#it’s no wonder the empire collapsed without them

[rypnami]

rome’s face card economy crumbled when they disappeared

picrew

[apas-95]

Many zionists posit that they are neither settlers nor colonialists because Jews are “indigenous” to the land and the right of return is actually “land back.” How do you respond to that?

For the record, I’m not a zionist, and I’m not the original anon who asked the other question. I’m sending you this ask because someone reblogged another of your posts, where someone asked when stolen land stops being stolen land. Your answer was effectively “never, it’s always stolen until it goes back to the indigenous people.”

I think it’s absurd to argue you’re an indigenous person because 2000 years ago an empire (which collapsed over a thousand years ago) forced you off some land, and it’s doubly absurd to argue that a bunch of people unrelated to that original empire are “colonizers” because they moved into that barren land five hundred or so years ago. And I think you’d agree with that, but if that’s the case I’m wondering your response to zionists who argue just that. In a vacuum, your post seems like it could be used to support that belief (though again, I know you’re not a zionist)

My post actually argues the precise opposite - the reason that israeli people are not indigenous to Palestine is because, as I motioned towards in the post, indigeniety is not simply having ancestors in a place (or all humanity would be indigenous to Africa!), it is a sustained *relationship* between a people and an imposed state which exploits and oppresses them. It is the necessary counterpart to the existence of the settler, and does not meaningfully exist without it. In the absence of a colonial relationship wherein a people are exploited and oppressed to benefit another people, there does not meaningfully exist an indigeneity defined by it, and israelis certainly have not been the victims of settler-colonial exploitation - much the opposite.

[doberbutts]

I’m wondering if you have thoughts on James Baldwin’s “open letter to the born again”? I’m struggling a bit with what his point is in that piece; it feels kinda dismissive on Jewish zionists agency in creation of Israel? But I may be missing parts or not getting things

The text in question.

And the segment I think anon is struggling with:

I know what I am talking about: my grandfather never got the promised “forty acres, and a mule,” the Indians who survived that holocaust are either on reservations or dying in the streets, and not a single treaty between the United States and the Indian was ever honored. That is quite a record.

Jews and Palestinians know of broken promises. From the time of the Balfour Declaration (during World War I) Palestine was under five British mandates, and England promised the land back and forth to the Arabs or the Jews, depending on which horse seemed to be in the lead. The Zionists—as distinguished from the people known as Jews—using, as someone put it, the “available political machinery,’’ i.e., colonialism, e.g., the British Empire—promised the British that, if the territory were given to them, the British Empire would be safe forever.

But absolutely no one cared about the Jews, and it is worth observing that non-Jewish Zionists are very frequently anti-Semitic. The white Americans responsible for sending black slaves to Liberia (where they are still slaving for the Firestone Rubber Plantation) did not do this to set them free. They despised them, and they wanted to get rid of them. Lincoln’s intention was not to “free” the slaves but to “destabilize” the Confederate Government by giving their slaves reason to “defect.” The Emancipation Proclamation freed, precisely, those slaves who were not under the authority of the President of what could not yet be insured as a Union.

It has always astounded me that no one appears to be able to make the connection between Franco’s Spain, for example, and the Spanish Inquisition; the role of the Christian church or—to be brutally precise, the Catholic Church—in the history of Europe, and the fate of the Jews; and the role of the Jews in Christendom and the discovery of America. For the discovery of America coincided with the Inquisition, and the expulsion of the Jews from Spain. Does no one see the connection between The Merchant of Venice and The Pawnbroker? In both of these works, as though no time had passed, the Jew is portrayed as doing the Christian’s usurious dirty work. The first white man I ever saw was the Jewish manager who arrived to collect the rent, and he collected the rent because he did not own the building. I never, in fact, saw any of the people who owned any of the buildings in which we scrubbed and suffered for so long, until I was a grown man and famous. None of them were Jews.

And I was not stupid: the grocer and the druggist were Jews, for example, and they were very very nice to me, and to us. The cops were white. The city was white. The threat was white, and God was white, Not for even a single split second in my life did the despicable, utterly cowardly accusation that “the Jews killed Christ’’ reverberate. I knew a murderer when I saw one, and the people who were trying to kilI me were not Jews.

But the state of Israel was not created for the salvation of the Jews; it was created for the salvation of the Western interests. This is what is becoming clear (I must say that it was always clear to me). The Palestinians have been paying for the British colonial policy of “divide and rule” and for Europe’s guilty Christian conscience for more than thirty years.

Finally: there is absolutely—repeat: absolutely—no hope of establishing peace in what Europe so arrogantly calls the Middle East (how in the world would Europe know? having so dismally failed to find a passage to India) without dealing with the Palestinians. The collapse of the Shah of Iran not only revealed the depth of the pious Carter’s concern for “human rights,” it also revealed who supplied oil to Israel, and to whom Israel supplied arms. It happened to be, to spell it out, white South Africa.

Well. The Jew, in America, is a white man. He has to be, since I am a black man, and, as he supposes, his only protection against the fate which drove him to America. But he is still doing the Christian’s dirty work, and black men know it.

My friend, Mr. Andrew Young, out of tremendous love and courage, and with a silent, irreproachable, indescribable nobility, has attempted to ward off a holocaust, and I proclaim him a hero, betrayed by cowards.

For context: Andrew Young, considered the right hand of MLK Jr, had a longstanding and occasionally fraught relationship with the Jewish community. He stepped down from Congress shortly after being forced to choose between voicing support for Palestine and continuing to work towards black-jewish interests by his constituents and fellow politicians, as he felt very strongly about supporting both. This was a fairly unpopular move. While I don't believe he ever called himself Jewish by the strictest sense, he was actively involved in Jewish communities and the known "white" ancestry within him is a Polish Jew in his great grandparents.

To be honest, I don't really see much a problem with this as I think it fairly closely matches up not only with my understanding of the history of this problem but also my own country's part in it as well as my personal feelings on it decades later. It pretty blatantly says that Zionism is utilizing a machination of white supremist colonism due to the extensive history of antisemitism and having had the ancestral land dangled in front of them like bait on a hook from the British Empire, which owned Palestine at the time. It also goes on to say that many Zionists aren't even Jewish and are antisemitic in nature, but are Christians happy to get rid of as many Jews as possible and how that tracks due to the Christian church's millennia-deep history of antisemitism.

I don't think it lets anyone off the hook. I think it pretty much flat out says this is a problem caused first and foremost by white Christians who hate Jews and Arabs alike and have a vested interest in getting the two populations to fight because it'll be easier to kill off just the one group instead of both of them, if one ends up eradicating the other. It even talks about the friction between the black community and the Jewish community, what caused it, what drives it, how that friction in itself is a tool of white supremacy to hurt us both.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

One of the more interesting aspects of Stayed Gone is the implication that, prior to his disappearance, Alastor must have been producing some quality programming.

Despite it's obvious importance in the modern world, TV apparently only started outcompeting radio in Hell after Alastor vanished. Seven whole years ago. And when Al returns, Vox's first response is to freak the fuck out about whether he's gonna keep his audience.

That's fucking crazy.

And we can be pretty sure that people weren't just listening in out of fear, either. Or because Alastor was making any major effort to crush all other forms of media.

If this was purely about which Overlord was the most powerful, then Vox's verses would surely have focused on emphasising his own strength. Instead, they're all about calling radio outdated. Vox is genuinely worried— apparently based on experience— that Alastor is going to outdo him in terms of sheer entertainment value.

Which raises the obvious question: what were Al's shows actually like? (Aside from those early broadcasts guest-starting the screams of the damned, obviously.)

We get kind of a taster in the song:

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air. Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast— Sinners, rejoice!— instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast. Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Fitting between this fad and that, is nothing working? Every day, he's got a new format! Is Vox as strong as he purports? Or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vees! And here's the sugar on the cream: he asked me to join his team! I said no, and now he's pissy, that's the tea!”

Obviously he's doing it to music, so there's going to be some difference in the cadence of his voice from that, but still, he's talking noticeably quicker than he does in person. And he gets right to the point.

Compare it to his commercial in episode 1. There's a big difference in terms of both how much respect he's showing his audience (“well hello there, you wayward sinner!” vs “good to be back on the air”), and how much relevant information he delivers.

Alastor is a great character to watch, but most people who interact with him directly seem to find the experience either annoying, awkward, terrifying or all three.

Mainly because Al seems to go out of his way to put people off even when he's actively trying to get them to trust him, by making condescending asides or constantly dropping references to his own power. On air, however, he greets everyone politely and even drops what is almost an apology for being gone so long (“I know it's been a while”), then immediately gets to the information that he knows they're really listening for.

Alastor may not respect Charlie, Adam or Lucifer, but he does respect his audience.

And the content he's producing makes it clear why people are still tuning in. Al has the gossip. Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench may not be unbiased exactly, but they're clearly trying to provide sources for their claims and maintain some veneer of professional news reporting.

Al, meanwhile, is quite happy to provide strong opinions and baseless speculation about public figures, content that is less fitting with the professional image that Vox seems so desperate to keep up, but that is likely to attract a bigger audience.

What gets me curious now, however, is wondering what else he used to provide.

Again, radio was apparently the medium for news and entertainment in Hell until Alastor left. Implying that a) radio was at the time fulfilling many of the function that TV now provides, and b) Alastor was involved enough in this that it collapsed/got overthrown the moment he left town.

Did Alastor have an empire similar to the Vees? Did he run a bunch of channels? Did he have DJs and sports commentators and presenters on his payroll?

Given that radio seems to have collapsed completely after he left— did they all go running to Vox when he was presumed dead? Was the Vees new empire in part built on the ruins of Alastor's old one?

Or did he do the whole thing solo and just run like, a bunch of different shows. (In which case, since radio's bread and butter has always been music, Helluva Boss fans can now have fun imagining him interviewing Verosika Mayday about ‘Vacay to Bonetown’.)

[night-raven-tattler]

JCJXJXJXJDNDNNXJXJXJXNZNXNXNXMXKMCJCJCJS

SORRY, I'M FANGIRLING (Is that even a word?)

Tattly, I swear, I was thinking about sending this request DURING New Year's Eve, BUT MY ENTIRE CITY SPENT THE FIRST DAY COMPLETELY WITHOUT POWER 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

But if I can ask you now, tell me: in what pose do you think the twst boys sleep?

Who has the Dracula pose, who looks like they were run over and, most importantly, WHO HAS THE "POWER BOTTOM, ASS UP" POSE??

I've been completely high on coffee for 4 days, sorry about that~

-🌙

(You'll see a lot of me here, I loved the place)

Hello and happy new year, 🌙! Mx Tattly is pleased with your return. They have conducted a very elaborate investigation, with the help of some of the fellow NRT members. Hope you enjoy the findings!

Turbulent sleep or unperturbed slumber?

Characters: main NRC students cast, NRC staff, Che'nya, Neige (separate)

Warnings: none

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The yearners/cuddlers: Deuce, Ruggie, Azul, Kalim, Trein, Neige

These are a bunch of people who yearn for warmth and affection. Either they're used to being cuddled to sleep, or they have a natural urge to grab onto something or someone and hold onto it/them until the sun comes up. Their grip is sturdy, their sleep is sound and their pillow is very likely drooled on. They're the most likely to snore, from small kitten snores to bass bosted remixes.

『••✎••』

The pristine logs: Riddle, Jack, Silver, Crewel

This is the sleep position of a person who totally has their life together (/s) and absolutely nothing is wrong with them (/s). They are totally okay with their life (/s). Even from the moment the go to bed they know how they want to wake up in the morning. The pose is unshakeable and they are statues, impossible to wake up from the outside, even with the aid of the loudest Sebek available.

