#love abides death divides

[eneillustration]

Lady Miriro, The Seer of Briga

#she's my everything #a seemingly uncaring prophet #someone who will punch god for you #someone who should have ran away a long time ago #a beauty #a coward #a savior #love abides death divides #my ocs do not steal #original art #original character #eneillustration #digital drawing #artists on tumblr #art #illustration #black artist #black female oc

[ardafanonarch]

Hi omg I love this thank you for doing it! I have seen a lot about what named sword did or didn't or might have belonged to whom - do we actually know the names of any First Age swords and who wielded them? (other than Eol's cursed pair).

Thank you!

[Anon, this one got so long that I have divided it into 3 parts so people can navigate more easily to weapons that most interest them. Thanks so much for sending this ask, I went down many rabbit holes researching and learned some new things myself.]

The Iron Gang: Anglachel-Gurthang, Anguirel, Angrist

Swords of the First Age, Part 1 of 3

Anglachel

Meaning: Uncertain. Possibly a combination of ang “iron”, lach “flame” and êl “star” (Eldamo). Sindarin.

Maker: Eöl

Owned/wielded by: Eöl, Thingol, Beleg, (Gwindor), Túrin

Notable for: forged from meteoritic iron; given as fee to Thingol for leave to dwell in Nan Elmoth; slaying Beleg

Fate: Reforged in Nargothrond as Gurthang

Then Beleg chose Anglachel; and that was a sword of great worth, and it was so named because it was made of iron that fell from heaven as a blazing star; it would cleave all earth-delved iron. One other sword only in Middle-earth was like to it. That sword does not enter into this tale, though it was made of the same ore by the same smith; and that smith was Eöl the Dark Elf, who took Aredhel Turgon’s sister to wife. He gave Anglachel to Thingol as fee, which he begrudged, for leave to dwell in Nan Elmoth; but its mate Anguirel he kept, until it was stolen from him by Maeglin, his son. The Silmarillion, ‘Of Túrin Turambar’

Discussion

Anglachel and its mate Anguirel are remarkable weapons. Not only because they were forged from “star iron”, against which the mere iron ores of Earth were no match, but also — certainly in the case of Anglachel and probably likewise with Anguirel — they seem to have possessed a sort of dark power, even sentience.

When Thingol gives Anglachel to Beleg, Melian says:

‘There is malice in this sword. The dark heart of the smith still dwells in it. It will not love the hand it serves; neither will it abide with you long.’

Melian’s words, as usual, prove prescient: Anglachel goes on to be the instrument of Beleg’s demise, wielded against him by Túrin as Beleg attempts to cut the fetters holding his friend captive. Gwindor then briefly carries Anglachel, until he and Túrin come to the Pool of Ivrin and Túrin is released of the madness of his grief over Beleg. Túrin notes that the blade has blackened and become blunt, and Gwindor remarks:

‘This is a strange blade, and unlike any that I have seen in Middle-earth. It mourns for Beleg even as you do.’ The Children of Húrin, Chapter 9: Death of Beleg

The implication seems to be that Anglachel has weathered unnaturally after losing its master.

Presumably because of this damage, Anglachel is reforged in Nargothrond. We do not know who specifically reforged the swords, but it is popular fanon that Celebrimbor, who remained in Nargothrond following his father’s expulsion, may have been involved. After reforging, Anglachel becomes Gurthang.

Gurthang (Anglachel reforged)

Meaning: Iron of Death. Sindarin.

Maker: Eöl, reforged by smiths of Nargothrond

Owned/wielded by: Túrin

Notable for: slaying Glaurung, Brandir, Túrin

Fate: Broken under Túrin’s body in his suicide. Shards buried with him.

The sword Anglachel was forged anew for him by the cunning smiths of Nargothrond, and though ever black its edges shone with pale fire. The Silmarillion, ‘Of Túrin Turambar’ Then they lifted up Túrin, and saw that his sword was broken asunder. So passed all that he possessed. The Children of Húrin, Chapter 13: The Death of Túrin

Discussion

Anglachel’s seeming-sentience is amplified by its reforging as Gurthang. In this incarnation, the weapon frequently flickers and flames as if it houses a fire of its own. Most notably, when Túrin prepares to take his own life, Gurthang speaks:

Then he drew forth his sword, and said: 'Hail Gurthang, iron of death, you alone now remain! But what lord or loyalty do you know, save the hand that wields you? From no blood will you shrink. Will you take Túrin Turambar? Will you slay me swiftly?' And from the blade rang a cold voice in answer: 'Yes, I will drink your blood, that I may forget the blood of Beleg my master, and the blood of Brandir slain unjustly. I will slay you swiftly.' Then Túrin set the hilts upon the ground, and cast himself upon the point of Gurthang, and the black blade took his life. The Children of Húrin, Chapter 13: The Death of Túrin

A Tangent: The Enigma of the Sentient Sword

There is no explanation in the legendarium for why or how Gurthang speaks, but a speaking sword is an enduring feature of Túrin’s story that goes all the way back to the earliest version, Turambar and the Foalókë (c. 1917-19, published in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 2: The Book of Lost Tales Part Two). So why did Gurthang speak, and why was this feature so dear to Tolkien? Well, here’s a passage on the death of the hero of the Tale of Kullervo in the Kalevala, a Finnish epic that Tolkien read as a teenager and which was a major inspiration behind the story of Túrin.

Kullervo, Kalervo's offspring, Grasped the sharpened sword he carried, Looked upon the sword and turned it, And he questioned it and asked it, And he asked the sword's opinion, If it was disposed to slay him, To devour his guilty body, And his evil blood to swallow. Understood the sword his meaning, Understood the hero's question, And it answered him as follows: "Wherefore at thy heart's desire Should I not thy flesh devour, And drink up thy blood so evil? I who guiltless flesh have eaten, Drank the blood of those who sinned not?" Kalevala, Rune XXXVI, translated by W.F. Kirby (1907)

Very familiar, isn’t it? The existence of a talking sword in-universe provides opportunity for all sorts of imaginative explanations, but the influence of Kullervo offers, I think, a compelling Doylist one.

Finally, it’s common to read interpretations where Anglachel and Anguirel exhibit the same properties as Gurthang. But there’s not, to the best of my knowledge, explicit canonical evidence that “speech” was an ability these two swords had from the time of their forging by Eöl. (I was also fascinated to find, during research for this post, that Anglachel and Anguirel were probably not always black. I made a separate post about it.)

Anguirel

Meaning: Uncertain. Possibly a combination of Sindarin ang “iron”, (unattested) uir “fiery” (or Noldorin uir “eternity”), and êl “star” (Eldamo).

Maker: Eöl

Owned/wielded by: Eöl, Maeglin

Fate: Unknown; presumably lost in the fall of Gondolin

Discussion

Compared to Anglachel, we know little of the history of its mate Anguirel, save that it was stolen from Eöl by Maeglin, presumably at the time Maeglin left Nan Elmoth for Gondolin.

Angrist (knife)

Meaning: Iron Cleaver. Sindarin.

Maker: Telchar of Nogrod

Owned/wielded by: Curufin, Beren

Fate: Breaks in Beren’s attempt to cut a second Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown.

Then Beren did Curufin release; but took his horse and coat of mail, and took his knife there gleaming pale, hanging sheathless, wrought of steel. No flesh could leeches ever heal that point had pierced; for long ago the dwarves had made it, singing slow enchantments, where their hammers fell in Nogrod, ringing like a bell. Iron as tender wood it cleft, and sundered mail like woollen weft. But other hands its haft now held; its master lay by mortal felled. The Lay of Leithian, 3051-3063

Then Lúthien rising forbade the slaying of Curufin; but Beren despoiled him of his gear and weapons, and took his knife, Angrist. That knife was made by Telchar of Nogrod, and hung sheathless by his side; iron it would cleave as if it were green wood. The Silmarillion, ‘Of Beren and Lúthien’

Discussion

Although of a different maker (and of unknown metallic composition), Angrist has interesting similarities with Anglachel and Anguirel. Besides the initial ang- element, all three blades are noted for an ability to cut through iron, and both Anglachel and Angrist end up “turning against” their masters as a pivotal moment: Angrist by breaking as Beren tries to cut a second Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, and Anglachel by being the instrument of Beleg's death. As Eöl is also noted to have learned from the Dwarves, some fans have imagined these three blades may have been forged from the same meteoritic iron, or at least to share some of the same “enchantment”.

Note that the quote from Lay of Leithian does not explicitly apply to Angrist, which is a name for Curufin’s knife that Tolkien first used in the 1937 Quenta Silmarillion.

Part 2 | Part 3

#weapons #anglachel #gurthang #anguirel #angrist #the children of hurin #the lay of leithian #kalevala #turin turambar #beleg #eol #maeglin #curufin #anon

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒊𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 - hyunjin x reader x felix au fanfic

0 - PROLOGUE

1 - Hi, nice to meet ya, got nothing to believe in

Hushed murmurs and gentle hands patting on shoulders, sniffles, the trembling, flickering warm lights of the candles burning their yellow flames against the dark backdrop of the thick black velvet curtains.

Drapings and pillows, several different bouquets of orange carnations and white lillies, a few of his favorite dark red roses drowning out the stench of death. Not that there was any, actually. You just smelled it despite the frigid coldness of the now empty burial chamber, well hidden behind the curtains and window panels and intricatly decorated black wood dividers with depictions of cherry blossoms and spring.

Death could never feel like spring, death was ultimately winter.

Clusters of old family friends and relatives gather around the main refreshments table, picking at the humongous display of finger food and drinks being served in tall crystal glasses. Sitting in the far corner, you sip from your own glass, your hands only slightly shaky, flashing pictures of the funeral just being held swimming around your brain.

You thought you weren't going to crumble and you didn't. Emotionally frozen, you had silently promised yourself the tears and the pain were only yours to see, yours to feel, like they did the night you found out he had died, and so you stood, motionless, stoic even while watching his body being lowered in the ground, the muffled sounds of his mum crying with a handkerchief pressed hard against her nose and mouth, cutting you deep but not enough to make you stumble.

Your heart as cold as ice. You hadn't even cried, not a single tear had spilled down. All the symptoms were there, the grip constricting your chest, the blockage in your lungs and in your throat, your fingers trembling, but no sound came out of you, you had just repressed everything down, down down, six feet under.

Shrapnel to his chest during a battle drill, Hyunjin had died foolishly. There. You said it. You said it a thousand times in your head, over and over until you had convinced yourself there was no more point in crying, until pain had become all you were, not just part of you, your bones hardened like a shield made of stone, until it rendered your blood vessels numb.

He was gone. And you had to live with it. He was gone and you had to live. What a stupid fucking thing. Life was a joke with the most twisted, sick sense of humor. One minute he was there with you, curled up in your own bed, crying laughing as he clapped his hands and his feet, even, watching some underfunded b-list kdrama with you, and the next minute mandatory conscription had taken him away from you. Forever.

Perhaps you deserved it. Perhaps you just weren't meant to be happy and in love. The matching jewellery and stealing his clothes on late Sunday mornings while drinking from his cup and riling him up for no reason other than see him getting turned on, the long talks over books and coffee, the fights,oh ... the fights.

The fights where you yelled and cursed him out and he giggled because "you're so beautiful, even when you scream at me you're so beautiful", top teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip, large hands cupping your reddened face and forcing you to kiss him silly, which you always abided to.

The crazy makeup sex, the catching the last show at the movie theater, clothes soaking wet with rain cause you had been caught up in a storm while taking pictures in the city. Restless nights, day trips to Jeju, flowers in every corner of your house, paint stained t-shirts and complicit eyes, with tears spilling from the corners.

You were violently in love with him, felt the happiest, fullest version of yourself each minute you spent with him. You had cherished so much, enjoyed 7 intense years of him being your first everything, your first and only love, foremost, of growing older and fonder and greedier for you never wanted to share him with anyone, and you were getting punished for it.

Cause now he was no longer yours and he was no longer anyone else's and he was just no longer.

Staring into nothingness, caught up in a daze of memories, you bring your empty glass to your mouth, your burgundy stained lips grazing the cold rim, teeth almost biting glass, your grimace and frown, heaving yourself up begrudgingly so you can reach the table and grab more wine, you have work tomorrow but the emptiness needs to be filled somehow.

"Oh, sorry. You go first". You look up from your hand clutching the bottle of Moscato to find two squinty orbs staring back at you. And freckles. A miriad of them.

