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autumn-equinox-04 · 4 months ago

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Charles remembers the fallout after Edwin Payne's devastating restaurant review of Paul's Palace.

Reporters everywhere, with their flashing camera lights and shouted questions that kept him and his mum inside their tiny house for weeks. Police officers, unexpectedly and miraculously kind, interviewing them on what it was like living with a monster. People from all over the world, reaching out with messages of love and support and pure compassion.

And it was someone Charles' own age who made it all happen.

Edwin Payne, 25 years old and celebrated food critic despite it, had taken one look at Paul Rowland and the plague he brought to the world, and he'd done something about it. What's more, he'd done it so well Charles' dad had ended up in prison, far away from him and his mum, and the restaurant— no longer named Paul's Palace— had become a refuge, a safe haven, a shelter, instead of the hell it once was.

At 25 years old, Charles Rowland was finally free.

After that, Deconstructed Palates with Edwin Payne was a permanently open tab on Charles' laptop.

Their new restaurant— his mum's and his, just them, as it should always have been— wasn't hard to get up and running. They already had a location, and once they cleaned it up to meet health and safety regulations, it looked better than it ever had. Their suppliers had been more than glad to remain in partnership now that Paul's controlling and confrontational behavior wasn't shadowing every transaction. And, well, Charles' mum was fantastic in the kitchen, and Charles was skilled in his own right, and there was nothing to stop them, was there?

It took two and a half years for things to take off completely. Up until then, they'd had enough business to keep the restaurant open— loyal regulars, occasional newcomers, out-of-towners. But word started to get out about their delicious food and warm hospitality, and then suddenly they needed to hire more waitstaff to handle the rush of customers, and then more cooks to keep up with the influx of orders to the kitchen.

Six months after their boom in business— which, thankfully, showed no signs of stopping— Charles Rowland finally sent the email he'd drafted and re-drafted for three long years.

It was the email inviting Edwin Payne to come critique their new restaurant.

It was also his plea, his call, his prayer to the avenging angel with intelligent green eyes, the hero with the unsheathed pen, the savior bathed in golden light with a bowtie to tie it all together.

Our menu has been carefully crafted, he said, not adding, because you made sure we were free to craft it.

We would be delighted to host you for a meal, he said, not telling him, because that is how we show our love and gratitude.

Your insights and feedback would be invaluable, he said, instead of just writing the truth. Instead of just writing, I want to see you. I want you to see me, to see us, to see how we've grown and changed from that hellhole you wrote about. I want you to approve.

And Edwin Payne had. He came and he smiled and he approved and Charles didn't know it was possible to feel for someone the way he felt for Edwin.

Now he's done it again, with that awful faux-French restaurant La Sorcière. It's his idea to ask someone named Monty to come work for them; he asks Charles' mum about it quietly, hesitatingly, nervously, as if he hasn't become just as much Aadhya's son as Charles is.

So that's how Monty Finch becomes their newest hire.

He and Edwin become good friends almost immediately, and Charles watches with a strange feeling in his stomach— a strange feeling that he would very much prefer not to name, or, for that matter, have in the first place.

Because Edwin doesn't say much about himself, about friends, about family. There's Crystal, of course, but the way the two of them act around each other is so unpredictable that Charles feels more comfortable calling what they have a friend-situationship.

So it's.... good, Edwin getting along with someone, laughing and chatting, even if it means he doesn't look Charles' way for ages.

Besides, Monty's clearly a good sort. He even comes up to Charles one day, once the rush has died down, to thank him.

"For what?" Charles asks, confused. They haven't interacted too much in the time Monty's been working at the restaurant; Charles is usually in the back, and Monty works front of house.

"Edwin told me what you did," Monty says, almost shy. "Telling him about the restaurant, I mean. Asking him to take a look." "He would have done it even if I hadn't asked," Charles declares. "Edwin's good like that. He saves people who, for whatever reason, can't save themselves."

Monty smiles softly. "I know. But he didn't know about it, and it would've gone on for much longer if you hadn't told him. So.... thank you."

Yeah, Monty's a good sort. And with the way he makes Edwin smile, he's good for Edwin, too.

Charles decides to just ask Edwin about it when he heads to his flat that night for their usual cooking session. They've been happening more and more frequently as of late, these sessions— when Edwin first asked him over, it was to discuss and try out some of the dishes to be featured on the show in an environment that wasn't also a busy restaurant that needed its kitchen to service paying customers. Somehow, along the way, it's turned into.... what is is now. An excuse to spend time together, to learn about each other, maybe.

That's what it is for Charles, anyway, though he can't say it out loud— his mother already insists on calling them 'dates,' which they are not, and it's true Edwin's been handling his new Indian mother and her teasing like a champion, but what if he gets uncomfortable?

These nights are special— Charles can't lose them. Under the warm lights of his kitchen, Edwin is.... softer, solid and real in a way that makes Charles want to hold him until they intertwine into one. There's a closeness between them, one that Charles doesn't feel when other people around. It feels like possibility, almost.

Maybe it's that Edwin unravels himself during these sessions, unwrapping himself layer by layer— both metaphorically and literally. Standing together in that kitchen is the only time Charles has ever seen Edwin without his armor— he loses the vest and bowtie, rolls up his sleeves, undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. Relaxed and comfortable like that, he's so.... well, there's no word for it other than beautiful.

The Edwin that Charles gets to see during their cooking nights mesmerizes him every time, to the point where it seems the world slows down. Maybe that's why when Charles finally checks the time, after a night spent experimenting in the kitchen and talking extensively over dinner, he nearly has a heart attack.

"Bloody hell," Charles curses. "How did I not notice it was this late?"

Edwin blinks at him, confused. "It is not that late, surely?" he asks, pulling his sleeve back to check his watch. "It is only— oh."

"Yeah," Charles says, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish laugh.

This happens every time— they lose track of time entirely, and Charles has to rip himself away with difficulty. Today, though, is the latest they've ever gone. His mum is probably worried sick by now.

Edwin glances at the clock, then back at Charles. He's rubbing his knuckles together, which— why is he nervous? "Charles," he begins, then hesitates.

"Yeah, mate?" Charles encourages, smiling as gently and encouragingly as possible.

"Would you— perhaps, if you would like, you could— well." Edwin stops and takes a deep breath. "It is quite late. Would you like to stay the night?"

Charles' stomach does a funny little flip and— god, why's his heart beating so fast? "I— I'd love to, um. That would— that would be really great, actually."

Edwin exhales as some of the tension bleeds out of his body. "Wonderful. You, uh, you will take the bedroom, of course. I can.... lend you some clothes for the night."

"No, no, you should take the bed, it's your house," Charles protests, feeling weak in the knees at the thought of wearing Edwin's clothes. "I'll, uh, I'll take the couch."

"No, absolutely not. I will," Edwin insists in a tone that brooks no argument. "The room is just through here, follow me."

Edwin's room looks just like what Charles has imagined— not that he's spent time actively imagining what Edwin's room looks like. It's just— the room is so quintessentially Edwin. Both the nightstand and the dresser have several books on them, stacked neatly alongside pens and paper. There's a small fluffy rug in the shape of a dog by the foot of the bed, which makes Charles smile, and three picture frames on the dresser: Edwin and an older lady with brown hair and a kind smile, Edwin and Crystal, with him in his classic triangle-hands pose and her doing bunny ears behind his head with a wicked grin, and Edwin and Niko— the producer of the show? Charles didn't know they were that close— smiling at each other, hands clasped between them.

Edwin sees where he's looking and hurries to explain. "Niko just so happens to live next door to Crystal," he says. "I see her whenever I visit. She is very charming, as it were. I find we've gotten close."

Charles grins. "That's brills, mate. She sounds great."

No picture of Monty anywhere, his traitorous brain whispers.

Edwin smiles back and crosses to the dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of pajamas. He lays them on the bed, folded neatly, then turns down the incredibly soft-looking olive green sheets.

"Well," he says when he's done, straightening up and clapping his hands together awkwardly, "I will leave you to it. I had also better call Aadhya and let her know of your plans."

Charles' mind races. Should he ask Edwin to stay? Could he even ask such a thing, ask the person who's quickly become the best friend he's ever had, to share a bed? The idea feels impossibly, excitingly dangerous. But, well, it couldn't hurt to try, could it? He could play it off later if he needed to, say he felt bad about Edwin sleeping on the couch. He opens his mouth—

"If you need anything at all," Edwin says, somehow already at the doorway, "I'm just through here. Good night, Charles."

He lingers for a second, eyes on Charles' face, then disappears into the living room.

"....Good night, Edwin," Charles says to the empty room.

----

Charles can't sleep. He's been staring at the ceiling— in Edwin's room, his mind helpfully supplies— for what feels like hours, unable to think about anything but the man in the next room. They're separated by one wall and that's it, how is Charles meant to sleep?

So he sneaks into the kitchen for some water, skirting the living room so as not to wake Edwin up. He's been here enough times that he knows exactly where everything is in the kitchen, and he carefully eases open the door to the cupboard where the glasses are kept—

"Are you alright, Charles?"

Charles jumps about a foot in the air, cursing loudly. "God! You scared me, mate. Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Edwin assures him, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. "I…. could not sleep."

"Any particular reason why?" Charles asks, voice carefully neutral. Is it for the same reason as me? Is it because you'd prefer to be in the same room, the same bed, rather than just the same house?

God. That's madness. Thank god he keeps the filter between his brain and mouth in top working condition.

Edwin hesitates for a split second, not long enough to mean anything. "Just…. thinking about the show," he says quietly. "They'll be sending over a schedule for filming in the next few days, and…. it has only now finished processing for me that this is really happening."

Charles grabs his glass of water and leans back against the sink, facing Edwin. "I know what you mean," he admits. "This is…. I mean, I never imagined I'd be on TV. But I will be, and people will get to see Mum, too, and how hard she works. It's incredible."

"I am glad you are both getting the recognition you deserve," Edwin tells him, smiling softly. "It could not have been easy, rebuilding from the ground up like you did. But you got through it, because you can get through anything, Charles Rowland."

Charles doesn't know what he's done to deserve having this wonderful, wonderful man in his life, smiling at him and bringing him flowers and somehow always knowing when he's about to fall and being ready to catch him. He's no writer like Edwin, he doesn't have a gift with words. So all he can say as his throat constricts and his heart swells with an emotion he thought impossible for someone like him, is "Thank you."

He says Thank you. He means I love you.

Restaurant owner / chef Charles / Food critic Edwin AU - continued!!!

Hi everyone! I just wanted to say what an incredible experience it has been seeing the chef Charles/food critic Edwin AU be so amazingly received and to have so many incredible writers collaborating with me on this! I expected the idea to get a few notes and peter out but it has taken on a life of its own and I couldn't be happier. I may or may not have gotten quite emotional about it, actually. It is truly such a joy to see everyone's different styles, writerly voices, and insights into all the different aspects of this story come together in such a beautiful synthesis to celebrate culture, food, found family, healing, and of course, the characters. <3 I'm so so so so beyond floored and honored to be working with y'all, and seeing where it continues to go! Thank you for "yes and"-ing - you are all brills!!!

Anyway, the previous reblog chain was getting SUPER long thanks to everyone's contributions (<3) so I'm gonna start a second reblog chain for everyone to reblog from!

You can read the AU from the beginning here!

The masterpost for the AU is here!

#finally done!#the chat was having severe payneland brainrot and well. it bled into whatever this is

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nincompoopydoo · 4 years ago

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BABY EMERGENCY

PAIRING: Jack Thompson x reader

WORD COUNT: 1853

SUMMARY: You, the Sousa’s neighbor, mistakenly arrive at their doorstep, thinking it was pie night rather than date night. Yet, the sight of a disheveled, troubled and somewhat handsome Jack Thompson convinced you to help out with baby Nancy.

A/N: Uh, I think I got carried away because this is almost 2k words oops. Also, changed the name because I like this one better. Anyway, enjoy read and Jack Thompson being cute in a house that’s not even theirs.

MASTERLIST

← PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Jack Thompson never expected to be met with a pair of wide eyes when he opened the front door, or to be met with the smell of apple pie, tucked nicely between your arms and under a piece of blue Gingham cloth. He blinked as you began to frown, face blossoming with confusion. “Darn it, was date night tonight? I should have called before-”

“Who are you?” Jack interrupted, confused by your sudden presence. You chuckled sheepishly, eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Y/N and I live next door. I just got off work from the bakery downtown and I thought we could have some pie,” you paused, eyes darting towards the front lawn. You note the missing car you completely missed when you were walking up to the front door. “But it seems I got the dates wrong.” You let your shoulders slump a little. The thought of spending the Friday night alone was certainly unpleasant. Yet, you flashed him a strained smile.

“Are you here, for the baby emergency?” he asked hesitantly, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks. You frowned once more. “Baby emergency?” you blinked, shifting the pie in your arms that were beginning to feel sore by every passing moment. “It’s more like a pie emergency.” You laughed. It was a terrible joke if it was even meant to be one yet Jack found himself struggling to resist a smile. You had a contagious laugh. Shifted in your stance, you were ready to turn around, leave with embarrassment and later wallow yourself in self-pity when you heard the sound of a newborn’s cry—Nancy. Nancy Sousa was a fussy one; she mostly cried than laughed according to Peggy’s claim during one pie night with prominent dark circles under her tired eyes. Then, it clicked in your head; this must be Jack Thompson, the babysitter and colleague, that Peggy had told you about last night.

You caught the sight of him wincing, hand rubbing against his temple. Daniel often did that when Nancy had one of her temper tantrums. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach—Guilt. Guilt, if you didn’t at least ask if everything was alright. Well, you were already here after all. You could either sit alone at your dining table with your apple pie or you could lend a hand to this very sorry and somewhat charming blonde man. You took a step forward, peeking into the house behind him. “Do you need help?” As soon as those words left your mouth, Jack heaved an immediate sigh of relief, looking at you like you’re his savior. “Yes, please.”

You reminded Jack a lot of his mother, the way you moved around the kitchen as you rummaged through the cupboards in search of a knife. Your skirt brushing against his forearm every time you squeezed through the small space with the soft murmur of an apology and the flash of a small smile; he’d only just met you and yet, your presence gave him a sort of comfort. You reminded him of home.

“Aha!” You exclaimed and waved a pie knife in the air. Jack chuckled at your wide grin as he held a spoonful of the beef & ham to Nancy’s gaping mouth while you pried up the crust of your apple pie. Scooping a slice onto two plates, you glanced at Jack, hunched down in his chair as he carefully scraped out the remnants of the baby food while Nancy watched him eagerly. He was in his dress shirt, clearly he had come right after work. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened and his blonde hair slightly disheveled. He was very handsome, to say the least, but you’ve heard of his talent for making bad situations worse; though the past half an hour might be making up for that claim.

As you eyed him, he happened to turn his head and caught your stare with his direct blue gaze. You divert your eyes away in an instant, cheeks burning in embarrassment. You hear him clear his throat Nancy lets out a soft burb, followed by a trail of giggles. “Pie’s ready.“ you said hastily, nearing the dining table with a couple of dessert plates and forks on the table. Jack accepted the plate you handed him with brows raised in amusement at the sight of an inviting slice of sweet and savory. Your eyes perked up at a sudden thought that came into mind. “I know just the drink.” Yanking the refrigerator door opened, you pulled out the bottom drawer and met with the sight of an emerald towel laid by the corner of the drawer. Beneath it, you pulled out a couple of root beer bottles from the six-pack.

