#INCLUDING HER but she had already been traded to someone else

[tsubasaclones]

now HERES a girlie i havent drawn in forever

[dragonseeds]

do you think dany knew what she was doing when she hatched her dragons or was it just an accident?

oh yes i think she knew exactly what she was doing. the magic in her blood and the eggs and the fire was speaking to her, coming through in her dragon dreams—especially that last fever dream after her miscarriage. i think she knew it was possible before because she could feel the eggs stirring and the magic waking up (and she was already connecting with drogon and drawing strength from him), but it was mirri maz duur who actually taught her how to do it.

i love that what she’s actually doing is never explicitly stated, yet everything she’s doing saying and thinking gives her away. like she swears to jorah she doesn’t intend to die with drogo, she directly compares herself to aegon, she places the eggs on the pyre and tells mirri maz duur that she’s going to take her life because only death can pay for life, etc., but the closest dany ever comes to directly saying it is when it’s done and the last dragon is about to hatch:

like calling herself mother of dragons and then calling them her children is unequivocal, but before that grrm’s building the suspense and creating this heady wild momentum. it feels very similar to reading her wake the dragon fever dream, and provides such a great insight into her character. the space in the narrative where she doesn’t acknowledge what she’s doing or exactly why she’s doing it is where the magic lives, and it also gives her a place to hide any lingering uncertainty or fear, while still making it clear that she understands what’s happening: that she is in fact making it happen.

but like speaking of accidents, i’m obsessed with the difference between dany’s success and egg’s flop tragedy. she uses her husband’s funeral pyre, the husband whose life she traded her son’s for, to wake the dragons (including herself) and creates life from death. aegon v tried to hatch dragon eggs during rhaegar’s birth (the child he and jaehaerys ii traded rhaella’s happiness and agency for) and instead made a pyre of summerhall and most of his family. rhaegar was the last dragon, born in fire, and now it’s her—but it was always her and he always had to die. “the face within was her own.” crazy. insane.

i’m sure people have pointed this out before, but the magic here always makes me think of this line from the last unicorn: “real magic can never be made by offering up someone else’s liver. you must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.” grrm’s use of magic is very similar, just as the unicorn and dany are similar, and i think it’s very possible that other attempts to hatch dragons in the past failed in part because whoever was trying didn’t understand this (and also because they were a. men and b. not daenerys lol). magic has a price, and it’s always high. this is one of the hardest lessons dany has to learn, and she thanks mirri maz duur for it in the end, because she understands that it had to be her own child, her womb, her husband, her sun and his fire that’s really hers burning someone’s life away—and this whole time, the entire book up until this point, she’s been cracking open like the moon, like the eggs on the pyre, and then she joins them in the fire.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. 😘

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

“Where is she?” Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car. 

Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they weren’t slaughtered, they’d be taken into custody. 

Ben knew he could’ve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperate…

Anyway, Black Noir hadn’t been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that you’d stuck to it…but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

“She was brought to the Tower,” Frank informed him.

Ben smirked. “Good. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew I’d be coming.”

He looked over and noticed Frank’s frown as he drove. 

“Unless he’s not at the Tower,” Frank said. 

Ben’s smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there if…

“We have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,” Frank said. “Or she’s improvising.”

Ben frowned. 

That didn’t change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didn’t matter. 

The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of “good guys vs. bad guys.” It was just defense and siege. 

And in front of them all was Black Noir. 

“There you are,” Ben said, but the other supe didn’t even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission. 

When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stan’s office. 

Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man. 

Meanwhile, Ben and Noir’s fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way. 

Once they reached near the floor below Stan’s office, Ben got an arm around Black Noir’s neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.

But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Ben’s helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.

When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears. 

He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someone…

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear. 

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this. 

Right fucking now. 

That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.

His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.

Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.

Meanwhile, you were holding your own…but you were also getting beat to hell. 

You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit. 

You were still standing though. 

“You’ve gotten soft,” Jon remarked. He’d broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again. 

“I gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappointing.” 

When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table. 

You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.

But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic. 

He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldn’t crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you. 

“What you need now is what you’ve always needed. A firm hand,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. I promise, I will.”

The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain. 

But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested. 

Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.

Still, you struggled to breathe. 

Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.

To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms. 

You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you. 

Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height. 

And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead. 

You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was. 

“What are you, some kind of hero?” you managed to quip, offering a small smile. 

Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. “Something like that.” 

When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.

“Hold on,” he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. “We’re getting the fuck outta here.”

Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“He…knew,” you managed to say. “Knew I was lying.”

“I know,” said Ben. “I should’ve fucking known better.”

You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldn’t help it anymore.

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

“Yeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,” he said. 

You could’ve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile. 

“Guess not,” you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice. 

“Just relax,” he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice. 

Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings. 

All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“It’s about fucking time,” you eventually heard Ben grouse. 

You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.   

“I take it Stan Edgar isn’t here,” said Frank. 

“You could fucking say that,” Ben snarked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Sir.” Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.

Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frank’s arms.

“Get her out of here,” Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.

“He shouldn’t face Noir alone,” you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest. 

“He’ll meet us after,” Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.

Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy. 

“You can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but it’s not going to stop me from killing you,” Ben taunted.

Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Ben’s shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasn’t hot. 

It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasn’t diffusing his power completely…it just made it even harder to control. 

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.

Glancing down, he realized he’d been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell. 

Fuck.

At least it was better than a frigid coffin…but in his mind, not by much.

He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet. 

Why’s it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?

He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell. 

Stan Edgar. 

The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms. 

“We did hope you would remain on sabbatical,” said Stan. “But I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.”

Stan gestured to the large cell. “This was our contingency plan.”

Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.

“A light mist of Novichok,” Stan explained. “Enough to keep you docile.”

“And if I’m not?” Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution. 

“We can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,” Stan replied. “But you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?” 

“The conversation I planned on having was…a little different,” Ben said darkly. “But first, let’s start with what you used to clone Black Noir.”

“I suppose there’s no real harm in telling you,” Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Ben’s ears, the smug prick. 

“We kept some of Homelander’s blood as an insurance policy. But, we’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

“This Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. He’s under our control,” Stan said.

“Until he isn’t,” Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.

“And that new gun?” he asked. “Don’t tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.”

Stan’s lips made a wry turn. 

“It was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.” Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. “A reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.”

“So what’s the play here?” Ben said. He was getting impatient. “You know, when I break out, things aren’t gonna be pretty.” 

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat. 

“In the meantime,” he said, “you won’t be alone.” 

Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like you’d been bandaged up, at least.

“You also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fine…if a bit worse for wear,” Stan informed him. 

Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He should’ve made sure that bastard was dead. 

“That’s cute, considering he’s the demented fuck who beat her to hell,” Ben said. 

Stan rose a solitary brow. “And at whose behest did she enter the lion’s den?”  

Ben had nothing to say to that.

You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt. 

Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that you’d been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.

You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room. 

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked. 

Ben chuckled a little. “You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot. 

You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.

“Go slow,” he warned. “Bet you’re missing that Temp. V right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad. 

The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.

You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.

That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest. 

Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captor’s gun. 

You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story. 

Bottom line: Frank’s death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didn’t seem to hold it against you.

“Good on ya, Frank,” Ben murmured. “You went down fucking swingin’.”

“What about you? What happened with Black Noir?” you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Ben’s eyes.

He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.

“Makes you wonder what else they’ve been cooking up in that lab,” you muttered. 

“Other than Noir?” Ben quipped. He told you about that too. 

“We can figure this out,” you said. “If nothing else, my team, the CIA, they’re looking for both of us…if for different reasons.”

Ben scoffed at that. “A silver lining there. Make no mistake, we’re getting the fuck out of here. Just…need a minute to think.” 

But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief. 

Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when he’d wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.

“Aaah, fuck!” he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.

You noticed, biting your lip in concern…until an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little. 

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked. 

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.

“Because they’re easy to catch,” you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. “Buddum-ch.”

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

“Okay, not a fan of that one. Let me see…okay,” you raised a finger. “What does a baby computer call its father?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t tell if you were serious.

“Data!” you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Ben’s lips, but he was stubborn.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked. 

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered. 

“Because 7’s a dick, that’s why,” you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Ben’s face. 

