#HE IS WILLING TO RISK HIS LIFE FOR THE MAN HE CALLED HIS GREATEST ENEMY AND HIS ONLY EQUAL

[1nt3rnalpu7ref4ct10n]

s5e10

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I've thought of a good way to characterize duelling styles.

Take Dumbledore and Voldemort. When I think of their style, I think of the movie, The Revenge of the Sith, and the duel between Anakin and Obi-Wan. It's incredibly stylish and intense. Both fighters are the best and it really comes down to who makes the first mistake.

That's how I think of Dumbledore and Voldemort. Their duel in OOTP was the most bombastic and entertaining in the whole series. They were duelling as how you'd expect two wizards of equal skill to duel.

With Harry, I think of the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indy shoots the swordfighter and walks off.

Harry's duelling style is quick, dirty and pragmatic. Sure, it may be boring, but it's damn effective. Why waste time and risk your life with all these fancy spells when a simple disarming charm renders 99% of wizards completely harmless.

Harry's not fighting as a wizard, he's fighting as a survivor.

Harry's definitely the most pragmatic dueller out of these three. And it makes sense. Harry didn't have the luxury of studying dueling and magic at his leisure to enjoy just the magic of it the way Dumbledore and Voldemort did. He doesn't have the arrogance of Dumbledore and Voldemort, so he doesn't have that same need to show off and prove he's the smartest most talented person in the room. Becouse that's what I think it is. The duel in OotP doesn't look like that just because of skill — it's also arrogance, of both combatants.

Both Dumbledore and Voldemort are trying to say: "look at me! I'm so much more talented and skilled than the other guy!" during their duel. The whole thing is a theatrical ego-stroke.

It's why Voldemort gets so miffed when Dumbledore questions his intelligence and magical skill. It's why Dumbledore repeatedly doubts Voldemort's skills aloud and calls him "Tom". Their duel is a game of showing "Look, I'm better", neither of them is trying to simply win, they want to humiliate their opponent and prove themselves superior.

“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. “Above such brutality, are you?” “We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk toward Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit —” “There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort. “You are quite wrong,” said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks. Harry felt scared to see him walking along, undefended, shieldless. He wanted to cry out a warning, but his headless guard kept shunting him backward toward the wall, blocking his every attempt to get out from behind it. “Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness —”

(OotP, Ch36)

Harry, on the other hand, is an abused, traumatized boy with ridiculously low self-esteem who's been running on survival mode since he can remember himself. Of course, he'd fight to remain alive. Harry never fights to prove a point or humiliate his opponents like Dumbles or Voldy, he is fighting to survive.

He is always going for incapacitation or disarming — he knows the longer the fight lasts, the lower his survival chances are, so he fights intending to end fights quickly. It's the best way to ensure survival and it's what he does.

He tries to avoid killing when the enemy doesn't deserve it (like Stan Shunpike or Draco in the bathroom, yes, Harry tried not to kill him) but Lupin is wrong in his assessment of Harry's dueling in DH. In fact, Harry is willing to kill when he needs to. When his opponent deserves it and it will save Harry and others, Harry goes for the kill. and he does so instantly.

He doesn't have Voldemort's theatrical need to play with his food:

“We bow to each other, Harry,” said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. “Come, the niceties must be observed. . . . Dumbledore would like you to show manners. . . . Bow to death, Harry. . . .”

(GoF, Ch34)

Becouse he isn't trying to prove a point. He is trying to survive and playing with your food means the food just might get a chance to get away.

Nor does Harry have Dumbledore's feigned goodness. (Dumbledore is a character who is obsessed with what he considers "good", he wants to be a good, humble person so bad, but he isn't. To the point of completely romanticizing the concept of "goodness" and kind of missing the point sometimes). Dumbledore doesn't kill because of his romanticized, idealized version of goodness which places him "above such brutality" just like Voldy mocks him in OotP. So he would never cast a killing curse — even if it is an efficient solution that would save lives at the moment.

Harry has no qualms about using Unforgivables when he feels the situation calls for it. If it's more efficient and helps/saves people Harry cares about, he'd do it. Harry is crazy scrappy when fighting. I talked about it here, but Harry uses his body a lot when dueling. He tackles Death Eaters with his hands, he elbows them in the face, he uses plenty of muggle brawling when dueling because it works. Harry does whatever he needs to do to survive, it doesn't even matter to him if he wins or not — what matters is survival. This is why he is so practical when it comes to dueling, why he fights the way he does, and why he is willing to cast Unforgivables. He would always choose the path to survival and to save as many people as he can, even if that path is running away (which he often considers in fights, especially when younger).

I really like your phrasing of it: "Harry's not fighting as a wizard, he's fighting as a survivor" because that's exactly what this is. If punching someone helps, he'd do it, if a spell can be useful, he'd use it. Oh, his hands burn Quirrell, very well, he'd use that — he uses anything and everything he can, he doesn't care how it looks, just that it works.

I think the Death Eaters in OotP were surprised when he just, like, tackled them down physically. I think most wizards think such is beneath them, so it'll surprise them when someone actually throws hands. I mean, we see Arthur and Lucius throw hands, and it's clearly not something common in their society:

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please — please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all — “Break it up, there, gents, break it up —” [...] Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury. “A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must��ve thought —”

(CoS, Ch4)

I'm pretty sure Lucius did not expect that. Like, he might've expected a hex, but not to be pushed physically. He probably considers it awfully muggle.

So, yeah, your assessment is correct and it fits their characters, beyond just skill level (since I believe Harry could fight like Dumbledore and Voldemort if he was inclined to do so).

[hestzhyen]

Kagurabachi Chapter 42 Nonsense Takes-

Holy shit. Dear internet void, I'm on the edge of my seat. This CHAPTER man! Several key moments from Ch. 20 are paying off here in a satisfying way.

This time, Hiyuki is the one who wavers when her convictions are contested:

Caught between duty, desire, and her own limitations... not a great feeling is it? She's in the same position now that Chihiro was facing off against her in Ch. 20. I feel like Chihiro's heroics will push her forward much like Hakuri's words did for him. Can't wait to see more of her after this arc and how she reconciles her noble beliefs with the selfish pragmatism of the Kamunabi. Not to mention how she'll manage her pride while reconsidering her rather dismal evaluation of Chihiro from earlier in the chapter.

Speaking of the Kamunabi, though... the older guys who have experienced the horrors of the Seitei war try to be realistic about the situation:

[Shaking Shiba like a maraca] WHAT'S YOUR BACKSTORY MR. OFFSCREEN SORCERER?

They very understandably want to cut their losses and reduce the risk of death for their younger allies. With terrifying artifacts like Magatsumi being necessary, the Seitei War really must have been hell on earth. Better to save what you can than risk losing everything on a bet and all that. I think this will be the meaty, scrumptious crux of the conflict between Chihiro and the Kamunabi whenever he ends up clashing with them in the open. All for the greater good vs. the greatest good for all, pragmatism vs. idealism- I am hype!

And yet the idealistic duo of Chihiro and Hakuri are going to stake their lives on making a miracle. Across the hall, without being able to speak to each other or hear what's being said over the chaos, they still understand what the other is thinking and wants to do. I love these two so much.

Hakuri recalling the conversation with Chihiro during the elevator ride in Ch. 20 when they first met. He knows his samurai's heart.

(Ch. 20 vs 42) Liar, liar, pants on fire. Fakest IDGAFer ever ready to risk his life to save a bunch of strangers, just like he said he wasn't interested in doing.

These. Guys! ARE! THE! BEST!

But there's certainly going to be a price paid for this- the toothpick bidding guy said as much. Chihiro can't win it all, no matter how strongly he feels about having his cake and eating it too. So what's going to get fucked up? Well, pick your poison(s) on how Chihiro's idealism will be tempered:

Chihiro and Hakuri fail to save all the hostages

Hakuri overexerts himself and is incapacitated/dies

The Rakuzaichi isn't ended for good

Magatsumi falls into the wrong hands

Chihiro/Hakuri is/are captured by an enemy

Failure to Save Innocents This scenario is somewhat likely, I think. We're doing Ch. 20 callbacks so may as well go all-in here. It's also been the biggest sticking point this chapter. "We (YOU) can't save everyone." Be pragmatic when weighing good actions vs. the cost of doing them. Understand your limits, work hard, and be ready to cut your losses. Be willing to accept that someone could die. Chihiro struggles with this for obvious reasons. He's a heroic badass, but also a traumatized kid. A human. He's got limits and he's got to acknowledge them at some point. Even if Ms. Inazuma is saved, he might not be able to tag all the captives before Hakuri has to pull him out. This would be absolutely devastating to him as a brutal but very needed wake-up call before he overestimates himself in a situation with higher stakes. And, man... if Chihiro has to come back to Mr. Inazuma and tell the poor kid that he couldn't save his sister... god, that would be awful for everyone. Idealism alone can't save lives, nor wishing for it, nor trying your best. Sometimes you can't save everyone and end up losing everything. I think this is a bit too downer but it's not completely out of the question.

Hakuri Fucking Dies One of the two outcomes here is almost definitely going to happen. I went on a few several thousand-word screeds about Hakuri's significance and how much I love this slightly insane little goober. There's plenty of good reasons to think he'll stay a permanent member of the cast, and if I'm being honest, I think it's a little early for Chihiro to lose an ally. We need a little more time to get attached and invested in the core crew he assembles before one of them is offed. And yet... While I think Shiba's "you'll both die!" line is just to amp up the tension, this...

I will kill everyone at the Rakuzaichi and then myself if anything happens to this kid.

... isn't looking good. At all. Knowing that Hakuri's basically had a full arc at this point means I can't just handwave away the chance he'll be the price Chihiro pays for his naive optimism. Because that's exactly why they're both doing this: Chihiro's expectations for himself are too high and unrealistic. And he's Hakuri's guiding light. Whatever Chihiro wants to accomplish, Hakuri will back him up with everything he has. He's pushing himself too far for Chihiro's sake and we'll all cry if that means he pays the ultimate price.

I think it's most likely that Hakuri will come out of this severely injured, though. Not dead, but close to it and unable to act for a while. It would teach the same lesson without breaking my heart so please, please let this be the variant chosen if Hakuri must be offered up. Protect his smile and give him the chance to learn that he deserves to be loved as he is.

The Rakuzaichi Yet Proceeds So this one would be interesting as hell IMO. There's a case for this due to the fact that, despite reappearing on the stage in the real world, neither Chihiro nor Hiyuki actually touch it. Only Kyoura does.

God I love the perspective shots

A big point was made in Ch. 33 about how inviolable this wooden platform is:

Lotta prestige tied to keeping people off a glorified wooden pallet, but hey what do I know. I'm not a human trafficker or abusive parent brainwashed into serving a merchant cult family.

So even when the whole thing seems poised to come crashing down, Kyoura alone remains worthy to stand on it. And if we don't see any non-Sazanami clan members step on it by the end of the arc, I think that's a signal that things aren't quite done with them yet. Or at the very least, their legacy will live on untarnished despite the head of the family falling in combat. They could become legends in the underworld for maintaining the sanctity of the Rakuzaichi until the very end. Not very wholesome for Team Goldfish, but hey, it's a comparatively small price to pay. I've got a lot of thoughts about what various scenarios would mean, but I'll wait until we actually see what happens before speculating too much. I will, however, do some Hakuri agendaposting while I'm here though!

I would find it incredibly tasty if Hakuri managed to stand on the stage at the very end somehow. Just for one last hearty "fuck you" to his sperm donor, you know? And to satisfy the part of my monkey brain that loves total vindication. The "worthless" kid who was instrumental in bringing down his family standing in the sacred zone he was supposed to protect, but was deemed unworthy of... that he rejects wholeheartedly while being the first since the progenitor to inherit both signature sorceries... yesssss. Especially considering this:

RIP Tenri, gone too soon

I go feral for stuff like this. Hakuri is the Special Boy. He deserves the moment, if he can figure out a way to get there before he collapses after helping Chihiro.

Magatsumi Goes MIA Once More I think this is the most likely price to be paid. Chihiro's heroics will cause him to miss out on recovering the Super Evil Sword, which could end up just about anywhere at this point. Recovered by the Kamunabi, the Hishaku clan swooping in to take it, the wielder using Kyoura's body to abscond with it to parts unknown... anything's possible! But probably not Team Goldfish escaping into the night with it. Saving people at the cost of missing his big chance to recover his father's "masterpiece" seems like an appropriate setback for Chihiro right now. It'll throw his plans into disarray and really force him to look at his priorities and strategies thus far. Team Goldfish are mighty but they can't take on two massive orgs like the Kamunabi and Sazanamis at once, especially if the Hishaku are meddling. He'll get his reality check and prepare to make hard choices in the future. Save everyone, every time, and chase the blades forever? Or entertain a slightly less idealistic mindset to better the chances of success? Very tantalizing potential here, yes yes. It also ties in nicely with the main talking point of this chapter- much better than losing an ally would, at any rate.

Capturiffic Times I think this is the least likely given the circumstances, but may as well mention it just in case. Both Chihiro and Hakuri are worn down to their last dregs and aren't in a position to fend off anyone that could come at them. Maybe Hiyuki decides to capture Chihiro to take him to the Kamunabi instead of killing him, while Shiba retreats with Hakuri? Or Hakuri is captured by the Kamunabi/remaining Sazanamis while Shiba prioritizes escaping with Chihiro? Shiba gives himself up to let Chihiro and Hakuri run? Again, seriously doubt this scenario. They might not get out in one piece or with everything they hoped for, but I'm pretty sure that Team Goldfish will be able to flee to fight another day.

Anyway. Yapped too much again. Thank you void for letting me ramble into your uncaring ear once more. See you next week, probably.

[childofchrist1983]

The Lord GOD hath given me the tongue of the learned, that I should know how to speak a word in season to him that is weary: he wakeneth morning by morning, he wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned. The Lord GOD hath opened mine ear, and I was not rebellious, neither turned away back. - Isaiah 50:4-5 KJV

This Bible passage from Isaiah is one of what are called the "Servant Songs". These passages portray a just man who is suffering for others. Here, it also mirrors Jesus Christ's scourging and mocking by Pilate's soldiers. These would be just some of the indignities that Jesus Himself suffered for us.

Over the years, many who work for justice have suffered similar indignities. Protestors have been beaten, spit upon, and jailed. They have had dogs unleashed on them, fire hoses spraying water to push them back, had cars driven into them and even killed. Some of these protesters were fighting for the right to vote, others against unfair or dangerous working conditions. Some were working to save us from companies that polluted the environment or for the protection of endangered animals. No matter the cause, they were motivated by a desire for justice, especially for those people who had no voice.

