#who went unchallenged and continues to go unchallenged by many because of the power he wields and the fear he instills in others | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

project-rebirth · 3 years

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A Certain Irregular Mental Academy

Prologue - Reality Assimilation: New_york_disaster.

10 years ago, May 2nd, New York City, 3:27 PM

May 2nd was nothing more than an unremarkable day.

In the ever busy city that was New York, this day was as normal and average as the previous, and there was the expectation that the proceeding days after it would be the same. Every one was living out their own lives, free of the dangers that were lurking in the shadows.

Several children were playing in Central Park, a business man was getting off of work early, several politicians were in a meeting inside a building talking about public security, and a traveling business man had just gotten on a plane which took off and was now on its way back to japan, all so he could return to his wife and son.

It truly was an unremarkable day.

But within the next instant, that all changed.

A tremendous sound resounded through the air, followed by a blinding flash of light. The light was so radiant, it was even brighter than the sun itself. But those who were not in the immediate area, safe from such a light like the japanese businessman realized one thing and a fitting term for such settled on their minds before it was even revealed through the smoke.

Destruction.

A section of NYC had been utterly devastated by an explosion of great size. From that alone, one could already tell the number of casualties was going to be tremendous. There were not that many people that could have survived such an event in the immediate area.

The man, one Kamijou Touya was thankful that he was on a plane heading back to japan when he did. He had almost missed his flight and even though the airport he had gone to was away from the blast site, there was no telling what could have happened to him if he remained there for any longer.

The children that were playing in central park was not that lucky.

They were caught in the blast, but did not suffer a instant death like those in the epicenter. Those people had had their bodies burned by the flames, charred to a crisp while some were fortunate enough to only get a fatal burn, others were hit by shrapnel from buildings and other objects that pierced through their bodies, and then there were those who were completely blown away, landing on a tree or other object that either fatally injured them or had killed them on the spot due to the nature of the injuries.

A girl, age 7 and Japanese as well, probably was the lucky one out of everyone there. She had burns, cuts and bruises all over her body, but she had not suffered extremely severe wounds or died instantly. She laid on the ground, unable to comprehend what had happened, unable to even scream in pain as her mind had not been able to process the event that had occured so suddenly.

Only a few moments later did she scream, but not out of pain from the state of her own body, but rather from seeing the state that her parents, her friends and their parents were currently in.

Their bodies were unrecognizable.

Her screams were loud and haunting, but it was only one of many that were crying out for someone to save them.

The businessman that got off work and the politicians were all killed in explosion, as they were in the immediate area. At the end of the day, this was a great disaster that New York had not seen since the fall of the World Trade Centre, a fact that many thought would not have to live through again. At the end of it all, over 678,000 people were killed in the explosion, and 1,010 were injured, however most of those people had died as well due to blood loss.

But this wasn't just an accident.

At the end of the day, American politicians on both the Liberal and Conservative parties blamed the disaster on Syria, who they believed had planted a bomb to kill the politicians who were meeting at the time in Ground Zero, which not only led to their deaths but the deaths of many others who were unrelated.

Some felt that World War 3 would have started then and there, however in the end, the result was a war constrained only to the United States and Syria which was devastating in its own right. The results of that war was still being felt in that region to this very day.

But in reality, this had nothing to do with Syria. They were merely the scapegoat for such a disaster because the relations between the two nations was rocky at the time.

No. This event had far more reaching consequences than what was told to the public.

On that same day, an incident occured on the other side of the world. Over in japan, there was Academy City, a landlocked sovereign city-state whose territory consists of a walled enclave within the Tokyo Metropolitan Employment Area. It is a city of several schools and institutions of higher learning from kindergarten to university level that learn side-by-side along with the scientists who research on psychic powers and higher technology, the latter being one of the primary reasons for its establishment. It is the most advanced city in the world and its technology is said to be 20 or 30 years ahead of the world. It stood at the top of the world of science and technology as a result and has remained virtually unchallenged, even with the Romefeller Family and their many private institutions among others being competitors.

But Academy City had not avoided its own disaster.

This was not as bloody or destructive as the event in New York, but it was concerning in its own right. That day to Academy City had been known as Dark Thursday.

It was an event that caused the city to enter a citywide blackout, causing all systems to go dark, and to add on that, every esper who was in the city, regardless of level or status had entered a coma that lasted for 24 hours straight. To this day, officials had no idea how this happened and as a result, urban legend enthusiasts and conspiracy theorists had talked about both incidents on the internet. Some believe the NYC disaster and Dark Thursday were unrelated, that they were two separate incidents that happened at the same time, but some believed that there was a connection.

And although that was the case, no one was closer to the truth whatsoever.

Except one person.

Yes.

The disaster was not caused by Syria as the world believed, and Dark Thursday was not just a random spontaneous event that happened at the same time. The disaster was caused by one person who lived in Academy City,

His name is---

***

"Kihara Eiichiro-kun."

The cute looking teacher in a classroom of Nagatenjouki Academy called out, the name of the student garnering recognition from those inside. They of course knew who he was --- who didn't? As far as everyone there was concerned, he was a genius in every sense of the word. He was technically brilliant enough that he did not need to go to school, however he chose to do so anyway.

But that genius student was no where to be found.

"Eh? Where's Eiichiro-kun?"

The teacher asked, using a less formal way of addressing him. That would have raised some eyebrows in other classes, but this was normal here.

"Ah! Y'know, he did say something about taking the day off! Something about working on a project?"

"Is that so? Haaa, I suppose it's fine then..."

The red haired girl's comment caused the teacher to sigh. Of course, the boy in question did have excused absences due to projects he was undertaking, so this was not out of the ordinary as far as he was concerned. Still, it couldn't be helped and the class continued about its day.

But speaking of which, where was Kihara Eiichiro?

***

The genius was currently in his laboratory in District 19.

It was where he undertook more of his experiments which primarily consisted of himself as a test subject. He was a bit strange as far as espers went and even stranger as far as Kiharas were, partly due to his nature as a humane scientist. He refused to take part in experiments that violated the rights of other human beings, and it was because of his stance on this that he was shunned by most members of that twisted "family". Only those like Kihara Noukan were among the few that could tolerate him.

It was currently Janurary 25th, a Thursday. Indeed, thursdays gave Eiichiro a sour feeling due to the event it was linked to 10 years ago. He was the cause of Dark Thursday and the Cataclysm of New York due to an experiment he was undertaking at the time. Of course, no one save for the Board Chairman, the Board of Directors and most of the Kiharas knew that it was Eiichiro who had done this, but even so, it didn't matter that much.

Since that day, he had sworne that he would never experiment on anyone ever again, that he would only experiment on himself and himself alone. He didn't want for anything like that to happen again.

Of course, Academy City had been recently rocked with incident after incident, the more notable ones being December 23rd, or the Red Moon Sky Event, an incident that resulted in many deaths, injured civilians and personal, and trillions of yen in damages. It was officially explained as an Esper going rouge but the similarities between that and the Cataclysm of New York was stark. It gave Eiichiro a bad feeling.

And then there was the event that happened on the 21st of this month, ust a few days ago where bizarre creatures were rampaging about, along with a tremendous explosion that had been felt throughout the world, another event that shook the world to its core. The fact was these sorts of incidents on the scale of what was happening 10 years ago and in World War 3 did not sit well with Kihara Eiichiro at all. Something was coming, and it was only a matter of time before that something made itself known.

"...."

But perhaps the most startling thing for him was the fact that something within him was...changed. To put it simply, he had something he did not have before.

A strange power in his right hand.

This power had the ability to send things somewhere, but where he did not know. All he knew was that he had this power and he had to learn how to use it, to understand it before doing anything else. One wrong move, and this power would send someone to a place they could never return from.

But despite not knowing of its origins or nature, one name came into his mind. It was a name that he felt was fitting for such a power.

"....World Rejector. I've read about a similar power confined in the right hand of another, but this is on a completely different level."

Kihara Eiichiro remarked, staring at the hand which held such a power.

These were not normal times.

There was much to be done in terms of researching and investigating.

So he would do it. As a researcher of his own standing, he had to look into this.

"I suppose this is where my secondary role as an investigator also begins."

---

A Certain Irregular Mental Academy

@tetsuwan-atom @xbloodsoakedx @musexcongregation @graceful-cure-swan @strykingback

#A Certain Irregular Mental Academy (Main Verse)#The One Who Wields Magic and Science // Kihara Eiichiro

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96thdayofrage · 3 years

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How the Taliban surge exposed Pentagon's lies

Western politicians and media colluded in duping their publics into believing Afghanistan was a 'winnable war'

The real explanation for the Taliban's 'surprise' success is that western publics were being duped all along

A month ago, as the US army prepared to end the 20-year occupation of Afghanistan and hand over responsibility to local security forces it had armed and trained, maps showed small, relatively isolated pockets of Taliban control.

At the weekend, the Islamist fighters marched unchallenged into Afghanistan's capital, Kabul, bringing almost the entire country under their thumb. US intelligence assessments that it would take the Taliban up to three months to capture Afghanistan's capital proved wildly inaccurate.

It took a few days.

Foreign nationals were left scrambling to Kabul's airport while American officials were hurriedly evacuated by helicopter, echoing the fall of Saigon in 1975, when US embassy staff were chased out of South Vietnam after years of a similarly failed war.

On Sunday, Afghan President Ashraf Ghani issued a statement that he had fled the country – reportedly in a helicopter stuffed with cash – to "avoid bloodshed". But all the evidence indicates his corrupt security forces were never in a position to offer serious resistance to a Taliban takeover.

Jumping ship

The speed with which the Taliban have re-established their hold on a country that was supposedly being reconstructed as some kind of western-style liberal democracy is astonishing. Or, at least, it is to those who believed that US and British military commanders, western politicians and the mainstream media were being straight all this time.

The real explanation for the Taliban's "surprise" success is that western publics were being duped all along. The United States' longest war was doomed from the start. The corrupt, entirely unrepresentative members of the Kabul elite were always going to jump ship as soon as Washington stopped pumping in troops and treasure.

According to Forbes magazine, as much as $2 trillion was poured into Afghanistan over the past 20 years – or $300m a day. The truth is that western politicians and the media intentionally colluded in a fiction, selling yet another imperial "war" in a far-off land as a humanitarian intervention welcomed by the local population.

As Daniel Davis, a former US army lieutenant colonel and critic of the war, observed at the weekend: "Since early 2002, the war in Afghanistan never had a chance of succeeding."

Nonetheless, many politicians and commentators are still sounding the same, tired tune, castigating the Biden administration for "betraying" Afghanistan, as if the US had any right to be there in the first place – or as if more years of US meddling could turn things around.

Colonial chessboard

No one should have been shocked by the almost-instant collapse of an Afghan government and its security services that had been foisted on the country by the US. But it seems some are still credulous enough – even after the catastrophic lies that justified "interventions" in Iraq, Libya and Syria – to believe western foreign policy is driven by the desire to assist poor countries rather than use them as pawns on a global, colonial chessboard.

Afghans are no different from the rest of us. They don't like outsiders ruling over them. They don't like having political priorities imposed on them. And they don't like dying in someone else's power game.

If the fall of Kabul proves anything, it is that the US never had any allies in Afghanistan outside of a tiny elite that saw the chance to enrich itself, protected by US and British firepower and given an alibi by western liberals who assumed their own simplistic discourse about identity politics was ripe for export.

Yes, the Taliban will be bad news for Afghan women and girls, as well as men, who are concerned chiefly with maintaining personal freedom. But a tough conclusion western audiences may have to draw is that there are competing priorities for many Afghans who have suffered under decades of invasions and colonial interference.

Just as in Iraq, large segments of the population appear to be ready to forgo freedom in return for a guarantee of communal stability and personal safety. That was something a US client regime, looking to divert aid into its own pockets, was never going to guarantee. While the US was in charge, many tens of thousands of Afghans were killed. We will never know the true figure because their lives were considered cheap. Millions more Afghans were forced into exile.

Spoils of war

Nothing about western intervention in Afghanistan has been as it was portrayed. Those deceptions long predate the invasion by the US and UK in 2001, supposedly to hunt down Osama bin Laden and his al-Qaeda fighters following the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center.

Seen now, the attack on Afghanistan looks more like scene-setting, and a rationalisation, for the illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq that soon followed. Both served the neoconservative agenda of increasing the US footprint in the Middle East and upping the pressure on Iran.

The West has long pursued geostrategic interests in Afghanistan, given the country's value as a trade route and its role as a buffer against enemies gaining access to the Arabian Gulf. In the 19th century, the British and Russian empires used Afghanistan as the central arena for their manoeuvring in the so-called "Great Game".

Similar intrigues drove US-led efforts to expel the Soviet army after it invaded and occupied Afghanistan through the 1980s. Washington and Britain helped to finance, arm and train Islamist fighters, the mujahideen, that forced out the Red Army in 1989. The mujahideen went on to oust the country's secular, communist government.

After their victory against the Soviet army, the mujahideen leadership split, with some becoming little more than regional warlords. The country was plunged into a bloody civil war in which the mujahideen and warlords looted their way through the areas they conquered, often treating women and girls as the spoils of war.

Despite Washington officials' constant trumpeting of their concern at Taliban violations of women's rights – in what became an additional pretext for continuing the occupation – the US had shown no desire to tackle such abuses when they were committed by its own mujahideen allies.

Rule of the warlords

The Taliban emerged in the 1990s from religious schools in neighbouring Pakistan as civil war raged in Afghanistan. They vowed to end the corruption and insecurity felt by Afghans under the rule of the warlords and mujahideen, and unify the country under Islamic law.

They found support, especially in poor, rural areas that had suffered most from the bloodletting.

The subsequent "liberation" of Afghanistan by US and British forces returned the country, outside a fortified Kabul, to an even more complex havoc. Afghans were variously exposed to violence from warlords, the Taliban, the US military and its local proxies.

To much of the population, Hamid Karzai, a former mujahideen leader who became the first Afghan president installed by the US occupation regime, was just another plundering warlord, the strongest only because he was backed by US guns and warplanes.

It was telling that five weeks ago, asked about the prospects of the Taliban returning to power, Biden stated that "the likelihood there's going to be one unified government in Afghanistan controlling the whole country is highly unlikely". Not only was he wrong, but his remarks suggested that Washington ultimately preferred to keep Afghanistan weak and divided between feuding strongmen.

That was precisely the reason most Afghans wanted the US gone.

Washington poured at least $88bn into training and arming a 300,000-strong Afghan army and police force that evaporated in Kabul, the government's supposed stronghold at the first sight of the Taliban. American taxpayers will be right to ask why such phenomenal sums were wasted on pointless military theatre rather than invested back home.

The US military, private security contractors, and arms manufacturers fed at what became a bottomless trough, and in the process were ever more deeply invested in maintaining the fiction of a winnable war. An endless, futile occupation with no clear objective swelled their budgets and ensured the military-industrial complex grew ever richer and more powerful.

Every indication is that the same war-industry juggernaut will simply change course now, playing up threats from China, Iran and Russia, to justify the continuation of budget increases that would otherwise be under threat.

Missing in action

The motive for US officials and corporations to conspire in the grand deception is clear. But what about the mainstream media, the self-declared "fourth estate" and the public's supposed watchdog on abuses of state power? Why were they missing in action all this time?

It is not as though they did not have the information needed to expose the Pentagon's lies in Afghanistan, had they cared to. The clues were there, and even reported occasionally. But the media failed to sustain attention.

As far back as 2009, as the US was preparing a pointless surge of troops to tackle the Taliban, Karl Eikenberry, then ambassador to Afghanistan, sent a cable to secretary of state Hillary Clinton that was leaked to the New York Times. He wrote that additional US forces would only "delay the day when Afghans will take over". A decade later, the Washington Post published secret documents it called the Afghan Papers that highlighted the Pentagon's systematic deceptions and lying. The subtitle was "At war with the truth".

Bob Crowley, an army colonel who had advised US military commanders in Afghanistan, observed: "Every data point was altered to present the best picture possible." The Post concluded that the US government had made every effort to "deliberately mislead the public".

John Sopko, the special inspector general for Afghan reconstruction appointed by Congress in 2012, had long detailed the waste and corruption in Afghanistan and the dismal state of the Afghan forces. But these reports were ignored or quickly disappeared without trace, leaving the Pentagon free to peddle yet more lies.

Cheerleading, not scrutinising

In the summer, as he issued yet another report, Sopko made scathing comments about claims that lessons would be learnt: "Don't believe what you're told by the generals or the ambassadors or people in the administration saying we're never going to do this again. That's exactly what we said after Vietnam... Lo and behold, we did Iraq. And we did Afghanistan. We will do this again."

A good part of the reason the Pentagon can keep recycling its lies is because neither Congress or the media is holding it to account.

The US media have performed no better. In fact, they have had their own incentives to cheerlead rather than scrutinise recent wars. Not least, they benefit from the drama of war, as more viewers tune in, allowing them to hike their advertising rates.

The handful of companies that run the biggest TV channels, newspapers and websites in the US are also part of a network of transnational corporations whose relentless economic growth has been spurred on by the "war on terror" and the channelling of trillions of dollars from the public purse into corporate hands.

The cosy ties between the US media and the military are evident too in the endless parade of former Pentagon officials and retired generals who sit in TV studios commenting as "independent experts" and analysts on US wars. Their failures in Iraq, Libya and Syria have not apparently dented their credibility.

That rotten system was proudly on display again this week as the media uncritically shared the assessments of David Petraeus, the former US commander in Afghanistan. Although Petraeus shares an outsize chunk of responsibility for the past two decades of military failure and Pentagon deception, he called for the "might of the US military" to be restored for a final push against the Taliban.

Were it still possible to hold US officials to account, the Taliban's surge over the past few days would have silenced Petraeus and brought Washington's huge war scam crashing down.

Instead, the war industries will not even need to take a pause and regroup. They will carry on regardless, growing and prospering as though their defeat at the hands of the Taliban signifies nothing at all.

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (17/28) | 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: Bloom & Bone is back with a chapter in which many things happen... including, FINALLY, some Vassien moments. I hope you enjoy! You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️

When Elain takes them back to Prythian, they appear in the Spring Court, and Tamlin has to stop himself from gasping as he takes a deep breath. There is a rot at the center of Koschei’s world that permeates the very air.

Beside him, Lucien’s face reveals no expression.

“You’ll need to tell the High Lords that Beron is dead,” Lucien says, his voice far away. Tamlin feels his heart contract in his chest. He’s heard Lucien speak like this, when he smuggled his friend over the Spring Court border. After Beron killed Jessaminda.

“I would have left him to the monsters if the tethering spell hadn’t worked,” Elain says, reaching for him. He shrugs off her fingers.

“I wanted to kill him,” he says, burying his face in his hands. ”My own father, and I wanted to end his life.”

“He deserved it,” Tamlin says, his hand on Lucien’s shoulder, addressing him the way he would a soldier. He waits until the gold and russet eyes meet his own. “You did this world a favor, Lucien. He would have gladly destroyed us all for a bit more power. He would have killed everyone in that meeting.”

Lucien’s face is still and lost.

So Tamlin thinks of the things he needed to hear after the war with Hybern ended, when he was left all alone. The things that Lucien, who is the best of all of them, perhaps the only truly decent male in Prythian, deserves to hear.

“You will not feel as if you did the right thing now. Maybe you never will. Because there is some part of you that knows it is unnatural to kill. You will wonder if you are becoming a monster, doing what you’ve done. Perhaps feeling what you judge as too little regret. But this is the least monstrous part of you, Lucien Vanserra. You are a good and decent male. I have always known this to be true.”

Lucien’s shoulders heave, and he ducks his head to gasp and sigh into his hands. Tamlin squeezes his shoulder and does not look away.

When Lucien looks up at him, his eye is red and his cheek shines with tears. His golden eye whirls as if it is trying to take in a world it does not recognize.

“My brothers will be at each other’s throats. And my mother -- I am needed at the Autumn Court.”

A second later, he vanishes into nothing.

Before Tamlin can speak, Elain’s hand is on his arm.

