it.” 

You grimace.

“I kind of get it now, though.” He admits, before you can complain to him. “It’s a pretty beautiful place.” 

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Jin shrugs. 

“You did.” He answers simply. 

“M-me?” You’re not sure why you stutter; perhaps it is the strange look to his eyes as he turns fully to face you. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek against them, watching you lazily. 

“Yup.” He says, as if it’s the easiest confession in the world. “When I used to think about this place, all I could think about was the night we fled. My dad didn’t even time to wash the blood off his hands. He grabbed me by the wrist and held on so tight I had bruises. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember the place that had caused us so much pain. And you... you were such a shell. I felt like one of my best friends had died in this realm and I was so angry at what it had taken from me.” His gaze is distant with recollection. “And then I was mad at you, because you couldn’t forget no matter what I did.” He gazes at you. “But now it’s finally given me something.”

You’re startled, by his heartfelt words. You’ve always known Jin hated this realm, hated the way the beings of this realm had driven you all out. But you didn’t know you had such a huge role in his opinion of it. “You.” He finishes. “So I guess I can’t really hate this place after all.”

You’re struck speechless in that moment, and your heart swells with an overwhelming feeling. You already know you love the man before you, but in that moment, you’re shocked at just how much. A feeling bubbles up at the base of your chest- your heart feels fit to burst. 

“What do you mean?” You ask- is this feeling hope? What does Jin mean, when he says the realm gave him you?

Jin merely shrugs. 

“I’ll let you speculate.” He tells you, shooting you a coy smile, an oddly cheeky look that he’s given to his friends before but never to you. But then his expression shifts into something more serious. “I think there are more pressing things to discuss first, though. Like why you’re sitting here with me instead of sleeping?”

The warm feeling from earlier instantly evaporates as you recall the reason for your melancholy. 

“I guess I’m just nervous.” You confess. “About going home. I’ve... I’ve really enjoyed this trip. And I’m excited to go home. But I’m just so...” you struggle to find the word. “So...”

“Nervous?” Jin suggests. He shuffles so he’s just a bit closer. His shoulder brushes yours- if you extended your neck, you could rest your head against his broad shoulders. A strange electricity buzzes through your body at the thought- it reminds you of your fight over the fungus a few days ago. The air had felt strangely charged then as well. 

“Yeah.” You admit, swallowing past a dry throat. “There’s a lot to do, back home.”

“Back home?” Jin echoes, and then his smile turns warm. His mouth carefully forms the word “home” and his eyes wrinkle into two joyous crescent moon shapes. “I guess there is.” He acknowledges. “But you’ve already made the first step. You’re calling the human realm home.”

That startles you. Obviously, it is your home. But you hadn’t realised how instinctive that had become until this moment; at some point the human realm had stopped being that uncomfortable alien place, and had become the place you’re meant to go back to. Home. Jin watches you process the words carefully before he speaks again. 

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He tells you softly. The tone to his voice is oddly vulnerable and delicate. Something delicate hovers between you like the flutter of a pixie’s wing. “You said you wanted to work things out together, right? So, you don’t have to be nervous because I’ll be there with you.”

He looks away and his expression is surprisingly shy. “I know you said I don’t have to be the guy with it all worked out, but I still want to try. It makes me happy. Being there for you. So even if you’re nervous... we’ll work it out together, right?”

It is that exact moment that you figure it out. Earlier, you had been uneasy at Jungkook’s line of questioning. You didn’t feel worthy of Jin’s love and affection, and that made you afraid. Because you couldn’t bear to lose him. You still can’t bear to lose him. But gazing into the warm eyes before you, you know you won’t ever lose him. The two of you have braved death together- you’ll make it through anything. 

You feel lighter then, and you offer Jin a smile. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. Jin smiles back. 

“Any time.” He whispers back to you in answer. 

Sleep comes easily after that, and so too does the end of your journey. All too soon you stand before the portal back home. 

The trip feels like it’s taken a thousand years and no time at all at the same time. By your calculation, the entire journey has taken almost a month, with all the detours and misadventures. That means almost six hours have passed in the human realm. Jin has almost definitely missed his dinner plans, and your mother is probably starting to wonder why you aren’t home yet. 

“What will you do, when you go back?” Jin asks. Jungkook has already stepped through and you’re surprised that Jin is making conversation now, of all times. 

“Apologise to my mother.” You say easily. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save my snapchat streaks and apologise to Joon.” Jin shares. He’s nervously twisting his fingers together. The energy he gives off is like an uneasy teenager about to do a huge public speech. It’s a big contrast from the person her was last night. Like he’s bracing himself for something. 

You thought you’d be bracing yourself too. On the other side is hard work and futile dreams and a bleary, dull city. 

But on the other side is your mother, your friends, your family. Your evil cat waits for you on the other side; the life your father dreamed of for you is on the other side. You had thought that so much in your life is wrong, and now that the portal is here, you realise that it’s not. It’s just life. Things go wrong and things go right. Like the path of a river, cutting through the vast, unknown wilderness. You had been thinking of it this whole time like you’d flip a switch and things would be easy. But that’s not what it’s going to be like on the other side of this portal, and it’s not really what you want things to be like. It’s an adventure of a different kind. 

And it’s an adventure that you want to share... with Jin. 

You remember what Jungkook had said- the best things in life are the scariest to start. And you’re scared now. No, you’re terrified. But if you’re this scared, then you know that this moment is going to be huge. Life-changing. You can’t keep the words in a moment longer. You don’t want to. You’ve spent too long running and fearing and hesitating and overthinking. But you’re confident, that the two of you will survive this even if he doesn’t feel the same way, and you’re ready to take that risk.

The river loves those who take the plunge.

“Jin,” you call, and you thought that if you ever did this that you’d be lost for words. But you’re not. Because you’re finally ready. Last night had solidified that for you. The words come easily. “You remember how you said that I look at you a certain way?”

You turn and face him, and he looks bewildered. 

“Like you’re my hero.” You recall. And then you steel yourself and meet his gaze. It’s the same eyes you’ve known all your life. The same eyes you want to look into for the remainder of your life. “It’s because you are my hero. No, actually, it’s more than that.” You assert, and he just stares, completely dumbstruck. “I look at you like that because I love you. Because I admire you and think you’re strong and brave and kind, and even if you’re not the guy who has it all together, I still feel the same way. And I lied when I said I just wanted you to be my friend. I thought it was enough, but it’s not- I want to be your partner. I want to be your best friend. I want to be your girlfriend.” You say. And then you summon all the exciting fluttering feels in your chest and let it pour into your smile. “I love you, Kim Seokjin.” 

Before you stands something you never thought you’d see. Kim Seokjin, the mastermind behind the Jant, is completely speechless. And then slowly, very slowly, he opens his mouth to give a response. 

“Are you dead?” Jungkook demands as the upper half of his body appears once more through the portal. “It’s been like 30 seconds in that realm which is approximately ten years in this realm if my maths is correct!”

You spring back from Jin. You’re startled at how far you have to step back- had you really been standing that close? 

“R-right.” You stutter. You feel like you’ve been caught cheating on a diet or something equally scandalous. “We’re coming.”

Jin just looks annoyed. 

“No we’re not. Give us a minute.” He snaps at Jungkook, placing a palm against Jungkook’s head and shoving him back through the portal none-too-gently. He then turns urgently back to you. “What did you just say?” He demands. His intensity has you cowering slightly- your bravado from earlier leaves you. 

“I said “we’re coming”?” You recall, attempting to divert the topic, but Jin steps closer. 

“No you didn’t. You said you love me. And that you want to be my girlfriend.” He accuses. 

“If you knew, why did you ask me?” You grumble. And then your expression softens. “But yes. I did say that. And it’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I know you could have any girl you want and I won’t be mad if you want someone else.” You reassure him quickly. He just stares, offering you no indication of whether he’d processed your words. It’s uncomfortable, but you suppose your words were going to be uncomfortable. You’re changing the very nature of your relationship by voicing them aloud. “But if you were willing... maybe you could give me a chance?” You trail away. 

Still, Jin just continues to look at you blankly. He looks like he’s a robot that just encountered a programming error. Hesitantly, you reach out to tap his shoulder, just to make sure he hasn’t died or suddenly been transformed into stone. 

A hand shoots up. It grabs your wrist, halting its movements. Jin’s eyes bug out of his head. 

“YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW?” He all but screeches. You flinch- you hadn’t anticipated a jant in response to your confession. “YOU HAD THE WHOLE TRIP TO SAY YOUR FEELINGS AND YOU SAY IT NOW? YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED ONE DAY?”

His nostrils flare as he releases your wrist so that he can point accusingly at you. 

“You had all your chances! You could have said it on the way to the forest spirit! Or when the Saishtas were chasing us! Or when we landed in the ravine! You’ve had literally the whole trip and you wait until right before I’m going to confess?” He spits out in that rapid-fire way that you’ve never seen another person be able to replicate. 

And then you process his words. 

“Wait-“ you say, hoping to abort the jant so that you have enough time to comprehend what he’s saying. 

It’s no use. 

“Seriously! I had a whole plan, (Y/N)! We were going to go to dinner and I was going to buy you flowers and I was going to ease you into it! But no! You just had to beat me to it, and for what? For what? So that you can make a half-assed confession right before we step into an alley next to a brothel?” He laments. 

“It’s not half-assed-“ you protest, because you’d poured your heart out to Jin. 

He steps in menacingly. 

“Take it back.” He demands. Your eyes widen. 

“What?” You cry, defensively. To your credit, you only cower a little which is an impressive feat for someone on the receiving end of a jant. 

“Your confession! Take it back!” He orders. 

“No!” You argue back. “I’m not going to do that.”

“You are!” Jin counters. “You’re going to take it back and we’re going to do it properly, over dinner, and you’re going to have washed hair and I’m going to-“

You don’t let him finish whatever stupid thoughts were filtering through his brain. If he wants a proper, romantic confession, then he’s going to get one! You hear a sharp intake of breath from him as your lips press to his. They’re slightly chapped after such a long period of rough travel, but the sensation is still pleasant. Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel like you’re about to burst. 

It takes Jin a moment to respond. But when he does, it’s with an intensity that is almost frightening. You’re startled by the way he pulls you close. It’s like the electricity from last night, but multiplied a hundred-fold. If you thought your heart was ready to burst before, it is nothing compared to the way molten lava fills your chest when his hands come up to gently cradle your face and deepen the kiss.

When you finally recall that oxygen is something you need, Jin pulls away and searches your gaze. His hands slide down to your waist, resting delicately along the flare of your hips. His face is bright red but his eyes are determined. 

Something about the way he is looking at you has you feeling shy. 

“That was weird, huh?” You stammer, trying to cover the way you feel so completely overwhelmed. “Sorry.” Your heart is dancing in your chest. It’s all too much for one person to feel and you’re just not really sure what to do with the sensation. Did he feel it too? This weird tension, like you’re a balloon about to pop?

Jin doesn’t break eye contact and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. 

“Hard to say.” He finally says, breaking his long spell of silence. He then grabs at either side of your face, puckering his lips obnoxiously. “I think we need to try again to be sure.”

You barely have time to protest before he’s attempting to pull you in for a second kiss, although you slap a hand over his mouth to halt his advance. 

“Wait!” You accuse. “You can’t just kiss me and not respond to what I said!” 

“I already told you.” He snaps. “Your confession doesn’t count until we do it properly. Now if you excuse me-“ He grabs you by the elbows and tugs you back towards him, attempting to kiss you once more, but you stop him with a hand pressed to his chest. His expression turns pleading. “Just one more time.” He requests.

You swallow, and gaze into his eyes. It’s not an unfamiliar look, you realise. He’s looked at you like this before, but you now realise what the emotion was behind that look. 

“I love you.” You tell him. “I told you like this because yes. I couldn’t wait one more day. I don’t want to wait another day without you knowing. I love you.” You say one more time, just for good measure. 

His expression crumbles and he sighs in resignation, before pulling you tightly against him. His embrace is warm, and secure. It’s no different from all the other times he’s hugged you in your life, and yet nothing is the same.

“Fine.” He says, into the crook of your neck. “But I’m not saying it back until we have a proper date.” 

He pulls out of the hug and the love in his gaze is overwhelming. It’s not a confession, per se, but his intent is as clear as day. 

He loves you. You know he does.

“Deal.” You say back, and his response is his eyes crinkling up as he offers you that special smile, the one that he only shows when he’s really, truly happy. “But you’re paying.”

“How about we save any important conversations for the side of the portal where we’re not in constant mortal danger?” Jungkook demands, his head once more poking through the portal. There’s an awkward silence as he glances between the two of you, and then he groans. “Seriously? You had the entire journey to sort this out and you waited until now? You couldn’t even just leave it until after dinner?”

“Sorry!” You apologise quickly, going to follow Jungkook’s lead through the portal. But a hand wrapped around your wrist stops you- you hadn’t even noticed Jin had grabbed you. 

You turn to gaze questioningly at him, and he shrugs, shifting his hands until he can interlace his fingers with yours. 

“Wait. Let’s go together.” He requests, then pauses. “Can we?”

Something about this moment feels monumental. Huge. You’ve braved enemy encampments, crossed mountains. You’ve gone free-falling into giant ravines and overcome furious forest spirits. 

And yet this moment feels like the start to your biggest adventure yet. From this point on, real life starts. You smile at Jin and he returns it. 

“Yeah.” You say. “Let’s go together.”

Jin’s reply is covered by Jungkook’s annoyed call through the portal:

“What did I just say? Hurry up!”

                                                             ~Fin~

[bigballofstress]

To Share an Armchair (Tom Holland x Actress!Reader)

Description:  You and Tom appear on Conan to promote your new movie together, Spider-Man: Homecoming.  Little do you know, Tom has a bit more planned than your usual run-of-the-mill interview.

Prequel to The Interview

I took a deep, nervous breath, my hands wringing together as I looked out into the absolutely packed audience.

“You’ll be fine,” a warm, comforting presence appeared behind me.  I turned quickly to see my best friend, Tom, smiling down at me.  “They love you, and you love them.”

I smiled a bit.  He always seemed to know just what to say to make me feel better.

Tom and I had been working together since the filming of Captain America: Civil War, where I’d played another of Tony’s young recruits.  Now, with the new Spider-Man movie coming out, we were sent to advertise the release.  So, there we stood, on the set of Conan, ready give yet another interview.  Except, this time, we’d be promoting the movie by ourselves.  “I’m just not very used to going out there without an older cast member or producer or something,” I sighed.

“Just be your usual funny, witty, charming self, and I promise you that everything will turn out well,” Tom reassured me.

I nodded firmly in an effort to strengthen my resolve.  “Thanks, Tom.”

“Anytime, sweetcheeks,” he grinned.  I rolled my eyes playfully at the cheesy nickname that he had taken to calling me ever since our second week of filming, claiming that my ‘cheeks were too sweet to be called anything else.’

“And now, please welcome Tom Holland and (Y/N) (L/N) to the stage!” Conan shouted.  Tom walked out, and I quickly followed.  The lights were practically blinding, and my ears were ringing from the very, very loud cheers.  I shook off my fears and muscled my way past the almost overwhelming scene to grin and wave with both hands to the audience before moving to take my seat.

The only armchair available was already occupied by a certain web slinger.  I pouted and crossed my arms.  “I was going to sit there!”

“Well, I’m already here.  Sorry, sweetcheeks,” Tom smirked up at me, settling further into the very comfortable looking chair.

I frowned.  “Aw, c’mon, Tommy!  Pleeeease?” I tilted my chin down and sent him my best puppy dogs.

Tom shook his head.  “Hey, you can sit anywhere you want, but I’m not moving.”

My lips immediately quirked upwards.  “Ok!” I quickly responded before plopping myself down sideways across Tom’s lap with my legs hanging over the other armrest.  His hands reflexively went to my waist in an effort to stabilize me.  Tom stared at me in shock, and I just grinned back triumphantly.

I turned to look at Conan, who was watching the whole ordeal go down with an amused smile.  “Hi, Conan,” I grinned.

The tall man chuckled.  “Hi, (Y/N).”

