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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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The Horror and the Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader]

It's time for the wedding - and the wedding night. Emperor is going to make sure you will bear his offsprings by the end of the night. Tags and TW: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator AO3

You weren’t saved from the humiliation of a public wedding.

You weren’t saved the torture of picking the flowers as you were choosing the attire to your own funeral – and you weren’t saved your innocence by allowing yourself to ignore all the handmaidens and their horrible, disgusting picture books about penetration, pools of blood and hell that is saved between the legs of a man.

“My condolences, dear princess. For your parents. And congratulations on your wedding. Our deepest hopes go to your coronation, Empress.” “From the king of South, we send our sheerest condolences. And congratulations on the wedding.” “May your parents rest in peace. And glory to the Emperor.” “Grief surely suits you, Dear Empress. As well as the crown.”

You think you might puke right in your royal garments, looking at all of the royal visitors.

King Price of Southern Kingdom, with all of his knights – you do not know if you can find solace in the girl clinging to the hand of his masked knight, the stench of death filling you with calmness that you don’t know how to deal with. The girl is terrified, just like you – if you may, you’re probably the same age, that years of servitude grazing in the hands that are covered by the sheerest amounts of gloves.

The lady – you don’t know her name, and you doubt that any woman in this hall is even allowed to have one other than her husband’s – is looking at you with understanding. You think you might actually die.

— Lady Ryley?

She smiles, and before you can go to her – hold her hands, ask her to disappear with you, maybe run away somewhere, you don’t even know where – the masked knight already drags her away, a firm hand on her shoulder. You’re alone, the weight of the royal robe is pinning you to the floor.

You are dressed in black as the only form of rebellion – guests must assume you’re still mourning your parents, the grief in their eyes is mixed with congratulations on the Empire finally getting prospects of offspring – you hope you’d tore your womb from your body before König could lay his hands on you. Guests may assume that the wedding is a tab bit strange, maybe somewhat unusual for the emperor to marry someone of your status – tiny kingdom, no worthwhile resources, and almost zero prospects for trade. Maybe, you were the only treasure this kingdom ever had to sell so eagerly.

König holds your hands because you know that you would try to run the second he is letting you go. You know he knows this, too. Guests may assume that he is being protective of his young wife – assassins aren’t unheard of in these places, after all, you were the empress now. The much smarter guests knew what kind of looks you gave him – perhaps, you had the best options at killing the notorious emperor right after he robbed you of the last remains of your dignity.

You smile and wave like a damned pampered pigeon, pretty and useless, all dressed up in bows and black pearls, dark stones illuminating the depths of your despair – only the monster you had for a husband would even consider ordering a mourning dress this beautiful. You’re almost ashamed of wanting to paint it red – you almost feel bad while holding the butter knife and thinking about plunging it into your chest, ripping away all the delicate laces and ornaments that cut through your skin each time you breathe a bit too freely.

— You look divine in this dress, meine Liebe.

He smiles, you know he is – he didn’t forget about his damn hood even on his own wedding, but he holds you dearly, but he smiles with his eyes, an eerie sense of happiness that makes every guest shake in their seats. The Ruler of the Empire doesn’t smile. Not at his wife, who looks like she would rather kill herself, for sure – but he smiles as you say your wows, knowing full well you are not going to fulfill them, but he laughs when the priest stutters once you refused to say you do the first time – König has to squeeze your hands, reminding you of your place. Even your stubbornness has a limit, apparently.

His lips are dry and chastity.

König knows he can’t kiss you like he wants to – too many guests, too many pricks, thinking they have a look on his wife. If it weren’t for the admirers and desperate rulers of foreign lands, trying to force their songs and daughters to marry him out of a pathetic attempt at saving their countries, he wouldn’t even think about a public wedding. If it weren’t for the annoyance of constantly swatting the offers away, he would never allow the world to see you. Not how beautiful you look, not how pretty your eyes are, glistening with tears, not how much he just wanted to smother you with affection like there isn’t anyone around.

Hells, if he knew so many people would accept the short notice for an invitation, he would invade their kingdoms while they were away at his wedding.

König holds your face in his hands, the contrast between soft skin and his gloves is making you shiver – he pushes his hood up, even just for a little bit, and the only thing that is ever revealed to the audience is the scars on his chin and sudden dryness of his lips. He thought he overcame his childish anxiety when he was still a tiny bird stuck in his adolescence – but he looks at you, his pretty little princess, and his hands are shaking from the anticipation of a kiss.

The guests will assume you’re crying because you love him so, so much.

The Emperor knows better, kissing the tears from your lips like it was the sweetest treat around.

*** You thought you were smart.

You really did.

Such a slick motion, such an easy task – the girl coming with Knight Riley, the weak one, with trembling hands and face that spoke of innocence of lambs and with calloused hands of a fellow worker, took your hand as you were leaving. The veil of laughs and jokes about finally conceiving a worthy heir for the empire made you shiver from horror – and the girl swatted you to her side, a single sleight of hand putting…something in your palms.

Some sort of plant – dried, smelling of something sweet and edible, flowers that would feel crispy on your tongue. She smiles softly, her hands are gentle on yours – she whispers in your ear before your respective monsters can catch you and throw you in their layers again.

She said, it was mercy.

She said, it would make -it- feel quick and easy.

You hoped, it was a poison.

It had to be, you wouldn’t accept anything else – the desire to die and fulfill the destiny of a loyal servant, the whispers of the god of dignified death – you may not see the sweetness of the afterlife with your Princess, but killing oneself to save their bodies from being violated is a worthy fate for any. You pushed the plant in your mouth as swiftly as possible, chewing on the dried grass and crispy flowers, hoping the effect would be immediate.

You’re bathed and oiled like a pig for devour, short for the apple stuffed in your mouth – instead, you have forced a mouthful of wine, goblets after goblets. To ease the tension of the first night, the servants said, smiling understandably. You feel warm, you feel dizzy, you feel hellishly feverish, and it couldn’t be just from the alcohol – you close your eyes and hope that the plant took its way finally, releasing you from the shell of the mortal life. You’re dressed up in pretty garments, skimpy as something that the empress should never wear – you feel like a cheap whore when your skin is glossy with oils and decorated with flowers.

Just before you started chewing on them too, your husband finally arrived.

You hoped you’d be dead before ever seeing him naked again – but you’re forced to watch his muscles tense as the only thing saving his lack of dignity is the smallest ever piece of undergarments. It doesn’t help in hiding his arousal, the monstrosity between his legs. You knew you would have to die before he is ever putting anything in you – but you see the outline of his manhood, poking from the side of a simple cloth, and somehow, you feel hotter than before.

You blame it on the wine, you blame it on the poison you took. The warmness is spreading in your tummy to your lower areas, forcing its way to moisture your garments, a wet spot, embarrassingly big for an Empress, is slowly spreading between your oiled, scented legs. You’re nothing but a feast for him, a pretty little snack – you knew how much he liked to eat, after all. What great talent he had in forcing your legs apart and showing his head between them, that sinful tongue of his speaking of prayers and soft little blasphemies in the sweetness of your maidenhood.

— You’re burning, little princess.

You hoped it’s the poison working.

For a second, he placed his hand on your forehead and caressed it softly, accessing your temperature. For a second, the cold of his hands made you nuzzle into his palm like a cat that was fed nothing but the finest pieces of meat by the hand that was ready to skin it for its skin. For a second, you hoped that his embrace alone would be enough to kill you.

If you die, which you must do, you wish it would be with his hands holding you softly.

— A virgin fewer? I thought you’d know what we’re going to do by now, little prin…

— Don’t stop be from dying.

You let go of those words before you could claim your silence.

König’s hands are grasping you immediately, a finger lays in your mouth, making you gag – you open your lips from instinct, no matter how much you want to stop him from ever entering your mouth. He is weirdly smooth with you, the other hand going to grab your waist and press you on the bed – like you ever had a chance to stand against him and run away. Like he didn’t have a row of guards just outside the door.

— Dying? Scheisse, dumme What did you do?

He quickly grasped your tongue, the traces of the flower still lingered on your teeth, on the further corners of your mouth – you didn’t know if you had to spit it out or eat it whole, and you didn’t want to guess in the matters of death and loss of dignity. You gag on his fingers as he laughs – an unusual sound. First, the smiles and happiness in his voice, the rings and chains he put you in, and now laugh? Perhaps you died already, and this is your eternal damnation.

— Let go of me! You have no…

— Were you still so scared, Liebling?

— I wasn’t…what do you mean, Your Highness?

The title is good, the title puts some distance between you and him. Only imaginary – he is still as close as possible, hands on your body, wiping the traces of the flowers on the silk sheets and holding you in his embrace again, as tight as he possibly can. You feel ill, you feel hot, every time he puts his hands on you, you can feel your core throbbing, the poison making you dizzy and dumb.

You almost feel like begging him to touch you again – and again, and again. König, for one, can’t wait to watch.

— I wonder where you got it. Such a clever Katzen, ja? Eating aphrodisiacs before her wedding night, like I would just mount you like an animal without preparing my wife?

He laughs and laughs, hand in your hair, petting you gently like you truly were a cat. You’re dumbfounded, the fewer makes everything make less and less sense. You close your eyes, you open your eyes – you feel him on you. Looking, watching, observing, you want him to stop, and you want him to rip away those stupid garments and touch you, as he did in that dim hallway, to push his masterful, sinful tongue down your folds and treat you like a…

You whimper as you fell on the sheets, truly embracing the cat in-heat stance you were for the last few minutes. You roll on the sheets, smooth silk makes your core cool just a bit, the pressure only building with each time you try to hump the sheets, not caring anymore if you were behaving like an animal.

Perhaps, the Knight’s maiden really wanted to make everything easier for you – just in her own way.

— Wh…what have you done to me?

He is bracing his hands between your legs, lingering touches on the wetness of your garments, making you both shiver in anticipation. He is forcing his tongue on you, the immediate pressure making you meow from the sensation. You hate it, you hate it, you have to hate it because if you don’t, then what the hell are you even doing. It’s too much and too little, it does nothing to relief the warmth between your legs, only making you wetter with each stroke of his wide, warm tongue. — I haven’t done anything, little princess. You just want me.