The platinum blonde young man in front of you smiles politely and gestures for the bottle in your hand, relinquishing his turn for you, something about his elven like features, perhaps a glimmer in his seemingly kind eyes catching you a bit off guard, or perhaps the alcohol warming your blood, too. Destabilizing you just enough.

"Why-why do I feel like I'm supposed to know you?", you stammer out, trying to focus on his face, raking your brain for any glimpses of recognition, something oddly familiar going off at the back of your head but you can't quite point your finger on what it is or why it feels familiar to you in the first place.

A surface deep dimple and cushion like eye bags, he smiles, warm brown eyes squinting, big straight teeth flashing, "Lee Felix, I'm not sure we've met before. But perhaps you know of me, I-I used to be friends with Hyunjin... ", low voice, heavily accented, faltering on his last syllables, he clears his throat and half bows to you.

"We... we were actually supposed to be called up in the same military roll out but I - ugh... I have a really bad back. Herniated disc. They deemed me unfit before I even managed to declare I would renounce cause I have my Australian citizenship other than my Korean one".

Felix. The name resounds in your head but said in Hyunjin's voice. Something about your boyfriend missing him terribly ever since he left for Sydney. Something about early high school days and sharing music class and p.e.

"Feeellix, is the nicest person you'll ever meet. We have to visit him next summer, you'd love him, I'm sure" - "what makes you say that?" -a half hearted, breathy giggle rolling off your lips, - "just a feeling. Deep in my heart, I just know"-Hyunjin's dreamy eyes, a knowing smile.

You nod just barely, biting at the inside of your lips, "I'm sorry for your back... must be... painful", you murmur, feeling his eyes staring as you pour the wine in both of your glasses, not knowing how to make small talk, not knowing what to say and what to feel, how you're supposed to either talk in the present tense or past one about Hyunjin with one of his friends, if you're supposed to talk about him at all.

Everyone in your family, you had shut out. Not that there was much dialogue or communication of any type with both your parents before Hyunjin's passing, anyway. You had been living in different continents even before that.  His family... you had no idea how to approach either.

Both his mum and dad had welcomed you in their family like you were their own child, they loved you so and never failed to mention that, but to see them so devastated had made you incapable of coming up with anything but the blandest, most predictable condolences . It was likely you both needed each other, for you loved the same person, although differently, but the wall of pain and wanting to respect that same pain hindered the way for everyone involved, especially with how fresh his death was.

Felix nods uncertainly and sighs, he takes a slow but big sip of his wine, keeping the drink in his mouth for a little longer than necessary, "it's okay... I mean... Nothing is okay right now is it?".

A small, sad smile, shiny eyes that clearly have been holding back tears, they briefly flicker all over your face before they settle into yours: a different kind of sympathy resides in them, a knowing of sorts, he offers no circumstancial wishes and appraisal.

And perhaps it's the sugary, alcoholic sweetness on your lips, the Yves saint Laurant emanating off of the collar of his black button up or maybe it's the comforting, steady silence you two share, your eyes locking as the both of you take another sip of your drinks, but something indistinct and burning quietly settles somewhere inside of you where you don't ever look anymore.

It's the alcohol you tell yourself, it's the loneliness, the heartbreak for a heart that's no longer there.  A delicious rush to your neck, no questions asked, no wavering in your hands when they undo the button of his shirt, one by one, or when they rest on his smooth and soft pectorals.

No kisses. He goes for it, he really does, mouth hovering over yours, warm breath entering your nostrils. But then he sees the heat burning behind your stare, and he goes for your neck instead, fingertips trailing up your hair, pulling at the nape of your neck until you tilt your head back and expose your jugular to him.

It's the alcohol but your vision isn't blurry at all. It's the alcohol but you're hyper aware of how dirty you feel. Not enough to shake you. Not enough to stop him from palming your chest, bite your skin, kiss it better. Your back hitting the door to your apartment, tight, tailored suit pants riding up his crotch as he immobilizes you against him.

Your boyfriend is dead. And you're fucking his best friend.

#stray kids #skz #straykids au #skz aus #straykids fic #straykids fanfic #straykids felix #lee felix #hyunjin #straykids smut #skz au #skz angst #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader #felix x you #felix x y/n #straykids hyunjin #skz ff #skz x reader #skz hwang hyunjin #skz felix #felix fanfic #felix smut #stray kids fanfic

[mercyisms]

I wasn't the og anon but for DVD commentary, anything of the following that you'd like to write more about - 3 q's: who was the monochrome stranger? what do R/S/V stand for? does cristabel love pearls and if so why? and would adore commentary for all of the "rummage" text , and/or the ending, "Darkness: Welcome back, baby ... It is not enough".

[necro elysium (yuck!!): the director’s cut]

the more the very merrier. thank you for reading and asking!! who was the monochrome stranger? that's miss cassiopeia the first. she makes one reference to nigella, which is your only and very subtle clue. i'm not sure why i was drawn to include cassy. i think i wanted to place bets on characterization for her, since it seems inevitable that she'll be part of alecto, so that's fun for me. the cassy sections were also written back in 2022, so maybe i thought she would... come back?? later in the fic?? unfortunately, augustine derailed on that, as one imagines augustine is wont to do. what do R/S/V stand for? honestly very extremely literal things. it entertained me to think mercymorn would divide up her life in a binder, and keep certain aspects of scientific research together with relationship trinkets and milestones. i think you can get close to R & S but V is for "valentines," something I decided the og lyctors, at least, would still have. does cristabel love pearls and if so why? i'm really not sure if this is based on anything beyond, idk, silas albino energy, but i just associate the eighth house with pearls. possibly because mercymorn wears them? i think? also because the eighth house has that stomae proximity and colum bursts into teeth. so the pearl is also enamel vibes. and the mother of pearl wardrobe is bc i further a 'mercymorn as an asian woman' headcanon & there are lots of lovely korean mother of pearl boxes & art that scream mercymorn to me personally. it's really more of a personal eighth house vibe. i think we mb only canonically know cristabel oct like macaroni art (but teethy!! that's teethy!!) but i don't think mercymorn could abide her house being made of pasta. rummage? i wasn't going to replicate every disco elysium feature (ie. different outfits to add skill points, thought cabinet) to keep this fic, y'know, possible in scope for me, someone with very little fic-writing stamina, but i did want to replicate the feature of a check or interaction you could come back to again and again. sort of like harry in the pawn shop? i think? i also wanted to paint the absurdity of a, i think, first house wardrobe: lab wear, fancy dress, formal house wear (the pearled armour one may imagine as a 'cultural' garment for the eighth house), and, of course, dumb t-shirts that john would love. it was also the easiest way to slip in something like a meme, as all tlt fics should. i am notorious for following those meme t-shirt accounts and sending them to all my beloved friends assigning them to fictional characters, so i rifled through all the dms i had and pulled the worst and most embarrassing shirt. it also doubles as a way for me to tell you i think mercy and cristabel were canonically fucking. the ending! i think the major ethos of the ending is hit pretty hard: the displacement of both mercymorn and cristabel into their new lyctoral form: the saint of joy, but with the seeds of what will eventually turn mercy against john. i did struggle, for awhile, about what the ending would look like & what that line would be. i thought the previous tlt had very strong dismounts and didn't want this one to fizzle! realizing death could close it out was a boon. it's intentionally the only "impossible" check in the fic (which is the hardest check in disco). and i would read it, perhaps, as a sort of giving into the logic and pain of lyctorhood, something that supersedes her allegiance to john. death is also characterized (as it is in tlt, i would, and many ppl smarter than i, have argue/d) as a hunger in the fic & you could maybe give me too much credit and read it as a deep hunger for joy, for justice, for these elements of cristabel that are no longer accessible through cristabel herself & cannot ever be satiated. that sort of stuff!!

#very touched by all asks #tysm anon!!! #always a delight to go on lyctoral tangents #asks #m: tlt fic #anonymous

[rin-bellatrix]

Golden

"You got that look in your eyes, eyes. I can tell you had bad dreams last night. Let me me take you in my arms, you can cry, cry. Let me love you 'til you feel alright." - Sia

Rhys and Fiona are faced with the "and there was only one bed" trope, but they're both mature enough to get through this like respectable adults. Rhys plays it cool, lying in bed next to his crush, and falls asleep with her by his side. Everything is fine, until it isn't.

Written for Rhyiona Week 2023 with the prompt "dream/fortune"

Header gif by utopianoverlord 💜

Yellow strobe divider from this post. Yellow star divider from this post. Yellow gradient divider from this post. Yellow heart divider from this post. Yellow reblog and feedback divider from this post.

⚠️ warnings ⚠️: brief description of main character death (don't worry, happy ending guaranteed 😉), as well as some scenes of violence and mentions of slight gore.

Enjoy! 💫

"Don't make it weird, Rhys," said the half clothed vault hunter.

Rhys was trying really hard to not make it weird, but how could he help himself when Fiona appeared at the bedroom door, the light from the hallway shining in from behind her as she flicked the switch for the bedroom lights, plunging the room into dark shadows. Her vault hunting suit and gear were gone, and she looked impossibly gentle and vulnerable in her large t-shirt and bare legs. No hat, of course, and her face was clear of any make-up. She looked... Soft. Which he knew she wasn't, not even in the slightest - but it didn't stop his heart from beating faster.

Strange how she wore less than him, yet he was the one to feel so under-dressed in his t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He was about to share a bed with one of his closest friends and secretly his biggest crush, and he somehow felt that maybe his galaxy themed pants and plain white shirt (with the right sleeve removed) was less than impressive. Though honestly, he'd bet his favorite pair of socks that the slightly older woman couldn't possibly care less about his bedtime attire.

Fiona, the hardened con woman and Pandora native. Fiona, the woman who told a man wielding a knife to her throat that his facial hair was truly depressing. Fiona, who had stood up to a wall of monitors and faced Handsome Jack himself and never so much as batted an eye at his threats. Fiona, who had raced him to the vault, stepped side by side with him inside, and smiled up at him while agreeing that they made a good team. Fiona, fearless vault hunter and a cool badass all around, hesitated in the doorway as she smoothed a hand down her baggy shirt.

She looked unsure and that was something Rhys could never abide by. He pushed himself up to his elbows, ready to leave if she even hinted at it. "I could still go sleep on the couch if that would-"

She waved his words off, scoffing lightly as she finally approached the bed. "I already told you that I was fine sharing the bed with you... As bougie as that couch is, it's designer, so it's more decorative than functional, and therefore not meant to be slept in. Truth be told, I don't wanna hear you whining about your back tomorrow morning."

Her silhouette outlined by the light behind her came closer as she reached for the edge of the covers. She peeled back the corner of the comforter and slid into bed beside him.

'Act cool Rhys, act cool,' he thought as he forced himself to lie down flat on his back and stare at the darkened ceiling. He politely folded his hands over his stomach, doing his best to keep from fidgeting. He hoped she couldn't feel the heat from the blush burning his cheeks. 'Yep, cool as a cucumber.'

A fluffy pillow was placed purposefully beside his left arm, and he looked over to Fiona's side to see her adjusting the pillow she was placing between them.

"This is in case you might feel inclined to wander over to my side during the night. This should keep you in your place and from getting too close."

He raised a brow and then idly wondered if she could even see it in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. "A barricade? Really?"

The Pandoran narrowed her eyes at him, or at least he thought she did. This low light was really hindering reading facial expressions right now. "You forget that I know what you're like when you're sleeping. You might be the president of Atlas, but you're also the president of drool city. Unlike you, I like to stay nice and dry while I sleep."

The president of drool city rolled his eyes, suddenly feeling less nervous about this bed sharing scenario. "Okay, sure. Whatever you say, president of snoring town. You should hear yourself- snork MIMIMIMIMI-"

"At least I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night to rehydrate. How many pillows do you go through a week, Rhys? How does it feel to wake up to a sopping wet pillow-"

"Ooooh, don't get me started! You know, the first time I heard you snore, I thought a hungry baby ratch had somehow gotten into the caravan-"

"Rhys. I will take this pillow and smother you with it if you don't shut up."

"...And on that note, good night." He turned onto his side, back facing the woman in his bed. Their bed? Whatever.

From behind him, he heard Fiona's sigh and the rustle of the sheets as she settled in for the night. After a long quiet moment where the only sound between them was their breathing, a soft "Good night," from her side of the bed made the young CEO smile despite himself.

"Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs drown in your drool tonight."

Rhys' grin grew at the sound of the smile in her voice. Nothing like engaging in a pointless argument to break the nervous tension between them. "Don't worry, your snoring will scare them away."

