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letapollojusticesayfuck · 1 year

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[PREV]

April 20, 2026: 10:45 AM

Okay, no more messing around--this is the first trial with your name on it, and you can't spend it all listening to bad music on your phone!

...also, it would probably be bad if Mr Gavin's friend got convicted of murder. That too.

You straighten your tie and look around the courtroom--it seems as though everyone's gotten really invested in the nuances of poker-playing in the past twenty minutes. Okay. While you've been distracted, several pieces of evidence have entered into the court record, and Mr Gavin seems to be on the verge of a breakthrough. Let's assess:

-It seems that Olga Orly, current witness, was dealing the cards for a poker game between Phoenix Wright and Shadi Smith

-Smith and Orly conspired to expose Wright of cheating in order to maintain a seven-year-long winning streak. By slipping an extra ace into the deck, they would be able to 'prove' this.

-In the photograph entered into the Court Record, however, each player only has two aces in their hands. However, this contradicts the actual preserved cards from that night, which show one set with two aces and one set with three, making five in total

-One might expect, based on Orly's testimony, that it would be Wright's hand with the extra card--but it's Smith's hand that has the extra ace, sticking out like a sore thumb with a bright blue back amidst the red cards

This has got to be it--the breakthrough you've been waiting for! Or at least, waiting for somebody else to think about for you. Not even looking at Mr Gavin, not giving the rest of the courtroom the slightest regard, you bang on the bench like a true seasoned defense attorney and voice your opinion to the room at large.

"The defense would like to formally accuse the witness, Ms Olga Orly, of murder!"

.....

Crickets. Dead silence. You're not quite sure whether this reaction is good or bad.

Luckily, Mr Gavin is always there to add to any ambient tension in a room. "Well done, Justice. We established this ten minutes ago. Do you have any other genius observations to contribute?"

What?

Looking around, you notice that Ms Orly is no longer at the witness stand. Prosecutor Payne is regarding you with the kind of bafflement typically reserved for conspiracy theorists touting their beliefs at an academic conference. Mr Wright just shrugs in your direction, as though he half-expected this.

"Ms Orly had to be removed from the courtroom following her shock at being named as a murder suspect. In the meantime, we've been debating whether to continue the trial today or leave it for a later time," Mr Gavin clarifies. "Personally, I believe we should allow for more time to investigate, but we've hit some...snags, shall we say."

He shifts his icy glare over to where Mr Wright stands. Wright narrows his eyes.

"We can't end the trial here for today, Gavin. Just think! We have all the evidence we need. Don't we, uhh. Justin?" He's looking at you.

"It's Justice," you say, still feeling disconnected from what's happening. He could have bothered to get your name right, considering he allegedly requested you specifically for this case.

"Yeah, that. Look, we alternated between two differently colored decks of cards while playing, right? That was specifically to prevent them from getting mixed together."

It still happened, though, you think, uncharitably.

"It was the blue deck you were playing with in the final game, wasn't it?" you ask, desperate to seem as though you were at least following along with the trial a little.

"Actually, we were playing with red cards." Wright doesn't seem surprised at your misinterpretation, though, even though everyone else in the courtroom seems a little thrown off. You don't know why you had that impression, though--there's just something that's itching in the back of your mind telling you that the cards were blue.

"But a card of the wrong color in the deck means somebody cheated!" Payne screeches from across the courtroom.

"Yep. Except--a card of the wrong color raises a couple questions. When was it swapped...and who swapped it?"

Payne sneers. "Obviously it was swapped before the murder!"

"Was it?" Wright smiles, a little thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Apollo, what do you think?"

You don't answer immediately. There's something about Wright's expression that makes you feel that the most obvious answer isn't going to be the correct one--and you need to think this through. Logically, you'd think that cheating would have to happen before anybody got murdered. However...

If the cheater swapped a blue card into a deck of red ones, they'd be found out immediately. There's no way they could swap the cards during the murder--there would have been far too much going on at that point. So it must have happened...

"After the murder. They swapped the cards after Smith was already dead." You don't know why Wright is being so enigmatic about this, but you also know that you're correct about this.

"Ah, but if it was after the murder...who swapped the cards?" Wright still has that expression on his face. You're reevaluating the part of you that's still hanging onto that university-student-idolization of the man, because in-person, he's infuriating.

"It's Orly, of course," Mr Gavin says, seemingly as fed up with this as everyone else. "The murder has been done, the only two left alive are her and Wright. Wright is our client, and furthermore would have no motive to aid his opponent in victory. This is a pointless exercise, and we are wasting the court's time."

"Are we?" Wright queries. "I want to hear what Apollo thinks."

This again! Come to think of it, something's not quite adding up. Wright has no motive to swap the cards, correct, but the added ace had the wrong color back, and Orly was the dealer. She would have known the color of the cards--and wouldn't have made such a careless mistake. If the swap took place after the murder, obviously Smith couldn't have done it. But that's....impossible.

"I don't think there is an answer," you say. "Nobody present in the room at the time would have swapped the cards in the way that they've been swapped. Not only is the card's color incorrect, but...the blue card in the red deck isn't even an ace, though we know there were five of them in play."

The courtroom fills with murmurs of disbelief. You're still reeling, somehow having gone from listening to terrible legal-themed music to having the realization of the decade.

"The person who swapped the cards added in a king to the deck, rather than an ace--they've created a win with a full house, but for the wrong person, and in the wrong way. This could only happen if they were unaware of how the game had progressed--that is, if the person who swapped the cards was somebody besides Orly, Wright, or Smith!"

There's an uproar as the court processes this information. You feel as though the room's spinning, and grip the edge of the bench to keep steady. Distantly, you hear the judge bang his gavel and call for a recess, lecturing both Wright and Mr Gavin on keeping information from the court--and requesting Mr Gavin meet with him in his chambers.

The courtroom slowly empties, and you find yourself--somehow--back in the defense lobby.

#WHOOPS THIS GOT LONG #adventures by committee #aa4 #ace attorney #my writing #god i forgot how much turnabout trump is just. here's a twist! here's another twist! did you pay attention to this tiny detail?#love how we're zigzagging between being a Good Lawyer and fully ignoring the trial #anyway. you guys have a lot of power here #apollo could do anything #probably #thanks again to everyone for participating!!#have seen some comments about 'we're making apollo lose his job'#he does that anyway! it's a foregone conclusion!#apollo either gets fired for listening to the gavinners during trial hours or he gets fired because he gets kristoph convicted #there's no winning

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lupinnsa · 1 month

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why choose to be mean?

i’ve had a few bad experiences and discoveries over the past year, and one of those revelations included a weird, uncomfortable observation: that while I strive for kindness in casual conversation, often times the people in the world around me… do not.

i’m not talking about silly, comedy-tuned mockery of friends or anything either. i’m referring to, at least, semi-serious discussion about anything you could have opinions about, from other people, to current events, to trending products.

no matter how positive or negative my opinions are, i strive to voice them with as much respect as possible to those involved with the subject. i might overemphasize my positive opinions and refrain from spending too long on my negative ones, for example. More importantly, I try not to belittle other people casually just because they “aren’t in the room”. When they are, I try to be direct and honest without exaggerating my point. Negative opinions and disagreements are already difficult enough, and there’s no need to salt the wound; I try to remain kind even when discussing events or persons that actively harmed me. Even when I’m pretty sure no one else will see.

If I realize my opinions are flawed based on incorrect or outdated information, I always try to own up to those sorts of errors, and change my opinions accordingly. I try to leave room for personal growth or change to make a difference. I try to keep my expectations from coloring my attitude.

Recent events have made it very clear that others are not so interested in that same effort. I suppose it is easier to be unkind if the expectation is that the subject will “never know.” Or perhaps there isn’t enough consequence for “being mean” to choose words with care. Or perhaps this aggressive behavior comes from the increasingly antagonistic perspective of those beyond one’s personal boundaries. Or perhaps it simply costs more energy to keep your filters on.

I’m not free of this sort of sin myself. I’ve said unkind things before, especially when I was younger, especially when I was less informed, less sympathetic. Even recently, I’ve said unkind things to my own close friends simply because I was in emotional turmoil, because I was desperately craving the minimum closure I could ask, for one of the most egregious accusations I’ve ever been the target of on a larger scale. A simple, genuine, apology.

When I realize that something I did or said was hurtful beyond necessity, whether it was from the heat of the moment or a moment of carelessness, I try to genuinely apologize for it. But I’ve seen that others are all too willing to double down on their aggression instead, punching deeper without indication of a second thought. Without restraint.

Someone once said that people don’t like to own up to their mistakes because saying stuff like, “I was wrong,” is an admission of guilt. That no one wants to be guilty of being a jerk, because then they would be a jerk. And I think overall, that observation seems pretty spot on, if deeply disappointing.

I obviously want people to be more kind, passively, to other people in general. But I especially want the mindset of admitting you were wrong to change: not, “I was wrong and I am a jerk,” but, “I was wrong, I was a jerk, but I want to do better.”

Obviously there’s a lot of nuance to be had here. Like, what about the consequences of actions? Why not fight back if something isn’t interested in giving you a chance to defend yourself? How do we learn to be kind and sympathetic in a world that is, for some reason, becoming increasingly intolerant?

I wish I had the answers to all of that, but I don’t.

I just want people to choose to be kind.

#rambles #blogging #i wrote this understanding it might be seen #and i’ll just have to deal with whatever response it gets #fair is fair #but i had something to say #and so i said it #as kindly as i could

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dragonageconfessions · 2 years

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CONFESSION:

Thing is, I can understand most of what Anders says and does. It does not mean that I approve of most of his controversial actions, but I understand why he is the way he is. For example: So many people are angry that he does not make room for nuance in his discussion about mage rights, but I can fully understand why he won't. The Chantry does not leave any room for nuance either in his eyes, so he does not leave any room for nuance himself. I for once would at least leave room for nuance, but I can not deem the Circle as necessary.

And his views on Tevinter? Well, we all know that it's steeped into the acceptance of horrors and that does not end at slavery, but to Anders mages at least have a chance there and with his position as an apostate and thus being put into a desperate position, he would of course think of improving his situation like that. I even dare to believe that he would turn to saving the impoverished and enslaved once his own situation is better, since you can help more effectively like that. Especially with Justice. I am not in the 'Raze-Tevinter-to-the-ground'-section either, but there needs to be some serious change, starting at slavery and blood magic. I hope that I will get to see change of that caliber in the next game.

And his change in behavior is to be expected, after he ran away from the Wardens. I heard that he was treated with the same suspicion as in the Circle, after the Warden Commander left and started fearing even more, after a Templar was let into the Gray Wardens. He ended up running for it after merging with Justice. (Yes, I believe that he had good intentions with the merging.) He thought that he had finally found some safety and then had it chipped away piece by piece...

I could probably write a whole essay about this subject, but I think I made my point clear. While I don't give him a pass on everything he does, I still quite like him as a Character and he never gets the knife with me. I mostly struggle to even send him away. Most of my Hawkes always accepted him back after...

#Dragon Age Confessions #Dragon Age 2 #BioWare #Anders #LONG POST

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 3 years

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idk how many people would even want to see this BUT i wanna yell about Leela and Brax so here's a list of all their scenes togethr/scenes pertainng to them that i can recall (pLEASE add on if i missed anything/ you have any additional thoughts!! i could talk about these two all day!)

right off the bat in Weapon of Choice when Leela is on the outskirts of the Citadel and Brax goes to bring her back (which is interesting in and of itself, bc usually i would imagine a chancellery guard would go do that so what made Brax decide to instead??), Leela kinda goes off at him bc she's hurting and instead of trying to actually explain what's going on Brax doesn't even try to argue he just says "we need you" which is great bc Leela has that instinctive desire to be needed and to help people and he's speaking right to that -- also as far as we know, this is Leela and Brax's first actual meeting in canon? it's implied that they know of each other, which makes sense, but it doesn't seem like they've ever directly interacted before: Brax seems almost slightly uncertain, and Leela is combative, but when he's gentle with her she's actually quite receptive

the literal next scene after that, where the OT4 is all in one room for the first time (they still kinda hate each other at this point but still !!!). Narvin explaining Gryben and being a real jerk about it and Leela (understandibly!) questions if Gryben is a prison world, and Brax (who to this point has been mostly quiet as Narvin and Romana brief Leela) jumps in to both clarify Narvin's previous xenophobic statements while also maintaining the inherent questionable/negative connotations

(btw it's actually pretty important to note that Romana self-edits herself a lot when talking to Leela, especially in the earlier seasons; you can actually hear her revising the things she says to put it in terms that she thinks Leela will better understand. and i mean she does it out of genuine consideration for her friend associate but it often comes across as varying levels of patronizing. Narvin also obviously "dumbs things down" when dealing with Leela early on, but like... Brax never does that on any level. the only difference i can tell in how he addresses Leela vs how he talks to anybody else is that he seems much more kind with her than almost anyone else???)

their conversation about the Matrix in The Inquiry: this is REALLY important (and if you've ever talked to me on ao3 i've probably gone off to you about it lol) because it's layered. they're talking about the Matrix but they're also not because in answering Leela's question Brax is making a very thinly veiled allegory (which he outright states a minute later) to Time Lord society/politicians/most importantly HIMSELF -- he's actually strangely open about his morals/beliefs in this scene and i'm living for it tbh -- and i find it very interesting that even though he does directly explain what he means ("how do you know all this?" / "because i am a politician.") he also leaves it for Leela to work out the implications. like it's a very nuanced conversation bc there's double meaning in it and most people on Gallifrey seem to think that Leela is tone-deaf and can't pick up on that stuff (even Romana sometimes oversimplifies things to her) but Brax totally just lets her take from it what she will bc he believes her intelligent enough to understand. he doesn't think her any lesser because she's human.

ALSO on a secondary note to the above: the fact that Leela has a question/needed clarification (sorry, haven't listened to this in a while i forget how it actually happened) and actively sought out Brax to talk to about it?? like she knows Romana better she could have gone to her but i feel like Leela kinda imprinted on Brax and someone she can go to for help if she needs it; maybe it's partly bc she knows he's under marginally less pressure than Romana is but also the truth of the matter is that Brax was the most genuinely helpful person to her in the previous stories and that probably means a lot to her (esp. bc he acts like the essence of everything she hates about Gallifrey but he doesn't treat her the way she would expect from that). btw this topic is gonna come up again in a hot minute

that part where Brax gives her that information that might help her re: the Andred thing, even though he really probably shouldn't have done that -- it kinda makes me think about what he must have been like with Theta tbh???

actually this is mostly my own conjecture but there's some neat stuff in Spirit bc during the *waves hand vaguely* bodyswap dream sequence thing, Romana is very "!!!! Brax can help us !!!" which is tecnically Leela brain talking, so like there's the implications of the stuff i've said above about Leela having this idea of Brax where she knows he's someone she can go to for help

can u tell i'm soft for them

Leela sounding really sad/distracted when she talks about how Brax isn't there YES i'm grasping at straws but a lot of this relationship really is conveyed through the voice acting bc of how little direct focus there is on the characters. there's actually several scenes in Mindbomb where she mentions him and she outright says that she misses him during her discussion with Matthias

that implied scene with them in Mindbomb!! i have a Lot of thoughts about that!!! it's all conjecture and fanfic fodder!!! but the reason i mention this is because it seems pretty meta that out of the whole Gally Gang, it's Leela who first sees Brax when he comes back to Gallifrey and in turn she's the first person (besides Matthias, i guess) that he sees upon his return?? idk i just feel like that's somehow a meaningful detail??? also her reaction of utter shock after spending the entire episode missing him and how worked up she is when she tries to tell Romana, like I desperately need to know what happened in this missing scene MR RICHARDS PLEASE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED

Leela insisting on going with Brax when Pandora starts hurting him and their whole conversation there is just. so good. like they're both just so soft and then when Darkel comes in Leela instantly goes into protective mode. like they just have such an open relationship bc Brax doesn't even try to be all pretentious with her, like he doesn't even try to keep up any facades when he's with her he's just very genuine and it really says a lot about both of them -- Leela is so good at seeing people, like getting down to the core of who people are and what makes them them (which is why she's good for Romana, btw, bc Romana has a lot of identity issues) and Brax is so tangled up in who he presents himself as that he barely knows who he actually is anymore but Leela can see that and she makes it so he can truly be himself and he doesn't have to hide. also she's so gentle with him when they talk about Pandora, she's very caring and empathetic and wants to make sure he's okay and i am WEAK

it's been a hot while since i listened to Panacea but I think i remember Brax being really soft with Leela when he first brings the gang to the Axis, like just sounding really glad to see her

ok other than the fact that Brax is lowkey relatable in Reborn (daydreaming fanfic about yourself/people you know? simping for Mary Tamm Romana? yeah mood, my man) there's that scene where they're first appraoching the Citadel on the alt!Gallifrey and it seems like none of them, and Brax specifically, have seen it from the outside in a good long while bc he's very in awe and he tells Leela that he wishes she could see it and he sounds sO hEcKiNg sOFT oh my word-

and once again with Leela thinking of Brax as someone she trusts for help: in Dissassembled when everything is going to crap she straight-up says that she wants to go find Brax bc he'll know what to do/be able to help

at the beginning of Annihilation when Romana is depressed and questioning if Brax truly was her friend and Leela INSTANTLY, NO HESITATION assures her that he was; i lost where i had her exact lines written down but she actually kinda goes off to make sure Romana gets the point

literally forcing myself to talk about this bc it makes my brain stall out but like,,, the Brax Hound in Annihilation,,, Leela being like "goodbye, Braxiatel... again" she sounds so sad and like UGH i always kinda forget how sad it actually is for them to lose Brax in Dissassembled bc like, it was so sudden and they didn't get to say goodbye and Leela is always losing people and i have many many feels about this scene and how all that emotion is made very clear in how they each respond to the Hound (might make a separate post abt this later if anyone is interested ::eyes::)

Enemy Lines is utter bullcrap about these two and I will never stop being salty about how they not only sidelined the very good, very subtle friendship they had in s1-4, but they??? made Leela acutally not trust Brax??? when literally this entire time she's been the one person who probably genuinely trusts him the most?? what the heck, David

I haven't heard TW3 or 4 yet but i'm assuming there's nothing worthwhile in those with regards to this duo (correct me if i'm wrong tho lol, i would love to be mistaken in this assumption)

TL;DR Leela and Brax mututally imprinted on each other and have probably the most open and healthy relationship within the OT4 and it is an absolute CRIME that nobody besides Gary Russell and Justin Richards cared enough to actually build on it in canon

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

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Enhanced Extraction Techniques

Also available at AO3

“Cas?”

Cas whirls around. If he was standing on a normal floor, his shoes would have squeaked with the abrupt turn. In the Empty, though, his feet don’t make a sound. “Dean?” he calls back, his heart soaring in his chest.

“Cas? Where are you, man?”

Cas spins in another circle, his eyes straining against the darkness. The oppressive blankness of nothing presses against his eyeballs like an almost tangible film. He tries again, “Dean?”

“Cas?”

“Dean!” Cas takes off in the direction of Dean’s voice.

“Are you there?”

Cas walks faster, anticipation quickening his heels. “I’m coming!”

“I can’t find you!”

“I’m here!” Cas calls back desperately.

“I’m running out of time here, buddy! Spell’s not gonna last forever. Where the hell are you?”

Panicked, Cas breaks out into a run. “I’m coming, Dean!”

“Are you?”

Cas stops dead. If he was back on Earth, he would have fallen flat on his face with the momentum. He turns to his right, where Dean’s voice just came.

“Cas? You there?”

Dean’s voice definitely came from his left that time.

“I need you.”

Cas swallows. Dean’s voice is coming from directly in front of him now. Icy dread creeps up his spine, but he feels hot all over.

“You make it too easy, Castiel.”

Dean never calls him by his full name, not in more than a decade. He is not talking with Dean.

“Nobody is coming for you.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Shamed beyond reason, he just stands there because there is nothing else to do. He can’t hide from the Empty. The Empty is everywhere.

Black ooze, blacker than the surrounding darkness, bubbles up from the floor. The Empty resolves into Cas’s own face, to his surprise. He’d been expecting Dean.

It shrugs, a knowing smirk playing on its lips. “What can I say? If you’re determined to keep me awake, I might as well amuse myself.”

“Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired,” Cas says as tonelessly as he can manage.

The Empty crosses its arms over its chest. “My options are limited, aren’t they?” it says snidely. “I can’t put you to sleep, so I can’t sleep. I might as well make this experience as hellish for you as it is for me.”

Cas frowns. “You could always negate our deal. Send me back to Earth.”

The Empty laughs. “That’s not how it works. That was a one-way trip.”

