#he's been in the empire the entire damn time and had no reason to question his loyalties until now

[disaster-bi-shan]

oh yeah cipher suranga is having a bad time tm and also being a shit where he can about it

[mariacallous]

He didn’t have to go. In August 2020, Russian dissident Alexei Navalny had been poisoned, probably at the direction of Russian president Vladimir Putin, who saw in Navalny one of the vanishingly few legitimate threats to his reign.

Navalny went to Germany to recuperate. While there, he managed to confirm that the poisoning had been carried out by Russian security services by calling one of his would-be executioners and pretending to be a fellow Kremlin goon. Mother Russia wanted one of her own sons dead.

So why return? “It was never a question of whether to return or not,” he wrote in a social media post in Jan. 2021. Several days later, he landed at Moscow’s Vnukovo Airport, where he was greeted by admirers.

We Russians in the West admired him, too. I saw in his return a refutation of the argument that all Russians wanted was Louis Vuitton boutiques—freedom and democracy be damned. He came back to remind us, whether we were in Brooklyn or Kaliningrad, that we were better than that. Or that we could be, in any case.

Navalny was promptly arrested on entirely fictitious fraud charges that were intended to keep him sitting comfortably at some Washington or Berlin think tank, no threat at all to the Stalinist project underway in Moscow.

He wasn’t supposed to come back. Only he didn’t get the message.

He would never see freedom again. An obeisant court found him guilty, then tacked on “extremism” charges for good measure. “They really do initiate a new criminal case against me every three months. Rarely does an inmate confined to a solitary cell for over a year have such a vibrant social and political existence,” he said in a typically sarcastic social media post conveyed via his representatives.

Navalny became a cause célèbre, one of the few figures within Russia we Russians could be proud of. In arguing that we were better than the country shelling Ukrainian innocents, we could always point to Navalny, even as he looked increasingly gaunt in the video footage made available by his jailers.

There, look at him. As long as Navalny lives, there is a hope of a better Russia. As long as he lives.

Finally, they did what so many of us always feared they were going to do. On Friday, Navalny died at the IK-3 penal colony in Kharp, a remote Siberian village. He apparently collapsed after a walk. He had been in poor health for many months, as he moved from one penal colony to another, suffering prolonged stretches of isolation and other privations.

I grew up in the same country as Navalny: the faded Soviet Union of the 1980s. The desperation of those years, and the chaos of the 1990s, drove many Russians (including my own family) to the West. Some of those who stayed only did so because they figured they could get rich. A seller of blue jeans could suddenly become a copper magnate, as long as he could survive the mafia hits that came with a regular cadence in Moscow and St. Petersburg throughout the go-go Yeltsin years.

An attorney by training, Navalny did not stay to get rich. He stayed for the same reason that would see him return in 2021. He truly believed in Russia, in the possibility of a democratic nation rising from the ruins of the Soviet empire.

Only that wasn’t the country that took shape. “I can’t stop myself from fiercely, wildly hating those who sold, pissed away, and squandered the historical chance that our country had in the early nineties,” he would later say.

Having never won an election, Putin emerged in 1999 to replace the inept and inebriated Yeltsin. He quickly arrogated every means of power, even as Western leaders like George W. Bush foolishly insisted that he was committed to democracy.

I returned to Russia for the first time in more than two decades in 2003. The country looked almost Western: Western-ish. I was impressed. The erosion of democracy, already underway, seemed like a small price to pay for upscale beer gardens where there had once stood drab cafeterias.

Then the price rose. In 2006, the investigative journalist Anna Politkovskaya was murdered for reporting on the brutality of Putin’s campaign to pacify the restive republic of Chechnya, as well as his repressions targeting every segment of Russian society. Politkovskaya saw clearly what was happening. "Who can say,” she wondered, “we are not returning to Stalinist ways under Putin?"

Navalny refused to let it pass.

If some in the West had had a too sunny view of Russia, as if it were nothing but a Harvard Business School case study in unfettered capitalism, there were others who grumbled that Russians were “incapable” of democracy, that something in the Russian spirit required iron-fisted leadership. But whether you believed in the market or the czar, both of these views deprived Russians of dignity and self-determination. We were always to be subject to greater forces wielded by larger-than-life figures, whether Mickey Mouse or Vladimir Putin. It was never our call.

Disenchanted by the cowardice of most Russians with any cultural or political influence, Navalny had, by the end of Putin’s first decade in power, become a full-blown dissident. He started blogging in 2008, then moved towards pure political agitation. It was a dangerous occupation: like Politkovskaya, most critics of the regime were murdered or, if they were lucky, chased out of Russia. “He’s taunting really big people and he’s doing it in an open way and showing them that he’s not afraid. In this country, people like that get crushed,” one Russian official worried to The New Yorker in March 2011.

In Dec. 2011, Navalny was arrested for calling into question the results of a sham parliamentary election. The West took increasing notice. The New York Times pointed to his “Nordic good looks” and “serene confidence,” observing that what “attracts people to Mr. Navalny is not ideology, but the confident challenge he mounts to the system.” He went to jail for the first time, for 15 days.

An authoritarian system always knows how to shore up its weakness. After a brief interregnum during which Dmitry Medvedev pretended to play the role of president, Putin returned to power seemingly determined to never cede it again. Since the 2012 election, he has sat unchallenged in the Kremlin. It is widely assumed that he will remain there until death.

Navalny was virtually alone in trying seriously to dislodge him, challenging Putin for the presidency in 2018 only to see his bid disqualified on invented legalities. “The process in which we are called to participate is not a real election,” he said.

By this point, many of us Russians in the diaspora had come to realize that no number of Moscow skyscrapers could disguise the fact that Putin had turned Russia into a gaudy embarrassment, a country that ran on petroleum and propaganda and aligned itself with Syria and Iran. The invasion of Ukraine shattered all remaining illusions.

It was to this Russia that Navalny returned. Soviet history is rich with artists, intellectuals, and scientists who refused to stay silent in the face of state-sanctioned atrocities. Anyone who grew up in the Soviet Union knows their names: Akhmatova, Sakharov, Sharansky. Navalny reminded us of this tradition, of the eternal need to rouse the people of this huge, complicated country, whose day-to-day lives can be so grindingly difficult that it is hard to think of anything but survival.

Navalny believed in ordinary Russians, in their desire for something more than the material comforts bought by Putin’s petrodollars. That is what he came back to. That is what he died for.

Today, a Russia free of Putin and Putinism seems almost impossible to imagine. But for the sake of Navalny, we must imagine it.

“My greatest hope for Russia is that dictatorships always appear solid until suddenly they aren’t,” Uriel Epshtein, chief executive of the Renew Democracy Initiative—who traveled frequently as a child to Russia, where his family is from—told me. “Putin may feel untouchable today, but he can still be proven wrong. At a certain point, some part of Russian society will decide that they can no longer live under his yoke.”

[ghastlyfilters]

ain’t that somethin’ | al capone x fem!reader

pairing; al capone x fem!reader

warnings; mentions of facial scarring, a little angst

a/n; this version of al is entirely based on stephen graham’s portrayal of him in boardwalk empire! (also yo i’ve been fucking dying to write about boardwalk empire for AGES)

plot; imagine al deep down feeling insecure about his scars, and his girlfriend telling him how truly beautiful she finds him with them.

(au where al isn’t married to mae ofc)

MASTERLIST

gif by fancykraken!

Al fiddled with his pen as he sat in his office within the walls of the Four Deuces. Johnny wasn’t around today. He was taking care of some business elsewhere. Thank fuck. Al didn’t exactly miss any of his demands or shitty remarks.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing to himself. Al was never really the type to often feel emotionally drained. And when he did, he hid it rather well. But today he was in no mood for putting on a false smile.

“Al?” Said that same old sweet voice. He lifted his head, now staring at the beautiful woman smiling at him from the doorway.

“What?!” He barked, wanting to curse at himself for sounding so harsh. But it seemed that he really couldn’t help it.

Y/n didn’t look too bothered. She was quite used to his outbursts and mood swings. In fact, she was the only one who put up with them. And Al secretly appreciated that.

“I’m sorry,” Al admitted. “What’s the matter?”

Y/n gave another soft smile. “Nothing it’s just.. well it’s getting a late.. that’s all. We should probably head home.”

“It ain’t late. You’ll last another half hour.” Al said, clutching the pen in his hand.

She glanced at the clock above him, ticking relentlessly. “Al, it’s almost ten at night..”

Al sighed again, rubbing his tired eyes. “I gotta sort out these checks for Johnny, doll..”

Y/n walked over to him, closing the door behind her. Her heels clicked on the hard flooring. A sound that irritated most, but soothed Al knowing it was her presence.

“You gonna tell me what’s the matter?” She asked, brushing his hair back with her fingers.

“Huh?”

“Al.”

He knew that stern look meant she sensed something was up. But he still didn’t feel like talking. He put some of the papers away, beginning to finish up.

“Just.. just gimme fifteen minutes, huh? I’ll get my coat and hat from Billy. I Left it at the bar. Then i’ll bring the car around. After that, you can meet me out front.” Al’s eyes looked as though they were practically pleading for dismissal on the conversation.

She slowly nodded, walking away and closing the door once again. Al just sheepishly rubbed his nose and closed his eyes, knowing she’d somehow get this outta him when they got back.

Jesus.

The drive home wasn’t as bad as he expected. She’d managed to take his mind off a lot of the things that had been pestering him lately. She never failed to do so.

Just this one damn thing.

The one thing that he was scared to admit in case she thought any less of a man about him after he’d spoke up on it. Al knew she was constantly understanding, but it was more the burning feeling of embarrassment he couldn’t stand.

They skipped dinner that night. No wonder seeing as it was even later now. He didn’t want her to bother cooking at this time. Not when the reason they were home so late was his fault. Johnny easily wouldn’t have minded if Al got up early the next morning to come in and sort the shit that needed done. But Al was trying to do anything to distract himself from the confrontation he’d soon face at home.

As the two lay in bed, Y/n turned to him, and he knew the questions would soon start dropping.

“You gonna tell me what’s the matter now?” She blurted out, nestling herself closer into his chest.

Al rolled his eyes. “It’s nothin’.”

“Sure, sure. So there isn’t a particular reason why you’ve chose to be Gloomy Gus all day?” Y/n pushed further.

He sat up a little, trying to avoid eye contact. “Cmon, doll. Lay off a bit, huh?”

Y/n wasn’t amused with his answer. “Alphonse, per favore aprimi.”

His eyes widened a little as she spoke to him in Italian, knowing she was now getting serious. But alas, he had no interest in opening up.

“Non voglio.” Al replied, closing his eyes.