“We need to go to the Summer Court,” she says, her voice infuriatingly calm. “Tarquin was about to offer you his army.”

The rage rises in him and for the first time in months, Tamlin cannot claw it back. The sight of Beron grabbing her, his knife against her neck, the monsters circling above, Elain in danger on every side, danger she created, all of these fears overcome him, transfigure into fury.

“You think we will not speak of what you just did?” The words are a roar in his throat, the syllables barely formed.

“You know that Beron would have ripped apart this world for just a little more power,” Elain says, trying to spit his own words back at him, but her voice trembles.

“You threw yourself into danger. You have no idea how powerful a High Lord is. Beron could have killed you with half a thought.” His voice is still rising, filling the hall like thunder.

“He had to deliver me alive to Koschei. He wasn’t going to kill me.” He can see the effort she is making, to keep her face calm, her voice level. He’s seen his courtiers wear this face, and that realization almost stops Tamlin in his tracks. But he cannot stop imagining her in Koschei’s grip, in Beron’s, Elain Archeron with her kind spirit and her wide lovely eyes and that golden power, great enough, he thinks, to create new worlds, but not the kind of magic that will defend her against a death-god.

“Koschei cannot have you under his power.”

“You cannot defeat Koschei either, High Lord.” Something has shuttered in her gaze, though her tone has not lost its courtly veneer. She crosses her arms over her chest, the gesture like the donning of armor. “You cannot lock me in some warded chamber and leave me to rot. You’re needed in the Summer Court, and I need to go to Feyre.”

The breath Tamlin takes is ragged and loud, and Elain’s eyes snag on his, tender for a second before they shutter once again.

“She and Rhysand went to defend the bone in case there was an attack on their court.”

“You can tell them at the meeting. They will return. A week ago, you barely trusted them. Or so you told me.”

“Rhysand just offered you an army.” He notes, in spite of himself, that she does not call him Rhys.

“An army I likely will not need.”

She scoffs at him, her eyes overbright. “You think Beron raised his sons to be any better than he is?”

“I will admit that I hoped Lucien would inherit the Autumn Court in the event of his father’s death. But even a war within their court will require troops.”

“And if the sons agree that an alliance with Koschei is worth the risks?”

“All the more reason to make sure that nobody can snatch you away.”

“I have been taken from this house and from the Summer Court at this meeting of the High Lords,” Elain says, lifting each finger with a frustrated little flick. “You act as if you can guarantee me safety, but that is a lie.”

“And you are waiting for me to give you a real excuse to run.” The rage rises in him again. He feels the claws at the backs of his hands, tearing through his skin. “What will you tell them at the Night Court? That the monster in the Spring Court was just as horrible as they’d expected?”

He stalks toward her, his eyes on hers. He wants to see the moment when her frustration turns to fear. Instead, she reaches out her hand, grabs his wrist.

“You’re going to want to calm yourself before the other High Lords see you,” she says, and then they are in the passageways.

“I am not your puppet,” he manages to say around the fangs in his mouth, the jaws of the beast.

“I have never wanted to rule,” she says, her fingers a brand at his wrist. “But I believed for too long that a man would save me. A good man, a powerful High Fae male. That all I needed to do was play the delicate damsel and I would have happiness and safety. I think my father died to give me that life. I hid in the garden for too long, Tamlin. I am not going to let Koschei force the crown on my head. And I will not let you lock me away, either. I will become a monster, and gladly, before either of those things happens to me.”

His pulse thrums against her grip.

“It is very easy to become a monster,” he says, and he bares his teeth at her.

The silence is laden as she considers him. She could leave him here, amidst the passageways, he thinks, no matter what she promised him. He would have to find another life entirely, if he could not find the door that leads to Prythian.

“Are you angry because you thought Beron could kill me, or because you thought I could kill him?”

Tamlin begins to feel what he felt in that other world, held by the High Lord who’d invaded his lands while he raced towards her, too far away to reach her, save her. And then his vision turns to the female before him, glittering in her golden gown, the light of her own power, amber and diamond and gold and pearls all fading in Elain’s own glow. Sometimes I think I can make whole worlds, she’d told him.

“I thought he would kill you,” he says. He’s answered a different question than the one she asked, and he sees that truth register on her features.

“Men like Beron always think that women like me are only useful as objects.”

He doesn’t correct the human wording. She’s saying something with those words which makes them a revelation, not a mistake.

He takes a breath.

“I am not an object either.”

She only looks at him, her brows furrowed.

“You have grown very used to commanding me,” he says, and when the anger fills him once again, edges his voice, it is a relief. It is better than seeing Beron holding Elain, intent on turning her into a corpse.

“You are too used to going unchallenged.”

“I have done everything you’ve asked of me and still you are waiting until the moment I give you an excuse to run.”

“After what happened to my sister--”

“How long will it take for me to prove to you that I will never treat a female that way again?”

“What if I tell you centuries?”

He takes a breath, forces himself to smirk at her, reminds himself that he is the High Lord of the Spring Court.

“Could you wait centuries, Elain?” She goes wide-eyed but does not speak, so Tamlin continues. “I have followed you into unknown worlds without question. You could leave me here and still I trust you and the power inside you, your command over yourself. I think you like having this power over me. But I am not yours to command, as if you were...”

There are three names he thinks of, all of them offensive and cruel in this moment: Amarantha, of course, but also Feyre, the false innocent she’d been when she’d returned to the Spring Court, driving it to ruin. And Tamlin thinks, without wanting to, of his own father, his vast cruelty like a trap always ready to clutch at anything that could hurt his youngest son.

“I am not whoever you think--” Elain starts to say, then stumbles forward, pressing her fingers into her forehead, her palms against her eyelids. Tamlin reaches for her, leaning her back against him so she can breathe easily. He holds her while her body tenses and shivers, when she groans and gasps over whatever she sees behind her eyelids.

Finally, she drops her hands and leans back against him, her head banging against his armor.

“Vassa and Eris,” she says, each word a gasp. “I saw them -- dead, and Koschei…”

“It was a vision,” he tells her, running his hands down her arms, hoping he’s right. “Do you think you can find them?”

“We need Lucien. And probably Rhys and Feyre, at least. With Eris missing and Beron dead, he could have run with Vassa. That amount of power would probably seem like enough to take on the world. We need to find them quickly and with all the strength we can muster.”

Tamlin realizes, in this moment, that he does not mind Elain telling him what to do. She’s right.

“Do you think you can make it to the Night Court?”

“Feyre will be there.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for you,” he says, shocked to realize that he means what he’s saying. Even if it means an eternity in these passageways.

Elain turns to face him, and for a moment something blazes in her expression, fierce and wanting, and she reaches out her hand, her thumb tracing the line of his cheek.

“I promise on my life that I’ll return,” she says, and then she disappears.

When Feyre and Rhys run to her, for a second Elain thinks they are attacking. It’s only when Feyre hugs her close that Elain lets out a breath.

“Beron is dead and I think that Vassa and Eris have escaped Koschei,” she says, as soon as Feyre has let go. “Did anyone come to steal the bone?”

“Everything is safe,” Rhys says, and she realizes he has not answered the question at the same time she sees the tiny drops of blood on the skin of his hands and face, which undoubtedly stain his black clothes as well. She wills her stomach to calm.

“Do you think you can winnow to Vassa and Eris if Lucien can track them?”

They stare at her and Elain realizes she’s torn through her story, barely caught her breath.

“I had a vision,” she says, “I saw Vassa and Eris dead, with Koschei looming over them, looking like he’d killed them. Eris was missing. You heard what Beron said at the meeting, who he’s in league with. If Beron sold him to Koschei and Eris is the High Lord of Autumn, with that power newly in him, he could believe that it’s enough to escape with Vassa.”

Feyre and Rhys exchange a look, and Elain feels her chances slipping away. Maybe she can find Lucien on her own, take them to Vassa afterwards, but against Koschei she can only disappear.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but if Eris is High Lord, isn’t it worth the trouble?” She does not mention Vassa, doesn’t want to hear her friend dismissed.

“How do you know that Beron is dead?” Feyre asks her, in a voice that is not sisterly but also not unkind.

“He grabbed me and I pulled him into another world. Lucien killed him. He’s figured out a tethering spell that will hold between worlds. That’s not important. But Beron is dead.”

“Where is his body?” Rhys asks.

“Eaten by monsters by now, I think.”

Rhys starts to respond, but Feyre nudges him with her shoulder.

“He tried to bring me to Koschei,” Elain says, crossing her arms. “I don’t care that he was a High Lord. I would have found a way to kill him if Lucien hadn’t.”

Rhys and Feyre exchange another look, but this time their incredulity is less intimidating.

“What is your plan?” Rhysand asks.

“We need to find them and keep Koschei from getting his hands on Eris and Vassa as quickly as possible. I don’t know if he’ll kill them or if he needs them for his own ends. Rhys, you can winnow us. Lucien should be able to help you track them and hone in on a location. And Feyre, your magic is a new thing entirely. Maybe you’ll distract Koschei. Or destroy him.”

At the light in her sister’s eyes, Elain is sure she’s said the right thing. She enjoys it for a second before she says, “Tamlin is waiting for us between worlds. He didn’t -- I mean, I didn’t, think you’d want to see him here.”

“You trust him?” her sister asks, and Elain wants to say we have no time for this conversation, but she cannot summon irritation in the face of the hurt and love in Feyre’s eyes.

She thinks about Tamlin’s anger, about the pain in his eyes. How it would’ve been so easy to fall into her old habits, to apologize and leave him with a little smile that would kindle desire in his eyes. Instead she’d stood firm, and now he waits for her, entirely at her mercy. There are a thousand things they still need to discuss and argue over, but the truth is clear to her, swift and sure as instinct.

“I trust him,” Elain tells Feyre, and then, “and I understand if you don’t. But it’s Koschei and we need all the help we can quickly assemble.”

Elain can’t read her sister’s expression, doesn’t know if this answer is enough or caused pain or has perhaps further convinced the Night Court of her monstrousness. But Feyre reaches out her hand to wind around Elain’s shoulder, turns to Rhysand.

“Take us to Lucien,” she says, calm and sure, the voice that Elain would be glad to follow even into the bloodiest battle.

“He’s at the Autumn Court,” Elain supplies, and Rhysand draws them into the dark.

Lucien finds his brothers first, their raised voices drawing him to the room where Beron receives formal guests. His mind still stutters on the past tense.

“Our father is dead,” he says as he walks inside the room, cutting through Ealars’ growl and Fionn’s shouting.

“How do you know?” Caelan asks, his voice too calm. He is bracing himself to hear that Lucien is the new High Lord, readying himself to attach.

His brothers all know the truth of his parentage, and still they all eye him now, not knowing if the mantle of the next High Lord has landed on their half-brother through some mystery only the Cauldron could explain.

These stares make it clear to Lucien that the power has descended on Eris. Any one of his brothers would have claimed the High Lordship in a heartbeat if they’d had confirmation that it was theirs.

Before he speaks, Lucien readies himself to throw a shield, reveal the hidden dimensions of his magic. And then he says:

“I know that Beron is dead because I killed him myself.”

Ealars lunges for him, and Lucien throws a bolt of fiery lightning close enough to singe his tunic.

When he opens his mouth to speak, Lucien is met by a wall of fire.

Beron tortured and tormented them all, but the treatment warped something inside these three brothers, making them hard and cruel and instilling a deep longing for his approval, even his love. In spite of everything, Lucien is grateful to have escaped it. Can only hope that Eris, at his core, has done the same.

The air is an inferno around him. Sighing, Lucien winnows to his mother’s chambers.

The High Lady of Autumn, crowned by her gilded hair and swathed in deep green velvet, is seated in front of her mirror, holding her gold and topaz necklace aside as she dabs a perfumed salve onto her collarbone, which is purpled and swollen from shoulder to shoulder. She does not look up at the sound of Lucien’s footsteps.

“Who hurt you?” Lucien asks, the words rough in his mouth, the tenderness he feels almost unbearable.

“It’s not important,” she says, concealing the bruise with a twist of her wrist, allowing the necklace to fall into place. Once again, Lucien wishes that her mother had the talent for healing.

He takes a breath to brace himself.

“He’s dead, Mother.”

In the mirror, her eyes go wide and for an instant, there is such hope in them that Lucien feels his heart fracture. Then she schools her features into the appropriate distress, her mouth into the shape of a gasp.

“I didn’t want to kill him. He threatened my friends. All the other High Lords.” As he speaks, he clasps one hand around the other so he does not reach for her, does not put her in a position to betray her feelings, because in spite of everything he knows and all his years of schemes and observations, he’s not sure how she’ll react to the news that he killed Beron. “He would have destroyed this world for more power, Mother.”

He thinks of Tamlin’s hand on his shoulder, a brace.

His mother turns away from the mirror, her eyes lit with tears. She extends her arms.

“Come here,” she says, and he’s not sure if her tone is bland from shock or from years of practice in his father’s court. Even still, not knowing, he ducks his head and embraces her.

For a few seconds, she only holds him close to her, one hand coming to cradle his head the way she has done since he was an infant. He is surrounded by her fragrance of amber and cinnamon, and for the first time, he is not afraid that Beron will appear to tear him out of his mother’s embrace, or punish her for showing such affection. Beron, who was never his father.

Finally, his mother whispers, “Which one of you is High Lord?”

“I think it’s Eris,” Lucien tells her, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone. His mother was the one who taught him how to scheme, after all, who taught him how to keep the tender parts of himself hidden. So of course she would never say thank you or I’m sorry or any of the other phrases he would most like to hear.

“Have you seen him?” she asks, her arms going stiff around him. She rises from her chair. “I’m worried that Beron--”

“I’ve seen everyone but Eris. They all knew that something had happened, but none of them have felt the power descend on them.”

“And you haven’t, either?”

He feels one side of his mouth rise, the mocking half-smile forming of its own accord.

“As much as I would love to rip this court from its foundations, Mother, you can trust that I would tell you if I were High Lord.”

She simultaneously rolls her eyes and reaches for him, squeezing his hand in both of hers.

“You should go to your father,” she says, her voice so low he has to stoop toward her to hear her clearly. “He will keep you safe.”

“You should go to him. Come with me.”

“It wouldn’t be safe for me,” she says, and Lucien wonders, seeing her too-bright eyes, if she really believes that, or if she’s just gotten used to using that reason for staying in the Autumn Court. Living under Beron’s rule. He’s wondered, sometimes, if the tenderness he feels to his mother was born out of desperation to have at least one loveable being in his life. If, under her sweetness, she isn’t just as calculating as the rest of the Autumn Court. But Lucien never allows himself to indulge these thoughts for very long.

“I’ll escort you,” he says, holding out a hand to winnow her, when the door bursts open, and Feyre and Elain Archeron dart into the room.

His mother’s eyes widen at the intrusion, her hands up to make a shield. At best, to his mother, it’s bad manners, the High Lady of the Night Court bursting into these inner chambers with her sister. At worst, it’s an invasion.

“Elain had a vision,” Feyre bursts out, before his mother can strike, while Elain gasps for breath beside her. “Koschei had Vassa and Eris, and we think they’re in danger. Rhys is across the building, trying to find you.”

“Apologies, Lady,” Elain offers, into the awkward silence, her breath still ragged as she drops into a curtsey, her heavy skirts shimmering around her. “Our mission is urgent and our time is short. We need Lucien to help us track them.”

At the mention of his name, the latest crisis breaks like a wave over Lucien.

“What happened in your vision, Elain?”

She bites her lips, her mouth a seam.

“What happened?” he asks again, taking a step toward her, not sure if he should be threatening or comforting. If Koschei manages to reclaim Eris, the future of the Autumn Court will be decades of war and bloodshed. If he manages to capture Vassa once again, if he harms her, Lucien is certain now that he will cleave the world in two.

“I had a vision of Koschei over Eris and Vassa’s dead bodies,” she says, the anguish in her voice so thick that he looks to her hands, to make sure she’s fully present in the room. “But even if we can prevent her death, we have to keep Vassa safe and out of his hands. Koschei wants to make her his queen. Give her control of this world.”

“You’ve been having visions again,” he says, surprised at the anger in his voice. He’s seen Elain every day for the past week, and she never thought to mention.

“I thought that it would hurt you more to hear the possibility. You’ve been doing everything you can, Lucien.” She rubs her knuckles at her eyes, her cosmetics smearing down her cheeks. “I will tell you everything when we have them both. As long as you can track them, we can find them.”

“I can’t winnow to Koschei,” he says, even as it occurs to him that Rhys is in the building, and why. If he uses the tethering spell, he can direct Rhys to the place where Eris’s magic has made itself known, stronger now with the High Lord’s mantle on his shoulders. Perhaps he can even detect Vassa, if his magic can be guided by his will. The two of them together a beacon, a tether. In moments, Vassa could be in his arms.

When he meets Elain’s eyes, he realizes that she’d already guessed at the way forward, believed he could do this, and his anger at her evaporates.

“Elain Archeron,” he says, just as Rhysand darts in the room, aiming a bow at the Lady of the Autumn Court, “I have no idea how anybody ever thought you were ornamental.”

She beams at him, says only, “I have to get Tamlin,” and disappears, the ripping sound of her passage between worlds so soft it could be the tearing of parchment.

“There’s no trace of her,” his mother says, turning from Lucien to Rhysand to Feyre with wide eyes.

“She has a particular gift,” Lucien tells her, not offering any more information on Elain’s powers, or the fact that she has, as promised, taken him to a dozen different worlds, though their visits have concentrated on Koschei’s original realm, quick trips which they spend scanning the sky for monsters and trying to learn everything they can about the workings of the death-lord’s magic.

He can tell from the twitching of their lips that Feyre and Rhys have other questions, but before they can ask, Elain reappears, holding Tamlin with one hand and reaching out with the other, as if she’s ready to ward off an attack. Though Lucien imagines that Rhysand is the greatest threat in the room, Elain’s eyes are on her sister, wide and pleading. And though Feyre does not smile, she also does not look away.

“Tether us, Lucien,” Elain says, and as soon as they are all bound, she pulls them away from the Autumn Court and into another world.

Tamlin tries not to fidget while Lucien, Rhysand, and Elain debate the last details of their mission, their voices echoing in the passageway between worlds. His part is simple: hold a shield against Koschei as long as he can. For once, he does not want to argue, and while he lets the killing calm descend on him, he follows the ebb and tide of their strategy as if it is a game among children.

Not wanting to be caught staring at the tiles at their feet or carvings on the doors that surround them, Tamlin looks instead at his companions, which is how he ends up meeting Feyre’s gaze. For a moment, his gut goes cold. And then he feels her in his mind, the dark warmth of her.

You will make sure my sister is unharmed, she says, the authority in that voice at odds with the soft little smile on her face.

Elain can take care of herself, he shoots back, and then, because it’s the truth, but I swear on my life that I will keep her from harm.

Around them, the strategy is decided with hesitant nods, but before they leave these passageways, before she leaves his mind, he tells Feyre, I am so sorry for all the harm I caused you.

Her blue-gray eyes go wide and she gives him the tiniest nod before she turns to Rhysand. His mind is empty of her presence.

There is no time for Tamlin to consider all the implications of what has just occurred, only the fact that he notices the absence of Feyre with no pain or guilt, the lightness in his body. He feels as if he could launch himself into the air from pure relief.

“So I will hold the shield, then?” he says to the group, returning himself to the moment.

“And transform into the beast if Koschei gets through,” Elain says, grave as a general despite her glimmering gown. He wishes she were wearing armor, that she was safe behind a thousand wards in some secret part of Prythian. But he knows that Elain would never agree to this, not when Vassa’s safety was on the line, when her abilities could help.

He reaches out and squeezes her fingers in his, hoping the gesture conveys what there is no time to say.

Lucien works his spell and they all gather around Elain. First there is a tear as they enter Prythian, and then darkness as Rhysand winnows them at Lucien’s direction.

They appear in a forest and at first Tamlin does not think they’re in the right world. The air is hot and the light is nearly red.

Then he realizes the trees around them are aflame.

