#RampArt Row

[travelnew]

Kala Ghoda Art Festival #KGAF 2024

In its 14th edition, KGAF has merged with Mumbai festival, which is going on 20-28 January 2024. The earlier ones use to happen in the month of February.

The exhibits showcased below are from Ramp Art Row on 23/01/2024.

Check out the earlier editions of Kala Ghoda Art Festival here:

2023.

2020.

2019.

2017 to 2013.

2014.

[outofgloom]

THE TOOLS WE HAVE

He was back. The room spun, and he heard, rather than saw, the worm-like creature slough away and plop into the water of the nearby pool. Then he was very, very sick...

When it was over, he raised himself shakily and checked the interface suspended above him. The six brains glowed faintly, and the six Matoran bodies attached to them remained motionless, as still and unmoving as they had been since the Signal crossed the universe and worked its terrible transformations, however long ago that’d been. There were no more days or years since the sky had been taken apart, so it was hard to keep track.

The various linkages of the interface seemed unphased, which was more than he had expected. He steadied himself against another wave of dizziness. His mind felt…bloated…expanded, worse than normal telepathy. Helryx had mentioned side-effects…the toll of “transtemporal projection”. She was one to know, of course.

Aside from that, everything had gone according to plan. He’d conveyed the information that Helryx had provided, as best he could. The Matoran that he had addressed…the Matoran had been strange—confused at first, but seeming to understand by the end. Afterward, he’d successfully pulled himself back, though the effort had been greater than expected.

Was it enough? How would he know? Even Helryx hadn’t been sure. The fact that he was still here, in this chamber, still in continuity with past thoughts…Did that mean he had failed? Would he even recognize success? The changes might be subtle...

He looked around. The chamber looked no different than before. He placed a hand against the cool stone of the floor and sent out a sonar pulse into the substructure. Mostly intact, no new incursions, although the ominous microtremors were still there, as always.

Unsatisfied, he stood and crossed to the long row of masks embedded in the wall nearby. He removed an Akaku and an Iden and placed them on the faces of two of the inactive Matoran. He tried not to look at them for too long. It still disturbed him to see them this way, even after all this time. His sensitive hearing registered the ever-so-slight shift and rasp of their autonomic breathing.

“Get used to it,” Helryx had told him time and again. “We work with the tools we have. If you succeed, you can have all the stimulating conversations with them that I’m sure you would’ve had otherwise. I never found Ce-Matoran to be particularly good talkers myself…”

Krakua wasn’t sure that he would ever get used to it.

The interface hummed ready. He stooped and positioned himself in the center again, and the six brains glowed in a circle above him like a living Suva. Eyes closed, he exhaled and activated his own Suletu.

Suletu into Iden. Up through the stones of the fortress his consciousness projected, broadened, then coalesced. He was in open air, hovering just above the central column. Into Akaku, he swept the interior rooms briefly from above. All as expected. The many defenses continued to be manned by his forces. No change.

Now he moved his mind-spirit out to the ramparts and brought the telescopic components of the Akaku online. The dense protosteel walls went transparent, and he looked beyond:

Dry oceanbed greeted him, but that was nothing new. He had hoped...but no. In all directions the waste spread from what had once been the shores of the fortress island. His fortress, now. The ocean floor was eaten into numerous holes and channels, all the way to the smoke-filled horizon. The Swarm appeared to be focusing its efforts elsewhere for the time being. He glanced up at the sky, or what once had been sky—now a mixture of jagged gaps and fitful flickering lights. It was a strange, broken thing, and beyond his sky there was another sky. More alien, with a single great light burning down.

He remembered when the Swarm had started to eat the sky, and the stars had gone out one by one. That was when he’d known for sure that the world was over.

He had not felt that way when the first Cataclysm had struck the universe, and they all learned that the Great Spirit had been deposed by a treacherous Makuta named Teridax, nor even when the second Cataclysm followed, and the seers said that the Makuta was contending with the Great Beings themselves.

Even when the Swarms had appeared from every hollow and deep crevasse, and the strange Signal washed across the universe, converting every Matoran it reached into a servant of the Swarm, into a destroyer...he had not yet given up hope. Everyone he had sworn to protect, gone. All but the Ce-Matoran, whose minds were different, and who instead were simply hollowed out by the Signal and left empty. The seers cried that the Great Beings had cursed the universe for the crimes of the Makuta, and had sent their robotic servants to accomplish one last terrible Duty: to eat the world into Nothing.

Even then he had not fully despaired. But the sound of the world being unlidded: a deep, unnatural groaning noise that shook the atmosphere and went down into his innermost ears, into his bones…That had been the moment. There was no going back.

But Helryx had another plan. A backup plan. She always did.

The interface powered down as he reinstalled himself into his own body. He sat motionless, letting the seconds beat by. Nothing outside had changed, as far as he could tell. After all the battle and desperate strategy, all the effort, the sacrifices and pain, all the millennia of preparation…he had hoped that it would be enough, that he would not have to—

The ground shook slightly, enough to ripple the water of the dark pool. Suddenly there was a squat figure in the doorway at the other end of the chamber. Two icy-blue eyes stared at him from beneath a domed faceplate. It was one of his. It chkt'd at him in its ugly way, and he understood it—he had by now become adept at communicating with the creatures via their sound-frequencies.

“INCOMING INCURSION. NORTHERNMOST HEXTANT, BELOW,” it chkt’d.

He’d been the only Toa of Sonics in existence when the second Cataclysm arrived, and that made him uniquely suited to combat the Swarm. He was able to confuse their command-structure, deactivating individual units entirely or even turning them to his own will.

“RETURN TO COMPLEMENT,” he chkt’d in reply. “INTERCEPT AND DIVERT.”

The swarm-unit acknowledged his command and swiveled to go. Another tremor went through the floor as it did so, and for a moment it teetered, off-balance.

“Careful, Mazek—” he began to say involuntarily, but stopped. Helryx’s words drilled into him. They are gone. Their names are gone. He fought back a tide of memories, memories of a Ko-Matoran, a friend…the accursed Signal ringing in their ears—unexpected, too fast for him to neutralize it with his own counter-vibration—of the painful sound of limbs buckling and stretching, of armor fusing here and splitting there, of a voice pleading for help, pleading as the vocal tract deformed and the words distorted, and the eyes elongated into slits, still icy-blue.

Disconnecting it from the rest of the Swarm had been the only mercy he could give. They are gone. Shut it out.

No, he would never get used to it, not even after ten thousand years.

The swarm-unit had left. He sighed, resigned at last to what he must do. He removed the Iden and Akaku from the interface and re-cycled the system, checking the attachments on the Masks of Truth, Translation, and Helryx’s own Mask of Psychometry once again.

Next, he retrieved a stack of tablets from a nearby table. They were covered with writing and calculations: Helryx's logs. He waved to the far wall, and the door of the vault opened with a hiss. The chamber beyond was cold and damp, green-tinged, and filled from top to bottom with hundreds of small tubes.

And in each one there was a worm.

He surveyed the result of their centuries-long hunt through the wreckage of the world. The Order had known for some time that the transtemporal memory encoded in the nascent minds of the creatures could be used to reconnect to moments in the past, but never to change those moments. Not until Helryx’s research, and the creation of the interface.

He consulted the tablets again, tracing along the carefully organized shelves. He would have to select another specimen, target the right moment, and communicate the right message, but which to choose? Helryx had been unsure if a sequence was required, even with all her years of traversing alternate dimensions and spying on different timelines using the last remaining Olmak.

For his first attempt, just minutes ago, he had used the one that Helryx deemed to have the broadest potential: a specimen that had attached itself to a single Matoran prior to either of the cataclysms. The messages he had transmitted were obscure, something about the importance of “lightning” and “six heroes”. That was as much as he could transmit through the link.

It was odd, though. The Matoran had not responded to the name Helryx had listed. It insisted its name was something else, something starting with a “V”. He couldn't recall. Hopefully it wasn't vital. The target had been located in an important place, after all—very close to the Core. Surely it had been the right Po-Matoran...

What next? The logs offered many options. A number of specimens had apparently interacted with the Makuta Teridax himself at one point, but such direct interference seemed unlikely to succeed. Another of the worms had apparently linked itself to an ancient entity called Tren Krom at least forty millennia before the cataclysms. There might be an opportunity there, yes…

He pulled down the canister containing that specific worm and tucked it under his arm, returning to the main chamber. There was another shudder in the ground, and the stasis tubes clinked and jostled as he moved to the interface, preparing to unseal the tube.

Something stirred in the doorway on the far side of the chamber—another of his swarm-units, or one of the lesser couriers he’d peeled off. He chkt'd to dismiss it without looking, too absorbed in his task.

“The Manutri chirps its greeting,” a voice said, “but the icehawk is earless and cannot hear. It dives for the kill. Who is the greater fool?”

Krakua’s eyes snapped upward. It was a Matoran—bent and ill-shaped—standing across the room from him, examining the interface with sharp eyes.

“Who—?”

Another tremor shook the fortress. Harder this time. His forces must have engaged with the latest incursion below ground. The Matoran moved into the room. A Po-Matoran. A familiar mask. Krakua stared. For a split second, he thought he might be hallucinating. His mind still had that bloated feeling. It was possible...

“I take it that, from your perspective, we have only just spoken,” the Matoran said, stepping into the room. “For me, it’s been a little longer, but here I am.”

Krakua finally found his words: “How are you not…not…”

“Not part of the Swarm, like the rest? When the fields of Flameleaf dissolve each season and must be replanted, the hardier Firevine is exposed, for it does not melt. But that’s not really important, is it?”

It was relief that he was feeling. Relief like pain, washing over him. He felt his legs go weak. He hadn’t had a real conversation for such a long time. It was difficult to formulate his thoughts aloud.

“I thought…I thought nothing had changed,” he stammered. “Thought the message didn’t work. I can’t believe it.”

“Well...” The face of the Matoran now grew flat and serious. “You’d better get over that quick. I’ve had time to consider this plan of yours, messy though it is. You’ve at least done most of the legwork, I see.” The Matoran motioned to the open vault.

Krakua nodded slowly, still feeling a little dazed.

“First,” the Matoran continued, “you can put back that worm you’re holding. It’s the wrong one—the markings are off. We’re looking for a specimen from Metru Nui, around the time of the first Cataclysm. You have this, yes?”

“Metru Nui…” Krakua set the tube down and focused his attention, sorting through the tablets he still held. “Yes, here. I dredged the specimen from the ruins of the city outskirts, but Helryx classified it as ‘minimal impact’.”

“Did she? How disappointing. No matter. There is, or was, a certain Toa of Fire in the city who will need some special...encouragement, I think. And then…then we’ll see what happens.”

“Encouragement? There’s nothing about that in the notes…I wouldn’t even know where to start...”

“Encouragement was never her strong suit, I suppose. Well, I'm sure your mentor did her best, but this may have been a little beyond her expertise. Where is she, by the way? I thought she would be here.”

Krakua blinked: “She…The last time…she never came back.”

“Encouraging.”

“She was probably just delayed. Time runs differently on other planes. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe not.” The Matoran shrugged dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll work with the tools we have...”

The tools we have. Krakua’s gaze wandered to the interface as the Matoran spoke. The masks stared back at him. The eyes were open, glowing but empty.

“...And we’ll have to get a bit more creative with our messages,” the Matoran was saying. “We can do better than...whatever it was you relayed to me back then.”

