Hmmmmm………..Sonic OC’s but SATBK/Medieval au………thinking a little……..

the things we do for love

summary: Aemma Velaryon is the daughter of the Princess Rhaenyra and betrothed to Aemond Targaryen. Their young love blinds them to the bitterness between their families, but slowly their fantasy begins to unravel with time. How did the purest of love turn into such bitter hatred?

5. two sides of the same coin Eight years on from that fateful night in Driftmark, Aemond decides to spend his night in a brothel. Aemma preforms her first execution.

(i’m changing the timeline to build up the tension more. set before episode 8)

masterlist

word count: 4440

warnings: 18+ mention of gore and violence. heavy sexual references. medieval period misogyny. dark!aemond and dark!aemma. you don't survive the game of thrones being nice. read at your own discretion. aemond has an interesting approach to attraction.

Aemond knew he must look like a dull cunt right now. His whole family in fact, must all look like dull cunts. His father and mother stood side by side in the middle of the balcony as their children flanked them. Aegon and Helaena stood by their miserable looking father while Aemond stood tall beside his dutiful mother. The men below were marching to their impending death while the family stood in their silks and their golds and waved them off. 

“Could you please try and smile Aemond? You are meant to be thanking these men for going to war under our banner.” Alicent did not take her eyes from the army marching below, nor did she lower her hand the slightest, but she simply knew her son stood straight faced with hardly any movement to his wave. It was a ridiculous question because Alicent could not remember the last time she had seen her precious boy smile.   

“Hmm.” He hummed, yet his entire self-remained unchanged. He hardly waved, and he stared at the crowd with nothing but impatience and pity. He was only there at his mother’s command. Aemond had spent his years growing into a dutiful and devoted son to Queen Alicent, but he could not care less for his weak father. Viserys losing his first daughter when she fled with her bastard family almost eight years ago seemingly broke the frail man, and it seemed he would never recover from the heartbreak. Rhaenyra had run away with her tail between her whore legs and her pack of mutts gladly ran at her heels. Aemond despised the whole lot of them. He was happy to have no contact with any of them in the last eight years. He did not think of them at all. Not even one. He hated his bastard nephew’s Jace and Luke just as much as he hated their cousins Baela and Rhaena. His immoral sister and her depraved husband Daemon were nothing more than dirt under this family's foot and Aemond would not even give any thought to the illegitimate cunt of a daughter Aemma. If the two families ever did end up waring against one another, Aemond desperately craved it to be him that gets the revenge that is so rightfully his.  He does not like to think about it for to long for those people are too far below him to even dwell upon.  

Aemond Targaryen was notorious for his off-putting auror. Many found themselves moving in the other direction when they noticed the prince stalking around the castle, and others would lower their gaze in fear that he would notice them. His skills with a sword were praised throughout the seven kingdom and his dedication to his family was well known. It seemed he did not smile nor was ever seen dancing or enjoying any type of festivities. The prince did not enjoy conversing with anyone longer than need me and seemed uninterested in any and all who approached him. He did not care for the women who tried to seduce him or the men who tried to impress him. Instead, he focused on his learnings and trained himself to be fierce fighter. The day he lost an eye, Aemond changed.  

“Come, my dear son. Let us have some tea with Helaena. If you are so against us throwing a feast for your name-day, surely you can entertain your mother and sister to afternoon tea.” As the parade ended, and his family shifted away to go about their day, he allowed his mother to link her arm around his and lead him towards her rooms. Since his thirteenth name day, Aemond hated celebrating this dreaded occasion and had forced his family to halt the banquets and balls that were meant to honour him. From the corner of his eye, he watched Helaena glide around them while humming a tune. She glowed bright, untainted by the ambitious streak that flowed through the Hightower veins. Sometimes, in the most silent part of the night, Aemond wandered what it would feel like. 

“You are very quiet today brother?” She giggled, knowing full well her younger brother is a man of few words. Her jest was out of love, unlike the one’s that often left Aegon’s disturbed mouth. The harassment from his brother was yet to disappear, but now Aemond knew himself more powerful than the useless man. He would tell no one, but Aemond cried for his sister when she was forced to marry their cruel brother. Her spirit seemed to never waver however, making Aemond admire his gentle sister. Alicent had wept to Aemond many times over the guilt she felt from the match when she was too many wines deep, but Aemond would never criticise. Perhaps the duty he felt towards his mother was too intense, but she had defended Aemond in his worst moments. He would never forget that. He strived to be the son she craved, and the son that Aegon would never be.  

“I have nothing to discuss.” His reply was curt, and most would have been deterred, but Helaena simply laughed and wrapped her arms around him. He was a year younger than her, but his height had surpassed her long ago and she found her neck aching if she stood too long in his presence.  

“Nothing to discuss. You are a man of twenty years now! Surely you have some tales.” Aemond had not left the city unless it be to perform his royal duties with his family, his tales were the same as the rest. 

“Come my darlings. It seems even little Daeron wanted to celebrate!” Alicent cooed as she opened the doors to her room and saw her youngest child rolling around the ground limply as entertainment. He was only four, but Aemond went bitter with distaste for the childish tactics of his brother.  

“All we are missing is Aegon.” Helaena smiled, but Aemond saw the light fade in her eyes for a few seconds.  

“Thank the seven for that.” Aemond smirked as it was his turn to wrap his arms around her. In the privacy of these quarters, Aemond allowed himself to relax, if only a tiny bit. She instantly lit up and giggled at her brother’s straightforwardness. Alicent simply clicked her tongue as she ushered her children to the table that she had the servants set up.  

“Hush Aemond. Do not disrespect your brother. He was not feeling well, he has taken to bed.” Alicent knew that he was well, but she would never allow herself to utter what Aegon was most likely up to. Especially not in front of his pure and wholesome wife. Aemond clenched his fists as he was well aware Aegon had most likely taken some unsuspecting maid to his chambers. He would have called out that his brother was a cunt, but he could not do that before his mother and sister, so he instead sat down with a grunt of acknowledgement.  

“I shall say a prayer!” Helaena smiled and Alicent looked encouraging at her daughter. Aemond closed his eye, but he had long ago given up on any idea of higher beings. It was simply for his mother’s sake that he put on his little show of faith.  

“Grapes.” Daeron squealed on Alicent’s lap. Aemond would have rolled his eye if it were open.  

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May my dear brother live another year of health and happiness. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long for I wish dearly to see my cousins once more. I miss them. We all do. Amen.” Perhaps it was because Helaena had not been disturbed on the fateful night that Aemond had his eye taken or she cherished her memories of her youth too much, it seemed no matter how hard her family tried to explain the feud between their families, Helaena longed to see everyone together. Aemond had to hold her the day of her wedding when she found out Rhaenyra and her children would not be in attendance. Her tears gave Aemond more reason to loath the brutes.  

“Thank you, Helaena.” Alicent shifted uncomfortable as she looked towards Aemond. She knew any mention of that family, no matter how small, affected him. All in court knew not to bring it up, and the mention of Princess Aemma Velaryon would have grave consequences. Aemond met her gaze with a straight face, not allowing the thoughts to enter his mind. He was here to enjoy his time with arguably the only two people he cared for in this world. Thoughts of knives and stolen youths would not tarnish that. 

“Quite a set up mother.” Aemond looked at the table that was covered in an array of fruits and cakes, partnered with different pots of tea. It was too much for three people but visually it looked grand. 

“Only the best to celebrate your name day my son. I do wish you would let me hold a feast for the lords to pay their respects to you as well.” Alicent sighed as the servants around them began dishing out portions. Aemond did not feel the need to respond to the comment. Instead, he sat and listened as the two women shared mindless conversation while interjecting with small noises of confirmation or snarky remarks. The two women were just glad to have Aemond sitting with them. It was a two-hour ordeal before a knock at the door alerted Alicent that she needed to attend to her husband, who quickly bid her farewells and ushered herself away quickly.  

“Thank you for coming today brother.” Helaena smiled as she hugged her brother farewell. She was aware he would spend his days in the training yard or a top Vhagar until he was summoned to duty again. Aemond craved his space, and everyone knew not to intrude when he was alone.  

“It was a pleasure.” He smiled back at his sister, but it always seemed to come out as a grimace. It seemed he had spent his years frowning and glaring making the muscles forget how to stretch into a genuine sign of affection. 

“Aegon wished for me to remind you to meet him tonight at the usual spot. He said something about an annual tradition?” She looked curiously at her brother but knew whatever she had been referring to instantly closed her brother off to any more affection. 

“Our brother can rot.” 

+++ 

 Aemond hated himself as his feet guided him to the small archway hidden inside the kitchens. It had been hours since he had cursed his brother, yet here he was following the instructions. He knew where Aegon was taking him. It would be the same place he had been taking him since Aemond celebrated turning ten and three. As hard as he tried, he never denied his brother's commands.  

“Ah brother! You are early! Keen for your celebrations!” Aegon loud voice boomed around the empty chamber making Aemond flinch. Seeing his brother casually leaning against the archway with a grin made Aemond’s stomach churn in disgust. 

“Lower your voice you fool. You shall alert the entire castle.” Aemond hissed, glaring hard as Aegon quickly ran his fingers over his lips, mock sealing them. They rushed ahead with their hoods covering their face and their cloaks hiding them from any prying eyes. If word was to get back to their mother of these indiscretions, Aemond would never forgive himself.  

“I have made sure a very special surprise awaits you brother. One I’m sure you will find quite fulfilling.” Aegon promised with glee as he almost skipped down the filthy streets. Every turn someone was offering all types of services, and the constant touch of people rubbing up on Prince Aemond was almost too much. He could not understand the delight his older brother got from visiting this hell every night. The one night a year Aemond spent here was enough to last him a lifetime. 

“I am sure it shall be the same as every other gift you have promised me.” Aemond growled, annoyed by his brother already. 

“Oh, I don’t think it will dear brother.” The rest of the journey was Aegon talking out loud to Aemond who tried his hardest to ignore every syllable to fall from his vile mouth. When they finally made it to their destination, Aemond was nauseas by the sight. His nostrils were filled with the scent of sweat, alcohol and vomit that swirled in the air while his ears were overcome with the sounds of moans and grunts. He tried hard to repress the shiver that went down his spine at slapping of skin he could hear from behind the closed doors. In the corner he watched as a lord from his father’s council forced a woman to her knees just so he could shove himself in her mouth. Aemond was repulsed by the way nothing seemed sacred in places like this. He cursed his brother once more. 

“Back again my King.” Aemond spun in shock at the treasonous words, but Aegon simply cried out a laugh before pulling the woman closer.  

“You think I could stay away from this for too long.” He growled as he pushed his face into her bare breasts making her squeal in delight. Aemond almost threw up. Turning on his heel, he moved to find somewhere to stay as far away from his brother as possible, but Aegon reached out and grabbed him.  

“I’m sorry! I forgot how uptight you are. Here let me introduce you. This is Lyanna. She is my very special friend. This my prudish brother Aemond. He is a bore!” Aegon introduced them and Aemond kept his eye on her face as she curtsied.  

“My Prince. I have heard much about you.” She uttered the words as if she knew a secret making his skin crawl. Aemond did not reply. 

“Come brother, be nice. Lyanna has been kind enough to help me set up your gift.” Aegon slapped his brother’s back before pulling him forward to follow the whore. Aemond tried to keep his eyes front but every now and then he would catch site of women beckoning him into their rooms, or a door would be open to show different lords lying flat on the beds as women bounced upon their cock. Aemond felt nothing but revulsion. He cursed himself that even after all these years, a small part of him was still desperate to gain his brother’s respect. 

“This will be your room for the night my prince.” Lyanna grabbed a hold of Aemond’s hand and placed it on the handle. He looked at both in boredom. 

“Is my surprise a whore again brother? Who would have thought?” 

“Not just any whore, dear brother. Open the door!” He was bouncing with delight and when the door was not opened, Aegon took it upon itself to swing the door open and push his brother in. Before them stood a woman, bare of any clothes, except for a necklace hanging from her delicate neck. Aemond was at a loss for words. It was normal for a whore to reside in these rooms, and it was a gift that Aegon had organized many times, but her long silver hair that shined in the candlelight shocked Aemond. 

“A Targaryen?” The answer was obvious, but Aemond stood unmoving in astonishment. She kept her eyes lowered but began running her hands up and down her smooth skin, squeezing and tugging ever so often. 

“Yes! It seems our dear Uncle Daemon left you a gift when he used to visit these streets many years ago.” Aegon could not contain his excitement and once Aemond got over his astonishment, he quickly became confused. 

“And why would this give me joy brother?” He frowned. Aegon nodded to Lyanna to leave the room before beckoning the girl before them. She slowly walked forward with her eyes downcast and a smirk playing on her lips. Aemond almost sliced his brother’s throat when he saw the dark sapphire that was engraved into the whore’s necklace. It was an exact replica from one he dreamed about every night. When Aegon reached up to her shoulders and turned her so that she had her back to the brother’s, Aemond was mortified when he realised the intention. His shame grew as he felt himself twitch in his pants as he gazed at the smooth skin and silver locks that fell to halfway down her back. 

“Do not think I do not know what you hide under your eyepatch brother. Do not think I do not know what you desire most you fucked up bastard.” Aegon looked like he had won a battle, his face overcome with pride at himself. When his brother did not reply, he left the room and closed the door to the outside world. Aemond could not help himself as he reached out and grazed his fingers across the skin of her neck.  

“You will hold your tongue about this.” He whispered; his one eye wider than it had ever been. 

“Anything for you, my prince.” She did not look at him, and Aemond was grateful. Stepping forward with caution, he let himself press his nose into her hair. It smelt dirty and felt coarse, nothing like the floral scents he remembered from long ago. He let himself drown in the memory of her. The woman before him was his own canvas as he slowly tugged her head to the side by her hair. She let out a moan at the contact making Aemond swallow thickly. 

“Aemma.” Her name was whispered like a prayer. 

+++ 

Across the sea, in the war-torn area of the Stepstones, Aemma Velaryon was trying not to allow her shaking hands to be seen. It was important to hide this weakness and stand strong before her army. She knew they looked to her as a leader, and their leader could not be weak.  

“You do not need to do this today sweet Aemma. It is something to learn for another day.” Her grandfather muttered as he turned his back to the crowd to make sure no one saw him speak. Corlys did not wish for what was about to happen, but the other generals were adamant that it was time for Aemma to prove herself worthy of her position.  

“It must be done. I would need to do it sooner or later. It is my duty.” She kept her eyes forward and let herself straight her back. Looking towards the guard to the left, she gave him a nod of confirmation.  

“MAKE WAY FOR THE PRISONER!” He screamed the order as the sea of soldiers parted before her and four guards dragged forward a man. Aemma stood above them all on a hill, high enough that all could see her, but close enough that they could hear her words. She tried to focus on the sound of the ocean around them and closed her eyes as the breeze washed over her, coating her skin in the salty spray. For a split second she found herself a top the dunes in Driftmark eight years ago. The moment was fleeting, and the thought perished as she turned back to face her oncoming duty. The prisoner was stumbling as he was dragged forward, crying as he was thrown at her feet. 

“Have mercy Princess! Please have mercy!” His whole body shook and Aemma guessed him to be the same age as herself, perhaps even younger. She tried not to look into his eyes as she began speaking. 

“BRON HOLLARD, YOU STAND BEFORE US, FOUND GUILTY OF THE HIGHEST TREASON.” Aemma’s voice was firm and loud, making sure everyone heard. “YOU ABANDONED YOUR POST AND ALLOWED OUR ENEMIES TO GAIN MORE LAND FROM US DUE TO YOUR COWADICE. YOU GAVE UP ON YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR BROTHERS, YOUR PEOPLE AND YOU FLED.”  

“Please mercy Princess Aemma. I was scared. Please!” 

“I AEMMA VELARYON, PRINCESS OF THE HOUSE TARGARYEN, HEIR TO THE IRON THONE AND COMMANDER OF THIS LEGION, A DRAGONRIDER OF VELARYON BLOOD, SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH BY BEHEADING.” Bron cried out and moved to clasp onto Aemma’s feet but was pulled back by the guards.  

“Bring forward the executioner.” One of the Lords’ declared.  

“No.” Aemma stopped them.  

“I shall do it myself.” Corlys went to grab his granddaughter but was stopped by her guard Sir Rodrick Bolten. The knight looked longingly at the girl he had devoted himself to protect, but Aemma was oblivious. 

“It was decided by the other Lords. It is to prove she will not look away.” He muttered. Corlys shook him off but knew to stay silent. He watched as his granddaughter clenched her sword, unwavering. He mourned the loss of the innocent girl that used to follow him around, desperate to learn the knowledge behind becoming a leader. The soldiers looked at her with respect. 

“Please.” Bron cried softly this time, his one last plea, but it did nothing for his cause. When Aemma swung her sword, and his head rolled off in one clean sweep, the crowd cheered. The traitor was dead, and Aemma had proven herself strong enough to lead this war. 

“Come Princess. Let us clean that blood.” Sir Rodrick looked down at the Princess who was now sprayed with the blood of her kill. She kept her eyes forward, before turning on her own accord. She left her grandfather and her guard to trail behind her and gave no notice to the men who bowed as she passed. It wasn’t until her they entered the main tent that she allowed her Corlys to place a hand on her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her forehead and she allowed herself to breathe again. 

“It had to be done. I am proud.” He muttered as he took in Aemma’s emotionless state. The other generals burst through, laughing and mimicking the last words of the poor boy.  

“Enough!” Aemma ordered as they began to huddle around the table. “It is time to plan the next attack. We are losing this war. We need to discuss the next strategy.”  

They did discuss, for six long hours, and not once did Aemma move to clean the now dried blood splattered over her. Her commands were firm and her ideas more strategic than what most men were putting forward. Some whispered that she had inherited her taste for war from her true father Prince Daemon. None were brave enough to say it before the princess, for they had seen the repercussions of such a treasonous comment.  

“We have... a delicate matter to discuss.” One lord shifted as he grabbed the attention of the table. “It seems King Viserys has decided to cut the funds by half that he was using on this war.” The table erupted with nervous chatter and Aemma looked at Corlys from the corner of her eye. He was looking back with the same weary look. 

“By how much?” She questions as she placed her palms face down on the maps before the. AT that very moment Terrax, her now much larger dragon roared in the distant making the men flinch. Aemma did not break eye contact. 

“Half.” The lord could not look her in the eye and the rest began cursing. It would be impossible to continue this war with that amount of money. It had already been cut only weeks before. Aemma cursed, but she knew this was not the king who wished this. 

“And what was his reasoning?” She hissed and most men could no longer look at princess. Her anger was that of a dragon. 

“The royal family have taken to... redecorating their castle.” The curses grew louder as one man threw his hands down to shake the table. 

“This is the work of The Hand.” Her grandfather boiled with rage beside Aemma, and she inhaled as her frustration could not be contained. The vicious pack of cunts that was the Hightower's were a meddling pack of fools. The debate grew as different suggestions were put forward, but Aemma knew there was only one answer. Her grandfather Viserys still harboured great love for his granddaughter and wrote her letters whenever his health allowed. Aemma never found time to respond. She could not find it in herself to be the one to suggest. 

“Princess Aemma and I shall have to fly to King’s Landing. We will petition him as his kin. He will not deny us.” Corlys was firm and left no room for discussion. Aemma knew she was in no position to fight against it, and simply nodded. She would just be sure to stay clear of the Queen, who had sworn to take her eye those many years ago and remain hidden from her uncles. The thought of seeing Aemond made her sick. Aemma would stay no more than necessary.  

“Perhaps you can make the journey alone?” Aemma gritted her teeth as the tension around the table grew.  

“Your grandfather will respond to your pleas more. You know this.” 

“I believe his wife threatened to take my eye the last time she saw me. How shall she respond? How shall her miserable cunt of a son respond when he is faced with the woman who marred his face?” She felt her hand ghost over the blade that was strapped to her hip. She tried hard to repress the familiar screams that echoed inside her mind. 

“Gods be good...” 

“No harm will come to you. I would promise it, but we all know you are more than capable of fighting granddaughter. I am sure the family will know not to come close. It is time we take to beds. We cannot win this war if we are exhausted.” 

 The matter was settled, and the princess spun on her heel and strode away without so much as a look at any of those men. She did not bid her grandfather goodnight as she often did for she wanted him to understand the hell that he was going to force upon her. She had spent these years forcing herself to lock away the memories of her youth and it seemed she had only just stopped waking up screaming from the sight of a bloodied eye socket. Rumours of the foulness of that family plagued the camp and their ruthless taste for power repulsed Aemma.  

She lied awake all night, distraught knowing she would face those ghosts so soon.  

“I will take your eye! I will make sure your debt is paid!” 

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Because, That's How The Stories Always Go

Count this a prolog, or a self contained tragedy.

An adventuring party lead by the fated hero of this land trecked across the scorched earth beneath the red moonlight. The smell of rot and char and burned blood filled the searing air between the cragly cliff faces. Twisted roots and branches, now more charcoal than wood caught on their clothes and gear as they pushed on ward down this path towards their shared destinies. The cracking and snapping as each delicate piece of destruction as it fell from its trunk joined the marching footsteps through the cinder and ash.

Twisted approximations of people and animals shambled in the distance, barely hidden by the thick, putrid yellow of the sulphurous smog that drifted from cracks in the ground. The Villain's influence burned all around them and twisted the world and everything in it to match his hellish nature.

This was once an idealic place, a sprawling verdant valley with a beautiful white stone castel at its center. That was where the princess, the beautiful and noble future queen of this land, had been sent to keep her safe from the encroaching vile destruction rought at The Demons Kings hands. Only for his forces to have invaded this land and taken her hostage as a putrid bid for power.

