#she spoke to. who according to her have. apparently witnessed my teaching.

[chowowed]

parent teacher conferences make me want to self combust. my district mandated ‘let parents yell in my face’ night. i promise im a good teacher i PROMISE im literally just a huge faggot in a very conservative district and people dont like that im nice.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Bon appétit - Chapter 9: Peppermint

[Astarion/Gale]

It's 2 a.m., Gale's tired and wants some food. Astarion, the cute barista/waiter at the Emerald Grove knows how to sate his cravings.

Trigger warning (18+): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, No Magic, No Vampire, No Wizard, Graphic Description of Sex, Smut, Cum Eating, Fellatio, Blowjob, Waiter Astarion, Professor Gale, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism

Served to: @patheticfangirl

Gale's new job at the Sorcerous Sundries Library was less demanding and stressful than teaching at Blackstaff University, and he was definitely overqualified. Of course, this had a major impact on his salary; he had to reckon with a hefty pay cut. But that was fine with him. Gale took comfort in the fact that at least he wasn't unemployed anymore and was surrounded by books all day long. Digitalisation came in handy too; thanks to all the online libraries, none of his former students visited Sorcerous Sundries. This revelation, to his own surprise, filled Gale with utter relief. Plus, he had made new friends with Jen and Tolna, two of his co-workers. Jen was his favourite. The goth woman was a few years younger than him, but utterly unbothered by anything and everything. She was fun to be around, and her snark was rivalling Astarion's. As it turned out, Lae'zel, the sour-faced barista/waitress at the Emerald Grove, was her girlfriend. The four of them had gone on a few double dates and had made some abiding memories.

Tolna was a few years older than Gale, took her job far too seriously, only spoke in a whisper, and seemed slightly paranoid. But she was the best source for book recommendations and the only one in the library who'd listen to Gale's endless rambling without getting annoyed by it.

Ramazith, Cordane, and Rolan were different stories. Ramazith was the doddery head of the library. He usually holed up in his office and rarely blessed them with his presence. Cordane was an old, chronically grumpy sod who's hobby was to yell at his co-workers for slacking off and taking their permitted breaks. Rolan was the youngest of the bunch, but the most arrogant, always waltzing around like he owned the place and knew best - which was obviously not the case. Apparently, he had a serious crush on Gale, according to Jen.

Taking all this into consideration, Gale decided to stick with Jen and Tolna to keep the peace.

A few weeks into his new job as a librarian, Gale was sorting books in the history section, humming contently.

"Gale?"

The addressed almost dropped the books in his hands when he heard the too-familiar voice. Shocked, he turned around, heart pounding painfully against his ribs.

"Wyll..."

He was immediately wrapped in a tight hug.

"God, Gale! I was so incredibly worried about you," his former best friend told him, causing the addressed to tear up. "I'm so sorry I didn't contact you for so long, but Mizora said that it would ruin my father's reputation if people witness us together after your departure from Blackstaff."

Gale hummed non-committally.

Wyll's father, Ulder Ravengard, was the city's governing mayor and worked really hard on his likeable, polished image. It put Wyll under immense pressure regarding his private and public life, and he'd been forced into the poster child role. Mizora's job was to keep it that way. It was a hush-hush fact that she and Wyll were in a turbulent, passionate on-off relationship. Wyll had cried about it to Gale as often as the latter had cried about Mystra to the former whenever they'd met up after work and had gotten utterly shit-faced.

"I'm sorry, I should have visited you despite everything."

Wyll was still going on, word-vomiting, releasing all his pent-up emotions. Gale patted his friend's shoulder with a sigh. They weren't too dissimilar.

"It's alright, Wyll," he told him sincerely. "I understand why you didn't reach out. I'm doing fine. Fantastic actually."

"You do?"

Wyll drew back and looked at him, questioningly, and Gale nodded, in the mood to indulge his friend.

"I could have hit rock bottom after the divorce, Mystra's false accusations, and the layoff that followed, but I was saved, you know? By the most wonderful person I've ever met, no offense, and we're engaged now. To be honest, I felt sorry for myself for some time, understandably so, and I was worried about the future, but thankfully, everything turned out alright."

"Really? You're happy here?" Wyll gestured at the library around them. "I thought teaching's your life."

"It was," nodded Gale. "It still is, I think, but beggars can't be choosers. Plus, I really do like working here, Wyll. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm truly happy and made peace with my situation."

The addressed smiled softly, the relief clearly visible on his face.

"I've always admired your strength," Wyll told him. "You're a force of nature, my friend, and I'm so glad you're doing alright. I'd like to invite you for lunch or dinner some time and properly apologise to you. I know I've failed you as a friend and I'd like to make it up to you. If you're willing."

"Ready and willing," grinned Gale. "Apology excepted. But this time, I will choose the wine."

Wyll laughed at that with all his heart, throwing his head back.

"Shhhh!" hissed Tolna.

"Silence!" yelled Cordane across the room.

"Sorry!" Wyll echoed back, making Tolna glare at him. Gale bit his lip to keep from laughing. Now, Wyll looked at him with mirth in his dark eyes.

"I missed you, Gale," he revealed.

"I missed you too, Wyll."

They hugged again before Gale gave his old friend his new phone number.

"I'm looking forward to get drunk with you once more," Wyll grinned, winking. "That's the only time, you spill the beans."

"Thankfully, you always only remember half of it the next day," teased Gale. With another carefree laugh, Wyll went his marry way, leaving the library. Chuckling, Gale shook his head before going back to sorting the books.

It was a cold, rainy day in March when Gale was condemned to re-arrange the cookbook section. Nobody borrowed them anymore, everything could be looked up with a couple of click on the internet and BooTube from the safety of one's home. Understandable though. Thus, this part of the library was basically dead.

Tirelessly, Gale pulled the books from the shelves, looking them over for flaws, and rearranged them accordingly. He was so focused on his work that he didn't realised someone was creeping up on him.

"It's hot to watch you work," Astarion mused as he was casually leaning against one of the shelves. Gale jumped with a gasp and reflexive placed a hand on his heart.

"God, Astarion, please don't sneak up on me!"

"It's not my fault you didn't hear me," smirked the addressed, teasingly. Gale glared at him half-heartedly until Astarion moved over and kissed the frown away.

"Hello, darling," purred the blond. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, and you?"

"Good - especially now that I'm holding you in my arms."

"Charmer," chuckled Gale, but blushed nevertheless. "Is there a reason you're blessing me with your presence?"

"Do I need a reason to see my soon-to-be husband?" Astarion quipped, kissing Gale again.

"Mmh, no."

"I brought you a coffee though."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Gale smiled knowingly into his to-go coffee cup when Astarion's breath hitched and his ears flushed bright pink. The term of endearment was his only weapon against Astarion's sharp tongue and quick-wittedness.

Now, the blond glanced around before pushing Gale up against the book truck and kissing him breathless.

"I missed you," Astarion purred into his ear. "Be quiet now, my love."

He dropped onto his knees and pulled down Gale's zipper and boxers to free his dick. The latter stared at him, shocked.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "Stop it. Someone could see us!"

"I doubt it. The library's as dead as a dodo. Just keep your voice down, or else your co-workers will come running to your rescue," retorted Astarion, grinning like the cat that got the canary. Gale couldn't say anything further since his fiancé got his mouth around his half-boner enthusiastically. All Gale could do, was hold on, keep quiet, and endure. He couldn't lie though; it was incredibly hot to watched Astarion suck him off. Gale gritted his teeth, trying his damn best to keep quiet, exhaling sharply through his nose. Fuck, Astarion was too good at this. Gale leaned his head back to keep his composure. It snapped sideways when he heard a cut-off gasp. Rolan stood behind one of the shelves, staring at them, completely flushed, with a noticeable tent in his trousers. The young man's eyes widened when he realised he'd been caught. Gale though reacted differently than expected. Instead of feeling embarrassed, or calling Rolan out, he simply smirked and placed an index finger on his lips. Staring directly at the cocky, young co-worker, he rumpled: "You're doing so well, sweetheart. You're too good to me."

Astarion whined lowly and redoubled his efforts. Amused, Gale watched as Rolan pushed a hand down the front of his jeans to touch himself. The brunet threw his head back, moaning lowly.

"God, your mouth's divine."

Astarion swallowed around him, cramming Gale's entire dick down his throat. Humming, the brunet gently wiped a stray tear from that beautiful, pale face.

"So perfect for me, sweetheart," he whispered, and Astarion immediately relaxed, slacking his jaw. From the corner of his eye, Gale witness how Rolan pulled his cock out and started jerking himself off feverishly. With a sigh, Gale gently tugged on the hair on the nape of Astarion's neck in a warning before spilling into his beautiful mouth.

"Well done, sweetheart. So good for me," he praised and tried to pull Astarion up and into a kiss, but the blond's legs buckled and he stayed on the floor. After a quick pause for thought, Gale tucked himself back into his trousers, got down on his creaking knees and kissed Astarion's soft lips, licking his own taste off his fiancé's tongue. The latter forgot himself for a second and moaned gutturally.

"Quiet, sweetheart. We don't want an audience, do we?" Gale murmured, glancing at Rolan who stifled his own noises with a fist in his mouth. Gale smirked deviously.

"You were so good to me, so perfect," he praised Astarion who looked dazed, surprised, and confused at the sudden overuse of the term of endearment. He was like putty in Gale's hands. "Let me reward you."

Gently but firmly, the librarian guided Astarion onto his back, opened his trousers, and got his mouth on him. With a gasp, Astarion bucked his hips up, his dick pushing against Gale's soft palate. The latter hummed happily and glanced over at Rolan who had collapsed onto his knees as he was stroking his leaking cock furiously. Smirking, Gale focused on the cock in his mouth - the best in the world - and put his talented tongue to work. Astarion slapped a hand over his mouth to keep the noise down as he thrusted and squirmed under Gale's attention. A long, loud moan revealed that Rolan had climaxed, and just as Astarion's head snapped to the side to catch the young librarian's shocked gaze, he came with a choked-off groan, shooting his load down Gale's willing throat. His eyes rolled back in his head and when he opened them again, Rolan had fled. The lewd sound of Gale popping off his flaccid dick made him readjust his gaze. The brunet looked smugly and Astarion had a sudden moment of enlightenment.

"You knew he was there and kept going?" he hissed accusingly, his face suddenly hot. The addressed chuckled mischievously.

"I hope he learned his lesson."

"Which was?"

Gale locked eyes with him, his gaze intense.

"To not lust after something that isn't his."

"You're so fucking hot," Astarion groaned before pulling Gale into a ferocious kiss. He'd been wrong; the library was his new favourite place.

[clawcommanderabsinthe]

Angel of Yesterday

Absinthe was walking back to the Bridge of the Curzes Revenge. Moments before she had a talk with Arden after their solo charge against the Word Bearers ended in them getting gravely wounded. She had realized how her own Plans were not only egotistical but also actively endangering her friends and Crew. And thus she had made a decision.

Bursting through the Door of the Bridge she grabbed the microphone of the Vox sytem and send a message to her crew which was currently split on their two Ships.

"Night Lords, Space Wolf, Word Bearer, Iron Warrior, Servs and Human Crew. Hear my message. I have to tell you that I was dishonest. I lied. My Goals never were to become Empress. My Goal was to die. I am no true Heretic. I never was. I can't agree with either System but I know that I still wish to protect the People who rely on Soldiers like us. Farmers, City folks no matter the age or planet. I want to save the people once more. I don't want to serve a Primarch. No Bureaucracy. No Kings and No Gods."

Absinthe became more and more passionate in her speech.

"BUT WHO I WANT TO SERVE ARE THE CHILDREN AND INNOCENT PEOPLE WHO GET PRAYED ON BY BOTH. We are no shiny Ultramarines. We are no benevolent Salamanders. We are killers, butchers. Traitors and Deserteurs. But we still can be Protectors. I will not lie to you again. Our help won't be appreciated. We will never get our own statues. But we will know that when Imperium and Chaos wanted us dead or integrated into their ranks that we protected the people while also staying ourselves!"

She stopped and sighed. "Those that wish to leave can do so freely. Those that leave can board the Deicide and leave. I will not hunt or judge you. Those that want to stay will join me on the Curzes Revenge... No. On the 'Claw of Retaliation'. Claw Commander Absinthe out."

Absinthe turned around, ready to face backlash and hate. To her surprise nothing of the sorts happened. On the contrary.

Nocturnus stepped forward. "Commander. I think I speak for everyone aboard our ships that we would go into the Warp and back with you. Look at us. We would be alone amd lost without you unifying us. You are our Leader. So lead us forward to a new path"

Absinthe saluted her crew, her friends. She truly was blind before. She didn't see how important they all were for each other. That she didn't need to find a new family. She already had one.

"I am honored to be your Commander. Okay lets go. Nocturnus. I want you to calculate a course towards the Atta system. The 8th world there is a Agriworld which will soon be attacked by Red Corsairs. We can thank our friend Anvil for this information given how long he worked with them. We will intercept them and kick Hurons sons off of that World."

Nocturnus didn't waste any time and started his calculations as Absinthe turned towards Anvil, Olaf and Pete. "Follow me"

Hours later, Absinthe was helping those 3 with preparing Drop Pods and Petes new Terminator Armor.

"Its my old Atramentar Power Armor. I don't fit into it anymore but it will serve you well. I can't think of a better Terminator than you"

"I appreciate the gesture Lord Absinthe."

Absinthe gave the Iron Warrior a short smile before turning her attention to a nearby servitor. "Prepare my Armor. And... Uh.. Put on the black cape. No skin."

---

The Agriworld of Atta 8 was peaceful even by our standards. Most potential Attackers were more interested in the nearby Ultramar Sector. That made big defensive builds unnecessary but that was a fatal flaw in this case.

The Corsairs coming was announced by rustling in the corn underneath the sapphire blue sky. A small farming town was their target. Score it and set up camp to raid the surrounding area that hosted the only spaceport of the planet. With the Sun in their back, the Corsairs landed in the fields. Their Ships looking like Blood Raven ships to the untrained and unknowing Farmers eye. Thus the Farmers didn't fear them once they stepped out. Nothing ever happened and noone expected Chaos Marines here.

"I greet you Lord Blood Angel! What makes you visit our small town?"

The Corsair Captain grinned, exposing his filthy, warp tainted Mouth. "Blood Angel huh? BOYS. APPARENTLY WE'RE BLOOD ANGELS"

The Corsairs laughter was disturbing and horrible. The farmers instantly realized that this situation could be very well their end. The Corsair Captain smirked as he revved up his Chainsword. "Oh whom should I kill first? I haven't met my Quota for Khorne yet and I don't want to keep the old man waiting hahahahahah"

The Townsfolk screamed and cried in horror as they ran. It was of course useless since Hurons Boys could just outrun them but pure instinct drove them forward.

The Pirates were about to rush after them when one of them turned to the Captain. "Boss. There are Drop Pods raining down nearby. Apparently they come from those two Night Lords Ships we picked up earlier."

"Night Lords here? What do they want here? Aren't they busy flaying on some fucking Hive World or getting killed by Tyberos or Guilliman? Ugh fine. Boys we hunt the farmers later. Let's take care of those Bat-winged idiots first."

As the Captain ended his speech the Drop Pods hitted the ground. Absinthe was the first and only to emerge. "Captain Teach i assume? I heard a lot about you and your Pirates."

"Heh. Heard that boys? The big girl called us famous. You must be that newcomer. Absinthe right? I faintly remember that you killed Captain Bellamy and his guys. Have to thank you for that. They were a thorn in my remaining eye"

Absinthe laughed. "Oh don't thank me. It will not make me spare you"

"Spare us? You and your 5 drop pods? We're 30 Marines and you are one big Night Lord plus 4. Give up lassie. Go home and flay some Prisoners"

Absinthe laughed as the sound of clicking Bolters was heard all around them. Out of the softly moving corn, more and more Night Lords stepped forth until they numbered 60. Then Pete, Olaf and Anvil emerged from their pods.

"Corsairs. I offer you a choice. Join me and fight for the people of the Galaxy or die like the Rats you are. Its your choice. Fight for a cause or die for a greedy Bastard that sees you as cannonfodder"

A moment of silence fell upon them. It felt like hours. The Corsairs thought. Then. One by one they dropped their guns and surrendered to Absinthe.

Only the Captain was too far gone. Corrupted by greed and the Warp. With loud screams he charged at Absinthe while throwing grenades behind him into the Village. "IF I CAN'T GET THE LOOT NOONE WILL"

He fell faster than he could realize that his life was over. With one fluid movement Absinthe had ripped off his disgusting head using her Lightning Claw "Protector", once a weapon of Terror used by Night Haunter it now would serve as a Tool of protection and peace.

While Absinthe stared at the dead body of the Captain, the others were busy putting out the fire the Grenades caused and building new Huts by using the Drop Pods in which the distraction came. Truth is that most of them were hiding there long before the Corsairs arrived. The corn had given them a perfect hiding spot to await Absinthes arrival so they could surround the Pirates. Everything went according to plan.

Soon the People returned. They had witnessed how the Pods dropped and returned after they were sure that the situation was peaceful.

"Thank you for saving us Master.", the elderly Man that greeted the Corsairs earlier now spoke to Absinthe. "What legion do you belong to?"

Absinthe sighed and removed the Cape she had put over her Shoulder to hide her Legions insignia. "I am Claw Commander Absinthe the Orphanmaker. Leader of the Night Lords 1st Claw."

Absinthe was prepared for screaming and attacks of hatred against her but all she got was a chuckle from the old man. "Orphanmaker? That doesn't seem fitting at all for someone as benevolent as you! You protected us and made us new Homes until we can rebuild our regular houses. Think about it my Lord"

Absinthe was surprised but smiled. "I will. Goodbye old Man. And tell noone of this. The Inquisition would execute you all probably."

"We won't spill a word", the elder and the entire village made a gesture as if they lock their mouths with a key and throwing the key away. A gesture Absinthe knew from Nostramo but remembered that it originated on Terra. As Absinthe turned around to leave, a small child. A girl no older than 7 approached her, trying to give her a doll made from straw and fabric. Absinthe kneeled down and smiled.

"That's a beautiful doll. Thank you. I'll make sure that she gets a nice place on my ship. I promise"

Absinthe and her men then returned to their Thunderhawks as well as the two new the Corsairs left behind when joining the 1st Claws Ranks. Only the Drop Pods were left behind and told the Story of the Night Lords that came to protect.

------

Later that Day. On the Bridge of the Claw of Retaliation, Absinthe was sitting in her command seat, holding the small doll in her hands and thinking about the mission and the gratitude the people expressed.

Nocturnus approached her after he took note of all losses and captures of the Strike. "That was good work Commander. We got new Soldiers, Gear and Thunderhawks. The Drop Pods can be replac....you look as if something is worrying you"

"Not worrying...just..that old man and the kid. They are right. Orphanmaker is a bad name for someone who wishes to help and protect People instead of killing and terrorizing them"

Nocturnus nodded. "Yeah. Hmm...What about Angel of Yesterday?"

Absinthe chuckled. "What? Nocturnus don't make me laugh. That's... What does arden always say? Cheesy?"

"No no. Think about it. You have returned into this world after 10000 years. You live after ideals that are nearly forgotten but to the People, to those you wish to protect, you are a Angel by living these ideals. Think about it. Goodnight Commander."

With that, Nocturnus left the bridge to Absinthe and the Servitors and humans that keep the ship on track.

"Angel of Yesterday.....heh. yeah...i can be that", The doll was placed on the command seat as Absinthe left for her quarters.

(@slaanesh-is-my-boy and @chapter-master-darius as promised I tagged you guys because you voted for the Corsairs)

[jarienn972]

I Remember it Well

I know that I should have been working on the last chapter of my CSSNS story, A Simple Spell, but whether it was due to the influence of Valentine’s Day last week or thoughts of my own wedding anniversary this week, this little bit of angsty fluff got stuck in my head and I just had to write it.  This is a little flashback AU where Deputy Emma Swan reminiscences about the fateful Valentine's Day when responding to a serious accident became more than just a job. It’s mostly fluff but there is some mildly graphic description of a vehicle accident and it's aftermath.  It’s intentionally a little choppy as I wanted it to read like little bits of memories popping into Emma’s head. (This was as a quick write and is unbeta'd so please forgive any typos. Edited to add links.)

AO3  FF.net

She should have been getting dressed but couldn’t get that afternoon out of her mind for some reason.  The afternoon that had changed everything about how she’d perceived Killian Jones and her memories of the incident that brought them together were just as vivid now as they’d been three years ago.

Three years ago tonight. The anniversary of that fateful day and her brain wanted her to experience it all over again.  The day she’d nearly lost the love of her life before she’d even found him.

