#The irony of HIM of all people being granted said command in the first place...

[stromuprisahat]

Siege and Storm- Chapter 17 (Leigh Bardugo)

This would've been a good tactics, if:

a.) Adrik weren't a child even by Grisha standards (and didn't speak as such).

b.) He were qualified to stay and fight.

Picture fully-trained adult asking to be allowed to join special operation he wasn't chosen for, but it is in his capabilities.

Ideas?

Like your orders are worth nothing and all they need to do to go around them, is a drop of stubborness to come back a week later?

Alina should back down the moment Nadia admits Adrik will do what he wants anyway. That's not soldier's behaviour. If he can't follow a simple order, he's unfit to actively serve in the army. And he sure as hell shouldn't be allowed anywhere near battlefield.

He acts like an unruly child, and that's how he should've been treated.

[ancestorsofjudah]

12 Kings 19: 1-4. "The Beave."

So now we know we must invert the Axiom, meaning we have to stop clowning around give up on a life that leads to bitter irony. Pray with me now, "God is Great, God is Good, man has got to grow his own food..."

The Second Book of Kings recommends the members of the Assembly and the Host of the Crown of the Kingdom of Israel engage in what is called Budapest, to become an Apest of the Buddha.

APEST is an. acronym for each of the “gifts” mentioned in the passage: Apostles, Prophets, Evangelists, Shepherds (The Greek word for “shepherd” is also translated “pastor”), and Teachers. A little back ground is helpful to clear up potential confusion.

The former section names 8 stages of regression from an ordinary sinful man to one that is host to the kindness of a Buddha, an Enlightened One. In tandem with these it states the Mitzvot, the Field Commands, guide and protect the soul and the people through a homogeneous mixture with the Jewish Self provided they are subject first to Chabad.

Chabad is the scientific method that proves the existence of Ha Shem, the All Knowing through the application of the Field Commands to the Field.

This is a step up from Hinduism which says if we come to know the nature of the field and its knower, and perform duty, life works out just fine. The Melachim says knowledge and duty are not enough. Only the culmination of the Jewish Soul within Ha Shem, a state called Chesed is acceptable.

A man who has self-sovereignty and also has Chesed, is a candidate for the Assembly and can eventually be chosend to become the King of Israel.

We are all shocked and disappointed our leaders allowed peace on earth to slip through our fingers and now warmongers and their wars without substance are taking place in every quarter on this planet, and our weather is nearing the tipping point. There is much loss of property, loss of life, sadness, worry, fear, and anger. This is not of the nature of God nor does it create Chesed. It is a leader's job to permeate the Nation, the Kingdom, the Town, the State, the earth itself with Chesed.

Read about it once again: The Rab says justice and kindness without limits are to be the only fixations of the Ruling Class of Israel:

"In the Torah-sphere of social obligations there are two general terms and concepts: tzedakah (righteousness) and Gemilut Chassadim. These two terms are closely allied in meaning and are often interchanged. In actual practice, however, there is a cardinal difference between them. Maimonides explains these terms as follows1:

The word tzedakah is derived from tzedek, which means justice or righteousness. Justice means to grant everyone who has a right to something that which he is entitled to, and to give every being that which corresponds to his merits.

But in the Books of the Prophets, fulfilling the duties imposed upon one with regard to others is not called tzedakah in conformity with the first sense. For when giving a hired worker his wages or paying a debt, this is not called tzedakah.

On the other hand, fulfilling duties towards others, i.e., duties imposed upon one on account of moral virtues (such as remedying the injuries of those that are injured), is called tzedek. With reference to the returning of a pledge, therefore, it is said that "it shall be tzedakah unto you" (Deuteronomy 24:13).

For when one walks in the way of moral virtues, he does justice unto his rational soul, giving it the due that is its right. And because every moral virtue is called tzedakah, it says: "He believed in G‑d and it was accounted to him as tzedakah" (Genesis 15:6), i.e., the virtue of faith. This applies likewise to the dictum: "It shall be tzedakah unto us if we take care..." (Deuteronomy 6:2 5)

Chessed (the singular of chassadim - kindness) denotes an excess in whatever matter excess is practiced. In most cases, however, it is applied to excess in beneficence. Beneficence includes two notions: (a) the exercise of beneficence toward one who has no right at all to claim this from you; and (b) the exercise of beneficence toward one who deserves it, but in a greater measure than he deserves it.

Thus, while tzedakah refers to every good action performed because of a moral virtue with which one perfects his soul, chessed applies to beneficence taken absolutely."

Many of you are still young and spring-loaded and the world is teaching hate and combat are the paraphernalia of civilization. They are not. A Prince or Princess must always test the Chochmah of the Torah and instate the Kiryat Shema instead of diplomacy that dodges the fact corrupt politicians who engage in weapons manufacturing, trafficking and use on this planet are not accomodated within God's Plan.

Kiryat Shema, the Tzedakim, and Chesed, as I have explained them are the Field Commander's most powerful assets. A Prince or Princess as with all the leaders of Israel appointed to the Assembly of the Kingdom of Israel must study them and become proficient at them. Should this be done, Jerusalem, the Place that Teaches Israel, shall never wane in power, prestige, or fade away into the annals of our brutal human history. This is the meaning of Eliakim Shebna, "what God stands up is the Seat of Beauty".

Jerusalem’s Deliverance Foretold.

19 When King Hezekiah heard this, he tore his clothes and put on sackcloth and went into the temple of the Lord. 

2 He sent Eliakim the palace administrator, Shebna the secretary and the leading priests, all wearing sackcloth, to the prophet Isaiah son of Amoz. 

3 They told him, “This is what Hezekiah says: This day is a day of distress and rebuke and disgrace, as when children come to the moment of birth and there is no strength to deliver them. 

4 It may be that the Lord your God will hear all the words of the field commander, whom his master, the king of Assyria, has sent to ridicule the living God, and that he will rebuke him for the words the Lord your God has heard. Therefore pray for the remnant that still survives.”

Hezekiah and his officials respond to the Ridicule of the Field Commander. This does not mean he mocked God, rather he was scoffing at the idea people might be obedient and overcome their petty, ridiculous selves.

"…They shall take unto you…." (Ex. 27:20)

We can understand the reason for the word 'eileicha/unto you' by referring to the Talmud explanation of the words: "outside the curtain of the testimony". The "testimony" the Torah refers to is all the people who came to see the Tabernacle realizing that G‑d’s presence was hovering over the Israelites. (Shabbat 22) Rav defined the testimony as specifically the "Western Lamp," i.e. the lamp on top of the Menora's middle shaft. 

[This lamp burned around the clock instead of only at night although, not only did it not receive more oil than the other lamps, but the other lamps drew on its oil supply. — EM.]...the ongoing miracle of the Western Lamp...served as testimony that G‑d’s presence was there to stay.

The scoffers amongst the Jews ridiculed the idea that G‑d would take up residence in a structure made by Moses. (Shemot Rabba 52:2) From this we see that not only did the gentiles not credit the idea that the G‑d of the Heavens had come down to earth, but even some of the Jews could not believe this."

YES God can inhabit the things made by Moses. We have never committed to this but on small, minor occasions when the world has tried to govern itself the way the Jews have stated things work just fine. Slavery in America ended because of Jews, World War II and the UN Charter and Declaration of Human Rights were drafted by Jews, every man, woman and child reads the Torah in some way because Moses shepherded the Jews and they still live on today. To scoff at God because we cannot exceed them in this is absurd.

Hezekiah, whose name means courage "strengthened by God" was afraid of performing the Words of Moses, and the Mitzvot came calling. They are indeed a mockery of mankind and God alike until they are understood and assimilated.

The Values in Gematria follow:

v. 1: Hezekiah tore his clothes. The Value in Gematria is 5226, ‎ה‎‎ב‎ב‎ו‎‎, the BV. "In the father."

This refers to the value systems named by our Jewish ancestors vs. those one might pick up like a dirty greedy Egyptian whore.

v. 2: Isaiah, Son of Amoz. "To serve and become strong."

The Value in Gematria is 5759, הז‎הט‎ , the saint. A man who serves God, is courages and causes the world to stand up for the cause of beauty is otherwise known as a Jewish Saint.

v. 3: Rebuke and Disgrace. The Value in Gematria is 9460, ט‎ד‎ו‎אֶפֶס, td and zero, "Teodor or Torah and zero."

This hearkens back to the mockery question. Without the Torah there is no rebuke or disgrace, that is the very truth. Without them there is no chances for the remission of sin or a chance for the human race to last.

v. 4: It may be that the Lord...The Value in Gematria is 11717, יא‎ז‎אז‎ , so and so, "equal and equal."

As the Rab says, it is the mix of the talents and devotion of a bunch of unequal persons to common cause, the greatest good, that makes all of us equal to each other. This is the top of the roof for all Jewish persons:

"One of the main topics of parashat Naso is the description of the contributions of the tribal princes upon the dedication of the altar in the Tabernacle. Interestingly, this is the second set of offerings made by the princes, yet the Torah describes each differently.

The first set of contributions was upon the dedication of the Tabernacle. The Torah summarizes the princes' gifts, tallying them up in one sentence and giving the total number of oxen, wagons etc. which were donated.

Subsequently, at the dedication of the altar, each prince's contribution is individually described in a series of verses despite the fact that each donation was identical!The contributions made at the altar's dedication represent the uniqueness of each tribe….

The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains how from this we learn two components of the Jewish people. On the one hand are the qualities every Jew shares - we are all G‑d's children, have a divine soul, etc. This is exemplified in the donations made at the Tabernacle's dedication, in which the gifts are totaled in one sentence. In this case, there is no need to specify details because each tribe is similar to the other.

On the other hand, the contributions made at the altar's dedication represent the uniqueness of each tribe and each Jew, and therefore each tribe's gifts are listed separately. Even still, this seemingly redundant listing of gifts may seem unnecessary if each tribe gave the exact same items.

However, the fact that the gifts were identical further proves the point: while each prince performed the same deed, the spiritual factors and intentions involved behind the act were very different. In the spiritual realm, each tribe is a whole and unique entity unto itself, and the spiritual intent behind each prince's gift was individualized to his particular tribe."

The Torah says we must grasp the urgency of the need for food, shelter, safety, property ownership, education, love, family, and fealty all human beings share with each other. Everything we do to make these things possible fulfills the goal of Great Chesed across this world.

But before we measure out equal helpings of kindness to each member of the human race and our boy beavers too, we must follow the course prescribed by the Melachim. First come the Tzedakim, (the Ten Sayings), then comes death to the enemies of the human race, and then comes Mashiach, the salvation of the place called Jerusalem.

That might seem like a longshot but the Torah says men who are willing to be human, to believe in the God of Israel and His ability to help us publish the peace shall replace those who make war. All we have seen in history undulates between the two- inhumane and the humane but just as we make weapons of war we can easily make the instruments of peace and use them to establish the lost and forlorn within the experience of Shabbat, our most sacred tenet.

Nothing must ever confuse or occlude this thought from governing the world. It is the sheerest providence of the King of Israel and always of His Right Hand, the Prince.

[missjosie27]

Better Luck Next Time

My submission for the @hphmbang2020! It was definitely intense to write. So @nikyiscreepy I really hope you like it!

Fair warning, this gets pretty violent. 

Penny Haywood considered herself a fairly happy person- upbeat, engaging, and always ready to lend a hug or helping hand when someone required it. “A bright little ball of sunshine you are” her dad would often say. While some would suggest it was disingenuous (“No one’s that happy,” Merula would often sass behind her back) the thirteen year old Hufflepuff had come to be proud of the fact she embodied the traits of her house: hard work, loyalty, and above all, kindness.

Though only in third year, it was no secret to anyone how well liked she was. Adventuring with David Grant certainly played a factor in that equation. Though the sibling of an ex-student once thought to be mad, the bravery displayed earned the mutual respect and liking of the student body. But her accomplishments stood out in her own right. Among other things she was a brilliant potioneer, so talented in the subject that even the perpetually miserable Professor Snape tolerated her presence. The kindly demeanor exhibited daily created a sense of trust among her peers that they could tell her anything. So while she enjoyed gossip, none of it carried any malicious intent. Another factor was involved, one unspoken of mostly but certainly whispered by many of the boys in her year: Penny Haywood was extraordinarily beautiful, the radiant personally only matched by soft, shiny blonde hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires in a fountain. To the untrained eye or those who did not know her, the young Hufflepuff was the envy of just about everyone in Hogwarts.

However, even the brightest angels have inner demons. Some unexpected.

It happened rather suddenly at the end of a standard Herbology class. It was a lovely September day, the kind one aches for during the harsh winter of the Scottish Highlands, and Professor Sprout was instructing the class on Valerian root. Though not always the best at managing plants as many of her house peers were, this class held particular interest to Penny as Valerian was a common ingredient in many potions. As head of Hufflepuff, the young teen hoped that Sprout might allow her to take home some spare leaves, something that had often occurred in the past. As a result, she remained on her best behavior.

“Gather round, everyone!” Sprout called out. “Too much water on the Valerian root will kill it within moments. I will demonstrate the proper amount to use. Miss Haywood, will you fetch me that pail on the shelf?”

Practically bouncing with joy, the Hufflepuff did as told with gusto. Approaching the closet where the pails were kept she could overhear Tonks discussing a possible prank with David on Madam Pince, the latter of whom seemed skeptical.

“Which of these plants do you think would work best for bothering a certain, irritable librarian?”

“Tonks, just how many detentions do you plan on getting this year?”

Those two, she thought with a silent laugh while simultaneously opening the closet door.

From out of the wild blue an enormous, shaggy beast popped out and began roaring with vicious snarls. Penny recognized right away what it was and it practically paralyzed her with fear: a werewolf.

No sooner than this happened she unleashed a blood curdling scream causing everyone to look in her general direction. The situation might have turned into absolute bedlam were it not for the cool, timely intervention of Professor Sprout.

“Everyone remain calm!” she ordered. “There is nothing to fear. Please stand back, Miss Haywood.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, diving under the table and didn’t move, barely registering the command ‘Riddikulus’ issued from her head of house or the muffled voices above. It wasn’t until Professor Sprout peered underneath the table Penny came back to her senses.

“Miss Haywood, you may come out now. You do not need to be afraid any longer.”

She did so, but trembled so badly it was a wonder she was able to stand at all.

“Oh, you poor, dear. I think a trip to Madam Pomfrey might be in order just to be safe.”

“I’ll take her,” her roommate Chiara Lobosca immediately volunteered. “I have some experience helping in the Hospital Wing. It’s the least I can do.”

The platinum blonde Hufflepuff hooked her arm into hers, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder, though Penny was still traumatized to the point of being shell shocked.

“That is very kind of you Miss Lobosca,” Professor Sprout nodded. “I think we’ve all had enough for one day. I will also be forced to report this to the Headmaster; to my knowledge this is the first time a boggart has ever been seen inside the greenhouses. Class dismissed.”

She allowed herself to be led away by Chiara, vaguely remembering the concern etched on the faces of David and Tonks. But that was not the worst part of this horrifying debacle. No for Penny Haywood, the scars ran much deeper.

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

The domain of Madam Pomfrey was about as safe it could get for any student that roamed the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry especially given the fact that unexpected danger was a constant at the institution. However, Penny could not have felt any less secure at the moment.

She was given a calming draught and a bar of Honeydukes chocolate to soothe her nerves, but the delicious treat had no appeal at the moment and so remained untouched. Something far more sinister lay at the heart of her fear.

‘It was only a boggart, dear. Not the real thing. You were never in real danger.’

But for Penny, it was small comfort. As far as she was concerned, any werewolf, real or fake, was a monster...a cancerous disease and certainly something to be afraid of. That Chiara showcased the classic virtues of Hufflepuff and assisted her also caused a source of conflict. Tossing to the side of the soft hospital bed, a surge of horrible guilt threatened to engulf her, nearly erupting into tears.

Chiara’s your friend...she’d never….you know she’s not….

Chastising herself for even entertaining the thought of her dorm mate even being remotely dangerous, she had to summon a reminder that Chiara fought against Fenrir Greyback in their first year. Though discovering her secret by accident, the young teenage girl eventually came around to see Chiara as a kindred soul rather than an enemy. The two were friends. So why the anger? Why the fear?

Cursing her own prejudice, images of David popped into her mind.

‘Chiara isn’t a killer. She’s nothing like Greyback or any of the other werewolves that try to hurt people.’

This statement led to Penny explaining the full story of what happened in the past. Unpleasant as it was, the memories came flooding back as though an old dam finally broke through. Much as the happy go lucky girl had tried to bury them...they were very much alive.

Flashback

A warm summer’s night in June was one of Penny’s most favorite times of the year. She simply loved the warmth and all the splendor that came with it. Most of the time in England one had to wear a jumper, trousers, or stockings during soggy, wet, and cold cloudy months on the island every Briton called home. But for a few measley months of the year, better weather could be found.

It was all the more important for the young girl to witness some kind of sunshine and freedom. The world was a very dangerous place as her mother kept reminding her. ‘You Know Who’ may have been gone but those who served him were still everywhere and not at all favorable to those they deemed inferior to them. It was an unfortunate reality for the thirteen year old who had many friends within the area of their vacation home directly north of London. Being on holiday might have caused some to relax but not the Haywoods. Her mother was muggle born and had also married a ‘muggle’, deeming their daughter a half blood, a controversial status in the magical world.

“Penny, sweetheart. Please don’t venture too far. There’s so much you don’t understand just yet, but we live in an unforgiving society and I cannot afford to lose you or your sister. Listen to daddy and mummy whenever possible and do not stray too far.”

By and large, the blonde girl obeyed her parents, whom she knew loved her and her little sister Beatrice. By the same token no child can stand being locked up for too long and it wasn’t long until she practically begged to be let outside.

“Please, mummy! I wanna go outside!”

“Penny, don’t argue with me right now…”

“But it’s so light outside and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. Why can’t I see Scarlet?”

“You know the reasons why. I’ve explained many times.”

“You Know Who is dead isn’t he? What do we have to be afraid of? Please, mummy I can’t stay inside all summer. I’ll go positively mad before I go back to Hogwarts.”

The blonde woman, so alike in appearance to her daughter sighed and finally relented.

“Alright, Penny. But be back before the sun sets. Promise me.”

But the thirteen year old barely acknowledged her mother’s words, too excited to pay them much mind.

“Yes, mum. I’ll be back soon.”

Tying on her favorite sneakers and adjusting her favorite yellow top, she practically sprinted out the door and into the street where it didn’t take long for her best friend to greet her.

Scarlet Wilson was a long time friend since childhood, a vivacious long haired brunette who wore a red head band, with an adventurous streak that rivaled even David Grant and his inner circle. Had she been born with the gift of magic, Penny was almost certain she’d have been sorted into Gryffindor which almost brought a streak of irony into their relationship: despite being best friends, she was forbidden from telling her anything about the magical world or the prospective status of being a witch. That being said, her wand stayed in her back pocket just in case.

“There you are!” Scarlet exclaimed excitedly, giving her a huge hug.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. Convincing mum is always annoying.”

“I don’t get why she’s always so skittish. It’s the best time of year to go outside and do something.”

Scarlet was wearing a light orange dress, with a white collar, ankle socks, and Mary Janes. She liked to dress up even more than Penny did, though her spirit still retained its tomboyishness.

“She’s just weird like that,” Penny tried to dismiss casually. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“I found this cool forest down the road. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been inside it for years but I already went in today and it’s great. Let’s go!”

“Brilliant!”

And so the girls locked pinky to pinky, something they did since they were eight, and skipped down the sidewalk to the left until they reached the end of concrete gravel which marked the beginning of a sloping, downhill path taking them past several remote more rural homes.

“Scarlet just so you know, I have to be back before sundown.”

“Aww, come on Penny. We have plenty of time.”

“I know but she made me promise and I can’t break that rule. She’s already making Bea stay inside.”

“Your sister is also seven,” Scarlet laughed. “We’re thirteen. We can handle being out this late.”

Penny allowed herself a degree of carefree excitement as she realized her friend was right. There was no use worrying over danger that wasn’t going to happen. She was older after all...though part of her still felt guilty over not being able to tell Scarlet the true nature of the powers she possessed, that was quickly set aside as they came upon the forest, it’s trees tall and bushes thick with greenery with an old forgotten path at the center.

“See? I told you it was cool!” Scarlet said excitedly while they traversed along the narrow way.

Both girls giggled as they began chatting and telling each other stories. Who said boys were the only ones who could enjoy physical activity? The feeling of adventuring was as exhilarating as anything in the world; the light breeze blowing her plaits, the touch of warmth that brought great comfort to her soul, the fact that the sun didn’t set until past nine thirty...it was truly a perfect day to a perfect start of summer. Of course, no summer day, no matter how long lasts forever and soon enough the track of time was lost.

“Come on let’s keep exploring!” Scarlet pushed as Penny began to grow weary. By now the sun had melted behind the backdrop of the underbrush which consisted of numerous trees and bushes. In fact the light was rapidly giving away to darkness.

“Scarlet...it’s getting a bit late.”

“Your mum said be back after sundown. We still have some time left!”

“But…”

It was too late, however. Scarlet had already run further into the brush. Penny was ready to relent to the enthusiasm of her best friend until the crack of a twig in the distance caught her attention.

Peering a little closer, Penny took one cautious step to see what was the matter though her thought process was interrupted by Scarlet.

“Hey, Penny! You gotta see this!”

“What?” she called ahead.

There was nothing to indicate something was off. The tall trees were silent as the grave and gave no indication of hidden evils within. Just...a normal summer’s night with normal undergrowth and vegetation.

But that turned out not to be the case. Penny caught up to her friend and about ten or fifteen feet away was a creature that to the untrained eye resembled a cross between a gray wolf and an emaciated bear. But the young witch knew better. It was a werewolf. Apparently the sun had set and the full moon already rising. Given her ignorance of the danger, Scarlet appeared fascinated.

“Isn’t it cool? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Scarlet…” Penny tried to warn in a whisper. “We need to go.”

But she was interrupted again by her friend’s fearlessness.

“Come on, let’s check it out. Maybe we can report it to the local paper!”

This particular werewolf, an extreme danger to humans in most situations, appeared to be quite meek and so retreated into the bushes at the sight of the two newcomers with Scarlet heading towards it. For her part, Penny knew that was beyond a bad idea but was so paralyzed with fear herself she suddenly froze as her body did not allow itself to go any further. What was she to do? Risk both of their lives? Draw her wand despite being prohibited from using magic outside of Hogwarts? Her mind was racing so badly and yet there was no will to move or act.

‘Take out your wand. Take it out now!’ her instincts told her, yet she did not. A tiny fraction of her psyche hesitated still despite the warning signs. Palms became sweaty and her heart practically pounded out of her chest.

