#and learn how he conducts his trials!!!!!! that's the only reason i went!!!!!

[mariespeaksg-dsgrace]

If anyone else has ever wonder what or why some Jews don't believe in YESHUA as their Savoir.... here is one of the text I found while studying.

I just want to reinerate.. There Jews that know YESHUAs the Savior of the World.

I'm sharing to help others be able to combat lies that others might tell them.

This is in no easy to push hatred of any kind. I believe we are both Jew and Christian part of the Covenant. and we are all at different levels. So lets remember.

GOD is always watching .

Blessings and Prayers

Marie





Jesus in Chazal





Jesus in Chazal

mi



Bymoshe isaacson







Jesus in Chazal





Jesus in Chazal

mi



Bymoshe isaacson



Biur HaGra Shulchan Aruch Yoreh De'ah 147:3

שם חגים כו'. ז"ל הג"מ ספ"ה כתב רא"מ שאין אסור אלא שם שניתן לה לשם אלקות אבל שם הדיוטות אע"פ שעשאוהו אלוק כיון שבזה השם אין בו אלהות ואדנות וגם לא ניתן לו לשם כך מותר דכתיב ושם אלקים כו' בשם אלהות הקפיד הכתוב וכן תנן (ע"ז ח' א') אלו כו' קלנדא סטרנורא וקרטסים שאלו שמות הדיוטות הן ובכמה מקומות הוזכר אותו האיש ותלמידיו בש"ס כו' וכ"כ המרדכי:

In the Second Century many Jews believed that Jesus had learned magic in Egypt. This is already believed by Celsus who debated with Origen in the late Second Century (Origen, Contra Celsum, i. 28)

http://legacy.tyndale.cam.ac.uk/Tyndale/staff/Instone-Brewer/prepub/07_Instone_Brewer.pdf

סנהדרין מ״ג א:כ׳

וכרוז יוצא לפניו לפניו אין מעיקרא לא והתניא בערב הפסח תלאוהו לישו והכרוז יוצא לפניו מ' יום ישו יוצא ליסקל על שכישף והסית והדיח את ישראל כל מי שיודע לו זכות יבא וילמד עליו ולא מצאו לו זכות ותלאוהו בערב הפסח

Sanhedrin 43a:20

The mishna teaches that a crier goes out before the condemned man. This indicates that it is only before him, i.e., while he is being led to his execution, that yes, the crier goes out, but from the outset, before the accused is convicted, he does not go out. The Gemara raises a difficulty: But isn’t it taught in a baraita: On Passover Eve they hung the corpse of Jesus the Nazarene after they killed him by way of stoning. And a crier went out before him for forty days, publicly proclaiming: Jesus the Nazarene is going out to be stoned because he practiced sorcery, incited people to idol worship, and led the Jewish people astray. Anyone who knows of a reason to acquit him should come forward and teach it on his behalf. And the court did not find a reason to acquit him, and so they stoned him and hung his corpse on Passover eve.

סנהדרין מ״ג א:כ״א-כ״ו

אמר עולא ותסברא בר הפוכי זכות הוא מסית הוא ורחמנא אמר (דברים יג, ט) לא תחמול ולא תכסה עליו אלא שאני ישו דקרוב למלכות הוה ת"ר חמשה תלמידים היו לו לישו מתאי נקאי נצר ובוני ותודה אתיוהו למתי אמר להו מתי יהרג הכתיב (תהלים מב, ג) מתי אבוא ואראה פני אלקים אמרו לו אין מתי יהרג דכתיב (שם מא, ו) מתי ימות ואבד שמו אתיוהו לנקאי אמר להו נקאי יהרג הכתיב (שמות כג, ז) ונקי וצדיק אל תהרוג אמרו לו אין נקאי יהרג דכתיב (תהלים י, ח) במסתרים יהרג נקי אתיוהו לנצר אמר נצר יהרג הכתיב (ישעיה יא, א) ונצר משרשיו יפרה אמרו לו אין נצר יהרג דכתיב (שם יד, יט) ואתה השלכת מקברך כנצר נתעב אתיוהו לבוני אמר אמר בוני יהרג הכתיב (שמות ד, כב) בני בכורי ישראל אמרו לי' אין בוני יהרג דכתיב (שם, כג) הנה אנכי הורג את בנך בכורך אתיוהו לתודה אמר תודה יהרג הכתיב (תהלים ק, א) מזמור לתודה אמרו לו אין תודה יהרג דכתיב (שם נ, כג) זובח תודה יכבדנני

Sanhedrin 43a:21-26

Ulla said: And how can you understand this proof? Was Jesus the Nazarene worthy of conducting a search for a reason to acquit him? He was an inciter to idol worship, and the Merciful One states with regard to an inciter to idol worship: “Neither shall you spare, neither shall you conceal him” (Deuteronomy 13:9). Rather, Jesus was different, as he had close ties with the government, and the gentile authorities were interested in his acquittal. Consequently, the court gave him every opportunity to clear himself, so that it could not be claimed that he was falsely convicted. Apropos the trial of Jesus, the Gemara cites another baraita, where the Sages taught: Jesus the Nazarene had five disciples: Mattai, Nakai, Netzer, Buni, and Toda. They brought Mattai in to stand trial. Mattai said to the judges: Shall Mattai be executed? But isn’t it written: “When [matai] shall I come and appear before God?” (Psalms 42:3). Mattai claimed that this verse alludes to the fact he is righteous. They said to him: Yes, Mattai shall be executed, as it is written: “When [matai] shall he die, and his name perish?” (Psalms 41:6). Then they brought Nakai in to stand trial. Nakai said to the judges: Shall Nakai be executed? But isn’t it written: “And the innocent [naki] and righteous you shall not slay” (Exodus 23:7)? They said to him: Yes, Nakai shall be executed, as it is written: “In secret places he kills the innocent [naki]” (Psalms 10:8). Then they brought Netzer in to stand trial. He said to the judges: Shall Netzer be executed? But isn’t it written: “And a branch [netzer] shall grow out of his roots” (Isaiah 11:1)? They said to him: Yes, Netzer shall be executed, as it is written: “But you are cast out of your grave like an abhorred branch [netzer]” (Isaiah 14:19). Then they brought Buni in to stand trial. Buni said to the judges: Shall Buni be executed? But isn’t it written: “My firstborn son [beni] is Israel” (Exodus 4:22)? They said to him: Yes, Buni shall be executed, as it is written: “Behold, I shall kill your firstborn son [binkha]” (Exodus 4:23). Then they brought Toda in to stand trial. Toda said to the judges: Shall Toda be executed? But isn’t it written: “A psalm of thanksgiving [toda]” (Psalms 100:1)? They said to him: Yes, Toda shall be executed, as it is written: “Whoever slaughters a thanks-offering [toda] honors Me” (Psalms 50:23).

גיטין נ״ז א:ג׳

אזל אסקיה [ליש"ו] בנגידא (לפושעי ישראל) א"ל מאן חשיב בההוא עלמא א"ל ישראל מהו לאדבוקי בהו א"ל טובתם דרוש רעתם לא תדרוש כל הנוגע בהן כאילו נוגע בבבת עינו

Gittin 57a:3

Onkelos then went and raised Jesus the Nazarene from the grave through necromancy. Onkelos said to him: Who is most important in that world where you are now? Jesus said to him: The Jewish people. Onkelos asked him: Should I then attach myself to them in this world? Jesus said to him: Their welfare you shall seek, their misfortune you shall not seek, for anyone who touches them is regarded as if he were touching the apple of his eye (see Zechariah 2:12).

גיטין נ״ז א:ד׳

א"ל דיניה דההוא גברא במאי א"ל בצואה רותחת דאמר מר כל המלעיג על דברי חכמים נידון בצואה רותחת תא חזי מה בין פושעי ישראל לנביאי אומות העולם עובדי ע"ז

Gittin 57a:4

Onkelos said to him: What is the punishment of that man, a euphemism for Jesus himself, in the next world? Jesus said to him: He is punished with boiling excrement. As the Master said: Anyone who mocks the words of the Sages will be sentenced to boiling excrement. And this was his sin, as he mocked the words of the Sages. The Gemara comments: Come and see the difference between the sinners of Israel and the prophets of the nations of the world. As Balaam, who was a prophet, wished Israel harm, whereas Jesus the Nazarene, who was an Jewish sinner, sought their well-being.

סוטה מ״ז א:י״ג-י״ד

כי אתא אקלע לההוא אושפיזא קם קמייהו ביקרא שפיר עבדי ליה יקרא טובא יתיב וקא משתבח כמה נאה אכסניא זו א"ל (אחד מתלמידיו) רבי עיניה טרוטות א"ל רשע בכך אתה עוסק אפיק ארבע מאה שפורי ושמתיה כל יומא אתא לקמיה ולא קבליה יומא חד הוה קרי קרית שמע אתא לקמיה הוה בדעתיה לקבוליה אחוי ליה בידיה סבר מדחא דחי ליה אזל זקף לבינתא פלחא אמר ליה חזור בך א"ל כך מקובלני ממך כל החוטא ומחטיא את הרבים אין מספיקין בידו לעשות תשובה דאמר מר [יש"ו] כישף והסית והדיח והחטיא את ישראל

Sotah 47a:13-14

When he came back to Eretz Yisrael, Rabbi Yehoshua arrived at a certain inn. The innkeeper stood before him, honoring him considerably, and overall they accorded him great honor. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Peraḥya then sat and was praising them by saying: How beautiful is this inn. Jesus the Nazarene, one of his students, said to him: My teacher, but the eyes of the innkeeper’s wife are narrow [terutot]. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Peraḥya said to him: Wicked one, is this what you are engaged in, gazing at women? He brought out four hundred shofarot and excommunicated him. Every day Jesus would come before him, but he would not accept his wish to return. One day, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Peraḥya was reciting Shema when Jesus came before him. He intended to accept him on this occasion, so he signaled to him with his hand to wait. Jesus thought he was rejecting him entirely. He therefore went and stood up a brick and worshipped it as an idol. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Peraḥya said to him: Return from your sins. Jesus said to him: This is the tradition that I received from you: Anyone who sins and causes the masses to sin is not given the opportunity to repent. The Gemara explains how he caused the masses to sin: For the Master said: Jesus the Nazarene performed sorcery, and he incited the masses, and subverted the masses, and caused the Jewish people to sin.

סנהדרין ק״ז ב:ח׳

תנו רבנן לעולם תהא שמאל דוחה וימין מקרבת לא כאלישע שדחפו לגחזי בשתי ידים [ולא כרבי יהושע בן פרחיה שדחפו ליש"ו בשתי ידים]

Sanhedrin 107b:8

The Sages taught: Always have the left hand drive sinners away and the right draw them near, so that the sinner will not totally despair of atonement. This is unlike Elisha, who pushed away Gehazi with his two hands and caused him to lose his share in the World-to-Come, and unlike Yehoshua ben Peraḥya, who pushed away Jesus the Nazarene with his two hands.

ברכות י״ז ב:א׳

אין פרץ שלא תהא סיעתנו כסיעתו של דוד שיצא ממנו אחיתופל ואין יוצאת שלא תהא סיעתנו כסיעתו של שאול שיצא ממנו דואג האדומי ואין צוחה שלא תהא סיעתנו כסיעתו של אלישע שיצא ממנו גחזי ברחובותינו שלא יהא לנו בן או תלמיד שמקדיח תבשילו ברבים כגון ישו הנוצרי:

Berakhot 17b:1

“There is no breach”; that our faction of Sages should not be like the faction of David, from which Ahitophel emerged, who caused a breach in the kingdom of David.

“And no going forth”; that our faction should not be like the faction of Saul, from which Doeg the Edomite emerged, who set forth on an evil path.

“And no outcry”; that our faction should not be like the faction of Elisha, from which Geihazi emerged.

“In our open places”; that we should not have a child or student who overcooks his food in public, i.e., who sins in public and causes others to sin, as in the well-known case of Jesus the Nazarene.

סנהדרין ק״ג א:י״ד

דבר אחר לא תאונה אליך רעה שלא יבעתוך חלומות רעים והרהורים רעים ונגע לא יקרב באהלך שלא יהא לך בן או תלמיד שמקדיח תבשילו ברבים [כגון ישו הנוצרי]

Sanhedrin 103a:14

Alternatively, the phrase “no evil shall befall you” means that you will be frightened neither by bad dreams nor by evil thoughts. “Nor shall any plague come near your tent” means that you will not have a child or student who overcooks his food in public, i.e., sins in public and causes others to sin, such as in the well-known case of Jesus the Nazarene.

עבודה זרה י״ז א:א׳

והנאך ועליו נתפסת אמר לו עקיבא הזכרתני פעם אחת הייתי מהלך בשוק העליון של ציפורי ומצאתי אחד ומתלמידי ישו הנוצרי ויעקב איש כפר סכניא שמו אמר לי כתוב בתורתכם (דברים כג, יט) לא תביא אתנן זונה [וגו'] מהו לעשות הימנו בהכ"ס לכ"ג ולא אמרתי לו כלום

Avodah Zarah 17a:1

and you derived pleasure from it, and because of this you were held responsible by Heaven. Rabbi Eliezer said to him: Akiva, you are right, as you have reminded me that once I was walking in the upper marketplace of Tzippori, and I found a man who was one of the students of Jesus the Nazarene, and his name was Ya’akov of Kefar Sekhanya. He said to me: It is written in your Torah: “You shall not bring the payment to a prostitute, or the price of a dog, into the house of the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 23:19). What is the halakha: Is it permitted to make from the payment to a prostitute for services rendered a bathroom for a High Priest in the Temple? And I said nothing to him in response.

עבודה זרה י״ז א:ב׳-ג׳

אמר לי כך לימדני ישו הנוצרי (מיכה א, ז) כי מאתנן זונה קבצה ועד אתנן זונה ישובו ממקום הטנופת באו למקום הטנופת ילכו והנאני הדבר על ידי זה נתפסתי למינות ועברתי על מה שכתוב בתורה (משלי ה, ח) הרחק מעליה דרכך זו מינות ואל תקרב אל פתח ביתה זו הרשות ואיכא דאמרי הרחק מעליה דרכך זו מינות והרשות ואל תקרב אל פתח ביתה זו זונה וכמה אמר רב חסדא ארבע אמות

Avodah Zarah 17a:2-3

He said to me: Jesus the Nazarene taught me the following: It is permitted, as derived from the verse: “For of the payment to a prostitute she has gathered them, and to the payment to a prostitute they shall return” (Micah 1:7). Since the coins came from a place of filth, let them go to a place of filth and be used to build a bathroom. And I derived pleasure from the statement, and due to this, I was arrested for heresy by the authorities, because I transgressed that which is written in the Torah: “Remove your way far from her, and do not come near the entrance of her house” (Proverbs 5:8). “Remove your way far from her,” this is a reference to heresy; “and do not come near the entrance of her house,” this is a reference to the ruling authority. The Gemara notes: And there are those who say a different interpretation: “Remove your way far from her,” this is a reference to heresy and the ruling authority; “and do not come near the entrance of her house,” this is a reference to a prostitute. And how much distance must one maintain from a prostitute? Rav Ḥisda said: Four cubits.

Tosefta Chullin 2:6

היוצא מבית המין ה"ז בשר זבחי מתים מפני שאמרו שחיטת המין לעבודת כוכבים ופתן פת עובדי כוכבים ויינם יין נסך ופירותיהן טבלים וספריהן ספרי קוסמין ובניהם ממזרים ואין מוכרין להם ואין לוקחים מהם ואין נושאין מהם ואין נותנין להם אין מלמדין את בניהם אומנות ואין מתרפאין מהן לא רפוי ממון ולא רפוי נפשות. מעשה בר' אליעזר בן דמא בן אחותו של ר' ישמעאל שהכישו נחש ובא יעקב איש כפר סכניא לרפאותו ולא הניחו ר' ישמעאל א"ל אי אתה רשאי בן דמא. א"ל אני אביא לך ראיה שירפאני ולא הספיק להביא ראיה עד שמת. אמר ר' ישמעאל אשריך בן דמא שיצאת בשלום העולם ולא פרצת גדירן של חכמים שכל הפורץ גדירן של חכמים סוף פורענות בא עליו. שנאמר (קוהלת י) ופורץ גדר ישכנו נחש. מעשה בר"א שנתפס על דברי מינות והעלו אותו לבמה לדון אמר לו אותו הגמון זקן כמותך יעסוק בדברים הללו.

שבת ק״ד ב:ה׳

המסרט על בשרו: תניא אמר להן רבי אליעזר לחכמים והלא בן סטדא הוציא כשפים ממצרים בסריטה שעל בשרו אמרו לו שוטה היה ואין מביאין ראיה מן השוטים: בן סטדא בן פנדירא הוא אמר רב חסדא בעל סטדא בועל פנדירא בעל פפוס בן יהודה הוא אלא אמו סטדא אמו מרים מגדלא שער נשיא הואי אלא כדאמרי בפומבדיתא סטת דא מבעלה:

Shabbat 104b:5

We learned in the mishna: If one unwittingly scratches letters on his flesh on Shabbat, Rabbi Eliezer deems him liable to bring a sin-offering and the Sages deem him exempt. It was taught in a baraita that Rabbi Eliezer said to the Rabbis: Didn’t the infamous ben Stada take magic spells out of Egypt in a scratch on his flesh? They said to him: He was a fool, and you cannot cite proof from a fool. That is not the way that most people write. Incidentally, the Gemara asks: Why did they call him ben Stada, when he was the son of Pandeira? Rav Ḥisda said: His mother’s husband, who acted as his father, was named Stada, but the one who had relations with his mother and fathered him was named Pandeira. The Gemara asks: Wasn’t his mother’s husband Pappos ben Yehuda? Rather, his mother was named Stada and he was named ben Stada after her. The Gemara asks: But wasn’t his mother Miriam, who braided women’s hair? The Gemara explains: That is not a contradiction. Rather, Stada was merely a nickname, as they say in Pumbedita: This one strayed [setat da] from her husband.

A well known anti-christian treatise called Toldot Yeshu which can be dated to the 10th century but contains materials that can be dated back to the 2nd century. Excerpts

In the year 3671in the days of King [Yannai], a great misfortune befell Israel, when there arose a certain disreputable man of the tribe of Judah, whose name was Joseph Pandera. He lived at Bethlehem, in Judah.

Near his house dwelt a widow and her lovely and chaste daughter named Miriam. Miriam was betrothed to Yohanan, of the royal house of David, a man learned in the Torah and God-fearing.

At the close of a certain Sabbath, Joseph Pandera, attractive and like a warrior in appearance, having gazed lustfully upon Miriam, knocked upon the door of her room and betrayed her by pretending that he was her betrothed husband, Yohanan. Even so, she was amazed at this improper conduct and submitted only against her will. ...

Miriam gave birth to a son and named him Yehoshua, after her brother. This name later deteriorated to Yeshu. ...

One day Yeshu walked in front of the Sages with his head uncovered, showing shameful disrespect. At this, the discussion arose as to whether this behavior did not truly indicate that Yeshu was an illegitimate child and the son of a niddah. Moreover, the story tells that while the rabbis were discussing the Tractate Nezikin, he gave his own impudent interpretation of the law and in an ensuing debate he held that Moses could not be the greatest of the prophets if he had to receive counsel from Jethro. This led to further inquiry as to the antecedents of Yeshu, and it was discovered through Rabban Shimeon ben Shetah that he was the illegitimate son of Joseph Pandera. Miriam admitted it.After this became known, it was necessary for Yeshu to flee to Upper Galilee. ...

Lions of brass were bound to two iron pillars at the gate of the place of burnt offerings. Should anyone enter and learn the [special 'Ineffable'] Name, when he left the lions would roar at him and immediately the valuable secret would be forgotten.

Yeshu came and learned the letters of the Name; he wrote them upon the parchment which he placed in an open cut on his thigh and then drew the flesh over the parchment. As he left, the lions roared and he forgot the secret. But when he came to his house he reopened the cut in his flesh with a knife an lifted out the writing. ...

Yeshu proclaimed, "I am the Messiah; and concerning me Isaiah prophesied and said, 'Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.'" ...

The insurgents with him replied that if Yeshu was the Messiah he should give them a convincing sign. They therefore, brought to him a lame man, who had never walked. Yeshu spoke over the man the letters of the Ineffable Name, and the leper was healed. Thereupon, they worshipped him as the Messiah, Son of the Highest.

When word of these happenings came to Jerusalem, the Sanhedrin decided to bring about the capture of Yeshu. They sent messengers, Annanui and Ahaziah, who, pretending to be his disciples, said that they brought him an invitation from the leaders of Jerusalem to visit them. Yeshu consented on condition the members of the Sanhedrin receive him as a lord. He started out toward Jerusalem and, arriving at Knob, acquired an ass on which he rode into Jerusalem, as a fulfillment of the prophecy of Zechariah.

The Sages bound him and led him before Queen Helene, with the accusation: "This man is a sorcerer and entices everyone."

...

Yeshu spoke up: "Madam, I am the Messiah and I revive the dead." A dead body was brought in; he pronounced the letters of the Ineffable Name and the corpse came to life. The Queen was greatly moved and said: "This is a true sign." She reprimanded the Sages and sent them humiliated from her presence. Yeshu's dissident followers increased and there was controversy in Israel.

...

Then the Sages selected a man named Judah Iskarioto and brought him to the Sanctuary where he learned the letters of the Ineffable Name as Yeshu had done.

When Yeshu was summoned before the queen, this time there were present also the Sages and Judah Iskarioto. Yeshu said: "It is spoken of me, 'I will ascend into heaven.'" He lifted his arms like the wings of an eagle and he flew between heaven and earth, to the amazement of everyone.

The elders asked Iskarioto to do likewise. He did, and flew toward heaven. Iskarioto attempted to force Yeshu down to earth but neither one of the two could prevail against the other for both had the use of the Ineffable Name. However, Iskarioto defiled Yeshu, so that they both lost their power and fell down to the earth, and in their condition of defilement the letters of the Ineffable Name escaped from them. Because of this deed of Judah they weep on the eve of the birth of Yeshu.

Yeshu was seized. His head was covered with a garment and he was smitten with pomegranate staves; but he could do nothing, for he no longer had the Ineffable Name.

Yeshu was taken prisoner to the synagogue of Tiberias, and they bound him to a pillar. To allay his thirst they gave him vinegar to drink. On his head they set a crown of thorns. ... there Yeshu remained until the eve of the Passover.

...

Yeshu was put to death on the sixth hour on the eve of the Passover and of the Sabbath. When they tried to hang him on a tree it broke, for when he had possessed the power he had pronounced by the Ineffable Name that no tree should hold him. He had failed to pronounce the prohibition over the carob-stalk[10], for it was a plant more than a tree, and on it he was hanged until the hour for afternoon prayer, for it is written in Scripture, "His body shall not remain all night upon the tree." They buried him outside the city.

...

The Sages desired to separate from Israel those who continued to claim Yeshu as the Messiah, and they called upon a greatly learned man, Simeon Kepha, for help. Simeon went to Antioch, main city of the Nazarenes and proclaimed toe them: "I am the disciple of Yeshu. He has sent me to show you the way. I will give you a sign as Yeshu has done."

Simeon, having gained the secret of the Ineffable Name, healed a leper and a lame man by means of it and thus found acceptance as a true disciple. He told them that Yeshu was in heaven, at the right hand of his Father, in fulfillment of Psalm 110:1. He added that Yeshu desired that they separate themselves from the Jews and no longer follow their practices, as Isaiah had said, "Your new moons and your feasts my soul abhorreth." They were now to observe the first day of the week instead of the seventh, the Resurrection instead of the Passover, the Ascension into Heaven instead of the Feast of Weeks, the finding of the Cross instead of the New Year, the Feast of the Circumcision instead of the Day of Atonement, the New Year instead of Chanukah; they were to be indifferent with regard to circumcision and the dietary laws. Also they were to follow the teaching of turning the right if smitten on the left and the meek acceptance of suffering. All these new ordinances which Simeon Kepha (or Paul, as he was known to the Nazarenes) taught them were really meant to separate these Nazarenes from the people of Israel and to bring the internal strife to an end.