She was getting frustrated, feeling unsettled by the awkward atmosphere. “Al, per favore!”

“Fine! You wanna know so bad? It’s these fuckin’ scars!”

The room fell silent, and the corners of her lips twitched downward into a small frown. She wasn’t expecting that answer.

“What?”

“The scars,” Al said. “They’ve just.. I dunno.. been botherin’ me lately..”

Y/n raised a brow, trying to understand but was still very confused. “Are they.. um.. hurting?”

“No!” He spat. It was clear he himself was also getting frustrated, not knowing what to say next. “They’ve healed by now. They’re fine. It’s just.. I-I don’t like em as much as people think I do.”

She blinked. “You mean when people think you always take pride in the nickname Scarface?” 

“Yeah.” Al replied, fidgeting with his vest.

Y/n sat up to his level, gently pulling away from his touch. “Who said what.”

“Eh?”

“Who said what.” She repeated. “You never usually care about them. What’s got you so upset like this?”

Al huffed, feeling that same old feeling of his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. “Couple a’ guys on the business thing with Johnny. Smug little fucks. Ain’t ever got under my skin as bad as this..”

She gave him a gentle smile, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re still beautiful, Al.”

“I know.” He joked, giving a slight smirk, which soon fell back into a frown. Even right now he wasn’t in the mood to be as sarky as he always was.

“I mean it,” Y/n told him, taking him by the hand.

He looked up at her, those chocolate brown eyes sparkling with adoration. Something that never failed to make her melt.

“Your scars aren’t a weakness, Al. Neither are your feelings. Only you can be your own enemy here and treat them like they are. I’ve known you for fuckin’ years. With and without them,” she smiled, gesturing to the scars down the left side of his face. “They aren’t a flaw. Some may see them as hauntingly beautiful. But me? I just see the beauty part. Nothing else.”

Al began to chuckle, and that chuckle soon turned into a giggle, then his classic booming laughter that was practically music to her ears.

“Ain’t that somethin’..” He grinned, still laughing.

Al put his hand on her cheek, caressing it. “Is this the part where I say you’re the best little fuckin’ beauty i’ve seen in my life?”

She giggled, laughing along with him now. “I don’t think you’d be opposed to it.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, inhaling her sweet scent. She had always been his little doll. And perhaps him being her Scarface wasn’t the end of the world. Atleast it meant he was hers.

“I love you, doll.”

“And I love you, my Scarface in shinin’ armour.”

Al kissed her again. “Some pair a’ cheesy fucks we are.”

man this has motivated me to write a shit ton for al in boardwalk empire now. if you have requests for him, SEND EM IN!!

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Lemuria

(Masterlist)

hi! pretty big warning for this one, not just in terms of whump but because this section includes a description of mass death of a civilian population, including children. be advised.

(Content: mass death, child death, gore, magical exhaustion, physical violence)

================

The town was painted blue so that it was hardly visible against the sky. The people called it Lemuria, for reasons nobody could ever remember. All the children there tied beads around their waist, in recognition of the martial philosophy that threaded itself throughout their lives. They were a warrior culture. They produced an unseemly amount of insurgents.

Delta was curled up in the tent. The flap was pulled back so that he could see out of it. The whole of the town could be viewed within that little pocket. He laid entirely still, watching the strange birds that lived in the town soar across the sky above it. There was a nice breeze. It took a lot of effort for him not to fall asleep right then. But then, the noise made it hard.

He could hear them arguing right outside. All of them had been so twitchy all day, he was surprised it hadn’t come to blows yet. Well, there was still time.

“Quit telling me I have to. I don’t have to. Watch your damn mouth,” Paris sounded nervous. Delta could tell he was speaking around puffs of his cigarette.

“It’s not a good habit to get into. Everyone is on the same page about this except you,” The woman’s voice was crisp and clear.

“Lying by omission is still lying. If you’d have been straightforward with me, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Paris defended.

“It wasn’t a lie,” Another voice chimed in, “We’re working with different lexicons, that’s all. We’ll have to sort that out in the future.”

“Yes, in the future,” The woman agreed, “But we’re here now. Are you really going to pull out and just wait for another raid? You’ll be back here by the end of the year, I guarantee it, and the only difference will be that there were more Empire lives lost than there needed to be. And everyone will know that you had the chance to do something and didn’t.”

“Watch your mouth,” Paris repeated, then said nothing else. The silence hung in the air. 

Delta didn’t hear anything else, nor did he see any changes until Simon came to get him. He was unusually taciturn on this mission. Delta followed him out wordlessly onto the plain. All of them were standing out there aimlessly. A few meters behind them were the soliders sent as guards. It was a very small unit, not more than a few tents. The slick military uniforms looked funny amongst the wildflowers. Paris wasn’t even looking at him. Delta knelt down in the grass where they had indicated, training his sights on the town. Though it was far away, he could see the small forms of people walking around on the outskirts.

“The warning went out already?” Simon asked, uneasy. Paris shot him a glare. Really, it wasn’t his place to question them. 

“Yes. Several of them.” The female admiral answered him cordially anyway, “The grace period lifted this morning.”

Simon didn’t respond. He knelt down to Delta’s level, pointing out over the town, “The perimeters have already been laid with salt. Trace it. You need to level everything inside of it. The faster the better. Wait for me to give the signal.”

Delta nodded his assent. Simon clicked off the collar. The wave washed over them, bringing the temperature down by degrees. Delta felt out the landscape, creeping the tendrils down towards the town and encircling it.

“Are we absolutely sure this is legal?” Paris whispered to the admiral. It would’ve normally been too low for Delta to hear, but the aura picked up everything. It caught the subtle movement of her rolled eyes. 

Down in Lemuria, there was a soft dread in the bodies of the people. The warning flyers drifted around in the wind, their message both vague and in foreign tongue. There were more children there then Delta would’ve expected. Less steel than he was used to. He felt around the salted ground, trying to get his bearings. It wouldn’t be easy to compress everything, not when the buildings were rooted to the earth. Vaporization would probably be best. They’d burn up fast.

“Permission to launch?” Simon requested.

Paris hesitated. The admiral sucked in her teeth.

“Launch,” He said. Simon gave the signal.

The sound of the impulse carried over the field. In one glowing instant, Lemuria was gone.

Quicker than ever, Simon clicked the collar back on. Delta slumped forward, barely catching himself as the energy was drained from his body. He coughed a thick rope of phlegm out onto the dirt. There was blood in his hair. 

“You missed,” the admiral hummed. 

They all looked where she was pointing. On the edge of the salt circle, a figure was moving strangely. Little half steps away from the carnage. Fluid was pouring off of her. Her right arm was gone. The side of her hip and a good chunk of her leg was taken out. It hadn’t cauterized from the burns; it just kept bleeding. She limped on soundlessly. The ground was turning red all around her.

“Shoot her,” Paris said.

One of the soldiers moved up the mound, pulling his rifle up to his eyes. It fired. She fell limply to the ground, moving no further. 

There were other bodies on the perimeter, the few unfortunate enough to have been standing halfway on the salt circle. They writhed on the ground, limbs burnt off, their cries inaudible from such a distance.

“Fucking kill them already!” Paris insisted, his voice rising in agitation. Shots rang out in the dozens.

“Delta.” Simon’s tone expressed a sharp disapproval. Delta didn’t understand why. Simon didn’t explain it to him. They ushered him back into the transport, leaving him there alone. He coughed blood into the folds of clothes, trying to keep from dirtying the vessel. 

It took a while for any of them to come join him. When Paris did finally enter the craft, he smacked him hard in the back of the head. He’d been wearing his rings, making the impact heavier. Delta reeled, a soft noise of surprise escaping his throat. Simon climbed in, not acknowledging the hit. He didn’t know why they were both looking at him like that or what he might have done to deserve it. They didn’t speak to him. He rubbed the back of his head.

Simon collapsed in the seat, “What a PR nightmare.”

“It’s legal,” Paris shrugged, “Punitive plundering, I mean. It has its precedent. At least it was quick. Takes care of the barbarian problem.”

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something.

“You can blame her for it. It was her order.” Simon said helpfully. Paris shot him an exasperated look. He noticed Delta watching and his expression turned to anger.

“Fuck are you looking at?” Paris backhanded him. The slap itself wasn’t particularly hard, but the rings scraped him enough to draw blood. Delta looked down apologetically. Again, Simon didn’t say anything.

==========

Back in his room, Delta cleaned the blood off of his face. The scrapes were both too long and too shallow for it to be worth bandaging, so he just applied pressure until the bleeding stopped. He kept the towel pressed against his face, using the other hand to open up the laptop. They wouldn’t come get him again today, he knew that. Paris would be too busy doing damage control. Simon was too busy being mad at him, for some reason.

Delta’s eyes widened. On the front page of the site, there was already an article talking about the sudden “disappearance” of Lemuria. The reports seemed to suspect the Empire was responsible, but that was all. In the forum, there was much speculation on the weapon used to destroy it. But mostly, there was just outrage.

Civilian town. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore.

what can clear an entire city like that? am I seeing this right???

lol lemuria btfo

I HATE EMPIRE I HATE EMPIRE I HATE EMPIRE I H

They sent out warnings about this all week. We thought it would just be a seige or something.

Are there any survivors? 

Galatea is going to start a fucking war LMFAO

Soon enough, the thread was flooded with images of the carnage. Delta made them out clearly, shocked by the view they provided. There were bodies torn completely apart by the psionics. 

Put content warnings next time.

Are those children?? I feel sick….

no seriously what causes this? some kind of chemical attack? 

Rest in peace little ones :(

This is absurd. All the Lemurian warriors are already posted, there were none left at home. How is Empire planning to spin this?

Some of Delta’s blood dripped onto the keyboard. He cursed, blotting it back up. When it was mostly clean, he returned his attention to the screen. On some level, it tickled him to see their confusion about the weapon that had caused this. He hadn’t realized it was so under wraps. However, the gore had an uncanny quality. He wasn’t particularly squeamish, having witnessed a whole spectrum of violence firsthand. But seeing it rendered on the screen like that - and witnessing the panic it seemed to induce in the commenters - unnerved him. 

Still, he didn’t quite understand the reaction. He didn’t understand it any better than he understood why Paris had hit him. He remembered the great thing about the internet: he was allowed to speak and nobody could hit him for it. He moved to the end of the thread, typing with one hand.

ndhakdvsnnd: can someone explain what the problem is here

[off-brand-likes]

All for Nothing

Okay, I'm actually pretty happy with this one! It's set fairly soon after Kallus defects.