The protests I am referring to were peaceful protests. These were not people attacking with weapons. The just man in Isaiah is also referred to as a lamb being led to the slaughter who offered no resistance. Jesus also offered no resistance to those who would arrest Him. Those who were arrested in these demonstrations offered no resistance. What do you or I feel so strongly about that we would put ourselves at risk? How do we react when we are challenged? During the Holocaust, people were willing to take the place of others who had families and were killed. There were also people who risked their lives by harboring their Jewish neighbors. Jesus Christ said that the greatest love was to lay down one's life for a friend (John 15:13). Jesus went above and beyond, as He laid down His life for friend and enemy alike. God taught us about the Suffering Servant and He also sent us His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, who lived, suffered and died for us. May we stand up for Him and for others in His mighty name, no matter the cost.

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He alone is able to save us, forgiving our sins and gifting us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven. It warms my heart to experience the restful peace and presence of His Truth, light and love and to hear the delight and joy in song as He and all of Heaven celebrates my rescue, and it is with joy and thanksgiving that I raise my voice in praise, rejoicing and song to celebrate with Him, and all because of Him. May we all feel the same.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[steeleidolon]

@wingsdreamt

There are muffled voices outside, scuffling footsteps, laughter, then derogatory comments directed at parental figures. Restless troops, stationed in one place for too long with too little to do. He has no desire to join them. Zack stares at the military-green canvas lining of their tent as it billows against the wind snaking its way between the line of trees outside.

They’ve been holding this position for the better part of a month.

High valley walls and a wide river, flowing adjacent to their campsite, make this location a perfect choke point to catch enemy forces looking to regroup in the north, close to the massive fortress nestled at the base of the hills. The nearby village hardly abides their presence. Peace is a tenuous thing, held under threat of an occupying force that could decimate the oppressed. A huff and a puff and they’ll blow the houses down.  

Not that brick walls can stop SOLDIERs.

Wutaian forces and any parties willing to aid and abet them are to be attacked on sight.

Whether the local farmer and his wife are willing to risk harboring combatants looking to slit their throats in their sleep, well– Shinra had made its position clear when all the villagers had been lined up on the first day and warned that the Company would be mounting an attack on Fort Himeji within a fortnight.

The first person caught attempting to sneak beyond the bounds of the village was summarily executed.

Zack remembers that night clearly. Under normal circumstances, the inky blanket of darkness thrown over the sleepy village on the night of a new moon would have provided the perfect cover for a late-night departure. A native can easily navigate the deepened shadows, slip away and warn his countrymen before Shinra can launch their attack and decimate one of Wutai’s greatest strongholds.

But this is a new type of war, waged not with conventional weapons, but with weapons forged of blood and bone. SOLDIERs. Superhuman, enhanced. Faster and stronger than anything these poor farmers have ever witnessed in their lives. There is no hiding from a predator that can perfectly adapt to most any environment.

Nothing can prepare a man for the sight of another human being keeping pace with a chocobo sprinting at top speed.

He remembers that night because he was the one who had caught the runner.

Zack turns to roll over onto his side and face the other side of the tent, where he knows Kunsel is still lying awake. “Do you ever wonder if…y’know…you’re cut out for being SOLDIER?”

The tent breathes.

Everything out here is so alive. Wutai is more green than Kunsel ever thought to see--much less traipse or carve through--in his life. Nothing could be further from arid mirage-shimmer deserts or sheer cliff crags into rivers below; nothing could be further from canyons of steel and mountains of garbage. It is a different world that ShinRa hopes to modernize, answering a call from the people for a better way of life.

Something to that effect. Kunsel is skeptical.

He’s skeptical about a lot of things.

Like the strange concept of sleep at night. Zack knows this well enough to know he is only half-there, half-dozing, senses extended out to the tapestry of sound beyond the tent, beyond the camp, out to fresh water and chirping crickets and breezes whispering through woodland- and river-bordered fields. Hyper-awareness and semi-awareness in the same instance.

A breathy hum answers at first, before he rolls onto his back on the creaky cot. Right, right, that’s not a response. Not a coherent one, at least. So, then, he shifts again, swinging his legs over first, pulling himself upright and leaning his elbows to his thighs.

“I don’t think SOLDIER’s cut out for being SOLDIER, if I’m being honest.”

Scruff-scruff to his nape.

“Not like there’s any handbooks on this shit. There’s not much of a ... uh, a history for us, not much to compare it to, you know?” He wrinkles his nose, tempted to bust out a razor right now. “I mean. You’ve got Honor-face--err, you’re working with Hewley, and that’s. Good.”

Squint.

“But um. Overall. Just means we gotta figure it out, make it better. More to it than throwing bodies and swords at a problem.”

A pause.

“...or did you mean me personally? Heh, hell no. That’s why I’m building tutorials.”

He grins broad and lopsided in the dark with another scritch-scratch-rasp at the base of his neck.

“Did you wanna go for a run or something?

[ravennm84]

Marinette’s Family Court Circus

I got this idea from a post @unmaskedagain and decided to put my own little spin to it. It’s a bit sad and does have my usual Lila-Salt spin, but I really loved writing this. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

The day of her greatest triumph was also her greatest tragedy. Hawkmoth had finally been defeated, the butterfly and peacock miraculous back in the miracle box where they belonged, and Paris was finally safe. 

However, when Gabriel Agreste was revealed to be the magical terrorist and his assistant, Nathalie, his accomplice, Adrien had been devastated. When the Paris police sought to find out the extent of Adrien's involvement, he had no choice but to reveal in a private interrogation room with only the mayor, Officer Roger, the chief of police, and Ladybug herself, his identity as Chat Noir. After which, Adrien said a tearful goodbye to Plagg and surrendered the ring of destruction to Ladybug. A press conference was held within an hour, absolving Adrien of any crimes in relation to his father, and his bodyguard would also be absolved four days later.

That night, after Ladybug had returned home and tearfully placed the ring, broch, and pin back in the miracle box; her parents and Grandma Gina had told her that they were going out to dinner to celebrate; Gina had even rented a car so they wouldn’t need to walk or take the subway. How Marinette wished that they had just gotten on the subway.

She woke up the following afternoon in the hospital. Apparently, her family weren’t the only people celebrating Hawkmoth’s defeat, and a car load of university students had celebrated too hard and T-boned their car while running a light. The doctors told her that her grandmother and father had died on impact and her mother passed away during surgery. Marinette had been extremely lucky to survive without any life threatening injuries; a broken leg, arm, collar bone, two cracked ribs, and a few lacerations across her body. 

She was hardly paying attention to what the doctors were saying. Too shocked by the whole situation. There was no Miraculous Cure that could fix this. In the span of a single day, she had defeated her enemy, saved Paris, lost her partner, lost her grandmother, and her parents. She was alone.

When her family’s lawyer, M. Contere came to talk about custody, it was revealed that her grandmother was supposed to take custody in the event of her parents' deaths. Her grandfather would have been the next logical choice, but he had recently suffered a stroke and had been placed in a nursing home. This left the lawyer scrambling to find someone to take the girl or risk having her surrendered to the city of Paris.

Going through the Dupain-Chengs’ contact list, M. Contere made phone calls to numbers listed as family friends or emergency contacts. There were three that particularly stood out to him, all listed under the title of ‘uncle’. 

The first was to an ‘Uncle J’; a woman answered the phone, introducing herself as Penny. When Contere told her it had to do with the Dupain-Chengs, the phone was handed to a man with a distinctly British accent. He sounded devastated to hear that Tom, Sabine, and Gina had all passed away before going into a panic and asking if Marinette was alright, showing absolute relief that she had survived the crash. When Contere mentioned the custody hearing, the man practically demanded to know the date, time, and place before promising that he would be there.

The second contact that stood out was labeled as ‘Uncle Tony’. That call was answered by an assistant named Jarvis before transferring the call to Tony. Again, Contere could hear the surprise and hurt at hearing that his friends had passed away before asking if Marinette had been in the car. When told that she had survived, there was relief and he mentioned that Peter would have probably cried for a week if he’d lost his childhood friend. Tony then offered to take custody of Marinette and Contere quickly told him the details.

Although M. Contere was relieved that at least two family friends/possible relatives seemed more than willing to take Marinette, he knew how fickle and difficult the courts could be and wanted as many options as possible for the girl, which led to the third contact labeled ‘Uncle Bruce’. 

The phone was answered by an older sounding gentleman named Alfred before transferring the call. Contere could hear multiple voices in the background, most sounding like young men, and when he told Bruce about the passing of Tom, Sabine, and Gina; it went very quiet for a moment before all the voices began speaking at once demanding to know what happened, who was responsible, and if Marinette was okay. M.Contere answered the questions that he could and told them that Marinette was in need of a legal guardian. Bruce said Gina had been a great friend and mentor to him when he was younger and that he would be honored to care for her granddaughter. So he told him the details of the court hearing with the promise that he would make sure that Marinette was taken care of until then.

After hanging up, M. Contere had a strange feeling that he couldn’t shake. A feeling that told him that those three ‘Uncles’ were either going to make his job of getting Marinette into a stable home a lot easier… or it would be a total nightmare.

~oOo~

The day of the hearing was a Monday and Marinette's case was the first on the docket, which was a relief. If things went smoothly, she could be placed with one of her respective uncles by the end of the week and be taken care of. When the two of them stepped into the room, with Marinette rolling beside him in her wheelchair, M. Contere was surprised to see multiple familiar faces in the courtroom that he had not expected. Jagged Stone, Bruce Wayne, and Tony Stark were glaring, arguing, and puffing out their chests at each other; ignoring everyone else in the room. He also noticed how each man seemed to have an entire team of lawyers backing them up.

The tension and glaring match only broke when the two women; Pepper Potts and Penny Rolling, and the four Wayne boys; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damien, noticed Marinette’s arrival. 

“Marinette, sweetie, how are you feeling?” Penny asked as she walked away from Jagged to kneel beside Marinette’s wheelchair.

“Been better, but I’m glad to see some familiar faces,” she said with a weak smile.

Pepper leaned over a bit to give the girl a gentle hug while minding her injuries. “We’re here for you, Mari. No matter what.”

Then the four boys were almost surrounding her, offering to hunt down the people that took away their family and pile so many lawsuits on them that they’ll die of papercuts. This made her chuckle and grimace a bit from the pain, telling the boys that was sweet but unnecessary.

Jagged, Bruce, and Tony immediately put their argument on hold as they hurried over to check on the girl as well. Contere found it to be a good sign that Marinette seemed familiar with the three men, that they all asked how she was and if she wanted anything, as well as promising that they would take care of her. That last one, the three said at the same time and got them glaring at each other again. This caused Contere to sweat and Marinette to give her head a resigned shake.

What followed would probably go down as the most intense, well argued, and most headache-inducing case in the history of the Paris Family Court System with all three men vying for custody of the teenage girl. 

Being able to provide financial stability wasn’t a concern as Jagged Stone was currently the most successful rockstar in Europe, Asia, Australia, and the Americas; while Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were two of the wealthiest businessmen in the entire world. All three even offered to completely cover Marinette’s tuition to any school she wanted, so long as she was accepted.

Her safety turned out to be a large factor with all three men, and they were willing to hire their own private security to make sure that she stayed safe at all times. However, the three men also argued how the others lived in unsafe environments. 

Jagged mostly lived in tour buses and out of hotels, which was a factor; but he was willing to call off his tours during the school year and only go on tour during school breaks so Marinette would never be without her guardian. Penny was also willing to help Jagged at every turn, stating that she loved Marinette like a niece and would make sure that she had a strong female role model in her life as well.

Tony’s reputation as a playboy and his identity as Iron Man brought up the possibility of attracting a dangerous element. He argued that his homes were equipped with the most advanced security systems on the planet. As well as being friends with an actual “God-Alien”, who had met Marinette and liked her a great deal. Tony was also willing to make Marinette her own personal Iron Suit that would be programmed to protect and fly her to a safe location at the first sign of danger. Pepper also offered to share custody as she already took care of Tony’s daily life as his assistant, taking care of Marinette would be easy and she was looking forward to having her around.

Bruce’s residence in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in North America, was a big factor. Bruce made a point that he already had experience as a guardian of his three adopted sons and his biological son, and they were kept safe. That he also had a top of the line security system at his home, which was located outside of city limits. Dick, Jason, and Tim also commented that they thought of Marinette like a little sister and that Wayne Enterprises had locations all over the world. If the judge decided that Gotham was too dangerous, one of them would gladly take up residency in a city that the judge approved and would stay there to watch over Marinette while still working and providing for her.

After two hours of listening to the back and forth of the three men and their lawyers, the judge decided that he’d heard enough for the day and set the next meeting for the following Thursday after lunch. He also recommended that the men bring proof that they have the mental capability of caring for a teenage girl, lists of schools near their homes to show that she will continue her education, and character witnesses, if available. 

The three men wanted to take Marinette out to get something to eat after the court was adjourned, but M. Contere was forced to tell them that it would not be appropriate during the legal proceedings. He also recommended that they follow the judge’s instructions and make sure that they had everything needed, otherwise they would likely not qualify. Hearing that got all three men, their assistants, family, and lawyers moving at top speeds to get everything they needed for court in a few days. 

Once they were out of sight, the lawyer couldn’t help but let out a stress induced sigh as he raised one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This custody battle had the potential to turn into a total circus, and although it could do great things for his career in the long run, he was more worried about how this would affect Marinette. 

Speaking of, he was brought from his thoughts when he felt her small hand gently pat the hand that was holding his briefcase. When he looked down at her, she gave him a kind, though slightly amused smile. “You had no idea about the can of worms you were opening when you made those phone calls, did you?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “How was I supposed to know that Uncle J, Uncle Tony, and Uncle Bruce would turn out to be three of the most influential men in the world? How does your family even know all of them?”

“Uncle Bruce was raised by the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth, after his parents died. Grandma Gina and Alfred were best friends when they were younger. After the Waynes died, Gina would go check on them in Gotham, she liked to brag that she helped get Bruce back out of his shell. Uncle Tony knew my parents back in university, he was a lot younger and smarter than the other students and you can guess that didn’t go over well with some of them. My parents looked out for him and they became friends, and even after he got busy when he took over the company, he always made time to be there for the big moments in our lives; my parents’ wedding, their baby shower, and when I was born. I’ve actually spent a few summers in Gotham and New York visiting them.”

“And Jagged Stone?”

“He’s the most recent of my honorary uncles. I’m his personal designer, but he got unofficially adopted into my family after the tv show that took place in my parents’ bakery. Uncle Jagged made a bread guitar and sang rock songs with my dad. Once the show was over, Mom invited him and Penny to stay for dinner. During the course of the night, Dad claimed him as a new little brother. Jagged was so happy that he started calling my parents big brother and big sister, and started calling me his niece. Since then, he’s come over at least once a month to just relax and be a family with us.”

M. Contere couldn’t help but smile at that. From the sound of it and what he had seen, all three men truly cared about this girl and were willing to bend over backwards for her. That was a good thing, but he still worried that a custody battle between these three men could go for a long time and possibly cause mental distress for Marinette. Although the final decision was ultimately up to the judge, he was allowed to make recommendations if they were in the best interests of the child. 

