#when the possibility of a Greater Purpose is still so enticing to him

[kerryweaverlesbian]

I wish we had more Sam and Claire scenes, maybe there will be more further into season 11, because the fact that they were both abandoned by destiny. Is making me vibrate on frequencies henceforth unknown to man.

[butterflydm]

wot rewatch (book spoilers edition): 2x2

Additional thoughts that had too many spoilers to go into my earlier post will be found here. Spoilers for all the teasers and trailers, plus through book 13: A Memory of Light.

So one of the big questions that I have is: how much is Lanfear acting with Ishamael's knowledge and how much is she going her own way? Ishamael said in the Darkfriend social scene that he is still looking for Rand. If he's being truthful there (and he's talking to his minions, so there's really no point in lying), then Lanfear has not told him that she located Lews Therin.

2. I hadn't thought about this on my first watch, but @ladyofpembroke noted that Lanfear is probably in Rand's final dream in the next episode, so it seems possible that she actually has a hand in all his dreams. Constantly reminding him that he could kill his friends if he sees them again is a good way to make him want to stay where he is (with her) and not try to reconnect with his past life. Like any effective manipulator, she's keeping him isolated from his friends and family as much as she can.

3. otoh, we know from the books that being able to locate someone's dreams doesn't mean that you know where they are in the physical world, so this might be an Ishamael-influenced dream (I note that while Rand's visions of his friends has them wearing their S1 outfits, Ishamael is wearing his s2 outfit, which Rand hasn't seen), so this might be an Ishamael-influenced dream since he figures he might as well torment Rand in the dream if he can't find him irl.

4. Given that Rand is already hearing whispers, I wonder when the show plans to re-introduce Lews Therin to us in his own form. It might even be this season, if they wanted to make sure to keep a lock on the actor (or we might get another Age of Legends cold open -- though I note that we only had one cold open in this set of three episodes, though that might be because Rafe & co were aware that they would likely all air the same night so that might have affected their choices there - I'd love an AoL cold open where we get to see Lanfear and Lews Therin together).

5. So, did Rand find his way to Cairhien first and then Lanfear set up an inn in the Foregate to entice him to her, or did she set up her inn before he arrived and she figured out a way to lure him in? Either way, she's doing a much better job than the Lanfear in the books. She's much less suspicious than "random noblewoman who managed to appear in an unpopulated parallel world so that Rand could save her" and she's more subtle too. While the cringefail Forsaken in the books can be amusing, the threat level of the villains also helps tell you how seriously to take your protagonists, so I'm glad that they beefed up her threat level by actually making her effective. Right now, Lanfear is #winning on every possible level.

6. I love Errol because he serves several story purposes -- he's reminding us that Rand looks "like an Aiel"; he's serving Hurin's purpose in the story of giving Rand someone to look after and be protective of; he's teaching Rand sword forms because he was a blademaster; and he's giving us a bit of history about "the Aiel war". And the actor is quite charming. Plus he's used to show us both Rand's compassion and his need/desire to find mentors to help teach him the skills he needs. At this point in time, Rand does believe that he's defeated the Dark One and his nightmares are just nightmares but he does still want to learn how to protect himself and how to control himself.

7. We mostly hear indistinct whispers until Rand is walking down the hallway (it's the shot from the trailer) and it resolves into "Do you hear me? You are mine, Rand al'Thor." Which is very interesting. Our first inkling of Lews Therin? If so, it shows a greater awareness of Rand as a person than LTT's voice showed in the earlier books when it appeared in his head. I've speculated that this might happen, so I wonder if we're going to get more genuine back-and-forth between Rand and LTT than we really got in the books as a way of letting us into Rand's internal narration without him needing to pour out his heart to any of the characters around him.

8. I am actually loving Perrin getting Rand's plotline here -- it's working really well for him, being used to show us how Perrin can smell what happened in places so vividly that he's re-experiencing the past. I feel like if I didn't know this was Rand's original plotline, I wouldn't have guessed. It suits how they're exploring Perrin's character so well. I do wonder... Elyas speaks of Perrin experiencing a 'vision' -- I wonder if they're going to make the mystical side of being a Wolfbrother more distinct from what Dreamers do in this show version. Because it really was kinda... weird in the books how Perrin and Egwene are doing all this training in the same dreamworld but Perrin never runs across her or any of the Aiel Dreamwalkers, even once they're spending more time in the wetlands side of things.

9. The nailed-up Fade is used in the books to mark when Fain 'takes control' of the Darkfriends & Trollocs. I wonder here if it's meant to mark the moment when the dagger owns him more strongly than the Dark One does. Because the people of Shadar Logoth were not darkfriends -- and they focused on this in s1, too, because dagger!Mat is not a fan of the Fade that he meets in the farmhouse.

10. Love foreshadowing of Errol talking about "Aielman among us and no one bats an eyelash in the entire place" -- Rand is going to be bringing a lot of Aiel to the wetlands. I bet we're going to get to see some of these sword forms in the finale!

11. Liandrin does seem like she's becoming genuinely invested in Nynaeve. I like that (almost) everyone gets their own personal Darkfriend -- Nynaeve has Liandrin, Mat also has Liandrin (she's a hard worker!), Rand has Lanfear, Perrin has (remorseful) Ingtar, Moiraine has (double agent) Verin, Lan has (repentant) Tomas, and even Egwene gets a scene with Sheriam (who will get to be Her Darkfriend Among Us later on, if we're able to follow the books that closely when we get there), though she's not really the focus of Sheriam's attention. Everyone gets a little personal attention from the Shadow!

I like that Nynaeve gets rushed forward to the test for Accepted due to Liandrin wanting to teach her so badly. It seems more realistic reasoning than we get in the books.

12. Another big lie from Liandrin here about how Mat is here because they are "only observing" that the effects of the dagger are out of his system, which Mat immediately calls bullshit on. He's locked in a cell and only Liandrin is around -- that is not an official observation by any means. That's a prison. It's been six months. So I would put Liandrin's official lie count at two. Notably, she's only lying to Mat so far, who is both kept well away from other people and also doesn't really know as much about Aes Sedai (we know from Egwene and Moiraine's conversation in the woods in s1 that the people of the Two Rivers do not have the Aes Sedai oaths memorized).

13. My dearest, my darling, my deepest love is finally here! At the end of my reread, when I was ranking my favorite characters, Elayne was my number one favorite. Ceara is doing such a good job with her and the writing is also excellent. I love how many different sides of her we get to see in just these two episodes -- sheltered noble, awkward girl who grew up with no friends, someone familiar with the Tower but not familiar being a novice in the Tower, but a tinkerer (!!! so excited that they put this in so early) at heart and incredibly loyal and compassionate. I just adored her so much in these two episodes and I am looking forward to seeing more of her. I do really hope that, in the midst of all the chaos, that the show does manage to give her something of a meet-cute with Rand, even if it's less obviously romantic than the one in the books. But I'm really looking forward to more of her interacting with Egwene and Nynaeve, and hopefully meeting Aviendha and/or Min and/or Mat in the finale or before it.

14. I have zero issue with Sheriam not being a redhead. I think it's a good idea for the show to cut down on the number of redheads, given that Jordan says it's rare but then keeps giving us random redheads. Limiting the on-screen ones to the Aiel and the royal house of Andor seems like a good idea to me.

15. So first we got Perrin's letters last episode. Now, in this episode, Elyas tells Perrin that the soldiers he's with right now "are not your pack". While he could be talking about the wolves, of course, I feel like, as a viewer, that makes me think of the EF5 and how that's who Perrin belongs with right now. Especially after Perrin's letter talking about how he feels 'exposed' without the others around. Again, it gives me the hope that we'll get more moments of reconnection between the EF5 over the course of the show.

16. This moment with Verin is such a great one to look at knowing the truth of her situation. "Even oaths have loopholes one can exploit". She's the expert at it. Oaths are a bit of a minor theme in this episode and the next -- the loopholes and also, next episode, we're introduced to the Seanchan oaths where Perrin is, I assume, going to take the very reasonable position that a forced oath is not binding (which is the same position that Mat had in Winter's Heart but inexplicably abandoned in Crossroads of Twilight when he decided his accidental wedding vows were binding).

Oh! I knew I remembered hearing the words "Toman Head" in these three episodes but hadn't remembered it was Verin mentioning it! I thought it was noted as part of the Dark Prophecies but it's mentioned here as mainline prophecy. But the name is out there now. And this conversation also confirms "sword of flame" and "battle in the sky" for the finale, most likely, and a mention of a "branded hand" which feels like it confirms the herons. I wonder if Rand is going to use the same weave on his dad's sword that we saw Verin using at the end of the last episode for Tomas's sword. This may also mean that it's using that weave that burns the herons into Rand's palms?

17. The Rand and Lanfear scenes. Wow! But, yeah, I wonder how much her non-reaction to his bloody knuckles struck show-onlys. She doesn't ask him what happened, who he beat up. She just kisses his bloody knuckles and sweet-talks him into bed.

18. So far, we've heard/seen three separate form of violent teaching in the White Tower -- the unnamed woman who beat Moiraine to make her channel (likely Elaida); Liandrin's behavior with Nynaeve; and Sheriam telling Elayne that she'll be switched. Both Liandrin and Sheriam, of course, are Black Ajah. But from Egwene's reaction here, it doesn't seem like being ordered to be switched is anything close to the common punishment that it seemed to be in the books. But we'll see!

19. It does occur to me that Gawyn (maybe Galad too) might already have been in training with the Warders even if Elayne wasn't a novice yet -- Elayne has been spending her summers in the Tower and it's entirely possible that Gawyn's training to protect her meant he was sent off early to start learning from the best. We don't get any hints in this episode or the next about her brothers, but we're pretty focused on her developing friendship with Egwene.

20. "Min is in Tar Valon" and "Min and Mat share a plotline" were my two most hoped-for options for Min's storyline for this season, so I'm happy about that. I do wish that Min had been given a chance to bond with Elayne or Egwene but, hopefully, there will be time for that later. But I really love the set-up we've been given where we are going to explore Elayne with Egwene and Nynaeve; Min being more fully-explored with Mat; and then Aviendha when she enters Perrin's storyline. All of them are getting fleshed out as individual characters before any of them get romantically involved with Rand. I am feeling pretty hopeful that we're going to get our polycule (and a genuine polycule, not a harem) in the upcoming seasons. They've been putting in a lot of "poly relationships are valid and complex" groundwork in and it looks like they are going to be making sure that all of the characters involved get to be full characters who have their own agendas and their own arcs.

Some people on reddit are still pretty disappointed that Min isn't the male-gaze fantasy that she is in the later books but I have been thrilled with the changes that the show has done so far with her. We also maybe get a hint here that Min is going to be canonically bisexual by the way she jokes about Liandrin, so I will cross my fingers on that.

20. Min's viewing! I do love that they're massively cutting down on the number of Min's viewings to focus on ones that are interesting and relevant. This one is particularly interesting because there's nothing like it in the books. Mat stabbing Rand, then cradling him as he falls.

Theory #1: this is a flicker-flicker world (maybe we only get one big one?) and it's not Our Mat stabbing Our Rand but an alternate one.

Theory #2: Rand asks Mat to fulfill his promise to keep Rand from going mad and that's why Mat stabs him.

Theory #3: Rand loses control of himself (like Lady Amalisa in 1x8) and Mat stabs him to try to get him to lose his hold on the One Power.

Theory #4: Mat gets placed under compulsion (which would be another reason for him to want protection from Aes Sedai and channeling).

Theory #5: Mat gets The Dagger again and he's the one who gives Rand the wound in his side, while under its influence.

Theory #6: It's metaphorical and Mat takes the place of Alivia and helps Rand 'die' at the end of the series (seems unlikely but I'll throw it out there).

And probably lots of other things I haven't thought of. But it definitely shakes Min to see it.

I wonder if she only agreed to help Liandrin after this moment or if she'd already agreed and this is just additional incentive. I don't think she's told Liandrin anything about Rand. She was able to keep that secret from Moiraine even under blackmail so I think she kept it from Liandrin too.

But I do love that we get a viewing that connects Mat and Rand together, even if it's through a traumatic encounter. I am a simple soul who finds messiness intriguing.

21. Lanfear! Talking about her broken heart to the man who broke it and who she is, even now, doing her best to groom back into the man that she wants. The layers in this conversation are exquisite. When she tells him that he can't hurt her, she also can say that because she has a strong grasp of what she can do with the Power while he's still stumbling in the dark. Ooof, but Rand was (unknowingly) on risky ground when he confirmed that he does sometimes think of his past when he's with her.

Also, talking about how "no one else" could ever have power over her heart now that her previous lover is gone... when she's literally talking to his reincarnation. The conversation is just so rich and so sharp and there's so much of it that is going over Rand's head because he doesn't have the necessary information to even begin to put the pieces together. "What's left to hurt if he still has my whole heart?" she says, to the guy in question. "When I'm with you, I can pretend you're him." YEAH. I BET YOU CAN.

22. So I wonder if Moiraine's threat here to Lan, that she would let Alanna take his bond if he didn't let her leave on her own, is going to be the extent of the "Myrelle" plot point that Alanna absorbs and it won't actually happen in fact. But now it's out there as an idea that Warders can be forcibly bonded so that when Alanna forcibly bonds someone else down the road, the idea isn't coming out of nowhere.

23. I was so shocked when the Seanchan attacked in episode two. I was thinking this would happen in episode five. But once I sat down and thought about it, I realizes that Perrin has already hit all the main points of the Hunt for the Horn storyline on his side of things (and even partly on what Rand would have been doing). We've found the traitor and had Ingtar reveal his sympathy towards said traitor; we've found the Fade and the moment when Fain started playing by his own rules; and we've even been exploring Perrin and his senses. This does mean that we're going to have a lot of potential time to explore the Seanchan invasion and culture.

24. I don't have any issues with Ishamael openly being Suroth's advisor vs someone covertly giving Suroth her marching orders. High Lady Suroth is a Darkfriend and always was. We're just taking it out of the shadows and showing it openly to the viewers (and Perrin).

I do wonder if Perrin specifically seeing the Shadow and the Seanchan so entwined will have an impact on his later storylines. That I wonder about. But the later books were, tbh, really weird about how low-impact the Falme encounter ended up being in the long run for pretty much everyone except Egwene. Min basically forgets she knows anything about the Seanchan even when that information could help Rand, everyone forgets about the environment of paranoia and fear that the Seanchan created in Falme, etc. There's a lot of weird forgetfulness going around, especially in CoT & KoD, when Jordan wanted to sell us on his slaver romance.

(the way that the show has been improving characters like Min and relationships like Rand/Lanfear does give me a lot of hope in how they will handle Tuon and the Mat & Tuon 'romance' and that they'll make it better than the poorly-written dumpster fire that it is in CoT & KoD)

[scarletwritesshit]

Kaveh x Reader ✦ Oh my God! Roommates! ✦ IX: Sumeru Rose

You waited anxiously for Kaveh to fully process the situation and fling himself as far away from you as possible. Minutes felt like hours as you braced yourself for an outburst of panic, but it ultimately never came.

Did he fall back asleep? you wondered.

"Kaveh?" you whispered.

"Mmmph...oh, it is you," he sleepily muttered.

Regardless of how the conversation develops, there is no turning back now.

"What are you doing up this late?"

"I uhh...I dunno. Probably something important..."

"What could possibly be so important that you suddenly felt the need to address it this late?"

You weren’t exactly awake yourself. You had perhaps a better perception of what was happening around you than Kaveh did, but other than that, you would be in danger of going back to sleep if you shut your eyes for longer than a minute.

"Uh...oh right, I recall what I was saying. About what I wanted to talk to you about."

Was he finally losing his grip on the big secret that was what has been bothering him for so long? Given the current time and your sleepy state of mind, it wasn’t exactly the best moment to discuss it, as you would be unable to properly assist him. If he was willing to finally speak up after all of this time, you could not allow for this opportunity to slip by.

"Which would be?"

"...You."

"Me?"

Did I hear him right? Am I the root of his problem?

"Yes you...my dear."

You were still somewhat out of it, so the second part of his statement didn’t completely register in your mind. Kaveh admitting that you were apparently preoccupying his thoughts was all that you cared to acknowledge. He pulled you in a little closer, whether or not that was on purpose, you couldn’t tell.

"You’ve been on my mind ever since the first day we met...from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I had a reason to keep pursing my craft..."

He was talking about you, right? He wasn’t confusing you for another entity in his dreams...right?

He did mutter your name when he woke you up...or so you’re pretty sure he did.

"Who are you talking about?" you said quietly. You wanted to gently shake him to force him awake, but at the same time, leave him in a daze to allow him to finish his thoughts.

"Who else could I be referring to...but you?"

It still seemed too good to be true. Instead of potentially annoying him into silencing himself, you dared not say a word and allowed him to finish.

"As time went on, I found myself being weighed down by my feelings....it may be easy for me to understand them...but understanding is not the same as experiencing...."