— I would never want you.

— I can stop.

You snap your legs around his neck before he can withdraw his face.

König is laughing, the sheer adorableness of your expression making him want you even more. You look perfect, so lost in desire for him – gods, he just wanted to devour you, to strip you of all you worth and make you his just as much as he is yours. But simply pleasing you with his tongue won’t ever be enough for this night – he had waited for so long, too long, disgustingly long, he had to have you in every way possible. If he won’t consummate the marriage today, he might as well just die.

Other night, he will make you beg – plead for him to give you his cock, push the throbbing member in your trembling folds, snap the pleasure from your hands and force you to accept being his wife. The other night, he could wait and tease you for as long as possible. The other night…

He doesn’t have the patience for this night – he can’t even kiss you now, the mere feeling of your trembling lips would snap him beyond repair. It’s unfair to you, little princess, his desire is too much for someone like you to take – alas, he has to have you. Alas, he will have you, one way or the other, even if he’d have to push your pretty head into the pillows and force his manhood between your folds.

But you plead for him, the desire in your eyes, mixed with fear and anticipation, is enough for him to laugh again, his hand squeezing your chest. You look divine, absolutely – you would look even better when properly bred, tits full of milk, and belly swollen with his little soldiers. Emperor never thought of getting an offspring, always knew his fate was to fall into obscurity with the country he created, but you have wide hips, a soft belly, and warm hands – all the requirements of a mother. But you have the submissiveness of a pet and the wit of a wife.

But he can’t wait to push his seed into you – with a groan, before you could even lay your eyes on his cock, he is already forcing it in, ravaging all the resistance you once had.

The plant made you warm, aroused, and wet enough to be dripping when he first pushed his cockhead between your glistening folds. You cry, the feeling of being intruded, ravaged, bot entirely painful, but now very pleasant either, is nothing you were expecting of the first night with your husband. You were expecting screaming, pools of blood, half of your organs falling out from the newly made hole between your legs.

You just feel…intruded. The knot in your stomach is as tight as ever, even as König gives you a few minutes to adjust, the outline of his manhood throbbing in your tummy. You don’t even want to look at him, and he allows you to drift into a trance, the aphrodisiac you took doing all the job of preparation for him.

He is feeling you, raw and sensitive, your maidenhood is dripping down your thighs and his cock as he wasn’t exactly gentle – he will be the next night, and the night after, and after, he will promise to take care of you, little princess, but this night is about taking what belongs to him – and he will never allow you to keep your dignity when you can simply be his dumb, adorable wife.

— You’re so…heavens, princess, you’re strangling me.

He laughs, struggling to push in and out, his hand finding its place on your folds, playing and tugging with your swollen little clit. The bud is wet, no matter the pain you’re experiencing – the drug won’t allow you to stop wanting it, wanting him, König knows it’s not genuine, he has to work to make you this aroused, but for now, it will work. He doesn’t want you to feel pain – and he will make sure you’re able to take him.

— Too much, it’s…stop, wait, I am…

— You can take it, Schatzi.

— I can’t! — You will.

You whimper under him, you cry under him, he only continues to move, tearing your loyalty to your kingdom with each harsh thrust. You came to this room wanting to die, but now you feel your hands wrapping around his neck, your hips buckling to meet his, to bring the overcoming pleasure like König isn’t the one to tear you apart – you feel raw, you feel tainted, the pleasure in your folds is nothing what you ever had before.

You’re betraying yourself with each moan and each whimper – you find yourself begging for him, the tears of yours is not just from pain anymore. He kisses you, rough lips on your mouth, making sure you’re as prepared for him as he is, you want for him to stop, but you plead with him to continue.

— Stop already…I…

— I only came twice, little princess. And you – trice. Doesn’t feel fair, ja? — ‘s not, I can’t take it anymore…

— I will breed you, Schatzen. Until you’re swollen with my sons. — It w…won’t be royal children…

— Ach, my blood is enough to make a dog royal. — But…

— I will breed you, little princess. You can stop pretending you don’t want it.

You’re not even sure at what orgasm you are already – you feel like he came already, the wetness in your cunt should be evident of his already breeding you quite a few times, but the time is a blur when every time you cum, your vision blurs and your brain becomes foggier and foggier.

König knows you will look perfect, all thoughtless and swollen with his children – not now, maybe, with a few elixirs to enhance your ability to bear children, but he can’t wait till you’re done. You might not like it at first, princesses do tend to be just a bit dumb when it comes to their duties, but there is something in your eyes that is telling him you’re going to bring him sons just like a good girl you are. Just like he expects you to do, your pretty tummy all swollen, and your body is barely handling the passion of his lovemaking. Gods, he knew you would be worth it. Even if, to his knowledge, you’re not a princess at all.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig cod #male yandere #yandere male

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illyrian-dreamer · 6 months

Text

Our girl – Part 6

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Violence, character death

<<< Part 5

“Y/N, we are ready for you,” Thesan said with a soft smile.

You swallowed as you entered the decadent marble room, the binder under your arm almost bursting with hundreds of papers of research you collated.

Several powerful sets of eyes fell on you, and you forced your own forward, fighting the instinct to cast them low in respect. You were doing this for Prythian, for all fae – they should feel honoured for the opportunity, not you.

With smiles from Tarquin and Tamlin, you took the seat Thesan withdrew for you – the tall, regal shape foreign as it pressed to your back.

Rhysand and Feyre sat opposite, their eyes warm beneath their gaze. But you were too preoccupied to meet it.

“And since when are we in the business of inviting commoners to these meetings? I won't share my table with court-crossing whores.”

You let out a tired breath, your patience for the male ego completely diminished over the past years.

“I suppose you’ve excused that every time one of your sons has sat for these meetings, Beron?”

The words had left your mouth before you could stop them.

Beron’s eyes widened, his face flushing red, and a few snorts and stifled laughs could be heard across the table.

Fuck – you could kiss Autumn’s allegiance goodbye. You would have to be a lot less impulsive if you were to make it out of this meeting alive.

"I will not–" Beron began, his hands curling into fists.

“Oh calm yourself Beron, you had no right to insult her in the first place.” Tarquin was grinning at you – ever the loyal friend. You gave him a tight smile to say thanks.

“And if you’re wondering who invited her here, you can steer your anger towards me,” Tamlin spoke smoothly, intertwining his fingers as he placed his solid arms on the table, meeting Beron’s glare with confidence.

“I for one, would like to hear what Y/N has to say,” Feyre added, with a confident nod to you.

It seemed you had an alliance at play all along.

With clear of your throat, you opened your binder, rolling out a detailed map of Prythian and with it months of research on each of the courts. You took a breath, and began the proposal you and your team had spent weeks perfecting.

“You may have heard of aid work spreading across Spring in light of the aftermath of the war. My team and I have worked tirelessly to support vulnerable communities across the court, providing food, medicine and shelter for those devastated by Hybern.”

“Spring Court only suffered devastation because of its alliance with Hybern in the first place,” Kallias interrupted, followed by a murmur of agreements.

Tamlin straightened. “I acknowledge my court was left at Hybern's mercy due to my decisions. But Y/N has worked despite of that – and it’s what makes her work so important.”

“In what way?” Thesan asked.

“A courtless ambition,” you affirmed. “A team of volunteers – made from all courts, for all courts. Resources provided from across Prythian, shared equally to help those in need despite what throne they serve.”

There was a moment of silence, before Beron sounded a loud snort.

“Don't trust her for one second,” he scoffed, pointing a finger at you. “She’s been hauled up in Spring Court for over a year now. No doubt this is a ruse to have us open our borders. She’ll be free to rob our people and lands, all the while fucking her handsome High Lord.”

“Watch how you speak of her,” Rhysand growled, night crawling across the table, the purple in his eyes all but gone.

You had to interject before this meeting finished as quickly as it started. “I assure you, this mission has no binding to Spring Court. It is to exist without borders so we may help anyone in need, and travel with ease to provide urgent care.”

Beron ignored Rhysand and instead cold eyes to you, his lips curling with distaste. “And you believe we need your help?” he spat. “The fae of Spring are weak. My subjects are well cared for, and my court is thriving.”

Gods, you could see where Eris got it from.

“According to my research, inflation in your court is a second close to Spring, and displacement is rising with little access to healers after you centralised them during the war.”

Beron’s face flushed an even deeper red than before, his eyes turning to a murderous cold and your stomach twisted with both fear and delight.

“There is not one court here that is in a position to refuse this kind of offer,” Tarquin said with sweeping calm, silencing Beron before he could bubble over. “We would do well to not let our pride stop an ambition of this size.”

“Y/N,” he added, turning to you. “I admire the work you have done in Spring, Tamlin has testified and frankly sung much high praise. If you might show me your plans of what role Summer Court could play in your mission, I would be happy to come to an agreement to provide volunteers and resources.”

You swallowed, your heart swelling. You had no doubt Tarquin would offer his allegiance, but it was a milestone all the same. “Thank you, Tarquin.”

“My mate and I would like to offer the allegiance of the Night Court. We would be honoured for your help,” Feyre’s face strong and stern, but you knew them well enough to feel the waves of pride from both her and Rhys.

“Consider Day Court an ally too,” Hellion beamed, trusting of Feyre’s alliance to now make his own. “We have some of the oldest practicing healers – if you can help spread their knowledge across our lands, it will help us to grow stronger as a continent, and perhaps more resistant should we face another invasion in future.”

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head gratefully to the High Lords and Lady around you.

“You’re all fools,” Beron spat, pushing up from his chair. “And I won't stand to watch you place the fate of our lands in the hands of a traitor, let alone a woman.”

A series of snarls sounded as claws of all kinds shot out. Tamlin’s hands shook as he gripped the tables edge, Tarquin’s scraped at his chair, and Rhys’s tapped with threatening impatience.