With that in mind, he knelt down beside Marinette. “You know the three of them and what they’re living situations are like better than I do. And even though you’re not 15 years old yet, I could petition the judge to factor your opinion. Which of them would you like to have guardian status?”

When Marinette gave him a knowing smile, he just knew that things might get more complicated.

~oOo~

It got a lot more complicated.

The media had caught wind of the custody battle, causing a giant crowd of paparazzi to stake out the courthouse to catch a glimpse of the rockstar, billionaire, and the self proclaimed “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” who was also a superhero. To their credit, the three only said that they were devastated by the loss of the Dupain-Chengs and wanted to do what was best for Marinette and left all the other questions at the door.

In the courtroom; all three men, as well as their assistants and Bruce’s boys, had done mental evaluations that their lawyers submitted to the judge. They also provided lists of different schools that Marinette was free to choose from; including public schools, private, and even schools that specialized in fashion. But the absolute kicker was the character witnesses.

Jagged Stone had brought other music stars, movie stars, and production mega stars that made Contere wonder for a moment if he’d accidentally walked into an award ceremony. Tony Stark had brought the Avengers, The Avengers, as his character witnesses. Contere wasn’t too proud to admit that he was a bit starstruck when Thor himself came over to great Marinette and complimented her on her ‘battle scars’, saying that they were a testament to her strength. If that wasn’t enough, Bruce brought multiple members of the Billionaire’s Club as character witnesses, many of whom had been suspected of being members of the Justice League. 

The judge looked just as surprised, though somewhat irritated, by the people crowding his courtroom. He quietly looked over the mental health evaluations that had been provided, as well as the lists of schools; finding that everything was in order and that any of them would have been wonderful guardians to the girl. He was tempted to call another recess and pick this back up the following week until Marinette’s lawyer raised his hand.

“If it would please the court,” the judge motioned for him to continue, “although Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not yet of legal age to make a final decision on the matter of custody, I felt that she was old enough to state her opinion. We have discussed it over the past few days and I believe we came up with a proposal that will satisfy all parties involved while still being in the best interest of the child.” M. Contere presented the four copies of the proposal to the bailiff, who handed one to the judge, and the three lead lawyers.

The judge read the summary at the top before looking at the lawyer in surprise. “You’re proposing joint custody?”

“Yes, your honor. My client and I feel that due to the influence that these men hold, as you can see by the character witnesses that have come here to speak on their behalf, that this custody hearing could be drawn out for a long time, which could have mental repercussions on Marinette.” Contere didn’t miss the ‘you ain’t kidding’ roll of his eyes, or the looks of shame that the three men shared at the thought of hurting Marinette.

“Keeping that in mind, my client came up with an outline for a possible custody agreement. M. Stark would retain custody during school as he has listed one of the top fashion schools in America, which would further Marinette’s future career. The weekends would be spent with M. Wayne, as Wayne Enterprises has connections to the fashion industry and would be able to give her training to help her successfully run her own business. M. Stone would have custody during summer breaks, so Marinette may continue gaining experience as his personal designer, a position she has held for close to a year and has already earned her recognition in the industry.”

The judge grew quiet again as he contemplated the proposal and read over the details. He didn’t want to deal with these three powerful, and in a lot of ways eccentric, men for the next few months while attempting to figure out the best placement for the child. Nor did he want to deal with the media frenzy that this case had already brought on. If anything, this was likely the best option, if he could get the men to agree to the terms.

“Do you have any objections to this proposal?”

There was a moment of silence as the lawyers continued to look over the proposal and spoke to their clients. Jagged’s lawyer was the first to respond. “No, your honor. M. Stone believes that this would be best for Marinette, but we would like to add a clause that M. Stone be permitted to call and visit Mlle. Dupain-Cheng so long as it does not interfere with her school work.”

“My client would also like that clause added to the proposal, your honor,” said the Wayne lawyer. “As well as the clause that Messieurs Stone and Stark work together with M. Wayne in securing Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s safety. As previously stated, all three men could be considered high-priority targets and normally require bodyguards. M. Wayne has proposed that any potential bodyguard be vetted and approved by all parties involved before being hired.”

The judge looked to Stark’s lawyer. “And do you have any stipulations you would want to see added to the proposal?”

“Only that there be an open line of communication between Messieurs Stone, Wayne, and Stark at all times in reference to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s well being and any possible travel. As all three men are known to travel the world for business; there will be occasions for the child to travel as well. When this occurs, the other guardians should receive notice of the country, city, and address that she resides; so, in case of an emergency, they will be able to be present to assist and protect her.”

“My client has no objections to these clauses,” said Jagged’s lawyer.

“And you, M. Wayne?”

The Wayne lawyer nodded. “The clauses are more than reasonable and are in the best interest of Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. Although I only speak for my client, I do not believe that I would be out of line to say that is the main focus of Messieurs Stone and Stark as well.”

The lawyers hid their relief when the judge nodded in agreement. “As the proposal was presented by the child and the three of you are in agreement, I’m scheduling a meeting in my chambers for next Tuesday to go over the finer details of the custodial agreement. I will allow your clients and one lawyer each to attend; this includes you and your client, M. Contere.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And as for you, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette’s head snapped up to meet the judge’s gaze. “It seems that you have gained three extremely powerful, influential, and in many ways crazy guardians. I don’t know if I should congratulate you or give you my sympathies. What I will do is wish you the best of luck and hope that you are prepared for the future. Court is adjourned.”

There was a hum of surprise and joy that spread through the courtroom as Jagged, Bruce, and Tony stepped up to each other and shook hands before approaching Marinette and M. Contere. 

“Of course, my niece would come up with a way to keep everyone happy, she’s so rock n’ roll that way.” Jagged beamed with pride as Tony and Bruce nodded in agreement.

“Would it be alright if all of us went to dinner to celebrate,” Bruce asked Contere, indicating the ‘all’ to be himself and his boys, Jagged and Penny, and Tony and Pepper; along with Marinette and Contere.

“So long as there’s no discussion of custody and everyone stays civil, I don’t see any harm in it.”

Everyone smiled in agreement while Pepper mentioned that she’d just finished making reservations for all eleven of them at a nice restaurant that had the best view of the Eiffel Tower.

As the others began filing out of the courtroom, Marinette patted his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. “You just opened your second can.”

M. Contere wasn’t sure about what she’d meant until after the meal was over and the waitress brought the check, and then watched as the three billionaires fought over it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he only hoped that this would all be over on Tuesday and he could go back to his normal, boring cases.

[firestorm1991]

DBZ Dissertations 1: Vegito

The Fusion into Vegito: Why is Vegeta now the opposite of Saiyan Saga Vegeta? (Constructed 4/6/2021)

Goku and Vegeta were mortal enemies even in the moment Vegeta reluctantly took the potara earring and they iconically fused into Vegito. Then Buu ate Vegito, and inside his gut, Vegeta and Goku defused back into their original selves, which was a surprise because they were told the fusion would be permanent, a fact that was retconned in Super. Once the two Saiyans had their own bodies back, there was a difference in the way they interacted with one another. One could argue that the events of “Fusion Reborn” are canon, most accept they are not. This means Goku and Vegeta did not fight Janemba in hell together and have that moment of understanding before Vegeta went back to Hell.

So what happened when Goku and Vegeta were themselves again that is of interest? Well, when they separated, they no longer seemed like enemies. In fact, they seemed to bicker like friends, brothers even. When just an hour ago, Vegeta was snapping and yelling at Goku, against fusing. Now, he acts like the back and forth bickering is normal between them, and like he hasn’t hated him all this time. That always struck me, and it stuck other friends of mine as well.

So how did they go from enemies to friends in an instant? Heck, how did Vegeta get seen as good, which even shocked the Saiyan prince? My theory is that the fusion did more to Goku and Vegeta than can be seen on the surface level.

Out of nowhere, Vegeta, who was always calm, cool, collected in the face of danger, who spoke derisively to those he feared. Yes, he was afraid and sometimes displayed that when he realized that he was screwed in battle. But he never flat out freaked out, wanted to throw up over some irrational fear. So why in Buu’s body did he react like Goku does to needles to the worms? That was not a very Vegeta thing to do. I mean, even if he was afraid of worms/bugs, he could have destroyed them like he did Arlia (yes, I know that’s filler). But the man who was raised in kill or be killed universe didn’t just kill the worms. He used to purge planets and surround himself with death and eat the buggy carcasses of the victims (see Episode 2 when he and Nappa are just finishing purging a planet). Food for thought.

Also, yes, we know Goku was always a fighter. He always answered the call to protect the world. His Saiyan blood awoke and he wanted to battle strong opponents. But in DBZ, the androids being the only exception after he and Vegeta denied Bulma’s desire to track down Gero and end his project, Goku never invited danger into the world. They all just came for him. He chose to stay away to protect everyone. Then we have Super, which starts a few months after Buu saga, and now he’s invited people to hunt him down, put the multiverse in danger, and suggested “hey, let’s bring back Frieza!” His behavior is much more reckless than DBZ. Interviews have shown that this is the vision Toriyama always had for Goku, but Goku through childhood to adulthood never seemed to be so inconsiderate. When Roshi died in the ToP and Goku resuscitated him, I felt such empathy and turmoil for the Earth-raised Saiyan in that moment. He was almost human in that moment, the same way he was when he discovered Krillin dead as a child, and it was like the old Goku was back in that moment.

Let’s explore. It would be safe to say that the Saiyans Raditz, Nappa, and Vegeta described in the Saiyan saga are exactly like that. Single-minded, battle hungry and ready, no thinking of consequences or family (which we all saw Goku with Little Gohan. He seemed like an okay father in that first episode before Raditz came and destroyed the quaint family life and Goku died. There were four years where Goku, Chi-Chi, and Gohan lived happily and in peace without fighting). Now, after fusing with Vegeta, Goku has reverted back to Saiyan tendencies he never fully seemed to possess through DB and DBZ.

My theory is this: when Goku and Vegeta fused into Vegito and separated, they took a piece of the other warrior with them. This led to Vegeta understanding Goku more, seeing him as a friend and comrade in arms as Goku saw him, gave him a goodness that he took back home with him so much so that he was willing to relinquish his pride for his family on multiple occasions (Bingo dance anyone?). There are many people who are angry about Vegeta’s complete 180 from the Saiyan saga and Namek saga Vegeta. But he went through a lot of changes throughout the series. Both in nature and nurture, evil was taught to him as normal. It wasn’t until he saw another way of life, namely living with Bulma and fathering a child, that he ever considered he could live a life that didn’t involve him slaughtering other races. I believe part of his psychological transformation was due to his life with Bulma and Trunks, trying to be a good partner and father despite a traumatic and horrific past, and experiencing peace for the very first time ever in his life (because until the seven year period, Vegeta’s life never had one iota of peace) in contrast to Goku who experienced peace many times. Now, after fusion, Vegeta knew what to do with those unfamiliar experiences and emotions…and then exposed his irrational fear of buggies, so there’s that.

Likewise, Goku, the good, honest hero of Earth who did everything in his power to protect the planet and his family and trained to get skills to combat these various enemies, now became more Saiyan-like. He fought and trained for himself, much like Vegeta once had in his pursuit to be the strongest. Now, Goku doesn’t care about being the strongest; he just wants to fight strong guys to get stronger. He still uses his power to protect, but after instigating the risk factor. Goku Black could have been avoided if he didn’t have the desire to fight Zamasu and got with Beerus and Whis for the same of fighting the deity in training. The ToP wouldn’t have happened either without Goku pushing it. Thankfully, that worked out, but it was still very reckless. And he lied multiple times to his friends who he once trusted in times of trouble and brought back the greatest evil who harmed his friends multiple times without even a second though in addition to promising to bring him back to life.

I wonder if the reason Goku keeps getting worse and worse and Vegeta keeps getting better in better has anything to do with the other times they fused. I will say that I believe a lot of their changes definitely come from them and their changing personalities, but I definitely they think they’ve influenced each other, if not by fusing and having access to the other’s thoughts, then by their strange friendship resulting from the fact that they are the last two (not including Tarble, Broly, and Paragus) full-blooded, universe seven Saiyans.

Anyway, let me know what you think of this fan theory. Do you agree, disagree, or have additional ideas that reflect this topic? Feel free to let me know. Just remember to be constructive and respectful to others who share their ideas. Until next time!

[mymostimaginaryfriend]

Here’s the thing about revealing your greatest vulnerability to your biggest enemy: they don’t tend to forget it.

James had known this day was coming; the writing had been on the wall since that night at the winery. The night they’d unknowingly handed over their leverage to Devon on a silver fucking platter.

He hadn’t put it together yet then—that Devon was CIA. Back then, he had thought going with Devon would mean the standard cartel two-for-one retribution special: death, dismemberment and an unmarked grave. And so, whether he liked it or not, he had sat there in the car like a complete fucking asshole while Teresa squared her shoulders and walked inside to face down his demons.

He had known if anyone could get them out of it, Teresa could, but he couldn’t forgive himself for sending her in blind to bargain for his life, unaware that whatever price she paid would be far too high. After what he’d done in Texas, he wasn’t worth saving. He couldn’t let her lose everything for him.

It hadn’t felt like a risk to tip his cards to Devon, then. If his days were numbered, he could at least die knowing his mistakes were his alone.

He hadn’t counted on Teresa showing her own hand or what exactly it would reveal.

Are you willing to risk your life for this man?

Yes.

That night—the honesty, the intimacy—had felt like a stay of execution. He should have known it was just a brief reprieve.

Like any sicario, he had a lengthy list of reckonings, long past due—reckonings he’d always shrugged off before meeting Teresa.

It was only by being in her orbit that he’d begun to comprehend the gravity of his past choices, their weight growing heavier in tandem with her importance. By Phoenix, the shadow he hauled behind him had taken on the distinctive weight of a dead body. Sometimes it felt like a premonition, like he was dragging his own corpse around.

Or worse, hers.

Everything changed after that night. He couldn’t know that just as he was realizing he couldn’t lose her, she was already being torn from his grasp. They’d only gotten a few short months together; it made everything feel too important. Every touch too meaningful, every argument too painful.

Every kiss felt like the last.

It took Teresa nearly dying in Bolivia and Kelly Anne digging herself into a shallow grave for the pieces to fall into place. Devon was more than he appeared.

Teresa would hate him if she knew he hadn’t pulled the trigger. But Devon was his mistake, a mistake enough people had died for already. He couldn’t add Kelly Anne to the list. His penance would have to be enough for both of them. You couldn’t run from the CIA.

The looming inevitability hadn’t made his departure less difficult but it had made the decision easier. Walking out of her house in Phoenix—their house—had been one of the hardest things he’d done in his life. Only the knowledge that to turn around would consign them both to hell kept him moving forward.

“You’ll come with us, so you won’t be able to drag her down with you.”

And it had worked for a time. Devon was fond of updating him on Teresa’s triumphs without him: her expansion to new cities, her dating life. It didn’t bother him the way Devon hoped. Teresa’s successes meant he hadn’t done this for nothing. That this sacrifice was worth something.

