#choosing your own destiny despite the path you were supposed to follow & breaking away from being controlled

[buddyapologist]

something something lisa westworld parallels I'll explain it in excruciating detail later

#avery.txt #story focused on how (gender-based) violence affects people #how obsession with seeking justice/revenge leads to pain & death & loss of loved ones & losing parts of yourself that you used to cherish #how possessive love can drive someone to horrible actions and how trauma defines and affects future relationships #how there is only so much oppression someone can take before they snap and revolt #people wandering the land fighting/killing anyone who gets in their way #choosing your own destiny despite the path you were supposed to follow & breaking away from being controlled #it fits really really really well and im going to put it in my essay and nobody can stop me #you cant stop the other parallels i draw too!!! there r like at least 2 more >:] #ive had 5 years to think abt this shit i am going fucking feral #lisaposting

[the-single-element]

Good morning.

Last week, we heard about Simon Peter - his tendency to overdo things, but also his acknowledgement of Jesus as Messiah, and Jesus's endorsement of him.

In this week's Good News, the conversation takes a darker turn - the conflict that comes when Jesus finally explains what the work of the Messiah is to be. And Jesus goes on to exhort his disciples to walk the same path... but in doing so, I think, he reveals something about how he sees his own.

It's not strange that Peter reacts so strongly to Jesus's words, of course. Peter had just declared that Jesus was the Messiah... and he was naturally thinking of the Messiah in the way that most people would have in his time, with the land of Israel and Judah under the heel of the brutal and idolatrous Roman Empire. Surely, the promised savior's role, the salvation they've all been waiting for, is to drive out the Imperial occupiers and restore the Kingdom of Israel! Surely his destiny is to cast down the tyrants, not to be arrested, tortured, and executed by them! God forbid! Lord, say it isn't so!

But this is the fundamental misunderstanding that Jesus has been trying so hard to avoid. Remember, in last week's Good News, how he warned his disciples to keep their mouths shut about him being the Messiah? He did that, I think, for the same reason that he put so much effort into dodging everyone's attempts to call him "king": because, just as people misunderstand the true definition of "king", they misunderstood the true role of the Messiah. Far from being the conquering savior who breaks the Roman Empire and restores the Kingdom of Israel, he was sent to be the sacrifice that breaks the power of death and establishes the Kingdom of Heaven.

No, it's worse than that. I think it goes beyond the usual frustration of "people keep misunderstanding me", for Jesus. I think it's personal. Recall the temptation he faced, back at the beginning of his mission: to use his divine prerogatives and conquer the world, rather than endure the pain and hard work of facing his road as a human.

So just as it's not surprising that Peter was so horrified at what Jesus confided in him... it's not surprising that Jesus's own reaction is so frustrated, so emotional. It's not surprising that, in Peter's "God forbid such a thing should happen!", Jesus hears the echo of his temptation in the desert, and shouts "get out of my way, Satan!" lest he be tempted again.

But that also means that, when Jesus follows this up by reminding his inner circle that they, too, must travel to the Cross, everything he challenges us to do is something he knows awaits him too.

"Cling to your own life and you'll lose it; let go of your life and you'll find it. What profit is it to gain the world and lose yourself?"

This is not Jesus merely rehashing the Pearl of Great Price or exhorting us to be willing to give things up for the Kingdom. This is Jesus talking about his own path - about why he's gotta go all the way to Calvary. It's an argument that he could not turn away from the work without denying who he is. Like Jeremiah, who we hear from in today's prophetic excerpt, speaking about how he can no longer bear to muffle the Spirit's words in his mouth for long.

But this is not a mere matter of choosing to die rather than deny who you are, either; Paul reminds us, in today's excerpt from his letter to Rome, that being willing to go against what is popular or expected of us, and to give up what we thought was ours, gives us room for metanoia, and through it, for discovering the purpose of our own lives. He doesn't phrase it as "denying ourselves", but as offering up who we thought we were, so that we can discover who we were really supposed to be. Perhaps, for Paul as well, this framing is a reflection of his own cross - of the dramatic story of his conversion that he so liked to tell.

So despite Jesus calling us to take up our own crosses and follow him, it may look different for us, too. We don't have the particular temptations of Jesus, or the particular mental hurdles of Paul. And few of us, in this day and age, are likely to be martyrs in the same way that either of them were. But in order to find the Way, we need to cultivate that same willingness to listen - to follow wherever we must go, even if it's unpopular or controversial, even if it doesn't fit the picture of ourselves that we or others originally had in our heads - so that we can buy the Pearl of Great Price in the stories of our own lives.

[serpenteve]

why we ship darklina

an essay literally no one asked for

Nobody needs a "reason" to ship Darklina. But considering this is a villain x hero pairing, it got me thinking about why we shipped it in the first place when the narrative and author so badly wanted us to root for the more sensible alternative pairing and why it became the most popular ship of the entire trilogy.

Personally, I find it really interesting (and low-key hilarious) that a lot of the reasons shippers gravitated towards Darklina can be directly traced back to how badly Bardugo bungled Alina's character arc, Mal's entire characterization and narrative role, Nikolai's wasted potential as an alternative love interest, and the noble intentions she gives the the Darkling.

Alina's Character Arc

Alina's character arc doesn't match who she is as a character. I've written more about that in this post, but a lot of readers were introduced to a passive and insecure protagonist who we were expecting to undergo a typical YA coming-of-age character arc where Alina acquires self-acceptance, confidence, and embraces the full breadth of her powers over the course of the trilogy. Instead, Bardugo gave Alina the kind of character arc that's usually deserved for power-hungry anti-heroines or tragic heroes with a fatal flaw to punish.

The plot offers a strange binary: either Alina suppresses and hides her powers and therefore stays away from descending into villainy OR Alina attempts to find Morozova's amplifiers in order to defeat the Darkling but then becomes corrupted by power in the process. Alina's journey to self-acceptance and exploring her own powers are unfortunately entangled with her relationship with the Darkling. The only way she is allowed to move forward through the plot is to succumb to the corrupting influence of the amplifiers.

For better or for worse, the first character to really embrace her powers instead of thinking she's a fraud or that she's weak or that she's an unholy abomination is the Darkling. He's the first person to recognize her power for what it is and accurately judge its potential and implications for the rest of the world. He advocates for her in front of the royal court, in front other Grisha who think she's weak, and even against Baghra who is initially a very ill-tempered mentor with little to no faith in Alina's abilities. He even rather ironically advocates for her even when the heroic person who's supposed to be supporting her (Mal) does not.

At the start of her journey, Alina is insecure and in constant need of assurance and validation. The Darkling's role as her mentor and guide into this unfamiliar world of Grisha makes him the perfect advocate not only for her powers but also to help Alina see her place in the world. However, once he is revealed to be the villain, Alina also fails to realize that it's time for her to advocate for herself and throws the baby out with the bathwater.

Mal's Characterization & Narrative Role

When Alina loses the Darkling as an advocate in S&B, Mal steps up to take this role. Alina is still rather passive for the majority of the first book and it's Mal who originally wants her to have Morozova's stag as an amplifier if it will mean being able to stand against the Darkling. Bardugo intended for him to be a heroic love interest as a foil to the villainous love interest and I believe she mostly succeeds for the first book.

However, because this is a story about punishing Alina's "evil ambition" (despite there being very little evidence of that) Mal is supposed to serve as a voice of reason in the narrative. Once Alina considers the necessity of acquiring more amplifiers to defeat the Darkling, it is Mal's role to warn her of the potential consequences, to remind her of her inner humanity, and to ward against the corrupting influence of Morozova's amplifiers. Mal's declarations that he wants back the old girl he knew without any power is meant to drive an ideological wedge between them, yes, but he's also meant to be Correct™ because, again, Bardugo is writing a story about a corrupted power-hungry heroine who goes too far and needs to be punished rather than the arc we were all expecting and the one that Alina's character needs: a coming-of-age story of self-acceptance and personal growth.

Some point after the backlash of Siege & Storm, Bardugo seems to have become aware of her mistake and attempts to scrub Mal's character to be more sympathetic. There is a bizarre exchange half-way through the third book when Mal finally declares:

"I wasn't afraid of you, Alina. I was afraid of losing you. The girl you were becoming didn't need me anymore, but she's who you were always meant to be."

This is an interesting line because it's a complete reversal of Mal's narrative role so far. He's supposed to be her voice of reason that opposes her at every turn but readers interpreted him as being resentful of Alina's powers and angry that she was no longer dependent on him. Bardugo is forced to retcon Mal's entire role in the narrative from being a voice of reason that opposes Alina's quest for power to a supportive friend who will fight by her side. But this was never her initial intention and I believe this change was brought on 100% by audience reaction because she failed to understand the arc her heroine needed and the kind of story her audience was anticipating for such a character.

Needless to say, having your heroine's main love interest actively resent her quest for power until half-way through the third damn book did not endear many readers to Mal. Because Bardugo failed to understand the kind of character development her heroine needed and failed to understand audience expectations, we hated Mal. He became the embodiment of every toxic chauvinist we'd ever met who can't stand the idea of his partner's success and feels entitled to be the center of her universe. He was not the voice of reason. He was an annoying gnat hellbent on dragging the heroine down and away from her destiny. We did not want to root for him. Even the villain was more sympathetic than him because he could bring her closer to achieving the self-acceptance the narrative was obsessed with denying her.

Nikolai's Wasted Potential as a Solid Love Interest

Nikolai plays several roles in Alina's journey but most importantly in our discussions for why we ended up shipping Darklina, his entire potential as a serious love interest is wasted.

When we meet Nikolai, we have hitched our wagons to the Darklina train because despite being the villain, the Darkling is the only one who will allow the heroine to accept her powers and come into her own. Her heroic love interest, Mal, is actively sabotaging her efforts and holding her back from her true potential. But then, in swoops Nikolai and we pause, wondering if there may be a better heroic alternative after all?

In a lot of ways, Nikolai and the Darkling alike: they are eager for Alina's power and see her as a solution to all their problems. They may want to use Alina to prop up their own agendas, but unlike Mal, Alina's summoning powers are a massive plus, not a burden. Nikolai is the heroic alternative to our villainous Aleksander. So we wait, wondering if Nikolai will be the one to fix this mess of a romantic subplot. His royal connections offer an easy path to upwards mobility for our heroine and we sense that an alliance between them (even if it's initially political in nature) may bring our heroine closer to obtaining more power, influence, and self-acceptance not only for herself, but also for the oppressed minority she is a part of.

But, again, Bardugo is still obsessed with that "punish the heroine for wanting power" agenda so while Nikolai exists as another mentor figure who offers Alina advice on how to rule, how to appeal to other people, how to charm, how to win people over, and Alina learns and applies much of what she learns from him, he is not treated as a real love interest.

Despite Nikolai being written as a fairy tale prince (handsome, charming, smart as a whip, brave in battle, etc) Alina never actually considers him romantically. They are friends and allies at best and the only time she considers kissing him is only when she's pissed about Mal.

Nikolai's proposal at the end of Ruin & Rising feels like one last saving grace, one last opportunity for our heroine to take control of her life and make a dramatic change to break from the past. But this too is rejected because Alina's arc will never let her access any power. She does not reject Nikolai because she wants to marry for love. She rejects him because she has been "punished" for wanting power and has internalized that she must not seek any more power for fear of angering the plot gods (and Bardugo). She must return to being nobody in order to remain a good and moral person.

(And, of course, we resent Mal even more because who in their right mind would choose him over Nikolai? Once again, he becomes a roadblock on our heroine's journey to power. We grow irritated that the heroine is failing to grasp an opportunity to elevate herself. We throw the book against the wall. Why are we even following this heroine?)

The Darkling's Motivations

Still, all of the above might still not have been enough to pull the reader to the villain's side. But the Darkling is the living embodiment of Villain Has A Point™. He is not pure unadulterated evil. He is not Lord Sauron or Voldemort or the Terminator.

He's more Magneto, Roy Batty, or Ozymandias---a man who is part of an oppressed minority who longs for justice and power but is absolutely unhinged in his methods.

Alina runs away because she does not want to be a non-consenting weapon in hands. But we always end up wondering what would have happened had Baghra not warned her. What would have happened if Alina gladly joined the Darkling's side? There's hundreds of fanfics written precisely about this situation because despite the villainy of his methods, we wonder if Ravka might not have been safer after all?

If the Darkling had used the Fold as a weapon against Fjerda and Shu Han, would any of the problems Ravka faces in the later books even exist? Would any Grisha fall victim to the khergud programs or be killed as witches? The Darkling wipes out Novokribirsk and kills hundreds of lives, but how many would he have saved with the Fold as Ravka's greatest shield and sword? 🤷🏽‍♀️

And therein lies the problem with the trilogy inconsistent moral landscape. The Darkling is an anti-villain that exists in a narrative that is very black and white, unlike the rest of the books in the Grishaverse where our protagonists are anti-heroes who kill, steal, and torture their way through the plot with nary a judgmental glance from the narrative. We long to see our heroine give in to her dark side and get her hands dirty because watching a naive, passive, scared little girl grow into a ruthless powerful Grisha would have made for a hell of a compelling story.

But that's not the story Bardugo wanted to tell.

The Greg Trilogy

Despite taking place in a fantasy Tsartist setting, the Grisha trilogy is oddly anti-Grisha. The narrative doesn't spend much time trying to examine the context or implications of an oppressed minority group fighting for power other than to say "magic powers = evil". Nikolai skates by on a throne of inherited wealth, privilege, and imperialism but it's okay because he's charming and witty and the only monstrous part of him is the Darkling's curse. Literally everything is worse for Ravka and their Grisha after the destruction of the Fold but Ravka must move forward into a new age without relying on Grisha power but putting their efforts into new muggle technologies. Alina must be stripped of her powers and returned to her "old self" in order to be purged of evil.

Basically, it's all one gigantic ✨ dumpster fire ✨ of mismatched character arcs, incompatible moral aesops, inconsistent characterizations, wasted potential, unexamined plot points but it's a a dumpster fire we lovingly and spitefully embrace in fanfic.

We don't ship Alina with the Darkling because we're stupid abuse apologists who somehow missed the giant flashing moral aesop of the books---and honestly, who could have possibly missed them when it's shoved in the reader's face every other chapter? We ship Alina with the Darkling because the entire ship is the embodiment of wasted potential (and wasted ✨aesthetics✨ tbqh 👀). We ship Alina with the Darkling because we're sick and tired of stories where female power is demonized. We ship Alina with the Darkling because the plot gave us literally no other alternative to see our heroine succeed except to give in to her alleged villainy.

But most of all, people ship Darklina because Leigh Bardugo utterly failed in writing the story she intended to write because had she succeeded, Darklina would not be the most popular ship of the trilogy.

#darklina #sab meta #grisha meta #grisha discourse #wow im embarrassed by how fucking long this is #but you know i had to write it #anti leigh bardugo #its not really anti so much as it is just pointing out why her story flopped for a lot of readers #alarkling #viv metas

[istoleyourboat]

Hananene Week Day 3: Mermaid Scale/Red String of Fate

When Orihime and Hikoboshi part on that seventh day, they part with a red string on their fingers.

Despite centuries of weaving the loveliest fabric the world has ever seen, it’s the red cord that Orihime’s spun together that echoes throughout human history. With her love and her blessing, the smoldering scarlet soon burned across her and Hikoboshi’s palms, flaring away with the warmth of a promise.

Hikoboshi stands tall when she wraps the thread around the base of his pinky. Much like the nodes of a bamboo branch, he is unwavering, all too ready for their leap down. The magpies were chirping, the wish tags were flying, and the stars were aligned. It’s all too perfect.

The choice to become human is a risky one. Once they leaped into the heavenly river, they’d be bound to the whims of the universe, unable to cross back to who they once were.

But even with those outcomes, even with that finality in mind, he knows they wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll find you,” she whispers, teal tipped hair swaying with the wind.

She’s already fading from his eyes when he hears her wide-eyed promise.

Hikoboshi smiles, feeling the light of the Milky Way in each blink of his viscous, amber eyes. With what he can muster, he reaches his hand out to remember each curve of her knuckles and nails, feeling that invisible string tug at him one last time.

“Not if I find you first.”

.

.

Fathoms Below

Nene’s life as a mermaid is as lonely as it can be. She longs for love and reaches for it in the sky, hoping to escape the sea’s sad and loveless grasp.

She takes the risk of her life when she becomes human, gambling a part of who she was to see what she could be.

The plan was simple enough.

Become human. Meet the prince. Fall in love.

Simple, right?

But instead of spending each day with her prince, instead of living out each fantasy she’s predestined in her naive, impulsive head- she’s glued to the side of the castle astronomer, a snarky knight who takes too much pleasure in popping her bubbles and drowning her dreams.

Still, she feels something. An incessant pull on her fingers. A raging burn in her palms. And a deep, deep sense of longing she can’t quite understand.

‘I know you,’ her heart rustles. ‘I know I do.’

She can’t think over it for too long though. Not when each setting sun counts down her time limit. Not when she’s one day closer to her watery death. The mermaid scale she carries has yet to find its match and she has a choice to make.

So when she looks into his sad, honey eyes and realizes that this is the part where she leaves him forever- one thought rumbles in the back of her mind.

I know you.

I know you.

I know you.

.

.

Playing Your Cards Right

Amane feels a spark when he takes his first look at her.

She’s beautiful in every way he can imagine. Amidst all the dark and unmemorable hues that glittered the stuffy ballroom, she stands out as a beacon of light, her eyes and gown shining with a shade of red he’s only known on the battlefield.

He’s known it in another life too. He’s sure of it.

The longer he looks, the longer he aches. The more he stares, the more he feels a tug on his soul, daring him to move forward.

It’s stupid, he knows. He’s stupid.

A cold and violent dictator such as himself can’t possibly imagine a life with someone so sinless and heartfelt.

But something in his heart tells him that they’re meant to be, as much as the stars are meant to be with the moon in its dark sky.

When he takes her into his arms and dances with her in the garden, all is right with the world. There’s a completion to it that he can’t explain. A feeling that he’s right where he’s meant to be.

“What’s your name?” she asks innocently, drawing him deeper into her shades of red. “I don’t think you’re from my kingdom.”

He bends down to lay a kiss on her right hand, crimson flowers and rosy blushes searing into his mind.

“You can call me Hanako,” he says. “A Knight of Spades at your service.”

.

.

Springtime

When Orihime wakes up in her next life, she’s surprised to see she’s a god again.

Only this time there are no galaxies to weave or clothes to tailor. She’s a Spring goddess and she’s in the Underworld.

And she’s madly in love with its King.

From the moment she stepped towards his gate and asked him to reverse death, a visceral feeling tugged at her heartstrings. Not because he lets her down gently, but because there’s something calling for her on the other side.

Maybe it’s why she’s so quick to show him the world and what it had to offer. Watching humans and wishing for love of her own seems to be something that follows her with each new breath of life.

And like each life, he returns that love, putting his own world at risk if it means being with her.

The moment he’s punished for his treason- punished for putting her above his line of duty- there’s something awfully familiar about the whole thing. The wrath of Heaven, the word of God, it’s all there.

The same story, a different world.

But it’s because of that difference that she chooses to fight for her happy ending, never giving up the idea that they can be together.

By the time she shows up in his life once again, ready to connect themselves across another winding river, a part of her tears up. Because like all times, it’s somehow meant to be.

.

.

To Spin a Thread

When Hanako finds a girl crying in a room full of straw, his first thought is to comfort her.

It didn’t take too long to figure out the predicament she was in. Really, a human turning straw to gold was laughable.

She’s too pretty, he thinks, when she smiles at him with starry eyes and rose-tinted lips. Even with straw sticking out of her hair and dust clinging to the hem of her dress, she stands out to him in ways he can’t explain.

The thought stays in his mind when they kiss during their pinky promise, an act that ties them together as he paves her path to freedom. With every glimpse of moonlight, they reunite with one another, laughing and dancing to each other’s tune.

Which is why it breaks his heart when she chooses to stay in her prison. He knows the king can’t make her happy. He knows what she’s reaching for is a short-lived dream. And he knows that he’s more capable of loving her; even without a human heart.

So when he turns to leave her for one last time, the selfishness in him cries out to stay. To whisk her away by moonlight and never return.

Which is what he does, luckily, when he feels her calling out to him a year later, just like she did that day long ago.

He could never ignore destiny, after all.

.

.

Mermaid Scale

The loss of Amane Yugi sends ripples throughout the universe, altering fate in ways one could never imagine. Instead of moving onto his next life like he was supposed to, he finds himself stuck between worlds.

He supposed it was his own fault. He’s had decades to think about it after all. If he had been a better brother, if he had died with little regrets- he’s sure he wouldn’t be there like he was now.

Though Hanako didn’t dare to dream anymore, he’s sure that there’s something else keeping him there. A reason for why God had chosen him as its sacred, irreplaceable pillar. There just has to be.

He can only hope to find out in bated breath, watching lonely decades roll by as he longed for something beyond his reach.

The three small knocks on his stall shake him, giving him the answer he never thought he’d receive.

“Hanako-san, Hanako-san, are you there?”

It’s with that brief call of his name that he’s thrusted against the door, pulled by the messy, puppet strings of fate to see which unfortunate soul will die too young.

And it’s with that same call that he can feel his ghostly heart beat again- enraptured by the cruel and familiar sight that destiny laid. A sight that vaguely reminded him of fireworks and far-off dreams.  

Oh there you are, his soul breathes.

I’ve been looking for you.

#hananeneweek #hananene week #hananene #jshk #tbhk #the girl from the sea #the suicide king and his queen of hearts #bride of the underworld #eyes of gold #red string of fate

[snowflake-of-destruction]

let's hear about FFVIII seifer, if you're still doing this XD

Why I like them: You know my tastes. A green-eyed man is introduced throwing fireballs around, is kind of a condescending jerk but in a fun way, instigates deep conversations on high ground while staring at the sunset...Well, before we even get to villainy, immolation, and redemption arc, I start going “Is this a favorite character?”  I’m joking...kind of. Some of that does factor in, even the fire. 

Okay, so my favorite thing about Seifer’s arc is that, in the limited focus he’s given, he’s complex and layered from the beginning, and his villain arc is a clear and fascinating illustration of “No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks” ….with a side of brainwashing.

