#anti imperial troopers

[circus20204]

The rail class arc troopers and the anti imperial troopers

OK we have the nulls and the alpha class and later due to a star wars game we have the rail class arc troopers and anti imp troopers created by a rogue group to force the empire away. the kamino uprising that the imperial clones had to wipe out I couldn't help but make lore on these guys even with the troopers and arcs before them I couldn't help but feel their lives where different to a point under some circumstance it would create a barrier. I may explain a little later and some alternative lore on them cause we really didn't see to much of these guys

[unitedfrontvarietyhour]

"The axe forgets but the tree remembers."

- Arvel Skeen

(Pt.2)

[sirobvious]

Finally watched Starship Troopers and I have a lot to say about it.

First of all, the idea that anyone could see this movie as not being a satirical parody of American militarism and fascism is baffling to me, then again there’s people that think Warhammer 40,000 is pro-militarism and fascism, and I guess if you watch this when you’re dumb and 15 it might go over your head.

It’s extremely dubious as to whether the bugs are actually aggressing against the Federation in the first place, and very likely that it’s something exaggerated or made up wholesale by the government to justify their own aggressive expansion.

It has the plot and all the trappings of a big dumb oorah go-America action movie, but reframed as a terrible tragedy.

Just about all the main characters join the military for reasons that to not involve “wanting to join the military,” but the society they live in has set it up so that for most of them it’s the only way forward in life, and in the military they’re worth less than the uniforms they’re wearing.

They’re sent to a training camp that abuses them violently, and then sent to the front lines to die. Not to fight, to die.

Analyzing this movie from a military tactics perspective, the mobile infantry isn’t meant to survive, their only job is to deliver death to the enemy’s homes by shooting those micronukes into the hives. The rifles and body armor they’re all equipped with are near useless and only exist to make them feel brave enough to go towards the enemy and shoot the micronukes.

Their squads don’t have medics, machine gunners, or anti-armor equipment. (The nuke launchers don’t count as anti-armor they’re too dangerous to shoot at anything within like 200 yards.) In the first mission, if they had had any of that, they could have held off the bug counterattack enough to get way more soldiers off-planet. It still would’ve been a losing battle but it wouldn’t have been such a massacre. Hell, it might have even spared more bug lives, because the rifles still kill bugs, but do so extremely slowly, enough that it just results in both sides dying more. But survival of the federation infantry was never an objective, they are just a delivery system for the nukes, they might as well be suicide-bombers.

In the second mission, the government knew it was a trap but sent them anyway, without telling them.

Rico is not a good commander, but keeps getting bumped up the ranks anyway because of the mass death. He doesn’t think for himself and the only order I think he actually gives in the whole movie is “kill them all,” which, yeah, great plan. If they had fallen back at that moment, more of them would’ve survived.

Once he actually starts climbing the ranks, he literally doesn’t even say anything original, he just repeats what he’s been told, quoting the Lieutenant word-for-word.

The Lieutenant, despite being a crazy fascist like everyone else, is legitimately a good leader and commander. No one would’ve made it out of that ambush if he didn’t make the calls he did when he did, but Rico, who replaces him, doesn’t have any of those command skills. He’s got all the macho bravado but none of the smarts. He’s going to be the kind of commander to lead a valiant doomed charge into enemy machine gun nests.

And then at the end when it shows all the surviving main characters in their higher-ranking positions that they only got because people ahead of them died, and it shows the subordinates even younger than the main characters were when they joined. It was sickening.

And also all the top brass are just straight up dressed like Nazis.

It was a great movie though, especially if you're an Imperial Guard player like myself.

[blackstarlineage]

Assata Shakur, born Joanne Deborah Byron on July 16, 1947, later known as JoAnne Chesimard, is a revolutionary figure, former member of the Black Panther Party (BPP) and the Black Liberation Army (BLA), and a symbol of resistance against racial oppression. She is best known for her involvement in Black liberation movements, her conviction for the killing of a New Jersey State Trooper in 1973, her escape from prison, and her subsequent exile in Cuba, where she was granted political asylum.

Born in New York City, Shakur was raised between Queens and Wilmington, North Carolina, where she experienced firsthand the realities of racial segregation and discrimination. Her political consciousness developed in college, where she became involved in activism during the height of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. She joined the Harlem chapter of the Black Panther Party in the late 1960s, working on community programs focused on self-defense, education, and social welfare, particularly addressing police brutality and systemic inequality. However, the FBI’s COINTELPRO program, which targeted Black radical organizations, led to increasing government surveillance and repression of the BPP.

Shakur later became involved with the Black Liberation Army (BLA), an underground movement that believed in armed struggle as a means to combat systemic state violence against Black people. The BLA was accused of engaging in violent confrontations with police and government institutions, leading to Shakur being criminalized as a domestic terrorist by the U.S. government. On May 2, 1973, she was involved in a traffic stop on the New Jersey Turnpike with BLA members Zayd Malik Shakur and Sundiata Acoli. A shootout occurred, resulting in the death of State Trooper Werner Foerster and Zayd Shakur. Assata Shakur was shot and arrested, later convicted in 1977 of murder and sentenced to life in prison, despite claims of an unfair trial, racial bias, and contradictions in the prosecution’s case.

In 1979, with the help of allies in the Black liberation movement, she escaped from Clinton Correctional Facility for Women in New Jersey and eventually fled to Cuba, where she was granted asylum by the government of Fidel Castro. Since then, she has lived in exile, becoming a symbol of both revolutionary resistance and controversy. The U.S. government has classified her as a fugitive and placed her on the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists list, offering a $2 million bounty for her capture. Despite this, she remains an icon of Black liberation and anti-imperialist struggle, inspiring activists worldwide through her writings, including her autobiography, which details her experiences, political philosophy, and unwavering commitment to justice.

Beyond her activism in the U.S., Assata Shakur’s ideology is deeply rooted in Pan-Africanism, a philosophy that aligns with the teachings of Marcus Garvey and other Black liberation leaders who emphasized unity among African-descended people worldwide. Throughout her activism, she championed the idea that Black liberation in the U.S. was intrinsically connected to the struggles of African and diasporic peoples against colonialism, imperialism, and systemic oppression. Her exile in Cuba not only provided her with refuge but also reinforced her Pan-Africanist perspective, as she engaged with revolutionary movements from Africa, the Caribbean, and Latin America. In her writings and public statements, she has advocated for the strengthening of global Black solidarity, emphasizing the importance of self-determination, economic independence, and resistance to neocolonial forces. Her Pan-Africanism is evident in her belief that Black people must transcend national boundaries and work collectively to dismantle oppressive systems worldwide, making her a symbol of international Black resistance and unity.

[eclec-tech]

I think Syril Karn's days are numbered...

Syril's whole personality is built around a sense of justice and the maintenance of order. We see it in the clone trooper figures still standing in a place of honor in his childhood room, in the way he chose a career in law enforcement, and in the way he was so obsessed with finding Cassian Andor in season one.

To him, the Empire is the way to all peace and order in the galaxy, so anyone who works against the Empire must be stopped, which is why he's on Ghorman undercover to help the ISB quash a group of anti-Imperials. He's doing his duty.

But what happens when someone with such a deeply ingrained sense of justice finds out that the Empire is planning to strip mine Ghorman to the point of making it uninhabitable and destroy the lives of hundreds of thousands of people? What does someone with that mindset do when they find out they haven't been given the whole picture and now know that they were unwittingly a key player in the destruction of an entire society?

I've got a bad feeling that the first thing he'll do is confront Dedra Meero with it.

I've got an even worse feeling that she'll arrange to have him killed as a result...for the good of the Empire.

[2stepadmiral]

Under things the EU did better than Disney for $300, we have portrayal of the Empire.

In Disney Star Wars, the Empire is simply an exaggerated portrayal of the Third Reich. Most everyone in the Empire is shown to be fanatically loyal to the regime, and even when their motives are based in relatable reasons, like preserving order or stability following the turbulence of the Clone Wars, are usually portrayed in a fanatical light that seems excessive. Plus, the utter incompetence of most every trooper and officer in Rebels makes the Empire feel bloated and often like a parody.

In the EU, there was much more nuance to the Empire. Obviously, Palpatine, Tarkin, Isard, and other higher ups who are decidedly evil, and there are sadistic troops and officers spread throughout the ranks, but there are honorable individuals as well, and after the death of Palpatine and his immediate successors, the more noble members of the Imperial military become prominent.

Beginning especially during Thrawn’s campaign, when merit and creativity were rewarded, respectful decorum towards opponents was the order of the day, and incompetence, violent excesses, or conduct unbecoming of an officer were never tolerated, the Gilad Pellaeons of the military had a chance to shine and become the rule rather than the exception. Sure, Pellaeon himself took some more time after Thrawn to fully shake off some of the more violent tendencies of Imperial Officers and the anti-alien bias, but by the time he was supreme commander of the Empire, he had decidedly evolved into a truly good man and leader, the exact one that the Empire needed to lead it from being the absolute image of totalitarian tyranny to a well integrated society that embraced the same diversity of the New Republic and was just a bit more structured.