“Do you see them?” Lucien mutters, barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

“Can you sense them?” Feyre asks, water blossoming between her hands, expanding until it is a bubble around them. “There has to be an end to this fire.”

“This is Eris’ magic. I can try and winnow us to its end,” Lucien says, and the world goes dark and roaring.

For a second, Tamlin glimpses an enormous lake, a mansion at its edge, sees Elain go pale and wide-eyed, whispers frantically to Lucien, and then they are in the darkness again, once again at the edge of the flames.

“Koschei spotted us,” Lucien mutters, and then, as if summoned by the words alone, the sorcerer is before them, grinning. Far from the lake where he should be bound.

“Thank you for--” he begins, but before he can start another one of his mocking speeches, before they’re transfixed and then caught, Tamlin slams his shield in place, forcing Koschei against the flames as Rhysand’s depthless night strengthens the blockade against the death-lord.

“I brought him,” Elain says, anguish in her voice, and despite the urgency of the moment, still Tamlin reaches for her, circles his wrist with his fingers, runs his thumb against the dip at the base of her palm.

“You are saving your friend,” he says, low so only she can hear it. “Go find Vassa.”

He hears her footsteps behind him, following Lucien into the trees, and it occurs to Tamlin that if Koschei breaks the shield and kills him, it will be all right. He will die saving his mate, helping her save her friend. He thinks Elain has always seen the possibility of a better world, a more beautiful one, and maybe now he is giving that world to her.

At that thought, he delves deep into his power and lets it move through him, green and golden, a thousand thunderstorms and a million leaves unfurling. The power of something new and dangerous, all possibility.

There is a sigh like rain and Feyre’s shield of water moves around them, another barrier against Koschei and Eris’ fire.

“How long do you think we can hold out against him?” Rhys asks, and Tamlin isn’t sure whether his drawl is a good or bad sign. He himself cannot feel even a flicker of Koschei’s power beyond their shield. But this does not comfort him.

“Koschei chooses his attacks precisely,” Tamlin says, and he is thinking of Elain, what will happen to her if Koschei breaks through. “He will wait until he thinks we’re flagging.”

“They’ve found Eris and Vassa,” Feyre says. Her voice is a little dazed. “But Elain’s mind is flickering. As if she has disappeared.”

As if she is trying to go to another world, but cannot.

I was the conduit, Melis had said. Elain was the key.

The knowledge washes over him in a wave of words that blare in his mind, echoing and damning. Koschei had chosen his retaliation with care. The death-lord had anticipated the possibility of a rescue mission, knew he could be outnumbered, overpowered. So he turned the rescued themselves into weapons.

He is just about to roar out his realization, insist that they go to Elain, who’s stuck in this world or worse, when everything goes black and roaring around him.

When Elain sees Vassa, she runs toward her, hands extended. Her friend does not look behind her, only sprints through the trees, trailing Eris, but despite the danger and desperation, Elain grins as she runs. Her friend is here. In the space of a few hurried steps, her friend will be safe.

She does not think about the clutch of Koschei’s magic, the way it clung to her when they winnowed from the lake. Tamlin’s magic had blasted her free. All she needs is a few more moments to put the plan in place. She’s seen what Tamlin’s magic can do to the monsters of Koschei’s world. With Rhys and Feyre, he’ll be all right, so long as she focuses on the plan, takes the necessary steps to save Vassa.

Rhys and Lucien had finally agreed to let her pull Vassa into the passageway between worlds, into a world at peace, and then back to Prythian. It was likelier that they’d lose Koschei this way. At a minimum it would be harder for him to guess each point on their journey. She has tried not to think of the marketplace she visited with Tamlin, the taste of those pastries and the sound of his breathing in the room at the inn, or how it would be to experience that world with Vassa. She does not want to give Koschei the opportunity to see the destination in her mind, this place where they’ll be safe.

She can hear Lucien behind her, the way he says Vassa’s name with such hope and desperation, and speeds her pace, willing herself to close the gap.

Then Vassa is only a few steps ahead of her, and Elain is close enough to call her name.

The Queen of Scythia stops and turns, and Vassa’s blue eyes are bright as sapphires. Behind her, the sound of Eris’ steps goes silent.

“He said nobody would come for me,” she says, looking first at Elain and then over her shoulder, at Lucien. Her voice is small and hesitant and lonely, the voice of a lost child, and hearing it makes something crack in Elain’s chest.

“I spent every minute trying to rescue you,” Lucien says, closing the gap between them, taking her hand gently in his. “I am sorry that it took us this long.”

There is something wrong, Elain thinks, with the tears on Vassa’s face. They do not look quite joyful. It is an expression she’d seen on the faces of women in ballrooms when a man they did not love made a proposal: a pain held back as much as their strength would allow.

Before she can say anything, Eris strides toward them.

“No pretty declaration for me, brother?” he drawls.

Power rises from him like heat from a forge, great waves of magic that clearly mark his presence.

As much as she would like to explain everything to Vassa, ask Eris a hundred questions, Eris’ power alone makes them easy targets for Koschei.

“We need to get them out of here,” she says to Lucien. He does not look away from Vassa, but he nods.

“Where are you taking us?” Eris asks, finally in arm’s reach, close enough for Elain to pull him into another world. She will hold them and Lucien will use the tether and in seconds they will all be safe.

“It’s safer if you don’t know,” Elain says, all confidence.

Except that when she touches Vassa, the queen begins to scream. And though Eris is silent, the set of his jaw betrays the fact that he’s in pain that can hardly be borne.

“Are you sure this will work?” she asks Lucien, but he nods, completes the tether, and so Elain reaches out with her power and concentrates on the passageway, the place between worlds.

The trees around them do not become the carved doors.

Vassa’s screams grow louder.

Behind them, there’s the sound of fire in the trees.

Elain tries again. She thinks about the marketplace, the pastry and all the spices she cannot name, the sound of the lilting unknown language, the desert sand sticking to her skin.

They do not move from this world.

She tries again, frantic now, trying to calm her mind, drown out Vassa’s screams, tries not to think about the fact that they sound so similar to the way she sounded when Koschei held her, took her captive once again. She will save her friend. She will keep the Autumn Court from falling into civil war. She will take them out of this world. She will take them into a world at peace. And Vassa will stop screaming, and maybe there will be time for pastries before they return to Prythian, to the rest of their long and boring and pleasant lives.

There is a voice in her mind.

We’re coming, Feyre says, and Elain cannot make herself understand what it means, that her sister is abandoning the shield against Koschei. She cannot believe that they will not succeed. She had always imagined that, with all she’s learned, she would be able to save Vassa.

But Vassa’s screams have turned into thick sobs, and the human queen pulls against Elain’s grip, away from Lucien’s arm. As if she cannot bear their touch.

Something is badly wrong.

There’s the sound of roaring and Rhys, Feyre, and Tamlin appear in the clearing.

“Take them out of here,” Lucien says, handing Vassa and Eris to Rhys. Their faces visibly relax, and then Rhys reaches for the rest of them, and they disappear into the darkness.

Since Vassa started running into the trees, the world around her has been a dreamlike blur of pain and fear and fury. Her feet began to hurt so quickly, her lungs burning with exertion and ashes, and Vassa knows, even as she follows behind Eris, that she is going to die today.

This thought should make her fall to the ground, wailing. But Vassa was born to rule over Scythia, and the mere thought that she will not have a chance to return to the people she loves absolutely infuriates her, fills her lungs with a rage so potent that it seems to give her wings.

It’s the thought that she will die without seeing Lucien that makes Vassa want to crumple to her knees, and so she forces him out of her mind, trains her eyes on his brother and her mind on fury.

Eventually, Eris runs out of fire, but he barely slows his pace. He does not speak to her, and Vassa wonders if he’s regretting bringing her along.

It’s at this point that the harness of Koschei’s spell begins to pull at her shoulders.

“He knows we’ve run,” Vassa calls out, her hands scrabbling to the places where the spell pulls, even though she knows it isn’t any use.

“He knew from the moment we started running,” Eris says, reaching out his arm and hauling her forward, his strength incredible. She always forgets what faeries are capable of, always assumes she’s just as strong as they are. “You need to stop talking.”

They run in silence for a time that feels long but is probably too short. Eventually even Eris’ strength gives way, his hand falling out of her grip. Her lungs crumple like paper inside her, her feet and shoulders screaming with the effort required to keep running.

There are footsteps behind them. Vassa tries to surge forward.

Then she hears the voices calling her name.

She knows those voices.

Lucien.

Elain.

But Eris keeps running, and doesn’t Koschei have the power to read minds? She does not want to turn around, to look, but her body is tired and rage has turned into a dangerous hope.

Vassa stops her feet. She turns around.

In the clearing behind her is Lucien, golden as a perfect sunset, his face radiant when he sees her.

I never stopped trying to rescue you, he tells her. The words engrave themselves on her mind.

And then he touches her, and the world erupts into flame, burning Vassa’s skin, her throat, scalding her from inside. Still she can feel the pressure of those long fingers on her wrist, the way you hold a person you cannot bear to lose. Exactly the way she will hold him when the fire passes.

So Vassa does not cry out, tries to hold onto her smile, the joy of her rescue, until Elain places her hands on Vassa, and the pain becomes unbearable, worse than any of Koschei’s torment. She feels like she is being split into pieces, and yet Elain’s eyes are so gentle, so concerned, and Vassa reminds herself that in spite of her glittering raiment, this is the girl who spent her days in the gardens of the Spring Court so that no flower would suffer the injustice of an insufficient bloom. She reminds herself that Elain would never harm her. That Lucien would never let her experience pain unless it was absolutely necessary.

Vassa can stop herself from running from them, but she cannot stop her throat from screaming, not when the pain escalates in jagged throbs that split her body like parchment torn roughly from its bindings. On her shoulders, around her heart, Koschei’s spell cleaves her like a sword, bone and sinew coming undone.

She does not know how much longer she can bear this pain.

But then there are other hands on her, a High Fae lord who smells of jasmine but whose name Vassa can no longer summon, and as the world goes black, all Vassa can think is that wherever she is going, at least the pain itself has been scared away.

When she arrives in the Spring Court, she hears the urgent whispers, the politicking and strategizing, but Vassa only looks at the marble under her feet, smells the fragrance on the air. Elain used to talk about the way that a gardener must consider the scent of the garden, in order to give visitors the most pleasant experience. She thinks that if these are her last moments, before Koschei captures her, or she has to run for her life, or that tormenting pain returns, at least there was a moment of beauty. This cool, smooth marble whose texture is so evident even in the dim candlelight, the scent of a garden at night, the flowers distilled by dew.

Lucien steps away from the group. His fingertips are on her shoulder, his arm across her back. Each touch is at once a band of fire and intoxicating, so that Vassa can hardly help herself from pressing her body against his, letting the fire consume her utterly.

Instead she follows where he leads her, up the stairs from the great hall, through the hallways, into the room she occupied when she resided at the Spring Court. She does not move from the circle of his arm, not even when tears fall down her cheeks from the onslaught of pain. Instead, she fits her fingers around the doorknob and lets him lead her inside.

The bed where they slept together is neatly made again, and if Vassa breathes deeply she can almost convince herself that she can detect his scent, the sandalwood and lemon and his sunwarmed skin. In this room, the only ghosts are pleasant ones, all those stolen nighttime hours together.

Lucien leads her slowly to the bed, pulls back the quilts. She falls onto the mattress, her body overwhelmed by its softness and the relief of his no longer touching her.

He dips down as if to kiss her and Vassa braces herself even as she angles her chin towards him to give him better access to her lips.

“It hurts you when we touch, doesn’t it?” His murmur is softer than a whisper.

“Not just you,” Vassa says, unable to say a simple yes. She wishes badly that she had enough strength in her to lie. “When Elain touched me, I felt as if I were being pulled to pieces.”

“I wish you would have told me,” he says, and she thinks that all her life, whether it is hours or decades that remain to her, she will never forget the fact that in this moment he did not blame her, did not complain about her silence, that he even made his eyes gentle so that Vassa would remember that she was finally safe. “I think that Koschei made changes to your binding spell. But I’ve learned about his magic. I swear to you that you will not have to live with this pain.”

Her shoulders ache, but Vassa lifts herself from the bed anyway. She cannot bear Lucien looming over her prone form, as if she is already a corpse.

“I believe you,” she says, and reaches her hand toward him. “Now please kiss me, before we have to speak of all the things that are wrong with this world and--”

His lips on hers, soft and full, her fingers tangling in the length of his hair, make Vassa forget about the pain that rumbles through her. All she can think is finally and Lucien and home.

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obsidianarchives · 4 years

Text

Ms. Granger, Have a Biscuit

Hermione walked cautiously down the corridor towards Professor McGonagall’s office, keeping an eye out for any loose fireworks or dungbomb odors in the air. In the days since Fred and George Weasley made their grand exit from Hogwarts School, the castle had become something of an obstacle course. The students, united in their efforts to rebel against Umbridge’s stifling regime, caused chaos whenever there was opportunity and even Hermione, who generally would have found the disruptions to learning irritating, could not fault her classmates these small victories. She herself had been feeling rather hopeless and discouraged since the disbanding of the D.A. and Dumbledore’s sudden departure; her desire to continue taking critical action contrasted with her fear of grave consequences not just for herself but her friends and teachers. Hermione was particularly concerned for Professor McGonagall, who Umbridge despised because of her closeness to Dumbledore and, Hermione suspected, because of the respect McGonagall earned from students at the school.

Professor McGonagall’s office door was slightly ajar when Hermione arrived, but she knocked out of courtesy to announce her arrival. Hermione meant for the knock to be small, but its force was enough to push the door open rather quickly and she caught a glimpse of the melancholy gaze on Professor McGonagall’s face before breaking out of her silent meditation to meet Hermione’s eyes.

“Ah, Ms. Granger,” she said, motioning to the chair in front of her desk, “you’re fairly early.”

“I’m, uh, sorry Professor,” Hermione blushed, “I just thought, well, it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra time.”

“I quite understand,” McGonagall nodded. “These conversations can cause quite a bit of anxiety even in the most promising students.”

Hermione sighed in relief at McGonagall’s words. Hearing validation of the anxiety she was feeling somehow made it less crippling in the moment. It wasn’t until that moment that Hermione recognized the longing she’d felt for an opportunity to confide openly to her Head of House as she had done regularly in years past, back when the teachers were not operating under stupid decrees that banned them from relationship building with students. Professor McGonagall would not laugh at the concern that seemed to loom larger in Hermione’s mind with every career pamphlet she read — What if there was no place for her in the wizarding world beyond Hogwarts? What if she became so distracted by the Order’s fight against Voldemort, who was steadily gaining power unchallenged by the Ministry, to focus on her exams? What if Dolores Umbridge remained High Inquisitor for the next two years and found a way to expel Harry, Hermione, and Ron? What if, and Hermione felt the anguish of her shortsightedness, Marietta’s parents decided to push for more information into her condition; would Hermione be expelled or even imprisoned? Marietta did have Ministry connections.

Professor McGonagall’s next words interrupted Hermione’s thoughts, “Generally, this meeting time is used to help students determine which subjects they will continue at N.E.W.T. level based on their long term interests. As I suspect you will be continuing with all of your current subjects, our meeting can focus more on which of the many careers available to you best fit your character and aptitude.”

“I don’t know which ones those would be,” Hermione replied glumly. “Most jobs I don’t much fancy and even those I might be keen on, well, I don’t know how well I would do.”

“Nonsense, Ms. Granger,” McGonagall snapped, jolting Hermione a bit. “You’ve always had top marks in all your classes. I’m sure every teacher here expects great things from you as I do. Now, you’re a natural leader and level headed girl; have you considered joining the Ministry at all?”

Hermione had, of course, considered the Ministry of Magic but thought those jobs would have been more appealing to her in first year, before interacting with the likes of Fudge, Barty Crouch Sr., and Professor Umbridge.

McGonagall seemed to glean some of Hermione’s thought patterns. Leaning forward on the desk and dropping her voice a bit, McGonagall added, “They’re not all like Umbridge you know.” She sat back in her seat again adding, “Consider Arthur Weasley. There are plenty of good and moral people in the Ministry working hard to do what's right and we always need more.”

Hermione’s hesitation remained in place though its root had changed. She felt her head drop just slightly so that she was no longer looking McGonagall in the eyes. Was she a good and moral person? There was so much Professor McGonagall didn’t know. Everyone now knew that Hermione had jinxed Marietta, but how would McGonagall respond if she found out Hermione had blackmailed Rita Skeeter for a year? Hermione came into Hogwarts excited to learn and ready to fully meet expectations by following all rules. Now, in her fifth year, it seemed not a week went by without her taking part in the breaking of school rules and Ministry laws. Hermione was anxious to change the subject. She stared at the desk between she and the Professor and said conversationally, “Last year Barty Crouch Jr., when we still thought he was Moody, said I would make a good Auror.”

“And so you would,” replied Professor McGonagall, matching Hermione’s cool tone. Then she added, “but I don’t know that I’ve seen anything from you to suggest interest in that career path.” Without waiting for Hermione to respond, McGonagall went on, “With your knowledge, practical skills, and organization, you could be a brilliant Professor. It's hard to say if there will be any open positions here at Hogwarts when you graduate, but there is always the opportunity to teach internationally as well. Taking into account Professor Dumbledore’s connections with Beauxbatons and my own connections with Uagadou School I’m sure we can find you an apprenticeship at either until you feel confident enough to handle classes on your own. Uagadou has perhaps the best Arithmancy program out of all the top wizarding schools and Professor Vector tells me you have a true knack for the subject.”

Hermione considered this. The idea was intriguing. She loved to travel, as did her family, and the idea of studying Arithmancy in the region so full of magical history and significance would be incredible. What was more, for the first time ever she would be surrounded by witches and wizards who looked like her, instead of being one of a handful of Black students at Hogwarts. But then she thought of her friends, of Ron and Harry. Could she leave them after school was done? They would be joining the Order, continuing the fight against Lord Voldemort. How could she go before that fight was done?

“I do think I’d like to stay closer to home, Professor,” Hermione said sighing. “I think it’s for the best.” She raised her head to look at McGonagall, feeling that this meeting wasn’t going well at all and expecting to see a look of impatience on the professor’s face.

But McGonagall didn’t look impatient. She looked concerned, or perhaps disappointed. Hermione’s cheeks started to burn in shame and she quickly looked away. When McGonagall cleared her throat to speak again, Hermione expected to be told to leave and that they could finish the talk another time.

Instead, Professor McGonagall pulled a tin out of her desk drawer, opened it up, and said calmly, “Ms. Granger, have a biscuit.”

Hermione took a cookie out of the tin, now holding back tears that were inexplicably fighting to pour out of her. Professor McGonagall got up and closed the door to the corridor.

As she returned to her seat, she spoke, “I know it's been a difficult time for all of us here at Hogwarts and especially for students who have become targets of Professor Umbridge. I know it can seem pointless to even consider the future with so much stress in the present, but you are a visionary Hermione. You have always been driven and excited by challenge. You have always been confident in who you are.” Professor McGonagall paused her speech and waited for Hermione to make eye contact again before adding softly, “I apologize if I have not picked up on any internal struggles you may be having.”

Hearing McGonagall use her first name calmed her. After a few deep breaths she was able to swallow the piece of cookie she had stuck in her throat and speak again. She rambled for five minutes straight. She told Professor McGonagall about S.P.E.W. and about how bothered she was by the way wizards treat other magical beings and creatures. She talked about wanting to make lasting change in society and her feeling that it could be done through community organizing faster than through the Ministry. She even talked a bit about how she had come up with the idea for the D.A. and wanting to make sure all members of the magical community had access to spells and charms that would help them feel safe and provided for. When Hermione finished talking she was out of breath and Professor McGonagall was beaming at her.

“Thank you for sharing with me, Ms. Granger. And for identifying the problem I should have seen before. You don’t need these pamphlets. You have full capability of creating a new career path or working in multiple to actualize your long term goals.” McGonagall chuckled, “You’re not too keen on the Ministry now, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you were Minister of Magic someday.”

