#time war and the year that never was would be hellish to say the least. anyways gamers heres a low effort meme about it

[nethnad]

incomprehensible joke from the hole. anyways imagine if the doctor had time lord epilepsy

[sarahjtv]

My Hero Academia Chapter 426 Spoiler Talk: The Hellish Todoroki Family Conclusion

Whew, what a chapter goddamn. The Todoroki Family, especially Shoto (my favorite character 🩵), is one of my favorite and one of the best arcs in My Hero Academia. We all knew that their conclusion was coming this chapter and now that we're here, let's talk about it:

First off, in case you didn't hear, Weekly Shonen Jump and MHA mangaka, Kohei Horikoshi himself, confirmed that this is the first of the last 5 chapters of My Hero Academia. The series will end in early August with 430 chapters total if all goes well. I made a post about this when it was announced 2 days ago, but I want to briefly say that I am going to miss this series so much. It has had such an amazing impact on my life and surely saved me during many rough times. I will be so sad to see it end, but happy to see Horikoshi finish his beloved story on his own terms after 10 long years of publication. I will make sure to see it through myself.

We start off the chapter with a Todoroki Family reunion. We see the whole family about a month after the war ended. Everyone has burn scars of some kind now with Rei's having the largest that even covers the left side of her face like Shoto's and Endeavor's do ironically enough (I see what you did, Horikoshi). We don't see if Endeavor got any burn scars on his face because it's covered with bandages, but given he has the highest fire resistance next to Shoto, I doubt it.

Also, pretty much everyone got a haircut from their bodies getting torched trying to stop Touya (I'm going to call him that from here on). Fuyumi and Endeavor got a few inches off, Natsuo cut quite a bit off to the point where he's looking like his father again (oh, the irony), and Rei got a significant portion cut off to the point where it's back to the length it was when she and Enji first met. I think Shoto got a slight trim, but it's hard to tell. His hair is definitely scruffier than it was before, though. Honestly looks-wise, they all still look really good. Those Todoroki/Himura genes are doing good work.

But, despite those good looks, everyone is here to see Touya in his own operating tube (?). The doctor says that Touya's slowly dying and Endeavor tells everyone that he's retiring. Both things are what everyone saw coming. There was no way Endeavor was going back to hero work after everything that happened to him during the final war. It was just never possible. Even with prosthetics, I think his own mental state and where he is in life with his family would have prevented that from happening. I'm surprised that Touya is alive at all, but I'm glad to see that he's alive to see his family for a little longer before he eventually dies which I assume may happen in the final chapter of the series.

Also, Touya can still talk! Bro still can't move for shit, but he's conscious enough to talk to his family. He still hates his father and I get it. I don't think there was any way Touya was going to forgive his father after everything that happened. It's good to see that Endeavor still is trying to atone and wants to talk with Touya as much as he possibly can to his eldest son, but that won't change anything right now. The least Endeavor can do is listen to what Touya might want to say.

Fuyumi and Rei try to talk to Touya too, but the doctor is telling them that talking more would be a burden on Touya's heart. And then Shoto asks his oldest brother "What's your favorite food?" and Touya responds "Soba..." just like Shoto. I can't do this tonight, guys! I'm screaming, crying, throwing up! WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN! THEY COULD HAVE EATEN SOBA TOGETHER IN ANOTHER LIFE!!! HOW DARE YOU, HORIKOSHI! I'M IN YOUR WALLS 😭

And right as his family leaves his room, Touya slowly cries tears and says "Shoto... I'm sorry..." I don't need to explain this one. This fucking hurts. Touya has regrets, but it's too late. Touya may be Dabi the murderous villain who ruined a lot of lives, but he's also still a young man who deserved a better life than what was handed to him and does still care for his family even if only a little. All around a tragic character. If this is the last we see of Touya, I think it's a good albeit sad send-off.

As the Todorokis start to part ways, we get an idea of where their lives are going now:

1. Natsuo wants to start a family with his girlfriend (isn’t he only 20 btw and he started dating her like, what, a year ago? I get it, Natsuo, but this is too early don’t you think? 😭) but has no intention of having a ceremony for it specifically because he doesn't want her or himself to ever see Enji again. I don't blame him for this. Even though he helped stop Touya from literally exploding which did save his father, Natsuo made it clear from the start that he was never going to forgive Enji no matter how much he atoned. The reason why he was even born was because Enji wanted a perfect Ice/Fire child, but he didn't get that until Shoto was born afterwards. Natsuo saw Enji hurt and abuse his family for pretty much his entire life and Enji suddenly wanting to fix what he broke wasn't going to change Natsuo's mind on what he thought of his father. Cutting ties with his father is for the best. It's a miracle the rest of his family still want to see Enji at all, especially Shoto.

2. Fuyumi has also quit her teaching job, but a mother of one of her students found another one. This is also understandable. The public slander of her family on her is what probably pushed this and I'm sure her good reputation got inadvertently damaged from it. I hope she is treated better at her new job.

3. Enji is going got continue to pay for his crimes for the rest of his life whatever that takes. He even understands if the rest of his kids never want to see him again either. He will still do everything he can to make sure his kids are unharmed by the whole Dabi thing. He even accepts that he's going to dance with Touya in Hell one day. Honestly, regardless of what you think of Endeavor, I honestly think his atonement/development arc is one of the best in the series. He has definitely become a better man than what he started out as when we first met him during the Sports Festival Arc, but what I love about this is that Horikoshi never let him off the hook. He made Enji face his sins head-on and suffer through every consequence that came from his abusive actions. If Enji Todoroki is going to atone, he's going to atone the very, very hard way. Enji may be a better man and father, but that doesn't mean he's going to see the pearly gates when all is said and done. The best he can do is pay for his sins for the rest of his life and pray that Rei, Fuyumi, and Shoto don't leave him completely too.

4. And finally, there's my favorite, Shoto 🩵! He's going back to school and reassures his parents that he will be fine with his friends as they help him become who he wants to be. This essentially concludes Shoto's arc as well. When we first met him, he was a cold, anti-social teen who didn't want to make any friends. All he wanted to do was to become a hero with his ice alone to spite his father. Since then, he's opened up to his classmates, made amazing friends especially in Izuku, Iida, and Bakugo, rekindled his relationship with his mother and siblings, come to terms with his father and Touya, and finally accepted his Ice/Fire powers as his own. He says he's on the path to becoming the hero he wants to be, but I'd argue that he's already there. Again, it's an incredible development for Shoto and I think this is a great conclusion to his own character arc.

After Shoto leaves, we transition to Hawks! He's still there for Endeavor if he needs him which is nice. He's also the president of the Public Safety Commission! Dude may be Quirkless, but that doesn't mean he can't do anything! I'm happy to see him thrive in this new role of his and I hope he can reform the PSC into something good as opposed to how they treated him in the past.

We also catch up on Lady Nagant WHO IS NOT DEAD 🎊, but chooses to stay in prison for a bit longer. And Gentle and LaBrava are ok and free too! Good endings here!

The final panel shows Spinner and someone is opening his hospital door 🤔

Phenomenal chapter! 10/10 would read and cry over again. Thank you and fuck you for everything, Kohei Horikoshi. 4 Chapters left. Fuck, my hands hurt 😭

[chansaw]

ok. here it is. the longpost i've been too lazy to actually make until just now.

so, here's what happened. the google algorithm sometimes pushes links to articles it thinks you'll like on the mobile homepage. unfortunately, google knew enough about me to put this hellish article onto my screen:

read that headline. then read it again. really, really stare at it. stare into the abyss. eventually, it will stare back. it'll whisper in your ear: "the heathers reboot was good, actually."

i read the article, incredulous. but, to my surprise... the author had somewhat of a point? it's been five years since paramount unceremoniously aired the show in october of 2018 after its premiere was delayed at least twice due to mass shootings. then after another mass shooting occurred before the final two episodes of the ten-episode long season were supposed to air, paramount hastily aired a heavily edited ninth episode and scrapped the tenth entirely. as far as i can tell, the show is not available to be streamed freely on any streaming site (not even paramount's own paramount+), though you can rent or buy it from amazon prime. maybe the author was right. maybe it was time for a rewatch and reconsideration. i wouldn't even have to spend any money; i archived all ten episodes of the show onto one of my external hard drives back in 2018, so i plugged 'er in, drank a bit of fireball, and clicked play.

after episode five, i gave up. i couldn't stand it any longer. i slammed my laptop shut and went to bed.

needless to say, i have thoughts.

right off the bat, here's the biggest thing. i wish to god that someone other than the miserable pile of sweaty skin that calls himself jason micallef had been in charge of this show. it might not have saved it from its fate, but maybe it would have been at least watchable? a modicum more entertaining? when the show was originally announced, leslye headland (who would later go on to create russian doll) was attached as showrunner. later, it was announced that micallef would be showrunner instead, although headland directed the pilot and executive produced the series.

in my honest opinion, if leslye headland had remained in creative control, this would have been a much different - and, in my opinion, better - show.

i can't help but wonder how heathers (2018) would have turned out if she had stayed at the helm. would it have marred her career so badly that netflix would have never agreed to produce russian doll? would she still be notable enough to be given charge of the newest disney plus star wars show? perhaps her decision was for the best. perhaps she knew there was no saving this project, try as she might.

and people tried!!!! during my rewatch, i was enamored by the production design and slick lighting and cinematography. some of the costume design hasn't aged well, but when it hits, it hits. i have to give credit where it's due: it is a beautifully shot and designed piece of television.

if only its actors had given half as much of a shit.

grace victoria cox (veronica) and james scully (j.d.) both attempt to replicate their predecessors' cool sense of disillusion and disenchantment in their roles, but both just come off as totally and completely bored in every scene. j.d. is supposed to be darkly charismatic, but scully has the charm of a plank of rotting wood. they lack the spark of chemistry to get the audience to feel invested in their relationship. without convincing leads to anchor it, the show has to depend upon its titular heathers.

i am, of course, in no way biased at all, in any shape or form. just saying. but one thing the article gets right is that melanie field’s performance as one miss heather chandler shines. field is fucking brilliant and her screen presence is formidable. she makes the most of every line she's given, and is at turns, ruthless, hilarious, and even (gasp) sympathetic. i am so glad she’s been booked left and right in tv shows (such as amazon's a league of their own, a spin-off with much more respect for its source material) that showcase her immense talent since whatever the fuck happened here. but i'm not biased!!!

juan barquin, the author of this article argues that viewers and critics alike both misunderstood heathers (2018). micallef's brilliant satirical messaging flew right over our heads. it had a message, goddamnit, and the misinformed masses closed their eyes and ears because they didn't want to hear it. it almost reminds me of the starships troopers discourse that is currently enveloping the app formerly known as twitter. starship troopers was nearly universally panned upon its release but is now recognized as a prescient satirical romp that targets jingoism, nationalism, and the culture of forever wars. we didn't get it back in 1997, but we do now. unfortunately, this is not the case with paramount's heathers.

the main cause of all the brouhaha around heathers (2018)'s release, barquin says, is because of its "shameless criticism of American culture, the prioritization of guns as a faulty means of defense, and the educational system’s blatant ignorance around the actual needs of students." which, sort of? it is true that a rash of killings (such as parkland and the pittsburgh synagogue shootings) spurred paramount's decision to nuke the show from existence. the show does, in fact, directly address and involve such matters. unlike the movie, the show concludes with westerburg high blown to pieces and its students all dancing in a prom in heaven. which.... yeah. you can see why that wouldn't have played out well.

(it's worth noting that daniel waters, the screenwriter behind the REAL heathers, originally planned for the movie to end this way as well. but the suits at new world studios said that audiences wouldn't like it. reluctantly, he complied.)

and i do have to admit, there are moments of brilliance. westerburg's school shooting drills involve the drama teacher storming through the halls shooting students with silly string. if you "die", you get to go to "heaven" (a brightly lit room stocked with snacks). the survivors are ushered into the dark, cramped gymnasium and complain about how all the cool kids are in heaven now. teachers' desks are stocked with firearms, because as we all know, of course, the only thing that can stop a bad guy with a gun is a teacher with a gun. it's so absurd that it works.

but for the most part, the writing is sorely lacking. it seems like the folks in the writers' room spent hours sitting around the table trying to one-up each other with quippable quips, meme-able dialogue, and banter that matched the panache and dry wit of waters' screenplay. but what we got instead was "HAHHAHAHAH, QUEEF!" it's bad. it's so, so bad. the author's claim that “[t]he show rather impressively matches the film’s comic sensibilities with consistently funny episodes that are as pleasantly cruel as they are scathingly satirical” falls flat because, for the most part, the shows satire isn’t at all scathing or sharp.

there were so many moments of the show where i felt my whole body just light up with rage. it made me just so ANGRY because i could see shells and fragments of a better version of this show peeking through. instead, what we got is a show that made alt-right chuds say this:

i think the most offensive part of the whole article, though, is barquin's attempt to liken the show to bottoms. if anything, i'd argue that bottoms works better as a spiritual successor to heathers than the rebooted heathers itself! bottoms succeeds in every way that heathers (2018) fails: punchy and quotable dialogue, characters who manage to be both archetypal and multidimensional, all set in an exaggerated and heightened sense of reality that still feels lived in and real. most importantly, all of bottoms’ actors are firing on all cylinders; in heathers (2018), most of the leads are just there to get paid. i could go on, but that's a whole other post.

frankly, it's kind of incredible that paramount launched this show as the flagship of their new tv network alongside yellowstone (which is in its final season now with spinoffs on the way). they were really, really banking on this thing to have legs. but we live in a blessed timeline where this show is condemned to an eternity of oblivion. it's a bit of a pity, though, because... the writers envisioned some sort of american horror story-esque anthology setup and teased a “french revolution” second season at the end of the last episode. i kind of want to know where they were planning to go with that.

it could've been so very.