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk. 

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.  

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk. 

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you). 

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile. 

It made you smile in return. 

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?” 

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?” 

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it. 

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled. 

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.” 

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.  

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze. 

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs. 

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government. 

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted. 

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair. 

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said. 

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.” 

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best. 

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked. 

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said. 

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell. 

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

[bookwyrminspiration]

Transcript of The Trade, the Marella KOTLC short story (Including the author introduction)

Note: OG pictures taken by Kenna!, provided by @fintan-pyren. Some words are obscured and the transcript may contain errors. Neverless, I hope this is useful to anyone who may need/want it :)

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! :)

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present--and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"--and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later...*wink*).

For those wondering, this story is based a [sic] scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune--and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done!

Happy reading! [shannon's signature]

~

"Ugh, I hate this place," Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders.

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave.

Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there--or how important her visits were. She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell.

The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast waiting to devour everything in its path--which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible.

Especially for someone like her.

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down--and down a whole lot more--to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold.

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon--and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting.

it wasn't fair.

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers.

But they weren't Pyrokinetics.

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all.

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame.

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away.

in fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her--but the thought still made her shiver and wish she could've manifested as...

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen.

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness.

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in--let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until...

Snap!

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm.

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh.

Marella nodded--though she definitely could've done without the whispered that were now hissing around her head.

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Fire craved fuel--constantly wanting more, more, more--and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes---none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very...

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites--but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen--assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame--and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out--but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago--after her mom's accident--and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower--that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me..."

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare--which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower--and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube--which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That's probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk--and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom--which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so...

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans--or almost dying all the time--Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe--which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicker her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

As least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking--but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan--but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turn trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened-- the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day--his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him--even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom--"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer should more exiting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything--but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles--and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers--and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and--"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you--and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything--which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with--some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot down each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard--taunted him too much--and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal--but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly--and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out--especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches--aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed--and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five..."

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but--"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed--but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort--I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade--and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade--and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan--but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning...right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner--not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But...this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to...

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But...did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed of the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open--far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening--and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around--down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me--but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again--making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back...

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible--which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing...nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

And waiting.

"So...they...blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty--but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything--and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean..."

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames--which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control--but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first--and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so...you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to..."

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire--and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized...

"You never figured out what was missing--did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile--butt Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor--too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised--and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before i brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such...promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory--to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise--particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections--and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax--all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right--and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's..." He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is--and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer--until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But...she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other--something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'--if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone--everyone--was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't...

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade--it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own--and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation--and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet...he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer--and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong...would it?

It didn't feel wrong--or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sound like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't" Fintan agreed.

The guard growled--looking scarier than ever--and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions--except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot--the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Trust me.

[demonslayedher]

This is the Hashibira House--hear me out

I've mentioned this idea in a few posts here and there, but I'm putting it here with my nine reasons:

I think Tanjiro will ask Inosuke to inherit the family home and charcoal kiln.

Reason 1. Kanata and Sumihiko live in the city and show no ties to charcoal farming. This makes me very sad, but although they inherit Tanjiro's sword and the earrings, and although the two of them both perform Hinokami Kagura at a local shrine at New Years (Fanbook #2 Taisho Secret), they are is no mention of charcoal aside from the "sumi" in Sumihiko's name. Even then, he is the second son, so it's kind of like they forgot the family traditional when Kanata was born. Really goes to show how much they still value the old family trade that kept them working with fire, hmph!

Although Tanjiro knew the need for charcoal was decreasing (Fanbook #2 post-epilogue comic), and although he'd probably be happy to see his descendant free to be a parkouring zookeeper, that's still generations of the family trade that's been tossed out. Not that Hinokami Kagura is needed in their world anymore, but still, that sucks some of the meaning dry. So again, I am sad.

Reason 2. There is precedent for the house and its legacy to be passed around.

According to the Taisho Secret right before Chapter 191, the house was previously used by Yoriichi and "Uta." It only became the Kamado house once Suyako and Sumiyoshi came across it when it was abandoned.

It was temporarily abandoned again later on when Tanjiro had to take Nezuko and make a run for it, and despite all the care taken of it the house is already hundreds of years old, so it wouldn't be surprising if it gets abandoned again. Still sad, though.

Reason 3. Tanjiro already kind of expected he wouldn't live there long.

In the Fanbook #2 post-epilogue comic, Tanjiro mentions that even though he doesn't need to, he likes working, and he wants to leave money for everyone when he's gone.

He feels the effects of his injuries and everything else he's been through, and needs regular check-ups down at the Butterfly Mansion. Maybe he'll be fine for most of the years he has left, but what if it's a steady decline from the easily-tired point he's already found himself in? Take care of the house is going to take more and more out of him, and his children won't be old enough to take on many responsibilities before he's 25.

He's at peace with the understanding that he'll be gone someday and hopes the others will live peaceful lives without him.

We know that Kamaboko living arrangement couldn't had lasted long, though, because he and Kanao go on to have descendants together.

Reason 4. Kanao's not going to have Kaburamaru for long.

As much as I have faith in Kanao to live near-blind in the deep mountains, it's going to be a bit harder once she loses her seeing-eye snake, and Kaburamaru's already a somewhat old snake by the time she inherits him. If she's going to continue being a doctor, she may have an easier time of that staying in the Butterfly Mansion with all the resources there, and patients coming to her (a challenge to ask them to go up the mountain for her services).

Reason 5. There's someone who might do just fine without those extra conveniences and resources, for she is very resourceful.

Even though Kanao would insist the contrary, Aoi--who always called Shinobu by "-sama" and never "-neesan"--might feel Kanao has more claim to inherit the Butterfly Mansion, for Aoi was always a little hard on herself and insecure in her role as a failed Corp member. I stress again, none of this would make a difference to Kanao, who knows Shinobu cared about Aoi just as much. As much as Aoi has demonstrated her ability to run a clinic, I have just as much faith in her to run a mountain household, including handling its inevitable repairs, as well as to go make house calls around the village whenever needed.

Reason 6. Inosuke is more genki than anybody. And, more importantly, he's learned to make charcoal.

This takes us back to the comic in Fanbook #2, where Inosuke is so well-adjusted to life in the Kamaboko household that he's not only learned the charcoal trade well enough to say, "buy Inosuke-sama's charcoal," but he's also a shining star when it comes to doing chores. He's doing really well with growing up and taking on human responsibility!

He is also, however, the King of the Forest. That's his home, and even when spending long periods of time in the Butterfly Mansion, the forests call him.

Reason 7. You know who else loves nature? This dude.

Just because he wants to be alone in nature doesn't mean he grew up on Mt. Kumotori, but I do suspect he has spent a lot of time there, because that's where the blue spider lilies--the subjects of his failed research--had come from. Although we don't know how this research started and who got the flowers in the first place, the potential connection is strong.

If he wasn't raised in that house, then maybe he and his family still go out there regularly to take care of it. After all, even if they don't remember who and they're unmarked, there are important graves to show respect to and take care of there. Maybe it was on a trip like that when Aoba discovered where the blue spider lilies grow, which put him on the botany path.

You know who he apparently didn't run into? Any Kamados, as he and Sumihiko didn't meet until Aoba was unemployed and Sumihiko was scolded by the police and they were both hanging out and depressed in the park.

Reason 8. Tanjiro trusts Inosuke.

Entrusting Nezuko to Zenitsu is one thing--Zenitsu obviously would do anything to keep Nezuko safe, happy, and comfortable, but Zenitsu's heart isn't in the mountains. He's a city boy and doesn't like the inconveniences of mountain life, and clearly he doesn't show much initiative for the demands of keeping a mountain home. Tanjiro wouldn't expect this of Zenitsu, nor would he trust him with it, even if he'd trust Zenitsu with just about anything else.

In Inosuke's case, Tanjiro understands Inosuke at an intuitive level--what he needs to hear and be told, and what Inosuke's strengths are. If ever Tanjiro got the inkling that he can no longer take care of the house, or that he must prioritize taking care of his small children and partially blind wife, then he wouldn't think of anyone else but Inosuke who would be happier having that home for his own.

