#we never see any of his army's admirals or generals

[protonpowered]

Given that the Imperial Power Suit was constructed before the destruction of the Rubion Forge, and therefore before the arrival of Dr Nefarious, who do we think the original second pilot might have been?

Who would Emperor Nefarious trust enough to pilot his pièce de résistance right alongside him?

[sabo-torao]

Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

[brother-emperors]

What do you mean when you say that Pompey is a lover in a story of inescapable violence? I am extremely intrigued

the Late Republic is a stage of violence intent on gorging itself on this violence, the structure of the system leaves no other outcome.

Pompey is both someone born into this cycle and someone who is an acting hand of violence. He fashions himself after a military ideal, Alexander the Great, he positions himself as Sulla’s successor in the arena of political spectacle (rising/setting sun), he is Rome’s conquering hand.

He’s also, in Plutarch’s biography, intensely aware of matters of love and romance and does not treat them as an idle and casual affair. It is, in some way, an inherent part of his character. He is the ideal of a husband, even if it conflicts with whatever other ideals he’s supposed to embody, and apparently trades in his role as a general to remain in Rome with his wife.

We are told that Flora the courtesan, when she was now quite old, always took delight in telling about her former intimacy with Pompey, saying that she never left his embraces without bearing the marks of his teeth. Furthermore, Flora would tell how Geminius, one of Pompey's companions, fell in love with her and annoyed her greatly by his attentions; and when she declared that she could not consent to his wishes because of Pompey, Geminius laid the matter before Pompey. Pompey, accordingly, turned her over to Geminius, but never afterwards had any thing at all to do with her himself, although he was thought to be enamoured of her; and she herself did not take this treatment as a mere courtesan would, but was sick for a long time with grief and longing. (…) Moreover, Pompey also treated the wife of Demetrius his freedman (who had the greatest influence with him and left an estate of four thousand talents) with a lack of courtesy and generosity unusual in him, fearing lest men should think him conquered by her beauty, which was irresistible and far-famed. But though he was so extremely cautious in such matters and on his guard, still he could not escape the censures of his enemies on this head, but was accused of illicit relations with married women, to gratify whom, it was said, he neglected and betrayed many public interests.

Plut. Pomp. 2

All this won him admiration and affection; but on the other hand he incurred a corresponding displeasure, because he handed over his provinces and his armies to legates who were his friends, while he himself spent his time with his wife among the pleasure-places of Italy, going from one to another, either because he loved her, or because she loved him so that he could not bear to leave her; for this reason too is given. Indeed, the fondness of the young woman for her husband was notorious, although the mature age of Pompey did not invite such devotion. The reason for it, however, seems to have lain in the chaste restraint of her husband, who knew only his wedded wife, and in the dignity of his manners, which were not severe, but full of grace, and especially attractive to women, as even Flora the courtesan may be allowed to testify.

Plut. Pomp. 53

Nevertheless, the marriage was displeasing to some on account of the disparity in years; for Cornelia's youth made her a fitter match for a son of Pompey. 3 Those, too, who were more critical, considered that Pompey was neglect­ful of the unhappy condition of the city, which had chosen him as her physician and put herself in his sole charge; whereas he was decking himself with garlands and celebrating nuptials, though he ought to have regarded his very consul­ship as a calamity, since it would not have been given him in such an illegal manner had his country been prosperous.

Plut. Pomp. 55

The messenger, finding her in this mood, could not bring himself to salute her, but indicated to her the most and greatest of his misfortunes by his tears rather than by his speech, and merely bade her hasten if she had any wish to see Pompey with one ship only, and that not his own. When she heard this, she cast herself upon the ground and lay there a long time bereft of sense and speech. At last, however, and with difficulty, she regained her senses, and perceiving that the occasion was not one for tears and lamentations, she ran out through the city to the sea. Pompey met her and caught her in his arms as she tottered and was falling. "I see thee," she cried, "husband, not by thy fortune, but by mine, reduced to one small vessel, thou who before thy marriage with Cornelia didst sail this sea with five hundred ships. Why hast thou come to see me, and why didst thou not leave to her cruel destiny one who has infected thee also with an evil fortune so great? What a happy woman I had been if I had died before hearing that Publius, whose virgin bride I was, was slain among the Parthians! And how wise if, even after his death, as I essayed to do, I had put an end to my own life! But I was spared, it seems, to bring ruin also upon Pompey the Great."

So spake Cornelia, as we are told, and Pompey answered, saying: "It is true, Cornelia, thou hast known but one fortune to be mine, the better one, and this has perhaps deceived thee too, as well as me, in that it remained with me longer than is customary. But this reverse also we must bear, since we are mortals, and we must still put fortune to the test. For I can have some hope of rising again from this low estate to my former high estate, since I fell from that to this.”

Plut. Pomp. 74-75

I have some vague thought in here about how Pompey was entrusted with Rome’s safety, and that conflicts with his Lover status because you can’t love something more than Rome without Rome deciding to cast you out, and it also prevents him from reclaiming his Soldier role in the ensuing war with Caesar. Doomed by Rome, doomed by Love, doomed by Fortune, etc. but also simply the inevitable cycle of war and violence, the ever turning wheel of Rome.

[coreene]

Gonna leave one more for my boy Gorty and add the others i find interesting to my que so I don't spam you guys.

This is his invitation through the Steel Watch guard:

Steel Watcher: Greetings, old friend. Orin told me you were on your way here, but I scarcely believed it. Welcome back to Baldur's Gate - welcome home. devnote: voice only, no mocap. Voice coming from Steel Watcher. warm

This is the greeting for Dark Urge. The devnote is same in both sentences.

Gonna put the rest under the cut because it's gonna be long.

Steel Watcher: My most esteemed guest, we meet at last. I am Lord Enver Gortash. You are the Prism-bearer, slayer of the dread General Ketheric Thorm. devnote: Polite, formal, smug

Steel Watcher: I welcome you to Baldur's Gate. My city. devnote: a warm welcome, with an edge of warning on 'my city'. As in this place is mine, don't step out of line.

This was the welcome now the following are the answers player can choose and Gortash's responses to them:

1 (if it is Karlach)

Player: Your city? Gortash, you fuck. Steel Watcher: By the Black Hand - I'd recognise that voice anywhere. Karlach! It's been an eternity. devnote: surprised and seemingly delighted

2

Player: This city will never be yours. Steel Watcher: It already is. Granted, there are a few formalities to complete, but... well, why don't you come and see? devnote: smug

3

Player: A pleasure to meet you. Could we talk face-to-face? Steel Watcher: Of course, of course. My Steel Watchers are rather adept at keeping the peace, but not entirely suitable for polite conversation. devnote: apologetic, but still extremely pleased with himself and the virtues of his 'steel watch'.

4

Player: I'm going to find you, and I'm going to kill you. Steel Watcher: I admire your audacity... but it'll be the death of you. Ketheric had an army of corpses and a crumbling tower. I have a city and an army of steel. devnote: genuine on first phrase, but the threat/warning on the latter phrase is much more serious than any admiration Steel Watcher: It would be better for us both to resolve our differences amicably, and I have the perfect venue for a face-to-face meeting. devnote: reasonable

And this is the end of the conversation:

Steel Watcher: Allow me to formally invite you to my inauguration. Make your way to the ceremonial hall. devnote: smug, but the invitation is genuine. This is no trap.

That last note made me realize that if he wanted - he could have easily attack the player at his inauguration. He kills a bunch of patriars after that so he clearly doesn't give a fuck about making a scene about that.

It is his turf, filled with traps - he has the absolute advantage. So why doesn't he just do that? Why does he offer an alliance? Only to get Tav to kill Orin? He is such a confusing and complex villain.

[josefavomjaaga]

"All those promises have gone up in smoke..."

As mentioned several times already, when Eugène in June 1805 received that glorious post of Dork on Duty Viceroy of Italy, he did so quite unexpectedly. And while Hortense casually mentions that Eugène being elevated to such honours had caused quite some "humeur" in the family, in particular from Murat, the freshly chosen viceroy himself was equally exasperated at being thus abandoned to the hostile Lombardian wilderness left alone in Milan.

He actually had received Napoleon's promise for two trips to Paris every year. We know what became of it, the first time Eugène would return to France was in late 1809, to see his mother leave the Tuileries. If he already suspected as much or not, in any case he also, before the French court said Arrividerci and returned home, demanded from everybody who would listen that they absolutely needed to write to him!

At least that is what can be guessed from a passage in a letter to his sister Hortense, dated Monza, 9 August 1805. (There is a -minor?- caveat to this letter: it's not an original, but apparently a copy, from a notebook in Hortense's possession. The original seems to be lost. A caveat because I have already seen in other places that whoever put together these copies, and for whatever purpose - yes, I am looking at you, Madame la Reine! - in some cases has taken quite some liberties with the original text.)

[...] Would you believe, my sister, that since I took leave of Mama she has not written to me or even sent me any news of her? You wouldn't believe the pain it's causing me. She cried so much when she left me, she told me so many times that she would lose her only support […]

… and then someone showed her the latest fashion catalogue on the way back to Paris and everything else was forgotten. Come on, Eugène, you should know your mum by now.

But it's not only her.