Kaveh trailed off with a rather large yawn. It seems as if he was finally starting to come to, and perhaps now, he would understand the scope of what he was saying. But no, he kept talking without a single care for what “secrets” of his that he may bestow upon you.

"I don’t know how to put this in words…but...yes. You are the root of my problems...my feelings. I like you..."

"I-I like you too," you responded without thinking.

Now the opportunity to backtrack out of an awkward situation has truly been lost now.

"Heh, that is most excellent..." he said, now holding you even tighter. He didn’t say anything further, so you assumed that he drifted back to sleep. Rather than overwhelm him with a thousand thoughts regarding his sudden confession, you allowed yourself to sink into his arms and drift off into a deep sleep.

You felt far too comfortable to move, but something echoing in your mind enticed you to open your eyes. For once, you felt well rested and recharged. It was the best that you have felt in a long while, actually.

In fact, you felt almost too rested.

The light filtering into the room was bright, as you would expect to see after oversleeping. After your eyes adjusted, you were greeted by a red faced Kaveh, with his eyes looking as if he had seen Greater Lord Rukkhadevata rise from the ashes before him. Both you and Kaveh blinked at each other in complete silence.

Should I say something? From the look of his face right now, last night’s impulsive confession wasn’t entirely intentional.

"Was that a dream?" he asked quietly. "Please say that it was just a dream."

"Was what a dream?"

"So it was?" he asked, seeming to be temporarily relieved.

It was all starting to come back to you. Waking up in the middle of the night to Kaveh muttering your name, only for him to suddenly drop a full confession of feelings out of nowhere. If you accepted his words, then that must mean...

"Are we even on the same page here?" you asked.

"Did I perhaps say something to you last night?"

"Well, you might’ve."

"Was it about... you? And how I..."

"How you like me?"

"Oh…so it wasn’t. My sincere apologizes, I was hoping to one day tell you in a more refined manner."

Kaveh appeared humiliated at his accidental confession. He pulled a blanket up over his face to hide his ever-growing embarrassment. At least you’ve managed to confirm that he likes you back, but not without a painfully awkward encounter.

You pulled the blanket down his body to uncover his face. Upon doing this, he quickly covered his face back up with his hands.

"I didn’t say that I rejected you, now did I?" you said. "In fact, I am quite happy that you told me, one way or another."

"Really?" he asked, moving his hands away his face, eyes now full of surprise.

"Really. I’ve grown to care for you more than anyone that I have ever met. I love you, Kaveh."

If it was previously impossible to outplay him at the game of human emotions, then you’ve managed to conquer an unstoppable force. Kaveh was at a complete and utter loss for words, as if he was convinced that his ears were playing a cruel prank on him. The extended period of time that he remained silent was a bit worrying, but it was cute finally seeing the smooth talker shut down on the spot.

"I...love you too. Anyways uh, want to go back to sleep?"

"What about Alhaitham? It’s long past the time that he would normally be expecting us."

"Eh. Forget about that guy. If he pesters you, then I’ll give it right back to him.

Now that’s the kind of disregard for Alhaitham that you wanted to hear.

He pulled you close to his body and you rested your head against his chest. Within minutes, both you and Kaveh were sound asleep once again, despite the blazing sunlight intruding in on your private time from outside.

[gatherround]

so, perhaps an unpopular opinion, but I find the start to orpheus & eurydice’s realtionship in hadestown to be abrupt & then a bit jerky/uneven. In the current order, their introduction feels very sudden, and then we have this odd rhythm of them sharing a song (come home, wedding) & then moving apart / not singing to each other (epic 1, living it up) & then sharing a song (all i’ve ever known) & then not singing to each other (way down hadestown). I find myself wanting time for this desire to build, and then for it to be a more continual escalation of closeness and intimacy and interaction, instead of this sort of pendulum closer and further apart. AND, I have an idea of how I would do it

so, this it the current track order:

Road to Hell

Any Way the Wind Blows

Come Home w/ Me

Wedding Song

Epic 1

Livin’ it Up on Top

and the change I would make would be to move Come Home w/ Me + Wedding Song to after Epic 1. Now, the new order goes:

Road to Hell: we meet the world

Any Way the Wind Blows: we experience the struggle of the long winter & climate chaos through Eurydice’s eyes, and Orpheus has a chance to fall in love with her

Epic 1: Orpheus responds by trying to offer what he can to the community (ie to Eurydice) -- a song, to distract, to bring together, to share some music and light in the cold hard months. We get a sense of his & his music’s role in community, and its use and power in the darkness, which Eurydice is able to notice in turn, and being to develop feelings for. Orpheus looks directly at Eurydice when he comes to the point where he needs to give words to what hades said to persephone, and suddenly finds himself at a loss for lyrics; unable to look away, unable to find the worlds, he offers what he feels in it’s purest form, a melody for her

Come Home w/ Me: now, the spontaneous melody happened in Epic 1, but there is still the realization that this is an old melody that means love. it’s not the love between hades & persephone though that inspired it this time... the realization of this, and Eurydice’s apparent close attention, propel Orpheus to approach her (this song would probably need a fair bit of editing to make this flow)

Wedding Song: the vibes have been building -- Orpheus is interested by this drifter, someone outside the system like himself but harder on the edges, and Eurydice is entranced by the apparent easy joy and community and gift of this boy. But, she’s still self protective by nature, so she’s still going to make him earn it. Also, she’s had a taste of his music, and wants more. The pure wonder of the flower, and the possibility/hope it represents, are still the turning point that wash away her reservations, and permit her to let down her guard and soften fully into love. this time, the la la melody is not just him in his own world singing his song: it’s orpheus, singing to eurydice, saying, my love for you is greater than that of the gods

Livin’ It Up on Top: it’s always been love that make the seasons go round, and this time, it’s the love of Orpheus and Eurydice that ushers in spring. This is not a song note but a blocking note, but they need to be all the fuck over each other in this song. Like, unwilling to separate or have any distance from each other. He just sang Wedding Song! Livin’ It Up On Top is basically their wedding party! They WANT want each other, ok??

And then it proceeds onward! (with the note that Orpheus gets his verses back in Way Down Hadestown, now that their relationship is more mutually established, and he is more established as a member of the Up Top community, he can be honest about his fears of her being enticed by this other world).

This way, it gives them time to fall in love with each other, and especially for eurydice to fall in love with orpheus through his music. It also gives us a sense of his music as functional: it serves a purpose and does real work in the community he is in! This lays some groundwork in more ways than one! And then, follows a progression where they are just more and more close & vulnerable & in love with each other as the act progresses, up until the slight conflict of different perspectives in Way Down Hadestown leads to a bigger rift in Gathering Storm.

so....there ya go!

[sweetestlamb]

Bad Idea

Summary: Cha-young has a bad idea that involves one dangerous Italian. 

Author's note: It's really just smut that I couldn't get out of my head, these two have no right having this much chemistry. It's only been 4 episodes. Read at your own risk. Also disregard anything I say about the law I'm making this shit up lol I don't know anything and I couldn't be bothered to look it up. I wanted to write more(aka make the smut smuttier) but life is getting in the way so please accept this and except more in the future when I have more time.😏

*Plays Ariana Grande- Bad Idea*

She has broken the law, after spending years learning the nooks and crannies of the justice system; hours spent soaking the ink into her fingers and absorbing the knowledge until it became a part of her very fiber. Arson. She was liable to seven years if penalized, Babel would surely flex their corrupted muscles to imprison them for even longer if they were found. She'd seen first hand what they did to those they believed were in their way, the loss of her father still pressing on her heart in aches that ebb and flow like waves on the coast.

She thought she would feel conflicted, when he had shared his plan she'd stared at him in concern, only then realizing that he was not bluffing about the lengths he would go- she was following him to the pits of hell and there would be no turning back. It was told that the road there was paved with best of intentions, but she wouldn't delude herself into believing she was a martyr.

No, this wasn't selfless or self-sacrificing for the greater good. It was revenge. Plain and simple, she had never seen eye to eye with her father seeing his earnestness as naivety especially after losing her mother, hating him for abandoning them; his heart was so huge yet he had no room for his own family. She was his only child but he hadn't come to her on bended knees pleading for her forgiveness after her mother died, no he had committed even harder to fighting for strangers. She didn't care what others said about how good and kind he was, she was angry. Devastatingly filled with resentment and that hadn't dissipated with his untimely passing, her last words to him had truly been what was in her heart.

But, it wasn't all that was in her heart.

He'd been a first love, the first man to show her unconditional love. Then he'd broken her heart and taken that unconditional love and spread it thin until she barely had a sliver left.

Despite all of these thoughts swimming in her mind like a tornado whirling until her brain feels dizzy she's proud of what they've done. Watching the factory burn ruthlessly made her skin feel like it was similarly enflamed, flames licking at her skin and looking over at the man who'd made this all possible set other parts of her body on fire.

He was infuriating, a wolf in sheep's clothing where she just wanted the wolf without the sham.

Squirming in her seat, she pretends to stare out the window sneaking glances at his profile. Cataloging the parts of his face that are still visible, the point of his nose that looms over the smooth lines of his lips and those eyes, they are docile now none of the killer intent that had been there in the bathroom as he asphyxiated a man in a dirty bathroom with merely a wire hanger. He was dangerous but that didn't make her want to keep her distance, no it lured her even closer like a moth to a flame.

Her entire life had been a series of barely thought out mistakes, what was one more? At least this one would be fun. She was hoping he fucked like he fought, rough and with singular focus. Betting on it.

"Should I drop you home Cha-young ssi?," the voice of her father's right hand man breaks the silence they'd been enduring. In her peripheral Vincenzo moves tuning into the conversation, no longer muttering to himself in what she can only assume is Italian.

"No. I'm going with him, we have something to discuss." She replies with confidence, nodding over to the man with pursed lips. He stares back at her with a lifted brow to which she responds with her own brow, exaggerated so far that it makes her mouth falls open and he tilts his head at her looking dumbfounded. She shrugs patting his knee, he doesn't need to know. They have plans he'll get on board soon enough.

Joo-Sung quickly looks between them clear questions in his eyes, she stares at him hard and he flinches before focusing on the road. Still fearing her more despite seeing first hand what Vincenzo is capable of she almost preens from the satisfaction, there's nothing quite like invoking that level of fright in another.

It's the little things in life.

Shockingly enough the Italian Korean doesn't argue, sighing before leaning back further into his seat seemingly deciding that it's not worth the headache. It won't be that hard to train him it seems, she silently hopes that he's more defiant behind closed doors she needs the aggression tonight.

If he could see the salacious things running through her head she wonders how he would react, would it make him hot under the collar? Make him pin her to the car and rip the protective suit from her body until all that remained was her quivering breasts and aching core, even Joo-Sung sitting right beside her isn't enough to qualm her imaginings. She needs his hands on her twisting her into position and hungrily devouring everything she's offering, desperately wants to use one of his many ties to render him motionless as she takes him apart.

The wetness pooling between her legs is slippery now, dripping into the delicate lace of her panties she shifts to relieve some of the pressure but the opposite happens and she rubs against her already swollen bead her imagination quickly making her spiral out of the realm of acceptable behavior. A small moan falls from her lips and Vincenzo stiffens next to her, acutely aware of her now she can feel his eyes on her as he tries not to look.

She swallows the moan that threatens to escape as she watches him lick his lips from the tail of his eyes, he picks up a bottle of water with an ever present air of nonchalance that she wants to shatter to pieces, her deviance the sledgehammer. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and she wants to be the nectar sliding down his throat, she hasn't had sex in months and everything about him screams good fuck.

She just needs scientific proof to back up that hypothesis.

Keeping her eyes straight ahead she places her hand innocuously between them, slowly walking her finger over to his thigh until she reaches the thick meat of his leg and feels him jump under her coy touch. At first, he tenses the muscles coiled tight under the pads of her fingers. They always look so enticing wrapped in the expensive material of his dress pants, they'll look even better bracketing her thighs as he pounds into her.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hisses at her through clenched teeth. She smirks in response basking in his annoyance.

She answers by running her manicured fingers up the line of his thigh until she reaches the vee of his groin, he instantly grabs her hand in a tight grip before she can complete her journey. She flexes her fingers in his grip and he tightens ever slightly answering her wordless challenge. Biting her lips discretely she reaches up with a free hand to lower the zip of her safety suit, blowing at the skin as its revealed bits of sweat linger on her skin and she wipes at it before running her hands across her neck peeling away the thick curtain of her hair. A few strands sticking to the nape of her neck.

He's watching her, she can feel his eyes trailing her every move. He squeezes painfully at her fingers when she starts to bring the zipper lower, just about passing over the swell of her breast.

"Are you hot Cha-young ssi should I turn on the AC?" Joo-Sung asks trying to be helpful, she barely responds to him nodding her head in decline as she focuses on her prey.

"No. I'm fine, I don't mind the heat." She's talking to Joo-Sung but her message is for Vincenzo alone, anything he can dish out she can take it, will gobble it up eagerly and ask for seconds she's not looking for love, no they're too fucked up for that. This thing between them is purely animalistic.

She fights his hold on her hand with futility, being sighing and pretending to admit defeat. He releases her hand carefully watching her, waiting for her counter attack and she places the dejected hand in her lap before trailing down to vee between her thighs. Pressing one finger against her mound she looks over at him with liquid eyes, he's fixated eyes unblinking as they watch her finger at her clothed entrance. She runs two digits down and under, tilting her head back in faux exhaustion and when she looks over and his gaze is penetrating her face she smiles, playful and mischievous.

"We're here." Joo-Sung states, turning down the radio which had done a great job of smothering her sounds. She'd turned it on initially for that purpose.

Before Vincenzo can even grasp the door handle she clamors over him, straddling his lap lips falling open at the hard line that presses deliciously at her hot center, Joo-Sung sputters in his seat glancing back and forth between them in shock, Vincenzo's face is a storm- his brows furrowed and his lips twisted in a sneer. After minutely grounding down into his hard cock she finally grabs the handle, pulling the door open.

"You were taking too long. Let's go," she easily says with a straight face, swinging her leg over she jumps out of the car, "I'll see you tomorrow." She waves at Joo-Sung before looking back at Vincenzo and beckoning him with a hand. After a moments pause he silently gets out of the car, slamming the door emphatically. Joo-Sung wastes no time before peeling away, racing like the devil is on his tail the car gone within seconds.

"Are you crazy? Why would you do that in front of him?" He immediately grabs her arm tugging her into his face and she almost giggles at his punishing grip on her elbow.

"He won't think anything of it. I've done way worst things to men." She shrugs not fighting his grip instead stepping even further into his orbit, as if he has his own gravitational pull. His eyes flash minutely before he slams into her, grabbing the side of her head and thrusting his tongue through the loose seal of lips eagerly she responds, dragging him down by his shoulders to similarly lick at his mouth, sucking earnestly at his tongue. The kiss is fast and furious, both of them battling for dominance it's wet and messy and she hopes that sex will be the same. She's getting hot and bothered just thinking about it. Suddenly he bends low breaking their kiss catching her off guard before slinging her over his shoulder easily. Her hair tumbles down over his back nearly touching the ground and she squeaks when he slaps her ass, hard.

"You'll do worst things with me." He promises, walking to his apartment with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If she wasn't so turned on she would hate this macho man display but this is what she was waiting for all night. She can hardly look a gift horse in the mouth. But she still grumbles and pounds at his back for show, she has a reputation to uphold after all.

He unlocks the door with her dangling from his shoulder and after stopping to drop the keys in a glass bowl he effortlessly tosses her down onto a couch, she looks up affronted by his callous move but her complaint dies on her tongue as she sees the way he's looking at her, dark eyes undressing her as he looms over her body.

There's surely no need for that.

Feeling generous she leans back unzipping her suit, this time not stopping sliding it down her chest and the cool air makes her nipples perk up under the tight thin material of her tank top. His eyes are like beads of coal as he hungrily stares at her. He reaches out for her, hands barely cupping her breasts before he freezes, searching her face before drawing away. With a groan he spins around before turning back to her, grabbing his hair before taking a deep breath.

"Your father's dead and we just burned down the Babel factory."

She stares at him as he stares at her, waiting for her to have some kind of reaction. Maybe break down into a puddle of emotions.

Honestly she's bone tired of that, riding him all night sounds like a much better use of her time and energy.

"I'm wet enough to end a drought." She replies dryly, tugging the zipper as far as it'll go before stepping out of the restricting article of clothing. Naked smooth legs rubbing against the couch, he follows her movement like a lion stalking its prey.

"What?" His eyes dart down to her newly revealed panties, peering between her legs as if to check the accuracy of her statement.

"Oh, we're not just stating random facts?" She teases playing with the thin straps of her tank top the only thing preserving her remaining dignity.

"What do you want from me?" He looks nervous now, her first time seeing such an expression on that stoic face. It's an easy question to answer though she doesn't even need to think about it.

"Fuck me until I can't think straight."

She will have to deal with the emotions bubbling up beneath the surface, address her complicated relationship and feelings for her father, admit the role that she played in his untimely demise by helping those bastards for years but right now none of that matters, all that matters is the ache between her legs. She wants to stop being guilty for one night.