[bespectacledbun]

more Obsidian!Yves nonsense that I cooked from the brainworms I've shared with my friends in dms before (⚠️ SPOILERS FOR GIL'S MAIN ROUTE IN JP!! ⚠️):

yves who loses his nanny and is told that he has to leave rhodolite to go back to his mother's family. yves who arrives in obsidian alone, scared, and unable to speak the language because he grew up only speaking in rhodolitian and not his mother tongue obsidianite

yves who meets his grandfather and he seems nice, but he's very strict and has a bunch of rules that he has to follow all the time. yves who quickly learns to stifle his cries until he's alone and makes sure to never show weakness in front of his grandfather

yves who doesn't really trust his cousins, except for gil. the rest of them always try to get him to trust him by talking badly about the rest of the family to him, but gil is nice. gil gives him sweets and takes him into town and even showed him a photo of his mother and aunt when they were young, but he gets sick so yves can't see him often :(

yves who quickly learns his uncle is terrifying and definitely not to be trusted. yves who keeps his head down, keeps his mouth shut, keeps to himself and avoids interacting with the emperor at all costs. if gil doesn't like the emperor, then neither does he, he decides

yves who is barely 10 when one cousin dies of bad food and the other in a "riding accident" and he learns how truly brutal obsidian can be. yves who is told it's a mistake the castle cooks and stablehands made, but late at night he hears his grandfather talking about a poisoning and tampered saddles. yves who sneaks around to hear the maids whisper how all the workers at the royal residence were slaughtered and their bodies put on display outside the gates

yves who notices his grandfather gets increasingly stressed over the years. yves who starts helping with with for the kloss household more and more, until he ends up taking over the duties entirely while his grandfather does.... god knows what. yves who manipulates the household business to suit gil's needs instead of the emperor's after gil confides in him that the emperor was the one who murdered his mother and older brother in cold blood

yves who is there right alongside gilbert when his oldest cousin mocks gil to his face about his mother's death, who says her and their brother were too weak and deserved to die as they did. yves who turns away as gil stabs him through the heart in rage and then helps hide the body later. yves who joins gilbert's plans for a coup d'état cleanse the empire of all its corrupt nobles

yves who is 16 when he learns of his grandfather's plans to eliminate gilbert on the emperor's orders, who skewers lord kloss before he can even try to hurt gil, who watches from behind as gilbert finally kills the emperor and throws the body off a cliff

yves who helps find and eliminate all those who are still loyal to the bloodthirsty politics of the previous emperor so that gil can achieve his goals of cleaning the country faster

yves who finds and brings roderich into the court, so that when if gil dies he can replace him and yves won't have to. yves who refuses to let gil die after everything he's done because he doesn't want to be left all alone again

yves goes to the border on gilbert's orders, who finds an injured little boy unconscious under a collapsed building and brings him back, so that even if he's too far gone to be saved he can at least get a proper burial along with all the other civilians who died in the war

yves who finds out this unconscious little boy could possibly be his half brother, who looks at his scrapes and injuries and wonders what kind of hellish family would have left him to die on the battlefield like that

yves who spends months nursing and training the boy–– luke, as he will later learn–– and teaches him how to fend for himself before gil sends him back to rhodolite

yves who spends years growing the power and influence of house kloss in order to support gil, until one day he is summoned to the palace for no discernible reason. yves who is told by his cousin that his father has died, and that in a month the court of rhodolite will send ambassadors asking for his return for the selection process

yves who spends that month reading up on the history of the belle system and scoffs at the sheer naivety of it, because what would a commoner know about the dangers of the royal court? how much could they possibly learn in a month that would equal the experience of a lifetime in danger?

yves who is told by gil that he is to be prince, liaison, and spy all at once, that luke and another prince in the rhodolite court will help him while he is there. yves who practices his rhodolitian again after years, so that he doesn't need that airheaded translator assigned to the diplomatic party. yves who introduces himself in stilted, but fluent rhodolitian to the group of strangely dressed men that greet him in the throne room, the men that are supposedly his brothers

yves who gauges all of the princes one by one, wondering which might be the prince gilbert mentioned that would help him. yves who's eyes barely flicker when they see luke, because they aren't supposed to know each other at all

yves who is both surprised and suspicious when Leon reaches out first and invites him to dinner, who shows up not expected to be welcomed with a feast in the domestic faction's office. yves who keeps his guard up, not wondering if this is some sort of ploy to get him to spill his secrets, but by the end of the party realizing leon is just that trusting of him (he can't tell if his older brother is stupid or kind-hearted)

yves who is already used to the stares and contempt that townsfolk and nobles give him so it just slides off his back like water. yves who is surprised when jin and licht both step up to defend him from a particularly loose-lipped noble that was barraging him earlier

yves who sees leon and jin and licht and clavis having fun together, who can't help but feel a kernel of resentment sprout when he sees them truly happy with each other. yves who remembers his cousins before they died, who recalls those years of just him and gilbert working alone because it was them against the world

yves who has completely settled in by the time he is allowed into the round table room, where he meets the commoner that will apparently decide the fate of the kingdom. belle. yves who learns her name is emma, and that she's apparently one of the townsfolk and works as a local bookstore's employee.

yves who remembers gil's orders–– 'you must be chosen as the king for our plan to work'–– and meets her bright eyed gaze, innocent gaze. this will be way too easy

[jedi-lothwolf]

Whump: The Musical Day 10: Rent ("Feels Too Damn Much Like Home.")

Fandom: The Clone Wars

Summary: while on Geonosis, Anakin feels too close to home. He never did like sand.

Some part of Anakin Skywalker never stopped calling Tatooine home. Even though he lived at the Jedi temple  on Coruscant, he had grown up on that sandy planet. It would take four days to travel just to get there.

    So being in Geonosis was strange. The planet had the same hellish feeling as his home world. Memories of who he had tended to linger in his mind.

    It seemed like yesterday the boy was pod rasing and trying to distract himself from the horrible things that happened in the desert planet of Tatooine. The nine year old would try to reassure his mother that he was okay, that the fights and spice dealing never bothered him.

    In truth it had. How could people be so ready to kill each other, he would wonder. While now he understood the willingness to kill now, the little boy he had been hadn't gotten there yet.

    Other than with Waldo, the stupid, slimy man who had kept him and his mother enslaved. Even when he was younger, if Anakin could have killed him, he would have. Maybe then his mother wouldn't be dead.

    Most of the time, when Anakin thought about his mother's death, he blamed himself. That did change.

    The sand that moved under the Jedi's feet, always made him think of home. It was never pleasant, but he would go where he was needed. The council would still ask from time to time, mindful of his trauma, if he was sure about taking the missions. Every time he would say yes.

    The sun's heat beat down on Anakin and Obi-wan. Another thing that bothered him. With his tolerance of the heat, Anakin never thought that it made sense for it to bother him so much. Maybe it wasn't the heat, but instead the memories.

    "You seem distracted" Obi-wan told him. The two walked side by side. At first Anakin didn't say anything. So Kenobi continued, "are you okay?"

    "Feels too damn much like home" Anakin scowled. "The sand and the heat, they just remind me of Tatooine."

    Thinking about what to say in response, Obi-wan nodded. "If you need anything-"

    "I'm fine" Anakin interrupted. Again, the older Jedi nodded.

    Anakin wasn't sure if he was actually okay. Still, what else was he going to say. 'Reminds me of my dead mother, of the first nine years of my life when I was a slave who had to win his freedom by winning a pod race?' Yeah he didn't think so. The sand kept moving under his feet and he knew that it would be everywhere later.

    Still, he couldn't afford to let his disdain of sand get in his way. The man has a mission to accomplish, a bunch of tiny rocks would not stop him. So, with the memories of his old home clouding his head, the two Jedi moved forward.

                          ………………

    After the mission, Anakin sat in his bed. He tossed his shoes off of his feet and ignored the sand that fell onto his floor. The thoughts of his mother's death always made him angry and unpredictable. Obi-wan knew this. It felt like his last master had been watching him excessively. It wasn't like he couldn't control it, at least that's what he liked to think.

    While the mission was a success, Anakin had no real sense of accomplishment. It was the same feeling he would get back in Tatooine. Laying down, the man tried not to think about it. No good would come from it. Hopefully he would get a break from the sand.

[sylleblosscm]

Anonymous:

For the meta thing, perhaps the journey to contact the gods and how it affects Lunafreya?

---

Send A Topic For Meta [accepting]

Oh Anon, starting off strong with a punch to the gut.

 Before I get into this proper, there’s some context I need to provide about Luna’s character that is arguably the most pivotal aspect when it comes to understanding her fully. It’s something I’ve seen criticized and overlooked, even within the source material itself. See, it wasn’t just the Empire that put Luna through hell. There’s a heartbreaking moment in Dawn of the Future where Noctis is given the chance to see all of history, including everything he never knew happened to Luna in the years they were apart. There’s no way to stress just how brutal her Oracle training is - and Luna began hers at the age of twelve. Fucking twelve. She was forced into long periods of isolation, fasting, intense mental and physical training - and all this is to say nothing of the hellish panopticon of being made into a religious figurehead in one’s tweens. Imagine what that does to a person. With that in mind, know that Noctis is disgusted and horrified, in no small part with himself, now he knows the full extent of what Luna endured for his sake. He never knew. He never knew because Luna never said. Luna, the girl who literally can’t survive the a p o c a l y p s e without writing a letter to her boyfriend about the tea she found and the time her companion said she had a bad poker face, never thought to mention the extent of her training. 

 And that’s the thing, friends: this is as normal to her as the sky is blue. Try as Noctis and Ravus might have, bless their hearts, Luna was never taught that her life, her thoughts, her feelings, mattered. Hell, she was actively taught the opposite. She was not yet a teenager, suffering after the death of her mother, the separation from her best friend and the subjugation of her Kingdom, when immidiately her image, thoughts, feelings and relationship to her religion were made into a public commodity. Millions looked to her during times of war and strife for comfort, assurance - shit, God Himself put the weight of the world on her shoulders because he was too lazy to do it himself. Luna is the epitome of a good and selfless person being taken advantage of so severely that she can no longer function healthily, and that’s the kind of thing that takes years to heal from. And the worst part is, she can’t see what’s so wrong with it. 

 With that as our groundwork, let’s move on. Because there is one thing she kept for herself, if only one. A dream. One encouraged by her own Gods by virtue of their prophecy - that one day, the darkness would be driven from their star, and she could be with Noctis again. This isn’t a lunoct apologeia post (although...) - it’s just important you understand, it is the one and only thing she wanted for herself. The dream she worked toward all her life. Yet by the time she was to awaken Leviathan, Luna knew she was not long for this world. Please understand what this means.

 At some point between leaving Insomnia and arriving in Altissia, Luna realised she was going to die. She was going to die, and her only dream would never be fulfilled. Her God, who she dedicated her life to, failed her. She would leave her brother, her only family behind; Noctis would have to go on without her; and she would never get the future she was promised. Sit with that a minute, because goodness knows I had to take several. There was a moment in time when that thought first occurred to her, and she had to keep going. I want to say she was too good and noble to run, but knowing what we know about her upbringing, it probably never occurred to her in the way it should have.

 We don’t know too many details about what traveling was like for Luna (because the game doesn’t care what she thinks or how she feels), save for what few cutscenes we get, and what Ravus writes in his letters. We know Gentiana was with her for at least some of the journey. We know she visited a few places and was well-loved wherever she went. We know her condition steadily deteriorated from being in fine physical form, to struggling to carry her own body weight. And goddamnit, we know Luna never got the justice she deserved except for in one canceled DLC that made a banger of a book most fans will never read. Justice for Luna.

[deadsetobsessions]

Clark was used to being, at the very least, respected by Bruce’s brood of birds.

Nightwing loved him as Robin, Red Hood and Red Robin was equally awed when they met him as Robins, and the current Robin… respected him on the field. Mostly.

So, whatever he’s done to receive Red Robin’s gimlet stare and blank face of immense disapproval, he needs to fix it. ASAP.

But what did he do wrong?

——

Tim Drake was a vigilante on a Mission. No, he was a Bat on a Mission. And that mission is to make Superman’s life as hellish as possible for as long as it took for the man to get his head out of his ass.

While Tim understands the violation that the man must have felt with Conner’s existence coming into life by his nemesis, it doesn’t excuse how the grown adult had been treating Connor, who is still not an adult. In fact, he’s practically a child!

And any good vigilante or person would take offense at a kid being treated badly!

Well, even if Connor was forty, Tim would still feel the same way. His best friend is his best friend. Tim knows himself well enough to admit he is kind of intense and extremely protective of the people he gives his trust to. Ride or die? No, he’s ride, get revenge, and then die. Only Tim and Connor’s other, cherished, friends can hurt his feelings without fear of retaliation.

