#wonder if prison awakened anything in him

[endursent]

Imagining for my parter turned into a cat. Imagine reader being a very popular kitty among the cat society and get mating offers from other kitties how would the guys react? I think Jelly jelly Jing yuan for sure, silent anger stare from Dan heng and pouty pouty Aven.

【 content; established relationship , humour , some jealousy/possessiveness...? , gn!reader , temporarily turned cat (reader) 】

【 characters; aventurine , dan heng , jing yuan 】

【 note; this got a bit out of hand. thank you for the ask! love these little goobers... 】

【 word count; 2.827 | masterlist 】

Jing Yuan;

As much as you enjoy being pampered and cuddled by your dear Jing Yuan… it’s much too hot to be engulfed by his practically radiating body today. The weather systems of the Luofu have been slowly shifting into simulating the warmth of summer, and it seems whoever is in charge of maintenance forgot to input a maximum temperature, because no way this was intentional. 

  It’s humid, hot, and you want to find a little pond to lie down beside—worst case scenario, you hang out in the Fyxestroll Gardens. They’re always cool and nice, cloudy and spooky enough to chase people away from crowding it on warmer days. 

  Trotting down the connecting paths between the Exalted Sanctum and the nearest transport station, your ears flick curiously as you hear footsteps in tune with yours, with only mild delay. Raising your gaze, you see a small white and brown coloured cat on top of the large partition walls separating markets from the pathways. It stops when you do and sits down, tail swaying almost excitedly.

  You’re not entirely sure what it wants, but you have a starskiff to catch! You start walking again and pick up your speed until the other cat runs out of walls to run along and follow you.

  It doesn’t become an isolated incident either, you were trying to get some grilled fish from a stall you often visit in your normal form. Using your best kitty eyes and rubbing along old Wan’s legs to try and get some leftovers (not that Jing Yuan doesn’t feed you, but you REALLY want this specifically made fish), the old stall-owner gives in and gives you some small pieces, though raw—better for your current form, not your preference in texture, but you’ll take it. 

  Unfortunately, as you’re carrying your prize along to return to the Seat of Divine Foresight, a white-furred cat joins you on the street—immediately rubbing its body along yours as it’s tail sways happily and finds yours. 

  Now, you just assume this guy wants your fish. This is YOUR fish. 

  Hissing and kicking their side with your hind leg, you shoot off to protect your loot and hurry to the Cloud Knight that guards the way to the Seat. 

  The third time, you’re sitting and watching Jing Yuan play chess against Yanqing yet again, usually you would be busy at your own job at this time, but given your predicament… you get to hang around. You whacked a piece off the board once, and now you’re a confined prisoner on Jing Yuan’s lap. 

  After dozing off for a while—ironically on the dozing general’s lap—you wake up to see Jing Yuan scooping a cat up and moving it away. Where did that come from??

  As you had been sleeping, two cats had come into the gardens, which isn’t too unusual, the ponds and thick trees are perfect napping spots and no one minds having cats around to pet and feed. Though they hadn’t come to nap or beg for treats, they had hopped over to Jing Yuan and tried to squeeze their little heads between his arms to poke their noses at you or sniff at your fur. 

  Not wanting to wake you, Jing Yuan had scooped them up with one hand and deposited them behind him, but they kept coming back. He frowns slightly as your large eyes blink open, awakened from your cozy nap. “Are you hiding anything under yourself?” he wonders, perhaps the cats are smelling some food from you. But no, you’re empty handed(pawed?) and confused. 

  As Jing Yuan seemed occupied dragging the cats away from you and hadn’t made his turn in several minutes, Yanqing leaned back. Looks like he’ll just have to wait until this is resolved. 

  You stand up on Jing Yuan’s thighs and shake yourself, poking your head out over his forearm to meet noses with one of the cats. Maybe they just need to say hi and they’ll leave.

  That is, until you look to the left and are met with a raised rear from the other cat right in front of your face. 

  Jing Yuan laughs at the sight of your eyes bulging in surprise and quickly snapping your head back from sniffing at the other cats. He cradles you in his arms and rubs his large hand over your tummy. “Seems like my little kitty has been presented to, have you been followed around like this recently? “ Jing Yuan smiles and pinches your paw gently. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have protected you from this terrible harassment~” 

  You wouldn’t really call it that, you thought one had just been curious, another had been trying to steal your fish—and then there was that one time a cat had tried to bite the back of your neck, but you thought he was just trying to pick a fight. 

  Maybe not actually being a cat made their intentions fly over your head. 

  Standing up and disregarding his game with Yanqing—who shot to his feet and protested—Jing Yuan carried you back inside the Sea of Divine Foresight, gently shooing the following cats out of the doorway with his foot before settling down on a soft divan by a wall. “There, now I’ve got you all to myself,” he says, scratching behind your ear to have you lean into his hand for more. You're just too cute, how can he let others fawn over you when it should be him that showers you with affection? After all, he knows you best, and he knows the best spots to scratch and comb through where you can't reach. “Even like this, you’re irresistible? Perhaps I should put a cute collar on you with my smell and name on it.”

  You sneeze as his hand brushes over your whiskers, you peer up at him—you have a feeling that he wouldn’t stop there, Jing Yuan would gift you a human sized one when you’re back to normal too! 

Dan Heng;

He doesn’t particularly like the idea of bringing you off the Express while you’re like this—mostly concerned that you’ll get lost or distracted and then get lost. What if you get hit by a car?? You don’t have any vets on the Express. 

  It’s in his nature to overthink about these things, and to be worried for your safety. You’re just… so small like this, practically without any tools to protect yourself, and cute enough that someone might try to yoink you off the street for their own. 

  Regardless, he’s been convinced to take you with him. By a combination of your big kitten eyes, and March’s attempt at mimicking it for double the effect—it was unsettling enough that it halved the progress your pleading made, but half is enough when it’s you. 

  He does however, not expect you to be bringing a hoard of other cats behind you after wandering off for a few minutes. 

  Dan Heng blinks at you as you run to him and practically throw yourself onto his pant leg, scrambling up his clothes like a squirrel fleeing from a bear, with about seven cats behind you. 

  He puts his hands under you to hold you after you make it up to his chest and nearly stumbles back as they try to rise on their hind legs to sniff at you. What the hell did you do for this to happen?? Thankfully, Dan Heng expertly navigates past the army of curious cats and escapes the situation with you in his arms. 

  Not the first and likely not the last time he has to rescue you from a situation you yourself created.

  Thankfully, you behave yourself for the remainder of the day and there’s no further incident… Dan Heng relaxes slightly—until he spots you sitting idly on a bench on the side of the streets where you, Dan Heng, March and Himeko had been looking at an expansive market. He looks away, you look rather content sitting there and observing the crowds for now. 

  When he looks back, there’s another cat there. Do you just emit “come bother me” scents for other cats? He doesn’t smell anything strange from you at all… but then again, he’s not a cat. 

  Dan Heng doesn’t get immediately alarmed… maybe it’s just a cat saying hello, that’s not very unusual for them to do… he thinks…? Ever since you turned into a cat, he’s had to confront the fact that he doesn’t, in fact, know much about cats. 

  He side-eyes the interaction for a while until Himeko asks for his attention on something, and he turns away for only a split second. When he looks towards you again after about two minutes at most… you’re loafing on the bench, and the other cat is licking and grooming your fur in spots you can’t reach properly. 

  Now, seeing two cats sitting around and grooming each other can be quite cute, he’s seen videos of it before…

  But this isn’t just some cats? One of them is his partner! He feels something prickle at the back of his mind, and though he tries to hold his instincts back whenever they rise—he purred once on accident when you were stroking his hair before bed and never let his guard down since—Dan Heng can’t help it when he turns around and crosses the street. 

  You blink up at him, half-asleep from the warmth of the market and the thorough cleaning from this very friendly cat. You hadn’t even noticed the other cat’s tail was entwined with yours. 

  Rather rudely, but not aggressively, Dan Heng pushes the other cat away from you, its body just sliding a bit to the right. He then picks you up and gives the offending cat a sharp look before turning away and taking you to the rest of the group.

  You were confined to being “bag carried” for the rest of the mission, where Dan Heng literally put you in a bag where only your head stuck up out of it, and carried you around like that. Mostly because his arms would get too tired of holding you normally, and you could snooze easily if you wanted to. 

  You open your eyes to find the familiar ceiling of the Express’ archive room, and Dan Heng setting the bag aside. You stretch, limbs reaching into the air. Dan Heng stares and a small smile lifts the corner of his lips, he takes your front paws with separate hands and holds them up where you were stretching them. “Cute… though I do prefer you as normal, I hope to hold your hands again soon.”

Aventurine;

Seeing that the progress of getting you back to normal was taking far longer than he anticipated, Aventurine made it a habit to take you along. He would often at the start leave you at home over most of the day and only bring you around if he was going to be in his office… but concerned you would either die of boredom or scratch the furniture in frustration until there was nothing left, he had you along with him.

  Aventurine works a lot—too much, you would sometimes say. If he’s not carrying out missions or doing more lengthy business with select companies or operations, he is attending meetings, answering messages or other things. 

  Mostly, he travels between indebted worlds.

  And you DESPISE the transportation method. 

  Touching down on solid ground is heavenly, you hop out of his arms and lay down flat. It’s not so bad in human form, but like this? Sucks. Terrible. You hate it. 

  Aventurine only laughs and scoops you up again. “I’ve got places to be today, how about you go explore for a while? Report to me the details when you’re done,” he jokes and rubs your cheek with his thumb, making you blink a few times as his finger comes so close to your eyes. “Just don’t go too far, hm? Meet me back here for dinner.”

  With that, he leans down and gives your furry head a good smooch and sets you down again. You shake yourself and look up at him… Aventurine stares down at you. You’re both waiting for the other to leave first.

  After a brief standstill, you’re the first to break the eye-contact and turn to trot away. New world and city to explore—and doing it from the perspective of a cat is surprisingly easy and fun, though you do sometimes get chased away by old ladies with brooms. 

  There’s a surprisingly large cat population in this city, despite the high rise buildings and gloomy scenery they also all seem well fed, perhaps it’s a very friendly place? Or perhaps they’re all house-cats having some fresh air. 

  You approach one to greet, you’ve become rather adept at recognising whether a cat is a stray or just an outside-cat. The cats of Pier Point are friendly in the upper districts, but get rather suspicious and territorial in the lower ones… which is rather understandable, you suppose.

  The cat you walk up to and greet has entirely black fur and bright yellow eyes, they almost blended into the alleyway you spotted them in but had very approachable body language, sitting and licking their paw lazily. 

  As you hop onto the dumpster they sit on, the cat looks up and walks over, poking noses with you as you sniff each other—you mostly do it for politeness’ sake, you can’t entirely discern what each scent means… you can smell it, but you don’t have the mind of a cat to understand what it’s supposed to indicate. 

  You do smell a lot of wet cat coming from this one though. No wonder it was bathing itself.

  After it got a bit too busy sniffing around your tail, it thankfully pulled back when you whacked them away… for now. After doing some more exploring, you found that more and more cats were poking their heads out to greet you—fine enough, but they kept following you around. 

  Even after meeting up with Aventurine again and meowing at him in varying tones, and him nodding along as if he could understand you perfectly… they still kept coming around. Finding a restaurant that Aventurine was satisfied with AND allowed cats isn’t easy picking, but he did eventually pick one and plop you down opposite of him on the chair. 

  Never fails to amuse him to look at you from across a dining or restaurant table where you’re poking your head above the edge of it to peer up at the plates. Aventurine leans on his palm, chin resting on it calmly as he reads from the menu. You meow repeatedly until he takes one tone as more affirmative than the others and figures that’s the dish you wanted… whether it's cat safe, well, he’ll just eat the non-safe things off your plate. You won’t complain… much. 

  While waiting for your food, Aventurine shows you something on his phone—not only is he sitting across from a cat in a restaurant as if he were on a date with it, but also showing it his phone—but you get distracted when the plates arrive. Thankfully the waiter had relayed it to the kitchen that there was an actual cat going to eat this deliciously made plate of shrimps, and it seems they either humoured him, or fully believed him.

  Either way, you have shrimp!

  While you lick at the plate and gobble down the seafood, you don’t even notice another cat hopping up into the chair next to you—not until it tries to steal some of your food. You hiss and swat at them to get them away, but it doesn’t deter them much. 

  Aventurine swallows his bite and sighs. “My date is being encroached on, you wouldn’t dare leave with another, darling?” his dramatics only makes your frustration with the other cat trying to bite at the back of your neck rise. How about he stop whining and help you?! 

  Your protesting, communicated in a series of aggrieved meows, goes unattended for a while until he hums. “I suppose I must rescue my date from this interloper,” Aventurine says. You think he’s being a bit dramatic with his wording, but once he picks up the offending cat by the scruff of his neck and shoos him away, you are relieved to be at peace with your shrimp again.

  He squats down by the chair you sit in and rubs your head, a smile touching his expression as your eyes close. “There, better? I’ll be sure to keep all these curious cats away from you.” though it was rather amusing to watch you hiss and whack away, he would rather avoid a situation where you're uncomfortable—especially in a form and state where you can hardly express that discomfort and advocate for yourself. Aventurine much rather prefers to have you for himself.

  You nuzzle your head into his palm, a small rumbling purr leaving your chest. Better. 

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (24/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: smut, targcest stuff, the angst, uncomfortable conversations, offensive terms and mild violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was gentle because of the baby.

Or at least that's what she kept telling herself as he made love to her again slowly and affectionately, looking deep into her eyes. He panted and murmured into her mouth between hot, messy kisses full of their saliva and tongues, his broad hand stroking her hair as he built the familiar tension in her loins with deep, sure thrusts.

It was a sweet torture; he already knew her body intimately and was aware of where to hit so that a thrill of wonderful pleasure ran through her spine each time. All she could do was run her fingers down his naked, sweaty back, stroking his long jaw, babbling and moaning beneath him like a little girl, wanting to take everything he was giving her.

He was gentle because of the baby: because he didn't want her to miscarry.

They had both suffered too much already.

So she absorbed his affection and warmth, dreading the moment when she would awaken as if from a beautiful dream, colliding again with his rougher side.

On the one hand, she also craved that part of him, dark and unpredictable, aggressive and cruel – however, now that he was vulnerable and sweet, coming each time with a loud sigh of relief, she felt with him safer than ever before.

His embrace was full of care, understanding, support.

Everything about his attitude said: I don't want to hurt you.

"I want to fly to Runestone."

Her husband, lying right next to her on the bedding, breathing heavily after their shared exertion, looked at her with shock mixed with disbelief, his eyebrows arched in consternation.

"What?" He asked dryly.

"I want to fly to Runestone." She repeated. "To see my cousin. Gain his support for your cause. To return home."

"King's Landing is your home, as is any place where I am." He hissed impatiently, his pupil narrowed like that of a cat.

He hadn't expected this, and her words came as a blow to him.

He felt threatened and was ready to attack.

He swallowed hard, taken aback as she lifted her hand up, her fingers running gently down his jaw.

"I never asked you for anything. I never expected anything. But if I'm supposed to heal, I have to do it." She said calmly.

"You are healed. And you are with child. I'm not allowing it." He replied coldly, rising from the bed, grabbing impatiently at his tunic that lay on the floor.

She swallowed hard, leaning on her elbow, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will do this with or without your permission, husband."

She saw his hands freeze in half-motion as he fastened the buckles of his tunic, his nostrils twitched, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

She was stepping on the edge of a knife and she knew it, but she couldn't act otherwise.

"As the wife of the Prince Regent, I am a free woman and have the right to visit my relatives. Don't I?" She asked in a trembling voice, clenching her fingers on the fabric of the sheet.

He stood motionless for a moment, staring dully ahead, his chest rising and falling rapidly in loud, raspy breaths.

He was furious and torn internally.

"I am your family now. I thought it was enough for you." He said with some strange kind of regret that made her feel a deep, painful sting in her heart.

"You are the love of my life." She whispered.

She saw that he swallowed hard, hearing these words – they surprised him and he had not expected them at the moment. His eye grew big, like that of a little boy, filled with warm affection and a desire to believe what she said.

"Then why?" He asked. "Why do you want to leave me? Now that…"

Now that we are closer than ever, she finished for him in her mind.

"Your presence saves me during the day. It allows me to breathe. But at night I dream about my father and I won't find peace until I speak to someone who watched him and my mother. I need answers. I can't ask him anymore because I killed him myself."

She felt her body begin to tremble as she said those words aloud – she felt like they were some kind of curse, something that weighed over her like a dark, heavy cloud.

"I want to forgive myself. I want to find peace so that instead of mourning him, I can focus on our child who lives in my womb. And on you." She finished, looking at him hopefully.

She could see that he was hesitating, she could feel it in his clenched hands, in his blank stare, in his bent figure.

"I don't know him. How can I be sure that he will not make you a prisoner? That he will not hand you over to Rhaenyra so that she can threaten me? Force me to bend the knee?" He muttered, finally sharing with her what was truly troubling him.

"But I know him, my husband. He's a proud but good man. Faithful to his family. Faithful to me, just as I have always been faithful to him. He and I are alike. I know that with his support, conquering the Eyrie and striking the final blow against your sister will be easier. But I have to appear there alone to make him believe that I am doing this of my own free will. To make him accept our marriage."

"What right has he to decide whether our marriage is valid in the eyes of the gods or not?" He growled, looking at her with pain mixed with rage.

"You abducted me against his will. You humiliated him in the eyes of his men, his own servants." She muttered, shrugging her shoulders, unable to comprehend how he could not understand this.

"Perhaps he did not protect you well enough. After all, abducting you in the middle of the night was surprisingly easy. No one rushed to your aid, am I wrong? Your cousin did not storm the gates of the Red Keep at the head of his army, demanding that I return you to him." He said coldly, causing an unpleasant shiver to pass through her.

"You sound like you're proud of yourself, and just a few days ago you assured me you regretted it." She reminded him wryly.

She gasped as he turned and moved towards the door like an enraged bear, leaving the chamber with a loud slam of the door.

Why, after all she had done for him, did he not even try to understand her?

She buried her face in her hands, thinking she must have done it.

She needed to know the answers to all the questions she had in her head.

As she rose from her bed after so many weeks of misery, putting on her riding attire again, she felt powerful – a sense that she was taking her destiny into her own hands and decided who she really was gave her strength.