משנה סנהדרין י׳:ב׳

שְׁלֹשָׁה מְלָכִים וְאַרְבָּעָה הֶדְיוֹטוֹת אֵין לָהֶם חֵלֶק לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא. שְׁלֹשָׁה מְלָכִים, יָרָבְעָם, אַחְאָב, וּמְנַשֶּׁה. רַבִּי יְהוּדָה אוֹמֵר, מְנַשֶּׁה יֶשׁ לוֹ חֵלֶק לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (דברי הימים ב לג) וַיִּתְפַּלֵּל אֵלָיו וַיֵּעָתֶר לוֹ וַיִּשְׁמַע תְּחִנָּתוֹ וַיְשִׁיבֵהוּ יְרוּשָׁלַיִם לְמַלְכוּתוֹ. אָמְרוּ לוֹ, לְמַלְכוּתוֹ הֱשִׁיבוֹ וְלֹא לְחַיֵּי הָעוֹלָם הַבָּא הֱשִׁיבוֹ. אַרְבָּעָה הֶדְיוֹטוֹת, בִּלְעָם, וְדוֹאֵג, וַאֲחִיתֹפֶל, וְגֵחֲזִי:

Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:2

Three kings and four commoners have no share in the World to Come. The three kings are: Jeroboam, Ahab, and Manasseh. Rabbi Yehudah says, Manasseh does have a share in the World to Come, as it says (II Chronicles 33:13), "And [Manasseh] prayed unto Him; and He was entreated of him, and heard his supplication, and brought him back to Jerusalem into his kingdom." [The Sages] said to him, to his kingdom He brought him back, but He did not bring him back to life in the World to Come. The four commoners are: Balaam, Doeg, Achitophel, and Gehazi.

סנהדרין ק״ו ב:ב׳

א"ל ההוא מינא לר' חנינא מי שמיע לך בלעם בר כמה הוה א"ל מיכתב לא כתיב אלא מדכתיב (תהלים נה, כד) אנשי דמים ומרמה לא יחצו ימיהם בר תלתין ותלת שנין או בר תלתין וארבע א"ל שפיר קאמרת לדידי חזי לי פנקסיה דבלעם והוה כתיב ביה בר תלתין ותלת שנין בלעם חגירא כד קטיל יתיה פנחס ליסטאה

Sanhedrin 106b:2

A certain heretic said to Rabbi Ḥanina: Have you heard how old Balaam was when he died? Rabbi Ḥanina said to him: It is not written explicitly in the Torah. But from the fact that it is written: “Bloody and deceitful men shall not live half their days” (Psalms 55:24), this indicates that he was thirty-two or thirty-four years old, less than half the standard seventy-year lifespan. The heretic said to him: You have spoken well, I myself saw the notebook of Balaam and it was written therein: Balaam the lame was thirty-two years old when Pinehas the highwayman killed him.

See Ephraim Urbach, "Rabbinic Exegesis About Gentile Prophets And The Balaam Passage" (Hebrew), Tarbitz (25:1956), pp. 272-289

[sarah-yyy]

y’all today was so rough yo /o\ 

the ONE TIME i tag along to a trial for FUN and it turns out to be a shit storm, and we get told off by the judge real badly????? i haven’t been told off like this since i got admitted to the bar yo

#fuck i really only went because opposing counsel is essentially a superstar in the profession and i wanted to meet him!!!!! #and learn how he conducts his trials!!!!!! that's the only reason i went!!!!! #but today was terrible!!! i still feel like shit even though i know none of whatever the judge is saying is really about me because- #-this isn't my case i literally had like maybe 10% knowledge of this case until this morning when i read my colleagues subs on the way #but still!!!!!!!!!! getting told off is terrible no matter what /o\ 11/10 would not recommend #i'm so proud i didn't cry because i'm in that mood today as well that i 100% could've started crying? #i do appreciate Mr R didn't try to throw me under the bus tho lmao character growth for this boy #before he made partner and we became tight he 100% would've tried to tell the judge i prepped the case because it might- #-look less bad if a junior fucked up a case instead of him #proud of you Mr R!!!! really proud of how much eq you've learnt off me!!! #ANYWAY someone please send me comfort reads i need this to psych me up for tomorrow #it's a two day trial that is likely to run for three days T.T #work stories #sarah talks about herself

[cherriesink]

Takeuchi - Murmurs

Murmurs are snippets of character reflection earned by increasing Explore Points during Exploration. They usually include 6-7 monologues about other characters and 3-4 monologues about things important to the specific character.

These lines are taken straight from the English translation of the game, so fair warning of bad grammar.

About Yatsufusa “According to my statistics, older vampires tend to rank above C-Class... Presumably, D-Class and under end up dying. 

But it’s a shame with Yatsufusa. Because he is a C-Class that has all the potentials to fight in a battle. Yet, he cannot demonstrate that in a different way than Kurusu can’t. 

It seems he occasionally uses the umbrella I gave him... He’ll end up hurting himself if he carelessly swings a sword since he has never trained for it. And he will break it if he uses it with all his strength. I can’t let a civilian hold a sword anyway. So, an umbrella was the best solution.

...Oh! I have an exciting idea that improves his umbrella. Haha, this will help him even if he’s not a good fighter...”

About Kurusu “Kurusu is very intriguing. He is the strongest vampire in Japan! How is he different from other vampires?! Unfortunately, current science does not allow me to analyze blood at a micro-level... In that case, I must invent a machine that can. I’d love to improve Kurusu’s abilities from an A-Class to S-Class and above through my inventions. 

If Colonel Maeda who is a human can defeat unranked vampires, then that means dynamic visions can be improved through training. This then leads me to the question- do I use a drug or machinery to improve his speed and muscle strength...

But Kurusu must improve his speed of judgement more than anything. That, I cannot help him no matter how great I am. It probably comes from his kindness. But, oh well. I’ll let Colonel Maeda deal with that.”

About Maeda “Colonel Maeda is certainly an intelligent person. A true rationalist and finds the best course of action in an instant- because how else can someone decide to amputate their right arm after being bitten by a vampire before the poison enters their system? The surgery went well because he was in luck with a series of events. His wound was a clean-cut, he was able to stop the bleeding, and the fact that Code Zero has plenty of blood supplies for us vampires...

I’d say he was still lucky to survive despite having an aftereffect due to hemorrhage of the heart. I must say he is an astounding human being since his combat skills are still the same where he is capable of beating vampires to death with his prosthetic arm.

Ah- that reminds me that he asked me to fix his arm. What next functions should I add next?”

About Yamagami “Yamagami is the best to experiment on. I wonder what will happen... if I can make him strong enough so he can fight with my inventions? Alas, the greatest assassin will be born! We vampires cannot detect ones that rank below us- they appear like an ordinary person to us.

Yamagami on the other hand is capable of detecting every vampire out there since he is unranked. Which makes him the best candidate to become an assassin sneaking up on vampires from behind! I must conduct every experiment on Yamagami then! It will become a revolution for us vampires if the experiment succeeds.

However, there is just one problem... Yamagami’s personality is not ideal to become an assassin...”

About Suwa “We did not have any vampires that specialized in combat at the time when Code Zero was established. That is why we induced Suwa into our team. I knew the moment I heard the rumor about a vampires that hunts other vampires that he will join our unit.

One of the reasons was that I heard he was alive even before the Edo period... He must be clever if he managed to survive hundreds of years since it is not easy for vampires to survive such a long period.

Secondly, we carry the same goal if he enjoys hunting vampires, whatever his reasons may be. Back then, vampires in the Imperial Capital shivered when hearing “Vampire Hunter.” It’s very promising if that “Vampire Hunter” joins Code Zero.

His body was of a child’s, so his arms were too short for Japanese swords. That is why I made him two daggers.”

About Defrott “I wonder if Defrott will allow me to study his blood... We don’t have any blood samples of S-Class vampires nor any data yet. But he’s not the type that goes with “Please” and “Thank you.” After all, I do not want to die either.

...All I want is to conduct my research peacefully. No need to panic or rush. It’ll become available someday. I can get close to the birth of vampires- if I can learn about S-Class vampires. When, why, and how did we derive...? The only thing we know is that the oldest vampires on the recond spoke ancient Greek... Were they the first? Or did vampires exist long before that, but the records got lost...

It is a mystery how humanity began, but it is even a bigger mystery how vampires started. Was it a strain that occurred during the evolution process. Or mutation... Some call it evil or the devil’s doing. However, I do not believe in unscientific things.”

About Tenman-ya “Come to think of it, our relationship with Tenman-ya has been going on for quite a long time. Considering Colonel Maeda’s personality, there is no way he will miss a vampire’s nest like them...

But perhaps they’re untouched because of the amount of information they’ve accumulated about vampires since the Edo period and the fact that they’ve been confining vampires that are in the Imperial Capital. 

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a give-and-take relationship since they refer me to wholesales to sell my drugs I invented. The vampires referred through Tenman-ya are all clean and diligent. Some practice Western medicine like me so it helps. 

It appears vampires fight all year round when just looking at Code Zero, but the one that avoid battle are the ones that live long. Tenman-ya supports those vampires.”

About the Experiments “There are three ways to kill a vampire. One, have them fight a vampire that outdo them. Very primitive method. Two, make them powerless through science. What we are currently doing. Three, obtain strength that overthrows higher rank vampires through science. This- is our homework.

Creating heavy firearms is easy, but we are dealing with swift subjects... Even unranked vampires may be described as “...at lightning speed” to an ordinary person. 

Thus, I am working on a drug that improves our physical ability... I mixed some into Yamagami’s food the other day, and the results were quite surprising. It was as if he got drunk. I thought I developed a drug that makes the world seem slow, but Yamagami said “The world is spinning! You blockhead!”

My work is trial and error. Well, I do have plenty of time.”

About the Past “I never would’ve imagined that I would end up being a serviceman when I was just an ordinary human being working at a pharmaceutical company. It all happened when the military authorities asked me to research a certain blood sample. I accidentally exposed it to sunlight without knowing that it was vampire blood. The flask exploded from the boiling blood...

Luckily, I did not die from the poison and gained a brain that never degenerates. It was pure coincidence, but I was lucky indeed. I can come close to the secrets of this world with an eternally young brain. 

I don’t mind not being able to walk under the sun. I was in the lab day and night in the first place. Not feeling time or seasonal changes aren’t important to me. I don’t care much about food either. 

Research is my life! I am the happiest vampire on Earth!”

About the Side Job “Code Zero hardly has any budget for R&D... But we aren’t a special unit that simply gathers vampires for combat. Weak, domestic ones can benefit from my drugs and put up a decent fight with the ones ranking above them. I believe- that is the purpose of our unit.

Colonel Maeda couldn’t care less about the name of the unit. So I named it “Zero”- implying “Starting everything from zero.”

Either way, you need money to experiment. That is why I sell my inventions beneficial to humans to department stores and medical institutions made in the process of my vampire studies. The profit I make all goes to my research. Every purchase helps us foster future vampires.”

#mars red #takeuchi

[savagesbonergarage]

Nightsister OC pics and backstory ❤️

So I kinda got my Nightsister oc worked out today!

Meet Eilantha!

No makeup and with makeup since I like both. :) I know her outfit is Rey’s, but it turned out to be the one I liked best after going through all of them. This was so much fun to do! I’m on mobile rn so I don’t have a link, but search ‘rinmaru star wars avatar creator’ and it should be the first result.

The nightbrother is also an oc called Sever. He’s more bulky in my head and his tattoos are different and more brown than black, but whatevs. Also he looks more like a teenager here, which is NOT the vibe, lads. Mans is in his late 20's-early 30's. 👍

I know I’m sorta biased and all since she’s mine, but I’m in love with her? I’m not a huge fan of the Nightsisters and their misandry and general terrible-ness, but this girl is the exception. 💕 Learn more about her under the cut if you’d like. :)

She was born in 46BBY, making her around 27 in the final year of the clone wars. From the time she was a youngling it was clear that she had a natural affinity for magicks and spellcasting, which allowed her to participate in more advanced rituals and rites from an early age. This inevitably caused some contention among the sisters in her age group that felt this privilege was wasted on her, and therefore she had few friends during her time within the coven. She didn’t really mind, as she preferred to spend her days on her own anyway, learning as much as she could about whatever she fancied (usually spells that piqued her interest whose texts she discreetly snuck from within the cavern).

When she wasn’t studying, she loved music - writing, playing, and singing. It wasn’t anything like the typical malicious sounds of tribal chanting and drums you’d hear from within the grotto; not that she didn’t appreciate that also as she practiced it well, but her heart leaned toward a softer, more soothing genre of arias and melodies, bordering on lullabies based on her wanderlust, and, though she’d never admit it, her loneliness.

As she reached adulthood, she underwent the trials for her dark baptism as all Sisters did, which consisted of returning from a challenging hunt to add a token from her kill to the Water Of Life, and receiving her ichor tattoos that signified her coming-of-age before being ritualistically bathed in the ominous liquid which sanctioned her as an active member of the Nightsisters.

After this, I have two different routes (or however many, depending on who I’m shipping her with at the moment 😅 bc I ship her with everyone, no lie) that I like to take with her story. The first is expanded upon in the fic by @fallenrepublick here (still my favorite thing!) where she starts sneaking away into the nightbrother village and befriends Savage and Feral before they go through Asajj’s selection trails. This is the nicer, less-traumatic arc.

This next one gets really, really dark. I'm not going to post it all here bc honestly this post doesn't need all that angst, so I'll save that for later. Essentially, I like to think that Eilantha did at one time have a nightbrother of her own (Sever) that she actually loved, rather than treated as a slave. As you can imagine it doesn't end well, but we're not gonna get into that. We'll talk about how they meet. :)

Instead of sneaking away to the village, Eilantha is pressured into conducting her own selection trails by Mother Talzin. She doesn’t inherently have any reason to object, after all, she was taught that this is was simply the way of things. Part of her even looked forward to obtaining a manservant, whose loyalty would belong to her and her alone.

Perhaps he’d be a useful asset when it came to sneaking spelltomes to and from the vaults, and maybe he’d even be the only one staying by her side while she practiced her songs. What if he’d even appreciate them? Not that he’d have much of a choice, but the thought was comforting nonetheless.

From the moment she stepped foot in the village, all she could focus on was the feeling of the uneasy and fearful gazes of the men who undoubtedly knew more of what was to come than she did. She chose her roster at random, unsure of what she should have really been looking for or what she actually wanted from a servant. Even before the fighting, she knew deep down that she didn’t want to inflict any unnecessary harm on them…but why? From what she’d overheard at home, the violence was half the fun.

It wasn’t.

She evaded and blocked every blow with ease, yet avoided retaliating and taking the offensive in any manner that would prove fatal, causing the battle to go on far longer than anticipated to the point where Brother Viscus insisted that she take the next opening for the kill. With reluctance, the blade of her weapon collided with the ribs of the next brother to reveal himself a target. She watched in horror as the light faded from his hateful, reflective eyes, and she was nearly sick. She didn’t want to do it, but it had been done, and it couldn’t be undone. His body thudded against the ground and she screamed.

“Enough!”

The battlefield went silent, and as she came to her senses she attempted to save face.

“I’ll have none of them!”

Before Brother Viscus could interject with any alternative propositions, she was gone. She ran, fleeing as far away across the rocky terrain as she could. She didn’t cry; at least not until she was certain she was alone. She felt so pathetic - Nightbrothers were meant to be disposable, yet she couldn’t handle killing one. Her shame shifted into heartbreak, and she crouched low and wept for the death of the brother she’d just caused, as well as for all those who came before him. All the needless, thankless, mindless deaths of these men whose lives may not have mattered to the Sisters, but they mattered to someone.

As night fell, she trudged along the jagged landscape and thought of what explaination she’d give to Mother Talzin upon returning home. She had run in the opposite direction of where her speeder was stationed at the base of the village, so she had plenty of time to consider on the long journey back. She casually hummed a tune to herself in some meager attempt to self-soothe, which served to distract the shadow that had been trailing her for some time. The sound of a twig snapping in the rocks behind her alerted her to the presence and she confronted him.

"Are you lost?" she asked in a derogatory tone after he revealed himself.

"I'm not."

Of course not, this was his home, after all. She couldn't say the same for herself, however, she pressed him further.

"Then why are you following me? I never asked for an escort."

The amber-skinned nightbrother looked as though he were choosing his words carefully, though if his aim was self-preservation he'd done a terrible job of it.

"I saw you crying."

Eilantha was hit with a pang of embarrassment, though she feigned otherwise as her eyes met the ground.

"Well, you can forget what you saw. Now leave me alone."

She turned away, but the brother remained there in quiet contemplation before he spoke again.

"I've never seen a Sister cry. I've never seen a Sister feel."

Something about those words struck her directly in her heart. The confirmation that she was inherently considered to be a heartless monster in the view of these villagers hurt a little more than anticipated, though she had no right to refute it. No amount of apologies would ever remedy the divide that separated the Nightsisters from the Nightbrothers, regardless of how she felt. She clenched her fist as she turned to face him again.

“I said, leave me alone. Don’t make me-”

She actually choked on her words, unable to say the rest.

Don’t make me put you in your place.

Despite her partial warning, the nightbrother stepped closer. He grabbed the edge of his already tattered tunic and tore a piece of it off, inspecting it for cleanliness before holding it out to her. Eilantha froze, uncertain of what to make of this interaction.

“You aren’t done,” he explained.

She hadn’t realized that her hot tears continued pouring down her cheeks during her retort. She accepted the cloth with some reluctance, her dainty fingers lightly brushing against his as she took it and dabbed it against her wet face. He promptly turned and started walking away, as instructed. This strange...kindness, or rather, strange act of servitude via obligation perturbed the young witch, whose thoughts were now fixated solely on the zabrak male.

“Wait, Brother,” she implored.

He paused, resuming his attention to her after hearing the endearing use of “brother” from a Sister’s lips for the first time. She continued, an unusual softness in her tone.

“What is your name?”

“It’s Sever,” he revealed, “May I ask yours, Sister?”

She repeated his name in her mind, determined never to lose it.

“Eilantha.”

He did the same, only out loud. Gods, it was an enticing sound.

"Will you be returning?"

This was a question she wasn't prepared to receive, and one that she herself didn't fully know the answer to. Her reply was engineered from a concerned sigh.

"I'm not sure. It might be problematic returning to the coven empty-handed. I may come back, I may not. I don't know what the future holds."

Sever pursed his lips slightly.

"If you do find yourself here again, will you..."

He coughed into his fist and centered himself before continuing.

"Will you consider me?"

Her eyes shot up to meet his hopeful gaze, a golden yellow in the night. She had a hunch as to what he was alluding to, but a little clarification was needed.

"Consider you...?"

He swallowed, his countenance displaying concern that perhaps he was stepping too far out-of-bounds this time, but he wanted to know all the same.

"As your mate."

Eilantha clutched the piece of fabric in her hand. This man was offering himself to her. The images of all the nightbrothers staring her down when she first arrived with fear in their faces raced through her mind, revealing the dread the men felt when they were met with her kind, and yet this one was volunteering. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or angry, as any other Sister likely would be at a savage that dared to seek special permissions. Of course, she wasn't like that.

Imagining him as her mate, however, was certainly...something. She thought of how she would discover just how much of him was tattooed and he would learn the same of her. She could claim him right then and there if she wanted, and he would be obliged to obey. It would solve her worries about returning home if she decided on a servant after all, although, her soul was unsteady. Though she was entitled to any male she desired, she couldn't allow herself to do it. Even though this man was offering, it would weigh on her conscience knowing that even a part of him would only be with her out of fear and obligation, rather than his own free will. This nightbrother wasn't free. None of them were.

"I'll consider it," she replied genuinely.

This news seemed to please him to some extent, a tiny smirk curling at the corner of his lip.

"I'll look forward to the possibility of serving you, Sister Eilantha."

She watched as he turned a final time and disappeared further into the darkness, leaving her alone with her busied mind.

The course was set for the Nightsister temple once she finally got to her speeder, servant-less. She looked over her shoulder to see multiple pairs of glowing golden eyes quizzically prying at her in the darkness, and she smiled before taking off.

It was a long journey home, and the entire trip her mind was occupied with thoughts of the intriguing zabrak male who saw her for what she truly was. She pulled out the tattered cloth from her pocket and pressed it against her chest as the wind rushed all around her before bringing it to her lips and kissing it.

It became her greatest treasure.

That is, until she finally had the real deal in her arms months later when the separation became too much to bear, and they arranged to meet in secret during their first rendezvous of many.

Sever, my treasure.

#Nightsister #nightbrother #star wars ocs #Eilantha x Sever #savage opress #feral opress #dathomir #maul #darth maul #mother talzin #tcw #brother viscus #oc x canon

[harrylee94]

The Tournament - Chapter 13

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: "Was it not him who saved a knight from being trampled by his own horse? Who showed respect even to those he had defeated? Who treated children with respect, and even put himself between me and potential danger?"

"... It was, my Prince."

Notes: I swear to god I made myself cry writing this chapter!

TW for wounds sustained while walking long distances with no shoes on! Skip the second 2 paragraphs if you don't want to read about it!

Chapter 12

——————————————————————

"Come and accept your reward.” - Din

Din recalled the first time he’d ever seen Cobb Vanth when he was a boy. He’d been attending to his studies in his room when there had been a commotion outside. He’d heard his buir shouting orders, her voice echoing down the hall, and he’d ignored his tutor to look out the door.

His mother was walking down the corridor with what had at first looked like a bundle of wet leather and rags, but then he noticed the blood, and he realised that it was a child, maybe a little bit older than he was, and his feet were a blistered, bleeding mess. They didn’t see him, but he couldn’t look away until he’d been taken into the physician’s room nearby, which was when his tutor had taken him by the arm and pulled him back to his studies, closing the door behind them.

He’d asked his buir who the mysterious child had been, and she had explained that it was a boy from a town called Mos Pelgo, a settlement out on the dry plains almost two days’ ride away, and that it had been taken over by bandits. She explained that this boy had walked for almost twice that time to reach them, and that it had cost him more than just a few layers of skin on the soles of his feet.

Mandokarla, she had called him, and when Din saw him next, standing with a determined look on his face in borrowed boots and clothes, she’d said it again.

He couldn’t help but agree.

Riding with him had been awkward, mostly because he hadn’t known what to talk about; he didn’t know what this boy did or liked, didn’t want to ask about his family, and didn’t want to praise him for what he’d done in case it caused offence. When they’d settled down for the night though, he listened to him talk to his buir, listened to him talk about his interests, his likes and dislikes, and found he quite enjoyed listening to his voice, and asked a few of his own questions just to hear him speak a little more.

When they’d arrived too late to the town the next day, he’d been afraid that this boy would break, as his buir had told him so often happened to people who had suffered great hardships, but instead it had hardened him like steel in the flame. His suffering had stolen some innocence from him, but it had made him stronger.

Din had kept his distance after that, letting Cobb find his place in the world, allowing him the time to become who he wanted to be, but every so often he would go into the stables and enjoy the way he talked again, if only for a little while.

Somehow, years had passed like this, and while Din could never call what they had a true friendship, it sat fond and warm between them. His duties went from learning about how to run a castle and its kingdom to actually starting to do it, and the spare time he’d used to visit the stables had become vanishingly shorter. He had started to have to sustain their relationship with shared looks and small smiles.

But now that smile was in full bloom.

The joust between Ser Jaonar and the Krayt Dragon had been tense and difficult to watch, Din flinching at every hit the man he suspected to be the stable hand took, but then, after several agonising minutes, he’d won.

And he’d removed his helmet, revealing the man Din had suspected -- and wanted -- it to be. When their eyes met, Din could see shock in them, and, much to his surprise, fear. But what would he have to be afraid of? He had achieved a feat beyond what most would have ever imagined him capable of, and he had won a position of great honour. What was it that still troubled him so?

“Our champion; the Krayt Dragon!” Greef had called, and the crowds had stormed the field.

Cobb had been taken up by the people and raised onto their shoulders, being taken around the field much as Beryn -- the archery champion -- had been, and his smile had been bright and wide. Some of the crowd clearly recognised him, and they seemed to be the proudest of everyone. He noticed that Peli, the stable master, was among them, her smile the biggest he had ever seen as she applauded him.

The cheers roared into an almost deafening roar as the champion was brought back around to the stage, and Din rose to his feet as the man was deposited at the bottom of the steps.

He hesitated then, looking back over the crowd, but Greef was there at the top of the steps, offering his hand.

“Come, Krayt Dragon!” he said, his voice just audible over the ongoing cheers. “You are the champion! Come and accept your reward.”

Din saw a tightening around the edges of Cobb’s eyes, but the man accepted the hand and climbed the steps. Greef, having positioned the champion on one end of the stage, went to the middle and raised his hands for quiet. It took some time, but eventually the applause diminished enough for him to be heard.

“Vode, the Trials are at an end! I give you your champion!”

He waved at Cobb for him to step forwards as another round of cheers and whistles exploded, and he dutifully followed the instruction, though there was a stiffness about it that betrayed his discomfort.

“Krayt Dragon,” Greef continued once the noise had died down once again, “you have bested all of your opponents, and you have shown great honour in your conduct. Will you step forward to accept your reward?”

There was a pause, one longer than there should have been at this juncture, and then Cobb took a deep breath.