And then it all came to a head so fast, Penny barely had time to process it. A growl issued forth followed by the snapping of jaws, ripping of flesh and a high pitched scream.

“Scarlet!”

It was too late. By the time she reached their location, the wolf was standing over her friend, its muzzle dipped in blood, Scarlet’s unmoving body prone on the ground.

“NO!!!” Penny screeched. All sense of hiding her abilities finally dropped. Rushing forward, wand in hand, she sent the most lethal spell she knew of to get the beast away from her friend.

‘Diffindo!’

The spell hit the werewolf on the back, causing a nasty wound to appear and a howl of pain. Penny didn’t stop there and sent two more cutting hexes, one of which gashed the wolf over the shoulder and down across its chest.

That did the trick in bringing its attention away from Scarlet but it created a new problem in that its vicious sights were now set on her. Gulping, the blonde was suddenly paralyzed by fear and froze for want of a new solution.

‘Come on, you have to get to Scarlet somehow!’

But she barely had time to think as the wolf bull rushed her, bloody sharp teeth brought to bear in an image of gore and horror. Thankfully, Penny was able to jump out of the way just in time and was thus spared lycanthropy or worse. But counting on a lucky maneuver a second time would have been foolish reasoning. Scarlet was likely seriously injured and they both were all alone in the countryside of England.

What she did next was purely instinctual and memory of what she was taught during the first British Civil War. Though a tricky spell for young witches and wizards, the blonde had been shown how to produce red sparks in the event of an emergency.

Raising her wand, Penny issued the sparks at least thirty feet in the air which had a simultaneous effect. Within seconds, her mother had apparated to the scene while the werewolf became spooked by animal instinct. Though it tried to run away, it did not stop Mrs. Haywood from sending a bone breaking curse, partially crippling the beast in a yelp of immense pain, though it continued to limp away.

“Penny, stay behind me!”

But she was no longer preoccupied with the werewolf or even her mother. The only thought on her mind was Scarlet and getting to her in time.

‘We can get her to St. Mungo’s! They treat muggles in emergency situations. It’ll be okay….’

But upon reaching her best friend she found her attempt too little too late. The sight was nothing short of horrific: Scarlet had been scratched across the face, bitten on her right arm, left leg, and torso. But as Penny tried to lift her up she discovered the worst injury of all, a deep seated bite mark around her side near the hip. Placing a hand there, she withdrew it to see it soaked in blood which formed a pool on the ground.

Gazing into the face of her best friend, the final blow was hammered home. Pupils were no longer seeing, the whites glazed over completely. She was dead.

“N-no! Scarlet! Wake up! Please….w-wake up!”

Her stammering pleas drowned out all other sounds. Penny barely felt her mother trying to pull her away from the carnage or the *pops of numerous Aurors arriving on the scene. She didn’t want to leave her best friend. And amidst the full moon hovering in the sky, tears mixed with blood that marked the grass on a tragic summer’s night.

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

“Are you alright, Miss Haywood?”

Madam Pomfrey’s kindly tone interrupted her flashback causing the Hufflepuff teen to crash back to earth.

“Oh uh...yes. I’m sorry.”

The nurse did not at all look convinced, cocking an eyebrow at the distractedness of her patient.

“Miss Haywood, though it was only a boggart, seeing a werewolf that realistic would be enough to frighten anyone out of their wits. I would prefer you to stay longer but in this case I will leave the decision up to you.”

Penny didn’t think twice.

“I’d like to go to lunch, please.”

“My dear I don’t know that-”

“If it’s my choice, I’d like to leave.”

Oftentimes it wasn’t a student’s choice to leave, not if Madam Pomfrey insisted. But given the circumstances, the hospital warden relented.

“Alright, Miss Haywood you are free to go. But promise me you will eat that entire bar of chocolate, before anything else.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The blonde hopped down from her bed, grabbed her bag and thanked Madam Pomfrey once more. But she couldn’t have exited the premises fast enough for once doing so, the emotional tidal wave barely held back earlier unleashed in a torrent of tears. Throwing her back against the wall, Penny wept as silently as she could wishing dearly for her friend back.

Wishing she could have acted sooner.

Wishing it wasn’t her fault.

Wishing she could somehow forget the unbearable pain.

Wondering why luck had favored her to live but Scarlet to die.

Better luck next time.

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (2/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This chapter, from Tamlin's perspective, required a lot of careful thinking and revising and research on my part, specifically on whether abusers can ever recover and what that looks like. Personally, both in real life and in the ACOTAR world, I do believe that recovery is possible, but that abusers must admit the harm they have caused, reckon with themselves to create new patterns of thinking and behavior, and make amends if possible. This has shaped the way I've written Tamlin here and in future chapters. I do think that in the ACOTAR novels and fandom, Tamlin gets criticized for his behavior in a way that other characters with similarly abusive patterns of behavior (Rhys, Nesta, Eris) do not. I also think that redemption is possible for him. All that said, if you don't agree, or if you find Tamlin triggering, I completely understand. You can find all chapters here.

There are footsteps in the darkness, and Tamlin follows them, the breeze disappearing from his skin as he’s surrounded, pulled from the scent of flowers by walls of stone. It is impossible to gnash his teeth in this form so he growls instead, the sound amplified and echoing in the hollow chambers of his estate. Once, they were full of his courtiers and servants, studded with visiting nobles who sought his favor or his counsel.

Now, only Rhysand waits for him, at home in the darkest corner of the great hall.

“What do you want?” Tamlin asks, his voice clotted, scraping his throat.

“I’d like to send Elain Archeron to your court as my emissary.”

“Running short of spies, Rhysand?”

“If I wanted to spy on you, would I be here asking your permission?” He drawls the words but Tamlin has been listening in the forests, his hearing even sharper in this form, and he can hear the slightly anxious pitch in the man’s voice. And it’s curious that he would send someone, let alone his mate’s sister, as if he hadn’t ordered Lucien to make regular visits to Spring. “I’d like to be assured that she’ll be safe.”

“My lands are none of your concern but the dangerous creatures have all been put in their places.” He feels a fraction of his old self when he’s hunting, the mission clear and certain. He loves the feeling of his body obeying his commands, the only being in Prythian in whom he can put his trust.

“I need your word that she will be safe here.”

“You think I’ll lock her up in a ruined castle and throw away the key?”

Rhysand, damn him, simply takes a look around, the gloom deep enough to make his tan face pale as milk.

“Does Lucien stay here when he visits you?”

As if he doesn’t know that Lucien winnows himself to that castle in the human lands when their meetings and councils are over, preferring to spend his time with that Band of Exiles than stay a night in his ruined bedroom, or search the estate for another room that managed to escape its High Lord’s wrath.

Sometimes, he looks back at the being he was during the war with Hybern and feels no spark of recognition. Sometimes he has to coax himself to admit that it was he himself at those moments, starting a war over a woman he knew, even then, did not love him. And sometimes he does not force himself to recognize the truth of his own actions because the realization is always an explosion inside of him, blinding and horrifying, destroying another part of him every time he realizes what he became. What he is, still. It’s partly for this reason that he avoids the face he wore in those days.

“When would you like the Archeron sister to come to my court?” As if he doesn’t know who Elain is.

“She would like to arrive as soon as possible. I believe she stayed up last night packing her trunks.”

“So eager to get away from you?” The pleasure he feels at saying the words catches in the throat of the beast, unused to speaking like a lord, smooth words concealing the whirling of his mind.

“All the members of my court are free to go where they wish.”

Rhysand must really want this outcome, to tread so lightly. Usually his response would have been along the lines of Fuck you, you imprisoned my mate, and now Tamlin watches as he coaxes his mouth into a line resembling a smile’s curve and, as he so often does, picks a nonexistent piece of lint off his tunic.

“What do you require for her?”

“Nothing too impossible, I think. A bed, a bathing-room, a door that locks. A guarantee that she’ll be fed at regular intervals. I did mention that Lucien and Queen Vassa would be joining Elain, didn’t I? So it will be three of everything.”

“Such confidence in their desire to reside here.”

Rhysand’s lip curls. “If you think this is impossible--”

He should decline, insist again that these lands are him, but compulsion pulls at him, a heady thrum.

“It will take at least a month to make this estate adequate to your needs.”

“Elain would like to be here sooner.”

“There is a cottage in the village.”

“If I assist?”

Tamlin lets the growl build in his throat. He’s not sure which is worse: Rhysand knowing the exact layout of his home, or having Rhysand’s people build it because Tamlin himself isn’t sure who would dedicate this kind of service to him, now that they’ve seen the rot at his core. At least they still fear him enough to leave his jewels untouched, or else are unable to breach the surrounding wards.

“Am I to believe that you would send your precious artisans to build the home of your enemy?”

“I’ve given you reason enough to believe anything of me,” Rhysand says, and the words are transparent, infuriatingly so: a person could see that he was truly good if only they were in the mood to look. That Tamlin had allowed himself to believe otherwise for centuries gnaws at him, even as he wants to believe that this decent version of the male is just another mirror, a trick of the light.

“If we begin with the kitchens and three bedrooms, a week will be enough.” He shifts from paw to paw. “Ask Elain what she would like to look at, what colors she prefers.”

“Elain likes the colors of flowers. Soft and delicate furnishings.”

“And she cannot speak for herself?” The words come out harsh, grating, nothing like the tone he’d envisioned in his head, which would, all on its own, indicate the irony of Rhysand taking an Archeron sister for granted, presuming her words. He would say, if there was anybody who cared enough to ask, that after so much time in this form, he has lost the art of modulating his tone.

“I’ll ask her,” Rhysand says, soft and dangerous, “my precious artisans and builders will arrive tomorrow at first light, then. Should I advise them to look for you in this form?”

“I’ll look as civilized as you.” He manages to match Rhysand’s tone. The control required is exquisite. “Though I’m sure you’ll be around to make sure they survive the morning.”

“Prove me wrong, then, Tamlin.”

Of course, Rhysand disappears before Tamlin can lunge for him, his claws snapping on nothing but laden air. The marble floor, dull with inattention, pounds his paws and then his joints as he, the beast outside and inside, hits the floor. The foundation of the estate rumbles in complaint.

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There are no mirrors to allow Tamlin to observe the face of his Fae form, but his arms and legs are only skin and muscle. If he were slaughtered and prepared as a meal, the diners would complain about the gristle of him, the sharpness of the knife required to make the meal palatable.

He finds a clean shirt and pants and boots which are not spangled with embroidery or jewels, and though the fabric gives off a musty scent, he doubts that Rhysand, his artisans, or his builders will get close enough to judge the stink. Tamlin knows the way that gossip travels across the seven courts, imagines there are stories about his haunting of the Spring Court forests, that they’ll only be surprised he doesn’t appear with fur and claws or else covered in dirt. With this in mind, he scrubs his face and body with water and the last gritty bits of soap until the skin squeaks clean under his fingertips.

After centuries of seeing his own reflection, Tamlin knows how he might look, but no matter what he envisions, the result is disappointing. Any beauty undone by the rot inside, which tears inside of him, an animal gnashing its teeth. The reason he prefers to be transformed, the creature outside matching the way he feels inside. He knows that he deserves this punishment, does not stop imagining Feyre’s wasted body, the sound of her retching, Amarantha destroying that weak and beautiful human frame while he was so careful to be still and silent. He deserves this feeling for Hybern, for calling Feyre a whore, for her sisters in the Cauldron and all the hurt he caused. The list is endless and he recounts each item on it, filling up the hours when his forests are silent, when all the monsters within are too afraid of him to stir.

Despite all his years as a warrior, he never thought that he was such a terror. For a time he tried to blame Feyre for this unleashing, then Rhysand, but too soon there was only the stark reality that he himself was the only one to blame. How he’d never noticed the horrible thing inside his chest is beyond him, a question that will tear him up for all the centuries remaining to him.

Still, in spite of the punishment he is owed, Tamlin is tired of lurking in shadowy corners, in the parts of his forests that made even Amarantha’s creatures hesitant. He does not know what will happen when he is not alone, but finds himself thinking that even the harshest punishment would be better than this life.

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The builders arrive, the artisans and gardeners and even an architect, all peering over Rhysand’s wings to get a glimpse of Tamlin. He can see disappointment in her eyes, that he is all High Fae, and for a moment he wants to tell them how strange it felt, to spend the night so naked and unarmed. Then he thinks the sight of his estates will generate pity enough.

Then, beside Rhysand, the Morrigan appears, holding the hand of Elain Archeron, who does not break his gaze, not even when he feels the length of the stare, the blaze of his own eyes.

“Elain wanted to assist in the gardens,” Rhysand says, by way of introduction. “She has quite the talent for arranging flowers.”

“I see you will put anybody in your court to work for you,” he snaps back, just to watch the Morrigan lurch toward him, her beauty gilded with her fury. Rhysand’s court will bark at any slight towards their High Lord.

“I have heard about the famed beauty of the gardens of the Spring Court and I wanted to see them for myself.” Elain Archeron has dipped into a curtsy, the pearls at her ears gleaming in the first rosy fingers of dawn, her gown the colors of sunrise, rosy pink and coral and orange delicately interwoven. When she looks back up at him, her face is all serene, except her eyes, which stay fixed on Tamlin, assessing his expression as if a face could be a trove of knowledge. All he’s ever heard about this sister is her beauty, her kindness, her sweet softness, as though she were a statue made of sugar, but now she regards him like a goddess, piercing and certain amidst the glow of herself.

“Spoken like my emissary.” Rhysand nods at her and she aims a thin-lipped smile at him. “Elain will walk your gardens and propose a design for them. I think you’ll find her taste to be exquisite. And Laella has come with her proposal for renovations to your estate.”

The architect steps forward, scrolls in her hands, which she unfurls and explains to Tamlin without so much as a greeting. While she speaks, he realizes two things: that she is a dryad, and that her plans for the estate are lovely. She will polish the marble, working with the existing design, but add windows and open-air spaces so that those in residence can enjoy the breezes and the sunlight without having to step outside. Tamlin has never been to the palaces of the Night Court, but he cannot imagine that this design is a copy, and as the architect’s fingers scratch over her parchment, he finds himself nodding along. Laella has erased the border between indoors and outdoors. In such a house, he would not feel so surrounded by stone, so deprived of air. He could even imagine wanting to stay, always.

And if, in the end, he cannot bear to stay inside, it will give him a certain satisfaction to watch Rhysand’s reaction to the ruin.

“The complete renovation will take at least a month, but I will have a better estimate once I inspect your home and have your approval for changes.” The dryad’s voice rasps and moans, wind in the branches and the strain of the tree trunk beneath. Tamlin can feel Rhysand’s eyes on him, waiting for a slight, a show of prejudice against this faerie, not a High Fae, and while he aims a smirk at the other male, he nods over the plans.

“You are aware that I’m a beast?” He points, at random, to a large room made brighter and more spacious in the plans.

“Our High Lord has told us stories,” Laella tells him, a wisp of deep green hair escaping from its arrangement, her gray skin flushing in spite of her professional composure when she sees the talons that appear on the backs of his hands, summoned without a thought. “He also said you saved his life.”

“I imprisoned his mate in this place,” he counters, his voice rising, the artisans and builders and architects no longer straining to hear. Rhysand and the Morrigan have taken subtle steps to block Elain Archeron from view. “I had her sisters kidnapped by the king of Hybern. Ransomed my lands for an obsession with a female who rightly wanted nothing to do with me.” He can hear the ragged edge in his voice, the growl, and fears that in a moment he may turn animal again, that he has been cursed with an unwilling transformation without his knowing, an inversion of his powers.

“A truly evil person never believes they have done wrong,” Elain Archeron says, from behind Rhysand’s wings. Her voice is soft but pitched to carry. “From what I’m told, these lands are filled with beings who do evil deeds with no remorse for the suffering they leave behind.”

Rhysand has turned towards her, staring as if he’s never heard Elain say so many words. Everyone is staring at her. Tamlin feels the weight of their eyes fall off his shoulders, heaves a breath.

“Anyway,” she continues, more hesitantly, as if she’s aware that everyone is watching her, “I have to believe that the path to becoming evil is hard to distinguish. That we could get there with the best intentions.”

She flushes and goes silent, and he notices that she said we instead of you, and he thinks that maybe Rhysand’s sister-in-laws are not as moon-eyed over him as the rest of his court. The Morrigan squeezes her hand, and for a second Tamlin almost smiles; seeing the Morrigan out of battle and her armor will never stop amusing him, like seeing a jungle cat begin to sing.

“Are the plans to your liking, Tamlin?” Rhysand asks once it is clear that Elain will not say anything else. “I will pay for the renovations in exchange for one favor.”

“I have enough gold in my stores to compensate your people fairly.” He learned in the cradle, never to accept a favor as payment, especially without detailing very particular terms.

“You don’t know what I’ve promised them in payment.”

Tamlin growls and nods his head toward Laella.

“I offer double what your High Lord promised,” he snarls. “So long as you finish within the month.”

Those smiles are the first he’s received in years. No matter that he had to purchase them. The gold was sitting in his vaults, unused.

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Hours later, Tamlin stalks the grounds of the estate. The builders have already begun basic repairs under Laella’s guidance, the artisans scouring each room for pieces which might fit the dryad’s vision. Noise echoes throughout the halls, a mirror effect that leaves him dizzy. He has spent too many days in the forest.

“Have you come to see my plans?” Elain Archeron asks, appearing at his elbow, breathing hard.

“You followed me.” He growls, wanting to scare her off. No good can ever come of an Archeron on his trail. He’ll tell this to himself until it feels true.

“Your gardens are too beautiful to be so overgrown.” Again, no malice and no flattery, only gentle confidence. “I’ve been making all kinds of plans”

“You want to change everything.”

“You have an opportunity to have the greatest gardens in all of Prythian, maybe all of this world, and you are letting them go in favor of thorns and rot. As a gardener, I’m honestly offended.”

Tamlin stops mid-stride and watches her, assessing the truth of the statement. Her hands settle on her hips, the parchment of her plans bunching under her fingers. One colored pencil, pink, is tucked behind her ear, and three more are tucked into the bodice of her gown, thinnest fingers of blue and green and gold reaching for her clavicle.

“Your sisters must have warned you about me.”

“Oh, I don’t think Nesta’s ever been afraid of you,” she says, a smile forming on her lips.

“I don’t mean Nesta.”

He can feel the strain in her as she keeps her eyes on his, her breath hissing past her teeth.

“I will not talk about Feyre with you. If she ever wants to see you again, she knows how to find your doorstep.”

“Then why is Rhysand sending you here?”

“Night Court business.” She’s trying to say the words smoothly, but she blushes, the tip of her nose going pink.

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t owe you every single morsel of the truth.”

“You’re on my lands,” he says, only realizing the menace in his tone when she takes one step away from him and then another. “Why are you here?”

“My sisters have often told me that I need to see the gardens of the Spring Court.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, catching a snarl so roughly that he has to hold back a wince. “That is a trip for an afternoon. Your High Lord sends you as his emissary and his gardener.”

“He -- I volunteered.”

“Tell me, Elain Archeron, are you Rhysand’s spy as well?”

“I would be a horrible spy if I told you that, High Lord. At any rate, do you think I have the skills for such a mission?”

“I hear you came out of the Cauldron with gifts, but their dimensions are vague in every recounting.”

She goes pale, as if she remembers who she’s speaking with, the calculus that made her Fae and took, he’s heard, a life story she deemed precious.

“You forgot for a moment that I ruined your life,” he says. He does not want to draw out the awkwardness. Let her walk away, let her leave, if she’s so inclined.

“Did you know that Hybern would capture us?”

“I believed the king. I thought that Feyre would be rescued, the enchantment broken, that we would live happily in my court for a thousand years.”

Elain snorts.

“You’re an idiot,” she says.

Tamlin just stares at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some fearsome warrior?” she continues, crossing her arms at her chest, “Even someone with no idea of strategy could tell you that Hybern would have never honored your promises. Even a human could have told you that.”

“You have never been in love then. You’d believe anything. Give anything. Do anything, just to have your beloved in your arms again.” His chest is tight and yet his skin feels too big for his body. He wants to hug himself but wills his fingers into fists, feeling the strain of the claws against the muscles of his hands.

“You nearly destroyed my sister.”

“You need to--”

“What I want to know,” she says, as if she doesn’t hear him at all, has no regard for rank or even danger, “is if a part of you did it on purpose. If you saw her suffering and wanted it to continue.”

He holds her gaze, the warm brown like whiskey, strong and sparkling.

“You do not believe what you said earlier, then.”

“I want to know if it could be true.”

“Is that what brings you to the Spring Court?”

She sighs, then uncrosses her arms.

“First,” she says, unfurling the parchment between them, “I’d like you to tell me what you think about my ideas for your gardens.”

He decides to look where she’s pointing instead of breathing another threat. She speaks of hyacinths and peonies and ferns, the lilac and forsythia bushes, and cherry trees and weeping willows that will line the paths, under which she proposes he install benches for lingering.

“Who do you think will be staying in these gardens so long?” he asks, the words more melancholy than he intends. He hates the way this male sounds, all longing and self-pity and no action at all, but he can’t keep the noise from escaping him.

She rustles the parchment, making it thunder. “There aren’t any other residents of Spring Court?”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“Why don’t you try to keep them?”

“You think I could have done something different?” He’s daring her to make a list of her suggestions. Cauldron boil him, his own list is endless and ever-growing.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she says, sighing as if there is more to say but she is too weary to muster the words, and he cannot believe that Elain Archeron, with her soft voice and her poise, all the glow of her, would be ignored, but Tamlin keeps quiet, allowing her to speak. “Anyway, I haven’t shown you my favorite part of my plan. I want you to install a field of tulips where the grounds meet the forest.” She sweeps her hand in that direction. “Mor has promised to find bulbs on the continent. I grew up hearing stories of tulip fields that went for miles.”

“You don’t think it sends a message of weakness to our enemies, to greet them with flowers?” It’s the second time within the moment when he’s asked for her opinion instead of stating his own.

Her nod is decisive, no sweetness in the gesture.

“Your enemies will know that the true terror is inside. Only the weak require a strong wall to hide behind.” He wonders if she’s thinking of her human lord, the one who left her. Tamlin has wandered as a beast for months, but the gossip of Prythian still finds him. Lucien has an ear at every door, and Rhysand’s monthly meetings are full of updates on political dealings that make Tamlin’s head ache.

“I’ll allow the tulips,” he says. “After all, you’ll be living here for a while, according to your High Lord. If my enemies are encouraged, you’ll see the result yourself.”

She nods, absently, no longer looking at his face but off into some middle distance. Probably considering a different arrangement of flowers, Tamlin thinks, deciding not to wait until she trains his eyes on him again. Instead he lets his feet carry him into the forest without only the smallest nod of goodbye.