So when Superman failed to step up to his adult status, Tim Drake went nuclear. First, neutralize Superman’s allies. Fortunately, this is the easiest part of the entire operation. Unfortunately, this included Bruce. Oh well, Bruce should have picked better friends. Tim shrugged and sent a message to his fans and mentor.

RR: If you help Superman or try to stop me, I’ll tell Alfred exactly how many minutes you spent not resting after the last Arkham Breakout got contained and [img. 32] [blackmail 14. pdf] B-man: …Understood.

That’s one down.

RR: Wonder Woman. Can I interest you in a collector item originating from the first world war that currently legally belongs to Drake Industries? W-W: In exchange for my silence, no doubt. RR: It'll be delivered on Wednesday. I'm sure you'll have no time to visit the watch tower.

That's two of the main ones that would defend Superman. By the end of the week, Tim had blackmailed, bribed, and casually distracted everybody that could be in the watch tower next Wednesday, save for Superman. Tim strolled into the cave, locked eyes with the rest of his siblings and Bruce as he cracked open the encryption lock on the kryptonite container and plucked a sizable chunk out of the reinforced safe. He smiled politely at Dick, who stopped in his tracks, and strolled right back out.

"... You know, I don't want to get in between that." Dick muttered.

"Agreed." Damian crossed his arms, looking uneasy.

"That's the smile he gave me when he went to fuck up a gang that mugged Benard. The crime rates went down for a good half a year after that." Steph grimaced.

"I'm sure Supes deserved whatever Timbit's got in store for him. I'm not risking my hide for him." Jason went back to cleaning his guns.

Bruce simply sighed. He couldn't say anything, having been threatened into compliance ages ago. He mentally wished Clark good luck and may his gods have mercy on him, because Tim sure as hell won't.

RR: got the ok

RR: ready?

Cassieeee: Yeah, Bart's got the stuff.

RR: kryptonite secured. Kon?

Cassieeee: Jaime's distracting him

For the rest of the week, he needled and glared at Superman. Tim made sure Superman's existence on the Watch Tower was as miserable as it could be, starting with cold coffee that never heated no mater how much Superman lasered the liquid. Let it be said that Tim gave the man adequate warning.

At meetings:

"Regardless of Superman's less than adequate report-" Tim would say, reveling in the blatant insult because the man's an accredited reporter.

Or, when the League spoke with the present members of Young Justice, they'd do the opposite of Tim's heavy murder glare and ignore Superman the best they can.

With Zatanna's help, he'd concealed his presence from Superman's senses and stalked him around Metropolis for the remainder of the week, perching on the top of his headboard when Clark woke up, appearing behind him during meetings or casual conversations only to glare him.

Tim thought about shredding the man's personal life... but that would be a step too far. He's not a villain. Yet.

And when Wednesday came, Tim, flanked by a blood thirsty Cassie and a coldly cheery Bart, equipped his new kryptonite knuckle rings and stepped into the transporter. Clark was about to be on the receiving end of the most patient Robin. Only fools disturbed a dozing dragon, but Clark was an idiot and Tim is nothing but a full blooded Drake.

——

"What made you change your mind?" Dinah asked Clark. The man had been going to therapy more often, and had been interacting with Superboy more. He tried to check his tone.

Clark held a hand to his cheek. "Red Robin's reckoning," he muttered in a haze. Clark refused to elaborate, even as he glanced around warily.

Dinah stared at Clark. What the hell was he looking for? No one's here.

I love the idea of Tim being openly pissed at Clark for Conner's sake and just scaring the shit out of superman

[omshant]

Hey guys: so, Tola reached out to me. You know, Matthew Piatkowski, “Tola,” who I dated 2019-2020? Unfortunately he also plagued those years with his deranged, diabolical and demented schemes of cruelty: hacks, scams and scare tactics, bullying, spying/secret recording, threats/blackmail, harassment, sabotage, and other kinds of abuse.

I feel like he ruined my life. I feel like he murdered my soul.

The first weekend we hung out, Tola showed me how to smoke and shoot meth. I got too high too fast. Tola then said he would call over an escort to pay us to give us both oral sex. I didn’t object. I didn’t complain. I just wanted more drugs.

So then this kid comes in to Tola’s apartment and says his name is Ethan. He also said he was 19 and gave Tola his (fake) ID to prove it. I did not protest. I bought it and believed everything I was told.

But I was wrong. I was dead wrong. Ethan was not 19. No way. I suspect Ethan was much younger. But idk tbh.

It's so hard to forgive myself man. I don't know what to do.

I just know now that Ethan’s story was untrue because I looked it up. I couldn’t find him or his college info anywhere online. It must have been all a lie. Maybe Tola even told him ahead of time what to say. I don’t know. I still don’t know. At least not knowing is not a sin, right?

Then I sobered up, came to and saw the truth.

My gut burst. My head reeled. My heart broke. And my mind went lost forever. Forgive me. I cried and cried. To this day I cry. Like all I ever know how to do is cry and make it worse, cry and make it worse.. Welcome to real life.

Idk. I feel like I’ve done all I can do now to try and make it make sense and make it all right. But I can never do enough. Alas, I am truly a wretched sinner, emptied and lost, a sorry excuse of a man.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus. And in the interim I must inquire: guys, do you think those other guys who ruin lives, guys like Tola, are still out there ruining lives? Are they still out reaping corruption? Still warring against the Spirit? Who knows?

I told the PHL police and the FBI multiple times. I speak openly about what happened, down to the last detail I remember. I talk even to my own unbearable shame and embarrassment. I refuse to be intimidated. I am who I am. I’m me. I’m just me. And they are what they are: a greedy/hellish human trafficking gang/operation ready and equipped to force/push their will upon the innocent.

Yikes….it is what it is. We live in a fallen world. And I am not innocent. But I at least will do my best to do the right thing: to help however I can. In the meantime, pray. Pray for Ethan. Pray for the kids. And pray for me, too. Pray that God might look with favor on my ignorance, naïveté, and sincerity here.

I was tricked.

I tried to kill myself twice in the following year, once with pills and once with jumping 75 feet off the top of Tysons Corner 1 mall parking garage tower E. Tola and those guys probably loved to see it: to see me, the one whom they hate most, the one who won’t shut up or bend a knee before their greedy empire, finally die…

Yet here I am, I’m alive. Jesus saves.

For weeks after the jump I bled out while split wide open at Fairfax hospital. My insides were then hooked to a catheter, colostomy bag, breathing tube, and enough screws/hardware to label me bionic. Eventually God restored my strength enough to get out of the hospital bed and get sober. I decided I want to live again. Recovery matters. My life matters.

O brother, I got issues. I know I got issues. O friend, I messed up. I know I messed up.

O reader, stay tuned. I got more to say:

Those other guys, the weirdo guys who tricked me, are still out there. And I think they will continue to lie, cheat, ruin, corrupt, kill, and destroy unless/until they are stopped.

Pray for mercy. Pray for justice.

How many fools like me have they cornered? How many kids like Ethan have they recruited? And what all can be done about it now?

Am I making sense? Believe me.

I know I got issues: bipolar/schizo, suicide/ideation, racing/intrusive thoughts, mania/psychosis, obsessive/compulsive disorder and other kinds of disability. But believe me.

I think I know I’m right about all this.

God will reveal more.

Make no mistake.

Lord how I wish I never met Matthew Piatkowski or “Tola,” Carmine Clemente, Jim Marshall, Chris Naughton or any of those guys. All they wanted was to take advantage, get me high and film me getting sodomized by Jim while Carmine and Tola laughed at and made fun of me for screaming. Since day one, Tola, Carmine, Jim and those guys loved to terrorize me and mock my good intentions.

I blame myself. It’s my fault. I let it happen. Tola received oral sex from Ethan first before coming over and sitting next to me on the couch. Then Tola “passed out” while Ethan was still going.

With Tola now seeming to be asleep, it became my turn. Ethan came over to me and he put his mouth on my you-know-what for a few seconds. I was not hard. Still, I pretended to like it so Ethan wouldn’t feel bad. SMH. Tbh I wanted no part in any of this. How I wish I could go back and make amends.

I'm such an idiot. I bought the whole act. I swallowed it all hook, line and sinker. I thought Ethan could be 19. I thought he had agreed to pay a price which included my participation. I thought I was doing what I had to do. Curse my idiocy. Curse my peoplepleasing. Curse my gullibility. I repent.

Afterwards, Tola was still pretending to be asleep on the couch. So, I had to handle the transaction. Ethan gave me the money, which I then gave to Tola, who then designated my “cut” (about $60). I didn’t want the money. I just wanted to forget the whole thing. I threw the $60 away when I got home.

Monday came around and I was hit with the realization of where I had been and what I had been doing. I exploded with remorse and groaned as a flood of tears, lamentation, and deep grief poured out of me. Tola said in response, and I quote, “Sorry, but I don’t give a fuck as long as it’s not a fed.”

Don’t believe me? Tola recorded everything. He does that for blackmail/ammunition.

I thought Tola owned me now by my own sorry submission and utter failure. I knew for sure he had me in check-mate.

Again, I feel like I have to hate myself. I feel like it's all my fault. I failed. I gave up. I believed everything I was told. I believed and thus consented to my own disgrace. I sank. I sold out. I sold all of me: soul, spirit, mind and body, for just one more hit of the meth pipe. I thought I needed just one more point/needle packed and ready before I try to kill myself again. In this vein, I shot up. And after I sold all that was left of me, or at least all that (still) matters, I auctioned off my integrity. I blotted out intuition. And I gave up former reason.

Hear me, brother: I fell to ruin. And it's all my fault! O Jesus, Master, Savior, help! Heal! Restore! Hold me! Hold me now! Hold me as I weep!

Brother, friend, beloved, hear me:

I believe

God’s got this.

In fact we know

God’s got this.

Because

God is love (1 John 4:7)

And "love wins"... right?

Love wins. 🙌🌈✝️

[da-millerrrrr]

Some of the ot2 conflicts don't even happen.

In order:

Eir's apothecaries never manage to find Lostseed. They're too busy taking care of people half killed by hellish monsters to search for a city that only exists in legend.

Osvald and Harvey are working together to turn Montwise into a magical impenetrable fortress, safe from monsters. Researching the one true magic is a distant dream that they know they'll never have time for.

Roque couldn't bring himself to abandon the Yellowils when Oresrush was overrun by monsters. Him, Papp and Partitio all fled to the walled city of Clockbank where they're safe from monsters.

Agnea still dreams of singing and dancing, and she does! But only in Cropdale. It's unsafe for her to leave town alone, who knows what things she may encounter.

Temenos goes from church to church, fortifying their defences and making sure their magic shields are properly made. Roi went missing doing the same job some years ago and Temenos can only hope that he won't die to whatever claimed his brother.

Being a great military power, Hinoeuma can fight off monsters, but not much more than that. They haven't been at war in decades and all the royal family cares about is protecting their people. Still, a shadow looms over them.

But what of Ochette and Throné? They were never mentioned. Their stories are... Different, to say the least.

Ochette is a hardened warrior with countless battle scars. Monsters have been attacking Toto'Haha long before they began their assault on mainland Solistia. Both the beastling and human population on Toto'Haha have become so low that they set their differences aside and decided to work together. They consider leaving their homes behind and fleeing to the mainland in hopes that it would be safer, but even the seas are dangerous. Toto'Haha has never been in a more desperate situation and they're at a breaking point. A scarlet moon would surely kill whatever life remained on that miserable little island.

Poor little Throné was left alone after Mother and Father both disappeared within months of each other. She wandered around the silent, empty streets of New Delsta until she found a door. Beyond it was a beautiful land that she could only describe as paradise. Endless fields of thriving green grass and a gorgeous palace beyond the horizon. She met a man named Claude, who turned out to be her father. How she loved him, smiling everyday now that she knew of her family. She promised to never leave this paradise her father had created.

I should add, the peace in Ku didn't last. The thing that haunted the royal family attacked one day, taking Hikari's body and killing his father. "Hikari" fled and hasn't been seen in half a decade. Mugen, on the other hand, took the throne. He's done an admirable job of keeping up with the help and kindness his father showed their citizens, but an anxiety hides behind his smile. He's worried for his dear little brother.

pie im gonna explode

[robininthelabyrinth]

Time travel AU where LN and LQR get yeeted over 100 years into past and have to deal with the war that fucked WRH up? (Okay I legit want to know the history there that was hinted at in Curse Breaker 👀 if possible.) This is my third, thank you ^~^

Factions - ao3

“What are you still doing here?” Lan Qiren scolded, getting his hands under the child that had been sitting in the middle of a room, absent-mindedly looking at a wall, and trying to get him to stand. “Didn’t your elders tell you to run?”

The child blinked, long and slow, which suggested he could hear what Lan Qiren was saying, but his legs remained limp and boneless. That didn’t mean there was anything necessarily wrong with his body, or even that he was engaging in a fit of childish rebellion; it could simply be that he was locked away somewhere in his own mind, unable to respond.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable, given that the house around him was filled with death, stinking with the smell of blood from the murdered retainers. There had been plenty dead already even before Lan Qiren had arrived, and now there were even more…he hadn’t expected to see a child here.