Inosuke sure wouldn't be happy at first, though. That house is Kamado Tanjiro's house, and he doesn't want a house without Kamado Tanjiro in it.

But Inosuke, who has never had a traditional nuclear family, might come around to the idea of being the head of his own family, and having something normal and human like this of his own.

The Hashibira house, with Inosuke the head of the Hashibira family, providing for them with his labor.

I can imagine Tanjiro would run the idea by Aoi first, who would accept the responsibility as an honor, and maybe this would come after Tanjiro and Kanao had been a married couple on their own a while in the house first. The town where the boys sell charcoal is big enough that I can see Nezuko being pretty happy settling down there where it's close both to home and more along the lines of Zenitsu's tastes, but eventually...

Reason 9. One way or another, the Kamado and Agatsuma families are both going to wind up in the heart of urban sprawl, far away from Mt. Kumotori.

It's only a question of when and why.

[chaifootsteps]

Armchair Psychology Anon here (not a real Psych just seeing patterns)

I uh... hmm.

So Lilith/Eve is the true villian, wanting to destroy the relationship of Charlie and Lucifer?

Of course it is. (If true).

And her liking these tweets of Luci x Lilith lately makes a whole lot more sense. The fans are most likely not going to take this well if this leak is true. Also, it makes sense that her trading card crops out her face, gives her no last name, and makes her look sinister as hell. She also still has not yet had her VA revealed and no real good look at her.

I just... it's interesting as well that Alastor is secretly sent to protect Charlie. (Male character, too, of course. And seeing someone say he's also a father figure now makes sense as well.) I always liked the idea that he was secretly going to turn on the Hotel and Charlie (or just leaves) and be an obvious hidden antagonist. And it's interesting that Charlie DOES end up forgiving her. Viv mentioned spending time with her mom over the holiday, so it's clear that perhaps that they do have some sort of civil relationship at the very least.

And of course, the Root of Evil is a woman.

Chai, I say this as nicely as possible, especially after carefully analyzing and seeing the complaints of HB as a whole, and that recent interview with Brandon asking about how women are written, and about Ghostfuckers (whilst also knowing about the leaks of it). Also likes silly tweets about being depressed, and most of her main cast of Helluva consists of depressed characters. Especially Stolas (who is also rich, and Vuv defends like crazy (He's her self insert/her father rolled into one character). That one is not too hard to see. Most people are depressed these days (myself included).

Vivienne needs therapy.

She needs it if she hasn't already been getting it.

I understand that writing out trauma is therapeutic. I have author friends who do it. I do it myself. But I also see my own therapist every week.

She clearly hates women. She loves her own father and incorporates loving father/daughter relationships into her own work and clearly does not let anything get in the way of that.

That's why the main character is allowed to be woman. Because it's Viv and the relationship with her own father. Charlie is also bi... which Viv is apparently too.

Something else I've noticed is older bad dads.

Which is ironic because God punishes Lucifer (his son) and Luci wants to be good for Charlie.

I think it's quite possible that maybe her grandfather was not as kind to her father, as her father is to her. See Crimson to Moxxie (it can be assumed Moxxie wants children and would be a loving father). See Paimon to Stolas, and Cash to Blitzo.

But then, going down the line of the newer fathers being better to their daughters. Stolas tries with Octavia (doesn't try very well), Blitz REALLY tries with Loona, Millie's dad seems to have a healthy relationship with her. Perhaps her father has shared with her that his relationship with his dad wasn't great and that he wanted to be a better father to her and her sisters. And whatever her mother did to her/her father...yikes.

Her latest IG post also does mention being depressed about "plans changing" and that food from her dad helps.

I just... wow. Viv can be so easily read. She really doesn't leave anything hidden. And she can't stop herself from writing out her truth.

And that's not going to go over with the fans or public at all, I'm sure of it.

It is also interesting to have a male voicing Katie Killjoy. Hmm. Not that I have a problem with men voicing women, but when it comes to Viv... I don't have a good feeling about it. I've also noticed Brandon seeming a bit miserable in his IG posts and his HH ones don't seem very excited either.

I think his declining views on his own channel other than the 2 HB ones say a lot. Especially when he's clearly trying to placate Viv by saying he's "one of the worst writers of HB".

Chai... oof. I don't know what else to say. We'll just see what comes next.

Thank you for all of this, Armchair Psychology Anon. Your writeups are always fascinating to read, in a haunting sort of way.

I don't know what's going on in Viv's personal life and family history, but all this is pointing to something that demands a really good therapist. Viv being an awful person doesn't negate that.

[mylittleredgirl]

previously on mylittleredgirl: [four seasons of m*a*s*h] [six weeks of screaming about margaret houlihan]

i have now finished season five disc one and a bullet point recap is due! [yeah there's more screaming in it]

bug out was a fucking DELIGHT

god i was so worried though when klinger had to trade all his dresses i was wailing internally. what if he just wears fatigues forever!?!??? but it's all okay!!!! that tassel mod dress he has on in "the abduction of margaret houlihan" healed me ten times over. his outfits have been 🔥 this season.

such a mix of really dumb slapstick comedy and "oh god the war is Right Here" drama and little character sweetness... love it.

and the family reunion happiness at the end!!!! god bless. i left my body for like thirty-six hours.

i really really love the tone they're striking with frank this season. they've walked back the cartoon villainy of late season four, so he's once again a relatively harmless clown. i breathed a huge sigh of relief. he's soooo much more fun this way.

margaret's engagement: bonkers. delightful. she's unbearable. there is so much wrong with her. i want to study her in a jar. i will never shut up again.

with this put together with some bits later in the disc (including that cut scene crayon joke lmao), did she somehow manage to trade DOWN from frank? is that even possible??? it's either that or this new dude is actually just The Exact Same Guy, but now she'll be the fool wife at home instead of the beloved mistress.

i mean personally if i were louise burns i'd be very happy for my dumbass husband to fuck around on the other side of the world for as long as possible while i enjoy the $35,000 house and two cars without him, but for someone like margaret who is far more interested in being wined and dined than running a household, this... may not be the field promotion she thinks it is.

hawkeye rising to frank's defense and him and b.j. enabling frank's little takedown of margaret at the end felt very real. sure, in the grand scheme of things, margaret is Annoying and frank tried to have hawkeye executed last season, but bros before hos.

okay how FUNNY would it be though if the "little redheaded nurse" frank planned to seduce was baker-from-the-nurses, because she would have scratched frank's eyes out for trying and not felt bad about it

and actually, that's a plausible backstory for the extra bad blood between her and margaret, too??? oh yeah. that definitely happened.

i actively missed frank/margaret as the disc went along though. maybe the show had stretched the tension of that relationship as tight as it could go, and it's nice that they get to do new things... but they're so funny and awful together and i miss them sharing scenes!!!

i really assumed - like frank did lol - that they would continue to rabbit around together, only now she would also get to string him along with the jealousy game, but...... well, i'm glad it's still hanging out in the background of the narrative, anyway. i live in hope that they will slip and fuck and it will be soooo messy.

FUCK is it possible i shipped that for real???? god. i don't know if my family name can bear this dishonor.

out of sight, out of mind...