“I do not deserve the honour.”

What?

The crowd started murmuring amongst themselves, unsure what was happening, much as Din was.

“And why is that?” Greef asked, just as nonplussed as everyone else, but somehow still capable of words.

“... I am not honourable, sir,” he replied. “I entered the Tournament under a false name, I am not of noble birth, and…” He paused, his eyes flicking towards Din. “I’m not a knight.”

The murmurs grew, but Greef raised a hand again for quiet.

“Answer me this then; for what reason did you enter this Trial under a false name?”

Cobb shifted on the spot, looking out across the crowd, and then the nobles, before turning back to Greef again. "My answer might be offensive to some of those present."

"Answer anyway," Greef ordered, a hard edge entering his voice. Din noticed a few of the nobles were also becoming annoyed by his non-answers, but he felt that there was more than just Cobb's pride hanging on the line here. The hesitation now, even under pressure, only supported that.

"It… it came to my attention that certain… that some of the other competitors weren't…" He paused, glancing at the nobles again, but then he looked out into the crowd again, and he seemed to see something that made him set his shoulders. "Some of the competitors I know for a fact wanted to win so they might influence the Prince in their favour, and I knew that if I'd entered under my own name, then I wouldn't be taken seriously, or maybe even been kicked out of the Tournament altogether."

"Or… recognised?" Greef added, and Cobb nodded as the crowd murmured again in shock (and outrage in a few cases). "Then you entered this Tournament, not for your own want for fame or a need for recognition, but to protect the Prince from these threats?"

"... Yes, sir."

"Then please, tell us who you are so we might thank you for such a service."

The man hesitated again, but this time it was Din's turn to step in.

"His name is Cobb Vanth," he said, drawing everyone's eye, but it was only Cobb's that he met. "He is a stable hand at the castle, and he has shown more honour in the last few days than half the knights we've seen."

"My Prince-" the silver-haired man began, but he was cut off by one of the noble Lords, Ser Jaonar's buir in fact.

"This man has been posing as a knight!" he exclaimed. "How does a man like that hold any honour? Only knights could compete and he was clearly doing this for some unsavoury reason!"

Cobb seemed to shrink into himself, the Lord's words hitting him harder than Din would have expected, and something inside him snapped.

"At what point was the Krayt Dragon ever introduced as a knight?" he demanded, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. "Where does it state that only knights can compete in the Trials? What law keep Vode from owning armour depending on their birth? Please, educate me on the laws of my own kingdom."

Lord Suum’anar spluttered, and several of the nobles around him backed away, though Bo-Katan -- who had watched the entire Tournament just a few meters from Din’s right -- seemed heavily amused.

"Was it not him who saved a knight from being trampled by his own horse? Who showed respect even to those he had defeated? Who treated children with respect, and even put himself between me and potential danger?"

"... It was, my Prince," the Lord said, shrinking much as he had made Cobb shrink, and it made something inside Din churn with pride at making the ostentatious idiot cower.

He nodded and smiled softly at Cobb, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Mandokarla."

The word seemed to shock the man, and he started to blink a little more rapidly.

"Will you, Cobb Vanth, as champion of these trials, accept my offer and become my Protector?"

Cobb's mouth moved without words for a few moments before he managed to find his voice. "But… I'm not a knight. The Protector should be a symbol of honour, and a lowly stable hand isn't that."

"Is that what's holding you back?" Din asked. "This can be easily amended. Saruk?"

The Protector bowed. "I defer to your judgement, my Prince."

In other words, they agreed wholeheartedly with what he was about to do. He drew his sword.

"Kneel."

Cobb stared at him for a few moments, his mouth hanging a little open, but then Greef gave him a nudge and he stepped forward, dropping to his knee and bowing his head.

"For your actions of honour, for following the tenants of the Resol'nare, for taking the responsibility of protecting others for selfless reasons, and for defeating the best knights of the kingdom, I dub thee Ser Cobb Vanth of Mos Pelgo, knight of the realm, and head of Clan Krayt Dragon," Din said, tapping each of Cobb's pauldrons with the flat of his blade before returning it to its sheath to hold his hand out for him. "Rise, Ser Cobb Vanth."

The silver haired man looked up at him, his eyes wet and filled with such joy that Din couldn't hold back a wider smile any longer, and he accepted the hand in a warrior's grip, but when he tried to pull away when he was once again on his feet, Din only held on tighter.

"Now, are there any other obstacles keeping you from accepting your reward?" he asked. Cobb gave him a wordless shake of the head. "Then do you, Ser Cobb Vanth of Clan Krayt Dragon, accept the position of my Protector, to stand at my side through peace and war, to protect, guide and advise me when needed?"

The new knight visibly swallowed, then, with a squeeze of Din's wrist, he grinned.

"My Prince, it would be an honour and a privilege to serve you. I accept."

——————————————————————

*screaming*

Mando'a Translations:

Buir -- mother/father/parent

Vode -- brothers/sisters/siblings

Mandokarla -- ‘the right stuff’; this person personifies what it means to be a Mandalroian.

Resol'nare -- the Six Actions are the central tenets of Mandalorian life; Education and Armour, Self-defense, our tribe, Our language and our leader

Chapter 14

#writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #medieval au #din djarin #cobb vanth #greef karga #brief mentions of #peli motto #bo katan kryze #dincobb

[auncyen]

two snippets from an early draft of “when the Cat Dragged in the Trickster” that had more buildup covering the school year and the repeat requests for Ren to be given a change of heart...because I’m deleting old docs to clean up but I still like them.

The first time they checked the MetaNav because Amamiya had been requested on the Phansite, Morgana crowed at the negative result. "See! He doesn't have a distorted desire! If he was wicked before, he has clearly reformed."

The second time they checked the MetaNav because Amamiya had been requested, Morgana rolled his eyes before explaining to a mildly curious Yusuke that people were only scared of Amamiya because of his dubious past and that they weren't paying enough attention to his current impeccable conduct. Ryuji then filled Yusuke in on what said dubious past was. Ann informed everyone the result was still negative. No distortion.

The third time Amamiya got requested, Ryuji shook his head when Makoto started to bring out her phone. "He ain't gonna be on there," he told her.

"You're certain?" the student council president asked. "With a record like his..."

"He's been on the site before, I believe," Haru said. "Was he already given a change of heart?"

Ann sighed in aggravation. "No, but we've checked both times Mishima's forwarded the requests before, and he hasn't shown up then either. I mean, yeah, you'd think if he assaulted someone out of the blue, he must be distorted, but he got arrested and put on probation for it. That'd be enough to make most people reflect on themselves, right?"

Haru nodded, accepting the logic, but Makoto still said aloud, "Amamiya Ren."

"Candidate not found."

Morgana huffed. "See?" He jumped up on the accessway's railing. "Lady Ann, I say we tell Mishima to not accept these requests anymore. They clearly have no basis."

Ann frowned, thinking. It'd be a little hard when they were still trying to keep some plausible deniability with Mishima, but she could probably...drop a heavy hint. "Okay--"

"Wait," Makoto said. "You only think it lacks basis because of the app. We don't know where it's from or how it was made, so how can we trust it to be accurate?"

"Do you think the accusation has merit, then? That he threatened the writer?" Yusuke asked. Morgana gave a loud, exasperated sigh.

"I...don't know," Makoto said slowly. "Honestly, I'd prefer if Ann's explanation was right. If Amamiya's reformed, it would mean the justice system at least works sometimes. It's just...what if these are serious? Haru made multiple requests, and you still nearly missed them before I brought them to your attention."

"By blackmailing us," Ryuji muttered.

Makoto's cheeks colored. Haru squeezing her hand as gentle reassurance didn't help. "...That's besides the point. I just want to make sure no other victims slip through the cracks either."

Ryuji and Ann exchanged looks. Ryuji shoved his hands in his back pockets and leaned against the railing. "Honestly, I kind of wonder if I'd be on the Phansite if it'd gone up before Kamoshida went down," he said. "People mostly just leave me alone now, but last year there was talk about how I was gonna haul off and hit the next person who looked at me funny. Shit made me want to quit school for a while."

"You called Amamiya-san 'the guy who stabs people'," Morgana reminded him.

"Well, that's how I knew him! And I wasn't spreadin' anything--Ann had already heard about him, and who were you gonna tell?" Ryuji shot back before a gesture from Makoto reminded him to lower his voice. "Look, I know the guy's done something bad once before, and from what I've seen of him, he's a little weird. Like, I can't get a read on him at all. But none of that means he should be harassed. I guess...we should check to be sure nothing's going on...but can we do it without bothering the guy?"

"I think...both Mako-chan and Ryuji-kun have a point," Haru said slowly. Since we don't know much about the MetaNav, we can't know for sure if it's always working correctly, can we? So I think we should do some questioning ourselves to make sure Amamiya isn't involved in anything suspicious. But we must be discreet, and if we find nothing, we ask the administrator to not accept any more requests about him. I wouldn't want us to be used as a tool for harassment. People deserve second chances."

"That seems reasonable," Yusuke said. "I agree with the proposed action." Makoto nodded, and Ryuji shrugged. Ann hesitated for a moment, but...if there was a victim...and if there was a chance the MetaNav didn't always work, they needed to know, considering how much they relied on it. She nodded.

Morgana held out for a couple of tense minutes, his tail swishing in agitation behind him, but at last it slowed. "I guess...it'd reflect badly on the name of the Phantom Thieves if we ignored a request that turned out to be legitimate... very well, then. We investigate, and then we tell Mishima to reject any further requests."

Morgana's phrasing made it obvious he expected Amamiya to be found innocent. Fortunately, he seemed to be right. Morgana tailed Amamiya from a distance. Yusuke kept an eye out for Amamiya when he people watched at the station. The four Shujin students kept an ear out for any current rumors that might have any basis. Ann asked Mishima if he would be able to find more details about Amamiya's record, since the original leak appeared long-deleted and he was good with the internet and searching for information.

Mishima was more than happy to help her find information--he actually pulled up the record itself for her. The details on the trial were sparse, with the victim's identity completely missing from the record. Was that normal...? Ann hoped it was, to protect victims. It seemed the assault conviction was legitimate enough, anyway. Amamiya had pleaded not guilty, but there was an identified witness who had testified that he had attacked the man she'd been with out of the blue. The judge had made a quick ruling--Ann guessed it was a fairly open-and-shut case. The most troubling thing was that the transcript of the proceedings gave no hint into what had provoked Amamiya to assault that man, who seemed to have been a stranger, besides the allegation that he had anger management issues. That lined up with a few of the rumors, but...the rumors were based on his record to begin with. And they were all old--nothing they turned up sounded that different from what they'd heard in April. Yusuke and Morgana had nothing suspicious to report, unless Amamiya holding three part-time jobs, one of which seemed to be where he was living, counted.

It was...weird. No, she guessed it made sense if Amamiya had reformed and was working to control his temper. They ended the investigation. Ann dropped hints to Mishima that the Phantom Thieves weren't after criminals who'd already been punished.

Mishima seemed seriously reluctant to take those hints, considering they got a fourth request for Amamiya while they were waiting for Futaba to wake up. Ann hadn't even finished reading the message before she deleted it in aggravation.

-

The second snippet being a slightly different form of investigating with interesting/concerning results:

Haru and Makoto were in agreement from the beginning, with Yusuke agreeing it seemed reasonable enough soon after. Ann was the first to be won over from skepticism. Then Ryuji. Finally, Morgana's ears drooped. "We really don't know how that thing works," he said with a glance at Ann's phone. "It'd be terrible if we accidentally ignored someone in danger...all right. We investigate, and then we tell Mishima to reject any further requests."

Morgana's phrasing made it obvious he expected Amamiya to be found innocent, and Ann was a little worried what would happen if he was wrong. Still, for now, they had a unanimous vote. They started an investigation.

Makoto tailed Amamiya, with Ryuji at a distance just in case she was confronted. All she learned was that that Amamiya worked at both 777 and a beef bowl shop and seemed to be a decent employee. Yusuke kept an eye out when he people watched at the station and spotted Amamiya a few times, but never saw him do anything or go anywhere unusual, and most of what he had to say about finally seeing the transfer student for himself was "his aesthetic is appallingly drab". He also figured out somehow that Amamiya's glasses were fake, but Ann didn't know what that information had to do with anything, even if Yusuke found it the one interesting thing about Shujin's transfer student.

Morgana also tailed Amamiya, and by 'tailed' he really just strutted up to Amamiya, meowed and acted like a lost cat, and let Amamiya take him home for the night. It was a lazy approach. It was also the most informative, though not in the way Ann had expected.

Amamiya returned Morgana to Ann in the morning. That, she'd expected: either Amamiya would be conscientious and return a cat he'd recognize as hers, or Morgana would eventually slip away and return on his own. What she hadn't expected was that Amamiya looked nervous--really nervous--when he let his schoolbag down on his desk and showed her Morgana, safe inside. Morgana looked upset.

"He...must have gotten out somehow? I found him in Shibuya, after my work shift--"

"He thinks you'll think he stole me," Morgana blurted.

"Okay, okay, come on," Ann said, reaching into the schoolbag to extricate the smallest thief. She was confused. Why on earth would Amamiya think she'd suspect him of kidnapping Morgana? He'd gone up to Amamiya himself--

Well, though...if Ann didn't know that, if Morgana was a normal cat--oh. Yeah, it might be suspicious that Amamiya of all people had 'found' him. Shoot. She immediately looked up at Amamiya and gave him her brightest smile. "I'm glad you found him! I was sooooo worried about this little guy. Thank you."

"'Little guy'?" Morgana muttered, but he clambered into her desk and turned himself about, his blue eyes focusing on Amamiya. "See? It's fine. Calm down."

Obviously, Amamiya couldn't understand Morgana. But he did seem to be relaxing. He smiled back a little at Ann, an awkward thing, and she felt so lost. What had happened to the guy who'd intimidated the entire class just to let a cat sit in a desk?

#persona 5 #persona 5 fic #my fic #cat and trickster

[moonlit-doodles]

writing snippet

a few people expressed interest so here’s the introduction to paradosso dell’anima (soul paradox)

also known as “oops my wacky stand yeeted me into a time paradox and now i’m meeting my biological father who is alive question mark??”

the majority of it will be behind the cut! it’s somewhere around 2500 words

~

“Proceeding examination nine, trial one. The date is twenty-seven of September, 2003. Subject Giorno Giovanna. Birthdate sixteen of April, 1985. Subject is eighteen years old. One hundred eighty-five centimeters, seventy-five kilograms. All blood levels normal. No injuries nor abnormalities. Perfect health as always, Mr. Giovanna.”

Giorno remained where he was, seated calmly in the center of the pristine room. He flipped through an album of photos, fingertips barely brushing each page.

“Thank you. Go on; I have other appointments today. Let’s make this quick.”

“Subject is a Stand user with the life-giving ability known as Gold Experience. Mr. Giovanna is still the only known Stand user with mastery over a Requiem ability. Gold Experience Requiem, otherwise called simply by Requiem or G.E.R., possesses capabilities still not yet fully surmised. These trials are, as always, conducted to learn more about the Stand arrow and Requiem abilities. Dr. Kujo is present once more as the Speedwagon Foundation’s primary observer. Examination nine, trial one, proceeding now. Mr. Giovanna, if you will please pierce your Stand with the arrow; Dr. Kujo, if you will kindly explain what is happening for the records.”

“Gold Experience.”

As his Stand shimmered into view, Giorno set the unshut album aside and rose to his feet. At his other side, the arrowhead with its gnawed shaft rested on a fold of silken cloth. He took it from its place and twirled it once in his fingers; it was habit at this point.

“Giorno has called Gold Experience to his side and picked up the Stand arrow,” Kujo narrated.

This was how it went every time, of course. It had become a sort of routine. Every once in a while, the Speedwagon Foundation would call and ask that Giorno come in and do some experimenting with his Stand. Something he’d never really pursued or spent time on before—now a semi-regular part of his collaborations with the Foundation. It wasn’t usually due to much drive on his part, of course. They asked questions and he asked his Stand if those questions could be answered.

There had been a trial period. After taking over Passione, he’d successfully settled himself at the top of the Foundation’s watch list. His heritage made it difficult for them to trust him. Now, they trusted him just fine so long as he didn’t carry an arrow on hand. So long as Jotaro Kujo was nearby.

As always, there was a sharp jolt of pain as he struck Gold Experience with the arrow—but it was always over quickly, and he adapted sooner each time.

“Gold Experience’s armor is cracking and bursting, the same way as always. Requiem is stirring; now showing its face.”

Giorno sensed the same greeting as it emerged—it was growing more familiar, a Stand that felt more and more like his own as he further grew and learned to understand its abilities. He still couldn’t bring himself to address GER as a ‘he,’ however, not the same way he addressed Spice Girl with feminine pronouns. Trish, too, had taken some time before referring to her Stand the same way.

GER didn’t speak very often; only when Giorno asked questions or when it felt words were necessary, or when Giorno’s intent was for the Stand to speak their shared thoughts. Upon report of such an observation, the Foundation had determined it to be an indication of absolute control, trust, and confidence. That much, too, explained why Trish’s Spice Girl was quieter now than before, and why Mista’s Sex Pistols fought amongst one another less and less.

There was no need to speak with your Stand if you trusted it wholeheartedly.

“Gold Experience Requiem is prepared to respond to all forms of testing,” Giorno reported at last, his tone smooth. His skin tingled, but under the brilliant lighting he couldn’t tell whether it glowed as it had the first time. “Let’s remember not to repeat any unchanged trials. We have made it clear that my Stand shares my distaste for repetition.”

“We will be proceeding on to the next phase of our examinations,” came the response. “Such a mistake will not be made again.”

The repeated test had been a learning experience for them all. GER had reacted to Giorno’s brief irritation and punished the nearest worker with an attack. He had died twice before Giorno understood enough to hurriedly cut the cycle and repair the damage. He had been careful to monitor his own temperament on each trial since.

“Zero,” Kujo said. “Today we’re experimenting more closely with the ‘zero’ that we’ve witnessed before. While we have tested all of Requiem’s base capabilities including range and speed, we have yet to run trials that will allow us to better understand how the cycle of life and death play a role in its powers. Giorno, I’d like you to create any mammal from the pen on your right and allow us to monitor its vitals.”

“Understood, Kujo-san.”

Giorno settled himself back into the seat as GER picked up the pen; the examination went on for longer than he thought necessary, and he found that his eyes kept turning up and away from the photo album, towards the clock. He’d be late at this rate. Late to ditch his bodyguards. Late to meet with Trish and Mista and Fugo. Today was important, and yet here he was looking through a bunch of the Foundation’s photos left sitting around while his Stand performed magic tricks.

“Gold Experience Requiem will act under my will but I have yet to understand how or why it loops,” Giorno said frankly. “If this will help you come up with an answer, then so be it. However. Let’s please wrap this up shortly. I do have an organization to be running.”

“You’re not working today,” Kujo muttered abrasively. “Just visiting a grave, aren’t you? Your team won’t mind if you’re a few minutes behind schedule and if I’m going to fly out to Italy then I’d like for it to be worth my time. Your dead friend can wait.” When he was met with silence, he jerked his chin to the door. “I didn’t see you rushing for the door when we received news of your stepfather’s death.”

Giorno’s thumb caught and dragged on the edge of a page, skin slicing open in the same moment that he looked up and met Kujo’s gaze, his eyes burning. The small hare on the desk heaved one final breath before being broken from the cycle and reverting back into a pen. GER tilted back into place, a hand braced on the back of the chair as it settled behind its master.

“You’re right,” Giorno said. “This man meant more to me than any father ever has. I don’t know how you gathered word of where I will be going and to whom, but, Kujo-san, I’d like you to know that it will not be tolerated. You tread a thin line. I’ve offered plenty to the Speedwagon Foundation and asked nothing in return. I am allowing you and this Foundation to study my Stand abilities. Who is it that has made the greatest commitment here? Will you relinquish to me all of the intricate details of Star Platinum’s abilities?”

Silence.

“I didn’t think so.” Giorno rose to his feet. GER healed the papercut with a touch. “I’ve willingly given the Foundation information about myself, about Requiem, and about the defeated Stand with the ability to skip time—as well as the Requiem ability of Jean Pierre Polnareff before his death. What am I receiving? You all think that my ties to Dio make me the same, don’t you? I don’t receive technological or medical benefits, nor do I receive the intel that you collect from other Stand users in my own territory. All I get is a tentative promise that you won’t needlessly strike me down. A promise that could be broken the moment I step within five kilometers of one of these stone masks you keep having me send my people after. Why not gather your own team of Stand users?”

Giorno lifted the album and flipped back to an old, colorless photo. “Perhaps you forget,” he said with a hum, “that I, too, am a Joestar.” He lifted his free hand to touch his fingertips lightly to the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Or does this birthmark mean nothing? Does my status as Dio’s bastard son mean that I don’t count?”

“You aren’t a part of the family,” came Kujo’s answer, his voice cold. “The only reason you have that birthmark is because your father, Dio, stole the body of a man greater than himself. Your very existence is contingent on Dio’s envy and malice. That aside, if even your mother didn’t want you then how am I to trust you?”

“My mother was a negligent whore. Consider yourself lucky to have been raised by two loving parents.”

“Don’t you dare bring my parents into this.”

“Aren’t they relevant? We’re speaking of mine, why not regard yours? Had I been your brother, would we be arguing now the same way we always do?”

“No. I’d have killed you.”

“You’re no better than my stepfather, then.” Giorno tapped his fingernail on the old photo, staring at it contemplatively. “I think your opinion would be different if I was born to your ancestor. I think your ancestor’s opinion would be different, too. How is your family, by the way? Did you abandon them across the sea again?”

“At least I have a family.”

The room fell into a deathly silence.

Broken only by the loud snap as Giorno shut the photo album, eyes glimmering with anger.

He inhaled slowly as he set the book aside. “Kujo-san, you do not want to make me into your enemy. Whether you like it or not, we are related by blood. I may not be what you consider family but Jonathan Joestar is my biological father. I have no fangs. No neck scar. I don’t have a single mole dotting my left ear, in fact. Not one. I was born into this body and this life. I did not choose my parents, nor did they choose me. I am not supposed to exist, but I am here, and that is an indisputable truth.”

“You, Jotaro Kujo.”

GER’s voice. The same as Giorno’s, save for his even, robotic tone.

“At least you have a family.”

“Enough,” Giorno said. He lifted the silk cloth to rest in his palm and extended the other towards GER. “We’re done for today. Let’s return the arrow to Polnareff. I will see you again soon.”

GER’s eyes met his, calculating. “Yes,” it said. “We will meet again soon.”

He saw that it had picked up the album, cradling it gently in both hands. And then—he felt, suddenly, that the distance between them did not close. That it only grew. That he was no longer standing in the room he’d been in before, wasn’t even standing on solid ground.

There was a rush of colors. For a moment Giorno thought he saw Bucciarati drifting past him. Bucciarati and Narancia and Abbacchio. All of them. By the time his arm outstretched—his fingers closed around empty air.

Panic caught his breath and stole it away. What was happening? Where was Gold Experience? Was this its doing? Had he lost control?

Had he been attacked by his own Stand?

He was falling through a rainbow headfirst, the hairtie ripping away from his braid, pins wrenched back by the force of his fall. Even a brooch pulled away from his jacket. His hair came undone, whipping about his face. Locks of gold that blotted out the vivid reds and blues and violets as they passed him by.

“Where are you taking me?” he breathed, his voice quivering with fear. “Where are you—shi—!”

He struck the ground, cracking the back of his head against hard pavement. All the breath left his body. Rain pelted his face but in a haze of pain and shock and still-ongoing panic he hardly felt it. Why was the ground vibrating? Goddamnit, his head hurt. Where was his Stand? Where was the arrow?

Giorno groaned the moment he managed to breathe, then began to cough, rolling onto his side.

“Shit,” he hissed, pressing his fingertips to the back of his head, unsurprised when they came back bloodied. His hair fell over his face as he rolled again, bracing himself on an elbow to try to get up. Where was he? He had to figure that much out first. “Gotta get up,” he told himself, biting back another coughing fit. “Just gotta—get up, Giorno…”

The moment he started to push himself up off the ground, a wave of nausea rolled up his spine, sent goosebumps fluttering along his arms and bile rising in the back of his throat. He fell, braced on his forearms, mouth tucked against his wrist. His vision blurred and darkened. Dangerous. Dangerous. Where was he?

“Blimey! Is that someone there on the walk? Whoa, whoa!”

The vibrations must have been—hooves? A couple of horses? The rain striking the back of his head was painful now that he knew it was there. Approaching footfalls. Shorter than Mista. Shorter than Trish, even. And was that English he’d heard? With an accent of some sort?

