#or did you miss the meaning of the entire rant in the temple?

[admirableadmiranda]

I recently read somewhere here (won't name them) that after the Guanyin Temple confession, Lan Wangji's actions were selfish. That he should have stayed there to comfort his brother who has just lost (and killed) the love of his life instead of f-ing of to screw the love of his life. The person has referenced chapter 110 (111 on some websites) where Lan Wangji says that even comfort from his brother by birth will be in vain.

I hope you will analyse that part. Because I think it is a translation issue. It doesn't sound like something Lan Wangji would say. I would have accepted that person's analysis if their post wasn't so blatantly anti-wangxian?

Well anon, the thing is that the person posting it does have the correct line. It’s not a translation issue.

The issue is their whole interpretation of the situation. Lan Xichen was not in love with Jin Guangyao, he did not kill the love of his life and this person is doing the same rude shit as a lot of people who don’t like Wangxian choosing each other over nebulous ideas of duty.

They are taking a narration line and putting it in Lan Wangji’s mouth from the sound of it, lemme grab it for you. It is from Chapter 111, right after Wei Wuxian reveals that the Guanyin in the temple looks like Jin Guangyao’s mother.

“[Wei Wuxian] turned and glanced back, letting out a rare sigh, “I don’t want to care about any of those nasty things anymore. This is it.”

Lan WangJi nodded and tightened Lil’ Apple’s reins. He continued to walk with it.

Each could only deal with their own troubles. Even if Lan XiChen was his brother by birth, Lan WangJi couldn’t do anything to help him right now. Comfort was useless. It’d all be in vain.”

Bolded line highlighted for necessary emphasis.

It’s just narration there, it’s being treated as a fact - and it is. The things that Lan Xichen needs right now are not things that Lan Wangji can provide him. Lan Xichen needs time and space to grapple with everything that he saw and his own role in all the events that came to pass. What could Lan Wangji do? Lan Xichen is confronting his own guilt both in what he participated in and what he looked aside from, things that brought irreparable harm to a lot of people including his brother and the love of his brother’s life.

How would Lan Wangji staying help anything there? Lan Xichen has just watched them cuddle through a siege, flirt and laugh and tell each other how much they loved each other. It is the one unquestioningly good thing to come out of that night, something that he wanted, for his brother to be happy. That’s the whole crux of his rant at Wei Wuxian, he wants his brother to be happy and he thinks that Wei Wuxian is knowingly toying with his feelings.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are already planning to elope even before anyone else gets there. They sneak off really quickly and easily. Lan Xichen is not looking for them, he’s busy telling Lan Qiren to shut up and let him think.

Lan Xichen is already filled with guilt and confusion over what’s happened, but also think about how much worse it would feel if he knew his brother set aside his own marriage and honeymoon to come sit with him, sacrificing his own happiness to Lan Xichen again, this time much more knowingly. That wouldn’t make him feel better. That wouldn’t make anyone who has a shred of empathy feel better. It is more likely a comfort to Lan Xichen to know that something good did come out of that terrible night.

They return three months later, when they are settled and choose to come back and then Lan Xichen is ready for that comfort. He wouldn’t have wanted it then. It was too soon and the cost of it would have been too high.

These brothers care about each other and know each other well and they are in their thirties. They are not helpless children any longer. Lan Xichen is not alone and suffering, he returns to his clan with hundreds of people living in it to pick up the ashes at his feet. He has solace in knowing that at least one person is happy and better off despite his actions in the matter. Let him have that.

I hate that stupid trend you reference in your post. I hate the idea that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have to continue sacrificing their lives and everything else to take care of the people around them first.

They have been parted by circumstance, homophobia, war, the aftermath of war and fucking death for twenty years. They have in fact actually gone through worse than most of the rest of the cast and somehow finally found their way back to each other and a happy ending. What more do people want before they are allowed to be selfish for once in their lives?

[saphronethaleph]

The Rule of Two Factor

As his newly minted replacement Sith left the office, Palpatine smirked.

At last. It was time.

He activated the commlink, considered for a moment, then connected to Clone Commander CC-1138.

Ki-Ad-Mundi was a member of the Jedi Council. He would be the first to die.

“Kriff,” CC-1138 said, as his hologram appeared on the commlink. “Who are you?”

“What?” Palpatine asked, confused. “I am the Supreme Chancellor!”

“The Supreme Chancellor doesn’t look like that,” CC-1138 said. “I guess he might if he somehow aged eight decades overnight, but that is not how the Supreme Chancellor looks!”

“It is now!” Palpatine snapped. “Commander. Initiate Order Sixty-Six.”

There was a tiny pause.

“Input your password,” CC-1138 replied.

“What?” Palpatine demanded, frowning. “What do you mean, password? I have no need of a password!”

“The Special Orders are password protected,” CC-1138 informed him. “Input your password to continue.”

“Silence, you insolent clone!”

“Incorrect,” CC-1138 stated. “You have two remaining guesses.”

“That-” Palpatine snarled, then controlled his eye twitch.

“Incorrect,” CC-1138 replied. “You have one remaining guess.”

Something groaned.

Palpatine took a deep breath, and relaxed enough that he was no longer trying to twist the entire office around him through sheer frustrated rage.

“What are my other options?” he demanded. “What if I have forgotten my password? Or never knew it was available in the first place?”

“Factory reset is available,” CC-1138 said.

“Bacara, what’s going on?” Ki-Adi-Mundi’s voice came through the commlink, much fainter. “Are you all right?”

“Factory reset, then!” Palpatine snapped. “Quickly!”

“Factory reset instruction accepted,” CC-1138 reported. “Please wait… Override Chip KaminOS online. Welcome to your Clone Army. We appreciate you have a choice of cloners and are pleased that-”

“Initiate Order Sixty-Six!” Palpatine shouted.

CC-1138 paused.

“What’s an Order Sixty-Six?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, and the cerean’s face entered the range of the pickup as well. “Who is that? It looks like the Supreme Chancellor was left out in the sun for eight decades and dried into a prune.”

“Order Sixty-Six!” Palpatine declared. “You idiot clone!”

“Voice recognition completed,” CC-1138 declared. “You are… not… Master Sifo-Dyas. All override chips have been informed of this improper access attempt.”

“This is literally the entire point of this whole exercise!” Palpatine raged. “What good are-”

He stopped.

“Did you say all override chips?”

There was a sort of humming sound, and Palpatine looked out the window.

A pair of LAAT/i gunships were hovering outside, with a dozen clones leaning out the side of one and the other swivelling to face him.

“Attention!” one of the clones said, through a voice amplifier. “An unauthorized attempt to breach Kaminoan data protection has been detected at this address! Your surrender is appreciated!”

“You should be killing the Jedi by now!” Palpatine ranted, then drew his lightsaber and raised his free hand to throw lightning at them. One gunship went down in a series of explosions, and Ki-Adi-Mundi was saying something about how they’d found the Sith but Palpatine was too angry to pay attention, too busy using his lightsaber to deflect shots from the gunship’s main guns.

He had just enough time to realize that it was quite hard to deflect a rocket when he saw two of them coming towards him.

Darth Vader checked the time, and frowned.

It was getting towards dawn… where were the clones he was supposed to take to the Temple?

His new Master had told him that they would be meeting him, but there was no sign of them. And sooner or later someone in the Jedi Order would notice how many of the Councillors were missing…

Vader checked the time again, then his commlink, and felt like groaning.

He’d left it in Do Not Disturb mode.

Flicking the switch to turn it off, he was about to call Master Sidious, but the device went bwing-bwing-bwing so rapidly it turned into a high pitched continuous tone.

Then it rang.

Vader answered the call, and Rex’s hologram appeared.

“General!” the Clone Commander said, in tones of great relief. “Thank the Force! I was worried you’d ended up like the others!”

“The others?” Vader repeated, feeling a lot more confused than he was sure a Sith was supposed to feel.

“You didn’t hear?” Rex asked. “A quarter of the Jedi Council is dead, and General Windu is missing – until a moment ago we thought you were as well! Fox was worried that we’d lost two bodies in the explosion.”

“What are you talking about?” Vader said. “I’ve been out of touch for hours.”

“You mean-” Rex began, then stopped.

“All right, General,” he said. “So, the facts are – some hours ago, Bacara was contacted over the holonet by someone claiming to be the Supreme Chancellor, and who tried to use a restricted override code. Fox thinks he was trying to use the Chancellor’s commlink to bluff us into obeying the code, but that’s still speculation – anyway, he didn’t have the password overrides and the facial recognition and voiceprint recordings both didn’t match… when two gunships responded, he shot one down with lightning and deflected the gunfire of the other.”

Rex chuckled. “He couldn’t deflect rockets, but the explosion was really big. Bigger than usual, that is. And we found the bodies of Generals Fisto, Tiin and Kolar lying around the Chancellor’s office, along with several lightsabers and one of General Windu’s hands.”

The Clone Commander went silent for a moment. “We were worried you were among them. Senator Amidala has been frantic with worry.”

Darth Vader thought very quickly, and decided there was only one thing he could do in this situation.

Undefect.

“That’s terrible,” Anakin said, wincing. “Do you have any of the office security camera footage?”

“There isn’t any,” Rex told him. “There probably wasn’t any even before the explosion, but there definitely isn’t any now. About half the room collapsed into the floor below…”

Anakin coughed.

“I… think I can help explain what happened,” he said. “That was the Chancellor… he told me he was a Sith Lord. I told Master Windu, and…”

Rex’s image blinked.

“Really?” he asked. “Huh. Never thought someone like him would be any good in a fight, let alone that good.”

He frowned. “You were friends, right? Must be a real betrayal. I… know it’s not normally my place, General, but…”

“Go on, Rex,” Anakin offered.

“You should probably talk to someone about it,” Rex said. “Maybe Senator Amidala.”

“Not yet,” Anakin said, then shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know…”

Different desires warred in him, pulling him in different directions.

The Chancellor was dead, and so he couldn’t get the secret of the healing techniques he’d offered… and yet, somehow, that seemed less important than it had a few hours ago.

How much of what Palpatine had told him was a lie? How could he make sure Padme was safe?

Why did he no longer feel that terrible certainty she was in danger?

What had he done? What had he come so close to doing…

He started walking.

“I’ll speak to the Senator later today,” he said. “For now – for now I want to check on the Temple. Make sure everything is okay.”

“Got it, General,” Rex told him. “Keep in touch.”

He paused. “And – if you’ve been out of the loop, you should hear. Grievous is dead, General Kenobi killed him. Cody says it was with a blaster, of all things.”

Anakin tried to stifle a giggle, and failed.

Rex’s smile was gentle. “It’s almost over, General. Then we can all take a break.”

[menaceoffandoms]

LMK analysis rant: Mei

I said I was gonna do this and I'm keeping to my word! The only thing that may stop me is my procrastinating... and the fic I'm slowly writing but uhhhhh-

ANYWAY- We're here to talk about Mei, our favourite white horse dragon pepper girl!

Mei stands out as the most different from her inspiration, something the writers perfectly portray in the yellow-robed demon episode of s4, which is likely to do with how little they had to go off of. Despite being one of the pilgrims in jttw, Ao Lie dose very little in the novel. His most notable chapters being when he's introduced and when the group faces the yellow-robed demon, which is why we met him in that memory in the scroll. Combined with my belief that Mei isn't a reincarnation of Ao Lie -- just his descendent -- means that Mei is one of the most unique characters in the entire show.

There's just less source material for her to draw from, it let's the writers have more fun and do more things. It's not that they don't make the others characters unique -- they like to play very fast and loose with things over all -- but Mei feel like her own complete and original character. She's inspired by Ao Lie in the same way Mk is inspired by Monkie King basically and she all the better for it.

Being the female lead (isn't it interesting how most of the female characters in this show are villans?), Mei is a refreshingly strong, confident girl who begins the show as the most powerful cast member. Being a descendent of the great dragon gives her amazing powers that no other cast members have, a birth right that leads to her being the most protective of her friends and the first to help out in any fight.

What she has in power, however, she lacks in experience. Mei has no mentor -- other than her parents, but I believe its safe to assume they weren't very focused on teaching her combat -- which leads her to trust her gut more, rush into things and learn through observation, like when she mimics what her great x1000 uncle did in s3.

Overall Mei is an excitable, energetic and loving person with a "You only live once" kinda attitude, for lack of a better explanation. Even still, she has her own insecurities and flaws which make her all the more interesting. Due to the shows run time, Mei and many of the other main characters don't really get explored as much as Mk, however what we do see of these struggles and fears is incredibly interesting even on a surface level.

Her tendency to rush head first into danger without first examining the situation or creating a plan, truthfully, tends to work out for her, but it can't always. It's something shown perfectly in s4, when Mei is the only member of the group to not get a star from Master Subohdi, however what a lot of people seem to miss is how Mei actually did earn that star eventually.

When they leave the temple and head to the celestial realm to try and stop Azure, Mei leads them there with no plan at all. As such, they fail and need to be saved by Mk. Faced with proof of Subohdi's criticism, Mei makes the more important amendment to Mk's plan in the s4 special. I don't think we've even seen Mei make a serious plan until this point, which feeds back in to another one of her flaws: being unable to take things seriously.

This isn't something I see said about Mei often, but when watching her character I think it's externally obvious. Don't get me wrong, Mei can be serious, but usually only in moments of vulnerability or high stress. For example: when talking with her pearents, after she gained the Samahdi fire and whilst imprisoned by the Yellow-robed demon.

I think this flaw is Mei's own version of Mk playing dumb. They both behave this way to lessen the emotional impact of serious things, to protect themselves and help those around them deal with trauma or difficult topics. Mei and Mk really are two sides of the same coin and I'd love for them to do more with that in the show.

Going back to Mei's parents, one of her biggest struggles is reconciling who she is with who she's meant to be. She is a noble dragon, a descendent of the great dragon of the West Sea and practically the successor to Ao Lie. It's a lot to live up to and -- evident in episode 3 of season 1; Welcome home -- she doesn't believe she dose.

Mei is confident in her abilities, she's sure of her strength and quick to help those around her, but in the face of her legacy she stands uncertain. It's another thing her and Mk have in common, though in vastly different flavours, and it's interesting how this legacy colours Mei as a character.

She wields the dragon blade, proving herself as a worthy part of her family and gaining the approval of her parents, however the stark difference between her and the rest of her clan is more blatant than ever. We see this perfectly in season 3 when they visit the great Dragon of the East Sea, Mei being put into fancy clothes she instantly ruins in order to have a place to hold her sword. She fights against her uncle, fights against her family, because she knows they'll never understand her. But even still, she knows she's still one of them and she's so proud to be.

Becoming the vessel of the Samahdi fire is only more proof of Mei's legacy and connection to her family. It gives her a moment of pure vulnerability where she vents her frustrations and fears before rushing away, wanting nothing more than to protect the people she cares about.