Cas grinds his teeth. “Then it seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“An impasse requires two forces of equal power,” the Empty tuts. “And you, my little gnat, have no power in this equation. You are my plaything. What was it that Gabriel said? A thousand channels and nothing’s on. Except you.”

Before Cas can respond, the Empty disappears, dissolving into a tarry splatter and absorbing into whatever passes as the floor in this place.

* * *

Cas wanders. He used to sleep while he was bored, but the Empty truly reigns supreme in his dreams. Cas killed Naomi’s Dean facsimile a thousand times, a million times. He watched Dean rake leaves, Crowley whispering poisoned promises into his ear. He walked away as Dean hurts and rages silently behind him in the Bunker.

So Cas stays awake. He’s an angel. It isn’t hard.

Dean’s voice occasionally calls for him.

Cas ignores it.

He wanders for what seems like miles, like hundreds of miles. Nothing ever changes in the Empty. With every step forward, he meets the same bleak blackness. The closest comparison in his long memory is the fraction of a second before the Big Bang - there was emptiness then too, but it was filled with a pregnant sense of promise. In the Empty - nothing.

Until.

Dean is running towards him.

Cas blinks a few times to make sure, even though his vision is perfect.

“Cas,” Dean breaks the silence first, “I found you.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes - any louder, and Dean will hear the trembling. “You’re here.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean says with a wink. “Now, come on. We’re getting out of here.” He takes off in the direction he came from, glancing behind him to check on Cas.

“We are?” Cas asks, following.

Dean throws him a disbelieving look. “Of course, dude. Sam and Jack are prepping the spell to get us back to the Bunker. We got Chuck by the short and curlies, but we’re one power player short. So we gotta get a move on.”

“So you need me?” Cas asks.

“Your mojo is the ticket,” Dean says with a little grin. “Chuck wiped all the angels off the Earth except Michael. And that dick isn’t answering our prayers, so you’re our next best bet.”

The joy at seeing Dean wavers. “I am?” he asks haltingly.

Dean shrugs. “We gotta work with what we have. And we just remembered you were here, out of Chuck’s reach. Our own spare angel!”

Cas barely holds back his flinch. Hunching in on himself, he mutters, “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean assures him, misreading his reaction completely. “We have a plan.”

Cas sighs. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“Sam found a spell,” Dean says. “It’ll rip Chuck apart, and, since Amara’s inside him - which, gross - it’ll maintain the balance when the spell takes her apart too.”

Dean stops walking.

Cas looks around, but nothing sets aside this patch of emptiness from any other. No illuminated rift, no magic symbols, no X marking the spot - nothing.

“The catch is,” Dean says as he turns to Cas, his face regretful, “the spell needs an angel’s grace.”

In a blink of an eye, an angel blade drops into Dean’s palm.

Cas blinks. No beings but angels can manifest that particular weapon.

Dean raises the blade, fingers flexing on the handle. “You know,” he says conversationally, “Now that I think about it, we don’t actually need the angel himself - just the battery.”

Cas stands his ground, his eyes darting over Dean’s face, taking in every nuance and tell.

“I told you once,” Cas says warily, a horrible foreboding coming over him, “I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“Happy to hear that, Cas,” Dean says, his face impassive, “because you’re gonna bleed a lot, not gonna lie.” He shoves the blade in Cas’s chest, right above his heart.

Cas staggers back from the blow, pain and shock radiating out from the bloodless wound.

Dean raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling into a mocking smile as Cas meets his smug face. “What, were you expecting to go poof? We’re in the Empty,” he throws its hands wide, “everyone’s in stasis here, including you.”

Cas yanks the blade out of his chest, but it - and Dean - turns into black goo before he can stab anything with it.

* * *

The Empty doesn’t mimic Dean next. Instead it takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s. Every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven.

And there’s no escape. Cas can do his best not to listen, but if he retreats too far into himself, it almost counts as sleeping. With the Empty’s nudging, his thoughts will veer into his worst regrets, sooner or later.

The Empty is in the middle of lecturing him in the form of Balthazar, when it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

“Come on,” he says roughly. He strides forward to grab Cas’s hand and tug him in the other direction. “That bomb doesn’t last forever.”

“Dean?”

“Who else?” Dean yanks him sharply to the left. “This place didn’t turn your brains to scrambled eggs, did it?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says shakily. “Dean are you really...”

“What?”

Cas can’t help looking down at their clasped hands. A fleeting thing, barely more than a glance. Still, Dean drops Cas’s hand like it burned him. “You good to run?” he asks shortly.

Cas barely nods before Dean takes off. They hurtle through the Empty, their rapid footsteps impossibly silent. Dean’s breath comes in sharp pants, and Cas’s useless wings ache, not for the first time, to fly them to their destination.

“Dean,” Cas starts, and Dean slows. “Where are we going?”

“Where I left my stuff,” Dean says shortly. “The spell to get us out of here needs a shit-ton of crap, and I couldn’t haul it all over this goddamn place while I was trying to find you.”

“How did you know your way back?”

The corners of Dean’s mouth lift in a faint smile. He points to the floor. “M&Ms.”

Cas squints at the ground, and, sure enough, they are following a trail of tiny candies. “Ingenious,” he murmurs.

“Hey, it worked with a Wendigo,” Dean says, shrugging. He directs them in a few more twists and turns before Cas sees Dean's duffle bag in the distance, topped with a bright yellow bag of M&Ms.

As they get closer, Dean pulls out an angel blade from inside his jacket.

Cas balks.

Dean shoots him a puzzled look as he hands it to him. “It won’t kill anything here, obviously,” he says, unzipping his bag. He pulls out a copper bowl and bundles of herbs, “But having a weapon’s never a bad idea in unknown dimensions.”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas surveils their inky surroundings, already on high alert for any trespassers.

“Watch my back, okay?” Dean glances over his shoulder. Various ingredients get dropped into the bowl with outsized clangs and dribbles that seem to echo in the void around them.

Cas stays vigilant.

“This was easier than I thought it would be,” Dean mutters as the bowl’s contents start to smoke.

“Don’t jinx it,” Cas mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Dean chuckles under his breath. “I didn’t think angels believed in jinxes.”

It’s not like Cas has been especially angelic these past few years. He says shortly, “I’ve found you can never be too careful.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Need your blood for this part,” he says, shuffling over to make room. “Wait,” Dean says before Cas can press the blade againt his skin.

“Yes?”

“This is the last step,” Dean says seriously. “Once your blood goes in, it’s liftoff. So I wanted to get a couple things straight before we’re back in the Bunker.”

Cas doesn’t need to breathe, but if he did, his breath would have hitched in his chest at the closed-off look on Dean’s face. “Of course.”

“What you said - what you told me,” Dean starts, his voice hard, “before you got sucked to this hellscape.” He drops his gaze to the bowl cradled in his hands, “That’s not me.”

Cas presses his lips together, struggling to keep his face impassive. Once he regains control of himself he says, “I did not expect you to reciprocate when I told you about my feelings for you.”

Dean actively recoils at the mention of feelings. He gives the bowl a little toss, and a few of the contents spill onto the floor. “Just, forget it,” he says brusquely, gathering everything up again.

“Dean-”

He turns to Cas, his eyes blazing. “But - you know what? I can’t forget it.”

Cas opens his mouth, but Dean is not done.

“How could you offload all that shit on me right before you fucked off to parts unknown?” he demands, voice rising in anger and volume. “Of all the goddamn things you could have said to me - that takes the fucking cake. You were my best friend -” he breaks off, shaking his head. “Worst moment of my goddamn life.”

Cas takes a step back, a sickly horror trickling down his spine. “I didn’t think-”

But Dean’s not listening. “I had serious doubts about coming here at all,” he continues, and the last Dean had stabbed him in the chest - how is this so much worse? “But Sam gave me those goddamn puppy dog eyes, and don’t even get me started on Jack-”

“I understand,” Cas interrupts stiffly. He inhales a deep breath he doesn’t need and continues, “Once we return to the Bunker, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Probably for the best,” Dean mutters.

Cas cuts his forearm, watching with perverse fascination as the blood wells up and drips into the bowl waiting below.

There’s a violent burst of light and sound.

In the aftermath, Cas can only make out Dean’s mocking laughter. Before Cas can say a word, it turns into Meg’s delighted giggles. And then Gabriel’s howls of mirth.

* * *

Cas sleeps after getting deceived for the third time. Anything is better than seeing the smug face of the Empty, whether it’s wearing Dean’s face, Gadreel’s, or Ruby’s.

He breaks the wall in Sam’s head.

He lets Lucifer possess him in a futile plan.

He beats Dean to a bloody mess for the Angel Tablet.

Occasionally, the Empty grants him release, and Cas gets to deliver a bad joke to Uriel in Mesopotamia or Dean calls him a baby in a trenchcoat in a diner.

Time passes. Cas has no idea how long. There’s no sun - no moon - no cycling of the heavens. Only emptiness.

He gets shaken awake.

Cas blinks up at a pair of very familiar green eyes. “Dean,” he says, more or less resigned.

“Jesus,” Dean says as he sits back on his heels, “Way to make a guy feel welcome. I’m here to save your sorry ass, in case you were wondering. A full week of tearing my hair out over how to get you outta here, and this is the thanks I get.”

Cas sits up. “My apologies,” he says tentatively as he studies Dean’s face. There’s no sign it isn’t really Dean.

Then again, none of the others showed signs either.

Cas gets to his feet, asking, “Are you alone?”

Dean glances around them warily. “Yeah, Sam and Jack are keeping the portal open in the Bunker. They wanted to come,” he says, his eyes raking over Cas’s face, drinking him in. “They’ll be over the fucking moon to see you again.”

Cas swallows. “And you?”

“I -” A dull flush comes over Dean’s cheeks. He looks away.

Cas’s face shutters. “Right,” he says as he stands in front of Dean. “Now what?”

“Hey,” Dean says, reaching out to grasp his left shoulder, a mirror of the mark Cas left on him so long ago and so recently. “I missed you too. You have to know that.”

Worst moment of my life.

Cas looks away, Dean’s own raised voice echoing in his head.

“Hey,” Dean says again, gentler this time. His green eyes bore into Cas’s face. “What’s going on in that celestial brain of yours?”

The words catch in Cas’s throat, a lump of embarrassment and fear keeping them there. Embarrassment that the Empty deceived him. Fear that the Empty was right.

“Look, I know we didn’t leave things on great terms,” Dean says awkwardly, “and maybe this isn’t the best place to talk about it, but I’m so fucking happy to see you, man.” He chuckles ruefully. “’S making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Even if it’s only a facsimile of Dean - and there’s no way to tell for certain - seeing his face not contorted in anger or mockery is like a balm on Cas’s soul. If he had one, that was.

“About what you said before you got taken-” Dean starts.

Cas’s heart sinks.

“No,” Dean says, his voice low and gentle, “listen to me. I get that happiness for you might just be in the being, but for me-”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas interrupts. “I meant that, truly. You don’t have to-”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, smiling slightly, “You’re not making this easy are you?”

Cas bites his tongue to keep from contradicting Dean again.

“As I was saying,” Dean continues pointedly, his green eyes shining, “For me, happiness isn’t in the being - whatever the hell that means. It’s in the goddamn having.”

Cas bites his tongue harder, the pain hardly registering against the burst of hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “Dean,” he forces out, “You can’t mean…”

“Cas,” Dean starts, and Cas’s heart breaks - or mends. He can’t tell. He has no idea who he is talking to, and it’s, to borrow a phrase from the real Dean, an epic mindfuck.

“Cas,” the Dean standing in front of him repeats, and Cas’s gaze automatically draws back to his face, “Good things do happen.”

Cas chuckles wetly. He has no choice but to say, “Not in my experience.”

Dean takes a step closer, far into the personal space he’d shown Cas so many years ago. Brows drawing together, he raises a hand to cup Cas’s face. “Someone told me a while ago that having faith was important. Seems you’re a little short there, buddy.”

Cas tries to duck his head, but Dean won’t let him. Eventually, he admits, “My faith has been tested recently.”

“But you didn’t give up, right?” Dean asks, leaning in close enough that Cas can feel the warmth of his breath in the air between them.

Cas shakes his head minutely. “No,” he murmurs, “not entirely.”

“Good,” Dean says, pausing just shy of Cas’s mouth. Waiting.

Cas steels himself and closes distance.

Just before their lips touch, Dean implodes in a burst of inky ooze.

* * *

Cas breaks several knuckles on the floor of the Empty. There are no walls to punch, no blade to send heads rolling. Cas works with what he has.

The real Dean would probably approve.

Dean shows up again before too long. This Dean goes so far as to tell Cas he loves him.

Cas turns his back on Dean’s heartbroken face. He refuses to engage.

He wanders instead.

* * *

Cas hears the footsteps before he sees his next Dean.

“Cas!” he pants, “Thank fuck. I thought I was never going to find you.”

Cas merely sighs.

Dean makes a face. “Way to roll out the welcome wagon,” he says, clearly offended. “I would’ve thought you were sick of this place by now.”

Cas purses his lips. “I am.”

“Shocker,” Dean says with a little smile. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time, so you gotta follow me.”

Cas doesn’t budge. He’d rather roam this place for eternity than suffer at the hands of another Dean facsimile. And he had thought he saw enough of them under Naomi’s tutelage. He’d been so naive.

Dean stares at him like Cas just stripped naked and danced the macarena. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not real,” Cas says bluntly.

Dean gapes. “Of course I’m real! Chuck’s de-powered, and Jack… well, it’s a long story. Bottom line: nobody’s pulling our strings but us.”

Cas lets out a derisive laugh.

Dean’s eyebrows rise, but he barrels on, “So it’s time to get a move on. Up and at ‘em, sunshine.” He jerks his head off to the right.

Cas stays where he is. “No.”

“What the hell?” Dean has the gall to tug on Cas’s sleeve like he’s a wayward toddler. “Come on. You’re not making any sense.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Cas retorts. It’s not his best rejoinder, but he’s been very stressed lately.

Whatever Dean was about to say dies on his tongue as he stares at Cas in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head before Cas can respond, saying, “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out later. But now, you’ve gotta come with me.”

Cas levels him a flat glare. This one is more stubborn than the last, more like the real Dean. “Why should I?”

“Because you don’t deserve to be stuck here?” Dean says, gesturing to the void around them. “You saved the world, Cas.” He swallows. “You saved me. Getting you out is the least we can do.”

“Because you need me to take on Chuck,” Cas says.

“No?” Dean says, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, Chuck’s off the playing board.”

“Because you feel guilty about leaving me here.”

“No - wait, I do, but,” Dean breaks off, irritated, “you know what I mean.”

Cas doesn’t, so he continues in the same vein as before, “Because you love me.”

Dean hesitates. “I’m working on it.”

Cas snorts. At least the last Dean had the balls to say it. Many times. While crying.

“What?” Dean throws up his hands. “You just sprung it on me, dude! I didn’t even know angels could feel things like that, and it took me by surprise, okay? I’m only human, and sometimes we need time to get used to ideas. Like when we found out Snooki was a demon. Yeah, the signs were there, and it makes sense, but still - you sometimes need it spelled out for you.”

Cas pauses. None of the other Deans had referenced pop culture. “How long ago was this for you?”

“Since we summoned Snooki?”

At Cas’s icy look of disdain, Dean hedges, “A month? Give or take.” He glares. “First we had to deal with Chuck, and it took a while to find a spell to get here. Remember, we didn’t even know this was a place before you died the last time. The Men of Letters weren’t a shit ton of help, for once.”

Cas crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just… hear me out,” Dean says. “There’s a portal to get us home. Sam and Jack can’t stall the Empty forever.”

That was new. “Jack and Sam aren’t in the Bunker?”

“No,” Dean says as he takes off in the opposite direction, all but forcing Cas to follow to find out more. “They’re up in Heaven.”

“Why?”

“Because the Empty can’t get to Earth without a summoning spell, which, as far as we can tell, doesn’t exist?” Dean says, checking over his shoulder to make sure Cas is still within earshot. “But you made that fucking stupid deal in Heaven, so we knew it could at least travel there. Jack zapped Sam to the Pearly Gates, and they’re hopefully making a distraction while I get you out.”

Still not entirely convinced, Cas asks begrudgingly, “And where are we going?”

“A portal,” Dean says confidently. “This place is a little like Purgatory, apparently. If it senses a human here, it’ll create a portal to spit them out again.” He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “So here I am, 100% genuine human to bail your ass out.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean says with a wink.

Cas scowls. The first Dean had winked at him too.

“Jesus, tough crowd,” Dean mutters as they head further into the Empty.

Cas scans the ground, but there are no small candies lining the way. “How do you know where to go?”

“Turns out, Sam could find a spell for that,” Dean says as he holds up his left hand - clutching his amulet. The Empty must have really hunted around in his memories for that one, even more so than the Wendigo case. He hasn’t seen the real amulet in nearly five years. “It heats up when I’m on the right track towards the exit.”

“So no M&Ms?”

Dean turns to him. “I told you about that?”

Cas stares straight ahead, willing his face to fall into an expressionless mask. The real Dean had told him about the Wendigo over dinner with Sam and Mary while she was still alive, or the Empty wouldn’t be able to use it as inspiration now.

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “Man, I haven’t thought about that case in forever.” He glances at Cas, his face sobering. “You really don’t believe this is real?”

“No.”

He can’t. Not again.

Dean sighs as he steers them slightly to the right. “Come on, I’m almost getting third degree burns from this thing. We must be close.”

Sure enough, a blue swirling portal comes into view, a pinprick of light in the distance at first, elongating into an exact replica of the Purgatory exit as they approach.

“Finally,” Dean mutters, his face impassive. He turns to Cas. “Just… don’t stay behind,” he grimaces, “again.”

This version has been the most true to Dean - less callous than the first, more caring than the second, more guarded than the third. It will hurt the most when this one falls apart. Maybe it would be better if Cas heads it off at the pass instead of letting the whole painstaking ruse play out all the way through.

If the Empty could get it over with, Cas will go back to sleep. Anything is better than this torture.

Cas takes a step back, away from the portal. “This is pointless-”

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean throws his hands in the air. “I don’t get it at all. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas gapes at him.

Dean continues heatedly, “If an ex-demon with anger management problems and rap sheet a mile long deserved to be saved, I think a legit angel should get the same.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m hardly a prime example of an angel anymore.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Have I ever cared about that?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Glad we can agree on something,” Dean cuts him off. “Now, are you going to go through the portal or am I gonna have to drag you? I’ll do it,” he threatens. “Don’t test me.”

Cas wavers. Everything in him says to follow Dean. But this isn’t the real Dean - this is the Empty waiting for the glorious moment when it can yank the illusion away, leaving Cas a little more broken than before.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Fuck you,” he spits, “You can’t trust me just a little-”

“Trust?” Cas echoes as he strides forward to grab the lapels of Dean’s jacket, his voice rising in a mixture of outrage, desperation, and heartache, “You want me to trust you? After you’ve lied to me, deceived me - after you stabbed me, after you told me I put you through the worst moment of your life the last time you saw me, after you made me think you returned my feelings only to - only to-”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “But I didn’t do any of that.”

“You did,” Cas says fervently, shaking Dean a little - or maybe that’s his trembling hands. “You did - you’ve been putting me through hell since I got here, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” Cas swears. “I’m done pretending.”

Dean his eyes flicking down to Cas’s mouth. “What do you know,” he breathes, “so am I.”

Cas freezes, waiting for Dean to dissolve into a puddle of goo in his hands.

Dean kisses him instead.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips to his, Cas jerks back in surprise and horror.

He falls straight into the portal.

The Empty vanishes in a blur of too-bright light.

* * *

Cas comes to in the middle of a field. The sun shines overhead. Noon, Cas registers distantly as he looks around. Dean’s sprawled on the prairie grasses next to him, already waking up judging by the groaning noises.

“Dean?”

Dean opens his eyes, glances at the sky, and closes them again. “Oh great, we made it.”

Cas tentatively picks his way closer to Dean’s side. He stands over him for a moment, shuffling to the side so he doesn’t block the sunlight falling on Dean’s face. “We’re on Earth.”

“Well, it’s sure as shit not Mars,” Dean grumbles, eyes still closed. “Are you watching me right now? I feel like you’re watching me right now.”

Cas stares around the field. “Not anymore,” he says, and a genuine breeze blows against his face. What a marvel.

“‘S okay,” Dean says as he wiggles a little on the grass, getting more comfortable, “’M used to it.”

Cas turns to him. “It’s really you.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean cracks his eyes open, one corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile. “You believe me now?”

“This could be the most elaborate ruse yet.”

Dean lifts his head up. “Seriously? You dick, I did not haul ass all the way-”

“I don’t really believe that, however,” Cas says before Dean can work himself up too much.