The Imperial officers at this outpost didn't really have the authority to interrogate Class One prisoners in their poorly organized basement/storage space. Since this lieutenant was questioning Kallus about rebel activity, he should've summoned a prisoner transport to take Kallus to the kind of core world facility the ISB preferred to work in. Instead, the lieutenant had decided to beat on his Class One prisoner like the amateur he was, for two hours so far.

Aside from the broken nose, which Kallus hated getting fixed, and the cut entirely too near major blood vessels in Kallus's arm, which was exactly why outpost personnel were not supposed to be interrogating class one prisoners, damn it, the interrogation had been more tedious than alarming. If the Empire knew anything dangerous about his mission to Barkhesh, then Lieutenant Tellme hadn't read the most recent reports. Another reason why outpost lieutenants--

A blow to his cheek snapped his head to the side so hard that Kallus greyed out for a second. It rocked the chair he was bound to, though not hard enough to knock it over. The lieutenant bellowed "Tell me what you were doing in the spaceport or I will begin cutting off pieces of you!"

Kallus rolled his head slowly back to face Lieutenant Tellme. Nothing wrong with his neck, but his cheekbone was probably cracked now, and his broken nose hurt worse than ever. "If you bleed me to death, the ISB will have you digging ore on Kessel this time next week."

While Lieutenant Tellme's face turned an interesting shade of red, and Kallus resigned himself to losing a few fingers to the bastard, the elevator that got people in and out of this basement opened to admit excited-looking aide. "We've caught another one!"

Kallus frowned. That hadn't been part of the plan. He was supposed to be holding Lieutenant Tellme's attention.

"Not one of ours." Kallus made an effort to sound more disgusted with these people than he already was.

Lieutenant Tellme raised a hand in a weak attempt to convince the aide not to announce any more interesting intelligence in front of the prisoner. He had his vibroblade out again, set against Kallus's little finger.

A finger which would not be easily replaced in a backalley clinic or the supply-strapped medbay on base. Kallus didn't have Imperial medical support anymore. Perhaps he should exercise some self-preservation.

Speaking slowly and in a tone Lieutenant Tellme must've thought was menacing, the lieutenant said, "Tell me who 'your people' are."

A worrying possibility occurred to Kallus. "Alright. Alright, I'll tell you." He listed some random names and threw "Jabba" into the mix. Just as he feared, that one startled a smile out of the aide jittering beside the elevator.

The vibroblade's low buzzing lifted away from Kallus's hand. He affected a sigh of relief.

"We'll be checking each of those. I believe you'll soon find that all your resistance was for nothing." 

Kallus couldn't help but feel proud of the way the lieutenant backed toward the elevator, well after he was out of kicking range, before turning to join the aide in meeting their next supposed victim. Kallus the traitor had built himself a reputation for danger that his Imperial self would've envied.

If the rebels needed Kallus free ahead of schedule, something must've gone wrong. And Kallus needed to get out of this chair before Ezra got himself hurt. He rocked the chair onto its side and kicked it apart. This was why the ISB designed special equipment for holding prisoners.

Now, to get to Ezra. The elevator security code wasn't even enabled, so that gave Kallus no trouble. These people were so indifferent to procedure that they might've already sold off his blaster. He hadn't seen it on Lieutenant Tellme's belt, anyway.

The elevator door opened. The lieutenant stood directly in front of it, which put him in perfect range for a punch. The aide holding Ezra's arm hadn't even bothered to draw his own weapon. Ezra, hands bound in front of him, stepped to the side to give Kallus room to punch the aide out out too.

"Aw, I had this whole thing where I'd hit them with the binders. They would've never seen it coming." Ezra's binders clanked onto the floor and he waved his free hands like he'd done a magic trick. His eyes focused on Kallus's injuries, a list to which Kallus could now add split and bleeding knuckles. Ezra's smile faded. "Looks like I got here just in time."

Kallus really would've missed that finger the lieutenant was moments from cutting off. He shuddered as he checked through the drawers, shelves, and boxes near the elevator, looking for his blaster and watching for troopers. "What's the emergency?"

"What?" Ezra asked from the elevator, where he'd taken the useful initiative of hiding the unconscious officers.

"What's gone wrong?" Ah ha, the lieutenant put Kallus's blaster in his own desk drawer. "What do you need my help with?"

"Nothing!" Ezra got the binder keys out of Lieutenant Tellme's pockets to unlock the two pairs dangling from Kallus's wrists. "We're running early. Hera's going to put it on her calendar as a galactic holiday when she finds out. So, we thought you'd want to..." Ezra was trying not to stare at Kallus's swollen nose and cheek. Kallus probably still had blood on his chin. "You know, not get tortured any more?"

"Oh." If there was no rush, then they could afford to be more cautious leaving this outpost. "It was fine. There was never any danger of that brute getting me to say anything useful." Kallus took the lead clearing their path to the exit.

"No, I mean--" Ezra ducked as the troopers outside finally realized they were under attack and started shooting. "We didn't want them to hurt you more than had to happen for the mission," Ezra shouted over his and Kallus's blaster fire.

Kallus spared a glance at Ezra to see if he was joking. He looked... Disturbed? Worried? Unsettled, anyway.

"I said it was fine." There was a lot happening just at the moment. Ezra must not've heard Kallus the first time.

They were past the outpost walls and halfway to their pickup point before it occurred to Kallus that Ezra might mean that he and the others didn't want Kallus hurt. They weren't doubting his ability to resist torture. They would simply prefer Kallus not get more injured than necessary.

Practical. Recovering agents weren't of any use in the field, and seeing evidence of torture damaged morale. Or...

Perhaps they didn't want their ally to be hurt, because... They valued the lack of pain that highly? They wanted every sentient on their side to be comfortable? The whole galaxy, once they'd won?

Wasn't that a strange possibility.

On the Ghost, Zeb had to nudge Kallus's arm with the end of the bacta canister to remind him to spray it on his injuries. He must've said something, too, but Kallus was still too stunned by this revelation about the rebels' philosophy to pay attention. What a wonderful galaxy these rebels were fighting to create.

[brineffxiv]

Estinien is not an easy man to find, but finally we run into him at the airship landing.

Uh oh

To be fair, Alisaie, you and Alphinaud do wear the exact same hairstyle.

LOL G'raha.

Thankfully, Alphinaud arrives to save Estinien and explain to him what's going on.

Alphinaud and Estinein's relationship is so wholesome. They make each other better people, and they make me smile.

Estinien is on the way to Azys Lla, to speak with Tiamat about this new incarnation of Bahamut. As the original summoner of the primal, she may be able to provide information that can help us deal with this new incarnation. We think this is a good idea, and join him.

Lol, you two should have met him back in Heavensward. He's practically warm and personable now by comparison.

Azys Lla has to be my least favorite map. The brown and sickly green lighting puts me in mind of vomit, or industrial contaminants. I suppose both of those are appropriate comparisons for the late Allagan Empire.

Oh. I. Didn't realize Nidhogg was still with you. Still a part of you. That's got to be difficult. But it's good that you feel you need to be there for Tiamat in Nidhogg's place. Nidhogg's rage and grief were fully justified for what was done to him and his family, it was his choices and actions in the aftermath that went beyond the pale.

It seems that Fandaniel must have utilized Tiamat and Bahamut's children to summon the primal.

Omg omg are we finally going to free Tiamat?! I've wanted to break her out of there since Heavensward. Yes yes yes!!!

Oh damn. She's tempered. If not quite as severely as some others. It didn't occur to me that a great wyrm could be tempered. But hell, if the Ascians could be, why not Tiamat.

Thankfully, we have a treatment for this now.

Oh yeah, gotta remember that nobody else knows that Hydaelyn is a freaking primal, and not just the name of the will of our star. Hey, can we test that tempering cure on me? Not saying I am for sure... but... better safe than sorry?

While G'raha and Alisaie prepare to cure Tiamat of her tempering, Estinien, Alphinaud, and I (plus a spirit vessel imbued with his blood that G'raha had on him for reasons) search the flagship for a node or terminal from which to control her restraints.

But before we go and free Tiamat, Estinien has a few questions regarding how we've been handling the Ascians.

And honestly, I don't think there is anything worth salvaging in Fandaniel. He is a man who professes to desire naught but to die and to take the rest of us with him in "a paroxysm of pain and suffering."

But...

Hmm, how do I say this?

Meeting and dealing with Emet-Selch effected me. He was brilliantly written, and I came to understand and empathize with his plight. I cannot say that, if I had been in his position, I would have done any different. From his point of view, he was entirely justified. He did terrible things, that he knew were terrible, in order to save his people. He was selfless, and sacrificed everything he had in order to save them. In the name of the greater good.

And so, I find I can't so easily dismiss Fandaniel as purely "evil." He must have a motive, a reason for why he does what he does, and I want to know it. He's not crazy, or illogical, and in the brief glimpses we have into his interactions with Zenos, I have become convinced that Fandaniel is manipulating him. And for him to be doing that, there's something he's trying to get or do beyond just what he openly claims to want, and he thinks he can use Zenos to get it. Zenos is too secure in his own power, and too distracted by me to see it. Fandaniel's a bitter, angry, shell of a man. And I want to know why.

Ahem.

Yes.

Anyway.

With the aid of G'raha and myself, Alisaie manages to cure Tiamat of her tempering.

And then, finally, after three expansions, Tiamat is freed of her prison.

And just in time, because Bahamut has been sighted over Paglth'an, at the head of a host of dragons. That's where Arenvald and Fordola have gone. I smell a dungeon.

And then, like the badass he is, Estinien leaps to Tiamat's back and the two of them fly away to battle.

We reunite with the rest of the Scions in Ul'dah, where we are joined by Nanamo. The Immortal Flames have been dispatched (along with many of the other Alliance nations' troops) to Paglth'an to defend the Amalj'aa. But it will be a fierce fight, and we are invited to join the fray as soon as possible.

Incidentally, it appears that Lunar Bahamut may be incapable of tempering people? Which would mark it as different from any primal we have faced before, and also mean it cannot be the entity behind the tempering going on at the towers.

To Paglth'an!