2017

Of course she was the one stuck working on Valentine’s Day.  She was the only deputy in the Storybrooke, Maine Sheriff’s department who was single and everyone knew that Emma Swan didn’t have a date.  She wasn’t really resentful of the fact that she was single or the fact that she’d been scheduled to work tonight, it was more hurtful that everybody just automatically assumed she’d be spending another Valentine’s alone.  

She’d had boyfriends.  A few of them, at least. So she hadn’t dated anyone steady since high school… It wasn’t that big of a deal.  She could have found a date for tonight if she’d wanted to, but she hadn’t bothered. David and his wife Mary Margaret were expecting so this would be their last Valentine’s Day without needing a babysitter for the next decade.  Emma wouldn’t have denied them a quiet evening. And Graham - he and Ruby had been getting pretty serious since they’d started dating last fall and because Ruby was one of her best friends, Emma couldn’t say no to her. (And she’d get all of the salacious details later because Ruby wasn’t one to keep exploits to herself.  The stories that girl could tell!)

So, here she was - sitting at her desk listening to her fellow deputies hash out their lovey-dovey plans for tonight while she’d be here awaiting the inevitable drunken domestic disturbance calls later when romantic plans begin to go awry.  It was almost an annual event that her buddy, Leroy, would be spending the night sobering up in holding. Ah the things she had to look forward to she mused as she overheard David confirming a dinner reservation at Tony’s.

The call came in at a little after 4 that afternoon.  Car versus motorcycle on Main Street. According to the eyewitness who phoned in the report, there were serious injuries involved.  An ambulance had already been dispatched to the scene by the 911 operator and they needed law enforcement. Emma already knew all of this though because the accident site was only a block and a half from the Sheriff’s station.  She’d heard the squealing tires and the dull thud that followed. Seconds later, she was out the door trying to see what had happened while concerned citizens rushed toward the accident scene. Emma’s radio crackled with information relayed by the emergency operator, but she was already seeing the events unfolding before her as she elbowed her way to the front of the crowd.

Half of the population of Storybrooke must have been gathered in the street, blocking her view.  The first thing she could make out was the smashed rear door on the driver’s side of a dark blue sedan.  The young woman who’d apparently been driving the vehicle was standing off to the side, visibly shaken as strangers attempted to calm her.  It wasn’t until Emma shoved her way into the clearing that she noticed the mangled motorcycle and the unfortunate man pinned beneath it.  

The bike’s front axle and wheel were bent nearly 90 degrees from where they should have been.  One of the handlebars had been sheared off along with the mirror and the windshield was shattered, but that wasn’t the worst of the carnage.  Most of the body of the motorcycle was resting atop its unconscious operator’s leather-clad left leg. The way the victim was laying in the street suggested that he’d made a drastic turn to the left in hopes of avoiding colliding with the car head on but there was no doubt that he’d suffered the brunt of it.

Emma had immediately known the man’s identity.  She’d recognized what was left of the Harley Davidson’s custom paint job - the skull and crossbones flag emblazoned across the fuel tank.  She also knew that jet black leather jacket. The one that belonged to the retired Royal Navy lieutenant turned History teacher, Killian Jones.  He’d only been in Storybrooke for a couple of years, having accepted a teaching position here after leaving the Royal Navy. Her path had only crossed with the handsome Englishman’s a few times but she knew he was a loner who lived on a boat down at the harbor.  By all accounts, he was an excellent teacher who spoke at least 5 languages, but he kept to himself outside of the school. Rumor had it that he had a dark past, but Emma had only seen a brooding, not very social introvert who either took to the local highways on his motorcycle or sailed out into the open sea every weekend.  No one had really gotten close enough to ask why.

She tasked herself with crowd control as Storybrooke’s lone fire truck and paramedic unit arrived on scene.  She shouted at gawkers to move back to the sidewalk until her voice was hoarse. Why were people so obnoxious?  She made sure that the rescue crews had plenty of room to do their job as she tried to interview witnesses for her report.  So far, all of the stories were the same: teenager driving the sedan had made a left turn onto Main Street from 2nd Avenue but hadn’t seen the motorcycle.  She’d tried to stop but was already too far into the intersection. Jones had swerved to not strike the vehicle head on, but couldn’t escape her path in time. He’d broadsided the vehicle with his bike, rotating the front axle further than mechanical limits allowed before it toppled over onto his leg, pinning him to the asphalt.

It had been no easy feat to remove the motorcycle wreckage from atop Killian Jones’ leg, but with the assistance of a tow truck winch, the rescue crew freed him about twenty minutes later.  Paramedics did their best to immobilize him until they could get a clearer look at his injuries, finding his left leg twisted unnaturally and unsurprisingly fractured just below the knee. They maneuvered him cautiously onto his back, suspecting fractured ribs that had possibly punctured his lung.  They placed a stiff plastic collar around his neck to stabilize his head before even attempting to remove his helmet although his head seemed the least problematic at the moment.  

The injury that most concerned them had been hidden from view until Jones had been rolled onto his back and even from her vantage point, Emma could see it.  When the motorcycle had struck the pavement at nearly 20MPH, the same force that had torn off the left handlebar and side mirror had also severed Jones’ left hand at the wrist.  Emma’s breath hitched in her chest for a few seconds at the macabre sight before her. Her heart was suddenly breaking for this man she barely knew as she and the rescue crew did their best to keep onlookers back.  

In minutes, the paramedics had him loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance and whisked him off to Storybrooke hospital.  Emma had to remain at the accident scene for another half an hour while the damaged car and totaled motorcycle were carted away.  She took photographs of the scene before anything was removed, then helped sweep up the broken safety glass and metal shards littering the street.  Nearly an hour after the accident had occurred, she had to write out the traffic ticket and hand it to the traumatized teenaged driver before releasing the girl to her parents and opening the street to traffic again.  Good thing this was a small town so she didn’t have to contend with a gridlock of other vehicles. Now the folks of Storybrooke could get back to their regularly scheduled Valentine’s Day plans while she returned to the station to write up her report.  

**********

Long after her reports were filed and the station was locked up for the night, Emma found herself nearly dozing off in the hospital’s waiting room.  Officially, she was here to get a statement from Killian Jones when he was coherent enough to answer her questions. But that wasn’t the only reason she was sitting here at nearly 11PM on Valentine’s night.  She just felt compelled to be here. Was it pity that he had no family to check in on him or was she feeling something else?   She hardly knew him. She should be heading home after a long day at work - a day made even longer by the accident investigation and clean up... and all of those witness statements… What was she doing here?

She’d nearly drifted off to sleep when a nurse approached to let her know that Jones was alert.  He was still in serious condition with three fractured ribs, a punctured left lung and ruptured spleen.  What resonated with her most was the fact that the surgeon couldn’t reattach his severed hand. Emma would be allowed a few minutes to get a statement, but she was warned that he’d probably be a little drowsy and might not be able to recall much of his ordeal.  She didn’t really care though. In truth, she had all of the information she needed. She knew he wasn’t at fault for the accident. Maybe she just needed to tell him that in person...

Maybe she just needed to see for herself that he was going to be alright.

Emma wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just lying there with his eyes closed when she entered the room so she pushed the door closed as quietly as she could. She took a seat in a chair at the foot of the bed and just watched him for a few minutes.  Even battered and bruised, he was still roguishly handsome and she had to chastise herself for staring (although if teachers had looked like this when she was in school, maybe she’d have actually paid attention).  

Killian took a deep breath, grimacing at the accompanying discomfort.  He recalled someone in blue scrubs telling him about broken ribs and something about a punctured lung, but the morphine-induced haze in his brain wasn’t processing everything yet.  There were flashes of a car and perhaps a collision? That was why everything hurt, right? He could hear a faint beeping sound off to his left and something was making his hand itchy.  His eyes flickered open to take in his surroundings and he immediately remembered he was in a hospital room - and he wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed by his bedraggled appearance or grateful for the company as he noticed the woman across the room.  An awkward grin crossed his lips as he tried to feign an air of self-confidence. He couldn’t quite make out her face, but she wasn’t dressed like any of the medical staff.  All he really could see was a halo of blonde locks that had him questioning if she was an angel here to usher him into the afterlife, although were that the case, he shouldn’t be in so much pain…

“I’m sorry,” Emma apologized.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No apologies necessary, lass,” Killian replied as best he could, his voice deep and raspy as it escaped his parched throat.  “Although I appear to be at a loss as to why you’re here… I can’t say that I’m my most dashingly handsome at the moment…”

Was he really this much of an egomaniac or was he genuinely trying to flirt with her right now?  

“I’m Deputy Emma Swan of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s department.  You were involved in an accident this afternoon and I just wanted to follow up on your condition and get a statement from you, if you’re feeling up to it?”

“Does everyone get such personalized attention from the Sheriff’s deputies here?”

“Not everyone,” she responded sheepishly, scrambling to think of something that wouldn’t sound as though she held some weird obsession.  “I uh…, I knew you didn’t have any family here so… so I thought you might appreciate the company…”

“If you’re not put off by my ragged appearance and obvious shortcomings, then yes, I appreciate the company.”

“You honestly look pretty good for someone who just crashed his motorcycle into the side of a car.”

“Ah...so it wasn’t just a dream…,” he sighed.

“Afraid not.”

“My bike?”

“Totaled,” she replied, immediately regretting her bluntness.  “Sorry, I should have been more tactful with that.”

“There’s no need to be gentle.  It’s hardly my first tragedy…”

“How much do you remember about the incident?”

“I was riding down Main Street, heading home after work and a car pulled out in front of me.  I tried to maneuver around the vehicle, but there wasn’t time…”

“The driver didn’t see you,” Emma explained.

“No, they certainly did not…” he responded, now alert enough to realize that his left arm was immobilized and he vaguely recalled the doctor’s words.  Hand severely mangled and severed at the wrist by blunt force.  Yeah - blunt force of striking asphalt at 20MPH…

“Are you alright?”  Emma wondered as she sensed him growing quiet. “I should probably go…You suffered some pretty nasty injuries and I’m sure you need some rest…I’m really sorry they couldn’t save your hand though…” She regretted those words the moment they crossed her lips.  “Let me get out of here before I shove my foot in my mouth again…”

“No, please, Emma - I’d like you to stay…” he assured her. “If you’re not horrified by the sight of me…”

“Should I be?  You don’t think I’ve seen bruised and bloodied accident victims before?  Like I said earlier, you look pretty good for someone who just slammed into a car…”

“Why, Deputy - a gentleman might take that as you flirting with me...”  Emma flushed with embarrassment as his statement caught her off guard. She glanced over to the bed to catch the lopsided smirk stretching across his face.  Was this guy for real?  “It may be that I’m a smidge under the influence of these painkillers, but dare I say that you do look quite beautiful this evening...”

“Now, who’s doing the flirting, Mister?” she chuckled, the reddening of her cheeks even more evident now. “Maybe it’s just some lovey-dovey Valentine’s influence...wait...is it still Valentine’s Day?” Emma questioned herself as she glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall.  11:48PM. “I guess it is still Valentine’s Day - for a few more minutes at least…”

“Deputy Swan - exactly how long have you been sitting over there?” Killian wondered, not understanding why such a gorgeous woman would be spending Valentine’s Day waiting for a wounded and now deformed man to awaken.

“Well...here?  Maybe half an hour or so.  They wouldn’t let me in to see you until you woke up since I’m technically here to get your statement…”

“You didn’t spoil your plans for this evening on my behalf, did you?”

“Uh, no,” she replied shyly, probably more embarrassed to reveal she hadn’t had a date than she’d been during their mutual flirtation moments ago.  “I was on duty tonight because I was the only one in the department without a date.”

“Ah, I see…,” he mused. “Well, Love, if you’re not horrified by the current state of my being, perhaps we could enjoy the remainder of this fabricated holiday together?”

“You’re asking me to be your Valentine’s date while you’re lying there all banged up and half stoned on morphine?”

“If you’ll have me…” he smiled as Emma stood, taking a few tentative steps closer to the bed while Killian extended his uninjured hand towards her.  Their paths had crossed a couple of times since he’d arrived in Storybrooke, but he’d never really taken time to appreciate her beauty - her hair the color of spun gold and eyes that sparkled like twin emeralds.  

She didn’t know how to respond to his offer at first, eyes dipping to the floor as she contemplated the awkwardness of the situation.  Would she be taking advantage of a wounded man if she said yes or would she look like a judgemental bitch if she said no? She hadn’t even yet considered how unprofessional this could appear but to hell with it all, she told herself at last as she wrapped her fingers around his. “Alright - for the next ten minutes, I’ll be your Valentine.”

“Good,” he grinned, a hopeful twinkle brightening his blue eyes. “And I promise you, the next one will be far better.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself there, buddy,” she teased him as a little giggle escaped her throat.  “You don’t even know me.”

“Well then, I’d very much like to get to know you, Ms. Swan.  I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t even know where to start…”

“How about like this:  Greetings, I’m Killian Jones and it is a pleasure to meet you…”

Present Day

“Are you nearly ready, Love?” Emma heard Killian shouting from downstairs. “Our reservation is in twenty minutes and you can be assured that Tony won’t hold the table…”

She shook her head as she rooted around inside her jewelry box in search of her other earring.  She couldn’t go without it, not tonight. The emerald solitaires were his favorite as he always insisted that they matched her eyes.  It was pure BS but she still appreciated the flattery. All wouldn’t be lost if she couldn’t locate the earring though. She knew he’d be too preoccupied staring at her curves in the little black cocktail dress she’d bought for tonight and he wouldn’t see it until she removed her coat at the restaurant.  She’d never get him out of the house if he saw it too soon.

“”I’m just looking for my earring.  I’ll be right down,” she shouted back from their second floor bedroom.  “Besides, I’m the Sheriff. Tony wouldn’t dare give up my table tonight.”

“Are you willing to take that chance?” she heard him ask as her fingertips finally located the second earring.  She quickly donned it and checked her makeup in the vanity mirror one last time. Everything still looked perfect so she grabbed her black wool dress coat from atop the bed and tugged it on, buttoning it while descending the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, Killian was impatiently awaiting her, attired head to toe in black, save for the crimson hue of the vest she noticed peeking out from beneath his leather coat.  Even three years later, he could still manage to hitch her breath in her throat and give her butterflies in all the right places.

“I took a chance on you, didn’t I?” she answered his rhetorical question as she slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him close.  “I still remember that night… Can you believe that its been three years already?” The same lopsided smirk that she remembered so well crossed his face just before his lips caught hers, responding with a passionate kiss that she didn’t want to end.  “Now we’re really going to be late…” she laughed as they embraced each other breathlessly.

“To hell with dinner then,” he responded, arms encircling her even tighter as he sported a salacious grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Swan.”

She pressed her lips back into his, not caring that her deep wine tinted lipstick was smearing everywhere. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Killian,” she murmured into his kiss.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Wed., Apr.22, 2020

Saint Theodore Sykeole Bishop of Anastasiopolis

Saint Theodore the Sykeote was born in the mid-sixth century in the village of Sykeon, not far from the city of Anastasiopolis (in Galatia, Asia Minor), into a pious family. When his mother Maria conceived the saint, she had a vision of a bright star overshadowing her womb. A clairvoyant Elder, whom she consulted, explained that this was the grace of God being poured forth on the infant in her womb.

When the boy reached the age of six, his mother presented him with a golden belt, since she intended that her son should become a soldier. That night the Holy Great Martyr George (April 23) appeared to her in a dream, and he told her not to consider military service for her son, because the boy was destined to serve God. The saint’s father, Cosmas, had served as a messenger of the emperor Justinian the Great (527-565), and he died at an early age. The boy remained in the care of his mother, and his grandmother Elpis, his aunt Dispenia and his little sister Vlatta also lived with them.

In school, Saint Theodore displayed great apptitude in his studies, chief of which was an uncommon ability for reasoning and wisdom. He was quiet, mild, he always knew how to calm his comrades, and he did not permit fights or quarrels among them.

The pious Elder Stephen also lived at his mother’s house. Imitating him, Saint Theodore at the age of eight began to eat only a small morsel of bread in the evening during Great Lent. So that his mother should not force him to take supper with everyone, the boy returned home from school only toward evening, after he had partaken of the Holy Mysteries with Elder Stephen. At the request of his mother, the teacher began to send him home to supper at the end of his lessons. Saint Theodore, however, ran to the church of the Great Martyr George, where the saint appeared to him in the form of a youth, and ushered him into the church...keep reading OCA

Venerable Vitali of Gaza

Saint Vitalis of Gaza (died c. 625 AD) is a hermit venerated as a saint in the Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church. He is the patron saint of prostitutes and day-laborers.

A monk of Gaza, he travelled to the city of Alexandria at the age of sixty. His legend states that after obtaining the name and address of every prostitute in the city, he hired himself out as a day laborer, and took his wage to one of these women at the end of the day. He then would teach her about her dignity and value as a woman and that she did not deserve to be used by men as an object of their lust.

This practice was condoned by the Church, and many prostitutes in the city abandoned their profession and became good wives and mothers.

Death and veneration

Vitalis was killed when a man, misunderstanding the nature of the monk's visit to a brothel, struck him on the head. Vitalis managed to return to his hut where he died. Apparently during his burial, former prostitutes came out to explain his works before processing with candles and lanterns as his body was brought to the grave.[1]

In the Eastern calendar, his feast day occurs on January 11 and April 22, while the Catholic Church only celebrates his feast on January 11.

Source Wikipedia

Acts 2:22-36 NKJV

22 “Men of Israel, hear these words: Jesus of Nazareth, a Man attested by God to you by miracles, wonders, and signs which God did through Him in your midst, as you yourselves also know— 23 Him, being delivered by the determined purpose and foreknowledge of God, you [a]have taken by lawless hands, have crucified, and put to death; 24 whom God raised up, having [b]loosed the [c]pains of death, because it was not possible that He should be held by it. 25 For David says concerning Him:

‘I foresaw the Lord always before my face, For He is at my right hand, that I may not be shaken. 26 Therefore my heart rejoiced, and my tongue was glad; Moreover my flesh also will rest in hope. 27 For You will not leave my soul in Hades, Nor will You allow Your Holy One to see corruption. 28 You have made known to me the ways of life; You will make me full of joy in Your presence.’

29 “Men and brethren, let me speak freely to you of the patriarch David, that he is both dead and buried, and his tomb is with us to this day. 30 Therefore, being a prophet, and knowing that God had sworn with an oath to him that of the fruit of his body, [d]according to the flesh, He would raise up the Christ to sit on his throne, 31 he, foreseeing this, spoke concerning the resurrection of the Christ, that His soul was not left in Hades, nor did His flesh see corruption. 32 This Jesus God has raised up, of which we are all witnesses. 33 Therefore being exalted [e]to the right hand of God, and having received from the Father the promise of the Holy Spirit, He poured out this which you now see and hear.

34 “For David did not ascend into the heavens, but he says himself:

‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at My right hand, 35 Till I make Your enemies Your footstool.” ’

36 “Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly that God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ.”

Footnotes:

Acts 2:23 NU omits have taken

Acts 2:24 destroyed or abolished

Acts 2:24 Lit. birth pangs

Acts 2:30 NU He would seat one on his throne,

Acts 2:33 Possibly by

John 1:35-51 NKJV

The First Disciples

35 Again, the next day, John stood with two of his disciples. 36 And looking at Jesus as He walked, he said, “Behold the Lamb of God!”

37 The two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus. 38 Then Jesus turned, and seeing them following, said to them, “What do you seek?”

They said to Him, “Rabbi” (which is to say, when translated, Teacher), “where are You staying?”

39 He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where He was staying, and remained with Him that day (now it was about the tenth hour).

40 One of the two who heard John speak, and followed Him, was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. 41 He first found his own brother Simon, and said to him, “We have found the [a]Messiah” (which is translated, the Christ). 42 And he brought him to Jesus.

Now when Jesus looked at him, He said, “You are Simon the son of [b]Jonah. You shall be called Cephas” (which is translated, [c]A Stone).

Philip and Nathanael

43 The following day Jesus wanted to go to Galilee, and He found Philip and said to him, “Follow Me.” 44 Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. 45 Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found Him of whom Moses in the law, and also the prophets, wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

46 And Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Philip said to him, “Come and see.”

47 Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward Him, and said of him, “Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!”

48 Nathanael said to Him, “How do You know me?”

Jesus answered and said to him, “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.”

49 Nathanael answered and said to Him, “Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”

50 Jesus answered and said to him, “Because I said to you, ‘I saw you under the fig tree,’ do you believe? You will see greater things than these.” 51 And He said to him, “Most assuredly, I say to you, hereafter[d] you shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

Footnotes:

John 1:41 Lit. Anointed One

John 1:42 NU John

John 1:42 Gr. Petros, usually translated Peter

John 1:51 NU omits hereafter

New King James Version

(NKJV)

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Source Biblegateway

[shivaom99]

The Beautiful & Enigmatic Mystic of India: Sri Anandamayi Ma :

The Early Life of Sri Ma

The Divine Life Society described Sri Anandamayi Ma as “the most perfect flower the Indian soil has ever produced.” Born in a small village in Bengal on April 30, 1896, her parents named her Nirmala Sundari Devi, which means ‘immaculate beauty’. She came to be recognized as a powerful expression of the Divine and throughout India was regarded with great affection and reverence by people of all faiths. In the 1920s, her devotees began to refer to her as Anandamayi Ma, meaning ‘Joy Permeated Mother’, a name that acknowledged the bliss and unattached love that was her natural and constant state. Over the course of her life she attracted many thousands of devotees; among them Mahatma Gandhi, and Kamala Nehru.