“Good.” He meaningfully thumps the grass next to him. “Sit. You’re giving me serious Law & Order vibes.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I don’t get that reference. I know about Law & Order-”

“And how does every episode of Law & Order start?” Dean interrupts, “With someone standing over a dead body in a field.”

Cas takes a seat. “Not always a field. Most episodes show corpses in urban areas, or, once, a yacht.”

“Pretty sure it was more than once. I hate procedural cop shows.”

“They are very formulaic,” Cas admits, stretching out his legs, “and lack the drama of soap operas.”

“I’m just saying, if a long lost sibling doesn’t pop out of the woodwork or if the main character isn’t killed off at least six times, is it really worth watching?”

Cas levels him a flat look. “Dean, all those things have happened to you.”

Dean snorts. “At least none of us got amnesia.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

Dean turns his head to stare at him, a wide grin spreading across his face as he laughs. “Oh shit, you're right. How the hell did I forget?”

“Because of supreme irony, most likely.”

It takes Dean a moment to get it, but when he does, he laughs even louder.

Cas doesn’t have anything to add, so he lets the conversation peter off into silence, listening to Dean’s even breathing and the grass rustling in the gentle wind.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Dean says in an undertone.

Cas turns to him. Dean’s eyes are closed again, but everything else about him radiates a quiet tension Cas might’ve missed anywhere else. But here, in this field, nothing prevents Cas from honing on Dean’s whole being with everything he has. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“I dunno,” Dean says, his face scrunching up, “I thought it would be more awkward. But… it doesn’t feel any different.”

Cas blinks. “Why should it?” he asks, and though he’s not definitively sure what Dean means by ‘it’, he has a very strong suspicion.

Dean shoots him a pointed look. “Because you don’t tell someone you love them and expect everything to be OK after.”

Cas lays down next to Dean. Staring up at the wispy clouds overhead, he says, “If it changes anything, I didn’t expect to be around for the after part.” Dean’s head turns to look at him, but Cas can’t bring himself to see whatever expression is on his face. “If you’d like for us to go our separate ways after this, I understand.”

“You stupid bastard,” Dean mutters vehemently, “for the last goddamn time, I did not piss off the immortal Blob just to tell you to go fuck yourself in person.”

Cas inhales a slow breath, breathing in the dirt, wildflowers growing nearby, and Dean. “You kissed me,” he says.

“You said you loved me,” Dean shoots back.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did you?”

Cas grimaces as he turns his head to face him. “I thought it was obvious.”

Dean swallows. “No, it wasn’t,” he says quietly, “but I’ve never been good at that stuff.”

Cas squints at him. “You are the most emotionally intelligent man I’ve ever met.”

“What?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You expertly navigate and manipulate people’s emotions to get them to talk to you, open up to you, have sex with you,” he lists. “It’s extraordinary to witness.”

Dean makes a choking noise. “Dude,” he says, which tells Cas absolutely nothing. A few more clouds pass by before Dean speaks again. “I guess the signs were there - with you. But I didn’t want to put them together.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugs, his shoulders scraping almost inaudibly against the soil and grass stems. “Just didn’t.”

“Then that’s why I didn’t tell you. But, Dean-” Cas breaks off. This part of the conversation, despite what Dean said earlier, does not feel the same as others between them.

Dean’s eyes flick to his. “Yeah?”

“You kissed me.”

Dean inhales a sharp breath. “I did,” he says at last.

Cas waits, but Dean doesn’t elaborate. “Was it just a ploy to get me to leave the Empty?”

“No.”

Cas grimaces. Not for the first time, his life would be so much easier if Dean could communicate without speaking in riddles or hiding every third word he wanted to say. “Dean...”

“I told you I’m working on it,” Dean says defensively.

Cas closes his eyes. “What does that mean?” he asks, his voice strained.

“It means I’m working on it,” Dean says shortly. But before Cas can press him further, he lets out an explosive sigh. “It means I don’t want to hear any more goodbyes from you. It means - it means that kiss wasn’t too bad, right?”

“I thought you were a fake version of yourself created to torture me for eternity,” Cas says flatly.

Dean props himself up on his elbows. “So all I’m hearing is there’s room for improvement.”

Cas rolls his eyes as Dean scoots closer, peering down at him. “I suppose that’s one way you could look at it.”

“Would you wanna... do something like that again?” Dean asks, his expression confident while his voice is anything but.

“Only if you want to,” Cas says seriously.

Dean licks his lips. He nods once, the movement stilted.

“Should I sit up?” Cas asks, frowning, as he half-lifts his head. “Or do you want to lay back down-”

“Cas,” Dean says impatiently, “it’s kissing we’re talking about here, not Twister.”

“I have played that game before.”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Dean says, a tentative smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth. “You ever do it naked?”

Cas frowns. “There was a strict policy against nudity in the psychiatric ward.”

Dean ducks his head, laughing silently. His forehead lands on Cas’s sternum, his breath warming Cas’s chest from the outside in.

“You were trying to say something arousing,” Cas says, a beat too late.

Dean shakes his head, grinning. “Something like that.”

“I would like to play naked Twister with you.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Glad to hear it,” he says as he leans over Cas. Cas goes a bit cross-eyed to keep him in view until Dean murmurs, “Relax. ‘S just me.”

In the instant before their lips meet, Cas half-expects the whole world around him to splatter apart in a tidal wave of black, otherworldly goo. But Dean is gloriously solid, gloriously human, as he cradles Cas’s half-raised head, his fingers tangling in his hair.

The midday sun shines; the grass whispers in the wind; and Cas is saved.

#destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #15x18 au #15x20 au #fix-it #canon divergence #canon au #profoundnet #rae writes fic #psychological torture #angst

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mssirey · 3 years

Text

Hope (part 10 - finale)

Everything can now be read all together on AO3!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Kara went still.

Her face melted into a smooth, blank stare, and the sight of it invited icy tendrils to grip Lena’s exposed heart, squeezing until all she could do was gasp pitifully. Lena slammed the flat of her hand against the field that kept them apart, crackles dispersing around her skin, but Kara didn’t so much as blink.

It had taken every bit of her courage to put words to the tightness in her chest, to name the heaviness that beat against her ribs, to acknowledge the way gravity had turned against reason and her orbit circled one person. She had never let herself consider it, shrank away from it, welcomed darker thoughts in its place. Love was a fool’s game, after all, and Lena had long refused to play.

In the end, she was a fool and the universe proved its point in its ruthless fashion, her admission met with utter silence, not even a whisper to ease her doubts. Mercy was never meant for her.

Kara was lost—fallen out of reach—and Lena was ready to follow her, to sink beneath the tide of panic and be forgotten by the world. There was no telling what might surface, but she preferred not to see it.

The first break in the stillness was the soft flutter of Kara’s eyelashes and the well of tears that fell down marred cheeks, salted already weeping wounds. “No, no, no, no, Lena,” she whispered, syllables wet and slurred together. Her face cracked, her brow heavy with her devastation, her eyes stormy.

“Kara?” Lena didn’t dare hope, couldn’t survive being wrong, but her heart wished so deeply for it to be Kara—safe and whole.

Kara blinked, jarred from her sputtering, and her head cocked, her gaze distant, looking inward. “Yes,” she breathed, with a startled little laugh. “It’s me! Just me!”

Lena exhaled all the weight she harbored, sank back to sit fully on the floor, numb overtaking her limbs, closing in on the rest of her. “Fuck,” she panted and her body gave out as tension bled away, leaving her a boneless mess. She laid back, covered her face with her shaking hands, and willed her heart to steady.

There was relief, unquestionably, but there was also the sense that she had to answer for the hand she had in the course of events and she was tapped dry of courage. When she could feel her face again, she turned onto her side and lifted onto still trembling hands. She crawled until she felt her legs could support her and then set herself to task.

Kara called after her, her voice warbling and frantic. “Lena, where are you—”

“If Lex thinks I can’t break into a cell I designed, he only has his ego to blame,” she huffed, putting her hands to work rather than facing the continuation of their conversation. She didn’t aim for finesse as she pried the control panel open with ill-suited tools and in a matter of minutes, the door slid open.

Kara had gotten to her feet, and once freed, sidled out with her head hung and her gaze flitting between Lena’s face and the floor at her feet. “Lena, I, um… will you let me say something?”

Lena couldn’t summon the walls of her fortress fast enough, couldn’t contain her spilling heart, but for the first time, that wasn’t as terrifying as the thought of never trying to meet Kara. She nodded.

“I am sorry, Lena,” Kara said as she fidgeted, her hands each seeming to work to keep the other from reaching out. “I worried endlessly about what might happen if I told you—”

“For four years?” Lena was reluctant to press, afraid of what she would find when she opened that vein. Her lips were ready to drink from any cup offered—cracked and broken as they were—but she knew poison when it was fed to her.

Kara gave a pained nod. “I hold onto things too tightly— I always have.” She tried to force a smile, but it never quite stuck. “After everything I’ve lost, I…”

Lena’s stomach twisted, trapped in a vice with jagged teeth that rent her open, let the acid wash into her gut and devour her from within. “Kara, that’s not fair.” How was she supposed to justify her hurt when set against the backdrop of Kara’s loss?

Kara was floundering, lost and trembling. “No, I know, hang on— just, um, let me finish?”

Lena could only offer a stiff dip of her head. She watched Kara’s head lift, her eyes turned up towards the ceiling, her lips moving in a silent whisper—a prayer. When her gaze returned, she was steeled.

“I felt helpless… hopeless, that’s true, but instead of trusting what we had, I let my fears back me into every wrong choice.” All Lena heard was that Kara didn’t trust her and it punched straight into the hollow pit at her core—gave credence to the haunting whispers she argued so fervently against when alone with her thoughts. “I just… I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

It didn’t make sense and her mind screeched its alarm, telling her to run. “I was always there for you,” Lena reminded, her voice cracking under the strain of her withering composer, her knees degrading with the rest of her, ready to give out.

Kara chewed at her lip, but forced her chin to stay lifted, refusing to bend under her guilt. “You were,” she managed. “You’ve always made me feel so whole and I—” her eyes closed as tears streamed down her cheeks, “I didn’t let myself think about how little of me was present for you.” She exhaled shakily before she looked at Lena properly once more. “You deserved better from me, Lena.”

Lena’s doubts feasted, spun every word into another lie, mocked her with the awareness that there was no way to truly know if she was being spoon fed exactly what she wanted to hear. She needed something tangible to hold onto, and without thinking, found herself walking forward. Kara let her approach, watched with wide eyes, her uncertainty stiffening her back.

Lena stepped into Kara’s space and hesitantly reached out. Kara’s hands untangled and fell away from each other, affording Lena more room, and she took it. As soon as her arms encircled Kara, she sank forward, no longer able to deny needing to be held.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara whispered into her hair as she wrapped Lena up in the shelter of her embrace, cautious at first, but then shifting to pull Lena closer, taking the weight from her with sturdy hands.

Kara’s support allowed her to let go of her boxes, to let the seams of her wretched masks unravel, to fall apart and trust that she wouldn’t be alone to put herself back together. She buried her face in Kara’s neck and wept. Lena clutched tight to the fabric at her fingertips, secured the source of warmth that cushioned her fall. Kara made no mention of the tears that dampened her shirt, only soothed a hand along her back.

With the floodgates opened, her doubts spilled outward. “What did I do to—”

Kara shook her head and squeezed Lena tighter. “You didn’t do anything, Lena, I promise.”

“Then what were you afraid of?”

Kara’s chest expanded in her arms and Lena could feel the heaviness of her heart, the quickened thud against her cheek. “I was scared of letting you down.”

That struck a chord in Lena, plucked at the very strings that appeared in every arrangement she wrote. It was the undercurrent that steered her towards grand gestures and worse decisions, and why she tried so desperately to earn affection. She never felt worthy unless she compensated for every debt, and every misstep, and sometimes it was never enough.

For Kara it had been, or so she had been led to believe. She had bought into it blindly, unaware she was staking her heart until it was too late.

“Kara Danvers is not all of who I am, but she was who I wanted to be.” She tucked her head closer, as if to ensure that her words reached Lena’s ear. “She was important to you and I… I didn’t know how to give that up.”

Lena still couldn’t understand why she was singled out and it tightened her throat until she couldn’t swallow the reasoning.

Kara was important to everyone. She forged light out of her own darkness; she strived not only to be good, but to see good when others might turn away; she understood the power of kindness and empathy; she encouraged strength by way of example; she embodied hope, not in grandness, but in nuance. No one in her life would say different.

“Why me?”

Kara pulled back so abruptly that the air seemed to go with her and Lena’s lungs struggled to fill, but then warm, tender hands cupped her cheeks, and she melted into them. “Lena,” she breathed, her resolve beared down upon Lena with such intensity, her gaze unwavering, “it’s because I love you.”

That was one possibility Lena had never considered and it ripped up every logical foundation her doubts relied on. Her mind went quiet, slowly calibrating to the new way of framing events, wondering how the two of them could have been such fools.

“I’m sorry I let you think otherwise,” Kara said, her hands quivering, her courage wavering. “You are so, so important to me, Lena, and you always will be.”

Lena’s hands lifted to Kara’s wrists, fingers curled around them, wishing she could keep them there. “You promise?”

Kara nodded, relief mixing with eagerness in her eyes. “Yes! Yes, whatever the future brings, whatever we have to face out there,” her gaze flicked to the lab door before returning to Lena, “I’ll be here for you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, her lungs over-full, a spark of warmth igniting in her heart. Her shoulders were less burdened, or her spine sturdier, it was hard to be certain. Her tears didn’t sting the same, instead seemed like a welcome cleansing. Her smile didn’t need to be forced.

Perhaps that’s what hope felt like.

Lena didn’t mind it.

#hope au #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp #my writing

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whohaveibeenletting · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Description: Circa 2013, Thor tries to get Steve involved in an Asgardian party. Instead, Steve finds a nice girl he just wants to protect. Warnings: Oral (female receiving), loss of virginity, innocence kink, dubious consent, Steve is manipulated, Thor is not a nuanced character in this. Written largely from Steve’s perspective. Overall it is dark-ish. Disclaimer: We’re all friends here. We can acknowledge that virginity is a construct and virgins aren’t any purer than than everyone else, but it’s kinda hot to pretend otherwise. Word Count: 4811

The water's clean and warm and green. I’m scared of getting in.

‘A true Asgardian celebration.’

That’s what Thor had described this as when he invited Steve to his home the month following Loki’s defeat. In his head, Steve had imagined alcohol, which posed no danger to him, no matter how strong. Prompted by his worst worries of Thor pulling him in to some kind of battle off world, he’d put this visit off for as long as possible, giving him time to prepare an array of excuses should he be asked to get involved in a conflict he has no part in.

He was not prepared for a room full of writhing bodies. People on their knees, their backs; everything on display. The room smells heady with wine and the mass of Asgardians sharing pleasure everywhere. He feels Thor’s hand on his shoulder, urging him towards a woman ready on the floor. Her head tilts back, her lips part invitingly.

Steve hears himself apologise to the woman in front of him. Without another word he’s ducking under Thor’s arm, hurrying out the first door he sees and trying to ignore the thunderous laughter which follows him down a long hallway.

Familiar shame floods through him. He feels the resentment in his chest, tight in his throat.

Must he always going to be the butt of the joke?

Some warning would have been nice, Steve thinks, would’ve declined more politely, if he’d given me half a chance. That poor woman, degrading herself like that for a man who didn’t even want her. His mind stays on that woman. Open and waiting. He wonders how that would have played out if he’d approached her, not that he ever would have. But maybe if he’d just let her-

Earlier, Steve had been shown a room where he’d been told he would be sleeping. When he finds himself back there, he stares at the bed and contemplates the prospect of staying the night. The possibility of Thor trying to pressure him into another rendezvous seems high.

He can’t avoid Thor. Eventually Steve will have to see him if he wants to go home. Steve doesn’t know anyone else, doesn’t have the first idea about how to leave this place on his own. Something about a gateway. Something about a bridge.

Christ, he just has to go. As soon as possible. Even here, when he’s on his own, he feels out of place. He thinks about the apartment he grew up in. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom, but the whole thing was half the size of this single room meant only for sleeping. He doesn’t belong here. It was clear to him before, and it’s clear to him now.

With resignation, Steve takes determined steps towards the door when a woman rounds the corner suddenly. You just miss walking straight into his chest. He watches you reel a little, taking a couple steps back so that you can look him in the eye without craning your neck too much.

You correct yourself quickly. Hands behind your back, a pleasant smile on your pretty face. It dawns on him then that you’re a servant, dressed as the others were; a white linen dress. A sick pantomime of innocence.

“I’ve been sent to ask if there’s anything you need, Captain,”

“No,” he says sharply, feeling a little guilt when you flinch, but not enough to delay himself. “I just want to get out of here.”

“I am afraid it is impossible for you to leave without his permission.”

“Permission?” Steve barks, raising his eyebrows.

“Unfortunately,” you answer, voice shaking a little. “His Royal Highness is still occupied with the celebration. If you want to avoid that it would be best to wait until morning to speak to him.”

The morning? Steve sighs, defeated, and nods in answer.

“I apologise for any offence, Captain. But if you need anything you need only call.” You make to turn and leave, but guilt forces him to keep talking to you.

“I am sorry for being curt, Ma’am. I’m new to all of this. Where I’m from, people aren’t so...open.”

“There is nothing to apologise for, Captain. I have been told that Odinson parties can often be overwhelming.”

That gives him pause; the prospect of a like mind in this place more comforting than he’d like to admit. “You mean, you’ve never...”

“No,” you say quietly, frowning. “Well, not yet. They told me I’m supposed to start soon, actually.”

“You don’t seem too happy about it.”

You pause. Steve watches you trying to read him; trying to work out if he’s trustworthy enough to share your thoughts with. He keeps his face serious, wanting you to know that he means to listen with care. Instead, you tense. “It is an honour to serve any member of the royal household. I’m very lucky to have been gifted my position-”

“Hey, you don’t need to do that with me,” he says, smiling at you, keeping his voice gentle. You’re looking at him like a scared rabbit. Steve feels his heart swell with worry for the girl in front of him, trying to hide your distress. “If you tell me, maybe I can help.”

Suddenly, there are tears in your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do!” You cry, covering your face with your hands.

"Let’s sit,” he says, directing you to the bed in the middle of the room.

Shaking your head and wiping desperately at your wet eyes, you protest. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

When you try to make for the door, Steve grasps you around the shoulders, his determination to understand your distress intensifying. “I said to sit.” He drops down beside you, keeping close in case you try to run off again. “I want to help you. But I can’t that you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Steve watches your fingers twist into the material of your skirt.

“It’s just that I’ve never done anything with a man.” You look up at him, your bottom lip shaking, eyelashes wet with tears. “I’m scared of the pain.”

“I’m sure Thor wouldn’t hurt you,”

“But he will!” You cry. "That’s what happens, the first time you’re there. They’ll make a game of it. Especially when they realise that no one’s ever touched me.”

“Jesus,” Steve curses, his stomach turning for this innocent girl. Your sobbing begins anew, and he places a comforting hand on your arm, rubbing his thumb along your soft skin. “I could talk to Thor. I could ask him to give you another job.”

“There’s no allowance for special treatment. We all have our roles, and I have to take part. I can only hope someone gentle will take me first.”

Steve thinks about the room he just came from; the heady smell, the writhing bodies, the chorus of groans. It didn’t sit right with him. Experiencing it again would be torture. But this girl, pure and virtuous; you’re as hesitant as he is, if not more so. He cannot allow you to experience it without protection, without a watchful eye keeping the brutal men you describe from getting anywhere near your untried body.

“I could make sure that you’re treated respectfully,”

“You would do that?”

“Yes. I won’t lie to you, the thought of going back to that room is not a pleasant one.” He smiles as comfortingly as possible. “But it’s important that you’re kept safe, so I’ll go back anyways.”

You look up at him. Your pretty eyes are sparkling with tears now starting to wane.

“You’re gentle,” you say, thoughtfully, hopefully. Steve sees where you’re headed, and shakes his head, trying to remain kind but firm.

“I said I wouldn’t take part in all that,” he reminds you. “And I meant it."

“You could have me now. Then you wouldn’t even have to go to the party. It wouldn’t have to happen in front of others.”

“I couldn’t, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“You mean you don’t want me?”

He swallows. Some deep dark part of him is screaming that he’s being a fool. This girl, he thinks, beautiful and pure. She’s offering herself yet you’re refusing her.

“You’re beautiful. Any man would be very lucky...” He makes a face, unsure how to finish. Any man would be lucky to fuck you, he thinks, feeling heat rising to his cheeks.