...has taught us the very important lesson that hawkeye is 9000x more annoying without something to do (annoying to everyone else i mean!! not to me. i will happily watch him annoy everyone.)

him asking b.j. to visit him a million times a day 🥺

i'm almost satisfied now by the "doctor-experiences-the-role-of-patient" theme that i didn't get in "hawkeye." i suppose hurt/comfort fic can take it from here.

however i'm totally satisfied by how sweet it was to see everyone taking care of him!! and how much they love him!!

lt. radar o'reilly... devastating. i mean funny and delightful but it's mean!! so glad that boy is back in stripes. however they could have at least promoted him a little for his trouble. sergeant o'reilly???

i have already said more about the nurses (post here) than ever needed to be said. and yet. i'm quite sure i could say more if pressed

the abduction of margaret houlihan

........ will i never be free of colonel flagg episodes 😞

i love the continuing evidence that she has invested time in learning korean, and i really really really love the slow expansion of our perspective to include like oh yeah. there's a village where people live full time and it's literally right here.

imagine if after the war she becomes an ob nurse...

on the one hand, how do they not make frank do gun handling training. on the other hand they probably don't because it always ends with stitches and an accident report.

i sometimes wonder if mash was like jury duty for asian actors in the 70s. you probably won't get to say anything but they call you up and you just have to go.

dear sigmund!!!!!! this is another episode where people were staring at me through the window so i'll comment a little more:

the fandom's favorite guy sidney freedman deserves that crown. what a weirdo. talk about a busman's holiday for a psychiatrist to come to the 4077 for a vacation and psychoanalyze everyone. but for fun!

i really don't have a proper sense of the geography at play here because he really does like. just come by to play cards once a week. and drives through a war zone i guess to do it? he has probably sacked out in the swamp before when the air raid situation changes but this time he just... doesn't leave.

and aaaa!! margaret took her very special episode about How To Make Friends to heart!!!! she joined the poker game!!!

she had plenty of time to work on that lesson though because the jeremy bearimy time shenanigans are in full swing here at the 4077. we went from midsummer in 'the nurses' to a bitter cold march two episodes later.

i always kind of assumed the mash weather was loosely inspired by real human weather, but no, in fact the actors just have to randomly suffer in parkas or getting sprayed in the face to look sweaty in alternating weeks regardless of the surrounding conditions.

SUFFERING for their ART

also jfc b.j.!!!! dunking frank in cold water in freezing temperatures is a serious health and safety concern my dude!!!!

i'm afraid b.j. is still not beating the little brother allegations, he has just aged up from innocent baby to fucking gremlin

(i should confess that my little brother diagnosis is guided by the fact that in my complex family and housing history i only ever lived with "brothers" younger than me, and never older ones. but the innocent baby and prank gremlin stages are real.)

i made a note here of "margaret randomly drinking gin in the swamp now!!?!??" like the poker game was one thing, people could strong-arm her into that while she feigns protest, but ma'am WHO are you and what have you done with— and then the next note is "oh good she's still insane"

potter named his horse sophie <3 also he's collecting granddaughters, i think the count is up to 3 now. or baby sherry is experiencing a temporal anomaly of her own!

the letter radar wrote to the dead guy's parents and potter reading it... fucking ended me. please let harry morgan do serious bits more often, it's outstanding and far too rare.

it's not surprising that frank's wife changing (wearing pants! doing activities!) would stress him out, and not just because he's a dick. any of them would struggle with their families growing without them, because that means they can Never Go Home to the life they left!! (e.g. trapper losing it because his girls were getting older.) but it is kind of fascinating that he loves both his wife and margaret, and even said mid-fever that he wanted them to be friends, but he also wants them to be NOTHING alike.

all in all it's understandable that sidney would check in to the no boundaries motel to have his poker buddies shake it out of him, but he could also have taken his leave somewhere with indoor heat. so he's as crazy as the rest of them. <3

also they're not his patients he's just observing them like zoo animals so forget confidentiality he's absolutely gonna write a book about them someday.

mulcahy's war: i don't know why i have been misspelling his name with an 'e' the whole time because it was literally in the end credits of almost every episode for four seasons.

oh god he's so precious i don't talk about it enough. playing poker for orphans. feeling like he doesn't do enough while potter thinks he has the hardest job. that unrelenting positive regard for everyone. always with that little grin.

that little grin in FULL PLAY as he sneaks out of the house to go off to war when dad's not looking

radar should never be sent on a mission where people are bleeding when will they LEARN

corporal cupcake deserves every medal he gets!!!!

frank's foot fetish becoming his one true medical specialty is just. i don't know what to do with this. good for him??? do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life???

speaking of unrelenting positive regard, margaret's policy of nurses never talking back to the doctors in the operating room sure has taken a hit. i realize this is about frank being an intolerable ex, but i choose to believe that the detente between margaret and her nurses has turned the O.R. into a pvp zone. the next time hawkeye tries to seduce a nurse over an open body, he's gonna get wrecked and margaret's just going to shrug pretty and look the other way.

in conclusion: season five is soooo gooooooood!!!!! can't wait for disc two!

[freetobeeyouandme]

By Way of the Stars

Tags: Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply; Kevin Day & Neil Josten; Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Sci-Fi AU, Political Intrigue, the foxes are the crew of a space ship and Neil is a stowaway

Length: 9.5k

Summary:

The galaxy is vast, hiding places exist aplenty, and if there's one thing Neil Josten is good at, it's running away. When his mother dies after almost a decade of being on the move, Neil decides to try his luck in the outer reaches of the known part of the universe, hoping backwater planets and uncharted territories will hide him from his father better than the dense population of the inner systems. Stowing away on a small, long haul freighter with a small crew seems like the perfect plan to get there unseen and without much of a hassel. The only problem? He's not the only one hiding away in the small freighter's cargo bay, and he may have run head first into a conflict that may very well determine the future existence of the Federation. - Or, an AU where Neil and Kevin are stowaways on the same spaceship by accident

Read on Ao3; see whole collection

Excerpt:

Neil Josten watched the cargo doors of the small long haul freighter from his place atop the containers stacked in the otherwise empty hangar, waiting patiently for one of the engineers to make her last round of checks before releasing the ship. He’d have a small window to slip inside after that, needing to become a shadow on her heels, but he had dealt with worse odds before. Still, moments like these made him glad to be alone.

Not that he wanted to think that.

He was sure his mother would forgive him for it, but even six months later the loss still stung. Neil knew, rationally, that she was gone. He’d tried to move on and most importantly move away, towards the outer systems where his father was less likely to find him, but sometimes he still slipped up. Sometimes he included her in his calculations, other times he found himself looking behind himself for a woman that no longer existed. In many ways her death had made it easier for him to disappear, slipping into the shadows whenever he needed to without having to worry about someone else, but Neil found he didn’t like it. Without his mother at his side he felt dangerously off-kilter. There was a distance between himself and everyone else that hadn’t been there before as he passed unnoticed among them, giving himself a new name with every stranger he talked to and never talking to one person twice if he could help it. And picking up the pace with which he orbited the inner systems made it far too easy to help it.

Without his mother there, no one would be left to remember him, much less mourn him, if his father ever caught up with him, and Neil wasn’t sure the trade off was worth it. Having no one meant survival, but what good did his life do him if he was already a ghost?

The loud hiss of the cargo doors depressurizing shook him out of his thoughts. He’d known the ship was old when he’d picked it, but for the past day he had been almost a little bit in awe as he watched her sit in the hangar: Boxy and painted a bright orange, she was an old school Federation standard Subclass Zero, some of the first spaceships the Federation had commissioned as such over forty years ago now. This one was given the designation X, stenciled outside of its hull in slightly scrapped white paint, and Neil thought despite its age the small freighter didn’t look half bad. Zeroes were small and cheaply built, a quick solution to the fighting that had broken out in the Federation parliament over partisan delivery routes and unequal distribution of authority over spaceflight. Most of them had not survived more than a couple of decades, so the F0-X was a rarity.

Neil fell in love with it a little bit over the course of the day. He’d grown up flying Gulls and Ravens, smaller ships than even this, meant for the transport of small groups and war, but this old lady had a lot of charm. Part of that was just him missing being in the pilot’s chair, he knew, his hands itching to flip the long haul freighter’s levers and turn her steering wheel just for the sake of it. The fact that she was so old meant she was well loved, and so he knew she would glide through space smoothly, heeding his every command.

It was almost too bad that she was a Federation registered vessel and he on the run.

[inquisimer]

sometimes it feels like teeth

chippin away at @febuwhump with day 12: semi-conscious. A reunion in the alienage for Ariya & Cyrion, where she must face the fact that she cannot save them all.

read it on ao3 here

Female Tabris & Cyrion Tabris | Rated T | 1629 words | CW: mercy killing, blood & injury, illness, slave trade

-

No sooner had the slaver’s corpse hit the floor than Ariya was at the cage, shaking hands picking open the lock. The metal door sprang open and she pulled each of her captured family from the brink of despair. Some did look ill; before she could even speak, Alistair pulled poultices from their packs and set to work.

Thank you, she mouthed.

“Amore.” Zevran gestured to the back of the cage with his chin. A few figures remained and the bottom of Ariya’s stomach dropped out as she recognized the familiar dips and planes of her father’s silhouette. He was staring directly at her, mouth parted in disbelief.