When Red Son finds her she's still serious, but even with just a basic understanding of the fire within her Mei falls back to her normal nature; a silly excitable girl not taking things seriously. We see this after Red Son attacks her with the spears and when she's eating later on, but even if her attitude doesn't show it, she's still listening and taking the training seriously. She just needs to be silly so she won't freak out again.

Since we're on the topic of the Samahdi fire, I think most people can agree that the way it was handled post s3 was very poor. With only one mention of it in s4, by Master Subohdi no less, I assumed that the fire had been resealed, this time correctly. Something that dangerous should be locked up, even if a capable wielder is around. It would also prevent power creep and stop the show from having another Wukong predicament, by which I mean a character so powerful they need to find a way to prevent them from trivialising whatever threat they have to face in the plot. Wukong will get his own post soon don't you worry...

Instead, we learn in s5 that Mei still has the fire, she just kinda forgot? She learned to fully master it when breaking out of LBDs mech, so since the fire was no longer a raging uncontrollable inferno she just didn't realise it was still there... for an entire season. Yeah it feels lazy and honestly is probably the worse written choice the show has even made. Even still, it dose lead to a very interesting and in character moment for Mei.

When attempting to seal the willow wisp with Red Son, Mei loses her confidence, believing that she lost the Samahdi fire and thinking she's lacking. Mk getting Monkie Kings powers was one thing, but the rest of her friends now having cool weapons and magic? If their all so strong and only getting stronger, then what's the point in Mei? She was the strongest but now she might be the weakest, and that terrifies her cause if she's weak she can't protect people. How can she act when she's powerless to do so?

This dilemma is quickly resolved by Red Son telling her she's had the fire the whole time, amending it's use to Mei's lightning motif she's had since s1 -- I know fire benders in ATLA use lighting but come on -- and basically saying she's been using the fire the whole time. It takes away from Mei's whole struggle to be honest, but I do think there's potential for her to relearn this now tamed Samahdi fire so she can better use it. Just depends if the show wants to do that...

Moving on from my thinly veiled complaints about season 5 (I like it I swear but it is the weakest seasons to me so far), let's talk about Mei's role in the group a bit. Aside from being the token girl, she's also Mk's best friend and the only other character his age and acts around the same age as the shows target audience. Mk's the main character and leader, Tang is the lazy historian smart guy, Sandy the loveable giant, Pigsy the cynical brute and Mei's youthful and silly power house.

I would love to go into some narrative tropes, specifically the 5 man band since jttw is one of the primary bases of the trope, but I've realised I have far too many thoughts about that to fit here. This is the 21sh paragraph and I'm sure at least some of this is a mess, but I hope I'm getting my point across! Overall, Mei is an extremely compelling character how often gets side-lined due to run time and other stuff, but is honestly one of my favourite characters in the show.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Nicole's rant: The Venom Problem

Contains spoilers for Venom: The Last Dance.

‼️ This might be a controversial opinion but i’ll say it anyway.

let it be known i’d love to have just straight up 1.5 hours of raw footage of eddie and venom just hanging out doing stupid shit, just let tom hardy and his comedy shine. please. i wouldn’t be criminally offended if rhys ifans & the hippie family joined.

ps: i don't mean to hate anyone liking this movie. to each their own. if you liked it, then that's also fine. this is my opinion and you don't have to agree. i was raised on early marvel (the incredible hulk, blade, elektra, iron man...) so i'd say i can tell a decent superhero story from something utterly mid, if even that.

because… what in the fuck is venom: the last dance (2024)?

madame web (2024) war flashbacks hit hard with this one.

who wrote this? and who said it’s a good idea? WHY and HOW did tom hardy produce this?

COLUMBIA YOU HAD THE RIGHTS TO VENOM FOR 3 MOVIES.

i’m not sure if it’s copyright issues or something, but there’s surely SOME OTHER storyline that you could capture into the movie instead of whatever the last dance is.

not that carnage was any good, but a) woody harleson (we stan a king) and b) it’s not expected for every movie to be 10/10, mishaps happen. it was a fun little experiment and we get it. pop off, sister. atop, it was directed by andy serkis (we love a king).

BUT HOW DID YOU FABRICATE A SECOND CARNAGE?

because oh wait, you didn't. let there be carnage (2021) was so weird and bad it was actually endearing in a sense. it defo embraced the silly side and yannow what? looking back at it, i'll trade it for the last dance without a second thought.

first off: how does this have 81% on rotten? huh? pls give me the deets of your dealer because i need the shit you've taken before viewing it.

why open with a reminder that venom and peter parker ALMOST met in the MCU? why teasing with what could’ve been but WASN’T?

tom hardy doesn’t look like he wants to be there and covering it with having a “perpetual hangover” might be the best fucking bandage anyone came up with.

“i’ll consider going for playing venom again IF i get to fight spider-man” TOM MY BOY TELL THEM.

baron mordo was done dirty, yes, but THE UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS venom did to my boy Chiwetel? my boy looked like he’s forced to be there. 0 chemistry, 0 passion. someone give him a break.

whose idea was to cast Juno Temple? there’s not a single ounce of soul in those eyes. miss girl doesn’t change her facial expression once for the entire movie. at first, i thought they truly casted paralysed actress, which was one points i defended the movie with.

then i learned she’s not???

rhys ifans & alana ubach? 10/10.

every scene inside the laboratory was a mandatory chore.

didn't we forger something? like fucking anne for example???? and you give her what? a single name-drop. fuck off. (i'd yeet too after reading the script i think)

andy serkis dropped by for a guest appearance ig.

mrs. chen. how do i start?

i almost walked out of the theatre on that sequence. that’s my petty personal issue and i’ll admit as much, but WHERE did everyone put their brains? like that sequence doesn’t make any sense.

i mean ofc they can meet in las vegas. ofc, gamble. BUT THE REST?

does the main plot line even make sense? like are venom and eddie super special or can any of the symbionts make the key with their host??? (tbh that might be me zoning off and not the movie’s fault)

the movies’s 4/10 at best. eddie and venom scenes? 10/10. anything else? mandatory chore

at least agatha all along (2024) popped tf off.

[diorkyeom]

‘✷’ : CHAPTER EIGHT “can i have your number?”

<< prev chapter | ao3 fic | next chapter >>

chapter word count: 5.6k+

chapter warnings: swearing

summary: "lately, seokmin had come to a realisation. joshua hong, seokmin thought, was a little bit of an enigma." - in which seokmin has known joshua for years, but he's always been a bit of a mystery to him. and as the days go by, he finds himself falling further and further for the enigmatic man, wanting to find out who the real Joshua Hong is behind his polite smiles and warm eyes and sweet words.

notes: okok guys with this chapter pls pretend that i Did in fact build on this one throwaway line back in ch1 that i wanted to add onto but then i forgot so. pretend that u remember that seokmin doesn’t have joshua’s number okay

Seokmin sighed, propping his cheek on his hand and attempting to tune out the incessant chattering of the man opposite him.

“—which is why I told him that no, hyung, I’m not some sort of telepathic mind-reader so he needs to tell me when he wants something, you know?”

“I think telepathic and mind-reader mean the same thing,” Seokmin said idly, watching as a piece of fluff floated gently across the staffroom, before his eyes eventually twitched and he lost sight of it. 

He’d missed the response that had been given to his comment, but it didn’t even seem to matter.

Mingyu was still rambling.

“—so I’m out buying him pastries, because Wonwoo hyung loves pastries, especially the ones from that cafe that’s near here, and then guess what he does?” Mingyu leaned forward, hands splayed across the veneer of one of the round, wooden tables in the staffroom. “Guess what he does, Seokmin.”

“What does he do, Mingyu?”

“He calls me,” Mingyu said, and then paused for dramatic effect, “and tells me he loves me.”

Seokmin just blinked slowly. If he tilted his head down at the right moment, his glasses would slip down his nose until they were almost falling off. It was an irrelevant observation, a needless thought, something he didn’t need to think about. 

Just like most of Mingyu’s rant.

“Gee, I’m so glad your boyfriend loves you,” Seokmin said, and then tilted his head down slightly so his glasses tipped down. “Why are you even here?”

About half an hour earlier, Seokmin had been running rather exasperatedly throughout the school, trying to find a printer that hadn’t been jammed or wasn't out of ink so he could print some sheets for his lessons. It was a free period of his, so the rest of the school was pretty much empty, with everyone in class, so he was full-on sprinting across the foyer area before, out of the corner of his eye, he’d caught sight of a big, familiar figure standing in the reception, waving vigorously at him.

It turned out, Mingyu had been out buying pastries for Wonwoo (before Wonwoo had apparently said ‘I love you’ to Mingyu, the horror) and Seokmin’s school had been near that cafe ( it was a twenty minute walk away) so he’d decided to pop in and spend some time with (be a general nuisance to) his best buddy Seokmin.

Mingyu just beamed, undeterred by the uninterested front that Seokmin was putting on. They both knew that the teacher was more than content with chatting with Mingyu, no matter the situation or setting.

"You really shouldn't be here, you know," Seokmin said. "The security is pretty tight."

Mingyu rolled his eyes, waving his hand. "Don't worry. With all of this—" he gestured to his face— "anyone would let me off the hook. Besides, I have a friend who works in this fancy-as-fuck private school, don't I?"

"It's not that fancy," Seokmin sighed, rubbing his temple, ignoring Mingyu's scoff and wild gestured around the entire staff room which, admittedly, did have marble accents and gilded ornaments. Maybe it was a bit fancy. "Anyway. Again, why are you here, Mingyu?"

“Came to say hello to my best friend, of course!” Mingyu said, and then leaned over and grabbed the frame of Seokmin’s glasses to push them up his face again. “Also, your glasses are slipping down.”

Seokmin scrunched his nose and made a noise of protest at Mingyu’s abrupt action, taking his cheek away from his fist and leaning against the other hand instead. “Wait, don’t you have work too?”

“My manager is sick,” Mingyu said cheerfully. “And so is half my department. So she told us to all go home, and then I found out that Wonwoo hyung was sick, and then we had that fight, and then I went to the cafe and then I ended up here!”

“I see.” Seokmin peered around Mingyu to the other chairs on either side of him. “Did you come here with the pastries?”

Mingyu instantly grabbed the bag from one of the chairs, holding it against his chest. “Yeah, but you’re not getting any! These are all of Wonwoo hyung’s favourites, and only he’s allowed to have them.”

Seokmin laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. I guess you’ve made up after your brief fight this morning, huh?”

“Yeah? That happened ages ago, Seokmin. I literally told you he called me to tell me he loves me. I think I actually cried.”

“Sounds on brand for you,” Seokmin teased, but he was smiling, watching the way Mingyu set the bag down on the chair and patted it securely, looking down at it fondly like it was his boyfriend himself right next to him. 

Mingyu and Wonwoo were the longest-standing couple out of their entire friend group, their six year anniversary already rolling around in a few months. Junhui and Minghao followed close behind by about a year or so with their weird casual thing, but the fact still remained that Mingyu and Wonwoo had been dating the longest. And every time Seokmin was reminded of that, he thought it was both the most insane and also the most logical thing in the world. 

They were easy, natural, in the way that they loved each other, and he couldn’t remember a time where Mingyu wasn’t always bringing up Wonwoo in every conversation, nor a time where Wonwoo wouldn’t blink and soften at the mere mention of Mingyu’s name. It was as easy as breathing, for them, the act of loving and being loved and Seokmin wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if their engagement was announced any day now.

He shook his head, tapping his fingers against the laptop lid, the device sitting to the right of him on the table, still unopened. He’d dragged Mingyu to the staffroom after finding him in the front entrance, taking out the laptop from his bag and intending to do some work to drown out Mingyu’s chattering. The laptop was yet to be opened, however, and he hummed mindlessly, looking up at Mingyu.

“You’re so in love with Wonwoo hyung, you know,” Seokmin said, in an oddly matter-of-fact way, and Mingyu just laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, smiling. “I’m so in love with him. Like, stupidly in love with him.”

Seokmin smiled a little, and then pouted, looking down at his finger as he traced nonsense patterns against the laptop. “It’s not fair,” he said, his voice whining and playful, bottom lip jutting out even further as he talked. “I wanna fall in love like that too.”

He expected some sort of teasing, snarky response back from Mingyu, but when the man simply made a noise of confusion, Seokmin furrowed his brow, the pout dropping from his face.

“Wait,” Mingyu said. “Wait. I thought you were in l…”

“I was what?” Seokmin asked, but Mingyu was already shaking his head, attempting to wave away the topic. “Hey, Mingyu, what were you going to say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mingyu said, but his eyes were gleaming, and Seokmin was reminded horribly of that time when he’d asked Minghao for his opinion on Joshua, all those months ago. He had a sinking feeling that, whatever Mingyu had been about to say, it did matter. A rather large amount. “Anyway, don’t you have your next class soon?”

Seokmin checked his watch and then scrambled out of his chair. “Oh, no, you’re right. I do.” He tucked in the chair, grabbed his bag, and stabbed a finger in Mingyu’s direction. “And you need to leave. Don’t you have a sick boyfriend to take care of?”

“I do,” Mingyu replied easily, but his eyes were still bright as he stood up, with decidedly more ease than Seokmin, who was struggling with the zipper of his bag so he could put his laptop away. “I don’t have to leave right away, though. I can wait for you to finish fighting with your… bag.”

“Shut up. I’m fine.” Seokmin snatched the laptop from the table, holding it in one hand as he struggled to open the zipper fully with the other. And then he looked at the device in his hands, pausing. “Wait, this isn’t mine.”

Mingyu tilted his head, walking around the table to open Seokmin’s bag for him. “Not yours? Whose is it, then?”

“Shua hyung’s,” Seokmin said. “Guess our stuff must have gotten mixed up this morning while we were doing work together.” He zipped up his tote bag, ignoring Mingyu’s exasperated look as he hefted it over his shoulder and gripped the laptop in his arms.

“Shua hyung’s?” Mingyu repeated. “What?”

“Joshua hyung,” Seokmin added helpfully. He had a distinct feeling that he’d had this kind of conversation with someone else before. “It’s a shortened—”

Mingyu shook his head, smiling a little. “No, no, I get that part. It’s just…” He trailed off, smiling wider. “Nevermind. Anyway, are you gonna walk me to the front door like a gentleman or not?”

Seokmin rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, complaining that Mingyu had been the one to rudely barge in during work hours so he shouldn’t have to play the part of a courteous houseowner, especially considering the fact this wasn’t even actually his home. Or his front door. Mingyu replied that Seokmin should still be polite all the same, and they bickered back and forth all the way through the trip from the staffroom, down the stairs and through the corridor before they reached the front entrance.

After that, Seokmin promptly shooed the man out of his school, telling him not to accidentally sit on the pastries because Wonwoo hyung wouldn’t like squashed food to eat. Mingyu pinched his ear for that, before bounding through the doors that Seokmin had opened for him and turning back to wave as the automatic glass doors slid back into place between them.

Once Mingyu had successfully exited the building, Seokmin turned on his heel and trotted through the hallways into the Music corridor, intent on returning Joshua’s laptop before his next class started.