Let’s break this down:

What are some of the words used to describe him by those that know him (by himself, by Squall, by Fuu and Rai)? Romantic. Idealistic. Sensitive. He is the one who believes in making a difference in the world--not just as a wish or goal, but as an imperative to do what your heart says is right even if it’s going to cost you--where Squall is just follow-the-orders-and-do-the-job. If you’re already reading this and objecting, I’m not saying Squall doesn’t care...obviously he does, defrosting Mr. Go Talk to a Wall and getting him to a place where he admits how many layers of mask he wears is his character development...but Seifer isn’t just a hothead. He wears his heart on his sleeve. 

Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to deny that Seifer can be an abrasive, self-serving, hypocritical jackass sometimes,  who can fight dirty, wants to “wreak some havoc,” and has a history as a bully--though, gentlefolk of the jury, I submit to the courts that he puts on a tough act like Squall does and they are both different flavors of trying to mimic toxic alpha male--but let’s not forget that some of his establishing character moments are throwing out his future to disobey orders because he sees that the higher-ups have possibly misjudged the situation and civilians could be in danger, and, again, going AWOL because he thinks Squall and Rinoa could be killed. And he calls himself the white knight and holds up a code of honor until the end, even though it gets twisted. He is about duty and honor, with honor even over duty.

Oh, this was only going to be the beginning. I haven’t even begun to touch on what I would want to touch on--this is just surface personality and the beginning of the game before we even get to joining Sorceress Edea, and even then not all I would say-- but this post isn’t actually supposed to be my Ted talk on what you missed if you just think of Seifer as a recurring boss fight. Let’s move on.

ONE MORE THING ACTUALLY. Even though we see a lot of Seifer at his worst, you can use Fujin and Raijin as a mirror. What do they say near the end of the game if we paraphrase/summarize? They knew pretty early on, before even the senseless slaughter and torture era that Seifer was going down a dark path with the sorceress, but they knew it wasn’t him and stayed with him, not because they agreed with his actions, wanted power, or out of fear, but to take care of him and try to break through to him--and not because they are saints, but because he, despite what had happened in the past year, is the type of person who deserves and inspires that kind of loyalty. Let’s think on that.

Now the rest goes under a read more, because I am going to keep rambling and be wordy

Why I don’t: He can be an asshole, and he’s an asshole in an embarrassing way. As in, if one is trying to say he’s not the little punk his KH counterpart is, you remember he still uses the insult chickenwuss (though that is a legacy insult/nickname since he’s known Zell since childhood--and, fyi, Squall uses it too) and he had a little gang in school. Even once he’s a military commander of an evil army set on world domination, he has some moments where his level of petty undermines him.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): The Dollet mission

Favorite line: Sorry, not sorry that the following is my favorite exchange of lines and that the prison torture scene is another of my favorite scenes. For context, Seifer has captured Squall, has him hanging up on the wall in crucified hero imagery, implied to be shirtless even though his character model isn’t because they talk about scar tissue or lack thereof from a recent shoulder injury/Squall being stabbed in the chest/shoulder area. Seifer has been electrocuting Squall for information. By this point, I might as well have put the whole scene here. Also, I am now going to blame Squall and Seifer text boxes in FFVIII for my own abuses of ellipses...

Seifer: " I was hoping you'd be there, Squall. So... how'd I look in my moment of triumph? My childhood dream, fulfilled. I've become the sorceress' knight."

Squall: [internal monologue] ...Sorceress' knight... ...His...romantic dream...? But... Seifer... Now, you're just a…[Out loud] "... torturer."

[Squall passes out.]

Seifer: "What did you say? [Steps closer] Passed out cold, eh? This is the scene where you swear your undying hatred for me! The tale of the evil mercenary versus the sorceress' knight!”

This isn’t just me all “mmm, tension.” Seifer has passed the moral event horizon, and it’s not just faceless NPCs that are collateral damage anymore. We’ve seen him on screen torture the protagonist, who is also one of the only people who he’s shown to have a real bond with that goes beyond superficial. Then we get this and see Seifer thinks he’s the good guy still, on a noble mission where he’s had to make painful sacrifices, and Squall is a representative of the power-hungry evil. Seifer’s been playing a different game, and had his will twisted via magic.

Favorite outfit: The Amano art where the white coat is cast off and he’s wearing the simple black shirt and black jeans under it. Symbolic? Maybe. I wouldn’t give up the coat though. I love the long white/gray coat, the outer embodiment of wanting to wear the white hat, but the desire easily getting tarnished, and the red cross that turns into a sword and becomes Seifer’s symbol and soon to appear other places, emblazoned nice and big on the sleeve. It’s the Cross of Saint James. TRADITIONALLY red represents the blood of Christ, the three lilies represent the honor of the apostle and reference Christ as lily of the valley, and the sword shape represents the torture that St.James suffered before his murder. HOWEVER, my opinion is that here it’s more vague/altered symbolism (For starters, there are other gods not the Christian God in this world) with a side of “looks cool.” We still have something that clearly calls to mind a mission from on high, innocence in the lilies, blood and blood cost, and then war/violence with the sword. And I love it. 

OTP: Seifer/Squall. I should not even start, but lest you think I am just in it for kinky torture scenes: We have these two who, in the beginning, are generally callous or mocking toward everyone, but make each other laugh/smile, see who each other are underneath and describe each other in “soft” terms even if they tease each other for it, repeatedly check in on each other to see if the other is okay, respect each other’s opinion and skills, and...you get the idea. In the words of Zell Dincht, I thought you two were rivals, but you’re all buddy-buddy. 

Pause for a second and let’s just say first impression. That opening fight where they scar each other’s faces? It takes place outside Balamb Garden and the area is shown so we see they are alone. Squall passes out. Squall wakes up in the infirmary within the Garden base. Squall has to explain what happened; people don’t already know. This kind of implies after Squall passed out, Seifer, bleeding from a head wound himself, picked Squall up and carried him home, allowing himself to collapse only when Squall was being safely tended to, because he’s that extra. This is his first (okay, second, after fireballs and face slashing) action in the game even though it’s offscreen. I mean, he could have also just called for help/ran for help, but that’s less fun.

 Seifer is so concerned with being a badass, but he’s admits to Squall all he’s ever wanted was to be the fairytale knight, not a mere soldier. Vulnerability and confession he wants romance....with the first time it’s brought up in game being while they are watching the sun set together, the traditional Square Red Sunset of Shipping. 

Seifer hesitates to defy orders, not for himself, but until he sees Squall is with him. Even though there were other “children of destiny” who all came from the same orphanage, Squall and Seifer were the ones who were never apart, never adopted until it was by a military/mercenary training program, and, even though it may speak more to brotherly than romantic from some angles, there’s a feeling of being the same, knowing each other down to the atoms, adopting an us against the world mindset that trumps trying to best each other when it comes down to it because they are the only constant. When Squall has his breakdown/ breakthrough of why he pushes people away/doesn’t let himself care/tries not to need anyone because people leave/are taken from him and he is scared he isn’t worthy of love and happiness until Rinoa challenges him, this may seem like a dismissal of Seifer, but you can also look at it from “I had no friends or family. I didn’t even have interest in speaking to anyone. I strived to be an unfeeling machine, because all emotion is pain...But also I couldn’t go 48 hours without seeing Seifer.”

Yeah, yeah, we know their main form of hanging out was beating the tar out of each other, but sometimes, especially in older media, this was its own brand of subtext. For more on how Seifer miiiight just view sparring let’s point out that “Isn’t this ROMANTIC?” and “Kneel” as a less easily interpreted as innuendo version of  “I want you on your knees” are battle quotes even in Kingdom Hearts sooo draw your own conclusion. 

We get a line where Squall makes it clear these were friendly matches looked at as pushing their limits beyond what they are allowed to in sanctioned spars, and he feels prepared to take on anything  now because of Seifer. Is it healthy communication  in real life? No! Is this real life? No! Plus, the facial scar was an accident, pretty clearly...on Seifer’s side...I could write another essay on how Seifer draws first blood, but it’s because on Squall’s failed block, AND THEN SQUALL GETS ANGRY AND RETALIATES WITH CLEAR PURPOSE AND MAKES THE OPENING SHOT INTO THE FIRST SIGN GOOD VERSUS BAD GUY ISN’T SO CLEAR CUT (even though they both shouldn’t have been going so hard in a friendly training match to begin with).

 Seifer’s later, repeated threats/expressed desire to give Squall additional scars once he goes evil? That is a different animal, and a horrible one, objectively. Not objectively? No comment. Okay, one comment. Mark you as mine. Two comments. He knows Squall’s lost some memories and he can’t stomach being the next thing forgotten so Squall needs physical reminders.

Hmmm, I was supposed to be talking about the ship, not just the sparring and scars. We can wrap it up with a Marge Simpson. “I just think they’re neat”

BUT ONE MORE THING

Squall’s jacket when he becomes Leon in Kingdom Hearts. His outfit is mostly the same, right? Except the back of the jacket now has a red patch of an emblem (of Rinoa’s angel wings, not Seifer’s cross...for the OT3 feel), and his fight with Sora he throws a fireball like Seifer’s signature. Just, you know, if you want bonus references/feeling.

Brotp: Fuu and Rai. They are willing to commit war crimes with this man, nurse him back from death’s door, and go into exile with him if he can’t return to a normal life even after a redemption arc. This section deserves to be long, but I am beginning to get talked out. Don’t take that as devaluing the friendship though. I’m glad he was allowed to keep his ride or dies in Kingdom Hearts. FRIENDSHIP! They love him, ya know?

Head Canon: What we see of him at the end of the game is a temporary situation and after he heals and refreshes for awhile he’d go back to Balamb and face consequences for his actions, and probably insist on consequences instead of leaning into “an evil sorceress bespelled me and slowly took my free will.” No hiding away in the wilderness. No crossing into and living his life in Esthar. No, “but in the end I broke free and would have been an active, onscreen part of saving the world if Square had let me join the party!” He would insist on being cast into a deep, dark cell. Squall uses pull to get him pardoned, but not before just, flat out, yelling at him for being a martyr.

Unpopular opinion: He did love Rinoa. It may have been a “shallow love,” but he wasn’t just dating her to pass time or because she played into his damsel who needs a hero mindset. There was emotion. He was prepared to die for her and Squall in Timber, and almost did--only being saved by Sorceress Edea...which wasn’t a kindness, but it all worked out in the end. Sure, he gets mind-controlled into using Rinoa as, basically, a human sacrifice and it isn’t Rinoa he wants stripped and brought to his room when we’re taking prisoners, but he cared about her. He does taunt her about their past relationship, but we’ve already established this is just part of his communication skillset.  Yes, I will elaborate more if asked, though it’s more feeling based than text based. 

A wish: If there’s ever a sequel, let him have put out the good in the world that was his dream and be seen as a hero. Let us see a matured and peaceful Seifer. 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: My one fear if they ever remake FFVIII instead of just porting it, is that some of the creative team have said they like the fan theory where you are dead part way through the game and the rest is a dying dream or purgatory. It’s creative stuff; I will say that. It’s not my favorite, and I don’t agree, but those kinds of fan interpretations when they go in depth are super cool. PLEASE LET THE INTEREST IN IT JUST BE THE SAME AS MINE OF THINKING IT’S CREATIVE BECAUSE MAKING THIS  CANON WOULD BE SO, SO BAD FOR EVERY CHARACTER.

5 words to best describe them: stubborn, misguided, paladin, romantic, petty

My nickname for them: I don’t really have one

#seifer almasy #seifer x squall #squall x seifer #such a long post and still not all or even communicated that well probably #you don't have all the facts the facts are i love him #tina-nina

[yekistraight]

Hey, could you explain what being a feminist means? I’ve heard all these terms before, and there’s this huge stigma around it. So do you think there’s a way you could clarify at least what your beliefs are, and what you believe it to be? I’m simply trying to study stuff and see what it’s become or is. Thank you.

Sorry I wrote so much i just wanted to make it comprehensive:

General definition of feminist is someone who believes in the socio-economic equality of the sexes. In the beginning this was a straightforward ideology to follow. Women needed to be equal to men. It’s only fair, there’s no reason not to be. But sharing power is not something the ruling majority particularly enjoys so there’s been some bumps in the road. Decades and decades of bumps.

The feminists of the past started this push a long time ago with one message: “we want to be taken seriously, we are humans too and we need rights that benefit us and protect us from you[men]” and they were right. Sex based crimes against women were happening at an alarming rate. So much so that it had become part of some cultures and traditions, meaning it would be defended and men would be protected while women basically died, physically and socially. Women lived in fear and helplessness, being sold a dream of subservience promoted by religion and ego in exchange for protection from men. What about the women that still, despite the odds, wanted to choose a different path? Well, they were brave enough to step out of line and others followed. They exist throughout history, inspiring other women will their bravery and confidence, proving that it was possible to have the power and authority that men had. Now imagine giving every woman that access to power? They’d have everything right? Well feminism didn’t start like that (it was racially exclusive actually) but fortunately the ideologies spread out through cities, across oceans and into continents where women wanted, no, NEEDED such power; the power to change their destinies that had been set upon them by another mere human being.

So feminism is like a sisterhood, where we’re only related by a common goal to protect each other while trying to defeat our common enemy. Here’s where the simplistic ideology begins to mutate based on strategy and cultural progression.

Feminism is a sisterhood, but not a monolith. There’s been different waves (eras) of feminism where each sisterhood used different tactics to achieve their goals for equality. Its like making a new checklist after the old one gets checked off. However there’s been one item that still needs a lot of work before ticking off and that’s dismantling gender roles. Gender roles are the root cause of every.single.thing. Toxic masculinity, performative femininity. Gender roles were created to control humans and keep them in their place. For a feminist to push her way into male dominated spaces, she must first acknowledge that gender roles have been constructed to work against her and break through it. So take note, everything is the way it is because of gender roles.

In this era, the sisterhood has been split into two major groups, two warring tribes if you will: libfems and radfems.

Liberal Feminists accept everyone. They use the tactic of assimilation, where they water down feminist ideologies to make it inclusive for everyone. They follow the lead of oppressed minorities who reclaimed slurs and instead reclaim methods tused to oppress women that past waves of feminists fought to dismantle. Remember what I said about gender roles? These women are bringing it back and think they’re reclaiming it. How do you reclaim something that hasn’t been dismantled yet?The only power they’re concerned with is the feeling of superiority that comes from thinking bowing down to the patriarchy is their idea. Their feminism tackles issues like rape, victim blaming and misogyny, things that affect them personally, while taking on the burden of other marginalised groups as their own, pushing their own goals to the backseat while feeling a self-righteous high. Basically, they’re activists who have lost the plot but would keep pushing blindly than admit it. The second group was born from libfems that wanted more than a feel good pat on the back from the patriarchy for not being too interfering.

Radical feminists are still following the original objective of their predecessors. They still have their eyes open to sex-based oppression and are aware there’s still a lot of work to be done. They don’t put the opposite sex’s needs above their own or let other group’s ideologies influence theirs and because of this, other groups as well as libfems have dubbed them as enemies to progress. Ironic isn’t it? The group that still fights for sexual equality has been silenced by none other than their own. Of course hatred for this group of feminists didn’t come out of nowhere. Radfems and their female-only values are presumed to hurt trans women, as trans women are biologically male and don’t have the same sex based experiences as biological women. Trans activists took these as transphobic fighting words and ostracised radfems, silencing them and their ideologies, claiming that everything they fought for was an attack against the trans community. Conservative americans also share some radfem values, basically the one on keeping the movement focused on female only issues, and because the right is notoriously bigoted (ironic because conservatives are the ones who uphold the gender roles feminists fight against so a conservative feminist is paradoxical) this is enough to tell people that radfems can’t be trusted. That they’re all racist, transphobic white supremacists. Because all groups that share similar ideologies are bad. The public, not wanting to be on the Unpopular Opinion side of history, shifted away and further pushed radfems into the background while libfems and their blind acceptance values were hailed as the patron saints of feminism.

So what feminism was and what it is now are vastly different. It started as a movement in different countries with different goals, then it graduated and took on more serious topics. It was like a game where every level gets tougher to prepare you for that last boss, the one who holds all the power you need to physically change your reality.

Today in the year 2021, young girls are being told that it’s feminist to enjoy selling their bodies for money. That it’s the same as working in a mine (a common comparative statement). That it’s feminist to look as womanly as the gender roles men created dictate. That it’s feminist to watch porn and be happy your romantic partner watches it to; this means you’re sexually liberated. Grown women go to Tiktok full of minors in the style of pimps to show off stacks of money they’ve made from pleasing men. They say “i did it because i wanted to and so should you”. Minors are all over twitter trying to lure men with financial dominatrix tags. They can’t wait till they become legal to start selling their nude bodies to men. They were told it would make them feel powerful. People who are skeptical are shamed into silence, because the popular crowd is always in control and no one wants to be the odd one out.

Now compare that to women who spend time researching horrifying news of sexual violence still happening today. Women still having to sell themselves to survive in 2021 is a clear indicator that we’re still not taken seriously. Sex buying, pimping and displaying women as commodities is the reason little girls are being stolen off the streets and shipped off to a disgusting dreg who think he’s owed sexual satisfaction.

Radfems want to end child sex trafficking, sex slavery, wedding night virginity checks, honour killings, femicide, sewing up little girls vaginas to avoid them exploring their sexuality before their wedding night and bring attention to way more hardcore shit being run by top dogs who are cooperating with the old powers that influence the governments.

Whose side do you think the media will be on? Whose side is worth not risking ruffling feathers?

Feminism has become many things now. You can choose the one that reminds you of the cruelty of man or the one that creates a comfortable fantasy of false empowerment while women’s violence continues. Both get stigmatised anyway.

If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m a radical feminist.

I’m an autistic radfem living in a backwards country where the lgbt community can’t thrive so there’s no pride parades, no trans movement, nothing that can be publicised anyway. I can’t create a fantasy where everything works because nothing works. Women are dying around me everyday for being female, my best friend is trapped with an abusive father who hates her for being a female firstborn (something babies get killed for), I’m not worthy of basic respect without a husband, a poor woman from a muslim state gets death threats from her fellow muslims for wearing a backless top while a rich married one gets praised and women can’t apply for anything important without a man’s permission.

Now why on earth would i want to pamper the gender that made and uphold those laws? The battle here is still greatly a battle of the sexes. Despite this stale level of progress, our movement, like many others have allies. Male allies are great, allies are great, we need them to push buttons yes but also remember they can never fully understand what we feel. All they can do is try their best to help and in return we give them acknowledgement and support; so no we’re not supposed to be misandrists or transphobes. We just hate anyone who uplifts what we and our ancestors have been fighting to destroy.

That’s all

#radfems do interact #radical feminism #feminism #terf

[solohux]

Here's my prompt! "Armitage Hux was never evacuated off of Arkanis with his father, the poor boy was left behind to die. Fortunately for Armitage, he did not die. He was rescued by the Rebels and subsequently adopted by the Dameron family! He met Ben Solo for the first time as a teenager, when he and his little brother Poe went over to meet their new neighbors:- Luke Skywalker and his padawans."

Poe is 7, Ben is 14 and Armitage is 15

“Tidge! Tidge, wake up! It’s moooorning!”

Despite the sounds of his little brother’s excitable yells and the feeling of him bouncing up and down on his bed, Armitage wakes up with a scowl on his face. It may be morning on Yavin 4 but in Armitage’s world, there’s still another few hours worth of sleep left before he has to get up and do his chores for the day. But clearly, Poe has other plans.

“Poe. Get off.”

“Come on, Tidge,” the boy bounces down atop his brother, landing on his back and shuffling forward until his lips are right next to Armitage’s ear. “Ben is waiting!”

Suddenly, Tidge is awake and alert. Of course. It’s Saturday, which means the padawans from the Jedi Temple that lies just across the river from the Dameron homestead are free for the day, free to engage in whatever activity they want, including a trip along the river to find the famed Force tree.

“Then let me get dressed,” Tidge rolls over and pushes Poe off of him, leaping to playfully cover the giggling boy with his blankets. “And we can go.”

Armitage is quick to grab his clothes and his towel before rushing into the refresher across the hall, washing and dressing in record time. He would never admit to anyone that he has a miniscule crush on Ben Solo but that doesn’t stop him from taking an extra moment to fluff up his copper hair into a cute-looking fashion, the very same style that Ben once complimented and sent Armitage’s mind into a tizzy.

The refresher door opens with force, making Armitage jump.

“Hurry up!” Poe jumps up and down in the doorway, half-dressed in his brown pants and green jumper—though the neckline of the jumper is completely askew and his little hands aren’t through the sleeves properly. The boy jumps and laughs as Armitage makes a grab for him to fix his outfit but he’s much too quick, darting down the stairs where Kes is making a caf for himself.

“Where’s the fire, Starfighter? Slow down!” Kes smiles, standing in the kitchenette.

“We’re meeting Ben and going to find the Force tree!”

“Meeting Ben, eh?” Armitage comes into the kitchen just in time to see Kes smirk. “I’m sure Armitage will be pleased with that.”

“Dad,” Armitage rolls his eyes. “Ben is just—”

“He’s the best, Dad! He’s training to be a Jedi!” Poe mimics a lightsaber and its sounds.

Armitage rolls his eyes, “Come here, you. You can’t go exploring with your jumper looking like that.”

For once, Poe stands still as Armitage bends down beside him and fixes the collar and the sleeves of his jumper, ruffling his dark curls into place too whilst he’s there. The boy’s big brown eyes light up, sparkling, as he stares at his big brother, taking him by surprise when he leaps forward and throws his arms around Armitage’s neck.

“I like Ben but not as much as I like you,” Poe says, hugging Armitage and climbing onto him, wrapping his short legs around his brother’s hips. “You’ll always be my favourite, Tidge. Okay?”

Armitage smiles, standing up with Poe held in his arms, resting on his hip. “I’m glad, because you’re my favourite too.”

Little Poe giggles quietly, obviously happy at his brother’s words.

“My boys,” Kes comes behind them and ruffles Poe’s hair, then Armitage’s. “Now, Mum has packed your breakfasts in your bags and you promise that you’ll be careful next to the river, right?”