The floor trembled again, just a little. By the feel of it, he could tell that his forces had been successful in deflecting the incursion. His tools...They’d report in soon.

They are gone. Their names are gone. But if you succeed...

Krakua shook himself. The Matoran was looking at him expectantly. “Well, uh...the messages have to be simple,” he said. “Otherwise the disturbance is too great, and the timeline splits.”

“Of course. Basic causality.”

“And they have to be cryptic as well—not too easy for the target to comprehend immediately, but still decipherable at the right moment.”

“You don’t say.”

“That’s the hardest part, really. Helryx hated it, and I was never any good at riddles...”

Velika smiled.

[littlesparklight]

Since I wanted something I could arrange for myself and only have what I wanted on it, I made some Trojan war relevant maps!

There's nothing truly amazing here, except, I suppose, that I put the Achaean camp down by what's now called Besic Bay. Usually the camp is placed up at the spur (Sigeion), with the wall going straight across the narrowest point. But apparently some scholars (especially some German ones) like to put it down by the bay. Archaeologically, there was a harbour/settlement here. (I briefly considered settling the camp a little higher up on the coast, around where there in at least modern day is another harbour settlement, but I liked the idea of the bay and the archaeological connection. Plus, the bay would be the most obvious point of approach/landing when coming from Tenedos.)

I also put the fortification/rampart the Trojans made for Herakles further south than it's traditionally placed. My reasoning, aside from the fact that I'd already moved the Achaean camp, was that at least in Caroline Alexander's translation it says they built that protection for Herakles "towards the plain". So that's where I put it, but still adjacent to the traditional location. (This is where the pro-Achaean gods are seated in Book 21-22; Kallikolone is where the pro-Trojan gods are seated.)

As I understand it, the whole outflow of the Skamander and probably the Simoeis, too, would make the area closest to Troy too marshy and closed-up for a harbour. I still have let them have a small one, because I wanted to. But the main one is/was down where the Achaeans now have their camp.

The map of the camp is angled as it is to try and show its "actual" alignment/placement along the shore. Makes it easier (most of all for myself haha) to visualize how it's oriented towards the plain (and, further away, towards Troy).

I'm pretty sure it's not Official Canon that each of the gates have at least one tower, or the main gates two; the only tower we know of is the right-hand one, that Menestheus is stationed at. But it made sense to me that if one gate had at least one tower, the others would as well. The ships have been spaced out as they have not just because there are so many of them but because it doesn't make sense to me that the Trojans would be running THROUGH the actual "settled" camp to get to the ships; hence, I've put them in rows. (And even like this, I'm absolutely certain that, just as the Iliad says, the ships would be taking up even more space along the shore. There's too many of them.)

This map is absolutely basing itself on the one(s) that appear in Jenny Strauss Clay's Homer's Trojan Theater, but I've made some elaborations, especially for/around the assembly area and the middle space.

Too, what's also (partially) taken from that book is how/where the named camps in red are placed in comparison to each other. Which, however, is based on the Iliad and I was doing some of that myself. But the schematic in the book made it easier, so I don't want to pretend I didn't use it. The only place I ignored Clay's arrangement was with Menestheus and DIomedes; she has them the other way around (which is why they're not in red).

The reason for where everyone else is placed between the three Iliad-assured ones (Ajax, Odysseus, Achilles) is Vibes, Baby. And they have to be SOMEWHERE between the ones we know, after all.

The names within simple parantheses are where the Catalogue of Ships (generally) mentions other/subcommanders. I didn't bother to go hunting for them anywhere else in the text. Achilles' other commanders aren't mentioned in the Catalogue, of course, but they were easy to remember. The names that are in parantheses within the other parenthesis are presumed to be attached to these people. Demophon and Akamas aren't mentioned in the Iliad but are in other and later works clearly present, and were put with Elephenor after Menestheus got Athens after the Dioskouroi got Helen back. Palamedes, as Nauplion falls within Diomedes' control, I've headcanoned/assumed was one of his commanders, not someone in command of his own force of ships and men.

The gray names denote leaders of contingents that died early war - Thersander during the attack on Teuthrania in Mysia, and Protesilaos during the landing at Troy. (And while he's not included, the Cretan Lycomedes that is mentioned in the Catalogue of Women as a suitor of Helen I headcanon also died during the attack on Theuthrania, so that Idomeneus absorbed his land/cities and thus ships into his own forces.)

Troy! Pretty self-explanatory I think, though a few notes;

The gate stones by the south/middle citadel gate are "real" (and a feature of Hittite cities/religious thought). There was cultic activity performed in a building in the city-side part of my sacred district, which is why I put it on that side of the citadel and the city. It's also believed that the building I made the shrine of Ganymedes had cultic activity as well, so it seemed fitting! The water cave and the well are both archaeologically real; a city needs to have water supply inside its walls, after all. I took inspiration from the Iliad's mention of (outside the walls) hot and cold springs attached to the Skamander and put them inside the walls instead. (Or, if you will, they have outflows inside as well as where the Iliad has them outside.)

Some other myth-related art that draws from the real city puts the Scaean Gates up where I put my (headcanon-named) Hellespontine gate, because for the real Troy that gate ended up the largest one. But it made more sense to me to put the Scaean gates where I've put them, though that's far from the citadel itself; being up on the walls there would give a better view of the plain.

Considering that Troy has two courses of walls, I rather headcanon that the Wooden Horse was placed in the square I put south of the sacred district in the city. Close to the citadel walls but not inside, and as close to the temple of Athena as they could come (I put hers on the inside of the citadel walls).

[ctimenefic]

wip wednesday!

I was tagged by @onadarklingplain and in the spirit of the sheer joy her snippet brought me, I'm going to go for the wip that is making me swing my feet and clap my hands for joy when I get to play with it. Winnowing, aka Fantasy Historical Horselord Times!

I've posted a couple of snippets of it before here and here but honestly, all you need to know is Alex is a PRINCE and there's an TOURNAMENT for his HAND and gosh I wonder how that will turn out also there's magic

By the time Alex made it back to the silk palace, it had moved 200 miles southeast. He had ridden out to strengthen the ramparts of the great fort they were leaving behind, a favour to a lazy general already idling into the role of a governor. Liam had come with him, to divert a nearby river long enough to fill the moat. He’d done the work well enough, bar a few mistakes; few enough that Alex could shore up a wall or plug a leak before anything crumbled. But he’d been able to think of half a dozen other brothers he’d rather have had with him to hoist water - Carlos, Danil, even Nicky.  It felt like all he did these days was think of the brothers banished before him.  Before they’d left, the governor had come out to see them off and survey his new fortifications. Three rows of earthworks and a moat; enough to squeeze the lifeblood out of the locals and still not fear rebellion. Alex saw him practically swell on the spot. The man’s bow only barely met courtesy, and as he rose he’d taken Alex’s hand, pressed it between his own, damp and clogged with heavy rings. “I should have dearly liked to compete, of course,” he’d oiled, and Alex’s molars had creaked with the effort of staying blank, “but alas.” “Alas,” he’d echoed, and made for his horse with all possible speed.  Liam had laughed as soon as they were out of earshot, and Alex had had to bite back a thousand bitter things, put his head down and ride faster than the unkindness could keep up. 

No you posted too close to midnight and forgot to tag. @latecomersprivilege & @testarossa I summon thee, and all others who wish to play (I know it's Thursday now I'm sorry)

[maranull]

a prompt from a couple days ago, I think it was "castle on a lake" or something along those lines

I quite like how the ramparts turned out tbh

couldn't get a good enough focused pic, but the row of trees on the bottom are supposed to be a small orchard.

[sashketter]

The Captain and the Senator

Chapter 1 - Truth and Consequences Revisited

Summary: After the Bad Batch leave Coruscant, Rex, Echo, and Riyo Chuchi decide on next steps, including plans for the body of the clone assassin and the senator’s safe return to her living quarters. In the process, Rex and Riyo vie for control.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Death mentions

Notes: LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN LOLOL This takes place immediately after season 2 episode 8 of The Bad Batch, “Truth and Consequences.” It grew out of an idle thought about Rex providing Echo with civilian clothes so he can blend in on Coruscant. It’s heavy on talk and setup, but it’s necessary for the rest of the series.

Table of Contents - Chapter 2

“Let’s go inside.” Rex’s hand lands heavy on Echo’s shoulder. “You stand out in your armor.”

Echo watches the Marauder ascend out of sight. He blinks back tears and turns to face his old friend. In the far reaches of his mind, he’s back on Anaxes, leaving one set of brothers to join another. And now as then, Rex is his fulcrum.

“Will you two be alright?” Riyo Chuchi’s voice floats soft and light over the hum of starships and speeders. The clones turn around, and she takes a step towards them, wishing to provide comfort. She recognizes the moment for what it is: a necessary departure and a bittersweet reunion.

“Yes, senator, thank you,” Rex answers. He motions for Echo to follow and extends an arm out to Riyo in the direction of the garage. “You should go,” he commands rather than suggests. “I still think you’re in danger, and—”

“I appreciate your concern, captain,” she interrupts, falling into step with the men, “but so are you. Here, on Coruscant.” She leans in and whispers, “It’s not safe for either of you here.” Her face contorts in fear.

“Actually,” Rex starts as they cross into the stale air of the shop, “according to Imperial records, we were both killed in action.” He punches a panel on the wall and closes the hangar doors. “They won’t be looking for us.”

Surprise registers wide on Riyo’s face. “I see.” She considers the information for a moment before trying again, letting her worry weigh her voice. “All the same, I can’t imagine the security breach on Rampart’s Venator will go unanswered.”

“She’s right, Rex.” Echo joins in and points a stern look at the captain. “Probe droids will be swarming the lower levels soon.”

Rex wasn’t willing to give up Trace’s shop. He still believed it was a reliable hideout and the closest he would get to the barracks where both his brothers and actionable intel were housed. He shakes his head. “Then we’ll wait them out.” He turns away towards the inside of the shop, ending the discussion.

Two rows of fluorescent lights illuminate the space from high above, leaving the shop’s edges in darkness. Unmarked crates, some stacked three high on top of each other, take up the floorspace between rows of shelves and worktables lining the walls. The three weave through the maze in the direction of the body of the clone assassin, in silent understanding of unfinished business.

“What will you do with him,” Riyo asks gently as they approach the body bag. She’s never heard of funerals for individual clones, but now, at least to her, it seems like the right thing to do. She didn’t believe that the attempt on her life changed his rights as a living being.

“Will the Empire come looking for him,” concern colors Echo’s voice, “when he doesn’t report in?”

Rex rubs his chin. “Maybe. Whatever happened to him happened without Senate approval.” He looks at Riyo whose eyes go wide before nodding in acknowledgement. “He’s evidence the Empire won’t want lying around.”

“Can we use him—” Echo cuts himself off. His unsaid intention lingers in the air. Both clones recoil and seem to turn in on themselves, shame and regret blossoming between them and the body.

Riyo catches on. “I’ll keep him safe,” she soothes, “until the time is right.” Rex and Echo share a shocked glance. “For now, support for the emperor’s stormtrooper program is too strong. No one in the Senate will be able to stand openly against him.”

Rex nods in agreement, but Echo has misgivings. “We appreciate your support, senator,” determination hardening his features, “but this is something us clones need to handle ourselves. We can’t ask you to harbor this,” he motions towards the body and finds the usual “trooper” and “brother” inadequate, “asset. The consequences of getting caught are too dangerous.” He looks to Rex for backup, but the captain’s face, sullen and pensive, betrays his thoughts.

