#this is a joke i just had the briefest thought of what could possibly draw things together and i thought it'd be funny

[fox-guardian]

"tmagp is about the fears!!" "tmagp is about desires!!" tmagp is about the four humours. eat my jorts.

[peachy-panic]

“Look at me.”

Hi there. I’m new here, but also very much not, which is to say you’ve probably seen me pop up a few dozen (hundred) times in your notifications with likes and comments and the occasional ask when I’m feeling brave, sliding under the radar from the safety of my obscure fandom-turned-main account.

POINT IS, I’m no stranger to the wonderful works of this community, and CERTAINLY no stranger to whump appreciation, even if I haven’t always had a word for it. And because I’ve been so inspired by all the talented writers here, I’ve decided to finally cut loose and throw my own work into the ring, and the whole @whumpmasinjuly thing seemed like an opportune time to pop up.

I’ve aggressively lurked on so many of your pages in the last year so I’m sure I’m leaving someone out, but I did want to tag a few of the writers who have really motivated me to start this page just by reading their writing:

@ashintheairlikesnow @orchidscript @deluxewhump @whump-tr0pes @evermetnotforgotten @card-games-and-pain

And if you’ve made it this far into the post, we’ve arrived at the actual content. This snippet is from a project I started writing before I knew about the existence of the BBU, but I’ve slowly started molding it into something that fits more-or-less within the bounds of that collective universe. Some things may take slightly different turns to the rules established there, but it’s the same general concept.

Without further ado.

PROMPT: “Look at me.”

WARNINGS: General BBU-esque warnings, human trafficking, slavery, non-con (fade-to-black ish but the lead up is… Not Great). Let me know if I missed anything!

He knows something is off right away when Mr. Torley calls to him from the end of the long hallway on the other side of the house. 

When the children are home, Jaime is confined to the main common areas: the living room that spills into the large open-concept kitchen, the guest bathroom, the laundry room (where he has already spent most of his time working), the boys’ toy room (where he has only gone to clean up after them), and of course, the small room he has been given to sleep in, which he is sure once served as some sort of storage area. 

At the mouth of the living room is a corridor that leads to Mr. Torley’s study, and across from that, his bedroom. So he is told. Jaime was given instructions never to go into that wing of the house unless explicitly invited. He has been in his new home assignment for three days now and has never once been asked to cross those bounds. 

Until now. 

Carefully, Jaime places the mug he had been diligently scrubbing in the basin of the sink and shuts off the tap. He looks around for the hand towel and, remembering he had thrown it in with the last load of laundry, dries his hands on his t-shirt instead.

There’s a shift in the air, something thick and weighty and terrible as he steps into the opening of the hallway, but he doesn’t allow himself a moment to hesitate. He pads near-silently forward, toward the only open door, all the way at the end. 

In the threshold between the hall and the master bedroom, Jaime’s toes brush against where pristine hardwood meets soft carpet. It feels good against his bare feet after days of standing on an unforgiving surface without the allowance of shoes or socks, but not nearly good enough to settle the uneasiness building in the pit of his stomach. Mr. Torley sits on the edge of the bed, a long, deep-colored robe covering most of his body, save for the deep strip of exposed skin down his chest where a few patches of thick, dark hair peek through. Jaime forces his eyes up to his.

“You called for me, Sir?” His voice low and steady, even as his eyes draw unwittingly to the lamp on the bedside table, which has been dimmed to an orange glow that makes the room feel small and suffocatingly warm. 

“Come here,” his Keeper beckons, and Jaime’s muscles operate by the hand of some unseen force, pushing him forward. He only makes it half a step in before Mr. Torley raises a hand, gesturing to where the light of the hallway spills in around his silhouette. “Close the door behind you.”

Jaime’s limbs feel very heavy all of a sudden, but he moves anyway, a phantom sting buzzing beneath his skin at even the briefest thought of hesitation. Never make your Keeper wait. Never let your Keeper ask twice. 

The hallway is plain and sterile, much like the rest of the Torley house, but Jaime stares longingly out at it as he pulls the door shut, wishing he were out there instead.

When the door clicks shut, he can feel a pair of eyes rake down his back like cold fingertips. It raises the hair on the back of his neck, his skin breaking out in an unpleasant chill, but he forces perfect neutrality into his expression before he turns around. He zeroes in on the sensation of soft carpet under his soles instead of the prickling dread under his skin as he makes his way toward the bed, coming to a stop a couple feet away.

Mr. Torley chuckles under his breath, a low, amused sound that Jaime is already getting used to hearing. He seems to reserve it for Jaime alone and it always serves to make him feel like there is some sort of private joke he’s not been let in on. Or, more accurately, that he is the joke, and he can’t quite stifle the lingering sense of shame that comes with that. 

“I said, come here.” It’s a direct order, but paired with a hint of amusement and something darker swimming behind his eyes. He rubs a hand invitingly, pointedly, over the comforter next to him and Jaime swallows back a lump in his throat that feels a lot like bile.

He isn’t stupid. Despite everything that’s been told to him, he’s not. But in that moment he wishes maybe he was, and then ignorance could be bliss for just a few more seconds. He knows where this is headed, and he knows that it’s wrong. It is against the policies, against the rules, he knows it is, but he isn’t surprised, either. It hadn’t taken long at the training facility to discover that the system on paper looks a whole lot different than the system in practice. 

“‘We uphold a zero-tolerance policy for the sexual exploitation and abuse of Domestic workers,’” a cruel, mocking voice recites in his head, alongside the memory of a leather-gloved thumb sliding between his lips, his wide, tearful eyes glued to the tiny, black remote in his handler’s fist. 

The skin beneath his collar burns at the memory, and he raises his fingers absently to touch there, half expecting to feel the heavy weight of the electric clip attached. He doesn’t, of course, and the only electricity he feels now is of a different nature, coming off his Keeper in waves as he waits, a bit more impatiently with every second, for Jaime to sit. 

So he does. 

Mr. Torley crowds his space immediately, and his instinctive response to pull away is smothered by a heavy arm draping over his shoulders and a droning voice inside his head. You must make yourself available at all times. You may not refuse any order or request that does not directly interfere with the wellbeing of another person. Jaime allows himself to wonder, for the briefest moment, if his wellbeing counts for anything. He knows it doesn’t. They had just spent the past three months teaching him, in every way imaginable, that he was not, in fact, a person at all.

All the offhand remarks from the trainers, the lewd sneers, the heavy-lidded glances and roaming hands… they had all painted him a picture of what to expect. He had just tricked himself into thinking that maybe, hopefully, if there ever really was a god in this universe that loved him like he was sure he once believed, that he was wrong. In the three days since he had stepped foot into his newest post, Jaime had managed to convince himself that maybe, possibly, he had gotten one of the good ones. 

Mr. Torley is all too happy to shatter the illusion as his finger and thumb find Jaime’s earlobe, rubbing it between them and then ghosting down the side of his neck. 

“Take off your shirt,” he whispers.

Jaime’s blood runs cold. 

You may not refuse any order or request. He can’t conceal the trembling in his fingers as they curl around the hem of his standard-issue grey t-shirt. You may not refuse any order or request. The warm ambience of the room feels startlingly cold against his naked torso as he pulls the fabric over his head, letting it fall in a soft whisper onto the carpet. You may not refuse any order or request. His arm is back around his shoulders instantly, hot and cold assaulting his skin all at once and he feels so exposed and he doesn’t want to be here he doesn’t want to do this. 

Mr. Torley places a heavy palm against his chest, running it slowly downward, and Jaime can picture what it looks like without even looking; calloused pads scraping over soft skin, all thick fingers and subtly unkempt nails, the beginnings of age spots and wrinkles and small dustings of black hair across the knuckles. He thinks his keeper must be able to feel the way his heart is pounding through his ribs, and he feels a surge of embarrassment that he was sure the training should have beaten out of him.

It’s because you weren’t trained for this, the panicked voice in the back of his head screams as the hand trails lower, grazing the thin patch of hair below his navel. This isn’t supposed to happen. This is against policy. You weren’t made for this. His skin feels static in every place Mr. Torley’s fingers brush, and he wishes he could dissolve under them.

“You’re shaking, baby.” Jaime winces at the unexpected term of endearment. So far, it has only been boy, curt and abrasive when thrown in his direction, usually followed by a direct order. “Have you never had a man touch you like this?”

His mind supplies a horror show of memories, flashes of images behind closed eyelids -  leather-gloved hands and concrete rooms of the training facility - and he realizes he doesn’t know how to answer that. He wants to cry. Can’t cry. Isn’t allowed to cry. Then there are fingers on his chin, on his jaw, softer than any of his touches have ever been; soft like the word baby on his lips, soft like the half-lidded eyes that he is forced to meet. 

“I asked you a question.”

“I haven’t. Sir.” His voice shakes, barely a whisper. 

It is mostly true, probably in the way Mr. Torley really meant it, and unfortunately seems to be exactly the answer he was looking for. Dread splits Jaime in two. One part, the part of him that’s hazy and pliant and good tells him he has done a good job, that he has pleased his Keeper, he has said the right thing. His keeper’s needs are his needs, if his Keeper is happy, he is happy. 

The other part just keeps screaming. And screaming. And screaming.

He doesn’t want this.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, he’s not supposed to have wants.

But this isn’t allowed.

His Keeper is happy.

Please, please stop touching me.

He can’t say no, no is forbidden to him.

Please don’t make me do this.

His keeper is smiling.

“You’re very lucky,” Mr. Torley says, dragging the thumb that was holding his jaw over he’s lower lip. “They could have given you to any one of your bidders, and trust me… there are some messed up people out there who invest in the services of Domestic Companions. But I can be good to you.”

Somehow, he doesn’t feel very lucky at all.

“Yes, sir,” he says, a bit breathless as fingers trace up and down his spine. His own fingers curl into the bedsheets on the opposite side of his thigh where Mr. Torley can’t see the outward signals of his distress, though from the naked delight in his eyes as he watches him, he doesn’t think he minds. 

There are lips on his before he can even process what is happening, and he feels his whole body go rigid in his Keeper’s hold. He’s never been kissed before and the cold wetness against his mouth is nothing like the movies make it out to be. It’s hard to wrap his head around the overwhelming sensation, but the one thing he knows for sure, immediately, is that he hates it. 

He hates his first kiss unlike anything he’s hated before. Terror and humiliation seize him in equal stride as he realizes he doesn’t really know what to do. He is frozen, for a moment, his own pulse beating wildly in his ears as slimy lips move against his own. When Mr. Torley cups a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to lean into the kiss, his mouth opens instinctively, submitting to the insistence of the movement, and this seems to be exactly what he was looking for. A low, throaty hum vibrates against his mouth and Jaime clamps his eyes shut tight. He feels like he might die. For a moment, he kind of wishes he would.

He doesn’t register the pressure of the hand against his chest until his back is already pressed into the duvet. Mr. Torley sits up then, breaking the kiss, then stands. Jaime doesn’t look at him - he can’t bring himself to - but he can feel his eyes on him anyway. Thick fingers hook into the elastic of the thin, gray pants he had been given three days prior, and his breathing goes flat. Please don’t please don’t please don’t, his brain lights up with panic, every nerve ending in his body on high alert. But he doesn’t move, other than to close his trembling fingers around the material on either side of him, curling the soft fibers of the duvet into his fists. He wants to close his eyes, but he can feel them burning, then swimming with moisture, and he knows if he clamps his eyelids shut, the tears will spill over and he doesn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Torley.

Instead, he stares up at the ceiling fan, focusing on the long, thin blades of wood instead of the feeling of cool air against his lower half as the material is pulled away from him. He hears the rustle of cloth as his pants join the discarded shirt on the carpet at his feet, and then another sound of the same, this time heavier, but he doesn’t dare look away from the grey clump of dust dangling from one of the fan blades above him.

Worse than the chill of the exposure is the heat that follows in the form of skin on skin, an immovable weight settling over his body. His throat jerks in another attempt at a sob, a plea that can’t let free. He swallows it down and tells himself that if he just keeps staring at that one spot of dust, he isn’t really here, that his keeper is not on top of him, that this isn’t about to happen to him. 

But he is. It is. There’s no stopping it now. There never was.

“Look at me.” 

For the first time, he allows his eyes to slip shut in a quiet moment of defeat - just a singular moment of hesitation before he follows the command. He feels the moisture slipping out at the corners but he can’t do anything to stop them even if his hands weren’t being slowly pressed above his head and into the mattress. When he opens his eyes, he looks up into the cold expression hovering over him, fully eclipsing the spot of his previous focus. It’s just him now. It’s all him, every one of his senses besieged by the one person whose life he is supposed to center himself around now. In that context, perhaps this should feel exactly right. 

Somehow, it doesn’t. Not at all.

[parkersbliss]

Stubborn | Minho

Pairing: Minho x Female Reader

Warnings: blood, near death, cursing??

WC; 2.5K

synopsis: yes, it does take a near death experience to finally admit your feelings

a/n: probably my last imagine before 2021 SO HAPPY NEW YEAR BYE 2020

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

“I’m just saying,” Newt said, arms crossed. “It would save everyone a lot of pain and headaches if one of you just said it.”

“I’m not a liar,” You replied.

“You’re lying to yourself right now,” Newt smirked, watching as your gaze hardened and you smacked his arm.

Thomas jogs up to the two of you, taking one glance at Newt rubbing his arm and you pursing your lips and looking the other way.

“Newt’s right.”

You spin around, mouth open, “How did you?—”

Thomas shrugs, “Call it a third sense, but whatever he said about Minho, you should listen.”

You scoff at the two boys, thoughts running around in your head.

You were in love with your best friend, it was plain as day.

But saying that to his face? That was something that would never happen. Minho was your best friend, he was your other half and to tell him how you feel and ruin that… well that’s just selfish of you. He was also your running partner, you spent almost the entire day together and the last thing you need is for him to leave you alone in the maze after some stupid confession.

Point is, there was too much at stake. It was an unnecessary risk that you didn’t want to take.

“I bet she’s thinking about his muscles,” Thomas snickers, playfully nudging Newt’s shoulder.

Newt giggles, “When is she not? Who knows what goes on when they’re inside the maze.”

You roll your eyes, smacking both of them, “Both of you, slim it.”

“Can’t handle the truth, (Y/N)?” Thomas teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’ll make sure to leave you alone in the maze next time.”

Thomas’s eyes widen, “Okay, hey we were joking! Minho’s ugly anyway.”

“The hell?” Another voice breaks in. “I’m hotter than both of you combined.”

Heat flares in your cheeks as you glance at your running partners who stumbled onto your early morning conversation.

Newt pats Minho’s shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile, “yes, yes of course.”

Minho swats his hand away, glaring at him, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say it like what?” Newt said innocently before disappearing to the gardens.

Thomas holds his hands up in defense, “All jokes,” he coughs, meeting your eyes. “I’ll uh, I’ll see you guys later.”

Thomas turns to leave but not before sending a wink your way. You glare at him, mouthing the words ‘slim it' while drawing a finger across your throat.

A small hand on your shoulder brings you out of your thoughts.

Minho looks at you with his brown eyes, and you’re not sure how to act.

You can’t process anything, and if he’s speaking to you, you don’t hear it. All you can focus on is him, and everything about him. He’s clouding your senses, making it hard to see but you don’t mind.

“Did you hear me?” Minho asked, now placing both hands on his hips.

You blink, nodding, “Yes, loud and clear.”

“Okay,” Minho drawls, “what did I say?”

Damn him, you think.

“Gally sucks toes?”

“Cute, but no, Although I wouldn’t be surprised if that was true,” Minho muses. “I said Fry is finishing up our lunches and then we’re good to go.”

You let out a loud sigh, “Do we have to?” You ask Minho, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, bopping your nose, “you signed up for this.”

“Yeah right,” you snort, “more like you forced me to be here.”

“Forced and extensively encouraged are two different things.”

You cross your arms and raised your eyebrows at the brown-eyed boy, “You know what, I’m pretty sure this is just an excuse to hang out with me.”

“Oh you wish, eight hours in the Maze with you and your whining is enough.”

“If I’m that annoying why not go with Thomas sometime?” You challenge.

Minho’s silent, “He's somehow worse than you.”

You pat Minho on the chest as you walk by to pick up your lunches, “Okay, lover boy.”

“It’s true!” He calls out after you, trying to defend himself.

Was he that obvious? He’s glad your back is turned to him and you can’t see how red his cheeks have gotten.

He shakes his head, breathing in deeply. This wasn’t part of the plan, not that he had a plan.

He planned to run until he found a way out of here, but even that plan didn’t work. At some point, he had given up. He had come to terms with the fact that there was no escape. He’s known that for years. It ate him from the inside out, knowing that everyone counted on him to find a way out and he already knew the answer.

But he couldn’t let the other Glader’s feel like he did, he couldn’t watch them lose hope. He’d spend every day running if it meant they didn’t end up like him, empty and cold.

But then you came along.

And when you arrived, Minho had something worth fighting for. A little blossom of hope in his heart that with you here, he had to find a way out.

And then you became a runner, and Minho took his chance.

He was amazed that you didn’t give up, even when he told you that he’d run the whole thing. You had this spark in your eye, you looked him in the eye and you told him,

“There’s always a way out, we’re just not looking in the right place or the right thing.”

Funny enough, you hadn’t made any progress since then.

Unless you count Minho catching feelings for you, but he wouldn’t consider that progress.

“Hey! Think fast,” You said, tossing Minho his sandwich.

Of course, Minho being in deep thought about you slows his actions and he barely catches his lunch, almost tripping in the process.

You’re stood across from him, smirk adorning your face, “Nice catch.”

“Thanks,” he said, “I’d like to see you do better.”

“I probably could,” You shrug.

Minho scoffs, mumbling something under his breath as you drag him toward the maze. Thomas waves from his spot, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you flip him off.

The door slowly opens and once there’s enough space, the two of you take off.

…

You and Minho were a bit more cautious now that Ben had been stung in broad daylight, it was something no one had ever seen in the Glade.

It never really crossed your mind that something like that could happen, but now that it did, everyone was a bit more on edge.

It was like you could sense the trouble looming over you, that the worse was yet to come, but no one said anything.

No one wanted to say anything.

You slow your pace, leaning against a wall to take a sip from your water. You make sure to not let Minho too far out of your sight, the last time it happened didn’t end very well.

You debate calling out to him, but you let him go, needing to save your breath. You don’t doubt he’ll notice soon enough. You close your eyes, resting for a bit… just a little while longer.

“(Y/N)!”

You sigh, pushing yourself off the wall as you jog to catch up with Minho.

“Present!” You announce, waving your hands.

He shakes his head, grabbing your hand, “you’re sticking with me.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” You wink, watching as Minho turns away from you, hiding his flushed face.

His hand fits in your like it’s meant to be, but you don’t believe in stuff like that.

You do, however, believe in how you don’t want to let it go. It made you feel safer, it’s a stupid thought but it does.

You trust that when you’re holding onto him, nothing bad will happen, and if it did, he’s there.

Your run is slowed to more of a walk as the sun reaches high noon, beating down on both of you, sweating accumulating on your neck.

You can feel the strain of your run pulling on your muscles, but you’d grown accustomed to the feeling.

Minho turns back to look at you, he’s about to open his mouth but he’s quick to snap it shut.

“Did you hear that?" He asks.

“Hear wh-”

You fall silent when you hear the sounds of clanking followed by low growls.

Minho’s eyes widen as he looks at you, and you look back at him mirroring the same expression.

“We need to get back to the Glade,” Minho said slowly. His eyebrows are furrowed as he listens for the Griever in order to choose the best path of escape. Your instincts tell you the best plan of escape is the east door, but then the maze falls silent.

The quiet is somehow deafening, save for your heart pounding madly in your chest. At any moment, it could strike, it could walk around any corner and kill you both.

You’d never know until it was too late.

Minho squeezes your hand tightly, his back towards your own as you watch all the possible places the griever could come from.

And the lucky winner was where you happened to be looking. The griever comes racing around the corner, it’s screeching filling the air mixing with your own.

“Holy shit!” You scream, feeling Minho tug on your hand and pull you to what was hopefully an exit.

You push yourself to go faster, the last thing you wanted was to be eaten by a griever of all things. You try not to think about how it’s closing in on you, or how you might die here. Instead, you try and focus on your breathing and the way Minho is gripping on tightly to your hand. You will yourself to try and think of anything else but the creature chasing you. This is what you were training for, running.

Running even when you feel out of breath, running even when your legs are begging you to stop, running because it’s the only thing that’ll save you.

It never ends, and it never stops.

Minho takes a sharp left and you follow, looking behind you for the briefest second only to see the griever reaching out for you.

It happens in a flash, you can feel it’s claw pierce your skin, tearing at it as you run. You grit your teeth, seething in pain as you collapse.

Minho turns around to find you, eyes widening as he sees the griever looming above you.

“Go!” You shout, propping yourself against a wall.

Minho shakes his head, standing his ground as he looks from the griever to you.

“Trust me, Minho! Go!”

Minho’s hesitant, he couldn’t leave you, what if you bled out and died on him? What kind of person would he be then? What would he do when he loses the one thing he has left to fight for?

“Please,” You beg, eyes teary.

Minho feels his heart shatter in his chest as he realizes you’re right, he should go.

But not without taking the griever with him.

Minho finds a stray rock on the ground, feeling it in his hand before he chucks it at the creature.

It makes a sound, one then he could never forget as it turns away from you and lunges for him.

Minho looks to you, giving you a curt nod before making a run for it, the griever following him.

You lean your head back against the wall, ignoring the pain in your leg as you let the tears silently flow down your face as you watch him disappear.

Of course, he had to play the hero. You should be grateful, really, but you can’t. How can you be grateful when he was risking his life for one that was already gone?

You’d accepted your fate, you knew you were going to die here and you could face that.

But Minho had to screw it all up and risk himself too, it wasn’t fair. You didn’t know if he would come back to you, or if he did, If you’d still be alive.

Would one of you die before you get to say the words you’ve so desperately wanted to? Was the world this cruel?

