#learning how to forgive

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Ties That Bind

Summary/Context: Do you ever wonder what happened when Théoden briefly imprisoned Éomer in Two Towers? Or about how Éomer felt about it, or how other members of the royal family felt when Wormtongue similarly manipulated Théoden against them, as we know he did? Me, too, so I wrote this. It’s meant to slot in with canon events like Éomer’s release from jail, Háma’s discovery of a bunch of stolen stuff in Wormtongue’s possession, etc., as well as with some of my own headcanon for Théodred (more of which is here).

Characters: Éomer, Eadlin (“princess”, Théodred’s fiancée and a real ride-or-die for him), Háma, mentions of Théoden, Théodred, and Wormtongue

**********

“Get your hands off of me!”

Éomer thrashed against the men on either side of him, trying to wrest his arms free from their iron grip. With his sword confiscated and his hands twisted uncomfortably behind his back, he had little chance of overpowering multiple guards. But he would sooner break an arm in the struggle than be led meekly into a prison cell like a child accepting a teacher’s correction.

The man on his right, a lieutenant of the king’s guards, grunted as he took a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Do not make this more difficult than it has to be, Marshal,” he said. “These are the orders of the king, and they will be carried out.”

“These are the orders of Wormtongue, only put into the king’s mouth,” Éomer seethed. He dug his heels into the stone threshold at the door, bracing his body against the lieutenant’s effort to propel him forward. The two strained against each other for several seconds, the opposing forces keeping them suspended motionless in the doorway, until another guard behind him sent a swift boot into the back of Éomer’s knee, buckling his leg and causing him to stumble forward into the cell. The door slammed closed behind him.

Immediately back on his feet, Éomer gripped the bars of the door and pulled with all his strength. The steel rattled back and forth in its casings but yielded no other result. As the guards retreated up the staircase, he roared with frustration and kicked a small wooden stool into the wall, where it splintered noisily against the thick stone.

He bent down to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees, and glared out at his small enclosure from behind the long, golden hair that hung across his face.

“By all means, keep raging about. That is certain to help the situation.”

He whipped around in search of the source of this hoarse, flat voice, and his eyes landed on a small person bundled into a dark green cloak and sitting against the bars in the cell next to his. The stranger’s back was to him, and a hood obscured their face and hair.

“I do not recall asking for anyone’s opinion,” he spat out, turning all of his anger easily onto this new, available target.

“And yet you will receive it just the same,” the stranger answered. “If I can endure my pain and outrage quietly, surely you can do so also, Éomer.”

He froze at the sound of his own name, and the contents of his stomach heaved upward as he suddenly placed the voice. His fury was snuffed out in an instant.

“Eadlin?” Her name came out almost as a whisper.

She turned and cast back her hood, revealing the familiar face of the woman his late cousin had planned to marry. Her eyes and nose showed clearly that she had been crying, and the blue and yellow remnants of a fading bruise marred her cheek. But most striking was the bitterness in her expression as she glowered up at him from her place on the floor.

“For days now I have waited for someone from Théodred’s family to come to my aid,” she said. “And now the first of you to arrive is brought under guard himself. But it was foolish of me to have expected any help from the house of Théoden, since it is by his will that I am here.”

He rushed forward to the bars that separated them, and crouched down to look directly into her face. “You must believe me, Eadlin, had Éowyn or I known you were here, we would have done everything we could to get you out. None in our family would ever wish you any harm.”

“And yet here I sit. I would not call this a loving embrace, would you?”

The disdain in her voice shook him. Outside of this cell, she had been a close friend, clever and sharply funny but easy and warm with those she loved. And there was none she loved more than Théodred. She was fiercely loyal to him, extending her full affections to anyone who had his favor and withholding them completely from those who had friction with him. It had always pleased Éomer to know that Théodred had such a steadfast ally unfailingly at his back. But there was a cold steeliness about her now, a furious apathy, which Éomer did not recognize. She was clearly grieving, but her grief had curdled into something else, something harsh and unforgiving.

“Strange events are unfolding, and the king is not well,” he said quietly. “He has difficulty now discerning friend from foe.”

