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Please, let him be soft.  I know you made him       with gunmetal bones      and wolf’s teeth. I know you made him to be      a warrior      a soldier      a hero. But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf’s teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do. I do not want to see him go up in flames      the way all heroes end up martyrs. I know that you will tell me  that the world needs him. The world needs his heart      and his faith      and his courage      and his strength      and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his– The world needs anything he will give them. Damn the world,      and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him,      damn anyone that ever took anything from him,            damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything      until there is nothing left of him          but the imprint of dust               where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas     until his shoulders collapse          and his knees buckle               and he is crushed by all he used to carry.  Dear God,  you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules.  You have already made a sacrificial lamb of your Son. You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again.  You can have your pick of heroes.  So please, I beg you– he is all that I have,  and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more.  Let him be soft,  and let him be mine.

Please, let him be happy ( j.p. )

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navigatingtruths:

How about a trade?

One snug session for a lesson in any sport.

     Negotiating with me? Fine. I get to pick the sport. Swimming.

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     Encke still wants that snug session Keeler owes him. He can braid and brush that hair to Keeler’s contentment.

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( You need to replace ‘difficult’ with 'impossible’. )

Impossible’s a strong word …

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[ Offers a muffin. ] I was going to eat this, but then I realized I wasn't a stud. [ Sunny smile. ]

navigatingtruths || ???

     Something akin to confusion crosses his face, a noiseless sound accompanying as he mulls over the words as though they’re some cryptic message wrapped in code.

     When realization hits, it’s not subtle. Confusion multiplies until he’s drowning in question marks and surfacing in a whirlwind of absolute chaos. His mind is blank, tongue laying still against the bed of his mouth. What...what can he say? That’s... He’s not even certain he’s processed this entirely.

     But oh then that smile breaks through the storm and his heart thumps wildly in his chest, fingertips going numb, gaze diverting from the only nebula he’s memorized.

     “That’s such a crumby joke.”

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     Little fuss is made upon entering their room, gaze wandering elsewhere as Keeler begins his usual routine. Admittedly, settling into this learned cycle is comforting, soothing rigid shoulders into mild irritation until the bulk of the Fighter is resting arms crossed against the wall opposite the bathroom door. From this angle, it’s easier to track if Keeler’s over exerting himself and hiding it. As per the usual.

     “I know better.” And he does. He knows Keeler like the back of his hand despite the short few months they’ve been together, understands the way he thinks, the value he places in the lives of those around him. He’d never command someone to go toe to toe with him, especially not someone who understood just who it was on the other side.

     The mess of unburdened hair draws him forward, yet to shed the skin tight suit of a Fighter in favor of watching over his companion. Gloved fingers reach for the idle brush perched precariously on the edge of the bathroom sink, urging Keeler to face the mirror as he begins brushing.

     “I don’t doubt that you won, brains often overpower brawn, what concerns me is that something else could have happened and jeopardized you being here.” With me. It goes unspoken, an implication in the furrow of his brow, the deadlocked steel of his gaze on Keeler’s.

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     Rage boils over into obsession, blossoming in the wake of something that could have proven fatal and his blood is  b o i l i n g. White hot and searing through the THICK sheet metal which surrounds them, makes their home. He’d burn it all down if it meant keeping the one thing he has left to make him smile, safe. May this poor soul’s gods protect them from him.

     Knowing damn well that badgering is useless, Encke trails after his Navi silently, radiating fury. So much as an overstrained lung capacity and Keeler would have been rushed to the MedBay and, without him there to bribe them to keep the event secret, his companion would have been court-martialed and jailed for the remainder of their expedition. Not entirely for or against the idea… At least he’d be safe and well-tended in a cell, not risking his life every moment of every day…

     But then, that seemed an awfully lot like the life he’d lead before falsifying his documents. An inward cringe at the memory of being told. Imagine how Keeler feels each time he has to relive that hell…

     “You won’t tell me, fine. I’ll crack down on everyone until they  b r e a k. See how long they can last.” An audible enough threat that even Keeler can hear.

An unmistakable pressure weighs between his shoulderblades. Why, if the navigator didn’t know any better, he’d think he was the target of the rigid electric current wafting off his sourpuss of a shadow–of course, he does know better, and he is not about to place those cross-hairs on the ‘responsible’ party. Keeler’s never once felt nervous in his presence, hasn’t been given any reason nor anticipates he ever will, but he’s not o b l i v i o u s to the fact Encke is a powerhouse of intimidation and brute strength. Ordinarily, he ( secretly ) delights in this knowledge… as well as the fact he’s uniquely immune.