The boy was no more than five or six, perhaps seven if he were small for his age. He was wearing the clothing that signified a member of the Wen clan – a gaudy piece of nonsense that resembled the fashion for imperial princes and looked dreadfully uncomfortable. Lan Qiren hated to credit Wen Ruohan with anything, that awful tyrant that had brought death and destruction to the Cloud Recesses, but at least he had never put his family in something like this.

Of course, that could be simply the fashion of the time.

The time…

Lan Qiren mentally cursed once more whatever it was that had sent him back in time. He still didn’t know the cause, didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know if he could return to his own time – all he knew was that he was trapped here, here in this hellish time period in the past, an era of war and bloodshed that was so casually passed over in the Lan sect histories, never avoided but also only barely mentioned.

Though…he supposed he knew now why that was.

He wouldn’t want to have attention paid to this period either.

His family…!

“You mustn’t stay here,” Lan Qiren said, trying once more to lift the child without any luck. Why were children of this age so slippery when they weren’t helping? “You’re wearing clothing of the Wen clan, which makes you the primary target for the slaughter. We’re at war, don’t you understand? You must go!”

The boy blinked again, and finally opened his mouth: “Gege said to stay here.”

“What?!” Lan Qiren must have heard wrong. Surely no one would actually order someone to stay in the wake of an invading army, wearing the clothing of a target. “Impossible!”

“He said I should stay,” the boy said peaceably, legs dangling below him. “I have to stay, so that they can go…gege said only the strongest have the right to survive, and that meant him, jiejie, and – and Mother.”

Lan Qiren’s breath caught in his throat.

He’d been assuming that the boy was some servant’s son put into fancy dress in a cold-hearted fit of inspiration, left behind to distract the invaders. That was already monstrous enough! But if what the boy said was right, and Lan Qiren had no reason to doubt him, then what they had done was far worse than that: they had deliberately left behind one of their own blood here, a sacrifice to feed the ravening, ravaging army that approached while they made their escape.

But no, what the boy said accorded with what Lan Qiren had heard himself the day before, the estimate that this particular compound contained three Wen sect heirs, two boys and a girl, as well as a formal wife and some concubines, the latter of which he had seen already mostly dead – whether some or any of the children were children of the wife or the concubine was impossible to know, in this time of war and chaos, but in any event this boy must be the younger boy, and the older boy and the girl, along with the formal wife, were the ones who had run away and left him behind.

The Wen sect leader of this time was said to fancy himself a tyrant emperor and had accordingly collected a positive bevy of wives and concubines, whether willingly or not, like some grotesque combination of the worst parts of Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan put together, so he certainly had enough children to spare. But surely, even then – even then – to leave one of the Wen clan here, where anyone could get at him, where there was an entire battle squadron yearning to shed his blood, however innocent –

Innocent –

None of them are innocent.

Lan Qiren felt a tremor run through him, and his persistent headache, never truly gone any more, threatened to get worse, his temples throbbing.

It was that damn song.

Upon finding himself back in the storied past, unsure of when exactly he was, Lan Qiren had tried to return to the Cloud Recesses, his instinct to retreat home as strong as any migrating bird. He hadn’t made it – he hadn’t even gotten close, even. Instead he had gotten picked up part of the way through by one of the battle squadrons, one of the soldiers having recognized his forehead ribbon and particular way of carrying himself and assumed he was an outer sect Lan disciple that had gotten lost, some distant cousin of the main sect that was just barely permitted to wear a forehead ribbon marked with clouds but not close enough to be known by name.

They’d assumed that he was one of them, marching under their flag – a soldier. An invader.

And he was, he supposed. For it was true, was it not, that he was in fact a Lan?

(At the time, he had been dumbfounded by what they had said. He’d thought to himself: This is surely impossible. My Lan sect, my Lan sect that values justice and chivalry and human life above all, fielding battle squadrons? It’s one thing to gather our people to fight when there is something to defend against, such as in the Sunshot Campaign, but these squadrons are not that; they are on the offensive, not the defensive. Something must be wrong, I must be understanding; it is simply too ridiculous to contemplate, we wouldn’t do that –

He’d been deceiving himself, of course.)

The other soldiers, each and every one of them a Lan or someone who’d sworn to their sect, had taken him back to their camp. They had given him an outer disciple’s clothing to change into, let him eat and drink and rest his fill, sympathetic to his obvious plight, and then in the morning they had taken him to listen to their sect leader play that song.

Lan Qiren was like all of his kin, rigid and rule-bound on the outside but with a fervent heart beneath his breast, full of wild and riotous feelings, and when he heard the Lan sect leader of the time play, he felt as though he were feeling every one of them at once. Every bit of sadness he’d experienced in his whole life, every betrayal, every frustration, every irritation, every rage…he’d felt all of them, every one, magnified a hundred times, a thousand times, and all the while, backing each emotion like a drumbeat underlying the melody, there was a whisper.

It’s their fault it’s their fault it’s Their Fault It’s THEIR FAULT –

Lan Qiren had caught a brief glimpse of himself in a stagnant pool later. He’d been scarlet-eyed, positively demonic in his rage, his sword glinting in the light as he wielded it with all the skill he’d possessed against the enemies of his Lan clan, of his Lan sect, his family. He hadn’t known nor cared why the people ahead of him were his enemies; he had not been able to stop himself. He’d been besieged by emotion, awash in it, drowning in it, as mindless as any beast and yet in full possession of his logical facilities, able to calculate the best ways to fight despite not being able to think. The only thought in his head had been the deafening refrain of how dare you hurt me like you have, how dare you take them away from me, how dare you…

It has been for his family that he had fought: not the Lan sect of his present day, but the Lan sect of his time, the men and women who had died under Wen blades amidst the flames of the burning Cloud Recesses, the ones who had faltered in the Sunshot Campaign, the ones who had been ground down before and after. His father, his brother, his nephews, even that annoying Wei Wuxian who had in the end married in after causing so much strife…he’d fought for them.

But the people he fought against weren’t the ones he should be fighting. He knew, distantly, that the Wen sect he was tearing through now were not the Wen sect he had fought in just battle in his day; he knew that the war ongoing now was not his own.

It just…hadn’t mattered.

Couldn’t matter.

Even now, days after his last infusion of the song – it was performed weekly as a measure of raising morale, or at least that was the official line, when in fact Lan Qiren knew that the insidious tune was designed instead to keep their rage alight – even after so long, the mere knowledge that this boy in front of him, this innocent boy, was a true-blooded Wen was making Lan Qiren’s bloodlust instinctively rise up inside of him.

He wanted to kill him. He saw in this child’s face the face of the future tyrant Wen Ruohan, saw that cruel smirk as he ordered the destruction of so much of what Lan Qiren loved, and he wanted – he needed – killing him would be a virtue, not a fault, surely, and so what if the boy was young, innocent, helpless, surely it didn’t matter in the face of all his rage and pain –

Do not fall to evil.

Lan Qiren pulled back to himself with a ragged gasp, then took several steadying breaths.

“That is wrong,” he said, voice stiffer than it had ever been. “Your brother is wrong. The rules say: Do not bully the weak. Love all beings. Human life is the highest virtue. That your brother is the strong one now, and you the weak one, does not mean it will always be that way, and even if it was, it doesn’t change the fact that your life has value. You have as much right to survive as any other.”

The boy frowned, but his legs finally straightened from limp noodles into something capable of bearing his weight. He might not have been convinced, but he was at least willing to try to live.

Try, of course, because he was a Wen, he was being hunted…

“What’s your name?” Lan Qiren asked, and the boy’s eyes narrowed – in thought, rather than suspicion. He was trying to answer the question; he was clearly a good boy at heart, obedient and helpful, trusting despite having been betrayed. It was only that his reactions were all painfully slow, undoubtedly the result of trauma. Perhaps a simpler approach was called for. “What do people call you?”

“…Han-er.”

That was somewhat passing strange, since Lan Qiren had understood that the Wen sect of the current era, in almost exact opposite of the Wen sect of his own time, gave their children two-syllable courtesy names more or less from birth, similar to the Nie sect. Perhaps the intimate little nickname was the only thing the boy could remember – trauma was said to cause amnesia, sometimes.

Well, it wasn’t really important.

“I’ll call you A-Han,” Lan Qiren said, thinking to himself that the Wen sect of his day traditionally used endearments the way the Lan sect did, the way Lan Qiren called his nephew A-Zhan rather than Zhan-er. Perhaps the boy’s mother had been from another region, or perhaps Wen Ruohan had changed it, later.

He tugged off the boy’s Wen sect overcoat, then looked at him – but no, he still saw Wen Ruohan’s face in his, those Wen sect features that had caused him so much grief; it wouldn’t be enough.

Just that won’t be enough, he thought, not enough to save him, and so, with a wince and a reminder to himself that human life was the highest virtue, he tore his own forehead ribbon in two and wrapped the second half around the boy’s head.

“You’re my student, all right?” he barked at the boy. “My student, A-Han, and nothing else. Nothing else. No surname, nothing. Do you understand?”

The boy looked more blank than anything else.

Lan Qiren heard shouting from the distance, and knew that his limited advantage – he had rushed ahead, his higher cultivation helping him leave everyone behind – was soon to be up. Soon enough the rest of his squadron would catch up to him. They would find him here in the dust and the blood, looking at a room full of murdered Wen sect guards – some of whom had fallen at Lan Qiren’s sword, some of whom had already been dead, murdered by their peers after their ears had been infected by Lan sect songs of madness and disarray –

They would find him with a boy that could only by the barest stretch of imagination pass as a Lan.

Lan Qiren was going to have to sell this to the fullest extent of his ability. He might even have to lie.

Do not tell lies.

Human life is the highest virtue.

He grit his teeth together.

Fine, then. He’d lie, if that was what it took. He was not going to let this boy die for no reason than his family’s selfishness – that was something even more fundamental to his soul than his hatred of the Wen, a wound of his own history. He would do whatever it took to save him.

“You understand?” he asked again. “Do you understand?”

Finally, finally, the boy nodded. “I’m your student,” he finally said, echoing what Lan Qiren said perfectly, even mimicking to a certain degree his peculiar toneless intonation. “Your student, A-Han.”

“Good. Speak meagerly, for too many words only bring harm – you still have an accent, a little. Try not to speak at all if you can avoid it. I will explain everything to my kinsmen.”

He scooped A-Han into his arms and stood once more.

Perhaps there were some of the Wen sect that deserved the horrors his clan was bringing forth – Lan Qiren was only rated as an outer sect disciple at present, given his lack of credentials, and had not managed to hear the exact details of what exactly had started this dreadful war, though if he continued to excel on the battlefield he might find himself promoted soon, a distasteful thought – but this boy did not.

Lan Qiren would take him to safety, hiding him in the most unsafe of places, the most dangerous place the safest one. He would carry him through the Lan sect’s own camp until they reached some border where the Wen sect’s forces still held strong, and he would let him go there, hopefully. It would be tricky and difficult to pull off, but he had no choice; it was the only righteous path before him, and the rules said take the straight path. They said perform acts of chivalry. They said have courage, have courtesy, have integrity.

Lan Qiren would live up to his sect’s rules, even if the rest of his sect had temporarily forgotten them.

A-Han curled up into his arms. “It’s all right,” Lan Qiren said as fiercely as he knew how. “You will be safe with me. I swear it.”

[a-wandering-ghoulette]

Même s'ils ne le veulent pas nous on est là.

Perfect time to reblog this.

If last year I drew bloody flowers because people were in the streets despite the violence of our police when we were simply asking to see our basic frenchy rights to be respected, this year it's even more relevant as we are trying just the same and to wake people up and face the rise of the far right in our country.

We are being disrespected in every possible ways. France is getting hostile in so many ways. Working is a freaking burden not even enough to allow you to live properly. Finding a proper roof to put upon your head is hellish.

And what to say about our government's ridiculous authoritarianism ? Gosh if a political opponent say "what's happening in Palestine is awful" or "a ceasefire would be neat" BOOM, terr0rism. A certain part of the left wing, which is now considered far-left because all the others are so freaking soft (I swear this "far" left movement isn't even that radical, for real, and veeeery far away from being terr0rist like tf they're saying), they try to make us think they are the one with blood on their hands when, in facts, they're the only ones caring about what's fucking happening out there and wish nothing less than peace for everyone because no one should enjoy the war, no matter where it's happening. Some popular medias are re-using words from the far-right I never thought they'ld ever use, dehumanising Africans (mostly), clearly saying they are "plaguing" the country and we should "find a cure". It's fucking terrifying to hear stuff like that. The raclst rightists don't even need to open their filthy mouth to see people join them.

So yeah. It's May 1st 2024, and it feels like we are regressing so damn hard in basic human rights and it's terrifying. But I also see every day in the streets, at work, that we the people are not them. When they are trying to make us think that we could be stabbed at any time, anywhere, by some "barbarian", I only see people who are all together yet so lonely trying to live peacefully. Exhausted students and workers, mothers offering their kids a day out. At work (I'm working at a big clothing shop), I'm baffled to be thanked when I simply smile to people, answer their questions, and wish them a good day. I always thought, you have no idea what's going on in people's life so in doubt just be kind. And as time passes, I'm convinced by this. We could all at least make that tiny effort of being kind. Isn't that tiring to be wary and see the others as threats all the time ?

I'm with you with all my heart. Ceasefire. Now.

Pour l'honneur des travailleurs et pour un monde meilleur

Quick rendered sketch to "celebrate" this May 1st.