“Where will you keep him,” Rex asks Riyo. Both his voice and gaze have softened, knowing that neither he nor Echo could safely care for their fallen brother at this time.

“I’ll bring him to Pantora,” she offers. “My guards will make sure he’s not disturbed.”

“The Empire’s presence is growing on Pantora,” Echo warns. He wonders briefly about the droids he left at the merchant’s stall.

Silence overtakes them until Rex snaps out of thought. “What about Orto Plutonia?” Excitement smolders in his voice. “There’s an abandoned Republic base there, and the snow would provide great cover.”

Riyo nods. “I will speak with Thi-Sen. He may not agree to your terms,” she levels a look of resolve at Rex who mirrors her gaze, “but I will try my best.” Echo observes the exchange and senses the captain and the senator tune into a shared frequency.

With one matter settled, Riyo looks around the garage. Rex had said its owners would be gone for awhile, so he and Echo are on their own. She fails to find beds or food or even a fresher. “In the meantime,” she puts a hand on Rex’s arm, “perhaps I can make arrangements for you two.”

“No, thank you, senator.” Irritation starts to creep towards anger in Rex’s voice. He’s quickly tiring of thanking her, not because he finds her a nuisance, but because he would rather she were gone, away from the danger he and Echo invite, so they could strategize without implicating her. “We’ll get by.”

“You said something about Echo and his armor,” Riyo continues undaunted. “Perhaps I can find more suitable attire. There are clothing shops two levels down.”

“I have some already.” Rex gestures to a neat pile of folded fabric on a nearby crate. He looks at Echo who starts detaching his spaulders. “Might need to take them in, though,” he jokes, his eyes wrinkling.

“I-I’m fine, you two,” Echo grumbles. “I can dress myself without supervision.”

Rex raises an eyebrow and stifles his laugh with a grunt. Riyo covers her smile lightly with her hand. Her chest feels lighter now, knowing these two can still find a little levity with the weight on their shoulders.

Echo clears his throat. “Uh, mind giving a trooper some privacy?” He’s halfway down to his blacks.

Rex crosses his arms and huffs, “Never stopped you before.”

Riyo blushes and looks down, hums to cover a giggle, but can’t hide her happiness at watching the men reconnect. She takes Echo’s cue and grabs Rex’s attention. “Captain, a word?”

Rex nods towards the back door. Riyo turns around and falls into step with him. The sound of Echo’s armor being piled into one of the crates fades as they walk into the darkness at the shop’s edges.

“I meant what I said, Rex.” Riyo turns towards him as they walk. There’s enough ambient light to outline their faces. “You and the clones deserve to live like any other galactic citizen, and I intend to fight for them, in and out of the Senate.” She jabs a finger in Rex’s direction to punctuate her emphasis, but her face is less stern than her words. “Please keep me apprised of your progress. I would very much like to help as much as I can. And please,” she stops walking, forcing Rex to face her directly, “do not mistake my lack of combat training for a lack of ability.”

Rex looks at Riyo for what feels like the first time. It wasn’t long after the start of the Clone Wars, before scratches marred the blue paint on the captain’s armor and scars bloomed across the body underneath, that this same senator had been bullied by her moon’s militant chairman into nearly starting another war. She was, at the time, timid and more inexperienced than some of the shinies under his command. Now she was speaking on his behalf, on behalf of the millions of his brothers scattered throughout the galaxy. She had found her voice and was unwilling to yield its power to anyone less than the emperor himself. He admires her spark of tenacity.

They continue the remaining distance to the back door. Shaking his head out of thought, Rex looks down and heaves a heavy sigh deep from his core. He already knows what strategy to use, the best path forward, but can’t bring himself to take it. He knows he needs influential allies to reach more clones. He knows that a senator on the inside could facilitate things faster than a soldier on the outside. And he knows that even if she can’t outmaneuver the emperor, Riyo could at least prove to be a valuable resource, with connections to other powerful people and safe planets where bases could be built and equipment scavenged. But he couldn’t bear the thought of putting her in more danger.

“We need her, Rex.” Echo steps next to the space between them. He’s wearing clothes similar to Rex’s, his right sleeve folded above his scomp arm. “We need all the help we can get.”

Rex smiles. Even now, after everything both clones have been through, their thoughts are still one and the same. He looks from Echo to Riyo, each determined to wear him down. “All right, senator,” he sighs. “What did you have in mind?”

Riyo readies herself for an arduous argument. Rex seemed intent on hunkering down in the garage, safe in the assumption of his and Echo’s deaths, but she wasn’t convinced. Watching Slip and her guards perish so violently had shaken her more than she would admit, and she feared the consequences for the clones would be similarly severe if they were caught. And as Echo had pointed out, the search for the trespassers of Rampart’s Venator would most likely reach the lower levels sooner rather later.

“You can’t stay here,” Riyo pleads. “Even if the Empire isn’t looking for you two specifically, you still can’t be found.” She looks back at the garage, cold and dark and inhospitable. “Are you sure this location is secure?”

“I scanned the place myself,” Rex says sternly, crossing his arms. “And I trust my friends.” His simmering irritation starts to bloom into full-blown anger. Echo senses it and steps in to temper the tension.

“Senator, how many guards do you have with you?” Ever the ARC trooper, he changes to a tack he knows Rex won’t be able to resist.

“Just the two,” Riyo gestures towards the door where her guards are stationed, “whenever I’m on Coruscant. But after the,” she flinches at the memory, “loss of my last two guards, the Pantoran Assembly agreed to send a squad’s worth as a precaution. They arrive tomorrow.”

“Have they secured your living quarters?” Echo’s concern, ever genuine, always registers as gruff.

Riyo looks down sheepishly. “I’m not sure.” For most of her tenure, her guards had acted more like aides, carrying files and messages between fellow senators and chasing off nothing more dangerous than disgruntled citizens. They had always provided her with enough security. Until now.

The clones register her hesitation. Rex opens the back door and motions for the men flanking it to follow him. He grills them immediately. “When was the last time you secured the senator’s living quarters?”

The men look at each other, then Riyo. One answers, “Before the Senate vote. But that was last night. It’s been more than half a rotation since.”

Echo steps in. “It’s not secure anymore.”

“It was safe when we left.” The other guard starts to defend their work. “We’ll secure the area again once when we get there. Standard procedure when there’s only two of us.”

Rex and Echo shake their heads simultaneously. The captain steps closer to the guards. “That’s not good enough. Not after today.” He points a finger in their faces. “She’ll be a target from now on. You’ll need to be more thorough and cautious.” The clones turn to each other and nod, appearing to communicate a slew of orders wordlessly in an instant.

Riyo blinks in surprise. “A target? Captain, after Rampart’s arrest, I don’t—”

“We’ll split up,” Rex continues. “Echo will go ahead with one of you,” he nods to a guard who nods back, “and scan the senator’s apartment. When it’s clear, we’ll follow.”

“Is this necessary?” Riyo tries to gain some control. “What danger could there be in my personal quarters? It was provided by the Pantoran Assembly. Surely, it’s safe.”

Rex looks in the direction of the body bag. “We can’t take anything for granted, senator. Not after your show of support for the clones, and not with the emperor tying up his loose ends.”

“Then perhaps it is safer here,” Riyo says defiantly, crossing her arms and steeling her gaze. Rex was doing exactly what she’d asked him not to do, and she resented it, however well-intentioned his motivations.

“No, senator.” Rex puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and softens his voice. His anger had burned out as quickly as it flamed, and he had no desire for its embers to spread. “You need to return to your quarters. You’ll raise suspicions if you don’t follow your normal routine. If there are,” he searches for a delicate term, “complications, we know how to handle them.” He looks to Echo who nods.

“What about the body,” Riyo says flatly. Now she wants nothing more than to derail the good captain’s plans.

Rex removes his hand and squares his shoulders. He bristles at the senator’s stubbornness. “We’ll take him with us after Echo comms with the all-clear. When your squad of guards arrive, they can escort you and the body back to Pantora.”

“My guards will escort you, Echo, and the body to Pantora.” Riyo takes a step closer to Rex. “I will return to the Senate where I still have my duties, captain.”

Tension hangs heavy in the air. Neither the captain nor the senator appear close to backing down. They meet each other’s gaze with equal chill and determination.

“Are you two done?” Echo’s irritation cuts through. Rex and Riyo turn to see him gesturing to the back door between the Pantoran guards. “We still need to get the senator topside.”

Riyo sighs, deflated by the need to remove all of them from the lower levels immediately and knowing the clones ultimately have her best interests in mind. “Fine. We’ll do things your way, Rex. But I insist you and Echo stay with me until my guards arrive.” She starts towards the door. “If you are intent on keeping me safe, then I suggest you see your actions through.”

Rex didn’t like the idea of spending the night with the senator. Hiding in the shadows of the lower levels was easier than in the glittering towers of the surface above. And if he and Echo were in as much danger as Riyo believed, then he didn’t want to compound the trouble she was facing with theirs. But making the trip from the garage to her quarters twice was impractical and unwise, especially in the daylight. And more than the thought of leaving the garage, Rex hated the idea of leaving the senator unprepared and unprotected for the dangers ahead.

Rex concedes and accepts his fate. “Just say the word, senator.” He knew he had unceremoniously taken control out of her hands and now wished nothing more than to yield to her command.

Riyo appreciates the gesture, but saves her gratitude for later. She nods at Echo and her guard. “Be careful.”

(Footnotes here.)

[reachartwork]

Chum 91: The Girl With A Plan

The silence that follows Multiplex's pronouncement hangs heavy in the air, thick with anticipation and unspoken questions. For a long moment, nobody seems willing to be the first to break the stillness.

Then, as if a switch has been flipped, the room erupts into a cacophony of teenage banter and casual chatter.

"So, anybody catch the new Celldweller flick over the weekend?" Playback pipes up, idly tapping out a rhythm against the arm of his chair. "I heard it was a total mindfuck."

Gossamer lets out an excited little squeal, bouncing in her seat. "Oh my gosh, yes! The visuals were absolutely insane – I've never seen anything like Ren Shouko's nanopunk aesthetic brought to life like that before!"

Rampart snorts, favoring the shorter girl with a sidelong look. "What, you mean all those seizure-inducing lightshows and music video cutaways?" He shakes his head, lips quirking in a half-smirk. "Nah, way too much style over substance for my tastes."

"You're just saying that because you couldn't follow the overarching inugami-punk allegory they were going for," Gossamer shoots back with a lofty sniff.

"Ooh, big SAT words, you've been studying!" Playback jeers with a theatric gasp.

Gossamer bristles, whipping around to face the smirking boy with an indignant glare. "What did you just say?"

"Easy there, killer," Puppeteer cuts in with a weary sigh, raising one hand in a placating gesture. "Let's try and stay on task here, people?"

"What task?" Playback counters with a snort of derision. "All the old heads finished yakking, didn't they? We're just waitin' on them to give the next spiel."

[linasofia]

A Shooting Star

Part 7

Fandom: The Hobbit

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Vega

Summary: Lady Vega loves to sneak out to Erebor’s rampart to study the night sky, but one night, an unexpected visitor joins her. It is the beginning of a story whose end only the stars can tell.

A/N: This is the final chapter. You can find all previous chapters in my masterlist.