They had demanded that the true and righteous king give up the land their bile had seeped into in exchange for his only child's life. In bloody ink and spat words The Villain had threatened to kill her and feed her to the the six eyed bull-wolf monster that stood at his right hand, or crueler yet, to make her the beasts wife, or perhaps even his own if he was feeling particularly mean, if his demented demands were not met.

The Hero and his party trudged onward, ever closer to the center of this plight. To the princess, to her captor, to the Villain of this story. Unbeknownst to them though, their every step was being watched by the burning crows that cawed and croaked overhead, their ruby eyes cutting through the smog to track every step.

---

The Villain watched from within his throne room, the simple dark metal hand mirror that acted as his view to this scene was clutched tight in his white knuckle grip. He kept his sholders square as he watched the march, his face neautral, but he knew what was coming.

His hands shook, his gut turned itself inside out, the fire that ran in his veins seemingly died and left him cold to his very core.

He flicked his wrist to change the view, a final check over of everything he'd built. His people cowered from the path they had suspected the Hero and his party would take, their store rooms were full, their defenses ready. The Villain tried to unclench hks jaw, they were all so scared. They were all in so much danger.

He had to protect them. That was what he promised to do. To keep them safe from a world that scorned their ilk. He had failed so spectacularly. How many had died to protect this infant kingdom? How many had nobly, foolishly, bravely, stood between The Hero and The Villain? How many had been slain? How many would be in the aftermath of this? Would there be another cull? How many parents would live just long enough to see their children die?

They were in danger, and it was his fault. He wasn't strong enough, or clever enough. He wasn't enough to keep them safe.

But, maybe, just maybe he could buy them time. Allow another fire wrought ruler to take his place as protector. To keep them all alive just a little bit longer.

A hand, Heavy and bulky rested on his shoulder, only his thick cape kept it from being burned as his turmoil made his skin glow with searing heat.

"Minion," The Villain said as he set aside the mirror, turning to look at the goliath of a monster he called his best friend, "Promise me something," His own hand came to rest on the back of Minion's, spindly stark ash white fingers that were barely cool enough to stand, against shiny and thick black and rust red fur,

"Anything," Minion said without thought, "But know I am bad at promises," His voice was heavy, a deep baritone that rumbled through his chest, carryimg the sorrow that was held their out with it,

"Be a better king than I was," his own voice was cold, all the fire gone from it. He had done his mourning alone in his private rooms earlier, with one of Minion's shirts clutched tight to his chest. Now he just needed to be strong one last time,

"You ask impossible things of me," Minion snorted his almost pitch black eyes found the Villain's fire blues, "I can stay, We could fight them together-" he was always earnest, but now the force behind his conviction could burn hotter than even The Villain could,

"Then we would both be killed, and I would spend my last moments grieving," Villain sighed. He's seen his friend fall to those heros too many times to have any hope that he would survive another encounter. Villain wouldn't allow his own selfish desire to not be alone while facing his execution be what kills Minion.

Villain pulls his hand away, before slowly reaching with both to remove the crown from his head.

It was a circle of twistend and melted sword blades that he had forged for himself when he declared himself future king of this land, blood drenched and victorious. The tarnish on its surface evaporated as it turned red then white hot. The hard metal melting in his heated hands as he shaped it. The circle had fit him perfectly, it would sit nicely just behind his horns as a twisted accent to them. But it would have been far too small for Minion's skull. So he bent and twisted it until it was perfect again, now a half circle that could rest above his broad horns without interfering with his bovine ears or the pair of eyes that sat the highest on his face.

"Take this and go to your people, my friend, give them my apologies and your strength," He spoke while he finalized the shape, "If you do not think you can be a better king than I, then at least promise to be one that sees happier times and many, many more years," He took a breath before turning to look his friend in the eye, "Now kneel for me one last time,"

Minion's breath was choppy as silent oily tears stained the sides of his muzzle. Still, he knelt before the throne with his head bowed, not another word passing between his fangs. Even like this, hunched forward on one knee, he was almost a full hand taller than Villain.

Villain sapped the heat from the crown, setting it into its new shape and cooling it enough to not burn as it was placed, "The land shall recognize its new king," he set it between Minion's horns, his hands hesitating for a moment before drifting from the now cold metal to cup the sides of Minion's face, the fur here beneath his six eyes was silk beneath the former king's fingers.

Memories flooded him of the days spent with a pair of scissors between them as they tried to tame the thick beard that seemed determined to make a home here against Minion's wishes, and the laughter as they struggled to clean up the choppy edges, and the unavoidable bald spots that always cropped up do to Minion's inability to sit still, and Villain's imprecision.

"The people shall love you as much as I do," He brushed the tears away as Minion shook with a barely contained sob.

How many times have they spoken their love to each other? Whispers of desire hidden behind their genuine and iron strong friendship,

"You shall be victorious in all you attempt," Villain guided his friend to lean forward just enough for Villain to press a barely there kiss to the top of his snout as he passed on his final blessing before stepping away,

"Go now, go to your people and keep them safe. When you return… Let someone else handle the mess you will find, I couldn't bare to know I left you to sob over my corpse," Villain said, he sat the throne again, decidedly careful to look anywhere other than the hulking and devastated beast before him. He needed to be strong. He couldn't cry. Not now, not ever again.

Eventually Minion stood, his hooves scraping against the stone floors, "Rest well, when it happens." He said with shaky words, "You will be remembered, I will make sure of it," with that final promise he turned and left. Only stopping at the door to say one last thing before shutting the Villain in this tomb, "I love you,"

The door shut, the sound echoing theough the room like a thunder clap as the Villain's composure broke. He wiped at his eyes, furious with the hot red streaks that were surely staining his skin. No, no, no.

He needed to be strong. He needed to do this. He couldn't break now. Couldn't run to Minion and sob into the fur on his friends chest. Villain was always going to die. He was always going to be defeated by his fated enemy. But still, fear pulled at every inch of him.

He sobbed into his hands, staining his palms blood red. He had everything he ever wanted. A kingdom that was thriving, people that respected him, friends, a home, someone that he'd carve his own heart out for. And none of that mattered.

Because He would be dead before sunrise.

Because, thats how the stories always go.

Fic idea: Everyone finds out that Remus isn't as bad as they think he is, he's actually really nice, he just can't help saying whatever comes to mind. He'd never actually act on it. But Roman? The Prince everyone believed was Netflix Kids and Family? He has his own spot in the imagination simply to taste out the ideas Remus blurts out.

Basically, this is that one AU where they’re all friends, things are exaggerated for videos and they all actually get along okay? Okay (also no pairings hope you don’t mind)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, mention of corpses and bones, there’s nothing graphic in this one but lmk if I need to add anything!

Masterpost 

———————————-

Patton needed to find Roman, wanting to ask him if Roman could help him bake. None of the other sides wanted to/were busy with other tasks. So after checking the entire mind palace and not finding Roman, he left to the one place Roman could be.

The Imagination.

The door to the Imagination opened up on two paths. One was towards Roman’s land, a magnificent castle standing in the distance(Patton found it odd it was black, but it did make the castle look more dramatic, so he guessed that’s what Roman was going for) and the other was Remus’s land, which made Patton shudder even glancing at it, seeing the piles of either corpses or bones.

He walked along the path to Roman’s castle. The path finally shifted away from Remus’s domain, the ground becoming littered with vibrant flowers being tended to by villagers. A few did a double-take when Patton strolled by, before shaking their heads and getting back to work. No one made an attempt to stop or talk to Patton, and he didn’t want to disrupt their concentration.

Finally, Patton arrived at the castle. One of the guards stopped Patton on his way, briefly giving Patton a once over and frowning at the other guard. The other shrugged.

“His Majesty said this one was the bubbly dad of them. I doubt he’d mind.”

“You don’t have weapons, do you?”

Patton shook his head. The guards exchanged another glance, before stepping out of Patton’s way.

“Make sure to get all the mud off your shoes before you go too far in though, his Majesty doesn’t like the floors being dirty.”

Patton beamed. “Alright! Um, where can I find his uh… His Majesty?” Patton asked just as he passed them. The first guard that had stopped him pointed down the long, seemingly never-ending hallway. “Should be in the throne room, it’s the tenth door down this hallway and on the right.”

“Thank you!” Patton chirped before walking further into the castle(after wiping his shoes- it made sense Roman wouldn’t want mud in his beautiful castle). He followed the guard’s instructions, counting the doors as he walked by. Patton was surprised by the paintings on the wall though- all depicted battlefields or executions or weird creatures he had never seen. Patton shook his head. Roman did enjoy a good dramatic final battle. Maybe that’s what all those were.

Patton pushed open the tenth door on his left, and it swung open easily. He stopped in his tracks though when he saw Remus on the throne, not Roman, and the Dragon Witch sitting on the floor nearby reading some scrolls to Remus, reports or sounded like.

Remus looked away from his advisor at the sound of the door and his face lit up. “Patton! I didn’t expect to see you here!” Remus jumped out of his seat and the dragon witch rolled her eyes. “What brings you here anyway?”

“Um- I was looking for Roman? Why are you here and not him?”

Remus tilted his head. “This is my kingdom, I kinda need to run it.”

Patton furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Yeah! It’s my kingdom! Roman rules the other land.” Remus suddenly gasped. “Oh my God! I need to show you around! You’ve never been to the Imagination, have you? Well, when Roman and I are in our separate kingdoms at least. I should check up on what he’s doing- Hey Hope!”

Remus turned back to the dragon witch as she finished cleaning up her scrolls. She raised a brow. “Can you let Roman know I’m bringing Patton over after I show him my kingdom, or maybe send Kyle over if you have other things? I know he can handle the stuff Roman’s been playing with.”

Hope grimaced slightly. “I think I’ll send Kyle.” As she left, she smiled warmly at Patton and Remus. “Have fun touring the kingdom.” And then she was gone down the hall.

“Wait- you’re telling me- so that… Um. How do I not be mean about the other land?” Patton asks, growing very hesitant and nervous. He didn’t want to insult the other land.

Remus shrugged. “I don’t think you can be mean. Roman works very hard over there! We had a sort of agreement that if I gave him ideas he’d leave my kingdom alone, and it gave me an outlet for my thoughts.”

Patton nearly sighed in relief. Nearly. “So those are your ideas?”

“Yep! Well, most of them. I know Roman comes up with a few by himself when he’s frustrated. I don’t like acting on them though.”

“Why not?” Patton followed Remus out of the throne room, taking in how Remus looked a bit more regal here than he did in the mind palace. “I mean, I don’t want to be rude, but uh… I figured you would be all for torturing and murdering creatures?”

Remus shook his head, opening a door further down the hall and waiting for Patton to go inside first. He did, and Remus closed the door to the garden once he entered.

“I would never harm anything! Not intentionally. I can’t help my intrusive thoughts. I had to accept that.” He let Patton explore the massive garden as he spoke. “Plus, the people here are my creations! My children! It’d be as if you murdered one of us sides!”

Patton shuddered at the thought. “My point exactly,” Remus said, before shrugging. “Besides, Ronan is still Roman. You finding out that his kingdom is actually the more gruesome of us two shouldn’t change your opinion of him.”

“I don’t think of him differently!” Patton whipped his head around at the slight accusation. “I just…”

“Didn’t think Roman had it in him?”

Patton hummed, nodding. “I didn’t expect it. He was always so…. So… Harmless, I think? Like, he wouldn’t actually hurt one of us? Or Thomas.”

Remus frowned, leaning on a hedge. “He wouldn’t hurt either of you. Sure, sometimes he’ll grind up a figment that looks like one of us other sides into a smoothie or toss us in a wood chipper, but those are all figments of the imagination to relieve his stress. He still comes up with his normal, boring as fuck fairy tales, but he can like testing out my ideas if he wants.”

Patton took a moment to soak in Remus’s words.

“You’re certain he won’t hurt us? Even if you say something about us getting hurt?”

“Absolutely. You’re talking to the pure honest side, Patton. I wouldn’t lie to you about Roman.” Remus glanced up at the few storm clouds starting to form. “Maybe I should get Kyle and tell him to let Roman know another day. I don’t think you could actually handle seeing the stuff in there just yet.”

Patton hugged himself. “Not really.”

“Okay one sec.”

Remus summoned what appeared to be another scroll, as well as a normal pen and scribbled something onto the paper before making it vanish.

“What were you doing here anyway? I don’t think I asked.”

“Oh, uh…” Patton raked his brain. Why had he come here again? “Oh! Right! I wanted to ask Roman if he would help me bake. But if he’s busy I can always do it by myself. Unless you wanna help?”

Remus laughed. “Dee banned me from cooking anything for the next century. But if you want help decorating whatever it is you’re making, I can help!”

Patton smiled slightly. “So… Do we sink out or do we have to walk all the way back to the Imagination door?”

Remus grinned. “Sink out!” And he flopped backwards, where a hole appeared in the ground and he disappeared. Patton yelped as Remus vanished out of sight, until he heard him call up, “just jump!”

“… Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.” Patton mumbled, but he jumped anyway. The hole sealed up above his head and he popped back up into the mind palace, his head spinning. Remus was perched on the table already, leaning forward to watch Patton.

“Well chef! Take it away!”

———————————-

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Matthew 5:17-19 | ¹⁷ Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets. I have not come to abolish them, but to fulfill them. ¹⁸ For I tell you truly, until heaven & earth pass away, not one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the Law until everything is accomplished. ¹⁹ So then, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments & teaches others to do likewise will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever practices & teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.

Charles John Ellicott, Theologian [1819–1905] | Matthew 5:18

1] Verily—The first occurrence in the GOSPEL of the word so     common in our LORD's teaching seems the right place for     dwelling on its meaning.

2] It is the familiar Amen of the Church’s worship—the word     which had been used in the same way in that of the     wilderness [Numbers 5:22; Deuteronomy 27:15] &     of the Temple

    [Psalm 41:13; Psalm 72:19, et al]

    Coming from the Hebrew root for “fixed, steadfast, true,”     it was used for solemn affirmation or solemn prayer.

    “So is it,” or “so be it.” For the most part, the Greek LXX.      translates it; but in [1 Chronicles 16:36, & Nehemiah 5:13]     it appears in its Hebrew form.

From the worship of the synagogue it passed into that of the Christian Church, & by the time the GOSPELs were written had become so familiar that it was used without hesitation by all the Evangelists, sometimes singly, sometimes [uniformly in  John] with the emphasis of reduplication. Till heaven & earth pass—The formula was probably one in common use by our LORD to express the unchangeableness of the divine word. It was afterwards used, we must remember, by our LORD, with even augmented force, in reference to HIS own words

[Matthew 24:35; Mark 13:31; Luke 21:33].

One jot or one tittle—The “jot” is the Greek iota [0, the Hebrew yod [’], the smallest of all the letters of the alphabet. The “tittle” was one of the smaller strokes, or twists of other letters, such, e.g., as distinguished ? [D] from ? [R], or ? [K] from ? [B]. Jewish Rabbis used to caution their scholars against so writing as to cause one letter to be mistaken for another, & to give examples of passages from the Law in which such a mistake would turn a divine truth into nonsense or blasphemy. The yod in its turn was equally important. It distinguished Joshua from Hoshea, Sarai from Sarah. The Jews had indeed a strange legend that its insertion in the former name was given as a compensation for its exclusion from the latter. The meaning is obvious enough,” Nothing truly belonging to the Law, however seemingly trivial, shall drift away & be forgotten until it has done all that it was meant to do.”

Till all be fulfilled—Literally, Till all things have come to pass. The words in the English version suggest an identity with the “fulfil” of Matthew 5:17, which is not found in the Greek. The same formula is used in the Greek of Matthew 24:34. The “all things” in both cases are the great facts of our LORD's life, death, resurrection, & the establishment of the kingdom of GOD. So taken, we find that the words do not assert, as at first they seem to do, the perpetual obligation even of the details of the Law, but the limit up to which the obligation was to last; & they are therefore not inconsistent with the words which speak of the system of the Law as a whole as “decaying & waxing old, & ready to vanish away” [Hebrews 8:13]. The two “untils” have each of them their significance. Each “jot” or “tittle “must first complete its work; then, & not till then, will it pass away.

Joseph Benson, Methodist [1749–1821] | Matthew 5:18

1] For verily I say unto you—This expression, whereby our LORD often prefaces what he is about to say, always imports the great importance, as well as certain truth of it.

2] Till heaven & earth pass away—Till the whole visible frame of nature be disjointed & dissolved, one jot or one tittle—“The word ??ta, which we render jot, undoubtedly answers to the Hebrew letter ?, jod, whence the English word here seems to be derived, & which, being the least letter of the alphabet, might properly be used proverbially on this occasion. ?e?a?a, which we render tittle, properly signifies one of those little ornamental curvatures or flourishes, which, when Hebrew is elegantly written, are generally used at the beginning & end of a letter, & sometimes at the corners too. I think it might well have been rendered, not the least letter, or stroke, &c., & so much the rather, as jot & tittle, in English, signify the same.”—Doddridge. Shall in no wise pass from, the law—Or, from the prophets, till all be fulfilled—Till all things which the law requires, or the prophets foretel, shall be effected. This seems to be the literal translation of the original words, e?? a? pa?ta ?e??ta?: for the law has its effect when its sanctions are executed, as well as when its precepts are obeyed. And the predictions of the prophets have their proper effect & confirmation, when they are accomplished. Some, however, understand the words as meaning, till the end, or, consummation of all things shall come, or, till the heavens & the earth shall pass away, or be destroyed. The meaning of our LORD's words, according to this interpretation, is, that there is nothing in the universe so stable as the truths contained in the moral law, & nothing so certain as the fulfilment of the predictions of the prophets: the heavens may fall, & the whole frame of nature be unhinged, nay, every part of it may be dissolved; but the rules of righteousness, & the declarations of the divine word, with their sanctions, shall remain immutable & eternal: for the word of the LORD endureth for ever, 1 Peter 1:25. Our LORD therefore proceeds, in the two next verses, to command his disciples, on the severest penalties, to enforce, both by their doctrine & example, the strict observation of all the moral precepts contained in the sacred writings, & that in their utmost extent.

Matthew Henry, Nonconformist [1662-1714] | Matthew 5:17-20

Let none suppose that CHRIST allows his people to trifle with any commands of GOD's holy law. No sinner partakes of CHRIST's justifying righteousness, till he repents of his evil deeds. The mercy revealed in the GOSPEL leads the believer to still deeper self-abhorrence. The law is the Christian's rule of duty, & he delights therein. If a man, pretending to be CHRIST's disciple, encourages himself in any allowed disobedience to the holy law of GOD, or teaches others to do the same, whatever his station or reputation among men may be, he can be no true disciple. CHRIST's righteousness, imputed to us by faith alone, is needed by every one that enters the kingdom of grace or of glory; but the new creation of the heart to holiness, produces a thorough change in a man's temper & conduct.

Albert Barnes, American Theologian [1798-1870] | Matthew 5:18

Verily—Truly, certainly. A word of strong affirmation. Till heaven & earth pass—This expression denotes that the law never would be destroyed until it should be all fulfilled. It is the same as saying everything else may change; the very earth & heaven may pass away, but the law of GOD shall not be destroyed until its whole design has been accomplished.

One jot—The word "jot," or yod [? y], is the name of the Hebrew letter I, the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet.

One tittle—The word used here, in the Greek, means literally a little horn, then a point, an extremity. Several of the Hebrew letters were written with small points or apices, as in the Hebrew letter, shin [?? sh], or the Hebrew letter, sin [?? s], which serve to distinguish one letter from another. To change a small point of one letter, therefore, might vary the meaning of a word, & destroy the sense. The name "little horn" was given to these points probably from the manner in which they were written, resembling a little horn. Professor Hackett says of a manuscript which he saw a Jew transcribing: "One peculiarity, that struck me at once as I cast my eye over the parchment, was the horn-like appearance attached to some of the letters. I had seen the same mark, before this, in Hebrew manuscripts, but never where it was so prominent as here. The sign in question, as connected with the Hebrew Letter Lamedh [? L] in particular, had almost the appearance of an intentional imitation of a ram's head. It was to that appendage of the Hebrew letters that the Saviour referred when he said, "'Not one jot or little horn' [as the Greek term signifies, which our version renders 'tittle,'] 'shall pass from the law until all be fulfilled.'"—Illustrations of SCRIPTURE, p. 234. Hence, the Jews were exceedingly cautious in writing these letters, & considered the smallest change or omission a reason for destroying the whole manuscript when they were transcribing the OT. The expression, "one jot or tittle," became proverbial, & means that the smallest part of the law should not be destroyed.

The laws of the Jews are commonly divided into moral, ceremonial, & judicial. The moral laws are such as grow out of the nature of things, & which cannot, therefore, be changed—such as the duty of loving GOD & his creatures. These cannot be abolished, as it can never be made right to hate GOD, or to hate our fellow-men. Of this kind are the ten commandments, & these our Saviour has neither abolished nor superseded. The ceremonial laws are such as are appointed to meet certain states of society, or to regulate the religious rites & ceremonies of a people. These can be changed when circumstances are changed, & yet the moral law be untouched. A general in an army may command his soldiers to appear sometimes in a red coat & sometimes in blue or in yellow. This would be a ceremonial law, & might be changed as he pleased. The duty of obeying him, & of being faithful to his country, could not be changed.