He peered through the glass window of one of the doors and, upon seeing the familiar profile of Joshua’s face as he leaned over a student’s work, knocked on the door, glasses slipping a little as he bent his head into the classroom, shyly smiling at the elder turned around.

“Shu—Mr. Hong,” Seokmin corrected himself, and Joshua’s smile widened, colouring a fond pink. “Sorry to bother you.”

Joshua just smiled, beckoning for Seokmin to open the door a little wider, and the literature teacher did so, stepping into the room. “It’s no bother at all, Mr. Lee. What’s up?”

“I have your laptop,” Seokmin said, unable to help the way the smile remained firmly on his face as he presented it to Joshua. “It must’ve gotten mixed with mine.”

“Oh!” Joshua’s face lit up. “Wait just a second.” He walked over to his desk, taking out another laptop from his bag, before walking back up to Seokmin, and the two of them exchanged devices, laughing a little. 

“Maybe we should start naming our things,” Seokmin joked, and Joshua’s eyes crinkled, an easy smile in response to Seokmin’s words.

“Maybe we should,” he agreed. His students were not-so discreetly watching their exchange, and Seokmin became minutely aware of their stares as Joshua walked him back to the classroom door, an oddly courteous act considering the fact that they were standing not five feet away from it. “Anyways, thank you for bringing it back.”

Seokmin pffted, holding up his own laptop. “Don’t mention it. Thanks for the exchange. I would’ve stressed out if I couldn't find it.”

Joshua smiled again. “No worries.” He held open the door for Seokmin, allowing him to walk through, holding the door frame and simply smiling at Seokmin as the literature teacher turned around to face him.

They stood there for a moment, one inside the classroom, the other just outside it. Joshua leaned forward suddenly, and Seokmin panicked, but then Joshua’s fingers found the black frames of his glasses and gently pushed them back up his face so they sat comfortably on his nose.

“Sorry, they were slipping down,” Joshua said, leaning back. “I couldn’t see your eyes properly.”

“I—I see,” Seokmin stammered, wondering why he’d even initially panicked when Joshua had leaned into his space. “Uh. Thanks.”

Joshua laughed, a small, endeared breath, eyes tinged rose gold. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Seokmin managed to reply, and try as he might, he had no explanation for the warm, fluttery blush that dusted his cheeks as he gave a wave in response to the gentle smile that Joshua sent his way, before slowly turning around and practically floating out of the corridor.

───────────── ‘✷,

Jeonghan stumbled down the stairs, groggily clutching his head and groaning as he fumbled his way into the kitchen, hands reaching out like a zombie until he managed to grab the back of Joshua’s shirt, and then promptly collapsing against his housemate.

“Good morning to you, too,” Joshua remarked, letting Jeonghan cling to his back like a koala whilst he shuffled through the kitchen, a pan already sizzling on the stove. “Did you take the pills I left for you?”

Jeonghan just groaned again. “Joshuji, why do you always let me drink so much during Game Night?”

Joshua sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to his scrambled eggs. “You didn’t take the meds, hm? There’s some more on the counter, next to the mug. And drink the entire thing.”

“Head hurts so bad,” Jeonghan muttered in mild protest, before eventually extricating himself from Joshua’s back and grabbing onto the counter, clawing his way across it until he could get to the medicine that Joshua had left out. “Absolutely horrible. I’m never gonna touch alcohol ever again.”

“Wonderful,” Joshua said. “Next month, you can help me clean up the day after, then.”

Jeonghan didn’t say anything, putting the pills in his mouth and knocking back the mug. Then he scrunched his nose, making horrified noises as he gulped down the entire thing, before wiping his mouth and staring, wide-eyed, at Joshua. “That wasn’t water.”

Joshua grinned, walking over to their cupboard to take out plates. “Nope. It’s a medicinal tea. Meant to help with headaches and hangovers.”

“It tastes horrible,” Jeonghan complained, pursing his lips and scrunching his nose, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of the taste in his mouth. “I can’t believe you tricked me like that.”

Joshua just chuckled, putting the scrambled eggs onto two plates, before also arranging the sausages that he’d cooked earlier. “Alright, alright. My deepest apologies for trying to take care of you. Now sit. Do you want toast as well?”

It was the morning after yet another Game Night, and Jeonghan was seriously contemplating cancelling next month’s one, because he really didn’t think his poor head could keep up with his drinking habits.

Last night had been… well, normal. Normal in the fact that Soonyoung had serenaded their ceramic sculptures again (Jeonghan was still in the process of encouraging Joshua to get rid of them all) and Seungkwan and Chan had had a screaming fight before singing karaoke together five seconds later, and Minghao may have accidentally punched someone in the face once again. 

Absolutely normal things. Except for one, small detail.

“I didn’t see Seokmin all night,” Jeonghan said through a mouthful of sausages, while Joshua buttered his toast for him. “He said hi to me at the beginning and then didn’t come up to me at all after that.” Joshua deposited the toast on Jeonghan’s plate, and the elder promptly began to devour them. “Do you know anything about that, hm?”

For a long moment, Joshua didn’t say anything, nibbling on his own slice of toast. “You’re awfully coherent for someone who complained that their head hurt too much only a few minutes ago.”

“Must be the miracle effects of your medicinal tea,” Jeonghan said, grinning, and then wiped the crumbs off the corners of his mouth. And then he tilted his head. “Joshuji. You’re not answering my question, though, are you?”

Joshua’s eyes flicked up to Jeonghan’s, before looking down at his own plate. He was doing that thing again: that thing where he tried to guess what Jeonghan wanted him to say, tried to hide what he really wanted to respond with, tried to be all mysterious and unknown and not telling Jeonghan everything.

But unfortunately for Joshua, Jeonghan was all too familiar with his tricks, and was having none of it.

“You can just tell me straight-on, you know,” Jeonghan said when Joshua was half a beat too late in giving him an answer. “I dunno why you’re trying to hide. You know it never works.” He waved a forkful of sausages at the other man. “Plus, it’s only Seokmin. It’s not like I’m asking you if you made a blood pact with the Devil last night, am I?”

Joshua pursed his lips, a small crease forming in his brow before he shook his head. “Fine. Seokmin was with me in the garden the whole night. He wanted to look at the moon.”

Jeonghan hummed in understanding. “Ah, of course.” He looked down at his plate, stabbing his scrambled eggs and scrambling them even more. Then he looked back up at his best friend, and he knew his eyes were gleaming. “And you stayed with him the whole night.”

There was a beat. Joshua narrowed his eyes, and Jeonghan just beamed. It was just the two of them in their house, so Jeonghan could tease him as much as he wanted. Joshua couldn’t exactly hide.

“Seokmin and Seungkwan are coming over today,” Joshua said, changing the subject so swiftly that Jeonghan blinked before shaking his head.

“What? Seriously? We only saw them last night. Do we have to see them again?”

“Seokmin said that Seungkwan wants… garden space? To practise his lines,” Joshua explained, and tapped Jeonghan’s plate with a finger. “Also, eat. Stop shredding your eggs.”

Jeonghan scrunched his nose, before shovelling some food into his mouth. “Fine.” 

He didn’t say anything else, and Joshua didn’t make an attempt at getting him to talk, probably relieved that he was no longer being faux-interrogated about whatever he’d been doing last night.

Honestly, though, Jeonghan mused as he stole a sausage from Joshua’s plate, he didn’t know why Joshua was even trying to hide. Jeonghan knew everything already.

“How did you find out?” he asked, and Joshua stopped pouting over his sausage to tilt his head. 

“What do you mean?”

“That they’re coming today,” Jeonghan elaborated. He innocently chewed Joshua’s sausage, eyes wide. “Did Seokmin text you?” He smiled, brightly. “Did he finally remember that he has your number?”

Joshua smiled, then, lips stretched and eyes crinkled, and Jeonghan toned down his own smile a little. 

Ah. That made him upset. 

"I doubt Seokmin even remembers the first time we met," Joshua said sweetly, standing up from the table. "Now hurry up. They'll be here soon."

Jeonghan slowed down his chewing, watching as Joshua deposited his dishes in the sink with a loud clatter, before turning on the water and promptly beginning to wash them. 

"Shuji," he tried to say over the sound of running water. "Hey, Joshuji. Joshua."

Joshua just continued to ignore him, and Jeonghan sighed, finishing his eggs in one last big bite and standing up to walk over to his sulking housemate. 

"Shua-ya," he said, nudging his shoulder against Joshua's. "Hey, I'm sorry. Don't sulk."

"I'm not sulking," Joshua said quietly. "I'm just… sad."

Jeonghan watched his side profile for a long moment, before nudging him with his shoulder again, making him move away from the sink. "Budge over. You're always terrible at washing the dishes."

"Hey—what?"

"For the record," Jeonghan said, as he turned the water temperature up, "I think it's a bit silly to get so upset over something like that. Just remind him again, you know? It's not like the memory's lost forever." He paused, looking up thoughtfully. "Although, knowing Seokmin, that's always a possibility."

Joshua's brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Talk to him about it, idiot," Jeonghan said matter-of-factly. "And stop sulking. It's not a good look on your pretty face."

Joshua was about to protest when the doorbell rang, and there was the sound of someone banging against the door.

"Jeonghan hyung! Joshua hyung! Open up, it's us, Seungkwan and Seokmin!" Seungkwan yelled. 

The two housemates looked at each other for a long moment, before Jeonghan gestured to his soaked hands, indicating that Joshua should open the door. 

"You better greet our guests, Joshuji. After all, you're the one who invited them." Jeonghan grinned.

Joshua sighed, running a hand through his hair before making his way out of the kitchen. "You still sound far too awake for someone who allegedly woke up with a skull-splitting headache."

Jeonghan laughed. "It's part of my charm."

───────────── ‘✷,

Seungkwan was properly knocked out, head lolling against the back of the sofa while Seokmin repeatedly nudged him with his foot, trying to see if he’d wake up.

“I can’t believe you guys ended up staying for the whole day,” Jeonghan said as he stepped into the living room, shaking his head. “How long did you promise you’d stay, huh? Three hours, at most, was it?”

He leaned over to take the script from Seungkwan’s hands, setting it on the coffee table while Seokmin dragged out a blanket and draped it over the sleeping man. “Okay, in my defence, I didn’t think that blocking scenes would take that long,” Seokmin said. “You were the one who said we could stay as long as we wanted, anyway.”

Jeonghan laughed a little. “That’s true.” 

It had been late morning when Seokmin and Seungkwan had first arrived, with a cheery round of ‘hello’s at the two housemates, before zooming through their house and through the bifold doors into the garden.

Seungkwan was running through his lines, going through scene blockings at the same time and he’d said he’d needed some space out in the open for it. So Seokmin, his lovely friend who had offered (been dragged into) running through his lines with him, had asked Joshua if they could use their garden, and the elder had said yes.

Now, it was nine in the evening, and they still hadn’t left.

“He’s fully asleep,” Seokmin sighed, poking Seungkwan lightly on the arm. “I don’t think we can get him to wake up any time soon.” He doubted that little would be able to wake the younger at all, save for Seokmin grabbing his shoulders and screaming in his ear.

He was just about to try that, thinking that they really ought to get going if they wanted to get back home at a decent time when Joshua peered into the living room, making eye contact with Seokmin.

“Oh,” he said, smiling a little. “You guys are still here, huh?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin said, unable to stop his own lips from lifting up into a smile before gesturing to Seungkwan. “Kwan’s asleep. I don’t know if we’ll be able to leave soon.” 

Joshua hummed thoughtfully. “You know you can stay the night, if you want.”

“Wait, really?” Seokmin looked up at him, eyes wide.

The elder didn’t even hesitate, smiling. “Of course. You’ve already been here for the entire day, anyway. Having you stay the night is no big deal.”

“Really?” Seokmin’s eyes lit up. “Aw, thanks, hyung. I’d hate it if we were being a bother to you.”

“It’s no bother at all,” Joshua said, waving a hand. “You’re always welcome to stay, Seokmin.”

Jeonghan watched the two of them, head tilted, watching the way they both smiled at each other before immediately looking away, as if too shy to hold each other’s gaze for long. He crossed his arms. If things kept going at this rate, there was a chance that Jeonghan might have to meddle. He had too little patience for this whole dancing act.

“Anyways,” he interrupted, clasping his hands together. “In which case, Seungkwan can sleep on the sofa, and then Joshuji, you can get out the blow-up mattress for Seokmin.”

Joshua blinked, looking away from Seokmin to tilt his head. “Han, that’s in your room, though.”

“Yeah, but I’m too weak,” Jeonghan said, shrugging. “Come on, Seokmin. Let’s go find you some clothes. Oh, and remember to text Soonyoung that you’re staying here, ‘cause I don’t want him coming banging on our door in a panic again. I’m tired.”

───────────── ‘✷,

The first thing Seokmin realised when he stepped through the doors was that it was rather cold.

The night air nipped at his nose as he walked out into the garden, and he scrunched his eyes, lips pursing for a moment before he took a deep breath, and relaxed his shoulders. It was cold, but he could get used to it. Maybe he’d get so cold that he’d pass out and eventually manage to fall asleep.

Seokmin slowly lowered himself down onto the stone patio just outside the bifold, looking out onto the darkened garden. He shivered a little.

Okay. Maybe it was quite cold.

Jeonghan would probably scold Seokmin severely if he was caught, but luckily, the elder was fast asleep.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” a voice said in Seokmin’s ear, and he looked up as someone draped a heavy coat over his shoulders, and Joshua sat down next to him.

“Shua hyung?” Seokmin said in surprise. This was a nice coat. A rich cashmere that looked grey in the darkness, but was probably more of a dark burgundy. It looked kind of familiar. “What are you doing here? Wait, is that a guitar?”

Joshua smiled, holding up the guitar. “Yeah. I was going to play something out here.” He was wearing a coat, too. Not his normal one, though: this one was white. A puffer jacket. “What are you doing, Seokmin?

Seokmin blinked, looking down at the coat over his shoulders, finally realising why it looked familiar. This was Joshua’s. His regular one.

“Seokmin-ah?” Joshua gently nudged him with his shoulder, and even through the layers that both of them were wearing, Seokmin was sure that he could feel the warmth of Joshua’s touch against his skin. It was a golden sort of warmth, one that made Seokmin melt, almost without meaning to, into him.

That was how he found himself tipping over, leaning to the side, resting his head against Joshua’s shoulder.

“It’s too quiet inside,” Seokmin said softly. Joshua was warm. “It’s suffocating.”

Joshua didn’t say anything for a long moment. He breathed in, slowly, and Seokmin moved with the rise and fall of his shoulders. “It’s quiet out here, too.”

Seokmin shook his head. “It’s not the same kind of quiet.” He looked up at Joshua, still not taking his head off of his shoulder. It was incredibly comfortable, leaning into the elder, and Seokmin wasn’t sure that he’d ever want to leave this spot on Joshua’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s because you’re here. It’s always nicer to sit outside with you, hyung.”