Special thanks to @lathalea & @legolasbadass 💙💙

Khuzdul: Thutratur - Little star

The servant’s rapid knock on the door pulled Thorin’s thoughts from the large scroll in his hand. Endless rows of runes seemed to dance before his eyes, and he gently rubbed his temples. The soothing gesture caused his braids to sway, and Thorin glanced at the mug on the table. Its hay-color content was cold and far less pleasant than it usually was when freshly brewed. Once again, he had stayed at his desk too late and missed the planned meal, and it seemed as if the evening would not end soon.

”Enter!” he barked, and the door instantly opened.

”Lord Vimar requests an unannounced audience, My King.” The young servant looked nervously at his king. He did not like to disturb him, but the elderly lord was very persistent.

Thorin sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. ”Let him in.”

Lord Vimar entered with his chin held high and greeted Thorin respectfully yet in significantly fewer words than usual. As custom required, Thorin offered him a seat, but his advisor politely declined.

”What brings my advisor here, at this hour? Is there an emergency at some building site?” Thorin knew exactly why Lord Vimar had come, but he would not reveal that. It was no coincidence the elderly dwarf stood in front of him, and Thorin thought of Vega and how she might have told the news to her parents.

”I come here not as your advisor, My King. The reason for my sudden visit is only of a personal nature, as you might have already guessed—if what I learned tonight is true.”

Thorin passively watched his visitor. Lord Vimar held his gaze steadily; his back was straighter than usual, and his jaw was set. He looked more determined than angry, and an unfamiliar spark was lit in his eyes. Thorin realized he saw a rare glimpse of his advisor caught in his emotions. Lord Vimar had never been a warrior, but like all dwarves, he knew how to handle an axe or sword—if he deemed it necessary. The silver-bearded dwarf had no weapon in his hand, but his proud bearing spoke a language of its own.

”Let me hear it then.” Thorin held his voice even, the same tone he sometimes used when the progress of a negotiation was unclear. It expressed neither emotions nor opinions and was often considered an impressive self-control by his top negotiators.

”I will go directly to the point.” Lord Vimar took a deep, shaky breath and exposed a small crack in the shield of his calm. Thorin knew what was coming but did nothing to encourage him. ”Vega claims you have asked her to court her, My King.”

”That is true,” Thorin confirmed without even the slightest hesitation.

”As her father, I always worry for her safety. Being a brother and uncle yourself, I am sure I don’t need to explain to you that her safety is the most important thing to me.” His forehead turned red. ”I am not insinuating that she would not be safe with you, My King, but my daughter was raised to think and speak for herself. And believe me when I say that she does.” Lord Vimar hesitated before he continued. ”I need your word—I need to know that you will treat her like the rare gem she truly is and not try to force her into something she is not. If you are in need of an obedient maiden who can give you an heir—”

Thorin raised his hand, and the kingly gesture instantly silenced his visitor. A less understanding king would have been deeply offended by his subjects' last words, but Thorin let it pass. He was not interested in starting an argument with Vega’s father, especially not so early in their relationship. The truth was he had not even considered the possibility of having children. Those thoughts were far beyond the horizon of his imagination. He already had two heirs in his sister-sons, one of them ready to step in when it was time for Thorin to unite with his father and grandfather in the great Halls of Mahal.

”Lord Vimar, your concern for Vega is understandable, and I will give you credit for having the courage to come and see me. But let me assure you, your daughter’s brilliant ability to think and speak are some of the things I value the most. It will not change over time.” Thorin refrained from lecturing Lord Vimar for implying he, the king, could take a less interesting woman to his side. The strong feelings between him and Vega could only be described as a true blessing. Only death would be able to tear them apart—of this, Thorin was certain, but he saved those words for Vega and instead offered a stiff nod for her father, who seemed to hesitate again. Maybe he wanted to say more but understood he would step over the thin line he already walked close to. He nodded back.

”Was there anything else?”

”Thank you, My King, for allowing me to speak from my heart. Only one more thing. Vega does not know that I am here. Maybe it’s for the better if she remains unaware.”

”Good night, Lord Vimar,” Thorin said firmly and turned his attention back to the scroll on his desk, marking the end of their conversation. He would make no such promises. Secrets between Vega and him could only lead to bad events happening. Enough foul things had occured in his life; he needed no more. Vega was his thutratur, and her light was bright enough to guide him out of the constant darkness that had clouded his heart ever since the dreadful day in the valley of Azanulbizar.

The door shut with a thud, and Thorin was alone again. Like so often, the thought of Vega made it hard for him to focus on the task at hand. From the moment they first met, her emerald eyes had enchanted him, and now, after their shared kisses the previous evening, her lips and the way she reacted to his hand's gentle exploration of her curves made him desire her even more. She belonged in his arms, and he swore again to protect and cherish her for as long as he lived.

Lord Vimar wandered through the halls of Erebor, pondering his outburst towards Vega. The more he thought about it, the less he could defend his reaction. His dear wife was right, of course, as she so often was when it came to matters of the heart. If the king and his daughter were meant to be together, nothing could tear their hearts apart. Not even a father’s overprotective behavior. And Vega was right, too; he wanted to see her wed. He knew he was supposed to feel nothing but happiness for her, and he would have—if it were not for the old rumors about the king’s love for gold. Being part of the past, Lord Vimar had never really cared about them before, but now they made him worried. When Lord Vimar first came to Erebor, the king had recently recovered from two battles. One was against a huge army of enemies—the other against his own mind. Both incidents were said to have almost claimed his life, but in different ways. Lord Vimar trusted the king and would follow him through the wilderness again, but he feared what would happen if the king suddenly looked at his daughter the same way he used to obsessively admire the Arkenstone. Would her love then be enough to prevent a disaster between them? Lord Vimar sighed. The king had been nothing but fair since they started to rebuild Erebor, and many years had passed since then. Now he was the one being unfair. King Thorin had proved his value as the rightful ruler of Erebor, and the Mountain had become prosperous in trade with other realms and a safe home for all dwarves living within its walls. Lord Vimar pushed his doubts to the side and decided to focus on making things right with Vega. He hoped she would accept his apology.

***

”May I come in?”

At the sound of her father’s gentle voice, Vega looked up from the captivating book she was reading. She was tempted to say no; she had no wish to deal with his temper more tonight. But his voice sounded very different, and it made her curious.

”You may,” she answered and watched the door slowly open. Her father closed the door carefully behind him, and she nodded for him to take a seat in the armchair opposite her. Vega placed the book on the small table between the armchairs and let her hands rest on her lap.

Lord Vimar gave his daughter a hesitant smile, but she did not return it. ”Vega…” he said. ”I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I had no right to yell at you, and I said unfair things. I was shocked by your… news, and I did not handle it well.” He paused and waited for her to speak, but Vega remained silent. ”Your happiness is very important to me, and even if you never asked me to approve of your choice, I want you to know that I fully do. The king is an honorable dwarf and I am happy for you. Despite my previous words.”

Vega watched her father as he spoke. She could not remember seeing him so regretful before, and when he stroked his beard, he looked older than usual. Shame rested heavily on his shoulders, like stone carried by workers from the mines beneath the Mountain. She could not bear to see him suffer under the weight of his conscience, so she leaned forward and took his hand. ”I accept your apology,” she said softly, and even if the regret in his eyes did not instantly disappear, it seemed to lighten his heart. His eyes were slowly filled with the same warmth as when she was a young girl and sat on his lap, with bruises and small cuts on her hands after playing on the slopes of the Blue Mountains. Her safety would always be important to him.

Lord Vimar left his daughter alone after another reassurance of his regrets, and she bid him good night with a smile and a gentle hug. Vega sighed deeply when she sat down to rest again. The day had indeed been eventful. She picked up her book and returned to the fascinating tale of a young raven who learned to fly despite lacking other birds to observe. Eventually, Vega lost track of time as she let the story capture her, and in her mind, she could clearly see the black bird and the prince on the bridge outside the main gate. They had the strongest friendship, formed by love and trust—the same pillars her parents had built their relationship on.

When her mother suddenly called for her, she sighed again. All she wanted was to be alone and read before going to bed. Her mother called again, sounding a bit rushed, and Vega stood from her comfortable seat and opened the door with a patient smile.

”Amad?”

”Vega! Did you not hear me the first time?” Lady Vanadis did not wait for Vega’s answer, and she could barely hide her excitement when she continued in a hushed voice, ”You have a visitor! I think you can guess who it is.”

Vega’s heart almost stopped. Thorin! Here? She was grateful for holding on to the door handle, or she would have stumbled out from her room far less gracefully than she intended. ”What does he want?”

”How would I know? He wanted to speak with you. I invited him to the gallery. That way you can have your privacy and nobody will question you for allowing the king into your private chamber.” Her mother’s conspiratorial smile warmed Vega from her neck up to the tip of her ears.

”How do I look?”

”Lovely as always. Come here,” Lady Vanadis reached for the small hairpin holding the courting braid secured and partly hidden among her other braids. The braid fell down on Vega’s shoulder, and she could vaguely feel Thorin’s clasp through the fabric. ”Do not hide something you are proud of. I am sure King Thorin is like most dwarves, he likes to see the braid he made for you. Not because you belong to him, but because you belong together.”

”Thank you.” Vega gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, grabbed her skirts and rushed to the gallery. Her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Thorin, and her expectations increased with every step.

The gallery was a spacious area and home to all family members’ interests. Everything from their large collection of books and Lord Vimar’s old maps to Lady Vanadis’ endless vases with dried flowers. It was maybe not the most coordinated collection of items, but all of them were unique, and they had a history to tell.

Thorin stood with his back to the door, watching an old painting Vega’s father brought from their home in the Blue Mountains. It had a few cracks in the paint, but Lord Vimar refused to have it restored. It reminded him of their journey, and he wanted the painting with its flaws. When Vega entered, Thorin quickly turned to greet her, and the smile on his face made all her tiredness disappear. In a few hasty steps, he stood before her and took her in his arms as if he had done it hundreds of times before. Vega’s hands landed on his firm shoulders, and she knew she would never get tired of the feeling of his body against hers. How she wished she was allowed to peel off his tunic and admire what he hid underneath, but courting meant respectful and decent meetings, even if she was told many dwarves secretly skipped the old traditions. She had to be patient; she did not yet know how traditional Thorin wished their courting to be. He was the king, after all, not a simple blacksmith, and as such, he was expected to lead by example in all situations. Even if she tried not to think too much about that, she could not help wondering how different it would have been if Thorin was someone less powerful.

”What brings you here, Thorin? Is everything alright?”

”Everything is fine, I just came to steal a kiss or two, if you do not mind.” He smiled even wider as he confessed, and it made her giggle.

”I will never mind such delightful initiatives.” Vega wrapped her arms around his neck and let his intoxicating scent surround her. The blue tunic he wore was cut in a way that allowed her to admire some of that dark chest hair she had noticed several times before. She wondered if Thorin did it on purpose; that look on him was absolutely irresistible, and once again, she felt heat rush to her cheeks—and her core. Thorin held her close while he bent down and placed a kiss on her lips.

”I missed you, thutratur,” he murmured with a voice so deep it made Vega tremble. ”Far more than I can express in words.” One of his large hands gently caressed her lower back as he spoke, and the innocent—yet sensual—touch made her melt in his embrace, like a small piece of gold placed in one of the massive furnaces below the Mountain. Unable to stop herself, Vega kissed him back without any concerns for decency. He tasted so good, and his warm breath blended with hers when he groaned and pulled her even closer to him. In his arms, time ceased to exist, and all she could think of was his exploring lips and the blooming feelings in her chest. Suddenly, his fingers were at the back of her neck, teasing her skin and carefully caressing her braids. He did it with such longing in his touch it made Vega yearn for the moment when he would slowly and carefully unbraid her hair.