This is a moral law. A parent might permit his children to have 50 different dresses at different times, & love them equally in all. The dress is a mere matter of ceremony, & may be changed. The child, in all these garments, is bound to love & obey his father. This is a moral law, & cannot be changed. So the laws of the Jews. Those designed to regulate mere matters of ceremony & rites of worship might be changed. Those requiring love & obedience to GOD & love to people could not be changed, & CHRIST did not attempt it, Matthew 19:19; Matthew 22:37-39; Luke 10:27; Romans 13:9. A third species of law was the judicial, or those laws regulating courts of justice which are contained in the OT. These were of the nature of the ceremonial law, & might also be changed at pleasure. The judicial law of the Hebrews was adapted to their own civil society. When the form of their polity was changed this was of course no longer binding. The ceremonial law was fulfilled by the coming of CHRIST: the shadow was lost in the substance, & ceased to be binding. The moral law was confirmed & unchanged.

Matthew Poole, Nonconformist [1624-1679] | Matthew 5:18

    Amen I say unto you, so it is in the Greek, a phrase, as     some observe never used but by GOD & CHRIST HIMSELF;

    who is the Amen, the faithful & true witness     [Revelation 3:14]

    though the servants of GOD have sometimes used it, as an     adverb of wishing. It is by most concluded a form of an oath,     GOD by it swearing by HIS truth & faithfulness.

    Till heaven & earth pass, & c.; that is, the law is the certain &     unchangeable will of GOD concerning reasonable creatures,     & it shall never be altered in the least tittle, nor ever be     abolished; you may therefore be secure that I come into the     world upon no such errand.

https://biblehub.com/commentaries/matthew/5-18.htm

Lilliputian Perspective (10/10)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, threats, treating someone like a monster, manipulation, and mention of eating people and death

First chapter || Previous chapter

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 Virgil was right when he said Dee was already getting the preparation together for his coronation. He was crowned early the next morning and he found himself here, sitting on his throne, wearing a crown that didn’t quite feel right.

 “Now that I’m king...it’s my decision on what we do with Logan, right?” Virgil asked, looking over to Dee who was standing there. He bowed.

 “Of course, my king. May I suggest something? I feel as though the giant can be useful to us and-” Dee was cut off when Virgil gave a firm shake of his head.

 “No, I’m setting him free.” Virgil said, standing up. Dee blinked.

 “You-You can’t be serious.” Dee kept back his growl, composing himself. “Sire, think about our people. How would they react to you unleashing this beast among them.”

 Virgil continued to walk, Dee following close behind him. “Logan isn’t going to do anything. I-I know that now. It’ll be fine and pretty soon, he’ll be off this island and back to his home.” Dee stopped as Virgil continued on, gathering some guards up to take with him to the cave. Dee growled and turned to go in another direction. 

 Virgil made it back to the cave, the guards hesitant as to Virgil’s plan. Virgil smiled at Logan and Roman. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Logan returned the informal greeting. He considered appending a ‘good’ to his statement, but his aching bones from sleeping in a strange position made him think otherwise. He gently poked at the human still asleep on his chest. “Roman, wake up.”

 “Hmm, don’t wanna.” Roman mumbled, rolling over and burying himself more into Logan’s chest. Virgil chuckled at the sight, reminded of his own self in the early morning.

“I apologize for his behavior.” Logan hid his eye roll well, scooping up Roman into his palm and sitting up more formally. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

 Roman opened his eyes as he was moved with a groan and Virgil took that moment to tear his eyes away and look up at Logan. “As my first act as king, I’m setting you free.” Virgil did not miss the way the guards started whispering frantically behind him but he ignored it.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, surprised by how quickly things had turned in his favor but not wanting to upset this decision. “I’m honored, your highness.”

 Virgil smiled and then turned to the guards. “Alright, undo the chains.” He ordered but the guards stood in place. Virgil frowned. “Uh...now.” Still no movement.

 “Oh, Virgil, your highness, they are scared, can’t you see?” Dee said, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Virgil glared at him. “Even they can see how much of a bad idea this is.”

“I’ve already been unchained several times in this company.” Logan reminded the crowd, making sure to look as humble as possible. “I assure you, I mean no harm. Not to mention, I was under the impression that a King’s word is law in a monarchy.”

 “He’s right.” Virgil noted, turning full on to his guards. “Now release him.” The guards looked to each other and started over to the chains.

 “Virgil, I implore you to think about this some more.” Dee all but hissed. Virgil looked to him.

 “Alright.” Virgil paused for a moment. “Okay, I thought about it some more. And Logan’s getting released and you are fired.” Dee physically reeled back at that and Virgil smirked. He had been wanting to do that for forever.

 “Looks like the snake is jobless now, ha!” Dee snapped his eyes over to Roman, who was looking much more awake and laughing at Dee’s misery.

Logan hid a smirk of his own, quite pleased that Virgil had made the correct call.

 Dee, noticing the smirk on the giant’s face, turned to him. “You.” He pointed, growling. “This is all your fault, you beast.” He narrowed his eyes. “You are going to pay for this. Mark my words. You all will.” And before anything more could be said or done, Dee was gone.

 Virgil frowned. “Well...that didn’t sound good.” He’d have to strengthen security a bit more.

 “Yeesh, talk about bitter,” Roman said, rolling his eyes.

“You might want to keep an eye on him.” Logan advised, watching the Lilliputian storm off. “Revenge is a powerful motivator.”

 “Yeah, I will.” Virgil promised. He looked to the guards, who had only barely moved. “Oh, for pete’s sake, just unchain him already!”

 The command got them all moving, undoing all the chains and then quickly moving out of the way and outside the cave. Virgil watched them go, rolling his eyes.

Logan set Roman to the side to take a moment to rub at his sore wrists and ankles. Satisfied, Logan stretched, grateful to once again stand to his full height.

 Virgil took a nervous step back but smiled at Logan. “Again, I have to apologize for all this trouble.” Virgil said. 

 “As you should.” Roman said, stretching himself.

“Roman, it’s not his fault.” Logan scolded, looking down at the Lilliputian at his feet.

 Roman huffed. “Well, he could have done something a little sooner. Instead of locking you away and agreeing to execute me.” Roman shot a pointed look towards Virgil, who winced.

 “S-Sorry.” Virgil mumbled again. Man, he had made a number of bad decisions, didn’t he?

“Moving forward, what now?” Logan asked, not one to dwell on the past.

 “Well, we can get started on trying to build you some sort of raft? So you can sail home?” Virgil suggested. It would take quite a bit of wood but he was sure they could manage.

“Yes, what resources are available to me?” Logan rolled up his sleeves, ready to begin.

***

 Dee growled as he stomped through the castle. Fired. No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. Logan would pay for this and so would Virgil. He thought Virgil would be easy to control but it seemed he was wrong.

 Dee’s new plan was as follows. Turn the town on the giant and convince them that the king was brainwashed and too far gone to save. Honestly, it shouldn’t be too hard. The peasants already feared the beast.

 And maybe, he could use a former ally of theirs. He knocked on the guest bedroom door and waited for a few seconds. When it opened Dee smiled at the glasses wearing merchant. “Hello, Patton. How has the castle been treating you?”

 Patton blinked, a little surprised to see Dee here. He had been wondering when he was going to come back. “Oh, uh, good.” He paused in thought for a moment. “I, uh, I heard they moved Logan over to a cave.” He had wanted to go and see him but Dee thought it was best if he stayed in his room.

 Dee nodded. “Yes, well, actually that is what I wanted to speak to you about.” Dee put on a solemn face. “You see, the giant has brainwashed our dear king into letting him go. I fear it is only a matter of time before he shows his true colors on this town.” Dee placed a hand on Patton’s shoulder and Patton tensed. “I would like your help in informing the townspeople of this predicament. Perhaps with them all banded together, we can put a stop to him.”

 Patton stared at Dee incredulously. “You mean...Logan finally convinced the king that he didn’t mean any harm and the king was nice enough to let him go and probably is helping him get home?” Patton asked.

 Dee narrowed his eyes. “No.” He growled out. “I meant what I said.” The grip on Patton’s shoulder got tighter and Patton pulled away from it, staggering back a few steps and looking at Dee warily.

 “I’m not going to help you. I know that Logan is a good person!” Patton shouted and Dee groaned, rolling his eyes.

 “Seriously? You’ve known him for not even a day. There is such a thing as being too trusting, you know?” Dee growled and Patton took another step back. Patton eyed the door behind Dee. If he could just get past him, then he could warn them of Dee’s plan.

 With that in mind, Patton broke out in a run, surprising Dee enough to be able to slip past. “Wha-No! Get back here! Guards!” The guards, not knowing Dee had been fired yet, started running after Patton.

 Patton didn’t stop, he couldn’t afford to. He had to warn them of Dee’s plan.

***

 “Your highness, I really don’t think-” Virgil shook his head, cutting off a nearby worker.

 “I don’t want to hear it. Now please continue to chop this wood down.” The worker sighed but got back to work. Virgil looked around the forest, seeing a worker at almost every tree. He had gotten most of the woodworkers and lumberjacks in the kingdom for this. It was the only way they would be able to get enough wood.

 Virgil went back out on the beach, seeing Roman messing with some rope. He glanced at the pile of wood that was already growing off to the side. “I hope this will be enough.”

“It should be, if we plan accordingly.” Logan murmured, focused on his task of preparing the logs. He skinned them almost like a long potato with his knife, removing the branches and creating even pieces.

 Virgil nodded, he hoped so. “If we can get enough without demolishing the entire forest, that would be great, too.” Virgil spoke, looking back at where the workers were logging. 

 “I think at this rate it will only be half the forest. Which, for how much wood we actually need, I say isn’t that bad!” Roman exclaimed, still lugging pieces of rope around.

Logan was quiet, feeling almost guilty for taking so much while giving back so little. “I’ll be gone before you know it, thankfully.”

 “Yeah, hopefully we can finish all this by tomorrow.” Virgil stared off into the distance. “...I wonder if I should be more worried about Dee…”

 Roman snorted. “That snake? Yeah, no, I think we’re fine. If anything, Logan can just flick him into the ocean for a little swim.” Roman laughed at the thought.

Logan gave Roman a brief glare. “Yes, I would be concerned about your former advisor. Do you have a replacement in mind?”

 “Not yet.” Virgil admitted.

 “You know, I am always available.” Roman swooped in at the opportunity. Virgil just sent him a look.

 “As I said, I don’t have anyone in mind yet.” He turned back to Logan as he said this. Roman huffed and crossed his arms.

 “Rude.”

“I would advise against Roman.” Logan confirmed. “I would offer to fill the position but that would be quite difficult.”

 “Not you too!” Roman huffed. He thought he would make a great advisor, thank you very much.

 Virgil looked up at Logan, still ignoring Roman. “Actually...yeah, you would actually make a really great advisor. If, you know, we were the same size.”

“And I wasn’t currently fleeing your country.” Logan reminded him. Still, it felt wonderful to at least find one Lilliputian who trusted him so wholeheartedly. “But I’m touched that you agree with my sentiment.”

 “I mean, it’s hard not to. You seem really smart. Not to mention calm and collected, even when we were chaining you up.” Virgil shook his head. “You’d be, like, the perfect advisor.”

“I do believe I would.” Logan tested out the title in his head: Royal Advisor. It was almost enough to make him reconsider leaving in the first place.

 “Alright, we get it, enough with the compliments already.” Roman said, rolling his eyes. “If we want to get this done, we have to focus.”

 “Right.” Virgil said. “I’m going to go make another round…” He trailed off when he saw someone running towards them at a distance.

 “Guys!” Patton exclaimed as he was still running from the guards.

 Roman blinked. “Is that...Patton?” He hadn’t seen the puffball in a while.

“Why are you being chased?” Logan called out.

 “D-Dee sent the guards after m-ah!” Patton was cut off by a shout as he was finally caught. Grabbed roughly by one of the men. 

 Virgil’s eyes widened. “Guards! Let him go!” The guards looked up at Virgil before releasing Patton, who bent over in slight pain, gasping for breath.

“Are you alright, Patton?” Logan came closer, crouching to inspect the scene.

 The guards, as Logan came closer, all but ran back to the castle. Patton looked up at Logan with a small smile. “Um, yeah, he just grabbed me kind of hard.”

 “How dare they!” He turned to Virgil. “I thought you fired that snake!”

 “I did!” Virgil raised his hands in surrender. “I haven’t been able to let everyone know yet, though.”

“Ah...perhaps you should remedy that quickly.” Logan advised. “Patton, why did he send the guards after you in the first place? Has Roman rubbed off on you?”

 “Huh? Uh...Oh! No! Dee was trying to get me to go along with his plan but I refused. He’s going to try and convince the town to turn against you!” Patton exclaimed, looking panicked.

 “...Well, that isn’t going to be difficult for him.” Roman muttered, worried.

“I think that’s already public opinion.” Logan sighed in agreement. “But I’m thankful to have you on my side, Patton.”

 “Still...that could be a problem.” Virgil bit his lip. “We definitely need to speed this along. Logan? Uh, do you think you can uproot a tree or two yourself?” 

 Roman’s eyes widened. “Whoa, I would love to see that.”

Logan chuckled, a bit uncomfortable with the notion. “Ah, if everyone clears the area I could certainly get some of the smaller trees.”

 Virgil nodded and constructed some workers to move to another area, to clear a small number of trees. Patton moved so he was next to Roman, who gave him some rope to help out with.

 “Alright, all yours.” Virgil said, looking at Logan.

Logan nodded, approaching the smallest evergreen standing. It was tall, but still not taller than Logan himself. He gave it a harsh tug, feeling the roots begin to give way. With a grunt he readjusted his grip, and soon found the entire tree came loose from the soil in his hands.

 Everyone’s eyes widened. “Whoa…” Patton said breathlessly.

Logan set the tree to the side, careful to avoid his onlookers as he turned to the next tree. The work went faster when it was just the human himself, and the pile of lumber began to grow.

“I estimate this will be enough.” Logan panted finally, his hands rubbed nearly raw from the bark.

 Virgil nodded, staring wide-eyed at the pile. “Yeah, I think so. That was...that was impressive.” Virgil said in awe. The workers, noticing that they were no longer needed, were quick to get out of there.

 “Fantastic! Now we just need to put all this together.” Roman said and Patton grinned, holding up some rope.

 “Rope, anyone?”

This task ended up being better for the Lilliputians. Despite his best efforts, Logan’s fingers fumbled to braid the tiny Lilliputian ropes together into what could resemble normal rope.

 Patton noticed Logan’s struggle and placed a hand on his much bigger one. “I think we’ve got this part, kiddo. You just sit back and relax.”

 “Yeah, it would help if you could keep a lookout for Dee.” Virgil said.

“Very well then.” Logan handed the rope back to his tiny companions, peering over the treetops instead as a living watchtower.

 “I am worried.” Patton admitted as he continue to tie the ropes. “What if he succeeds in getting the people on his side?”

 “Pft, the guys a snake, I mean, surely they won’t actually listen...right?” Roman asked, looking to the king for confirmation. Virgil bit his lip.

 “I don’t know...the people are still wary around Logan, after all.”

 “But your word is law.” Roman reminded him. “Especially now that you are king.”

“You’re going to need to assert your dominance, else the governing body can easily be undermined.” Logan spoke up.

 “Right. Well, I can do that later. Once you’re safely afloat and we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Virgil said, going back to tying. 

 They were nearly done, when suddenly, a voice drew them to look at the top of the hill. “Hello, dearest king. And...beast.” Dee spit the name out in pure disgust.

 Roman glared. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“Dee is here.” Logan informed them, a bit late on his watchdog duties.

 “Thanks, we noticed.” Roman deadpanned.

 “Virgil! Oh, Virgil, the townspeople are so worried about their king!” Dee said, putting on a show, it seemed. “If it’s not already too late, please, stop helping this monster! A beast such as this does not deserve to live!”

 Virgil glared at his ex-advisor. “Yes, he does. I won’t stop helping until he doesn't need help anymore.”

 “Yeah! How dare you try to make him the bad guy!” Patton yelled.

“Truly I just want to leave you alone.” Logan gestured to the nearly finished raft. “Hence, leaving the island.”

 “How are we to know you won’t just come back? With even more giants. No, the people are clear on their stance. Virgil? One last chance.” Dee sneered.

 Virgil held his ground. “The answer is no.”

 Dee sighed, though even from where Virgil was, he could see the smirk on Dee’s face. “Very well, then. It seems you truly are lost to us. As you can all see, Virgil is no longer fit to be king!” Dee announced turning around towards the forest. Slowly, several people started coming out of it, Virgil recognized some of them from the council and that was far from good.

 “I am perfectly fit!” Virgil yelled, that one statement having more confidence than any other. Despite that though, Dee just laughed.

 “Sorry, Virgil.” Dee held his hand out, one of the council members handing over the crown. Dee put it on. “But it appears that I am king now.”

“This is how your monarchy operates?” Logan seemed more confused than nervous at Dee’s statement. “What a wretched system you seem to have.”

 “Oh, not usually.” Dee spoke, checking his nails. “But in this case, an exception had to be made. And with the whole town on my side, well...it was an easy decision for the council to make.”

 “That crown does not belong to you!” Roman shouted, practically growling.

 “Says the thief. Please, you’re one to talk.” Dee smirked. “And once I get my hands on you, you will be executed for real this time.” Roman took a step back at that, looking slightly worried.

 “You can’t do this!” Patton cried out. “Logan is a good person!”

 “Logan, is a monster! And he will be treated as such.” Dee clapped his hands. “Guards! Seize them!” Suddenly, the army came out of the forest, coming towards the party of four.

 “Uh, Logan, I know you have that whole moral thing going on but now would be a great time to do something.” Roman hissed at him in panic.

Logan glanced at the raft, then at his three companions. “How attached are the three of you to Lilliput?”

 Virgil blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

 “Uh, not too much?” Roman went ahead and answered. It was true, not many people liked him here anyway.

 “A little bit?” Patton shrugged and Virgil sighed, looking back at the army still coming toward them.

 “Considering my people turned against me, I have to say I wouldn’t miss this place much.” Virgil admitted.

That seemed to be all Logan needed to hear. He quickly scooped all three up, dumping them onto the raft. With a grunt Logan dug his ankles into the sand and shoved the raft into the ocean. Once it got going Logan jumped on as well.

 “No!” Dee cried out, running down to the shore. But Logan’s push, along with the tide had already pulled the raft pretty far out.

 Patton blinked away his surprise, looking up as the island got farther and farther away. “W-Wait, are we…?”

 Roman got up as well. “I...suppose that is one way to go about that.”

 Virgil remained silent as he simply stared back, not so much looking at the island, but at the people.

“I apologize, that was brash.” Logan admitted, grabbing the ore he had fashioned from one of the larger logs. “I can return any of you if you wish, but it seemed disrespectful to leave you in the path of a charging army.”

 “No, I...I think that was the best choice.” Virgil said, turning away from the shrinking island. Sure, he would miss his home but with his father gone and Dee having turned everyone against him, there was no place for him there anymore.

 “I certainly do not want to go back. I don’t have a death wish, thank you very much.” Roman spoke.

 Patton looked up at Logan. “Does this mean...we’re going to your home? Where everything is your size?”

“Attempting to, at least.” Logan looked against the open sea, so large compared to the tiny land of tiny people.

 “So...I’ll get to see a giant dog?” Patton asked, a smile appearing on his face. Roman looked at him.

 “Really? Is that all you care about?” Roman asked, crossing his arms.

 “No!” Patton cried. “I just...a giant doggo sounds so cute.” Patton said.

 “Sounds terrifying to me.” Virgil shivered. Actually, the whole thing sounded pretty scary. “We’re going to be completely out of our element.”

“Yes, but I’ll be there to assist you.” Logan assured them. “Just as you three have assisted me.”

 “You better! We sacrificed a lot for you!” Roman said but he was smiling.

“Indeed.” In spite of Roman’s joking tone, Logan was completely serious. “I appreciate it. You all did not need to stick up for me and yet in the end, have ended up sacrificing yourselves to help me get home.”

 “You’re welcome, Logan.” Virgil said with a small smile. 

 “Like I keep saying, you’re a good person.” Patton grinned. “You deserve to be able to go home.”

 “Well, I guess this is the start of a new chapter in our lives. Or, an old one, in one case.” Roman said, looking up at Logan.

“No, a new one for me as well.” Logan corrected, trying to imagine what his life would entail. “It will certainly be a new adjustment.”

 “I suppose it would be, having three lilliputians around.” Roman mused.

 Virgil stared off into the ocean horizon. “It’ll be nice...not having to worry about running a kingdom.”

“I wonder what will happen to Lilliput.” Logan thought aloud.

 “Knowing the snake? He’ll probably rule with an iron fist.” Roman answered. 

 “I feel kind of bad for the people.” Patton spoke. “Even if they did turn on us.”

 “I say they deserved it.” Roman huffed.

 “It doesn’t matter.” Virgil finally said. “It’s behind us now.” Literally and figuratively.

“Indeed.” Logan agreed, pushing his ore into the water and pushing them farther away. 

Soon Lilliput was out of sight for the strange group, forgotten in the endless sea of mysteries. Now all that lay ahead of them was a world full of possibilities and future adventures.

Logan stroked the water again, bringing them ever closer to whatever fate had in store next.

The Prince’s Bride:

Chapter 9:  Two Major Points

By the time they finally stopped for a moment, Adrien felt like his lungs were going to burst.

The woman in black, letting him go, still stood tall, her practiced ease from her confrontation with Lila seemingly replaced with nervous, almost animal energy.

“Catch your breath,” she said, voice devoid of patience, and… Whatever it was he’d seen in her eyes for an instant when she’d removed the blindfold.

“If you release me,” he said, pulling in a breath, “whatever you ask for ransom…  You’d get it, I promise you.”

Her fingers twitched at her side.

“And what power am I supposed to believe you hold, to deliver on that promise?”