As a child, Sri Ma’s parents observed their daughter experiencing states of apparent ecstasy, especially on hearing devotional songs sung by her Brahman father. In her village she was known to be a cheerful child who never complained about the work assigned to her and was always willing to help others in any way she could. Nirmala attended the local village school for just two years.

In keeping with tradition, Nirmala’s marriage was arranged when she was just 13. She went to live in her brother-in-laws home where life was more disciplined and a good deal of domestic work was expected of her. Despite this, she remained good-humored and never complained. In fact, her uninterrupted state of serenity and often withdrawn meditative states gave her new family cause to wonder if she may be a bit simple minded. It was some time before those around her began to appreciate that her lack of self-concern and limitless compassion for others was an outward expression of her spiritual maturity and not a mental defect. A devout neighbor named Harakumar, in recognizing this divine quality, made a habit of visiting her morning and night to pay his respect. He began to address her as Ma, or mother.

Sri Anandamayi Ma - The Indian Saint

Celibacy and Spiritual Practice

When Nirmala was 18 she went to live with her husband in Ashtagram. Her husband, who she came later to call Bholanath, soon realized that their marriage was to be a celibate one. Whenever he began to feel amorous towards his wife, Sri Ma would grow faint and her beautiful face assumed a deathly pallor. Accounts from friends and neighbors indicate that Bholanath accepted this situation without bitterness and came to consider his role as one of guardian of a remarkable treasure rather than husband in the traditional sense.

In August, 1922, at midnight during a full moon, Nirmala, at age 26, began spiritual practice in full earnestness. Without guru, she initiated herself, following her own inner guru, or sadguru. Bholanath witnessed Nirmala become absorbed in a world of inner joy, assume yogic postures, repeat mantras and move rhythmically in a vibrant dance that seemed directed by an other-worldly power. Onlookers noted a distinct radiance that emanated from her body. It was suggested by Bholanath’s family that he remarry, but instead he asked for initiation. A friend of Bholanath’s demanded evidence that she was qualified to provide spiritual initiation at which point she touched Bholanath on the head. In his words, at the touch of her finger, he experienced a state of ineffable, divine bliss that lasted for several hours.

For nearly six years Nirmala continued her sadhana or spiritual practices, her Divine presence growing stronger all the while. In later years when questioned by scholars, seekers of the truth and those curious to know how she had attained so much knowledge of the spiritual practices of every faith, Nirmala indicated that all was revealed to her as part of herself. She said that she had not yet revealed one thousandth part of what was shown to her during those years of intense spiritual practice. After this period of sadhana, Nirmala remained completely silent for three years, marking the fulfillment of spiritual knowledge.

Sri Ma at Shahbagh Gardens

Sri Ma Attracts Devotees

In 1924, Nirmala moved with her husband to Dhaka where he worked as manager of the Shahbagh Gardens. It was soon observed that the young wife of the manager of the gardens was gifted with spiritual powers and had the countenance of one who has merged with the Divine. It was here that she first attracted life-long devotees. Soon crowds began to swell around her and a close disciple, Bhaiji, conferred the title Anandamayi Ma upon her. Bhaiji was responsible for the first ashram built in her name at Ramna in 1929. Twenty-four more ashrams were to follow.

Sri Ma, as she was affectionately called by her devotees, moved to Dehradun in 1932, accompanied by her husband. From this point until her death, aged 86, she traveled extensively throughout India, rarely staying in the same place longer than two weeks, despite the efforts of devotees to keep her there by constructing ashrams and making their heartfelt appeals. What is remarkable about Sri Ma is the adoration felt for her by people of every religious faith. She was as at home in a Hindu temple as a Muslim mosque or a Christian church. One Christian devotee is noted to have said upon meeting her, “Now we have a face to put on God”.

A visiting Irish journalist asked her, “Am I right to believe that you are God?” to which Sri Ma replied, “There is nothing save He alone; everyone and everything is a form of God. In your person also He has come here to give darshana (to merge consciousness with a holy person).” His curiosity peaked, the journalist asked, “Why are you in this world?” Sri Ma responded, “I am not anywhere. I am reposing in myself. What I was before, I am now, and shall be hereafter. I am also whatever you or anybody may think I am; why don’t you look at it this way – the yearnings of truth seekers have brought about this body. All of you have wanted it and so you have found it. That is all you need to know.” A devotee of many years named Richard Lannoy spoke of Sri Ma, “Yet there is a strangeness, a particularity, an indefinable quality which comes so near the limits of the definably human as to make an adjective like ‘human’ quite inadequate when applied to Her case, and Divine paltry. She was unique and remained throughout her life, the acme of effortless perfection.”

Paramahansa Yogananda Meets Sri Ma

In Autobiography of a Yogi, the Indian spiritual master, Paramahansa Yogananda recounts his meeting with Sri Ma in the chapter titled, ‘The Bengali “Joy Permeated Mother”’. When asked by Yogananda about her life she at first replied, “Father knows all about it; why repeat it?” When Yogananda gently asked again, she explained, “Father there is little to tell. My consciousness has never associated with this temporary body. Before I came on this earth, Father I was the same. As a little girl, I was the same. I grew into womanhood, but still I was the same. When the family in which I had been born made arrangements for this body to be married, I was the same. And when passion-drunk, my husband came to me and murmured endearing words, lightly touching my body, he received a violent electric shock, as if struck by lightening, for even then I was the same. ….And Father, in front of you now, I am the same. Ever afterward, though the dance of creation changes around me in the hall of eternity, I shall be the same.” Sri Ma’s Teaching

Sri Ma’s teachings were simple and took on a musicality as she spoke spontaneously of the spiritual quest and answered the questions of seekers thirsty for liberation. Her guidance manifested in an endless variety of forms and she subscribed to no particular path of spirituality, regarding all as valid. “How can one impose limitations on the infinite by declaring this is the only path – and why should there be so many different religions and sects? Because through every one of them He gives Himself to Himself, so that each person may advance according to his own inborn nature.”

Sri Ma advocated spiritual equality for women in a world where at the time women throughout all religions were regarded as lesser. Her teachings counseled on a life of doing good and refraining from doing bad. She provided instruction on meditation, made jokes, sang songs of devotion and read from sacred scriptures. The following quote is said to capture much of Sri Ma’s message, “Who is it that loves and who that suffers? He alone stages a play with Himself. Who exists, save him? The individual suffers because he perceives duality. It is duality that causes all sorrow and grief. Find the One everywhere and in everything and there will be an end to pain and suffering. The Supreme calling of every human being is to aspire to self-realization. All other obligations are secondary.” When her husband died in 1938 with Sri Ma at his side, devotees were struck by the totality of Sri Ma’s acceptance – there was a complete absence of grief and her great serenity remained unbroken. Seeing their shock, Sri Ma remarked, “Do you start to wail and cry if a person goes into another room in the house? This death is inevitably connected with this life. In the sphere of Immortality, where is the question of death and loss? Nobody is lost to me”.

Throughout her life Sri Ma met with many mahatmas, political dignitaries, and ascetics - all were touched by the compassion she radiated as well as her ability to effortlessly converse on any aspect of spirituality. In 1982 Sri Ma began to withdraw from her busy schedule of meeting with devotees and her health began to deteriorate. Devotees beseeched her to make herself well again but she replied, “This body has no illness. It is being recalled toward the Unmanifest. Whatever you see happening now is conducive toward that event. As the Atma, I shall ever abide with you.” She left her body at around 8 P.M on August 27, 1982 and her funeral procession was given the highest honor with all the Mahatmas coming together to assume charge of Sri Ma’s physical remains.

“I find one vast garden spread out all over the universe.

All plants, all human beings, all higher mind bodies

are about in this garden in various ways ,

each has his own uniqueness and beauty.

Their presence and variety give me great delight.

Every one of you adds with his special feature to the glory of the garden."

Sri Anandamayi Ma

Also read: Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj : The Great Sage of India

The Spiritual Journey Unfolds

Sri Anandamayi Ma

[writing-is-my-backup-plan]

Borne on the Wings of Steel Part 2: Soaring on the Wings of Dawn

Summary:  You always felt like you didn’t belong, that something was inadvertently wrong with your surroundings.  Your life was simple; had a rental you called home, a normal and routine job, and a couple of friends from college.  One day, however, you wake up in a strange room with symbols covering every surface of the walls.  After two disgruntled and confused hunters find you, you discover that you are now in your favorite T.V. show.  The Winchesters try to help you get back to your universe, but what if maybe it isn’t where you were meant to be?

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Soulmate!AU, Season 13 spoilers, fluff, multiple universes, mommy issues, Gabriel, Luci, cursing, and of course shit writing.

Words: ~2.4 k

a/n: I never thought so many would enjoy part 1!  I have been so excited to write this next part that I only hope it lives up to half the hype you guys have for this series.  This is literally my second fic, and I never thought I would see over 100 notes on one chapter ever.  Not to mention all the lovely comments you all have been leaving.  Thank you for making a girl feel special! :’)

FYI SEASON 13 SPOILERS and slight deviation from cannon!  This story begins during and after 13x18.

Series List | Part 1 | Part 3 --> (coming soon)

The tension in the room was almost unbearable.  Sam, Dean, and Castiel all watched Gabriel closely, almost ready to pounce on him should he move; something must have happened that you did not witness. Apparently finding his courage, Castiel moved towards you and the weeping angel with something metallic in his hands; it wasn’t his angel blade, but you knew whatever it was it would harm Gabriel.  Your muscles reacted instantly as you side stepped out of Gabriel’s grip and walked around him to use yourself as a barrier between the two angels.

“Cas…” You trailed off in warning.

Disregarding your threat, he reached up to push you out of the way, preparing what you now recognized as a grace extractor in his other hand.  Angered by his audacity to ignore you, you swatted his hand away. “Castiel, this is not a good time. Back off.”

He rolled his eyes and continued his advance.  When you wouldn’t budge, he spoke harshly to you.  “Get out of the way.  We lost him once, and I am not failing again.  He has more than enough grace, extracting a little won’t hurt him.”

You placed a hand behind you on Gabriel’s back, reassuring him that you weren’t going to abandon him. Glaring back into Castiel’s predatorial eyes, you berated him.  “Is this what you meant by ‘Whatever it takes.’?  To go against so many of your vows – do you even having any vows left to break?  This is your brother, who has been beaten and nearly destroyed.  He has done so much for you, yet here you stand to milk him of his grace like a cow.  Stand. Down. NOW.”

The Winchesters gasped at your bravery.  To order an Angel to stand down, that took some guts.  What was even more surprising is that he listened.  Your words were knives straight into his very soul; how many times had he done this?  How many times had he gone too far, how many more times would he before he learned?  His stance relaxed, and his arms fell to his sides. You watched as his wings fluttered and shrunk in embarrassment, the reaction reminding you of a dog tucking its tail between its legs.  With his head down, he walked out of the room without another word.

After a few moments of silence, you shared uneasy glances with the brothers.  “Look,” You started. “I’ve got him.  It’s obvious he wants me, although I don’t know why.  I will take care of Gabriel; can you guys just go figure out how the hell I got here?  I kinda have work in the morning, so…”

With knowing nods, the two brothers left the room.  You turned around to see a stone-faced Gabriel and your heart became heavy yet again. As you walked back to his front, you noticed that you could not see his wings; the lack of feathers had you wondering if maybe you had been imagining Castiel’s.  Crouching down to his eye level, you spoke softly to him.  “Hey Gabe, everything’s okay.  No one is going to hurt you, I won’t let them.  Why don’t we get you into bed, hmm?”

When he didn’t react, you placed a hand on each of his shoulders.  “Gabe, everything is okay.  You don’t have to shut down.  I’m not going anywhere.”

With that, his eyes snapped to meet yours.  “I don’t want you to leave, not again.”  He whimpered.

“I’m not, I promise. I’m right here.”

“But you want the Winchesters to send you back.  I don’t want you to go back, A.  I need you; we all need you.”  He pleaded.

His nickname reminded you of some distant memory, but you couldn’t quite place it.  Shaking it off, you replied to the angel.  “Gabe, do you know how I got here?  Castiel keeps calling me Ariel and I – I don’t know who that is.  My name is Y/N.”

He was taken aback by your words, but only briefly.  “You don’t know who that is because you don’t remember.  I… I did something bad, A.  Not just like, making life slightly difficult for Heaven, I mean bad.  I had to, otherwise – It would have been worse if I hadn’t.”

Stroking his cheek, you consoled him.  “It’s okay. Whatever you did, Gabe, I’m sure it was the right thing to do.”

Leaning into your hand, Gabriel whispered.  “I hope you’re right, A.  I hope you’re right.”

The two flannel-clad Winchesters entered the war room to find Castiel pacing with his hands messaging his temples.  Wasting no time, Sam walked into the library to grab his laptop while Dean began speaking to Castiel.  “Okay, okay, so we somehow got Gabriel back.  That’s a positive!  We just need to get this woman back to her universe and then we can get back to business.”

“Dean, this isn’t going to go like you think.”  Castiel said with a stoic expression.  “Gabriel coming back here just confirms that he summoned her.  He is not going to let Ariel leave.  Also, did the two of you leave them alone?  What’s going to stop him from leaving with her?”

“Well, while you were getting your ass roasted, I placed that sigil you taught me that prevents angels from teleporting on the door frame.  Technically, he’s stuck in that room.” Dean retorted.

Thankful for the older Winchester’s quick thinking, the angel took a seat at the war table and sighed. “I didn’t know that Gabriel would have this connection with her.”

“Connection or not, who the hell is this Ariel chick?  You said she was Heaven’s guide?”

Before Castiel could answer, Sam reentered the war room carrying his now open laptop.  “So, get this.  Ariel is an angel from old Christian and Jewish theology.  She was briefly mentioned in Paradise Lost and according to this poorly written Wikipedia article, she is known as the personification of Israel?  She is also sometimes referred to as a Demon.”

“Which means?” Dean asked.

“That the internet has no clue who she is.” He sighed.  The two brothers turned their questioning glances to Castiel.  

“Cas, care to fill us in on what the hell is going on?” The older Winchester inquired.

Clearing his throat, he explained.  “Back during the dawn of man, angels and human lived amongst each other very briefly – the consequences were instantaneous.  Nephilim were in the dozens, and Heaven worried about their ability to protect all of creation.  Angels were then ordered to stay away from humans as much as possible, only intervening when necessary.  This created a new problem.  As centuries passed, angels no longer knew how to act amongst humanity.  Society has always been drastically changing for your species, and if an angel wants to investigate undercover, they had to learn how to blend in.”

“Well, you’ve been here for years and you still don’t blend in.” Dean laughed.

Castiel scrunched his brows together in irritation.  His attempt at a bitch face made Dean go silent instantly.  “Sorry.” The older Winchester mumbled under his breath while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

The annoyed angel continued. “As I was saying, it became obvious that Heaven needed someone on the ground at all times.  Their duty would be to live among you and be able to teach newly arrived angels about modern society.  God was displeased by the amount of Nephilim that were created before, so He refused to assign an angel to this task.  Therefore, he created Ariel.  She was neither an angel or human; she is somewhere in between, yet different from a Nephilim.  Her powers are limited, and she cannot mate.  She was – is – referred to as the Earthly Mother of Angels.  Before they are sent to their assignment here on Earth, every angel reported to her for social training.”

“But you said she’s been dead for two thousand years, what happened?” Sam asked.

“She was living in Jerusalem, preparing for the flood of angels that would arrive when the Christ child was born.  That’s probably why that article called her the ‘personification of Israel’.  She had been there for almost a century when she was murdered.  As soon as the angels felt her signature die, Heaven swarmed Israel.”  Pausing, Castiel chose his next words carefully.

“Lucifer’s blade was found in her chest and armies of Heavenly hosts were called to arms in preparation for war against Lucifer.  It was discovered that he was still locked in the cage, and it hadn’t been tampered with either.  No one knows what happened, the evidence didn’t make any sense.  In the end, there was nothing done because the Christ child was on its way, which obviously took priority; she was all but forgotten.”

Silence fell over the room as the Winchesters debated what to do.  It was then that Sam realized Castiel was hiding something.  “Wait, if all angels were sent to her, why did you say you never met her before?”

Castiel stood up to resume his pacing before answering.  “I was ordered to never meet her.  During that time, I was still an – uh – unquestioning soldier.  To this day, I still don’t know why.”

Raising his eyebrows, Dean began to rant.  “Great. We have the Mother of Angels in a room with a broken archangel, who by the way, summoned her.  You were ordered to never meet her, which add a whole new layer to the already messed up cake.  She may or may not be super powerful but doesn’t remember a damn thing. Oh, and she thinks this is a T.V. show?”

“Do the two of you now understand why I was so upset?” Castiel snarked.

A few hours passed, during which Gabriel lay next to you in the tiny bed.  Although angels don’t sleep, his grace put him into a slumber like state since his wounds were still healing.  His large frame clung to yours like a child would when woken up from a nightmare.  Your fingers softly stroked his hair as you considered what to do next.

It was becoming clearer and clearer that this was in fact not a dream.  That thought alone was enough to make you want to run for the hills. No matter how much you loved the show, you never wanted to step foot into a world like it.  Now, you had hunters and angels claiming you were someone you clearly were not, and their refusal to elaborate on their accusation was even worse.

A knock at the door broke your rambling thoughts.  Someone was finally coming to talk to you.  “Come in.” You whispered quietly, as to not wake Gabriel.

The door slowly opened to reveal a concerned Castiel.  His trench and sport coats had been discarded, making him appear more approachable somehow. He walked cautiously to the bed before taking a seat, careful to not wake Gabriel up as well.  “How’s he doing?”

You took the opportunity to insult the angel.  “Well, now that someone isn’t trying to do the exact same thing that was used to torture him for six years, fine.”

Castiel flinched; a reaction you expected would please you, but instead made you feel worse.  Your guilt was soon replaced with surprise, yet again, when Castiel’s wings unfolded, their tips resting against the bed.

The angel brought a hand up to rub his cheek before speaking to you.  “I’m sorry.  You were right.  I have done so much wrong in the last decade.  I just… I don’t want to fail the Winchesters.  It so hard to balance between two families, them and Heaven.  I don’t want to harm Gabriel, I just want to save Jack and Mary.”

Hesitation was never common for you but being in the universe had changed that completely.  You wanted to comfort Castiel, but how you did not know. Strange, considering you so easily consoled the archangel that was now asleep in your embrace.

Not knowing what else to do, you reached for Castiel’s other hand that rested in his lap.  Stroking the top of it lightly with your thumb, you glanced down at your clasped hands.  “You will save them Castiel, I know it.  It may look impossible now, but you’ve always done the impossible.  It’s okay to make mistakes, that what makes us…” You trailed off, trying to find the right words.

Castiel chuckled at your pause.  “Human? I am not human, Ariel, and neither are you.”

“I was going to say real.  Reality isn’t about orderly, step-by-step actions and events.  The overall picture happens for a reason, but they way you get there is not a straight line.  Life isn’t about point A and point B, it isn’t about the journey either.  Being real is understanding that sometimes you have to go to point C and D to unlock B.  There is no logic behind it, only motion.  People who say, ‘You’re only human’ don’t consider that.”  You had more you wanted to say, but Gabriel began stirring beside you. Once stilled, you continued.

“Also, for the last God – Chuck – damn time, my name is Y/N.  You can believe that I am this Ariel chick, but I want to be called Y/N.”  You stated flatly.

With a shy nod, Castiel submitted.  “Alright, Y/N it is.  Just a warning though, almost every single Heavenly being is going to call you Ariel.”

“Who was she anyway?  If I am at least going to be accused of being this woman, I may as well know what she was.”

It was then that Castiel explained to you the Mother of Angels.  A Heavenly host who taught the angels how to live among humans.  She was a teacher, an informant, a sanctuary, but most importantly, a motherly guide.  She was there to help angels who were grieving over their now lifeless Nephilim and lovers after their initial destruction.  She was councilor who prevented new Nephilim from being created.  She was the barrier between Heaven and Earth, sometimes even between angels and God.

When she was stripped away from the angels, they wept and mourned for their mother.  They were ready to strike down whatever evil had done this to her but were silenced by God’s orders to protect the Christ child.  

With her mysterious return, and no Father in sight to order them, loyalties in Heaven were about to be questioned.