”I missed you too,” Vega whispered truthfully when they eventually broke the kiss. She never expected her heart to beat so strongly for another dwarf, and it was almost frightening.

”I am glad I was able to see you, if only for a short time. The hour is too late, and I will leave soon, but I wanted to see you and make sure you are alright.”

”And I am both glad and still surprised you came,” Vega replied.

”Vega,” Thorin suddenly sounded serious. ”I hope I made my feelings clear last night. I meant every word I said, but if you have any doubt about my intentions, I will repeat them every day, for as long as necessary.”

”I have no reason to doubt you, Thorin.” Something in his eyes made Vega tilt her head and study him for a short while. ”Why do you say this?”

Thorin took one of her hands in his and held it against his chest. Then he rested his forehead briefly against Vega’s. ”You already know me well enough to understand when there is more to my words than I speak.” He gave her an affectionate smile. ”Your father came to see me today. He expressed concern for my intentions with you and before you say anything about it I want you to know that it was all right. I see a father’s love, nothing else.”

Vega blushed. She never expected such actions from her father, but she quickly realized his change and apology were direct results of his and Thorin’s meeting. She wondered what was said but refrained from questioning Thorin about it.

”Alright,” Vega answered simply, trusting Thorin to speak if there was more she needed to know. But he did not. Instead, he cupped her face with both his hands and held her tenderly.

”My heart belongs to you,” Thorin spoke softly and let one of his thumbs caress her cheek. His warm gaze etched itself in her memory forever, and she knew in her heart he was speaking the truth.

”Just as my heart is yours, Thorin,” Vega answered and was instantly rewarded with another kiss, filled with all the promises Thorin wanted to speak of but held back to not rush their newly tied bond. Joy had returned to his heart, and he was beyond grateful. No stars were present to witness their declarations of love, but high above the Mountain, another fading light fell over the evening sky. This time, neither Thorin nor Vega was on the rampart to see it, but Thorin needed no shooting star to guide him. His light was right in front of him, wearing his clasp and looking even more gorgeous than she did the first time they met. Their future journey might be written in the stars, but a bond as strong as theirs cannot be broken. Ever.

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

Let me know if you want to be added or removed

[eriexplosion]

Okay I've put off the finale enough. Time for Return to Kamino.

You can tell it's awkward between Crosshair and Hunter right now because after his dramatic entrance Crosshair just. Slipped back out to wait up front rather than risk having to actually talk to Hunter about anything.

This first interaction though god there's so much there. "And so will your squad." "They'll still come for you." Just godddd the pain is so deep here and it's no one's FAULT it's the Empire's but you can't have interpersonal family dynamics with the Empire. It's only this painful because of how much everyone cares about each other.

POOR PANICKY OMEGA she's so scared and wants to go get Hunter RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY.

When do we get the Gregor in Cid's bar chaos cut?

Rampart has acknowledged Hunter's name but never Crosshair's, which is wild to me.

The fact that his subordinates still call him 'the clone' okay. The thing with Crosshair is he might have gotten the title but he never got an OUNCE of respect and god does it show. The fact that he willingly went back to this is a sign of how little self respect he has left frankly. He doesn't care that they treat him like shit because whatever he probably deserves to be treated like shit.

Echo getting down to ask Omega if she's alright is such a good moment for them, just a lovely example of how good they are at relating to her. (Her saying it doesn't matter they just need to save Hunter though sdoifjsf, I cannot wait to see her stubborn streak in season 3)

"Not the ones that matter" baby boy, my beloved delusional bitch, NONE of you matter and you NEVER WILL to the Empire.

"They don't leave their own behind. Most of the time."

Listen I love that his hurt is treated like it matters but I love that Hunter doesn't instantly give in when he hears it too. They did what they could with the information they had - which wasn't much - and it meant that they couldn't take Crosshair with them. Either they would have died or Crosshair would have been killed. There's no solution where they just grab Crosshair and take him with them and it all works out perfectly, and both of their sides are absolutely valid in the emotions they have and it's DELICIOUSLY COMPLICATED BETWEEN THEM.

"We didn't have a choice." "Hm. And I did?" - Okay though I love this exchange because it is. The singular time I think where we hear Crosshair admit that he didn't have a choice. He usually tries to pretend he's picked this path, that he's made his own decisions. And after a point he did, but those decisions will never not be influenced by something that was completely out of his control, and when he lets himself be a little raw he admits that, before he piles on all his stubbornness again.

GODDD HUNTER IS TRYING SO HARD STILL TO GET THROUGH TO HIM AND HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT CROSSHAIR ISN'T CHIPPED ANYMORE AND AGHHHHHHH. I know I'm focusing on this over the others in the lab but god there's just so much here I can't stop chewing on it. Hunter's sad sigh, the gentleness he uses to try to get through to him, Crosshair's face when Hunter mentions the chip because he knows it's not there and he isn't sure he fully believes that it was That Big A Deal anyway. I'm so. Emotional. About this.

Empty Kamino is still one of the creepier settings tbh

So funny how they fall for the 'oh we'll go where they're not expecting!' trick twice in a row because Crosshair is just that familiar with how they think.

"And here we all are, together again!" Brat.

HUNTER'S LITTLE NOD TELLING THEM TO DROP THEIR WEAPONS

"You think we'd bring her here? We're smarter than that." NO YOU ABSOLUTELY ARE NOT GO FIND THE KID RIGHT NOW

"You betrayed everything we stood for" babe you are the one being weird about what you stood for not the rest of the batch.

"You weren't loyal to me." LINES THAT STRIKE AT THE HEART EVERY TIME. THE MUSIC IS SO FUCKING GOOD ON THIS BIT. AND "I'm going to give you what youo never gave me. A chance." WHY THE DIALOGUE GOTTA GO SO DAMNED HARD.

The way that he tries to get Omega off world is another good signal that the chip is out, it's so different from aim for the kid it might as well be coming from a different person. Because it is. The chipped version was not Crosshair, not really, this is. Just. A very very damaged Crosshair.

Glad he drops the 'we're superior' bullshit in season two pretty much, guess 32 rotations starving on a platform will put some things back in perspective.

Tech spotting the mirrors and bringing Wrecker's attention to them right before Crosshair shoots everyone and pulls his helmet off it's just so much happening all at once and I adore the Emotion in this whole sequence.

YOU ARE ALL MEANT FOR MORE THAN JUST RUNNING. LIKE BEING THE LACKEY OF A GUY THAT FUNDAMENTALLY DISRESPECTS YOU.

"Don't become my enemy" "Crosshair, we never were" BABIES

And then the droid incident happens right when it seems like MAYBE they could get through and it's back to wrestling around on the ground like idiots.

This is not a fight this is Hunter managing a fucking tantrum while trying not to let Crosshair get shot in the meantime. Like it is clear they are not on equal footing in this lol. Crosshair manages to get the upper hand for exactly .5 seconds.

THE THEME KICKING IN WHEN HE JOINS UP AGAINST THE DROIDS MY GOD.

We need Tech alive it's the only way to get the theme back properly in season 3 if they play it without him it will feel EMPTY.

The DESPERATION ON HUNTER'S FACE AS HE TRIES ONE LAST TIME TO INSIST IT'S THE INHIBITOR CHIP. And I am still not over how.... the thing that Crosshair says 'Wrong' about isn't 'it's your inhibitor chip' but rather 'we can help you.'

This is just the face of a man that fundamentally thinks he can't be saved.

Like he doesn't look happy about this at ALL he looks exhausted and hurt, he's not proud when he says This is who I am.

Anyway he snapped his rifle up to try and commit suicide by Hunter I think, probably didn't occur to him that Hunter would have it on the stun setting.

Hunter's HEARTBREAKING EXPRESSION is a lot to take in but you also can see Tech's eyes widen and then narrow as he tries to process the new information and just. UGH. MY HEART AND SOUL IS WOUNDED.

And through it all, Hunter still checks for a scar trying to figure out what is going on. He still wants so bad for it not to be true that this is Crosshair in his right mind.

Which, well, he's not, just not because he's actively chipped.

U G H THE SHOTS OF EMPTY KAMINO JUST BEFORE THE BOMBING STARTS.

[riversidewings]

"Living Ghosts" #10: "The Ramparts"

From my reparenting series “Living Ghosts.” In which a trans lesbian combat doll named River, reunited with and reparenting her younger self now named Emi, revisits a place and moment in their shared past, and tries to reclaim meaning and belonging and find triumph even among broken stones.

A story:

They stood on the ruined fortress's ramparts, the cyborg and the girl, as the sun went down beyond the western hills and cast the ancient stones in a brilliant blaze. It was the last place the woman imagined her younger self would want to take her, but it gripped her heart in a way she couldn't deny. It was November 16, 2002 again, here, just for the moment.

The unlikely mother and daughter by choice had wandered the ruins while they watched history play out the way the cyborg remembered it, even as they made memories of their own.

From a distance, the cyborg saw the person who wore the ill-fitting form of a boy, posing for a photo on the walls. The centuries of war and weather had turned solid fortification into steps, tenuous but with a commanding view beyond.

After all, the past could, and yet could not, be rewritten.

"Hey, Mom?" the girl asked gently, tipping back her sun hat and peeking over the rim of her sunglasses at the woman of flesh and circuitry she would become.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"You okay? You looked a little, I dunno...worried."

"It's nothing, Emi. Just..." she gestured at the teenager in their ill-fitting hoodie and jeans, uncomfortable and painfully squinting in the bright sunset. "Memories. The things I can change, and the things I can't."

The girl turned, caught sight of the phantom she'd been, the first time around. "Oh yeah," she sighed. "That...yeah."

Ill at ease in their own body. Ill at ease in their community. Scarred and getting more scarred, and surrounded by what felt like impenetrable walls. The being who looked for all the world like a boy, wandered off with their tour group.

Then the girl looked back at the cyborg.

"I guess that's one of the perks of being here but a part of you, this time around," she smiled hopefully. "I'm not invisible anymore."

"Damn right, kiddo." The woman glanced from the tour group as it moved to the steps to ground level, and back to the stepped stones that were the rampart's edge. "Speaking of. I have a thought. You up for a picture?"

The girl nodded. "Yes please!"

She helped the girl up the stones to where she could sit comfortably. Then best she could, the woman approximated the position of the man who'd taken the photo of the phantasm from whose perspective she dimly recalled this moment as it had transpired.

The being who'd been here was little more than a shade. The girl on the ramparts who looked to the woman who now stood with phone in hand, lining up the shot just so, was alive.

Her hat, her hoodie, her cargo pants and tanker boots, spoke of comfort, of style and character, rather than of discontent and detachment.

Beyond her, where once the fortress's outer defenses had walled off this place in the days of French and English overlords, the field was a long row of fallen walls: imposed by force, broken down by tenacity and time.

It seemed a fitting backdrop for the girl whose tenacity had prevailed.

"Okay, you ready?"

The girl looked to the camera, and as the cyborg hit the shutter, she realized: of her own accord, guileless and unguarded, the girl who'd endured hell and silence and darkness in order to tear down walls and be herself, had smiled almost as bright as the Mediterranean sun.