He sighed, managing to straighten up.  “I’m just trying to give you a chance.  My father is practically inescapable, and if he doesn’t get you, then you’re running straight into the Gilded Kingdom’s frontier.  They say Chloe herself carries her Miraculous out here to hunt with.”

“Ah, yes… Chloe.  I recall the news.  Then, you believe your dearest love will save you?”

“I never said she was my dearest love.  But she would save me, if she found me.”

“You freely admit that you don’t your own fiancé?”

“She knows that I don’t love her.”

“Don’t, or aren’t capable of it?”

Adrien’s fists clenched.

“You’re a killer.  I don’t see how you can even pretend to know more about love than me.”

She spun towards him, her hand suddenly burning with that strange energy, her eyes flaring green, and for a second, Adrien was sure he’d broken some internal barrier, and his life was forfeit.

And then, her eyes closed, her hand relaxed, and when she looked back at him, she seemed like an ordinary person again.

Her voice was steady as she spoke.  “I suggest you avoid making assumptions.  People who’ve suggested similar have rarely been glad of it.”

 A mighty warrior had fallen, and that same person from the duel had continued on.  That alone had been enough to unnerve him, but this…  This was bad.

It looked like someone had stopped for lunch, and then immediately left.

He knelt down, and picked up one of the goblets.

It was ruined, the inside tarnished beyond repair, a hole having been burned through it.

That, combined with the raw pride and exultation coming from the pile of ash…

“Poison, then,” he said, straightening up, “of some untold power. But Adrien left this place alive at most an hour ago.  We must find him, now.”

He was beginning to grow nervous.

Once more they had stopped, and Adrien staggered, landing heavily on the ground, as she stared impassively at him.

“Rest.” 

She sounded almost tired herself, but moved rapidly, almost nervously taking stock of their surroundings; the sheer ravine they were on the edge of, the winding hills they’d followed to get here.

He stared at her, and the idea he’d known he’d had since the battle of wits finally introduced itself.

His eyes widened.

“I know who you are.  I should have known sooner.”

She looked at him, but said nothing.

“You’re the Nine-Lived One.  Admit it.”

She shrugged, nodded gently.  “Of course.  What can I do for you?”

Adrien’s expression clenched.

“There’s nothing you can do.  The only thing that I can think of is for you to die.”

To his surprise, the vitriol seemed to settle her expression slightly, and her nervous movements slowed.

“Well, I must say, that’s more venomous than I’d have expected from you.  What has you so angry at me?”

“You killed Marinette.”

She stared evenly at him, and shrugged.

“It’s possible; I kill a lot of people.  Who was this Marinette?  Another princess like your Chloe, or… Just a friend.”

“Neither.  She was a baker’s daughter, poor, but…  Better than I could ever have asked for, with an iron will, and eyes like a clear sky.”

His breath shook, slightly, but he maintained his composure.

“Out to sea, your ship attacked…  She wasn’t the one you cut loose to spread fear.”

“Well, I can’t afford to let the ‘best’ person go.  If word leaks out that a pirate’s letting people go based on morality, people start to practice morality as a defense and then you’re stuck with dozens of people with strong wills, and you can’t find a new host for when the old one’s too old, and you’re having to measure morality while you’re executing people, and it just bogs everything down, and it’s work, work, work”

“I should have known you’d have no respect for another’s pain,” said Adrien.

“My life has been nothing but pain for years.  Frankly, I think a lack of empathy might be a side-effect.”

There was a moment.

“But…  I do believe I recall the girl you’re talking about.  This would be… Five years ago?”

He nodded.

“She died well, which should please you.  She didn’t offer a bribe, though that’s no surprise if she truly was poor.  No blubbering, or anything like that.  All she said was…”  She looked back at Adrien, expression thoughtful.  “Please.  Please, I need to live.  I think that’s what caught my memory.  She was shaking, but she didn’t panic.”

Then, she was back to normal.  “I asked her what was so important for her.  ‘True love,’ she said, and spoke of a boy worth any effort it would take to appease his father.  Surpassingly beautiful and faithful.”  She shrugged.  “I can only assume she meant you, but…  It’s probably for the best that I killed her.”

 “Why.”

Really? The woman in black seemed to ask without speaking.  “Faithfulness.  She was so sure of it, but really, tell the truth, did you manage to move on the day you heard about her death, or did it take you a whole week of mourning?”

 “You just told me how dangerous it is to make assumptions about people,” said Adrien, pushing to his feet.  “It would have been less painful if you’d cut out my heart.  At least then I’d be dead.”

The woman in black seemed about to respond, before something caught her eye.  There was a cloud of dust in the distance, such as might have been kicked up by a search party coming closer.

“I might even get to see her again,” said Adrien, voice weak.

Then, he clenched his fists, not noticing the tension drop from her body as she listened.

“And if you really do understand how I feel, then this is doing us both a favor.”

“Adrien,” she said, turning, but before he managed to process his own name, he’d already pushed her.

She staggered backwards, eyes going wide as she realized what had happened.

“Wait,” she managed, arms spinning wildly as her foot slipped just over the edge of the ravine, “Wait wait wait wait waaii—”

She let out a high-pitched yelp as she finally fell over the edge, which trailed away from him as she fell, down, down, down.

He blinked.

That…  No.

He’d have sworn that he knew that particular sound of panic, because…

 What was it they said?  The Nine-Lived One wasn’t just a person; It was a malevolent Miraculous that possessed its wielder.

Which meant…

“Marinette,” he said, and threw himself over the edge after her.

 He could still save her, if he could just get that ring off.

 Gabriel’s fists clenched.

“Disappeared,” he looked back.  “His captor must have spotted us closing in; that would explain the panicked choice, because unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, they are aimed directly at the Fire Swamp.”

Nathalie’s eyes widened slightly at the name, the first sign of any emotion since they’d set out.

 As Marinette fell, she tried, to the best of her ability, to both process what had just happened, and stop herself getting hurt by the fall.

Neither was exactly easy, but she managed to do the second first, landing at the bottom of the ravine.

She looked back up, and her eyes widened.

Adrien was clearly trying to control his descent, but it wasn’t working very well, as he started rolling, rather than scrambling his way down.

She pulled to her feet, as he finally reached the last drop, and dove, managing to cushion the impact slightly.

The was a long, painful pause, as he shifted slightly, clearly trying to get his bearings.

“Adrien,” she started, only for him to suddenly, with a force that surprised her, start grasping out, reaching forcefully at… her hand?

More baffled than anything, she effortlessly knocked his hands away.

He kept coming, and with the gentle expertise that was hardly possible without superhuman capabilities, she reached out, and pinned his hands behind his back with one of hers.

“A- Adrien,” she repeated, fighting the stutter that was trying to resurface, as he kept flailing out, now with his head, “What are you—”

“Let her go,” said Adrien.

“Let who go?  Adrien, please, stop it.”

He was getting frantic, now, struggling with all his might, and…

She finally remembered the myth about her Miraculous.

“Oh.  Adrien, no.”

She tilted her head, as if lightly knocking something away.

Adrien froze, as her clothes shimmered, lightly, and the woman in black was no longer in black.

It was as if he was looking through a window into the past.

Her clothes were just as he remembered them.  Her hair was longer but her eyes.  It was the same sparkling blue he’d known years before, and it felt like he was melting.

 “Then…  Then it’s really you.”

He was staring as if he thought she might evaporate.

“Are you okay, Adrien?”

He laughed, almost choking, his eyes shining.

“You’re alive.  I couldn’t be better.”

“I told you I’d always come for you.  Why didn’t you wait?”

“You…  You were dead.”

She sighed, leaning in a bit closer.  “Death can’t stop love.  The most it can do is delay it for a while.”

He was starting to cry, now.  “I’ll never doubt you again.”

“You’ll never need to,” she said, and leaned in.

Captain Sandoval headcanons

Here are some more Elena of Avalor headcanons from me. 

This time around, they’re on Captain Sandoval, the quiet commander of the royal guard who we only see once. 

I have to thank @pizzansunshine for a lot of this, as her posts on the man not only brought about my attention to an inconsistency regarding the two captains of the guard, but also inspired a lot of my headcanons on him. Thank you for the inspiration! I hope you enjoy this!

And of course, I hope everyone else also enjoys my idea of what his life was like. 

With that said, here are my headcanons on Captain Sandoval, with appearances by Elena and a few references to Alacazar, Chief Zephyr, Gabe, and the second captain of the guard, who I’ve named Ventura Arroyo. There are also some references to Rafa and Mateo’s father, and what I feel happened on that front. 

Again, I hope you enjoy!

Captain Sandoval

The only guard from before Shuriki’s rule who did active service after her downfall, Antonio Sandoval was born in a fairly standard Avalorian family. He was a quiet sort from the day of his birth, even seemingly crying less than average for a baby. His parents were both farmers, somewhat educated, but not truly remarkable to any degree, which suited them and the whole family just fine. They were both of the quiet and contemplative sort, and Antonio, the second youngest of their four-children (three boys and one girl) took after them the most. Some neighbors muttered about what they could see in one another, or how they could stand a life that seemingly amounted to being quiet all the time, but neither let it bother them.

At any rate, their raised their children well enough. Antonio in particular stood out as helpful and reliable from a young age, with a strong sense of morals.

He had no particular dreams of leaving the farm at first, but when he was six his village was raided by bandits. The bandits were quickly defeated by the royal guard, but the battle lasted long enough for Antonio to be awed at the guards’ skill and bravery.

Over later encounters with them (which thankful did not involve such stressful situations) Antonio knew he wanted to be one of them.

At the age of sixteen, he started training to become a royal guard, and one year later, he joined the guard.

He was a hardworking guard, and though quiet, was willing to help out and had a keen eye for where his help was needed. Thankfully, the kingdom did not need truly major help for the first years of his service, but he proved his worth enough to earn the rank of Lieutenant after two years in service.

At the age of twenty-one, he got married to his sweetheart, a woman his age named Amelia. He faced the opposite problem his parents did, in that people wondered what such a quiet man could see in a chatterbox like her. But the way he gazed at her dispelled doubts of his love for her in all but a select few.

As far as Antonio was concerned, he needed nothing else, but he got something he didn’t need shortly after his first wedding anniversary, when Shuriki invaded Avalor, killed the King and the Queen, and almost killed Princess Elena as well. But Antonio, thanks to being in the right place at the right time, became one of the few who knew that she had been pulled into the Amulet of Avalor and Alacazar had taken it away to find a princess that could release her.

He kept the knowledge from everyone but his beloved Amelia (who, perhaps surprisingly for a chatterbox, could keep a secret) and through smarts and cunning, managed to be one of the royal guards Shuriki didn’t banish, execute or put to work as a slave. He kept a public appearance of loyalty to Shuriki, but his true loyalty was always toward the kingdom. He softened the edges of Shuriki’s punishments to the best of his ability, and even slipped information to any resistance group he found out, though he never ‘fully joined’ a specific one.

His ruse was so well kept that Shuriki consented to him being named Captain of the Guard, and even as that made his ‘secret assistance’ more difficult, he kept doing what he could. His only regret always was that he could not save everyone, and as time kept passing without Princess Elena returning, his heart kept growing heavier as more and more people fell victims of Shuriki’s rule. It grew particularly heavy with the death of Emiliano Zumarraga, one of his best guards, who Antonio knew had married Alacazar’s daughter and was only a few months away from becoming a father.

He did not give up, however, and his efforts paid off when, forty one years after her disappearance, Princess Elena returned, leading all of Avalor in an assault against Shuriki. Lead by Captain Sandoval, all the guards who he knew would fight for Avalor’s freedom battled the few who were genuinely loyal to Shuriki, while those who had been simply concerned for their own survival kept out of the battle’s way and pleaded for mercy once it was over.

With Princess Elena back in power and some primary urgent matters solved, Captain Sandoval left with a specialized unit made of royal guards he trusted and some of Chief Zephyr’s best jaquins. Their goal was to make sure none of those loyal to Shuriki could start a mutiny on Avalor’s most remote places and to ensure the farthest reaching damage of her rule (most notably her slave camps) was dealt with. Before he left, a younger guard who he trusted, Ventura Arroyo, to replace him as Captain of the Guard.

The expedition lasted longer than he had imagined - he only returned a little over a year after Elena had started ruling as Crown Princess. For a while, he took back his post as Captain of the Guard, but it was not long before he felt age catching up with him, and asked to retire, to spend the rest of his days in peace with his beloved Amelia. Elena consented, and the only one with anything to oppose was Ventura, who could not help but be a bit downcast he was not among those Captain Sandoval chose as candidates to succeed him.

But he knew the Captain must have had his reasons, and he did agree with Antonio when the latter, in an uncharacteristically chatty episode, asked him if he had truly been interested in succeeding him for good. After some introspection, he agreed that he had not. He was not young himself either, and the job of Captain of the Guard was difficult. He knew it well enough from the year he spent doing it.

With the air cleared between them, Antonio was free to appoint his successor. And though many got surprised at the choice, no guard could argue that Captain Sandoval’s successor, Gabriel Nuñez, did a wonderful job from the very beginning.

Review for The Savior’s Champion (spoiler alert: I gave it a 2/5)

Let me preface this with a disclaimer: I do not hate the author, Jenna Moreci, by any means. I watched a lot of her channel and felt she gave some very valid writing tips and so I was excited to read her book. So everything here I have to say is my own opinion not just as an aspiring writer but as someone who's loved books for much of my life. Also, this is a very spoiler heavy review so if you wish to remain unspoiled, please turn away now. (And a warning for the use of the “C” word.) With that, I have some thoughts to convey....

When I heard the hype surrounding this book and heard the premise of the story itself, I was very excited and ready to save up the cash to buy the book. Since I had a chance to rent it from a library, however, I decided to do that first so that I could at least get to know the story before shelling out the money and honestly... I'm very glad I rented the book before buying it.

This book is honestly such a disappointment compared to the rave reviews I kept seeing people give out on YouTube. First, I'll categorize my thoughts out into the Characters, the Writing, the Plot/World and other miscelaneous issues that I found while reading.

The Characters:

In my opinion, all of the characters felt very two-dimensional 90% of the time. There were just one or two traits given to each character and every single thing they did revolved around that trait. For example: there was a character called the Jester because he was always joking and funny and that's all there was to him. He was constantly cracking jokes. Though, to be fair he did die off pretty early on in the story. Another good example, however, would be Niel who was very fratboy-ish and perverted. That's all there was to him was constantly saying something lewd until it got him shoved down a hole when he grabbed Leila's ass one too many times. There's also just so little given about them or their story or what little personality a lot of the characters have before they're killed off. So a lot of the time their death just had absolutely no impact to me since I only just learned that this dude's wife died giving birth to their son ten pages ago.

Another thing about the characters is that when it came to the competetors in the Sovereign's Tournament, most of them were very difficult to keep track of and I found myself having to watch the videos on the author's channel covering the characters at least three times over the three days it took me to read this book. Without it, I'd have been a lot more lost than I was and I feel that had the competetors have been referred to as either solely their Laurel (a title given to them at the start of the Tournament) or their given name, it would have made things a lot easier.

On to individual characters themselves. Concerning Tobias, I felt him to be very high and mighty a lot of times. He looked down on his own best friend for wanting to enter the Tournament and looked down on people for being open about their sexual exploits not to mention looking down on Flynn for feeling he was in love with Cosima despite having just met her. All there was to him was that he was the Good Guy and he was in love with Leila. A lot of times he was extremely dickish towards Flynn just for the guy being grateful about Tobias saving his life. There were two particular times in the novel that it was very obvious that everyone was just being a dick towards Tobias just so that we, the reader, would feel sorry for him and hate the bad guys. When he lost the gift challenge due to only being able to draw Leila, everyone laughed and berrated and hated him despite just a few moments ago being chummy with him seeing as he's quite literally pulled some of them out of challenges and saved their asses. Then much later on during the Viewing where the foreign rulers bet on who would win the fight to the death, everyone just gangs up on Tobias again and starts smacking him around and laughing at him because we're supposed to hate these characters and wanna save and protect poor widdle Toby. Despite the fact that in that Viewing scene, Tobias very much brought all of that on himself seeing as he blatantly insulted the foreign rulers right to their faces and called them disgusting. Yes, they're vile for betting on human lives, but at the same time, these are very influential and powerful rulers of foreign kingdoms and Tobias is the least-liked comtetetor left out of the Tournament. All in all, Tobias (like all of the male characters in this story) doesn't feel like a real, believable man but as the fantasy perfect man that a teenager would dream up and swoon over.

The Sovereign confused me. A lot. Why was it that he didn't have Leila (the Savior) killed while she was still in infancy? She was premature when she was cut from her mother's womb and this is set in a time where there wasn't the technology necessary in order to ensure Leila survives infancy so it would have been a simple matter of strangling her then lying to the public to say that the circumstances to her birth complicated matters and thus she died. He easily lied about who killed Leila's mother by cutting out the man's tongue and having him publicly executed so why could he not have killed Leila and spun a lie? The same goes for his strange need to have Tobias killed in the arena. He's the Sovereign, after all, it would have been very easy for him to order Tobias executed (especially when there were two assassins still alive by the time they get to the palace) and hide the true nature of his death. The public wasn't around for a lot of the challenges (from what I could tell, at least) so it was very unnecessary for the Sovereign to insist that Tobias be killed in the arena when Tobias proved himself very capable of defending himself out there. Especially when time and time again Tobias was being Blessed by the Savior and thus given an extra edge in each fight. Another thing was his anger about Leila being down in the Labyrinth despite that having been the perfect opportunity for his three assassins to kill her seeing as Tobias wasn't available 24/7 to look over her and protect her.  

Leila being the Savior is a very hollow revelation and makes much of the book seem very pointless. The whole premise was that Tobias falls in love with a woman that he's not supposed to seeing as he's entered into the Sovereign's Tournament, but it's all taken away and the impact of him having a forbidden romance with someone who isn't the Savior is taken away when it turns out that the woman he loves is in fact the Savior. It was very annoying to see Leila constantly assuming things of Tobias, first with seeing the blood on his hands and assuming he's the one that murdered the first three competetors in the Labyrinth (despite him being covered in injuries from said Labyrinth) and then going on to the Poem Challenge where he poured his heart out in a love poem ABOUT her and FOR her. Instead of taking this into account, she just assumes that he had sex with Cosima during his reward even though by this time they had confessed to loving each other already. It's very trope-y and something I've seen many a times in other stories and media. Her killing of the Senators is just seen as a "Oh, *shrug* no biggie" type of thing by Tobias which I felt was very strange seeing as he looked down on and actually beat up the other competetors in the Tournament for murdering people. Leila also constantly got upset with Tobias for saying that he hates the Savior when they both know that he thinks Cosima is the Savior. When he was saying he hates the Savior, he was referring to hating Cosima and they were both well aware of this. She was supposed to be this super badass woman who doesn't afraid of everything and yet to me she just felt like a special snowflake Mary Sue most of the time. Finally about Leila I kept wondering is why she smelled so strongly of peaches that Tobias was seemingly able to smell it the moment she walked through a door. Did she constantly eat them? Was she bathing in a scented wash? Did she wear peach perfume? It was never explained to my knowledge.

Sadly in the story, Kaleo was the only character I found myself enjoying at times since he angered Tobias so much and I was already annoyed with Tobias before the end of the first chapter. Despite him at the end of the story turning into a perverted sexual deviant who wanted to literally rape Tobias in order to torture him for the Sovereign and being very two-dimensional like the rest of the characters in his sadistic tendencies during the whole Tournament, he was still the most entertaining of all the characters.

The Writing:

Despite me prefacing this review with that I feel Jenna Moreci gives out sound advice on writing, I found her writing style to really not live up to that advice she preaches one her YouTube channel. For one thing, the dialogue in this story was such a strange hybrid switching back and forth from overly formal and robotic to fratboy/fuckboy speak. And every single character save Enzo and the Queen from Enzo's country spoke in the same exact way. Even the Sovereign, the literal king of Thessen, walked around calling people "little bitches" and "cunts" all the time. Leila was called blunt and her words were made to seem like a joke but instead, her dialogue was just very vulgar when it felt that the author wanted to be funny. Another thing was that overuse of the words "cock", "cunt" and "bitch" throughout the story. They were the ONLY insults thrown at people which made it really seem that the author knew no other insults she could give for the characters to toss at each other. Even Raphael, the Intellect, literally the smartest and most refined man in the Tournament would say "cock" and I believe even called people "cunts". As far as I was able to tell, there was only one instance that Jenna Moreci wrote "dick" instead of "cock" and it was twenty-six chapters deep in the story while Cosima was trying to coerce Tobias into having sex with her.

This whole story just feels like it was a YA book placed under the Adult genre in order to allow the author to have gore and sex and vulgar dialogue. As I mentioned with Tobias, the men in the story just felt so unbelievable as if they were thought up by a teenager who thinks this is what grown men are all like despite this having been written by a 30+ year old woman. A lot of the elements were just so juvenile and immature such as the fuckboy nature to a lot of the dialogue and certain things like Tobias focusing so much on Leila's chest and thinking to himself "tits tits tits tits" at one point. Then there was a whole scene where Tobias describes urinating in someone's washbin for cheating on his sister which, while yes he was sixteen at the time, felt so juvenile for him to be talking about. Another EXTREMELY juvenile and cringey thing was that Ceasar was just randomly jerking off right next to Tobias in his tent every morning. As if in spite of being in the Tournament surrounded by a bunch of death and violence and gore he's just too horny and can't help but masturbate right next to Tobias. Finally a lot of the descriptors given to people in dialogue and even in the narrative itself felt very strange. The servants constantly scuttled and scampered about. People were skidding to a halt despite walking at a regular pace. And a lot of times people "spat" out words when it didn't seem like that's how they were trying to say the sentence? I don't know how to put it other than it was just very strange.