[myrfing]

6.4 msq spoiler thread

YES! YES....ZERO GOURD FEAST BEASTS

i need this buff PERMANENTLY

EW

ESTINIEN

MAN WHAT

HURLING

DIDNT NEED TO SEE THAT

ZERO LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

yshtola is so good at indirectly cheering people up in that shrewd old lady way. not that she's old just well matoya

I like how they put pen and paper in estinien's room like he's literate

dragons are always wanting to pop out their eyeballs

erenville are you...? the golled more...? can i go with you..

can we kiss

god he appeared on screen and SORRY vrtra but i need him to continue and tell me about his life and I need to go with him

now they're blueballing us about a mysterious letter

i like how zero's just been there like well I guess you know everybody on earth then

margrat. i need more of her bizarre behaviors

i forgort

thancred calling it "social struggles" YOU GUYS ARE MAKING THIS AWKWARD FOR ZEROOOO

these drake ass polar bears

the aetherfont is sooo gorgeous also I forgot my codex broke and nearly let thancred die. long time since ive healed a trust party as well but we go slow smell the ice bears

oh my god :U

thancred: just stick stay close to this one

gourd: slowly turning head with his o_o frontal bird face

they just let thancred tag along just beacause. not to be mean but we could also just meet new people

U Guys Are Leaving Gourd OUt of the Conversation Hinting At Something Happening To Come What The Hell So He Doesn't Get Alone Time And You Guys Are Getting Jobs Without Him Anyway

zero voice Idgaf about that

can the garleans get over their magic fear already you live in a world where there are glowing horses

damn that's crazy

msq is always very strangely gentle and thorough relative to others when it comes to dealing with garlean trauma or maybe thats just my hater lens. anyway the whole they are bigoted and small minded because they'd been hurt stuff is getting old and it's kind of crazy how this hurt people hurt people stuff is the limit here

trust me i dont really want 2

a weird bit about the whole garlemald thing is the bizarre angelic benevolence of the ilsabard contingent. not ONE person has been like you know you guys spent the past half century fucking up the entire world and you still demand respect for your gay ass tower because the imperial family sat their asses in it. anyway i have problems with the whole we're actually a totally 100% saintlike patience goodhearted pure intentioned foreign aid group thing We Have To Save The People Of Garlemald on the side of the alliance since the start but whatever

warmachina.

i dont want the thank you from this man LMFAO

zerooo 8[ also so much of what zero recounts explains. Cylva.

aw that's true jullus

LMFAOOOOO THEYRE MAKING THE WOL THINK OF ZENOS BECAUSE OF THIS CONVO? gourd did NOT trust that man unless you mean trust him to be awful. and what did zenos trust in the wol that he'd fight him eventually? I GUESS? MAYBE THEY MEANT HE WANTED TO TRUST US BUT I ALSO DO NOT CARE?

we're not friends just because someone calls you their friend 29083902 times 💀 i think that dude barely had a concept of gourd as a human being with his own life

an act of trade also can be an act of charity. THIS IS WHAT I MEAN THEIR POLITICAL WRITING IS SOMETIMES SO.....garlemald is still absolutely at the alliance's mercy + they still obviously believe in right by might re: that one line from the old dudes so there's no reason for them to not be cognizant of the fact we can just take by force and doesn't handle the hanging But Why Aren't They? question at all. this was a pity deal and everyone's like friendship and hope <3. im not saying goodwill and sincerity cannot exist between groups but this requires a sense of solidarity that we do NOT have with garlemald considering we still have to step entirely around the subject of their imperial affairs

you see as a nation they're not equals. they're the languishing half dead scattering remnant of an empire that built its wealth and prosperity for a time on war, theft, and enslavement of the rest of the world and radz and the alliance absolutely could just turn the tables and invade and probably just wipe out everyone here without breaking a sweat. of course that's abhorrent but it's crazy that THIS particular pain even the mere thought of it is made to not exist while the garleans get to be complicated about it. they want to keep their national name and pride with none of the consequences and we don't even demand that as if a nation is sacred and untouchable even after everything. I don't get it bro

i like the way varshahn says wyrm

THE LITTLE SQUICH SOUND WHEN I TAKE HER EYE?

glitter guy....

[ask-ozai]

Why do you hate Zuko so much? Aside from the fact that he now stole your throne with the avatar's help. Did you hate him since the moment he was born? Do you regret anything and/or feel you could have done things differently? Like manipulate him to work for your cause (instead of openly casting him aside) before killing him & masking it as some freak accident like an assassination attempt or whatever? What kind of relationship do you envision yoursef having with his offspring?

Zuko did not steal my throne, Zuko destroyed my empire, the world government I was building with my own hands. An entire world led by the strength of the Fire Nation. Zuko stole it from all of us. He stole our future, when he stole Azula's throne and then put her in the shrink so she would not claim it back. He betrayed us in the worst way and he does not even seem to realize it. But you ask if he has always been like this, and the answer is no. Everything used to be different a long time ago.

To answer your question, I have to remind you of the reason why my father ordered me to marry Ursa. We had to have strong and powerful children to serve Lu Ten in his reign. That was my mission. But it was clear from the start that Zuko was lucky to have been born at all and would never have enough strength. I made fireballs with my hands the second I was born, but he spent the first three years of his life without even a spark. So we tried again and Azula was the perfect result, and I focused on training her as soon as possible, letting Ursa to take care of Zuko. That was my first mistake, because Ursa raised Zuko as an ignorant, irresponsible peasant because I was focused on Azula. I should have made sure from the start that Zuko was raised the right way for a Fire Nation prince. But I allowed his mother to spoil him, because he was not useful for the purpose he was born for anyway. Hating him though? I had no reason to. Disappointment is not the same as hate. As long as Zuko didn't get in the way or embarrass me in front of my father there would not be any problem.

Besides, Zuko was not completely useless. Sometimes he had his moments, and he said smart things. Once when we were on Ember Island, I noticed that he was looking at the ocean. When I asked him what he was doing, he said that the war would have been over long ago if we had a bigger fleet with better ships. I had said the same thing recently. I was pleased, I even put my hand on his shoulder.

There was also that time he almost drowned when he was two years old, because he was chasing a stupid crab. If I had always thought he was a complete waste of space I would not have saved him.

No, things didn't start to go really bad until Ursa wrote that damn letter.

A peasant's son. Ursa would have preferred Zuko to be the son of the stupid stinky peasant. Agni had given her a prince, the best firebender in the world, and she wanted an useless peasant who couldn't even use a wooden sword. I cannot describe the fury I felt at that moment. It was one thing to live in Iroh's shadow, the golden boy, the military genius, the heir to the throne, our father's favorite. But living in Ikea's shadow? No. Never. Something broke at that moment, and all I wanted was to get revenge on Ursa for that humiliation.

Ursa would have preferred Zuko to be a bastard? Well, I would give her exactly what she wanted, and from then on I began to treat him as if he were.

[containatrocity]

"...Former frontman of Autumn's Gambler and the Solo project Odd Revolver, Oleander Grimm, wanted for questioning in the death of two former members of his camp...."

"....Undercover police officers investigating the disappearances of hundreds across the country in seemingly ritualistic killings found dead after seemingly being compromised..... a manhunt has begun for the presumed killer.... Grimm, once a household name with his band, is wanted and his whereabouts are unknown, his Los Angeles home set ablaze seemingly intentionally..."

"The body of a man has been found in the remains of Grimm's former home, matching descriptions of the musician- while forensics will be required to identify the remains completely.... it seems the nightmare may finally be over."

The TV crackles and fades to silence on the motel dresser, and seated at the foot of the filthy bed, a dead man smokes another cigarette. He'd been had- fucking pigs, 30 years of careful work down the drain, because his 'manager' and his bitch wife were deep-cover officers. So he'd reacted poorly- most would, when their entire livelihood was about to fall to scraps at their feet. He'd not realized that he'd kicked the last struggling, termite eaten support out from beneath his existence until he was behind the wheel of a moving van with the bay over-full with flammables, and the corpse of some poor SOB who's only crime had been drinking in the same bar. Until his entire life's work sat in hot ash- the fire greedy for her fuel, the devil starved for his due.

So he was stood now at square one- a square his feet had never been acquainted with, thanks to the Grimm family's connections in Hollywood- He'd been born with the blessings he needed to build an empire, and even when he cast those off- his family and his acting career quickly growing unbearable in his teens- colored by a cocaine addiction and a twin flame who's bad moon eclipsed his own, He still had the recognition it had given him when from the remains rose Autumn's Gamblers. He wonders, for a moment, as he stretches out in his motel bed, how much time he's bought himself with this little display- he'd liked that house, and with a case so high profile, they were bound to run the forensics on that body soon enough- his DNA was on the books from that riot he incited at the Roxy in the 90s, from a number of B & E's with the band, prints marked down from bar fight after bar fight in city after city just to try and feel something other than the absent numbness.

It hadn't worked, but then, it never worked, if he was being honest with himself, and eventually, that numbness became an asset. Eventually, that numbness made him a perfect hunter. He'd gotten sloppy, this time. He was the fox caught in the henhouse, and while he'd done his best to wipe blood from his maw, the farmer was closing in. But he'd had a failsafe in mind for quite some time, hadn't he? A disappearing ghost town in West Virginia, now a mere two states away, would be his salvation. America's own little bermuda triangle, swallowing up those who traveled inside simply to erase them from the world outside. He'd kept track of it, his interest in the Occult storied and well known- part of the reason he was in this mess to begin with, the perfect suspect for his own murders.

That tech mogul heir who'd done promotion in LA vanished in 2021 on his way to DC. The frontwoman for The Damned Woman, originally from the area, gone without a trace after going home for a visit. Actors, artists, musicians, government agents, military types, and even the average joe simply wiped off the earth. And Huntsville had been the key. So he'd packed his things before lighting his home ablaze- something he hoped the fire would cover up- something he knew it wouldn't not completely- and struck out on the road, unknowing of what might wait for him inside, it was better than giving himself up to the sheep who'd see him hang for simply doing his role in the food chain.

Some of us are put here to be greater than everyone else, Ollie, that's you and me. I made a promise to something when I was young, it told me I'd find fame and fortune, I just had to find my partner. That's you.

Words decades old echo in his mind even now, as blue eyes fall on the bedside clock, the dusty digital display flagging the exact time of night he should be asleep were he a different kind of man. Instead he sparks up his second cigarette in quick succession, takes a drag and leans his head back, watches the smoke dance past his lips.

It's up to you. It was always gonna be up to you. I've gotta answer for what we did, Ollie, but you'll keep doing our work, won't you? Too many rabbits and not enough wolves to cull them down. We're not like them, you're special, It blessed you. Now I need you to watch me, and make sure I don't chicken out or try to come down. It always knew you would be stronger, okay? Come on, don't cry. 27's as good an age as any to go- I'll live forever in the minds of people who love us and you.

His fingers graze over a hand-written 27 tattoo on his wrist, sighing softly. Part of him feels like he failed. This wasn't part of the plan, part of the deal. Their number had come up years ago. He had sacrificed himself to ensure October's side of the deal didn't hang unfulfilled. And here he was. Running away, because whatever protection, whatever luck had been on his side had abandoned him just long enough for anger to win.