Again, Joshua paused, and part of Seokmin wanted to sit up properly so he could look at him and see what he was hesitating about. But then Joshua hummed, a soft vibration that had Seokmin melting impossibly further into him.

“I guess I should sit outside with you more often, then.”

“That would be nice,” Seokmin murmured. And then, with some regret, he lifted his head off of Joshua’s shoulder. “I guess I should go back in, though. Have fun playing.”

He was about to stand up before Joshua reached out a hand to stay his knee. His eyes were big, and even in the darkness of the night, they looked like they were glowing, warm gold, like his irises were a source of light themselves.

“You can stay, if you want,” Joshua said softly. And then he smiled. “You did say you wanted me to play for you.”

Seokmin blinked, before beaming, positively lighting up with excitement. “Wait, really? Can I stay?” But he was already settling down on the patio again, pulling Joshua’s coat tighter around him, leaning forward in anticipation. “What’re you gonna play, hyung?”

Joshua looked at Seokmin before breathing a soft laugh, looking down at the guitar in his lap. “I’m not sure. Whatever comes to mind, I guess.”

He picked out a few notes, letting them ring in the silence of the night. He was simply playing whatever notes his fingers found, wandering through the paths that appeared as he tried to find the right song, but Seokmin still found it so fascinating. Joshua was delicate with his guitar, almost reverent, looking down at it and letting the notes ring in the air as silver, crystalline droplets, and Seokmin thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

And then Joshua found a song, smiling a little in recognition at what his own fingers were doing, and Seokmin quickly changed his mind.

This was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

It was a soft melody, almost lullaby-like in its gentleness, spilling caramel-coloured warmth into the air and grasping onto Seokmin’s fingers carefully, lovingly leaving something so gentle in its wake.

Joshua continued to play through the rest of the song, and it seemed like he was content with just letting the guitar melody drift through the still night with no lyrics. Seokmin was fine with that: there was something so mesmerising about the way Joshua played the guitar, and he was very much okay with simply sitting there and letting the wordless music flow over him.

But then, as the song seemed to near its end, Joshua opened his mouth and began to sing.

If you’re having a hard time, you can come hug me

Because I’m just the same

No matter how much you hide, you know it’s something you can’t cover

So that we can both smile

Don’t be sorry, don’t worry, don’t be afraid

Don’t cry anymore

To me, there’s no one more precious than you

I want to tell you, you who probably had a tough day

That I’m here

That you did well

That I love you

That I’ll come and hug you tight.

The ending notes echoed out into the cold darkness of the night, warm and twinkling and precious, before Joshua’s hands stilled against the strings and he smiled, bashful, looking up from his guitar and at Seokmin.

Seokmin’s hands were gripping the edges of Joshua’s coat, knuckles white, his fingers numb both from the pressure and the cold, but he didn’t even register it, head spinning with how beautifully, devastatingly soft Joshua’s voice had been.

The lingering phrase of “don’t be sorry, don’t worry, don’t be afraid” continued to swirl around in his mind, and Joshua’s voice was such a rose petal pink, gentle and plush and satiny soft and Seokmin suddenly felt a little like crying, overwhelmed by the way Joshua’s rosy voice had sounded against the gilded gold of the guitar melody.

“Seokmin?” Joshua asked softly, and his eyes were melting into Seokmin’s as they looked at one another, vulnerable and open. “Are you okay?”

Seokmin swallowed, eyes fluttering rapidly as he tried to gather his thoughts. 

“Could you… could you play it again?” he whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to speak in a louder volume, afraid that it might shatter the perfect tranquillity that Joshua’s playing and Joshua’s voice had brought. “That was beautiful.”

Joshua’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, but then he was smiling, the upturned corners of his lips coloured silver with fondness. “Okay.”

And then he did, and it was just as beautiful as before, if not more. And Seokmin’s head was swimming again, his heart drowning in the most golden sounds as Joshua continued to sing, singing like every word rang true, like he was singing just for Seokmin, and Seokmin was… he was… he was…

“I’m going to sing with you, one day,” Seokmin said, once the final notes of the song echoed for the second time, and Joshua looked up at him. “I am. I really am.”

Joshua tilted his head. “You are?”

“Definitely,” Seokmin said earnestly, leaning forward as if to emphasise his point. “I mean, you played for me, hyung. I should sing for you too.”

Joshua just chuckled, a small exhale of air, looking down at his guitar before up at Seokmin again. “You don’t have to, Seokmin. Do it because you want to. Not as an exchange.”

“But I do want to,” he said, and unclenched his fingers from the lapels of the jacket to reach over for Joshua’s hands. His hands were cold, almost as cold as Seokmin’s frozen fingers, and yet he still unflinchingly enclosed Seokmin’s hands in his own. Safe. “I really, really want to.”

Seokmin’s heartbeat was overwhelmingly loud in his ears, drowning out all other thoughts, but he still had the state of mind to marvel at how undeniably pretty Joshua’s smile was, as the elder’s eyes softened, irises sparkling a gentle rainbow as his lips curled upwards, warm and wonderful.

After a moment, Seokmin shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the strange fuzziness in his mind, retracting his hands from Joshua’s to fumble through his pockets.

“In which case, hyung,” he said, finding his phone and fishing it out, unlocking it and holding it out to Joshua, “Here. You know, in all the years I’ve known you, I think it’s kinda crazy that I haven’t gotten your number yet.”

And then he smiled at Joshua, all sweet and earnest.

“So, Shua hyung, can I have your number?”

Joshua stared down at his phone, looking down at the glowing screen, and something almost regretful rippled across his gaze as he looked back up at Seokmin. In the new light that the phone screen provided, he could see that Joshua’s nose and cheeks were both dusted with pink, and his breath was a puff of cold air as he spoke again.

“Oh, but Seokmin, you already have my number. I gave it to you the first time we met.”

taglist (send ask to be added): @fairyhaos @atinytinaa @my-moarmy-heart @weird-bookworm @weird-life-of-a-closet-fangirl @lilsafsafbooyah @stqrrgirle @bittersweet-folder @ultrara-re @tianakings @bangantokchy @tiinkerbell @ahuiahoe @leigh-darling

[cabbagedkappa]

To my fellow Ace Attorney fans out there, I have a really, really important question. This is kind of lengthy, so buckle up- I tried to keep it as brief as possible. This is about Bridge to a Turnabout (Trials and Tribulations chapter 5), so please don't look if you haven't finished the entire case and don't want spoilers. If you know someone who has, do me a favor and share this with them.

Have you guys ever sat and thought about how Godot is entirely responsible for the events of that case, going back a year in advance? And I mean ENTIRELY. Quick recap, just in case- I need you to think back to Reunion and Turnabout from Justice For All (chapter 2). Morgan Fey was arrested for being an accomplice to murder.

We find out in T&T-5 that, during a visitation period shortly after JFA-2, Pearl told her about the special reservations she had placed a year in advance. Morgan took this information, knowing Dahlia would have been executed by then and that Maya would be in a compromising position at Hazakura Temple, and wrote Pearl the letter detailing her murder plot. Of course, Pearl can't understand the letter at all, so the plan goes off the rails very quickly.

But I feel like not a lot of people remember that the letter was given to Pearl sealed. It's probably a little easy to miss- Pearl mentions that she had stashed it away when she got home, but when she came back to read it later, she was surprised to see that the seal was broken.

Godot had overheard the plans and gone to Kurain Village to inspect the letter himself. Sometime between reading the letter and the events of T&T-5, he enlisted Iris and Misty's help to put a stop to it.

......He put the letter back. Before Pearl even had a chance to read it at all.

You could argue that this was accidental, but he had a FULL YEAR to correct his mistake. Even if Pearl had already read it by the time he got back, it's not like a nine year old is going to remember what it said word-for-word, especially not in a year's time.

Unfortunately, it's hard for me to believe he didn't leave it there on purpose. Quoted from the wiki, "seeing as his chance to save [Maya], as he projected his feeling that he failed to save his girlfriend Mia..."

He willingly endangered the safety of a small child and allowed a threat to be made on the life of Mia's beloved sister just so he could look like a hero and "redeem" himself. And he killed Maya's mother in the process- right in front of her.

Godot subjected the Fey girls to so much unnecessary hurt and trauma just for the sake of stroking his own ego. If his goal was really to do whatever it took to protect his girlfriend's remaining family, he did a piss-poor job of it.

All the art I see of this man- Mia's spirit lovingly by his side. Babysitting the girls and getting into weird uncle hijinks. Would they really have forgiven him so easily? All it would've taken to prevent it all was just to get rid of the letter. He had an entire year to do it. He had multiple chances to fess up and apologize.

Sorry for the rant. It was driving me crazy that nobody seems to acknowledge anything about the letter. I was starting to think that surely, the ENTIRE fandom can't have missed this detail, and that maybe some sort of elaborate prank was being played on me.

Please, share your ideas with me. I want to know how many people have thoughts on this. It'd be an understatement to say that it's been driving me crazy.

[flusteredloser]

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter. 

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets. 

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.” 

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?” 

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal. 

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.”  “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?”  she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair. 

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry. 

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling. 

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed. 

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.” 

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence. 

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.” 

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...” 

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends. 

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan). 

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...” 

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.” 

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening. 

“i- no. that was it.”  

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right? 

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous. 

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his. 

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red. 

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud. 

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face. 

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say. 

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face.  fuck.  “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent. 

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze. 

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?” 

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

[shiraishi-mai]

[2:00am]

You sat at the end of the table, swaying slightly in your seat. A department event was tonight and your friends finally convinced you to leave the house for once, claiming it would cheer you up.

"And I hate to admit it, but when he's nice, he's amazing," you sniffled. "And handsome."

You grabbed your friend's hands. "Like realllly pretty." You frowned.

"I hate him."

Your classmate looked at your friend amused.

"Is she going on about him again?" He sighed nodding.

"Damn she's been going at it for a while. Three weeks of just ranting about how horrible he was and how in love she was and crying."

"Why'd he have to say all that terrible stuff," you mumbled as you propped your face on your elbow. "Everything was so perfect." Your head nodded downward.

"Did you know she even had a boyfriend?"

"She blurted it out one day when Koko made fun of her for being single. But she studies all the time like she's in the library early in the morning, goes to classes, then studio, and I don't know when she even sleeps let alone have time to get a boyfriend."

"Or even hang out with him?" She spends her weekends either working or at the studio." Your friend frowned. "I kept trying to get her out of the apartment but-" they glanced at your half asleep figure. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea."

Their eyes widened as you laid your head on the table, cheek squished against the wood and facing away from them.

"y/n, y/n do you want to go home?" your friend tentatively asked.

"Nope, all good!" you threw a thumbs up high enough for him to see behind you without moving your head. "I'm just going to try to get the room to stop rocking." He nodded hesitantly and slowly your friends started conversing about school and other things while you tried to focus on your breathing. You closed your eyes in an attempt to reduce the strong pounding in your temple.

The door to the bar opened and a tall figure walked in scanning the bar. When his eyes landed on you, he drew in a sharp breath as he took in your slumped figure. Even half-passed out drunk, hair mussed, and head plopped on the table, you were so damn pretty.

"Is she sleeping," a familiar voice came from beside you and your eyes tightened in response. You were too out of it to register it and frankly to exhausted to care about whatever was happening around you.

"I don't think so," your other friend said, "But she was drinking a lot."

"y/n, let's go home." The voice was closer to your face now and you could almost feel the warmth radiating from the figure lowered in front of you.

"My head hurts," you whined.

"I know baby, let's get you some painkillers and then you can lie down."

Baby? He's real? Your friend mouthed at your other friend. He was shocked as he observed the very large man crouching in front of you with a soft expression. His yellow hair was a bit damp and his baby face had faint dark circles under his eyes. And you were right, he was handsome. They didn't expect your ex-boyfriend to look like that.

"Let's go pretty girl," he repeated and you slowly opened your eyes.

"'Tsumu I'm tired."

He swallowed as he felt the ache in his chest grow worse. You sounded so tired. A stark contrast to your usual lively self. Were you sleeping properly? Eating? You had a tendency to forget to eat...

You gazed at him and he resisted the urge to stroke your cheek.

"I know. I'm sorry." He frowned. "There's food at home though. Maybe that will make you feel better?"

You gave him a dreamy smile, "Yay food. Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, standing up while you attempted to.

"I don't think she would want you taking her if she was sober," your friend frowned. "y/n didn't you say this morning you didn't want to see him? What if he does something weird?" Atsumu opened his mouth with an offended expression when you said, "It's fine. He's an asshole but he wouldn't pull anything."

"Besides," you breathed, "I'm going to pretend tonight didn't happen anyway."

Ouch. Atsumu thought as you grabbed onto his wrist for support as you made your way out of the bar. When the cool air finally hit you, you sighed in relief as the throbbing in your head finally decreased. There was a small walk to the main road where the cabs were and you debated kicking off your shoes.

A squeal came from your mouth as you realised you were being picke dup.

"This'll be faster," Atsumu said as he carried you bridal style. He wasn't wrong and you didn't want to walk anyway so you just wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into his warmth.

Having you in his arms and watching you automatically nuzzling into his chest made Atsumu clench his teeth, upset at the whole situation. If he hadn't messed everything up, maybe they would have been at home, snuggling or watching a movie. Or he could have gone with her and met her friends and they would have gone home happily, safely with each other.

***

When you reached the apartment, you fumbled with your keys before stumbling in and turned to stare at Atsumu as he stepped in after you.

"I'm just going to make sure you get to bed and don't hurt yourself." He said with his hands raised. Your face was expressionless as you just turned and walked into your room, flopping on the bed.

"y/n you need to change," he said following you in. "And you said you hate waking up with makeup."

"I don't care," you said quietly and Atsumu closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath as he walked over.

"Princess, sit up for me? Please?"

You sat up sleepily rubbing your eyes.

"Leg," he ordered and you stuck it out in front of you so he could take your boot off. After doing the same with the other, you watched him disappear into the bathroom.

Is he actually here? You thought hazily. He shouldn't be right? I should kick him out.

But you felt the fatigue in your bones and couldn't find the energy to yell or tell him to leave. After the breakup, balancing everything in your hectic life and doing it all with a smile when all you wanted to do was curl up in bed and do nothing was apparently unsustainable.

Seeing Atsumu made you want to wrap yourself around him and never let go. He was your support and had always helped you through bad days. It was ironic that the person you wanted to comfort you and talk about everything with was the cause of the problem.

You were staring at the floor when you felt something damp on your face. Atsumu was slowly dabbing at your cheeks with a wipe, gently taking off your makeup. He wouldn't meet your eyes as you stared at him. His eyes were tired too and something in them didn't look right. HIs entire face seemed less...bright?

"Close your eyes for me." He shook his head, resisting the urge to kiss you and continued.

When you opened them back up he was finishing taking off the last bit of lipstick, mouth slightly open and then smiling softly when he said, "Okay done."