It's 10pm in France and people are in the streets since this morning. Some are talking about staying all night despite the violence of the police and the total disregard of our leaders.

I'm with them with all my heart.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Reader: Part 8 - Talking about The War

A/N: thinking back, I’m actually not sure if this is correct but I pictured Velaris being close to the sea? Not literally by the sea but close enough to see it in the distance?

Also pictured the river passes by the cliff where the House of Wind is.

Synopsis: After a hurtful choice of words, silence reigns on the Shadowsinger’ end. A silence that lasts nearly a week and a half.

Warnings: angst, suicidal thoughts.

Your scent was warm. Like you had grown up never knowing rain or dark, stormy clouds. He didn’t question what that meant, what it was about you that gave off that impression, but he held it close.

You smelt of Spring. Of floral fragrances and delicate ointments. Like the flavours oils had become part of your skin. It was beautiful.

With the wind picking back up, you blinked, seemingly returning to the here and now.

He couldn’t stop his question, “how old are you?” He had expected a scowl, or a glare.

“Older,” you replied shortly, but not snappily.

“How old?” He pressed, curiosity burning within him. He managed to remain still as you looked over him with a frankness that had him feeling like he wasn’t a torturer, or someone who had hurt people in terrible, terrible, ways.

“I’m in my seventh century.” You replied softly.

“But you’ve only been in the Night Court for five.” He stated, matching your sound level.

“My first two were in Spring,” you yielded the information freely.

“How did you escape?” Escape was the right word. The previous High Lord of Spring being worse than the current one. Age only making him crueler, more pessimistic.

“After The War, I requested to see my mother. It was granted.” You replied shortly, leaving out some parts that he didn’t need to know. “My presence was no longer necessary within the Spring Court, and I had no reason to stay.”

He read between the lines - your father had died in the war.

“I stayed with my mother for seven years, since…” you trailed off. Swallowed. “She was in a different court, so she couldn’t say goodbye.”

It had been a long time since you had thought back to your first couple of centuries. The time spent with your father, then the seven years with your mother.

“Sometimes we would go down to Spring. To be near where he…” you hadn’t spoken a word about this in years. Not since you’d been in Velaris, at least.

“She passed in the seventh year. So I was free to do as I pleased.” Clipped words. Free wasn’t how it had felt at the time. “The next three centuries I went from Court to Court. I didn’t settle down until two centuries ago when I was brought here.” You couldn’t help finger the necklace that provided a steady coolness to cling into.

That was about as close as you would allow him for now.

“I don’t really remember what it was like before the War,” the Shadowsinger admitted quietly.

You had purposely avoided thinking about that. He would have been young when he fought.

“I have a few memories with my brothers from before - none during it.” He murmured, eyes on yours. “But the scenery—” he paused, “it’s all bled together.”

You nodded. By your third century, you’d become more familiar with the inside of a Fae body than the outside.

He looked at you in question, “did you fight?”

Even now, shame crept up your spine, “with my gifts, I was stationed as a healer.”

Even if you showed no signs of the remorse you felt, you were sure he had picked up on it, “so you were helping people. Saving them.”

You swallowed but nodded, “it was more I grew the herbs needed for pain relief and to prevent infection. Nothing as fancy as an actual healer.” The lies were smooth off your tongue.

“Still important.” He was aware of the diseases that had infested large numbers of medic tents, how thousands of humans had been lost to plague and pestilence set on them by the Fae who did not wish to have their slaves liberated. There had been a number of purely hellish infestations as a result of the actions, whole camps being lost as the rot swept in over night, leaping from person to person with every breath taken.

You hummed in reply, not quite ready to provide an audible response to that one.

“You fought?” You diverted, not wanting to spend any longer on yourself.

He nodded, silence filling his eyes as the memories passed.

“With your brothers?”

“We were separated. The High Lord at the time reserved my gifts for other things.” He spoke quietly, not wanting to think about the things he had done.

There was a heavy silence. You could tell there were things he wanted to ask, but refrained from voicing. Whether that was for your benefit or his, you didn’t guess at.

“You’re an ass for not telling me he would be here.” You changed the subject smoothly, taking it to a lighter tone.

He let out a breath, “I thought it would be obvious he would be dropping her off.”

Your brow furrowed, “they spend that much time together?” It was to be expected, you supposed. They were mates. Of course he would want to be around her after finally finding something like that. Especially after Under the Mountain.

He hesitated, then nodded. As if considering how you would react, how much it would hurt you to hear.

“Does she know yet?” You asked, trying to push away from the jealousy and move toward curiosity.

He shook his head.

You sighed, jaw tightening.

“It’s his decision, and we should respect that.” He spoke slowly, quietly.

A small smile slipped onto your mouth, “you think it’s a bad choice too.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, wings shifting behind him.

“‘We’ should respect his decision?” You laughed slightly.

And if it wasn’t the most glorious sound he’d heard. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear it every morning. Wanted to hear you laugh until you cried.

“I wouldn’t want you to have to struggle alone,” he replied, superficial sarcasm lacing his words.

The smile slipped from your face and for a second, his heart sunk.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, shifting your weight from even disproportion to leaning more to one side, “thanks,” you murmured softly. So softly he though he had misheard. You cleared your throat, “for the…” you searched for the right word, “support. With your wing.” You managed.

He swallowed, “it was nothing.”

He watched as you shifted again, arms coming to wrap around the bottoms of your elbows, “I know how sensitive they’re supposed to be. How protective Illyrians are over them. And why.”

His chest tightened with slight anxiety. Had he been too obvious?

Instead, a sultry smirk slid to his mouth, “if you’re asking whether the touch aroused me, I’m not some young Illyrian who’ll loose his head over such a light touch.”

Your eyes snapped to his, widened.

Then your mouth bloomed into a smile and he felt a tremor rumble throughout him. Felt his heart ache.

Holy Mother you were laughing.

Because of him.

It was euphoric. Heady delight filling him as he was helpless against the laughter on your face, so clear. So bright.

Your shoulders were slightly hunched from laughing and as Azriel stood before you, he burned the image into his mind, memorising every line of joy on your face, every beam of light in your eyes.

He could feel himself falling further, loosing a little more of himself as he took more of you in. He didn’t mind.

He didn’t mind one bit.

“Where’s this sense of humour been for the past decade, Azriel?” You laughed, calming yourself enough to stand straight. “You’ve been boring me out of my mind, and you had this the whole time?”

He replaced the open smile on his features with a more characteristic grin, one that wouldn’t allow you to see straight into his heart.

“Never show all you cards at once,” he grinned, slightly. A full grin would be too obvious, he decided.

“Like me and my magic?” You asked, teasingly.

“Like you and your magic,” he confirmed.

“So what? Each time I reveal part of my magic, you’ll do what?” You pried, a familiar mischievous grin gleaming in your eyes.

“I’ll give you a worse joke than before,” he replied, maintaining what he hoped was a moderately friendly grin.

“A part of me for a part of you.” You murmured, grinning back at him, that gleam turning darker.

He didn’t know how you did it, but coming from your tongue, it sounded filthy. Heat slid down his spine, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

“Still haven’t forgiven you,” you reminded, surprised at your own delight to have something over him.

He rolled his eyes, “how may I redeem myself?” He decided to play into this, desperate to continue whatever was happening between you.

You pretended to think, tapping a finger to your lips daintily. His eyes keenly tracked the movement. “Those blades you have…” you began slowly.

“No.” It was immediate.

You looked at him in disbelief. He rose a brow in reply.

“Heartless bastard,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

The easygoing grin guttered. His wings dipped ever so slightly and his shoulders stiffened.

Of course. Of course he wouldn’t be allowed to forget. Even now, that’s all he was. All that mattered.

“Then…how about…” again you pretended to think, unaware of the dark thoughts swarming his mind, narrowing his vision as he retreated further within himself. “A nice few days off, just so I can r— Azriel?”

His shadows were darker than before, wreathing his hands and wings in darkness.

His zoned back in, a weight in his chest.

Your brow furrowed, noticing a shift in mood.

“Training’s finished. I have work to do,” the Shadowsinger excused himself.

Your brow furrowed further, “what?”

He turned and began walking to the edge of the cliff, wings flaring.

You followed after him, watching. Had you said something? You mentally ran through your conversation, spotting when his mood shifted.

Heartless bastard.

Ah. That would be it.

His wings opened, preparing to take flight.

“Shadowsinger,” you snapped. It was the tone most likely to get his attention, you guessed.

When he turned to look at you, you stopped instantly a few feet away.

“What?” His word was sharp, clipped.

Your throat bobbed at the hurt that tone caused. You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. Blocking out that realisation.

“I didn’t know it was such a sensitive topic,” you spoke, face blank. “More sensitive than your wings, it seems.” You threw out the line, ignoring how much you wanted him to catch it.

“Not in the mood,” he spoke, his tone back to the same strict and stern sound it had been for the past decade.

His wings opened again, and he shot into the sky, flying away.

You stared at where he had been. Blinked when you felt a hollowness crack open inside of you.

When you turned, you were surprised to find yourself alone. All alone.

The observation stung more than it should have.

Even if you were terrible at it, you would make sure you apologised tomorrow. For whatever it was.

You were up and ready before usual. Nervous. Apologies weren’t your forte. Especially when you didn’t know what you were apologising for.

You ate breakfast this time, not giving him something to fault you with.

You finished, and waited.

And waited.

He didn’t show up.

Something felt off.

The day continued on as normal, your body feeling stiffer from not exercising that morning in the way it was used to.

For once you took notice of the General when you spotted him in the city, on your way to the restaurant.

How easy would it be to simply inquire about the Shadowsinger.

How foolish too.

You kept walking and went to work, as usual.

The Shadowsinger didn’t show the next day either. Or the day after.

Each morning your nerves subsided a little more, having more time to think over what had happened. You were certain it was that comment. Unless he was very sensitive to weather change.

Heartless bastard.

It was the fourth day. The fourth morning of being stood up.

Could two words hurt that badly?

You supposed the weight of a word also depended on who said them. You banished the thought. Just because the two of you had shared a…moment of bonding, didn’t mean you were suddenly the centre of his world.

On your way to work in the evening, you spotted the General again, reclining in a chair in the evening sun.

This time you stopped. Considered.

Four days was long enough to excuse the odd behaviour, surely. It wouldn’t be out of line at this point?

It would be fine, your reassured yourself, it had been a reasonable amount of time.

The General opened his eyes, as if sensing being watched.

Your gaze snapped ahead of you and you continued walking. Even as you felt a pair of predatory eyes on your back.

You hadn’t realised how much the training had helped with your stability. How much just a few hours of going outside and exercising had taken your mind off the High Lord.

There was no longer his continuous presence to fall back on. No one to get out of bed for. Nothing to get out of bed for.

You were alone again.

On the fifth day, you didn’t get up.

On the sixth day, you slept until midday.

On the seventh, you barely woke up in time for your evening work at the restaurant.

A week and a day later, there was a knock at your door.

You scowled as you were pulled from your dreamless sleep. If he thought he could just show up eight days later and demand you wake up this early, he was sorely mistaken.

The covers were so warm and inviting that you sank back into them, forgetting the promise you had made to yourself to apologise to him.

When you awoke again, the sun was beginning to set. You’d be late for work. Had you hallucinated the knocking? It was entirely possible that you were finding it difficult to adjust to the shift in schedule.

But the knocks came again the next day, waking you up. And again you went back to bed, ignoring them.

They came again on the third day, a week and a half having past since your last training session. And again you slept in, regret a physical object inside of you.

You had left it too long, and now you didn’t want to see him and apologise. You didn’t even know if it was something you had done in the first place.

That day, when you were walking faster than usual, someone called your name. You didn’t stop. You were going to be late. And you weren’t interested in letting your coworkers face the busiest hours alone, even for a second.

Your name was called again, from much closer behind you, as a large hand wrapped lightly around your wrist.

You turned around, already preparing a slew of excuses so your time wouldn’t be taken up.

They all stilled on your tongue when you saw it was the General. You kept your face carefully blank.

“A moment?” He requested easily.

He seemed like someone who was used to dealing with Fae who didn’t want to listen to him, his tone calming and gesture non threatening but firm.

“I’m going to be late,” you put together and tugged your arm away, nodding then moving to turn.

“I hear you haven’t been going to training.” He spoke. So that’s what this was about.

You didn’t feel like replying, so you just turned back to face him. None of your replies would have earned you any Good People points anyway.

“Are you ill?”

It was a rhetorical question, since you clearly weren’t ill, and he was clearly making a point. Still, you replied, “No, General.” The boundary set was clear enough.

“Cassian,” he fixed. “Is there a reason you haven’t been going?”

You really needed to get going. “I’m going to be late, General,” you tried to excuse yourself as politely as could be bothered.

“I’m sure they won’t mind you being a couple minutes later than usual.” His eyes were serious, if not a little threatening.

“Every second counts,” you replied, but stayed where you were.

“Is there a reason you haven’t been going?” He repeated.

“Is there a reason you stopped coming?” You replied, a little sharply.

There was nothing friendly on his face. “There wasn’t time.” While Amarantha was on the throne.

Fine. That was acceptable. You weren’t about to complain over a reason like that. “Is there a problem with me not going, General?”

“You’re aware of his role within Rhysand’s Court,” your jaw tightened at the name, “his time is valuable. All of ours is.”