Professor McGonagall stood to indicate the end of the meeting and Hermione rose from her seat as well. She rushed around the table and hugged Professor McGonagall who, though surprised, returned the gesture before stepping away.

“Thank You, Professor,” said Hermione, and she left the room feeling much lighter than when she had entered. She started her way to Gryffindor tower to grab some pencil, parchment, and her bathrobe. The pencil and parchment she would use to write down McGonagall’s words about her before they were forgotten. The bathrobe, she would take with her to the Prefects bathroom where she could swim and ponder a world where she wasn’t working under a frustrating and short-sighted Minister like Fudge, but was in fact Minister of Magic herself.

#Hermione Granger #Minerva McGonagall #Career Advice

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crimsonfluidessence · 5 years

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Prompt 4: Shifting Blame

[I was hoping to write not angst today but alas... the prompt has not blessed me with the opportunity]

Esredes stared out at the sight of the battlefield. The dust had finally settled, and victory had been theirs. All the knights had been killed, and the area was once again safe for them to tread upon, unchallenged and uninhibited.

Yet there were no traces of celebration to be found in the air. Among all the bodies of the knights, there were far too many of their own. Those who were not wounded rushed to help those who were before it was too late. In the end, there had been too much blood... and all because he had once again exercised his worst fear.

He had made a critical mistake. He had misjudged the amount of knights there were from a distance. The harriers seemed to have the advantage, both in numbers and terrain, and so he had given the call to attack. Everything had been fine until they unleashed their full might upon his people. They were much more powerful than the ordinary group of knights. Much too powerful...

There was nothing he could do besides fight with everything he had. And even that, he thought as he processed the scenery of the aftermath, was beyond not enough... He had barely even registered all the blood on his face. A song rose up within him. Not that of the dragons, but one of pure noise, far too much noise, of all the screaming and--

No. Not now. They needed him. A vanishing second and the noise forcefully quieted itself, and he proceeded onto the battlefield to help retrieve those who could be saved. It was later, as he had to walk back into camp and glance upon all the waiting faces, as the other commanders of the camp made their way to the front of the crowd while the wounded and their assistants rushed by, that he couldn’t stop the noise from vibrating lowly inside him. He clasped his hands behind his back and faced the crowd with an expression that betrayed little, swallowing once before speaking. “...There was a battle on the highlands near their camp. Knights that had come too close. I underestimated their strength and we suffered casualties. I... apologize deeply for my mistake.” He directed his gaze and the angle of his head downward. There was nothing else he could even say, as pathetic as that had been.

Hah. They’re dead because of you, Esredes.

And yet once more, instead of the disappointment, instead of the urge to step down from his position he always expected to come out of their mouth, instead they responded simply. “Are you okay, Esredes? Are you hurt? How many are dead? How many wounded?”

Why? Why did those first two things even matter? Are you never going to say it?

“I am fine.” He responded, listing off the numbers requested of him. “I should see to them now. It’s the least I can do.” And the most convenient way to get out of this situation. He stretched his arms out from his side and transformed partway, flying over the crowd to get to the infirmary as the song only grew louder.

But it did not quiet in there. Not as he glanced upon their wounds again and worked to stabilize them. You did this, the noise repeated over and over as his hands went through the necessary motions. You did this, you did this, they’re gone because of YOU.

Still, he focused on the motions. He focused for hours no matter how loud it got, forced his hands to stop shaking. It wasn’t until he looked up and the head chirurgeon was standing over him that he realized just how long he had been at it.

“Esredes.” She said in her usual stern voice. “You’ve done all you can. They’re in our hands now. Go. Go find somewhere and be with yourself, all right? I will kick you out if you keep trying to distract yourself and hold it in.”

Well, there was no arguing with her. Not if you wanted to remain intact. He gave her a small nod, turned, and hurried his way out of the infirmary. All the way up to the space at the top of the camp he flew, and there he fell to his knee as the flesh retracted back to its usual softness.

Part of him was grateful she kicked him out. The noise was overwhelming, and he knew not how much longer he could have made himself ignore it. They’re dead because of you, it repeated. How many more times will you make this mistake, hmm? Let down all those who shouldn’t believe in you? You’ve changed sides, and yet still, you get harriers killed...

Why are you in charge? When have you ever been qualified to be in charge? Why does anyone believe in you?

YOU KILLED THEM.

And others things began to rush in, in the midst of the noise. It was as if a dam had been breeched, a dam full of nothing but red, cold water.

BASTARD. FIEND. MONSTER. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.

IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT... YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MISERY, his parents echoed to his fifteen year old self when he came home alone. Their voices quickly mixed with others as the noise continued on. YOU DROVE THEM AWAY. YOU COERCED HER. HE LEFT YOU BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID. HE JOINED THEM BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID. YOU BETRAYED ISHGARD, YOU FILTHTY HERETIC, YOU TRAITOR.

Why were you showing yourself now...? Had it not been long enough...?

No. Maybe it never would be. He stares up at the sky, the blood on his face slowly drying. All that was old felt new again, all the anger and the looks and the shame...

Yes. Yes of course. It will always be your fault. He closed his eyes, exhaled a breath, and stood up. It matters not if you deserve anything. You’ll die eventually, and that will be that.

Simple. Easy. Yes, now he could quiet the noise. Let it run its course a moment, and reality returns.

None of it would matter in the end. Now do better next time, he told himself, as the stinging sensation of guilt lingered. Don’t let it happen again...

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

#screenshots #heretic uniform #writing #ffxivwrite2019 #in action #me: esrey is the sane man amongst all this insanity #me whenever this happens: well fuck #wings like shattered stained glass hearts

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str4y-k1ds · 5 years

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Thoughts on Spiderman Far From Home

So, this is a spoiler filled review/word vomit about the film, if you haven’t seen it yet, there will be spoilers for the movie underneath the “Keep reading” and you have been warned.

I’m going to try and summarize my thoughts in semi-chronological order, because the whole movie went by so quick for me that I really can’t remember the order of everything. Also, no emojis because I had to type this on my computer, so expect a lot of XD’s.

- The “in memoriam” video the school’s news broadcast thingy plays at the beginning was simultaneously hilarious and sad to me. The comic sans made it 10 times better, I bet all of the teachers silently died inside when they saw it. XD

- I was glad to see Natasha in the video, because I was worried that the rest of the world would kinda gloss over her death because of how famous Steve and Tony were compared to the rest of the Avengers.

- Peter’s plan with MJ on the plane going so incredibly wrong was really funny. That one teacher, Mr. Harrington I think, was an absolutely hilarious mess, and I loved it. XD

- I was waiting for that police scene to show up in the movie, but it never came. I wonder why they cut it from the final product?

- Peter’s face when Happy and May were backstage with him? Me too, their “fling” (poor Happy) came out of nowhere, but I loved it. XD

- The reporter scene messed me up dude, I could feel his panic and desire to get the hell out of there, I would have those feelings too if I were in his shoes.

- PETER TINGLE. I freakin burst out laughing every time those words came out of someone’s mouth. XD

- That one airport security lady? She a real one for not exposing our boy like that. XD

- The necklace that Peter bought for MJ? So pretty.

- Peter hitting his head on that bell twice was amazing. XD

- That one song that plays while Peter and his class are in the bus in the mountains? If anyone knows the name of that song, please let me know because I REALLY liked it.

- Oof, Brad kinda pissed me off a little with that whole photo stunt, ngl.

- NIGHT MONKEY. XD

- Ned and Betty for OTP of the year.

- “Even Dead I’m the Hero.” Wow. Classic Tony. XD

- Also, can we talk about how OP EDITH is? Because she has hologram tech now, not to mention like a gazillion drones, and whatever else she can do weapons-wise, that’s not even considering her having “back doors” to basically every single electronic and digital system in the world? Dude, Peter/Mysterio can basically control the world now if you really think about it. Just the concept of EDITH is scary, I’m gonna touch on that later.

- Fury lowkey pissed me off in some parts of the movie, like don’t get me wrong, a lot of what he did was “in the name of protecting the world” and all that, but when he asked if Tony had made a mistake in choosing Peter, I fumed. I wasn’t a fan of the emotional manipulation he was using there, ngl.

- I’ve avoided talking about Mysterio so far to save it for the end, but I can’t not mention that bar scene. When Peter gave him the glasses, the guy sitting next to me muttered a quiet “Oh fuck,” and I completely agreed.

- Everything that happened after the holograms faded away was expertly crafted. The stills in black and white made the audience laugh a little, but everything Mysterio said during his toast and the way he said it, just slightly unhinged but still dangerously cunning, shocked everyone in my theater into a tense silence. So good.

- “BARF, he took my life’s work and named it BARF.” Wow.

- When Peter asked MJ if the only reason she was keeping tabs on him was because she suspected he was Spiderman, and her saying yes? Damn, his face looked so sad and hurt, it made me want to hug him.

- Alright, it’s time we talk about the illusion scene. I can barely put into words all of the emotions and thoughts I was feeling. I was concerned, I was scared, I was mad, I was tripping out, I was shocked, the dread and tension was palpable in my theater. I have never been in a movie theater that quiet before. No one was eating, no one was drinking, no one moved. Literally. I can barely remember what Mysterio said while he was torturing Peter, that’s how drawn in I was by this scene. And when that tombstone appeared, and the Iron Man zombie came out of the ground? I have no words.

- When that train hit him, I jumped right out of my seat and lowkey yelped. Mysterio is an evil son of a bitch, I really hated him.

- I really thought Nick Fury had shot him at first, I really did. That’s how realistic his illusions were, and after the reveal that he hadn’t been shot, that’s when the paranoia set in.

- I was so shell shocked after all of the illusions, that I literally don’t remember anything until Happy shows up with his jet. And while we’re on the topic, Peter brokenly asking Happy if he was real literally caused me to tear up.

- Everything that happened on that plane broke me. Peter’s red eyes and hysterical word vomit during that scene and being stitched up. I was just really sad. Peter is going to have PTSD at this point, if he doesn’t have it already. So many traumatic things have happened to him, if I were in his shoes I would have given up already, not even going to deny it.

- I LOVE LED ZEPPELIN!!! Oh Peter. XD

- Happy’s fond look when Peter’s making his suit had me uwuing.

- The final battle was so amazing and tense and rewarding. MJ with that mace? Hell yes. And Happy throwing the shield and asking how Cap does it had me dying. XD

- Let’s talk about that final showdown with Peter and the drones and Mysterio. Peter radiated confident BAMF energy in that scene. And when he grabs the gun? I smiled so widely, I was so proud and impressed and happy.

- Now, here is where things get confusing for me. Did Mysterio actually die? Because Peter transferred ownership of EDITH to Quentin, at least as far as I remember. Does that not mean that Mysterio could still have been projecting a minor illusion of his own death, and have gotten away because the word transfer means giving up ownership, and therefore Peter shouldn’t have any permissions within EDITH’s systems anymore? But at the same time, Peter put on the glasses, so they couldn’t have been fake glasses then right, because Quentin didn’t have small glasses sized drones, did he? I think the rules of who controls EDITH gets a little confusing for me in this scene. Does Peter always have access? Is there some kind of fail safe? Tony surely planned for this, right? I just have a lot of questions, but for the sake of the conclusion, I’m just going to assume Mysterio is actually dead and Peter does indeed have control of EDITH again.

- Fuck, Peter lost another mentor figure, even if Quentin was a little insane, it doesn’t negate the fact that for a brief sliver of time Peter really trusted and looked up to him.

- PETER AND MJ WERE SO AWKWARD AND KISSED AND AND WERE SO SWEET AND I DIED A LITTLE INSIDE WHEN THEY REUNITED AND HUGGED, AJKSASJAKLSKLALS.

- And when MJ said she liked the necklace broken, I melted because she basically said she doesn’t mind Peter being a bit broken because she really likes him and will support him and ugh, they’re just so cute and sweet and I’m in love with their relationship.

- Peter and MJ swinging around New York at the end made me so happy.

- Those post credits scenes were amazing and forever change the landscape of the MCU going forward. How is Peter going to navigate basically being a criminal/villain in the eyes of a lot of the public? Will the government go after him? I’m sure Ross would love to get his power-hungry hands on another Accords like situation, but I don’t really know if Marvel will go there or not. All I know is Peter literally can’t catch a break, poor kid just got his normal life back, and now it’s being ruined all over again. I have so many questions/theories about how the MCU will go forward now, it’s so exciting! And Talos and his wife disguising themselves as Fury and Hill? Did not see that coming, but it made sense and my initial confusion was quickly overturned with the question of who else we know is secretly a Skrull? I like the Secret Invasion-esque route they might be going with here, but since the Skrull aren’t really evil, does it really matter who’s real or not so long as Nick Fury and Talos are monitoring everything happening on Earth and around it? Ugh, so many questions, that seems to be the general consensus.

- Now for my thoughts on Mysterio. I think he’s a close second to Thanos for best villain in the MCU so far, in my opinion. Feel free to disagree, but think about this for a second: Mysterio basically created a reality stone; if he hadn’t had his plan foiled and continued to play his cards right, he could essentially make reality whatever he wanted, and no one would be able to tell the difference. That is a scary thought. (Imagine what he could do if he combined his illusion technology with something that resembles the microbots in Big Hero 6, yikes, then he really would be able to make his illusions feel real too.) Mysterio was cunning, his intelligence and complete lack of concern for human life is terrifying in combination with his flair for the dramatics, and Jake Gyllenhaal plays him so well that you can’t help but like him even though you hate his guts. Overall, I’m very impressed, I really hope we get to see him again, because I liked his character that much.

- EDITH is genuinely scary, because essentially whoever has access to her can do anything they want, and in today’s technology dependent world, a person with that much power (not just electronically, but militarily as well) needs to be the purest and most good and responsible person in the world or else the world could literally just have unchallengable dictator rise up in a whole 24 hours. I’m just glad it’s Peter who has access to her, Tony might have gone too far with this one, but hey, maybe I’m just paranoid.

- I don’t know it was just me, but after getting out of this movie, I couldn’t shake the thought that this movie was attempting to make us rightfully fear the progression of technology and how hard it is to determine what absolute truth is in today’s world. I think Mysterio even mentions how easily people want to believe things nowadays. Hit the nail on the head with that message if it was intended, if not, then I’m just reading too much into it. XD

Wow, this was long. Sorry guys, I hope I didn’t bore you, this is coming out a whole two hours later than I said it would, I just had so many thoughts and words to vomit. XD

Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought of the movie if you want to, no pressure!

#spiderman far from home #spiderman spoilers #spiderman far from home spoliers #please don't read if you haven't watched the movie yet #spiderman

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malkalaila · 5 years

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That letter from the women MP’s...

It’s interesting. I have to say, it’s a lot more tastefully done than the statement’s the Sussex’s have released about the press. I have not done an analysis on the previous statement regarding the charges they were taking against the media but maybe I should because there are a lot of details that speak volumes and it’s a very passionate statement. This one from the MP’s, it’s not as passionate as it is trying to be logical.

First thing to notice, the mail was sent to Clarence House--not Buckingham Palace where their office is supposed to be. Odd, but whatever, a lot of royals get their mail at Buck House, maybe there are too many letters coming through for everyone and they were shifted to Clarence House to ease the burden.

I think I’m going to go paragraph by paragraph to try and understand what these MP’s are really saying. The first thing I’m constantly reminding myself is that the case Harry and Meghan are making against the press is about an invasion of privacy--for Harry the phone hacking and for Meghan the letter she wrote to her father that was released.

This is dangerous. Public, elected figures, are standing in solidarity with a woman who is an unelected public servant, who came to her position by marrying an unelected public servant, while she sue’s the press--the very machine all of these people must rely on to report their doings to the public. This is a very dangerous tight rope to walk.

They call the stories “distasteful and misleading,” that they attack her family, and are invading her privacy. What I don’t understand is how this is any different treatment than what other celebrities or high profile people deal with from tabloids? I’m having a hard time understanding what is do different about this situation with Meghan that warrants political solidarity. Don’t get me wrong, the press can be horrendous. And I appreciate woman standing in solidarity with other woman. But...

Diana went through this, Sarah went through this, I’m sure Sophie went through this, Kate went through this. This is, unfortunately, a byproduct of living in the public eye. Should we call this out? Yes. But this is also a byproduct of being royal. I’ve said it time and time again, royal’s are less individuals and more symbols of national unity and continuity. If you make one royal an individual person that belongs outside that narrative--it’s dangerous to the whole monarchy’s survival and I needn’t mention the Duke of Windsor but it needs to be said. Edward VIII was a man who was supposed to be a symbol of national unity, a symbol of moving the monarchy and the country forward, and he chose himself over his duty. Was he wrong? No. But it’s detrimental because suddenly, if royals can do whatever they want, what are they even here for? I know Harry isn’t anywhere near the top of the line of succession but if he’s being paid for by the public than he’s a cog in the machine that keeps the monarchy alive.

Now, back to the letter. Do women in powerful positions face more scrutiny than men? Yes. But this isn’t just about women. If this was about women, these MP’s would have made this statement for Kate, and Sophie before her, and Sarah before her, and Diana before her. Do we live in a different time with social media? Yes. But tabloids have existed since print news has been around--all social media does is spread word faster.

Should racism be called out? Absolutely. Do I think Meghan Markle faces racism? Yes, because racism is everywhere. Do I think this statement of “colonial undertones” makes sense? NO. Meghan’s case is about the article released that she sent her father. Meghan’s case is about her privacy. Meghan’s case does not call any attention to her race.

I don’t disagree that press abuse is harsher on woman and prevents them from getting on with their work. Woman are always more heavily criticized when working outside the home. Do I think this has anything to do with Meghan’s case? Again, no. Her case is about her privacy. The MP’s say “it cannot be allowed to go unchallenged” yet it is? She’s not challenging what the press writes about her, she can’t really, she’s challenging what the press released that she felt was an invasion of her privacy (this is a whole other issue though because the press only released it because her father invaded her privacy).

Here is where I have to wonder, what do these MP’s think is in the national interest?? I’ve gone full circle--what did these MP’s mean to say. So far, it sounds like they’ve said nothing at all. They say they will

“use the means at our disposal to ensure that our press accept your right to privacy and show respect, and that their stories reflect the truth”

So we’re suddenly not talking about the colonial undertones? We are in fact talking about privacy? And what “means at our disposal”??? You can’t tell the press what they can and cannot write--that’s call censorship and it cannot stand. Has the press respected the royals request to not print media in the past? Yes, I’m sure they have, especially with the children and when the younger royals are off to school. Have the royals requested the media to not print anything regarding Meghan? I’m not sure they can, she’s a fully working royal.

Now, only a third of women MP’s signed off on this. I don’t know enough about British politics, but why these particular women? If anyone knows anything about them, drop a line to me.

I had hoped that by getting this far in analyzing this, I’d have an understanding of what these MP’s were trying to say. And to be honest, I’m quite lost. Was this just a piece of fluff with no real purpose to show that Britain is on Meghan’s side? I’m not sure, share your thoughts with me, please.

#british royal family #brf #members of parliament

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sebeth · 5 years

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Fantastic Four # 4 - 6

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Brief Summary: The return of Namor, the debut of Doctor Doom, and the first Namor-Doom team-up.

Debuts:

�� Doctor Doom

· Baxter Building

· Yancy Street Gang

Favorite Cover: #4 – I love the image of Namor escaping into the ocean with Susan.

Points of Interest:

· Ben’s very indecisive on Johnny’s leaving the team. He starts with “He’s nothin’ but a spoiled brat of a teenager! What do we need him for?” to “When I find ‘im, I’ll team him to run off on us that way!” So do you want Johnny gone or not?

· Sue once again causes panic in a public setting by using her powers for ordinary tasks. Why do you need to be invisible to drink soda in a café?

· The amount of time Johnny has been away from the team isn’t specified. If it’s only been a few hours, the team is panicking over nothing. Johnny wouldn’t be the first teen to storm off for a few hours, cool down, and then return home. If it has been over a day, Johnny owes Sue a huge apology.