"Can you do that?" She looks at him pleading, and he peers back she can see the thoughts rolling over in his head and as the seconds drag on longer than she'd anticipated she wonders if she misjudged, maybe she should have accosted her bumbling intern but she'd been terrified he'd want an actual relationship- that was the last thing she was looking for.

She starts to plot how exactly she can seduce him when he unzips his own suit, making her gasp when her eyes land on smooth bare skin his six pack glistens with the light sheen of sweat coating it.

"You wore nothing under? You slut." The corner of his lip lifts in amusement before he stalks over to her, shoving her back onto the cushion and crushing her with his weight she eagerly welcomes it with open arms. Picking up right where he left off her cups her breasts running twin large thumbs across the pebbled skin, it feels good but not quite enough through the cloth of her tank top. Impatiently she shoves the material down baring herself to him, he looks at her with heated eyes before grabbing the naked flesh, twisting the hard points before swallowing her without warning.

She jolts at the sensation, arching into his wet suckling then pushing his head down onto her and whining as he runs his teeth against the swollen mounds. She wraps her legs around his waist grinding into the hard erection jutting from his tight boxer briefs. Only he would have Versace boxers, if he wasn't thoroughly dismantling her she would be ribbing him. Pompous jack ass. Harshly pulling him away from her chest she stares at his face, his eyes are glossy and his lips are red and shiny, he looks like sin. Sexy pompous jack ass.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks her stupidly and she tugs her shirt over her head before lifting up and pulling down her panties, completely nude underneath him. She doesn't get stage fright.

"Are you sure? Can you handle it?" She bites out rocking her naked pussy over his clothed hardness and he hisses at the motion, something foreign falling from his lips. Immediately it makes her hot, boiling hot admittedly him speaking Italian is a thing for her, even when he's cursing at her and his spittle is flying everywhere. Fucking sexy as hell. It turns her wild in his lap, grounding onto him until his boxers are completely drenched from her a dark spot forming. This time he grabs her, forcing her down to bite at her neck before swallowing the moans from her tongue.

They twist around each other like serpents, tongues and bodies entwined. He's running his hands through her hair, tugging at the strands and using them to reign her in whenever she breaks free to gasp for air. Her hips are relentless as she grinds onto him, never pausing as he rubs against her swollen clit lust drunk as arousal consumes her brain. The smack of the elastic of his boxers snaps her back to lucidity and when she peers down she sees his long rigid pole, standing at attention the waist band of his boxers just under his heavy balls.

He grabs her hips before sliding through the sopping wet fold of her center and she screams at the intense pleasure that quakes through her body, all her synapses are firing off simultaneously. All connected to the spot deep instead her core.

"You got us....ahhh this far. You...hmmm finish it." He can barely get the words out groaning and thrusting up to meet her downward grind and she doesn't need to be told twice, she grabs the base of his thick cock rubbing the blunt head at her entrance once, twice before lifting higher and holding him tightly as she slides down, down onto him until his balls are nuzzling her bottom. He's big, bigger than she's used to and she whines at the burning stretch, muscle sore from not being used. Pushing through the discomfort she drags up slowly, carefully before throwing caution to the wind and slamming back down, the slap of their skin connecting loud in the quiet room.

He groans loudly, fingers sinking into her hips as he pounds into her. Not an ounce of gentleness in his plundering of her body. There will be bruises, she's looking forward to it.

He lets her ride him, filthy sounding Italian words falling from his open mouth the rhythm is fast, almost ridiculously so with both of them slamming back together each time they pull apart as if they can't bear the separation. When a particular thrust nudges him perfectly against her clit, she screams scratching down the smooth expanse of his belly, red lines left in her wake. He hisses at the pain but doesn't slow down, yanking her down faster to meet his thrust upwards and it feels so good she collapses onto his chest, drooling from the intense pleasure. She feels his fingers twist in the thick cord of her hair before her head is drawn back, "You look like you're still thinking, I'm not fucking hard enough."

He's smirking. She knows what she looks like, she's basically jelly in his arms. She looks shameless, seducing a man she barely knows and letting him fuck her like this on a couch. Her head lolls in his hand and she almost misses the small smile that stretches across his lips before he sits up and pushes her out of his lap, she cries out at the sudden departure but seconds later he pushes her over the arm of the couch, spreading her thighs, sticking a long finger inside her and humming in satisfaction at the sloshing moisture before slamming back in.

"Ti piace quello?" (Do you like that?) She doesn't have the slightest idea what he said but she moans anyway, nodding frantically. He switches back to Korean whispering into her ear, "If I'd have known this was all it took to shut you up I would have done this much sooner." This time she hisses at him, curling her hand around his neck and bringing them face to face, twisted over her own shoulder. He fucks her as they breath the same air, mouths wide open as they pant into each other. Reaching under her he thumbs at her breasts, she jumps at the dual sensation mind heady as he pounds into her over and over again.

When he brings one hand down her expertly finding her clit and rubbing at it ardently she loses her mind, gasping and sputtering about; her body tingling as he assaults her from all angles his cock big and piercing inside of her.

"Say my name."

She's too busy losing her goddamn mind, the arm rest the sole thing keeping her afloat then he growls from behind her, squeezing her breast in perfect synchrony as he thrusts deep inside her and his fingers play her clit like a violin, she wails tightening around him as she feels a red hot burn from deep inside her bursting to the surface. She's so close.

"Say my fucking name." He demands slapping at her ass cheek and she arches at the stinging blow, her back curving beautifully.

"Vincenzo!" With barely any air in her lungs she rasps out, hoarse and breathless. He grabs her neck, pulling her back taut she shivers under the rough treatment.

"Again."

He curls his hands around her neck, not quite cutting off her airway but making it harder to breathe. She feels light-headed but then he releases and air rushes to her lungs, he groans as she melts further onto his hardness every inch of him encased in her.

"Vincenzo," she begs, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Questa figa è mio." (This pussy is mine.) He whispers darkly, the bastard knows what he's doing, that smug grin on his face confirms it but her body reacts regardless lighting up like a Christmas tree for her. Her body is one giant pleasure point and he is pushing all of her buttons, one by one.

She feels like she's going to explode but just when she's on the edge, so close to the precipice seconds away from falling over and reaching nirvana he stops, the bastard. He stops everything, pulling out of her achingly slow until she's empty and unsatisfied she growls in frustration spinning around with fire and brimstone in her eyes.

"I've thought about fucking you. A lot. It can't end too soon." She glances down at his burgeoning hard on swinging between them, ahhh so she wasn't the only one about to explode. Interesting. But her throbbing center feels no sympathy, too upset about the premature stop of pleasure.

"I didn't think Italians were the type to leave a woman unsatisfied. Next time I'll fin--" She never gets to complete her sentence because he slaps a large hand over her mouth.

"St 'zitto." (Shut up.) He barks and her face is drenched in a familiar downpour, he was definitely cursing at her but before she can retaliate he's lifting her off the couch, forcing her legs around his slim waist. She latches onto his shoulder for balance too, rubbing her naked chest against him enticingly ready to start back where they left of.

"If you want me to understand you need to speak Korean. Translate." She complains and he slams her into a wall causing her to cry out as her back hits the hard surface, his hand is large around her head softening that blow gratefully.

"I think you understand well enough."

He stares directly into her eyes, reaching down to force her legs further apart and before he can move she forces her feet into the dimples of his knee, he tumbles forward and with that momentum she sheathes him once more purring at the burn and stretch. He slams her hands above her head and she snaps her teeth at him, aggressively thrusting forward onto his cock forcing him to drill deeper into her.

She gasps when he unexpectedly grabs her wrists in one hand and twists them behind her back. She tugs, but his grip is too tight. Too powerful. She can't move not without his permission.

"What are you doing?" She groans fighting his hold without success.

Leaning forward he tugs her ear lobe into his scorching mouth, feeding the words straight into the organ. "You're still thinking. I'm not doing a good job."

She opens her mouth to scoff but the sounds shrivels up and dies when he slams her up the wall, sliding out before dropping her and impaling her on his thick column, his hand tightens on her wrists as she fights to break free. He does it again, driving deeper and harder and her screams are breathless and soundless, all she can do is feel. He ravishes her chest, swallowing the swollen buds and biting at the ruddy tips until her chest is sore and wet with his spit. With her wrist behind her back he steps back, placing her back on the wall and creating an angle to better fuck into her, loud smacks filling the air every time he plunges in, hammering at her walls with singular focus. She's a whimpering mess, high pitched sighs all that she can produce.

"Cha-young ssi?" He seductively whispers in her ears, she can barely hear him over the blood rushing to her head but she nods, groaning in response his thrusts are relentless and unyielding. Why isn't his brain mush too?

"Who's pussy is this?" Her brain stutters at the question, she's only heard things like that in American porn. Never had words like that uttered to her by a partner, if she did she would laugh in their face and promptly leave. But he looks deadly serious as he awaits her reply. Slowing down his movements, but grinding deeper circling on her clit with each languid motion. She really wants to fucking come. He's such an unnecessary tease.

Swallowing her pride, she mentally curses her pussy this was all its fault.

When he starts to stop she panics and tightens her legs around his him, shouting, "Yours! It's your pussy!"  Goddamit, why did he have to be this persistent? It was his for tonight. 

It's the right answer, he lets her come.

Multiple times.

Until her toes curl and her legs feel like jelly.

She doesn't think about anything else for the rest of the night, even when he breaks her apart and she blacks out and falls asleep, bad dreams chase her but he fucks her awake preemptively cutting off those thoughts too. Turning her screams of terror into screams of pleasure.

This time she puts his ties to good use, one bounding his wrists together and another wrapped around his eyes.

Tomorrow, she'll face reality. Tonight is for bad ideas.

What's a one night stand between enemies?

[friendships-are-masterpieces]

Is Rey Actually a Palpatine?

Rey’s lineage was purposely left ambiguous in the Force Awakens. This was clearly meant to parallel Luke’s origins in a New Hope, when he’s living on Tatooine with his aunt and uncle. His dad is only mentioned by Obi-Wan, who bends the truth: “A young Jedi named Darth Vader, who was a pupil of mine until he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi knights. He betrayed and murdered your father. Now the Jedi are all but extinct. Vader was seduced by the dark side of the Force.” Of course, it’s later revealed that Luke’s father is actually his greatest adversary. This eventually becomes a major obstacle for him, since Luke’s biggest fear is becoming his father. Yoda makes it clear that his fear and anger are gateways to the darkside: “Yes, a Jedi's strength flows from the Force. But beware of the dark side. Anger, fear, aggression; the dark side of the Force are they. Easily they flow, quick to join you in a fight. If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will, as it did Obi-Wan's apprentice.”

Palpatine senses Luke’s imbalance and tries to entice him to kill his father: “You're hate has made you powerful. Now fulfill your destiny, take your father's place by my side.” But Luke’s empathy and forgiveness in this moment saves them both. Palpatine was unable to manipulate Luke, like he did with Anakin. In the prequels, it’s clear Palpatine is a known liar. He knew Anakin was a former slave, who’s mother died under terrible conditions. He also knew Anakin feared Padmé’s death, so he dangles power in-front of him: “The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power. The only difference between the two is that the Sith are not afraid of the Dark Side of the Force. That is why they are more powerful.” Palpatine most likely knew Padmé would die anyway, so his promises are empty. Anakin falls to disgrace and becomes Darth Vader, and the rest is cinema history.

Fast forward back to Rey, who’s introduced as a lonely, starving scavenger. She has no known family. She’s unknowingly been abandoned, and her biggest fear is being worthless. Kylo Ren calls out this fear in the Last Jedi: “Your parents threw you away like garbage... They did. But you can't stop needing them. It's your greatest weakness.” Rey desperately wants to be apart of something. That’s why it’s so hard for her to accept that her parents were no one. She’s has to find self-worth within herself. It’s the exact opposite of Luke’s problem in Empire Strikes Back. He desperately doesn’t want to believe that Darth Vader is his father: “No. No. That's not true. That's impossible! No!” Once again, Luke saves himself from the darkside by forgiving his dad, and not letting his legacy smother him. That’s why Palpatine constantly dangles Darth Vader’s death in-front of him, because he knows it’s secretly what Luke wants. To kill his greatest enemy. But that would be a gateway to the darkside.

Palpatine returning, in a way, and announcing Rey is from his “bloodline” is very convenient for a few reasons. It gives Rey the knowledge that her parents secretly loved her. This is huge for Rey, and a possible manipulation tactic. It also places Rey’s family at the center of the story. Even if her bloodline is Sith, it’s still a very significant connection. It would make her a main figure in the story. It could also sway her away from the lightside because like Kylo Ren, she’d feel unworthy of becoming a true Jedi now. Yoda even hints at this in the Last Jedi: “Lost Ben Solo you did. Lose Rey we must not.” Charles Soule also said something interesting on a different subject, but could still relate to Rey’s history: “I hate explaining stuff in my work in too much detail, but you need to understand the scenario happening here. The Dark Side is not a reliable narrator.” Palpatine would have everything to gain, and nothing to lose, by making a claim like this. We see in the cave sequence that Rey can’t even remember her parents faces, so it would be an easy lie too. It’s also something Palpatine has done before with Anakin, where he tells half-truths, or he manipulates people by telling them what they want to hear. He’s also talented at manipulating people’s thoughts, as we see with Kylo Ren: “I've been every voice inside your head.”

[idontdowellunderpressure]

Hisoillu Week - Day 5: Past/Future

Title: Reading the Future in the Past

Hisoka first saw the boy while he was sitting on one of the few unbroken slats of wood that formed the dilapidated fence that hugged the field of what might have been a farm. Now it was just a wide field with dry soil that refused to support anything more than wild grass. Which was probably why no one had come over to kick Hisoka and his mom from their shack to try and reclaim the farmland. Hisoka didn’t mind that nothing grew in the dirt though, because the real source of income in the land was its proximity to the main road into town.

The boy he saw had longer hair than Hisoka’s, hanging a few inches below his shoulders, and it looked as dark and shiny as ink. The man beside the boy was huge, bigger than anyone Hisoka had ever seen, with arms wider than most men’s chests. His hair was long too, but white like sun-dried bones.

The two walked down the dirt path, at a pace fast enough to show intention but slow enough to lack purpose. Hisoka kicked his legs as he awaited their approach and launched himself off the fence to land in the middle of the path once they were within a few yards.

“Hello travelers,” Hisoka greeted. “Might I offer my services as a guide around town?”

“No thank you. We know where we’re going.” The older man said, his voice low and rough against Hisoka’s ears.

“You may know where you’re going, but what about the best way to get there? Wouldn’t want to wander down the wrong street and lose your wallet. Or worse, your life. I can guarantee a safe route to any place you’re headed.”

The man stared at him, his light blue eyes were cold, but Hisoka refused to let his body shiver from the chill.

“We’ll be fine.” The man finally said before stepping around Hisoka.

“Then how about a fortune?” He offered, turning as the man and the boy stepped around either side of him.

The man paused, and he spun around to face Hisoka. His right eyebrow was raised and Hisoka beamed at having caught his curiosity. The young boy didn’t look so impressed, but Hisoka was confident to raise his eyes after showing off his skill.

“Are you a specialist then?” The man asked.

“I am. Fortune telling runs deep in my blood. I’ve never been wrong yet.” He smiled, working to contain his pride so he wouldn’t come off as phony.

The man was still, as was his son. Neither one moved or spoke, but Hisoka kept the smile stretched across his face. His mother may have taught him all she knew about reading cards, but he still hadn’t quite mastered reading a person. Luckily, the man nodded for Hisoka to continue.

Hisoka knelt onto the dirt path and pulled the cards from his pocket. His mother used a very particular combination of playing cards and tarot cards to help read the future. A unique blend that she swore offered more truth and greater detail than one method alone. Hisoka shuffled his deck, closing his eyes and breathing carefully as he accepted the will of the universe to guide his hand.

“It is important to gather as much information as possible before a mission.” He heard the man state. “No matter how close you are to the end, and no matter who the information is from.”

“I understand.” Another voice replied. It was without any inflection and the tone was close to calm, if only for the lack of any other emotion to flavor it.

Hisoka opened his eyes as he laid the first card down. He drew the next and placed it beside the other, continuing until he had the first row -the past- complete. He began to explain the past.

“You are from a long history, and the hearts would suggest family history specifically. But the low number of hearts would suggest you’re not very close to any. You are a warrior, but also a man of money. The fighting and money are directly related. Your partner is similar to you. A warrior. But you met later in life, recently before marrying.”

Hisoka glanced up and didn’t see any change of expression on the man’s face. He continued to draw the cards for the present. A row that was ordinarily the shortest as it pertained to recent events.

“You are traveling to a new place. Warrior and money. You are here for a job that involves a fight and payment.”

There was only one reason a person would come to this useless town for a fight. Hisoka tilted his head up, eager to see if the man would react.

“You’re here to kill someone.”