That was what she was missing; the freedom that, after all, had been taken from her by her own husband the day he abducted her from Runestone.

She just wanted to make it right.

To make her cousin forgive him for this insult.

She believed this could determine the fate of their war.

To her disappointment, her husband returned to his chamber very late and did not even look at her when she rose to meet him. Instead of approaching her, he sat down in a chair right by the hearth and froze like that, thoughtful, staring into the flames. He looked like a stone – his face and gaze were completely expressionless – she thought that this sight reminded her of something, and then she understood.

He looked just like he had when she met him.

Is this what she will see when she returns?

The man who had closed his heart to her anew?

"Aemond." She mumbled, approaching him slowly, feeling fearful for some reason.

She realised that he would not forgive her for this.

That there was still that vain and proud part of him that couldn't accept that she wanted to defy his command.

His will.

In his eyes she would be blamed for everything that would be the consequences of her decision.

He didn't even flinch at hearing his name – his body gave the impression that he was comfortably spread out, however, she knew it was only an illusion – she could see by his clenched jaw, by his fingers rubbing against each other in a nervous gesture that he was full of annoyance and embitterment.

"Please, my love. Let us not part in anger. Give me your blessing." She muttered with difficulty, staring at him pleadingly, but he did not look at her.

‘No,’ was his reply.

And although a moment ago she had been completely sure of what she wanted to do and that she would do it at any cost, now she wasn't certain that the price wasn't too high: whether she was able and willing to risk what she had built with him, even for herself.

"Why can't you understand me? Why, even though I always forgive you, you can't sacrifice your pride for me for once? Now, when I need you the most." She cried out in a breaking voice, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her face, making the room around her blurry.

She saw that he swallowed loudly, as if he remembered that he should breathe, but he didn't move even a bit, as if he was a stone statue.

He was punishing her because she wanted to leave him.

Or at least that's what it looked like in his mind.

She pressed her lips together as her hand undid the buckles of her coat – he flinched and raised his hands in a defensive gesture, shocked when she threw the leather material at his face. He only rose when he saw that she wanted to do the same with her boots, but he didn't make a sound – he bent down, avoiding the impact as the object flew over his head, hitting the wall on the other side.

"I'm staying. Are you satisfied? Look. I'm going back to bed where I belong. To fucking and bearing your children as you desire." She exhaled in a voice breaking with rage, hissing through her teeth as if she wanted to bite him.

She tore off her clothes, whooping with her own cry until she was left in just her nightgown, and then threw herself on the bed, snuggling into the cold sheets.

She had lost, and it was a feeling full of disappointment and bitterness; she had lost to her fear that she would lose him, to the fear that when she returned she would find him in the arms of the Witch of Harrenhal, to the fear that without his love her life would again lose meaning.

She could hear him breathing loudly and she could hear him standing exactly where he was, shocked by her outburst, by what had happened, but most of all and beyond all reason by the fact that she had stayed.

Despite everything she had told him.

It seemed to her that an eternity passed before she heard the quiet creaking of the wood beneath his feet, before she felt the weight of his body behind her back on the bed, before his hand touched her arm.

She pulled away from him, furious.

"Now you want to touch me? Now you want to graciously open your mouth? You have no shame." She growled, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest, heavy tears of bitterness running down her red, swollen face.

I hate you, she thought.

I hate what you made me do.

"If you wish so much to speak to your cousin: let him come to Harrenhal. Send word to him, and I will receive him with all honours." He whispered in a trembling voice.

He was terrified, for this was not what he had expected.

He had thought that he would be the one to play the victim, the wounded man whose heart had been broken by his beloved woman.

And now everything had turned against him.

She snorted, tightening her lips in exasperation at the thought.

"He is to come here like a dog to my summons? He's a proud man. He won't until he hears from your lips that what you did to me was unworthy." She said dryly.

She heard him swallow hard, tense. He was silent for a long moment, as if fighting with himself.

"I will be the one to send him a letter, then. I will ask his forgiveness. I will let him know that you wish to see him and that no harm will come to him or his men in Harrenhal." He proposed at last, surprising her.

I will ask his forgiveness.

"He will know that this is about the Eyrie and not about me. He won't believe your good intentions. He will think you are trying to use me for your own ends." She muttered, feeling her rage slowly begin to drain out of her.

He was trying to give her something in return.

To find a solution that would satisfy them both.

"What he thinks is not important: what will matter is that he will come here to see you. If, as you say, he is a wise man, he knows that the balance of power does not tip on Lady Arryn's side."

"And what if he refuses? If he remains faithful to her?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling the question hover over them like a heavy cloud.

Her husband was silent for a long time.

"I will let him leave, for the sake of my affection for you. But when it comes to the battle, you cannot expect him to experience my favour." He said at last.

She turned on her back to look at him – he was lying very close to her body, but he did not try to touch her. His gaze was the same again as it had been when he was desperate – he was looking at her, hoping that what he had said, his efforts to make things right were enough for her to forgive him.

"When will you send word to him?" She asked quietly, playing with her fingers.

"Tomorrow at the very dawn. If you wish, I will let you read what I have written." He whispered, softening with each passing moment.

His fury passed, exactly as hers had.

They both took a step back.

She shook her head.

"I don't need to read it. I trust you to write the right thing." She mumbled.

She heard him swallow hard, twisting in his place.

"Can I touch you?" He asked, and she nodded.

She sighed as his arms embraced her instantly, as his broad hand pressed her face into his chest, as his familiar, soothing scent filled her lungs. She clenched her fingers against the material of his tunic and breathed out loud, feeling relieved.

"Forgive me. I don't know what to do with myself when you enrage me, so I remain silent." He whispered at last, combing his hand through her dark curls.

I know, she thought.

That's just the way you are.

"Forgive me for throwing things at you. I didn't mean to hurt you." She replied, trailing her fingers down his arm.

"I know, my love. I know I'm a difficult person. I'm trying to change. To make you proud of me." He said and leaned in, placing a long, warm kiss on the top of her head.

My love.

"I am proud of you." She said, lifting her head up, meeting his face.

His gaze was gentle – his thumb ran over her soft cheek, sinking into the silky structure of her skin.

"I don't wish to fight you. You are my greatest ally and I need you by my side. You carry our future within you and you cannot put yourself at risk." He whispered.

She nodded with understanding and purred quietly as his full lips placed a wet, tender kiss on her forehead.

"Did you speak honestly then?" He asked suddenly, nuzzling his nose into her face.

"What do you mean?"

"You said I was the love of your life." He said, looking at her uncertainly, as if he feared he would see something in her gaze that would contradict that confession.

"You are." She whispered. "It is a difficult love that requires sacrifices, but I believe you are worth my efforts. That I know you and your heart."

She said, sliding her hand down to the area on his chest where she could clearly feel a strong beat underneath.

"You were the only one who always believed in me. You always helped me when I fell. You could have taken advantage of my weakness, but you didn't." He muttered wearily, clearly moved for some reason. "You are not to me only a vessel to conceive and bear my children. That was the fate that befell my mother and I would not condemn my own wife to the same. If this is how you feel by my side, forgive me, for it means that I am not fulfilling my duties as a husband properly."

She swallowed hard, feeling the tears under her eyelids again, however, this time for a completely different reason; he touched her heart the most at moments like this.

When he opened up at least for a moment.

"No. You are a good husband. No one has ever cared for me the way you do." She whispered, stroking his cheek tenderly.

They embraced each other and fell asleep like that at last, knowing that there was nothing more that could be said.

Indeed, as promised, the next day the first thing he did was to write a letter – she could see that he had thought long and hard about how to put his thoughts into words. They both knew that diplomacy was not his strongest asset, but she wanted him to prove to her and to himself that if he wanted it, he could behave properly.

That day she attended the council with him for the first time since the day her father died.

Although she had not expected it, her return was most warmly welcomed by Criston Cole.

"My Lady. Accept my sincerest condolences." He said before they moved on, completely surprising her.

She knew that the fact that she had chosen her husband over her father was proof to him that he had been mistaken in his judgement – she had never blamed him for thinking she was a spy, as he was, in his own way, trying to protect the royal family.

However, what touched her most was that his words were sincere.

The silent war between them had been resolved.

Although Gwayne Hightower was not thrilled with the idea of bringing Lord of Runestone to Harrenhal for fear that he would divulge information to the enemy about their troop numbers and plans, Ser Criston and her husband unanimously agreed that his support would be worth the risk.

"If the vassals of House Arryn were to turn against their lady, the Eyrie would be left completely defenceless. We would cut Rhaenyra off from her allies in the North and gain another advantage. We know she is trying to lead an army from Winterfell to the south of the Kingdom and is surely waiting for the right opportunity to exact revenge." Cole said, to which her husband nodded.

"We're in a good position and now she's the one who has to worry about how to secure victory. She's desperate and will certainly make mistakes. Let's look for allies in the Vale to further weaken the morale of her supporters. Once her own people lose faith in her, her new dragon riders will also abandon her. This could be our chance."

Her cousin had not replied to her husband's letter, but she knew full well that he would not do so. She felt, however, that he would come to see her, and she waited impatiently for that moment, which came a few days later.

"My Lady. Lord of Runestone has arrived."

For the first time in many months, she felt pure joy – only now, sitting alone in one of the stone chambers, she realised how much she had missed him.

Her husband had allowed her to speak to her relative in private – admittedly there were guards standing at the door, but she was still grateful to him for making a concession to her.

As the door opened, she rose from her chair, smiling broadly. Lord of Runestone stepped inside in full armour, as if ready to be challenged – one of the guards approached him before he had time to cross the threshold of the chamber.

"Your sword and dagger, my lord." He said, extending his hand to him.

Her cousin threw her a protracted, frustrated look and she nodded, encouraging him to do as he was asked. Admittedly reluctantly, he gave the guards his weapons – when he stepped into the room and the door finally closed behind him, she threw herself into his arms.

"Allard!" She called out, embracing him around the waist. Her relative reciprocated the embrace and sighed heavily, as if relieved.

Allard Royce was a stocky, tall man: his dark hair fell in thick curls over his shoulders, his fresh stubble adding to his age, although he was only ten years older than her. He grasped her face in his hands and lifted it so that she looked at him – she smiled even wider, seeing his familiar gaze.

"I have come to free you from this stone prison." He said.

She blinked, feeling a cold discomfort in her stomach, and laughed, shaking her head.

"There is no need for that, cousin. I'm not here against my will." She said, forcing herself to be calm and light in her voice.

Allard furrowed his thick eyebrows in displeasure and regret.

"Has his manipulation gone this far already? Has he succeeded in dragging you to his side?" He asked, lowering his hands, causing another wave of unpleasant feeling to run down her spine.

She swallowed hard and shook her head, feeling the panic rising inside her.

"What he did was undignified and reckless, it's true. But he never hurt me. I agreed to marry him of my own free will." She muttered, playing with her fingers in a nervous impulse.

Why was she convinced that this conversation would turn out very differently?

Her cousin snorted and moved forward, circling the room with a loud clang of his steel armour.

"So why all this farce? This letter? Are you trying to convince me to kneel before the Uzurpator?" He asked coldly, and she shook her head again.

"N-no. I wanted to ask you about my mother. And my father." She mumbled.

"The same one your husband killed?" He sneered, making her heart thump harder in her chest.

No.

I killed him, she thought.

But she felt ashamed to utter those words.

"Yes. My father challenged him." She explained, looking at the old wooden floor beneath her feet. "But before he fell, he told me that my mother added poison to my milk when I was a child. Is that true?"

Allard stopped in half step and threw her a surprised look full of horror. She saw in his expression that her question made him uncomfortable, as he turned his face towards the window.

"I don't know anything about it." He replied.

She swallowed hard, knowing he had lied to her face.

"My father said you were the one who informed him of this."

Her cousin closed his eyes and sighed, as if the conversation was making him very tired.

"That night you got a high fever. There were… rumours spreading around the fortress. I didn't know what to do, so I sent word to him. I hoped he would do the right thing for once. And then he killed Rhea." He said dispassionately, shrugging his shoulders.

"Because she wouldn't let him take me to King's Landing." She said wearily, feeling that this was the moment.

The moment of truth.

She felt a cold shiver run along her body as her relative burst out laughing.

"And you believed him? Then why didn't he take you with him after he murdered her, hm? Who could forbid him from doing so? Do you think King Viserys would not have supported his own brother in this matter even if I had objected?" He scoffed, making her feel the pleasant image she'd been putting together in her head for the past weeks begin to slowly crack.

She wanted to believe that he loved her.

She wanted to believe that if he could, he would have acted differently.

But the truth was that he had never fought for her and perhaps that was why he had grabbed her hand then, deep underwater.

Perhaps it was his apology.

"Do you wish to hear anything more from my lips, Princess Targaryen, or may I return to my duties?" He asked lightly, casting her a look of regret and disappointment.

As if he wanted to tell her that he had raised her differently.

She was supposed to be a Royce, not a Targaryen.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to insult you. I thought this meeting would bring you joy, as it did to me." She muttered.

"Your husband, the self-proclaimed Prince Regent, humiliated me in front of my people. He made you his whore, giving cause for gossip and mockery to the entire Kingdom, and then graciously married you because of your kinship without even asking my opinion, even though I was the one who raised you. He didn't invite me to the nuptial ceremony, he ignored me in every possible way."

"He knew that because of Lady Arryn you would not be able to attend." She mumbled with difficulty, feeling tears of shame burning under her eyelids.

He had made you his whore, giving cause for gossip and mockery to the entire Kingdom.

Was this really how the Realm perceived her?

"Do you think this cold cunt from the high mountains would have stopped me? That I would have chosen her and not you? I raised you. I did." He hissed, slamming his fist into his armour.

"I know. I know, but I swear his words and his apology are sincere." She said pleadingly, but her cousin shook his head.

"This piece of parchment is supposed to be a compensation? He can wipe his ass with it. He's just a little cripple with a big dragon who flies around the Seven Kingdoms thinking he's king. Did he burn his brother by accident too?" He exclaimed, infuriating her for some reason.

"Your words are treason." She said coldly.

Allard closed his mouth, breathing heavily, a challenge in his eyes.

"Cut off my head then. Show me who you really are and what you choose."

"No. Go back to Runestone. My husband was right. It was a mistake." She said dryly, feeling nothing but emptiness in her mind.

Although Allard had always hidden his feelings perfectly, she could see in his gaze that her words had caused him pain. He shook his head in disbelief and moved towards the door without even a word of farewell.

She collapsed onto the chair listening to his footsteps in the distance, only then letting bitter tears of disappointment run down her cheeks.

She imagined that they would throw themselves into each other's arms, that after a few cruel words they would come to an understanding, that she would tell him about the child in her womb, that there was hope for them and their lineage.

To him, however, she had become a stranger.

A Targaryen Princess.

She lowered her gaze as she heard someone's footsteps again, but this time moving closer to the chamber she was in – she knew that her husband had stopped at the threshold of the door and that he was looking at her.

She knew that he had seen how the conversation had gone.

"Hāedar." Was all he said, and that was enough.

She hid her face in her hands, feeling ashamed that she had been so naïve: suddenly her idea of travelling, all by herself, to her family stronghold seemed plainly childish to her.

She cried out loud, feeling humiliated and disappointed, believing that she could have had two families at once, that their bond was more important than politics and war.

She heard him move towards her – he stepped over her and embraced her, cuddling her head into his stomach. He stroked her hair and just looked at her, silent.

She thought he certainly felt a hot satisfaction, but wouldn't admit it out loud.

"You were right." She whispered. "It was a mistake."

"I'm sorry." He replied, though she knew he wasn't.

Perhaps some part of him felt sorry for her, but the other part was pleased that no one could take her away from him anymore.

She couldn't blame him for that.

"Did you find the answers to your questions?" He asked, combing his fingers through her dark curls.

She closed her eyes, thinking that now there was only them.

Their family.

Their bond.

Their destiny.

"Yes."

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst | Fluff

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬  Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄. Ironically, considering his service as a soldier during World War II in the 107th Infantry Regiment. One might assume his story followed the typical trajectory of a veteran—a man who had served and preserved, giving his all until he had nothing left to lose nor gain. 

Bucky faced wars in waves, losing his sense of direction as he battled the currents. Maybe the placidity he yearned for was because of the instabilities and perplexities he'd witnessed, though the peace he needed went far beyond that. From the moment he was reborn into this world, all he ever wanted was to find solace within the hurricane that had upended his life. 

Bucky sought peace, yes. Peace within the chaos of his fractured realities.

The sky lit up, a white veil enveloping the night's somber hues. Its brilliance lingered for a fleeting moment before the darkness regained its dominion. Sometimes, Bucky wondered if the storms were a remedy or a curse. When the sky, such as tonight, wailed and bled, and when the clouds tore themselves up to bits and pieces, was the chaos some twisted form of peace? Or was it his fractured mind pitifully attempting to shroud the truths with another veiled deception?

Rain dropped down in fervor, droplets finding themselves on Bucky’s skin. A part of him told him to move away and give the sky some space to grieve. Another rebutted that he should stay to remind the heavens that they’re not alone.

He raised his head, feeling the water droplets on his face, allowing them to delicately trace his features. The storm was ravenous, tumultuous, mutinous—everything a winter turbulence should be, everything the winter soldier in him was.

And yet, the damned poets he’d read about weren’t too far off in their exuberant analogies, comparing a winter storm to a peaceful spring. As polarizing as it was, there was a certain peace to its violence—a peace that Bucky could experience extrospectively but never conversely.

“James,” he heard behind him. This voice, perhaps, was the nearest semblance of personal tranquility he could reach. It permeated his skin, nestled in every nucleus, exuding an air of calmness and hope. He cherished it when she called him by his name. It was her personal term of endearment. To the world, he was several things: Sergeant Barnes, Bucky, and The Winter Soldier. But to Y/N, his precious Y/N, he was James. And he loved her even more for the simple yet profound reminder.

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a shy whisper, playing with his fingers. Truths came easy with her, despite how he grappled with them in his solitary battles. “Going there… going there will trigger a lot of bad memories. It might even trigger him, too.”

Y/N stepped closer, placing her palm on his left arm. His metal arm. She didn’t miss the way Bucky shut his eyes, which is why her thumb traced invisible shapes on the prosthetic. “You don’t have to go there, baby. You don’t have to do anything if your heart’s not in it.”