He travels miles before he can rid himself of the image of her in his hall, rosy with the dawn light and fragrant as the gardens she dreams up. It is dangerous to think of an Archeron sister more than fleetingly, though, and so gradually Tamlin fills his mind up with the sights of the forest, the dappled light and the creatures that dart away when they hear him coming.

[thepancakeboi]

Day 1: Favorite Scene

Would you people hate me if I said it’s the scene after the boiler room fight...? Because it is- Granted, “Honey I’m home” is always a favorite of mine but...the after-fight FEELS. Also, my favorite scene could change as I play through Royal, as I’m still on the third palace and have just started Goro’s confidant.

I’m going to leave this now. Someone needs to remind me to stop writing things that make me cry-

I severely underestimated you, Joker. You and your band of thieves...

“You ready to call it quits?”

Skull’s question is pointless. Isn’t my answer obvious? I decide to indulge him with a response if only to put your mind at ease. “I know... I’ve had enough.” I’m done trying to kill you. It’s clear your skills exceed mine. You win again, just as you always do. “...You’re so lucky. Lucky to be surrounded... by teammates who acknowledge you...And once Shido confesses his crimes, you’ll all be heroes.” Your fame won’t be part of an elaborate scheme this time. Shido’s crimes are truly unforgivable. No one would side with him once the truth is revealed. Anyone who does isn’t in their right mind. But with the truth comes... “As for me, people will find out my past deductions were just charade. My fame and trust will vanish.” The trust I had lost with you, the Phantom Thieves, it seems minuscule in comparison.

“I see,” Mona says after a slight pause. “So you were turning people psychotic, then solving the cases yourself. And you did that by joining forces with Shido.”

He’s just now figuring this out? How foolish...though I keep those thoughts to myself. I don’t have the time nor the heart to antagonize your group further. Besides, what right have I to say anything? It was foolish of me to think I could take on all the Phantom Thieves at once. Mona was right. I’m just some child ‘throwing a temper tantrum’ as he rightly put it. What was I thinking, believing I could be something special? That was the wishful thinking of a naive little kid. “In the end... I couldn’t be special...”

Skull immediately buts in. “Dude, you’re more than special...”

Wait...what?

“It pains me to admit... but your wit and strength far exceeds ours. We only defeated you by teaming up,” Queen reluctantly admits. Where is this coming from? “I was honestly... envious of your natural ability. It was frustrating to see how much my sister trusted you...” If only you knew how strained our trust truly was when I started working with you. Sae-San and I were barely speaking to each other by that point in time.

I’m surprised when Noir joins in. She’s the last person I would expect to add on to this conversation, considering what I did to her father. “I have no intention of forgiving you for what you did to my father, but... I sympathize with you.” I don’t expect her to ever forgive me, and she shouldn’t. Not when I don’t deserve any form of forgiveness. “I wholeheartedly understand wanting to get back at the adults who took from you...”

“But when you gained the power to fulfill that desire, you only used it for your own self-benefit,” Fox adds.

Oracle chimes in after him. “If you’ve got more than one Persona, maybe you actually have the same kinda power as Joker’s.” The same power? My gaze turns to you at this. You’re being much more quiet than usual. I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours. “But you trusted no one, so you only got two Personas: one for your lies, and one for your hate. Still, you thought that was enough, right? That part I totally get.”

“You excelled at everything over us... yet that was the one thing you lacked.”

The one thing I lacked...here I thought it was skill, or perhaps friendship. To think that it would be simply trusting others. Oracle and Fox are right. I only relied on myself to get where I am, trusting no one. In the end, that’s what’s caused my downfall. Though...it isn’t entirely true. I had trusted you to some extent.

“All right, let’s go back and get that callin’ card ready!” Skull says, eager to leave. “We’re gonna take Shido down. What’re you gonna do?”

The question stuns me. You shouldn’t be concerning yourself with me. “It’d be a problem if you kept getting in our way. Wanna come along and help us settle things?” Panther asks.

“...Are you all idiots?” I finally say, shoving my own feelings away. It doesn’t matter that I want to come with your group or that I would love nothing more than to fight my father by your side. It’s too late for that. “You should get rid of me... if you don’t want me getting in your way.”

It may have been Panther who asked the question, but my eyes are on you. I want to hear your response. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you say with such certainty, such finality, that it leaves little room for argument. “I don’t want to lose you. Come with us. We’ll change his heart, together.”

Together...? Is that really what you want? I shake my head at the absurdity. “...You all are truly beyond my comprehension.”

“Akechi?” Skull blurts out in shock. His response confuses me.

“Another one!? Wait, is he...” Fox says, and it’s then I realize the source of their surprise. I must really be faltering if I didn’t notice the newcomer, a nearly identical version of me. His dead brown eyes give away who, or what, he is.

“That’s... Shido’s cognitive version of Akechi!” Mona says, confirming my suspicions.

So, I’ll be finding out what my father thinks of me. Haha, not that I give a shit anymore-wait, he’s...pointing a gun at me!? “I’ll deal with the rest of you later,” he says. At the look of shock on my face, he elaborates. “Captain Shido’s orders... He has no need for losers. Well... this just moves the plan up a little. He was going to get rid of you after the election anyway.”

“What!?” How... how could he!?

“Did you truly believe you’d be spared after all the murders you undertook?” No... I hadn’t believed that for a second. I knew the consequences of my crimes should they ever be discovered. But surely Shido couldn’t say anything without implicating himself! “Don’t tell me... Were you actually feeling good about having someone rely on you for once?”

“I-” I... had enjoyed being relied on, even if the reason was as deplorable as needing me as his personal hit-man.

“Oh by the way, the captain says it’s time you receive retribution for causing the mental shutdowns.”

“What the hell, man!?” Ryuji yells. He sounds pissed. “That bastard’s the one who put him up to it!”

“I see,” I chuckle. The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me. “I was wondering how he’d protect himself if I used my power to tear through his Palace. Turns out you’re how. So he’s making a puppet kill me... Sounds like something he’d do.”

He nods. “That’s right. I’ll do anything. But look at yourself... you’re the true puppet.” I...I’m the puppet? “You wanted to be acknowledged, didn’t you? To be loved? You’ve been nothing but a puppet from the very beginning.” That... was exactly what I had wanted. All of my plans, my revenge, all stemmed from simply wanting my father to acknowledge me. Here it turns out that he already knew everything and he has no qualms of killing me off. It doesn’t surprise me, but... “What’s all this nagging about?” He’s talking to you and the rest of the thieves. What did any of them even say...? “Want me to take care of you first?”

I can hear the sound of Shadows materializing behind me, but I pay them no mind. Panther is the one to speak the entire group’s thoughts. “No... He’s not alone! He has Shadows too!”

“You know what? I’ll let someone volunteer to take his place.” A cruel grin forms on the cognition’s face as if relishing the situation. “Who knows, you might delay his death.”

Immediately, my eyes hone in on you. I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, right before you execute some outlandish scheme. You better not try it now. “I-”

“No,” I snarl, cutting off whatever response you might have. I already know exactly what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to let you go through with whatever wild plan is taking shape in your mind. “I’m not letting you die for me.”

“But-”

“No.” I am not going to let you change my mind.

“You guys are all about doing things for others, aren’t you?” The cognitive me remarks as if goading you on into ignoring my wishes. “Oh, that’s just the same as me. I’m going to take all the blame for our captain. I’ll die for him too.”

“This is what Shido thinks of Akechi-kun, even after making him help with the murders!?” Queen says in surprise. Why is your group so shocked by this? I know exactly the kind of man my father is. I know what’s going to happen next.

“Here, I’ll give you one last chance.” The cognition focuses his attention solely on me. “Shoot them,” he commands.

I laugh, “I was such a fool.”

My hand is steady as I point my gun, aiming it right between your eyes. The mask hides it well, but I remember the look on your face right now. It’s the same one that you had in the interrogation room just before I murdered you in cold blood. Despite my outward stillness, my thoughts are going haywire. Am I truly capable of this? Your voice wavers a little as if you can’t bring yourself to believe the scene before you. “Goro, you-”

“Yes,” the cognition hisses excitedly. “That’s the you our captain wishes to see.”

I shake my head, a chuckle escaping me. If anyone notices my tears, I’m blaming it on the pain of my injuries. “...Don’t misunderstand.” I don’t know who I mean that to: you, the cognitive version of me, or both of you. It seems I’ve finally managed to fool you after all. “You’re the one who’s going to disappear!”

I whirl around, immediately firing once I have the cognition in my sights. My shot hits him in the abdomen. I barely spare him a glance as he drops to his knees. My next target is further away, but my accuracy pays off. The glass shatters, the bullet activating the red button underneath. Alarms blare as red lights flash. “The watertight bulkhead door has closed,” an automatic announcement says in a monotone female voice. “All personnel within the partition wall: evacuate at once.”

My intuition was right. The bulkhead door rises up from the ground, right between us. I’m left with the Shadows and the cognition. This is how it was always meant to be. “Whoa, what is this!?” Oracle says, her voice muffled behind the door.

“Akechi!” Skull yells, banging his fists hard. His voice is clearer just because of how loud he is. Typical.

“Hurry up and go,” I yell back, leaning against the door. I’m struggling to stay on my own two feet, but I fear that if I collapse now, I’ll never get back up.

“You fool!” Fox’s voice isn’t as loud as Skull’s, but his voice cuts through the thick metal. “Are you trying to get yourself killed!?”

I suppress a laugh. It wasn’t the plan, but... if it happens, so be it. At least my death will be for something- no, someone I love. “The real fools... are you guys. You should have just abandoned me here a long time ago... You would have all perished... if you had tried to face these with me weighing you down...” My words are interrupted by a fit of coughing. I cover my mouth as I do. The black gloves are speckled with red spots that hadn’t been there before. It’s blood... my blood.

“Akechi-kun!” Queen cries out. Is...she concerned about me?

I hear a fist bang against the wall, this time right behind me, and I immediately assume it to be Skull again. Instead, I’m shocked to hear your voice crying out my name, “Goro!” Are you...crying? I must be imagining things. I’m not worth your tears. “Why!? Why are you-”

My voice is strained as I continue. Even talking hurts. “Let’s make a deal, okay?”

“Goro...”

I can hear the pout in your voice. I’m so glad I cannot see your expression. It would make this so much harder. “You won’t say no, will you?”

Fox answers, “Why at a time like this!?”

I know you won’t deny my words. You’re too good, too perfect to refuse this request. “Change Shido’s heart... in my stead... End his crimes... Please!” I end with a desperate yell. I’m hoping you don’t refuse.

“Akeppi...” I wasn’t imagining it after all. You are crying over me. Of course you are. If there’s one thing that has been constant, it’s your damn feelings for me at every turn. I don’t even object to that stupid little nickname you gave me all those months ago. “I’ll hold on to your glove.”

I gasp. I thought you had forgotten about that, after everything that has happened. To think that you still have it... I shake my head. You never fail to surprise me. “Heh... After all this, that’s what you have to say? Seriously, you really are...”

I don’t have time to finish my sentence. The cognitive version of me is finally recovering, standing up as he snarls in whatever pain a cognition can feel. “You bastard...”

He immediately points his gun at me. I push myself off the wall, pointing my own gun at the cognition. “So my final enemy is a puppet version of myself... I...!”

I try to shut out the rest of the world before my resolve falters. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid. I am, but... you’re worth this sacrifice. If only I could have accepted your offer, but there’s still no use talking in hypotheticals.

I’m... I’m sorry, Ren.

Case closed. This is how my ‘justice’ ends.

[theeternalfamily]

Helaman 9: Comfronting the truth

Have you ever received an answer from the Spirit, but you wish it wasn’t true? It has happened to me, many times. But after years and vast experiences of neglecting the answers I’ve received, I can share my testimony that the Holy Spirit is real, that God loves us and He knows what is best for us, and that pride is when I think I know better than God.

I felt very related to several scriptures from this chapter that I detail below. But before I continue, please bear in mind that if this has happened to you, you are not alone and it is normal. However, let us not fall in the trap of of feeling comfortable in this situation. Instead, if we strive to accept the promptings of the Spirit, we will become stronger in our testimony, in our prayers to God, and in taking better decisions for our lives.

7 And behold the people did gather themselves together unto the place of the judgment-seat—and behold, to their astonishment they saw those five men who had fallen to the earth.

8 And now behold, the people knew nothing concerning the multitude who had gathered together at the garden of Nephi; therefore they said among themselves: These men are they who have murdered the judge, and God has smitten them that they could not flee from us.

I can’t help but sense a spark of irony in this scripture. These are people that are not following God’s commandments, who are more forcused on their wealth and personal gain, but decide to reacognize “God’s hand” when it is their convenience. Which, for the record, those five men they captured were innocent from the murder of the judge. Later in the chapter, when it turns out that God’s hand had instead intervened by allowing Nephi to prophesy, many considered it conveninent to not see it this way because it wasn’t of their convenience.

19 Nevertheless, they caused that Nephi should be taken and bound and brought before the multitude, and they began to question him in divers ways that they might cross him, that they might accuse him to death—

20 Saying unto him: Thou art confederate; who is this man that hath done this murder? Now tell us, and acknowledge thy fault; saying, Behold here is money; and also we will grant unto thee thy life if thou wilt tell us, and acknowledge the agreement which thou hast made with him.

Ok, it is very easy to connect this to those around us that do not agree on our believes and want to convince us otherwise. However, I want to connect this verse to how we question ourselves instead, whether we do it on purpose or not. In Psychology, there is a term called cognitive dissonance. Since Google does a pretty good job defining it, I’ll copy paste its meaning:

“Cognitive dissonance refers to a situation involving conflicting attitudes, beliefs or behaviors. This produces a feeling of mental discomfort leading to an alteration in one of the attitudes, beliefs or behaviors to reduce the discomfort and restore balance. (McLeod, 2018.)“

Cognitive dissonance is VERY NORMAL for everyone. But it is dangerous when we are not aware of it. In verse 20 we read that Nephi was offered money and saving his life in reward of lying. Sometimes life offers us things that we, consciously or subcinscously, think that we need. And many times, we really do need it. Because of this, we start questioning our “attitudes, beliefs or behaviours” to calm that need that we feel.

Although I’m not vulnerable enough to share the most personal experiences of my life, here are some examples of when I’ve faced these situations in different stages of my life:

-Girls in my school don’t accept me... it’s ok to curse, you’ll have more friends and you’re not offending anyone. (Middle school).

-I don’t like the answer that I received to my prayer...so I start believing that God hasn’t answered my prayers. (High school)

-I feel prompted to not trust my boyfriend because he is being manipulative and seeing someone else... I love him and don’t want to end things with him, so I better believe it’s not the holy spirit, but it’s just me being jealous and insecure. (University)

21 But Nephi said unto them: O ye fools, ye uncircumcised of heart, ye blind, and ye stiffnecked people, do ye know how long the Lord your God will suffer you that ye shall go on in this your way of sin?

If our hearts are hard, we will have much difficulty to learn from above. But if we try to recognize our imperfect human state, and that he have much to learn, we can receive council from God, who knows it all. I have learned a phrase that helps me understand this scripture while trying to be a disciple of Christ:

“When you are living righteously and are acting with trust, God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision. (Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Using the Supernal Gift of Prayer,” Ensign, May 2007, 10.)”

It turns our that even though I cursed in school, I didn’t make new friends because of it. Yes, more girls were cheering and talking to me, but turns out they were still badmouthing about me. I remember that on a Sunday, a temple trip was announced and it hit me “If I want to enter the temple, I shouldn’t be cursing as much as I am”.

I called my best friend soon after that and told her that I wasn’t going to curse anymore and that I might need her support to stop. She said “I honestly don’t know why cursing should be a problem, but if this is important to you then I’ll support you 100%”. That’s when I understood that I already had precious friends, I didn’t need to be popular among the others, and that I could be myself and still have this treasure in my life. 

I know this is a very simple example, and that cursing doesn’t make you a bad person... but this simple example taught the 12 year old me that I didn’t have to change my belief about how a disciple of Christ speaks to be happier. Instead, trying to speak as a discilple of Christ helped me realize the precious gift of true friendship. And the accumulation of very simple examples like this one, helped me realize more about how the truth won’t change simply because I change. But that when I try to live up to the truth, I’ll understand it better.

When I decided to change my beliefs because I had dissonance, I was “blind”, and “stiffnecked“, and of course I wouldn’t want to recognize it until I figurately hit a wall and couldn’t deny that I was wrong. But I feel very blessed, because no matter how many times I’ve been blind, stubborn, and specially prideful, I have recognized God’s divine intervention to help me see the light.

I testifiy that there is only one truth. And although I don’t know the truth of all things, and I’m definitely far from knowing it all, there is one absolute truth that helps me stand firm even in times of doubt and trouble:

God lives, He knows and loves us perfectly. And we can also know and love Him more.

“If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” (Matthew 22:37–39)

Living the commandments due to our love for God, will lead us to the path of light. And the more we love God, we will have the power to love others, and this also leads us to more light. Truth is light. Jesus Christ is the source of all light and, therefore, of all truth. I testifiy that the scriptures bring us closer to Jesus Chris, and The Book of Mormon is another Testament of Jesus Christ, which brings us close to our Savior, and therefore, to more truth and light.

Disclaimer: These notes are thoughts that come to my mind while studying the scriptures. I share them with the hope that they might help someone, but I don’t claim them to be perfect. These are based on my experience and I respect other viewpoints and beliefs, and I hope you can respect mine if they differ from yours. Thank you for reading.

Additional resources:

Move forward in faith

Keep my commandments

Two Great Commandments

[k-she-rambles]

So I wrote the “Oh no, she’s hot” fic I wanted to read

MidMerica Midsummer Conclave, Year of the Warthog.

“Hello, again,” said a voice in Scythe Faraday’s ear. The placement of the seats in the auditorium meant that he would have to turn completely around in his seat to see anyone directly behind him, or lean his head back, exposing his neck. He did the latter, because he knew that voice. Even then, the view was awkward. It was easier to speak to someone downtier from you.

“Hi,” he said, “I didn’t see you arriving.”

“I considered sneaking in,” said Scythe Curie, a faint downturn on her lips.

Faraday frowned up at his former apprentice. “I don’t love the attention, but…”

“Oh, don’t start. You were about to say ‘the public need to be reminded that they are the hand that wields us,’ weren’t you?”

Faraday felt himself flush, ego pricked, and found himself unusually unwilling to concede the point. “I’m very quotable.”

“Besides,” said Curie, “I’m beginning to understand that I can’t undo what I do. I made my choices as a young woman. I may be older and wiser now, but I can’t disrespect the memory of the girl who thought she was big enough to change the world and live with the infamy by refusing to do so when the time comes.”

Faraday turned in his seat to face her. “You’ve grown.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he glanced away. He didn’t think it was any thanks to him. He’d been far too young to take on an apprentice, years ago. She’d earned every ounce of her maturity the hard way. It was likely she thought the same.

But Curie only hmmed under her breath, and said “Yes, Michael, we’ve both turned corners.” He couldn’t place what was in her voice.

Like many Scythes, she’d turned corners back to a comfortably adult appearance. There were the faintest potential of wrinkles around her eyes, and a stripe of premature silver in her long, dark hair. Combined with the lavender robes, the effect was stunning. It was no wonder the rumor mill had started calling her the Lady of Death rather than “Miss Massacre.”

But he’d known her as an odd girl named Susan, just as she’d known him as an entirely too self-absorbed young Scythe. So he didn’t say anything.

MidMerica Autumnal Conclave, year of the Aye-Aye

All business and most pleasure had been concluded, leaving the Scythes to busy themselves with the final meal of the conclave or to wander back to their usual domains as they saw fit. Many stayed late: the catering was particularly good this year.

“I hear you have come into possession of a new house,” said Faraday.

“It’s not mine,” said Curie, around a mouthful of noodles.

“Of course,” said Faraday placidly. Scythes owned their rings, their robes, and their journal. Everything else was donated, considered loaned even if their owners didn’t want them back.

“I do like having a project,” Curie admitted. “Falling Water is practically a ruin. I have a tent on the property. The park rangers know I’m there, and people have started coming around, offering to help me rebuild.”

Faraday speared a final bit of pasta on his fork. It wasn’t the first architectural marvel she’d restored. “I am not sure I could do what you do.”

“You’d feel guilty.”

“I’d feel guilty. All those people volunteering time and resources in the hopes of me granting them immunity, when all I want is the house restored and preserved.”

“See,” said Curie, gesturing with her chopsticks. “That’s where we’re different. You live a life of simplicity to keep yourself grounded. But you still called it my house. It’s not. It’s Fallingwater House. It existed before me, and if I do it right, it’ll exist after me. A point where mortal art intersects the immortal age. I don’t know if art can have a soul of its own, but part of its value lies in what it stirs up in the human heart. That’s what I do. I glean to help people make an end, a conclusion, and I remind the living that they are alive. Falling Water will help me do that. It already is – I tell most volunteers no, and if they come back, it’s not because I might owe them.”

Faraday smiled. He valued her passion towards the things she believed in. “I would like to see it, when you’re done.”

“You could help me. I’ve always appreciated your head for research.”

He made a face at her.

“Oh, come on. Just because I hated doing your statistical analyses as an apprentice doesn’t mean I think it’s valueless. Just like you follow your heart more than you admit in your gleaning.”

It was an old argument, well-worn enough to be almost fond. “There is no such thing as unbiased heart, Curie. Statistics and just a touch of chance are the way to go.”

“But is it worth it? Denying your instincts all the time?”

“Interrogating my instincts all the time. The commandment says to kill without bias. And if I audit myself, I do not have to worry about it when the conclave rolls around.”

Curie huffed. She courted pre-conclave anxiety, but she had never once been reprimanded for bias, even though she flatly refused to glean children. She wasn’t sure if it was the better angels of the powers that be, or the perks of being her, and she wasn’t about to ask. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

“Likewise.”

They glared at each other for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

Excerpt from the Gleaning Journal of H.S. Faraday:

Scythes own nothing, truly, but their robes, their journal, and their ring, but it’s difficult to live in the world and not acquire a few more things along the way. Which was why I was cleaning out my bureau when I found something I’d written as a very young man. I’d intended it as part of my gleaning journal at the time, but I was working with incomplete data, and what I had said there unfairly mischaracterized a friend. And, well, revealed what a self-absorbed bastard I could be. I had to laugh, but it was bittersweet—the same way we laugh at the foibles and ignorances of the mortal age and yet miss its vitality. If I had felt then what I felt now, or had the wisdom of experience then —no, I have lost the thread of what I am writing. Speculation is for those with time on their hands, which I do not have. Then again, immortality is nothing but time…

Revival Clinic, somewhere in MidMerica. Summer

If it weren’t for post-mortal medicine, Faraday’s head would be splitting. As it was, his senses felt muffled, like he was seeing and hearing everything through an invisible blanket.