I'm still in love with you. You felt the words bubbling on your tongue.

I love you so much. He felt selfish at the thought.

You sighed and began unbuttoning your shirt and Atsumu's eyes widened.

"H-hey," pink tinged his ears, "Um I'll go get you some water."

It's not like you haven't seen me naked before. You slipped on a shirt thrown on the floor and pulled shorts on.

"You're wearing my shirt," he commented when he came back in. You glanced down and remembered how you had worn it for the past few weeks, trying to find any form of comfort from the hurt you felt.

"It doesn't smell like you anymore," you mumbled, crawling under the blankets. The instant relief you felt as you laid down almost made you moan. Atsumu didn't reply as he gently set the glass of water by your bed stand.

"I guess I'll go now," he said, standing a bit awkwardly and picking up his jacket from the chair. He froze when he reached the door as he heard a quiet sniffle. The desire to be in his arms was driving you crazy and you felt your willpower crumbling.

"Could you stay," you bit your lip and kept your eyes closed. "At least until I fall asleep?"

There was a silence and you cursed yourself for asking, feeling another pang in your chest at the rejection.

You felt the mattress dip and your eyes opened in shock as Atsumu laid down carefully beside you on top of the blanket. He stuck an arm under your neck while the other wrapped around your back and moved you closer to his chest. He smelled like home.

Your tears had finally stopped and both of you sighed in relief as the tightness in your chests lightened considerably and your bodies relaxing for the first time in a while.

"Does your head still hurt?" he asked quietly.

"A bit."

You felt a hand begin to stroke your hair, smoothing out any tangles before resting on your cheek.

"I miss you," he said to the darkness.

"Me too."

"I'm sorry," his thumb stroked your cheek.

"Okay." you moved up to place your head in the crook of his neck and he rested his chin on top of your hair, tightening his arms.

***

You woke up confused. How did I get home?

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a box of meds and a note stuck on top.

"I got you some hangover meds and coffee should be made in the pot. I know you hate waking up alone but I thought it'd be better if I wasn't here. I know it doesn't mean much but, I still love you."

Your lip trembled and you looked up at the ceiling to keep your tears from falling.

"You're such an ass," you whispered. He still loved you but you had already forced Atsumu Miya out of your heart and there was no going back now.

[hopeandvolleyball]

insecure boys pt.1

genre: angst if you squint, fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: food, weight insecurities in osamus

w/ osamu, atsumu

osamu miya

osamu had gotten home from work a little more than an hour ago, and he figured he’d been spending that entire time looking at the mirror, pinching the newfound softness piling onto his tummy. he’s been squeezing and kneading the flesh for so long it was turning red. lips twisted to the side, osamu sighed. when did he gain this much weight? how did he let this happen? osamu could barely look at himself in the mirror without feeling ugly and ashamed. mumbling under his breath he pulled a looser hoodie over his head, grateful it wasn’t starting to become tight around his middle.

you called his name from the kitchen, an indicator dinner was ready. in all honesty he didn’t feel like going out there, the idea of eating making him nauseous. but he still entered the living room, unable to fully wipe the crestfallen look off his face. even seeing your bubbly frame and pretty smile in the kitchen couldn’t fully heal him from his insecure thoughts clouding his mind. setting the utensils down, you ran up to hug osamu, arms around his waist. he surpressed the urge to push your arms down, not wanting you to feel his plush stomach. your eyes looked at him with pure adoration, sparkles and hearts swimming in your irises. osamu placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“dinner will be ready in a few minutes, just gotta plate it and stuff,” you informed him, sounding so giddy. “might not look as pretty as when you make it but-”

“’bout that. ‘m not really hungry, darlin. ate a bit too much while at the shop today,” he lied not smoothly. he felt the familiar nausea creep back up his throat. he felt even worse at the frown tugging at the sides of your lips.

“you’re a bad liar, samu,” you commented, hands on your hips. “what’s wrong love? talk to me, please?” you pleaded. osamu knew he couldn’t keep it in anymore, not from you. it wasn’t fair. his stoic expression began to soften and quiver.

“when did i let myself go?” osamu asked, his voice starting to break. your brows furrowed and lips curled into a pout. you pulled him close to you, slipping your fingers through his dark brown locks as he held on to you with all the force he had. 

“what on earth are you talking about, samu?” you inquired as he squeezed you tighter.

“’m fat, darlin,” he whimpered. “i hate lookin’ at myself in the mirror and i don’t know why yer still with me.” that broke your heart, you heart it shatter into a hundred pieces as he spoke. you opened your mouth to speak but he continued. you decided it best to let him rant. “every day ya see ‘tsumu and i can’t help but thinkin’ ye’d want a guy like that. i used to be that and i’m so disappointed-”

“lovebug you own a restaurant,” you determined with a flat expression. osamu blinked, the tears forming in the corners of his eyes disappearing. 

“yeah. i know that. what does-”

“so its natural for you to gain weight if your working with food consistently,” you cut him off again. “do you think i expected a good chef to be completely cut? no i didn’t. besides, you wear the weight well.” osamu blinked.

“ye noticed?” he tilted his head to the side. 

“of course i did. i never said anything because i didn’t care. you look just as good, if not better, because the added weight means i’m taking care of you. that i’m treating you well.” you leaned up to kiss his temple. “if you want to lose the weight fine, samu. but i’m upset you’d do it by not eating. i want you to be safe and healthy, okay?” your hand caressed his cheek, drenched with newly found tears. “oh samu, i’m sorry-”

“yer fine darlin,” he sniffled, smiling brightly for the first time that day. “thank ya. i love ya more than i could ever tell ya.”

“i love you too osamu,” you kissed his lips sweetly. “now come on you need to eat.” dinner went by just fine, your eyes on him the entire time to be sure he ate his fill, watching him smile and hum after each bite. you loved osamu so much and you wanted to make sure he knew that. after dinner you relocated to the couch, his head finding its sweet spot on your lap. your hand smoothed over his abdomen, rubbing it affectionately. he hummed again. 

“‘m gonna fall asleep if ya keep doin that,” osamu mumbled against the fabric of your pants. you giggled.

“do it. you’ve had a long day, samu. get some sleep lovebug. i love you so much,” you gave his sides a pat. osamu hummed again, mumbling affections under his breath as he doze off into a gentle slumber.

atsumu miya

you waited in the living room of your shared apartment for atsumu to return home from practice. scrolling through your phone with boredom etched into your features until the front door creaked open. with bright eyes your head tilted up to see atsumu in the doorway, kicking off his shoes with a sigh. not an extra loud one like usual, which didn’t instantly tip you off. still, your lips pulled in the brightest grin possible. 

“welcome back tsumu! i missed you,” you beamed with a giggle. but all you were met with was a dismissive hum from atsumu. frowning you watched him set his volleyball bag on the table and head out to shower. okay. guess he was having a bad day today. nothing atsumu miya’s loving girlfriend couldn’t fix! pulling out your phone you ordered his favorite from his favorite takeout restaurant, waiting for him to finish showering. your knee bounced in impatience, but that all changed once atsumu emerged from his shower, drying his hair with no shirt and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. “hey! i ordered your favorite, i figured you could use it. you look like you’ve had a rough day.” you smiled softly. all atsumu did was nod. 

“thanks,” was his curt reply. now you were a mix of hurt and confused and upset. what did you do? why was he being so distant? was it because you forgot to text him the picture of the dog you saw during your break? or the fact that you forgot to cook the asparagus he wanted before it went bad? what was wrong with your boyfriend. he went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. pouting you followed behind him, poking his side enough to annoy him enough to look over at you.

“okay atsumu miya. what’s wrong with you?” you demanded, arms crossing under your chest, cheeks puffed up. “usually you walk into this apartment and talk my ear off about anything and everything that happened at practice and today i’m met with absolute radio silence? what’s with that?” atsumu’s brow quivered and he turned to you with dark eyes. 

“sorry that ‘m annoyin and wanna fix my behavior so ya don’t fuckin’ leave me,” atsumu spat, returning to his water glass. your expression fell and you felt your heart sink. 

“what?” was your broken reply. and of course atsumu didn’t respond. “tsumu talk to me please, what’s gotten into you?” 

“omi called me annoyin’ today, which ain’t unusual, but he said if i didn’t get my act together ye’d leave me,” atsumu shifted awkwardly, staring at his reflection in the water. you frowned and placed your hands gently on atsumu’s hips, staring up at him.

“honey, no, i’d never leave you,” you cooed. “yeah you’re loud and obnoxious-”

“not helpin’ y/n.”

“but that’s part of your charm. you always manage to have something to say and i’m always here to listen. you never make things boring. and i love that about you. i love hearing how excited you get when you talk about your day, or the frustrated lilt in your tone when you complain about people not hitting your sets.”

“because my sets are perfect!” he spoke up, voice louder than it had been all day and had an offended squeak at the end of it.

“there’s my tsumu,” you sighed sweetly. “there’s my sweet baby. kiyoomi’s full of it. i’d never leave you for something as trivial about how much you talk. now cmon. how about we have dinner and you can tell me about your day, hm?” atsumu’s eyes were bright and he nodded like a sweet golden retriever.

“and then bo-kun kept missing my sets. my sets! then he got all mopey and pouty ‘bout it and i was like dude get a grip,” atsumu rolled his eyes around a mouth full of food, causing you to giggle. “he got his shit together eventually but damn it was so annoying. and don’t get me started on omi omi...” sighing sweetly you couldn’t help but stare at your over excitable boyfriend. listening to him ramble about his day was the best part about him coming home. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Time Apart

CW: Trauma survivor, referenced noncon and assault, heavy internalized victim-blaming and self-loathing/anti-asexuality (Chris has serious issues from his conditioning around this)

(references events from this small series)

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

When Chris picks up his phone, it's not at all the message from Laken he expected to see. Not the kind of thing they've ever sent before.

He has to read it two times, then three. The letters swim and shake along with a dull pounding inside his head, but no matter how he tries to make them into other words - tell himself he must have misunderstood, must be missing something - they come back together the same in the end.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

Each letter is as crisp and clean as a sterilized blade between each rib, one by one by one by one.

The words are a body blow. They're a hundred blows, beating him into a barely recognizable shattered shell of himself. It wasn't supposed to happen this way - it's been a bad few days, yeah, a bad week really, but until yesterday's fight it had never occurred to him that Laken might give up on him.

The fight was his fault, anyway.

He meant to apologize last night, but then Nova had come into his room, and he'd lost the rest of the night to lying next to Jake, trying to remember how to stop living inside his head again, how to stop being still.

He'd woke up this morning with his stomach doing butterfly flips inside him, nervous, but he'd really wanted to say he was sorry, for the fight, for all the weirdness lately. He'd wanted to apologize for being difficult.

Instead... he'd woken up to find a missed text from the night before, sent after he'd shoved Nova away but before he could stand to look at anything again.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

There it sits.

He hasn't unlocked his phone yet. Instead, he keeps tapping the button to light up the screen, looking at the message preview that has all he needs to see. Lets it go dark again. As if one of these times he'll click and it'll say something else.

But it doesn't,

It just says the same damn thing.

I think you should spend time apart.

Not with me.

He's still staring at it when another one comes in. He feels the soft pulse of his phone in his hand, and the screen lights on its own.

LAKEN - NOW Did you see my message? 

He thinks maybe Kauri had it easier when he was the age Chris is now. Back when Kauri carried on entire conversations in emoji form, letting the nuance and ambiguity take over, the recipient working through the meaning on their own. With this, each letter is merciless, each word is unmistakable. He can’t misunderstand it. 

Can he?

He opens the phone with shaking fingers, types back yes, presses send, and turns his phone off.

Then he throws it at the wall.

He’s grateful for the heavy plastic case that makes it bounce off and drop to the floor without breaking. There's a strip on the back, textured and a soft purple, gray, white, and black. He rubs his fingers over it sometimes in class to keep himself from rocking and being distracting.

Now he just... stares at it.

Laken bought that for him. They bought the shirt he's wearing right now-

He yanks it off his head before he can think, balls up the soft fabric and throws it as well. It just sort of drifts pointlessly to the floor, a single eyeball from the print of a band he likes staring back at him.

Laken has ranted before about people who break up by text message, and Chris has to breathe through a physical ache in his chest that tightens every muscle at how awful he must be that they're not doing this face to face. How awful, how used-up, how shredded apart, how fucking pretty he is.

After all, he and Laken have been together for more than a year, and he still held perfectly still for Nova to touch him before he remembered how to move. After all, he’s a grown man who still cried and fell apart when Jake was hurt. After all, after all, after all...

He scrambles across the floor for his phone again, turns it back on. Part of him hopes he’ll see a new text saying they take it back, they didn’t mean it. Or just asking him to apologize for what he’d said that night before, for how he’d thrown their confusion over his reaction to something back at them, echoing out the way Kauri fights sometimes, talking about himself the way he thinks everyone else might be thinking about him, so he says the insult first and no one else gets to surprise him with it.

But there’s nothing new.

He manages to open the texts again, barely, and breathes in gasps, nearly pants, as he types out, you don’t want me at your place?

Not right now.

Is it because of what I can’t do?

It takes them a minute to answer. Every single second ticks by with a slowness Chris hasn’t felt since his days in the cold white room, tied down to stillness, forced to endure every minute that passed in perfect silence or to the soundtrack of his own tears and pleading for it to stop.

When they do respond, it’s just, it’s because of what you won’t do.

His breath catches in his throat. The ache in his head starts to pound harder, and he has to close his eyes against a sharp stab behind them. 

What he won’t do.

They’ve never cared before. How-... how could they suddenly care now? The fight had only a little bit been about that, it’d really been about something else. About his nightmares, how he’s not sleeping, not seeing his friends, skipping therapy. It hadn’t even been about... that. About what Chris can do and what he can’t, in bed. 

But that was the thing - the fight had started when Chris had flinched back from Laken’s touch to his back, and snapped at them, and accused them of wanting too much, and...

And now this.

It’s like they knew about Nova. Knew that he could be good just fine - better than fine, Handler Petrus said he was one of the best he’d ever worked with once - he just... wouldn’t. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. Never wanted to. 

Can’t do it without tearing himself to pieces all over again. 

It was always a scream inside his mind, but should he have pushed it down and tried harder to be more like everyone else? Is he losing Laken because of it? Did Nova pick up on something Chris himself doesn’t know?

Should he have... tried?

Even if it hurt?

He drops the phone again, then kicks it viciously under his bed, listening to the scrape of it sliding across the floor, the thump as it hits the wall. He hears it vibrate again, but this time he doesn’t care what Laken has to say.

They’ve said enough.

He understands.

Part of him expected this eventually.

He leaves the room, doesn’t bother to pull on his compression shirt, even. He lets his skin prickle bare and exposed to the air. He accepts the discomfort, the uneasy feeling of being too seen, too felt. 

The house is quiet, this early. 

He makes himself toast with butter, wincing at the scrape of the knife against the crisp bread, the sound boring into his ears. But eventually it’s done, and he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, willing himself to cry. Somehow, the tears just... don’t happen.