“But you’ll be there. I can’t…. I won’t for the life of me let you wander around in that monstrous prison world without me. Especially with all those people there.” Bucky’s lower lip trembled as he spoke. His blue eyes harbored a thousand emotions. Peace, fortitude, courage… they all fought waves of anguish and despair. But love, concern, and fear all remained afloat. 

“James,” Y/N whispered delicately, framing his cheeks with her gentle hands. Bucky nuzzled in her open palms, his lips brushing against her skin. His eyes captured her in an everlasting glance, filled with so much devotion. “I don’t want you to relive your worst nightmare because of me. Yes, you are our primary knowledge hub when it comes to Hydra, but you’re also a part of our family. We would never want to harm you. I would never want to harm you or cause you despair.”

“You could never,” Bucky answered, his hands falling from the railing and finding their place on her hips. He suddenly became aware that she was wearing no more than his Henley and a pair of pajama bottoms in the middle of this storm. So, he pulled her closer and buried her face in his chest.

“I can go with Steve, maybe even Nat. You don’t have to do this. You–”

“It’s not the memories I fear most, angel.”

“Then what is it?” Y/N asked, raising her head to meet his eyes without stepping out of his embrace. “Is it those soldiers they have created?”

Bucky stared at the falling rain, realizing that the two of them had drifted away from the sliding door’s overhang, which shielded Y/N. He tried to step back, but she must’ve falsely interpreted it as his attempt at fleeing because she tightened her hold on him. 

He brushed a strand of her damp hair behind her ear, his thumbs tracing her pink cheek. “What if he comes back?”

“Say his name aloud,” Y/N encouraged. “It’s okay, baby.”

He gulped, closing his eyes for a moment. “The Winter Soldier.” Heaven knew he didn’t want to, and maybe that’s why this whole storm had assaulted New York this evening.

Y/N, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think the same. Calmly, she lifted herself on her toes to kiss his beard, nestling her head in the junction between his neck and shoulder. “The Winter Soldier is what you make him out to be.”

“He’s a murderer,” Bucky spat, his hold on Y/N tightening as if the simple mention of the Soldat would breathe him back to life. 

Y/N shook her head. “He’s you.”

“He’s not me, Y/N!” Bucky pried himself away, giving her an indignant look. “He’s a homicidal menace that will not hesitate to rip you apart without a second thought!”

Y/N tried to step closer, but Bucky flinched. He involuntarily retreated back, his cerulean eyes rimmed with despair and hurt. Y/N shook her head, locking her eyes with his. “The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes. A man that has never stopped fighting, not even for a second. He may be bruised, erratic, and damaged. But he’s not a monster. Not in my story.”

“Y/N,” Bucky all but growled, keeping as much distance between himself and the girl. “You have no idea how twisted these words sound. You won’t even have a chance to take them back or change your mind when he all but attacks you and rips your heart out of your chest like some goddamn fucking prize without even taking his eyes off yours!”

“My heart is his for the taking.” Bucky’s mind spiraled out of control. “As much as it is yours. He and you are one. What I feel for you, I feel for him.”

“Don’t, Y/N.” 

Ignoring his comment, Y/N took his hands in hers before he had the chance to run away. “If you cannot see your true worth through your own eyes, James, then see it through my own. Every part of you is worthy. You and The Winter Soldier are heroes in your unique ways, each fighting different battles to find a missing piece of yourself. So, if you’re so afraid that being there will trigger the worst parts of you, then I will whisper to you both all the truth you need to hear until you find your way back to me. Back home.”

“You’re my home,” Bucky whispered, caressing her cheek. He dipped his head, his nose caressing Y/N’s. A second passed, and he allowed himself to bask in her warmth, losing himself in the ardency of her love. His lips delicately traced her berry-flavored ones, claiming them against his own. “I love you,” he almost cried, fearing he might lose her. His mouth wrapped around her lower lip, sucking it fervently and inhaling in all the devotion he held toward his girl. “You're my sanctuary, my peace. And I don’t want my own violent dispositions to threaten the home that I’ve built with you.”

“James,” Y/N mumbled breathlessly, tears on the edge of her lashes. She pressed one more fervent kiss against his lips, resting her hand on his heart to remind him once more that he could feel. That he was human. “I love you in all your nuances and dispositions. No matter who you are or who you think you ought to be, you'll always be my home."

Bucky smiled endearingly, taking Y/N’s hand in his. He kissed her knuckles, one by one, before planting his lips on her wrist. With a final glance at her eyes, Bucky led her inside their shared bedroom, relishing in the feeling of her between his arms. 

He closed his eyes with the images of her in his mind, forgetting all about Hydra and The Winter Soldier. It was tomorrow’s nightmare, but Y/N was tonight’s dream, and that’s all that mattered.

BUCKY IS BACK!!

I have so many ideas for this man, and we're starting with this short little series. If you're a fan of hurt/comfort and The Winter Soldier coming out to play, welcome to this maze of truths!!

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn

: ̗̀➛ Read Chapter 2 - CHAOS - here!!

[ririsasy]

Let’s talk about the first kill

How heavy everything was for Deva, and also for Varadha, their circumstances, the land they were born into, their people and their way of lives, their fates and how they eventually have to turned into this demon at some point, like their ancestors who always long for fight and blood.

The way Deva was regretful at the outcome of what he had done, of what he became, looking down tearfully and pitifully, his eyes wondering around trying to grasp the reality of it all, finally it dawned on him about what just happened, almost like he came back to his sense after losing control and going auto-pilot in killing spree.

This must be his first kill ever, because when he escaped Khansaar he was just a young boy and I bet living with Amma he mustn’t gotten into trouble that he need to kill anybody, perhaps he had gotten into a fight with someone over some misunderstanding, after all he’s a strong big man, but I am sure he didn’t need to go as far as killing anyone in his path.

He was just a blacksmith, hard laborer that did honest job for a living just to get by, though he probably always sparring in his spare time, preparing for something, for a war that he was sure that one day he would be called to but more than that again he never really need to kill anyone before.

And yet after he landed in Khansaar, it didn’t take him a week to kill, even Deva himself felt it heavy in his soul, the rage that he had kept inside himself, he finally unleashed it and let it consumed him fully because that kind of beast has always been dormant inside of him, because this land awaits for him to spill blood.

The way Deva look up like he was asking the deity or anything at all above that might look over him, “is this who I truly am? Why you created me this way, are you listening? Do you condemn the path that I chose to seek justice?” And after that I think he made peace with who he was, closing his eye and believed that he didn’t do anything wrong, that his action was justified, his rage was justified and accepted the fact with new clarity that a vengeful angry demon in his veins is needed to cleanse this violent land, the symbolism wasn't lost on me either here that Deva was fully covered in blood like he was baptized in blood and rebirth into this new person.

Gone was his "innocent", he was ready now to take the path that's truly meant for him, a path that nobody dare to take because it will consume him and he might lost himself completely in this road, as Nietzsche said "He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." This is never easy for Deva. It's going to take tolls in his soul.

That's why later on when got into 2017 present deva we got glimpse of him being haunted by himself, the demon that he saw on the mirror, that even he couldn't recognize it and is scared of that reflection, even his mother was aware of his presence that she tried her best to re-tame it again by forbidding him from even getting close to anything that could be used as a weapon because it could and would awaken the sleeping beast.

Let’s also observed Varadha’s reaction when he finally opened his eyes to see what Deva had done, what he finally became, he was at the brink of crying because this was the same overwhelming side of Deva that Varadha remembered when they were young.

Varadha knew that Deva had it in him to turn into this kind of fearsome man. Varadha remembered that memory as clear as a it was just happened yesterday how Deva could frightened him by the intensity of the things he could do even beyond Varadha’s wildest imagination. This man is untamable beast and Varadha just brought him back to the place that literally would make him lost control.

That’s why Varadha tearfully told him in prison later on that he wished he didn’t bring him back to Khansaar, he regretted his decision because what Khansaar would do to a man like Deva.

Varadha said he knew that this is how it would end once Deva came back to Khansaar, what he meant by that was that he knew that Deva wouldn’t be able to hold back the way Varadha had done for the past 25 years living amongst the beasts who basically do whatever they want in Khansaar because the law only applies to the weak while the lords and people in power is basically can do anything and people would close their eyes over it but not his Deva, Varadha knew it all too well the kind of man his deva is in the face of injustice.

Imagine how many many times Varadha was at his last straw that he almost couldn’t endure it and wish he could call Deva back to fix, to fight, to change the tide of Khansaar but he hold himself back thinking that Deva would do great anywhere else but not here in Khansaar, this place is evil, too volatile for Deva’s hot blood and not to mention the history of how his people was massacred in this exact same land, that’s why Varadha only brought Deva back when he literally see no way out, not for himself but for his brother, he called him to protect the only thing that Varadha deemed Valuable in his life, because nothing else left for him in Khansaar, Deva and his hope and his love and his everything, he had brought it all with him long time ago.

That’s why I think Baachi’s death that we all knew and speculated was by Deva’s hand turn Varadha into entirely different person. 😭

.

.

PS. Anyone who said that Prabhas didn't emot much as Deva then tell me about the innocent Deva that played with kids and a good son to his mother, the tortured soul Deva haunted by his past, the Deva that was so devoted to Varadha, the Deva that's possesive, the violence Deva, the soft hearted Deva that's basically always have tears in his eyes, those are all in one movie 😭 my man is giving his best and people be blind about all of this just because they like to judge too quickly without actually trying to understand the material fully first. 😓

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This chapter got me horny. Sometimes I be wondering why I don't just become a porn writer or something lol. Enjoy!! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

********

SIX: FOR A SINNER’S EARS ONLY.

You awaken the next morning to the sun barely peeking over the horizon, just as Geto instructed you to do. 

It feels good to sleep in a comfy bed for once, especially after you made sure you patted it down with the bug powder you packed. You sit up in the bed, slightly clammy from the heat of the hot, dry air creeping into the motel room. It is quiet and relaxingly so. For once, you feel good despite the circumstances. 

You still can’t believe Geto and Gojo decided to pay for a room for you. They walked you to your room right next to theirs after getting a key from the lobby. “Just remember to get up before the sun rises,” Geto gently said, mostly to keep his voice down in the motel hallway. “It will take about five days to get on the Devil’s Trail since it’s outside the West. That works out well for us since we have a list of baddies to catch on our way there.” 

“And most of them are Benji’s accomplices,” Gojo stated as he handed you the key to your room. “Which means we’ll probably find him too if we play our cards right.”

You looked down at the key, clutching it. “You know, y’all didn’t have to get me a room.” You couldn’t help but be suspicious of this. Why were they being so kind? Were they tricking you in some way? 

‘Or maybe they’re just nice guys, you crazy girl,’ you thought. 

Gojo raised an eyebrow at you. “Well, where else were you gonna sleep? With us?” A smirk appeared on his face. “‘Cause if you want to–” 

You cut him off by moving to unlock the door, purposely stepping on his toe as you do. “Fuckin’ pervert,” you muttered under your breath as the motel door opened. It was identical to the duo’s though empty and clean. 

“Ignore him,” Geto chuckled while Gojo complained about you breaking his big toe. Just get some sleep and yell if you need anything. These walls are paper thin, so we’ll hear you.” He gave you a kind, warm smile, leaving you to your privacy. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.” 

Gojo gave you a wink as he held the doorknob, nodding at the bed. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he teased. He then closed the door, still behind it.

“I’m serious!” he called. “You might wanna lay down a towel or somethin'!” And then you were finally left alone to take a hot shower and get ready for bed. 

You lay here now, thinking to yourself how fast everything is happening. You still can’t believe you’re here with the most notorious outlaws in the West, about to go on a long journey with them that could either go really good or really bad.

You think of Shoko, wondering if she read your letter. Is she looking for you? Does she miss you? And what about the others at the saloon? Are they okay? Are they safe? 

You suddenly hear a tiny chuckle from behind your headboard where a wall separates your bedroom from the duo’s. Gojo’s voice drifts through the wall, sugary sweet and seductive: “Sugu~” 

“What?” Geto sighs, sounding exhausted. There is a rustling sound like bedsheets shifting. “C’mon, Satoru, not now. I have to clean up before we leave.” The bedsprings creak as someone sits up––probably Geto. 

“Can I clean up with you?” Gojo purrs. “C’mon, I can help you clean all of those spots ya can’t each.” Then you hear it: a deep, soft moan that makes your face grow hot and your mouth part in shock. Are they…? 

Another one of Geto’s velvety moans makes it very clear that they’re not cuddling over there. “Shit,” he sighs. “C’mon now, stop it. I’m serious, you slut.” Gojo giggles–giggles–as he continues to do whatever he’s doing. “Oooh, I love it when you call me that, almost as much as you loving it when I call you my cock whore.” 

Your jaw goes slack. Are they that slutty? “No, I don’t,” Geto growls. “I’m not about to do this while Y/N is in the other room. These walls are thin as ice!” His words are cut off by another series of quiet moans and hums of pleasure. “The water will be on, so she won’t hear,” Gojo assures him. “And even if she does, I think she’d enjoy it. Especially when she hears how hot your moans are.” 

You would never admit it, even to yourself, but the sounds of Geto’s moans are getting you hot. They are so smooth yet syrupy; deep yet soft. Seductive. Sexy. They make your body tingle, especially one body part in particular. You can feel your pussy throb annoyingly so from beneath the sheets like it has a heartbeat. 

You can’t remember the last time a man-made you this aroused. Even the ones at the Blackwater saloon barely got you wet. And sex with Valentine was never a fun time. He did nothing to turn you on despite his pretty face. There was barely even a wiggle down there for you. But now? Now, you feel like you need a release or you’ll go insane. 

“Let’s get in the shower, baby,” Gojo seductively says. “We have no time to waste, remember?” And so they do. You hear the bedsprings as they get up from bed and their footsteps as they walk to the bathroom on the left side of their bed but still behind your bedroom wall. You can hear the rustling of their clothes as they strip; their breathless giggles and the soft, wet sounds of their lips meeting each other’s. 

Their soft moans and hums of ecstasy mingled with the sound of pounding water light your body on fire. You find yourself squirming uncomfortably in your bed, especially when Geto begins to moan. You begin to feel a tingle from down below that only grows the louder Geto’s velvety moans become. “Fuck, ‘Tarou,” he sighs. “You’re so fuckin’ good at that.” 

Your hand slides down your stomach to wedge between your thighs. You know that this is wrong. You know that you’ll regret this later, but fuck, they sound too hot to resist. And it’s only natural, right? You just need some release. They’ll never know. So you begin to slowly rub your tingling, needy clit in time with Geto’s deep moans and swears. 

It doesn’t take a village idiot to figure out what Gojo is doing, but when you hear the soft, sucking sounds and the sloppy noises of his tongue swirling around Geto’s dick, you get your answer. “Yeah?” he chuckles. “You wanna give me a reward, Sugu?” 

You hear more lewd sounds that take you to unholy places and bring colorful visuals to your head: Gojo on his knees gagging on dick with Geto’s hands in his wet, white hair, his hips bumping into Gojo’s mouth as he fucks his pretty face. “Just make sure you keep it down,” Geto instructs. “You don’t wanna wake the whole hallway, do you?” 

Gojo giggles and there is only the sound of water until both men moan in unison. The sound nearly makes you gasp, your back arching as your fingers work faster on your now slippery clit.

“Oh, fuck!” Gojo moans. His language has become nothing but slutty moans and whimpers while Geto lets out soft grunts and gasps. “Soon as I’m inside you, you’re singin’ like a little songbird,” Geto chuckles. “What am I gonna do with you, Satoru, huh?” 

You close your eyes, picturing the long-haired outlaw pressing Gojo against the wall, grinding his hips into the white-haired outlaw from behind. You see Geto’s cock, long, thick, and gorgeous, sliding in and out of Gojo’s taught and firm yet soft asscheeks, stretching out his hole. 

“Sugu, please,” Gojo begs. “Don’t stop! Keep goin’ just like that!” 

“Just like what?” Geto teases. “Like…this?” He must do something with his hips or his cock because Gojo is moaning uncontrollably, slutty gasps and whines leaving his pink lips. The sound of wet, slapping, of skin against skin, emits from the wall. “C’mon, babe, shhh,” Geto shushes him. “You’ve gotta keep it down.” 

But Gojo is too far gone just as you are as you rub your pussy in time to Geto’s thrusts. “C-Can’t help it!” he stutteringly, pathetically says. “You’re fuckin’ me too good!” 

“Cover that slutty mouth then,” Geto demands in a voice that has your clit throbbing increasingly so. “Yes, that’s it, my love. Let’s see how quiet you can be filled with all this dick.” 

You imagine him saying the same thing to you, his cock stretching you out while Gojo tweaks your hardened nipples that one of your hands has begun to do for you. Briefly, you imagine yourself sandwiched between them, nothing but stolen kisses and breaths between you. You can almost feel their muscles and warm skin under your hands. You can almost taste them on your tongue. 

As their moans and the lewd slapping grows louder, your hand grows a mind of its own and works your clit faster, harder, wanting to peak with them. You picture yourself doing the same thing while Geto fucks you from behind while Gojo fucks your throat, both cocks filling you up the way you want to be. The way you need to be. 

“Fuck, Sugu, I’m gonna cum!” Gojo warns, high-pitched and needy. Geto responds with a grunt, loud and so unlike him, that nearly sends you over the edge. “Me too,” he growls. “Cum with me, ‘Tarou, c’mon. Don’t you wanna be my good boy?” 

‘Do you wanna be my good girl, Y/N?’ he asks in your head. ‘Don’t you wanna be our good girl?’ You want to say yes. You’ll do absolutely anything to feel like this all of time, even be theirs. 

“Cumming!” Gojo suddenly gasps. “I’m cummin’, Suguru, fuck!” ‘Me too,’ you think. ‘I’m cummin’ too!’ And you do. As a series of slutty, loud moans and groans of release drift through your wall and into your bedroom, you let out a whimper and cum all over yourself. For a moment, you’re soaring through the clouds, covering your mouth to muffle your moans as Geto and Gojo cum together. 

Then as soon as it happens, it’s over. The sounds die down and the pleasure fades, leaving you feeling icky and your fingers coated in your cum. You can’t believe you just did that. 

You can’t think about it for long though because three loud, terrifying knocks on the duo’s motel door next to yours nearly make you jump out of bed. “Oh, shit!” Gojo gasps. “What the fuck was that?” 