The man’s eyes narrowed fractionally while the boy’s widened slightly. Hisoka’s blood pounded in his ears and his fingertips tingled as he continued, excited himself to see what the fortune would reveal. The last card in the present line spoke of knowledge and youth.

“And not only are you here to kill. You are here to teach the next generation.” The boy’s eyes didn’t move this time, but his jaw clenched just a bit.

Hisoka laid down the cards of the final row. The future for this man was long enough to suggest he wouldn’t die anytime soon. And all the clubs –a number inherently connected to people— hinted at the countless bodies that the man would continue to rack up.

“You will survive today. You will survive for many years. Lots of wealth and success. And I see more children for you…five in total. At least one girl.”

“Is that it?” The man asked as Hisoka picked up his cards.

“Well. You seem very attached to your work. Luckily for you, you are very successful at it.” Hisoka grinned as he cast a glance to the boy. “Would you like to try your luck?”

“No. We must be going.”

“That will be 100 jenny.”

The man frowned but pulled a bill from his pocket. “500 is the smallest I have.”

“Okay, but I don’t have change.” Hisoka chirped as he snatched the bill away from a hand as big as his face. “How about some insider information then? Tell me who you’re going to kill, and I might be able to offer a little something about him.”

“Gharet Morgil.”

“Oh~ Quite a high client. Got a lot people coming into town to see his women.” Hisoka knelt down in the dirt and drew a rough map with his finger. “That’s his place, east of the market square. When he’s not there selling and sampling his wares, he’s usually visiting his buddies down at the bar here,” Hisoka drew an x, “or at the gambling hall here,” he drew a circle.

             The man nodded and turned away, his son following him. Hisoka stood in the road, watching them leave, and was able to lock eyes with the son when he cast his dark gaze back towards Hisoka. He made sure to smile and wave at the boy, who simply looked away.

--------------- 

The second time Hisoka saw the boy was a few hours later. He had gone into the market to haggle what he could for 500 jenny and noticed the boy standing underneath the shade of an old hotel. The squatters who lived there kept glancing over at the boy, their eyes hungry for something beyond food. It wasn’t until one took a step towards him that Hisoka abandoned his plans and rushed to the boy’s side.

Hisoka slung an arm around the boy, despite the sharp pain that suddenly permeated his arm, and guided him over to the empty water fountain. They sat in the shade of the concrete structure and only then did Hisoka release the boy. Turns out a needle was what caused the stabbing pain, and he plucked the offending object without a grimace. He should have expected as much when approaching an assassin’s son.

“Well, well, well, we meet again.” He smiled, offering the needle back to the boy.

The boy stared at him with deep, dark eyes before taking the needle back.

“My name’s Hisoka, by the way.” The boy said nothing. “What about you?”

“Illumi,” he replied as he stashed the needle somewhere in the folds of his elaborate robe. Hisoka wondered what other naughty things he might be hiding.

“So, I never got to tell your fortune earlier. Would you like me to?”

Illumi’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his lip curled down. Hisoka almost laughed at the textbook recreation of suspicion before him.

“Father said you’re a liar. You don’t have any nen.” Illumi tried to hold the expression as he spoke and Hisoka was finding it incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, knowing that the moment he laughed Illumi would take it to mean his fortune telling wasn’t serious.

“I don’t know what nen is, but I’m not lying. I really can tell fortunes. Was I wrong about anything I said to your dad?”

At this, the suspicion dwindled until his mouth was flat and his eyes were wide. “No. Everything was correct.”

“So then, I should be correct about you too. Aren’t you curious?” He held the pack of card aloft, waving them like an enticing treat. Illumi’s eyes followed his movement.

“Very well, but be quick. My father will be finished soon.”

Hisoka hummed an old lullaby his mother would sing as he closed his eyes and began to shuffle the deck as the universe stacked the deck accordingly. He pulled the first card and set it down, unsurprised to see the same one as that afternoon.

“You are from a long history, and the next card, hearts, suggests family history. The number of hearts however,” and here he tapped the card in question. “Are much higher than your father’s. Lots of hearts indicate deep familial ties and traditional values. You are very close to your family.”

The boy nodded. “I often help train my little brother.”

“And your profession is similar to your father. A warrior,” he pointed to the card. “and a man of money,” he tapped the next. “These clubs are lower in number. So you haven’t killed as many people yet.”

The boy seemed loathe to admit it, but he shook his head to confirm the suggestion.

Hisoka tapped the last tarot card, one of a man in stocks. “You have been through pain,” he explained and then moved on to tap the spades, a suit which always indicated an amount without being specific to a category like the others. “A lot of pain.”

“I’ve been doing very well in training.” Illumi nodded in affirmation.

Hisoka moved on to draw the present. With the boy’s youth, it was nearly the same length as his past.

“Travel to a new place. Fighting and money. Very similar to your dad’s but that’s to be expected.” He pulled the last few cards and saw the lover with a moon shortly after.

“You seem to be in love, but haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.”

He glanced up in time to see Illumi’s eyes dart away from his, but the pink dusting across his pale face wasn’t so easy to hide. Before he could remember the pin that had sank into his arm so easily, Hisoka reached out and touched Illumi again. He brushed Illumi’s long hair, just as silken and soft as he’d thought, aside and tucked the strand behind his ear. Now he could see how red the tips of his ears were.

Hisoka’s chest swelled with delight.

“Would you like to know what happens next?” He asked.

Illumi didn’t meet his eyes, but he nodded. Hisoka drew the future row.

“This tower means something big is going to change in your life. Not for the better, I’m afraid. Coupled with the hearts…something in your family dynamic is going to change.”

Illumi’s face was still flushed, but he snapped his attention towards Hisoka, his eyes wide in an honest panic. “My mother is pregnant. You don’t think-”

“I can’t say whether the baby will die, but…this fortune is about you. I’m not sure if your little brother’s death would affect you as much…perhaps he’ll be the new favorite? Take your parents attention away from you?”

Illumi’s eyes softened and his lip curled in thought. “Maybe,” he conceded with a whisper.

Hisoka pointed to the next card. “You’re going to be strong, have many dead bodies. Comparable to your father even, maybe more. But I’m afraid you will suffer. Weakness. Doubt. You’re going to lose your way,” Hisoka gestured to the spades, “more than once. You will be in this state for a long time, I’m afraid.”

“But you said I complete a lot of assignments? That I’ll be as good as my father?”

Hisoka fussed with his lower lip, unsure how to get his point across to a person so clearly focused on the wrong thing, but decided he was in over his head in that regard and continued.

“You will find love. It’s deeply tied to the middle path.” He tapped the card in case Illumi was confused by its strange title. “So, I think when you find your lover, they will help you find balance in your life. You will be content, confident. I see fulfillment and harmony.”

“That’s good,” Illumi smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Hisoka didn’t mind. They were so lovely that it’d be a shame to lose any amount of them.

He picked up the cards, seeing once again the love he’d drawn for the present row. He glanced back at Illumi. There wasn’t any more of the blush from before. He was just considering how to bring it back when Illumi got to his feet. Hisoka followed his gaze and saw the large man from before approaching them from the east.

“Time to go,” he ordered, and Illumi rushed back to his side.

“Successful business?” Hisoka asked as he got to his feet. The man met his question with a scowl and walked away without a word. Illumi followed. Hisoka stood by the dry fountain, watching them leave, and was able to lock eyes with Illumi when he looked over his shoulder. Hisoka made sure to smile and wave at Illumi, who –after a furtive glance to his father— waved back.

---------------

Link to story on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079688

Link to creator/curator of hisoillu week prompts

@illumiszoldycks

(Sorry for all the spamming. I saw the prompts today and got really excited and sat down to write all day. I’m done though. Thanks for all your patience~)

[maulsscream]

(gif by obimauls)

MUTUAL TEMPTATION Maul x Ahsoka

This was just going to be a M fic but y’all are making me write another E because the muzzle has usyou feeling things. I 100% agree. Watch me and my thirst traps delivering another banger. Bless @mandalora for the newest addition to the thirst pile.

Please assume Maul had his legs chopped off above the knees for obvious reasons. It’s not rated E for nothing loves.

Disclaimer: as I’ve stated before please assume that Ahsoka is a fully grown adult woman in all my fics. Thanks.

SUMMARY Rated E - 1,815 words

Maul is a lot more agreeable when he’s tied up and gagged. Ahsoka can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure what her game plan is. She decides to make him wonder some more.

                                   --------------------------------------

Her lightsaber was pointed down at his jugular as Maul sat with his arms locked behind him back, tied up to his elbows by some sort of device from another time. His mouth was clamped shut by the muzzle he had been fitted with on Mandalore. Truly the Mandalorians had a taste for the eccentrics and the barbaric. It was all a little overboard, even for him. The binding of his arms and ankles he could understand, but the muzzle? Were they afraid he would somehow talk his way out of the justice Ahsoka wanted to inflict on him?

The low buzzing of the lightsaber caught his attention if only for a second. His eyes followed the blinding blue length of it back up to her face. Her intimidation techniques were weak at best. If her goal was to keep him from trying anything rash, she could have simply kept to the bounds he was in. But the look behind her eyes spoke of something else. Maul arched an eyebrow in a questioning manner. What exactly was her game plan here?

“You might think you know everything about me, but you’re wrong.”

Maul doubted that. He had searched the clone’s head thoroughly to gain every drop of intel he could about the young woman. It had been fascinating. She was as arrogant as she was headstrong. Of course there had been no place for her with the Jedi. She had a thirst for adventure. Had she finished her training under Skywalker, the thrill of protecting her precious republic would have never satisfied her just like it hadn't satisfied him. She had a greater purpose.

“Now don’t try anything.”

She said as she leaned her face in close threateningly, the tip of her lightsaber forcing him to tilt his chin up towards her. She turned her wrist just so and he could see in her eyes she was debating whether or not he deserved justice after all. There was darkness there, a potential he had seen during their duel. The conclusions he had drawn from the trooper’s memories of her were correct. Ahsoka Tano was neither good nor evil. She served no one. She simply was.

She saw his eyes glimmer with anticipation and delight as if he were daring her to just get it over with. Kill him or free him. Those were his options, not the ones she had picked for him. The blade of her lightsaber disappeared at the press of a button and she placed it back at her hip. Maul followed the motion carefully. He couldn't wait to see where this was all going.

What fun!

She was still too close for either of their comfort, although the zabrak couldn’t complain much. He hadn’t been subject to any torture yet but he guessed that might have been the reason she was in his holding cell. He had heard her sending his guards away before entering the room. It wouldn’t be her style but with no one to answer for but herself, it might have been her last desperate attempt at getting answers. Still, there was one last option she hadn't tried if torture was her last resort...

To his surprise, Ahsoka lowered herself in a squatting position in front of him and Maul had to strain to maintain eye contact. With the very restricted range of motion he possessed, it was almost impossible to see what she was doing down at that level. His legs spread further apart and he squirmed to sit up straight. There was an attempt at leaning his upper body forwards but the jolt of her hand to her weapon stopped him dead in his tracks.

She held his full attention.

“I hear these came as a reward.”

The former Jedi said as she knocked on the mechanical part of his leg with her knuckle. Maul rolled his eyes. The antagonising game would only last so long. He could see in her eyes she wanted more than to just look at his prosthetics.

Her hands encircled them and ran up their length ever so slowly, feeling every tiny scratches and small indents in the metal underneath her palms. For the first time that he could recall, Maul wished he had sensations in his lower legs. Just so that he could feel what she was depriving him of. Clearly this was her game. She would only give him so much, just a taste that was enough to feed the fire and make him long for more.

Her hands stopped at his knees, tapping her fingernails against the junction of flesh and metal. Maul caught himself wanting to feel those nails against his skin, across his body. Seduction tricks had never worked on him, he was not that kind of being. He was too smart to be so easily distracted by hollow promises and lustful glances. No. This wasn't it.

This wasn't a trick. Maul could feel it through the force. This was genuine. The attention he was paying her doubled, his senses sharpening and his psyche honing in on her presence.

Ahsoka used his knees as leverage to rise back up on her feet, causing Maul to tense in anticipation. She pressed on the his legs harder, reminding him of just how restrained and uncomfortable he was in his shackles. Was she expecting him to plea for his freedom back?

He chuckled, a soundless rumble that shook his whole body. She could read how amused he was by the way he was devouring her with his eyes. Her web was tightening around him. Whether he knew where she was headed or not with that line of interrogation, she didn't care. She only cared about him lowering his defences enough for her to penetrate his mind.

“I wonder... what’s going on up there?”

Ahsoka brought her fingertips to his temples and focused. She could feel him resisting, his mind straining not to let her in. He was going to fight her all the way, building walls as she dug deeper. Her jaw was clenched and her eyebrows furrowed. Fine, if he wanted to play the hard way so could she.

She climbed on top of him, making sure to drag the motion of her pelvis closing the gap between their bodies as much as possible. His breathing was quickening from both the mental blocks he was putting up and the sudden act of intimacy, his chest heaving. She had no trouble fitting her small frame onto his lap. He was oddly comfortable and warm, a reaction she guessed she had caused.

Maul continued to observe her with carnal fascination, the sound of his hearts loud in his ears. She was persistent. He knew what she would be searching for inside his thoughts, but he could give her something else. Something she might have wanted even more. Surely the thrill of the forbidden fruit would outweigh her need of answers.

Ahsoka had to focus on the task at hand. They could have fun later. As much as she wanted to see more of the tattoos littering his chest, she wanted answers first. She squeezed her legs harder around his waist and gave one last push into his mind. Her hands were fully wrap around his head now, her fingers toying with the release of the muzzle. Perhaps the promise of a reward would make him take the bait.

That he did.

Maul caved in all at once, his eyes closing as her forehead touched his. His thoughts were the definition of organised chaos. There was a sea of pain and suffering that Ahsoka quickly waived in favour of a less threatening and much more enticing dark corner of his mind. What was he hiding in there?

She had been baited, too. Her need for answers suddenly flew out the window. Maul focused his mind on the unspoken truth between them. She had just openly began her little dance of seduction leaving him barely any room to reciprocate given his physical situation. 

But that’s what you like, isn’t it?

His thoughts were louder than a wampa as they echoed inside her own mind. She didn’t have to focus so much on making sense out of all of the glimpses of could-have-been he was showing her. The picture was clear enough.

In their conjoined minds, Ahsoka was clutching the top of his tunic, their bodies desperately pressing together. He was still tied up at the exception of his muzzle that had been discarded on the floor. Maul was kissing and biting along her exposed shoulder and throat, leaving marks on her feverish skin. He wanted to claim her just as much as he wanted to be made hers. In the vision, although she wasn’t sure now what was fiction and what was reality, one of her hands ran down his front and shakily entered his clothes, past the large belt and into his pants to grasp his length.

Her head was spinning. It was hard to focus when she could see from both of their perspectives. When she could feel both of their sensations and needs. It felt like an eternity before she reopened her eyes to find herself in the same exact position as the vision, only the muzzle was still on this time.

Ahsoka could feel him throbbing in her hand, a satisfied look in his eyes. She didn’t hesitate as she started moving her hand around him. Maul’s eyes were glued to hers, watching ever little change in her expression. The slight curl of her lips speaking of victory. His pupils were blown wide open with want. Ahsoka could see his breathing fogging up the metal of the gag. It would have been cruel to leave now. After all, she would be left begging for more too. But she could take care of herself.

She nuzzled her face into his neck, pressing a couple of kisses there but stopping when she heard his head thud against the panel behind him. Maul’s eyes rolled back into his skull and his hips rocked into her hand with a loud groan. He was at her complete mercy and there was something to be said about just how much he was eagerly giving in.

Her movements slowed before completely stopping. Maul understood the nature of the game. Ahsoka removed her hand from his pants, determined to make this last. She tucked his clothes back onto his large frame properly, giving a tug at his restraints to make sure they were still fully in place before gracefully unlocking her legs from around his waist and standing up. It left Maul admirative. She could show more self control than he had anticipated. Next time, he’d have to do better.

She’d visit him again now that she knew he was pliable.

Maul gave her a look that let her know he was looking forward to it.

[utterlyinevitable]

For the Directors Cut - something, everything, or anything about For All the Lies.

And if you don't mind saying, why didn't he keep in touch?

That fic still breaks my heart whenever I think about it ❤️

Ruby, you have no idea how excited I was to get this about FATL 😄 I am gonna re-read and will tell you anything and everything you’d ever wanna know 💗

Starting with the idea... 

It was a dream scene I had with someone I used to know my muse - the two of us meeting after all this time, harboring old unresolved feelings but coming to terms with how life panned out. Some time’s you’re just not meant to be with someone and there’s a greater happiness out there to grasp. 

So I just realized that the first line makes no sense and I should probably change it 😂

I did initially want Becca to be engaged to Bryce but thought better of it. She left her life at Edenbrook behind for a job far away, being with Bryce meant that there was always a possibility for her to come back - an teeny tiny opening where she could potentially fall back into Ethan. The finality of her fiancé being some unknown guy just felt right. Someone whom no one knew existed could finally, actually give her everything she’s always wanted and never knew she needed. 