『••✎••』

The space hoggers: Grim, Ace, Jade, Floyd, Crowley

Their mission is to occupy as much of the bed as possible. Either from spreading their limbs for comfort or from moving in their sleep as if they're dreaming of participating in a yoga class, they will never wake up the same way they went to bed. Their dedication to claim as much of the bed as possible no matter who else shares it could be rivaled only by the Roman Empire.

『••✎••』

The squishy limb havers: Jamil, Cater, Idia, Che'nya

These people don't fall asleep, they collapse of exhaustion on their bed after being awake for too long, only to wake up a few hours later and wonder why their new bed was the floor. Unfortunately for them, it would be hard for them to fall back asleep, as they somehow managed to get some rest in the position they powered down in. If by some miracle half of their body is still on the bed in the morning, they consider it as a win.

『••✎••』

The coffin dwellers: Trey, Vil, Rook, Ortho, Malleus, Sebek, Sam

This is another position of a perfectly normal person with absolutely no issues whatsoever (/s). This pose is not only absolutely mundane and normal (/s), but it's also efficient: it's the position that allows them to sleep the best and to wake up the fastest in the morning. They sleep (or charge) in a position worth grading, and the school should implement a scoring system that would benefit their overall grade only based on the perfect stillness and grace and total normalcy (/s) of their sleep.

『••✎••』

The freefallers: Epel, Leona, Lilia, Vargas

These people have nothing to fear, as sleeping with you butt upwards and on your stomach is a pose used to assert dominance and superiority. It shows fearlessness, because an unprotected back is a show of vulnerability. Despite the risk they subject themselves to in order to make a statement, they refuse to change their sleeping position. They prefer their freedom and the superiority complex... and the neck / back pain in the morning.

『••✎••』

[crystal-rebellion]

So - as some of you may be painfully aware, I am very, very slow about posting chapters to my stories, sometimes even years on them. But they ARE still active, and I do still have ideas and drafts and... stuff.

And I got to thinking - I do quite a few prompts and little one-off scenes, things that don't have a place in a story, or might be used in one later, etc. That's... sort of the equivalent of a warm-up sketch or a doodle, right? And people share doodles and sketches all the time.

So I think I'll do the same. Start sharing more of my 'warm up sketches' and 'doodles' - or drabbles if you will.

I do have a list of prompts I've already done here, and will probably be adding these to it.

Found this in my google docs from about four years ago, including a screenshot of the Lotura Discord server discussion that started it. (Permission granted from the lovely folks featured here to share on Tumblr)

So I did. Drabble below the cut. 👇👇👇

"My queen!"

Allura glanced up from the book in her lap as the Drulish guardsman saluted in utter reverence. 

"Yes?"

As he rose from his deep bow, Allura closed the heavy tome in her lap worriedly and rose to her feet.  Setting the information aside, she began to approach the intimidating, armored soldier.

"I am pleased to inform you, your husband and children have returned."

Allura felt the wind leave her lungs as relief crashed into her body.  She nearly crumpled on the spot; barely catching the back of the chair with her palm to support her weight.

"Thank the heavens," she murmured, quickly brushing away the tears that budded in the corners of her eyes.

"They will be landing on platform Beta in approximately twenty minutes.  ...We thought we saw them on the radar much earlier but... we didn't want to give you false information until we had their landing clearance in hand.  It is, in fact, them."

"Thank you," she murmured, holding her composure together long enough for the guard to salute and leave her in peace.

She collapsed back into the chair, sobs racking her form as sheer joy radiated from her in a manner she could not properly articulate.  Lotor and their children - elder daughter and younger son - had been on their first Campaign for nearly a month.  She and Lotor had gone in circles on the tradition of conquering planets, and the war couple had finally settled on a medium; the children would indulge in the cultural tradition, but only a modest amount of spoils would be taken - and absolutely no enslavement.  The "conquered" planets would easily be able to recover, but the children could practice their skill in the process and honor half their heritage.

The decision not to join them had been twofold - she wasn't the right person to help teach them the ways, and she feared she might interfere more than help.  Moreover, if both governing royals of the Empire were to disappear, chaos would be left in their wake.  She had reluctantly, dutifully, stayed behind to attend to the ministrations of government.

It had been a lonely endeavor; the first day had left her excited, wondering what he and the children might be up to.  The second day was equally full of curiosity and wonder.  As the days bled to weeks, and the weeks to a month... her ambition and eagerness turned to melancholy and sorrow.  As chaotic as the young ones running about the castle could be, the reprieve from them unpredictable was short-lived.  She missed the confusion, the Drulish activity, the discord and the eventfulness.  While her first night alone had resulted in an uninterrupted spa day, complete with an elegant soak in the bath - it had rapidly deteriorated.  Nights felt cold without her husband, and days felt bleak without her children.

Finally, they were home.  Safe.  Sound.  And home.

Allura brushed away the tears once more and stood upright, smoothing out her gown and adjusting her hair before departing the room.

Swift, intense strides made quick work of the distance between her and Platform Beta.  She entered the deck as the familiar warcraft touched down.  Her hands clasped tightly over her chest when her heart fluttered, the steel door closing behind the vessel.  Wind whipped around her, flaring her gown and hair as everything settled into place.  The familiar hiss of the vessel depressurizing to match the planet's pressure sounded, and the bridge unfurled from the entry.

At the top appeared three familiar figures; Lotor in his finest armor, Alenna in a similarly matching dress, and Mero; the 'softest' of the two.  He wore no armor, preferring the vestments of the diplomats.

"Now.  Which one of you can go hug your mother first?"

Shrieks of laughter caught the queen by surprise, and despite her understanding of the culture she had married into, she found herself flat on her back with her two children clutching her torso desperately, each declaring victory over the other.  A laugh broke from her throat and she enveloped them both in her arms, sitting up right and drawing them close.

"I'm so happy you have returned, my dears," she murmured against them, breathing deeply to block the flood of emotion that threatened to overthrow her.  "How was your first Conquest?"

She blinked as shrieks of chatter bloomed up from both the kids, Alenna the most animated of the two.  Allura only laughed, kissing them both on the temple, much to their disapproval.  At the sound of Lotor's bootsteps, the children peeled off their mother just in time for him to extend his palm down to her.  Gracefully, she took it, eagerly allowing him to pull her into his arms, his lips catching hers with no warning - not that she expected any.

"I missed you so much," he murmured between gasps for air.

Allura was barely aware of the noise of disgust the children had made at the sight of their parents snogging before they ran off as she laced her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. 

"You have no idea," she replied.

Bonus:

--One Month Earlier--

"Absolutely not."

"Allura.  My sweet,  Surely you must realize how important this is for the children, especially Alenna!  It's a rite of passage for her!  Mero has a few years, but he could benefit from seeing Alenna's Hunt."

Allura shuddered, brushing off Lotor's hands.

"That's so vile, the way you word it.  Hunt.  Spree.  Conquering.  You sound so gleeful about it, as if you enjoy it as a sport."

"...Allura.  We do."

She flashed him a dangerous look, her temper riling.

"Yes, you'll have to forgive me, my sweet," she quite sneered the words back to him, her temper elevated to a level he had not seen since their courtship.  "I was on the other end of that  spree as you call it.  I forbid it.  No child of mine will be plundering another world.  No chance."

Lotor exhaled in frustration, pacing away from his furious wife.

"What about - "

"Never."

"Hear me out," he added gently, his lips curling into a bemused smirk at her fire.  When she said nothing, her gaze blazing dangerously on him, he continued.  "What if they practiced the tradition - and!"  He held up his hands as she began to interject.  "Left everything behind."

Allura blinked, the swell of fury deflating as she considered his words.

"You mean commit to the sport, but take no trophies?"

"Well, perhaps a bit of gold here or a pretty jewel there... but no, nothing like it used to be."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously on him.

"Absolutely zero living spoils."

"Of course, I didn't think you'd like your children bringing back slaves to serve you."

"Lotor-"

Once more, his palms rose in the air defensively, his chin ducking as a smirk quirked at his lips.  He knew he was only seconds away from having something heavy chucked at him.

"No, my love.  No living spoils, and only a token amount of physical ones.  Will that suffice?  It's an important custom to honor for us, even if the purpose for it no longer exists."

She exhaled, plopping down into an armchair.

"I suppose so.  How long?"

"Weeks.  Maybe a month.  The First Campaign is not a long endeavor.  Not usually. "

"You'll go with them? Look after them, keep them safe?"

He stared at her for a moment, his victorious look ebbing at her forlorn expression.

"....You're not coming," he murmured in realization.

Allura looked away, rubbing her arm uneasily.

"I'm not sure I could stomach such destruction, even in play.  I don't think that I could properly... endorse this in a manner that befits your customs," she explained.  "Besides.  Who will run things if we're both gone?  I mean there's Cossack, but I..."

"Oh gods below us, no.  He is a worthy and admirable soldier, but we'd come back to a bloodbath of a civil war because he couldn't figure out how to translate a document properly."

Allura giggled, casting her husband a sad smile as she rose from her chair and approached him.

"I'll miss you.  It will be a long time before you're back."

He palmed her ribcage as she came into his heartspace, her own fingertips touching his chest, her nose inches from his.

"We should make the most of tonight then," he murmured darkly.

"I would very much like that."

[burtonandtaylor]

Burton’s First Encounter with Taylor (1953)

“It was my first time in California and my first visit to a swank house. There were quite a lot of people in and around the pool, all suntanned and all drinking the Sunday morning liveners – Bloody Marys, boilermakers, highballs, iced beer. I knew some of the people and was introduced to the others. Wet brown arms reached out of the pool and shook my hand. The people were all friendly, and they called me Dick immediately. I asked if they would please call me Richard – Dick, I said, made me feel like a symbol of some kind. They laughed, some of them. It was, of course, Sunday morning and I was nervous.

I was enjoying this small social triumph, but then a girl sitting on the other side of the pool lowered her book, took off her sunglasses and looked at me. She was so extraordinarily beautiful that I nearly laughed out loud. I didn’t, of course, which was just as well. The girl was not, and, quite clearly, was not going to be laughing back. I had an idea that, finding nothing of interest, she was looking right through me and was examining the texture of the wall behind. If there was a flaw in the sandstone, I knew she’d find it and probe it right to the pith. I fancied that if she chose so, the house would eventually collapse.

I smiled at her and, after a long moment, just as I felt my own smile turning into a cross-eyed grimace, she started slightly and smiled back. There was little friendliness in the smile. A new ice cube formed of its own accord in my Scotch-on-the-rocks.

She sipped some beer and went back to her book. I affected to become social with the others but out of the corner of my mind – while I played for the others the part of a poor miner’s son who was puzzled, but delighted by the attention these lovely people paid to him – I had her under close observation. She was, I decided, the most astonishingly self-contained, pulchritudinous, remote, removed, inaccessible woman I had ever seen. She spoke to no one. She looked at no one. She steadily kept on reading her book. Was she merely sullen? I wondered. I thought not. There was no trace of sulkiness in the divine face. She was a Mona Lisa type, I thought. In my business everyone is a type. She is older than the deck chair on which she sits, I thought headily, and she is famine, fire, destruction, and plague, she is the Dark Lady of the Sonnets, the on lie true begetter. She is a secret wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery, I thought with a mental man-to-man nod to Churchill. Her breasts were apocalyptic, they would topple empires down before they withered. Indeed, her body was a miracle of construction and the work of an engineer of genius. It needed nothing but itself. It was true art, I thought, executed in terms of itself. It was smitten by its own passion. I used to think things like that. I was not long down from Oxford and Walter Pater was still talked of and I read the art reviews in the quality weeklies without much caring about the art itself, and it was a Sunday morning in Bel Air, and I was nervous, and there was the Scotch-on-the-rocks.