“It’s going to happen anyway, Captain,” you answer, your gaze running over him. A look of determination moves across your face. Then you’re moving to sit yourself on his lap, arms around his neck. “If you want me, you can have me.”

Steve almost whimpers with the way his cock is starting to ache. When you shift against him, he finds himself grasping your hips, encouraging you to grind down on his hardening cock.

He closes his eyes. He’ll allow himself just one more second before he stops you. The taste of the words he should say is sour on Steve’s tongue. I can’t. I shouldn’t. Not when you don’t have a real choice.

But your lips are sweet when you touch them to his; your touch gentle, your kiss almost chaste. When Steve looks at you again, your expression is so alluringly innocent, surprised at yourself for having done that. He wonders if you have ever kissed anyone before, his little ingénue.

You moan when you kiss him again, a little more desperate, like you’re getting addicted to the feeling. Steve sighs, bringing a hand up to your cheek. The skin on your face is unbelievably soft under his calloused fingers, and he’s desperate to find out if you’re soft everywhere.

“I’ll look after you,” he says, giving in finally to what his body has truly wanted since he saw that woman on her knees earlier, since he saw you sitting on his bed. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip. Soft there, too. “I’ll take you gentle, doll. I promise.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, going submissively when he lies you on your back. He looks you over as he rises to his knees, hands greedily stroking your thighs, opening your body up to him.

Steve doesn’t waste time lifting the linen of your dress up to your waist, a pleased hum escaping when he finds you’re wearing nothing under the skirt. Your cunt is bare, already swollen with want. He knows that he wants you soaked. Wants you relaxed and slick before he puts his cock anywhere near you.

He throbs at the thought, tilting your knees up to your chest as he leans down to your sex. Steve breathes in the warmth between your legs, kisses the junction of your thigh softly. He hears you sigh, feels your tense body relaxing into the bed. Your comfort, your trust in him, your submission. It sends tingles down his spine.

Steve will keep you safe. He’ll keep you pleasured. And you know it.

“I need you to hold your legs open for me.” Steve watches you wrap your hands around the back of your knees for him without complaint, without hesitation. “That’s good,” he encourages, bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing in circles. He kisses your thigh again as you gasp, watches your pussy flutter around nothing. “You ever had anybody touch you here?”

You tuck your chin against your chest and shake your head. “Never.”

“You ever touched your little bud yourself?” You remain quiet, but your head is still. You make eye contact, eyebrows pulling together as he pushes you towards release with the rough pad of his thumb, still moving in circles. Steve groans at the guilty look on your face. His cock is starting to hurt with how much he wants you. “It’s better like this, isn’t it? Better with somebody else?”

“Better with you,” you correct breathlessly. “With you.”

“Show me, then.” Steve teases his fingers over your entrance, gathering slick and bringing it back up to your bud. You mewl, jolting with pleasure when he starts circling your clit again. “Want you to come for me like this, just like this. It’ll get that little cunt ready for me, yeah? We’ll get you so fuckin’ wet. All relaxed, then I can slide right in, alright?”

You nod rapidly, letting your hips roll against his hand while he rubs at you. No breaks, no slowing down. He can feel your clit quiver against his thumb. Steve watches as your body twitches and writhes, gasping. “Captain!”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he says, bringing his thumb to his tongue for a quick taste of you, but it’s not enough.

While you’re still jolting with aftershocks, he leans down between your legs, taking a final breath of your arousal before pressing his lips where his thumb just was, kissing your little clit and earning a shocked cry. Steve groans at the taste; sweet, salt, and woman, letting his tongue lick wide over your sensitive button while his fingers stroke over your entrance. He wants to make you cum again, so fucking bad. “C’mon,” he says, tongue tasting you from your little hole to your clit. He gives your bundle of nerves a series of kisses and licks, feeling the jolt of your thighs around his head, though you settle them back open for him like he told you. “You wanna be good for me, don’t ya, honey?”

You hum in answer, long and loud as he pushes you over the edge with his mouth, sinking his finger into you so he can feel your tightness clasp and seize around him. You’re tight, your lack of experience evident in how you grasp him, but he can feel the wetness he’s pulled from you, how relaxed you are to let him in so simply like this.

He looks up at you from between your legs. Steve watches your chest as you breathe deeply, settling into letting him play inside you, whines giving way to moans. “You want to come for me again?”

“Yes,”

“You’re gonna let me in then, aren’t you?” He asks, rubbing the pads of two fingers around your entrance before he presses both inside. “Gonna take my cock?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Just one more like this, okay? Then we’ll look after both of us.”

He watches your face as you nod again, so acquissant, so willing to do whatever he tells you. He could get used to this; his sweet girl, trusting him so completely, knowing to let him guide you because he’ll always know what’s best for you. Better than you anyway, helpless as you are. Coming in here, begging him to take your virginity. And God, he wants it. Doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything so bad as to fuck you, to be the first man to take you. He scissors his fingers inside of you at the thought, wanting to get you ready but already knowing he’ll have to hold himself back when he’s inside.

“Captain!” You cry, digging your fingers into your thighs, hips moving for him, against him. He feels the satisfying gush of wetness against his hand and grins.

“Look at that,” he says, rubbing his fingers together to feel your slick, watch the strings of it. When he looks at you again, he half expects you to look ashamed, scandalised, confused. Instead you’re looking at his hands, his arms, his chest, breathing rapidly. When you reach his eyes, your lips open slightly. Your expression mirrors that woman on her knees at Thor’s party.

Steve growls, grabs your hand and brings it to the top of your thighs, makes you rub your mound roughly, both of you listening to the slick sound of your wetness. “That’s you ready, isn’t it? Fuckin’ soaked for me now.” You nod, watching as he reaches to undo his belt. “Take that dress off. I want to see you when I give you my cock.”

When he finally gets a hand on himself, he almost whines at the relief. He gives his cock long, slick strokes and watches you pull your dress over your head. His eyes languish over the peaks of your chest, the feminine softness of your stomach and thighs. Steve rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, feels the sticky warmth of his cum against the pad of his finger and has a fleeting notion to make you taste it.

When he brings his gaze back to your face, he finds you staring at his cock, eyes moving with the slow pumps of his hand. “Think you can take it all? Take my whole cock in that nice little cunt of yours?”

You shake your head in earnest. Steve feels his body react to the edge of fear in your eyes now, his balls tightening in warning, forcing him to pull his hand away from himself. He has to calm down, has to settle before he gets inside you or he’ll lose his mind the second he does.

Steve sighs through his nose as he touches your thighs, opening your legs up for him again with your knees bent and feet flat on the bed. He kisses your knee gently. “You comfortable, sweetheart?”

You nod, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells you, settling himself between your legs and grasping his cock to gently prod at your entrance. “We’re gonna go gentle, alright? Gonna make it good for you. Haven’t I made it good for you so far?”

He feels your entrance give way to the tip of him as you breathe out. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve watches as he presses inside of you, his jaw clenching as his head is enveloped by overwhelming warmth. You’re wet enough that he thinks if he just gave one good thrust, he’d slide right in.

His cock reaches the end of you and you cry out sharply. Your hands come up to his torso, almost trying to push him away, but his cock feels so good nestled inside you good and deep. Steve can’t help himself but grasp you around the wrists and diverts your arms down over your head, holding them there with one hand. He leans over, face to face with you, watching tears pool in your eyes.

“It hurts.”

It hurts because he’s the first man inside you, the first to feel you like this. Steve moans at the desperate clench of your cunt around him. It’s torture not to move now that his cock is surrounded by tight, soft, warmth. He presses his face between your breasts, breathes in the clean scent of you; washed sheets and woman.

He squeezes your hands with his when he pulls his hips back, loosens his grip when he pushes through the resistance of your tight cunt once again. He can hear as well as feel the wetness trying to welcome him inside.

“You hear your cunt around my cock? I know it hurts, but your body wants me,” he tells you, pressing kisses up your neck as his hips start to move more steadily. “You need me.”

He thinks you answer, your response half gasp, but he’s too far gone to comprehend anyway. Steve groans into your neck as he fucks you, long and deep, his only favour to you keeping his strokes slow for now. He can feel your cunt squeezing around him, but he doesn’t care to know if it feels good for you yet. Doesn’t want to think about it when he knows he deserves to keep going even if you are in pain.

When he finally feels your legs moving to wrap around his waist, he risks looking at your sweet face again. He growls at the sight of you, your head thrown back in delight.

“Knew you’d love it,” he says, leaning up to press more kisses to your mouth. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good. I didn’t know it could feel like this,” you whisper. “Thank you, Captain.”

Steve feels his balls pull tight at your words, his hips moving suddenly with more aggression. The push and pull, the desperate need to move in you suddenly too much for him to care about keeping himself gentle.

“Again,” he says, teeth together, his lips pressed at the top of your cheek next to your ear. “Say it again.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Again,” he groans, his hand digs into your wrists enough that he just knows he’ll leave bruises in his wake. He hopes you’ll feel them throb tomorrow and think about him, crave him again. Steve brings his other hand down between your legs, playing with your clit roughly as you keen.

“Thank you! Thank you, Captain.”

His head feels light when you come, mewling while you clamp down on his cock, your cunt begging him to fill you right. Steve wants you addicted. He wants you to know that no matter who comes after, he’ll always be the one that took you best.

You’re whimpering when the knot in his stomach snaps and he finally cums inside you, overstimulated and weak, but holding his hips tight with your legs anyway, encouraging him to keep fucking into you until he’s sated. The relief is overwhelming. Steve falls against you, burying his face in your chest again. He lets go of your wrists to wrap his arms around your waist, and your hands go to his hair. You brush through it with your fingers, petting his sweaty forehead lovingly.

Your legs are shaking around him when Steve finally pulls his softened cock free, unable to stop himself from watching your swollen centre dripping with your slick and his cum. He pulls his shirt off his overheated body, fights his trousers from his warm legs. Steve’s exhausted, but when he glances over at you again, lying ruined at his side, his tender cock jolts with interest. He curses the serum for his recovery time, knowing there’s no way he’ll be able to take you again today.

He lets himself fall beside you, sighing. Steve watches your breath even out, the rise and fall of your breasts hypnotising until you turn to look at him, capturing his eyes with your gaze. Suddenly, he’s feeling a touch ashamed. He’d lost control near the end there. His thoughts were too shameful to ever share, but you must have felt the aggression in his movements. The way he’d held you down.

“I didn’t hurt you at all?”

“No,” you breathe. “No, it was wonderful. Thank you, Captain.”

Your breathy voice sends a tingle down his spine, the reminder of what pushed him over the edge. Before he can help it his cock is swollen and pink against his stomach. Steve hums awkwardly, reaching for a pillow to cover himself when you notice. Your hands press against his chest as you sit up.

“You need further relief,” you say, climbing into his lap.

“No- I mean,” he stumbles, his cock throbbing at the thought of having your cunt around him again. “Not if you’re sore. You need to heal, right? I think-”

You breathe a low shhh into his ear, grasping his cock and bringing the red tip to your entrance. “Your seed will soothe me best.”

He watches you on top of him as you ride him, looking for pain in your expression. He finds only satisfaction, and lets himself enjoy the woman sitting on his cock for his pleasure. You don’t come again, physically couldn’t after tipping over the edge so many times already. When he fills you up one more time, you moan low and long, squirming over him like the feeling of his warm seed in your cunt has genuinely soothed the ache he’d left behind.

Afterwards, you settle back into the bed like lovers, a leg thrown over his abdomen, your head resting against his shoulder while he smooths his hand up and down the soft skin of your back. You look demure once more, shy in spite of what just happened. Your gaze shifts from your fingers on his chest to his face, hurrying away again when you find him already staring at you. Steve pauses, the euphoria of having you giving way to the dread of what you will have to go through soon.

Other men.

“I’ll speak to Thor,” he declares assuredly. “I'll tell him to keep you away from the others. That I want you to be mine only.”

There is something strange in your gaze, then. Pity? Maybe you think it’s impossible, that nothing can save you from your fate. Steve makes to continue, to convince you, but you give a soft shhh. “Don’t speak of it, please? I want to enjoy being with you now.”

“Of course you can,” he rushes, feeling foolish now for shattering the calm that had surrounded you. “Does it...do you feel alright?”

“I feel wonderful, Captain.” you whisper, smiling at him tenderly.

“Steve,” he corrects, finally, feeling he’s enjoyed hearing you call him Captain more than he deserves already. “My name’s Steve Rogers.” You only hum in answer, settling back into his shoulder as if to rest. He realises he wants that, too. He wants to sleep here, holding you in his arms.

He will speak to Thor tomorrow. He’ll keep his girl protected. “Hey,” he whispers, hoping you aren’t lost to him yet. “What’s your name?”

But you’re silent, already sleeping.

The next morning when you wake up, Steve is pressed tight against your back, his body overwhelmingly warm. The soft sheets, the roughness of his chest hair on your back, it’s heavenly. You think that you would be happy to settle in this very spot, never move for the rest of your life.

But you can’t. The sun is rising outside, calling you to start your day, and you must leave before the Captain wakes up. Gently, carefully, you unwrap his arm from your stomach, shifting out of the bed quietly. You wince as you stand, an unfamiliar throb between your legs which reminds you how fully this man took you. It hurts, but it brings a pleasant feeling from your core upwards. How wonderful to have been taken so thoroughly.

You stare at Steve as you dress yourself. The pleasant path his nose takes from his face, his full bottom lip, those eyelashes fanned out against the top of his cheeks. His soft blonde hair is messy from a deep, satisfying sleep, but maybe also from your time together. Your cheeks heat up.

You’re desperate to kiss him. But you don’t deserve it, not after lying to him the way that you did.

You’re lucky he hasn’t woken already. You tip toe away from him and out the door of his room. As you walk to your destination, you avoid meeting the gaze of passers by, wondering how many in the palace will already know what transpired between you and Thor’s noble friend from Earth. There’s no shame in what you did with him, it’s as natural as breathing. But you are ashamed to think of how it happened.

When you reach the Prince’s private rooms, you’re led in by a guard who was already expecting you, and you find your Prince enjoying the mouth of another servant. You avert your eyes as he finishes.

He calls you over as the girl stands, clapping his hands in excitement. “How was your time with my friend?”

You nod, the memory sweet despite your deception of Steve. “Pleasing, Your Highness,”

He roars a pleased laugh, slamming his hands together in a pleased clap that practically shakes the room. “I knew he’d want to feel like he was saving you from my terrible cruelty,” he chuckles. “I’m sure he liked knowing you were untouched too.”

You don’t reply, hoping he won’t question you any further. You’re not proud of lying to Steve, of telling him that you’d be forced into attending Thor’s celebrations, that he and his comrades would treat you terribly. The reality was that it had always been your choice whether to join in; who you wanted to be with, whether you wanted to be with anyone at all. Even the choice to deceive Steve had been yours to make in the end.

You’d idolised him from the way Thor had described him when he returned from Earth. Kind, brave, and honourable. And then to see him, as handsome as he is.

The truth was you wanted him. You wanted him to take you first, and you would have done whatever Thor told you to do if it meant you could have him touch you.

Thor’s voice is calm when he says, “I assume he wasn’t rough with you.”

You think about Steve’s hands holding you down, and you feel the painful throb in your wrists. You’d cried out under him, but his thrusts were unwavering. It only sends heat through your core.

“Not at all, Your Highness.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers/you #chris evans smut #my stuff #it's midnight here but i finally finished this so i'm posting rn #lmk about typos i beg of you

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justreadingfics · 4 years

Text

It’s a Deal (Prologue)

Series Summary: You’re out of a relationship of 10 years and you’re just in desperate need to get laid, no strings attached, no romance, no complications. You dear friend Natasha feels like she’s going to regret this later, but she might have the perfect guy to fulfill your needs.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3.1k

Warnings (for the entire series): +18 only, smut, casual sex, Bucky is a whore, boytoy!Bucky and proud, acquaintances to fuck buddies to maybe lovers, fluff, eventual angst, mention to past relationship, break-up.

A/N: I was going to write something for Looking for a Heartbeat universe, but this idea came up and I was so excited. This is me trying my hand at romantic comedy. It’ll be very smutty but there’ll be angst eventually because it’s me. This version of Bucky is different from everything I’ve written before, but I think this is one of the beauties of this character. He’s so nuanced and layered, there’s always a new version of him to be explored. I hope you guys like it and stick with me. I’m planning 10 chapters, but the number may change. The link to the my masterlist is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated. @lesqui you’re a Rockstar.

When Natasha bursts into his apartment - like she’s done many many times before- holding up a big cup of coffee, the first thing that hits her is the smell lingering in the air, making her whole face scrunch up. The whole apartment stinks of a fucking orgy and she doesn’t even get to act surprised or outraged. This is what it’s been like. Ever since Bucky started to get better, changing from the brooding shadow that had first arrived to regaining his self-confidence, he’s been spending it and his whole package of super soldier stamina like that. A new night a new girl. Or two… she realizes when she spots the pair of different underwear over his couch as she makes her way to his bedroom. Three? She shoots an eyebrow high at the sight of a third one hanging around the doorknob.

She would die before touching the damn thing and, because she’s also always up for a little show, she decides to use one of her signature moves to make herself into his bedroom. A powerful kick to the door is enough to have the effect she wanted : three different tones of high-pitched screams and a low groan fills the room.

Natasha doesn’t need to say anything. Just her steady, impassive demeanor while still in her Black Widow uniform from the last mission is enough to make the trio of naked bodies move. They shoot themselves out of the bed and scramble to pick up pieces of clothes from the floor.

“Ugh, sorry, sweethearts.” Bucky’s voice is groggy with sleep and muffled by the pillow, “Thanks for last night, though, it was amazing.” He raises his thumb up but remains lying on his stomach, his very naked behind exposed, completely unphased by Natasha’s presence.

The girls rush past her without even daring to glance at the Avenger. Well, except for the owner of the underwear on the doorknob, who gives her much more than a glance in the shape of a shameless once over and a lustful wink before grabbing the piece of lacey and fleeing, putting it on along with her dress on her way.

With an exaggerated yawn, Bucky catches Natasha’s attention again and she steps into his room as he rolls over and sits on the mattress. At least he has the decency to pull a sheet to cover his front before he stretches his arm to the air letting out a second yawn, “What is it this time?” This is definitely not the first time a scenario like that has taken place, to Natasha’s exasperation.

“Crowded around here, huh?” Walking over to him with a judging brow up, she hands him the coffee, which he promptly accepts, “Do you even know their names?”

“Sofia, Olivia, and Amanda,” he answers simply before taking a sip from the coffee, “The one checking you out was Amanda, she’s nice, I think you’d like her, and you’ve seen them before here, just not the three of them together.” He smirks, raising a feigned innocent gaze from his cup to her.

Natasha chooses to ignore the answer in favor of letting a huff out, “We - and by we I mean Fury - missed you at the debriefing.” She glances around, trying to find a place she could sit without accidently making contact with any kind of… fluids. Spotting the armchair nearby, she shoots a questioning look at Bucky.

He presses his lips in a guilty fine line and shrugs, “I think you’re safe standing up.”

“You’re gross, you know that right?” She grimaces, crossing her arms in front of her. “How the hell did this happen, anyway? We got here around one am from the mission.”

He shakes his head dismissively, “You know I have my ways and I needed to shake the stress off. Too much energy to spend.”

“I can see that,” She laughs, “I mean…Three?

“You were there. It was a hard mission.” The corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkle as he grins back at her.

“That it was,” she agrees, letting some air out in a puff, “And that’s why I’m here now. You weren’t picking your goddamn phone and Fury wants to debrief with you before he signs the reports.”

“Ugh,” Bucky rolls his eyes, blowing some steam out of his cup of coffee, “that guy... what a huge pain in the ass, right?”

Natasha catches the playful tone and shakes her head, holding back the smile, “You won’t make me bad talk him, you know that.”

She can’t keep the smile suppressed any longer when he lets his head fall back and laughs. Carefree and contagious. It took him a while to get there, but now? Laughters, giggles, and jokes are a part of who Bucky Barnes is. For that, she’s thankful.

“Alright, just give me a minute,” he concedes, bringing his coffee back to his lips.

Watching him, her face turns a bit more serious. “How long will you keep this up, huh?” she asks, bringing her hands to her hips.

With the back of his hand, he wipes a bit of coffee that slips from the corner of his mouth “What?” His forehead crinkles as his attention is focused on cleaning himself.

“This lifestyle of yours…” Natasha waves a hand around the room and over himself, “Don’t you ever want to… I don’t know… settle down for one woman or something like that?”