In my mind Becca accepted the fellowship somewhere between the Gwyneth case and the Senator incident (which ultimately never happened in this timeline). Her and Ethan were getting closer, though for every time he kissed her he’d then be super strict and assert his position as her boss. Very waffley and she was not here for that after 1.5 years. With Edenbrook going under, Ethan being mad at her for turning the team for-profit, and the hospital cutting jobs, Becca did the one thing she knew she could do: used her clout as Dr. Banerji’s savior to secure a fellowship abroad and keep some other Edenbrook doctor off the budgetary chopping block. What really was left in Boston for her anyway? 

She and Ethan had one last night together before she made her decision. He was completely unaware she had even applied, treating the night like any other with them having takeout in his office looking over their respective files. He pushed her away. They had a little fight. The next morning she accepted the position. Ethan found out she was leaving in an email she sent to Dr. Banerji and CC’d him on. He responded with a simple: “Congratulations. I have every faith you will make an invaluable addition to their team.” 

Becca left and got a new local phone number. He could have emailed her personal account, but a part of him was definitely hurt. If she wanted to hear from him she would reach out, he told himself whenever she crept into his thoughts. For Becca it was easier to let go, he’d broken her heart one too many times. And just like him she thought if he wanted her in his life he would have reached out - he did know what new hospital she’d be working at. 

It was Ethan’s turn to feel abandoned, just like he did to her. Except this time she wasn’t coming back. There wouldn’t be a reset button or a chance to do things over in two months when she returned from her sabbatical. His pride took a serious hit. But he still kept tabs on his protégé - he had a google alert with her name. Any time it pinged with a new published work of hers, he was always the first one to order a copy. He missed her but he was so proud of the brilliant doctor he knew she would become.   

Having them meet at Harper’s engagement party was a happy accident, though now I really like how she’s shown how a workaholic can change their habits and find love and happiness. I wanted a place where Bryce and Ethan would definitely be dressed up in suits but nothing involving medicine. It’s also morbidly funny to have Ethan be witness to both the incredible women he lost move on and find happiness in their lives without him. He’s kinda stuck in his small box of ethics and morals. Which as we all know got in the way of his relationships. 

Aurora’s purpose here was to subtly reassert that Bryce is a friend and not fiancé. 

I’d like to think that Ethan felt Becca’s presence the moment she entered the gates on Bryce’s arm. Like even though he was at the back of the garden yards and yards away, somehow he could smell her perfume swirling in the air around him. Unsettling and alert. Then his eyes fell on her and he couldn’t believe it. He inched closer and closer until luckily she was alone and he could muster the courage to face his biggest regret. 

God I wish I could paint the picture that’s in my head of the two of them when she turns around and acknowledges him. It breaks my heart. All that yearning and pent up anxiety and months and months of tears packaged in the faint acknowledgement of “Dr. Ramsey”. Everything just fades away when their eyes lock onto one another and it’s like no time had passed - one week, two years, three decades - none of that mattered in the other’s presence. There’s this underlying feeling that if he was just brave enough to pick up where they left off and saw sorry that she’d forgive him and run away with him. That is, if he had the courage to do that before she committed to another man four months ago. A part of Becca always held onto the idea that he’d find her again. But the moment - no, a about four weeks after her fiancé proposed she finally put her childish crush in the past for good. Where it belonged. 

I like to think that Ethan and Becca were friends. So old times for them would be dancing at a highbrow event he was forced to attend and invited her just because he liked the company, he’d drive her to a shopping center after work sometimes when she needed to get a lot of items she couldn’t carry on the subway, or window shopping during their coffee breaks. 

They were always respectful of the other’s boundaries for the most part. Except when eyes and hands would linger a little longer than they should have. Except for when innocent lip biting became too enticing. Except when they drank a little more than usual and just enough to act on their emotions. Except for when they were at his apartment, and when they recalled the few times they gave in intern year. 

Becca’s hand at his chest is always over his heart. Ever since Miami she’s held his heart in the palm of her hand. Then there’s also the practicality of it being there to push him away if she needed to. 

Ethan knew she was engaged. He heard it through the Edenbrook grapevine and then saw it on Pictagram to confirm the rumor - he hadn’t logged into the damn app since he used it to make sure she landed in her new homeland safely. But having her in his arms now and knowing this fact... it was all so confusing. He couldn’t believe it. One of these had to be fake. He hoped it was the ring on her finger. 

As he twirled it back and forth, both of them were taken aback and just a little guilty. 

She mindfully thanked her fiance for once again knowing her and her needs better than she herself did.  

This is the other bit I put in just to hone that Bryce is not Mr. Becca. 

I went through so many things of what Ethan could say to move the conversation along and literally nothing felt right. As much as I wanted them to jump in and talk about what happened in their absence, the awkward tension between them had to reign supreme. There is no reason these two near-lovers should have been comfortable enough to bare all their insecurities, especially when they still harbor feelings for one another. Though they try to push past it with banter. 

The ghostly smile I imagine on Ethan’s lips when he tells her he read her book. It breaks and warms my heart. And Becca completely not knowing that he would read it? It’s like she never really knew him at all. Of course he was going to keep track of her career no matter what happened in their personal life. This stemmed from the idea that there are people in my life that I’m not close with and haven’t spoken to in years, but I still keep track of them and support their businesses and endeavors. I’m proud to have them as someone I used to know. 

Becca was going to ask him How he was which is why she let him continue his question.  

In this moment Becca recalled every single thing that kept her from reaching out. If she reached out she’d be letting him back in. She’d be letting him break her once more. If Ethan didn’t date her while they were in the same city, there was no way they could have a future if they’re an ocean apart indefinitely. I think this “Ethan...” is more exasperation compared to the later one. 

These two idiots should have confessed how much they love one another ages ago. That way they probably wouldn’t be in this position and she wouldn’t have left to ‘reset’.  

The hand motions between them is everything. Ethan squeezing hers to keep her close, her squeezing back to pull an answer from him. Him going slack in her arms and having to take a step back like the admission knocked the wind out of him. Her moving back into place like a magnet, her hand going back to his heart. His hand going over hers, letting his fingers fall through the cracks. Her immediately balling her hand up so he couldn’t linger in the space she left for him anymore - effectively finally shutting him out and not holding him in her palm anymore. Not holding onto him anymore. 

And then there’s the last three bittersweet lines that kill me every single time. 

That’s all we ever want for someone we care about - for them to be happy, right? If it couldn’t be him because he threw away every single chance she served up to him on a silver platter then Ethan guesses he’s glad it’s a man who know what kind of ring she needed and put a smile on her face. 

[I think I lost the plot of this commentary thing oops] 

[joontier]

“Dad!”

--> Pairing: Yoongi x reader

--> Genre/warnings: SMUUUUUUT, that is all, thank you

--> Words: 2.5k

--> Summary: Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself even if you’re just sitting there beside him…sans-underwear

—> Note: I haven’t had the time to fix the links yet, but you guys can check parts 1 and 2 in my masterlist

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

March 06, 2029

Yoongi sits up in bed, eyes squinting as he scans the dimly lit room, the sunlight trying to break through the curtain slits. You were snoring softly on a pillow, considering you stole the same from him the previous night. He yawns as he moves his foot around, blindly looking for the other pair of his slippers.

It’s been exactly three months since you gave birth to Byungchul, and the responsibilities of a father and a husband were taking its toll on Yoongi. Your husband’s stress levels definitely reached its peak this time and with the insane sleeping patterns – which he still hasn’t gotten accustomed to since the start of your pregnancy until your son’s birth – Yoongi looks worse than a clapped-out junkie.

Having had the mentality that all the fuss would’ve been over once the baby comes out, Yoongi was overjoyed when you gave birth on the sixth of December the previous year. One look at Byungchul was all it took before tears started rolling down his cheeks. Mainly because the realization of finally being a father overwhelmed him at that moment because he thought he would no longer have to deal with your midnight cravings and bizarre antics during your pregnancy.

Boy was he wrong.

First week into parenthood, Yoongi gulps down at least three mugs of coffee a day, rushing over to Byungchul’s crib when he hears the slightest of cries. Both your mom and mother-in-law demanded that you rest for a while after having dealt with nearly a day in labor. Hence, Yoongi had to take on the responsibility of taking care of Byungchul as well as most of the daily chores.

Although there were countless times when you offered to help your husband, Yoongi was caring and understanding enough to decline each time because he knew he’d end up doing it altogether if you did try to ‘help’ him. Just like that time when you said you’d clean up after ordering Chinese take-out for dinner and when he returns from putting the baby to sleep, he sees you snoring against the couch in the living room, clutching a pair of chopsticks to your chest.

Today seemed like an exception though. Your husband didn’t wake at the sound of Byungchul wailing for the first time in what felt like forever. When he tried to lie down again to get back to sleep, he just tossed and turned for a few minutes before sitting back up, realizing he wasn’t going back to his slumber anytime soon. It was like he was already anticipating Byungchul’s cries ringing through his ears in the middle of the night.

Heading over to the baby’s crib, he peeks and leans over the plastic columns and traces light patters on his son’s pajama-clad tummy. He smiled as he remembered the first photo of his son he released to the public. It was a photo of Byungchul sleeping with arms and legs spread in all directions, resembling a starfish. He’d accompanied it with a zoomed-in picture of his son’s bun-like arms, captioning it with a bread emoji.

Yoongi pats Byungchul’s head gently a few times before he heads to the kitchen to start the day early.

Flipping the last pancake with one swift motion, Yoongi sets the pan down and turns off the stove, bringing his plate of the Min-Yoongi-pancake-special recipe over the dining table. He sat down on the wooden chair and crossed his legs as he squeezed a generous amount of syrup onto the stack of pancakes.

He cuts a large slice from the stack with his fork, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the self-proclaimed excellence of his own specialty breakfast. Yoongi hears muted footsteps on the carpeted floor, momentarily pausing his eating to watch you pad slowly towards the kitchen, solely depending on your sense of smell as your eyes remain shut.

Yoongi pulls out a chair for you beside him and you plop down and rest your head on his shoulder. Before your hands could grab a bite from his plate, Yoongi swats your hand away and slides his plate farther from you. He tells you that he’s left you another serving on the counter and you mutter a curse before getting up and stomping exaggeratedly towards the counter.

As you stand a few meters away from Yoongi, your husband’s breath hitches as he finally takes in what you wore to bed last night. It literally wasn’t much. You were wearing one of Yoongi’s favorite white large shirts. But the way its hem just reached your thighs and assumingly, the fact that you weren’t wearing anything else underneath so you cold-induced nipples were trying to poke their way out of the shirt made something snap inside Yoongi.

This was only one of the many charms you had that convinced Yoongi to ask you to stay with him for the rest of your life. He always let you knew that you looked sexiest when getting up from bed – despite the nest-like hair, flammable breath, and that line of dried saliva on your chin, there was no greater honor to him than waking up to that sight. Yoongi still loves you nevertheless, wondering how you always managed to look beautiful even in the unlikeliest of times.

It was driving Yoongi nuts, looking achingly seductive like that, even if he only saw your back and a glimpse of your side profile. Yoongi takes a swig of the water beside him as you rummage through the drawers looking for cutlery, eventually bending down to check the bottom ones. How could you possibly not know where they’re placed when you’ve been living under the same roof for nearly three years already?!

He isn’t even the slightest bit doubtful that you weren’t doing this on purpose (well, you had the tendency to be quite dramatic from time to time) and he gulps as you bend over one more time, his shirt riding up your legs and finally confirming that you were, in fact, not wearing any underwear, at all.

Well, shit.

He quickly looks away, blocking all the indecent thoughts before they consume him and failing miserably at that. As Yoongi tries to peek one more time, he comes face-to-face with you, eyes nothing short of worry for your husband. Instead, he sees a glint of playfulness in them.

“Yoongs, is something bothering you?”

Was that even a question? His eyes travel down your cheeks to your neckline and when he gets a glimpse of your breasts due to the looseness of his shirt on you, all hell seems to break loose. It’s been too long since he got to touch you, feel you. Yoongi doesn’t know how he lasted a year without sex if it weren’t for the busy schedule divided between work and taking care of you and Byungchul. You return to your chair when he doesn’t respond, acting as if the tension isn’t as clear as day.

Fuck, you looked so enticing just beside him. Sans underwear, hair tied up in a messy bun, smothering whipped cream all over the pancakes. There was nothing he could do when he felt his cock straining against his boxers, knowing that you were the only person in this world who could give him an instant hard-on doing the most mundane of tasks.

Min Yoongi is known to be an avid risk-taker, that’s why when he sees an opportunity, he grabs it – regardless of how it may end. Which is why when you accidentally spread whipped cream across your cheek trying to gobble up an entire pancake, your husband closes the distance between you two, swiping his tongue across your cheek to clean up your mess.

A giggle escapes your lips and his heart wrenches, feeling bad for having inappropriate thoughts this early in the morning. Of course, you probably still needed your post-natal rest – the unimaginable pain of giving birth recently. “You could’ve just told me Yoongs, no need to go Holly on me.” You reprimand him in a playful tone, pinching his cheek as you grab a napkin to wipe his saliva off your face. Yoongi gives you back your personal space, trying to picture Namjoon wearing a sailor moon outfit to get his dick back down.

While Yoongi proceeds to finish his cup of coffee, you muttered something that had Yoongi choking on his drink, spluttering drops of coffee on the table. “Don’t think I don’t see that problem of yours down there Min Yoongi.” He finds your hand slowly massaging his thigh, circling dangerously near his crotch. Ah, fuck it. He was about to get lucky this early in the morning, and Namjoon in that ridiculous costume isn’t about to spoil it.

Yoongi swallows when your hand travels inside his boxers, fisting his dick while you finish the rest of your pancakes. “Take that off for me,” you order, releasing his cock from your grip as you bring the plates to the dishwasher. When you return, you tilt your head towards the table, motioning him to sit on it so you won’t have to deal with sore knees afterwards.

Your husband slowly gets up from his chair and onto the table, cock already twitching in anticipation. Yoongi takes your hand and pulls you between his legs, kissing you feverishly. You waste no time in letting your hands roam his body, enjoying the way he’s gained weight since your pregnancy, indulging in your pregnancy cravings as well.

You lower down on your seat, your fingernails prickling his skin with goosebumps, enjoying his reactions. You lick your lips before you slowly dive in, teasing the tip and circling your tongue around the head, gauging your husband’s reaction. Yoongi grunts when you take more, throwing his head back when he feels his cock disappear between your lips.

He nearly loses it when you suck around his cock, a low hum escaping your lips. The feeling is familiar but foreign at the same time, a prominent baby bump proving to be difficult to deal with during sexy time with you. You’re still just as skilled with your mouth, though definitely hotter this time. Must be the post-natal glow - Yoongi notes mentally, picturing getting you pregnant again if that means he gets to reap what he’s sown so wonderfully.

You draw your mouth back slowly and sink down on it again, taking pleasure in the groan of bliss you draw out from Yoongi. Slowly and steadily, you fall into a rhythm of sliding his cock between your lips, occasionally taking a peek at your husband whose grip in your hair tightens by the second. He’s close, you reckon - tell-tale signs all etched in memory from your shared intimacies in the past. Yoongi gasps loudly when he cums, his whole body quivering as his cock softens in your mouth.

Yoongi hoists you up for him to sit where you’ve been and pulls you down to sit on his thighs. You feel his dick almost ready again as he sits you near his crotch, the only thing separating you is your husband’s oversized shirt. His cold fingers wander beneath the large piece of clothing where Yoongi finds the need to fulfill his desire of touching you, large hands groping your breasts and tracing outlines on the expanse of your skin.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Yoongi states, sliding a finger through your folds. Dangerously testing the waters by shallowly dipping a digit and removing it and repeating the action all over again. “Yoongi,” you hiss as your grip on his forearms tighten. “I need your cock. Now.” He spares no time in removing his shirt on you, knowing that you have a secret clothed-sex kink from a drunken rant he’d accidentally listened to while you were talking to your friend while he was away for a concert.

He lays you down on the table, feet dangling off the edge and legs already spread open for him. Yoongi slides into you with ease, resisting the strong urge to cum on impact. He nestles himself deep within your walls, reveling in the feeling of his cock a snug fit inside your warm pussy. It’s been so long and it’s with a particular squeezing of your walls that reminds him that his palm could never identify with how your pussy feels.

“God, princess,” Yoongi moans, steadily rocking his hips back and forth. He takes his time with you, pushing his cock so deep that every thrust still has you clutching on the edges of table. “Yoongi,” you moan softly as his eyes close for a moment, savoring the feeling. With one hand on your hip, he trails the other beneath your shirt, lifting it up a little so one breast is exposed and the other still hidden under its confines.

You can tell how much he’s missed this as much as you. He looks down at you with lust darkened eyes, chest rising and falling in time with his hips. As much as you enjoyed slow sex with Yoongi, you can’t help but goad him on whining when you tell him to go faster.