Like Miniver Cheevy I kept on drinking and, in the heady flow of the attention I was getting, told story after story as the day boozed slowly on. I went in swimming once or twice. So did she, but, lamentably, always after I’d come out. She swam easily and gracefully as an Englishwoman would and not with the masculine drive and kick of most American girls. She was unquestionably gorgeous. I can think of no other word to describe a combination of plentitude, frugality, abundance, tightness. She was lavish. She was a dark unyielding largesse. She was, in short, too bloody much, and not only that, she was totally ignoring me. I became frustrated almost to screaming when I had finished a well-received and humorous story about the death of my grandfather and found that she was turned away in deep conversation with another woman. I think I tried to eavesdrop but was stayed by words like – Tony and Janet and Marlon and Sammy. She was not, obviously, talking about me.

Eventually, with half-seas-ed cunning and with all the nonchalance of a traffic jam, I worked my way to her side of the pool. She was describing – in words not normally written – what she thought of a producer at M.G.M. This was my first encounter with freedom of speech in the U.S.A., and it took my breath away. My brain throbbed; I almost sobered up. I was profoundly shocked. It was ripe stuff. I checked her again. There was no question about it. She was female. In America the women apparently had not only got the vote – they’d got the words to go with it.

I was somewhat puzzled and disturbed by the half-look she gave me as she uttered the enormities. Was she deliberately trying to shock me? Those huge violet-blue eyes (the biggest I’ve ever seen, outside those who have glandular trouble – thyroid, et cetera) had an odd glint in them. You couldn’t describe it as a twinkle…. Searchlights can not twinkle, they turn on and off and probe the heavens and so on.

Still I couldn’t be left out. I had to join in and say something. I didn’t reckon on the Scotch though. I didn’t reckon that it had warped my judgment and my sense of timing, my choice of occasion. With all the studied frenzy of Dutch courage I waded into the depths of those perilous eyes.

In my best chiffon-and-cut-glass Oxford accent I said: “You have a remarkable command of Olde-Englishe.”

There was a pause in which I realized with brilliant clarity the relativity of time. Aeons passed, civilizations came and went, brave men and cowards died in battles not yet fought, while those cosmic headlights examined my flawed personality. Every pockmark on my face became a crater of the moon. I reached up with a casual hand to cover up the right-cheeked evidence of my acne’d youth. Halfway up I realized my hand was just as ugly as my face and decided to leave the bloody thing and die instead. But while contemplating the various ways of suicide and having sensibly decided, since I had a good start, to drink myself to death, I was saved by her voice which said, “Don’t you use words like that at the Old Vic?”

“They do,” I said, “but I don’t. I come from a family and an attitude that believe such words are an indication of weakness in vocabulary and emptiness of mind…. Despite Jones’s writing that in times of acute shared agony and fear, as in trench warfare, obscenities repeated in certain patterns can at times become almost liturgical, almost poetic….” I ran out of gas.

There was another pause; more empires fell. Captains and kings and counsellors arrived and departed. She said three four-letter words. These were, I think, “Well! Well! Well!”

Somebody laughed uneasily. The girl had turned away. I had been dismissed. I felt as lonely as a muezzin, as a reluctant piano lesson on a Saturday afternoon, as the Last Post played on a cracked bugle.

I went home and somebody asked, when I told them where I’d been, what she was like. “Dark. Dark. Dark. Dark. She probably,” I said, “shaves.” To nobody in particular I observed that the human body is eighty percent water.”

Words by Richard Burton

[foggysirens]

continuing on with my dinluke thoughts by thinking of how there are some nights that luke wakes up with his lungs gasping for air and his heart pounding in his chest. how for a moment, the darkness around him is unfamiliar. no longer his and dins bedroom, but the vastness of space, where from the corner of his eye he can still see the firefight between rebel and empire ships- still see his squadron, his friends, being shot from the sky. how his chest heaves with the struggle of trying to regulate his breathing but in his head the dark just creeps in closer, boxing him in and stretching on forever in equal measure- the sound of explosions ringing in his ears. blaster fire rushing past his skin so close he can still feel the heat of it. the bone deep crack that came right before the death star was destroyed, where for a moment he wondered if the end of the galaxy was going to happen anyways, sucked into the destruction like a black hole. the sound of fireworks, louder than all of them, ratting off in his head. how he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until dins hands are there, one pressing against lukes chest and the other grabbing his hand and pressing it to his own, grounding him against the steady rise and fall of dins chest. not complaining when lukes fingers press a little too hard. how din pulls him forward, letting luke rest his head in the crook of dins neck as they breathe together, hot and tangled together in bed, half awake and disoriented, until lukes breathing starts to even out and he collapses into din. how dins arms wrap around him without hesitation, not letting go as they sink back down into the pillows. just thinking of luke getting to be held and comforted when the nightmares and panic attacks and anxiety hit him, even in the dead of night and how dinluke are so wonderful in the fact that they have this understanding of each other because they’ve both been through war, through violence and loss, that they can give and care for each other whenever the need arises- how they always have each other to lean into.

(part 1)

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.16

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

A warm summer breeze blew over me and tickled my skin. As soon as I entered the old training field, once used for both mages and specialists, I could see that everything was in such a dilapidated state that attempting to clean anything was a task no one could accomplish alone.

The sword-fighting area was completely overgrown. Some flowers have even dug through the hard soil and bloomed on the ground, which has seen more blood than most battlefields.

Saddest of all is the location for target training, where easy-to-build golems once simulated combat. The place is completely covered, but the roof had long since collapsed, so the weather had made things difficult for the poor golems. They look in bad shape, and their power cores seem empty for a long time. This is truly unfortunate, as these golems were built to grow with each fighter who uses them for training, helping them improve their skills.

My heart aches as I see all this, for this was once one of the few prides my family still has outside of our planet and empire, which is why it hurts me so much to see it in such chaos. With turbulent feelings, I just let myself fall to the ground into the soft, warm grass. As I lie there, I play with the grass and even pick a few of the colorful flowers.

After waiting a few minutes, I start making some flower crowns to pass the time. I even ignore the first steps that get closer and closer to where I lie peacefully in the grass.

I know those arrogant snobs will whine when they see the dilapidated state of the place, with broken pillars, massive stones lying all over the ground, and the literally impossible to fight upon uneven ground.

And as if I was waiting for the cue, not too far away, I could hear the first few people complaining about not being dressed for a trip into the supposed "wilderness."

Their ignorance annoys me to no end. Why were they so problematic about things like this? For my own good, I ignore them and continue to relax on the green floor. A few flower crowns sit on my chest.

I can once again feel disapproving looks on me. For some reason, they start to get to me in ways they've never done before, perhaps because it feels more disrespectful since they're doing it on grounds built by my ancestors. An area that only listens to me.

Out of nowhere, a hand suddenly appears in my field of vision. The skin structure is flawless except for a scar that is almost invisible at this point. But my anger, simmering deep within me, wouldn't let me take his hand. So I jumped back to my feet without help, the flower crowns hanging on my left hand.

I didn't even look back to see how Cory reacted to my simple but effective refusal to take his hand. As in ancient traditions, if a King or his Heir does not accept the helping hand of one of his knights, he is in disgrace or on the way there.

I leisurely walk to the stands, carefully setting down the freshly made flower wreaths before I finally turn around and face the few hundred people intently staring at me.

The few teachers who came with the classes look down on me as much as the students. What in the name of the red darkness is wrong with these people?

I had to close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing to calm myself down because their vile behavior is starting to get on my nerves. I wonder how far their faces will fall when they find out I never did anything wrong. Just the idea puts another smile on my face. It quickly turns into a sinister grin that seems to unnerve the others.

“Then can we get started?”

The teachers look at each other. Except that Saladin steps forward as the others seem unwilling to test me. With a crack of his staff on the ground, which he magically hardened, he says, "We chose Artheon to-"

“No,” I say without hesitation. "I want to fight the three idiots who 'captured' me. We'll see how far they get when I have a weapon, too." My sinister smile only grew, bringing chills to most that I could see their face sweating profusely.

Even Saladin seems unsettled by my authoritative manner of speaking. I don't even know where it came from. Maybe because I don't feel like I belong to any of their factions and therefore view the older teachers as mere human beings and not as authority figures? Or maybe even their complete disregard for my person? Who knows?

Anyway, I turn away from them and stare in the direction of the three idiots.

“You first!” I point directly at the purple-haired guy.

He steps forward, teeth clenched, a fierce anger in his eyes so blazing it makes me want to fight him even more. As he approached, the others backed away, led by their teachers. The girls were taken to the dilapidated stands. Most of them look disgusted at the dirty or broken stones, which makes my anger flare up again.

“Look here!” The bold guy suddenly called out to me. Two green daggers in his hands.

“That’s a joke, right?” I ask quietly, looking him up and down. My eagerness to fight him died when I saw his weapons. His footing is good, but I could already see that the uneven ground would be problematic for him. “Do you need more stable ground?” I ask him directly, my left eyebrow raised questioningly.

He scoffs and is ready to say something, but then he loses his balance as he tries to change his position just a little.

I roll my eyes. The only thing I want is to watch him eat dirt, but I also want no one to be able to say it was unfair when I wipe the floor with his stupid face. So, instead of reaching for the weapon Cory brought, which he is holding out to me, I close my eyes. The people actively watching start chatting quickly, talking about me again, and nothing flattering.

But everyone's eyes immediately widened when I opened mine again. Pure magic flows through my veins and shows itself in the intense brown glow of my eyes. I could feel the entire training ground buried under soil and plants. As I feel everything up and down to ensure I have everything under my control, the whole place suddenly shook under the power of my magic. Fear coursed through everyone who saw the extent of my abilities.

“Stay still!” I shout to my first opponent. He's shaking more than the others, obviously scared out of his mind.

As I expected, he didn't stop but tries to escape the violent quake. I didn't let him out of my sight. Even when he finally freezes, as it becomes clear to him that I'm peeling away the dirt from the cut stone underneath and don't want to attack him.

His eyes widen in shock. Suddenly, tons of dirt literally pour into the air. Magic and dirt swirl around us. Soon, a massive shadow hangs over our heads as the small arena beneath us is clean again. A rectangular flat surface appears: the stones are pure white marble, from my home world, as this stone is almost indestructible.

Usually, this stone is a single slab forming a ground. But here, they have been cut into large individual bricks. There is a staircase with three steps around the edges. It makes it appear like a small fighting pit.

The only dirt left is under my opponent's feet and under my own. Since he's still frozen solid, I take the first step. As soon as I left the dirt, it swung up and crashed into the other flying dirt.

Even after this spectacle, the other didn't move, even though he had seen what he had to do. So that the last bit of dirt can finally leave this field that once produced some of the best fighters in the magic and specialist fields.

It got so annoying that I was almost ready to walk up to the guy and knock him off the little platform he is standing on, only for him to suddenly step off the platform himself as I only have taken one step toward him. As soon as he did that, the dirt makes its way up.

When all the dirt was finally together, I let the lump fly to the side, to a spot on the opposite side of the benches where I have already placed two pieces of columns that once stood proudly and held up the roof of an outbuilding. I use this to keep the dirt separate from the rest of the place, as I don't want any more work to be done in the future.

"He didn't even use a spell," one of the teachers muttered. One I hadn't seen before. A peculiar man with pointy ears and a terrible fashion sense. His eyes were curious, not a hint of contempt on his face.

And here I was, always thinking elves were the arrogant ones. How foolish of me.