[...] Madame de la Rochefoucauld had promised to write to me. Bessières was supposed to write me a line every morning; I have only received one letter from him so far. Clarke never sent me a word. In the end, all those promises went up in smoke. My good Hortense, Lavalette and my friend Duroc are the only ones who have not forgotten me. [...]

His righteous indignation at such treatment clearly audible, echoing through two centuries. And it is indeed a bit astonishing to see Eugène, who had been generally well-liked, even admired during the Consulate, so quickly abandonned to himself. Maybe it's just how royal courts work, or at least how Napoleon's court worked: if you are not there, under the eyes of the Master, you're unimportant.

Or maybe Eugène, 24, out of his depth with his new task, overwhelmed with work he was not used to and did not cherish much, desperate at having to displease somebody whatever he did, exaggerated. A little. His desperate pleas would seize rather quickly a year later, after his marriage.

But there's still some time to go until then. And before it happened, best buddy Bessières who had promised to write every morning and now could not be bothered, surely would hear an earful!

Milan, 24 July 1805 [...] It is very wrong of you, my friend, to write to me so little, to forget me like this, and to not answer my letters at last. Every officer or courier returning from the great army has been questioned about your health and each one tells me: Marshal Bessières sends you his compliments, he will write to you with the first courier. And they all arrive with the same message. You have no more good reasons to give now that you are in Paris, so I commend myself to your friendship. Your faithful friend Eugène N

Your faithful and rather pissed-off friend, I might add. [Emphasis in the original text, btw, underlined] Eugène doubles down on it the next day:

Please be convinced, my dear Bessières, that the only soothing tonic I can have is news from you; I am flattered that I will already have a few letters on the way, which I will soon receive, and this idea sustains me.

However, it takes until 19 August until Eugène finally can tell Bessières:

At last I have received a letter from you, my dear Bessières. I confess I was beginning to think you had forgotten me. If you had promised me less, you might have kept more. I will write you a note every day, you told me; and I had only asked you for one a week, and that one, without fulfilling my friendship, would have satisfied it.

Bessie for once being a true Gascon, talking big and promising much, apparently.

Don't tire, my friend, of writing to me and thinking of me; I need to know that the people I love have not forgotten me. My lot is a fine one, no doubt, but it cannot stop me from regretting, and regretting very sincerely, my former life.

As we do not have Bessières' letters, there's no way of knowing what excuse Bessières gave for not writing as he had promised. Maybe the friendship always had been a one-sided thing and much stronger from Eugène's side, and Bessières was secretely relieved to be rid of this overly excitable oversized toddler he had been babysitting for so long? Though, admittedly, that would make me sad.

[abarbaricyalp]

77 for the kink prompts 👀 (if you like!)

77: Wish Fulfillment

Is this mostly wish fulfillment for me? Maybe so

(Also I chose this title specifically for you)

AO3 Link

Knee Deep In The Pilot Seat

It had started with Sam’s casual musing as Bucky willed his eyes to stop watering in the stinging wind.

“You know, Top Gun’s part of the reason I joined the Air Force?” 

“That’s the one with the blond guy and the Mission Impossible guy?” Bucky had asked.

“You have an eidetic memory. I know that you know their names,” Sam drolled.

Bucky had been in a fighter jet before. He’d fought in them. Still, it was impressive to see one up close with his own eyes, all sleek and impressive and large. He’d also never been on a carrier before and that was an experience in and of itself. If only the open ocean wind hadn’t been trying to dry out his entire tear ducts.

“You know, this is the Navy, right?” he pointed out. “You just assumed Air Force ‘cause of the jet, huh?” he teased.

And Sam had rolled his eyes and bitched about knowing the difference and not wanting to go to Michigan for basics. Lackland was less than a day’s drive from home. Close enough to get back, too far for anyone to come searching. Et cetera, et cetera.

“Besides,” Sam had said with a laugh, “I got my wings eventually,” he said. “I think I came out on top.”

“Yeah, I think you did too,” Bucky agreed.

“Still, this is supremely sexy.”

“Well, you’re that anyway too” Bucky pointed out. But he hadn’t been able to ignore the gleam in Sam’s eyes, the tilt of his chin and swell of his chest as he looked at the fighter jet.

They’d been called out to the aircraft carrier by a colleague of a colleague of a colleague of Sam’s, traveling across the military until it reached them. Well, reached Sam. As usual, Bucky was pretty sure he was a surprise to the people who’d called.

“I know this isn’t really an Avengers job,” the general (or admiral or aviator or whatever they were called when they were both on a boat and in jets) had told them. “But we wanted to keep this on this deck only. No other chain of command.”

Sam had raised his eyebrow for Bucky and gone into the specifics of the issue. Something about a potential “villain,” a term which the admiral looked like he was having to swallow hot coals to say. There had been issues on this boat before, understand, so they couldn’t take a flimsy report to the higher ups, and he didn’t want any of his crew (cast? pilots? whatever, the army was not this confusing) to get reprimanded for something they didn’t do, or something that was out of their control. His team was good people. If someone was going supervillain, it wasn’t their fault.

Which seemed desperately optimistic.

Everyone had been cleared off of the carrier so Sam, and Bucky, could investigate without any trouble. Bucky would have preferred to talk to the people who worked on the carrier. All of the pilots, the engineers, the navigators, the maintenance crew. What had happened on the boat was beyond their control now. If they were going to stop anyone, they had to know about the actors at play. 

The incident, upon investigation, had happened in the hangar of the ship. Carrier ships were huge. (“Why are these things so big?” Bucky had asked as he followed Sam down a ladder towards the hangar. “They have to catch jets going 150 miles an hour. They need room to slow down,” Sam had answered. And Bucky let him know exactly how crazy these pilots [and Sam included for ever wanting to do this] were. And Sam had pointed out that the EXO wings were definitely crazier. Which was true.) And carrier ship hangars took up a lot of that room. Still, there weren’t as many jets as he was expecting and what was there was… Well.

“What the hell?” Sam had breathed.

“He said super villain,” Bucky sighed back.

The dozen or so jets that were in the hangar were completely demolished. Some were crushed down into something almost resembling a large lall of metal and tail fins. Others were ripped apart, whole entire panels missing, gouges scores in segments that measured feet across.

Then they’d bickered about what could’ve done this, and if it was even plausible for something to be physically large enough in the space to make marks like that without tearing apart the rest of the ship, and what their next steps should be. Sam had left to review footage from flight control. Bucky had investigated the rest of the ship, including the bunks and meeting rooms. They’d met back up on deck to disengage and recoup the next day.

All in all, it had kind of made Bucky’s head spin. He was no Dick Tracy and it hadn’t been in his pardon that superhero bullshit would include investigative bullshit too. But the atmosphere of the beach was nice and Sam had regaled him all night with stories about his trainings and what he wanted to be as a kid and what he still wanted to do as a grown up kid. And the waves crashed as they sat in the sand and stared off at a horizon that hid a ship with a secret.

The next day, Bucky showed up onboard after Sam, begging off an hour in the morning to snoop around inland to see what the crew was up to. He showed up in a coverall flight suit with aviators and a smug little grin on his face.

Sam stared at him. He couldn’t help it. He looked half ridiculous and half like a wet dream walking across the deck. He’d left the flight suit unzipped almost all the way down to his belly button to accommodate his shoulders and also because he was an asshole who knew he looked good. Sam had confirmed that the surveillance on the boat had been shot to shit during whatever had happened to the hangar, so this show was only for Sam.

“What are you doing?” he asked when Bucky got closer. Sam had been standing under the wing of one of the fighter jets–ostensibly because he was looking for any signs of damage but mostly because it provided shade and made him feel like a pilot checking on his machine before he went up in the air.

“I dunno what you’re talking about, flyboy,” Bucky called back, hop-jogging the last few steps until he could crowd Sam up against the body of the jet. He held out a leather bomber jacket. The exact kind that everyone associated with pilots ‘cause of history and the movies alike.

Sam eyed it warily, but pulled it on without complaint. “What are you doing?” he repeated. “Where did you even find this stuff?”

“Turns out, second hand shops around base have a lot of shit they really probably shouldn’t,” Bucky admitted.

There was a cigarette, unlit and clean because Bucky didn’t smoke, tucked behind his ear. His hair, grown out a little, was slicked back and curled just a little. Sam wanted his hands all over the other man. “Now, come on, birdie. Don’t keep teasing a guy. You gonna show me your ride or not?”

Sam felt himself flush from his hairline down to his toes. “Buck,” he objected with no conviction whatsoever. He put his hand on Bucky’s chest to push him away, but found himself curling his fingers in the zipper of the coveralls and tugging him forward instead. “What makes you think you keep to see my gal?” he asked, affecting Bucky’s drawling old-timey accent.

“Is it better or worse that I don’t really care about the bird?” Bucky mused. His hand went from Sam’s lapel down to his shoulder, his ribs, his hip, back to his ass, where it stopped so Bucky could grab a handful of it and squeeze. “Got my eyes on what I want already.”

“You got something I should call you, aviator?” Sam asked, heart and stomach dropping out from him as he realized he was playing along. His adrenaline and arousal happily took over for real sense.

“They call me Winter Soldier,” Bucky purred. “‘Cause I’m stone cold.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, but when Bucky squeezed his ass again, he had to focus on not groaning.