A moment passed before a pillow gently thwapped against the side of his head, followed by the sound of exaggerated rustling from the other side of the bed. Fiona tugged on their shared comforter as she tried to get comfortable and he playfully tugged back.

"Quit it," she admonished, her voice wavering with the effort of suppressing her laughter.

"You first," he countered, his glee evident even though he ultimately relented his grip on the covers.

She huffed from somewhere behind him and purposefully shoved the barricade pillow closer against his back, before rolling herself up in more than her fair share of sheets.

Rhys couldn't be happier, and that night he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning he sat at the marble island in the modern kitchen, sipping on some coffee as he scrolled through his morning news feed. The coffee was ridiculously sweet, just as he preferred, and he couldn't wait for Fiona to wake up so they could start their day together.

He threw together a quick breakfast by cutting open a fresh bagel and slathering some creamed cheese and fruit preserves on both halves. He procrastinated on taking his dishes to the sink, so the empty plate speckled with crumbs and a smear of fruit spread sat next to the serrated knife by his overly sweetened drink.

Reaching for his mug with his mechanical hand, he glanced away from his ECHO device and over to his hand, as it wasn't functioning properly. Instead of reaching for his mug, his hand just sort of froze in place. Tilting his head in concern, Rhys tried flexing his fingers and after a moment, the cybernetic limb did exactly that.

'Hm, maybe a wiring or connection problem. I'll have to check it out before we leave,' he thought, looking over his silver arm and wondering over this peculiar issue.

Purposefully reaching out towards his drink, he felt slight relief as his mechanical arm flexed and stretched out to do exactly what he intended. His metal digits curled around the handle of the cup and lifted it to his mouth. Except that halfway up to his face, his arm froze again.

"Okay, I see that I need to tend to you now," he groused out loud, frowning in consternation at his robotic arm. His ECHO device was set off to the side, and he reached over to try and extract his mug from his immovable grasp. But trying to pry the metal fingers off of the porcelain handle was proving to be impossible.

After a few moments of struggling to free his cup, Rhys withdrew and sat staring down at his right hand with a mixture of deep concern and irritation. At this rate, he'd probably have to wake Fiona up and get her assistance - an extra pair of hands would really help, or at least he hoped so.

Sighing, he moved to slide off the bar stool when his hand suddenly opened and dropped his mug, the cup rolling across the counter top with coffee spilling across the gleaming white surface.

"Shit!" he cried out, thankful that his coffee was almost gone and more warm than hot as it splattered on his clothes.

He moved to jump out of his seat, or he would have, but his mechanical hand was gripping the edge of the counter, keeping him in place. He realized this and tried to remain calm. His cybernetics were malfunctioning and acting in strange ways he didn't permit, which was very, very dangerous. Focusing on trying to unfurl his grasp, Rhys frowned as frustration grew when his hand did not release the counter top.

He had to remove his right arm to preform a maintenance check on it, but he would need Fiona's help to get it off. It could be dangerous, but the sooner his arm was detached, the sooner he could fix the problem. He turned to face the hallway that lead down to the bedroom, parting his lips to call her name.

"Hey there cupcake..."

Stone cold shock froze Rhys in place, dread freezing the air in his lungs. Every muscle was primed to run, to get as far away as he could.

"You really thought it was gonna be that easy...?"

But there was no escaping the voice in his head.

"You tried so hard to get rid of me. But you forgot something very crucial, sweetness. I'm Handsome motherfucking Jack. And you," Rhys' metal grip released the edge of the counter, flying over to meet his other hand, pinning one of his human fingers back until something soft and delicate snapped. The pain was explosive, making Rhys cry out agony. "You're my special little meat puppet. And I'm gonna have so much fun with you."

"Please-" but Jack used Rhys' right hand to bend back another finger on his left, the fragile bone breaking easily under the mechanical pressure. The pain was just as bad the second time around, and Rhys doubled over, hunched over the cool marble before him as the pain flared and nausea roiled in his gut.

"What should I do to you first, hm? How about we start off by taking that little knife there and forcing you to skin your own dick. When we're all done, I think I'll have you cut out your own heart. See, you gotta start by breaking the ribs, then severing each major artery... When I make you pull it out of your chest, it's still gonna be pumping blood. How sick is that?"

"Rhys...?"

Everything in Rhys stilled, including Jack.

'NOnononono, please- please!'

"Hey, you alright? I thought I heard you shout, can't a girl get some rest around here...?"

"Oh Rhysie..."

The vault hunter's voice was soft and her pace unhurried as she padded over to him. She noticed the spilled coffee across the marble, the puddle leaking off the edge closest to him. "Hey, did you burn yourself?" Her words carried more urgency then before, and she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Rhys, I sleep in a bit and somehow you manage to get into trouble, what am I gonna do with you?"

She hurried over to the sink, running the tap before returning to his side with a cold, damp rag. "Here, let me see where you burned yourself. You know I'm never gonna let you live this down, right? Unbelievable," she groused, but there was no heat in her words, only a teasing lilt to cover the underlying concern. "Rhys, come on, sit up, I can't see anything with you curled over like this."

Rhys opened his mouth to tell her to run, to get away, that Jack was here - but what came out were not his words. "Yeah... Got a real bad burn, sorry! Guess I wasn't paying attention."

His body sat upright, his metal hand covering the broken fingers on his left in such a way that it looked casual. He felt his mouth stretch into a forced smile and he hated it, it felt so superficial - it felt like a mask.

'Please don't hurt her- I'll- Look. Listen Jack, okay? I'll do whatever you want, just leave Fiona alone. Please, please don't hurt her, please, I'll do anything, really, I mean it, please-'

"...Rhys?" Fiona was watching him with curious eyes, sensing something was off, but writing it off as pain from a burn. She glanced over him and noticed flecks of coffee over his clothes and his hands folded on his lap, but nowhere could she see where he was injured. "Where did you get burned? I don't see..."

"Remember when I sat, begging you for my life on my knees? And you stood there, staring down at me like I was nothing?"

"Rhys? Hey-"

Rhys continued to smile even as tears raced down his face. 'Fiona...'

"And I promised you that I would make you suffer for daring to betray me. Well I keep my promises, pumpkin."

"Rhys, if it hurts this bad, let me call an ambulance-"

"Poor, sweet Fiona... She'll never see it coming."

Rhys lifted his mechanical hand up to Fiona's worried face, brushing her messy hair back with a feather-light touch. She was still searching his face with worry pinching her brow, because he was still smiling even with tears streaming from his eyes.

"Fiona... This is for Rhys."

The vault hunter had a moment of pure confusion before her throat was seized by the grip of the cybernetic hand. Her eyes flew open as she grabbed at the metal wrist. Jack let Rhys have his face and voice back, and Rhys immediately told her, "There's a knife by my ECHO - use it!"

Her hand immediately scrambled across the counter, but of course Jack wouldn't let her succeed. Using the grip he had on her neck, he threw her down to the tiled floor, puppeting Rhys' body to straddle her struggling one, pinning her down with his weight. He readjusted his grip as she flailed beneath Rhys, trying to buck him off as she struggled to breathe.

"Fiona, hurt me! Do what you can to get me off, don't let him win! Fight me, please!" he cried desperately, watching through his tears as she writhed helpless underneath him.

Jack's laughter rang in the back of his mind as Fiona tried to find a weakness in his arm, anything she could use to disengage Rhys' robotic limb. But her struggles were weakening as Jack squeezed harder, cutting off her air supply.

"Jack please! Anything, I'll do anything!"

"There's only one thing I want you to do, Rhys."

Fiona's eyes were losing focus and her grip on his arm was weakening, her hands falling slack and dropping off.

"I want you to suffer."

With the last of her strength, she mouthed Rhys' name and he could almost hear the final rasp of her voice over his sobbing.

"Rhys... Rhys...?"

Rhys' eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly. He found Fiona leaning close to him, concern on her features and he immediately scuttled away, the need to put distance between them was instinctive and paramount.

He scurried away from her in such a rush that his hand slipped off of an edge and he went tumbling down the side. He hit the floor and the spike of pain that followed helped clear his thoughts as he scrambled back against the curtains of the floor to ceiling windows. With his heart pounding and sweat slick on his body, he glanced around and took in the messy bed and dark room, and Fiona coming around the corner of the bed to watch him with worried eyes.

It was a dream? No, she looked exactly like that when Jack...

Jack.

Rhys looked down at his mechanical arm and quickly went through the process of separating it from his body. When his metal arm disconnected from its main drive, he unhooked it and tossed it away, watching it tumble across the carpet and further into the darkened room. He shuddered, slinging his tattooed arm over his chest and clutching his now empty right shoulder.

Curling into himself and trying to banish the nightmare from his mind (Fiona's terrified face, her frantic grip-), Rhys concentrated on this reality, trying to ground himself to the truth.

The feel of the soft carpet beneath his bare feet, the silky fabric of the curtain that fell around him like a cloak, and the glass window cold at his back through the sleek material.

He felt Fiona settle down on the floor across from him, and he looked up to see her lean back against the side of the bed, her right leg outstretched towards him. She watched him carefully but said nothing, her jade eyes so arresting in the near-dark. Gradually, he relaxed his posture enough to allow himself to straighten out his legs, his right leg taking place alongside hers.

She nudged his calf with her bare foot gently. "Bad dreams?"

After a moment, he nodded, silent. His features taut with the memory of his unconscious visions. The Pandoran regarded him carefully, before sighing softly to break the silence.

"When...I was a little girl, I used to be afraid of rabbits."

The words seemed to come from out of nowhere, and it took the company man a moment to understand what exactly she was saying. He looked up at her in consideration, his arm still slung over his chest as if to console himself.

Fiona continued on.

"Yeah, can you believe it? I saw them as just, so monstrous when I was a kid. They were so fast, fast enough to catch you if you tried to run. And long ears, so they could hear you coming from a mile away. But the worst of all were their teeth - especially these up front." She pointed to her own mouth before she brought her other leg up to hug it, keeping her right leg stationed next to his. "Those teeth could bite through anything, bones and all. I used to..."

Here she scoffed, a look of embarrassed disbelief crossing her features as she looked down and away from his eyes. "I used to think that one day, I would have to protect Sasha from a rabbit - or, God forbid, rabbits - because she was so small. I was small too but she was just this little thing, couldn't even talk yet. Well, not real words anyway, just you know, baby sounds. Anyway. She was this little nugget," Fiona smiled here, lost in the distant memory of when her only sibling was still infantile. "And I thought that a rabbit was just about her size. It could eat her up in just a few bites. One, two, and she'd be gone. I told myself that I'd never let that happen to her, no matter how scared I was of rabbits. I made a vow and everything, even wrote it on some paper or something. Signed my name, or tried to anyway. Probably just a scribbled mess."

The Pandoran waved it away, bringing herself back to the present as she lifted her eyes and met his. "I had nightmares about them for years, even after Sasha was old enough to start conning on her own. But do you wanna know what the funny thing is?"

Rhys nodded, silent, his features no longer set in despair, but not quite himself just yet.

Fiona grinned, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "The last of the rabbits died out about a full decade before I was even born. So... There are no rabbits on Pandora. Not any more."

The corner of his mouth kicked up in the beginnings of an incredulous smile, and Fiona snickered at how ridiculous she used to be. She ran a hand through her bedhead, realized how messy it must look, and proceeded to try and smooth it down somewhat. She glanced up at Rhys to catch him watching her with a tender expression, a soft smile on his face.

Fiona was not good at dealing with emotions - her own and especially not anyone else's. But Rhys was her friend, maybe even her best friend... Maybe even more if she let herself examine just how much he meant to her. So as she watched him, taking in the sweat drying on his pale skin and his wavy hair in disarray, she felt her heart break for him and foolishly wished she could take his pain as her own. Instead, all she could do for now was console him as best she could.

"Do you...wanna talk about it?"

He glanced off to the side, avoiding her gaze and remaining non-verbal, and so she took that to mean no. Eventually he dragged his eyes back over to her, before bypassing her and zeroing in on his artificial limb.

"Can you-" His voice was rough, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Can you get my arm for me?"

She pushed herself up and walked over to his mechanical arm, bending down to pick it up. She was a bit surprised at how heavy it was, then remembered struggling to boost Rhys up and a stray comment from him about his arm contributing to his weight. She stood and made it back to him, lowering herself down by his side. She offered his arm to him when he made no move to take it.

"Turn it over, to the other side."