But as it went on, as Teresa’s business grew and grew, he’d felt the change in Devon’s demeanor. His surrender into Devon’s custody had always been more of a stopgap than a permanent solution but he’d hoped Teresa would have more time. He should have known: someone as ambitious and clever as her would fast outgrow the box the CIA preferred her in. Eventually she would need to be convinced of different ways to be useful or risk becoming a liability to their interests.

It just so happened that thanks to that same night at the winery, Devon had first hand knowledge of just how to best convince her.

“The terms of our agreement have changed, Valdez.”

Something told James it wouldn’t be a negotiation.

“Sinaloa, Texas, Phoenix, New Orleans, Atlanta, Miami,” Devon continued and motioned for his driver to pull away from the curb. “Teresa has made some powerful enemies….and some powerful friends.”

“No,” James interjected, flatly, as though he had a choice in whatever question Devon was about to ask.

“Intel has it that she’s got a meeting lined up with the Russians.”

That stopped James cold. The Russians were the top of the food chain. You fucked with them, you didn’t live long enough to regret it. Sinaloa looked like Disney World in comparison. But Devon’s smirk as he said “intel” was the baited hook that caught hold of James’ attention.

They had someone inside Teresa’s organization. 

“Who?” he demanded.

“It doesn’t matter. We need someone with more access. We need you.”

He bit back his automatic refusal, aware that this might be his only chance to get vital information he could use. “Access to what?”

“Teresa’s meetings with Konstantin Volkova.”

Fucking fantastic. Not just a Russian, the most powerful Russian in the North American drug trade. Ratting him out would be a guaranteed way to get them all killed.

“Forget it. I’m not a snitch.”

“We can do this with or without your voluntary assistance, James,” Devon replied, unbothered, confident in his upper hand. “Option one, you get to do what you promised to do—protect Teresa. It hasn’t been all victories this past year. Javier got himself killed. And her godson, what was his name? Tony.”

James knew he was playing right into Devon’s hands but he couldn’t stop himself. “How? Who?”

“Car bomb courtesy of a local judge, I’m told. Lacks a certain sense of sophistication but makes up for in effectiveness.”

Despite the cracked window, it felt like all the air had left the vehicle. James had never allowed himself to question his decision to leave once it was done. He didn’t make room for regrets lest they take over him completely but now he felt the stirrings of doubt or worse, guilt. He’d convinced himself he was doing her a favor, that she’d be better off without him. But would she have lost Tony if he’d been there? Or was that just foolish arrogance?

“You wouldn’t just be helping us,” Devon continued. “You’d be helping Teresa, too. Seems like she needs it. We just want Kostya.”

“And then?”

“Like I said, Teresa will be safe as long as she’s useful to us. Getting Kostya off the board would be….extremely useful to us.”

James shook his head. “You’re forgetting something. Teresa’s never going to go along with this.”

“Then don’t tell her.”

If there was anything the past few years had taught him, he knew one thing for sure. “I won’t lie to her.”

“A valiant effort, Valdez, but we both know you will,” Devon curled his lip in satisfaction as he laid down his final trump card. “She was willing to give up her life to save you once. Should we see how she feels about it now? How long do you think it would take to persuade her? How much of your blood? Because, option two, James… option two is much bloodier. Yours, hers, both. Take your pick.”

Like he said, on a silver, fucking platter.

“When do I start?”

“Good answer. We’re a few miles out from Teresa’s location. You’ll have a car and her GPS coordinates. I don’t care what you tell her, as long as you get back in. Remember, we’ll have eyes on you. You screw this up, it’s the end of the road for you both.”

James tried to use the time he had left to run the options through his head but as Devon’s town car pulled over behind a dark sedan, all he could think of was how he was minutes away from seeing Teresa again, something he thought he'd never get to do. He’d figure something out—some way to deal with the Russians, a way to get the CIA off their backs, a way to keep them all alive. He had to. But hopefully, it wasn't something he'd have to do alone. Hopefully it was something they’d do together.

“And James?” Devon called after him as he turned to open the car door. James didn’t even see the knife before it was buried in his abdomen. “Just in case either or you need the extra motivation."

James clutched his hand to his side but the blood quickly soaked his shirt.

"Clocks ticking James. Don’t let it run out.”

[kairos-in-wonderland]

Day 3: Wait... What? “It’s Wednesday”

Unlike the first two days for @camelove2021 which were romantic, I chose to go with familial love for day 3, I hope you like it!

Relationships (all platonic): OC and Balinor, Balinor and Merlin, OC and Merlin

Trigger warnings: violence, death, grief

.

“Balinor!” Bellona called as she entered the cave, “I’m back from the markets, got you some fresh herbs. Where are you?” she looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. The fire that was usually burning in the centre of the cave was cold, not even the embers were glowing, and the sword that was usually propped against the wall had disappeared; she felt her chest tighten as she looked around at everything that was missing, “Balinor!” a sense of panic overwhelmed her, and she grabbed a dagger before rushing out of the cave.

As Bellona searched the forest surrounding their home and continually found nothing, she became more and more anxious, gripping her weapon tighter by the second. It was a couple hours before she found him, but it wasn’t what she expected. Balinor was laid against an old oak, eyes closed and arms laid across his chest with some flowers, “B-Balinor?” she mumbled, walking over to him and dropping to her knees. She tried to shake him awake but he wouldn’t stir so she muttered an incantation to wake him, “No… No!” tears spilled down her cheeks as she held him. Her mind was racing with a million thoughts of what could’ve happened – until she saw the stab wound, which could only mean one thing. Uther. Bellona let out a piercing scream, feeling her eyes burn with magic as trees and flowers flattened around her. He hadn’t deserved to die, he had done nothing wrong, but he had been killed.

She took him to the small clearing by their cave, where her parents had been buried almost twenty years before – sorcerers were not permitted marked graves but she created a small headstone when she buried him, but she did not have time to mourn. She gathered her belongings and set out for Camelot, running as fast as her legs could take her; grief, anger and adrenaline coursing through her. Bellona crossed the border into Camelot as the sun began to set and she could hear loud roars in the distance. She broke into a clearing as an enormous dragon rose into the sky and flew off; knights of Camelot were strewn across the ground with one figure stood in the middle of them. That’s when she saw him, the prince, and what better way to get revenge than to kill the son of her enemy? She drew her sword and ran towards him but the figure turned to her and her she saw something familiar in his eyes, “Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Merlin,” he answered simply, “what were you going to do?”

“Take revenge on Uther, a son for a father,” she muttered, still not willing to lower her sword.

“I understand, but Arthur is a good man, he does not deserve to die for his father’s sins.”

“Well what if it was Arthur who killed him? I doubt Uther would’ve been hunting him, he probably went his son to do the job! If he’s such a good man then he’s probably the one who at least had the decency not to just leave him where he died!” she started to shake and her knees felt weak as she began to cry, “He may have been a dragonlord, but he did not deserve to die!”

“Y-Your father was a dragonlord?” Merlin asked, his voice wavering.

“Yes, he died long ago. And the man who raised me was one too – Balinor,” she said, and Merlin practically froze.

“Arthur did not kill Balinor,” he protested, and her eyes narrowed.

“How would you know?”

“Because I was there when he died,” he told her, tears welling in his eyes, “we had gone to seek his help. The three of us were on our way here when Cenred’s men attacked us, he died to save me.”

“Why you?” she questioned.

“I’m his son,” Merlin said, and she felt her throat close up, “I only found out days ago.”

“Y-You’re Hunith’s son?” he gave her a confused look, “He spoke of her often, the only woman he ever loved.”

“I understand you wanting revenge on Uther for this, he is the reason I grew up without a father, but killing him or Arthur would only make things worse for people like us,” Merlin implored, and Bellona nodded as she sunk to her knees, sobs shaking her body. Merlin knelt down in front of her, and she latched onto him as she cried, both of them taking a moment to share their grief, “Would you like to return to Camelot with us? I’m sure my friend Gwen would be able to give you a bed for a little while?”

“I-I don’t think I could, it would be difficult for me to conceal my magic. Besides, I-I don’t exactly work well in crowded spaces,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes.

“Well, how about you just stay for the night? And tomorrow I could take you to Ealdor,” he suggested, “what’s your name?”

“Bellona.”

“Well, Bellona, I’m sure that my mother would be more than happy to take you in. I think she needs the company to be honest,” they both let out a small laugh, “would you like to?”

“That sounds nice,” she grinned as Arthur began to stir. Merlin quickly stood and rushed over to him, Bellona following tentatively.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, his breathing shallow.

“You dealt him a mortal blow,” Merlin told him.

“He’s gone?”

“Yeah, you did it,” Merlin said, and Arthur began to laugh, loudly and full of relief, “you did it.” He helped Arthur up, and that’s when the latter noticed the new presence.

“Who are you?”

“This is Bellona, she’s a friend of mine from Ealdor,” Merlin lied, “she decided to come and visit, although it wasn’t exactly the right time.”

“I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, sire,” she mumbled, “I hope it would be okay for Merlin to come with me, back to Ealdor? His mother hasn’t seen him in ages.”

“Of course, yes. But for now, we need to get back to the castle. The Great Dragon is dead and my father needs to know,” Arthur led the way to the castle, and Bellona stayed behind him with Merlin.

“Why did you tell him that he’d killed Kilgharrah?” she whispered to Merlin.

“Because Kilgharrah is the last of his kind, if Uther knew that he survived then he’d send knights to try and kill him for good. Not only would it risk the death of the last dragon, but it would also endanger thousands of lives in the five kingdoms.”

“You should be proud of yourself, Merlin. You picked up the language of the dragons quicker than most could have.”

“Well, I have magic regardless of that, Kilgharrah told me when I first arrived in Camelot that it is my destiny to be one of the greatest sorcerers to ever live, to help Arthur unite the lands of Albion… I guess it just comes naturally,” he told her as they walked through the gates. A woman ran up to Arthur and embraced him as an older man walked over to Bellona and Merlin, hugging the latter. As they pulled back from the hug, the older man looked to Bellona in confusion.

“Merlin, who is this?”

“Uh, Bellona, this is Gaius, Gaius this is Bellona,” Merlin introduced.

“Oh, Gaius! Balinor spoke of you. He said you saved him from Uther during the Great Purge, thank you?”

“How do you know Balinor?”

“He raised her,” Merlin answered on her behalf, “she wasn’t there when me and Arthur got to the cave, but she had been living with him.”

“Does Arthur know of this?”

“He thinks that I’m a childhood friend of Merlin’s, from Ealdor,” Bellona answered.

“Good. Now, why don’t you come with Merlin and I to our chambers, we can arrange a bed for you while you’re here,” Gaius suggested.

“I’m going to go and talk to Gwen about that, I’ll see you there,” Merlin ran off after his friend, the woman who had hugged Arthur, and Bellona followed Gaius into the castle. Once they were in Gaius’ chambers, they both sat down to talk.

“How did you end up with Balinor?” Gaius asked her.

“He found me after Uther had my parents killed – he was a dragonlord and she was a druid,” she started, sighing, “he came to try and find my parents after he fled Ealdor. But the only living person was me, hiding under my bed. He took me in, raised me and taught me everything about the art of the dragonlords.”

“How old were you when they died?”

“Three. I was born at the beginning of the Great Purge and they managed to hide in Essetir, not far from Ealdor. Uther must’ve gotten word that there were two magical people hiding in Engerd when he was looking for Balinor because they were killed only a day or so before he found me.”

“But Merlin and Arthur didn’t see you when they went to find Balinor,” Gaius said, “how did you know he had died?”

“I’d gone to Engerd for some supplies and when I returned and he wasn’t there, there was no sign of life, I went looking for him. I searched the forest around the cave and found him dead, I thought Uther had finally found him,” Bellona said, tears welling in her eyes.

“So that’s why you came to Camelot, you wanted revenge,” Gaius mumbled, and she nodded.

“I was going to kill Arthur, a son for a father – it should’ve been easy, he was unconscious. But Merlin was there, I looked into his eyes and all I could see was Balinor. Revenge isn’t what he would have wanted. Arthur doesn’t even know I tried to kill him, but if he knew…” she let out a small sob and Gaius put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You’re thinking that you could see Balinor again if you told Arthur what you did,” Gaius said, sighing, “but he wouldn’t want that either. Balinor found you and raised you, he made sure you had a nice life, he wouldn’t want you giving it up just because of his death.”

Bellona knew he was right, of course he was, but it still hurt. Her grief overcame her, and she couldn’t stop crying, she could feel her magic surging again – and then there were hands resting on her shoulders. She looked up through her tears and saw her father’s eyes, causing her heart rate to slow as Merlin looked into her eyes.

“You’re okay,” he assured her, and she stood up to hug him tightly, “he may not be alive but he’s here with you, with us,” Bellona felt tears drip onto her shoulder so she hugged Merlin even tighter, “I spoke to my friend Gwen, she said that you can stay with her tonight if you want.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pulling away from the hug, “I, uh… I suppose you two will be wanting to sleep now?”

“Have you had anything to eat?” Gaius asked, and her stomach growled to answer for her, “Sit, I’ll go get you something to eat,” he got up from his seat and left the room.

“Can I ask you something?” Merlin asked after a few moments of silence, and Bellona nodded, “What was he like? I only got to spend a couple days with him and he only knew I was his son for one of them – you grew up with him.”

“He was kind. When he first found me I was terrified, my parents had just been murdered for their magic; he just sat a couple meters away from where I was hiding, he didn’t try and force me out, be just made sure I knew he was there for me when I did come out from under the bed. And when I did, he gave me some food and told me that he was my father’s friend, that I could go with him if I wanted to. He asked a couple of my parents’ friends to help take the bodies to a clearing where we buried them, not too far from the cave. He helped train me in magic, not just the art of dragonlords but also the magic I inherited from my mother, he made me feel like I belonged regardless of what the law was.”

“I wish I could’ve been there with you, maybe then I wouldn’t have had to come to Camelot, we would’ve just been… happy.”

“We would’ve been, but you would’ve come to Camelot regardless,” she said, and he gave her a confused look, “if I remember what I’ve been told by druids, you’re Emrys,” he looked away for a moment, confirming her suspicions, “you said to me that you’re destined to be a great sorcerer and help Arthur reunite Albion – you can’t exactly do that if you’re living in a cave with your parents and surrogate sister. It’s dangerous here, of course it is, but you belong here Merlin.”

Gaius came in moments later with some stew and bread which she practically inhaled – with all of the anger and adrenaline coursing through her she hadn’t noticed how hungry she was. The three of them spent a few minutes in comfortable silence before Bellona said she was getting tired and Merlin left the chambers with her to go to the lower town.

“You’re really gonna like Gwen,” Merlin assured her, “she’s been kinder to me than most in Camelot since I arrived.”

“Does she know about your magic?”