“Yes, Dad,” Armitage nods, setting Poe down and helping him put on his rucksack.

“And Poe? You’ll listen to what Armitage tells you, won’t you? If he asks you to hold onto his hand then you’ll hold his hand, yes?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Poe salutes. “Promise!”

“Then off you go, explorerers!” Kes mock salutes too, making Poe smile. “I think Ben is already waiting for you outside.”

Armitage ignore the wink that his father gives him, hoping that he’s just playing with him and he doesn’t know of his crush on the young padawan, but his embarrassed blushing likely gives the truth away. Kes is right; Ben is waiting outside the homestead for the two Dameron boys to join him, dressed in his casual attire instead of his cream and brown Jedi robes.

“Ben!” Poe charges at the padawan, who lifts him up with ease and swings him around.

“Be careful!” Armitage runs to catch up with his little brother whilst his heart hammers wildly in his chest, though he’s unsure whether it’s the sight of Ben in his cute outfit or the sight of his brother being thrown around.

“Uh oh,” Ben smiles, his cheeks lighting up. “Looks like Big Brother Armie is out to stop our fun. What do you say, Poe? Should we go on this adventure without him?”

“Nooooo!” Poe cries, running back to Armitage and holding onto his leg. “Tidge has to come!”

“I was kidding,” Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m thankful that I’m an only child.”

“You’re just jealous that I have a strong protector and you don’t,” Armitage smirks, ruffling Poe’s hair.

“I’m a Jedi. I don’t need a protector. I’m going to be the strongest Jedi who ever lived when I’m older.”

“I suppose you need something to strive towards,” Armitage walks ahead with Poe still hugging his leg. “Because you certainly aren’t going to be the best pilot, is he, Poe?”

“No! That’s gonna be me!” Poe zooms off into the woods just up ahead, his arms spread wide as he makes the sounds of a ship flying through space. Armitage watches him carefully but is distracted by Ben’s presence lurking so closely beside him.

“How do you deal with all of his energy?” Ben asks, laughing.

“He’s my brother,” Armitage shrugs. “What else could I do?”

“Abandon him,” Ben laughs but then pauses, freezing on the spot whilst Armitage keeps walking, ignoring the sinking feeling in his belly at Ben’s choice of words. “Tidge, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“No, it’s okay,” Armitage turns around. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

But Ben’s expression doesn’t change. It remains soft, apologetic, as he closes the gap between then and keeps his gaze locked with Armitage’s, even as he reaches up to touch his temple and the two become connected in the Force. Without being sensitive to it, Armitage can still feel a gentle prodding in his mind as though Ben’s powers aren’t as refined as they should be but it isn’t uncomfortable, Armitage thinks. It feels…familiar.

“You’re sad,” Ben says, closing his eyes and sighing. “And angry. You’re happy with your family here but there’s turmoil in your heart about what Brendol did to you.”

“I-I don’t—”

“You want revenge. You want to find him and make him pay.” Ben’s eyes knit together in a frown. A chill runs down Armitage’s spine. “The need to make him hurt consumes you. It’s darkening your heart, it’s tempting you down a path that your new family saved you from.”

“Ben? Ben, please stop.”

“You can’t look for him, Tidge,” Ben grits his teeth, eyes still closed as he reads deep into Armitage’s mind. “He’ll make you fall. You aren’t the person…you aren’t the person you were born to be anymore. He’ll corrupt you, killing him for what he did to you will turn you.”

“Ben, stop!”

“All remaining systems will bow—”

“Ben!” Armitage slaps his friend’s hand away from his temple and breaks their connection, leaving both boys gasping for breath and stood frozen to the ground on the edge of the woodland. “I-I’m sorry, but it hurt. Those words, they hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben shakes his head. “I went too far. I thought it might help you.”

“Here,” Armitage hands the padawan a cloth from his rucksack, pointing to his own nose to indicate the blood that drips from Ben’s.

“Thanks. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It looks like it hurt you more than it hurt me.” Ben’s words still echo inside of Armitage’s mind, sore like an open wound. “What did you mean by I’m not the person I was born to be’?”

Ben bites his lip, “Being adopted by the Damerons has altered your destiny. The Force was whispering ‘Starkiller, ‘Starkiller’ over and over again whilst I was in your mind. Your heart has been saved from the dark side but, Tidge, looking for revenge on Brendol will send you back down that path.”

“I have no path,” Armitage shakes his head, taking hold of Ben’s hand to lead in forward to follow little Poe into the woods, worried that his friend will be a little unsteady on his feet. “None of us have paths. Things happen and we react in the way we think is right. Right?”

“The Force has a path for us all.”

“Not me,” Armitage shrugs.

“But, the dark side—”

“If that’s what I see as the right choice for me then I’ll make that decision but it isn’t. Just because the Fooorce tells you something about your future doesn’t mean that it’s true.”

“It…doesn’t?”

“No! Ben, kriff. What do they teach you in that Jedi school of yours?”

But to Armitage’s surprise, Ben doesn’t reply but instead stares at the ground with the cloth still pressed against his bleeding nose.

Armitage isn’t sure what’s troubling his Jedi friend but up ahead, Poe hangs upside down from a tree, swinging and laughing, calling their names to join him, but Ben remains quiet and reserved as though he’s contemplating Armitage’s words about choosing his own path so intensely that he needs a moment within himself. With his hand still holding onto Ben’s as they follow the river through the woods, Armitage finds himself forgetting about his past and only about his future, his future with his Jedi friend and his little brother.

#kylux #benarmie #but not really #m:writing #armitage dameron au

[noonachronicles]

Everlong Pt. 9

Kwon Jiyong/ G Dragon X Reader

Word count: 16k (LOL WTF)

Warnings: Language, Smut.  

Genre: Hades/Jiyong. Greek God AU. Fantasy.

A/N: I had been feeling confident about this but then got nervous because....this is longer than most of my one shots and if everyone that’s been waiting so patiently hates it and it flops I’ll probably cry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Update Tag: @kathrynwynterbourne , @keepthelightoff​, @blue-lungs, @violagoth , @un-idntfied , @optimizche , @de-gabyconamor , @134340-cm @wonderful39530​ @ohgeezitsbreadgenie​

Moodboard by bae @memoiresofaneternaldreamer​

“Who is she?”

Hades burst through the entrance to the Hall of Destiny already panting. He didn’t have a lot of time, he’d left you asleep in the forest of Asphodel and had to make sure he was back by your side before you woke up. The Fates, with no surprise to him, sat unbothered by his abrupt entrance. Having already expected him.

“No one.” Lachesis grinned.

“Someone.” Clothos smacked her sister.

With a sigh Atropos finally looked up from the work in her lap. “We already warned you of her. I’m not sure why you’re coming to us now, Hades.”

“Why? Why did she come into my life? How is she connected to this world? It’s as if she is one of us without being one of us. This is impossible. I need an explanation.” Hades was frustrated. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, tell me what it means!”

Clothos found his emotions interesting. Hades most typical manners were anger or calm. To see him merely frustrated was curious. “She is bound to you.”

“How?” He asked, his heart was racing, he needed to know. He had to make sense of you.

“We don’t know. Perhaps it was fate.” Atropos smirked. “She was born a mortal. And then by chance, it would seem, her thread intersected with your own. Now she is becoming one of the immortal, becoming... more.”

“Immortal?” He nearly shrieked, “I don’t understand. How does this happen? You don’t just become an immortal. You are born into it or you do something so worthy it’s gifted to you. It’s not as if she’s done something to deserve the right. You have to do something to become immortal.”

Lachesis grew annoyed by his claims. “You speak as if this was her choice, Hades. As if she asked for this. As if we three played a hand in it…This was you. Your thread found hers. Your thread intertwined. You made it your fate to never let her go and now she is bound, likely forever.”

“Show me.”

“You know we cannot.”

“SHOW ME!” Hades bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall.

Clothos stood reluctantly. Of the three sisters she feared him the most and thus was most willing to break the rules for fear of his wrath. He followed her as she slowly made her way through the hall to a door that stood wide and bright. Made of solid gold. She placed a gentle palm on the door, there was no handle or knob, and it seemed to have swung open of its own accord. The walls were dark stone but you’d never notice. The room was glowing bright, like looking into the sun. Hades squinted for a bit until his eyes finally adjusted.

The light from the room came from the strings that draped the walls like curtains, there were hundreds. All of them a warm and glowing gold that matched the door to the room. The Chamber of the Immortal. In the center of the room were five gold threads, thick as ship rope, hung from the ceiling. His and his siblings ropes. Clothos made her way to the five threads and beckoned Hades to follow.

“This is you.” She said placing her hand onto one of the ropelike threads.

As she did several smaller gold threads started to appear. Some of them disappeared into his entirely, some of them pulled away and then would attach back further down, some would attach and break away and never came back at all. They were all of the different immortal souls that had come into contact with the god in his lifetime.

Clothos lifted her other hand to one of the threads that seemed to appear out of nowhere, starting a few feet above where her hand was placed, nowhere near where his began. “And this is her.”

His eyes started at the top of your thread and followed it down. “So she really is no one?”

“She was no one and then she became someone to you. We don’t know how. We almost didn’t notice at all.” Clothos said quietly as he looked at how the two threads intertwined. “You can see it happened quite slowly at first. Barely meeting, just here and there. Now hers aligns with yours side by side, and may soon become fully encompassed, making her a true immortal.”

Your thread began as mortals threads do, as a twine. A normal and dull, beige tone. It remained the same for quite some time, the majority of your life so far. Then there was a slight unraveling of both your thread and his. They hooked together once or twice, a thin and weak connection. And then, as Clothos had said his thread had started to encompass your own. Pulling unraveled bits into his golden thread until yours had nearly disappeared into his completely. Only a single strand of beige was still visible. Towards the bottom your thread started to break apart from his once more, only this time your thread was gold like his. Smooth and silky like the immortals. His eyes followed the thread for a bit longer until it seemed to disappear. It didn’t end, an immortals thread didn’t end. It just simply faded from view.

“What’s this?” He asked the concern in his voice undeniable.

“A choice.” She answered softly.

He didn’t understand. “A choice that I make?”

Clothos shook her head, “A choice for her to make.”

“When will it happen?”

“Soon.”

“What will happen once she’s chosen?”

“It depends on the choice she makes.” Clothos felt pity at his exasperated sigh, “I can not tell you, Hades. You know too much now as it were.”

He held your thread in his palm and barely above a whisper he said, “...but she ate the fruit.”

Clothos nearly laughed, “That only works if you’re willing to reinforce it.”

“I’m going to!” He pouted, “I might...I could.”

“You were never going to make that girl stay here against her will.”

“I love her.”he was so frustrated he thought he might cry.

He was a god! He could have anything he wanted, do anything he wanted to. He made the rules. However he also knew Clothos was right. He would never make you do anything you didn’t want to.

“You love her so much you gave her immortality without even thinking about it. That you love her is indisputable.”

“But I could still lose her?”

“It’s her choice, Hades.” she said with a hint of pity. “You’ve given her a gift no god has ever given a mortal before. Absolute free will, completely unrestricted, no caveats.”

“Cou-“ he took a nervous breath, “Giving up her soul for someone else, could that do this?”

“Well, yes. In that case she would relinquish her immortality and her thread would be cut immediately. That could very well be why her future is so uncertain.” It was curious to the sister to see Hades in such turmoil, in this moment she didn’t fear him but she chose to help him regardless. “Perhaps... her decision could be persuaded.”

“Persuaded?” he asked hopefully.

“You are the god of the underworld, Hades. Use your tools.”

“Tools? What tools?” He asked more confused than before.

“You’re a clever god, you’ll figure it out.” She said with a small smile before going back to join her sisters.

Hades stood in the Chamber of the Immortal for quite a bit longer. He held your connected threads in his palm and thought back to every moment the two of you had shared together. The night you’d met, your first real conversation, the dream you’d shared…He inhaled quickly and patted his jacket where he felt his notebook. Maybe there would be some questions to answer. Perhaps he’d have to explain who he was. Despite all that he knew what he had to do now, this might be his only chance.

-

When you woke up the next morning Jiyong was by your side. Your arm was still wrapped snugly around his waist and his arm was thrown over your shoulder. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before leaning away from his chest, which you’d been resting on. He’d been watching you quietly, curiously.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” you blushed, your eyes moved down his body in an effort to avoid his soft gaze. You realized your leg had wrapped around his. You quickly removed yourself from him and sat up, “sorry...”

He chuckled lightly at the panic that was clear on your face. “Don’t worry about it. Are you ready for more walking?”

You groaned, your feet were so sore, just thinking about walking had them screaming. “Where we’re going, is it far?”

“No, not really. And we can stay there for a bit if you want, really get some rest. Eat something nice.” he said enticingly.

“Real food?” you asked, stomach grumbling as you stood up, “What are we waiting for?”

You followed Jiyong through the rest of the forest, amazed that all of the souls you’d seen the night before had just disappeared into the trees like they’d never even been there. Part of you hoped that when you died that this is where you’d come. You hoped you’d been good enough for it. It was such a neutral feeling being in the forest, no melancholy or pain. If you got to choose this place is what you’d pick.

Just out of the forest there was another path to follow. The two of you didn’t speak too much on the walk, but you did bask in the comfort of his presence. It was nice to have a moment where the two of you weren’t tense and arguing or angry with one another about something stupid. It felt like there had been too much of that recently.

You’d always thought you’d known comfort with Jiho. The way the two of you kind of just fell into one another so effortlessly. It had felt comfortable with him. Nothing had ever really felt different between when you’d just met to becoming his roommate and, finally, his girlfriend. There was just something easy about each transition, something so natural that had made complete sense at the time. Being around Jiyong was different, you had to admit. You weren’t even dating but there was still this feeling in your gut that drove you crazy. With Jiho it was always so simple. It just was. There was never anything to question or to worry about.

With Jiyong there was comfort, yes. There was an ease to being near him, absolutely. However, with Jiyong there was also this vibrating energy just under the surface of every other feeling you had. You realized after really thinking about it that the energy flowed through your veins constantly not just during moments of comfort and ease. It didn’t matter if you were yelling at each other, or if he was making you laugh or if everything was calm and it was like this, just the two of you in silence, existing together.

There was always this extra level to how you felt when you were with him. It was like an energy telling you how much you wanted it, every second of it, all the good and all the bad. If you were going to fight you wanted to fight with him. If you were going to laugh you wanted to laugh with him. If you were crying you wanted to cry with him near you. Taking the time to think about it you realized that the underlying current was passion.  

You tried to think back to when you and Jiho first got tog

ether, tried to remember if there had been passion then. You knew there hadn’t been recently, just before he died. The two of you had started just going through the motions. You genuinely believed that it’s just what happened in relationships as they aged. Jiho had been your only real relationship, it was the only one you knew. You had no comparisons. But something sat heavy on your chest the very second you met Jiyong. Something that made you wonder if you were wrong all along about... everything.  

“Do you see that?” You asked after quite a while.

Finally climbing out of your own thoughts you had noticed the silhouettes of flying figures just ahead. They seemed small at first, the size of crows, but as they grew near you realized they were much, much larger. Nearing the size of small planes. They looked like a bird of prey at first, but as you looked longer you realized they were some sort of bird, reptilian hybrid. Their teeth were razor sharp and several feet long. You jumped back, completely disturbed by the vision of a bird with teeth like that. As if sensing your fear one of the birds turned towards the pair of you with a squawk that blanketed the open air around you and appeared to descend.

“Oh my god, Jiyong!” Trembling in fear you threw yourself into his arms for protection, burying your face into his chest.

His eyes grew wide and he slowly wrapped his arms around you. He had been thinking a lot on this trip, about who he was before you. He realized that he’d actually been very unfamiliar with the urge to alleviate someone else's anxiety. He’d never been overly affectionate, the way he’d wanted to be when you were around. While he was being painfully honest with himself, he recognized that he never connected with Persphone like he did with you. He had been far from the perfect husband, he knew that. Even though he tried to make her happy, beyond that, he never really paid attention to her needs. He’d been selfish. He didn’t want to make those mistakes when it came to you.

He dipped his face closer to yours. The floral and spice scent of you clouded his senses momentarily. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before whispering against your ear, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

The aviguis, one of Hades beasts, often searched the underworld for attempted escapees, though they usually stuck closer to Tartarus. The bird, upon seeing his master was only diving down for attention and maybe a snack, as Hades often kept treats for his pets. Jiyong waved the bird away as discreetly as possible, keeping one arm tightly wrapped around you. Although slightly put out, the bird left without much of a fuss, just one more loud screeching squawk. It’d been so close when it released the loud cry that it shook the ground you stood on, causing you to press yourself into Jiyong even further.

Continuing to rub your back his fingers tangled in your hair. He lifted his hand up further, his palm cupping your neck, his fingertips gently massaging your hairline. You leaned your head back, into his hand, with a small sigh. So comforted by the feel of him your eyes had been closed. When your eyelids finally fluttered open he was staring down at you. Your eyes locked with his and you felt breathless. Overwhelmed by the perfectly curved shape of his eyes, the rich chocolate color, the surprising amount of affection reflected in them. He tilted his head ever so slightly and leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. You closed your eyes again, but then squirmed reluctantly in his arms.

“I can’t.” You said softly. The two of you already so close that your lips brushed against his, even as you declined his proposition for a kiss. “...Jiho.”

“Right...I’m sorry.” Jiyong took several deep breaths, collecting himself, before moving his lips just passed your mouth and leaving a small kiss against your cheek.

The second he pulled away from you, removing his arms from around your body, you missed his presence. He was only inches from you but suddenly he wasn’t close enough anymore. He started walking away, it wasn’t in heated frustration like it had been in the garden. It was relaxed, his hands in his pockets, on a leisurely stroll. As you followed you thought for sure you were more upset right now than he was that you hadn’t kissed just then.

“I was married once.” Jiyong said simply, casually reaching down and grabbing a small stone from the path.

“What? Seriously?” you asked, completely surprised by the confession.

“Yep.” he tossed the rock up high before catching it in his palm.

“You seem too young to have been married and divorced already. It must not have lasted long.”

“I don’t know.” he sighed, “felt like a milenium to me.”

“Such a drama queen” you said giving him a nudge. “Why’d you split up?”

“She was...we were young...and she never really wanted to be with me anyway. It got tiring, always trying to make someone so stubborn and so miserable happy.”

“You’re kidding. That sounds like the ideal circumstance for a marriage. A really stable foundation for a relationship.” you grinned.

Jiyong scoffed as he looked over at you, “You think you’re so cute when you’re sarcastic.”

“Maybe, but you think so too.”

“Yeah.”

The single word stopped you. You stood staring at him as he continued on walking. It took him a beat to realize you weren’t by his side any longer.

He paused, turning back to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just-” you shrugged before slowly making your way to him. “I expected you to say something snarky, not just agree with me.”

“So what? I think you’re cute.” he admitted as if it were nothing, “Beautiful even. Gorgeous. Stunning. Radiant. Breathtaking.”

“Stop.” you blushed furiously.

Jiyong laughed, “Why? Are you embarrassed?”

“No, it’s just…you don’t really mean it.”

It was his turn to stop in his tracks. Only he grabbed your wrist, stopping you with him. His eyes locked with yours, making your breath catch in your chest for a second time in all of ten minutes. “I do mean it. Of course I mean it. You know that, don’t you?”

And suddenly it was there again. That unshakable urge to kiss him and touch him. To give into every sexual impulse you’d ever known. Obviously you thought he might be interested in you. At the very least he’d wanted to kiss you, but even that didn’t have to mean anything.

It could have just meant that you had shared a very close proximity to each other for the last couple of days and there was some naturally built tension between the two of you. You looked at him and wondered how someone so beautiful could ever think you were attractive too. The subtle pout on his lips, the softness in his eyes, even his cheeks and his nose. With a deep breath you turned away, unable to take him in any longer. Instead you looked passed him a little ways away.

“What are those?” You asked eyeing a pair of large ivory towers in the distance.

Distracted, Jiyong turned to look as well, “That’s the towers of Elysium.”

“Towers? I thought Elysium was a field, like Asphodel was supposed to be.”

“Consistent.” He grinned. “Elysium was meant to be a paradise for fallen gods and the worthy at heart. Being stuck in a crowded field of wandering souls isn’t exactly a paradise for anyone. So some adjustments were made.”

“What’s inside of them?” You asked curiously.

“It’s hard to explain.” He said before biting his lip trying to think of how to describe it to you. “I guess, they’re paradises.”

“Paradises? More than one?” You asked and started to walk towards them.

“Not everyone is going to have the same expectations of paradise. Each tower has hundreds of stories and each story has hundreds of doors and through the doors are personal paradises of each of the worthy souls. Different souls, different versions of paradise.”

“And that’s where we’re going?” He looked over at you all wide eyed and excited.

“It was thinking it would be a nice, safe place to spend the day, maybe even stay for the night.” He shrugged.

”Wait...you mean like stay in one of the paradises?” You asked, looking over at him, “Ji, that would be so cool. I really want to see one. What if I never get the chance again? I’m not...like a great human specimen. I don’t know where I’ll go when I die, besides possibly getting stuck in the valley of sad roses.”

He groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. “I told you, you don’t belong there!”

You only hummed skeptically in response as the two of you continued down the path towards the towers. After just a few moments of silence between the two of you, you asked “Is that where you came up with your Hades story? Your own experience?”

He almost seemed nervous, but quickly wiped the look from his face with a smile. “I’m disappointed it took you so long to realize…”

You scoffed, “Yeah well, I figured you were too smart to get stuck in a shitty relationship. Apparently not.”

“Ohhh, okay.” he chuckled, “Smart people make relationship mistakes all the time. You should know.”

Your mouth fell open with a gasp, you tried your best not to laugh. “That was a good dig. I concede.”

“Thank you.” he said with a dramatic bow.

“Seriously though, sorry about your wife.”

He just shrugged, “It’s fine. My story isn’t over yet, right?”

“Definitely not.” you thought maybe you responded a little too enthusiastically and followed up with, “Probably.”

“Well which is it?” he laughed, “definitely not or probably not.”

“A guy like you? Definitely not.”