“What about you, precious? What do they call you?”

“Falcon,” Sam said, the name rolling off his tongue while his brain was currently offline. “You never hear me coming.”

“Oh, now I bet that’s not true at all. Bet I could get you loud.”

The rest of Sam’s dignity slipped away and he tilted forward to catch Bucky’s mouth on his, keeping them hidden under the wing of the jet like any of this was real and someone may come out on deck and catch them.

Read the rest on AO3

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 20: The Outpost

The hunt for the general continues. You and the Mandalorian have a chance to do some good. A continuation of Beskar Doll ch. 1-19 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4.8k

The bar, it seemed, had regulars. Much of the crowd that had been there in the previous afternoon was there again. You’d explored the outpost a bit more that morning, taking note of places that seemed questionable, things that could be Imperial hide outs. You also noted places where the Crest could safely land, if needed, and stopped at a weapons stand. There was a vibroknife there, one similar to the knife you’d stolen on Hosnian Prime that you were pretty sure had burned with your house on Dantooine. You bought it, figuring you could just add it to the tally of whatever it is you owed the Mandalorian - he still hadn’t given you a number. 

You’d always been partial to knives. Doing the work you’d done, you’d frequently wind up in close quarters and you could never rely on having more reach or more strength when it came to your opponents. But if you were close and could get more inside, a knife got the job done. And people rarely looked for knives. They took a blaster and assumed you were unarmed. A mistake that had served you well. 

You hadn’t learned much in your travels that day, however. Still no indication of the general, beyond the one lead you had from the bar the day before. You wondered if he actually lived anywhere near there or if he was on the move, that this was one just one of his frequent stops to find information, people, supplies. 

The outpost itself was bleak. It was a hub for the junk trade, one of the main industries on Jakku, and what there was here seemed to have grown out of that. Small spaceport, stores that sold the bare minimum. There was another cantina and inn, too, but after a quick stop, you quickly ascertained it wasn’t what you were looking for. Not unless Imps had suddenly gotten a lot smarter - something you doubted. 

You used the people in the bar as a gauge for how often you should come and go. Many seemed to stay there all day, others would only stay for an hour. One or two others approached you for work but you kept turning them down, saying they weren’t offering enough or that the job wasn’t worth your talents. You’d have to take a job eventually, if Shadrin held out for longer than a few more days. Just sitting there, saying you wanted work but not taking any, would look suspicious before too long. 

It had gotten dark out when the man from the day before came in, approaching your table. 

“Still here,” he said, sitting down across from you. 

“Not much on this rock that’s worth my time,” you shrugged. “I had higher hopes.” 

“Unfortunately, we’ve fallen far,” he sighed. You raised a brow. “When I think about the power we used to have, what we could do…” 

“What’d you do?” You asked, taking a sip of your beer. He peeled the label on his bottle. 

“First Lieutenant, ground forces on Naboo,” he said. Your jaw tightened, reflexively. “Ever been out that far?” 

“Once or twice,” you took a sip of your beer. “Grew up on Tatooine so it wasn’t far. Got my blaster there, solid weaponry.” 

“Good thing they didn’t have a standing army,” he smirked. 

“You stay through Cinder?” You asked, digging the nails of the hand he couldn’t see into the back of the booth your arm was draped across. You needed an outlet. You couldn’t scream at him or shoot him or beat him sitting here and expect to make it back. You took it out on the booth.

“Yeah,” he took a drink. “We were up against those fucking frogs, who knew lower lifeforms would put up such a fight.” 

You dug your nails in harder. You’d worked closely with the Gungans in your time on Naboo, had always admired their people and culture. This man had slaughtered them. 

“Ever make it to Theed?” You asked, against your better judgement, really. As if you needed more reasons to want to destroy him. “Only place I really saw.” 

“Few times,” he shrugged. “Ended Cinder there, actually.” 

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. It would be so easy to kill this man. You could shoot him or slit his throat or entice him back to your room and take your time with him. If you cut his tongue out he couldn’t even properly call for help. 

“If it hadn’t been for the fucking rebels we’d have destroyed them,” he almost growled. “The whole planet was fucking useless, save for a few people around the palace.” 

You took a sip of beer to hide your expression. If he’d crossed your path that day, he’d be dead. All he’d done was delay it. You were killing him. Not today, perhaps, but soon. 

“Your friend still looking to hire?” You asked. 

“Mentioned you to him,” he replied. “He’s interested in meeting you.” 

“I’d like to know the job,” you said. “I don’t like wasting my time on pointless bantha shit.” 

“Is the glory of our Empire pointless bantha shit?” 

“No,” you shrugged. “But revenge missions are. I’m all for stamping out rebels and the New Republic and doing everything we can to retake power but I’m not going to be part of some officer’s tantrum. I’ve got better shit to do.” 

“Suppose you’ll have to meet with him then,” he smirked. 

“When?” 

“Two days,” he said. “Meet you here, dusk.” 

“Fine,” you replied. “Assuming I don’t have a better offer by then.” 

“Trust me,” he said. “You won’t.” 

You stuck around for a bit after he left, watching as people filtered back out of the bar before going upstairs and flipping on the comm. 

It was the first time you’d tried to talk to the Mandalorian since he’d talked you through fucking yourself in your room. You sighed. This had the potential of being so uncomfortable. 

“Mando?” You said, wincing at how hesitant you sounded. 

“There you are,” he responded barely a second after you finished saying his name. “What did I tell you?” 

You frowned. You didn’t get a chance to ask another question, he answered before you could ask it. 

“Every 12 hours, Doll,” he snapped. “I was about to come find you, it’s been damn near 24.” 

“Right,” you winced again. “Sorry.” 

“What were you thinking?” He demanded. You thought about saying what you actually had been thinking - that every time the man made you cum he seemed to want to pretend like you didn’t exist for a while after so you figured why bother him. Instead, you sighed. 

“Got an early start, didn’t want to wake you up since we’d just talked,” you said. Talked was a strong word for what you’d done the night before but fuck it, why not. “Didn’t really have a good chance to step away. I have more information though.” 

He was silent for a second. “What is it.” 

You filled him in on the meeting, leaving out the stuff about the contact you had made. No need to tell the Mandalorian you’d be leaving at least one Imp body behind you. 

“Sounds promising,” he said. “Think he’ll meet with you there or make you go somewhere?” 

“Probably second location,” you shrugged. 

“Don’t like that,” he replied. 

“Worst case he’s got some ex-stormtroopers with him,” you shrugged. “I can take them.” 

“How many stormtroopers have you handled alone,” he was skeptical. 

“In one go?” You asked. “Took down more than a dozen on my own once.” 

You left out the fact that after those 13 or 14 troopers you were overrun and nearly died.

Din was silent for a moment. You smirked. 

“I still don’t like it.”

“Are you mad that my body count is higher than yours?” You asked.

“It’s not,” he replied. You laughed. “Meet him, confirm the ID, then call me.” 

“How am I supposed to get out without arousing suspicion?” You frowned. “Hey, nice to meet you General, but now that I know who you are, time for me to go call my bounty hunter friend to haul you in?” 

“You’re smart,” he said. “You’ll figure it out.” 

You ground your teeth. 

“Working with you is going to be difficult,” you said. You could almost hear him shrug over the comm. 

“There’s a reason I work alone.” 

“Because no one could tolerate your attitude?” 

He was quiet. You sighed. 

“How’s the kid?” You asked. 

“He’s been bouncing off the walls today,” he sighed. “I’ve almost got the ship fixed, but I haven’t been able to spend much time with him. So he’s started finding ways to entertain himself.” 

As if on cue, there was a squeal in the background and the Mandalorian sighed. 

“Do me a favor and keep yourself in one piece,” he said. “This makes me nervous, Doll.” 

“I’ll try my best,” you replied. 

“And Doll?” 

“Yes?” 

“Call in the morning.” 

You actually obeyed this time, calling him before you left your room, cautioning him that you wouldn’t call again until you were back in the room for the night. But you liked the sound of his voice in the morning. You stretched out on the bed and closed your eyes, pretending he was next to you instead of outside the outpost, that you were just having a conversation before starting your day, almost like you were a couple. Maker, that was a weird thing to consider. But it didn’t feel weird to want it, not with him. 

You wandered the outpost again before settling in at the bar for the afternoon. You expected a quiet day and were halfway through your first beer when a woman you hadn’t seen before came into the bar. The bartender approached her and you saw her nod in your direction. You steeled yourself, straightening your spine. The woman ran to you, her eyes wide as she almost fell into the booth across from you. 

“She said you were for hire,” she grabbed your wrist as you held your beer. You glared at her. “Please, I need help.” 

“With what?” You asked, fighting your natural urge to jump up and find out what troubled her. 

“A junk trader is convinced my son stole from him,” she clung to your wrist. “I can’t get him to listen to me, please…” 

“Pay him off,” you shrugged. 

“I can’t afford it,” she was frantic. 

“Then you can’t afford me.” 

“Please,” her fingers dug into you. You tried to beseech her with your eyes. She had to try harder, you couldn’t just get up and go help her. An Imp wouldn’t do that. Her eyes narrowed at you and she released your wrist, smacking her hands on the table. “You all talk about how we were better under the Empire but we need help and where are you? If your fucking Empire was so great, do something!” 