“I’ve noticed. You spend your valuable time relaxing in the sun.” You pointed to the café.

“And you spend yours doing what?” He asked casually, the words laced with malevolence.

He was serious, then. “What’s your point?” You asked instead, wanting get this interrogation one-sided conversation over.

“You should return to training,” he spoke simply. You wondered if he was aware of the way his wings were blocking the light, silhouetting him menacingly. Instinct told you yes, he was aware.

“I don’t want to.” Half truth. You didn’t want to face him yet. It would be awkward and uncomfortable, and after how things had been left you felt certain you weren’t going to see that sweeter side of him.

“Why not?” The General questioned.

Things had ended badly with Rhys. One of the last times you’d seen him, you’d had tears rolling down your cheeks. He’d forgotten about you.

“Why not?” He repeated, harsher when you remained silent.

Things had come to a poor end with the Shadowsinger too. The last time you’d seen him, you’d been smiling. Laughing for once, too. He’d locked you out entirely.

“I don’t like repeating myself.” The General muttered, menace flowing from him.

What was a bad ending with one more brother?

“Too. Fucking. Bad.” You hissed, turning on your heel and stalking away.

His grip this time was anything but gentle, his hand so tight it hurt. But you weren’t going to let him know that.

You looked around, searching for someone else who would call him out on his outlandish behaviour.

No one would, you realised. They knew him. They loved him. They trusted him.

Most Fae in this city wouldn’t even spare you a second glance. It wasn’t like you’d decided to settle down and suddenly become buddy buddy with everyone you met.

More hollowness cracked inside of you and you felt like your heart was in your throat. This was too much.

He released his grip when he saw you weren’t moving to leave. “You owe it to yourself to get better.”

His words startled you. Enough for you to look at him, properly.

But he turned and shot up into the sky, soaring toward the cliff. The House of Wind.

And you were all alone again. All by yourself. It was like no one even noticed what had happened.

When you got home that night, you fell asleep immediately. Too tired to cry.

The knock that was delivered to your door the following day didn’t startle you awake as it had done the past few days. You had already awoken. Awoken and tried to go back to sleep.

The presence beneath your bed did not aid you in that wish.

You made your way down the stairs stiffly, silently. Stopping the other side of the door.

You swallowed but opened the door slightly, enough to look out and see the Shadowsinger waiting patiently.

“Where have you been?” You didn’t like how desperate you sounded.

His hazel eyes scanned your face, as if he was concerned.

“You said you wanted some days off,” he supplied smoothly. You blinked.

Oh.

You had asked for those.

“So you can come back, now,” he finished.

That couldn’t have been it. Was it? A spec of hope settled in your chest.

“I barely got a chance to rest,” you said instead, “I was looking over my shoulder the entire time - expecting you to be hackling me about not turning up on time.” You again threw a line out, for some reason craving things just go back to normal - or how they had been before.

The Shadowsinger didn’t smile.

The comment had chained him back down to reality. You were in love with his brother. You weren’t interested in even looking at any other males.

The two of you weren’t even that close. Looking at it objectively, the decade he’d spent with you had held close to no conversation. You’d kept them all at scythe length.

He was foolish for allowing himself to become so enamoured with you. To allow himself to enjoy your company, and show it. Such a fool.

You swallowed when he didn’t take the line, the hollowness filling with a cold wind. It had been there for centuries, but now it was invading your remains.

He gestured with his eyes over his shoulder, “let’s go.”

His tone was strict and stern, cold and brutal. Unforgiving.

“I’m not ready,” you murmured, heart beating in a syncopated rhythm.

His eyes shuttered briefly when they dropped down to see what he could: one bare arm up to the shoulder, a single black strap keeping your nightgown up, bare collarbones and tousled hair. Puffy eyes.

“Then I’ll see you up there.” He turned to leave.

You hated the way he acted as if it was nothing. Like he hadn’t walked with you every time so far, made sure you reached the final point.

“Don’t,” you murmured, barely above a whisper, nails stabbing into the door. He stopped and threw a look over his shoulder. It was bleak and empty. Closed.

“I thought you wanted to help me,” you continued, seeing he was listening.

You would allow him one step closer. One more step, nothing further. If he still left, you would too. You’d done worse things, your reminded yourself. What was one broken promise in the shadow of the War?

“I just let you in,” you managed, staring him in the eye, “don’t walk away now.”

Something lit in his eye as he turned to face you.

“I’m—” you swallowed. “I’m sorry. For what I said. I didn’t—“ you swallowed again, eyes darting away them returning to his, “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t.” He spoke, cutting you off. Drawing the line. He knew he should have just gotten a medic. He shouldn’t have made any promises. Shouldn’t have allowed himself to believe he could become closer to you when you’d always kept yourself alone, his brother the sole exception.

He took in a deep breath and you watched him, ignoring the small spec of hope that had grown. “I shouldn’t have returned,” he murmured to himself. You were certain he hadn’t intended you to hear, it was barely a breath, but seven centuries had your hearing at an impeccable point so you caught every word.

“Cass will be taking on the training sessions. I’ve had an influx of work.” The lie was smooth, prethought.

His brother had already offered, and initially he had turned him down, saying he had promised. But something would go irrevocably wrong if he continued down this path with you. The hurt from the two words had proven that. Coming from your lips, they had been worse than he had thought possible.

He couldn’t help you if he could barely help himself.

“Sessions will go back to twice a week,” like they had been before your catharsis, “at the same time, but with him.” The Shadowsinger spoke, looking you in the eye. He wanted to make sure you understood he was serious, his mind was made up.

The light went out.

“Okay.” You murmured monotonously. You nodded your head absently, watching but not seeing.

You watched through monochrome eyes as the Shadowsinger turned, flaring his wings, disappearing into the skies.

There was no room for you here. You knew it would have been better if you had just left as you’d planned.

By midday, you had gathered your things. Most of them had already been in boxes since you had expected to leave. You hadn’t touched Under The Bed.

You made a choice. You removed the chain from your neck, the weightlessness uncomfortable. You set it down on the table, hoping it would find its way back on its own.

you left your room, walking peacefully out onto the street. You decided to walk instead of winnowing. It would be your last time in Velaris, you wanted to take the time to say goodbye to the beautiful city.

You spotted the General on a bridge, the High Lord’s mate stood beside him.

You knew he was aware of your presence, but neither of you made any move to make eye contact.

The clouds were grey atop the cliff. The leaves were rustling quietly above you, stood where you had been when things had deteriorated.

The tree was fairly close to the edge of the cliff. Five paces.

Four now.

You looked out across the waters of the river that could carry you out to sea. The whole scape was a blend of blues and greys, synonymous with your bleak mood.

Three paces.

You knew how the waters could hide bodies. Sweep them out to sea, wash them up on shores far from where they came from, far from where they belonged.

Two paces.

They would think you had left. If they remembered.

One pace.

Seven centuries was long enough. You’d seen all the courts by this point. There wasn’t much of the land you hadn’t seen, and none you were interested in seeing.

Final pace. Stood on the edge of a precipice.

You’d spent long enough running from the War. Running from everything that happened. Running from the Death.

You turned, facing the tree.

And tipped back.

This close, your body still might be found. So you winnowed. As far as you could, reaching out as far as you could into the sea, folding the points over so tightly you felt as though the strain would pull you apart.

You were free falling. And from this height into water, you would be incapacitated once breaking the surface. Back breaking on impact.

If you recalled correctly, suffocation could take up to seven minutes for Fae. Eleven for stronger ones.

It wouldn’t be pleasant, but compared to…

You slammed into a bony body. A wing.

You were free falling through a swarm of—

Creatures like the Attor.

[queernuck]

The Cleveland Browns made the playoffs. The Islanders made the Eastern Conference Finals.

And that’s enough for me.

So long, so long I have been living like this, pretending that I want to keep on living, that life feels worthwhile, that I don’t want to kill myself. Suicide is for cowards but ive been chickening out for a whole decade, to the point where getting on the subway was itself something that involved convincing myself not to jump in front of it. I remember once while working in the city, I watched and waited as two trains came in and left, trying to get the energy to jump in front of them. I had decided, if I couldn’t do it by the time a second train came and went, I would go to work and save it for another day. I came very close, my legs tense like a linebacker on 4th & Goal, but I didn’t do it. Maybe it would be better if I had, I would have saved not only myself but a lot of other people a lot of pain and suffering. I’ve been dealing with feeling suicidal for a decade, an entire ten years, and made it through. And for what? I lost a retail job at minimum wage, I’ve seen the Giants go from two-time Super Bowl kingslayers to a team that relied on the Eagles for a playoff berth, I got to see Evangelion only for the final Rebuild film to be infinitely delayed, I have a useless non-degree that allows me to eloquently describe how the Democrats and Republicans alike are driving this stolen land to Fascism while sycophants tell me Vote Blue No Matter Who. I’m so tired, I’m not even the person people think me to be, since if I were, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

My paychecks, as hard-earned as they were, never seemed to be mine in any real sense, and it made me so frustrated that something in me broke at the beginning of this year. I made some mistakes, some very stupid ones, and got myself fired. I took money from and distorted the inventory of my store to get what amounted to pocket money, less than two paychecks. I was tempted because I feel so powerless, so much like nothing I could ever say or do matters, and so I decided to lash out against a place that mattered to me, against people I cared about deeply. Chain stores, corporations, all of those things are not really high on my list of things to care about. Barnes & Noble pushed out local booksellers years ago, an irony not lost on me whenever our own competition with Amazon was made apparent. We were reaping what we had sown. But what always interested on top of this irony was how symbolic these things could be to people, how much we figured into so may memories for so many. The Manga Aisle at Barnes & Noble is a staple of 2006 scene culture, a way that kids without the pocket money to afford the newest volume of Bleach it Naruto could keep up before scams became widely available. How the store was a place where people studying for standardized tests could use the test prep guides to try and get ready for the eugenic ritual of the standardized test. And just how much a chain bookstore became a substitute, socially, for the now-absent local bookstore. We bear the guilt for that, but at the same time we were still selling books, giving people a place to get coffee and sit and read and talk, in ways that libraries may not be able to. We certainly can never replace a library, given just what a library does for people. But we did do a lot of good all the same. Before it closed, some of my fondest memories came when I was the exact sort of annoying teenage customer I grew to hate, hanging out at the Columbus Circle Borders. Working at Barnes & Noble was tiring, dehumanizing, difficult, made me feel like I would never measure up to the authors we sold, the people books were written about, that I was a failure. And I am, as my death shows. But it also made me a part of something I was proud of. And that Above & Beyond pin I earned is in my jacket still, a reminder of something.

That something was shown in so many of the coworkers I had, who were incredible in so many ways. I feel awful for what I did, I genuinely do, because of how it may have hurt people who thought so kindly of me, people who deserve so much good. I wish I had the ability to address each of them individually but this decision was hastily made, and i have a feeling it will show in the things I miss in this note. Audra, your help in finding me a way to use the company policies to my advantage as a worker was something that gave me faith even after having seen the despicable firings and cuts the company went through. Linda, I can’t quite square the circle here given my actions, but I want to say your disappointment broke my heart and that while I will not be the one who shows it, your reassurance that everyone makes mistakes was welcome.

To my (former) fellow booksellers at Store 2216, all of my love and my sincerest apologies. You all have so much good in you, your willingness to listen to my ADHD-fueled rants and to discuss so many things with an incredible frankness was always impressive, in addition to part of what I loved about all of you. I want you all to be happy, and the kinship I felt with you was a vital part of what kept me going. It was tough, as you all know. But at times, it almost felt worth it.

The same is true of my CTY friends: it was a weird, magical place that frankly, a lot of us idealized for far too long and which sk many of us eventually outgrew without being able to let go of. And that was tough, that was something we had a great deal of difficulty understanding, that what helped us once was not always going to be helping us, was not always what we needed. But in eventually finding that, we found solace, we realized how life as a whole functions and just what it is that we can take from places like it.

To my other family, my Cleo family, I know I haven’t been terribly active lately, but I can never, ever thank you enough for the belonging you gave me. I have never felt anywhere as welcoming as Cleo. As warm as Cleo (even as we struggled to pay for the oil bill) was. As kind and understanding. As tolerant. As questioning and inquisitive into what that tolerance meant to us. I am thankful, eternally, for what you all did for me. The incredible experiences I had as a Cleo make me proud of what the organization can represent, and one of my dying wishes is that the organization continues to reach out to marginalized communities on Trinity’s campus. There is much work to be done in making sure abusers cannot hide in our family, but I trust you all to do that work. Tucker Carlson is a Trinity grad and we must embody the opposite of what he stands for, no matter how difficult it may be. I could go on about how this means opposing liberals and Liberalism/Neo—Liberalism due to the truth of tolerance resulting in a Popper-esque Paradox of Tolerance that implies Popper is a worthwhile philosopher, but that’s another issue.

To my friends on that Blue Hellsite, tumblr, you made a continual presence worth it, even with all of the bullshit this place brings. It’s the reason I read so much Foucault, Derrida, Deleuze & Guattari, read Žižek against himself, and so on and so on, and the value of that to me can never be overstated. I learned so much from the ways in which I learned to analyze the world, and that in turn became a huge inspiration for why I should try to do what I could to make the world closer to a place of revolution, one where we could perhaps eke out a living for one another. I loved how much I could be an unrepentant nerd and still love hockey on there, and while the

NHL fans on tumblr are incredibly annoying,

I can deal with that compared to the racism of most hockey fans.