That's my girl, the unlikely mother thought proudly.

[minyboy]

One must let go of the past to hold on to the future.

RIP Tech.

Names, from left to right. Row 1: Emperor Palpatine, Lieutenant Nolan, Royce Hemlock, Halle Burtoni, Slip, Riyo Chuchi, Mokko, Shep Hazard, Gungi, Grini Millegi Row 2: Gonky, Cut Lawquane, Ketch, Caleb Dume, Gobi Glie, Todo 360, Avi Singh, Saw Gerrera, Trace Martez, ES-02, Lula, Medical Officer Row 3: C1-10P, Roland Durand, ES-03, GS-8, Omega, Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Cid, Cham Syndulla, TK Trooper, ES-01, B1 Battle Droid Row 4: Captain Wilco, Gregor, Dock Worker Sullustan, Nala Se, Echo, Echo Face, Fennec Shand, AZI-3, Serin, Mas Amedda Row 5: Emerie Karr, Eleni Syndulla, Rafa Martez, Bolo, Omega (new hair),Crosshair Face, Hunter Face, Wrecker Face, Tech Face, Rampart, Depa Billaba, Bib Fortuna, Suu Lawquane, Bail Organa Row 6: Howzer, Muchi, Pyke Thug, Clone Trooper, Orn Free Taa, Wilhuff Tarkin, Rex, Lama Su, Cad Bane, ES-04, Taun We, Hera Syndulla Row 7: Commander Cody, TAY-0, Tawni Ames, Benni Baro, Tactical Droid, Mayday, Phee Genoa, Lyana Hazard, Romar Adell, Riyo Chuchi's Guard

[intheshadowofwar]

28 June 2023

The Salient

Ypres 28 June 2023

In military teminology, a salient is when part of one side’s territory sort of bulges into the other side’s. Imagine you have two lines of paint, one red and one blue, running parallel, and they’re slightly wet and runny. Imagine a bit of the red paint leaking into the blue line. Picture that, and you’ve got a fairly good idea of what a salient looks like on a map.

From a purely military perspective, you don’t want a salient. A salient means that the enemy has positions on your flanks that can provide enfilade fire - effectively, they can hit you from the front and from both your left and right. It is much better to defend a straight line - or better yet, have the enemy in a salient pushing into your line. From a purely military perspective, what the British and French should have done in November 1914, when the fronts began to harden into what would become trench warfare, was to fall back and abandon the town of Ypres to the Germans. Politically, this was impossible - Ypres was the last Belgian town of any note held by the Allies, and to abandon it would be to abandon the country altogether. Since Britain had entered the war to defend Belgium, this was unthinkable.

Hence, the Ypres Salient, established after the First Battle of Ypres in November 1914 and crystalised after the Second in February to March 1915 (the latter being the first used of poison gas in modern warfare, and the first major battle fought by the Canadians.) For the troops of the British Empire, Ypres was always a bad place to be posted - but it was in the summer and autumn of 1917, during the Third Battle of Ypres, that the name became synonymous with hell on Earth.

I have some sympathy with Field Marshal Haig, at least in the early stages of the battle - the Allied badly needed a win. The French Army, after the disastrous Nivelle Offensive of early 1917, was in a state of mutiny. The Italians were foundering in the Alps and were about to be utterly hammered by the Germans and Austro-Hungarians at Caperetto. The Russian Army was disintergrating as the country fell into revolution. Of the main Allied powers, only the British had a functioning army. The burden fell on them. What I cannot sympathise with Haig on, of course, was the fact that the battle continued long after it made any sense to keep going. By October and November, in a morass of mud, gas, artillery and blood, the British Army was nearly bled white in a series of pointless offensive to take the blasted ruin of Passchendaele. It would be given up without a fight in the German offensives the following spring.

If you want the answer as to why the Allied appeased Hitler, you can find it in the rows and rows of tombstones in this small strip of Belgian land.

We started today with a brief walk along the walls of Ypres - they date back to Louis XIV, who built a lot of forts because he had a lot of enemies. (For the fortification nerds among you, I can’t remember if it’s a Vauban fort, but I suspect it probably was.) At the Lille gate, so called because it faces that city, we reached the Ramparts Cemetary. Most of the men buried here were killed in the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915, but there are clusters of 1917 names - little groups of men, all from the same battalions, all from the same day. Of particular note were about six men of the Maori Battalion, all of whom died on New Years’ Eve 1917. The men in these graves would have died all at once, victims of a direct hit from an artillery shell. One could escape snipers, machine guns, even gas, but at Wipers, a ‘whizzbang’ could always find you.

We met our new bus (apparently yesterday’s bus has been fired) and left Ypres for the second cemetery of our day’s touring, and perhaps the most unique I’ve ever seen. The Langemarck German Cemetary is one of the bleakest places I have ever visited. Slabs on the ground mark the dead - tens at a time - in what I can only describe as a pitiless mass grave of humanity. A distubingly large portion of these men died in October 1914, many of them cadets - these were the Kindermord bei Ypern, and their pointless, suicidal attacks on British positions were turned by their leaders into a propaganda tool to encourage young men to emulate their ‘sacrifice.’

There are over forty-four thousand German soldiers interred at Langemarck. This was because the Germans were given precious little room for burials after the war - the Belgians and French, pitlessly but somewhat understandably, called the bodies of German soldier ‘pollutants’ in their soil. As a result, German graves on the Western Front are filled to the burst point with wasted humanity. Of course it became a site of Nazi pilgrimage after the German conquest in 1940, and in an attempt to prevent this from happening again, the cemetary has interpretive spaces that a visitor must pass through to access the cemetery. That is the saddest thing about German cemeteries, I think - if they had a beautiful cemetery like the British and French do, it would immediately become a Mecca for fascists. One only needs to look at the grave of SS tank commander Michael Wittman, who despite being a Nazi of the worst stripe, still had tributes laid at his grave almost daily.

My personal verdict, though? Langemarck is obscene. It is dehumanising, alienating and almost industrial. When Seigfried Sassoon spoke of the ‘intolerably nameless names’ at the Menin Gate, he might very well have spoken about this. That there is probably no other option does little to reconcile me to this pit of inhumanity. Perhaps in that way it’s one of the best anti-war arguments I’ve ever seen.

We left Langemarck, passing the Brooding Soldier, a Canadian memorial to their victims of has attacks, and heading on to Polygon Wood. This is where the Australian Fifth Division chose to place their war memorial. The Australian Imperial Force in France had five infantry divisions - there was a sixth, the Mounted Division, in Palestine - and these were predictably numbered from one to five. The Fifth, the youngest of them, had perhaps the worst introduction to the war of all, starting their campaign at Fromelles, an unmitiagated failure of an offensive that still holds the dubious distinction of being the bloodiest day in Australian history. For reasons that are probably obvious, they didn’t chose to build their memorial at Fromelles - they chose Polygon Wood, part of the push towards Passchendaele. This is because Polygon Wood, by the standards of the Western Front in 1917, was actually a success - the Fifth took all of its objectives with ‘acceptable’ losses.

In a weird way, after Langemarck the graves at Polygon Wood seemed almost reassuring; yet it was confronting in its own way. Technically, the cemetery around the Fifth Division Memorial isn’t part of the actual Polygon Wood Cemetary - it’s the Butte New British Cemetary, and that’s pronounced like ‘boot’ you absolute children. But they’re effectively the same complex, and both of them are filled with dead Australians, New Zealanders and Britons. There are whole lines of headstones labelled ‘Known Unto God’ - these are the unknown soldiers, the men so badly mutiliated that they could not be identified. Some could be traced to a unit, a rank or a nationality - ‘an unknown Australian soldier,’ ‘an unknown soldier of the Manchester Regiment,’ ‘an unknown Australian Second Lieutenant’ - but that does little to erase the sense of cruel anonymity. Even so, people still lay tributes at these graves - poppies, flags, little wooden crosses. I’ve always liked that - people who don’t know and can’t know who these men were, but are willing to stop by their grave regardless. There was an unknown soldier with an Australian flag laid on it, and I was a little curious as it stood right next to one that was explicitly identified as Australia. Perhaps whoever left that flag was saying that, whether or not you were a Digger or a Tommy or a Kiwi in life, you’re in our house now, and you’re one of us.

I think it was the historian Mark McKenna who questioned the sincerity of those who make pilgrimage to foreign battle sites and mourn. Everytime I go to one of these places, I think they prove him a little more wrong.

We rambled into Polygon Wood itself, behind the cemetery, and found ‘Scott House.’ This is actually not a house, but a pillbox, taken by Australian forces in the battle. This would have been at the edge of the Hindenburg Line (or the Siegfried Line in German, not to be confused with the line of the same name in the Second World War.) The Hindenburg Line was built behind the German front at the end of 1916, after the Germans had taken a severe battering at the Somme and Verdun. They withdrew to it in the Spring of 1917, and it basically remained the frontline until Germany took the offensive again in 1918. It was something of a master stroke, and was really more of a series of mutually supporting lines of trenches, blockhouses, barbed wire and mines, funnelling the enemy into killing zones where they could be destroyed. It could also be manned by fewer men, allowing Germany to divert troops to the East to crush Russia. The fact that the blockhouse is still intact, over a century later, is a testament to its strength. Of course, in the end, the Hindenburg Line was cracked - or perhaps shattered was the better term. But we’ll get to that in a few days.

After leaving Polygon Wood, we briefly scouted past Tyne Cot - we’ll head back there tomorrow - and returned to Ypres for lunch. After lunch we headed to the In Flanders Fields Museum, in the rebuilt Cloth Hall at the centre of town. This museum has two basic functions - it’s a museum, recounting the history of the war in Belgium in general and in Ypres particularly, and the personal experiences of combatants and civilians, and it’s a memorial, explicitly designed to do justice to those who died in the Ypres Salient and to promote peace. There are things in it I disagree with in it (mostly the generic references to ‘the State’ in the first part of the memorial - all pre-war nations had their flaws, but I don’t think they can all be lumped together 1984-style as one generically malevolent ‘State’) but ultimately I very much recommend this museum. I think there’s a lot in there that other museums could learn from.

As I am wont to do, I’ve put some thought into an exhibit that really spoke to me. I think it’s the layouts of uniforms and equipment of the main combatants (with the somewhat bizarre exception of Britain, but I think that’s because most of their kit overlaps with the Canadians and Australians rather than any particular statement about ‘perfidious Albion’) as they were in 1918. Firstly, they’re laid out in such a way that it’s easy to see exactly what kit a soldier would be carrying, as opposed to being on a mannequin in full battle order (although don’t get me wrong, I love a good mannequin.) Secondly is the presentation - everything looks like it’s attached to a sprue, like a model kit. I don’t know if that’s intentional, but it gives everything a bit of a toy soldier feel - perhaps a sneaky little tweak on the nose at people with unhealthy interests in uniforms and guns (which I understand describes me, but I’m not above a little healthy self-reflection.) There was also a pretty neat exhibition on the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and its French, Belgian, US and German counterparts.

We had a chat with the staff at the museum, and then that was it. I went to Ypres Burger, because I find it conceptually entertaining, and called it a day there. Tomorrow, we’re going to talk about a famous and evocative poem that sits a little funny with me…

…no, it’s not Rupert Brook’s The Soldier. That doesn’t ‘sit funny’ with me, I hate it with white hot intensity. ‘That is forever England’ my bottom.