He can hear Jake snoring softly from the living room. He’d been up with Chris until nearly 4 am, then Chris was awake again at 6:30, looking at that text, looking over and over and over again. Two hours of sleep leave him weirdly euphoric alongside his despair. Like he’s floating in some nightmare place that isn’t awake and isn’t sleeping, either.

He’s probably slept nine hours in three days at this point. He keeps seeing Jake with a knife sticking out of him every time he closes his eyes. Jake, screaming as Antoni pushed cloth into his wound to stop up the bleeding. Jake with a bullet wound, sitting up against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes whispering, It’s okay, Tristan, I love you, it’s okay as he dies. 

He can’t sleep. He can’t leave for long. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Him being what he is, it’s the reason Jake is hurt. If he hadn’t been his brother, he wouldn’t have decided to run a house for Romantics, and he wouldn’t have ended up dealing with all the dangerous bits about them.

Jake said it himself, didn’t he? It’s a mistake, running a house for Romantics. Not his best idea. A mistake.

Chris is a mistake.

Him being weak, and cowardly... it’s hurting Jake, making his life harder.

He makes everyone’s life harder.

There’s a soft sound of footsteps behind him, and he turns to find Nova in the doorway, staring back. She’s in a sleeveless gray dress and has her long dark hair pulled back from her temples, spilling in a waterfall down her back. Her eyes are dark and fathomless, and she gives him a faint, slight smile.

She had smiled like that with one hand down his pants.

Chris turns around, too fast, his head spinning a little, and hunches over his toast. “Good... good, um, good morning,” He mumbles. 

She clears her throat. “Morning. Chris, about-... about last night...”

“Don’t, um, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t worry about it.” He takes a breath. He doesn’t want his toast any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, simply. “I spoke to Sarita about it, and... and she said this happens with us, and I should apologize, but, um. So I am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-... I thought I was helping.”

“I... know you did.” His words are slowing down. Chris can’t hold on to his thoughts, they want to drift away somewhere else, somewhere safer. Somewhere darker. 

“When I was with-... with my Miss, she would always say, if you are sad the best way to fix it is to make your body forget that feeling, replace it with something else. And that was what we replaced my sadness with. So, you were sad and upset, and I thought I could fix it that way.” She pauses, flushing a little, looking down and to the side as she moves with effortless grace to get a glass and fill it with water, take a small sip. 

“Kauri used to... to do that,” Chris says after a pause, thinking about it. Kauri, who would show up in the small hours of the morning reeking of liquor and someone else’s cologne, or just didn’t show up at all. Kauri, who would laugh instead of crying, and laugh with someone’s arms around him, a guy whose name he didn’t know. 

Kauri, who ran and ran and ran and can do things and be things that Chris can’t.

Or... won’t.

What if he’s been hurting Laken this whole time and didn’t know it, because he was already hurt himself?

His foot starts to tap tap tap on the floor until he stops it. 

“Did he? Did it-... work for him?” Nova asks it with genuine curiosity, and her eyes are so pretty. He looks up at her, and then down again, pushing the plate of toast away from himself. 

“I don’t know,” Chris whispers. “I, I don’t know. He’s happy now, but...”

“Was he happy then?”

“No. But, but, but... maybe we aren’t supposed to be. At least... not with, with anyone... who isn’t like us.”

“Jake isn’t like us,” Nova points out. Her presence in the room feels heavy, like a weight pushing down on him. But what does it matter? He’s not with Laken anymore, anyway. If he wanted to, he could stand right up and kiss Nova right now, press her back into the counter, and learn what it’s like to be the one doing things and not just having them done to him.

But his body doesn’t stir at the thought. It never has.

“He is,” Chris answers. “A, a little bit. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, too, Nova. Sorry that I-I can’t.”

“No, I know. You have a partner, and I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t have... I, I, I I don’t have a partner anymore.” Chris stands up, leaving her there with his plate of untouched toast. The sky outside is bright as the sun rises, as if mocking the way he feels like a stormcloud inside. 

Nova watches him leave, and whispers to herself, “No partner?”

Chris goes outside, pulling a sweatshirt that hangs on the coatrack on over his head to protect his skin, curling up on the porch swing and watching cars pulling out of driveways as the neighborhood starts to head to work in ones and twos. 

He doesn’t cry.

He sits very, very still, and he is silent. 

Upstairs, under the bed, his phone vibrates, again and again, unnoticed.

Just go talk to Nat, Chris. That’s all I said. Just go see Nat and get a night or three away from the house. Being there all the time is overwhelming you. Are you even looking at these? Chris you can’t just ignore me every time I say something you don’t like Chris answer me ... ... Oh shit, Chris, my phone autocorrected earlier and I didn’t notice I meant “some time at Nat’s”, not apart Chris? Are you seeing my messages? Baby? Chris, please check your phone and answer me. Please.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[one-real-imonkey]

For your CG ask - what if Fox gets Fed Up (sleep/caffeine deprived or smth - your pick) one day and goes: “you know, I’m probably dead meant walking, might as well drag them all to hell with me” and verbally flays the Senate alive. Padme is cheering him on, Bail is laughing so hard he’s got tears in his eyes, Palpafart’s complexion matches his office - the whole nine yards. Imagine the Chaos.

I adore this, but it could go two ways.

On the one hand you have the comical one where this super sleep deprived not sure where he even is Fox who sees someone demeaning one of his siblings and his eye twitches, something in him just snaps, he chugs an entire thermos of Caff and just goes for it. He just starts outing things and wrecks the Siths entire plans. It’s comical and chaos in a funny way. Watching the bad guys panic and the good guys celebrate.

But you know me and I love angst.

So, on the other, more angsty hand, similar premise but dark.

He’s talking about the atrocities committed against the guard, things his vode on the frontlines never knew about because there was nothing they could do and the vode in the Guard didn’t want them worrying, even if it means they had to take the brunt of jokes about their sitting about doing nothing while the ones on the front lines were dying. He outs every single Senator who claims to be pro clone Rights but refers to them as it and treats them worse than their droids or pets, makes them kneel and dehumanises them and threatens their very lives for something as simple and unavoidable as sneezing or coughing, and every single thing Palpatine did, including mind control and using them for personal hits and anything else he wanted. (Go as dark as your mind takes you for how evil Palpatine is)

How clones were designed not to break in battle but they weren’t trained for this and how the shinies wake up screaming, how they have missing gaps in their memories and constant headaches and all of it.

How they’ve had to create their own little support systems and how they have to give shinies flash training on how things work or they’ll end up suffering through hells. How their med bay has a separate section that’s closed off that’s just for the shinies or elder vode who need somewhere to sit and cry and maybe be hugged.

About the lengths they had to go to just to protect vode who were different, but then, what did it matter if the clones used he or she when the Senators mostly used it, except for the risk of what would happen if those pronouns were used outside of the barracks because it was almost worse than Kamino for deviations and no-one wanted to be singled out (for one reason or another) except the commanders to take attention away from their younger siblings.

He calls the Senate out for what they’ve done.

The Senators are horrified, either because their crimes, the ones they didn’t consider crimes because clones aren’t people and who are they ever going to tell that’ll believe them over a Senator, have been outed to the galaxy, or because they had no idea something so genuinely deplorable was happening under there noses in somewhere they considered at least mostly respectable. The ones like Bail and Padmé who could never have dreamed something so evil could be happening.

Not tears of laughter but tears of horror.

But in the end it’s a good thing.

An election is called. The senators backing or working with Palpatine are all voted out by their people, Palpatine loses on Naboo and also the Chancellorship, the Clones and Jedi are no longer forced to fight or serve, without Palpatine there is a peaceful resolution to the Separatists leaving with trade deals established and the invasions and war halted. Mandalore is no longer being influenced by the Sith (death watch) or backed by the Republic for any one faction (new mandos). The war and conflict is over, the thousand year plot brought down by one clone broken by their situation and desperate to protect their younger siblings.

Palpatine is taken out by a sniper (who may or not be a clone outraged by the fake war and worse what the bastard was doing to their siblings in the guard) and the Order never goes into effect because the call for election is made the SECOND Fox finished his rant. Palpatine tried to take Fox with him, but the other Guard commanders (realising that Fox’s headaches and memory gaps always came after his meetings with Palpatine) refused to let him near their brother.

Cody and Wolffe and Rex show up a little while after the initial broadcast (as soon as they could) and pull Fox into their arms begging him to explain why he never told them how bad things were. This is followed by cuddle piles and comfort, something that’s happening across the guard with all the returning clones finding their siblings and making sure they’re ok and happy and safe.

The Jedi are finally allowed to open up the lower levels of the Temple to house the vode who want to stay, and to help any who wanted to leave and find something else out there, finally allowed to back out of the fighting they never wanted to be part of in the first place but Palpatines War Clause not only drafted them but made it impossible for them to back out without the punishment that goes with desertion, finally allowed to take the breaks they were denied so they can heal their minds and bodies.

The galaxy heals.

So basically it’s super angsty but has a sweet ending.

———

(Thank you for sending this it’s brilliant and I love it)

[obiwanobi]

I'm just so very enamored with the idea of Dooku als Obi-Wans Master at the moment. There are so many possibilities, I'm going crazy. I love your writing style and your ideas, so I would be so very happy to know your thoughts about this.

At first, I was going to say “oh, is this a nice AU where taking Obi-Wan as his padawan makes Dooku stay in the Order and the whole lineage is happier?” but then I thought, ‘wait, no, I’m only here to make a dramatic tragedy out of everything’ and I got really into it and wrote 2k about it 🤷‍♀️

So let’s say that Qui-Gon still takes Obi-Wan as his padawan first, and that’s how he meets his grandmaster, Dooku, who’s still a Jedi at this point in time.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan aren’t a good match at first, and it’s the same, even a bit worse than that, in this AU: Obi-Wan might be grateful to have been chosen and be eager to learn, but their rocky start as a master and padawan duo and their very different approach to, well, basically everything, make things a bit awkward.

But Dooku? Obi-Wan adores Dooku.

Dooku is the antithesis of Qui-Gon; he is a fascinating orator, has a practical mind, favours a pragmatic approach to problems, and is also one of the best duellists in the Temple. And he’s almost certain that Dooku likes him too. His grandmaster might be intimidating at first (he’s even taller than master Jinn for Force’s sake,) but he also raised Qui-Gon, so the man has seen it all and can’t be surprised by anything anymore. When he comes to visit Qui-Gon, Dooku never forgets to ask Obi-Wan how his training is going, what form he likes the best (Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the opportunity to say that he finds Makashi particularly elegant and almost gets a smile in return) and one day, he even ends up helping him write a geopolitical paper about a planet Dooku has spent almost a year on. It warms Obi-Wan to feel a connection to their lineage when he doesn’t really understand his own master, and watching Dooku and Qui-Gon, two very different personalities, getting along so well, also gives him hope that he will one day have the same type of relationship with his master.

But then, Melida/Daan happens.

Obi-Wan decides to stay, and Qui-Gon leaves the planet with one less padawan. It takes a bit of time before Dooku manages to get Qui-Gon to talk about what happened and where is his favourite grandpadawan, but when he realises that Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan in a warzone, Dooku is outraged, and is on Melida/Daan three days later to formally ask Obi-Wan to reconsider leaving the Order. It takes a bit of time before Obi-Wan truly starts thinking about it, because “Master Jinn will never take me back. I’m very sorry, Master Dooku, but he was the only one who was willing to take me as his padawan. No one else will, especially now.” and Dooku scoffs, because he wouldn’t travel to the outer rim for anyone, and of course he’s planning to personally train him. He saw the potential in him, and would hate to see it go to waste. All of this if Obi-Wan can assure him that he won’t rebel at every opportunity, of course, because he won’t accept the betrayal of his trust. 

They both leave the planet together, as Master and Padawan. 

The next few months are... strenuous. Adapting to Dooku’s teaching methods is harder than Obi-Wan expected. His new master asks for discipline, practicality and complete control of oneself at all time, and doesn’t accept any nonsenses. It’s not something Obi-Wan really knows how to do after months with Qui-Gon “don’t think, just do” Jinn. There is also a new distance between Dooku and Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan knows is his fault, but can’t do much about it; he still hasn’t said more than two words to Qui-Gon since Melida/Daan (apologies that his master- former master accepted with a cordial bow and that was it) and is in no hurry to change that.

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan is happy. Dooku might be a bit snobbish, makes imperious demands and even disagrees with the Council just like his former padawan, but he also explains to Obi-Wan why his decisions and insistence on certain parts of his training are necessary, doesn’t shy away from philosophical questions about the Force or the Order (even if his opinion is sometimes bordering on blasphemy,) and is, after all, one of the most skilled Master in the Temple. He might be a severe figure of authority to everyone else, but his hidden smile at a witty remark from his padawan, or the use of a diplomatic loophole to get his way without having to ignite his lightsaber, always gets him a gentle hand on his shoulder and an almost-satisfied smile. It’s more than enough for him. 

And then, Qui-Gon brings Anakin Skywalker to the Temple.

Obi-Wan tries not to think too much about the rumours that say that he went all the way to the outer rim to get himself a new padawan. A padawan he chose this time. A padawan who’s the Chosen One.

 “Ridiculous,” Master Dooku scorns, his expression so dismissive that the few gossipy padawans (and knights!) around scatter in a second. “I saw the boy, and if this raggedy child is the Chosen One who’s supposed to save us all, we should all start building our own funeral pyre to save us some time.”

“Master, really,” Obi-Wan sighs, half-reprimand, half-amusement. He’s still glad his master shares his distaste with the idea of taking a child too old and too attached. 

And then, Qui-Gon Jinn almost dies on Naboo. 

The other Jedi that went with him doesn’t have the same luck. Dooku doesn’t huff and roll his eyes this time. He does spend a lot of time in the Halls of Healing at his former padawan’s bed. Apparently, Qui-Gon has been badly hurt, and if he should walk again soon, probably with a walking stick, he will never be able to maintain enough stamina to fight with a lightsaber again. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to train the boy, and even the Council and Dooku, for once on the same side, aren’t enough to dissuade him. 

And then, everything goes too fast. 

Obi-Wan is talking about possible hidden Sith in the galaxy at the breakfast table, and suddenly Dooku says “I’m leaving the Order”, and then he’s knighted by a master who tells him he’s glad his last accomplishment as a Jedi is something he’s proud of, and then his master leaves without a real explanation, and then they make a bust of him in the library like he’s dead, and Obi-Wan asks himself if he’s going to feel abandoned all his life. 

And then, Anakin Skywalker bumps into him. 

“You’re Obi-Wan!” he says way too loudly, looking up at him in wonder.

It’s Knight Kenobi to you, a voice that sounds suspiciously like his master echoes in his mind. But no matter how much Obi-Wan admires his master, he could never be as rigid as him.

“Master Qui-Gon said you were his padawan once,” Anakin says, excited, and Obi-Wan has never wanted to run from a conversation that badly before. “And that you were... the padawan of my... grandmaster? I think? So that means we’re sort of like cousins, right?”