Tags:  Tags: @luci-has-the-phonebox @jaythenephilim @sweetsoftwool @imperfectlydean2 @stellnessy @clockworkmorningglory @mechellemebell @dontbelasagnax @castielisalreadysaved @iamthefandomnerd

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[seizerofdarkness]

Baby!Ben and Dad!Tetrax

I just had this AU idea some days ago and I felt like writing something out of it

Approaching the vehicle parked in the desert, the crystal-made Bounty Hunter knocked three times on the door. He waited a bit, wondering how he even ended up here in the first place.

He had pretended to be a Hunter for hire again, acted as if he was going to help the cyborg and Sotoraggian get the Omnitrix for Vilgax and now spent the afternoon alone chasing the car through the dunes of the empty desert.

Thankfully, it seemed the Omnitrix’s signal has been cut off, meaning whoever using it finally stopped tampering with the device. And since the vehicle seemed to be empty of whatever fuel it used, he could interrogate the current bearer of the Omnimatrix.

He had to wonder what kind of man Max Tennyson was, though. According to the reports he recently received, the old Plumber had found the Omnitrix and put an end to his retirement to fight off any incoming thief who had tried to steal the Omnitrix away.

But oddly enough, it seemed he didn’t use the Omnitrix that much for his bidding. He apparently ordered some Plumber weapons for self-defense, kept changing locations and witnesses said they didn’t ever see him with something remotely resembling the device in question.

It was impossible to take the Omnitrix off unless the user managed to unlock the codes for it or if the creator gave the user the code (and Azmuth would’ve told Tetrax if it was the case). Yet the signal was going strong almost every 20 minutes since he arrived on Earth, so either Max Tennyson solely used the Omnitrix for training and only started using it more frequently when Tetrax came.

Or there was something wrong with the signals.

He didn’t see another reason why everything seemed so... illogical with the data he gathered. A Magister (a retired one but still) should know the Omnitrix should be used cautiously, instead of using it over and over again like the madmen who wanted it for theirselves would probably do.

It was already tiring enough to get here. He wanted to fix his mistakes, to bring Vilgax down, to see Petropia again, to feel whole without the mess he made back then, but he knew it was impossible for now. This mission should be easy: check on the Omnitrix’s wearer, discuss with him on what to do with it and its inner functions, make a report and send it to Azmuth. Easy.

Sure, he hadn’t expected the man to trap him, Sixsix and Kraab in the mines after luring them with the signal, and he should’ve been more careful now that the man was fleeing. What reason did Max Tennyson have to run away from a fight anyway? He had the Omnitrix, Bounty Hunters (specifically an unwilling one and two incompetent ones) should’ve been no match for him.

He started getting impatient and knocked on the door again.

“Magister Tennyson, are you here? I’m Tetrax Shard, charged of guarding the Omnitrix. I know you’re here, I’ve been informed of you receiving it and must do a checkup on your use of it. Please open the door and cooperate.”

He kept waiting for the old man to open. Was he that wary of the Petrosapian? He hadn’t exactly been the most friendly back there either, attacking him as a cover so that the other two hunters wouldn’t suspect a thing. But now they were alone, and Tetrax revealing his identity should raise at least a few flags.

“Magister Tennyson, if you do not cooperate, I’ll have to enter by force.” he threatened.

Still no response. He took his gloves off but before he could send a hurricane of crystals onto the RV, the door finally opened, revealing a grey-haired old man in a red Hawaiian shirt.

“Yes, I am Max Tennyson, but you have the wrong idea.”

Tetrax lowered his arms down and analyzed the human in front of him. He didn’t look that much in shape to fight, and seemed a bit too old to fight without a good weapon. Good thing he received the Omnitrix. Speaking of which...

Where was the Omnitrix?

Tetrax’s eyes widened as he realized the human’s hands were bare from the Omnitrix, only having some bandages here and there. Did he take it off the bad way?

Why would he do that? Vilgax the Conqueror was chasing out whoever wore it, and it was already bad enough that the one responsible of getting the Omnitrix already had a bad history with him (like anyone who ever met Vilgax).

“What’s the meaning of this? Why aren’t you wearing the Omnitrix?”

Max sighed. “Come inside” he said, beckoning the alien to follow him. As he got in, he heard a cry and saw a green flash of light coming out of the bedroom, from what looked like a child playground. He saw something red crawling on the wall and yelped as the four-armed tiny creature jumped on his face.

He felt a dozen of tiny punches on his face, not enough to knock him out but still strong enough to prevent him from seeing AND it felt quite annoying. As he was about to pierce through the attacker with his crystal arm, Max took a hold of his hand and spoke out.

“Ben! Behave!”

“But Grandpa!” came a whiny voice from the red fiend on Tetrax’s face. He felt the thing coming off and, as he looked, there was a green-eyed infant Tetramand jumping into Max’s arms.

“A... Tetramand?”

“Ben, we have a guest, it’s not nice to attack people without knowing why they’re here.”

“But Grandpa! He tried to hurt you! And he scared Gwen! He’s a meanie!” the baby Tetramand pouted.

A little redheaded human girl with buck teeth, a pink dress and a yellow skirt came out of behind the curtains of one of the bed. She ran to Max and asked “Ben, is the big mean man gone?” She looked at Tetrax and immediately shouted, crying again and hiding behind Max “Waaaaahhhh! He’s still here! Ben make him go aaaahhhh!”

Max picked the little girl and pet her hair. “There, there. It’s okay, Gwen. He’s not going to hurt anyone. He’s a nice man.”

Tetrax stood speechless while Max took care of both kids. The Tetramand toddler wore a black and white shirt, with the Omnitrix symbol on his upper left arm.

No.

No.

NO.

No!

This couldn’t be it. No way a baby was able to get the Omnitrix. This had to be an error, maybe there was a function that could make the wearer look younger and he wasn’t told. Anything but this, it was just plain unimaginable.

The Omnitrix beeped red and the young Tetramand soon turned into a young human toddler, wearing green overalls with white numbers saying "5 1/2" on a black square in front, a white shirt underneath it.

Tetrax blinked twice, before sighing and opening his helmet, making his face visible, to which both toddlers made impressed sounds.

“Would you mind explaining what’s going on?” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“...and now he’s wearing it and can’t take it off.” Tetrax pulled the largest sigh ever made in Earth’s records.

“You’re telling me, that you left your own grandson unsupervised and allowed him to get in the forest, where the Omnitrix landed and merged with his DNA?! What kind of sick joke is this?!”

“Look, I was busy taking care of Gwen at the time. The children’s parents wanted me to show them the country for summer vacation, before getting them in kindergarten at the beginning of October. Ben and Gwen are hard to manage together when you haven’t raised a baby in about 30 years. Ben sneaked off while I was cleaning up the mess he made. When he came back moments after, he was a Pyronite and almost burned the carpet.”

“How long did it take for you to find out he was gone?”

“The same amount of time it took him to find the Omnitrix. Babies are full of energy, especially Ben. I know it seems impossible, but I’m trying to teach him how to use it and not to show his powers in public.”

That was it, Tetrax’s patience had reached its limits. A toddler with the Omnitrix. What else did Max Tennyson have in mind?! Was his granddaughter an alien too?! He immediately stood back up from his seat and raised his voice.

“No, I don’t care what you’re trying to do, but this child isn’t keeping the Omnitrix. I’ll bring him over to its creator for its removal, I’ll notify you when I’ll bring him back.”

It didn’t take more than two seconds for Max to raise a protective hand towards his grandson.

“Don’t even think about it! Ben is my grandson and my son Carl counted on me to take care of him. My family needs me more than ever after my last slip-up and I won’t fail them even if the universe is at stakes!”

“You don’t understand, this is beyond your little family problems. Vilgax is hunting that kid down and he won’t give up until he gets what he wants. This is for his own safety as well as everyone else in this entire solar system. Give him to me.”

“Maybe he can go to outer space when he gets older, but now he’s still just a baby. Can’t Azmuth come by himself to take it off of Ben’s wrist?”

“This is plain ridiculous, you’re letting your-”

They were interrupted by another cry from the baby girl. Gwen was crying again. They were so busy arguing they didn’t notice the poor little girl tearing up at the conversation.

“Nooooo grandpaaaaaaa! I don’t want Ben to goooo wwwwaaaaahhhhhhh!” she screamed in an obnoxiously loud voice, probably loud enough to make a Sonorasian go home.

“There there, Gwen” said Max as he picked his granddaughter up, patting her back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Ben isn’t going anywhere. Not if I have something to say about it.”

Another green flash of green came from the playground, and a blue flash sped through before climbing on the window.

“You won’t kidnap me you big alien jerk if I’m XLR8!” he pouted, in Kineceleran form, before sprinting out of the RV.

Tetrax felt like he was about to lose his mind. His planet is destroyed, his current employer is a misanthrope, Vilgax and the other hunters were probably still out there, and now he had to get the Omnitrix back from a child, one that could probably hurt himself while doing so.

He picked up his hoverboard and came out of the RV, about to chase the young boy, but he stopped as soon as he set a foot outside the vehicle. Not only because Max held him back despite his injured hands, but also because Sixsix and Kraab were now standing in front of the door, their weapons aimed at both men. He growled in frustration.

This really wouldn't be easy, would it?

Heatblast threw fireballs at the nearby rocks, venting out his anger on the empty desert in front of him. It wasn't fair!

First, Gwen got the last cupcake, then the Sumo Slammers movie was canceled and he'd have to wait a week before seeing it, he was grounded for making Gwen cry with Ghostfreak and now one of the meanies who hurt his Grandpa wanted to take his toy away!

He'd have to look for Ben to do that, and no way Ben lets him take the...

How did the Diamondhead meanie call the watch? The Omnitrix? He wasn't sure and he didn't care, no one will steal his new toy. No one!

He started tiring after a few moments and, still angry at what Tetrax tried to do, he cried very hard. Heatblast didn't notice the fire on his body growing at every minute and, before he could realize it, the watch started beeping and he reverted back to Ben.

The transformation snapped him out of his crying mess and, as he tried to wipe his tears away, he saw what trouble he got himself into.

All around him there was glass. Millions of shards everywhere. He couldn't walk through them and the watch was red, which meant he couldn't use Stinkfly or Ghostfreak to fly away. Scared, he called out for help.

"Grandpa! Gwen! Mommy! Daddy!" he shouted, scared at the idea of staying stuck in this place. "Help! Heeeeeelp!"

Afraid of hurting himself, he tried to step back and took a glance behind him. Nope, there were too many shards, he'd end up like the poor creature his Grandpa usually gave him and Gwen for dinner if he took even one step forward.

He wanted to see his family again so bad now, he would do anything to get help now. He swore to be nicer. He promised himself, if he could get out of here, he'd let Gwen play with his toys, he'd clean his bed every morning and night, he'd give all his marbles back to JT even if they weren't friends anymore, he'd eat all the food his mommy and Grandpa gave him even if he didn't like it, he'd even-

He was interrupted from his promises by a voice.

"Kid, are you in here?" he recognized Tetrax's voice and pouted.

"NO!"

Tetrax was standing several feet away, his crystal-made body allowing him to walk on the now spiky ground without any visible pain. As he tried to get nearby, it seemed Ben was about to move, potentially injuring himself, prompting the Petrosapian to stay where he was.

"Don't you want to see your grandfather?"

That struck a nerve. Ben started to shout angrily at the alien. If he could, he'd become Wildmutt, bite this meanie in the back and pee on his car. Max told him not to do that, but his grandpa wasn't here for now and he could do what he wants.

“Go away!”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire! You’re a bad guy, you don’t help people, you hurt them!”

“I am a mercenary and a heroic warrior. You on the other hand, you don’t know how to use the Omnitrix. You could hurt someone with it, you trapped yourself in here, you tried to break my nose and now, you’re making your grandfather and sister worry.”

“Gwen is my cousin, not my sister! And you don’t know a thing about being a hero!”

“I don’t?” the Petrosapian teased.

“Yeah you don’t! You attacked my grandpa with those guys and you want to steal my watch. You’re wearing all dark clothes, that’s how bad guys dress! And then, you talk about helping, but you said you were a hunter! Hunters kill animals and that’s mean! You’re a bad guy!”

“Then if animals are bad, is it bad to get rid of them?”

“If they have a family to feed, yes! Grandpa taught me to be nice and I want to be a hero with the watch. You don’t have your grandpa with you, you don’t know how to be nice! So it makes you bad!” Ben stuck his tongue out.

“A family. Huh...” Tetrax looked down after the child’s argument had made its impact. “I haven’t seen my family in years now.” That startled Ben right away.

“What?! You don’t see your mommy and daddy anymore?”

“I... you’re right, I am a bad person.” Tetrax shook his head. ”I let everyone on my planet die because I didn’t want their help anymore, I wanted to do everything by myself and for myself, I didn’t think about anyone else.” Ben felt guilty about what he just told the alien. “I took this job as a way to be strong and before I knew it, I helped someone destroy everything I loved, everyone I used to care about.”

“I...I...I’m sorry, mister.”

“What for? You weren’t responsible for what happened.”

“No, but that’s sad. Nobody deserves to be alone. I ran away and made you go all the way here when you didn’t even have anyone to help. Well, except Grandpa, but you don’t know him. But why did you try to take my watch? Did it belong to you before I found it?”

“No, but I was asked to make sure if the person wearing it was a good one, if they could use the power responsibly to help people instead of harming them.” Tetrax decided baby talk could help. The kid was too young and had a good reason for being unable to understand some things. “Your grandpa told me about him teaching you how to fight villains. Doesn’t it bother you to do that all the time?”

“No, I love to help! I can save the world, stop bad guys, hang out with cool guys, have amazing stuff to thank me,” Tetrax winced at the last one “get stronger, have fun with my powers and the coolest thing is, I’m like a superhero!”

Tetrax couldn’t help but laugh a bit at what the child told him.

“What’s funny, mister?”

“Nothing, it’s just... I expected you to attack me more, I didn’t think we’d have a talk over this. You’re more smart than you let people think, I just hope it’s not too much for you, you might regret wearing the Omnitrix at some point.”

“Mister... I don’t want to give my watch, I like it, it’s so cool I wanna keep it! Pleeeeaaase?”

The Omnitrix’s Guardian thought it over.

Max told me he’d keep an eye on him. It’s too dangerous to leave at the hands of a toddler, but it could all work out. He doesn’t know what danger he’s exposing himself in, but maybe practice can make perfect in the situation. He could become a potential asset in case the universe gets in serious danger.

“Ben, I’m sorry. You can keep the watch now. I shouldn’t have attacked the Rustbucket (even though I didn’t really have a choice), I should’ve asked you nicely if you wanted to keep the watch. Instead I ran after you and tried to take you away. I’m sorry.”

Ben didn’t seem in a sour mood anymore and with a cheerful voice, he said “Don’t worry about me mister! I’m okay now! It’s okay! Hey, maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all.”

Tetrax smiled at the remark and got closer to Ben. “Need any help?” he lent a hand, to which Ben pouted again (albeit with a more playful face).

“I’m a big boy now, I can do it on my own!”

“Oh really?” Tetrax teased.

“Yeah!” Ben said as he touched the now green Omnitrix’s dial. Before Tetrax could tell him to be careful, he slammed the dial and turned into, not an Ectonurite, not a Lepidotpterran, not even a Pyronite, but a young little Petrosapian.

“Woops! Well, I can now walk on my own!” he said as he started running before tripping on a rock and ending up covered in pieces of glass. At least it couldn’t pierce through his skin now, it was fine.

Tetrax stared at Diamondhead for a bit, definitely not expecting his species to be part of the ones available in the current roster the Omnitrix generated, much less expecting to see an infant creature from his planet after such a long time.

He walked over and picked the young boy up, putting him in his arms and gently patting his head. “Let’s get you home now.”

“I think I’ll join you” he declared.

“Huh?” Max raised a brow at what Tetrax told him.

“I said I will accompany you on your vacation to make sure Ben stays safe and uses the Omnitrix correctly.”

“What?!” asked Max, surprised at the reveal. “But don’t you need to make a report to Azmuth? How will he react if he doesn’t get it?”

“I already sent him a dozen of them, he didn’t respond even once.” he huffed “It will be much easier to take care of an alien child if there’s an alien nearby, once that actively interacts with other species and knows what they’re capable of.”

Max tried to argue but was interrupted by XLR8 running inside the RV. The blue speedster was immediately caught by Tetrax. “Got you, little speed demon” he smirked.

“Is it true?! You’re staying with us for the rest of the summer?! Is it true Grandpa?” asked XLR8 in a very excited voice.

Max looked at his bandages, recalling all the times Ben ‘went hero’ inside and pretty much damaged a good part of the furniture. Having a babysitter, one that wouldn’t contact the authorities as soon as his grandson turned into a living flamethrower, would be nice while he could focus on keeping Gwen safe from this entire mess.

“Fine, you can come with us for the road-trip. But don’t think I forgot about what happened earlier, you’ll have to do some chores around if you want to stay.”

“Hmm, I don’t mind.”

“YAY!” shouted XLR8 before reverting back to Ben, giving his new friend a hug.

“But Grandpa” asked Gwen “Isn’t the Rustbucket too small for all of us?”

“Don’t worry, there’s enough room for-”

“I CAN SHARE MY BED WITH HIM!” announced Ben. Everyone looked at him.

“But Ben” said Gwen in a worried voice “he’s too heavy, he’ll crush me if he breaks the top bunk.”

“You can sleep on the top bunk now, I’ll sleep on the bottom one with my new best friend!”

“Really?! Yaaaaaaay” said Gwen as she ran to bounce on the top bunk. Max quickly ran to prevent her from bouncing off and hurting herself.

“It looks like everyone already accepted you as part of the family.” said Max in a friendly way. Tetrax smiled.

Family.

It did feel good to be part of something like this.

Tetrax refrained himself from laughing as Ben kept moving in his spot, trying to find a right position to sleep.

“Told ya. Even without my armor, my skin is too tough to rest your head on.” He now wore a black tank and blue shorts with a material strong enough to not be cut by a diamond head. But now it seemed the metal armor was more comfortable than his bare skin.

Ben looked at Tetrax and blinked twice before getting an idea. “I know!” He slapped the Omnitrix, and turned into Diamondhead again. “There” he laid his head on the adult’s arm and, almost instantly, he fell into slumber.

Tetrax knew it would only be a matter of time before the Omnitrix timed out, but he decided to let the kid have his fair share of sleep. He brought Ben closer to his chest and, feeling the boy raise his arms in his sleep to hug him, he smiled before falling asleep too.

It felt nice to have someone to care for.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

In 1948 Moon was arrested for bigamy, sent to Heungnam prison and excommunicated

Moon in handcuffs – photo from another of his sex trials – this one in 1955.

Moon never studied theology at a seminary, nor was he ordained by any main-line church. Apparently the Unification Church, or the The Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity, has never been accepted by any council of churches. It was not accepted as Christian in Korea. The New York Council of Churches rejected the application of the Unification Church after studying the doctrines as laid out in the Divine Principle.

The Family Federation for World Peace and Unification is the name adopted by the Unification Church in 1996.

Jane Day Mook published a well-researched article, “New Growth on Burnt-Over Ground,” in “A.D.” magazine (May 1974), pages 30-36. It was published by the Presbyterian Historical Society. Here are some excerpts:

“Both the theology and what were understood as the practices of the Unification Church have been anathema to main-line Christians in Korea. Moon himself was excommunicated by the Presbyterian Church in Korea as long ago as 1948.

“His church has not been accepted as a member of either the National Council of Churches or the National Association of Evangelicals in Korea, both of whom state unequivocally that the Unification Church is not Christian.

“But Korea is used to offbeat religious movements. There are dozens of splinter sects and ‘new religions’ there.”

The author continues:

“Here reference must be made to ‘pikareum,’ or ‘blood separation,’ which is referred to in Japanese and Korean sources. In this secret initiation rite, it is said that the inner-core members must have intercourse. In the early days of the Unification Church, this was with Moon who, through the act, made pure the initiate.

“In 1955 in Seoul Moon was imprisoned briefly and several students and professors were expelled from their universities because of engaging in what were called “the scandalous rites of the Unification Church”.

Sun Myung Moon’s second wife was Chong-hwa Kim. He married Chong-hwa Kim on February 22, 1948 in Pyongyang, North Korea, while still married to his first wife, Sun-gil Choi. He had married Sun-gil Choi on May 9, 1945, and his divorce from her was on January 8, 1957.

Professor Kim In-Soo: “Sun Myung Moon performed a forced wedding ceremony with X X Kim, who was already married. Kim’s husband reported this to the police.” History of Christianity in Korea (2011) page 499

Moon’s own words: “…they decided to report me to the authorities. This is how I came to be jailed for a third time in my life. This occurred at 10:00 AM on February 22, 1948.”