The Plot/World:

I've seen a lot of other one-two star reviews going over the lack of Worldbuilding in this story, so I'll try not to reiterate too much here. I do agree that there's just so little we're given about Thessen other than the general vibe that it's based off of Ancient Greece and it used to be a desert before the first Savior changed it all. I also agree that the lack of an in depth explanation on the magic was just very confusing and left a lot of head scratching and it's sad to realize that Jenna Moreci is more than likely saving any kind of explanation on the magic and how it works for her second and third book in the series. It would have been nice in the final chapter when Leila saved Tobias and was explaining everything about her being the Savior that she give us SOME kind of explanation. Such as why the Blessings ONLY showed up on Tobias when it was most convenient for them within the story. Why didn't it show up when Tobias was in the hedge maze? Why did it take until he made it to the arena and started fighting Flynn and Kaleo? Why is it that despite Leila being a literal god wasn't powerful enough to keep the Sovereign from having too much control or even just from overthrowing him and taking control of the realm back? There was also the whole matter in the final chapter with her suddenly needing to say a chant in order to heal Tobias when before when healing him she just slathered the fake potions on him and touched him.

It was very confusing that the Sovereign, the current ruler of the realm of Thessen, wasn't able to name how many Tournaments there have been but he was able to tell everyone  that there were three men who tried to quit the Tournament and know exactly how they were executed for their dessertion. Another thing about the worldbuilding was that it was very sad that characters kept using the phrase "oh my God" or using "God" at all. Despite Thessen being based on Ancient Greece (which was polytheistic) and them worshiping a living god in the Savior, it would have been a lot nicer and fit in better for characters to say something like "oh my Savior" or at least use the plural form of "gods" or give us an explanation that the Savior is supposed to be the child of a singular God and that's why they're constantly praising Him.

There were a lot of just very random things thrown in that despite them serving a purpose to the plot felt out of place in the plot. Such as there just randomly being an apothecary lesson for seemingly no reason only for it to be revealed that the wine was poisoned. Like, why did no one question why they were learning how to brew an antidote to a poison in the first place? How did none of the "smart" characters like Tobias or Raphael piece together that they were being poisoned? As I mentioned before, the deaths for much of the story just felt very random and served no real purpose other than to eliminate that character from the roster and have someone for Tobias to cry about for a few pages until Leila came along and he could stare at her chest to forget all his troubles.

Miscellaneous Issues:

There were also a lot of just very random things that I kept cringing at or questioning in the story. Such as the dialogue at the start with the woman asking Tobias if he prefers "the cock to the cunt" as a roundabout way to ask if Tobias is gay. Cosima's lovely little line about how a man isn't a man until he proves he can have sex with a woman. Like, yes, we're supposed to not like Cosima because she's betraying Leila and going power hungry (and a lot of the time it felt like we were supposed to hate her for being "slutty") but that whole thing just had me cringing.

Tobias seemed to have this instant weapon mastery after having one overnight lesson on how to fight with a sword against the bardiche with Flynn and Leila. He was never taught how to shoot a bow, he was never taught how to fight sword against sword and he CERTAINLY wasn't taught how to dual wield swords and yet he was instantly able to master all of these fighting techniques despite having just One (1) lesson in the whole book.

Garrick did an absolute 180 going from this super badass calling everyone else a coward and jumping into the ravine (which should have killed him given that him jumping from that height and hitting the water's surface tension would have been like jumping onto concrete) turns into a coward throwing a hissy fit and saying "fuck the Savior" just because Drake pointed him out next as the target he wanted to kill.

The fight against the Giant confused me since Tobias was teleporting around the arena and at the start I had assumed the arena was a large area and yet when he would teleport from one side to the other he was able to hear the Giant questioning what was going on with perfect clarity. He was also confusing in killing the Farmer for being "blasphemous" despite he himself wanting only coin and glory and calling the Savior a "pair of glowing tits". (At least I thought it was the Giant that killed the Farmer. I could be wrong because of confusion, again.)

The final two points that were just very random were why Delphi kept telling Tobias all this information about the other contestants. Other than it being because Leila liked Tobias, she was giving him information before Tobias even realized he was in love with Leila so I just kept asking myself "why is she doing this? What's in it for her?" And lastly was that the riddles in their little card game were stupidly simple and felt only there for the need of toting Tobias' intelligence to the reader.

In Conclusion:

I was very disappointed in this story. I had high hopes going in and was excited to read it because I like Jenna Moreci's channel on YouTube but I ended up having to force myself to finish this book when I wanted to just close it and return it to the library after the first three chapters. It's made me very hesitant to find and read her other book Eve: The Awakening or any other book in the Savior's Series despite my morbid curiosity. All in all, I would not recommend this book to anyone and give this a 2/5 simply because I liked Kaleo and his trashy self.

To be falsely accused.

even our Creator knows what this is like while standing in the face of men who accused Him of wrongdoing according to their own rules.

Today’s reading from the Scriptures begins with the 3rd chapter in the book of Mark:

On the Sabbath, Jesus had come into a synagogue where He saw a man with a withered hand.

The Pharisees held their breath: would Jesus cure this man on the Sabbath, right there in front of everyone? If so, they could charge Him with breaking the Sabbath law. Jesus knew their hearts. He called to the man with the withered hand.

Jesus: Come to Me.

Then He turned to the Pharisees with a question.

Jesus: Do our laws tell us to do good or evil on the Sabbath? To save life, or to snuff it out?

They remained silent.

Jesus was furious as He looked out over the crowd, and He was grieved by their hard hearts.

Jesus (to the man with the withered hand): So be it. Stretch out your hand.

The man stretched forth his hand; and as he did, it was completely healed. The Pharisees went directly from the synagogue to consult with the supporters of Herod, the Romans’ puppet ruler, about how they could get rid of this dangerous dreamer.

Meanwhile Jesus and His followers traveled to the shore of the Sea of Galilee; as always, a huge crowd from Galilee and Judea gathered. People had come from miles to see this man they were hearing so much about. They came from the big cities, including Jerusalem of Judea, Tyre and Sidon of Phoenicia, and from the region of Idumea, south of Judea. Since Jesus had healed so many, the sick and the infirm pushed forward constantly to touch Him, to be healed, and to ask His blessing. The crowd pressed so closely around Jesus that He asked His disciples to get a boat He could board if the crush became too great.

Most wanted to be near Him, except for those possessed by unclean spirits. Those people fell down before Him.

Unclean Spirits: You are the Son of God.

But He ordered them not to reveal His true identity.

Jesus called together a select group of His followers and led them up onto a mountain. There He commissioned them the twelve. [Later He calls them His emissaries.] He wanted them to be with Him. He sent them out to spread the good news and to cast out evil spirits [and heal diseases]. Here are the names of the original twelve: Simon (whom Jesus called Peter, meaning “the rock”), James and John (the sons of Zebedee, whom Jesus called “the Sons of Thunder”), Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew (the tax collector, also called Levi), Thomas, James (the son of Alphaeus), Thaddaeus, Simon of Canaan (who was also called “the Zealot”), and Judas Iscariot (who one day would betray Jesus to the authorities in Jerusalem so God’s purpose could be fulfilled).

Jesus and His disciples went into a house to eat, but so many people pressed in to see Jesus that they could not be served. When Jesus’ family heard about this craziness, they went to drag Him out of that place.

Jesus’ Family (to one another): Jesus has lost His mind.

The scribes, for their part, came down from Jerusalem and spread the slander that Jesus was in league with the devil.

Scribes: That’s how He casts out demons. He’s casting them out by the power of Beelzebul—the ancient Philistine god—the prince of demons.

When Jesus heard this, He tried to reason with them using parables.

Jesus: Listen. How can Satan drive out Satan? A kingdom that makes war against itself will collapse. A household divided against itself cannot stand. If Satan opposes himself, he cannot stand and is finished.

If you want to break into the house of a strong man and plunder it, you have to bind him first. Then you can do whatever you want with his possessions. Listen, the truth is that people can be forgiven of almost anything. God has been known to forgive many things, even blasphemy. But speaking evil of the Spirit of God is an unforgivable sin that will follow you into eternity.

He said this because the scribes were telling people that Jesus got His power from dark forces instead of from God.

When Jesus’ mother and brothers arrived, they couldn’t break through the crowd, so they sent word in to Jesus that He should come out to them. The crowd was pressed in tight around Him when He received the message, “Your mother and brothers [and sisters] are waiting outside for You.”

Jesus looked around.

Jesus (answering them): Who are My mother and brothers?

He called into the silence. No one spoke.

At last His gaze swept across those gathered close, and Jesus smiled.

Jesus: You, here, are My mother and My brothers! Whoever does the will of God is My true family.

The Book of Mark, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 5th chapter of the book of Esther where Esther approaches King Ahasuerus with favor, and we read of the evil plot of Haman toward Mordecai:

When the third day arrived, Esther put on her royal robes and stood in the inner court of the palace across from the king’s rooms. The king was sitting on his throne facing the palace entrance. He was pleased when he noticed Queen Esther waiting in the court. He extended his gold scepter with his hand, inviting her in. Esther walked toward him, and when she was close enough, she reached out and touched the king’s scepter.

King Ahasuerus: What is it, Queen Esther? What is your request? I’ll give you anything—even half of my kingdom—all you need to do is ask.

Queen Esther: If it would please you, my king, I’d like for you and Haman to come today to a banquet I have made in your honor.

King Ahasuerus (looking at his servants): Go and find Haman this instant, so we can do as Esther desires.

So the king and Haman came to Esther’s banquet. As Haman, the king, and Esther were enjoying the wine at the end of her banquet, the king pressed the question.

King Ahasuerus: Now, my queen, what is your request? I promise that half of my kingdom is not too much to ask! Don’t be afraid to ask for whatever you want.

Queen Esther: I do want something. My request is: If I have found favor before you, and if you truly desire to grant my request, would you and Haman join me again tomorrow for another banquet I will prepare? Then I will answer your question.

Haman left dinner in high spirits, almost gleeful, but his joy was short lived. As he walked through the king’s gate, he passed by Mordecai. It angered Haman to see the Jew unwilling to stand and, worse still, seemingly unafraid. But he resisted showing his anger right then and there. Instead, he went home and spent time with friends and Zeresh, his wife. Haman spent the evening bragging to them about being rich and having lots of sons in his family. He even boasted about his relationship with the king, talking to his guests about his promotion above all of his fellow nobles and the officials of the king.

Haman: And that’s not all! Queen Esther invited me today to dine with her and the king. Just the three of us! And guess what? She’s invited me again tomorrow. What do you think about that? But I must be honest; seeing that Jew, Mordecai, as I pass through the gate makes it difficult to celebrate any of my good fortune.

Then his wife Zeresh and all of his friends came up with an idea.

Zeresh and His Friends: You should make a wood pole 75 feet high! Tomorrow morning, have the king sentence Mordecai to be executed on it. Then you’ll be able to have a good time at the banquet with the king.

Haman thought the idea was brilliant. So he had the pole made.

The Book of Esther, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, April 2 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about a True search for significance:

You may feel anxious about knowing God, about how to relate to him or how to understand or interpret the Scriptures, though the heart can only know the essential meaning of God in the state of its need, as its ultimate concern, and therefore unless you cry out “from the depths” of your being, you are merely intellectualizing or playing games... After all, the inner heart asks "How can I find God?" "How can I relate to God?" "How can I find hope and life?" but the answers to such questions are found by personal encounter with the reality of the Spirit of God, not by theological rationalizations. It is one thing to say "Lord" or "Master" but quite another to say "my Lord," or "my Master..." The Torah teaches that name of God refers to that which God alone is, namely, the "I am that I am"(אהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה) which is unknowable apart from the miracle of disclosure within the heart. That is why we find so many different names and titles for God in Scripture, for these are disclosures to the heart in a time of its need. For instance, to know God's name as "Savior" (מוֹשִׁיעַ) means experiencing deliverance from your struggles, pains, and fears by the agency of God’s victory, comfort, and consolation as given in Yeshua. However, unlike the experience of worldly education wherein you might acquire skills to accomplish certain tasks, spiritual education leads to a “dark clouds of unknowing” where you must regularly confess your weakness and your need for divine connection. God's name is therefore bound up with the basic quest within your heart for meaning, healing, and the desire of unconditional love. Knowing the name of God is an ongoing process as you struggle to accept and trust your life to be a blessing, and as you are enabled by the Holy Spirit to say "yes" and "amen" to life despite your failures, pains, fears, sorrows, and even your unanswered questions... It means opening your heart to life and believing that you are beloved, that you are accepted, that you will be okay, and that God is holding you in his everlasting arms. Amen, friend, may you know the meaning of that Name! [Hebrew for Christians]

4.1.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 2, 2021

When Messiah Came

“Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street shall be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times.” (Daniel 9:25)

This remarkable prophecy, given through the angel Gabriel to Daniel the prophet, actually predicted the date of the coming of Christ nearly 500 years in advance. From the announcement to the coming of “Messiah the Prince,” there would be 69 “weeks” (literally “sevens,” meaning in this context “seven-year periods”). That is, Messiah would come as the Prince 483 years after the commandment was given to rebuild Jerusalem. There is some uncertainty about the exact date of the decree, as well as the exact length of these prophetic years, but in each calculation the termination date is at least near or, in some cases, exactly the time when Christ entered Jerusalem to be acknowledged as its promised King.

However, Gabriel’s prophecy went on to say: “And after [the] threescore and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off” (Daniel 9:26). That is, although He would come as promised, instead of being gladly crowned as King, He would be slain. Since the 483-year period terminated long ago, it is clear that Messiah must already have come and then been put to death at that time.

The terms of this remarkable prophecy have been precisely fulfilled in Jesus Christ alone, and no one coming later could have done so. It is no wonder that He wept over Jerusalem, pronouncing her coming judgment, “because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation” (Luke 19:44).

We, like He, should weep and pray for Israel. Yet, in God’s omniscient planning, “through their fall salvation is come unto the Gentiles” (Romans 11:11), and in this we can rejoice. HMM

This is probably a really weird ask but, do you have any book recommendations?

ooooOOOOOOoooo boy, oh buddy oh pal, this is the best ask I’ve ever gotten. Little do any of you know, I am an extreme book geek, I haunt all the book festivals, I regularly maintain my relationships with the publishing houses, and I frequent author’s conferences and writer’s workshops. Partly because I’m prepping my own manuscript and partly because I love books so much.

I real a lot, like 200 books a year on a bad year, so if you’re looking for something more specific, you just have to say so!

Here are some top ones that I think are great reads that I recommend from a variety of genres in no particular order.

And I Darken by Kiersten White

No one expects a princess to be brutal. And Lada Dragwlya likes it that way. Ever since she and her gentle younger brother, Radu, were wrenched from their homeland of Wallachia and abandoned by their father to be raised in the Ottoman courts, Lada has known that being ruthless is the key to survival. She and Radu are doomed to act as pawns in a vicious game, an unseen sword hovering over their every move. For the lineage that makes them special also makes them targets.Lada despises the Ottomans and bides her time, planning her vengeance for the day when she can return to Wallachia and claim her birthright. Radu longs only for a place where he feels safe. And when they meet Mehmed, the defiant and lonely son of the sultan, Radu feels that he’s made a true friend—and Lada wonders if she’s finally found someone worthy of her passion.But Mehmed is heir to the very empire that Lada has sworn to fight against—and that Radu now considers home. Together, Lada, Radu, and Mehmed form a toxic triangle that strains the bonds of love and loyalty to the breaking point.

The Lotus Eaters by Tatjana Soli

In the final days of a falling Saigon, The Lotus Eaters unfolds the story of three remarkable photographers brought together under the impossible umbrella of war: Helen Adams, a once-naïve ingénue whose ambition conflicts with her desire over the course of the fighting; Linh, the mysterious Vietnamese man who loves her, but is torn between conflicting loyalties to his homeland and his heart; and Sam Darrow, a man addicted to the narcotic of violence, to his intoxicating affair with Helen and to the ever-increasing danger of his job. All three become transformed by the conflict they have risked everything to record.

In this much-heralded debut, Tatjana Soli creates a searing portrait of three souls trapped by their impossible passions, contrasting the wrenching horror of combat and the treachery of obsession with the redemptive power of love.

The Host by Stephanie Meyer

Melanie Stryder refuses to fade away. The earth has been invaded by a species that take over the minds of human hosts while leaving their bodies intact. Wanderer, the invading “soul” who has been given Melanie’s body, didn’t expect to find its former tenant refusing to relinquish possession of her mind.As Melanie fills Wanderer’s thoughts with visions of Jared, a human who still lives in hiding, Wanderer begins to yearn for a man she’s never met. Reluctant allies, Wanderer and Melanie set off to search for the man they both love.

The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen

Magic, adventure, mystery, and romance combine in this epic debut in which a young princess must reclaim her dead mother’s throne, learn to be a ruler—and defeat the Red Queen, a powerful and malevolent sorceress determined to destroy her.On her nineteenth birthday, Princess Kelsea Raleigh Glynn, raised in exile, sets out on a perilous journey back to the castle of her birth to ascend her rightful throne. Plain and serious, a girl who loves books and learning, Kelsea bears little resemblance to her mother, the vain and frivolous Queen Elyssa. But though she may be inexperienced and sheltered, Kelsea is not defenseless: Around her neck hangs the Tearling sapphire, a jewel of immense magical power; and accompanying her is the Queen’s Guard, a cadre of brave knights led by the enigmatic and dedicated Lazarus. Kelsea will need them all to survive a cabal of enemies who will use every weapon—from crimson-caped assassins to the darkest blood magic—to prevent her from wearing the crown.Despite her royal blood, Kelsea feels like nothing so much as an insecure girl, a child called upon to lead a people and a kingdom about which she knows almost nothing. But what she discovers in the capital will change everything, confronting her with horrors she never imagined. An act of singular daring will throw Kelsea’s kingdom into tumult, unleashing the vengeance of the tyrannical ruler of neighboring Mortmesne: the Red Queen, a sorceress possessed of the darkest magic. Now Kelsea will begin to discover whom among the servants, aristocracy, and her own guard she can trust.But the quest to save her kingdom and meet her destiny has only just begun—a wondrous journey of self-discovery and a trial by fire that will make her a legend … if she can survive.

The Martian by Andy Weir

Now, he’s sure he’ll be the first person to die there.

After a dust storm nearly kills him and forces his crew to evacuate while thinking him dead, Mark finds himself stranded and completely alone with no way to even signal Earth that he’s alive — and even if he could get word out, his supplies would be gone long before a rescue could arrive.

Chances are, though, he won’t have time to starve to death. The damaged machinery, unforgiving environment, or plain-old “human error” are much more likely to kill him first.

But Mark isn’t ready to give up yet. Drawing on his ingenuity, his engineering skills — and a relentless, dogged refusal to quit — he steadfastly confronts one seemingly insurmountable obstacle after the next. Will his resourcefulness be enough to overcome the impossible odds against him?

Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein

Valentine Michael Smith is a human being raised on Mars, newly returned to Earth. Among his people for the first time, he struggles to understand the social mores and prejudices of human nature that are so alien to him, while teaching them his own fundamental beliefs in grokking, watersharing, and love.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Allire Saenz

Aristotle is an angry teen with a brother in prison. Dante is a know-it-all who has an unusual way of looking at the world. When the two meet at the swimming pool, they seem to have nothing in common. But as the loners start spending time together, they discover that they share a special friendship—the kind that changes lives and lasts a lifetime. And it is through this friendship that Ari and Dante will learn the most important truths about themselves and the kind of people they want to be.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

Pachinko follows one Korean family through the generations, beginning in early 1900s Korea with Sunja, the prized daughter of a poor yet proud family, whose unplanned pregnancy threatens to shame them all. Deserted by her lover, Sunja is saved when a young tubercular minister offers to marry and bring her to Japan. So begins a sweeping saga of an exceptional family in exile from its homeland and caught in the indifferent arc of history. Through desperate struggles and hard-won triumphs, its members are bound together by deep roots as they face enduring questions of faith, family, and identity.

Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein

Oct. 11th, 1943-A British spy plane crashes in Nazi-occupied France. Its pilot and passenger are best friends. One of the girls has a chance at survival. The other has lost the game before it’s barely begun.When “Verity” is arrested by the Gestapo, she’s sure she doesn’t stand a chance. As a secret agent captured in enemy territory, she’s living a spy’s worst nightmare. Her Nazi interrogators give her a simple choice: reveal her mission or face a grisly execution.As she intricately weaves her confession, Verity uncovers her past, how she became friends with the pilot Maddie, and why she left Maddie in the wrecked fuselage of their plane. On each new scrap of paper, Verity battles for her life, confronting her views on courage, failure and her desperate hope to make it home. But will trading her secrets be enough to save her from the enemy? A Michael L. Printz Award Honor book that was called “a fiendishly-plotted mind game of a novel” in The New York Times, Code Name Verity is a visceral read of danger, resolve, and survival that shows just how far true friends will go to save each other.