Did it take one of you dying for you to finally accept what you already knew? You couldn’t imagine dying before you tell him, but leaving him with that… was that not crueler than any fate he could succumb to?

You use your hand that’s not grabbing your bleeding leg to wipe away your tears. If Minho didn’t come back, if someone didn’t come back, you’d sure be griever food.

Maybe you’d die before having to be ripped apart limb by limb.

The pain in your leg because nothing more than a dull ache as you breathe out slowly. You let your eyes fall shut, hoping to catch up on some much-needed rest while you pray Minho’s returns.

But when he does, it’s a sight he knows he’ll never forget.

His heart sinks in his chest when he sees you, laying in a pool of blood, chest barely rising and falling.

He kneels before you, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face and hold back his sobs.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?”

When there’s no reply he begins panicking, tying to (as gently as possible) coax you awake. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you as he begs you to wake up.

Eventually, your eyes flutter open and Minho feels like he can breathe again as he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Oh thank god.”

“You came back?” You ask softly.

He nods, pulling back you, “I’ll always come back.”

You reach out for his hands, which he gives you, squeezing them tightly.

“I love you,” You said, eyes fluttering shut again as you’re stuck with a wave of pain.

“Lying doesn’t suit you, babe,” Minho replies easily, dismissing your three words. This wasn’t the time to think about it, right now, he needed to get you back. “You’re a bit out of it from the amount of blood you lost, can you walk?” He asked, standing up.

You pull him back down, “Minho, I love you.”

He shakes his head, “we need to get you back to the medhut.”

“Minho,” You plead, you couldn’t die without him knowing.

He ignores you and instead, helps you to your feet leaning you against him and slowly being the journey back to the Glade.

You never asked what happened to the griever.

…

You groan, rolling onto your side as you wipe the sleep from your eyes. You blink when you realize that you were in a wooden hut that was most certainly not the maze, and then you look down at the hand interlocked with yours.

A hand that belonged to none other than your running partner.

When you meet his eyes, he’s already staring at you.

“Hi,” You said.

“Hey,” he breathes out, still taking in two much better you look. He’s still trying to delete the image of you in the maze out of his mind, but it might be something he was to live with.

“how do you feel?”

“Like shit,” you answer, “But it’s okay.”

“How are you?”

“Better.”

A silence hangs in the room, it’s heavy and you know what has to be said to clear it.

“I meant what I said.”

“What?”

You roll your eyes, tugging his hand with yours to your chest. “What I said in the maze, I meant it.”

“You said a lot of things in the maze.”

You stare up at the medhut ceiling, breathing out deeply. “I love you, Minho.”

There’s silence, and then, “Look me in the eye and say it.”

You turn to look at him, meeting his eyes with great ease and seeing the tears pool behind him.

“I love you, Minho. I always have.”

He diverts his gaze away from you, eyes falling to the floor before finally meeting yours again, a smile adorning his face.

“I love you too.”

— END —

🏷 Minho Taglist: @emeliii1 @bwndito @remusflirts

[saey-bae]

hc: saeyoung + troubles

so i thought i’d do this hc for all the rfa members in one post but clearly i have issues and it’d be too long for one post so here’s troubles hc numero uno

check out my masterpost here

-x-

sometimes saeyoung simply went... quiet

early on in your relationship, he’d spend the evenings with you laughing and joking around, forgoing his work to spoil you with his most valuable asset: his time

perhaps you’d notice something was wrong -how his smile was too big, how his shoulders were hunched too small- but who were you to ruin the easy atmosphere the two of you had going on? 

the comfort and love he showered you with was so easy to fall into; his smile made it so easy to forget everything else

but when you turned away, you’d catch a glimpse of that smile faltering, corners of his mouth tilting down as if the weight to hold them up was too much

just in that moment, he’d go quiet and you’d wondered what went wrong

nothing went wrong, though, you’d come to conclude after a long several months

learning came slow. it was a steep curve and you were careful behind the wheel

but slowly, you did learn. you learned that when saeyoung went quiet, it meant different things. contemplation. planning. radio silence. sadness. 

the last one was the most difficult for you to accept

though he promised to let you in more, most days saeyoung simply didn’t want to speak about what troubled him

“it’s... nothing for you to worry about,” he’d always say, his golden eyes clouded and pensive for the briefest moment before he’d pull up a distraction. “here, why don’t you play with this tamagotchi? i changed the character so you can take care of me instead!” 

and while you appreciated the gifts, there was a growing pile of electronics settled in the corner of the bunker that mocked you for being unable to decipher your own boyfriend

when you asked him again, it was one of those nights. one of those sleepless ones where he climbed into bed hours after you had. you listened to him shimmy out of his clothes and climb in behind you, the mattress shifting beneath his weight

he turned towards you, cold fingers drawing shapes against your bare back like he usually did once he’d thought you’d fallen asleep

“hey saeyoung?”

“mm? you’re still awake?” his breath warmed the nape of your neck, arm coming around to rest against on your hip now that there was no risk of waking you

“couldn’t sleep.” the blankets rustled with your shrug and you turned to look at him. “can i ask you something?”

taking it as an invitation, he scooted closer to nestle against you, his head tucked under your chin. when he spoke, you felt the rumble of his words against your chest. “what is it?”

“you were quiet today over dinner,” you said, soft. your fingers ran through his hair, cradling. protecting. “is everything okay?”

there was a smile in his voice, but you didn’t miss the way his breath hitched. “a-okay over here! just lots of things to do and not enough time to do them but hey, it’s nothing defender 707 can’t handle!”

"it’s okay if things aren’t okay... you know that right?”

it was strange to hear your own careful, prodding voice against his forcefully cheerful one. your doubt was gentle- you didn’t want him to think it was directed at him  

“like i said, things are a-okay,” he repeated, more quietly this time, though no less upbeat. “you can depend on me, 606! i’ve got it all under control.”

“i trust you. i just- you know you can lean on me, right?” you pressed, tender in the same way that you’d poke a bruise to see if it hurt. “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“i know. i know.” silence fell between the two of you, thick and heavy as it carried the unspoken things the both of you struggled express

it was you who approached it first, though you regretted how the words tumbled from your mouth like you couldn’t hold them back

“i’m so worried about you, saeyoung. sometimes you don’t eat. other times you don’t sleep. you’ve gone weeks without showering before and honestly, some days you look like you’re barely living. then you go all quiet on me when you think i’m not looking and the only answers i can get out of you when i do notice is “i’m fine.” i know you’re not fine and it’s killing me to see you this way. i just want to help. please, please let me help. i love you. i’m here for you. please.”

the silence was different this time. your cards were laid out on the table now, free for him to peruse and scrutinize, and the thought made you nervous

you hadn’t meant to blurt all those things out, but you could hardly take them back now. if anything, your brain was mapping out all the possibilities for damage control

what if you made it worse? what if this came off condescending and demeaning? what if he was angry with you?

what if-

your thoughts paused as you felt liquid heat roll down your collarbone, then came the faint trembling in your arms as saeyoung held you tighter

it was contemplative silence, you realized, drawing him closer until he was pressed flushed against you

it started off slow, warm tears dripping against your skin as he exhaled shakily like he was trying to hold back

the room was quiet once more, occasionally punctuated with sniffles and muffled breaths. you wordlessly drew small circles on his back, pressing kisses to the top of his head

while you wanted to say something, you weren’t sure what could have reassured him more than what you were already doing. how else more could you show him that he was in good hands? that you loved him and you’d always be there for him?

“it’s okay,” you whispered, and you would’ve realized later that that was what broke him

 a sob wracked saeyoung’s body and you held tightly, afraid he’d shatter under the weight of his own sadness

he cried like he’d been wounded, guttural noises spilling from him as he clung to you not unlike a child would

you’re not quite sure how long he cried, nor how long the two of you laid there after he’d finished. but in the time between, he’d taken to drying you off with the blanket, whispering words of apologies and insecurities and sweet nothings to you

and each time, you promised him it was okay and you loved him no matter what happened

you whispered it to him until he slowly stilled in your arms, head coming back to lean up against you once more, and you didn’t stop until you felt his breathing even out, a tell tale sign he’d fallen asleep

he still didn’t quite tell you what was wrong, and perhaps he never would. perhaps you’d only ever be his shoulder to cry on. but from the way he curled into you, lips curved against your skin and shoulders relaxed, this was enough

this was what he needed from you, and you’d be there to answer every time

[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 9

Fake Making-It

Social Media AU

previous chapter

tag list: @allthewayornowayy @wedarkacademia @lockerfivethreefive @yellowballoon @gucciboner @nora-keinwitz @moonskam @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @akucecilia @hischbabe @evaksobbe

~^~

Sander is about to throw up, and it’s no surprise Lucas is laughing at him.

He huffs under his breath from the seat next to Sander, shaking his head as he leans up against the window. They’re already at the cafe Robbe had told Sander they’d be meeting at, have already been here for about fifteen minutes, and Sander is getting more and more antsy by the second. He expects Lucas to be irritated by now, but he seems too amused to be annoyed, bumping Sander’s jiggling leg with his own and giving a fond roll of his eyes.

Lucas doesn’t seem to share any of his nerves at all. He looks like the actual celebrity of this meeting, reclining in the strips of sunlight shining through the window. The silver bracelet on his left wrist and his collection of rings twinkle in it. His curls fall in an artsy mess over his forehead, and the top two buttons of his loose, silky, navy shirt are undone, exposing a triangle of pale skin and the sharp lines of his collarbones.

He looks ready for a night out, or to be the subject of one of his own photoshoots. Not like he’s meeting two relatively famous guys in a quiet, mainstreet cafe.

Sander is wearing a beige sweater with his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. Bleached strands of hair keep dangling in his eyes, and he’s sure there are more sticking up on his head with how often he’s been shoving his hand through them. His lips are tingly from how often he’s been biting them.

He doesn’t look half as put together.

“Why were we so early?” Lucas questions. “They obviously aren’t as eager.”

“Because, there could have been traffic.”

“Twenty minutes of it?”

“Yes.”

Lucas stares at him for a moment then gives another huff, leaning back against the windowsill. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s a job interview,” Sander reminds him. “You’re not supposed to be late for those.”

Lucas holds his hands up in surrender, slouching further in his seat, one arm slung carelessly over the back and the other resting on the table.

Sander taps his foot and resumes his task of staring at the door, only to come face to face with Robbe.

Robbe.

Robbe Ijzermans, manager for musician Jens Stoffels, filmmaker extraordinaire, and love of Sander’s life. That Robbe. Is standing right in front of him.

Lucas kicks him under the table and Sander realises he should probably close his mouth.

Of course he’s gaping. How should he be expected to control himself in the face of an angel? Never in his life has he thought he would end up in the same room as Robbe, but now he’s right here. He stands barely a few feet away from Sander, his hand already resting on the back of the opposite chair. He’s smiling in faint amusement, top teeth digging into his bottom lip in an attempt to hide it. He’s wearing his brown jacket, the one Sander has become familiar with through a year of following him on social media.

He looks more beautiful than Sander ever thought possible.

Even with Jens standing right behind him, flicking his gaze between Sander and Lucas with something suspiciously like nerves.

“Hi,” Lucas says, taking the leap and breaking the silence, instantly earning Jens and Robbe’s attention. “Are these seats alright?”

Robbe’s smile widens, turning friendly as he nods and pulls the seat out to sit down. “Yeah, this is good. Sorry, have we kept you waiting?”

Sander does his best to ignore how Robbe’s feet bump against his before the smaller boy fully settles with his coat thrown over the back of his chair. Sander shakes his head. “No,” he says softly.

Then Robbe turns his eyes on him and his smile widens even further. He sticks his hand out across the table as Jens slips behind him and settles in the seat across from Lucas, dropping his own coat on the windowsill and adjusting his beanie.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” Robbe says, and after a moment Sander realises he’s supposed to shake his hand and return the greeting.

Even Robbe’s hands are beautiful. Small and slim, but strong around Sander’s. Sander holds on for a little longer than necessary. Robbe doesn’t seem to find it odd, still wearing the same smile when Sander snaps out of it enough to say, “You too.”

Robbe holds his hand out to Lucas, and Lucas shakes it easily, and Robbe seems pleased.

Then Jens mimics the gesture, holding his hand out to Lucas, and Lucas raises his brows and asks, “Is the beanie supposed to be a disguise?”

Jens stares at him for a second, then touches the hat on his head, then shakes his head and pulls it off, hastily brushing a hand through his hair. “No.” The single word comes out hoarse. Jens runs his hand through his hair again and clears his throat. “No, it’s just—just cold.”

Lucas hums. He has leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest—a clear indication that he won’t welcome that handshake. Sander bites the inside of his cheek and nudges Lucas’s leg under the table in a silent reminder of their deal. If Lucas behaves during the meeting, Sander will finally clear out the spare room in his flat and build the bed, so Lucas will no longer have to share his.

It doesn’t matter that it’s a win-win for them both for Sander to do it. Lucas is still the one being pissy about it, and Sander has simply used this to his advantage.

“You won’t get recognised here?” Lucas asks, still staring Jens down critically.

“Uh, everyone recognises me here. I live here,” Jens points out. Then he scratches the back of his neck. He seems like he wants to look away from Lucas and yet fear is holding him in place.

Sander resists the urge to drop his head into his hands.

“So you just walk around, wherever you want, not thinking there might be crazy fans or something?”

Jens huffs, smiling slightly now, amused but unsure if he’s allowed to be. “Who do you think I am?”

Lucas simply cocks his head. “I know what fangirls can be like.”

Sander chances a glance at Robbe, who is watching the interaction like a tennis match. He seems entertained, and not upset. Sander supposes he doesn’t have to shut Lucas up yet.

Jens’s smile widens slightly, and he leans on the table now, arms flopping over each other from elbows to hands. “Are you worried about me, or something?”

This is where things could begin to go downhill. Jens has evidently found his confidence, somewhere, and is teasing, as Lucas had claimed he was wont to do. Sander expects that Lucas will retaliate in kind.

Instead, Lucas frowns slightly, looking entirely serious as he leans himself on the table as well. “I’m worried for Sander and myself. Did you even consider that you could put Robbe in danger?”

Jens flushes slightly, shrinking back with a glance at his friend, before raising his brows at Lucas. “Are we supposed to be hiring you as bodyguard instead, or something?”

Now Lucas bristles.

Robbe sets a hand on Jens’s shoulder and squeezes, and Sander stares at the point of contact with something revolting in his gut. “Okay, speaking of hiring. Should we talk about why we’re here now that...most of us have been introduced?”

Jens slumps back in his seat with his gaze dropping and Robbe squeezes his shoulder again. Sander feels sick. He wishes he hadn’t asked Lucas to come. He wishes he’d asked Robbe if they could have a one-on-one meeting first. He wishes he’d approached Robbe on his own, any time in the past year, when he could have been open with his feelings and Robbe could have rejected him politely. Upfront.

Now he’s supposed to work with him. Professionally. A situation not made for personal feelings and affairs.

It’s just that, Robbe already seems detached from those rules, considering his multi-relationship with Jens. He has been so friendly with Sander since that first message. This had seemed like the perfect opportunity, for Sander to get close to and impress the other man at once.

Instead he’s watching Robbe smile so fondly at Jens that he expects to see heart eyes.

How is Sander supposed to gain his attention when a talented musician, whom Robbe has known for years, already dominates it?

“I can reassure you both too that Jens is right,” Robbe says quickly, when none of them respond to his question. He directs most of his attention to Lucas. “Everyone knows us and we know everyone. We chose this cafe too because it’s run by friends. Perfectly safe, I promise.”

Lucas pumps his eyebrows in acknowledgment and then leans back in his seat again, silenced for the moment. Sander is appeased by the realisation that he’s at least kind enough not to interrogate or argue with Robbe.

Sander clears his throat and tries not to falter as Robbe looks at him again. “So are there contracts, or something?”

“Uh, not yet,” Robbe flushes. “That’s something we could draw up together, a separate one for each of you depending on if you’re interested. But we really just want to discuss what you are interested in. If our ideas match up with yours. We’re not looking for any legally-binding, long-term commitments, just genuine collaborations. Something mutually beneficial.”

Lucas snorts, then seems apologetic for it as he flicks his gaze to Sander. Still, he has earned the attention of Jens again, so he says, “Because we should be grateful to work with someone of your status?”

Robbe frowns, now, and for the briefest moment Sander allows himself to hate his friend. Robbe seems to be searching for a response, already shaking his head, but it’s Jens who speaks up.

“Of course not. It’s no question that I’d be getting the most benefits from working with either of you. You might actually make me look good,” he jokes. He also looks so nervous that Sander considers he might not be joking.

Then he decides it’s probably just because Lucas has gone back to staring him down.

“Why don’t you look for actual modeling gigs?” Lucas presses. Sander detects a tiny bit of genuine curiosity under the accusation.

Jens licks his lips, shrugging slightly. “I have,” he admits. “And I did get some offers, a while ago, but they were either super weird or pure monopoly or both. That’s not the kind of thing I want. The work you do...it’s genuine.”

This makes Lucas pause. “Genuine?”

Sander should have known. He would never get a chance to speak to Robbe like this. He is, however, getting the chance to stare at him in peace. He takes in those soft curls, doe eyes, pouty lips, as Robbe remains oblivious, returned to the tennis match next to them.

“Yeah. I mean, you actually have a passion for it. You have to, to do something self-run like that, I know. It’s obvious you have your own vision, your own ideas, your own vibe, and you’re dedicated. Self-made, like me. And I mean, you use recycled clothing and everything, right? And you base yourself on it. You don’t try to come off as expensive or whatever. You just do you. And that, I mean you—you’re crazy fucking talented to top it off.”

The silence that follows this little speech is rather loud. Enough so to make Jens embarrassed, at least, as he scratches at the back of his neck again and colour floods his cheeks. He had even managed to draw Sander’s attention away from Robbe and his growing grin, too surprised to ignore it any longer, and while that seems the most impossible thing, Jens has also gone a step further.

He has rendered Lucas entirely speechless.

Sander watches his friend as he simply blinks, staring at Jens with parted lips, utterly absent of any comebacks. There might even be a little red in his cheeks. Sander has learned recently that Lucas is weird about semi-famous musicians, but he’s always been aware of Lucas’s inability to take compliments.

Mixing the two seems to have broken him.

Robbe pinches Jens’s cheek and Sander’s attention snaps back to him, takes in his wide grin and the teasing glint in his eyes, and feels the touch pinch at his own heart. “Bet you didn’t think to worry that Jens himself is the stalker,” Robbe says to Lucas.

Jens bats him away with an ease borne only by familiarity. Sander wants to climb across the table and settle himself between them and find out what that touch feels like. Take it for himself. Become that familiar.

The more distant Robbe seems, the more Sander wants.

He wants this. Exactly this. Robbe’s warm smile and easy touch, his familiarity and his fondness. He wants it. He wants what very clearly isn’t his.

He wants to leave. He wants the floor to swallow him whole.

Where has his confidence gone? His surety? All this time, he has known. From somewhere deep down, from an inexplicable place, he’s felt it. There’s something about Robbe that speaks to him. That reels him in. That is made especially for Sander.

He can feel it. Has always felt in. Even now it’s there, a force he can’t ignore, holding him in Robbe’s orbit.

Robbe isn’t even looking at him.

Still, Sander feels completely unmoored.

Oddly enough, Lucas seems to be in the same boat.

He’s still staring at Jens, at a loss, and Sander is becoming more and more concerned by the minute. Lucas isn’t usually one to struggle with finding words, or to hold back, but now he seems to be doing both. Eventually, he comes up with, “Are you interested in fashion?”

Sander looks at Jens’s hoodie and jeans combo and barely holds back a snort.

Robbe doesn’t bother to, but he then covers his mouth with his hand and shares a look with Sander. Cheeks dimpled, eyes twinkling, faintly apologetic. Sander’s heart flutters and flops in his chest.

Jens flushes in response. “I might not be an artist the same way that you are, but I know something good when I see it. And your work is good.”

Lucas seems to falter again. Then he gathers himself. “But you’re not actually interested in any of it,” he presses. “So why are you so set on working with me?”

“I believe in taking a shot.” Jens shrugs, even as his blush deepens and he sinks down in his seat. “Seizing every opportunity.”

“So it’s about the money,” Lucas says.

Jens instantly shakes his head. “No. It has nothing to do with that. None of this does. I don’t make music for money in the first place. It’s not about that or publicity or whatever else you’re thinking.” He pauses for a moment, then glances at Robbe, who gives him an encouraging nod. Jens nods back, swallows, and leans towards Lucas again, resting on the table. “It is about building myself. I won’t deny that. I want to be able to make a successful career out of music, and deals like this benefit that. Promotional shit, branching out. I never really wanted to do any of that, because I hate all these business politics and contracts and shares or whatever the fuck everyone looks for. I didn’t want to work with anyone who just did it to do it. I try to be as honest as I can with everything I do and I want to work with people who have the same values. I saw that in you.” He spares a glance towards Sander. “Both of you.”

Sander smiles, shooting a look at Lucas as he places a hand over his heart. “It’s nice to be included.”

Lucas’s lips twitch as Jens begins to stutter, but Robbe interrupts by leaning up next to him. Towards Sander.

Robbe smiles, placating, instantly grabbing all of his attention with his sweet expression. “Sorry,” he laughs slightly. “We just assumed Lucas would want more convincing. Jens spent a lot of time preparing his pitch.”

Jens slumps back in his chair and mutters, “That’s not true.”

Sander hears Lucas huff, but it’s Robbe’s fond smile he’s once again focused on. Robbe directs the smile back over his shoulder, at Jens, and teases, “No, of course not. It’s just natural charm.”

“And it’s very cruel of you to suggest otherwise,” Jens agrees, relaxing a little now as his lips finally twitch in a smile. He shoots a glance at Lucas. “Is it working?”

Sander finally offers his own friend some more attention, though not all of it. He still has a little focus on Robbe, out of the corner of his eye. He can’t quite draw himself away completely. The longer he looks, the harder it gets.