His little comment even makes me blush. It was hard training that I had to go through to do that. My magic teacher, a two-star grandmaster in the field of earth magic, an eccentric, strict man, but he taught me well. After I did it, he confessed to being jealous because it had taken him almost a hundred years to learn it, while I did it within four years.

Back then, I still had to think about the magic, the effect, and the spell. These days, I only need to know what I want to do.

The only problem is that the magic used for this is not fairy magic but regular magic, in which I'm far more competent than I could ever dream to be at my inherited fairy magic.

However, the situation is different with fairy magic, as this form of magic is bound within one's self and cannot be strengthened by the surrounding magic. And even among fairies, there are differences. Ordinary fairies can only use their own magic, but guardian fairies can draw on their planet's magic.

While other fairies, such as protectors or healers, have powerful magic in their respective areas, guardian fairies are exceptionally powerful, so much so that they defy logic and push the boundaries of nature itself.

While a healer fairy can defeat disease, guardian fairies can stop global disasters.

“Thanks,” I murmur quietly, rather embarrassed by the compliment.

But the teacher stares absentmindedly into space, seemingly far away in his thoughts.

Taken aback by this, I turn my attention to the purple-haired guy, still shaking slightly.

“Do you need a moment, Purple?” I ask. “If so, Blondie can take your place in the first fight,” I continue to tease him.

The guy stares at me with his violet eyes, glowing at me in silent anger. His teeth gritted, strengthening the feeling of his rage. If he had been any other guy, I might have been softer. But I'm just worried about whether I can stop myself from killing him.

“I knew you are still afraid of me,” he says suddenly. His angrily clenched teeth have turned into a wide grin.

Suddenly, the guy takes out the two small pieces of metal. I didn't even notice that he put them away. Still, I feel the need to make fun of him. But when I open my mouth, out of those two pieces of metal come out the two green blades I saw before. My desire to make fun of him only increased. He has such a big mouth and yet such small weapons.

Suddenly, I could see a similar weapon. An older man, probably a teacher with a face of five hundred years of rain, extends his hand to me. For a second, I look over at Corey. Silently, I wonder if he gave the man the weapon, but he only stares at me blankly. The moment I take it from him, the man is already walking away. I look at it from all sides, but I couldn't figure out how to use it. So I tap on anything that seems strange, but nothing happens.

The teacher quickly returns, turns the metal over, and activates it. A yellow blade comes out that is the size of a long sword. It feels strange in my hand, too light.

“Ready!” the same man suddenly shouts, startling me.

His words take me out of my thoughts. I move the sword in front of me. Just from this small movement, I can tell that the sword is too light for me. But I still get into position. My eyes fixed on my opponent the whole time. Even from a distance, I could see that while his stance is pretty shaky, he still has significant potential to master his weapons. It's a shame he obviously never received any real training outside of the academy. Although, a year can only do so much.

“And go!“

[Masterlist]

[somerunner]

6. Geisha meets Jaran

(whatever context you like)

Gesha meets Jaran

Fisher Gesha had advanced to Truegold during her time in the Blackflame Empire. Her family had migrated with her and integrated into the empire, no longer scraping by in the Desolate Wilds. No, now they were being paid for fulfilling services and responsibilities left behind by the collapsing Jai clan.

Because she had followed an Arelius Underlord's whims, her family was now rather prosperous. She had access to Soulsmithing research that was normally kept secret. The only thing she was missing was that mind-spirit attached to the Wei clan boy, Lindon.

She did wonder what happened to him after the Uncrowned King tournament. Reportedly, the Wandering Titan woke up and attacked his home, and he got them out. Then he founded a sect, called himself a Sage, and led it himself.

She had to find the Arelius man's ear to confirm that one. It seemed that the real one behind the sect was the Arelius Underlord. Well, Archlord now. He didn't scare her all that much anymore, either because he was too busy or because she had gotten used to his antics. Now, she was usually the one hounding him.

Right now, she was asking for Lindon. She was working on a particularly difficult Soulsmithing project and could use some simulation work. Mister sees-everything didn't respond to her, though, so she looked for the next person she could find.

Surprisingly, she came across Lindon's father. He was at the market for Soulsmithing tools and parts, same as her. She only recognized him because of the scowl on his face, so similar to his son's. She confirmed it by asking if he knew the boy. "I'm looking for a boy named Lindon, do you know him? Has a white arm, looks like you?" She neglected to mention he was the leader of the Twin Star sect. Everyone in this city knew that already.

He turned to face her fully. "Huh? You're looking for Lindon? That boy really does get into too much trouble. Your best bet is with the Twin Star Sect, but I can pass along a message if you're in a hurry." He shifted his weight as he spoke, trying to get comfortable with standing still. He had Remnant eyes, and he seemed to be in the process of getting used to them. And maybe a Remnant leg, judging by his gait.

She snorted. "Oh, I'm not settling a debt with him. I need some Soulsmithing help, and he's the only one I trust to do the job right. Without paying through the nose, that is. I taught him, you know?"

His face shifted off from its scowl. "Oh, you're his Soulsmithing master? He said something about that. I hope he wasn't too much trouble. He's a frustrating student. He's my son, in fact, so I taught him when he was young." He neglected to mention how little he had actually taught Lindon of the sacred arts. His wife, Wei Shi Seisha, would consider him a model student.

Internally, Fisher Gesha frowned. This man had badmouthed his son twice now. She only did that right in front of the boy, when his head was getting too big, which was always. It wasn't worth the effort to do that when he was gone.

Well, considering the trouble Lindon had caused her only a week into his stay in the Desolate Wilds, she didn't exactly disagree that the boy was a troublemaker…

He continued. "Well, my wife is a Soulsmith and she sent me out for parts, so would you mind joining us for a while? Lindon said he would visit her foundry today." He was only a Jade. His wife was probably only a Jade. Gesha would learn nothing in their little workshop.

However, it was a sure bet to seeing Lindon, so she went.

A few hours later and she had learned quite a bit about Sacred Valley. As much as she left her smithing foundry and heard the common news, Gesha missed out on quite a lot. Wei Shi Seisha and Jaran were both only recently Jade, as was almost everyone from Sacred Valley. The whole valley was under some kind of suppression field, which Lindon had used to his advantage to fight the Wandering Titan. He had actually fought a Dreadgod, him!

Seisha was suitably impressed by this, but Jaran seemed reluctant to offer any praise to his son. It wasn't a case of general pessimism, he was sure impressed by some of Gesha's basic Soulsmithing knowledge, but not by his son's achievements. She knocked her opinion of his perception down a few steps.

A knock came at the door. Jaran walked over and opened it. "Humblest apologies, family of the Sage of Twin Stars. The Emperor has requested his presence, and he will be gone for a few days. The Sage sends his apologies, and has sent me with these dream tablets."

Hmph. Gesha would have to come back another day, then. "Sure bet," she thought, but that was clearly wrong. She spent a few more minutes at the Shi household, then bid farewell.

The boy was too busy. What did advancement get you? Just more people looking for your ear, that was what. Even Truegold was almost too high for her. But the boy would just keep climbing anyway, wouldn't he?

---------

Author's notes: Yeah, this was really meandering. This whole thing was kind of a first draft, but I don't know if I would change all that much. I'm not sure how to get the characters' voices quite right, so I'm just going to leave it where it is. For what it's worth, I don't think Gesha would clash all that much with Jaran; they are both rather negative towards Lindon. The only difference is that Gesha is demanding, and Jaran is dismissive.

I do like how in Waybound, Gesha is completely dismissive of Jaran as a teacher figure. I didn't know how to fit that in here, so I didn't.

[moonshine999]

Hiii!! I know that this is really random and I humbly apologize but your one post about helaegon being super touchy with each other is my Roman Empire!!

I just love the image of them being physically affectionate with one another at like all times😭

I was wondering if you had any random hcs about them being physically affectionate? If not totally ignore me lol!! I love your blog and I die for everything that you post!!!!!💓💓💓

Oh. My. Gods. This might be the sweetest thing ever. Thank you so so very much!  Your compliments mean the absolute world to me because you were one the first blogs I started following here. This is amazing omg. I genuinely don’t know how to thank you enough, love.

don’t worry though , not random at all, I love doing asks 

And yes yes I definitely do.

🕯️When Helaena was pregnant, Aegon would definitely touch her baby bump if he was near enough to her, even when not necessary. Maybe because he wants to protect his wife and kid(s) or he just wants some excuse to reach out and touch her. It’s always soft caresses or even small tickles that have her holding back her laughs in the middle of public events like tourneys or banquets. He will never get tired of her slapping his hand away with a smile and a scrunched up face due to her efforts not to laugh. 

🕯️When they have their anniversary, they always manage to escape the celebrations early and put the kids to bed. After that they just giggle and dance together in their night clothes to the music coming from the halls below. No one to watch them but the other. They can go off routine and no one would give a shit. It’s better to just be free with the other rather than be surrounded by pompous guests and their false well wishes.

🕯️ Them unwinding after a long day.

They each hold a kid (they’ll alternate who gets to carry Maelor )and take them to their room. Both of them will kiss the kid/s they are holding and then go to kiss the one/s the other is holding. And then they’ll just kiss each other before handing them off to be taken to their rooms. 

(Idk if I described this exactly how I imagine it but yeah)

Falling on the bed together and then falling into fits of giggles, touching and tickling each other before they finally calm down. Helaena rests his head against his chest and starts reading. He admires his wife’s features and plays with her hair. Occasionally giving her small kisses on her forehead and watching her nose scrunch up at him.

🕯️They nearly always bathe and get dressed together. They wash the other off without any funny business ofc and then just get dressed with each other. But there are always moments like Aegon kissing her shoulder right before she pulls her dress up there or Hel giving him a love bite (I love calling them that, idc if it’s cringe) just low enough so that it’s covered by his collar. Or them hugging while he tightens her corset and she pins in his cloak.

🕯️Them escaping to the gardens to walk or collect flowers and fruits for their kids. Aegon occasionally spinning Hel around while she drags him to find the blue flowers Jaehaerys likes. They make sure no one is around before collapsing  into the grass and just admiring each other and kissing the other’s hand while they talk. Right before they have to leave though, they’ll just take a few more moments to look at each other and revel in their luck.

🕯️Aegon comes to their chambers late one night and finds Helaena is already asleep. So he just lays down as close as he can to her, without trying to wake her up. When he closes his eyes, he just feels her hand wrapping around him and her face fitting in the crook of his neck. Confused but lovesick as he is, accepts her embrace.

🕯️this man is a fucking body worshipper (I mean have you seen how gorgeous his wife is, I would be too)

I mean she has her insecurities of course but they were just amplified by her pregnancy. He’ll always touch her thighs or stomach or areas where she has stretch marks (because argue with a wall, these two have memorised each other’s body as though the other was some holy scripture) during events where they are made to sit together. He can sense her getting insecure or feeling down so he’ll quickly peck her shoulder and touch those areas to remind her just how gorgeous she is. They definitely fuck after the celebrations are over and I can tell you as a speck of dust in their room, it is the most sensual and loving thing the other can ever call their own. Oh and btw, both of them are switches. 

these are just a few that I absolutely love the idea of

again, thank you so so much for your kind words, I appreciate it and you so much.

[swtorpadawan]

Unmasked

Author’s Notes: The following story takes place in my Nas Legacy as part of my Monsters and Masks series. Content warnings for original character death, some blood/gore and bigotry towards non-humans. Lots of angst, here, folks.  

Nas'haes'uhme – Shaesu to those few in the Empire who deigned to address her by her own name – collapsed upon the rocky ground of Korriban, her vibro-blade falling out of her hand.

She knew it was over for her.