“Your mind betrays you, Beron,” Feyre spoke coldly, a cruel smile at play on her lips. “Because despite countless centuries in this world, you and your seven sons couldn't hope to accomplish as much as this female has in just a few years. You’re embarrassed. You feel she emasculates you.”

You didn't have a moment to gawk before Beron launched at you, his fist in your hair as he ripped you backwards in your chair. Droplets of his disgusting spit landing their mark as he snarled down at you. “You mark my words you sly bitch. You may have everyone wrapped around you finger, but step one foot in my court and I’ll–”

Guards had pulled Beron from you before he could finish his sentence. They hardly had to escort him as he shook their grip, storming from the room and slamming the doors behind him.

With red cheeks and a slight shake of your hands, you took Tarquins offer to help you stand.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

You offered a single nod, too stunned to know truly. Was this how the High Lords settled business?

You straightened your skirts and took your seat once again.

“I do hate it when he gets like that,” Tarquin said more loudly, feigning a bored sigh and hiding a comforting hand on your thigh beneath the table.

“For your knowledge Y/N, there are rules that we must not to lay hands on another High Lord or Lady, not without consequence. I suppose that’s why he launched at you,” Thesan explained, willing a glass of water in front of you and giving you a sorry smile.

You took a shaky sip, barely having a moment to register the silent exchange between Tamlin, Feyre and Rhys. Whatever their stern expressions meant, you knew Beron was in deep, deep shit.

The rest of the meeting went smoothly – you convinced Thesan and Kallias to consider your proposal, and agreed to meet with them in future after they took some time to study your plans in more detail. In total you had four courts agree, two remained uncertain, and one definite no. It was overwhelming result, and you were riddled with both excitement and anxiousness at the thought of expanding your mission to not just one, but three new courts.

As the meeting adjourned, you found yourself thinking of Eris, and couldn't help but feel empathetic. You may have an unwelcome bond binding you to the two males who broke your heart, but at least your future wasn't dictated by someone as hideous as Beron. Eris would never be that free.

You spent your evening writing to the other volunteers and your uncle, and preparing plans and strategies to begin work in Summer. It would be beneficial to start there, to have more experienced healers on board.

There was a soft rap at your door, and Feyre’s blossom-like scent floated through the gaps.

Quill now mid-air, your heart fastened with momentary worry. But you took a breath - it was just a conversation, you could grant her that. After all, there were many more meetings with her and Rhys to come if you hoped to expand to the Nigh Court successfully. You'd also likely need to return to the Night Court yourself…

Stopping your spiral of thoughts, you cleared your throat. “Come in,” you called, placing your quill down and turning in your seat.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No no. Please, come in,” you gestured.

She strode with confidence, dark drapes of her dress flowing behind as they sparkled like the Velarian sky you hadn't realised you longed for. “I won't stay long, I just wanted to tell you that you were incredible today.” Those grey eyes pinned you with sincerity, before fluttering with a sideways glance. “And perhaps I’m also here to see how you’re fairing after the meeting. I’m sorry, I didn't think Beron…"

You huffed humorously, your head cocking down as you let out sound of exasperation. “Gods, he truly is as awful as they say.”

“Yes,” Feyre said with a stifled grin, her head shaking. “He really is.”

“Thank you, for defending me. Your response to him… it was–"

“Too much, probably.”

“Insidiously epic.” You were grinning.

Feyre laughed now, swinging one leg over the other before fingering a nearby trinket. “You know I can't resist the opportunity to toy with a male like that.”

You matched her smile, warmed by the mischievous look. The exchange was genuine and comfortable, fun even – exactly how your friendship had been for so many years.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Feyre.”

Feyre’s eyes softened, a small but sad smile finding her lips. “Of course.”

You looked at your hands then, fidgeting with them in your lap. You had to ask, you just had to.

“How are they?”

Feyre didn't falter. “Well enough. Cassian has been training a new generation of Illyrians to regrow our army, and Azriel has been busy with his work in Hybern.”

Your eyes were distant as you thought about them, separated by work. Azriel was still undertaking missions in Hybern? Was there truly more secrets to unravel there? Gods, the thought alone made you wince in pain, that whole damned continent a waking reminder of Meryl and everything you had lost. You knew Azriel would be tortured by the same cycle of thoughts on those lands.

“They work hard,” you offered with pulled brows, not really knowing what else to say.

“Just like someone else I know.” Feyre’s pained smile soft yet full of suggestion. She might as well have said it – they’re not the only ones burying their pain in work. You supposed she was right, you had set a stellar example at that.

“But they’re doing better, really,” she added, resuming natural movement and surrendering you from her gaze. “They’re healthier, and they look after one another.”

Your lips pulled into a small smile. “I’m glad.” And you meant it.

Feyre had matured over the past year – you could see it in her poise, hear it in her voice. It was a nice thing to see, to watch a fellow immortal grow in such ways.

“I will leave you to your planning.” She stood then, her incredible dress sweeping the floor once more.

Pausing by the doorway, Feyre turned to you. “Rhys and I are so honoured to have your work come to our court, even with the challenges to be faced with the Council. You should be proud, Y/N. We certainly are.”

You nodded, your lips pulling in a smile that twitched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Thank you. I’ll send a letter to meet soon, and we can discuss plans then.”

“We look forward to it.” Feyre’s smile was warm and true.

“As do I.” And so was your own.

————

“Are you sure you wouldn't like to wait a few more days? We could journey back together.”

You rolled your eyes, securing your bag to Podie as Tamlin fussed behind you, tightening the knots.

“I must get back and help the team start the expansion. I don't have a few days to spare.”

“I know, I just… worry for you.”

You snorted then, hauling yourself to your horse. “I journeyed here myself, you know.”

Tamlin sighed, reaching to stroke Podie’s mane. “I know. I just, I’m not sure, I have a feeling–“

“You’re fussing.”

“No, I have a feeling.”

“A feeling of fussing?”

Tamlin pinched his nose then. “I don't know why I try,” he muttered.

You grinned. “I’ll see you in two weeks time, Tam.” With a gentle nudge to Podie’s sides, you started the long journey home.

Never mind that Tamlin had found you shortly after Feyre left your room last night. Never mind that he searched you over for any signs of injury that Beron might have left, or that he distracted you jokes and conversation and stiff drink on your balcony that lead to welcomed sleep. You would certainly not think about the way his deep hushed voice soothed you until your eyes closed, or that he knew exactly how to stroke your hair as he comforted you after the things Beron had said, long after you had stopped responding.

When you had woken he was gone, so this time apart would serve you well to clear your head and re-establish those murky lines of love and friendship, desire and lust.

“Take safe routes,” he called out, waving you off as the castle of Dawn Court disappeared behind the trees.

You forced yourself not to look back.

————

The journey from Dawn to Spring would take six days of travel. With no ability to winnow or fly, it was a pace you were not accustomed to.

But you would bare it with higher spirits than ever, because you got what you came for, what you’d wanted your entire life. You were making the world a better place, and only just getting started.

Forgoing the coastal scenery you had indulged in on your journey up, you chose a route close to the inner border with Autumn, avoiding the congestion of the capital and heading through the most direct route. By your third morning you had already reached Summer, forgoing rest and carving your journey time to start your eager plans once home.

As the sun began to set that evening, Podie began fussing with fatigue.

“I know boy, I know,” you soothed, patting at his neck. “We’re almost there.”

And sure enough, the bustle of the town you had marked on your map sounded in the distance, smoke trails rising above the tree tops as signs of life revealed themselves. You had marked this town for its inn, where both you and Podie could rest properly for the night.

But rest would have to wait, as your ears pricked at a young voice. Turning, you saw wild auburn hair on a thin and ashy body, large eyes pleading to whoever walked past.

“Please, ma’am, sir, someone help!”

But the other fae continued to look past her, offering mumbled apologies and averting their gaze. Disheartened, you tutted under your breath. The child was from Autumn, that much was clear, and you knew the other fae ignored her for it. This was exactly the kind of mentality you were trying to amend.

Having just secured Podie’s reigns at the stables next to the inn, you wiped your hands on your pants, approaching the girl. “What’s wrong youngling?”

The little girl all but crumpled. “Please, my mother, she-she can’t, I don’t-"

Crouching down, you soothed the young girl with a hand on each of her shoulders. “Is she unwell?”

Dirty hands rubbed the tears spilling from her eyes, and a nod was all she could offer.

Your eyes flicked to your satchel still strung on Podie. There were vessels of Geranium in there, samples you had shown to the High Lords.

“Can she walk?”

The little girl trembled, locks bouncing as she shook her head. Gods, those locks, so similar to Meryl's…

A fresh batch of tears poured from her eyes then, as she pointed behind her. “There are no healers in our town. I didn't know where to go!”

“It’ll be alright, I have some medicine in my bag. Can you take me to her?”

She girl’s lip quivered. “But it’s over the border,” she whispered.

You gave her a sorry smile. “I thought as much. Never mind, let me grab my bag, and you lead the way.”

Fuck Beron – fuck his senseless borders and militant court. Someone was in need of healing, so you would help them, plain and simple.

The girl was still thanking you by the time you returned with your satchel. You hoped you had enough Geranium to heal her mother to to a capacity until a trained healer could see to her.

The young thing all but sprinted, and you maintained a steady jog to the Autumn border. Green blended with red here, the breeze already cooler as dried leaves danced with live ones.

“My town is down this trail,” she pointed to a winding path. “It’s not far.”

You nodded, taking your first step in Autumn without a second thought. And when you reached the winding path, where the trees now hid the backs of Summer Court and the life that called there, the girl stopped in her path, turning with an eery slowness.

You jumped back at the white film that now filled her eyes, her mouth downturned and sad. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head lolling sideways.

You hadn’t a moment to process the horror of it before hands pinned your arms and smothered your mouth.

Fumes swarmed your senses, burning your nose and throat before you were overcome with poisonous haze, your cry swallowed in cloth as the world turned black.

————

Rhysand handed the last of his bags to the door man, giving his guest room at Dawn one final sweep.