You almost smiled at her. That would do it. 

“Fine,” you said, standing. “Let’s go.” 

She looked surprised and you followed her out of the bar, keeping your pace leisurely until you were out of the door. You picked up the pace then. 

“Who has him and where is he?” You asked. The woman looked surprised. 

“Junk trader, he works on the blackmarket,” she said. “He’s convinced my son stole something from one of the wrecks he says is his but…” 

“Here at the outpost?” You asked. 

“Just outside,” she said. 

“Have a speeder?” She shook her head. You sighed. “Come on.” 

You led her to the speeder bike you’d stolen, getting on and jerking your head, commanding her to get on the back. 

“Tell me where.” 

“North side of the outpost,” she said. “About two clicks out.” 

“I go the wrong way,” you said. “Tell me.” 

You tried to ignore the nerves in you as you piloted the speeder to the outskirts of town, to a small hut in the shadow of the hulking shell of a Star Destroyer. It was easy to forget how huge those ships were when you saw them in the vastness of space. On land, they seemed impossibly large. There were two men outside standing guard, holding rifles. 

Their grip grew tighter on their weapons as you pulled up outside the hut. You smirked. They may be thugs but they were apprehensive. They might intimidate the people who lived here but for someone like you? They were nothing. 

“Stay behind me,” you ordered. “And stay quiet.” 

The men approached you, meeting you halfway between where you parked and the hut. 

“What’chu want,” one said, spitting into the sand at your feet. You looked down at it before looking up at him. 

“I don’t deal with lackeys,” you said. “Where’s your boss.” 

“Who’s askin’?” The other man said. 

“A friend of the boy your boss is holding hostage,” you replied. “He can let him go or he can deal with me. Tell him to decide quick, I don’t give second chances.” 

“That a threat?” The first man who spoke stepped closer, adjusting the grip on his rifle. You sighed. So stupid. He was so close he couldn’t even point the gun at you properly. 

“No,” you said, grabbing the vibroknife from its holster at your thigh and jamming it into his arm in one swift motion. The man screamed and fell to his knees, dropping the rifle. The woman behind you gasped and you caught the rifle as it fell, pointing it at the other man. “That was a kindness. I won’t be so kind again. Tell your boss to free the boy or he deals with me.” 

The man backed up a few steps, watching you, before running for the door. You lowered the weapon and slung it onto your back. The man at your feet whimpered and you pulled the knife from his arm. 

“Your boss have bacta?” You asked. He just groaned. You sighed. “Hold still.” 

You cut part of the man’s shirt free and tied off his arm above the wound, stemming the bleeding. 

“Find a better line of work,” you said, standing back up. “You’re not cut out for this.” 

He clutched the wound at his arm and you watched as half a dozen people emerged from the hut, all surrounding one tall, broad Abednedo and a boy who couldn’t have been any older than 13 who was trying to look like he hadn’t just been crying. The woman behind you cried out, but you shushed her.  

“Who the hell do you think you are, interfering in my business,” the Abednedo said. 

“Friend of the boy’s,” you replied. “Return him and we’ll be on our way.” 

He closed some of the gap between you, leaving the boy with his entourage. 

“And why would I do that?” He asked. “He’s a thief. Took what’s mine.” 

“What’d he take?” You asked. 

“Computer from that destroyer,” he jerked his head back to the corpse of the starship behind him. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Craner Kree,” he snapped. 

“Well, Kree,” you replied. “Seems like even if he did take the computer, he’s stealing from the Empire, not you, and he can answer to me for that crime. I can make you answer to me, too, if you’d like.” 

A man from his entourage started for you and your hand went to your blaster, ripping it from its holster, firing and returning it to its holster before the man even fell to the sand. The guns all turned to you. Kree held up a hand, stopping them from shooting. He was in the line of fire and his staff seemed dumb enough to shoot, anyway.

“Don’t think the Imperials back at the outpost would take too kindly to you staking a claim to this ship,” you said. “Wonder what would happen if I confirmed that suspicion for them? Be it because I tell them or because I don’t make it back.” 

Kree’s eyes narrowed at you. You held his glare. 

“Fine,” he gave his lackey a wave and he shoved the boy forward. The kid stumbled and looked back before looking over his shoulder for a moment and then running for his mother. She clutched him to her chest, sobbing. You smiled. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said. You looked do the man on the ground. “I’m keeping your rifle.” 

You started back toward the speeder, putting your hand on the woman’s back and guiding her while she was lost in checking on her son. 

“Sleep with one eye open, Imp!” Kree yelled. 

You ignored him, getting on the speeder. The mother and son got on behind you and you tried to pretend you weren’t fucking terrified to be piloting a damn speeder bike with two additional passengers. 

You stopped on the edge of town, getting off the bike. 

“Please,” she looked like she was about to cry. “I swear my son didn’t take any computer, he didn’t steal from the Empire…” 

“I don’t care if he steals from the Empire,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “It was just a way to get Kree to back off. Was that the first time Kree’s caused trouble?”

“No,” she said after a moment, holding her son to her chest. She seemed surprised that you weren’t going to punish her. But then, she thought you were Imperial. “He’s done the same thing to several other families here, forces them into debts…” 

You nodded once, pulling out your com link and flicking it on. 

“Mando,” you said. “Need a favor. I’m not alone.” 

There was a pause before he replied. 

“Go on.” 

“Still have your guild contacts?” You asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Have them check on any open pucks on one Craner Kree,” you said. “Probably low level stuff but he could use cleaning up.” 

“I’ll take your word,” he replied. “Where is he?” 

“North side of the outpost,” you said. “About two clicks out, near the downed destroyer. Little hut, big idiots out front, can’t miss it.” 

“Consider it done. Do I want to know why you know about this guy?” 

“Probably not.” 

He sighed. 

“Remember what I told you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” you rolled your eyes, flicking off the com before he had a chance to reply and sticking it back in your pocket. “He won’t be an issue anymore.” 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “I don’t have anything to pay you with right now but I promise, when the harvest comes…” 

“I don’t want your money,” you said. “Just keep your head down until tomorrow, in case Kree decides to hold a grudge.” You handed her the speeder keys. “Take the bike, get out of town. Ride it, sell it, don’t care. Good luck.” 

“I don’t understand…” she looked at the keys and back to you. You shrugged. 

“Seems like you need it.” 

You walked back to the bar, the sun setting on the horizon. 

***

Karga was able to find information on your quarry quickly and you’d been right, there was a low level bounty on him. Only 2,000 credits but he was already there and he decided he could use the entertainment. And he doubted you’d send him after a junk trader without reason. He must have done something. 

Din put the kid in his pod after he fell asleep and locked the ship down before using the jet pack and flying to the location you gave him, skirting the outpost to not draw attention. He looked as he flew past, knowing you were down there, feeling closer to you than he had since you’d left the ship. Except maybe the few moments where he closed his eyes and pretended you were beside him instead of moaning over a com link. 

The junk trader’s outfit was easy to spot, exactly as you’d described. You’d clearly been out here - he just couldn’t figure out why. It was small enough that he decided he didn’t need to take out any of the men in advance, he could just brute force his way in. 

He landed in front of the men and drew his blaster. 

“Hey, stop!” One of them started raising his rifle but Din shot him, dropping him where he stood. He turned his weapon to the other man. 

“I’m not here for you,” he said. “You can run.” 

The man’s eyes darted from the door to the Mandalorian before he took off, running into the desert, toward the outpost. Din holstered his weapon. That was easy.

“It didn’t make a difference,” a voice drifted outside. “She just stabbed him in the arm!” 

Din shook his head. You’d definitely been here. He kicked in the door, four men standing around the desk. He found Kree quickly. 

“Craner Kree,” he said. The man straightened up from his desk. “You owe someone money and they’ve put a price on your head. I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” 

The men around him stiffened, turning to face the Mandalorian. 

“I don’t hold any bounties on you,” he said to them. “You’re free to leave. This is the only time you’ll get that offer.” 

The first man fired, the blaster bolt pinging off Din’s beskar. He sighed, pulling his blaster and shooting the man. He dropped. There was a hail of blaster fire then, Cree dropping behind his desk. Din took the men out one by one, their shots doing nothing but filling the small room with the ringing sound they made as they bounced off his armor. The last man standing tried to flee, skirting around the outside edge of the room, but Din shot him as he passed. He holstered his weapon and approached the desk. 

“Warm or cold, the pay’s the same,” he said. “Choice is yours.” 

The man straightened, a knife in his hand. He brought it swinging down but it did nothing but clang off the steel. The Mandalorian grabbed the man’s hand and twisted until he dropped the weapon, snapping his wrist with a shout of pain. The knife clattered to his desk and Din pushed the man facedown onto it, cuffing him. 

“You’re lucky I’ve been bored,” he said, hauling him up by the collar and out the door. “Otherwise, you’d be dead.” 

“Fuck you,” he snarled. Din just shoved him for the door, taking a speeder from the side of the building and flying back to the Crest. 

He turned the com link on as he got closer, expecting to hear from you soon, and he was right, your voice appearing just as he was hauling Kree up the ramp. 

“Mando?” You always asked. Like you were expecting him to just not answer you at some point. As if he could resist. 