Everything becomes more desirable, he supposes, when you realise it’s something you can’t have.

Lucas bites his lip and looks to Sander, who simply raises his brows. It’s answer enough to him, makes him sure that it is working, and Lucas just doesn’t want to admit it, to any of them. He lets a heavy breath out through his nose and turns to Robbe. “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm to discuss what the deal would entail.”

Sander knows it’s already a yes, and going by Jens’s grin, he does too. He supposes getting Lucas to agree to that much either way is a win in itself.

Jens and Robbe both certainly take it as one, growing relieved and twice as friendly all at once. Robbe immediately goes into a spiel over the main details, rhyming off what they’d expect and what they’re offering in return with only a few questioning glances towards Jens here and there. From what Sander gathers, they’re ready to pay him to help out with Jens’s promotional work, but the situation with Lucas is somewhat more complicated.

“No, I get that,” Lucas admits. “If you were asking me to design something specifically for you then it would be different, but if it’s just to promote my line then I’m usually the one doing the hiring and paying.”

Robbe nods, suddenly all business. Sander shouldn’t find it as endearing or attractive as he does, especially considering he has already had a number of conversations with Robbe in this exact fashion.

All their conversations have been for business, Sander supposes, or just Robbe being nice. Buttering up a potential coworker.

Sander shoves the thought away and swallows down the bitterness that comes with it.

“We get if that doesn’t exactly help our appeal,” Robbe assures Lucas. He spares one of his glances towards Jens. “Which is why we were actually interested in asking you to design something for us. Not really anything out of your usual, but just with a small addition that would signify Jens. It would only have to be a couple of items. I’m sure Sander is capable of working some photo magic and getting a bunch of great shots out of one outfit.”

Sander lets the compliment seep through him, accepts Robbe’s smile with one of his own as warmth spreads through his chest and softens him up. It’s impossible not to like Robbe when he says things like this, looking like that.

Lucas seems more hesitant. “I usually do my own shoots. Unless I’m modeling it myself or doing a collaboration.” He gestures at Sander.

Jens perks up again. “Wait. So most of the pics on your page, they’re your own?���

Lucas looks to him with a raised brow, faintly amused. As subtle as it is, it’s a stark shift from his earlier indifference that had bordered on irritation. “In all your stalking you didn’t see the ‘photographer’ description in my bio?”

“Uh, no,” Jens admits. “I kind of zoned that bit out, I guess.”

“So really, you could just hire me,” Lucas says, shooting Sander one of his cheekiest smiles.

“No,” Robbe admonishes, still smiling, turning placatingly to Sander again. “We’re super happy to work with you both. There’s no problem with splitting the photography load, Lucas, if you want to do your own. We’re hiring Sander in the first place for the promotional work for the album, after all.”

“Are you releasing an actual album?” Sander questions, impressed. So far, Jens had released a couple of singles and an EP, but less than ten songs overall. An album could be double that.

Jens smiles slightly, nodding. “That’s why we’re reaching out right now, yeah. Months of writing and recording and other behind the scenes shit finally getting to the stage where we have something to promote,” he huffs.

“Nice,” Sander approves. He might be dealing with a rather intense level of jealousy over the other man, but he can’t deny such an achievement. Sander has always been a music lover himself. He found Robbe through Jens, after all.

“We’ll get some sneak previews of it,” Robbe grins, sitting back to nudge Jens’s side. It’s clear that he’s already had a front row seat to all of it. He turns back to Sander and Lucas with an even wider smile. “It’s amazing, honestly.”

Jens flushes, nudging him back, starting a mini battle between them, and something hot and sharp spikes in Sander’s stomach.

He tosses his arm over the back of Lucas’s chair and smirks, trying to regain some of his usual cool, trying to convince himself to speak. “Lucas hasn’t heard any of it.”

Robbe blinks, surprised as he looks to Lucas, and Sander suddenly regrets speaking without focusing the attention on himself.

Jens seems disappointed, but he brushes it off with professional grace. “Not everyone has,” he says simply, offering a smile that looks somewhat tight.

Lucas’s lips work for a second as he shoots Sander a dark glare, and he argues, “I hadn’t before, but I have listened to it.”

Jens brightens, leaning forward and tilting his head. “Which song?”

“What do you mean?” Lucas raises a brow. “I said I’ve listened to it.”

It takes a moment for understanding to sink in, and then Jens’s eyes widen, pleased. “All of it?”

“When?” Sander demands, equally surprised.

“Last night. You only have eight songs on your Spotify, it didn’t take long.” Lucas looks between them all, Sander’s amusement and Jens’s delight and Robbe’s gentle smile, and blushes. “What? I wanted to see if it was the kind of vibe I was even interested in working with.” He focuses in on Jens. “You’re not the only one capable of doing your research.”

Jens grins. “I’m flattered.”

Sander snorts, tugging at the back of Lucas’s hair, and Lucas brushes him away as his blush begins to fade. He’s saved from any further embarrassment by the buzz of his phone, which he pulls out and only gives a brief glance at before stiffening.

He curses under his breath and looks at Sander apologetically before showing him the screen. It takes a moment for Sander to make out the message, a request to call Lucas, and then another to notice the contact. Lucas’s mother only reaches out in such a way when she deems it a last resort. “I have to go handle this,” he says quietly, and Sander nods, knowing he couldn’t possibly have the heart to argue.

“You’re leaving already?” Jens questions, even more disappointed than before.

Lucas offers them both a smile that’s more a simple pursing of lips. “Sorry, really. Family emergency. But I’m interested, in working with you. Sander can pass on whatever details you all work out. Is that okay?”

Robbe instantly nods, smile soft and understanding. “Of course. We can contact you directly if there’s anything important?”

Lucas murmurs an agreement, then stuffs his phone in his pocket and turns back to Sander. He presses an apologetic kiss to his cheek, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze as he stands and lifts his denim jacket from the back of his chair. He offers Robbe and Jens another brief glance. “It was nice to meet you both, and I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

They both nod, and Robbe returns Lucas’s goodbye, watching after him as he shrugs on his jacket and heads for the door. Jens, however, lingers on Sander and the spot Lucas had vacated until Sander catches his gaze and he hastily looks away.

Robbe turns back to them and raps his hands on the table, then reaches up to squeeze Jens’s shoulder. “Okay. How about we discuss the rest over actual food? You look in need of some fries.”

“And a burger,” Jens agrees.

Robbe huffs and raises a brow at Sander, tilting his head towards the counter. “Do you want to come order with me?”

“Oh.” Sander blinks. They’ve been sitting here long enough now that he should be accustomed to Robbe’s smile already. He’s been looking at it for a year before now. It shouldn’t throw him the way it does. It’s not so surprising that the offer to have a moment with Robbe alone makes his stomach flip. “Yeah, sure.”

Robbe’s smile widens as he twists his legs out from under the table, but Jens catches his arm before he can get up. Sander has already risen, and he lingers next to the table awkwardly, watching how easily Robbe succumbs to the touch, leaning back towards the musician like a moth called to a flame. He keeps watching as Robbe leans right in, tilting their heads together, and Jens whispers something quiet that makes him flush, shaking his head with a tiny laugh before he gets up along with Sander.

Robbe doesn’t even look at him on the way to the counter, and then he rests on the wood and keeps his gaze forward with his smile still in place. It would be fine, normal, for Robbe not to be looking, if Sander was able to draw his own gaze away. But he’s staring, blatantly, and he thinks Robbe’s flush may have darkened slightly, but he hasn’t given any real indication that he has even noticed.

Sander might as well still be looking at him through a screen.

The realisation hits very suddenly that he isn’t, because he realises he can feel him. Robbe’s presence next to him is a tangible thing, radiating warmth. There’s a faint scent wafting from him and invading Sander’s senses, a mixture of an aftershave Sander recognises and something else intrinsically Robbe. Sander wants to get closer and figure out what it is, breath him in until he can call up the smell from memory. He wants too much. All things he’s quickly realising he can’t have.

He urges himself to say something now, to take this one big chance, to make an impression. To leave an imprint, at the very least.

Robbe beats him to it.

“Sorry, really,” he says, finally turning to look at Sander with a sheepish smile. “This probably wasn’t what you were expecting to get out of the meeting.”

Sander hadn’t really been expecting anything, but he’s been wanting. All he ever wanted to get out of this was Robbe. He doesn’t care about the job, the contracts, the money. He cares about the harsh thump of his heart, the raucous roar of his pulse, the yearning stemming straight from his soul at the mere sight of those eyes on him.

It’s ridiculous and impossible, to have feelings like this for someone he doesn’t even know. But he knows Robbe in a way that doesn’t require any actual knowledge, any facts or details, interactions or memories. Sander’s very being recognises Robbe, responds to the light buried in the man’s chest with a hopeful flicker of its own.

It leaves Sander swallowing down the ball of emotion in his throat before he can manage to smile, shrug, and speak. “It’s not over yet. Anyway, it was weirdly entertaining to watch Lucas slowly realise he was running out of arguments.”

Robbe huffs a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve seen Jens determined, but that was something else,” he agrees. “I don’t really know what’s up with the whole thing, but I think he’s just really worried, you know? The album feels like the actual start of things and he’s just constantly thinking of what could go wrong, I guess.”

“So is this almost like a distraction, or something?” Sander asks, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to keep Robbe talking to him.

“Maybe,” Robbe hums, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to Sander with another smile. “I’m happy about it either way.”

Sander blinks, heart racing. He tells himself he shouldn’t ask. “You are?”

Robbe shrugs, smile widening. “Of course. More fun and less stress in my future now, too.”

“Really? I would’ve thought all this organising and hiring and everything is more work for you.”

“Well, maybe it is.” Robbe shrugs again, crossing his arms over each other atop the counter. “But you and Lucas don’t seem like you’ll make it difficult.”

“Lucas doesn’t seem difficult?” Sander raises his brows.

Robbe laughs, then raises his brows back, pursing his lips and widening his eyes in an exaggerated expression of exasperation. “No more so than Jens.”

Sander’s humorous mood slips and leaves him biting his lip. “You do a lot for him,” he says, and it’s as much a question as a statement.

“Yeah, well, like I said. He needs a little guidance sometimes.” Robbe grins. “He’s not that difficult, most of the time, and even then he’s still Jens. I know what he’s like and what to expect, which I guess is more than most people can say honestly.”

They could leave it there. Sander has no reason to push any further. He doesn’t even know what he’s pushing for. “And it never bothers you? That idea of his fame?”

Robbe shrugs, biting his lip. “He deserves it, and I know he’d never leave me behind, so. It’s a little scary sometimes, because it involves working with a lot of scary people and having even scarier fans sometimes, but,” he pauses, glancing over his shoulder again. His face softens completely, eyes brimming over with it, and Sander’s heart crawls into his throat and threatens to choke him. Robbe turns back to him with the faintest but warmest smile. “But I love him, so.”

Sander’s heart splinters. A jagged piece cuts through his vocal chords, rendering him momentarily speechless, before everything clatters uselessly back into his chest and leaves him offering an empty smile. He tells himself that it’s no different. He could say he loves Lucas, and it wouldn’t mean anything heartbreaking.

But when Robbe says it, that’s how it feels. Robbe says it like he means it.

Robbe says it in the way Sander hoped he’d one day say it about him.

He’s saved from having to answer when a cashier finally makes her way over to them and apologizes for the delay. Sander can barely acknowledge her, but Robbe offers an easy smile and places his and Jens’s orders, and then turns to Sander. Sander fumbles out something and now finds himself entirely unable to look at Robbe.

He’s only able to once Robbe pats his pockets and then curses under his breath, blushing slightly as he glances at Sander from underneath his lashes. “Forgot that my wallet’s in my jacket.”

Sander just gives a gentle huff and a smile as Robbe walks back to the table. Jens looks up at him with furrowed brows, then laughs and sets his hand on Robbe’s arm, saying something as he rises from his seat. Robbe rolls his eyes, but drops back into his seat as Jens squeezes his shoulder and slips out around him, coming to join Sander at the till.

Sander quickly looks straight ahead again, even as Jens attempts to offer him a smile. He’s a lot taller than Sander expected, and he hates how small it makes him feel. He suddenly understands what Lucas has been warning him about.

“Sorry, about not even introducing myself properly,” Jens says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Sander glances at him. “That’s fine. I mean, I know who you are, so.”

Jens huffs a laugh, nodding in acceptance. “Okay, cool. I promise I’ll be more into it now. I don’t actually know why I was so nervous,” he laughs again, nervously. “It’s just, meetings. Professional shit. Professional people.”

Sander’s lips twitch. He doesn’t like it, but he likes Jens. He always has. He can’t quite bring himself to be angry or anything close, but jealousy still rages in him. “Not your thing?”

“Nope,” Jens admits with an easy shrug. “I usually let Robbe do the talking. He’s better with the whole people thing. Friendly.”

“Yeah,” Sander agrees, quietly. “I can see that.”

Jens’s lips purse, and then he’s bumping Sander’s shoulder with his own. “I think we’re more alike. You didn’t really seem to mind Lucas taking over the talking. You were pretty quiet.”

Sander shakes his head. “Usually I’m not, but I was nervous, too, I guess. And tired.”

“Not settled in yet?” Jens questions, brows furrowed.

“Not really,” Sander huffs. “Lucas is a restless sleeper.”

“Oh.” Something unreadable takes over Jens’s expression for a second, and then he looks away. For a moment he’s silent, and Sander thinks that’s it, but then Jens swallows and purses his lips and speaks again. “I didn’t realise you were together.”

For a split second, Sander is confused. Then he realises what Jens means, what he thinks Sander implied, and then he wants to laugh. He should laugh. Because it’s wrong, it’s so wrong, that it is actually funny, and Sander should clear things up immediately.

But.

Everything becomes more desirable when you realise it’s something you can’t have.

He stares at Jens blankly, then with a furrowed brow and parted lips, and then the cashier returns with their food. Jens pays for everything before looking back at Sander questioningly, and then Sander does the really stupid thing.

He says, “Oh, yeah.”

~^~

next chapter

[undertaker1827]

Hi can you do Undertaker with William half-sister and unlike her brother loves a good laugh and scaring others? Ps I love your blog ❤

Ooo yes of course!! Sorry this took so long and thank you!!

Masterlist

-

The first time you met Undertaker, you had met William in the human world whilst he was on a reaping trip. You had watched from the shadows, hardly able to keep a straight face as your stoic half-brother produced a business card and handed it over to a demon, begrudgingly bowing as he did so. The demon discarded it immediately and you made your presence known as William stepped back, right on the head of a red-headed colleague. As the other reaper started muttering about how terrible having to apologise to a demon was, you simply couldn’t keep your laughter in check any longer. You staggered forward, striking green eyes lined with tears as you clapped a hand on your brother’s arm, ignoring the dirty side glance he gave you. However, you did notice the briefest glint of surprise cross the demon’s features when the other reaper made no move to step away from you. Given that you also had no desire to talk to him, you left soon after William did, only to run straight into a horse and carriage.

As soon as the driver jumped down to stand tall in front of you, you knew immediately he was a reaper. You told him as much, albeit quietly, lest anyone was around. He let out a cackle followed by a wicked grin.

“Usually takes ‘em longer than that,” he started, voice gradually dropping in timbre and loosing the slightly raspy, lilting tone it had originally. “Who might you be then, hm?” You gave him your name and he returned the favour, pointing out he was aware that you too were a reaper. That sparked a long conversation, during which you accompanied Undertaker to his finally destination, which turned out to be where you had just come from. The body of the woman in red needed to be collected, her soul having already been taken. Evidently, Undertaker knew everything that had come to pass - how exactly, you weren’t sure - and from the moment you cracked a joke at William’s expense and had both collapsed in laughter, you just seemed to get on really well.

Given the family relation, you often saw William when he was on business in the human world where you resided and you also spent more and more time with Undertaker, making run-ins with the demon butler and his earl annoyingly frequent. You ribbed Ciel endlessly over his height, joining the mortician in turning everything into a joke and insisting on being present for Undertaker’s ‘payments’, laughing just as quickly and almost as much as he did. You started being seen together so often that the mortician’s regulars would ask what had happened if you weren’t there.

Something else you quickly picked up from Undertaker was the art of terrifying people half to death. The other reaper had done it to you every time you went to his parlour in the beginning, and whilst you couldn’t prevent yourself from screaming whenever he did, no matter how much you came to expect it, it certainly didn’t stop you from pranking him in return. You copied his habit of hiding in coffins, jumping out whenever he entered the room and receiving a decent black eye the first time when his reflexes kicked in and he lashed out by accident, thinking you were an intruder. However, deterred you were not, and a full out prank war escalated from then on.

Replacing sugar with salt and swapping normal pepper for cayenne was only the beginning. More elaborate designs included buckets of flour and treacle, containers of variously dyed water replacing ink pots and sticking false covers onto the books lining the shop walls and then mixing up their order as well. The last one took you eons, but it was worth it to hear Undertaker’s confused muttering from the next room when he went to get a book for the earl to help him solve London’s latest string of murders only to arrive with a recipe collection detailing the pros and cons of frying in oil. You also stuck googly eyes on all of the items currently in your fridge at the time and one of his funniest to date was when he rushed into the kitchen, not-so-fake blood running down his face and over one eye to announce he had been assaulted (“Ah-salt-ed, get it, love?!”) whilst brandishing a salt pot at you.

On the rare occasion that William dared to enter the shop with both of you in it, usually something to do with the earl’s demon, he made his opinion on your pranking escapades quite clear. He couldn’t wrap his head around how two fully grown beings such as yourselves could act so childishly and you poking fun at him for it only made the situation worse. One time, your half-brother hit you so hard over the back of the head that you thought you would get a concussion. Undertaker, of course, was no help whatsoever, tears streaming down his face and quite literally in a heap on the floor.

It did the job and shut you up long enough for William to get his point across, but from then on and in retaliation, you ensured to center as many pranks as possible on William.

In your collective opinion, the best one you had managed was your most recent. William has been utterly exhausted from work, having not slept in about three days straight and running on nothing other than far too much caffeine. He’s intended to quickly speak to you over some small matter then leave. By what can only be described as a miracle, you and Undertaker had convinced him to stay for tea, under the pretence of trying to balance out his coffee intake, and he’d taken off his jacket. Which you promptly stole whilst your accomplice distracted him. When he left, your brother was too tired to do much as notice the slight smell coming from it, but even if he had you doubted he would have thought twice about it.

The next time you saw him it was the middle of the following night and he was beyond furious. He flew into the parlour, startling you both from the extended hug you had been sharing and all but throwing said item of clothing in your faces. Immediately, you started laughing, as in the half dark of the front room, the clashing pink and green glow in the dark paint you had covered the jacket in showed up almost perfectly and of course you knew full well that William did most of his reaping in the human world at night. Even with the decidedly painful consequences of your choice, the thought of your ever serious half brother actually wearing it, complete with a smiley face daubed brilliantly across the back, made it worth it a hundred times over.

Simultaneously, your prank war with Undertaker was still going on, in spite of your half-brother’s ever increasing complaints. Once, you even managed to draw a smirk from Sebastian Michælis, to the horror of the earl, who insisted they leave immediately. You and the mortician had giggled like schoolgirls for hours after that one. You ended up with quite the reputation as pranksters, in both the human and reapers worlds, much to your collective delight.

[spacemilkies]

Hello there! Since you said I could send in requests here we go! I was wondering if you could do a a Cal fic where you were friends before Order 66 happened but after you two were separated due to being in hiding and Order 66. Then on one of his adventures Cal finds you and it’s like an adorable reunion for the two of you and then you two kiss and it’s kinda like “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time” thanks I hope this works!

pairing: cal kestis x reader

word count: 6k+ (phew)

summary: “ all that mattered was each other “

a/n: it feels good to finally complete a request after a good drought. i hope you enjoy! thanks for requesting c:

                                                      _______________________

It was really something to say that you were a Jedi. Not just to boast about the otherworldly powers and the connection it threaded you with the Force. For you, it was a feeling like no other. To have the ability to not only protect yourself but to bring some sort of salvation to the rest of the galaxy against the First Order. 

It was a grand feeling for someone as young as yourself at the time. 

It was also a short lived one. 

You were still at the Temple, fresh into your abilities as a Jedi when the Clone Wars began. After living years under the safety of known peace it was jarring to suddenly be thrust into the fierce uncertainty of war. The news began as distant stories, brief recalling of your brethren fighting the good fight with Clone allies. 

For the first time in your life since discovering your sensitivity with the Force as an infant the Temple suddenly felt like less of a covenant and more of a fortress. A wall of defense to protect the rising Jedi so they may soon bring hope to the failing war and draw it to a close. 

As one of the older students, it wouldn’t be long before you would soon find yourself on the opposite side of the barrier.

It was natural to feel fear, a necessary emotion to show that you were thoughtful about what the future held and how your impact could change it. It bred into cautiousness and prompted the call for consciousness so that one did not fall short of their expectations.

A commandment of the Jedi Code fortifies that mindset by reminding one that there is no ignorance, there is knowledge. To only move forward, a young Jedi must first know its surroundings so that they can make the right step forward. 

Still it didn’t make it any less jarring. 

“Master Udu told me I might find you up here.”

You stiffen briefly, your arms tightening around the legs drawn to your chest as your shaken out of your thoughts. For the longest it has just been you and the two moons above you on your place of meditation on the hillside. It goes without saying that you had not exactly relayed such information before departing but very few masters were unable to keep up with their apprentices. 

From here you can see into the villages below. There is a multitude of individuals milling about on the streets, carting their belongings too and fro. Hardly any of their movements are rushed, not one gait altered by the implications of terror. 

By now everyone is aware of the war and its progress, yet for this village its as if the very possibility of it affecting their lifestyle doesn’t even factor as a possibility. You know their proximity to the Temple and assurance of several Jedi backing it up has something to do with it. But those Jedi are you. 

You and all your classmates who have their own doubts. 

All these people. The galaxy. Are all relying on you. 

And that’s enough to ignite true horror. 