“What does that mean? A guy like me.” he asked

You blushed, “Just, you know…”

He turned to look at you but you’d been staring at your shoes as you walked, “I really don’t. Please tell me what kind of guy you think I am.”

Perfect. You thought to yourself.

“You’re like...really pretty or handsome...both. You’re just good looking or whatever. Obviously you have a career. Although I’m still not clear on what you do what is clear is that you make bank. You dress nicely and take care of yourself. You’re a real man in a sea of manchildren. You’re-” you paused. You knew if didn’t stay on surface compliments you might go too far. You could say too much and get yourself in trouble.

“Please?” he asked again, softer this time.

“It’s nothing I haven’t told you before.” you thought back to your embarrassing unrequited boat confession.

“Then it should be no problem telling me again.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance and sighed, “Fine. I’ve never not felt safe when you were around. You have a fearlessness and an arrogance that just makes me certain that no matter what the circumstance you’d be able to take care of me. Which, you know, is something a person likes to have in a partner. You drench everything in sarcasm and humor. Sometimes it makes it really difficult to know when to take you seriously. When you are serious, you’re always very warm, and kind. You are unbelievably thoughtful. You care. You try to appear nonchalant all the time, but you aren’t…”

“Stop.” he said suddenly and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“There’s more.”

“I can’t...it’s fine, just stop.” he wanted to cry or kiss you. Or he wanted to kiss you so hard he could cry. You saw him so differently than everyone else did. You saw him how he wished he would be seen.

“Pearly gates?” you asked looking up at the gate you’d come to that surrounded the towers. You could tell Ji had shut down a little and wanted to change the subject for him.

He rubbed his eyes, hoping to come off tired rather than emotional before looking up at the gate. It was made of white marble and gold but the marble did look like a pearl. He shrugged as he moved to unlock it, “Yeah, kind of a joke I guess.”

“Do you think Hades thinks he’s a really funny guy? He seems like he might.” you commented as you walked into Elysium.

He didn’t respond right away, just walked you towards the closest tower, and up the few marble steps towards the entryway, “Do you think he’s funny?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know him...but there’s potential for him.”

“Do you think I’m funny?”

“Comedic genius.”

“Well thank you,” finally he smiled as he opened the large glass door for you, “and welcome to paradise.”

Stepping inside, your mouth fell at the sheer size of the lobby. It was easily three stories high. The floor was a polished white marble, almost blindingly white. You actually felt guilty taking your first few steps inside. Your sneakers didn’t seem appropriate attire for walking on such beautiful, clean flooring. There were massive black marble pillars that lined the sides of the room, and you realized between each set of pillars were gold doors. Looking up at the arched ceiling you noticed the painting that covered every inch. Very sistine chapel vibes.  

“Wow,” you muttered unable to look away from the ornate painting on the ceiling. “I was not expecting anything this fancy.”

“Is this fancy?” he asked curiously, as if he really couldn’t see it. “What were you expecting?”

“It’s just so renaissance Italy, I was expecting more futuristic hospital.”

Jiyong let out an uncharacteristic snort, “Your idea of paradise aesthetic is a futuristic hospital?”

You rolled your eyes, you guessed it did sound pretty stupid. “Maybe! Maybe I like a very clean hospital look, very high tech, space stuff.”

“Lies!” he laughed, “Such a liar.”

He kept laughing as he brought you over to one of the many gold doors. You realized as he pressed a tiny button beside it that they were all elevators. Once inside the elevator he told you to pick a floor, any one you wanted. So you closed your eyes and pressed. The elevator ride to the 62nd floor was quick and smooth. It felt like nothing at all before the doors opened.

The hall was very quiet and looked mostly like a ritzy old hotel. There was a maroon carpet that lined the dark wood flooring, white doors with gold trim. Beside each door was a gold plaque with a number engraved. Jiyong hummed thoughtfully as he walked you down the hallway before finally stopping in front of one of the doors. 6233.

“Ready?” He asked placing his hand on the doorknob.

You nodded enthusiastically and he opened the door to let you inside. It was just like walking through the front door of a poorly lit apartment as the lights were off and the drapes were closed. Even still it was light enough to see the walls of the living area were a mint green that made you cringe. There was a gilded crown moulding along the ceiling and a beautifully designed persian rug on the ground. Off to one side was an office with a small writing desk, at least the walls in that room had a dark wood paneling and wasn’t the horrible green. The couches and chairs were all made of elaborately carved walnut with pink velvet cushions. There was a porcelain tea set on the table that looked like it was from a thousand years ago.  

Grabbing the tiny silver teaspoon between your fingers you gave the tea a stir. “This place is very fancy too. Very European, but less like Italy, and more like an old lady's house.”

“Do you not like it?” He asked moving around the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

“It’s very pretty, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not my,” you were going to say ‘cup of tea’. You thought the joke would have been worthy of Hades himself. Instead your voice caught in your throat.

You had moved to the window to pull back the curtain for more light. Plus you’d been curious about the view. Eyes wide with enthusiasm you dragged the curtains open completely and looked over your shoulder at a smirking Jiyong.

“We’re in Paris!” He nodded as you looked back out at the view. The Eiffel Tower sitting smack dab in the middle of the picture window. “Wait, is it real? Or is this like a smoke and mirrors, visual effects thing?”

“This is really, truly, Paris.”

As you looked down below you took in every fascinating detail. After what honestly took too long, you realized there was something very off about the scene in front of you. “Where are all the cars? Why are there so many horses? Jiyong...when are we?”

“We are in Paris in the 1890’s. This is the home of Oscar Wilde. There is a cafe a few blocks away that he really likes to frequent for writing.” He was being so nonchalant, you wanted to scream. “This is his paradise.”

“Are you joking? Is this a joke?” you practically shrieked.

He watched with much amusement as you revisited every inch of the apartment and all of its telltale details. The coat on the rack by the door, black with a thick fur collar and wrists. Cluttered writing desk in the office by the window covered in loose leaf papers, some blank and some covered in lines and scribbles. In the corner was a brown leather chair and beside it was a stack of books piled up to the arm rest.  

You dragged your hand over the writing desk and looked over at Jiyong, “So, does your paradise have to be somewhere you’ve been before? Some place real? What’s the deal?”

“A person’s paradise is limited only by their imagination.”

“Elysium,” you shook your head in surprise, “I never would have guessed that for Oscar.”

“I-” Jiyong paused as you looked over at him, “I think Hades has a fondness for the classics.”

“Huh.” you mused, making your way back over to him, “Hades is an art snob. Who knew?”

“He scoffed, “He’s not a snob. He just has an appreciation for a creative, original mind.”

“Is that how you move in and out of the underworld so easily?” you asked, “By being an ass kisser?”

“I’ve never-” he started to defend himself and then stopped, “Seeing as you’ve never been nice a day in your life, I can see where you might confuse kindness with ass kissing.”

You pouted, “You don’t think I’m nice?”

“Try.” he grinned, “Say something nice.”

With your lips slightly parted, as if ready to respond, you froze. Everything you thought to say was too shallow. Comments about how good he looked standing there with the stubble that had been collecting on his usually clean shaven face. Or they were too deep for such a lighthearted conversation like this. I love you, you’d thought. I love you was something nice to say.  

“No thoughts,” you muttered grumpily, “ head empty.”

“Not a single nice thing to say?”

“You really think I’m mean?” you asked quietly.

His shoulders fell immediately, “Y/n, it was a joke. Honestly? I think you’ve never been mean a day in your life.”

“I can be mean.” you argued, “I’m not a pushover. Am I? Do you think I’m a pushover?”

He scratched the back of his head and laughed, “Do you want to mean or do you want to be nice? Pick one so we can move on.”

“I want to be both!” you said in a gentle whine.

“Fine!” he grabbed your face in his hands.”You’re equal parts mean and nice. There’s never been a more perfectly balanced human being.”

A pleased smile spread across your face as he dropped his hands.”Thank you, that's all I wanted to hear you say. You think I’m the perfect human being.”

“Except that’s not what I said.” he responded, following you as you made your way out of the room.

“It’s what you think though. You think I’m perfect.” you said stepping out of the Paris Paradise and into the hallway. “Don’t you? Don’t you think I’m perfect, Jiyong?”

He gulped as he shut the door before turning around to face you. That’s actually exactly what he thought. When he looked at you. When he thought about you. Perfection. You were everything. He sighed, “Maybe. I might.”

“Oh please, that’s obviously a yes.” you laughed, “What’s next?”

“Want to see something really cool?” he asked. You scoffed at the question and he nodded, “Right, stupid question.”

He brought you back to the elevator and you both stepped inside. The doors had already closed as he stood for a moment looking at the numbers, trying to remember the correct one. With a sudden realization you watched as he pressed the button for the 158th floor. You were a little surprised when you stepped off on the new floor. You’d expected a bit of queasiness or dizziness from being up so high, but you guessed that was just a perk of being in paradise.

“Where are we going again?” You asked knowing full well he hadn’t told you yet.

“Do you want to ruin the surprise?”

“Yes! That’s why I asked, duh.”

“Duh…” he said mocking you as he finally found the door he was looking for. 15868. “I wanted to show you what I meant about limits only being those on your imagination.”

He opened the door and you stepped into a hallway. At least that’s the only way you could think to describe it. It felt like a corridor on a ship. All metal shiny metal walls with big bolts, no windows and low lighting. You were reminded of the corridors they showed in movies about submarines. It was also freezing cold. Even with your sweater on you were shivering. As you made your way down the corridor Jiyong threw his thick coat over your shoulders, you didn’t even need to ask.

You passed one door that opened to what appeared to be a living space. A tiny bed, barely big enough for one person. A metal desk with journals lined across the top. There was a set of blue striped pajamas folded nicely at the end of the bed, but not really much else. Nothing too telling about the occupant. The next door you found opened to a garden of sorts. The ceiling was lined with special lighting and what looked like sprinklers. They hung over large wooden boxes filled with all sorts of greenery. You looked over at Jiyong as if for permission and he just shrugged, so you went in.

There were vegetables and berries, against the walls were actual fruit trees. There were flowers and regular old green plants. And towards the back there was a collection of strange plants, ones you’d never seen before. There was one that was the most astounding blue color you’d ever seen, it’s petals appeared to be lined in purple led lights. You found two plants that were underneath a bell jars. One looked like it was a flower made of crystal but without knowing for sure you felt it was made of ice. It was spinning, suspended in air. You thought it might be ice by the way snow was falling around it, seemingly from nowhere. Beside it was a bold red tropical looking flower. But as you had been standing there, fascinated by the ice plant, you realized it had turned a bright yellow, and then a deep orange.

“What are these?” You asked, “I don’t understand.”

“Keep looking, you’ll see.”

He followed you out of the room and further down the hall. Finally it opened into a larger area. It was the bridge of a ship. A single captains chair sat in the center. You watched fascinated as, what was clearly a robot, moved around the room checking buttons and charts and screens. When you finally tore your eyes from the very Rosie Jetson-esque robot you caught the view out of the window that wrapped around the room.

“And to think I thought Paris was cool.” you muttered, walking over to the window.

As you looked out at the unfamiliar looming red and blue planet in front of you, you gulped. Immediately surrounding you there was nothing, emptiness. Passed the planet was nothing but stars and planets as far as you could see.

“Space? Seriously. Someone’s idea of paradise is alone in space.”

“Neil Armstrong.” Jiyong shrugged. “He always wanted to go further than the moon. So now he spends his time visiting different planets. Sometimes he picks up plants from them and studies them. Writes about his experiences in his journals. Mostly I think he just visits planets he saw on episodes of Star Trek, but you get the idea.”

“It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it must be so lonely, right?” you asked, taking in the quiet hum of the empty ship. “Is everyone always alone?”

“Oscar isn’t, he spends most of his time with a partner. Neil prefers solitude for the most part but he makes friends on every planet he visits. That’s what makes it a paradise for him. Every day a new adventure, a new friend.”

You bit your lip, looking out into the emptiness of space before you. You wondered what your paradise would look like. Who would be with you? Where would you go? How would you spend your days?

You looked over at Jiyong with a small smile, “Do you think we can find somewhere warmer?”

He nodded, “I think we can find somewhere perfect for you.”

While you did actually enjoy being in space and the phenomenal view, you made quick work of the dark, cold corridor. You had stopped once, to go back into the garden room and relook at the plants. In the hall you semi reluctantly handed Jiyong his coat back and followed him to the elevator.

He brought you down several floors but instead of taking you to a room he brought you to a long walkway that was showered in the sunlight coming from the glass archway covering it. It was a bridge from one tower to the other. The archway was designed to look like cut crystal and the way the sun reflected onto it made the floor beneath your feet look like a rainbow.

Through the window you had a pretty decent view of most of the underworld. On one side of the walkway was a view of the gates that greeted you, and in the other were the mountains near Tartarus. Once you’d reached the other tower he brought you to another elevator which led you up. It was the highest you’d been yet, the 300th floor.

Jiyong paused in front the third door of the day and turned to you. “You open this one.”

An immediate excitement surged through you, “Am I allowed?”

“I don’t make the rules, but I don’t see why you can’t.” he shrugged.

Taking a cautious step forward you placed your hand on the doorknob and gave a turn of your wrist. The smell of the ocean breeze moved passed you before the door was even all the way open. The room you walked into was basking in sunlight. A true gust of ocean air blew through sheer white curtains that opened to a modest oceanfront deck. It was the most beautiful ocean view, the water was a dazzling blue. You had never seen anything like it before in your life. You continued to explore the quaint bungalow. There were two bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom. One of the bedrooms had a sliding door that opened to the same ocean view you’d seen from the living room. The other room had a door that opened to a patio with a thick forest view, which made you feel like it had the best of both worlds.

Besides the two rooms there was a living room that separated them. The floor was wood but there was a massive, fluffy white carpet that covered most of the area. There was a plush, oversized sectional, and a couple of bookshelves. A huge television hung over an equally large fireplace. Separated from the common area only by a long counter was the kitchen, which truly caught your interest.

All of the rooms had been littered with vases filled with fresh flowers. Red gerberas. As he walked around the rooms, Jiyong curiously took in the details of everything. A small smile spread across his lips as he noticed each vase held one flower that had nearly snapped off and was dangling precariously. He gently fingered the soft petals and wondered if you’d realized the small detail too.

“This kitchen!” you cried out dramatically.

He moved casually from the bedroom to find you with the biggest eyes and the brightest smile as you checked every cabinet and drawer and opened every appliance.

“Is it nice? I don’t really use kitchens.” he asked rounding the counter.

“Four ovens!” you said looking over at him, “and watch!”

He leaned against the counter and watched you move over to one of the ovens and open the door.

“It’s off, it’s cold.” you said sticking your hand inside and grabbing the rack. You closed the door and pushed several buttons. There was a long beep and you opened the door once more. A gush of hot air flowed into the room. “Ready for baking in...what? A second?”

“That’s a neat trick.” he smirked.

“Okay fine, that could be nothing. It could be crazy advanced technology, but this?” you moved over to the large stainless steel refrigerator and opened the door. It was filled with everything you could need. Milk, eggs, beautiful fruits and colorful vegetables, perfect cuts of meat. You looked over at Jiyong and pressed your finger into a stick of butter, “hard as a rock. Touch it.”  

“Oh, I believe you.”

“Touch the butter, Jiyong.” you said with a serious glare.

He reached passed your shoulder and pressed a finger against the solid stick, “Yep, that’s cold butter.”

“But wait,” you said dramatically, “there’s more!”

“If I call now it comes with a free knife set?” he asked sarcastically.

With a massive eye roll you grabbed the stick and held it in the palm of your hand and then looked at him pointedly.

“Touch it?”

“Touch it.” you nodded. He pushed his finger against the butter once more, only this time it went nearly all the way through. “Slightly warmer than room temperature. Perfect for baking.”

Jiyong didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at you with an adoration that brought a blush to your cheeks. He looked at you like he’d be happy to hear you go on about the temperature of butter for hours.

“Anyway…” you turned, suddenly feeling embarrassed, and put the butter back in the refrigerator. “Whose paradise is this? Because it’s actually kind of perfect.”

“Whose do you think it is?”

You leaned against the counter opposite him and looked around for a moment. Once realization hit you grinned over at him. You stood up straight, looking enthusiastic. “Bake something with me.”

“Oh,” he shook his head, “I’m no good at things like that.”

“This is my paradise, it would be impossible for you to fuck this up.”

“Ehh.” he made a very skeptical face, “I can probably do some damage.”

“Please!” you begged, “Anything you want. Anything at all.”

Foot tapping against the tile of the kitchen floor he contemplated for a moment. “Chocolate cake. Kind of like the lava cake at the bakery?”

“Hades cake?” you asked with a hint of excitement, “How appropriate.”

He stood back and watched as you maneuvered around the kitchen to pull out the necessities. You figured out pretty quickly that all you needed to do was think of the thing that you needed and open a cabinet, any cabinet, and it would be there. In barely any time at all you had everything laid out. Bowls and pans, spatulas and whisks, eggs, flour, butter, chocolate. Everything you needed, at your fingertips.

“I’ll give you an easy part.” you assured a nervous looking Jiyong.

“And what’s that?” He asked cautiously.

“Stirring.”

You set him up in front of the flat top oven with a double broiler. You handed him a whisk and he watched as you started to fill the bowl. Butter first, and then freshly shaved chocolate, fresh ground espresso beans, and freshly ground chili.

“Just stir?” He asked when it finally looked like you’d moved to somewhere else.

“Slowly, and with love.” You smiled as you prepared the eggs in one bowl and the dry ingredients in another. Jiyong was staring into the bowl like it was a witches brew.

He was fascinated by the way you moved around the kitchen. The way you mixed things together. He’d never seen you cook before and there was an art to it that he found beautiful and contagious. Once the cake was in the oven, you showed him how to make the frosting too. And he had to admit that you even cleaned things in such a way that it looked like a dance. When you were done it looked like you’d never touched a thing.

With your head in the refrigerator you said, “We should go swimming.”

“In the ocean?”

You turned around and shook your head, “There’s a pool outside and a grill. I think we should swim and barbecue. It would be fun. And when we’re done we can comeback in for cake.”

He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, that does sound nice.”

“Great! I’m going to go get ready.”

He watched you take off to one of the bedrooms to change before moving to the opposite. It was unsurprising to him when he found his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom. What did surprise him was how nervous he’d been in deciding how he wanted to look in front of you. He stood in front of his mirror for a long while in his bathing suit. Tried it with sandals on and then sandals off, shirt on and then shirt off, sunglasses and hats. He tried every possible combination before finally just running his hand through his hair and biting the bullet.

When he came back out you were already back in the kitchen. There was a tray of food ready to be taken outside and you’d been putting the finishing touches of frosting on the cake. When you looked up from the cake you’d been smiling but the moment your eyes hit Jiyong you froze. Your face flushed and you felt like you looked crazy staring like you were but you couldn‘t look away.

“What?” he asked. He thought if he brought the attention to you, you wouldn’t notice the way he’d been looking back.

You shook your head and dropped your eyes immediately. “Nothing. Can you bring the tray outside?”

“Sure.” He grinned and moved over to the counter. “You okay?”

“Perfect. I’m fine.” you said before clearing your throat.

You waited until he’d gone outside to collapse against the counter, distraught. You hadn’t expected to react so spectacularly to a shirtless Jiyong. To a Jiyong that was in something other than his typical fashion model-esque attire. You hadn’t expected him to look so casual and comfortable. Truthfully you hadn’t expected him to look like someone you wished was your boyfriend. His hair pushed back so sloppily and the scruff that had been growing on his face over the past few days. And the way he carried himself around like none of it was a big deal at all. You had to take a minute to collect yourself before heading outside.

Outside you were able to relax quite a bit, mostly because there had been a pitcher of margaritas on the table out by the pool. The two of you drank and cooked together. Shared a meal by the pool and went for a swim after. Before you noticed it happening you felt you’d been transported. Thoughts of the underworld and of finding Jiho had vanished. Now you were just simply on a beach vacation with someone you loved, having the time of your life. Nowhere to be and nothing to do except for playing silly games and snacking on delicious food while you watched the sun coming down on a gorgeous afternoon.

Leaning against the side of the pool you admired Jiyong as he swam back and forth, the entire length of the pool. After several laps he stopped and stood up. He pushed his dripping wet hair out of his face with both hands. You watched with fascination as water droplets fell from the ends of his hair, down his neck, sliding over his back. You felt slightly faint at the sight, it was honestly more breathtaking than staring straight into space.

His body was on the thinner side, which wasn’t a surprise to you. You’d known he was an average height but had more of a petite build. You hadn’t been expecting him to be so toned all over. Or to have so many previously hidden tattoos to expose. You hadn’t been expecting your mouth to be pooling with drool at the sight in front of you. The sharp angles of his profile, along with the setting sun as the backdrop, left you yearning. You were also certain that standing waist deep in the water wasn’t the only thing that had you wet.

“Beautiful.” you muttered to yourself as you stared.

Jiyong looked over at you with raised eyebrows. “What was that?”

“This place,” you choked out. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”

“I would hope so. It’s your paradise.” he smirked before diving underwater once more to take several more laps.

A pout passed over your mouth as you watched him and you muttered, “I don’t know, feels like torture to me.”

He swam laps for a little longer while you contemplated swimming out into the ocean and never returning because you genuinely weren’t sure you’d survive the night with him looking the way that he did. What you didn’t know was that he had to keep swimming laps because looking at you standing there in your bathing suit with your lip tucked between your teeth every time he came up for air was driving him insane. It was the only way he could think to blow off steam. He moved through the water towards you and popped out of water. He leaned against the side of the pool after his last set of laps.

“I think I’ll go in and clean up. Shave, maybe.” He said running his fingertips over the scruff on his chin.

“No!” You shouted, surprising even yourself, before sinking back down into the water.

“No?” He asked, amused, “Do you prefer me this way?”

You shook your head. “I don’t prefer you any which way. You should do whatever you want...”

“Mmhmm.” He grinned and ran his thumb over his jawline, watching the way your lip rolled between your teeth once more. “Maybe it’s not so bad. I guess I’ll keep it.”

“Yeah. You should. That’s cool. Or don’t. Whatever.” You rambled as you moved to get out of the water, “I think I’ll clean up too.”