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

For readers of Atul Gawande, Andrew Solomon, and Anne Lamott, a profoundly moving, exquisitely observed memoir by a young neurosurgeon faced with a terminal cancer diagnosis who attempts to answer the question What makes a life worth living?At the age of thirty-six, on the verge of completing a decade’s worth of training as a neurosurgeon, Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. One day he was a doctor treating the dying, and the next he was a patient struggling to live. And just like that, the future he and his wife had imagined evaporated. When Breath Becomes Air chronicles Kalanithi’s transformation from a naïve medical student “possessed,” as he wrote, “by the question of what, given that all organisms die, makes a virtuous and meaningful life” into a neurosurgeon at Stanford working in the brain, the most critical place for human identity, and finally into a patient and new father confronting his own mortality. What makes life worth living in the face of death? What do you do when the future, no longer a ladder toward your goals in life, flattens out into a perpetual present? What does it mean to have a child, to nurture a new life as another fades away? These are some of the questions Kalanithi wrestles with in this profoundly moving, exquisitely observed memoir. Paul Kalanithi died in March 2015, while working on this book, yet his words live on as a guide and a gift to us all. “I began to realize that coming face to face with my own mortality, in a sense, had changed nothing and everything,” he wrote. “Seven words from Samuel Beckett began to repeat in my head: ‘I can’t go on. I’ll go on.’” When Breath Becomes Air is an unforgettable, life-affirming reflection on the challenge of facing death and on the relationship between doctor and patient, from a brilliant writer who became both.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Achilles, “the best of all the Greeks,” son of the cruel sea goddess Thetis and the legendary king Peleus, is strong, swift, and beautiful irresistible to all who meet him. Patroclus is an awkward young prince, exiled from his homeland after an act of shocking violence. Brought together by chance, they forge an inseparable bond, despite risking the gods’ wrath.They are trained by the centaur Chiron in the arts of war and medicine, but when word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped, all the heroes of Greece are called upon to lay siege to Troy in her name. Seduced by the promise of a glorious destiny, Achilles joins their cause, and torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus follows. Little do they know that the cruel Fates will test them both as never before and demand a terrible sacrifice.

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

Andrew “Ender” Wiggin thinks he is playing computer simulated war games; he is, in fact, engaged in something far more desperate. The result of genetic experimentation, Ender may be the military genius Earth desperately needs in a war against an alien enemy seeking to destroy all human life. The only way to find out is to throw Ender into ever harsher training, to chip away and find the diamond inside, or destroy him utterly. Ender Wiggin is six years old when it begins. He will grow up fast.But Ender is not the only result of the experiment. The war with the Buggers has been raging for a hundred years, and the quest for the perfect general has been underway almost as long. Ender’s two older siblings, Peter and Valentine, are every bit as unusual as he is, but in very different ways. While Peter was too uncontrollably violent, Valentine very nearly lacks the capability for violence altogether. Neither was found suitable for the military’s purpose. But they are driven by their jealousy of Ender, and by their inbred drive for power. Peter seeks to control the political process, to become a ruler. Valentine’s abilities turn more toward the subtle control of the beliefs of commoner and elite alike, through powerfully convincing essays. Hiding their youth and identities behind the anonymity of the computer networks, these two begin working together to shape the destiny of Earth-an Earth that has no future at all if their brother Ender fails.

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie

In this enchanting tale about the magic of reading and the wonder of romantic awakening, two hapless city boys are exiled to a remote mountain village for reeducation during China’s infamous Cultural Revolution. There they meet the daughter of the local tailor and discover a hidden stash of Western classics in Chinese translation. As they flirt with the seamstress and secretly devour these banned works, they find transit from their grim surroundings to worlds they never imagined.

La Belle Sauvage by Phillip Pullman

Eleven-year-old Malcolm Polstead and his dæmon, Asta, live with his parents at the Trout Inn near Oxford. Across the River Thames (which Malcolm navigates often using his beloved canoe, a boat by the name of La Belle Sauvage) is the Godstow Priory where the nuns live. Malcolm learns they have a guest with them, a baby by the name of Lyra Belacqua …

Exit West by Mohsin Hamid

In a country teetering on the brink of civil war, two young people meet—sensual, fiercely independent Nadia and gentle, restrained Saeed. They embark on a furtive love affair and are soon cloistered in a premature intimacy by the unrest roiling their city. When it explodes, turning familiar streets into a patchwork of checkpoints and bomb blasts, they begin to hear whispers about doors—doors that can whisk people far away, if perilously and for a price. As the violence escalates, Nadia and Saeed decide that they no longer have a choice. Leaving their homeland and their old lives behind, they find a door and step through. Exit West follows these characters as they emerge into an alien and uncertain future, struggling to hold on to each other, to their past, to the very sense of who they are. Profoundly intimate and powerfully inventive, it tells an unforgettable story of love, loyalty, and courage that is both completely of our time and for all time.

Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward

A searing and profound Southern odyssey.In Jesmyn Ward’s first novel since her National Book Award winning Salvage the Bones, this singular American writer brings the archetypal road novel into rural twenty-first-century America. Drawing on Morrison and Faulkner, The Odyssey and the Old Testament, Ward gives us an epochal story, a journey through Mississippi’s past and present that is both an intimate portrait of a family and an epic tale of hope and struggle. Ward is a major American writer, multiply awarded and universally lauded, and in Sing, Unburied, Sing she is at the height of her powers.Jojo and his toddler sister, Kayla, live with their grandparents, Mam and Pop, and the occasional presence of their drug-addicted mother, Leonie, on a farm on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. Leonie is simultaneously tormented and comforted by visions of her dead brother, which only come to her when she’s high; Mam is dying of cancer; and quiet, steady Pop tries to run the household and teach Jojo how to be a man. When the white father of Leonie’s children is released from prison, she packs her kids and a friend into her car and sets out across the state for Parchman farm, the Mississippi State Penitentiary, on a journey rife with danger and promise.Sing, Unburied, Sing grapples with the ugly truths at the heart of the American story and the power, and limitations, of the bonds of family. Rich with Ward’s distinctive, musical language, Sing, Unburied, Sing is a majestic new work and an essential contribution to American literature.

Artemis by Andy Weir

Jazz Bashara is a criminal.Well, sort of. Life on Artemis, the first and only city on the moon, is tough if you’re not a rich tourist or an eccentric billionaire. So smuggling in the occasional harmless bit of contraband barely counts, right? Not when you’ve got debts to pay and your job as a porter barely covers the rent.Everything changes when Jazz sees the chance to commit the perfect crime, with a reward too lucrative to turn down. But pulling off the impossible is just the start of her problems, as she learns that she’s stepped square into a conspiracy for control of Artemis itself—and that now, her only chance at survival lies in a gambit even riskier than the first.

Sleeping Giants by Sylvain Neuvel

A girl named Rose is riding her new bike near her home in Deadwood, South Dakota, when she falls through the earth. She wakes up at the bottom of a square hole, its walls glowing with intricate carvings. But the firemen who come to save her peer down upon something even stranger: a little girl in the palm of a giant metal hand.Seventeen years later, the mystery of the bizarre artifact remains unsolved—its origins, architects, and purpose unknown. Its carbon dating defies belief; military reports are redacted; theories are floated, then rejected.But some can never stop searching for answers.Rose Franklin is now a highly trained physicist leading a top secret team to crack the hand’s code. And along with her colleagues, she is being interviewed by a nameless interrogator whose power and purview are as enigmatic as the provenance of the relic. What’s clear is that Rose and her compatriots are on the edge of unraveling history’s most perplexing discovery—and figuring out what it portends for humanity. But once the pieces of the puzzle are in place, will the result prove to be an instrument of lasting peace or a weapon of mass destruction?An inventive debut in the tradition of World War Z and The Martian, told in interviews, journal entries, transcripts, and news articles, Sleeping Giants is a thriller fueled by a quest for truth—and a fight for control of earthshaking power.

American War by Omar El Akkad

Sarat Chestnut, born in Louisiana, is only six when the Second American Civil War breaks out in 2074. But even she knows that oil is outlawed, that Louisiana is half underwater, that unmanned drones fill the sky. And when her father is killed and her family is forced into Camp Patience for displaced persons, she quickly begins to be shaped by her particular time and place until, finally, through the influence of a mysterious functionary, she is turned into a deadly instrument of war. Telling her story is her nephew, Benjamin Chestnut, born during war – part of the Miraculous Generation – now an old man confronting the dark secret of his past, his family’s role in the conflict and, in particular, that of his aunt, a woman who saved his life while destroying untold others.

Astrophysics for People in a Hurry by Neil Degrasse Tyson

The essential universe, from our most celebrated and beloved astrophysicist.What is the nature of space and time? How do we fit within the universe? How does the universe fit within us? There’s no better guide through these mind-expanding questions than acclaimed astrophysicist and best-selling author Neil deGrasse Tyson.But today, few of us have time to contemplate the cosmos. So Tyson brings the universe down to Earth succinctly and clearly, with sparkling wit, in tasty chapters consumable anytime and anywhere in your busy day.While you wait for your morning coffee to brew, for the bus, the train, or a plane to arrive, Astrophysics for People in a Hurry will reveal just what you need to be fluent and ready for the next cosmic headlines: from the Big Bang to black holes, from quarks to quantum mechanics, and from the search for planets to the search for life in the universe.

The Leavers by Lisa Ko

One morning, Deming Guo’s mother, an undocumented Chinese immigrant named Polly, goes to her job at the nail salon and never comes home. No one can find any trace of her.With his mother gone, eleven-year-old Deming is left with no one to care for him. He is eventually adopted by two white college professors who move him from the Bronx to a small town upstate. They rename him Daniel Wilkinson in their efforts to make him over into their version of an “all-American boy.” But far away from all he’s ever known, Daniel struggles to reconcile his new life with his mother’s disappearance and the memories of the family and community he left behind.Set in New York and China, The Leavers is a vivid and moving examination of borders and belonging. It’s the story of how one boy comes into his own when everything he’s loved has been taken away–and how a mother learns to live with the mistakes of her past.This powerful debut is the winner of the 2016 PEN/Bellwether Prize for fiction, awarded by Barbara Kingsolver for a novel that addresses issues of social justice.

The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzie Lee

Henry “Monty” Montague was born and bred to be a gentleman, but he was never one to be tamed. The finest boarding schools in England and the constant disapproval of his father haven’t been able to curb any of his roguish passions—not for gambling halls, late nights spent with a bottle of spirits, or waking up in the arms of women or men.But as Monty embarks on his Grand Tour of Europe, his quest for a life filled with pleasure and vice is in danger of coming to an end. Not only does his father expect him to take over the family’s estate upon his return, but Monty is also nursing an impossible crush on his best friend and traveling companion, Percy.Still it isn’t in Monty’s nature to give up. Even with his younger sister, Felicity, in tow, he vows to make this yearlong escapade one last hedonistic hurrah and flirt with Percy from Paris to Rome. But when one of Monty’s reckless decisions turns their trip abroad into a harrowing manhunt that spans across Europe, it calls into question everything he knows, including his relationship with the boy he adores.

These are just some good ones that I’ve read or reread recently! Let me know if you need more, or are looking for something from a more specific genre! Chances are I can find you something good to read!

my heart still beats, my skin still feels

an: siiiiighhh. This one’s for you, @nowforruin.  (title yanked from ‘running with the wolves’ by aurora because i’m a predicable sob)

There is something curious about this Jon Snow. She’d thought as much the first time she laid eyes on him - smaller than she expected, lean where she had imagined girth, short where she expected a great hulking tree of a man, prettier than most the men she’s ever seen.

They called him King in the North, and Daenerys had expected broad shoulders and a mean face, a man who might tower over her in an attempt to frighten her, someone with hard eyes and a hard face.

Jon Snow has so far defied all her expectations.

He shouldn’t surprise her, considering the legions of men who follow Daenerys Stormborn wherever she takes them - across barren seas of sand, into battle against rich and powerful men, across an ocean most had always thought an insurmountable obstacle. She is a tiny thing, really, in the scope of the world, with delicate features and a face that, when she looks upon it, has not aged in accordance with her experiences. And yet, men follow her still, look upon her with both awe and terror - respect, even, and as she begins to know Jon Snow she begins to understand the perspective of all those who have bent their heads in deference to her.

It is an inconvenient revelation for her. She finds herself catching his gaze as it darts away from her; finds herself hiding a smile as he comes to stand beside her in his heavy furs and cloak seemingly unaware of the different climate or perhaps merely unwilling to look less a northerner; and sucking in a deep breath as his hand curls over her forearm and he dares to guide her along in the direction he’d like her to go. And when Tyrion’s brilliant mind fails her, when she has lost and she cannot see a way forward, it is Jon Snow’s council she seeks out, it is his soft and low voice; the humble shock in his eyes as she asks what he would have her do; the way he does not stumble over his harsh words; the way he questions her concern for the people even as he reminds her of her desire to do good, to be better, to change the way this world works.

They call him King in the North, and sometimes, Daenerys wonders if perhaps it is a lucky thing this man is a bastard who will likely give his life in this fight of his - surely if he were a trueborn son all of Westeros would be in his grasp by now.

------

He thinks of Stannis, the cool, harsh Stannis Baratheon, as he is escorted to his audience with the Dragon Queen - and as he looks upon her for the first time, he imagines Stannis sitting on this opulent throne, imagines the starkness of his face, and is immediately certain Stannis never sat where she now sits. It should be absurd, the picture of this young woman with her stern expression and steel back, silver hair gleaming against the stone behind her, but he stops short at the sight of it, of her, and even as her titles rattle off the walls around them he finds himself watching her.

It is no surprise he finds himself immediately at odds with her - he had expected as much when he agreed to this meeting - and yet he is disappointed too. Disappointed in himself for rising to her challenges, disappointed in her for refusing to listen to his words.

It makes no sense, at first, this rolling anger beneath his skin, the sharp ache of annoyance as they go toe to toe and she does not pay heed to his warning - she is a queen, just like any other, and he has never had much time for royalty, for the expectation of fealty, for monarchs so enamored with their own power they forget who they serve.

As he grows to know her better, pushed and shoved in that direction by his advisors and her own, he begins to understand why he’d taken so poorly to her reticence at first. He saw something of himself in her - this woman who triumphed over so much strife, who rose to conquer cities and earn the love of her people - he’d wanted her to believe him. He’d seen her dragons, her stature, seen the way that the Dothraki held themselves back at her silent command, heard the pride in the voices of those happy to serve her, and he’d hoped she might believe him.

The following days and weeks become difficult - he is a prisoner here, and despite the freedoms he is given he paces and he stares out into the vastness of the horizon and he wonders how he can convince the dragon queen of one more fantastical thing.

It feels a bit like fate to find the carvings amidst the dragonglass, and as he leads her through the tunnels, his sense of determination stems as much from his hope to find level footing with this woman as it is to show her further proof of his claims.

“I’ve seen you staring at her good heart,” Davos had said, as much a warning as a gentle ribbing, and at the time Jon’s response had felt like enough, but now he watches her as she takes in the stories of the Children of the Forest and he knows he is well and truly fucked. No time for that, he lies, even as he thinks of the jut of her chin and the fire in her eyes.

He’s known strong women before. Plenty of them, from the time he could remember knowing a difference between men and women. The hardness of Catelyn Stark had never stopped him from acknowledging the strength of her love for her children, from understanding how far she’d go for her family. Sansa, a girl who’d longed for pretty dresses and a handsome prince, had been through hell and back and come out the other side to fight the same fight her mother had - resilient and fierce, clever and brave. And Arya - he had to hope she was out there somewhere, too stubborn to die, too fearsome to let the world defeat her. Even Gilly had left an impression on him - she’d beaten the lot she’d been given in life, and fought to be more than she was. Brienne of Tarth, and the Wildling women he knew, even Cersei, much as he hated her - all these women had proven time and again they had the grit to defeat the roles they’d been gifted by unforgiving gods.

He tries not to think too hard on Ygritte, but her memory comes to him too, and he wonders what she’d say, how she’d laugh to know Jon Snow has found himself once again in the orbit of a woman with as much stubborn conviction as he. She’d hate him for it, he’s sure.

Daenerys is a woman apart from those he’s known before, and he cannot let himself wonder why. Even as he thinks on her, there are things more important that should occupy his mind, things he forces himself to remember - the terror of seeing the dead rise, the dread of knowing how few men there truly are to fight this war, the knowledge that he will most likely fail without the help of this woman. The North will fall, and the rest of Westeros after it, and the nothingness of death will fall upon them all.

There in that cave, guiding Daenerys by her arm, the firelight bouncing off stone walls, he thinks of Ygritte again, of her boldness and the way she’d shuddered and fallen apart in his arms. Of the way he’d felt alive, truly, blissfully alive and free, even though it was all a sham, a lie to secure the safety of the Wall.

He feels it again standing with Daenerys. Since he’d come back, he’d fought only out of duty, fought because it was the only thing he knew he could do well - but as she spits his own words back at him and holds his gaze, a fire blazes under his skin, and for a moment he forgets the lords of the North, he forgets the cold blackness beyond life, and he wants to live.

She begs his advice outside that cave and despite the antagonistic nature of their relationship he offers his frank opinion. It is not to stop her from destroying cities or burning the people of Westeros, it is not because they will need every able body to defeat the coming storm.

He tells her not to attack the people because he needs her to be better than that: a fair leader, a good woman. Because he trusts in the kindness of her heart.

No time for that, he tells himself, while her men assist in the mining of dragonglass and she rides off to battle. There’s no time for that, he repeats in the back of his mind as he stands atop the cliffs, watching a beast out of Nan’s horror stories soar above him.

No time for that, and his hand shakes as he pulls it free from it’s glove, and strokes his fingers over thick scales, his breath coming out in short puffs, overwhelmed by all of it, unsure what had overcome him, what desperate need had made him reach out to touch.

No time.

------

He is steady as he reaches toward Drogon, and through the shock of seeing anyone dare come so close to one of her children (Tyrion, Tyrion had done it, she remembered, but Tyrion was a brave drunken fool, Tyrion held her respect, her trust most days, and here was another brave fool). She finds herself drawn to the sight - her blood racing, heart hammering, she cranes to take in what is happening below her.

She has never felt the need to share this experience with another - never thought anyone would try, but as she dismounts and Drogon takes flight again, she looks upon Jon Snow and tries to hide the eagerness in her voice to hear his thoughts on the experience.

Her mind wanders then to other experiences shared between them, things that have set them apart from the rest of this world. Yet he plays down the words spoken in the heat of the moment, and she hides her disappointment, unwilling to truly examine why she yearns to uncover the mysteries of this northern bastard who holds the claim for a large part of her kingdom.

She could just as easily have him executed - burn him in dragon fire as she had those southron men who refused to bend the knee, order his head taken from his neck like his father’s had before him.

And yet.

He had come to her in peace, has shown her respect and even at times patience and understanding. He has been humble, though certainly not deferential, fiercely protective of his people - he wanted nothing more than the support of her armies and the protection of the people she meant to one day lead.

He had stood before Drogon, the fiercest of her children, and Drogon had seen no artifice in Jon Snow.

Shaken as she is by that realization, it rattles her calm, makes her stare at him longer and harder, makes her notice how much she’s grown to respect him, this man who refuses to bend the knee and desires her help all the same.

And then Jorah is returned to her, and in that blaze of happiness she forgets herself for a moment, lets emotion slip past her mask

His hands tremble when he reads the letter sent from Winterfell, and in that moment he is entirely too human for her: breakable, easily killed. She has to swallow so her voice does not waver as she reminds him of his place, but they both know she will do nothing to stop him.

The entire room knows it.

Daenerys has never felt more powerless, and she hates him for it, hates Jorah Mormont and Jon Snow, hates Tyrion Lannister and the Red Priestess for ever suggesting an alliance with the North could be beneficial.

She hates them all, for their bravery, for their council, for the weakness they all share in their desire to serve the realm - for earning her respect even when she meant not to give it.

And still, her crisp nod is enough to send them all down a path she is not certain they can return from.

------

It’s a fool plan, and he knows it long before it all goes wrong, but it’s all they’ve got, and even as he sends Gendry back towards Eastwatch he wonders if there hadn’t been a better plan. If he’d waited a bit longer, spent more time with Dany, might he have convinced her to bring a dragon to begin with?

That’s what he’s asking of her now, isn’t it? Time is not on their side, and no matter how much he might like her she’s no warrior. But she alone controls the greatest weapon in all their arsenals, and she alone might be able to get them out of this foolhardy mess.

He’d seen the way she looked at him, the way she’d held back as they said their goodbyes, and he’s no great judge of women’s desires, but something tells him she will come. For the realm. For Jorah Mormont.

If he adds his own name to the list, no one else has to know about it.

When she does come, in a fiery blaze of glory, he knows Tormund is right. For so long he’s known only terrible rulers, or dead ones, and here now in the desolate north, surrounded on all sides by creatures of death, Daenerys Targaryen has come - no doubt against the wishes of her advisors, no doubt against her own sense. She’s as recklessly foolish as he is, and as he watches her astride the great beast, burning the dead to ash, he feels a kinship stronger than any before it.

At least, as it all goes to shit, and he plunges into the ice, towards the same watery grave as one of her dragons, he can be certain she will continue this fight without him.

------

The loss of Viserion sits heavily upon her, and so she tries not to think of it.

It’s an easier task than she might have expected, the grief shoved aside in favor of her worry for the man she’s already risked far too much for. He is pale, his breathing not quite steady, his eyes closed in slumber as Ser Davos buries him in furs and orders men about. She’s seen the scars, knows without having to question it just what has happened to him - the pieces coming together as her mind races - Davos’ words about what he’s sacrificed for his people, the appearance of the Red Priestess and her conviction that Jon Snow was important in this war, the bordering on suicidal nature of the way he fights.

Jon Snow’s not in love with me, she’d told Tyrion, more to convince herself than anything else, but she’d seen the way he’d looked at her after Viserion fell, seen the set of his shoulders as he turned toward the Night King, heard the tremor in his voice as he called for her to leave.