You think the same thing before you hear the knocks again. “You sure this is the door, sir?” a rough-sounding voice asks. 

“Yes!” a high-pitched voice replies. The shower immediately shuts off and the pitter-patter of feet stomping around behind your wall makes you jump out of bed and grab your clothes set out for today. “Th-This is the front desk clerk with security!” the same man calls through the door. “We know you’re in there, gunslingers! You’re not gonna get away with not paying for these rooms! That’s a crime!” 

‘What the fuck?!’ you think. ‘Those mother–’ 

Four more demanding knocks silence your thoughts and make you hurry to get dressed. “Gunslingers!” the guard barks. “Either come to the door and surrender to us now or we’ll break down this goddamn door and take you into custody. Don’t think we won’t do it!” 

You toss on your clothes, pull on your riding boots, and tie your bandana around your mouth. You begin to look around for an escape route as the knocks become more agitated. The door is out of the question, so you look at the window which is about twelve feet above ground. 

‘I’ve gotta get out of here,’ you panickingly think as you hurry to the window, only to see Gojo already there and waving at you from outside. He is fully dressed with his hat, gloves, and blinfold on as if nothing happened before. You throw open the window, allowing him to climb inside with ease. “Hi there, little miss,” he greets you, tipping his hat. “You’re up early.” 

“You bastard!” you hiss, wanting to punch him. “You ain’t pay for the rooms?!” 

“Well…not exactly,” he sheepishly confesses. “We paid for half for this one, but inflation is a bitch and these rooms are expensive! I ended up havin’ to steal away one of the keys to this room while the clerk wasn’t around. Can ya blame a guy for tryin’ to help?” He shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile. 

You want to cuss him out, but before you can, another bang on the door next to yours stops you. “Open the fuck up!” the guard yells. “You’ve got ten seconds to come out or we’re breakin’ down the door!” 

“Get me out of here,” you demand, glowering at Gojo. He only gives you a tiresome look as he snatches the drapes off of your window. “That’s what I’m here for,” he scoffs. “Just get your things together and follow my head. Geto is roundin’ up the horses. By the way, is that black one with the braided mane yours? She’s such a pretty thing!” 

You could’ve kicked him out the window, but instead, you hurry about and gather your shit. Luckily, your bag is already packed with toiletries and everything else you’ll need on your journey, so you toss it onto your body and put on your cowgirl hat. The sound of a large bang from the next door makes you gasp in fear. “Gojo!” you snap. “Hurry!” 

Gojo is currently tying the drapes together into a makeshift rope, taking his sweet time doing so. 

“Alright, alright,” he sighs. “And…finished!” 

He then tosses the rope outside the window, tying the end to the leg of a chair. Next, he climbs out onto the ledge, grasping the rope. “Stick your feet out first and grab hold,” he instructs you. “All you have to do is climb down. Don’t worry; I’ll meetcha at the bottom and catch ya if you fall. See ya at the bottom!” 

“Wait!” you hiss, but he’s already inching down the makeshift rope. You watch him as he climbs down the rope with ease and precision, his upper strength doing all the work until he finally meets the ground. Obviously, he’s done this many times before, but you haven’t. Even just looking down makes you want to throw up. 

You grip the window ledge, suddenly dizzy. ‘I can’t do this,’ you think, the words repeating like a mantra. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t–’ 

BANG! The door to the motel room next to yours busts open and the sound of stomping footsteps makes you jump out of your skin. “They ain’t in here!” one of the guards angrily growls. More footsteps, this time out in the hallway. “Try the other one,” the clerk says. “I know someone is in there!” 

When you hear them at the door, now you know you have no choice. You look down again, finding Gojo standing there with his arms waiting for you and a smile on his face. You don’t think––you just do. 

You turn around, put your hat between your teeth, and stick your legs out the window first before grasping onto the rope and gently, carefully, edging yourself down. The wind hits your face, the sun warm against your cheek. Its warm rays and the promise of the ground below are the only things that keep you from looking down. 

“You’ve got it, little miss!” Gojo calls up to you. “Keep goin’!” His words help somewhat though the feeling of your feet dangling in midair and the burn of your arms are all starting to get to you. You’re about halfway down the rope when you hear the sound of a bang and the guards and the clerk now in your room: “Where are they?!” the guard demands. 

“The window!” the clerk shouts. “Hurry before they get away!” Fear leaps into your heart and before you can rethink your decision, you release the rope and leave it all up to God. You feel nothing but the wind in your hands, slipping through your fingertips, as you soar through the air. 

You expect to feel the hard ground below, but you don’t. Instead, you feel muscular arms and a solid chest. You look up into the blindfold and smile of Gojo. “Told ya I’d catch ya,” he chuckles. For a moment, you feel secure and safe in his arms, hating that you do. 

Luckily, the moment is ruined when Geto comes running up with your horses and the guards come to the window. “There they are!” he shouts, pointing down at you. “Shoot ‘em!” The glint of the sun off of metal frightens you even before you realize that his partner has a pistol. 

The first bullet zips past you and Gojo, scaring the horses. You begin to squirm in Gojo’s arms, enough for him to put you on your horse himself before jumping on his own. 

“Hurry!” you yelp, snapping your horse’s reins. “Let’s get the fuck outta here!” The second and third bullets hit the dirt as you three begin riding like hell away from the motel, your horses’ hooves thudding against the dirt. 

“Don’t come back here ever again!” the clerk yells at you. “You hear me?! I’ll make sure you’re all behind bars if I see you again!” 

‘Don’t worry,’ you think. ‘You won’t.’ 

******** 

When you’re finally out of Blackwater, you feel like you can finally breathe and relax.

The shops, homes, and all signs of civilian life have since disappeared, replaced with a dusty trail, trees, and mountains dusted with snow in the distance. Blackwater is but a blip in your memory, nothing but nature there now as you travel alongside the gunslinging duo. You feel Reneigh’s body move underneath you as she slowly walks up the road, the sun’s rays turning her black hair golden. 

You sense a presence beside you and turn, finding Geto riding his horse with one hand. You try not to think about how good he and Gojo look on top of their horses. “Sorry about earlier,” he says, actually sounding guilty about it. “I would’ve preferred us to be gone earlier than we did to avoid that, but I ran into some…complications.” He coughs into his gloved hand. 

‘Yeah, I know,’ you bitterly think, but then feel a pang of guilt due to the fact that you willingly flicked your bean and came to the sound of these “complications”.

You still feel weird and guilty like you invaded on something you shouldn’t have. But then again, they’d have to have known you’d hear them since the walls were so thin…did they want you to hear them? 

“Long as we’re alive and not behind bars, I’m good,” you sigh, looking away from Geto. “Thanks though. So where to first?”  You hear the sound of him unraveling something and look back to see him taking a map out of his pocket. 

“Bull’s Creek, which is only five miles from here,” he answers, reading the map. “We’ve got a gang of wanted outlaws to catch that are residin’ there who robbed a town in another county. A woman there wrote to ask us for help because apparently, these four are terrorizin’ their town too.” 

Gojo hums in acknowledgment from in front of you, a weed in his mouth. “Not only that, but these four are old accomplices of Benji’s that we worked with: Zankoku, Makima Murakami, Angelface, and Arata Katana. We plan on shakin’ ‘em down and askin’ either one of them where Benji is without resorting to too much violence.” 

Geto rolls his brown eyes from beneath his hat. “Too much violence,” he parrots. Gojo looks back at him with a smirk. “Excludin’ killin’!” he cackles, wagging a finger at him. “If we wanna stay outta prison.” 

“Sounds good to me,” you reply, and it does. Anything to get your hands on your target. A peaceful silence falls over you three as you totter up the road, the breeze cool and sweet. Suddenly, Gojo speaks: “Y/N, where are you from? You’ve got a distinct accent on ya that I’m just now noticin’.” 

You wonder why the fuck he cares, but curiosity couldn’t have killed the cat that badly. “The South,” you vaguely reply. “Born an’ raised.” The white-haired gunslinger looks back at you in awe. “Really?!” he excitedly asks. “I’ve got friends from the South! What town ya from?!” 

“Why?” you ask, more harshly than you intended. The silence becomes awkward almost immediately. “C’mon, Gojo, don’t make her feel weird,” Geto calmly criticizes his partner and gives you an apologetic smile to ease the tension. “I think he’s just tryin’ to make conversation. It makes these long travels easier.” 

You don’t know why, but you feel guilty about being so harsh. You don’t like being asked about your past. It’s just too painful. But if they can tell you about your past, you can at least answer Gojo about where you’re from. “Pinewood,” you answer. “It’s a small town in the Southwest county.” Gojo hums thoughtfully, not missing a beat. “Hm…haven’t been there before.” 

‘And you never will,’ you think. 

“So how did y’all meet?” you curiously ask, quickly changing the subject. “I mean, since we makin’ conversation or whatever.” 

The duo share a smile you can’t decipher as they look at each other. “We were childhood friends,” Geto explains. “We both lived in a small town with about a couple hundred people. One day, we were playin’ by the lake after a bad rainstorm and I slipped on the mud by the bankside. I nearly drowned that day, but Gojo saved my life. That day was it was for us: we fell in love instantly.” 

Even as cold as you are, you feel yourself thaw at such a cute story. It’s like a fairytale romance for them.

“But we didn’t start dating until we were older,” he continues. “As kids, we both had tragedies we helped each other deal with. Gojo’s mother died in childbirth and his father was pretty much absent. And I came from a family of alcoholics who never accepted me. So we became each other’s family.” 

Gojo looks back at you, the weed still in his mouth. “Didn’t think two of the most notorious gunslingers in the West had tragic backstories, huh?” he sarcastically asks. “It’s a damn cliche.” 

You don’t say anything, letting their stories and honesty wash over you. 

“So what about you?” Geto asks. “What’s your story? You got anyone waitin’ for you back at home?” 

“Like a lover?” Gojo adds. “He or she is a lucky bastard…or bitch.” Geto shoots him a sharp look.

“Shut up,” you mutter. “And no. I ain’t never been with nobody before…well, nothing that was real anyways.” All the “lovers” you’ve had were either hook-ups or false relationships on your part, like yours with Valentine. 

“So you’ve never been in love?” Geto asks, and he sounds almost saddened by this prospect. That irks you and you don’t know why it does. How is it that two of the most notorious and dangerous gunslingers managed to find love in such a harsh world and you haven’t? Maybe you’re just meant to be alone. 

So you give them both the realest answer you can as you stare ahead at the rocky road: “Love ain’t never done nothin’ but get me in trouble and cause me pain.” 

And just like that, the conversation ends.

[john-get-the-salt]

Awakening (w/Edward Cullen)

Imagine: Waking up in a strange place and coming to meet a very strange family; the cullens.

Contains: not Bella, cause fuck Bella

Warnings: Mentions of past injury, past assault

The search for a missing local ended last night in tragedy. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), a Forks native, was out celebrating her 25th birthday last weekend when she got separated from her friends. Her body was discovered down by the river just last night, 4 days after her disappearance. A cause of death has not officially been released but police have confirmed that they do believe foul play was involved. Police are asking anyone with any information or tips to call immediately at the number below.

Carlisle turned the news report off, his stomach uneasy. His family sat around him, sharing in his discomfort.

"We don't know for sure it was one of us," Emmett was the first to speak.

"We can’t know for sure it wasn't." Edward countered.

"We'll be extra careful. Go hunting in groups or all together. For all we know it was a human."

"And if it was? Will we still ignore It?" Edward hated the idea.

"What the humans do is none of our business," Rosalie spit.

"Even if one is going around killing innocents?"

"Please, not this again," Esme begged.

Edward turned away from his family. It wasn't right, but he never won that argument.

—

Cold.

That was the first sense that came back to you.

A startling cold that seeped into your skin and chilled your bones. You felt like you were frozen solid, but a wiggle of your fingers and toes quickly dismissed that idea.

Your eye open–at least you thought they did. You saw nothing but pitch black and wondered if you'd actually opened your eyes at all.

Maybe you were in hell.

You wanted to reach up, to feel for your eyes and make sure you were all still there, but your hand barely raised an inch before hitting something hard. Your knuckles ached something terrible as a clang filled your ears.

Metal?

You raised your hand again, slowly, and let your fingers brush against the surface.

Metal.

The panic began to set in as your hands felt nothing but cold and smooth metal all around you, encompassing you. A swift stomp of your foot found you nothing but another loud bang. It was as if you were laying in a small metal box.

You wracked your brain, desperate for any memories or clues as to how you get there.

And then you remembered.

It was your birthday. Your friends took you out downtown to celebrate. Barhopping, karaoke, way too much food. It was fun. But you also remember losing your friends in a crowded bar, getting hot and overwhelmed and anxious. You remember stepping outside for some fresh air, hearing something behind you and–

You remembered everything now.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath. Falling apart could come later, once you got home and felt safe.

Kicking your feet again you paused at the creaking of metal that seemed to follow.

Bingo.

You kicked again and again and again with both feet, giving it everything you had, until finally the metal gave away and your prison was flooded with din light.

Nearly crying in relief, you stretched out your legs and hooked your feet onto something so you could pull yourself out. Thankfully you rolled out relatively easily, the metal underneath you sliding out without problem.

Once free, you sat up slowly. Your body was stiff and sore, and you rolled your shoulders in an attempt to loosen up. Looking down at yourself you were taken aback. Your skin looked filthy and blood was caked underneath your fingernails. New scars peppered your arms and legs, though they were all faded and appeared to be old. Your hair hung loosely and you were in an itchy white medical gown. You couldn't identify anything that belonged to you.

Swinging your legs around you tested the floor with your feet, slowly standing. As you did so you looked around at the room.

It was large, lined with beds covered in white sheets. You turned to the box from which you escaped and couldn't contain the gasp that left your lips. The wall towered above you with rows upon rows of small metal doors. You had just crawled out of one of these doors, luckily, on the ground level. But they reached up, almost to the ceiling.

You reached out with a a shaky hand, pushing back the tray you just climbed off of. It slid back into the wall and the door closed behind it with a quiet click.

A morgue. You had just climbed out of a morgue.

You needed to get out of there now.

Your bare feet slipped on the clean floor, making you curse. Where were your shoes?

You hurried past the beds, trying not to think about what could be under them. You stopped at a hallway, whipping your head to the left and right. How were you supposed to know which way was out?

You were about to go right when something stopped you. A small whisper, a tug. Left it seemed to murmur, as a breeze blowing past your ear.

You didn't have time to investigate or worry about hearing strange things. You had no clue which way the exit was so left you went. It ended up being the right choice as further down the hall you could see a set of doors leading outside. You took off into a sprint, pushing the doors aside like they were nothing.

You took a deep breath of the fresh air, wincing again at the ache in your throat and pounding in your head. It was nighttime out, the only light coming from the moon and flickering streetlights. You stumbled away from the morgue, disoriented.

Where were you? How did you get home?

Your house. Home. Did you go home? What were you supposed to do? Were you dead? Why were you in a morgue?

Your head pounded as you pushed your feet off of the hard pavement and took off down the street.

Into the woods, a whisper curled around your ear.

You weren't sure you wanted to be seen running down the street covered in blood, and this mysterious new voice had been right once before. So at the first break in buildings you took off towards the woods that surrounded the town.

Scared and alone you entered the forest. Your bare feet tripped on rocks and roots as you ran but you kept going. You just kept going and going, naively hoping you could simply run away from whatever was happening to you.

You weren't sure how long you ran. You weren't even sure if you were still breathing. It didn't feel like it.

You began to cry, wishing you could forget again. Wishing you could forget the feeling of their cold hands all over you, the whispers and sharp smirks and pain. Just constant pain for days. You remember feeling relieved when they finally dumped you down by the river, left you barely clothed and empty inside. You thought you were finally free to die in peace.

You slowed your pace, pushing through bushes and past trees while tears continued to stream down your face. You wanted to stop, wanted to collapse and curl into a ball of the forrest floor. But the new voice inside your head whispered you on, told you to keep going. And you weren't about to stop listening now.

So you continued on fumbling in the darkness. Occasionally there would be a break in the tree line and the moon would shine down upon you, illuminating the woods and shadows at your heels. The moon seemed to guide you somehow, seemed to pull on your shadows and help you move through the underbrush, commanding your feet to just keep going.

You were so tired. But you kept moving, never stopping, never faltering. And the night got darker and darker as you disappeared into the heart of the woods.

—

"Edward."

The young vampire turned to his adoptive mother who stood behind him.

'We're all going hunting tonight. Carlisle thinks it would be best to keep up our strength, just in case."

Just in case we need to take care of an unruly vampire, was the rest of Esme's unspoken sentence.

Edward nodded, standing to join his family. The Cullen's gathered themselves and were nearly out the door when Edward froze, causing Rosalie to nearly run into him.

"What are you-" Rose cut off her annoyed remark at the look on his face. "Edward? What's wrong?"

"There's someone outside."

"Who?"

Alice gasped, eyes going wide and unblinking. Jasper grabbed her hand, holding it softly as she went through her vision.

"Edward, who it is?" Esme was worried, grabbing for Carlisle's hand.

"The girl on the news.....(y/n)."

"The one who was murdered?"

Edward nodded, eyebrows furrowed as he was bombarded with thoughts. "She's confused and scared. She woke up in a morgue-"

He sucked in his breath just as Alice broke from her vision.

"We were right," she confirmed. "It was a group of vampires. They...did terrible things to her."

Alice was on the verge of tears and Rosalies face got stone cold, her fists clenched.

"She's turned?"

Edward nodded at his father figure. "But I don't think she knows. She needs help."

"We'll help her, right?"

Dr. Cullen nodded at his wife. "Of course. We'll help her with whatever she needs. Edward and Alice, you two have the best chance of peacefully and safely bringing her in. Go, and call if you need help."

The two nodded and slipped out of the house quietly.

--

You walked for what felt like hours, the woods never ending.

But finally, finally, you finally saw a bit of light up ahead. You felt a push and you hurried, diving under some brush and finding yourself in front of a large house.

It was mostly made of glass, light pouring out from every clear wall and window. It was like a beacon as you stepped closer. There seemed to be no one home, no one around but you. You took this opportunity to finally rest and sink to your knees in the clearing around the house.