Shuffling to the chair opposite Jack, you popped the bottles excitedly. He gave you bewildered look. “Trust me, it goes well with the pie.” You pushed an already opened bottle to him, taking a swig out of yours. Jack chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “I meant to ask if we are even allowed to drink these because I ain’t risking anything with Peggy.” He gestured to the bottles, giving you a look before reaching over to Nancy to wipe off the smudges of baby food around her mouth. Your heart clenches slightly at the endearing sight. “I’m sure it’s fine. Peggy and I are old pals. Plus, she owes me for stealing my hairpins.” You waved one hand dismissively, already digging into the pie. Jack’s gaze flickered to you. “Old pals?” he questioned and you beamed. “Yeah, I was a nurse for the 107th during the war. That’s how I met Peggy. It was only three years after the war when I happened to move next door and now we’re best friends and their glorified piemaker,“ you explained as Jack laughed at your claim and you decided that you liked it when he laughed. It’s incredible how you were already enticed by a man you’ve only met in the past hour. “You are a glorified piemaker alright because this is really good stuff,” Jack said with amusement, shoving another bite in his mouth. He took a sip of the root beer. “And you’re right. Root beer surprisingly goes really well with apple pie. Who would’ve thought?” You hummed in response, glancing at Nancy who had become quiet for the past couple of minutes. It seems she had fallen asleep while sat in the baby high chair. The two of you shared a knowing look.

With the soft clank of your spoons against the dessert plates, Jack gently reached over to the girl and carefully held her against his chest as the three of you made your way to the nursery.

There’s that feeling of endearment and the occasional ache in your heart whenever you catch sight of Jack and Nancy together and it’s the words of your mother and your aunties that kept ringing in your head throughout the evening. When are you going to settle down? That particular question was bound to be brought up and nearly impossible to escape during the annual Christmas dinner and every year you turn up without a date. If you were to be honest, you always had a deep yearning for at least love—if not marriage. Yet, being the independent woman you were, living alone and working at the bakery downtown six days a week, you have never put much thought into it. Well, until now at least. Except, it’s the daydream of being all domestic with the man right in front of you who’s busy tucking your neighbor’s daughter to bed.

You knew you were damned from then on.

Switching off the lights, as Jack brushed past you as you quietly pulled the door close, leaving it ajar. You turned around to see that he was already seated at the table, spoon in hand as he gazed at his unfinished slice of pie. There’s a part of him that believed that the pie tasted so good partly because of the person who made it.

“What about you?” you blurted out, pausing as you made your way to the table, seated across him once more. “The war. Were you . . .” you trailed off, instantly regretting your initial question. You blamed it on the exhaustion from your shift and frankly, you had a knack for saying things without thinking things through. You noticed how his face changed as soon as you mentioned the war yet before you could apologize, Jack answered. “I was in the navy . . . The 25th.” you nod thoughtfully, sensing the growing tension in the air. You desperately needed to divert the topic somewhere else. “That’s funny, I met someone who used to be in the 25th and for the life of me I can never remember his name. I don’t think he even told me,” you said, recalling the face of a young blonde man you briefly met on VJ Day.

That was an understatement, the man kissed you for heaven’s sake.

It was when you gazed at Jack, it hit you like a ton of bricks as you noticed the familiarity of the blue in his eyes. With wide eyes, you gawked at the man in shock and Jack must have realized it too.

You were the nurse with the pretty smile he had kissed on VJ Day.

“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered and blinked at you, trying to process the whole situation while you gaped at him. “You-you kissed me on VJ Day,” you exclaimed, almost too excitedly and before you knew it, the two began to crack up, as quietly as you could.

It is a small world after all.

Just then, the front door swung open, the two of you immediately stood up and were met with the sight of a very red and sweating Edwin Jarvis who came rushing into the kitchen. “Mr. Thompson, I apologize for my lateness but I-” the man halted in his step as soon as he spotted the two of you, watching him with bewildered faces. “Oh, Miss Y/N. You’re here,” he stated between huffs, trying to catch his breath. “Jarvis, what are you doing here?” you asked as the two of you watched him collapse onto an empty chair by the dining table. “Well, it started out as a baby emergency and I tried to ring you up but you weren’t answering. So, I came here as fast as I could but traffic was absolutely atrocious!” He explained as you went to fill a glass of water. “However, I suspect you already settled the issue, Mr. Thompson.” Jack smiled at Jarvis, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, Jarvis. I appreciate it.”

You returned with a glass of water, a spoon and plate. “Pie?” you gestured to the apple pie, sitting idly at the center of the table. His eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be delightful. Thank you.”

You caught Jack’s gaze as you began to sit, the two of you shared a smile. This was certainly not what you expected your Friday night to turn out.

#jack thompson being domestic omg #jack thompson #jack thompson x reader #jack thompson imagine #agent carter #peggy carter #peggy carter x daniel sousa #daniel sousa #daniel sousa x reader #marvel #agent carter imagine

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splendidshinobi · 4 years ago

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FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST 2003 LIVE REACT: EPISODES 6-10

back at it again with the white vans

episode 6: the alchemy exam

alrighty then

um mustang calling edward “ed” is EXTREMELY offputting

ohhhhhhh noooooo not shou tucker

FUCK

im wholly unprepared

them all being in central instead of east is low key jarring like my brain isnt computing it

alexander’s intro is basically the same

nina bbyyyyy girl u deserved so much better

ed is such a fucking nerd...chemistry club modern au confirmed

god the more tucker talks the more i wanna beat his face in

al pretending to eat by tossing a potato in his armor i-

aww theyre playing in the snow theyre so pure

wonder how long thatll last

“bigger brother” and “little big brother” and ed doesnt even get mad

ed’s birthday party????????

A MELON? ED YOURE SO RUDE

so 03 had ed’s bday instead of elicia’s...CAUSE THEY GOT ELICIA IN THE WOMB

“it’s here!” “the tea?” “the baby!” hughes is a fuck head

ok so now they’re having elicia replace rush valley baby arc

this was winry’s time to shine in fmab i miss her

if winry isnt here who is gonna birth this baby

oh my god they just realized ed can use alchemy without a circle

no wonder he’s been using circles this whole time

SO ELICIA JUST POPPED OUT????? WHAT

STUFF ALEXANDER IN THE ARMOR AND PRETEND YOURE A TALKING DOG???

“i dont think thats very funny” NO ALPHONSE IT IS NOT

THEY KNEW EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE DOING WITH THAT ONE I SWEAR TO GOD IN THIS ESSAY I WILL

damn bradley what up homie

im so thrown off by the way theyre doing the exam omg

seriously what the hell is fuhrer bradley’s purpose right now is he even the fuhrer in this i feel like they wouldve mentioned it

oh lord ed is about to impress everyone with his clappy hands

ok so next episode is nina FUCK

episode 7: night of the chimera’s cry

havoc babeeee

im gonna marry him my himbo king

also can RIZA DO SOMETHING PLZ

“huhhhhhhhh nina” ew tucker that was weirdly gross

wonder why

cant do it cant do it

do we think jean kirstein was modeled after jean havoc slightly looks wise

was that purposeful

ill have to google

serial killer who only targets women? it cant be scar...scar drinks respect women juice

barry or slicer bros maybe? um ok

why did we start with liore if they were just gonna hop right back into the past for a huge chunk of episodes idk

assessment day??? oh noodles

AL WHY DID YOU TELL TUCKER TO MAKE ANOTHER TALKING CHIMERA ALPHONSE NO

THE NOISE I EMITTED IM GONNA TAKE A LAP

im gonna FUCKING SCREAM

ed r u writing to winry??? that’s a bit out of character for u good sir

no tucker put that baby down

im gonna fucking SCREAM

aww he burned nina’s picture thats not sus at all

SHESKA!!!!!

wait does the ironblood alchemist know what tucker did to his wife? thats kinda the vibe im getting

SCARRRRRRRR

looking like a pirate too damn

his voice sounds different is that j michael tatum

apparently not it was dameon clarke in 03 ya learn something new everyday

ew elicia has a lot of hair for a FUCKING NEWBORN

ed really is such a cynic very suspicious of everyone as he should be really

basque grand knowS SOMETHING

oh jesus oh fuck oh god please do not TOUCH THAT BABY

ed and al snuck back in to the house well u know what its for the best

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

im gonna cry again please god no

FUCKING DIE SHIT HOLE

she’s hurting? oh my god

my sweet angel

ew his eyes!!!!!!!

tucker is such a fucking failure...like look at the chimera squad and greed’s theatre troupe being the way they are. ugh it really hits how fucking unfair it is

ed was really about to split them? boy you know better

where is nina going...im hurting

ed really tried to save her in this one

SCAR KILLS NINA IN THE STREETS???????? SIR

thats different

oh snap

oh FUCK

SCAR WHY DID YOU LEAVE HER BODY LIKE THAT

THE WAY SHE WAS ARRANGED ON THE WALL THAT WAS FUCKED UP

AND THEY FOUND HER LIKE THAT???? AT LEAST IN BROTHERHOOD THEY DIDNT HVE TO SEE HER CORPSE ARE YOU SHITTING ME?

that was fucked.

episode 8: the philosopher’s stone

can yall get ed and al away from nina’s fucking MURAL

get out of the car mustang

finally jesus christ

roy mustang talking about healthy coping mechanisms dont make me laugh but alright baby boy go off i guess?

im curious about who this goddamn serial killer is though lets turn to that plot thread

r u kidding me

mustang is making ed and al take over tucker’s research?? thats actually wildly messed up

oh tucker was straight executed that’s a choice i guess

tucker and the philosopher’s stone sounds inaccurate but ok

ed please stop being mean to your brother

03 mustang has got me reaching for a fucking baseball bat on GOD

scar and edward having this conversation right now i literally cannot

WINRY yes bitch

BRADLEY WHAT IN TARNATION

JESUS LORRRRRRDDDDDDDDDDDD

alphonse shut your mouthhhhhhhhhhh

im so confused what is bradley up to

“alchemists are not cold blooded murderers?”

i mean

kimblee would beg to differ for one

whos this creepy lady

her voice sounds familiar

barry’s food shop?

the killer is barry ok got it

IS BARRY DISGUISED AS A WOMAN

I KNEW THAT WAS JERRY JEWELL’S VOICE

WELL I KNEW IT SOUNDED FAMILIAR AT LEAST

WINRY GET OUT OF THE FUCKING TRUCk

has PINAKO TAUGHT YOU NOTHING

ok so i VASTLY prefer suit of armor original manga canon barry

this is such an odd plot what in fuck

um OW the meat cleaver

im so confused this fucking plotline

oh hey alphonse nice of you to show up!

is barry still gonna become a suit of armor later on

it makes NO SENSE to introduce him otherwise

everytime i see 03 mustang i wanna beat his ass HONESTLY

literally i will shove my foot up his ass

fullmetal here we go

ed thinks he’s so punk rock

oh great scar’s seen the watch

episode 9: be thou for the people

ed you simp buying winry all this stuff my edwin heart is ascending

SIMP SIMP SIMP

“mr. elric”?? you mean MAJOR ELRIC

to be fair though fuck the military

YOUSWELL??? oh LORD

im gonna need to read a full chronology of this show

alphonse continues to be a precious angel

where’s my boy yoki!!!!!

edward you idiot don’t go flaunting your money

woof woof ed

al looks so offended by ed saying they just met

whereas in brotherhood didnt he totally throw ed under the bus???

a choice to be sure

ah there he is hello yoki

who’s the chick

shes a lesbian

yoki makes me miss my baby girl mei chang

mei where r u

WAS THIS MILITARY DUDE REALLY ABOUT TO CUT DOWN A CHILD??? oh my god

hawkeye getting a promotion yes bby girl

jesus theyre transferring them to east now OKKKKKAY thats not how it happened it the book but ill take it....just doing it the opposite way i guess

who is lyra who is she

cute some military bribery

umm lyra what the fuck did you do

lyra is a homunculus im callin it now

they definitely invented/changed up some homunculi in fact im certain they did and shes one of em. gotta be

i feel like 03 wrote ed as much more insensitive towards others than he really is...just a vibe im getting

i know he was faking for the townspeople’s sake but i still get this vibe from other instances

i mean i cant say its not “canon” because its 03 canon

anyways what a show off

i cant believe theyre going to east...fuery and breda better be there

ok finally some answers on their ages....ed got his license at 12 like normal and nina and youswell were when he was 12...liore was 15,

if they didnt flash the ages on the screen id be lost honestly

at least we’re back up to “present day”

episode 10: the phantom thief

ed saying he doesnt wanna see mustang

same

03 mustang is activating my fight or flight and im choosing fight

ed cheating at cards totally checks out

um who the fuck is this woman

what is she wearing

SERIOUSLY WHAT IS THAT CUTOUT MAAM HOW DO YOUR C**CHY LIPS NOT POKE OUT

idk but this is fem!hisoka

“hey shouldnt we talk first” after getting handcuffed??? christ almighty these innuendos

siren??????? siren is probably also a “fake” homunculus

ugh

ok so the nurse is siren

ya aint slick girly

alphonse control your crush

I REFUSE!!!! ALMEI RIGHTS

why is al’s hair so brown in this flashback anywayssss

oh its spelled psiren ope

like she’s literally a batman villain...

oh my god...............the tiddy grab. my son would never

my son is respectful

is this her homunculus tat or just a random alchemy tat

the added plotlines and original content continue to confuse and astound me every single time....

ok but if psiren really was doing this for the hospital she wouldnt be so flashy about it. like thats how you get caught sweet cheeks

girly stop flirting with this child on god im gonna fucking kick you

now shes a nun????????????????

Shes a fucking troll i hate her

im going to kick alphonse into the sun

oh great now shes a teacher

wow shes a savior. the savior of amestrian venice. greatttttt

ed looking exactly like this emoji on this gondola rn 🧍‍♀️

STOP FLIRTING WITH THE CHILD

GOD THIS IS SO BATMAN VILLAIN ESQUE

alphonse plzzzzzzzzzz she aint your girl

ok so probably not the last we see of this ding dong con artist

ok so its starting to get muddy. im scared the 03 stans are gonna come after me like i do like it and im having fun watching it but some of the plot and characterization choices are just....odd??? idk i gotta keep going though!! im sorry i just stan arakawa and her work in all her glory!!!

#carol watches fma03 #fullmetal alchemist #carol's remaining brain cells #this is fun for me and no one else #whatever i dont care about anyone else on this website anyway #this is my stupid hole

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onisiondrama · 5 years ago

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Killstream w/ Onision 3/30/2020 - Summary Part 2

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(Unless specifically stated, everything written is from Greg / James’ words. Parenthesis are my notes/thoughts.):

Says Shiloh threatened to kill herself and make it look like he did it. He called the cops and they took her away when she admitted to them she said she was going to kill herself. The cops told him he can’t evict her without a process of 3 months and he should leave before she got back. He says it sucks because it’s his house but he wanted to get away from her. He went to LA and stayed with her producer, Damon. He asked Damon if she was mental and needed meds. Damon said she was evil.

In hindsight, he should have only encountered his spouse. He should have never tried to fill the gap in Kai’s life with another person. Should have been there himself and not worked as hard.

Host asks if he’s done with polyamory. He’s done with every form of relationship. If his marriage doesn’t work out, he’s going to have 2 sex dolls.

Host reads someone saying Kai sent nudes to Sarah when Sarah was underage and that this was confirmed. Greg says there’s a video of Sarah looking through Kai’s laptop and revealing she’s going through Kai’s pictures without Kai’s permission. Kai tells Sarah to delete them and Sarah’s just laughing. (This is not what happens at all in the clip, BTW.) He says Sarah doesn’t have screen shots of actual texts.