When all is settled and the man shuffle past her out the door, when only Davos remains, staring down at the king he’s chosen, eyeing the rise of fall of his chest beneath the furs, she takes another step into the room. Ser Davos seems only then to realize she is there, and he startles.

“Your Grace,” he says, and she fights the quirk of her lip at the tone of it, a gentle chiding in his voice even as he dips his head towards her. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but he needs rest.”

Daenerys swallows, nods, and takes another step into the room. “I won’t wake him, Ser Davos.”

The man opens his mouth, shakes his head and closes it. When she glances up at him, his expression nearly gets a laugh out of her, and she can imagine inside his head are nothing but thoughts of the stubbornness of those he has surrounded himself with. If he knew her better, she has no doubt he’d make those thoughts known, but he slides around her instead, and she listens to the heavy footfalls as he moves down the hall.

In the quiet, Jon’s breathing sounds ragged and shaky, and she takes three steps closer to the edge of the bed before she’s even realized it.

There is something about Jon that makes her forget herself, and even if it’s only for a moment, it is something she has not experienced in a long time. Through everything that has happened in the last few years, she has held herself stern and unyielding, concealing every thought that crosses her mind and every emotion felt - the sadness, the anger, the heartache - until she worried she’d lost the ability to feel those things entirely.

Now, she looks at this man, this man who has died and come back to fight for his people, this man who has spent months now listening to her demand his fealty in return for her help and still found the nerve to ask her to come for his party beyond the wall.

He’s a fool. A brave, honorable fool, and her heart aches to think she nearly lost him too.

When he wakes, she is by his side, alternating her gaze between the pinch of his brow, his face solemn even in sleep, and the curl of his hand by the edge of the bed; so close she could reach out and grasp it.

And then he speaks, the first words out of his mouth not a thank you, or anything pertaining to the Night King or his own near miss with death.

No, it is an apology. An apology for the mission they undertook, and the loss it caused, and even as her eyes well with tears he reaches for her hand, earnest and true, likely to the very bitter end.

She wants so very desperately in that moment to allow herself this comfort, to curl her fingers into his palm and stay there with him, to cry the tears she has yet to shed, to let him see her, beneath the masks and the steel and the fire of her eyes.

But she cannot. She has suffered a loss not only for herself, but for her people as well, in this battle she had not truly believed in until the moment Viserion fell. If she allows herself the comfort of the promise in his eyes when he looks upon her, she will not be strong enough to face the coming storm.

When she pulls her hand away and tucks it into her lap she grasps it beneath the one he’d held. It is a poor substitute.

------

“Do you understand?”

He doesn’t know why it sticks out to him, why, as he thinks on her (and gods does he spend far too much time stuck in this fucking bed thinking on her) the admission is what he goes back to. Her promise to fight with him, the way she’d stared at their clasped hands, the very fact that she’d allowed herself to break down in front of him, even for a moment - all of that he spends less time contemplating than he does those words.

He’s spent enough time on them to know they didn’t come from a desire to make him feel guilty - she hadn’t said them in order to gain pity, and as he turns them over and over again, there’s truly only one reason that comes to mind.

Years ago, it might have been a blessing, hearing those words from a woman he thought of the way he thought of Daenerys. His greatest fear with Ygritte hadn’t been of breaking his vows but of putting a bastard in her, forcing another child to grow up in an already shit world with that word a burden on it’s shoulders. 

He was a bastard boy, with no land to inherit, no room to become a great man like his father, and so he’d gone to the Night’s Watch, where at least he could be and honorable man. Benjen had told him he didn’t know what it meant, to give up the chance for a family, and he’d scoffed and thrown it aside, ready to devote himself to something that meant a damn thing.

Since Ygritte, he’d not thought on it, too busy to even contemplate such a thing. Until Daenerys. Until he looked at her and saw the fire in her eyes, the fierce loyalty she commanded, the desire she carried within her heart to truly help the people of this land. Until Jorah had told him to pass Longclaw down through the generations of his kin.

He’d thought on it then - a babe in his arms, a child to teach to fight, to love, to stand fierce and tall and brave against a world that would always try to drag them down. A girl or boy to hold close to his heart, who could carry on a legacy of their own making.

It doesn’t matter.

When she curls her fingers around his, and whispers the hope that he is right about her, when she holds his steady gaze and tells him to rest, already drawing back into herself, it doesn’t matter.

He will fight for her, with her, until his very last breath, and he will admire her in whatever way she will allow. He’ll stand by her side against the coming storm, and he will not let it matter. Her legacy will outlive her, children or no. He won’t allow any other possibility.

Turning Pages Turned to Stone (Finale)

Tyrasam took her time walking down the hallway. There was a lot she wanted to tell the woman who destroyed Zaldrannar, but she was conflicted; she knew Whitstan was the one who took Zerethel’s life, yet this Istrys woman was being punished for it all the same. Guilt crept up into the back of her throat for not speaking out against this obvious injustice, but judging how High Justicar Arveld addressed the three Undead, it wouldn’t have done them any good. The hallway itself was dimly lit with candles, spiraling down further into the earth, hidden away from prying eyes and the warmth of the Holy Light. When she found the single cell and the two guards near the end of the hallway, the Paladin took in a sharp breath before they took notice of her presence.

 “I want to speak with the woman who poisoned my husband.” Tyrasam addressed them as politely and assertively as she could, hoping they were in the generous mood to give her what she wanted; but they stared at her for several moments, questioning her intention.

 “Keep it brief.” One of them commanded, while they both stepped away from the iron bars. “And you will not enter her cell… and we will be within earshot.” She didn’t respond as they walked away, giving her enough space to step to the cell. The room itself was pitch black and silent, causing the Paladin to question whether or not Istrys was even in there. After several prolonged moments in deafening silence, Tyrasam suddenly heard the woman shift around in the furthermost corner of her cell.

“Have you come to mock me?” Istrys asked, while her fading cerulean eyes opened to reveal herself. “If you have anything you want to get off your mind, now’s your last chance.”

 “I’m not here to taunt you.” Tyrasam squinted to get a better look at the Necromancer, but for the most part she hid herself well in the darkness. A part of her wanted to tell her exactly what she thought of this silver-haired witch of a woman, but it didn't feel right to insult someone waiting for their execution. Tyrasam never trusted her around her husband, and the few times she walked in on them having a conversation alone would always spoil whatever good mood she had; thoughts of Zerethel cheating on her with this harpy made her stomach churn, but she did her best to hide these feelings, knowing no good would come from such paranoid delusions. “I wanted you to answer a few questions for me. When Zereth gave the order to betray Alucieus… what was he doing? What did he look like?”

 “Looked like a man who was losing his shit.” Istrys spoke dryly. “When Rethandus and Whitstan were done with their duel, which was fantastic by the way, your hubby wasn’t too pleased. He clutched his head and collapsed to his knees, mumbling something underneath his breath. When he rose back up to his feet, he was-”

 “I get the gist of it.” The Paladin frowned, tightening her grip around the iron bars. “So it really was fel poisoning… are you absolutely sure you weren’t responsible for that? I know you likely lied to High Justicar Arveld’s face… but was what you said true?”

 “I didn’t poison your damn husband.” Istrys hissed, her sense of humor vanishing once more. “I didn’t stop it from happening either, though, so I guess that’s just as bad. Not that it matters now.”

 “It matters to me.” She sharply inhaled again, momentarily distracted by her own thoughts. “And Rethandus? Whitstan? Were they involved…?”

 “You already know the answer if you have to ask.” The Necromancer closed her eyes and seemingly vanished from sight, but she was too weak to move around. “Ask them yourself. Both of them seem to have a weakness for your pampered princess of a daughter.”

 “I saw him and the Blackguard leaving Zaldrannar when I was shopping in Silvermoon.” Tyrasam started. “I saw the plumes of smoke rising from the nearby island an hour later. Was that Zereth’s doing?”

“It was.” the Necromancer leaned forward, letting what little light leaking into her cell illuminate half of her face. “A bounty was placed on you, your little girl and your late husband. Your grandfather-in-law wanted you dead. I’m sure you’d know why better than I do.” Tyrasam remained silent, unable to speak a coherent sentence with her thoughts in such disarray. She knew Zerethel’s father hated his youngest son, and hated her for loving him, but never in a thousand years could she believe he was capable of putting a hit on his own flesh and blood, his own daughter-in-law and even worse, sweet little Jaeras; the thought of his cruel grin spreading across his wrinkled face with their three heads presented to him on a silver platter made her stomach turn. Eventually she managed to push those thoughts aside, and glance back up at Istrys.

 “He would never…” She stuttered, unsure how to handle this news.

 “When Zerethel caught wind of this bounty, he decided to strike first. He brought me along with the Blackguard Elite, and we visited the homes of both of his brothers before we found Kolos himself locked away in Dalaran.”

 “He did it to protect us.” Tyrasam declared, unconvincingly. “He did it to protect me…”

 “Did he?” Istrys asked, slinking back into the darkness. “Or did he need a reason to slaughter his kin? He didn’t just kill his father, you know. He killed both of his brothers as well. He even killed their children. Zerethel wiped out the entire Kash’kaar bloodline, sparing only you and your girl. And the worst part…? He enjoyed it.” Tyrasam began breathing heavily while she glared at this vile woman, but she didn’t have anything to say. She was frozen in place, envisioning her husband’s spellflame consuming children. Children. “You should have seen the look on his face when he was deep frying his nephew. When he watched his brother flail slowly die by his flames. This wasn’t about revenge, or the need to protect you… he enjoyed it. He was smiling the entire time.”

 “I can’t…!” Tyrasam covered her mouth, but the Necromancer continued.

 “I’m a bitch, I’ll admit it. I got a thrill from killing people even before I became undead… and a few months ago I wasn’t above killing kids… but for him to do what he did to his own family? That’s a whole new level of fucked.” Istrys paused while she let the Paladin take in her words; if she was going to die tonight, she might as well tell this poor sap the whole truth. “That’s why I left the fel rune alone when I found it. Someone wanted him dead, and quite frankly, the world is better off without him.”

 “He wasn’t a good man…” Tyrasam started while she dropped her gaze to the floor. “But he was all I had…”

 “Well, what you had was legit evil.” The Necromancer leaned back to rest her head against the cold stone wall. “Be honest… if you knew a man who was capable of something like that… would you want him around? Would you want him around your little girl? Would you stop someone else from killing him?”

 “I…” She stuttered, nervously running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to… how to answer that…”

 “You already know the answer to that one, too.” Istrys’ words cut through Tyrasam like a blade. “You seem sweet… but you’re too gullible for your own good. I never got to know you well enough to say you deserve a good man in your life, but everyone deserves better than him.” The Paladin struggled to keep her composure as her tears began rolling down her cheeks. Despite months of supposed healing, against day after day of trying to put him behind her, he still had a firm grip on her body and soul. He would visit in her dreams, wheezing and scowling like he once did; and every time she would wake up in cold sweat. The woman was harsh, but her words rang true. Tyrasam let her husband do some twisted things; it was time to set things right.

 “I’m going to have a little chat with High Justicar Arveld.” She sighed while she rubbed her face dry from her tears, causing the Necromancer to slowly lean forward again.

 “What for? Trying to get my execution over sooner than later?”

 “You’ll have to wait and see.” The Paladin reluctantly released the bars and turned her back to the Necromancer. “I wouldn't give up just yet if I were you.”

  Istrys was carried by her two guards, too weak to even lift her feet to stop them from dragging along the floor. She could barely keep her eyes open by this point, struggling to lift her head up while they set her in her podium. Rethandus watched her in a scornful silence as he wondered how he would rescue her from this nightmare in one piece.

 “Thank you all for your patience and understanding.” High Justicar Arveld started while he stared down at the Necromancer. “As you are all aware, the Undead are a blight to this world, an unholy creation with the sole purpose of destroying and converting all life. They are a pestilence, who walk a very thin line of tolerance and usefulness. That is why we must punish any creature who strays from the path.”

 Whitstan grit his teeth as he listen to the pompous and self-righteous preaching condemning his own kind.

 “This isn't right.” Rethandus thought to himself. “They are going to butcher her and there isn't a damned thing I can do about it!”

 “Esmeralda Autumnstone. I find you guilty of conspiring against High Justicar Sun’rael with Councilor Kash’kaar, and the attempted coup that ended the lives of over a hundred in our order. I find you guilty of invoking madness in Councilor Kash’kaar with fel poison, and subsequently his murder after his attempt on High Justicar Sun’rael’s life. I find you guilty for the destruction of Zaldrannar: the Black Judge, and the terrible danger you put all of the citizens of Quel’Thalas and the rest of the Eastern Kingdoms. There can be no greater treachery than your heinous crimes… and for that, your punishment is death!”

“This is outrageous!” Rethandus blurted out, catching the attention of the nearby guards. “Whitstan already admitted to killing Zerethel yet you found her guilty anyway?!”

 “Another word and you will be joining her!”

 Whitstan himself instinctively reached to grab at his blade to no avail, he was disarmed in this enclave of the Light. He breathed out a deep sigh as he contemplated his options. He wasn’t about to give his life for Istrys but this disregard for justice made what left of his blood boil.

 “This is not justice! This is not how you Paladins are supposed to conduct yourselves!” Rethandus no longer cared about the High Justicar’s threats, raising one of his boots to slam on the back of the bench before him. “The Light is supposed to help people! The Light is supposed to-!”

 “Enough, Rethandus.” Tyrasam called out, catching him mid-sentence. “She’s not going to be executed today.”

 “Hmph…” High Justicar Arveld stroked his long wiry beard for several long moments, apparently conflicted with his own thoughts. “Lady Ku’sol is right. Ms. Autumnstone is sentenced to die, but not today.”

 “What?! But her verdict is guilty!” The Draenei woman screeched, rising up from her seat; what appeared to be what was left of her family rose along with her. “She needs to die for what she did!”

 “Indeed she does.” The old man slouched in his chair while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “But a High Justicar’s word is his very oath. High Justicar Sun’rael pardoned her of her crimes, and as long as his breath remains his bond, she… cannot be executed.” The crowd quickly became unhinged at his unorthodox announcement, causing many guards to move in to stop them from killing Istrys herself. Rethandus stared wide-eyed at Tyrasam, who noticed his glance, but didn’t acknowledge it. Eventually High Justicar raised his hand, no longer even holding his gavel. “But know this: if Alucieus Sun’rael dies, whether it be on that death bed in Dalaran or surrounded by enemies in a future battlefield, his word will no longer protect you.” He waved his hand dismissively while he turned away, clearly too exhausted from all of this madness today. “Reclaim your criminal and get out of my sight.”

 Rethandus didn’t waste any time getting to her the moment the guards lowered their weapons to let him pass. The Harbinger ripped through the chains keeping her locked in the podium with relative ease. Istrys said nothing while she was quickly turned around and heaved over one of his shoulders. “We’re getting out of here before he changes his mind.” Rethandus whispered to her, unsure if she could even hear him. The woman said nothing while her arms and legs swayed limp and freely while he hurried to free her of this terrible place, and her unresponsive silence only hastened his steps.

 Whitstan glanced at the two, still remaining vigilant at Kaevia’s side. “Good for them.” he commented, his eyes wandering to the bloodthirsty mob, wondering how many of them simply wished to see his kind burn for countless other reasons or buried feelings. He couldn’t help but shift his gaze to see how far along they had gotten. He spoke out to the Priestess, “Justice wasn’t done here today however you cut it. We’ll see it met and done when it all settles.”

 Rethandus continued to walk until he could no longer feel the Holy Light seeping out of the ground beneath his feet. Gently he set her down against a nearby tree, fearing the worst. “Istrys…? Open your eyes… Istrys?!” The Harbinger reached down to rudely smack her face, desperate for a response. “Don’t you die on me! Istrys!”

 “Uuugh…” She weakly mumbled, sheepishly pushing his hand away. “What… happened? Everything went black for a really… l-long time…” The Necromancer hesitated to open her eyes, glancing around to find herself in the now lush forest of the once infamous Plaguelands.

 “High Justicar Arveld sentenced you to death. But he will only carry out your sentence should Alucieus die prematurely.” Rethandus sounded relieved, clearly not caring about the potential grass stain he was begging for on his right pant knee.

 “How long has he been in his coma again…? Three… four months…?”

 “Seven.” Rethandus answered, clenching his jaw.

 “Fuck… then I’ve got some preparations to take care of before they find me aga-” Istrys’ sentence was cut short the moment they both heard footsteps, causing Rethandus to rise to his feet and face whoever approached them.

 “Tyrasam…?” The Harbinger called out, catching her attention. “Did you know this would happen? That Arveld would let her go on a technicality?”

 “High Justicar Arveld, and yes.” The Paladin softly answered, peering down at the nearly-paralyzed Necromancer. “Like I said to you before, Istrys: I wouldn't give up so easily if I were you.”

 “There's something I need to tell you Tyrasam.” Rethandus reluctantly spoke while he approached her. “It's about the details of that so-called trial.”

 “You don't have to tell me.” She insisted, taking a small step back. “You have your secrets and I have mine.”

 “I'm responsible for your husband killing the rest of his family.” His deep voice pierced her like a spear, causing her to freeze in place. “I caught wind of what Zerethel was planning for Zaldrannar, but I couldn’t approach anyone who could stop him without any solid proof. I discovered a bounty on his head, and yours, and forged it to make him believe his father created it himself. My hope was for him to confront the family he left behind and die by their hands. I underestimated his resolve.”

“Why are you telling me this…!?” Tyrasam squeaked, causing the Harbinger to pause. “How could you do this?!”

 “He was going to slaughter every living being aboard that black citadel, Tyrasam. If you knew the things he did in the Bloodsworn Vanguard… the things I helped him do… you would understand.” Rethandus watched the trembling woman carefully, but he knew he couldn’t simply leave it at that. “When I heard Aethos was dead, I rushed to his estate as fast as I could. There I found a pile of charred corpses- your sister-in-law and nephew. I held their broken bodies in my arms, and all I could imagine was Jaeras and you sharing a similar fate. I couldn’t let their deaths be in vain, and I certainly couldn’t let Zerethel harm you two. So during his rampage to finish the rest of his extended family off, I placed a fel rune in his office in hopes of it killing him in his sleep. Once again, I underestimated his fading strength…”

 “That sickness was your doing…?!” Tyrasam cried out, forsaking her composure. “When I turned to you for help, you knew exactly what was happening to him?!”

 “Yes.” Rethandus answered coldly, causing her to stumble backwards a bit. “My plan was to get you and Jaeras to safety before he finally snapped, but… you insisted on staying by his side.” Rethandus reluctantly broke his stare with the woman, glancing down to stare at his pale frozen hand. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Tyrasam, and I wish I told you this sooner… but I did what I did because your husband was going to cross a line that could have ended your life. Hate me if you want… but I don’t regret Zerethel’s downfall.”

 “I… I don’t…” The Paladin stuttered, grasping at her hands.

 “You don’t have to say anything.” Rethandus took one last step forward before bowing. “Try to get some rest tonight. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through this year.” Tyrasam said nothing while she watched him turn his back on her and pluck Istrys out of the grass. For the longest time her words were resting on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t summon the strength to speak them. Eventually she collapsed to her hands and knees once they were out of sight, forced to reopen formally closed wounds once again.

 “You really think that was a good idea?” Istrys whispered in his ear, able to speak clearly now that the Holy Light’s influence was gone, but otherwise still too exhausted to walk herself. “That might come back to bite you in the ass.”

 “Honesty was a virtue I once held to a higher standard.” Rethandus huffed, keeping his gaze on the path ahead. “If she tells Kaevia, I’ll explain myself. If Alucieus learns of this, I might be in more than a little trouble. But…” the Harbinger paused while he was temporarily lost in thought. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

 “You better be more careful, Andy.” The Necromancer warned. “You keep up with this honesty bullshit and you'll end up with more enemies than you can handle.”

 “We’re undead,” Rethandus sighed, taking notice of a wounded doe and her two fawns. The mother was stuck in a bear trap, and her children were seemingly too terrified to leave her side; the perfect opportunity to get Istrys back on her feet. “Disappointing the living and in turn making them hate us is all par for the course.”

Collabudddies: @Istrys @k-sunrael @whitstanwilhelm

So...Uh... Can I say why I'm happy the series is giving Roxas the chance to be his own person? It's because any time KH2 looked at Roxas' situation from any perspective but his own, it always treated it like it's a good thing Roxas was assimilated into Sora against his will, and because he's not a real person, he should be glad that he got the chance to exist even though he doesn't deserve to. It's disgusting. Particularly when Namine losing her selfhood is treated as a happy ending.

Oh, you can always come forward and speak your mind! I’m always happy to engage in a conversation about my fandoms :)

I definitely see where you’re coming from there. Everything is depicted as a happy ending, but it wasn’t necessarily the happy ending people wanted to see for them. But for their perspective, it was.

Naminé never had a free will of her own, first she worked for Marluxia, then DiZ got her and she was pretty much always a tool that could be disposed of any time. Especially DiZ’s words were harsh (please excuse my lack of accuracy here, I only played CoM one time because of THAT CARD SYSTEM and I might have forgotten a lot that happened there) and made her truly believe that she was an abomination. She was called a witch earlier anyway, so she basically believed it and I think she did long for returning to her actual somebody, to end this kind of existence. She speaks to Roxas about being whole again and I think she very much meant it. That was what she learned during her existence and I honestly believe that it was a happy ending from her point of view. She was back where she supposedly belonged. She made peace with that and while obviously the audience could picture her living her own life, it’s likely she couldn’t (to be fair though, we never see her think about anything like that because the game doesn’t focus on that).