“He seemed quite confident about who was who when he accepted Wormtongue’s accusations against me.”

“Wormtongue!?” The fire of Éomer’s anger, briefly suppressed, was immediately rekindled by that hateful man’s name. “I should have guessed. There is hardly an ill deed in Rohan these days that Wormtongue seems not to have a hand in. What has he to do with your imprisonment?”

She drew her arms tightly around herself and sat for a moment in silence, as though playing out past events in her mind again. At last she spoke. “The day before Théodred died, I passed Wormtongue on the terrace. He expressed condolences for my loss, but I had experienced no loss at the time. When I asked him what he meant, he immediately reddened and stammered something about misspeaking. He is so often awkward and unpleasant that I attributed everything only to his peculiar nature and thought no more of it. It was not until the next day when Éowyn came to tell me–”.

She broke off as her voice began to quake. Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly through gritted teeth. When she opened them again, her voice was clear and strong once more.

“When Éowyn came to tell me that Théodred had been killed overnight, I thought again of Wormtongue’s odious little face from the morning before, accidentally offering me his affected sympathy for a death that had not yet occurred. And then I knew that he was somehow in league with those who killed Théodred…that he had foreknowledge of Isengard’s attack and the relentless focus they would aim at Théodred alone. He knew that Théodred would die, and he erred only in the timing. He spoke too soon and, in doing so, he betrayed his own complicity. I could see it all, but I had no proof. So I waited until dark that night and went to the chambers where he keeps his office. I forced the lock to search for evidence of his treachery, but he discovered me there and had me dragged before Théoden as a thief and a traitor. He asked for my imprisonment, and Théoden agreed without hearing a word from me first.”

Her fingers trailed lightly over the blue smudges on her cheekbone. “I did not go quietly, but what is one woman against a company of guards? And I have been here ever since, rotting alone in the jail of the man who was to be my father.”

Éomer slumped back against the wall and rubbed a hand across his face. “Of all the charges I would lay at Gríma’s feet, never did I think he would reach so low as to aid in the death of the king’s son. Can it really be so?”

Her head snapped up. “Do you accuse me of lying?”

“Of course not.” He raised his palms in conciliation. ”I would take your word over Wormtongue’s in all things. There is no question.”

“Then you are one step ahead of your uncle.” Her lip trembled slightly but her gaze was direct and keen. Éomer looked away to escape the heat of it.

Of course he understood why she felt betrayed by Théoden. Was he not himself sitting in a cell because Théoden had accepted Wormtongue’s counsel? It stung, there was no denying. But something within him still felt a confidence that Théoden’s increasingly erratic behavior was not a true expression of his uncle’s will. The kind and generous man he had known all his life, who had taken him in and raised him as a son, was still there somewhere.

“Théoden is not himself of late,” he said. “I do not know how to explain it, but a person does not change so dramatically merely from old age and illness. I hope still that he will come back to himself before long.”

“You are more softhearted than I imagined, Éomer. Maybe you can forgive one who would cast you aside like so many kitchen scraps, but I cannot. Nor can I forgive the way he treated Théodred in the last weeks of his life. Accusing him of trying to usurp the throne. Of disloyalty. Did you know that your cousin went to his death with such words from his father in his ears? Why should I care whether they were Théoden’s own opinions or he merely repeated the accusations of Wormtongue? The effect was the same.”

Éomer winced. He had been the target of similar remarks recently, part of a wave of paranoia and suspicion that seemed to be gripping Théoden ever tighter. And though Théodred had never mentioned it, Éomer was not surprised to hear that his cousin had experienced the same thing. But if Eadlin had seen Théodred hurting as a result, Éomer doubted he would ever be able to change her mind about Théoden again. She might forgive many things over time, but causing Théodred pain was not one of them. Not now that the pain could never be redressed.

He reached through the bars and put a gentle hand on her arm. She stiffened but did not move. “I promise you, if I can find a way out of this cell, I will get you out, too. I will not leave this prison without you. And together we can try to fix all of this. To restore things to the way they ought to be.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were a mistake. She tore her arm away from him and jumped to her feet. Her face flushed around the fading bruise, and her fists clenched at her sides.