The footsteps behind you are slow and even as your current state of mind is vocalized and in need of caution. An impossibly warm body eventually settles beside you, long legs curling under them as they lean back. It’s unnecessary, but the sight of bright ginger hair accented by the moonlight gives you all the identification you need. 

“And you took that as an invitation?”

If he takes your words to be crude, he doesn’t show it. Instead he too takes the time to observe the bodies moving below. “I didn’t realize it was a private party.”

It was determined rather early after your initial meeting that Cal Kestis would become your best friend. As most codes were written into the stars, it was just another predestined thing for two likened souls. Attracted by your mutual ambitions and pinchent for trouble, most of your years were just naturally spent together. 

Some of it was sort of due to the fact that your masters had also been acquainted since the coming of time. 

For that reason, and many like it, you knew that he was no more offended by your words than you meant for them to be. To make a point, rather than be pushed away, he only leaned in closer. 

Your body rocked softly as his shoulder nudged yours upon impact. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you give up your resolve and turn to hide your face into his neck. 

Cal doesn’t speak just yet, instead bringing an arm around to draw you in closer. Yoo many minutes pass for you too keep count before you finally break the silence. 

Your fingers fumble in your lap, nimble limbs entangling with each other without purpose. “Are you scared?”

Cal lets out a puff of air that curls outward from the cold. His gaze has lifted to the sky now, distracted by something flicking across in the infinite darkness. He knows what you’re referring to but he makes the jest anyway. “ Of Madam N’lie catching us out after hours? I would be stupid not too.”

As expected, you don’t take the joke lightly and his hands dart to catch yours before you can retaliate. What you don’t expect is for him to hold onto them tighter when you try to separate from the grasp. 

You watch, enraptured as his larger calloused hands tease apart your fist to give his own fingers room to weave between the gaps of yours. He brings them both to his mouth, offering a few heated pants to warm them up.

“It’s okay to be scared. Hell, we all are regardless of what Deaton says.”

If you and Cal were mischievous, the absent mentioned party could only be described as callous. Fueled by his own pride, he was one of the more confident apprentices in his own abilities. He often spoke the loudest and provided the most opinions when it came to strategies. When the time came he would run headfirst into battle. 

As first, you found the notion too headstrong and ignorant. But in the face of fear, what wasn’t better to be blinded by boldness?

Especially if you were going to get killed anyway?

“It’s going to be tough, yeah. There is no doubt that the war will be at its peak when we arrive. People will die-” Your breath hitches and he responded swiftly with a kiss to your crown. “But you will live on. I promise you that.”

The way he’s twisting your fingers is awkward, but you realize what he’s attempting to manipulate and your pinky aids the struggle by wrapping around his. A childish gesture but a lifelong commitment. 

You couldn’t admit it, but in that moment, for the briefest of time, your heart felt like it might burst. And you were okay with it. Because if it did come a time for you to finally pass on. If it could be done at your best friend’s side, maybe it wouldn’t be so scary after all.

                                                     _______________________

You’re in pain. So much pain. But you’ll soon meet death if you don’t wisen up quick. Because you’re alone and you don’t know where your allies are- where he is- and you would not accept defeat until you were certain. 

The ground is scorched and scarred by the wrath of the lightsabers, many battles before your own. Now you’ve officially made your mark in the war. Not only by the burned line in the ground but equally by the bodies covering them. 

The rendezvous point isn’t far, but communications are down and you’re not sure if its even safe anymore. No one wanted to admit it, but they were losing. Terribly. In the many numbers you’d lost, too many faces were familiar and the ache was growing in your heart. 

Order 66 was the reckoning of the very Jedi populace and its unrelenting force would draw the conflict to a close just by sheer annihilation. 

The crunch of incoming infantry men fatigues you more than it drives your fire for survival, yet you ignite your lightsaber regardless. It’s a brutal fight. They all are. It’s an endless cycle as you parry, roll away and come back just a little bit weaker than before. 

You Are littered with contusions and lacerations deep enough to scar if you lived long enough for them to heal properly. You’re past the bring of exhaustion now, saber piecing the ground as you lean against its handle. Breathing in and out harshly, you inhale a mixture of earth and blood. A familiar taste to you now. 

By the time your ears catch up to the quickened pace heading your way, you’re too late to react in time. Your body nearly gives away as you stumble to your feet. 

“I’m so glad I found you! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It sounds like Cal but you’re unable to differentiate between between now and the last time you spoke to him. It seems right that you would hear him now, so close to death. Your gaze is dull and heavy, unable to fully raise high enough to see his face- you think you see a wisp of red though. It’s enough you think. 

Who cares if the Force is playing tricks on you, as long as its him. 

“Hey, Cal … I think.” the cough that racks your body hurts. It hurts so bad as it rattles your lungs and threatens your bruised ribs that might even be broken. Your head spins as you feel your body being lifted and you know this is it. You’re finally ascending. 

“No, no no! Hey, stay with me okay.”

The Force really had a grasp on your memories of him. He sounds as determined as always, stubborn to a fault. You want him to know that you’re okay with this. Happy to at least be given this moment, even if its not real. 

You wish you had enough strength to touch his face. Would your hand connect or just fall through the vision?

You try anyway, pleased when it grants you this much. The hand finds the cut of his jaw, slick with sweat or blood you don’t know. It guides his face down- not as close as you want- but enough to catch the turn of his lips. You wish they would flip the other way. Grace you with one last smile. 

“I really hope … that the Force lets you hear this one day because I-”

There are more voices now, way too many of them as they swarm you from all angles. Your ‘Cal’ curses vulgarly and you wonder why he’s worried at all, it’s all over now. He draws away from your touch before you can protest and you hear the tell tale sound of a lightsaber activating.

This was it then.

But not before you-

He calls your name one last time, desperate with an emotion you weren’t aware that you had stored in your memories. 

Then it all went black. And you’re left to float in the abyss. 

‘I think I love you.’

                                                     _______________________

“Phew, I don’t know what we would do without those Jedi mind tricks of yours.”

Well for one, you’d all be dead. You certainly should have been all those years prior. Staying back briefly, you take the opportunity to catch your breath as your companions leaf through the newly revealed ruins. 

It had taken a lot of planning to make it here before the Order a feat that thad been evading most of the galaxy for quite some time. Even then, you wouldn’t be surprised to find the entire planet littered with their white uniforms by the time you made it out. 

It was a pretty good indicator that if you managed to tire yourself out by testing your connection with the Force, it was likely that you would be discovered by it. Fortunately, it seemed that these archives favored Jedi and your enemies would have to wait until you emerge or risk falling prey to the various traps and puzzles. You just hoped you would get a nice enough break before tackling that conflict. 

In order to survive, however, these conquest often required more on your part than most. When you first come across the band of scavengers and their rickety ship, it hadn’t been the most gracious meeting. That day was still hazy, some odd five years ago, but from your best knowledge and your recognition they had just found you. 

Badly patched up and barely breathing just short of the next village. The worrying part was that you were found on a planet far from the last one you remembered fighting on. From what they could tell you, the war was just about done by that point. Not that it surprised you. 

What hurt was knowing that the Jedi had all but vanished with it. 

For years you’d scoured the networks for any indication of your brethren surviving- of him still being alive. But all clues lead to the complete purge of the order. 

In the beginning of your time together, they had been doubtful of your heritage. Likely for the best as you were injured and in the midst of strangers. It was very apparent at the beginning that they had a habit of selling things off to the highest bidder. Your life alone would have made them richer than most of the galaxy. Still could. 

You suppose the truth eventually came at the trade of saving one of their lives by utilizing stasis to pause a beam in its tracks. It became a test of trust in that moment when their gratitude overcame their greed. 

That had really been it after that. 

Once a Jedi apprentice, you were reduced to a mere pirate that used the Force for cheap tricks to rob the departed. 

Wouldn’t your late master be proud. 

Still deflated by your exertion, you laughed humorlessly as the Twi'lek, Gran and human trio that made up the bandits of four pillaged through the remains. Previous trials had taught you to limit greed over time. 

While you couldn’t hide your presence, you were all fortunate enough to keep your faces hidden. The feat only possible by getting out before the enemy got in. And that timers was quickly counting down. 

“Oh, isn’t this just gorgeous?”

Ashi’ti, the ever eccentric Twi”lek, bounded over to you boasting an agreeably pretty piece of jewelry. You didn’t fight her as she draped the golden necklace over you. It would certainly earn you decent credits. 

Hosting a burst bag of his own, your Gran friend seems to share your eagerness to depart, “This terrain didn’t give us the opportunity to hide our ship as well as it should be. We need to get moving.”

Staring for longingly at all she couldn’t carry, you briefly wondered if you would have to drag Ash’ti out again. There is a familiar pout on her lips but to everyone relief she snatches a few more trinkets before shouldering her own bag. “Tsk. Always interrupting a woman’s shopping time, Blague. “

The Gran can only roll his eyes as she flounces by, not missing the opportunity to brush against him as she does so. He shares a look with you and you hope your smile doesn’t resemble a grimace too much. By the mirror you receive, it’s unlikely. 

“Alright, let’s move out. Hoods up, masks on.”

Taking one last unhindered breath, you obediently go through the motions of disguising your appearance. From a glance, they would be able to make out your differing species but as some of the more common ones in the galaxy it wasn’t much to go by if you haven’t given them too long to observe. 

Fortunately, the way out was easier than the way in and required significantly less of your abilities. The intricate puzzles were apparently more for those entering and rewards those who leave. 

Blague speaks up again as you near the exit.

“Keep confrontations to a minimum. I’d rather take the time for stealth than direct conflict.”

Blowing out an airy breath beside you, Ash’ti fails to refrain from commenting,” No bravery for the wicked.”

“Or the living,” you shoot back under your breath. She doesn’t make any indication of hearing you. 

Just before you reach the final chamber, Blague brings everyone to a halt and you all tense in anticipation. The shortcut had led you back to the entrance, one of the less hindered rooms. Anyone without utility of the Force could make it that far, certainly a few stormtroopers. 

Readying her blaster, Ash’ti lines herself with the nearest wall. Battle partners aside, when it came to protecting her cash-out, no one was fiercer,” Are they getting that much better at tracking?”

There was an odd look on Brague’s face as he stalled as if questioning his own intuition. His lips parted at the cusp of words but never managed to form them. 

You realize late that he didn’t need to. 

The feeling doused you like a dip in an icy river, paralyzing you by the veins. The pressure was indescribable despite how much you didn’t want to believe it. It probed at your consciousness, first demanding then hesitant as if it realized just what it was sensing. 

All signs led to what you’d been trained to know and yet.

“Alright, enough of this.”

“Ash’ti, no!”

The fire of her blaster just missed Brague’s intervention but did not miss its intended target. The return fire came from more than direction as various white suits made their appearance known, shouting commands over the increasing chaos as you all readied for battle. 

The lack of witnesses that you would leave behind meant that you could use your Force more freely but there was a sense of hesitation as you couldn’t quite shake off the second strand connecting another soul nearby. 

Had they lead them here? Or was it just another squad following your trail?

More importantly, were they alone?

The shout of your third companion came as a late warning as the earth above you crumbled from a stray blast. Your eyes went wide as a slab of rock broke from the ceiling. Thrusting your hand up you immediately called upon stasis only to be beaten to the command. 

All suspicions were confirmed, you found yourself dumbfounded under the impending fall as you stared up in wonder. After all this time, in all the moments you could reunited. There was finally a voice beneath the weight of the purge. 

A voice gruff with aggravation growled just before it collided with your body, throwing you both aside to safety. 

Groaning, your head spun from the impact. When you tried to roll over, you found yourself pinned still by your savior. 

Your savior. 

A Jedi. 

Kicking back as you in your attempt to crawl backwards, you boot collided none too kindly with their side. A cry of pain left them as they curled into their injury with grumbling complaint. 

From the opposite side of the rubble, your friends called out worriedly. The lack of gun fire meant that you were all safe for now but that wouldn’t last for very long. For any of you. 

Kriffing! An actual Jedi. 

Where did you even begin? What faction were they part of? Where did they serve? How had they escaped?

“That is not how you thank your savior.”

You were thankful for your mask as the figure slowly unraveled itself as the phantom of pain faded. It was a man, lean and lithe. But that wasn’t the defining feature that caught your breath in your throat. 

His hair mimicked a dim flame that you thought had extinguished years ago and yet. 

“Woah, woah!” 

Showing his hands first, his attention completely left you as it focused instead on your approaching teammate. Still primed for a fight, Ash’ti kept her blaster leveled and prepared. 

“And who the hell are you?’

You didn’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, hand already going for your mask to free your face. 

“Ash, no its fine. I know him.”

She hesitated, but she didn’t look convinced. “You just happen to know every Jedi that you come across?”

But her mitrustful nature couldn’t phase you as you were already enraptured by his wide eyed gaze as he turned to face you fully. The years had done him kindly but not without a few scars from the past. The most prominent stark against the bridge of his nose. 

It was still undeniably your best friend. 

Pure elation took hold of every note in your voice, “Cal!”

The distance was short, but you crossed it with the gusto of a preemptive sprint into battle. All your strength darted to your legs as you jumped, feet pushing off the ground as you launch yourself. And his arms were waiting to catch you with ease. 

Your heart hurt from the way it hammered against your chest. The sharp throb pounding in your ears as a smile split your face. He stumbled briefly, not having to counter your weight in years and sorely out of practice. 

He managed to counter well, however, as your legs clamped around his middle. Cal’s arm steadies you round the waist, only having to take a single step back to adjust for the impact. Your hands were already proding at his face, combing through his auburn locks and inspecting his scars and-

You wanted to laugh until you were delirious. For years all you wanted was a sign and you got this.

“That night- I thought I died. I thought you died. I-” Happiness had weakened the damn and the first trickle of wetness began to trail down your cheeks. His free hand came around, moving away the strands of hair already sticking to your face and cupping your cheek to tip it toward him. 

“I’ve missed you so much, starfly.”

The joy seeping through your bones could bring life to a garden. 

“Okay, what the hell?”

Jerking around, the two of you stared at the forgotten group with a mutual flush. 

Brague looked like he was ready for the day to be over, twenty four hours ago, no doubt not prepared to factor in a second Jedi to his plans. Ash’ti looked an interesting mix of distrustful and amused, turning her pretty skin an interesting shade. Lark, your ever quiet human companion, was already making his way toward the exit. 

Cal was reluctant, but eased his grip to allow you to slide to your feet. However, his arm remained around your waist. Still reeling from the shock, you continued to stare up at him with glee, feeling lighter than air for the first time in a very long time. 

Reaching for his hand, you curled your pinky securely with his own.

“Guys, this is my best friend.”

                                                     _______________________

To say things went smoothly was an understatement. Naturally everyone had questions, but the pressing matter of reinforcements weighed down everything else. Apparently, Cal had come to the tombs for a reason but seemed reluctant to continue on with his quest. The threat what ultimately got everyone to move. 

The conflict of transportation came next. 

Your own vessel was tucked away in the forestry while Cal insisted that his companions were waiting for him on the ledge. It was obvious that neither of you wanted to part but it eventually came down to who would pull whom. 

Brague ultimately made the decision for you, dragging off a sputtering Ash’ti while Cal dragged you toward his own ship. For now the two of you would part ways to confuse the enemy and meet back up when it was safe. 

Warm fingers touched your wrist before squeezing reassuringly. Less than half an hour later after an impromptu meeting with his skeleton crew, Cal had you holed up in a cabin for a proper reunion. One that didn’t come too easily. 

You eyes hesitated for a moment before flickering upward. You didn’t trust your words just yet but the silence was slowly building an ache within you. 

It did give you the chance to check out his room. He didn’t exactly style it to his taste, or at least the ones you remember from all those years ago. Cal did have a few knick knacks of his own, however. You wondered how long he’s been with this crew. Had he been scouring the galaxy all this time?

You swallowed all the greedy questions, not wanting to bombard him all at once when he certainly had his own. 

“I thought you were dead!” You blurted, a reoccurring theme between you. There was no reason for either of you to believe the other survived. You had less of a recount than he did, only remembering that last fated battle. 

Settled side by side on his bed, Cal still kept your hands securely in his own. His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles as he spoke. “I found you in the forest that night. You were so overrun and then more came. I tried to fight them off. We- got separated and when i managed to come back you were gone. “

His eyes searched yours pleadingly, hopeful that you could fill the gaps. But you honestly didn’t have much to offer. 

Your trapped hands only offered a stiff shrug,” I don’t really remember much after that. Somehow I got off that planet.” Over the years, you theorized about another Jedi or Clone who might have escaped with you only to ultimately get separated in the end. After awhile, you just gave up probing for the truth. You were alive but at the cost of everyone you loved; what was worth remembering?

His chin came to rest on the crown of your head, voice raw with emotion,” I was so convinced- I shouldn’t have given up.”

Immediately you protest, words muffled by his clothes as you pressed into them. “We didn’t know. But we survived. That’s what’s important.”

His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sliding underneath your jaw. Just when you think he’s going to tilt your face up it falls away to rest at the nape of your neck as his body shudders. 

You find yourself recalling your life up until now. Before you’d been content- not happy with your choices- but alive and well rested with your choices that kept you that way. Now that you spoke them aloud to your closest confidant, you almost felt ashamed. 

At the end of the day, you were a thief that stole and sold what you could to survivor. It didn’t make it any better just because you made a living off of it. 

But he didn’t judge you or make any indication of ill thoughts towards your lifestyle. In fact, he did the opposite, laughing sheepishly as he told you about his life as a rigger. Told tales of extra metals and ores he would steal off old ships and sell off market. A lot of his stories revolve around a single figure. Prauf, he called him. 

When you asked about him he stilled. 

“He died before I escaped trying to protect me.”

Startled, your face flicked between remorse and uncertainty, unsure of how to progress. The death seemed fresh on his mind and still painful in his voice. 

“I’m sorry.”

From this position, you couldn’t see his face, but he pulled you closer in response. 

He continued on about how he was rescued by Cere and the short span of adventures he explored before he met you. What it all summed up to was what had you drawing away in surprise.

“You want to revive the Order?”

The idea had never crossed your mind as a possibility. Why would it? Everyone had been obliterated. And now, not only were they outnumbered but they wanted to try it again. 

You found yourself rescinding any compliment you had for his new companions that had saved his life. They were selfishly making him repay a debt that would get him killed.

Before you could get to your feet, prepared to contact Brague he was drawing you back in. There was a new pull to his lips, a childish turn that aged from your appreciation days. 

“I know it sounds crazy but we have to do something.”

No. You didn’t have to do anything. You were lingering fragments of a broken organization. The cards had already fallen and now you would deal with them. Not pick them up and challenge the table again. 

“Cal, it’s not that easy. You can’t just-”

You hated that. The determination storming in his blue gaze. You were already too late. He’s made up his mind a long time ago and you could only accept his decision or cut ties…

As if you’d even consider the later. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried fruitlessly to fight the grin tugging at your lips when his lips pressed firmly into your cheek. 

“You don’t have to decide now. I’m just happy having you here.”

                                                     _______________________

You end up sort of just lingering on the Mantis. Partly your reluctance to leave Cal’s side and his own persistence to keep you there. For the time being, the expeditions have been suspended as Cere suspects that they should wait for Empire activity to settle. 

Apparently, your combined presence brought more attention than intended. As Cere planned to eventually introduce more Jedi as they were found to their cause this wasn’t unexpected but sooner than planned. 

She saw it more as a chance for everyone to get their bearings and an opportunity for the two of you to properly catch up. And that you did. 

In the meadows of Bogano, Cal excitedly introduced you to a vocal BD-1. His reliable companion that followed him into every skirmish and saved him more than once. You of course found the little robot utterly adorable. 

It continued to bounce around the two of you as you lounged in the grass. 

“Man, remember when Eli tried practicing his stasis by pranking Madam Lou. I’ll never forget her face when the bucket toppled over on her.” His laughter was infectious as he recalled the memories of the past. 

You were resting comfortably with your head on his chest as his fingers card idly through your hair. The way you resumed your relationship come at no surprise to you. Nothing was left unsaid between you, leaving no barrier to impede your reconnection. 

Reaching your hand up towards the sky, you grinned unabashedly when his immediately sought it out and tangled them together. There were few moments where you weren’t attached at some form, bringing up the embarrassing question from Greez as to watch your relationship was.

‘They’re my best friend.’

Which was true in every sense of the world and yet. 

Maybe if you hadn’t lived the life you had maybe things would have been different.

No.

That’s a lie. You know explicit in every lifetime you would fall in love with this same boy. The one whose mere existence was enough to teeter you off balance when he smiled in your direction. He was as charismatic and enigmatic now, all these years later; a systematic habit for you to relish in. Just when you thought it was all over and you would have to scrap from the leftovers of the world, he plowed right back into your life to break the darkest days into light. 

He was a hero to every arc of your story. And you just lo-

“Hey, you listening to me?”

The poke between your brows startles you. You lift your head and meet the brilliant blue somehow managing to smile at you from the seas. Still lost in your thoughts you wonder how easy it would be to just lean in. Would he reciprocate?

Remembering your place, you ask him to repeat himself with nervous laughter on your lips. But he doesn’t. Instead he continues to meet your gaze with a new intensity you can’t fathom. 

His lashes are longer than you remember or perhaps you’d just never been this close. Lips, soft and pink, you speculate what the pressure would feel like against yours. You try to swallow but there isn’t enough saliva on your tongue to justify the attempt leaving you to embarrassingly clear your throat.

“We should-”

“The night I lost you. When I had you clutched in my arms while I fought off the Empire. You told me something.”

Almost immediately you know where this is going. There is no doubt in your mind. But Cal is quicker, is arm preventing escape. 

“I carried it with me all this time. Even when I gave up on the idea-” he pauses to swallow down the memory. The regret. “It was just enough to live by to know that.”

You close your eyes because it’s the only way you can briefly escape. The entire mood has changed, the air thick with so much promise yet your scared. It’s Cal. You know him almost as much as you know yourself. Even as he brushes against the topic, you know where it will lead. 