Says Sarah submitted the laptop to the authorities, yet nothing happened. When you submit something like this and it has something on it, they act quick and raid you so they can catch you with stuff on your computer.

Greg says Chris Hansen decided to interview all these people, so now their statements can be used during cross examination in a trial. Their public statements can invalidate their statements in court. They’re fucking themselves.

Says according to Sarah, she sent the laptop to Hansen and he let it sit there a long time. They sent it back and she was pissed off at them for not doing anything with it. Sarah allegedly turned it into the FBI, but they don’t give a shit.

Host asks if this is what he gets for towing the line. Greg says no. They took her in because she said her mom was beating her, Meg Griffin, then when she turned 18 she was pushing hard and he was poly. He says they were never her parents. (Clip of Kai saying he has legal guardianship and clip of Greg saying they were like Sarah’s foster parents) He was just trying to make everyone happy, but he made Kai miserable.

Greg says Billie was an adult and Shiloh was like an adult because she lived like an adult and didn’t go to school because she was a recording artist. It was legal and he wasn’t going to turn down dating a Canadian pop star. He says he was 24.

Host asks what the youngest girl he would talk at 24. Greg says 18. He says people don’t present their age at first until you get to know them and you find out they’re just about to turn 18 “and you’re like, fuck you.”

Greg asks what crimes occurred if he’s going to jail. People agree he’s not going to jail. Greg asks what minor was fucked illegally. Host says people say he laid the groundwork for a relationship while she was underage. Greg says how so. Someone says he was her savior. Greg says he was mean to her. They get on a tangent about her mom grooming her because her mom was mean to her.

Someone asks how Hansen got involved. Greg says Mike bribed Hansen by bringing him to someone’s house to break the law. You can’t go within 50 feet of a “no trespassing” sign in the state of Washington without getting into super trouble. Mike was trying to distract from his own lawsuit where he allegedly sexually assaulted a woman. The woman lost in court. Greg asks a woman, who I’m assuming he brought on with him, to tell the story. She tells the story about Mike. She says it was thrown out because the woman lied about something unrelated, but Mike apologized to her.

He guesses Mike and Hansen thought he would have a mental breakdown at the door and they would get viral views off of him because they thought his fake mental breakdown videos were real. He called the cops because there were 7 strange men in his driveway. Greg says when you call the cops on Hansen, that’s a sign he’s not in the right place.

They invite Keem on. Keem says he wanted to come on because he watched Greg’s stream with the Newsweek reporter. Keem is laughing because the reporter said Keem did a bad job with his Onision interview because he couldn’t control the conversation. Keem says the reporter got flattened by Onision. Greg says everyone has great advise when they haven’t been in the situation before.

Keem and Greg talk about how Repzion denied the chance to interview Greg. They say it’s odd he doesn’t want to confront him after saying he’s going to take him down. Keem also says it’s ironic Repzion tweeted something about Keem’s young daughter becoming a prostitute one day, but now he’s the savior of children. Keem says he heard a rumor that Repzion groomed his current girlfriend and she started watching him when she was 12. Greg says online, men consistently point the finger at things they are guilty of.

Host says Repzion said he didn’t agree to the interview because Greg took him to court and he can’t risk legal reproductions. Greg asks what legal reproductions would come from a public conversation. Keem says quite a few, says he’s being sued for $3.5 million right now.

They talk about Edwin. Greg says he tried to get him on, but Edwin said he’s on a social media break and and stuff going on. Greg jokes that quarantine is a very busy time for him, everyone laughs. Keem says he doesn’t think Edwin is a bad guy and he tried to be fair even though he’s biased. He says they were on a livestream with a girl who started with a D, like Daisy. Greg says he didn’t have a lot of girls over. He lists Billie, Ayalla, their nanny, Sarah. They figure out it was Ayalla. Greg says she tried to fuck Sara when Sarah was 16. (Ayalla denied this, but she would have been 18, it only would have been a two year age gap.) Keem says he asked them if there’s hardcore proof of grooming and everyone on the stream said no.

Greg says he used to drive Sarah to work.

Keem says he heard from Cyr that Greg doesn’t have a moral compass. The only morality he has is the law and that what he judges what is right or wrong. Greg asks if they know Cyr beat his girlfriend. They laugh and say so the answer to the question is yes. Greg says Cyr slapped his Russian girlfriend. He says Cyr was called out for beating his girlfriend so he’s not taking his advise.

Greg says no one brings up the other women he dated. The 24 year old (They did not date when she was 24. This was his first wife and he divorced her when she was 24. They dated as teenagers, which is fine but he’s twisting it.), the other 24 year old (Hannah Minx was 22, not 24 and their relationship was a two week Skype relationship.), and a 26 year old (Adrienne, 3 week on and off relationship.) He says he “literally dated Hannah Minx for 2 weeks” as an example.

He says teenagers are worthless and annoying to him. The only reason they get into his life is because they lied about their age. That pisses him off, like the person he’s been with for over 8 years. He thought Kai was 20, but he was 17. Kai told him they were about to turn 18 in 3 months when Greg asked. Greg looked up horoscopes to see if they were compatible and Kai played along, but it wasn’t even the month they were born. He didn’t abandon Kai because he already fell for him. Greg says he was 26.

Greg says people write to him saying they want to be in a poly relationship with him and he replies, “go fuck yourself.”

He said one time he had a camera person over and he was bordering on an inappropriate relationship with them because he hugged her a little too long and once she slid on his lap. He thought it was fine, but the second time she did it she wiggles her ass on his lap and he told Kai. Kai and him said she needed to get the fuck out. She stayed in her room for a week because she was so humiliated. Then they never heard from her again.

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chrysalispen · 5 years ago

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ix. where shelled roads part

The last time she’d seen the pen where the camp was holding its captives, it had been the middle of the night during a torrential downpour and she had been half mindless with pain so Aurelia didn’t remember much of it. In the light of day it was somehow even more desolate than her spotty memory had painted it. The stench of wet feathers and bird guano hung thick enough in the air to make her cough, and there was not a single place within its confines to rest that was not covered in mud or half-submerged in a puddle of water. Two days’ exposure to the elements had done the prisoners within no favors, and she didn’t much fancy her own chances were she left to her own devices here.

But, it seemed, this was not their destination.

“This way,” the scarlet-coated Hyur said to the two women, tone curt and clipped.

A few fulms past the chocobo pens and the circular run sat three rickety carts, clearly commandeered for use. Each of them bore the tabards of the Grand Companies draped over their frames, the hems dangling over the sides of the tall wagons. The birds hitched to them had the placid demeanor of draught animals– which, Aurelia thought, was likely what they were. Armed soldiers stood watch at each to prevent any attempts at escape once the carts had been loaded.

As they drew near she happened to catch the notice of a burly Highlander man in a brown coat. His grey eyes flared wide - her third eye, no doubt; surprise was a common response - before something darker slithered into them and a vicious smile twisted his lips. It made Aurelia’s skin crawl, and she forced herself to look away as if she’d only cast him a curious glance.

When Bryn made her way up the narrow steps of the cart to deposit her burden onto one of the flimsy planks that passed for a bench, she could see the man grinning at one of his fellows, casting her speculative glances all the while. Aurelia winced, fixing her gaze instead upon the heavy, cold iron chains weighting down her arms. She did not see Bryn’s gaze as it had followed hers, nor the way her eyes narrowed as they settled upon the two men nearby.

Once the Roegadyn had made sure her prisoner was seated, she held out her hands.

“Give me your hands so I can remove your bonds.”

“Not worried I’ll make a break for it?”

“You wouldn’t get far on one leg, anyroad.” Aurelia let out a soft sigh of relief once the iron fell away from her hands, but that relief was shortlived when she saw that the other woman was turning to leave. “Try not to talk to anyone. I’m going to talk to Captain Brudevelle and some other folk; I’ll send one of my people along with your crutches.”

“Captain- I mean, Bryn, wait…”

The Roegadyn was already off, taking the steps two at a time and jogging across the muddy square. Fighting the impulse to chew on the ends of her hair, Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth instead and returned her focus to the floorboards, careful not to try and look at those men a third time, and tried to push away the stab of disappointment. The woman had her responsibilities here, and besides, someone had to make arrangements for Sazha’s- for-

Yet again she forced her grief back: deep inhale, shaking exhale, in, out, until her vision cleared. There was no shoulder here she trusted enough to cry upon, and she didn’t want anyone else seeing her tears. She had her pride to consider, after all; it was about all she had left other than the clothes on her back.

The clatter of footsteps shouldn’t have startled her as much as they did, but she’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t paid attention to the approaching men. The prisoner being led onto the cart in chains was a pureblooded Garlean like herself, still clad in most of his uniform. His pale brows tilted upwards at the sight of her, though he didn’t say anything as he took a seat on the other side of the cart.

Right behind him were the two men who’d been leering at her earlier, much to Aurelia’s ill-hidden dismay. They seated themselves next to the other prisoner, one on each side of him, so that they were looking straight at her. Both were Hyur, one a Highlander and the other a Midlander, and with their stocky builds and dusky complexions she took them immediately to be Ala Mhigans. They continued to stare, and she shifted uneasily in her seat, trying to arrange her legs in such a way that she could still support her splinted left foot without touching the two men.

“Afternoon, lass,” the Midlander said, leering at her. “Lovely day for a ride.”

She offered a stiff, polite smile but did not reply. His smirk faded and he glanced at his larger companion, who stood with a grunt, crossed the narrow space, and dropped his weight into the seat on her right.

Aurelia felt every muscle in her body go rigid when he draped an arm about her slim shoulders, dragging her unyielding frame against his much more muscular one.

“Now that’s just not very friendly, is it? You’ll ask pardon for your rudeness, and say it like you mean it,” the Highlander said. “We’ll even make sure you get a blanket in your gaol cell - if you show us how sweetly you can beg, that is.”

She knew exactly what sort of ‘friendliness’ they meant, and her stomach twisted with disgust. Her hands balled into fists on her thighs, gathering handfuls of homespun, as she fought against the rising impulse to unleash her temper, against the desire to lash out and force this man out of her space by any means at her disposal.

But as humiliating and infuriating as it was, Aurelia knew she couldn’t resort to any sort of physical attack - or defense, for that matter. Couldn’t shout at them. Couldn’t hit, couldn’t shove, couldn’t do anything to make herself look hostile or like any sort of flight risk. If the Eorzeans treated imperial captives as harshly as the Empire did its criminals, then they wouldn’t need much of a pretext to punish her for infractions, real or imagined.

She was at their mercy and she knew it, and furthermore they knew that she knew it.

A pained gasp escaped her lips when the Highlander’s fist knotted in her hair and yanked backwards. "All this and you still think you’re better than us, don’t you?“ he hissed in her ear. "I wonder just how high and mighty you’ll be once we savages show you your pla-”

The threat cut off midsentence.

Across from her seat, she saw his friend’s eyes flare wide with surprise. Aurelia tried to tilt her head to follow his gaze, but she was only able to manage an ilm or two before her cheek rested against grimy, leather-covered knuckles. Still, she could see the tip of the steel blade that now lay against the man’s ear.

“You’ll be takin’ your hands off the mort now,” a woman’s voice said.

“Go to the seven-"

The blade’s tip dug into his flesh, just the barest bit, but it was sharp enough to draw blood. A thin crimson rivulet trickled its way down that bearded jaw and dripped into the collar of the man’s gambeson. He let out a hissed breath of startled pain.

"Wrong answer, mate. Try again."

Aurelia felt the withdrawal of that heavy, hateful arm around her shoulders, along with the hand that had been tangled in her hair.

"Good. Now back to the other side where you belong. You’ve one job and you’re to do it proper.”

A few moments later came the near-silent pad of leather boots on the rickety planks. The Highlander hastily stood up and moved, and the recently vacated seat was filled by a Miqo'te woman: dark red curls, green eyes, sharp features. She had a pair of familiar crutches tucked under one arm, and the other flipped a dagger into the air, catching the hilt in her palm over and over with an almost insolent ease as her tail smacked slowly but forcefully against the bench. Aurelia recognized her as the angry woman who had told Captain Ahrm- Bryn that they ought to have slit her throat when they had the chance.

“…You’re comin’ along, K'luhia?” the Midlander sputtered. “Thought the Levy had your squad on search an’ rescue duty.”

“I’ve been put on minder detail for the nonce.” Aurelia caught a mirthless flash of canine as the woman offered him a cold smile. “Captain Ahrmbraena don’t trust none of you to behave yourselves. Can’t say I disagree after what I just seen.”

The man let out a thin, nervous laugh.

“Here now, Lu,” he began, “Rolf and me was only trying to have a bit of fun with her. No harm done, aye?”

“Think I know right enough what sort of 'fun’ you’re after," she scoffed. "Find it elsewhere. The night doves got warm an’ willin’ bodies aplenty.”

“Takin’ an imperial’s part like-”

“You," the Miqo'te hissed, ”won’t be finishin’ that sentence.“

The Midlander’s jaw snapped audibly shut.

"Now, best you mark what I said an’ leave her be. Otherwise your manhood’ll be makin' intimate acquaintance with me stabbers.”

Even if they’d wished to continue the altercation there would have been little opportunity, for it was in that tense and sullen silence that a line of prisoners clambered into the cart to take seats in any open space available, their chains clinking and rattling loudly. The Highlander man gave the woman a surly glare, but retired to his original seat with a huff.

Aurelia glanced at her unlikely savior, a hesitant, questioning look. The Miqo'te sighed.

“You can talk if you like, imperial.” She held out the crutches. “Here. From Bryn. Said she has somethin’ else for you but didn’t want to give it to you yet, not when it’ll just get confiscated.”

“We’re headed to a prison, or so I was told.”

“Aye, the Emerald Spire. Old Ishgardian border fortress built to keep an eye on Silvertear Lake. It ain’t much in the way of a gaol- more like a watchtower with a dungeon attached, but it’s the best the Levy could do on short notice. Spirithold an’ Toto-Rak are the closest others, and the Gridanians’re real strict 'bout outsiders comin’ into the Shroud. Woodsin and the like.”

“…What’s 'woodsin’?”

“Somethin’ to do with their elementals. I dunno. You’d have to ask Edwin.”

Shouts across the carts between the drivers caught her attention. She watched two additional soldiers apiece board the three carts before the steep steps were folded upwards and the low-slung opening on each was shut and securely latched.

The wheels under their feet gave an abrupt jerk, the lurch forward nearly sending Aurelia out of her seat and to the splinter-ridden floorboards before she was able to right herself. But there were no more sudden starts after that. They were off, traversing slowly up an incline that led out of the Flats and presumably to another road.

She cast one last, longing look over her shoulder back in the direction of the camp and its infirmary. At least there she’d felt useful, somewhat in her element if not quite at home, and now even that had been taken away. The sudden removal of her - well, her privileges, truth be told - sat ill with her, as did the painful awareness that in all this time not a soul had explained why they were suddenly being transported.

“Lu, is that right? Thank you for helping me.”

“Aye, that’s right. And don’t thank me. Bryn said you was Cap'n L'sazha’s old friend and I owed him a life debt. Can’t very well do aught for him now, so I’m payin’ it forward by watchin’ out for you.”

“I-I see.”

“Most of this lot’re good honest folk just defending their homes from the Empire. They won’t be friendly, but they’ll not harm you.” The Lominsan’s cool gaze settled, rather pointedly, upon the pair of sulking men. “But Eorzea's got its good and its bad folk like anywhere else. There’s some o'these mots what’d sell their own mam to a fishman for a fat coinpurse. You’re fair enough to look upon an’ the pleasure barges would make a tidy sum off your back - if you’re understandin’ me.”

Aurelia did understand. She felt blood suffuse her cheeks.