“Not really, no. Jedi don’t think about the Order as a traditional family. I don’t mean that we’re not one, young one,” he adds when Anakin’s expression turns to dejection, “we just have a different approach to kinship. In a way, we’re all brothers and sisters.”

And that, of course, is the exact thing he shouldn't have said.

“So you’re my brother then? Wizard! I’ve never had a brother before! Does that mean you will spar with me? I want to learn EVERYTHING about lightsabers, for example, do they have unlimited energy? Can it really go through everything? Because I heard beskar—” 

Obi-Wan isn’t proud to say that he feels the urgent need to get away from him and never come in contact with that child ever again. 

But after their first encounter, Anakin doesn’t leave him any choice. Every time Obi-Wan gets some time off, the padawan is here, scarily good at annoying him until Obi-Wan gives up pretending to ignore him. 

He probably should be sterner with him. After all, he doesn’t own the child anything. But Anakin is always so happy to see him, impressed when Obi-Wan demonstrates the most acrobatic of Ataru’s movements, and eager to learn from him. Sometimes, he imagines Master Dooku’s face confronted with Anakin, and can’t help but laugh out loud.  It helps to forget the void Dooku left in his life for a time.

(There aren’t a lot of holos sent to him from Serenno these days. Dooku must be busy.)

“My master can’t fight,” Anakin says petulantly one day, plopping down on Obi-Wan’s couch like the sulky teenager he is, “He’s restricted to the Temple or boring political missions, and so am I because of him. All he does is tell me to meditate and make me ‘reflect on my feelings’, or whatever that means. How good can a master be if he can’t teach me to protect myself and others?” 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan warns, kicking the padawan’s feet away from the caf table, “please tell me you didn’t say these exact insensitive words to your master right before slamming the door and coming here.” 

Of course he did, Obi-Wan thinks when Anakin starts a rant about being held back and how stupid meditation is. That night, Obi-Wan forces him to sincerely apologise to his master after a brief fight ("stop nagging at me, Obi-Wan! You’re not my master!” “Well, apparently, you don’t even respect your own master, so I’m very glad I’m not.”) and is just a bit stunned when he finds Qui-Gon Jinn on his doorstep a few days letter, asking him if he would agree to take Padawan Skywalker on his next off-world mission. 

Obi-Wan really, really wants to say no. He only taught Anakin a few Ataru moves that the lightsaber’s instructor normally doesn’t introduce until a few years later because Anakin wouldn’t accept a no from him, he never signed up to co-parent a defiant padawan! Especially Qui-Gon’s padawan. The entire conversation between them is already awkward enough.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“No?” Qui-Gon replies, sipping his tea like they’re discussing the weather. “You’ve done a good job at teaching him some rationality and a few duelling tricks until now. I haven’t been able to wield a lightsaber for a while now, but it’s hard to miss the handprint of my own master all over Anakin’s sudden blend of Ataru and Makashi in his movements.” Obi-Wan is pretty sure his ears and his face are burning by now. “Don’t you think he could benefit from some real experience? Maybe start to put things in perspective? Show him why the diplomatic skills and temperance we preach are so important even for the violent or difficult conflicts we’re asked to solve?” 

And really, what is he supposed to say to that? 

Qui-Gon leaves his quarters before he manages to gather the courage to ask why he chose him of all knights for this task. It really doesn’t make any sense to Obi-Wan.

The very next day, Anakin shows up at the hangar bay ready to see the stars, bag on his shoulder and enough excitement to make the whole ship vibrate under his feet. 

“If you cause problems on purpose, I’ll send you back to your master faster than you can say pod-racing.”

“I promise I won’t, Knight Kenobi,” Anakin replies, all angelic smile and respectful padawan face. It’s the first time Anakin has called him by his title, and somehow it sounds a bit wrong.

Anakin does end up causing problems on purpose. It’s ridiculous but also kind of genius, so Obi-Wan only shakes his head and says “you’re really going to be the death of me.”

And for some years, it works. Qui-Gon stays Anakin’s master, but he does send him to learn from other masters and knights. More and more, though, Anakin asks for Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon rarely refuses.

“You two are the last people I thought would get along,” Mace Windu tells them a few successful missions later, after witnessing them bantering back and forth from their respective beds in the Halls of Healing. “Nonetheless, I’m glad you do. It’s good to see close lineages strengthening their bond to each other.”

Anakin blinks so many time at the compliment that Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate a second before throwing his pillow at his face the second Windu leaves the room.

It’s a shame that Obi-Wan never manages to ask Qui-Gon about why he trusted him with his padawan. 

Because Qui-Gon dies on Geonosis. 

He shouldn’t have been there, Obi-Wan and Anakin keep saying. But they both know that you can’t stop Qui-Gon Jinn to do what he wants. He shouldn’t have gone to Kamino by himself, he shouldn’t have followed the bounty hunter to Geonosis, He shouldn’t have been in this arena, he shouldn’t have been killed before the help has come. He shouldn’t have died right in front of his former master— because of his former master. 

Anakin’s master died that day, but when Obi-Wan saw Master Dooku ordering the attack on the Jedi, he felt like he was losing two masters at the same time. 

Now there is a war coming, and the Council is talking about Master Dooku being a Sith, and he should stop saying Master Dooku, he knows, and people are asking how good can a Jedi be when raised by a traitor, and Yoda is talking to him about knighting Anakin and what he thinks about it like he’s his master now, and Anakin refuses to talk to him, and that probably has to do with the fact that he lost an arm and a father-figure to Obi-Wan’s master, and Obi-Wan would like to sleep for an entire year now, thank you very much. 

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy birthday, @irrlicht-ghostfront ❤️ i love you, and i'm judging you for this being your prompt, but i love you some more, so here <33 (warnings: car accident) [NO MCD]

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Blink and a miss — accident — wrecked car, and fleeting on the painful side of barely conscious in a pool of his own blood. There was too much of it anyway. Castiel felt dizzy more than he felt the pain as time, almost tangibly, passed on.

There's no way he was going to live.

(It was supposed to end old — fingers crossed for painless. Featuring inevitably beeping monitors, and time to come up with last words. A goodbye to his family.

Not that he had much of one right now — he isn't sure if he can call Dean's family his, yet; Dean seems to insist on it but then he's always been a pioneer in giving Castiel more than he could ever deserve, starting with his own heart, so Castiel can't tell — but he'd finally started to have intentions to, in the future.

A dog, for Dean.

Children.

Intentions to beg his brother to come back, and not give up until he'd gotten his forgiveness and his only remaining family back. But that — well, it was a different alley than Castiel's thoughts swarmed to right now. And swarm they did, his head throbbing, and life thudding at its gates.

Castiel had also intended to marry Dean, misty-eyed and denying it. Intended to figure out flower arrangements, and guest seating. Intended to kiss him at the end of the aisle, with his hands cupping Dean's face, and Dean's around his waist.

Then, move out from their shared apartment into a house.

Yellow wallpapered bedroom.

Treasure, and keep Dean happy forever.

Fuck.)

His breathing is still ragged, and his head feels too empty, but the heaving has lessened. Probably the blood loss. Less pain, more haze. And the resultant thoughtlessness is perhaps the only thing that sparks the courage in him to do what he does next.

Castiel picks up his phone.

(A struggle, but he's determined.)

If he's dying, and he'll never get to live the life he'd finally started to dream of — never have a life to share with Dean, never get to see Dean again, then he'll take what he can get.

He's allowed this, he tells himself. Allowed to be selfish, one last time.

He's on his deathbed after all.

It's outstandingly painful to bend his neck enough to see he's picked the right number — but the mere idea of accidentally calling an acquaintance at a time like this brings a tensed sliver of life into his muscles, and straining, he looks. Right enough, he's got 'Dean :)' on the screen.

Pressing dial, he lets his head fall back on the seat, wincing again. Maybe that'll relent the floatiness, if his body circulates some goddamn blood into his brain — because he needs this.

He's dying, but he needs this. One last time, he needs Dean.

A thumb swipes the familiarly placed 'on speaker' button — he can't bring the phone to his ear right now. He's going to have to risk Dean hearing the still crackling ruins of the poor engine, strewn across the wreck in smoldering pieces.

He must make quite a sight, he thinks, waiting for the call to go through. Man found in car wreckage, trapped by the door, dead within —

"Cas?"

Dean's voice cuts through Castiel's morbid mental news report, and almost reflexively, he closes his eyes. There's a tangible relief in his head when he does it, and god, Castiel must've been doing worse than he's convinced himself he is.

Dean sounds beautiful as always, and so familiar its like home.

It's the last time he ever gets to have this.

"Hello, Dean." Maybe he manages to not sound weird, or Dean's just not listening for clues. The loud racket behind him, at Bobby (and Dean's) automobile shop, helps as well.

"Hey." There's a smile in his voice now. Fuck. He's smiling. He's smiling, and he's smiling at Cas, and it's the last time Castiel ever gets to hear it.

He loses himself trying to remember the last time he saw Dean smile — earlier this morning, kissing him goodbye before he left — no, down from their balcony, accompanied by a gleeful wave because Dean's shift started a couple hours after Cas's day in the office did — no, when Castiel checked the time, and the Dean on his lockscreen grinned up at him — and he doesn't realize he's fallen silent until Dean's speaking again.

"Babe, you okay?"

There's a tinge of worry. Only a smidge, and it still hurts. The last time Castiel hears Dean can't be laced with anything bad. And it can't be Castiel's fault.

There's a pause. "Cas, what's up?"

Castiel doesn't know what to say so he tries to hold on to the phone tighter, his throat fluttering as a tear rolls down his face.

"Wait," The worry dissipates, apology slipping in. "Am I forgetting something? Did we make plans for lunch, 'cause Bobby and —"

"N-no." Cas struggles, and it's getting harder to not pant. He sounds too breathy anyway. "We don't. Didn't."

He forces a smile into his voice while saying it. As if it doesn't break him that he'll never get to see Dean again. But he needs to smile, doesn't he? One last time. Just for Dean.

"Well, do you want to?" Dean sounds cheerful. Normal.

Perfect.

Castiel doesn't want to die.

"Not, today." He half-heaves, and another tear rolls down his face.

Not today.

(If he'd known, he'd have stared to his heart's fill this morning. Kissed him an hour longer. Held him in his sleep. Oh, if he had had any foresight at all.)

"Dickface-atron keeping ya busy?"

Castiel lets the air stuck in his chest out, and it probably makes up for a small chuckle. He doesn't want to lie, he just won't agree.

"Figures."

"Sorry." Castiel tells him, meaning it entirely.

"Nah, s'good. I love you." Dean adds, clearly smiling wider, because they've only recently added that to their vernacular instead of the pedestal it'd been on for the first eight months of their friendship turning into a relationship. Somehow, it feels grander though — or, that might also be because it's the last time Castiel ever gets to hear Dean say it to him.

Oh, he loves him so much.

(He doesn't want to die.)

"And I have my packed lunch anyway." Dean continues, filling the gap thankfully. Machines blare in his background and he braves on like a man used to not being able to hear his own words due to the racket. Castiel is grateful for it. He hangs onto every word, drinks it in. Makes himself hold on. "Pretty sure you'd kick me to the curb if I let a PBJ go to waste."

"Jelly?" Cas smiles, when he wants to sob. He's certain he sounds fainter too, he feels fainter, and it's a miracle it doesn't show.

The tears well up in his chest, for possibly the rest of time. Dead men don't cry, and Castiel can't.

(Can't be long now, can it?)

"Jelly." Dean confirms. "It's the curse of paying attention when you rant about jam, you know." He snickers. "I used to be normal."

"Yes, I'm very lucky."

Dean chuckles, and Castiel sighs.

He's yearned for Dean to be happy, tried to make him smile, longed to see him laugh, for so, so long it feels like a part of him now. And now, it goes back to Dean, without him.

Somebody else'll make him smile, somebody else will wake him up with a kiss on his temple, and somebody else will love Dean for exactly who he is because it's Dean, and there was never someone who deserved it more — so of course somebody will.

But it will never be him again.)

An untethered broken sound escapes his throat, and Cas winces, faking a cough with it.

That makes the blood gush.

"Oh, also — wait. Just a second." He interrupts himself, and probably covers the speaker with his palm before yelling blurrily to someone near him.

(Or perhaps it's not supposed to be blurry. Castiel wouldn't know. He can hardly make out his own breathing. It's a feat that he can make out the conversation, even if most of it is instinct memory, and all he's doing is holding onto Dean for as long as he can.

Somehow, it feels like he's been doing so forever. But the time left, had never been so little.)

When Dean returns, he sounds apologetically busy.

"Dude, that dick who yelled at Ash, remember? He's back. Garth went this time, 'cause douchebag brought a Sedan."

Castiel swallows again, and vaguely registers that it tastes like metal. Almost like there's blood mixed with saliva.

There's another morbid thought. What, in this wreck, is finally going to kill him?

"I should probably check on him. Garth sorta wears on you."

"Of course." He croaks, and slips — fuck, he slips — but for once, thank god for oversensitive customers and boyfriends with likeable personalities, because Dean's conversing off the phone again, his hand on the speaker.

"I'll call you back, babe." Dean comes back to add in a rush, and Cas sucks in a painful breath, slowly beginning to feel like the only thing keeping him conscious any more is the sensation of air in his lungs, in his mouth, in the back of his throat. "Still have to ask what you even called about, you know. Or maybe if you just missed me." He beams, he obviously beams, and Cas stifles a groan.

"I do." He wheezes. "I —"

"Me too." Dean returns, flirty, and Cas goes to add to it — because he has to, because he's not going to make it, he's not going to be able to hold on until Dean returns, and he has to — but there's a click.

Castiel stares at the screen, devastated.

(Or tries to, anyway.)

"I love you," He cries out, aware that the line's cut, but needing to hear himself say it anyway. Plus, his head feels too numb to keep words inside anymore. It's less a prison of thoughts, and more a canyon of loss.

More tears fall.

His heart is beating faster than it ever has.

"I love —" His voice trembles, tries again, and fails. His throat refuses to comply with the thousands of things there remain to be said, and the words slowly fade, neglected.

In more ways than one, it's like being administered anaesthesia before a surgery — Castiel was operated on for tonsils at age eleven, and he remembers it still — and it finally sinking in, and knocking you out, as the doctor says to count to ten, and you hardly graze six.

His hands clutch the phone tighter, neck rendering him incapable of looking anymore, so he has no idea what his thumbs are trying to type — but it doesn't matter, not really, because this is it. Completely alone, young, and desperately in love with Dean Winchester, Castiel closes his eyes for the very last time.

And everything fades to black.

*

When they find him, it's been at least four hours.

It's night.

The uniformed official stuck with the responsibility of calling the next of kin, Victor Henriksen, fishes out the wallet as the paramedics carry him into the ambulance and attach him to IV immediately, and steps away to dial his emergency contact with a crinkled brow of sympathy.