“The way they ought to be? So you will bring my Théodred back from death, then? You will restore to me the best and kindest person either of us has ever known, the one person I loved above all else? Because that is what ought to be. And if that is not what you offer, then I am not interested. Now or ever.”

She strode to the opposite side of the cell, as far away from him as she could reach, and threw herself to the floor with her back to him once again. She made no further sound, though he could see from the ragged convulsing of her shoulders that she was sobbing.

He fought back the overwhelming urge to join her in her grief, to sit on the floor of his own cell and feel the full weight of his sorrow at the loss of his beloved cousin. But with so many disasters that had already befallen Rohan and others that might yet still occur while he was helplessly trapped here at the margin of greater events, his own pain would have to keep waiting. Instead, he reluctantly turned aside and began to pace back and forth across his cell, brooding on his situation and searching his mind for a plan of action. When the light failed and he could no longer see the bars on either side of him, he felt his way to the wall and sat back against it. He stared forward into the darkness, and in this way he passed a long, unhappy night.

When the morning sun at last began to filter in, he could once again see Eadlin sitting in her corner. Her back was still to him, and her knees were drawn up tightly under her chin. The sight of her in such misery was a jarring contrast to her smiling and animated presence in his memories. His heart ached for her, and for Théodred. How his cousin would have felt to see her like this he could not imagine.

He sat a while longer until the sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the silence. The hollow feeling in his stomach reminded him that no food had been brought since his arrival, and he stood in expectation of receiving some form of meal. To his surprise, however, the face that appeared in the doorway was not a guard bearing food but rather the friendly visage of Háma, captain of the king’s guard and doorwarden of Meduseld, bearing a large ring of keys.

Háma smiled broadly and shook the keys with a celebratory jangle. “I have orders for your release, Marshal. Straight from the king himself.”

“The king?” Éomer rushed to the cell door, anxiously watching as Háma tried one key after another in the lock. “He has changed his mind? How?”

“I could not say. I know only that the wizard Gandalf arrived this morning with several strangers in tow, and they had an audience with the king. What was said inside is not known to me, but some magic seems afoot. There was sudden darkness and lightning in the middle of an otherwise clear morning, and soon after the king emerged from the hall to stand and walk in the sunshine as a man twenty years younger than he was only yesterday.”

Éomer’s mouth fell open and for several seconds he was unable to speak as he tried to make sense of Háma’s words. “Gandalf? Alive after all? And Théoden seemingly restored to health? It feels too much to have hoped for. If this is a jest of some sort, Háma, I assure you that I will take it badly.”

Háma grinned as he inserted a final key, which turned with a satisfying clink. “May Béma hunt me down if I do not speak the truth!” He pulled open the door and stood aside to allow Éomer to walk out.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Éomer, grasping Háma’s forearm. “I do not fully understand the chain of events that you have related, but I know better than to question good fortune too closely. Do you know where my sword is?”

Háma smiled and nodded toward the stairs. “If you return to Meduseld, you will find Gandalf and his companions still with the king. Perhaps you can get more explanation from them while I fetch your sword for you.” He turned to lead the way out, but Éomer stood fast and maintained his grip on Háma’s arm.

“I cannot leave yet,” Éomer said. He looked over at Eadlin, who still sat silently in her corner. “I need you to release her as well. I made a promise that we would leave this jail together.”

Háma followed his eyes to the next cell and started at the sight of her. “Lady Eadlin in prison? How could this be possible?” He turned back to Éomer, his brows knit tightly together with concern. “But Marshal, I am sorry. I…I have no orders to release anyone but you.”

“Would you accept such an order from me? If so, I will gladly give it.”

Háma chewed on his lower lip. “I suppose now that you are released, you are returned to status as a marshal in good standing. It is not the usual way for marshals to command the king’s guard, but, then, many unusual things have happened today already. And it does not sit well in my heart to see your cousin’s intended bride mourning from a prison cell.”