Michael Breen: “A few days after his arrival in Pyongyang, he [Moon] met Chong-hwa Kim and her husband, who lived nearby in the northern suburb of Kyongchang-ri. She was the women’s group leader at the Somunae-pak Church, one of the largest Presbyterian churches in the city. She would become his main follower in north Korea. … In January, 1947, he [Moon] moved to the house of Kim Chong-hwa and her husband, Myong-sun Chong, who had become the leading members of his small group.” Michael Breen, Sun Myung Moon, the early years 1920-1953, pages 72 and 81.

Sun Myung Moon’s own testimony (Chong-hwa Kim is the only person who fits this description): “There was a woman who was an important figure in the providence [in Pyongyang]. I visited her house for a year and a half and witnessed to her husband and all the other members of her family. The husband might have wanted to kill me, but he couldn’t do anything.”

Mrs Kim and her husband had three children. While Sun Myung Moon was living in their house, the husband slept in the children’s bedroom. Mr Moon slept with Mrs Kim.

Jin-Hun Yong (Director of Education – UC World Mission Headquarters) confirms that Chong-hwa Kim 金鍾和 and her husband, Myeong-seon Chung 鄭明先, were both followers of Moon in 1946-1948 in Pyongyang. See his ‘Course for Re-launching Providence’ presentation.

Ryo Hagiwara: The Life of Sun Myung Moon – the Messiah of a Perverted Sex Religion (1991) page 70

“Sun Myung Moon was first arrested by the security police on August 11, 1946. He was detained for three months at the Daedong police station [in Pyongyang] on the charge of causing social disorder, for alleged sexual immorality. On February 22, 1948 Sun Myung Moon was arrested for a second time by the Ministry of the Interior 内務省 for his coerced marriage with a married woman, Mrs Chong-hwa Kim. On April 27 he was sentenced to five years in Heungnam prison.”

Japanese wikiwand (accessed on October 22, 2018) :

42. The cult [the Unification Church] teaches that he (Moon) was charged with “disturbing the social order”. In reality, (Moon) was arrested [on February 22, 1948] for adultery with a businessman’s wife. When the police stepped in, they caught him in the act of performing a suspicious ritual with Chong-hwa Kim. Moon was arrested and charged with coercing the woman into marriage. Because of the husband’s complaint the court sentenced Moon to five years in prison [at Heungnam]. It is said that the husband’s wife was also found guilty and was sentenced to ten months in jail.

Sun Myung Moon: “While I was in prison [in Heungnam], Mrs. Kim was incarcerated. Mrs. Kim was in the position of Rachel. … Grandmother Pak was in the Leah position.”

http://www.tparents.org/Moon-Books/SunMyungMoon-Life/SunMyungMoon-Life-11.htm

週刊文春 (Shūkan Bunshun) October 28, 1993

pages 205 to 207

By Mr Arita Yoshifu    有田芳生

The Unification Church unmasked by a founding colleague of Sun Myung Moon

In prison because of an uproar over marriage to a married woman.

Mr. Chung-hwa Pak sat up straight and started speaking in fluent Japanese.

“Until recently Park Chung-hee was the president and there was no possibility to publish this book (The Tragedy of the Six Marys). However, we are now in the era of President Young-sam Kim who is a serious Christian. He is not connected to the hand of Sun Myung Moon – so now is the time. I believed that Sun Myung Moon was the Second Coming of the Messiah, and I left my family behind [to follow him]. That was a mistake, and it is one of the reasons why I wrote this book.”

“I belonged to the North Korean Second Brigade Second Battalion of the Ministry of the Interior. Some of my subordinates were involved in an illegal business in 1949. I received a sentence of three years imprisonment for the crime of dereliction of duty. At first I was in prison in Pyongyang, but eventually I was transferred to the Heungnam Special Labor Camp. Here I encountered Sun Myung Moon who was serving a five year prison sentence. He was charged with the crime of disturbing social order, because he attempted to wed himself to a married woman called Chong-hwa Kim 金鍾和.”

“In the camp I heard Moon's interpretation of the Bible and theories that he was the second coming of the messiah. Later I also participated in the founding of the Unification Church. That was the beginning of all my mistakes.”

Chung-hwa Pak – interview in Shūkan Gendai magazine

November 13, 1993

Mr. Atsuo Nakamura: “After you were released [from Heungnam prison] did you meet Mrs. Chong-hwa Kim?”

Mr. Pak: “I was not able to meet her straight away after I was released. Later, I met her [in Seoul] and we talked. I asked her and she admitted, at that time, she had sex with Moon. She spoke to me with tears streaming down her face: “I committed a crime that is not permitted, even if I confess it until I die. Moon is a big satan. I hate him so much I want to kill him.” However, she was not the only married woman who was a victim – there were other women.”

Los Angeles Times September 3, 2012

“Sun Myung Moon … problems with the North Korean government, which jailed him [in 1948] on charges of bigamy … He was freed in 1950. Moon’s first marriage, to Sung-gil Choe, ended in divorce in 1957. He had a son with her and another [Hee Jin Moon] with Myung-hee Kim, who lived with Moon during the 1950s. In 1960 he married Hak Ja Han, then a young disciple.”

http://www.latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-sun-myung-moon-20120903,0,619774.story

William J. Petersen: “According to the Rev. Won-Il Chei, a leading Presbyterian minister in Seoul, “If we believe those who have gone into the group and come out, they say that one has to receive Sun Myung Moon’s blood to receive salvation. That blood is ordinarily received by three periods of sexual intercourse. But this fact they themselves keep absolutely secret.” …

The Presbyterian church in Korea ruled the Unification Church as heretical for three reasons: (1) Sun Myung Moon has placed himself, more than Jesus Christ, as the object of faith; (2) their doctrine violated the morals of modern society; and (3) they would destroy the church by deceiving pure and sincere Christians.”

Those Curious New Cults (1975) page 250.

from an FBI report: “That Mr. Moon was excommunicated by the Presbyterian Church in Korea as long ago as 1948…”

Moon asked Chung-hwa Pak to visit Mrs. Chong-hwa Kim about seven times to persuade her to leave her husband and return to him. In the end Mrs. Kim realised her original husband loved her. She repented deeply for her sin of sexual relations with Sun Myung Moon. She was very grateful that her husband accepted her back. Later they moved to the U.S.

The tears and anger of Mrs. Chong-hwa Kim

Israel Houghton, Yolanda Adams, Hezekiah Walker working with FFWPU who think Jesus failed

Apparently the FFWPU paid A. Curtis Farrow to draw in a choir and crowd for Hak Ja Han’s 2017 Madison Square Garden event

High Profile Christians Work With FFWPU to Bring Only Begotten Daughter of God to America

“I will create a book that will make them throw away their Bibles” – Hak Ja Han

Sun Myung Moon’s birth name was Moon Yong-myung. Yong means dragon, originating from serpent.

Sun Myung Moon: “Christianity is an organization of idiots”

Ritual Sex in the Unification Church

Sun Myung Moon had six wives

The FFWPU is unequivocally not Christian

Ewha Woman’s University sex scandal as told in the 1955 newspapers

Moon “had a lot of sexual relationships which were described as being part of some kind of religious, spiritual ritual.” – Professor Eileen Barker

How “God’s Day” was established on January 1, 1968

[idletcwns]

light footsteps patter as a five year old ezra clifton makes his way across the hard wood floors of his bedroom. after a long day at kindergarten, the young tyke had napped most of the remnants of the afternoon away. the sun was now setting as the boy gazed out the window, the sky a conglomerate of vibrant pinks, reds, and oranges... however, his attention wasn’t on the sky. instead, his viridescent hues are fixed on a certain brown-haired boy playing in his backyard.

for as long as he could remembered, ezra had remembered his parents wouldn’t let him play with the boy next door, though he never understood why. the many times he’d asked to go over and play with him, his mother always told him firmly “ no. ” even when he questioned her, she never failed to rely on the infamous “ because i’m your mother and i said so ” bit. ezra couldn’t seem to understand what the harm could possibly be in playing with another kid could be. they seemed to have no problem with any other kid... in fact, they even encouraged him to at school, so it was all a mystery as to why he was forbidden to play with alistair — at least that’s what he thought his name was; that was what one of his friends at school who happened to be in his class told him.

footsteps approached little ezra’s bedroom, prompting the brunet to turn to face his mother. once again, the boy couldn’t resist asking to go play with alistair. there could be no harm in it, right ?

“ momma, ” the kid began, his arms wrapping around his mother’s leg, “ can i please go next door and play with alistair ? i did all my homework and cleaned my room. i think i should at least get to have some fun. ” his little arms were now crossed against his chest.

once again, his plans were brought to a dismal halt. “ it was too late. the sun’s already down, coração, ” she had said. “ besides, you’re not allowed to play with him anyways. don’t question me on this. ”

a sigh escaped the tiny boy’s lips as he climbed onto his bed. maybe one day he’d play with him on the playground at school. yes, that was it. he’d play with alistair at school. he’d bring his pokemon cards too, just in case the boy was interested in that. ezra was determined to be friends with him, even if his parents disapproved.

of course, the young boy never managed to do it, though he thought about it every day until he entered middle school.

his pencil tapped steadily against his desk as he attempted to focus on the lesson his geography teacher was teaching. though he was a good student, ezra didn’t seem to quite care about the climate of new england. hell, he’d been to new england, so why the hell did it matter, and why the hell was a whole lesson devoted to it ? ezra would never understand the inner-workings of the ms. sanderson’s mind, especially not in freshman geography.

rather than the foliage of vermont being on his mind, ezra opted to, instead, think about something else... red. alistair greendale always seemed to be on ezra’s mind, lingering in the back of his mind even during the tasks of the utmost importance. but he’d noticed that the boy must’ve dyed his hair over the summer because it was a bright ginger now. it was adorable, in ezra’s opinion, though he’s not sure he could say it out loud... no, he knows he could never say it out loud. surely if ezra dared to call him adorable, his ass would be pummeled in seconds, if not by alistair himself then by a nosy straight boy listening in.

ezra couldn’t admit it at the time, but he’d developed a small crush on the slightly younger boy long, long ago. every time he thought about alistair, he could feel his stomach drop as if he was on his favorite roller coaster at disney world. his notebooks, while mostly filled with color coded notes, even featured quite a number of doodles of alistair’s name or his initials alongside ezra’s encompassed in a heart. his notebook for more personal things, which was hidden under a loose floorboard in his bedroom, featured more doodles of that sort and writings — mainly ramblings but the occasional poem made an appearance too — about the ezra-declared “a greek god that graced an undeserving planet.”  

even now, he was staring at the boy when he should’ve been focusing on the presentation ms. anderson was babbling on about. it was embarrassing; they’d hardly ever spoken to each other... still, his eyes were glued onto him, captivated by the way alistair’s hands moved as he scribbled notes onto his paper, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, his voice when he spoke to his friends... he could go on and on for hours about the redhead, and he would internally, at least.

 ezra couldn’t even escape him in his sleep; he dreamed about him at the fewest once a week, and that was just what he could recall. he couldn’t count the number of times a dream that had gone awry somehow ended up wit alistair saving the day and sweeping him off his feet... how ridiculous did that sound ? alistair was probably straight; according to everyone around ezra, he was dating luna. he couldn’t help but be jealous of her, even if he didn’t really have any grounds to get upset.

his train of thought was interrupted by one of his soccer teammates and best friend alexander waved his hand in front of him. 

“ class is over, ez. hurry the hell up, i don’t wanna lose our table at lunch. you know the junior assholes like to steal it, ” he barked at him, but it went through one ear and out the other. the boy was still thinking about alistair, and he did for the rest of the day... in more ways than he ought to.

after two years of hard work, sweat, and a lot of running, ezra clifton had made the varisty soccer team, and he was already rising in the ranks, quickly becoming one of the coach’s favorite players. they practiced almost every day with the exception of thursdays and fridays — the latter which were saved for games. this was no exception the day the school was abuzz with rumors of a fight that had gone on earlier that day. usually, ezra didn’t give a damn about any fights that were going on in the school; he thought they were petty and a waste of time that could be spent learning... however, once he learned alistair greendale was involved, his demeanor changed. 

the team was gathered around in the locker room, watching videos from bystanders of the altercations. needless to say, ezra was proud of his man... well, in his mind, alistair was his man. 

“ so, uh, what caused all of that ? ” ezra inquired, not to anyone in particular, but he hoped that someone knew.

“ apparently, it was you, ” one of the seniors named jimmy answered.

“ me, how the hell did i start a fight i didn’t even know about ?? ” he shot backed, a puzzled look on his face.

“ word is that the other kid said somethin’ about you, and alistair just started hittin’ ‘im. ‘s all i know. ”

ezra couldn’t believe it... alistair hit someone over him ? he thought he was worth getting expelled ? well, okay, ezra figured that wasn’t too high on his priorities, but the thought of it made it seem romantic to him.

it was all he could think about on his drive home and as he was making his way into the house. somehow even his parents knew about because he heard them discussing it in the kitchen as he walked into the house. setting his keys on the table, their attention soon turned to him.

“ i don’t want you hanging out with that greendale kid, ezra, ” his father spoke firmly. “ that boy is nothing but trouble. ”

“ that’s not true, dad, and you know that. we’ve lived next to him for how many years, and he’s never given us any grief. i’ll hang out with him if want to, ” he retorted.

“ ezra warner clifton, you listen to your father... and don’t talk back to him, ” his mother snapped. “ meu deus, meu filho vai ser um encrenqueiro agora, ” she muttered under her breath.

“ não seja tão dramático, ” ezra grumbled before he was commanded to go to his room.

preferring to be alone, he spent the rest of his night in his room, only coming down to grab a snack every so often. most of his night was spent hunched over a piece of paper scrawling words over and over again. his trash can was filled with balls of paper from letters to alistair he’d deemed unacceptable for one reason or another, be it he didn’t like the way he crossed his t or he made a grammar error. he hadn’t even began a letter he was happy with until he saw the boy in his backyard. the light barely illuminated his face, but even from his window, ezra could make out the cut on the boy’s face. his stomach twisted as he had to look away from alistair for the first time in his life out of of sheer guilt. he did that. 

the ink start flowing as ezra finally began his perfect letter. every loop was perfect, every t crossed and i dotted. he’d even gone so far as to write the thing in cursive.

alistair,

i know we don’t speak at all, but i wanted to write you to let you know how much i admire you. you’re very courageous and never back down, and i think you are just phenomenal... but before i get too far into this letter, i want to say thank you, if the rumors are true that this whole fight started because of me. if that’s not true, well, please don’t continue on, or else i’ll look a fucking fool... excuse my language.

for more than seven years now, i’ve always been captivated by you, and i didn’t realize why until i was in the ninth grade, i think. i’m sure you’ve caught me staring at you across the lunchroom or classroom, and i know it’s absolutely rude to stare at people... but i can’t help it. you’re gorgeous, and i’ve developed a crush on you, i think. i guess i should keep that to myself, but something is telling me that you may like me too. i’m putting everything on the line here really to just write this. i’d never live this down if anyone on the team found out i was gay... but i think i can trust you from what i’ve observed these past few years of being in class together, like i know when your birthday is, what you drink at lunch everyday, what color pen you use most often... all that kind of stuff. god, i sound like a stalker, but i promise i’m not... i just really like you, and i hope you like me too... and if not, well, you can just throw this away, but please, don’t tell anyone. just pretend you didn’t ever read this part of the letter if that’s the case...

love, ezra

the next morning, ezra gave the letter sealed in an envelope to one of their mutual friends in his chemistry class... little did he know that the letter would never make it to a certain ginger-haired boy.

[akaluan]

so what happens the first time shiro fronts in front of the tiger cubs :3?

Okay, so I’m not 100% on a lot of this, and DE might end up having Shiro getting actively involved in front of the others in the actual story but... eh. This bit me in my dreams.

Also, brief cameo of the Vizard.

Kurosaki Ichigo — post DE

Ichigo wondered exactly why Kaito had called all of them in so suddenly. The other hadn’t seemed worried, or concerned, but… there had been something in his voice that made Ichigo wary.

Apparently, the others had picked up on it too. Ishida was fiddling with his glasses as they approached the shoten, Chad was looming in that way he got, when things were edging towards dicey, and even Orihime had an edge of forced cheer to her.

“Ah, you’re here,” Hat’n’Clogs said as soon as they stepped inside the shoten. The ex-Shinigami eyed the four of them for a moment, eyes shadowed by his hat and closed fan tapping against his chin. “Kaito’s in the training ground.”

Ichigo stepped forward, towards the closed trapdoor, only to find Urahara’s fan pressing against his chest and a chill feeling permeating the air.

“I would just like to state, right now, that if any of you harm my son…”

Ichigo shared a startled look with the others; the idea of any of them being capable of hurting Kaito was almost ludicrous. Except… except Ishida had that look in his eyes, like another piece of the puzzle that was Kaito had resolved itself, and that it wasn’t a pleasant revelation. Sometimes, Ichigo felt like he was eating dust; constantly struggling to keep up with Ishida, who seemed to just understand Kaito in ways that Ichigo just couldn’t process.

Ishida had told him, once, that it was a good thing Ichigo couldn’t keep up. That it meant Ichigo hadn’t experienced the things that would have led to that familiarity.

“We won’t,” Ishida told Urahara firmly, as he moved forward and yanked the trapdoor open.

They descended into the training room, Urahara watching with an unreadable gaze, and straight into the middle of a raging battle.

“Oh!” Orihime rushed over to a collapsed stranger, hands already glowing with power as she called up her fairies.

Ichigo eyed the downed person — a Shinigami, he suspected — and then looked at the rest of the vast training room. That wasn’t the only downed person he could see; there were three others within his sight, and from the traces of battle he suspected there were several more scattered around outside of his sight.

But what caught his attention was Kaito, semi-familiar bloodthirsty grin spread across his face, battling with a blond-haired Shinigami who was clearly struggling.

“C’mon, stop bein’ a fuckin’ coward!” Kaito exclaimed, shoving the stranger away and bounding after him. He was only using a single blade — the white-backed one that Kaito had said was named Shiro — and was clearly dominating the fight even with that handicap to his style. “Y’ain’t gunna win this by holdin’ back, y’idjit!”

The stranger grunted, straining against Kaito’s blade. “I will never sink to your level, Hollow. I don’t know why Urahara never called us about you, but if you think I will allow you to steal Kaito away from him—”

Kaito threw back his head and laughed, manic and cruel in a way that Kaito wasn’t.

Ichigo stiffened and shared a look with Ishida.

“It does explain a lot,” Ishida murmured, as they both moved closer to Chad and Orihime. Strength in numbers was all they had, and they weren’t about to give that advantage up. “But Urahara-san already knows about this.”

“The warning,” Ichigo replied.

Ishida nodded. “Hollows are heartless, hungry beasts, come to devour souls in an attempt to regain what they’ve lost. Except…”

They considered Kaito together, taking in the wild expression and the predatory movements. There was still bits of Kaito visible, and, more damningly…

That smile was familiar. It had shown up many times, especially during heated spars or when they were fighting for their lives.

Kaito relied on the apparent Hollow to carry him through many things, and Ichigo just… couldn’t see that dynamic changing. Which meant that this dominance was a willing thing, not some loss of control on Kaito’s part like the stranger had implied.

“Orihime?” He asked, wondering at what she had found.

“He’s fine,” Orihime answered. “A bit battered, and low on reiatsu from fighting, but there’s nothing worse than what Kaito-san gives you during a spar.”

Ichigo nodded, assured in his reading of the situation.

“This’s th’downside a’yer idiot decision!” Kaito’s voice called out, drawing all of their attention to where Kaito stood with the stranger in a choke hold. “Yer s’pressin’ yer fuckin’ instincts along wit’ yer soul!”

The stranger struggled, clawing at the arm around his throat, before eventually succumbing to unconsciousness after a few tense minutes.

The Hollow in Kaito’s body let the stranger slump to the ground, then turned to stalk towards them. Ichigo tilted his chin up at the sight of bright golden eyes and solid black sclera, unwilling to show weakness in front of this unknown side of Kaito’s.

“What’ve we here,” the Hollow said with amusement. “Koneko’s litter a’cubs, huh? Gunna run, lil cubs?”

 Orihime giggled, then quickly covered her mouth with a hand, staring up at the Hollow warily. When all the other did was smirk at her, she lowered her hand slowly and asked, “Koneko?”

“A’huh!” the Hollow agreed. “First time we met, he was all cute’n’fluffy like a kitten, so, Koneko!”

Ishida coughed and looked away, clearly amused and trying to hide it. Orihime was giggling freely, relaxing in the Hollow’s presence. Chad’s snort of amusement was mostly hidden by Orihime’s giggles, but all Ichigo needed to do was turn his head to see the clear signs of amusement on his friend’s face.

“He lets you get away with that?” Chad asked.

“Eeeehh,” the Hollow shrugged and wiggled a hand in a so-so motion. “He got used ta it!”

“So, no then,” Chad finished.