And then there are occasions where he must play messenger presumably due to some drama or conflict between the Head Fighter and his men.

“Encke, honestly.” 

Chiding from a fair distance ahead, he doesn’t bother to confirm he’s not just talking to himself under the safe assumption the footsteps will resume, and soon they do. Slowing to dig into his pocket, his braid flips when he tosses the other a disapproving yet soft look - as always, touched by the protective care - and swipes the keycard, the sound of the door opening a mechanical whoosh.

“You are not so petty. It may as well been my idea, so you have your man, hm? I could have pulled rank, afterall.”  Into the bedroom he goes, voice matter-of-fact and indulgent. Shoes neatly foot-nudged against his bare shelving unit, he proceeds on with the unthinking routine of collecting nightwear and washing his face in the small adjoining bathroom. Absently distracted as his voice lifts for Encke’s ears. “I like to think I’m fairly competent in self-defense. Endurance is where I come up short, but the match doesn’t usually last that long.“

Such a bright, confident reassurance!

"In case you were wondering~” Pops his head back through the doorway, his braid unkempt and free of the securing tie, expression radiating cheeky self-regard. “I won." 

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navigatingtruths:

The heavy footfall echoes of his partner stop short, distinct enough he doesn’t place much distance between them before he’s turning on his heel and letting his arms slip from behind his back. There it is. So, Keeler isn’t amazed by the sharp question, eyes slipping off to the side with a lungful that simultaneously pulls at the edges of his lips, not so much amused as –okay, so maybe it is amusement.

“I’m perfectly alright, Encke. I feel wonderful, actually.” Stretches out his shoulders and squeezes one wrist further along to his upper arm, casually walking several more steps backwards to imply they’re certainly not having this conversation in the middle of the hallway. “And I am not telling you ‘who’. That’s called snitching.”

The wink is playful, but he means it, swinging back around in time to turn down the next corridor toward the dorms, a light skip to his step. Oh, wasn’t there something he just mentioned about those 'demands’ of his fighter? –Right.

     Rage boils over into obsession, blossoming in the wake of something that could have proven fatal and his blood is  b o i l i n g. White hot and searing through the THICK sheet metal which surrounds them, makes their home. He’d burn it all down if it meant keeping the one thing he has left to make him smile, safe. May this poor soul’s gods protect them from him.

     Knowing damn well that badgering is useless, Encke trails after his Navi silently, radiating fury. So much as an overstrained lung capacity and Keeler would have been rushed to the MedBay and, without him there to bribe them to keep the event secret, his companion would have been court-martialed and jailed for the remainder of their expedition. Not entirely for or against the idea... At least he’d be safe and well-tended in a cell, not risking his life every moment of every day...

     But then, that seemed an awfully lot like the life he’d lead before falsifying his documents. An inward cringe at the memory of being told. Imagine how Keeler feels each time he has to relive that hell...

     “You won’t tell me, fine. I’ll crack down on everyone until they  b r e a k. See how long they can last.” An audible enough threat that even Keeler can hear.

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navigatingtruths:

Encke’s always been - by definition - quiet.

And yet, he doesn’t sense any disguise in the shortness. No evasion. It’s uniquely unguarded in a way he isn’t remotely familiar, authenticity without… deliberate effort to express himself, as though the bare bones were enough. Maybe they were. It’s not difficult to read his fighter. Keeler finds it warming, the openness that never seeks to pick him apart in turn. Even his demands are… optional.

Of course, he’s never tested that theory, but he feels content in his assessment, figures he could have refused this very evening, turned the other man away and continued through his files for another hour or two. But. He also knows Encke would worry. That funny sort of worry that furrows his brows.

“I sparred earlier.” A simple and easy confession. It may very well reach his ears anyway, so it’s not worth the effort to hide, arms folding behind his back as he wanders the halls. “It felt… good. The adrenaline, I assume. I was never so interested in sports.” the thoughtful tone lilts toward a light-hearted idleness. “Maybe I should reconsider –I had fun~”

     Thankfully he hadn’t heard about it yet, and hearing it from Keeler was a fraction better, but not by much. At all. The revelation  s t u n s  him into silence, legs locked and unwilling to move him forward despite his Navi moving farther and farther away just out of reach where he can’t catch him should he faint.