At least for the moment.Nothing about the future is certain anymore. The realization of that apparent all those years ago. And still prior to that, he’d made a promise. And he remained here to this day to hold it true.

His hands seems to have made a new home at your cheek. It tends to reside there in the off chance it’s not clutching your hand or hanging from your pinky finger. There is a light pressure at the nape of your neck, urging you closer but not pushing. You close the distance upon your own inhibition. 

“Will you tell me again?” he whispers, lips inches from your own. 

“I love-”

He silences you with a kiss before you could complete his request, always too ambitious and headstrong. Pent up nervous energy on both parts keeps it chaste. There is a pretty flush against his cheeks as he realizes his error.

“Oh, sorry- you hadn’t-”

Rolling your eyes with a huff, you lean in for a more proper kiss this time around. Cal whines against you, pulling you tighter still. Oh to finally really kiss him. The feeling washes over how desperately you’d been waiting for this moment even before the downfall. While your relationship had always remained within friendly limits, the love had never lost its potency. It was fierce and bright, immersive in a way only the two of you could create. 

This was your first honest taste and you were already starved for it. Teats bubble from the corners of your eyes unbidden as you down in the affection. He spots them when he finally breaks the kiss. 

His gaze is knowing as a thumb swipes at your cheek. Those blue eyes look as though they wished they could communicate how right everything was with the world even despite the turmoil. 

Burying your face in his poncho, you wipe away the rest of the tears.

“I love you, Cal.”

His chest shakes with relief and rises with laughter as his hand runs along the length of your spine.

“I love you too.”

[tinycaprisun]

a song about it raining somewhere else

title: a song about it raining somewhere else characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 3822 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, and like that’s kinda it? maybe mild angst? but also i’m a baby and it becomes fluff by the end? a/n: howdy, this is not another i’m back i’m back piece as much as it honestly is. no, see this time- this is actually a gift! 2 days ago was @trentjinshi’s birthday and i wanted to write him something! so i sat down for like 6 hours with my goopy goblin gay brain and spit out this obvious magnum opus. so, like, don’t hate it please. also hugest happy birthday to emil again!! yeehaw... i’ve technically already sent this to u

You know, of all days to have the soul crushing realization that you’ve secretly been in love with your best friend, Trent should have expected it to happen on Valentine’s Day.

The man had garbage luck anyways, and good things seemingly never happened to him. So when Chuck animatedly told him he had a date that night with some girl, Trent’s heart shouldn’t have blown apart like he had been shot. Sure, he pretended to be supportive of his buddy, returning his radiant smile despite the effect never reaching his eyes, And yeah, he wished him all the best, telling the taller man he hoped it went well.

But did Trent mean any of that? Fuck no! He was dying on the inside, mourning the loss of a relationship and love he didn’t even know he wanted! Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he didn’t start bawling his eyes out on the spot. The New Yorker had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the crying really was not out of the question at that moment. But he contained his feelings somehow, moving on through the rest of that afternoon like he was trudging through a snowstorm. Slow, cold, and slowly dying from the inside out.

So that led him here, sitting in his car as the rain started to come down, refusing to turn the damn thing on. He didn’t want to go back to his hotel room. Because if he did, it would remind him of the obvious. He went home alone tonight.

Chuck wasn’t alone. His friend had a probably beautiful person with a perfect personality sitting across from him at a fancy restaurant. A person who wasn’t him. Why couldn’t Trent be his perfect date? He would laugh at his jokes, softly hold his hand as they walked in from the parking lot, pull his chair out for him, admire him like he was the sun-

A harsh banging came from his left, rhythmically tapping against the glass of his car window in time with the rain drops. Trent’s head jerked up from where it had defeatedly slumped against the steering wheel to see who was trying to get his attention.

It was a security guard, holding an umbrella in one hand and wavering him off with another, politely telling him to leave the premises as the arena building they were at was closing. To be honest, getting a ticket from not leaving and instead rotting in that parking lot forever sounded like a far better time than he was having. But, he didn’t have a choice. Story of his life.

Trent started up his car, quickly leaving off into the vast night with only his thoughts to keep him company. And that was rapidly becoming annoying. The singular thing on his mind was one person, and how all this time, his feelings were so obvious. Every time he even glanced in his friend’s direction his heart rate would spike. Before now, he had chalked that up to coincidence or - considering it was Trent and how his body loved to torture him - underlying health conditions. Evidently, it was neither of those things.

One would think he would catch on to his festering crush sooner; considering he thought the entire world of Chuck and whenever he had to go more than a few days without seeing him, he would get a weird sense of longing to be back in his presence, but nothing ever wanted to work out that way. Life thought it would be much funnier if Trent felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams by a simple sentence.

Between the still processing of what it even meant to have a crush on your best friend, and knowing that right now he was out with some other person having the time of his life, Trent was not feeling great as he drove down the freeway. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the radio on to fill the car with something other than his problems. A song the brunette had never heard before crackled to life, being about part of the way through.

By the time we get there, everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables and the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good, but we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm-

Fucking perfect! The last person to mess with the radio in Trent’s car was Chuck, and bastard left it on one of his stupid country stations. Trent didn’t even like country music! That didn’t stop him, however, from a few days ago when they were driving from city to city and let Chuck put on whatever he liked, even if it was something he was going to hate. He would make tiny sacrifices like that all the time for his partner, because he knew it would earn him one of those sunlit smiles. Trent really would do anything to make Chuck happy, and had been since they met.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd when you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party if I'm late to the party with you

It... It was a love song?

“Throw me off a fucking bridge.” Trent mumbled to himself as he exited an off ramp. Seriously, who out there was tormenting him and making him have possibly the worst day ever? What omnipotent being did he piss off? He thought he was an alright dude, not getting into other people’s business and sort of keeping to himself. Most days he made an attempt to be somewhat nice to others and never did any of that vile or cruel shit. And yet, he was cursed to drive home while listening to a love song in a genre that he hated, and only helped to remind him more of his best friend.

Let's promise when we get in that we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations, make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into "Who's leaving here with who?" But I just want 'em all to see me come in late to the party with you

Wasn’t that a funny line. Wanting others to see the person you’re with because of how much you loved them? Trent understood that. Whenever he would go anywhere with Chuck, he would always want people to know he was there with him- whether he realized it or not.

He could talk for hours about him. It could be the simple telling of a funny story, or gushing about how good he was in the ring. Or how great of a friend he was. That made Trent wonder about what Chuck would be like if they were together. His mind wandered, dreaming up scenarios and infinite possibilities as he pulled into his hotel’s parking garage.

The musing didn’t stop when he killed the engine, happily ending that fucking song that was starting to piss him off with how cute it was. Trent pushed himself out of the car, gathering his singular bag from the trunk and wandering inside through the rain. Which, if anyone was curious, was even worse than it was when he left. It was coming down in buckets now, being slung into the New Yorker’s face by the wind.

Checking in was easy enough, having the briefest of conversations with the man at the desk who happened to have a thick southern accent.

Chuck had an accent, but only when he drank a lot. It took about 3 and a half beers for it to come out, but by that point he didn’t care all that much to hide it. He wouldn’t be trashed, as he was a pretty solid drinker and had made putting strong shit back a hobby over the last few years. Trent knew exactly how it sounded, though. A smooth Kentucky accent that always caused him to punctuate the last word of his sentences and pronounce certain things differently. Never anything like “y’all” or something southern like that, after all Chuck wasn’t that dime store cowboy they worked with.

The thing Trent remembered the most about Chuck’s accent was how he said his name. He would draw it out, almost like he was whining, except it was low in his voice and always accompanied by a wide grin. One that’s toothy like Cheshire Cat, and annoyingly sweet like bubblegum. Trent idly wondered if he tasted like bubblegum too, but the thought turned vivid fantasy was interrupted for a moment by the elevator reaching his floor.

The brunette slowly approached his room, still partially entranced by the ideas he had created in his mind as he unlocked his door and slipped in. From there, it felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Not in a morbid sense, but as in he wasn’t participating in the concept of reality at that moment. Trent was so disconnected from his actions, it was almost as though he was outside of his body and looking in from somewhere else. So much so, that when he snapped out of his revere from his phone buzzing, he was lying in bed wearing only his boxers.

Not that what was on his phone was of any importance to him. All Trent saw were notifications for things he didn’t care about, the only thing sticking out was a short text from Orange sending him more condolences over his current “issue”. Damn, he was acting like someone had died, not his friend’s heart being broken. Trent didn’t bother responding, tossing the device back on the bedside table and rolling over to face away from it.

The alarm clock on the other stand read “10:17 p.m.”, blinking at him like the piece of shit was broken. It also only now occurred to Trent that he had never turned the lights on while he was basically astral projecting. So he was bathed in darkness, with the only illumination being that digital clock and the street lights below outside the window.

Was he going to fall asleep at a respectable time? Because deep in his bones he could feel the shroud of tiredness creeping through him from all of the emotional energy he drained today. And with that, Trent grabbed one of the unused pillows and wrapped himself around it, cuddling it tightly and not bothering to get under the bed covers.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, Trent could pretend the pillow was something else. --

Who in the hell was knocking at his door at - the New Yorker stopped his angry brain tirade to peek at the clock again - 11:53 at night? He had only gotten to sleep an hour and it was cut short by who knew what. If this was Orange coming to tell him he had broken another hotel microwave by “forgetting to take the metal spoon out of his mac and cheese”, Trent was going to fucking kill him.

Getting up from where he lay, Trent stumbled blearily across the room to the door. In those few seconds, it processed with him that his hair must have come untied while he was sleeping because it was messily draped around his shoulders. Among that, he was still only dressed in boxers, riding rather low on his hips. Maybe he had a restless sleep even though it was quick?

He didn’t care what he looked like though as he slowly pulled the door open with a yawn and blinked from the harsh light flooding in from the hallway. Trent prepared to open his mouth and berate his shorter friend when he heard a sniffle come from in front of him.

Chuck was standing on the other side of the doorway, soaking wet from the rain. By the look on his face, it seemed as though he had been crying as well, with red eyes and a running nose. His eyes didn’t meet Trent’s as he all but whispered, “H-hey, man.”

Did the longer haired brunette care that his friend was ice cold and drenched from head to toe? No. That was why without words, he dragged his friend into the room and hugged him tightly, letting the hotel door slip closed on its own. Chuck didn’t need to be told twice to hug back, nearly crushing Trent from the strength of his shaking arms.

They stayed like that for a good while, with Trent rubbing soothing circles into his back and letting him rest his head on his shoulder when he began to weep again. That was before he slowly drew back, silently taking Chuck’s hand and guiding him to his bed so he could sit. Trent grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his friend, figuring he could just use a blanket later when he needed to sleep.

“I... didn’t even tell you- what’s wrong..?” murmured the Kentuckian, slouching in on himself and bringing his knees up so they were closer to his chest. He must have been really cold. Trent paused for a moment, looking with a pained yet sympathetic smile.

“Don’t need to. You’re upset, and I gotta fix that.” He wasn’t sure who hurt him, or even what, but just let it be known he was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Well, uh, t-thank you?”

“Yeah, dude. I-” Love you. “Care about you. You’re my friend and shit. Hurts to see you cry.” With that, Trent carefully maneuvered around Chuck and hopped off the bed to go rifle through his clothes for something dry he could wear. And- probably some pants for himself. When he first opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice Chuck gave him the slightest look up and down, with his cheeks going red afterwards. Trent assumed it was only because he was cold, and the warmth from his bedroom had fucked with his internal body temperature.

While digging through his bags trying to find some of the clothes he always packed for his friend - and if it were any other day than today, Trent would have told you it was because he was just being a nice guy. He knew better than that now. - Chuck began to talk again. “Date ditched me...”

“They didn’t show up?”

Chuck sighed. “No, she did. But- when her ex came around... She would’a rather been with him.”

Trent grabbed the extra clothes and stood, turning around to face Chuck who was staring off into the corner. Considering how already destroyed his heart already was from earlier, he was a bit surprised it still had a few more pieces that could shatter at this sight. Coming back over, he set the pile to one side of him, then sat back down on the other. “Chuck...”

“I don’t know what I expected? Every girl, or hell- every guy, I’ve ever tried to date has never worked out for me. I don’t get it.” Oh, Trent should not have been so happy to hear those words. Well, he wasn’t happy to hear most of them, and was hurting for his friend, but two of them in particular stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Every guy. That meant Chuck had been on dates with men. That meant, even though it was fucked up to think about this at the moment, that Trent still had a chance.

“You just haven’t found the right one, man. None of those assholes from before deserve you anyways.” Chuck brought his gaze back over to Trent, eyes glassy and expression- disbelieving. His hair was matted to his head, still wet in some places, but mostly stuck in small spots to his forehead. Everything else about him was still about the same caliber as that, slowly drying and clinging to parts of his body that weren’t being disrupted by the comforter.

“Or maybe I didn’t deserve them...” Something- came over Trent then. There wasn’t a word for the mix of emotions he felt upon hearing that. But what he could feel were his hands taking either side of his best friend’s face and holding his head up to where he would look him in the eyes.

“That’s not true, you and I both know that. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have you.”

Chuck honest to god laughed at that and tilted his head. “Name one person.”

Fuck. For all intents and purposes, the answer he desperately wanted to give was ‘Me’, but that never came out of his mouth. Instead, it was like Trent was suspended in fear, unable to say what he wanted for the thought of being rejected. Or somehow even worse, him thinking it was a joke and getting upset with him. So, Trent said nothing, trying to think of a different response that would be true, but didn’t give himself away.

That was the nail in the coffin, though. Chuck took his silence as an answer, unable to provide a single person who could possibly want to be with him. The other man shook Trent’s hands away from his face, hurt welling up in his eyes with a grimace as he moved to grab the clothes that were gotten for him.

“See,” Chuck hobbled to a standing position, holding the clean garments close to his sodden chest like it was going to protect him from the pain he was feeling. Trent, just say something, anything, he yelled to himself whilst watching Chuck shuffle over to the bathroom and pull the door open. He flicked his eyes down to the floor for a moment before coming back up and locking onto Trent’s. “No one could ever love me...”

“Chuck-” Trent was too late, Chuck had already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. And God damn it, his stomach had sunk to the depth of his being, twisting and turning like he was going to be sick. He should have said something. Even if it meant ruining the only thing he really had left to care about. There was his job, his other friends, his family and that; and while they meant a lot to him as well, he truly believed in that moment, and probably for some while now, that Chuck was his world.

As goofy and kind of bullshit as it was to hear, that’s what he felt like. That this guy he’s known for a good chunk of his life was his sun, moon, and every star in the sky. And Trent knew he’s never felt that way about another person. He knew that no other person on this Earth - or fuck, any other planet - could beam at him when they pull an upset and win a match together like he could. No one else made his chest feel warm whenever they complimented him quite the same way that Chuck did. There wasn’t a soul who had the same giggle, the wit, the determination, the personality- fucking any of it. No one had quite what his best friend had, and that was why he loved him.

Trent had no idea how long Chuck was going to be in there, or if he was ever going to come out. Knowing him, he could stay in there all night, not wanting to face the world again- let alone his friend. Even still, he got up from where he was and placed himself a few paces away from his bathroom door. Within his head, he hyped himself up, vowing that no matter if he got scared or felt like everything was going to go wrong, the New Yorker was going to tell him the truth.

Approximately 4 minutes later - if you asked Trent it felt like 10 years - Chuck finally emerged from his hiding place, dressed in some of his friend’s clothes and with shockingly drier hair. Not sure why he was so surprised that he had run a towel through it or something, but that didn’t matter. The taller man seemed confused as to why Trent was standing at the door, but before he could ask what was happening, Trent said, “I do.”

Chuck squinted at him with a, “What?” but it came out choked off and shaky, like he wasn’t prepared to speak.

“You said no one could ever love you, and that’s not true. Because I love you,” He wanted to protest, but now that Trent was talking, he couldn’t stop. “And I didn’t realize it until today, but I seriously am so in love with you that I don’t think I could picture my life without you. You mean everything to me and I would do anything for you just to see your beautiful smile or hear you say my name. And I know it sounds like I’m lying and that I’m trying to make you feel better, but I’m not. If I think about it, I feel like I’ve loved you forever but never realized it, and I wish I could have known sooner. Because you need to know that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with you-”

“Trent-”

“I love the way you purposefully send me a string of those stupid emojis over text because you know it annoys me. I love how you can make anyone feel better with just one smile and your passion for loving others. I love how much you love animals and how every dog you see, you consider kidnapping-'' Trent had become so caught up in his declaration that he hadn’t noticed his friend had moved from in front of him and Chuck’s lips were on his.

Before he could even do anything; not even get a gasp at the sudden action, Chuck was already pulling away, breathing as if he had just run a mile. His face was bright red and his hands were holding either of Trent’s arms as he searched his face for a reaction. Or anything really.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” It felt as though Trent was living in one of those shitty romantic comedies he secretly liked to watch, because he was the one who cut Chuck off while speaking with an somehow even more desperate kiss. He felt him respond almost instant, bringing one of his hands up to Trent’s face to cup it gently as his own arms latched cautiously onto Chuck’s hips. And that was where they stayed, for who knew how long, but every second of it was exactly where they wanted to be.

You know, of all days to have the life-changing realization that you’re secretly in love with your best friend, Trent - and Chuck for that matter - hadn’t expected it to happen on (the day after) Valentine’s Day.

[heart-eye-harrington]

shooting stars never shine for me

Summary: When stuck in the elevator and Dustin can’t sleep he asks you, Robin, and Steve to tell him stories. Steve may let a bit too much slip. Luckily for him, you’re a deep sleeper.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of fear

Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I hope you enjoy this! ♡

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

If this were a normal night, you’d have the windows of your room thrown open to let as much of the cool night air in as possible. Cricket chirps would mesh with whatever was playing on the small radio in the corner. You’d have just gotten out of a warm shower and scrubbed away any lingering sticky ice cream from your shift. Whatever thin oversized t-shirt you’d grabbed would hang loosely as you got ready for bed. Maybe don one of the sweatshirts Steve leaned you after leaving a cold closing shift. You’d be comfortable and content. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a normal night.

The concrete walls of the elevator shaft seem to suffocate you with their solidarity. Sitting top the elevator gave you a bit of relief from the tightness created by the shelves of boxes. Up here you could watch the elevator cables that twisted like lifeless vines growing into the unknown. You imagined them to be beanstalks, reaching into the clouds to a place of wonder and hope. Even is it was a castle inhabited by giants, at least you would know what kind of danger lied ahead.

The longer you stared into the void above, the more restless you felt. Once comforting sounds like Erica’s snores or Robin’s newest plan echo against the cement and drag you further into the abyss. Each passing hour sews the seeds of discomfort deeper under your skin.

Pushing yourself from your thoughts and spot on the cool metal, you start pacing. Each step brings small creeks from under your feet, adding another white noise to the humming of the fluorescent lights. You keep moving as if the cog in your head won’t turn unless the rest of you is also in motion. 

Steve and Robin watch your pacing from their respective spots. Robin’s crisscrossed legs allow her to more easily trace the drawings on her shoes with the tip of her finger. Steve rests his head on the bent knee he’s holding to his chest, making sure you don’t trip over his extended leg. 

Every so often your gaze wanders over to Steve, only to find him already looking at you. He sends a comforting smile, blanketing you with warmth like the worn cotton sheet waiting for you on your bed. It’s familiar and soft.

“Son of a bitch” 

Three sets of eyes snap to the source of the sound. A yellow and green hat sat atop a head of messy curls pops into view from inside the elevator. Dustin groans again as he tries to pull himself up. Seeing as you’re closest to the trap door, you’re the first to his aid. Steve’s just a second too slow, standing behind you ready to jump into action in case he was needed. Dustin didn’t need much of a pull, just a hand to hold, one you’re eager to give. He quickly joins the three of you, finding a spot to sit next to Robin. You and Steve squat across from the pair. 

“What’s up bud? Can’t sleep?” concern is evident in your words, causing the corner of Steve’s lips to tug up. The size of your heart could be measured in small movements like this. You show your unconditional love through not only action and your time, but also your words. It comforts Dustin as well, his shoulders visibly relax. He plays with the laces of his sneakers for a beat before answering.

“I think I did for a bit, but couldn’t stay asleep. I don’t know how Erica does it. She’s snoring so loud.” you all laugh and nod, the briefest flash of normalcy before you’re all plunged back in the rough seas of reality. The once calm waves seemed to turn into a raging storm, swallowing anything foolish enough to get close. The feeling of dread nearly drowns you, but Dustin brought a lifeboat. 

“If you could be anyone else, who would you be?” his question seems to be pulled from a daydream, his tone soft and sincere. The question grabs on to your heart and gives it a gentle tug. You know what he really means. 

He’s asking for a distraction, for the illusion of a different scenario. Maybe you’re all sharing a booth at the diner or at a bonfire swapping fantastical stories, like at camp. His maturity and intellect often make you forget that he’s still a kid. Hell, you’re all kids. Kids who’re trapped in a secret Russian elevator, unsure and questioning what’s to come. You can’t give him an answer, you can give him a distraction. 

The three musketeers, a nickname you lovingly gave you and your coworkers, are called to action. Though not as fully equipped as you’d like, ice cream scoopers in your red canvas holsters instead of swords, there’s a different way to fight your way out of this. Hope. 

You stir a bit, taking a moment to reach through the filing cabinet in your mind to find the hidden answer. It had been a while since you answered the question of “what you wanna be when you grow up?” with childlike innocence. You remembered your classmates’ answers; a princess, Spider-Man, a unicorn, James Bond, a mermaid like Ariel.

“I’d be a poet. Not like someone you’d read about in English class, I’d have magic. I’d actually be good with words for once, and anything I said would be beautiful. I’d share my heart and confess the things I yearn, write in verse, and all that cool stuff. It would be filled with jokes and wit, all timed perfectly. My stories would be so wonderful I could throw them into the night sky. The stars and moon could tell my tales” 

Your words hang in the air, replacing the fear with happy contemplation. The story you weaved playing out in everyone’s minds. One part sticks out to Steve, lodging itself in his mind. I’d share my heart and confess the things I yearn. Before he can dwell on your words that tumble through his mind, Robin begins to speak. 