The confused expression that shifts Bucky’s face as he looks back at her is almost comical. “Why in the world would I do that?” He puts the cup of coffee on the nightstand, before standing up, wrapping the sheet around his waist. “This is so much fun, no strings attached… just good old exchange of fluids, enjoying one another’s bodies… and the next morning we’re off with our lives.” Ignoring the disapproval look on Natasha, he grins down at her, before passing by her to walk towards his closet.

“I know this might be a good deal for you, but what about the women you bring down here, is this fair with them?” Natasha insists.

“Ok, now listen,” Bucky turns back to her, pulling an underwear from the drawer, “All the girls I hook up with want the exact same thing I want, “ He leans down to put on the underwear under the sheet covering his lower half, before letting the white fabric pull down on the floor. “They’re here for the sex just as much as I am.” He turns back to the closet, fumbling with his clothes.

“Aren’t you going to take a shower?”

“Fury needs me asap.” He deadpans, before continuing while putting on his jeans, “Not once I took advantage of anyone, I guarantee you that. I´m not fooling them, they’re not fooling me. It’s a fair deal. Perfect to be honest, pleasant, I mean very pleasant to both sides…” He smirks before raising his gaze filled with mischief from where he’s buckling his belt to her, “You damn well know how good it- I can be…”

Her eyes roll at his smirk and she crosses her arms in front of her again. “That ship has sailed, Barnes.” It was just one time months ago and she knows she will never hear the end of it.

“Just saying…” Bucky shrugs, tying his hair back into a low bun, keeping the half smile on his lips, “Whenever you need to shake the stress off again, you can always count on me.” He winks.

“Yeah, right, go take a fucking shower and then we can talk.” Natasha grabs a pillow from his bed and throws at him. “Ok, I get it, I’m not an expert here and probably not the right person to be telling you this, but don’t you feel like you’re missing things? Or maybe that you’re hiding from something?” she suggests, walking past his bed to come closer to him.

“Nat, I swear… I’m not hiding from anything, there’s no hidden feelings or fears or anything like that… It’s just sex.” He states, sounding a bit more thoughtful with his friend’s worries , putting on a white t-shirt as she’s now just a few steps away from him. “People usually make a big deal about it, but that’s it. Sex is just sex. It’s fun and a fucking amazing experience to share with someone. And that’s it. Me and the women I spend time with are very sure about that. No worry.” As he finishes dressing himself up, he places both hands on Natasha’s shoulders.

She aims a deadly glare at where he touches her, “I honestly can’t decide if you’re a pig or a genius, but right now take your unwashed hands off of me.”

Bucky laughs, squeezing and shaking her shoulders halfheartedly, “I took a shower before I went to sleep, calm your damn titties.” He removes his hands anyway before placing a kiss on top of her head, gaining a hiss in exchange, “And a genius, of course.”

“All right,” Natasha says after glancing at her watch, “Nine. I still need a shower myself and at least a nap before Y/N drops by for lunch. You go see Fury now.” She commands, tapping his shoulder and already moving past him to the door.

“Oh, Y/n? From the tech department?” The peak of interest on his voice behind her doesn’t go unnoticed by Natasha, “It’s been a while since I last saw her, how’s she? Still with that boyfriend of hers? What’s his name again?”