I had to flip my head upside down to look at Andy, as the armrest that my back was leaning against was the one facing him.  “Nothing personal, I just really wanted the chair.”

Andy scoffed in fake hurt.  “Yeah, sure.  Just pretend you’re not repulsed by me.”

“Well, I am a pretty good actress,” I shrugged, pretending to think it over.

Conan barked out a laugh, and I grinned, straightening back up and settling further into Tom’s lap.  “So I guess (ship name) is real?” Conan chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

My face went bright red, and I scoffed.  “Yeah, just about as real as Candy,” I bit back in an attempt to misdirect from my extreme embarrassment.

Conan laughed his big belly laugh again.  “No, (Y/N)’s just unbelievably stubborn is all,” Tom added with a slight shake of his head.

“I’ve heard a few rumors, though, about the two of you,” Conan continued.  “A lot of people are talking about a recent incident involving gymnastics?”

I groaned and hid my face in Tom’s chest.  “Yeah, she was just so graceful,” Tom chuckled.

I hit his arm with a pout.  “Oh, shut up.  It really hurt, ok?”

Tom grinned and turned to Conan.  “You see, we’ve had a wager going on for quite a while over who was the better actor.  So, when we got off set early one day, we decided to prove it once and for all.  We each invented a character for the other to play.  I was supposed to be a foul-tempered, incredibly avid fan of some sort of predatory bird--”

“The eagles, Tom,” I rolled my eyes.  “You were playing a fan of the Philadelphia Eagles.  Anyways, Tommy here had decided to make me a world class gymnast.  You know, because I’m so experienced.”

“Whoever was revealed to be lying about their identity first would lose the bet,” Tom continued.  “And he or she would have to do one thing the other asked, no matter what it was.”

“It didn’t go very well,” I sighed, cringing slightly at the memory.  “And I still maintain that I won, by the way!”

Tom shook his head.  “Not a chance, sweetcheeks.  You see, we were talking to a wonderful young lady on the street when I noticed (Y/N) getting a bit excited.  Turns out, she’d noticed a Philadelphia sticker on the woman’s bag.  So she started raving about how much I loved the Eagles and all of the Philadelphia teams.  Naturally, I began talking of her supposed experience in gymnastics.  The woman was rather impressed and asked if she could see her do a flip.”

“Meanwhile, I can’t do any sort of gymnastics to save my life,” I scoffed.  “So instead of flipping, I asked Tom what sport the Eagles play.”  The audience laughed a bit.  “He couldn’t respond, and voila!  I win!”

“Not quite,” Tom chuckled.  “That woman didn’t say a word until you tried to do a flip and landed directly on your bum.  She caught you first, pointing out that you weren’t a gymnast.  Only afterwards did she say I had no idea where Philadelphia even was.”

I frowned.  “Yeah, but she knew you were faking it first.”

“Those weren’t the rules, sweetcheeks,” Tom grinned.  I rolled my eyes.

I’d barely taken notice of the loud laughter until Conan spoke up again between chuckles.  “Here’s a clip from the new Spider-Man: Homecoming in theaters July 7, check it out!”

While the clip played, Tom grinned and poked me in the side.  “You know, I still get to ask you that favor.”

“Fine, I concede.  What do you want, Holland?” I rolled my eyes again.

“You’ll see in just a moment,” he answered, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I snorted softly in an attempt not to laugh over the preview being played.  “What the heck was that?”

“I was being mysterious!” He defended.

“You looked like you’d lost all control over your facial muscles,” I smirked.

Tom frowned, but before he could reply, the lights came back on.  So instead, he turned to look at our host.  “Conan, before we go, can I ask a favor?”

Conan nodded.  Tom gently picked me up while he stood, placing me back in the seat.  He walked towards the edge of the stage.  I leaned over to Andy.  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I stage whispered.

“Yeah, but I’m not telling you.  You didn’t want to sit next to me,” Andy responded with a humph, crossing his arms.  I laughed at his antics.

Tom had returned by that point.  In his arms was the most adorable little creature I’d ever seen in my entire life.  “This is Firestar,” he said, holding up the absolutely precious chocolate lab puppy.  “She’s incredibly stubborn, so I thought you two might get along.”

“Tom, I can’t believe you!” I squealed, accepting the puppy without hesitation.  She immediately started trying to lick my face.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call in that favor you owe me.”  I glanced up at him suspiciously.  Tom just smiled.  “Go with me to the premier?  As my date?” Tom stood before me nervously, his cheeks bright red, while he anticipated my answer.

My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat.  I couldn’t believe he’d actually just asked me out.  Of course I had fantasized about this, but I never actually thought it would happen.

“Say yes!” I random shout from somewhere in the crowd startled me out of my trance.

My face broke out into a huge grin, and I nodded quickly.  “Of course I’ll go with you, you big dummy!” I said, hiding my immense excitement behind the small joke.

Tom’s nervousness melted into happiness, and he rushed forward to hug me, taking care not to crush the puppy between us.

“Tom Holland and (Y/N) (L/N), everybody!” Conan shouted above the cheers.  “Now officially (ship name)!” The cheers and screams got even louder, and I laughed, almost having to cover my ears.  We were both soon ushered off the stage to make way for whoever was next to appear on the show.

When we finally had a minute to breath, I turned to Tom.  “I can’t believe you got me a puppy,” I laughed.  My smiled was still plastered to my face, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Everyone gets flowers,” Tom shrugged.  I laughed and shook my head.  “So there is one other thing I need to know before we can go on a date.”

My brow furrowed slightly, and my smile wavered.  “What is it?” I asked warily.

“What color is your dress?  I have to know what I’m matching my tie to.”

I pursed my lips in pretend anger, despite the smile that still managed to peak through.  “You jerk, you really had my scared!” I hit his arm.

“Ow!” Tom complained.  He grabbed my hand as it was gearing up to hit him again and pulled me into another hug, still softly chuckling my hair.  I grinned and cradled my new puppy to my chest, who’d already fallen asleep after all the excitement.  I was going to go on a date with Tom Holland.  Maybe I’ll even get to be his girlfriend!

[ibijau]

xisang 13, bc i need to see it happen sjhdjshdhhdb

warning for drug use. And for probably somewhat inacurate depictions of getting high? I try to research a bit but welp

The dried leaves had a rather unusual shape, and a distinctive smell that made Nie Huaisang wrinkle his nose when he took a sniff.

“They’re medicinal,” Lan Xichen explained as he prepared a pipe. “Wei Wuxian found them on a trip and thought they might be helpful. Do you want to try?”

“What is it supposed to cure?” Nie Huaisang asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

It wasn’t that he suspected Lan Xichen of keeping poison around the Hanshi in case some unwanted visitor came to trouble his seclusion, giving him a chance to settle scores, but… Nie Huaisang hadn’t survived this long by being overly trusting.

“It helps you relax,” Lan Xichen said with affected nonchalance. “You look like you could use it.”

Nie Huaisang hesitated and watched as Lan Xichen calmly lit his pipe and sat with it on his sofa. The smell was stronger now that the leaves were burning, heady and nearly unpleasant. Nie Huaisang knew he ought to have gone away and returned at a later time, when Lan Xichen was in a more cooperative mood. Who knew when he’d have such a chance again though, with how protective Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji had become.

“I suppose I’ve had a little more stress to deal with than usual,” Nie Huaisang conceded, still eyeing the pipe suspiciously. “You’ve heard the news, perhaps?”

Lan Xichen pulled on the pipe, then nodded slowly, exhaling smoke.

“Chief Cultivator Nie Huaisang. What a fate for the boy who used to pretend he’d gone blind whenever he had to study politics.” Lan Xichen chuckled. “What a punishment you’ve created for yourself, Huaisang.”

It felt odd to hear Lan Xichen’s laugh again, especially on such a subject. Nie Huaisang had to fight an impulse to grab some of those leaves and take them to a healer from his own sect to see what they really were. It was unlikely that Wei Wuxian would have willingly given Lan Xichen anything that might harm him, but to see him so relaxed felt wrong.

Even as a youth, Lan Xichen would never have leaned so casually against the armrest of a sofa, nor allowed himself to look at others with such open judgement, no matter their fault against him. It made Nie Huaisang uncomfortable to see him like that.

“Er-ge, I assure you…”

“Don’t call me that,” Lan Xichen lightly scolded, inhaling more smoke. “I have killed both of my sworn brothers now, I’m no one’s brother but Wangji’s… and only as long as I tolerate Wei Wuxian, I suspect.”

“Now you’re being unfair,” Nie Huaisang protested. “Your brother cares for you, regardless of how you feel about his husband. Anyone who knows Wangji knows how much he loves you, and…”

“Would he kill for me, I wonder?” Lan Xichen said, laughing again. “Ah, Huaisang, you’ve really raised the bar of expectations toward younger brothers. Now I’ll be cross if I get murdered and the killer isn’t brought down in a dramatic reveal that cost him his life. Or her life? I could get murdered by a woman. They’re capable of it too, after all. I think I’d prefer to be killed by a woman. Usually, they have good reasons for it. What would you prefer, Huaisang?”

“I’d prefer if you stopped smoking this,” Nie Huaisang hissed, annoyed and worried at once. “I don’t think it’s good for you.”

Lan Xichen laughed once more, lounging on his sofa and looking at Nie Huaisang from under heavy lids. He looked miles away from the warm but severely restrained man Nie Huaisang was used to. It wasn’t a bad look, though it definitely was a worrying one.

“It just relaxes me,” Lan Xichen insisted. “You should try it. When is the last time you’ve relaxed, Huaisang?”

“A while,” Nie Huaisang admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was starting to feel a little difficult to think clearly. He wondered, too late, if the leaves’ effect could be felt through their smoke alone. If so, he was in trouble already and needed to leave. The matter he had come to discuss wasn’t so urgent that he should have risked his health, perhaps even his life, over it.

If he had been wise, Nie Huaisang would have left.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to it though, his eyes drawn again and again to Lan Xichen, relaxed and seemingly content.

“Smoke with me,” Lan Xichen lazily insisted. “It’ll be fun, you’ll like it. You need to have fun sometimes, Huaisang.”

It would be unwise to agree. Dangerous even.

But it had been over two years since the death of Jin Guangyao, and in that span of time, Lan Xichen had never once expressed any interest in seeing Nie Huaisang, nor answered his letters. A better man than Nie Huaisang would have known that it was only the burning leaves making Lan Xichen say this, and would have left quickly.

Nie Huaisang had no interest in being a good man though, and he wasn’t above taking advantage of a moment of weakness to spend time again with one of the few people he’d ever counted as a friend.

Nie Huaisang went to sit on the sofa, next to Lan Xichen’s feet, and opened his hand to ask for the pipe. Lan Xichen smiled as he gave it to him.

The first pull on the pipe was a little too strong and made him cough, which in turn made Lan Xichen laugh, as if he’d never beheld anything funnier. Combined with the somewhat unpleasant earthy aftertaste it left on his tongue, Nie Huaisang thought of giving up.

“Give it a little time,” Lan Xichen advised, casually dropping his feet on Nie Huaisang’s lap. “It can take a moment to feel the effect, and then you’ll relax.”

Nie Huaisang stared down at the feet resting on his thighs. It suddenly felt a little harder to breathe, and he wasn’t sure he could blame it only on the pipe.

“Does your uncle know about this… medicine?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“I’m a grown man, I don’t need my uncle’s approval,” Lan Xichen retorted, melting a little more against the sofa, looking rather like a capricious child. “Try again, and then pass it back to me.”

Nie Huaisang obeyed.

It would have been hard to say whether he was relaxing or not, but after a few moments had passed, Nie Huaisang found it a little harder to think clearly. The only thing he could focus on was Lan Xichen, the way his slender fingers held that piper, how his lips parted to blow away smoke, his eyes slightly red but sparkling with life in a way they hadn’t in so long.

Nie Huaisang had missed him, he realised.

He hadn’t necessarily missed the man Lan Xichen had tried to become, impartial to a fault, distant like the moon, a perfect little Lan. But he had missed who Lan Xichen used to be, before everything went wrong. The teenager who was the only other person to make Nie Mingjue smile, who teased with such subtlety that most people missed it, who poked fun at Nie Huaisang’s laziness but never tried to make him be more than he was. The war had ruined that by forcing him to rise to power too soon, and then Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang had trampled what little had remained of that lively young man until only the shell of him remained.

There wasn’t much that Nie Huaisang bothered to regret, but allowing his brother to die, allowing his friends to lose themselves…

If he had tried harder, if he had tried at all…

If he had done this, if he hadn’t done that, if…

A thousand ‘if’ taunted him that he usually tried to ignore, but he couldn’t draw his mind away from them, not when every thought felt heavy and complicated.

Trapped among the memories of failures, Nie Huaisang barely registered movement on the sofa until he felt himself pulled down, his head resting on Lan Xichen’s chest.

The distant notion that this was a scandalous position, that Lan Xichen would hate him for this when he returned to his senses, only worsened Nie Huaisang’s growing anxiety. His heart was beating too fast, too hard, enough almost to make him dizzy. It was nothing at all like the relaxation Lan Xichen had promised, and Nie Huaisang’s panic increased as he wondered if he was being poisoned. If Lan Xichen had taken the antidote beforehand, if he had made himself immune to the toxin, if…

“Am I going to die?” Nie Huaisang asked in a trembling voice that hardly sounded like his own.

Lan Xichen hummed. With the hand that wasn’t holding his pipe, he started running his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair.

It felt nice, and more intimate than anything had a right to be.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die like this, held close and touched almost tenderly.

“You’ll never die,” Lan Xichen replied with an aborted yawn. “I won’t allow it.”

“Then what, immortality?” Nie Huaisang scoffed.

“Hm. Yes, doesn’t that sound nice?” Lan Xichen chuckled, sounding absolutely delighted by the idea. “You, me, and all the time in the world to do as we please.”

It did seem like a wonderful plan. Nie Huaisang felt his earlier panic recede somewhat. It was so comfortable to be like this, warm and cozy and close. He remembered being like this sometimes with his brother when he was little, after a nightmare or just when the mood struck him. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this close to anyone, and right then it seemed like such a silly decision. People were nice to be close to. Lan Xichen in particular was very nice to be close to. It was only a shame that…

“We can’t be immortals together,” Nie Huaisang sighed, forlorn and whiny.

“Why not?” Lan Xichen asked, offering the pipe to him, holding it for him as he took in some more of the smoke.

“You hate me now,” Nie Huaisang reminded him, exhaling the smoke and watching the patterns it formed in the air. “I think you’re trying to kill me with those leaves.”

Under him, he felt Lan Xichen’s laughter, almost powerful enough to dislodge him.

“I haven’t killed you that time you made me redo your accounting five times in as many weeks,” Lan Xichen pointed out. “And that was so annoying I really considered it. So don’t worry, if I didn’t do anything then, I’ll never hurt you.”

“Hm. I remember that,” Nie Huaisang mumbled. “You did look like you wanted to kill me. I almost felt sorry.”

“Only almost?”

“Hm. You’re very handsome when you’re angry. I was too busy trying to not get horny to really be sorry.”

The hand in Nie Huaisang’s hair stilled for an instant, before resuming its repetitive movement. Nie Huaisang briefly wondered if that had been a wise thing to say, but since Lan Xichen didn’t explode with anger or disgust, it couldn’t have been so bad.

“Think I’m sleepy,” Nie Huaisang muttered, nuzzling against Lan Xichen, chasing the warmth of his body through the layers he wore.

“Then sleep, A-Sang. You do look so tired.”

“I am. Will you sleep too?”

“Hm. I might,” Lan Xichen yawned, stretching to put his pipe down on a nearby low table. “If I sleep, will you still be there when I wake up this time? Or is this just another dream?”

“Too good to be a dream,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, closing his eyes. “In my dreams, you never want me to stay.”

“And in mine, you always leave,” Lan Xichen retorted with another yawn, before dropping a kiss on Nie Huaisang’s hair. “So try to be there when I wake up this time.”