She figured he was trying to teach her how to reattach his arm, probably because he would have a hard time doing it with one hand. (She didn't ask why he removed it so violently in the first place.) So she turned it over like he suggested, until he told her to stop. His arm sat in her lap, the open connector on his shoulder joint facing up. She could see prongs and recesses, areas where his main body could easily slot into. She never understood his cybernetic enhancements but he seemed happy with them, so she never questioned how it all worked.

"There's a concealed button just under the rim of the shoulder joint, can you see it?"

Fiona peered over the silvery finish of his arm, checking closely around the rim like he said. She found a rectangular piece that was small enough to be easily overlooked. "This?" She pointed at it with a turquoise tipped nail.

"Yeah, remember where that is. Now turn the upper half of the arm again, so the top is facing up."

She twisted the heavy metal in her lap until his arm bent at the elbow and his upper arm was vertical. His lifeless robotic hand was now splayed over her bare thigh, palm cool against her skin, and she was trying very hard to Not Think About It.

"Beneath the largest metal plate, there's a small depression hidden underneath that you should be able to slide your fingers into. Try it."

The vault hunter did as instructed, feeling carefully along the edge of the largest plate, before trying to fit her fingers underneath its edge. After a moment where nothing was giving, she was finally able to press her fingertips inside a set of indentations that seemed like they were meant for fingertips to occupy.

"What do you feel?"

"It's this sort of slot? Like a slot for each individual finger."

"Okay, good. Now keep your fingers in there and press the button you found earlier."

Reaching around with her other hand, Fiona pressed the button and felt very briefly a shift against her fingers. She tilted her head as Rhys said, "Now press and hold the button."

She did as instructed and this time the shift against her fingers held, but she didn't understand the importance to any of this. "Okay, what now? What is the point to all this?"

"I wanted you to know how to take my arm off in case... In case you ever need it. For, whatever reason."

She frowned in confusion as he reached out and took ahold of his cybernetic arm, slotting it against his open connector and quite easily securing his arm back into his shoulder socket.

He held his arm out towards her again. "Try to disarm me."

Fiona wanted to ask questions, but the tight look in his eyes had returned. So she reached around where metal met flesh and found the concealed button on the underside of his arm. She slipped her fingers underneath the plate, pressed and held the button, and gently pulled. The full weight of his mechanical arm disconnected and sat in her hands, once again separate from his body.

Rhys let out a deep sigh, some relief seeming to ease the tension in his face and body. "Good. Good... We'll have to practice some more, to see how fast you can remove it. Just in case."

"Hey, this is interesting and all, but do you think that maybe we can save that for later? It's like four in the morning right now. And you might run on overly sweet coffee but that's not quite the same for me."

"Oh, yeah, uhm-" he blinked rapidly, seeming to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. "You're right, you're right, it is pretty late... I'm- I'm sorry..."

"Hey..." Fiona reached out, taking his clammy left hand into her own and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing to apologize for. But we should get some more rest while we can."

She smiled softly at him, and the gentle expression over her features made him want to reach up and touch her in reverence. But as his mechanical hand neared her face, he flinched, and quickly lowered his hand, withdrawing the other one from her hold. It struck the Pandoran as odd, but she could glean enough from his reactions to have an idea of what his nightmare had included. Deciding that she'd have to be the one to take action, she pushed herself up and offered a hand down to help him up.

He hesitated for a long moment, before gingerly taking her hand in his robotic one. He quickly righted himself and his grip was gone from hers faster than a quick shot, and she tried not to let it affect her feelings.

He reached over and once again detached his right arm, striding across the room to settle it on top of the mostly cluttered desk. Its muted metallic gleam sat above various papers and diagrams, the sleek shape of it acting as an overly expensive paperweight. He turned back to face her, his expression slightly sheepish as he said, "I'll leave it here for a bit, just in case..."

Fiona didn't want to prod him when he was still obviously skittish, so she simply inclined her head and shifted to face the mattress. She began righting the sheets, fluffing the pillows before setting everything back in its place. Without looking back at him, she crawled in under the covers and nestled down on her side of the bed. She stretched and let out an exaggerated yawn as a way to dispel the awkward vibes coming from Rhys.

After a moment, he joined her, slipping under the covers and laying on back, his body stiff with a tension he couldn't shake. Sighing, the vault hunter rolled over onto her back, reaching over the pillow the separated her from her bedfellow, her searching fingers coming into contact with his tattooed forearm. She heard him hold his breath in suspense, but as her seeking touch trailed down his arm, he hesitantly allowed his arm to turn towards her skimming fingertips. She reached the back of his hand, the ridges of his knuckles prominent against the curious touch of her fingers. She shifted her hand and slipped her palm against his, slotting her fingers in the spaces between his own. Instinctively, he clutched at her, holding her hand securely with his.

"Don't you ever mention this to anyone," she spoke into the dark, and though it was a threat of sorts, its severity was lost in the gentle swip of her thumb over the back of his hand.

"Mhmm," he hummed, a tender smile stretching across his face.

"I mean it, Rhys."

"Yeah, I know." He closed his eyes and let himself concentrate on the way her hand fit into his perfectly. He heard her light scoff, and he squeezed her firmly in his grip. She responded by squeezing back.

Rhys allowed himself to push away the remnants of his nightmare, wanting to fully indulge in the comfort Fiona was willing to provide (even if she would deny it in the daylight hours). She kept a snug hold on his hand throughout the night, and her touch was his anchor as sleep eventually took over him again.

When his subconscious shifted and he dreamed again, all he could recall was Fiona's grip on his hand leading him somewhere safe.

©rin-bellatrix 2023

☆ borderlands masterlist ⋆ main masterlist ☆

#rhyiona #rhyionaweek #rhyionaweek2023 #rhys strongfork #rhys the company man #rhys the ceo #fiona borderlands #fiona the con artist #fiona the vault hunter #rhys x fiona #borderlands #tales from the borderlands #tftbl #handsome jack #handsome jack ai #rin's fic

[crystaldust]

“Love says: ‘I am everything’. Wisdom says: ‘I am nothing’ Between the two my life flows.”  

- Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, I Am That

DISCLAIMER: this is a copy paste from this article, i'm only putting it as a post here to facilitate my own personal access but ofc to share it as well

Rupert Spira says the spiritual path could be divided into three steps and explains each stage of enlightenment through the ‘inward-facing’ and ‘outward-facing’ definitions, thus helping the spiritual seeker understand the meaning of the process:

The first step involves the investigation into the essential nature of the ego or separate self through the neti neti process, in which the witnessing subject of experience is extricated from all objective content and stands alone as pure consciousness, the primary and fundamental element of all experience.

In the second step, consciousness releases its attention from the objective content of experience, from which it separated itself in the first step, and begins to flow backwards or inwards into itself, eventually coming to rest in itself. It is in this self-resting or self-abiding that consciousness is gradually, in most cases, divested of its self-assumed limitations and recognises its own ever-present and unlimited being.

Once consciousness has recognised its own ever-present and unlimited nature – the recognition that is traditionally referred to as enlightenment or awakening – the purpose of distinguishing consciousness from objects has been accomplished and it is now necessary to dissolve this distinction. Thus, the third step on the spiritual path involves an exploration of objective experience in the light of our new understanding in order to collapse the apparent distinction between consciousness and its objects.

The paths of discrimination and love

The initial enquiry into the nature of experience could be called the Path of Discrimination. It leads to the realisation that ‘I am nothing’. The deeper exploration at the level of the body and the world could be called the Path of Love. It leads to the realisation that ‘I am everything’. It is the transition from ‘I am nothing’ to ‘I am everything’, from the path of discrimination to the path of Love. It is the moment when the emptiness of Consciousness recognises itself as the fullness of experience. It is the moment at which Consciousness recognises that it projects the world within itself, rather than from or out of itself.

Usually it is necessary to embark on the inward-facing path first, for most of us are so lost in the content of experience that we have almost completely overlooked or forgotten our own being.

The inward-facing path: Discrimination

The question ‘Am I aware?’ or ‘Who am I?’ invites the mind – ‘like a sinking star’ – away from its customary objects of knowledge and experience – ‘the bounds of human thought’ – and draws it inwards towards its subjective source, the transparent, luminous, non-objective experience of being aware or pure awareness itself.

The inward-facing path discriminates between our self and the objects of experience. It is a path of negation, exclusion and elimination: I am not this, not this. In theological terms, it is the Via Negativa; in the Zen tradition, the Great Death. On the Path of Discrimination we discover what we are not. The movement in understanding from ‘I am something’ to ‘I am nothing’ could be called the path of wisdom or discrimination. The turning of the mind away from the objective content of experience towards the source or essence from which it has arisen is the essence of meditation or prayer.

It is the ‘inward-facing path’ – sometimes referred to as self-remembering, self-enquiry, self-abidance or the way of surrender. Meditation is the disentangling of awareness from its own activity. In meditation the simple experience of being aware is extricated from everything that we are aware of. During this directionless journey, the mind sinks or relaxes backwards, inwards or ‘selfwards’. As it does so it is, in most cases gradually, occasionally suddenly, divested of its finite, limited qualities and, at some point, stands revealed as pure mind, original mind or infinite awareness.

The inward-facing path, or Direct Path, in which the mind turns its attention away from objective experience towards its own essence or reality. Consciousness is the fundamental, underlying reality of the apparent duality of mind and matter, and the overlooking, forgetting or ignoring of this reality is the root cause of both the existential unhappiness. Awareness or Consciousness is the open Unknowingness on which every experience is written.

As a perspective, activity or process the ego is neither a mistake nor a problem. However, as an entity it is a problem, for the belief that our essential nature is limited to and located in the body is accompanied by the loss of the happiness, freedom and peace that are innate in the knowing of our own essential, irreducible being. Ego is not an entity. It is an activity. It is an optional activity of identifying itself with a fragment that Consciousness is free to make or not, from moment to moment. However, the ego is a pretence, a pretence that Consciousness chooses to undertake out of its own freedom. Consciousness, or that to which we refer as ‘I’, is that which perceives or experiences. It is that which witnesses the mind, the body and the world. It is that which is seeing and understanding these words right now.

The outward-facing path: Love

The culmination of the inward-facing path is the recognition of the presence, the primacy and the nature of awareness – or, in religious language, spirit or God’s infinite being – which transcends all knowledge and experience. However, it is not yet the full experiential understanding in which awareness itself, or God’s infinite being, is known and felt to pervade and saturate all knowledge and experience, and indeed to be its sole substance and reality. It is to recognise the transcendent nature of awareness but not its immanence.

The second is an outward-facing path of openness, inclusion and allowing: I am this, am this. It is a path in which the apparent separation between our self and anyone or anything is dissolved. It is a path of unconditional love. It is the Via Positiva. It is the Great Rebirth in the Zen tradition. This path is the means by which we recognise the inherently peaceful and unconditionally fulfilled nature of our being. It is the cure for suffering, the direct path to peace and happiness.

The outward-facing path is the means by which we recognise that our being is shared with everyone and everything. It is the remedy for conflict and the means by which kindness, harmony and justice are restored to humanity. On the Path of Love we discover what we are. The movement in understanding from ‘I am nothing’ through ‘I am everything’ to simply ‘I’ could be called the path of love. This is also the moment at which the traditional spiritual path of renunciation becomes the Tantric path of embrace and inclusion. It is the moment at which the full spectrum of experience is welcomed, explored and celebrated for what it truly is.

In the final stage of this exploration the distinction between consciousness and its objects collapses completely. Experience is not just known by consciousness; it does not just appear in consciousness; consciousness is all there is to experience. To begin with, as we take our stand knowingly as aware Presence, the mind, body and world recede into the background. When the presence and primacy of our self has been established, objects come close again, closer than close. They dissolve into our self and reveal themselves as none other than the shape that our self is taking from moment to moment. Presence is so utterly and intimately one with every appearance, it says ‘Yes’ so unreservedly to every experience, that it is also known as love.

So, to summarise, we move from the formulation, ‘I am something’ to ‘I am nothing’, from ‘I am nothing’ to ‘I am everything’, from ‘I am everything’ to ‘I am’ or ‘Awareness is’, from there to simply ‘I’ and from ‘I’ to…we truly fall silent here. To begin with, we understand objects as appearing to Consciousness. Then we understand that they appear in Consciousness. Then we understand that they appear as Consciousness. Consciousness knows itself in and as the totality of experience. Once the essential, irreducible nature of the mind has been recognised, and its inherent peace and unconditional joy accessed, it is necessary to face ‘outwards’ again towards objective experience, realigning the way we think and feel, and subsequently act, perceive and relate, with our new understanding.