· Reed yanks a passing motorcyclist off his bike to see if he’s seen Johnny. Reed tells the man “But if you don’t know where Johnny Storm is, I’ve no more time to waste with you!”Reed’s rather rude. I mean, Reed was the one who yanked the poor man off of his motorcycle – possibly damaging the bike in the process.

· Reed thinks “I’ve got to keep trying! Sooner or later I’ll find some teen-ager who’s seen him!” Yep, that’s Reed’s solution to the missing Johnny problem – question every teenager in New York City on Johnny’s whereabouts. I was expecting more from the world’s smartest man – maybe a device that would sense Johnny’s elevated temperature or energy output but nope, instead he’s going to interrogate all of New York’s thousands upon thousands of teenagers.

· It’s revealed that Johnny is at Swanson’s Garage working on cars and hanging with his pals. The same Swanson’s Garage we saw Johnny at during the first issue of the Fantastic Four. I can understand Reed not being aware of the garage – he becomes so absorbed in his experiments he forgets the outside world – but are you telling me that Sue didn’t check out the place? Sue wouldn’t be fooled by the “tell her I’m not here” game – one invisible drop-in later and Johnny’s busted.

· Johnny uses his powers to weld the engine. He also shows off by flaming on – while near cans of gasoline! Johnny explains: “Notice how I can control my flame! By not moving, it doesn’t go near the gasoline!” Way to scare the crap out of your friends!

· Ben enters the garage by breaking through the wall. The team is racking up the collateral damage for a simple search mission – Swanson’s garage wall, the man’s motorcycle, and who knows if Sue paid for that soda!

· Ben warns Johnny: “And now I’ll teach you what happens to deserters! And your flame doesn’t scare me! I know you can’t move while you’re burning, because there’s gasoline all over here! One spark and your pals are done for!”

· Reading Ben’s early appearances are rather jarring compared to his later personality. I understand Ben’s anger, frustration and bitterness. I’m also sure his transformation caused a severe case of post-traumatic stress disorder but casually dismissing the safety of innocent bystanders? Not the Ben we know and love.

· Johnny, acting as the mature one, immediately flames off and attempts to defuse the situation. Ben proceeds to throw a car through the other wall of the garage. Ben takes a swing at Johnny: “You’ve always laughed at me because I was ugly! Well? Why aren’t you laughing now? Don’t worry, sonny boy…I’m not gonna spoil your pretty features! I’ll just rough you up a little…teach you who’s boss, once and for all!”

· Ben turns back to human mid-rant. Johnny takes the opportunity to flame on and retreat. Ben’s calls after Johnny: “Go on, Torch! Fly off! What do I care! Ha Ha! I’m human again! Fly away, you flaming freak!!”

· A flying Johnny thinks to himself: “The poor fool! He should know by now his change is only temporary!” Sure enough, Ben changes back into the Thing seconds later.

· Johnny’s often portrayed as the immature one but he was the exact opposite in this scene – he stayed calm, attempted to defuse the situation, prevented innocent bystanders from being harmed, and retreated at the first opportunity instead of being dragged into a senseless fight.

· The scene nicely shows that Ben’s rage is caused by the transformation – as soon as Ben regained his human form, he lost all interest in the fight. “The flaming freak” comment was interesting – did Ben feel that he was removed from that category since he regained his human form. Would Ben consider Sue a freak? Does Ben call Johnny a freak because he resents Johnny’s attractiveness?

· Johnny decides to retreat to the Bowery and hang with the derelicts. Johnny finds a comic from the 1940’s about the Sub-Mariner. A derelict tells Johnny that they have “a stumble-bum right here who’s supposed to be as strong as that Joker was supposed to be!”

· The derelicts harass the stumble-bum until a brawl breaks out and the bodies hit the floor! “Wham! Pow! Bam!”

· The derelicts gear up for round two but Johnny intervenes: “Hold on! Let him alone! Can’t you see, he’s ill? He’s got amnesia! A loss of memory! He doesn’t even know who he is!!” Johnny decides to shave off the amnesiac man’s beard and cut his hair with his flame abilities. Johnny proclaims: “Wait!! His face! No – it – can’t be! It is! It is!! He – He’s the Sub-Mariner!”

· Johnny has clearly been working hard on controlling his powers as evidenced by this scene and the previous scene at the garage. He seems to have done this without any prompting by Reed or Sue. It makes sense as Johnny’s powers are clearly the most destructive of the Four.

· I highly recommend this issue for Johnny fans – he has many shining moments and it’s a nice, subtle look at his character.

· Reed’s continues his quest of randomly harassing random citizens on Johnny’s whereabouts – the latest being a helicopter crew (while in the sky) and travelers in the subway. This amuses me way more than it should – maybe Reed really needed social time?

· An invisible Sue enters the Bowery: “I can’t believe that Johnny would ever come here!” Sue proceeds to walk right past Johnny and Namor! Seriously, is Ben the only observant member of this team? I guess Johnny gets points too for recognizing Namor

· Johnny flies Namor to the ocean and drops him in! Thankfully the bum is Namor and not some homeless man that Johnny terrorized for no reason.

· Namor returns to Atlantis to find that “It’s destroyed!! It’s all destroyed!! That glow in the water – it’s radioactivity! Now I know what happened! The humans did it, unthinkingly with their cursed atomic tests!”

· Sadly, this issue is from 1962 but the “human unthinkingly destroy” plot is still relevant today – for example, the bleaching of the coral reefs and the tons of plastic found in the ocean.

· Namor returns to New York City with vengeance on his mind: “I am the mightiest living mortal on earth!! And now, mankind shall feel that might…as it is turned against you all!”

· Namor’s been able to make that claim – unchallenged in the Marvel Universe – since World War II. He had to be really annoyed when the Thing, the Hulk, and Thor all debuted within months of each other. Namor being Namor, I’m sure was still telling everyone that he was “the mightiest mortal living on earth!”

· Namor uses a monster-controlling horn to summon Giganto from the depths of the ocean. Ben defeats Giganto by hauling a bomb into the monster’s abdomen. Poor Giganto!

· Sue adds another name to the list of men infatuated with her. Namor declares: “Well! Here is a prize worth catching! You’re the loveliest human I’ve ever seen! If you will be my bride, I might show mercy to the rest of your pitiful race!”

· Namor’s not one to beat around the bush! We now know Namor’s true weakness – it’s not lack of water, it’s beautiful women. We can’t even justify that he’s attracted to Sue’s personality – Namor glanced at Sue and was all “Whoa, mamma!”

· We now begin the longest running triangle in all of comics – Namor, Sue, and Reed. I don’t count Superman-Lois-Clark as that triangle only involves two individuals.

· Namor’s the epitome of mercurial mood swings so he changes from “Now I’ll have the girl, and my revenge!” to annoyance that Sue isn’t properly impressed by his manly manliness.

· Issue 5 opens with Doctor Doom playing with chess pieces modeled after the Fantastic Four. First Doom and later the Puppet Master – do all of the FF’s enemies act out their upcoming fights with action figures?

· Doom’s lair contains a stuffed vulture and reference books labeled “Demons” and “Science and Sorcery” on the table. The books nicely foreshadow Doom’s later affinity with magic.

· Johnny’s reading the “Hulk” comic back at the Fantastic Four headquarters. Marvel was really pushing the debut of the Hulk title – the previous issue had multiple “who is the Hulk” statements at the bottom of the pages.

· “Fantastic Four!! Heed my words! This is Doctor Doom!”

· Sue: “Who?” I wish Sue had been able to say that to Doom’s face. I don’t think his ego could handle it.

· Reed: “That voice! I recognize it! But I thought he was dead!” Reed has quite the talent for voice recognition since Doom is speaking through a metal mask from a helicopter.

· I’m loving campy, over-the-top Doctor Doom. Can you imagine if this was your first exposure to Doom in modern years? You’d seriously question how Doom became the top villain in the Marvel Universe! The crossover I want to see: First-appearance Doctor Doom versus Batman from the 1966 tv series!

· Flashback time: Reed and Victor Von Doom were college roommates. Doom, a brilliant science student, was fascinated with sorcery and black magic: “One night, the evil genius went too far, as he brought forth powers which even he could not control!” Cue explosion, facial disfigurement, and school expulsion.

· The extent of Doom’s scarring/disfigurement caused much debate throughout the years – was it a small scar that Doom’s ego couldn’t tolerate or was it massive disfigurement? The panel shows Doom’s entire head wrapped mummy-style so I’m going with the massive disfigurement option.

· Reed tells the group that Victor left the school and when he was last heard of “he was prowling the wastelands of Tibet, still seeking the forbidden secrets of black magic and sorcery”.

· Doom demands the Four send Sue to him as a hostage. Sue: Girl Hostage happens a lot in the early comics. Sue insists it’s the only way and Reed agrees. Seriously? The net only covers the exterior of the building – Ben and Johnny have the strength to tunnel underneath the building and exit elsewhere. Shouldn’t that be an option instead of handing Sue over to some ranting psycho? Reed’s definitely not earning “the world’s smartest man” title during the early adventures of the Four. Doom opens a section of the net so Sue can enter his helicopter.

· Doom demands the rest of the team “board my plane, and you must swear you will not attack me!” The team agrees. What?! Seriously, Reed, this is why you can’t hang with Captain America and Cyclops when it comes to strategic planning.

· Doom sends the male members of the Four back in time: “: “Gone to bring me the gems which, unknown to them, will make Doctor Doom the ruler of the earth!”

· The boys disguise themselves as pirates. Ben tells Reed to “Take it easy, Bub!” Ben was using “Bub” decades before Wolverine!

· Ben’s having a blast playing the role of pirate: “Ahoy, matey! Let’s see if we can date one of these pretty barmaids! Heh Heh!” It’s nice to see Ben enjoying himself as he’s been miserable throughout the series.

· Johnny’s also having fun: “This is keen! I feel like Errol Flynn!”

· Reed’s a fuddy-duddy: “Knock it off!”

· Ben has a moment where he refuses to return to the present: “Why can’t I stay? The future holds nothing for me! In the Twentieth Century I’m nothing but a monster…a freak! But here I’m somebody! I’m a leader of men! I’m a captain! I’m the guy who started the legend of Blackbeard! The kids will read about me in school some day! I ain’t never giving this up…never!” Ben, you’ve been in the past for 30 minutes, calm down!

· The trio returns to the present only for Doom to escape.

· A total campy, ridiculous and fun issue. Despite the goofiness, a few of Doom’s defining characteristics – the intelligence, the sorcery, the Doom-bots, the ego, the grudge with Richards – were clearly established in this issue.

· “Have the Fantastic Four at last met their match when Mighty Sub-Mariner and Evil Doctor Doom team up?? Don’t miss the Diabolical Duo join forces!”

· Johnny blazes across the sky. An onlooker gasps “The Torch!! A living legend! And I thought I’d never see him with my own eyes!” The onlooker seems to be mixing Johnny up with the World War II era Human Torch (Jim Hammond). Johnny hasn’t been the Torch for long. Definitely not enough time to be considered a “living legend”. Would the general public even realize there was a difference between Johnny and Jim? Issue 6 was published in the early 1960s. The original Human Torch operated in the 1940s – the older citizens of the Marvel Universe would assume it was the original making a comeback after a long sabbatical. After all, how many blonde men can set themselves on fire, fly, and call themselves the “Human Torch”?

· The same citizens gawking at Johnny are pushed aside by an invisible Sue. Sue turns visible to apologize and enter the Baxter Building. We’ve seen Sue use her powers multiple times to scare or push through people. She’s either a big fan of the “jump-scare” or using her powers to let out her frustrations by shoving people. Seriously, it would be easier – and more polite – to stay visible and skirt around people as opposed to moving around unseen and shoving people out of the way.

· Sue notes that “The Torch has been scouting for signs of Doctor Doom.” Isn’t Sue better suited for the task? She is the “Invisible Girl”! Johnny’s a human-sized ball of fire – Doom will see him coming from a mile away!

· We receive our first detailed glimpse of the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four’s headquarters are located on the 34th to the 37th stories of the building. The members of the Four take the express elevator to the 34th floor. The elevator operates via a signal that is sent from the belt buckle of the members’ uniforms. The 34th floor clearly belongs to Reed – it consists of labs and computers. The 35th floor are living quarters, the recreation room, and the gymnasium. The 36th floor are conference rooms. The 37th floor holds the team’s vehicles.

· Reed catches up on the team’s mail. He discovers a letter sent from a child at Harmon General Hospital. The hospital is located across the street so Reed stretches across to have a long chat with the child. A sweet moment for Reed who is too often characterized as obsessed with science and oblivious to social mores.

· Johnny and Ben continue reading the mail. We receive the first mention of the Yancy Street Gang: “…and if the Thing will meet us on the corner of Ashby and Main Street, we’ll knock that chip off his shoulder and make him like it! Signed, the Yancy Street Gang!”

· Ben is not amused: “I’ve heard from those mealy-mouthed braggarts before! They get their kicks out of tryin’ to rile me!” Ben decides to answer the challenge: “This block is titanium steel – six inches thick and the strongest metal known to man! I’ll just roll it by hand into a from acceptable for mailing – I wouldn’t want the Yancy Gang to think I wasn’t neat – Here! Send this to them! And on the day they manage to unroll it, I’ll personally congratulate ‘em!” Clearly, adamantium wasn’t known to the Marvel Universe at this point.

· The Fantastic Four – secret identities or publicly known? The writers in the Fantastic Four and Strange Tales titles go back and forth on this point in the early issues. A few issues ago, the identities were stated to be a “secret”? If so, how does the Yancy Gang recognize Ben? He looks significantly different post-transformation! If the identities are still a secret at this point and the Yancy Gang still realize the Thing is Ben Grimm…well, Batman will have to forfeit the “World’s Greatest Detective” title!

· Ben’s itching to fight someone worthy of him, “a foe like Doctor Doom…or a Submariner!”

· Sue defends her crush: “Submariner is hostile because he’s hurt and bitter!”

· Yeah, Namor has man-pain! The fact that he looks damn good in a speedo has nothing to do with Sue’s defense of him!

· We switch to the ocean where the “hurt and bitter” Namor instructs porpoises in swimming maneuvers.

· Doctor Doom travels to Namor’s location, proposes an alliance, and brags up his credentials: “ I am strong – strong enough to join the powers of science to those of darkness! Show me the puny mortal who does not tremble at the name of Doctor Doom!”

· Let’s recap Sue’s reaction upon hearing the name of Doctor Doom: “Who?”

· Doom notes “It would appear that you’ve taken a holiday from your campaign against the surface world! Men no longer speak your name in fear!”

· Well, playing with dolphins doesn’t exactly reinforce an angry and vengeance-driven persona.

· Doctor Doom notes a framed photo of Susan Storm.

· Namor warns “Take care! That female is no concern of yours!”

· How did Namor get the photo? Did Sue give it to him? Did he take the picture while he held her hostage a few issues ago? Clip it out of a newspaper?

· Doom taunts Namor into assisting him: “What happened to your thirst for revenge? Have you forgot the glistening towers of your once great civilization? The culture and comfort enjoyed by your happy subjects…imagine your great and proud people struggling for thousands of years, defeating all the terrors of the deep to build a civilization, superb and beautiful…yes, beautiful and glowing with life until that last terrifying moment when that monster of a bomb lodged in the midst of that beauty…gone! All that glorious history gone in one brief instant! Replaced by an ugly crater in the ocean floor…littered with fused masonry and bitter memories that cry out…revenge! Revenge! Revenge upon the surface world which did this in its ignorance! Revenge upon humanity’s defenders! Death to the Fantastic Four!”

· Namor agrees: “I cannot harm the girl! But I will aid you in defeating the others!”

· Dr. Doom is a large ham.

· Namor is easily manipulated.

· I want to see a “What If?” where Namor’s all “Nah, I’m gonna keep playing with the dolphins”.

· Wouldn’t it be easier for Namor to simply ask Reed for assistance in locating the lost Atlanteans instead of trusting some random dude in armor?

· Namor leaves to pursue his part of the plan and plays “chicken” with an airplane along the way: “No time to dodge! It’s going to hit us head on!” “Bah! That’s enough horseplay! I mustn’t forget the mission!”

· Back to the Baxter Building where Johnny snoops around Sue’s possessions. Why is Johnny snooping in Sue’s room? Typical younger sibling nosiness? Johnny’s around 16-17 years old at this time. Sue raised Johnny – I’ve always felt that she was 10 – 12 years older than him. The dual mother-sister role makes it even odder that Johnny is nosing around her room.

· Johnny finds a photo of Namor and isn’t happy about it: “So! You’ve gone soft on Submariner – our arch-enemy!” The Four have only fought Namor once. I don’t think that’s enough to qualify him as an “arch-enemy”. Of course, the other options are: a short man who lives underground, aliens who were outsmarted by “B” horror movies, a maybe-maybe not hypnotist, and an egotistical man in armor whose master plan was throwing a net over a skyscraper. I can see why Johnny chose Namor for the arch-enemy role.

· Sue is not amused: “Give me that photo, you insolent brat!” When did this photo exchange between Namor and Sue take place? Were they taking pictures of each other during issue #4?

· Namor arrives at the Baxter Building and all hell breaks loose as Ben and Johnny brawl with the Sub-Mariner.

· Namor advises Sue to get out of the way: “He’s too angry to listen to reason! You’d best stay out of the way! I do not fear the Torch!” Yeah, Namor has had plenty of experience battling Human Torches.

· It’s curious that Johnny is so angry over Sue’s crush on Namor. Does he dislike Namor so much or is he afraid it would cause the breakup of the Four which is his home, family, and a large part of his identity?

· Namor states he’s come in peace and doesn’t mention the devices he’s rigged to the Baxter Building.

· Crack! The Baxter Building is launched into space for the first but not the only time!

· Namor rages: “The double-crossing dog is in a rocket plane above pulling this building into space!” And yet Namor will continue to ally with Doom after this betrayal.

· Namor’s not in much danger – he can simply jump out and fly away. Johnny would normally be able to escape but he “exhausted his flame” during his fight with Namor. Johnny didn’t have much stamina in the early issues. The Four’s planes were damaged in the launching of the building.

· Reed insists “our only hope of ever getting down is to seize control of that plane!”

· Does Doom ever recall his earliest attacks on the four and face-palm? They were so ridiculous and over-the-top!

· Reed stretches after Doom’s plane: “Somehow, conditions in space tend to weaken my powers!” Was this ever mentioned again? The Four spend a lot of time in space.

· Namor decides enough is enough: “That jackal Doctor Doom still has Prince Namor to reckon with!” Namor dives into a water storage, amps up to full strength, launches himself to Doom’s ship, evicts Doom from the ship, assumes control of the ship, and returns the Baxter Building to earth. Doom hitches a ride to earth on a meteor.

· Ben: “How do you thank an enemy? Submariner’s above us in that confounded ship. And if I could reach him I still don’t know if I’d shake his hand or try to smash him!”

· Sue: “Oh, he isn’t our enemy! I just know it! He’s so full of pain and bitterness that it blinds his better instincts! Submariner needs time…time to heal!” Sue, dear, I think the boys are over your continued defense of Namor.

· Namor: “So shall I return to the sea! Perhaps someday when I am no longer haunted by bitter memories of my lost people, I may return…but, until then, this is where I belong! In the sea which is my home!”

· So ends the first super-villain team-up in the Marvel Universe and the beginning of one of Marvel’s longest running love-hate relationships.

#Fantastic Four #Namor #Doctor Doom #Johnny Storm #Susan Storm #Reed Richards #Ben Grimm #Baxter Building #Yancy Street Gang #susan richards #invisible girl #Human Torch #Thing #Mister Fantastic #sub-mariner #Victor Von Doom #Giganto

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crystal-siren · 6 years

Text

Knowledge (Dad!Tony x Reader + Loki x Reader) Pt. 10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

There is no more precious privilege than to be loved without reserve or judgement. To look deeply into your partner’s eyes and see that, despite your many faults and flaws, you are cherished precisely as you are. Once you have known a love like that in your life, it stays with you forever. ~ Beau Taplin // Illuminate

The funeral for the fallen was held that night. All of Asgard was in attendance. Jane stood beside Thor as the funeral boats were released, each decorated in accordance to the Aesir burial custom.