This would all be a lot easier if you had just died like you were supposed to. You didn't want to be here, you wanted to be dead. You wanted to be somewhere you could no longer feel the ghost of hands of all over you, of pain and screams and blood spilling.

You rested your head in your hands, shoulders shaking as you finally unraveled and began to sob.

"Hello?"

You jerked up, feet moving you back towards the woods.

"Wait!"

You froze a few steps away from the cover of the trees. You refused to turn around, terrified of who or what you would find.

"I'm sorry for trespassing, I'm leaving now."

"Are you ok, (Y/N)?" The voice spoke again, sounding like a woman.

You still didn't turn around.

"I-how do you know my name?"

"We can help you."

You shook your head, taking another step towards the safety of the trees. "I don't want any trouble, I'm just going to leave."

"Please don't leave, (y/n)."

You stilled at the new voice. It was a man, but it was...different. It was soft and seemed familiar.

him him him him him, your new voice whispered over and over again, nearly frantic.

You turned, finally looking back at the voices. A young man and woman stood in the clearing, lit up by the house behind them. The woman was short with a dark pixie cut, and the man-

him him him....that's him

You locked eyes with the man and the world seemed to still. He had piercing eyes that you swore looked right through you, eyes you could stare at forever. Everything seemed to get sharper, more in focus, and the light coming from behind him got brighter. His whole self seemed to call you. Your feet itched to push towards him, your soul seemed to sing, which you didn't even know was possible and-

edward

"Edward?" You tested the name on your lips and instantly liked the way it felt to say, the way it rolled off your tongue like it was always meant to.

The man seemed frozen as he looked at you. He looked vulnerable, his eyes wide and lips parted just slightly.

edward cullen, the voice continued to whisker and you found yourself wishing it would say more.

"My name is Alice Cullen."

You tore your gaze away from Edward and to the young woman. As soon as you did the world seemed to get a bit duller, the clearing seemed darker somehow, unfocused again.

"And this is my brother-

"Edward Cullen," you spoke softly, "right?"

Alice nodded slowly, "How did you know?"

"I-I heard it, I think. There's a voice, telling me things."

alice cullen.....she see's things she shouldn't....ask her

You gulped. "Do-do you know what's wrong with me? I thought I was dead. I-I was laying down by the river, it was so cold." You sniffed, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

"I prayed for it to be over, I thought I was finally going to die but I woke up and I don't know what happened. I just wanted to die and forget. I just want to die."

Your legs wobbled and gave out under you. You waited for your knees to hit the ground below you but the impact never came.

You looked up and found yourself face to face with that man, Edward. He'd caught you and had an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright. You opened your mouth to thank him when you caught a glance at your arm.

Your lips parted in surprise and if you'd been breathing before you definitely stopped now. Your skin, under a patch of moonlight coming through the trees, was glistening. Though glistening hardly did it justice, it looked as if crystals had been ground up and painted onto your skin carefully. Your hands, your arms, your legs. You were....sparkling.

you are different now.....just like them

You swatted at the air by your ear, growing tired of the voice.

"You have a gift," Edward spoke softly.

You met his eyes once again, "A gift?"

"You said you hear things, right? Things you shouldn't?"

vampires.......he's a vampire

Your lips trembled. You wanted him to be wrong, you didn't want to be glowing or hearing voices or be different.

you are just like them...just like him

"No!" You cried at the voice, stumbling away from Edward and falling back to the ground.

“Make this voice be quiet, I don’t want to know!”

once you hear, it cannot be unheard

“When did it start?” Alice asked softly as Edward approached you again slowly, as if you were a frightened doe.

“Right after I woke up. It….led me here.”

Here is where you were meant to be

“I don’t understand!”

You felt a peace flow over you, and another man with shoulder length hair appeared behind the girl, Alice.

As Alice sees, you hear

“Is it still speaking?” She asked.

You nodded and repeated it’s last sentence.

As the girl furrowed her brow and muttered behind her shoulder to the man, you turned and met Edward's eyes. "I feel like I know you. Have we...met before?"

He shook his head, kneeling down to your level. "No, we haven't. But I can help explain everything, we both can. Would you like to come inside?"

Safe. He is safe. The Cullen’s are safe.

You thought for a moment, before nodding. What more could they do when the worst had already happened to you? You allowed Edward to reach for your hand. You took it, standing up with him.

Edward's eyes, you noted, shone like molten gold. You wondered if your eyes would ever shine again or if they would remain dull and lifeless as you felt now.

His grip on your hand tightened as you two walked over to Alice and the nameless stranger.

"I swear that I will do anything and everything within my power to help you."

And looking into his eyes, you believed every word he said.

him.....he is yours and you are his

"I know."

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter eight

live to rise series

eight: ashes of another life (final chapter)

series masterlist | prev chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.5k

summary: your journey at the arena comes to an end.

chapter warnings: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE WARNINGS. This chapter contains many very dark themes. I have omitted them as they are all spoilers. Please feel free to DM me.

Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When morning comes, it brings no mercy. 

Instead, it brings the trumpet of an all hands assembly as the suns rise. 

You and Eli have both survived the night and are awakened by the sounds as the full force of the arena staff and prisoners are gathered for the second consecutive day in the arena. It’s practically unheard of. 

It turns your stomach, and a tiny, resolute part of you wonders if it will bring you death. 

But once again, you’re reminded that Gideon will not show you that kindness. 

He has something else to show you, instead. 

Eli figures it out first. “Oh, maker. Don’t look,” he hisses urgently. “Don’t watch, don’t watch.”

But you do. 

You watch as the troopers line them up. Eighteen servants. Eighteen very familiar faces. 

Stellus. Hali. Sessa. The entire barracks staff—each caretaker and attendant on their knees with their hands behind their head. 

“Don’t,” Eli whispers. 

But you have to. 

There’s no showmanship. Gideon doesn’t ignite the saber. There are no cameras and no theatrics. 

Just a standard execution. The quick, sharp chirp of blasters and the thump of bodies on the sands. 

Eighteen lost souls whose only crimes were association. For sleeping in the same room, for sharing the same meals. 

It was no loss to the facility; they’d ship in new prisoners to fill the spaces left behind. And Gideon would sleep easy knowing the threat of anyone who might have dared to conspire or be inspired by either of you had been eliminated. 

Silence fills the arena when the firing ceases. It echoes in your ears. No one dares move or speak. 

“There will be no fights today. All staff are to return to their barracks under lockdown,” a Commander announces after Gideon has swept off. “Regular schedules resume tomorrow.”

An execution and a lockdown. Your mind races. Eighteen lost souls, and no meals or medical or anything for those who survived. 

You turn to Eli to share your distress and are startled to see a dangerous smile on his face. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You hiss. 

“He’s scared,” Eli says, his voice low and rough, nothing you’ve seen before. “Much more scared than he’d be if it were just the Mandalorian’s escape. That means something is happening out there.”

The hope from his revelation is undercut when you realize everyone has left the arena. 

The weight of the full lockdown sets in. They aren’t sending a cleanup crew. 

They’re going to leave you there with the bodies. 

Eli makes you turn around after a while but it doesn’t make a difference. The vacant eyes of your friends and comrades burn worse than the darksaber’s scars. 

He slumps more and more as the day creeps forward. The pain from his leg is wearing down his resolve but he still spares energy to try and bring you comfort. 

“This wasn’t because of you,” he says. “This is on me.”

You know he means well. But you find it doesn’t matter in the end. They’re dead, and your actions, direct or indirect, led them there. 

The next morning, the arena returns to life. The corpses are removed and burned, the sands are swept, and the fights return. It’s easier to look away down here than it was from the box. Easier to just turn enough that you can’t see. 

Eli stays awake less and less as the day drags on. You wait and wait for the same to come over you, for your body to pull you gently to the depths and let the current take you. You don’t want to watch him die, too, so you pray again for mercy.

It doesn’t come, but something else does.

In the silence of the third night, you think it’s a hallucination. After the oppressive heat of the long days, the high summer sun holding neither kindness nor cruelty but just by her nature scalding your skin, bodies withering without water, she comes. 

You blink slowly, the light of the twin moons making her armor spark and glare. It’s the strangest Mandalorian armor you’ve ever seen—which doesn’t mean much, since you’ve only seen the two kits. But it’s undeniably Mandalorian. 

It doesn’t matter. You lurch back away as they cut the bars with a laser and ease the metal quietly to the ground. 

They offer a hand, and you stare at it. 

“Look, I’m here for the saber, but I promised I’d try to free you. You can go wherever you’d like. If you don’t impede my mission, I’ll give you a ride—” She stops and assesses Eli for a moment, who hasn’t woken at the commotion—“But I’ll leave without you if I have to.”

“Where’s your ship?” you say. 

“Just follow me.”

“What about the rest of his armor?” 

“We’re not risking getting captured for that,” she says, starting to walk away.

“He’d rather have the armor than the saber.”

She sighs and turns back to give you the location of her ship. “If you’re not there when I leave—“

“I know,” you say. 

It hurts like hell to get up and even more to rouse Eli and loop his arm around your neck. The chances of getting him safely there are slim, but you’re fairly sure the guards will shoot to kill if they catch you, so there’s not really a bad option. 

Either path is better than shriveling up and wasting away in the cage. 

You leave him against a wall near the exit closest to her ship, and he tries to stop you before the pain overtakes him again. Dread fills you at the thought of finding him already gone when you return, but you have to do this.

It turns out, though, that you didn’t. The New Mandalorian is already there when you reach the lounge.

“You were right,” she sighs. “It’s one or the other.”

She ends up hauling most of the armor, which is good because you hadn’t thought about how you’d manage with one hand. She also dispatches the guards you encounter without breaking a sweat. 

On the ship, you try not to act surprised when she takes her helmet off. 

“Bo-Katan Kryze,” she says with an extended hand. 

The way she says it makes you think you’re supposed to know who she is. 

“I’m going straight back, and we’ll get him healed up enough for a new assignment. But we can try to arrange transport elsewhere for you once we’ve landed,” she tells you. 

“I’m retiring,” Eli groans from where she’s secured him to a row of dropseats.

“Unlikely,” she says. 

You sit with your hands folded in your lap. It’s not really set in that you’ve made it out. You have nothing to your name but the torn rags that hang loose and limp with singed edges that scrape against your skin. 

You can’t go home. You’ll be lucky if they haven’t killed or captured your family as it is, for the sin of knowing you. 

All you ever wanted was to protect them. That’s why you had paid their tariffs instead of your own. That’s why you consigned yourself to five years of slavery, of suffering the loss of life and loved ones daily for four kriffing years. 

And you risked it all for one man. 

And yet, it feels like more. It always had. You risked it for Din, yes, but also for his son and the green Mandalorian and the woman in front of you now, who risked her life to restore his reign, and you think of the hundreds of beings that gave everything in the name of this one man . 

And you’d do it again. He had confessed one night that he didn’t find himself deserving of the loyalty sworn to him, but you see it, she sees it, everyone sees it. 

The karking Rebel Alliance sees it. 

The galaxy needs the Mandalorians. Without them, the Empire will never fall.  And the Mandalorians need their king, their leader who would have sacrificed himself a thousand times over for them to survive. 

So you clench your jaw and square your shoulders and think of how to live. 

You feel the heat of her gaze before you see it, but when you look up, the woman is unabashedly watching you with a raised eyebrow. 

She looks you over, now that she has your attention. “Shand will be glad to know you survived,” she says, almost lazily. 

“Oh?” you say, forcing down the trace of disappointment. Yes, you had assumed Din was the one who wanted you freed. But any kindness is enough. 

“Yes, she said she grew quite fond of you.”

“Hmm,” is all you can reply. Fondness was not really how you had grown to feel, though the last two days had thrown you off track. 

Before that, though, you don’t think you could feel fond of someone who would own a being like that. 

But you don’t play her game. You don’t dance around the subject. “How is he?”

“He didn’t come back for you, and you’re concerned?”

“It would have been the stupidest move in the karking galaxy, and if you all are such skilled and legendary warriors, you should understand that.”

Silence falls in the cockpit. And then she laughs. “I didn’t expect you to have any bite.”

You don’t say a thing, but you do scowl.

“Well, I didn’t. He calls you kar’talyc. ”

“So?” 

“Do you even know what it means?”

“Of course I don’t, I’m not Mandalorian.”

“That didn’t stop your little message.”

Your head snaps back to her. “You saw that? Did…”

“Did he show an uncharacteristic lack of composure when you used a secret Mandalorian code to apologize to him for being tortured on live holo? Yes.” 

She succeeds in shocking you into silence. You sit and turn it over in your head.

“It wasn’t for that. It was for breaking.”

She rolls her eyes—like, actually rolls her eyes at you while you relive the absolute worst moments of your life in your head. “Everyone breaks,” she says. You didn’t know enough for it to matter.”

You can read between the lines. You didn’t know enough to matter. To her, anyway. Your feelings aren’t hurt, though. 

“It means you’re a bleeding heart. A sap,” she says, pulling you back into the previous conversation.

You sit for a moment with the new knowledge. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you say. 

She shakes her head with a hint of a smirk. “He certainly means it as one,” she says in the way of having known someone too well for too long. 

It’s near chaos when you land but you manage to go unnoticed. Bo-Katan is talking to three different people as soon as the ramp lowers, and you direct the medic team to Eli with your good hand, hanging back in the shadows. 

The feeling of hyperspace hasn’t left your bones. You’re adrift in the great cold darkness. Your skin feels cool to the touch, even in the blistering expanse of sand and suns. 

The docking bay is makeshift. Cobbled together from sandstone that’s already cracking under the weight of the ships and scrapyard rejects. 

The ebb and flow of bodies is endless. Humanoids, aliens, and Beskar blend together and no one pays attention to the lost little girl that you feel like, now. It’s like you’re stuck on the other side of a laser gate—all the cacophony blending into an overbearing hum and the movements all blurring and crackling beyond your reach. 

In the end, you sit at the top of the ramp and just watch. Maybe Bo-Katan will come back. Maybe not. But here, you’re out of the way. 

She finds you, in the end. Shand. You suppose you’re glad for a familiar face, especially now that the twin suns are drifting toward the horizon and a strange chill has taken over the desert. Not that you noticed. You’ve been shivering all day anyway.

She doesn’t say anything at first; just leans against the post at the end of the ramp and raises an eyebrow. 

“Hi,” you say cautiously.

“C’mon,” is all she says, jerking her head behind her and turning to walk away. 

You follow her without another word between you. The throngs of bodies part for her despite her small stature, which makes it easy for you to stick close. 

You’re surprised to end up in the medbay. You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you the most reproachful look you’ve ever withered under.

“The entire galaxy watched you get fileted, and you’ve clearly got an infection,” she says.

“I don’t want to waste—”

“Fett has a bacta tank. Don’t be foolish,” she says before turning you over to an equally strict looking Aqualish who doesn’t care to hear what you have to say, either.

Din’s there, somewhere, but you don’t see him. Well. You think he’s there. They mention him in a way that sounds like he’s just down the hall or around the corner, but you don’t actually ask. 

It seems better that way. Safer. Truthfully, you have little time to think of him anyway. 

But there are signs. 

The palace, which you learn belongs to the man called Fett, is massive. And it seems to contain half of the Rebellion, including the Mandalorian survivors who have been absorbed into the movement whether they like it or not. But still, you can go through countless halls without seeing a soul. 

You get put in a room by yourself on one of the upper floors. You know they’ve been converting the lower suites into bunk rooms. That those rooms are even considered more desireable, since being underground protects them better from the heat. 

But when you question it, the tall bald man who escorted you to your room just laughs and says, “I was told you were to never be stuck underground again.” 

“I don’t even know if I’m staying,” you protest to no one when he leaves. Or you think it’s to no one, but you jump out of your skin a moment later when Shand says, “You’re staying,” from behind you.

“I don’t know…” 

“I volunteered you for the medbay but they’d be happy to have you anywhere. The kitchens, the creche, the cleaning crew. You’ve got enough skills to have your choice.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me for being the person who just poured your drinks,” you say wryly.

She snorts. “And managed a barrack and took care of an ornery Mandalorian.” 

“I don’t know,” you say again.

“Just think about it. You’ve more than earned a place here,” she says as she leaves.

You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time. It’s too soft, too endless. You think if you lay in it, you’ll sink in and drown. 

So you sit and force yourself to accept the way the sheets feel beneath your palms and the mattress dips beneath your weight and how the ground grinds beneath your shoes that you wear, now, for the first time in four years. 

You thought they’d feel safer, but they’re more like a cage. 

Everything is wrong. Your hand is healed, the bones settled back like nothing happened. The cuts and bruises and raw, flayed flesh are the same as the day you were born. The bacta erased almost everything.

Your mind doesn’t seem to have been blessed by the bath. It still ticks and clicks all wrong, stuttering over things that used to be effortless. You jump and twitch and stop your breath for any reason, for no reason. 

And you can’t stand droids. 

The first time a protocol droid speaks to you, you find yourself in a storage room two floors up. You don’t know how you got there and you don’t know how long you were gone. Its voice isn’t even the same, but something in you is irrevocably broken. The astromechs are worse. The whirring of their motors doesn’t send you fleeing. 

No. You just fall apart.

It’ll get better, you tell yourself. It has to. You can’t avoid droids, but you can certainly try.

One time, when you’re pulling yourself together after an unfortunately literal run-in with a probe droid, you find yourself in the lower levels of the sprawling complex. But you’re not alone. 

There’s someone running past the door as you exit whatever empty meeting room you have found yourself in. They trip and fall just as they pass.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” you say, crouching down to the small child.

The little green toddler pushes back up to their feet, though, looks up at you with wide brown eyes, and squeals something unintelligible. 

“Oh, I see. You’re a tough one, huh? Good. Great job.” You hold your hand out for a high five, but they just gently press their tiny palm against yours. 

“That works too,” you assure them.

“C’mon, buddy,” an exasperated, foreignly familiar voice says from behind you. “I know you don’t—”

The little one, who, as your stomach sinks, you realize must be Grogu, babbles excitedly and grabs your hand to show you his father. 

You stand and let him, though you need no introductions. 

The Mandalorian stands before you in all his silver glory. You know that Din is the armor and the armor is Din, but it’s startling to see him this way. He’s not soft or dimpled or warm, now. 

But he’s still Din. You can feel it. 

Inexplicably, you’re being dragged back by an invisible hand, your worries manifesting into something with more control over your body than your hopes. 