It's enough to make him angry again, sends rage pricking through his body, because this was not part of the deal, everything he'd ever worked for burning away somewhere thousands of miles away while he rots in bed, thinking about long-dead lovers and sacraments in blood made when he was little more than a boy himself. This was his calling, his duty- he was meant to cull and destroy in service of something he couldn't hear the voice of on his own- that had been his job. to listen.

Morning comes. He doesn't sleep. simply pays his room fee with more money than he needs to and climbs behind the wheel of the moving van once more. He drives in silence, memories on replay even as he passes the town limits from a detour.

He tries to hide the smile on his face as the mayor and sheriff explain to him what he's driven into- tries to pass it off as a nervous grin about his uncertain future, suffocate the thrill of a built-in alibi and creatures to hunt alongside beneath false fear.

One day, we'll hunt together, free from everything the world insists on. Changed, but together. I promise, Ollie.

October's pleased to see his face on a ghost a few nights later.

Maybe he kept his promise, after all.

[bonesandthebees]

[Ranboo flinched at the sound. “I- I’m sorry? I don’t know why you’re so upset! I was mostly just telling Techno stuff you already told him yourself!”] there’s multiple things that piss Wilbur off in this statement. Ranboo’s unheartfelt apology and the complete lack of understanding of what he did wrong, for one. But the reminder that Tommy also told Techno a shit ton might piss him off too. I wonder it’s that’s really true or if Ranboo is just trying to talk himself out of it.

Part of this dissonance is because Ranboo doesn’t understand that Tommy thinks the entire friendship was fake because Ranboo didn’t make the conscious choice to become Tommy’s friend, he was asked too. Because to Ranboo, having good intentions and trying to help is a good enough reason. The end justifies the means.

Then Aimsey shows up and Ranboo was already outnumbered, but now he’s extra screwed. Tommy and Wilbur have had some time to process. The anger is there, but it’s not as strong as the immediate anger (and dread) they felt when overhearing. Aimsey though? They just found out. They are way more pissed. And they are questioning their friendship with Ranboo too. Poor damn Ranboo, he’s really loosing everything. He still absolutely had it coming.

[“Have you ever told the truth, Ranboo?” Wilbur jumped in, drawing all eyes back to him. “Or are you just so afraid of people disliking you that you just do and say whatever they ask?”] this is so deserved, but it’s also a killing blow. It’s the point where Ranboo decides that he can’t handle this anymore and tries to alert Techno of what’s happening.

Tommy is smarter than that thought, which ends with the truth being wrung out of Ranboo anyway. And he did really just want to prove himself. He didn’t feel bad at all. And they the Voice wears of and Tommy lied and I wonder how Ranboo life keys being lied too. One thing is for sure, he’s terrified, and he should be. But Wilbur and Tommy don’t have time to deal with him.

(3/3)

-🎄

ranboo's mostly trying to talk his way out of the situation at that point. sure, later on tommy did end up just outright repeating a lot of what he said to ranboo to techno as he trusted techno more and more, but ranboo told techno a lot of information tommy told him in confidence. wilbur is mostly pissed about the first two things. he's got too much going on to be pissed all over again about tommy telling techno stuff

the ends justify the means yes! ranboo had good intentions! he wanted to help the negotiations go more smoothly because in his mind, eldingvegr was going to join the empire no matter what. he knew what techno and phil wanted, and had never seen them fail before, so he just assumed it was going to happen either way. so he figured helping smooth the process over by reporting what's going on with the brothers to techno was going to help everyone in the end, which made it ok

*aimsey speedrunning all the anger tommy and wilbur have been dealing with the last few chapters*

lmao yeah that was DEVASTATING. wilbur really summed him up in one sentence right there

even if tommy was smart and noticed what ranboo was doing, he didn't notice it fast enough. ranboo was able to get a message out before tommy used his Voice.

ranboo's a hypocrite, so yeah, he felt bad that tommy lied to him. taste of your own medicine, buddy

[the-firebird69]

So my grand nephew says I'm not old enough for hookah I probably agree with that

Garth

We have a couple other things to announce people kind of loopy here there's a lot of s*** in the water speaking of which it's blowing out it's the three and a half but there's a massive stream of water in the middle it's pretty powerful. Now Sun sent a picture to Ken and said there's sapphire in there they can't really see it you can barely see it on the picture but you can in a certain light and he was horrified and it says everywhere but the empire is mining most of it is saying it too and they're saying we know and it's horrifying and this war is the waste the damn time and they have to go to the matrix figure out the entire not running it and Tommy F was under the influence and nobody because the max were plentiful and had him do it and had him drugs and had them desperate in The matrix you see his brains in The matrix and his desperate in drugs helpless and felt it they said wow this is screwy so there's a lot of stuff like that we have a huge number of things to announce but we can only do a few

--his car is now been decided is the VW golf so how's he going to get it it's a big question and it will come from someone else and it's Tommy F and he's the one who got it to JC and Mary from trump. And Trump has been hiding it. And call me f is doing it for the wrong reason he used to do it for a fairly decent reasons but he's kind of nuts he's kind of fully himself to try and do the right thing.

-there's a huge number of people who are wondering about money and things it's going to come in time but really it's starting to become an aggravation there's a system now a couple of them and people know about where he goes a certain groups start pouring in there's a few of them one is bja and he wants him to go to certain places and very soon the other Mac proper and they want him in a certain place fairly soon there's other places but really they are looking to do things to our son and think they can do things in Massachusetts like haul him in there if he goes there and it won't be able to but there's really no crime did he committed in their liars and it won't go far because they fight each other and look stupid but that's why and they're evil and they know and they try and work that. Mac daddy kind of runs the whole thing he is tiresome person today was awful. There's other things happening but there is something that they're trying to do several groups and you notice that he has no way of telling what he would get he really does not ever have an indication it's very weird but that's what happens usually he says it's something recent and Saxon mortgage I was not very recent it came about 8 years later but the car is already been 3 years usually it's about the time but he says in the area that he's in usually this little faster and yes it is that would be the building problems one thing it says is the surgeries his mom had to pay a lot of money and he doesn't think it was right they looked at that and the insurance company was over billing and she knew about it and couldn't do anything is not true so she might try and get it back herself because of the code but they would send it to her son yeah so she'll probably try and do that and I'll go to him and she'll become a stinker it's true that's one thing he says sometimes happens with hospitals they're kind of insane people they give money back and they don't really want to and they try and get you back there and that's a that's a job for John and remillard. So he's saying oh boy and he's an a****** there's another case of that with a mental facility it's actually the one in Sarasota where they held him for another week and a half for no reason he said he needed to have a place to go and he did. The doctor was messing around with him trying to make him sick and that would be Jason and Tommy f might have him pay the money back for the week and a half and the money out of pocket no it's insurance money and the insurance company gets a bunch and our son would get somebody too for the overstay and getting sick it's on the report probably about 2 or $3,000 when you should get two or three million and it will open the path for a lawsuit too which will open so these are things around here and he says usually they come first cuz people want to hold me here they say and they want trouble here to threaten other people off and stuff like that. There's a couple more instances the car was short changed by about $1,200 and no $3,000 and people hate Trump and want him to pay up and people are in the office might send a check in the honor it and the a****** will try and pull it out every 5 minutes and everybody will go after his money with it the rest of the clan there's a whole bunch of stuff like that it might work on it because people have seen it before and it's a good idea and closing I'd like to see our son and daughter put a lot of effort in and they still are and he's still offering his ideas as well as ours some cases people are helping like with Kia and he is too with local stuff there's a huge amount of money that should come from someone she's not around and she said you would not have to pay rent but he said I'll pay because I can't have

A job and she said she paid the car and she she did not it's around $12,000 cuz it took it takes like a couple years to get a full person and he did it pretty quick I had a problem with the storm she didn't say anything but that money probably won't come at any point soon but really that's that would be hard for us to get it's just a verbal agreement she's not around and it's kind of a pain he says it's true there's other stuff we don't like that treatments but he says it's very very mild it really is. There are a few people at the house that owe him money Castle and Ken is not one of them. They were borrowing money harth owes our son about 70 bucks it's about 120 bucks. And he did give them a ride to Sarasota so we'll probably call it even charge him 30 bucks but it's really like $150 it's true too. There's a couple other things there are usually people who hand the money for doing certain things and they haven't paid him anything they say they're not going to we say why they said he's being a stinker so we're going to shake their tree and if they give the wrong answer they're in trouble and people like mac daddy they're involved in the nuclear stuff and they're not being smart people and their code is all f***** up we're going to use it cuz what he's saying. The people that owe him money outright and it's not Hera he wasn't loaning her money he was giving her money that's his love and his wife and his memory bank he says he's putting money into the memory bank so everyone's going to check the bills and they want to see if they can get something. She says he says actually to her you're the two armed bandit and she's laughing one arm you pull the other one I pull so we're having a good time but that's fun. And the people that owe him money from the past they owe him a bunch of money for projects that he completed and he couldn't collect it or couldn't take them to court they didn't pay the final payment there are three of them that we recall each one of them needs a reprimand we're going to go after them they need a strong one we're going to go after them now for what they're saying and we don't like it in the final amount each one is about $1,200 it's like $4 or $5,000 it's a long time ago that they owe money. There's a whole bunch of law suits they were opening. So he says why not go after the small fish and we'll collect and Trump's will try and take it and stuff it'll go after them it's a good scam and it's probably by his son and really they have the problem with the dupes. There's a few things that are funny and he came up with a movie idea again same one dukes of Earl and Earl is his father and it's from the television series my name is earl. And he messed around with people he has to make things up to him so he's going around being an a****** and people can't see him doing it saying he's making up to them and the concept is great this is actually fun because it's all these guys that work for him and all a bunch of assholes I can that I like him and he find all these guys get in trouble give me a good time.

This other sources of money but he did work and it wasn't paid not hearing punta Gorda it says I must have done something advertising people making money off him we can ask them we don't have to demand or anything have someone else fork it over and help manipulate it usually they don't tell us what it is that they tell us they're doing it and people were doing that and stop doing it but it actually works.

We have ideas and they're pretty good we want people to compensate him for forcing him to drink and we're going to threaten the beer and alcohol companies that they won't get their shipments unless they pay him something and then they'll have to fight Trump and they'll try and take their stuff it's small money and there'll be small fights that's worth it and they need the information scam so clever one and we're going to try and do it. He spent a lot of money on it and it was a waste of money and we do have proof they're forcing it.

Hera has two

Thor Freya

Olympus

[dukeoftheblackstar]

@spicedrobot Sigh. The world of pain, pleasure, and doubt you put me into. That's two fics now. I am needing to do this because if I do not channel my emotions in writing, En, I will die. Literally.