The night was clear. Almost too beautiful for such an occasion.

Frigga stood at Odin’s side, her heart with the families of the fallen. All of Asgard grieved that night. The sky was sprinkled with stars and a warm breeze blew, helping the boats on their way.

As Jane watched the boats, she silently thanked the Queen. If it had not been for her, she would have been taken, or worse. She had heard the screams and she feared she would not forget them. It was a sound filled with such pain and anger than Jane could barely imagine what had elicited such a reaction.

~ ~ ~

She had been so close. She had been a mere few steps away. Until he got her back, the sight of her fighting to reach him would haunt his dreams.

“LOKI. NIKOLAS!”

The memory echoed around the cell. Her struggle as the Kursed pulled her away would be forever branded in his memory.

The way she fought to reach him surprised him. No one had ever fought like that for him before. She had continued to fight even as she was pulled further and further away, her hands reaching for him but grabbing only empty air.

Her eyes never left his, even when she was at the dungeon entrance. Then she was gone, but though he could not see her, he heard her. He heard her scream for him, for her fallen cousin.

What did the Dark Elves want with her? A mortal woman of little importance to those who did not know her. What was she to them?

~ ~ ~

Despite his anger at not having found the Aether, Malekith thought back to the young woman the Kursed had brought before him.

A fiery one to be sure. She had been fighting when she was brought to him, struggling violently. But when her eyes landed on him, she went completely still before throwing herself forward and screaming one word. “MURDERER!” She screamed it over and over again, her struggles only increasing.

“What is your name?” Malekith asked her, thinking that perhaps it would slow down her motions.

“I’m not telling you anything,” she hissed and curled her lip, baring her teeth like some wild animal. “You killed my cousin. I won’t tell you a thing.”

Malekith sighed in exasperation and looked down at her. “You will answer my questions young one. One way or another.”

She only smiled nastily and fought to get closer to him. “Prepare to be disappointed,” she snarled and lunged for him. The Kursed roughly pulled her back just in time.

“Such a shame,” Malekith spoke, “this was not how I pictured our introduction.”

“I never pictured it,” she replied, breathing heavily. Her eyes held a murderous glint in them.

Flashing back to the present, the Dark Elf blinked and shook his head. If that girl was who he imagined her to be....damn her! If only he had learnt her name.

~ ~ ~

It was dark and something cold and heavy was wrapped around her wrist. That was all Y/N knew.

Since her ‘conversation’ with who she presumed to be Malekith, she had been left in this room. Or at least, that’s what she thought it was. There were no windows to let in light or to tell her where she was. Was it day or night? Y/N had lost all sense of time.

She felt tired but dreaded closing her eyes. She feared what she would see, and who she would see.

“Oh Nikolas,” she murmured, a lump rising in her throat. “I’m so sorry. I should have just listened to you.” She buried her head in her hands and let the tears come.

“Shhh,” a gentle voice broke though her tears.

Feeling a soft touch on her wrists, Y/N lowered her hands and looked at the speaker.

“Are you a ghost?” She whispered.

He shook his head and smiled. “No, dear cousin, I am no ghost.”

“A spirit then? Sent to haunt me for my wrongdoing?” Her voice took on a hysteric tone.

“No,” Nikolas shook his head and smoothed her hair away from her face. “And you did nothing wrong.”

“But I did!” Y/N protested desperately, “if I hadn’t come looking for you-”

“Shhh,” Nikolas cut her off gently. “You did what you believed was right,” he pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her. “No one can fault you for that.”

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. “I miss you, cousin.”

That was how Malekith found her. With her arms wrapped around herself and crying into her folded arms while she rocked herself back and forth.

~ ~ ~

“We possess the Aether,” Odin reminded his son, “Malekith will come to us.”

“Yes,” Thor agreed, “and he will destroy us.”

“You overestimate the power of these creatures.”

“No, I value our people’s lives,” Thor tried to reason with his father. “I’ll take Jane to the Dark World and draw the enemy away from Asgard. When Malekith draws the Aether from Jane, it will be exposed and vulnerable. And then I will destroy it and him.”

Odin did not reply right away. He paused and looked over the damage caused in the throne room. “And if you fail,” he spoke, turning to face Thor. “You risk this weapon falling into the hand of our enemies.”

“The risk is far greater if we do nothing,” Thor challenged. “His ship could be over our heads right now, we would never even know it.”

“If and when he comes,” Odin replied, “his men will fall on 10,000 Aesir blades.”

“And how many of our men will fall on their’s?” Thor shot back.

“As many as are needed!”

Thor couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“We will fight!” Odin continued, “to the last Aesir breath! To the last drop of Aesir blood!”

“Then how different are you from Malekith?” Thor shook his head in disbelief.

“The difference, my son,” Odin explained. “Is that I will win.”

~ ~ ~

“Your thoughts kill you don’t they?” His mother’s soft voice broke through his train of thought.

Blinking, Loki turned to face her. His expression was neutral. It hid the vortex of emotions inside. “Hello, mother.”

“Oh, Loki,” Frigga sighed, “you needn’t act so indifferent. A great tragedy has befallen our realm. To show emotion is perfectly acceptable.”

“I felt nothing for those people,” he reminded her.

“But you feel something for her do you not?” Frigga asked him, her eyes sad. “I can see it in your eyes. The panic. The fear. What has gotten you so scared?”

“She-” he began but cut himself off, her screaming running loops in his mind. “She should never have come.”

“But she did,” Frigga reminded him gently. “She did, because she loves you.”

“That is the problem!” The Prince exclaimed. “If she didn’t, she would never even have thought about coming. She would never have thought about me or this accursed place.”

Frigga thought it best to perhaps let him speak uninterrupted.

“But because she did, she almost died, twice! Now her only remaining family is dead-” he paused to catch his breath. “And those creatures have taken her for goodness-knows what reason.”

Frigga stepped in, her voice soft. “I came too late to save her. I could have pulled her back. I could have stopped her.”

His rant interrupted, Loki looked at his mother in surprise.

“Her cousin asked me to keep her safe,” the Queen continued. “Her safety was his topmost concern. But she could not be held back,” she shook her head sadly.

~ ~ ~

“You were not at Odin’s War Council,” Thor remarked to Heimdall.

“The Bifrost is closed,” Heimdall replied, setting his horned helmet down on the table between them. “By your father’s orders. No one is to come or to go. We face an enemy that is invisible, even to me. What use is a guardian such as that?”

“Malekith will return,” Thor spoke, sitting opposite him. “You know this.”

“I cannot overrule my King’s wishes,” Heimdall reminded him. “Even for you.”

“I’m not asking you too,” Thor explained. “The realms need their Allfather strong and unchallenged. Whether he is or not. But he is blinded Heimdall, by hatred and by grief. Grief for what happened here.“

“As are we all.”

“I see clearly enough,” the Prince remarked.

“The risks are too great.”

“Everything we do from here on is a risk,” Thor pointed out. “There is no other way.”

“What do you require of me?” The guardian asked, his keen eyes on his Prince.

Thor took a deep breath before continuing. “What I’m about to ask of you is treason of the highest order. Success will bring us exile. Failure shall mean our death.“

~ ~ ~

“Who are you?”

Y/N glared at the speaker but remained silent. The longer she could hold off, the better.

“I do not wish to treat one such as you in this manner.”

Though curious as to what he meant by that, Y/N forced herself to stay quiet. She would hold to the words she had spoken earlier.

“But you give me no choice.”

I’m sure, she thought sarcastically to herself.

“The ones you called for. Would they come for you?”

“You killed one of them,” she hissed in response, unable to keep quiet any longer.

“Ah yes,” Malekith stood and began to pace the room. “But the other, what of him.”

“He is in prison,” Y/N whispered. “He won’t be going anywhere.�� As she spoke those words, the awful reality came crashing down around her. In his current state, he would not be able to go very far at all.

~ ~ ~

“Malekith knew the Aether was here,” Thor spoke to his assembled friends. “He can sense it’s power. If we do nothing, he will come for it again, and this time lay waste to all of Asgard.” He paused and looked at each of his friends before continuing. “We must move Jane off-world.”

“The Bifrost has been shut down,” Sif reminded him, “and the Tesseract locked away in the Vault.”

“There are other paths off Asgard,” Heimdall spoke up. “Ways known only to a few.”

“One, actually,” Thor corrected with a small smile.

Fandral, on the other hand, knew exactly who Thor referred to. “No.”

~ ~ ~

The sound of heavy footsteps signaled his brother’s arrival.

“Thor. After all this time, now you come to visit me,” he sneered, “why? Have you come to gloat? To mock-”

“Loki. Enough.” Thor cut him off gently but firmly, “no more illusions.”

A flash of green soon transformed the cell and the appearance of the younger Prince. Gone was the refinement and control.

Loki looked up from where he had collapsed to the ground, his green eyes filled with unshed tears. The emotions he had been hiding were now exposed for all to see. His heart and mind laid bare. “Did you see her?”

Thor contemplated asking who he meant, but he himself knew exactly. “I did not come here to discuss her. Instead I offer you the chance to bring her back, to fight for her.”

His interested piqued, Loki leaned forward slightly, “go on.”

“I know you seek vengeance as much as I do,” Thor continued, “you help me escape Asgard, and I will grant it to you. Vengeance, and afterward, this cell.”

A small laugh escaped him, “you must be truly desperate to come to me for help. What makes you think you can trust me?”

“I don’t,” Thor answered without hesitation. “But Y/N does.” He paused, noticing just how much of an impact just her name had on him. “You should know,” he continued in a somber tone, “that when we fought each other in the past, I did so with the glimmer of hope that my brother was still in there somewhere. That hope no longer exists to protect you. You betray me and I will kill you.”

Unable to pass up the chance, however small at seeing her again, he smiled. “When do we start?” I’m coming Y/N. I’m coming.

To be continued...

Part 11

Tags: @mymourningtea @blackmaylovesfries @bry-97 @m4shtyx @dovies666 @desdestiny @1800-fight-me @sapphire1727 @franzilostinozean @petalparker @chelseamarie-91 @reading-wallflower @twerkinglucifer @spidey-boio @reeeeeaaper @drakesfiance @untoldshortsofthefandoms

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hiddlestoned4ever · 6 years

Text

Drawn Between Worlds - Dr Strange/Loki x Reader

(Chapter 1) Chapter 2 (Chapter 3 coming soon) Plot: After you started working for SHIELD, you got drawn into the Avengers group and helped them stop Loki and his Chitauri army from destroying New York completely. That was two years ago. However, Loki’s dangerous behaviour didn’t stop you from keeping your interested in him. Or perhaps it is his mischievous self that’s the very reason for it. But as a long-lost associate turns up, you find yourself being drawn between worlds and feelings as old emotions come back while new ones develop.

Words: 4158

Warnings: None

It's now two weeks since the party. The day after, the team divided up and it's now just Tony and you again. Because of that, you have some trouble filling all the time without the rest of your friends. The morning jog yesterday was dull, the training workouts are simple and boring. To get the time go faster, you tried to hang out with Tony when he's working, but that soon became sitting down on the chair and observe him.

Now you're outside on the streets, walking under the warm sunlight in your own thoughts. The headphone cord dangles from your ears to the left pocket where it's connected to your phone. Listening to music helps you to get distracted from the real world. You let it take over and steer your feet so you don't really notice where you're heading. The path is soon to lead you to someone who will make your life interesting yet again.

Walking out if the busy streets, the area becomes more abandoned. Big, old, empty buildings appear around you, but you keep on the pace. It's first when sirens suddenly overwhelm your music that you bring your focus up. Several police cars coming at high speed a bit ahead and disappears around a corner.

As curious as you are, you jog in the same direction and slow down when you enter an area where the cars have stopped and the police officers are on the outside, talking to a young woman and man. Some meters away, another woman approaches them and when the first woman sees her, she runs over and hugs her. From the distance you're standing, you can't hear what they're saying and it seems like everything is fine... but then it's suddenly starting to rain heavily out of nowhere.

"Great..." you mumble annoyed. From the nice weather you went out in, you didn't bring a jacket with a hood.

From the other end of the crowd, a man in a red cape has suddenly arrived. You instantly recognize him and so does the girls. One of them runs over to him and by the looks of it, slaps him in the face. Twice. The other woman follows and once she's with them, the raining stops so she must've commented on it. There must be a reason for him to return back to Earth so you start to run up to them.

"Thor!" you call and the God looks up.

"Y/N! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," you reply.

"Hi, I'm Darcy," one of the women says and reaches out her hand. You shake it with a smile, not really bothering who they are right now. You're more interested in what brought Thor here. "This is my friend, Jane, and this is my intern," she continues and points at a young man beside her.

"Eh... Ian, my name is Ian."

Turning back to the scene, you see the policemen come up to the two women.

"Oh, eh, Jane. I'm pretty sure we're getting arrested," Darcy says and Janes turns her head.

"Hang on," Jane replies and meets the officers.

One of the policemen lay a hand on her shoulder, but get abruptly thrown backwards like an explosion just occurred. Many other of the men also get caught by this and all of them land on their backs, startled by what just happened. The remaining officers raise their guns, pointing at the women, ready to fire. You and Thor rush over and he kneels down, barely touches her to see if she's alright.

"What just happened?" Jane asks gently as she pushes herself up on her feet. The police officer approaches you apprehensively.

"Place your hands on your head. Step back!"

"The woman is unwell," Thor answers.

"She's dangerous."

Thor glances warningly up at them. "So am I."

The policeman grabs a hold of his radio. "Requesting armed response officers to the scene." The rest of the men start to circle you and the rest of the group when Thor pulls both you and Jane closer.

"Hold on to me," he says to both of you.

"Thor, what are you doing?" you ask as you feel your body sort of dissolve and then are sent in an enormous speed upwards. The experience is amazing but goes incredibly fast. Your head gets dizzy and you shut your eyes while holding tight to Thor's arm.

You must've fainted for a short second because the next thing you know is that your body falls down once Thor lets you go.

"Oops, sorry," he says and helps you back up.

"We have to do that again!" Jane excitedly says and her smile drops when she sees a large man with an armour of gold, holding the shaft of a huge sword. "Hi."

"Welcome to Asgard."

Your head snatches up at the man's voice. His eyes are the same colour as is the outfit. "Asgard?" you turn your eyes on Thor. "We're at your home?"

"Well, the men on Midgard didn't seem like they had nice intentions so I brought you both with me. Besides, we need to figure out what's happened to you," he responds, now looking at Jane.

The sight before you blow your mind. It is magnificent. Like taken straight out of a fantasy movie, only a whole lot more beautiful. The big golden, triangle shaped building that stands out reminds you of some part of a musical instrument. Like some special kind of flute or something. And the Bifrost is stunning with its rainbow colour. Never did you think you would actually be able to experience this with your own eyes. Memories from when Thor talked about it comes to your mind and you realize why he spoke so passionately about it.

"Follow me," he says and leads the two of you out on the long walk across the bridge.

* * *

"What's that?" Jane asks while she's lying on a table surrounded by women nurses and some information that appears by some kind of magic. Kinda looks like Tony's lab with all his, almost invisible screens where he can swipe information from one screen to the other.

"Be still," Eir tells her while you and Thor watch as they examine Jane.

"What do you think it is?" you ask him, both of you standing with your arms crossed.

"I do not know. It's not of Earth."

"I have never seen anything like this, but she will not survive the amount of energy surging within her," one of the nurses tells you. Before anyone gets to say anything else, the door to the room opens and an elder man with long white hair and a patch over his right eye enters.

It turns out to be no other than Odin, Thor's father, king of Asgard and protector of the nine realms. The father and son have a bit of an argument about mortals not belonging here, but that it's the only way Jane can be helped. Odin tells the guards to escort both Jane and you out, when the guard who grabs Jane's arm, get thrown back just as the policeman.

"Don't touch her," Thor says leaning down and tenderly lays his hands on her. "Jane, are you alright?" She nods her head while Odin inspects the energy force running through her body.

"That's impossible," he mumbles shocked.

"The infection, it's defending her," the nurse says.

"Or itself," you comment, taking a shot.

Next, Odin takes the three of you to another room. "There are relics that predate the universe itself. What lies within her appears to be one of them. The Nine Realms are not eternal. They had a dawn as they will have a dusk." Odin shows you, Thor and Jane an ancient book. "But before that dawn, the dark forces, the Dark Elves, reigned absolute and unchallenged."

Thor leans over a book in front of them and reads out loud. "'Born of eternal night, the Dark Elves comes to steal away your light.' They were these stories mother told us as children."

"Their leader, Malekith made a weapon out of that darkness, it was called the Aether. While the other relics often appeared as stones, the Aether is fluid and ever-changing. It changes matter into dark matter and seeks out to host bodies, drawing strength from their life force. Malekith sought to use the Aether's power to return the universe to one of darkness. But after eternities of bloodshed, my father Bor, finally triumphed, ushering in the peace that lasted thousands of years."

"What happened?" you ask, getting really interested in these Asgardians stories.

"He killed them all," Odin responds.

"Are you certain? The Aether was said to have been destroyed with them and yet here it is," Thor says, clearly worried.

"The Dark Elves are dead."

Jane takes a glance down at the book. "Does your book happen to mention how to get it out of me?"

Odin's reply is not near reassuring. "No, it does not."

The king leaves and the rest of you stay silent for some seconds.

"Thor, can I speak to you for a moment?" you ask.

"Of course," he replies.

"I'll- eh, be out here," Jane says, pointing at the doors leading out to a porch. When she's out, you turn to your friend. Since you got here, everything has happened so fast but by the little 'break' you just got, you came to think of his brother.

"Maybe it's not the right time to ask this, but... where's that brother of yours?"

"What, Loki?"

"Do you have any other brothers hidden up somewhere?" you lift an eyebrow.

"You don't have to worry. Loki has spent his days in the prison down below since we got back from Earth and that's where he'll be. He can't harm you or anyone else."

For some reason, you feel a bit sorry for him that he's been in a cell for so long and will be for the rest of his life. Just the thought of Loki wakens something in you and you suddenly get the urge to visit him. On the other hand, Thor would possibly not accept that. But if he's safe from everyone, it can't hurt to go down there.

"Y/N?"

Having been in your own thoughts, you drop out of them and see Thor's wondering look staring down at you.

"Great," you say as a comment to his answer about Loki. Moving your eyes to the double doors, you see Jane gazing out over the railing. "You should go out to her. Must be a shock finding out you have a powerful weapon of darkness floating inside of you."

Giving you a little smile, Thor tells you the direction to some food and bathroom if you'll be needing it, and that he and Jane will find you shortly.

Taking his advice, you leave the room and head down the hall. Everything is so well done decorated: sculptures, paintings, colours... Most of it in gold.

"Shit!" you quickly take out your phone to look at the time. It's been hours since you left this noon. Tony must be worried sick about where you are. However, your phone says "out of area". Sighing, you put it back into your pocket.

This is going well, what's next on the list?

On the way, you meet Sif, the greatest of the warrior women and one of Thor's closest friends. She gladly escorts you to the food as you seem to have lost the way. You ask her about life here on Asgard and how the two prince brothers were as children.

"As any brothers. Fighting and playing. Loki is the master of tricks. Always has been. He used to play tricks on Thor, on all of us really. At first, it was fun, but after a while, it got repetitive and dangerous. Odin tried to have a strict talk with him but he wouldn't take words to wisdom."

"Sounds about right," you say and take a glass of water.

"You know him?" Sif asks surprised.

"Sort of. We stopped him when he brought his army to New York."

"Yes, of course! I must thank you for participating in that. Asgard is a better place without Loki. And Midgard must be too."

More boring if you ask me.

But you didn't say that out loud. You don't even know why you think that.

"You don't miss him at all? Surely, he must be somewhat good. I mean, according to your stories, before he found out he was adopted."