You take a step back, leaning your weight on your heel for another. 

“Wait,” he says through the unfamiliar crackle of the modulator.

And then he does the last thing you expect in this moment.

He takes the helmet off. 

You stand, caught in his orbit, your mouth parted just so as you take in the face of the man you thought you’d never see again, one way or another. 

You blink a few times, uncertain.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he says in a rush. “Every time I try to find you, I’m too late.”

“You’ve been trying to find me?” Your breath catches noisily in your chest, interrupting yourself. 

“I… of course,” he says, brows furrowed. 

The way he says it is so blunt, so assured, so Din that you can’t believe you ever doubted. Of course. Even if it wasn’t for the things you shared, that’s just who he was. Of course he’d want to find you, to see with his own eyes that you were alive. 

Of course. 

You’re not sure who moves first. It doesn’t matter. The embrace knocks the wind out of you after you fail to account for the solid wall of beskar between your bodies, but you barely notice. His hands, while gloved, are clutching you to him, and he’s kissing you and everything is clicking back into place and tiny hands are… tiny hands are grabbing at your tunic? 

Grogu uses the leverage of your clothes to launch himself up. Din catches him easily, unsurprised by the tiny child’s dexterity. 

It should be strange, you think. This larger-than-life man and this tiny green baby. But seeing his son in his arms completes the portrait of Din that lives in your head. It can’t be strange, could never be. 

Din looks at you with those big, sad baby bantha eyes, and his softness seeps away. “Let me get the womp rat back to the creche. Then we should talk.” 

You don’t know what to expect, but he takes you to his chambers. The door slides shut behind you, and you blink against the heavy dark of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says sharply, suddenly, but softens. “I’m sorry. Your parents. They’re gone.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You knew, really. You hadn’t wanted to, but you knew. 

“We sent someone,” he adds quietly. “It was too late.”

“Thank you,” you say, staring out the window for a moment, taking in the way the hazy orange sunset blends with the sands. Nothing like the divide of the wind and sea. “Do you know what happened? Or… when?”

He hesitates. 

You turn to him. “I can handle it.”

He grimaces and sighs. “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply, and his shoulders slump.

“Troopers shot them,” he starts, hesitating to let you back out. When you say nothing, he gives in. “After the broadcast.”

It hurts more than you thought. “What are the chances—”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t quite swallow it. “You were right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Somehow, as always, he knows. “You would have wondered. And I didn’t want to lie to you, anyway.” He stands up and approaches you, drawing you in by your shoulders even though you don’t want to be held. 

But he knows. He always knows. And you fold, because you don’t want to, but you need to. 

And it’s easier. Easier to let him envelope you, to fill yourself with the soft slopes of his muscles and lose yourself in his musk. To forget, just for now, not for always, but for a moment. To steady yourself with having one person back from the list of the lost. 

You don’t have him, really, you know this. Can’t have him properly. Not the way you’d like. But you let him have you. 

Oh, and he does.

He has you sprawled on the chaise lounge before you register the movement, lowering you down as he kisses you, and you just following the press of his body. He doesn’t stay above you long, his mind far more focused on lifting up your skirt and helping himself to your cunt. 

He feasts and you fall. His lips and tongue taste every part of you. The difference this time is that he talks. In the stilted silence of the cell, neither of you had sweet or sultry sentiments but now, oh, now he never stops. Murmurs that fill your cunt, endearments kissed onto your clit, and growls sucked into your thighs, blossoming bruises that seep into your bones. 

You can’t hear much of it, but your breath hitches with each word you can snatch from the air. Sweet, he calls you as he speaks of his need and ache. You fall apart on his tongue when he calls you my brave girl. 

His. 

You hold onto that, rewind and replay on the lonely nights to come. Neither of you speak of it, of course, but he said it, he meant it, you heard it, you kept it. 

That night, though he doesn’t say it again, you believe it. He makes you believe it. With each kiss and caress and bite and bruise. He takes and you give and give and give. 

He doesn’t stop worshipping your cunt on his knees after you come. It’s not enough; he can’t be satiated. He drinks from you twice more before he can wait no longer, climbing above you and knocking your legs apart with his knee. He can’t be bothered to strip you of your clothes or him of his. Can’t be bothered to waste another second before he’s plunging the full length of him into your soft folds and gasping as if he’s nearly drowned. 

Maybe he has. Maybe he’s submersed himself so deeply within you that he can’t breathe. You can’t, so you’d believe it. 

He fucks into you somehow sweetly, though the pace he sets is unforgiving. His hands cradle you, though, and his lips find purchase along your neck. 

Din doesn’t say it again, doesn’t call you his , but he leaves his mark on every inch of flesh he can reach. 

He makes sure you lose yourself in two more orgasms before he pulls out to spill against your slit, rubbing the head of his cock against your puffy outer lips and clit. 

“Stay,” he pleads. 

So you do.

An hour later, you realize he hadn’t taken your clothes off not because he couldn’t be bothered, but because he was waiting for you. He was perceptive and kind as always, waiting for you to expose your scars. 

Not even the bacta could erase Gideon’s “art.” 

Din wouldn’t take that from you, wouldn’t make you, but you do it anyway. You bare yourself to him and he takes the offering with as much aplomb as you would have guessed. 

Nothing is said, but he pulls you down after, once you’ve fucked yourself full of him, to lay against his own bare body, and his fingers trace the lines with reverence.

He doesn’t say it again, but you hear it. My brave girl, his fingertips whisper. 

And you finally cry. 

When you’ve run out of tears, he holds you still, doesn’t let go just because the need is gone. 

Neither of you sleep that night. You can’t stop your hands and mouths and hearts from following the beat of each other. Like the quiet taps in the darkness of the cell, your bodies speak to one another and you can’t help but to listen, to answer the call. 

It’s nearly morning when you ask. He hadn’t wanted you to, if only because he didn’t like the answer. 

But he gives it to you anyway. 

Two days. He’ll be leaving in just two days. 

You knew he couldn’t be bound here, couldn’t be nestled in the safety of the palace while there was a war to wage. Knew he would never keep to the background, would never shy away from standing beside his people and doing what needed to be done.

He has a question of his own for you and this time, you have an answer. You couldn’t promise Shand that you’d stay, but it falls from your lips for Din like nothing. 

Where would you go anyway?

But stay, he pleads, so stay you will. Here, where he can find you. Here, where his son will be, for this is not the time for foundlings to flourish. No, there is far too much that will be lost in this final hour. And you know now that there’s not much you wouldn’t do when Din is the one to ask.

So you stay.

In the darkness of the early morning, the three of you stand in the hangar. It’s unsettlingly empty in a way that can only be intentional. Din removes his helmet and tucks it under his arm, tugging one glove off to cup your cheek in his broad palm. 

His soft lips find first your forehead and then your lips. It’s saccharine and short; a proper farewell. He hugs his son and kisses his little wrinkled head before placing him into your arms. 

The helmet goes back on, and the Mand’alor only hesitates once at the bottom of the ramp, nodding his head once. You hold his heart in your hands in every way that matters, and the two of you watch until the tiny dot of his ship disappears.

You think I remember you, so you are eternal, and hope it’s not all you’ll have left of him to hold onto. 

so long, and thanks for all the fish!

*title from "45" by Shinedown.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

The fact I have to use multiple headcanons for some characters to make them palatable is bullshit.

Sorry this is a 3am rant as I am doing nights and am the half awake type.

But this specifically is about Cullen Rutherford and how in canon he’s a bitch ass. And Oghren to actually. Also a bitch ass.

But these characters have so much damn potential I wanna SCREAM.

Cullen is a character who is set up to be a creep in the first game. He has a crush on one of his prisoners and when the tower is taken by magic and he is tormented we see him break. In DA2, he’s a magic hating asshole who stands up in the final second against his boss. In DAI he’s the commander who gives lip service to changing but hasn’t.

This entire saga has me going; BUT WHAT IF?!

I think I ranted about this before but Cullen in DA2 could have been so much cooler if we saw him slowly have a come to Andraste sort of story. In the beginning he’s running on his trauma. Hates magic. Can’t see mages as people because it means then people hurt him and he can’t do it.

But then he begins looking around. Maybe Meredith says something or he sees how his men flinch when he’s around. He begins actually seeing things in the Circle that kind of go: wait. The Ferelden Circle tower wasn’t as bad as Kirkwall. Not good no, but Kirkwall is hell.

Cullen seeing the trauma of a young girl being made tranquil. Seeing a Templar abuse her. Stepping in and then… Meredith does nothing. Denotes the man but doesn’t care. Cullen, who was at mercy of demons for days, who was taunted with an image of a woman he fancied himself in love with… he watches and can’t understand it.

He hears of the Tranquil solution. Hears someone whisper of Alrik after and he… he can’t. He can’t do that. Talks to Meredith who dismisses it. Whose insanity sparks in her eyes. Who talks of mages are vermin.

Cullen wonders if he was like that.

I want an actual damn redemption arch for Cullen, and I would love to explore more of ‘the Chantry abuses the Templars to’ with their purposeful forced addiction and how awful it is to come off it. Having Cullen see how Samson is, seeing him so sick… it should be a moment where we see this man truly question things.

Then DAI. I want Cullen to have earned his position. I want him to talk about how he knows he has biases due to the tower and the demons. I want him to tell the Herald ‘I sometimes relapse. Just tell me’

I still want a voice to argue for the Templars but I want Cullen to argue about Tevinter and that dealing with slavers is never wise. I want us to see Cullen terrified of magic and him having to combat the feelings.

I want Cullen to have a slow horrific retaliation of the Chantry as he comes off lyrium but still can use his Templar powers. I want him to choke it out, shaking, that he has been lied to.

I want an actual redemption and him truly trying to redeem himself. I headcanon it all the time when playing because it is the only way I can put up with him. Even then I only have romances him with a non-mage human, because I can’t see him able to do anything else.

Then OGHREN. I don’t know if I talked about this but his entire relationship with Felssi never interested me because it feels like he’s repeating Branka. They insult each other and she talks to him like dirt. Exploring the idea he left not because he didn’t want to be a dad/is a bad dad but because he recognized he was in the same damn cycle would have been so cool. Plus having him actually change.

In origins, have him stop drinking as much. Have him talking not about sex or being gross but have him holding intelligent conversations with Sten on battle tactics. Have him argue with Shale about dwarves. Have him discuss withdrawal with Wynne.

Then Awakenings. Like I said, I think the discussion that his relationship with Felssi is toxic on both sides would be fun. Have him confess he realized he was right back where he’d started, have him drinking again… I’m not saying blame everything on the woman. I am saying that toxic relationships are hard to break and the idea of Oghren honestly being at a loss when he realizes where he is would be so much fun.

This is a headcanon I built to be able to stand the man.

And the fact I have to do so makes me want to beg on bended knee to BioWare: please don’t do this to me in DA:D.

[ad-hawkeye]

Words: 1,187 Rating: G Alkaid McGrath/Little Painter (MC) Post-Awakening, Main Story Spoilers

He wasn’t actually an agent, but some days he sure felt like one.

Alkaid had trouble sleeping that night.

It was odd. He was comfortable in his bed, but not comfortable enough to actually fall asleep.

Even Sparkles knew to steer clear; the ragdoll was in the living room. Alkaid’s erratic flipping and turning was enough to shoo the feline off his bed and onto the couch. With a drop of his head, Alkaid pressed his face into the warm, cotton pillow below. Sparkles’ departure was probably for the best. His fur coat and body heat would have just made the two of them miserable; that was the last thing either of them needed.

Alkaid closed his eyes, squeezing them shut. And then the clock on his wall continued to tick.

Louder, and louder, and louder. It was maddening… Just utterly insistent.

With a groan, Alkaid flipped over yet again, this time choosing to fix his gaze on the ceiling. He couldn’t see much of anything at night, and he wondered if that was why his mind kept wandering. It was impossible to stop thinking about the stars in space, thousands of light years away. Or about his girlfriend, her eyes tired and face pale.

He kept hearing the screams. The confused ramblings of those who were long gone. The banging on the walls.

Would he ever be able to forget what he saw? What he heard? A private cinema with technology he had never seen before, capable of digging into the deepest recesses of one’s mind. Something so… alien in nature. Something that could handcraft a prison of his deepest fears, with detailing so intricate even he couldn’t deny its legitimacy. And ultimately, something that could create a “movie” that managed to make his girlfriend so utterly distraught in a way he had never seen her before.

While the two of them vowed to be honest with each other, sometimes their communication wasn’t through words, but through actions.

And her actions were loud. Her hands were shaking. Her expression was grim. Any words she offered were laced with distress, and it utterly broke his heart.

She told him she didn’t like that kind of story. That she didn’t like seeing Alkaid sacrifice everything about himself, just for her.

He could remember their long talk following White Day. Hushed voices and open hearts as they chose to be honest with one another, leaving no stone unturned... Well, most stones. He could still remember her eyes dimming in the lamp light as she spoke.

…

“Alkaid,” she started, staring down at her tea. “The nature of… all of this. I know more. I know things that are too dangerous. Things that could change your life forever.”

The two of them had been talking for well over an hour. Alkaid’s conscience had never felt more light than it did in that moment; no secrets weighed his soul down. He felt free of every lie, of every deflection… And now? He was learning more about her. And it was more complicated than he could have ever imagined.

Alkaid furrowed his brows. “Dangerous?”

“Dangerous to you. And your life.”

He remained quiet, letting her continue.

This was concerning to hear. His girlfriend was a Traveler. Someone who could travel between worlds… through space, through time. The very thought of it all made his head spin. Just how many worlds were out there? And then another thought hit him. Just how much did she know?

“I want to tell you everything so… so bad. To let everything out,” she continued, shaking her head with a bitter smile. “You deserve that. But, it’s kinda like telling someone... I dunno. The truth of the universe, I guess? Sometimes, knowing too much about everything... or about yourself. It glues you in place. It happened to me. I don’t want that to happen to you, Alkaid.”

His breath hitched in his throat. She cared about him enough to cherish his free will. And as much as curiosity gnawed at his chest, he respected her decision more than anything else.

"But... Alkaid. If you do ever want to know, I can..."

"No," he suddenly said, voice firm but empathetic. "It's okay. You don't have to."

He wasn’t about to plead with her. No, he understood.

“Okay. But, no matter what..." she continued. A small smile graced her lips. "I’ll be as honest as I can. I’ll never hide what I’m feeling. And I will never lie to you.”

And it was his job to pick up on her cues.

…

And here they were again. She was being honest. She wasn't hiding what she was feeling. And she wasn't lying.

The sheer sincerity in her voice scared him. His suspicions must have been right. This was no mere movie; it was something else. Something… supernatural. Was it truly a vision of the future? Was that two-faced, duplicitous snake really him? Was that really someone he could become?

The very thought rattled Alkaid to his core.

No, it was a movie. Just a movie, right?

… Right?

His head spun. Mere months ago he would have brushed this off as a fantasy. Or as an unfounded anxiety. But, upon seeing what his little painter was capable of, he knew this wasn’t just likely, it was real. It was as real as the ceiling above him. As real as his sweaty palms below. What was one supposed to do when presented with the very worst coming true? Maybe not in the present, but somewhere out there, in the future?

He swore to her that he would do everything in his power to overcome that fate. To embrace the Gentleman Agent, but to be as sincere and honest as the Rose Elf. But, if he was being honest with himself, he was terrified. He thought he had laid this issue to rest on White Day. When she accepted him, secrets and all. When she learned the truth about him, and didn’t leave.

Honesty was the key to any good relationship, and that was what drove him forward. But, was that all for naught? Was being two-faced in his nature? Was he doomed to become a smiling mannequin, someone who interrogated sick, indoctrinated prisoners behind closed doors? Away from his own girlfriend? Against her own wishes?

Alkaid flipped in his bed again. He could hear the screams again. The ticking in his room grew louder, and not even hiding beneath his pillow case could drown it out.

He loved his mother. He truly did. But some days he swore he saw her in the mirror instead of himself.

Full of secrets. Living life under one big facade.

No, he wasn’t his mother. He was worse than her. She never lost her humanity. But him… that Alkaid in the future… he did. He sacrificed everything about himself for a lost cause, and for what? A sweet lie?

He wasn’t actually an agent, but some days he sure felt like one.

The clock in Alkaid’s bedroom continued to tick. He would have to go to class in a few hours. He would have to pretend that everything was alright. And he would have to do it with a smile.

[talonabraxas]

Multidimensional Merkabah 💫 'Sirian' Light Body Talon Abraxas The Divinity Within

It is perhaps on this level, that we arrive at the very crux of defining what Merkabah is, and what it means. It quite literally is the chariot of God. It is a light vehicle that has allowed sages, prophets, ascended masters, enlightened beings, to reach out into higher levels and realms of consciousness and existence; to sort of access the Akashic records if you will; remember all of this is associated with Archangel Metatron, who is the chief, or better yet, chief angel, responsible for them, and documenting everything that is and ever was in existence. This is extremely pertinent in the context of what is being referred to as the great awakening, both on the spiritual and conscious level, seeing as to how one cannot ascend without activation of their Merkabah. The ascension is a rise into these higher realms of existence, a rise into the astral, spiritual planes, and those above them, so it would only make logical sense that the individual would need this new spirit and heart that was given to Ezekiel that allowed him to do so, more specifically that of activating the individual’s light codes and body, as well as that of the Merkabah in order that they too may ride the chariot of God, and connect or return to the source. That after all should be viewed as the ultimate goal of the spirit or the soul. To return to the source in response to all that God and Christ Consciousness can become.