“Doll,” he replied. “Here with a friend of yours.” 

“Have fun on the clean up crew?” You asked. You sounded amused. 

Kree looked at the com link. 

“That’s the Imp bitch who stole the boy!” He growled. That explained a bit more. 

“Poor choice of words,” Din said, shoving the man to the ground before grabbing him by the collar and dragging him to the carbonite chamber. 

“Went on a rescue mission?” Din asked as he hauled the man back to his feet and shoved him into the chamber. Kree was about to say something else when Din started the freeze, the man’s words turning into a scream. 

“Woman came into the bar looking for someone to get her son back,” you replied. “Kree’d taken him, saying he’d stolen something from the wreck he’d claimed.” 

“Surprised you didn’t kill him yourself,” he replied. 

“Didn’t want to risk the kid,” you said. “Plus, his mom was willing to go into an Imp bar and insult the Empire. Don’t want combat with a wild card like that if you can help it.” 

Din smiled, the carbonite done. He pulled the slab out of the machine and put it to the side. He missed hearing your thoughts. You rarely said something that wasn’t worth saying but you were happy to say what was on your mind. Your voice drifting through the ship as you talked to the kid or muttered to yourself or made some biting comment to the Mandalorian had been strangely absent since you’d gone to the outpost. 

“Hopefully closing in on the end of this operation,” you said, almost like you’d read his mind. 

“The inn not up to your high standards?” He teased, going to sit on the rock outside and look toward the outpost so he could be looking at you, even if he couldn’t see you. 

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “No pre-Empire starship bunk, though. Or hold floor, for that matter.” 

He laughed. 

“I like your laugh,” you said quietly. 

“I like yours, too,” he said, watching where the outpost was on the horizon. You were so close, just a few clicks. He could be next to you in just a few minutes.

“And here I thought every sound I made just annoyed you,” you said it like you were joking, but there was something in your voice that said you weren’t sure. He thought for a moment, considering teasing you or joking back. But honesty felt less dangerous when you were miles away, not there for him to touch and be consumed by. 

“You’re one of my favorite sounds,” he said quietly. He kept watching the haze of the outpost in the distance. You were silent for a moment and he was worried he’d said too much. 

“You’re one of mine, too,” you said softly. Then you laughed a little. “First time I heard you without the modulator, I thought ‘damn, I’d listen to this man read ship maintenance logs and thank him for the privilege.’” His heart swelled in his chest, remembering how you subtly tilted your ear toward him when you sat, turned away, when his helmet was off. “I like the modulated version too, for the record.” 

You were both silent for a moment. He could hear you breathing. He wondered if you were sitting up or laying down, if you were dressed or just in a shirt to sleep, if your hair was still braided or if you’d let it down. 

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” He asked after a while. 

“Fine,” you said. Then you sighed. “Din… I meant what I said the other night. If there’s even a chance of you or the kid getting hurt, you leave me here.” 

His stomach dropped. He couldn’t tell if you were saying this out of an abundance of caution or because you were worried about the next day. He wouldn’t be able to just leave you here, that he knew. He’d kill everyone on this planet before he just left you here. 

“I won’t take unnecessary risks with the kid,” he replied. 

“Don’t take them with you, either,” you said. You pressed on before he had a chance to argue. “You’re that boy’s dad, Din. Whether you understand or know that yet or not, he needs you. No one else can be that for him. Don’t risk the kid’s dad, OK?” 

“What are you afraid will happen, Doll?” He asked softly. “Tomorrow. What are you afraid of?” 

“That you’ll do something stupid,” you replied. 

“I mean with the plan,” he said. “You’re afraid of something, it’s something specific. What is it.” 

You were silent for a moment. Then you sighed. 

“There are too many variables,” you said. “I don’t have enough control here. We don’t even know for sure if the guy I’m meeting is Shadrin. What if it’s an Imp who knows me? What if there’s a whole fucking squadron of them? If I’m captured or overrun, I don’t want you coming in here on a suicide mission out of some sense of misplaced obligation.” 

“Then get out,” he said. “I’ll come get you, right now. You don’t have to do this.” 

“If the Imps are planning something, we have to stop it,” you said. “The plan is… It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can hope for.” 

“Doll…” he began but you cut him off. 

“What if their plan involves the kid?” You said quietly. “They wanted him enough that they hired you. You said they need him for research. What if it’s for this and we could stop it, right here?” You were both silent for a moment. “We have to try, Din.” 

“I’ll be ready to go tomorrow,” he said. “Say the word and I’ll get you out.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” You said after a minute. 

“Yes.” 

“Tell the kid,” you took a deep breath, your voice catching. “Tell the kid I love him, OK?” 

Din closed his eyes. 

“He loves you, too.” 

He wasn’t talking about the kid. 

[dreamcast641]

Thank you @islandtarochips for the tag!

A little list to showcase your OC's favorite things

-Name: Claire Ekaterina Makarova

-Universe: SCP foundation(she is in others but those are AUs)

-Favorite book(and why): 1984 by George Orwell. Generally Claire's reading is limited on scientific books, biology ones in particular as she loves to expand her knowledge on her field but she finds old readings rather interesting and she took a particular liking in Orwell's writings, animal farm is also one of these.

-Favorite song: Dark beach by pastel ghost. She finds a somewhat sense of peace in this kind of electronic music. She loves the muffled singing.

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: It wasn't like this at the start, but when she gained a bit of confidence she started to love the elegant dress she uses to go clubbing. She would look at herself in the mirror, sometimes admiring how it brings up her features and how her untie hair match it so well;

-Favorite "little treat": Claire is a sweet lover. She is a chocolate and strawberry fan for sure and those two mixed together is the end for her. Id say then the strawberries deep in any kind of chocolate are her favorite in absolutely;

-Favorite person in their lives: Claire does not hold preference for anyone. She gets affectionate to who she loves in the same way;

-Dream home: a cottage in a isolate area in the mountains;

-Dream life: A life of freedom where she isn't tie to anything or anyone again. She wants to explore the world without pressures, without fear of dying.

-Name: Dmitry Vasilij Makarov

-Universe: SCP foundation (others as well but those are AUs)

-Favorite book (and why): the interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud. Despite Dmitry finding Freud methods outdated and often telling that we advanced a lot when it comes to psychoanalisis, he also find some of his readings interesting such as the dream related ones. He doesn't take seriously the book tho, but rather a start to continue his studies and finding new discoveries about the oniric that others would not know.

-Favorite song: Dmitry does not have a favorite song, however he listen to ambient sounds when he's working. The beach waves one being his favorite.

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: a black sweater with turtleneck that you can often see under his labcoat. There is no particular reason for him to like it, he just comfortable with anything that covers his skin completely.

-Favorite "little treat": He sometimes find himself to buy the buldak ramen when he has nothing else to make for lunch or dinner, not that he eats that often tho. The ramen thing has probably become a dependence and also he can handle spice well.

-Favorite person in their lives: It might sound like a joke because at first glance it would be impossible to know that this man has a favorite person but instead there is and is Maria, the mother that took him when his biological one left for the GOC.

-Dream home: Something small near the beach. It's gonna be climatized tho as he can't handle the heat at all. But he would just be there for the sound of the waves crashing on the sand.

-Dream life: He never thought of what life could be outside the foundation walls but he would have loved to raise a terrarium with snakes.

-Name: Evelyn "Mandy" Ross.

-Universe: SCP foundation

-Favorite book (and why): The book thief by Markus Zusak. Being a veteran of WW2 who served as a nurse for the US army at the time, she often find herself to read about what happened in the past, as some sort of closure to the trauma that she went through. She has read them all, her guts wrenching everytime at what she never saw and that was under her nose all this time. She took a particular liking in the book thief as somewhat she relates to Lesiel, the protagonist.

-Favorite song: Over the rainbow by Judy Garland/Glenn Miller. One of the most beloved cinema music and also one beloved to her as well as she listened to it once before drafting herself for the war. It holds so much memories for her both bad and good and often find herself playing it for her children when those cried as babies.

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: Mandy still has the blue cape that nurses used during ww2. She still keeps it on her shoulders.

-Favorite "little treat": snickers!

-Favorite person in their lives: even tho she holds no contact with any of them, Mandy is still fond of her two children, Claire and Dmitry.

-Dream home: A little home in a rural area, where the town is small and there is no much people.

-Dream life: Mandy holds so much regret for her decisions, she would love to go back in the past and change it all. She would love to become a doctor and help people without being forced to a life in prison. She wish she was never born with her anomaly.

-Name: Lilja Järvinen

-Universe: Rainbow Six Siege

-Favorite book (and why): Anything related to k9 training. Ofc, as a dog trainer who is hyperfixated on anything related to that, she has a vast collection of books that point at dogs and their training for the forces.

-Favorite song: Killer by Mareux

-Favorite piece of clothing they own: Any baggy clothes in her drawer. There is no particular reason for it, just that she is more comfortable with them on. The only problem is that she often stumbles on her own pants while walking.

-Favorite "little treat": She concede herself a trail of cinnamon rolls at least once every week. She usually takes them from her local bakery, nowadays they even prepare so before so she could be served immediately, not that she ever complains of course, shes a usual customer after all.