As the nurse bustled away, pleased with his consciousness, a smear of purple in the corner resolved itself into Scythe Curie.

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean it to sound accusing. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I mean –”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Curie drawled, in a tone that could have turned rainforest into desert. “Also, what the hell?”

“Sorry?”

“You. Are. A. Scythe. You do death as a career. Other people’s, not yours. What are you doing mostly deadish in a revival clinic in small town MidMerica?”

“Only mostly deadish,” said Faraday, smiling slightly. “Have you seen that one?”

“No, and you’re avoiding the question.”

“…IchallengedthemanIwasgleaningtoaduel,” Faraday mumbled.

“And you lost? You taught me bladecraft.”

He felt his cheeks grow hot. “Again. I lost again. I was going to arrange a climbing accident, but he is an avid fencer and I –” She was laughing at him now. “I cannot change my mind –that would be petty and cruel. I don’t actually use swords a great deal. Statistically, the number of sword deaths in the mortal age is–”

Curie shook her head. “You’re going to go right back to try again, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll drive you,” said Curie. “But if you die again, I’m eating your post-revival ice cream.”

“As you wish,” said Faraday, rolling his eyes.

Falling Water; the eastern border of MidMerica, Winter

“Faraday,” said Curie softly, opening the door wider “Come on in.”

Faraday hesitated on the threshold “I don’t want to intrude –you often have guests…”

“It’s ten PM. They’ve left already. Come on. I’ll make tea.”

She had turned off most of the lights for the evening. Even so, the ambient light from the full moon streaming through the large kitchen windows was enough to illuminate the counters and light up the silver in her hair.

Curie noticed him hovering, a ghost in a cream-colored robe. “There’s a loaf of raisin bread in the cupboard to your right. Bread knife is in the drawer.”

They sat at the kitchen island with their tea and buttered bread.

“This is good,” said Faraday.

“Thank you,” said Curie. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I never said anything was bothering me.”

“You’re a good Scythe, Michael. It means you’re a bad liar.”

He moved his tea spoon on his saucer. It clinked. “I may have made a miscalculation.”

“Personal, or professional?”

“Possibly both.” He took a deep breath and stood up suddenly, walking to the nearest window, eyes fixed on the dark forest beyond. “If there is a higher power, I am convinced they have a sense of irony.”

There was fire in his tone. Curie eyed him over the rim of her cup. “So.”

“I am a fool. I’m sorry,” said Faraday. “I should not have –I’m keeping you from going to bed.”

She joined him at the window with both their cups of tea. She wrapped his hand around his cup with her own. “What’s really going on?”

“I–” He bit his lip. “Marie.”

She laughed softly.

He loved her laugh. He loved– He reached out, cupping her cheek with one hand, everything he was afraid to say flitting across his face.

“I–” He kissed her. Lightly, tentatively, with room for her to back away. Her lips followed his as he moved back to study her reaction.

She frowned. “You stopped.”

“I was –if you did not still feel the same way, I didn’t–”

“Just because I grew up and made peace doesn’t mean my feelings have changed any.”

“Ah.”

“You’ve thought about this?” said Curie seriously. “Breaking the commandment for me?”

“I know it cannot be forever,” said Faraday. “I know we are Michael and Marie, not Gerald and Susan. We will be found out eventually, and I will submit to the judgement of the Scythedom with grace. But in between there will be time.”

She kissed him then, grabbing the collar of his robe and backing him into the window.

Later, they would have to clean up the broken china and spilled tea. Later, they would laugh at their younger selves. Later, there would be seven deaths and seventy years apart. Later, they would have to decide whether love or friendship were mortal or immortal after all.

But for now, there was time.

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 83)

*Fuck it. This is what we’re doing.*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

I wished I could have stayed asleep forever. In my dreams I was blissfully unaware of all the pain reality had. But even on Neverland you can’t pretend that much. I woke up and ran my hand along the upturned earth next to me.

Peter…

I couldn’t bring myself to leave the spot for a long time. It wasn’t until Candace flew overhead and landed in front of me that I even stopped staring at the grave. “Hey girl,” I placed her in my lap, “I’m glad you’re still around.”

She gave a small chirp and nestled her head against my chest. I took a deep breath and stood up with Candace still cradled in my arms. The island was cold. Why is it--right--I’m the new tie to the island. I focused on the warmth Candace was emitting and forced it out into the world until everything was balmy again.

I made my way back to camp and saw the boys were quiet and subdued. Upon my arrival they watched as I passed by. I came upon Peter and I’s tent and set Candace down outside it. I looked back at the boys and drew myself up as tall as I could.

I’m the leader now. I need to be strong.

I saw Felix in the shadows glaring. He stood up and made his way over to me. “It’s you now huh?” he said.

“Seems so. Is that a problem?” I asked.

He shook his head. “God knows I don’t want to be in charge of these idiots. Sorry you got stuck with it.”

“I will be needing a second in command if you’re interested.”

He gave me a small smirk. “It could be worse I suppose. At least I’m not taking orders from Verne or Devin.”

“I’m right here, Felix.” Verne grumbled.

“I know.” he kicked him lightly, “What’s your point?”

“Okay then. Boys!” I stood up on a nearby rock so I could see the entire camp, “My brothers. Last night I made a horrible mistake and it ended in our leader, Peter Pan, dying. I cannot bring him back though I wish with every fiber of my being I could.”

“The ones responsible for this unspeakable loss think they are safe back in their little town of Storybrooke. They think that we are dead. But we are not! We are here. We have survived. We will continue to survive for we are more than lost children. We are more than brothers in arms. We are the family we sought. Here we were granted a new life away from those that shunned us or abandoned us. We are feared! We are deadly! And we will not go calmly into the night! We make our own rules and break them again!”

The boys cheered.

“I am going to go back to Storybrooke and I will eradicate the miserable lives of those that wronged us. For this is more than retribution for the death of our leader. It is a personal slight against all that he created. Peter gave us a home here. He gave us a family among one another. I will not let those heroes’ efforts to destroy that go unpunished. Who is with me!”

The boys cheered louder and louder until it turned into a thunderous chant.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!”

“Devin!” I shouted and he was at my side.

“Yes my leader?” he smirked and gave an exaggerated bow.

“Shut up. Felix, you get over here too.” I motioned for him to get closer, “First thing is first, with Peter dead and me as the new leader we need to keep the peace. I know I wound them up with that speech but that doesn’t mean we won’t have defectors. Felix, I want you to take Ben and try and weed out the bad seeds. Nip that shit in the bud. Got it?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Devin, you are coming with me to Storybrooke. Before that I want you to get Nick and Cubby. Give them the magic bean to start a new crop. After we have things settled here we’ll head out to Storybrooke. I think my shadow should be able to get us there without any issue.”

“Of course.”