Feyre had left a few days earlier to be with Nyx, but many of the High Lords had stayed to use the mutual meeting grounds and have much needed discussions after the war. But his business was done and he would finally return home, his heart aching for Velaris.

Even his brothers would be there this time, having returned from their own missions. He was eager to unwind and be surrounded by the laughter and company of his family together again. Well, almost all of them.

Tamlin’s scent pricked his nose, and Rhys resisted the urge to roll his eyes. With the complicated and bloody history they shared, forcing himself to be civil with Tamlin would always draining, and right now he just wanted to get home.

Night magic flung the doors open, revealing the distraught High Lord, one hand raised to knock, the other clutching a letter.

“Whatever can I do you for, Tamlin?” Rhys mused, before finally turning to face him. With one look at his expression, he flicked his eyes to the letter in Tamlin's hand, his stomach sinking immediately.

“What’s happened?” Rhys asked quickly.

“Y/N – she was due back in Spring three days ago. Her uncle has written to say she hasn't come home.”

Rhys could feel the violet draining from his eyes. “Perhaps she took a few more days to herself?”

“She wouldn't do that.” Tamlin said firmly.

Rhys nodded, his lips pressing into a tight line as worry brewed even further. He was right.

“There’s more.”

Rhys quirked his brow.

“Podie was found stranded at an inn in Summer, east of the capital.”

“Podie? Who-"

“Her horse Rhysand! They found her damned horse, left there for days!”

Rhys swallowed, his mind narrowing to a steely focus – the way it did before battle.

“You said east?”

Tamlin swallowed thickly, a knowing worry pulling at his features as he nodded. “Just shy of the border.”

Black flooded the little violet left in Rhys’s eyes. “Fuck.”

Tamlin stalked towards Rhys, forcing the letter into his hand. “Call for her mates, immediately.”

But Rhys already was, his mind screaming out to his brothers, to Feyre, to anyone who could find her first.

“Is it done?” Tamlin asked, green eyes desperately scanning the lucid male in front of him.

Rhys was quiet for a moment, before sucking in a sharp sudden breath. He faltered then, grasping the bed post with a wince as his magic recoiled within.

Because somewhere in Velaris, across the mountains and seas and stretch of land the separated y/n from her mates, a panic so deep and rage so violent consumed any magic in reach, even the most powerful High Lords.

Rhys wasn't there to witness Cassian and Azriel’s siphons shattering, to see the way red and blue power - now freed from their bounds - instead consumed them, filling their veins and pulsing against muscle.

Rhys nodded once at Tamlin, confirming what they both knew.

There would be a war to retrieve Y/N alive. And Beron was as good as dead.

————

Beron took a leather parcel from the last of his guards, before ushering him from your cell.

You had been here for days – or so you thought. Time was a difficult thing to grasp in your haze, and there was no light here. It was quite too, the only sound of dripping dampness, and the occasional screams and pleas from a women. That voice was so far away, you weren’t certain it was real, or that it wasn't your own.

Beron had visited you the day you were taken, his dark eyes glowing with hideous intent at the sight of you bound in his dungeon. He hadn’t said much, only promising with sickening glee that he’d be back soon.

You half expected him to beat you, to hurt and punish you for humiliating him at the High lords meeting. Gods, you even anticipated death. But the High Lord kept you hydrated and healthy enough, all be it drugged and weak. Which meant a different fate awaited you, perhaps one worse than you could imagine.

You cursed at the sight of the weapon he unfurled from the leather pouch. It was a rapier of kinds – too large to be a knife, too small to be an ordinary sword. But it was the ungodly glow of the thing - the churning ribbons of deadly silver turning in on itself - that terrified you most.

“What is that?” you panted, your eyes wide as Beron’s grin grew.

“You have no idea the lengths I’ve gone to find such a tool, Y/N.” He angled it this way and that, eyes glowing with admiration as silver danced in them. “The terrible things I had to do to have this made, to even hold it in my bare hands.”

It was pointless to press further into the metal slab you were bound to, cuffs digging at your ankles and wrists as you reopened the same wounds you had fought against for days.

Beron was drawing closer, the rest of the room darkening as the rapier glowed so bright, commanding your attention. The air grew colder, as if those lethal ribbons were consuming the warmth for itself.

“I think we’re alike, you and I.” Beron eyed you with a sickly smile before he began to pace, moving his sword with him.

Your chest heaved with panic, your eyes trailing him as you begged for anyone to find you. Your mates, that tether, perhaps they would hear you? But the bond had weakened since left unacknowledged, and as you fished for it within you could feel how it had thinned.

“I don't like having my things taken from me, Y/N. And I’m certain you don't either. That’s why you were alone, wasn’t it? Without your mates, hm? They took something of yours, and you didn't like it one bit.”

Your eyes snapped to Beron the moment he mentioned them. Fuck. Fuck. Eris, that kniving worm, had told him exactly what he needed to know.

“I’ve had something of mine taken from me over and over again for almost a century. The one thing that was promised to me – sworn to me by oath, bound to me by a ring.”

What nonsense was he spitting? Unless… oh gods.

“You see there’s a particular High Lord who seems to think he can help himself to what is mine. And apparently, my whore of a wife agrees.”

The Lady of Autumn. What Feyre had shared with you about Lucien, about his mother and Helion – it was all true. And Beron knew.

You gulped, your stomach churning as you forced your voice past the strain in your throat. “What in gods name does that have to do with me, you twisted senseless fuck.”

Fear seeped from you, and you knew he could scent it.

Beron chuckled, shaking his head before crazed eyes found yours. “Do you know what my wife said to me when I confronted her, Y/N? Do you know what she claimed, what she threw in my face, after centuries of marriage, of sharing my home and my court and six fucking sons?”

You were wise enough not to answer.

Beron shifted, easing back into lethal calm. “She tells me of a bond. Bound by the cauldron, she claims. She says that she’s sorry, to please not hurt her, to please not hurt him. And then she begs me to let her go.”

Bile rose to your throat. “What have you done to her?” you gritted, fighting against your cuffs once more. “Have you- did you-”

“Kill her?” Beron finished, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Of course not. I am no monster.” He paused then, halting his pace. “I love her.”

It was almost convincing.

“But so began my journey, sweet Y/N, to help my dear wife from her delusions. I keep her here, a few cells over. She’s very eager to receive her treatment and rejoin the throne again as my loyal wife.”

You had to blink through your nausea. The begging, those screams – they were real. It was her.

“By no means was it an easy task to find a tool like this – something so magnificent, crafted straight from death itself. But I do it for her.”

Your stomach dropped. He had harnessed death itself? This was beyond insidious - Beron had been driven insane by his jealousy.

Beron’s eyes flicked from the weapon to you, noting the way you stiffened.

“Ah yes, death. Not an easy thing to befriend, certainly not an easy thing to yield. It took a life to harness it’s power, life from my very own family.”

Beron’s words were becoming harder to hear as your heart pounded in your ears. And then it clicked, and you could have sworn that time stood still as his words played in your head. He had mentioned six sons, not seven.

You had not known a fear like the one you felt now, a sickening tremble overtaking as you knew what he would say next.

“Please,” you begged, twisting in your restraints. “Please! Don't say it!”

“Although I suppose Lucien wasn't truly my family, not really.”

A scream ripped from you, your eyes clenched shut as your mind reeled at the horror. Lucien – Tamlin’s friend, Feyre’s friend, your friend too. Killed as a sacrifice for this insidious narcissist he had thought was his father.

“Oh none of that, Y/N. You act as if I enjoyed it. Lucien was my son in many ways. But a power this great,” he said, casting the sword before his eyes. “Well, it demands an equally great sacrifice.”

Anguished sobs escaped you, tear tracks gleaming from the glow of death before you.

“How could you?” you screamed, writhing against your chains. “He trusted you!”

Beron’s eyes darkened. “It’s as I said,” he growled. “I will not have my things taken from me. For decades I was humiliated and lied to while she slinked from MY COURT to have an affair with another High Lord. Years spent playing me a fool, lying to my face and CLAIMING a SON as my OWN!”

You trembled at the hate in Beron’s voice, walls rumbling as he beheld other-worldly power from the weapon in his hand. You knew his words had hit their mark, and faint wails could be heard outside your cell. The Lady of Autumn could hear it all – Beron was punishing her, forcing her to listen.

He was quiet then, watching you fail to stifle your own sobs.

He moved closer, raising a hand to stroke at your hair. “Shh, shh. Now now, dear Y/N. I may hate you, but I’m a man of reason. I don't believe in spilt blood.”

You jerked under his touch, squeezing your eyes shut and begging to the Mother to not let you die at the hands of this deranged murderer.

“I haven't bought you here to kill you. You’re valuable to me, you see.”

You forced your eyes open.

“I merely want to break your bond.”

There was a ringing in your ears as a panic burst through your veins so quickly you felt you would simply combust.

“And I suppose I don't care should you survive this or not.” Beron said with a shrug, before pointing that ungodly sword at your heart, and a bloodcurdling scream ripped from your chest.

--------

Part 7>>>

A/N: Hi. Hiiiii. Are you... are you ok? Hoping Lucien's death didn't hurt too bad. ❤️ Thank you always for your patience on this chapter, I so hope you liked it (or at least made you feel the feels). I cannot wait to explore feral Cass and Az, and probably Rhys and Feyre and Tamlin too lol Drop a comment or an ask any time, I looooooove hearing your thoughts on the fic, it makes my day each and every time <3 Thank you, and I love you. MWA! ❤️

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tikkunolamresistance · 8 days

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The fallacy in Zionists accusations of Hamas’ violence is that the Zionist State enforces pacifism upon the framework of their own interests; they will claim peacefulness, kindness, tolerance only when those they oppress are beaten into the Earth and silent. That the retaliation against a near century of brutality is an unspeakable evil; not the brutality of destroying Palestinian villages, agriculture, families, religious institutions. Israel will dehumanise Palestinians down to removing their autonomy, from freedom of movement, to expressions of anger and mourning. Palestinians have the right to reclaim their land and by any means necessary, fot pacifism is just oppressive tool.