So here's part 1 because oh my god.

WHY DO YOU RILE ME UP SO GODDAMN MUCH? ♥ ILY.

PART 1

BECAUSE TUMBLR SAID THIS POST BE TOO DAMN LONG AND IT BE GLITCHING. I am not even done reading.

Greedo loved space almost as much as he loathed Tatooine. He always tried to steel himself for his inevitable return, but each time, the planet’s heat and grit swallowed him alive like a sarlacc.

This gorgeous!!! Love how this rolls off the tongue.

His chance came one day in the form of a Mandalorian, a human man Greedo ran jobs with whenever he was planetside. When Boba mentioned needing a second pair of hands for work in the Core, Greedo agreed to join him without a second thought. They left behind the swelter and malaise of Tatooine that very afternoon.

- Cue internal crisis flashbacks of that one fic of Boba x Greedo - The haunting continues.

The cool touch of space had never felt so good.

Bet your ass it does, you ho.

It’s him, Greedo realized, after a few cycles of this strange incident repeating. It’s Lord Vader.

HERE IT COMES. OH MY GOD. THE PREPARATION IN MY SOUL. BE STILL MY PRECIOUS HEART. The anticipation!!!

Greedo was in the big leagues now. || They couldn’t actually do anything to him, not when he worked so closely with Boba and Vader.

I genuinely feel so much pride for him like you do you, boo! GO GET IT!

Even Boba had been grabbed by the big boss, once or twice. But Boba always pressed into Vader like he was calling his bet, and Vader always backed off.

MY DARTH FETT HEART. MMMMM.. HNNNGG… SWEET SWEET SWEEETNESSS. E//////////////E

... but Greedo thought it was more than that: Vader simply admired Boba’s brass. It also made Greedo a little proud, too. That was his buddy that cowed the Empire’s greatest weapon. And also, maybe, just a little, Greedo had that on Vader too. The bounty hunters Vader kept in his employ were special. Not little toadies like the rest of the Imps.

Okay. So here you are again. Setting up the stage to putting my heart and mind into a mix of confusion, questionable disgust (?), morally affecting perception, and the dire need to determine whether I AM INTO THIS OR I AM NOT BECAUSE I STILL HAVE NOT DECIDED.

AND NOW?! YOU ADD VADER TO THE MIX?!?!?! I AM HYPERVENTILATING AND IDK IF I'M DOING SO OUT OF SHEER EXCITEMENT OR FEAR OF READING SOMETHING I MIGHT REGRET. YOU HAVE ONCE MORE TOSSED ME INTO AN OUBLIETTE OF CONUNDRUMS AND IDK IF I LIKE THIS FRESH NEW HELL OR I DO NOTTTTTTT.

… but this was the longest Boba had ever been gone while Greedo remained at Vader’s side.

I am hollering for the very reason that I feel like Vader's such a ho in this bit. He's all "welp, time to send my #1 slut out in far away space so I can make a #2 out of this Rodian ho" AAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE IT!.

… but Greedo alone was stationed in the room with him.

Greedo didn’t know why that was. 

OH, HOW I WONDER. I TRULY. HONESTLY. DEEPLY. WONDER. SO MUCH WONDERING HAPPENING IN MY HEAD RIGHT NOW. LIKE. IS THIS THE THING? OMG. GREEDO YOU PRECIOUS LIL BALL OF OBLIVIOUSNESS.

Alone on Coruscant with Vader was different than being alone on the ship. Vader was unnerving at the best of times, but here, he was something else entirely. Way too shriekin’ quiet, for one. His already intimidating demeanor was cranked up to the nines, his movements more mechanical, the sound of his breathing more menacing. Greedo spent most of his shifts going tingly all over while Vader conducted business with the locals. At least the office had a large bay window. He always took up post beneath it to bask in the sunlight. 

I am floored by this. I adore how you paint the oppressive silence and the eeriness of the room to make it more immersive. I genuinely feel what Greedo would have probably felt if I was at all braver at his level. The mechanical sounds has me in a happy whirl of bliss — I, too, am very tingly, Greedo. Move tf over and let me sit tf down ♥

 Which was too bad. Greedo would love to go to a fancy Imperial party sometime.  

Greedo, quit being adorable you little fuck ♥ ILY. Wait no. NO. NOT YET. NO RODIANS. NO.

Absurdly, Greedo found himself fantasizing about the warmth of Tatooine’s twin suns.

Good lord! The play on this is superb! ♥

When his body ceased to function and he keeled over, he didn’t even manage to put his hands out to break his fall.

BABE, NOOOOOOOOOOO. I AM GENUINLY WORRIED.

Suddenly, the room’s comm system crackled to life. From it, a stern command issued in Vader’s eerie, modulated tone. “Do not attempt to leave. You are useless to me.” 

IDK WHY BUT I AM SCREAMING. LIKE BIG DADDY V, VADER, VADES MY BOY, MY MURDER GOTH GIRLFRIEND,

but why was he still breathing? Who had even put him in this room? Who would even know what had caused him to pass out and make moves to fix it? Had…  …had it been Lord Vader? 

I SHOULD NOT BE FUCKING LOSING IT OVER THIASKJASHDLKASJDLKASJDAKLJSDKJSHFKSDJFILRHFNW. I SWEAR THIS FIC IS CURSED. IT IS MAKING ME FEEL THINGS THAT DON'T EVEN HAVE A NAME OF. LIKE WHAT. OMHG.

WAS IT? WAS IT GREEDO? WAS IT THE BIG DARK GOTH DADDY MURDEROUS GIRLFRIEND WHO HAS BREATHING PROBLEM AND PROBABLY ABOUT TO DICK YOU TF DOWN LATER IN THE FIC? WELL. SLAP ME SILLY, YOU LIL PRECIOUS BITCH, IT JUST MIGHT BE.

 A pair of blacks. They felt warm to the touch, but were no thicker than any of the other pairs he owned. There was also some sort of armor weave incorporated into them, a dull glint that caught the light when he moved the fabric around. An adaptive mesh, Greedo realized with a start. These were expensive, top of the line. He hadn’t even looked at buying a pair himself when he was shopping around. A strange giddiness joined his confusion. Someone… cared. But who else would know he needed this?

Who else but Lord Vader himself?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?! VADER YOU SMOOTH FUCK. GODLY RIZZ SUGAR DADDY VIBES?! YOU DOTING? YOU MFKN DOTING YOU BIG DARK ANGRY FUCK. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Greedo appreciated the gift. At least, that’s what he thought it was. Certainly there hadn’t been a dent in his account. He checked his balance several times a day. 

FEELING LIKE A LIL PRINCESS NOW, YA BITCH.

It was a shame it had to be covered, but the throat of the mesh could be seen, at least. Vader would know he was wearing it. Wait until Boba hears about this!

OH MY GOD YOU FUCKING PRINCESS. YOU A HO, GREEDO. OKAY. OKAY. I LOVE YOU. OKAY. I HAVE DECIDED. YOU ARE NOW OMG. OMG. I DONT EVEN. OMG.

The temperature fluctuated so minutely that Greedo wouldn’t have noticed—had the suit not adapted to it. A faint, coursing warmth, like blood. 

MY STUPID ASS IS FUCKING GIDDY LIKE WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? MY TWO BRAINCELLS OKAY.

Vader didn’t look up from the holocomputer as he spoke. “It was not a gift. It is an investment.” He paused for a single, modulated breath. “You will meet me in my personal quarters at 2300 hours, where we will discuss an addition to your current responsibilities in my employ.” 

I NEED TO CALM TF DOWN. WHY IS THE TENSION SO GODDAMN THICCCCCCC. SIR. SIR. PLS. SIR. JUST. STAB ME WITH IT WHY DON'T YOU.

Investment. Additional responsibility? But why the late hour, and why the change of locale? What necessitated more privacy than his own office already provided?

ALL THE QUETSION MARKS. ALL THE WONDERS. ALL THE HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMS?

“Boba Fett has been in my employ for years. He is a hunter of great skill and renown. He is loyal. Discreet. My credits assure that remains the  case… in all matters. He is valuable to me. But he is only one man. When he remains abroad, his other duties go undone. It is manageable, for a time. But now, I believe there is another option available to me… You.” 

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. THIS IS ABOSLUTE TORTURE.

“Your daily rate will double each time I require additional services. It is the same offer I gave Fett. A generous amount for any task.”

I AM SHAKEN TO THE GODDAMN COREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Of course I can do it. I’m a great hunter. Why keep me around otherwise? 

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Boba Fett and Greedo both work for Darth Vader. When Boba is sent off on an extended solo mission, Greedo learns more about his boss's eccentricities... and his own.

At first, Greedo thought that Imperial vessels just ran colder than usual. Though he hadn’t been on many, mostly just this one. And what a ship it was: a Venator-class Star Destroyer, housing thousands of occupants. Not just any old Imps either, but important ones, the kind they bragged about on Empire Day transmissions. But the issue wasn’t as simple as dialing back a control on a climate system, and it wasn’t like he could even access such things on a ship as big as this, barring the one in his own room. And it was only ever too cold when he was on the chrono. One moment, the temperature would be perfectly pleasant. The next, Greedo could see his own breath in front of his snout. 

It’s him, Greedo realized, after a few cycles of this strange incident repeating. It’s Lord Vader. 

Read on ao3

[dangermousie]

Hello !

I was wondering whether you could rate and tell us of your top 5 favourite webnovels/cnovels of all time ?! (Sorry if this has already been answered lol😅)

Thank you, stay safe and have a nice day🖤

Awww, thank you and that is such a lovely ask!!!

From n1 to n5, here they are (they happen to be all danmei.)

1. The Husky and His White Cat Shizun (2ha) - my n1 forever and ever.

Taxian Jun, the horrific cultivation emperor of the world who razed cities and destroyed sects, is surrounded on his mountain. The righteous sects are terrified to confront him but tired of living, Taxian Jun consumes poison and dies by suicide at the age of 32. And opens his eyes as 16 year old Mo Ran, Mo Ran long before he became Taxian Jun, Mo Ran who is excited at a chance to save the one person he loved and lost. Oh, and to deal with his loathed shizun, the unapproachable and strict Chu Wanning, his past life’s biggest enemy.

I have no idea if it’s objectively the best on this list but it hits every trope I love, its bleak worldview (the world will change only incrementally but that’s enough, average person will not appreciate the sacrifice but it’s still worthwhile, and love is worth everything) mirrors mine, and the sheer complexity of the plot and cascade of plot twists each of which is insane and yet completely logical, is amazing (this is a rare novel where it’s even more fun to reread than read for the first time because you keep seeing all the hints and trail crumbs laid out that you did not see the first time.)