[benscursedkid]

synopsis: “just in case you ever foolishly forget; i’m never not thinking of you.” — virginia woolf, selected diaries

genre: future fic, travel fic, lovers to exes to ??? to lovers again, kinda considered a five times fic but its debatable, fluff, angst

pairing: talbott winger x reader (no house specified but if you wanna pull my arm i’d say it’s probably either a slytherin or a ravenclaw)

word count: 1.952

part: prologue, i

a/n: am i starting another series? sorta. don’t i have tons of wips and requests i should probably write first? yep. will i finish this? who knows. do i feel kinda bad? maybe just a little bit. but this idea has been sitting in my drafts for over a year so. enjoy!

hogwarts castle, scottish highlands - june 30th, 1991

Of course you would find him here, you think, alone and in silence. 

Away from the party—far away, just as you assumed—and tucked into a tiny corner of peace and serenity. It feels very much like that calm before the storm everyone always talks about. This night simultaneously marks the end of an era and tiptoes onto the precipice of a new one. And while you’re not sure where you’ll fit in it now that your story has been told, you do know that you will always have a place here. Beside him. 

You push up on your toes yourself, trying very hard not to disturb his moment. It looks like a landscape, your mind whispers, a perfect scenery. 

The sky is dark, but the moon and stars are out, shining and twinkling so bright it turns the night sky from an inky black to a deep blue. From the vantage point, you can see the grounds of Hogwarts Castle rolling far into the horizon, visible only thanks to the distant fireworks that crackle from above. They light up the sky in bursts of red and yellows and purples, illuminating his face as he sits, quietly, in front of the only window the Astronomy Tower offers. 

The gentle smile you find there is one even you don’t get to see as often as you’d like and it compels you into hesitation, hovering just slightly outside the door. You smile and observe for a moment. This is a sight you never want to forget. 

“You planning on standing there all night?” Comes a low, rumbling sound and it doesn’t even take a second for you to recognize it. Your smile softens. 

Slowly, you stride forward, stopping next to him and offering him a careful look. He meets your eyes earnestly and you take that as consent enough to take your seat to his left. Your legs fold underneath you as you squirm a little and settle right in front of the window. Instinct calls for you to watch the sky and you decide to do so for a while. 

A beat passes. “I didn’t know you heard me come in.” You reply nonchalantly, maybe a twinge of curiosity sliding off your tongue, but you don’t pick at it long. 

He shrugs, the faintest hint of a smirk cracking his lips apart. “Hawk eyes and ears, remember?” 

“Ah yes,” You click your tongue as you concede. “How could I forget.”

It is not a question, but rather your dry attempt at a joke. However, as always, it is one he recognizes and appreciates for all its simplicity and he grins just so. He makes no further move to comment, but a thought comes to you, one you are surprised you have never considered before given the frequency with which you employ his company. 

“Do birds even have ears?” 

He laughs at this, but it is light and airy and more breath than bowel. Your own chest lightens at the sound and you instantly crave to hear it again. “Yes, they do,” He states simply, his chuckle being swallowed into the silence that is broken only by his words and the muffled eruptions of fireworks. “Just because they are hidden by feathers, does not mean they aren’t there.” 

“My mistake.” You admit and Talbott shakes his head in remote amusement. And despite the admittedly short distance that still remains between you as you allow your shoulder to bump his, a warm sense of intimacy blooms in your chest. 

Again you fall into companionable silence, something not all that uncommon between you. Most days, you may not allow yourselves to dwell in it so deeply, but something about tonight leaves you complacent. Tonight you are simply out of words and you find that you are okay with that. There is nothing that you feel you need to say. 

Of course, there is actually lots to say, but you don’t feel the need to say them. Not right now, anyway. 

And so you sit. Watch the fireworks. Lingering in the air around you is the illusion of time passing as you lose yourself to comfortability. For once, there are no threats, no imminent dangers, no uncertainty and you feel possessed to keep that feeling around for as long as you can. 

But from beside you, Talbott swallows and, without looking away from the open window, he murmurs a, “It’s pretty.”

You refrain from arching an eyebrow at this, turning your head to look at him. He does not follow suit. Truthfully, you are surprised he elected to speak. “Yes,” You agree and you know it’s sickeningly cliché but you notice that you are not talking about the skyline. “It is.” 

Talbott seems to catch onto this too and finally turns to offer you a similarly arched eyebrow. It lifts up in a manner that tells you he is shocked you would venture with such a line, but is not in the mood to question it. You grin. After a sigh, he grins back. 

Leaning back, you roll your shoulders out, giving him a small side-eye. “Though, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be a firework kinda guy.”

For a moment, he doesn’t seem to know what to think of that but eventually he says, “They’re better from far away.”

You snicker darkly at that. “Lots of things are, Tal.” 

“Yeah,” He nods, his focus shifting back to the show. “Maybe.” 

You take this prolonged moment of ellipses to chew on your response. Just by glancing over at him, you can tell there is something else he means to say, but perhaps does not have the words he needs to string it into a reply. Considering your options, you are about to change the subject when his eyes flick over to yours. 

It’s a color you’ve found that—after years of friendship and the slightly newer, unspoken agreement of something more—you can never admire without thinking purely of him. From the moment you met him, you knew that the color would never again represent anything but the shadows of Talbott Winger’s soul as though the shade was only ever created just to color his eyes. To you, it is not even a color anymore. It is its own, unique thing that you can no longer hope to describe with any measurement of accuracy. 

Sometimes you can’t quite tell if it’s red or pink or somewhere in between, but you know that it reminds you of paint. Of the playful, light-hearted, and absent-minded mixing of colors that turn haphazardly into a masterpiece. Being of the unintentional kind, you’d have to say that it is of the best kind. 

Talbott, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice your idle admiration and nervously clears his throat. “I’d like for this to be different.” 

“This?” You have no choice but to question, not exactly sure if you are daring enough to trust logic and common sense and rationality where things like the heart are concerned. 

“Us.” 

All at once, your throat goes dry and your lips part as if to speak but have in an instant forgotten how. A chill shivers down your spin and you feel the blood inside you run cold. Suddenly, there is an “us” to be worrying about. Granted, the two of you may have been unofficially together for longer than you actually remember now, but now he has said as much. 

Now that he has cared enough to put it into words, it is like as if from nothing it is very suddenly and very terrifyingly real. 

In spite of yourself, your head hangs and you seem suddenly unable to meet his eyes any longer. This causes Talbott to frown and you are justly ashamed to admit you pretend not to notice. 

Instead, with nothing else to do, you reach over to grab his hands. Your fingers slip through his, interlocking in the way they always do and it gives you the strength you need to push the words past your teeth. 

“I don’t want this to be the end either, Tal.” You confess and, though the news sounds encouraging, Talbott slouches at this. His eyes that had just held the reflections of hope and discovery only moments ago, are now shrouded in darkness. 

“I know,” He tells you, and you know that he does, but his voice dips with something akin to resentment. It leaves a burning whisper of phantom regret on your skin as his words puncture through the sense you had talked into yourself several times already. It drags something inside of you down and you can almost feel the heaviness of your heart—or what’s left of it, anyway—in your ribs. “And I know that’s not enough.” 

The unspoken, though it should be does not need to be said to be heard. You can hear it just fine in the way he bites his lip to keep from saying more, afraid of ruining what is already so fragile and—

When did it get so fragile? 

You shake your head as though it will help any to discard the bad thoughts. “There’s nothing for me here anymore, Tal. You know that.”

“I’m here,” He says, his voice and expression hard as though he himself doesn’t need convincing, it’s just you. “I’m here, MC.”

And it hurts to hear. It hurts to hear because you know he is and you know that if you called, he’d still be here. He’d be right here. But when you think about where you belong, and what’s next for you… 

He’s not there. 

It hurts because it’s not enough. He is not enough for you. 

And he must know it too, or perhaps he sees it, written across the knot between your brows and the frown lines by your mouth, for he only nods once you open your mouth to speak. Resignation hangs on his shoulders and he lets out a deep sigh that sounds like the tragic ending to your story all on its own. 

With imperceptibly shaky fingers, he tucks his hand even further into the crevices of yours and squeezes. Then, after a moment of consideration, he brings them up to his lips to press a feather-light kiss to each fingertip. You wait as he does so with a heavy heart. 

“It’s okay,” He says and no it’s not. “Just know that if you ever get into trouble, which I’m sure you will because if you don’t find it somehow it always finds you—” You almost want to laugh here but your lips feel like two pieces of string sewn together. Shut. “—you can always call me.”

Still, you try for a smile anyway. “The auror’s office won’t mind?”

“I don’t care,” Comes his immediate reply, each syllable pronounced with such conviction it leaves no room for doubt. “I won’t mind.” 

This time, your lips lift easier and your head falls against his strong shoulder of its own accord. The world spins and adjusts as you settle, the firework finale bursting into glittering strands in the sky before you. 

And as the final night of your seventh year at Hogwarts runs on pretty displays and borrowed time, your head tucked against his shoulder and your hand interlaced tightly with his, your mind races on. It pieces together infinite truths and untruths and possibilities about what the future might hold for you. 

Maybe Talbott is right. Maybe some things are only pretty from far away. 

But even if it is to forever remain as only a part of your past, you’re sure of at least one thing: this moment, right here, will be one of your favorite parts.

[hayleysstark]

For your prompt event: Merlin accidentally hurting Arthur with his magic post-reveal and freaking out about it? (I love your writing!)

oh my god op YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!! im losign it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, 

Arthur had all of ten seconds to get out of range and, as it turned out, ten seconds wasn't nearly enough.

To tell the truth, he knew it was all his own fault—he hadn't tried or, at least, he hadn't tried hard enough, mostly because he didn't want to get out of range, he didn't want to run away, and he certainly didn't want to leave Merlin behind to face the mad old witch entirely on his own. For all his magic, for all his power and know-how and strange, old-soul wisdom, Merlin was a right idiot most of the time and, while Arthur trusted him to take down an obviously mediocre, middle-of-the-road sorceress alone, he most definitely did not trust him to be smart about it. He didn't trust Merlin to be smart about most things, come to that, but magical battles with evil sorcerers was settled firmly at the top of the list.

But it didn't do an ounce of good, because Arthur couldn't get near enough to land a blow on the old woman, and he couldn't even get near enough to watch Merlin's back like he should, like he usually did in these sorts of situations—the spells flew far too thick and fast around the quiet green grove, blinding bursts of color and light flashing like suns and stars in the deep shadows of the wood, curses rebounding like stray cannonballs off the trees and boulders and branches—no, he could only stand there, sword in his hand, out on the edge of the battle, completely useless.

All of a sudden, the old witch stopped, her wrinkled hands still held out in front of her, and she said something—it didn't sound like magic, it didn't sound like a spell, and it didn't look much like magic, either, it looked like she was talking to Merlin, like she was talking and she wanted him to talk back, but Arthur couldn't hear the words over the whispers and rustles of all the sorcery in the grove—and it must have been magic, he realized, hardly half a second later, because a high, howling wind whipped up, right in the middle of the forest, on a cloudless, sunny day.

She must be a bit better than mediocre, then, she must be a bit more than middle-of-the-road, if she could call up storms like Merlin could—

The wind picked up, stronger and stronger until the shriek of it was all Arthur could hear, until the force of it nearly ripped his cloak from his shoulders and clawed the sword from his hand, until it pushed him back, farther and farther away from the old witch, away from Merlin, until it finally grabbed him up in its screaming grip and slammed him, with a nasty crunch, back into the nearest tree.

As near as Arthur could figure out, from the flashes of blue sky rushing past over his head and the fleeting glimpses of Merlin's bone-white face and terrified blue eyes, he had come back 'round on the way back to the castle, but he hadn't stayed awake long enough to remember much, and Merlin had, apparently, defeated the old woman mere moments after Arthur had blacked out, but he never heard the whole of it, and Merlin never told him.

All he could say for certain was, when he had finally opened his eyes to find himself in Gaius' chambers, in the rickety white cot reserved solely for the very ill, the old man had forced him to choke down a vast number of horrible potions and medicines before he had allowed Arthur to settle back in his own bedchamber.

It had seemed an awful lot of fuss for nothing but a broken arm and a few bruised ribs, and, if he had to make a guess, he would say the whole thing had upset Merlin rather more than he had thought it would, and certainly a great deal more than it had any right to—the idiot had turned into the perfect servant in the week since, nothing but yes Sire or no Sire or let me get that for you, Sire, not one gripe or grumble or complaint to be had, and never more than ten steps from Arthur's bedside.

And he didn't make a face when Arthur told him to muck the stables, and he didn't breeze in to work a half hour too late Arthur's breakfast in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face, and he didn't throw the curtains wide and shout good morning like he wanted to wake the entire castle, and he hadn't spilled wine in Arthur's lap even once, and he hadn't used his magic to heat the bathwater, or scrub the floor, or make the bed, and Arthur's armor had literally never shined brighter, a dazzling silver gleam out of the corner of his eye, glinting and flashing in the light of the sun through the open window.

It was absolutely unbearable.

And it was obviously much more than the usual mother-hen impulses Merlin fell into when Arthur got hurt, because he certainly hadn't acted like this even when Arthur had gotten a bite from the Questing Beast, when Arthur had, very literally, cheated death, and survived the unsurvivable!

No, this was bigger than all Merlin's girlish little fits and frenzies of fear, this was more than his everyday panic over nothing, and Arthur was not going to put up with it one moment longer.

"All right," he said, eight days out from that fight in the forest with the old witch, his arm still wrapped firmly in a simple white sling, and the bruising on his ribs a touch lighter now, and certainly less painful, "out with it, Merlin, what is it? What's gotten into you lately?"

"Sorry?" Merlin said, flatly, and he didn't even look up from where he had crouched down to pick up all the dirty laundry scattered 'round the chamber. "Not sure what you mean."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin, you and I both know that suits you a bit too well."

"Yeah," Merlin said blandly, stuffing Arthur's brown trousers in his basket, "just one of my many gifts, Sire."

"Merlin," Arthur sat up a little in his seat, and put down his quill with a soft swish of the long white feather on parchment, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," Merlin said at once. He tossed a pair of socks in the basket, too. "It's nothing."

Arthur waited.

Merlin straightened up and turned his back on Arthur to pluck a red tunic up off the floor and plop it down in the basket with everything else.

Arthur waited a bit more.

All of a sudden, Merlin stopped, with the basket perched on the end of the bed, his hands still clinging to the wooden rim, and finally, Arthur thought, with a rush of relief, finally, he's going to stop being such a girl and just tell me—

Merlin sniffled.

Arthur's insides turned to ice. Oh, God, no, this was a mistake, this was a terrible, awful, horrendous mistake, and now Merlin was having feelings, and what if Merlin wanted to talk about those feelings, couldn't he just give Merlin the day off and let him sort it out on his own time, wasn't that a thing he could do, or would that be "insensitive" and "rude" the way Guinevere always told him, would that make him a "bad friend" the way Guinevere always told him—? "Um," he said, a little blankly, and a lot desperately, "y-you don't need to—you shouldn't—erm—"

"I—" Merlin wiped at his face with the back of his hand, and turned to look at Arthur, his eyes red and puffy, his cheeks sticky and stained with tears, "—I-I'm sorry."

"For crying?" Arthur said, rather weakly, and also rather hopefully.

"I should have said it sooner, but I thought you were going to—to bring it up, and I thought you were going to be angry, so I-I just waited and waited, but you didn't—"

Not for crying, then, Arthur concluded dismally, before he scraped up the last remnants of his dwindling-in-the-face-of-a-crying-Merlin courage. "Why on earth did you think I'd be angry with you?"

"I did this to you," Merlin said, looking for all the world like a deeply repentant puppy left out in the pouring rain, waiting to be kicked. "I hurt you. I-I used my magic to h-hurt you."

What? Arthur blinked a bit dazedly at Merlin while he waited for the words to make some sort of sense. "Hang on," he said, slowly, mostly to make sure he had this absolutely right, "you were the one who called up that wind? You were the one who—?"

Merlin blinked back, just as dazedly. "Y-You didn't know?"

"I thought it was the witch!" Arthur said, thoroughly baffled now. "What in God's name did you do that for? You never do storms unless it's—!"