The boys split up and I went about the camp keeping on a brave face and twirling my club in hand. I passed by Peter and I’s tent and sighed. I can’t bring him back but killing an entire town would definitely make me feel better.

~~~

When I was satisfied that things on the island were in order I called my shadow. It grabbed Devin and I and lifted us into the sky as it flew us out of Neverland. The fact that I have this power so suddenly is gonna take some getting used to. Maybe after I destroy all of Storybrooke I’ll come back and practice.

“This is where you were?” Devin looked around at the town.

“Yep.” I felt no bittersweet emotions stepping foot back in this place. The familiar streets only served as a reminder of all that had been stolen from me for twenty eight years. “Follow me. There’s someone I need to pay a visit to.”

We walked down the street until we got to an apartment building. I told Devin to wait outside and went in myself. I knocked on the door and waited. When it swung open there was Emma who took a step back when she saw me.

“Marigold!” Emma clasped me in her arms, “You’re here! How? We saw Gold push you over the ship.”

“Yep…he said that he wasn’t going to wait to kill me like he did last time.” I spat, “Next thing I know I’m over the edge of the boat and falling to my death. Peter caught me and brought me back to the island.” I walked around the apartment. Mary Margaret, David, Regina and Henry were looking at me like I had risen from the dead. “Not that any of you turned around to get me or anything.”

“Marigold, I swear we--”

“My name is Y/N.” I snapped and she shut up. “I am the Lost Girl and now that you killed the love of my life I am the new leader of Neverland.”

“You remember?” Henry asked.

“Yes I do. Rumplestiltskin also shoved me over the edge of the town line so I would forget who I am. You brought me to Neverland to betray the one person I care about most in this world. Now because of you people Peter is dead!” I yelled unable to mask my fury, “I am not here as a friend. I am here to massacre this town and all your miserable lives. Thought you’d like to know why. So make peace with yourselves for nothing can stop me now.”

“Wait, Marigold--” Mary Margaret started but even sooner stopped, “Y/N, please, that was not what we wanted.”

“Yes it was. You knew that I was from Neverland. You knew that Peter was important to me. Then you brought me home and turned me against the person I love to save your brat. The only use that little shit had was to die and save Peter and you screwed us out of that!” The lights in the room popped casting the apartment in darkness.

“Y/N,” Regina approached me. “You need to calm down.”

“No.” I forced my anger out, “I need to avenge Peter’s death.”

“And an entire town of innocent lives is worth the life of one?”

“He’s worth so much more. Shouldn’t you know as much, Regina? You are the reason this town exists. All in revenge for the love that you lost. It’s like a poetic irony that it should be destroyed for the same reason.”

“It won’t make you feel better. Trust me.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe this won’t make any difference but I’d like to test the theory for myself.” I flew back out the door slamming it shut behind me. I met Devin at the end of the stairs and grabbed him.

There was fire in my veins and power in my step. I felt something like a gut reaction settle in me and the next moment I was standing in Regina’s vault. I only knew it because sometimes I would need to fish Henry out of here while I was babysitting him.

“Oh geez,” Devin hunched over looking like he was about to hurl, “How did you do that?”

“I’m not sure. It was like an instinct.” I shrugged, “Guess I was used to it from how often I teleported around with Peter.”

“And the feeling of wanting to puke my guts out? Is that normal.” he took a deep breath to force down the nausea.

“I think you just have a weak stomach, buddy.” I pat his back, “You gonna be okay?”

“Yep. Yep, I’m good.” he gave me the thumbs up.

“Good. Now let’s stop talking and find something to help us destroy this place. Regina has got to have some massive curse or poison for the water supply lying around here somewhere.”

“Yes ma’am.” he gave a mock salute and started rifling through the drawers of the vault.

As I was looking through things I could feel Devin watching me. “Spit out whatever it is you wanna say, Devin.”

“I was wondering how you were doing.” He said.

“Doing?”

“With Pan being gone. I know what he meant to you. How are you holding up?”

Shit. I was hoping I didn’t have to do this. But Devin is my best friend. If I can talk freely to anyone it would be him.

“It hurts. It hurts a lot.” I muttered, “Peter’s dead and I’m the reason he is. I can blame these assholes as much as I want but in the end it was me. If I hadn’t gone to Neverland with them then he wouldn’t have put his guard down. If I could have remembered who I was sooner then I could have helped him instead of betraying him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I guess you didn’t know.” I sighed, “The adults brought me to Neverland to trick Peter and rescue Henry since my memories had been erased. I didn’t know who I was and they made me believe that I was doing the right thing. I got my memories back too late though and it killed Peter.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I had no idea.”

“You couldn’t have. It’s okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Keep looking.” And with that the subject was closed.

As we were looking I could feel a dark energy coming from inside a box. I opened it to find a little scroll inside. The language was strange but it seemed to translate right before my eyes. This was magic. Not regular magic either, dark magic.

“Find something?” Devin asked.

“The Dark Curse.” I showed him the scroll, “It’s the curse I got trapped in for years.”

“So much trouble from one little scroll.” he tsked, “Can we use it?”

“Yes, I believe this will be perfect for wiping this town off the map.” I tucked the spell away and gathered the ingredients to go with it. “We have everything we need. There’s only one more thing to do.”

I grabbed Devin again and we were transported back into town. We were out at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. Devin looked at me as if he was going to ask what we were doing here. I shushed him and handed him the ingredients for the curse. “Stay out here. I’ll be right back.”

I walked inside and the attendant smiled across at me when she saw me approach. “Hello, I wasn’t sure you were coming back for your things or not, Marigold. Did you find a place in town to stay?”

“Oh no, I’m looking for a friend right now. Wendy Darling?”

“Yes, she’s in room four. Just walk right up.”

“Thank you.” I sped up the steps and knocked on room four. There was some shuffling and the door opened to reveal some older man.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Is Wendy here?”

“Why?”

“Come off it,” I shoved past him. Wendy and another man were sitting at a table and ceased their conversation when they saw me barge in.

“Hey you just can’t come in here.”

“Shut it.” I brandished my dagger at them and shut the door. Wendy stumbled back in fright. “Don’t be scared, bird. It’s only me. I won’t hurt you.”

“Y/N?” She rushed to me and crushed me in her arms, “B-But how are you here? What are you doing?”

“I don’t have a lot of time to explain. I’m giving you a chance.”

“What chance?”

“I needed to know before I leave. Do you want to come with me?”

“What are you talking about? Come back to Neverland? After I’ve finally been reunited with my brothers?”

“They could come too so long as they don’t cause too much trouble. You’re my friend, Wendy, I would like it if you came back with me.”

“No. I’m sorry but I can’t. Even if my brothers were with me I just couldn’t. I’ve been young far too long, I want to grow up. I can’t expect you to understand.”

“I do. The life of a Lost One isn’t for all. It certainly wasn’t for you. I understand.” I gave her a tight hug, “If you won’t go with me then I can only warn you to get out of town as fast as you can. Bad things are going to happen and I don’t want you involved in them.”

“What bad things?”

“That’s not your concern. I’m going to go and I want you all to load up and head out of town as soon as possible. Can you do that for me, bird?”

She nodded solemnly. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Who knows.” I stepped away and opened the door, “See you around, Wendy-Bird.”

“See you.” She whispered softly. I left the room and walked back outside.

I grabbed Devin again and he braced himself as I transported us into the woods to the old well that which spouted the town’s magic. We started unpacking all the ingredients for the curse and laying them out on the mossy stones.

“You know how to cast this?” Devin looked down into the well.

“Kinda. I’ve never done this before but there’s something in me that does. An instinct like with the teleporting. I can’t explain it.” I fumbled with the vials. I wish there was a simpler way to do this.

With a heavy heart I started dropping the ingredients into the well. A small burst of magic exploded from deep in the well with each vial. When I had run out of things to put in I stopped and stared down into the dark depths of the well. I could feel the magic swirling and pulsing, waiting for the final ingredient that would unleash the curse.

“Did it work?” Devin asked peering over my shoulder to look inside.

“Not yet. There’s one last thing to add.” I stepped away.

“What?”

“The heart of the thing I love the most.” I whispered.

“But Pan is--”

“Yes I’m aware. Which leaves only one other option.” I turned to Devin tears in my eyes. He read my mind and bowed his head. “You’re my best friend. You’ve always been there for me and I love you like a brother...which is why this is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Devin grabbed my hand and placed it on his chest right above his heart. I could feel the faint thumps beating rapidly through his ribs. “I want you to be happy and if that means cursing this pathetic land for what they did to Pan then I’ll gladly oblige.”

“This sucks.” I choked out.

“Yeah it does.” Devin’s voice trembled as he tried to joke.

“You’ll die.”

“I know.”

“Devin, promise me something.” I bunched my hand in the fabric of his shirt.

“Anything.”

“If you see him down there tell him...I’m being the best I can.”

“Of course. And promise me you won’t go getting into anymore trouble.”

“Never.”

“There’s my sister.” He took in a deep breath and nodded, “Let’s get this over with.”

I reached into his chest and pulled his beating heart out. We both stared at the dark glowing organ in amazement. I held it over the well and squeezed. The tighter I squeezed the tighter I shut my eyes so I didn’t have to see Devin’s pained expression. If only I could have shut out the strangled sound of pain he let out when I did so. The heart broke and I dropped the dust into the well. Devin’s body had collapsed to the ground. “I’m gonna miss you.”

I waved a hand and my shadow appeared to take Devin’s body and I back to Neverland. I wouldn’t let him be buried here.

Green smoke started to erupt from the bottom of the well and float up over the sides. It’s done. I watched the curse billow around my feet as it started to wind its way through the forest and towards the town.

I looked back at my shadow which cradled Devin’s body in her arms. I nodded to her and grabbed the shadow’s ankle. We ascended into the air and flew back home.

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[fallout2282]

The Office of the President, Hall of Congress

Shady Sands, New California Republic

Yulia Arteaga sat in her office chair, fiddling with the Two Headed Bear Flag pin between her fingers. She unclasped it, bringing it up to her chest so that she might wear it at her heart, as was customary. It was a gift from her predecessor, a symbol of office. She wanted nothing of Kimball’s and she refused to watch as her staff moved his portrait into storage, replacing it with a painting to rival it, depicting her own visage. She stood for four hours so that the artist they commissioned, someone from her home state, the Boneyard, could accurately transfer her image to the canvas. She wore the pin in the painting too, a detail added afterwards. It had originally belonged to President Tandi, the Great Mother, before being passed along to Tibbett, Peterson, Kimball, and now her. It was a symbol of office, no matter what she wore, as long as she carried that pin it was like she like she radiated with the commanding aura of high office. Her predecessor, now retired against his will to some ranch outside the Hub, preferred old world style suits where as Yulia was often accused of looking something like a cross between a field hand and a factory worker. She liked the brahmin leather vest her Bear Flag was now pinned to, and the earthy tones of her checkered button up and slacks. She wore the same outfit in the painting. The artist thought it fitting, she was the young populist who was taking California by storm. Her majority in Congress was secure, now that Chief Hanlon won the race in Redding and was now Senator Hanlon. She was going to need the allies in the months to come as it became apparent making peace was far more complicated than making war. A detail Kimball neglected to mention when he handed over the keys to the Republic. Her train of thought was interrupted when the door to her office flew open.

“Yulia! You’ll never believe it. Dennis Crocker agreed to stay on until the drafting process for the treaty is finished. It’s just like you said, maybe he really is different from those other Kimball holdovers after all. He thinks you should meet with Chief Executive-” It was her aid, Maxim. He had been with her since her days as a labor organizer in Adytum. He managed her campaign for an Angel’s Boneyard council seat and didn’t even ask for an appointment to some cushy job in the bureaucracy. Although, being aide to the president came with similar guarantees of job security and long term financial security. 

“It’s Madame President now, Maxim.” She made the deals, led the censure, and cast the first vote of Kimball’s downfall. She earned her position. Now she just had to keep it, and that meant any deal with New Vegas had to insure the lights stayed on. At least until the project she arranged with the Followers of the Apocalypse was complete. It would be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating. The Mojave Campaign was Kimball’s war, and he lost his job over it. Now it seemed most of her job was picking up the pieces, when she had campaigned on an extensive program promising to fix the many problems at home. 

“The answer is no. I’ll give it my signature, but Crocker can shake that man’s hand. He knows if the deal screws us, I’ll screw him harder. I like the good Ambassador, but if he expects to come back to a career he has to earn it. Speaking of which, draw me up a list of candidates to take his place once the negotiations are finished. If his plan does work I’ll want him running for a seat here in the next election. I know Thaler’s will soon be up for grabs, and he might act like a friend, but we all know he didn’t vote with us when we got rid of Kimball. His days on the council are numbered.”

“Yes, Madame President. My apologies Madame President. I will send out word to the State Department to have a list drawn up at once. As for Councilman Thaler, we should avoid alienating him until after the vote tomorrow. He has been more than supportive of the Crimson Caravan inquiry. Alice McLafferty was forced out of her post in the Mojave branch, it’s practically an admission of guilt on their part. If he thinks we intend to endorse someone else for his seat, he could end up voting with Senator Morales. And if Morales rallies the governors then they will certainly shut down the investigation and shut down this investigation” her aide said with great uncertainty. She couldn’t blame him for his skepticism. Aaron Kimball was wildly popular until he wasn’t. All Yulia had to do was alienate the wrong person and she could lose her majority. Then it would be all over. 

“Have a little more confidence in me, Maxim. I didn’t win the Presidency for the novelty of it. I intend to hold on to this seat for as long as I can. The people aren’t so fickle as to turn on me yet. Thaler will vote for me because if he doesn’t again, then it is a certainty he will lose his seat. I might have been a councilor for Adytum, but I was born in Shady Sands. Now I represent all of California. And it’s about some time someone stood up to the merchant houses. And don’t call the representatives from Hub that, their heads are already big as it is” She was right, and Maxim knew it too when she said it. Yulia had always spoken truth to power, and now she was the power. Not the only one, granted. That’s just how it was in democracies. Still, that wouldn’t stop her from using the authority she was given to hold her colleagues to account.  

“We can discuss tomorrow’s vote later. There’s still a lot of other work to be done. Have we received a report from General Hsu yet? What’s the status of the withdrawal?” Military matters were the one aspect of governing she was new to. She had coordinated with the military in the past, back in Adytum during one of the multiple operations against the raider gangs that are pervasive in the Boneyard. Yet she only ever acted as a point of contact then, now she was Commander in Chief. 

Maxim cleared his throat, “Slowly, but surely Madame President. The General and the Ambassador were able to convince the new management in New Vegas to allow a handful of our forces to remain at the Dam and watch over our civilian personnel that will stay there. Long term arrangements haven’t been decided yet, but the General is unsure of the prudence in leaving the Dam in the hands of those... robots. He seems uncertain if we even have a choice in the matter. You’ve already seen the projections. A renewed conflict is not likely to be in our electoral interests. As for the full withdrawal to Mojave Outpost, we are expecting the last of our forces to be safely within the border in three weeks time.”

“Sooner we conclude this business the better. What of the Legion? The rangers set out after the battle to scout their territory and I’ve yet to see a report land on my desk. I would hate to leave our new friends on the Strip defenseless against such savages.” Yulia folded her arms, leaning back against the desk. 

“The robots were actually quite thorough in their assault on Fortification Hill. The military seems to think the enemy was quite completely demolished. Caesar had died three months earlier, reportedly of a botched attempt to remove tumors from his brain. As for the rest of the Legion’s leadership, they are all believed to have perished in the battle.” Now he was just rehashing what she already knew.

“What about the east? Arizona... New Mexico. Those places. I recall from the archives we sent scouts out that way decades ago. There are people out there. The Legion’s people. What will happen to them?” That was the real question. If Kimball had succeeded, if the NCR had annexed New Vegas, would they have been next? Would the NCR have kept going? Just like the old world. That she didn’t like to imagine. 

“Our commanders speculate what is left of the Legion will converge on Flagstaff. That I suppose you would call the Legion’s capital. It’s also where Caesar left his heirs, supposedly. General Hsu has assured us that the Legion isn’t a threat to the Mojave, let alone us here in California.” Maxim knew as much as she did. They would both be left to wonder until the rangers they sent east reported in. It could be months, and that’s if any of them managed to cross back over the Colorado. 

The Mojave Campaign began decades ago, back then the NCR only had to contend with the same raider tribes they had been fighting and beating for generations. Jackals, Vipers, Khans, all scattered to the wastes. The war with the Legion only began in 2277 when their warband attempted to seize Hoover Dam the first time. All the while her country was being bled try. More lives and more money than she could imagine. Costlier than every other war fought in California combined. Not mentioned in official reports, the rumor was General Lee Oliver died not at the hands of the Legion, but after the battle had already ended. Thrown off of the side of the dam by one of the robots that now defended New Vegas. She chose not to ask if it was true when she received her first briefing from the military, after all it allowed blame for the defeat to fall squarely on Kimball’s shoulders. And he deserved it. She wouldn’t make his mistakes. 

“I can’t tell if we were lucky, or unlucky. We won the battle and still lost the war.” She chuckled at the irony, at the sheer stupidity of it all. “We saved the damn... dam, and it doesn’t even seem like we’ll be able to keep it. First we get strung along by the seemingly-immortal Mr. House, and now we’re negotiating with a former Vault dweller with a gambling addiction? We clearly didn’t play our cards right, even though for all intents and purposes we had a winning hand.”

Maxim nodded in agreement, ever willing to play the sycophant. “Poor governance ultimately makes for poor policy decisions, Madame President. I believe you will lead us towards a much brighter future. One where the people of New Vegas are our friends, not subjects.” 

“Friends? We’ll just see what terms Crocker wins for us. I’ve no intention of getting us into another war, if that’s what your concern is. Still need to see about making states out of the territories up north before I go looking for more outside of our borders. Congress can’t deny the territories real representation forever. We give Arroyo and Klamath statehood, and I won’t have to worry about losing my majority for as long as I’m President.” She sighed, “First we need to see about officially ending this war and bringing our men and women in uniform back from the front. Once the withdrawal is complete we’ll set up the podium in front of the statue of Tandi in Republic Square. It won’t just be to welcome the troops home, but another state of the republic address.”

“Very good, Madame President. I also brought that report you requested last week. It took some time for the rangers to compile it. This one’s complete at least. I thought you would want to have a look at it before the committee did.” On the desk next to Yulia, her aide placed a folder that was so full of paper that it was nearly as thick as some of the books in her office. 

Yulia took one look at the folder’s contents, thumbing through the various pages of eye witness testimony collected in the Mojave and official statements by other officials in the NCR. This one file alone would could take up the rest of her afternoon just to read. “One question, Maxim.” She pursed her lips, her curiosity piqued. 

“What’s that Madame President?” “Who the hell is this Courier?” 

[forthelulzy]

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 5

How can a tree stand tall If a rain won’t fall To wash it’s branches down? And how can the heart survive Can it stay alive If it’s love’s denied for long? — “Lift the Wings”, Bill Whelan (Riverdance)

Irene returns to Haven utterly exhausted. Julien is alive, but it is somehow worse to be so close and unable to talk than it was when she had no idea where he was. Envy’s attempted hostile takeover leaves her with a pounding in her temples even days later, and she’s still trying to wrap her head around what that boy… spirit… thing… said. The templars had no idea what she was talking about, either.

Then she arrives back in the mountain village and has to endure a war meeting when all she wants to do is crawl into her bed and sleep.

Or drink… but no. She won’t. Sleep it is.

“You did not see what I saw, Commander,” she snaps. “The templars are too far gone. I never wanted to go to them in the first place, but now that I have, they’d damn well better help me close that Breach.” Her voice is straining, but she doesn’t care.

“Cassandra wrote that you found your brother,” Josephine says delicately.

She knows what the Ambassador means, though. They always think she’s stupid. “Yes. He is included in the conscription. He is too injured to help, but I will not be accused of favoritism. After the Breach is dealt with, I would support granting the templars more freedoms. For now, they are on thin ice.”

Cullen grits his teeth but doesn’t argue further. Leliana says, “We have a few dozen veterans on their way ahead of the rest. They should arrive—”

And then Cole is there on the war table, crouched just so that he doesn’t step on any of the flags. He picks one up, ignoring Josephine’s scream and Cullen’s shout of alarm, and says, “Soon. Templars don’t like to be late.”

Cassandra and Cullen draw their swords, and Leliana has a dagger out faster than a blink. Irene waves them down, but no one moves. “Cole,” she says, “what are you doing—”

“You know this creature?” Cassandra snarls, stepping forward to put her sword between Irene and Cole. He tilts his head at her, something in those watery blue eyes that makes Irene grab Cassandra’s wrist and squeeze.

The sword drops with a clatter. Cassandra yanks her wrist back, but Irene holds tight and says, “Stop it. He wants to help.” She lets go, turns to Cole and says, “Come on, off the war table.” She needs to control this situation before someone gets hurt — and it won’t be Cole. She has seen him fight, after all.

Cullen looks between her and Cassandra. His swordpoint drops a few inches.

Cole slips off the table, murmuring something about ‘not being a war’. He is literal-minded, and she is reminded of herself when she was young.

“I, for one, am interested in why he came,” Leliana says, folding her hands behind her back. Her dagger is undoubtedly still palmed there.

“You,” he says to Irene. “You help people. I saw. I want to help too. Help you help them.” He ducks his head and peers at her from under his lashes and the brim of his ridiculous hat. “I won’t get in the way. I won’t need any of your supplies. I just want to help.”

His voice sounds almost plaintive on the last sentence, and if she had not already decided, that does. “Cullen. Cassandra. He saved my life in Therinfal. I’m not turning him away. Or killing him.”

“Then…?” Cole says, blinking. Blue eyes. Her husband had blue eyes. Not nearly so big and watery, though.

She takes a deep breath, wills her chest to stop aching. “You can stay and help, Cole.”

He tilts his head at her again. “Tiny. No trouble. No notice taken unless you want them to.”

Cullen finally sheathes his sword with a frustrated sigh. “Fine, but you’re not honestly suggesting he can run around doing as he pleases?”

Irene turns to him and scowls. “He is currently in higher standing than the templars. He has not once tried to kill me.”

“That’s not—”

“Or blithely ignored others trying to kill me.” She is being petty, but she also doesn’t care. She needs to sleep, but undoubtedly something else will come up before she can. It always does.

“I don’t think anyone is suggesting he be left alone,” Josephine says, looking thoughtful — and neatly skipping over Irene’s point. “Perhaps we could— oh! Where did he go?”

Cole is gone again, the map marker he picked up right back where it is supposed to be. Irene sighs, rubs her temples. “He… does that. But he isn’t the main concern right now. If the templars are almost here, we need to prepare.” She barely waits for them to agree before turning on her heel and leaving the war room.

Colm has rubbed off on her, she thinks. Her husband was kindhearted, sometimes to the point of folly. A few years ago she would have killed Cole on sight, but now she’s a different person. She just hopes she’s different enough, and that her faith is justified.

“Oh, I see it now. It was hidden before. Hiding or running. It can never be both. You didn’t kill him, but you did kill him. Bare fists, bloody face. Eyes like yours.”

Her breath catches in her lungs as she freezes in the hall. Cole is half-hidden in the shadow of a pillar, but his voice is loud in the quiet Chantry, and the hushed conversation between Mother Giselle and Vivienne stops as both women look over curiously. Irene’s stomach feels heavy, but her heart is hammering away at her chest. There it is. You never truly thought you could run far enough to escape this, did you?

Footfalls behind her, but she won’t run, not again.

“Herald? What is he talking about?” Cullen. Irene cannot appreciate the irony of him taking Cole’s word for it now, after drawing a blade on him earlier.

She turns slowly, finds them all behind her. She knows her expression isn’t helping matters, but she never could control her face. She’s so tired, so tired of everything.

“Irene,” Cassandra says, like she’s just dredged up a memory long buried. “That day, you said you thought you must have done something, and only realized you hadn’t when you saw the Breach. Tell me. What made you think you could have destroyed the Conclave?”

Oh. Had she said that? Everything between waking up and waking up again is a terrifying blur. She gets that way, when she’s angry. Rage would have a fine time with her. “I—”

Cole starts, eyes going wide. “Oh no. I said the wrong thing. They’ll hurt you. I won’t let them!” He reaches for his daggers, but Irene steps between him and the advisors, hands out to placate. She doesn’t have the energy for anger.

“They’re not going to hurt me, Cole. Why don’t you go find someone else to help? I’ll be fine.”

Cole stills, staring at her. “You have the mark but you don’t need to lead. Locked up, trotted out only to seal Rifts then shoved back in. Or they could find another way. Too risky. You’re lying.”

“I… yes, Cole.” Shit. She should have thought about bringing home someone who could read minds. “I am. But sometimes hurt is inevitable, necessary. Sometimes hurt is justice.”

“Justice…? You’re not that person anymore. You never were.”

She can’t think under so much pressure, but maybe that’s for the best. “Please go, Cole. Whatever will be, will be.” Her voice comes out strangled, quoting one of Julien’s favorite lines to soothe her when she got angry. If only he were here, but he’s in the infirmary. He woke up once, but was delirious from pain and too many healing potions. What will happen to him, if she can’t explain this? If the others bring down the judgment that should have been brought to bear years ago?

Cole nods jerkily and disappears again. She can only hope he’s gone farther than a few steps this time.

“Now. Herald. What’s going on?” Cassandra asks, voice hard. It pains her, to see the woman she had formed a tentative alliance with so hostile, but it is no less than she deserves.

Irene glances to the side of the hall, where Vivienne and Mother Giselle are both looking on. The First Enchanter is fanning herself while she leans against the wall, face unreadable, while Giselle has stepped forward a few paces, showing concern. Concern for Irene? It is a strange thing, to know another has so much faith in her.

Either way, she doesn’t want an audience for this. Let them gossip, but it will be difficult enough to explain to just four people. “I’ll tell you everything. Just. Not here.”

Josephine turns back toward the war room, but Irene remembers her first time approaching that room, hearing Chancellor Roderick’s raised voice from within. She knows where this must happen. She strides toward the door leading to the dungeons before she loses her nerve. It is where she has always belonged, after all, and there won’t be a walk of shame if they condemn her. When they condemn her.

She leads them down the stairs, startles the single guard on duty. Knight-Captain Denam is supposed to arrive with the main force of templars, behind the veterans who will help seal the Breach, so the cells are empty. The citizens who tried to kill her before she was the Herald were released two days ago, according to Cassandra. Still, she marches all the way to the last cell. The door isn’t locked.

“Herald, what are you—” Cullen starts, but she cuts him off because if he asks it, she will think about it.

“I am Irene Stellana Trevelyan,” she begins, standing in the middle of the chilly cell with her hands clasped in front of her. Her breathing is shaky, but she has to do this. “Eight years ago I was a Templar recruit in Ostwick when I murdered one of my charges, Maxwell. Maxwell Trevelyan. My— my eldest brother.” She nearly chokes on her words. The advisors are staring at her, waiting for her to continue. Cullen shifts his weight, opens his mouth, closes it again. “I started drinking young. I couldn’t handle— I can’t handle it. Any of it.” She swallows, forces her eyes to remain open though her vision is blurring at the edges. “We were celebrating our graduation to full templars, and the other recruits had a flask of whiskey. I drank the whole thing. I knew it was dangerous.” Deep breath. Just the facts, don’t shift the blame.

“I woke up later, on the ground, face to face with my brother’s corpse. I had beaten him to death. Blood, everywhere. I…” She shakes her head, presses her fist to her mouth so she won’t get sick. Cullen no longer looks like he wants to say anything. Josephine’s lovely brown skin is green-tinged in the dim light of the dungeon. “I couldn’t remember a thing, but I knew I had killed him. My knuckles were skinned down to the bone.” She flexes her fingers, showing them the scars that will be there the rest of her life.

There’s still more to tell, and she barrels on. “I turned myself in to the Knight-Commander. I thought I would be expelled at the least, imprisoned, maybe even executed. Maxwell had been heir to the Trevelyan name once, before his magic showed. But my father intervened on my behalf. Said I was too talented to waste on a mage. The Knight-Commander was a good man, but my father… He threatened to withdraw his financial support, even get the Grand Cleric to demote him. Of course he bowed. I was sent back to watching mages the next day. The day after that, before I would get my first draught of lyrium, I ran.”

“Why… why would you kill him? Do you know?” Leliana is floundering, caught off guard as she rarely is. Irene is not surprised the spymaster didn’t find this out — Bann Trevelyan is well-practiced in cleaning up.

“I don’t know. The other recruits were terrified, refused to talk to me about it. Then they all were silenced, one way or another. Some with money, a few more with blackmail. And the remainder were sent out to hunt apostates and never came back.” Yet more lives, ruined by her. She only found this out years later, when others made inquiries on her behalf. “I had no plan, when I fled the city. I just wanted out. Away from my family. I had known he cared little for Maxwell, but…” She shakes her head, trying to banish the memory that comes to her mind, as clear as it was all those years ago: Maxwell’s face, inches from her own, a bloody pulp except for his eyes. Brown like hers, like their father’s, staring into her forever, accusing where the Bann wasn’t.

There are many reasons why she doesn’t sleep until she has to.

“I can’t… I’m sorry, everyone. For acting like someone I wasn’t. For giving you false hope. For creating this mess and leaving you all to try lessening the damage.” She’s done. She takes a deep steadying breath, and holds it.

To her dull surprise, Cullen steps forward. “Irene. You didn’t know what you were doing.” A beat later and he rubs the back of his neck, evidently nervous to be so close to a murderer. But he doesn’t take the words back, or shy away. “Maker’s breath, you were drunk.”

“That’s not an excuse,” she says quietly.

“Not an… Irene. You had no idea drinking that whiskey would affect you so much. You have torn yourself apart over this.” There is something gentle and understanding in his eyes when he says that. “I’m not saying you were wrong to feel guilty. But I will not condemn you for something that was not your fault.” He glances back at the women, but she can’t bear to. She fixates on Cullen, fascinated by his defense. She doesn’t believe him, but she could.

“Josie?” Leliana says.

The Ambassador taps her quill against her chin before scribbling something down. “It could be difficult to mitigate the scandal if this gets out. I could manage it, however. We may even play it to our advantage — that the mark proves Andraste has forgiven you.” A pause. “As for what I think, it would have helped to know this from the beginning. But this is by no means a crippling blow to the Inquisition.”

Josephine is being kind, she thinks. But, Irene is no diplomat. A tiny swell of hope rises in her chest — not that she will be wholly absolved, but that the Inquisition may avoid the fallout of her mistakes.

“The Maker chose you,” Cassandra says abruptly. “I do not like the dishonesty, but even if He had not…” She sighs. “Even if He had not saved you, I think you have suffered enough.” Her posture is stiff, as if she does not like what she is saying. But Cassandra is not the kind to lie about something like this.

“Then we are in agreement,” says Leliana lightly. “Irene, I understand why you didn’t want us to know, but now that we do… Was there anything else?”

Irene huffs a disbelieving laugh, and Cullen jumps. “No. Tevinter husband, blackouts, Maxwell’s murder. That’s it from me.”

“Very well,” Cullen says. “We still have to close the Breach. Let’s worry about our immediate survival for the moment. Get some rest, Irene. If we fail at this…”

“We won’t,” she says, reeling. It’s uplifting, their faith in her. Even if she still thinks it foolish, she will bask in their kindness for as long as she can.

***

The next two days are spent in a flurry of activity, before the work runs out and they return to the dreadful waiting. A storm in the mountains just east of Haven delays the veterans, Leliana tells them. The Spymaster’s plan to stop the rumors before they start is mostly successful, but there is still a whisper that some issue has divided the Inquisition’s leaders. Which isn’t strictly true, but it is the best Irene could hope for.

Cole makes himself scarce, but there are signs he is still around: she finds a sprig of prophet’s laurel in a vase by Julien’s bedside, and the infirmary healers have no idea where it came from. She doesn’t know where he could have gotten the rare herb, either.

Her brother is healing steadily. The surgeon claims he will make a full recovery, even be able to fight again, though it will take time. They had to make sure he didn’t have any red lyrium in his body, and an infection took hold early on, which is why it’s taking so long. Now, with him laying there, unnaturally pale, she just wants to hear his voice again. She tucks his hair — a darker blonde than hers — behind his ears and studies his face. Same strong jawline; it looks better on him, even if it is half-hidden behind a scruffy beard. His nose was healed properly after it was broken, unlike hers. Broad of body, with a little paunch around the middle, visible even under the bandages. She’s a little surprised it has remained, given that he isn’t eating any food. Just thin broth.

Whoever his mother was, she also gave him noticeably darker skin than the rest of the family, and dark green eyes. She was envious of those eyes, when she was younger. A far step up from her own muddy brown. Hers are the same as her father’s, and Maxwell’s.

She can’t sit by his bedside forever; she tells herself it’s because she’s restless, not because she’s afraid of ruining everything she touches. She lurches up with a groan and stalks off toward the gates, grinding her jaw when the healers’ whispers follow her.

The Breach is still in the sky, and while they may be close to closing it, it won’t matter if they can’t find this Elder One Cole and Envy spoke of. Cole also mentioned Empress Celene of Orlais; she may be their best lead. Envy boasted of a demon army, too, but Irene isn’t sure whether that was posturing or a promise. Probably both. Either way, ‘army of demons’ is yet another phrase she would like to never hear again.

She steps out of Haven, nodding to the gate guards when they salute. Maker, but she will never get used to that.

Commander Cullen is taking a break from drills to oversee the construction of… something. Siege equipment? Just the base is done, but people are building more parts nearby. She comes closer, standing next to him while the workers hammer away at a long arm-like piece of wood. “What’s all this?” she says.

Cullen flinches. “Maker’s breath! I apologize, Irene, I did not see you there.” She tries to smile at him — he must have been really distracted, not to have heard her lumbering up — and though she knows it comes out as a grimace at best, he continues, “Haven is no fortress, but we need some kind of defense. These are to be trebuchets. I pray we never have to use them.” He won’t look at her for more than a second at a time. Well, it’s not as if she expected everything to be perfect after her confession.

“Me too,” she says. He’s nervous, with her there, so she shifts her weight and turns away. “I shouldn’t be distracting you.”

“Ah, you— you aren’t distracting me,” Cullen says, voice tinged with a note of panic, and she stops. When she looks at him he’s rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up to his ears. “I would welcome your company. Unless you have other plans?”

Irene remembers why she left Haven’s walls in the first place. “I was going to visit the overlook again,” she murmurs. His blush is throwing her, and she considers that the nervousness may be born of something other than fear. Cullen is almost unfairly handsome. She doesn’t think he’s truly interested in her — she knows she’s not a good-looking woman, and to have this man be falling for her personality is laughable — and in any case, her heart still aches. Someday, she will move on, but she can’t imagine it now.

“Oh.” His hand drops to hang listlessly at his side. “I… apologize, Herald.” He wants to say something else, she can tell, but he decides against it.

‘Oh’, indeed. “There is nothing to apologize for, Commander. Good luck with the defenses — may we never use them.” Irene moves on, the weight on her chest that’s been suffocating her for weeks pressing that much more. She feels him following her with his eyes, but she keeps going.

The land’s been cleared halfway around the lake, in preparation for the templars to come, but the overlook is safe, and her little shrine remains. There’s something lying in the snow in front of it, something that wasn’t there before. She stops a few paces away, wary. She hadn’t thought about it, but a thin layer of snow fell since she was here last. There are footprints leading up, fresh ones, and the rock’s edges has been dusted off. A cut flower — embrium — sticks up out of the pile of snow.

Who would have been here? Who would violate her husband’s empty grave? The white-hot rage that steals her breath and blurs her vision is familiar, at least. It is better than feeling lost, as she has mostly felt since waking up in the Chantry months ago.

She marches over, intent on ripping out the embrium, and throwing whatever is lying in front over the edge to shatter on the lake ice below.

It’s… a staff. It’s Colm’s staff. Still in two pieces, still charred from the explosion, but instantly recognizable from the iron crescent on top. Someone retrieved it. Someone went up to the Temple and found it, brought it back down to put at the shrine she thought only she — and Cullen — knew about.

She falls to her knees, now out of breath for a different reason altogether. She won’t cry. She won’t.

But why—?

Her hands ghost over the splintered wood, and she sobs.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 4X09 - Fall

Today, our heroes attempt to stop Ingrid’s curse, but find themselves a bit...FALL-ty at it!

...It was a stretch, but it worked!!!!

Anyways, there’s a review under the cut!

Main Takeaways

Past

There’s really not a lot to say about the past segment this time. It’s really good -- filled to the brim with Kristoff, Anna, Blackbeard, and Hans snarking at each other every step of the way and smart and pragmatic moves by all of the characters -- but it’s very much an exposition dump in that same vein. Seeing as it wasn’t especially long and because it was entertaining and cohesive, I don’t really have a problem with that.

Present

Believe it or not, once again, Rumple is the stand-out character in this episode. He gets so many character-rich moments and pieces of dialogue here. From ”You’re usually so confrontational” “I prefer reasonable” showing Rumple’s twisted take on how he views himself and his deals to “If I have to choose between everyone else and me, “me” wins everytime” showing his sense of priorities, he gets just really good lines.

Regina’s speech in the library is fucking perfect and my favorite scene of the episode. For as much as “the third way” that constantly gets spouted out in later seasons is nice to think about, in a situation like this, as leaders, they have to make the difficult choices and because of the ticking clock of the situation, a third way isn’t viable. Someone has to suffer and it’s up to them to choose who. And I LOVE how most everyone is in agreement with this sentiment and that the only person who disagrees, Elsa, disagrees only for personal reasons. This is an outstanding conflict that is perfectly framed. We get what amounts to a real life trolley problem and these conflicts tend to be so good because they let you know who these characters are. Regina looks at this problem like a leader and convinces everyone else to look at it in the same way very easily. And even though a third way is eventually found, the consequences of this decision still take place and are only not further dwelled on because of the he same ticking clock propelling the story forward.

And in that same vein, I like how when Elsa does screw them over, Emma does pragmatically change gears and goes to help Elsa, seeing as how it’s their only chance at this point. It’s also not only pragmatic, but shows how Emma’s growing more hopeful and how she cares for the friend that literally just saved Emma from herself and her fear.

Finally, I like how most everyone works together in this episode. Like in the first half of Season 2 and in moments like the present segment of “That Still Small Voice,” you really get a sense of how Storybrooke is a community. Everyone’s playing a part in keeping the town safe, the fairies converted Granny’s into a lab and are aided by Belle, Leroy’s giving mining advice, Regina and Henry are working with Robin and the Merry Men, Emma and Elsa are searching for Anna, etc. Episodes and moments like this make Storybrooke feel like more than just a town and expose the real magic beyond the Chernabogs, wands, and daggers.

Stream of Consciousness

-”You’re usually so confrontational.” “I prefer reasonable.” This is just Rumple’s entire character in less than ten words! XD

-”You and your ‘sisters’ Elsa and Emma doing who knows what.” What DOES Ingrid hope to do with them?! Are they just gonna chase kites and play with magic all day? ...Damn, Ingrid is so fucking disturbed. Anyone ever see the episode “Baby Doll” from Batman: The Animated Series? Because is so much like the villain from that!

-I like the clever plan of our heroes trying something as pragmatic as just going over the wall.. It’s a solution that Ingrid might not have necessarily thought of due to her powers as well as her disdain for those without them.

-I also like the decision for Henry to go with Regina. The scene shows that Emma and Regina are practicing co-parenting and are still sorting out the kinks, and ultimately, Regina makes a good point: If Emma’s part of Ingrid’s plan and she only wants them alive, then Henry could easily be taken as a short-term hostage if he’s traveling with the people Ingrid’s focused the most on. Meanwhile, being with Regina is just a matter of time management in order to make sure he’s safe.

-In accordance with what I said in “Family Business,” for the gravitas of the secret that Belle his about Anna, Elsa really has no reaction to it. I’m stuck between being find that we don’t have to deal with another conflict and just kind of annoyed because a bulk of that episode’s weight is gone because of the importance of Belle’s resolve to hide that secret.

-Kristoff, I guess you could say that Anna’s...GRASPING AT STRAWS!! XD

-”And I SANG with you.” I love the implication that at the very least, that song was diegetic!

-Oh my Lanta! Kristoff used his ice pick right on that guy’s butt cheek! XD 10/10, best episode ever!!!

-”If I have to choose between everyone else and me, “me” wins everytime.” And here’s Rumple’s character in fifteen words or less! XD

-How did WILL get put in charge of the camp? He’s been a Merry Man again (Although, was he recruited again) for all of a day, maybe, and Robin now has him as a second-in-command? I get that they wanted to use the character, but that was a weird choice. Why not direct Little John to clear the camp and have Will sass off about something? It would make more character sense and remind Robin that he has a best friend who didn’t betray him and only show up in his life again by pure happenstance.

-”The only people who believe in me in this town are Henry and you.” ...You and Snow just had the biggest heart-to-heart! The hell?

-Interesting thing! The True Love spell that helped Snow and David find each other is a potion and it’s very likely that a similar potion was what enchanted what becomes Henry and Ella’s locket.

-”Pirates are better than wizards.” ...I feel like this is the OUAT equivalent of the more mainstream Pirates vs. Ninjas debate! Who’s better? YOU decide!

-BLACKBEARD!!!

-I love that bit of banter Snow and Regina have at the library. “A good mayor checks that these things are kept up to code.” “Yeah, well, if the mayor only has to worry about one villain and it’s herself, that frees up a lot of time for infrastructure.” Not only is it hilarious, but we get to see that backbone and wit of Snow’s on full display!

-I love Belle’s outfit at the diner! The vest and the button-down are cute together!

-...You know, dramatic irony be damned, I would LOVE to see an episode where Blue and Rumple are forced to work together and are on somewhat equal footing-knowledge wise. Their bickering, bantering, and exploration of the differences between light and dark magic would be just a cool thing to witness! I feel like it could go to better lengths to better contextualize these characters’ moralities and issues with each other and while they might not resolve anything, per se, they could have an interesting impact on the story and/or plot in some way.

-CHECK THE BAG! XD But in all seriousness, I do think the storytelling does a good job of illustrating why she doesn’t look in the bag. Emotionally, Elsa is being told she can’t go after Anna and that stings. Showing distrust would just crush Elsa.

-”I should know better than to trust blondes by now.” ...Was that line really necessary? Not only does it call back to a shitty episode, BUT hello! Tinker Bell?”

-”This trunk will make sure you dies without FINterference!” XD ...The arc of puns is BEST ARC!

-”She’s so talky.” You’re just realizing this now?

-I really do feel for Killian. Just look at his face. He was hoping that Rumple wouldn’t be able to get Belle out of there and he wouldn’t have to trap the fairies.

-Ooh! I LOVE how the camera got that mirror shot of Killian walking. Creepy and unsettling as hell!

-I also love the crazy magic stuff Blue’s doing!

-Honestly, the hat scene is shot soooo well. It’s like a horror movie in the way that the shots frame Blue as she hides along the counters of Granny’s.

-And then at the end of it, Killian’s regret and self-hatred is really thick too.

-”I may be immune to the spell, but you can still hurt me.” ...What the hell would you expect Belle to do to you?! XD Throw books at you? Claw at you with her nails? Granted, she’s a scholar so maybe she can fuck with your potions and do something screwy to you! XD

-”I don’t have to choose, thank you. I can and will have both.” I like this line because it heavily implies that while Rumple does love Belle, when pushed into a corner of choosing between the two, he will choose power.

-”Enjoy your last day in this or any land.” Yeahh…..about that…. XD

-”We won’t be able to hurt anyone from in there.” ...Those bars are not narrow enough to ensure that. Like, you and Snow can punch each other pretty easily from there! XD

-Emma saying goodbye to everyone just fucking wrecked me. “Elsa, can you hold my brother.” Just the way that line is said means so much to me! I don’t know what it is, but there’s so much love in the word “brother” and I just tear up when I hear it.

-”It’s [Your magic] what’s going to allow you to take on the Snow Queen and win.” ...I really wish it was that way, at least in some part (But we’ll address that next time!!!)

-I love the pan over of all the characters the moment before the spell hits. That is just gorgeously done and the music is so freakin’ epic. And then the quiet shakiness once the spell hits. Holy crap, is that unsettling!

Favorite Dynamic

Rumple and Killian. Killian and Rumple get a few scenes scattered throughout the episode and all of them work on two levels. First, I LOVE Rumple being a Magnificent Bastard. Robert Carlyle’s charisma for his villainy is so en pointe as it walks the line between dastardliness and likability. Second, it works for Killian as you really do feel sorry for his situation. While Killian definitely did dig his own grave, knowing the lengths that he went to in order to try and right his wrong, it feels undeserved and is appropriately framed so. Killian clearly hates everything Rumple’s making him do as well as his scheme as a whole and with his limited freedom, he lets Rumple know it, giving the sense that Jane really understood his character as she wrote him this time around, something that tends to be a little hit-or-miss for some writers. Hell, he even tries to convince help Rumple understand that his scheme isn’t worth risking Belle for and that he can still walk out of here with her love! Additionally, as I said before, Rumple gets a lot of standout moments in this episode and practically all of them are done with Killian.

Writer

Jane Espenson is our sole writer today and she does a fantastic job here! There’s a lot of plot progression in this episode, but it’s thankfully balanced by really good character work. Regina, Rumple, Elsa, Anna, and Emma are definitely among the highlights, but Snow, Killian, Belle, and Blue really rock in their supporting roles. Not only that, but this episode’s sense of time allows for a continuous feeling of urgency that kept the pace of the episode exciting!

Rating

Golden Apple. This was a fun episode to watch. It’s funny, exciting, actually makes some nuanced points about the difficulties of leadership, and really shows the bulk of the town coming together to stop this curse. Things feel very pragmatic in this episode and everyone has a better idea of the people who they’re dealing with. It makes an episode that’s so focused about plot and exposition exciting to watch, even as it has a pretty foregone conclusion.

Dark Side of the Ship

I don’t like using this segment of my reviews, so much so that the last time I did use it was the seventh episode of the series and here we are somewhere sixty-ish episodes later. And this one isn’t even a ship I think is bad, per se, but just one I find doesn’t live up to its potential and I wanted to explain myself as to why I thought so. So, it gets a little anti-OQ here just as a warning if you want to avoid it. I certainly wouldn’t blame you in the slightest, especially if you’re a fan of it.

Not gonna lie, for all the gravitas put on Regina and Robin’s scenes together in both the forest and the mayor’s office, I really wish they actually had a scene together in the next episode. Not only would it have been payoff for that scene, but a fair amount of this half season as well as the last season and their relationship has been a matter of Regina saying “you don’t know the bad things I’m capable of” and Robin saying that’s not the case while only hearing of what she’s done. I’m not saying that Robin can’t love her and choose to be with her despite knowing about these things (I’d be a major hypocrite if I did considering my own ship preferences). But I also can’t help but feel like this is where the real intrigue of their relationship comes from -- they both love each other despite being through things the other couldn’t possibly understand or easily relate to. And I wouldn’t say this if this wasn’t basically the setup for the entire season with a past consequence of someone who justifiably hasn’t forgiven Regina and matters a lot to Robin showing up and again, given the two conversations in this episode filled with importance over Robin possibly seeing Regina as her worst self. The fact that nothing is ever done with that concept in a meaningful way is why I don’t love this ship. If Outlaw Queen was just a fluff ship in the background like it basically was in Season 3, I wouldn’t be complaining, but I’m giving this ship’s development attention because the show is giving it so much attention.

-----

Woohoo!!! Another great episode!!!! Thank you for reading as well as to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales and the awesome @daensarah! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in these reviews! See you next time!!!

Season 4 Total (79/230)

Writer Scores: Adam and Eddy: (16/60) Jane Espenson: (20/40) David Goodman and Jerome Schwartz: (30/50) Andrew Chambliss: (14/50) Dana Horgan: (6/30) Kalinda Vazquez: (14/40) Scott Nimerfro: (6/30)

*Links to the rest of my rewatch will no longer be provided. They take posts with links outside of searches and I spend way too much time on these reviews to not give them that kind of exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they still can be found on my page under Operation Rewatch.

[rueitae]

For Plance AU Week 2018: Canon Divergence

This was my very first concept for a Plance fic, so fitting it's the first one I post for this event. Diverges ambiguously after season 4. I took some leaps and liberties with some plot points to be able to share this first part.