     “You what?!” The only good thing to come out of it, is the fact that his Navigator is still standing upright and the MedBay is missing an occupant, but that is a far cry from the good news he wanted to hear if any were to be heard. The only person capable of sparring with anyone and making it worthwhile lay below deck in the Fighter’s hall, which meant one of his unwitting bastards decided it was funny to go against his law and talk to his Navi.

     “With who.” It wasn’t a question. A demand. thick muscle rippling with tension, broad shoulders hunched forward, a soldier preparing for  w a r.

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@navigatingtruths From x

     Lost momentarily in the brush of their arms, more contact than they’ve had in weeks, dark eyes search pale features for a trace of a lie. Nothing but curiosities in those haunting orbs, unplaceable wonderings. The question should strike him as odd but it doesn’t. Over time he’s become used to the strange trail of thought running behind aloof gaze and adjusted accordingly. There is no accounting for Keeler’s mannerisms, one would have to learn how to roll with the ‘punches’ per-se.

     “Of course I was involved with sports.” A short response left open-ended, interpreted freely as Keeler chose to see fit (and he knew he would). Side by side with his Navigator down the winding hallways, thankful he didn’t have to come up here often yet finding it strangely satisfying that some things were still foreign to him.

     “Why do you ask?”

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Imposing form leaning in slender doorway, blocking the hallway light from entering the dim interior, Encke surveyed that pale complexion he'd memorized long ago. "When /I/ made it back to the room before you, I knew something was wrong. And I was right. Come on, the rest of it can wait for tomorrow."

 “Yes, dear.”

Honeyed and fondly playful, Keeler’s very much aware of his chances winning this battle, and maybe he knows Encke’s far more responsible in matters related to his well-being. Accepts his judgment. Honestly, he’s not feeling the usual fatigue, energized after that uncharacteristic sparring match sent his heart beating in a healthy manner. It brings thoughts of his father’s love of racquetball and the larger audience roaring over soccer stadiums on the wall-stationed television. 

Tucking the e-pad in his belt, he lightly brushes arms on his leave from the office, trusting his partner to ensure it’s locked as he would his own. There is the faintest hum of computers from somewhere beyond the shadows, possibly another night owl over-taxing himself. In the morning, he will check the records, ensure it’s not a wider issue. For now, he cooperatively heads the trek back to the dorms and passes a soft, thinly curious glance toward the larger man. 

“Encke. Would you consider yourself ‘sporty’?” The choice of adjective acknowledges just how not-tired he truly feels, and attaching it to the stoic fighter? Has his lips itching to spread. Even so, the question beneath is completely serious. “Before. Were you involved in competitive recreation? Maybe football or…–” Openly regarding with a squint, a knuckle brushing his curved mouth. “Boxing?”

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     ( I’m also pretty certain that Encke and Keeler’s ship will definitely be named Saturn, just as Cain and Abel’s ship is named Reliant which is probably a nod to how Abel’s ability is reliant on his relationship with Cain. )

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I need to kiss you so badly. One of those kisses where I’m pressing against you as much as possible and my hands are in your hair and moving down your back, clutching to you in any way I can, kissing you as deeply as possible and thinking you’re mine, mine, mine.

(via nohappyendingforus)

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"I hope you're getting your /rest/, Keeler." ( Guess who mofo )

 – C a u g h t .

Red-handed, he– - tenderly taps the files to straighten the forms within, once, again, a clean clacking sound in the silence of the dead office suite. The only light’s a warm yellow from his desk-lamp casting a glow over his unruly braid and the faint flush he may or may not have lifted from a brief spar with a certain boisterous insomniac. The smile’s playing at dumb, open surprise and the mildest guilt hidden just beneath the sweet innocence in the twinkle of his bright eyes.

“Encke~ You’re up late.”

“I was literally about to pack it in for the night – you didn’t need to come all this way.” The files he reluctantly tucks back into their designated drawer, catching the stringy braid to smooth back when he rises from the seat to properly greet his fighter. You couldn’t stay grumpy in the face of a man with such a sunny disposition, could you? “You’re worrying too much again. I said I’d cut back, and I meant it.”

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     ( Okay, back to work for me. Keebler is a bad influence. )

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     ( Okay, back to work for me. Keebler is a bad influence. )

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[1:53:58 PM] keeler mun: Keeler's like

[1:54:15 PM] keeler mun: -chin lift- you see that great fighter??

[1:54:21 PM] keeler mun: don't you wish he was yours?

[1:54:27 PM] keeler mun: yeah well he's not

[1:54:46 PM] keeler mun: perfect fighter award nth year in a row