The stab wound to her torso was already bleeding out, and her attackers were unlikely to give her any respite. Her strength was fading rapidly with her limbs barely responding to her commands. She certainly couldn’t muster the strength to stand, much less defend herself.

Haes – her proper given name as a Chiss – had come to this accursed world in the hopes of earning a place amongst the Sith. She ’d been aware that the odds had been against her; she was starting out several years older than the average Sith Acolyte at the academy and besides that she faced considerable discrimination from her ‘fellow pupils’, virtually all of whom were human or Pureblooded Sith. It had immediately made her a target. Even the former Jedi who had been broken and turned to the dark side held an advantage over her in experience if not philosophy.

Of course, had matters gone otherwise, Haes would never have chosen to come to Korriban for Sith training at all.

Two years ago, after the death of her husband (killed by fighting in someone else’s war, she didn’t need to remind herself), Haes had been exiled from the Chiss Ascendancy when her Force sensitivity had been revealed to the authorities. With few connections outside of her own people, the Sith Empire was the only viable place she could go. And as a Force-sensitive, Sith training was the only real path open to her.

Above her stood her attackers, glaring down at their victim. Hanik, a human, and Mathiren, a Sith Pureblood. The two acolytes had ambushed her as she’d stepped outside of the tomb, the ancient tablet she’d recovered laying shattered where she’d dropped it.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that these two would have chanced such a cowardly move out here, so far from the relative safety of the Sith Academy. With their modest individual abilities, they’d have known they couldn’t have taken her on their own in a straight-up fight, certainly not without alerting the Overseers.

They had provoked and even bullied her many times these last few months, and for reasons that were understandable to the Sith mindset. After all, she was alone. A minority of one, without natural friends or allies. She could count on one hand the number of Acolytes on Korriban who were not either human or pureblooded.

And if she was not the first Chiss to ever step down upon this cursed rock, she would have been astonished.

As she felt her breath start to go shallow, her thoughts naturally turned to her children. They’d been the only reason why she had pushed herself even this far.

She wondered what the Empire, and indeed the galaxy itself, would do to them without her being alive to protect them.

She had been heart-broken when she’d left them with the Nedecca family on Dromund Kaas while she’d headed off to Korriban.She was not entirely fond of the couple, who had served in the Imperial Military alongside her husband before he’d been killed in the fighting against the Republic. But they were the closest thing she had to friends in the Empire. They were also not unambitious; if Haes had succeeded in her goal of becoming a Sith and eventually a Sith Lord, they knew they’d be well-rewarded for their aid. For them, fostering a pair of ‘alien children’ had been worth the bother.

But now, in light of her failure to survive and advance, she didn’t think they would do much to protect them, even if they could. They were a practical couple. Besides, they had their own daughter to consider, a few years older than her own children, just last season entering the Imperial Academy on Ziost.  

They would not risk either their own lives or their daughter’s future by defying the Sith for a pair of non-human children who were not their own.

She was worried for Nas’ash’dia, of course. It had been months since she’d seen the last holo of Ash. At twelve years old, Haes was leaving her lovely daughter behind at the precipice of womanhood. But she also knew her clever daughter was a survivor; if any non-human child could survive being orphaned in the Sith Empire, then Nas’ash’dia could.

But loath though she was to play favorites, she felt greater concern for Nas'laeso'ucu.

Where his sister was highly intelligent and resourceful, her son Laeso was brilliant. Even as a small child back on Copero, his curiosity and intellect were far beyond Haes’ ability to comprehend, as he would devour book after book. Even then, she and her husband had privately spoken about the limitless future their son had before him. No endeavor would be outside his potential. Now at eight years old, his intellect intimidated the Nedeccas, who observed this young Chiss boy easily pass every test their teaching droid could put to him.

But his intelligence was not what worried Haes. No. She’d gone to great lengths to conceal that Laeso was Force-sensitive.

If his abilities were discovered with her death, he’d follow his mother’s path to Korriban soon enough, likely with the same destiny.

If his abilities were not discovered, his fate might be even grimmer. The Sith of Korriban were usually at least quick. She couldn’t imagine how long a frail child such as Laeso would survive mining ore on some distant slave mine facility.

Haes felt a tear trail down her cheek.

“Hey, she’s still breathing.” Hanik jeered, the insult snapping her consciousness back to reality. “Think this alien schutta is asking for more?”

The anger flared within Haes’ chest, refocusing her thoughts. The building rage was not for herself, but for her children. Her magnificent children who she would never see again and who would almost certainly suffer greatly in her absence. As her teeth gritted in fury, her finger reached out.

Behind Hannik, Haes’ vibroblade lifted off the ground…

The Sith Acolyte screamed out as the weapon impaled him through the back, jutting out of his chest. Blood sprayed out over the rocks, much of it raining down on her.

She smiled at the sensation, the hot, fresh blood of her slain enemy warming her even as the last of her strength and rage was exhausted. Her blade clattered to the ground.

Alarmed at his companion’s sudden demise, Mathiren frantically raised his blade to finish her off.

Haes could only reflect on her legacy.

She’d worn a mask for years to protect her children, desperately attempting to become something she wasn’t.

In these final moments of her life, she was, in fact, a Sith.

As the blade swung down and her life came to an end, Haes could only hope her children would learn to survive by wearing their own masks, without becoming monsters.

 Fifteen years later…

The assembled members of the Dark Council of the Sith Empire – ostensibly the twelve most powerful Sith in the galaxy – stood in their council chamber on the top floor of the Sith Academy of Korriban.

Perilous as the existence of any Sith could be, the death of one who sat upon the Dark Council was still considered a remarkable event, even when it was the second such death they had witnessed in less than an hour.

By necessity, this Council meeting had already been well short of a full dozen in physical attendance.

Three of their number – Darth Decimus, Darth Acharon and Darth Hadra – the heads of the Spheres of Military Strategy, Biotic Science and Technology, respectively – were appearing by holoprojection as they’d been committed to overseeing the Empire’s flagging efforts on Corellia.

Three more Councilors – Darth Rictus, the oldest serving member of the Council who commanded the Sphere of Mysteries, Darth Zhorrid, the youngest Councilor who nominally presided over the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence and Darth Aruk who led the Sphere of Sith Philosophy – were entirely absent. Rictus was occupied investigating rumors into the whereabouts of the rogue Sith Lord Darth Jadus, himself a former Councilor and the father of Darth Zhorrid. Zhorrid’s own absence was no great surprise, given the Council’s recent dissolution of the Empire’s once-feared Imperial Intelligence service. No doubt, the young Sith was desperately trying to cling to her crumbling power base. Meanwhile, Aruk was absent while dealing with some dissident conspiracy on the capital world of Dromund Kaas.

A seventh Dark Lord – Darth Baras, who had taken control of the Sphere of Military Offense after Darth Vengean’s fall – had been killed in this very chamber earlier in this session by his former Apprentice in a private duel. That Apprentice had in turn successfully claimed the title of the Emperor’s Wrath before departing.

Finally, an eighth – Darth Thanaton, who had represented the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge for less than a year – now lay freshly dead on the floor.

That left a mere four Dark Lords of the Sith physically present to mark Thanaton’s passing, and to stand witness for what was now to come.

It may have been Darth Mortis who had delivered the death blow to Thanaton in a mercy-killing to preserve the dignity of the Council, but no one could deny the potency of the strange, masked Sith who had just bested their former colleague in a Force duel with a brilliant display. His build was slight and his lineage was unclear; there had supposedly been a ‘Lord Kallig’ many centuries ago in the days of Tulak Hord, but that was ancient history, and the name representing little more than a footnote in the modern Sith Empire.

Nevertheless, despite his unassuming posture and his much-maligned origins, the upstart projected an air of power about them, and not simply because they had just witnessed him crushing one of their number. Thanaton’s time on the Council may have been relatively brief and more than a few found him tedious, but none would have questioned his personal power when he’d succeeded Darth Arctis some months ago.

Off to the side stood the newcomer’s two seconds; a Dashade shadow-assassin and a Kaleeshi Sith Apprentice. Strictly speaking, protocol demanded that the peculiar duo should have remained outside the council chambers, along with their master. None had been properly invited into the chamber. But as it was apparent that Thanaton’s followers guarding the door had failed in that simple task of security (as they had been repeatedly outmaneuvered over the last several weeks during the Kaggath between the two Sith), no one on the Council had bothered to force their eviction. As they had not actively interfered in the fight with Thanaton, to the assembled Dark Lords, they were irrelevant.

The masked Sith Lord paused at that, regarding Mortis, then turning towards the seat in consideration. Finally, he turned back to address all the assembled members of the Council.

“My lords, I’m… I’m truly honored.” He finally spoke; his voice was clear through the filter of the mask, though it was rather lighter than one might have expected from a young Sith Lord who had dared so much.

“I was not expecting this at all.”

The words were humble.

None of the Sith present believed they were sincere, but such was to be expected.

Such considerations were, once again, irrelevant. The strong had overcome the weak. The corrupt had been cleansed.

The ways of the Sith had been preserved, as Thanaton had insisted.

“You just killed a Dark Council member in fair combat.” Darth Marr, the head of the Sphere of Military Defense, pointed out, his iconic masked face looking up from Thanaton’s fallen form.

“What did you expect?”

The deliberations were not without protest.

“He’s only a lord!” Darth Ravage, who ruled the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy, was incredulous. “You can’t put a lord on the Dark Council!”

“Quiet, Ravage!” Marr snapped at his junior Councilor. “He’s earned his place.”

The young Sith Lord who had been the subject of the argument tilted his head at the exchange, as if carefully considering something. Finally, his hands reached up behind his head as he unclasped the skull-mask he was wearing, letting it fall away.

A collective gasp could be heard from several members of the Council, including those observing by holo. Ravage visibly gaped while Darth Vowrawn, the head of the Empire’s Sphere of Production and Logistics, chuckled to himself at the revelation. Only Marr and Mortis maintained something approaching a professional decorum, standing in a stoic silence.

The face before them was young; this was no surprise. Everyone knew that Thanaton’s opponent in the Kaggath was an upstart. The face was likewise heavily scarred; the defects crisscrossed him from old injuries. That was also not a surprise; Thanaton himself had protested that this interloper had once been a slave before becoming Zash’s apprentice, and more than a few slaves in the Empire bore such scars.

No. What had startled many of the Councilors was the fact that the face looking back at them was blue with glowing red eyes that regarded each of them with a cool intellect that might have unsettled the Emperor himself.

Incredibly, this newest addition to the Dark Council was a Chiss.

“Are we really going to allow this… this alien filth to sit on the Dark Council?”

If Ravage had been incredulous before, he was now fast becoming apoplectic, looking around the room to his assembled fellows.

“Without even consulting with the Emperor whom we are sworn to serve?” he spat.

“Enough, Ravage.” Darth Marr waved a dismissive hand.

Ravage’s ploy had been obvious. The Emperor, it was well known, rarely took an active role in day-to-day Council matters, even to name a replacement. It could be months – if not longer – before he made his will known.

For a Sith like Darth Marr, who had lived long enough to observe Thanaton’s rise from slave to apprentice of a disgraced master to Sith Lord to Dark Lord of the Sith, such a gap in the Empire’s leadership structure would be unacceptable.  

He turned and acknowledged the latest addition to the Dark Council.

”As I have said, he has earned to right to that seat.”

 Minutes later, the newly appointed Dark Councilor of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge made his exit from the chambers, Khem Val and Xalek in tow. The Kalesshi held the discarded Kallig mask in his hands, carrying it reverently.

He had worn many names while walking along the path that had led him to this point.