~~~~

“I’ll ask one more time, Miss Holt. Where are the boys who disappeared with you?”

Anger wasn’t even close to describing the mood in which Pidge found herself. Furious was probably closer, bordering on enraged at the irony of the entire situation.

Hundreds of planets and billions of people liberated from the Galra Empire. She was a hero, a literal defender of the universe. Voltron and its Paladins were the leaders of the coalition against Zarkon.

But a the lack of trust and respect from her own people? It stung more than she wanted to admit.

“I’ve already told you,” she said, glaring at the high ranking Garrison officer seated by the end of her hospital bed. “Hunk is still stuck in outer space. So are Shiro and Keith. You need to let me go so I can help them. Zarkon still has them. Every minute you keep me here is less time they have!”

The officer crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. Pidge attempted to imitate him, but emitted an agitated growl at the reminder that her left wrist was still handcuffed to the bed.

A flight risk. They weren’t wrong, at least now that she was recovering from her injuries.

“And this… Zarkon. He’s related to the alien that was found with you?”

“Lotor is only as much of a threat as you make him out to be,” Pidge fired back. “Back him into a corner and I promise he’ll me more trouble than you want.” She paused, took a breath and tried to present a calm, unified argument. “Look, lives are in danger. The universe is literally at stake here. Earth included.”

The interrogation party whispered amongst themselves. Had she her paladin armor and not just a hospital gown, eavesdropping would have been a piece of cake. It only added to her fury.

The officer stood abruptly. “That’s our allotted half hour for today. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Miss Holt.”

“You said my mom was coming. Where is she?” Pidge demanded.

“Still on her way,” the officer responded neutrally.

Pidge knew that if they had wanted Colleen Holt present, she would have woken to her mother’s face two days ago after minor surgery. “You’re just scared she’d have everything figured out by now, ‘cause she’s way smarter than you lot,” she glared.

If he was bothered by the jab, he didn’t show it. “Rest up. Should your recovery continue to go well, you’ll be transferred to Galaxy Garrison later tomorrow for quarantine and debrief. Then you’ll be allowed to go..”

It wasn’t until she was alone in the room that she allowed herself to laugh. It was hilarious. There was a time in her life, before the Kerberos mission, that she’d had free reign at the Garrison. Then she was kicked out for seeking truth. Then she was a student. Then she left - kidnapped by an alien spaceship.

Now she was back on Earth - not by her own choice, technically - and they wanted her back at the Garrison.

Laughter turned into tears awfully quick. She’d promised to return with her brother and father. As much as she wanted to see her mother again, she didn’t want to do so empty handed.

The door opened suddenly and she quickly made an attempt to dry the tears. She hadn’t been expecting anyone besides the hospital staff or the Garrison officers, both of whom had been hounding her every second of the day. The last thing she wanted was for someone to see the tears and have a long chat about emotions, because honestly, she had more important things to do.

Namely finishing the long range communications device hidden under her mattress.

The door closed behind a single medtech, dressed from head to toe in a white hazmat suit.

Pidge glared. “What do you want?”

“Whatever the lady wishes. I am at here to grant you what you most desire,” the tech said, with a flashy, low bow. He took off the headgear, but Pidge knew who it was before the first sentence had left his mouth.

“Lance,” she began, a little higher pitched than intended. “You shouldn’t be here. If they catch you too, our chances of getting back to space goes down to near zero.”

Lance waved a hand in nonchalance as he walked over to her bedside and examined the handcuffs. “You seem a lot better now, so I figured now was as good a time as any to make our move.” He frowned and scratched his head in thought. “I had a plan, but I didn’t think they’d lock you to the bed. If I had my bayard, easy peasy, but they’ve got them locked up downstairs. I need your help to get them out.”

“And your plan was to sneak in as a medtech?”

“Well, the idea was yours originally, right?” he responded with a smile.

She quickly considered the situation, a bit embarrassed that he had remembered her suggestion when they had first found Shiro under similar conditions. She soon came to the same conclusion as her teammate. Despite the weirdness that came with being back home, it took a mere moment to fall back into paladin mode. It didn’t matter where they were or the odds against them. They could come up with a plan and execute. “Do you have a place to go once we’re out of the hospital?”