"I got angry," Merlin said miserably. He sniffled again and wiped at his nose now. "I—I got so angry, she—she said some things that made me realize she was—she was somebody that had done really awful things, she had—she had hurt someone I know, she'd hurt her really badly, and I lost my temper, and—" he flicked a mournful glance up at Arthur from under his wet lashes, "—and it just happened, and Arthur, I'm so sorry!"

Arthur almost crumpled right back down in his seat again. Merlin had conjured up that wind, not the old witch, and oh, that made sense now, didn't it, he had thought, even then, the old woman hadn't seemed strong enough for magic like that, he had thought she hadn't had the power for a thing like that, and he had been right, and—

—and if she was so mediocre and middle-of-the-road, what on earth had she done in her past, to make Merlin so furious with her? "Is she—?" Arthur raised his head to look at his friend on the other side of the room. "Is she all right? The friend that the witch hurt? Is she all right now?"

Merlin stared blankly back at him, blue eyes wide and wet. "That's—?" he scrubbed at his nose again. "That's what you're worried about? Not the fact that I almost killed you?"

Arthur almost laughed. "It's a broken arm, Merlin, and it's not even my sword arm! Honestly, I hardly think I'm going to drop dead all because—"

"It's not funny," Merlin snapped, his every word sharp as a knife when it rolled off his tongue. "It's not funny, Arthur, this isn't a joke! I almost killed you! I almost killed you because I lost my temper! Because I lost control!"

"Yes," Arthur conceded, "but everyone loses their temper at some point, I wouldn't worry about it if I were—"

"Well, you're not me!" Merlin bit out. "And count yourself lucky on that, because when you lose your temper, you don't have to worry that you'll wipe out the entire kingdom, or—or level a whole forest, or put all your friends in danger just because you can't—!"

"M-Merlin," Arthur said, too startled to stay silent any longer, "of course you're not going to—"

"You don't know that!"

"No, I don't know that!" Arthur said sharply, a bitter burn of fury in the back of his throat, because what the hell was wrong with this idiot, why the hell couldn't he see—? "You're right, Merlin, I don't know that, I don't know for absolutely certain that you are never going to do something horrible, but I trust that you won't! I don't know, I can't tell the future, I'm not a Seer, but I trust you to do what's right and to never take it too far, and isn't that enough for you?"

For a moment that felt very much like forever, Merlin only looked at Arthur, his eyes still red, a few stray tears still trailing lazily down his wet cheeks. "But look at what I did to you," he whispered. "You can't honestly tell me you're not angry with me."

Arthur let out a soft, heavy sigh, and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. Yeah, sure, he was a bit put out, but mostly he was put out that he had gotten stuck in bed for three days straight, and that Merlin had decided to hedge around the problem for so long when he could have come to Arthur and told the truth straight-out, but it was like he had said to Merlin—everybody lost their temper now and then, it was hardly some sort of bone-deep sin Merlin had to atone for every day for the rest of his life.

"You can't honestly tell me," Merlin said, and even softer than a whisper now, softer than a breath, "that you're not scared of me."

Oh. Arthur's chest squeezed with something almost like pity. Oh, that's what this is, that's what he thinks, that's what he's so worried about— "Merlin," he said, and he meant it, "I'm not scared of you. There's nothing in you to be afraid of."

"Except the magic that could have broken your neck," Merlin snapped, voice high and tight and still thick with tears. "You don't have to pretend, Arthur, you don't have to put on some kind of front for me, I understand, I get it—"

"You can't swing a sword without almost impaling yourself on the blade," Arthur pointed out. "You can't go an entire day without tripping over your own boots and falling flat on your face. There's nothing in you to be afraid of, and trust me, I'm not flattering you when I say that."

Merlin stared at Arthur like he had never seen him before, his eyes enormous in his tear-streaked face, one hand halfway up to dry the damp trails on his cheeks again. "Y-You're not—?"

"For God's sake, no!" Arthur rolled his eyes. "One time, I heard you say sorry to a butterfly!"

"I startled her," Merlin said, at once, and scrubbed at his eyes again. "I hit the branch she was resting on with my elbow, and I startled her."

Arthur had to bite back a smile. "Yes, I'm absolutely terrified. Shaking in my boots, Merlin, please don't kill me with your evil temper and big bad sorcerer powers."

Merlin turned a little pink. "I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely. "I really didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, I picked up on that, believe it or not."

Merlin went a touch pinker, but he pushed on valiantly. "I-I didn't realize you were near enough to get hurt. I should have been more careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Arthur echoed incredulously, half-offended and half-amused. "Tell me, Merlin, how is it that I'm the one who got thrown into a tree, you're the one crying about it, and you still manage to make me sound like the delicate maiden in this situation?"

Merlin wiped at his nose again. "Should have known you'd be all right," he said, finally, and unless Arthur was very much mistaken, he could swear he saw a small smile tug at the edge of the idiot's lip. "Should have figured your thick skull would cushion the blow."

"Merlin—!"

[nkatr84]

Obi Wan/female reader oneshot Part 2

Waiting

Let’s shift the POV to Obi Wan’s shall we? (P.s. This is like the first fanfic I’ve written in years, first Star Wars one, first time writing Obi Wan, first reader fic and the first fanfic I published on tumblr. Enjoy!)

Obi Wan would never forget the day he met you. One minute he had been ready to take his seat in the booth at the diner of Master Qui Gon’s old friend. The next he was catching you in his arms and the stopping the milkshakes mid air.

Your eyes had caught him off guard. He had never met anyone outside the temple that eyes just glowed with the light side of the Force like yours did. And he certainly had never met a girl outside the temple that made him blush when you looked at him. He had found himself watching you every few minutes.

Master Qui Gon had noticed.

“Pretty isn’t she Padawan?” He had asked Obi Wan as they were leaving the diner.

Obi Wan had blushed again at being caught trying to stare at you until the last possible moment. He had shrugged,

“I suppose she is.”

“Obi Wan I’m not going to send you back to the Agricore for being a teenage boy noticing a pretty girl!” Qui Gon had laughed throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“But such actions lead to attachments don’t they Master?” Obi Wab had asked.

Qui Gon gave him a smirk,

“If you’re lucky my Boy.”

Seeing his confusion, Qui Gon had sighed. Forbidding attachments may work for some Jedi, but Qui Gon believed in the Force. That the Force was about finding balance. To not fear the Dark side nor let it consume you. That trillions of beings loved and had families every day because the Force willed it. It was just Life.

“It’s natural. To desire. To want. To love.” Qui Gon told him.

“But the Jedi are supposed to be above such things.”

“Obi Wan, I know you’re dead set on being the perfect Jedi, but maybe you can pretend I might know what I’m talking about?” Qui Gon quipped.

“Sorry Master.”

Obi Wan began to suspect that Qui Gon kept taking him back to the diner just to force him to gawk at you. Especially when he prompted him to talk to you. But he knew nothing about girls outside of the temple. You didn’t know anything about lightsaber techniques or mediation or the Jedi texts. Your shy smile sure did make his palms sweat though. He kept to small talk less he make a fool of himself.

When Qui Gon started taking him on more missions, he hoped he could focus back on his training rather than the way his heart began to pound when he saw you.

Then he met Satine. She was so different than you. Much more serious . Yet quick to tease him. More vocal. More passionate. She taught him how to flirt. Making him come to the conclusion that you must not be interested in him. That he had imagined your interest.

And after getting separated from Qui Gon and forced out on the run from the various bounty hunters after her, he soon would trust Satine with his life. She started to question if he liked Mandalore, despite its politics. Talk about the future. Their future together. He got used to the idea of sharing his life with someone. It sounded nice.

Yet...it was always Satine’s plans when she spoke of the future. As if she just assumed he would drop everything to be with her. He tried not to let it bother him. But it was a bit frustrating because she didn’t presume he would leave the Order either. She was a bit contrary that way.

And while the rush of adventure and survival fueled their romance, he has a hard time picturing a quiet moment with Satine. To just be Satine and Obi Wan. That’s when he would wonder what you were doing back on Corescant.

So it was inevitable when the running ended and he finally lowered his inhabitions to kiss Satine. Only to sigh your name. Satine had shoved him in a lake.

Also inevitable was going back to the diner as soon as he returned. But he felt too guilty to tell you of his adventures. Guilty because he still liked you. While also having feelings for Satine. A guilt that returned every time he saw Satine again and vice versa.

So he buckled down on his commitment to the Order. To Qui Gon’s chargrin. He soon felt guilty about that after his master’s death. But your faith in him made him feel better. That’s when he allowed himself your friendship.

Over the years he stayed just outside your orbit. Far enough away to not tempt himself. Yet close enough to see that you didn’t have a high opinion of yourself. That you thought yourself plain and dull. You just worked too much that’s all. Which was saying a lot coming from him.

Satine also came back into his life. Multiple times over the years. And his feelings for the Duchess of Mandalore were just as strong as what he felt for you. Even to a point that he confessed he would have left the Order for her, if she had asked. Never letting Satine know he’d do the same for you.

Finding out you had to work extra jobs to survive stirred up his longing to take care of you. The sight of you in that dress stirred up a different kind of longing. A longing that made the damn war more tolerable at any rate.

He was old enough at that point to admit he loved your figure. Somewhere Qui Gon was saying, “I told you so”. Anakin did so in person.

“Nice dress huh Master?” Anakin had asked over the music that night. Infuriating smirk on his mug.

“Shut up Anakin.” He had told him. The clones weren’t much better. Wondering why a cute girl like you was still single. Saying they wouldn’t mind coming home to a girl like you. Sentiments he reluctantly but silently admitted to himself that he shared. Maybe that’s why he had kissed your cheek that night. To test the waters as it were.

Yet when he was tasked to go undercover as Hardeen he took the plunge. For the first time in his life he could pretend to be an ordinary man. Granted Hardeen wasn’t much to look at, but making you blush by openly calling you pretty made all the difference.

When he heard you confess that you returned his feelings, he couldn’t stop himself. He tried to explain. Explain how he was pulled in three different directions. Explain what drew him to you. Yet still kept finding himself back in that diner. Back to you.

Then Anakin and his impeccable timing had all but stopped him from revealing his identity to you. Without a moment to spare Obi Wan took one last risk. He kissed you.

He swore he had become one with the Force that moment. You just felt right. He would hold on to that moment all through his mission. Promising himself to confess everything once he got back. And he did.

He just hadn’t counted on how he had hurt you.

He still had his command and the war to think about. Even indulging in Satine’s company again. But anytime he had leave he would walk in Dex’s, looking for your face. Worried you had quit, Obi Wan asked Dex about you.

“You know Obi Wan. I don’t know much about being a Jedi. But I do know that kid has been waiting for you for twenty years to figure out that’s she’s in love with you. Every since that day you had caught her when she tripped.

But she knows how important the Order is to you. How much good you do. She doesn’t think that she’s important enough to compete with the Force. Let alone a Duchess. Doesn’t even think she’s important enough to live life outside of work. She just survives.

But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want respect. And unless you respect that girl for who she is you can forget about me helping you get back in her good graces.” Dex had lectured.

“I understand.” Obi Wan had sighed making to go.

No sooner had he stood, Dex had stopped him, saying while stroking his chin,

“Now if I were to get sick one day, I’d have to call my best waitress in on her day off to close the diner. One day being...Tuesday?”

Obi Wan had smiled conspiredingly,

“Here’s to your health then my friend.”

But he didn’t make it to Tuesday. Satine had called for his help. Darth Maul had returned. Imprisoning her and taking the throne of Mandalore for himself.

He saw Satine’s face everywhere for months after she died. Even in battle he just went through the motions. He avoided the diner altogether. Woke from nightmares of Satine lying in his arms confessing her love with her dying breath.

Until one night, she had chuckled and smiled, telling him,

“Obi Wan. I’m not the only one who loves you. I know now you’ve been torn between us. Don’t make my mistake my Love. Tell her how you feel. No disguises. No half truths. Just you. Believe me. You’re more than enough.”

“I promise.” He swore, kissing her fingers.

“And do hurry my Love. Something is coming that will hurt you far more than losing me. Or her. Something terrible.” She warned.

Which is when he finally woke up. He called Dex to make the arrangements. And that was how he found himself sitting across from you. Telling you his decision. He would complete his duty for the War effort then leave the Order. But you surprised him yet again. By telling him you loved him. All of him. Which included his connection to the Force.

When you reminded him how fear of losing someone lead to the Dark Side, Obi Wan swore he saw Qui Gon out of the corner of his eye, a look of approval on his face. But he wasn’t there.

“Right as always my Darling.” He had conceded. Then kissing your hand. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make up for over twenty years of making you wait for him. But Obi Wan Kenobi couldn’t wait to try. Despite the nagging feeling from the Force that their love was not done being tested just yet.

(And...there’s probably going to be a part three...fair warning)

[dothwrites]

part vi of mafia!au 

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

COMPLETE

---

Recovery is slow and excruciating. 

Castiel’s body has never rebelled against him to this extent. His muscles refuse to do their damn jobs and function. He’s relegated to his bed for days on end, while being forced to endure Sam Winchester’s lurking and Gabriel’s overly effusive attempts to cheer him. 

All of those would be fine, except that he hasn’t seen the house’s other occupant, Dean Winchester, except in short glimpses, as though Dean is the rarest of all animals, only seen from a distance. 

Which is fucking bullshit, because he can hear Dean’s voice, echoing through the tiny confines of the house, after Dean thinks he’s asleep. Clearly, it’s not the concept of social interaction which Dean finds daunting, but rather, the concept of social interaction with him. 

It’s infuriating. 

It wouldn’t be as bad if he thought Dean’s avoidance was due to hatred or indifference. But even though he’d been fairly hazy that first morning, he’d seen how Dean’s whole face brightened, he’d felt the hard clutch of Dean’s fingers in his. The look on Dean’s face...Castiel doesn’t want to put a name to it, doesn’t dare try to define it, but he knows for sure that it wasn’t hatred or apathy. 

Which means Dean is staying away from him for some other reason and that...

That’s bullshit. 

So Castiel does what he’s been doing his entire life and pushes everything aside in favor of a single minded pursuit. This time, he pours all of himself into the mission to get his fucking body to do what it’s supposed to do. He starts with minuscule goals, such as getting out of bed and pacing around his room, but it’s still too much for some. 

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Gabriel asks, a little sourly, as he stands in the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom. 

“Are you sure you should be poking your nose into my business?” Castiel asks back. For all that Gabriel is the elder sibling, they’ve never been under any delusions as to who was actually suited for this business. Gabriel is too flighty, too interested in frivolous pursuits and the mundane workings of everyday life. It was always Castiel who could sink his teeth into a problem, who could take it apart, hold the bloody pieces in his hands, and see how they could be sewn back together into a new animal. 

“Whatever,” Gabriel concedes, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “On your own head be it.” 

Castiel sneers after Gabriel as he turns to leave. He’s just in time for Dean to poke his head out of his room. It would be comical, if it weren’t so infuriating, to see how quickly Dean’s eyes bulge and his face reddens. Castiel is afforded one swift glimpse before Dean retreats into the safety of his room, slamming the door closed behind him. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and starts another circuit around the room. 

---

His body might be stubborn but Castiel continues on his conquest of it. Soon, he’s walking laps around the house, followed by short jogs around the property. The safehouse is far enough in the country that, as long as he’s careful, he can exercise outside without garnering too much attention. 

The Winchesters and Gabriel watch him with varying degrees of concern. 

“I already told you, I’m fine,” Castiel grunts, massaging at his sore calves after a midnight run. “Besides, we can’t afford to stay here forever.” 

Judging from the shifty look on Gabriel’s face, this is not the first time someone has mentioned this fact. He also notes that his brother proposes no solution, which means that no one has either managed or bothered to come up with one. Typical. 

Castiel’s impatience and ire increases when he considers the reason they haven’t yet moved on. They’re waiting for him to recover, which is an unconscionable burden on his mind. Every minute they spend in this house, waiting for him to get his shit together, is another minute he’s putting them all in danger. 

Gabriel lingers in the doorway, saying nothing, yet watching Castiel with an intensity usually only reserved for cupcakes and candy. After a few moments it starts to grate on Castiel’s nerves, yet he waits until he’s fully done with his post-run routine to speak. “Something else you needed?” 