Was he in danger?

“Y’alright, kid? Oi, can you hear me?”

Giorno half-turned, stared over his shoulder at the blurred figure of someone he thought he should recognize. Long and curly hair. A diamond-patterned top hat and a coat thrown to shield him from the wind and rain. The man stopped—hesitated, just for a moment. What he was thinking in that moment, Giorno would never be able to tell. But it sure as hell seemed like they were both sizing one another up. Like the man recognized the panic in his eyes for what it was and knew better than to approach a wild animal with an injury on the side of a road.

Then the moment was over. Whatever he’d seen, this stranger had decided that Giorno wasn’t a threat.

“What’s your name, kid?” He convulsed as a hand met his shoulder, his vision wavering again as he was tugged into an upright position. “Aw, shit. Alright, lemme—here, think you could help me get you up? You’re mighty tall, y’know, for such a tiny bloke. Oh—”

Giorno fell forward into the stranger’s arm, his vision going black.

“—…guess not.”

The man sighed, pulling his coat from his shoulders and throwing it over Giorno’s body before heaving the boy up into his arms. “Bloody hell, I’ll be late to JoJo and the others at this rate won’t I? Well, couldn’t just leave ‘im aside to get picked clean by birds ‘n’ all them blasted thugs. They’d never forgive me.” He climbed up into the wagon and set the kid down. “Least the missus’ll be able to help the poor thing.”

He tipped up the brim of his hat to stare out at the moon, half-covered by clouds, then glanced back at the trembling boy in his backseat and heaved a sigh.

“How do you tell you’re gettin’ older?” he asked himself aloud, settling back into the driver’s seat and taking the reins in hand. “Imagining deadmen in the alleyways? C’mon, now, giddyup. Let’s go. Might as well bring another surprise home to those Joestars. They’ll be delighted.”

#paradosso dell'anima #jjba #vento aureo #giorno giovanna #not art

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty-two

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

Threading dangerous waters

After Noir had taken his leave, Sarah took a few steady breaths and managed to put his untouched slice of cake away before collapsing on the couch.

Lightly tracing her knuckles, she laid on the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been left in shambles. The coffee table had been reduced to splinters, and the tv screen had a gaping hole where he’d sunk his knife to the hilt. Nails were stuck in the wall to her right, and she sighed at the thought of having to disable those explosives that hadn’t been triggered during their fight.

I’ll be back.

She sighed, pressing the back of her hand to her lips. God, what would she do.

 [Next day, at Vought Headquarters]

The following day, Noir left his living quarters quite early, a pair of dark brown eyes seared into his mind. He immediately delved into researching information on the latest experimental trials conducted by Vought. He searched and searched, with determined calculation. His eyes traced countless file names, patient numbers, and descriptions… until he found the one he’d been looking for.

He retreated back to his room and settled down, eyes pouring over the damning evidence.

Finally, he stood and left the room.

_ _ _

“All right, folks, how is everyone?”

The Deep started with a small “I’m o—,” but Homelander cut him off, and continued speaking. He didn’t really care, the question had been a pleasantry, an act he had no reason to entertain without an audience.

“—We all know about the break-in that occurred two nights ago while we were at the gala,” he nodded to himself as he slowly paced around the table. “And while our Noir gave it his all, this very dangerous woman played some tricks and is,” Homelander raised a hand in blatant disbelief, “still on the loose.”

Reaching the head of the table once again, he fixed his gaze on each of his team members.

“We also know of the unfortunate release of Compound V to the public, which has generated mixed emotions and alienated a part of our fans,” he paused, disgust pure on his face before he drew his conclusion. “It was her, this delinquent who stole from the archives and spilled to the news.”

The imposing man gripped the back of his chair, “I took this up with Stan Edgar, and he would have me—us, believe that he has it under control, that he’s handling it,” he exclaimed with a small burst of laughter.

Black Noir felt something creep up over his shoulder and settle in his chest: it was dread, a deep-seated sense of foreboding. And knowing what he’d learned that morning, what he’d promised himself, he again found himself conflicted. Focusing on Homelander’s speech, one sentence echoed inside his head: she is good, and he will protect her, she is good, and he will protect her.

“She must be found and swiftly dealt with as she poses a threat to Vought and all Americans,” Homelander announced. “She is obviously powerful if she was able to escape from Noir,” he paused. “I want everyone’s eyes open, and if you find her,” his face lost any sign of pleasantry, morphing with an unidentifiable emotion, “you will come to me first.”

Black Noir knew all too well what that unidentifiable emotions was: it was arrogance and a sense of superiority that underlined the man’s choices, again and again. It was his absolute need to be in the know and at the center of the attention at all times.

Everyone around the table stayed quiet. Maeve was picking at her nails, and Noir was doodling on a piece of paper. The Deep stared at the table’s surface, obviously afraid of the team leader’s mood swings. A-Train sat comfortably, more laid out than anything as he waited for the meeting to end. And Starlight, sitting delicately in her chair, counted down the seconds until she could clear out of the building.

Homelander slammed his palm against the table, “Is that clear.”

All eyes on him, he received a few nods and small acknowledgements.

Starlight tried to maintain her composure, but fear was clawing at her, demanding that she leave the room. She avoided looking at A-Train even though she could feel his gaze burning through her. If America’s favorite superhero found out she, member of the Seven, had leaked Compound V… she wasn’t sure that there’d be anything left of her once he was finished.

The leader of the Seven held his hands behind his back, making him an even more imposing figure.

“Vought is a great big company, our company,” he continued, “And Stan Edgar would have us believe that everything is under control… but he lies. It is not under control. I will find her, and I will end her before she can tear us down.”

His last statement held the finality and decisiveness of a promise.

“Remember, you come to me first,” he repeated, before going to stand by the large, paneled windows. A few seconds later, he glanced back at them.

“Still here?” he asked, suddenly irked by their presence. “Dismissed. Except you Noir, you can stay.”

Noir watched the other team members rapidly stand and leave the room, before letting his gaze fall back on the caped man standing by the windows.

“Noir, I’ll have you know that I trust you a great deal more than anyone else on this team,” he began, “and I trust you the most to gather intel on this Marianna Stacker.”

Sarah, his mind sighed.

“I want weekly updates until we catch her, I want to know who she is, where she lives, who she cares about—everything,” he carefully explained, “I will not have her and her lies destroy everything,” he gestured in general and Noir assumed he meant both the company and his popularity. The darkly suited man lightly rolled his eyes behind the mask but nodded.

He knew better than to anger Homelander. He wasn’t afraid of the maniac, no, he was a safety measure set in place to keep the man in check when the charismatic façade slipped off and revealed the monster beneath. Wasn’t there a saying? That to kill a monster you need a monster? And to do so, he’d rather know what the man was plotting than have to make a calculated guess.

Homelander nodded his head, “We’ll get her Noir.”

Noir stood, nodded, and left.

And Homelander watched him leave, always feeling a surge of respect for the silent superhero.

He turned back towards the windows and watched the busy city unfold beneath him, a murderous glint in his eyes. To hell with Stan Edgar, he was the true center of Vought. Fans called his name, he was their savior.

Finally, he too left the meeting room, deciding to take a stroll through the building..

_ _ _

That day, Sarah had returned to work, deeming a prolonged absence too risky since it could raise all sorts of red flags. She covered up with warm clothes, a pretty scarf wrapped around her neck, and faked a dry cough in the office.

She’d felt a shiver down her spine as she signed in at the front desk and ascended the stairs. Each step heavier than the last, she wondered if they would immediately pinpoint her as guilty. She’d taken sensitive information on one of the most terrible and controversial experimental trials ever: they would be looking for her, and they would employ every method. Her mind strayed to the variable in the equation, the one piece she could not control, the wild card that could make her or break her. Noir. And now that someone else had exposed them for using Compound V on babies to make them into superheroes, Vought was taking a lot of heat from fans, the media, and activists. They’d assume it was the same person who broke into the archives. So, they wouldn’t just be looking for her, they’d be hunting for her, ready to gun her down.

However, she was greeted back into the office with a couple waves and smiles, and everything went smoothly. She’d only been gone for a day, but a couple co-workers asked her about her cough and if she was feeling better. The day before, Martha had reassured a few of them when they’d asked about her so that she’d have an alibi.

And so, time rushed by, and, while she’d calmed down, she felt an inextricable knot in her chest. She was here, hiding in plain sight. And it could work, but only if Noir saw reason, if he questioned his loyalty towards the company and felt any for her.

Soon, it was time to pack up and go back home. She spoke with Martha and waved to a few co-workers before heading down the long hallway to take the elevator. She usually took the stairs, but suddenly preferred the quickest method to leave the building.

After pressing the button to call it up, Sarah stepped back and waited in the deserted hall. She felt, rather than heard a presence grow close. Noir came to stand beside her, seemingly waiting for the elevator himself. She looked at him through her dark lashes and fixed the scarf around her neck. Would this be it? Would he do it here at Vought where they could easily clean up the splatters?

The elevator arrived with a ding and he motioned for her to step in first, him following after. Were there no cameras in the elevators? Was that why he’d chosen this spot?

Noir moved closer to her and she wasn’t sure what to expect. She pressed her back to the elevator wall, feeling that characteristic warmth spread throughout her chest. But he did something surprising by placing his gloved hands on her hips, almost steadying her. He then produced a thin slip of folded paper, which he smoothly slid into one of her pants’ front pocket.

“What are you doing,” she whispered, trying to understand whatever he was trying to tell her.

Suddenly, the elevator dinged once again and slowed to a halt as someone got ready to join them on their way down.

Noir immediately stepped away as though she’d burned him. She soon realized why.

Crimson boots stepped into the small space, and Sarah thought she might suffocate as the doors slid closed. The dark blue suit and American flag taunted her.

Sarah knew what Homelander really was, how the selfishness and arrogance swam just below the surface.

He seemed deep in thought, but whatever trail he’d been following was interrupted by her loud heartbeat. He glanced to the side and saw the beautiful, albeit frazzled, woman in the corner. She stood straight and composed, yet she had a racing pulse.

Noir could also hear it and wished it would slow down to a normal rate. Capturing Homelander’s attention can be a dangerous thing.

She needed to stay hidden in the shadows, blend in with every other person at Vought. He would keep her from harm.

“Ma’am are you all right,” the Seven's leader asked with concern. “I don’t mean to invade your privacy,” he genuinely chuckled, “but I can hear your heart racing, like you're scared.”

Sarah shuffled her feet, “Oh no, I’m all right. I’m not a fan of small, enclosed spaces that’s all.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she suffocated the sudden need to shake it off. Just a few more floors and she’d be stepping off. Just a few more floors.

“Don’t worry, you have the strongest man in the world here, you’re safe.”

She smiled and thanked him before quickly stepping off. She slowed down, not wanting it to seem like she was running away. He’d meant to reassure her, but she could still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her shoulder. Once outside, she made her way home where she was ready to take a long shower and sleep amid her wrecked furniture.

Her fingers itched to touch the slip of paper in her pocket, to discover its meaning. She ultimately decided to read it at home away from prying eyes.

 [Vought Headquarters]

Once Sarah had stepped off the elevator, Black noir and Homelander made no move to follow. The doors closed and the caped man pressed the button for the upper levels.

Noir stilled, and suddenly had the urge to break the other man’s neck. He knew Homelander had seen them close together through the walls, and he realized he should’ve waited to hand her the note at her house.

“I was looking for you,” he spoke up with nonchalance, “and imagine my surprise when I saw you in here with that woman.”

Homelander smirked and slapped his shoulder, “You sly dog, Noir, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Noir fingers itched to pull a dagger, but he maintained his composure.

“Just keep your head on straight, yeah?”

Homelander straightened and faced forward, “You and me, Noir, we’re above it all—we were made for bigger things,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t want you distracted as we look for Stacker.”

Little did he know that she’d just rode the elevator with him, and never would he have imagined it possible for Black Noir to grow attached and protective of someone.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out going their separate ways.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues @angelocipriano

#black noir #black noir x oc #the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys season 2 #fanfiction #oc story

[bobbyshaddoe80]

Liberated Audio Reviews

Blake's 7 - The Liberator Chronicles Vol. 2

RELEASED AUGUST 2012

Recorded on: 18 October and 25 November 2011, and 15 March 2012

Recorded at: Moat Studios

Review By Robert L. Torres

The Magnificent Four by Simon Guerrier

'A mission to steal data from the planet Mogul goes badly wrong when Cally and Avon are outflanked and outgunned. And then they are teleported to safety – to an alien spaceship stolen from The System, which is crewed by Gilden Trent and his small team of rebels.

For Avon it’s the opportunity to start over again without Blake.

But can Trent be trusted?'

Chronological Placement:

Set during Series B between the episodes Countdown and Voice From the Past.

Magnificent. Defined in the dictionary as 'impressive, deserving of admiration, especially due to an unusual quality involving size'.

The word is often used when describing something vast in size and scope, but magnificence can also be attributed to the quality of something that involves a small group. A prime example would be the title characters of the classic Western The Magnificent Seven. Even the accomplishments made by the John Wick character could be described as magnificent despite them being done by one man.

Magnificent is an apt word to describe the impressive storytelling quality that Guerrier has pulled off with this Cally focused story.

Cally, as played by the exquisite Jan Chappell, was always one of my favorites from the original cast. She was someone that wasn't a hardened cynic like Avon (who provides much needed support for Cally in this story), nor was she cowardly like Vila. She was someone that genuinely believed in doing the right thing and saw fighting against the oppressive tyranny of the Federation to be a very serious responsibility.

I was also always fascinated by her stance as someone that, for all intents and purposes, was the alien of the group (due to her coming from a race of telepaths). I have my own thoughts and theories about the Auronar, but that can wait for another day. Despite having powers of the mind, I always felt that Cally was very much the heart of the team.

I love that this story has Cally and Avon meeting up with a group like Blake's, on a ship like the Liberator, only to learn that they are little more than highly skilled pirates.

I love that the events of the Series B episode 'Redemption' are brought up and how the crew of the Libertine are a result of the aftermath of the events from that story.

I love how the story showcases in the crew of the Libertine a distorted reflection (and perhaps a retroactive premonition) of what would happen to the crew of the Liberator should they lose their way by abandoning their morals and scruples and just give in to blind self interest... Which for the most part is exactly what started to happen during Series C and ultimately came to fruition in Series D.

A minor nitpick, but I always thought the planet Cally came from was called Auron and her people were called the Auronar. And yet in this story and others, they refer to her as being an Auron. Is it a case where one singular person is an Auron but the collective term for the species as a whole is Auronar? It is a minor thing, I know, but still something that stuck out.

Something else that is a bit of a minor flaw is that at one point in the story the voiceover narration switches from Cally to Avon. There is a specific reason why this happens in the narrative, but it still comes about rather unexpectedly.

Given the stories in these chronicles are events being recounted AFTER the fact, there is the inevitable problem of how to create tension and intrigue with life threatening peril for the characters when most fans know the show backwards and are fully aware of what the inevitable fates for many of the characters are.

Luckily for Guerrier and many other writers, they do create moments that make you wonder how such and such will be able to survive whatever life threatening peril is thrown at them, and manage to cleverly pay off how they survive without falling into 'Oh Come The Fuck On' Territory.

8 out of 10 Plasma Bolts

Anyway, this story is very well done and is the first of many plots that involve coming across potential allies for the Resistance movement, only to learn the would be allies are often a lot worse than their enemies in the Federation. Definitely give it a listen.

False Positive by Eddie Robson

'Dr. Lian has a mysterious new patient – a man who was found shot in the leg near Engel City, a man who is delirious and talking about the most extraordinary acts of rebellion.

She prescribes drugs and the use of the alleviator – a device that will dig deep into his memories – to unlock the truth about Carlin Guzan.

But the truth that she exposes is far more shocking than she bargained for...'

Chronological Placement:

Set during Series B after LC Vol. 10's Retribution, between the episodes Horizon and Pressure Point.

This story is definitely a step up in quality from volume 1's 'Counterfeit' and is an excellent Blake-centric story. The framing device for the recollection of the events is actually quite clever as it ties in with the adventure itself in a very naturalistic manner.

The dialogue scenes between Blake and Dr. Liam are excellent. Kudos to Beth Chalmers for giving the character of Dr. Liam the right balance of professional intrigue and personal curiosity as she learns more and more about her 'patient'. But this story belongs to the late Gareth Thomas through and through and it is great to hear him be afforded better material than during his first go round back in 'Counterfeit'.

I always rather liked Blake from the start, and a large part of that is down to the performance of the late Gareth Thomas. The character of Roj Blake was a passionate idealist fighting for a noble cause, someone who could be diplomatic but understood the need for action rather than simple civil disobedience. As someone that broke free from an oppressive government, he immediately gains our sympathies... even if his passions occasionally bordered on overzealous fanaticism. This is largely due to what the Federation did to him personally by trying to rewrite his mind, killing his family and even destroying his public image by falsifying accusations of paedophilia.

Since the Federation enact the same tactics on countless others without any hesitation, morals or scruples, it is no wonder why Blake is so overwhelmingly passionate about wiping out the corruptive and cancerous tumor that is the Federation. Not only to avenge family, but to ensure that people are given the freedom to choose for themselves and not simply be coerced into following the rules through propaganda, torture, drugs or mind control.

Speaking of drugs and mind control, that goes to the heart of the plot: Blake going undercover at a Federation research facility that is conducting a clinical drug trial for the development of a new pacifying sedative, which the Federation hopes to employ in order to ensure total compliance and obedience to Federation doctrine.

Ironically enough, that is exactly what would come to pass towards the tail end of Series D... But we already know that, don't we?

7 out of 10 Plasma Bolts

All things considered, it is a pretty good story. This story, like a few others in the Liberator Chronicles range, could work as a two-hander stage play with a couple of tweaks. It also could easily have worked on TV or even as a full cast audio. Give it a listen.

Wolf by Nigel Fairs

“I heard his death cry. I felt it. And there was a word. ‘Wolf’. You, Servalan. You were the “Wolf”. You killed him. I want to know why.”

'Some time ago, Blake and his crew were helped by a revered Auron scientist named Gustav Nyrron. He stayed aboard the Liberator for a time and then disappeared.

Cally wants to know what happened to Nyrron, and only Servalan knows the answers.'

Chronological Placement:

Set during Series B between the episodes Pressure Point and Trial.

This is a very intriguing Servalan focused story, featuring Cally and a return appearance by Gustav Nyrron from Volume 1's 'Solitary'.

They say that a protagonist is only as good as the antagonist created to provide drama/conflict. This is especially true when the character of Supreme Commander Servalan (along with the equally excellent Space Commander Travis) was introduced as the Liberator crew's primary antagonist in the Series A episode 'Seek-Locate-Destroy'.

A large part of why the Servalan character has left such a lasting impression on the minds of fans had to do with the casting of the late Jacqueline Pearce, and the way she played the role. Her grace, charm, beauty and seductive allure went hand in hand with a ruthless ambitious edge along with a keen strategic mind.

In many ways, Servalan, as played by Jacqueline Pearce, reminded me of Alexis Colby as played by Joan Collins. Although Servalan was a bit more reserved than Alexis.

As such, it makes perfect sense that the Liberator Chronicles would provide ample opportunities to explore the villains as well as the heroes. This story does well to explore Servalan's character along with her thoughts, beliefs and how she carries herself as she recounts events. The recollection is pretty interesting cuz it comes about in multiple ways.

We learn a little bit about Servalan's childhood in reference to a game she used to play with others. Its interesting how this story, along with the upcoming 'Kerr', 'President' and 'Three', provides more insight into the character than the show ever did. The aforementioned upcoming stories do provide some great insight into why Servalan is the way she is... But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I love the scenes between Servalan and Cally, as I do not recall the two of them having much screentime during the series proper... If ever. But I could be wrong.

This story has some great twists and turns as it deals with exploring how Servalan used Nyrron as her personal plaything in her efforts to lure the Liberator into her clutches.

Although Nyrron will be featured again in the story 'Brother' off of Volume 11 (which I will talk about eventually), I think this is the story that features him the best. We learn the most about him as a character, and much kudos to Anthony Howell for bringing much pathos and nuance to the Auron scientist.

The story also lends itself quite well to philosophical debates regarding how each side views the other. Naturally, Blake's crew view Servalan and the Federation as an evil and oppressive tyranny, while Servalan and those within the Administration view Blake and his ilk as little more than terrorists wanting to bring down the only force for law and order in the galaxy.

It is that clash of ideals and personal morals that will be explored to great effect in future volumes as well as in the full cast audios.

9 out of 10 Plasma Bolts

Final score for Liberator Chronicles Vol. 2 in its entirety is 8 out of 10 Plasma Bolts. It is a profound step up in quality compared to Volume 1, and it demonstrates that things can only go up from here in terms of character exploration and engaging plots.

Special credit to Craig Brawley of the Big Finish Listeners Facebook Group for his tireless efforts in mapping out the chronology of the audios and determining his they fit in with the established TV continuity.

#blake's 7 #reviews #big finish productions #audiobooks #audio dramas

[judgmentofcorruption]

Episode 0

Judgment of Corruption, pages 4-18

Is it greed to wish to be pure?

.

This world has now become a bundle of impurity.

I don't think that's a bad thing. This world certainly wasn't originally created to be absolutely clean and free of imperfections.

Take, for example, "water".

This thing that is vital to so many living beings is not pure in actuality, by and large. Mud, sand, salt, bacteria, and other sorts of organic matter besides…Despite all these impurities being mixed in it still wets the earth, or falls from the sky.

You need to perform a little bit of effort if you want to get purified water. The simplest and easiest method that humans undertake is distillation. You heat water until it evaporates, and then you cool it so that it condenses back into liquid. What you produce by doing this is still not “pure” water in the true sense of the word, but it is at least relatively safe to use to slake one’s thirst.

Even such a fundamental component like “water” needs to go through these phases in order to become pure. And since it isn’t completely so even then…It’s obvious that it’s a much harder matter to make pure something more complicated than that, like “humans”.

You could say that for humans to become pure beings in a material sense is largely impossible. Therefore, humans seek a spiritual “purity”, and have the tendency to make this into a virtue.

This in turn means that when it comes to those who differ from them physically and spiritually in this world—Or perhaps calling it “society” would be more accurate?—they have a habit of taking these heretics in society and loathing them as “impurities”.

.

Leaving the preface aside for the time being, right now I shall elucidate on the sight that stretches on beneath me.

First, relating to the whole region that this area is in--Humans have given this place the country name of "Holy Levianta". There was also a time long ago when it was called the "Magic Kingdom Levianta". Or, going off of a denomination particular to this current time period, combined with several of its neighboring countries you could also call it the “USE (Union State of Evillious)”.

Anyway, a red-brick building stood at the very center of this country—and I was clinging to the ceiling of its biggest room.

A big black star was painted on the ceiling. I don’t know if this building was named “the Dark Star Courthouse” as a result of this feature or if it was because it’s called “Dark Star Courthouse” that this star was painted--I know I learned it somewhere, but I've forgotten which it is.

Here and now, a bit of history was coming to an end.

A woman who had sought to be “pure” was now, for that reason, being eliminated from society as an “impurity”.

This social event by the name of a “trial”—she was the lead role, standing in the center of the Dark Star Courthouse’s great courtroom as the defendant.

“I will declare my verdict.”

The young head judge's calm voice rang through the courtroom.

The whole visitor’s gallery was packed full of people. That spoke to how much of the world’s attention this trial had.

“For the crimes of murder, larceny, and violation of the special law on witchcraft, the defendant Elluka Ma Clockworker…is sentenced to death.”

Upon hearing the judge’s verdict, all of the audience started to rustle.

"Oh…Oh God."

"How could this be…"

All of those who clutched their heads despondently were wearing the same religious habits. There were also those among them praying, rosaries in hand.

They, and Elluka who had just received her death sentence, were clergy of the Levin faith.

On the other hand, there were those who smiled with satisfaction at the verdict, those who glowered at the defendant with anger in their gaze, and those who simply watched over the proceedings without changing their expression.

"Kill the witch!" someone in the gallery suddenly shouted. Perhaps one of those who had a grudge against the defendant.

With that shout as the trigger, the courtroom began to grow increasingly into an uproar, and the judge slammed the gavel in his hand twice against the stand.

“Silence.”

His voice was unconcerned, and by no means loud, but with that the court became quiet once more.

The power to command the room—you could say that was one of the abilities sought after by judges. Just by seeing this single scene you could infer that he was quite capable in his job.

After letting out a sigh, the judge began his explanation on his verdict.