“I’d be a Viking. I’d sail away, see the world. I’d feel the wind, taste the salty sea air. Plus, how badass would it be to storm some beaches?” she chuckles at her vision. Robin cocks her head to glance at Dustin. There’s a gleam in his eyes, a flicker of hope. 

“You’d probably smell like fish.” his eyes crinkle with his small poke in her airtight plan. 

“A small sacrifice for a daring life” a content smirk plays her lips. Content, Dustin’s gaze falls to Steve. He shifts under the boy’s watch, realizing he’s gonna have to come up with something too. He thinks for a moment, then it comes to him. 

“I guess I’d be a hero. Have a sword and some cool armor. Go on quests, ride a horse.” he shrugs, hoping that would be enough. Of course, it’s not for the ever-curious boy. 

“What would your horse’s name be?” Dustin stares expectantly

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that much into it” Steve’s brows knit.

“This is your wildest dream and you don’t have a name for your noble steed?” Steve doesn’t realize how close you were till he can feel the small vibrations of your laughter. 

“Alright, alright. My steed-” he emphasizes the word with a laugh and extended hands, “-would be named Rocky. Ya’know, like the boxer. ” Groans and laughter fill the air. 

Hours of stress finally start to melt away with the swapped stories. The mental exhaustion finally catches up to you, and you feel your lids get heavier. Steve’s voice and body heat lure you deeper in with a sense of safety, an invitation to rest. Before you have a chance to fight it, sleep pulls you in. Your head rests against Steve’s shoulder, quiet snores pass through your barely parted lips. 

Steve’s eyes fall and meet Robin’s. She gestures for him to keep talking, to keep telling a story. When she’s faced with a quizzical look, she realizes she’s gonna have to coax him on. Tell us about a quest you’d go on she mouthes, feeding him a line. 

“Uh-um, I’d be a hero who helps people. I’d be fearless, bravely running into danger to protect others. I’d use my sword to defeat the monsters. I’d have cool advisors who are wiser than me, like uh, maybe a wizard or a certain Viking.” Robin and Dustin laugh at his words, though Dustin’s is much weaker, as sleep begins to soften him. He rests his head beside Robin’s lap and nods for Steve to continue.

“On one of my quests, I’d hear of a treasure in a tower. Of course, I need to check it out. I console my trusty Viking friend and prepare Rocky. I ride through fields and swamps and forests before finding the dungeon. I’d climb the tower and find the most unexpected treasure. It’s a princess, with the most enchanting smile, the biggest heart, and cunning wit. I’d try to carry her away, but she’d be too stubborn and insist on walking on their own.”

You shift more of your weight onto him as rest pulls you deeper in. He wraps an arm around you, gently squeezing your shoulder, savoring the innocent closeness. Steve looks up to see Dustin’s eye almost fully closed. Whatever he’s doing, it’s working

“We’d make our way out of the tower. Standing guard would be a beast, and I’d somehow conquer it. We’d hop upon Rocky and ride off into safety. I’d get the girl. I’d take a breath, and I’d remove my helmet. We’d stare at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do. She’d start talking first, cause I’m never good with words. We’d speak of love, maybe share a kiss. I’d have a hero’s ending, a perfect happy ending.”

Robin grins ear to ear, internally freaking out over Steve’s subconscious confession. Every tiny detail about this dream princess were traits in the sleeping figure curled into his side. Despite her own joyous feelings, she finds a sad expression etched into Steve’s features. He’s absently mindedly rubbing your arm, seeming lost in thought.

“Hey, Harrington” she whisper-screams to him, careful not to wake you or Dustin. 

“It’s not for me.” sadness drips from every word. 

“What?” 

“A perfect happy ending, it’s not for me” His eyes are wide, tears threatening to break his strong facade. Robin had never seen him like this, and it was jarring. 

 “I was a real douchebag. You remember what I was like, I know you do. And I know she does too.” He loosens his grip on you for a moment. Your nose crinkles at the loss, which is permission enough for him to tightly pull you into him. 

“I’m no hero. I don’t deserve the girl and the happy ending they bring with.”

“Steve, look at me.” Robin’s words are stern even in their hushed state, and it’s enough to pull his eyes from you to her. 

“You were a douchebag, I’ll give you that, but you’re so much more. We all see it. Now, that’s as mushy as I’m gonna get. Now stop moping and maybe next time confess your feelings when she’s awake.” and with that, she quiets stands and makes her way into the elevator, leaving Steve to watch over the two left sleeping atop. 

There isn’t even a minute of silence before Steve hears a faint noise. He looks to find Dustin slowly sitting up, groaning as if trying to shake just enough sleep out of him to stand. He’s successful and makes his way to Steve’s side where you’re not asleep. Dustin plops himself down, obviously still groggy. 

“You’re a hero to me.” His words were soft, but the meaning behind them seemed to scream to Steve. He realized he saw himself through rose-colored glasses that had been punched in. The broken glass made things disfigured. He saw only the jagged and broken, the pain and hurt. He saw the King of Hawkins High who’d do anything to keep his crown. 

Maybe that wasn’t true.

Maybe it was time to take the broken lenses and make them into a kaleidoscope. A new way to look at himself. To look to the light and see something beautiful. He could look to the future and be full of hope. He’d still have room to grow, but don’t we all? If he was good enough for Dustin and the rest of the kids, maybe he was good enough for you.

[kikis-writing-world]

Hiya! Congratulations on the milestone! If it's not too late could I participate in the ship game? I'm really shy and awkward the first couple months of knowing someone, and it takes a long while for me to get comfortable with being myself with someone, but once I do get comfortable I love to make people laugh all the time and try to focus on the silver lining of things, just generally trying to make people smile. I use writing and drawing to try and calm or organise my thoughts, since most of the time they scare me, and I also have a big urge to travel and explore different cultures while also being absolutely shit scared of everything 😂.

Hope your OK and staying safe! Bye! 👽👽

Thank you! I ship you with Din Djarin. The first few months of knowing each other would be a lot of awkward silences. Not uncomfortable necessary, just long. Eventually one of you would crack a joke, and that would be the beginning of an actual friendship. You would travel the galaxy with him, and he would love finding your drawings spread around the ship. He secretly would keep a stash of his favorites hidden in case you ever leave (because he’s kinda got abandonment issues if you couldn’t tell.) He would protect the shit out of you and it wouldn’t be long before you’re less scared because he’s way scarier than most things that could come after you.

I would love to see you two in a modern workplace AU, coworkers to lovers deal. You are his personal assistant and the two of you have a decent working relationship. You’re not great friends at first, but you work well together and have a mutual respect. He gets a promotion within the company which means he’s now having to leave the office/city for more meetings abroad. You get to go with him as he does this. He’s great at his job, kills it in meetings and with bosses/investors, but his social life seems kind of lacking. It’s almost like he’s not as confident outside of the business.

The first crack in the professional relationship is when it turns out you’re kind of nervous on the private jet. He helps you through take-off and landings, holding your hand and speaking in a calm, even voice. Next, because you’re spending so much time together in other cities, you two eat dinner together a lot. This means you’re chatting more about life and everything else. It’s probably a little awkward at first, but soon you realize he’s kinda your friend, not just your boss. You have to admit too, he’s kind of dashing.

You go to a meeting in the Northwest in winter, but while you’re there the meeting is cancelled because of a blizzard. This means the two of you have to just hunker down in the hotel. He proposes a movie night, so the two of you get into comfy clothes and pick something to watch from the hotel’s on-demand and order room service. As much as you liked seeing him dressed up, seeing him dressed down is somehow sexier. He looks so comfy and at-ease. You two end up falling asleep on the couch together, curled up under a blanket he pulled from the bed.

He gets invited to a company event and asks you to go with him. You say yes, of course, and make all the necessary plans. You’re a little excited, you’ve never been to the bigger dinners before, and you make sure to pick out a nice dress to wear. You’re also kinda nervous about being around the big bosses for a whole evening too. He reassures you that it’ll be fine.

He picks you up at your place. The whole night it seems like he has a hand hovering near you, sometimes actually touching your arm or lower back. It helps make you feel less anxious in the crowd and you’re thankful for it. He pulls your chair out for you and pours your wine. He’s kind of the perfect gentleman the whole time, and you for the briefest second allow yourself to think about what a great boyfriend he’d actually be.

At the end of the night he thanks you again for coming and kisses your cheek. You’re entire being is just frozen with a “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” He notices and he gets really flustered, apologizing like crazy that he maybe misread the situation but he thought this was a date. You’re like “ITS A WHAT?” because you definitely didn’t realize he asked you to the dinner as his date, not his assistant.

Things get super awkward at work the next Monday, both of you stuttering and stumbling over each other. Finally, he approaches you and basically spills that he’s been gaining feelings for you for some months now, and how working with you has been spectacular, and he admits that your drawings in the margins of notes and memos make him smile and he thought he had been clear about his intentions. He apologizes again and tells you that if you wanted to transfer to someone else, or even look for another job, you’d get nothing but a glowing recommendation from him. You tell him you don’t want to leave, but you really hadn’t realized he was feeling this way, and that the night had been a date. You shyly ask him if you two could have a do-over, try again when you actually realize what’s happening and he happily agrees.

Post with the rules and possible tropes here. Join in the fun!

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​ @jamies-kpop-reactions​

Chapter 15: Our Story

The mere seconds that Mom spent staring at me and Taemin, slackjawed in the doorway, might as well have lasted forever.

I think we wouldn't have looked half as guilty if we hadn't flinched lightyears apart from each other at her gasp, but it was our instinct to run and hide. As it turns out, we didn't melt or fade in the light of discovery, but we certainly did burn.

"Oops!" Mom almost giggled as she tiptoed back into the hallway and closed the door with a soft click. Like she had done something wrong, she apologized. "I'm sorry! Lei, I just came to tell you that dinner is ready. Come down whenever you get hungry!"

Before I could speak even in a timid squeak of a voice, I heard Mom's footsteps retreat down the stairs. Because tense silence had fallen over my room, I heard Donghae ask, "Where's Lei? Is she okay?"

And I heard Heechul say, "She's not curled up in bed with her radio crying her eyes out to SHINee again, is she? I thought we were past that phase!"

I went red in the face because I had certainly grown a bit past that phase, but only because I had Taemin— the real-life person— to curl up with. Thinking only that Taemin was a million times more comforting than any CD had ever been-- and that's really saying something since you know well that music was my best friend before Lucas— I glanced at him.

From the foot of the bed where he had tucked himself into a humiliated ball, Taemin sprang to his feet and started pacing around in the dark.

"Oh my God," he wheezed, nearly tripping over his shoes. "She caught us. Your mother— my manager— caught me in your room. She caught us kissing. She caught us kissing in your room. She caught me kissing you on your bed in your room. She caught me whispering into your mouth that I love you on your bed in the dark in your room."

I had been flustered before Taemin became a human embodiment of anxiety. A fact about me: I strive for balance in almost every situation. If somebody (take Lucas for example) is bouncing off the walls, I will sit perfectly still. If somebody is frowning, I am trying to make them smile, even if it's the briefest, dimmest sort of smile. If somebody (like Taemin was that night) is in a panic, I am level-headed.

So when Taemin tugged at his hair, whining, "She's going to kill me. And if she doesn't kill me, she'll make me break up with you, and then that's gonna kill me. Shit, shit, shit."

"She is not going to kill you," I said confidently because I knew Mom like the back of my hand. Granted, I didn't know every detail of her life before me, but I knew her well enough to know that she wasn't angry. Mom never apologizes when she isn't sorry. She never apologizes when she's mad.

I was kind of joking when I said, "If she wanted to kill you, she would have sent Heechul and Donghae flying up the stairs, and—”

"Shit!" Taemin hissed. Profanities didn't suit him. "Super Junior is going to kill me!"

Slightly wavering in confidence, I assured him, "No, they're not. Mom isn't going to say anything to Super Junior."

Besides, I rationalized to myself, Yesung, who would have posed the biggest threat to Taemin's life, already knew that we were together. If Yesung didn't kill Taemin at the Christmas party, I figured that we were in the clear.

If Taemin hadn't been pacing so quickly, I might have tried to catch him in my arms to kiss his worries away as he had done for me. Given that kissing had led to this tension, though, he might not have appreciated the affection. Maybe it's a good thing that I didn't try to kiss him.

Taemin collapsed onto the edge of the bed and buried his face into his hands. When moments passed in silence, I took the chance to say, "She won't make us break up either, Taem. She just-- she was probably just shocked because she didn't know you were here. On top of that, she has always thought that Lucas and I are a thing, so—”

Into his palms, Taemin groaned, "She probably thinks you're cheating on Lucas with me or something! That makes everything a billion times worse!"

"It's more likely that she just realized that Lucas and I were never together. I mean, I've told her often enough that the message was bound to sink in sooner or later." After pulling Taemin's hands away from his face, I laced our fingers together. I gave both hands a gentle squeeze. "I get that this isn't how we wanted Mom to find out about us, but she had to find out somehow."

To tell you the truth, I was relieved that she found out in this private aspect of life and not through a tabloid expose.

"I know that you wanted to keep this-- us-- a secret so we could be roommates on tour, but we couldn't hide in the dark forever."

And to tell you the truth, I didn't want to. I wasn't eager to pen some press release or anything, but I think I was outgrowing that compulsion, that dependence on secrecy and shadows; they didn't comfort me anymore.

From everything that happened over those past few months, I learned that secrets are damning. At least in my own home, I wanted to live openly and honestly. Maybe Mom's unexpected discovery made that possible.

Stunned by my lack of humiliation, slackjawed because, for the first time, Taemin was embarrassed while I was not, I realized out loud, "I think— I think I'm glad that she found out." Drawing a deep breath, the kind that makes you realize that you've been holding your breath for far too long, I admitted, "I think— I think I've wanted her to know for a long time. Maybe forever."

Silence ensued as Taemin breathed heavily. Deeply. Inhale, count to ten. Exhale, count to ten.

My mouth opened, probably to explain that I nearly told Mom all about us on the drive to Grandma's house on my debut anniversary, but Taemin's stare took my voice away. He blinked at me. The spark in his eyes made me think that he wanted to smile at me. In hindsight, I guess he didn't. Taemin always smiled whenever he wanted to smile, and he didn't offer me the smallest grin for the rest of the night.

"I have to go," he breathed before stepping into his shoes.

That deep breath I had just drawn passed through my lips all at once. I said the wrong thing. There is nothing worse than when the truth— the full and absolute truth that rings in the deepest part of your heart— is the wrong thing to say. How can anyone regret telling the truth? How can anybody want to snatch the truth out of the air once it has been released?

"O-okay."

My stutter did not pass unnoticed despite my efforts to hide it with a smile. Taemin sat back by my side, took my face into his warm hands, and pecked at my lips. The kiss was over before I even realized it was happening.

"I love you, baby," Taemin promised. I swooned less at the affirmation of what I already knew and more at the variation of his name for me. He tucked some hair behind my ear. "Go down to dinner, and I'll talk to you later."

Rising to my feet in time with him, I said, "I love you too. Forever, Taemin."

Because I didn't want to watch him scramble out of the window, because I was at great risk of begging him to stay for dinner with Mom and Donghae and Heechul and Lucas— my family— to once and for all drag our remaining secrets into the light, I walked away. From the vanity, I grabbed the old photograph that I had yet to return to Donghae. I don't think I closed the door behind me on my way out of the room.

I tiptoed down the stairs, quietly hoping that Taemin would follow. Or maybe I was hoping that I would return from dinner to find him waiting on my bed with open arms. In the end, I was disappointed, but I didn't feel like a fool for daring to hope.

. . .

It turned out that Lucas's description of the rivalry between Donghae and Heechul was not all that dramatized.

Sandwiched between the two men at the dining room table, Mom looked nothing like the fairytale queen I imagined she would become in her happy ending. The squabbling must have gotten under her skin, etched those lines into her forehead, weighed down on the corners of her lips, and sharpened the glare she hurled at Heechul for a (probably offensive) comment that I hadn't heard over my thoughts as I reached the foot of the stairs.

"Lei!" Lucas cheered, pumping two fists into the air, because he was no longer alone with the adults. "Where've ya been?"

I couldn't narrow or roll my eyes at Lucas. He had no way to know that I had been kissing Taemin all day. He didn't have any clue that Mom just walked in on the most intimate moment of my life.

Blushing slightly under everybody's stare— smiling only because Moms smiled first and reminded me that everything was okay— I hummed, "I was just counting the stars."

As I sat in the seat next to Lucas and across from Donghae, I sat the picture frame onto the table. I met Donghae's gentle gaze and nodded. "I believe this belongs to you."

"I believe it does!" Donghae beamed and took the photograph into his hands. "Is this a new frame?" He asked as his thumb traced along the infinity symbol.

"Yep!" I omitted the fact that I had broken the original frame on that night I peeled his poster off the wall. "I— I hope you like it." I would have bashfully dropped my gaze onto the table if Donghae were the kind of person anyone could look away from. He looks right through the soul, you know, and I was finally comfortable with that.

While he untied one of the white threads around his wrist, Donghae swore, "I love it, Lei!" He motioned for me to hold out my wrist.

I watched, smiling, as Donghae knotted the infinity bracelet for me. All I could think about was my ribbon around Taemin's wrist. All I could think was that Donghae's thread bracelet was a ribbon too. We were tied together. Soulmates. Forever.

Then, my eyes were drawn to his red thread ribbon. Mom wore-- wears— one identical to that. They were tied together too. Soulmates. Forever.

So don't fault me for disagreeing with Taemin's belief that everything was falling apart with Mom's discovery of our kiss. It was clear for anybody to see (if they knew where to look) that happiness wasn't contingent upon the idea that everything will be okay. Everything was okay. Everything is okay. Happiness had arrived.

Except it wasn't happiness. The warmth spreading through my chest and painting life-- which had gone from dull shades of gray to pale hues with Lucas to sporadic brilliant bursts of color in the night with Taemin— was named joy. I read once that joy is forever, and I believed it then, and I believe it still. So, for the first time in a long time, as I looked at Donghae and Donghae looked back at me, I was not afraid for the sun to rise. I was not anxious because the sun had risen.

"It's not fair!" Heechul shrieked, pounding his fists on the table. "I practically live here, and the girl still favors Donghae!" Staring at me so intently that I thought his eyes might pop out of his head, Heechul demanded, "How come we never exchange gifts at the table, huh? I've been crashing on that couch for however many years, and you've never given me so much as a high-five!"

I raised my hands in total sincere surrender. "Look, I'm not picking favorites. I love you both. And if you start getting annoying and demanding me to pick favorites-- well-- let's not get into this again."

Donghae pouted into his glass of water. "You mean Yesung is still your favorite?"

And Heechul groaned at the ceiling, "Why am I not surprised?"

And Lucas chirped, "You gotta love Lei's unfailing loyalty!"

As I started forking through my dinner-- a salad because a.) my mouth was entirely too sensitive to the spicy noodles everyone else could slurp without watering in the eyes, and b.) I was trying yet another diet-- Mom caught my eye. She was watching me, smiling knowingly, determined to see me blush.

Uninterested in attracting any of the boys' attention, I subtly raised my eyebrows, trusting that Mom wouldn't say anything to expose my intimate information.

"You're not busy tomorrow are you?" I swear, she winked at me and I almost choked. "I was hoping that you could meet with me tomorrow. Nothing too serious, just a quick check-in on that project you've been working on."

Obviously, there was no project. Mom was just trying to tease me a bit and ensure that I made time to tell her about the events that led to the kiss that took our breath away.

Donghae and Heechul didn't know any of that, though, and they started pestering me about the project— "Is it a new song?" Heechul asked, and Donghae guessed, "Is the agency letting you write a ballad?"— while Lucas watched me through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Would you two hush?" Mom hissed at Donghae and Heechul. "Just let Lei keep her secrets for now!"

Mom and I laughed together and the others looked at us like we were crazy. That's okay, though. I didn't mind their stares. I was too happy that Mom saw me; I was too happy that there would be no more secrets between us come tomorrow morning. If I had it my way, I decided, there would never be another secret between us for the rest of our lives.

"I always have time for you," I told her through a grin. "Just name the hour, and I'll drop everything for you."

I had until 9 o'clock in the morning to decide what I wanted to tell Mom. Once I walked into my bedroom, I flipped on the overhead light, nabbed an empty moleskine notebook from the bookshelf, and sat at the desk I hadn't used since the long past poetry-writing days. Having grown significantly since then, I had to pull that little lever that lowers the rolling office chair.

Several of the pens that I dug out of the top drawer had gone dry, but I finally found one-- a dark almost-black blue-- that worked. I used it to map out the constellations, everything that happened before the kiss. Debuting with SuperM, giving Taemin my ribbon, the first game of Truth or Dare, crying that night in the garden, falling asleep with Taemin every night in America, the NCT Dream VLive incident, the Great Come Apart in Grandma's dining room, the roller coaster that was the Christmas party, visiting the wishing fountain where Baekhyun gave me a flower crown, kissing Taemin throughout New Year's Night and into New Year's Day.

I poured all of myself into that story, this story. On these pages, you can find me: my fears, my dreams, my hopes. I hope you love me as much as I love you. I know you do, Mom. I know you do.

By the time I lay me down to sleep, it is 4 O'Clock in the morning. Now, I wait for the sun to rise so I can share everything.

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: ‘Tis The Damn Season III

---

The slap of the base of her flip-flops against the bottom of her foot was mute under the sound of the music trilling through her ears while she lay out on the sun-warmed towel below her.