“Eddie. And no, they’ve broken up actually,” she answers, already opening the door to leave his apartment, “But don’t even think about it,” She warns, already sensing the smirk on his lips without even looking back at him, “She would never take one of your deals.” Natasha shuts the door before he could say anything else.

~~~

“Fuckbucket! Bumhole, son of motherfucker arseclowns! Goddamit nutsack!” The line of curses being spat out of your mouth is followed by you grabbing the bottle of tabasco and dropping almost half of its content over the plate of linguine in front of you.

Natasha says nothing, chewing her own pasta slowly as she stares you down, wondering how that combination of words could be the one to come up to your head when you wanted to swear. The small bistro is crowded and a few heads turn in your direction following your little – and kinda cute, if she’s going to be honest- outburst.

“Sorry…” Glancing around you seem to notice the brief but unwanted attention as your voice shrinks and your shoulders drop. “I asked for it fucking spicy, though,” you add in a mumble, only stressing the new curse, bringing a fork of linguine inside your mouth. You sigh, seeming finally pleased with the level of spice in it.

“Ok…” Nat drags the word as her eyes drop at the glass of wine in front of you. The second one already, “Bad day, I assume?”

A guttural and frustrated groan slips out of you as you swallow your food and take a long sip from the wine, “I’m just… ugh, everything sucks these days.” You place back the glass on the table a little more forcefully than it should be expected, your eyes following the move of your hand.

“Something at work?” Nat asks, “Do I need to talk to Tony?” She tilts her head, a hint of exasperation on her words.

“No, no. Of course not.” You wave a dismissive hand, “That lunatic is the best boss I could ever have asked for.” A quick but honest smile forms in your lips.

“Alright…” Natasha accepts, “Eddie, then?” She tries again.

“No… sort of. I don’t know.” You sigh, now playing with the food in your plate as your jaw tightens.

“Talk…” Natasha orders, putting down her fork beside her plate and brushing her hands together, swallowing the food in her mouth. “Have you been seeing him at work? It’s been a while since I last saw him in the Tower.” She leans her head on her joined hands as she rests her elbows over the table, giving you her full attention.

“He’s been promoted to a leadership position at SHIELD’s tech department, that’s why you haven’t seen him.” You respond, still playing with your food, “I haven’t seen him either, not ever since we broke up, but I guess splitting up is doing wonders for him.” You bite your cheek.

“How long has it been already, three months?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“You miss him.” Natasha affirms rather than asks, a sweet comprehensive tone on her words as she crosses her forearms over the table, leaning forward. You two haven’t had the time to properly talk about your breakup, given Nat’s mission schedules and your own job, which can be a pain in the ass when it comes to work-hours.

“Of course, I do,” you say, looking up to the ceiling and shaking your head before moving your gaze to her again, “It’s like… I never saw it coming. Almost ten years of relationship… when he said he needed to talk I thought he was going to propose.” You scoff, covering your face with both hands in pure disbelief in yourself, “But instead he said he wanted a new path for his life. What the hell does that mean?” You raise your voice along with your arms to each side of you.

“I hate to say this, dear.” Natasha grabs her glass of water and takes a sip before resuming, “But you know I’m not one to sugarcoat the truth and it probably means he’s fucking someone else…sorry.” She shrugs, knowing she could be sounding a little harsh, but she’s aware sometimes harshness is the right medicine.

“Well, at least someone is getting fucked,” you mutter under your breath, while rolling the pasta in your fork to shove it your mouth.

The slipped comment sets off Natasha curiosity instantly and she just eyes you for a second before urging, “Well, elaborate.”

“Ugh… Jesus.” You grunt before taking in a deep breath, “You know, I do miss him in my life, but God… what has been killing me right now is,” you lean forward, getting closer to Nat as she mimics you, “I’m so fucking horny.” You whisper as Natasha’s eyes grow round at your admission. You had never said anything like that to her before, you two are close friends but you’re always so reserved about your private life, “It’s been almost a year.”

“A year?” She whispers loudly, but lowers her voice as you quickly shush her, mortified someone would hear you two, “But…”

“Yeah, I know the break up was three months ago, but it doesn’t mean I was getting any before that,” you admit, frustration seeping into your voice.

“Oh, honey…” Natasha tilts her head, trying to convey empathy towards you rather than judgement.

“I know, right?” You smile sadly, leaning backwards in your chair, “How was I even surprised when things went south? I don’t even know what happened, to be honest. We just… stopped.” You shrug a shoulder, grabbing your fork to play with it absentmindedly, staring down at it, “And I was ok with it. At least I think I was,” You look back at Nat, who’s just listening to you attentively, “I guess I thought at least I had everything else. I don’t know...” You shake your head in a sign of disapproval of yourself, “But after we broke up?” Once again you lean over to whisper, “That’s all I think about. Almost everyone I see ends up in a fantasy of mine. Things I never even dreamed about wanting… I eat a fucking strawberry and suddenly I’m turned on.” Your desperation is visible in your big, round eyes and audible in your rapid speech.

“Why don’t you go out, meet someone, then?” Natasha tries to hold back her laugh out of respect for you.

“Ugh,” you wave her off, glancing to the side with a grimace, “Too much work. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready for anything else.” You shake your head, “I just want to fuck.” You add in a grunt, shaking your legs in a very bratty way.

“Oh, wow,” Nat leans back to her seat, “I never saw this coming.”

“Can I tell you something?” You say, after studying Nat. When she nods and leans closer to you again, you continue, keeping your voice low, “Eddie was the only one I ever been with.”

Natasha chokes on nothing and quickly grabs her cup of water, gulping in down to the last drop, “How the hell did this happen?” she yelps.

“Well, back in highschool I wasn’t really ready, and then in college I met Eddie.” You shrug, curling your lips down, “We’ve been together ever since. But after he broke up with me, that was one of the first things on my mind, the thought repeating itself like a parrot in my head. That I had never been with another man.”

“Hell, sis,” Nat exhales, “I’m starting to understand your situation now.”

“Ugh, Nat, seriously, I just need someone to fuck me senseless.” You tighten your teeth and make a grabbing gesture with your hands, “Just some primal, animalistic sex, I need someone, anyone who can take me properly. No strings attached…Nothing else, I’m tired of everything else.” You shut your eyes, shaking your head, before looking around you. Satisfied no one is staring or listening, you once again bends closer to Nat across the table, “Even thought about hiring a goddamn escort, but I just bought the condo with Eddie, and, until we figure this out, I’m broke as fuck.”

Nat’s jaw drops. She’s speechless, utterly speechless. As you look back at her, a bit of shame but also expectancy gleaming in your eyes, a thought pops into Natasha’s mind. The universe must be playing with her, and that’s what she finally says to you. “Holy shit, the universe must be putting on a fucking joke on me.”

“Why?” You squint at her, “What do you mean?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away. She ponders the thought for a moment. It might not be a bad idea, actually. Shaking some steam off, having a different and lighter experience with someone else, a little bit of fun… that might be exactly what you’re needing, and who could be more perfect for that? At least he’s someone Natasha trusts. She sure hopes so. “Are you serious about all of that? You’re really just looking for sex and nothing else?” Natasha checks.

“Dead serious.” It’s your straight up answer.

“Ok,” She decides, nodding once, “I may regret this sooner than I think but I might have the perfect guy for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky fluff #fluff #boytoy!bucky #future smut #it's a deal #justreadingfics #new bucky series

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demoiselledefortune · 3 years

Text

Post canon sangcheng fic recs for @runespoor7

(wooohoo that’s only 25 fics haha)

Silence by inberin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441771

a conversation in the snow.

Wonderfully nuanced characterisation. It hints at whole relationship and dynamic with a lot of delicacy.

Windrose by offlight

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997546

Nie Huaisang is forced into a coma to stop his qi deviation. Jiang Cheng is tasked with waking him up.

There’s a lot of intriguing dreamscapes in this one, and I love Jiang Cheng (and in the background Wei Wuxian)’s desperation and obstinacy.

All the innocence we give by shamiran

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864910

Learning to renavigate the ground between them is easier than Nie HuaiSang expects. It's also harder than he could have imagined.

Just a sweet story.

Taste the wine off your lips by ExNihiIo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129245

A light pat lands against his back, and a cup of water is pushed in front of his face. “Not even Zi Shi, and you’re already tipsy?,” asks a teasing voice, while a thin hand puts down the cup. Jiang Cheng coughs a little more, shaking his head, and sends a dirty look at his host. “I am not tipsy.” “Hm, and yet your cheeks are all red. What would your disciples think, if they saw you in this state?” “They’d think about running away while they can. I can break legs more easily than I can drink alcohol.” A smile curves the edges of Nie Huaisang’s mouth, and he closes his fan with a curt jerk, sitting across the table. He’s wearing lighter clothes, Jiang Cheng notices, compared to the ones he had during the Discussion Conference. Where those had been tight and rigid against his body, these now fall softly on him, the large sleeves sweeping delicately as Nie Huaisang moves to pour himself a cup.

I like the melancholy tone of this one.

The light of autumn: you will not be spared by crooows

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901467/chapters/47138221

Nie Huaisang arrives a week early for the conference which will be held in Yunmeng to discuss the position of chief cultivator.

[Title is from a poem called "October" by Louise Glück!]

A bit funny, a bit melancholy

You can run but you can’t hide by ThirtySixSaveFiles

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119297

Nie Huaisang has noticed something about the way Jiang Cheng takes compliments; Nie Huaisang has a theory, and he intends to test it out.

Just Huaisang figuring out Jiang Cheng has a praise kink. Established pairing.

Evening Bloom by dragonofeternal

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958518

Jiang Cheng is spry and lithe well into his twilight years, living well off Wei Wuxian's stolen youth; Nie Huaisang's golden core, on the other hand, has always been poor- he blacks his hair with ink and dyes, hides the pudge of indolence and the wrinkles of age behind the latest fashions and the finest fans. Perhaps for their peers, finding the space to be vulnerable came easy, but for them it's taken this long to maybe think of letting someone in.

I have a big weakness for stories about old people falling in love and this is one delivers very sweetly.

Four Days in Lanling by Halotolerant

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722695/chapters/51817036

Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’

‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’

Ok so perhaps it’s misrepresentating to call this a post canon fic since most of the action is mid-13-years-of-WWX-death but the fairly important framing part is post canon. Also it’s one of the best sangcheng fic out there and a must read.

Shadow eternal by rynleaf

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162944/chapters/55439032

“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”

“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”

Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”

In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.

One that’s between sweet and angsty.

The way is shut, and we cannot go back by saltedpin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592523

One month since Guanyin Temple, and some people are coping better than others (or not).

This one is a mostly sad and bitter take on Jiang Cheng reacting to Nie Huaisang’s plot (and being very drunk).

Living memory by ghosthouses

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827980

Once Jin Guangyao has left, he gives himself two indulgences. The first, a day to scream in his rooms made soundproof with a talisman. The second, a physical list written in code, to keep his older self, who will have let the pain dull with time, accountable for what must be done.

It has only two commandments:

He will die.

and

He will know.

Nie Huaisang puts it in his sleeve with the intention of keeping it with him at all times, to be added to but never reduced, a living memory of his task.

This and its prequel which you should also read is quite short but probably one of my favorite depictions of their dynamic (and probably one I find most plausible).

What’s Left of us by cangse-sanren

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979081

“Well,” Huaisang tries hesitantly, “both of us seem to have a rather fraught relationship with things like older brothers and the concept of betrayal. And regret,” he adds as an afterthought. "Perhaps you just understand me more than most."

Yet another that dwells into Jiang Cheng reacting to Nie Huaisang’s plan. I really like that take although it’s barely shippy (and quite short).

Descending by lightningwaltz

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25296595

“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”

“To not be embarrassed during what?”

“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”

“Very good.”

“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.

Very interesting fic and in many ways unusual. I’d say it’s hypnosis kink, but it’s much more character driven than that. With a context of established FWB arrangement between Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang.

Tell him that I miss our little talks by xiaolongbaobei

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232023

the post-canon fic where Jiang Cheng becomes the Chief Cultivator, realizes that it's not too late to fall in love and learns to ask for what he wants

Longish fic exploring Jiang Cheng as Chief cultivator working with Nie Huaisang and slowly falling in love with him. I adore this one, and not only because I love fics that explore the idea of Jiang Cheng as chief cultivator.

Blind for Love by manamune

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760272

Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.

The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.

Mostly a long smutty piece, but with a lot of fun character bits along the way.

A Tight-Knit Family by aldalin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500481/chapters/61862899

“Jing Ling, we need to talk.”

Jin Ling has too many uncles, and he’s about to get another.

Sect Leader Jiang announces his marriage to Sect Leader Nie.

A fairly different take, more focused on Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian reacting to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s relationship.

A trip to Qinghe by Scorpiwriting

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974741

An unexpected hunt forces Jiang Cheng to leave the Lotus Pier a bit earlier than he had anticipated, so he decides to send Jin Ling to Qinghe, for the sake of not sending him back to Lanling so soon: it turns into a learning experience for the young sect leader, who gets to peek into the life of the Headshaker.

or.

Jin Ling learns that not everything people say is true and that perhaps there is some merit to art. He also learns that loneliness is a dark beast and that his uncle should definitely do something about it.

Another one more focused on Jin Ling’s reaction to it. Honestly more of a gen piece about Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang, but an interesting one.

Silver bracelets on their wrists by mercurious

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797715

“Can’t I find excuses to visit an old friend?”

Ok so this one is a bit fucked up in interesting ways. It combines Chief Cultivator Jiang Cheng and explicit longing about Wei Wuxian, and BDSM as catharsis. It’s a fascinating piece.

Welcome to love by amphigoric

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412866/chapters/53549794

Desire, Jiang Cheng learned, flourished even in love’s absence. It surged hot and fast through his veins at the sight of Nie Huaisang’s spread thighs, marks still lingering from the last rendezvous they had. He felt it burning through his chest as Huaisang raked lines down his back, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps: “Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Wanyin, please, please.”

It’s a little bit clumsy at times, but also very passionate and intense in a way I still find compelling. Featuring a lot of self sabotaging Jiang Cheng.

When your stitch comes loose by heyninja

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868454/chapters/68234434

Sometimes people see you for who you really are. Sometimes because you let them. Sometimes whether you like it or not.

A triptych of collisions between Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng.

Only the last part is post canon but it’s the most important part, isn’t it?

Peel your heart like a pomegranate by Izumi_silverleaf

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458974

"It's an extraordinary feeling when parts of your body are touched for the first time. I'm thinking of the sensations from sex and surgery."

Sometimes you just need to read a very hot guro fic. It’s a weird fic but it’s a cool one.

If you give a Nie a cushion by LesbianLazerOwl

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470236

Prompt: Long enough After Canon that everyone's mostly okay these days, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang get drunk and wind up comparing masturbation habits; each is aghast at how the other spends their personal time.

Funny and hot

To Distraction by isozyme

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763816

It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.

Established pairing in which Nie Huaisang fists Jiang Cheng. It’s hot.

Safe in Your arms by Dragon_scribe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070503/chapters/74058315

In the aftermath of a night hunt gone (very) wrong, Jiang Cheng wakes up to find himself in the Unclean Realm. As he recovers from his injuries, he and Nie Huaisang grow closer and as time passes, their friendship begins to shift to something more.

Very sweet/sappy and hurt/comfort orientated, with a small bit of reconciliation dimension too.

#mo dao zu shi #sangcheng #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #fic recs

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mavda · 3 years

Text

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) |

Ch.9: No lies (1)

Naruto’s body gets better with time, but it is a slow process. His father doesn’t show it in front of others, but whenever they are alone, his worry seeps out of him in waves that make Naruto feel guilty.

But saying sorry only makes his father look more anguished, so he stops soon after.

“Jiraiya should be arriving soon. The last time he contacted me he was two weeks away from here… that was a while ago, though.”

Naruto nods as his father presses his hand along his bare torso, and thinks of his godfather hurrying but getting distracted along the way. He smirks. His grandfather loves him and cares about him, but he also trusts Minato’s ability and his own research.

Naruto has long stopped believing an answer will arrive with Jiraiya, nevermind a cure. His father has always been the one with hope, so he always gets disappointed when Jiraiya arrives with research and information that’s helpful but not the end-it-all kind of panacea his father still believes to be out there… waiting to be found.

Naruto trusts his body and his training and the hours he has spent honing his every fiber and being into being resilient. He trusts the hours his father has spent reading every book available and his godfather travelling far and wide to get his hands on any type of knowledge that looks promising. If he has made it this far, it has been thanks to them.

But there is no cure for him. Because he’s not sick.

And although it has been hard for him to come to terms with it, he understands where he stands in all of this now. What he can and can not do. He wakes and meditates, then meditates again before sleeping, and each time he reminds himself of who he is, of what being himself means.

He has a duty and a purpose and a debt with his father, with his family, with his clan and with his people. And he will see it through.

But nowadays, at night, when Hinata makes sure that Neji goes through with the releasing of his chakras and then they cuddle before they go to sleep. Naruto is able to feel a new kind of desperation sitting at the pit of his stomach.

“Does Hinata know about Neji and… her father?”

“Yes.”

And yet she says nothing. He owes her another apology, and somehow he thinks that she won’t like to hear it.

“Grandma Mito…”

“Working herself ragged… as well as Shikamaru and everyone else, really.”

“Have they been able to share what I told you about?”

“Yes. Lord Gaara said the same thing, but you know… not much to go off with.”

Naruto remembers the red eyes staring back at him and the black dots around the pupil. The sharingan. A technique unique to the Uchiha, a terribly powerful clan that threatened the world with their ability to control the Beasts without the need for a vessel… which meant their demise at the hands of every other clan alive that saw them as a threat.

A murdered clan that had been lost to history. A power that meant their complete destruction… or so they thought.

What do you look for when the records have no more information about their abilities or their history?

The only thing they can know for sure is that they have a motive for wanting the Beast Tamers dead. But now they can only wait for whatever these remnants of the past have planned for them.

At least until they regain their footing and start the hunt back.

So a truce is in place and like never before, the Beast Tamers’ clans seem to be working together. And this seeming camaraderie only makes Naruto shudder with unease.

Minato rises before the door opens and Hinata stands there, looking at Naruto like he could be gone any second now. He smiles.

His father walks to Hinata and whispers things Naruto can’t catch, but by the time he has put his kimono back on Hinata is by his side.

Neji is not with her today and Sai sits outside their room, Minato exchanges whispers with him, too.

“Ready for our walk?” Naruto asks with a tone dripping with energy, but his body is slow, and although he is now able to move on his own, he still has to mask the pain that courses through him.

“Yes.” And Hinata is next to him, supporting him as he stands.

He has been regaining his strength and he has been adamant on moving his muscles on his own. Sakura shrugged at his request and told everyone that Naruto had always been the person that knew himself best. Everyone still worries over him, and having Hinata by his side, anxiously glancing towards him does make him feel somewhat guilty of forcing himself to get better at an accelerated rate, but…

Shikamaru has shared with him the current state of affairs and now is the prime time for the Beast Tamers’ clans to be attacked. Naruto and Shikamaru can only hope that the first clans to be targeted are those worse than them, but there are little guarantees of anything at this point.

So he bites down the pain. He has felt worse, that’s for sure, and that’s the energy he tries to channel through him. He hasn’t tried to use the Beast’s chakra yet, but he knows his body wouldn't be able to channel the energy correctly anyways. He needs to reach a point in which using that is an option, an option that will not leave him on the ground gasping for air and writhing in pain.

Hinata always accompanies him with the calmest of airs, although her eyes washing over Naruto every once in a while are enough to give her away. What else has Naruto lost thinking that her body language is enough of a tell tale?

“Hey,” she knows and she hasn’t talked to him about her father, and he wonders… whether she would rather not talk about it to spare him the worry. Much like himself when he tried to deal with this without her knowledge. “I’m sorry about the letters with your father.”

Hinata stops for a second and then keeps on walking as if nothing happened, “Please, d-don’t worry about it.”

But he does. “I wanted to tell you, but… have you read them?”

Hinata nods her head once, a short movement that Naruto can tell comes from her being embarrassed about the contents of said letters. It’s not like she wrote them, though.

Hiashi just wanted a source of information and since his own daughter was in the heart of a clan that prized privacy over many other things… it stood to reason that he would want to get something out of this. But Naruto couldn’t bring himself to put Hinata in such a position, even less as he got to know her and realized that she was not like her father at all.

So Neji took over with only a nod. Nothing ever got out of that room and Neji listened and shared all he knew without reservation. Naruto had to say he had been surprised at his attitude.

“I know it would put you in a tight spot, so that’s why… well, I got help from Neji. He wrote the letters in your stead, the same way you would with your own penmanship. I… wavered about this whole thing once, shared with him my insecurities about hiding this from you, but he told me that I was right in doing this and that he thought you would be better off without contacting your father again, and well, seeing as he never contacted you to know about… you, made it feel like he was right. If he would have ever asked about you or made an attempt to talk to you, I would have told you immediately, I want you to know that.”

Hinata stares at their intertwined arms and then looks up at him. “I know,” she whispers. She also knows her father wouldn’t do that. Neji was right- is right, she is better off not knowing about her father, and if Neji is the one writing the letters, then at least, “Neji d-doesn’t give him any v-vital i-information, right?”

“No. He does a pretty good job with the reports Shikamaru gives him regarding the clan’s standing with the outside, so- well, no, there is nothing in the letters that your father couldn’t know just poking his nose around.”

“Good.”

“I don’t want to lie to you ever again- rather, I don’t want to hide things from you ever again. I promise that. I owe you that.”

There is a strained silence before Hinata asks, with a tremble in her voice, “Will you be a-all right?”

And Naruto’s first reaction is to smile and nod, reassure her that he will be fine and this is only temporary. But he senses her question is a little more nuanced than that. “I will. I will recover from this, it hurts and it sucks but it has improved greatly and we are already making preparations to prevent this from ever happening again, so yes, I will be all right.”

“H-how will this a-affect you?”

“We don’t know yet. It most likely had an impact on my body. None of the seals and training I go through are made to withstand a forceful tearing of the Beast, but they did help me withstand this whole thing. If I am here now it’s because of my dad and my training… as for what comes after this, well, we are waiting for me to recover and be able to perform as usual before my dad performs a deeper check on the seal. He’s actually hoping my godfather brings some sort of help that will enhance my seal or whatever, but…” Naruto sighs and battles with himself whether he should even share this with Hinata, seeing as he can’t even bring himself to discuss this sort of thing with his own father. But he did just tell her he didn’t want to hide anything from her, so. “I don’t think my godfather will bring anything that could change my current situation, Hinata. I don’t think there is anything out there that can give me a normal life span.”

Naruto feels himself be dragged to a stop, and Hinata doesn’t look him in the eyes, “What does th-that mean?”

“It means… I don't think there is a cure to having the Nine-Tails inside of me.”

She says nothing, but this time her eyes find his and she stares, something bubbling up inside her.

And somehow Naruto panics, “That- That doesn’t mean I will give up on trying any new thing that comes to my attention. Nor does it mean I will, I don’t know, stop undergoing my chakra release sessions, or doing my meditations or anything like that, okay? I will still try to-”

“I’m pregnant.”

It takes him a moment to process the words that leave his wife’s mouth. His eyes seem unable to tear themselves from her face, trying to make sense of her words.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm p-pregnant."

There is a rush of feelings Naruto can't seem to recognize. There is the strangled feeling of desperation first, overwhelmed after by anxiousness and worry, but they all disappear in an instant as he realizes that he is going to be a father.

A father. Him.

His child.

His arms find Hinata's waist and he envelops her in a tight hug, buries his face in her hair and breathes her in.

Their child.

"Congratulations," he says, voice full of emotion, and Hinata's arms find his body and slowly hugs him back.

"Congratulations," he says again, and his chest starts to rumble, as a laugh starts to find its way outside. He puts distance between them and cups Hinata's face with his hands. Her eyes shine under the setting sun and Naruto can't control the smile on his face.

He forgets everything in that moment.

His struggles, the future, his anxiousness, his role as clan leader, his role as vessel. For the first time in forever, his brain forgets to remind him that his body hurts, the pain fog that floats around him disappears.

He is just a soon to be father with the woman he loves in his arms and the news of a baby coming is all he can think about.

And this moment he treasures. Even after they reach their room, even after he presses his ear to Hinata’s stomach -who laughs at his antics-, even after they go to sleep and Hinata's soft breath washes over his chest.

The room gets dark and his mind reels everything he dared to forget in a rush. His smile doesn't falter, and his heart still feels full of happiness. But he cries.

He is euphoric at the news, and can now gather what all those whispered conversations were about. He brings Hinata closer to him, kisses the top of her head.

He smiles still, but his eyes are wide open, and he just stares into the darkness of their room.

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hushman · 4 years

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So there is a lot of primary plot stuff to look forward to in the second season of the Owl House. I’m excited for all of it. There is however one particular secondary plot point that I am curious about even though there is no certainty whether this would be addressed.

That is regarding Willow’s Parents.

So why Willow’s parents instead of Amity’s parents? It’s pretty clear that Amity’s parents are going to be a pair of manipulative jerks so basically it’s most likely going to play out like the Northwests in Gravity Falls. There is still room for nuance but I’m fairly certain of how it’s going to play out. With Willow’s parents, I’m a little less sure how they are going to play out and that intrigues me.

The memories we see of them in “Understanding Willow” paints them as perfectly normal, loving parents with the memories involving them being really happy. Now at first glance I thought this would mean that they would be the standard, loving and understanding parents we see in kid shows when family drama is not meant to be a plot point. Except in hindsight, there are two things that haven’t been addressed.

1. All the memories we see of them are memories from when Willow significantly younger than what she is now.

2. The only mention we have of them in the present day is that they enrolled Willow in the abomination track even though she is clearly far better suited for the Plant track.

Willow says that her parents thought there were more opportunities in the abomination track. Did her parents not know how exceptionally gifted Willow was in plant magic or did they know and still think she had a far better future in abomination magic?