“Violence is a cleansing force. It frees the colonized man from his inferiority complex. It makes him fearless, and restores his self respect.” Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth. Read our free PDF resource of this pivotal anti-Capitalist work, today.

Hamas exist because of what Zionist settlers did to Palestine. Hamas exist because of Israel. Palestinians are robbed of their autonomy from the very day they are born purely because they are Palestinian— the nemesis of the Zionist identity. Palestinians have always been, and always will be.

#palestinians #palestine #jumblr #zionism #it’s never to late to deconstruct zionism #zionism is the antithesis of judaism #anti zionist jews for palestine #viva palestina libre #anti capitalism #anti imperialism #free palestine #jewish thought

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balkanradfem · 4 months

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It was a while ago I read this tumblr post, which still comes to my mind every time I think about the future. It was explaining in an insightful way, how it's not a violent revolution that will bring forward the better future, it's slow and consistent change of our everyday life, of our habits, the resources we use and the way we go about achieving things. If we're hoping for a future where we're not dependent on capitalism, not destroying the environment, not robbed of our labour for a fraction of the money we need to survive, we'll have to slowly die capitalism out, by changing our own living habits.

If a sudden shift happened, and capitalism stopped functioning overnight, for most of the people that would be unsurvivable, all of the resources, food, jobs and life-sustaining services would stop. And we can't afford that. But, if instead we slowly backed away from it, generated alternatives, created communities and systems that can sustain us without capitalism, then it would only be a matter of time before capitalism is fully dead, with everyone alive, everyone safe. And this slow shift would be able to happen through decades and generations, and it would still be a great positive shift, with a future in sight. Capitalism offers no survivable future, seemingly ready to last as long as it can by destroying whatever is left from the environment and people alike, for the benefit of the few.

So let's see how we got here, or how I feel, looking back, we got here.

People used to be less dependent on a global system of distribution of resources, even just a 100 years ago; survival and trade skills were passed down in families and communities, and people would be able to make inside of their home and communities, a big percentage of things that we today would buy at the store. In those times there was no other way to gain those resources but by relying on people's knowledge, skill and labour. The future, however, promised a more convenient and easy way to gain all those resources, because they would be made by machines, and thus cheaper. And things kept coming in cheaper, for no visible labour required; you just needed to have money to buy them, which not everyone had.

But this too, would change as cheaper and cheaper things arrived, and it became less convenient to make those things yourself or within your community, and more convenient to just trade some money, and have it all be done for you. For people then, it could mean less energy spent on survival, more leisure time, more health and longer lifespan – except, it didn't, because the jobs that they needed to earn that money, tended to take all of that away. So still, there was a lot produced at home or within the communities, independent workshops and artist shops, so people within in the community would benefit from each other, instead of benefiting some faceless global corporation.

And now we know where this went; conveniences started lining up to the point where not having a certain convenience meant that you were below the norm. They sometimes got mixed up with inconveniences, but those inconveniences were 'necessary'. For instance, pollution became necessary, highways, huge trucks delivering goods, the oil industry, destruction of forests and habitats, exploitation of the poor, extinction of certain animals, and by the end of it, the climate change.

When I was born, my mother and grandmother still attempted to pass some skills that their mothers taught them; I remember being taught how to knit at the age of 5, the activity which at that age, seemed awfully tedious and was soon abandoned, and my grandmother showed me how to crochet, which I also soon forgot. After the age of small child, they both looked at the world, shrugged and decided 'she won't need it', and they have stopped trying to teach me any skills of the sort.

Buying things, rather than making them, already seemed the norm. People were readily telling you that you are stupid for trying to make something, when you could get it in the store, for very little money. Having animals at home, or growing food, was slowly getting replaced by buying it cheap, or buying tons of snacks, and biscuits and cakes, which now you could get pre-packaged, readily available to consume at your leisure. If it brought lots of waste from packaging, plastic and other non-degradable materials, nobody cared, it was new, convenient, and available, and we would have it, and live luxuriously.

Soon nobody seemed to talk anymore, about what we used to do before we were able to buy anything we could possibly need at the store; nobody would tell me what were the names of the native plants, and which ones I could make into teas, I was instead told to change my priorities because this kind of behaviour will never get me any money. All of my efforts to do arts and crafts, to forage, to make things from scratch, to paint and invent stories, were called frivolous, because they would not generate the one thing that was now the only thing worth generating: money.

It simplifies things a lot, instead of making various, interesting, self-made and beloved items that would all require different knowledge and skills, a human is now required to put all of their talents into 1 thing that would generate revenue, and then do that one thing, for entire life, and this would present a normal life on earth now. This was how it was presented to me, and it was before I found out that keeping one job for the whole life, was no longer an option, that changing jobs was the norm and was not often volountary. I did not, however, understand how doing that one job would not make someone go insane, and nobody was explaining that to me, it was just, the life.

So while the world was shifting into this new concept of 'make nothing but money', the first millionaires started to appear, the billionaire was not even conceptual, having 1 million was equal to being the richest person on the planet. That is pretty laughable to us now. Back then, it felt like heading into a new exciting world, but we know better now. We understand that lives consisting of a job and thousands of conveniences, easily sends a human being into a depression. We understand that relying on a job to keep us alive, and having constantly to compete with everyone else unemployed, to get one, has brought us to a place where others are a competition, not a resource, not a community. We understand that living in a world where we have to market ourselves as a resource, causes a lot of us to lose self confidence and the feeling of value, while it sends others into obsession with becoming popular, gaining perceived value, gathering a public image, that would later prove to be profitable.

By this time, unknown to us all, this life of convenience and consumerism had caused immense damage to the environment, and we were mostly kept in the dark about it, so we wouldn't complain. We learned about the holes in the ozone layer, but were told it was merely the fault of certain aerosols, and the rest of the stuff was fine. We would in the future get to watch oil spills and devastation of animal habitats, never fully connecting it to corporations who were responsible. Acid rains were mentioned, but we were told they caused by the new pesticides, but it was the fault of the farmers, they said, who simply used too much of it. Now we know it was the exhaust fumes from cars, factories and coal power plants. Climate change was barely mentioned, and even less believed in. And now, we can no longer ignore it.

So, what do we do in order to progress? We obviously can't go back to where we came from, but we are now made aware that the amount of energy and resources we're consuming, and the amount of toxic waste we're creating, will devastate the planet to the point where a big chunk of it will become inhabitable, millions of both people and animals, will end up dead if we keep going. But wait! How can I blame the people for any of this, when it's obviously the corporations that are doing the most damage, lobbying and hiding what is in actuality going on? And you're completely correct, I would have to say, it is corporations, and for the most time, we really didn't know the extent of damage they were doing. So why are the corporations exactly doing all of this? For profit. And who's giving them all that profit? Well, the consumers, by consuming all of the oil, energy, goods, resources and products they make. So how do we take down the corporations? By not giving them any of the profits. But, we can't do that in the current state of the world, we need cars, and food, and that food to be shipped and delivered from the distant lands, and we are all depressed and if we can't at least have our favourite snack, food we're used to, little treats and pieces of clothing that make us happy, we no longer feel like we can live!

And that's where the slow and meaningful habit shift comes into place. The thing is, we're not the same people we were 50 or 100 years ago, we don't have the skills of our ancestors, we're not used to producing our own resources, we are out of touch with nature, and we struggle to find our communities and feel valued. But we also have, so much more information and education at our fingertips. We have more scientific data, we have more access to information, we have more people creating public resources, we have the experiences and wisdom of generations back, only waiting for us to reach out, to tap into what the humanity knew centuries ago.

We're made to do various activities! We thrive on changing our habits by season, even by weeks. We thrive in communities, with no competition for resources. We love creating art, music, crafts and beauty just for fun, and the communal value of it cannot be compared to money. We don't like being reduced into human resources or labour force, we don't like repetitive activities that don't produce results or seem nonsensical, we don't like to be stuck within one room for most of the day, we don't like being replaced when we stand up for our rights.

I can already see a lot of people valuing all of the things on this planet that cannot be exchanged for money, but have intricate value in our lives and experiences; wild animals, plants, forests, environments and ecosystems filled with life, little stories and jokes we tell to each other, making crafts just for the sake of making things, creating their own clothes or fabrics, learning how it was done in the past; growing food, foraging, herbalism, basketry, making of soap and fixing things on our own, visible mending, connections and building communities, we are remembering it's what we want and need, and we're not going to build it the way it was in the past; we're going to do it our own way, with the knowledge and experience we have, the way we think is the best. All we need to do is start small. Do one little shift that takes you one tiny step away from consumerism. Add one little enrichment in your life that doesn't have anything to do with money or purchasing. Find little ways to save on energy that doesn't make any dips in your happiness or comfort levels, that only requires a little bit of your attention or focus to do.

Big shifts are not sustainable, and are not survivable, but we didn't get here by a big shift; we got here by a series of small, almost invisible shifts that we barely felt were happening, until it was our new normal. We can do small, painless shifts too, but this time, they're going to be conscious, purposeful, with thoughts of the future behind it, and they're going to come from us. Not the corporations, not the money holders, but us, pushing the future to the direction that we want.

#anti-capitalism #essay #long post #capitalism #environmentalism #climate change #future #environment #saving energy #leaning away from capitalism

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luimnigh · 7 months

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Okay, I wanna pitch a Marvel movie.

Now, this is a Marvel movie that will absolutely never get made. They would not allow this. So here's my pitch:

We open on a heist. A group of absolutely Z-list, one-paragraph-on-the-marvel-wiki, single-digit-appearance-count supervillains robbing a secure facility. The villain that hired them narrates the plan as we watch, and while it doesn't go off without a hitch, some of the more bloodthirsty villains cause some unecessary bloodshed, it succeeds.

Our villain protagonists leave the scene in a van, loot inside, and drive off into the countryside to a rural, isolated house in the forest to lay low for a couple days. Everyone's celebrating their success, they're drinking, there's some drugs, a few people sneak off for sex. This is the point where we get to know the personalities of our villains, some are assholes, some are complete monsters, and there's a few people who are pretty decent and are really only in supervillainy because life dealt them a shit hand. We can see factions dividing our group of villains.