“Pretty much!” The Hollow scanned the four of them once more, then took a step forward and prodded Ichigo in the chest. His expression turned serious. “Now, I ain’t gotta clue how those idjits found ya, but I ain’t lettin’ ‘em poison yer mind ‘gainst part a’yer soul.”

“Me?” Ichigo frowned, looking from the Hollow to the scattered Shinigami around them. He wondered how long Kaito had known what he had only just begun to suspect. “What… do you mean?”

“Tch, yer more akin t’Koneko than y’realize.” The Hollow sighed and shook his head. “Look. Hollows… th’weak ones’re stupid an’ mindless an dangerous, yeh, but the ones like me, carried in th’soul of a person. We’re more jes’… instincts realized.”

“He let you control his body so we’d understand that, didn’t he?” Ishida asked. “Because he knew we’d never believe if we didn’t see it.”

“Got it in one, archer-cub!”

Ishida made an offended noise at the nickname that had the Hollow smirking, but before he could say anything, Orihime spoke up.

“So… so Kurosaki-kun has a Hollow inside him?” At the Hollow’s nod, she frowned and looked at the scattered Shinigami. “And… they wanted to teach him to suppress that part? Which is, according to you, his instincts?”

“Yep.”

“That’s so stupid!” Orihime shouted, whirling to Chad and looking up at the teen with pleading eyes. “That’s stupid, right?”

“It is,” Chad said with a nod. “Fights are about instincts, and so is Ichigo.”

“Yeah!” Orihime happily agreed, before she whirled back around and took several determined steps towards the Hollow. “So you’re going to teach him, right? How to work together, like you and Kaito-kun do?”

“Tha’s th’plan, fluffy,” the Hollow said, grinning. He turned that dangerous grin on Ichigo, and suddenly Ichigo had a terrible, terrible sinking sensation in his chest. That grin promised absolute chaos. “An’ I intend t’be as good an instructor as Koneko ever was.”

Ichigo bolted.

It wouldn’t save him, but his instincts were screaming ‘run’, and right now? Right now, he was one hundred percent behind following them.

[onwesterlywinds]

Dearest Ashelia

For all that time and distance and war have stolen from us, I have never once in twenty-six years forgotten the significance of this day.

Ashley moved as silently as he was able across the creaky kitchen floorboards in the dead of night. Alma had moved his satchel from where he'd put it last - or maybe he'd misplaced it himself - but he had promised to keep the lights off and he was supposed to have been out the door seven minutes ago. In truth, there was nothing he needed among his personal effects that could not be replaced once he reported in at the palace; nevertheless, he paced around in the dark until his pulse beat quicker with anxiety and frustration. Then he heard footsteps from the bedroom, then a sigh, then Tia murmuring his name.

His wife had lit a lamp by the time he returned and was sitting up in bed, white sheets kicked to one side, her skin glistening with sweat. The night was hot and unbearably humid, and he did not begrudge her the eventual need to go back to sleep.

"You're leaving?"

He nodded his affirmation from the doorway, only scarcely trusting himself not to speak a word of the mission ahead.

Tia let out another deep exhale, then lowered her gaze to the swell of her abdomen beneath her thin nightshift. "I think it's time. Then again, it could be another false alarm."

There was no plea in her voice for him to stay, nor even the barest hint that she wished for him to abandon his mission in favor of remaining at her side.

"Please promise me," he said. "I know Mondeberta is the finest midwife in the Quarter, and you know I would trust her with all our lives, but please - if anything should go awry, the palace chirurgeons will be ready to receive you. You need only call for them."

"I promise, Ashley."

Ashley did not often consider the possibility of falling in battle, or of never returning home; yet for all he had tried since he and Tia had first spoken of such things, there would be no coming to grips with the notion that he might leave a child with one less parent.

He crossed the room in a few quick paces and drew her into his arms. Necessity hastened his every movement, clipped short what he knew would be their last embrace before everything changed: he tucked a lock of Tia's sweat-streaked hair behind one ear, stroked the line of her jaw as he kissed her, and let his other hand settle on her belly for the briefest of moments before he realized that if he did not leave now, he would never leave at all.

I was not present at the moment of your birth. While you were being brought into the world, I was serving the Mad King through what would ultimately prove to be one of the greatest atrocities in Ala Mhigo's recent history: the Kingsguard's sacking of Rhalgr's Reach.

As a Riskbreaker, my tasks went far beyond those given to the standard rank and file. I was sent to the Temple of the Fist early that morning to eliminate key targets - monks and priests with the standing or the means to rally others against the king. My mission was, in short, to eliminate all hope of reprisal before the battle had even begun.

Leaping Doe sat at the front of the recreational hall with her legs crossed in a traditional meditative pose and a crowd of refugees assembled before her. The hall itself, like much of the rest of the temple, looked to be centuries old, what with the dawn light pouring in through the open ceiling and the elaborate tapestries on the walls depicting scenes of monks from antiquity. Though the space had the means to hold several hundred comfortably, no more than twenty had gathered to participate in Leaping Doe's guided morning exercises. Ashley pulled his ragged cloak - a staple of the Undercity's - a little tighter across his shoulders and sat down at the back of the group, near an elderly Miqo'te woman in rags.

The smile that the young monk sent across her crowd of pupils was kindly but guarded; Ashley could see in that smile every onze the charitable soul the scouts had reported, albeit one whose good deeds had been rebuked once or twice too often. She would allegedly have been bound for a position of leadership within the year, had one of the senior monks not seen fit to promote instead some nephew or cousin. Nevertheless, Leaping Doe's reputation for kindness twinned with her innate gift for the forms had inspired recruits and refugees alike - had given her the capacity to lead others through her example.

In the event of a massacre, she would be the first whom many of them would turn to. She, whether or not she knew it, was among the select few with the means to launch a counterattack against the crown.

She spoke in a gentle voice of committing oneself to great deeds, her words creating a steady rhythm that ebbed and flowed for all to hear. He closed his eyes along with all the others but did not allow his mind to give way to meditation. Though he could have slipped into the Echo as easily as anyone in the hall, that momentary peace would not be worth the lapse in concentration.

He counted the seconds before the refugees stood one by one, stretching and chatting amongst themselves, until each of each of them had departed and Leaping Doe preoccupied herself with putting away any of the threadbare meditation rugs that had been left out across the stone floor. Her death would have to be quick, or all would be for naught. She was bound for the kitchens after this, and none of the routes she might take would be devoid of witnesses-

"What are you still doing here?" Her voice, little more than a murmur, radiated with the same power he had forsaken only moments before. Her every muscle was poised to strike before she had even turned to face him. "Leave now, friend. Cease this course, or I-"

She abandoned her placating demeanor, as he had known she would, and lunged toward him with a shoulder tackle.

The dagger that left his hand flew through the air and embedded deep in her throat. Her eyes widened in pain and shock and fear, and only after a second did the blood begin to seep down her neck in a heavy gush; when she fell to the floor, her final motion was to let out one last cough of blood and spittle before she at last lay still.

He retrieved his dagger and cut slits in her stained tantra robes, that they might fall away with greater ease when he threw her body into the Velodyna. There could be nothing left of Leaping Doe - no means at all for her to become a martyr.

To this day, there are few missions that haunt me to such an extent. It was in many ways my first test of many throughout my stint as a Riskbreaker - a test to see if I could live with the future I had carved for my family and my country through my actions and allegiances.

The blaze shot up through the early morning mist of the Peaks, tearing through the horizon in a column of flame and smoke and dispelling any hope of serenity in that dawning. The only mercy, if any mercy was to be had that day, was that so little grew in the outlying areas: the beacon of destruction shot only upward and bore no chance of spreading to outlying settlements through sparks on the wind. It would instead send a message, one that would be made clearer still when Theodoric's standard was eventually raised over the wreckage.

He had always found it difficult to wait. He suspected that that was part of the reason he had always excelled at his own lengthy missions: so long as he had something to do with himself, no matter its physical toll, he would keep from delving too deeply into his own thoughts. Even when he'd been a newly-orphaned sprat, he would rather have scoured the foulest passage in the Undercity than sit alone and idle on a market corner.

To sit and watch and wait without any guarantee that anyone would ever pass-

There came the brief gust of a southerly wind and he nearly gagged at its stench of burned flesh. Even as it reminded him of that horrible day in Rinomy's only nine moons back, it was enough to tear him away from still more memories.

As the bells dragged on, he espied some few people atop the cliffs from the place where he lay in wait: a lone Roegadyn miner who fell to his knees and sobbed, a slight woman on the back of a chocobo who immediately raced off to the north, a pair of gangly Hyuran brothers in identical cloaks who stood transfixed and clasped each other's hands. He let them come and go, for they could hold no possible threat to the crown.

At long last, the target for whom he had been waiting emerged from a heavy curtain of smoke amid the blackened pillars, as though summoned from the depths of the void. The elderly priest cast about wild glances at his surroundings, shifted a fulm-long bundle in his arms, and took a tentative step toward the road to Ala Gannha.

There would be no traversing the distance between them without being seen, not in the vivid afternoon sun. Ashley raised his readied crossbow and fired three silent shots: two into the chest, a third into the cheek.

The priest had ceased twitching by the time Ashley could sneak over to the body, and the bundle had come unbound in his death throes. Priceless works of scripture, teachings handed down through generations since the great flood, lay scattered and torn at Ashley's feet.

He gathered what he could and left the rest for the earth.

Ultimately, what kept me sane during the aftermath of that day was the unyielding belief that it would all mean something - that there would be some great, underlying justice to the wrongs I had committed for the sake of order. In the years that followed, when it became more apparent than ever that the Garleans had set their sights on Aldenard, I believed an Ala Mhigan tyrant preferable to foreign occupation and told myself I acted only in accordance with those beliefs.

The Kingsguard's initial orders had been for each knight to take up a precise station at each entrance or exit to the network of stone tunnels throughout the Reach and to cut down anyone attempting to flee. That plan had gone awry as the conflagration had spread to the tunnels themselves, quicker than Grand Steward Atkascha could have anticipated. Any fighting was done out in the greater courtyard, beneath the gaze of the Destroyer. Few of the monks who had managed to stumble so far from the temple presented much of a challenge, their lungs so filled with smoke and the reek of death; before long, even the most skilled of their number were overtaken by the sheer force of the knights lying in wait for them on all sides.

But it was no battle. Monks of the sect of the light believed above all else that battle could only ever be counted as an engagement between participants on equal terms. Anything else, they maintained, was slaughter.

The sun beat down into the canyon with a hellish insistency. The pool around Starfall, so clear the previous morning, was now tinged a murky brown. Wherever the fires had begun to abate, some of the knights had taken to gathering up the corpses from within the smoke-filled ruins and moving them into horrific piles. He passed a lone soldier holding a sword in one hand and dragging a burned monk by his hair from under a toppled pillar with the other; when at last the blackened, crumpled body was free, the soldier reached over and proceeded to stab it over and over again.

Beads of sweat ran down from Ashley's brow and back, tracking through every layer of soot and blood and grime. His skin itched beneath his leather armor; the summer heat compounded his discomfort. He needed to find water - clean water, after what they'd done to the wells - before he collapsed from dehydration. With that single focused thought at last propelling him onward, he set out on a new course away from the carnage.

It took nearly two days for the last of the fighting to die down. Only when all was being accounted for, when the weight of the Kingsguard's victory was still being assessed, did I learn of your birth.

I knew then that all I had done had not been in vain.

"Are you alone?"

Ashley, his linkpearl cupped in his hand, cast a glance around the shadowed antechamber. It was full of soldiers as weary as he, many of them a good deal more bloodied, all of them seeking out a moment's rest. "Alone enough." Whatever orders he had been given in secrecy mattered little now that they had been carried out; each of them, Riskbreaker or no, had played their own part in the king's madness. "Let's hear it."

Atkascha sighed, but though Ashley readied himself for a lecture on the need for protocols, none came. Atkascha was in all likelihood as exhausted as the rest of them after over two days of intercepting and analyzing untold amounts of intelligence, despite not once setting foot outside the capital.

"Initial reports estimate over eighty percent of the temple's two thousand four hundred residents have been confirmed dead, with many more still missing. That isn't accounting for the refugees. Not one of your targets has yet been listed among the known dead; as was expected, what survivors can be accounted for have since focused their efforts to locate them, particularly Leaping Doe."

"Go on."

"Word of this has already spread throughout Aldenard. Throughout Hydaelyn, perhaps. These events will doubtless embolden some anti-monarchy sentiments, and an early report from Ala Ghiri suggests that the True Sons are already clamoring for retribution; they will doubtless need to be quelled before long. And-"

"And?"

Ashley could only hold his breath in the intervening pause.

"...Your daughter, Ashelia Marco Riot, was born two days ago without incident."

He was staring off into the distance at something that might once have been a pillar but was now little more than a heap of dark rubble. His daughter. And they had given her Marco's name nevertheless. A soldier off to his left began to clap, then was joined by another; someone else in the vicinity burst into tears.

"You've been given leave to return to the capital at once."

At that, Ashley pushed to his feet with a groan - perhaps he had been sitting on the unforgiving cobbles for longer than he had realized - and hastened to the chamber's exit, to the courtyard where the Destroyer stared down upon them all. Thick rain clouds had blown in early that morning, bringing with them an occasional rumble of thunder. Were he capable of believing in anything at that moment beyond what he could see, beyond what he knew for certain, he might have thought of it as an omen from Rhalgr Himself.

His daughter.

"Are you still there?" he said into the linkpearl thirty seconds after he was certain he wasn't being followed.

"Of course."

"I need a favor."

"Name it."

"Keep talking to me on my way back."

"Too great a chance of you being overheard." There was no one, would be no one for malms, but Ashley suspected his superior had only stayed awake as long as he had in order to be the one to deliver the news. "We'll speak again once you've returned."

The line went dead with a click, and Ashley turned northward in solitude.

We only ever had two wishes for you, your mother and I. The first was for you to see more of the world than we did, and we thought that a foregone conclusion each time you would sneak your way into the Undercity to explore. The second was that you would never feel a need to follow in my footsteps.

Marco was a more loyal, braver, better man than any I have ever known. He died the day you quickened in your mother's womb; you were given his name the day I brought the temple of his faith to ruins. And you are more than worthy of his name. He would have loved you with all his heart.

His eyes burned from fatigue by the time he passed through Gylbarde's Gate. For the first time in longer than he could remember, though he could remember precious little at that moment, he had crossed the Lochs on foot without considering a stop at Marco's tree. There would be time later, his family were waiting, and he did not think he could bear to face Marco then.

He moved like a wraith through the daylight streets, dazed to the seventh hell. He felt removed from the bustle and clamor, numb to every sensation except the sharp glare of sunlight. It would have been easier to go through the sewers, and yet he did not want to travel in solitude any longer; even still, the crush of so many people going about such normal tasks threatened to overwhelm him. Every now and then, always in hushed and agitated whispers, came fragments of discussion of what had taken place at the temple.

Only when he heard three sharp, familiar barks was he jarred back to the present, to the grounding reality that he had come home from one more mission.

"There he is!" came Alma's voice before he had opened the door. "Oh gods, he's back, he's-"

He had only to step through the threshold and into the kitchen before his sister-in-law's arms were around him. "She's beautiful," Alma said. "Tia's resting. Montblanc hasn't left the foot of the bed."

He opened his mouth to voice some apology and blacked out.

That I send this letter now to Rhalgr's Reach proves once and for all that your deeds have far surpassed my own.

Happy birthday, my dearest.

He awoke in his own bed to Tia's fingers pushing back his hair and her deep indigo eyes meeting his own. It was a knowing gaze, an acknowledgement of everything unspoken - a kinder welcome home than any he deserved. With one arm trapped beneath her frame and his head propped against her shoulder, he looked down to find a tiny baby girl, scarcely two days old, swaddled and asleep in the crook of her mother's arm.

And she, Ashelia Marco Riot, was the most wondrous thing he had ever seen.

I remain, now and always,

Your father

[fireflyfish]

Tano and Kenobi: The Duchess of Mandalore

After an exciting adventure out on the Outer Rim, Ahsoka Tano and Obi-Wan Kenobi return to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant with Master Sifo Dyas. Master Dyas believes the two have some kind of connection to the strange Force event that Ahsoka is convinced is related to Anakin Skywalker's birth. Back at the Temple, life continued on for our duo but Tano and Kenobi are soon called back into action by the Jedi Council and receive a new mission: Protect the Duchess of Mandalore, Satine Kryze.Previously on Tano and Kenobi...

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Mandalore.

They're sending us to Mandalore.

Ahsoka felt her mind go blank and the world around her fall away for one brief and blinding moment of panic.

They couldn't go to Mandalore now! Anakin was out there, somewhere. He needed to be found! He and his mother needed to be freed from slavery and he needed to be brought to the Temple where she and Obi-Wan could protect him from Palpatine and whatever other Sith Lords were running around the galaxy at the moment.

A brief memory flashed through Ahsoka’s mind, one where she, Rex, and Anakin were in a cantina waiting for an informant to make contact, back before the Battle of Mandalore.

“So who are we waiting for, Skyguy?” Ahsoka asked as she sipped at her Tarisian latte. “And when are they getting here?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin shrugged, finishing off his shot of Gingensu cactus liquor. “Obi-Wan just said that they would help us and to treat them as you would have the Duchess.”

“The Duchess?” Ahsoka frowned at that, exchanging a look with Rex. She glanced down at her hands, remembering how distraught Master Obi-Wan had been when he returned to the Temple. “Is he doing all right? I know he and the Duchess were very close.”

Anakin shrugged, his own gaze fixed on a distant point, his brows furrowed and eyes dark. “You know Obi-Wan. He could be bleeding to death and missing a limb and he would still insist that he was fine.”

Rex nodded, tossing back the last of his Dantooine beer. “Cody said the same thing. Said the General hasn’t mentioned it but he’s keeping a close eye on him all the same.”

Ahsoka sighed softly. “This must be so hard for him. To come back to Mandalore to face Maul? After everything that’s happened?”

There was silence between the three of them before Ahsoka spoke up. “How did Obi-Wan meet the Duchess? I don’t think I ever asked before. Do you know, Skyguy?”

“I don’t know much other than what Obi-Wan told me,” Anakin said, ordering a mug of caf. “He and Master Qui-Gon were assigned to protect the Duchess when Obi-Wan was a padawan and it was a year-long mission.”

“Wow!” Ahsoka murmured, almost unable to imagine being in one place for more than six weeks, let alone a year. “So what happened?”

Anakin thanked the bartender and paid for his caf before turning back to Ahsoka and Rex. “The Mandalorian Civil War ended and they went their separate ways.”

A year?

A year? We don’t have a year to spend on Mandalore! We have to find Anakin now!

“Knight Tano?” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi’s voice broke through Ahsoka’s panic, immediately dousing it with ice-cold water. “Is something wrong? Have you had a previous experience that would cause a conflict of interest on this mission? If that is the case, we can always assign it to another Jedi. Perhaps Knight Lia and Padawan Rast?”

As worried and anxious as Ahsoka was, the very idea that someone else would go on what the Force had apparently decreed to be Obi-Wan’s destined mission rubbed her the wrong way. The Duchess Satine was Master Obi-Wan’s dear friend and that made her family. Ahsoka couldn’t just abandon Satine to someone who didn’t know the amazing woman she was going to grow up into.

Who knows? Maybe we can negotiate some kind of peace with Deathwatch before it becomes Deathwatch. And just because it took a year with Qui-Gon doesn’t mean it’s going to take a year for me and Obi-Wan to complete this mission.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Ahsoka said, making sure her voice was clear and strong. She turned to look at Obi-Wan, who was watching her with narrowed blue-grey eyes. “You ready to go to Mandalore, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan sent across the briefest swell of concern and anxiety over their bond before nodding. “I am looking forward to meeting my first real Mandalorian.”

Master Plo Koon chuckled softly at that. “Your good cheer and enthusiasm for your tasks is boundless, Padawan Kenobi. I sense it will serve you in good stead on this next mission.”

Stars above, I hope so, Ahsoka thought as she accepted the datapad from Master Mundi and they were both dismissed.

“Master?” Obi-Wan stuck his head out of his room into the joined living area of their suite of rooms. “Do we have enough time for me to visit the Archives? I would like to do some research on Mandalore before we go. Especially given our fractious history with them.”

Ahsoka looked up from the mission datapad, momentarily distracted from her inner fretting. “I think that would be a good idea. Grab anything you think will be useful on this trip. I have a feeling this mission is going to be more difficult than the Council realizes.”

Obi-Wan frowned and stepped fully out of his room, sitting down on the edge of the sofa. “What do you mean, Master? Have you had a vision? Should we go speak to Master Dyas?”

Smiling faintly, Ahsoka shook her head. “No. It’s not a vision it’s a… feeling. Mandalore is in the middle of a civil war and they’ve requested Jedi to protect their head of state? Doesn’t that seem strange to you? Given our history?”