"To begin with…Though all present to witness this today already know of this, bizarre phenomena have been occurring in every region. For example, the other day a small forest here in the east of Levianta changed into a desert overnight. That was something that occurred spontaneously. If that were the only thing it would not be entirely beyond the realm of possibility. However, the issue is not limited to just that. --A baby was born between a certain husband and wife. By all rights this should be a happy occasion, but the second he saw that child the husband went mad with rage, and the wife grew severely disturbed. Why? ...Because even though the husband was an Elphe, and the wife was from Marlon, the baby was born with black skin, resembling neither of them."

I could hear a woman sobbing from the visitor’s gallery, but the judge ignored it and continued on.

“The husband sued the wife for the crime of infidelity. This trial was conducted by one of my subordinates, and the end result was that the wife was cleared of any wrongdoing. For no matter how extensively the World Police investigated, no evidence came forward to suggest that the wife had had an affair. Perhaps there are those who think this absurd. But the Dark Star Courthouse judging the wife innocent was not done on the basis of this fact alone. –Examples like this are occurring in every household in the world right now. The birth of children that are unlike their parents or their ancestors, completely ignoring their genes…Things that are scientifically impossible are genuinely occurring.”

His explanation seemed fairly roundabout. I would have liked him to just get onto the main topic of the basis of his verdict, but perhaps it was appropriate consideration for a judge to have, given the world’s interest in this trial.

Not all of the people in the visitor’s gallery were highly educated. By so neatly explaining the line of his reasoning, he may have been trying to get them to understand how he arrived at sentencing the defendant to death.

“In the kingdom of Beelzenia to the south, creatures with skin an inhumanly white like limestone are said to be rampaging all over the region. The truth is unclear, but there are reports that these are corpses that have crawled out of graveyards. The world is in a whirlpool of chaos so severe that we cannot laugh these off as jokes. And the source behind all of these things—"

“Are witches!"

Again someone shouted from the gallery.

The judge cleared his throat, and pounded the gavel.

“—The USE unified government has concluded that the cause of this progression of bizarre occurrences is that they are done by the magic of ‘witches’. At first there were objections that this was an unscientific, even anachronistic conclusion. However…as a result of the research done by our scientists, we have already confirmed the existence of ‘witches’ throughout Evillious history. This was made clear by the testimony of historian Sir Heaven Jaakko given in this court.”

The judge dropped his gaze to the defendant's chair. The woman there—Elluka, having just received her death sentencing, made no sign that she was losing control. She only looked up at the judge’s seat, silent.

She just looked to be faintly smiling.

“—Due to the ‘special law on witchcraft’, the World Police have up until this point arrested many suspects who were thought to be witches, and in this Dark Star Courthouse all of them have been given the death sentence. However…the strange occurrences in the world have shown no sign of resolving. This does not mean the conclusion of the World Police and the Dark Star Courthouse is incorrect. This worldwide chaos cannot be brought about by a single ‘witch’. Peace will not come to the world until we have exterminated all witches.”

The judge once again looked at Elluka.

“The defendant is also someone who was arrested by the World Police under suspicion of being a ‘witch’. However unlike the others, she bears the name of the witch ‘Elluka’, who appears in history. This court is treating the name ‘Elluka’ as one that is passed down among witches throughout the generations, and has acknowledged that the defendant is the current holder of the title.”

Humans are clever creatures, but that doesn’t mean that they could always derive the correct answer on everything.

I knew that the woman in that defendant's chair was certainly "Elluka". But she by no means was a figure who had merely inherited that name.

The Sorceress of Time, “Elluka”, had always been the same being.

Of course, the average human wouldn't know that.

--It sounded like the judge’s story had finally moved on to the main topic.

“The immediate charges the defendant was arrested for was the murder of Sir Mata Corpa, the Minister of Finance of the Lucifenian Republic, and larceny. A priestess of the Levin church, the defendant did on the night of April 4th, Evillious year 944, sneak into the Corpa estate and murder the afore-named victim. Upon stealing the ‘Marlon Spoon’ which was being stored inside the estate, she was caught in the act by an investigator of the World Police’s International Works Department ‘Justea’. Thanks to investigation taken afterward it was confirmed that the defendant had eighty-four other offenses—”

After that the judge rattled off both the nature of those offenses, and just how heinous a person Elluka was.

“—Furthermore, the World Police’s main office has determined that the defendant is ‘Elluka Ma Clockworker’, who is thought to be the leader of all ‘witches’, and this court has now indicted her as such. The defendant has acknowledged all of her crimes but shows no sign of introspection in her conduct; the blame that she must take responsibility for as the cause of all the chaos in the world is enormous, and from a societal point of view I have determined that there is no other recourse than for her to face capital punishment.”

The long explanation on his verdict had come to an end.

“Court is adjourned.”

Immediately after the judge pounded his gavel one last time, the viewing gallery once more broke out into an uproar.

But the judge showed no sign of quieting them down. He silently stood up and then started to walk towards the exit. Other judges followed suit.

Several reporters with notebooks in hand dashed outside from the gallery. Their articles that “Defendant Elluka Ma Clockworker Given Death Penalty Verdict” would surely be front page news tomorrow.

Elluka did not look towards the viewing gallery. She showed no indication that she concerned herself with the cries and jeers from behind her, still simply standing there with the same expression on her face.

Two of the courthouse’s guards approached her, and seized her arms. She did not resist them, and was taken out of the courtroom.

.

I also left the courtroom, following after Elluka. When I caught sight of her in the hallway I once more clung to the ceiling.

Elluka and the guards walked on without saying a word.

But an intruder suddenly appeared there.

"Elluka!"

I could see a single man running towards them from deeper in the hallway, opposite the direction they were heading.

Three other guards were running after him.

Right before he could reach Elluka he was tragically seized by the guards.

"Let go!"

The man struggled but his lean body was no match for the brawny guards, and he was unable to shake them off.

Elluka stood in place, silently gazing at the man.

Her expression appeared to have changed slightly from when she was in the courtroom.

It was slightly…it was only slightly, but she looked sad.

After a moment, a new figure appeared from a nearby door.

"Release him."

It was the young head judge who had run the court session earlier.

“Uhh…But…”

While the guards holding the man hesitated, the head judge continued, "It doesn't matter. He has a relationship with the defendant. We can allow him one last conversation with her at the very least.”

An act of kindness by the soft-hearted judge…so it may have looked to someone watching.

But as the guards released the man he grew enraged at the judge.

"You bastard…So you betrayed me, did you!?”

“Betrayed you? Now now, what are you saying, Gandalf? I merely made a just and upright judgment…No more, no less. What? ‘The defendant will surely be found innocent, as she has the backing of the Levin church and the Freezis Foundation’--Was that your simplistic line of thinking?”

"Guh…"

"You're far, far too naïve. Unfortunately she earned far more enmity than necessary. ‘Elluka Ma Clockworker’ must be put to death…The people who believe such are in far greater number than you’ve imagined.”

“…And how much did you accept from these ‘people who hate Elluka’?”

“Ha ha, now what could you mean by that, I wonder…Are you suggesting that I, the director of the Dark Star Bureau, have been paid off by bribes? To think that I would be suspected of such by one of my own colleagues…how sad,” the head judge said, pressing on the inner corner of his eye in an affected manner.

“How dare you speak to me so shamelessly—"

“It’s quite unlikely, most unlikely for that to have happened, Gandalf. Unlikely, and yet…Well, let me put it this way…‘Money is the best lawyer in hell’.”

“Why you…”

Even now Gandalf grit his teeth as though he were about to knock him out, but the head judge quickly held a hand out in front of him as though to restrain him.

“Please calm down. I have no wish to make you a defendant too. …Honestly, on the contrary, you should be thanking me. Right until the end I never revealed your—relationship with Elluka. By all rights that is improper of a head judge to do. But…I didn’t want to tarnish your career with this. As a colleague, and as your friend.”

“…I no longer have any wish to stay in the Dark Star Courthouse. I’m fed up with this corrupt organization.”

“Are you insane? You would waste my help after I went to such pains…Fine. You’ve made your decision. I won’t stop you,” the judge related, his tone extremely mournful but his expression joyful.

Gandalf clenched his trembling hand into a fist, but eventually he let it drop, shoulders dropping with a crestfallen air.

No matter how he struggled, he could not stop Elluka’s execution—He had given up on it.

Someone else starting walking over from the entrance to the courtroom that Gandalf had run in from.

“Sir…”

It was a woman wearing a servant uniform, looking roughly thirty years old.

She was holding a young baby against her chest.

After briefly patting the baby’s head, Gandalf made this request of the head judge:

“In the end…Only a few words would be enough. Please, let me speak with Elluka.”

“Of course. That’s why I originally had the guards release you, after all.”

“With…the baby, if possible.”

“That baby—Ah, I understand. I see. So that’s how it is. Well, I don’t mind.”

Upon hearing those words, Gandalf gratefully inclined his head. Then he and the servant started to move towards Elluka—but there he turned back to the head judge for a moment.

"I said this earlier, but I will quit being a judge. …However. This doesn't mean that I have completely lost hope. This doesn't mean I'm going to quit being a man of "justice". I know that someday, someone who has a truly just heart will change this corrupt institution. When that happens, I know that rotten bastards like you will see hell. Head of the Dark Star Courthouse—Hanma Baldured!”

"Ha ha ha, that’s quite the bark for a beaten dog. …Well, I look forward to when that day comes." The judge--Hanma, returned once more to the door while laughing him off.

After seeing him leave, Gandalf turned back to Elluka and walked to her side.

"Elluka…"

"Gandalf…"

The two of them gazed at each other, bringing their faces closer and gently exchanging a tender kiss.

"That I should be parted from you like this--"

“I’ve been prepared for this, Gandalf. I do use ‘magical arts’. That is a true fact. …And you accepted me anyway, despite knowing that.”

“But…this trial is no more than a farce! I know there’s no way these bizarre events in the world are your fault. You—the Elluka that I love, could never be the kind of person who would do such things! It’s obvious that this story of you murdering the Minister of Finance is a false accusation!”

"--Thank you. It does my heart good just to have someone here now who believes in me."

The two of them kissed one last time.

.

A tragic parting of two people who loved each other.  An innocent defendant and her lover. Well, something like that I suppose.

But I’ll say it again. Humans are not always wise, and cannot always derive the truth.

I knew. It was indeed utter nonsense, this idea that Elluka was causing the chaos in the world with magic.

And not just Elluka. All of the "witches" judged at this Dark Star Courthouse were innocent.

These strange occurrences. Their cause lies not in “witches”.

These were errors induced within a much larger stream than that.

And the only ones who knew the true reason for them--

Were "Gods".

…In that sense, you could say that Elluka was innocent.

However.

The other crime that she’d been charged with—the murder of Minister of Finance Corpa, that was without a doubt something Elluka committed.

It was a crime she had carried out in order to obtain that “Marlon Spoon”…Or to speak more accurately, to obtain the being that was inside it.

.

The baby abruptly started fussing.

“Oh dear, do you need some milk? Or a new nappy?”

The servant flusteredly started to rock the baby.

Upon noticing that, Elluka leisurely made her way over.

"Lady Elluka…Please, hold your baby,” the servant said with tears in her eyes, handing the baby off to Elluka.

The moment that Elluka gently held him in her arms, the baby immediately ceased crying.

"…He's a smart boy."

“Yes, he properly knows who his mother is."

"And he also understands that his mother--is a 'scary woman when angered'."

"Ha ha…Perhaps so." While holding the baby, Elluka turned to Gandalf. "What you said to Hanma earlier--"

"Hm?"

“That one day, someone who has a truly just heart will change this corrupt institution…I hope our boy becomes that person.”

“…Honestly I have no desire for him to ever get involved with the Dark Star Courthouse.”

“…That’s pretty unfair coming from you, having already made your decision to quit this place.”

"I'm sorry. I know better than anyone what a weak man I am. But—"

“It’s alright. Not everyone has the determination to fight. But…the one who will ultimately decide what he does is this baby himself.”

“Yes…True.”

Elluka brought her face close to the baby and lightly kissed his brow.

“Bye bye. Grow up to be a good man like your father…Gallerian.”

.

Led along by the guards, Elluka disappeared further inside the courthouse.

As he watched her from behind—No. Gandalf could not continue to watch any longer.

He had fallen to his knees on the floor, and started to loudly sob.

As though following along with him, the baby being held in the servant’s arms also began to wail.

.

Well then.

This is a very intriguing matter to me.

In this world—this space that I call the “Third Period”—Elluka is a very singular being.

She possesses an extremely long lifespan, and has continued to involve herself in the history of this world.

…To speak more strictly, it’s a bit of a faulty expression to call who she is now by the name “Elluka”, but explaining that would be very complicated, so I’ll leave that alone.

She is a mere shadow of what had once been the Sorceress of Time “Elluka”…If you think of her that way you would not be mistaken, for the time being.

I’m not just interested in her, but also the fact that she’s given birth to a baby.

As far as I know, she has until this point never done such a deed before.

What sort of change has there been in her mental state?

And what sort of path will that child—Gallerian Marlon, take from here on out?

I think I shall observe Gallerian for a short while.

Perhaps he could become a savior for this world.

Or perhaps he could become a pest that leads it to its ruin.

I still don’t know which.

All I can do is to simply gaze on.

.

--I have yet to introduce myself.

It’s not that I’m trying to hide it, or put on airs about it.

Only, in this story I am a simple observer, and as such I don’t have any particular importance.

Even so, if you would like to know about me—

Then for now I will at least tell you my name.

.

My name is “Sickle”.

I am a simple bat, with nothing unusual about me at all.

directory------next>>

[huntertales]

Part One: Be Careful Who You Make Deals With. (Sacrifice S08E23)

Episode Summary: With Crowley poised to undo all the good they’ve ever done as hunters; Sam, Dean and the reader find themselves cornered. But with Kevin’s help, the Winchesters and the reader bound into one last play against the king of hell. However everything comes with a cost. What must the three sacrifice to seal the gates of hell for good? Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,544.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

In the few times you made deals with demons and the devil himself, you learned you needed to give something they wanted. For some it was a soul, perhaps your body for them to do whatever they pleased with. Other times it was your complete and total submission to them. Crowley wanted none of those things, he wanted something much more. He wanted you exactly where he could keep an eye on you; right under his thumb, defenseless and holding a slab of stone that was the key to shutting him and everything else like him away for good. You needed the demon tablet in order to keep your end of the bargain. And the only person who knew the whereabouts of the tablet was Kevin Tran himself. 

You told him what you and the boys were planning on doing, the kid was on board. He told you the location where he stashed the tablet after he started growing paranoid when the king of hell started messing with his head. It was out in the middle of an empty stretch of road, a perfect spot for the word of God to be hiding. You saw Mrs. Tran's car with a new set of license plates parked on the side of the road where the Impala pulled up from behind as Dean parked. Across the way you spotted a sort of ironic billboard above Kevin as he continued digging for the demon tablet. You found yourself staring at the devil with a slightly confused expression from the backseat window. 

You got out of the car and made your way across the street, catching sight of a painted devil to greet you. It was an advertisement for some restaurant, why they chose Satan himself dressed in a chef's hat and apron was beyond you. You brought your attention over to Kevin who was shoving more dirt out of a shallow hole until he pulled out a dirty backpack from the ground. He took out the other piece of the tablet, your only bargaining chip if you wanted this to go exactly how you had been working towards for the past six grueling long months. 

"You hid the demon tablet underneath the devil?" Dean asked the prophet, finding the irony in all of this himself. It was a little on the nose for his taste. "Seriously?"

"What? I was delirious." Kevin said. He dropped the backpack to the ground so he could place both pieces of the demon tablet together after they were accidentally broken apart months back. You watched as by some force they were mended back, as if they were never broken in the first place. Kevin handed over your bargaining piece over to Sam for safekeeping. "You sure this is gonna work?" 

Sam examined the tablet to make sure that it looked exactly as the demon would remember, wanting nothing to go wrong. "What other choice do we have?"

"All right, listen, this is a secret lair. You understand me?" Dean took out the box that held the key to the Men of Letters and handed it over to Kevin for him. He was getting an upgrade in his living status. There would be no more houseboats. You had a room ready for him in the bunker. However there came some rules for the kid. "No keggers."

"I don't have any friends." Kevin reminded you of the sad fact about his life.

"Yeah, well, just lay low. Who knows?" Dean tried cheering the kid up, reminding him of the possibility that he could go back to his old life and have a little fun if this all went according to plan. "You'll be a mathlete again before you know it." 

Kevin tucked the key into his pocket for safekeeping until he got to the bunker. With everything that you needed, you and the boys started to make your way down the hill and back to the Impala. Before you could get too far, Kevin stopped you to say one last thing. "You guys? You're doing the right thing." 

You gave Kevin a small smile from the encouraging words. All of his hard work over the past several months weren’t going to go to waste. Sooner than he thought he was going to be able to go back to a life he once had before all of this started. Without worrying about a demon wanting to kill him or the people he cared for. And hopefully without being bothered with prophet duties. Once was enough. You had one shot at making this work. You weren’t doing this just for you and Kevin. It was for the people who lost loved ones because of demons. And for the next generation so they wouldn’t have to suffer in ways that you did.

+ + +

Trying to find a location to do this trade off was harder than you thought it was going to be. There was no way you were letting Crowley anywhere near the bunker. The both of you agreed the trade off needed to be on neutral territory where no outsiders were allowed. No extra hunters to help you keep the peace. And no demon bodyguards to protect the king of hell if things were to go south. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it right. The property you agreed on was in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Crowley was in the neighborhood and decided to use a piece of property that had been deserted for a few years. He figured the owner wouldn't mind. He’d been dead for quite some time now, after all. 

You remembered the last time you stepped foot on Bobby's property. It was almost three years ago. Right after you learned the truth about why you were pulled out of the cage. You spent your last night in Bobby's study, the exact same room where you spent countless nights sleeping and researching ways to solve your problems. Now all that remained of the place was a graveyard of abandoned cars and a burned down home. The sight of all, what came of Bobby's place, made your heart sink. It was like you were reliving all of your grief for the man again. 

You found yourself staring at Bobby's old car that was a piece of junk from the beginning you first laid eyes on it. You were surprised it still ran half the time when he got it on the road. It was beat up and old like the owner. Now all that remained for the vehicle was nothing more than a place to collect dust in the junkyard. The driver's side window was broken and certain parts of the car were already rusting. It was good for nothing more than for weeds to grow and a critter to call home. You reached out a hand to trace your fingers over the metal. Bobby was in a better place thanks to you. He might have given you hell for doing these trials, but you had a feeling he would be proud of you for making this far. You were doing this for him, and everyone who had been screwed over by those black eyed monster. It ends today, you thought to yourself.

"Hello, boys. Kitten." Crowley had a way of appearing out of thin air. He greeted you and the boys in a particularly happy voice. You turned your head to see the king of hell in all of his glory. You stared at him straight on with a blank expression, giving him the idea that you were trying to hide your anger at how all of this was ending. Dean scanned the area to see if there was anyone else around. When all that remained was the four of you, all of you began taking a few steps forward. "What's that old expression? Success has many fathers. Failure is a Winchester." Crowley thought his joke was funny from the laugh he let out. You responded with a dirty glare, knowing exactly how the quote went and the implication he was making. "Where's the stone?"

"You show us yours, and we'll show you ours." Dean suggested to the demon.

"Really, Dean? I'm trying to conduct a professional negotiation here, and you want to talk dangly bits? The stone." Crowley always had a knack for twisting the simplest of words into something more different, He skipped right to his demands, wanting to see the very thing he'd been working tirelessly to keep in possession. After all, the demon thought it rightfully belonged to him. Sam attempted to reach inside his jacket to do exactly that, however the demon stopped him, wanting to use the most extreme of caution. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Slowly." Sam did exactly as he was told. He cautiously slid a hand inside his jacket and pulled out the stone you had retrieved from the prophet himself. The sight of the demon tablet made Crowley smirk in delight. "There she is." 

Crowley promised you he was going to play fair when he opened up his jacket to show you the angel tablet that was tucked safely in the pocket of his own jacket after Dean demanded it as a fair exchange. While it was refreshing to see a demon trying to conduct business, this wasn't no ordinary deal. You raised your brow slightly, knowing he was one thing to make it official. You needed to sign on the dotted line in order for this to be complete. 

"And the contract?" You asked him. Crowley pulled out something from his jacket that resembled just that. However it seemed you underestimated what you were getting yourself into when the contract wasn't in the form of a piece of paper. Not even in a packet. You watched as he pulled out a scroll and tossed it, letting the paper roll all the way out, until it stopped right at your feet. The contract had to be at least ten feet long. You let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, I'm sure there's no hidden agendas in there." 

"The highlights—we swap tablets, you stand down from the trials forever." Crowley told you the key components all of you agreed to on the phone.

"You stop killing everyone we've ever saved." Sam reminded the demon about the most crucial part of the deal he might have forgotten about. It was the reason why the three of you were here in the first place, stooping so low just to keep a few lives still breathing. 

"Agreed." Crowley reassured the younger Winchester.

You and the boys exchanged glances, wondering one last time this was how you really wanted all of your hard work to end up. Backing down and taking a plea deal to stop from anymore innocent blood shed. It wasn't how you wanted this to go if you were being honest, but you knew it was the right thing to do. You nodded your head. Dean pulled out a pen from his jacket, deciding to be the one to read the fine print and sign his life away. Before he could bend down and grab the contract, Crowley immediately yanked it back by a few feet, stopping the older Winchester from doing such a foolish thing. 

"Unh-unh-unh. Nice, try squirrel." Crowley told the hunter. "Kitten is doing these trials. Kitten signs." 

"No, no, no.” Dean said. “She's not signing anything until I read the fine print."

You rolled your eyes in annoyance at how he was treating this whole situation and your role in it. Dean was always the one who took over and tried to save the day. It would come as no surprise to Crowley when you acted the way you always did, wanting to take control yourself. You snatched the pen out of his hands when he wasn't looking, wanting to do exactly what Crowley said to make sure this went properly. "Pretty sure I'm capable of reading it myself, Dean." 

"Hey, you wanted us here. We're here. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him screw us even more." Dean whispered his frustrations to you about how you were handling this situation more casual than he was. He did it just at the right level so the demon heard everything, exactly as you planned. 

"What's this? Trouble in paradise?" Crowley found himself chuckling at the sight of you two disagreeing. The both of you turned your heads to give the demon a dirty glare for poking his nose into a conversation that didn't concern him. "I don't mean to turn away from whatever domestic dispute you're having, but I'd like for things to keep moving.”

Dean grabbed the pen back from you before you could so anything stupid like you always did without thinking. He didn't sign the contract, instead, he took his sweet time reading every single word to make sure Crowley wasn't planning on doing something stupid. Along the lines of trapping your soul in hell when you die. Killing everyone for the hell of it. All around screwing your lives over for his personal benefit and entertainment. Dean made it halfway through the contract with only a few more feet to go through until he was finished. 

“You’re gonna move your lips up the whole way up here, aren’t you?” Crowley asked the man. Dean ignored the remark and continued on skimming the contract, taking another step forward to the demon so they were only about a few feet away from one another. “You know why I always defeat you? It’s your humanity. It’s a built-in handicap. You always put emotion ahead of good, old-fashioned common sense.” Dean looked up at the demon, knowing soon enough he was going to regret saying those words. “Let’s have Mommy Dearest sign it now, shall we?”

You began making your way over to Dean and the demon, Sam following behind. You knew the easy way out of this was to sign your name and hand over the tablet. You could go on with your life without worrying about the trials and having innocent lives in danger all over again. You could focus on more important things in life you had been put on the back burner. That would have been the easy option...but you weren't the one for shortcuts. You liked to stick to things until the very end. And there was no way you were quitting when you were so close to the finish line. You looked over at Dean when the both of you made eye contact. You nodded your head.

In one swift motion, Dean took out the handcuffs from his jacket pocket and slapped it on Crowley's wrist without having him realize until it was too late. All of this worked out easier than you thought it was going to be. Crowley's arrogance was always his downfall. He always thought of the big picture, never the little details that went into a plan. You were always one step ahead of him the entire time. He stared at the cuff around his wrist and the other one occupied by the older Winchester. Both of them were trapped together. 

“Is this a joke?” Crowley asked the three of you. You answered him by giving a smirk, knowing this was your turn to gloat in your victory at how you had him cornered. The demon thought you were stupid enough to put him in regular handcuffs. It seemed he didn’t notice the details in the metal. “You realize all I have to do is…” Crowley snapped his fingers, thinking that was going to be his key to escaping this situation. However you noticed he remained where he was. 

“Unh-unh-unh. Demonic handcuffs, jackass. No flicking, no teleporting, no smoking out—oh, and...no deal.” Dean told the demon about the real negotiations about how this was gonna go down. The poor bastard was never going to make it out of this deal with what he wanted. Because if you also learned anything about making deals with demons, it was that you screwed them over first before they could screw you. "Which pretty much means that you're our bitch." 