Having thus made up his mind, he crossed to her door and unlocked it with the same key. She rose slowly and stepped out. “Thank you, Captain Háma,” she said quietly, and he bowed in acknowledgment. She then bowed in turn to Éomer. “And thank you, Éomer. You have honored your word. I am sure there is much now for you to do.”

His shoulders slumped a little. “Will you not come with me to Meduseld? Would you not witness Théoden restored and prepared once again to receive us as loyal members of his family?”

She laughed ruefully. “Us? What makes you think I am included in his change of disposition? He sent Háma here to retrieve you, not me. I have no reason to believe my position with him has changed, and his position with me has certainly not.”

“But surely once he sees you, once you can speak with him, all will be made clear. He loved you as a daughter, and I know that he still does. Return with me and reclaim your rightful place in his heart.”

She slowly shook her head. “Éomer, even if that were true, it would not be enough. There is no life for me in Edoras anymore. I have no reason to stay here, where precious memories of Théodred will lurk around every corner. Where every familiar place and situation will remind me of him and his absence. I cannot heal where the wound will always be open. And to stay only to seek revenge will turn me into someone I do not wish to be. I have glimpsed that person this week, and she is terrible to behold.”

Her voice was no longer angry but sorrowful, as though her bitterness had leached out of her overnight only to be replaced by a weary defeat. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Eadlin, you cannot give up. Would you leave Wormtongue to get away with what he did to you? With what he did to Théodred?”

He could see that the question hit its mark. Tears welled up in her large eyes, and she looked down for several long, anguished moments. When she looked up again, however, her eyes were dry and clear.

“There are others better able to deal with Wormtongue than I. You will find more capable allies in the visitors who arrived this morning, I am certain. But I will offer you this help.” She leaned forward. “When I was in Wormtongue’s office that night, I found a loose floorboard in the east corner. I had just pried it up when he came running in and had his guards drag me out. But I had time enough to see there was a locked chest stowed in that compartment. A man like Wormtongue does not make such an effort to hide things away unless he truly fears them coming to light. If you send Háma to retrieve the chest, I am certain you will find things inside that are proof enough of his wickedness even for Théoden.”

Éomer shot a look to Háma, who nodded his understanding. “Let me first fetch your sword, Marshal,” said Háma. “And then I will find a way into Wormtongue’s office if I have to break the door open myself.” He turned and ran up the stairs.

Alone once more, Éomer took Eadlin’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You can put your faith in Háma. There can still be justice for Théodred, and maybe that will help to ease your pain.”

She gave a small sigh and shrugged.

“What will you do now?” he asked.

“I am not sure yet. Perhaps I’ll ride to Aldburg and be with my own family again for a while. If I have to build a new life for myself, that seems a likely place to start.”

He nodded. “If you should ever change your mind, there will always be a home for you here. Éowyn and I will see to that. You are part of our family still, with or without Théodred.”

She reached up to press a kiss to his cheek and then stepped around him to the staircase. Just before disappearing around the corner, she looked back at him one last time. “He really loved you, Éomer. I hope you know that. If anyone had to take his place and fulfill the destiny that was to be his, he would have been glad to know it was you.” With that, she smiled sadly and walked out alone.

[judgingbooksbycovers]

Learning How to Forgive: A Devotional of Prayers and Practices to Release Negative Emotions and Achieve True Forgiveness

By Chris Bailey and Jamie Bailey.

[tempikotee]

the girlies,,, beautiful flowers

[nenoname]

"And now I know why! He hates me!"

[eggsistential-breakdown]

started making this a couple weeks ago and then learned there's an art contest for it! had a lot more in mind for this but the deadline is as good of an excuse as any to force myself to take things manageably. Hopefully will be able to get to the end of it someday it's so epic in my brain hrgrgghgh

Song is by @sparkbirdmusic

also I have a YouTube channel now :3

[starryluminary]

He’s trying

[fellthemarvelous]

It pisses me off to see the way some Star Wars fans are so dismissive of Reva, Third Sister.

She's complex. She's interesting. She's clever. She's intelligent. She's strategic. She's conflicted. She's traumatized. She's scared. She's angry. She's a survivor.