“When are you going to talk about it?” Gabriel asks, much too kindly for Castiel’s liking. 

“Talk about what? What do to next? I’d love to do that, if it were possible to get you, Sam, and Dean in the same room for longer than five minutes.” 

“When are you going to talk about Naomi?” 

Castiel’s blood freezes. 

“I might be an idiot, but I know enough. I know who Dad’s attack dogs are, and I know how they work.” Gabriel swallows, unwontedly serious. “I saw the marks, Cassie.” 

Castiel’s hand makes an aborted jerk to the crook of his elbow where the scars are still livid against his skin. He catches the movement before it has a chance to amount to anything and forces his hand back down to his side. He can still feel the phantom ache of needles pushing into his skin, still remember how it felt when the road forked and reality went one way while his brain went another. 

He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, he’ll catch movement out of the corner of his eye, turn, and find nothing there. He tries to tell himself that this happens to everyone, that he’s fine, that he’s normal, but there’s always the insidious creeping fear down his spine--What if he’s losing it? What if Naomi fucked him up permanently? 

What if he’s never the same? 

If he doesn’t have his mind, if he doesn’t have his body, then he’s useless. He can’t protect anyone. He has nothing to offer. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel croaks, once he realizes Gabriel is still waiting for an answer. 

One eyebrow ticks upwards. “Yeah, once more until I actually believe you.”

“I already said that I’m fine. I don’t know what else you want.” 

Gabriel throws his arm wide. “For you to stop trying to run yourself into the ground? For you to stay in a room longer than ten minutes? For you to acknowledge that you maybe have an actual problem?”

Castiel sniffs, retreating into haughtiness to hide his hurt and anxiety. “Well, I’m sorry if I choose to concentrate on more important things, like trying to get well enough to protect us all.”

Gabriel gapes at him. “To protect...” He looks over his shoulder, like he expects to find the Winchesters supporting him. Upon finding no one there, he turns back to Castiel. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dean and I are fairly good at what we do. Even the stringbean can hit the broad side of a barn. We’re fine.” 

The deliberate inflection of his voice suggests that Castiel is somehow not lumped into the general category of ‘fine’. 

“Fuck off,” Castiel growls, as a more appropriate comeback fails to materialize. He storms past his brother, hitting him in the shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom. Gabriel doesn’t try to stop him, but Castiel knows he’s still watching. 

Some of his righteous rage is lost when he looks down the length of the hallway and finds Dean standing at the opposite end. He spares a single, startled look at Castiel before he scampers back towards the living room. Castiel’s temper worsens at the sight of Dean’s retreating back. 

Dean is a confirmed killer, a man who’s known the feel of a gun in his hand since he could walk. He’s seen Dean in action and admired his skills and ruthlessness. Now he’s watching the same man running scared. Castiel can’t think of anything more pathetic or more frustrating. 

Now in a profoundly foul mood, Castiel slams the bathroom door shut. The sound echoes through the house. He twists the knob of the creaky shower, turning the heat all the way up so that steam billows throughout the room. He steps underneath the spray, ignoring the tendrils of pain licking across his body, his tender, scarred skin protesting the rough treatment. 

He pushes away the ever present nip of worry (what if Gabriel’s right, what if he’s weak, what if he’s broken beyond repair) and scrubs at his skin until tiny pinpricks of blood well up, and then he scrubs some more. 

---

Matters come to a head a few days later. 

No longer content with pushing his body through runs, Castiel’s taken to shadow boxing in the house’s basement. He dances around the dank, mildewy space in his bare feet, tossing punches and kicks at imaginary enemies. His muscles scream at the exercise and threaten to collapse and tear, but he pushes on anyway. 

His thoughts are spiraling ever downward, dovetailing with his exhaustion. Castiel’s so lost within their grip that the opening of the basement door escapes his attention. Even the weary creak of the step doesn’t catch his attention. He’s formed bad habits in his convalescence. In his world, such laziness gets people killed. 

When he catches sight of Dean standing at the foot of the stairs, he jumps in surprise. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks red, and he hides his shame with snippiness. “Did you need something?” 

Castiel paces around the basement, grabbing a bottle of water, just to give his hands something to do. He tries to unscrew the top but gives up after two tries. He doesn’t want Dean to see how badly his hands are trembling. 

“You know that we’ve got your back, right?” Dean finally says. Castiel stops pacing. He wasn’t expecting that. 

Despite his surprise, he recovers quickly. “Coming from a Winchester, that isn’t exactly inspiring,” he sneers. 

Dean doesn’t try to hide his flinch. Castiel feels an irrational stab of guilt at that. “I just thought you should hear it from someone who wasn’t your brother,” he says, already turning to go back up the stairs. “But you have all three of us. Him, Sam.” Dean pauses for a second. “Me.” He continues on quickly, like he wants Castiel to forget about the slight emphasis he put on himself. “Anyway, you don’t have to do this every day. Take a day off before you kill yourself.” 

Castiel’s upper lip lifts reflexively. So, Dean’s joined forces with Gabriel. Next, he supposes Sam Winchester will find him and urge him to talk about it, you’ll feel better if you get it all out in the open. 

“Stay,” he says, brain running ahead of his common sense. Dean pauses, his foot already on the step. “It’s no good shadow boxing. I need a partner.” 

Dean wants to argue. Castiel can tell by his hesitation, the twitch of his fingers, the way he closes his mouth on whatever he was going to say. Castiel waits, head cocked to the side. He doesn’t quite smile in victory when Dean makes his decision, but he must give off the impression of it, as Dean’s expression darkens. 

“You know this isn’t doing you any good,” Dean says, as he sheds his flannel overshirt. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Castiel is on him, swinging at his head in a wild, haymaker punch. Dean blocks him easily, but the suddenness of the attack surprises him, as he lurches backward. 

“What the hell?” he spits, a mixture of fury and worry spread across his face. 

Castiel dances back, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet. His fists are held up close to his jaw, elbows tucked in close to his sides to protect his ribs. Within seconds, Dean copies his movements, but with slight differences. Castiel keeps himself contained, taut, muscles coiled in a defensive posture. Dean is looser, his left hand lazily extended, though Castiel doesn’t fall for the trap. That left hand can just as easily block blows as it can land a stinging jab. 

When it comes to Dean Winchester, there are dozens of traps, and Castiel seems to have fallen into all of them. 

They spend several long minutes circling each other, exchanging tentative jabs in a dance of blocks and dodges. They learn what blows the other considers threatening and what the other will shake off. 

Castiel changes the tempo when he aims a low kick at Dean’s hip. Dean twists out of the way, but when he turns back to Castiel, something in his face has changed. His eyes have hardened, his fingers curled purposefully into his palm. Castiel understands. Dean was just passing the time earlier, indulging his whimsy. For whatever reason, now he’s made up his mind to act. 

“You need to take it easy,” Dean tells him. He moves easily into Castiel’s space, each motion screaming aggression. He bats away Castiel’s jab; Castiel blocks Dean’s punch. They fall apart, sharp eyes raking over the other in a search for weaknesses. 

“You need to mind your own business,” Castiel replies. He has to concentrate on speaking; already he’s a little short of breath, though he’d rather chew off his own fingernails rather than admit that to Dean. “What I do is none of your concern.” 

Dean falters at that. His defenses lower, which allows Castiel to dart in, landing several snap punches to Dean’s ribs before Dean regains himself and forces him back. Something dangerous flashes in the depths of Dean’s eyes, and a vicious satisfaction rises in Castiel’s chest. This is what he wanted, this is the Dean Winchester that he--

The thought hits him, unbidden and unwelcome, and Castiel freezes. His inattention gives Dean the opening he needs. Where Castiel fights with precision and accuracy, Dean favors overwhelming force. It’s a strategy which works well for him and he uses it to devastating effect, foregoing fancy footwork and devious punches for a simple, unavoidable attack. Dean puts his head down and charges, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist in an attempt to throw him to the ground. 

It’s a perfect storm: His muscles, still not where they were before, falter. His balance, another casualty of Naomi’s untender mercies, isn’t enough to save him from catching his heel against an irregularity on the cheap mat he’s laid out. Dean is a hurricane, a typhoon, and underneath his onslaught, Castiel tumbles backward. 

Castiel’s back hits the ground, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. His head slams into the ground, and his vision spins for several, vital seconds. By the time he regains his equilibrium, Dean is already atop him, knees clamping in hard against his ribs. One of Dean’s hands wraps around his throat, fingers flexing in warning. 

“Enough,” Dean says tightly. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, enough. We get it, all right? You’re a big badass who doesn’t need anyone. We get it.” 

If he weren’t staring so closely at Dean’s face, then Castiel would miss his quick flash of emotion. As it is, it’s there and gone before he has a chance to really examine it, but for the moment, it’s enough to know that it exists. 

Castiel slumps back onto the floor, allowing his exhausted muscles a moment’s respite. Dean, ever cautious, doesn’t relent. Smart man. Ruthless. Focused. He’s a killer, Dean Winchester, and whatever is broken in Castiel’s brain is drawn to that part of him, just as much as it’s drawn to the well-hidden, softer aspects of him, like his obvious affection for his brother and his insistence on protecting civilians. 

But for all of his admirable qualities, Dean Winchester is still just a man. Castiel tips his head back, baring the vulnerable stretch of his throat to Dean’s gaze. It’s a deliberately submissive gesture, one designed to draw the eyes. He feels the exact moment Dean loosens his grip, distracted, and it’s that moment that Castiel acts. 

He bucks his hips up in a single, sharp motion, while striking out at Dean’s elbow. With his support gone, Dean buckles. While there are countless activities which Castiel could imagine partaking in with Dean slumped overtop him, he’s not interested in any of them. Instead, he uses Dean’s momentum against him, rolling them until their positions are neatly reversed. 

Dean snarls and curses, but Castiel has him pinned, much more securely than Dean did him. His knees presses down on Dean’s right wrist, immobilizing his strongest arm. Castiel leans forward. With his superior position, he doesn’t need to hold back his panting, doesn’t need to feel ashamed for the several beads of sweat which slip down from his forehead to the tip of his nose, to fall upon Dean’s throat. 

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” Castiel says, once he thinks he can speak without wheezing through a sentence. “I’m not weak, I’m not broken, I’m not whatever else you three think I am. I’m fine.” Before he can stop himself, the words come tumbling out, the ones which he’d meant to keep close to his chest. “So you can stop running from me, or whatever it is that you’ve been doing. I’m fine.” 

Emotion twists across Dean’s face again, and this time, Castiel is in a position to examine it. Surprisingly, when he’s forced to put a name to it, the definition he comes up with is guilt. He tilts his head to the side in confusion, only realizing after he sits back on Dean’s stomach that he’s left himself vulnerable to an attack. 

Dean doesn’t take the opening. He lays passively underneath Castiel and doesn’t try to squirm away, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t do anything. If Castiel had to guess, then he would say that Dean enjoys being there. Or at least, he would if he could get that awful, hangdog look off his face. 

“What is it?” he asks. There’s something there, writhing underneath the surface of Dean’s expression, something that probably shouldn’t see the surface but it has to. 

Dean turns his head away. It’s a childish move, one that irritates Castiel, as it’s an extension of what Dean’s been doing for days. He’s avoiding Castiel, running from him, which is infuriating. Dean Winchester is many things, but a coward, he is not. 

“Answer me.” He takes Dean’s jaw in his hand and forces Dean to meet his eyes. He stares at Dean, the same stare guaranteed to make hardened criminals think twice and civilians piss their pants. 

It makes Dean blink, but it’s enough. That blink starts an avalanche, and eventually, Dean’s whole face crumples. He blinks, hard and fast, green flickering in and out of existence. 

“It was my fault.” Dean’s voice comes out as a tortured whisper. Castiel holds Dean’s jaw prisoner between his fingers, now allowing Dean to turn away. At first, Dean jerks against the restricting hold, but once the first wall crumbles, all the rest fall quickly, and Dean stares him down. 

“What was your fault?” Castiel asks, when no more information is forthcoming. 

For a moment, he thinks Dean will pull away, but Dean surprises him. It’s obvious that he’s struggling with his admission, but it comes. Haltingly, in little fits, but it comes. 

“If it hadn’t been for me...Fuck, Cas, are you going to make me say it? If it weren’t for me, then you would be fine. You’d be with your family, head of the family, and you’d be...” Dean forces a swallow. His eyes perform a swift sweep of Castiel’s figure, down to his chest, where the scars still linger. 

“It fucking killed me to see you like that.” Dean’s hand rises and Castiel doesn’t move to stop him, not even when Dean’s fingers sneak underneath the hem of his shirt to stroke against his skin. His breath catches as Dean’s calloused fingertips catch against the scabbed edges of his wounds. Every instinct screams for him to move, to run, to flee, but he forces his muscles to inaction and allows Dean to explore him through touch. “God, Cas...You were...” 

Dean looks up at him. His expression is naked and raw. Castiel feels exposed just witnessing it. “You’re a fucking force of nature,” Dean whispers, pressing his palm flat against the quivering skin of his belly. “You’re a goddamn hurricane, and...” 

When he stares at Dean, Castiel sees an unfathomable, looming wave rising in his eyes, the same wave which he feels swelling in his own chest. He leans forward, and Dean’s hand slides from his stomach to his back. The skin there is marred as well, and he gasps softly as Dean’s thumb strokes over a particularly deep wound. 

“It was my choice,” Castiel whispers. He’s hovering low over Dean, their chests almost brushing. He’s close enough that if he wanted, he could count the freckles dotted across the bridge of Dean’s nose. Dean blinks. From his vantage point, Castiel can appreciate the thick curtain of golden lashes fanning across his cheek. 

“I made the call, not you. I knew what had to be done, and I did it. You think I could have been happy there, knowing you were dead? That I’d had a chance to stop it and did nothing? Every second was worth it because that was another second you were safe. I made the choice, and I’d make it again, in a heartbeat. Don’t take that from me.” 

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean breathes. His hand is heavy against Castiel’s spine, but for once, Castiel doesn’t bristle at the restraint. “I’m not worth that.” 

Castiel’s mouth is not made for smiling. In fact, sometimes he thinks he’s forgotten the knack of it. But around Dean, his face moves easier. An actual smile, not the sarcastic, threatening expression he usually plasters on his face when he feels like intimidating someone, tugs at the corners of his lips. 

“Lucky for both of us, you don’t get to make the decisions,” Castiel whispers. 

He’s not sure which of them moves first. Either way, the end result is the same. His lips crash into Dean’s and Dean receives him with a low moan of delight, his mouth opening automatically. Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s short hair, tugging at the strands as he maps out the interior of Dean’s mouth. 

The first time he kissed Dean, he’d been selfish. He’d been standing on the edge of his darkest moment, and he’d wanted something golden to take with him, something to hold through the horror. The second time he kissed Dean, he’d been half out of his mind, clinging to the barest hint of reality. He hadn’t even realized Dean was kissing him until it was over. 

This time...

The third time he kisses Dean, Castiel takes his time. 

---

The atmosphere in the house relaxes. 

Castiel stops pushing himself quite so much, and his muscles, glad for the reprieve, begin working as they should. Day by day, his strength increases, and Castiel takes full advantage of this. 

Dean enjoys being pinned and Castiel aims to please. 

The four of them hold contests--who is the quickest draw, who’s the best shot, who has the best accuracy with knives. Sam Winchester, it turns out, is a damn good shot, especially when Castiel considers his youth. 

The four of them work well together. Their personalities clash, sometimes terribly, but they also complement each other, pragmatism warring with emotion, brawn matching brains. Castiel laughs as he looks around the room, realizing that, for possibly the first time in his life, he’s comfortable. Amazing, that he can relax in a room with two Winchesters, but there it is. He trusts Sam and Dean, more than any member of his family, to watch his back. 

(No doubt Dean would throw in an off-color comment about being all too happy to watch Castiel’s back, but he chooses to ignore Dean’s rather childish sense of humor.)

The question naturally arises, as to their next move. 