He was departing from this planet – a planet that had forged him in so many ways – as Darth Imperious of the Empire’s Dark Council. In and of itself, this name meant nothing to him, aside from the authority that had come with it. He accepted that it now referred to him by anyone within the Sith Empire.

Prior to this, he had been commonly known as Lord Kallig. This name had been inadvertently stolen; the consequence of a delusional ancient Force ghost misidentifying him at the Dark Temple on Dromund Kaas. Nevertheless, he accepted that the name had granted him a degree of credibility within the Empire. Regardless, as was now the case with his Dark Councilor title, that name personally meant nothing to him.

For most of his life, he had been called ‘Ozibaumnu’. That name’s origins had been meaningless from the first moment he’d uttered it; a series of barely coherent syllables muttered on the day he’d been sold into slavery as a child. It had nevertheless come to symbolize a breaking with his past, from before he had worn a slave collar. For that small circle of people he now called friends – Ashara, Andronikos and Talos – from them, he would continue to accept that name. From anyone else, it would now be as meaningless in effect as well as in fact.

But none of those names had ever really been his.

His name was Nas'laeso'ucu. Son of Nas'haes'uhme. Brother to Nas’ash’dia.

And regardless of whether he ever used that name aloud, he would never wear a mask again.

END

Author’s Notes: Just in case it wasn’t obvious, several lines of dialogue in this piece were pulled directly from the end of the Sith Inquisitor story on Korriban.

Ozibaumnu’s name originally had a different, more Chiss-appropriate origin. Unfortunately, I lost the notes on that, and when I reread the Chiss naming conventions article, I realized that it didn’t make sense. This is my best effort to reconcile all of those continuity issues. On a related note, ‘Shaesu’ is pronounced ‘Shay-sue’, while ‘Laeso’ is pronounced ‘Lay-sue’ and Nas’ash’dia is pronounced ‘Nazz-osh-dee-ah’, even though her personal name is usually pronounced ‘Ash’. (Yeah, I know Chiss names are weird.)

This story was originally two separate chapters, with Shaesu’s titled What We Leave Behind. The combination of the two seemed to work. (I do love before-and-after stories.)

As stated elsewhere, I’m ignoring Chiss aging rules. As far as I’m concerned, they are approximately the same standard as humans.

Now for the elephant in the room I inserted near the end – yup. Ozibaumnu is NOT the actual descendant of Lord Kallig. I may address this in future stories, but it’s been an idea I’ve been turning over in my head for a long time.

The referenced daughter of the Nedecca family later becomes a Major in the Imperial Army and an NPC in the game. She shows up on Corellia in the Imperial Agent storyline, serving as an aid to Lord Razer. As you might imagine, her reunion with Nas’ash’dia was rather awkward.

I always thought it was hilarious that Darth Ravage was heading the Empire’s “Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy”, considering he’s one of the least diplomatic Sith in the entire game. On that note, tracking the Dark Council members and their assignment Spheres is a pet-project of mine.

The reasons for the Ascendancy to join forces with an Empire (that usually doesn’t see Chiss as people much less equals) are convoluted and I hope to explore those in the future. But it seemed to make sense that the children of an exile and failed Sith acolyte would be pressed into slavery, rather than being sent back to their people.

I’ve written about Nas’ash’dia elsewhere. It is strange to me that she predated Ozi – and is in fact the Outlander in my Nas Legacy – and yet I’m more comfortable writing about her brilliant but traumatized brother. More about Ash in the future, I hope.

People continuing to fight after being shot or stabbed in the chest is a pet peeve of mine. In real life, that (almost) never happens. The strength just drains right out of you. I try to adhere to reality here with Shaesu.

Thank you for reading, and may the Force be with you.

@abbee-normal​ @abysskeeper​ @cryo-lily​ @eorzeashan​ @grandninjamasterren​ @iacyper9​ @kartaylirsden​ @kemendin​ @magicallulu7​ @moxtoons-main​ @mysterious-cuchulainn-x​ @taraum​ @thefrostflower​ @swtorhub​

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Welcome To The Outpost: Part 2.3 - Swept Away

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: CT-9904 Crosshair, Clone Commander Mayday Word Count: ~1375 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: With Crosshair at his side, the two of them easily storm the raider’s mountain base. Mayday wonders about the legacy the clone troopers leave behind. Crosshair makes an unexpected admission.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes Read Part 1.3 - Lost Battle Read Part 1.4 - No Way Out Read Part 1.5 - Rock And A Hard Place Read Part 2.1 - Last Chance Read Part 2.2 - Broken

Once the rocks stopped tumbling to fill the cave mouth, the mountain rang with silence.

Crosshair turned to survey his work, lowering his rifle with little satisfaction. It had been a quick way to end things; targeting the crate of explosives to collapse the mountain cavern network, instead of tackling another wave of raiders rallying from inside their base.

Not that they had struggled with the combat. He had been reluctantly impressed at how the reg commander, a blaster in each hand, had stormed the encampment with ruthless efficiency. Crosshair had worked with command-class clones in the past, and they were the only ones who were even close to operating on the same level as him and his brothers.

Don’t think of them.

Eliminating the raider’s base with the reg commander had almost – almost – reminded him of the mission on Desix with Commander Cody.

He had known he would work well with Cody; there was no doubt about that. They had a long history together.

What he hadn’t expected was for Mayday to shadow his movements so effectively, bringing the brutal skirmish to such a quick conclusion.

There was something to be said about the ferocity of men with nothing left to lose. The hollowness that radiated out from the commander threatened to consume Crosshair too.

Mayday faced down death and the elements on the word of an officer he didn’t respect, because he was loyal.

Loyal to the Empire.

And Crosshair was at his side because the commander also carried the intense loyalty to his clone brothers that the sniper had never understood, but had found himself on the receiving end of in the tunnels.

Mayday had no business saving him from the pressure mine. It had been his own idiotic mistake to trigger it. If it had been him, he would have scoffed at the reg commander and left him; not worth the risk of accidentally detonating the mine whilst trying to disarm it, just to save one man.

But Mayday had thought it worthwhile. When he had brushed off Crosshair’s ingratitude with little more than a resigned chuckle, it made something inside Cross burn all the brighter.

The faint, creeping sensation of eyes on his back shivered up his spine – the reassuring version, the one where those eyes were his brothers’, watching out for him just as he watched out for them.

He’d had that, briefly, when Cody had requested him for Desix. Then the Marshal Commander had absconded.

Rampart’s insidious voice sounded in his mind again. Clone loyalty doesn’t seem to be as advertised any more.

Crosshair thought Cody had had his back, but the Marshal Commander abandoned him. Just like his brothers had.

He couldn’t bear to confront the nauseating fear that Mayday might do the same.

*

“Crosshair.”

“What?” Crosshair’s tone was short, but without his earlier aggression.

Mayday gestured down the mountainside, towards the snowmobile which had crashed and spilled its pallet of crates after Crosshair shot the driver.

“Let’s load the cargo and get out of here.”

Although it was night, the whiteness of the snow bounced the little light from the sky around, giving them enough to see by without drawing their torches. Sliding to a stop in the powdery snow, Mayday pulled off his helmet, loosing his unkempt hair to the wind and feeling the bite of the icy chill against his cheeks. Behind him Crosshair mimicked the action, tucking his helmet under his arm, silent and observant.

Mayday faltered as he approached the downed skiff. His eyes skipped over the tumult in the snow, the once-smooth surface marred by scattered debris where one of the cargo crates had burst a seam at the impact and spilled its contents into the night.

White on white. Gleaming plastoid against powdery mountain snow.

“Gear?”

The edge of Mayday’s voice shook. The fingers of his free hand dug into the seams of his own armour, curling against the coarse fabric wraps keeping the cold out.

“We’ve been risking out lives to recover equipment we could have been wearing this whole time?”

He sensed more than saw the sniper come to stand at his shoulder.

“It’s not clone trooper gear,” said Crosshair. The way he softened his voice at the acknowledgement spoke volumes.

“Right.” Mayday dragged the word out into a derisive snort. “New toys for their shiny new military, and we get the scraps.”

Holstering his blaster, he knelt and scooped up a cuirass from the snow, turning it to inspect the item. A coldness that had nothing to do with the mountain night curled around his chest, constricting, forcing bile to his throat.

“We were good soldiers.” The words choked past a knot of fury and sorrow. “We followed orders. And for what?”

His companion remained silent. That was fine by Mayday. He didn’t want to hear the sniper’s brand of biting commentary right now.

He dropped the cuirass in disgust, kicking it towards the other items spilled from the fractured crate.

“For three years we fought in the war,” he continued, his voice low, words spoken mostly for himself. “Earned their freedom with our blood, and never asked thanks. It’s what we were made for.”

Now he turned to Crosshair.

“Do you think they’ll even remember us?” he asked, fixing the lean sniper with a piercing stare.

Crosshair held his gaze despite its intensity, brow furrowed in a frown. He’d drawn a toothpick from somewhere, and his teeth clenched around it as he shrugged a response to Mayday’s question.

Mayday continued. “I heard the rumours about phasing out clone troopers. I didn’t really believe them until now.” His face twisted in a glare, one hand scrubbing over his face and beard as he sought to control himself. “What does that even mean? They just let us die, and not replace us?” His voice shook with anger. “I heard Kamino was destroyed. Does that mean… the end of us clones?”

Something flickered behind Crosshair’s eyes, an expression quickly shuttered. He turned his face away from Mayday, letting his gaze go long over the mountainside.

“It was.”

Mayday stared at him blankly. “What?”

“Kamino was destroyed,” said the sniper through clenched teeth. “I was there.”

Taking a careful couple of steps, Mayday positioned himself in Crosshair’s eyeline. The sniper still tried hard to avoid looking at him.

“You were on the Empire’s ships.”

“No,” said Crosshair, and his voice was barely more than a breath shuddering up from his chest. “I was in the city.”

For a moment the wind dropped away to nothing, and now Crosshair met Mayday’s eyes. Behind that hard exterior there was a fracture of fear, wide-eyed and frightened, and Mayday’s breath seized to realise how young the other clone must be.

Not much older than Veetch.

A rumbling, rushing started up. Blood in his ears.

Except Crosshair was reacting to it too. Whipped his head round to gaze up at the mountain peak, far above the destroyed cavern.

To where icy death tumbled down the mountainside towards them.

Reacting on instinct, Mayday pulled his bucket back on and clapped Crosshair on the shoulder. “GO!” he roared, and he was already running, adrenaline driving fatigue and fear from his body as his long legs ate up the ground and he raced, heedless, down the mountainside.

In moments Crosshair had drawn level with him, helmet in place also. The two clones, light armoured and dark, slid and sprinted wordlessly through the night, racing from the devastation which descended from high to sweep them away.

The avalanche would catch them. Thousands of tons of snow and ice gathered speed, must faster than their exhausted bodies could hope to outrun it.

Mayday scanned their path for something, anything, that might offer safety. Somewhere to shelter. To hope the wave of snow would crest over them and spare them.

Looming from the darkness, a jagged boulder jutted up from the mountain surface, black and forbidding.

“Look out!”

Shoving Crosshair to one side, Mayday watched as the tall clone tumbled head over heels, the unexpected push breaking his momentum.

Then the snow was on them and Crosshair was lost to his view, and the crushing wall of ice swept him against the boulder and everything went black.

I'm baack! Did you miss me?

I missed the proper posting date for this prompt which was due on the 23rd, but I hope you enjoy this chapter now it's here. Thank you to my wonderful writing buddies @kybercrystals94 and @the-little-moment for your patience and support!

Hopefully Day 26's chapter 'Grief' will be finished over the weekend.