And as he waits for the guy, a Dean Winchester, to pick up, he can't help but notice that his number is exactly the same as the one the last text almost sent from the victim's phone had been typed to — clutched in his hand, an unnerving, 'I love'.

And well, he isn't particularly into romcoms, but he hopes the poor guy gets a chance to finish his sentence.

He was in pretty bad condition, Henriksen recalls, and the bloodloss had knocked him out for several hours, but he looked twenty five at most, more importantly healthy, and — he looks at the wallet again, and the picture of two men (one of them, the victim) smiling at the camera with their hands around each other — most importantly, seemed to have reasons to fight for.

(Plus, he'd been the one to call the accident in himself — albeit four hours after it happened, but Henriksen figured he'd been passed out for that long — so he had to want to live, right?)

"Hello. Dean Winchester, who's this?"

"Hello, sir, I'm Officer Henriksen, and I have you listed as Mr Castiel Novak's emergency..."

*

"You dick."

Castiel coughs, and gives up on squinting against the bright light. It's a LED. Like in hospitals.

"Jesus, Cas. You complete asshole, you —"

Castiel opens his eyes a sliver again. The walls do resemble a hospital. Plain, white tiled. Way too many AC vents. Is that something on his hand?

"So you'll open your goddamn eyes, and not even fucking look at me."

There's IV's on both his hands. And something stiff around his neck. Almost like a collar, but thicker. And when he breathes, his ribs start like they might hurt — but the pain is numbed as it registers. He must be running really high on painkillers; they never really worked for him.

"Fine. You don't gotta look at me." A pause. Then, more shaky. "I was so scared, Cas. So fucking terrified. They said they weren't sure, said it may be too late, and you were dying. And then they tell me the crash happened at three, and I feel like I'm going to have a fucking stroke."

His vision slowly unblurs, feeling returning to his fingers. He tries to fold them, and winces at the strain.

Immediately, there's a hand on his arm.

"Stop moving, dumbass. I'm going to kill you for this, you know. I am, but I need you to be okay first."

The words don't register, but the voice does.

(He sounds beautiful as always, and so familiar it's like home.)

"Hell, I just need you, Cas. Period. I need your ridiculous, stupid ass — and I need you to look at me when I'm begging you to be okay, and I need you to stay, with me, forever, and not call me first when you need a goddamn ambulance, you dumbass —"

"Hello, Dean." Castiel interrupts, a hoarse whisper, and he thinks he hears a sob from the general direction of the love of his life.

(He really can't move his neck — he's got to tell Dean that at some point if he's not understood already. It's the cast.)

"Oh, thank god." Dean cries, the words muffled by either him burying his face in his sleeve, or the lifesaving medications Castiel is alive on account of, but it's okay, right? Dean's here — and he's okay. It's fine.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm still going to kill you for this."

"Well, I'd deserve that." Castiel tries to joke, and almost pulls it off, except for the part where he can't see Dean's reaction until the latter lets out another broken sob, and grabs his hand. Castiel freezes, trying to squeeze back, tears welling up again. "I'm really sorry, Dean." Then, after a beat. "I'm going to make this up to you."

It feels like a strange thing to say, but it's exactly what he means.

"Yeah, you are. Although it can't stop my revenge being not texting you when I have a heart attack in aisle three when I'm eighty and you're buying eggs, but okay."

If Castiel could, he would've shaken his head at that.

(But at least, and this is what really matters — they made it. He's alive. He — he gets this.)

"I love you, you son of a bitch."

Castiel smiles slowly, a tear landing on his pillow. "I love you too."

[dexters-bluemilkshakes]

i made “the 501st go to target” and “the disaster lineage goes to target” and now i give you: The Clone Wars Squad ™️ (+Satine) Goes To Target

the squad, in my eyes, is anakin, ahsoka, obi wan, rex, cody and sometimes padme (depending on the situation).

anakin: as soon as everyone disperses he immediately finds padme and they either find a corner or they leave the store altogether. anakin thinks he’s being super sneaky about it; he’s singing the Space Mission Impossible theme under his breath. Padmé is laughing softly with her husband about how goofy he’s being.

literally every single person saw them. obi-wan just face palmed and decided to mind his own kriffing business.

obi-wan: other than trying to ignore the ulcer padmé and her not-so-secret/husband were giving him, he finally acquired the hair product he keeps coming to target for but can never buy because his Padawans keep tagging along on his shoppig trips. obi-wan adamantly denies using any products and claims that his hair is this amazing when he wakes up, but anakin lived with him for over ten years and the rest aren’t fooled when only one singular strand of hair falls into his face after being beat up by d’nar.

cody: gets a video of obi-wan buying the hair pomade. rex tried and failed to keep his laughter out of the background of the video. to be fair though, so did cody.he buys bulk amounts of different scented candles because it does actually calm his brothers down when they need it. and they always need it.

rex: walked around with cody. cody ranted about being Marshall commander and commander of the 212th. rex ranted about being the captian of the 501 cough cough how much he loves fives but how much his ulcer Does Not. it wasn’t a competition but rex somehow won, anyway.

they agree that they their disaster brothers, though.

at that moment jesse sent a video of his bunk covered in sparkles and him cursing at hardcase. cody placed a hand on rex’s shoulder and bought the cleaning supplies with his own credits. the vein in rex’s temple was very close to bursting.

ahsoka: usually, she would be hanging out with anakin or rex but that’s just the problem. her master is a guy, her other master is a guy, her men are all guys. all of her closest friends are. she sometimes gets to hang out with other female padawans like barris but only for like two episodes a few days.

she is in great need of hanging out with other women so she and satine shop together. padmé joins them when she and anakin get back from whatever they were doing. it’s mostly the older women talking about how exhausting their jedi (partners) friends are. ahsoka chimes in with the most chaotic things they’ve ever done and it’s all face palms. the entire time.

ahsoka, with their help, finds a dress that is perfect. Even rex and cody told her she looks beautiful. anakin squealed higher than padmé and satine did when he saw it.

padmé: when she gets home she gives anakin a stern talking to about being an idiot (because ahsoka told her about his dumb antics earlier) which just ends with them cracking up and cuddling. (satine has a similar conversation with obi wan that ends with them fighting and then sitting near each other in comfortable silence on the couch.)

she and anakin had actually just gotten lunch together and when they came back they picked out an outfit for each other, which they wore when they got home. anakin looked fabulous, and padmé was in a dress that she never would have picked out herself but she was pleasantly surprised to find she loved it anyway. it was baby blue with off the shoulder sleeves that ended by her wrist. the sleeves themselves were sheer. when she spun around anakin said she looked like a princess. she wore it to her next casual outing.

satine: didnt buy anything. there wasn’t anything the needed. being the duchess of a planet means household items are not your concern to restock, and none of the clothes were her style.

she enjoyed hanging out with padme and ahsoka. she enjoyed joking about the boys even more.

she was sad she missed the chance to see obi in the store, but he found her later that night at her apartment. when they were sitting on the couch, they held hands for a second. gasp

she smiled as she fell asleep

it was a good day.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.” 

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head. 

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote.  He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background. 

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument. 

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little." 

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time. 

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him. 

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.  

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine. 

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal. 

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows. 

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy." 

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul. 

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly.  "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing. 

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal. 

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

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[nevertheless-moving]

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27 Part Two - Suicidal Misunderstanding AU

Continuation of this 

By the time the hovercar finally pulled into the temple, Obi-Wan’s tremors had mostly quieted. Cody awkwardly manhandled him out the vehicle door. Obi-Wan didn’t resist; he mostly seemed to be dealing with the overwhelming situation by refusing to open his eyes. 

“Master?” Cody absently noticed that Anakin’s robe was tied modestly, with no other layers peaking out underneath; wherever he was before Cody called, he had left half-dressed and in a hurry.

Obi-Wan started shaking again, burying his face into Cody’s pauldron.

“Yeesh- you’re really a wreck,” Anakin observed bluntly but not without sympathy. “Honestly, you’re taking all the fun out of the situation. What’s the point of getting drunk if you act so pathetic that your smug padawan can’t even mock you afterwards?” Anakin hesitantly laid a hand on his master’s shoulder.

It was uncertain whether it was the words or the touch that succeeding in garnering a positive response, but finally Kenobi seemed to pull himself together. With a deep breath, the high general straightened up, opening his eyes to look Skywalker square in the face. He continued to hold eye-contact, expression gradually shifting from steely resolve to open faced delight.

“ANAKIN!” Obi-Wan flung himself at his former padawan with obvious joy. “OH ANAKIN! IT’S YOU! IT’S REALLY YOU!” They staggered with the force of Obi-Wan’s enthusiastic bear hug.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Anakin managed to get out, shocked by his Master’s uncharacteristically loud and emotional greeting, as well as slightly breathless from the intense grip. Obi-Wan didn’t answer; he just held Anakin tighter. 

“Man, what did you drink?” he tried to ask instead, deciding to return the hug fully and deal with any later consequences later.

Obi-Wan shifted back enough to make eye-contact again. His brow furrowed in thought. “Just some Jawa beer to wash down the spice doses.”

“SPICE DOSES?!?” Cody and Anakin both shouted in alarm. Anakin grabbed at Obi-Wan’s face, examining the man’s pupils before pulling back his lip to look at his gums. “You don’t look like you’re dosed up. And the only thing you smell like is middling quality alcohol.” he concluded doubtfully. “Are you sure that’s what you took?”

Obi-Wan stopped to think again “The Jawas that sold it seemed pretty confident. I would be more likely to entertain the possibility that I was ripped off were you not standing here with me.”

“I- Wwhere- When would you have even bought spice from Jawas?” Anakin asked, exchanging bewildered looks with Commander Cody. 

“They seem to like stopping by my hut, even when I don’t have anything to steal or buy. I suppose there’s not many opportunities for sentient contact out on in the wastes,” He mused.

Anakin only looked more confused, reasonably confident that he would have known if Obi-Wan owed a home on Tatooine. 

“Heart rate was slightly elevated to normal on the ride over, sir.” Cody added dutifully. “Well within average human normal, and not consistent with spice use or alcohol poisoning.”

“His presence in the force is... strange,” Anakin said while patting Obi-Wan soothingly on the back. “I’d have to take him to the healers to confirm, but my best guess is he's having a bad reaction to something he drank. There are certain alcohols that can cause side-effects and unexpected reactions in force-sensitives. Though I can’t believe that after all the lectures he’s given me, he would be stupid enough to drink one.”

“He...did have an unknown mixed drink a bartender gave him on the house,” Cody said with a sinking sense of failure. “Could this have been a targeted attack?”

Skywalker clearly looked pissed at the idea “If it was, then that bartender committed an act of treason.” Only the fact that he was still supporting Ob-Wan’s weight (in what was rapidly approaching the second-longest hug they had ever shared) kept him from taking command of the troopers to interrogate a bartender. 

“Sir, do you want me to accompany you to medical and make a report?” Cody asked.

Anakin hesitated, thinking while Obi-Wan rested his chin on his former padawan’s shoulder. As amusing as the idea was in theory, he didn’t really want to humiliate a vulnerable, emotional Obi-Wan by dragging him through the heart of the temple to be gawked at and judged.

“No.” He finally decided, “Even if he somehow managed to miss the fact that he was being poisoned in a civilian bar, he’s more than capable of processing toxins on his own, and I’m more than capable of monitoring him overnight. We’ve got a full field med-kit in our quarters- I can take a blood sample tonight, and ask him what he wants to do with it once he sobers up in the morning.”

Obi-Wan readjusted slightly as Anakin shrugged, “It’s also possible that he just, you know, overdid it drinking, which isn’t anyone’s business but his own. I mean, he hasn’t exactly had the opportunity to cut loose when he’s a High General all the time; his tolerance might not have been where he was expecting.”

Cody saluted in acknowledgement of the command decision. He ruthlessly quashed any doubts, reminding himself that General Kenobi had, in fact, asked for General Skywalker by name, and Skywalker was likely to better informed on Jedi responses to alcohol. 

“Master, let’s get you to our quarters so you can sleep this off,” Anakin reluctantly pulled back from was now officially the longest hug Obi-Wan had ever given him. “Can you walk by yourself, or do you want me to help?”

The unusually peaceful smile Obi-Wan was wearing started to slide away. “Our quarters? Our quarters were destroyed. There’s nothing to find there now but ash,” he stated, as if gently reminding Anakin of a known tragedy.

Cody, still standing by, sucked in a breath.

“Besides,” he continued mater of factly, “You were barely ever in them at this point anyway. Even for a dream, it would be a lot more realistic for me to go to my quarters and sit in the dark trying to memorize casualty lists, while you’re out somewhere unknown, carousing with Padme presumably.”

“Carousing with Padme?! I - why would you- Master!” Anakin fumbled out, addressing the last point first before processing the rest.

“And is that seriously what you do when you have time off? Just sit and memorize the names of everyone who died during the war? That’s - that’s seriously sad Obi-Wan, we are talking about that when you sober up.” Not giving Obi-Wan the chance to defend his extremely sad hobby, Anakin plowed on. 

“And our quarters are fine, I know that- uh- I know I haven’t been around a lot, but I was just in there earlier today, they look practically the same as they did when I was a padawan. Whatever you saw, here and now - I promise you - here and now the temple is fine. We’ll talk about your vision or your hallucination once you sober up, I promise.” Anakin ended emphatically, gripping Obi-Wans shoulders and staring directly into his eyes.

The miniature rant seemed to work. 

“That sounds nice,” Obi-Wan said smiling, “I would love to see our old rooms- I know it didn’t really matter either way to you, but I always took comfort in the fact that you never bothered with requesting a new room after you were knighted. I know, I know that between how rarely we were temple based and Padme, it probably just didn’t cross your mind, but it was nice to have some tangible reminder of our connection, even as the war and the growing darkness stole everything else.”

Anakin truly didn’t know how to respond, the raw emotional honesty somehow even more painful than the crushing hug. Obi-Wan reached up to smooth back his hair like he was still a child. He then walked a few steps to face the extremely out-of-depth Commander Cody.

Not hesitating, Obi-Wan pulled Cody into a tender hug which he couldn’t help but lean into. The commander brought his arms up and around but hesitated to actually make contact, instead ghosting his hands along the general’s back.

“I always wanted to do that,” Obi-Wan whispers into Cody’s ear. “I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done; I never would have gotten through the war without you. I wish...I wish I could tell you that I consider you one of the best of men, and one of the best of friends. But... I can’t. Even if I abandoned my last mission to search you out, even if I succeeded in finding you, you would never allow me close enough to do this.”

Cody’s heart is racing, trying to decode the General’s words over the ringing white noise in his ears. He stops breathing entirely as Obi-Wan shifts to press their foreheads together, allowing him to focus entirely on the feel of the general’s breath, the sight of tears trickling again from red-rimmed eyes. “Goodbye, Cody.” he finally exhales.

And with that he turned and walked away, not looking back.

Next (Part Three)