[Source]

#non dualism #nondualism #o #this was so nice #i will def read more of his work #i think i need to meditate on all this #idk how to tag it yet #tag #basics #imp #fave

[anathemafiction]

"Let Love Abide till Death Divide". ANAAAA! I loved the short story so much and can't wait to see it in game. (Sorry to send another ask about Lance, just love the silly little bard)

When I saw that inscription, all I could think about was Lance! And thank you!! I'm so glad you liked the story. (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ )♡

#I think his part was my favorite of all the ROs in that scenario #It's very Lance-like to speak through other means beside words #Lance #The Golden Rose

[andydrysdalerogers]

Aurora ~ Part Seven

Pairings: Andy Barber vs Lloyd Hansen; Andy Barber x OFC Aurora "Rory" Thatcher; Lloyd Hansen x OFC Rory Thatcher

Word Count: 4.8K

Summary: The final showdown begins....

Warnings: implied SMUT 18+, angst, character death

This work is 18+ only. Please heed the warnings and walk away as this story does get violent as it goes on...

Banner by @justawriterand

Mood board and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Andy couldn’t sleep.

He knew he needed rest, but his mind was on Rory. Was she ok?  Did he hurt her? His mind wondered to if Lloyd had taken advantage of her. Knowing his brother, that was a strong possibility and the thought made him violent.  He got up, noticing it was still about an hour before dawn and got ready.  He could hear the rest of his men preparing as well.  This needed to be precise and effective.  If they left one of Lloyd’s men still standing, retaliation would be inevitable.  As Andy pulled out his weapon, his eyes fell on the picture of Rory.  It was from their second date, the carnival.  “I’m coming my love.”

Rory laid awake in her cage.  After Lloyd left her, she crawled to the bathroom and cleaned herself up.  She didn’t want his saliva on her a moment longer.  She was ashamed that she couldn’t stop the release of her own juices from her body.  It felt like betrayal, like cheating on Andy.  Would he ever forgive her for this transgression?  She could only hope. As light began to brighten the room, her anxiety spiked.  Is Andy out there, trying to get to her?  Will he be hurt in the process?  She just wanted this nightmare to be over.  She wanted to be in Andy’s arms forever.

Lloyd laid in his own bed with a smile.  The dress would be ready today and he wouldn’t waste time.  He would marry Aurora today and make sure to leave his mark in her.  His child.  The life he should have had with Laurie, but Andy took that away.  Now he would take this away. He decides to get up early, have some coffee and make sure the security around the house was tight.  He slipped on a robe cover his sweats and walked to the kitchen.  As he prepared his coffee, he glanced out the window and spotted a movement in the trees.  Looking out he noticed nothing, but something was off.  He headed to the security room.  “Any motion on the cameras?”

“Nothing sir,” one of the morons he hired replied. 

Lloyd always followed his gut instincts, and he knew something wasn’t right.  “Have all teams report in.”

“Teams report in.”

“Alpha team check.”

“Bravo team check.”

“Charlie team check.”

And then there was silence.

“Delta team check in.  Report in Delta team.”

Lloyd had enough.  “Get the Solider to post now, all teams in defensive positions. I’m headed to defend my girl.  Take no prisoners.” As her got to his own room, he slipped on a polo and pants, his knife holster to the side, his rifle in his arms. He ran to Aurora’s room and began to unlock it.  The Soldier appeared and takes a defensive crouch next to the door.  “Nobody goes in, understand?”

“Sir.”

Andy’s men surrounded the house, taking out the men that surrounded the perimeter.  They watched as the remaining men took up defensive positions around the house.  “Boss, chief of police has cleared the houses around the home so we should have no innocent casualties,” Nick said over comms. 

“Was Rogers amiable?”

“He was furious that Hansen was hold up here so anything to get rid of him he was for.”

Andy snorted.  Steve Rogers was always a law-abiding man.  Unless it came to his twin.  Especially after Lloyd screwed his sister and left the poor girl in a traumatized state. “Alright.  I’m headed to the back with Parker and Diskant. Let us know when we have an opening to enter.”

“Copy boss.  Alright, stealth sweep and strike.”

Nick, being former military, had set up the strike perfectly.  He had clusters of men together, trained in hand to hand to bring down Hansen’s men as quietly as possible.  No way to alert the ones inside, though they are sure they have already been tipped off.  Peter has a rope ready and clipped to his belt to help get Rory up the window.

“Boss, we’ve drawn away most of the guards on the outside, but we have no idea how many inside,” Nick says.

“Any casualties?”

“Not yet but if we breach the door, I can’t say we won’t take a hit.  We know the Soldier is still inside.”

“Fuck me.  Ok.  We need a distraction.”  Andy looks around and sees another window.  “Wilson, bring a couple of guys and a smoke grenade.  There’s another window we can lob it in and push them out.”

“What about Rory?”

“Hansen is not stupid.  He’ll protect her as much as he can.  We need to draw the Soldier out.”

Sam gets into position with a couple of men and throws the bomb in.  It flashes and smoke starts to billow out of the window.  Men come pouring out the front and side, allowing Nick and the other to take them out.

“Is he fucking insane?!” Lloyd screams as he closes the door to protect Rory.  He grabs a towel and soaks it in water to put on the floor by the door to stop the smoke from entering.  “Aurora, get in the far corner.”

“Please, let’s just run.  Please.”

“I said get in the goddamm fucking corner.” He back hands her and she falls.  She scoots back holding her face as Lloyd cocks his gun.  “I don’t know why you just don’t listen to me Aurora.  I’m trying to protect you.”

“I hate you.  I wish I could just die.”

“Believe me, it would have been easier at this point to kill you, but I’ve had a taste and I want it all,” he sneered.  Smoke continues to seep in, and Lloyd decides to take a chance and open the window.  He’s thankful he’s tall and can reach the window.  Smoke starts to clear out of the room as Rory coughs from the inhalation.  “Ok baby, just breathe.”  He rubs her back, and she pushes him away.

“Don’t touch me! You already hurt me!”

Andy could hear Rory’s screams and got up to move but Paul stopped him.  “Boss, we have to be smart otherwise she could be hurt.” Andy gritted his teeth, but Paul was right.  They needed to be smart.  They needed to be precise.  He needed to get to his girl. “Parker, go.”

Peter scaled the wall with ease and was able to position himself with a view inside the room.  He could see Rory huddled on the floor in the far corner from the door and Lloyd standing guard.  The smoke made it impossible for Lloyd to see out the window.  Peter than had an idea.  He went to the window that they had thrown the initial grenade in and slipped inside.

“Peter! What are you doing?” Andy hissed.

“Forcing this guy out so you only have one to deal with,” he replied.  He looked out the window to see the Solider still crouch but pointed the other way. He quickly crossed to an adjacent room and threw another smoke bomb.  This one did affect the Soldier and caused him to start coughing.  He moved away from the source in an effort to get air.  Peter smiled.  “Soldier is on his way out.”

The Soldier stumbled; the bomb laced with a gas that was affecting his breathing.  He made it to the door where a shot rang out and the Soldier felt a prick on his neck.  “Son of a …” and he fell.

“Boss, Soldier neutralized.”

“Ready to get your girl?” Paul asked.

“Let’s do it.”  Andy went through the same window Peter did as Paul got ready at the open window. Paul took position and aimed his gun through the window and Lloyd saw the red sight on his chest.  He quickly grabbed Aurora put her in front.

“What are you gonna do, huh, asshole?  Shoot her?  What do you think Andy will do?”

“Shoot you,” Andy appeared in the doorway, gun aimed at his brothers head. He saw his sweetheart, red mark on her face.  “Rory,” he breathed.

“Andy!” Rory struggled against her capture, clawing at his arm.

“Ow, God dammit. Stop that!” Lloyd moves his grip on her from around her waist to around her throat.  She tried to pull his arm away and he squeezed tighter. “She is a feisty one, isn’t she Andrew?”

“Let her go Lloyd.”

“Boring. What are you gonna do? Can’t have your sniper shoot because she is in the line of sight.  Could hurt her.”  Lloyd laughed.  He turned his head into Rory’s hair. “God, she smells so good.  Tastes even better. That sweet nectar she gives, hmm, I could feast on it every day.”

Tears slide down Rory’s cheeks as her adulterous activities have been outed.  “Andy. Andy, I didn’t want to.  I didn’t mean it…”

“Its ok sweetheart.  I know it wasn’t you.”  Andy’s heart clench at her anguish.  She felt guilty for being violated.  Raped.  That wasn’t her fault, and he knew it.

“Yawn.  Love. Gross.  Something for fools.” Lloyd brought her in tighter and she felt it. The knife cover.  And she thinks.

“Ok Rory,” Peter tells her while its slow in the bakery.  “This is a hunting knife.  It’s a crude weapon but effective.”

“Why would I need to know this, Peter?” She asked with a giggle.

“Because most assassins have one on them for a quick, but messy kill.  Knowing what it feels like if you are being held could save your life.  Here,” he pulled Rory close to him, her back to his front.  “Can you feel that?”

“It’s, well, it’s hard,” she said with a blush.  Paul snickered.  “Shut up!”

“Ok, well you are not flush to me so that’s not it,” Peter said gently. “But good, it will feel like hard plastic.  It’s almost aways sheathed here for an easy grab.”

“Ok.” Rory paid rapid attention to him.

Paul cleared his throat.  “The trick is how to lift it off the body.  You want to be subtle but quick.  You may have seconds after the realization you have it to reach.  Try and grab it.”

Rory tried to pull it off Peter but failed miserably. “I don’t know how…”

“Ok, it’s all about subtle movements. If he has you like this, you want to try and turn, make him think you are conceding. That will give you a chance to pull it but not let him feel it.  Now Peter is the same height so it’s harder but try.”

Rory thought of how she turned in Andy’s arms and turned slowly, grasping the handle with her covered hand and dropped her arm to her side.  Paul saw the glint of the knife.  “Peter, did you feel that?”

“No,” he smiled as he looked down to see the knife in her hand.  “Good job.  We’ll keep practicing so that its perfect. Paul is taller so it will give you a great range.”

Rory snapped back to the present.  Lloyd wasn’t looking down at her, so she looked at Andy through her tears and wink.  Andy to his credit didn’t make a move, keeping his face hard.  Rory turned in Lloyd’s arm, her neck receiving a burn from the twist. She palmed the knife and got it out from the sheath. Now to distract.

“Lloyd.  Lloyd, please, let him go.  I’ll leave with you.  Please don’t hurt him.”

Andy’s face turned to horror. “Rory, please. Don’t do this.”

Rory’s face softens as she turned to Andy. “This is how much I love you.” 

He caught it.  The glint of the knife. “Boss, I see it,” he hears from Paul.

“Lloyd, please let her go,” Andy begged.  “Take me instead. Just let her go.”

“You are not creative at all.” Lloyd wrapped his large hand around Rory’s head.  “I think I want to take you in front of him,” he said in a low voice near her ear. “I’ll accept your terms pumpkin.  I’ll let your precious Andy live.”

“Good,” she whispered. 

She thrusted the knife into him, like a knife in butter. Rory was surprised how  easy it slid into his gut.

“Shame you won’t get to see us happy.” 

She withdrew the knife and stuck him again.

The look on Lloyd’s face was shock.  Pure shock. “You bitch,” he whispered.  He dropped to his knees, used his hands to try and stem the blood flow.  He dropped the gun in process. Rory stepped back and dropped the knife as Andy grabbed her arms to pull her away.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Andy said.

“It was always going to come to this the moment you took Laurie from me.”

Andy sighed and kneeled in front of Lloyd. “I’m sorry about Laurie.  But you hit her, and she wanted out.” He stood back up and wrapped his arms around Rory, who had been eerily quiet. Rory’s eyes never left Lloyd’s. They were wide, full of anxiety, disbelief.

Lloyd could see she was regretful of her actions, taking a life.  “Pumpkin, don’t worry.  I know you did what you had to do.”

Andy pulled Rory to face him.  “Don’t look. You didn’t kill him ok?”  She nodded as she stared into eyes she thought she would never see again. He wrapped a hand around her head and pulled her close, kissing her temple. “I did,” he whispered as he aimed for Lloyd’s head.

Bang!

Rory woke up with a scream, bolting upright, chest heaving, sweat across her brow.  Andy sat up with her.  “Baby, you’re ok, I’m here,” rubbing her arms.  She threw herself into them, breathing him in and trying to calm herself. Andy pressed sweet kisses to her temple.