Their boss finally arrives separately, sporting some more villains as muscle, and the conversation turns back to business: the division of the loot.

And then someone finds a body outside.

One of the villains has been murdered. Everyone is immediately suspicious of everyone else, accusations are thrown, motives speculated, tensions get higher and higher, weapons get drawn-

A shot rings out. Everyone either opens fire or runs. One or two villains die in the crossfire, others are injured, this goes on until one of the more sympathetic villains calls for a ceasefire.

They're in the middle of trying to talk everyone down when they hear a car engine start, and one of the villains who ran from the fight bursts out of the garage in the getaway van-

With the loot still inside.

A few of the villains fire shots at it, but are soon stopped- they could destroy the loot. The boss explains as the van drives down the road that with his resources, tracking the villain that's double-crossed them would be easy as-

And then the van explodes in the background.

As our main party of villains makes their way to the burning wreckage, flaming dollar bills falling around them, they speculate on who the hell boobytrapped the getaway van-

But are interrupted by a click.

One of our villains looks down to see that nobody boobytrapped the van. Someone landmined the road.

Thankfully, one of our villains is a techie, and after a few tension-filled minutes, they disarm the mine. The villain who stepped on the mine is thankful, and the techie explains that they should be able to clear the road soon enough, right before their head explodes in a shower of gore.

If the landmines hadn't made it clear enough, that certainly sealed the deal: this wasn't a double cross, this wasn't an ordinary murder.

They're being hunted.

This is a slasher movie.

The film continues on, the villains getting picked off one at a time in creative and gruesome ways, some even having their tech stolen and used to kill other villains. But throughout, we never catch a glimpse of the killer.

Right up to the end of start of the final act. By this stage, you've started to root for our supervillains to overcome this. There's a few assholes left you wouldn't mind seeing die before the final curtain, but the killer's will have lost sympathy by this stage, having killed some of the more likable villains. We wanna see them pay for that.

And just as the killer is stabbing one of those likable villains to death, our surving villains, and the audience, finally catch sight of the predator that's been stalking them through the night.

A man dressed all in black... except for big white skull painted on his chest.

And suddenly there's no guarantee that any of the villains you've come to like are walking away alive.

#marvel #mcu

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johannestevans · 2 months

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The Real Harm in “Harmful Content”

Exploring the true harm in “harmful content” and “problematic” media.

Photo by Ethan Will via Pexels.

We live, unfortunately, in a world increasingly defined by people’s lack of media literacy.

It isn’t as simple as people not reading, because people do — as schools and universities increasingly cut or allocate resources away from English literature, history, and other humanities, students are robbed of their opportunities to exercise their critical thinking stills; in the USA, “balanced literacy” strategies all but ensure many children don’t learn the vital skills to read text in the first place; many CinemaSins and Ending Explained- style videos are critiqued for their contributions to these wider cultural concerns of anti-intellectualism.

What defines this anti-intellectualism, and the culture that goes with it?

Every film or book or article or opinion I don’t understand intuitively and immediately is “pretentious”. It’s superior and self-involved — it’s a waste of time. I might make snarky comments about black-and-white Serbian films from a hundred years ago shot from the perspective of a pigeon, and I come up with that hypothetical in the most scornful manner possible, because I don’t understand why someone would want to watch such a bizarre film, or why they should want to make it in the first place.

People blame TikTok, they blame YouTube, they blame iPad babies, they blame technology, but it isn’t video formats that impact people’s lack of skills — it’s the fact that their intellectual development is cut off at the knees, in primary and comprehensive schools, in universities, in life outside of school. In response to what people do not understand intuitively or immediately, robbed of these tools to let them understand it, they react negatively.

To teach children, then adults, how to understand and analyse things on their own terms is in itself an individual process — it takes that time, it’s complex, and this tutelage is increasingly impossible with large class sizes, underschooled and understaffed teachers, and a lacking syllabus for teaching these skills in the first place.

How can someone understand their own inability in this area? How is someone to come to terms with this, to become comfortable with the idea they might not understand things, or that they might read them wrongly, when to be “wrong” is bad, and scary?

After all, the underlying reason for the defunding and reallocation of resources from the above humanities I mentioned, on paper, is that these things take more time to examine, test, and score. To the anti-intellectual, STEM subjects have right and wrong answers: humanities don’t.

If things don’t have right and wrong answers, if the answers are in shades of grey, how can they be trusted? What is the value in degrees or nuance when nuance is so costly — when it takes time, effort, money? How can I automatically dismiss anyone who is “wrong” so that I can be “right” — so that I can win? Because if I win, I get to stop thinking about this?

When that’s the reward, it’s more than winning, isn’t it? “Winning” this sort of thing isn’t just about one’s feeling of superiority — it’s ultimately about feeling safe, secure, and unchallenged.

This is the core foundation of many anti-intellectual movements and perspectives — ideas that challenge our core beliefs and ideas, the thoughts we hold as certain and most secure, can be frightening, destabilising, even.

People become frustrated with adages like “There are no wrong answers,” because of course there are wrong answers. How can anything be right, if nothing is wrong? If nothing is wrong intellectually, does that mean nothing is wrong morally? If nothing is wrong morally, then what separates good people from bad people? What keeps good people safe from bad people?

Here comes the crux of what this piece is about: “harmful content.”

Read more in An Injustice!

Also on my Patreon and my SubscribeStar.

#musings #proship #antiship #discourse #essay

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twilightcitysky · 2 years

Text

My daughter is four. She came home from school and told me she was playing a game called “Princess Gets Rescued From a Tower”. The kid of two feminists, living in a liberal city in a blue state, at the age of four, has internalized the idea that princesses need rescuing.

I did four years of residency in ObGyn and three years of residency in Psychiatry. I am an MD and a practicing psychiatrist. I don’t have the bandwidth to look at the numbers right now, but I will tell you from personal experience with hundreds and hundreds of patients that women are the strong ones. Most of the babies of teen girls I delivered had no support apart from their own mothers. I wrote “father of baby not involved” in the chart more times than I can count. Most of the pregnancy terminations I performed were for girls and women on their own. Nothing made me feel like I’d made more of a difference than providing a desired termination for a teenager and placing her IUD. Now that girl gets to continue her education, develop her frontal lobe, and decide who she wants to be and what she wants to do. She doesn’t have to be a baby trying to raise a baby. She doesn’t have to be another cog in a system that perpetuates the cycle of poverty in order to keep women and people of color from working towards equality, equity, fairness and real change.

Make no mistake. The overturning of Roe vs. Wade today is not about saving the lives of the unborn. It is about control of women’s bodies and agency, particularly poor women without the resources to travel out of state for a pregnancy termination. Women are meant to be property. Don’t believe me? How many letters have I received addressed to “Mrs. Husband’s First Name – Husband’s Last Name” instead of “Dr. My First Name – My Last Name”? How many people think my kids have their dad’s last name, because he’s the man and when you get married you’re supposed to give up your identity? Yes, it’s only a name. Yes, it’s tradition. But try speaking up against it— even that one, small thing— and see how much resistance you run into.

Now women want more than our own names. We want to be paid the same as our male colleagues. We want our voices to be heard in legislation and government. We’d even like to be the president someday. At bare minimum, we’d like to decide the timing and circumstances of when we become parents, because women still carry the majority of responsibility for raising children today, with rare exceptions. We are on a tightrope with no safety net, because there’s so little in the way of institutional support for people who end up with a baby to support and no way to put food on the table.

People who are thinking about how to get from one day to the next aren’t in the streets protesting. People who are terrified that they’ll be beaten or raped by their partner aren’t rallying for change. People who are trying to raise a child on a minimum wage salary with no parental leave benefits, without any sort of support, aren’t getting an education. People who are working two jobs to keep a roof over their heads aren’t voting.

And that’s the goal.

The princess in the tower may need a rescue now, but ask yourself who put her there. Ask yourself who robbed her of the tools to escape, because she’s strong and capable. If you’re a woman, stay safe. If you’re a woman of privilege, help your sisters. If you’re a man, speak up for us. And if there’s any part of you who feels that this is a move that will help any human beings at all, including the unborn children who are the proposed beneficiaries, I cheerfully invite you to get fucked. Nobody wins when women are forced to have kids they can’t or don’t want to support. Not them, not the kids… and not you.

#roe v wade #roe versus wade #roe vs. wade #current events #news #abortion rights #reproductive rights #reproductive freedom #womens rights #unbelieveable #the backlash is here

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avocado-writing · 20 days

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hi!! ive.. gone and read so much of ur work in one sitting. its all so much to take in, IN A GOOD WAY, and i absolutely adore every single word

would u be so kind.. to bless my angst durge needs..

Durge Resist tav, was strong for all until the brain was finally defeated but now, with what she believed her only purpose/chance at redemption (brain), they can't help but feel utterly empty and,, unredeemed. They mourn all those they have robbed from this world, nameless, and countless numbers of people they robbed of the life that they were now being given the chance at living. Surely they don't deserve it(Is what they think..)

They are pathetically in love, and if they deserve anything, its to tell their special one just how much they are adored before casting themselves out of society (or taking their own life, if ur comfortable writing such things-)

Rolan, Dammon, Zevlor, maybe even Rugan if u write for that loser LMAO. just.. whoever u write for, its the tieflings i adore most ahegege

if this didnt make sense IM SORRY i havent slept in so long and sleep is not choosing me. i just crave angst, perhaps with a happy ending if u would indulge me so..!! thank u if u read this, so much!!

hi, I don't write fics about suicide, but here's the tiefling bachelors with a durge who's planning to disappear after the absolute is gone and giving them one final confession:

Dammon

senses something is wrong when you take him aside for a heart-to-heart.

it isn't that you avoid these sorts of moments per se, he just knows you only affirm your affections when something big is going to happen (you did it before you went off to fight the elder brain)

he holds your hand tightly, gets you to look him in the eye.