-Favorite person in their lives: at the moment she feels that she has no favorite in her life. She isn't that much close to any of the other operators and she finds herself often overthinking that somehow she is annoying to them.

-Dream home: her own childhood home is her dream home. It's was a farm with livestock and shepherd dogs not so far from a small town. That's where she gained passion for training dogs and improving that with the use of her knowledge in robotics.

-Dream life: She never really thinks about that, at the moment she is content with what she has.

[sollannaart]

The Battle of Leipzig, October, 1813

By mid-October, Napoleon gathered all his forces near Leipzig, where on the 16th the started a battle that would later be called the Battle of the Nations .

Jan Czesław Moniuszko, Prince Józef at Leipzig

Commanding the Poles incorporated into the Grand Army as the 8th Corps, Prince Joseph defended the village of Markkleeberg south of the city. As he reported to Napoleon, on the 16th

"the enemy did not gain an inch of ground […] the army showed admirable zeal and endurance […] but I lost 1/3 of my men and I have no ammunition."

And on that very day, the 16th of October, the Emperor appointed Prince Poniatowski a Marshal of France, with the official nomination taking place a day later.

Prince Józef Poniatowski being presented the marshals baton, Reville's engraving after Martinet

As diarists recall, prince Józef received both the news about the nomination and the announcement that followed quite calmly, or even indifferently. However, he considered that moment not appropriate to insult the emperor with a refusal. So first Poniatowski asked consent of Frederick Augustus, King of Saxony and Duke of Warsaw, to accept the nomination. Then he hastened assure his subordinates that

"whatever happens he would never replace the Polish uniform with another one."

Also anticipating that the news of his new appointment might not receive support in Warsaw, prince Józef asked Tomasz Ostrowski

"to send to the capital as early as possible, by a known means, an explanation of the circumstances and an assurance everyone that if there is no war for Poland, no one will see him wearing anything but a civilian clothes".

Together with this, however, Poniatowski promised that in any case he would have to escort Napoleon to France. As for the global situation, the 17th of October was a day of rest and re-ranking of troops for both the Frenchmen and the Coalition , thus there was almost no fighting then.

Polish infantry fighting at Connewitz-Probstheida, a drawing by Raffet

On October 18, Prince Joseph was defending Probstheida, a village southeast of Leipzig. But that day the fighting was even more fierce than before. The French troops held their positions, but by the end of the day they were exhausted and depleted as a result of the intensifying attacks of the Allies, who, in addition, had on the previous day received reinforcements in the form of General Bennigsen's Czech Army and the Army of the North commaded by Bernadotte. Considering all this, that evening Napoleon considered the battle a lost cause. So, he then began organizing the retreat. The corps of General Reynier, Marshal Macdonald and Prince Poniatowski were to defense the rear guard of the French. They were to hold the city of Leipzig for 24 hours for the Grande Armée to gain as much time as possible.

Napoleon resigns after the Battle of Leipzig, From a painting by Ludwik Braun

Having arrived in Leipzig at nine o'clock in the evening, Napoleon stayed at the hotel "At the Prussian king", where he asked Prince Józef to come. They then had, according to Baron Agathon Fain's account, the following conversation:

- Prince, you will defend the southern suburbs. – Sire! I have very few men, most of my corps have, following Prince Berthier's orders, crossed the Elsther at night. - How many Poles are there with you? - My usual escort, i.e. two hundred of the Krakuses, the same number of cuirassiers, staff and several cavalry units, in total about eight hundred people. - Well, this will be the way for you to defend the southern suburbs and cover the retreat of the army with the Prince of Tarentum… For 800 Poles are worth 8,000 other soldiers. - Your Majesty can trust us, we will cover the retreat, even if every one of us dies!

These were the last words the prince addressed to the emperor. After saying goodbye he looked "preoccupied and sad". What's more, that meeting was probably the last time Poniatowski and Napoleon seeing each other...

January Suchodolski, Napoleon and Józef Antoni Poniatowski at the Battle of Leipzig

On the morning of the last day of the battle, Polish troops were defending a section of the southern suburbs near the Peters Thor gate. Moreover, that time they had not only to fight the enemy, but also there intensified clashes with the locals, who were shooting at the retreating units from the windows.

Author Unknown, Prince Józef Poniatowski during the Battle of Leipzig

At about 11:00 Prince Józef found it impossible to conduct further defensive operations in this place and ordered a retreat. The Poles moved along the esplanade, where, near the Wasserkunst fountain, they fight the enemy in an organized manner for the last time.

Jan Chełmiński, Prince Józef Poniatowski at the head of the troops at Leipzig

During that skirmish Poniatowski was probably wounded (probably not first time). As Klemens Kołaczkowski recalled:

He received a wound in the hand from a rifle bullet; he ordered it to be treated, got back on the horse and, holding his hand on a scarf, he did not stop fighting.

Then the Poles, having left the city walls, were looking for a crossing. The first on their way was the Pleisse River, deprived of all bridges on Napoleon's orders. Kołaczkowski:

Prince Poniatowski <…> was exposed to the fire of enemy tirailleurs, in dense troops approaching from all sides. General Bronikowski, standing next to the prince, advised him to seek salvation by swimming. But the prince answered him quickly: "One must die bravely!" (Il faut mourir en brave - AS) He ordered the rest of the escort to attack enemy tirailleurs one more time, but that managed to stop their advance only for a moment. There was not a single moment to lose! In this last resort, the prince finally followed the opinion of the officers surrounding him, mounted his horse and jumped into the river with him!

Jan Bogumił Plersch, Prince Poniatowski crossing Pleisse

The water was flooding the banks high up; the horse, carried away by its momentum, could not reach the shore. At this sight, captain Blechamps from the staff rushes after the prince, helps him swim and get to the opposite shore.

But there was one more river to cross – the Elster. Which had also been devoid of all its bridges except one. But even that one was earlier that day blown up by mistake when a significant part of the French were still on the other bank.

Retreat of the French from Leipzig, October 1813, an English engraving

What's more, in German Elster means "magpie". And according to legend, a gypsy woman once told Prince Joseph that he would die because of a magpie. And that's how it happened.

Tadeusz Korpal, Prince Poniatowski at Leipzig

Kołaczkowski:

The prince was walking on foot through the gardens lying between Elster and Pleisse: here, he was shot in the side by a rifle bullet for the second time and fell into the arms of the officers surrounding him. However, he soon regained consciousness and, with the help of his adjutant, mounted his horse with difficulty, swaying in the saddle. The Poles started to appeal to him to take care of himself and, handing over his command to another general, to preserve himself for the homeland. But the prince's courage seemed to increase with danger. "No! no!" he shouted "God has entrusted me with the honor of the Poles, I will only give it to God". The engineer's officer comes running and points to the most convenient place to cross; the prince, walking along the river bank, heads in that direction; but when he notices the enemy unit blocking his path, he shouts loudly: "There they are!" He turns his horse and rushes to Elster. Weakened by his wounds, he can no longer steer his horse, but the beast can only follow the current and cannot climb the high, precipitous shore. All this happened under a hail of bullets. At that final moment, the prince receives his third wound, slips from his horse and, carried away by the rush of the water, begins to sink. The good Blechamps comes to the aid again. In noble zeal, he throws himself into the river and grasps the prince. He was seen holding his arms and trying to lift the prince's head above the water, but the efforts of this noble man were in vain. They both disappeared forever in the currents of the treacherous river! Such was the death of a Polish hero, a beloved leader who preferred death to ignominious captivity.

Prince Poniatowski at Leipzig (enlarged)

According to another legend, at Leipzig prince Józef was to see the notorious White Lady of the Poniatowskis for the last time.

[stackthedeck]

Can you imagine if someone, After they unmask Spider-Man, do the math about the age he started fighting crime.

I Can imagine some of his enemies being like "oh god, I almost killed a kid"

Or some of his friend being horrified by how young he was. Especially when they discover it was at this age he gain a guilt complex

respectfully, what spider-man villain has a problem with fighting children lmao like I see this joke a lot about Peter's villains freaking out about fighting a teenager, but I think the substantially funnier joke is that no one gives a shit about Peter being a kid. Real fuck them kids energy you know?