Continuing your walk, Sif shakes her head. "That side of him faded a long time ago."

You don't understand why you think about Loki so much but there's something about him that's caught your attention ever since he smiled at you for the first time. After that, you had visited him in the cage he was put in for a little chat where you figured out that his plan was to use the Hulk so he could escape. And his plan worked. Next time you got face to face again was on top of Stark's Tower in the middle of the battle.

Flashback

Steve helped you with a push of his shield so you could jump higher and grab a hold of one of those flying space things that Loki's army used to bring death and destruction to the city. You climbed up and knocked over one of the Chitauries and jumped on the shoulders of the other while pushing two knives in both of his shoulders. This way, you could control the little flying float.

You turned left, making it take you towards Stark's tower where Loki had placed his special machine with the Tesseract in the centre. From it, a powerful jet going all the way up, holding up a big hole in the sky. That's where the army come from and you were gonna try to close it.

However, that turned out to be more tricky than you hoped for. Behind you, Loki came after you, trying to shoot you down.

"Oh, you," you sighed. "Clint, some help?"

"I have my eyes on him," Clint replied. He was standing on a rooftop, bow and arrow lifted up to his face, aiming at the God. When he was sure that he'll hit his target, he fired.

But like a piece of cake, Loki snapped the arrow right before it would run right through his skull. He looked at it, then back up at Clint with a 'seriously?' look.

Right then, the arrow exploded and sent Loki flying in the air and landing hard on the roof of Stark's building. Shortly after, you jumped and rolled down some meters away from him.

Rising up slowly, you kept your eyes on him the whole time.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked as he groaned while standing up.

"Because I can. I have the power," he growled back.

"What exactly do you want? A throne?"

"I was born to be king!"

"Is this really the kind of king you want to be?" you asked with a high voice and arm stretched out to the disaster happening below us. "Everything in ruins, everyone trembling on their knees? What pleasure could that possibly give you?"

For several seconds, Loki just looked at you. Staring you right in the eyes and then his expression changed slightly. Like he realized something, but his action to speak got interrupted when the Chitauri Leviathan crashed its side into the building right under you. The ground started to shake, and you stumbled as your balance got unsteady. Beneath you, the edge of the roof began to crack and fall, bringing you along with it. Luckily, you got a hold with your hands so you dangled with your body in the air.

"Tony! Tony, do you copy?!"

"I'm a bit busy at the moment!" he called back.

"What's going on?" Steve asked.

"Oh, I'm just taking a break by hanging off the roof!" you shouted back, your voice raised as the railing you're holding onto, began to fall apart. "It's gonna break!"

"Thor!" Steve called.

"I'm on it!" he responded and started to swing the hammer.

Just then, the railing fully broke and you felt your body dropping but then, you suddenly hang still again. Looking up, you see Loki's hand around your wrist. Without hesitation, you managed to wrap your hand around his own wrist as he started to use his strength to lift you back up. And with a groan, he pulled you back over the edge so both of you landed on your backs.

"Y/N? What's happening?" the team asked from the ground.

Breathing heavily, you stared up at the sky. "I'm okay," you assure them, but turned your head to your right, seeing Loki getting up. While you kept your eyes on him, you did the same.

"Why did you do that?" you asked.

His chest raised heavily as his blue mischief eyes looked at you. Parting his lips, he didn't get to say anything as the Hulk came jumping over the edge and grabbed him as they crashed through the windows and landed inside Stark's living room.

Present

Of course, you never told anyone that Loki had saved your life. And you never learned why he did it but perhaps now, you have a chance to find out. If you only get a chance to see him.

Sif and you continue the walk as she tells stories of how they won wars, how the parties works and the day Thor got worthy of the hammer, Mjolnir. You tell her about how you ended up here and about the Aether that's taken a hold inside Jane. On your way, you spot a staircase that goes down to another floor and two guards on each side to keep people from coming down, or perhaps the other way around.

"Down there's the prison," Sif explains when she follows your look. "God forbid any of them getting out."

"And Loki?"

Stopping, Sif eyes you questionable. "You seem awfully interested in him. Are you worried he's gonna attack your world again?"

Shaking your head, you look away from the stairs. "No, I'm sure he's well kept down there."

About an hour later, Thor and Jane find you in good company with Sif and two other soldiers, Fandral and Volstagg.

"Thor! Come, join us!" Volstagg calls with his cup raised in the air. Smiling, he and Jane sit down with you.

The six of you actually have a good couple of hours before the whole place get attacked. Everyone gets to their feet to strike back and defend their home. Then. all goes downhill from there.

Something crashes straight into the palace, causing panic to appear among all the people. You all run towards the spectacle. When you arrive, there's a giant black ship that has parked right in the centre of the great hall. Asgardian guards approach it slowly with raised spears. Then, chaos is heard coming from the stairs that you spotted earlier.

"The prisoners," a woman to our left says. You quickly understood that she must be Odin's wife. Frigga.

"Loki," Thor comments.

"Go, I'll look after them," Frigga tells her son. Thor doesn't hesitate to take off with his hammer.

Next, Odin comes up to you. "Send a squadron to the weapons vault, defend it at all costs. Seal the dungeon," he tells a group of guards who immediately leave.

"Odin."

"Frigga. It's a skirmish, nothing to fear."

"You've never been a very good liar."

"Take them to your chambers, I'll come for you when it's safe."

"You take care."

"Despite all I have survived, my queen still worries over me." Odin puts a hand on Frigga's cheek that he quickly removes.

"It's only because I worry about you that you have survived."

Odin goes off and Frigga leads you and Jane away. She takes a sword from one of the guards. "Listen to me now, I need you to do everything I ask and no questions."

You and Jane look at each other, then back forward.

"Yes, ma'am."

By the Dark Elves' ship, it now opens and dozens of elves and Asgardians start to fight. The elves seem to have the advantage.

Frigga, Jane and you arrive inside a chamber. She hands you another sword.

"I can go back out there and fight," you tell her, but she seems to have her own opinions on that.

"I told Thor I would watch over you. These are not Midargians."

"It's not my first time, fighting species from space," you tell her and she turns to look at me.

"You were there when Loki attacked Earth?"

"Yes."

"Can't have been easy. Coming here where he is after what he did. I apologize for his actions. I wish he was still the innocent little boy when we brought him in." She turns to Jane. "Now, I need you to come with me." She brings Jane around a corner in the room, and when they come back, Frigga explains to you that the Jane following is just a hologram as the real Jane is hiding.

"Ma'am. Let me go and help Thor," you practically beg her. When it seems like she's about to accept your wish, the doors burst open, revealing one of the dark elves. Frigga goes in front of you with a raised sword.

"Stand down creature. You may still survive this."

With strict steps, he comes into the room.

God, he's huge!

"I've survived worse, woman."

You're following his movements, not letting your eyes leave him.

"Who are you?" Frigga asks.

"I am Malekith, and I would have what it is mine." As he walks closer to Frigga she strikes him in the face with her sword. He takes out his blade and starts fighting with her and you try to find a chance to help her, but don't get one. Frigga puts up a good fight but another elf, Algrim, comes to his master's aid and subdues her. You rush forward and swing the sword. The sharp blade almost makes contact with Malekith but he foresees it and swings his own sword into a fight.

The two of you go on for a short moment until he uses his sword to block your hit while his other hand goes right in your face, sending you across the room so you land unconscious on the floor.

Malekith then walks towards Jane. "You have taken something, child. Give it back." He stands in front of Jane and as he goes to grab her, she disappears and he realizes that she's a hologram, he turns to Frigga. "Witch! Where is the Aether?"

"I'll never tell."

"I believe you."

You slowly begin to wake and open your eyes. But it's too late. Algrim stabs Frigga in the back. "No!" you scream, but she falls dead to the floor.

At the same time, Thor rushes in with a scream and shoots a lightning bolt at Malekith's face, severely scarring it. He and Algrim escape and jump onto their ship before Thor can catch them. After, Odin arrives to find Frigga dead. He holds her body in his arms as Thor, Jane and you stand silently around them.

* * *

Right after all the elves are gone, everyone gets ready for Frigga's funeral. You and Jane were lent a pair of long dresses which some maids help you put on. Once you're done, you meet Thor outside the room. His eyes are sad so you give him a sympathetic smile. You had put out the thought of bringing Loki too, but Odin would not have it which stung in you because she was his mother too. But he still has to be inside the cell while all of you attend.

And it sure was a sight! It's the most beautiful memorial you've ever seen, including in movies. You could feel the strength of it and the sorrow everyone carried. Even though you didn't know Frigga, you started to cry on behalf of Thor and Odin's grief. And Loki, though you don't know if he knows about it yet. But she loved him, and you know he loved her too.

After the funeral is over, you, Thor, and Jane walk silently back inside.

"How're you holding up?" Jane asks him, holding onto his arm with both hands.

"Her death was not in vain. She protected you. She died honourably."

You walk silently on Thor's other side, your face down as you do. "I'm sorry, I tried to stop him-"

"Hey," Thor stops and puts his hand on your shoulder. "Do not blame yourself for this. It's Malekith. And I'm gonna find him and stop him." He takes his hand off you and continues to walk.

"Wait," you say after him and he turns. "Shouldn't Loki at least get to know about this?"

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

Tags: @fire-in-her-veinz @markusstraya

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askthetriokzt · 6 years

Text

An Adachi Family Tale

The Adachi family has been around for quite some time. It’s hard to pinpoint when or where the first Adachi came from... or really came to be, but this family has lived on for many generations, passing down strength, the desire to help, the will to stand, a pillar, life as a sword and shield. But this is a force, and one can fail its calling, and no one failed that calling to the same level as Matsuoka had, almost completely severing and tainting the name.

(warning, this story is long and has some rather dark material in it (implied decapitation, killing, being eaten alive, so read at your own risk)

Long ago, when the world held no beings with quirks, when pictures were still in black and white, a man of the name Matsuoka came into existence. He was just like any of past generation of Adachi, strong-willed, a natural with a blade, growing like a weed... and yet something was different with him, he was gifted with the first instance of the Power Slash, an ability of the deity the Adachi family had worshipped and followed under since the beginning.

The world wanted a little test run first, to see what would happen if a human was given a quirk. Would they use it for good? Or let it consume the mind of the host. The first test was given to a member of the Adachi family, because if even one of their own members could be corrupted, then this world was not yet truly ready for the gift that is a quirk.

At this stage, the Power Slash only gave the ability to cut nonliving things, it did not give the bearer enhanced strength, no, that would be too much for a test run, too dangerous. So, under the guidance of their deity, and with the support of the family, Matsuoka trained and mastered his ability to use and control his new found ability.

Day and night, he trained and practiced. At first, his skills grew exponentially until he reached a plateau. Yes, he was still getting better and honing his skills, but things weren’t quite as noticeable anymore. Still, he wanted more and more, to get stronger, but why? What was his end goal? What was his purpose now? He had already far surpassed his family and all those around him in power and skill, but Matsuoka claimed that he could still get stronger, better, there was still something above him, above them all.This was the first dark speck in his heart, that slowly grew and festered over time, unchecked, unchallenged, constantly fed with his desires for strength, for power.

At first, the inability to harm others with his quirk was a blessing, he could go all out in a fight without having to worry about his opponents well being... but is that truly a blessing? No care, no restraint, just pure raw strength, and ferocity... so cruel... Over time, this too wormed its way into his mind and heart, further spreading the blackness in his heart. The thrill of the fight was taking over, no longer for the sake of others, but for his own enjoyment... and as such, the inability to harm others with his quirk directly, turned into shackles for him.

What was the point of having all of this power, all of this potential, but have it be locked away... there had to be a way to access it all, all of this power, to reach the peak and never have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again, never have to worry about anyone stepping all over you, being just a stepping stone for someone else to take the throne... no, no more with that.

Matsuoka wasnt going to find the kind of training or strength he desired and deserved if he stayed with his current family, no, they wanted to keep him from reaching his full potential, his true potential, they were fools, blind, cowardly, stopping themselves from being the strongest family by willingly letting themselves be pillars, stepping stones, shields for others, no more of that.

With a handful of blades, a sack of money, and the clothes on his back, Matsuoka left, out to find others who would teach him what he wanted and deserved to know.

For the next several years, he would find a group, learn what they could teach him, then leave to find the next. Despite all of the different people he met along his journey, none of them seemed to have made enough of an impact for Matsuoka to even bother learning their names or faces. To him, they were just a means to an end goal of his, why waste time when he could be getting stronger.

This continued on until one day, he came across a group of ex-assassins, this is exactly what he had been searching for the whole time, the kind of people who would teach him everything he deserved and needed to know in the way of the sword and battle.

Their methods were as cold as the blades they used and as ruthless and grotesque as Ed Gein, truly monsters to avoid and yet, Matsuoka felt right at home with them. This was where he was going to learn how to break his shackles, he just knew it. During all of the training sessions, they only ever used dummies, and it didn't take long for Matsuoka to grow tired of it, wanting a real test, a real challenge, to do the real deal.

At first, the group deemed him as not ready, still needing a long way to go, to wash away the rest of his binds before they could undo the heaviest and strongest shackles.

But finally, the day came, if Matsuoka passed this test, then he would be free, free of his shackles and from the weak minded people that were his family, free to really go all out with his special power. All he had to do was retrieve an egg, but not just any egg, it was an egg that they had hidden that was now being guarded by a beast of the forest.

Matsuoka found this task to be simply child’s play, Easter Egg Hunting with just some extra steps thrown in really... but that wasnt the real challenge though, no, the ex-assassins had something else in mind, this was just the first step.

Upon finding the egg, he noted how it was bright, warm to the touch, red mixed with orange, but before he could examine it any further, the beast guarding it strikes, without warning and nearly took away his vision. Matsuoka may not have been able to kill with his power, but, thanks to the assassins, he had learned plenty of other ways to sever the string of life.

Making easy and quick work with the beast, he grabbed the egg and made his way back to the group, his back to the fallen beast as he left it behind, smoke filling the air around it until all that was left was a single red and orange feather.

Now came the real and final test. Upon returning, the group congratulated Matsuoka for his deed, truly a strong and skilled fighter, but now, there was just one thing left to do... smash the egg.

It wouldnt be hard at all, the beast protecting it was now gone, the egg in Matsuoka’s hands, at his mercy, nothing protecting it, nothing stopping him.

Smash the egg

A defenseless egg. Had done nothing wrong, nothing to provoke this at all. Just existing, and yet, he could just smash it, end its life when it had only just begun.

Smash the egg!

Why not? Nothing is stopping him, just do it, end it, he has the power to do so. No one would even notice that it was gone.

Smash the egg!

Smash the egg

SMASH THE EGG!

Lifting the egg high above his head, Matsuoka looked up at it for a brief moment before a long and twisted smile stretched wide across his face, he was just about to be free and all that was stopping him was just the weak and fragile shell of this egg. Quick and without mercy, he slammed his arms down, releasing the egg and sending it crashing to the ground below.

Crack

Went the skull shell, breaking and shattering from the impact, letting its contents spill out all along the ground and against those who surrounded the scene. The sound of the cracking seemed to have echoed all around, putting everything else on pause, all eyes on them now, the animals, nearby people, the forest itself, even those from above and below, watching.

The deed was done, the egg stolen and now broken, splattered all over the ground and slowly seeping into the dirt, as if to try to get away and avoid any more harm that could be done to it.

Wanting to see if he truly was free now, Matsuoka turned to one of the assassins, his eyes focused on a certain spot on their neck, and, without a single warning, used his power. And just like the egg, the man was just so easily dealt with, his head rolling and falling to the ground, cracking and spilling his contents...

Matsuoka couldnt leave a job unfinished, however, so one by one, he picked up the rest of the assassins, no sign of hesitation or remorse, even though they had taught him everything they knew, gave him exactly what he wanted, no, nothing stopped him.

The world might have only known black and white photos during this time, but Matsuoka was out to turn it all red. His dark heart had corrupted the quirk so much, that now, there was nothing stopping him from hacking and slashing away at anyone.

Before too much damage could be done, however, the deity that granted him his power, that Matsuoka had corrupted and used for wrong, dealt with the issue, needing to rid the world of it, and try again at a later time.

Bright red eyes surrounded the traveling Slaughter House, the sound of squeaks and pitter patter of tiny feet almost deafening as they charged him. Rats had come to end him. Using his power, Matsuoka attempted to hack and slash the vermin to bits, but every time he cut one, they would split and form two solid new beings, still out for blood. Again and again, he tried, backing away to try to distance himself from the growing army of rats until his back was pressed against a wall. He had all of this power, and yet nothing worked, he was powerless in this situation.

Reaching his feet, their tiny claws and teeth dug into his skin, as they slowly climbed up his body. Crying out, Matsuoka called for help, for anyone who would help him, but no one came, no one cared, this had to be done.

He cried and screamed and wailed for help, in pain, for forgiveness, as the rat climbed up his body, tearing away at his clothes that protected his fleshy fragile skin and organs from the hungry and vengeful rodents.

They whetted their teeth against the stone From their, they picked the failure’s bones They gnawed the flesh from every limb For they were sent to punish him.

#trigger warning #implied #decapitation #eaten alive #rats #why do I do this #Im sorry

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overcaffeinated-creative · 6 years

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AU: Hear Our War Cries as We Burn Your Cities Down

Or, I wrote a What If... fic, got attached to the idea, and slowly built a full fucking AU for it. Because I have the impulse control of a stoner the candy aisle.

Note: This isn’t super happy at times because you don’t all run off to become Extremists because life was going great.

-The trio’s life goes right about according to my canon for them up until they’re in the 10/11 range. They’ve not been absolutely horrible Initiates but it’s also clear they’re not happy in the Order. However, they can’t find a way to just leave the Order before failing out at 16 or quitting as a Padawan. Until then they’re stuck.

-Solus is the only one who would really have a place to leave to. Lumi going back to Ryloth is a full on nightmare for her. There’s too much Cartel, too much risk of her being even more shackled there than she feels in the Order. Jazari would only have the Guardians of the Whills to go back to on Jedha.

-So, Solus, burning with every shred of love and compassion and loyalty to her best friends in the world promises them, “If something happens, Aliit Vetra and Krownest will be open to you.”

-It takes about a year before The Promise truly comes up but it starts to weigh on their minds. Bodies gearing up for normal changes send them into spirals they cannot fully control. Between that, their powers ramping up for a giant leap forward, and feeling unchallenged in class things go sideways.

-Kamelia’s nettling comments don’t help matters with anyone. It’s become apparent to her that she’s not standing out by following the status quo. People acknowledge her but it’s not enough anymore. So, she starts to seek attention anyway she can get it, from whoever and wherever it can be offered.

-Like children with too much pressure on them, ignored complaints, and no way to healthily vent that doesn’t include “Meditating” they act out. It’s never in a truly overt means but it happens. They break rules, push boundaries, and do everything they can to cover it up just to prove they can.

-They also begin to consider running away and more than that idly plan it. Lumi researches star charts and ways to get off Coruscant without being caught. Jazari turns her slicing toward squirreling funds away for them. Solus begins to find ways to get in touch with someone from Mandalore to let her family know she may be coming back.

-Kamelia grows suspicious of them because her Visions are going haywire too. She see’s them breaking rules, breaking the law, and even breaking away from the Light in her mind. Because the Jedi are the Light. It becomes her goal to encourage them. If they’re gone (or she stops them) she could be important again.

-After several incidents of them being problems together and the decision that they are negatively affecting one another, there is some effort made isolate Solus, Lumi, and Jazari from one another. The excuse used is “They’re too attached” to one another. It is, however, true. They are deeply attached to one another.

-(No one says Anakin Skywalker is enough of a problem but it crosses minds a lot. The next generation of Jedi seems to be lead by too powerful children with Anger and Trauma and Opinions that go against the grain. It scares the dogmatic old guard.)

-This proves to be an overall terrible choice. No one has outright failed out of the Jedi Order at their age but they all put in honest efforts now. Participation in lessons plummet, they become defiant and refuse to do any work, and their Gifts become even more cursed.