Yoongi grabs hooks his hands under your knees and straightens your legs so they’re resting against his shoulders. You can’t help the loud cry that escapes your lips when he draws back and thrusts into you at once, impaling you with his cock. Your vision is getting blurry as your husband continues to drill into you, that familiar feeling at the pit of your stomach growing drastically by the second.

It’s with this particular angle that Yoongi is hitting that sweet spot and in a few seconds you and Yoongi finally reach your high and it’s the most beautiful thing ever because you rarely climax at the same time. Yoongi continues to back and forth between your folds, riding out his high.

Your orgasm is so strong that your legs are still trembling slightly when Yoongi guides them down from his shoulders. He peppers kisses on your thigh first, then your neck and your cheek, sitting down on a chair when he deems his post-sex pampering over.

Yoongi looks blissed out, a lovely rosy tinge coloring his cheeks. He feels like he’s been provided with renewed strength despite what just transpired a few moments ago. You sit up, only to enjoy what a view Yoongi is after times like this. There’s a sheen layer of sweat on his torso, giving it a slight glimmer when the sunlight slipping through the curtains touches his skin.

You open your mouth to say something when you hear the baby’s first cry of the day. Yoongi looks up at you from the chair and gets up, assuring you that he’ll handle it. Once he’s taken a few steps away you call at him, “Where’s my dessert?!” Yoongi scowls hard as he turns back to face you, pointing a thumb against his chest. “That wasn’t enough dessert yet?” Yoongi’s scowl turns into a sinister smile before he walks away again.

“Better get ready for round 2 later then!” he says with a wave, disappearing from your sight.

[loopy777]

I wonder if Zuko had feelings for Mai before his banishment; which would mean that when he’s on that date with Jin he felt a bit guilty. I’ve seen that sort of headcanon a couple of times in some fanfics, and it would sort explain a bit why Zuko wanted to leave after that kiss. But at the same time I can also just see it as Zuko just being a brooding teen. So *shrugs* eh. What do you think, Loopy? You think that’s a possibility?

Well, I’m what we call a Scene Essentialist. (’We’ are calling it that because I just made it up and I said so.) That means I usually prefer the version of a scene that is what it was ‘meant’ to be by the storytellers. The only times I vary from this is when a retcon comes along later that elevates the original scene into something profoundly greater- a textbook example is how The Empire Strikes Back retconned the original Star Wars from a movie about a kid and his dad’s teacher winning a victory over the evil dude who killed the dad into a saga about Luke learning about the nature of Good and Evil by confronting Anakin-turned-Darth-Vader.

(This policy keeps me able to appreciate AtLA despite the comics’ best attempts to ruin the franchise. Yay!)

So, since the whole purpose behind “The Tale of Zuko” is showing how Zuko deals with having a little fangirl with his warped life experience, and there’s no hint in there of him being aware of any prior experience with romance, I’m inclined to take Zuko’s leaving after the kiss as him indeed being a brooding teen.

However, it’s certainly possible to take the “Going Home Again” comic’s assertion that Zuko was crushing on Mai before his banishment and add that to his mix of feelings about kissing Jin. GHA invokes it by having Zuko encounter Jin again, and Katie Mattila -- who wrote “The Tale of Zuko” -- even contributed to that comic! What she contributed, I don’t know, and she’s one of four writers credited for it.

But the rest of the cartoon never goes that far and “The Tale of Zuko” is functional and complete by itself, so I’m inclined to take it as is and say that Zuko was not thinking about Mai at all at that point. He has no idea about her status at that point, and he’s been banished for years with no prospect of returning any time soon. Plus, any romance he had with her would have been puppy love at best, given their ages. I just don’t think the most natural reading of the story is that he was pining for her the whole time he was away. Going home was about earning his father’s approval and love, really, so there’s no need to throw Mai in there.

Oddly, I think it’s possible to argue that GHA agrees with me. Despite focusing on Zuko and Mai going on a date, and Azula’s attempts to use their romance as an enticement to get him to return to the Fire Nation, he’s still wavering on the matter at the end of the comic... until Zuko hears that Iroh is going and Azula hints he might not survive the voyage. So even after rekindling a romance with Mai, he’s not inclined to follow up on it in favor of- well, being a brooding teen.

Or maybe he wanted to stay in Ba Sing Se to make another run at Jin. Who knows?

[babyybitchhh]

P, V, and/or X for Uzui? :3c

Oof. You really brought out the big guns on the first shot, anon, you trying to kill me??

Pregnancy = Honestly the only thing stopping this brick house from having all his wives AND you knocked up at any given point is the fact he has other shit to do. Like, a man has responsibilities and it always struck me as kind of odd that, considering how long he’s been married, there aren’t any kids in the equation. Because I know this man fucks and I know he fucks hard so it’s certainly not from a lack of trying. Some time ago I concluded this was a mutual decision that all involved parties agreed upon since that really isn’t the right environment to be raising children in and Uzui wouldn’t want his girls to be single mothers if he were to ever fall in battle. I assume, of course, that now with him being “retired” from the demon slayers, there’s a WHOLE lot of baby making going on behind the scenes. 😏

There’s the instinctive drive a man naturally has to further his lineage, yes, but even more than that he just ... has a deep, intrinsic appreciation for pregnant women. Just thinking about knocking you up makes him rock hard, sometimes at the drop of a dime. His imagination often runs wild while he’s fucking into you, fantasizing about letting go and filling you up over and over again until his potent spunk is just bubbling and oozing out of your pliant little hole. It only makes him snap his hips into you even harder, faster, and, eventually, when you’ve both agreed to take the plunge, he shoots a heavy load so deep into your body that there’s simply no way your uterus isn’t being flooded. Just one round would probably do the trick but Uzui wouldn’t stop there. He wants to make damn sure his seed takes root and what better way to do that then by folding your legs up in a mating press and going back in for round two. Then another. And another.

Look, what I’m saying is that even if you manage to scrape by on the edge of your teeth and avoid getting pregnant somehow, you’re still gonna be walking around with a bloated and distended belly when he’s through with you. That’s the Uzui Tengen satisfaction guarantee.

And he loves it. Oh, he loves everything about it. How your body softens and rounds out. The way your tits swell with milk and your nipples become puffy, perpetually stiff as if in a constant state of arousal. Your pregnancy glow is enough to make him want to keep you bred and busy for the foreseeable future. He just can’t keep his hands off you and any woman lucky enough to be carrying his child would be privileged to daily (sometimes hourly, if you’re looking particularly ripe that day) rub downs that serve the purpose of both massaging your sore muscles AND worshipping your body as it deserves to be worshipped.

Good luck getting this man to leave you alone for more than just a few minutes at a time while you’re pregnant because he will be stuck to you like glue. Partially because his hardwired need to protect those dearest to him cranks up to a solid 100 now that you’re carrying his baby and partially because he simply cannot get enough of your fast developing motherly figure. It gets him incredibly hot and bothered and, as if it were possible, you two seem to have even more sex now that you’re expecting. Go figure.

Voyeurism = okay look. I’m just gonna come right out and say it. As a former ninja, Uzui is well versed in the practice of voyeurism and if he ever tries to tell you that he never used his stealthy abilities to peep don’t believe him. That man is lying straight through his teeth.

Not because he’s a common pervert or anything like that. It’s just that he has a fine appreciation for all women and he would never turn down an opportunity to admire them, whether that be from afar or up close and personal. You’d never even know he was there unless he made a concerted effort to announce his presence which means he not only COULD spy on you in any number of stages of undress but also that he absolutely HAS.

His favorite place to watch you from is in the bath. There’s just something about your body all pink and flushed and wet that calls out to him and begs for his attention. You don’t know that though. Of course you don’t. A girl as sweet and sensual as you would never realize just how enticing she is during mundane moments like this. No, this is a facet of your sexuality that only he is privy to which means he is the only one allowed to partake.

So with worrying frequency, Uzui bides his time until you decide to take a bath by yourself and sneaks in without so much as a creak from the rafters. He could join you, of course, and lay his hands on your body as much as he wants instead of teasing himself like this but that would take half the fun out of it. The appeal is that you don’t know he’s watching so all of your facial expressions are candid. Every move your body makes is genuine without the concern that others are seeing your body in all it’s naked glory. And when you wash between your legs and your eyes take on a dreamy quality while you spend more time than necessary down there, he throbs so hard it makes his head spin. It is nothing short of a joy to watch you navigate your own body in such a natural, unhurried way and he could honestly stay just like that, hidden in the shadows and observing your routine, for hours.

The good news is that if you ever slip and fall in the bath, he’ll be right there checking on you in a matter of seconds.

Xtreme size difference = PHEW this one got me good. I’m a firm believer that, at the end of the day, Uzui is damn happy with his physique. If not because it’s so breathtaking and flamboyant, then because he has yet to meet a woman who doesn’t feel tiny and safe in his arms. You could be the baddest bitch around or stand at a solid 6’ and you’d still curl up against his pecs like a purring kitten the second he folded you up in his embrace. He’s just so big and burly, there is simply no way you can maintain your resolve when he’s towering over you and enveloping your much smaller body with his.

The best part just might be how easy it is for him to manhandle you which, please believe, he takes a great deal of pleasure in. Picking you up like you weigh nothing? Tossing you over his shoulder? Carrying you in one arm as if you were little more than a child?? Uzui lives for it. All of it. He often picks up his wives and carries them around at home (Suma occasionally gets hauled up into his arms out in public because her pride is not so easily bruised) but you’re different. When it comes to you, he’s already fairly handsy anyway but when you draw your cute little mouth into a pout or give him that look when you’re not happy about something, he just can’t stop himself from grabbing you. If he felt so inclined, Uzui wouldn’t hesitate to carry you around for an entire day and he’s just petty enough to do it if you contend the issue too much.

You know I can’t finish this up without commenting on how sex feels with this man. 😳 y’all have me mistaken if you thought I was gonna’ leave that up to the imagination so buckle up.

He’s hot. He’s heavy. It feels like he’s swallowing you up whenever he’s on top. Your ankles just barely meet behind his back but you can’t keep them locked when he reaches a certain intensity level. At first it’s no big deal when he’s just rolling his hips and shallowly thrusting into you, taking your tight needy cunt at a leisurely pace. The second he starts picking up speed though is when your legs start to rag doll in the air. They’re useless to you at that point and all you can do is cling to him while he carves out a space inside you. Doggy style is no better. He covers your back fully and completely, caging you in with his arms braced on the bed. The fact he does sort of have to bend down to your level, as it were, just to jackhammer your pussy until you’re uncontrollably squirting all over him does make you feel just a little bit powerful though. He’s so much bigger than you but he still bends to you rather than visa versa and that’s special.

All that being said Uzui’s favorite position is actually cowgirl/reverse cowgirl because he doesn’t feel like he’s squishing or suffocating you under the sheer mass of his muscles. He’s attained perfect control over his body so he never accidentally hurts you or anything, but he is able to actually sit back and relax like this. Plus, he just loves watching you impale yourself on his thick cock and whine as you bounce around on it. There is absolutely no greater pleasure that he could conceive.

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 38)

Jaig Eyes (38/?)

A Clone Wars fanfic.

Always available on fanfiction.net 

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she's involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

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Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Owner of the Voice

The planet of Moraband...or Korriban...reminded me slightly of how Tatooine looked from orbit. Though, while the dry and clear look of the nearly uninhabitable planets seemed similar, Korriban’s surface practically gleamed red. In addition, the usual shady traffic I encountered on Tatooine was nowhere to be found. 

Embo had mentioned a trading guild location on the planet, but with some asking around, I determined it was on the opposite side of the planet as my approach was.

I wasn’t sure why I preferred that. Maybe it was because I didn’t want word possibly getting back to the Republic about my exploration of the planet. Or maybe it was because I felt drawn to this particular part.

The planet almost seemed to be breathing, it was teeming so much with the Force. Despite the obvious life power that flowed through it, I felt cold. It was the Dark Side. Still, I could tell that what I was feeling was only a gentle echo of the power that had once resonated on the planet.

When my ancestors had practiced their dark arts there. When the fallen jedi...also my ancestors, technically...came to the planet and enslaved the Sith purebloods, entwining the dark arts of the natives with their own knowledge of the Force.

I swallowed as I turned off my autopilot, entering the planet’s dusty atmosphere. The moment my sensors registered that I had dipped below the dark cloudline, my senses burned like a fire in my mind. I was in a daze, my hands tilting the joystick to turn my ship and coast through the desert landscape. The very planet itself glowed a dark orange in the slow sunset, the dark red sand of the world spinning in slow circles in the wind. Massive formations of red rock towered above the wings of my shuttle, casting me in shadow as I passed them.

I didn’t know what navigation I was following. I just knew that something was calling me. Tugging at the back of my mind like a child pulling incessantly at a string. 

It wasn’t long before I emerged from my low-flying flight, passing a few final towering structures of stone to find a valley. It pulsed with power.

And with the echoes of the dead.

The valley was lined with temples that I somehow knew were tombs. A particularly large pyramid structure stood at the end of the valley, the long stone courtyard that led to it littered with destroyed statues. The statues that remained intact depicted massive towering warriors, their heads bent. 

I couldn’t tell if the action was supposed to be out of respect...or submission.

The engines of my shuttle whirred to a low, cooling hum as I set the ship down within the massive courtyard. The gangway descended, the surprisingly cool wind whipping past my cloak that was draped over my plain, dented armor--I’d scratched away the paint during the hyperspace jump to Korriban. I pulled the hood of the dark gray cloak up over my short hair, trying to block some of the swirling sand.

Whatever had called me here was quiet now. There was no voice in my mind. No enticing words to draw me closer.

But there was a darkness. And power. 

I strode from the gangway of my shuttle, following the pulsing power that pulsed from deep within the towering pyramid. My eyes were drawn to the horizon, aware of how the sun was almost halfway below the mountains, the valley darkening from orange towards red. My peripheral vision caught movement, drawing my gaze.

Something feral loomed up in the broken structures that lined the valley. Its stature vaguely reminded me of Marrok, Embo’s anooba. Yet, instead of covered with fur, the creature looked almost leathery with long spines trailing down its haggard back. It’s long tail, difficult to make out in the fading light, looked long and whip-like.

Even though it didn’t come down from where it lurked, I could tell it was watching me. I walked a little faster up the stairs and through the towering metal door that was slightly ajar. I wondered if it had been pried apart by raiders, searching for lost trinkets of the Sith species. Then again, maybe it was pillaged by those that continued to study the Dark Side. 

Had others heard the call that I did?

I briefly considered that the door may be ajar on purpose...to invite me inside.

The halls inside were dark, illuminated only by the sweeping beam of my flashlight. It was only a short distance to cross a second threshold that opened into a long room. A stream of orange light filtered in from structural insecurities, encasing what looked like a stone coffin below at the end of the hall.

I stopped at the edge of a short staircase, leading into what I could only guess was once a court. It almost resembled a throne room. Massive statues along the room, depicting bent humanoid forms looking like they were trying not to be crushed by the pillars they were holding up. I swallowed hard, feeling the power resonating from the sarcophagus at the end of the room.

Decorating the stone were lines of old-looking metal, inscriptions etched into its surface. Despite my knowledge of languages, I had to admit that I had my shortcomings. Whatever was written there was old...so old that I couldn’t even begin to decipher what it might say.

As I drew closer, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, I saw a looming statue towering over the sarcophagus. The figure was cloaked, its face in shadow. His large arms were crossed over his chest, as I imagined the body within the sarcophagus was lain. 

My heart leapt to my throat as I felt a familiar surge of power, my chest going cold as the air grew frighteningly still. I stopped in my tracks, a black mist rising from the sarcophagus with a low hissing sound, like sand sliding over stone. The mist continued to rise, an orange glow resonating from the top of the coffin, like someone had lit a fire inside. 

Fear froze my muscles as a figure began to take shape within the mist and fire, lifting his head slowly to stand in a mimic to the statue behind him. His hands unfolded from his chest as his glowing eyes regarded me. Despite the glow, his stare felt cold. Deadly.

The figure, though floating as a frightening apparition, wore armor as if he was in battle. Beautiful designs that I was sure once held meaning decorated the metal plating, his helmet sitting low to almost over his eyes. Were they not glowing, I was sure they would have been cast in shadow.

“Finally,” he spoke, the hair raising on the back of my neck. “You have answered my call.”

I knew his voice. His was the one that spoke in my mind, drawing me to Korriban. The one that gave me power...and darkness.

“It’s you,” I whispered fearfully, my fingers curling nervously around the pistol at my hip.

The spirit--as I now determined him to be, considering the circumstances--laughed. “That weapon won’t serve you here,” he assured me, waving his hand. I half-expected the pistol to fly from my holster, but nothing happened. Was he so sure it wouldn’t hurt him that he didn’t even bother to remove it from my grasp? He was obviously Force-sensitive, given his connection to me and his ability to somehow live past death...like Qui-Gon had.

“Who are you?” I asked finally, mustering my courage. I forced my hand to come off my pistol in a fake show of understanding and confidence.