With Roxas it’s kind of the same except that he is struggling with the fact that he’s a Nobody a lot and it first takes his inner fight with Sora to come to peace with the fact that he is a Nobody and supposedly only able to exist with Sora. He somehow finds peace after that fight, with himself and with Sora, and again, it is shown as a “good” ending, but I understand when people aren’t satisfied with it and wish for a truly good and happy ending for both of them.

And I see that a lot of that games paint the Nobodies to be horrible creatures, but that was the point.The audience was supposed to thing they were abominations, but we were also supposed to see Demyx, who didn’t want to fade, Axel who gave his life to give Sora (Roxas) a chance and Roxas himself who was so desperate to live, who we had seen making friends, being happy, being a normal human being. We were supposed to question DiZ’s hard words and even Sora’s attitude - the boy who normally makes friends with everything and anything the world throws at him.

We also gotta be fair here that while DiZ and Sora both were wrong, they not only had valid reasons to be angry (DiZ because his apprentices cast him away and allowed for their home world to be destroyed, Sora because they a) keep making trouble for the worlds which leads to Riku still missing and b) kidnap Kairi as leverage over him and refuse to let him see her), but they both corrected their views. Ansem the Wise saw that he was wrong in harboring so much hatred and Sora got to see the other side.

I think they did transport to the audience that what happened might have been better for the worlds since Sora is the one who keeps the light safe, but they were also supposed to see that a lot of wrong things were going on and the Nobodies were treated wrongly. It might not have been executed perfectly, there is a lot glossing over and short deliveries.

So now onto your second part (I thought I’d break this up a little)

There's also the fact that Riku never apologizes to Roxas, or shows regret for ABDUCTING him and seemingly learning nothing from kh1 (and this is from someone who considers Riku his favorite character), even BOASTING about defeating him in kh2. And while Riku gave Xion a chance to say no, he never gives that same choice to Roxas. Heck, Roxas seems to view himself as being subhuman in DDD and I'm so, so GLAD that that's not depicted as a good thing.        

I think Riku’s oppositional treatment of Roxas and Xion probably stems from the fact that 358/2 Days has been released after KH2 :/  Riku had already reacted the way he did with Roxas, they couldn’t take that back and I guess to avoid a repeat of the same story line, they made him go another way with Xion? I can only speculate there, maybe they did realize that his treatment of Roxas doesn’t fit his character arc, maybe they wanted to spice things up, maybe Riku was hesitant to do anything but as soon as he got all of Sora’s memories in one place, he felt forced to finally act, maybe Riku actually had a hard time to do something about Xion because she looks like Kairi and Roxas doesn’t look like Sora (although we are led to believe in KH2 that they are basically twins with different hair, so I don’t really know).

But there’s also the fact that with Roxas, Riku is forced to take action immediately. Roxas was basically on a suicide mission, he wanted to free Kingdom Hearts and go after Organization XIII which would’ve let to his destruction. Riku wasn’t aware of the fact that this would’ve led to the restoration of Sora, so he captured Roxas before he could do so. Though I think we can actually doubt Roxas’s destruction would’ve helped Sora become whole again as his Heartless technically has never been truly defeated.

Aaaanyways, again, I see where you come from and it would’ve been interesting to see Riku react for the first time in one and the same game to both Roxas and Xion. Like it is now, I really find it hard to compare because 358/2 Days messes with a lot of KH2 and frankly, I have huge issues with that.

I do however very much agree with you that I’m glad Sora doesn’t view Roxas (or ‘good’ Nobodies) as subhumans anymore and wishes for Roxas to exist on his own. Hell, I would’ve loved to see the fight and actual struggle between Sora and Roxas from their KH2 fight, Coded and the Dream Drop Distance moment in a separate game actually. I mean I’m glad as it is that it has been addressed (AND THANKFULLY NOT ONLY IN CODED), but... I would’ve preferred that over 358/2 Days? :X I’m sorry, I have too many issues with being underwhelmed with it as a part of the series, as a standalone game, the story would’ve been fine for me xDDD

I hope my ramblings have been somewhat understandable? I do understand the other side too, though, and I am very much on the fence whether or not I want Roxas and Xion (and Naminé, let us never forget about her) to be Somebodies in KH3. I do think that their storyline is finished and all of them found peace in their own ways, but I also see and understand that people wish for them to have more, to have a real chance at life.

How Do You Write Like You're Running Out of Time: Hamilton and Me

I. Just You Wait

Hamilton was alright. Not the best opener is it? I’m not referring to the show, I meant the opener to this verbose verbal vomit. The musical was typical fare, all things considered. Lin Manuel Miranda is the farthest thing from a good singer. I believe anyone singing his praises should take a listen to his rendition of Jesus Christ Superstar’s Gethsamane. Talk about taking your shot… to the gut.

It still kinda baffles me how a show so unexpectedly and unremarkably unprovocative found such a huge cult following; the likes of which the musical world has yet to match since. Overlooking the novelty of a Founding Father finessing like the Fresh Prince, the musical fits the mold of presenting the concepts of rap and immigrants for the first time to the aristocratic white people (y’know the ones, they probably called it “hippity-hop” and are currently collecting their stimulus check amid the pandemic) who could actually afford it.

There’s a lot to be said when it comes to meta-textual analysis. Contrary to the marketing’s emphasis on “The Room Where It Happened” seemingly depicting a story meant to peek behind the curtain of politics, the eponymous song actually does present a better alternative to House of Bars (alternative jokes include: The West Side, Bars & Recreation, and The Fire).

II. The Room Where It Happens

There’s an element of mysticism that surrounds the number ‘The Room Where It Happens” thanks to the inconsistently charismatic narrator of the show: Aaron Burr (Sir--). With only the three gentlemen involved with that day’s events being in that room, much of the going-on’s details are shrouded in mystery. No servers, no stenographers, spies, nor sluts, to witness history in the making. It’s any wonder how history gets recorded at all! Question of the hour...

Hamilton’s downfall in the play, all leading up to his descent into the proverbial ‘Hurricane,’ would not be as impactful if not for his most precious desire. We’ve seen it first-hand, all politicians need to do during a scandal is to “talk less, smile more.” Although... $130,000 in hush money excluded from your tax returns should do the trick-- [President Obama complete remarks at 2015 White House Correspondents' Dinner (C-SPAN) 16:48 - 16:59] No, not if you want to protect your legacy.

III. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

There are many perspectives on the subject of how one lives on well past their time on Earth, and Hamilton has its fair share. Aaron Burr references a fallen colleague of his being given a street named after him and how it makes his “legacy secure.” Making idols, commemorations, names on a parchment, the epitome of memorability. You may be gone, but your name remains physically engraved on plaques and local parks.

At first, it seemed like Alexander also subscribed to a similar outlook. By imprinting himself on literature, legislature, and ladies, he found a way to almost literally leave his mark on everything he’s had his hands on. Hell, the show left out the relevant factoid that his 2nd freaking son was his junior. He’d rather die than let the Hamilton name Burr away, and that’s exactly what he did.

That being said, it doesn’t take a keen eye to realize that the self-destructive behavior these men exhibit isn’t exemplary by any means. The play depicts the consequences of the paths these men take. Burr ends up being painted as an apolitical squirrel, Alexander a self-indulgent tomcat. While their legacies remain, they’re tarnished by shame. If these great men still strived and struggled to cement their legacies, then what chance do we have?

Many of us, if not most, will barely be but a footnote in history. We can’t all be president, the same book can’t be written twice, there is no solitary thought that has yet to be thought of. However, even with all this in mind, it never stops us from trying, does it?

We still attempt to paint like Gogh, write like Tolkien, or waste human space like 6ix9ine (this was written in July of 2020 and it was dated then too), for life has little meaning or value without purpose; that’s exactly what’s been on my mind: Who will tell my story if I have nothing to leave behind?

IV. Palaces Out of Paragraphs

How do others do it? How do they just snap their fingers and… well-- do? Do what, you ask? Nothing in particular, it is the act of doing that I refer to. With hustle culture being the trend, many people like me have found that making the most out of their existence is a more daunting task than it’s cracked up to be. When others are so good at doing, are you doing nothing in comparison?

I’m not one to judge others so I’ll only be doing so for myself: I believe I have not been doing anything productive with the time I’ve been given. Every waking moment of mine has been spent either attempting to maximize my time and energy to do something worthwhile or bereaving on the lack of my drive to execute. This, however, is obviously an uphill battle for me.

When everything , your mind, your body, and even yourself, are against you, the last tool in the arsenal of human perseverance is the ability to do what one wills. The phrase shouldn’t be “if there’s a will there’s a way,” for many of us have found ourselves in no-win scenarios. Instead the phrase should be “if there’s a will, there’s a way out.” And there is a way out of the rut that is dissatisfaction.

Most conflict within one’s self is the disconnect between our ideal self, who we want to be, and our actual self, who we currently are. One may find themselves longing to become a strong-willed scribbler of scripts like Hamilton, it takes no more than a glance at your reflection to see that, when the rose tint decays, you’re a sniveling Burr. This is where the pain stems from, my pain.

Ambition and reality will always be at odds with one another. When one desires to leap over skyscrapers, actuality reminds you that you can barely skip over an anthill. That’s kind of what has been bothering me. For years I’ve seen those capable of what I could only dream of doing, and that has always bothered me. Not my pride, but my sense of who I really am.

I desire to leave a legacy that depicts me as larger than my life, what I leave behind being greater than what I have done; a kingdom left prospering after my reign. My lofty aspirations extend to being renowned, and contract to being remembered fondly. But the sad reality for I, and many others like me, presents itself: we can’t all make leaps and bounds that impress, most people aren’t so easily enamored.

Not having this in mind has resulted in my complete inability to create and finalize. For a person with each of their toes dipped into a different pool of expertise, I can barely muster up the strength to continue to submerge, much less immerse, myself into any of them. Looking into the dark Mariana Trench of inadequacy one sees as their skillset will induce aquaphobia in many.

Beyond all pretension and rhetoric, my issue is this: I can’t make anything because I fear I will make nothing worth making. This is already the 5th rewrite of this maligned monotribe, that in and of itself exemplifies how I’m not quite past that hurdle. That being said, I’m looking forward to and deciding on taking steps to amend that.

V. Taking Back The Narrative

This text marks the beginning of another attempt at reinvention. With limit tests spanning over the course of two years, involving stressing the definitions of human minimums and maximums, I am content with commencing continued coercion with my consciousness (translation: I’m letting the process of improving continue despite my fear of the absence of such). I took back to writing once more because I needed something to stare at that convinced me I’m capable of the things I want to do, but also that there’s no rushing or forcing things.

It is honestly kinda silly how someone like me, who has made it their life goal to show that passion and wit is enough to get someone through the typical things in life like work, school, and relationships, had to be reminded of that very mission.

I’m not blessed with any genius in particular, and I’m not nerdy Casey Neistat who runs at the speed they can create meaningful and worthwhile content. Holding myself to higher standards was supposed to be a healthy way of preventing stagnation, not a destructive process to kill my motivation.

After going through the Hurricane of my own inner turmoil, realizing that being ‘Lucky to be Alive Right Now’ doesn’t have to come with survivor’s guilt, and that there is no such thing as ‘Running Out of Time,’ for all time cannot be wasted, I’m once again going back into the swing of things. Just like my last relaunches, all beginning with varying degrees of premature declarations, I’ll be doing the same right now.

I have made something

for all intents and purposes

I wrote my way out

Dele Momodu in his article this week writes about what he describes as 'the systematic and instalmental, harassment, intimidation, degradation and denudation of our dear beloved Vice President, Professor Yemi Osinbajo'. See his full piece below.... Fellow Nigerians, please allow me to quickly apologise for not concluding the series I started last week on the importance of celebrity journalism, the basis of my Fellowship at The African Studies Centre, University of Oxford. The reason for this change of plan must be pretty obvious, and predictable. A subject of pressing, and urgent, importance, and necessity, has presented itself. And it has to do with the systematic and instalmental, harassment, intimidation, degradation and denudation of our dear beloved Vice President, Professor Yemi Osinbajo. He is being shorn of most of his statutory and constitutional powers with veiled and unsubstantiated insinuations that he has not been following due process when he clearly has been doing a stickler for such due process. Such inferences are at best rich when one considers that we are talking about a Presidency in which the President is famed for delegating powers and trying not to engage as demonstrated by the much publicised stripping of his constitutional powers in favour of a Chief of Staff who has no constitutional or statutory governmental authority. The contradiction and irony are stark and makes a mockery of what is being done. The situation is aptly captured by the Yorubas when they say, “ejo l’owo ninu” (the snake has hands in its stomach)! There is certainly more to the recent events than meets the eye! Let the dramatis personae deny there is nothing of such and claim this is only a figment of our fertile imagination, or even call it a false alarm, or whatever nomenclature catches their fancy. However, no matter the denials, what is unfolding, before our very eyes is more than a storm in a teacup. It is a stuff of a multi-billion-dollar box office thriller and the suspenseful drama and twists would make Alfred Hitchcock green with envy. Not even Samuel Beckett could have scripted this sort of absurdist drama.   We can now start from the beginning, if you like, call it genesis. A cerebral technocrat, thoroughbred professional, a teacher who is an accomplished Professor of Law for that matter, and a preacher of values and morals as a Pastor of the Redeemed Christian Church of God to boot, Yemi Osinbajo, was selected by retired Major General Muhammadu Buhari as Vice Presidential candidate sometime in 2014. The selection was applauded by many onlookers as a counterbalance to a Presidential candidate who was accused, and being pummelled, for not possessing the minimum educational requirement for the job applied, and also as a reassurance to those who regarded the APC candidate as a Muslim fundamentalist. Beyond religion, Osinbajo also represented a much younger segment of our society who saw Buhari as being too old, too conservative, too out of tune with modern trends and much more. Osinbajo was thus a seemingly perfect choice, and those of us who were Buharists, once upon a time, rejoiced and dreamt of a new Nigeria, clothed in tranquillity and unity. How wrong we were. Little did we realise that this was not a one-part story but one of which we were only seeing the prequel, without the benefit that there would be a sequel and possibly even a serialisation! We foolishly thought that this was a story that could not have a Part 2. Please, let’s move forward, slowly and steadily. Osinbajo soon threw himself into his assignment and campaigned much more than any deputy would be expected to do. It was a forerunner of what we wished for and hoped would occur when eventually their team won the election. He crisscrossed Nigeria and navigated his ways across the seas, to far flung places, preaching the gospel of Saint Buhari and the good news of his imminent kingdom. Osinbajo is not just a lawyer and preacher, he is an orator, and he sold his boss to the world at a premium. They won the 2015 Presidential election and we were mostly thankful to God that we had succeeded in getting rid of the profligate and pernicious PDP behemoth, after 16 years.   The duo was elected and President Buhari made it clear that he had put his trust and faith in his able lieutenant and Vice President, Professor Osinbajo. He quickly made him the head of his economic team, and Osinbajo did the rest. He quietly and unassumingly took charge without seeking to upstage his boss, the President. He was a deputy who knew his place and although a little-known cabal at the time was hurling brickbats at him behind the scene, he handled all with his unusual equanimity and charm. I am sure that his famed tolerance and rectitude comes from the fantastic combination of lawyer, teacher and priest. Man proposes but God disposes. Like all mortals, especially at that advance age, President Buhari took Ill. The sickness was so massive and scary that we nearly had another Umaru Yar’Adua situation on our hands. It will be recalled that Yar’Adua was the penultimate President before Buhari, and he had died in office, in 2010, before the expiration of his first term. His Vice President, Dr Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, had to complete that term before seeking and winning his own full term. Had anything happened to Buhari then, God forbid, Pastor Professor Osinbajo, constitutionally, would have stepped in, gingerly, to claim power as President and Commander-in-Chief. But, God so loved Buhari, and as he acknowledged himself, the prayers of Nigerians, and their intercession, intervened on his behalf, and healed him greatly.   It was during that interlude in governance that mutual mistrust and distrust which had been germinating for some time began to spring to the surface. Some members of the President’s inner caucus who were not used to taking orders from anyone suddenly found themselves reporting to one man with what they called “avuncular attitude”. They were angry and livid, but according to James Hadley Chase in his book titled, “The Vulture is a Patient Bird” they waited quietly. Osinbajo took decisions that they considered inimical to their interests, but they kept their arms akimbo knowing that their time would come, and they would bare their fangs. Their ire and fury were greatly stoked by the success and popularity that Osinbajo was attracting, without realising that the ultimate beneficiary was a government which had previously been seen as slow, inept and incapable. Slowly, but surely, the fake news started spreading, clandestinely, that he wanted Buhari dead. The conspiracy theory was rife, but subdued. Osinbajo’s cardinal sin was committed and his fate probably sealed the day he summarily sacked the Director General of the Department of State Security, Lawan Daura, after the invasion of the National Assembly by hooded and gun-toting secret agents. Osinbajo had denied approving such dare-devilry by the executive against the legislature and till this day no one has owned up to what nearly became a coup against the legislative tier of government. Daura was seen as a sacred cow with friends in the ruling cabal, but Osinbajo by a masterstroke had him smitten and the head of one of the gargoyles had been severed by one deft blow! He would not be forgiven and plot after plot were conceived but could not be carried out before the election as Osinbajo was the Joker in the pack, the face of the Buhari Presidency! Permit me to interject that Osinbajo actually brought stability to the nation by reaching out to every nook and cranny, cementing bonds of friendship across party lines. He visited the Niger-Delta and was able to put a stop to the militancy that was once again threatening to engulf that region of our country. In doing so he improved our economic fortunes by ensuring an increase in production of our main income earner, crude oil. In addition, he brought greater positive image to the Buhari government. Many silently prayed Buhari would give him more responsibilities, and a freer hand to handle the complexities of Nigeria. Again, we were wrong. Any respite for Osinbajo was actually simply for the purpose of navigating the electoral quagmire that the Buhari Presidency had found itself in.   Going back to our narrative, mercifully, Buhari returned after a miraculous rejuvenation. If his mind had been poisoned against his deputy, his straight poker face betrayed nothing. They continued to work harmoniously, at least, in public. As noted, Osinbajo became even more visible, and voluble, as their second term election drew nearer. Osinbajo became their star actor and harbinger of Tradermoni, a popular moniker for feverish distribution of cash in strategic locations, such as markets and similar trading places, for the emancipation of impoverished majority, which traducers suggested was nothing more than an act preparatory to buying votes. Osinbajo took all the savage attacks for Buhari in his stride. He calmly and eloquently defused and debunked all the sordid allegations of incompetence, inability and incapability levelled at his principal. His energy was extraordinary. He did house to house, and door to door campaigns. He made town hall meetings popular and the people trooped out to see and discuss the nation with him.   The use of the hustings as the primary focus of the politician to rabble rouse and appeal to voters became a less favourable option as Osinbajo demonstrated that it was important to feel the pulse of the people by personal engagement. He even cheated death on two occasions the second being in Kogi State, after his chopper spectacularly crashed in a haze of dust, but thankfully, not in a burst of flames and everyone onboard survived without as much as a scratch. It was obvious that this was an anointed man of God and that God was with him and his house. Elections came and APC candidate Buhari was declared victorious. I congratulated them, as normal Democrats would. When there were compelling reasons to do so shortly afterwards, I admonished the APC by adding the proviso that the Party should not over-rejoice but offer an olive branch to the supposed losers.  In a succinct letter I penned to Professor Osinbajo, I took time to explain how to restore sanity to the polity. My letter was misconstrued and instantly rebuffed as an attempt to divide the “one indivisible Presidency…”  I was brutally attacked by some people in the office of the Vice President, but I understood their predicament. They were jittery about how the hawks would view my innocuous intervention and genuine intentions. I read panic in their response to me. But I knew today will come, eventually, like it has. I’m a good student of Nigeria’s political history and trajectory. I’m familiar with the African mythology that witches don’t forgive. What is worse, witches don’t spare anyone, they eat and devour their own children, when in need of flesh. Osinbajo is the latest victim in the vicious cycle of power games in our country. He is being stripped of the last vestiges of relevance and importance, as typified by how the appurtenances of his relatively powerful office have been whittled down and almost totally degraded. His enemies are working overtime and overdrive by spreading spiteful rumours about one of the finest gentlemen in government. He may not be perfect, but Prof is a good man who loves his job and respects his boss, without doubt. There are already speculations that all the theatre and spectacle that we are witnessing is a prelude to a more devastating attack. The aim is to try and make his position so tenuous untenable that he is forced to resign. If he does not bite the bullet or fall on his sword, my understanding is that he will be pushed. My candid advice and word of caution to the President is that he should resist such temptation. He should not listen to those who do not have any patriotic bone in their body. They are selfish, fearful and also weak. In Osinbajo they see their nemesis. He is everything that they are not. He has achieved outstanding and amazing success in every sphere that he has touched. He is a teacher of international renown and repute, a foremost legal mind, a pastor of great intellect, compassion and suasion. Worse still for them, he has come to their turf and shone as bright as the stars of the constellation to become a consummate politician.   If this game that we are all witnessing is all about who becomes what in 2023, it is complete balderdash. The reason I say so is very simple. Only God gives fortune and power. And only God can take it. No matter how hard man may try, he can never be God, he can only play God. With time such actor will see that he is nothing more than that thespian who must quit the stage at some time or the other. On the other hand, the consecrated vicegerent of God can never be too much honoured and adored. At my age, I have known and met enough men and women of power. Many of them are alive and must be wondering what the fuss was all about in those years gone by. APC has butchered some of its finest people. Do they need more to prove their virility? They should spare Nigeria this endless charade.  Let it be on record that I pleaded.  May God’s will be done.

http://icechuks2.blogspot.com/2019/09/who-is-afraid-of-vp-yemi-osinbajo-dele.html