Need more angsty Bad Batch stores in the meantime? We're using the #littlekyberthoughts tag for our joint Angstpril challenge - you can find all our fics there!

[p-taryn-dactyl]

I! would like information on your MC please!

(everything rn is very very rough draft level)

hi!! thank you for sending this in <3 so sorry it's late (i fell so asleep) and i apologize for this not being very...put together. my mind is everywhere at once

MC: Lucina Fenice Moniker: "The Bastard Queen"

Ok so, I am still doing major world building for this story but right now this fantasy world is largely based on the Ancient Roman Empire (without a lot of the misogny) and the other/surrounding Empires at that time.

Lucina is the only child of her father, who is a baker renowned for his pastries and general good heart. Lucina never knew her mother, her father told her that she died in childbirth (this comes into play lol). I know this isn't that interesting right now and since a lot of things can change I'll share what I have so far about the furtherization of the plot (yes ik i spelled that horribly). please this is my original idea, no stealing i will cry and that's not something people want to see

In the Empire, they're ruled over by the Immortal Empress who has been in charge since the beginning of the Empire. Lucina has a dream of the Empress, magical dreams whoo hoo, and in her dream the Empress is dying and holds Lucina's face with her bloody hands, telling her to be prepared for what is coming. The Immortal Empress, since she has been alive for close to 2,000 years, has many children by many consorts (one at a time) and grandchildren. She is found dead and the Royal Court (tbn) calls for a public mourning where all of her potential heirs (one was never named bc, well, immortal empress) show their grief while also wondering who will be named Heir. Now here is something I haven't mentioned yet. The Immortal Empress is the daughter of Aililith, goddess of war (and other things) who's patron animal is the Lioness. The Immortal Empress, Aelia, along with her twin sister, were rumored to be raised by a giant she-wolf. I mention this because at the public mourning, the two animals who have been by Aelia's side her whole reign burst onto the platform where the descendants stand. The citizens who gathered, thousands, are obviously terrified as the she-wolf howls and the lioness roars.

Now, in the mythology/religion of this Empire, rulers are chosen by the trust of these two animals.

The she-wolf and the lioness end up jumping into the crowd, causing panic. They stop in front of Lucina and her father (forgot to mention that these creatures are fricking huge, very big very scary) the lioness and the she-wolf basically collapse in front of Lucina and she comforts them as they snuggle as close to her without suffocating her.

Long story short, this causes an internal war between the heirs and Lucina for the throne but also invasion could be looming from outside the Empire as the news of Aelia's death spreads. With the civil war brewing, the once strong military chooses sides weakening the Empire as a whole. Lucina, now the supposed Heir, is forced into a world where blood is something to be spilled, not something that ties people together.

Ok ik this made no sense but hopefully this was a little interesting?

thank you for reading!

[honestlyyoungtyphoon]

So I was reading the chapter where Heinly declares the western kingdom as empire and I just shook my head. I don't know whether to laugh at the stupidity or roll my eyes. So I did both.

Hah what's even funnier is that some readers thinking it's such a romantic move that he declared the kingdom as an empire for Navier as if that's how it works. 😵‍💫

I'm guessing those readers aren't older beyond 13/14. No wonder they think such way, birdface is 19 too. I know their main audience are them and thus these stories are written like this, which is a huge insult to teen readers, cause authors believe that teens don't have the capacity to grasp beyond the surface level. Which is true to some extent (judging by comments from the fandom) but there are also teen readers who criticise the story because of its plotholes.

Look I'm not making fun of the readers who enjoy it, look at my blog for goodness sake! But it annoys me when the plot just bends over backwards for the MC.

A kingdom is a one independent state. An empire is composed of multiple conquered countries that has a centralised sovereign ruler. Look at UK, it was British empire before cause it had multiple Asian and African countries under its belt. Now it's just United Kingdom, not an empire. Also the title of the ruler didn't change, they were still called queen or king of British empire cause a queen and king can rule an empire without changing their titles, if the states fulfil the criteria of an empire which western kingdom does not have.

Many will say "but western kingdom has lots of wealth." So? Many countries now a days have more wealth than UK, but they don't declare themselves as kingdom either cause that's not how it works.

Declaring themselves an empire/kingdom because they have enormous wealth does not make an empire/kingdom. Sure, empires have wealth but that’s a correlation, not causation.

Birdface declaring himself as an emperor is like some random baron/duke/count etc declaring himself king, because he has gathered a large amount of wealth. It doesn’t work that way. It’s also a good way to make a lot of enemies with severe consequences. And the fact that nobody including Sovieshu didn't do anything about it, shows how strong the plotforce is. Some will say, he didn't attack western kingdom cause of Navier. Umm so what Navier is there? According to the author, Sovieshu never abandoned his duty as an emperor. The dude literally collapsed because of overwork. This guy is a workaholic. It was obvious his empire comes before everything but all of a sudden he forgets about his duty because of a former empress? (Just like his character assassination after bringing Rashta in the palace). And conquering western kingdom would have given him Navier too. Yes it'd be forceful and ooc for Sovieshu to force himself on her but since when the author cares about character consistency when it comes to Sovieshu?

And other kingdoms just put fingers in their mouths like suckers and did nothing in response except for one and birdface had to run to Sovieshu for help. He didn't have the capacity to beat a smaller Kingdom without the help of Sovieshu yet he had the audacity to call himself emperor. How pathetic and shameless. Lol

An empire is a sovereign state made up of multiple countries : that’s the definition of an empire, so declaring oneself an emperor or declaring the desire to become an emperor is basically a declaration of war, unless you're a bland ml of a webnovel that's backed up by plot force stronger than thanos' snap. 🗿

The plotholes are so massive in this story that you could pass multiple eastern empires through it. 🫨

Reason why I still don't acknowledge western kingdom as an empire. Cause it's not an empire. 😂

At the end of the day TRE is a cheesy manhwa that helps us in our escapism. It's not meant to be taken so seriously but that doesn't mean we've have to close our eyes and accept the blatant hypocrisy and massive inconsistency for the sake of making the MCs look better. It just makes the MCs and author look foolish.

In the end, all we can do is shake our head and laugh at this stupidity and enjoy the clownery.

Or you can ignore the canon and make up your own fanon like me.

If the author is going to be beyond reasonable about the plot why should we not be beyond reasonable with our fanon? Go crazy.

In my canon Sovieshu actually had character consistency and helped Rashta but didn't make her concubine and lived happily ever after with Navier. Birdface who?

[somacruising]

Tales of the Rays: Mirrage Prison

Chapter 6: The Atoning Hero and Remorseful Chosen (Part 1 & 2)

(This is the first part!) | (Part 3)

So, I've been meaning to upload this for a while. I don't really have any excuses for how long it took me. This covers Kratos investigating the Asgard Empire, only to find out that Mithos has been exoflected and has "gone on a rampage".

Part 1 (Spirit Research Lab)

Kratos: (Is this a…spirit research facility?) (ここは……精霊の研究施設か？)

Kratos: (I had no idea the Imperial City had something like this near the Imperial Lotus Villa…) (帝都の芙蓉離宮の近くにこんな研究室を作っていたとは……。)

Kratos: (No wonder I haven’t seen Demitrius in Asgard Castle.) (どうりでアスガルド城でデミトリアスの姿を見かけない訳だ)

Demitrius: How is the investigation of the Nexus Subspecies 03's anima progressing? 特異鏡映点亜種03のアニマの調査はどうなっているのかな？

Junior: …Well, Spada's anima still has traces of having been a living weapon. ……確かにスパーダさんのアニマには武器として生きていた痕跡が残っていました。

Junior: It might be that the anima of his previous life is muddled with his current anima due to the encoding at the time of exoflection. 前世のアニマが具現化の時のエンコードで現在のアニマと混濁しているみたいです。

Richter: Perhaps in Spada’s previous life, he was similar to the Swordian Chaltier. The one owned by Leon. もしかしたらスパーダの前世というのはリオンという奴が持っていたシャルティエと言う剣と似た存在だったのかもしれない。

Richter: It isn’t exactly the same, but it should be find to treat them similarly: both are weapons with human-like wills. 正確には違うことはわかっているが武器であり人のような意思を持つという点は近いものとして扱ってもいいだろう。

Junior: We’ve come up with a plan to exoflect both the relevant technology and experts in this field from Leon’s world. リオンさんたちの世界から、該当の技術を、持っている専門家を具現化��るという計画が持ち上がっています……。

Kratos: (Chaltier is that talking sword Zelos told me about. Why do they have such an obsession with talking weapons…) (シャルティエと言うのはゼロスが話していた喋る剣のことか。何故命を持つ武器に固執するのだ……。)

Demitrius: That so…? Then let's have Richter and Aster report on their ongoing research on spirits. そうか……。ではリヒターとアステルが進めている精霊の研究の方を報告してもらおうか。

Richter: I won’t bring Aster here. I’ll do my report alone. アステルをここへ連れてくるつもりはない。報告は俺がする。

Demitrius: I know you're wary of me, but I'm not going to do anything to Aster. 警戒されているようだが私はアステルに何もしないよ。

Demitrius: If I wanted to do something to him, I would have done it already. There's been plenty of opportunities. どうにかするつもりならとっくに捕らえている。機会はいくらでもあるからね。

Demitrius: After all, I hear he's been going out a lot without you watching. 何しろ彼はきみの目を盗んでよく出歩いているそうじゃないか。

Demitrius: You had a difficult time looking for Aster the other day, I heard. この間も大変な剣幕でアステルを捜していたらしいね。

Richter: …You’re certainly different from Mercuria. Speaking of, you’re too lenient with her. ……お前はそうでもメルクリアは違う。貴様はメルクリアに甘すぎる。

Richter: I don’t want Aster to end up like Ami. 俺はアステルをアミィのようにしたくはない。

Demitrius: It hurts my heart to hear you say that. Well, we can talk about this more some other time. それを言われると心が痛むよ。まあ、その話は別の機会にしようか。

Demitrius: To protect the Void, we need the power of the sun god Dana and the spirits. I have high hopes for your research. 虚無の保護のためには太陽神ダーナと精霊の力が必要だ。君たちの研究には期待をしているんだよ。

Demitrius: Every one of our plans for Dana has failed so far. Dist is absorbed in his own strange obsessions. We should focus on finding Dana’s priestess. ダーナを降ろす計画にも悉く失敗している。ディストは妙なこだわりも強い。ダーナの巫女を見つけた方が早いと思うんだよ。

Demitrius: Dana’s priestess should be the most suitable vessel for Dana. ダーナの巫女こそダーナの器にもっとも適する筈だからね。

Richter: The literature Aster and I found had something to say about her. 俺とアステルが見つけた文献にはこう書かれていた。

Richter: Aifread protects Dana’s priestess alongside Origin in a place where the spirits were sealed away. アイフリードが精霊の封印地なる場所でオリジンと共にダーナの巫女を守っているのだと。

Richter: We haven’t pinpointed this place’s location yet, but I doubt it will be easy to get to. It’s entirely possible it’s already been obliterated by the Voidstorm. 場所の特定はまだだが簡単に行ける場所ではないだろう。死の砂嵐で消滅している可能性もある。

Demitrius: No, it is not limited to the place where the spirits reside. If the place where the spirits dwell collapsed, this world would be completely consumed by the Void. いや、精霊のいる場所に限ってそれはない。精霊住まう場所が崩壊すれば、この世界は完全に虚無に飲まれているだろう。

Richter: If this sealed land of spirits still exists, the Nexus you ordered Hasta and Saleh to bring back will be useful. もしまだ精霊の封印地が存在しているなら貴様がサレとハスタに命じて回収に行かせた例の鏡映点が役に立つだろう。