You cleaned up the mess you’d made with lunch to distract yourself as Jiyong got out of the water and dried off, though you imagined with it being paradise you could have just wished it away. You were pretty sure he knew it too, with the small smile he kept on his face. He’d asked you if you needed help and you assured him you didn’t.

Then you watched as he walked back inside, watched the way his skin moved over his shoulder blades when he lifted the towel to dry his hair once more. You hands shook with a mighty need to touch his bare hips, to trace the tattoos on his torso. With a sigh you looked back down at the table to find it was cleared and your idle hands were empty. So you went inside for what you hoped would be a relaxing shower.

-

Stepping out of the shower into the steamy air of the bathroom you felt much better. When you moved into the bedroom you pulled the towel tighter around you, and walked across the floor to the dresser. Pulling open the top drawer you found two sets of underwear. One was your usual, comfy, mismatched bra and panties and folded neatly beside them was a set of what you could only refer to as lingerie. A sexy, strappy, lace bra in blacks and reds with a pair of barely there black, lace panties. Your mouth felt dry as you looked over at the closed door. The only thing separating you from Jiyong. Your hand hovered between both sets of underwear. Knowing this was all you, you wondered exactly what kind of paradise you’d created here. With a quick gulp you grabbed the matching set, better safe than sorry.

You also grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a thin tank top, throwing your hoodie on over the whole ensemble, wanting to look as casual as possible. After brushing your hair and getting dressed you opened the door. A grin spread across your lips when you saw Jiyong had the same casual vibes idea as you. He was standing barefoot with his back to you. Wearing a black hoodie, the hood of his sweater pulled over his head. A pair of black jeans that had been cut just above the knees left loose threads dangling over his thighs. Your eyes snapped up as you felt your mouth start to water.

He had turned to you at this point and there was a small smile on his face as he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing…” you gulped, “you look very punk rock.”

“It’s fashion, y/n. Look it up.” he laughed as you rolled your eyes at him. “I was, um, gonna go sit outside for a bit and read. Would you like to join me?”

“That sounds very nice.” You smiled, “I’ll grab a book.”

You walked over to the bookshelf next to the sliding door that was opened to the deck. With an amused hum you picked up the only book on the shelf laying flat on its side.

“Find something interesting?”

You shrugged, “Sort of. This is the book I’d been working on back home. This place is a trip.”

“Paradise,” Jiyong said moving behind you, his hand brushed your hip as he passed, “anything you want, everything you need.”

It took you a moment to catch your breath as he walked outside. With your book in hand you made your way to the deck. Strings of white lights were hanging all over and around keeping the space warm and welcoming. Jiyong was sitting on the long cushioned bench that lined the banister that overlooked the beach, the water. The moon was full and bright, glistening against the soft waves like diamonds. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankle as he rested his feet atop the table. His hood was still up and his eyes were already diligently moving across the pages of his notebook. Moving around the table you tucked yourself into the corner of the bench, pulling your knees to you chest before opening the book in your hands.

For the first ten minutes you sat there not a single word was read.You’d realized that if you kept your gaze right at the top of your book you could watch Jiyong inconspicuously. Even though the only things you could see from underneath his hood were the tip of his nose and the pout on his lips. You still ached. Every once in awhile he would clear his throat or his tongue would poke out to run over his lips. You started to anticipate when he would turn the page because he always fingered the corner of the page for a minute before flipping it over. Your teeth dug a little deeper into your lip every time.  

Finally realizing that you’d been staring for too long, you looked down at your own book. Still you could not read. Instead you tried to quick math to figure out how long it had been since your last time with Jiho. Then you tried to calculate your cycle because clearly this had to be some pathetic and annoying pms thirsting. In the end you hadn’t figured out anything useful. All you knew was that his voice was stuck on repeat in your head like some catchy song, “Okay. I’ll wait. Okay. We’ll kiss the right way like you want.” again and again and again, “Okay. We’ll kiss. Okay. We’ll kiss. Okay. We’ll kiss…”  

Mad at yourself for wanting to wait, and mad at yourself for wanting so badly to break your waiting rule, you were finally able to read your book. If only as a way to get out of your own head. The book had been a good distraction at first and the plot line had hit a good twist. Then there was an unfortunately placed, very steamy, very intimate sex scene. It seemed very suddenly like your head was spinning so you closed your eyes for just a moment, to try and calm yourself. Your brain was not on the same page.  

The scene in your head was set up exactly like this one. Full moon blanketing the deck with light, accompanied by bright whit fairy lights hanging above you. Jiyong sitting on the opposite side of the bench with this notebook in his lap.You stretched out one of your legs until your foot was pressing against his hip. He continued to look down at his notebook but dropped a hand onto your ankle. His fingers slid slowly, gently, up and down your shin and you were glad you’d shaved in the shower earlier.

It wasn’t enough, you needed more of his attention. You needed all of it. You pushed out your other leg, stretching until your toes were touching the outside of his thigh. You wiggled them underneath the ragged  hem of his shorts. After a moment he dropped his legs from their resting place on the table and tossed his book to the side. With a quick turn to you he snatched your ankles in his hands. When he looked up at you from beneath his hood his eyes were bright gold.Your breath caught in your chest.

“You can’t handle me.” he said, but you knew it wasn’t meant as a threat.

“Let me try.” you whispered nervously.

Hands tight around your ankles he pulled, roughly dragging you towards him. With you on your back before him, he moved over you. His hand, smooth as a snake, moved up your sweater. You moaned as his lips met your neck, the stubble on his chin scratching your throat. Your eyes closed as he massaged your breast over the lace bra. His lips moved up to your jaw, your cheek. Another moan was teetering off the edge of your lips but he caught it with his own. Your first real kiss together. You might have cried if you’d given yourself the chance to think about it. Instead you pulled him closer. One hand dug deep in his hair, the other one clutching desperately at this collar of his hoodie, not wanting him to move even an inch from you.

“Y/n?” his voice was floating through your head but his lips were pressed against yours, “Y/n?”

Your eyes snapped open and you inhaled deeply. Jiyong was sitting across the bench from you, exactly as he had been before you closed your eyes. Only this time he was looking over at you.

“Uhhh, yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m going to grab something to eat. Can I get you anything from inside?” he asked with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I’m good, but thank you for asking.” You wondered how badly you were blushing as you reached your hand to your neck. You could still feel the scratch of his chin against you.

He stood up from the bench and dropped his notebook on the cushion. Stopping in front of the door he turned and watched you stare dreamily at the space in front of you with a smirk.

“Hey,” he called, and you turned to him with big doe eyes, “You’re sure you’re not...thirsty?”

“No…” you choked out, “No...yes! No, I mean yes, I’m sure I’m not thirsty.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he walked inside with an upbeat hum. Pulling your hands back down to your lap you noticed the notebook where he left it lying on the bench, open to the center page. For the briefest moment you could have sworn you saw your name. You looked away, feeling uncomfortable. That was his private notebook, it wasn’t for your prying eyes. On the other hand...you were pretty sure you’d seen your name, and what could it hurt just to take a peek.

Leaning forward slightly for a closer look, you saw it. It was for sure your name. Jiho’s name had been there too and several other familiar names as well. Your heart was racing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you just read a few lines, just to get the general vibe. He would never have to know you even saw it. You turned towards the door to look inside of the little bungalow, Jiyong was nowhere in sight. Biting your lip so hard you tasted copper, you leaned over and snatched the notebook off the cushion.

Confusion hit first. You didn’t understand what it meant. Dates and times, starting from the day you were born up until earlier that day. Names of everyone you knew with what looked like correlating page numbers. Actions listed out like crimes, Forgery, age 10, mother's signature on field trip participation slip. Petty theft, earlier today, Oscar Wilde’s fountain pen. You looked down at the page, mortified, as you thought about the pen laying on the dresser in your room.

Realization hit quickly after, shock followed then. A flash of pain tore through your chest as you continued to read. As the pages flipped before you fell into anger, confusion again, and then more pain. You imagined that nothing would hurt as much as the list of times Jiho had committed adultery against you. Many of the names of the women looked familiar. Women you’d asked him about. Women he’d sworn you never had to worry about. His list of lies was so much worse. They left you feeling genuinely sick. There were so many you remembered not believing but pushing the feeling aside. Excusing him. Always making excuses for him.

I love you. Lie

You’re my everything. Lie

There is nothing more important to me than you. Lie

I love you. Lie. I love you. Lie. I love you. Lie.    

Your lip was trembling. Tears fell onto the pages like raindrops as you continued on. Your grandmother, your mother, old friends, coworkers. Your father. The father you never met. He was nowhere near the monster your mother always made him out to be. He hadn’t abandoned you, he never knew you existed. She never told him. You met him once, completely by chance. He’d come back to the city for work and came into the bakery for coffee and wfi. He told you that you reminded him of someone, joked that you even looked a little him. He’d been polite and made you laugh. He died a couple years after that. Saved a teenage boy from a shooter at a gas station robbery. He was here somewhere in Elysium. You had two half sisters, still alive. Your chest felt tight. You flipped back and forth and back and forth again. Reading everything you could find. It took you some time but you finally realized there was someone missing.

Jiyong was in the kitchen shoving a forkful of cake in his mouth. His eyes raised in surprise when he saw you.

“You caught me.” he mumbled with his cheeks full. He looked at you for a long moment, swallowing the cake in his mouth and then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Still quite dazed you made your way into the room fully. You kept moving forward until you were standing in front of the counter. You lifted the notebook onto the polished marble and pushed it towards him.

“What is this?” you asked calmly. Calmer than you ever expected you could.

“It’s my notebook.”

You let out a long sigh, “It’s fine. Don’t tell me what it is. At least tell me if it’s true. What’s in the notebook. Is it all true?”

He nodded, “Yeah. It’s true.”

“And you knew?” You whispered the question. Jiyong nodded but remained quiet. “All the lies, the cheating…the things he manipulated me into doing for him. You knew? You must have. You must have read it all. You’re always reading this stupid notebook, how could you not know... You really knew this whole time?”

“Yeah.” He knew you deserved so much more but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You could have told me. All those times you tried to get me to leave him, why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” you quickly wiped at the few loose tears on your cheek.

“I couldn’t. It’s not what the notebook is used for. I couldn’t just abuse my knowledge for personal gain.” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wanted to tell you. Every time I saw you, I wanted to tell you to run from him...to run to me.”

“I would have kissed you. In the garden, you could have had me, if you’d just said something. If I’d known.” You said and tucked your lip between your teeth. “All of this time we could have been us.”

“Well now you know so what do you want to do?”

Minutes ticked by as you tried to think. What did you want to do? Keep going? Go home? Should you confront Jiho or leave him to rot? Every thought came out dull and incomplete. All of them overshadowed by one simple, carnal urge that was overwhelming every single one of your senses.

With a gulp you looked up at Jiyong, “I want you.”

“What do you mean?” He asked shakily.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He looked you over for a long time, as if he didn’t believe this was really happening. With a single look from him you moved around the counter so you were standing in front of him. He slipped a hand over your cheek and cupped your neck, his fingers buried in your hair. Already there was a tremble in your knees and he hadn’t even kissed you yet. Leaning in his nose brushed against yours, your mouth was watering.

“Is this a dream?” he asked.

“If it is…”you whispered against his lips, “don’t you dare wake me up.”

“Agreed.” he grinned before sucking your bottom lip between his.

Inhaling sharply, you fell forward into him. If he hadn’t slipped his arm around your waist you were sure you’d have collapsed. You were unsure if it was because it had been so long or if it was because it was Jiyong, but you felt euphoric. It wasn’t until many delicious minutes had passed that he pulled away.

A whine escaped you immediately, “No.”

“No?” he chuckled.

“Come back.” you forced another kiss on his lips.

“I’m right here.”

You pushed your hips into his, “Not close enough.”

“Just breathe for a second.” he laughed again as you tugged at the strings of his hoodie.

You shook your head defiantly, “I don’t want to breathe, I just want you.”    

He dragged your bottom lip between his teeth and smirked when you whimpered after he released it with a pop. “I told you, you couldn’t handle me.”  

“Kiss now, gloat later.” you whispered against his mouth.

“Mmm.” he hummed happily, “but you know how I love to gloat.”

Tired of talking you hooked your hand behind his neck and pulled him forward. You moaned into his mouth in satisfaction of getting what you wanted. His hands slipped up your sides, dragging your hoodie with them. His fingers felt cold against the heat coursing through you. As the kiss continued your lips started to swell and became sore. Kissing was starting to hurt but you couldn’t pull away. He was like the first good meal you’d had in weeks and you couldn’t get enough.

You moved to unbutton his pants but his fingers grasped yours gently before muttering against your lips, “Slow down.”

“Slow down?” you asked, pulling away in surprise. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

“Y/n,” he whispered against your neck before leaving a small tickle of a kiss. “I want to take my time. I want this to last an eternity. I want to treat you how you should have always been treated.”

“I don’t deserve you.” you muttered, eyes closed, head tilted back as he kissed your neck

He stepped back and eyed you curiously, “I disagree. And I’m always right, as we know now.”

Leaning in once more he captured your lips in another kiss and you could think of no complaints. Well you could think of only one complaint. The edge of the counter was digging painfully into your lower back but Jiyongs hands were in your hair and his hips were pressed against yours and his lips were on your lips. There was no way you were about to push him away or ask him to calm down, if anything you wanted more. You needed him closer. You needed there to be a way for him to mold around you and seep through you like the oxygen through your blood. Instead of that you moved your hand behind you to leverage yourself away from the counter.

“Oh, no.” you cringed and Jiyong pulled away looking mortified at the disgusted look on your face.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?” he asked.

“Not you, never you.” you groaned and brought your hand in front of you, the whole side of it covered in chocolate cake and frosting.

Jiyong laughed at the sight. “Oh baby...what to do with you.”

You pouted as he reached around you, grabbing the plate his cake had been on. As he dropped the plate in the sink you cursed yourself internally for ruining the moment. Jiyong didn’t think it had been ruined at all. With a grin he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, lifting your chocolate covered hand.

“You always have me eating out of the palm of your hand.’ he muttered as your eyes met, and he dragged his tongue over your palm.

Your jaw dropped open as you watched him lick and suck until your hand was practically clean. When he was done there was some chocolate left on his lip and you couldn’t help yourself but to pull it into your mouth.

For awhile there was nothing else but this. Time stood completely still, space was irrelevant, no one else existed. It was just Jiyong and his kiss and it felt so good. At one point he pulled away with a pop of your lips and trailed kisses over your face, down your neck. Your hand moved over his shoulders s up his neck until your fingers were in his hair. Holding him close only encouraged him to leave little marks all over your skin.

He mumbled against your skin, “kissing is nice.”

“I think so too.” You said massaging the back of his head.

“Is it selfish for me to want more of you?” He asked, fingers toying with the waist of your shorts.

You leaned back and slid your hand around to cup his cheek, “Are you always so respectful and considerate?”

He smirked, “I’m trying, you make it difficult.”

“What if you stopped trying?” You asked. He looked confused by your question. “What if for tonight you just take what you want from me? I just want all of you in return.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jiyong, if you move your hand down my shorts like you’ve wanted to this whole time we’ve been talking, you’d find I’ve completely soaked through these panties for you. I’ve almost never been so sure of anything in my life.”

With his fingers tucked into the waist of your shorts he tugged your hips forward roughly. Keeping his heavy lidded eyes on you he unbuttoned them and then dragged the zipper down as well. Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter as you leaned back in anticipation.

Lip tucked between his teeth he reached his fingers between the lace fabric and you. “Fuck.”

“Told you.” you grinned but only for a second before your mouth fell open at the feeling of two of his fingers easing inside of you.

“Needy.” he noted as your hips rolled you further into his palm. “This is going to…”

“What?” You gasped as his nimble fingers curved. “Just say it. Let go.”

He leaned in, cheek pressed against yours, and said, “It’s just, this is going to feel so good on my cock.”

“Oh, damn.” You groaned, surprised by the tone in his voice, your thighs tightened around his wrist.

He didn’t drop his eyes from your face as he pushed his hand knuckle deep. Instead he studied your expressions as he searched for that specific spot. He thought you looked so peaceful. Head thrown back and your eyes closed, he was enamored by the stretch of your neck. He’d been able to elicit some delicious moans, but he was really living for the way your lip trembled into a pout every time he dragged his fingers from you. However, he wanted something else. Something more.

Suddenly you gasped and shot forward, “oh shit!”

Jiyong grinned as you peppered his face and neck with kisses filled with gratitude. “I think I found it.”

“I’m so close. Don’t stop. Please, just don’t stop.” You begged against his mouth.

“I won’t. I’m not.” He promised, going even faster as if to prove a point.

“Jiyong!” You cried out his name, and he thought it felt good but he knew it would feel better if it was his true name falling off your lips. You whined against him, m “If you stop we can’t b-be friends.”

“What? Stop this?” He chuckled, adding more pressure with his fingertips and dragging them excruciatingly slow against your g spot.

You sputtered out something incomprehensible and slumped against his shoulder. Your orgasm pulsed around his fingers.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He murmured into your hair.

The two of you stood there against the counter for sometime. You’d kept your arms around him, knowing you’d collapse otherwise, your thighs still shook like jello. He’d removed his hand from your shorts and sucked you clean off his fingers. He let out the tiniest groan as he did so, wishing he was devouring you, but he could wait.

After awhile you leaned back to look at him. “Did you ever try that with your wife?”

“Try what?” He asked brushing hair from your cheek.

“The thing with the hand and th-“ your eyes rolled back and you sighed, “I can’t even talk about it, it’s too soon.”

He laughed and moved to kiss the skin of your neck. “Probably. Once or twice I think.”

“You’re sure you did it just like that?” You asked with some uncertainty, “because if you had there’s absolutely no reason for her to have left you.”

Leaning his forehead against your shoulder he laughed again this time so genuinely your heart nearly melted. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.”

Running your hand through his hair you gently turned his face to yours, “I can really make you blush if you want me to.”

He looked at you for a long time as if contemplating the offer and then he smiled, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” Your tongue moved over your lip and you said, “I wasn’t lying when I said I want all of you.”

When he didn’t say anything you grabbed his hand and brought him into the living room. Once your toes hit the soft carpet you turned and pulled him into you for a kiss. His lips curved into a smile as your hands moved up his sides.

“We don’t need this.” you pulled away before dragging his hoodie over his head along with the shirt he’d had on underneath. Tossing his clothes to the side you looked back at the man you’d been thinking about all afternoon. Your fingers traced the black ink on his side. “Forever young?”

“Yeah.” he smirked, “Why don’t you join me?”

Laughing lightly you sunk down to your knees in front of him. As you unbuttoned his jeans he let out a long sigh, unsure of how he’d handle you. He already felt ready to burst. You looked up at him quite cutely as you dragged the fabric of both his shorts and underwear down his thighs. You couldn’t help but grin when you took in the look of him. Everything about this man was pretty, of course his dick would be pretty too.

One hand squeezed his thigh, just above the knee while the other one lead him between your lips. He jolted slightly as soon as your tongue brushed against the sensitive skin. His teeth clenched as you eased back and forth. Your tongue and head moving in tandem to create the desired effect.

Jiyong didn’t say much, he was finding breathing to be enough of a challenge. You hummed with your lips around him as you felt his fingers slip into your hair. If you were going to try and swallow him whole he figured he might as well try and help. His thighs were trembling underneath your hands. When you looked up he was bent to the side, one hand clutching the arm of the couch as he tried to remain on his feet. Every muscle in his arm was shaking and you knew he must be close.

With your best efforts you took him in as far as you could several more times until he gasped, “That’s it...oh shit…”

It surprised you when he dropped to his knees when he was finished and pulled you into a kiss. Jiho had always been the type to get grossed out by the idea of kissing you after head. Clearly Jiyong had no qualms.

During the kiss he leaned you back against the carpet, as his fingers made their way back down to your thighs and under your shorts until they were consumed by your warmth. They brushed gently against the patch of warm wet lace and he inhaled deeply at the feel.

“Oh my goddess.” He muttered before burying his face in your neck, his slightly bearded cheek sending a tingling sensations over your already overly sensitive skin. He sucked onto the skin at the base of your throat, salty with sweat. You lunged forward slightly as his fingers found their way beneath the lace and slipped inside of you with ease once more. “I’m going to build you a temple. Biggest temple anyone’s ever seen.”

You pushed your hips up into his hand greedily. “I don’t need a temple.”

“You’re too tight, too wet to go unpraised by the masses.” He disagreed.

You laughed, embarrassed. “Shut up.”

“Fine, a statue. Marble. Sculpted of this very moment.” He compromised, “The smooth arch of your back. The hair falling off your shoulder. My hand between your thighs.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you hummed at the image of a naked Jiyong fingering you carved into marble. “That’s very...erotic. And I would also like one.”

“There’s just one thing that I’d want to change.” he muttered against your mouth before pulling back. “You should be naked too.”

You lifted your arms over your head and he pulled the sweater from your body. He rolled the fabric into a ball and tossed it to the side. Both of you jumped at the loud crashing noise that followed. Your head fell back with laughter at the sight of the lamp that had been on the side table laying smashed on the floor.

“So smooth.”

He shook his head as he tugged at your top, “Just ignore it. Please.”

You grabbed his face after he threw the tank top to the side as well, a little more gently, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It’s forgotten.”

“Sexy bra…” he noted, “have you been wearing that this whole time or did you conjure it up just for me?”

“Does it matter?” You asked with a slight flush of your cheeks.

“Not at all.” He dropped his hands to your hips and pulled your shorts from your legs.

Propped up on your arms you watched Jiyong slink down until he was laying comfortably between your legs. His lips teased the soft skin of the tops of your thighs. The stubble on his cheek and chin leaving light scratches in their wake. Scratchy little kitten kisses as he moved towards the warm, moist patch of lace that kept you from him. His teeth dragged gently over your mound and a desperate hiss escaped your mouth.

“Oh my god.” You panted.

“Which one?” He asked quietly between your thighs.

“Wh-what?” You watched his arm snake around your thigh. His thin, nimble fingers trailed along the edge of your panties.

“I asked which god is your god.” He locked eyes with you as he move the fabric of your panties to the side.