The spirit rose to full height--which was rather impressive, mind you--and let out another chuckle. His voice in my head had always been a bit off-putting. But in this massive chamber, it was even moreso. I could tell his power was even greater here than anywhere else. His words echoed, almost sounding like three voices rather than one.

“I am Darth Bane.” For some reason, that name sparked a recognition. I’d heard something about him...somewhere. “I am the greatest Sith Lord to have ever lived.”

For some reason, my sass found its way back to the surface, my eyebrow arching. “How is that? Wouldn’t the greatest Sith Lord find a way to defeat death? Wasn’t there one of you that did that?”

That was dumb to say. I felt his anger chill the room even further, his head bowing to glower at me. “You speak of what you do not understand, girl,” Darth Bane hissed. “I alone have saved the Sith.”

I kept myself from responding with a sarcastic remark about how he was dead again. “How?”

“The Rule of Two.”

That sparked a thought. I’d heard about that. It was whispered in the darkest corners of the underworld. Especially after Obi-wan killed one on Naboo. “Always two Sith,” I whispered. “Did you train Maul?”

Bane let out a dark laugh. “An apprentice struck down be a padawan? No. I would not train one so weak.”

I breathed slowly, trying not to panic as I felt Bane’s powers curling into my mind, wrapping through my thoughts. It was violating feeling, as if my fear was unlocking the doors of my mind for him.

“Why did you call me here?”

Bane regarded me for a moment, sifting through my thoughts. “I created the Rule of Two to ensure the survival of the Sith.” The spirit floated around the room as he explained, his eyes only straying from me briefly. “Once, we were a vast empire, overflowing with power. The old sith powers...as well as the jedi...believe that the Force is like fire.” He either saw my confusion on my face or felt it in my mind. He continued. “They believe that the Force is passed like a torch to their followers, spreading light throughout the galaxy at an equal brightness. They are wrong.” I felt his contempt, not only for the jedi, but for the sith army that existed long ago. “The Force is like venom.” Darth Bane turned abruptly, tilting his armored head. “You’re afraid.”

I found no sense in lying. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t understand. These abilities have always been there, but as of late, they only continue to grow. I can’t control it. I could hurt someone.”

Darth Bane chuckled lowly at me. “Your bloodline is strong in the Dark Side. You will learn.”

“You mean how I’m a descendant of the Sith.” 

“Not just any Sith, girl. A king. And powerful fallen jedi that would eventually claim to be a sith himself. Though, he was never a lord as I am.”

“Why not?”

“Few dare to take on the title of Darth, child. Those who have borne it before me have proud histories.”

A thought occurred to me, some of my fear beginning to eb. This spirit, while imposing, had yet to display any true threat to me. Thus far, he seemed like he was merely interested in me. Why would he call me here, only to kill me?

“What do you feel of those that call themselves Darth now?”

Darth Bane’s demeanor darkened as he loomed around the room, glowing faintly in the shadows. “The current Sith Lord has held fast to my rule, in which the apprentice, when he or she surpsasses their teacher, slays their master.” I started at his words, my forehead folding in fear again. “This disturbs you?”

I swallowed. “Killing the person who taught you everything? That’s...brutal.” My mind flashed to Jango, who had taught me nearly everything about bounty hunting that I now knew. 

“You think of the man who saved you from slavery,” Bane mused, sending a chill down my spine. “The ways of the Sith, in order for them to continue, must be contained within the Rule of Two. When an apprentice surpasses the master, they become the master themselves to then continue passing on our teachings.”

“Why does the master have to die for that to happen?” I asked, clenching my hands. “It works just fine for the jedi to have multiple apprentices in life.”

Darth Bane hummed lowly. “You’ve spent time with the jedi. How do you perceive their power?”

I shrugged. “They lead armies. They can tip the scale in the war. I’ve seen them do incredible things.”

“Perhaps,” Bane allowed, which surprised me. “But I see where your thoughts stray. To the supposed sith you battled on Vandor.”

“Supposed?”

“He is but a pawn. His end will come when his master chooses a new, better suited apprentice.” I thought for a moment about how Dooku could possibly just be a pawn. He practically led the Separatist alliance. He fueled the continuation of the war itself. Bane read my thoughts. “A powerful pawn, mind you. But a temporary piece that will be replaced by one even more powerful.”

“Do you know who the master is?”

Bane watched me, chuckling. “You are not ready for such knowledge, child. First, you must learn why there are only two. I said before that the Force is like venom. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“It dilutes in numbers.” For some reason, I didn’t entirely believe that. I’d seen the jedi do incredible things, and there were a lot of them. “Consider your jedi friends,” he butt in, following my thoughts. “They were subdued by a half-baked sith. Imagine them facing a master. There are only two sith because our lust for power, which drives our strength, turned our armies to infighting. That was why we lost to the jedi long ago. With two, there is always one master and one apprentice. The venom does not get diluted when shared between only two. The teachings of the Sith Order are passed down between them, and they work from the shadows. This is how the sith survive. How we will find power again.”

I swallowed. “I understand that,” I allowed. “But I still don’t understand why you brought me here. There are already--” I cut off my own words, remembering Bane mentioning a new apprentice for the dark master. An apprentice to replace Dooku.

“You are a swift learner. Good.”

“Wait,” I cut him off, watching the spirit float above his sarcophagus once more. “What if this isn’t what I want? I don’t even fully understand the sith. I only know what--”

“What a jedi taught you,” Bane completed for me. “I’m aware. I called you here for your potential to be the next great Sith Lord. I care for the furthering of our code, though the current master is greedy, seeking immortality as many have before him. If you are fit for this, you will be his student and one day, surpass him to continue our order the right way.”

“But--”

“You have great power, young one. You must learn how to fully tap into that power. I will teach you. Show you that this is your destiny as your bloodline demands. I will make you fear nothing. You will be unstoppable.”

His words, though dark...were seductive. I used to have a lot of fear. I had many things that still frightened me. To be rid of that weight? To be able to strike down those that have hurt me? That scarred me so deeply that they still creep in my nightmares?

“Never listen to what others say. Take the jobs you see fit to yourself. The ones that you believe in.”

Jango’s voice was so loud in my mind, I nearly whirled to see if he was in the room. Still, my senses told me otherwise. I wondered if Bane had tapped at that particular memory on purpose.

“I am…” I hesitated, glancing at the stone beneath my boots. “Willing to listen. I want to understand. Hear both sides.”

“Good. Sit, child.” I breathed deeply, steadying myself before sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You have felt the power of the Dark Side before--my own, flowing through you. What did it feel like?”

“It felt…” I searched for the words. “Hot. Powerful. Uncontrollable. Dangerous.”

“Not good?”

He was prodding me towards an answer, I knew. But he wasn’t entirely wrong in his assessment either. “Maybe a little good. It felt good to protect my friends. To have power over someone so horrible.”

“Yes,” Bane praised. “Do you understand that this is a power you would not have possessed if not for you anger? For your hatred? You were facing a sith, after all.”

“I understand. But what made my ability better than his? He was a trained jedi once. And trained by a sith.”

“Bloodline is part of that. Those born of strong force users are often strong in the force themselves. Another is you have quite a well of passions to delve into. Dooku, though wronged by the jedi, still learned their ways of coping. Of suppressing their emotions. That keeps him from his true potential for growth.”

“A well of passions?”

“Your pains. Wrongs done against you. Hatred. Fear. Anger...love.” I recoiled slightly at his words. “You’ve lost so much, child. Use that sadness. Turn it to anger. To power.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to be angry all the time. I think,” I paused, sounding pathetic even to my own ears. “I think it would consume me.”

“It very well could. As is the risk of all sith.” That answer surprised me. “Your emotions give you power, but you are not a slave to them. You are a slave to nothing.”

“The Force shall free me,” I muttered, remembering the words the spirit had fed me while I battled Dooku.

“Yes,” Bane hummed in approval. “I can sense your hesitations at the jedi teachings.”

It wasn’t a question. He was more...leading me to explain. “Yes,” I allowed. “I understand they aim to control their abilities, which I do as well. But they allow not emotion. No attachment. That’s not...possible.” Bane floated before me, his hands folding behind his back. “Even two of their most powerful jedi have broken this rule. No one can truly let go of attachment.”

“So you see the lies of the jedi. They praise the light and try to snuff out the darkness with no regards to the power it provides. The freedom it provides. Do you understand that the Jedi Council would lose their power over others should their younglings understand this? This is why they fear the Dark Side so much.”

I understood. But something else flashed to my mind. “Wouldn’t that defeat the Rule of Two?”

“No,” Bane insisted, looming closer to peer at my face. “Those who were shown the truth would forsake the jedi ways, but they would not be Sith Lords. It would merely break the corrupt power of the jedi.”

“Why is the Dark Side...bad?”

“It’s not. The jedi have painted it so. In their overly righteous minds, they deem that all those with Force-sensitivity must serve the cause of the jedi--a cause they use to better themselves. Sith allow emotions, as it better connects us to the Force and strengthens our abilities within it.”

Every word he spoke drew me in further. He was right. I was angry. Hurt. Alone. Scared. The jedi would have be hush those feelings. Bury them deep within myself. Or even worse, let them go. 

They would belittle the things I’d gone through.

“I will teach you,” Darth Bane said again, floating before me. “Stand, apprentice.” Something within my swelled with pride at the title. I’d never been a formal student before. Even Jango had only taught me so that I didn’t die the second I left the planet. Bane wanted to teach me.

I stood, regarding my new teacher with some excitement.

“Close your eyes. Feel the living Force that flows through this planet.” I did as he asked, already aware of its power. “Think back. What makes you hurt? What angers you?”

That wasn’t hard to do, despite the memories being painful. I felt Bane in my mind, nudging me towards terrible memories, painting them in red in my mind. 

Living on the streets of Corellia, abandoned by parents I never knew. Forced to work for local gangs and criminals. The torture of the Zygerrians. The sting of their whips on my back--scars I still carried on my skin. The burn of the brand on my inner forearm. Being sold like livestock. Being eyed by all those who passed through Jabba’s Palace. Having to defend myself whenever Jabba wasn’t there to protect me. Death Watch. Defiling me. Using me. Scarring me even further until I barely had a will to live anymore. Jango dying. Boba blaming me. The jedi’s mistrust. Their plans to kill me because of my biology. Aurra pitting Boba against me. Rex...Rex saying he loved me. That he wanted me to stay.

I felt Bane in my mind. A part of me screamed that I understood Rex’s dilemma. I understood why he couldn’t leave. And then Bane entered my thoughts, splashing red over all the memories.

Rex had asked me to stay because he feared me. He wanted the jedi to control me. Maybe even kill me. He didn’t love me, like he claimed. He was trying to say whatever he could to keep me there.

“Good. Good,” Bane chuckled. “Feel your anger. Let it help you connect with the Force. Do you feel it?”

Angry tears pooled on my cheeks as I nodded, breathing heavily. “Yes.”

“Lift those rocks.” Bane gestured to a pile of heavy looking stones in the corner. My anger began to dissipate immediately.

“I’ve almost never done this on command. It’s always been...survival.”

Bane invaded my mind, bringing me back to Lawquane’s homestead. Rex had known about my Force abilities. Had he really just perceived that...or did he already know my secret? Was he a tool all along to gain my trust. To make sure the Republic--no-- the jedi had control over me?

“Lift them, my apprentice,” Bane demanded.

I turned to the rocks, stretching out my hands as I had in the past when I used the Force. I expected it to be difficult, as it had been before. I expected it to take all my concentration and will power.

Instead, fueled by my rage and confusion, the rocks lifted off the ground rather swiftly, surprising me. Still, my power drained quickly, my stamina within the Force poor at best. The rocks dropped back to the floor as I breathed heavily, looking at my own hands in awe.

“Good, my apprentice. You have incredible power. You will learn quickly,” he assured me. “The sith create their own lightsaber crystals,” he explained, floating before me with his hands behind his back. “They were once forged artificially through the Dark Side. Most apprentices I would have create their own. Yet, I sense that there is a particular crystal calling out to you.” That sentiment surprised me, considering I’d heard no call apart from Bane’s. 

Bane’s spirit swelled as if he was taking a breath before turning to me to glower from beneath his helmet.

“Go. Find this crystal that calls to you. Return when you have found it, and not before. Then your training will continue.”

I bowed my head slightly. Maybe it was my years as a slave. Or maybe it was Bane’s thoughts prodding me to do so. “Yes…” I hesitated for a brief moment. I’d had to call people master before, when I was a slave. But this...this was different. He was my master not as an owner, but as a teacher. “Yes, Master,” I said finally.

Bane’s spirit seemed pleased before his essence began to dissipate, the mist sliding back into the stone sarcophagus at the end of the room. I was left in darkness, aside from the pale moonlight that now filtered through the crack in the ceiling. 

I turned my flashlight back on before heading out of the tomb, hoping I could hear the call of whatever lightsaber was apparently meant for me.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Sorry for being off the map for so long. Lots going on. Updates should come with a bit more speed since I’ve actually already planned the next few chapters (so long as I keep up on actually writing them).

As always, reviews, comments, questions, and shares are always welcome and encouraged!

-Ryder

[gerryconway]

Stan the Man

Since the news of Stan Lee's death I've wanted to write something meaningful about my own feelings for him, what he represented to me as a creator and as a human being, and what kind of impact his life had on my life. For many reasons (I was dislocated by the Woolsley Fire and haven't fully settled down since our return) I haven't had a chance to give such an in-depth appraisal much thought. Honestly, I doubt I could do a full appraisal of Stan's importance in my life even under the best of circumstances. His work and presence as an icon and as a human being helped form who I am today. To write a full appreciation of Stan I'd have to write my autobiography.

Among my most vivid childhood memories is my discovery of the Fantastic Four with issue 4, the first appearance of the Sub-Mariner. I was nine years old, and I'd been a comic book reader for years at that point. I knew about Superman, I knew about Batman, I'd read the early issues of Justice League. I was a compulsive reader, voracious (still am)-- devoting hours a day to books and stories and comics and even my parents' newspapers. (Both my parents were avid readers. My dad read science fiction, my mom loved mysteries.) I vividly recall the astonished joy I felt when my mom took me to our local library and got me my first library card. I was six, I think, and the reality of a roomful of books just for kids seemed like a gift from heaven. I won all the reading awards at school-- any competition for reading the most books in a year was over as far as I was concerned the first week. By nine, I'd already graduated from "age appropriate" books for pre-teens to Heinlein's juveniles, Asimov's robot stories, and the collected Sherlock Holmes stories of Arthur Conan Doyle. I was a total reading nerd.

And then came Fantastic Four.

I've never been hit by lightning but I have to imagine the shock might be similar to what I experienced reading that early adventure of Reed Richards, Sue Storm, her kid brother Johnny, and Ben Grimm. If you weren't a comic book reader at that time you cannot imagine the impact those stories had. There's nothing comparable in the modern reader's experience of comics-- nothing remotely as transformative. (To be fair, I suppose both "The Dark Knight Returns" and "Watchmen" come close, but both remarkable works built on prior tradition and were perhaps a fulfillment of potential and creative expectations. The Fantastic Four was _sui generis_.) Over a series of perhaps five issues, a single year, Stan and Jack Kirby transformed superhero comics in an act of creative alchemy similar to transmuting lead into gold, and just as unlikely.

They also changed my life. Because Stan credited himself as writer and Jack as artist, he opened my nine year old eyes to a possibility I'd never really considered before: I could be something called a comic book "writer" or "artist."

Think about that, for a moment. Before Stan regularly began giving credits to writers and artists, comics (with a few exceptions) were produced anonymously. Who wrote and drew Superman? Who wrote and drew Donald Duck? Who wrote and drew Archie? Who knew? (Serious older fans knew, of course, but as far as the average reader or disinterested bystander knew, most comics popped into existence spontaneously, like flowers, or in some eyes, weeds.)

Stan did more than create a fictional universe, more than create an approach to superhero storytelling and mythology-- he created the concept of comic book story creation itself. Through his promotion of the Marvel Bullpen, with his identification of the creative personalities who wrote and drew Marvel's books, he sparked the idea that writing and drawing comics was something ordinary people did every day. (Yes, yes, to a degree Bill Gaines had done something similar with EC Comic's in-house fan pages, but let's be honest, EC never had the overwhelming impact on a mass audience that Marvel had later.) He made the creation of comic book stories something anyone could aspire to do _as a potential career_.

That's huge. It gave rise to a generation of creative talent whose ambition was to create comics. Prior to the 1960s, writing and drawing comic books wasn't something any writer or artist generally aspired to (obviously there were exceptions). Almost every professional comic book artist was an aspiring newspaper syndicated strip artist or an aspiring magazine illustrator. (Again, there were exceptions.) Almost every professional comic book writer was also a writer for pulp magazines or paperback thrillers. (Edmond Hamilton, Otto Binder, Gardner Fox, so many others-- all wrote for the pulps and paperbacks.) Comic book careers weren't something you aimed to achieve; they were where you ended up when you failed to reach your goal.