Obi-Wan folded his arms over this chest, his hand covering his mouth as his gaze unfocused while in thought. Ahsoka watched him think, watched his brows draw together as he mulled over her statement.

And now that Ahsoka had mentioned it, why had the Mandalorians requested Jedi aid in this moment of crisis? Or had they simply requested aid from the Republic and the Senate had just passed it along to the Jedi? What exactly were they heading into?

“It does seem odd,” Obi-Wan finally agreed, his gaze focusing back on Ahsoka. “I’ll keep that in mind in the Archives. Master Plo gave me his master’s code so I should be able to get a full dossier for our mission. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to focus on?”

Ahsoka frowned, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “Yes. I want you to include the outlying planets in the system, common hyperspace routes, and anything that might be useful.”

Obi-Wan gave his master a half-smile. “Worried we’ll be run off the planet by enraged Mandalorians?”

“I’ve been run out of nicer places than Mandalore,” Ahsoka chuckled. “I wouldn’t put anything past them. But I’m holding you up. Go on ahead and let me know what you find.”

Obi-Wan nodded and stood up, bowing his head to Ahsoka before he headed out the door. She watched him go with a tight feeling in her chest.

This is going to be really hard on you, Obi-Wan. I hope you’re ready for it.

I hope I’m ready for it.

Ahsoka walked back to her room and activated the data access panel, pulling up her personal database and searching for her notes on Mandalore, the Duchess Satine Kryze and Obi-Wan. After a few moments, her entries appeared before her, far too short for her liking.

Taking out an empty datapad, Ahsoka began to download the information.

While the download was processing, Ahsoka stood up and took a long look at her room, wondering what she needed to take with her on the trip. She had assumed, erroneously as it had turned out, that because Obi-Wan went to Mandalore with Qui-Gon that she and Obi-Wan weren’t going to be sent on that mission. 

After all, Qui-Gon’s reputation as a diplomat was well-earned and tales of his exploits often made the holo news. After Plo Koon and Adi Gallia’s investigation on Raxus came to an end, revealing the perpetrator of the bombing as a lone, insane radical, Qui-Gon had been dispatched to bring a resolution to the internecine strife of Acronae and Acromino. It had taken him two months but both parties seemed content, if not happy.

According to Temple rumors, a few particularly brave initiates had approached him to see if he would be willing to take them on as padawan learners but nothing had ever come from their attempts.

Ahsoka wished Qui-Gon would just move on and take a new padawan learner but there wasn’t anything she could really do about it. It wasn’t like she could make him take a padawan. She had already tried that and it hadn’t worked out very well.

“Mandalore,” Ahsoka murmured, gazing out her window at the bright blue sky of Coruscant, watching the speeders move overhead. She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes.

For a long while, Ahsoka was silent, focusing on her breathing and letting the quiet stillness of the Temple seep down into her bones. It had been a long time since she had had to operate away from the comfort and support of the Temple, to be on her own with only her own smarts and wits to rely on. While Obi-Wan was going to be with her, he was still a teenager and she was responsible for him.

Ahsoka stepped away from the wall and walked back to her closet, opening the door and taking out a small pack and laying it down on the bed.

We’ll have to be prepared for anything. Even being cut off from the Temple. That’s the only reason I can think of that the mission took a whole year.

Turning back to her closet, Ahsoka pushed aside her winter-weight outer robe and an extra pair of robes to reveal the grey outfit she had on when she arrived in the past. Pulling them out of the closet, she looked down at the fabric and tan armor that made up her old outfit.

Fulcrum’s outfit.

It had been three years since she she had last worn the clothing and armor that she was carefully tucking into her bag. Three years of peace and growth under the protective shade of the Jedi Order. Three years spent teaching Obi-Wan how to become the best Jedi Knight he could be.

And now they were going to Mandalore, and their first real mission that had life or death consequences. It was the first step into the dangerous future that awaited both of them.

Mandalore was going to take them one step closer to Naboo, one step closer to Padme Amidala and the Trade Federation, and one step closer to Anakin Skywalker and the chaos and tumult that would turn the galaxy upside down.

Soon, Ahsoka’s time as Obi-Wan’s master would be up.

And there would be no more reasons to keep the truth from him.

The datapad at the terminal let out a chime and Ahsoka walked over to it, checking to make sure all of the relevant entries were included. She was reading through the list, opening each entry and article and closing it to make sure everything was there, when she felt the faintest tug on her awareness in the Force.

She skipped to the end of the list to an entry that included information on the Shadow Collective, the group of criminals and mercenaries that had invaded and taken over Mandalore towards the end of the Clone Wars. Maul had gone to all of the major crime syndicates, demanding their submission to his goal and as Ahsoka read over the entry, she noted that Maul had even tried to threaten the Hutts into giving into his demands.

“We’ll need to start training for him soon,” Ahsoka sighed, pulling a few more entries from her database onto the pad and a few from the Archive as well. Obi-Wan and Anakin’s future was barreling straight towards her and she had to make sure her padawan and his future padawan were ready for it.

“I will be your Temple contact for this mission,” Plo Koon said as he stood at the foot of the boarding ramp that led up into Ahsoka and Obi-Wan’s light cruiser. “If I am not available, Master Ti or Dyas will be your second contacts. One of us should be available for consultation at all time.”

Ahsoka nodded, handing off her go bag to the blue-suited mechanic who was doing the pre-flight checklist before she and Obi-Wan departed for Mandalore. “Thank you, Master Plo. I hope we won’t need to contact you but it’s good to know you’ll be here if we do.”

Obi-Wan stood next to his master, a heavy bag slung over one shoulder. Plo Koon glanced at it before turning his gaze back to Ahsoka. “Are you planning on a trip after Mandalore?”

“The mission parameters didn’t say how long we were going to be gone,” Ahsoka explained, meeting Obi-Wan’s eye. ��So I figured we should be prepared for anything. You know what Master Yaddle says, the Force helps those who help themselves.”

If Plo Koon thought this odd or strange, he did not say, only reaching out to clasp Ahsoka and Obi-Wan on the shoulder and warmly bid them goodbye. “I have the utmost confidence in you both. Protect the Duchess, and may the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Plo,” Ahsoka and Obi-Wan intoned before they both boarded the ship.

Obi-Wan dropped his bag off in the small central living space as Ahsoka moved ahead to the cockpit to receive the checklist from the mechanic.

“She’s ready to fly, Knight Tano,” the mechanic said, pushing his hair out of his face. “She’s as good as new.”

“Glad to hear it, Koyle,” Ahsoka smiled. “Thank you. Obi-Wan and I will take it from here.”

“Good luck, Master Jedi!” Koyle called as he headed back to the boarding ramp and vanished back into the hustle and bustle of the Temple Hangar bay.

Obi-Wan pulled up the boarding ramp and set the mag locks before joining his master in the cockpit. He took a seat in the co-pilot’s chair and glanced over at his master. “Are we ready to go?”

Ahsoka took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. And think this time I’ll let you handle the flying. It’s about time you go used to handling a ship.”

“Is this because of what I said on Commonenor?” Obi-Wan grinned, sliding over into the seat Ahsoka vacated. “You must admit, Master. You fly like all the kath hounds of Dantooine were chasing you.”

“I am an excellent pilot,” Ahsoka sniffed, settling herself into the co-pilot chair with a grin. “Trust me, Obi-Wan. One day you’ll see. I am one of the best pilots in the galaxy. Second only to Master Skywalker himself. And Master Plo.”

“Was Master Skywalker a better pilot than Master Plo?” Obi-Wan asked, curious as he took the handoff from the hangar bay control and gracefully guided their ship out into early morning Coruscant air traffic. “Somehow I never pictured your Outer Rim exploits involving dogfights between small fighters.”

“He was,” Ahsoka chuckled and decided to the end that particular strand of the conversation there. “So… did you bring your entire room or just most of it?”

“You told me to pack anything I felt might be useful, so I did,” Obi-Wan explained, shrugging as their ship climbed up into the atmosphere. “Although I don’t have an undercover civilian outfit like I saw you packing. We’ll need to purchase one for me when we get there.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “We’re not going undercover and besides, the best way for you to go undercover on Mandalore if you wanted to would be to get yourself some armor and a bucket to wear.”

“A bucket?” Obi-Wan asked, glancing over at his master. “I don’t understand.”

Wincing as Rex’s words slipped out of her mouth, Ahsoka waved off Obi-Wan’s confusion. “Sorry. It’s slang for helmet in some parts of the Rim. Usually referring to a Mandalorian helmet.”

“Oh!” Obi-Wan nodded as they cleared the atmosphere and were given permission by the Coruscant Planetary Authority to depart. “Did you encounter many Mandalorian bounty hunters on the Outer Rim?”

Ahsoka smiled to herself as memories of Rex and the rest of the 501st came to her mind, followed by Sabine, her brightly colored armor and rest of the Ghost crew. She settled back in her chair and nodded. “I knew a few. They were good people.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Obi-Wan replied and engaged the hyperdrive, vaulting them into the blue-white swirl of lightspeed.

Mandalore was a wasteland, dry, barren and dotted occasionally by domed cities that clung tenaciously to life.

Obi-Wan had never seen anything like it before.

Ahsoka took over piloting their ship once they dropped out of hyperspace. She had spent the majority of their travel reading through his datapad and one of her own, scribbling notes to herself when they weren’t debating over the exact nature of their mission orders.

He had argued that there was an unspoken mandate in the orders, to assist the Duchess in any way possible to bring peace to the wartorn Mandalorian people. His master had insisted that such diplomacy was simply not possible and that they were only there to protect the Duchess Satine as requested.

“But why send us if not to help?” Obi-Wan asked one night as a particularly heinous-looking pod race quietly roared in the background. “Why would the Republic send two Jedi to Mandalore of all places if they weren’t trying to force the Mandalorians to end their civil war?”

“I think whoever requested aid didn’t expect the Senate to send us,” Ahsoka sighed as she watched the pod race. “And I don’t think we should expect a warm welcome, either.”

“Sundari central control, this is Republic vessel 2378,” Ahsoka announced over the com. “Requesting permission and a landing vector.”

A cool, sharp voice returned his master’s request. “Republic vessel 2378 you are cleared for landing on pad 4017 and we are sending the vector now.”

Obi-Wan read the vector aloud as it came through and Ahsoka altered their course accordingly. They finished the rest of the flight in silence, both wrapped up in their own thoughts.

He knew something was bothering his master but he couldn’t divine what it was. Unlike her dark moods, when Obi-Wan could tell Ahsoka was tormenting herself with memories of her master, this was new and different. If he had to describe his master’s current behavior, he would have labeled it as nervous and worried.

What on Mandalore was causing his normally cheerful and unflappable master such anxiety?

After a perfect landing, Ahsoka took a deep breath and gave Obi-Wan a smile that looked more like a grimace. “We’re here!”

“Do you think the Duchess will come to meet us?” Obi-Wan asked, following Ahsoka back to the boarding ramp.

“Maybe?” Ahsoka shrugged, holding her hands up. “But I doubt it. Satine Kryze is the head of state. She’s probably too busy trying to run the government and fight a civil war to come greet us.”

As it turned out, there was a small greeting party of highly ranked Mandalorian nobles, one of them a tall blond man with a goatee and violet eyes. Ahsoka seemed to look over each of them before they stepped out from under their cruiser, Obi-Wan following close behind her.

“Welcome, Master Jedi,” one of the envoys said, stepping forward. The man was garbed in a grey and gold and he bowed low. “I am Tiberon Vizula, of House Vizula. Welcome to Mandalore.”

“We are honored to accept your invitation,” Ahsoka said, bowing to Tiberon Vizula and the other assembled dignitaries. “I am Knight Ahsoka Tano and this is my padawan learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi. We were sent by the Republic to help aid in the protection of the Duchess Satine Kryze?”

Tiberon nodded, his mouth pulled into a frown as he gestured for Ahsoka and Obi-Wan to follow him toward a waiting air skiff. “Yes, I know. I apologize for my bluntness, Knight Tano, but I do not think the Duchess will approve of your presence here. While the Duchess has the utmost faith in her House Guards, there are others in her court who are not so… idealistic. They were the ones who requested additional assistance.”

“And what are your views on our presence?” Ahsoka asked, just a blunt as Tiberon Vizula had been. Obi-Wan would have been shocked but he was used to his master’s unorthodox approaches to diplomacy. Knowledge of a culture and a people were good but following your gut and the will of the Force was better.

Tiberon shook his head and chuckled. “I told her that the Republic wouldn’t be foolish enough to send jetii to protect a Mandalorian duchess and yet here you are. And with a jetii adi’ka to boot.”

Obi-Wan wanted to bristle at being called a child but that would do them no good at the present moment. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he could only control his reactions to Mandalorians and he was not going to let some tall blond man with impressive cheekbones make him feel like an initiate.

“Obi-Wan is quite capable of taking care of himself,” Ahsoka explained, glancing back at him with a warm expression on her face. The last of the welcoming group took a seat on the air skiff and they were off, being whisked away into the domed city of Sundari. “And he won’t stand out on Mandalore as much as I will.”

“Another reason to question the judgement of the Republic,” Tiberon pointed out with an arch look. “Knight Tano, I know you mean well but we’re more than capable of protecting our own.”

“I’m sure you are,” Ahsoka said, arms folded over her chest, her head tilted to the side. “But all the same, we would like to help in anyway we can. Even if it’s just to report back to the Senate that our assistance has been refused. I’m sure that will be a simple enough report to make.”

Obi-Wan glanced back at Tiberon Vizla, watching him lean back in his seat and turn his gaze to the grey-haired man sitting next to him. They began to have a conversation and Obi-Wan watched them as he sent a thought to his master.

What caused that reaction, Master?

The Republic doesn’t like it when its member systems rebuff its… overtures of assistance. Ahsoka explained, the faintest heat of annoyance in her mental voice. Mandalore and the Republic haven’t always gotten along but these New Mandalorians that have come into power place a new emphasis on getting along with the Republic. They know that turning down this generous offer of Jedi assistance might be viewed by the Senate as a slap in the face.

Obi-Wan nodded, glancing around at the assembled dignitaries. So if they let us help, the Duchess looks weak but if they don’t let us help, Mandalore looks ungrateful in the eyes of the larger galaxy.

Somebody wants to make the Duchess’s life very difficult, Ahsoka observed as their skiff flew further and further into Sundari.

After arriving at an elegantly but severely decorated complex that Tiberon explained was the seat of House Kryze, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan were shown into a bright and airy room ringed with windows and the ceiling made entirely of smaller windows framed with geometric designs. At the far end of the room was a raised dais with a chair on it and seated there, surrounded by an honor guard and her ruling council, was the Duchess Satine Kryze.

She was much younger and softer in the face than the last time Ahsoka saw her but that sharp piercing gaze was still there, as was the air of regal authority. To her right stood a younger girl, her hair a darker strawberry blonde in comparison to Satine’s platinum locks, and it took Ahsoka a moment to realize that it was Bo-Katan, who she had last seen as the leader of the Nite Owls.

Obi-Wan was surprised to see just how much younger the Duchess looked in person compared to the holos he had studied. She couldn’t have been any older than he was and the way her hands were curled up in her lap told him that she was far more worried about meeting them than they were of meeting her.

Tiberon Vizla stepped out from behind them both and announced their presence. “Your Grace? May I present Knight Ahsoka Tano and her Padawan Learner Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Come forward,” the Duchess commanded, her voice a little too sharp but not unpleasant as both Jedi slowly advanced toward her illuminated throne and came to a stop at a respectful distance.

Both bowed in unison as Ahsoka took the lead, using her warmest and kindest voice. “Duchess Satine Kryze, we have been sent by the Republic to assist your security forces in… ensuring your continued safety.”

Satine looked down at the two of them, her face impassive but her blue eyes burning a hole right between theirs. “I know why you are here and while I appreciate the Republic’s offer of assistance, I am confident in the ability of my guards to protect me. Surely there is some other crisis that requires your presence elsewhere?”

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan exchanged a look before Ahsoka responded. “Your Grace, my padawan and I are not here to replace your own House guards. We are here to supplement them, to work with you and your people to ensure your safety.”

“Tell me, Knight Tano,” Satine said, her chin held high as she clutched the arms of her throne, trying to mask her nervousness. “Why should I agree to your presence in my court? I believe in pacifism, in bringing an end to Mandalore’s violent history. You are Jedi, a group of people who have no problem resorting to violence in pursuit of your so-called peace.”

Ahsoka’s smile wavered for only a moment before she answered. “We are, of course, here at your pleasure, your Grace. If you wish us to leave you need only say so and Obi-Wan and I will report back to the Senate that our assistance was not required.”

Satine frowned and stood up from her chair. “Is that a threat, Knight Tano?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in shock and affront. How dare this Mandalorian child ruler accuse his master of threatening her? Did she not understand that they were there to protect her? We are here as a courtesy!

“It is a statement of fact,” Ahsoka replied, holding her hands out. “Someone in your court requested our presence, your Grace. Perhaps you might employ us to discover who it was that went behind your back to make such a request.”

Obi-Wan watched as the Ruling Council and the assembled nobles inhaled sharply at his master’s observation. Ahsoka had subtly accused someone amongst them of, if not treason, then at least a lack of confidence in their fellow partisans which was almost as bad as overt treason.

Satine looked away and for a moment, Obi-Wan saw the facade of implacable durasteel drop, revealing a torn and scared young girl, unsure of what to do next. She met his eyes and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Duchess Satine,” Ahsoka spoke, take a few steps forwards, holding her arms open. “We’re here to help you. In any way that we can. We do not have loyalties or vendettas. There is no secret plan by the Republic to interfere in Mandalore’s ongoing conflict. We an impartial third party. We want to help you. Please, let us do our job and I promise you, you’ll barely notice us.”

Satine looked down at her hands and then took a deep breath. “Fine. I will accept your assistance for now, Knight Tano. Welcome to Mandalore.”

[jeichanhaka]

And Carried Me Away

Last Chapter of Part One                                         

Chapter 1|| Chapter 2|| Chapter 3|| Chapter 4|| Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||

Chapter 7|| Chapter 8|| Chapter 9|| Chapter 10|| Chapter 11|| Chapter 12||

Chapter 13|| Chapter 14|| Chapter 15||

Summary: Life is full of surprises, twists and turns, some good, others no so much. Jemma was the former - an unexpected gift amid all the terrible secrets unearthed since James' arrest. But will the 3-year-old's smile be enough to sustain the BAU family when another case reveals more secrets, changing what they thought they knew. (Sequel to My Life Had Stood.)

Chapter 1: My Life Had Stood Sequel

Nine Weeks Later:

Slivers of light from the morning sun sneaked into the room through the curtains, highlighting the face of the man in the bed slumbering away. A book lay on his chest and it was clear that he'd fallen asleep reading, though not because it was boring.

The dark bags under his eyes were evidence of his exhaustion. As too was the fact that his alarm clock was blaring, yet he remained oblivious to it. It wasn't until a pair of small feet pattered towards him and a small child climbed onto the bed that his consciousness drifted out of REM sleep.

"Unc' 'Encer! Unc' 'Encer! Wak'up!" Jemma shook the man, Spencer, her voice shifting from loud to soft haphazardly. She gazehd down at him, as the alarm and her voice drew him out of sleep. Not fast enough for the three-year-old, who proceeded to force his eyes open with her fingers.

He instinctively pulled away, blinking and rubbing his assaulted eye.

"Jemma, no. You don't wake someone up like that." Spencer mumbled, taking a break from rubbing his eye long enough to sign what he was saying. He smiled slightly when he saw Jemma pout, knowing it meant the child understood him. A little under nine weeks had passed since Jemma started learning sign language, and it amazed them how quickly she picked it up. Her motor skills were still developing so Jemma wasn't great at signing herself, but she understood it.

"Momma. Today we see momma." Jemma spoke while attempting to sign the same words. Her tone was cute and much softer while she was signing. Her focus was entirely on trying to move her hands fluidly. It apparently bothered her that she wasn't as able to sign smoothly as him or auntie Blake.

After realizing that the possibility of Jemma regaining her hearing was low, Spencer and Rossi decided to contact Alex Blake to teach Jemma to sign. The ex-BAU member had been delighted to teach the three year old, and also Rossi when the senior agent asked. Though she was curious about who Jemma was and questioned them, but dropped the subject quickly after hearing Rossi was Jemma's grandfather.

It was clear that, like so many in the Bureau and throughout the country, Blake knew about James. That she had either read or learned from others, about Rossi's thought-to-have-been-dead son and the crimes James had committed. She hadn't asked anything more about Jemma, which relieved Spencer. He'd worried she'd ask about Jemma's mother and that he'd have to explain about Alsie.

It wasn't that he wanted to exclude Blake from knowing the truth - that he had a sister and that Jemma was his niece biologically, and not simply because she was a part of the BAU family through Rossi. But he didn't feel right telling others when his mom didn't know the truth yet.