And don’t even get me started on the competence. It was clearly established that Stormtroopers were elite soldiers, and that their failures in the OT were due to direct orders not to kill (Death Star and Bespin) or due to being surprised and overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers (Endor). There was one novel by Timothy Zahn, Survivor’s Quest, where two 501st stormtroopers, worn down by the hundreds of adversaries they had killed, were reinforced by the arrival of two of fresh troops, and the two unharmed and non-weary troops completely finished the remaining few hundred.

Summed up, the Empire had a more complex portrayal in the EU than simply getting beaten and reformed as the even more radical second Empire, and that made the story more interesting. It’s a shame that we aren’t getting that now.

[elthadriel]

The Scent of Embers Lingers in the Air

Summary: Cody has made himself an invaluable asset to the Empire as a Purge Trooper. He has made himself an equally invaluable source of intel to the Rebellion when it suits him. Unexpectedly reassigned to a new Inquisitor charged with hunting a high-priority target, Cody intends for both of those things to remain true. Relationships: Cody & Barriss Offee, Cody/Rex Rating: M Tags: Imperial Era, Post-Order 66, No Chip AU, Purge Trooper Cody, Inquisitor Barriss Offee, Resentful coworkers to friends, Fascism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Unrepentant genocide justifications from pov character, Canon typical xenophobia and anti-clone sentiments, Cultural annihilation, Unreliable Narrator, Dubious Morality, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Past Barriss/Ahsoka, Pre-Redemption, Hopeful Ending Read on Ao3

For the @clonebang 2023

Featuring gorgous art from @sankt-jesper, @olives-and-lilies and @cmarani. Beta'd by @shadowlight17

[cantsayidont]

So, all last week and the week before, I got a barrage of email junk from the ACLU begging for donations to Protect Democracy and Safeguard Civil Rights and stuff. I was already pretty salty about those on account of the "refusing to divest from Israel because it would harm the liquidity of their fucking investment portfolio" thing (see above link).

Then this morning, I get an ACLU email alert saying their latest local issue is … begging Biden to issue presidential pardons for 25 military veterans who were previously deported under Biden's sweeping deportation campaign, and framing this as being about how these Heroic Veterans are now in danger of being deported by the evil Trump. Which would seem awfully disingenuous to me even if I were sympathetic to the premise that people who sign up to commit imperial violence abroad should be entitled to a special path to citizenship, which, uh, not so much. (Borders are violence and the bipartisan anti-immigrant crusade is malevolent, but so is the U.S. military!) It feels way too STARSHIP TROOPERS for my liking.

This seems an uncomfortable preview of what we can probably expect from the ACLU over the next four years: attempts to Appeal to Patriotism and Appeal to Nationalism with some cosmetic lip service toward Civil Rights (for Loyal Citizens only, of course).

[stellanslashgeode]

Happy Barriss Day! Here is a sneak peek at the latest chapter of Way of the Mynock that could well serve as a stand-alone for this event. Enjoy.

  The city was dead. The city was a bombed-out ruin. 

  The Empire detonated a low-yield fission bomb here at the start of the regime. This was where Mirial’s ex-CIS militia had gathered and plotted against them. It used to be one of the most holy cities on the planet. Low latitude it was close to the Southern Ice Cap, close to the realm of The Silent One. The better to speak with him, being so close. A fine place to raise chantries to his name.

  None of which remained undamaged.

  A grey snow fell softly into the alleyway. There was slush in every corner. And bodies. Some of them fresh, some just bones.

  A trio of TIE-bombers cut eddied through the snowfall as they flew overhead releasing a fresh payload of bombs to pulverize the ruins into yet smaller pieces. A rocket-propelled grenade steaked upwards to strike one of them. It bellowed flames and smoke and spiraled to the ground but the other two did not break formation. They knew to be more disciplined then to go off expressing concern over the welfare of their fellow pilots. It thudded into the rubble with little fanfare.

  Detonating that fusion bomb here was an affront to their culture of the highest degree. The Empire wiped out whole families in an instant, and who would be left to pray their deeds to The Silent One then? They would not live forever beyond their deaths.

  Barriss felt lightheaded being in this battlefield. That and she still hadn’t become accustomed to the feel of her shorter new haircut. It had grown out a bit since her morning period began, however.

  The Rebel in front of her went down on one knee and held up a fist with their arm at a square angle. Barriss hugged the wall and went as low as she could.

  A squid-like Arakyd Industries Viper probe droid passed them hovering over the parallel street, using its passive scanners. The Imperials had tied a number of charred skulls to the droid’s arms in a macabre show of offense to the Mirialans. They knocked together like a wind chime as it passed them.

  A few blocks away they had to pause again. A lone Imperial Army grunt was stumbling around studying his holo map and trying to get oriented.

  “Sergeant, do you need this one for interrogation?”

  “No, ma’am.” was their response.

  Barriss stood and straightened. She was wearing a lot of cumbersome clothing, a heavy coat and personal protective equipment to protect herself against radiation. She strode towards the trooper, who dropped his map and took a few shots at her. She batted them away with Luminara’s saber and shot him in the chest dead with one of her pistols with her left hand.

  “Let’s go.”

  The Rebels had utilized the underground shelters built in haste during the war. The locals had been loath to lose so many of their religious artifacts to a lone bomb. So they’d constructed a labaranthine complex utilizing existing maintenance and utilities structures. They cleared Barriss so she could pass security unchallenged. They were old battle droids, though few retained their original parts. Components of other droid models infected them and spread like disease. A few muttered their ‘Rodger, Rodger’s in greetings as she passed them. That gave her a chill sensation of deja vu. The young man seated at the antipersonnel turret couldn’t be older than Barriss was when she went off to Geonosis for her first battle. He waved to her and called out her name.

  Then they were in the tunnels. Both walls were covered with religious idols and paintings, religious and secular. Some of them were newer, drawn on whatever sheet of flimsi could be scrounged. Their metals were tarnished but their pigments were protected. Some stretches were lit only by candlelight. There was art everywhere in the city. Every alleyway was covered in graffiti, both anti-Imperial and pro.

  “Does a priest attend to these frequently?”

  “Oh yes, we have a few that maintain what ceremonies they can and salvage as many relics.” the Sergeant replied. “In fact, one Brother wanted to speak with you, privately, as soon as possible.”

  Barriss raised her brows. Her curiosity was piqued, if only to moderate the grim reality of warfare all around her. “Really? Let us endeavor to arrive as soon as possible.”

  She passed into a hall of portraiture. Historical figures as well as the wealthy and their relatives. She saw paintings of Vernestra Rowe, of Cyslin Myr, Luminara Unduli, and even one of her. A propaganda poster against the Republic.

  And then she was in the main living spaces for the vertically exiled. There were Mirialans of all ages and shades of purple or green. One of them, chartreuse like her, wore the white robes of a priest of The Silent One. His long curly hair was covered at least at the scalp with a telltale headcovering. He raised his palms upwards and nodded to her. “Miss Offee, I am pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Brother. Can you wait until my business is done?” She was sad to postpone him. He seemed like a very pleasant young man whom she would like to speak with at leisure, if the circumstances were different. Better.

  “Yes, it can wait. But what you brought cannot. A very important man needs to debrief you.”

  “Yes?”

  An older man also approached her. “Is it here? Were you able to smuggle them in?”

  “Yes. You must be the camp chef.”

  “Indeed! I’ll get them split up and distributed to as many kitchens as we can reach.”

  They didn’t want help ousting the Empire. They had enough troops to at least keep them at bay. They hadn’t asked for weapons. Their old CIS hardware had long since worn out, or perhaps savored and polished but never used. They took whatever weapons they could lift from the Empire. They didn’t even want food. They had enough vat-grown protein and hydroponically fruits, vegetables, and grains to last the tiny population. What they needed was medical supplies. 

  And what they wanted was spices. They wanted their food to taste Mirialan again. The chef held the first two liberated tins aloft triumphantly and there was a cheer from all around them as if a battle had just been won.

  After receiving the personal thanks of a number of both citizens and soldiers she convinced her handlers to lead her to Agent Adan’s office. The Balosar was in his workshop, which is what he called the clinic he interrogated prisoners in. He was just taking off his surgical gloves.

  Barriss offered him a smile, a friendly greeting she could not extend to his IGO-series interrogation droid. Caern Adan smiled broadly and his antennae came up to attention, the tips of which poked through his long afro hairstyle.

  “Fulcrum, welcome to the Mirialan Resistance.”

  “Agent,” she embraced him. Then sat attentively at a stool. “How are things?”

  He slumped into an office chair and unbuttoned the sleeve on his left arm. “We are surviving. It’s getting too cost-prohibitive and logistically bothersome to wipe us out for good.” He’d shed his doctor’s coat and had his shirt up to his bicep. Then he grabbed a latex tube off a tray of interrogation implements. He tied off his arm and quickly found a hypodermic to shoot something into a vein.

  “Are you alright, Caern?”

  “Oh, it’s just a little cocktail I brewed up. A dilution of my truth serum. It helps me relax and seems to help with debriefings.”