[orion-kenobi]

hello i’m currently on season 3 of emergency! and i think they should just give johnny his own room at rampart. how has he managed to hurt himself 3 episodes in a row and end up having to stay at the hospital in two of them. he’s great at his job obviously but also how has he survived this long.

[burrichgreer]

How To Make A Birch | Part 1

The city of Stratholme was the jewel of eastern Lordaeron. Strong, stone walls skirted its borders with sturdy towers perched atop the ramparts. During the day, banners and flags of the richest of blues danced in the wind, proudly bearing the sigil of their fine kingdom - the embellished, golden 'L' of Lordaeron. At night, torches lined the parapets, illuminating the outer walls with enough light to be seen from miles away. All who came to the fair city could find whatever they were looking for in abundance, be it entertainment, commerce, or refuge. At nearly every entrance to the city, bards could be found entrancing those passing through the gates with tales of heroic deeds and romance set to song. The Market Row bustled with the sound of enterprise from sunrise to sunset as merchants, shopkeepers and street vendors alike peddled their goods and services to any and all. And on the far side of the city, the port was almost constantly alive with activity, with ships of all varieties coming and going all through the day. There was always an energy about the city, a resilience and steadiness. After all, there was no better place to be than Stratholme City.

But that was before.

--

The ores splashed through the water, urging the small, fishing boat deeper into the dreary port with each stroke. A lone, cloaked figure sat in the vessel, looking very much on edge. His head turned up to the sky for a moment, even as he rowed along the dark waters. Any other day, there would be gulls calling in the distance and gliding on the breeze off the sea - but not today. The darkening sky was illuminated by the nefarious glow of the fire that still consumed the city. Instead of birds, there was only smoke and ash - so much ash that it looked like it was snowing.

As he neared the city, his gaze turned over his shoulder toward the approaching docks. Any other day, he would have seen dozens of ships, both human and elven, docked with crews scurrying about their business - but not today. There were only a few, lifeless boats still docked there. And while he had expected to find the docks abandoned entirely, to his surprise, he could make out the silhouettes of a dozen or so people still moving about! A desperate hope swelled inside him as he was hit with the thought that his mother and father may very well have survived what was now being called the mad-prince's Culling.

He pressed on, passing by the larger docks and making his way to a smaller, private landing that he hoped was still gated from the harbor - a more cautious approach, just in case those were remnants of the prince's forces left to hold the docks for some reason. There were only a few small boats making use of the dock. From the look of things, they belonged to a handful of survivors who were either brave enough or desperate enough to take to looting. He eased his way between two of the boats until the wooden edge of his vessel met the stone wall of the dock with a light thud and a quiet splash. After climbing up onto the landing, he made quick work of securing his vessel before rising to his feet and taking a look around. A group of rather gloomy-looking men loitered around the gate, each one with a grimace slightly more menacing than the one before. The boy tugged his hood down around his face as he stepped toward the gate, not caring one bit to linger in present company. Hoping to slip by the man at the gate without making a scene, he lowered his gaze and attempted to step by without a word.

A hand caught him by the collar before he could pass, "Boy." A gruff voice muttered, before the man tugged the younger man over to stand in front of him. "Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" The man demanded in an almost mocking tone.

"I'm looking for someone." The younger replied, his face still hidden in the shadows of the hood.

The tall man, whose face looked much like a horse's except somehow uglier, let out a noisy snort as his free hand shot up to toss the hood off of the boy's head, revealing the dirty but stern face of a teenage boy framed in a mess of blond hair. His green eyes were bloodshot and his brow was creased tightly as he stared straight ahead, refusing to dignify the would-be gatekeeper with a glance. The man studied the boy for a moment before remarking, "Stubborn little shit, eh?" A dry chuckle followed as he released the young Burrich Greer with a light shove in the direction of the gate. "Fine then. Light keep ya, if ya still believe in that horse shit." he said, punctuating his empty well-wishing with a grunt. If the other men on the landing had any concern for the boy, they didn't show it.

Burrich adjusted his cloak, pointedly pulling his hood back up before pressing an ear to the gate in an attempt to hear what was happening on the other side. Hearing nothing, he lifted the gate's bar and pulled it open, slipping through the passage to the larger harbor beyond without giving the men behind him a second glance.

Once he stepped clear of the gate, he was startled by a loud thud behind him. He turned and pressed on the gate - it had been barred once more. His jaw tightened as he squelched the desire to introduce the gatekeeper's horse-like face to his fist. And that train of thought might have continued were it not for the sudden realization that there was no going back now. He turned back to the harbor, brow knit as he willed himself to ignore that his heart felt like it was about to pound its way right out of his chest. He drew a deep breath and crouched down, finding a bit of security behind a stack of crates.

Any other day, he would have strode through the harbor like he owned the place. His father was Edmond Greer, after all. And Edmond Greer was one of a few unspoken leaders in this part of the city - a man people knew they could rely on - a steady, sharp, thinking man. Burrich had always enjoyed a small amount of unearned respect on the docks, just for being who he was - but not today. A haunting silence loomed over the harbor and there wasn't a single face to offer a smile or greet him as he peeked around the crates. And yet..

In the distance, through the haze of smoke and fog, he could see the silhouettes again - the same ones he had seen from the water. He hustled a bit closer, slipping behind a stack of grain sacks to get a better look. Now closer, he could see that they weren't wearing armor, nor did they carry weapons. That hope rose in him again. These were not soldiers. His heart continued to pound as he fed that seed of hope. Maybe the prince didn't make it this far into the city. Maybe some survived! What if his parents survived? What if they were out there looking for him right now?!

In a moment of reckless hope, the boy rose to his feet, lifted his hands in the air and called out to the strangers in the haze. "Hey! Its me! Burrich Greer! Are you alright?!" He moved out from behind the sacks to grab a nearby lantern that was still burning on its post, holding it up for a bit of light. "Have you seen my parents?! Edmond and Cadence Greer?!"

They didn't respond so he called a bit more loudly, his youthful voice echoing through the ghostly fog, "Hello?! I.. I didn't think anyone survived! Please! Have you seen my parents?!" Finally, he saw one of the figures turn in his direction as if he had heard the call. Then another. And another. Slowly, all of them turned in his direction and began to move toward him. Burrich smiled, an almost joyous laughter slipping from him as he began to make his way into the haze to meet them.

Any other day, he would have been met by men and women he had grown up around. The families who lived around and worked the docks were a tight knit community - with a flavor and culture all its own. There were very few people he didn't know and most people he could recognize by just the sound of their voices as he passed by.

But not today.

The hope that had driven him to make the journey here, that led him to open that gate, that had led him to call out to these strangers and hasten to meet them... it vanished the moment he heard them. Not the sound of familiar voices calling back to him with news of his parents. Not the sound of fellow survivors cheering at his safe return. No, all he heard was a chorus of groans. Dull, lifeless, droning groans that only grew in intensity with every step the figures took toward him. And in a moment, a single, terrifying thought took root in his mind that sent a chill up his spine and made his stomach sink like a brick. A thought he could not shake any more than the way his body suddenly froze in horror: whoever they were, whatever they were... they were hungry.

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Returning Home Chapter 19- Thorin Oakenshield x OC

Thorin Oakenshield x Bellarose Baggins

Description: Bellarose discovers many things in a very short amount of time. Like what Bilbo had really been hiding, and that Thorin has feelings for her - or perhaps had.

Word Count: 2.4k

“Thorin, are you sure this is a good idea?” Bellarose asked nervously as she stood amongst the Company atop the gate blockade in Erebor the next morning. She decided it was worth it to give him one last chance to stop his madness. There was still time to stop this. But, it seemed that Thorin didn’t feel the same way. The King refused to look at her though she could see his firm gaze harden even more. 

“This is the only way,” was his only answer as armed Elves and Men alike marched towards the mountain. The Hobbit looked around anxiously, quickly noticing that several Dwarves (namely FIli, Kili and Balin) looked like they felt exactly what she was feeling in that moment. 

Her gaze was torn away when the marching stopped, then she watched as Bard and King Thranduil rode to the front of the armies and approached the broken bridge over the moat on their respective steeds. Without warning Thorin suddenly drew his bow and shot an arrow at the ground, nearly hitting the Elvenking’s elk in the leg. Bellarose gasped worriedly as both leaders looked up at the Dwarf King in surprise, halting their steeds. 

“I will put the next one between your eyes!” Thorin yelled, drawing another arrow as the rest of the Dwarves cheered and shook their weapons. 

For a moment Thranduil stared at him angrily, then tilted his head. It was apparently some sort of cue because the first few rows of Elves pulled out their bows. Bellarose gasped again, though this time fearfully as they notched their arrows and aimed at the wall in a single motion. She was pulled down by Balin as the rest of the Company ducked behind the ramparts aside from Thorin. After holding the pose for a few seconds, Thranduil raised his hand, and the Elves put away their arrows. Thorin, however, still had his bow drawn. 

“We’ve come to tell you: payment of your debt has been offered...and accepted,” the Elf informed him, which confused Bellarose. When in the world could payment have been given to either Mirkwood or Laketown? The Dwarf King seemed to feel the same way. 

“What payment? I gave you nothing! You have nothing!” He yelled as everyone stood back up again. 

“We have this,” Bard spoke this time, reaching into his robe. A second later he pulled out a beautiful white gem and held it above his head. Bellarose’s eyes widened. Was that…

“They have the Arkenstone?” Kili questioned angrily, confirming the Hobbit’s suspicions. “Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the King!”

“And the king may have it - in our goodwill,” Bard answered easily, slipping the Arkenstone back into his robe. “But first he must honor his word.” All eyes turned to Thorin, who whispered to himself before speaking aloud. 

“They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse, a filthy lie,” he spoke to the company before yelling at Bard and Thranduil. “The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick!” That was when the Hobbit noticed someone step into view out of the corner of her eye. It was Bilbo. 

“It-It’s no trick. The stone is real. I gave it to them.” Bellarose’s jaw dropped as she stared at him in shock, the Company doing the same. 

“Bilbo,” the younger Baggins gasped out. 

“You…” Thorin trailed off, sorrow, anger and betrayal prevalent in his voice. 

“I took it as my fourteenth share,” Bilbo elaborated further. 

“You would steal from me?” Thorin questioned. 

“Steal from you?” The Hobbit repeated, shaking his head. “No. No. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I’m an honest one. I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim?” The King exclaimed angrily. “Your claim! You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” He threw down his bow and began walking towards Bilbo. 

“I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to, but-”

“But what, thief?” Thorin cut him off. 

“You are changed, Thorin,” the Hobbit said desperately and sadly. “The Dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!”

“Do not speak to me of loyalty,” the Dwarf snapped before shouting at others. “Throw him from the rampart!”

“No!” Bellarose cried, attempting to go to her brother. She was unfortunately held back by Balin as the others stepped away from her older brother in confusion and concern. When he realized no one was going to obey him, Thorin looked around in surprise before returning to rage. 

“Do you hear me?!” He grabbed Fili’s arm, but the Prince merely shook him off, which did nothing but anger the King further. 

“I will do it myself!” Thorin shouted before lunging at Bilbo. That was when Bellarose finally managed to break free from Balin, pushing herself between her brother and him. 

“Thorin no!” 

“And you,” the Dwarf seethed, which made the Hobbit girl falter. “You knew that he had it and you didn’t think to tell me!” Bellarose stared at him in shock. The betrayed look in his expression made her shake her head quickly. 

“What? No, I didn’t!” 