Spencer sighed sadly, picking up Jemma after turning off his alarm. He slid his feet into a pair of slippers and placed the book he'd been reading before drifting off on the side-table. He closed his eyes briefly as he thought, trying not to breakdown.

Seven weeks ago he'd called to arrange to visit and tell his mom about Alsie and Jemma. To tell her that his sister hadn't died and that Diana had a grandchild. He spoke with his mom's doctors first, to seek advice on how to tell her, but had been cautioned to wait. It was then that he learned that his mom was having problems, that the hospital had to adjust her medication twice in one week. He'd immediately gone to see her, to figure out what was wrong, and to help fix whatever it was.

Spencer's eyes watered as he adjusted Jemma in his arms, her small arms wrapped around his neck. His mother's recent diagnosis echoed in his thoughts. Early on-set dementia, likely Alzheimer's.

It was a diagnosis that would've been devastating in any circumstance, but it happening so soon after discovering Alsie and Jemma made it ten times worse. He didn't know what to do: on one hand he wanted to arrange a reunion asap between Alsie and their mother. It was the one thing he could do to not feel overwhelmed. On the other hand, since the newest memories were those affected first by dementia, he couldn't help wondering if a reunion would do more harm than good.

He kissed the top of Jemma's head and stepped into his small kitchen, trying not to dwell on his mom's diagnosis. Placing his niece in her chair at the kitchen table, complete with a booster seat that Rossi had bought, Spencer shifted his focus to making breakfast. A small smile passed over his lips as he opened his fridge and took out one of the containers of food.

His team had insisted on helping with Jemma after Alsie's discharge date from the hospital was postponed. No one wanted Jemma to be placed with Child Protective Services, so Spencer and Rossi both stepped in as guardians until Alsie could leave the hospital. While the rest of the team helped out any way they could - babysitting or cooking or advice.

Spencer took out one of the containers, which held something JJ had prepared for Jemma. It contained a more balanced meal than all the desserts Garcia had eagerly made for the three year old, and one that was more picky-kid friendly than what Rossi had enthusiastically tried to get Jemma to eat. Spencer hadn't been there to witness it, since it was while he was visiting his mom, but Rossi had cooked many of his Italian recipes for Jemma only for the girl to refuse to eat any of them.

That had been one of the things that prompted Garcia's dessert making frenzy to get Jemma to eat while JJ and Hotch tried to figure out what healthy foods the picky three year old would eat. It had apparently taken a few days, but JJ managed to get Jemma to eat something beside the cakes and cookies Garcia made. Spencer wasn't privy to exactly how JJ managed it, other than by being an experienced mother. According to Rossi it entailed bringing Jemma to a grocery store and allowing her to pick out some foods.

Contrary to what Rossi and a few others of the team thought, Jemma had picked out foods other than sugary sweets. Eggs had been the first things she'd picked out, which had thrown JJ at first since she'd already tried making some for Jemma. After Jemma picked out a few more foods that, while healthy, were also generally sweet JJ realized why the three year old had refused to eat eggs before. The girl disliked foods that weren't at least mildly sweet.

"All right. Time for breakfast." Spencer signed to his niece, placing the contents of the container into a skillet. Though it'd be easier to heat up in a microwave, he really didn't like the idea. Besides, he didn't really own a working microwave. He'd had an old one he'd been given, but it stopped working a while ago.

"Eggs! I wan' eggs!" Jemma beamed, her large brown eyes catching a glimpse of what had been in the container. Her nose sniffed the air, the scent of the sweetened eggs emanating almost immediately from the skillet after Spencer started heating it up.

Spencer couldn't help but smile at his niece's adorable voice and enthusiasm. Jemma had thankfully, aside from her hearing loss, been unscathed by her stay with Linnet. At least physically. It was too early to tell what, if any, psychological effects her life with Linnet would eventually have. The man had tortured and raped women in the same house he'd raised Jemma, and Jemma hadn't been deaf the entire time. Just for the last few months before she was found.

"Unc' 'Encer!" Jemma called out, her eyes and smile wide. She reached out her arms, impatient as she waited for Spencer to warm up her food. Her smile beamed even more after her breakfast was placed in front of her and she took the first bite. "T'ank 'ou!"

Spencer smiled back at his niece, signing 'you're welcome' back. Just watching Jemma helped him feel less depressed and less overwhelmed.

0BAU:

A pair of heterochromatic eyes lingered over a few portraits on the wall, as though silently asking them what she should do. Cam Fitzgerald sighed. 'Maybe I should just forget about this. It's not like any one needs to know.'

"...Fitzgerald?" Hotch approached the younger agent once he saw her, surprise and concern in his voice. "What are you doing here? You're still with agent Aderhold's team, right?"

"Yeah. I took a few days off. And, um..." Cam hesitated, fidgeting with a folder she held in her hands. Something the BAU unit chief noted quietly. "...Can we talk?"

Hotch barely betrayed any sign of his surprise, though he was very much so. Fitzgerald had only ever asked to talk to him twice before, one of which had been to request a transfer and referral to Aderhold's team. The other had been when she asked for another chance in the BAU. "I have some time, we can talk in my office."

"Thank you." Cam replied, following Hotch towards his office. She didn't say anything else along the way, making Hotch wonder what it was the younger agent wanted to talk about.

"Please have a seat." Hotch said after the door shut behind them as they entered his office. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. Though he wasn't surprised when Cam didn't - it was clear that something was upsetting the younger agent, and when she was upset or worked up she seldom sat. He was surprised that she'd come to him and not Rossi. "...what is it? Is something wrong?"

"It's...here." Cam handed the folder she held to Hotch, who noted that it was a FBI case file.

"This is...a file on one of of Linnet's victims." Hotch perused the top page of the file before returning his gaze to Cam. "That case is over, he confessed and faces life in federal prison without parole. You know that, you're the one who questioned him and got him to confess."

"I know. I..." Cam took a breath, grimacing as she remembered that questioning session. It hadn't taken much for Linnet to admit to everything, completely ignoring the advice his lawyer attempted to provide. The sick bastard had gloated in what he'd done to his victims. "...I questioned him again, a couple of weeks ago. He'd requested it actually."

"You didn't have to respond. He admitted to each abduction and murder." Hotch paused, studying how upset Cam was and wondering if he was missing something. The younger agent had left the BAU to escape having to question and deal with people like Linnet. Her agreeing to Linnet's request was bizarre.

"I...I had my own reason for agreeing to see him. There was a...minor discrepancy between his confession and a few of the autopsy reports done twenty-four years ago." Cam chewed on her lip, hesitant to explain more. After one or two false starts she slightly shook her head and took a deep breath.

"...what sort of discrepancy?" Hotch asked, immediately flipping through the file. His first thought was if the discrepancy was something that could hurt the case against Linnet.

"That's...that's not the main reason why I'm here." Cam interrupted, her body language shifting from mildly upset and uncomfortable to distressed. "Linnet..."

Hotch closed the file he held and waited; he briefly wondered if he should call Rossi since Cam was always more at ease with the senior agent. Though if Cam had wanted to, Hotch realized, she'd have gone to Rossi rather than come to him.

"Linnet said that...he recognized me from a locket the woman in that file had. That..." Cam swallowed and crossed her arms, trying to brace herself for what she was about to tell her old boss. "I don't know if it's true, but..."

Hotch waited, part of him suspecting what Cam was going to say. It was the only explanation for how upset the younger agent was.

"...he said that that woman was my mom. That she..." Cam fell quiet, unable to continue.

"...do you think Linnet was telling the truth?" Hotch inquired, concerned for the former team member. Though Cam had never been a full time member of the BAU, she had helped out on a few cases over the years.

"I don't know." Cam spoke slowly, displaying a level of vulnerability that Hotch had never seen in the woman. "I don't remember anything about her. Or my life with her. So I really don't know. I mean, maybe. I...just don't know."

"Don't worry. Everyone on the team will help figure this out. And if...if Linnet's telling the truth and this woman is your mother..."

"Yeah." Cam nodded and covered her mouth, unsure of how to feel. Or even what would be the better outcome. She didn't want her mother to be dead, but if Linnet was telling the truth, then she'd finally have some answers. An answer to why her mother had never looked for her or claimed her after the FBI found Cam as a child.

If the woman in the file was her mom, then Cam would finally know why her mom never claimed her. The woman in the file had died, been murdered, two years before Cam was found by the FBI during a raid.

[travelworldnetwork]

As a Brit living in Mexico, I’ve discovered that many people are intrigued by whether or not I eat spicy food. I once had an entire conversation with a waiter in which he asked me where I was from, what language I spoke, where exactly England was, and finally ended with the question he was really trying to ask: do you eat spicy food?

Having experienced so much curiosity around the level of heat that I can handle, I was well prepared when a friend asked me if I like chilli while a group of us were out for drinks in Oaxaca city. I waxed lyrical about my love of chillies, the great variety found in Mexico, the level of spice of each chilli and just how much I could handle. What began as stifled giggles among the group became full-on belly laughs, with some of the group almost crying with laughter.

Albur would have me both intrigued and confused for years to come

I giggled along nervously, like a child who doesn’t understand a joke, while I rapidly ran through what I had said, looking for possible mistakes in my Spanish that could have caused such amusement. Suppressing giggles, one of my friends said, “so you really like Mexican chilli, then?” and the whole table fell about laughing again. At that moment, it clicked: ‘chilli’ must have a double meaning, and it didn’t take long to work out what that double meaning was. My cheeks went puce as I ran back over what I had been saying through their filter, my blushing face making everyone laugh even more.

This was my introduction to albur, a Mexican play on words that would have me both intrigued and confused for years to come.

View image of Writer Susannah Rigg first encountered ‘albur’ when discussing her love of chilli (Credit: Credit: Giulio Mignani/Getty Images)

You may also be interested in: • The confusing way Mexicans tell time • The slang that transformed Spanish • The city where people don’t get angry

Most albures have to do with sex. “[It’s a] way of talking about sex without talking about it,” said Dr Lucille Herrasti, professor of linguistics at the Autonomous University of Morelos. Like in many societies, many Mexicans view sex as a taboo subject. “Using albur is a way to generate the meaning behind the words without using the actual words,” Herrasti added, noting that albures have to be funny in order to make the ordinarily prohibited subject more approachable. She explained how objects that have phallic characteristics – such as the chilli – are used to craft double entendres. The result is that one can be innocently talking about making salsa from chilli, and someone else will hear something more salacious.

It’s a way of talking about sex without talking about it

Growing up in England, I am no stranger to the double entendre. The UK is rather fond of double meanings, and I learnt at a young age that often what people say isn’t what they really mean. I spent my youth watching shows ripe with covert sexual references, like Are You Being Served, Blackadder and ‘Allo ‘Allo!, and listening to the incredible linguistic wordplays on the BBC Radio 4 show, I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue. Even Shakespeare gave us multiple double entendres in his work. The title of his play, Much Ado About Nothing, is a cheeky play on words where ‘no-thing’ was a reference to female genitalia.

Herrasti explained that, in Mexico, albures can take multiple forms. There is the use of hidden meanings in words, as well as the rearranging of words and phrases to create new meanings. Some more tame albures also come from using words with similar sounds to create alternatives to traditional expressions, in much the same way that Brits might say ‘oh sugar’ rather than using a more charged swear word. While some see albur as childish or in bad taste, for Herrasti it is an art form, where the quick-witted speaker has “a really good ability with language”.

View image of In Mexico, albur is a form of humour used to make ordinarily taboo subjects approachable (Credit: Credit: Linka A Odom/Getty Images)

I love playing with words – I am a writer, after all, and a love of words comes with the job. Learning Spanish opened my world up to a whole new language with which to toy. However, wordplay in a second language is a greater challenge than wordplay in your mother tongue, and despite having a solid grasp of Mexican Spanish, albur can still leave me for dust.

I am not alone, apparently. Gregorio Desgarennes, who teaches Mexican slang to non-native speakers in his home city of Oaxaca, says that foreigners not only have to translate the words but then look for the hidden meaning behind them, which makes understanding albures – often passed back and forth between friends in rapid fire – extremely difficult. Beyond that, he explains that the hidden meanings can be so well veiled that they are hard for even Mexicans to understand.

View image of Albur can be extremely difficult for foreigners to understand (Credit: Credit: imageBROKER/Alamy)

The origins of albur are as hard to pin down as the quick tongues of its users. Herrasti explained that academics who have been investigating the origins of albur believe it to have come from the mines of central Mexico, where groups of miners used it as a way to entertain each other. Yet most Mexicans whom I have spoken to claim that its roots go much further back to the Spanish conquest, with the indigenous population finding a way to play with the Spanish using the language imposed on them.

Desgarennes explains that as he sees it, albur represents resistance “to speaking ‘well’” and a transgression from the norm. He describes albur as short form among the working class that tells the other person, “we both come from the barrio [a lower-class neighbourhood]” and automatically creates a sense of trust. The more complicated and complex the albures get, the more trust is built.

Albur is such a recognised part of Mexican culture that there is now a competition every year to find Mexico’s best albureros, or wordplay masters. Each contestant comes to the table with an original albur to which their opponent must respond within five seconds with another albur. This back and forth continues until one person is unable to retaliate and is knocked out of the competition. Almost like a display of masculinity, the albur competition was long dominated by men until 20 years ago when Lourdes Ruiz, a female market vendor from Tepito, a working-class neighbourhood of Mexico City, was crowned the ‘Queen of Albur’, a title that no-one has been able to strip her of since.

View image of The origins of albur are difficult to pin down, though many believe it dates back to the Spanish conquest (Credit: Credit: Getty Images)

The Queen of Albur is now leading the way in the world of wordplay, and Mexico City residents can enrol in a diploma in albur fino, or ‘refined albur’, taught by Ruiz herself. Offered free of charge, the course attracts participants from across the socioeconomic spectrum who want to learn from the best. For Alfonso Hernández and Rusbel Navarro, who run the course alongside Ruiz, albur should be seen as far more than just funny sexual euphemisms. For them, it is a kind of “mental chess” that involves a linguistic mastery.

Albur transforms everyday words into another transgressive language experience

An important form of cultural identity among Mexico’s often marginalised working class, albur, Hernández and Navarro explain, is also a way of using humour to laugh in the face of power – and more importantly – horror. “Albur transforms everyday words into another transgressive language experience. Therefore, with albur, those who survive tragedies can live [with] them with humour.” It is much like the old saying, “if you don’t laugh you will cry.”

This explanation makes a lot of sense in a country as complex as Mexico. Mexicans see tragedy in the news daily, and yet laughter and playfulness are everywhere you go. Film director Guillermo del Toro spoke further to this point when asked how he was able to reconcile his dark films with his always-happy personality. His response was simple: “I am Mexican.”

View image of Opinions about albur are divided in Mexico, with some seeing it as a linguistic art form, and others seeing it as juvenile (Credit: Credit: dbimages/Alamy)

Opinions about albur seem to be divided in the country: some consider albur linguistic poetry, while others feel it is juvenile and derogatory. Between 2014 and 2016, it was widely reported in Mexico that Unesco had declared albur to be of intangible cultural heritage, which, while apparently untrue, sparked a debate among Mexicans about this form of speech. According to a study conducted by the Strategic Communications Cabinet, only 21% of the population felt that albur was a form of Mexican ingenuity.

Ingenious or not, for us foreigners, it will likely continue to be a source of confusion. Despite my training, from Shakespeare to Blackadder, I am resigned to the fact that for as long as I live in Mexico I may never truly be safe when talking about how well I can handle my chilli.

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[artcommentary]

Blog Post 4

The first article, More Community Service Not Less, spoke about the budget cuts towards an already beleaguered corporation for national and community service. They oversee a lot of programs, the most popular one is AmeriCorps. Since the founding of this program they opened almost one million positions for Americans; teach for America, Red Cross, and boys and girls club. Not only is it just helping communities by allowing people to find careers in these positions. “The proposed cuts, which would reduce the federal investment in the community service corporation by about a third, would gut valuable programs and shut down others altogether. Beyond that, thousands of teachers, tutors and mentors would be withdrawn from low-performing schools across the country. That’s too big a price to pay for a savings so small that it doesn’t even rate as a rounding error in the national budget. Its up to president Obama to fight for the national service program and make sure it remains intact,”

This article, EDITORIAL: What I Said When My White Friend Asked for My Black Opinion on White Privilege

Was about how a woman was on Facebook and her friend posted:

“To all of my Black or mixed race FB friends, I must profess a blissful ignorance of this “White Privilege” of which I’m apparently guilty of possessing. By not being able to fully put myself in the shoes of someone from a background/race/religion/gender/ nationality/body type that differs from my own makes me part of the problem, according to what I’m now hearing. Despite my treating everyone with respect and humor my entire life (as far as I know), I’m somehow complicit in the misfortune of others. I’m not saying I’m colorblind, but whatever racism/sexism/other -ism my life experience has instilled in me stays within me, and is not manifested in the way I treat others (which is not the case with far too many, I know).

So that I may be enlightened, can you please share with me some examples of institutional racism that have made an indelible mark upon you? If I am to understand this, I need people I know personally to show me how I’m missing what’s going on. Personal examples only. I’m not trying to be insensitive, I only want to understand (but not from the media). I apologize if this comes off as crass or offends anyone.”

 She then began her response starting with thanking him and the importance there is in him wanting to better understand what he doesn’t understand. She wants to answer because she has noticed that many of her white friends didn’t see how they benefit from white privileges and or the existence of white privileges, until they are with a friend with color to witness them being on the receiving end of prejudice and racism. She then goes to explain her encounters with the concluding lesson of the white privilege of each situation

1.    the white privilege in this situation is being able to move into a “nice” neighborhood and be accepted not harassed, made to feel unwelcome, or prone to acts of vandalism and hostility.

2.    if you’ve NEVER had a defining moment in your childhood or your life, where you realize your skin color alone makes other people hate you, you have white privilege.

3.    if you’ve never been ‘the only one’ of your race in a class, at a party, on a job, etc. and/or it’s been pointed out in a “playful” fashion by the authority figure in said situation – you have white privilege.

4.    if you’ve never been on the receiving end of the assumption that when you’ve achieved something it’s only because it was taken away from a white person who “deserved it” – that is white privilege.

5.     if no one has ever questioned your intellectual capabilities or attendance at an elite institution based solely on your skin color, that is white privilege.

6.    So if you have never experienced or considered how damaging it is/was/could be to grow up without myriad role models and images in school that reflect you in your required reading material or in the mainstream media – that is white privilege. 

7.    if you’ve never been blindsided when you are just trying to enjoy a meal by a well-paid faculty member’s patronizing and racist assumptions about how grateful black people must feel to be in their presence – you have white privilege.

8.     if you’ve never been on the receiving end of a boss’s prejudiced, uninformed “how dare she question my ideas” badmouthing based on solely on his ego and your race, you have white privilege.

9.    if you’ve never had to mask the fruits of your success with a floppy-eared, stuffed bunny rabbit so you won’t get harassed by the cops on the way home from your gainful employment (or never had a first date start this way), you have white privilege.

10. not having to rewrite stories, headlines or swap photos while being trolled by racists when all you’re trying to do on a daily basis is promote positivity and share stories of hope and achievement and justice – that is white privilege.

With his choice to ask and her choice to respond, we learn that a simple conversation can allow people to have a better understanding for one another.  By the man taking action and asking, it seems that his morals are more intact than the average white person when having to question white privilege.

These types of beliefs are taught whether it is due to your socioeconomic status when growing up. You didn’t see the need for the “benefits” given to people in poverty or if it is a “heritage belief” or a “religious belief.” They also teach people to treat others with prejudice and racism.

Personally, I try to be as understanding as possible, learning to think before I speak or react. Having conversations about sensitive subjects or things I am emotionally invested in, no matter how small. For example, after the presidential election, I’ve known people who voted for trump, when asking why they did; they told me a lot of “facts” and possibilities. None of them ever answered with remarks with the border, his racism, or positive perspective of his bigotry and stupidity. Since I am not a supporter of him it is hard to look past all of his negatives. I think to myself, how can they look past it? Are they ignoring it? Secretly agreeing with it? I try to be as understanding as possible and have no choice but to e respectful to their thoughts and opinions. Who am I to tell someone they are wrong or even a bad person for supporting something they believe in.

I don’t identify with a religion. Once I was in the barbershop, and there was my barber a Christian, and another customer who was Muslim. We spoke on religion and God. It was supposed to be an objective conversation. I asked the Muslim, if he ever considered his religion to be the “wrong” to practice/follow due to the amount of religions practiced around the world.  He answered, “i don’t go against anything in the Quran. I believe everything in the Quran.” I asked him again but this time I clarified that I am speaking on probability rather than a conversation about faith. He looked at me like I was crazy and responded with the same answer. I was shocked but his morals were too aligned with his religion to have an objective conversation on his religion. At a point I gave up on the conversation because of that.