The last couple of weeks were the same.  After rescuing Rory, Andy and his team worked on clearing the house.  The Soldier had been subdued the entire time after he had been injected, alive but disoriented.  When Sheriff Rogers came to collect the men who were still alive, he was she shocked to find an old friend among them.  “Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” replied the Soldier.

“We hit him with a tranq.  He may be out of it for a while,” Nick explained to the Sheriff.

“Thank you.  Let’s get him to medical,” Rogers instructed his deputies.  He turned to Andy.  “How is your girl?”

“I think she is in shock.  She hasn’t said much since she stabbed Lloyd.” Andy ran a hand over his face.  “I’m just glad he hadn’t done much damage.”  He watched as Lloyd’s body bag was pulled from the house.  He felt a pain in his heart.  His twin, the last connection to his family, was gone, and by his hand.  But he couldn’t let Rory live with the shame of causing his death.

“Well, I’ll take of this.  Take your men and your girl out of my town.  No charges, since it was self-defense,” Rogers said, hands on his belt.  “Thank you for letting me know Andy.”

“No, thank you Sheriff, for letting me handle this.”  The men shook hands before he headed to the ambulance that had Rory.  He approached cautiously.  “Rory?”

“Andy?  The blood, they won’t let me wash my hands.  The dress,” she gestured down to the night gown she still had on.  “I’m cold,” she said as a matter of fact.

Andy took off his jacket and draped it over her. “Let me get you home and we’ll get cleaned up.”

“Ok, yes, ok.” Rory stood up and tried to take a couple of steps before her knees gave out.  He caught her and lifted her in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder.  She had fainted, probably exhaustion, stress, malnourishment.  She was light in his arms.

“Fowler, Parker, Distkant, let’s make sure the house is secure.  I’m taking her home.”

Andy got the best therapist in Newton to sit with Rory, who had been quiet for the most part.  She hadn’t wanted to go back to the bakery just yet, fear of being alone gripping her.  She was only really calm when Andy was in her presence, but she slowly got used to having Peter and Paul with her again.

“How are you doing today Aurora?”

“Please don’t call me that,” she whispered.  “He called me that.”

“Ok,” the therapist made a note. “Rory.”

Rory nodded as she played with her hair.

“Rory, we have to talk.  I know it’s hard, but you have to get out those feelings.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do I have to talk about him?  He hurt me, took me from my family, tried to…” she swallowed hard. “I stabbed him.  He’s dead because of me.”

“It was to save yourself.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.  It feels like he’s still holding me here, hostage in my own mind.” Rory looked at the woman straight in the eye.  “I see him when I close my eyes. I see him in the bakery, in our home.  We passed the carnival, and I melted down.  I know he was there. I know he was watching us.  He’s dead but he won’t leave.”

“Have you said anything to Andy?”

“No, it would break him.  They were twins.  They were different. But I still see him.”

“Have you tried visiting Lloyd’s grave?”

Now there is a place that Rory never thought about.  Andy decided to bury his twin in the cemetery in town.  It was on the outskirts, so Rory didn’t have to pass by it or really think about it.  It has been a month since she was taken.

“And do what?”

“Talk to him.  Tell him how you feel.  Tell him to fuck off. It might give you some liberation.”

As the session ended, Andy was sitting patiently in the waiting room, going through emails.  When the door opened, his smile fell as he noticed the tear tracks on her face. “Sweetheart?”

“Can you take me somewhere?”

“Anywhere.”

Andy found it a little concerning that you wanted to go to the cemetery to see Lloyd but when the therapist nodded subtly to him, he agreed and immediately took her.  He had guided her to the place where he had buried his brother, the headstone just being erected the previous day.  No flowers were present. Just a dark gray headstone.

Lloyd Hansen

Brother

Lost Soul

Rory stared at the tombstone and her face turned angry.  Her grip on Andy’s hand was fierce. She took a breath.

“Fuck you Lloyd.  Fuck everything you have ever done.  Fuck you for hurting me. For hurting Laurie and Jacob.  Your brother.  You ordered my parents dead.  You manipulated everything and I hate you. I hope you are rotting in hell for everything you’ve done. I hope you know that one day I’ll marry Andy and there isn’t a fucking thing you can do about it!”

She took a knife out of her purse, the same knife that she had stabbed Lloyd with and flipped it before flipping it into the ground. She dropped to her knees, sobbing.  “You tried to take everything from me and I will never forgive you.  But you will stop owning a piece of me from now on.  If you get to see how I am from your own personal room in hell, I hope you get to see me at my best because you sure as hell won’t be owning free real estate in my head.”

Andy wrapped her in his arms as she cried the last tears she wanted to shed over Lloyd Hansen.  It took a few minutes, but she was finally strong enough to stand again and flip his grave off before walking back to the car.  “Take me home Andy.”

“Of course, my love.”

A few days later, Andy walked Rory into the bakery, her first time entering the door. Peter, Paul, Nick, her grandparents and Sheriff Rogers were waiting for her.  She looked and saw Jensen and Sam as well.  “What are you guys doing here?”

“We wanted to welcome back the best baker in town,” Jensen said, munching on a cookie. “These are delicious! Is that nutmeg?”

Then Andy heard his favorite sound in the world.  Rory’s giggle. “Its nutmeg and cinnamon with double vanilla.” It was there, her smile. Andy kissed her temple and let her go as she hugged her friends and family.  When she got to the Sheriff, she became timid.

“Miss Rory, I’m glad to see you looking much better.”

“Thank you Sheriff.  You didn’t have to come down here.”

“I know. Just wanted to show my support.  Also heard you have the best brownies across three counties.” He shot her a wink as she blushed.

“Hey, Rogers, stop flirting with my girl,” Andy growled.

As everyone laughed, Rory moved to behind her counter, put on her blue apron over her dress and took a moment. Her friends and family sat around her tables, talking and enjoying her treats.  Her life was always destined to be chaotic, she supposed, but she was on the other side and found peace.

That evening, Rory got ready for bed, pulling out a night gown when she stopped.  Andy had been so patient with her, acknowledging that she had been traumatized from Lloyd’s actions.  She allowed him to hold her while she slept, needing his warmth and touch to feel safe and sleep.  But today, seeing how life is now, no Lloyd, no threats, just Rory and Andy, she wanted to go back to a happy place.  She replaced her nightgown in the drawer and selected something else.

Andy sat in their bed, reading a book, waiting for Rory so they could sleep.  It had been a long few weeks, but Rory made strides since visiting Lloyd’s grave.  His phone chirped and he checked the message.  He sighed and decided to deal with it in the morning.  As he set his phone into sleep mode, he heard the door to the ensuite open and he looked up.  He stopped breathing.

Rory came in, wearing a white slip nightgown that accentuated her breasts.  Her long hair was tousled down her back.  She swayed her hips as she walked towards Andy.  She noted his eyes never leaving her body. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and Rory stepped into the space between them.   Her hands were on his shoulders before she raked her nails through his beard, eliciting a sound between and growl and a moan. She placed a gentle kiss on his lips.  “Make me yours, please.”

Andy rans his hands from her back, over her ass and to her thighs to lift her up into his lap, straddling him.  “You are still the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, my love.”  He kissed her deep as he pushed her hips into his groin, letting her feel how hard he was for her.  Her gasp was perfect as he could feel the heat between her legs. That’s when he noticed that she was bare under her slip and he let out a growl. He pulled her hair to expose her neck to him and he assaulted her with sweet kisses and licks, tasting her skin.

Rory moaned and her head tilted back with the touches Andy was giving her.  Her breasts pushed into his bare chest and the silk of her gown gave friction to her nipples, hardening them. Andy pushed the strap of her night gown down off her shoulder, allowing one breast to flash.  He immediately took it in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the point. The soft moans and breathy releases she was giving him was making his cock harder and harder.  He did the same on the other side, her down now bunched around her waist.  “I need you, Andy.  I want you so bad.”

That’s all Andy really needed to hear.  He let go and pulled the material over her head, so she was bare to him. He pushed his sleep pants and boxers down enough to release his cock from its confines as she sat on his stomach, kissing his neck and beard.  He lifted her up and guided her onto him, both moaning at the sensation of being fully reunited once again.  Andy guided her, helping Rory bounce on him.  “Yes! Andy! So full!”

“You are doing so well, sweetheart.  Taking all of me at one. You like that? Tell me pretty girl, you like my thick cock stretching you wide?” Andy’s dirty talk was getting to her. “Tell me baby girl or I can’t satisfy you.”

“Need you daddy, need you to make me yours,” she cried.

“Fuck,” he mumbled.  He pushed her up and laid her down on her belly.  He grasped her hips and pulled them into the air. “This is going to feel intense Aurora, are you ready?”

“Yes,” she shook from the cold air hitting her warm pussy.

“God, what a sight,” as Andy teased her between her folds.  He sunk into her slowly, letting her get used to how intense the stretch was from behind.  She moaned loudly as Andy started to pull back slowly but then started to set a steady pace.  “You feel amazing like this my sweetheart.  So tight, fuck, like a vice on my cock.”

“So good daddy, oh so full.”

“Good.”  He tightened his grip on her hips, feeling her ready to explode.  He wanted to make it last and if she cummed right now, he would lose it.  He pulled out, with a protest from Rory but he flipped her and slide back in right on top of her.  “I want to see you cum, my love.  I want to watch you fall apart.”

“Andy, please, let me cum.  I need to,” she wailed.

He started thrusting into her, a steady pace that worked her back up. He grunted and she sighed, in tandem, one couple, two pieces of one soul, fusing together.  “Rory, baby, marry me,” he grunted as he continued to hit her spot inside.

“Andy!” She could feel it. She was almost there.

“Say it, my love, say you will be my wife,” Andy begged. “Please Rory.”

“Yes! Andy yes!”

“Cum now!”

Stars explode behind Rory’s eyes as she met her euphoric release, her walls vice-gripping Andy as he continued to work her.  Just a couple of snaps later and Andy finds his release, shooting rope after rope of white hot cum into her womb.  He thrusts slowly as he finished and stopped.  He pressed his forehead to hers as they breathed deeply, trying to slow their hearts.  After a couple of moments, Rory studied her lover’s eyes.

“Did you mean it?”

Andy smiled. “Every word.  Marry me love.  Become my wife.  I love you so much Aurora Thatcher.”

Her face was neutral, thoughtful. He was still buried inside of her, still half hard but he had no intention of moving. But as the seconds ticked by, he started to frown, until Rory traced her fingers down the side of his face. “I love you. Yes, of course. I want to be Rory Barber.”  His soft lips met his in a gentle kiss.

“Tomorrow?” He asked hopefully.

Rory laughed.  “Crazy man. Not tomorrow, no.  You still gotta talk to my grandfather.” She kissed his nose. “But if Natasha can have what I want done fast enough, I can marry you then.”

True to her word, Rory and Andy got married in the town square just a few weeks later.  It was the perfect fall weddings, all of their friends and family were there, even in spirit.  Rory laid out four chairs in the front with a candle on each.  One for Jacob, two for her parents and one for Ransom. Gone but not forgotten.

Once the minister pronounced the husband and wife, Andy led his new bride to the vintage Mustang for a ride through town before they got to the reception.  It had been perfect, everything Rory and Andy wanted.

Rory and Andy would continue to live and work in Newton, growing her bakery and ruling the town.

**

Welcome to Newton.  A sleepy town outside of Boston.  Where kids can play with their friends and shop owners advertise with signs on the street.  It’s a quiet town.  An unassuming town.  A town where one-man rules and no one forgets it.  This town, Newton, is Andy Barber’s town and he is their king. Their king had found a princess that he made into his queen and the city was safe once again.

THE END

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A man on the hill, overlooking the city, smoking a cigarette, watching them. His plan worked and Andy was firmly in his seat of power.  He looked at the other four cities, the hill the center. One down, four to go.

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #andy barber #lloyd hansen #andy barber au #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans au #andy barber fiction #andy barber fanfic #lloyd hansen fic #andy barber smut #aurora #Andy barber vs Lloyd Hansen

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

The Best Friend in the World

by J.C. Ryle

Do we want an unfailing friend? Such a friend is the Lord Jesus Christ. The saddest part of all the good things of earth is their instability. Riches make themselves wings and flee away; youth and beauty are but for a few years; strength of body soon decays; mind and intellect are soon exhausted. All is perishing. All is fading. All is passing away. But there is one splendid exception to this general rule, and that is the friendship of Jesus Christ.