“She really didn’t,” Bilbo jumped to her aid. 

“I don’t believe you! Either of you! Curse you both!” With that he lunged for them. The girl screamed fearfully when he actually managed to grab the Hobbits, beginning to push them over the rampart while the others attempted to pry him away from them. 

“Cursed be the Wizard that forced you on this Company!” He was suddenly stopped when a booming voice called out. 

“If you don’t like my burglars,” Gandalf started in a formidable tone before returning to a normal volume and tone. “Then please don’t damage them. Return them to me! You’re not making a very splendid figure as King under the mountain, are you? Thorin son of Thrain!” The King slowly let Bilbo and Bellarose up and the others rushed to help them up. 

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards,” Thorin yelled as Bofur gently pushed the Hobbits towards a rope hanging on the wall. 

“Go,” he whispered urgently. Bellarose made to follow her brother but paused when Thorin spoke again. 

“Or Shire-rats!” He continued before his eyes landed on the girl. “Leave my sight before I kill you where you stand.” His threat brought tears to the girl’s eyes. She turned away so he wouldn’t see her tears and clambered down the rope, which Bilbo had already descended. 

As she walked away from the palace she finally allowed her tears to fall. She felt betrayed, like Thorin, but for a different reason. While he was hurt by Bilbo taking the Arkenstone without his knowing, she was hurt by the fact that he had no trust in her and believed she would keep something like that from him. It was as if him finally becoming King under the mountain had given him amnesia, and he had forgotten all that they’d talked about and felt for each other on the journey here. She knew that he wasn’t in his right mind, but it still didn’t stop the hurt. 

Bellarose allowed Bilbo to wrap an arm around her to lead her over to Gandalf. Once they were close enough the Wizard crouched down and pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder as he looked her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt. As he did so, Bard spoke. 

“Are we resolved? The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised.” Bellarose wiped her tears from her eyes then turned to face Thorin. The Dwarf in question was breathing heavily while looking to a ridge in the distance, as if looking for something - or someone. 

“Give us your answer,” Bard demanded. “Will you have peace or war?” A raven suddenly flew up to the ramparts, landing on the ledge beside Thorin. He and the raven stared at each other, then he spoke. 

“I will have war!” 

The Hobbit closed her eyes painfully and turned her head away. Thorin had officially gone over the edge, and it pained her dearly to see. She would have been better off with Thorin's sword through her heart. Her eyes only opened when she heard rumbling in the distance. The ridge in the distance was covered with troops of heavily armored Dwarves, led by a huge Dwarf riding a battle pig. 

“Ironfoot,” Gandalf sighed. The Erebor Dwarves cheered and screamed joyously upon seeing their backup arriving. 

“Ribo i thangail (Rush the shield-fence)!” Thranduil instructed, riding through his army as the Elves and people of Laketown turned away from the gates of Erebor, beginning to march towards the oncoming Dwarves. Gandalf strided along with them, and the Hobbits shared a look before rushing to catch up with him. 

“Who is that?” Bilbo asked. “He doesn’t look very happy.”

“His name is Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills,” Bellarose explained, having recognized the leading Dwarf from a sketch in a Dwarven history book. 

“Thorin’s cousin,” Gandalf added. 

“Are they alike?” Asked Bilbo, making Bellarose look at the Wizard curiously. Gandalf was silent for a few seconds before answering. 

“I always found Thorin the more reasonable of the two.” The two armies stopped a short distance from each other, and Dain rode his pig onto a rocky overlook to address the Elves and Men in front of him. 

“Good morning!” Dain exclaimed in an oddly joyful voice. “How are we all? I have a wee proposition, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a few moments of your time. Would you consider...just sodding off!” The townspeople stepped back in fear at the Dwarf’s surprisingly loud tone, but the Elves pulled out their swords and stepped forward in their place. 

“All of you,” Dain continued. “Right now!”

“Stand fest!” Bard commanded as gandalf strode forward to Dain. 

“Come now, Lord Dain!”

“Gandalf the Grey,” the Dwarf greeted. “Tell this rabble to leave, or I’ll water the ground with their blood!”

“There is no need for war between Dwarves, Men and Elves! A legion of Orcs march on the mountain. Stand your army down!”

“I will not stand down before any elf! Not least this faithless woodland sprite!” Dain exclaimed, gesturing to Thranduil, who looked angry. “He wishes nothing but ill upon my people! If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I’ll split his pretty head open! See if he’s still smirking then!” The Erebor Dwarves cheered before Thranduil spoke. 

“He’s clearly mad, like his cousin!” Dain grew incensed at the Elf’s words. 

“You hear that, lads?” He called, turning to rejoin his army. “Come on! Let’s give these ithorm lyrr (dagger ears) a good hammering!” The Iron Hills Dwarves cheered as the Elves performed a complicated maneuver to put their shield-and-spear bearers at the front of the army, while the arches stood behind them. As both armies prepared to fight, a rumbling was suddenly heard at the base of a spur of the mountain. Both armies grew silent as they turned to look. 

“Were-worms!” Gandalf whispered, mostly to himself. 

As if on cue, at the spur of the mountain where the rumbling was coming from, massive worms hundreds of feet long and dozens of feet thick broke through the rocks. Their mouths were essentially giant drilling machines, strong enough to crush the toughest rocks in their jaws. The human, Elf, and Dwarf armies looked on in shock.

“Oh, come on!” Dain muttered. 

The worms suddenly retreated into the tunnels they’d made through the mountains approaching the Lonely Mountain. As the mist cleared, Azog and a few other Orcs were seen standing atop a hill. Behind them were several massive contraptions made of wood, rope, and cloth, looking like they were supposed to be signaling devices. Azog yelled something in Black Speech before giving a sign. One of the wooden structures opened up in a particular position, and a horn sounded. Immediately, legions upon legions of Orcs began pouring out of the were-worm tunnels.

“The hordes of hell are upon us!” Dain yelled as he and part of his army turned and rushed towards the oncoming Orcs. “To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!” The Elves stayed where they stood, despite the charging Dwarves being severely outnumbered. 

“The Elves,” Bellarose said worriedly, looking up at Gandalf. “Will they not fight?”

“Thranduil!” The Wizard called, turning to the Elf. “This is madness!” 

Thranduil looked back at the Iron Hills Dwarves, who at that point had stopped and built a shield wall with their massive spears pointed outward. The Orcs were approaching the shield wall, which made Bellarose grow more worried. Thankfully the Elf King had some sense because he signaled for his army to charge the Orcs. Just as the Orcs reach the Dwarves, the Elves leapt up over the shield wall from behind, wielding their swords, and began raining down blows on them. As the Elves pressed forward, the Dwarven shield wall was raised and the Dwarves rushed forward, cutting down Orcs with their spears.As the remaining Elves marched toward the battle, Bellarose realized that she, Gandalf and Bilbo were standing in the same place. 

“Uh, Gandalf, is this a good place to stand?” She asked hesitantly. Before Gandalf could answer, the wooden signal Azog stood in front of changed their position, now showing a new signal. A new legion of Orcs ran out of the tunnels along with massive trolls and a few other monsters. Thranduil shouted something to his troops that Bellarose couldn’t quite hear, causing the Elves to stop and pull out their bows. Then a horn sounded and the signaling device changed yet again. Once again another legion of Orcs that had been waiting for the signal turned and marched toward Dale, which is between the current battle and the tunnels.

“Azog - he’s trying to cut us off,” Gandalf realized aloud. They watched as massive trolls, each large enough to carry multiple other Dwarves and wooden structures such as catapults on their backs, marched toward the city along with the armies of Orcs.

“All of you, fall back to Dale!” Commanded Bard. “Now!” 

“To the city, young Hobbits! This way!” Gandalf yelled as he followed Bard and the people of Laketown towards the city, trying to intercept the Orcs. And thus, the battle had officially begun.

Tag(s): @atomicsoulcollecto

[kukda-please]

Discover the Top Resort with Stunning Fort Views in Chittorgarh

If you're planning a visit to the historic city of Chittorgarh, Rajasthan, make your stay unforgettable by choosing a resort that offers unmatched views of the iconic Chittorgarh Fort. Kukda Resort Chittorgarh is celebrated as the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh—a place where luxury, comfort, and heritage come together. In this blog, we’ll explore why Kukda Resort Chittorgarh is the perfect choice for travelers seeking a scenic and immersive experience.

Why Choose Kukda Resort Chittorgarh?

Embrace the Majestic Views of Chittorgarh Fort

One of the most appealing aspects of Kukda Resort Chittorgarh is its proximity to Chittorgarh Fort. Known as the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh, this resort offers a front-row seat to panoramic views of the historic fort from the comfort of your room or the resort’s beautiful outdoor spaces. Imagine waking up to a view of the ancient fort ramparts and watching the sunset over the sprawling fortress, right from your balcony.

Experience Luxury with a Touch of Rajasthani Heritage

At Kukda Resort Chittorgarh, you get to enjoy luxurious amenities while soaking in the ambiance of traditional Rajasthani architecture. This fusion of old-world charm and modern comfort makes it the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh for travelers looking to immerse themselves in the region’s culture. From traditional furnishings to spacious, elegant rooms, every detail is thoughtfully designed to enhance your stay.

Highlights of Kukda Resort Chittorgarh

World-Class Facilities for a Relaxing Stay

Kukda Resort Chittorgarh goes beyond its stunning views, offering a range of amenities that make it a memorable and relaxing retreat. Some of the resort’s top features include:

Outdoor Swimming Pool: Relax by the pool with a direct view of the fort, a truly unique experience for guests.

Multi-Cuisine Restaurant: Enjoy a delicious range of dishes, from Rajasthani delicacies to international cuisine, all while taking in fort views.

Wellness and Spa Services: Rejuvenate after a day of sightseeing with a range of spa treatments available on-site.

These features make Kukda Resort Chittorgarh the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh for those who appreciate comfort, fine dining, and wellness services all in one place.

Proximity to Chittorgarh’s Iconic Attractions

Staying at Kukda Resort Chittorgarh gives you easy access to explore Chittorgarh's cultural heritage sites, including the fort and nearby temples. Whether you're planning to tour the historic fort complex, visit the famous Victory Tower (Vijay Stambh), or explore ancient temples like Kalika Mata Temple, Kukda Resort is ideally located to make sightseeing easy and enjoyable.

Activities and Experiences for Guests

To make your stay even more special, Kukda Resort Chittorgarh offers a variety of experiences for its guests:

Guided Fort Tours: Learn the history of Chittorgarh Fort with experienced guides who bring the fort’s rich past to life.

Cultural Performances: Enjoy traditional Rajasthani folk dances and music performances organized by the resort, adding to the authentic regional experience.

Outdoor Dining with Fort Views: Experience alfresco dining under the stars with a direct view of Chittorgarh Fort, an unforgettable experience for any traveler.

Why Kukda Resort is the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh

From its luxury accommodations and top-tier facilities to its unrivaled views of the fort, Kukda Resort Chittorgarh truly earns its title as the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh. It’s more than just a place to stay—it’s a destination that allows you to connect with the beauty and heritage of Chittorgarh in a unique and memorable way.

Whether you’re a history enthusiast, a couple seeking a romantic getaway, or a family on vacation, Kukda Resort Chittorgarh promises a stay filled with elegance, comfort, and unforgettable views. Make your trip to Chittorgarh extra special by choosing the Best Fort View Resort in Chittorgarh and immersing yourself in the royal Rajasthani experience.