  “You need Alliance help. That would bless your cause with a sense of permanence. Who’s in charge here?”

  Adan laughed at her. 

  “Excuse me?”

  “Whenever someone asked, ‘Who’s in charge around here?’ likely they are a high-ranking individual and they are the only one’s left in charge. It’s like cursing yourself. We’re a leaderless resistance. We haven’t had central command in years.”

  “Do you compartmentalize everything?”

  “No, share and share alike. We just rebel as we can where we can. I share all the intelligence I can pull from these Imps. But those not of use to Mirial operations I siphon off into a silo and give to you.”

  “And I am all the more grateful to you, Agent.”

  He handed the drive over, and they spoke for a long while summarizing which data points she needed to know as soon as possible. 

  She also had personal curiosities to sate, even if it was concerning personal information. “Caern, why do you fight with us? Why are you here on Mirial?”

  “Is there a stereotype about Boasolar that we are specialist? He rubbed his injection site. “In another life I was an economics reporter.”

  “A lot makes sense, now.” She often wondered if her reporter friend Ben Dhur who she met on Drognar would make a good spy. Or interrogator.

  “I wrote a few too many exposes on the financial malfeasance of the Banking Clan. They put me in Jail, here on Mirial. I’ve become attached to the place, even as a freed criminal.”

  “I see. Thank you, Agent Adan.”

  After a bit more smalltalk she left his office to find the young Acolyte again.

  “Hey.” He smiled broadly at her. His expression was overwhelming to Barriss’s ex-Jedi formality. “I am so glad to meet you.”

  “I’m Barriss, as you know.” She offered her hand.

  He shook it with genuine warmth and vigor. “I’m Brother Offee.” He seemed delighted by her emotional response. “Ayaz Offee.”

  “Brother Offee.” She was whispering now. “Are we? Of the same clan?”

  “We are cousins! Your mother is my aunt. I am a cousin to the great, famous Adept Barriss Offee. To you.”

  She sputtered. Her brain was on an error screen. She didn’t know what to do but embrace him. “What can you tell me about your aunt? Does my mother have other children? Do I have an actual brother Offee?”

  “You do. After she was deported back to her home village, she married a shepherd and had seven children. A few of them died.” He swallowed. “But you have sisters and a brother.”

 “Ohhh!” She sighted with many positive emotions. It was so alien to her experience so many at once she didn’t know how to tell them apart. “And my father?”

  “We don’t know who he was. Some guy who saw her walking home one afternoon. But she was happy with her husband.”

  “Was? Do I not have a father-in-law?”

  “He was drafted in the planetary militia during the war. Your mother was devastated to lose him, but she sought out what Jedi casualties she could find on CIS occupied Mirial. She was so proud of you when you refused to fight us any longer.”

  “She wasn’t ashamed of my bombing?”

  Ayaz shook his head. “Barriss, in many parts of your home you are a folk hero. We didn’t get to see much footage of the Jedi, except for when they died in battle. Your confession we all heard. In Confederate households you embody national bravery under pressure. Your mother is sad she has no relationship with you, but she is proud of you.”

  “Oh,” She smiled. She put a hand to her fluttering heart. “I am so glad to hear that. I’m finding it difficult to express how I feel.” Just earlier that hour she had no family beyond Ahsoka. And they couldn’t be together as she wished. Now she has an extended family. A whole clan. All of them for her to meet for the first time.

  “It’s alright, Barriss.” He put a hand out to squeeze her forearm for reassurance. “Gizem would like to meet you one day.”

  “Gizem,” she breathed. “That’s my mother’s name… What is she like?”

  “She is a shepherd’s wife. She has little education but has great amounts of personal conviction. She has a principled stance on everything and everyone. But will only disclose her opinions if asked or unless it is an emergency. Then she will expound loudly and at length. And she has a very peculiar notion of what constitutes an emergency.”

  Barriss laughed at that. “I would love to get to know her. And you, as well. Could you show me your chantry?”

  “I would treasure such an opportunity! Follow me.”

  Ayaz would be in an adobe ground chantry if he could, one of the historical temples rebuilt. Barriss had never seen a chantry that was a series of interconnected chambers underground, chambers of varying size and utilized for various purposes. One room was the space for Recitation Ritual. There was a droid there. Its body was made from a B2. Its head is that of a commando droid. It has four arms from B1 combat chassises. There was a steel-ribbed nylon bag next to it. Scholars stopped by at regular intervals to drop new data pads onto the load, the corner of the bag was torn and there were a few on the floor. The droid read prayers to The Silent One and stories of those deceased for the god to hear and preserve for all time.

  “You don’t have an Adept for this task?”

  “I speak the stories of those who just died in the community. The chantry’s scholar staff spends their days compiling obituaries for those who died in the bombings with no one else to speak for them. It took so much of my time I had the tech shop make me a mechanical Adept.���

  “That is good of you, Brother Offee. I am sure he is pleased by your service. And the droid’s.”

  Then he showed her the congregation hall, the pulpit and the rest of the expansive space. The walls were all covered in religious statues. They were all broken. There were small droids swarming all over them, replacing missing stone with duracrete recreations. But at many places the data was corrupted, their forms stuttered like holo interference. Others surely were not built to look like that. They were a droid intelligence’s idea of how their original forms. It was like being in a tomb. Chantries dedicated to The Silent One were supposed to have that flavor, but not quite like this.

  “Barriss… I was wondering. Would you like to lead services? The kids always ask me about you.”

  “You want me to be a youth pastor?” She smiled with one-half of her lips, giving him a look.

  “Barriss, you’re a legend. It would be memorable for them.”

  She couldn’t say no to that. As he got everything prepared she sat and thought about children. She’d never really considered family before. Now she had one, despite not having her own children. In another life, would she and Ahsoka have kids of their own? Would they be boys or girls? Would they be Togruta or Mirialan.

  The younglings filed in once families were contacted. Their parents washed their feet and took their place at the rear of the worship hall. Barriss sought to blink back her tears seeing all of them. Too many had radiation burns and other injuries of warfare and deprivation. The kids either sat still or whispered to each other. She heard her name often.

  Barriss eventually turned on her microphone. “Siblings. My family. I am so glad to be here with you. Before services I want to swear something to you.” She stood, and took Luminara’s lightsaber from its holster at the small of her back. She held it aloft. She activated the blade.

  “I swear by Jedi Master Luminara’s blade, my own master, that I shall fight for Mirial as long as I live. And my ghost will commit to the fight afterwards. Mirial shall one day be free of the Empire. I swear to you, and to your children yet to be, that I shall fight for him. I swear to Luminara, and I swear to the goddesses. And I swear to you.”

  “And so you shall. Blessed be!” the others chanted in unison. Including the younglings old enough to speak. She looked over them all, one by one. 

  This was the future of the planet. This was the future of her culture.

  “Now I shall start our worship with a parable.” She knelt, put her hands on her thighs, and recalled the one Leia treasured as a bedtime story. “In the time before time began the gods and goddesses wore Mirialan forms walking and talking just like you and I. It was decided that He of the Strong Foundations and She of the Flowing Waters should be wed for the good of future generations…”

@barrissday

[gia-batmm-crickle22]

I'm still working on my Rebels! Thranto AU but while I was, this little shit slipped into my mind.

Okay, so I'll call this my "Bad Ending" of my Blueberry Family AU. There's a lot of differences in this AU than the original timeline.

In this AU, Ezra is Thrawn and Eli's third child (middle child) and he had two older brothers (Crusher and Darington) one little sister (Thornella) and one little brother (Ryo Speedy). He grew up with them until he was 14 years old, where he separated from them to "seek his own path" like his brothers had at that age.

The Ghost are also different in this AU. Hera is still motherly (ain't changing her 😌), Kanan can be a bit physically violent in terms of his Jedi Training, Sabine is violent and abusive (her experience at the Imperial Academy wasn't the best). Zeb is somewhere his age (when Ezra was 14 to 15 years old, Zeb was 16. They got together when Ezra was 16, Zeb was 17) and he was the royal Prince of Lasan before it was destroyed. The loss also made him abusive and entitled. Chopper is nicer, but not that much.

Anyway, it's called the "Bad Ending" not because it ended badly from beginning. Ezra already got his happily ever after. Married (when he was 25 and Zeb is 26), with kids and happily living with Zeb in Lira San ("Perfect Family Life"). But it all ended when something went wrong. Lira San was destroyed. Ezra watched his family and the family get gunned down by the rise of the New Empire. The troopers gunned and killed everyone he knew, even as he tried to battle Palpatine, he lost. His sister Thornella saved him and tossed him through a portal that she made before she was killed.

Now orphaned, abandoned and traumatized, Ezra, now with the identity of Thez Vanto, is roaming through the original timeline to find out what happened to his time and how he should stop it from happening.

He's an Anti-Hero. He teams up with the Rebellion (it's somewhere Season 3) but he does many questionable things within the Rebellion. Many from his own experience and the effect of trauma. He tries to control his other self into helping him while protectively helping him and caring for him. He argues with Sabine and is always icy towards her. He's 36 years old at this time, and he intentionally flirts with Zeb (who is 45). He doesn't really trust Kanan but trusts Hera and Chopper at the most.