Lance flashed her a confident smile. “Of course. Ready to break out?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

~~~

“Sorry, Gorgeous, coming through. Gotta head down to the morgue. I’m the life of the party down there.”

Pidge could hear the girl giggle cutely and it took every fiber of her being to not break out of her role as the dead body and groan. Once they were both back on the Castle, Lotor in tow, and wormholing to Zarkon’s central command with a fleet of rebel ships and the Blade of Marmora on board - then she would give him his just dues.

Then once they had all their friends back safely, she might apologize for it.

There wasn’t much else to do while having to be still and silent, so she ran the scenario through her head a dozen times. Each and every time the apology included a kiss on the cheek.

She wasn’t sure if she hated that or not.

They eventually stopped, but it took a few moments for Lance to speak.

“Okay, Pidge, showtime. There are two guards at the end of the hallway. Once we’re through, our bayards and your armor are protected by a ten digit access code.”

“Child’s play,” Pidge responded. She sat up and lifted the sheets off her head so she could survey the area. “I’m ready when you are.”

Lance ripped off his headgear, a playful grin plastered all over his face. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Pidge wasn’t going to deny that while this wasn’t forming Voltron, it was kind of exhilarating. “Do it. We don’t have time to waste,” she said professionally.

Lance braced his hands on the back of the bed and pushed with all his might, taking a few steps with it, then lifting himself onto the bed behind Pidge.

The guards at the end of the hallway caught on, but not quick enough to stop the careening hospital bed headed straight towards them.

“Hey wait, you can’t come in here!”

“Halt!”

The momentum carried the bed and the two paladins right through the swinging double doors with a crash.

Lance jumped off and went to work blocking the door with whatever he could find. Cabinets, tray tables, etc.

The bed, with Pidge still on it, slammed into the far wall. She maneuvered it to a vault with the Galaxy Garrison logo and set to work right away. It took longer than usual, without her own computer and subsequent programs, but the lock itself was digital and that was enough to get into from memory.

“Bingo!” she declared as the vault opened and the familiar gear greeted her. “Lance, catch!”

The very moment the red bayard landed securely in Lance’s hands, it shifted to its mid-range form and he set to work sealing the door shut with a continuous beam of energy. “This is totally my favorite new thing,” he said as the door melted, then hardened to reinforce their position.

“It's a glorified laser pointer. We fly sentient mechanical cats. I am really more surprised how the rest of us don’t have one.” Pidge felt instantly better as she activated her own bayard and cut herself free.

“Hm,” Lance thought aloud. “I wonder if the mice would like it.”

“If Coran kills you for destroying hallways I am not vouching for you.”

“Hey, I’ve got way better aim than that! My precision is legendary.” He finished his work and dramatically turned to face his teammate, flashing his trademark smug smile. “You forget, I’m the team sharp-  Pidge! Seriously now?!” Lance abruptly stopped mid-sentence with a look of horror.

Pidge was hastily trading her hospital gown for her much more secure and far less revealing paladin armor. Scrunching up the black undersuit to her chest, face red from both anger and embarrassment.

“What did you think I was going to do, Lance? I need my armor. Turn around before my bayard makes contact with your face,” she said, glaring with murderous intent.

No additional prompting was needed. He turned to face his makeshift barricade, bayard at the ready to fire. It was another moment or two before he spoke again. “Sorry, I seriously didn’t think you were going to start changing.”

Pidge wasn’t finished gripping, but the black undersuit was now secured over an acceptable portion of her body, so she stepped out from the minimal cover she had from the bed to zip it up. “You are so lucky we have a universe to save.” She left the threat ambiguous.

Lance raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I didn’t see anything, Pidge.” He sounded sincere, and more than a little scared.

Pidge took a moment to judge Lance after she donned her chestplate. Her gaze seemed to sear directly into his mind and soul. She opened her mouth to deliver a particularly biting comment to her nervous counterpart.

“We know you two are in there! Come out peacefully and you will not be harmed!”

The two broke out of the moment and came crashing back to reality.

Lance grinned and turned to Pidge, all nervousness lost, radiating all the confidence of a Paladin of Voltron. “I suppose we should make our getaway,” he spoke over the pounding of fists and weapons from beyond their barricade.

Pidge equaled his smug look and activated her bayard. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.

The two of them found it far more hilarious than it really was.

~~

Three hours, half a metropolis, and several acres of farmland later, the two of them worked together to slide the massive barn door shut, leaving enough room to circulate fresh air around. It sealed them enough from the prying eyes of the outside world and gave them a place to rest for the night.

Lance was the first to drop in exhaustion, after wandering over to a conveniently untied bail of hay. His relaxed nature screamed that he was clearly at home among the farm equipment and that there was no danger here.

“Ugh, I hope we don’t have to do that again for a good while,” he complained.

Pidge wobbled and plopped down next to him, taking off her helmet and throwing her head back to relax. “We can’t stay here long. We’ve got to find a way to get to the Garrison and bust Lotor out.”

Lance gave a deep sigh, closing his eyes for but a moment. When he reopened them, they stared up at the ceiling and it seemed all the universe hid behind them. “We can’t stay here tonight, can we? We have to literally cross the entire country.” He groaned in defeat. “The Castle brought us to Earth, why couldn’t it have dropped us off right where Blue is!”

“The Castle isn’t sentient, Lance. It didn’t actually read your mind and bring us to Earth because of it.”

“Oh really,” Lance demanded, sitting up quickly. It seemed if he were able, he would have picked a fight with the ship itself. “Then how do you explain all the extra weird things that happen on the Castle, but not when we go visit planets or form Voltron?”

“The space mice, obviously.”

Lance didn’t look convinced. “You’re telling me the space mice cause the gravity to turn off every time I enter the Red’s hanger?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had decided that Keith asked Red to do that?”

He waved her off. “Red and I have an understanding now. He would never.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you it’s the mice.”

“The mice wouldn’t do that either. If they do anything it’s for Allura, and Allura...wouldn’t….” The unmistakable twinkle usually present in his eyes when speaking about the Altean princess dimmed quickly. “Do you think she’s still okay?” A pause. “Do you think they’re all okay?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge admitted, somber. “They might be thinking the same about us.”

Without another word, Lance turned around and began digging through the hay pile. He quickly uncovered all the elements of his own paladin armor. He took off his hazmat suit disguise, revealing the black undersuit of their uniform. “We’d better get going,” he said as he put on the armor. “Here’s to hoping they never deactivated our Garrison IDs.”

“Doesn’t matter. No way they’re keeping Lotor anywhere near what our old clearance was. Well,” she said with a smug grin, “What your clearance was anyway. But maybe we should go find the Blue Lion first. I wouldn’t cry if the Garrison sustains some major structural damage.”

Lance didn’t respond right away. He shifted uncomfortably as he slid on his left gauntlet.

“Lance?”

“I’m not Blue’s paladin anymore, Pidge. What if she doesn’t let me in? Even just to get back to the Castle?”

“I’m sure she’ll understand. Universe is at stake and all.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re right.” Lance didn’t look convinced despite his words.

Pidge stood up. “First things first. We have a lot of walking to do. Maybe we can hotwire a car!” she finished excitedly.

Lance debated internally for a moment before speaking. “There is an old truck in the barn across the field. It never gets used anymore, but it definitely has the guts for a cross country trip. My brother keeps it in top shape. They won’t miss it.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for Pidge as she processed the new information. “Your brother’s truck? Lance... this farm belongs to your family?”

An equally uncomfortable chuckle was her response. “Something had to prepare me for looking after Kaltenecker.”

“Lance, we are literally a hundred yards away from your family. They deserve to hear from you that you’re safe. This has to be killing you.”

“I’ll say hi once we go rescue the others,” he said shortly. “You’re one to talk. I saw you notice your mom in the hospital parking lot.”

“That’s different,” she protested. “I promised mom I’d be back with Matt and Dad.”

“Don’t you think she’d like to know that you actually found them?”

“Don’t change the subject. I know the lights were on at the house. I know how much you miss them. You talk about home all the time.”

“I don’t want to make trouble for them. Not now,” he said desperately, not looking her way.

“We’re going, come on Lance. We’ve got a long night ahead of us, and we could seriously use supplies.”

Inwardly, Pidge agreed with him. So much. Yet after all their time in space she knew she hadn’t exactly been the best friend she could have been. But this, this was something she could do for him.

Set in her decision, she grabbed him by the wrist to drag him out the door. He resisted. She sprung back into his chest as he resisted.

“Pidge, seriously. I want this more than anything, but it’s a bad idea. Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.” He had to look straight down in order to see her face.

“Our lives are one risky decision after another. Just do this, we’ll be gone and they can plausibly deny that they know where we are.” She had to strain her neck to look directly up at him.

Their wills clashed silently for a few moments before Lance finally gave in with a deep sigh. “Okay... really quick. This is going to be hard to explain to the kids.” He smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Pidge.”

She smiled back. “I’ve got your back, Lance. Don’t worry about it.”

“I thought I’m the one who’s supposed to have your back? I’m the sharpshooter, remember?” he winked.

Pidge blanched, but didn’t move from their close proximity. “How can I forget when you remind us every day?”

“I take it I am interrupting something? Clearly an important strategic meeting.”

Pidge and Lance jumped apart at the same time, startled at the new voice neither were expecting. Like a well oiled machine, Lance sighted his blaster and Pidge activated the electric current on her bayard.

The male figured raised his hands. “Really? I thought we were past pointing weapons at each other?”

Recognition of the voice came to the both of them with such clarity they felt less than competent.

Pidge was the first to lower her bayard. “Lotor?” she asked as if she didn’t believe it.

“Present,” the man in question shrugged.

Lance was having a bit more difficulty with the concept in front of them. Lotor didn’t look like Lotor. He looked distinctly human, from the non-purple skin tone to the sweatshirt and jeans that looked nothing like his typical armor.

“What? How? Why?” Lance babbled.

Lotor emitted a similarly confused aura at the line of questioning. Although it was difficult to really tell what his specific mood was with the sunglasses that covered his eyes.

“I keep forgetting you can do that,” Pidge admitted, suddenly with tired bags under her eyes. “We thought you’d already been taken to the Garrison.”

“I believe I was,” Lotor said with some thought. “But then I left.”

“How do you just leave a high grade military facility?” Lance asked, his arms limp with exasperation.

“I walked out,” he told them, putting his hands down. “Your people are not quite prepared for shape shifting it seems.”

“That’s one less obstacle then,” Pidge said in relief. “Now we just need to get to the Blue Lion.”

“Which is still a few days of driving,” Lance reminded them. He knelt down and stuck his arm into the hay pile before finding what he was looking for. “Ah ha! Catch.”

Lance threw a small metal stick at Lotor’s direction. The prince in exile caught it one handedly as if it were nothing. He took but a moment to analyze it before it easily morphed into his personal sword. “My thanks for holding on to this.” He allowed it to revert back to stick form. His white eyebrows raised quizzically as he attempted to put it away. “Do your belts not have a place to hold weapons?”

Lance did not hide his unimpressed look, which was dampened only by how utterly confused Lotor was.

“No, but it should be able to fit in your pocket. Assuming those are actually jeans and not those fake ones.” Lance took pity and walked over to help sort it out.

Pidge rolled her eyes. Pockets were useful. Earth had to be the only planet where people would outline pockets on pants for fashion and not actually include a functional pocket.

“So, how did you get Earth clothes anyway?” She asked, head tilted to the side slightly as if to figure out the puzzle herself. “And where is your armor?”

“Oh, this ensemble?” Lotor gestured to his outfit, a very neutral expression on his face. “A very kind lady at the ‘sevens elevens’ gifted it to me. She then told me to enjoy my role play after asking for my number. I gave her a fake code, she will not be able to find us.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the phrases, but finished confidently.

“She thought you were LARPing,” Pidge said, mouth open wide in disbelief. She could not help an undignified snort, covering her mouth as though it would hide the fact she thought it was amusing.

Lance wasn’t doing much better. The tears in his eyes showed how painful it was to keep back the laughter.

Lotor either chose to ignore them or just did not care. “I had to leave most of my armor behind. It would have given myself away while tracking your helmets.” He sighed, now with a much more sullen look that quickly took the humor out of the Paladins.

“Should we get going then?” Pidge said, changing the subject and turning to Lance. “Maybe your brother has some more supplies we can use. And maybe a change of clothes.”

“The armor is pretty noticeable,” Lance agreed. “I wonder if the kids are asleep yet. Will they even recognize me? They were so little when I left.”

“You’re not easy to forget, Lance,” Pidge said with a genuine smile. “I’m sure they think about you and miss you a lot. I know I would. We all would,” she amended quickly. Her cheeks flushed.

Lance let out a short chuckle and returned a fond smile. “Thanks Pidge.”

The silence became near deafening.

“I feel as if I am missing something,” Lotor commented, although there was no bite or insinuation that he wanted to know. “You have relatives nearby?”

“Yeah,” Lance confirmed quickly. “It’s one of our farms. My oldest brother and his family live here. We won’t be long, just enough to explain what’s going on and get some supplies.”

“Well let’s go then. You keep saying you want me to meet your family,” Pidge encouraged. She took hold of his hand and tugged him firmly towards the door, once again offering her full endorsement of the plan.

“Wait,” Lotor interrupted sharply before they could reach the door.

Lance narrowed his eyes in frustration. “What? It’s a good plan. I promise you can trust them.”

“I am not concerned about your family, I am concerned about the incoming vehicle,” Lotor said quickly, frantically.

The humans heard it now. It had been forever since either had heard the sound of a gas powered motor, but it was unmistakable.

“Maybe it’s not coming our way,” Lance said softly, worry in his voice. “Or maybe it’s Marco coming home late.”

Rubber tires rolled to a stop on the loose gravel. A car door opened and the group held their breaths and their weapons close as a dog barked wildly, nose sniffing a mile a minute at the tiny crack in the barn door.

“Does your brother have a dog?” Pidge asked.

“No, his daughter is allergic,” Lance whispered back. He kneeled to get a steadier grip for his blaster.

Pidge stood at the ready with her bayard, taser prepped. Lotor stood behind them, sword extended.

The dog nosed his way through the crack in the door and made a beeline for Pidge.

The sight of Bae Bae made Pidge drop to her knees in shock, bayard discarded on the floor.

“Bae Bae!” She exclaimed as the family dog licked her face in its entirety. She held on to his soft fur, running her fingers through his coat and scratching him to return the affection.

As soon as it had begun, Bae Bae focused his interest on the other people in the room. He first barked at Lance, wagging his whole butt in excitement.

He then found Lotor. The alien prince froze in confusion and a rare look of unsureness. Bae Bae ran circles around him before repeatedly bumping him.

“What is that?!”

“It’s just a dog,” Lance said. An amused grin hadn’t yet left his face. “But who drove the car?” he said with concern.

“It’s not just a dog. It’s Bae Bae. He’s my dog, our family dog,” Pidge said, hope rising in her voice. She looked towards the door.

Sure enough, Colleen Holt stood in the doorway, having watched the whole scene unfold with tears in her eyes.

“Welcome home, Katie,” she said through an obviously held back sob. She had barely finished when Pidge closed the gap between them, wrapping her mother in the tightest of hugs. They both dropped to their knees in overwhelming emotion.

“I missed you, Mom,” Pidge began, her head buried in her mother’s shoulder. “I found them. I found Dad and Matt,” she continued hurriedly. “They’re safe, both of them. As safe as they can be in an intergalactic war. But they’re alive and I’m gonna bring them home. We need to get to the Blue Lion to get back to space.”

“Whatever you need, Katie. I’ll get it for you,” Colleen said, running a hand through her daughter’s hair, much shorter than she remembered it. “I’m just happy you’re safe. I’ve been so worried.” She may not have had a clue to what was going on, but it was the solidarity only a parent could give.

Lance looked on the scene with his own tears, knowing how close he was to a reunion just like this.

“Would someone please get this… dog off of me?”

The humans turned to see that Bae Bae jumping up on Lotor with his front paws, doing his very best to welcome him to Earth. The dog had not left the alien’s side and was continuing to bark, yip, and whine for attention.

Lance recovered quickly from his own thoughts at the sight. “Ha. Looks like someone made a friend.”

Lotor returned the comment with an unamused glare.

“Who are your friends?” Colleen asked, voice a bit wary. She still held on loosely to her daughter.

Pidge wiped the tears from her eye before speaking, a soft smile permanently stuck to her face. “That’s Prince Lotor. He’s an alien, but he can shape shift like Allura so he doesn’t look like it now. He helped us get Dad back, and now we’re working to un conquer the universe after Zarkon messed it up.”

“A pleasure,” Lotor said, sounding much more formal than he looked his attention was focused on avoiding Bae Bae leaping into his arms.

“Seriously you introduce him first?” Lance complained, arms splayed out for emphasis. “What about the Voltron bond? Teammates?”

Pidge chuckled. “This is Lance. He’s a Paladin like me. He’s a bit of a goofball, but he’s alright,” she finished with a smirk and playful sparkle on her eye.

Lance feigned dejection, which caused Colleen to chuckle herself. “It seems there is a lot more to the story. Hop in the car. We can make it to your grandma’s place by morning. Tell me everything on the way.” She whistled. “Bae Bae, car.”

Instantly the dog left the confused alien prince and bolted into the car. “Oh, so it is a yupper,” he finally said, the air of mystery lifting fully.

“You can make it up to him in the car,” Lance said, still grinning. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“One stop before Grandma’s,” Pidge told her mother. “Lance’s family lives here, we have to let them know he’s okay.”

Lance’s gaze softened instantly. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“Fine by me,” Colleen agreed. “We all have some things to talk about.”

“We cannot stay long,” Lotor reminded them. “The sooner we can retrieve the Blue Lion the faster we can stop Haggar and save the other Paladins.”

Lance took a deep breath. “Good to be home, can’t stay,” he said wistfully.

“It sounds like I have a lot to catch up on,” Colleen said. “Galaxy Garrison didn’t tell me anything about that.”

Pidge and Lance shared a look before the Green Paladin turned back to her mother. “There’s a lot the Garrison didn’t tell you, Mom. Let’s start with Voltron. Did you get my last letter?”

[postedbygaslight]

You’ll Be the One to Turn - Part 16: The Huntress

Sorry, folks. No Reylo in this chapter. But, come on. The kids deserve a little alone time after what just happened.

Here we have our first examination of the bounty hunter I created in Chapter 10. She’ll be pretty important to some events going forward. This chapter is more expository, but they can’t all be what Chapter 15 was.

Some of you may recognize the designation of Nil’s droid, and I’m definitely calling back to HK-47 from Knights of the Old Republic II. While this is NOT the same droid, and Nil has obviously programmed out a lot of the snark, you can follow the link below to get an idea of how the droid sounds when it talks.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vg1gTas7OAA

She is called Vyada Nil.

It is the name that was gifted her when she was called to her birthright. It is the name she adopted when that birthright was taken from her. It is a mask and armor. It is all that she is.

Nil checked the coordinates she’d plugged into the hyperdrive one more time, locked-in the auto-pilot, and jumped to light speed. She walked to the back of the cockpit and punched the access code. The door slid aside and revealed the cargo hold, with a large weapons locker and stasis pods modified into charging stations to house rows of battle droids, all slumped in standby mode.

Turning, she opened the weapons locker and examined the contents. The arsenal she’d arranged had been curated for a specific purpose: to hunt, entrap, and kill users of the Force. But now she faced the most challenging targets she’d encountered, and each weapon served a unique utility that would surely be employed in the coming days.

Blades. Sith liked those. For show. For the intimacy of a slow kill. To exert the most control over when and how death would come. Their opinions changed when the control they craved was turned against them. Everything bleeds.

Explosives. Useful for strike radius, but easily detectable by Force sensitives. Their utility was in confusion. When the battlefield descended into the chaos of black smoke and charred stone, and the air was choked with embers and ash, even a powerful Force user could become disoriented.

Toxins. Darts and gases. Darts could be employed with relative ease, and, though most Force users would be able to withstand the effects of poisons, the effort required to do so would distract them from the onslaught visited upon them in the kill zone. Gases were less effective. They were more useful for weeding out a Sith’s servants. Or a Jedi’s allies.

Nil had never actually encountered a being calling itself a Jedi that lived up to the billing. They were all of them zealots and pretenders. Users of the Force, but wild and untrained. Easy to confuse. They died like any other target.

Sith were different. They were nimble, adept, and cruel. They had an understanding of their powers and traditions. And they were harder to kill because they were defined by self-interest. But Nil loved nothing more than to watch the disbelieving shock on a Sith’s face as it became inevitable that death had come for them. In the expanse of the Empire, deep in what these people called the Unknown Regions, there was never a lack of warlords or vagabonds, monks or fugitives, who consecrated themselves with the title of Darth and set about earning the right to be feared. It bred a demand for assassins, and marked the grounds upon which these dark pretenders stalked as subject to the hunt.

The Jedi, on the other hand, had been cut off at the root sixty years prior, and the only sprouts that had emerged in their place were pale exercises in mimicry. They gathered in communes and caves, constructed temples from clay and wet timber, and thrilled at making rocks float. None of them were true Jedi, and Nil doubted there would ever be again.

She went to close the locker, and considered the last weapon in her arsenal:

Lightsabers.

They were unwieldy and unnecessarily dangerous weapons. An untrained novice was more likely to hack their own limbs off than strike a blow while using one. For one, they were much heavier than would be imagined, and the insistent thrum of the kyber field could make those not familiar with the flow of the Force nauseous from prolonged exposure.

But they inspired fear and wonder in the enemy. They overpowered any other weapon. They were elegant and efficient. And they killed anything they touched.

The huntress closed the weapons locker, picked up a datapad, and skimmed the information she’d received from the First Order. She knew what the information said. She knew what she needed to do. Her droids, however, were another tale. She had always known how to kill. She had been instructed well in the craft of it. And Nil found it a bitter irony that she now spent much of her time teaching machines to end life as efficiently as she.

She set down the datapad and approached a red droid with armor buffed to a matte finish. It didn’t gleam or shine. Nil preferred stealth over style when it came to her servants. It was time to determine if she could count on them in the battles to come.

“HK-9217, activate.”

The droid’s dim orange eyes blinked to life, and it stood at its stasis station, straightened its back, and looked at the huntress.

“Designation HK-9217, active,” the droid’s voice buzzed and crackled slightly, and sounded like the voice of a man who was profoundly amused to be trapped in a robot body. “Mission commander: Vyada Nil. Query: What is my mission status?”

“Standby,” Nil said, her voice carrying less inflection than the machine that now regarded her. “State mission readiness.”

“Weapons systems: thermal detonators, four active; single-shot missile ordnance, two active, two reserve; flamethrower tanks: left arm: fuel levels, 100 percent; right arm: 87 percent; shock batons: two, sheathed and fully charged. Defensive systems: energy shielding, chest deflector active; rear deflector active; anti-kyber pulse, operational but unloaded; warning: pulse discs are single use, and this unit has no replacement—“

“Disregard. State this unit’s combat readiness.”

“Diagnostic: all joints and hinges at full operational capacity; all servos at full range of movement; thrust capacity: approximately 120 seconds at full discharge.”

“Very good. Has this unit processed the additional intelligence received from the First Order?”

“Affirmative.”

“Report.”

“Target One is a human female, aged 20 standard cycles. Height: five feet, seven inch—“

“Stop. Omit biographical data.”

“Affirmative.”

“Continue with classification.”

“Classification: Target One is a Type IV Force sensitive with limited training.”

“Training summary.”

“Target One has been trained in some techniques used by the Jedi Order of the Galactic Republic. Observation: Many of these skills appear to be intrinsic, rather than taught.”

It was an extraordinary circumstance, Nil thought. This girl, wherever she’d come from, had a massive amount of potential, and her power in the Force was only growing. No wonder Snoke had sought her out. He always did have a knack for spotting his next student. And his next victim.

“Weaponry.”

“Target One has possession of a Corellian model-YT freighter with customized weapons systems. She utilizes a number of melee weapons in combat, including a durasteel quarterstaff, monomolecular blades and axes, and, it is reported, a lightsaber.”

“Tell me about the saber.”

“Reports describe a late-era Republic style lightsaber with a blue kyber crystal, Type I-B attunement. Origin of attunement: Skywalker, Anakin; Jedi Knight. Deceased, 4 A.B.Y.”

Enough about the girl. Nil wanted to hear about him.

“Next Target.”

“Classification: Target Two is a Type IV Force sensitive with extensive training.”

“Training summary.”

“First Order, approximately seven years. Instructor: Supreme Leader Snoke. Deceased 34 A.B.Y. Target Two has been trained in the use of the Force in the fashion of ancient Sith traditions.” The droid paused, as if to add dramatic effect. “Addendum: Target Two was also trained by an unknown Jedi. Deduction: It is highly likely that prior to instruction under Supreme Leader Snoke, Target Two was a student of Skywalker, Luke; Jedi Master. Deceased 34 A.B.Y.”

“Expound.”

“Analysis: Target Two was enlisted into the ranks of the First Order at the age of 23 standard cycles. Records indicate he was already proficient in many Force related skills and abilities associated with the Jedi Order of the Galactic Republic. The refinement of these skills suggest extended formal training. At the time of Target Two’s recruitment, the only living Jedi Master was Luke Skywalker. Conclusion: Target Two was likely trained by Skywalker in the Jedi arts.”

Nil was impressed. The droid had deduced Ren’s hybrid training history through implication. She was interested to see how much more the droids might be able to imply.

“Does this unit have any conjecture to report as to the previous subject?”

“Affirmative. Requesting permission to speculate.”

“Granted.”

“Speculation: It is possible Target One also received some limited instruction from Skywalker.”

“Expound.”

“Analysis: Target One, while untrained in a formal sense, exhibits signs of advanced training in observed use of Force abilities. As she displays many techniques of Jedi origin, the deduction reached in regard to Target Two also applies here. Observation: Target One is reported to possess the lightsaber of Anakin Skywalker. Further speculation: Target One May have received the weapon from Luke Skywalker or another family member.”

“List known Skywalkers.”

“Skywalker, Anakin; known alias: Darth Vader. Skywalker, Luke. Organa, Leia. Solo, Ben.”

“Whereabouts.”

“Skywalker, Anakin: Deceased, 4 A.B.Y.; Skywalker, Luke: Deceased, 34 A.B.Y.; Organa, Leia: whereabouts unknown, likely with the organization referred to as the Resistance; Solo, Ben: whereabouts unknown. Permission to speculate.”

“Go ahead.”

“Analysis: Ben Solo was known to be Force sensitive. He was trained by his uncle, Luke Skywalker, at a training temple that was destroyed circa 27 A.B.Y. He was assumed missing afterward. At the time of the attack on the temple, Solo was aged 23 standard cycles. Speculation: considering the naming convention associated with his title, it may be likely that Target Two is Ben Solo.”

“Confidence?”

“Request for clarification: shall this unit assume the First Order’s records concerning the Knights of Ren to be accurate?”

“Yes.”