The Obi-Wan Kenobi series literally opens with her and her friends watching one of her Jedi mentors get gunned down by clone troopers during Order 66.

She was a FUCKING CHILD!!! They were in the middle of a lesson when the clones walked in and started shooting everyone!! These were Anakin Skywalker's troopers and they were executing every single Jedi around them.

These children had NO idea what was going on. They were scared and they tried to run to safety.

We remember this scene from Revenge of the Sith and we all immediately knew what it meant.

These are the same bodies that Obi-Wan Kenobi found when he and Yoda returned to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant after having to kill so many of Anakin's clone troopers just to survive.

These are children that the Jedi Council wasn't there to save.

Palpatine snuffed out the light of the Jedi in one swift act of terrorism and then blamed the Jedi for their own genocide after taking over the entire galaxy.

And in times of war, the weakest among everyone always suffer the most.

This is what Reva, Jedi youngling, remembers most about the end of the Clone Wars.

Anakin Skywalker, hero of the Clone Wars and former padawan of the great Obi-Wan Kenobi, murdered all of her friends and injured her.

She had to play dead amongst the dead bodies of her friends, and that's how she survived. She witnessed Anakin Skywalker murder all the Jedi in the temple with no one there to stop him because the other Jedi Masters were being executed in a war they had never wanted to enter into in the first place.

She blames herself for not being able to save her friends because she wasn't strong enough to fight back. No youngling was ever going to be strong enough to stand against Anakin Skywalker. She wanted revenge against Anakin Skywalker, and she was just as desperate to get to Obi-Wan Kenobi as he was. She wanted to kill Anakin Skywalker just as badly as Darth Vader wanted to kill Obi-Wan.

She was alone in a galaxy that tortured and executed surviving Jedi. She spent ten years plotting her revenge against Anakin. She was angry at Obi-Wan for not being there to stop Anakin, and rightfully so.

The Republic fell. Reva and her friends were left unprotected. She was the only person she relied on because everyone else failed her. She was only a child when she lost everyone.

And it's clear she was conflicted by her role as an Inquisitor. She doesn't have the training the other Inquisitors do because she volunteered to be an Inquisitor while all the others were tortured and terrorized into falling to the dark side. She only wanted access to Anakin so she could get justice for what he did to her and her family.

Unlike Anakin, Reva couldn't find it in herself to harm a child. She was seeking revenge solely against Anakin Skywalker. Luke and Leia are the same age she was when she watched her friends and family die in front of her.

Yes, she was prepared to torture Leia, but she consistently hesitated, and when Tala walked in, Reva turned away. She stopped. Yeah she was mad, but she didn't have to go through with it. She'd already planted a tracker on Lola. She was already planning on allowing them to escape so she could locate their secret base. She just needed to bait Obi-Wan. Her plan worked perfectly, and she didn't even have to hurt this child who was annoying the shit out of her (not realizing she was dealing with Anakin Skywalker's offspring).

She went to Tatooine to kill Luke, but she couldn't. She hunted him down without bothering to kill Owen or Beru. She only cared about one thing. Getting justice for what happened to everyone she had been unable to save at the end of the war. She was only a child, and when she realized she was about to kill a defenseless child just to get revenge, she couldn't do it. She saw her face when she looked down at Luke and cried when she realized she couldn't do it.

She was so horrified by what she had been prepared to do and returned him to Owen and Beru alive. She fell to her knees and sobbed because she thought she failed her family in the end.

Obi-Wan was there for her this time. He reminded her that by showing mercy, she was giving her friends and family peace. She was not going to become the monster that Anakin Skywalker was.

Obi-Wan helped her and reminded her that she gets to decide who she wants to be from this point forward. She refused to become Anakin Skywalker, and a weight was finally starting to be lifted from her shoulders. A weight she had been carrying for ten long years.

She did what she thought she had to just to survive. She had only been a child with no guidance because everyone she loved died. She survived by joining the ranks of the enemy so she could plot her revenge. Obi-Wan showed her mercy at the moment she needed it most. He wasn't angry with her. He was compassionate. She survived Order 66 just like he did, but she had been defenseless when they were thrust into a galaxy that tortured and killed Force sensitive individuals and those who helped them. He had failed Reva during Order 66, and he wasn't going to fail her this time.