That's all I got so far. I'll update if I'll have anymore ^^

[nightbringer24]

"Commissar Cain. This is Central Command, we have detected a Norn Emissary."

My heart dropped into my boots, it was not the report itself that almost sent me into a panic, no. After a century of sometimes faithful service to his Majsty I was used to horrible creatures popping out of the woodwork, no. What filled me with dread was what I knew would follow, I had no doubts about what would happen next.

"We strongly believe you are its intended target." There, I hated not being wrong.

"Could you distract it while we line up the assets necessary to take it out? Of course please don't feel the need to hold back, you are free to engage and kill it yourself." There were days, very rare days, when I regretted not being born a psyker so that I could strangle people over the Vox. This was just such a day.

"Certainly, tell the Lord Commander Zyvan that I will do what's in my power." "Copy that Commissar, Command Out." I sighed inwardly, tightening my grip on the chainsword.

"Guardsmen, we have a Norn Emissary on its way here. Let us show that hellish creatures what the Imperial Guard is made of!" Blood and Guts, is probably what the Emissary will find out.

The Death Korps of Krieg troopers lifted their lasguns and shovels and started chanting

"Sacrifice for the Emperor!"

I wished I had an anti-gas mask like them so I could cry behind its cover.

Yeah. Cain's life is just suffering and PR, really. Sprinkled with a dash of genuine balls to walls bravery.

[savage-rhi]

Mending Shadows // Chapter 31

Summary:

Y/N was a simple Scavenger of Lucis, until meeting a deadly blow at the hands of an infected creature. At the crossroads of death, they are found by Niflheim’s cryptic Chancellor with his own agenda. Now bonded to Ardyn Izunia, and tossed into the world of Niflheim, Y/N struggles to cope with their new life as an Imperial Icon all the while battling their feelings toward their fate and that of Ardyn’s.

Click here to read on AO3

Crouched upon the edge of a clocktower, Ardyn's eyes followed countless men and women running out from the main chambers of The House of the Courts. As he crept in the shadows--taking in the outbreak of screams and gunfire--he was able to piece together the chain of events via babble from the masses. This dangerous affair had been concocted by the anti-imperialist group who attacked a week prior. He had come to learn that the wedding only infuriated the tensions within the faction, and the leaders decided unanimously to attempt a coup against Madam Secretary and her council. 

Ardyn hadn’t seen such chaos in a long time, and found himself enthralled with what lurked beneath. He considered it somewhat of a travesty none of this was his doing. What he wouldn’t give to knock Camelia down a few pegs via terror and confusion! Alas, he humbled himself. Ardyn had many grievances with her over the years, but Camelia was useful. At the very least compliant with his and the empires overarching goals. She knew better. Ardyn couldn’t say the same for the anti-imperialists who yearned to take her place. Their anger held no bounds from what he gathered after spying about on his lonesome. 

“My, my…choices, choices,” Ardyn sang to himself and frowned. He knew this skirmish wasn’t his circus, and therefore, not his problem. However, he did the math. With how intertwined Accordo and Niflheim’s economies had become, a coup succession would hurt the empires bottom line. An unprecedented event of this making could spur Lucis to take back their lands, and inspire Tenebrae to pull a similar feat. Therefore, Ardyn knew he couldn’t stand back and risk the coups success with overthrowing Camelia. This rival faction didn’t seem the type who could be reasoned with, much less manipulated. 

“Better to keep a tight leash around an old obedient hound than deal with a younger pup who is nothing but bite.” Ardyn bitterly mused. He wanted nothing more than to flee. To be on an airship heading back home with Y/N. The sooner he could nip this fiasco in a bud, the sooner he could do just that. 

Ardyn’s thoughts were interrupted by a commotion coming from the South. He watched with piqued curiosity as a group of Imperial ambassadors fled with some of Madam Secretary's council toward the main entry point. There were two Accordian troopers frantically attempting to seal it shut so neither foe or friend could get inside for shelter. 

“Don’t close the doors! Please, don’t close the doors! Let us in!” One of the women screeched. 

“Then hurry! We can’t afford to let anymore of those bastards get inside!” A trooper screamed back. 

Not far behind, Ardyn witnessed a fleet of fifteen rebels with guns shooting recklessly toward the direction of his fellow Imperials. They were about a hundred feet away, and gaining traction on their targets. If he could get to the ambassadors, and find out where Camelia was, his mission would be halfway done. 

“No better place to start,” Ardyn purred with a dark chuckle. He stood up, concentrating his powers on movement and in a shadowy mist he disappeared and made his descent. 

Reappearing behind a large column, Ardyn turned the corner to observe his surroundings. He didn’t account for there being so many Accordo troopers and anti-imperialists fighting left and right on ground. While he could take advantage of the disarray, and rush to meet with his fellow countrymen, it was too risky of a feat to pull at this point. If he wasn’t so concerned with concealing his true self, Ardyn saw plenty of opportunity where he could’ve used the royal arms to his advantage. 

“Damn it,” Ardyn muttered. He watched the large doors close from afar as the last ambassador managed to jump inside. He began to look around for another point of entry, and zeroed in on a hole in the wall that had been created via an explosive. He made a run for it, using shadow step minimally so he couldn’t be perceived by ally and foe alike. Luckily everyone was so caught up with killing one another, that he made it without surprise. 

Ducking in, Ardyn crawled a little ways before he was on the other side. He motioned with his right hand, summoning his sword Rakshasa, and swiped at the crevice he exited from. Rubble came tumbling down, and covered the spot. Thus ensuring no one else could use the hole to their advantage. 

Gripping the hilt of the sword, Ardyn brought Rakshasa close to his face and began to murmur in an ancient tongue. The blade hummed in return as he felt its energy pulse according to instruction. In a matter of moments, Rakshasa had taken the form of a regular Imperial sword; losing its Lucian touch and signature color. 

“Apologies old friend,” Ardyn frowned. “We can’t afford to make a grand entrance here. I’m afraid you’d tell Madam Secretary far too much.”  

Although the crimson blade by no means had a conscience, there was a life force within that responded to Ardyn’s words. He could practically feel the residue of resentment coming off the weapon as he bounded for the west hall upon following the sound of gunfire. Whether it was his own projection or not didn’t matter. Sword and master would have their pound of flesh. 

The havoc within the central chamber of the House of the Courts had knotted into an onslaught of bullets meeting shield, and skin meeting daggers. Men and women bravely screamed out the names of gods and curses before plunging into a pit of bodies vying for power. Souls soon met their ancestors as gurgled screams and death rattles danced into oblivion. The Imperial soldiers who had come to rescue their representatives were losing ground, and fast. The anti-imperialists were not like Niflheim’s Lucian foes. No. These folks were a different breed, and the way they carved out man after man downright terrified everyone who remained. Across all faces, hope was losing the edge of its flame.

Suddenly--as if the gods themselves had called for a ceasefire--everyone stopped mid attack. The air became dense with a foreboding on par to the crunch before lightning would strike. An Imperial soldier and anti-imperialist who had either blade to throat stared into each others eyes. Both shared the same confusion as they communicated without words their mutual fear. This energy wasn’t a friend to anyone, and both parties found themselves fixating on the west hall as the rhythmic sound of heavy boots drew close.

All eyes fell upon Ardyn as he sauntered out from the shadows of the west hall. He carried himself with a prestigious air that was unbefitting of someone rushing to battle. In his right hand was an imperial sword, already bathed in the warmth of blood. His left hand was illuminated by a dark sphere with bright blue static pulsating within the center. The playful poise of his movement matched the aura that a higher Imperial would ooze at the climax of an extravagant event. 

“I must say that I’m quite dispirited,” Ardyn tutted. The dark sphere in his left hand became more erratic as bolts of electricity zipped between his fingertips. “To think no one invited me to participate in this riveting performance! I just love coups and conspiracies!” 

“The Chancellor?!” One of the rebels exclaimed. 

“Ah, yours truly in the flesh!” Ardyn replied with bravado as he gave a performative bow, never losing balance with weapon nor the ticking time bomb in his left hand. His smile sent shivers down both friend and enemy alike, for it was just as sinister as it was charming. “I so hate to interrupt this little quarrel, but I too would like to dance!” 

As Ardyn hissed, he unleashed the sphere upon the center of the room. Within seconds, the sphere ignited into an explosive black hole. Amidst an outburst of screams, Ardyn used an ability akin to warp strike to quickly usher his fellow Imperials out of the danger zone, and to the next room. In a blink of an eye, every Imperial was teleported and tossed. The anti-imperialists left behind met a fate worse than death. Out from the sphere, electric tendrils manifested and forcibly grabbed everyone it could. Bodies were slurped into a dark void that proceeded to batter and tear limb from limb. Wails hauntingly bounced all throughout the room as some begged the gods to make their suffering cease. It went on for ages it seemed, until a crude silence slipped through the cracks. 