Do we, collectively as Spider-Man fans, actually think any of Peter's villains give a shit. Like the only one I could imagine having hesitations is maybe the Punisher but he shows up when Peter is an adult. Like villains introduced before Amazing Spider-Man #30? Norman doesn't have a problem with hitting kids canonically, Doc Ock is like that, etc. Maybe the Lizard, Connors is cool but idk early Lizard appearances show him as having pretty limited control when he's the Lizard. Idk I'll think on which Spider-Man villains draw the line at killing a teenager

also i promise i'm not trying to be mean... but like I think his friends would not give a single shit about him being spider-man at 16. like say Harry by nothing short of a fanfic miracle, survives and works through everything after his dad's death and forgives Peter. what's he going to do feel bad that his dad was hitting him too? I mean probably, but like they've got a lot of shit to unpack together. Flash enlisted in the army at 18 and really admired Spider-Man before and after he knew he was Peter, I think he sees it as nothing but heroic. MJ canonically always knew because of a retcon that I think is bullshit, but nonetheless. Gwen never knew Peter was Spider-Man which I do think is one of the greatest missed opportunities of comic books, maybe she'd have a bigger reaction to him starting young, but like she'd have a bigger crisis to deal with if she found out. Shit, what other friends does Peter have? Johnny Storm? The dude that started at 15, yeah he'd make fun of Peter for getting into the game late. My niece was fighting Doctor Doom when she was six, web-head, sorry the shocker brained you before your SATs lmao

I think why I'm struggling with his friends having any reaction to like Peter's age is that when they do find out they're not that far removed from 16, they remember being that young and feeling like they were basically adults. I mean you're not basically an adult at 16, you just feel like it, but really the idea is only horrifying to us as the reader because we're not the intended audience of the high school years anymore. kinda like reading hunger games hits different when you're frontal cortex finishes cooking

I think the only kind of person that would have to have a reaction to Peter starting being a hero so young would have to be like someone with good parents and a stable home life and in comic books that's just the latest generation of heroes and like they did a whole arc about it

[canayams-art]

YOU JUST PUT ALL THE MESSED UP ALL OVER THE PLACE THOUGHTS I HAD ABOUT LQQ AND MQ INTO WORDS AND I'M ABSOLUTELY SO SO GRATEFUL FOR THE WORD VOMIT DONT WORRY SKDJEKJDKD

like i honestly didn't even think much about them aside from that one hc about lqq growing up worshiping mq and now i literally cannot stop thinking about them. lqq's gratitude and earnestness and mq's conflicting feelings regarding the attention he's getting from him is making me insane

the proximity in their ascensions is also a good excuse to think about possible lingering resentment towards yong'an from mq's side, because like while i do think he would be less sentimental when it comes to xianle kingdom as a whole, it still was his home which he fought to protect and lqq a living reminder he failed. and while i don't think he would necessarily regret his suggestion on how to deal with the yong'an army (especially since it was turned down immediately after he said it lol), i do think he would spend unhealthy amount of time thinking about it. but oh fx just bringing it up in front of lqq and mq seeing his reaction to it actually might tho

THE ANGST?!? OF LQQ'S VIEW OF HIS KIND AND GENEROUS GOD SHATTERING??? OF MQ THINKING "ah of course this was meant to break as well, of course he will always be hated no matter what"?! ONLY THIS TIME IT'S ABOUT SOMETHING THAT NOT EVEN HE CAN DENY BECAUSE THIS TIME IT'S ACTUALLY TRUE!!!!

but but also have we considered how much would lqq remind mq of prince xl 👀🫢

IMAGINE THAT CAT FINALLY BEING LET OUT OF THE BAG !!! Like— Mq absolutely never planned on telling lqq about it, especially since it never amounted to any real action. But lqq finding out about it— hearing from someone else altogether— I can only imagine how he would feel given his overwhelming sense of righteousness. He admired mq as a savior despite the way mq wanted to cause his people harm in an arguably cruel way. It never happened but it was discussed— the idea exists and had no one told mq “no,” then it very well may have happened.

I want to believe lqq would move past the dark ideations that come as a consequence of war— he took in and accepted the Xianle refugees during his time as a mortal. Because of lqq and thanks to xl’s sacrifice, the very tense relationship between former Xianle citizens and his own Yong’an people never amounted to a second war (despite the meddling of Qi Rong). He united them and managed to maintain stability. Like mq’s situation, things would’ve ended very different if lqq had heard his father’s dying wishes and not his teacher’s false confessions. And even though he doesn’t find out the full extent of the gilded banquet massacre until wayyyy later, I still want to think lqq recognizes that mq didn’t get to follow through with the idea and never harmed anyone from Yong’an after Xianle’s fall even though he definitely had the capability. Instead mq inadvertently helped Yong’an and then left them be— mq didn’t hold resentment so maybe,,,,, neither would lqq. Over time, of course.

I definitely think lqq’s short fuse for justice might get the better of him. But given some time to be calm and think about it more, he probably would’ve seen the truth of it— otherwise rather than falling asleep at heavenly court he might be glaring daggers at mq the entire time. That boy has an overarching sense for being carefree despite the traumas he’s endured— he is capable of moving past adversity.

Mq’s secret being revealed while they’re both young gods is especially interesting to think about— the wounds from the war have healed but there’s still some scars left on both parties. He definitely bristles up when he’s accused of things and he doesn’t easily forget the way people see him. On one hand he would be thinking “It never happened so why are we talking about it??” But on the other it’s the slight sting of having someone who genuinely looked up to him suddenly thinking so little of him and it was inadvertently his fault. Sure someone else spilled the beans, but the one who spilled them isn’t as responsible for them as the one who owns them. If nothing else, maybe mq could learn something about himself from this.

Like— I think in time they’d be FINE. Maybe lqq would see mq differently but maybe mq wouldn’t feel like he has anything to hide anymore. Maybe the versions of them that come out of it are the versions they should’ve started off with. Or maybe it’s how they decide to start over from it that really matters.

Whatever the case, I love thinking of these insane hypothetical scenarios !!! Sorry again for having so many thoughts and very little organization! You’ve really tapped into a part of my brain that has me feeling absolutely deranged about this.

(Also going CRAZY thinking about mq seeing prince xl in lqq— mq seeing xl in him even though he doesn’t yet know that xl was lqq’s beloved teacher. The nostalgia that comes with seeing a reflection of someone you very much wanted to call a friend but never could in the end. Maybe lqq rekindles that feeling. Maybe mq lets himself be who he wanted to be around xl. I’m normal (deranged) I’m soooo normal.)

[semper-legens]

72. As Meat Loves Salt, by Maria McCann

Owned?: No, library Page count: 532 My summary: Jacob Cullen is a man out of sorts. Of aristocratic birth, yet reduced to the life of a manservant, he spreads anti-monarchist pamphlets among his fellow servants and supports Cromwell in the civil war. But when trouble comes knocking, he is forced to flee, carrying nothing but a few pilfered jewels and the clothes on his back. From there, the New Model Army looks to be his saviour - but a chance meeting with a young man named Christopher Ferris proves to alter his destiny forever… My rating: 3.5/5 My commentary:

This is an interesting book. I wasn't sure I liked it at first - even up to about page 100, I was ready to come on here and give it the most scathing review. And yet. There was something about it - something complex, something gripping, something I'm not entirely sure that I can give name to - that held me back. By about halfway, I confess, I was meeting this book and this story more on its own terms. It had first come on my radar when I was researching books for a Pride month display; although I didn't ultimately use it on said display, the idea of a couple of gay men meeting and falling in love in England around the time of the Civil War intrigued me. This book was more than that, though. It was about class, about violence, about community, about secrets, about God…I'm glad I didn't just give up with it and gave it a fair shake, in the end. It was intriguing, and I am ultimately glad that I read it.

First, we should talk about this book's protagonist, Jacob. I have to admit that he was a lot of the reason I disliked this book early on. The problem is that he comes out of the gate as rude, brash, argumentative, and also a literal murderer and rapist. Now, I'm not gonna say that your protagonist needs to be morally pure and never do anything wrong at all, but starting the book with Jacob being generally quite unlikeable meant that, funnily enough, I didn't much like him. A large part of Jacob's arc involves his anger and how he deals with it, but I wish there had been more to Jacob than that rage to start with so we get a fuller picture, because the scene where he rapes his new wife Caro while on the run was hard to read.

He is, however, a more interesting protagonist for not being perfect; in the part where he is in the New Model Army onwards, his possessiveness towards Ferris and his desires to drive away any other people interested in Ferris, even while not necessarily being conscious of the reasons why he feels this way, makes for an engaging conflict alongside their deepening relationship. And, of course, I really like the idea of seeing historical LGBT+ people struggling with their sexuality in a way that feels historically authentic. Jacob believes he is going to hell for sleeping with Ferris. He believes that what he is doing is sinful, and while it's heartbreaking, it's also reasonable for what someone of this era might think. And I have to admire that, honestly. He's also an interesting figure in that he's a formerly wealthy man forced to live the life of (initially) a servant, and there's some interesting class dynamics going on. The wealth he grew up in goes a way to explain his arrogance and selfishness, as well as his resentment of authority. And when he runs away with Ferris and there is a conflict between Ferris' desire to live on a commune on the Commons and his desire to stay in London and be a printer, there's a class element to that as much as anything else. He wants to be a free man, but he wants to be a free man on his own terms, never beholden to anyone, which is hard for someone living in the era he is in.

Ferris, meanwhile, is Jacob's polar opposite. Smaller, fair, and idealistic, Ferris is the golden-haired golden boy of this book. A tragic past, a questionable relationship with Jacob, dreams of living free on the land among brothers and equals, and of course an atheistic outlook, Ferris brings a lot of the spark to the narrative. I found him compelling, particularly as (due to the first-person narration) we only ever see him through Jacob's eyes, meaning we can never tell what he is thinking the same way that we can Jacob. His gentle courting of Jacob, coupled with his obvious affection for him and wariness of his more violent outbursts, are engaging, and I really like his more radical (for the time) views on the world. He is the thinker and the artist while Jacob is brute strength. They make for a good pair of narrative foils.