-Using a slyness not witnessed since the Shadows of Old cast away their full identities, the Trio truly plans to run away.

-Everything almost goes off without a hitch...except Kamelia, using a hunch from a vision, rats them out. During their various cover pranks with the intention of getting away they get caught. Two eleven year olds and a single twelve year old are no match for Masters but they go down fighting and do a lot of property damage in the process...along with some superficial damage to some because Lumi and Solus bite hard.

-Their punishment accomplishes their end goals but not at all how they wanted them. Cast out from their Order, their lightsabers are taken, and they are sent back to their planets of origin.

-(Several arguments did go down because of this. Some said they should keep them because they are children and could be taught better. Others, who never wanted some of them to begin with, used this as fuel to finally be rid of them. In the end, the decision was too many Initiates were running rampant of the Code and they were special, but not special enough. It left a bitter taste in several mouths that maintaining control in the face of a clouded future was used to justify these actions. They were children who were hurting and now being punished for it.)

-Lumi screamed when she was told she was being sent back to Ryloth. Silver eyes went wide as she wailed in sounds climbing out of human hearing range. Lekku angrily snapped to and for when the realization sat in what would happen.

“Why don’t you just tie up in ribbon and give me to the Hutts?” she snapped. “Because someone will make me a slave. At this way, you can get some favor with them.”

-Jazari went almost mute. She knew what going back to Jedha City would mean. Either being tossed into the orphanage or returning to the Guardians. She would have to admit that she failed to become a Jedi. There was too much wrong with her and it was what she was supposed to want. Or, at least that’s what she been told she should want.

“I have to admit failure,” she whispered to herself, hazel eyes shining with tears. “I failed because I wanted more than you think I deserve.”

-Solus froze over with anger as they debated her future-again-without her input. The original idea was to send her to Kalevala with her blood family or maybe Concord Dawn with Harti Wren, since he cared for her in the past. They settled on sending her to Krownest with the few remaining Vetra. She could ignore what was to happen to her but they hurt her friends. She promised to protect them but yet again the Jetii decided to rip everything she loved apart.

“Munit tome’tayl,” she spat at them, almost tranquil in stance, “skotah iisa. Bu'linara kak abarya.”

(Long memory, short fuse. Consider yourself warned.)

-Kamelia feels a full victory starting out but it turns quickly turns hollow. Her powers as a seer are proven to be something of note. The trade off becae the others her age no longer trusting her. She’s became an envious rat in their eyes and could forge ahead alone.

-Lumi arrives on Ryloth to no fanfare but a few sneers and taunts. Her family immediately went back to ignoring her existence as they had when she was a small child. No one wanted to try a Jedi, even a barely trained one, but it was only a matter of time.

-Jazari takes an immediate apprenticeship with a mechanic friend of her father’s. Two of the Guardians arranged it for her. She will forever be thankful for them for trying to help her. Even if seeing the Kyber Temple hurts. All around her the crystals sing as her waist sits empty.

-Solus is greeted by Harti, who she gets along with for three days before snapping at him when suggests leaving Krownest for safety.

“I left before!” she screamed, “I left because you let them take me. Because Jai’ba’buir gave me to them and then died. Because everyone keeps taking and taking from me. I am staying right here. You had years to come for me but you didn’t. So, just leave me alone!”

Harti leaves brokenhearted and Solus returns to her friendship with Ursa again. It’s not Ursa’s job to help her but they do have a history and Aliit Vetra is ready to step forward. She’s ready to become who she was meant to be. And even Ursa realizes Solus is still hurting.

- In the span of three months, they bust their asses to get in touch with one another and it works to a degree. Lumi keeps communications hidden but she’s always on edge now. She continues to weigh just running away versus her (rightful) paranoia of being sold before she sets out. Jazari is an exhausted, unchallenged mechanic’s novice. Solus is almost despondent at what the New Mandalorians have done to her home.

-They work out a plan and it does go down without a hitch in the beginning. Solus busts her ass to learn to pilot a ship and does so. She takes a small ship, something leftover from The Great Clan Wars, and heads out hellbent on getting her friends. First comes, Jazari on Jedha. Jazari leaves a note to the kind Guardians after admitting to Baze her plans. He wishes her luck and Chirrut wishes the Force to be with her. That part went easy.

-The snag comes with picking up Lumi. She got to the designated city without a problem and so did they. However, some unsavory sorts also saw them and saw credit signs. A Sephi something in beskar’gam, the Kirrin Twi’lek mix that people kept hearing about on the market, and a maybe Mirialan mix who looked like she knew work.

-It went from an attempted kidnapping into a full on Mess. Turns out, instinctive uses of the Force sometimes cross lines. Such as, “I will throw you into this wall with the full intent of you not getting back up” and the skirmish turned into both groups getting roughed up. Lumi’s got a right hook no one is ever ready for, Solus does in fact have a grenade and a blaster with her, and Jazari takes her own blaster to use. They’ve made enemies.

-Making it back to Solus’ ship and taking it off was surprisingly less of a challenge. They’re all good at Force Stealth and everyone had their adrenaline high to keep moving. Even on the ship, they’re almost in good spirits again because they’re back together again.

-”You’re Aliit now,” Solus tells them once she’s got them all safely into hyperspace. “You’re both Clan Vetra. I’m the Countess and the Chieftain and I’ll adopt you in. We’ll never being separated again,” she promises with full wisdom.

“What’s going to happen?” Jazari asks while rubbing bacta on Lumi’s tchun.

“You can train alongside me and be Mandalorians too, or at least learn how to fight. We’ll all have a safe place to live and be able to control our own destinies. When I make choices I’ll ask you about them too because we all get to pick now.”

“I want to learn to fly,” Lumi says, eyeing the yoke and smiling. “I want to soar.”

-They’re really happy together and training does pay off for them. Solus is testy about the state of Mandalore and the others seeing her points. They agree to help her help her homeworld.

-However, a question comes down to twelve year old Solus Vetra. She’s asked to join Kyr’tsad, to pledge her clan’s allegiance to them, and she debates. She asks the others because it’s pledging them too. They end up agreeing for the training they won’t get messing around on Krownest alone, for the chance to do something greater, and just for the chance to stretch their legs.

(No one talks about the fact it would have been all out war if they had not. It’s basically a forced decision but one someone at least asked them about it. No one told them what they were doing.)

-From there, chaos builds. Jazari’s unstoppable when teamed up with Dax. He does remote hacking while she is capable of sneaking into anywhere and setting up there. Solus is a spy like no other, working her magic to tear this Republic backed banthashit apart while studying on the side with Ruus, she will heal too. Lumi takes to fighting and flying with the same fierceness. No one can match her.

-Traveling some, they find new kyber crystals and forge new lightsabers. It’s a show of strength and usefulness and they finally feel like themselves again. They search for holocrons to hone their few skills further as well as pick up new tricks. Turns out, not caring makes Mind Tricks easier.

-Even if joining Kyr’tsad was almost forced they quickly love it. When they agree, they’re in...they’re in. There’s nothing more happening. They fall in with the others and get the chance to learn. No one chastises them for being too aggressive, too forceful, too attached, too much of anything. They’re doing something for a goal they can believe because Solus’ quiet observation of, “You must pull an arrow back to shoot it forward.” rings true and they’re tired, so tired of the Order and the Republic looming over them.

-The become the Morrigan in a sense. No one holds them back as the ride the highs and thrills of battles. Accomplishing their own goals as well as the organizations. Because that anger at the Order, at their pasts, at their traumas they were told to ignore never dies. Here they find healing in a sense and the ability to Act.

#au: hear our war cries as we burn your cities down #solus vetra #lumi kirrin #jazari naaji #kamelia malo

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protruth-prochoice · 6 years

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The Day Gianna Sold Out

I want to clarify before I continue.

Yes, it's probable that Gianna is making enough from her speaking engagements to pay for the medical expenses she will have the rest of her life and getting to see the world, not living in a mansion or driving a Lamborghini.

She has claimed that despite having cerebral palsy and therefore meeting the definition of disability since before age 22, she has not received any public assistance since age 18, even Medicare which she is entitled to. She made this claim while arguing that government healthcare is bad, and I know she has issues with parents being denied the ability to attempt even potentially futile care (truthfully, so do I) on severely disabled infants when another agency besides the government offers to cover it.

But my little brother and sister, grown now, adopted by a wonderful foster family but will be dependent on others forever, can't go on tours to pay for the damage their biological mother's choices while pregnant did to them. They're too damaged.

They will both need Medicare and Medicaid their entire lives. If she is going to claim to advocate for disabled children, why she thinks my little brother and sister don't deserve care is insanity.

So bear in mind that while I don't particularly object to her decision to opt-out of the Medicare/Medicaid she's entitled to, taking decisions away from people who don't have a voice or a choice is kind of what she preaches against. Yet another hopefully unintentional demonstration of the "pro-fetus" but not pro-life mentality.

-----

Gianna didn't necessarily "sell out" by money. She "sold out" when she first allowed someone to lie in her name about the circumstances of her birth in order to "save the unborn". She gave into the pressure to throw whatever might stick at an organization she believes is terrible, instead of sticking to her truth and demanding the correction be made immediately.

And she has still refused to see how this damages her credibility, how this damages the pro-life movement as a whole, or her part in it by letting the rumor continue unchallenged. By pinning Tweets that say it to her social media pages. By giving what readers of Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time" would recognize as an "Aes Sedai truth" that deliberately misleads.

In that fantasy series, people who had special powers weren't trusted not to abuse them. They agreed to take three Oaths on a special device that would literally stop them from breaking the Oaths. One was "I shall speak no word that is not true." They were famed manipulators, though, because they could spin the "truth" like a top and give misleading but true answers.

It's possible the Shaver biography is correct, and Tina Holder was referred to Allred by Planned Parenthood. We will never know now, because she is dead. Yet the evidence is clear that Planned Parenthood did not perform any procedures on Tina Holder. They did not attempt to abort Gianna. Especially if it was true that Tina had another abortion after giving birth to a live baby during one, any potential coercive counseling by Planned Parenthood in 1977 didn't override the fact Tina chose to go to Allred, chose to have the abortion, and allegedly chose to have another later. Their role in Gianna's disabilities is so minimal that while it may be true and as such if she's going to say Big Bad Planned Parenthood conned her mom, that's fine.

But it's NOT fine to let people outright say lies in your name, nor is it fine to craft your "truth" in front of Congress to mislead so many news outlets it's impossible to count and the lack of retractions nearly three years later is evident from Google.

Ever since Gianna started letting this lie be said unchallenged routinely and allowing her bookers to sell tickets to her events by claiming Planned Parenthood performed the abortion, she's refrained from showing off her birth certificate.

That's because it directly contradicts the myth.

----

June 16, 2006

Planned Parenthood Celebration Jolted by Abortion Survivor

by Ted Harvey, assistant minority leader, Colorado House

She sings the anthem to applause, then her secret is revealed to stunned silence.

I want to share with you an awesome experience I had in the Colorado House of Representatives on May 8. It is a humbling experience to look back and realize that God used me to play a role in His divine orchestration.

I was leaving the House chambers for the weekend when our Democrat speaker of the House announced that the coming Monday would be the final day of this year's General Assembly. He went on to state that there were still numerous resolutions on the calendar which we would need to be addressed prior to the summer adjournment. Interestingly, he specifically mentioned that one of the resolutions we would be hearing was being carried by the House Majority Leader Alice Madden, honoring the 90th anniversary of Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains.

As a strong pro-life legislator I was disgusted by the idea that we would pass a resolution honoring this 90-year legacy of genocide. I drove home that night wondering what I could say that might pierce the darkness during the debate on this heinous resolution.

On Saturday morning, I took my 8-year-old son up to the mountains to go white-water rafting. The trip lasted all day. As we were driving home, exhausted and hungry, I remembered that I had accepted an invitation to attend a fundraising dinner that night for a local pro-life organization. One of my most respected mentors had personally called me several weeks earlier and asked me to attend, so I knew I'd have to clean up and head over.

After our meal, the executive director of the organization introduced the keynote speaker. I looked up and saw walking to the stage a handicapped young lady being assisted to the microphone by a young man holding a guitar.

Her name was Gianna Jessen.

Gianna said "Hello," welcomed everyone, and then sang three of the most beautiful Christian songs I have ever heard.

She then began to give her testimony. When her biological mother was 17 years old and seven and a half months pregnant, she went to a Planned Parenthood clinic to have an abortion. As God would have it, the abortion failed and a beautiful 2-pound baby girl was brought into the world. Unfortunately, she was born with cerebral palsy and the doctors thought that she would never survive. The doctors were wrong.

Imagine the timing! A survivor of a Planned Parenthood abortion arrived in town just days before the Colorado House of Representatives was to celebrate Planned Parenthood's "wonderful" work.

As I listened to Gianna's amazing testimony, the Lord inspired me to ask her if she could stay in Denver until Monday morning so that I could introduce her on the floor of the House and tell her story. Perhaps she could even begin the final day's session by singing our country's national anthem!

To my surprise she said she would seriously consider it. If she were to agree, she wanted her accompanying guitarist to stay as well. A lady standing in line behind me waiting to meet Gianna overheard our conversation and said that she would be willing to pay for the guitarist's room. Gianna then said that she would think about it.

As I was driving home from the banquet, my cell phone rang. It was Gianna, and she immediately said, "I'm in, let's ruin this celebration." Praise God!

When Monday morning came, I awoke at 6 a.m. to write my speech before heading to the Capitol. As I wrote down the words, I could sense God's help and I knew that this was going to be a powerful moment for the pro-life movement.

Following a committee hearing, I rushed into the House chambers just as the opening morning prayer was about to be given. Between the prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance, I wrote a quick note to the speaker of the House explaining that Gianna is an advocate for cerebral palsy. I took the note to the speaker and asked if I could have my friend open the last day of session by singing the national anthem. Without any hesitation the speaker took the microphone and said, "Before we begin, Representative Harvey has made available for us Gianna Jessen to sing the national anthem."

Gianna sang the most amazing rendition of The Star Spangled Banner that you could possibly imagine. Every person in the entire chamber was completely still, quiet and in awe of this frail young lady's voice.

Due to her cerebral palsy, Gianna often loses her balance, and shortly after starting to sing she grabbed my arm to stabilize herself, and I could tell that she was shaking. Suddenly, midway through the song, she forgot the words and began to hum and then said, "Please forgive me; I am so nervous." She then immediately began singing again and every House member and every guest throughout the chambers began to sing along with her to give her encouragement and to lift her up.

As I looked around the huge hall I listened to the unbelievable melody of Gianna's voice being accompanied by a choir of over 100 voices. I had chills running all over my body, and I knew that I had just witnessed an act of God.

As the song concluded the speaker of the House explained that Gianna has cerebral palsy and is an activist to bring awareness to the disease. "Let us give her a hand not only for her performance today, but also for her advocacy work," he said. The chamber immediately exploded into applause -- she had them all in the palm of her hand.

The speaker then called the House to order, and we proceeded as usual to allow members to make any announcements or introductions of guests. For dramatic effect, I waited until I was the last person remaining before I introduced Gianna.

As I waited for my turn, I nervously paced back and forth praying to God that he would give me the peace, confidence and the courage necessary to pull off what I knew would be one of the most dramatic and controversial moments of my political career.

While I waited, a prominent reporter from one of the major Denver newspapers walked over to Gianna and told her that her rendition captured the spirit of the national anthem more powerfully than any she had ever heard before.

Finally, I was the last person remaining. So, I proceeded to the microphone and began my speech.

"Members, I would like to introduce you to a new friend and hero of mine -- her name is Gianna Jessen. She is visiting us today from Nashville, Tennessee, where she is an accomplished recording artist.

She has cerebral palsy and was raised in foster homes before being adopted at the age of four.

She was born prematurely and weighed only 2 pounds at birth. She remained in the hospital for almost three months. A doctor once said she had a great will to live and that she fought for her life. Eventually she was able to leave the hospital and be placed in foster care.

Because of her cerebral palsy, her foster mother was told that it was doubtful that she would ever crawl or walk. She could not sit up independently. Through the prayers and dedication of her foster mother, she eventually learned to sit up, crawl, then stand. Shortly before her fourth birthday, she began to walk with leg braces and a walker.

She continued in physical therapy and after a total of four surgeries, she was able to walk without assistance.

She still falls sometimes, but she says she has learned how to fall gracefully after falling for 29 years.

Two years ago, she walked into a local health club and said she wanted a private trainer. At the time her legs could not lift 30 pounds. Today she can leg press 200 pounds.

She became so physically fit that she began running marathons to raise money and awareness for cerebral palsy. She just returned last week from England where she ran in the London Marathon. It took her more than eight-and-a-half hours to complete. They were taking down the course by the time she made it to the finish line. But she made it, nonetheless. With bloody feet and aching joints, she finished the race.

Members would you help me recognize a modern-day hero -- Gianna Jessen?"

At this point the chamber exploded into applause which lasted for 15-to-20 seconds. Gianna had touched their souls.

Ironically, Alice Madden, the majority leader and sponsor of the Planned Parenthood resolution, walked over to Gianna and congratulated her.

As the applause began to die down, I raised my hand to be recognized one more time.

"Mr. Speaker, members, if you would allow me just a few more moments I would appreciate your time.

My name is Ted Harvey, not Paul Harvey, but, please, let me tell you the rest of the story.

The cause of Gianna's cerebral palsy is not because of some biological freak of nature, but rather the choice of her mother.

You see when her biological mother was 17-years-old and 7-and-a-half months pregnant, she went to a Planned Parenthood clinic to seek a late-term abortion. The abortionist performed a saline abortion on this 17-year-old girl. This procedure requires the injection of a high concentration of saline into the mother's womb, which the fetus is then bathed in and swallows, which results in the fetus being burned to death, inside and out. Within 24 hours the results are normally an induced, still-born abortion.

As Gianna can testify, the procedure is not always 100 percent effective. Gianna is an aborted late-term fetus who was born alive. The high concentration of saline in the womb for 24 hours resulted in a lack of oxygen to her brain and is the cause of her cerebral palsy.

Members, today, we are going to recognize the 90th anniversary of Rocky Mountain Planned Parenthood…"

BANG! The gavel came down.

Just as I was finishing the last sentence of my speech -- the climax of the morning -- the speaker of the House gaveled me down and said, "Representative Harvey, I will allow you to continue your introduction, but not for the purposes of debating a measure now pending before the House."

At which point I said, "Mr. Speaker, I understand. I just wanted to put a face to what we are celebrating today."

Silence.

Deafening silence.

I then walked back to my chair shaking like a leaf. The Democrats wouldn't look at me. They were fuming. It was beautiful. I have been in the Legislature for five tough years, and this made it all worthwhile.

The House majority leader wouldn't talk to me the rest of the day.

Was it because I introduced an abortion survivor, or was it because we touched her soul? She could congratulate an inspirational cerebral palsy victim and advocate, but was outraged when she discovered that the person she congratulated was also an abortion survivor.

The headline in The Denver Post the next day read "Abortion Jab Earns Rebuke." The majority leader is quoted as saying, "I think it was amazingly rude to use a human being as an example of his personal politics."

Yes, Representative Madden, Gianna Jessen is a human being. She was when she was in her mother's womb, and she was when she sang the national anthem on the floor of the Colorado House of Representatives.

The paper went on to quote Gianna, stating she was glad I told her story.

"We need to discuss the humanity of it. I'm glad to be able to speak up for children in the womb," she said. "If abortion is about women's rights, where were my rights?"

All I can say is, "Glory to God!" He orchestrated it all, every minute of it, and I was so honored to have been chosen to play a part. May we all continue to be filled with and to fight for the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ!

-----

These are Ted Harvey's actual words. He says over and over "a survivor of a Planned Parenthood abortion".

Gianna hasn't corrected anyone who has said this since.

And for her ministry to bear any good fruit, she must stop this lie.

#gianna jessen #giannajessen #abortion #abortion survivors #edward allred #edward c allred #family planning associates #planned parenthood #pro choice #prochoice

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