The Imperial soldiers whom Ardyn rescued stared with utter shock at the door as the screams dwindled. Dread didn't hold a torch to the visuals that plagued everyone despite not seeing the conclusion play out. 

“What the hell was that?” One of the men gulped. He was quite startled when Ardyn suddenly patted his shoulder. 

“A daemonic application prototype, courtesy of our esteemed Chief Besithia! I reckon that needs to be tinkered with. I myself felt nauseous watching everything unfold." Ardyn feigned a grimace then smiled. "Nevertheless, it did its job keeping us safe! Wouldn't you agree?" 

The soldier nodded rapidly. “T-thank you for saving us!” 

“Think nothing of it! A pleasure to be of assistance to my fellow man!” Ardyn replied in a jovial fashion. He gave one last pat to the soldier, nearly knocking the man forward unintentionally and cleared his throat, earning the attention of twelve men and women who stood in awe.  

“I know you all must be exhausted, but would one of you happen to know the whereabouts of dear Madam Secretary and our fellow associates?” 

“Last we heard, Madam Secretary was barricaded in her office. The rest are hiding in the lower basements." 

That was quick… Ardyn thought as his eyes narrowed to the woman who responded. “Do you have a body count of how many anti-imperialists remain in the House of the Courts?” 

“Fiffty-two sir,” She nodded. “That’s not counting the sixty-five that were allegedly on Madam Secretary’s tail before we showed up.”

“We can work with that,” Ardyn hummed as he contemplated. 

“Sir?” 

“I’d greatly appreciate it if you distinguished braves would follow my lead from this point forward,” Ardyn smiled big as he began to dictate his commands. “I have a plan to fetch us out of this terrible ordeal!” 

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

“Madam Secretary, I don’t think we can hold them back for much longer!” 

“If the doors fail, we all die! Keep trying!” Camelia bellowed. She and several Accordo and Imperial councilmen were aiding soldiers in a desperate tug of war. Everyone pressed their bodies into furniture and whatever else was heavy in front of her office doors. The high pitched taunts of the anti-imperialists from the other side was deafening. The noise crushing morale and hope. 

While Camelia hadn't the unfortunate pleasure of encountering a daemon in her long life, she imagined her adversaries awaiting her on the other side had the same bloodthirsty nature. She lost count how many times she tried to reason with them. To try and be civil, but nothing had been gained. Camelia's heart ached for her country, for she sympathized with each and every man who was gunning for her execution. The people were tired of Niflheim. Tired of being under the boots of tyrannical men while watching their government grow more subservient. Tired of playing the middle ground between Lucis and the empire. Tired of it all. 

"A hundred years of war is long enough!" many had shouted, and Camelia knew the people were right. Alas there wasn’t a damned thing she could do. Not when at the end of the day, Niflheim had enough weaponry to destroy Eos a hundred times over. How could these rebels see that their actions were futile? Even if they killed her out of retribution, and taken over the country, did they truly expect Niflheim would turn the other cheek toward their transgression? Camelia’s eyes began to water as she visualized it. Her country which she loved with all her might, being swallowed by whatever horrors that hid in the lands of the empire. She couldn’t believe it was going to end like this. 

The horde continued to strike with one blow after another. Camelia could only guess they were using a battering ram at this point given the sudden power behind the hits. The soldiers who were manning the barricade wouldn’t be able to keep up. Another six strikes and everyone in the office was fair game. Camelia began to sweat as she felt her body lurch forward from another impact. 

“Keep holding!” Camelia commanded with utter ferocity. 

As soon as the words were shouted, suddenly--like ghosts returning to the land of the dead--all became silent on the other side of the door. Not one war cry nor the mighty echo of of a gun going off could be heard. It was an eerie silence. Like one that would arrive after somebody took their last breath. Camelia’s mind was rushing fast. She didn’t know if she should’ve been terrified, relieved, or both. 

Slowly one by one, Camelia, the soldiers, councilmen, and ambassadors moved away from the barricade. Each cautiously eyed the tables, shelves, and other items they had used at the last second. Nothing moved, nor gave indication that pressure was coming from the opposing faction. 

“Madam Secretary,” One of the councilmen spoke up. “What should we do now--” 

Boom. 

An explosive barge swung the doors wide open. Pieces of wood and debris splintered off as the barricade had become a chaotic mess. Camelia threw up her arms to shield her face. There was a split second during the commotion where she had the epiphany perhaps this wasn’t the wisest choice. Gods, she envisioned how it would go down: the rebels would crawl through, and she’d meet her end by a sword to the stomach or to the throat. The rebels weren't feeling mercy's justice to put a bullet through her skull, that was certain.

A minute later, when neither came, Camelia cautiously lowered her arms. To her bewilderment, she saw Imperial soldiers running through and securing the area. To her left she watched as the wounded were tended to. To the right, the Imperial ambassadors were preparing for escort. 

“What in the six hells…?” 

“Your valiant heroes have arrived to your aid!” Ardyn exclaimed with his arms gestured out in a grandiose display of dominance. He smirked knowingly at the fact he interrupted Camelia mid thought while he stood where the doors once were. 

“Chancellor!” Camelia exclaimed. 

“At your service as always, Madam Secretary!” He lowered his arms and grimaced while side stepping out of the way of a corpse that was near his feet. “A word of caution, you may want to tip your servicemen handsomely for the clean up later. There's quite a bloodbath to be reckoned with!” 

Camelia glared. “Is this really the time to be meandering, Chancellor?” 

Ardyn looked up and smiled as he made himself at home. “My sincerest apologies! It’s not everyday people in power like ourselves are handling the strife of the common people taking up arms. By the way, you’re quite welcome for the impeccable timing on my part. Your humble adversaries were inches away from tumbling through your little fortress.” 

“You have the gratitude of everyone in this room I’m sure, Chancellor,” Camelia sighed as she began to compose herself. While the immediate danger was more or less purged, she still had her guard up around Ardyn naturally so. For all she knew, he could take advantage of this calamity for his own gains. “After the last attack it was discussed all Imperials and associates were to evacuate Altissa. How did you end up getting caught in the quarrel?” 

“As wise folk once said, plans change.” Ardyn sighed. He glanced around the chambers, making note of the damages and wounded every so often. After accounting for the necessaries he hummed before responding further. “I couldn’t very well leave my fellow countrymen behind to a gruesome fate! That wouldn’t bear well on my conscience, and I strongly felt running off would’ve soiled the relations we painstakingly built with the marriage ceremony.” 

“I’d argue your reasoning was beyond reckless,” Camelia was about to issue a counter response, but alas relented. Accusing Ardyn of only serving his best interests wouldn’t help the current situation. Especially not when he validated it himself. 

“In any case,” Camelia began. “It’s good you’re alive and well.” 

Ardyn grinned momentarily, basking at hearing Camelia confess such a beautiful lie. “And likewise to you! Would it be too much trouble to ask at this moment, how history repeated itself today?”

Camelia furrowed her brows. “Beg pardon?” 

“Allow me to rephrase, how did this all come to pass with the same group that attacked earlier this week?" 

“Well,” Camelia rubbed her head while she ruminated. She was finding it difficult to retrace her steps. Her mind still disturbed at how it all transpired so quick that not even her personal attendants could react fast enough. “I was in chamber two officiating the documents you had sent over by phone, and shortly received word there was a brawl happening in the main courtyard. Next thing I knew, my men were commanding a lockdown, and here we are."

Ardyn frowned while he tutted. The disdain on Camelia’s face from his action didn’t go unnoticed as he let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, flicking out pieces of debris and gods knew what else he collected during battle. 

“It seems I have more cards in my hand,” Ardyn mused to himself. He gestured before Camelia could interject. “This little stunt by the anti-imperialists was a staged coup to usurp your powers and that of the councils.”

Camelia’s eyes widened as she felt her blood run cold. She knew he was telling the truth. Even if the rebels hadn't outright stated their intentions, Camelia and everyone in this room felt it. “Are you absolutely certain?" 

“I’d hold my tongue if I were not.” Ardyn admitted. 

“Where did you gather this information?” 

“I eavesdropped of course, while finding a way to reach you!” Ardyn said as if it were painfully obvious, but with a charismatic jive that lessened the blow. “Angered men surprisingly love the art of conversation. I’m sure you can validate my claim after interrogating the survivors who are left. I’d stake my life on it, Madam Secretary.” 

“That explains it then…”

“Hmm?” Ardyn studied Camelia for a time, noting how unsettled she was growing by the second. Whatever clicked into place unnerved her a great deal. Daresay she seemed reluctant to share the revelation that arrived. However, Ardyn knew she wouldn’t be so bold to deny sensitive information that could compromise both parties. Not even if she loathed him. It was a matter of when not if she would say something. 

“There was a group of people who allegedly stormed into the House of the Courts while the brawl was being tended to.” Camelia clarified. 

“A small group?” Ardyn asked. He was quite surprised at how forthcoming she was.

Camelia nodded. “I was reported a headcount between five and eleven unknown bodies before our communication systems were destroyed. They bore red emblems on their shoulders, black uniforms. I don’t think they were part of main show. That's my guess anyhow.”