“But,” Lu continued with an almost overwrought cheer, “anyone what wants to lay hand to you has to go through me first. So don’t you be worryin’ yourself about that.”

“So… why are they taking us somewhere else?”

“Probably to keep you out of the way an’ under guard while they continue cleanup here.” Lu shrugged, tapping the flat of her dagger’s blade against her knee. “And keep any soul from runnin’ before the trials start.”

“Trials? What trials?”

The Miqo'te cast her a pitying look. "Did you think we was just goin’ to leave you all to rot in a gaol forever? We’ve not the space to hold you lot that long, nor the resources left to feed all the extra mouths.“

That sounded… distinctly ominous, but she knew Lu wouldn’t be sympathetic so she said nothing more. It was just as well; the woman didn’t seem much inclined to speak more than her duty required, not being half as kind-natured as Cheerful Sparrow nor as broad-minded as Bryn Ahrmbraena had turned out to be.

Aurelia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the crutches, rested one cheek against the rough wood, and tried to empty her mind for the time being. Gods, she thought, how very far the water had flowed beneath time’s bridge. Her younger self would have been thrilled. She would have seen it as an opportunity for adventure. But her younger self had not been so careworn by the Empire’s myriad cruelties large and small, nor had she lost her best friend in the world.

"Then let’s go south! Once I’m done with my service, once you’re done, we can go adventuring together. Your sword, my medicine- let’s just, let’s just go, Sazha, let’s just get out of this godsforsaken place-”

She’d got her wish, all right. And its cost had been far too dear.

~*~

Her leg began to pain her more and more as the day wore on, enough that she could feel nothing but relief when the tower finally came into view–what was left of it. The sun was setting behind the charred, deadfall-ridden remains of what must have once been a pretty copse, blackened splinters of tree trunks thrusting upwards out of ash-choked earth. It was a disheartening, depressing sight, and only made the ruins of the tower appear more forboding.

A flicker of violet-tinged light arced across the outline of the darkening cloud cover, followed by a sullen rumble erupting from the grey sky overhead: a promise of more storms imminent. Lu looked up, glowering, and shook her head. “As if two bleedin’ days of rain weren’t bad enough,” she said, and in silence Aurelia heartily agreed.

“Right, you lot,” a man shouted from the front of the cart, “look alive! On your feet, and be quick about it.”

With a loud rattle the conscripts stood, gathering the heavy iron links of their own chains in their hands. All, she saw, had been bound together at the ankles with heavy iron bracelets in a sort of chained line to prevent any escape attempts. They shuffled past her, eyes downcast and lips grimly set. They’re as frightened and worried as I am, she thought, and who can blame them for it?

The uniformed Elezen, noting that she had remained seated, gestured in her direction.

“You there,” he barked at her. He looked upon Aurelia with a mild sort of disgust, as though she were a particularly distasteful insect he’d happened across while on a hike in the woods. “You’ve to the count of five to get yourself up and join the processing line, or you can crawl. I’m not minded which choice you make, but make it.”

At her side Lu rolled her eyes and stood, sheathing her dagger, before turning with an outstretched hand. “Aye, well, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

Aurelia clasped the hand that was offered and found her own all but crushed in a surprisingly strong, callused grip, one that pulled her upright with a casual ease almost before she’d managed to brace herself. She wobbled for a briefly alarming moment trying to distribute her weight across the crutches before she was able to center herself. Once she reached the narrow steps that had been lowered from the gate, Lu extended an arm, blocking her from the exit.

“Let me go first. Sit yourself down on that top stair and hand me your sticks.”

The guard’s expression darkened. “I said count of five.”

“Unless you brought the prisoner all this way just to have her break her bleedin’ neck fallin’ off a hayrick then you’ll be findin’ where you stowed your patience, mate. I’m her minder, I set the pace.”

The two locked eyes, his hazel with her green–then he broke his gaze with an annoyed scoff, folded his arms across his chest, and stared out at a point somewhere over the heads of the two women as if he couldn’t be bothered to continue the argument. The Miqo'te, Aurelia noted, seemed to have the very enviable power to make most everyone who challenged her back down when it came to it.

“Here, put your arms 'round me neck. You’ll have mud all on the back of your trousers, but this way you’ll not be riskin' a fall an’ break the other leg.” Aurelia draped her arms about the woman’s neck and tried not to flinch at the dull throb of pain in her leg as she was pulled down them while sitting, one step at a time. Each jolt of her hard landing made her clench her teeth, but there was little to be done for it. “Put your foot down now. Careful, it’s slick.”

The crutches were pressed into her hands and after taking a moment to get her bearings again she began to move, limping to the back of the line with her minder in tow. She could feel that guard’s stare boring into the back of her head, watching her every step she took.

The wind was gusting sharp and chilly and the incipient rain a sting of cold drizzle like needles on her exposed skin by the time she made her way to the bored-looking Elezen woman in a yellow uniform, looking down a handful of parchment which appeared to be some sort of list. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Aurelia’s third eye but otherwise made no comment, her gaze swift and perfunctory before she glanced back at the papers and reached for a quill that sat in an inkpot. It was perched on a wooden crate, which appeared itself to be what passed for a desk.

Two quick dips, a swift tap of the filed point on the edge of the pot, and the woman looked at her. “You understand Common?”

“I do.”

“Name and rank, please.”

“Aurelia jen Laskaris.”

“…Lascelles?”

“Laskaris,” Aurelia corrected. “I can spell it if-”

“No need.” The Eorzean letters formed with an artless grace from the loops and turns of the pen nib. “Right, that’s the last one. Take her to the keep with the others.”

The woman didn’t acknowledge her again as the guards took Aurelia by her arm and all but dragged her to the fortress entrance. She had thought that the building was damaged in the recent battle but as she set foot within she saw that it had stood partially exposed to the elements for some time. Ivy creepers grew over the edges of stone and curled across the floor between the boards, and collapsed beams and mortar lay across the entrances to long-abandoned hallways. The keep in the courtyard, however, appeared more or less intact.

In a good deal of pain and so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, she barely registered the lack of light or the crowding of the cells until she heard the creak of a barred door swinging open on its hinges. Aurelia hesitated, her eyes traveling over what she could see of the haggard and drawn faces that looked back at her.

This cell was meant to hold perhaps three bodies at the most. Currently by her count it held nine, and she would be ten.

Lu muttered in her ear:

“A lesson to keep in mind: Gaol screws’re naught but curs. Nip at ankles an’ bluster all day but don’t have no bitin’ power when they’re called to account. Keep your head down an’ do what needs must but don’t let 'em get to you. Shouldn’t be much more than a fortnight afore the brass decide what’s to be done with you - for better or worse. Now get in there before I shove you across.”

She limped slowly over the iron threshold, and had only just got her crutches free of the door before it slammed shut behind her. The rattle of a key turning in a tumbler met her ears and Aurelia balanced on the crutches, frozen in place in near-total darkness. She had no idea where she was supposed to-

A hand tapped her on the shoulder and a soft voice, a young woman’s voice, said, “There’s some room on the cot still. Over here.”

Guided by the faceless stranger, she was able to make her way slowly through the group and sit down on the pallet. It was little more than molding dried grass covered in a threadbare blanket, but it was a small improvement on the floor.

No one else moved or spoke to her after that. Save the odd murmur or a quiet sniffle and the slow maddening dripping sound of a leak somewhere in the stone above, the gaol cell lay silent. The air felt close and stale, but a distinct chill lingered in the air, one that seeped through the homespun she wore and stuck to her skin.

With no other recourse, the Garlean leaned back until her body sat flush against the damp stones of the wall, and along with the others, she began to wait.

#reborn by fire #part 9: where shelled roads part #chrysalispen writes

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aithuzah · 7 years ago

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I only just found this blog by following a discussion thread about Merlin and I have to say I love your breakdown of the show. The idea and world building and characters were interesting so I started watching and I really enjoyed the first season. But then season 2 and season 3 happened. I read a lot about arthurian mythology and I was hoping the writers would build in more characters, more sorcerers and magical beings. But it was always just Arthur and merlin which gets really stale.

Thanks so much! I haven’t written anything new in a long while, and it’s really cool to hear that people are still seeing and connecting with what I’ve said.

I was hoping the writers would build in more characters, more sorcerers and magical beings.

I think your word choice is really important here. I mean, the series has a ton of characters, sorcerers, and magical beings, but very few of them last more than an episode. They aren’t built into the world. They show up and then they’re just gone.

The weird thing is, a lot of the one-off characters are wonderfully developed. They just either die at the end of their episode or disappear forever, so they can’t have any further impact on the characters or series as a whole. The same goes for the intriguing little tidbits of worldbuilding info that are mentioned once and never explored, or the powerful character arcs that are immediately backtracked or get cut off before they go anywhere meaningful.

There are so many pieces of a truly incredible story scattered throughout the series, yet we’re left with Merlin and Arthur doing the same things again and again: defending Camelot against whichever magical woman is plotting its downfall that season, while Arthur remains ignorant for dramatic and comedic effect and Merlin suffers alone. And, like you said, that gets stale.

But imagine if Edwin Muirden had been a bit less murder-y and a bit more chill, and maybe hid in Camelot as an ordinary physician for the first season before he tried to murder the king. Someone else could be in on Merlin’s secret, providing a totally different perspective than Gaius or Kilgharrah, all the while teaching Merlin magic that Gaius would never dare, encouraging and supporting him as he experiments and develops his powers. Edwin and Gaius, both caring about Merlin, but with their own agendas frequently coming into conflict.

Or imagine if Kara was introduced shortly after Arthur became king. She could be a foil for Merlin, someone who knows he’s Emrys and isn’t impressed, because life in Camelot still sucks for Druids and magic users of all kinds, and this so-called savior needs to step up his game or she’s going to take matters into her own hands. We could see her interactions with Merlin and with Mordred, and when she eventually crosses the line and finds herself on trial, we would know her. The outcome of the trial would mean something to us, not just because of its effects on Mordred, but because Kara herself is important.

There’s like a billion more things I could say about this show’s worldbuilding and character building and story building, none of which even really has anything to do with Arthurian mythology, which provides a huge amount of source material that could be adapted or reinvented in a billion other ways.

But I don’t really know that much about Arthurian mythology itself, other than what I’ve gleaned from the series and various Arthurian-myth-inspired fanfic. I’d love to hear what your thoughts are---like, what stories/features/characters did you hope to see included that never were? Or were there certain things from the myths you would have like to see handled differently?

#replies #anonymous #anon #merlinmeta #Anonymous

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edwin-brohncliff · 7 years ago

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Ophelia smiled wide, looking at her older brother, the one she joked the most with. "Hey fucker, you just gonna stand there or be happy to see me? Don't pretend you didn't miss me. I know you cried yourself to sleep every night, 'Ophelia please come home - I can't land any pussy without your expertise.'" She theatrically put on an impression of him. "Well worry not brother because your savior is here."

Catching sight of his oldest sister, Edwin smiled brightly and folded his arms across his chest, waiting until she was done with her impersonation before responding. “Got that outta your system now, Oph?” Without waiting for an answer, the sailor would then roll his light green eyes, step forwards, and throw his arms around his half-sibling to pull her in for a tight hug.

“I did miss ya, but I sure as shit didn’t cry myself to sleep every night! Always had a nice, warm partner next to me to keep my company.” Leaning back, Ed winked and, after giving Ophelia a few pats, withdrew from the hug entirely. “Definitely did recall some of the tips ya gave me on how to pick up folks for a romp in the hay, though.”

After a quiet sigh left his chest, Edwin sized his sister up a little bit and smiled brightly. “How’re ya doing? Ya look well. I mean, as well as -you- can look.” Winking, the man reached forwards to pat his sister on the arm.

[ @ophelia-gampre ]

#asks #Dear Sister #Oph

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terreisa · 7 years ago

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The Savior and The Scoundrel: A Dream is A Wish

Emma has had a few titles attributed to her in her life: princess, captain, pirate but none sat so heavily on her shoulders as Savior. When fate forces her to step into the role prophesied before her birth the only saving she wants to do is to bring back the man she loves. Fulfilling the Prophecy along the way is an additional reward. Sequel to A Crown and A Captain.

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5

ff.net, AO3

Emma closed her eyes and leaned back. The rough bark of the tree dug into her shoulders but she felt no need to adjust herself to become more comfortable. The murmur of conversations and the heavy tread of boots over stone almost had her convinced that all was right in her kingdom. She had found as the summer months had passed that escaping the confines of the castle to the gardens was her only respite from the madness that had enveloped them since Liam had warned them about King George’s plans. Snow had seemed to understand her need for escape and had allowed her to spend her evenings in the garden without interruption.

Liam had only remained with them for two weeks, strategizing against George and sharing any information he thought might be helpful in the search for the missing people of Misthaven. While he hadn’t continued to be openly hostile with Emma he had treated her with cold indifference. He had only spoken to her directly during the meetings they’d had to plan and prepare for her grandfather’s attempts on the kingdom. When he had left it had been a relief, even with his promise to return as soon as it was feasible. Much to Emma’s displeasure Liam had instructed Turner to remain behind, along with half of the men he had initially arrived with. She knew that Turner most likely had a second set of orders to spy on her and she tried her hardest to avoid him as much as she could.

Not long after Liam’s departure they began to receive a steady stream of support from other kingdoms. Specifically the ones who had sent representatives before when they had taken over Regina’s palace. When the first men had arrived they had been marching under the golden flag of Queen Abigail’s kingdom, Phrygia,and Emma hadn’t thought much of it. Snow had been corresponding with her continually since their arrival back in Misthaven and Emma had sent a glittering bird of her own detailing George’s intentions. It had made sense that Queen Abigail had sent assistance, Phrygia had been an ally of Misthaven’s for centuries but after her father and Abigail had absolved their arranged engagement to be with their True Loves the kingdoms had become even closer aligned due to the threat George posed. What had taken Emma by surprise was the subsequent arrival of men and women from the kingdoms of Darmancourt, Langelinie, and Glowerhaven.

The continued show of support from King Thomas and Princess Ella, Queen Ariel and King Eric, and what she suspected was due more to Liam’s fiancee Princess Margaret than her father King Edwin had meant more to Emma than when they had sent their people to stand by her before. They too had been swept up by the curse and the guilt of their disappearances weighed upon Emma’s shoulders along with the many others. Each one of the kingdoms had sent along a letter, clearly unaware of the other kingdoms’ similar intentions but eerily similar in tone, that practically absolved her of any of the blame for the disappearances and officially offered their support and their armies against King George. She had felt unworthy of their forgiveness and their willingness to help her and it had taken more than one emotional conversation with Snow to even somewhat convince her otherwise.

Along with the number of bodies provided by the other kingdoms Elsa had sent troops of her own and Liam had sent a contingent ahead of his return. In all there were more than three hundred men and women ready to defend Misthaven. As overwhelming as it was to see them rebuilding and fortifying the castle or returning from the re-established and cleaned up port village Emma knew that George’s army had double or even triple their numbers. It was a reminder of that very fact that had driven her to the garden to try and quell the panic that had been constantly sitting beneath her breastbone.

Not helping matters were the constant reasons given for why she couldn’t make the journey to the beanstalk. All she needed to hear was a single word of approval and she could be halfway there before anyone noticed her absence. Her pack had remained inside the door of her room, ready to go at a moment’s notice. She hadn’t even taken the time to return the cuff to its hiding place, unwilling to spare even a few seconds to go digging for it once she was given permission to leave. Yet the days had bled into weeks and then to months and she was still frustratingly confined to the castle.