There’s a lot of room for nuance that I would be excited to see explored. Did they want what’s best for her and just not realise they were out of touch with her needs? Was Willow’s confidence so utterly decimated she couldn’t voice what her needs were leaving her parents desperately wanting to help her but not knowing how? Were they as concerned with their standing as Amity’s parents were and trying to force Willow into the track with the most prestige even though that’s not who she is? Were they originally loving parents to Willow but then Willow’s slow magical development put a strain on the relationship? Is it an entirely different angle I hadn’t even considered? Am I reading too much into this and the only point of them is to prove that Willow has parents and that she didn’t pop out of thin air or is an incredibly advanced golem that thinks she’s a real girl? Also possible.

There’s so much that could be explored which is why I hope season 2 finds time to explore it.

#The owl house #the owl house willow #willow park #I also want more lumity but that is to be expected #toh speculation

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years

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Let’s talk: Film Out - lyric and MV analysis (+ BU theories) - Part 1

by Admin 1

From infinitetab: Hi Admins! Were you able to see the MV for Film Out?

Mostly to Admin 1 (though both can chime in!) who posted the related post and talked about BU theories — how did you feel about the MV? Do you think it ties to the BU picture? Since it was a Japanese song of theirs I didn’t really connect dots just yet, but now I feel like I need to re-watch this with my conspiracy hat on, as well as their other Japanese MVs to see if there is a connection haha — did I miss it or were there some shots from the teaser that weren’t in the final version?

(Admittedly, I don’t know much about the BU and all its theories/plots/interconnectedness — I’ve been interested to look into it but didn’t know where to start haha — do you have any resources/posts you’d direct a newbie to?)

Thank you for all your lovely thoughts via your posts. Have a good day! ☀️😁

We were indeed able to see it, I even watched it a bunch of time to take note of different details and so I’d be able to try and figure out how to even begin writing a proper reply to this since there is a lot to discuss. The funny thing is, I said to myself hey, let’s try to keep this brief, okay? But it’s me so who am I even trying to fool with that one.

I’d like to preface this by saying that, looking at the lyrics and the meaning of Film Out, the MV, which fits it beautifully, doesn’t have to necessarily connect to the BU but there are many parallels and things that fit a little too well to just be a coincidence. So, while it doesn’t have to connect, and therefore I don’t have to be right with literally any of my thoughts, interpretations and theories, there is a chance that both is true at the same time. Unless they’d tell us, we’ll never know, but isn’t this truly the fun of it all? Finding clues and piecing together the BU? After all that’s what we used to do for a long time until BH decided we were too “stupid” to get it, so they helped us with additional content in hopes of it making things clearer. It did, but it also made it all even more complex and hard to grasp.

This analysis will be split up into two posts:

Part 1 – the meaning of the song/lyrics – in short it could be summarized by a sense of longing/yearning for something that once was, or even never really was at all, like a phantom pain or Schrödinger’s memories. It’s the beauty of how ephemeral everything in life is and how memories are sometimes all we have left or can hold on to, even if they aren’t necessarily real at all.

Part 2 – Film Out MV and the BU – a brief explanation of what the BU is, an introduction into the plot and where to start if you want to get into the BU, and how the MV fits in with it and what the different scenes could mean and be interpreted as, as well as a few additional overarching theories for the entire MV instead of particular scenes.

Part 1 – the meaning of the song and a (very) brief analysis of the lyrics:

youtube

According to articles and some of our Japanese translators who are able to grasp the deeper nuance of Japanese that does not perfectly translate into English, the song is about this feeling of longing for someone/something that was once there but is no longer, or even the longing for something that was never even there in the first place.

You, in my imagination

Are so vivid

As if you are right there

But I reach out my hand

And you suddenly disappear

(here our translators, specifically kookceptional, noted how disappear, or rather vanished, in this instance describes a sadness from the inability to control the disappearance of someone who was never actually there.)

It’s this idea that you’ve honed in so deeply on your memories that they’ve become vivid, almost real, making it only so much harder to accept that they are just memories, or even just figments of your imagination. The lyrics also talk about projecting those memories across a room, like a movie or pictures, captured memories, two glasses that have been left untouched, these sounds and smells that bring you back to those memories over and over again and make you only cling to them so much more desperately. It causes you bursts of pain, as the lyrics suggest.

There’s also mention of how when you reach out, you/that something disappears, it’s like when you observe something beautiful, like cherry blossom petals falling from a tree and drifting through the wind, but once you decide to take a picture of it, by the time you have your camera/phone in hand, the moment is gone. It can’t be repeated in that exact same way once again, and instead of existing forever in a picture, it’s now only part of your memory. But over time, no matter how hard you’ll try, that memory will fade, too.

Of course, like with many BTS songs, there are many ways of interpreting the lyrics and meanings, of how you associate them with different feelings and even your own experiences, the fact that the same words resonate with us in different ways.

It’s also worth noting that Film Out is part of an OST for the Japanese remake of Signal, therefore the lyrics might have connection to the movie. Fun fact: Signal is the remake of a K-Drama with the same title from 2014 but there’s also a Japanese TV show that, too, is a remake of that K-Drama from 2018 and its opening theme was BTS’ Don’t Leave Me. The premise of the show/movie is that a walkie talkie allows two detectives, one from 2015 (cold case profiler) and the other from 1989 to solve crimes together and even try to prevent them.

Personally I’ve never seen the K-Drama nor the Japanese version so I can’t really speak on the connection between the plot of the show and the song, but if they truly manage to prevent cases from ever happening, that would mean knowing of something that was never even there, like the memories of someone who was never even there in the first place like in Film Out, though even as I type it, it sounds like quite a stretch.

If some of you have seen either, please do comment if there’s a connection to be made here or not.

A thought I had while thinking about Film Out and its meaning/lyrics was that there could be a connection loosely drawn between Let Go (here though I feel it’s important to know how deeply meaningful and weighted of a song Let Go is, seeing as it was written and released in a time where Bangtan considered disbandment and this song would’ve, in a way, acted as a sort of farewell, so again take these thoughts of mine with a grain of salt since even I’m a little iffy on if they’d connect such a deeply meaningful song to another one written for an OST), the thought that you are ready to let go of that person/thing, to say goodbye and move on, but then in Film Out you realize that you can’t, that you’re still holding on to them and trying to piece together this thing you had, this person, but that is now gone, vanished like smoke never to return again.

Example:

If my fate is to disappear like this, then this is my last letter

Penned words, written then erased (therefore words that never were/never came to be)

Feelings for you, so many to let go

Unpuzzle my lego

At a level where it can’t return to its original shape

(…)

Before we say goodbye, let go

But I’m lost in the maze of my heart (FO: From all the memories stored in my heart)

From stereo to mono

That’s how the path splits

The lyrics for Film Out are translated in the actual MV, but I also thought I’ll add the translation done by kookceptional as well as ttokminnie since they add a lot of valuable language context and nuance:

These concepts are also shown in the MV with Seokjin as the narrator watching the scene inside the room (note how all seven are inside it) but they are frozen, like this picture of how times were once so happy and they were all together but as the MV progresses, the members vanish as Seokjin watches on, the room quite literally explodes as though his memories are obliterated (by the realization that they were never real in the first place? That their time ran out?) and thus can’t be pieced together again, or maybe it was all just an illusion all along. It feels like Seokjin is watching those memories being projected, a film from inside of him being played outward, so seemingly close and real yet he can’t reach it, can’t be part of it again, can only feel the pain these memories have left behind.

#BTS #BTS Film Out #Lyric analysis #Film Out analysis

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ariainstars · 4 years

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Ben Solo - A Sad Star Wars Story

Warning: longer post. (And possibly, a few unpopular opinions.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a start: I’m not here to say I like how the sequels ended with Episode IX, in particular the way they handled their protagonist.

It sucked, to say the least.

I am writing this because looking back now, I can hardly imagine how the authors could have wrapped up the sequel trilogy with the happy ending we expected.

Let’s start with that word: happy. Honestly, did anyone want Ben to be “happy” with what Rey has become? I did expect her to fall down the rabbit hole. We repeatedly have witnessed how aggressive and judgmental she is; and by all logic, she had to meet her own Dark Side in order to realize that she has no right to judge the man she first knew as Kylo Ren. The moment I heard Palpatine’s evil laugh in the first trailer, I figured he had come to pursue Rey, not him. Unfortunately, her moment of shock was short and she hardly learned from it; if anything, since Luke sent her right back into the battle. This scene may have been what fanbros expected from Luke, but honestly, it was ridiculous. It did not fit to The Last Jedi’s Luke and it did not do Rey any favor.

And: had Ben emerged victoriously, found his happy ending, how would the title “The Rise of Skywalker” be justified? He is a Skywalker by blood, but in fact he is a Solo.

Wrapping Up the Saga

The sequels were received with mixed feelings from the start. Fans of old were angry at The Force Awakens since it seemed to say that history was repeating itself; that the heroes or the original trilogy had brought down the Empire but not managed to preserve peace. We saw them separated from one another as they once had been, disillusioned and worn out. Not the mention the wasp’s nest that was raised by The Last Jedi! If the Prequel Trilogy dismantled the illusion that the Jedi were perfect, the Sequel Trilogy definitively does the same with the Skywalker family. Both messages are clear for everyone to see, provided one is ready and willing to see them.

If Star Wars is a tale with a moral - and given its approach and the fact that it was handed over by Lucas to Disney of all studios it is - then the authors are trying since the 80ies to teach our minds to a compassionate approach on both villains and heroes. One of the main reasons why many fans dislike the prequels is that they expected to see the Jedi and Anakin / Vader being cool; they felt let down by witnessing the Jedi’s narrow-mindedness and Anakin’s strong emotionality. The affronted reactions to The Last Jedi were on the same line of thought. The prequels showed that the Jedi were not the good guys, and for the observant viewer this is already clear enough in the original trilogy. But it was only with The Last Jedi that the elephant in the room was finally approached.

Through Rey, The Rise of Skywalker makes clear that wanting to be a Jedi does not entail actual heroism but the conviction of being a hero. And Rey’s dyad in the Force, the tragic figure of Ben Solo, warns about the dangers coming from a child and teenager no one believed in as a person because everybody only saw his powerful potential.

The Jedi’s Failure

Neither Luke nor Anakin nor Rey needed the Jedi in order to become heroes. They already were good-hearted, brave and idealistic when we first met them. The Jedi ways did not make any of them happy; they learned to use their powers and employed them for short-lived “victories”, but they never found lasting peace.

Not a few fans have wondered how Luke Skywalker, who believed in his father despite all, could give up on his nephew that fatal night (even if it was only a moment of panic). Simply put: as strong and mature as he is by the time of Return of the Jedi, Luke suffers from a father trauma, and he desperately wishes for Vader to become Anakin again, his father, who used to be a hero. When he asks Vader to leave and come with him, it is not out of pure idealism but also a personal request. But Luke did not need his nephew. The moment he had at the temple was a personal issue, it had little to do with Ben’s strength in the Force or his status as Luke’s model student: Luke was afraid that Ben would be the end of everything he loved. Luke, Leia and Han were thrown together by a trauma bonding; Ben had no place with them because he hadn’t been through the same.

The actual tragedy in Ben Solo’s life was the bitter realization, over and over, that he was not needed by anyone (except for being abused, e.g. by Snoke). Ben desired Rey even before he had met her because she was powerful but unexperienced, and he hoped to find sense and belonging by protecting and instructing her. No wonder Rey’s rejection in the Throne Room drove him out of his mind with rage: it was another confirmation of what he had experienced all his life - that people can do without him. So he decided, bitterly and sullenly, that he could do without others as well. But over and over, he had to realize that he could not escape his want for connection. He kept hunting for Rey; and he was very conflicted both when it came to his father and his uncle, letting on that he did have an emotional connection with both of them although he didn’t want to accept it.

Ben’s tragedy was that he did not want to be special at all, and that contrarily to his uncle and grandfather he was aware of it. Ben simply wanted to belong somewhere.

It is an intrinsic part of the saga that a hero is never a hero “because he is superior to others for… reasons”: Star Wars does not bow to that cliché. Some people are born with the capacity to tap into the Force, but not all of the saga’s heroes have it. The morally good qualities a person has, the right decisions they make are not inborn but passed on, learned, communicated. In A New Hope Luke was saved by Han, to whom he had offered companionship and set an example by trying to save Leia. In Return of the Jedi Vader was won over by his son’s loyalty and sacrifice. For an average action film hero, this kind of attitude or outcome of his adventures would be unacceptable: a hero is expected to be triumphant, not saved by someone else. And I know enough fans who don’t understand Luke and prefer Han or Vader to him, who are both cooler and more predictable.

In film, where characters need to be introduced to the audience within the scope of minutes, narratives are applied in a way that the general audience gets them quickly. The downside is that this goes at the expense of nuances. Fans don’t like to see Anakin being passionate and stormy because as Darth Vader he was coded as brutal but cool; they don’t get Obi-Wan’s many mistakes because he was coded as a hero, or Yoda’s arrogance due to his status as a wise old mentor. The sequels brought this dichotomy to a new level coding Rey as the heroine although she has a bad attitude and comes from bad blood, and Ben Solo as the villain when his attitude is conflicted at worst, and who is the offspring of the original story’s heroes. The difference lies in their intentions - hers are good, his are bad. This is interesting because it makes us, the audience, question ourselves as to how and why we believe we can tell good from evil.

You could probably say into a megaphone that the Jedi are not the good guys who always win, that the Force is not a superpower belonging only to the Jedi and that there is no simple Dark and Light but that the Force needs balance: some viewers will never get it. I guess everybody feels the saga’s subtext on a subconscious level; but woe betide if someone like Rian Johnson brings it up to the surface for everyone to see.

Narrative Key

One of the main reasons why The Last Jedi is so divisive is, I think, that its major theme connecting all of the others is communication. While the prequels told much about miscommunication or lack thereof, Episode VIII is packed full of beautiful examples of what happens when people actually manage to communicate; and even when they do not, they learn from their misunderstanding one another (e.g. Poe with Admiral Holdo).

It is a common but major mistake not to question the narrative key to a story. Many Star Wars fans believe the story is simply about the good guys defeating the bad guys, so they overlook the deeper themes of the saga and respond with outrage when the authors try to humanize their heroes, bringing them down from their alleged pedestal. It is e.g. helpful to know Joseph Campbell’s monomyth theory; to consider that a film saga is not the same as a TV show and that therefore if the characters go through changes these must be significant from one instalment to the next due to the time limitations; to watch a few films by Akira Kurosawa, in particular The Hidden Fortress, to understand the significance of a major event seen through different eyes; or consider the prequels’ parallels with legends, classic literature, or the Bible - Lucifer’s fall, Romeo and Juliet, the tales of King Arthur. Star Wars is a conglomeration of many narratives, from Western films to the Japanese to French fairy tales to Greek mythology to Shakespearean drama. Who approaches these films expecting mere “action” is bound to be disappointed. It is understandable, however, that if you are used to certain kinds of stories, you will assume that every story should basically follow the same lines, and you will have difficulties accepting anything that is different, or believe it’s just badly made.

I still remember the (sometimes vicious) quarrels I followed in an online forum a few years ago about a Japanese mecha anime who some fans by hook or crook wanted to fit into the structure of a French novel. Of course, those two narratives don’t fit together: no wonder most of the other fans didn’t accept that kind of interpretation.

The Phantom of the Opera’s film version of 2004 was largely a failure both with regard to quality and audience appreciation because it made a tacky Byronic romance of a story that actually is a mystery thriller, probably expecting that it would be more appealing that way. What the filmmakers accomplished was making the story flat and the characters annoying by stripping them of the drama behind the original story.

Filming Rebecca’s film version from 1940 Hitchcock managed the transition excellently maintaining the storyline of the original novel; but Daphne duMaurier’s book is a coming-of-age story, and who expects a crime thriller may feel irritated by the narrators’ meandering and detailed inner monologue.

Game of Thrones also could not culminate in “all’s well that ends well”. The last season was not well-made, but I think now that was not the whole reason behind the audience’s disappointment. The show always was very crude and included loads of horrific events; even the worst victims of the war, who seemed to have a justification for their actions and seemed well-meaning, at times did terrible things. It would be a misfit to apply a happy ending to a “sex and violence” narrative as with another martial epic, like Aeneid and Iliad. Who waits for happy endings ought to avoid this kind of story from the start. (Yes, I know, I should listen to my own advice - had I imagined how depressing Rogue One is, Star Wars fan or not, I would probably have skipped it.)

Stories of this kind can be dissatisfying because as an audience, we follow our heroes’ adventures, sometimes for years, and we usually want to see them to find their happiness in the end. But in all honesty: we should have imagined.

That is why I think it was naïve to believe that the sequel trilogy would lead Ben to a happy ending with Rey. I have read more than one fanfiction which irritated me at first, until I realized that they were told on the lines of Fifty Shades of Grey, or Pride and Prejudice. That may work well for a fanfiction, but Star Wars is not a mere romance. Even if there was a hint of the overture to Romeo and Juliet during the abduction: couples based on that trope are not destined to end well. I myself was hoping for a happy ending due to the fact that the saga’s rights were in the hands of Disney of all production companies; and giving that the Skywalker family is one of the most famous in pop culture, I was certain they wouldn’t wipe them out. However I was not quite sure how they would do that and make it convincing, and I was wary when it came to the assumption (which many Reylo’s took for granted) that the love between Rey and Ben would be strong enough to save the galaxy and give them a happy ever after.

When a guy is introduced by murdering a defenseless old man, letting an entire village be wiped out with practiced ease, going on with torturing another guy both physically and mentally and climaxing with the horrible crime of patricide, one can hardly expect a happy ever after for him; even less since so very little was explained in terms of his childhood and adolescence. Some viewers identified with Ben Solo and saw his abandonment and abuse issues; many others didn’t, and none of the sequel films really thematized them. That he made peace with his parents and died to save the girl he loved is sufficient for a convincing redemption arc, not to offer him a happy closure.

The Trope That Comes Closest

There were a lot of speculations with regard to the trope Ben (Kylo) and Rey were actually modelled on. Romeo and Juliet, Hades and Persephone, Pride and Prejudice or Beauty and the Beast, and there were probably more. Rian Johnson is known for loving The Phantom of the Opera more than any other musical. I don’t think that’s coincidental.

- The phantom is disfigured by birth, Ben is extremely powerful by birth; and Ben also gets disfigured by Rey during their duel. (Vader’s sunken, charred face under the mask was, for a long time, how I imagined the phantom unmasked by the way.) - The phantom is highly intelligent and has huge musical talent. Ben was born with a strong power in the Force. - Both wear masks and look much less threatening without them. They also wear a cloak, and black clothes. - The phantom had committed terrible crimes both to protect himself and to punish a world which would not accept him. Sounds familiar? - In the musical we do not get to know how he became a ruthless monster in the first place. Ditto. - The phantom dies (or disappears, in the musical) because only the girl knew that he was lonely and unhappy and that he still had goodness inside him. She had forgiven him, but the rest of the world wouldn’t have believed her or forgiven him.

Both Kylo Ren and the Phantom are creatures who are at the same time terrible and wonderful. The normal world, populated by average people, cannot accept them because they are both too fascinating and too terrifying. In order to find lasting fulfilment, Ben ought to have found back to humanness. The phantom couldn’t due to his disfigurement and his criminal past; and though Ben loses the scar on his face, the Cain’s mark of the patricide he committed, his deed and his former status as Supreme Leader of the First Order never would have been forgotten.

“Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…” Christine in The Phantom of the Opera (on the rooftop)

Heroes: Dynamic and Static Characters

A general rule of storytelling is differentiating between dynamic and static (also called “impact”) characters. A static character is like an anchor for others: while they live through crises, learning and maturing, this character always remains his old self and always stands for the same values. He may be misunderstood, opposed and belittled, he may lose the battle, but never the war; and after having helped others through their troubles, he usually is on his own. (Cue: cowboy riding into the sunset.)

Superman stands for peace and justice, Jack Sparrow for freedom, Peter Pan for the innocence of childhood, Paddington for faith in people’s goodness. No wonder they are so popular: it is familiar and reassuring to follow the adventures of someone who is always like a rock in a storm. Static characters are in essence childlike, two-dimensional; which is probably why our child self easily gets attached to them and may be outraged at the idea of them changing, or maybe (gasp) being wrong about something.

But George Lucas developed his saga along the lines of personal growth, and by exploring its themes: thankfully, otherwise it would have become as boring and repetitive as so many other franchises. To continue a story you can either make it dynamic, or press the repeat button over and over. The Skywalker men with their strong emotionality may be unusual heroes, but much more interesting than other, “cooler” guys whose actions are more or less foreseeable. So, I can understand the Disney studio’s choices. On the other hand, it is not surprising when fans of old get angry when their supposedly unalterably perfect heroes make mistakes: everybody wants to know that some things (or persons) never change. Even if on the long run, change might be for the better.

I think one of the sequels’ most important messages was that the Skywalker-Organa-Solo family failed their heir precisely because their mindset did not change. Ben grew up in another world than they did; obsolete political structures, dictatorship or rebellions did not matter to him. But his family wanted him to adhere to the ideals that had gotten them through the war against the Empire, discouraging him from searching and finding his own place in the world, a world that now was very different both from the old Republic and the Empire.

Whether a static or dynamic character is more relatable to the audience is a personal matter. Many fans adore Darth Vader, Leia and Han Solo etc. precisely for the fact that basically they always remain their old selves. Padmé also is a favorite, probably due to the fact that she does not change considerably. Anakin changes a lot, which is perceived as a sign of weakness. Some fans may relate more to Luke, who undergoes serious trials and emerges from them stronger and wiser, far away from the greenhorn he was in A New Hope. And yet Luke’s final decision to throw his weapon away before Palpatine is often perceived as weird to this day. It’s not “heroic”.

The outraged fans who ranted at Luke’s portrayal in The Last Jedi did not realize that Luke was doing something both Obi-Wan and Yoda, or the other Jedi for that matter, never had done: he took responsibility for his actions. In this context Ben was the audience’s self-insert, he was as appalled at Luke’s misstep as we were. Such a blow is enough to send someone on a lonely island to meditate about his mistakes for years, convinced that the world is better without him.

But for the action film audience, that is not acceptable. If you have a light sabre and the Force (an alleged superpower), what do you need responsibility for? You can’t do wrong if you’re the hero, right? Luke also was the only character from the original trilogy who underwent character growth, which makes it all the more ironic that the many, many critics who tear the sequels to pieces are fuming at how Luke could be so “defiled”. Luke grew beyond the person he had been in A New Hope; these fans obviously did not. Which is why the studios thought they had to produce The Rise of Skywalker in order to “appease” them and to give them the Luke Skywalker they wanted.

Where Does the Galaxy Go From Here?

A conversation between my husband and me, about a year before The Rise of Skywalker came out.

Me: “I hope Ben Solo will survive at the end of the trilogy.” Him: “I do hope that, too. But they won’t give him a happy ending.” Me: “Why?” Him: “He killed his own father.”

I hate to admit it, but he was right. I’m not aware what ethics code is under use in the film industry now, but in any case, the horrible crime of patricide was done; even if it was under coercion, the son traumatized by it, and it ultimately brought him back to redemption. You can’t make a patricide, the former right hand and for a time leader of a terrorist organization a hero and give him a happy ending; in particular when you are Disney of all film studios. (Not to mention that he killed Han Solo, a very popular character.) And from exchanges with other viewers I am aware that many do not understand how Ben killed Han under Snoke’s coercion, and the implications that led him to kill Snoke: they believe he simply did it because it’s something an evil, power-hungry person will do.

Ben dying without anyone knowing that he was not a villain at heart and worse, leaving the fates of the galaxy in the hands of a young woman whom we often saw giving in to evil influences again and again within the scope of minutes was a dangerous turn. If he was but “a child in a mask”, Rey is a child who believes to be a Jedi. How is Rey supposed to be a heroine, with the other half of her soul gone? She and Ben fitted together perfectly because she had the good intentions but a violent attitude, while his intentions were bad but his attitude desperately conflicted because inherently good. Rey came from evil blood but was kind-hearted because she believed in her parent’s love. Ben was the heir of a family of heroes but did not feel loved by them, which made him lonely and bitter. What good is Rey on her own, even more so when at the end of Episode IX she deliberately leaves her friends and goes to a literal desert? The little girl inside of her is still starving for connection, and neither being a Jedi nor a “Skywalker” will appease her. She had to meet Luke to realize that he was a good man but still just a man; a lesson she didn’t quite internalize yet. The sequel trilogy wasn’t her story because her personality hardly developed. It was Ben who went through hell and back.

Films (and film sagas) have a determined length and as a film studio you need time to explore all themes, which in Star Wars are quite complex. The worst mistake I found with Episode IX was that it broke the Campbellian monomyth in favor of a Marvel type B-movie to appease the fans of old who had hated The Last Jedi. Which is understandable from their point of view, but went at the expense of quality. The Rise of Skywalker may have quenched the fire a little, but as a film, it’s frankly forgettable, and compared to the other films from the saga, I doubt that it will age well. Had the sequel trilogy continued Rian Johnson’s approach instead of putting a band-aid on The Last Jedi, it would have been good enough to make a cultural impact the way the classics did. If the sequel trilogy was meant to follow The Hero’s Journey, no one completed it: Ben died and Rey went into exile, and no one brought any kind of elixir or salvation into the world.

All of this is not to say that I have grown to like The Rise of Skywalker and that I am not disappointed about the ending, or no longer sad about Ben Solo’s death. I hope that the next trilogy will give him a second chance: I am still convinced that his ultimate fate should have been to bring lasting Balance to the Force. If I am wrong and his existence practically cancelled the past without improving anything, the whole saga loses its sense. I think that by now he atoned more than enough for his sins.

When I learned that Rian Johnson had negotiated his own trilogy after The Last Jedi, I remember wondering what it would be about. After all, almost everything had been said about the Skywalker saga, hadn’t it?

It hadn’t. I had naively assumed that like with Episodes III and VI, the final revelations were preserved for Episode IX. By now it seems to me like The Rise of Skywalker is meant as an appetizer for the next sequel. It can’t be that the studios unlearned how to make good films in so short a time after The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi, also considering that everything else they made about Star Wars in between (Rogue One, Solo, The Mandalorian) is solid work and not by a long shot as flat as Episode IX.