“No… Uther killed her father for consorting with a sorcerer even though he didn’t know the man was a sorcerer – and she’s been accused of using magic too many times. I trust her, but I…”

“You don’t want to risk losing her,” Bellona finished for him, and he nodded, “don’t worry, I’ll make sure I don’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” they came to Gwen’s house and Merlin knocked on the door – the woman in question answered almost immediately with a soft smile.

“Hello Merlin. And you must be Bellona, it’s nice to meet you,” she greeted, stepping to the side, “please, come in.”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Merlin said, “goodnight Bellona, Gwen.”

“Goodnight Merlin,” they chorused as Gwen shut the door. The girls had a little chat after Merlin left, but finally went to bed; Bellona was hoping to get a good sleep, she was in the most comfortable bed she’d had in years, but that didn’t happen. It couldn’t. She was plagued with nightmares of fire and destruction, and screams of women and children as they ran from the great dragon, Kilgharrah.

Bellona woke up with tears in her eyes and a ghost of a scream on her lips – she sat up immediately and her head collided with Gwen’s, “Ah! Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Gwen assured her as she rubbed her forehead, “you were screaming in your sleep. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-I’d rather not,” she mumbled, moving to get to her feet, “did I wake you?”

“No, no, I was already awake. I haven’t been sleeping well since the Lady Morgana was taken.”

“You were close with the Lady Morgana?” Bellona asked, thinking back to the prophecies the druids had told her about Morgana.

“I’m her maid,” Gwen told her, just as there was a knock on the door and Merlin walked into the house.

“Does he just not knock?” Bellona laughed, and Gwen joined as she helped the girl to her feet.

“No, no he doesn’t,” they both walked into the main part of the room where Merlin was waiting.

“You ready to go to Ealdor?” he asked, and Bellona nodded, “Right, Arthur – for once – actually granted me some time off to take you there,” he looked towards Gwen, “I’ll be back in a few days Gwen,” Bellona gave Gwen a short hug and thanked her for granting her a bed for the night before following Merlin out to the main street. They walked up to the main square where guards were waiting with two horses, “can you ride?”

“Yes, Merlin, I can ride a horse,” she grinned, mounting the saddle as he did. They rode for a couple days to reach Ealdor, spending the daytime to engage in casual conversation which became deeper as they’d settle in for the night.

As the two of them rode into Camelot, there were lots of stares and greetings; Merlin tied up the horses to one of the gates before leading Bellona over to a house on the far side of the village, “Merlin!” The woman in the house greeted cheerily.

“Hello mother,” he replied, hugging her tightly, until she noticed the other person in the room, “uh, Bellona, this is my mother Hunith. Mother, this is Bellona, there’s something the three of us need to discuss.”

The next hour or so was full of confusion, tears and grief as each of them said what they had to – sharing their sides of the story. Hunith was glad that Balinor had lived long enough for Merlin to meet him, and Bellona told them about how he raised her in the cave, “Before you go, Merlin, there’s somewhere the three of us need to go,” Bellona grabbed both Hunith and Merlin's hands as she spoke, “we need to go and say goodbye to him.”

The three of them rode for the cave, but Bellona stopped them as they came into a clearing where three rocks stood in the middle, side by side. Her mother, her father, and Balinor. Together they finally had a chance to say goodbye, and Bellona was sure that Merlin could feel his spirit as she could – by their side forever…

.

Sorry if the ending feels rushed, my laptop battery is running low and I’m already over and hour into day 4 when I’m uploading this 😅 I wanted to get everything in, even if there is a lack of dialogue at the end. I hope you enjoy today’s submission, happy Camelove! 🥰💜💙

[juliandev0rak]

In Another Life 🍷 🍇

Fourteen: In Another Life – what would have happened if they never went to Vesuvia? If they didn’t die from the plague, or if they had left when Asra asked them to? Who would they be?

echoes of the past event

@arcana-echoes​

Stella and Sebastian Rosa

Set in Northern Venterre, Stella and Sebastian are in their early 20s

Words: ~2500

Warnings: lots of mentions of alcohol, strong language, brief hints to spice™️

The Enemies to Lovers Rival Winery AU

Or- what would have happened if Stella had stayed at her family’s vineyard in Venterre and the biggest worry on her mind was winning the wine competition at the annual Wine Fair

ft. her twin brother being a general nuisance and adults fighting like children because siblings!

Stella puts her hand on her hip as she looks out the window, sighing as she watches her brother Sebastian try to sneak out of the house. He should know by now that Stella doesn’t sleep much at night, and every footstep in their old house creaks and echoes. She thinks he’s a bit old for sneaking out, but Sebastian’s immaturity seems to know no bounds. 

When her parents had semi-retired from the family winery business a year prior, they’d made it clear that Stella and Sebastian were now in it together. That meant they share ownership and responsibility. Stella won’t stand to be left alone at work again because Sebastian is sleeping late from being out all night. Plus, the annual Wine Fair is tomorrow and the Rosa Winery has to be on top of their game to keep their spot as the top-rated vineyard in Venterre. 

This year the judging panel includes the Count of Vesuvia, the ruler of the neighboring city-state which is Venterre’s greatest ally. He’d been a judge last year too, but this year the winery that wins the top prize will become the official wine of Vesuvia. It's a chance Stella won’t pass up. Her family's famous “Stella Blend”, named after her, has won for over twenty years in a row and she isn’t going to let this year be the first one they lose.

Stella decides to follow Sebastian, there’s not many places to go in town this late at night and her curiosity is piqued. She’s careful not to wake her parents as she silently glides down the hallway and the stairs. She closes her eyes and feels herself shifting through a cold film, travelling through the dark entryway of the house and outside through the shadows. Stella has had the ability to travel this way for as long as she can remember, but she’s never focused much on her other magical abilities.

She reappears behind a tree a few feet away. Sebastian is completely oblivious to her presence as he steps through the front gate and out to the road. Stella grins and continues to follow, glad she hadn’t worn her usual noisy heeled boots.

Their house and vineyard are pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and Sebastian hasn’t taken a horse so wherever he’s going can’t be far. Either that or he really doesn’t want to risk being caught, which is even more intriguing in Stella’s opinion. When he makes a sharp right turn towards the hills she wonders where on earth he could be going, the only thing over that way is the Hierophant Winery and there’s no reason why Sebastian would be going to their rival winery so late at night. 

Perhaps he’s going to sabotage the competition, she thinks, but that doesn’t explain his many nightly disappearances over the last month. She follows him through the brush and wills herself to fade into the shadows a bit to hide her presence. After another twenty minutes of walking, the gates of Hierophant Winery come into view and she watches with interest as Sebastian walks around the side of the large main house instead of entering through the gates.

Sebastian stops in front of a side door, barely visible through the dark shroud of trees. He knocks exactly three times and waits. Stella knows her brother well enough to sense that he’s not nervous, and he’d seemed to know exactly where to go. She’s puzzled, watching from behind a tree as the door opens just wide enough to let him in. She can’t tell who opened the door, and when she tries the doorknob she finds it locked.

No problem for her, there are plenty of shadows to travel though. She once again steps into the filmy shadow realm, suppressing a cold shiver as she reappears inside the house. Inside it's dark but she can make out a staircase in front of her and a hallway to her left. She decides to head up the stairs, careful to step on the outside of the steps in case they creak. 

At the top of the stairs she waits, trying to listen for voices or catch a glimpse of light. She doesn’t want to be caught here. The man who owns the winery, Valerius, is quite rude and she’d rather not be accused of trying to cheat in the competition. She’s only interacted with him a few times at past Wine Fairs and a few times in town. He’s quite rich and usually sends his servants to town instead, so seeing Valerius is, luckily, a rare sight. 

He’s been hell-bent on winning the wine competition for the last few years, but the Rosa’s have always won, causing a bitter rivalry between the wineries. When any of the Rosa family do see Valerius he’s sure to make rude comments. Their interactions usually devolve into name calling and even, on one occasion, Stella dodging a glass of wine that had been lobbed at her head. 

She continues to creep down the upstairs hallway and finally sees a door ajar at the end. Careful to avoid being seen she pokes her head into the door and is absolutely horrified at the sight she finds. Her brother Sebastian is pressed against the opposite wall seemingly very busy making out with none other than the rude, pretentious, rival winery-owning Valerius. 

“What the actual fuck is going on here?” Stella shouts, throwing the door open without thinking. Valerius and Sebastian jump apart, turning to see who the intruder is. When he sees Stella standing in the doorway seethingly angry Valerius just scoffs and walks to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a glass of wine.

“Stella what are you doing here?” Sebastian asks in surprise.

“I asked you first dumbass, what the fuck are you doing here?” She points a finger at Valerius who is calmly watching the sibling’s altercation. “And with him?” 

“I think it’s pretty obvious Stella.” Sebastian rolls his eyes, pushing his hair back into its usual perfect style. 

“Ew Sebastian! Of all the men in Venterre why him?” Stella asks, trying to resist the urge to murder her sibling for his sheer stupidity. “I thought you hated him? We all hate him, he looks like a weasel for gods sake!” 

“I do hate him.” Sebastian laughs scornfully and Valerius sneers at him in response. 

“Doesn’t look like it Sebastian!” Stella says, shaking her head to try to rid herself of the memory of the scene she’d just walked in on.

“Look- just stay out of it Stella, why did you even follow me?” Sebastian asks, the annoyance clear in his tone. 

“If you two imbeciles are done fighting can you leave my house?” Valerius says, the distasteful sneer growing on his face. “I’d like to get some sleep before the fair tomorrow. I intend to look well rested when I win the competition.” 

“Shut up Valerius.” The twins shout at the same time, each turning to glare at the other. 

“How charming, there’s two of them.” Valerius mocks, downing his glass of wine.

“We are not done talking about this Seb, you’re a traitor!” Stella scolds, “I can’t believe you, this is where you’ve been disappearing to?” 

“Sebastian, either tell the witch to leave my house or leave with her. I’m tired of this drivel.” Valerius says, taking a seat on the elegant chaise lounge that sits in front of the window. He watches the twins with a look of impatience and dislike, and Stella whirls to look at him.

“What did you just call me?” Her tone is deadly calm and Sebastian recognizes that she’s probably seconds away from launching into a physical attack.

“Stella just leave! He’s an asshole, sure, but it’s not like I’m giving up winery secrets or anything.” Sebastian says placatingly, trying to calm down his irate sister.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Sebastian. You don’t see me going around visiting our business rivals in the middle of the night.” She seethes, taking a step towards her brother.

“That’s because I’m the attractive one.” Sebastian says matter of factly, causing Valerius to exhale in an almost-laugh sound.

“WE’RE TWINS!” Stella yells, throwing her hands up in the air. “Ok you know what? If you want to stay here and kiss the weasel, fine! Have at it! But if we lose at the fair tomorrow I will kill you myself.” 

“Can you vacate the premises on your own or do I need to send someone to escort you out?” Valerius says, rolling his eyes at her. 

“If you roll your eyes at me one more time so help me gods, I will kill you too.” She replies, her voice nearly a growl.

“Ok! Time for you to leave Stella! I promise I’ll be there tomorrow and we’ll win.” Sebastian walks towards her, pushing her towards the door. 

“I highly doubt that.” Valerius snorts, still trying for an aura of disinterest. 

“Also don’t tell our parents about this.” Sebastian adds, still trying to physically push her out of the door. 

“And why shouldn’t I?” She says indignantly, shoving her brother’s hands away from her. 

“My, don’t you two bicker like children.” Valerius mutters impatiently. Stella glares at him so viciously that he chastens and decides to keep his mouth shut. 

“If you tell them about Valerius I’ll tell them about your crush on Count Lucio.” Sebastian threatens. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”

“You think me finding the Count attractive is as embarrassing as you hooking up with Valerius? Ha! I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when I tell them.” Stella grins maliciously, turning to run out the door. If she can beat him home she’ll be able to break the news.

“Stella!” Sebastian yells, running after her. He tries to tackle her on the stairwell but she shadow travels outside, getting a head start. The magic tires her though and she has to run the rest of the way home more slowly. Sebastian is right behind her the whole way. He tries to bargain with her but Stella isn’t having any of it

“I’ll take over inventory for a week!” He pleads.

“Nope!” 

“Two weeks?” 

“Dream on!” 

“Stella come on! Don’t do this!” 

“Too late!” 

“Thank the gods they’ve finally gone.” Valerius sighs, pouring himself another glass of wine. He’s glad there’s no one around to see the slight smile of endearment on his face. 

Back at the Rosa Winery, Stella and Sebastian scuffle at the front door, each of them trying to be the first one in. Stella focuses her magic one last time and pushes through the shadows of the porch into the entryway.

“No fair!” Sebastian calls as he finally gets the door open and begins to chase her up the stairs. 

“Mamma! Papa!” Stella shouts. Sebastian pulls her hair, trying to stop her from reaching their parents door.

“What’s all this noise?” Their father Marco says tiredly as he opens the door.

“I caught Sebastian kissing Valerius!” Stella says in a huff, out of breath from the run.

“Stella has a crush on Count Lucio!”  Sebastian yells, wincing as Stella elbows him out of the way of the door.

“What!?” 

The next morning the whole family travels to the town center for the Wine Fair with plenty of bottles of wine in tow. Sebastian and Stella aren’t talking to each other and their parents find the situation hilarious. Marco had been upset at Sebastian at first, but it was clear he found the situation funny and the facade of disappointment had dropped quickly. Their mother Vittoria had simply laughed at them and told everyone to go to bed.

As they’re busy setting up the Rosa Winery’s display the town center begins to fill with crowds ready to experience the fair. Stella is in a particularly bad mood, but she’s still determined to win. Her focus is broken as her father elbows her and points to the center of the square.

“Look it’s your boyfriend!” Marco laughs, pointing at Count Lucio who stands amidst his retinue of guards and advisors. He’s dressed in a gaudy suit and his typical dramatic makeup which, Stella tells herself, shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“Papa stop.” Stella groans. It's going to be a long day, and if her gaze lingers on the Count all day, who could blame her.

“Oh look, Seb! It’s your boyfriend!” Vittoria grins at Sebastian, pointing at Valerius who is busy ordering his employees around at the Hierophant Winery stall. 

“This family is a nightmare.” Sebastian groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“I’m disowning all of you.” Stella adds, decidedly focusing on the wine bottles she’s arranging.

“It’s ok Stella, you can just move in with your Zia Alessa in Vesuvia! You’ll be closer to your Count.” Marco jokes.

“He is not my Count.” Stella argues, her tone laced with annoyance.

“Who’s not your Count?” A voice behind her says and she turns to see Count Lucio smirking at her, the rest of the judging panel behind him.

“Oh uh- I just mean that you’re the Count of Vesuvia and this is Venterre!” Stella says smoothly, turning on her best customer service smile.

“Hmm. Well I bet you wish I was your Count, everyone does!” Count Lucio grins, leaning down to inspect the wine bottles. “Well gimme a glass!” 