For all her misery Snow was the only one that seemed to take any notice. Belle and Will had been travelling back and forth between the castle and Regina’s palace as much as to coordinate with the people there as to keep Emma and Will from eviscerating each other with their words. Grace had been away from the castle nearly as much as Belle and Will. She had taken it upon herself to head the rebuilding of the port village. Emma suspected it was a distraction as well as a way to be among the first to hear the latest updates when they arrived. She envied Grace’s ability to have distractions from her troubles, especially when seemingly everyone around her remained unaware of her own unhappiness.

Smiling to herself she thought about how Roland had appointed himself as her personal steward. He had taken to following her around, trying to anticipate her needs or even more annoyingly her thoughts before she had a chance to formulate them. It had been irksome at first but she had quickly realized the cause of his behavior after she had caught him hovering around the Balliolshire contingent more than once. Emma suspected Roland wanted to impress them proving he was just as good as them. She only wished he had chosen someone less fastidious than Turner to prove himself to, even if she knew Roland wanted to impress him on a much more personal level.

“It’s good to see you smiling, especially during these uncertain times.”

Emma opened her eyes, squinting against the late afternoon sun. Snow was standing over her, a small smile of her own gracing her lips.

“I’m not sure what to hope for more: that Grandfather finally makes a move or we discover where to find a bean to take us away from here.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Snow sighed. “I know how incredibly difficult this has been but-”

“But the prophecy. I know, I know,” Emma said wearily.

Snow appeared to have no response. Emma felt bad for voicing her frustrations but she had remained silent through the summer. She wasn’t surprised, therefore, when Snow sat down beside her and made herself comfortable.

“But,” Snow continued undeterred, “I don’t know which one I prefer either, honestly. We can’t seem to hold onto any luck can we?”

“Bad luck, maybe,” Emma said with a humorless laugh.

“Maybe,” Snow hummed, “It does feel like the odds are stacked against us. Then I see the people willing to defend Misthaven despite having no loyalty to us and I look at how determined you are and I know that in the end we will succeed.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

Her mother fixed her with a determined look, “Do you doubt that you’ll find Killian?”

“No,” she whispered quietly, shying away from the thought of never finding him.

“What about your father? Red? Pinocchio?”

“I’ll find them, I have to,” she said, setting her jaw.

“Because of a prophecy said you would?”

That brought Emma up short. She had entwined her supposed destiny and the fate of those taken by Zelena’s curse so completely she had all but convinced herself that the odds she was facing were insurmountable.

“No, I’ll find them because they’re our family, our loved ones, our people. They should be here, with us, free from Zelena’s curse.”

“See, you have just as much confidence as me,” Snow nudged her with her shoulder. “That’s why I came out here actually.”

“To give me a pep talk?” Emma nudged her mother back.

“Partially-” Snow smiled gently and took her hand, “but also to let you know that I think it’s high time that you visit Anton.”

“What? Really?” Emma twisted herself to face her mother more fully.

“Yes. I know you’ve been frustrated waiting-”

“But what about Grandfather?”

“Even if he finally mobilizes he has to make it through Phrygia and her defenses before reaching Misthaven. We finally have enough men and women here that the absence of three people won’t be a drastic loss.”

“Three?” Emma raised her brow.

“I’ll only allow you to go if you take Roland and Grace with you,” Snow said with a stern look.

Emma had anticipated that Roland would join her. When he wasn’t rhapsodizing over the forces gathered he had been trying to convince her to allow him to go to the beanstalk with her. He hadn’t pressed about accompanying her to the top but she knew he wouldn’t hesitate at the opportunity. Grace on the other hand had only showing passing interest in the beanstalk and the compass that they hoped remained amongst Anton’s treasures. She had instead focused her time and energy trying to discern where they might procure a magic bean. To learn that she would join her and Roland to the beanstalk was surprising.

“Grace? Really? Did she volunteer or did you order her?”

“She volunteered after I strongly suggested that she go,” Snow answered primly.

“Why though? They can’t make the climb with me and if anything happens it only takes one person to come back here to inform you.”

“I could have ordered a whole flank to accompany you,” Snow said with a disapproving frown. She paused before continuing, “Grace is starting to become restless again. The only news coming into port concerns your grandfather and his movements or the other kingdom’s preparations to stop him.”

“She’s not threatening to leave us again, is she?” Emma asked, not masking her annoyance.

“Not quite, as of yet, but the look in her eyes matches the one I’ve seen in yours.”

“Look? What look?” She blinked, confused.

“One of longing, impatience, of worry,” Snow squeezed her hand. “I know it well, I see it in the mirror every morning.”

“Mom,” Emma whispered, pained. She couldn’t think of anything more to say because she knew it was true. She decided to try anyway, “I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Never apologize for how you feel, sweetheart, especially when you feel as strongly as you do. It will make you a better queen, despite the less enlightened male members of the council arguing otherwise,” Snow said flatly, a steel glint in her eye and her chin held high. “There will always be people, whether they express their opinions out loud or not, that will question your abilities to rule because you’re a woman. I know you’ve had your fair share of doubters as a captain but it is nothing compared to what you will face as Queen. We have to face hardships and trials unlike the ones our male counterparts do and we have to succeed far beyond their lower expectations. That is why I’m sending you to the beanstalk, even with your grandfather’s threats hanging over our kingdom. There is more than one battle we must win.”

Emma collapsed back against the tree and stared unseeing out over the garden. She hated thinking of herself as the future queen of Misthaven, almost as much as she loathed dwelling on being the Savior. Snow had been carefully making comments and urging her to attend meetings with the colonels of the different troops that had arrived in a less than subtle attempt to set her on the path to rule. While she had bore them with grace she had filled more than one page of complaints about it in the letters she was still writing to Killian. Like the prophecy, the Crown was something she couldn’t seem to escape.

“I should have left of my own volition. At the very least I could have avoided the disappointed looks Turner gives me when he remembers that I’m the next in line for the throne,” Emma joked weakly, knowing it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Turner would do well to remember that Liam instructed him to follow my orders, whatever they may be. Just say the word and I’ll have him mucking out the stalls, alone, until Liam returns,” Snow patted the hand that was still clasped in hers. After a short moment she let out a shaky breath, “Thank you for not slipping away on your own, sweetheart. It’s been enough of a trial to remember how to be a Queen again, I don’t think I could have handled your disappearance as well.”

Emma found herself speechless once more. She tended to forget that it had been mere months since she had rescued her mother from her isolated island and over a decade since Snow had been a true ruler. The sudden thrust pushing them both back into positions of power had Emma wanting to tear her hair out. She hadn’t even considered the pressures that must have been pressing down upon Snow.

The truth was she had thought of absconding to the beanstalk more often than not. Whether her plans involved sneaking out in the dead of night or brazenly striding across the bridge under the midday sun she had yearned for the wherewithal to do it. The only thing that had stopped her was the thought of facing her mother’s disappointment when she would have returned. She hadn’t spared a thought to the turmoil Snow would have experienced while she was gone.

“Will you leave tonight or wait until morning?” Snow asked in a clear effort to not sound upset.

“Tonight-” Emma paused, considering. As eager as she was to be underway she knew that Grace and Roland would need a little more time to prepare, “-but tomorrow morning will give us time to be better prepared. Have you told Roland?”

“No and I only informed Grace that she’s to accompany you, not that you’ll be leaving straight away. I’m sure she’ll seek you out quickly, though.”

Nodding Emma stood and stretched. She grimaced as she remembered how tortuous the climb would be. Pushing away the sobering thought of the exhaustion she would be facing at the end of the next day she offered a hand to help her mother up. Snow accepted with a grateful smile, surprising Emma with how much her mother actually needed her help to leverage herself up. Before Emma could dwell upon it Snow was already heading into the castle with all the regal bearing she had possessed when both of them were a decade younger.

True to Snow’s prediction Grace found Emma almost as soon as she stepped foot in the castle. Grace seemed neither eager nor reluctant to leave, fixing Emma with an indifferent gaze as she listened to the plan for the morning. She agreed to be ready to leave before dawn with a nod and left Emma wondering if anyone, even the lowliest of soldiers, would have shown more enthusiasm in joining her.

She shook off the thought and quickly went to find Roland. Eventually she found him sitting in a secluded alcove in the library. There were too many soldiers lingering nearby for her to speak more plainly surrounded so she had to carefully choose her words to inform him of when and where to meet.. It was a relief that he immediately understood what she was alluding to when she pointedly mentioned her cravings for the extra large cinnamon pastries that the castle cooks used to make starting long before the sun had peeked over the horizon. Roland smirked and winked as he teased her about making them for herself if she was so desperate. No one around them seemed to pay them any mind as Emma scoffed at his suggestion and nodded in return before taking her leave.

The castle was crawling with people and she returned to her room not long after leaving the library, not wanting to be around so many strangers and also not wanting to tip anyone off that she was leaving in mere hours. Pacing the length of her room she realized she was too keyed up to sleep and knew that the only thing that could calm her down would be to write Killian a letter. It wouldn’t make her any more ready, or willing, to rest but it would go a long way towards settling her mind. The ink from her greeting to him had barely had a chance to dry before someone knocked on her door.

“Yes?” Emma carefully pushed away the journal that held her letters to Killian before looking towards her visitor.

It was a surprise to see that Belle was the one standing tentatively in her doorway. She had expected to see her mother or Roland waiting for her to invite them in. Emma wondered for a moment if Belle had come to speak to her about Will before noticing that she had something in her hand.

“I wasn’t sure when you were leaving-” Belle took a small step further into the room, “May I come in?”

“Of course! Did Mom tell you?” Emma asked as she stood quickly and led Belle to the small sitting area by her fireplace.

“No, no. I was walking by Roland’s room and saw him packing. I figured it meant that you were finally going to the beanstalk.”

“We are, Grace as well,” Emma smiled knowingly at Belle’s widened eyes. “I was surprised too. I don’t think she’s been away from the harbor for more than a day or two.”

“She’s been separated from her children for a long time. I’d be just as desperate to hear any word that there was a way to see my children again,” Belle said sympathetically, staring into the unlit hearth.

Emma felt a hot rush of guilt. She had never asked if Belle and Will had children and was afraid of the answer to the question she had to ask, “Did the curse take your children too?”

“Oh, no,” Belle said, quickly reassuring her with an understanding look and a pat on her knee. “Our daughter lives with her husband and her little ones in one of the villages at the edge of Sherwood Forest and our son is with the others at the Evil Queen’s palace. He’s only sixteen but eager to help.”

“I, uh, didn’t know,” Emma said somewhat uncomfortably.

“Will and I made the decision a long time ago to not mention our children to anyone who wasn’t a part of the Merry Men. We both have people from our past who would have felt no compunction in hurting them in order to get to us,” Belle explained with a gentle smile. “That’s not to say we don’t trust you or your mother. There were people who had been in our camp for years that didn’t know we had children. It’s merely become a habit we’re uncomfortable with breaking, even now that one child is grown with children of her own and the other is on the cusp of manhood.”

“I get it,” Emma returned Belle’s smile briefly. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I truly was that I find it hard to introduce myself as Emma instead of Swan. Even responding to my own name is a challenge, since I trained myself a long time ago to never react in any way to it being called out. But your children have grown up in relative peace because of your caution, right?”

“They have,” Belle agreed. Then she shook her head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to waste your time talking about my family.”

“I’ve been packed for weeks,” Emma said, waving off Belle’s apology. “You’re doing me a favor, really, taking my mind off what’s to come and all that.”

“That’s why I’m here actually,” Belle said, fiddling with the object in her hands that Emma had noticed earlier. “This is for your giant friend. A gift for him allowing us to borrow the compass.”

Belle handed it over and Emma was caught off guard by its weight and by the soft, slippery fabric it was wrapped in. Grasping it more firmly she moved it to her lap to carefully unwrap it. She was slightly surprised to see her face looking back up at her before she realized that it was a large hand mirror with ornate filigree along the frame and down the handle. Turning it over she marvelled at the beauty and intricate designs of the metalwork but more so by the tingling warmth that crawled down her hands and down her arms the longer she held it. She flipped it back over and stared hard at her reflection.

“It’s enchanted,” Belle’s voice said from seemingly far away. Emma tore her eyes away from the mirror’s surface reluctantly to look at Belle, “I’ve had it for a long time but had no use for it. It will be much better off with the giant than with me.”

“What does it do?” Emma asked quietly looking back at it curiously as her fingers tightened around the handle.

Belle seemed to hesitate before answering, causing Emma to look back at her sharply. Her lips were twisted into a frown and she said reluctantly, “It shows whoever is holding the mirror anything they wish to see. But Emma-”

Emma couldn’t hear Belle over the sudden pounding of her heart. She brought the mirror up to her face with an unsteady hand, “Killian. Please, please show me Killian!”

The surface of the mirror rippled, as though a pebble had been cast into calm waters. Emma hardly breathed as the gentle waves continued for one minute and then two. When they cleared she found she was seemingly looking at nothing. Not even her frantic reflection peered back at her. She could barely make out what look liked dark, roiling clouds before she could stand to look at it any more. Belle gently pried the mirror from her hands as she fought against the sobs of gaining and losing the chance of seeing Killian again in the span of what felt like a single beat of her heart.

“It was one of the first things I tried when I remembered I had this mirror,” Belle whispered sadly. Emma tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling as Belle continued, “At first I thought it was Zelena’s spell that stopped the mirror from working properly, some kind of protection against finding them but it’s not. I tried to see other realms: Oz, Neverland, Wonderland and each time just that swirling darkness and yet I was able to see everything I asked to see from this realm, even the giant atop his beanstalk. The mirror’s magic only seems to work here.”

“Which makes it the perfect gift for Anton,” Emma said dully, sounding as though her nose was packed with cotton.

“Emma, I swear I would have given it to you if it had shown even a tiny glimpse of the people Zelena had taken.”

“I know,” Emma sighed and brought her gaze back down to Belle, “Thank you, I’m sure Anton will appreciate it. Um, is it okay if-”

“Of course,” Belle said graciously and stood. She handed the mirror back, gently placing her hand over Emma’s when she took it, “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Emma said with more sincerity. A thought occurred to her, “Belle?”

“Yes?”

“Where did you get the mirror?”

Emma watched in fascination as something passed over Belle’s face. Clearly the memory wasn’t a pleasant one or one that Belle seemed eager to share.

“Someone gave it to me. I thought it was because he cared for me. I was wrong.”

Belle gave her a brittle, fleeting smile and hurried from the room.

After Belle left Emma tried to gather herself enough to write any kind of letter for Killian. Despite rewrapping the mirror she felt as though it was taunting her. She shoved it deep into her pack to get it out of her sight but it stuck in her mind like a burr. It was another hour before she forced herself to write a single line telling him that she was finally on her way to the beanstalk. She didn’t exactly slam the journal shut in her frustration but it was a close thing.

As she readied herself for bed she tried not to be tempted by the mirror. She nearly succeeded until she blew out the last candle. The ethereal light of the nearly full moon proved to be too much and she found herself hastily unearthing the mirror, throwing her pack’s contents pell mell around her. She ripped the cloth off the mirror and gasped Killian’s name into it. The sobs she had held back earlier returned in full force when nothing but the swirling black clouds answered her plea.

What sleep she got that night was restless and uneasy.

Emma found herself in the kitchens long before she was meant to meet Grace and Roland. When they joined her neither looked surprised to see her already up and wisely didn’t inquire about how long she had been awake. Without a word she handed Roland the sack of food she’d gathered and led them up through the castle. No one else was awake to see them go. Emma breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the cool, predawn air without alerting a single person.