"Fine. You want to play chain gang? Let's." Crowley wasn't the least bit afraid about how all of this was gonna go down. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty every once in a while, especially when it came to getting something he desperately wanted. He swung his fist right at Dean, landing a sucker punch to the man's face. "You saddled yourself to the wrong bull, mate." 

Crowley thought one punch was going to be enough for a man to break down a man who took beatings almost every week. Dean wasted no time in seeking his own revenge when he threw a punch at the demon after recovering from his own. He quickly grabbed the angel tablet from Crowley's jacket and handed it over to Sam for safekeeping. Dean grabbed the demon by the sides of his jacket so he was staring at him straight in the eye, wanting to make it clear a few love taps were nothing compared to what all of you were going to do to him. He’d get the crap beaten out of him if it meant he got the demon exactly where he wanted him.

"I can do this all day, 'cause you know what? Damn, it feels good! But sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it—you're ours." Dean told the demon about how it was going to go down. He might have kept every demon in hell away from you, but there was still one he didn’t take in account for. Himself. "Which means that your demon ass is going to be a mortal ass pretty damn quick." 

"What's he mouthing on about?" Crowley asked you, still not getting how screwed he was. 

“You can thank Y/N for what you got yourself into.” Sam said. “You’re the third trial, Crowley.”

You thought the demon should have known better than to try and mess with you. At least keep a promise he could fulfill. Crowley made it quite clear he wanted to seek a little revenge for how many times you screwed him over. However it seemed he was going to have to eat those words at the predicament he landed himself in by the sheer of his own confidence with how he thought he had a grip on things. Now the tables turned on him, and it was time for your to seek a little revenge of your own. 

+ + +

You and the boys already had a plan set in motion long before you had a demon in your grasp to complete the third trial once and for all. An abandoned church not too far out of town was the perfect location to cure a demon. Not only was it consecrated ground, there was nobody around for miles to disrupt you for the journey you were about to embark on. Six months of translating and putting your neck on the line to complete the first two trials, endless fights between you and Dean for what you were doing, all of it lead you to here. You sat in the passenger seat of the Impala while Sam drove, leaving Crowley and Dean to ride in the back. There wasn’t a chance you were going to risk of letting the demon get away. The handcuffs were working like a charm to keep him exactly where you wanted. And that’s how you were going to stay that way. 

When you saw the church pull up, you felt a sense of nervousness come over you at what you were about to do. This was really happening. By tonight you were going to have cured a demon. And you were finally going to be done with these trials forever, hell locked away for good. You felt a shift of movement in your stomach, a little punch from what it felt like. You hid the smile that wanted to spread across your face at feeling the baby move. They were giving you encouragement that everything was going to work out just fine. After tonight it was going to be all about them. How you were going to spoil them by giving them the best life they deserve. 

Crowley could pretend all he wanted that he wasn't the least bit scared at what was happening. But he had no chance of escaping. You had him chained down into a chair, extra tight from restraints on his hands and feet, along with a collar around his neck that had a chain to the floor to keep the demon from bashing his skull against yours. Or even biting for that matter. Dean finished up the final touches of the devil's trap to seal the demon for good, just in case he somehow escaped from the bonds, there was no way Crowley could get out from the circle. 

“You really think this is gonna hold me, that you’re gonna cure me, or whatever it is?” Crowley asked the older Winchester. Dean didn’t feel the need to respond to the demon considering the state that he was in right now. He tossed the spray can across the room, letting it hit the wall and land with a thud, slowly rolling back to the demon with no chance of him to kick it away. 

Dean made his way out of the church and headed over to the Impala where you and Sam had the trunk open, gathering all the supplies you need for this to work. While Sam poured some holy oil into a jar, you looked up to the cloudy sky when you heard a rumble of thunder. There was a storm brewing in the near distance, it had already been raining for quite some time now, considering the ground was reduced to nothing more than mud. You weren’t going to let a little rain ruin the good mood you had going for yourself. 

“He’s primed.” Dean said. “How you feeling?” 

“Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we’re gonna win, boys.” You admitted to them about your well being. You gave a small smile to reassure them you were going to be okay throughout all of this. “I’m good.” 

“All right, well, no dancing in the end zone until we’re finished. What’s the good father’s playbook say now?” Dean asked, curious to what the next step was for all of you.

"Well, now that we got the consecrated ground, I just slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours and seal the deal with a bloody-fist sandwich." You told him the game plan, grabbing a small container from the trunk and pulled out a clean syringe. "That should do it." 

“Your blood’s supposed to be purified, isn’t it?” Dean asked you an important question. You knew the only way around this was to have you give Crowley your own blood. There was a risk of doing this, considering what you went through years back. But it was a risk you were willing to take. Sometimes all you needed to do was go to confession to be pure in the eyes of some religions. If it were only that easy. You might not have been born a human, but there was nothing a good old confession that couldn’t wash away your sins. "You ever done the 'Forgive me, father' before?"

"Well, once, when I came back from hell. The first time. And another time...a few months back after we worked that case with Prometheus and Zeus.” You admitted to them. Your hand reached up to clutch your locket that you always wore, wondering if that was truly a confession. And not along the lines of bargaining for help when you were desperate for it. "I don't know exactly what to say now.” 

"Well, I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want." Dean tried to be helpful. You didn't see any harm in it, wondering if he might be able to come up with some past mistakes you might have forgotten about. "Well, I'm just spit-balling here, but if I were you, uh...the whole deal you made with Crowley way back to stay a demon. The deal you made with Cas. The demon blood you gave to Sam while under the influence of Famine. Trusting Ruby. You helped free Lucifer. Not telling me you were alive when you came back from the cage. Sleeping with Sam behind my back—”  

“Okay, okay! I get it.” You stopped him from listing off any more of your accomplishments over the past handful of years that lead to failure. You had to admit you didn’t exactly take into consideration how much damage you inflicted. You stared at the church for a moment, suddenly realizing again what you were getting yourself into. Not only were you locking away every demon out there, you were also facing against your own. "Let's see how this goes."

"How about what you did to Sammy in the eleventh grade when we stayed with you that one summer?" Dean kept on throwing suggestions out there, bringing up some old prank that ended in a disaster. "Why don't you lead with that and trickle in with the big stuff later?"

“Wait, that was you.” You knew exactly what the man was talking about. You had your fair share of pranks over the years, however what happened was all on him. Dean realized that you were right, causing you to roll your eyes. “Dummy.” 

You left the brothers alone to discuss the prank that went south, you had to do a little confessing of your own. It felt a little strange when you stepped inside the church and made your way over to the confessional. You inhaled a deep breath and opened up the door, forcing yourself to step inside and shut the door behind you. Normally you weren't afraid of enclosed spaces, but for a moment you felt like you were back in the coffin again when you came back from hell the first time around. After you took the deal with Lilith that ended with you watching Dean get torn into pieces. Another thing you needed to confess to be forgiven from your mistake. Another sin you made. Your punishment was fighting for your life to get out of the box. 

You felt your breathing slowly turn into shallow breaths at the memory. The complete darkness, the pain in your fingertips from banging on the top of the coffin for hours. Confessing to anyone for a way out of there before you died again from the lack of oxygen. How desperate you were to be forgiven for your mistakes. Now this was your chance to do it right. You got down on your knees and folded your hands together, wanting to make sure you were doing this correctly. This was your only and only shot to do this right. You needed to make sure you got everything off your chest. You knew the big guy upstairs was listening, it was your turn to make sure you were going to give Him something worthwhile of His time. 

[Next Part]

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[ithinkthingsaboutstuff]

Going Rogue:The Crow’s Nest

This is a fic series, that looks at the ecosystem of Arkham asylum, How the rogues interactions with one another and how therapy is or is not administered. The partnerships, the connections, the feud’s and the all the madness that rest inside the padded walls.

Going Rogue:

part 3: The Crow’s Nest

There is a saying in Arkham. first floor for the mad, seconded floor for the crazy and the third floor for the insane. Now obviously, this is semantics, but the inclination is rather important here. The mortals with the ailment of men are kept on the ground floor as to give the illusion to any haply soul that enters that this could pass as a simple house of nightmares. The seconded floor is the maze of madness, the corridors to the crazy, that gives the doctors more than enough reason to question whatever deity or deities they may believe in. The third floor however is where all hope of humanity leaves you, not just for the patients but for anyone who comes across it.

The third floor was filled with the more ‘experimental’ therapy's or ancient practices depending on who you ask, the politicians who are the same people who still classify Arkham as a ‘mental health facility’ will tell you that this is all a part of new cutting edge techniques and therapy's that help the poor inhabitants of Akrham. If you ask the first and second floor patients, its where monsters go to lose their fangs and claws, so that they can be tamed by lesser men. The doctors at Akrham would like to pretend that this is a last resort, that its only used on the hopeless cases and that they are beyond any other kind of help, but mostly each doctor in their quiet moments, still and clam when the screams fall silent and the eyes of men and women haunt their closed eye lids, they have one creeping, sinking thought,

This is madness.

But thoughts like that must be pushed down lest you let them take you. But that’s not to say all doctors at Arkham feel that way, but then again not all the doctors in Arkham are in-front of the glass are they. Dr Jonathon Crane was once a honoured and respected doctor, or that’s what people say now anyway, about Dr Crane’s earlier years in medicine and teaching, truth is if you had asked these same people back then what they thought of him they would all give to roughly the same answer. ‘He’s a quiet but an odd man,’ ‘there’s something not quite right about him.’ ‘little obsessive isn’t he.’ ‘Who?’

Not that any of their opinions are remotely of consequence, not back then and defiantly not now. Jonathon has been sent to the third floor for treatment on and off for years now, he never talks about what happens there, no one ever dose but Jonathon shows a particulate disdain when it comes to talking about anything that involves himself. Besides, Jonathon was not like the other patients on the third floor, unlike all the others in his unfortunate position, that position being that one is at any given moment an airs breath way from being a grotesqueness shell of human facilities, the difference is,

Jonathon enjoyed it.

The third floor had the thickest cells in all of Arkham. Unlike the second floor this layout was not a maze, it is much more straight forward but what it lacked it terrainle confusion it made up for it in being a hallway of horrors hellscape. The people sent here are jacketed and chained to their wall, and that’s how stay until a doctor tells them otherwise. Spending their days desperately trying not to piss themselves as they wait for their scheduled bathroom times, mind you at this point most of the occupants that make it to the third circle of this Halloween themed death-hole are more than willing to defecate themselves like zoo animals then most folks. The staff spends the bathroom times simply cleaning the zoo cages.  

In one of these cells, thick and padded. Jonathan sat on his bed, the walls were ripped exposing the wool that had become yellow with decay. The window was no bigger than a sheet of paper, the bars on them were thin and had rusted to the point that they had holes making it look like it had a termite infestation. Jonathon was not in a straight-jacket anymore but his right leg was still chained to the back wall. He sat on his bed or buck or canvas lined poles, Jonathon found the bed comforting, he often slept in his scarecrow mask and this bed made him feel like he was wrapped in it.

He was not in the best of places when he was brought in this time, not that he ever was in his right mind when he was brought in here, but this was different. This time the bat didn’t drag him in, this time he came willingly. October was not a good month for him with all the temptation about, the autumn air so sweet in his nose but bitter on his brain. Every crunch of the leaves and the air that sent a chill down his spine and vibrated through his very soul, all of it was getting to much, he felt himself slipping or rather he felt the scarecrow creeping up the back of his mind and skulking behind his eyelids. He then went to arkham of his own accord as to not find himself wrapped in burlap for at least one Halloween night. Jonathon was at this point in his treatment allowed some writing implements, this made his focus clearer and allowed him to make his notes.        

Medical log 29: Dr. Jonathon Crane.

Time, 1700 hours.

Date, October 29th,

Year, ...who the fuck cares anymore.

The screams coming from the north wall started at about 1130 hours and ceased at approximately 1450 hours.

As to what ‘therapy' was being administered in that time is up of speculation, however I have it on good authority and judging on the volume and intensity of the screams for such a period, they are most likely being caused by electroshock mixed with a high Diazepam concentrate.

As to the effectiveness of this treatment remains to be seen, the north wall has been having these sessions by my approximation for about 19 days now, with about 5 patients, four male and one female.

four of the screams are unfamiliar to me, but the fifths I am all too familiar with, well not screams so much, as this creature does not know fear at least not in a traditional sense.  

and I would know that ass-clowns giggles anywhere.

Most likely this treatment was done on him by the direction of his new doctor. They never learn, that his mind cannot be reasoned with, and most certainly cannot be saved. But youth is often unpractised in the ways of disappointment. They will continue the trials for the next two days ending it on three weeks. As to what will come from this, I will monitor for any overall behaviour changes in the third floor, but have not other means of conducting further analysed at this present time.

As for my own treatment, I am becoming more loseit by the day, I expect to be returned to the second floor by the weeks end. My doctor has been most helpful, in making the transition this time around, I will be having a session with them in a tomorrow morning. They do have some skill unlike most of the so called doctors in the hellhouse,

however their naivety is most troubling.

What will become of them in a place like this remains to be seem, I will monitor they decline for future reference.    

Log 29, End.

Jonathon then moved to the window. The tiny thing would have been at the top of most people’s heads, but Jonathon was a tall man. His body towered over most peoples, his body was lean and skinny, like his skin was a thin cloth that covered his skeleton to keep himself together. His hands where rough and callus from all those years of swing a large heavy scythe, his face sunken with dark bags under his eyes. His glasses were slightly cracked on the left side frame, on his right temple down to his neck was a thin but jagged scar as if someone slide the knife down his face before trying to slit his throat.

Jonathon was able to pier out the window and see outside into the grounds of Arkham. Not much out there at the moment as you could imagine, mostly just over grow weeds and underbrush. But the courtyard was filled with birds or rather crows. They would squawk and cry for all to hear, it was the only thing in Arkham that was more constant then the screams. One of the crows landed on the windows ledge and squawked in Jonathon’s face. Jonathon stared at it for a moment before it squawked at him again, he then let a smile slowly creep onto his face.

‘Alright, alright, easy now, I get the picture.’

His voice was low just about a whisper, is southern accent rumbled as he tried to use a hushing tone.

‘How was your day today little birdy.’        

The crow pecked at the concrete as Jon reached into his pocket. He then pulled out his hand and held it to the window, sprinkling out crumbs of food on the ledge. The crow pecked at the food and Jon moved his fingers to slowly stroke the birds feathers.

‘You had a hard day huh, me too, but its not so bad, is it little birdy, you got big sky's and lots of places to go, but here you are, sitten with little old me, not that I don’t like when you come to visit, just seems like you’d have better places to be is all. You came he to have rest before going off to do what you need do, I get that, why you stick around me I’m not so sure though. But to each there own I suppose.’

The bird bobbed its head and Jonathon continued to pet it.

‘You such a pretty bird aren't you, and smart bird, you got anything for me?’

The bird flapped its wings and flew off, a few moments pasted and the bird returned holding something shinny in its beck.

‘Well, what’s this now?’

Jonathon took the object out of the birds beck and examined it, it was a thin metal rod it looks like it broke off an old lighting fixture,

‘A little rusted by I can file it down some. Thank you little birdy.’

Jonathon petted the bird again as it happily cried. A noise came from the hallway, footsteps came closer to his door.    

‘You should be on you way now, Little birdy.’

Jonathon then shooed the bird away it bounced on the ledge a few times before flapping its wings and flying away. Jonathon then weaved the metal rod inside one of the holes in one of the padded walls, he moves the fabric to hide the shape of the rod sticking through the wall with the padding. Jonathon then moved slowly as to not rattle his chain, he sat back on his bed and made it look like he was still taking notes.

The footsteps made it to his door and the big heavy door began to unlock and with one strong push it came open.

‘Evening.’

The voice called from the door frame.

‘I must admit I was not expecting you.’

Jonathon said as they then shut the door behind them.

‘And why’s that?’

Jonathon looked behind the one in front of him eyes darting back and forth.

‘Here all by yourself aren't you? no guards, no back up. You might get into some trouble for that.’

‘Doubt it,’

They answered smugly.

‘Fair point, so what brings you here?’

‘What else, you.’

‘You came all the way up here to see little old me, all by yourself huh, not to bright.’

‘Well you are chained to the wall so I would like to see what you could do.’

They let out a soft quiet laugh. Jonathon then shuffled jostling his leg.

‘I’m only chained to the wall at your recommendation, Doctor Quinzell,’

The young women could not hide her smile at that one. She tried not to see her patients after hours but Jonathon was one of the few she could make lenience for on that front.

‘Now Jonathon that’s for your safely as well as mine.’

‘That’s Bullshit, and you know it.’

She moved over to a chair that was on the opposite of the bed.

‘No need for that language, Jonathon.’

‘No need for a god damn chain on my leg neither.’

Doctor Quinzell then pulled out a note pad from her bag.

‘Now, How have you been Jonathon.’

He looked at her for a moment and put his own note pad to his side and looked her in the eye again.

‘Fine.’

Doctor Quinzell tapped her pen to her pad.

‘Well, you’ve been fine, the last 28 times we’ve meet up, most be an in house record.’

‘Don’t sass me child.’

‘Jonathon, if you want to leave the third floor your going to have to work with me here.’

Jonathon let out a sigh.

‘Fine...I’m feeling things again, so that’s something.’

‘What things?’

‘Sensations...my face...the air.... beating of my heart, the screams on the walls.’

‘That good, better then last time, how dose that make you feel.’

‘Cold mostly.’

‘Right, anything else.’

‘I have been sleeping better,’

‘Good, why do you think that is?’

‘The birds maybe?’

‘Ok, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Like what.’

‘Like the incident that got you moved up here from the seconded floor, about three weeks ago.’

‘I’m not sorry and you can tell Jervis that I said so.’

‘So you remember what happened now.’

‘Kind of, I remember the screams and Bolton flying across the room but not much else.’

‘Well better then nothing, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Not really, how about you?’

Doctor Qiunzell moved in her chair. Jonathon tapped his glasses.

‘You seem to be looking and forgive my me, rather brunt out as it were.’

Doctor Qiunzell bit her lip for a split second.

‘Now Jonathon, let us keep this about you,’

Jonathon put his hands together and leaned forward.

‘Very well, do you remember, back in the day when I was still teaching and you sat in the back row taking notes like a bat out of hell, you wrote down just about every word I said no matter how unimportant it was.’

‘Yes, ok, um why do you mention that,’

‘You see when you and I first started having are sessions, It seemed to me you kept that habit, but as of the last oh, year or so you seemed to have lost that habit. In fact you have not written a single thing down since you came in here.’

‘Things change and its just was not necessary anymore,’

‘Necessary, interesting that you use that word Doctor Quinzell, wouldn’t you say.’

‘I think, its more about understanding what information I do and don’t need.’

‘But you said necessary, a need is done out of purpose outside of our own judgement, when we feel something is or is not necessary it speaks more of our own personal biases, the fact you no longer see it to be necessary suggest you have had a shift in your priorities.’

‘And what might that be Professor Crane.’

‘Well, what do think, what have you been up to lately.’

‘Well, I have been working on more patients lately. And I think I’m losing track of then,’  

Doctor Crane then took the note pad from his side and opened it.

‘such as,’

‘I had Victor Freeze the other day and I just could not listen to anything he had to say, he talks about his wife his, feelings and all I could do is look at my watch the whole time.’

Doctor Crane took down a note.

‘I see, why do you think that is.’

‘I had my other patient to get to,’

‘Which one.’

‘Joker.’

Doctor Crane took another note and underlined it.

‘I see do you have this problem with him?’

‘No, if anything I go over time. That’s why I missed my session with Nygma, yesterday.’

‘Edwards back, huh,  good to know, Is there a reason why you are spending so much time with Joker as opposed to you other patients, Harley.’

Harley Stated to play with her hair taking it down from a bun,

‘He’s just so open with me you know.’

Doctor Crane tapped his glasses and took another note.

‘Open, open how?’

Harley played with her hair more patting it down and straightening it out the best she could but to no avail.

‘Oh I can’t tell you that, can’t break the rules’

Doctor Crane took down another note underlining it twice.

‘Hmm,very well, so you do have him on a new treatment though, don’t you Harley.’

Harley looked surprised.

‘How do you know that.’

‘I may not always be in the best of mind, but my ears work perfectly. I can hear the laugh through the walls’

‘Oh, I see that makes senses. silly me, oops ’

‘That’s ok, I there any improvement in any of them so far.’

‘No not really Professor Crane, and honestly I don’t think we should continue...but.’

‘But what? Harley.’

She took a deep breath and leaned back with a wishful sigh.

‘He has such a beautiful laugh and its the only thing that makes him smile right now.’

Doctor Crane kept quietly taking notes.

‘I see, well Harley...’

Footsteps where making there way down the hall.

‘I think it be best if you were on you way now,’

Harley straighten like she had just been sobered up.

‘Yes, your right Professor Crane.’

She then started to tie her hair up again. The footsteps came closer and Harley had grabbed all her things and made her way to the door, she waited a moment as she heard the footsteps walk past the door. She then pulled the door open and she opened it wide enough for herself to push herself out, as she went into the hallway she was meet with a man, she yelped.

‘Oh, Mr Bolton, you scared me.’

‘Sorry about that Doc, what are you doing up here this late?’

‘Just catching up with my patients, goodnight Mr Bolton.’

Harley tried to fix her hair as she went down the hall, rushing to the elevator. Bolton then waited for her to be out of sight before opening the heavy door again. Jonathon was still sitting on his bed making notes and Bolton slammed the door shut behind him.

‘I am very popular today aren’t I.’

Jonathon said without lifting his head.

‘What did you do to that Doctor Crane.’

Jonathon snapped his book shut and looked to Bolton eyes over his glasses.

‘I assure you it is strictly professional.’

‘Is that right. Well then I assure you from professional to another, This is going to hurt.’        

‘What are you going on about Bolton.’

Bolton looked at the chain that connected Jonathon to the wall.

‘No where to run Crane,’

‘No where to hide neither Bolton.’

Bolton moved closer to him slowly as he prepared his fists.

‘Let’s see if I can get the scarecrow to be afraid,’

‘How much time you got.’

‘All night.’

Jonathon looked at Bolton unfazed by his actions knowing what is to come.The Crows outside squawked as they flew in circles outside, one of which landed on the window.

‘I guess I can pencil you in.’

‘I’m going to make sure you never get the chance to throw me around again, your staying in lockup.’

‘Haroo,Hraa.’

The crows cried the courtyard was empty, the screams where loud but tonight the crows where louder.

#going rogue #going rogue part 3 #going rogue: the crows nest #the crows nest #gotham #gotham rogues #batman villains #Batman Rogues #batman #part 3 #rogues gallery #Arkham Rogues #arkham #scarecrow #jonathon crane #jon crane #crane #dc #DC comics #bolton #lyle bolton #lock up #Harley Quinn #harleen quinzel #long post #happy halloween

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 21: post-trial wrap-up. No, seriously, finally, it’s over. It’s been....3000 years....

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

It’s all there, on the record, to end the case, to make the next trial go smoother: the victim, Jack Shipley, slipped and fell and Rimes couldn’t pull him back to safety; Orla and Sasha did nothing wrong, and neither did Ora, a year ago. Azura Summers’ death was a heart attack. Two accidental deaths, and Rimes trying to get revenge on the wrong orca for something that never needed to be avenged. All this pain and agony, all because the victim wanted to keep it a secret that there were two orcas.

It never needed to happen this way.

Sometimes Phoenix thinks it’s easier to deal with cases where one of the parties involved was actively a malicious murderer. Because it hurts, god does it hurt, if the victim or killer is someone that they knew, loved, trusted, and Phoenix has both been the one in pain and the one trying to console his clients, but at least there’s a feeling that justice was served. Someone got what they deserved, in the end.

No one deserved this nightmare.

The court officers don’t escort Rimes out right away; Sasha, out of the defendant’s chair, out of suspicion, hurries forward to speak with him. He doesn’t even seem to notice her approaching. He might not have blinked since Phoenix told him about Azura’s heart condition, since Rimes himself realized that everything he did just hurt innocent people, and demanded to know why Phoenix couldn’t just let him be called a murderer and punished as such. Yeah, he’s criminally liable for a lot, and everyone here knows it, the judge has even said it, but - he did not want to kill Jack Shipley, and that still means something. Rimes doesn’t deserve a death penalty like Rimes seems to think he deserves.

“Hey, Marlon,” Sasha says. He jumps, slamming his shin into the witness stand. He really didn’t notice her. “When this is all done, y’know - served out your sentence and rehabilitation - you’d better come back to the aquarium, you hear?”