     [ Saleh and Hasta immediately enter lol ]

Saleh: You wanted to see us, Richter? 呼んだかな、リヒター君。

Hasta: I’ve found our bon. Our hollow little Maxwell! 見つけたボン。空っぽのマクスウェルちん！

Kratos: (A hollow Maxwell…? But the Maxwell of this world hasn’t woken up yet. Maybe he means that Milla character who was with Lloyd and the others.) (空のマクスウェル……？この世界のマクスウェルはまだ目覚めていないがロイドたちの元にいたミラのことか？)

Kratos: (No, that doesn’t make sense. He said “hollow”…) (いや、しかし『空』というのは……)

Richter: …Since these people are here, I’ll be excusing myself. ……こいつらが戻ったなら、俺は失礼する。

Saleh: You hate me, huh? Well, I’d prefer that snot-nosed lizard who never stops crying “Jade~ Jade~”. 嫌われたもんだね。僕はジェイドジェイドとうるさいあの鼻たれトカゲよりキミの方がマシだけれど。

Asgard Soldier: We’ve got trouble! One of the four Phantom Generals is rampaging through Dist the Reaper’s lab! It’s Mithos! 大変です！四幻将のミトス様が死神ディストの研究所で暴れて、手がつけられません！

Asgard Soldier: Dist is critically injured, Shing is hurt, too, and not even Caius can stop him! ディストは重傷、シング様も負傷しカイウス様ですら近づけない状態です！

Kratos: (—Mithos is rampaging!?) (——ミトスが暴れている！？)

Hasta: Whaaat? Sounds like there’s an opportunity for bloodfeeding… Let me join in! 何ィ！血沸き肉躍る饗宴の宴だと……オレっちも参加させろぃ！

Saleh: Shall I kill him? 僕が殺してこようか？

Demitrius: Stay out of it. I still want to ask you both about Maxwell’s empty shell. Richter, you can stop Mithos, right? やめておく方がいいね。それに君たちにはマクスウェルの抜け殻の件を聞きたい。リヒターならミトスを止められるだろう？

Richter: …I don’t know, but it’s better than saying here. I’ll be going. ……分からんが、ここにいるよりはマシだ。俺が行く。

Kratos: (It's time to meet up with Mark and the others, but I can't leave Mithos alone. …I’ll follow behind Richter.) (そろそろマークたちと落ち合う時間だがミトスを放っておくことはできぬな。……リヒターを追跡させてもらおう)

Part 2 (6-2 Spirit Research Lab 2)

Zelos: That old man seriously hasn’t gotten back to the rendezvous point yet!? あのおっさんまだ合流地点に戻ってこないのかよ！？

Mark: Hey, hey, Zelos. Don’t you think you’re too hard on Kratos? He’s a nice guy. おいおい、ゼロスさんよ。あんた、クラトスにはあたりがきついな。あの人、いい��じゃねえか。

Zelos: Haaah? You, too, Markun? It’s sickening how many people like that guy. はー。お前もか、マーくんよ。あいつホント受けがいいな、むかつくわー。

Zelos: People say he’s so coool~, but he’s just a bastard! ク～ル～とか言われてるけどありやただの人でなしだっつーの！

Sync: Heh… へえ……。

Zelos: Ah, Sync!? Did you just laugh at me, just now!? あ、シンク！？てめえ、笑ったな！？

Sync: That’s right. You’re just a spoiled redhead. Do you miss your daddy, oh great Chosen? そりゃ唯うでしょ。アンタのそれは単なる甘えだからね。パパが恋しいのかい、赤毛の神子様。

Zelos: ………。

Mark: Sync, please don’t go around digging into people’s wounds like that. シンク。そうやって的確に人の傷抉っていくのもほどほどにしてくれや。

Mark: Zelos, I’m sorry. Kids don’t know how to hold themselves back. ゼロス、悪かったな。子供は加減をしらねえんだよ。

Zelos: …No, I’m not ready for this yet. Sore spot or not, I can’t believe I got so serious when I don’t even know this kid. ……いや、俺さまもまだまだだわ。殆ど面識のないがきんちょに痛いとこ突かれてマジになっちまうとは。

     [ Phillip Enters ]

Phillip: Sounds like you’re having fun. I hope I’m not interrupting. 楽しそうなところ失礼するよ。

Zelos: Fun!? Phil, you really think this looks like fun? 楽しい！？俺さまフィル君の感覚疑ってもいい？

Phillip: Sorry, sorry. I thought I’d pop in and share how our patient is doing. ごめんごめん。病人の経過を共有しようと思って。

Sync: You mean that dying old geezer and our log of a Sleeping Beauty? 死に損ないのジジイとぴくりとも動かない眠り姫のことか。

Phillip: You shouldn't call him an old geezer, Sync. In any case, Rowen is much more stable now. ジジイなんて言葉は良くないよ、シンク。ローエンさんはだいぶ安定してきた。

Phillip: I think he’s going to wake up soon. Still, he’s an omega nexus, so we’ll have to monitor him carefully. もうすぐ起きられると思うけれど何しろ特異鏡映点だからね。慎重に経過を見る必要がある。

Phillip: And Kohaku…she’s quite dangerous, to be honest. それからコハクは……正直かなり危険だね。

Zelos: Hey hey hey, I don’t care about the old man, but we have to help the girl out~! おいおいおいおい、じーさんはともかく女の子は助けてやってくれよ～！

Mark: You guys, we should be taking care of the elderly… Well, Phil, tell us what’s going on with Kohaku. She seemed stable to me. お前ら、お年寄りは大事にしろって……。で、フィル。どういうことなんだよ。容体は安定してるように見えたけどな。

Phillip: Her symptoms look like a rare condition that appears in mirrites. I found that curious, so I approached it from a mirristry perspective. 彼女の症状は鏡士にまれに起こるある疾患に似ていてね。気になったから魔鏡学の方向からアプローチしてみたんだ。

Phillip: As a result, I’ve discovered that she’s lost her core, or heart, which is responsible for connecting one’s anima to their animus. その結果、彼女のアニマとアニムスをつなぐコアつまり心を失っていることがわかった。

Mark: She’s lost her core!? 心核喪失状態か！

Sync: What are you talking about? How can you possibly observe something as vague as a “heart”? 何それ。心なんてあやふやなものどうやって観測するのさ。

Mark: Mirrites are reflections of a mirrist’s heart. At the time of exoflection, it’s…able to be briefly observed. 鏡士ってのは、心を魔鏡に映して具現化を、行うんだ。そのときに一瞬心を具現化している……らしい。

Mark: I don’t exactly get the whole principle behind it, either… そのあたりの原理は俺もよく分からないが……。

Phillip: When a mirrist exoflectes a mirrite, they do so by reflecting a portion of their heart into their mirrage. So to speak, mirrites are exoflections of the heart. 鏡士が鏡精を具現化するときも心の一部を魔鏡に映して行ういわば心の具現化だからね。

Phillip: But Kohaku does not have a heart. でもコハクにはその心に当たる部分が存在しないんだ。

Phillip: If her core doesn’t exist, her anima and animus will separate…meaning, her soul and memories will separate, and her body will not be able to maintain itself. This is exceptionally dangerous. コアが存在しなければアニマとアニムス……つまり魂と記憶が分離し体が保てなくなる。非常に危険だ。

Phillip: Perhaps it’s necessary to erase the heart in order for them to become the vessel of the goddess. 神降ろしには心を消し去る作業が必要なのかもしれないね。

Zelos: …Erasing the heart, huh. Reminds me of Collete. ……心が消える、か。コレットちゃんのことを思い出すな。

Zelos: She lost her sense of humanity in order to become a host for Martel, she lost her heart. I couldn’t stand watching her, she was like a doll. マーテルを宿すために人としての感覚を失って、心まで無くしちまったらしくてな。まるで人形みたいで見てられなかったぜ。

Sync: —Hey, it’s possible that this whole goddess vessel plan is Mithos’ idea. ——ねえ、神降ろしはミトスの発案の可能性があるんだったよね。

Zelos: Ah? Well, it sounds possible. The idea’s pretty similar to the way he wanted to revive Martel. あ？まあ、可能性はあるな。発想がマーテル復活にそっくりだ。

Sync: —Let’s meet up with Kratos. I’ve figured out which nexus they’ll pick as the next vessel. ——クラトスと合流しよう。次の器の鏡映点が誰かわかった。

Mark: What do you mean? どういうことだ？

Sync: From what I’ve heard, Colette was in some way close to Mithos’ sister, Martel. 前に聞いた話だと、コレットってのはミトスの姉のマーテルに近い存在だったんだろ。

Zelos: Are you saying Martel is their next vessel!? Well, I had heard that Phantom had exoflected her while he was still around. まさかマーテルが次の器だって言うのか！？そりゃ、ファントムが生前マーテルを具現化したらしいとは聞いてるけどよ。

Zelos: Yeah, Martel and Colette are close, but Martel never lost her heart. ただコレットちゃんとマーテルは近い存在かもしれないがマーテルは心を失った訳じゃねえぞ。

Zelos: Actually, she only had her heart left, so Mithos was trying to get her a body… むしろ心だけになっちまったからミトスが体を作ろうとしてた訳で……。

Phillip: …No, I see what he’s saying. Sync’s as sharp as ever. ……いや、なるほど。さすがシンクは目の付け所がいいね。

Phillip: The fact that Martel is a being who lost her body and became only a heart is…an important fact. マーテルは体を失い、心だけの存在になったことがある……という事実が重要だ。

Phillip: In the past, Bifrost had a mirrage called the Overray Mirrage—which showed the past and possible futures engraved in one’s anima. かつてのビフレストには、アニマに刻まれた、過去や未来——あらゆる可能性を呼び出す浄玻璃鏡という魔鏡があったそうだ。

Phillip: This means that no matter which era Martel was exoflected from, she has a property that makes it easy to separate her body and heart. つまりマーテルがどの時代から具現化されていたにせよ、体と心が分離しやすい性質を内包していることになる。

Phillip: If they can be separated, the rest is simple. 分離できるなら、話は簡単だ。

Zelos: You can’t be serious… We should let Kratos know just in case. マジかよ……。念のためクラトスに伝えるか。

Zelos: We should look for that trail Angel wings leave behind. If he flies with his wings, we’ll be able to spot it. あいつから聞いた、天使の羽の痕跡を辿る方法ってのを使えば、奴が空を飛んだ時に居所がわかる筈だ。

Mark: I’m sorry. You’re our guest and we’re making you work. 悪いな。あんたは客分なのに、こき使っちまって。

Zelos: Oh well. That selfish Angel doesn’t want me hanging out with Lloyd anyway. しゃーねえな。あの我が儘天使がロイド君に合流するのを嫌がるんだもんよ。

Sync: You complain about that, but you never bother joining Alvin when he sneaks over there. でも文句を言いながら、アルヴィンみたいに一人であっちに合流はしないんだね。

Mark: Well, that’s because Zelos is unexpectedly a good guy—and also unexpectedly a coward. そりゃ、ゼロスが意外と善人な上に意外と卑怯者だからだな。

Zelos: Ehehe, you completely understand me. でひゃひゃ、よくわかってるじゃねーの。

Mark: But, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re our guest. Sync, you’re coming with me. とはいえ、あんたが客分なのは変わらないからな。シンク、一緒に行ってくれ。

Sync: …Yeah yeah, what a pain. ……はいはい、めんどくさ。

Zelos: What is it, Synkun? You’re so cold. 何だよ、シンくん冷たいじゃん。

Sync: I’ll kill you, Idiot Chosen. 殺すよ、バカ神子。

(This is the first part!) | (Part 3)