She is getting a second chance at finding her path in life despite the bad things she did. Everyone deserves a second chance. She was robbed of her childhood and had to grow up overnight. She had to learn how to survive. And that's exactly what she did. Just not in the way she expected.

[bluejulius]

eretlout arm wrestle for your dash

a great winning tactic tbh 🤷‍♂️

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the ask prompt game...

Spirk #17 to distract

"Report," Kirk ordered. The word buzzed low against Spock's ear, quiet and audibly tense.

"Less than two minutes until they reach our location, Captain," Spock replied promptly. "Commander Scott will need at least another eight before the transporter is operable again." His voice was equally hush, despite their perceived solitude. He had seen carelessness take far too many lives during his time in Starfleet; he would not allow it to take his captain as well - and, illogically, Spock could not quite dispense of the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of his neck.

"We'll need to bluff it," Kirk decided, looking grim.

His gaze was strangely intense against Spock, full of rioting emotion, and, almost, Spock wished to look away. He did not. Instead, he nodded, holding steady eye contact.

The odds, Spock knew, that Kirk's gambit - whatever it may be - would succeed were... poor. The guards had, after all, seen their faces. But Kirk would keep fighting right until the bitter end, and Spock, of course, would be right beside him.

Solemn, he vowed, "I shall follow your lead," though he knew Kirk would not have doubted it. Still, the unnecessary words were well worth the way the tension around Kirk's eyes melted away, the somber set of his mouth slipping instead into a golden-edged smile.

Almost wonderingly, a soft chuckle fell from those lips, incongruous in their surroundings and entirely treasured. "What would I do without you?" Kirk asked, reaching up to exert gentle pressure on Spock's bicep.

I pray you never need find out, Spock made to say, getting only so far as drawing in breath before the sound of distant footsteps drew them both from their quiet moment, snuffing the words before they could take shape. "Eighteen seconds," he said instead, after rapidly adjusting his calculations. Faster than anticipated.

Kirk nodded, some unreadable emotion hiding in the soft crease between his brows.

"Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Kirk said softly, and Spock did not have time to question what he meant before Kirk was pulling him down by his shirt, dragging their lips together with great urgency.

Quite suddenly, Spock found that his mind was entirely blank. Strange heat flickered through his whole form, and his universe narrowed to only Kirk, all soft and human-warm, who was pressed flush to his chest and kissing him.

One, then two seconds stuttered by in which Spock thought no thoughts at all, struck utterly motionless in the face of such unexpected attentions. He only felt, swept away by the sensation of pliant lips against his own and warm fingers stroking through his hair, gently mussing.

The very first thought to break to the surface was simply, Jim. A wave of emotion flooded in with it, astonishment and affection sweeping over him in such quantities that he felt nearly lightheaded.

The second was, We will be caught, and Spock jolted as something near to panic rose up inside his gullet, urging him to take Jim into his arms and run.

The third, however, was not his own; it was pressed into his katra from the outside by Jim's careful fingers, his clever mind slipping easily past Spock's shields. Play along, he said, projecting deliberate calm through their connection. Still, Jim was unpracticed in telepathic arts, and beneath that false serenity Spock could feel a tangle of guilt and determination, bitter and writhing.

The truth came to Spock in one fell swoop.

Jim's gambit... was this.

His lips and his hands, which pressed themselves so tenderly to Spock's skin, were not for him.

It was not love which had drawn his captain into his arms, but mere utility. Jim had realized what Spock had not: though they could not hide themselves, they could, perhaps, distract from themselves.

Two men attempting to look inconspicuous would only draw suspicion. Two men locked in a romantic embrace, however, may be overlooked - or even deliberately ignored. Few were comfortable with looking closely at the private passions of strangers, and fewer still would see reason to. Those searching for them, Spock hoped, would not. There would be no logic in halting an escape attempt solely for a kiss, after all.