Their trek to the beanstalk was, for the most part, quiet. Grace and Roland both had questions once they lost sight of the castle but after Emma’s fourth or fifth time giving monosyllabic answers they ceased asking. She knew she was being unfair and somewhat unkind but her sleepless night was beginning to take its toll. Her energy needed to sustain her to at least get her to the top of the beanstalk and she wasn’t about to waste it on talking.

They saw the beanstalk stretching into the sky long before they were close enough to see its base. Like the first time Emma had seen it Grace gasped in awe. Roland let out a low whistle at her side, eyes trailing upwards. In an unspoken agreement they quickened their pace. She knew, and suspected the others did too, that it would be hours before they would be within spitting distance but even the far off glimpse had galvanized her.

A little more than an hour past midday they crested the final hill that led to the valley that the beanstalk grew in. There weren’t many people outside of those who lived in the valley that knew of the beanstalk’s existence. When Blue had enchanted the cuffs to counteract the protective magic of the giants she had instilled another form of protection on the valley to keep the curious at bay. Unless a person already knew of the beanstalk’s existence they would never see it looming over the valley, even if they stood in its shadow. The increased guarantee that he wouldn’t be caught off guard by those who might have meant him harm was one of the key reasons Anton had finally agreed to the treaty Emma and her father had presented to him.

“Should we rest here?” Grace asked without taking her eyes off the beanstalk.

“No, we keep going,” Emma said, starting down the hill.

She could practically hear Roland’s eyes rolling but he wisely made no protest. The sound of them following didn’t reach her until she was almost halfway down the hill. Huffing in annoyance she kept her pace, knowing full well they were withholding their lectures until they reached the beanstalk’s base.

When she reached it she quickly checked over her shoulder to make sure Roland and Grace were still a ways off. Satisfied they were she quickly slung her pack off her shoulder and knelt down to dig through it for the cuff. Her fingers closed around it the moment Roland cleared his throat behind her.

“You can save your breath,” she grumbled as she slipped the cuff over her wrist before pulling her hands from the pack. “I’m climbing now and it’s impossible for either of you to come with me.”

“Emma, you were dead on your feet even before we left the castle. You’re in no shape to be making that climb today. Wait until tomorrow, eat a proper meal or two, get some sleep tonight, and then you won’t run the risk of falling off that thing halfway up!” Roland pleaded with her, waving his arm emphatically at the beanstalk towering over them. He took a deep breath, “Please, just wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” she said quietly.

She knew arguing would get her nowhere but upset and resentful towards Roland. It was true that she was exhausted, though. It pulled at her bones and cast a fog over her thoughts but she had sailed the Brooke many times before on less sleep and was confident she could make it to top. Even if she was fueled only by determination and stubbornness.

Roland seemed to deflate a little, “I know, but Killian wouldn’t want you to risk breaking your neck trying to find him.”

“No, he wouldn’t but if it had been him left behind he would have come here the moment he knew the compass could be at the top.”

Emma stopped short. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell much on Killian’s fate from the curse. He had dealt a blow of some kind to Zelena, one that had cost him his hand in her ire. No matter what other hardships the curse had done to him she knew in her heart he was fighting just as hard to get back to her. Her only wish was that he wasn’t disregarding his own safety and well being to do it.

“An hour, at least,” Roland tried again. “Just to eat something substantial enough to make it to the top.”

Sighing she dropped down into the dirt and waved her hand imperiously at him. Roland beamed at her, handed the sack with the food off to Grace, and began building a fire. Grace shook her head and quietly dug out the bread Emma had packed earlier. She tore off a chunk for herself before handing it to Emma and diving back into the sack.

“Why didn’t you try to convince me to rest too?” Emma asked curiously around a mouthful of the dense, nutty bread.

“If you hadn’t agreed so easily I might have,” Grace said offhandedly, pulling out a small battered pot. “I also know that nothing will stop you if it truly gets in your way. Roland’s demands were hardly a formidable obstacle.”

Emma snickered, “Damn right. Hey, if you’re making tea brew it strong.”

“And make enough for four,” Roland said quietly, with all the appearance of concentrating on building the fire.

Emma looked at him sharply.

“We’ve been followed,” he murmured but seemed unconcerned. His eyes flicked to hers and then off behind her, “Have to admire a man for following his orders to the letter.”

“Shit-” she clenched her fists and her jaw. Breathing deeply through her nose to calm herself she grit out, “Don’t tell him what we’re here for. I don’t care how handsome you think he looks when the sun sets tonight.”

Roland blushed a deep fiery red and Grace tsked at her. Emma hated to resort to such a low blow but she was tired and pissed that Turner was attached to her like a stubborn barnacle. She took another deep breath and opened her mouth to apologize when Roland shook his head at her, fighting a sheepish grin.

“That obvious am I? Let’s get this over with so you can start the climb,” he stood abruptly and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Come join us Mister Turner! We’re just about to have a nice cup of tea!”

Emma snorted in laughter as she heard the far off fumbling of footsteps and snapping of twigs in what she assumed was Turner diving for cover. Grace was hiding her own smile behind her hand, shaking her head. Roland planted his hands on his hips with a look that Emma could tell was meant to be menacing but she could see the twitching of his lips and the mirth in his eyes.

“It’s good to know he hasn’t beguiled you completely,” she intoned flatly as she kicked at his foot.

“Trying to sneak up on a Merry Man is almost an insult. Though not as much of one as blindly accepting his superior’s disdain as his own. I’m beginning to wonder if my sensibilities have left me completely for continuing to admire him.”

Smiling sadly Emma felt a bittersweet pang remembering that exact fight she’d had with herself as she had fallen for Killian.

“He’s a good man,” she said quietly, “Even if he is loyal to a fault.”

Roland looked at her with something akin to wonder. She worried that he might have sensed her double meaning but his attention was once more drawn to a point behind her. From the sound of heavy footfalls and low muttering she figured Turner no longer saw a point in dragging out the inevitability of their confrontation.

“In this kingdom spying on a member of the royal family is punishable by death,” Emma said casually over her shoulder once she figured Turner was close enough to hear her.

“Then I count myself fortunate that Queen Snow disregards the rulings made by the Evil Queen,” Turner retorted as he stepped into her line of sight with a smug smile.

“It was made law by my Great Great Grandfather and has been supported and enforced by every head that has worn the crown since. After Regina and Zelena do you really think we’d be lenient on this front?”

“But your mother, the Queen-”

“Is not here and I doubt anyone knows that you are either. Roland and Grace are not loyal only to me but to Misthaven as well and are witnesses to your crime-” she felt a grim satisfaction at watching the blood drain from Turner’s face but noted with interest how his eyes had flicked to Roland when she’d mentioned his name. After a pause long enough to let her words fully sink in she continued, “Is that what you’ve been waiting for? For the ruthless pirate to make an appearance? For me to damn everyone who stands in my way? Sorry to disappoint both you and your king but the only villains you’ll find in this endeavor is yourselves.”

Turner rolled his shoulders, shifting his posture so he was standing at full attention. Emma could see that he was warring with himself as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides and his jaw ticked in agitation. Finally he drew in a deep breath and unerringly met her eyes.

“Your Highness I would like to apologize for my suspicions and how they have influenced my behavior. I admit I let the tales and rumors regarding your time as captain of the Tarina Brooke overshadow what I have witnessed with my own eyes these past weeks. For that I am truly sorry.”

Emma gave him a tight nod. She could tell Turner’s apology was sincere but also knew that he had purposefully avoided addressing his constant shadowing of her at Liam’s behest. It seemed that was an apology she’d have to wrangle from the ass of a royal himself.

They sat and stood in uncomfortable silence while they waited for the water for the tea to boil. Emma swung back and forth between trying to keep her eyes open and restlessly fiddling with her pack, eager to begin climbing. She continued to watch Turner, observing as he cautiously eyed the beanstalk and even more cautiously stole glances at her. His flush at being caught only deepened when he looked fleetingly at Roland before turning away completely.

When Grace handed her a steaming cup she could barely restrain herself from downing it immediately. As it was she still scalded her tongue when she greedily drank down the strong tea only minutes later. Her eyes watered as she felt the heat of the liquid seeping down her throat towards her belly.

“Serves you right,” Roland tsked as she hissed air through her teeth.

“I’m not drinking it for the pleasantries,” she retorted around a numb tongue. She stood quickly, “If everything goes well I should be back by tomorrow evening, the next morning at the latest. I’ll send a bird if something keeps me longer.”

“If something keeps… are you planning on climbing that thing?” Turner asked spinning to face her, aghast.

“I wasn’t planning on staring at it,” she deadpanned.

“And I assume neither of your companions will be accompanying you?” He frowned.

“No, they’re here because my mother requested that they be here. For her own peace of mind.”

“Then I shall make the climb with you.”

Turner stood impossibly straighter, as if to prepare himself for a barrage of arguments. Emma almost indulged him but she had no fight left in her. She merely rolled her eyes and secured her pack across her back.

“Nothing I say is going to stop you is it?”

“No, Your Highness,” he said stubbornly.

“Then be my guest,” she said, waving for him to precede her.

Emma managed to avoid catching Roland’s eye but saw Grace watching her carefully. Turner paid no attention to any of them as he strode to the base of the beanstalk. The moment his hand touched the vibrant green stem he was thrown backward. He landed hard a fair distance away, arms and legs askew, and clearly unconscious.

“Turner!”

“Emma!”

She smiled sheepishly at Grace as Roland rushed to where Turner was sprawled out. Grace narrowed her eyes at her in return, crossing her arms over her chest clearly waiting for an explanation.

“He’ll be fine once he wakes. In an hour or two-” she bit back a smile as she waved her hand at the seemingly innocuous base. “It’s the protection spell the giants put on the beanstalk. Only my father and I have a way to overcome it.”

“You could have just warned him off!” Roland snapped angrily, kneeling by Turner.

“The idiot either wouldn’t have believed me or ignored what I’d said and still tried to climb the thing. At least this way I’m here to tell you the only lasting injury he’ll have will be the one to his pride. He deserves worse but I’m feeling generous and he was holding me up.”

“Worse?!” Roland yelled at her, unbelievingly.

“Yes, worse,” she growled, storming up to him. “I wasn’t lying about what we do to spies. It may have been Liam’s orders but he continually acted on them, obviously listening to us talking about the beanstalk or he wouldn’t have been able to see it. My mother was lenient before she lost her crown again, always believed in giving second chances, and I did too but things have changed. When he wakes tell him he’s on his last one.”

Without waiting for a response from either Roland or Grace Emma strode over to the beanstalk. Unlike with Turner when she placed her hand on a vine to pull herself up nothing happened. She didn’t even feel a slight tingle of magic. Grimacing at the roughness of the plant and the pull at her shoulders she began her ascent. She could feel their eyes on her, an itch between her shoulderblades, but she stubbornly refused to look back at them. Focusing instead on finding suitable handholds she climbed.

Three hours later Emma stopped to rest for the fourth time in less than an hour. Leaning her forehead to rest in the crook of her elbow she stared blankly down the length of the beanstalk, the ground no longer in sight. Her arms and legs were shaking, her vision had begun to double, and she had no idea how close or how far she was from the top. She grumbled out curses that she hadn’t listened to Roland and taken the time to rest properly.

“Two fucking hours wouldn’t have killed me.”

“They say the first sign of madness is talking to oneself, Swan.”

Emma barely flinched. She adjusted her head to press her chin to her shoulder to stare blankly at the grinning Killian latched onto the beanstalk next to her. Tightening her grip she could still feel the rough bite of the vines under her hands and reasoned that while she hadn’t plunged to her death she had certainly fallen into a waking dream, or perhaps a nightmare. Gritting her teeth she began to climb again.

“Bad form to ignore a man, lass.”

“Can’t ignore a man when he isn’t really there,” she muttered under her breath.

“You wound me-” Killian clutched at his chest, pulling her attention unwillingly to him.

At the end of his left arm a bright, metal hook, one she recognized vaguely from the ones used on the deck of the Brooke, winked in the sunlight from where it was half buried in the beanstalk. She blinked and his hand returned, gripping a vine as the tendons across the back of it stood out in sharp relief. Her eyes skittered away to her own hands instead, unwilling to see his hand shift back to the hook.

“I may not be here in body, love, but I am always with you,” he said softly.

She gave a hiccupping laugh, “I’d prefer you to be here in body.”

“You know I would too,” he said sadly, climbing steadily beside her.

Without an answer to give that wouldn’t involve tears Emma remained silent and continued to climb. Killian made none of the sounds she did as they ascended. If it wasn’t for the movement she could see out of the corner of her eye or the calming presence at her side she could have believed that he had disappeared. The thought that he could do so easily made her breath catch in her throat.

“Bad form knocking Turner out like that.”

“He deserved it,” she huffed.

“In that I agree but Roland also had a point, love. You could have warned him of the consequences first,” Killian rebuked mildly.

“He wouldn’t have listened. You told me once how stubborn he is and I’ve seen enough of it myself-” Emma continued to climb for a few minutes before grumbling, “Fine, I should have said something.”

“Quite, but at the very least it will ensure he thinks twice before underestimating you, love,” Killian hummed proudly.

“And make Liam hate me more than he already does,” she sighed.

“You know he doesn’t hate you, Swan.”

“Why, because you’re telling me?”

Emma winced, afraid he’d disappear immediately. Instead he turned his head towards her, smiling.

“Exactly. You are well aware that I’m only telling you the truths you already know-” Killian winked as his smile softened. “Just as you know that I miss you terribly, love.”

“How can I know that? You’re not even really here,” her voice warbled and she swallowed thickly around the lump in her throat.

“Aye, but I assure you that whether or not I’m truly here you know that I love you. No curse or witch, time or distance will change that. Do you know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you feel exactly the same way, love. Even if you haven’t said it yet.”

“I’ve dreamed you up and you still have to prove that you’re right,” she said, laughing weakly.

“I beg to differ, Swan, it seems that you’re the one proving yourself right. Not that I mind of course.”

Emma had a retort ready on her tongue but instead she said, “I do, you know, feel the same.”

He gave her a bittersweet smile but made no comment about her half confession. Their climb was mostly silent after that, with only her somewhat labored breathing and Killian’s quiet encouragements breaking it. As they wended their way up she no longer felt qualms about looking at him. She felt as though she needed to soak in the sight of him by her side to keep her sanity for what might come. No matter how contradictory she knew that line of thinking was.

“Almost there now, love.”

Killian’s voice caused her to shift her focus from his profile to the beanstalk above. She could see the flat grey underside of what she knew was the base of the giant’s kingdom in the sky. It was much closer than she had realized and in her shock her hand slipped. The sharp pain in her hand caused Killian’s image to shudder.

“No!” Emma gasped.

“Your hand-”

“I don’t care about my hand! You can’t leave me now!” She babbled, panicked.

“Swan, you knew this couldn’t last,” Killian murmured gently. His body faded into transparency before snapping back into sharp relief, his left hand a hook once more, “Don’t, Emma, don’t try and keep me here.”

Emma blinked quickly, realizing that she had been doing just that. As much as she knew that keeping him with her, talking to the image of him and holding on it was a path to madness.

“I will find you,” she said resolutely. Tears gathered in her eyes, blurring his edges once again, “I promise.”

“Of course you will, love. I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She wanted to stare at him, to hold his hand or even the hook, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and anchor him to her forever. Instead she closed her eyes, felt her chin wobble, let the tears course down her face, as she breathed out slowly. When she opened her eyes once more he was gone.

Her tears were her only companion as she continued her climb. The pain in her hand had dulled to a low throb but in her attempt to treat it gingerly her pace slowed considerably. Just as she was about to look up to check her progress a shadow moved above her and she was plucked off the beanstalk like a bug off a flower.