“But…” He doesn’t even say anything else. He lets everything that’s happened in the past half an hour stand for itself.

“We’re pirates, remember? Cap’n Orla’s Swashbucklers! A pirate crew’s not gonna care about criminal records in hiring!” She seems to be deliberately missing the point. Rimes doesn’t say anything else. “Hey. Marlon. That whole, um, hulking out thing - you didn’t - that wasn’t some kind of catastrophic deal, right? You - you okay?”

And of course he isn’t, not in the broad scheme of things, and of course Sasha isn’t okay in that sense either, but she only means one thing and that’s the thing that Phoenix has been wondering, and Blackquill has already been escorted out of the courtroom but Taka is perched just off to the side, listening in too. What did he bargain away, thinking he’d gained something useful?

Rimes slumps until his forehead hits the witness stand. “Had’ta give up being a vegetarian,” he mumbles.

“Wait,” Athena says, “do you mean you had to give up meat or you had to—”

“I was a vegetarian.” Rimes doesn’t lift his head. The way he’s doubled over hurts Phoenix’s back and neck by proxy. “But I have to eat meat now.”

Whether he was a vegetarian for personal or religious reasons, or health reasons, or something as simple as he thought raw meat was gross to look at and hated cooking with it and had to functionally become a vegetarian (like Phoenix his first year having a kitchen except takeout sushi isn’t vegetarian and ramen and pizza aren’t a healthy vegetarian diet) - whatever it was, going back to meat in the diet is some sort of sacrifice. And that so often is the cornerstone of a deal: a sacrifice. Giving something up. A name, a soul, a skill, a principle, some cash for an all-you-can-eat buffet—

And it could’ve been so, so much worse for Rimes. He’s lucky. 

“I made the deal for strength,” he adds, still hunched over, like his spine has been wrenched out of him and replaced with jelly. “I thought - I thought I could be strong enough then to help. But I wasn’t strong enough to hang onto the captain, and all the rest - physical strength didn’t matter. Didn’t help me at all.”

Which, Phoenix wouldn’t be surprised if whichever fae gave him the magatama knew that it wouldn’t. It’s a human thing - and a fae thing, it’s a people thing, to not know what would actually help. What they really need, versus what they think they need. 

Sasha steps around the witness stand and pulls Rimes around into a hug, his head slumped down onto her shoulder instead of the stand now. Phoenix hears, and thinks he isn’t supposed to, Rimes’ ragged repeated “I’m sorry”s and “It’s my fault”s.

“Yeah and you’re still my friend, y’know that,” Sasha says.

The magatama slips from Rimes’ hand and hits the floor, shattering with a sound like it’s made of glass. Rimes shudders and trembles and his whole body shrinks, back down to the man he was before.

-

“You never cease to surprise me.”

Down the hall, at the top of the stairs, Athena is excitedly introducing Sasha to Trucy, and re-introducing Sasha and Apollo. Taka is long gone. And Edgeworth stands next to Phoenix, arms folded, drumming his fingers, and Phoenix can’t tell if he’s angry or begrudgingly impressed or wholeheartedly impressed. “So when Blackquill came to you to tell you that he was going to prosecute an orca, did you regret lengthening his leash at that point?”

Edgeworth shakes his head. “Prosecutor Blackquill was with me at the time. We were discussing - a case.” If it was Blackquill’s case specifically, Phoenix thinks he would have said that, but this just sounds like there’s even more, other cases, behind the scenes, above the security clearance of absolutely anyone. “And then I have a call from Detective Fulbright that he has a case that may be able to go to trial, and Prosecutor Blackquill is of course interested in that.” He shakes his head a second time. “If you think Blackquill is a thorn in your side in court, believe me, he is just as much of one to be outside of it.”

“That sounds consistent with what I’ve seen.” Phoenix glances around again to be sure that the hawk isn’t anywhere around. “Wait, you met with him - at your office? One-on-one? Without Fulbright around?”

“Yes, I have. Several armed officers on the other side of the door, of course - Detective Gumshoe stringently insists—”

“Good,” Phoenix interrupts. He should buy Gumshoe dinner for that. Someone has to keep Edgeworth’s dumb ass in one piece. “And Blackquill knows he’d still be rotting only in prison if not for you, right? And that if he—”

Edgeworth’s pale eyes flicker sideways at Phoenix. “Your concern is appreciated and entirely unwarranted and unnecessary. Prosecutor Blackquill, assuredly, has nothing against me, unlike certain others who you spent significant one-on-one time with.”

Oh. There it is. That gulf always between them, sometimes near closed and then it yawns, and they are here and here is further apart. “Good,” Phoenix repeats, more faintly than before. “Is there anything new you can tell me about him that would help?”

“Unfortunately not. He’s very stubborn in regards to his own murder case - as I said, a thorn in my side.”

“And maybe an ache in your head and a pain in your ass, too?”

Even if Edgeworth is, maybe not mad at him, but frustrated enough with him to bring up Kristoph, Phoenix is pleased to know that he can still make him snort in amusement. “I’m in particular agreement with His Honor about your need to watch your language.”

“Just in court though, right?”

“No.” Edgeworth turns his head to fully affix a glare on him, and Phoenix wilts. “In general. I can only imagine that good things would come of you choosing to fully speak and act like the lawyer that you are.”

The lawyer that he hasn’t been for eight years. The lawyer that Edgeworth pushed him to be, again. “All else aside,” Edgeworth adds, “such as and especially the orca, and that you are an utterly ridiculous man lacking a modicum of good sense and decorum—”

“That’s a lot to throw aside.”

Edgeworth ignores him. “—I am happy to see you standing in court again. You deserve this.”

“I—?” Are you sure? Do I really? After everything I’ve done? Everything that you know I am?

“You do,” Edgeworth says. “And I look forward to seeing what you do next, so long as you do not decide that you will - try and outdo yourself in finding a more outlandish defendant.”

“Hey, if they show up at my office, who am I to turn away clients? It’s not like I’ve ever had enough work to really be choosy with it. You’d said that yourself plenty of times.”

“Though I can’t say I expected an orca to be the logical conclusion of your manner of conducting business.”

They’re an Anything Agency. This was the place they were going to end up. “Would you think better or worse of me if I tell you I didn’t know the client was an orca at first, until we got to the aquarium and Ms Buckler introduced us to said orca?”

“You went all the way out to meet the client without having asked such basic information as name or species - yes, that does sound exactly like you.” He doesn’t answer whether that’s better or worse, just makes it clear that he knows Phoenix well enough to not be surprised. The more Phoenix thinks about it, the more he’s surprised that he didn’t ever get himself into a situation like this before. Maybe it could be said that there’s a lesson here, but he thinks he’s going to deliberately not learn it. “And the fact that from that, you pulled two victories, and cleared up the truth of a guilty man who was nevertheless not guilty of murder - also, very much like you.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Phoenix says. “I’m already on board to help you out with whatever, remember?”

He knows it isn’t flattery - or if it is, it isn’t hollow, because Edgeworth doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean - but he’s still locked into deflect, deflect. Edgeworth knows how much Phoenix feels he doesn’t belong here. He’s not going to address it straight-out - that’s not his style, that’s not their styles, but he knows, and he still thinks that this is exactly where Phoenix does belong. 

The one word he wants to say, thanks, sticks his throat shut, but he hopes Edgeworth knows anyway.

“Hey, Boss! Hi, Mr Edgeworth!” Athena waves them over. “Boss, Sasha wants us to come back to the aquarium one last time so Orla can thank us in person, too! And we should probably pick up Pearly, right?”

Not that Pearl is limited in her movements in a way that necessitates them picking her up in a car, but if she’s still hanging around the aquarium, she’d probably be happy to see them and come back to the office with them. “Sounds like a plan,” he says. “Catch up with you later, Edgeworth.” He gives his friend a solid thwack on the shoulder.

“I can give Trucy and Mr Justice a lift back to your office, then,” Edgeworth says. Trucy beams; Apollo, terror-stricken, glances between Edgeworth and Trucy and seems to resign himself to  whatever this fate is. Phoenix would like for Apollo to get to know Edgeworth better, but can’t blame him for the fear. Edgeworth’s scary even before he got the title Chief Prosecutor to cement it.

“Oh, Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Athena says. “There’s something I wanted to ask you - can I email you later?”

“Ah - of course.” Edgeworth still glances at Phoenix, raising an eyebrow, doubtlessly wondering what question she has that she isn’t going to the nearest adult in her life, the one right next to her. Probably something about cars or Europe or any of the other gaps in Phoenix’s life experience, something that she figures he’s too much of a mess to have an answer to. Maybe it’s something about Phoenix’s badge, the losing of it, that she wants to know without tipping Phoenix to the fact that she’s digging into his ugly past like this. Or maybe it’s the what the hell about Blackquill she wants to know. There are lots of questions it could be. 

Phoenix shrugs back at Edgeworth. It’s sort of like they’re co-parenting another daughter. No real way around that now, and Phoenix follows her out of the courthouse as she hurtles herself down the stairs.

-

They arrive back in the orca pool room in time to catch the middle-end of a lecture Dr Crab is giving Sasha about taking her health seriously and taking it easy until her condition is fully, properly managed. She sits at the edge of the pool, patting Orla’s nose, her hair soaking wet, like she just jumped straight into the pool upon her return. “I was thinking Orla and I would put on a mini show for you when you got here,” Sasha says to Athena, “but that’s obviously not happening.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the doctor,” Phoenix says.

“He’s a vet, not a people-doctor!” Sasha protests. Jokingly? It sounds like a joke. 

“And you, Miss Selkie, are as much seal as you are human.”

“Not at the same time!” She stands up, careful with her footing, no doubt thinking about the victim slipping and falling to his death. “But, really. Phoenix, Athena, I cannot ever thank you enough, and your office, and Pearl, too.” Sasha waves at Pearl, who is sitting with Rifle and the penguin chick, Sniper, over by the wall. “All of you! Thank you, thank you, for what you did for me, and Orla, and the aquarium, for everyone. You found us the truth, you got us closure - made me realize this guy isn’t so bad after all!” She elbows Dr Crab. 

“Not sure I’m happy about that one.” Crab steps away from her second nudge. 

“You really helped us out a ton, Pearls,” Phoenix says. “Definitely couldn’t have done this all without you.”

“Oh, it was nothing!” She starts to cover her face with her hands and decides to duck behind Rifle instead. “I’m sure you could have won without me, Mr Nick!”

He could have, yes - but not to this same end. He couldn’t have proven Rimes was trying to save Shipley in the end; he wouldn’t have had the time or patience to plaster fingerprinting powder over everything. But he’s not one to look a gift debt-forgiveness in the mouth, either, so he doesn’t point that out. Dr Crab’s eyes narrow, wondering, no doubt, how Phoenix got such a tricky, powerful faery to like him so much that she writes off all this investigation and assistance as nothing. What he had to lose to gain that. Phoenix shrugs back at him, and they watch Sasha and Athena head over to Pearl, Sasha animatedly explaining something to Athena and half holding her back from charging down Rifle. 

“And thanks for spilling almost all of the aquarium’s secrets like that,” Dr Crab adds dryly. 

“I’m only a little sorry,” Phoenix says. Better to be honest.

Dr Crab waves dismissively. “You said you would, and I was prepared for that. I’m almost glad I’ve got less to hide now. That writer lady, now that she’s not crusading after Orla anymore, said to me that she thinks that the aquarium’s in the right with the TORPEDO, and the law’s wrong, and she’d take up our case to advocate for its legality.” He grins, just slightly. “So we might be able to wiggle free of any serious consequences.”

“That’s—” Phoenix pauses to think over what he was about to say. “Speaking as a lawyer, I shouldn’t say that’s good, but I’m glad to hear that anyway.”

“I’m pretty good at keeping secrets, so don’t worry, I won’t go blabbing on you.” Phoenix laughs awkwardly, while Dr Crab’s face doesn’t twitch. He seems very serious. “Though, speaking of secrets, buddy, if you can keep your mouth shut when you don’t have a case hinging on it, I’ve got to tell you, there’s one thing you didn’t get quite right, back in that courtroom, and I wasn’t about to go correcting you on it.”

There’s a tanuki standing in front of Apollo, saying very similar words, and the blood left both Apollo and Athena’s faces, and if Apollo had vomited right in Filch’s face it wouldn’t have been much of a surprise. But Phoenix - Phoenix doesn’t know what he feels. Not this time. Dr Crab, unlike Filch, didn’t perjure himself willy-nilly all through this trial. If he held something back—

“Go on,” Phoenix says. His voice is strangled even to his own ears. Crab gives him a curious and suspicious once-over. 

“The calendar with the meeting with Jack, seven am at the orca pool - that’s mine, yeah, and I did go to that meeting to wait for him, yeah. But.” His silence might be dramatic, or a last assessment of whether Phoenix is trustworthy, and he adds, “That meant the orca pool at Supermarine Aquarium, not here.”

“The Supermarine Aquarium?” Phoenix repeats. “That’s the dolphin therapy place, right?” Athena explained animal-assisted therapy, and that aquarium across town in particular, sometime last evening, while they compiled their last investigatory information, but Phoenix checked out mentally in the middle of it. And something about an open-ocean marine sanctuary too, for whales that had been rescued from bad conditions at other institutions but couldn’t live fully on their own in the wild. He has no idea what relevance Athena thought that had. She just likes to talk about whales. “I didn’t even know they had an orca.”

“They don’t,” Dr Crab says. “They’re just harboring her for us.” It doesn’t click right away. Crab goes on. “When I told you about how I’d fake Orla’s death if I had to - I have full confidence I’d be able to, because Jack and I already did it once. Ora’s been living there the last year - we tried to send her into the wild, but she didn’t want to leave Orla, and Orla didn’t want to leave us, and we couldn’t exactly just have an orca hanging out around in the harbor for everyone to keep running into.”

“And that’s why you and the owner were making those mysterious payments,” Phoenix says faintly. DePlume had some wild ideas about conspiracy involving that, but she couldn’t dream this up. 

“Yep. Couldn’t exactly force that on the Supermarine’s budget, since she’s our orca, so we’ve been paying them for all her food and care. And orcas eat a lot.” 

“I’d believe it,” Phoenix says, still thinking of someone else, someone who eats a lot and puts a serious strain on his wallet when she does. 

“Since you’ve proven now that Ora was innocent all along, I figure we’ll bring her back here sooner rather than later,” Dr Crab says. “Not that I know how to budget and run an aquarium, and Sasha doesn’t, either. It’ll be a hell of a learning curve with Jack gone, but I don’t plan on going anywhere - but for now, I think it’d be better if you didn’t go saying anything about what I just told you.”

“Don’t worry,” Phoenix says. “I’ve been told I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

The bitter bend to the words would be hard to miss, but Dr Crab doesn’t move a muscle in his face. “Good. Hey, Sasha,” he calls over to her. “I’ve got my rounds to make and check in on the rest of the animals. Don’t do anything crazy as soon as I turn my back.” To Phoenix, he adds, “You seem to garner some sort of respect among young women in their early twenties, apparently, so I’m tasking you with making sure Sasha doesn’t start trying to show off.”

The average age is more like late teens, and the amount of actual “respect” he gets is up for strenuous debate. “Guess you have to be some sort of a crazy show-off to go get a job working with orcas when you’re a selkie.”

Dr Crab huffs. “Azura wasn’t like that. And I think your one in yellow is contributing to the feedback loop.”

“Athena’s got a - competitive spirit, yeah.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll be lucky enough that this is the last I see of you,” Dr Crab says. “Sasha’s keen on giving all your crew lifetime tickets, if we don’t run our place into the ground figuring out the management side.”

“I learned to run a law office on the fly,” Phoenix says. “Not really the same, but best of luck to you. And thanks for all your help, Dr Crab. I appreciate you being mostly honest.”

Dr Crab snorts, casting one glance back at Sasha and Orla, and he leaves. 

Hell of a fortuitous thing, the doctor’s name. Herman Crab, marine veterinarian, weirdly cool with sea witches and selkies and fae. Phoenix doesn’t think names as given determine a trajectory in life, but the fae pick them deliberately. Courtney comes to mind. Or humans who escape the Twilight Realm and aren’t sure how they’re supposed to call themselves other than after what they are or what they do. Eldoon’s father comes to mind. (He wonders how Thalassa got her name.)

But like hell he’d ever ask. Azura‘s story was something Sasha asked, something relevant to all their questions. Case closed. Phoenix isn’t going to cast around trying to find someone with a more fucked-up story than his own. No one wins in that kind of game. 

“Hey, Boss!” Athena calls. “Come feed Orla with us!” She and Pearl and Sasha take turns grabbing a fish from a bucket and tossing it to the orca. Phoenix watches her snap her jaws, full of bright white sharp teeth she doesn’t need to use because she just swallows these little fish whole. Thinks of someone else with a mouth full of teeth, not taking the time to chew. Wants to say no thanks. He could tell his girls it’s time to leave and head back to the office. 

“All right, fine,” he says, and Sasha springs up with a fish ready to drop in his hands. “What do I do?”

-

Trucy is very quiet after Prosecutor Edgeworth leaves them back at the office. Apollo asks her if she’s okay and when she says “yeah” she doesn’t even manage to infuse it with her usual mask of cheer, and her fingers twitch red when she says it, her hand flitting up toward her diamond brooch and stopping. It would be easy to call her on it and she knows it, but there’s an unspoken social contract that has slowly coalesced between them all to let little things slide. Athena going quiet and staring off into space or furiously dragging legal textbooks off the shelves and paging through them; Trucy staring at the portrait of her father above the piano or at Phoenix’s desk and the bottom drawer there; Phoenix poking his head into whatever room the rest of them are gathered in if there’s a sudden silence like he’s afraid something happened, or several moments Apollo watched him studying for the Bar where he’d put his head in his hands and dig his hands through his hair about to pull it out. Apollo doesn’t know what makes Athena tick but the others he knows too well, and they let each other have breathing room. 

Close to an hour later - it’s past five but Apollo doesn’t want to leave until Trucy has some company - she comes back and hops up onto Phoenix’s desk. “This is the first time Daddy’s been a lawyer since he’s been my daddy,” she says. “It’s his first trial that I’ve ever seen.” She unclips her cape from around her shoulders and tosses it into what looks like empty air, but it falls draped solidly over a wisp. “I was there for his - his last one, but he wasn’t my daddy then, and I was only paying attention to my other daddy to make a diversion for him to escape if he needed it.”

Apollo nods, silently. 

“You know something, now, Apollo? I’ve been here half my life now. I’ve been Trucy Wright just a bit longer than I was Trucy Enigmar, and I’m gonna be Trucy Wright for the rest of my life and it’s only gonna be longer and longer now. And I love Daddy and I don’t want to be anywhere else but it’s…”

“Still weird?” Apollo asks. She nods. “I get that.” When he was sixteen it would’ve been about half his life away from Khura’in, except he didn’t have another loving father to ease the sting. Trucy was luckier. 

“Did you ever have somewhere you stayed enough to miss it?” she asks. And then hastily she adds, “Never mind, you don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna.” He must have shown panic on his face, panic or pain, but those don’t narrow the answer to her question down. Panic and pain are responses that fit either meaning, that he spent his whole life never setting roots down to have a home, or he’ll spend the rest of his life aching for somewhere long gone. “You’re welcome to stay here forever, you know! You’re like family now!”

It’s a weird sentiment, all considered, that Apollo knows all about the Gramaryes and absolutely does not want to be a part of that, and he also knows that Phoenix is a mess masquerading as a person, and - and yet. It’s not about Apollo, and what he thinks, so much as it is something for Trucy, figuring out how to build a new family out of the ashes her old one left. The Gramaryes brought Apollo to this law office in some roundabout way, like they sent Trucy to Phoenix. Like Apollo can sometimes manage to think that if Dhurke hadn’t sent him away, he wouldn’t have been there for Clay. Or Trucy. Or anyone else.

“Um, thanks,” he says, and she beams, and though it had already been slipping away, he pushes further aside, for some other far future time, the thought of finding another law office to work at. This one case is not enough to expect he’s being pushed aside. And it would break Trucy’s heart and he doesn’t have enough friends that he can afford to do that. 

“Here, come look at this,” she says, waving him over conspiratorially, the moment passed. “Daddy left this picture out on his desk. He must’ve been thinking about old times, too.”

Apollo joins her at Phoenix’s desk. “What am I looking at?”

“Uncle Larry argues a lot with Daddy and Uncle Miles about whether they look any older than they did back then,” Trucy says, holding out to him a photograph that she brought in earlier. “You can be the impartial judge!”

The three of them still wear the same colors, whenever this photo was taken. Larry shoved off behind the other two - did Apollo know that Phoenix’s flighty artist friend knew Edgeworth? -  wearing an orange suit jacket thrown over what might be a t-shirt. Edgeworth, smiling, and Phoenix, with a golden badge tiny on his lapel. At least eight years ago. Then there’s a taller man in a dark green overcoat off to the right, and to the left, in front of Phoenix and Larry, a girl with long black hair and big, dark eyes, wearing robes almost identical to Pearl’s. “Who’s this?” Apollo asks. 

“That’s Detective Gumshoe,” Trucy says. “He’s one of Uncle Miles’ best friends. They’ve worked together since ever. And that’s Maya, one of Daddy’s friends.”

“Is she—?”

“Yeah.” It’s easy to know the question. “I didn’t know that for a while about her, though. He didn’t say. And she didn’t come around enough for me to notice. Not like Pearly visits us.”

“No?”

Trucy shakes her head. “I met her the day I came to live with him and maybe one or two other times and then - Uncle Miles says she used to be here at the office all the time, helping Daddy with his cases and stuff.”

A fae mentor and why not a fae co-counsel too. “Maybe she got bored after he was disbarred,” Apollo suggests. That sounds fickle enough to be fae rationale. 

“Pearly said they had a huge fight about him being disbarred and stopped talking so much to each other. About how he was handling it or something. I don’t know. I think Pearly said that Maya wanted to help.”

“I don’t think I’d be brave enough to give one of the - the Fair Folk, the silent treatment,” Apollo says. But he’s not sure he could brace himself well enough for the repercussions of accepting their help either, and thinking about all of those leaves him to trip and land on a euphemism for their name instead. Only some days is he brave enough to call them what they are.

“I’m not sure I would either,” Trucy admits. “But Uncle Miles talks like he and Maya got along well enough and he liked her well enough and he never sounds like he’s afraid of her when he’s always very weird about magic stuff and all of Daddy’s… everything.”

Apollo looks back down at the picture, into the face of the fae girl, her smile that looks like a human smile. “Do you think she still looks this age?” he asks. “Do the fae age like people do?” Or is their development slow the way humans growing up in their realm are?

Trucy shrugs. “Pearly seems to age the same as me, but I don’t know if she does that because she has me as a model for how people grow up, or if she actually would like that.”

There in the photo, behind the fae girl, Phoenix isn’t quite as gaunt and hollow in the face, and next to him Edgeworth isn’t wearing glasses, but though Edgeworth is smiling they both look exhausted, like they haven’t slept well in days, like they’ve been ground down to ashes. “I don’t think they look that much older,” Apollo says, tapping the picture, bringing them back to Trucy’s original question. “I mean, they look really tired there, and that’s about the same.”

“Is that what being old means?” she asks, eyes downcast, twisting her fingers together. “Perpetual tiredness?”

“Oh yeah. Once you turn twenty it’s over. It’s just wanting to constantly go back to bed.” Trucy whimpers. “Enjoy the next four years because that’s all you’ve got.”

“Nooo.”

“Oi! Apollo!” He didn’t hear the door open but there’s Athena appearing in the doorway, hollering at him. “Are you being mean to Trucy?”

“She’s always being mean to me!”

Trucy exaggerates her pout even further, fishing for sympathy, but when Phoenix follows Athena in he bursts out laughing. “Mr Nick!” Pearl scolds, and Phoenix jumps, literally jumps, away from her, avoiding her smack on the arm and knocking Athena into her desk. “You can’t be so mean to your own daughter!”

Trucy breaks into a fit of giggles. “Hey, so, Trucy, Apollo,” Athena says, hoisting herself up on her desk and dropping down behind it out of the way of Phoenix and Apollo. “Guess who’s got free lifetime admission to the shipshape aquarium now, and for friends, too!”

“Ooh, I know who you should invite.” Trucy kicks Apollo in the shin. He knows exactly the answer she has in mind. 

“Vera,” he says. 

“Oh you know I bet that would be fun,” Trucy says. “That’s not what I was going to say, also.”