The Lord Jesus is a friend who never changes. There is no fickleness about Him: those whom He loves, He loves unto the end. Husbands have been known to forsake their wives; parents have been known to cast off their children; human vows and promises of faithfulness have often been forgotten. Thousands have been neglected in their poverty and old age, who were honoured by all when they were rich and young. But Christ never changed His feelings towards one of His friends. He is ‘the same yesterday, today, and forever.’ (Heb. 13:8.)

The Lord Jesus never goes away from His friends. There is never a parting and good-bye between Him and His people. From the time that He makes His abode in the sinner’s heart, He abides in it for ever. The world is full of leave-takings and departures: death and the lapse of time break up the most united family; sons go forth to make their way in life; daughters are married, and leave their father’s house for ever.

Scattering, scattering, scattering, is the yearly history of the happiest home. How many we have tearfully watched as they drove away from our doors, whose pleasant faces we have never seen again! How many we have sorrowfully followed to the grave, and then come back to a cold, silent, lonely, and blank fireside! But, thanks be to God, there is One who never leaves His friends! The Lord Jesus is He who has said, ‘I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.’ (Heb. 13:5.)

The Lord Jesus goes with His friends wherever they go. There is no possible separation between Him and those whom He loves. There is no place or position on earth, or under the earth, that can divide them from the great Friend of their souls. When the path of duty calls them far away from home, He is their companion; when they pass through the fire and water of fierce tribulation, He is with them; when they lie down on the bed of sickness, He stands by them and makes all their trouble work for good; when they go down the valley of the shadow of death, and friends and relatives stand still and can go no further, He goes down by their side. When they wake up in the unknown world of Paradise, they are still with Him; when they rise with a new body at the judgment day, they will not be alone. He will own them for His friends, and say, ‘They are mine: deliver them and let them go free.’ He will make good His own words: ‘I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.’ (Matt. 28:20.)

Look round the world, and see how failure is written on all men’s schemes. Count up the partings, and separations, and disappointments, and bereavements which have happened under your own knowledge. Think what a privilege it is that there is One at least who never fails, and in whom no one was ever disappointed! Never, never was there so unfailing a friend as Jesus Christ.”

#The J.C. Ryle Archive #The Best Friend in the World #J.C. Ryle

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Thank you so much @toms-cherry-trees for taking the time to answer my questions about your brilliant piece and allowing my self-indulgent series to continue on! As always, Interview With a Writer is my ongoing series of the talented souls on Tumblr and ao3, and their brilliant writing! 💜

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💜

Name: toms-cherry-trees

Story: Fires of Harrenhal

Paring: Aemond x Reader & Alys x Reader

Warnings: Betrayal. Character death. Very mild NSFW. Canon divergene from both book and show. Mention of war crimes and murder.

So, when did you start writing?

My first fandom writing was in February 2020 for the mostly unknown 1917 fandom. But I started writing privately (just me and my docs) ever since my last year of high school all the way to 2015, and even prior to that I helped friends with editing and proof reading their own reader insert fics (think 1D and Jonas Brothers kind of fics) in 2013-2014, so there is a lot of history!

What inspired the plot for Fires of Harrenhal?

Okay, so the idea had been bouncing on my head for a while of Aemond being betrayed by his wife because in fics it is almost always the wife who loses everything. And it all started when I pictured a wife with tears in her eyes, being informed that Aemond had been killed, only to crack a smile once the messenger leaves (most times fics play like movies in my head and that's how they come to be).

Through various hand written drabbles, I laid out the original outline of Aemond being a neglectful husband. I had originally written him as a abusive husband but then I thought, I need people to mildly dislike him but not hate him for the story to deliver the feels that I want. So he ended being presented as emotionally incompetent.

My original plan was for Alys and Reader was to team up to plot Aemond's death, by having Alys give him fake predictions about his victory. But as I reached the final scene with them on the rooftop I thought, "Alys is more cunning and interest driven than this. And she is expecting, she would surely strive for more than being the plaything of a widowed princess with nothing secure to her name."

Explain your interpretation of Aemond. What drives him? Why is he the way he is in Fires of Harrenhal?

As we know, Aemond is duty driven. Extremely so. So much I dare say, that he does not have much will of his own. His grandsire and his mother's will is his own. He will abide their every word.

I feel like he tries to make up for Aegon's lousiness. He sees the way his mother suffers for his misdoings and he tries to compensate by being extra dutiful and servicial. Yet he still harboured hope that, as the second son, he would be allowed some slivers of freedom, like being able to choose a wife, or by defect, to select one from one of the candidates obviously pre selected by Otto. But he is not any second son, he is the second son of the royal family, and the direct descendant of an extremely ambitious man. So he got what was chosen for him and he took it because that is what his family expected of him.

There I drew a parallel with Daemon in my mind. Both second sons, thrust into marriages of convenience with women they did not love nor know. But unlike Daemon, who chose to neglect by omission his wife (very in character with him), Aemond chose to commit to his duty, but nothing more. He did the bare minimum expected of him, enough to maintain the envision that the realm and court had of him. The problem was not his wife himself, rather the circumstances that brought her to him. She is duty. And there is no pleasure in duty.

When he is made regent, it unlocks a hidden part of him. His taste for power is unleashed and it affects every aspect of his life, including his wife. He can command her. And also, she is part of his new image of King in all but name. There is a carefully crafted illusion of himself that he must maintain, and his wife must play the part by his side. The regent must have a wife equally dutiful as himself. Always there by his side, serving him, enduring with him. She dresses in his colours, though she has no interests other than serve him and his house.

And then at last when he comes face to face with Alys, away from the watchful gaze of his family, the façade cracks. Duty becomes an echo when he is Master and Lord and every man does his bidding. No one is above him, his power is not borrowed. Harrenhal becomes his kingdom and the soldiers and servants his court. His own will is let loose for the first time and he exerts it without inhibitions. He executes, he punishes, he takes what he wants, like a child being let loose inside a candy store.

Alys is just an extension of that. He sees a woman, he likes her, he takes her. She gives him his powers which is an added bonus. His infatuation comes from his ability to finally do and choose for himself, what is good for himself and not for his Hightower family.

Do you want to expand a bit on your interpretation of her? Did you enjoy delving into her character?

Love or hate her, we cannot deny that she is an interesting character and what we know from her is extremely subjective. An entire House wiped from the face of Earth minus one bastard. A witch, or so they say. A witch who ends up carrying a child we must assume is Aemond's but we cannot be sure. And that's it. We don't know what drives her, what she likes, what she thinks of the war. She feels like a template which is what makes her so fun to write.

In my envision she does not seek power exactly, but stability. As a bastard woman she cannot take anything for granted, not even the roof above herself. She's been many years under service of the Strongs and we can only guess what sort of treatment she received. We know she's lost children but we never know who fathered them or if it happened willingly. We can presume Lady Strong didn’t take kindly to her (Like Catelyn with Jon in ASoiaF).

She has her card under her sleeve with her visions and she sees Aemond as the perfect fool to use them. A man who is not quite a man, full of adrenaline and anger, who is more driven than anyone to win this war. She offers him an invaluable advantage that he cannot refuse. She puts herself forward as collateral and the now free willed Aemond cannot refuse.

But she's playing him, not out of sheer malice but simply self survival. And when his wife comes, Alys must choose what to do with her. Originally Alys would have let her live, had it not been for the babies, Alys' and the wife's. That changed the scenario. Her golden card of mothering a Targaryen would lose shine if a legal wife also brought forth a legal heir. That conception sealed her fate. Again not out of malice, as Alys had grown quite fond of the wife, like a trusted friend, but she had to put herself first. And unfortunately Alys likes theatrics, so poison in the tea wouldn't cut it.

Does she have a face claim?

In my mind, it's Eva Green. Totally not thinking of Miss Peregrine.

[Photo from :･ﾟ✧soׂsa ִ ۟  ⌁0]

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

She is a mixture of concepts I had and morphed into something I liked. I think of her as a woman who thinks she deserves better but does nothing to achieve it. She thinks she deserves at least respect and some degree of attention from her husband, but when she does not get it the first try, she does not try to change it. She let's things be as they are. He ignores her? So be it. He has mistresses? She never directly confronts him about it. Even when he forces her to move into his chamber and disposes of her things, when things become oppressive, she does not fight them back.

When she meets Alys, she develops this notion that she in fact holds some power over her life and destiny, that she has means and drive to fight back, that her life is not whatever curveball launched at her.

But of course this freedom is an illusion only. She (the wife) has no power. She thinks she has, she thinks that by taking a drastic measure such as disposing of Aemond that she is in fact changing her life, when in reality she is just a dog being led by Alys' invisible, but very persuasive, leash.

What are you working on next?

I have many WIPS, none that are concrete in the immediate future, but hopefully to be done within the next 2 weeks! One is a JacexWife smut (shameless) and one will be a multichapter of post-war Aemond with a dragonseed!

Could we please have a snippet? 💜

Here is a little snippet of my Aemond x Dragonseed OC fic. She does not have a name yet. but her personality and background are mostly defined.

Sleep had evaded her for a while now. How could she find rest, submerged in such deep pits of the Seven Hells? The faint by perpetual dripping of water on stone, the scurrying of the rats alongside the walls and corridors, and the eerie, guttural, cacophonous bedlam of her fellow death row prisoners. The pointless prayers, the maniac laughter, insults hurled at the guards, followed closely by muffled cries with the face hidden against the wall. Coughing, retching, sound of human decay and immorality. The man next to her cell had apparently chosen to jerk himself to death, getting as close to the iron bars as possible whenever a guard walked past the cells, fingers tapping the grates as he chose whose head would roll in the scaffold that day. At least the rats showed more decency, scurrying around her bare feet, collecting the crumbs of stale bread she had dropped for them. A long, imposing shadow cast on the wall, in the shape of a man. A guard, she could guess. Looking out the corner of the eye, she noticed his finger placed on the lock of the cell. She had been chosen at last. She did not fear it. In fact, the wait stretched too long. I will join them at last, she thought The guard forced her back to attention with a harsh kick on the door, rattling the metal and reigniting the madness within the corridor, which quieted every time they came to fish out a new victim to be killed publicly to appease the fools, make them think that they did something useful. The key struggled in the lock, and the rusty hinges creaked as the cell door slowly swung open. "Rise and shine, bastard," sneered the guard. "You are getting married."

#interview with a writer #iwaw19 #bts #of their brilliant writing #writing community #fires of harrenhal

[viktorkondrakis]

Greek myths: Sminthus and Cassiterus

The ingenuity of Greco-Roman folk tales is that they often preserve older rural myths when the images and texts of such stories are either lost to time or re-adapted to a newer religious context.

Take the Mycenaean war-deity Enuwalios, who was absorbed into the mythology of Ares to produce the local form of "Ares Enyalius" (Ἄρης Ἐνυάλιος) who assisted warriors and soldiers. The old myths surrounding Enyalius may have been lost to history, but he found a new mythos and life as a god reborn. In the case of Sminthus and Cassiterus, we see an older mythological stratum absorbed into an expanding Greco-Roman theological framework.

Sminthus (Σμίνθος) was a minor deity worshipped in northwestern Anatolia, and was, for lack of a better term, the "god of mice." Mice were considered sacred as they often lived under altars to eat the food offered to local deities, abiding constantly in the presence of the divine. In India we find Mūshika and Ganesha, in Mesopotamia "Nin-Kilim" (the "Mouse Lord"). Mice were also considered disease-bringers, and were worshipped by humans seeking shelter from pestilence (like people worshipping Poseidon to avoid earthquakes).

Sminthus appears to have been later absorbed into Apollonian tales, as seen in "Apollo Smintheus" (Ἀπόλλων Σμινθεύς) being worshipped in Hamaxitos. This "Sminthian Apollo" was even invoked in the Iliad by Chryses to smite the Greeks for his daughter's kidnapping (Book I, Line 39). In some of the re-imagined sources Sminthus is the son of Apollo and an unnamed human woman, making him a demigod like Aristaeus or Asclepius.

Cassiterus was a shepherd from a mortal family of no repute. His name (Κασσίτερος) means "Tin", and may have connected him to the earth metals as a chthonic deity in an older dispensation. Either way, this human and this god would find themselves caught in Aphrodite's rosy net.

Like Apollo and Admetus, Sminthus found himself ardently devoted to Cassiterus, whom he doted on and bestowed with gifts. The two were intertwined like the staff of Hermes, and were inseparable until Morus struck with his hateful spear.