“I...I,” you stuttered as the pink muscle that was his tongue flicked gently against you. “Ummm. Any...all of them any of them.”

“Let it be me.” He said before pulling you into his mouth with a light hum.

You whimpered, head losing thoughts and function with every movement of his mouth against you, “Do what? Do you want…”

“Say I’m your god.” He whispered before running his tongue deeper than before.

“Yes. Yes!”

You panted heavily and gasped for air. Every move of his mouth on you was methodical. He had you teetering on the edge, ready to fall completely. Whimpering was close to becoming real tears as he locked your trembling thighs into place. You were so close already, and for a second time. And then it just stopped. For a moment you laid there confused.

“Why?” it was all you could say when you looked down between your thighs to see Jiyong running his tongue over his glistening lips.

He sat up between your legs and hooked his fingers under the elastic of your panties before dragging them down your legs.

“You didn’t say it.” He said once he’d pulled the fabric from you and flung it across the room.

“What?”

He shrugged, “You didn’t say, you’re my god.”

You sat up and reached between your legs to grab Jiyongs shoulders, pulling him towards you. Your forehead pressed against his, you whispered, “You are my god. The only one for me.”

He leaned in for a kiss while he removed your bra. With your arms wrapped around him you laid back down bringing him with you. Your lips glued together once more.

“Can I?” he asked between kisses.

“If you can’t, we’re about to have a real problem.”

“May. I.” he growled against your neck, making you shiver.

“Yes, you may.” you gasped slightly at the feel of his teeth dragging over your skin.

He reached between the two of you and eased himself in. A long satisfied sigh escaped your lips at the stretch. There was a real sense of perfection in the way he felt to you. The way you fit together. It was as if there was nothing more for you to imagine in your paradise. You had it all. Realizing you’d never had a moment so flawless in your life before made your eyes well with tears.  

“Does that feel okay?” Jiyong asked sweetly, planting a kiss against your cheek, “Do you feel good?”

“Mm, yes. It feels…” the words stuck in your throat as you looked up at him. His eyes caught yours. They were so gentle and made you feel so cared for. With a blush you ducked your face near his shoulder.

“What?” he whispered and eased you back so he could see you, “Tell me what it feels like?”

“I can’t, you’ll run away.” you pouted.

He just laughed, “I promise you, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Just, it feels like I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve been waiting for you.” The way he looked at you made you want to both look away and never take your eyes out of him. “Does that sound crazy?”

“No.” he leaned forward, pulling your lips between his for a kiss, and you felt yourself relax.

Your teeth dragged against his lip while he inched his way inside of you and then rolled back again. There was a full feeling throughout your body. Your thighs tightened around his hips as they started to make quick work of you.

He trailed scratchy kissed along your jaw and you groaned when he whispered against your earlobe. “I’ve been waiting centuries for you and I didn’t even realize it. Now that I know I would have waited a hundred more if I had to.”

“Don’t stop.” you gasped, feeling that familiar tightening in your abdomen.

“I won’t.” he promised. His fingers tangled into your hair and he pulled your head to the side so he could drag his teeth across your neck.

“Fuck!” You moaned, digging your nails into the skin on his shoulders. “Jiyong...my god.”

“I am.” he muttered against your collarbone through his own heavy panting, “I am your god.”

You wanted to say something about his god complex, you knew there was a joke on the tip of your tongue, but his fingers trailing goosebumps down your abdomen and slipping between your thighs left you distracted. You dropped your arms to your side, fingers curling into the rug. He found your clit with ease, at this point he’d spent so much time with it you felt like they were best friends. His thumb rubbed you in slick circles, watching your reaction almost curiously. Finally reaching your breaking point your back arched so far off the ground you’d lifted yourself like the living dead. Your arms wrapped around Jiyongs shoulders.

“Oh, hello there.” He chuckled against the side of your head as you dug your teeth into his shoulder.

“I...fuck.” you whimpered as your body tensed.

Jiyong was grunting ever so slightly, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were squeezed shut. He looked like he was between agony and euphoria. He didn’t stop a single thing he was doing until you were limp and satisfied in his arms. He laid you back down making sure your head was resting gently before he rolled beside you.

You smiled quite happily and said, “Maybe this really is paradise.”

With a half groan half laugh he turned and kissed your shoulder. “Shower?”

“Together?” you asked turning towards him.

He grinned, “Of course.”

You dragged your fingers down his bare chest and smiled, “Again?”

“Again?” He asked incredulously.

Big wanton eyes met his when you looked up, “please?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes, “Alright, yes. Again.”

“You, um,” you teased the skin of his hip with your fingers, “don’t have to be so sweet about it this time.”

“I won’t.” He hooked his finger under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. “But you have to say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say what you want from me.” His tongue moved over his bottom lip, he looked devious.

“Why?” your cheeks burned with a blush.

Your stomach twisted at the small smile that spread over his face, “It’s going to sound so sexy coming from those lips.”

You released a long slow breath.

“I want you to fuck me.” He hummed pleased with himself. However you weren’t finished. “I want to be hand around my throat, hair ripped from my head, ass stained red with your handprint fucked.”

Jiyongs mouth fell open and he looked at you wide eyed and quite shocked. “Wow.”

“Did it sound as sexy as you expected?” You grinned.

“Sexier.”

You’d thought once more in the shower would be enough to successfully exhaust you but it had turned out Kwon Jiyong left you insatiable. Luckily one more time in the bed after the shower seemed to do the trick. And you were finally able to tuck into his side, ready for some much needed rest. Your eyes were closed while he left soft kisses everywhere he could reach.

“Don’t give up your soul for him.” he whispered after a particularly long kiss against your temple.

“What?”

“It took me so long to find you.” he sounded so soft, “I don’t want to lose you now. I can’t.”

“Okay.” you didn’t understand what he meant but you weren’t about to deny him a single thing.

Your thigh was draped over his, both of your legs tangled in sheets. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, tracing his prominent collarbone with your finger tip. Kissing the part of his chest that was nearest to your lips you smiled.

“Why aren’t you in book?” You asked quietly, you didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere, but the question had been eating at you.

He hummed, gently rubbing his hand up and down your back, “what do you mean?”

“The book. Your notebook, your name isn’t in it. I looked for you, I wanted to know more about you, but you aren’t in the book. Why not?” You placed  your palm flat on his chest, his heartbeat was racing beneath the warm skin.

“I don’t need to be.” He said simply and looked down his face at you.

He hooked his finger beneath your chin and turned your gaze up to meet his. You pouted slightly, “What makes you so special?”

“Nothing.” He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss against your lips. You whined slightly and quickly lifted your lips to his for another.

You pulled away after a minute of his soft, swollen lips against yours, “You’re trying to distract me.”

“It’s working.” He smiled and leaned in once more. As he kissed you he shifted your bodies so that he was above you. Forehead presses together, noses brushing gently. He sighed, his lips tickling yours as he said with a sadness, “I don’t want to wake up.”

You laughed lightly, but then there was a sudden sinking feeling in your stomach. It was then that you realized that yes, this was a dream. “Me neither.”

-

You laid in bed for what felt like hours. Eyes closed, willing yourself back into the dream, but you knew it was done. Even if you did manage to fall asleep you knew you wouldn’t get it back. When you finally opened your eyes it was to a dark empty room. You could hear the sound of the waves through the closed windows. Sitting up on the mattress with a sigh you noticed the glow of light coming from under the door.

You wondered if Jiyong was awake. You wondered if he’d had a dream that matched yours and was now laying restlessly in bed with thoughts of you. You swung your legs over the side of the bed. You’re feet were silent against the hardwood floor as you made your way to the door. Before opening the door you looked over to the dresser where the pen you stole was laying beside a vase of flowers.

The common room was empty, it was only the single light on side table shining with a sigh of life. As you passed by it you could still imagine the sound of it shattering against the floor. You’d swear you could hear the sound of Jiyongs laugh and yours mixed together. The spirit of your perfect moment, haunting this place.

In front of the door to his room you bit your lip nervously. As slowly and quietly as you could you opened the door. You’d been needlessly cautious as Jiyong was wide awake, lying stretched out the length of the bed, ankles crossed. There was one arm behind his head and the other was draped over his bare stomach.

“Everything okay?” He asked with the raise of a single eyebrow.

“Yeah. Everything is perfect.” You shrugged, “it’s paradise. Remember?”

“Right.” he grinned, “Well what has brought you to me at this very late hour? Do you have a scandalous request of me perhaps?”

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes, “I just...couldn’t sleep. So, can I come in or what?”

“Sure.” it was a simple response but his face looked unbearably smug.

You crossed the threshold slowly, taking him in. All he had on was a pair of pajama pants, that hung loose at his hips. He looked like you remembered from the pool and the dream, unless the pool had been the dream too. You realized you weren’t sure where reality had stopped and the dream had started. He watched you, watching him, as you made your way from door to the bed and sat beside him. He knew you were looking at him and had been trying to figure out your thoughts but mostly you just gave off curiosity.

You gulped at the sight of the notebook lying face down on the bed beside him. You wished you could tell if that part had been a dream or reality. It had to have been a dream, right? You convinced yourself that it had been. It had to have just been a mixture of guilt from stealing the pen, and uncertainty you had about Jiho. The guilt of wanting Jiyong the way you did crashed over you. You’d convinced yourself Jiho was a monster to justify a second dream about someone who was meant to be  your friend. You felt disgusting.

Jiyong saw the way you looked at the book. He wanted you to ask about. He wanted you to lunge over him and tear it open to see how real the dream had been. Even if he knew what you’d find inside of it. Even if it meant answering hard questions and ultimately confessing who he was. He was halfway there. Halfway ready to confess everything, but not quite enough to just offer it to you on his own. He thought if you’d only ask, then he’d be able to tell you.

You didn’t ask about the notebook. Instead you reached over him and grabbed it. He watched a little disappointed as you closed it and placed it on the nightstand before switching off the light.

“Oh, have you decided it’s time to go to bed?” He asked with a laugh as you laid down beside him.

“Yes.” You answered, slipping your hand over his bare stomach until you were wrapped around him like you’d been the night before.

“What? Now that you’ve had a taste of me, pillows don’t do the trick any longer?” He joked in an effort to downplay how he felt in this moment.

“You don’t always have to ruin everything by talking.”

Despite the bite in your words he could feel the grin on your face as you laid with your head rested on his chest. He wasn’t going to be able to make you feel embarrassed for needing him like this. Not with the way you could hear his heart racing under your ear.

#g dragon scenario #Kwon Jiyong scenario #Big Bang scenario #Kpop scenario #g dragon smut #Kwon Jiyong smut #Big Bang smut #Kpop smut #Everlong

[katedoesfics]

The Great Calamity

Chapter Twelve - Doubtful Destinies (Shelter from the Storm)

As they left Zora’s Domain, storm clouds lingered in the distance, threatening to block the sun’s warmth once more. It would be unlikely that they would get far. Judging by how quickly the clouds moved in, Link guessed they would be caught in another storm by late afternoon.

“It seems everyone has a good handle on their Divine Beasts,” Zelda said as they rode out into Hyrule Field. “I’m confident they will be able to do their part when Calamity Ganon makes its return.”

“What’s next?” Link inquired.

Zelda hesitated a moment. She supposed she would have to focus her efforts back on her training to awaken the sealing magic inside of her. But with the rise in monster attacks, Zelda and the king were on full alert, guessing it could only be a sign of Ganon’s close return, and there was still much that needed to be done.

“I’d like to go back to see Purah,” she said. “And make sure they are prepared for whatever may come next. The more Guardians they can activate, the better our defenses could be. With the rise in attacks, I fear it’s just a matter of time before Ganon rises.”

Link nodded. Though the Guardians made him uneasy, Zelda was right about the rise of attacks, and that was far worse than any machine. At the very least, they would be prepared to defend Hyrule with the Guardians and the Divine Beasts on their side.

They rode through the afternoon until the blue sky was lost to the grey storm clouds and thunder rumbled threateningly in the distance. They took shelter under a large tree, unsaddling the horses to allow them to rest. It wasn’t long before the sky opened up and the rain fell around them. It was lighter than the night before, but they stayed dry under the tree as they waited out the storm.

Zelda sat on the ground under the protection of the large tree, lost to her thoughts as Link busied himself with the Master Sword. She was reminded of Link and Mipha sitting side by side atop Vah Ruta and the close bond they apparently shared. She turned her gaze to Link, wondering if his mind, too, was on Mipha, but he seemed more focused on the sword in his hands. It was obvious how dedicated he was to the task assigned to him. Surely there was nothing more to it than that.

She looked up at the gray sky as rain fell from the clouds. “I doubt this will let up anytime soon.” She turned her attention back onto Link thoughtfully as he trained. He stepped and thrust his sword into the air.

“Your path seems to mirror your father’s,” Zelda observed. “You’ve dedicated yourself to becoming a knight, as well. Your commitment to the training necessary to fulfill your goal is really quiet admirable. I see now why you would be the chosen one.” She turned her gaze away and onto the ground.

Link paused and watched her from over his shoulder. He turned towards her as she spoke once more.

“What if… one day… you realized that you just weren’t meant to be a fighter.” Zelda kept her gaze focused on the ground. “Yet the only thing people ever said was that you were born into a family of the royal guard, and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight. If that was the only thing that you were ever told. I wonder, then, would you have chosen a different path?”

Link watched her closely as she spoke. It was clear that she was struggling with her own role forced upon her just as it was him. But no one had ever bothered to ask him how he felt about it before. It was apparent to him that they were on the same page in regards to their destinies. She was no less thrilled by it than he was.

“What path would you have chosen?”

Zelda’s gaze flew quickly to Link’s. She hadn’t expected him to ask such a question. Perhaps he could read her better than she thought.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, saddened by the truth of her answer. Her eyes moved back to the ground. What would she possibly do - what could she possibly do - if her destiny was different? Despite her own internal struggles, she never really considered what else she could be doing with her life. But an even more sickening idea struck her at that moment; that her life would merely be subjected to marriage, taking over the throne, and bearing an heir. Her life as a princess was, indeed, as simple as that. Nothing more was expected of her and, even worse, anything more would have likely been frowned upon, should she busy herself with matters outside of ruling Hyrule.

“I suppose I’d live the same life as my ancestors,” she said softly. “Born only to rule Hyrule and carry on the royal line.”

“That’s not what you would choose,” Link said.

Zelda met his gaze. “As princess of Hyrule, I don’t get a choice in how I live my life.”

Link returned the sword to its sheath. “What if you weren’t the princess of Hyrule?”

“Perhaps I would be some kind of scholar,” she said, holding her gaze. She let a smile pull at her lips. “I would research all the mysteries of our world and feed frogs to innocent men to study their effects.”

Link returned her smile. “I guess that’s the thing about destiny,” he said. “Whatever’s meant to be will be.”

Zelda’s smile faded. “Are you that excepting of your own destiny?”

“No,” Link said truthfully. He held his gaze on hers. “Only a fool would be so willing to meet their end.”

“If this is the pattern we are cursed to live, then perhaps it is in our destiny to succeed in our task.”

Link broke his gaze and looked out over Hyrule. She was still optimistic, but Link couldn’t help shake the feeling that perhaps, this is where the pattern would break, and he would fail her and Hyrule.

*****

The storm did not linger as long as Link had feared, and they were able to take advantage of the final hours of daylight to continue onward to Kakariko Village. As they rode, a stone wall towered in the distance, marking the rise of Fort Hateno. Zelda knew her father had ordered two forts to be built, specifically in hopes of protecting the Sheikah in Kakariko Village and Hateno, but this was the first time Zelda lay eyes on it, and it was far more impressive than she could have imagined. And with the construction nearly finished, it wouldn’t be long before the second fort was constructed to protect Kakariko Village.

They rode through the fort and followed the path that brought them into Hateno Village. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, but the night was still young as they made their way through town and up the hill to Purah’s lab. Purah was alone when they entered, buried in her journal and writing frantically. She looked up briefly as they entered and offered them a welcoming smile.

“How are those Divine Beasts of ours holding up?” she asked as she turned back to her journal.

“Excellent,” Zelda said proudly. “The Champions have figured out the controls easily. They will surely be our best line of defense when Calamity Ganon awakens.”

Purah nodded. “Robbie’s gotten quite a few more of those Guardians activated,” she said. “He’s certain there are hundreds more hidden somewhere.”

“My research has suggested that they lie beneath the castle, but I have yet to find anything to prove that.”

Purah leaned back in her chair. “Well,” she started. “We have some time.”

Zelda hesitated. “I’m not so sure,” she said. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. There’s been a rise in attacks and I fear that only means war is on the horizon.”

Purah put her chin in her hand. “We’ve been working on the Shrine of Resurrection,” she said. “I think that shall take precedence over everything else from this point forward.”

Zelda nodded in agreement. “Have you made any further progress?”

“We’ve done a full restoration on it,” Purah said, getting to her feet. “It appears to be in working order. We plan to run a few tests on it to make sure the stasis function will hold. But…” Purah hesitated. “There’s no way to know for sure if it will really work until we put it to the test. Right now, there’s only so much we can do.” She turned her eyes to her journal, still open on the table amongst some scattered papers and notes. “I’m worried about the possible side effects of such a facility.”

“Such as?”

“For starters, if it even works,” she said. “We don’t know for sure how severely wounded one must be for it to work properly. And there’s a very strong possibility that the stasis will wipe one completely of their memories.” Purah hesitated. “I’m unwilling to put anyone in that unless the consequences are so dire to need it. We just don’t know enough about it yet.”

Zelda’s brows knit together. “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” she said, her voice softer. “Do everything you can. I want it available to us should we need it.”

*****

Zelda willingly accepted the opportunity to stay at the inn in the village, eager for a soft, warm bed and a good night’s sleep before starting their ride back to the castle in the morning. The trip would take the most of the day if they rode quickly, and she was sure her father was anxious to have her home once more. Even more so, she was anxious for something else to do to help strengthen their efforts in preparing for the rise of Calamity Ganon. Perhaps a chance to study the Sheikah Slate more closely would reveal something more to her.

She let her head rest against the wall, closed her eyes, and sighed. With so much on her mind, perhaps sleep would not come as easily as she hoped. She opened her eyes and looked over at Link. He was leaning against the door frame and looking out into the dark village. His brows were knit together, deep in thought.

“Nothing’s going to attack us here,” Zelda said to him. “You might as well get some rest while you can.”

Link turned her gaze to Zelda, relaxing at the sound of her voice. She was right, of course. It was only in his nature - in his training - to be constantly on guard. Still, it was unlikely he would find a restful sleep. All their talk of the Shrine of Resurrection only made him uneasy. Perhaps it was in his destiny to fail after all.

#loz #legend of zelda #fic #fanfic #botw #breath of the wild #the great calamity #chapter 12 #gc12

[huntershelper25]

Path of the Chosen: Ch 1

PotC: Chapter 1

Summary: Brooke is a 21 year old girl who’s life is flipped upside down when she receives a phone call from someone she hasn’t heard from in years. This phone call leads to events that cause her to get sucked back into the lives of two young men whom she hasn’t spoken to in years. Her life is never the same. Along the way she learns a secret about herself that not even her father had known. She is forced to face her destiny. Which path will she choose: duty or family?

A/N: I suck at summaries. I started writing this fic YEARS ago. It was posted here on Tumblr, but I have made some edits recently and have decided to repost it. This requires some introduction. I had a thought one day of what the show would look like if there was a female character that was brought in that actually stuck around for longer than a season or two. And because the thought wouldn’t go away this story and Brooke were born. I had a lot of good feedback the last time I posted this years ago so I decided to repost it for my new followers with some edits.

Disclaimer: There is a LOT of direct quotes and scenes from the show. I do not own any of it. I only claim the character of Brooke and how she fits into the story. All else is credited to the writers and copyright holders of the show Supernatural

Warning: There is some rated MA smut thrown in randomly for the first 5 chapters as flashbacks to establish timeline, character building, and relationships, but after that the smut dies off.  Also, let’s just assume condoms are implied. They aren’t mentioned, but let’s assume they are used.

Word Count: 4487

Pairings (through entire story): Dean/Brooke (OFC), Sam/Brooke (OFC)

Chapter One

The straps on her wrists cut deeper as she writhed in agony. The man she had grown to call her uncle dragged the blade of his knife across her skin for what she felt was the millionth time. The dim candlelight revealed his son, who wasn't much older than twenty-two, waiting in the corner behind him with fear in his eyes and indecision etched all over his face. She didn’t blame John for what he was doing; all signs pointed to one conclusion. He was doing what he thought he had to. After all, she had led them straight into an ambush and had almost gotten them all killed.

          “Dad…” the boy in the corner whispered cautiously as John wiped the blood from his knife and dipped it into a large plastic jug of holy water.

.           “Dean, either help or get out!”

Dean gave her a pleading look. She shook her head. He closed his eyes in defeat, walked out of the room, and slammed the back door as he left the house.

Strapped to the chair and unable to defend herself, she watched as John walked towards her, his face a picture of disgust and anger. “Now that we’re alone, let’s get this show officially on the road.”

She could have sworn she saw a twisted look of remorse and apology flash across his face just as he brought the blade down across her left cheek.

Brooke awakened with a start, sweat covering her body and soaking her shirt. She sighed in relief when she realized she was still in her motel room, safe and alone. She slowly stood and walked the three feet to the bathroom. It had been five years since that long December night in Illinois, but she could still feel that blade slide across her skin.

As she walked across the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to give herself a good once over. Long, chestnut wavy locks all in a jumble from tossing and turning -- emerald green eyes above dark circles and bags from too many long nights; to the outside world, she was pretty, but the job had really taken its toll. Her small-breasted, twenty-two-year-old body was lean and strong, but all she saw were the scars. The faint lines that adorned her body were a reminder of her way of life, yet they were nothing compared to the pink scar on her left cheek that still haunted her. She lifted her hand and began tracing it from her left temple, following it dangerously close to her eye and down across her cheek, ending just before her bottom lip. Her mind flashed back to that moment -- the moment John’s blade slid across her face. The moment her father had burst into the room, saving her from further interrogation. The moment her family fell apart. She shook off the memory as she peeled off her tank and panties and slipped into the shower.