Even Stan, prior to the Fantastic Four, felt this way. It's an essential part of his legend: he wanted to quit comics because he felt it was stifling his creative potential, but his wife, Joan, suggested an alternative. Write the way you want to write. Write what you want to write. Write your own truth.

He did, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.

When I picked up that issue of Fantastic Four, I was a nine year old boy with typical nine year old boy fantasies about what my life would be. Some were literal fantasies: I'd suggested to my dad a year or so earlier that we could turn the family car into the Batmobile and he could be Batman and I could be Robin and we could fight crime. After he passed on that idea I decided we could be like the Hardy family-- he could be a detective and I could be his amateur detective son, either Frank or Joe. Later I became more realistic and figured I could become an actor who played Frank or Joe Hardy in a Hardy Boy movie. In fact, by nine, my most realistic career fantasies involved either becoming an actor or an astronaut, and of the two, astronaut seemed like the more practical choice.

Stan and Marvel Comics gradually showed me a different path, a different possible career. By making comic books cool, by making them creatively enticing, and by making the people who created comics _real_ to readers-- Stan created the idea of a career creating comics.

Stan alone did this. We can argue over other aspects of his legacy-- debate whether he or his several collaborators were more important in the creation of this character or that piece of mythology-- but we can't argue about this. Without Stan's promotion of his fellow creatives at Marvel there would have been no lionizing of individual writers and artists in the 1960s. Without that promotion there would have been no visible role models for younger, future creators to emulate. Yes, some of us would still have wanted to create comics-- but I'd argue that the massive explosion of talent in the 1970s and later decades had its origin in Stan's innovative promotion of individual talents during the 1960s.

Nobody aspires to play in a rock band if they've never heard of a rock band. The Marvel Bullpen of the 1960s was comicdom's first rock band.

That was because of Stan.

For me, Stan's presence in the world gave direction and purpose to my creative life, and my creative life has given meaning and purpose to my personal life. I am the man I am today, and I've lived the life I've lived, because of him. From the age of nine on, I've followed the path I'm on because of Stan Lee. (So much of my personal life is entangled in choices I've made as a result of my career it's impossible for me to separate personal from professional.)

My personal relationship with Stan, which began when I was seventeen years old, is more complex and less enlightening. It's a truism your heroes always disappoint you, and I was often disappointed by Stan. Yet I never stopped admiring him for his best qualities, his innate goodness, his creative ambition and unparalleled instincts. People often asked me, "What's Stan really like?" For a long time I had a cynical answer, but in recent years I realized I was wrong. The Stan you saw in the media was, in fact, the real Stan: a sweet, earnest, basically decent man who wanted to do the right thing, who was as astounded by his success as anyone, and who was just modest enough to mock himself to let us know he was in on the joke. I imagine Stan was grateful for the luck of being the right man at the right place at the right time-- but it's true he _was_ the right man. No one else could have done what he did. The qualities of ego and self-interest that I sometimes decried in him were the same qualities needed for him to fulfill the role he played. In typical comic book story telling, his weaknesses were his strengths. And his strengths made him a legend and a leader for all who came after him-- particularly me.

This has been a rambling appreciation, I know. Scattered and disjointed. Like I said, trying to describe the impact Stan had on my life would require an autobiography.

When I started thinking about Stan in light of his death I realized, for the first time (and isn't this psychologically interesting?) that Stan was born just a year after my father. When I met him, as a teenager struggling with my own father as almost all teenage boys do, Stan probably affected me as a surrogate father figure. Unlike my own father, Stan was a symbol of the possibilities of a creative life. He was a role model for creative success, like other older men in my life at the time. But unlike them, he'd been a part of my life since I was nine years old. A surrogate father in fantasy before he partly became one in reality.

Now he's gone. Part of me goes with him, but the greater part of me, the life I've led and built under his influence, remains.

Like so much of the pop culture world we live in, I'm partly Stan's creation.

'Nuff said.

[sanrionharbor-blog]

Reasons For Thinking Things Will End Well For Sansa & Tyrion (Even If It’s Not Romantic)

Long post ahoy! May eventually get around to their character arcs too, but had to put a period somewhere. ;-) Spoilers if you ain’t caught up; also considers some of the rumored “leaks” and the Dark!Dany theory. Thou hast been warned. 

What The Actors Say About Their Characters in Season 8

Peter Dinklage actually said quite a bit about his character’s conclusion when he said “it ends beautifully for Tyrion.” He appends that by saying “death can be a great way out,” but in what ways can things wrap up “beautifully” and still involve death? That tells me that IF Tyrion dies (no guarantees), it can be interpreted in a positive way: a sacrifice for the greater good, more than likely.

This can debunk the possibility that was proposed that Sansa would “go behind people’s backs” to protect her family. How does A debunk B? Some people think it’s possible Sansa could use Tyrion’s affection (platonic or otherwise) for a chance at Northern Independence. While this is a mindset that Littlefinger taught her to utilize, I don’t see Sansa duping Tyrion and possibly leading to his death (with that, I mean the death-by-trial rumors). Why? Again, because of Dinklage’s comments (above) and Sophie’s comments (below):

Let’s take into account what Sophie revealed about her character: she said in season 8 interviews that Sansa will be shown as “…a steely, strong, manipulative, intelligent, kind, young woman” who “has the strength of her family behind her.” So, even if she does risk tearing the Stark’s apart, she still has them behind her. And I can’t imagine Turner describing her character as “kind” if she was willing to use Tyrion like a tool. Of course, GOT is king of the morally grey character, but I think it’d be a hard sell for Sansa to manipulate Tyrion so shortly after they faced death together. She was vulnerable with him in the crypts; she survived with him. Survival was the key factor that bonded Sansa with Theon, and look how deep their relationship became. I don’t think Sansa will think of Tyrion lightly after this, to say the least.

I think there’s enough inferences to draw the conclusion that both Tyrion and Sansa are good people–but also ruthless when needed. But why would either need to betray or manipulate the other, especially when they could just as easily vent through Jon, who’s the real bridge between the Starks and Targaryens (on more than one level)? Let’s not forget: Tyrion doesn’t yet know about Jon’s claim to the throne. Neither do Sansa or Varys, for that matter. And how those three react to that information will be more politically influential than how Dany or even Jon feel about it.  

The Barrier Between Sansa and Tyrion

What could eliminate this barrier between Sansa and Tyrion: the fact that Tyrion is technically obligated to be more loyal to Daenerys than anybody else?

Well, if Daenerys’ claim was eclipsed by Jon’s. 

Or if Daenerys decided to grant Northern Independence anyway (is this why the Northerners are so cheery in the ep. 4 preview?).

Or if Dark!Dany materializes.

What the Dark!Dany Theory Could Mean

It is interesting to note that it took Jorah to convince Dany to give Tyrion another chance. And now Jorah is gone.

In addition, they can’t have made Tyrion less-than-clever the past few seasons and driven tension between him and Dany without a purpose. Part of it is less-than-stellar writing, yes, but when D&D get things right, they really get them right. And even though I believe the books will diverge wildly from the show, the same beats will supposedly be present, and I can’t help but think GRRM has something clever in store for Tyrion’s endgame. In fact, at this point, I’m really holding out for GRRM’s ideas to help bolster whatever framework D&D have put together.

And that framework includes a questionable, morally grey Daenerys.

So, Jorah’s voice is no longer influencing Dany.

Tyrion and Dany are still in hot water.

Tyrion will be present at King’s Landing (and though I want Sansa to be there so I can see more Sansa, I don’t know why she’d leave the North after she’s been acting as de-facto leader all this time…unless Dany entices her presence with some promise of Northern Independence, perhaps if they needed Sansa to convince the Vale/Riverlands to fight for them–I can’t remember where we left the Tully‘s in all this, to be honest). So there’s a slight possibility that Sansa will be there during the arc in the South, and to further explore the tense dynamics between her, Jon, Tyrion, and Dany.

Again, how the political players react to Jon’s parentage will have major repercussions. These players include Sansa, Tyrion, and Varys.

And what will be the value of dragons in the commoners’ eyes now that the threat of a magical unrelenting force is no longer in play (or so we think)? At this point, the dragons represent a liability to everyone but Daenerys.

And what about Ahor Azai? I’m not totally convinced that Arya was this legendary figure, but only because she doesn’t fit the bill for the prophecy. And why did Melisandre never address the fact that she could have been “wrong” for bringing Jon back? Why would D&D (and, we think, GRRM in tandem) plan Jon’s revival and bolster up this prophecy if it was just going to be ignored?

[I’m far from the first one to talk about the following theory]:

Could it be that the Ahor Azai isn’t a savior but a destroyer? The “fire” of a song of ice & fire? The Targaryen that people like Rhaegar so desperately wanted to produce–a promised prince/ss. But who, ironically, attempts to destroy what the Targaryens built.

After all, GRRM himself likened Dany’s dragons to nukes. He doesn’t take them lightly, nor does he think his readers should.

And I can’t help but think of Emilia Clarke’s surprisingly revealing words on Dany in Season 8: “I couldn’t believe this would be the last flavor left in people’s mouths of who Daenerys is.” [paraphrased]

Regardless, there’s groundwork for this plot twist–but no guarantees. If Dany, short of going mad, completely loses her voice of reason through Jorah, Tyrion would have very good reasons to defect. And would probably (hopefully) be the one to mastermind how to neutralize such a threat. Not a pretty picture, but an appropriately GOT-esque one.

Or….

Perhaps Daenerys does destroy what the Targaryens built. She destroys the Iron Throne, thus breaking the wheel, but she must do so with her death. 

This would be a far more heroic (and still thematically satisfying) conclusion for Daenerys, albeit bittersweet, and, if Tyrion and Sansa survived all events prior to that possible scenario, would also “eliminate the barrier.”

But hey, this is all speculation. 

Hand Kiss Symbolism

The hand kiss was arguably many things, but one thing for certain: Tyrion acknowledging his and Sansa’s own humanity in the face of death.

But let’s just safely say it wouldn’t have played in the same fashion with any of the other available characters (Missandei, Varys, etc.). So, the kiss was also very specific to Sansa and Tyrion’s relationship. It was a gesture of humanity that made the most sense between these two characters. When a kiss makes the most sense between two characters, something is up.

So, one one hand, it can be seen as romantic. As a shipper, I have no problem with this interpretation.

On the other hand, it’s also interesting to note that a kiss on the hand is generally a sign of loyalty. Kissing the ring on a ruler’s hand, etc., common practices, etc.

A pledge.

Sansa and Tyrion thought they were going to die. Beautifully, ironically, after Sansa pretty much pointed out that fighting the wights was futile, they decided to enter the fray anyway. To die as the best versions of themselves.

There wasn’t a future worth considering, so Tyrion kissing Sansa’s hand couldn’t be seen as “I pledge my loyalty to you.” HOWEVER, the contextual symbolism remains. Could it be foreshadowing, a metaphor, a hint that Tyrion’s loyalties will change in the future?

In a show laden with symbolism, it’s certainly a possibility.

[acreativeintrovert-blog]

So today's talk was on who we allow to mold our thinking. God, or this world under the rule of Satan? At Romans 12:2, we are counseled: “Stop being molded by this system of things, but be transformed by making your mind over, so that you may prove to yourselves the good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” Those inspired words show that whatever molded our thinking before we learned about God, it is possible to bring our thoughts into closer harmony with God’s. Does it really matter who molds our thinking? Why is it beneficial that we allow God to mold our thinking? Why do some people refuse to allow God to mold their thinking? And how can we protect ourselves from developing the thinking of this world?

•

Consider the situation between Jesus and Peter. Jesus, the one they expected to restore Israel’s kingdom, said that he would soon suffer and die. It was the apostle Peter who spoke up. “Be kind to yourself, Lord,” he said. “You will not have this happen to you at all.” Jesus countered: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me, because you think, not God’s thoughts, but those of men.”—Matt. 16:21-23; Acts 1:6. Jesus made a distinction between thoughts that originate with God and thoughts that originate with this world under Satan’s control. (1 John 5:19) Peter echoed the self-sparing attitude of the world. But Jesus knew that his Father’s thinking was different. He knew that God wanted him to brace himself for the suffering and death that awaited him. Jesus' instant reply was a clear rejection of that worldly thinking, in favor of the thinking of his father. It's not always easy to align our thinking or viewpoint to God's. Actually, doing so requires a deliberate effort. On the other hand, it's all too easy to absorb the world’s thinking. That is because the spirit of the world is all around us. (Eph. 2:2) and because it often appeals to self-interest, the world’s way of thinking can be enticing.

•

Why might some actually resist allowing someone to mold their thinking? It's a growing trend lately, this whole "do what you want", "don't let anyone tell you what to do", “I think for myself,” movement. They want to make their own decisions and that is proper to do so. They do not wish to be controlled, nor do they want to surrender their individuality. But really, even the most independent of thinkers cannot avoid being influenced. Whether contemplating something so profound as the origin of life or simply deciding what to wear, people are to some degree affected by others. We can, however, choose whom we will allow to influence us. We're not giving up our individuality by molding our view point and thinking to that of God's. Much the opposite. 2 Corinthians 3:17 brings out that where the spirit of God is, there is freedom. God allowed us the freedom to develop unique personalities, and interestes. But there are some restrictions. When it comes to issues of right and wrong, God wants us to be guided by his thinking as revealed in his Word. Is this overly restrictive, or is it beneficial?

•

Considering something everyone of us is familiar with. That of parents and children. Parents set rules, rules to protect and guide their children. They try to instill values in them to be honest, considerate, and kind people. They're not being restrictive, no, they're trying to raise their children to be capable adults. If the children choose to live within the values that they learned from their parents, they will be more likely to make decisions that they will not later regret. As a result, they will be free from many self-induced troubles and anxieties. God is that parent. He is our Father. Like a good parent, God wants his children to have the most fulfilling life possible. He therefore provides basic principles for moral conduct and for behavior toward others. In such matters he invites us to cultivate his very way of thinking and to share his values. It helps us make choices that lead to happiness while still allowing us to blossom as individuals. In the long run, it is beneficial for us.

•

While the world as tried to offer advice on moral conduct, family relationships, job satisfaction, and other aspects of life. Much of it is out of harmony with godsG thinking. For example, self-promotion is often encouraged. So is tolerance of sexual immorality. Separation and divorce for frivolous reasons are sometimes advised as a means of achieving greater happiness. Not even the growing advancing technology, or higher education (nothing can be as high as learning about God though. Isa. 55:9) but none of it has been able to solve the major problems that stand in the way of happiness, such as war, racism, and crime. Moses, for example, was educated “in all the wisdom of the Egyptians,” he looked to God for “a heart of wisdom.” (Acts 7:22; Ps. 90:12) He also petitioned God: “Make me know your ways.” (Ex. 33:13) The apostle Paul was an intelligent and learned man, yet, when it came to matters of principle, he rejected worldly wisdom. Instead, he based his reasoning on the Scriptures.

•

So how can we avoid having how thoughts molded to the world? For one, we must stop taking into our minds ideas or viewpoints that are in opposition to God’s. And we need to start taking in God's thoughts, his words through the Bible. We need to dwell and meditate on how He views things. We cant serve two masters. But it's impossible to avoid contact with the world entirely, after all kids need to go to school, and we need to go to work. Some exposure to its ideas is inescapable. However, where contact with ungodly views is unavoidable, we certainly need not entertain them or accept them. Like Jesus, we should be quick to reject thoughts that serve Satan’s purpose.

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But we can protect ourselves from unnecessary exposure. One way, is that we should exercise caution when choosing our close friends. The Bible warns that if we keep close company with people who do not worship God, their thinking will rub off on us. Take King Solomon for example. God gave him wisdom. But King Solomon was influenced by his foreign wives and was lead astray from God to worship false ones. Another thing is by being selective when choosing entertainment. By rejecting entertainment that promotes the theory of evolution, violence, or immorality, we avoid poisoning our thinking with ideas that are against the knowledge of God. We need to be very careful. Satan likes to make things appear harmless, sudtle. For example, a news report might be angled in such a way so as to favor certain political opinions. Some movies and books promote the “me first” and “family first” philosophies, making them seem reasonable, appealing, even right. Even some children’s stories, though otherwise unobjectionable, may subtly lay the groundwork for accepting immoral behavior. One of the lady's in my congregation, who has a 5 year old, mentioned that Clifford, you know, the big red dog, well in one of the books recently has mentioned Cliffords dad having a boyfriend. Even directed to little kids now, they're trying to make it all acceptable. The feminist movement, one I'll admit I got caught up in, while the idea is great- considering God had intended women to be respected and treated equal- has a few snares. One is the topic of abortion. They cover it with the saying "Her body, her choice" But that's that same selfish reasoning that Peter had showed.

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Remember, there are basically two sources of information—God and the world under Satan’s control. By which source are we being molded? The answer is, the source from which we obtain information. If we take in the world’s ideas, these will mold our thinking, inclining us toward fleshly points of view and behavior. That is why it is vital that we guard what we allow our minds to dwell on.