“Madam Secretary, a word if you’d please!” One of the councilmen called out, garnering Camelia’s attention.

“Excuse me for one moment, Chancellor.” 

Ardyn couldn’t have been more relieved than now to see Camelia venture off, for he felt dread tip toe down his spine. Of course it had to be MedZin. Of course their presence was no mere coincidence the first time nor second, and of course he should’ve been more attentive to the threat.

Ardyn made a fist while mentally begrudging himself. By being so caught up in personal affairs, and considering the anti-imperialist fiasco more or less Camelia’s problem, he neglected to truly consider how dangerous even a small handful of these people were. As Adagium, he had to give credit where it was due: the folk who worked for MedZin were cunning like the very daemons that ran amok in his head, but as a man, his pride was beyond wounded. For a moment, Ardyn felt like he was losing his touch. 

“Chancellor,” Camelia spoke out, snapping Ardyn out of his thoughts. 

“Yes?”

“The bride from our arrangement has been transported to the hospital with her husband, our good Senator Rodrick. They were caught in the crossfire while on their way to their honeymoon.” 

“What’s their respective statuses?” 

“Critical condition for the bride, and minor injuries for the senator.” 

Ardyn briefly recalled spying in on the conversation Y/N had with the bride last night. Mixed feelings churned while the gentle exchange between the two ran through his mind. For the moment, he was at odds with himself before arriving at a decision. 

“I’ll personally see to it that their medical expenses are paid for. You have my word.”

Camelia huffed. “And I assume you wish for something in turn?” 

Ardyn shrugged. “Consider it an act of goodwill, courtesy of the empire.”

“Charity then?” 

“The bride was one of our own,” Ardyn countered. He made a face and muttered. “And to have such tragedy befall on what was supposed to be an enchanting day perhaps tugged at a heartstring.”

“Whatever your reasons, I’m sure the Senator will be most grateful.” Camelia assured. She was about to ask Ardyn how he managed to storm the House of the Courts with so few men, until an Accordo trooper beckoned interruption. 

“A pardon Madam Secretary, Chancellor Izunia--” He was near out of breath and swallowed when Camelia gestured to compose himself. “We just received a piece of vital information concerning how the anti-imperialists bypassed security. The group of men in black who were aiding them have been caught on camera exploiting the clearances.”

Camelia let out a breath, feeling her nerves quake. “They could’ve easily killed us then in one go had they proceeded further.” 

“But they didn’t,” The trooper reassured. “Sources are reporting they made retreat soon as they cracked our defenses, and let the anti-imperialists through. Apparently, we weren’t their target.”

Ardyn remained composed, however, inside he was falling apart at the seams. The word target repeated over and over until the very shell of his right ear twitched from aggravation. Like a bell going off, he realized the target had been either Y/N or himself. Before his concern for Y/N grew any further, a dull ache started to coil in his chest. It slithered like a serpent, and with each touch of its scales, burned all that lay upon its path. His right hand trembled as he brought it to his chest, all the while attempting to keep up appearances. 

“Chancellor Izunia?” 

“I’m alright,” Ardyn lied. He turned his back to Camelia and the trooper. “It must be a minor wound I sustained.” 

While he tried to soothe himself, Ardyn looked up. From afar outside the doors, he saw Loqui accompanying one of the battalion captains. He excused himself rather quick, and approached the men. Before the captain or Loqui could conduct pleasantry, Ardyn gestured for them to withhold as his eyes bore into the younger man. 

“Did you to tend to Y/N? Did you see them?”

“Yeah, I did.” Loqui nodded. He worriedly glanced over Ardyn, noticing his brow was sweating. “Chancellor, are you okay?”

“Never mind that,” Ardyn replied firmly. “Is Y/N on an airship as we speak?" 

“Y/N and Tuti went to the ports together,” Loqui began. He felt so nervous suddenly that he almost stumbled on his words. “The hotel, everything was on fire. We had been attacked. We evacuated everybody that we could to--”

“Attacked?” Ardyn interrupted. “What do you mean the hotel was attacked?” 

“This morning,” Loqui stated. “It was attacked shortly after word spread about what was happening at the House of the Courts. As soon as Tuti and I found Y/N, I had them follow the evacuation caravan to the ports.” 

“And knowing all this, you saw fit to leave them both to fate?!” Ardyn yelled. 

“They were in no danger!”  

“How would you know that, you aren’t with them?!” 

“Sir, Tummelt was summoned to join the battalion as soon as everybody had been evacuated from the lodging--”

Ardyn held up a finger to the captain. “Not another word!” 

“Yes sir, er--sorry sir!” 

Ardyn felt his patience running thin, as a deep rage that didn’t belong to himself began to manifest more as the pain increased. The scourge itself was screeching with potent fear. Y/N was in a losing battle with their body, and Ardyn felt each and every stab that came with it. He quickly brushed aside Loqui and the captain, walking fast through one of the main corridors and ignored the sudden pleads of Camelia and the others for him to remain. 

"Chancellor!" Loqui shouted as he sprinted after after him. "If I didn't think for one moment Y/N was capable of making it to the airships, I would've gladly abandoned my post and--!"

“Shut up!” Ardyn yelled as he turned his head to the side. He didn't bother to address the shocked faces left behind from his outburst. All he could focus on was this profound sense of anguish that called out to him like a siren luring a man to his fate at the bottom of the sea. He couldn't resist the melancholic sound even if he tried. Not when he knew, no--not when he felt that Y/N was slipping away. Little by little, he could feel it. Their consciousness being consumed by the miasma that highjacked their body for it's own devices; a fate worse than death. He felt the grips of a panic attack breach his defenses as he sprinted without pause. 

Y/N was becoming one with the daemonic hivemind, and he was running out of time. 

[thevibraniumveterans]

REBELS REWATCH

S1E13 — CALL TO ACTION

It is evening. Ezra and Kanan are each on speeder bikes, out in Lothal’s expansive countryside, Ezra looks over to Kanan, and asks, “Aren’t we headed the wrong way?” Kanan instructs the teenager, “Don’t want to lead ‘em back to the ship. Follow me.” Ezra agrees, and looks behind him for a second, where Sabine is operating a stolen hover bike nearby. She momentarily splits away from Ezra and Kanan, intent on leading her pursuers away from her crew. She loses the Imperials on her tail, both crashing into walls she avoids with ease. Ezra follows Kanan as instructed, even as they are being shot at by the Imperial troopers chasing them. Sabine races out from an alleyway perpendicular to the main road that Ezra and Kanan are speeding down. Dodging blaster fire, they bank right and make their escape.

Moments later, it is revealed the trio have placed themselves on a high platform overlooking the street below. Ezra takes aim with his blaster/saber combo, and lets loose a single electric stun bolt, disabling the trooper tailing them on foot. He casually tells Kanan, “Told you that would work.” From behind him, Sabine puts a hand on Ezra’s shoulder, and offers him a congratulatory, “You’re finally getting the hang of this. There’s hope for you yet.” Ezra grins, and jumps down after her.

Sabine, Ezra, and Kanan make their way back to the Ghost, where Sabine brakes, and pushes her hover bike up the ramp. Kanan brings his bike to a rest, and Ezra skids his bike to a stop next to Kanan.

Back in the Ghost, the trio make their way into the main hold, where a broadcast plays. The grin immediately leaves Ezra’s face. The broadcast tells of Trayvis’ allegiance to the Empire. The broadcast switches to a shot of the Spectres, whom Trayvis labels as “insurgents” and more or less wanted criminals. Nearby, Sabine and Kanan stand watch. Sabine, like the others, have a frown on her face, disappointed by how easily they’d all been duped. Ezra is understandably upset: “Every time we win, we lose.” Kanan reassures him: “Well, I have a plan that might just even the score. If Trayvis can do it, we can do it too.” Zeb isn’t too sure about this, and asks, “What, we’re gonna send out some kind of inspirational type messages?” Kanan and Hera agrees, but Sabine and Ezra are confused. Ezra says, “Yeah, Kanan. What are you thinking? We can’t just send a signal. The Empire would track it in half a second.” However, Kanan tells him, “Not if the signal comes from one of its own towers.” Ezra takes a second to figure this out, something Kanan hopes Ezra would catch onto. Sabine catches on first and snaps her fingers. “Now I get it,” she says. Ezra, however, is incredulous: “You want to take control of an Imperial communications tower, which is pretty much impossible, and then you want to use it to send a message to the people of Lothal?” Kanan remains cryptic: “not just Lothal. One of those big towers can reach a few big systems.” Ezra thinks “that’s a crazy plan”, but Kanan notes, “That’s why you like it.” Sabine grins. Ezra turns around and wonders, “And what would we say in this message?” Kanan proposes they tell the truth, saying, “We have to let people know what it’s really like out here.” Sabine nods in agreement. Kanan asks, “Now, are you in?” Ezra says that yes, he is.