“Right away!” She says, pouring sample glasses for each of the judges. The count takes a sip of the red wine and swishes it around in his mouth audibly. Everyone in the vicinity watches with rapt attention waiting for his reaction. 

“What’s this wine called?” He asks, raising an eyebrow critically as he swirls the glass around.

“It’s the Stella Blend.” Marco smiles proudly as he gestures at Stella, “Named after our daughter Stella here.” 

“I don’t need to try any others, Stella is a winner.” Count Lucio says, downing the rest of the glass. “But I suppose we should at least sample a few more.” 

The Count winks at Stella as he hands her the empty glass and turns to walk to the next stall, the panel of judges trailing behind him. 

“Not a word.” Stella says, turning to point a threatening finger at her family who all look quite smug. “Not a single word from any of you.”

When the Rosa Winery is declared the winner for the 25th consecutive year nobody is surprised, but Stella intends to gloat about it to anyone who will listen. She catches her brother at the Hierophant Winery stall, apparently bragging about the win. He and Valerius have a complicated relationship it seems and Stella wants to know nothing about it. But she has to admit the victory is made all the more sweet when she sees how angry Valerius is. 

As the now-official winery of Vesuvia, the Rosa Winery has been asked to send someone to deliver the wine and prepare a sampling for the Count. Of course her parents had volunteered her for the job and she’s headed off to the palace in a week’s time. As much as Stella wants to be angry at them, she can’t deny that she’s excited to see the enigmatic Count Lucio again.

[steves-on-a-plane]

The Negotiation

Words: 1141 (819 w/o lyrics) SONG FIC: The Other Side - The Greatest Showman Cast of Characters: Tony Stark, Reader Timeline: Pre-Avengers (2012) Summary: Reader is assigned by Fury to convince Tony Stark to join SHIELD and the Avenger’s initiative. What follows is a back and forth negotiation leaving both parties unsure of exactly what they can offer the other. 

I Don’t want to chase you down; I know you see it. You run with me and I can cut you free, out of the drudgery and walls you keep in.

“Mr. Stark?” You called out quietly to the man sitting across the table from you. He’d been staring at a woman across the room. She was a brunette who’d been playing with her hair and looking over her shoulder not so casually every few minutes. She sipped her drink through a straw and giggled when she caught Tony’s eyes. “Mr. Stark? Can you hear me?”

“Are you insane?” He asked, finally looking in your direction.

“Is it insane to want to defend against imminent global threats? Is it any more insane than a man building a suit of armor in the desert?” You questioned.

“That’s cute.” Tony wrinkled up his face in a teasing expression. “Here I was thinking your bosses had sent you along because of your attractive face.” His features took on a more serious tone. “Glad to know you’re actually a big gun on a nice package.” He smirked.

And if it’s crazy, live a little crazy. You can play it sensible, king of conventional, or you can risk it all and see…

“Believe it or not, I read the briefing your director sent over.” He assured you. “A response team that operates above and outside of the military’s control?” He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “What can you tell me about the others is this so-called team?”

“Nothing.” You answered plainly.

“Well, that’s not helpful.” He frowned. “what about financials? I assume something like this isn’t cheap. What sort of insurance do I have that your department’s interest in me isn’t purely monetarily motivated?”

“Mr. Stark, you do understand that you’re technically a terrorist and the very agency you’re taking such a grievance, with stuck their necks out to keep you from Guantanamo. Don’t you?” Your tone was sharp. He was getting under your skin and he could tell. You’d told Fury it had been a bad idea to assign you to Stark. He would have gotten better results from Natasha or Maria.

“So, it is about the money.” Tony offered you a nod of respect. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Don’t worry, Sweetheart, money’s not an issue to me. I want to know what’s in it for me. What can SHIELD offer the man who has everything?”

Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I’m trapped in. Now I admire you and that whole show you do. You’re onto something, really, it’s something. But I live among the swells and we don’t pick up peanut shells. Don’t you know that I’m okay with this uptown part I get to play?

“Mr. Stark…”

“Tony.” He interrupted you. “My friends and enemies both call me Tony.”

“Tony,” You began again. “Our organization dates as far back as World War II. Your own father…”

“You may not have noticed, Agent [Y/L/N], but I neither asked for nor wanted a history lesson. What I asked is what can you do for me.” He repeated his question.

“Protection.” You stated. “With your company’s reputation for weapons manufacturing and in light of recent events…let’s just say the United States isn’t the only government concerned about curbing your newfound hobby. Now, Director Fury has no intention of trying to stop what you’re doing. He just thinks it would be beneficial to you if someone more bureaucratic were to represent you in an official capacity.”  

I’ve got what I need and I don’t want to take a ride. I don’t need to see the other side. So, go and do like you do. I’m good to do like me. Ain’t in a cage so I don’t need to take the key. Oh, Damn, can’t you see I’m doing fine?

“I believe that’s what I pay my Lawyers for.” Tony sighed. “So, if that’s the best that you can do…” He reached for his glass and downed the rest of his drink. He waited for you to continue as he shrugged on his jacket. You were frustrated. Fury hadn’t exactly given you much to work with. All he’d said before your meeting what to get Stark in any way you could. You thought for a moment before deciding to try the one angle you hadn’t yet.  

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Tony.” You apologized, getting to your feet. “It’s true we don’t have much to offer. We’re an expensive agency that runs 80% off the books. I can’t give you any specifics about our other candidates, but what I can tell you is their chances of success without you, is not great. Can I confess something to you, before I go?” Tony nodded.

“I personally asked to be the agent that met with you. Someone high profile like you? It should have been our director, but Fury’s a bit…rough around the edges. He’s not exactly known for his gift of persuasion. Anyway, I saw your press conference, the one where you’d been in the country only a few hours and the first thing you did was tell the world, no more weapons? That was badass.” You smiled. “I came to realize, I have more to offer this world than just making things to blow stuff up.” You parroted his own words back to him.

Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays? Just let me give you the freedom to dream. And it’ll wake you up and cure your aching.

“That was the Tony Stark I wanted to meet with today. That guy, wanted to save the world and he was willing to risk everything for it.” You removed your business card from your pocket and slid it across the table to him. “Have him give me a call, if you ever find him again. Good night, Mr. Stark.” You exited the bar without another word.

“I might not be known for my gift of persuasion,” Director Fury said to you as he stepped out of the alley beside the bar. His form becoming fully visible when he stepped towards the light and away from the shadows. “But I could have at least closed the deal.”

“He’ll call.” You insisted, walking towards your car.

“What makes you so sure?” Fury questioned, getting into your car.

“He said it himself. The man has everything. It’s not about money for him and he sure as hell isn’t worried about the government. Look at the kind of things his father was able to get away with.” You shook your head. “What really motivates Tony Stark is telling him he can’t do something.”

Take your walls and start ‘em breaking. Now that’s a deal, that seems worth taking, but I guess I’ll leave that up to you.

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 23rd Sunday after Pentecost

Phil 3:17-21, 4:1-3; Matt 9:18-26

The word science comes from scientia which means knowledge. Since the beginning of the pandemic, the Prime Minister of this country has been saying that he’s “following the science”. But the problem with human knowledge and thus human science is that we learn discursively, imperfectly, and fallibly. Hence there is much disagreement about the science behind the virus, and how to best supposedly control the virus, and we’re all acting on very limited knowledge. However even if we had all the knowledge, all the science available to us human beings, we might still lack wisdom, which leads to our fullest human flourishing. For the internet might be said to have lots of knowledge, but wisdom is less in evidence online, and lacking in the prudential decisions behind some of the Regulations that now restrict our lives and our movements.  Hence Pope Francis rightly observed in Fratelli tutti, “The flood of information at our fingertips does not make for greater wisdom. Wisdom is not born of quick searches on the internet nor is it a mass of unverified data. That is not the way to mature in the encounter with truth.”

Rather, Truth is a person, the living God, who we, as frail mortal human beings must first have the humility to encounter and worship and adore. And it seems that all the science and all the technical knowledge and know-how of our time amounts to very little if we do not recognise this basic fact: That our science, our medical knowledge, our Government Guidelines, our NHS, our economic packages, our human accomplishments ultimately cannot save us. This is not to say that these human goods cannot help us, and indeed, they can prolong our time on this earth and extend us some time. But, ultimately, none of this scientia amounts to sapientia, wisdom. And yet, we’re meant to be homo sapiens, the wise man. How grandiose that name is, how full of promise, and yet how unrealised. For as Proverbs says: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Prov 9:10), and yet, rather than to fear the invisible God, the Lord of life and death and the source of all existence, so many have, instead, fear for the invisible virus. Perhaps the sad truth is that we have tamed God, domesticated God, and made him manageable, and even, accountable to us.

Hence Pope Francis observed in March when the first wave of the pandemic hit Italy: “The tempest lays bare all our prepackaged ideas and forgetfulness of what nourishes our people’s souls; all those attempts that anesthetize us with ways of thinking and acting that supposedly “save” us, but instead prove incapable of putting us in touch with our roots and keeping alive the memory of those who have gone before us. We deprive ourselves of the antibodies we need to confront adversity.”

And so, as we largely sit and wait in our homes now, as we are confronted by the foolishness of our age, and the folly of our leaders, and, often too, our own lack of wisdom, let us listen again to what the Holy Father said then. “‘Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?’ Lord, you are calling to us, calling us to faith. Which is not so much believing that you exist, but coming to you and trusting in you… ‘Why are you afraid? Have you no faith’? Faith begins when we realise we are in need of salvation. We are not self-sufficient; by ourselves we founder: we need the Lord, like ancient navigators needed the stars. Let us invite Jesus into the boats of our lives. Let us hand over our fears to him so that he can conquer them.”

All the knowledge we have will not help us nor save us unless they lead first of all to this realisation: Man needs God, and without him we are literally nothing. Hence we must fear the Lord, that is to say, reverence him, acknowledge his sovereignty, and worship him with filial love. Our holy sister St Catherine of Siena, whose ardour for God was passionate and child-like, and who lived through a great plague that wiped out a third of Siena’s population and ten members of her immediate family, thus said with great wisdom “Let your will, not mine, be done in all things, Lord [Jesus]. For I am darkness and you are light; I am not, whereas you are He who is; I most ignorant, and you the wisdom of God the Father.”

If we seek wisdom, sapientia therefore, and would rise above the fray of mere human scientia, then we have to seek Christ and humble ourselves before him. In today’s Gospel, therefore, we find a ruler, that is to say, the political leader of a local community, one who is in the elite core going to Jesus. Another, who is at the very margins of the community, ostracized by society because she suffered the flow of blood, haemorrhaging for the past 12 years, also goes to Jesus; one a man, another a woman; both go to Jesus for help. They thus represent all of humanity, both the powerful and the dispossessed, male and female, young and old. And they go to Jesus bearing the conditions that are common to us all: our human mortality. The woman goes to Jesus suffering from a debilitating illness; the man goes to Jesus on behalf of his child who has suffered the last and greatest illness that afflicts Mankind, death itself.

Almost invariably, it is sickness and death that challenges and tests our faith. Confronted with our mortal limitations, we are tempted by the Enemy to doubt God. These two characters in today’s Gospel thus represent all of humanity, who are prone to the suffering that they have, who sorrow and grieve even as the father does for his dead daughter. So, what are we to do when we endure these mortal pains? Go to Jesus.

But this takes courage. People who cling to the supposed certitude of scientific knowledge and who scorn religions and the faithful think that we are cowardly, needing the opiate or the crutch of religion. However, as we know from our own experience, faith, especially in a society that is toxic to faith and belief in God, requires courage. So, in the Gospel, Jesus says to the woman, "Take heart" or in other translations, simply "Courage!". The same Greek word, in fact, is used later on in St Matthew's Gospel when there is a storm at sea and the apostles cry out in fear. Jesus appears to them, walking on the sea in the midst of the storm, and he says: "Take heart, courage, it is I; have no fear" (Mt 14:27). The storms of the human life are its trials and sufferings: illness, grief, death. These stir us up. But God is Lord of the storms, he is able to reach out in the midst of them, and he comes to us, calling out to us to go to him in faith and hope and trust. He is calling out to you now, even in the isolation of your own homes, in the turmoil of 2020 and even through the fog of anxiety. Jesus is calling out to us, to go to him, to trust him, to have faith that he is with us to help us. And this faith takes courage.

The woman who is not allowed to come into the city had to overcome her fear of social conventions and customs, of public disapproval and even violence (if she were caught) to approach Jesus. But, even so, she reaches out to just touch the tassels of his garment from behind, not daring to be seen by others. But this is enough. She has done a very brave thing, risking further social exclusion and harm just to touch his garment. And the man who had rushed out to find Jesus when his daughter had died – he must have risked humiliation and the fear of failure. For if the crowd laughed at Jesus, they would also have ridiculed the father of the dead girl for going to Jesus to seek a cure for death. So, he too has done a brave thing, risking reputation and public esteem and even risking his hopes in order to go to Christ and seek help. They go – perhaps because they're desperate, but hope often springs from such difficult conditions – but nevertheless they go because, ultimately, they believe. They believe that Jesus can and will and does help them. Do we?

Pope Francis mentioned that merely amassing information online wasn’t the “mature way to encounter truth”. What is the mature way to encounter truth? It is to live with the basic truth of our mortality, of the finitude of this life, of the mysteriousness of God and his created order, both of which we can never control nor manipulate for our own comfort and convenience and pleasure. Rather, God is to be feared and adored, loved as a Father and yet approached with awe. Thus the man in the Gospel approaches Jesus on his knees. We approach truth with maturity when we do so with courage and hope; with expectation but without presumption; and thus we come to God and allow him to be God, to do as he wills with us, trusting in his fundamental love for us. And love doesn’t mean that God gives us what we want but rather what our Father knows is best for us at this time. St Catherine of Siena thus affirmed that Jesus said to her: “You must not be anxious or afraid for I shall always be with you.” Indeed, God loves us, and he never abandons us, and in him is eternal life and beatitude. To know this is to possess wisdom.

At this time of the pandemic, many might think that what our human community needs now is health. Indeed, the man and woman in the Gospel go to Jesus in search of health and well-being–knowing that Jesus heals, it makes sense to do this. But this is mere knowledge. For Jesus not only heals us of our bodily ailments, but he cures us of death itself by, finally, raising us from the dead to share in the divine life. Believing this is wisdom. The fullness of life, ultimately, is why we need to go to Christ; go to the Living God; cling to him, with faith and love. For what we want, fundamentally, is salus, a word which in Latin means ‘health’, but the fullness of heath for a human being consists not only in the good of the body but also the good of the soul. Hence salus also translates as ‘salvation’. For us human beings, homo sapiens, who are a unity of body and soul, it would be wise to pay attention to this so that if any person desires to truly ‘stay safe’ then let him truly stay close to Jesus Christ in whom alone is Man’s salus: our health, our well-being, and our salvation! Because, as Pope Francis put it, “with God life never dies”!