Therefore, in order to escape unnoticed, they must be convincing.

They must seem, to any observers, to be completely and entirely immersed in one another, with no care for anything going on in their surroundings, and no fear of discovery.

Two lives, purchased with a kiss.

It was entirely logical, then, for Spock to part his lips, inviting Jim's tongue to dip inside of the wet cave of his mouth and meeting it with his own. If a groan rumbled deep within his chest, it could surely only help their cause; there was no need to swallow it down.

This disguise would, Spock observed as Jim's tongue flicked gently at his mouth, be far easier to maintain than it had any right to be.

It was a terribly simple matter for a man in love to behave as though he were a man in love.

The difficult part, then, would be remembering that it was a ruse. Already, heat bubbled deep within Spock, aching want suffusing his every neuron. Every faint brush of flesh sent golden tendrils of telepathic energy sparking across his skin, and it was all Spock could manage to hold himself back from pressing hungry fingers to Jim's meldpoints and sinking into that wonderfully enticing mind.

Instead, Spock slipped a hand beneath the hem of Jim's shirt, rucking up the cloth until he was tracing patterns across a smooth expanse of golden skin. He flexed his hand, allowing his nails to scratch carefully along Jim's spine, and did not permit himself to consider reaching upwards, to Jim's face - or worse: downwards, beyond the waistband of his pants.

He wondered if Jim would have chosen this, had he known how very much Spock wanted.

Perhaps it was selfish of Spock to allow it.

Still, he could not force himself away - not when Jim's life was at stake. The kiss was his lifeline, and so the kiss must remain.

The touch of their minds, however, did nothing to aid Jim. It was solely for Spock's benefit, taken from Jim without his knowledge or intent.

That, Spock could end.

If Jim was to unknowingly place himself into the hands of someone who wanted more than he would wish to give, then Spock would take it upon himself to be his protector - even if the one he must protect against was himself.

And so, Spock opened himself to every offered touch, and girded his mind against every stray thought, until not a single wisp of golden energy could find its way past his defenses.

When Jim's thigh nudged its way between Spock's legs, Spock spread his stance wider, allowing him to press closer, and did not let himself feel. His hands grasped and squeezed at the soft flesh beneath them, drawing quiet gasps from a pink-flushed throat, and no pleasant hum buzzed against his fingertips, carrying with it the flavor of human emotion. Jim nipped at his lips and pet at his hair, and Spock pressed every scrap of yearning deep down within himself to where they couldn't emerge.

Eyes closed and spirit aching, Spock kissed him.

_____________

from this ask game

[cassandra-silver]

This came to me earlier, and now I am utterly obsessed: While it was clear to me that Odysseus stabbing Poseidon wasn't any kind of Vengeance, there was one act of Vengeance after all, even if inadvertent—it was Odysseus disproving Poseidon's "Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" belief right in front of his very eyes. With him as the subject, even.

Think about it—the fact that Poseidon remained ruthless and insisted on punishing Odysseus was the only reason he got stabbed repeatedly. If Poseidon had been merciful, if he had accepted Odysseus' offer of forgiveness, he would've been fine. His own ruthlessness backfired so hard on him this time that I am sincerely hoping it haunts him forever.

I am actually utterly obsessed with Poseidon thinking back to Odysseus "Maybe you could learn to forgive?" on a daily, no an hourly basis. I cannot and will not lie to you that is unironically my favorite moment in the whole Vengeance saga just because of what it says about both the characters—about Odysseus for offering and Poseidon for declining (and also because Odysseus sings it in Poseidon's own motif which is just absolutely brilliant.) And this makes me love it even more.

Poseidon was going to decline, we all know that. I don't think anyone watching—even Odysseus, probably—expected him to accept. But then I'm picturing him lying there, bleeding into the stone, and, against his will, wondering whether maybe he should have. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't be in pain. Maybe if he had not killed Odysseus' fleet ten years ago, he wouldn't be in pain either. Maybe this one time ruthlessness wasn't mercy upon himself—maybe this time, his one grand belief was wrong. Maybe ... it was always wrong.