The next morning, Sabine, Ezra, and Kanan lie atop an overpass, out off sight. Kanan points out the obvious: “There it is. The Empire’s main communications tower on Lothal.” It stands at the end of a two-lane highway. Ezra is silent, contemplating. Kanan continues: “It routes comm from every Imperial operation on the planet, including the Empire’s HoloNet broadcasts.” Sabine sits up, and lowers her rangefinder, and reports: “I’ve got bucketheads on the perimeter, and at least three anti-ship batteries around the base. Not an easy trip to the front door.” Kanan offers her advice: “Don’t underestimate yourself.” Ezra agrees: “Sabine, lets be optimistic. Say we get to the front door, What then?” Sabine scoffs, then: “I could upload a data spike into the central computer, and have that transmitter operational in, I don’t know, five minutes?” Ezra says, “I said, be optimistic.” Sabine tells him, “Five minutes is optimistic.” Kanan thinks three minutes might be what Sabine should be aiming for, but she disagrees, prioritizing getting the job well done instead of with haste. Kanan understands this rebuttal, and instructs her to “scan us a holomap and lets get out of here.”

Unfortunately for them, an Imperial probe droid makes itself known. Kanan notices it, and Sabine points it out. Ezra asks if the droid has seen them yet, and Sabine says, “Not yet.” Ezra wonders how she knows this, and she tells him, “Because we’re not dead.” Obviously. As the probe droid continues on its way, the trio duck as far as their elevated positions would allow. The droid passes under the overpass, and, matching its movements, Ezra, Kanan, and Sabine head to the other side of the overhead. Ezra wonders where the bikes are, and Kanan notes that those are “next to the road”. Ezra points out that the bikes are “right where that thing will see them.” The shot reveals said bikes by the road; the green and white one that Kanan uses and that both Sabine and Ezra were checking out two episodes ago, the blue and grey hover bike Sabine was riding earlier, and the orange and green one belonging to Ezra.

Up on the flyover, Sabine says, “Hope somebody’s got an idea, or this whole plan is shot.” Kanan and Sabine notice the following silence, then turn to Ezra, who has closed his eyes and an arm stretched out in concentration, attempting to connect with the local fauna. In the long grasses, a Loth-cat stirs, then uses the bike as a springboard to leap at the probe droid. Note that Ezra is telepathically instructing the creature to mess with the droid, which spins out of control and crashes. The Loth-cat hisses, and leaves. Droid downed, the trio stand up. Surprised, Sabine crosses her arms, and notes, “I could have blasted it and gotten that result.” Fair point, “but then the Empire would suspect something was up,” says Ezra. Kanan approves: “Good thinking, Padawan.” Sabine admits, “Okay. It’s touching when you two bond, but I’m betting that probe has friends, so lets move it.” They slide down the archway, run to their bikes, and speed off, unaware that the droid is recording their escape.

Back on the Ghost, Ezra tinkers with what looks like the old transmitter that used to belong to his parents, while Sabine prepares a data spike. Hera, Zeb, and Chopper keep watch. Ezra says, “If it works, we should be able to use this—” He taps the side of the old machine. “—to transmit directly through the tower.” Kanan walks in and wonders how things are progressing, and Sabine, putting the final touches on the data spike she was referring to earlier, taps the resident droid and says, “Well, Chopper has the spike.” She gives Chopper the spike for safe keeping, then continues, “We get him into the tower and he can upload it right into the computer core from any terminal.” She crosses her arms, proud of her plan. Chopper doesn’t like this plan, but Zeb thinks Chopper will have it easy. Kanan wonders what the spike’s range is. Sabine, evidently knowledgeable about electrical transmission systems in a way no other 15-year-old would know, says, “As long as the tower is transmitting, we’re good to go. Everyone will hear what we say. Well, anyone who’s listening.” Aware of the dangers this presents, her voice drops on that last sentence, and she looks off to the side. Having been watching Sabine when she was talking, Ezra looks back at the machine, and presses a few buttons. Kanan and Hera confirm that she would pick the crew up once the spike has done its job. Sabine injects a little sarcasm into her comment: “And things always go according to plan, right?” Knowing full well they don’t. Interestingly enough, Ezra frowns, and agrees: “She’s right about that.” Kanan, thinking this odd, asks Ezra: “What’s with you?” The teenager brushes him off, so Kanan suggests they “take a walk” to hash out some issues. Sabine, puzzled, watches Ezra leave the room. Hera and Kanan shrug.

Ezra stands at the entrance of the Ghost’s loading ramp, arms crossed, lost in thought. He exhales defeatedly, and Kanan asks, “What’s on your mind?” (It’s also an important moment that tells the audience of Ezra’s willingness to open up about his thoughts, something he took to heart a few episodes back.) Ezra says, “I’m not sure we should go through with this.” Kanan knows otherwise, because why else would Ezra have followed through with the earlier stages of this mission? Ezra, however, tells Kanan: “I know that’s what you want to think, but look. As much as I wish I was like my parents, I’m not.” (For reference, his parents were brave enough to openly speak out against the Empire, rallying people to their cause) Ezra, downtrodden, turns away to face the horizon again. Kanan knows Ezra is hiding something, so Ezra has to confront his past, even though he’s clearly unhappy. Guilt-ridden, Ezra admits, “My parents spoke out and I lost them, and I don’t…” He’s frustrated. “…I don’t want to lose you guys, okay? Not over this.” Kanan tries to sympathize by saying “All of us have lost things.” He warns, “And we will take more losses before this is over. But we can’t let that stop us from taking risks. We have to move forward.” Ezra looks away again. Kanan continues, “And when the time comes, we have to be ready to sacrifice for something bigger.” Acknowledging the sheer weight of that statement, Ezra furrows his brows, and says, “That sounds good, but it’s not so easy.” Kanan says it wasn’t easy for him either, and that he didn’t truly understand it until he tries to teach it to Ezra. The teenager in question looks up, and nods.

Night falls. Sabine races down the highway to the comm tower, a large canister of rhydonium in tow. She expertly dodges heavy fire, swerves, and uses the speed of her hover bike to jump into a running start. She intentionally allows the hoverbike and its cargo to crash into a turbo laser battery and explode. Tumbling forward and blasters out, she downs two troopers in quick succession. (The skill needed to carry out such a series of maneuvers is pretty high,) Zeb helps her take out another battery, and just as the chaos begins to die down, Ezra and Kanan arrive on their speeder bikes, with Chopper in tow. Having sighted Sabine upon arrival at the scene, they skid to a halt in front of her, and dismount. Sabine looks up at the tower, then watches as the trio approach. Raising her blasters back up, she leads the way into the tower, followed by Kanan. Behind him, Ezra unclips his saber/blaster combo from his belt, and cautiously scans for any further threats.

Inside, Sabine shoots two troopers in their chests, killing them. Of course. Kanan rushes inside, vaults the control panel, and tells Sabine she has only three minutes to carry out her task. She instructs Chopper to “install the spike”. Kanan is alerted to Imperial presence; Sabine, alarmed, gets to her feet. Once Kanan goes outside to deal with the issue, Sabine runs in the opposite direction, and into the space Kanan just left. The spike plugs in. Outside, Ezra holds up his saber/blaster combo, and says “Time’s up,” as Kanan joins him. TIEs and Imperial transports are on their way.

Kanan comms Sabine: “We got targets incoming. Let’s move!” At that, Ezra’s expression goes from one of concern to determination. Inside, Sabine notes, “You said I’d get three minutes.” Kanan tells her she’s only got one minute, “so hurry up!” Chopper voices displeasure, and Sabine agrees. Close by, Zeb is manning the gun turrets, and Kanan instructs Ezra to “get Zeb”, but Ezra counters: “I’m staying right here.” Kanan overrides Ezra’s disagreement: “No, you’re getting Zeb then coming back here. Now go!” Ezra reluctantly turns away, hops on his bike, and speeds away. Kanan tells Hera that plans have changed. Inside, the spike fully uploads, and Chopper removes it. Sabine tells Chopper that she’s “got a signal. It worked. Let’s go.” She runs out, Chopper close behind. Ezra skids his bike near Zeb’s gun turret, and relays Kanan’s orders; Zeb, being Zeb, complains. It isn’t until the turret gets shot that Zeb relents, and Ezra brings him back to Kanan. However, upon their arrival back at the entrance, Sabine steps out, and Kanan warns her, “Not this way. Back inside.” Sabine, incredulous, asks: “Are you crazy?!” Ezra and Zeb dismount the bike, and Kanan instructs them and Sabine to “Take the lift. Hera will meet you at the top.” Ezra asks Kanan, “What about you?” Kanan tells him he’ll take the next lift. Zeb pushes Ezra further into the tower. Kanan, outside, ignites his saber, and reassures Ezra he’ll be right behind him. Though worried, Ezra understands, and nods solemnly. Kanan clicks the door shut.