And here we find the very quintessence of Merkabah Mysticism. It was a movement founded on the teachings of Ezekiel, which were revered by many as the most mystical part of the entire bible. Building off of what is taught, it set out for individuals to endeavor to receive their new spirit and their new heart, to activate their light bodies, and with it their Merkabah, and to ride the chariot of God, as the Prophet Ezekiel did. And here it should be noted that both the light body and the Merkabah with it, are both divine forces that are accessible everywhere. We make common misinterpretations that these things are only reserved for the very righteous, or the divine, the enlightened, or to a very select few, and that it is as if they were sort of hand-selected or preordained to on some holy level to do so. Here we see, that we have completely missed the message of these divine and enlightened individuals. Most if not all of them came in the form of simple ordinary men. Ezekiel manifested these divine things in shackles of exile. Buddha who was next in line to inherit the throne consciously chose to rather seek a life of spirituality, of suffering, and of martyrdom, if it meant enlightenment and finding a cure to the maladies and suffering of humankind. Even God’s very own son, to whom we think we cannot compare ourselves to, even though he stated that if you believe, you can perform miracles greater than my own, was presented to us in the form of a lowly carpenter who had nothing, and that was born in a manger alongside sheep and other animals. God does this for a reason, and it is to show us that the average person, the commoner, the prisoner, the meek, humble, and the lowly, all have and can be divine, and to seek that divinity within. It’s no wonder that the meek will inherit the earth. We don’t ever find God looking out at the heavens, or looking in the church, or anything else that is provided in the external or material world. No, what we find is that when we turn inward, into ourselves, and look for how to find peace, love, and happiness within, so that we have it no matter what life has to offer us, it is there that we find God is within all of us, within our hearts.

[impossiblycolorfulpanda]

Alternate take of the awakening: Text about Zuko and Azula finally capturing the avatar along with Ba Sing Se

At the Fire Nation Capital, Zuko and Azula return to the royal palace and prepare to face their father, Ozai, and present their prisoner, Avatar Aang. Zuko turns to Aang with a death glare.

Zuko: Ok Avatar! You are to be seen! Not heard! If you do anything that embarrasses me or him...

Azula: Zuzu. Relax. We've already been through this. He gets the picture. Let's go.

Zuko grudgingly complies, he breathes deeply and they all enter. The siblings bow before Ozai, Azula yanks on Aang to do the same.

Ozai: Rise.

They do so.

Ozai: You've been away for a long time, my son. I see the weight of your travels has changed you.

Zuko: Father, I have done what you asked. I give to you, the avatar.

Ozai: Yes. You have. And for that, you have redeemed yourself. I am also proud that you've helped bring down Ba Sing Se. (Approaches Aang; the camera pans up to view Ozai's full face for the first time) Welcome to our home. Avatar Aang.

Aang: You know who I am?

Ozai: I do. I never stopped searching for you. After 100 years of failure to find you, now the universe, and by extension, my children, deliver you to me as an act of providence.

Aang gulps and breaths deeply.

Ozai: One of my greatest spies and playwright, Pu-on Tim, has been keeping tabs on you. Emerging from an iceberg, innocently unaware of the onslaughts, fighting your own avatar powers. You seem...confused.

Aang: Maybe once. But not anymore. You need to stop this. Please.

Ozai: Why would I stop now? We have just achieved two of our greatest prizes ever and I'm not sure you've been paying attention, but this started with the great comet, and so it shall end. The other nations couldn't live together before.

Aang: Because you made sure that they couldn't!

Ozai: Oh please. I only helped along the inevitable. Have you ever wondered why your predecessors created four nations instead of one world? Why they allowed Ba Sing Se to leave their poor for dead or their water tribes to treat their women as less significant than men?

Aang: I don't agree with what they've done but brutalizing their homelands into submission and murdering innocent people who live there isn't the answer.

Ozai: Unity will be achieved one way or another. I must say. I am very impressed that you managed to remain the same age for a whole 100 years. With longevity like that, why would you even need to reincarnate? Now, that you are here, what shall we do with you?

Azula: If I may, Father, I explained to him his ultimatum. If he vows to forever obey me and accepts his position as my prisoner, I promised he would be treated with dignity and like he's a part of our royal family. If he refuses, disobeys the simplest requests, or does or says anything without my permission, I will eliminate him myself, slowly.

Ozai: Do you accept such terms?

Azula: (Yanks on Aangs chains) He asked you a question. Answer it.

Aang: (Gives Ozai an almost defiant expression) Yes. My lord. I humbly agree to these terms.

Ozai: Good. You stay with him, Azula, never let him out of your sight for a second. You know what to do when he starts acting unruly.

Azula: Yes. By your command.

[convexicalcrow]

Hermit Horror Week Day 5: s1/2 - Echoes

Probably the last piece I do for @hermithorrorweek, since a couple other ideas I had I couldn't quite make work the way I wanted them to. But I had an idea for this prompt and ran with it. It's perhaps more unsettling than anything, but it is what it is. I'm still very normal about Empires!False don't mind me. >_>

-

I didn't ask for this I didn't ask for this To be watched by someone To be watched by someone Who wishes me dead who wishes me dead I've learned to be cautious of strangers I've learned to be cautious of you Because I'll only be rejected You'll only be rejected She's watching me again She's watching me again Judging me as I judge her Judging me as I judge her She's dangerous She's dangerous She's allowed to kill and I'm not? I'm not letting her kill anyone else I can feel her around I can feel her around Like she's come through the Rift all over again Like before I sent her through the Rift She's destroyed me as a person She's destroyed me as a person I wish I never had a sister I wish I never had a sister After all she did to me After all she did to me I'm the monster, am I? She's the monster, not me I just wish I could remember I wish she wouldn't remember It's all prison bars and flames She broke out and burnt it all down But I didn't imprison myself, did I? I was just trying to keep everyone safe I keep reading the books she left behind I keep seeing the builds she left behind Wondering who I really am Wondering how she got like this A monster gave birth to a monster She was happy when she was building! And I'm the one shut off, confined, rejected She needed to be confined for her own good She didn't even say goodbye I wasn't going to say goodbye She abandoned me and now the Rift's closed I couldn't risk a confrontation, it had to be like this And I'm left here all alone, in a home that I didn't choose I had to leave her all alone, she was safer away from me I dream about it sometimes, awakening the Rift I dream about her coming back, and what she might do Let me go back and talk to her, that's all I want None of the Hermits would be safe. I wouldn't be safe And just ask her, why? I don't want her to know why I see that tower that I never built I wish I knew what she was up to Why she wanted to be close, but not like that I failed her, but I still cared, that's something, right? I rest my hand against the cold black Rift I check Grumbot's cave every now and then Sometimes I can feel her there, watching, waiting I wonder if she does the same, waiting by the Rift like me I talk to her, yell, scream, bang my fists against the glass I want to forget about her but I never can Maybe I can repair the Rift, maybe I can fix him Maybe I can break the Rift, make sure it never works again I'm smart like her, right? I can do that I'm smart enough to do that, right? Maybe I can get it working and leave this empty world I hope she never gets it working and leaves that place All the other Emperors left, so why can't I? All the Hermits left that place, never to return I'm sure it's not too difficult I'm sure it's way too difficult After all, what else can I do? She can build in peace and be happy What's left for me here anyway? There's nothing left for me there She took my memories I didn't want her to remember She still believes I'm the monster? She needed to forget she's a monster She'd kill me if she came back, I just know it She'd kill me if she came back, I just know it Maybe I'd deserve it for everything I've done Maybe I'd deserve it for everything I've done Perhaps I need to show her what a monster truly is Perhaps I need to show her what a monster truly is Hello? Can you hear me, dear sister?

"Hello? Is someone there?"

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S06E08

Another good episode. As a disclaimer, I’ve had a pretty specific idea of how this episode should be like, so I went in a little bit negatively predisposed. Also, these aren't in order. Sorry.

I remember the dead guy. He was in the episode with Meghan Ory’s character, the first one of the two.

“He’s dead. Are you happy?” Calm down, ma’am, you’re giving him reasons to be stupidly self-sacrificing.

Joe: Charlie no. Charlie: Charlie yes.

“We’re going to transfer all the inmates I’ve arrested out of the prison.” You’ll… what… now?

“I’ll find your killer and get rid of your drug problem”. And also fix your plumbing (oh, wait), clean your laundry, and create a gourmet menu for your prison.

Okay they did find a good reason for Rex to be in there. I'd still have preferred Charlie alone in prison and Rex investigating on the outside.

I hate this hairstyle. There, I said it. However, it’s more fitting to prison inmate Chuck than what Charlie has had all season so far as a cop. Which has actually been tolerable as an image despite not fitting the character, and I refuse to spend more time on that because I keep seeing it being commented on and when this keeps happening, I feel bad.

I think I know the actor who plays Charlie’s prison bunkmate but I can’t place him.

Charlie displayed a lot of badassery in this episode. Also, I think John Reardon did some good work acting wise in this one.

Charlie said “I love you”, “babe”, “you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen”, “sweetheart” to Sarah, and all of that while he was undercover in prison and through the phone??? Who do I talk to about this? How was there not a better moment for this? It’s like they wanted to throw these words out in the open in the least romantic way possible.

The way I hate “babe” and yet every single couple I ship is using it… They’re lucky I’ve been desensitized since Castle.

And Sarah’s facepalm on the other end lmao. It’s obviously not the first “I love you” at least. I wonder what she calls him.

I liked the instrumental music for the prison scenes. It was very much on point.

Damn, they put him in solitary for 24 hours. This couldn’t have awakened any claustrophobic feelings from a) the freezer b) the cave collapse, c) the coffin he was buried in d) the containers that almost turned him into a pancake? Come on, guys. Also, do they or do they not have solitary in Canada? It can’t keep changing according to the season.

Sarah worried because her idiot almost died in prison. Charlie finally (I might pass out) having a moment of weakness? Saying that he misses Sarah and Rex? I did not think I'd live to see it.

Jesse saying that they'd pull out Charlie if it gets too dangerous… This is way too optimistic. Realistically, he would have gotten shivved before anyone could do anything about it.

Rex totally wanted to maul that guy for injuring Charlie. Once again, why can’t we see him baring his teeth? German shepherds have scary canine teeth, they’re not just cute and cuddly.

I liked Joe as a guard. And interrogating the suspect, getting a bit handsy with him.

Detective Jesse Mills. Doing interrogations. Detecting lol

Bringing back a bad guy from S1? Interesting choice. I barely remember the guy. And wasn’t that episode like a collective fandom hallucination or something? When Charlie mentioned the guy had killed a kid I was like, oh so we haven’t seen that case. That’s how much I don’t remember that episode.

“Lots can change in that time” Charlie, you’re squeaky clean, bud. You tried to be “bad” in S4 and lasted for like four minutes.

Also, in every show I’ve seen, once a cop enters prison, no one cares whether he’s a disgraced cop. They’d want to kill him either way.

Either they shot the scenes of the prison yard in one day or it was raining all the days they had those scenes. Very gloomy weather, it added a bit of extra grime to the episode.

“Do you want to read the letters with me?” Absolutely not. He wants to go back home, hug his girlfriend and have a hot shower to wash the prison off of him. Maybe this all happened off screen already. I don’t care. I didn’t see it so it didn’t happen.

I liked the episode. It didn’t go my way at all but it’s understandable. I wanted some more danger towards the end, as people were catching on to the fact that Charlie was a cop. Also, Charlie had way too much communication with the team, I know it doesn’t make sense for me to not want that, but it also doesn’t make sense for an undercover cop in prison to be able to be in touch with almost every member of his team throughout the episode. Did I want a Charlie and Sarah scene in the end? Absolutely.

Promo: That is a pretty lame promo for what should be a character centric episode. It looks like a complete filler, devoid of character moements. I hope it will be a character centric episode and not a filler NCIS episode (because Navy). Hopefully it’s just lousy promo editing and not a lousy episode. Interesting choice for Charlie’s dad. And I know people might hate me for this, but I’ll say it anyway. I did prompt a few storylines to an AI model about Charlie facing off his dad, and the AI would always, always have his dad call him Charles. Fucking hell.

There’s no way Sarah is not meeting Charlie’s dad, right? I need to be reassured.

Dude seems so dismissive of Rex that I hope Rex bites him. He should be allowed to bite family members who are being assholes.

[ljdoublecc]

The Beast's Treasure

Samon X Reader

Favorite food- (F/F)

Favorite Type- (F/T)

All was quiet in Nanba, nothing was out of place and the whole prison seemed at peace. The guards took this as an opportunity to unwind for the first time in a long time. But our story doesn't involve guards from other buildings. It is centered on you.

You were currently humming to one of your favorite songs while happily working on the documents on your desk. They weren't particularly hard but they were time-consuming, and you were determined to get all the work done on time. Last time you had to eat lunch at your desk and ended up spilling (F/F) on the documents that were on it because of a certain "boar" named Inori.

"Hm, I wonder where that lazy boar is? He promised to help me if I said I'd make dinner tonight?" You questioned in your head at the thought of your brother ditching you again to go take a nap slipped in. "Why does he always leave me alone?" You sighed sadly.

That sadness didn't last long as someone opened the door and walked in causing you to look up from your papers quickly. Your face immediately sprouted a smile at the person you have romantic feelings for stood before your desk, Samon Gokuu.  He looked at you with an irritated face and continued to walk towards his destination. This saddened you, he looked so annoyed but you didn't let that stop you.

"Hey, Samon. How was the meeting?" you politely asked your supervisor as you watched him from your desk. All that was heard was a grumble from the man bending over in order to reach his stash of popsicles in the mini fridge. He didn't really reply leading you to believe that it went south pretty quickly and annoyingly. That could only mean one thing he got into a fight with building 13's supervisor - Hajime Sugoroku. It always upset you to know he got into a fight with the man.

 “I’m assuming the meeting went bad for you to be so upset,” You stated in a matter-in-fact tone only causing the male, who was now enjoying his treat on the comfort of the couch, to nod his head in acknowledgment.

“Yeah” Was all he said before staring into space while eating.

You frowned at this and realized that it was probably not the best move to mention the meeting. Not really being able to help your supervisor was upsetting but there really wasn’t anything you could do for him so you continued to finish the last of your documents.

****Time Skip****

“Yay, I’m finally done!” You exclaimed a little too loud almost waking up the supervisor. The key word is almost but thankfully for you, he was too mentally and physically tired to wake up. 

After your little outburst, you looked at your supervisor to see if you had awakened him but instead saw a cute little sight. Samon with a popsicle stick in just barely hanging off his half-opened mouth, his feet on the couch, one bent and the other straight. His arms folded over his chest as it rose steadily with his breathing.

The sight alone made your cheeks heat up and a big smile to plaster itself on your face. You were content that he trusts you enough to show his weaknesses and to see him so relaxed. It was a nice change from earlier, so as quietly as you could, you got up and walked to the night duty room.

You came back a few seconds later with a blanket, that you intended to place on top of him, and placed it gently on top of him. You then chuckled softly when you saw the stick trying so hard to escape his mouth but somehow failing to do so. You took the stick from his mouth, to throw away, and lastly, you left the room but not before turning off the lights and bid a small goodbye with a smile.

“Guess I better go to the training grounds,  knowing that boar, he probably went somewhere to watch his horse races.” You stated leaning against the door before sighing lightly, “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And with that statement, you left with a hum and a small skip to your step, completely oblivious to the person that was listening to your conversation with yourself.

****While Inside of the Room You Left****

“Haha, Definitely hard to believe those two are siblings.” Samon chuckled softly to himself, “Ones cute, smart, caring, hardworking, and respectful. While the others ugly, barely smart enough to be considered ‘human’ and lazy is practically his middle name.”

As he continued to compare the two Hakkai siblings, he unconsciously started blushing and listing the reasons why he fell for you. 

“So, this is what love feels like?” Samon smiled as he stated that, “If that’s so, I like it.”

“Aw, the monkey of Nanba has a crush on the sister of the beast!” Came out a familiarly loud and obnoxious voice that came bursting through the door while turning on the lights. This affectedly made Samon jump high enough to fall off the couch with a very unsatisfying landing on to his back. 

“What the hell, Mitsuru?!” Samon yelled at the cat-like grin that the said male was wearing. “Tch, nevermind that. Why are you here?”

“I came to retrieve the documents that are due today for the warden but,” Mitsuru plastered on his signature smile, “I would never have thought that the monkey would fall for the beast’s treasure!”

Samon turned red knowing he was referring to you after all your brother looked like a beast and he always treated you as if you were treasure, which surprised a lot of people.

“Tch, fine,” Samon turned from the man and walked to his desk to find the documents, “I’ll get you the damn documents so you can leave.”

‘Shit! They’re not here!’ Samon though as he looked frantically around his working area trying to find the reports for the warden. ‘She is going to murder me!’

That is until he looked back to tell Mitsuru he couldn’t find them when something caught his attention. It was a stack of papers that you were working on when he came in, in a neat pile with a (F/T) sticky note on top. He walked over and saw- to his surprise- the documents he was looking for. What was on the sticky note made him fall for you a little more.

‘Hey, I saw that you didn’t finish your reports before the meeting this morning so I took the liberty of finishing them for you. I’m happy I did, after all, you looked like you could’ve used a break after that meeting. Anyway, I hope you got a nice rest, but I suggest you don’t sleep with a popsicle stick in your mouth, it’s a choking hazard, and grab a blanket, we don’t want to hear about our strong supervisor catching a cold now do we! \ (>.<)/’ - (Y/N)

“Wow, looks like the beast’s treasure is trying to lead the monkey in!” Mitsuru states from behind him with another cat-like grin making Samon have a tick mark appear. He pocketed the note and shoved the reports into the idiot’s arms and proceeded to push him out.

“There! You have the reports, now leave!” Samon shoved him out and slammed the door shut. By the end of this encounter, he was as red as the darkest ruby but he didn’t care because he was just happy that you cared enough about him to worry about his health and job. This just gives him more reasons to fight the ‘beast’ in order to gain the ‘treasure’- also known as your heart.

[sloahne]

Revelations: Submitting to the Darkness Part 28

Written with @Lassiter_SASBDB.

Lassiter: *Well slap my ass and call me pappy, that explains a lot. To have that marker in her blood she had to have been the child of both a Chosen and a Brother. The SV had kept a pretty tight rein on her Chosen and they HAD been indoctrinated in their duty to the species, but if a Brother bonded with one of her priestesses in the course of their duties then they were allowed to leave her service. From that moment on, he was responsible for her safety and for producing young which continued the main purpose of producing strong bloodlines for the protection of the species. That's not to say some females hadn't had their own hopes and dreams, but until Wrath son of Wrath @LordOfTheManse had started making legal changes to give females equal rights in vampiric society, those hopes and dreams had pretty much been the life Sloahne's mother had chosen – mating with a Brother and raising a family on this plane. As Primale, Phury @PegLegPhury had embraced Wrath’s @LordOfTheManse changes. He had no desire to have sex with a bunch of different females even if that was the traditional role. Instead, he and his mate, the Chosen Cormia @Cormia_SASBDB, had decided to act as kind den parents to the young females, encouraging them to find their own paths with their protection and guidance. But, how the hell am I going to convince her of that? My burgeoning irritation is replaced with sympathy for what this female has gone through. Not just with that fucker, Drake, though that was by far the worst, but her whole life. Her mother had left the SV’s service but never escaped the old world societal expectations of Chosen females and she'd imprinted that expectation on her daughter’s rebellious brain. Sloahne had been raised in fear of it, with making a glymera marriage her only out. A marriage in which she would either be a prisoner or a princess, but even as the latter, her life wouldn’t have been her own. I'd have run, too. Hell. I kind of did.

Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. A frisson of electricity runs up my arm and straight to my dick at the touch. What the fuck was that?!! I’d touched Sloahne casually a hundred times before and never felt THAT. Vampires had fed from angels infrequently in the past, but it had been done, and I’d never heard that THAT was a side effect. Down boy, we have work to do. Clearing my throat, I mentally stomp my suddenly awakened libido into the ground. Focus here, boy, you’ve got work to do.* 

So your mahmen mated a Brother and left Sanctuary to be on this plane with him, but she just traded one set of rigid rules for another. And she passed it onto you that your basic function in life was to be property, either for a Glymyra asshole or the Brotherhood, with no say-so over anything, I got that right? *Shaking my head.* Sweetheart, a lot of things have changed. Some of it you have to be aware of, like the changes in the laws, but some of it only the Brotherhood really knows.

Sloahne: <Lassister takes my hand into his and suddenly I feel a spark that was never been there before. My heart is beating faster, my body seems to be reacting strangely to his touch. Heat floods my entire body and I feel the goosebumps that appear on my arm. Trying not to figure out why touching him so so different I listen to his words and wonder how so much has changed. I raise my brow in question.> 

Are you trying to convince me that the foundation of the vampire race over the past however many centuries has suddenly changed? That the Scribe Virgin who created our race whose female vampires who had been bred specifically to serve the Scribe Virgin and to meet the needs of the members of the Brotherhood, as well as Brothers in whatever fashion the male see fits? You’re trying to tell me centuries and centuries of this tradition is shot to Dhund?

<He can’t be serious.>

Lassiter: Well … *Sheesh, how do I explain this without blowing my cover? The Brotherhood knows, and a few others, but it’s kind of agreed that keeping my status on the down low is best for the species. People need traditions and all that.*  

In a word, yes. See, the new Primale refused to go along with how things had always been done. He’s mated with one Chosen and he’s faithful to her. He has a place on this side that he and his mate set up to allow Chosen who wanted to seek their own paths a kind of transition from Sanctuary. And the Queen is half-human. She kinda had a cow when she found out females had no choices over their lives, so that got the King involved. And then …. *Heaving a dramatic sigh.* Other stuff changed. The SV stepped down as deity. She’s not in charge anymore. 

Sloahne: Wait, what? The Scribe Virgin isn’t in charge? What happened to her? Is she ok? <I start to panic. It’s not like any of us normal people have ever met the Scribe Virgin, but she’s the mother of the race, someone you look up to. So hearing that she has stepped down, who is going to watch over us now?>

Lassiter: *Hands go up in an attempt to calm her sudden panic. If this was Sloahne’s reaction, then Wrath @LordOfTheManse was on the money keeping the majority of the species in the dark about the transition.* Whoa, whoa, take a chill pill! It's ok. She’s fine and she’s around, but she felt like the species had reached a point where they needed a more hands-on approach, something she's not comfortable with. She chose a successor who WOULD be comfortable with it - *More like insistent on it.* - And the Creator approved her reasons and her choice. 

*Although I’m still trying to figure out just WHY He approved, but I can't tell her that.*

So she’s cool, He’s cool with it, and the new deity is learning the job.

Sloahne: Oh. Weird. Ok. <Seriously … what else could I say? The powers that be had a shift change apparently. Didn't know that was even possible. Huh. Well. Wow.>

Ok, so someone new is in charge and so things have changed? The Chosen are not being used as basic slaves to the Brotherhood any longer? I mean, you know what I mean. I grew up knowing that the Chosen were meant to breed with the Brotherhood to create the warrior caste, almost a breed apart from normal vampires who have been at the spearhead of the war with the Omega. So all of that has changed? The bloodlines have to remain pure so that all sons are Brothers and all daughters are Chosen. It has been this way for centuries. 

Lassiter: *Lowering myself to sit beside her on the edge of the hospital bed, I forget and take her hand again, trying to give her something to hold onto as I shake her worldview, and son-of-bitch, that electric current jumps up my arm again and my dick starts complaining at the tight restrictions of my leathers. Damn it, angels are supposed to have better control and I'd have thought a deity should be immune! My teeth grit as I will my body back into submission. Focus, boy, focus!*

I'm really sorry your mahmen had that view of being a Chosen and that she passed it on to you, but I know it wasn't the way most of them felt at the time. Most of them viewed themselves as high priestesses performing essential functions for the race. But the very fact that your mahmen felt like that is one of the reasons the SV stepped back. The world was changing. Her people were changing and she didn't think she could change with them. At least not fast enough. 

The fact is that once Phury @PegLegPhury became Primale, he refused to continue with the tradition of sexual submission by the Chosen. He loves Cormia @Cormia_SASBDB too much and he’s got a faithful heart. He's a Brother who had spent his life taking care of someone who no longer needed it and he needed a new mission. Bonding with Cormia @Cormia_SASBDB, then accepting the role of Primale, gave him that. He looked at the traditional role of the Chosen and said “no more”. It was world shaking, but it was time.

The Chosen who choose to will still provide blood to the Brotherhood when needed. More than one would have died recently in the war without it, including Wrath @LordOfTheManse, but it's a choice each one has, not a mandate. The sexual aspect is off the table. If a Chosen wants to hook up with a Brother, that's up to both of them, and I’ll be honest, because of the history of the Chosen the only reason I can think of for why one of today’s Brother’s would do it is if the female was going into her needing and wanted a child by him. It would be him serving her, not the other way around. 

As for creating warriors for the race, pure bloodlines, etc … Phury @PegLegPhury freeing the Chosen forced Wrath @LordOfTheManse to start thinking outside the box. Soldiers are being recruited from the population. Males AND females. The training program is rigorous, but after Bloody Sunday when Lessers massacred so many of your race, we have more applicants than slots, and the entrance “exam” is tough. Most don't make it, but the best that do and finish the program are respected by the Brothers. One of the soldiers from the program has already been inducted into the Brotherhood. No bloodline requirement, just pure heart and ability. And there will be more.

You don't have to hide anymore if you don't want to, Sloahne. You're free.

Sloahne: <I could not contain my astonishment as I listened to the angel. I guess the rumors were true. With the King’s ascension came a new era indeed. I had no idea the Primal was a Brother. I suppose that would explain all the changes and the fact nobody knows about them. The Brotherhood has always been secretive in the past for the safety of the King and their families. But as the Audience House has been created, most have seen the many pherasome Brothers guarding the King in the last few years. It’s been an incredible eye-opening experience for many seeing them in person and up close. 

Could all this be really true? All these years I’ve been trying to hide my secret, I finally felt a huge burden off my shoulders. I finally could take a deep breath and really felt lighter all of a sudden.>

The Chosen are truly free to live their lives? They live out in the world among us? They can do whatever they want? They’re normal just vampires … out there at the bars and clubs? Seriously?

Lassiter: *And … time to hedge just a little …*

They will be able to if they want to. Eventually. They’ve lived very, very sheltered lives, and most don’t have an interest in going to clubs and bars yet. Phury @PegLegPhury is like an overprotective first-time father right now, proud of them and encouraging but still trying to keep them all safe as he helps them overcome the culture shock and learn how to take the appropriate precautions. Some of the Chosen are just getting used to being here. Others have started college classes and are looking into careers and it was going pretty good until … *Heaving a sigh as I run my thumb soothingly along the top of her hand.* Until young females started going missing. You weren’t the only one and we think the other missing are related to the war. And Phury @PegLegPhury, well he’s reacting like any father would, trying to close ranks. He’s asked the ones taking classes to go to online courses until the Brotherhood finds and ends whoever is behind it. He’s mentioned having the Chosen go back to the #OtherSide until then but if he does he’ll have a full-scale rebellion on his hands. *Smiling a little.* They like it here and they like learning to spread their wings. I think even his mate Cormia @Cormia_SASBDB would fight it. 

When it comes down to it, the Brothers have a double dose of testosterone and it comes out in being overprotective of people they think need protection. It's a good trait in warriors, but it does get them their heads handed to them by their females from time to time. 

Sloahne: *I listen in disbelief as Lass talks about Chosen being out in the normal world. Going to college classes!! That has been unheard of! At least it was not known in the vampire world, especially in the Old Country, where I left my family. 

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Chosen given a choice to live out in the world but he didn’t say they had complete freedom with the mention of The Primale. Since apparently they would be forced to back to the #OtherSide. An all-white world that my own mahmen spent her first few hundred years of life. A world she drilled into me with so many expectations if I kept choosing not to be mated in the arrangement she chose.

Then there were the Brothers. He hadn’t gotten to the part of explaining what “duties” were still expected.*

Hmmm … ok so they live out in the Earth realm but what about their duties and … expectations expected of them as tradition? It’s been this way for over a  millennia. Surely … the Scribe Virgin’s tradition of her breeding program that produces the Brotherhood? Selective breeding was deliberate, to beget strength from strength. *My anxiety caused me to speak faster and more agitated … and I wondered briefly if I was having a panic attack again.*

Lassiter: *Her anxiety levels shot up like a living thing in the room as she mentioned “duties”.* 

Hey, hey … *Squeezing her fingers lightly then gently cupping her face with my free hand.* Take a breath. 

*Fucking hells, the impulse to kiss her almost overwhelms me. Abruptly dropping my hand from her face, I discreetly shift to mask my raging hard-on. Just what in Dhund is going on? Note to self - no more feeding vampires. It results in major distractions. And find out just what the hell is going on the first chance I get. Duties. Think. That was when her blood pressure spiked.*

Sloahne … *Shaking my head.* There are no more “duties”. Hear what I’m saying. There are no more ehros’. Blood is donated only by the willing to those who are in need. There are no required duties anymore. Everyone is too busy learning how to just be normal over here. There is no one left in Sanctuary. Everyone - Ehros’, Watchers, Scribes - they all chose to come here to check out their options when Phury changed the rules, and they did so with the new deity’s and Wrath’s blessings. There is NO BREEDING PROGRAM. Not anymore. It’s not needed. We learned that strength, courage, and nobility don’t come from the bloodline. They come from the heart and soul of the race. If it came from the bloodlines then the Glymera wouldn’t be rampant with assholes and the history of your species would be a lot different. When the Scribe Virgin put these things, these “traditions”, into place it was a different world. The realization that the world doesn’t exist anymore and that some of those traditions have caused more harm than good is a big part of the reason she stepped back. 

Look … *Sighing.* I get that this is a lot to take in, that it goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. But no one is going to force you to do anything. And no one is going to out you to the King. I’ll take care of the Doc. I’ll pull his Hippocratic Oath on him, to first do no harm, and if he spills the beans on this it would definitely do harm to your mental health because YOU believe it would cause you harm. If I have to, I’ll mind wipe him and disappear your blood test results, but I don’t think I’ll have to. He takes that Hippocratic Oath business seriously. You trust me, right? Well, I’m asking you to trust me on this. This is your secret to tell when you’re ready to tell it and I’ll protect you until you’re ready. *Not damn hard since I’m already feeling protective and frigging possessive. I’ve GOT to get a grip on this.*

Sloahne: <I listened to the Angel and tried to take it all in and believe the words he was saying to me. But it was difficult. I spent centuries believing my mahmen and the stories told about her previous life before she was mated. I spent centuries hiding myself among the race and no one ever knew except the symphaths and moors … and then “he who shall not be named”. 

I contemplated his words over in my muddled mind and my erratic breath slowed down to a steady beat and I felt more calm than before. I laid back on the hospital bed and wondered how my life had arrived at that moment. Inside the Brotherhood Compound, at least that’s where I thought I was, running from a psychopath and meeting an actual Brother. Someone my father could have fought side by side with, someone who could have been close to him and knew many stories that I was not privy to. I missed my father … my fist circled and rubbed my chest in front of my heart as I felt the ache whenever I thought about my father. 

I shook my head at the past and tried to stay in the present. As I did, I felt the electricity running through my fingers and up my arm and wondered briefly what that was I figured I was still probably not well from my ordeal and needed rest and whatever was feeding into my veins from the bags of IV hooked up to me. I laid back on the gurney and tried to relax and sink into the weariness that my bones were feeling from the weight of centuries of running and hiding and wondered where my life goes from here.>

Oh … wow.

Lassiter: “Wow”? What’s that mean? *Females. I can read minds but I try not to. Privacy and all. Plus none of them would ever really trust me if they knew I could but it goes with the gig.* 

So you’ll let me handle the Doc? And you'll stay put, at least until the dirtbag is dealt with?

*I want to touch her again, to reach out, hold her, comfort her. I can tell she’s confused. Everything she thought she knew just collapsed around her. It’s what I should do, what I would have done before just touching her started shooting lightning through my veins. I don't regret juicing her, but I don't dare too much physical contact until whatever this is fades. Instead, I release her hand and lift her chin with one finger, locking eyes with her.* 

After that, we can figure out what's next.

Sloahne: <I start feeling the adrenaline start up again from playing cat and mouse with “he who shall not be named” starts to take over my body.> Just … wow. This has all been a lot of tea and no one even knows about it, right? I mean outside the Brotherhood that is. The race would be in an uproar, #Glymera specifically. They’re all about being Old School and traditional. I mean it’s been centuries. It’s still hard to imagine. You know?

I mean I’ve been hiding for so long. But yeah, I can stay … wait … you mean to stay here in this room? For how long? I mean I need to work, and I have rent to pay and bills. I mean I can’t afford to pay whatever hospital bill the Brotherhood’s personal physician would charge me … I mean … yeah… what about “he who shall not be named” … are you sure he can’t find me here. I mean he’s found me twice now … <I start to panic again and look around. It’s so ridiculous. I was so confused … I wanted to feel what I felt when he had me under his spell but then he just went over the line and the pain … so much pain … then blood, blood everywhere. My blood just everywhere …>

Lassiter: Hey, come on, take a breath here … you don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. If the asshole hasn’t been dealt with by the time the Doc releases you, then I’ll get you cleared for the manse. Wrath @LordOfTheManse isn’t going to let one of his people be put in harm’s way and you def would be out where Drake could sense you again. We’ll figure it out. 

*Fuck, she’s starting to hyperventilate again. Too much, too fast. She’s getting shocky.* 

How about we take a little nap here, huh? Get your pulse rate back into a normal range. You need to get your strength back before you tackle all this stuff.

*She’s already halfway to trying to get out of bed. I scoot in closer and loosely wrap my left arm around her, not to restrain her, but to catch her when she goes down for the count. Touching two fingers to the center of her forehead …* 

Sleep … 

*She sags against me, her breathing leveling out. I can sense her pulse slowing, steadying to a normal pace. Her fever is gone, so juicing her worked. She just needs some rest and my, ummm, “suggestion” should have her out for a solid 8 hours. Gently, I lean her back and then rise. I gotta go talk to the Doc, and make sure he remembers his oath requires patient confidentiality. Sloahne’s not a young and she’s able to make her own medical decisions now, so he’s got no reason to breach that by squealing to Wrath @LordOfTheManse about her blood work. Hmmm … I think I’ll make that documentation disappear anyway while I’m at it. If she ever wants it, she can have it done again voluntarily. With a last look, to be sure she’s settled, I go invisi to hunt down the Doc. He’s a tough cookie, but the element of surprise is always on my side.*

[evansblues]

" Is there anything we can do to help manifest what Red Flower predicts for Chris? I can picture this wonderful future for him, but I can also see him getting scared and taking the easy road again, seduced by the enemy he knows. Anything we can do to send positive energy his way since he seems to be surrounded by soul leaches? Thanks! "

🦋

Red Flower here,

I want to start for a message for the collective : You can send prayers and positive energy if you want, it can help and it also elevate the vibration of the situation, but you have to understand that the universe is perfect and what we see now, is his divine purpose that he is following. I asked if everything was perfect in this plan and the answer was positive.

Chris is going through a great awakening coupled with a night of the soul at the same time. Since he's been putting off work for a long time. I had an analogy with RDJ. Few people remember what this man went through, but he was in hellish limbo. He did a lot of drugs, was put in prison for many years before he understood his divine purpose. Today, he's one of the world's most respected actors, married to a stable woman, with children… Everything was perfect. It all depends on the karma you came to this Earth with.

We don't remember it, but we sort of signed up for the obstacles that were put in our way. We are souls living a human experience to learn. Learn what? Unconditional love. This is the goal of all human beings. To recognize and live unconditional love. Some learn it with their partner or friendship, but also parenthood… Through their work too. Artists are the catalysts of divine light. Remember how you feel when you hear music you love, and see how you vibrate. It's the same with a film. When you watch a good film that has brought you comfort or strong emotions…That's why I said in my previous posts that the industry is going to change. There are too many parasites preventing humanity from elevating itself through art, and putting money before magic.

What's going to be hard for Chris isn't really now, but afterwards. After this lamentable show is over and he realizes what a mess it's all been. He'll realize: What's the point of making movies when no one can see you anymore without feeling disgust ?

He is no longer in the good graces of his fans, nor of the public. But strangely enough, that's where he'll find freedom. He won't have to feed the Captain America image, and he can finally come into his own and make bold choices. He'll once again see his profession as an art form, and no longer as a means of making more money to finance his harmful lifestyle. He will be helped by a man - I don't know who exactly, but it's someone in the industry who will encourage him to surprise both the public and himself. His wife will also be a major creative force in his life, and he'll do everything to earn her admiration.

Once again, he chose to learn in the most efficient way to prevent him from screwing up. From what I gather, this has to do with his past lives. He's screwed up a lot in past lives and he doesn't want to sacrifice this one. That's why his lessons are violent but benevolent nonetheless. They're just public, and therefore degrading, as we witness his humiliation, but this will change him for the better. He needs it. He needs to be at the bottom of the hole to see the light.

Thanks for reading.

Namaste. Infinite Gratitude. :)

Remember, for every light, there is an equal and opposite darkness to balance it out, and we must experience them all together in order to be whole.