The studios assuredly will keep their secrets as long as they can. The Mandalorian was met with huge expectations, yet nobody knew about Baby Yoda before the first episode was aired. Due to their depth and love for details, Star Wars films can be watched and discussed over and over, and the message regarding the necessity of Balance is still widely unknown or not accepted by the fans. If this is supposed to be not only an entertaining but also an educational tale, authors must give new fans room to get to know the saga, and old fans time to let the new ideas sink in. Lucas and his collaborators have taken decades trying to teach us that morals are not black and white. But still when The Last Jedi came out, the message was utterly hated.

Whatever Johnson’s trilogy will be about, it can’t be a part of the Skywalker saga any more: they are all dead. Even if Ben is brought back somehow, he is a Solo, so this time it would be the story of his own family. The Skywalker saga was basically Anakin’s, and by reconciling with a Palpatine and giving his life to save the woman he loved his grandson ultimately made up for his sins. The Last Jedi was a bold move; but what are “bold moves” supposed to be good for if they are not followed through? Apart from the fact that the sequels weren’t even exactly bold but drawing sums from what we already could see in original trilogy and prequels about the Jedi and the old Republic.

Family Is the Key

Star Wars is a family tale. It is for families and it is about families. One of the most frustrating things about The Rise of Skywalker was, for me, that the “new” heroes didn’t make any kind of home or family of their own; and a Star Wars film or series never works without a father figure at its heart. I am sure Ben Solo was ultimately meant to be a father figure; the sequels couldn’t work without even giving him the chance to be one. Anakin and Luke both founded a family - one through marriage, the other befriending many different people. The third generation did not even get a chance either way.

“I believe that you are redeemed by your children.” George Lucas

In Star Wars, children always have to pay for their parent’s sins, and only they can make them atone. Which makes it all the more tragic that Ben is not a father; by this logic, only his child could have saved him, or an adopted one. On seeing the enslaved children of Canto Bight, of whom one is Force-sensitive, I was convinced that the sequels would be the children’s trilogy. (I might have accepted Ben dying had he saved and left them with Rey, who also is an abandoned child and so would have found a meaningful task.)

What the galaxy needs most are not heroes but people. Heroes exist to save desperate situations; lasting peace can only be made by normal people. With Luke becoming a hero in the original trilogy and Anakin a villain in the prequels, I was expecting Ben to find back to humanness. Since we have another trilogy to look forward to, I do still hope Ben will get another chance and this time he will find his happiness; but I also believe that he will have a long way to go before that. By the end of The Rise of Skywalker he is a hero, but in order to be happy he would need to learn how to be fully human, realigning both sides of his personality and healing the gap between them (the way Anakin couldn’t). And you don’t learn how to embrace your humanness quickly after having lost it within the scope of years and years. Ben wanted Rey because she was the only person in the galaxy with whom he could be completely honest. But being human also entails bonding with other people, not only with one’s significant other.

Ben tried to pull off the “bad guy” role and failed because it’s not in his nature. A lot of fans see him as a loser, because whether good or evil, a male protagonist is supposed to be always unfazed. The gentle, nurturing and emphatic personality that comes out in Ben when he is balanced is not that of a warmonger but of a peacekeeper: I see nothing inacceptable or emasculating in that. Unfortunately, who has Luke, Anakin or Han as blueprints for “real” men, won’t accept someone like Ben Solo. I hope that in time, he will be more appreciated, and that his life story will be a warning both for the audience and for the saga itself, i.e. that it is more to the point not to punish a criminal but to prevent him from becoming that way in the first place. Which brings us again to the topic of children and a better way to raise them, Force-sensitive or not.

Rey and Ben both are children with unhealed wounds. Their brief moment of harmony during the Force connection on Ahch-To was so powerful because both were speaking to each other’s inner child: Ben saying to Rey that she was not alone, Rey offering Ben an understanding he had not known before. Padmé also always saw in Anakin the good little boy she had first met; one of the reasons of the unbalance in their relationship was that he felt powerless to do something for her in return.

I think that the sequel trilogy of the Skywalkers wanted to tell us is that even if you save the whole galaxy, it’s not sufficient if afterwards you can’t support and protect your own offspring. When we met Han, Leia and Luke again, their personalities were pretty much as we left them; their mistake in handling Ben can’t have been something they actually did to him, the blunder must lie somewhere in their attitude. All three of them were traumatized by cruelly losing or never having known a healthy family life, so we must assume that after the war against the Empire, they tried to build a new world that would fit to their needs. But if adults build a home, they must do so thinking first and foremost not of themselves but of the ones who need it more than them. Children shape the future, not a victory of “good” over “evil”. And I find it interesting that the codebreaker DJ, who had such a pragmatic view of war, was also someone we met on Canto Bight, like the children. He was a traitor, but as everyone in the saga, even he had a point when he said that ultimately, wars are useless because they always flare up again.

“Good, bad, made-up words. You blow them up today, they blow you up tomorrow.” DJ in The Last Jedi

The last scene of The Last Jedi showed us a Force-sensitive boy sweeping an open space before looking up at the sky and dreaming about being a Jedi. I still believe that this scene’s meaning was “Clear the stage, it’s time for us - the children.”

The Jedi, respectively Force-sensitive creatures, must find new and better ways if they want to be advocates for peace and justice. No institution can claim to have a moral standard if it does not protect, nurture and encourage their most vulnerable and needful members, i.e. the children. Watching the prequels it is shocking to follow how the intelligent, brave and affectionate child Anakin could become the most hated man in the galaxy, crushed in the powerplay between the “good but narrow-minded guys” and the “bad but not always wrong” guys. Both his and his grandson’s dark fate could have been avoided, had it not been for the Jedi mentality based upon the conviction of having the right to destroy everything that does not (or does not seem) to line up with them.

The Star Wars saga told us over and over that power is not what it takes. The Jedi lost the Clone Wars; Vader was a lonely, bitter guy (not to mention Palpatine); Kylo had all the power his grandfather never had and it did him no good. Anakin, Han and Ben all were loved most by their women when they were at their weakest. And this brings me back to what I stated above: stories can be interpreted in different ways, but what about the message the author actually wanted to convey? If I am not getting it all wrong, it’s that compassion and not power is the key to everything good.

Episode VII and IX mirror one another, only VIII hints at a possible balance. Star Wars has a cyclical narrative; Anakin / Vader had his happiest moments and successes in his youth, while his grandson in his own youth hit rock bottom and committed his worst sins. If Kylo Ren’s destiny, as per Adam Driver’s words, is supposed to be the opposite of Darth Vader’s, how can The Rise of Skywalker really be the ultimate ending for him?

P.S. What do you think, could baby Yoda and Ben meet? Then Obi-Wan and Yoda would be together again in a new way. P.P.S I would also like to see the Force, for once. I’m sure it’s not black and white at all. How about a rainbow? (Does anyone have Rian Johnson’s e-mail…? 😊) P. P.P.S. On the other hand, if the next film starts with Rey being pregnant and not knowing how, I might be sick… ☹

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smearsyd · 3 years

Text

Day Again | Sehun | Part Two

Kim Haru knows loss. She knows what it means to miss someone, to find out what isolation looks like in the flesh. These things, she expects them and she patiently waits for the day she may wake up and greet them as griefs of the past.

What she does not expect, is the same grief reflected back in another’s face. She doesn’t expect to find solace through this person either, nor does she expect to cherish her days with him, rather than wait them away.

characters:

+ oh sehun (exo), you as kim haru (because names are important)

what to expect:

+ christmas + friends to lovers + fluff and romance

warnings:

+ mentions of death, grief + sensitive topics

length:

+ five parts + 30k plus total

read it here: (updating… stay tuned)

+ masterlist + part one + part two + part three

author’s note:

+ this chapter was very sweet to write, i hope you enjoy ☀️

if you want to be tagged, please reply to the masterlist!

Thanks for dinner last Sunday… I can’t remember if I said that when I was with you so I thought I would message 1:21 AM

Wow I just realized how late it is, I hope these don’t wake you! 1:22 AM

Give me a call when you feel like it… I am here if you need me 1:24 AM

Sleep well, Haru-ya 1:30 AM

I clung the phone to my chest, a yawn creeping through the small smile that had worked its way onto my lips. I had forgotten that I had saved his name as Sehunnie Oppa~ in my contacts with two hearts following, but it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to, nonetheless. It feels like just yesterday that I had been gifted this phone for my sixteenth birthday; Sehun’s number was the first one to go in— right after my brother, of course.

We used to stay up late messaging one another in a three-way group chat that consisted mostly of me sending outrageous photos of myself that I knew would only be used as collateral damage in the future. I sent them anyway, though, just so I could get equally outrageous photos of the boys back. Never once did they fail in making the next worse than the last, nor at making me laugh until I felt like my head would explode or I might pee myself.

The morning light was peeking in through the soft, white curtains and basking the room in its warm yellow tones. The window across my bed has always faced perfectly to the rising sun, not too bright to be a nuisance, but not too soft that I couldn’t enjoy it. I realized with a pang against my chest that this would most likely be the last time I am able to see it; the last time I can stare at these walls and the small nuances that have grown into the roots of this house.

My height inscribed on the closet door of the pantry, as if he had written it only days ago; the small dent in the living room wall from the one time a Wii Remote was chucked across the room; Haru and Oppa written in permanent marker in the bathroom (I had gotten in quite the trouble for that one); everything that made this house so familiar, so filled with memories, I would be leaving behind.

A big part of me was in-denial that I would allow myself to walk away from what this house offers me— all the memories that are not just mine to remember. The even bigger part of me, however, knows that it’s time to make new memories and I can’t do that if I am being suffocated by that in which lost its heartbeat long ago. I know Sehun was right too, Oppa would want me to be happy and he would want me to do what’s best for me, even if it is hard or uncomfortable in the beginning. In the reverse of feeling, he still gives me strength as if he has been here, guiding me along the whole way.

Sehun too, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

A week? Is that how long it’s been since I last saw him? Even from the short time he was with me, the warming comfort of his arms seemed to have engrained themselves in my memory. That smile too, was it always so bright? I can’t remember anymore, but those feelings he leaves me with, they haven’t changed.

I miss him.

I clicked my phone on, the time stamp reading 8:49 AM— it’s almost nine. Is that too early to call? My finger hovered over his contact in anticipation and I felt as if I were suddenly blooming petals in a sea of butterflies.

What if he is sleeping still? And if I wake him?

I shook the nervousness from my mind with a calming breath. He told me to call, so why wouldn’t I? I hit the green dial button and waited as the tone rang quietly in the background, placing the phone delicately to my ear. Two long, infinitely long rings passed and somewhere in the middle of them I had curled under the plush comforter, rising it to cover my mouth as if I was a child embarrassed about calling their cru—

“Hello?”

I snapped up, the comforter floating down around me as I quickly whispered back, “Did I wake you?”

Sehun’s breathing halted for only a moment, a light chuckle gracing my ears as it passed. I found that my shoulders relaxed from the soothing sound. “No good morning Oppa? Not even a simple hello?”

I grumbled on the outside, but a wave of heat attacked the rounds of my cheeks, nonetheless. I played it off the best I could.

“Pshhh, who says that anymore? Just answer the question.”

He seemed content with my answer, an audible snort being heard through the phone. “Haru-ya, sleep alludes me even now…” He hummed like a sigh that spoke of giving up— I understood the notion all too well.

I can almost picture the small smile that would be sitting on the bend of his lips, his hand curled around the edge of the phone. I wonder what he has been doing. “Did you get my texts? It’s been awhile since we messaged last.”

I hummed into the phone, fiddling with a loose string of my blanket that was somehow more interesting than it was a second ago. “I read them when I woke up… You know you don’t have to thank me for that kind of stuff.” Another moment of silence passed, but I could feel his steady presence as he listened, as if he knew I called for more than to say that.

“Sehunnie,” I murmured against a gulp of hesitance, “I signed the lease on the new house. I am moving out this weekend.”

It was with this that his breath hitched, stopping completely for a second, or maybe even two, before finally going back to normal. And when he spoke, his voice became somewhat gravely, like perhaps he had been sleeping and was just hiding it up to this point. The thought dipped me in a honey-like feeling of sweetness.

“And you’re alright?”

The question was simple, the answer though? I’m still trying to figure it out myself. “Maybe. I know that it will be hard to leave, but I feel ready, I think.” I settled on what felt safe, what I knew he could understand. “I just have to worry about packing all of this stuff up now. And in two days at that.” My voice filled with slight humor and a short chuckle fell from my lips, but when he didn’t laugh too, I knew he had seen through me.

“You’re packing by yourself?” He questioned, dropping the heavy questions I knew he itched to ask; I was grateful, for I didn’t know how much of that I could handle before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “That seems like a lot to take on with just you.”

“Girls can get things done too, you know.” I grumbled into the phone as a desperate distraction, my eyes burning from the softness of his voice and the pressure of trying to always hold everything in. “It won’t be too hard, just might take me a few more days that a manly tree hauling guy like you.”

Sehun snorted, again, and for a second, it sounded so relieved that whatever tension that had been slowly encroaching into us was banished just as easily as it was formed. “Yah, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Do I?” I teased, pretending not to let on— in which he let out a small groan that I could practically feel in my own chest. I had to hold in indulging giggle from spilling out through the phone. “Go on, repent your sins. Did getting a degree make you feel superior to women?”

Sehun’s groan was even louder this time. “Right, because getting a degree in basically trees makes me feel so confident.”

“Oh wow, so what you’re saying is that Environmental Science isn’t manly enough for you now?”

“Forget it, I’m hanging up.”

“Have a good day Oppa~” I teased, catching the tail end of playfully frustrated chuckles. Then the line went quiet and I was alone once more. The room, though, felt somehow lighter than it did before, as if the house had absorbed some of our laughter and distributed it throughout the space.

I fell back onto the bed and took in the curves of the ceiling, the peaceful silence of the empty rooms, and all of the memories that lived in it. Then I breathed it out.

It’s time.

…

“Finished!” I exclaimed in satisfaction, wrapping the box up tightly and moving it to the side. Five hours later and I have finished… just the kitchen? An exasperated groan escaped my mouth as I took in the whole house that was completely and utterly, untouched.

I slumped against the cooled material of the kitchen counter and rested my eyes shut. A part of me knew that I was only dragging my feet because the kitchen was the only space that wasn’t a danger. In here, it was filled with me. The pots and pans were ones I had bought. The pantry was food that suited my taste. The dishes were only ones I had eaten out of.

The rest of the house, though, was ridden with him— maybe even more so than me. His blanket lay untouched on the back of the couch as a lingering scent. His favorite book was resting, eyes closed, on the coffee table half unread where he had decided to start it once more. The walls formed a skin of pictures he had taken, and he had hung up.

He was everywhere I turned, buried in this house as a sunken display of time’s cruel expression. I was nothing more than encroaching in a mausoleum that was once breathing and ours, rather than mine or his. Uprooting myself, felt like uprooting him.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I waited.

It was then that the doorbell rang.

I jumped what felt like three feet in the air out of pure surprise, a gush of goosebumps raising the delicate hairs on my arms and neck to a standstill.

“Okay,” I muttered. “I hear you.”

I took a calming breath and collected my shaking fingers as I made my way over to the front door, squeezing through a few boxes on the way. The curtains were cool against my touch, and as I pulled them back, four familiar faces greeted me as if time itself had restarted.

My head, or maybe that was my heart, felt as if it were spinning in excitement, my hands not fast enough to open the latches and throw the thin barrier open between us. And then the door was open, and I was jumping into the gentle embrace of the closest boy towards me.

“Yixing!” A shocked exclamation spewed from my mouth as he caught me mid Surprise! Strong arms twirled me around like a cashed-in year old hug and something in me felt like I was ten again and being doted on by my brother’s older, handsome friends.

“Your reaction was priceless!” He chuckled with that endearing dimpled smile, setting me down and immediately coming to cup my face between his big palms. “Haru-ya, it’s been too long. When did you get so cute?”

A flurry of emotions ran through me and I felt tears threatening to spill over. “Every time you looked away,” I joked, my voice thick as a single tear fell down my face.

Yixing sent me a small, sympathetic smile, but before he could respond, a playful gasp was heard from behind him and he was suddenly pushed aside. Minseok’s widened, panicking eyes filled my vision as he wiped my tear away, pulling me into his chest with protective arms.

“Oppa,” the tears didn’t seem to stop, even when I willed them too. Minseok still smelled like brewed coffee beans and his usually wispy black hair was freshly cut.

“I missed you too, pumpkin.” He kept me close, his hands soothing against my back. “You can be mad at Oppa for not visiting, but you can’t cry. Your brother would kill us if he knew we made you cry.”

I pulled back, nodding slightly as he brushed my tears away. “I am mad at you,” I huffed like he was the best remedy for a poor sight, his sly lips curling on the ends as he took in my best attempt to be cute.

I shook my head and pushed him aside, feeling like my composure was somehow sliding back in place. That was until I took in the steady gaze of Kyungsoo. His head was turned slightly to the side and the most calming smile was titling his lips up on the corners. My eyes started to water again, and his already round ones became even more rounded.

“No,” he half-threatened. “I’ll walk away right now and not come back for another year if you start again.”

I straightened right away, saluting him as if he were my captain. He let out an endearing grunt before his guard fell away, taking a step forward to wrap me in a hug that was as equally as tight and protective as the two before him.

I eyed Sehun standing shortly behind us, his stormy eyes gazing at the four of us before landing quietly on me. I mouthed a messy thank you, a swell of appreciation filling my heart as he merely shrugged his shoulders before looking down at his feet.

“I can’t believe you are all here,” I gaped, gazing between the four boys, men really, who I had always looked up to. It’s been a year since I have seen all of their faces, and even then, it wasn’t a day that I wanted to remember clearly. The feelings, rather, was what stayed.

“Well,” Minseok quirked his eyebrow at Sehun, “someone practically begged us to come over. And how could I refuse a visit to see you?” A small smirk took over his face as we filed through the front door. I pretended to gag, turning my nose up at him. The boys broke out into a hearty laughter and before Minseok could defend himself, Yixing was smacking his back with a resonating pop.

“The best part is that we bought pizza and plenty of boxes!” Yixing gushed. “Oh, and beer too!”

Sehun lugged all of the food and drinks he bought onto the kitchen counter and the boys instantly dug in as if they were in their own home, which in a way, is true considering how much time they spent here with Sehun and Oppa growing up. A pang went through my heart as I watched them laughing casually and kidding around with one another like they always had.

A space was missing, an important puzzle piece to the picture of five that had been reduced down to a portrait of four, but they managed. Somehow, it seemed that they had all consumed a little of him inside of themselves.

I could see his look of quiet, but kidding, judgement for all of the stupid remarks they would make blooming into Kyungsoo’s eyes. His bright smile and goofy, overly loud laugh morphing into Yixing’s own. His snarky remarks and mischievous antics bubbling out of Minseok. And then in Sehun, it seemed that they had always been one in the same. But when Sehun looks at me, sometimes it feels like he was gifted all the love my brother had, to keep for himself in his heart. Together, I could feel him alive again, living alongside them and laughing like he had never left us.

At some point, Yixing had turned music on and the house filled with their singing and the upbeat pop that seemed to fit their personalities so well. Without a word to me, they started to put boxes together and pack up the things I was not strong enough to.

I watched his name get written on a few boxes by Kyungsoo, everyone stopping briefly to glance before Yixing made some silly joke and then the blanket was folded neatly in there, along with the book and his other items I had failed to put up. With every box they closed tightly shut and placed by the door, the house seemed to sigh in relief.

The air was clearer, and the music was brighter.

The day had somehow escaped us, and all the beer magically disappeared, but we worked hard enough to actually pack everything up into neat boxes in the living room. All except for one room.

Kyungsoo sighed. His face, like everyone else, was flowered red and puffy from the beer. We had been messing around for some time, dancing to the music and reheating cold pizza as if we had finished the job. I think we all knew what we were doing, but it seemed like Kyungsoo was the only one with enough courage to say it.

“We do have to go in there at some point.”

Yixing looked down at his feet, clearing his throat. Minseok too, who was casually hugging me from behind and getting dirty looks from Sehun, pulled me a little closer to him. I knew that it couldn’t be avoided; I didn’t want to avoid it. But there was something unspeakable, a wall of silence, per say, that stood like a translucent barrier of water around his door. That space, for so many reasons, was something I cut myself off to a long time ago to soften the blow of his absence. I could handle the nuances of the house, but his room, that was a different kind of weight that sunk into your skin and pulled the air from your lungs.

Sehun’s stormy gaze fell upon me with a shade of tender grey— his way of asking a question. I nodded silently and then he was opening the door and the barrier was washing away. All of us stood a little taller and the music disappeared from the background as we slowly made our way inside.

It was just as I remembered it, untouched and so, so filled with him. The bed wasn’t made, and the closet was open with a fresh pair of clothes sitting on the edge of his desk as if he was planning on changing into them the next morning.

I felt stuck in place, my body numb as I stared at the bed in trepidation. It was deadly silent then, and even when Yixing sniffed, reaching up to brush his face, I paid no attention. There seemed to be a valley between where I stood and the spot where he last rested, the space growing with every second we stood. My ears were ringing, and my chest was burning right down the center, and I no longer felt that I was breathing or that I even needed to.

Why?

Why did you have to go?

Where did you go?

Where things too hard?

The void I had been staring into became filled then and warm hands enveloped my frozen ones in their own. Sehun. Sehun radiated a yellow orange that penetrated the overbearing black, his bright dawn blotting out what had become blurry and guided me back into focus.

I peeled my eyes from the bed as if they had been stuck to a string of tacky glue, to finally land them on those brooding eyes of his. They drew me in and breathed me out.

“We can do this,” he whispered like a promise, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand. “Remember, one day at a time, like you said.

“Just tell me what to do, and well do it together.”

I swallowed it all down and found myself at the top, nodding, nodding to all four of them which had been waiting for my approval. I stepped aside and watched as one by one they entered on their own and swallowed it down too.

Kyungsoo let out a long sigh that had everyone looking at him. He seemed to be doing that quite often today. I tilted my head in question.

“You know…” he started around a small, slowly building heart-shaped smile and nostalgic, wandering eyes. “He would think we are being so stupid right now.”

Yixing picked up Oppa’s guitar and brushed the thin layer of dust that had settled on its strings. “You’re right,” he added. “He would probably say something to the extent of you dumbasses are really going to hesitantly walk in here when every other time you would barge in and fuck everything up!?” He impersonated, his hands going around in circles just like he used to do.

His remark cut the tension in half and all of us let out small chuckles of our own. “You guys really did used to fuck everything up,” I remarked, leaning against the door frame with a shake to my head.

Minseok’s lips thinned as he tried to stop himself from laughing. “Remember when we broke his bed on accident?”

“First of all, there was no ‘we’ in that and secondly, on accident?” Kyungsoo asked in exasperation. “If I recall correctly, which I am positive I am, you were the one who said, ‘I wonder how mad he would get if we broke his bed,’ and then proceeded to catapult yourself onto his already creaky bed until it literally broke in the middle.”

“Look—” Minseok started with that don’t disrespect your Hyung voice, “you can’t talk to me like that.”

Kyungsoo snorted and somehow, we all ended up evolved in laughter. The amusement rang through us and coated the walls in orange and yellow. Maybe we were only laughing to fill the gaping hole, or maybe we truly were happy. Happy to be in here, happy to breath in here after so long.

The boys began packing up the individual things they wanted to hold on to. I let Yixing, who would always come over and make up random songs with Oppa, take his guitar and collection of vintage albums home.

I let Minseok, who Oppa always called to ask what book to read next, sift through his over spilling collection for the ones he always secretly wanted.

I let Kyungsoo, who never failed to buy Oppa a journal so he could figure out his crazy ass mind, take them all back home to read through, or simply have— even the ones that were mere doodles and torn up grocery lists.

I didn’t ask Sehun what he wanted, though. I knew that would be too hard of a question, for I knew he wanted everything, anything, to hold onto. Instead, I squeezed his hand and we entered the room together. We gravitated apart, but that was only natural.

For the next few hours, we cleared his room into five piles. What was left, I had to let go of.

At some point, Kyungsoo had changed into one of Oppa’s old t-shirts and Yixing had passed out on his bed, his mouth gaping open in a picturesque look. Everyone was yawning and on the brink of exhaustion, but we had gotten it done and that was a feat in of itself.

We helped move their boxes into Minseok’s car before Kyungsoo hauled a half asleep and definitely unhelping Yixing into the car, only waking slightly to promise that he would come over when I set my new house up.

“Thanks for everything, I suppose.”

I breathed out into the cool sky, smiling lightly at Minseok and Kyungsoo as they leaned against the car. “You have to visit me every once in a while, okay? No more of this prolonged exile.”

Soo nodded in agreement, pulling me in for a tight hug that was mixed in the comfort of his own presence, but also my brothers. I squeezed him tightly before muttering a lingering goodbye and watching him get in the car.

“Minseokie Oppa,” I whined, not wanting him to leave. He was the only person who could make me act so childish, but sometimes I was thankful for that and I think he was too.

“Aw pumpkin, I know.” He embraced me in his arms, patting my messy hair down. “Oppa loves you and if you ever need anything, you know I am only a phone call away. Although,” he quirked his eyes behind me as he pulled back to whisper in my ear, “I think you’re in good hands.”

He gave me a quick peck on the forehead before stepping into the car.

I somehow ended up leaning against Sehun’s chest as we waved goodbye to the trio, my frame fitting perfectly in his. It wasn’t until they were completely out of sight that we slowly made our way back inside.

We fell down onto the couch in a huff, looking around at the emptied, unrecognizable space before coming to rest our eyes upon one another. Our heads were barely apart and although I felt only moments from falling into what I hoped would be a pleasant dream, those stormy eyes almost willed me to stay just as we are, gazing, truly looking.

“Thank you,” I murmured, coming a little closer to his warmth. “Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me for these things,” he repeated my line from this morning, an upward bend gracing his lips. His hand came up and pushed a lock of hair from my cheek, twisting it lightly around his finger before tucking it away. “I’m here for you, just like I know you are for me. So, when you need help, or you just want someone to talk to, come to me.”

“Only if you come to me too.” I set my stare straight and he took a long breath through his nose, his eyes falling for a second before coming back to mine in a lingering gaze. He always seemed to convey so much in those eyes. He’s not so strong on the inside, I know that even if he wishes I didn’t, but when he looks at me with that light grey of vulnerability, I swear I melt out and into him.

His eyes speak, even when he won’t.

My body moved before I did, naturally pulling him into me as if we had always meant for things to be this way, for it to feel this way with one another. His head sunk into my shoulder and my arms went around his torso, binding us together like satin and silk. I imagine that he was tired of pretending to be okay when his heartbeat slowed to reach the pace of mine, as if conscious that we shared even the deepest of locked away secrets.

I shut my eyes and rested against him until nothing else existed. Not the house, or our friends, not even our bodies, maybe not even our minds. We simply existed, heartbeat and heartbeat.

That was enough.

It felt like a lifetime had passed when I was lifted lightly into his arms and carried away. He set me in the plush bed and brushed a delicate kiss against my forehead. Half asleep, I grabbed his slim fingers in mine.

“Stay.”

And then he was holding me once more, shaping me like molten shatters of the sky to fit into the dawn of his side.

“Always.”

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