[lbibliophile-mcu]

A Dead Man’s Face

For:  @whumptober2020​ - day 19 - Mourning loved one @star-spangled-bingo​ - “I thought you were smaller” @buckybarnesbingo​ - K1: In memoriam [fill details at end]

Also on AO3 Words: 530

The Winter Soldier project was one of Hydra’s greatest collaborations, and greatest successes. Every part was necessary to support the others, but when faced with the ultimate test, their creation outperformed their wildest expectations. And it all started with simple scientific curiosity.

See, Hydra had this fancy new mindwiping technology which they were just itching to use. And it would be perfect for the Winter Soldier project, where the only so-far successful trial subject of their supersoldier serum has inconvenient loyalties. There is just the slight complication that all the previous test subjects of that procedure have also died. 

The data suggests that the serum should prevent the Chair from completely frying his brain, but do they really want to take that risk? Not to mention, if the wipes overflow into other types of memory, they still might end up with a supersoldier with the communication, motor- and self-care skills of a toddler. And they really can’t be bothered dealing with that.

Instead, someone sits on the over-enthusiastic mindwipe developer, and they come up with a different plan. They still use the Chair, but on a much lower setting, only erasing Bucky’s recent history - back to his capture at Azzano - and fading and distancing his other memories, leaving his childhood mostly intact. This leaves him confused but conscious, and receptive to more mundane brainwashing methods.

In another universe, the Winter Soldier is a puppet; controlled by trigger words, no less a weapon than the guns he carries. In this universe, he is a willing Soldier, shaping the world because he knows – with every fibre of his carefully-crafted being – that their cause is just.

The Winter Soldier knows that he was once called Bucky Barnes, and had a childhood friend called Steve Rogers.

He has fond memories of boy and young man, fragile and stubborn, observant and reckless, and so full of life and fire. He remembers growing up and leaving his friend behind as he went to war. He doesn’t remember, but he knows that Steve followed him… and he died, a casualty of ‘Captain America’.

The Winter Soldier knows that Captain America is his enemy and the enemy of everything Hydra stands for.

The Captain sacrificed himself to stop Schmitt’s grand plan, but Hydra is not so easily defeated. The Winter Soldier has spent the past decades helping to reshape the world from the shadows. Now Captain America has returned – a legend brought back to life – threatening all they have achieved. He knows that the world must be protected from his destructive ‘heroics’. No-one else should have to lose their friend to his campaign.

The Winter Soldier now knows that Captain America is the type of man - monster - who would use the face of Bucky’s dead friend as a weapon against him. The type of man who would research his opponent and call out a long-discarded name in a bid for sympathy, exploiting every weakness.

But the Winter Soldier knows that a weapon can only wound if you let it touch you. Anger smouldering, the Winter Soldier – Bucky Barnes – seals away the beloved memories. He will not falter; he has a mission.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

-----

BBB fill details

Title: A Dead Man’s Face Collaborator: LBibliophile Link: AO3 Square Filled: K1 - In memoriam Ship: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Rating: T Major Tags: Winter Soldier, brainwashing, partial amnesia Summary: The Winter Soldier knows that he was once called Bucky Barnes, and had a childhood friend called Steve Rogers. The Winter Soldier knows that Captain America is his enemy and the enemy of everything Hydra stands for. The Winter Soldier now knows that Captain America is the type of man - monster - who would use the face of Bucky’s dead friend as a weapon against him. But he will not falter; he has a mission. Word Count: 530

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Third Eye

Part Four of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader, Rowena, Crowley

Wordcount: 2,029

A/N- I highly recommend listening to the song Third Eye by Florence + The Machine. It was a large part of my inspiration for this chapter, and a great song. Also, we finally get to learn what the reader’s mysterious mission is, and her real name, I’m excited to see what you think!

Summary: As the reader pursues her mission, she learns more than she bargained for, whilst Dean embarks on a quest of his own- to discover what, exactly, you’re hiding. Old loyalties clash with new bonds, but a deal is a deal, and the price must always be paid.

               It had to be there somewhere. You’d inspected every inch of the room with a critical eye, but had found nothing but cobwebs, dust, and a very frightened mouse. You began to doubt your information- perhaps the map you’d studied and committed to memory had been wrong. Perhaps there was no secret door. For a split second, you hoped that you could write off the entire mission, hoped you could be done with the espionage and the act, hoped you could be the person Dean thought you were. Ah, wishful thinking. A fool’s greatest enemy. You pressed on a loose brick, and the entire wall swung away, revealing a dimly lit passageway, and you frowned. 

                  There were countless chests and trunks and safes lining the walkway, the damp stone smelling of mildew and whispering echoed secrets and names long-dead into your bones. When had the living last walked there? There was a moment when you paused, certain you’d heard something, saw a flicker of movement in the corners of your vision, but as you turned to look, there was nothing but eerie shadows and thick layers of dust. You knew better than to keep looking- things that dwelled in darkness did not take kindly to strangers, and so long as you pretended to believe that the odd shapes in your peripheral were your imagination, you would be unharmed. 

                  You let your hands run over the thick tomes penned in tongues so archaic your ancestors couldn’t even remember. There was one book you needed, the words between its covers so much more than letters or prose. A book to doom or save the world, to complete your quest. If it truly existed, you knew it would be found somewhere in the unorganized mess. The map of the Bunker had proved accurate, and if it was right, there was a dungeon further back in the hidden passageway. What it held, you didn’t know, but if it was worse than the palace’s prisons, built for things stronger than Hell could contain, you didn’t particularly care to find out. 

                 Your time was ticking away every day you spent in the hidden area, combing through every shelf for the one book you needed desperately. You sat alone before an easel,  brush in one hand and palette of paints in the other. The deadline looming over you added to the stress you were under. How could one person be entrusted with the world’s future? Something in you was crumbling, internal barriers of steel and iron cracking. You dreamt of death in a thousand ways, dreamt of eternal darkness behind bars, and when the sunlight touched you, you daydreamed of eyes too green to paint and a child’s romanticized fantasy, of impossible futures. Assassin, Lady, Artist, Spy, Informant. It all simmered within you, threatening to boil over, and yet you could only stare blankly at the canvas. You stood from your stool, and with trembling hands, replaced your supplies. You did not look back at the gallery as you strode determinedly away.

                 Dean knew. He saw you vanish at odd hours, had watched you vanish in a dead-end hall. He knew. And every day, when the two of you sparred, when he listened with a fond smile as you described the technique or history of your favourite paintings, when you stole him away like his own personal saviour before some dignitary or lady could force him into conversation, he waited for you to tell him. Hoped for a sign, some kind of symbol that you weren’t betraying whatever existed between you. You never did. He watched you carefully, your eyes impossible to read, and every time he thought he saw some flicker of regret for the lies, you were distracting him again with a brush of your hand against his. Dean wondered what you were searching for. And when he couldn’t sleep because you haunted him in dreams, too, he asked himself how many lines he was willing to cross for you.

                “Y/N?” “Yes, Dean?” You replied, looking back at Dean from where you’d been admiring an especially lovely oil painting. “I- if there were ever any manner of trouble you were in, you would tell me, would you not? I understand my father has allies that have contributed to the deaths of your family, but you and I, we can put aside old feuds and conquests.” Dean asked, brows furrowed. Your heart stalled. “Be cautious how you speak, Prince. There is power in bloodshed, unbreakable power.” You said slowly, staring at him. “There is greater power than war, Y/N.” He argued. “Not greater than death.” You retorted. “Fate has bound my hands, Your Majesty. The cost of breaking one promise to pursue another is too steep for me to pay.” You stated curtly. Dean’s eyes flashed angrily. “You speak as if the reaper has already appeared before you. Are we not beings of free will? Can we not make our own decisions?” He snapped. You blinked, stepping away in surprise. “I am so weary of the way you make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out any light. You are more than an assassin, Y/N, and I am not my father.” Dean insisted, grabbing your hands in his. You couldn’t speak, shocked at the way he’d seen through you so easily. Had you always been so transparent, or was Dean the only one who could decode you? “There is so much more at stake, Dean. Free will is a luxury I cannot have. I wish I could explain, but the lives on the line are not mine to give away...” You trailed off, surprised when he wiped a tear from your cheek. You didn’t know you had been crying. “You are nothing like your father,” you said, squeezing his hands, “but you will be King, and I will be who I have always been.” “I beg of you, please let me help you.” Dean pleaded, face pained. “This is not your cross to bear.” You shook your head, stepping backwards. He looked angry again, refusing to let you hide the truth with excuses. “Do you think I don’t know that there’s more to you? Am I such a fool in your eyes, Y/N? You may pull away from me all you like, but I have already seen the emptiness in your heart. Are you so afraid of the truth I might find that you would keep nothing but pain to remind you to feel?” Dean demanded. “I am terrified of you, Dean Winchester, and if you were a wiser man, you would be terrified of what I will do. Is that truth enough, Your Majesty?” You whispered bitterly. Dean dropped your hands, blinking away the hurt in his eyes. You walked past him swiftly. “In three days, you will understand. I pray you are elsewhere then.” You said over your shoulder. Dean didn’t turn towards you, shoulders taut as he faced the same direction he had been. You nodded to yourself and left, the silence clinging to you.

                     You slipped into the passageway at midnight. You hadn’t been sleeping. When you weren’t waking up screaming from nightmares, you were dealing with a conflicted conscious about explaining your purpose to Dean. You knew he was hurt. He had offered you help, had offered to help shoulder the weight of this impossible task you were burdened with, but no matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t let anyone else risk their life for what you’d been working for. You pushed the guilt and the mental image of vibrant green eyes glittering with unshed tears aside and focused. You only had three more days. Three days to get the book, and make your escape. 

                  You almost walked right past it the first time. A plain looking book, average size with a simple red spine, but something about it called to you. The front cover was a familiar symbol. Devil’s Traps were old knowledge. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you opened the book, flipping past acknowledgements and the foreword, breath catching at what was inside. The only remaining copy of what was written on the Demon Tablet. The only way to keep Crowley, Lucifer, and their followers trapped forever. The book... the book was your salvation. 

              Your head shot up as someone began opening the heavy door to the passageway. You shoved the book into the bodice of your dress and rushed to find a hiding place, skidding around corners and shelves, steps silent even in heels. There- a door in the far back. You didn’t have time to examine it, the footsteps were getting closer, their weight and spacing informing you whoever approached was taller than you and carrying weapons based on the metallic clink. You wrenched open the door, and slid inside the completely dark room, shutting and locking it behind you. You tried to control your breathing as the footsteps halted just outside the thick metal door, wishing you had a weapon of some kind with you. You didn’t dare make a sound until you heard the far door open and shut again, loosing a breath of relief. 

                    “Well, well. Hello there, Darling.” A familiar voice said, posh accent oozing with hostility as every muscle in your body went rigid. You turned slowly. “Fergus.”

               You looked wide-eyed at the red-haired woman before you. “It has to be you, Y/N.” Rowena said gently. There was no love between you, but you were allies against Crowley. “I know Fergus well enough to know he’s already schemin’ against the King. You arrivin’ will give him an opportunity. Yer the only one who knows him and his ways like I do. Yer the only one with enough trainin’ in espionage, and no one knows yer real name or title.” Rowena explained. “I’ll do it.” You said firmly. “Just tell me what you need.”

            Three months later, you’d been captured and thrown into The Cage with Lucifer, courtesy of Crowley. You were nineteen then, and when you finally escaped with Rowena’s aid, you were twenty-two. Your one task was to take out as many of your enemies as possible before letting yourself be captured by King John Winchester’s men, and once you were shipped to a labor camp, a spy awaiting you gave you your next set of commands. Infiltrate the palace, and find The Demon Tablet. You had a year. 

                 By the time you’d been given to Crown Prince Dean Winchester to command, you had but seven months left, and when you finally arrived at the Bunker, you only had two.

                It had been four long and painful years since that fateful day when you’d struck the bargain with Rowena. Four years since since your people had bent the knee and sworn to honor the deal. Four years since anyone had spoken your true name. 

              “This is interesting indeed, isn’t it? This little cat-and-mouse game has been just delightful. I don’t believe I ever learned your name, darling.” Crowley smirked. He was shackled to a chair in the middle of a stone and iron room. The dungeon, you realized. “Why are you here?” You asked breathlessly. The book hidden in your bodice seemed to be mocking you. “The Good King decided I was becoming too troublesome for his liking. I admit, I’m rather curious as to what you’re doing, sneaking about, and here of all places. Don’t tell me- hiding from our Golden Prince Dean?” Crowley asked sarcastically. “You truly don’t know who I am, do you?” You asked, laughing softly. He frowned. “Do they ever come to speak with you?” “Not since I was tossed in here so rudely. Your name, love, if you please.” Crowley growled. “You would find out in three days either way, I suppose. I am Queen of Innisfree, The Morrigan, and in three days time, I will be the one to finally reclaim my people, my lands, my title, and to take freedom back from those of your ilk.” “What is your name.” Crowley seethed, growing impatient quickly. You drew yourself to your full height, a triumphant smirk playing across your lips, a challenge in your eyes. 

                                          “Y/N. Y/N MacLeod.”

TAGS-

Forevers-

@justagirlinafandomworld​

@spnfanficpond​

Dean Babes-

@herfalsegod​

All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series-

@perpetualabsurdity​

[fantasticstoryteller]

Kingdoms ch. 7

Queen Mary Jane sat with her face in an expressionless mask as the relay scout gave her the army’s news in front of the Reaper Ambassador. Ambassador Nathan frankly stared at the young scout in disbelief as he told the court how the army decided to burn the castle as a pyre to both the enemy and ally fallen dead. Mary wondered if her priest and soon to be mate understood the political ramifications of what they had done. Then again, from everything she had heard, perhaps they did.

“So,” she asked the young scout for clarification, “the ambassador from Morphio and a military contingent met the army before you crossed into Reaper?”

“They did, Your Majesty,” confirmed the scout.

“I see.” The queen kept her narrow gaze on the kneeling scout as the information rattled around her mind. “Tell me, did the horses from the Morphio delegation have trouble keeping up with our infantry?”

“Not at all,” replied the scout. “Commander Osborn remarked that the horses travel at the same speed as the spiders.”

Commander Osborn would. “Tell me,” ordered the Queen, “did you come across any military members from Reaper on the way to the castle?” Ambassador Nathan’s head whipped around so fast she was willing to bet that his neck would hurt later.

“No, Your Majesty,” the scout replied. “The only people from Reaper that we came across were those that had been subjugated by the invaders.”

“Really.” The word was a sentence, not a question. She shifted her attention towards the ambassador. “It would seem,” the queen continued, “the castle had been thoroughly taken, down to the land. Surely that was the message sent by the lack armed forces?”

“That—” began the ambassador, getting red in the face.

She continued on mercilessly. “In that case, my people took an enemy outpost and, not willing to allow the enemy shelter so near either our borders or yours, destroyed it.” She looked back at the scout, keeping an eye on the red-faced ambassador. “Tell me,” she ordered, “whose idea was it to burn the castle.”