This was exactly the type of thing she never would have imagined during her life. When she was in the cold Winters of the European countryside, frozen ground baron and her stomach achingly empty. The wind would be knives of ice across her skin instead of the warm, salty breeze that blew through her hair now. The skies would be a grey, gnawing mouth denying the briefest glimpse of sunshine unlike the warm sun shining down on her now below a crystal blue sky. The sapphire blue ocean that stretched out before her was truly clear and beautiful compared to those plains of white. The girl who’s eyes drank in the sight as happily as she did was blessed to have grown up in such an area.

Though not with the same level of service, Ruby thought to herself as she raised a hand in the air and snapped her fingers in a sharp crack. Within a moment there was a cool glass placed at her finger tips and pulling the bamboo strawed drink down to enjoy the refreshing rum mojito, the demon smiled to herself as she could relax back. If dying twice was what it took to finally have her ideal life - or something like it - she wished she could have known that earlier.

Continuing to tap her foot in time with her music, the blonde sat her drink down before picking her notebook again. She might appear to be just writing a few ideas or working on some story, but the actual words were anything but. Detailed information, coded and recoded, translated and restranslated through several languages before the words would make any sense at all, on her darkest passages and some of the spells she was investigating at present that if anyone actually could understand the contents would make their hair curl. Just because it was the holidays didn’t mean the demon could stop working for her own happiness and freedom.

Sighing as a cloud crossed past the sun, Ruby let out a groan as the shadow didn’t seem to move after a moment. It took another minute for her to actually realise that it was the shadow of a person, and slipping her earbud out she growled pissily, “Hey, buddy, fucking move it.”

“Polite as always, darling.” The voice was completely unexpected but not unfamiliar, and slipping her sunglasses down her nose slightly, Ruby looked up in surprise to see a bemused smirk on the other being’s face. “Was I in your sun?”

“What do you think?” “Probably yes.” “Well then-” “Especially as I was in your sun.” “Mhmm…”

“Going to ask me to move nicely, gorgeous?” Gabriel quirked a brow up at her as he flung out a hand unseeingly and moved it back with a drink of his own in a wooden tiki glass, complete with vibrant umbrella and sticks of tropical fruit. “Or are you going to go for a little glare and pout today?”

It took another second as the blonde slipped her sunglasses on top of her head and titled her head assessing what options she had before waving a hand towards the empty sunbed beside herself.

“Perhaps the easier answer - sit your ass down if you want, pagan, or get out of my sunlight.” Ruby quipped back caustically, sliding her sunglasses off of her head and onto the small table between the chairs. “Do I even want to know what you’re doing in this neck of the woods this time of year?”

It didn’t surprise her to see the other move with a huffed laugh, before stretching out on the other sunbed with an ever present smile. Gabriel seemed far too at ease from what she could tell - the open shirt and tank top combination with the shorts and what looked to be truly horrendous blue and white flip-flops - and glancing around the way he melded in to the exact same style as every other man walking past along the sand felt hilariously in keeping. 

“Well, you see, beautiful,” Gabe seemed to pause to himself for a moment as he leaned back into the other sunbed with a contented groan. Waving a hand about and another moment to himself for a sip of his drink, the flair for the dramatic wasn’t at all lost on Ruby as she tried not to let the corners of her lips twist in bemusement at the antics. “Why would I stay in North America or even more dismaly within the European areas when I could fly south for the winter and get an extra dose of summer?”

“A very good excuse, of course.” Ruby replied as she shuffled in her seat for a moment before letting out a sigh and shifting to lean on her hip facing the other rather than towards the umbrella above her. Chewing thoughtfully upon the end of her straw, she tilted her head thoughtfully before she eventually raised a manicured brow. “So - who are you avoiding up North?”

“Excuse me?” “A pretty story, sure, but which pagan got a bit too close to you, viking?” “I don’t know what you might be thinking-” “Of course not.”

“You really think you’ve got me pegged, don’t you Ruby.” The slight gravel in his voice caught her off guard for a moment as the crackle of electricity seemed to fill the humid air across the beach in waves. Looking over her shoulder, the blonde demon could see more than a handful of locals looking skywards - as if searching for gathering grey clouds that should have been there for such an atmospheric change but were nowhere to be seen in the bright blue sky above. Of course it suited the other to be here right then, where the air was thick like honey in the humidity and lent itself to the shifts of power that a trigger-happy anger response for such a powerful being could be. The unpredictability of the Queensland weather feeling in keeping with the new arrival. Gabriel’s jaw was set a little harder as she turned her face back to his, a darkness in his eyes that spoke to the little part of her that used to search out every weakness, every opening and every opportunity for manipulation that this was a dangerous game for a demon to be playing right there. “You think you can predict what I - the one who successfully impersonated one of the most famous Tricksters in the world for centuries - do and why?”

“Predict?” Ruby blinked her eyes as innocently as possible, wide-eyed and baleful, as she met his stare for a long hard moment. 

She probably could predict his choice to flee to the southern hemisphere if she really tried. It was likely for the same reason she was as well. She could probably draw a conclusion right now, or follow her old tactics and slowly draw out his responses until she caught upon the right thread. She could probably just easily assume it was one of the normal troubles - family or romantic, given work didn’t quite cross her mind when thinking on what would ever trouble the carefree Pagan-playing man - and extrapolate from there. Ask who he was hiding from this time around. Which war or fight he didn’t want to be having that he flew the coop and found his feathered butt drawn to the warming sun and surf. Who he was trying to avoid the confrontation with as much as she was. 

But that would be the old Ruby, she thought to herself with a small shake of her head. That was the Ruby that was all darkness and cruelty. The one that was the best and awesome and felt herself burning from the insides out as the blade ran right through her. That was even the Ruby that pressed a shoe against a poor innocent guy’s knee to force out from him that a woman made him happy. That was the Ruby that let herself get caught in deals she didn’t want to under the threat of yet another blade - one that would likely tear her apart that time - driven through her. That was the Ruby she’d swore not to be any more and was the one she’d left behind when she handed the bloody dagger into her fellow blonde’s hand with a smooth lie - the last one she intended to tell really. That wasn’t the new Ruby she was trying to be ever since she’d spotted the glowing warmth of a certain hunter’s existence into her world again.

Shaking her head again, Ruby glanced back towards him before batting her eyes more than a few times with the sweetest smile full of warmth and danger and daggers of white teeth as she looked back towards the far too serious look on the other’s face. “That’d suggest I know you any at all, Sir Loki-Like. I’d never dare to presume as much.”

“Really, madame, the cheek on you.” Gabriel had tilted his own head for a moment as he stared her down, and Ruby could see a tiny flash of that previous anger in the depths of his eyes before the good humor washed it away. The wicked smirk she got in return as the slightly electric feeling in the air faded back let her release a silent and invisible breath that had caught in her throat for a moment as the archangel arched a brow back at her in return. “Someone would think you’ve got a brain under that pretty blonde hair of yours.”

Ruby let out a responding laugh, tossing said hair over a shoulder for a second that would look flirtatious to any outsider and would be taken as such alongside a joke by the other. Shaking her head, she shrugged a shoulder before she finished the last of her drink and toyed with the straw. “Oh don’t go letting anyone know that there’s more to me than a pretty face, Gabe, or we both might just find ourselves in trouble.”

“Some very hot water-” “Exactly.” “Count me as mute then, gorgeous.”

The mutual grin of appreciation that both lounging beings sent one another was another point in Ruby’s mind for the disruption right now not being wholly unwelcome. Australia and the beach was fun and all, and time to herself to do some of her preferred focuses such as accumulating powerful defenses for herself and uncovering things others think too far hidden or too outlandish to be real was always a good time - but it did get dull being all on her own so much sometimes. 

Last year she hadn’t been so alone. Her watching - that’s what it was, it wasn’t stalking, no matter what the object of her watching had to say about it - had paid off and she’d been able to spend a whole evening and night basking in a light even warmer and hotter and more fulfilling to the dark twisted thing that was her soul than even the sunlight above was. She had had a good Winter, especially when she’d managed a second full meal seated across from the long haired hunter, staring at the slopes of his cheeks and those honey speckled eyes that made her giddy. It had been a small space of time that she felt she could even possibly get close to something that was accepting company, but after the year she’d had since then - letting her secrets out and sharing what she probably shouldn’t’ve - Ruby’s winter had loomed cold and dark and as such the call of beaches and sunshine that might just maybe keep her warm like last year was the drawer. And yet alone on the sand and soaking in the suns rays was missing the good company to make it better.

As her mind whirled through her thoughts, Ruby found herself giving a long, deep sigh as she glanced across at the trickster looking at her with a mix of curiosity and bemusement as he finished off his own fruity drink. “Oh fuck…” Ruby mumbled to herself with a deep groan as she watched the other’s face break into a much much wider grin of amusement at her. Shaking her head, she rolled onto her back with another mute sigh, and then adding with a sideways glance. “So - what are we doing for dinner tonight, viking?”

The warm laugh she got in response as both of their drinks were refilled with a finger snap was answer enough for her that the presumption wasn’t wrong at all - if nothing else, she thought as she took a sip of her drink and reset her sunglasses back on her nose, she was going to have some excellent company again for a little while this year.

—

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part IX)

(This is a long one! I'm sorry!)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI

Remus spent ten minutes in the washroom.

He didn’t want to spend ten minutes there, standing around by the sink, eying himself awkwardly in the mirror, nodding uncomfortably at the man who stood in the corner giving out mints. At first, Remus considered returning to the table, but then he pictured Sirius’ face, dark and cold, his glare as sharp as his cheekbones. 

A few minutes in, Remus noticed the bathroom attendant— Is that what he was called? — eyeing him suspiciously. He gave the man a guilty smile and tried to save face. 

“I’m uh… just waiting on some friends… they’re… uh… having a conversation at the table? A… A private one… I just…” 

Remus cut himself off after he realized how little the other man cared about his predicament and how awkward his explanation sounded. 

After ten minutes in the restroom, Remus eventually returned to the table, praying to whoever would listen that his friends' discussion was over; the last thing Remus needed was to walk in on them talking about him. When he arrived, Lily and James both offered genuine smiles. Sirius was staring intently at the menu, making a point of not glancing up as Remus sat down beside him.

“Remus! Hey… Sorry about that,” Lily began, before Remus shook his head in response.

“It’s no problem, really. Gave me a chance to… get some fresh air…” Remus didn’t know why he lied; perhaps he didn’t want his companions to know that he had spent the entire time staring at the mirror above the sinks. 

Just as Remus lifted up the menu to begin looking at it— Lily was right, there were no prices! — a server came by to take their orders. 

“Sir? What can I get you?”

“Oh…” Remus glanced down at the menu again, then back up at the server. “Can you… come back to me? At the end?”

“Of course, sir.”

Remus searched through the menu for the least expensive-sounding option as the rest of the party gave their orders. By the time the waiter circled back to Remus, he had settled on something.

“I’ll have the salad, please.”

“Very good, Sir. And for your main course?”

“Oh, uh… that… that was for my main course.”

The waiter cocked an eyebrow and Remus could feel the back of his neck burning. 

“Sir, this is a prix fix menu. It’s all included. The appetizer, the main course, the dessert, all one price.”

Oh.

That explained why the menu didn't have any prices on it. It also posed a problem for Remus, who wanted to spend as little as possible at this exceedingly expensive establishment. 

He glanced down at the menu again, feeling the eyes of his companions all settling on him, waiting for his response. Remus swallowed, trying to steady his nerves. He needed to keep his voice from shaking. 

"Wh— what do you recommend?"

"The steak is our most popular dish.  A very fine cut. Exceptional."

"O-okay… I'll have that."

"Very good, sir. How would you like your steak?"

Remus glanced over to Lily, hoping that she could help save him from embarrassment. He had never ordered steak at a restaurant; what was he supposed to tell the server? Lily smiled kindly at him, in that way she always seemed to smile. It was as if nothing about her could ever be unkind. 

"It's usually best medium-rare," she said softly.

"Okay, uh… medium-rare then…"

The server nodded before leaving the table. 

"Thanks," Remus mumbled under his breath, earning himself a gentle squeeze on the arm from Lily. 

Conversation at the table picked up, and Remus noticed his nerves settle slightly as James and Lily chatted away. Lily began talking about art, a conversation that Remus could participate in, resulting in a vibrant debate about the merits of the hand-made and the decline of technique in the contemporary art world. 

"I think that's the biggest flaw with performance art," Remus was saying as the sommelier filled his second glass of wine. "There's no skill involved. Sure, your idea can be strong, but there's a definite lack of artistic prowess, and it's a sincere pity. It really is detrimental to overall artistic growth in terms of sheer ability."

"You're wrong," Sirius said suddenly, speaking up for the first time since Remus arrived back at the table. Remus looked over to Sirius, expecting him to look upset. Instead, the gallerist had a smug grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with passion. "And if every artist thought like you, we would be stuck looking at the same thing in every gallery."

"Sirius," Lily said threateningly, before Remus cut her off.

"No, no, I want to hear this. Go on, Si— Mr. Black. I'd love to hear your explanation."

"Well," Sirius began, pausing to nod at the server who brought him a plate of food. "Performance art, readymade, the types of works that, as you say, don't require talent… those artists push the boundaries of what is defined as art. They move the contemporary world in a new direction, challenging the ideals of the time, bringing forth new concepts and making statements "

Remus smiled at Sirius, shaking his head.

"There's a time and a place, Mr. Black." He took a bite of his food and paused for a moment to savour the variety of flavours. Despite being a salad, it was so different than anything he had ever tried before; sweetness paired with bitter, the tang of citrus crossed with the bite from spiced pecans. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sheer sensation of eating. 

"You were saying, Mister Lupin?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. This is delicious. Yes, a time and a place. At the time that Duchamp first introduced the concept of readymade, there was a genuine need for it in the art world. Nowadays, if somebody presented a urinal in an art gallery, they would be laughed at! What the contemporary art world needs these days is a return to craftsmanship. We need to go back to our roots, to explore techniques, to learn how to paint and draw and sculpt the way we used to."

"And what of Abromovic, who challenges what it means to be an artist?" Sirius asked, his grin growing wider, a hint of colour spreading across his cheeks.

"What about her?" Remus retorted, taking another bite and picking out the individual flavours of the dish. 

"Well, Mr. Lupin, she changes the way we view art. Art is no longer something that is inaccessible to the lower class, the uneducated. Art is something that anyone can do, or be, or have, or create. Art is no longer reserved for the elite. People can no longer purchase art the same way they used to. I cannot own an Abromovic masterpiece. I can enjoy it and witness it, I can be a part of it, but it's not something that I can have and keep to myself behind closed doors. Art is no longer a commodity."

Remus nodded to the server who cleared his plate before giving Sirius a slightly skeptical look.

"You don't need to tell me about commodification of art and the inability to access it," Remus said with a grin. "If anything, I should be the one arguing for art accessibility for the lower class, not you."

Sirius' eyes flashed with something that Remus couldn't decipher, and for the briefest moment, the gallerist looked taken aback. Sirius' composure quickly resumed, however, covering up any sense of doubt, his lips twisted smugly.

"Well then, Mr. Lupin, my point shouldn't be lost on you."

"It's not," Remus said with a casual shrug, glancing over to James and Lily who were merely observers of the conversation rather than participants. "I understand what you mean. I just don't think people should become so wealthy on such minimal talent…"

Sirius didn't respond.

Remus noticed the silence that settled over the table and his smile faded. He sat up straight, fiddling with the corner of his napkin, realizing his error. 

"I… I mean… like Abromovic. She's so wealthy and she… well… she hasn't produced anything… and galleries keep bringing her in and, well, she… uh…"

Two servers arrived at their table, placing a plate in front of each person, and Remus had never been more grateful for a distraction. 

"Ah! Wonderful!" James exclaimed, drawing the table's attention to himself. He smiled across at Remus, as if to say that all was well, but Remus could tell that something was off with Sirius. The artist glanced over to his right, where the gallerist was digging into his dinner. 

With a shrug, Remus focused his attention on his steak, and the moment he took a bite, all of his worries faded away. 

Remus had never tasted meat like this before. It was soft and tender, dripping with juices and a punch of flavour. His knife slid through the meat so easily, so effortlessly, revealing a perfectly pink interior. This was the most delicious meal Remus had ever eaten in his entire life. 

No wonder rich people are always so happy. I'd be happy too, if I could eat this whenever I wanted.

Remus knew he'd never be able to properly enjoy a steak again, it would always be compared to the perfect dish before him.

"So Remus," Lily began, once their plates were beginning to empty. "If you don't like Abromovic or Koons, which artists do you like?"

Remus grinned at his friend as he set his fork and knife down.

"And I'm assuming I can't just say myself?"

Lily and James both laughed at his joke, but Sirius' face twisted into a scowl. 

"A little proud of yourself, are we?"

Remus' gaze returned to Sirius, trying to read the man; he couldn't tell if his joke was lost on Sirius or if the man simply lacked a sense of humour.

"I mean, I didn't name a gallery after myself…"

Another pause. The table seemed to hold its collective breath as Remus' taunt landed. 

Sirius' lips parted in a grin, and he let out a sharp laugh. Remus felt his body release the tension he didn't realize the was holding, his shoulders relaxing and a breath escaping his lungs.

Thank god.

Sirius laughing meant that Remus didn't put the rest of his life at risk. He was, however, beginning to despise the minefield that was this dinner, waiting for his next slip up, waiting for his world to explode. 

"That's funny, Mr. Lupin." Sirius said, after a good chuckle. "Very funny. Especially considering the fact that up until very recently, it was your desire to show in that gallery."

Shit.

"Oh shush," James butted in, before anyone else could say anything. "Learn to take a joke, Sirius. Don't be so—"

"Don't say it, James!" Lily warned, barely containing her grin.

"I was merely playing along!" Sirius teased, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol and laughter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. His gaze flickered toward Remus, and the artist felt his heart skip a beat. Sirius was a very handsome man, and laughter looked particularly good on him. He was attractive no matter what he did, any way that he held himself. When he smiled, though…

Remus quickly looked away, directing his attention to the remnants on his plate. When Sirius smiled, his eyes lit up, as blinding as the sun kissing the sky on a perfect winter day. They were the very shade of snow beneath a tree, the lightest of blues, perfectly undisturbed. Sirius' cheeks bore the morning blush of a sunrise, the colour of the sky just as it threatened to turn blue. Next to the creamy glow of his face, it took on an almost ethereal quality. 

Remus loved the colours of Sirius.

And he hated how much he loved it.

"Any coffee with your dessert, sir?" 

Remus thought his heart might have exploded with the shock of being wrenched from his thoughts. He looked up at the server with a look of panic, having completely forgotten where he was.

"Um… no, no thank you. I'm fine," he mumbled, tearing his eyes from the server and keeping them focused on the chocolate torte that had been placed in front of him.

Thank god.

Nothing could redirect Remus' imagination quite like chocolate, and he was thoroughly grateful for the distraction. 

Dessert passed with minimal conversation as everyone savoured their delicacies. As discussion resumed, it veered away from art, and Remus found himself listening more than talking. Eventually, the server came by the table, and Remus realized that his perfect meal and fantasy evening was about to come to an abrupt and painful close. 

"Will there be anything else you need?"

"No, just the bill, please," James said politely.

"Together or separate?"

"Together."

Together?

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it; he waited for the server to leave before he rounded on James.

"You really don't have to do that, James. Honestly, I can't let you—"

"Nonsense!" James said with an enthusiastic flap of his hand. "Of course I'm paying! This dinner is my treat!"

"But it really—"

"Remus, I invited you to join us! It's my pleasure!"

Remus knew he should be happy, he should feel relieved; his whole night had been laced with anxiety as he thought about the ludicrous cheque that was waiting for him. Instead, Remus felt guilty. He felt like he was in debt to James, like he owed the man. There was no way he could accept a gift this generous without repaying the favour.

"You don't have to," Remus mumbled, feeling the weight of his words press down on his shoulders. He was damned either way, but at least if he paid for his meal, he wouldn't be indebted to anyone. 

"I know," James said, his smile never faltering. "I don't have to do anything. I want to. Now, back to the real matter at hand…" James turned to Sirius. He was clearly finished with the discussion about the bill, and Remus knew better than to push.

"Yes, James?" Sirius said, quirking a brow playfully.

"Now that you've had a proper opportunity to get to know Remus, have you come to any important decisions?"

Remus' heart was suddenly in his throat, beating more rapidly than he thought possible. How could he have forgotten about Sirius' decision to have him in the gallery?

"As a matter of fact," Sirius purred, his smile crooked and sly. He turned to Remus, his chin tilted slightly upwards, a flash of pearly white teeth enclosed between tender lips that Remus wanted to forget about. "I have."

Remus' grip tightened on his napkin and he sank into his chair as the silence and anticipation steadily grew worse.

"Well?!" James was on the edge of his seat, clearly not a patient man. Lily had her hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him at bay.

"Remus, I require no less than five pieces in order to begin displaying your work. I would like to have them by our next show, which will be towards the beginning of November. Do you think you can accomplish that for me?"

Remus was at a loss for words. He nodded fervently, unable to get his voice out. 

"Good. I'll have my lawyers work up a contract. You can come by the gallery on Monday to sign it and discuss details."

Remus couldn't believe what was happening. He pinched himself on his forearm, trying to ensure that this was not some kind of vivid dream. As a jolt of pain shot through his arm, a smile spread across his face. 

As far as he could tell, it was all real...

[kauladoeswriting]

Life Will Change, Prologue

What you see here is possibly my weirdest passion project, and frankly I’m  a little terrified to share it. But what the hell, I might as well get it over with. If I keep tweaking it it’ll never get posted. No beta we die like men. Yell at me if there’s any weird continuity errors.

While knowledge of neither series is necessarily needed, it will probably make it more enjoyable. Fandom: Rockman.EXE/Persona 5 Fusion Wordcount: 1764

AO3

Next Chapter

November 18th, 2016

After School...

"After him!" 

 The night sky glittered through the windows as Joker ran by, moving along the sills of the window with grace born in practice and time. 

 "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were intentionally leading them on," Nurse commented in his ear. 

 "Psh, nah. You know how no nonsense he is! He wouldn't do that!" Ribbon responded. Despite her words, her tone revealed she was as joking as Nurse.