“The smartest thing to do would be to split up.” It’s Castiel who says it, because it’s always Castiel who retreats to the fortress of cold logic. Three pairs of betrayed eyes stare him down. Castiel returns the stare. “It makes the most sense. There’s four of us; if we all split up, we’d stand a better chance of escaping. We could start over. Be whoever we wanted to be.” 

(Gabriel’s been fighting against the Novak name since he was old enough to know there was something to fight against. Sam Winchester has never wanted the mantle of the Winchester family; he’s dreamed of something else, something altruistic, far away from the dark cloud of John Winchester. Dean...All Dean knows is duty to his father, but Castiel already knows that he’d follow Sam wherever he went. And Castiel...well...He can always try to take back the Novak family. No doubt he’ll fail, but he’s a weapon, a hammer. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.)

“Fuck that,” Dean says, crude and succinct as always. “Your splitting up plan, not your be whoever we want to be plan.” 

Dean leans forward. His eyes lock onto Castiel’s. It’s as though they’re the only two people in the room. “Look at us. We wouldn’t have gotten you out if we hadn’t worked together. You wouldn’t have been able to get me out if we hadn’t worked together. You, me, Gabriel, Sam...we’re just better together.” 

Dean’s words touch something vulnerable in his chest, something Castiel has never bothered to acknowledge. What else was there for him, other than a life of violence? There was no room in the Novak family for love, no room for freedom. 

Dean makes him dream it’s possible. 

“They’ll look for us,” Castiel says, in a last ditch attempt at realism. “Not only the Novaks. The Winchesters too. They won’t like the idea that people are capable of defying them.” 

“So let them come.” It’s Sam’s voice, ringing clear from the table. He might have come to this house as a child, but he’s matured in the time since he’s been here. Castiel trusts him just as much as anyone else sitting at the table. “Dean’s right. If there’s four of us, then we stand a better shot. We’ll watch each other’s back.” 

“Careful there, Samsquatch,” Gabriel hums, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. “Your back is a little big to watch.” 

Sam shoots Gabriel a disparaging look and Castiel has to struggle to bite back his laugh. How could he dream of giving this up? These people are his friends, his...

His family. 

“So we go. We’ll go somewhere new, make our own destinies. Team Free Will.” Dean takes a drink from his glass. 

“Nifty title, but I think you’re leaving a few steps out,” Gabriel says. “I’m all in favor of Team Free Will, but exactly how are we going to make our way in the world?”

Gabriel’s eyes cut to Castiel. It’s Castiel who always has the answer, Castiel whose brutal logic always comes rushing forth at times like these. 

And this is the time for logic. Both the Novaks and the Winchesters have considerable financial resources, and they’ll stop at nothing to regain their lost sense of pride. If they’re found, then the best they can hope for is a quick death. Castiel might have tucked the majority of his finances away, but his funds won’t stretch nearly as far or as long as he’ll need them to. They’ll have to get jobs. Or else...

Maybe they could move to a different city and start their own family. Maybe, one day, they could come back here and take back what’s rightfully theirs. 

Castiel glances over at Dean. They could run this town. They could have it all. 

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answers, ostensibly answering Gabriel, but never looking away from Dean. 

“I guess we’ll make it up as we go.” 

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 61

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(Weiss PoV)

I sparred with my sister. She sent her Beowulf at me. It pranced along the generated training ground terrain at me. A bunch of prismatic cubes with glowing blue edges.

It entered a room of my glyphs and I used my pseudo-telekinesis to slam it around against each black glyph until it dissolved.

Winter tried to summon something else but I made my knight little and had it sweep her leg. Knocking her to the floor before she could try anything else.

I let a little giggle escape me.

Winter had never seen it coming. She looked down at my little knight in shock.

Big things weren't always the best application of my semblance. It reminded me a little of Jaune who sometimes held onto his own semblance just for the speed and strength improvements rather than spending it in a flashy display.

I let my little knight dissolve. And Winter rose back to her feet. She whipped her scimitar at me.

I flew at her. Launching myself towards her using a spiraling glyph behind me. I thrust my rapier at her stomach. She leaned to the side. I slashed the narrow tip of Myrtenaster at her stomach where I perceived a hole in her defenses.

She blocked it with her scimitar. It was a wide sweeping gesture that forced me to take a step back. Her weapon unfused and became two, one in each of her hands.

She twirled as she brought the weapon around her body. I ducked the first and met the second. My rapier was slightly longer than her cutlasses. It gave me an edge I didn't squander as I forced her to take a step back using three quick thrusts.

She spun and tried to sweep my lead leg with a low kick. I turned my knee inwards and met the blow at the same time I push-shuffled closer to her and put her off balance with my shoulder. My center of gravity was lower than hers. I capitalized on that with a brutish, inelegant shoulder check. The sort Jaune would have had no qualms about using against me or Yang.

Winter stumbled back and I tore a chunk of her aura away from her with a thin slash of my weapon, cutting through it as she stepped back.

Point me.

"That was unrefined of you." Winter seemed to scold me.

I shrugged. "It's only unrefined if it doesn't work," I returned.

"If I would have known you were going to do something like that I could have capitalized on it."

"But you didn't know. Couldn't have known. That's what made it a good tool. The element of surprise. Besides you over extended with that kick. You lost accordingly because I was able to punish it. If I let you get away with those sorts of attacks without punishing properly, I'll lose."

"That's what made it a good tool," she echoed my words.

"Not good enough," I shot back.

She lowered her weapons at me in response. "Your inelegance will only take you so far. Sloppiness is not the path to victory."

I stayed silent. I'd do what I had to do to win. That was the real path to victory. If Winter was bound up by strings like worrying about how elegant she looked doing what she did, then she would lose. I would emerge victorious because I was willing to do whatever was necessary. Even if that meant being a touch brutish. That’s how Jaune leveraged his edge over me. He was willing to be brutal.

My sister spun as she came at me and I met the first scimitar, then I transitioned my blade sideways to meet the second. Then I made the Titania edge vertical but to the side to meet the next.

She meant to keep me in block the entire time while she rained precise blows against my defenses.

It might work too, she had multiple blades to bring to bear and it felt a touch like all I would be able to do is narrowly keep up.

My chance would come, however. If I stayed patient. There. A gap, perhaps an artificial one but still an opportunity I couldn't slip by me. I thrust my blade forward and she caught it on both of hers and attempted to disarm me with a subtle twist of both her weapons at the same time.

I countered by stepping in closer and sliding my weapon against both of hers straight up at her face. She stepped back rather than get hit, and freed my weapon up once more.

I twirled and slashed at her, high, low, high. She blocked each attack in turn.

I stepped back and I waved Myrtenaster. Pinpricks of light emerged from it and raced towards Winter. She shattered the light easily with a motion of her blade.

Our weapons collided and she slid down my weapon towards my wrist. I twisted vertically up and out of the way, using the guard on my weapon to my advantage. Her weapon slid over and past my wrist without colliding with me. One of them did at least. Her off hand weapon slipped under and into the aura of my stomach. She spun with it, slicing upwards as it bit into my aura.

Point her.

It was mostly because she had two weapons to my one but that was no excuse to not concede the point.

"You've improved by wide margins," She said. "And you're only getting better all the time. You're making such sloppy attacks work for you."

"Thank you," I replied. I was doing well enough to match Winter. It was all that real combat experience I had against the agents of Salem that made the difference. Winter was used to fighting opponents who were her inferior. The opposite was true for me.

"That wasn't meant to be a compliment."

"We all slip up sometimes."

She laughed a little and smiled.

"You know I am always here should you need to talk."

"Whatever about?"

"Your Jaune Arc for one. The turncoat."

"I don't view him as a turncoat. Elsewise would Salem not have the relic of knowledge? Why then would she send agents to steal it from us?"

"You still haven't accepted it yet."

"And I may never. That's hardly a weakness of me considering the facts that have been presented thus far."

"And yet you handed me his description along with that of Salem's other agents."

"In the hopes that you may find him and we can get to the bottom of this mystery. That hardly means I view him as one."

"I too was betrayed once. By a teammate no less. It took a great deal of counseling and therapy for me to come to grips with what happened. And I hardly view that as a weakness. Perhaps you require the same thing. It is something I want you to closely consider."

"I have no intention of talking to a stranger about Jaune. It doesn't feel right."

"Then consider talking to me."

"When you've already written him off? Salem doesn't have the relic. That means something. And I learned a great deal from him. About the world, about fighting, and about myself."

"I learned from my teammate as well. Just know that you aren't alone in this. I know what you're going through."

I didn't think she did. Mostly because I, myself, wasn't sure what I was going through. Between Ruby and Jaune, that is. That wasn't Winter's fault, however. I didn't blame her for it a single iota.

It just meant that what I was going through I needed to lean on Ruby to understand. Of everyone in the world she would get it. She was in the know and unbelievably empathetic besides.

I just nodded to Winter but stayed quiet and readied my weapon for another bout.

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I manned a wall of Mantle. Overlooking the frozen tundra. It was ruined by the presence of Grimm.

There had been a mine collapse and that was leading to a miner's strike across Mantle. That much negativity was drawing the Grimm in spades.

I summoned my Knight outside the wall and directed it with a wave of my hand. It met one of the elephantine Grimm and stopped it in its barrelling tracks. They wrestled for an impossible moment before my great knight flipped it over onto its back.

It let out a trumpeting call and the enormous sword was brought down through its chest, it's exposed underbelly a great weakness of black flesh rather than the white plate armor that covered it's back and sides.

I felt the elephant get added to my collection of possible summons. Another monster I had slain, if only indirectly.

I could feel the rage of the protestors behind me. I hoped that my father would compromise and meet with the strike leaders soon. I knew him and he only responded to shows of force. The sort of collective action I'd seen in the streets which bordered on riotous had to be the sort that he'd now to.

Surely.

Despite that I was unconvinced. My father always had an angle and he'd broken up strikes before. Bribing leaders, making threats, calling in the military, or making brief concessions before returning to the previous status quo. And here I was defending him incidentally.

I hated that. I reminded myself that it was Mantle and Atlas I was defending from these Grimm. Not my father and his shady business practices.

The riots felt hot at the hairs on my neck as I directed my silvery specter to wrestle with another Goliath. It felt like their breath was right behind me. I knew that that wasn't the case. Kilometers separated me and the pocket lines.

Things may not work out how I thought. Maybe my father would really give in. But there was a build up in supply of dust. My father had been hurting for people to sell it all to. Surely he had a great deal of the energy propellant in the warehouses around both cities.

That meant he could afford to wait and eventually the fire in the belly of the strikers would die down. Then he could return to business as he had before.

The oversupply caused by the embargo would be beneficial to him in this case. I wasn't sure how much of that my teammates understood. I had been raised with proud conversations about strike breaking at the dinner table.

I cast a half dozen points of explosive light at a Chimera that hovered near the walls and it fell down. I rotated the barrel of my sword and I used dust, air and water in combination, and called up an ice storm from a glyph which pierced it's hide and sent it to withering ash.

The storm I called bowled into many smaller Grimm as well. It scattered a dozen Beowulfs into charred flakes.

I swept Myrtenaster over my head and called another great glyph to life. I rotated the barrel of my weapon again and the blade glowed yellow. A dozen lightning bolts jumped from the corners of the glyph into a group of Gryphons making their way towards the wall.

Much like the monsters before them they were dissolved by the force behind the electricity. With dust to augment my spells I may well be the strongest member of team RWBY. I was no slouch with the power of nature behind me.

It made me wonder what I would be like with the power of a maiden behind me. Would it be like I had a buffet of dust behind me at all times or would the power be entirely divorced from my semblance? Either seemed possible. Or it might be something completely different from both those options. I would have no idea until I became a maiden. If I became a maiden, that is. There was always the chance that the agents of Salem would win again. There was the possibility that I could die the next time we clashed, as Ren and Nora had.

Speaking of it was possible the agents of Salem were behind this strike. Sure it might benefit the workers, but not if we couldn't hold the wall against the Grimm.

I summoned my knight in mid-air in a spiraling glyph next to a Chimera in flight and my silver warrior brought it's sword down on the Grimm mid-flight and divided it in two.

I would hold this wall. It was my duty to defend the people from the Grimm that might come this way. That was all I should be worrying about for now. I was sure of that but I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander. I was backed by a regiment of robotic troopers and Atlas security soldiers.

They lined up and with short controlled bursts they brought Grimm down which were beneath my attention. Together we moved and slowly cleared this section of tundra of all black and white threats.

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I was watching over a patrol of machines. United we were overlooking the protests at the mines. They'd put me in charge of a batch of machines and I was to make sure that no fighting broke out between police and protestors.

Under no circumstances was I to fire upon the crowd, however. I understood how important it was. I was here to hold the line and remind people that the Atlas Military was watching.

Protestors held signs like Dust Lung Laws Now , and Give the Scabs Nothing , and even Save Our Pit.

I stood opposite a line of people fifty persons thick. It was spilling out onto a wide asphalt street. It had brick buildings on either side and the people were marching straight down the road and shouting. "No dust! Or bust!"

There was a little faunus girl with bear ears right out in front and screaming. She couldn't have been older than nine. Was that how old Blake had been when she started out? It was a chilling thought. As emotionally abusive as my parents had been I had been safe and sound in Schnee Manor.

Some of our family had been disappearing but that had been an abstract worry to a little girl who was being physically and emotionally abused by her parents. Even if she hadn't known it at the time. And I hadn't known it at the time.

I ordered the machines to line up against the walls of the street along the stores that made up either side. It was better to be out of the way of the marching crowd.

Someone set a trash can on fire and I watched in horror as it was thrown through an SDC storefront. Glass shattered everywhere and the people cheered as the building started to burn from the inside out.  A group of machines set about moving people back from the burning building and putting out the fires.

I saw the man. A young boy really in a purple hoodie and black jeans.

"Arrest him," I ordered the machines. The boy dispersed through the crowd and the boy shuffled into it and vanished amongst the protestors. "Damn it."

I jumped high and landed on a glyph. I looked out into the crowd and saw the purple shape shuffling into the throng of people.

I blitzed forward on a wave of glyphs and landed on top of him. I held him down as people shouted around me. They booed me. I was surrounded by a mob of people set against me and firmly on the boy's side. They probably would be even more against me if they knew I was a Schnee. Someone threw a rock at me and it missed. It was the little girl with bear ears. I looked away. The machines gathered around me and took the young man into custody.

He was put into handcuffs and carried away by the blank faced robots. I watched them go and was returned to being surrounded and alone by a mob which disliked me and might hate me if they knew a little more. My glyphs weren't exactly subtle. But they were fast. I was booed as I moved about.

"Dirty Schnee."

"Money grubbing Schnee!"

"Schnee!"

I caught the words out of the mob. I was recognized, at least a little.

I bounced out on a set of glyphs to the rooftops and watched the crowd move.

The robots put out the fire and kept the swarm of people back away from the SDC storefront.

"Beat the Schnee with glee!" They shouted with fists moving forward.

I could really only watch from my vantage point and wait and see if they needed more interference.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[daimonhalos]

Oathkeeper

Read on Ao3!

Word Count: 7,541

Characters: Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Antfrost, Captain Puffy, Awesamdude, (others mentioned)

Warning(s): Brainwashing/mind-control mention, violence, major character death, memory loss, yelling, crying, blood. (Tell me if I missed anything)

Summary: There was nothing more to do. They weren’t going to sit and watch any longer, it was going to end. Once and for all. ✾ « Let’s give us seven days. » Bad had stood from the table he, Ant, Puffy and Sam had been talking at. « Seven days of preparation, to get anything we need. »

A/N: Before you read, this is not exactly canon compliant. I started writing this with a goal in mind: what if I gave an end to the Blood vines arc? I started it when the arc had been left off at the Egg being covered in obsidian, so there's that, also I changed a little thing about canon lives which wouldn't make sense canonically, so be mindful. Scenes in cursive are flashbacks. ANYWHO I'll give cookies to whoever is able to spot Kingdom Hearts references, other than that, read the warnings and enjoy the angst~ (Thank you to @max-is-tired for bearing with my ideas and sending me some of theirs ♥)

✾

❝ You're scaring us and all of us,

Some of us love you.