Ezra, Chopper, Sabine, and Zeb reach the top of the communications tower, and Ezra rushes to the railing: “Where’s Kanan?” Unfortunately for him and and his companions, an LAAT/le patrol gunship makes itself known, with troopers inside shooting at the Spectres. A shot hits the railing, and Ezra dives to the floor. Sabine is momentarily shielded by Zeb, who runs after a second. While Kanan is cornered at ground level, the Spectres (save Hera, incoming on the Phantom) have their hands up, a spotlight shining at them. Sabine is the first to move; grabbing an explosive off her utility belt, she lobs it at the gunship in front of them. Ezra watches from beside her. The explosive, well, explodes, taking the gunship out with it.

Ezra, looking over the railing, spots Kanan get cornered by the Inquisitor down at ground level, and starts panicking. Lucky for him, Sabine, Chopper, and Zeb, Hera swings by with the Phantom. The Spectres, save Ezra, board the Phantom. The Imperials are shooting at the Phantom from below, and Ezra is the last to board it. Kanan orders Hera to “get out of here”, but Hera refuses. Ezra makes his way to pilot’s seat beside Hera, bypassing Sabine. She allows this. Kanan insists there is “No time! Go!” Ezra is adamant that “We can’t!” Nevertheless, Kanan insists that Hera get the Spectres away from the Tower. She closes the Phantom’s bay door before Ezra can have second thoughts.

The next morning, the Inquisitor presents Tarkin with Kanan, whose fellow Spectres are revealed to have “gained control of the tower’s transmitter.” From inside the Ghost, Ezra remotely broadcasts the following message: “We have been called criminals, but we are not. We are rebels, fighting for the people, fighting for you.” Sabine sits next to him on the lounge seat. He continues, “I’m not that old, but I remember a time when things were better on Lothal. Maybe not great, but never like this.” The message is broadcast far and wide. The messages goes on, “See what the Empire has done to your lives, your families and your freedom? It’s only gonna get worse, unless we stand up and fight back. It won’t be easy. There will be loss and sacrifice. But we can’t back down just because we’re afraid. That’s when we need to stand the tallest. That’s what my parents taught me. That’s what my new family helped me remember. Stand up together. Because that’s when we’re the strongest, as one.”

The tower collapses in flames. On board the Ghost, Ezra finishes the broadcast, only to hear garbled static. Sabine looks up from the transmitter at Ezra. He too, looks at her, but addresses the Spectres and asks, “Was it worth it?” He turns to Hera. “You think anybody heard?” Hera thinks so. Ezra notes, “This isn’t over.” Hera agrees. Sabine shifts her line of sight from Hera to Ezra, who looks away.

[spann-stann]

Setting Blurb: MacroCommunity Greater Somalia

The Somali Civil War reignited with the outbreak of the Third World War, with the breakaway East African Federation-backed Mogadishu government reasserting their claims over the breakaway Somaliland. The conflict spilled over into the Somali-speaking Ogaden in Ethiopia and Djibouti, and financial and military aid from the African Union and Arab League diminished as WWIII took its toll globally. The collapse of the United States and China caused a global wave of economic, political, and then societal collapse. The East African Federation withdrew from Somalia to maintain some semblance of stability on the home front, and the Mogadishu and Hargesia governments broke.

The generation of conflict that followed, known as the "Warlords' Wars", would see the emergence of protostates filling the vacuum created by the anti-climactic end of WWIII. Somalia's clans were quick to reassert themselves, and spent the Warlords period fighting for influence and territory. As the wars died down globally, a successor state to the Ethiopian government emerged to challenge the Somali clans of the Ogaden for control of the territory.

It was during this time that a growing alliance of warlords in the former United States, European Union, and China began approaching the remnants of ECOWAS and the East African Community to serve as springboards into incorporating the rest of the African continent. Fearing the new Ogaden War's potential spillover into eastern and central Africa resulted in a series of talks and border skirmishes that made Ethiopia and Somalia EAC protectorates (which was itself annexed into the Imperial League). Somalia retained the Ogaden (and Somali-majority areas in Kenya), and Ethiopia was placated with the annexation of Eritrea and non-Somali Djibouti.

The Eight Gobols: These eight provinces are the territory held by the extant clans and sub-clans that survived the Warlords' Wars period. The clans' territorial holdings were formally recognized by the early League government, and their leadership awarded collective governorship over the new MacroCommunity. Each Gobol is governed by a Xeer court, which oversees vocational councils (professions within the clan are held by one or more sub-clans) and maintains the clan militia.

Gosha Kaunti: The de facto capitol region of Greater Somalia, Gosha Kaunti is named for Somalia's Bantu-speaking minority. The Gosha have risen in prominence due to serving mediators for the clans around them (as their ancestors were not formally incorporated into the Somali clan system) should the Xeer courts be found unsatisfactory. The MacroCommunal governor's personal guards and a small detachment of Support Service Force security troopers help ensure that the clans find Gosha mediation to be more than satisfactory.

Land Force Demesne Djibouti: Carved out of the Somali speaking partition of Djibouti, this Land Force Demesne houses the East African third of Field Army Yellow's naval assets. Piracy still plagues the horn of Africa, with many in the Imperial Armed Forces believing that the pirates are receiving aid from the League's rivals.

[imperial-topaz2003]

My Reworked Legacy

Been working on this for a long time, but I've finally finished my rework of my SWTOR legacy. Decided it was best to list off my characters one by one with a brief introduction

First up is Artek Sefyr, my Jedi Knight and the Protagonist™ of this legacy. Basically, he's sort of like Clone Wars Anakin, a friendly, affable, and generally noble fellow, who does struggle with his emotions and the alure of the Dark Side. Also a Theron slut.

Next is my consular, Valri Monoya, my Jedi Consular. Definitely a wise, calm, and friendly type of Jedi. Approaches many situation with a "I have no enemies" mindset. Gonna eventually romance Nadia with her

This is my Smuggler Ixosecan, chaotic good pansexual fellow, saving the galaxy and looking good while doing so. Probably gonna go with Koth, I guess?

Baduenda returns! A 'take no shit' butch republic trooper who absolutely hates the empire. Gonna eventually romance Elara.

Gigachad Sith Tyrrnith is also back! This time in a fresh paint of Sith Pureblood Red. Pragmatic Dark side fellow, and romancing Malavai.

Brast'ore'illithyr, or Torei for short. Reformist Sith Inquisitor with a trollish streak. Also romancing Lana.

Kanux Shosam, my bounty hunter. Probably not gonna be a mandalorian, but we'll see. Gonna be romancing Torian with him.

Lastly, we have our Imperial Agent, Audian Vanterius. Basically, he's pro-Empire, anti-sith. Romancing Vector. Would love to tell you guys more, but I gotta go to work because capitalism. I hope to post more about them in the future!

[readingsquotes]

".... In the United States, the threat of a fascist movement’s electoral consolidation can serve to relegate the genocide in Palestine to a secondary consideration. ... how the Global North’s collusion with Israel’s war is grounded in a capitalist mentality that treats most of the world’s population as both threatening and disposable.

The effect of the first invocation of fascism is to delink the questions of climate, war and fascism; that of the second to view them as indissociable, not just in our analyses but in our politics. There is a bitter irony in granting primacy to the national fight against fascism over the campaign to stop a U.S.-funded genocide when the current Israeli government — in its exterminationist rhetoric, patronage of racist militias, colonizing drive and ultranationalism — fits textbook definitions of fascism far more neatly than any other contemporary regime.

Especially when it comes to the United States, the words of the great Marxist theorist of fascism, Nicos Poulantzas, still ring true: ​“He who does not wish to discuss imperialism … should stay silent on the subject of fascism.

Historical fascist movements and states arose as late-imperial powers, with aspirations to revive settler-colonialism in the age of mass industry and mass politics. After the downfall of Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, critics of U.S. empire abroad and racism at home repeatedly invoked the specter of fascism. In his 1952 piece ​“Fascism in America,” economist Paul Baran (notably writing under a pseudonym to shield himself from McCarthyism), explained how a U.S. corporate-military coalition could carry out all the tasks of a fascist regime: securing through state power a mass basis for capitalist domination, while undermining any challenges from below, and only adopting fascism’s ​“classic forms” abroad. 

“As yet they need no storm troopers in the United States, slaughtering the wives and children of revolutionary workers and farmers,” Baran explained. ​“But they employ them where they are needed: in the towns and villages of Korea.”

...

If we believe that fascism is something that takes place only at the level of the nation-state, we might be persuaded that resisting fascism at home necessitates ignoring complicity with genocide abroad. But it is exactly this hopelessly cramped horizon being challenged in solidarity encampments worldwide.

...

If we wish to talk about American fascism, in the shadow of a U.S.-backed genocide carried out by a state where some leaders happily wear the fascist label, the least that we can do is learn from an internationalist, Black and Third-Worldist anti-fascism — one which has always insisted that fascism must be tackled on the scale of the world. The encampments and occupations that have risen up from Manhattan to Atlanta show what it means to confront colonial and imperial violence, to challenge its racist and eliminationist ideologies, by making explicit how that violence is reproduced in the institutions and cities where we work and live. 

A radical politics of divestment is reviving the traditions of internationalist anti-fascism. There is perhaps no clearer sign of this than the words spray-painted on the side of a tent in Rafah: ​“Thank you students in solidarity with Gaza, your message has reached.”