“Princess Emma?”

Despite only being able to see the full moon of face right in front of her and nothing else of the giant holding her aloft it was easy to see that Anton looked exactly the same as the last time she had seen him, with wild curly brown hair and a beard of the same color. The suspicion in his honey colored eyes wasn’t a surprise, she was certain that even if her visits hadn’t stopped that would have never changed, but the tightness around his mouth was new. Emma realized with a pang that he wanted to let himself be happy that she was there but couldn’t allow himself to get his hopes up that he was no longer alone again.

“Hello, Anton. Long time no see.”

Anton’s face split into a wide smile, causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. Her mother’s warnings about him not being happy to see her were for nothing as he practically vibrated in joy. Unfortunately he seemed to have forgotten that she was dangling from between his fingers. Emma tried to fight off the vertigo of swaying thirty feet in the air but unlike the times she’d done so in the crow’s nest of the Brooke she had nothing to hold onto to keep herself somewhat steady.

“Anton!” She gasped, swallowing down the bile creeping up her throat. “I can’t- Anton you need to-”

“Oh, Princess Emma, I’m sorry!”

He immediately sat her down on the flat, fleshy palm of his other hand. Her dizziness continued to linger but she no longer felt like she was in danger of losing what might have been left in her stomach. Anton was holding her at his eye level and she smiled weakly at his look of concern.

“I’ll be alright in a moment,” she said with only a slight warble to her voice, patting his palm in reassurance.

“You’ve been away a long time, Princess. I thought you and your father had forgotten about me,” Anton said without accusation but she could still hear a sad resignation coloring his words.

“It’s a long, long story and I’m more than willing to tell it but I did just climb that beanstalk-”

“Right, of course!” Anton smiled widely again. He turned and began walking into his estate, “I’ve begun harvesting the corn and tomatoes and I have a cider I made from last year’s apple crop. Your little hut might be a bit dusty but it’s still there. I guess I knew deep down that you’d be back.”

Emma gave him an apologetic smile. She thought longingly of the hut, specifically the bed filled with goose down that was almost softer than her bed at the castle. She was already half asleep from the gentle rocking of Anton’s palm as he walked and knew if she even looked at the hut she would end up sleeping for a week.

“The food, drink and catching up first. I owe you an explanation before I can sleep.”

Anton shrugged in agreement and changed the direction he was walking. Emma pressed her hands down to keep her balance as he turned and gasped as pain flared in her cut hand.

“Princess?”

“I’m fine, Anton,” she said waving away his concern. “A little cut is all.”

She looked down at her hand, finally able to take the time to access how badly she had been cut. From what she could tell the wound had reopened and was bleeding slowly once more. She grimaced at the smears of dried and fresh blood across her palm. With a sigh of resignation she maneuvered her pack into her lap and began digging through it. Due to her desperate search for the mirror the night before she worried that a few essential items had been left behind on her bedroom floor. Mainly her flask filled with rum. It didn’t help that she had essentially gathered the far flung objects haphazardly into her arms and stuffed them back in her pack, only checking to make sure that the mirror and her cuff had made it in. Finally with a small cry of triumph that had Anton looking at her quizzically she felt the flask and tried to pull it out.

“Everything okay, Princess?” Anton asked as he stopped and brought her up to his eyeline.

“Yeah, just trying to… ah!”

Emma wrenched the flask out and saw why it had put up a fight. A length of black cloth had somehow wrapped itself around it and she pulled at it until it fluttered free of the pack. As she untangled her flask she saw that it was a finely made scarf, one she didn’t remember owning. Furrowing her brow she ran her hands over the soft material, trying to recall if she had bought it or merely liberated it on the seas from one wealthy merchant or another. Then her fingers drifted over a bit of embroidery and her stomach clenched as she read the monogramed letters: KCBH.

She had never known Killian’s full name but there was no doubt in her mind that the scarf was his. Letting out a shaky breath she bunched the scarf up in her hands and pressed it to her nose. Inhaling deeply she swore she could pick up the faintest trace of his achingly familiar scent. It was barely there, Emma was certain no one else would have detected it, but it was enough to comfort her all the same. She looked up at Anton, ready to tell her tale.

“Regina, or who we thought was Regina, attacked not long after I turned sixteen…”

Emma began the story of her long absence as she tended to her hand and Anton resumed making his way through his estate and to his kitchens. She told him the story as matter of factly as she could, only faltering when she poured rum over her wound and then stopping completely to tighten with her teeth the knot she’d made in the scarf that she’d used as an impromptu bandage. After that her voice didn’t break once, even when she relived to a rapt but horror stricken Anton the agony of running from the curse and having to leave Killian behind.

“So you were just like me, left alone,” Anton sighed sadly, rolling a grape the size of a wagon wheel between his fingers.

“No,” Emma contradicted quickly, wincing at her bluntness but unable to lie. “I had friends in other kingdoms, I found my mother, so I was never really alone. Not like you. I’m so sorry that you thought we’d abandoned you, Anton.”

“I was angry at first, I admit,” Anton said with a slight frown. He placed the grape in front of where Emma was seated on an old wine cork atop a cake stand, “I thought you and your father were liars just like his twin. It was much later that my anger gave way to some specks of rational thought.

“Your father had told me about the Evil Queen and even some others that posed threats to your kingdom. In my isolation I had forgotten that even though I was your friend I was neither a priority nor a concern if something terrible had happened so far below. I have been lonely but I haven’t been resentful. Tending to my crops and experimenting with the seeds your father had brought me once has kept me plenty occupied all these years.”

Emma’s heart seemed to stop at Anton’s mention of his crops. Logically she knew that no magic beans remained, he had told her the story of how he had razed the entire field of them during the Giant Wars. She couldn’t help the wellspring of hope that bubbled to the surface that he might have somehow been able to restore what he had once destroyed. Then her senses returned and with it the responsibility of asking for the object she actually had a chance of finding.

“Anton, I-” she hesitated, not wanting to disrupt his joy at her being there. Looking up towards his face she was surprised to find him smiling knowingly down at her. “You know I came here for something.”

“Yes, I wasn’t sure when I first pulled you off the beanstalk but even before you told me what kept you away I knew you were here with a purpose. The look on your face when you found that cloth in your bag said it all,” Anton’s smile dipped into a frown. “I don’t have any beans, if that’s what you’ve come here for.”

“It was a long shot anyway,” she said, hoping her disappointment wasn’t bleeding through. “But that’s actually not what I came up here for.”

“Really? What did you come here for?” He asked, not unkindly.

“First I need to give you something-” Emma hurriedly grabbed her pack for the mirror. She had an easier time pulling it out than her flask but she hesitated before unwrapping it from its cover, “This isn’t a bribe or an way to take what you might have to give. We, I, want you to have it. I hope it can help keep some of the loneliness at bay.”

She carefully pulled the cloth off and held the mirror up for Anton to take. He delicately pinched it between his fingers but it nearly disappeared between his thumb and forefinger. With careful movements he placed it in his other palm and looked down on it.

“It’s been enchanted,” she called up to him. “It’ll show you anything you want to see in the realm. You just- you just have to ask.”

“This is wonderful, Princess, a bit small but wonderful!” Anton said as he lowered his hand. He studied her closely, “I would have given you anything you asked for even without this marvelous gift. So, what are you looking for?”

“A compass, it’s enchanted like the mirror to help with travelling between realms. My uncle saw it here, when he… was here. I know it’s been a long time and I know that it might not even be here but I had to try. It’s my only chance to find what Zelena took from me.”

Emma knew she was on the verge of a breakdown. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and felt as though everything was closing in on her. It took all her strength to keep her head up and prepare herself for what Anton had to say.

“I have it, I’m not sure where but I do have it, Princess,” Anton said as Emma nearly collapsed in relief. She almost missed what he said next, “How will you use it? I have no beans.”

“My mother and others are back at our castle looking for anything that can lead us to one,” she said breathlessly, shaking with joy.

“Why not use the mirror?”

“What?” Emma stilled in shock.

“The mirror can show you anything you want to see in right? Why not ask it to show you where to find a bean?” Anton asked sounding confused.

“I… we… no one thought of that,” she whispered, shaking her head at the obviousness of it.

“Go ahead-” Anton placed his palm with the mirror next to her, “Ask.”

Emma picked up the mirror with an unsteady hand and a pounding heart, “Please, show me where to find a bean.”

The surface of the mirror rippled like it had previously but before despair could set in it cleared and Emma nearly dropped the mirror at what she saw. There reflected back at her, clear as day and unmistakable, were the achingly familiar lines of the Tarina Brooke.

If you’d like to be tagged so you don’t miss future chapters let me know.

Tagging: @teamhook, @galadriel26

#captain swan #cs ff au #cs au ff #cs ff #ouat au ff #Savior and Scoundrel

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Tinsel Quotes

Official Website: Tinsel Quotes

• A life of mere pleasure! A little while, in the spring-time of the senses, in the sunshine of prosperity, in the jubilee of health, it may seem well enough. But how insufficient, how mean, how terrible when age comes, and sorrow, and death! A life of pleasure! What does it look like when these great changes beat against it–when the realities of eternity stream in? It looks like the fragments of a feast, when the sun shines upon the withered garlands, and the tinsel, and the overturned tables, and the dead lees of wine. – Edwin Hubbel Chapin • All great humorists are sad… I cannot help seeing beyond the tinsel of humour, and recognising the pitiful basis of jest – the world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind. – H. P. Lovecraft • An Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman were invited to a Christmas party. The Englishman brought a bag of tinsel, the Scotsman brought a bag of holly and they asked the Irishman: “What have you brought?” He said: “I brought a pair of knickers.” They asked: “What has that got to do with Christmas?” He said “They’re Carol’s.” – Frank Carson • And the sun had on a crown Wrought of gilded thistledown, And a scarf of velvet vapor And a raveled rainbow gown; And his tinsel-tangled hair Tossed and lost upon the air Was glossier and flossier Than any anywhere. – James Whitcomb Riley • At Christmas time we couldn’t afford tinsel, so we’d wait till grandpa sneezed. – Rodney Dangerfield

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Tinsel', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_tinsel').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_tinsel img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Christmas can be celebrated in the school room with pine trees, tinsel and reindeers, but there must be no mention of the man whose birthday is being celebrated. One wonders how a teacher would answer if a student asked why it was called Christmas. – Ronald Reagan • Christmas is not in tinsel and lights and outward show. The secret lies in an inner glow. It’s lighting a fire inside the heart. Good will and joy a vital part. It’s higher thought and a greater plan. It’s glorious dream in the soul of man. – Wilferd Peterson • For instance,” said the boy again, “if Christmas trees were people and people were Christmas trees, we’d all be chopped down, put up in the living room, and covered in tinsel, while the trees opened our presents.” “What does that have to do with it?” asked Milo. “Nothing at all,” he answered, “but it’s an interesting possibility, don’t you think? – Norton Juster • Go out of the house to see the moon, and ‘t is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey. The beauty that shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, who could ever clutch it? Go forth to find it, and it is gone: ‘t is only a mirage as you look from the windows of diligence. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Go out of the house to see the moon, and’t is mere tinsel; it will not please as when its light shines upon your necessary journey. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of “parties” with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter – they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship – but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering. – Sylvia Plath • How is Christmas regarded today? The legend of Santa Claus, the Christmas tree, the decorations of tinsel and mistletoe, and the giving of gifts all express to us the spirit of the day we celebrate; but the true spirit of Christmas lies much deeper than these. It is found in the life of the Savior, in the principles He taught, in His atoning sacrifice-which become our great heritage. – Howard W. Hunter • I believe the message in the hymn “Rise Up, O Men of God” (Hymns, no. 324) is a plea, a call, a divine invitation for us to rise above the telestial tinsel of our time; to deny ourselves of ungodliness and clothe ourselves in the mantle of holiness; to reach and stretch and grasp for that spiritual direction and sacred empowerment promised to the Lord’s agents, to those charged to act in the name of our Principal, Jesus Christ; and to point the way to salvation and deliverance and peace in a world that finds itself enshrouded in darkness, a world that yearns for spiritual leadership. – Robert L. Millet • I fight against the gluttony of time with so many very amusing weapons with gestures and with three attitudes and with charming phrases; with tears and with tinsel, and with sugar-coated pills, and with platitudes slightly regilded. Yes, and I fight him also with little mirrors wherein gleam confusedly the corruptions of lust, and ruddy loyalty, and a bit of moonshine, and the pure diamond of the heart’s desire, and the opal cloudings of human compromise: but, above all, I fight that ravening dotard with the strength of my own folly. – James Branch Cabell • I knew that I would speak in the language of the vanquished No more durable than old customs, family rituals, Christmas tinsel, and once a year the hilarity of carols. – Czeslaw Milosz • If you choose the liberty and pride and strength of the single soul, and the free fraternization of men, as the purpose which your life is to make manifest then do not sell it for tinsel. Think that your soul is strong and will hold its way; and slowly, through bitter struggle perhaps the strength will grow. – Voltairine de Cleyre • In every Christian’s Heart, there is a cross and a throne, and the Christian is on the throne till he puts himself on the cross; if he refuses the cross, he remains on the throne. Perhaps this is at the bottom of the backsliding and worldliness among Gospel believers today. We want to be saved, but we insist that Christ do all the dying. No cross for us, no dethronement, no dying. We remain king within the little kingdom of man’s soul and wear our tinsel crown with all the pride of a caesar; but we doom ourselves to shadows and weakness and spiritual sterility. – Aiden Wilson Tozer • In our worship of certainty we must distinguish between the sound certainty and the sham, between what is gold and what is tinsel; and then, when certainty is attained, we must remember that it is not the only good; that we can buy it at too high a price; that there is danger in perpetual quiescence as well as in perpetual motion; and that a compromise must be found in a principle of growth. – Benjamin Cardozo • I’ve developed a way to separate myself from me being me, to me being the character. I can separate watching me, Tinsel Korey, from watching Emily – Tinsel Korey • I’ve sold shoes, hawked newspapers, jerked sodas, gazed rapturously at the tinsel dream at the end of a runway from my usher’s aisle in a burley-cue, drove a truck – then because I didn’t like being pushed around, started pushing a pencil around. – Burne Hogarth • Life would be no better than candlelight tinsel and daylight rubbish if our spirits were not touched by what has been. – George Eliot • Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them. Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed. I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room. The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love. My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted. – Rabindranath Tagore • Oh, heart, let’s never grow too old To smile anew, when Christmas comes, At tassels red and tinsel thread, And tarlatan bags f sugarplums. – Nancy Byrd Turner • Oho, now I know what you are. You are an advocate of Useful Knowledge…. Well, allow me to introduce myself to you as an advocate of Ornamental Knowledge. You like the mind to be a neat machine, equipped to work efficiently, if narrowly, and with no extra bits or useless parts. I like the mind to be a dustbin of scraps of brilliant fabric, odd gems, worthless but fascinating curiosities, tinsel, quaint bits of carving, and a reasonable amount of healthy dirt. Shake the machine and it goes out of order; shake the dustbin and it adjusts itself beautifully to its new position. – Robertson Davies • Popularity – a piece of faded tinsel, that is out of date. – Victor Hugo • She’s not my type,’ Carter says. ‘So what is your type?’ ‘Tall, skinny, black hair, blue eyes, freckly nose. Blue tinsel wig and snowflakes optional.’ ‘Skinny?’ I squeal. ‘Definitely. Pretending to be shy, sensible and stand-offish when really you’re mad about me.’ ‘You sure about that?’ ‘No, but I’m hoping. – Cathy Cassidy • Silent night, holy night, when the bough flies from the tree and is hung everywhere, when from tables the crusts fly, when the gifts begin to tremble because lovelessness walks through the world, because it snarls at you, barks at you from the snow, and the silver ribbons rip and the tinsel rustles silvery, and the silver and gold, and a golden word come to you on which you choke because you have been sold and betrayed, and because it does not suffice that for you one is redeemed who once died. – Ingeborg Bachmann • someone had tried to warn me of the kind of catastrophe that is likely to occur when you involve yourself too closely in one of those destinies that is ringed around by the transient tinsel of human applause. – Mary Deasy • Strip away the phony tinsel of Hollywood and you’ll find the real tinsel underneath. – Oscar Levant • The ribbons! The wrappings! The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings! – Dr. Seuss • There is a frantic race to merchandise tinsel and trash under the guise of ‘modernism.’ – Raymond Loewy • This barren verbiage, current among men, Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. – Alfred Lord Tennyson • Thought is a garment and the soul’s a bride That cannot in that trash and tinsel hide: Hatred of God may bring the soul to God. – William Butler Yeats • Time, which runs through the world like an endless tinsel thread, seemed to pass through the centre of this room and through the centre of these people and suddenly to pause and petrify, stiff, still and glittering… and the objects in the room drew a little closer together. – Robert Musil • Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason. – Wallace Stevens • Tinsel is really snakes’ mirrors. – Steven Wright • Titles are tinsel, power a corrupter, glorya bubble, and excessive wealth a libel on its possessor. – Percy Bysshe Shelley • Unfortunately, the headlights of the car were bright enough for them to see Mae’s outfit quite clearly. “Oh my God,” said Nick, and shut his eyes. Jamie gave a small, nervous laugh. “What?” Mae demanded. “Alan told us that we were supposed to dress as we truly are!” “And you felt that what you truly are is a Christmas tree with too much tinsel.” Nick grinned. “Huh. – Sarah Rees Brennan • We expect too much at Christmas. It’s got to be magical. It’s got to go right. Feasting. Fun. The perfect present. All that anticipation. Take it easy. Love’s the thing. The rest is tinsel. – Pam Brown • You couldn’t make yourself stop feeling a certain way, no matter what the other person did. You had to just wait. Eventually the feeling went away because others came along. Or sometimes it didn’t go away but got squeezed into something tiny, and hung like a piece of tinsel in the back of your mind. – Elizabeth Strout