Achilles, it's not much but there's proof. ❞

If Puffy hadn’t been walking down the wooden path in long paces, feeling every muscle in her body move as she stared at her next goal, she knew she would’ve been fidgeting all along.

The nervousness that had been building in her stomach started rising with every passing second, reaching her heart and lungs, just a moment away from a slightly increased heartbeat and breathing; today was the day, as she had been reminding herself ever since the night before.

Really, she had never been one to betray friends, or something of the like, but, after all the discussions that had been made as of late, after seeing some of her friends getting hurt in different ways … there was nothing more to do.

They weren’t going to sit and watch any longer, it was going to end.

Once and for all.

She paced down the last few steps and was met with none other than Antfrost, whose tail immediately straightened at the sight of his friend.

He waved, not as excitedly as he would have on normal days. « Sam said he will be meeting us at the Church to gear up together. »

« Okay, » she looked around, arms crossed, as if she expected anything else to happen despite the beckoning of her friend, urging them both towards the last component of their party.

« Is Bad not coming? » her confused tone said it all: he was going to have to protect himself from the brainwashing and infection of the Egg during today’s arduous task, wasn’t he?

Ant frowned at that. « I know he isn’t right now, but he’s probably just distracting Skeppy as we get there. »

« So he will get the protective suits at some point, right? »

« Huh, » she didn’t like the uncertainty in his voice. « I’m sure he has it all planned out for himself. Just a different way from our own. »

« He better be. » she commented, checking off a few points of her mental list as they made their way toward the Church.

After all, what was going to be the point of their mission if he was going to get hurt?

« Let’s give us seven days. » Bad had stood from the table he, Ant, Puffy and Sam had been talking at. « Seven days of preparation, to get anything we need. We will always make sure one of us stays with Skeppy, so he doesn’t suspect anything. »

They found Sam standing right in front of the building, nodding at both of them as they got closer.

« Get the ones on the left. » they gestured, moving towards three sets of hazmat suits. « Those are the completely untouched ones so far, we don’t want to risk losing their protective power while we’re in the middle of our adventure. » they chuckled, trying to lighten up the concerned and insecure expressions on the other two.

« Right, » Puffy tried the gear on a couple of times to make sure it would sit comfortably, before putting it away. « So, these work against the Egg’s mind control? »

« Yeah. Bad and I had put them on a couple of weeks ago before taking off some of the obsidian covering it. I … still felt some eerie vibes coming off of it, as I had before, but neither of us were affected. »

Ant perked up at that. « That’s right, I joined a while after Sam did and I was completely fine around it, so this is bound to work. »

« Well, my friends. » Puffy gave a hesitant look out of the entrance, checking whether there had been any movements other than the three of them. « I guess we’re doing this. » she turned towards them, a smug smile of confidence finally worn on her face. « You ready? »

« Here’s the plan I thought of. » Sam had looked around his peers, checking for their total attention and focus, before continuing. He gestured towards Bad. « You can distract Skeppy, meanwhile the three of us are going to break every single remaining block of the Egg once and for all. »

« How were the experiments turning out, Ant? »

« The vines and the egg itself were made of the same substance, I’m a hundred percent sure nothing will happen if we destroy it. There’s one key detail, though: we must throw it all in lava as soon as we finish collecting the blocks. »

Puffy had rested her chin on her hands, elbows on the table. « What about this “red Skeppy”? Will he turn back to normal? »

« Well … » Bad had sighed. « That is the only thing we won’t know for sure how it will turn out. But, surely, you can count on me to keep him away from where you’ll be working. »

Everyone else nodded, nothing else to add onto their plans apart from when and where to meet up and a signal to give in case everything went downhill.

He wasn’t sure whether they heard it when Bad whispered under his breath.

« I do hope we get him back, though. »

« Wait! What are you doing?! »

That had been around the third time Bad had to pull Skeppy away from his new home’s door. Some part of him was convinced the other felt some kind of connection that made him feel like there was something wrong, something off, a signal of danger that had been trying to reach him as Sam, Puffy and Ant ventured towards the Egg in fully enchanted gear.

« What did I tell you? »

« I don’t know. » Skeppy’s dull voice always managed to hit a sour spot. It didn’t feel like his friend was there at all, at times. « What did you tell me? »

Bad sighed, not in withdrawal, but knowing that it was going to be a long day.

Oh, he had no idea.

« There’s going to be an abundance of mobs out, today. I think someone’s testing out something, so they told everyone to stay inside not to get into any danger. » he tried, for probably the fourth time.

Skeppy reached for the handle again. « I can take them. »

« No, you cannot. » his friend moved away his arm before he could do anything. « We need to stay inside, okay? Who knows, there could be fifty creepers blowing up all around you. You may not take all the damage, but it would destroy everything around here. You don’t want that, do you? »

He shrugged. « I don’t really care. »

As he turned back to the door yet again, he felt Bad’s hand tugging at his shirt.

« I’d feel better if we both stayed here. » Bad tilted his head to the side. « Could you do that for me? »

They exchanged a silent look that felt more like a staring contest, before Skeppy retired back in his room.

Well, that could have gone worse than that, right?

That also … could have been going better, in general.

Why did it have to hurt so much anytime they interacted?

He was about to give up in doing anything interesting to pass up the time, already sitting in the middle of the room until it was all over, when Skeppy disrupted the silence once again; he had opened the door leading to his room with a slightly perplexed expression on his face.

« Where’s Puffy? »

Ah, of course.

« I don’t know, she’s probably taking cover somewhere else. »

« This is her home. » he stated, quite obviously.

« Yeah. » Bad conceded, pretending to be pensive. « I suppose she didn’t make it here in time for the curfew. » his friend looked somewhat troubled about that. « I’m here, though! Aren’t you happy I’m here? »

For a moment, he was sure he had seen him hesitate, yet nothing else happened other than the usual stare down, before disappearing behind the door without a word.

Maybe he had been holding onto some kind of hope that the real Skeppy was still there when he convinced himself he was going to actually agree with him.

Bad let his face fall in his hands as he exhaled deeply, trying to shake off whatever unpleasant thought loomed over him.

And really, he didn’t mean to fall asleep.

He had jolted awake, rather shaken from something in his oneiric reality he had already forgotten: he blinked multiple times, the darkness adjusting to his vision, as the memories that had become mushier in his sleeping state slowly regained their original form.

The plan. The mission was taking place. Had he already missed it? There was no way that was possible, they would’ve come check on Skeppy, they would’ve woken him up.

Skeppy. Right.

He looked to his left and stared at the opened door of his friend’s room in horror.

Right.

Not even a minute passed before he heard it.

That heart-wrenching sound, possibly as close to a banshee’s screeching, echoing through the ambience, a disastrous shatter of one’s mind transmuted as the most tremendous shrieking.

Bad hurried to his feet and ran to the entrance, checking for the direction from where the deafening cacophony had come from: and then he heard it again, again and again, until his head hurt, and he unsheathed his sword instinctively.

It was as though he could follow the aura of both rage and despair that was coming off from behind a couple of blocks.

That was where he found Skeppy, hunched over himself, hands gripping tight at his hair, visibly trembling.

Bad let go of his weapon and crouched down, about to call his name and ask what was wrong, when he could barely brush the other’s arm that he heard him lash out immediately.

« Don’t touch me! »

He watched for a second as Skeppy sat back up, panic rising in his chest over the unknown of his future actions.

Was that time for the signal? What had he even been screaming about?

Why wouldn’t he just talk to him?

« I told you it’s dangerous here! » Bad hurried at his friend’s side.

Skeppy scoffed. « Oh, is it now? » it was then that the other understood his pretense had fallen, with no one else to fool anymore. « I need to see it. »

« It- Where are you going? »

« Go away. »

It took a pretended aimless wandering and Skeppy trying to make the other lose track of himself, unanswered questions and furor bubbling up at the same time, for them to eventually reach the other party.

More than half of the obsidian layer around the Egg had already been taken off; Puffy’s eyes widened as the duo made itself present in the room. Why hadn’t the signal gone off? Why did neither of the two wear the proper gear?

It was when they heard them yell at each other that the trio hesitated to continue on their task.

« What are you doing?! » Skeppy took some steps forward, scanning the place for any damage: he could see part of the Egg had already been broken, causing his head pounding to become even more intense with fury.

He made to sprint.

« Skeppy, don’t- »

And then he turned to face his friend.

Had he ever really been his friend?

He drew his sword and pointed it at him. « You lied to me! »

« I was just trying to protect you! » Bad had raised his hands in front of his chest.

« How are you supposed to protect me, when you knew this was happening! » he turned quickly towards the Egg, pointing at it. « This is the reason I can’t trust any of you. » he surged forward, weapon steadier. « You’re just trying to get rid of me. »

In the fraction of an instant, he had hit Bad enough to make him lose balance so to gain some seconds in advantage and rush to the Egg instead, trying to fight away the others from harming it; with every single block they destroyed, the bigger was the pain he felt and the grander his rage flew.

« Bad! » Puffy called behind her as soon as she saw her friend hardly able to fight against the Egg’s will seeping into his mind. She threw her helmet at him, then wore a determined expression when she saw him question her decision.

She adjusted the pickaxe in her hand and shared a look with Ant.

He looked at his side, where Sam had been fending off Skeppy’s attacks while Bad came to aid them, then back at where her helmet used to be. « Are you sure you can handle it? »

Surely, he was surprised when he heard her chuckle and smirk, breaking blocks with even more strength than before.

« For them? Absolutely. »

In a matter of minutes, Sam was back at working on destroying the Egg, while Bad had been able to distance Skeppy from it, still incapable of making the fight stop. There were multiple sword clashes with no result, nothing other than Skeppy gearing up with full armor, while Bad still refused to protect himself with anything other than keeping Puffy’s helmet to block out any unwanted brainwashing.

« How many times do I have to tell you, » Skeppy gained some ground. « That you have to leave me alone? »

« You know I would never. » Bad blocked another attack. « Not when you’re like this. »

The other’s attacks grew more tenacious. « Like what? I am just me and it sounds to me like you’re not accepting it. »

That was the first time he saw Bad hesitate, taking advantage of the upper hand to strike an actual blow on him: he watched as he retreated a few steps behind himself, sucking in a breath from the pain, then looked back at up at him.

« You wouldn’t do this if you were “just you”. » he regained his stance, shakier than his thoughts swirling in his head in that moment.

« Well, » Skeppy switched to his axe, hitting Bad’s arm with the handle so that his sword would clatter to the floor with a clear and loud repetitious clang. « It seems like you’re mistaken. »

Sam and Puffy intercepted each other’s worried glance, while Ant refused to look behind himself: they were still too far behind with their task, if they came to aid Bad, there was a chance they were never going to make it in time.

The three of them gritted their teeth and tried their best to ignore the painful fighting.

Bad tried to steady his breathing, staring at what was left of his friend’s bitter expression, something that didn’t leave any space for who he remembered he used to be, almost nudging him towards withdrawal.

He knew putting his hands up again was useless, when Skeppy had picked up his sword and thrown it way too far for him to reach in time.

He knew it was totally futile to whisper a “Please”, one that was broken and on the verge of tears, like his voice had been fragile glass shattered down on purpose.

And it did hurt. It did hurt when Skeppy shook his head ever so lightly, his eyes narrowed, one corner of his lips curved upward. It hurt when he purposefully interpreted his request to his own advantage, a resignation instead of the last burst of strength as he were gripping at a lifesaver.

« Gladly. » he said, his voice as heavy as someone stepping on that same glass that had already been shattered.

The axe swung and everything turned black.

One down.

It was also the annoyance he wore once Bad came back in his field of vision a few seconds after he had killed him, picking up his helmet and weapons. It was the cruelty with which he didn’t hesitate to strike as heavily as before, not letting the other regain his pace, throwing him right back into their fight.

Quite frankly, Bad felt like an Icarus launching himself towards the Sun, instead of mindlessly flying delicately under it, a conscious choice that would certainly lead to his annihilation instead of a merciless death under an offended deity.

It honestly made him furious.

Why did it have to happen? Why now? Why Skeppy, of all people? Why, in every given situation around that particular circumstance, he had to be the one to suffer most out of them all?

He had always done nothing but been kind, what malevolent deities decided to look down on him and laugh at his face, curse him by taking away the most important person in the world and mock him by bringing him back, his original consciousness completely lost?

There had to be some kind of reason, and yet there was none.

It was just the Fates’ work, the twisting and twirling of his life’s string, but oh, how long before they would decide to cut it? Were they having fun, ripping it apart with their bare hands instead?

Bad could barely dodge any of Skeppy’s attacks, only getting lucky by the other’s need to win that blinded his skills to the point of seeming more out of shape than usual.

« You know what? » he suddenly snapped out of those destructive thoughts. « I don’t believe you. » he fended off the blades that were thrown at him again, seeing him falter once he started talking. « I’m not mistaken, I know who the real Skeppy is. »

For a moment, Skeppy seemed to put his weapon down.

« Do you? » he chuckled, low and dark. « You really think lying to yourself is going to make you feel better? It won't. »

Bad shoved the weapon on the rocky pavement in frustration. « Quit telling me that! I know you’re playing with my head as much as you’re playing with his, and I am sick of it! » he stepped forward, as though nothing scared him anymore. « No matter how many times you kill me, I’ll never stop trying to bring him back! »

« Then die trying! »

He took another step towards him, expression firm and determined. « If that’s what it takes, I will. »

Skeppy stared at him, taking it as a challenge. « Checkmate. » he whispered, as he stabbed him right between his ribs, no regrets as he fell to the ground to his dismay, disappearing right after.

Two.

« Stop! »

Sam and Puffy’s breaths hitched as they turned to see Antfrost approaching Skeppy.

She reached for him. « Ant- »

« Why are you hurting him?! »

« How can you say that when you’re the ones hurting me in the first place? » Skeppy placed a hand on his chest to emphasize his words.

Both looked ready to fight, words unspoken still understood.

« Ant. » Sam beckoned, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to ground him away from his anger.

The moment Bad reappeared, the trio went back to work, although with a sour taste in their mouths, the bitterness of their impotence.

Skeppy turned to face him.

Maybe one last time.

« Aren’t you tired? »

Bad let out a short laugh. « I don’t know anything about giving up. » he announced, maneuvering the hilt of his sword swiftly.

He had eyed the others, noticing they were almost done with their job, the Egg almost completely gone. He had to buy them time, whatever it took out of him.

« Remember when we used to spar together to learn how to fight better? »

« I don’t care about the past. » surely this pretended Skeppy had always been quick to respond.

Bad smiled, despite all. Not that he had anything else to lose. « This kind of reminds me of back then. »

« Consider this a lesson, then. » Skeppy quickly raised his axe and flung it, only for it to meet Bad’s weapon, so that the collision made them both retreat of a few feet.

With every clash in their fight, yet another block of the Egg disappeared, as it was passed around and thrown into lava right after; if it had an effect on Skeppy, it surely wouldn’t have shown. Rather, it seemed liked all the indirect inflicted pain only aided in fueling the ever-growing acrimony that paired up well with his current color.

He looked like the personification of wrath itself: the closer you got, the more you could see the fire burning in his irises.

By then, it was only Bad to carry both of their aching, as he kept their memories safe in hopes of a breakthrough. How much more could he have resisted in his denial state before the realization he couldn’t have possibly made it by himself would strike him?

Or maybe … he had already given up and sunk deep into the knowledge.

Maybe that was why in a matter of seconds he was already on the ground, arms bruised by the friction with the stone, looking up at someone he now failed to recognize.

« I see you haven’t learnt a thing. »

Looking back at it, there wouldn’t have been a single way to make it painless. So maybe … maybe sitting back and letting go …

He needed to help his friends.

Was Skeppy his friend, right then?

Bad looked over to Sam, Ant and Puffy, about to head over the last remaining blocks.

So close.

« Don’t pretend like you actually care. » Skeppy scanned his expression, pointing his trident at him. « You’ve made it clear from the start. » was that his voice breaking? « One thing different about me and suddenly you were whining about wanting the “other” back. You know what? I’m done feeling like I should be replaced because of others’ liking. » he pushed the weapon towards his chest. « Which means I’m done with you. »

He couldn’t really explain it, but as the tips of the trident tore apart his skin, Bad could’ve sworn relief had filled his mind, it was as though the other had stabbed right through all of the hurt that had been pooling inside, leaving some kind of exit for it, a way out so he could finally, finally put a stop to that endless doleful sufferance.