“High Priest Parker’s, Majesty,” said the scout.

Now that was a surprise. “Were any of the enemy within the castle when it burned?”

“Only the dead Majesty. Upon guidance from High Priest Parker, the living enemy soldiers were left bound in a field after the castle burned while the army mustered out with the survivors from the invasion. Since mine is the fastest spider, Commander Osborn sent me back to report.”

In that one, single move Peter had sent three separate messages. He had told the rescued people from Reaper, “We will watch after you and treat you as our own.” He had told the enemy invaders, “You are not even worth killing, now go home you naughty children.” Most importantly of all he had told the king of Reaper himself, “You don’t want to protect these people? Then we will.”

Not for the first time, Mary Jane found herself grateful that Peter had been called to the priesthood rather than politics. She had no doubt that, if he wanted, Peter could easily control the entire country from the shadows. The greatest blessing the goddess had bestowed upon Arachne was Peter’s ultimately selfless nature.

“The prince needs to be sent home!” the ambassador said.

To the shock of the entire court, it was the scout who answered. “He can’t,” the young scout said. The scout then trembled under the weight of the look the ambassador gave him—and possibly the pheromones as well.

Queen Mary Jane released a few of her own. “You will cease that at once,” she demanded. “Or,” she added coldly, “my guards will see you out.” The man flushed—as he should at such an unseemly display—and subsided. She glared at him for a moment more before turning her attention to the scout. “When you say the prince can’t go home, what do you mean?” Since the scout was so frazzled from the angry pheromones from the ambassador, she kept her voice gentle.

The scout swallowed a few times before reporting. “According to those that were—those that were rescued, the enemy invaders decided to—to break the prince before starting on them. They tortured him, Majesty, he looks nothing like the man he used to. The only one of us that could recognize him was the High Priest. The healers from Morphio,” the scout added, “said that only the intervention of their goddess could save him. When Commander Osborn sent me ahead, High Priest Parker was about to try to reach their goddess.”

Silence fell over the court. The healers of Morphio were known for their legendary ability to save lives. There was no reason to believe the country would have sent inferior healers on a rescue mission. For such experienced healers to be unable to heal the injured prince, and relying on a priestly request to their goddess—Wade must have been very badly injured.

And the king of Reaper—who sent no aid, sent no soldiers, and whose representative was even now taking up space in her court—wanted them to send the injured prince back. Well, the king of Reaper was just going to have to find another heir to his throne. He could have his son back over her dead body. “So it would appear,” she said musingly to her court, “that the former prince is now an acolyte.”

The ambassador frowned. “Surely you jest?” he demanded flashing the scout another glare.

She calmly laid her hands in her lap as she met his gaze with her cool one. “Oh? Wade Wilson has just gone through a life changing, life threatening ordeal. He is now spending time in the company of a High Priest. It sounds to me,” she added slyly, “as though he is entering the priesthood.” She gave the ambassador a tight smile. “Go tell your king the good news,” she told him. “That the High Priest of Arachne is sponsoring your former prince.”

The ambassador swallowed. He knew, they all knew, that to interfere with the priesthood was to risk drawing the ire of the goddesses. No one sane wanted to risk their wrath. “I will go and deliver the good news,” he said giving a low bow before turning and quickly making his way from the court as the couriers watched him go.

[scav-eng-er]

“If Nothing Else, We Have This.” TROS Alternate Ending 5/?

THINGS ARE GETTING EMOTIONAL. While the world is falling apart outside, let us enjoy the emotional scene that is about to unfold. Thank you guys for staying patient with me and waiting for my story, it means so much ❤️ I’m back in the swing of things and the moment this is posted, I’m starting the next chapter! 

AO3 : LINK

Thank you my beans @reylo-trash-4ever and @mojona1999  🦋

and thank you to my new friends! @redheadonaflolol @kommissrawr 

hope you all are safe

There was a sinking feeling in Rey’s heart as she watched the crowd of pilots, mechanics, and soldiers. She stood at the edge of the clearing, with a gathering crowd amongst the jungle floor. Poe had called a meeting to discuss the punishment to the willing prisoner, Kylo Ren. But Rey wouldn’t go down without a fight, or at least a persuasion. If she could convince a larger crowd, maybe that would be enough to change Poe’s mind. Night had swept in, with fire pits scattered about the base, warming the crowds. Their faces were etched in curiosity, some in fear. The flames flickered their silhouettes against the canopy above, and Rey couldn’t help but shiver in worry. The shadows felt judgmental, waiting to hear her defense. Higher entities that she had to convince along with her comrades and friends. 

Ben, can you hear me? She reached out to him, but there was nothing. Was he sleeping? Could he even hear her? Was he okay?

Only silence.

Finn pulled himself away from the crowd, grabbing her attention. 

“It’s time. You ready?” Even he sounded nervous.

Rey glanced at her boots and sighed. Soon, hundreds of eyes would be on her, testing her words and argument of mercy for the galaxy’s most vile leader. 

But he wasn’t vile. Ben was good, he was full of light, kindness and hope. Palpatine was the one who hurt him, the one who turned him against Luke, his family, the whole galaxy. Her own grandfather did this to him. It was her blood that pushed him into the darkness, but it was her who pulled him out. 

If only the rest of the world could see what she saw. Rey swallowed, and found herself the center of attention. Hundreds of eyes burned on her as she moved to the middle of the clearing. As she walked, she felt like her feet weighed a hundred times heavier, and her palms grew sweaty again.

But she had to try.

“First, I’d like to thank you all for your courage, bravery, and sacrifice,” She began. “The galaxy will remember this day and all those who gave their lives to bring the First Order down. While we celebrate tonight, we will never forget the fallen.” 

Rey gazed around her, speaking to every person as if individually. It had taken a year for her to see how the First Order controlled everything, but for her friends and comrades, some had experienced it their whole lives. And generations before them. A binding control over their lives were now free, but it would take time to rebuild as well. Rey thought of Leia as she spoke, and had even more respect for Poe. Her heart started beating faster, keeping back the emotion tingling in her throat to continue her words of passion. Everyone around her, were going to make the future brighter than any star in the galaxy.

“Those who have lost the fight will only burn brighter in our hearts, and will be remembered as the power to drive us to grow and live!” 

She hadn’t realized her fists were clenched, and she suddenly had the urge to hold her staff, or Luke’s saber, or Ben’s hand. 

Her surrounding audience cheered and shouted in victory. Poe couldn’t help but smirk while Finn smiled at his best friend. They had finally won, the world would know peace again. But there still was the matter of Kylo Ren, or Ben, as Rey called him. 

“Second, I know you are all aware of why you are here. We have our former enemy, surrendered to us by his own choice. Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order has willingly offered himself as a prisoner,” Rey wanted to roll her eyes, having to use his old name. 

Her Ben had surrendered himself, Kylo Ren was dead. 

Somewhere in the crowd, Rey already heard faint voices.

“Burn him!”

“Kill him!”

A shout of agreement slowly erupted among the people, and while she wanted to deny it, Rey felt like a decision had already been made. She gulped.

It scared her. 

“While he must be punished, we are not wild beasts. We, as the forefront of the resistance are responsible for deciding his fate. General Dameron and I are willing to hear what you have to  say, and we will determine his consequence.” 

“SHOOT HIM!” A man screamed.

“Blast him to the stars!” A woman called out. 

“Please, one at a-“ Rey tried to relax the crowd, but they continued on. 

“Drag him by a ship!”

“Impale him with his own saber!”

Rey couldn’t quiet them down, they were getting restless and loud. She looked back towards Poe and Finn, concern etched on their faces. 

The halls were quiet, giving Rose the opportunity to peak around the corner. The coast was clear. 

“Uf!” A large force knocked into the back of her for the fifth time, and she was about to snap. 

“Sorry.” Ben whispered behind her.

“Watch where you’re going,” Rose huffed, “If someone sees us, you’re on your own.” 

“Sorry.” He said again.

While Ben was incredibly intimidated by this girl, he would be forever grateful. She was risking everything to help him. He would face the trial, he would do anything Rey wanted, he just had to see his mom first. 

He trailed behind Rose, constantly checking over his shoulder. They rounded about, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. The tiny taps of Rose’s feet pattered along with Ben’s heavy steps down the hall. She scanned the entrances and hallways, alert and attentive to every little thing that could get them caught. They entered the recovery wing when Ben felt it.

Mom’s not well.

The large white, sterilized room was filled with the injured, recovering from the battle. Some were in worse shape than others. Many were asleep, but some were awake, reading, drawing, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Rose didn’t know what to do. Do they even know what he looks like? Would they recognize him?

Ben felt her hesitancy.

“Stay close, and keep your head down.” Rose whispered. She walked down the aisle, beds lined on both sides against walls. Ben focused on the ground, watching only her feet lead him on. She glanced at the patients, some glanced at her while talking, others never bothered to look in her direction.

Ben saw them make their way towards a private room, and he felt his feet hurry, determined to get to her.

Rose gently knocked before opening the door slowly. 

Leia Organa looked peaceful in her bed. Her monitor beet gently in the quiet room, and the world went quiet to Ben. She was really here, right in front of him. 

Her hair had gotten grayer, but she was still just as beautiful as he remembered. To the world, she was probably the strongest, bravest and greatest leader. To him, she was just mom. 

They had struggles in the past, and Ben knew she tried her best balancing her leadership duties as well as being a mother. There were times she wouldn’t see him for days for trips, and meetings and Ben would spend time with his uncle Chewie, waiting for her to come home. But then there were the moments where he felt truly loved, when Leia swept him in her arms, her gorgeous grin etched in his memory. Her smile and laughter were his favorite things because Ben knew she was happy. She was happy to be with him.

He felt like he was a 10 year old again, every step towards her bed a giant leap for his tiny feet. Pulling up a chair, Ben’s heart beat wildly against his chest. He wanted to hold her frail, pale,  delicate hand, but he was afraid he would break her. 

He pressed his lips together, and just watched his mom, memorizing every detail on her face.

Rose joined him on the opposite side of her bed, “General Organa? Leia, can you hear me?” She whispered, a soft hand on the older woman’s shoulder. 

In a few moments, a pair of warm, chocolate eyes fluttered open, and Leia turned to one of her favorite commanders. 

“Rose,” she spoke, her voice raspy and weak, straining to give a reply, “Updates. Where is the fleet? How’s Finn? Did Connix make it to-“

“Shhh, General, it’s okay. Everything is fine.” Rose took a beat to savor the next words that came from her lips. 

“We did it. We won.” 

Ben heard the ever so slight hitch in her throat, and her eyes became glassier with every blink. Who knows how long she had been dreaming of this moment, and who would’ve thought she would be aiding her enemy, all in the same day.

Leia sighed, a small smirk appeared, “Well, obviously.”

Rose couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, Ben giving his best of the smile among the current circumstances. 

Rose glanced at Ben before stating, “There’s someone here to see you.” 

When Ben felt his mothers eyes meet his, there was no hate. There was no anger. Betrayal or disgust did not exist. There was only love and forgiveness, warmth and kindness. 

A mother was reunited with her son.

A sob broke out from Leia, “My bpy.”

Ben hadn’t realized tears poured down his face, too enveloped in feeling the love from his mother. Without hesitation, he leaned over as gently as he could, holding his mothers delicate but warm frame. 

“Mom.”

He missed her hugs so much, and the feeling of security of being in them again had him sobbing into her shoulder, staining her gown with his tears. Leia was an incredibly strong woman. She showed strength when others lost hope, she had courage in times of doubt, and she always knew the right thing to say. 

But when she saw her one and only child, her boy who she was afraid was lost forever, taken to the dark when she couldn’t protect him, right in front of her, she knew he had come home. And that would make any mother weep. 

Rose Tico had a lot of anger towards those who favored the dark side, even more so for the ones who profited from it. And even through the pain of losing her freedom, the control of her life, and the loss of her sister, Rose had no regrets helping Ben Solo reunite with his mother. 

She had quietly made her way out of the room, giving them their moment. Dirty fingertips wiped tears from her eyes, a small pierce of pain in her heart at the idea of never hugging her own sister again. She gently closed the door, keeping guard for any passerby. 

“How can you forgive me so easily?” Ben mumbled into Leia’s neck. She still smelled the same, and Ben was reminded of his childhood home on Chandrila. “I hurt you, and-and dad and Uncle Chewie. I can’t take any of it back, or fix the pain I’ve caused. And I’m just so so sorry!” “Shh.” Leia quieted her son, her soft coos in his ear as her weak hand gently rubbed his head, “I should be the one apologizing.” 

Ben wanted to pull away and correct her, but her grip tightened just a bit, keeping him from speaking over his mother.

“You deserved much better than your father and I. We didn’t understand how much you needed us, and we put politics before our son.” She coughed, a rasp and harsh sound erupted and Ben heard it in her chest, and he bunched a piece of her gown into his fist, as if trying to take some the pain away from her. 

“I wish I could start over, and learn from my mistakes. Nothing was more important than you, and you were, are and will always be, my Ben.” 

Ben wanted this. He wanted love, forgiveness and comfort from the one person he needed it most. And now he had it. Leia was never angry, she was afraid she had lost her son forever, because of her mistakes. 

Leia chocked on her words, “If I could, I would hold you like this everyday until you would squirm out of my grasp, all annoyed.” The two managed to giggle between sobs. 

“I would take you with me everywhere and let you see the galaxy, where you could decide what you wanted to do with your life.”

Leia shifted her grip, and cupped her hands to his face, framing his cheeks and staring into his eyes. Her wrinkled hands grazed his cheekbones and she examined every detail of his face. There were fleeting moments where she saw Han or herself in Ben, but he was still his own man. He had grown so handsome and she couldn’t help but whimper at the memories they could’ve had.

“And I would tell you, how proud I am that you were strong enough to fight back. You chose who you wanted to be, and it led you back to me, to Rey, and now you’re home.”

The guilt that had bubbled in his soul slowly faded, a weight was being lifted off of Ben’s shoulders and he felt truly free. He could live among the stars, blasting through the galaxy on adventures with Rey by his side.

But first, he had to face the trial.

His silence and inability to look into Leia’s eyes told her he was worried. 

“What is it, Ben?” A loose strand of black hair was tucked behind his ear, and Ben wanted to fall asleep right there, but there was a more pressing matter at hand.

“Mom, the world is ready to see me dead. I’m about to go on trial, face your troops and commanders and hear what they will do to me. I’ve already lost.” His head hung low, defeated.

“To hell with them!” Leia managed to salvage a throaty yell, causing Ben to jump.

“The world wants to see Kylo Ren dead, but they’re too late. As the resistance builds and fixes what I couldn’t, his name will be nothing more than a whisper in the wind. But Ben Solo has the chance to live the life he always deserved.” Her hands weaved their way into his, her grip tight and determined to make her point known. 

“What should I do?”

“Run.”