“Papa,” she breathed, and then she was at his side, running battered hands over him, checking for injuries, praying incoherently that she had not arrived too late. His arms came around her and squeezed.

“I’m fine, da’len, I’m fine,” her murmured. Tears choked his voice, but when she pulled back they were tears of joy that matched the bittersweet smile on his face. “You came back for us. My darling girl.”

“Of course I did. I’m sorry I—“ her guilt swallowed her apology, surrounded as she was by the echoes of those already gone. Was that Valendrian’s blood on the wall? Leah’s tooth in the corner? “I should have gotten here sooner.”

“That you came at all is a miracle.”

A noise behind him drew Cyrion from the bubble of reunion. He grimaced and held out a hand when Ariya looked beyond him.

“You probably shouldn’t—“

“It’s okay, papa,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, I’ve…seen worse.”

Cyrion’s face fell. He shifted aside so Ariya could see the reason he’d remained in the cage. One of the younger elves was propped in the corner, skin ashen and sallow. Her hair was brushed away from her face from gentle caresses to soothe her suffering.

“Oh, Gwen,” Ariya whispered. She knelt beside her father and took a clammy hand. Gwen’s hazy eyes slid in and out of focus, but her head lolled in the direction of Ariya’s voice.

“Ari?” she mumbled. “issat you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Gwendollyn was one of the first taken,” Cyrion said grimly. “I doubt she’d still be here if not for how sick she is.”

“Why is she so much sicker? The rest of you seem fine?” No sooner had she voiced the thought than the chilling realization that they might not actually be fine came to Ariya. But her father shook his head and gripped her leg reassuringly.

“We’re alright. Relatively. Gwen was—well—“ Cyrion drew aside Gwen’s dirty tunic, revealing a bandage that covered most of her abdomen. The blood that soaked it was dark—darker than it should be, even wounded like this, and the Blight in Ariya’s veins called out to this distant cousin of disease.

“Jumped in front of Mara’s little boy,” Gwen muttered, fingers fluttering vaguely over the wound. “Made a bad cough already worse and now we’re here.”

Ariya squeezed her hand. “For Tommy, of course. Oh, falon.”

“Just following your example.” Her lips twitched like they were trying to smile. “Since you were gone, someone else had to be the hero.”

“I don’t feel much like a hero today.”

Gwen’s brow dipped. “Of course you are. All these” —a cough wracked her wasting frame— “all of our family. You saved them—again.”

“I’m not so sure I did,” Ariya sighed. “The damage to the alienage…”

Cyrion winced.

“It will heal,” said Gwen, a faraway smile painted on her face. “Doesn’t it always?”

“Speaking of healing—“

“Amore—“ Zevran knocked against the cage, rattling the bars so they echoed in the now empty chamber. The last of the freed elves had left with Alistair and Morrigan as their guards back to safety. Piles of Tevinter corpses had been shoved aside and scraped of any valuable loot— including a beautiful dagger with snakes wrapped about the hilt, which glinted where Zevran spun it between his fingers.

“We need to be going,” he said, not unkindly. They’d traveled together enough that he recognized what Ariya had not yet acknowledged and there was sympathy in the smile he gave her. “The arl awaits our counsel and” —he tapped the documents tucked safely in his belt— “we have information that should be shared.”

“Of course.” To Ariya’s surprise, Cyrion stood readily, dusting his hands. Her confusion was only momentary, though, as he said, “Between the two of us we can probably move Gwen, I’d have done it myself if not for the condition of my knees.”

“Papa…” Ariya did not look at her father. Her eyes stuck on Gwen’s sallow face, tracing the bony edges of her weakened body, looking for something that defied what she knew to be true. But there was nothing. Ariya knew it, Zevran knew it, and, judging by the resignation in Gwen’s eyes, she did too. Only Cyrion still deluded himself.

Now Ariya had the unenviable task of giving words to dread and despair.

“She’s not just ill, papa,” Ariya said. “She’s…it’s a Blight sickness. Even if we took her back to the alienage, it would only be so she could die a painful death in lacking comfort.”

“What—but—we cannot leave her here! The cots in the alienage are rough, I know, but they are better than a cold floor and a cage. And if you intend to depart—well, I will not leave her to die alone.”

“Of course not.” Ariya’s hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed dagger, waiting. She still wasn’t looking at her father, but instead watching every half-conscious twitch of Gwen’s face. It seemed that she was slipping farther with every passing second, her eyes glazed and drifting, unseeing.

“How do you know for sure?” Cyrion demanded. “It could just be a rare disease—not that these Tevinters knew anything, but Alarith might have some potion, or know something!”

His fervor made Ariya wonder—Gwen had been a good friend, yes, though never so beloved by her father. But there had been a gap when Duncan took Ariya from the alienage; it seemed her father had filled it with another. She could not begrudge him that, but it still made her heart ache up into her throat.

“No.” She shook her head and finally met her father’s sputtering directly. “It is the Blight. I can sense it, now.”

I am not the daughter you remember went unspoken. There are things I can do now that you never wanted for me.

But this is how it is.

“I see. What do you propose, then?”

Ariya’s hand clenched around her dagger “It is unpleasant but…” she glanced down. “I’m sorry, Gwen, I’m so sorry. But a quick death is kinder, in the end.”

A long sigh deflated what little tension Gwen still held. Her head jerked in the semblance of a nod.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a relief?” she asked weakly. “I have felt it coming for days now. And—“

Her voice trailed off, eyes drifting around the room aimlessly before snapping back to Ariya. She blinked rapidly.

“If it is to be this way, I am glad it is you, falon.”

“I understand.” And she did, though she could not share the sentiment. Ariya pulled her dagger free. “You might not want to watch this,” she told her father.

“It’s okay, da’len,” Cyrion echoed. “Whatever you do…I’ve seen much worse, now.”

A pause, then Ariya nodded. She grasped the back of Gwen’s head, her fingers tangling a grip in the greasy strands of her short hair. In the depths of her foggy eyes, Ariya saw a world long lost: afternoons scampering about the alienage, swiping meat pies from window sills and climbing things that ought not be climbed. It hurt, so she squeezed her eyes tight, hot tears spilling over her cheeks.

One of Gwen’s clammy hands brushed over her knuckles, too weak for a proper grip.

“It’s alright,” she slurred, her awareness fading with every passing second. “See Deidre again. And rest. I want to rest.”

“You deserve to rest,” Ariya whispered, a steel to her heart as much as a pleading for her friend. She opened her eyes and brought the dagger to Gwen’s throat. It shook and steadying her hand was a useless endeavor.

“I am sorry, my friend,” she said. It was not as unfamiliar a pose as she would have hoped. But even after all this time—well, perhaps she should only start to worry if it did get easier. “May the Maker guide you safely in the Beyond.”

A smile spread across Gwen’s face just as Ariya slashed the dagger down. Blight-tinged blood sprayed from the mortal wound, but Ariya did not flinch. In a cold sort of horror, she realized she’d already offered the rag she carried to her father before any sort of anguish clenched her heart.

But such was the nature of war. It hardened even the softest soldiers—and Ariya had never been one of those.

She reached out and closed Gwen’s eyes. At her side, Cyrion sniffled, wiping his nose on her bloody, mucked up rag.

“We should go,” she said, a soft, gentleness to the request that she hadn’t bothered with for months.

“My little girl,” Cyrion said, so quietly she almost missed it. It wasn’t really for her anyway. “What happened to my little girl?”

Her heart clenched. I told you not to watch, she thought. I said you didn’t want to know.

But now he did. She tucked the bloody cloth into her pack and gestured for her father to go before her, so he would not have to look at her as they went.

There could be no turning back.

[thaliagrayce]

thank you @tinybro for sending me a prompt!! hope it makes you smile :)

There’s another boy sitting on the bleachers today. He’s in the first row, heels balanced on the edge of the seat and arms wrapped around his knees, a little ball of black hair and brown jacket. He’s watching the girls on the team kind of sullenly, but he’s making no move to get up or leave.

Maybe he’s stuck here, too. It might be nice to have someone else his age at these things.