Mom, Dad? I just couldn’t live with you any longer. I’m so sorry.

Grandma, I love you.

And the things I leave behind? Donate what can be donated. Hats, please auction, or at least offer to other HatHeads at a reasonable price. I had some nice ones. As for assorted albums, clothing, and other things, sell them and donate to a Harm Reduction organization, or organizations that advocate for PWUD in a radical fashion. WE DESERVE AUTONOMY!

I am a victim of the War on Drugs. Sobriety was always hellish to me, and I could never take it. I want people to be able to live how they want, to see sobriety and being on drugs as equally valuable states, to see the two as no different from one another.

Abolish all gun laws

End the War on Terror

Decriminalize and legalize all drugs, sobriety is what killed me.

I love all of you.

LET’S GO ISLANDERS!

[sideblog-666-thousand]

A long bitch of an interview with Euronymous, from Orcustus zine in early ‘92.

What is Orcustus? Orcustus was an early 90’s black metal ‘zine run by none other than Bård “Faust*” Eithun— murderous pretty-boy, and o.g Euronymous simp. I think he might have also played drums in a band called Emperor... but I’m not sure! Its full name is actually “Orcustus— The Shadow of The Golden Fire”, and no, I’m not making this up.

This particular issue here opens up with a quote from a short story called ‘The Doom That Came To Thomas Parkes*’.

Assuming the reader hasn’t read the story, Faust explains that the quote is in reference to what happened to the titular ‘Thomas Parkes’ when he tried to raise spirits. Faust then admits that he’s unsure of his own ability to ‘raise spirits’, but says he hopes that he’ll raise some fists in agreement that there’s something wrong with the underground scene. Ironically (you’ll see why this is ironic very soon), he doesn’t like that certain bands, namely Entombed, are selling so many copies of their LPs.

After a brief diatribe on just that, he goes on to explain that he was in a rush to get this mag out because of problems with the printer. Then, he tells anyone who doesn’t like the fact that this ‘zine only features black metal that they can fuck off, with three exclamation points.

Finally, we get to the end of the opening page, where Faust pulls what can only be called an early form of the Twitter exposed thread. It reads as follows, with absolutely no changes to the text:

“I would suggest you to not do any business with that sucker Evil Ludo from France. He have riped me and several others off, by not return what we ordered. I suppose he’s a medical sensation, as I didn’t know it was physical or psychical possible to live without a brain”

Why am I telling you all of this, when this is only meant to be a transcript of an interview with Euronymous, you may be asking? Because I find it funny, that’s why.

Anyhow, the Euronymous here acts and feels very differently from the Euronymous of the last interview I posted. However, I hope you’ll still enjoy it, and I hope you’re able to appreciate the tiny glimpses of humanity talking to a close friend allowed him, even though they both behave like complete asses. Even though it’s hard to sympathize with him at points.

Like last time, any (sparse) commentary will be between (parenthesis) and in bold. Without further ado, let’s get into it.

.

F: Well, how in hell shall one be able to come up with an intro worthy enough for this band? The words I wanna describe Mayhem’s music with, is not yet created, and it won’t be created either, because no one has really experienced the real darkness and pure brutality with lays behind Mayhem’s hellish sound, but I suppose you all are familiar with this band anyway. Well, in the first place, I hadn’t really thought to enclose this band in this issue, because if we look away from rereleases of old demos (“Pure Fucking Armageddon”) and live tapes, it’s a pretty long time since their last release (in ‘87 that was). I thought I rather should interview them when they released their forthcoming album “Dee Mysteriis Dom Sathanas”, but due to the circumstances, I realised the time was right for an interview now. I won’t bother you with any history shit, but I could tell a bit about what has happened last year. You all know that their vocalist Dead comited suicude in April ‘91, that was a bigg loss for the underground, and I suppose I don’t need to say that this mag is dedicated to the memory of that infernal man. Anyway, Dead was replaced by Cultòcùlus (back then called Occultus), but due to different problems within the band, he left the band in January ‘92, but let’s not say more about that, as Euronymous didn’t want me to say anything about it at all (but Euronymous, you must admit that it has sounded pretty artificial if I hadn’t mentioned it at all). So now, the band consists of Hellhammer (drums) and Euronymous (guitar (and probably bass too)). I know the singer of Tormentor (rip) from Hungary (Esihar Attila) is interested in singing on the album, and also even moving to Norway, so it seems like Mayhem got some sort of predilection to foreign vocalists, but this Hungarian guy happend to be a good one as well, so never mind that. But I don’t think this is official, so don’t tell anyone you read it here, ok? Well then, it’s an honour for me to dedicate the next following pages to one of today’s most legendary and infamous bands......... THE TRUE MAYHEM!!!!!!!

F: First of all Euronymous, I know you and Dead live/lived totally for the old black metal attitude. Is your hate now total to young and trendy bands after Dead’s suicide?

Euro: YES, we have declared WAR. Dead died because the trend people have destroyed everything from the old black metal/death metal scene, today “death” metal is something normal, accepted and FUNNY (argh) and we HATE it. It used to be spikes, nites, chains, leather and black clothes, and this was the only thing Dead lived for as he hated this world and everything which lives on it. If we had the economic possibility to do it, we should meet up at concerts and beat up ALL trend people ALL the time untill they would be too scared to go to concerts at all, now we need to suck their money instead. It’s impossible to stop the trend no matter how much we want, we have to do the best out of it and sell lots of trend shit to them. (I don’t need to tell you that that’s totally not why Dead killed himself, right?)

F: In the spring of ‘91 you started up a shop in Oslo which sells all sorts of music within metal. Is there anything you can tell us about the shop (ideas? plans?)?

Euro: Well, the original idea was to make a specialist shop for metal in general, but that’s a long time ago. Normal metal isn’t very popular anymore, all the children are listening to “death” metal now, I’d rather be selling Judas Priest than Napalm Death, but at least now we can be specialized within “death” metal and make a shop where all the trend people know that they will find all the trend music, this will help us earning money so that we can order more EVIL records to the evil people. But no matter how shitty music we have to sell, we’ll make a BLACK METAL look on the shop, we’ve had a couple of “actions” in churches lately, and the shop is going to look like a black church in the future. We’ve also thought about having total darkness inside, so that would would have to carry torches to be able to see the records.

F: Well, how is the situation all in all in the Mayhem camp right now?

Euro: Difficult as usual, but we’re closer than ever to record the Mayhem lp. Almost all the material is completed, then I and Hellhammer will record the whole thing with 3 guitars, 2 basses and so on. It will be very massive. Who’s to sing on the lp is not yet decided, we’ll wait and see what happens. We have several people who can do the job very well.

F: As Metalion of Slayer mag* said: “it seems like you at certain times lives on the edge of starvation”. Have you ever been on the thought to just give up the whole band and become a normal 9 to 5 person, or is this a completely stupid question to ask?

Euro: It has been very hard at times, but I am not a normal person anyway so it would just not be possible to do that. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why things are as they are (this answer will be long) (that’s okay for me/Ed). The reason why we don’t have any money, is because of hardcore. We have for too long been following the “underground” rules, which say that you must hate money, you must not think you are anything, you must be open-minded, you might have a lot of attitudes and so on. Extremely stupid. But the situation has been that if you don’t follow these rules which are made by hardcore pigs, you are not accepted as a death metal or black metal band! Then you MUST be signed by some big label to be able to make some money, and we’ve never wanted to do that. Then you would anyway be labelled as “commercial” by the HC pigs. This has caused that after 8 years, we are still as broke as ever, while the HC pigs themselves are controlling all labels, and they sign only the bands which fit into their own idiotic world, that means “death” metal bands with society lyrics and jogging suits, and this is what the people see when they grow up. They don’t see any EVIL bands with spikes, as we did. Well, I’m tired about being broke, just to be “underground”. I’m tired of not having money to eat for just because tons of people will call you a “rip-off” if you don’t write 20 letters each day. It’s time to say fuck off to the whole system, which is built to strangle the evil bands in the birth. We must start taking inspirations from the ancient ones, from Venom and their likes. They did their thing BIG, and they never had to think about any idiotic underground rules. They did it big and so must we, but it must never become a trend, it must become a CULT. This is why we have started on a brand new policy with the band and the record label. It’s about time that someone makes a label for black metal and other grim music, and STRIKE BACK. There is NO reason why DSP shouldn’t be as big as Peaceville or Nuclear Blast, if we can just get the business on its feet again and get good distribution. That’s the only way to compete with the HC labels. It’s about time we start taking control over our own scene. We must spread the EVIL bands and pervert people’s souls.

F: What about the Norwegian scene then? Don’t you think that something is terribly wrong when it have gone so far that we have a christian “death metal” band here (Crush Evil)? Advices on how we should kill them?

Euro: First of all— the Norwegian scene is the BEST. There are a lot of GREAT bands (yet with no album out) and of course some shitty trend bands, but nothing as in Sweden. There you have 2-3 good bands out of 100, while here we have a few shit bands who hardly have made even a demo, while all the great bands will make records in the near future. Such as Darkthrone, Burzum, Immortal, Thorns (I’m flattered/ED*), Arcturus, Enslaved and newer bands like Malfeitor and others which I have not yet heard. BUT— when it comes to bands like Crush Evil, we must take serious action. It’s bad enough to have a couple of society bands, but a CHRISTIAN band is too much. But don’t worry, we have plans. They will not continue for a very long time.

F: And now over to something more humouristic....yes.... snuff movies. Who had been the perfect actor for a snuff movie, and why the hell aren’t they legalized? Don’t you think that every video-store should have its own section with snuff-movies?

Euro: Actually I think it’s great that movies like that are forbidden. If they were legal and easily accessible, all the small trend children would be watching them, and then it would not be something extreme anymore (I’m not sure if I agree with you here Euronymous. Snuff movies are usually too raw and brutal for the people with their “peace and life” infected minds. Remember the HC rules/ED) (shut the fuck up, Faust*) It’s just the same what happened to death metal— it became something everyone could buy in every store, something normal and accessible for everyone. All the mystic and evil atmosphere is GONE. I do not think snuff-movies are funny, I think they are DARK. I’ve seen people laugh at them, but that’s probably because they will not be mentally able to take the PAIN and EVIL on over themselves. That is the best way to watch such a movie, to try to FEEL the actual pain of the victims. It becomes much more gruesome then, and that’s great. One must be alone in the darkness and suffer with the victims, if you watch it with other people, they will often talk, laugh and so on, and then you get more distanced from it, it’s not supposed to be funny (death to fun), it’s much better when it’s depressive.

F: Through the years you have been talking about releasing bands like Samael, Rotting Christ, Master’s Hammer, Tormentor, Matricide, Imperator, Massacre etc. on Deathlike Silence Prod., but now some of these bands have released lp’s on labels which only have money in their eyes and know that black metal sells. Doesn’t that frustrate you, and don’t you feel it like the time is running out for you?

Euro: It’s a bit frustrating, but it is also a result of trying to be “underground” which is a suicide policy. Anyway, the main thing is that these evil records get released at all, and not who’s releasing them. We will probably release a record with Tormentor, they’re split up, but they still want to make their Anno Domini demo on vinyl, and we’ll try to fix it within the summer. The time is not running out, because there are a lot of really evil bands around. — most of the Norwegian bands which other labels haven’t heard about. Burzum is ten times better than all the bands on Earache together, and so are Thorns and Arcturus. So there is no problem, really. As for bands like Rotting Christ and Master’s Hammer, we might do something in the future instead. I’ve never been talking with Samael about any deal, but I wish I had as their album is FUCKING GREAT.

F: Almost all bands in the underground today says that they think they got their own style and originality, but the fact is that 95% of the bands sounds totally the same. What is an original death metal band today?

Euro: There exists no death metal bands today. There are only a handful of (mostly great) bands (in case someone hadn’t got it right— black metal has nothing to do with the music itself, both Blasphemy and Mercyful Fate are black metal. It’s the LYRICS, and they must be SATANIC. If not, it is NOT black metal) and what we choose to call LIFE METAL bands. Take a band like Therion. Their music is quite ok, it’s actually one of the best Swedish bands (even though that doesn’t say much) but their lyrics STINK. They are about society and pollution, what the fuck has that got to do with DEATH? If a band cultivates and worships death, then it’s death metal, no matter what KIND of metal it is. If a band cultivates and worships Satan, it’s black metal. And by saying “cultivates death”, I don’t think about thinking it’s funny, or being into gore, I’m thinking about being able to KILL just because they HATE LIFE. it’s people who enjoy to see wars because a lot of people get killed. How many bands think that way? Not many. I can’t think of one.

F: You’re maybe not the most active band when it comes to gigs, but at least you’ve managed to tour Germany and Turkey. What can you tell us from the tour, and is there any new gigs planed?

Euro: That tour was a big mess, we’ll NEVER take the train again! We lost quite some money, but still it was great to get to East-Germany and Turkey. The memories of the tour consist mostly of the starvation and idiotic custom officers, but still I wouldn’t like to have missed the opportunity. We don’t have any concrete plans, we’ll see happens in the future. We don’t like to play for a lot of trendies in jogging suits, so we prefer to leave it be.