 "He's going to get caught if he doesn't stop," Rock scolded. "There's an air vent to your left, Joker. Take it."

 "Lighten up, Rock!" crooned Light. "You and Nurse worry way too much!"

 "Worry? You misunderstand me, Light. Joker's just an idiot." They could almost imagine Nurse tapping her foot without even seeing it.

 "I think none of you are taking this with appropriate seriousness." Soldier jumped in. "The only ones even trying seem to be myself, Rock, and Popup." No one could see Soldier, as he was off by himself, but they could hear his frown loudly over the comms.

 "Because we should act like a dog?" Light asked, immediately followed by a yelp as someone smacked him. If Joker had to guess, it was Ribbon or Popup.

 "How about you're all a distraction and really need to be quiet?" Joker asked, grinning all the same. He had taken Rock's advice, pulling himself up into the vents and let himself out into maintenance hallways, avoiding the guards chasing him for now.

With a quick look around to make sure he really alone, he crept down the hallway, leaping from shadow to shadow. He ducked behind a plush chair as a pair of guards ran by, hoping to catch any one of the nine thieves currently running about the building. They ran by the leader, but of course, they didn’t notice him.

 They never did. 

 Climbing through the building had led Joker to the upper floors. Okay, going up made things a little tougher, but he had accepted that escaping from down below was hopeless on foot. “HALT!”

 Oh, wonderful. He was found again. How were they tracking him so fast, exactly?

“There’s no way around! Joker, you’ll have to fight your way through!” Rock’s voice echoed in his ear, the navigator trying his hardest to manage all of the escapes at once. (He really didn’t envy the navigator’s job.)

 Drawing his sword from his sheath, he took a wide slash, striking both of the blob like security guards and causing them to dissolve. In a moment, they were more solid demons, something he could actually fight. Have to finish this quickly!     Joker grabbed his mask, summing a figure with long flowing hair next to him. “Let’s do this in one shot.” The figure readied it’s blade, wreathed in dark energy.

“EIGAON!” The swordsman next to him drew his sword back, and then in one fluid movement, tore straight through the opposing shadow. Not waiting a moment longer, Joker drove his sword straight through the chest of the shadow’s friend, drawing his pistol quickly and shooting it for good measure.

 “And that’s that.” He said, pleased, tucking his weapons back into their respective holsters. “Good one Joker! Now get going!” Rock encouraged. 

 “Watching him fight is fun, can we look for more things to- OW! Will you stop that?” Light complained, more shuffling as he evidently swung back this time. “Are you trying to get us in trouble?” Ribbon asked.

 Shaking his head, Joker took off down the hall way, continuing his hunt for a safe way out. Whatever map he was using, apparently Rock was unable to give him more useful directions.

 He was at the top of the building now, looking for a way out when the guards found him a second time. He could fight his way out, or he could do the fun thing…. How much did he feel like channeling Light?

 With guards on both sides, and a 5 on 1 match seeming unlikely, even with his skill and variety, Joker decided that channeling Light was in fact the best option here. Pivoting on his heel, Joker faced the huge window directly to his left, and with a few steps back, launched himself straight into it, guarding his face with his arms. For the briefest of seconds, Joker let himself fly through the air, before shifting to head down and land on his feet. For a precious few seconds, Joker thought he might have actually made it outside safely, and that he’d escape from the building unharmed. 

 And then all at once, the world in front of him lit up with the spotlights of SWAT officers. Oh. Oh hell. Pivoting on his heel, Joker jumped up to grab the fire escape ladder, encouraged by the chanting of his teammates in his ears. He climbed as quickly as he could.

 In the back of his mind, he could feel everyone yelling at him, warning of incoming danger. Not just his teammates either. Officers greeted him at the top of the ladder. Even though he knew they were coming, Joker couldn’t help looking surprised. Even more so, when they stomped on his hands, forcing him to let go and sending him spiraling back to the ground.

 This time, Joker wasn’t able to control his plummet.

The following was a flurry of motion and noise, as his comm link was torn away and he lost contact with his teammates, amid their worried commentary. “So young, huh?” Commented one officer, grabbing Joker’s face and roughly examining it, as if to get an idea who he was behind his mask. “To think that an actual kid has been committing this string of crimes…” Joker hoped the glare came across the way he wanted it to. With his arms pinned with an adult’s full bodyweight to his back, there’s not much else he can do. “You were sold out, you know.” Another officer, this one far more arrogant sounding, knelt down next to Joker. “You can thank your teammates for this.”

And then Joker’s world went dark.

 ========

When Joker came to, it was not to the same beautiful building he had fallen asleep in. Rather, it was in a concrete room he had never seen before, with two officers staring him down. He blinked slowly, trying to process the world around him.

 His face was bare. His mask was missing. And looking down revealed that he wasn’t wearing a a tuxedo of any kind, or any kind of weapons; just his day clothes. 

 “Assault, Murder, Grand Larceny, Obstruction of Justice, Property Damage, and more.” The officer was reading his charges. “Quite an impressive rap list for someone who is like, 17 years old?” He asks. Joker glared, not willing to respond to them. If they expect him to cooperate with them, they had another thing coming.

 Apparently, the officer with the clipboard had the same idea. “Now, kid. You can make this easy, or you can make it hard. We have a confession prepped for you. All you have to do is sign.” Still not willing to open his mouth, Joker shook his head no, trying as much to shake the worry of his teammate’s safety as he is  trying to push away the orders of the officer. He needed to hold his ground. They knew the plan, he had to trust they carried it out.

 The officer didn’t agree with Joker’s vow of silence, shoved the chair over, throwing the teen to the ground. “Think you can be a real smart guy, eh? We’ll get your name, one way or another, kid.”

 Blue eyes wandered to the camera in the back corner, behind the officer. The officer turned to see what Joker was looking at, and then laughed. “Are you hoping for the camera to save you kid? That someone will see this and come to your rescue? Let me burst your bubble; They don’t come to save criminals like you.” The clipboard is roughly shoved in Joker’s face again, as someone realized they should probably release his hands if they expected him to write. “Don’t even think about lying kid. You’ll just be caught immediately.” He chuckled, as if it were funny. “Not that you could anyways.” Deciding to cooperate to avoid another harsh hit like that, even though he was confused by the statement, Joker raised his hand to write his name on the clip board.  

Ijuuin Enzan

The officers looked at the name for a moment. “Isn’t it that kid of that CEO…?” Asked one. 

“The one who got in trouble over assaulting a politician?” The other officer confirmed it with a nod.

“You’re going away for a long time kid.” The one that had shoved the clipboard in his face kicked him again, almost completely for ‘good measure’ at this point.

And then he was alone.

=======

Enzan finally climbs to his feet and at least rights hs chair. He was stuck in this room for the foreseeable future. He was waiting for a certain someone, but that person had to actually show up… and a part of him couldn’t help but worry that all their planning was for naught.

Those worries were assuaged when a woman with her hair in a ponytail, wearing a clean pink suit with a blue tie. If anyone could make that look professional… “Ijuuin-kun. I apologize, but we’ll need to make this as quick as you can manage.” She got right to work, setting the folder in her arms down and spreading them across the table. “I have had some time bought for me by my superior, but unfortunately they seem insistent you don’t get a fair shot.” Enzan couldn’t say he was surprised. With a rap sheet like his, he can’t imagine anyone wanted to see him walk free. If only they knew….

“We have been told...things about how you committed your crimes.” Manabe began slowly. “However, the explanations are… spotty at best.” 

Enzan nodded. They sounded unbelievable to him even know, and he had been at this for the better part of a year.

“They say you steal hearts, and fittingly, all those your target have make a complete 180 in their behavior. Ijuuin-kun, I need you to tell me everything so I can make an effective defense. I know their… methods, may make talking a little hard, but I need you to try.” Her nose crinkled a little bit at the comment. “You have to try.” “From the beginning?” Enzan spoke finally.

“From the beginning.” Manabe agreed.

“Well. It started in early April ...”

[stained-glass-fragments]

[ Stained Glass (Fragments): The Only Path (pt. 2) ]

"Whatever you say, darling," he responded in that ever-teasing way of his. And for just the briefest of moments, she could almost see him like he was before---sunglasses, ridiculous bunny ears, and that silly grin, poking fun at her.

Her heart ached within her chest.

"By the way, Farona..."

With the smallest of pauses, she cautiously looked back up at him, eyes guarded. "...What?"

Yune stared at her---or at least she assumed that's what he was doing. When he was wearing those thick black sunglasses, it was impossible to tell. His lips quirked. "What do you plan to do now? Are you going to draw your sword and try to bring me to the authorities? I'm still unarmed."

He held his hands out, showing that there was no weapon on him. Farona shook her head with an incomprehensible noise under her breath. He was toying with her again. He knew as well as she did that there was no way that could be accomplished. And she would be eaten away by guilt if she considered even the thought of sending him back to where they barely escaped with their lives as children, no matter what he had done in the years after.

"But you're not running away, either," he mused, shifting from one foot to the other. His smile curled up a little further. "I might get the idea that you still enjoy my company."

She turned away from the high priest, unable to face him when she spoke her next words. "Wherever you're going... I'm going with you."

He was silent for a moment that seemed to last far too long. What was he thinking? Did her answer actually take him by surprise? She could never tell. And she wasn't going to turn around and try. "Is that so?" Amusement was dripping freely from his voice in waves. "Hm, I suppose you did say that you wouldn't let me kill anyone else, didn't you. Funny how the tables have turned with you tagging along after me. But..."

She stiffened as his footsteps slowly crept up from behind her and bit into her bottom lip. He stopped just behind the knight, the edges of his robes brushing against the back of her skirt. Yune leaned down and she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck, but she still stubbornly refused to move from the spot or react.

She had to show him that he couldn't intimidate her.

"Is that really wise?" he whispered in a low, deep tone that made her nerves jump.

Her heart skipped a beat and she swallowed. She couldn't let this---let him---get to her. She had to stand her ground---firmly. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you from taking any more innocent lives."

"Hmm," he squeezed her once, and then, to her astonishment, disengaged from her entirely. "Well, I'll be sure to remember that."

Farona definitely didn't like the sound of those cryptic words. And she was in way over her head with this, but... it was the only path she could take now. Her days as a knight and protector with the Pronterean knights had come to an abrupt end. She couldn't stand guard or patrol dungeons anymore. People wouldn't want her near them or their loved ones. There was a price on her head. She couldn't freely roam any longer or raise her sword in the public eye.

This was the only way she could protect anyone now.

"This works out for the best," he informed her lightly, patting her shoulder once. "This way you'll come along quietly. Just imagine if I had to tie you up and drag you out of here kicking and screaming! My, wouldn't that be a sight?"

Farona suppressed a shudder. She couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but at this point, she wouldn't put it past him. He probably had some sort of twisted plan regardless of what she said or did. Yune always had a plan.

"Come along then, my dear," Yune piped up cheerfully, heading for the back exit of the chapel. "Looks like we'll be traveling together, just like old times."

This was anything but "like old times", she thought dismally, sighing as she followed reluctantly after him. He wasn't just a mysterious priest with a bad penchant for jokes and impeccably adept with support magic. Behind that smile was a darkness that ran deep through his heart. And she didn't even have the slightest inkling of what she could say or do to convince him not to disappear and continue down his bloody path of revenge.

But she had to try. She couldn't give up. Maybe he didn't believe in his own humanity or even acknowledge its existence, but she was certain that there was a piece of it buried deep down inside of him.

And if she could find it...

She was thinking too far ahead, but any little light of hope was welcome at this point. Farona didn't want to think about how she was ill-equipped to stop this man should he decide to take off or murder someone else. He had the cloaking skill and he could vanish if he wanted to. And he was clearly much more powerful than her and very in-touch with his demon blood. He embraced the abnormalities injected into him instead of suppressing them like she had. And his silver tongue and facade had already fooled her effortlessly since the day they met.

The odds were against her, stacked so high that she couldn't even see beyond them.

However, there was one single thing in her favor -- one unexpected wild card.

For reasons she still couldn't even fathom the depths and reaches of, Yune was interested in her to a high degree. Furthermore, in their travels together, he rarely strayed. It was possible that he had not killed anyone in quite some time. She didn't know for certain, but... the possibility alone was uplifting.

Her presence had an effect on him. To what extent and how, she still wasn't entirely certain, but it was the only weapon she had at this point.

Farona wasn't good at putting on a mask. How many close calls had she gone through with her ear muffs? Hidden agendas and fooling others was not an easy thing for her to do. And Yune would see right through her like clear glass if she tried. Straightforward was the only approach she could take. And even then, what could she do to stop him? What could she say to put his bloodlust to rest?

The thoughts weighed heavily on her mind as she followed Yune out into the back of the church courtyard. He stopped near the towering stone wall that barred from outside the city of Prontera and dipped a hand into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a gem.

A blue gem---a small crystal used by priests and magicians to execute some spells.

Holding the sapphire out, he chanted, "Warp portal!"

A mere few feet in front of him, a circle of light swirled and erupted into a column of blinding blue and white, several feet high. Yune gestured toward it with the hand which had previously been holding the gem and was now empty.

"After you, my dear."

Farona's eyes darted from the portal to the light reflecting off of his shades and back again. There was no telling where it led and she doubted that he would tell her even if she asked. Plus, portals only closed after the magic ran out or when the caster themself stepped into it. She couldn't wait for him to go in first.

She had no choice but to trust him.

Hand settled on the hilt of her sword, she briskly strode forward, giving the high priest one more look into his unreadable expression before she stepped into the light and was promptly whisked away.

This road ahead of her now was narrow, rocky, unpredictable, and could likely crumble beneath her feet upon the first misstep. But it was the first step upon the new path she had decided for herself, no matter what was to come.

[generallynerdy]

Master & Apprentice (Obi Wan Kenobi & Qui Gon Jinn)

Summary: Stranded on a mysterious planet—is it even that?—with Ahsoka and Anakin, Obi Wan is stirred from near slumber by the voice of a man long dead. Master Qui Gon Jinn has questions—but so does Obi Wan. (A rewrite of the Ghost!Qui Gon and Obi Wan moment from Clone Wars Season 3, Episode 15.)

Warnings: the first 508 words follow canon but make no mistake I will bow to no god and that includes George Lucas

Word Count: 1,558

Beta’d by: @artirox !!

Note: i know this isn’t my regular stint but i was watching clone wars and this scene PISSED ME OFF i wanted a genuine obi wan and qui gon moment that wasn’t just ‘oh anakin oh the chosen one oh the little BITCH WHOS GONNA KILL US ALL’ anyway im bitter so have this

    He felt the presence before he heard the voice, but shoved it aside as nerves.

    And then he heard it.

    “Obi Wan, have you done as I asked?”

    He was a grown man now, but he felt like a Padawan again as he looked up. He almost felt the braid in his hair when his eyes landed on a mist-like figure a few feet away.

    Qui Gon Jinn stood before his very eyes, robes and all.

    “Have you trained the boy?” he was asking.

    Obi Wan barely heard it, stumbling to his feet and drawing his lightsaber. Despite the fact that his master was very clearly there, he didn’t believe. His master was long dead and though there were tales of old Jedi lingering behind, Obi Wan didn’t believe in them. Whoever this was could not be Qui Gon. It had to be a trick.

    And yet, his resolve slipped. He spoke as if this was his master, as if what he was seeing was real.

    “Master Qui Gon, how are you here?”

    He smiled just slightly, in a way that was so familiar that Obi Wan felt sick to his stomach.

    “I am here because you are here.”

    “No, I—I don’t understand,” he stammered, shaking his head. “What is this place?

    Qui Gon was pacing and came to face away from his former apprentice, who lowered his lightsaber just slightly. He was unable to keep himself from staring.

    “This place is unlike any other, a conduit through which the entire Force of the universe flows.”

    Of course he would be here, then. Qui Gon always understood the Force better than any Jedi Obi Wan had ever met.

    “Are we in danger?” Obi Wan asked him, despite wanting to point out such a fact.

    Even after death, Qui Gon Jinn was narrowly avoiding being sassed.

    “This planet is both an amplifier and a magnet. Three are here who seek Skywalker. They, like me, believe him to be the Chosen One.”

    Obi Wan glanced downward and deactivated his lightsaber, a sudden guilt encompassing him. He hadn’t believed his Master at first. In fact, it had taken him a long time to believe that Anakin was destined to be anything other than a constant disappointment.

    “You were right,” he admitted, his guard finally down.

    This couldn’t be anyone other than Qui Gon Jinn. He knew that now.

    “The Force within him is stronger than any known Jedi. I’ve trained him as well as I could, but…” Obi Wan trailed off. “He is still willful and balance eludes him.”

    He was briefly reminded of every time he’d ever disappointed Qui Gon. This felt like all of those times combined. It hurt more than anything. Even after all these years, his Master’s silence haunted him.

    “If he is the Chosen One,” Qui Gon finally said, “he will discover it here.”

    “And if not?”

    Qui Gon turned to face him and suddenly the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. “Then you must realise that with his power, this is a very dangerous place for him to be.”

    Wind whipped at Obi Wan’s hair and whistled through cracks in the cave he and Ahsoka had taken shelter in. For a moment, the briefest moment, he was afraid Qui Gon would disappear and that he would lose this chance to speak with him forever.

    “Master—” he began, his voice a little weaker than he intended.

    “Yes, Obi Wan?”

When Qui Gon turned to look at him, he found himself at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it. His master looked on in amusement.

“Well? I believe I taught you not to—”

“I couldn’t save you,” he said before he could even finish. His voice was a whisper. “I couldn’t save you, Master. I’m sorry.”

Qui Gon was almost lost for words.

A small laugh left his lips, making Obi Wan’s eyes widen. His ghostly hands sat on his apprentice’s shoulders as he shook his head.

“Oh, Obi Wan Kenobi. Always the weight of the world on your shoulders, even now,” he sighed.

“Master—”

“Obi Wan, what happened was not your fault,” he said firmly, his tone mimicking that which he’d used to teach his apprentice all those years ago. “My death was the will of the Force, as was your training of the boy. You could not have changed things.”

His face fell and his shoulders drooped. “But if I had been faster—”

“I told the Council that you had much to learn of the living Force. I had hoped you would have learned by now,” he said, a teasing tone to his voice.

Obi Wan sighed. “I know it wasn’t my fault. But I wish you were here. I wasn’t ready for this, not as ready as I thought I was. You would have done better.”

“What I would have done does not matter,” he chided. “What you have does.”

“But I wonder if I’ve done enough,” his apprentice sighed.

He sat down on the cold cave floor, his fingers toying with the hilt of his lightsaber as he avoided Qui Gon’s gaze. His heart was heavy. Obi Wan had always feared he was inadequate, unprepared, when it came to teaching Anakin. The way the Council watched their every move had him unnerved. He knew he could never be to Anakin what Qui Gon was to him—or so he thought.

Little did Obi Wan know, he was more than that. He was Anakin’s brother, his best friend.

“Obi Wan,” Qui Gon said again, kneeling to his level to meet his eyes, “you’ve done more than enough.”

He raised his gaze, meeting that of his master. His heart yearned for Qui Gon to be there, truly there to help him, to help Anakin. This place was gnawing at him, Anakin’s power was gnawing at him—and he didn’t know what to do.

Qui Gon’s eyes were suddenly soft with fondness. “You’ve grown into a fine man. A good man. You always were one, but I can see it plainly now.”

“I try,” he muttered, glancing away as a smile crept onto his face.

“You’ve done well,” his master chuckled. “You have always had a greater weight on your heart than anyone I’ve ever known, but you never let it stop you. I admire that, my apprentice.”

Obi Wan finally met his gaze again, his expression one of awe.

Qui Gon admired him—and he’d said it out loud. To his face.

“This life, your life, it will never get easier,” Qui Gon warned him gently. “Days will come where you won’t want to wake up. But I believe in you. I believe in your strength, your connection with the Force. I believe, my apprentice, that you are strong enough to face the trials ahead.”

“How do you know?” Obi Wan asked suddenly. “What makes you think I’m ready for anything?”

He shook his head. “I never said ready. You’ll be strong enough to handle the trials, but you will never be ready. No one ever is.”

“I wasn’t ready when I met Anakin,” he admitted. “When I lost you.”

“I wasn’t ready when I met you, little one,” Qui Gon teased, the nickname drawing Obi Wan back in time.

Obi Wan was aghast at the idea of Qui Gon never being prepared. Sure, he was reckless and threw himself at every opportunity to defy the code and the Council for the greater good, but he was always prepared to do it.

“You weren’t ready? But you handled it so well.”

“From your point of view, yes,” he laughed. “But you were not there for the countless times I ran to Master Yoda for help.”

Obi Wan’s smile was heartfelt and quite possibly the most genuine one he’d experienced in a while. This—getting to see his master again, if only for a brief moment—was good for him. It was good for his soul.

He chuckled. “How did you ever put up with me?”

“The same way you put up with Anakin,” Qui Gon admitted. “I made it up as I went. Luckily, you weren’t as much trouble as he is.”

“Oh, yes, I do think you got lucky with me, Master,” he joked, snorting.

An expression of reminiscence overtook the ghost’s face as he nodded. “Yes, Obi Wan, I quite think I did.”

His apprentice could hardly bear to look at him, but he managed it just once more as the wind coming through the cracks in the cave began to whistle louder. Qui Gon’s ghostly glow was beginning to fade and with a sick feeling growing in his stomach, Obi Wan knew he was going to have to say goodbye.

“I couldn’t have had a better Master,” he told him somewhat sheepishly. “You’ll never know how important you were to me.”

“Likewise, Padawan,” Qui Gon nodded. “The Force put us together for a reason and, though I may never know it, I believe it was worth every moment.”

With that, a breeze blew past them and Qui Gon disappeared. Obi Wan’s heart wrenched and he ducked his head to wipe at unshed tears. But then a whispered sentence echoed across the cave and stopped him in his tracks.

“Be strong, Obi Wan. I will be with you—always.”

Despite himself, he smiled.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nova Tags: @hahaboop

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