Obviously, he would never admit to these thoughts, he would slap himself for having them one second later. But I simply need this self-proclaimed god of ruthlessness to be utterly haunted by that and question whether he made the right choice or no—whether he's even lived by the correct philosophy all his immortal life—and no matter what, be too stubborn to admit he was wrong.

He's trying to pretend like nothing changed, but the thoughts still remain. They pester him. They won't leave him alone. Especially every time someone—anyone—is kind to him for whatever reason, they come crashing back into him and they won't leave.

"What if my own ruthlessness hurt me that time?"

"What if ruthlessness isn't mercy upon ourselves after all?"

"What if I'm wrong?"

"What if I have always been wrong?"

The most dreadful thoughts imaginable to a god as proud and stubborn and old as Poseidon, but they're there now and he can't do anything about them. You all don't understand how much I NEED this god to jolt up in his bed at 3 am after having a dream or nightmare about something related to one of his many ruthless deeds (maybe even sinking Odysseus' fleet) and go "BUT WHAT IF I HAD LEARNED TO FORGIVE?? WHAT IF I STILL COULD??" only to immediately slap himself for it because that's absolutely ridiculous.

He is left to watch this belief shatter before his very eyes as he's clinging to the remains of it desperately, trying to keep it all from crumbling. Not because he genuinely believes he's right anymore, but because he simply cannot imagine ... does not know how to live by any other philosophy.

No matter whether it's objectively correct or not, it's the very thing that defines him. The thing he's known for. He has built his entire image around this, he cannot give it up no matter what ... at least not quickly or without help.

But as much he would seek to deny it, his core belief has now been proven wrong; he has actually lived through an instance where it was wrong, and he can do nothing to erase those memories or conclusions from his mind no matter how much he yearns to go back to simpler times.

And that was the real Vengeance, guys—possibly the biggest, most painful existential crisis of Poseidon's immortal life. I rest my case.

Although before I disappear back into the void I simply must give a shout out to @o3o-lapd-o3o (this came to me during a conversation in one of their comment sections for the glorious Friends In Higher Places AU, which is quite possibly my favorite piece of EPIC fan content that exists ...)

[death-of-cats]

thinking about Sandor meeting and interacting with Sansa and having this intense emotional reaction to her and she forces him to confront what he believes about himself and he projects all this baggage onto her in the process and then he captures Arya and is like. hmm. well. this sure is different.

anyways, sometimes i think Stannis had a similar experience meeting Jon Snow, and then. Theon.

[willowser]

oh oh oh 30 year old touya...............body still healing, rediscovering who he is, figuring out how to be a brother and a son again. learning and growing mentally and emotionally in a safe space, for the first time. it's weird and wonky and some days are better than others and healing isn't linear and feelings are hard.

especially once he realizes he's got a little crush on the sweet nurse that comes to check on him every day.

[flying-cat]

people who undermine the importance of izuku and katsuki's relationship throughout bnha because of "annoying shippers" or because they just don't like katsuki are insane because their relationship is literally so? important??? to the entire story???? katsuki is the deuteragonist of bnha. he was one of the first characters to show up. he was the first other person to know about OFA. so much of the manga is spent showing his development. if you deny his character development and relationship development ("relationship" does not always mean romantic relationship) with izuku, you are quite literally denying a massive part of the series. the manga starts with them and ends with them. you're allowed to dislike him but if you dislike him so much that you, in turn, start hating how izuku is a "punching bag" or a "doormat" for the entire series because he doesn't stay angry and vengeful at people even though a massive part of his character is that he's compassionate and kind even to people who aren't to him or used to not be, and you seriously think that that makes him weak, and you just start to dislike the main two characters of the series, i think you should. idk. stop reading, probably. read the revenge fantasy shit that you obviously want to read. there are like seven million manhwa available to you where the character gets the revenge you so desperately want to see.

[aeb-art]

i thought it'd be cute 🥺💕

[fatedroses]

And some days, I just wish you wouldn't look at me at all.

[sunskaiis]

recently (2+ weeks ago) read the tf2 comics and i haven’t been normal about it since so i redrew some of my favorite panels for funsies <3