And the characters!!! I mean, this novel has multiple universes/timelines, a side trip to the Underworld AND the demon realm, a plot more twisted than a store’s worth of pretzels and yet the thing that hits me the most are the characters. Mo Ran is my favorite web novel character of all time and I love Chu Wanning so. All the secondary characters are wonderfully written (and some of them made me bawl) and they are all complex. My opinion of all of them changed many times over; the novel doesn’t make it easy to love some of them but then you do and it’s so worthwhile! That slow change is one of the delights of the novel - I started out disliking the unpleasant, superior Chu Wanning and cruel, callow Mo Ran and then I loved them so so hard and cried for them so so hard and was in awe of their heroism and sacrifice and selflessness and capacity to love.

Oh, and the fact that this novel does something almost impossible - it has its protagonist start out as so clearly irredeemable and then slowly and painfully and thoroughly redeems him (without ever letting the reader forget what it is he needs redemption for.)

Also, for a novel that made me cry so hard I felt ill, this book is just so damn funny with the most sarcastic sense of humor imaginable (the serious angst doesn’t even kick in until 90+ chapters!)

Anyway I should stop or I will write a dissertation. But this is the one web novel that I would put in my top 5 not just web novels but any novels in any shape or form. The plentiful trigger warnings are there for a reason so stay away if they are an issue, but if not, if anyone hasn’t read it yet, what are you doing with your life?!

2. Stains of Filth (Yuwu) - another novel by the author of 2ha. Clearly she just pushes all my buttons every time. This one is much shorter and has a plot that is twisty but less twisty than 2ha. Still, all that means is that intensity and the pain are more concentrated.

Aristocratic Mo Xi and former slave Gu Mang were both legendary generals of the empire and lovers. But Gu Mang betrayed the country and switched to the enemy. Now he is back as a peace offering by that country and Mo Xi has to deal with the fact that his feelings are as strong as ever.

This novel!!! So much pain and intensity!!! So many amazing plot twists and supporting characters. The same bleak world view, the same unjust society, the same protagonists doing right things despite the cost. Mo Xi’s intensity and inability to let go (he’s imprinted on Gu Mang and that’s it) is romantic, bone-shakingly intense, and tragic all at once. And oh Gu Mang! So many times I just wanted to reach into the book physically to protect him. The novel deals with unjust societies, memory versus personality, what it’s like to be good in a bad universe etc. And it both made me sob and giggle, repeatedly, and sold me on literally death-defying (but not honor-defying!) love.

Oh, and special shout out to the fact that like 2ha, you may start out hating some characters and end up a rabid fangirl (cough Murong Lian!)

3. Qiang Jin Jiu - a dense political tome that takes a while to get going but then it’s a runaway train.

In a fictional dynasty, Shen Zechuan, the only remaining son of a disgraced aristocratic family and Xiao Chiye, the younger son of a family of generals guarding the border join forces (and then something else) to get power and pull down the dysfunctional system.

This is so elegant and smart (a rare web novel I’d recommend to anyone who just loves solid period fiction) and you probably need a notebook to keep track of the politics and military strategy. These characters are very very smart not just because the author says so.

As to the characters, there is a large cast and I love many of them, but for me the novel is made by Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye. SZC is gorgeous and delicate and icy and can kill you before you have time to blink. Saddled with the sins of the family he had no pleasant interaction with, he claws his way out of hell (seeing the sinkhole he was trapped in, literally as well) to take down those who wronged him but also to amass power so all the tragedy and corruption won’t happen again and the whole rotten system comes crashing down. XCY is a military genius who is trapped as a hostage in the capital because the court doesn’t trust his family. He longs to return to the plains of home and to take his rightful place. The two men start out as bitter enemies, then reluctant and sniping allies, then as friends and eventually as one of the most gorgeous, tender, swoony OTPs.

Anyway this is one is a bona fide masterpiece, equal parts smart and emotionally intense.

4. Wu Chang Jie - are you an emotional vampire? I am and this novel is a banquet.

In a highly fantastical setting, we meet our protagonists - the sunny Xie Bian and the intense and surly Fan Wushe. Xie Bian is a human who assists his master in conveying souls to the underworld and making sure no mishaps happen. Bian is concentrated sunshine in human form and to meet him is to love him. When the novel opens, his drunk master brings back another human to be his shidi and assist with duties - said human is uncommunicative, intense and surly Wushe. Bian is excited to have a shidi but little does he know that a story dealing with the horrors of past lifetime is about to start.

Anyway, why WCJ? So many reasons. It has such a dark bleak worldview - this world is a horrifying system where powerful cannibalize each other’s cores for an impossible chance to ascend, where gods have sealed off their realm and all that’s left is neverending human misery and hell (the only way you’d see a deity is if they’d been sent down to suffer over and over and over), where even reincarnation doesn’t fix things and bad acts are often unpunished. And the novel then asks - is it worth being a good person in such a world? More, is it worth being a good person in such a world when nothing good has ever happened to you and you have been repeatedly betrayed due to your goodness? And the answer, on Bian’s part, is an uncompromising yes.

Ah yes, the other reason to love this novel - the protagonists and their fucked up fucked up relationship. Bian (who was Prince Ziheng in the past life) is so genuinely good. But he is that rare thing - good but not saintly, noble but not cloying. So much of the novel is his getting taken apart over and over and barely able to put himself back together every time but his soul is still as amazing as ever.

And then there is Wushe (who was Prince Zixiao in past life, Ziheng’s not-bio-related brother.) Wushe is not a good person. He is a monster. And he loves Bian/Ziheng more than his life and his soul and the entire world but he’s also the one who hurt him more than anyone else ever could and did it over and over. His love survived a literal century of torture in the worst kind of hell and refused the usual memory loss of new life. But it also humiliated and broke Ziheng down to his constituent parts.

One of the things that is so fascinating to me about this novel is the question of what can be forgiven/what should be forgiven/what kind of expiation is enough/can you ever love someone who you loved so much and then he hurt you so badly and is now repentant? And it never sweeps trauma under the rug or hand waves it away but deals with it head on.

If you want healthy relationships, you should stay far away from this novel but if intense insane ones with a feral barely human one capable of destroying the world leashed by love and guilt to the sane deeply good one is your bag, come right in.

There is also the world building and the fact that yes, the big fall out between Ziheng x Zixiao is based on not knowing all the facts but it’s not “why can’t you talk?! This is dumb!” But is totally in keeping with both events and their characters. It’s reasonable for Ziheng to do what he does and for Zixiao to misunderstand and decide Ziheng is now his biggest enemy (but still one he’s fixated on) and for Ziheng to never be able to clarify.

Anyway, once again this is trigger warning central so please heed those, but if they are no issue, this one is wonderful.

5. OK, this is hard and switches between Sha Po Lang, Heaven Official’s Blessing and The Golden Stage depending on my mood. So what the hell, I am gonna write about all of them.

Sha Po Lang - so smart and so much clever world building. There is enough politicking to satisfy a Qiang Jin Jiu fan, it’s steampunk, and our two protagonists - Gu Yun, the empire’s most powerful general, who’s loyal to the empire despite being badly wronged by it, and Chang Geng, a cursed prince with barbarian blood and horrifying childhood - are wonderful separately and together. This is a huge slow burn but it’s totally worth it! They fall in love with each other’s hearts and brains and ability as much as anything. (Yes, this is the one with the yifu thing. Gu Yun is made Chang Geng’s foster father when he rescues him and brings him back to the capital as a way to keep CG safe in imperial strife. They are 12 and 19 at the time so clearly it’s never a parental relationship.)

Heaven Official’s Blessing (TCGF) - I love it’s sprawling narrative and cast, I love its inventive setting and picaresque story. It’s hilarious and can make me cry. But the novel’s place on this list is due to Xie Lian who is part Kenshin part drama WWX part pure goodness wrapped in heartbreak and trauma wrapped in sunshine.

The Golden Stage - two smart and principled (yes, they both have principles different though they may be) men navigate their arranged marriage, their past friendship and their past break up, become a super couple (one of the healthiest danmei couples I’ve ever read and proves healthy doesn’t have to be boring), save the country and bring down the emperor or two and just generally this is my rainy day book.

I guess I didn’t write as much for the three n5 candidates as I did for 1-4 but my brain is beginning to curdle so...

[oumaheroes]

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn’t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ��Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

‘I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

[kanansdume]

@aliceinwonderpants

It actually is acknowledged, it's just done in a way that very intentionally retcons what we've already been told.

In Season 2, Episode 17 "The Honorable Ones" where Kallus begins his "redemption arc," they have him say something that implies he didn't lead the genocide on Lasat and Zeb calls him out on that, reminds Kallus that he's TOLD them he led the attack, and Kallus basically just says "I lied."

He gives the explanation in the episode that he had been part of an attack on Saw Gerrera's camp one time early in his career in the Empire that ended with his entire unit being killed by a Lasat that was a part of the rebel group and this apparently traumatized him so much that he very happily took part in the attack that someone ELSE led on Lasan. However, the looting of the weapon was in actuality not a loot, but a "gift" as part of a Lasat tradition of warriors handing off their weapon to a warrior who defeats them honorably in battle or something before they die.

So the implication is that in the earlier episode in season 1 when he pretty clearly says that he LED the attack, or at least a part of it, he was just lying to fuck with Zeb's head, and did not ever actually lead any part of the attack, and he was given the weapon willingly by a Lasat he killed, but chooses not to tell Zeb this earlier also theoretically just to fuck with his head.

It's a retcon. It's a pretty obvious, glaring retcon. It's lampshaded by the writers to acknowledge that they KNOW they said Kallus led the genocide earlier, but they're going in a new direction with him now and so he can't be someone who led a genocide otherwise it'd be pretty hard if not impossible to be able to get away with claiming he could be redeemed. My assumption is that Kallus just got fairly popular among the fans and they wanted to have a storyline where an Imperial officer is redeemed and changes sides, so they combined these two things into the "redemption arc" for Kallus, except that it meant having to retcon his damn backstory to make it in any way believable or acceptable to the audience.

This episode also has the delightfully problematic moment where Zeb calls him out for his racism in deciding to hate and take part in a genocide against the ENTIRE LASAT SPECIES simply due to the actions of one Lasat (who was also, ya know, defending himself and his fellow Rebels from being about to get attacked and killed themselves, but hey who cares about that), and Kallus responds that Zeb judges all Imperials the same, too.