“Further request for clarification: shall this unit assume Target Two was trained by Luke Skywalker?”

“Yes. Continue.”

“If such records are accurate, Target Two arrived at the behest of Supreme Leader Snoke in 27 A.B.Y. along with six others. Target Two was the only amongst them aged 23. The rest were younger. Conclusion: there is a 59 percent likelihood that these seven individuals were survivors of the temple attack; assuming that to be correct, confidence that Target Two is Ben Solo is 100 percent.”

The huntress considered this a moment. She had made the deduction herself within hours of receiving the preliminary intelligence. This droid had deduced it in an even shorter amount of time. It made her wonder why it wasn’t more widely known. It also made her wonder if the droid could fall prey to over-reliance on speculation.

“Target One. Could she be a Skywalker?”

“This unit requests permission to utilize sarcasm.”

“Denied.”

She almost thought she heard the droid breathe an exhausted sigh.

“Analysis: Target One was first observed by the First Order at a salvage settlement on Jakku, a planet best known for being the site of the wreckage of the remainder of the fleet of the Galactic Empire. Intelligence indicates she was a scavenger and had been known to the locals as an orphan once owned by a parts dealer named Unkar Plutt. Further intelligence indicates she had been scavenging there since she was a child.”

“Continue.”

“Historical observation: Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa were highly visible individuals within the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic. Birth records do not indicate Organa had any other offspring. And, considering the Jedi inclination toward celibacy, it seems unlikely Skywalker produced any of his own.”

“Permission to assume Skywalker was not celibate.”

“Analysis: Skywalker’s whereabouts and movements during the time period surrounding the assumed birth year of Target One were well documented. Chances he could have produced offspring without anyone learning of it are less than 15 percent. Addendum: it is also unlikely that any custodian of an offspring of Skywalker’s would elect to abandon that offspring, particularly to the kind of existence common to scavengers, and at such a young age.”

“Conclude.”

“Conclusion: likelihood of consanguinity is less than one percent.”

Nil was satisfied. The droids were no fools.

“Return to Target Two. Weaponry.”

“Target Two uses a highly modified lightsaber. Kyber crystal of unknown original color. Type V attunement. Origin of attunement: Unknown. Origin of crystal bleeding: Target Two.”

“Describe the saber modifications.”

“Diagnostic: Target Two’s lightsaber utilizes a Malachorian design to accommodate the unstable kyber field generated by the damaged crystal. The focusing chamber is braced by quillion emitters that vent excess energy into a cross guard.”

“Is the crystal’s field being manipulated?”

“Unknown. Speculation: Target Two may have manipulated the kyber field to make the field as stable as could be maintained while still using a portable housing.”

Good. The droid had a grasp of who they were dealing with. Now to see if she’d managed to teach them anything.

“Analyze targets for engagement and elimination.”

“Target One, whereabouts unknown. Observation: Hunter Nil could utilize a strategy of attacking the innocent. Jedi are known to be drawn out of hiding, and even be deceived into sacrificing themselves, for the good of others.”

“Noted. Combat prediction.”

“Prediction: Target One, if engaged, will likely be dangerous due to her status as a Type IV Force sensitive, and her unpredictability as a result of lacking extended formal training. Suggestion: Hunter Nil should utilize a strategic ambush to catch her off guard. Chance of success: 83 percent.”

Nil considered a moment, and nodded. An ambush was the best option. And springing the trap could be accomplished through use of the right bait, as the droid had suggested.

“Next target.”

“Target Two, location: the Finalizer, acting flagship of the First Order flotilla. Observation: This target will be highly difficult to engage without an organized insurrection or targeted betrayal.”

“Understood. Combat prediction.”

“Prediction: Target Two, if engaged, will be a highly dangerous opponent. Suggestion: Hunter Nil should attempt ranged or remote assassination. Chance of success: 62 percent.”

No. Kylo Ren would not die in his bed or at his dining table. He would not be picked off at range by a dart or a lucky blaster bolt. It was his destiny to die standing, and in full knowledge of the burden and crimes of his legacy.

“Rejected. Next suggestion.”

“Alternative suggestion: Hunter Nil should utilize a systematic assault with battle droids, and engage Target Two in direct combat. Chance of success: 51 percent.”

The odds mattered less to her than the principle. She was hired to kill the Jedi girl. And she would die. That was the contract. Ren was part of her payment. And he would die. That was the promise.

“Does this unit have any queries?”

“Affirmative. Query: This vessel appears to be approximately 62,000 light years from Imperial space. Is Hunter Nil planning on returning to the Empire?”

“No.”

“Additional query: have additional bounties been contracted?”

“No.”

“Observation: Hunter Nil is not planning on continuing to hunt following the current bounty.”

Nil’s eyes narrowed until they were black slits.

“This unit will deactivate.”

“Affirmative,” the droid buzzed, took two steps back into the stasis station, and slumped back into position.

Nil walked to the viewport at the back of her vessel, and stared out into the streaming pulse of blue and white that made up the distances between the stars. She knew what she had come here to do, and that purpose had been stolen from her. So, now, the thieves would be dealt with as all thieves must be: with the chain and the sword.

She raised her hand to the glass and touched it lightly. The flickering glow of hyperspace outlined her fingers as though a clutch of energies had collected around them. As though she could reach out and harness them and bend them to her control. She stared at the illusion of it, knowing it to be a trick of the light, and closed her fist, one finger at a time, around nothing.

[mavda]

Melted

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Ch.48: A visit calls a visit

Link was impressed by what he saw. No sloppy movements, no big motions. If he didn't remember their faces Link would have thought them different people.

Link turned as soon as he heard steps behind him, expecting to see Robert.

"What do you think?"

Link thinned his lips, a tall woman was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and Link looked around making sure that it was-

"Yes, I am talking to you."

Link looked at the woman again, trying his best to look aloof, "Do we know each other?"

The woman snickered, "Well, I sure know you, Hero."

Link gave the woman a glare and decided that it was not worth it.

"Ignoring me?"

"Yup."

The woman cleared her throat and balanced herself on the ball of her feet, she gave a step to be next to Link and lowered her head a little. "Well, we could always-"

"Loran!"

Link turned his head, Robert was jogging to them with a murderous face, "Shoo!"

The woman huffed and retreated, "I haven't done anything."

Robert reached them and pushed Loran on the chest, "Yeah, sure. Get away, move."

Loran gave a couple of steps back, making sure to lock eyes with Link and wink at him.

"You're early," Robert said, trying his best to block Loran out of the way.

"Yeah, wanted to come here as fast as I could."

"Laudable," added Loran.

Robert turned his head and glared, "Zip it."

Loran picked on Link's curiosity, "The Hero doesn't even know who I am, at least let me do the honors."

"Fuck no. You're free to go, come on, chop chop."

Loran rolled his eyes and raised her shoulders. She then rummaged through her clothes and tossed a bag to Robert.

Robert catched the bag and immediately knew what it was, "What's this?"

"Don't really need it, I'm giving it back."

"It's your payment."

Link recognized the bag he had given Robert before leaving to Ordon.

Loran tilted his head, "Being on the good side of the Hero is enough, though if you would grant me a match that would be great."

Robert opened his mouth, but Link was faster, "Whenever yout want."

Loran showed her teeth in a dangerous smile, "What a lad." She then looked at Robert and patted the man on his arm before leaving.

Robert pouted and sighed with strength, "Oh, Hylia."

"Who's that?"

"You asked me to look for an instructor to your group. Loran is a huge pain in the ass, but she's good."

Link tried to control the snort that left his mouth.

"Yeah, real funny."

Link tilted his head but Robert could see his smile from behind.

"Yeah, I am well aware of the irony in here, all right?"

Link shook his head and walked to the group of people parrying in the distance, "They never practiced outside of working hours."

"Yeah, well, Loran's scary."

Link pushed on the window with an ease he was starting to feel comfortable with.

"Link."

Link didn't fight the smile that took over his face. Zelda's voice was filled with glee and she was wiggling the toes of her feet in anticipation, "Guess what?"

He gave this moment to her, really, "What?" Feigned ignorance, tight cheeks, her hand in his and her hair glowing under the candle light.

"You are ready to court me from tomorrow onwards."

Zelda squeezed Link's hand and giggled to herself. Link was too mesmerized to do anything but look at her.  

"This is gonna sound horrible, but there's light in my future."

Link snorted, "That does sound horrible."

Zelda rested her cheek on her knee, "What are you gonna do, Link?"

Link looked up a second, "Well, first on my list is take you away once a day, hopefully, gotta step myself up," Zelda kept on wiggling her feet, "Then, hopefully, get to dance with you at Telma's-"

"They won't let me go to Telma's."

"Which is why we're going at night, silly," Link then kept on adding, "and well, I'm gonna ask you a lot of things about where do you want to go and what do you want to do, and-"

Zelda circled Link's torso with her arms and rested her head on his neck.

"Zelda?"

"You're being funny," Zelda whispered. Who cared what others said. This meant too much.

Link relaxed his body, "Am I now?"

"Yeah, all of this is."

William knocked on Her Highness' door and waited, when her voice gave the go he strolled inside, thinned lips in place.

Zelda frowned, "What?"

"The Zoras are coming."

Zelda snorted, "Yeah, good one."

"I mean it, they heard the Gorons had come, so..."

Zelda sagged her shoulders, "Really?"

William opened his arms in surrender.

Zelda closed her eyes for a second. She had always had a soft spot for the Zoras, swift and deadly, soft-looking but with sharp tongues, and their Queen had been always...

William tried his best to soften the news, "Also," but Zelda's wide eyes were enough to let him know, "Queen Rutela has died."

"What?" All decorum out the window, "Excuse me?" Emotions should be under control.

"I was told that Queen Rutela was killed under Zant's invasion," Zelda was too sad to think about what this would mean to her credibility, "and that they were hoping for you to be as good a friend to her son, Prince Ralis."

Zelda tried to form words but only air left her lips.

"The Council received the news with mixed feelings, too."

"Of course I will help the Prince."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"See to it that everything is ready for them."

"As you command."

[the-christian-walk]

HISTORY LESSON (PART 2)

Can I pray for you in any way?

Send any prayer requests to Gods4all@aol.com In Christ, Mark

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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The scriptures. May God bless the reading of His holy word.

“Because the patriarchs were jealous of Joseph, they sold him as a slave into Egypt. But God was with him and rescued him from all his troubles. He gave Joseph wisdom and enabled him to gain the goodwill of Pharaoh king of Egypt. So Pharaoh made him ruler over Egypt and all his palace.

“Then a famine struck all Egypt and Canaan, bringing great suffering, and our ancestors could not find food. When Jacob heard that there was grain in Egypt, he sent our forefathers on their first visit. On their second visit, Joseph told his brothers who he was, and Pharaoh learned about Joseph’s family. After this, Joseph sent for his father Jacob and his whole family, seventy-five in all. Then Jacob went down to Egypt, where he and our ancestors died. Their bodies were brought back to Shechem and placed in the tomb that Abraham had bought from the sons of Hamor at Shechem for a certain sum of money.

Acts 7:9-16

This ends today’s reading from God's holy word. Thanks be to God.

The false accusations were meant to put Stephen on the spot. The conjurers of these lies painted Stephen as an enemy of the Jewish people, never ceasing to speak against the hallowed, sacred ground of Israel and the law had given through Moses to govern it. They sought to stir up fear in the hearts of the Sanhedrin by associating Stephen with Jesus, asserting that the Christian servant had said Jesus would destroy Israel and abolish the customs handed down from Moses.

In other words, Stephen was a threat, a threat that needed to be eliminated just as the Man he follows was.

It was a moment of truth as all eyes were on Stephen to hear what he had to say. But the chief priest spoke first and simply asked Stephen,

“Are these charges true?”

Yesterday, we saw in the first message in this series how Stephen didn’t exactly answer the question he was asked. Rather, he commanded everyone to listen as he began providing a history lesson to the Sanhedrin and all others gathered, a history lesson that we are looking at in this series.

Up first was Abraham but we saw where Stephen made it clear that it was God who was in charge, not Abraham. It was God who called Abraham to leave his country and people behind, traveling to where God wanted him to go. God would go onto tell Abraham that the land he would go to would be the same land that the Israelites would be led to more than four hundred years later. Again, it would be God in charge, not the people.

But before that would happen, God would bless Abraham with a son named Isaac who would then in turn bear a son named Jacob. Then the Lord would again emerge on the scene to make sure that Jacob’s name was changed to Israel and his twelve sons would become the twelve patriarchs, each the progenitor of one of the twelve tribes of Israel. One of the sons would bear the name Joseph.

And this brings us to the second of Stephen’s history message as he commands the floor with the Sanhedrin and all present listening. In it, Peter reminds those present that Joseph had drawn the jealousy of his other eleven brothers. The scriptures tell us the resentment was over Joseph being favored by his father and so the brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt, attempting to eliminate him but not through bloodshed.

The irony of what was happening as Stephen shared this story shouldn’t be lost. Because it was now the Sanhedrin who were jealous of first Jesus and then His apostles for the success they were having in making disciples of many Jews who were once loyal to the cause of Judaism. And so they sought to eliminate their threats but unlike Joseph’s brothers, they were willing to kill in order to get their way.

In both of these instances of jealousy leading to sin, we find God in the midst of things, ensuring that His way and will were done.

The Sanhedrin believed that by sanctioning Jesus’ murder, they would cut off the head of the Christian movement. They believed wrong because they failed to realize that their actions were really part of God’s overall plan to bring salvation to all mankind and use His Son’s death and resurrection for a catalyst for the movement.

They then would stone Stephen to death after his history lesson and the stern rebuke that followed. Their intent was to drive the fear of persecution into the hearts of Christians so they would give up their faith and belief in Jesus but all the Sanhedrin accomplished was to cause the Gospel to scatter and disperse well beyond Jerusalem to Judea and Samaria before it grew further into the ends of the earth.

How did this tie to the story of Joseph so many hundreds of years before Jesus? Was there a connection?

The answer is yes and a very interesting one.

I say this because the eleven brothers who sold their brother into slavery thought they were getting rid of him for good but it was God’s plan to raise him up as their savior. In other words, their very survival would hinge on Joseph showing them mercy, grace, and forgiveness. But before that would happen, Joseph had to enter into a personal journey of his own.

First, we read where God granted Joseph the gifts of wisdom, which helped him eventually gain the favor of Pharaoh, the very king of Egypt. This favor led to Joseph being made a ruler in Egypt with oversight over Pharaoh’s palace affairs.

After this special appointment, the scriptures tells us that a great famine struck all of Egypt and Canaan, causing “great suffering” among all the people including Joseph’s father, his eleven brothers, and the rest of his family because no food could be found.

But God did not wish for His people to perish. He desired that Jacob and his sons be saved. And so, Jacob sends his sons (called the forefathers in Stephen’s history lesson) to Egypt after hearing there was grain there and the person they had to request the food from was none other than Joseph but none of his brothers knew it at first. In fact, we read where it wasn’t until their second visit to Egypt that Joseph reveals his identity and Pharaoh learned about Jacob and the others.

Happy to learn that his son was alive after believed dead, Jacob himself went to Egypt for what was an awesome, joyous family reunion with seventy-five people in attendance. And in Egypt they would remain until death, their bodies then returned to Canaan for burial in a tomb purchased by Abraham in Shechem.

The story of Joseph is one grounded in love, forgiveness, and redemption, all orchestrated by a caring God who shows He is in control, no matter how much others might try to sinfully believe they are.

In the Gospels and the Book of Acts, we are reminded that this caring God continued to be a God of love and forgiveness and redemption, willing to use His own Son as an instrument of salvation, no matter how much wickedness and evil tried to win the day.

Today, God is still the God of love, forgiveness, and redemption, not wishing for anyone to perish but rather to enjoy everlasting life with Him through placing their belief in the Son Jesus that He sent to save.

My prayer is that through Stephen’s second history lesson you have found you way to an eternal hope and victory through Jesus that never can be removed. Ever.

Tomorrow, we’ll look at the third part of this series and Moses. I hope you’ll join me then.

Amen.

In Christ,

Mark

PS: Feel free to leave a comment and please share this with anyone you feel might be blessed by it. Send any prayer requests to Gods4all@aol.com

[tvserieshub]

In general, I have very few complaints about the adaptation of the novels to the TV show. There is one scene from the prior episode I would have wished was closer to the book, and that was when Gunny sees the Protomolecule on Ganymede. In the book, Protomolecule Man picks Gunny up and in the process of this interaction, it hurls her a large distance, which simultaneously seriously injures her, but actually saves her, too. It reinforces her memory of Protomolecule Man, as well. In the show, in the small snippet of the battle, Gunny sees the UN team FIRING BACKWARDS, but she is prevented from elaborating on this during her questioning by Martens or her testimony to the Earth and Martian diplomats. This might mean that many viewers didn’t completely catch that either. However, I fully trust that the writing and production team will integrate this information into the ongoing story.

The reviewcap begins here:

It doesn’t take long to find out the basis of the name of the episode. It’s the name of one of the Ganymede relief ships. The ship is crewed by two people, Santichai Suputayaporn (Peter Williams) and Melissa Saputayaporn (Valerie Buhagiar), and they are complaining about Mars’ heavy-handed interference with them delivering their relief shipment. The ship is boarded, and the boarders identify the crew and check the ship. The voices sound familiar…and that is because the boarders who want to impound the ship are Holden (Steven Strait) and Amos (Wes Chatham).  They are unmasked in a struggle. “Well, this is off to a good start.” Amos gets all the great dry lines.

Gunny Bobby Draper (Frankie Adams) receives medications and is caught leaving her Purple Heart behind. She says she left it on accident, but clearly she doesn’t feel she deserves it. A common reaction from battle survivors. The medications are to help her, as a Martian, to survive her time with the much more significant gravity on Earth (although not ALL of them were fully explained). Gunny asks Martens (Peter Outerbridge) what Earth is like, and interestingly, he mentions that the ocean (and Earth) is dirty and has a stench. This would definitely be the impression of people who live in a far cleaner and sterile surroundings. The earth is a messy place. Martens says that it’s one more thing Earth takes for granted. When they land, even Martens is breathless. They exit the ship and stagger the short distance into the Martian compound. Gunny sees a seagull (and she has deliberately left her sunglasses behind).

Avasarala (Shohreh Agdashloo) checks on the status of the Arbogast, sent to check on Venus. Not sure that is such a clever idea. Playing with Venus is playing with fire. She discusses this with Errinwright (Shawn Doyle), and Cotyar (Nick Tarabay) is in the room. Errinwright confirms that he has been receiving information, which he has kept from Avasarala. She suggests she’d like to hear this, as well, but Errinwright says she needs to focus on diplomacy with Mars. After Errinwright leaves, Cotyar asks if Avasarala really believes that Errinwright hasn’t had any contact with JP Mao, and she reminds him that it’s HIS job. He says they are being very quiet and also, that it would be helpful to have information on the Arbogast. She says that’s why she has an inside man. (Side note….Avasarala’s jewelry is so on point and gorgeous…).

On the Arbogast, Col. Janus (Conrad Pla) is clearly annoyed with the “insider” that Avasarala has placed on the ship, Dr. Iturbi (Ted Whittall). They wrangle a bit before an officer detects a Martian ship, which was cloaked. Janus tells Iturbi that when he was young, he thought stars were magic, but then he grew up and learned science.

Holden checks in with Alex (Cas Anvar) and reminds Alex to keep an eye out, which of course Alex was going to do. On the Weeping Somnambulist, Melissa still thinks that the Roci crew people are there to steal the supplies. Naomi (Dominique Tipper) tries to reassure her the supplies will get where they are supposed to but Melissa doesn’t believe her and calls her a Welwalla. It looks like Melissa is wearing some aged uniform (UN?).

Praxidike (Terry Chen) records a message for Doris’ cousin to let them know that she died, but the message wouldn’t send. Prax calls Amos. When Amos finally arrives, Prax says he wants to send the message, but Amos says he can’t. Prax asks if he is a prisoner, and Amos says no. Prax says that he has a right to know why he can’t send the message and he isn’t going anywhere unless he’s told why.

On Earth, negotiations begin, and especially given our current political turmoil, the jockeying for position is literally nauseating, but effective. Earth makes it clear they had the upper hand in locating where they would conduct negotiations. Mars says it doesn’t matter because they are tougher than shit. Avasarala says they should take a moment to remember the loss of lives and they both poke at each other. Errinwright shocks Avasarala by interrupting this solemn moment WAY too early. He wants to get down to brass tacks. One thing Errinwright is not, is subtle.

On the Arbogast, Dr. Iturbi and Janus discuss their concern over what the Martians are doing there. Dr. Iturbi can’t imagine that the Mars ship would do anything to them. Janus disagrees, showing  how mad they are that Mars destroyed several ships and killed over 500 people. The crew looks angry too.

Holden explains to Prax that his daughter was taken by Dr. Strickland prior to the mirror coming down, and they think if they can find him, they will find her. Prax doesn’t believe that they care about his daughter (but Amos clearly does). Amos has told Prax about the Protomolecule (the rest of the crew is shocked, but Amos said that since Prax was helping them, they owed it to him to be straight about what was happening.) Prax explained that Dr. Strickland helped keep his daughter alive and that she has a rare genetic disorder. The crew doesn’t think this is a coincidence. Prax asks how they will find anyone because Ganymede is in such disarray. They are going to wing it. They discuss that since they are going in on a ship that isn’t theirs, they will try to hitch a ride out, but if that doesn’t work, Alex will be lurking, will scoop them up and then max burn away, with a shitton of missiles being launched at them. Sounds like a plan.

On Earth, Bobbie takes her medication and prepares to make a presentation to the peace negotiators. There are some cool effects with the windows, which can be opaque, clear or mirror. Draper looks disoriented when the windows are clear. Bobbie is introduced to the diplomatic group, and tells her story. (And, Errinwright, as usual, is a pain in the ass). Earth disbelieves that Earth fired first. Bobbie’s reiteration is faithful UNTIL she gets to the line where she states that her team mistook a training exercise and that they fired without provocation or permission (because communications were down for everyone). Avasarala is observing this entire dialog like the highly trained hawk that she is, and she detects when Bobbie’s story strays from truth. Bobbie is a very loyal Martian, and is doing what she was commanded to do. Unfortunately, everyone has decided that Private Travis (Mpho Koaho) will be the fall guy for this disaster. But, Avasarala does not believe this is what really happened. Back in her room, Gunny goes wild at Martens, because she hadn’t realized they were going to pin this mess on the utterly innocent Travis. He says that they needed to do this. Errinwright discusses the information with Secretary General Sorrento-Gillis (Ted Atherton), who is thrilled and tells Errinwright to squeeze Mars for all they can get out of it. Avasarala notes that Travis was a perfect scapegoat. Errinwright recaps how this works out for everyone (but it makes the viewers ill and mad, rightfully so).

On the Weeping Somnabulist, Santichai and Melissa hold hands before they go to Ganymede. On the Roci, Alex has whipped up a batch of lasagna for the crew, and you can see the closeness between him and Amos. The team arms itself. They separate and the Weeping Somnambulist heads off to its mission, and the Roci parts ways.

The negotiations continue, with Earth pressing Mars for all its worth. Already paying for a lot, Mars agrees to pay for everything if it can get full authority over Ganymede. Errinwright presses for a statement accepting responsibility, but Mars balks at that. Just as they are about to conclude the session, Avasarala insists upon speaking to Draper again. Avasarala points out that service on Mars is compulsory and asks Draper if she would still serve if it wasn’t so. Draper says she would to achieve the vision of another Earth on Mars. Avasarala notes that a huge amount of Earthers get basic assistance and clarifies that they aren’t lazy, there just aren’t enough opportunities for them to be productive. She notes that Travis’ parents gave up everything. Bobbie acknowledges that Travis was one of her best soldiers. Avasarala asks if Bobbie really believes that Travis would panic or give up everything that was sacrificed for petty revenge. Bobbie becomes very uncomfortable and confused. Bobbie starts to explain about Blue Goo Man, but she’s interrupted by Martens. Avasarala presses, and the lead Martian negotiator, Korshunov (Jeff Seymour) VERY CLEVERLY tells Bobbie “Do as you’ve been instructed,” which of course has TWO meanings. Respond to Avasarala, but make sure it’s the story you were told to tell. Bobbie chokes it down and blames Travis, because she is a loyal Martian marine.

The irony is that Mars wanted control of Ganymede and, by paying for everything, thought it would get it. They went into this negotiation with that express objective. Avasarala sees this, but Errinwright and Sorrento-Gillis don’t have a clue that while they think they’ve won in this negotiation, they’ve actually LOST.

Earth has actually lost, they just don’t know it yet

The Arbogast notes that the Martians are matching every move they make. Dr. Iturbi shows the Drake equation trying to make a point of what communication or lack of communication with other sentient beings could involve. He’s suggesting that maybe they are deliberately not communicating. Janus doesn’t even really seem to believe there are aliens, and accuses Iturbi of more magical thinking. But, the Drake equation math is on Iturbi’s side. The ship finally reaches orbit and a location where they can scan the Eros impact, and the information is stunning. Iturbi transmits this to Avasarala and notes that what is being accomplished should be impossible. Avasarala notes that just like with an entity on Ganymede without a space suit, this changes everything.

On the Roci, Alex talks to both the moon Ganymede and the Roci. Ganymede is now under Martian control. Santichai tells the crew that the shakedown when they land is perfectly normal. It bugs Holden, but Melissa says she doesn’t want them doing ANYTHING. Leaving the Weeping Somnambulist, Amos and Holden observe armed thugs entering the ship. There’s no way they are going to let the thugs get away with the shakedown. The thugs are so greedy they want the whole shipment and also want the ship, too. Holden and Amos come in to rescue the crew. It doesn’t go well. Although they take out the thugs, unfortunately, Santichai is killed and Melissa goes wild. Although it’s clear that it was NOT the Roci Crew’s fault, Holden always internalizes responsibility for bad shit. It’s sort of part of his DNA.

Grade: A-

As usual, a rewatch is invaluable. Watching once gives the broad strokes, but this show is full of subtlety, easily missed, particularly if viewers live tweet. My recommendation is to watch twice. At a minimum, make sure you watch this show carefully at least once. This episode was all about people being short-sighted. Errinwright and Sorrento-Gillis don’t fully grasp what is going on, and Janus doesn’t understand what is happening on Venus. People’s limited views have really significant impact and this is setting up the continuing storyline. In the meantime, large swaths of people are impacted by events which have been set in motion. I’m looking forward to seeing what action Avasarala will take in reaction to her clear disbelief in Bobbie’s story AND her concern over what is being observed on Venus. Also, what will the crew find out on Ganymede?

Next episode: “Cascade” airs on Wednesday, March 29 at 10 pm on Syfy.

The Expanse (S02E09) “The Weeping Somnambulist” In general, I have very few complaints about the adaptation of the novels to the TV show.