“Hey, Thalia!” One of the girls on the team waves them down as they get closer to the volleyball court. Jason doesn’t recognize her, which is kind of weird—he’s been sitting through every practice the Central High Hunters girl’s volleyball team has had for two years, since Thalia joined. He knows them all by now, and they joke around that he’s part of the team. His role switches from Manager to Mascot, whichever one the girls think is funnier in the moment. It’s a little embarrassing, yeah, but also kind of nice. He knows he isn’t really part of the team, but they make him feel included anyway.

This girl is new, though. She’s got long, dark hair braided down her back, and she smiles at them both as they approach.

“This must be Jason! That’s so great, I was worried Nico would get bored. Let me introduce you!”

She leads them to the boy on the bleachers, and he looks up as they approach. His eyes immediately zero in on Jason. They’re wide and really, really dark.

“Nico, this is Jason. He’s another Team Brother stuck with us girls. Jason, this is my brother Nico.”

Jason gives Nico a smile and waves at him, and Nico slowly uncurls from his position. He’s wearing some sort of anime t-shirt under his jacket, and Jason doesn’t recognize the character.

Coach Diana blows her whistle from the sidelines, and Thalia smacks him on the shoulder. “Be nice, Jaybird. Yell if you need anything.”

The girls run off to start practice and Nico and Jason are left staring at each other.

“Hi,” Jason says after an awkward minute. He debates with himself a little before sitting directly to Nico’s right.

“Hi.” Nico kicks his heels against the bleachers below them. They sit.

Jason glances at Nico out of the corner of his eye. He’s probably in Jason’s grade, or maybe the one below. Jason’s never seen him before, though, so he must go to a different school. His ears are pierced, and Jason has only met girls who have their ears pierced. He hadn’t known boys were allowed to do that. Little black studs glitter at him as Nico rocks with the swinging of his feet, and Jason wants to ask him how he got them done. He wants to ask how he thought of the idea, what he did to convince his parents to let him. He wants to ask if Nico thinks Jason could look that cool, too.

Instead, he starts with something a little less huge.

“Who’s that on your shirt?”

Nico turns his head to look at him, cocked to the side. Instead of answering right away, he shoves one of his hands into his jacket pocket.

“Do you play Mythomagic?” Nico brings his hand out wrapped around a couple loose trading cards. Jason can see a flash of bright color on the top one, something with electric blue lightning bolts on it.

“I’ve never heard of it,” he admits. “What is it?”

It’s the right question to ask, apparently. A huge grin splits Nico’s face, and he spends the rest of practice explaining how the game works, the lore behind the game, and the pilot episode of the anime based off of it. His shirt, apparently, is the main character’s rival.

Neither of them notice that practice is over until their sisters come back to the bleachers, sweaty and tired.

“Heya, nerds,” Thalia calls. “Time to head out.”

Jason blinks at her. “Already?” Last he checked, they were still warming up!

“Already. C’mon, kid, time for dinner.”

Jason turns back to Nico and tries not to look too disappointed. “Thanks for spending time with me, I had a lot of fun.”

“I— Yeah, me too.” Nico smiles at him, smaller, shier now that there are more people watching. “If you want, I can bring some of my decks next time? If you’ll be here.”

Jason smiles back at him. “Yeah, lets see if I can remember the rules!” Next time. He likes the sound of that.

[remidyal]

Bad Ideas of the Day, Part Three

My monthly-ish roundup of my bad dimension 20 fanfic ideas of the day prompts! As ever, all of these can be written by anyone who cares to do so.

Part two can be found here and part one here

Bad Idea Of the Day, Multi-class Edition: Following basic pattern recognition skills, Fig decides and convinces four of the other bad kids that the key to getting powerful wizard abilities is not hard work and study, but having a name that starts with the letter A. Can Adaine deal with walking in to class on the first day of school and finding five new students in her wizard classes, Afig, Akristen, Ariz, Agorgug, and Abian, or will she murder her friends on the spot?

Bad idea of the day, Sicktember is a curse edition: Out of respect for Aelwyn's compromised immune system following her time in the orb, the residents of Mordred Manor actually take proper precautions to avoid getting her sick during the following flu season. A fluff piece and alas seemingly pure fantasy.

Bad idea of the day, yes I already did one today edition: Fig, actually doing a bard assignment for once, needs to build a ballad for her family history and decides to include the entire insane non-Gorgug bad kids family tree, even the most tenuous links in it like Kristen and Aelwyn.

Bad idea of the day, role swap edition: Fabian, prince of Leviathan, must deal with a ship that has been raiding his father's trading vessels, led by two sisters who are pirating with varying degrees of reluctance to bring wealth back to their greedy and demanding parents

Bad idea of the day, backstory mix and match edition: In the summer before high school, Kristen and her entire family are ripped apart by the discovery that she is half-devil; meanwhile, wood elf Fig wakes up one morning to a god whispering in her head and is deeply annoyed because they won't just let her sleep in.

(If I want to do it for all of the bad kids, hmm… Riz's parents are actually retired thieves, while Bill Seacaster was actually a privateer working for Solace the whole time; Adaine is adopted and aware of it and hoping her birth parents would actually love her, while Gorgug has a wild gnomish older sister who may be up to some nefarious activity)

Bad idea of the day, every show needs a musical episode by its third season edition: The residents of Elmville have been cursed into bursting into song at the slightest provocation, with reactions ranging from the amused (Fig, Kristen) to the murderous (Riz, Aelwyn). What kind of villain could be behind such an impromptu act of theater?

Why, it's Sam Reich of course. He's been here the… you know the rest.

Bad idea of the day, I Like Werewolves Okay? edition - KINGSTON fails his con save to avoid becoming a werewolf during the train fight and everyone else needs to help him adjust without gnawing on too many people.

Bad idea of the day, the writer had to scroll back to see if it had already done a bad idea of the day today edition: A groundhogs day esque time loop for one of the bad kids, but it's not a dramatic day or anything special and in fact it's just kind of boring and miserable. This turns out to eventually be revealed to be revenge by Arthur Aguefort for some petty and long-forgotten-by-the-kid slight.

Bad idea of the day, campaign fusion edition: Arthur Aguefort sends the Bad Kids on their most dangerous and critical mission yet, shrinking them down to clean out his fridge and prevent the vegetables within from grouping up to kill him before he can eat them, without causing too much damage to the ecosystem he's been maintaining for the last five centuries. Can these mere fleshy beings stop this uprising against 'the hungry one' in the world of Calorum?

Bad idea of the day, early morning edition: Kristen's gay awakening is triggered not by Tracker, but rather by someone who her parents would hate even more: The cute bi rebellious tiefling in her new party.

Bad idea of the day, portal to hell edition: Daybreak succeeds in condemning Kristen to hell, which doesn't actually end the world but does mean Kristen's stuck in hell. Can she find a new god worth following in such spicy surroundings?

Bad idea of the day, after school special edition: Fig and Aelwyn get part-time jobs going around Solace to "demonstrate" the dangers of drugs and drinking by going to local school parties and faking getting into lethal car accidents, overdoses, and other mishaps to scare those local students into being drug free, mostly because both of them secretly find it funny and in Aelwyn's case she needs the money

Bad idea of the day, Double Your Pleasure edition: Riva, never quite certain how the pleasure putty they're selling works, finds out about oral sex and then makes the determination that the explosive material should be marketed as chewing gum. The ensuing pleasure blows people's minds!

Bad idea of the day, Oops All Spells edition: The bad kids manage to not get detention on the first day and to avoid accidentally playing into daybreak's hands, ending up in normal parties. Many of them have many troubles out of this, but the worst is for Fig, who finds herself tempted into hanging out with the first other tiefling she's ever met even if he is a little bit of a loser, one Johnny Spells

Bad idea of the day, Mentopolis edition: The Fix gets an assignment to wipe out serial distracter Imelda Pulse before she can ruin any more coworker's birthdays

Bad idea of the day, Afterlife edition: Figueroth Faeth is very bad at the paperwork of her domain in Hell, even after nearly fifty years running it. Luckily for her, her good friend and paperwork expert Riz Gukgak has just died of old age, and Fig isn't above cheating him out of heaven in order to get his administrative expertise in Hell.