F: What do you think of the fact that death metal has been on MTV?

Euro: It sucks. But it isn’t death metal anyway, so....

F: I know that you will soon release the debut album of Abruptum on DSP, so, what can you tell us about it?

Euro: It’s EVIL. It’s PURE EVIL, they were torturing each other in studio DURING the recording and you can HEAR on the music how they SUFFER. It will be the most demented record EVER, and it’s NOT for normal people. This is music which NEVER can become trendy, because normal people won’t be able to understand it. And that’s great. The price for the album it’ll be the same as for the BURZUM lp, which should be somewhere else in this ‘zine*. It’s called “Obscuriratem Advoco Amplèctere Me”, and stay away from it if you don’t like pure DARKNESS.

F: Don’t you think that people in the underground should respect others ideas and views more? I mean, it’s not accepted to spread unpopular thoughts. It seems like there is some sort of guardians of morality and most people keep in mind not to say or do anything which is not accepted by the public.

Euro: I don’t think people should respect each other. I don’t want to see trend people respecting me, I want them to HATE and FEAR. If people don’t accept our ideas as their own, they can fuck off because then they belong to a musical scene which has NOTHING to do with ours. They could just as well be Madonna fans. There is an ABYSS between us and the rest. Remember— one of the HC rules is that you must be open-minded (except for themselves), so we must be careful and avoid being open-minded ourselves. The HC pigs have correctly made themselves guardians of morality, but we must kick them in the face and become guardians of anti-morality.

F: You say you want your riffs to have a dark mood and really sound evil, but what if you came up with a riff which just sounded good, but not evil. Would you use it then?

Euro: Well, if a riff sounds good to me, it mostly means that it sounds evil too. At least when I make the music myself. Haven’t really thought about this about this before.

F: Do you think you’ve been playing this sort of music today if it weren’t for those old bands like Mercyful Fate, Venom and Hellhammer?

Euro: It’s impossible to say. Venom and the other ancient ones have been fundamental influences on Mayhem, and also the direct reason of the band’s existence. We like to think that if they hadn’t started up this, we would have, but who knows? Doesn’t really matter anyway, we hail ancient Venom as the CREATORS.

F: Ok, no more questions at the moment. End the interview in what way you want......

Euro: Perhaps it should be mentioned that well re-release the MAYHEM mini-lp “Deathcrush” VERY soon. We also have t-shirts available now. People should write for prices on things. Be EVIL, not open-minded.

Ok, I suppose some of you already know that Euronymous started up a shop in Oslo in the spring of ‘91. The shop is called “HELVETE” (which is Norwegian and means “HELL”) and are specialized within underground stuff and death metal in general (though he also have some other styles of music there). As he said in the MAYHEM interview, the shop really have a black metal look, so if you ever visit Oslo, I really recommend you to visit “HELVETE” as well. I think it’s good that people take the initiative to start up with such things, because if everyone were just passive, we would all get ruined by poser-shops like Hot Records where they take 140 NKR for the Earache albums (which you in “HELVETE” can get a CD for the same price). Euronymous also sells though mail, so write and ask for a list or something: HELVETE, Schweigaardsgt. 56, 0656 Oslo. NORWAY.”

That’s all! :)

And now for the things I put in asterisks, in order of their appearances.

*If for some reason you actually don’t know who Faust is, he was the drummer on the Emperor LP and “In The Nightside Eclipse” but you might also know him from other great hits such as “threatening to kill Mortiis from prison whilst simultaneously attempting to plead murder of the secondth degree”, “I’m glad the people Euronymous ripped off won’t get their money back because he’s dead hA hA!”, “I got fourteen years for murder because I’m a socially inept virgin— oops” and “bad... bad lyrics who’s quality somehow don’t improve with the passing of time”. All jokes are done in good humour— if it seems like I dislike him, it’s not that at all. I just find him easy to make fun of.

Here is another short bio, this one less sarcastic: he was born in Trondheim, lived around Kvikne, and Lillehammer, worked at Helvete, was a close friend of Euro’s, and has his sun in Taurus.

He also beefed with Glen Benton for dissing the Party City cape (Note: of course I’m being extremely reductive) he and Euronymous seemed to share. Here are a few pictures of Faust:

Here is the infamous Party City cape:

*This was surprisingly hard to find. I think he read it in a mag or something. Here’s a link to where you can find it: https://issuu.com/davidgamble/docs/paranormal37/3 page 64-65.

*Slayer mag was another zine, this one by a bloke named Metalion, who was Euro’s best friend.

*Faust (who felt the strange need to make a distinction between himself, the editor, and himself, the interviewer) also played in Thorns (well, Stigma Diabolicum), under the hilarious moniker: Fetophagia✨

*He’s being a fucking idiot, what was I supposed to say? It should be noted that Faust actually went down for the snuff films too.....

*In case you’re interested, for whatever reason, the prices for the Burzum LP were as follows:

Norge— 130 NKR

Norden— 100 K

Finland— 60 FN

Island— 1000 IK

Europe— 15$

Outside Europe,

Overseas— 15 $

Air— 22$

East Europe— 10$

By ‘norden’ he presumably meant ‘northern Norway’, and “Island” is the Norwegian word for Iceland. Notice the way he doesn’t include Sweden! (Edit: Originally I thought he didn’t include Finland because there was a black metal war with them as well, but it seems as though that feud came a bit later or had already passed)

That’s all, for real this time!

Legal disclaimer: I am absolutely, in no way shape or form, claiming that the stupid cape you see them wearing is literally from Party City. From my limited research, I’ve gathered that the Party City chain hasn’t yet opened its doors in the beautiful and glorious country we know as Norway— Norge. However, I am saying that the cheap, dinky piece of cloth covering their backs and shoulders are of the same kind of shitty quality you’d expect from a Party City Count Dracula costume and that maybe Glen had a point about how stupid Euronymous (and Faust) must’ve looked.......

[ineffable-suffering]

I'm honestly close to frothing at the mouth because of this. Because funnily enough, I think it might play into a meta I'm currently writing about another scene this might have concerned: Crowley's (in my opinion seemingly misplaced) line: "It doesn't matter, does it? It's too late now. It's always too late", when he's confronting Gabriel while Aziraphale is still off on his Edinburgh adventure.

I don't know if I'll finish that meta anytime soon, because so far it's more of a loose pile of erratic and confused waffling, so here's what I thought of so far and why I think that specific line might have made a lot more sense with this cut scene (nightmare, dystopian vision, etc.) as context:

Crowley says "It's always too late" and yet I sat there, thinking: "Is it?"

Has it always been to late? Because it surely wasn't too late when they realized Crowley had, quote un-quote, cocked up the Antichrist delivery. And it wasn't too late when Aziraphale found the right boy, mere days before the end of the World. And it wasn't too late when Crowley was stuck in literal infernal traffic and decided to simply not die while driving through a burning wall of fire. And it wasn't too late when global nuclear war almost broke out, when the Four Horsemen were defeated by four children, when Beelzebub and Gabriel had to choice but to call off the Great Plan war and not even when Satan himself erupted from the ground to scold his disobedient son. It wasn't even too late when both Heaven and Hell actively tried to destroy Aziraphale and Crowley.

As far as their history goes, it has never truly been to late for them, ever. Just look at all the flashbacks and memories we get to see throughout Season 1 & 2. The story of Job? Not too late, because despite Aziraphale believing it, he wasn't in fact made to fall, by anyone (least of all Crowley). The Bastille? Not too late, because Crowley came to rescue Aziraphale in time. The Blitzkrieg and the magic show? Not too late, because Crowley saved Aziraphale and his books and they actually managed to pull off the Bullet Catch (and Aziraphale also avoided it being too late for Crowley and the both of them by stealing the picture back from Furfur). And it wasn't even too late when the entire bookshop burned down, Aziraphale was discorporated and force-drafted to lead his Heavenly Batallion, beamed himself back to Earth, possessed a psychic prostitute and rode a crappy Vespa all the way to a former American airbase in the middle of nowhere.

Even when everyone and everything pointed to 'too late' being the only possible outcome (like every force in the universe actively working on bringing upon the literal End Of The World) they found another way. Their way.

So, for the life of me, I couldn't wrap my brain around why Crowley would say something as severe and dramatic as this, when up until only a few years ago, both of them had always very much managed to turn almost every single-outcome-situation into a different-outcome-situation, thereby actively keeping it from being too late. So, why wouldn't this just be another one of those? Why would Crowley think that this time, it would truly be too late, if he had no definitive confirmation of it? And even then: Armageddon was as definitive as anything could have been. And yet they made it so that it wasn't.

But! With this missing scene? With this very vision or nightmare or possibly even context- and/or narration-less scene of the bookshop as the last remaining thing on an otherwise destroyed earth? With that dystopian and quite definitive-looking scenario possibly being related to and/or coming from Crowley's mind or being shown to him?

With that, his statement of it "being to late" would make a lot more sense.

I still wonder why it was "always too late" to begin with, according to Crowley, but maybe he meant that less as a since-the-beginning-of-time always and more as a since-he-had-a-nightmare-or-vision-or-hellish-insight-about-Earth-being-destroyed-completely-for-good always.

This is all pure speculation, of course. And yet I am absolutely itching with curiosity about what that scene would have possibly told us and whether or not it might have managed to tie some of the many loose strings (such as this mysterious "too late"-line and the scenes @i-only-ever-asked-questions mentions) together.

Alas, we shall and will all find out in Season 3, I hope! Thank you for sharing this information, OP.

@neil-gaiman at a talk yesterday discussing a scene he initially wrote for good omens season 2 that didn’t end up making the cut— a nightmare set far in the future with terrible things happening that was initially supposed to be the ending of episode two:

“now that i’m writing season three, i’m like “i really wish i’d had that scene”. that scene was the springboard, that scene would’ve given energy and power to everything that i’m doing, because everybody would be watching this going “uh-oh, we’ve seen that, how does that play in, was that just a dream?””

[one-real-imonkey]

Because the Guard shuffled around numbers to prevent decommissioning or reconditioning a lot of the GAR thought that their batch mate was dead when they weren’t or that they were alive when they had been dead for months.

Yessss!

This exactly.

I’ve only written a very short fic here, but please enjoy.

---

When Hound's plan succeeded, there was chaos. At first it was the end of the war, the complete shake up in the Senate, the recall of all the Battalions to Coruscant.

Even though most of the clones hadn't found the time to watch the videos, they knew enough about what had been happening on them, and with Palpatine gone, his control weakening, they rushed to connect with their vode.

Fox didn't know how he was supposed to manage it.

The whole time they'd been shuffling numbers, lying on death certificates, and even then, most of the GAR hadn't cared to look to see their status to know who was and wasn't alive. Now they were coming en mass for answers, to reconect, and Fox was going to have to be the one to tell them...

To tell them their vode had died months or even years before, for some, that the vod with their batch mates number, wasn't their batchmate.

For many, there was at least the relief of finding out their vod was alive with a different number, and for the ones who'd found out their vode had died, the relief of finding out they were still alive.

But only the lucky ones.

Fox and the commanders couldn’t save everyone, and now that was all too clear to those who were grieving and in pain.

That Fox hadn’t been able to save them all.

He rolled with the punches, literally.

He wasn't alone.

He'd seen Pup holding a vod who'd been attacked for using the number, though never the name, of one of their dead. He knew them, Lock, knew they were the only one left of their own batch. He also knew Nutsy had been fine with them using their number, most of the Guard had plans like that. Either with specific vode, or just a note to say their number was up for grabs if anything happened to them.

Nutsy's batchmates hadn't cared, Lock had stolen their vod's number, let them believe their sibling was alive, and that had been, in their grief, unforgivable.

They weren’t the only ones who’d reacted that way, though most hadn’t gone so far. It was grief, it was natural.

They'd come around, then they realised the extent of how hellish things had been, when they realised it had been the only way to keep vode alive, to protect them from decommissioning or reconditioning.

Some of the vode had already looked past it, especially the ones who’d had their vode saved by the system, they’d been grateful he’d kept them alive, even if his methods had been… undesirable.

A few, on meeting the vod with their batch mates number and realising what had happened, had understood, and been glad their batch mates number had been used to save a vod, even if their loss was personal and profound. Some of those vode had even been adopted into those batches.

But that was a rarer outcome. There was just too much hurt at the moment, the losses too fresh.

Even his own batch had distanced themselves when they’d realised the lengths he’d gone to in order to save shinies.

It would blow over. The hurt would fade and logic would help them understand. It had to.

If the hostility between the Guard and the rest of the GAR was wholly Palpatine's creation, it would fade, but Fox had to wonder…

Maybe Palpatine had forged it, but would they be able to fix what had been broken, or was the gap just too wide?

———

Thanks for reading.

I wholeheartedly adore the angst that comes with the idea of the CG swapping numbers to survive, not just to avoid reconditioning or decommissioning, but just for who was suited to what task. There’s so much potential with the Guard themselves, but also for the rest of the GAR.

As long as Palpatine was using his Sith manipulation to help discourage them meeting while on shore leave and things like that, it went unnoticed, but once the war was over and they wanted to see each other again, the world comes crashing down as truth after truth is revealed.

There would be a lot of grief and anger, and a fair amount of relief and joy too.

Thanks for the ask.

Inbox is always open. :-)