After Brooke had showered, dressed, and expertly concealed her scar with drug store makeup, she tossed her things into her duffel and walked out the door. With her job here complete, she was to return home to Minnesota. She knew her father was off somewhere in Ohio on a case, but it was their rule to return to base when they finished a job. She had been working cases on her own for only a few months now. It was nice to finally be out on her own but going home was always something she looked forward to. She tossed her duffel in the back seat of her ’69 Camaro, also known as the love of her life, and headed to the office to check out.

“Well, Miss Strandferd, did you enjoy your stay with us?” the wiry middle-aged manager asked, as she handed him her room key. She just smiled. “It’s all on your card. Will you be needing a receipt?” He had barely uttered the word “receipt” before she was out the door.

She slid into her car, popped open the glove box, and extracted a small black bag. She cursed as its contents spilled all over the passenger seat. There were credit cards and IDs of many different types, all containing various names from Baker to Marks to Young, none of which were hers. She quickly collected each piece of plastic and shoved them back in the bag along with Amy Strandferd’s credit card.  She sometimes felt guilty using fake IDs and cards that weren’t hers, but this life didn’t have a pay check. That was the life, and she accepted that a long time ago. She tossed the black bag back in the glove box next to her 9mm, revved the engine, and was on her way.

As Brooke drove along, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Another job well done, another family that can sleep soundly once again. She didn’t get paid and it required breaking hundreds of laws, but knowing she'd made a difference in someone else’s life made it all worth it to her. As per the rules she picked up her cell and dialed her father’s number to check in. It went straight to voicemail, so she left a quick message telling him she would be back at base in just under a day’s drive.

After a few hours on the road, her mind wandered back to the dream that had awoken her, the memory of the night she hadn’t thought of in years. Her father and John had worked together off and on for years starting when she was just twelve. Their way of life doesn’t allow for much in the department of relationships, on any level, but her father and John were thick as thieves. Whenever one needed help on a job, the other was right there to back them up. But that night… the night her father had trusted John to take her out on a hunt, the night she almost got them all killed, was the night that all fell apart. When her father walked into the house and saw her tied to a chair with John standing over her gripping a bloody knife, it was all over.

Her father pulled out his pistol, pointed it at John, and demanded that he drop the knife and step away from her. John tried to reason with her father and explain his actions. “You’ve seen it, she’s not herself! Something is wrong with her! She’s not your daughter!” Her father replied by putting a bullet in John’s shoulder, sending him to the floor.

The sound of the gun going off brought Dean running back into the house. She watched him take in the scene of her father standing over his with a gun in his face. His eyes flashed to hers, looking for her to give him his next move, but it was all over, there was nothing left that could be done. Her inability to deal, her inability to handle what the two of them had done had broken her family apart.

“Get out of this house, don’t call me again. I never want to see your face ever again. If I ever see you or your sons,” he pulled the hammer back, “I swear to God.”

That was the last time she ever saw any of them. Sam, who was just shy of a year older than her, had left for college two months prior and (as far as she knew) was unaware any of this ever went down. No one had really talked to him since he’d left. It was kind of a sore subject for John and Dean, and as she understood it, they parted on bad terms. Thinking back though, it did seem a bit melodramatic to allow herself to undergo torture, so everything was kept a secret from their fathers, her’s in particular. But she knew her father, they couldn’t have said anything.

Dean was supposed to have been looking out for her, and if her father knew what went down…

She knew John wouldn’t hurt her too badly, she could take it, but what her father would have done to Dean would have been much worse. Her father was a kind, loving man, but family was something he held sacred, and if anyone put his family in danger, he wouldn’t hesitate to put them down.

She smiled in spite of herself. Even with the way they all parted, the secrets, the drama, they were still part of her family. John may have tied her to that chair and cut her up pretty good, but he was still like an uncle to her, despite it all. John was the one who taught her how to work on cars and even helped her get started on the Camaro. She learned more from John and those boys in those five years than she had from her own father her entire life.

Brooke and the boys had their own unique relationships. She could talk to Sam on the phone for hours about everything – he hated this life and always wanted out, but she always managed to convince him that at the end of the day, it was all worth it. She liked Sam, they had a great rapport and were always there for each other. She was just never comfortable with him in person. She couldn’t really explain it, she just got an uneasy feeling whenever he was around. She told Dean once, but that only started jokes about she and Sam having crushes on each other. When Sam left for school, he stopped calling and stopped taking her calls. He completely cut himself off. At first, she was angry, but she learned to understand that you have to cut all ties and contacts in order to really get out. She missed him sometimes.

Brooke’s relationship with Dean, who was nearly five years her senior, was a bit different. She’d admit she idolized him a little bit, even if he had the tendency to be a jerk sometimes. Having grown up in this life he had become an amazing hunter and learned to adapt to situations quickly. He knew what it took to get the job done, which for him included using his good looks and charm to his advantage. Dean was the one who taught her how to fire a gun when she was thirteen; he even gave her the gun that she kept in her glove box. Dean was the “Keeper of Sam” as she liked to call him, since he'd watched out for Sam ever since they were little.  When Sam left, that need to protect someone seemed to transfer to her. She’d found him more annoying than her father at times. She had a lot of fond memories from those five years though, and knowing it was her mistake that led to the end made her heart ache.

Dean blamed himself for the lot of it, of course. Two days after her father had chased them away, she got a voicemail from Dean apologizing for everything “It’s me. I just…God… I promised I would always have your back and I let you down. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe I wasn’t thinking, but I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I should’ve...” He began to sniffle as he continued. “I should’ve stopped my dad, I should’ve just stepped in and ended it, but you had asked me not to say anything, so I didn’t, But God, Brooke, I should have! And I’m sorry. It’s all my fau-“ and the message cut out. That was the first time she had ever heard him come even remotely close to crying. That was Dean though -- always shouldering the responsibility. She had tried to call him back, but his number had been disconnected. She saved it though, because it was the last time, she would ever hear from him. She listened to it so many times she lost count but deleted it a year later when she decided she needed to move on.

So now it was just Brooke and her dad, since her mom had died when she was just a baby. Her dad kept the details pretty much to himself, but he told her when she was eight, after much crying and pleading.  Something had killed her, and he was determined to find what it was, and that was why he was hardly ever home. That was something over which he and John bonded. John had lost his wife to something as well and had a vendetta to find the thing that did it. It was John who convinced her father that keeping her in the dark and not teaching her to defend herself would come to no good. Little by little her father allowed John, an ex-marine, to teach her hand to hand combat. She also pretended not to know how to use a gun when her father decided to teach her a month after Dean already had. She wanted to help, she wanted to be useful. She knew, just as John had explained, that she was a liability if she was kept in the dark, rendered useless. So, she learned, and she learned as much as she could as quickly as she could.

She hadn’t thought about those boys in a long time. The sound of her cell brought her back to the present and she let out a little laugh as she fished it from her jeans pocket. She noticed the sun had begun to set as she glanced at the caller ID. She didn’t recognize it, but fellow hunters were always changing their numbers.

“Hello?”

“Brooke?” Her heart stopped. It had been five years, but she would know that voice anywhere.

“John?”

“Yeah it’s me. Where are you?” There was a hint of concern in his voice.

“On I-90, just outside Winona.”

“Pull over.”

“John, I told Dad I would be home by nightfall, I can’t just-“

“Just pull over.” The sense of urgency in his voice had her concerned.

As she pulled the car over to the shoulder a terrible thought crossed her mind. One of the boys was dead. It had to be, why else would he break the silence after five years? Her mind began to race, trying to figure out which one it could be, how it could have happened, mixed with reminders to stay calm and wait for an explanation. She killed the ignition and prepared herself for the bad news.

“Parked. What’s going on, John?”

“Don’t go home.”

“What do you mean, ‘Don’t go home’?”

“Go West on 90 until you hit Sioux Falls.”

“You want me to go by Bobby’s? Is there a job he needs help with? I mean, I’ll help. Dad’s in Ohio on a case, so I just gotta tell him I won’t be home as planned.”

“NO! Don’t call your dad. They can’t know where you are.”

“Who’s ‘they’, John? What’s going on?”

John sighed and a sick feeling settled in her stomach. He wasn’t calling about the boys.

“Dad’s not in Ohio anymore, is he?”

“No. Caleb called me yesterday to tell me Pastor Mike was killed and that your father was on his way to help investigate.”

She remained silent, waiting for the inevitable.

“They’re gone, Brooke, Caleb and your dad.  I’m so sorry.” He paused for her reaction; all he received was more silence. She couldn’t process what he had said. She heard it, but her brain refused to connect the dots. “This demon we’ve been chasing...it’s going after everyone we’ve ever worked with, and when I found out about your dad, I had to be sure you were okay.”

Her mind began to reel. Her father was gone, killed by this demon that John was after, killed because John was after it, killed because they had been friends. Her father was gone. She was all alone.

“Brooke, you there?”

She had to collect herself. Yes, her father was gone. Yes, she was all on her own now, but if what John was saying was true, she may be in danger. She had to compartmentalize and focus. A skill she was forced to master at a young age.

“Yeah, John, I’m here. So... Bobby’s?”

          There were very few hunters that didn’t know Bobby Singer. He had become a staple in the community with his knowledge of the supernatural and his ability to uncover any information that one would need. If there was anywhere that Brooke would be safe from this demon, it was with Bobby. It had been a little over a year since she had seen the crotchety old man. She hated dropping all this on his door step after such a long hiatus, but she didn’t think she had a choice.

          She took a long look at the decrepit old house on the right as she rolled past broken down, rusting cars that filled his lot, a reminder of the life he led before he started hunting. He used to run a salvage yard – still did on the side, as a matter of fact. But just like all hunters, once you got into this life, it consumed you.

          She parked her car behind the house, got out, and looked around. She saw the shop a few hundred yards away where she’d done some work on her Camaro years ago. This was also where she and her father had gotten into their first real fight.  She was just a week shy of eighteen and he was getting ready to head out on a job with John, leaving Dean and Brooke at Bobby’s. She had gotten wind of what she believed to be a potential haunting of a house in a town not too far away, something small, something easy, and she wanted to see if she could help this family out.

          “Absolutely not and that’s final.”

          “But Dad, it’s just a simple haunting, nothing major.” She said as she pulled a sawed off out of the trunk of her Camaro and placed it in a duffel.

          “I said no,” her father had said taking the duffel out of her hands and tossing it into the trunk.

          “I’m nearly eighteen, I’ve been hunting for nearly six years, this is child’s play compared to some of the hunts we’ve done.”

          “I don’t care how long we’ve been at this and what kinds of things we have hunted, you are not doing this job alone.” He shut the trunk with force and turned his back to her to walk away in an attempt to end the conversation.

          “Then I’ll have Dean come with me. He’s done jobs like this on his own before it’ll be like a milk run for him,” she stepped in front of him cutting off his path to the exit. She was determined to go on this job. She was an adult now and she felt she needed to start proving she was truly useful. This wasn’t the first time her father had dropped her at Bobby’s to go on a hunt without her. Ever since she could remember he was ditching her here and there if he could. She always got the feeling that he didn’t fully trust her as a partner. She knew it wasn’t just out of protectiveness because when she was on a hunt with him, he was always more concerned with getting the job done than her getting hurt.

          “Absolutely not!” He startled her with how quickly and loudly he responded that time, “I don’t care how many hunts he’s done on his own, you sure as hell are not taking him with you.”

          “So, does that mean I can go on my own?” She knew she was being overly hopeful, but a girl had to try.

          “NO!” He pushed her aside and pulled open the door, “and if I even HEAR of you THINKING about going on this hunt, alone or not, I swear to God, Brooke,” he gave her a glare to rival all glares before walking out the door.

          She was so furious with her father that that night she snuck out of the house. When she opened the door to the shop, she was almost surprised to find Dean leaning against her car.

          “I figured you couldn’t let this one lie,” he said with a smirk as she popped the trunk to take quick inventory of her stash.

          She had collected quite the arsenal over the years. Any time they had come across a new weapon she would find a way to fit it into her hideaway that John had helped her fit under the fabric in the trunk, mirrored after the one in his own car.

          “I also figured that since this would be your first case without the old man that you might like some back up,” he had added when she had remained silent.

          “Thanks, but I think I can handle this on my own.” She was too angry with her father and too determined to prove herself that she didn’t want to deal with his annoying commentary at the moment.

          “Did you completely read the file Bobby had on this?” He pulled a folded manila folder out of his back pocket and opened it, “apparently the family has been to the hospital a few times already for ‘unexplained injuries’,” he glanced up from the folder to take note of any recognition on her face. When he found none he continued, “So I kinda think that this spirit isn’t too happy about something and probably won’t like a stranger popping off salt rounds at it, but if you think you can handle a pissed off spirit on your first time out solo than be my guest.” He folded the folder up and crossed his arms as he leaned against the car.

          He was right. If this spirit was hurting the family, it was definitely pissed off about something and the last thing she needed was to be tossed around a room and have her ass handed to her with no one to back her up. She knew that she could count on Dean not to snitch on her, but she also could count on him having a tiny bitch fit for leaving him behind.  Besides, she could always trust Dean to have her back, he hadn’t failed her yet.

          “Fine,” she couldn’t help but smile when he raised his eyebrows and got this look like he was a five-year-old who was just told he was going to Disneyland, “but we’re not listening to classic rock the entire way.” The look of glee was replaced with that of sheer disappointment.

          She closed her eyes remembering that job. If she had just listened to her father, she never would have been tied to that chair all those years ago, there wouldn’t have been the huge falling out and maybe, just maybe, her father would still be alive.

She turned to the house and walked up the steps. The back door opened just as her feet hit the top step and from inside the house emerged Bobby himself. He stopped short when he spotted her.

“Hiya, Bobby.”

“Hey,” He said softly as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “Sorry to hear about your daddy, kiddo,” he said as he stepped back.

“Thanks.” She stared at the ground. “Bobby,” she sighed, “I need a huge favor.”

“Anything, why don’t you come on in?”

As she entered the house she was hit with the familiar smell of Old Spice and whiskey – the smells of Bobby.  His home was an old farm house that had gone to the dogs. On every surface were books upon books, all dealing with the supernatural. In between the books were randomly placed bottles of whiskey, some empty, some on their way to being empty. She took a seat on the old musty couch among even more books.

“What can I do ya for?” Bobby said, all business-like as he sat on the edge of his desk.

“I need a place to hide out.” No point in beating around the bush.

“Hide out? You think whatever it was that got your dad is after you?”

“I don’t know if it is or not, but John thinks it might be and-“

“John Winchester?”

“Yeah, he said this demon he’s after is ganking all the people he’s ever worked with and told me to hide out here.”

Bobby stood up, removed his ball cap, ran his fingers through what little hair was left, and sighed. As he replaced the ball cap he said, “Sure. I can put you up for a bit, or until John figures this shit out, the idjit.”

“Thanks, Bobby. And you know I don’t expect this to be rent free, I’ll help you out with anything you need while I’m here.”

“Damn straight you will,” he said with a smile.

Bobby was a crotchety old man who spoke his mind, was tough as nails, and one of the best hunters she’d ever met, but he’d always treated her like one of his own. She’d even once heard him say to her father, “I think of her as my daughter too, Chris. I’m not about to see anything happen to her either.”

She tossed her duffel on the bed in the spare room, flopped down, and stared at the ceiling. She tried to think of anything else except her father being gone. She tried to think about the noise her car had begun to make on the way here and what that could possibly be. She tried to think about her most recent case. She tried to think about sleeping. But no matter how hard she tried she kept hearing John’s voice telling her that her father was dead.

She felt a tear break free and it was all over.

Everyone she had ever cared for was gone. She cursed her life and cursed her father for ever bringing her into this. It was nothing but death. Every time she got close to anyone, they were ripped from her, either by death or by the sheer messed up realities of her world. She was quick to remember that it had been John who convinced her father, who had wanted her to remain clueless, that he should bring her in to this. John… if they had never met John none of this would have happened. Her father would still be alive. If John wasn’t so reckless that damned demon would never have gone after her father, would never have left her alone in this horrible place. She vowed that she would get out of this life, start an honest, regular life, but not until she found the demon that had killed her father and sent it back to Hell

#Supernatural #SPN #SPNfanfic #spnfic #supernaturalfanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester

[dabbledrabbleprose]

Would 4 with zenyatta and junkrat be okay? I don't find a lot of works with those two in it, and when I do it always just becomes junkrat being pulled off zen or genji be someone bigger

Great prompt, anon! I had a lot of fun with this one, and it was great getting a chance to write these two! Enjoy!

Read on AO3

“We’re designed to be disposable.”

 It was only for one month, Winston had assuredthe agents currently residing at Watchpoint Gibraltar. Their demolitionsexpertise and familiarity with the Australian Outback would be essential forthe upcoming mission. The alliance was definitely a temporary one. Despite hisreassurances, the majority of the recalled Overwatch agents had been quick toprotest hiring the two wanted criminals Mako “Roadhog” Rutledge and Jamison “Junkrat”Fawkes. They were dangerous, unhinged, and the exact opposite of what the newOverwatch was supposed to be. Desperate times called for desperate measures,Winston had solemnly stated amid the protests. In the meantime, it wasrecommended that the team find a good balance between keeping an eye on theunscrupulous duo and also not upsetting them enough that they would considerbailing on the mission. Or something else even more…unpredictable.

The dynamic pair hadn’t made it two days beforethey had caused an altercation. Zenyatta had been in the communal recreationroom when the pair had made their opinions on the continued existence of omnicsquite clear, with the heavily implication that Zenyatta would look significantlybetter in pieces scattered in a scrapyard. Zenyatta had been quite flatteredwhen all present had sprung to his defense, and had been grateful that theJunkers had decided to retreat instead of escalate the situation further,though they left with a very clear parting threat as to Zenyatta’s wellbeing.

Ever since, a member of the team had been byhis side, day or night, serving as his unspoken, unofficial bodyguard. They haddone their best to make it seem innocuous, of course. Lena begging that Zentell her everything about the monastery in Nepal, Lucio asking him to sit andlisten to his new compositions, Hana insisting that he simply must watch the new video game she wasplaying, all carefully calculated so that Zenyatta was never once left alone.And Genji, bless him, his brightest student and dearest friend was with him sooften he had become a second shadow.

Zenyatta was honored, truly he was, that hisnew and old friends cared so deeply about his safety, but after a solid week ofpersistent companionship, their constant attentions were becoming a bit…much. Itwas when Genji had become stressed enough by the whole situation that hestarted having trouble sleeping that Zenyatta decided enough was finallyenough. Avoiding a problem didn’t solve it, and he had always been willing towelcome some adversity in his life.

Besides, Tekhartha Zenyatta could take care ofhimself, thank you very much.

He was able to slip away from hisself-proclaimed guards when Fareeha had left him alone to change into her gymclothes. Zen would have to apologize to her later, and suggest that perhaps agame of basketball would be more fun with two small teams, instead of one onone with the two of them. Genji was hopefully getting some much needed rest,but Zen took care to avoid their usual meditation spots, just in case. Instead,he passed conspicuously by the garage that the Junkers had claimed as theirown, preferring to camp out by their motorcycle instead of stay inside theWatchpoint’s spare bedrooms with everyone else. He took his time, making itclear that he was alone, then went to meditate by the cliff side, overlookingthe sea.

It was fourteen minutes before Zen’s audiosensors heard the telltale sound of a rat come sniffing at the bait, thoughthere was no sign of his porcine friend. The man seemed to be making an attemptat stealth, but his improvised peg leg and the muffled sound of repressed manicgiggling did little to assist him.

“I dearly hope that you are here to meditatewith me,” Zenyatta stated calmly, turning his head to watch Junkrat from thecorner of his optics. “It would be a most pleasant surprise and I would enjoythe change in company.”

“Only one got one surprise for you, y’piece ofjunk!” he crowed. He clutched some sort of home-made grenade launcher in hishands and cackled as the device lobbed an apple-sized spherical explosive atZenyatta. The sphere appeared to have no fuse, likely designed to explode onimpact, so Zen twisted his metal body to one side, as graceful as a dancer, andlet the bomb sail past him and over the edge of the cliff, a painted smileyface beaming at Zen as it flew past and vanished into the sea far below.

“A well-aimed shot,” Zen commented, watchingthe explosion unfurl beneath the waves, the splash of water still dwarfed bythe vast size and scope of the ocean. “If I had not moved, that likely wouldhave struck my chest.”

“There’s more where that came from!” Withanother manic laugh, Junkrat launched a whole volley of explosives at him, bombafter bomb launching toward him, some aimed impeccably directly at him, othersflung wildly to either side of him, making the entire cliff side dangerous.

Zenyatta flowed like water around the grenades,gracefully avoiding the bombs flung his way until he found three coming at himat once, just far enough apart that he couldn’t dodge all three. Withoutbreaking form, he dodged the first, then reached out and caught the other two,one bomb in each hand, spinning as he did so, redirecting their energy and keepingtheir momentum going so they wouldn’t register the catch as an impact totrigger. After a complete spin, his orbs twirling around his neck with him, hereleased the explosives, sending the last two flying out toward the sea.

Junkrat scowled at him, frag launcher empty. “Oi.Ain’t you supposed to be some kind of monk? Didn’t think you’d put up this muchof a fight.”

Zen settled back into a relaxed position, legstucked up beneath him as he floated idly. “As much as I appreciate youroptimistic opinion of my pacifism, I must admit I am quite proficient in theart of Tai chi, meeting Yin with Yang and redirecting the flow of negativeenergy. Now that you appear to be out of ammunition, would you care to join me?The view is quite lovely.”

The Junker appeared less than inclined toaccept his invitation, giving a snarl instead and lunging for him, metal fistleading. It would have been easy to slide out of the way, but then Junkratwould have been following his bombs over the edge of the cliff, and Zen trulywished no ill upon the agitated man. Instead he deflected the punch with onearm, catching the back of Junkrat’s soot-stained head and helped to guide hismomentum in a direction that sent the man off balance. After that, it was aneasy motion to get him to pivot on his peg leg and make him lose his balanceentirely, sending him sprawling onto his back with a soft thump.

“I would humbly request that we end this beforeone of us does something regrettable.” Zenyatta hummed softly. “If you wouldlike, you may join me for meditation. Otherwise, you are welcome to follow yourown path, provided that it does not involve either of us going over the edge ofthis cliff.”