“I know you weren’t.” He can’t really leverage himself to kick her back, so he knocks his shoulder into hers. Phoenix is giving them a weird look - not like he’s mad that Apollo is beating up on Trucy in turn. There’s nothing angry at all. Just kind of fond and kind of sad, and when he notices Apollo’s puzzled expression, his face immediately snaps back to lazy-eyed and closed off, a look Apollo’s seen less and less of in the past few months, but it’s always still there, the poker face underneath everything.

“So the answer is you and Mr Wright,” Apollo says to Athena, “because you’re the ones who defended her, right?”

“Ugh, nein, non, no, no,” Athena says. “I wouldn’t be bragging about it if you weren’t included! Sasha says everyone at the agency, and Pearly too! And whatever friends you want to bring, because I also specifically asked that too!”

Trucy kicks Apollo again. Apollo shakes his head. 

“We’ll all go together sometime!” Athena says brightly. “And I was thinking, y’know, Mr Wright, I’m really glad you let me come on board here. I love working with all of you!”

“I - uh, yeah, of course.” Phoenix definitely was not prepared for that. There’s another weird look on his face, hesitation, and again he smooths it away with a bit of deliberate effort. “Glad to have you.”

“Good not to be the new kid anymore,” Apollo says with a grin, and Athena sticks her tongue out at him. “And Trucy’s probably glad to have two new kids to heckle.”

Trucy kicks him again. 

-

“Really, anyone? Just - whenever I want to come back, I can bring anyone with me?”

“Of course! I don’t know when the Swashbuckler Spectacular will come back, with my health, or anything like that, but you all will be the first ones to know! And your whole office is welcome and anyone you want to bring along, I’ll hold the front row just for you! Because any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Athena.”

“I - yeah, of course. But - thanks. When this is all sorted out, for you guys here and me with - and everything, there’s someone who I always wanted to visit with and never got a chance.”

“Then c’mon! I’ll look forward to meeting them.”

“Y-yeah, heh, I - yeah.”

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

[daesungindistress]

Sorry for bothering you. I have some questions. I'm new in this fandom. At fist I supported Seungri but now I doubt him. Some vips say that he is victim of media, he run only Aori ramen and Kmedia is lying. I see posts claiming that OT4 won't go on without him. There are so much conflicting information. What exactly did he do? If OT4 had problems with Seungri why were they so nice to him during Last dance tour? Again sorry for bothering I just want to know the whole story.

I’m sorry, I’ve gone over this at length so many times over the last six plus months… do I have the energy to hash it out again in detail? It’s true that there is still confusion over his case, let’s face it, there always will be. It’s also true that there has been misinformation spread on both sides, both for and against him. Accusations that came and went, some that stuck, some that didn’t. All you need to know is that right now, based on the results of the police investigation he underwent this spring, he is currently facing 7 charges (from this article):

Solicitation of prostitution (for himself)

Prostitution mediation (for his foreign investors)

Occupational embezzlement of Burning Sun funds

Occupational embezzlement of attorney’s fees

Instigating destruction of evidence

Violation of the Act on Special Cases Concerning the Punishment, etc. of Sexual Crimes (sharing a photo believed to be molka)

Violation of the Food Sanitation Act (this is related to Monkey Museum)

He is also currently under investigation for suspicions of gambling while abroad (which, though few fans seem to have a problem with it, is illegal for Koreans) and violating the Foreign Exchange Transactions Act (raising gambling funds through “hwanchigi,” a term that refers to illegal practices surrounding foreign exchange transactions). So if you see people saying he’s facing up to 9 charges, that’s where that number comes from. The first 7 charges are currently in the hands of the prosecution. Police have recommended indictment on all 7, however, it’s up to the prosecution to conduct their own supplementary investigation and decide whether or not to formally press charges against him (i.e., indict him), after which, if indicted, his case will go to court. This is just a thought, but they may be waiting for police to finish up their investigation on the gambling suspicions so that they can make a decision on all charges at once. In the meantime, it seems his enlistment has been postponed indefinitely.

For the record, most VIPs defended Seungri against the Burning Sun allegations (not gonna get into that here, but it’s pretty horrific stuff). The Burning Sun situation is still murky, and probably always will be, but it’s worth noting that Seungri was never booked or earnestly investigated on anything related to the club besides embezzlement of club funds. Then, in late February the prostitution chats were released – chats which appear to show him and his business partners arranging for prostitutes for their foreign investors visiting Korea back in late 2015 – and he was officially booked as a suspect for that. Then, as if things weren’t bad enough for him already, there came the molka/spycam chats, in which women were filmed in sex acts without their permission and their photos and videos secretly shared among friends. We later learned that some of these women had been drugged and raped. Besides that, the text content of the chats themselves and they way these men spoke about the women they’d slept with was just vile.

Based on the very limited evidence we have available to us, Seungri’s involvement in those molka chats was admittedly minimal (at least when compared to the other chat members, many of whom are currently standing trial on rape charges). However, some of these men were close friends of his, and for many people, his knowledge of their despicable acts toward these women and his complacency (in neglecting to report, or at the very least condemn them for it) was enough. We know he viewed at least one molka video and seemed unbothered by it, even laughing at it. That was the point at which many (I would argue most) people dropped his ass like a hot potato, horrified that he’d had any part in it at all.

Everyone has to draw the line somewhere. For many, that was the line. As for me? I remember the first time I saw that headline, and how my heart sank. I was still on his side back then, perhaps not yet realizing just how serious the situation had become, but even so, I knew in my heart that it was the end for him. And sure enough, it was later that same day when he announced his retirement from the entertainment industry.

His supporters will swear up and down that he had nothing to do with it, but from his own mouth, in his Chosun Ilbo interview, he knew. And not only that, he apparently helped them dispose of evidence when the news broke by alerting them that they were in trouble and instructing them to change their phones (hence the “instigating destruction of evidence” charge). And this is to say nothing of the ridiculous explanation he came up with for the prostitution chats: that he was just providing girls for his female friend to party and go shopping with, an explanation that was shot down by that very friend who he tried to use as an alibi. So when you said “now I doubt him”? Yeah. Us too.

There’s so much more to this saga. So much more. And it’s ongoing. But I’m so tired of going over it again and again and again. The fact is, Seungri asked to have his contract with YG terminated and announced his withdrawal from the industry. So whether you like him or not, continuing to pledge your support to him is just a massive waste of time. Seungri has been a retired singer for six months now, and the cold hard reality is that since March 2019 Big Bang has been four members. G-Dragon, TOP, Taeyang, Daesung. They are still with us. They are who will stand on the stage before us again. They are who will bring us new music and feature in new videos. They are our future as a fandom. If we want more of Big Bang, if we want to see the band continue on at all, we have to express a willingness to support them as they are, now and for the foreseeable future. Otherwise, it’s like Youngbae said during Last Dance: it will be goodbye for real. And who wants that?

Seungri has been locked in an intense media and legal battle for almost all of 2019 – nearly nine months now. And I don’t see things getting better for him anytime soon. This could easily drag on for another three months, until the end of this year. It could go on for six. It could even stretch on for twelve, if he’s indicted on all charges and his case goes to trial. When you factor in enlistment, the absolute soonest Seungri can even think about being active again as an entertainer is in 2-3 years’ time. It has already been almost 3 years since BB’s last comeback. Does anyone really think they’re going to make themselves and us endure another 2-3 year wait (at best!) for a retired member to return to them before they'll release new music again as a group? When they wanted him to enlist alongside them, but he chose not to? And then became the center of the biggest controversy in kpop history? After they begged him not to get in trouble while they were away?

“If OT4 had problems with Seungri why were they so nice to him during Last dance tour?”

I don’t want you guys to think I’m spreading the message that BB ever hated Seungri. It’s more complex than that. I think they cared for him, but I think they were also frustrated with him. I think they wanted what was best for him and were concerned for him. I think they wanted to put their trust in him, knowing that he alone would be carrying the name Big Bang in their absence, but given how distant he’d become and the questionable connections he’d made, couldn’t help being wary of him.

And more than anything? I think they felt they’d lost him. For several years now. And it’s so damn sad.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, to someone (those friends of his) or to something (money and fame, greed and pride, power and envy, you name it), he slipped through their fingers. It wasn’t always this way between them, I’m sure of it. But sometimes people change, often as a result of their changing circumstances. Seungri, unhappy with his present situation (circa 2015, maybe even earlier), found a new passion and a new social circle (a problematic one)… and the closer he grew to them, the farther he drifted from BB. They said they only ever saw him onstage. Said they made plans together but he’d often cancel at the last minute. Said he was always overseas with his other friends and business associates. Said he was “totally a businessman” and that he “didn’t want to work [as a singer] anymore.” They said it seemed that Big Bang had become “business” to him and that all he ever talked about with them was money. I think they felt that though he stayed with them, he did so for all the wrong reasons, reasons that no longer included a passion for music. He didn’t even invite them to his last birthday party before they all enlisted, his big island resort birthday bash in the Philippines (and we’ve all seen that Last Dance tour behind-the-scenes clip in which GD scolded him harshly for it. In hindsight, they dodged a bullet by not being there, seeing as that party was under scrutiny this year for suspicions of prostitution mediation).

Sorry. At this point I’m just rambling. You say you want to know the whole story? Yeah, well, so do the rest of us. But for now, the best we can hope for is that it’s not over for Big Bang. So please, let’s give all our love to the four who remain.

#I can't believe writing this moved me to tears wtf #11% abv beer will do that to ya I guess #don't call me a lightweight! #lol #it's called dragon's milk btw #good stuff #bigbang #seungri #ask #anon #burning sun #I just feel terrible for all of them... everyone #this whole year has been so damn tragic for so many people

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

Every time Dany mentions home

*Buckle in kids, this is a long one*

“At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother "the beggar king." Dany did not want to know what they called her.” - Dany I, GoT

“Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home." "Home!" He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. "How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!" He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. "How are we to go home?" he repeated, meaning King's Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.” - Dany I, GoT

“Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio's estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no homethere for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. "I don't know …" she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes."I do," he said sharply. "We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo's army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will." He smiled at her. "I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.” - Dany I, GoT

“Home," he said. His voice was thick with longing. "I pray for home too," she told him, believing it.” - Dany III, GoT

“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one," Dany said. "He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.” - Dany III, GoT

“She was lying there, holding the egg, when she felt the child move within her … as if he were reaching out, brother to brother, blood to blood. "You are the dragon," Dany whispered to him, "the true dragon. I know it. I know it." And she smiled, and went to sleep dreaming of home.” - Dany IV, GoT

“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons," the knight answered. "Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother's mistake. We will go home, I promise you."Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?” - Dany VI, GoT

“If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.” - Dany VI, GoT

“But the Western Market smelled of home.” - Dany VI, GoT

“Under the hollow hummock of earth that was her home in Vaes Dothrak, Dany ordered them to leave her—all but Ser Jorah. "Tell me," she commanded as she lowered herself onto her cushions. "Was it the Usurper?" - Dany VI, GoT

“Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all … "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …" - Dany VIII, GoT

“She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. "Home," she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.” - Dany IX, GoT

“The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.”  - Dany IX, GoT

“Saved me?" The Lhazareen woman spat. "Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god's house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.” - Dany IX, GoT

“As my queen commands." Ser Jorah frowned. "My home . . . you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.” - Dany I, ACoK

“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there's not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.” - Dany I, ACoK

“She had heard the longing in Ser Jorah's voice when he spoke of his Bear Island. He can never have me, but one day I can give him back his home and honor. That much I can do for him.” - Dany I, ACoK

“Pyrat Pree conducted her little khalasar down the center of a great arcade where the city's ancient heroes stood thrice life-size on columns of white and green marble. They passed through a bazaar in a cavernous building whose latticework ceiling was home to a thousand gaily colored birds. Trees and flowers bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls, while below it seemed as if everything the gods had put into the world was for sale.” - Dany II, ACoK

“Xaro Xhoan Daxos had offered Dany the hospitality of his home while she was in the city. She had expected something grand. She had not expected a palace larger than many a market town. It makes Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos look like a swineherd's hovel, she thought. Xaro swore that his home could comfortably house all of her people and their horses besides; indeed, it swallowed them. An entire wing was given over to her. She would have her own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a scrying tower and warlock's maze. Slaves would tend her every need. In her private chambers, the floors were green marble, the walls draped with colorful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air. "You are too generous," she told Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”  - Dany II, ACoK

“Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the gods will have blown some good captain here from Westeros with a ship to carry us home.” - Dany II, ACoK

“The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.”  - Dany II, ACoK

“I have given you my home and heart, do they mean nothing to you? I have given you perfume and pomegranates, tumbling monkeys and spitting snakes, scrolls from lost Valyria, an idol's head and a serpent's foot. I have given you this palanquin of ebony and gold, and a matched set of bullocks to bear it, one white as ivory and one black as jet, with horns inlaid with jewels.” - Dany III, ACoK

“I am half a world away from my kingdom even here. If I go any farther east I may never find my way home to Westeros.” - Dany III, ACoK

“She fled from him, but only as far as the next open door. I know this room, she thought. She remembered those great wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And there outside the window, a lemon tree! The sight of it made her heart ache with longing. It is the house with the red door, the house in Braavos. No sooner had she thought it than old Ser Willem came into the room, leaning heavily on his stick. "Little princess, there you are," he said in his gruff kind voice. "Come," he said, "come to me, my lady, you're home now, you're safe now." His big wrinkled hand reached for her, soft as old leather, and Dany wanted to take it and hold it and kiss it, she wanted that as much as she had ever wanted anything. Her foot edged forward, and then she thought, He's dead, he's dead, the sweet old bear, he died a long time ago. She backed away and ran.” - Dany IV, ACoK

“All the brass in this booth is not worth twenty honors," Dany told him as she studied the reflections. The old man had the look of Westeros about him, and the brown-skinned one must weigh twenty stone. The Usurper offered a lordship to the man who kills me, and these two are far from home. Or could they be creatures of the warlocks, meant to take me unawares?” - Dany V, ACoK

“Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. "I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names." - Dany V, ACoK

“But that time was not yet come. Rhaegal and Viserion were the size of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have out-weighed them; they were all wings and neck and tail, lighter than they looked. And so Daenerys Targaryen must rely on wood and wind and canvas to bear her home.” - Dany  I, ASoS

“Mero tossed down his wine straightaway, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leered at Dany. "I believe I fucked your twin sister in a pleasure house back home. Or was it you?” - Dany IV, ASoS

“Varys said . . . I might go home." He bowed his head.I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? "Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben's sewers? Go!” - Dany V, ASoS

“No. I must hold court soon." Dany had grown very fond of Missandei. The little scribe with the big golden eyes was wise beyond her years. She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she's lived. One day she hoped to see this fabled isle of Naath. Missandei said the Peaceful People made music instead of war. They did not kill, not even animals; they ate only fruit and never flesh. The butterfly spirits sacred to their Lord of Harmony protected their isle against those who would do them harm. Many conquerors had sailed on Naath to blood their swords, only to sicken and die. The butterflies do not help them when the slave ships come raiding, though. "I am going to take you home one day, Missandei," Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? "I swear it.” - Dany VI, ASoS

“Leave him be. The scales are balanced now. Let him go home." Dany pictured Jorah moving amongst old gnarled oaks and tall pines, past flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, and little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. She saw him entering a hall built of huge logs, where dogs slept by the hearth and the smell of meat and mead hung thick in the smoky air. "We are done for now," she told her captains.” - Dany VI, ASoS

“They could not feed him his own genitals. The Astapori left him neither root nor stem. "The Sons grow bolder," Dany observed. Until now, they had limited their attacks to unarmed freedmen, cutting them down in the streets or breaking into their homes under the cover of darkness to murder them in their beds. "This is the first of my soldiers they have slain.” - Dany I, ADwD

“Mossador. Dany made a fist. Missandei and her brothers had been taken from their home on Naath by raiders from the Basilisk Isles and sold into slavery in Astapor. Young as she was, Missandei had shown such a gift for tongues that the Good Masters had made a scribe of her. Mossador and Marselen had not been so fortunate. They had been gelded and made into Unsullied. "Have any of the murderers been captured?” - Dany II, ADwD

“Three freedmen, murdered in their homes," the Shavepate said. "A moneylender, a cobbler, and the harpist Rylona Rhee. They cut her fingers off before they killed her." - Dany II, ADwD

“As he loved you." Dany stroked the girl's hair. "Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.” - Dany II, ADwD

“Kisses came easier than sleep, however. Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this … but her thoughts kept turning back to Slaver's Bay, like ships caught in some bitter wind. When Missandei was sound asleep, Dany slipped from her arms and stepped out into the predawn air to lean upon the cool brick parapet and gaze out across the city. A thousand roofs stretched out below her, painted in shades of ivory and silver by the moon.” - Dany II, ADwD

“The truth … but truth was never welcome at that court. I walked from the throne room with my head high, though I did not know where I was going. I had no home but White Sword Tower. My cousins would find a place for me at Harvest Hall, I knew, but I had no wish to bring Joffrey's displeasure down upon them. I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert's pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me." - Dany II, ADwD

“The gift you begged of me in Qarth. Ships. There are thirteen galleys in the bay. Yours, if you will have them. I have brought you a fleet, to carry you home to Westeros.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Of him, little and less. These ships, though … Your Grace, with these ships we might be home before year's end."Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all. "Beware of Qartheen bearing gifts, especially merchants of the Thirteen. There is some trap here. Perhaps these ships are rotten, or …” - Dany III, ADwD

“It was good counsel. "Yes, make it so." Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother's voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Enough." Dany slapped the table. "No one will be left to die. You are all my people." Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. "I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Ser Barristan went to one knee before her. "My queen, your realm has need of you. You are not wanted here, but in Westeros men will flock to your banners by the thousands, great lords and noble knights. 'She is come,' they will shout to one another, in glad voices. 'Prince Rhaegar's sister has come home at last.” - Dany III, ADwD

“I am a sailor, not a shipwright. I was sent to fetch Your Grace back to Pentos. Instead you brought us here and tore my Saduleon to pieces for some nails and scraps of wood. I will never see her like again. I may never see my home again, nor my old wife. It was not me who refused the ships this Daxos offered. I cannot fight the Qartheen with fishing boats.” His bitterness dismayed her, so much so that Dany found herself wondering if the grizzled Pentoshi could be one of her three betrayers. No, he is only an old man, far from home and sick at heart. "There must be something we can do.” - Dany V, ADwD

“Ser Barristan will show you out." Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her.” - Dany VI, ADwD

“This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. "This blood is not mine. One of my serjeants said we should go over to the Yunkai'i, so I reached down his throat and pulled his heart out. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. One almost caught me, so I threw the heart into his face.” - Dany VI, ADwD

“Instead she slipped into a hooded robe and stepped out onto her terrace. She went to the parapet and stood there gazing down upon the city as she had done a hundred times before. It will never be my city. It will never be my home.” - Dany VII, ADwD

“He will give us these castrati, Dany thought, and then he will march home and make some more. The world is full of boys.” - Dany VIII, ADwD

“No." Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne's sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever. "Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home." - Dany VIII, ADwD

“Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world.” - Dany VIII, ADwD

“The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she'd been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. Scrub grass and thorny bushes covered its lower slopes; higher up a jagged tangle of bare rock thrust steep and sudden into the sky. There, amidst broken boulders, razor-sharp ridges, and needle spires, Drogon made his lair inside a shallow cave. He had dwelt there for some time, Dany had realized when she first saw the hill. The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him. Dany knew the lure of home.” - Dany X, ADwD

“And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.” - Dany X, ADwD  

“North they flew, beyond the river, Drogon gliding on torn and tattered wings through clouds that whipped by like the banners of some ghostly army. Dany glimpsed the shores of Slaver's Bay and the old Valyrian road that ran beside it through sand and desolation until it vanished in the west. The road home. Then there was nothing beneath them but grass rippling in the wind.” - Dany X, ADwD

“He boasts of bedding me, you mean. But Daario would not have been so foolish as to make such a boast amongst her enemies. It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai'i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.” - Dany X, ADwD

“Once she was certain which way was south, she counted off her paces. The stream appeared at eight. Dany cupped her hands to drink. The water made her belly cramp, but cramps were easier to bear than thirst. She had no other drink but the morning dew that glistened on the tall grass, and no food at all unless she cared to eat the grass. I could try eating ants. The little yellow ones were too small to provide much in the way of nourishment, but there were red ants in the grass, and those were bigger. "I am lost at sea," she said as she limped along beside her meandering rivulet, "so perhaps I'll find some crabs, or a nice fat fish." Her whip slapped softly against her thigh, wap wap wap. One step at a time, and the stream would see her home.” - Dany X, ADwD

“The day grew warmer, and the sun beat down upon her head and the burnt remnants of her hair. Water splashed against the soles of her feet. She was walking in the stream. How long had she been doing that? The soft brown mud felt good between her toes and helped to soothe her blisters. In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.Except it wouldn't, not truly. Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.” - Dany X, ADwD

“For home. Home was all I ever wanted.” - Dany X, ADwD

#daenerys targaryen #quote dump #A Song of Ice and Fire #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls

[nodynasty4us]

From the June 17, 2020 essay:

R.W. Apple Jr.’s assessment of Biden’s 1987 candidacy chose an apt metaphor to describe what went wrong: “In the early stages of a courtship, transgressions can be fatal, but in a well-rooted marriage, they may be quickly forgiven; so it is in politics. Almost the first things many voters learned about Mr. Biden, aside from his good looks and articulateness, was that he had done things that most people consider a bit questionable at best.” In other words, Biden may have been familiar to Washington. But the senator from Delaware wasn’t broadly popular, or an especially known quantity, in the rest of America.

Biden is now in just such a “marriage” with many American voters—thanks in no small part to his long tenure in the Senate and his close association with President Barack Obama. He’s a household name. But as he comes under at least as much scrutiny for his moral character as for his politics, 33 years later, we can see two things: 1) that Trump has badly distorted—perhaps beyond recognition—our ability to properly judge the issue of moral personal behavior in American politics; and 2) that we can learn a lot about how Biden himself thinks about the character question by seeing how it played out when he presided over the 1991 Clarence Thomas hearings.

... a former Biden intern described Biden’s commitment to the theoretical separation of private and public selves at this crucial moment in 1987: “I saw Mr. Biden struggle to focus the hearings on Judge Bork’s judicial philosophy rather than his private life, in the face of overwhelming political pressure from interest groups on the left. … He did everything in his power to resist the collapse of boundaries.”...

...

What emerges from all this, it seems to me, is a portrait of a man perceptive enough to articulate changing mores even if he privately resists them. Biden wants to be good, works very hard to look good, and squints very hard to try to make nice and good mean the same thing. But given the choice between exposing a fellow insider’s questionable conduct or withholding that information from the public he ostensibly represents, Biden protected the insider. Faced with the assassination of Anita Hill’s character (which was happening in real time, under his watch) and the potential assassination of Thomas’, he protected Thomas and not Hill. Biden prioritized the preservation of the insider’s reputation over the public’s right to know.

...

I have been reading up on Biden ... for obvious reasons—to better understand who Biden was before he was reinvented, during Obama’s presidency, as a warm and frank “Uncle Joe” whose gaffes are part of his charm. This last snapshot is the muscular public image on which his well-rooted marriage to the American public is based. Looking back a few decades doesn’t just reveal a great deal more about who Biden was—it illustrates how the American conversation around what we expect from public officials developed too. I understand why Biden wants to remain laser-focused only on his history since helping to pass the Violence Against Women Act. ...

...

 The public’s answers to these questions have oscillated. Bill Clinton’s impeachment trial, for instance, was a Republican effort to make “character” sink a president, but it didn’t work out that way. Even as, according to polling, Americans became more skeptical of whether the president had “high moral and ethical standards,” they still supported his presidency and the roaring economy that buttressed it. Many said they didn’t care what Clinton did in his personal life provided he did his job.

 More recently, Donald Trump has thrown a much larger wrench into these fine distinctions. And indeed, the upcoming election, between two men who have weathered—even broken—the character question, may mark another drastic shift in how we consider it.

...“character” might have run its course as a decisive issue in American politics. There are too many tangible emergencies. There is a pandemic. Forty million Americans have filed jobless claims. More than 100,000 people who were alive three months ago are dead. Black people are being killed on video with little to no accountability while the president defends Confederate monuments and generals. Despite the dangers, the streets are wild with people’s desperation and unhappiness. In the middle of all of this, Biden is deploying one of his unique strengths—his empathy, born from the many familial tragedies he’s suffered through while in politics. America is grieving right now, and Joe Biden is good at grief.        

He is also, arguably, using the character issue to reroute Americans’ character concerns into institutional questions. When Biden says “character is on the ballot,” the line isn’t about his character as much as it is about the moral character of America. His campaign is not personality-driven. At this particular point in history, that lack of emphasis on the self may be a welcome change.

#joe biden #donald trump #richard nixon #character