Zeb does not manage to find a comeback to that, as I recall, which. Is questionable since Zeb is judging Imperials not by the actions of one, but by the actions of hundreds if not THOUSANDS at this point given how long he's been fighting and the number of fights he gets into as a member of the Ghost crew. Not to mention the fact that judging Imperial officers for the CHOICES they make to hurt others and the choice they make to join an institution that really does... very little else, is nowhere near the same as judging an entire species simply for existing. Zeb also doesn't generally intentionally go out to try to kill Imperial officers JUST to kill Imperial officers and it's implied in at least one episode I think that the Ghost crew actually DOESN'T KILL anybody if they can get away with it, and mostly just knock people out. So even when Zeb IS attacking Imperials, he's usually doing so because he has to for one reason or another and he's generally not killing them every time (he definitely does occasionally, occupational hazard sometimes).

So if you go ahead and pretend none of that happened, and none of Kallus's backstory was ever told to us and just start his story in like season 3 when he starts to do his spying, it's... fine. It's workable. If you let them retcon and lampshade everything about his character so that the redemption arc works for you, more power to you. Personally, I'm not willing to forget that they told us Kallus led the genocide and that he used that to laugh in Zeb's face more than once, that he personally decided it was his mission to kill the last Lasat just to ensure the job was done personally. He's a piece of shit and his redemption arc doesn't work because it requires me to pretend their retcon works when it just... doesn't.

One of the most delightful things about Andor is it continues to show why Kallus should not have been a Fulcrum, and why he is the worst Fulcrum out of our three known Fulcrums.

Ahsoka, for all her problems with attachment and hypocrisy she inherited from you know who, is a genocide survivor who chooses to continue to use the abilities she was born with to help those who cannot protect themselves from the Empire.

Cassian is ALSO a genocide survivor who ultimately recognizes that the Empire will continue to hunt him down no matter what he does or where he goes so if he has to die, then he'd rather die on his terms trying to bring them down than die the way they want him to. He spends the rest of his life giving everything of himself to this cause.

Kallus is someone who LED a genocide and only turns against the Empire because he figures out nobody in the Empire cares if he lives or dies and manages to be somewhat incompetent at the job of spy to begin with and causes the destruction of an entire Rebel base because he's stupid enough not to RUN when the Rebels risk their lives to rescue his ass because they know more than he does about Imperial knowledge of a spy within their ranks.

One of these is not like the others, and getting to watch Cassian's struggle against the Empire, the way they're so clinical about causing suffering and oppression to others, really just reminds you of what Kallus truly is and how unequal he is as a Fulcrum and a Rebel.

[liquid-luck-00]

Truth / Lies

Bio!Dad Bruce

Bio!Dad Masterlist ~~~ Ao3 ~~~ First ~~~ Previous ~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette slipped out of the apartment early the next morning. She ran through the city, the early morning air stung her skin, waking her up more with each step.

Last night was a whirlwind and she didn't let herself think about it. But now she was.

Three months, almost four.

She has only known she was a Wayne for four months.

If this had happened sooner. She shuddered at the thought, yet it still flitted across her mind. She would have married her brother had this happened sooner.

Would she have recognized Damian from the 10 seconds she spent looking at his photo that day. No, she wouldn't and that thought terrified her. If it happened before then, she wouldn't even know she had a brother.

Would Bruce have recognized her, maybe, but then again that was assuming he knew what she looked like. And knowing what and how this happened, they wouldn’t have even met until after the fact.

She didn't even realize she had made her regular circuit until she was back in front of their apartment building. She opened the door and made her way up.

Hopefully Tim was gone, and they wouldn't need to explain last night.

She opened the door and there was not only Tim, but also Dick, Jason, and Bruce. At the table was a statuesque Damian.

"How much did they get out of you?" She tentatively asked.

"They threatened to call Manhunter." Was his answer.

Okay they know nothing, but oh no, oh no, oh no. She sat next to Damian turning into statue number two.

"Mini, the two of you disappeared last night what happened." Dad tried to stay calm, but his patience must have been tested by Sol already.

"Two truths, one lie." She side eyed Damian.

"We were in Nanda Parbat." Damian started.

"We avoided one mind numbing wedding." Marinette continued.

"The order has a larger moral back-bone than the league."

"You two aren't seriously playing this game to stall, are you?!" Tim seemed close to a mental breakdown. Then again, he hasn't slept in a week, so them disappearing may be the straw that broke him.

"Nanda Parbat and the league are tied so 1 and 3 are true." Jason figured.

"I would agree if this wasn't the second time, they said they avoided a wedding." Tim sighed.

"But it doesn't add into any of the others." Dick added.

"This morning their excuse was they were avoiding a wedding." Tim supplied.

"The truths are 1 and 2." Dad spoke definitely.

"Care to fill in the rest of the class B." Jason scoffed.

"Mini looks down for a fraction of a second when she lies, and she didn't when she said 2. Leaving 1 or 3 as the lie. Damian doesn't have a tick but using what he said 1 is true." He explained.

"There is no way for them to make that round trip in such a short time." Dick thought aloud. "Unless the order is filled with magic users. Meaning it is possible. And kidnapping kids could count as a lower moral backbone."

"Okay, so you're right, but kidnapping isn't the reason the League has a larger moral compass." Marinette assured.

"Do we want to know why the League of fucking Assassins has a larger moral backbone than an order of supposedly good magicians?" Jay was the one to speak the question on everyone's mind.

"Well if not saying or attempting to stop marrying two underage people is any indication." Damian scoffed.

"I honestly think it was their idea in the first place." Marinette mused aloud.

"Please for the love of god tell me you two weren't the ones getting married." Tim finally put it together.

"We avoided one hell of a headache inducing wedding. What do you think." She confirmed exasperated.

In a second (4) Errors could be seen on the faces of their family.

"Mini how long will it take to get to the league with Kaalki?" Dad was the first to recover, but his voice was eerily level, scarier than his even tone as Batman.

"Instantaneously, but someone who knows it better should be the one opening the portal." She responded quickly.

"Give the glasses to your brother. Damian open a portal."

Neither of them put up a fight, doing exactly as they were told. Not 20 seconds later all six of them were back in the middle of the League of Assassins following a clearly pissed off Bruce Wayne.

Thank kwamii that everyone else seem to know exactly where they were going in this compound because she sure didn’t. She walked right next to Damian the entire time and they were both watching their fathers back.

Twist and turns one after another and they finally came to what she can only describe as a throne room. When she saw the piece of shit that is Damian's maternal grandfather once again.

"Ra's." Was all her father stated. It is no exaggeration when she says that the color drained from that man’s face. She apparently wasn’t the only one contemplating exactly what had gone down last night. And the inevitable reaction of her family. What she failed to notice however, but her father didn’t was next to him was the same monk, still there. "Name." He ordered.

"Su-Han." He still spoke with dignity, but fear crept into his voice and stance.

"What the fuck did you try to do to my kids." Bruce growled in that instant she stopped breathing.

"Holy shit did Bruce just..." Jason stage whispered to Dick. However, she still couldn’t breathe and just watched the exchange. If she didn’t know her father’s rule to not kill, she would think he would be about to kill both Ra's and Su-Han, but she did know that rule. She’s pretty sure her father my break it though.

---

Bruce immediately was in a state of shock.

As Batman he had contingencies and plans in place for everything and anything. But this, this never was a probable scenario ever.

Once his shock faded, he saw red, he was absolutely livid. Children, his children, were almost married, for what. A feud that neither knew even existed.

"Mini how long will it take to get to the league with Kaalki?" His voice was dead even, attempting and failing to keep his anger in check. Thank God Hawkmoth was no more.

"Instantaneously, but someone who knows it better should be the one opening the portal." She responded quickly.

"Give the glasses to your brother. Damian open a portal."

Mini handed Damian the glasses, who immediately opened a portal. He walked through with his kids in tow, but he did not stray from his warpath. He found Ra's and another man, who wore the symbol on Mari's box.

"Ra's." Was all he said, knowing he had the man's attention the moment he entered. He showed no attempt to be bored. or uninterested. In fact, if it didn't seem impossible, Bruce would go so far as to say he was scared. He then looked over at the second man. "Name." He spoke again.

"Su-Han." He still spoke with dignity, but fear crept into his voice and stance.

"What the fuck did you try to do to my kids." Bruce demanded.

"It is not like you to visit." Ra's seemed to dance around his question.

"Why my kids?!" His voice rose and patience dwindled. So much so he didn't notice his two youngest slipped out of the room. While the older three seemed to be eating cookies and pastries, watching the show.

"Them being related was an unforeseen factor." Su-Han answered. "For there to be peace the two organizations needed to be unified."

"And both of you rubbed your cumulative two brain cells together and thought marrying two kids together is a valid response."

It was Ra's turn to speak. "Both of your children happen to be the next in line to command both respective organizations. Marriage was simply a contract between the two individual organizations to maintain peace. Although that failed to occur."

"Why did marriage come before I don't know, a god damn Peace treaty." He stopped to breathe.

"Given our history." Su-Han tried to make a point, but he didn't let him.

"You want history, I hear they have been around since the time of the Ancient Egyptians and the Ancient Babylonian Empires."

Both men stood there seemingly trying to formulate any response that could work. “Marriage was the most reliable method to promote unity between the two.”

"Bullshit, you both wanted something quick and easy." An explosion was heard in the compound, sending Ra's into a fighting stance. "You both wanted to make it their responsibility to keep the peace. And when it would fail you would use it as an excuse to return to fighting one another."

A full minute of pure silence when no one so much as moved drawled on. Until the doors opened, and in walked his children, as a fox and a horse with two Kwamii in front of them.

"Are you two the ones responsible for the explosion?"

They looked at one another, then back at him. Damian was the one who answered. "Yes."

"What did you four do?" He asked, although he only did so more out of obligation than curiosity.

"We may have destroyed all the Pools of Miracles." Tikki flew forward and answered.

"You destroyed the Lazarus Pits / Pools!" Was shouted by Ra's and Su-Han.

"Yes, so it's magic cannot be further twisted." Mari stood firm.

"And for the monks to stop using it to extend their lives." Damian added.

"Can I spite them now?" A cat Kwamii he never met before asked him.

"I should be more disappointed, but I'm not." He sighed. "Go on ahead."

"Pigtails your family is the best." The cat cheered. "Now for you two."

The best way to explain what he did was that he phased through each of their hearts and floated on back. The entire time he were a grin that rivaled the cheshire cat.

"Plagg, what did you do?" Tikki tentatively asked.

"What's the fun in telling you now. Plagg cackled. With that they all left, back to Paris. Never mess with his kids, because one they can God damn take care of themselves and two, he may not kill but he will supervise if even one of them is hurt.

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