"I love you, no matter what, and I never want to be without you. tell me you'll be there when I wake up tomorrow. in our bed. swear it to me."

you can see the utter adoration he looks at you with, and you think: maybe you aren't so bad if a man like this can truly love you.

the next morning Dammon wakes up. you're not in bed next to him. he panics, getting to his feet - only to find you in the kitchen making breakfast.

he's never been so relieved. walks up behind you and wraps you in his arms. he loves you so dearly, and will keep on loving you until you believe yourself worthy of it.

Rolan

Rolan doesn't quite understand why you're having this great outburst, but chalks it down to emotions running high after the final battle.

says goodnight, kisses you, and heads off to his tower - he has a lot of admin to do after all.

the next morning he comes to meet you at the elfsong, only to be met with the realisation that you aren't there. he curses himself for not understanding why you were so melancholic last night.

he tracks you down. uses all of his resources to scry on you, grease palms with the money the tower has. he's up all night for weeks. Cal and Lia worry about him but he is determined.

and find you he does. manages to locate where you're hiding out, a little hamlet in the middle of nowhere. you burst into tears when you see him, and he just pulls you into his arms.

"come home with me."

you do, moving into his tower. and you never leave him again.

Zevlor

immediately knows something is wrong. takes you to a quiet place where the two of you can be alone and talk things out.

discusses how he feels like being a failure for breaking his oath -- but you always saw past that. saw the goodness in his soul. he wishes you would treat yourself with that kindness.

you begin to cry, softly at first, and then with sobs which wrack your whole body. he holds you ever so tightly.

"I love you. you are not who you were. you have strived to be better every day, fought against your own family, and always chosen a righteous path. you deserve to be happy. I'd want to make you happy, if you'd let me."

eventually your tears run dry and you look up into his face. his eyes are so sincere. he means every word.

when you kiss him, it's a promise: that you're with him for good. that whatever comes next, it will be faced together.

#zevlor x reader #zevlor x tav #zevlor x durge #rolan x reader #rolan x tav #rolan x durge #dammon x reader #dammon x tav #dammon x durge #my writing #request

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girlactionfigure · 5 months

Text

I had to backup quite a ways, because understanding the Arab Israeli conflict without the wider context of the Cold War makes no sense.

Yeah, so, after World War 2, the former big swinging dick countries of the world were too stressed out to manage any of their colonies. So they threw up their hands and walked away. Power hating a vacuum, the US was prevailed upon to take over, though having an empire seemed like a lot of bother to us. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union was sucking countries close to them into their stupid-ass idea that if we all pool our resources and sing Kum-By-Ya, everyone will get rich. This idea was invented by a Joo, Karl Marx, number one crime of the Joos of all time.

I could go on for a bit about how stupid this idea was, but let's just throw out the tidbit that they didn't have any weekends for 11 years.

One of the things the British "owned" was this area formerly "owned" by the Ottoman empire, that had about 17 different names. Because the British Foreign office was a hot-bed of the flavor of anti-semitism that believes Joos were secretly running the world, they felt if they proposed this area as a "homeland" for the Joos, the secret masters, the Joos would favor them. (See The Peace to End All Peace, a boring ass book, but explains a lot of why the Middle East is all screwed up.)

So after WW2, there were a bunch of Joos and some Arabs living in this area.

In the meantime, the Arab nations in the Area, annoyed at the presence of these Joos on their doorstep, looked at their own Joos and said "See Ya, oh and leave all your shit behind, so we can give it to some of the Arabs after we take our cut". Some more Joos came from Europe, but not as much as you might think. They said See Ya to some of their own Arabs too, but the Arabs got to keep their stuff, and got some of the Joos stuff (I'm a little fuzzy on where the Palestinians came from exactly, but it seems like everyone is.) It was sort of the reverse of Exodus where the Joos are leaving Egypt and the Egyptians give them a bunch of stuff to get them to leave faster, except this time it was the Joos giving stuff to the Arabs.

The Joos and the Arabs didn't like the British being in charge, so they started doing shitty things to each other, and the British. The British had at that point decided that "owning" this particular patch of dirt wasn't worth it, it was a bunch of desert with no resources, except this one spot that had a magic rock that someone touched, but you had to leave the magic rock there.

So they went to the UN, the newly formed revision of the League of Nations, and said "Hey, get us out of here". So the UN came up with a plan that gave most of the Arabs in the area most of the land. The Arabs in the area didn't like the deal, because they figured they could kill all the Joos when no one was looking. Except at this point, the local Joos were pretty stubborn and pissed off at being robbed by Syria, Egypt, Saudi Arabic, etc., and they had an influx of Joos from Europe, so you can imagine that "pissed off Joos, willing to die where they stood" versus a bunch of spoiled Arabs who had been told "Just go over there, and we'll give you free stuff", didn't go so well for the Arabs.

So the British leave, the Joos take over after killing a few Arabs, and they declare independence. The US got on the Israel side early, because we're suckers for folks that say "Hey, we want to be a democracy like you, you're our hero.". Israel gets invaded by all the Arab nations around her, and fights them back, because they're all pretty grumpy, and they feel cornered.

Meanwhile, the Soviet Union, they want to get people on their side. They don't really care about truth, because if they cared about truth, they'd have to admit this idea of Karl Marx, the Joo, wasn't working out so well. Turns out when everyone pools their resources, well, who decides how to divide it up? Also, they didn't believe in God, so they were obviously not very observant.

So the Soviets want the Arab nations on their side, so they went up to the Arab nations and said "Hey, the US is on Israel's side, we want you to be on our side, we'll sell you weapons and stuff, those US folks are colonialist, they just want more colonies." This sounded good to the Arabs, not realizing that as hard core atheists, the Soviets had no shame about lying. So the Soviet Union traded some obsolete weapons to the Arabs, told them they were the best weapons ever, and got the Arabs to give them cash.

Ironically, in the meantime, Israel starts transforming large swatches of the desert into usable land, by organizing farms around a system very similar to that Joo Karl Marx's idea, but it was local, tied to a single extended family, and didn't extend to the whole country, just one farm. The Joos from Europe who went to the US instead of Israel send them money, which helps, though that's strictly voluntary and unofficial. But American's like people who work hard so they even get some money from non-Joos in America.

The Arabs get some money too, from the other Arabs, but mostly their leaders steal it.

Time passed, eventually the Arabs got bored or something and decided to invade Israel again. Or maybe, the Soviet Union encouraged them? I dunno, never made much sense to me. I was a baby, don't remember.

Meanwhile, the Soviet Union had recruited a prominent Egyptian, Yasser Arafat, living among the Arabs in Israel. Having a real sense of history would be too confusing to get the Israeli Arabs to rally behind, so the KGB, past masters of making shit up, came up with this whole imaginary history for the Palestinians so that Arafat, despited being from Egypt, could claim history in Israel, and so the Palestinians could whine about how mistreated they were.

The Arabs learned the hard way "buy American" when their fighter planes wouldn't work because the planes the Russians had sold them actually needed a part they stole from America, because they couldn't make it themselves. So after 6-days, the second war was over.

The imaginary history the KGB had written stuck around, even though Arafat eventually died as we all must someday. It's taught to Palestinians so they can feel properly victimized and oppressed. Though its easily disproved if you browse around Wikipedia for a bit, with a skeptical mind.

Did that help?

#Israel #KGB #palestine #History

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x-0ophelia0-x · 7 months

Text

Home isn’t a place, it‘s a feeling.

pairing: Fem!Reader x Ezra Bridger

warnings: none, there’s fluff at the end

word count: 2,7k

summary: Home. Such a simple word and it still was so hard to describe. Since Ezra disappeared from your lives, you didn’t really acknowledge the building you lived in as your home. It all changed though when an unauthorized imperial shuttle caught your attention.

authors note: Finally! I started writing this one last week 😭

however, we were ROBBED of Heras and Ezras hug, literally robbed. anyway, here’s another ff dedicated to our underrated spaceboy c:

enjoy <3

Home.

Such a simple word.

And it still was so hard to describe.

Most people would say that it’s the place where you grew up.

Your house, your room or your Planet.

It’s meaning being completely forgotten.

To you it was more of an emotion then a place.

Memories and people that defined who you are today.

People that grew very important to you.

People that managed to work together, as a family.

People that made you feel safe.

How long has it been now?

10 years?

10 years since you last saw him?

10 years since you kept your hopes up for the best?

10 unimaginable long years that seemed to never have a happy ending for you?

10 years of living with the fear of not knowing if he survived or not?

If you knew better back then you wouldn’t have let Ezra go this easy as you did.

He told you that he’d be alright, that he’d be careful.

But when the purrgils took off with the Chimarea, jumping into hyperspace, somewhere into the unknown, you couldn’t help but feel helpless.

Helpless because you weren’t able to stop him.

Because you couldn’t do anything more then to watch him go.

That the last ‚I love you‘ he ever heard from you was from your filtered voice trough his comm link.

He was gone and nobody believed in his return, at least not the ones who’d have the resources to bring him back.

Only Hera, Sabine, Ahsoka and you were determined to find him.

When Ahsoka found a map, leading to a unknown galaxy, your hopes of finding him again went up. A feeling of excitement made it’s way back to you, a feeling you didn’t feel for a long time now.

There was still hope.

And when Hera told you that Ahsoka and Sabine made their way to possibly find Ezra, you couldn’t help but feel the most excited you ever felt during the last decade.

Little did you know that today was the day.

„I have a strange feeling about something..“

You, Chopper and Jacen were sitting on the ghosts couch, talking about different things.

Jacen often wanted to hear you tell him stories about the rebellion, about your missions, his father, his mother and ‚that guy‘ named Ezra.

He never met him, how could he?

Hearing you all talk about him most of the time confused Jacen, so he decided to take the things into his own hands and try to understand why everyone was so fond of him by hearing your stories about Ezra.

„About what?“

You asked the younger boy while you tried to pick the next story you wanted to tell him.