He wished to forget any of that ever happened, he wished they could have erased the emotional scars the moment he came into the deities’ sight, he strove to get the burden off of his back so that, the next time he returned, they could’ve left him alone.

So that they couldn’t have hurt him anymore.

Yet they only teased him, they released him of his struggles, only to put him right back in the middle of the chaos, right in under the eyes of the beast, right between the harpies’ claws; he’d been Prometheus and losing everything that had mattered for him was his eagle, tearing him apart day and night until it was satisfied with the result.

A ghastly portrait of endurance, brought to an end in the worst way possible.

No one can save you now.

« You know I love you. »

What a useless little anchor, isn’t it?

« Oh, no. » Sam watched as their pickaxe disappeared in their hands. « No. » he looked over to Puffy and Ant, still working in opposite sides of the room, way too far to reach in time. Just one block, one more block. His eyes fell on Bad and Skeppy and widened in realization. « No, no, no, no- » he turned back to the last red remain of the Egg and took a deep breath, before protecting their hand with a piece of armor and trying to break it with every last piece of strength remaining in him.

Skeppy lifted his trident again, the first rivulets of blood started flowing.

« You wouldn’t have done this if you did. »

And it had looked poetic, really.

The way Sam had broken the last piece that granted their win just as the Fates decided to rip the string in little pieces, both of them burning their treasure so that neither could’ve ever come back.

And three.

« See? » Bad held up the bucket full of water towards his friend. « Wasn’t so bad, was it? »

The other kid gasped and inspected the colorful fish swimming quietly inside it as though that had been the most wonderful event he’d ever witnessed. « That was actually really, really cool. »

« Thank you! »

« Do you think we’ll be ever able to use a trident? »

Bad giggled in all his young innocence. « Who said we need one? » he pulled up his sleeves and started observing the fishes’ behavior in the lake right in front of them.

Skeppy did the same, a determined smile on his face.

They both intercepted a carp that had stopped swimming right near them.

« One. »

« Two. »

« Three! » they both launched themselves forward to catch it, only that Skeppy actually dived in, jumping into the water by mistake with a flip. The moment he resurfaced, the two newly found friends had stared at each other for a second with a blank expression, Bad had snorted right after and subsequently both had burst into the most genuine and limpid laughter.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that they had finally calmed down, lying in the grass while gazing peacefully at the sky, a sort of comfortable boredom washing over them.

« Hey, could you imagine if, one day, we got to have our own land? » Skeppy had perked up after zoning out on clouds shapes.

« Huh, that would be nice. We could have … mh, we could have a whole mansion! »

« Yeah! And we could get some pets, we could actually be the richest people in the world! »

Bad had laughed. « I don’t hate the idea. »

Skeppy’s expression turned pensive. « What could we call it? The entire property. »

The other kid seemed to think about it for a bit, before gasping and hitting his palm with a fist. « We could call it the Badlands! »

« Wow, that sounds very self-centered. » Skeppy joked, gaining a “hey, that’s not true!” from his friend.

« Doesn’t it sound super cool, though? »

He chuckled again, resting his head behind his arms. « Yeah. » he agreed, fantasy already traveling far. « I guess you’re right. »

Skeppy wasn’t sure if the scream he heard was his or someone else’s, he was sure of one thing only, on the other hand: a white vastity. His body was burning so much that it actually felt cold, his eyes squeezed shut and everything else blocked away from his perception.

The next thing he knew, he was kneeling down over nothing.

He blinked a few times, intaking the deafening silence, as three figures walked slowly towards him, so slowly that he believed they had been dragging their feet on the pavement instead.

He looked to his right.

The sight of blood on his trident worked like a trigger.

He let the weapon fall like he had just touched a sizzling object, letting go of his pyretic madness altogether.

What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?

Where was he? Why didn’t he come back yet? Did he get lost?

He was joined soon by the others, who sat down before him.

Puffy was seemingly the only one able to talk without bursting into tears. « Skeppy …? »

« We have- » he looked at his hands and saw blue. « We have t- The red is gone, see? We have to show Bad, right? Where- »

« He died three times, Skeppy. » her voice cracked towards the end of the sentence, to which she raised a hand to cover her mouth.

No, he didn’t. Yes, he did. He didn’t, right?

He couldn’t be possibly dead. He would’ve never hurt him, not to that point.

Right?

When Ant broke down, all hope seemed to be lost, kind of like a lightning bolt striking down right on a tree and setting it on fire.

Skeppy hadn’t realized how long he had been holding his breath until he choked on a sob and felt his lungs hurt; it all came back to him, the Egg controlling him, the fight, the way he had tried to scream his way out of the hold the infection had on him, how he yelled at it not to hurt his best friend.

He looked down, exhaling sharply as the pavement got dotted with tears.

He didn’t even have anything to mourn on.

Not a single ounce left, something to hold on to so he could remember, remember, remember.

Like he could even forget what he’d just done.

How could he live with that? How could he keep on bearing the burden of such a loss? How could he look at himself and pretend nothing was wrong about him? How would others even be able to face him? His mind raced as no solution could come up.

How did heroes rise up again after the worst-case scenarios?

Everything was way too loud in their quiet aching, so loud that they did not hear steps echoing through the room.

« Oh! »

The four looked up simultaneously, ripped away from their crying: if the voice had come from afar and all of them were sitting right in front of each other, then …

They stood up at once and were met with a figure standing right at the entrance of the room, making their way towards were the egg used to be, coming closer and closer, enough to notice the utter resemblance with Bad they had.

Still … not quite.

« This place looks a little messy. » they chuckled. « I wonder why. »

And sounded like him.

« Bad …? »

He turned. « Oh, hey! What, are you guys having a party without me? » he walked over them quickly and was met only with the widest eyes.

Like they had seen a ghost.

« What- » Sam wiped at his face as the others processed the scene. « What happened to you? »

Bad tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows. « What do you mean? »

« You … » they stared at him one second: his skin was no longer black, but white, while his outfit had been replaced with white clothing and arctic colored stripes at the edges. His eyes, on the other hand, were as dark as coal. « You just look different. »

« Oh, that? » he waved his hand as if to brush off the topic. « Yeah, that doesn’t matter. I feel great! »

« Great? » Puffy’s voice trembled a little.

« Mhm! » he looked over to his best friend and beamed. « Hey Skeppy! »

How could he face him?

Before Skeppy could say anything, he walked towards him to embrace him in a tight hug, unable to approach him in any other way.

Three tries was all it took him to realize.

Somehow, every time he tried to wrap his arms around his chest, they just seemed to go through his friend's body; was that all a fever dream?

« Oh, yeah. » Bad laughed it off. « You can't exactly hug ghosts, can you? »

The other four's breathing seemed to stall at once, all of their eyes wider than ever before. Puffy raised a hand towards Bad, uncertain. « You're … you're a ghost? »

« 'Course I am, didn't it click when you saw my new style? » how could he smile through all of this?

« Hey, uhm … what do you remember last? »

He wore the most imperceptible frown as his faulty memories tried to piece themselves back together, humming as though he had just woken out from a complete blackout. « We were hanging out, like we always do. » he started walking towards the entrance, leaving the others behind in disbelief.

He made a comment about how they had gone overboard with the decorations upon seeing the obsidian decontamination room, before motioning for them to follow him and disappearing up the stairs.

« Guys- »

« What in the fresh hell? »

« Guys he doesn't remember the Egg … he doesn't remember- »

« He doesn't remember I killed him. »

As silence fell into the room, Ant took the opportunity to excuse himself and keep Bad company, buying them some time to elaborate and process the information just obtained.

« It wasn't you who did that, Skeppy. You know that. » Puffy tried, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Yet, his expression and motives didn't seem to change. « I still blame myself. » then, barely above a whisper. « I will always blame myself. »

Sam and Puffy exchanged an apprehensive look. « Holding a grudge against yourself is not the way to work through this. It won't help you or Bad, either, it will only inconvenience both of you. »

« Exactly. You know if you hurt, he does too. »

Sam nodded. « And there is no reason for you to pin it against yourself. You cannot hold yourself accountable for something your body was being used for. »

Skeppy didn't seem convinced by that answer either, he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. « You think I don't remember fighting you? Or Ant yelling at me? »

« I assure you Ant knows that wasn't you he was talking to! He was just in emotional distress, but he doesn't hold anything against you. He was angry the Egg was making you do all that against your will. »

The three of them sat on the concrete, too emotionally and physically tired for that conversation still unloading.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. « And I only kept it from making you erase our progress, I didn't fight you because I hated you, dude. »

Puffy had sat in front of him and bent her head to search for his eyes. « You were fighting alongside us ever since. We know this. We cannot even imagine how awful it must've been to witness everything and being impotent at the same time. »

It was when he saw her compassionate smile devoid of aggression, the way Sam's hand rubbed his upper back in comfort, it was then that he allowed himself to break down the defensive wall and let the emotions run free, as well as the tears that had welled up in his eyes minutes prior.

« You know how Bad always carefully goes over what we should do in general, how he plans things. How he's powerful and skilled, he wouldn't have let you fight him without it being a conscious choice. » Sam's voice tried to sound as soft as possible. « He's always known how to fend for himself, which means he wasn't out of control of the situation when he started losing. He knew what he was doing. »

« You didn't hurt him. He let the mind-control make you hurt him and you, too, know that is entirely different. » Puffy offered her hands out. « Okay? »

He hesitated before taking them and murmuring an “okay” back, at which the other two took the opportunity to embrace him in a comforting hug.

It surely wasn't easy to not address anything that happened for the sake of Bad's spectral integrity: who knew what would've happened if they told him the truth immediately? Would they have made his state of mind worse? What if they damaged him beyond measure and lost him for good? There was no reason for them to risk it.

Most times they made sure Bad was never alone, especially walking around before they could have removed all the remaining wandering vines or talking to people who had no clue what had happened to him.

There was one day in particular where the five of them had been hanging out together, catching up on different events throughout the weeks, as the tragedy of L'manburg, how Dream had been imprisoned, the prison duty itself that Sam had been carrying on his shoulders as well as a construction site opened with Tommy, where Puffy seldom visited.

One could've said everything was going okay, Skeppy was even letting himself heal, despite how difficult it still was to keep everything from Bad.

Eventually, the only real and effective method to shake off the guilty feelings would've been hearing him say he was free of fault.

Until then …

« You know, I've always thought your ghost form has just reversed colors from your, well, alive one. » Ant had been lying on the beach right at the feet of the mansion, still able to see the top of the prison from his position. « Yet it doesn't click how red became blue. Shouldn't it have been, like, green or something similar? » the color of healing?

« Why do you think? »

« I mean, if you put the primary colors together and you take away red, you will get green out of blue and yellow. Isn't that how it works? »

« Huh. » Puffy examined the colors as well as Bad tilted his head in confusion. « Hey, it kinda looks like Skeppy's skin color, actually. »

« Oh. » Skeppy stretched out his arms to compare the two very similar tones.

Sam nodded. « Oh, they do look very much alike. »

« Right? »

« That's weird. »

« Maybe it's because Alive-me liked Skeppy so much that it affected me as well! » Bad laughed it off and pretended he didn't see his best friend flinch visibly right beside him.

Ant bit the inside of his mouth as he exchanged a concerned look with Puffy. « Oh Sam, didn't you let someone into the prison for visits already? How did it go? »

« Ah, technically there was a small difficulty with the lava, but one can never be too sure of how much you need around the actual cage with genius hazards like Dream. » they sighed. « But it did work splendidly, both for the visitor and the- »

« Could you guys leave us alone for a second? » Skeppy stared at Puffy, Ant and Sam with a trembling determination and, as much as the trio did not want to leave them alone to have that one particular conversation, they couldn't decide for him and chose instead to leave them some space for themselves.

« Is everything okay? »

Bad's concern, somehow, made him feel even worse. Yet, he had to just rip it off his mind like a band-aid.

He looked him in the eyes and, just like that …

« I was the one who killed you. »

… he did it.

And he couldn't stop. Not one second to look at Bad's expression, to look at the happy-go-lucky mask fall, the one he had been wearing up until that moment ever since he had walked down the decontamination room's stairs, the moment he had promised himself he would've wiped his own memories forcefully if he had to do so. If that was going to stop the hurt, he would've pretended.

« I took all of your three lives, all of them. I tried to just stop, but I swear to you it wasn't me, I wasn't in my right mind- »

« Skeppy. » Bad's voice sounded firm, but not enough to stop the other from spilling out words and confessions he had veiled behind shame.

« I couldn't seem to act on my own free will not matter how much I tried, how much I tried to scream, but the voice in my head, the one controlling me, it was so much louder, way too much, and my brain decided to follow it instead of me- »

« Hey. »

« And it hurt, it hurt so bad, you have no idea. I never gave up, I was- I was just never strong enough and I'm sorry because I know you would've probably expected better of me, especially as your best friend, but maybe I'm not fit for it, maybe- maybe I should just- »

« Skeppy, listen to me. It's okay. »

« How is any of that okay? What if I do it again? »

Bad took a deep breath and joined his hands together. « It's okay because I know. I already know what happened. »

Skeppy narrowed his eyes and blinked multiple times before he was able to speak again. « What? »

« I didn't forget a single thing, Skeppy. » his tone grew more exasperated, he then held his head in his hands. « No matter how I pushed the thoughts away, before and after dying, every single detail of everything that happened while I was alive remained engraved in my memory like a curse I had been trying to get rid of for centuries. » he wore a sad smile as he looked back at his friend. « It's like they keep mocking me even in death. »

« You … you lied to us? »

He shook his head, fixing his gaze on the sand instead. « I didn't lie to you. I lied to myself. » he explained. « I tried, you know? I tried to forget so I could feel better, so that all of you could also get a burden off your chests and never think about that topic again. But I failed, of course I failed. »

Seeing the persistent ache in him, Skeppy couldn't really hold it against him for trying so hard to make it all better in the wrong way. Rather, he was reminded of Sam and Puffy's words.

« Bad, one of your fatal flaws is that you tend to go through deep denial states. But you know that repression isn't good right? It's not the way to get through a bad time and nor is holding a grudge against yourself. » he played with the sand next to him. « That's something I was probably going to do if they didn't stop me. I still don't feel good about it, I probably won't be for a while. But if I were to apply what you're doing to yourself, I would just drive myself insane. And you, as well. I know you don't want to do this as much as I don't want to take you down with me in a negative spiral that would only drive us apart. »

There was a moment of silence as Bad intook all of that. « I guess … I guess you're right on that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I really thought it was the best idea. »

« It's fine, it's not like I wouldn't have tried for the wrong choices either. » a beat, and then. « Wait, how do you not hate me right now? »

« Hate you? How could I, I am happy that we got rid of that monstrous thing. Plus, it's not like we can't hang out like before, right? Here we are having a beach party with all of our friends- »

Skeppy shook his head in exasperation, still wearing a small smile on his face. « This isn't a beach party, Bad. »

« We're having a beach party and there is nothing you can do about it. »

« Oh my god. »

Hearing laughter coming from them, the others decided to join back and were filled in on the situation.

And, of course, they carried on with their beach party.

That was the first night they could spend in peace.

Well, almost.

Skeppy had paced down a blackstone flooring in the heart of the night, his steps echoing through the massive construction.

He was met with familiar eyes staring him down behind a creeper mask. « Are you sure you want to do this? »

Skeppy said nothing and stared at the lava under the bridge before him before he started crossing it; after the bridge retracted, he was let in the cell in the middle of that incandescent pool.

He looked straight ahead of himself, a serious determination in his eyes.

« Hello. » he said, eyeing the silhouette of a man sitting miserably at the back of the cell. « Long time no see, Dream. »

❝ Hurt and grieve, but don't suffer alone.

Engage with the pain as a motive.

Today of all days, see:

How the most dangerous thing is to love.

How you will heal, and you'll rise above. ❞