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Tinsel Quotes

Official Website: Tinsel Quotes

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torentialtribute · 6 years ago

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MARTIN SAMUEL: Sorry Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, you might be advised to stick to promises you can keep

On the day that Manchester United signed Alexis Sanchez it looked a great deal. The same with Radamel Falcao .

Everybody happy, everybody very excited. Eric Bailly – he was going to be a monster in the Premier League .

Angel Di Maria would rip defenses apart. And nobody stood a chance against a midfield patrolled by Fred.

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer has vowed to spend Manchester United's money wisely this summer

That's the problem with the transfer market. It's not an exact science. So when Ole Gunnar Solskjaer pledges to spend Manchester United's money wisely this summer, he might be advised to stick to promises he can keep.

Playing the youngsters, playing the Manchester United way, playing with a smile in a manner that best represents the club – these may sound like cliches but they are achievable objectives.

Playing the market – well, that's different. There is not a Manchester United manager who set out to waste money. Not a manager who did not consider his deals good ideas at the time.

Do you think Jose Mourinho imagined his relationship with Paul Pogba ending up in a stand-off? Did Louis van Gaal ever consider the best from Memphis Depay?

When Sanchez arrived at Old Trafford just over a year ago, it looked like an incredible coup, a Pep Guardiola player stolen from under his nose

Now, Sanchez seems to be the one man Solskjaer has given up on reviving, his main contribution the obliteration of the wage structure, meaning every new negotiation is subject to Alexis levy as players demand a semblance of parity with his £ 500,000 weekly wage.

Right there is the treachery of the market. Before several individuals, most particularly Pogba, came good under Solskjaer, United's transfer dealings were considered to have ended their fixation with marquee names.

The likes of Pogba, Sanchez and Fred really had spoiled it for everyone. Solskjaer has insisted from the start that United need not rely on stellar signings; but being frugal does not necessarily equate to wisdom or success, either.

When Alexis Sanchez arrived at Old Trafford just over a year ago, it looked an incredible coup

Remember Mats Moller Daehli, Jo Inge Berget, Magnus Wolff Oak brake or Cala? Solskjaer surely does. He signed each one in the January window while with Cardiff in 2014. "Solskjaer was instrumental in attracting top professionals who have the experience and willpower to make an immediate impact," gushed chief executive Simon Lim at the time.

What happened next? Cardiff dropped, Solskjaer left and the majority of his signings were gone by the following January. He brought in seven players and only Fabio and Kenwyne Jones spent a full season with the club.

When a Welsh publication listed the saus 25 signings in Cardiff's history, Solskjaer accounted for 12 per cent of them – not bad for a manager who was in charge for 30 games.

On Tuesday night Solskjaer will experience his second match as United's permanent manager at the home of a club that has played the market like a Stradivarius these past two seasons. Wolves have got it right, largely by forging a relationship with an influential agent working closely with the coach.

Solskjaer, by contrast, has Ed Woodward, a man widely mocked as the least competent negotiator in the country, until David Davis took charge of Brexit.

Ed Woodward has been blamed for a lot of United's recent failings in the transfer market

In Woodward's defense, Fred or Sanchez had lived up to their billing – or price – Woodward would have been hailed as the mastermind who spirited them away from Manchester City, against the odds.

instead he is picking up the tab for the world's costliest reserves. Woodward's heart must have leaps when Solskjaer promised to relieve him of that responsibility.

Yet promises, promises. Solskjaer may have conducted a winning charm offensive to go with his impressive results, but he cannot guarantee his buys will fly, too. No manager can, not even Sir Alex Ferguson.

How many goalkeepers before being alighted on Edwin van der Sar? The lesson from history is plain. Win the trophies and they'll let you write off a few. Solskjaer had at Cardiff, but nobody's perfect.

Maurizio Sarri was most indignant when asked why he didn't bothered watching all of Callum Hudson-Odoi's debut for England last week.

"I saw only 20 minutes," he said. "I had 14 players in the national teams and I had no time to watch 20 matches."

Do you know how many players Sarri played Hudson-Odoi in arguably the biggest game of his life ? Not 14, but two. N'Golo Kante and Olivier Giroud.

And maybe Sarri is still learning about a pair who won the World Cup last July, but the fact is he could have watched a combined 171 minutes of them in action for France in Moldova on Friday, March 22, and still seen all of Hudson-Odoi's first England starts three days later.

Maurizio Sarri claimed only watched 20 minutes of Callum Hudson-Odoi's England debut

Far from having 14 in action in the international break, Chelsea had 10 who featured, including Hudson-Odoi and Ross Barkley.

Of those, Kepa Arrizabalaga, Antonio Rudiger, Andreas Christensen, Jorginho, Eden Hazard and Mateo Kovacic could not have been prevented Sarri viewing Hudson-Odoi because their countries did not play on the same night.

The only nation to have both Chelsea players and fixtures that clashed with England's games were France. So, as Sarri admits seeing just 20 minutes of Hudson-Odoi, that means he spent 70 watching a midfielder and center forward playing for the world champions at home to Iceland.

Maybe he didn't watch any of it , and went down the pub. Frankly, he couldn't look less interested in Hudson-Odoi's progress if he'd spent two weeks plastered in the Anglesea Arms. No wonder the player wants out.

It is often possible to have sympathy for the football authorities about the limitations of fit and proper person testing.

After all, fans are given to see any new buyer as a savior, even when the problems seem obvious from the outside.

Many of the owners now considered rogues in the Football League were once viewed positively. They were going to take the club to the next level. They had big plans, bold ideas.

And then there is Laurence Bassini. This is a man who has been declared bankrupt twice. An independent disciplinary commission found him guilty of misconduct and dishonesty related to his time in charge of Watford, and he was banned from holding a position of authority at any Football League club for three years.

Bolton are in takeover talks with twice-bankrupt former Watford owner Laurence Bassini (2nd R)

Yet here he is closing in on a takeover at Bolton – apparently without opposition from the governing body. This time there can be no hiding place if it goes wrong.

The Football League knows exactly what they've got with Bassini; and they are responsible for whatever happens next. A fit and proper person test should not just apply to owners.

The Football Association is to rebrand to rid itself of arrogance and win the right to host the 2030 World Cup.

They obviously don It's irony about at Wembley. Far more arrogant than any historical term is the idea that Britain should claim the centenary edition of a competition it wanted no part of in 1930.

The first World Cup was a hero in South America and that's where it should return : in part to Uruguay, the original hosts, but also to neighboring Argentina, and maybe Chile and Paraguay, too, if the bloated 48-team format makes it unwieldy for just two CONMEBOL nations.

For England to try to muscle in seems rather superior; the actions of a country that thinks, because it invented the game, it merits special treatment – no different to calling itself the Football Association, in fact.

The new name – the English Football Association – will be chief executive Martin Glenn's parting gift to the organization.

He has never liked being part of the plain old FA, even if it is no different to other unadorned events and administrations that celebrate being the first – the Open Championship, the Masters Tournament, the Rugby Football Union, Barcelona.

Glenn says he felt embarrassed introducing himself as from the Football Association. He thought it begged the question, "What Football Association?" It didn't.

The move to rebrand the FA clearly has a possible bid for the 2030 World Cup in mind

There was only one Football Association and every other nation followed its blueprint.

If FIFA, and the rest of football, was not populated by self-important, petty little twerps, they would accept this and move on. Instead, the FA have been shamed into denying 155 years of history to stroke their egos. Yet they will never be free of the presumption of arrogance.

It was the first accusation raised locally in the aftermath of the racist barrage against England's players in Montenegro. The arrogant English causing trouble again.

Now, with a new brand name, the English Football Association will eschew all such notions. And in doing so, host the centenary celebrations for a tournament it snubbed for 20 years until 1950.

Not that we're arrogant, you understand.

James McClean had a message for those young players such as Declan Rice, Jack Grealish and Michael Keane who have deserted the Republic of Ireland for England.

'If you're not proud to be here, and you're just a stepping stone, then sod off and play for someone else, "he said. It rather ignored the fact that this is exactly what they have done, and nobody in Ireland seems very pleased.

McClean may wish to direct his fire closer to home. If the Football Association of Ireland did not aggressively pursue English-born players at an early age, they would not be dealing with so many teenage identity issues.

Ireland's policy causes this problem; 14-year-olds don't have grand career plans around international football, and don't see stepping stones, only opportunities.

April 26 will mark two years since Maria Sharapova returned to the WTA Tour following her doping suspension, yet she has never been back inside the top 20 and has become increasingly injury prone.

It is certainly a mystery that she has recovered from her form, almost as if there is an ingredient missing from her game

Maria Sharapova has become increasingly injured prone since returning from her doping ban

Tottenham's big day arrives on Wednesday, and with an excuse for a detour along memory lane. August 23, 1978, also brought a landmark midweek fixture for the club.

It was the home debut of their summer signings, Ossie Ardiles and Ricky Villa, World Cup winners with Argentina and English football's most exotic imports.

I was 14. Tickets were impossible to find, and Spurs weren't our team, but my dad and grandad never missed a match like that. Stan Flashman would have tickets. They were customers of old. It would be pricey, but we were getting in.

Sure enough, Stan was in his usual spot, but even by touts ’standards the money was crazy. Not just twice the face value, but maybe five times.

My grandad, a gambler for whom the phrase "now is the time to be like one" was invented, had a proposal. "Tell you what, Stan," he said. "Toss you for them. Double or quits. "

Now five times the face was 10 times the face – or nothing.

Ossie Ardiles runs out on the Tottenham pitch at White Hart Lane in 1978

Interesting. Stan liked almost as much as the old man did. He agreed. The coin hit the pavement and rolled. There were about 20 or us chasing it, the majority just for the sport.

It fell on our side. Stan virtually threw the tickets our way and told us to f *** off. We get used to laughing. White Hart Lane was buzzing and so were we. Nearly 48,000 were crammed inside. What a night. The Argentines came out to a ticker tape reception, just like Buenos Aires.

In the midfield beside them, Glenn Hoddle and Peter Taylor. The atmosphere was incredible. Final score: Tottenham Hotspur 1 Aston Villa 4. They got beat 7-0 at Liverpool 10 days later.

Just in case you think it's all going a bit 'Spursy' is a modern thing.

Nick Rust, chief executive of the British Horseracing Authority, won few friends in the industry when he was considered to have compared National Hunt to bloodsports and other forms of animal cruelty. He did nothing of the sort.

When he referenced "hunting, coursing, circuses, sea life and dolphins" he was talking about public attitudes. He argued that if racing did not recognize changes in society, it could find itself, ruinously, in the same unwelcome bracket. Rest had a point.

All eyes will be on Aintree this week and equine folk cannot afford to be again blase on the issue of horse welfare.

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#MARTIN SAMUEL: Sorry Ole Gunnar Solskjaer #you might be advised to stick to promises you can keep"

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evangelistopamfo · 6 years ago

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FEB 1ST, 2019-HOW TO PRAY DEEPLY

February 1

Deeper Love

Bible in a Year:

Exodus 27–28; Matthew 21:1–22

God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

COMMENT

JOURNAL

Today's Scripture & Insight:

1 Peter 4:7-11

When they first met, Edwin Stanton snubbed US president Abraham Lincoln personally and professionally—even referring to him as a “long-armed creature.” But Lincoln appreciated Stanton’s abilities and chose to forgive him, eventually appointing Stanton to a vital cabinet position during the Civil War. Stanton later grew to love Lincoln as a friend. It was Stanton who sat by Lincoln’s bed throughout the night after the president was shot at Ford’s Theater and whispered through tears on his passing, “Now he belongs to the ages.”

Reconciliation is a beautiful thing. The apostle Peter pointed followers of Jesus there when he wrote, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins” (1 Peter 4:8). Peter’s words cause me to wonder if he was thinking of his own denial of Jesus (Luke 22:54–62) and the forgiveness Jesus offered him (and us) through the cross.

The deep love Jesus demonstrated through His death on the cross frees us from the debt for our sins and opens the way for our reconciliation with God (Colossians 1:19–20). His forgiveness empowers us to forgive others as we realize we can’t forgive in our own strength and ask Him to help us. When we love others because our Savior loves them and forgive because He has forgiven us, God gives us strength to let go of the past and walk forward with Him into beautiful new places of grace.

By James Banks

Sophisticated Child Sacrifice

Posted: 31 Jan 2019 03:50 PM PST

We’re shocked by pagan child sacrifice.

But our modern culture celebrates it when it’s called “reproductive rights.”

Whenever evil acts are approved, they always escalate (

Romans 1:21-32

Previously, New York law allowed a woman to kill her unborn child up to six months of her pregnancy. Now she can kill her child any time before birth.

A New York senator said this shows that New York cares about women’s health, women's lives,* and women's decisions. (

source

)

In Old Testament times, children were sacrificed on altars of pagan gods. Now they are sacrificed on altars of selfish decisions.

God says killing our children profanes, provokes, and pollutes:

1. Profanes His name (

Leviticus 18:21

)

2. Provokes His anger (

2 Kings 17:17

3. Pollutes the land (

Psalm 106:38

My heart aches for the babies but also for the fathers and mothers who must live with the knowledge of their sin.

I pray that these mothers and fathers will turn to the Lord where they can find forgiveness, healing, and comfort (

Isaiah 1:18

Will you join me in that prayer?

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