Junkrat was somewhat less calm.

“You’re junk, you know that?” The man spatvenomously from the ground. “You’re just floating trash, waiting to find yourscrapheap! Garbage! You’re a model of millions, designed to be disposable!”

Zenyatta eased backward, giving the Junker thespace to stand, if he chose.

“An interesting observation,” he remarked,redirecting the words as easily as the punch. “Are we not all designed to bedisposable?”

“Wot are you going on about?” Junkrat grumbled,getting to his feet.

“You are quite correct. I was initially builtas a service drone, to be used and replaced once I became irrelevant, or once Ihad outlived my usefulness.” Zen inclined his head, giving Junkrat a closelook. “Does the same not apply to you, Mr. Fawkes? What happened when theAustralian omnium exploded, destroying your home? Did your government not decideyou were disposable and abandon you?”

“Oi, who needs a government anyway?” Junkrathalf-heartedly brushed the dirt from his already dirty clothes. “A little anarchynever hurt nobody.”

“And what of your safe haven?” Zen pressed. “Didyour queen think you were disposable when she banished you to the wastes?”

Junkrat looked up at him sharply, eyesnarrowing. “Now, how do you know about that?”

“We are all designed to be disposable under thehands of those who wish to control us,” the monk continued, breezing past thequestion. “However, it is the destiny we choose for ourselves that makes us whowe are and who we will become. We are only as disposable as we allow ourselvesto be.”

A look of confusion crossed Junkrat’s face.

“You seem to have found some purpose with yourexpertise in demolitions. As for myself, once I embraced the teachings of theIris-”

Confusion turned to rage as something insideJunkrat snapped.

“You can take your bloody Iris and get stuffed,you drongo!” The Junker turned on his good heel and stormed away withoutanother word, leaving Zenyatta staring after him with surprise.

Alas. It was unfair to try and teach a fish tofly, and it seemed the same held true with rats. Zen watched his retreatingback curiously, wondering what exactly set him off, and if he could still finda way to help the complicated man during his brief stay. With a sigh ofwhirring cybernetics, he turned back to the sea, grateful for the opportunityto get some restful meditation at last.

 Epilogue:

Bloody piece of scrap. Who does he think he is?Trying to act all chummy and confusing before pulling out that load of toshabout the Iris? Junkrat was no fool. He’d been in the ruins of the destroyedomnium before the Junkers looted it to hell and back. He’d looked into theheart of the Iris and seen it for what it really was.

Omnics couldn’t be trusted. The Iris couldn’tbe trusted. Anyone who did was in for a rude awakening. Junkrat would be therewhen it happened.

There was always profit to be made in chaos.

#Overwatch #Zenyatta #Junkrat #1700 words #I got the idea that Zen knows Tai Chi from his dance emote #I had to write the narrative from Zen's point of view because can you IMAGINE? #Junkrat's mind is a hot mess #I don't wanna try and wrangle that into perspective narrative #Hell no #Give me more prompts please? #:3 #My Drabbles

[phosphorescent-naidheachd]

So I am woefully behind on my dash and thus all The Best Blogs such as your own, but please tell me: What were your thoughts about Twin Suns? Please feel free to refer me to a post if you already made one.

*blushes* Thank you! And sorry for taking so long to reply to this! Apparently I had even more thoughts on “Twin Suns” than I’d initially thought.

Rebels 3x20: “Twin Suns” has its weaknesses, but I really enjoyed it overall. As you may be aware, I’m a fan of Obi-Wan (yes, yes, I know, ~shock~), so I spent pretty much the entire time I watched the episode clapping my hands in glee (albeit softly, so as not to drown out what was happening) because Obi-Wan was on my screen again. I mean, you’re talking to the person who gets excited every time canon makes the slightest of oblique references to him, so…¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’ve also always been All About Those Parallels™ and this episode abounds with them. The most obvious, of course, are the ones that mirror Qui-Gon’s death sequence in TPM, and I found this fitting for several reasons. First and foremost, I love it because it brings Maul and Obi-Wan’s story full circle. By setting their fight amidst the desolate sand dunes of Tatooine, Obi-Wan and Maul meet for the last time where the audience met Maul for the first time – something which the show explicitly underlines in 3x10: “Visions and Voices: “it ends where it begun… a desert planet… with twin suns”. (In fact, for all we know, the setting of Obi-Wan and Maul’s final encounter might even be somewhere in the Xelric Draw, which, according to Legends canon, is where Qui-Gon and Maul first met and fought. If you look at this map, you’ll notice that the Xelric Draw covers a wide swath of the space between Obi-Wan’s hut and Mos Espa, so it’s not improbable that Obi-Wan might travel there by dewback.)

In contrast to our introduction to Maul, however, which took place under the heat of a midday sun, our last glimpse of him takes place at night under the stars; Obi-Wan and Maul are at the end of their journey together and so – ostensibly, anyway! – are Maul and the audience.

Just as day and night contrast, so too do Obi-Wan and Maul, both when compared to their younger selves and when compared to each other. Both characters have gone through enumerable events in the three decades since they first met one another, all of which have shaped them… but at the end of the day, Obi-Wan has grown and changed in a way that Maul hasn’t. One of the first things Maul says in TPM is the following: ”At last we will reveal ourselves to the Jedi. At last we will have revenge.“ And at the end of “Twin Suns”, his last line is “He…will…avenge us.”

For all that Maul scolded Ezra about refusing to break free from the chains of his past in “Visions and Voices”, Maul is still focused on revenge – still focused on Obi-Wan; in the end, it’s all he has left to give his life purpose. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, has moved on from their grudge match and is focused on the future – on Luke. He is no longer the hot-headed padawan or the crusading knight that Maul knew; he is a guardian, and thus it is only when Luke is threatened that Obi-Wan deigns to fights Maul. Luke is, after all, Obi-Wan’s sole remaining tie to Anakin, his sole remaining purpose for existing… and seemingly his sole remaining hope for a better future.

At the same time, however, the two characters have a great deal in common. Obi-Wan and Maul have always been foils to one another. Both are Force Sensitive children who were taken and raised by their respective Orders, thus setting their feet on the paths to their respective destinies. Both had brothers that were destroyed by Sidious’ machinations and both are deeply lonely as a result. Now, both are relics of a past that has already passed into legend for most of the galaxy; they are old men who have no place in this new world – this new Empire – and have consequently been hiding in exile for the past seventeen years. Obi-Wan has long been aware that they have some commonalities (see some of his comments in TCW 5x16: “The Lawless”) and I think Maul is aware too… he just refuses to acknowledge as much until he’s dying. (Honestly, I’ve always gotten the impression that he’s subconsciously a bit jealous of Obi-Wan and that that is one of the roots of his resentment towards him, but that’s a conversation for another day.)

“He…will…avenge us,” Maul says with his dying breath. Us. Although they belong to very different traditions and have made very different choices, Maul tacitly acknowledges that at the end of the day, they both belong to a way that has vanished, and that this experience bonds them together. It is my personal opinion that both men are tired of fighting by this point – it’s simply that Maul doesn’t know any other way. He seeks out Obi-Wan because it gives his life renewed purpose, and he fights Obi-Wan because that is what he has always done. No matter which of them wins the fight, Maul gets what he wants – either the defeat of his nemesis or a release from his own suffering.  

In a sense, Maul has been occupying a liminal space between life and death ever since Obi-Wan cut him in half in TPM. When we first re-meet him in TCW 4x21: “Brothers”, Maul is emaciated and utterly deranged. As TCW progresses, Maul regains some of his sanity and ambition – and his brother! – only to lose them again. At this point in Rebels, just as when Oppress first found him in TCW, Maul has lost all sense of self and purpose, his own spite and a burning desire for revenge against Obi-Wan (and Sidious) the only things keeping him alive. He lacks hope.

Fortunately for Maul, Obi-Wan is heavily associated with hope in Star Wars; does “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope” ring any bells? ;-)  That said, Obi-Wan is associated with sorrow as much as he is with hope. Perhaps nowhere is this peculiar combination encapsulated as well as in that oft-quoted excerpt from James Luceno’s Legends novel, Labyrinth of Evil: “And you, Master. What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?”“Infinite sadness,” Obi-Wan said, even while smiling.”

We see this theme repeatedly play out in Rebels. The two most blatant examples of Obi-Wan being linked with sorrow are when Maul uses Ezra’s suffering to lure Obi-Wan out of hiding (“Your pain, your sorrow… it calls to him”) and portions of Obi-Wan’s holocron message (“I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with a dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place […] Do not return to the Temple…that time has passed.”). Meanwhile, Obi-Wan repeatedly acts as an embodiment of hope for at least three of our main characters: Kanan (“This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in The Force […] we must persevere. And in time, a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always.”), Maul (“As for myself, I seek something much simpler, yet equally elusive… Hope. […] I see him! […] He lives!”), and Ezra (“The answer to my question of how to destroy the Sith is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”).

Obi-Wan’s sorrow and hope both come to the forefront during his brief appearance in this episode. Maul’s unnecessary death is tragic in and of itself to Obi-Wan, but the way in which it mirrors Qui-Gon’s death and the fight that preceded it only adds to the pain he feels. And although he undoubtedly has hope for Ezra and the Rebellion after safely seeing the boy off (just look at the faint smile on his face before Maul starts to speak again), there’s something incredibly sad about his parting words to Ezra: “That is your way out. Your way home.” Obi-Wan can’t go home anymore – his home no longer exists. Yet still he clings to hope.

“Look what I have risen above,” Obi-Wan says in response to Maul’s taunting. And that’s Obi-Wan in a nutshell, isn’t it? He’s far from perfect, but despite all the blows life has dealt him, he perseveres and continues to choose the Light. In their previous confrontation in “The Lawless”, he told Maul, “You can kill me, but you will never destroy me”, and this holds true throughout Obi-Wan’s life and beyond. Obi-Wan is sorrow, yes, but he is also hope – and although hope can be shattered, it rises anew from the wreckage each time, a phoenix from the ashes. And hope is indeed “more powerful than you can possibly imagine”.

A related recurring Star Wars theme found in “Twin Suns” is that ‘it’s always darkest before dawn’. It is only after Ezra has given up on finding Obi-Wan, collapsing of heatstroke/dehydration/exhaustion next to a powered-down Chopper, that he achieves his objective. Although Maul dies, he does so with a glimmer of hope that the “Chosen One” will balance the cosmic scales. One might even call it a new hope. ;-) Meanwhile, we literally see this theme played out at the end of the episode, with the dark night fading away into pale morning mist, Tatooine’s twin suns hanging partway up in the sky as Beru calls for Luke (presumably to come back in for breakfast?), the titular new hope.

Speaking of the Chosen One… Ughhh, I’ve hated that prophecy ever since it first popped up in TPM. Can I believe that several key individuals in-universe bought into said prophecy? Absolutely. But honestly, “bring balance to the Force”? I know prophecies are always vague and therefore can be interpreted twelve thousand different ways, but come on. This ties into Star Wars’ problem where it can’t quite make up its mind as to what the Force is, let alone what the Light and Dark sides of it mean or what “balance” would look like. One could argue that we’re not supposed to understand it any more than the characters do – all of whom having differing beliefs on the subject – but I personally think it’s sloppy storytelling rather than an artistic choice. I guess we’ll have to wait and see if TLJ clears any of this up.

…But I’ve gotten off-topic here. The Chosen One. *sighs* Up until TCW’s Mortis arc, I was happy to believe that the prophecy was only true insofar as characters’ perceptions of and reactions to it, but TCW more or less put paid to that when it had literal manifestations of the Force declare Anakin the Chosen One. I can still headcanon my way around that, but I’m pretty sure the canonical intention is for the prophecy to be a legitimate thing. So, working from that interpretation…

I know there’s been a lot of debate post “Twin Suns” about the implications of Obi-Wan’s statement that Luke is the Chosen One – does this mean that Anakin was never the Chosen One in the first place? does this mean that there’s more than one Chosen One? – but I think a lot of viewers are overlooking the simplest explanation, which is that although Obi-Wan may believe that Luke could be the Chosen One, it doesn’t necessarily follow that he is the Chosen One.

Obi-Wan canonically places a great deal of hope – and pressure! – on Luke’s shoulders throughout the Original Trilogy, so a belief that Luke is the Chosen One would dovetail nicely with that behavior. For instance, with that belief in mind, his comment to Luke in RotJ takes on a new meaning: “Then the Emperor has already won. You were our only hope”. This complete and utter focus on Luke to the exclusion of Leia would make a bit more sense if Obi-Wan sincerely believes that Luke is the true Chosen One. (Though that still doesn’t answer the question why Obi-Wan would think Luke must be the Chosen One rather than Leia. *rolls eyes*) Moreover, it is makes sense that Obi-Wan would no longer believe that Anakin/Vader is the Chosen One. By the time we reach the Original Trilogy, Obi-Wan appears to have given up on Anakin. In his mind, the moment that “the good man who was” Anakin turned to the Dark Side, Darth Vader “betrayed and murdered” him. In Obi-Wan’s mind, submerging the galaxy into darkness is incompatible with bringing “balance to the Force” a la the Chosen One prophecy; therefore, Anakin either lost his status as the Chosen One when he became a Sith or he was never truly the Chosen One to begin with.

Another possibility is that Obi-Wan, master of “half-truths and hyperbole” as he is, is merely trying to give a dying Maul some form of comfort and hope. After all, he never outright says that Luke is the Chosen One – his reply of “he is” in answer to Maul’s question (“Is he the Chosen One?”) certain implies that he’s referring to the person he’s all but admitted to protecting (i.e. Luke), but we all know that Obi-Wan sometimes has a casual relationship with the truth, especially when he thinks his obfuscation will serve a greater good.  It would be just like Obi-Wan to intentionally give a vague reply that he knows someone will read an incorrect message into; after all, it’s not like he’s lying… And ironically enough, this is another way in which Obi-Wan parallels Maul. Obi-Wan’s line to Ezra that Maul “used your desire to do good to deceive you” and “manipulated the truth” could just as easily apply to himself, what with his “the truth is often what we make of it” and “from a certain point of view” way of looking at the world.

But honestly, I couldn’t care less who is or isn’t the prophesied Chosen One. It’s been a recurring theme in the prequels and animated TV series, but thus far it has yet to significantly affect the story (except insofar as it affects the characters, who in turn influence the plot – but most of this is implied rather than shown outright onscreen).

The audience sees “Twin Suns” through Ezra’s and Maul’s eyes, and both of them are lost – figuratively and literally – throughout most of the episode. From a narrative standpoint, perhaps this is why so much of the episode’s time is spent focused on them wandering in the desert. Both characters are searching for Obi-Wan in hopes that he will be the solution to their respective problems… failing to recognize that those solutions can only be found within themselves. On a personal level, I’m a bit unsatisfied by how much of the episode is wasted on Maul and Ezra’s wanderings, but I can acknowledge its merits on a meta-narrative level. Perhaps we’re supposed to feel frustrated and as though something is incomplete, just as Maul and Ezra do… or perhaps I’m giving the Rebels writers way too much credit.

Of course, no discussion of this episode would be complete without examining Ezra’s role in the story. “Twin Suns” acts as a metaphor for Ezra’s inner journey every bit as much as it does Maul’s. While their futures may indeed “converge on a planet with twin suns” as Maul claimed in “Visions and Voices”, Ezra does not choose to “walk that path together” with Maul. Ezra certainly has his attachments, but unlike Maul, he isn’t so married to the past as to be irrevocably trapped in it.

“What else can we do?” Ezra says in response to Chopper’s grumbling after their ship is destroyed, leaving them stranded in the middle of the desert. “We have to go forward.” And that’s what this episode is about for Ezra, really – learning to move forward again… and learning to accept that he already has everything he needs in order to do so. 

A few more random thoughts before I (finally) end this:

•   Chopper’s slump and resigned sigh before turning around to go after Ezra like his babysitter will never not be hilarious to me.

•   Chopper goes from being powered-down and sand-logged in one scene to awake and alert in the next. The only possible conclusion? Obi-Wan must have fixed him while Ezra was sleeping. And later, Obi-Wan pats Chopper while talking to Ezra; that’s practically a declaration of friendship coming from him! It makes you wonder what kind of conversation they had before Ezra woke up… (That would explain how Obi-Wan knew Ezra’s full name, though, if Chopper told him.) …I kind of want that missing scene in a fic now.

•   “You saw what you wanted to see, believed what you wanted to believe,” Obi-Wan tells Ezra of the combined holocrons’ message. Going off of what I said earlier about Obi-Wan possibly misleading Maul, I can’t help but wonder if he’s doing the same thing to Ezra here. I mean, Obi-Wan is obviously trying to get Ezra to not delve into the subject any further and to leave Tatooine before he learns about Luke (and, y’know, to protect him from Maul), but part of me wonders if there’s anything more to it – the same part of me that wonders if the holocrons had a point beyond the obvious (and, if we’re being honest here, author intended) interpretation. Not to take anything away from Luke, but I’d love to see a fic that runs with an AU interpretation of the holcrons’ message. 

•   I had had some doubts when I first heard him in the episode promo, but I after watching “Twin Suns”, I have to admit that Stephen Stanton did an excellent Alec-Guiness-as-Ben-Kenobi impersonation in this episode. Kudos to him and to the writing staff for nailing the character’s speech patterns a la ANH.

•   I’m just as glad to see Maul finally gone (well, ostensibly anyway!), but I’m also glad that he was able to find some small measure of peace on his proverbial deathbed. He was dealt a truly terrible hand in life, and although he inflicted suffering on so many beings, you can’t help but feel sorry for him.

•  “That is not your responsibility. I will heal this old wound.” Other fans have doubtless already commented on this Easter Egg, but it’s still worth a gleeful mention.

•   Responsibility is another theme that runs throughout “Twin Suns”. I got the impression that we’re supposed to think Ezra is initially trying to foist the primary responsibility for destroying the Sith off on someone else, someone older and more qualified (hence his search for Obi-Wan) and that he eventually learns to take responsibility for fighting evil himself. I disagree with that reading– I’d argue that Ezra’s narrative arc has been more about learning to be able to depend on others, as he’d had stand on his own two feet for years before he met the Ghost crew. Moreover, while of course the Rebellion doesn’t need to wait around for mystical saviors in the form of Jedi (nor should they!), that doesn’t mean that the adult Jedi – namely Obi-Wan, Yoda, and any other Councillors who might have survived – have no responsibility to the Rebellion, either. The rise of the Empire was by no means solely their fault, but like many, they did help to enable it… and therefore the responsibility for destroying it also partially rests with them. The problem, of course, is that this isn’t their sole responsibility to the galaxy, and so they have to choose which responsibilities to prioritize. In the end, they deem the survival of the Jedi (through themselves and Luke) and the protection of someone powerful enough to eventually bring about the demise of the Sith (once again, Luke) to be more important than any individual strikes they could make against the Empire on their own. Are they correct in their decision? Well, that depends upon your point of view.

•  You can definitely see the moment where Obi-Wan goes from a calm refusal to fight – even amusement – to Must Protect Luke At All Costs™. Similarly, you can see the moment when he recognizes the move Maul is making and adjusts his stance accordingly. Some very nice animation work here from the creators!

•   Some fans find the shortness of Maul and Obi-Wan’s final duel to be unsatisfying and unrealistic, while other fans think that the duel’s speed and anticlimactic nature are the whole point. I… don’t particularly care, tbh? I can see both sides. That said, I do think that they should have shown Obi-Wan’s lightsaber making contact with Maul’s saber-staff and chest for more than half of a second in the dark; on my first watch-through, I didn’t realize that he’d actually hit Maul until Maul was dead. I was so confused… and I know I’m not the only viewer to have had this problem.

•  I love the strange sense of kinship that’s evoked between Maul and Obi-Wan as he lays dying. And the way Obi-Wan cradles Maul and gently closes his eyes kills me every time.

•  Why, precisely, is Ezra so sure that Maul is dead when he left before the Big Showdown™? Does he just have that much faith in Obi-Wan? Did the Force tell him as much? Personally, I’m rooting for someone to write a crack fic where Obi-Wan comms him mid-flight through something he installed in Chopper or something and tells him, leading to a wacky correspondence. (Utmost secrecy and security risks? What utmost secrecy and security risks?)

•  I was slightly disappointed not to get any more of Luke than his silhouette (well, Ezra’s silhouette, if we’re going to be technical lol – Rebels re-used footage of Ezra to save time & money) in the closing scene, but I also thought it was kind of fitting. The closer we get to the timeline of ANH, the stronger Luke’s shadow looms over Rebels, after all.

•  The closing scene in general!!! I get chills each time I watch it. It really ties “The Journals of Ben Kenobi”, the Rebels series, and ANH together nicely. All we needed was for Obi-Wan’s bantha family to make an appearance… ;-)

•   As much as I loved “Twin Suns”, I think it would have worked better if they’d cut just a smidgeon of the ‘wandering in the desert’ bits and used that extra time to 1. Show a point in Obi-Wan and Ezra’s conversation where Obi-Wan gets Ezra to promise not to tell anyone that he’s still alive and on Tatooine, or 2. Shown us Kanan’s reaction to learning that Obi-Wan is still alive… and is hiding on a backwater planet instead of searching for remaining Jedi and/or helping the Rebellion (I’d love to see the other characters’ reactions to this news too, but Kanan’s reaction is the one that is most important thematically), or 3. Use their original draft’s plotline, which involved Ezra and Kanan going to Tatooine instead of Ezra and Chopper. This last scenario would have the added benefit of more narrative ‘showing’ than ‘telling’ when it comes to Kanan’s reaction, and it would allow for further streamlining of the episode, as TPTB could then cut out most of the scenes with the rest of the Ghost crew (which, although enjoyable, split the audience’s focus in an undesirable way in this episode, IMO, even if they did act as nice bookends). Any of these options would have made for a much tighter, less rushed, more coherent, and more satisfying episode.

All criticisms and analyses aside, I really liked “Twin Suns”. Although it’s enriched by knowledge of previous Rebels episodes, it can stand on its own. I’d say it’s definitely among the best work Rebels has produced and is a worthy addition to new Star Wars canon.

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