Bad idea of the day, party swap edition: As part of a junior year test, all of the students in that year must do a relatively easy quest mixed up into different parties, with no two members of a typical party allowed to be together. How do the bad kids handle doing a mission with people who are less, well, generally insane and bloodthirsty than they are?

Bad Idea of the Day, Spy Versus Spy edition: All of the bad kids are on secret missions to spy on Arthur Aguefort and his school, with varying degrees of willingness and conflicting goals: Adaine for Fallinel, Kristen on behalf of the church, Fig on behalf of Hell, Riz for Kalina, Fabian for his father, and Gorgug for the Solisian government itself through his parents.

Bad idea of the day, A Crown of Candy edition: Amethar dies in the initial ambush, the way Brennan had frankly probably planned for. Can the remnants of house Rocks hold things together and avenge their fallen king?

Bad idea of the day, Nightmare Forest edition: Rather than illusions, the nightmare forest sequence is made up of a Freddy Kreuger-esque sequence of actual dreams in the Bad Kids' actual sleeps, with them needing to survive their respective worst nightmares in order to make it to the place at the center of dreams where they can find the Nightmare King.

Bad idea of the day, fake holiday edition: Aguefort in junior year includes a class on self-promotion, and Fig and Adaine, taking it extremely seriously, start a holiday honoring the anniversary of Riz murdering Daybreak.

[kotlc-deleted-scenes]

Stellarlune Paperback Edition Marella Short Story

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! ☺

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present—and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"—and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later…*wink*). For those wondering, this story is based on a scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune—and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done.

Happy reading!

—Shannon Messenger

THE TRADE 

Marella

“Ugh, I hate this place,” Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders. 

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave. Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there—or how important her visits were. 

She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell. The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast Mating to devour everything in its path—which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible. 

Especially for someone like her. 

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down and down a whole lot more to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold. 

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison. She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting. 

It wasn't fair. 

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers. 

But they weren't Pyrokinetics. 

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all. 

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame. 

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away. 

In fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her—but the thought still made her shiver and she wished she could have manifested as…

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence. 

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen. 

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness. 

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in—let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until…

Snap! 

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm. 

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh. 

Marella nodded—though she definitely could've done without the whispers that were now hissing around her head. 

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea. 

Feed me. 

Feed me. 

Feed me. 

Fire craved fuel—constantly wanting more, more, more—and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes—-none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very…

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites—but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen—assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame—and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out—but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago—after her mom's accident—and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower—that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me…"

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare—which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower—and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube—which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That'd probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk—and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom—which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so…

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans—or almost dying all the time—Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe—which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicked her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

At least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking—but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan—but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turns trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened— the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day—his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him—even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom—"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer sound more exciting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything—but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles—and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers—and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and—"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you—and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything—which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with—some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard—taunted him too much—and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal—but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly—and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out—especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches—aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed—and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five…"

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but—"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed—but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort—I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade—and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade—and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan—but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning…right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner—not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But…this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to…

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But…did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed off the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open—far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening—and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around—down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me—but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again—making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back…

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible—which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing…nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

And waiting.

"So…they…blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty—but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything—and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean…"

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames—which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control—but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first—and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so…you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to…"

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire—and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized…

"You never figured out what was missing—did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile—but Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor—too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised—and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before I brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such…promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory—to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps…"

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise—particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections—and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax—all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right—and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's…" He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is—and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer—until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But…she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other—something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'—if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone—everyone—was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't…

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade—it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own—and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation—and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet…he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer—and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong…would it?

It didn't feel wrong—or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sounds like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't," Fintan agreed.

The guard growled—looking scarier than ever—and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions—except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot—the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Trust me.

Note: Thank you to @bookwyrminspiration for doing the bulk of this transcription!

[rorodawnchorus]

Xiang Liu's selfless love

(Lost You Forever)

He's the ultimate bad boy who seems very much like a walking red flag at first.

Many times, he reminded me of Choi Young Do (the other red flag 2nd male lead that I've loved). He's temperamental, borderline violent, and also exhibits borderline personality disorder considering the danger he puts himself and Xiao Yao/Xiao Liu in whenever they were together. (E.g. Throwing Xiao Liu off of Mao Qiu, leaving her to Chang Xuan knowing he'd be ruthless to her, etc.) But he's not the type of lover to baby his girlfriend and respects whatever she wants. If she says she has the ability to deal with consequences herself, he does not impose his opinion on her. It was only later that I realised every time he showed his "violent and animalistic" side, it was to prevent both Xiao Yao and himself from seeing him as someone who is capable of the love that Xiao Yao deserves. This was particularly evident when they left the gambling den and Xiao Yao says to Fang Fengbei (Xiang Liu), if she was the one who rescued Xiang Liu back then she would let him live as no one else but Fang Fengbei. This meant that he would never become involved in the war between Chenrong and her maternal family. Xiao Yao once asked her grandfather if he would accept a grandson-in-law who was his mortal enemy; showing that in her heart, Xiang Liu meant a lot and was someone she had considered. But FFB/XL could not allow that because there was no turning back or changing the fact that he will give his life to repay the kindness of the general who had saved him. The only thing that is stopping him is the group of men and the debt he must repay, and given that his character is one which would never tolerate betraying these people, he knows that he cannot let himself choose Xiao Yao over them.

FFB/XL also never answered Xiao Yao as to what kind of person is most suitable for transferring the poison bug because the main criterion is that this person must have feelings for the other person. He could not bring himself to say it, obviously. Because he's already fallen in love with her but he could never let her know.

In the epilogue of the novel written for Xiangliu's character, the soldiers debated about why he always wore white only. XL had only ever told Xiao Yao that it was simply a habit, his survival instinct. But the soldiers also learned that he wore white so that every time they were on the battleground, he became the walking bait and attracted the deadliest attacks, which allowed him to protect most of the soldiers to the best of his abilities. But he also willingly showed Xiao Yao his vulnerable side, something that is counterintuitive for a character like Xiang Liu - not only because he was supposedly a deadly killing machine but also it was an animal's way of showing their trust (if you know what I mean). No, this is no excuse for some of the insane things he's done and his temper but he selflessly saved Xiao Yao when she was technically dead. He traded his life for hers multiple times, including the time when he saved the one person who would care for her and love her. His love was not about having Xiao Yao for himself. And because he knew he couldn't abandon everything else, he did not allow either one of them to initiate a romantic relationship that might stop them both from being level-headed enough.

There is so much to say and I simply cannot have enough of this character. Throughout all of season 1, he was the only character I was constantly waiting for. It is not only that the character has been written so well but Tan Jianci has such amazing acting skills. The way his eyes expresses all the complex emotions is insane.

[kindlystrawberry]

Arthur’s Marriage Event Letters

SPOILERS FOR RF4, ARTHUR’S MARRIAGE EVENT

I went to go find Arthur’s letter from the end of his marriage event, and found that no one’s transcribed them! At least not as far as I could find. So, from a youtube video on his marriage event, I’ve transcribed his letter to his father. I’ve also included a letter someone else transcribed, that is the implied response from his father that you can find in Arthur’s office. 

I hope putting it here will help keep it all in once place for any fellow nosy/detailed-driven fans, and also to appreciate some of the lovely RF4 writing. A note that the way the game types things out there’s no paragraph breaks, so I’m just putting them wherever I think it fits so it’s not just one block of text.

Also, it pains me DEEPLY that Arthur seemingly doesn’t use the Oxford comma. ET TU, Arthur????

To my Lord Father— I write to inform you about my planned return to the capital. However, before I write my decision, may I first offer a short story? 

I have very poor eyesight. As such, I am writing this letter with my glasses on. I still remember the first time I put on glasses with clarity. Everything around me seemed so crisp and clear, I thought I could see anything. However, it appears I had since come to rely on those glasses too much. Only once they were broken did I realize it. Some things just cannot be seen to the human eye. I find that a person’s feelings were the most difficult things for me to see with any clarity. They are vague, complicated and unreliable things. However, I believe that is precisely why they are worth believing. The decision to trust someone becomes your vow to then, proof of your feelings. It was only when I looked at the world through my own eyes, and not my glasses, that I saw that. 