He just shrugged, looking around and then returning his gaze to you.

„I don’t know.. something just felt off earlier“

Just before you could answer anything to him you heard Heras voice calling out for you.

„y/n! I need you on the main hangar now, an unauthorized shuttle requested to land here“

She said, somehow stressed? But why? That wasn’t something new after all.

„Isn’t this something.. I don’t know… common?“

It was a small shuttle after all?

„It belongs to the empire“

Her voice was stern now, hiding something more important.

The empire? This whole thing just got more interesting.

„… and?“

„The shuttles ID is kinda old..“

This caught your full interest now.

„How old exactly?“

„…“

„Hera?“

„I don’t know how but..“

There was a short break before she continued to speak.

Trying to understand what was happening herself.

„The ID… is registered under Thrawns flagship..“

You expected everything, everything but this.

Your eyes widened at the news, you felt your heart starting to beat faster.

„The Chimaera…?“

„Yes.. this shuttle… somehow managed to return“

Jacen noticed the shift in your behavior, you seemed to be lost in your thoughts.

"Are you still there?"

He heard his mother ask you.

"y/n?"

Knowing that it was some star destroyer that 'took' Ezra away from you, he came to a conclusion of his own.

"That ship.."

He finally catched your Attention, you turned around, looking at him while he tried to find the right words.

"The Chimarea.. was this the ship that... uhmm.."

"Yes"

There was a silent moment between the three of you until Hera decided to speak up again.

„We don’t know who’s flying the shuttle right now but… You may want to find this out so I guess that you should start and make your way to the hangar“

„Okay“

„Take your blasters with you, just in case“

You made your way to the hangar. A lot of people were here, everyone holding his blasters tight, waiting for the shuttle to finally land.

Hera stood next to, both of you having your eyes trained on the unexpected visitor.

„Don’t shoot unless they try something stupid and Jacen, you stay behind“

Commanded Hera.

The shuttle now finally touched the hangars floor. The sound of the ramp opening now echoing freely around this place.

It took some seconds for the person to walk out but you soon recognized the stormtroopers armor. It was pretty worn, had a lot of scratches, even some fabric strips holding some parts together. Compared to the other imps, this was the dirtiest armor you’ve ever seen.

The person stepped put of the shuttle, his hands up, signaling that he didn’t want to start a fight.

Everyone including you and Hera raised his blasters, the trooper on gunpoint.

However, something about all of this felt off. Something was familiar to you but you didn’t know what exactly.

Whenever you looked at the armored person in front of you, you couldn’t help but think that it’s presence was familiar.

Not only that, but you felt the person staring at you trough his or hers visor.

Despite not being force sensitive at all, it almost felt like as if the force was trying to tell you something.

The way how the person was walking seemed familiar, even the way how they raised their hands.

Chopper seemed to recognize something though, not much time after the person left the shuttle, he started to roll towards him, you assumed that it was a man.

„Chopper!“

Hera was just as confused as everyone. The droid didn’t hesitate to roll up to this stranger, letting him even pat his head while he gave happy beeps from him for everyone to hear.

Was this really a stranger? Chopper recognized Someone so dear to him to even let him pat his stubborn head.

The first started to murmur, not knowing what to do. You at the other hand tried to solve this mystery.

The shuttle belonged to the Chimaera, the trooper seemed familiar to you and Chopper didn’t waste a second after realizing something you now tried to realize too.

Chimaera.. Chopper…. Stormtrooper.

Wait, this was a Stormtrooper… a Stormtroopers armor.

„Oh my..“

You gasped at the realization, your eyes wide as you let your blasters fall down.

„y/n..?“

Hera was even more confused by now. First her war criminal of a droid starts to warm up to some random stormtrooper who was supposed to be dead and now you seem to see something that she still can’t muster.

„This can’t be..“

You continued.

„I can’t believe this..“

Tears started to form at your eyes, threatening to spill over as you started to walk towards the said ‚trooper‘.

He never really moved his gaze away from you and as you started to walk towards him, he gave Chopper a last head pat before starting to make his way to you too.

„y/n..! What in the force are you doing?“

Hera wanted to go after you but she was stopped by her son.

„Stay back.. and watch“

He said, seeming to also know who the person behind that mask was.

„Tell me.. who is this?“

„You’ll soon find out“

You now just stood inches away from him.

He lowered his hands, standing still, seeming to be overwhelmed by something.

And you knew what that something was, depending if your guess of him was right.

„I can’t believe this..“

You started, looking up to him to where you assumed where his eyes.

„After 10 years…“

You trailed off, moving your hands up to his face, placing them on the helmet as you tears started to spill over.

„You came back…“

There was a shiver in your voice when you managed to break the lock, slowly taking of his helmet.

„Please.. please let it be you“

You removed the helmet as gently as you could, holding it while you found yourself mesmerized once again.

Vibrant blue eyes were looking straight to your eyes. The same loving look you used to see on a daily basis a decade ago.

His hair had grown since the last time you saw him, his curls pressed because of the helmet. He even had a beard.

You were at a loss of words, it was him. Ezra.

Your Ezra.

„Hey y/n… it’s me.. it’s really me..“

He said, his eyes never leaving yours as you let the helmet fall.

As if you were acting by some hidden instinct, you threw your arms around him, taking him into the most heartfelt embrace you’ve ever given to anyone in your whole life.

Your tears had no barriers now as you let them stream down freely.

„Don’t you ever dare to do this again..!“

Was all you managed to say between your sobs.

Ezra didn’t waste any second, wrapping you tight in his arms while you two fell down to your knees, holding each other close.

„Ezra..“

Hera was shocked, speechless, not knowing what the hell was happening right now. Jacen at the other hand smiled, sensing the relief in her. Something he didn’t sense in her for a long time now.

„Given them a moment.. I have a feeling that they need it“

He then said, looking back to the reunited couple.

„I missed you so much“

You heard him say, the shakiest you’ve ever heard his voice.

„The thought of you was the only thing that kept me sane..“

He said while you nuzzled your head in his neck, not wanting to ever let go of him again.

„Knowing that this day would come“

You felt something wet drip on your cheek, you raised your head from where it was resting on his shoulder to look at him.

His eyes were filled with tears. He seemed to be happy, relieved… at peace.

Nobody except him knew what he had to face until he was finally back.

What horrors he had to endure while he was stranded somewhere alone.

Something in his eyes told you that he didn’t care about anything that had happened in the past 10 years, instead they seemed to tell you something else.

Something that the both of you knew.

Everything that mattered right now was that he was back, back by your side.. back to the people that cared for him.

„You’re an idiot.. do you know that?“

You somehow managed to chuckle while you looked at his loving eyes.

And there it was, there was the smirk he used to give you whenever he tried to be romantic.

„I‘m your idiot“

„That’s correct“

The last time you heard his voice was when he used the force to talk to you all for one last time before he disappeared.

It also reminded you that the last time he heard your voice was through the filtered comm link.

„I love you“

You moved your hand to cup his cheek, the once which still held his prominent scars.

And he did it too, he placed his hand on the lower side of your face, his other still wrapped tightly around your body.

„I love you too“

Your faces moved closer and when they were close enough, you connected your lips, sharing a long kiss.

It somehow replaced everything you both could’ve said to each other.

You both didn’t say a word, deepening the kiss while you didn’t let go of each other.

As of you were both scared that the other would vanish the second you’d loose the grip on the other.

Chopper started to beep in a teasing way, catching you both off guard as he managed to get a chuckle from Ezra.

You pulled apart and, while you both still held each other close, you also felt a warm feeling inside you. Safety.

A few seconds passed and the sound of boots walking closer to you got louder.

Ezra looked over your shoulder and his eyes widened again.

„Welcome home.. Ezra“

Hera stood in front of them, fighting against her own tears as she looked at her, technically, ‚adopted son‘.

She knelt down to be on the same level as you two.

„Can I..?“

She asked and you two instantly pulled her closer into your hug.

Let’s just say that it was a very heartwarming reunion.

A week passed now since Ezra’s arrival.

You invited him to live with you in your apartment, even offering him the other side of your bed.

Which indeed was an act of true love for you since your most treasured furniture was your bed.

Your sleep being the only thing that you enjoyed.

Considering this, letting him have the other half was indeed something very important to you.

However, there was something different now.

For 10 years you somehow developed a feeling that didn’t seem right.

This was the place where you lived, the place where you spent day and night.

But you never felt complete here.

No matter how much you‘d add there, be it any kind of furniture or decoration, there was something missing.

Something or better.. someone.

With Ezra being back, the building that most of the people would call home, was finally complete.

It’s crazy that you lived here for many years now but you never felt that it was your home. Not until he was again right by your side.

You were cuddled up against him, resting your head on his chest.

It was early in the morning and he was still sleeping.

You at the other hand were already awake, nuzzling your face against him.

The effect he had on you was crazy.

And he made you realize something.

No matter where you were, where you lived or where you stayed.

No matter the conditions.

Wherever you were.. wherever he was with you..

That’d be the place you’d call your home.

Because even if you lived here for many years, you never really felt at home.

But since the moment he returned, this warm feeling of knowing that you had somewhere to go.. the word ‚home‘ instantly regained its meaning for you.

He made you feel safe, loved and cared for.

He was your safe space.

Your everything.

Deep in your heart you knew the answer to the question you used to ask yourself in the past years.

He was your home.

And you were his.

He didn’t tell this to you but when he was back in Perridea, he of corse didn’t feel at home at all.

Not only because he was trapped in another galaxy. No.

He even had his own ‚home‘ when he travelled with his new friends.

He spent 10 years of his life there and not one of those years, not even for a second, he was able to somehow feel as if he had a home there.

Because you weren’t there.

And when he came back, when he walked off that Shuttle.

When he finally looked into your eyes.

He instantly felt something that literal buildings didn’t manage to do.

He felt at home.

In his case, his home wasn’t just a lifeless building… instead it was something bigger… a Person.

The Person he wanted to spend his entire life with.

You.

#ezra bridger x reader #ezra bridger #star wars #ahsoka series

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