While Sminthus was away, Cassiterus attempted to protect his flock from a band of travelling Trojans looking for food and a place to build a new settlement. He was mortally wounded in the process.

In a divine rage, Sminthus sent a swarm of field mice to eat the leather of their items, and would have struck them with plagues as well had his father not intervened. Apollo made a petition to the Sky Father for help, and Zeus offered to make the site of Cassiterus' death sacred for all generations.

Upset that he refused to save him in some way, Sminthus knelt on the ground with his dying partner in his arms, and let his tears mingle with the spilt blood. At the place where tears and blood, love and death, came together, a plant grew. Life for a life. And so they were separated, but never divided. One to be assimilated into his more famous father's mythology, and the other to fade into time, but never from his lover's heart.

#greek gods #greek mythology #sminthus #cassiterus #folk stories #apollo

[hiswordsarekisses]

For this reason David prayed a most important prayer that we can pray and trust God to answer, “Search me thoroughly, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there is any wicked or hurtful way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Psalm‬ ‭139:23-24‬) He knows our hearts better than we do, and there are times we do things that we do not realize are wrong. In another place he prayed to be forgiven for “unknown” sins. Many times we think we are doing good, when in God’s eyes we are not, because His ways and thoughts are not like ours. Thank God we can pray for Him to show us our wrong and hurtful ways and trust Him to change our hearts and lead us along His ways and not be lost. Also it is so important to consistently stay prayerfully abiding in the Word of God, because it is the straight edge we can hold our heart, mind, and life up to and measure against. It gets into our spirit and reveals the truth if we pray for eyes to see and ears to hear, and for a love of the truth that saves us from being deceived - and even self-deceived.

“For the Word that God speaks is alive and full of power [making it active, operative, energizing, and effective]; it is sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating to the dividing line of the breath of life (soul) and [the immortal] spirit, and of joints and marrow [of the deepest parts of our nature], exposing and sifting and analyzing and judging the very thoughts and purposes of the heart.” Hebrews‬ ‭4:12‬

“Seek, inquire for, and require the Lord while He may be found [claiming Him by necessity and by right]; call upon Him while He is near. Let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return to the Lord, and He will have love, pity, and mercy for him, and to our God, for He will multiply to him His abundant pardon. For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts. For as the rain and snow come down from the heavens, and return not there again, but water the earth and make it bring forth and sprout, that it may give seed to the sower and bread to the eater, [II Cor. 9:10.] So shall My word be that goes forth out of My mouth: it shall not return to Me void [without producing any effect, useless], but it shall accomplish that which I please and purpose, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” Isaiah‬ ‭55:6-11‬

All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the thoughts and intents of the heart… The way may seem right to a man and appears straight before him, but at the end of it is the way of death. (Proverbs‬ ‭16:2 & 25‬)

DJK - HWAK

[noahxmonroe-a]

Name: Noah Monroe Faceclaim: Luke Grimes Gender & Pronouns: cismale, he/him Age: 36 Birthday: May 10th Occupation: Horse trainer and riding instructor at Walker Ranch. Glorified ranch hand. Neighborhood: Bighorn Hills

tw: child abuse, domestic abuse, near death experience, death of a family member, alcoholism

Graham Monroe and Eleanor Dunn met as teenagers on the farm owned by her father, William Dunn, while Graham was working as a ranch hand and eventually fell in love. Against her father’s wishes and his flat out refusal when Graham asked William for Eleanor’s hand, the two snuck off and got eloped, leading to a long standing riff between father and daughter, until the day that Noah Monroe arrived into the world screaming and kicking. Bill couldn’t abide by punishing a child for the seeming mistakes of his parents and set about mending the relationship with his daughter enough that he could at least be welcome in his grandson’s life and in getting his way, Noah spent nearly every waking moment on the Dunn Farm, where his father resumed employment.

By the time Noah started crawling, it was joked that the boy was more wild animal than he had ever been little boy, fascinated by the animals that his grandfather housed on his property and seeming to find kindred spirits in the horses that roamed the grounds, no fear in the little boy despite the size of the beasts. After two years on his own, his sister Amelia joined the family and the young boy had a new task, to teach and protect his younger sister, a job he would come to take very seriously as they grew older. Their family was complete and for a while things seemed perfect, until an accident on the farm left his father with a debilitating back injury, leaving him out of work and suffering in a way that he turned to alcohol to numb. 

It didn’t take long for the drinking to lead to other avenues, including gambling, which often led to Graham staying out all night, losing the money they had scraped together for the bills, and Eleanor waiting up for him in both worry and anger, whispered arguments outside Noah’s door that eventually turned into screaming matches if not worse, Amelia sneaking into her big brother’s room for him to hold his hands over her ears and reassure her that everything would be alright, if the boy wasn’t outright putting himself between his father and mother to prevent harm coming to the older woman.

Graham’s anger grew and no member of the family was safe, which led to Noah making sure he and his sister spent most of their time with their grandparents, as there had been no legal intervention in their home life due to his mother continuing to deny there was a problem. While Noah still loved his mother deeply, he no longer trusted her to keep them safe, instilling himself into the role of protector instead, drawing his father’s ire when need be and making sure to never leave Amelia alone with him. It was here, at his grandfather’s side, that he learned how to break and train horses, a skill that would later carry him through life, but at the time, a welcome distraction from his reality.

As years passed, the relationship between father and son had soured beyond repair, often exacerbated by the older man’s drinking and the fact that his now teenaged son was helping pay the bills in his own home, having taken up his father’s place at the Dunn Ranch, leaving Graham feeling emasculated, but things finally came to a head after the passing of William. The estate was divided up, most of the land being sold off and what there was left being split up to give a little to each grandchild, but Noah was left something extra; the last horse that he and his grandfather had trained together. Stricken with grief at the loss of his only real father figure, Noah found solace in throwing himself into the often back breaking work of caring and continuing to train the horse, hearing his grandfather’s advice in his head as he worked and allowing him to continue to feel close to the man he had lost. It was nearly three months after that that Noah came home from school to find the stallion gone. His father had bet the horse in a poker game and lost.

It’s both the first and last time Noah ever picks a fight with his father and while Noah had grown stronger from the farm work, there was a part of him that was still reluctant to hurt his own father, even in his rage, while Graham seemed to have no such qualms about hurting his own son. Once he got the upper hand, he was brutal in the blows he delivered to his son, prompting Amelia to call the cops for fear that her father may actually kill her brother, a near reality. Noah was rushed to the hospital and kept under observation for fear of swelling in his brain while Graham was dragged away to the local jail, the repercussions of the night ringing out in a way that would change the family forever.

While Graham was still locked up and Noah was recovering, Eleanor filed for a restraining order against her soon to be ex-husband and began packing up the house. Never again would he lay a finger on her or one of her children. She finds a nice town in Colorado named Providence Peak near where her older sister and her husband live and uses some of the money that her father left her to put a down payment on a house. She thinks that, at least, William would have approved of. It’s a better life for them all, but much of the damage is done and it takes a while before Noah is able to open up again, finishing out his senior year before seeking out employment on the Walker Ranch, falling into the only job that brought him any peace.

It’s here that he and his sister still reside almost two decades later with Amelia raising her son, William, as a single mother and Noah stepping in to try and be a positive role model in the boy’s life when need be, though he’s not so sure how positive he is. While Noah always strived to be nothing like his father, there is one bad habit he picked up from the man, often using alcohol to numb the pain when things got too hectic in his head. He lives alone in Bighorn Hills and would currently classify himself as an eternal bachelor, happily.

#( about ) #( bio )

[howieabel]

“Ode to Joy Joy, beautiful spark of Divinity, Daughter of Elysium, We enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly one, thy sanctuary! Thy magic binds again What custom strictly divided;* All people become brothers,* Where thy gentle wing abides. Whoever has succeeded in the great attempt, To be a friend's friend, Whoever has won a lovely woman, Add his to the jubilation! Yes, and also whoever has just one soul To call his own in this world! And he who never managed it should slink Weeping from this union! All creatures drink of joy At nature's breasts. All the Just, all the Evil Follow her trail of roses. Kisses she gave us and grapevines, A friend, proven in death. Salaciousness was given to the worm And the cherub stands before God. Gladly, as His suns fly through the heavens' grand plan Go on, brothers, your way, Joyful, like a hero to victory. Be embraced, Millions! This kiss to all the world! Brothers, above the starry canopy There must dwell a loving Father. Are you collapsing, millions? Do you sense the creator, world? Seek him above the starry canopy! Above stars must He dwell.” ― Friedrich Schiller

[lennart11412]

[Chapter 41]

1 And after that I saw all the secrets of the heavens, and how the kingdom is divided, and how the 2 actions of men are weighed in the balance. And there I saw the mansions of the elect and the mansions of the holy, and mine eyes saw there all the sinners being driven from thence which deny the name of the Lord of Spirits, and being dragged off: and they could not abide because of the punishment which proceeds from the Lord of Spirits. 3 And there mine eyes saw the secrets of the lightning and of the thunder, and the secrets of the winds, how they are divided to blow over the earth, and the secrets of the clouds and dew, and there 4 I saw from whence they proceed in that place and from whence they saturate the dusty earth. And there I saw closed chambers out of which the winds are divided, the chamber of the hail and winds, the chamber of the mist, and of the clouds, and the cloud thereof hovers over the earth from the 5 beginning of the world. And I saw the chambers of the sun and moon, whence they proceed and whither they come again, and their glorious return, and how one is superior to the other, and their stately orbit, and how they do not leave their orbit, and they add nothing to their orbit and they take nothing from it, and they keep faith with each other, in accordance with the oath by which they 6 are bound together. And first the sun goes forth and traverses his path according to the commandment 7 of the Lord of Spirits, and mighty is His name for ever and ever. And after that I saw the hidden and the visible path of the moon, and she accomplishes the course of her path in that place by day and by night-the one holding a position opposite to the other before the Lord of Spirits.

hymn

1 Then I saw a new heaven and earth, for the first had passed away; and the holy city came down from God like a bride on her wedding day. And I know how he loves his own, for I heard his great voice tell they would be his people, and he their God, and among them he came to dwell.

2 He will wipe away every tear, even death shall die at last. There'll be no more crying or grief or pain - they belong to the world that's past. And the One on the throne said, "Look, I am making all things new." He is A and Z, he is first and last, and his words are exact and true.

3 So the thirsty can drink their fill at the fountain giving life. But the gates are shut on all evil things, on deceit and decay and strife. With foundations and walls and towers like a jewel the city shines, with its streets of gold and its gates of pearl, in a glory where each combines.

4 As they measured its length and breadth I could see no temple there, for its only temple is God the Lord and the Lamb in that city fair. And it needs neither sun nor moon in a place which knows no night, for the city's lamp is the Lamb himself, and the glory of God its light.

5 And I saw by the sacred throne flowing water, crystal clear, and the tree of life with its healing leaves and its fruit growing all the year. So the worshipers of the Lamb bear his name and see his face, and they reign and serve and forever live to the praise of his glorious grace.

[joyffree]

True love conquers all, but can it survive in the Wild West?

HEAD-OVER-HEELS FOR THE WEST!

Westward Bound, a Jackson Brothers prequel by Romantic Fiction by Maddie Taylor

With the threat of war growing more real by the day, Henry Jackson faces an impossible choice. Virginia is divided, with half the state poised to secede, leaving the Jackson family farm teetering on the very border that will divide the north and south. To protect his wife and their three teenage boys, Henry accepts the government’s promise of land and a fresh start in the untamed western territories.

Despite the distance from the unrest, the Jacksons exchange one danger for another. The challenges of their new life are many, especially for Leticia, Henry’s wife. Leaving behind her family home, her friends and neighbors, and many of her cherished family keepsakes are beyond difficult. And Letty finds the demands of frontier life, the loneliness, and the new rules put in place to protect her almost too much to bear.

As a greenhorn pioneer, she finds herself in one scrape after another, and the decisions she’s often pushed to make aren’t wise. Repeatedly risking injury or death is something Henry will not abide, and although his devotion is unquestionable, his patience eventually wears thin. Determined to keep the woman he loves safe, he lays down the law to ensure her survival. Will his firm hand dampen her spirit? Or will Letty finally accept that her home and heart have always been with Henry and her boys?

#releaseblitz #westwardbound #thejacksonbrothersseries #prequel #westernromance #historicalromance #steamyreads #maddietaylor #1852media