I have realized that I truly love working as a trader. I see the world through the goods I find and the people I meet, and it entertains me to no end. I would like to continue trading, visiting various places and seeing a myriad of things. 

And so… It is for that reason that I require a place to call home. I have found that place. It is not the capital. Thus, I’m afraid I will not be able to return. My home is this town, with the people I call friends. With this realization… I find myself hoping that Mother eventually found such a place for herself as well. I choose to believe, from the bottom of my heart, that she did. —Yours Respectfully, Arthur

***

Dear Arthur—

How beautiful was the view without glasses? I may never know. But long ago, there was a woman who said something just along those lines. When she saw her son without glasses, she thought...she thought he looked smart, and kind. And he had lovely, comforting features in his face. She couldn't tell this to him then, but someday, when the time was right, she wanted to. That's what she said. Regardless, I understand your decision. From now on, you can live as you choose. You can live as you believe. My wife has already been advised. But there is one more thing. Even if we are separated, our hearts are together always.

Faithfully yours...

[prsk-krow]

pspspsp pspspp

HI KROW !! Ive come to give a request 😋

If youre able to, could you write hcs of Mafuyu x Soloist Reader? I think itd be cute since they could work together and ahhh !! Im very tired so i dont have much to say but, LOVE U HAVE FUN W THIS

{Mafuyu with soloist reader!} [P]

Hello Yuna! Thanks for the ask, and I definitely had fun! After all, writing for these characters is already plenty of fun! Also, I'm not a cat, I'm a bird-

It takes a while for Mafuyu to warm up to anyone, but if you're related to the music industry, you have a better chance of becoming her friend than most others!

The honor student isn't interested in many things, but the music world actually catches her eye! So when she was suddenly offered a chance to collaborate with another soloist on the internet, she was interested!

Even before the offer appeared, you've been in contact with her, trading tips for songwriting and how to interact with fans! At first, she didn't think much of it, but when the offer appeared, she understood that you definitely wanted to become closer...

She spoke about the offer with the others of the group, and they tended to react positively, but cautiously. After all, you had only written to her, and the rest knew little about you! So, she sends screenshots about your conversations. Let's just say, no one expected them.

Mafuyu, talking about music with someone else!? That was certainly unusual! Maybe she unconsciously though that she could trust you enough? The rest would encourage a collaboration, but only if it remained online for privacy reasons!

Before the call even starts though, you tell her that she doesn't have to worry about putting up an image! You've worked with asshole producers and marketers, so you can take whatever she throws at you! This puts up her guard, but she seems to be intrigued even more...

The call starts, and she does put up the act... At first. She never takes it fully off, but as the call progresses and your casual, relaxed tone makes the atmosphere more comfortable, she starts to lower the mask a bit... The fake expressions slowly become less forced, and her tone as well.

That's only the first one though. She's still hesitant to show you her real stoic self, but she still shows you more than anyone else! She also seems quite invested in the song you're creating together, and even learning a bit about your style...

Not just your style though! She learns about your goals, motivations, song preferences, even just random events of your life you mentioned while you two brainstormed some ideas! It lets her mind rest and not focus too much on the end result...

Sometimes, she randomly DMs you to start a casual conversation, only for her to just listen to you, saying anything that comes to your mind! After that, you two write a bit more, and then log off!

"... Oh, why am I not saying anything? Sorry, I just enjoy listening. Yeah, I was talking a lot the first time, but I prefer it this way. Hm?... Yes, it was acting. I never show my true side to anyone on a first meeting. That includes you, of course."

She could technically just finish writing the lyrics herself in a flash, but she waits for you, for your opinions and participations! She has never worked on lyrics alongside someone else, so it does feel a little strange.

Once you're done though, she feels as if her chest was not just warm, but light. As if there was a weight there she didn't even notice before, and now it was gone... She shows the lyrics to the group so that they combine it with the rest as always!

However, they're surprised to hear Mafuyu speaking so much about the process. It wasn't fast like usual, but by the amount she was talking, they could tell that she really got into it... They will silently agree to partner you two up again soon.

"... Why are you all silent all of a sudden? Hm, was I really speaking that much? You were the ones who asked though. Is it really that out of the ordinary... Hm, now that i think about it..."

She too will notice how she doesn't mind your presence, and voila! You have yourself a stoic girl who enjoys randomly messaging you to hear you speak whatever's on your mind!

Sure, she stays silent most of the time, but you can see that her smile slowly changes as you talk... Maybe, just maybe you're becoming special to her? Maybe you could be able to do more things together? Only time will tell...

[formosusiniquis]

Nancy is sick, sick of not being respected by the school newspaper. They call her a conspiracy theorist who is always looking for a story that doesn’t exist. They want to know why she can’t be content with covering the basketball district win or Mrs. O’Donnell’s twenty year teaching anniversary. Then someone spray paints a dick on every car in the staff parking lot. Twenty-seven dicks.

And everyone says it’s Eddie Munson.

Eddie is a stoner, a loudmouth, a delinquent, and insists on putting his shoes on cafeteria tables; but somehow Nancy just doesn’t see this being something Eddie did.

Principal Higgins and the rest of the Hawkins administration doesn’t seem to want to investigate any further. The paper has already published their piece on the matter. So Nancy decides she’s going to investigate this herself, not only that she’s going to come out with an expose proving Munson is innocent. A film expose, print media is dying anyway.

She recruits Robin Buckley, a band kid and jack of all trades, to operate the camera and she sets to work. She sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong, she digs into the Hawkins gossip mill determined to figure out who else could have done it. She doesn’t make friends.

Except Eddie kind of grows on her.

Robin kind of does too.

Except Robin, just like Nancy, is just as viable a suspect as about seven other people who led after school clubs and had a key to school -- which included access to the brand new security camera pointed at the staff parking lot.

Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, Fred Benson, Chrissy Cunningham, Patrick McKinney.

Each of them had the opportunity and motive and Nancy thinks it’s important that they take the time to explore that. Robin doesn’t appreciate Nancy taking a logical look at her motivation, calling her out for her obvious crush on Chrissy and wanting to cancel prom so Chrissy can’t go with Jason. Nancy doesn’t appreciate how unseriously Robin is taking this. This is Nancy’s chance at something big. Sure, it’s no murder but felony vandalism is nothing to sneeze at, if she solves this people will finally take her seriously. Except Robin who thinks this whole thing is a joke. Who makes some bullshit little flipbook of Nancy drawing dicks on cars to give herself something to solve.

The part ways after that.

Nancy spends more time with Eddie. He’s funny. He helps her relax, not just with the weed but the contact high she gets hanging out with him and his friends is a nice bonus. He’s smart, smart enough she realizes that he could have done it if he wanted to.

She doesn’t want it to be Eddie. She doubles down. She makes up with Robin. They’re going to find out who really did this.

And she has it. She has it. She can prove, circumstantially, but enough that she’s sure she could get a confession from the actual perpetrator. When Eddie goes out and actually vandalizes Mrs. O’Donnell’s place, gets caught doing it by her neighbor. Hopper brings him in, Robin goes to deal with the neighbor while Nancy talks with Eddie. Talks to him about the expose, about how angry he felt about the way she made him out to be this burnout loser, the same kind of freak weirdo that everyone in school already thought he was, someone who’d been at Hawkins long enough to hold the grudge but not smart enough to actually get away with it. The only way they could even prove he was innocent was by proving how much of a fuckup loser he really was. Like anyone expected much better of a Munson.

Nancy isn’t sure what to do about the fact that all her project has really done is hurt people. She proved Eddie’s innocence at his own expense. She effectively outed Robin to the whole school, even if Robin says she forgives her, she aired half of the school’s dirty laundry and didn’t even officially catch who did it because no one will believe her now. Not when she’s got one more person calling for Eddie’s blood.

Some problems don’t have solutions. Some messes get made and can’t be cleaned up. But Nancy does her best. Nancy tries to do right by Eddie, tries to deserve some respect.

Also something, something Steve Harrington is Jenna Hawthorne. Something, something lonely, (queer), rich kid who puts up a cool, collected mask to keep the attention of others but is so desperate for love and affection that they accidentally get blackmailed into doing a felony by the person they thought loved them.