And finally, history. One thing that initially put me off this book was its insistence in using a cod-17th century dialect for the dialogue and narration. I don't think that sort of thing is necessarily bad, but you have to be very careful about how you use it to avoid alienating the modern reader, and the early examples of dialogue felt very stilted and old-fashioned in an unappealing way. I will admit, however, that I got more in pace with it as the book progressed, so that might just be a reflection of me acclimating to the text rather than a downside of this device. I'm no expert on the English Civil War, but the history as presented in this book seemed pretty plausible. Jacob joins the New Model Army, is trained as a pikeman, sees a few battles, then flees the army with Ferris to make a new life on the commons near London. It feels authentic, from what I know of the 17th century this is a perfectly plausible life to have led, so I have to give credit there. The one thing I will criticise is that the author seems to just ramble a little from historical idea to historical idea - once Jacob and Ferris have left the army, it doesn't really factor into the plot any more, and the 'setting up a commune' thing takes precedence. To be fair, though, I didn't really feel like the army parts were needless, just that the royalist-versus-parliamentary angle on the book's politics wasn't picked up again, which is odd given that it provides the inciting incident for the plot.

Next up, two young women fight the risen dead.

[mctna2019]

Seon-ho and Namjeon relationship (2)

About Namjeon: Even if I can talk about Seon-ho's various dimensions and complexities, writing about Namjeon is very difficult. Well, I don't know if it was common to have a bastard child back then, but Seon-ho is a mirror of his mistake and the death of his legitimate son makes everything worse (he loved his son and I didn't expect to see his feelings)That the only alive son and the continuator of his generation is bastard, and well, it's not Seon-ho's fault, but Namjeon blames him. (Well, he's a terrible father, at least he's acting enough of a jerk about it) Seon-ho's rise in power certainly benefits him a lot, but I see some concern, like when he offers Hwi a lot of money instead of that half of arrow and getting distance from Seon-ho. Also, every time Seon-ho threats him or stands in front of him, although he is surprised, it is as if he admired him as well (at such times, he pays more attention to what he says) when He orders to kill the people who crossed the river, he seems to have wait for Seon-ho until daylight and his decision to leaving Seon-ho and kill him is because he thought Seon-ho saw Hwi and got involved in his feelings. Otherwise, Seon-ho will fight and stay alive. Throwing a letter into the fire that contained Hwi's name doesn't seem to be for himself, but rather like concern for Seon-ho. I love the look of the two and the repetition of that scene several times when Seon-ho and the army go on that mission (to kill the Liaodong people), it's like a farewell from both of them, especially Namjeon. Also, when Seon-ho comes back and when he hugs him, well it isn't a warm fatherly hug, but I guess it isn't all about Namjeon's plot either. At the same time, he thanked Hwi for saving Seon-ho, and it isn't a pretense either. I love the scene where Seon-ho yells at him, Do Hwan's acting (again his sad and teary eyes) is masterpiece. But what is there is Namjeon's sudden rise in voice. It seems like some kind of disappointment, maybe for Seon-ho's mother or Seon-ho himself. He wants Seon-ho to forget about that case and to forget his dependence on his mother (he wanted to destroy his dependence and feelings, to train Seon-ho to be strong and ruthless to survive in the palace and politics) also when He jailed Yeon, he seems angry for Seon-ho (from Hwi) and I love that scene in the prison, the way he looks differently to Seon-ho and his feelings towards him when he sees him injured. He is angry that Seon-ho betrayed him and made Yeon run away, their looks when he talks about killing Seon-ho are interesting (especially Seon-ho's shock) Someone said wearing the shoes that Yeon gave Seon-ho Bode is implied by Namjeon to have taken all of Seon-ho's affiliations from him, and that's true. He managed to turn Seon-ho into a walking dead and they becomes enemies. (Maybe it's beyond Namjeon's expectation) I don't know if he admired Seon-ho from then on or not (apparently yes) but that scene when he tells Seon-ho that he never leaves his enemies alive and Seon-ho is his next enemy, I was holding my breath when Seon-ho tells him that he better hurry up because he is already Seon-ho enemy now, their acting was amazing. I think if he had more listened to Seon-ho, maybe he wouldn't have died that way. His death scene is really emotional, he was a devil character, but suddenly we see that he is struggling to return to his only son without paying attention to his surroundings, and he is crying and smiling. A warm smile without any sarcasm or villainy.He tells her how much he admires him, and on the other hand, Seon-ho's disbelieving look at him, as if he wants to come to him but he can't, destroys me every time. I also have to say that he hated Hwi and cared about Seon-ho like Sung-rok , which further proves to me that he didn't mean to abuse Seon-ho (although I never approve of his actions).I think his whole motivation is from This cruel treatment of Seon-ho made him stronger in the cruel world of politics, and he realized that Seon-ho hadn't lost his heart and admired him for that.

[maree-go-round]

Under the Heng Gate - Chapter 02

Chapter 2 : She truly is my dear aunt, daring even to engage in business dealings in secret.

The aunt and nephew were reconciled again.

Qichi held her nephew close, and though his body had been icy cold, he was finally starting to warm up. She glanced down after a while and saw that he had fallen asleep. She couldn't help but smile with a mix of amusement and tenderness, understanding how tired he must be after their journey and the recent scare.

Once they had rested adequately, they set off again. Xinlu lifted the curtain to enter the carriage, saw the scene, and suppressed a laugh before quietly backing out. She knew their master had the softest heart.

The northern frontier was vast, with grand fortifications and expansive roads, known as the Eight Commanderies and Fourteen Prefectures. They were finally nearing their destination but were delayed by unexpected events. By the time they resumed their journey, it was already twilight, and the city gates had closed early.

The noise outside woke Li Yan. He rubbed his eyes, disoriented, and asked, "What's happening?"

Sitting outside, Xinlu pulled the curtain tighter and whispered, "Young lord, please remain quiet. It's best to be cautious while traveling."

Qichi lifted the curtain and saw a crowd gathered in the snowy ground by the city gates. Most were thinly clad, appearing as ghostly shadows in the dimming light.

"It's nothing, just some refugees, not dangerous people," she explained.

Li Yan was curious, "What are refugees?"

"They come from other places, trying to settle in the Eight Commanderies and Fourteen Prefectures of the north. So, they're called refugees," she replied.

Li Yan exclaimed, "It's so cold here, and people still want to come. This place must be well-governed."

Qichi responded, "Whether it's well-governed or not, I'm not sure. But I know they constantly recruit soldiers here. Refugees can farm or join the army for food. Why wouldn't they come?"

Li Yan, eager to learn, remembered everything he heard and admired his aunt even more. His father often praised her vast experience, comparable to any man, which made sense only through firsthand experience.

"Things in the north are indeed different from Guang Prefecture," he mused, recalling his studies. "I remember this place falls under the jurisdiction of the Protectorate General to Pacify the North[1]."

His thoughts suddenly halted.

The Protectorate General to Pacify the North. Why did it feel so familiar?

"Ah!" He turned to his aunt, startled.

Qichi had anticipated this reaction upon hearing him mention the Protectorate General to Pacify the North and wasn't surprised at all.

Seeing her silence, Li Yan felt remorse, "It's my fault, dragging you along and making you stay in Guang Prefecture after marriage."

"Don't speak nonsense. Grown-ups' affairs are beyond your understanding."

Though she knew little about her husband, he was quite generous, never summoning her to the Protectorate. He sent gifts to Guang Prefecture during festivals, with polite excuses of being too busy to visit. She, on the other hand, rarely reciprocated, focusing only on her nephew.

He was in the north; she was in the south. They lived in harmony, without interfering with each other. Such a couple was unique in the world, a concept hard for a child to grasp. Sometimes, even she found it perplexing.

Xinlu called from outside, "Master, should we ask the city guards for a favor?"

Qichi pondered. It wasn't impossible but rather troublesome. Despite their status, without urgent cause, they risked leaving a bad impression. Moreover, opening the gates could let the refugees in, creating more problems for which she'd be responsible.

Finally, she decided, "Take a detour to the guesthouse."

Outside the city, there were inns for travelers. When the carriages and horses arrived at the place, it was completely dark.

As the head of the household was a woman and she couldn't let the young lord handle things, Xinlu sent the coachman to make arrangements. The coachman, freezing, rushed inside, only to return shortly, reporting, "The innkeeper said that the place is full, and can not accommodate this many people."

Xinlu rubbed her hands and blew out her breath, shivering, ready to go in to drink a mouth of hot soup. But after hearing this, she hurried back to report.

Li Yan, now fully awake, grumbled, "How can it be? We've seen hardly anyone on the way. How can the inn be full?"

Qichi patted his head, "You're right." She then instructed Xinlu, "Fetch my veil hat."

Xinlu hesitated, "Master, are you going to handle this personally?"

"Yes."

The veil hat was among the luggage in the rear carriage. Xinlu quickly retrieved it, helped Qichi put it on, and wrapped Li Yan tightly in a cloak.

The coachman lifted the curtain, placing a stool for them to step on.

Lanterns hung over the courtyard walls, snow piled against the door, with three-foot icicles dangling from the eaves. Qichi led Li Yan inside.

Just as he said, there were few people. She quickly surveyed the hall and the attached kitchen, noticing no signs of cooking.

The innkeeper, led by the coachman, greeted them apologetically, "I'm terribly sorry to trouble you, Madam."

Noticing Qichi's elegant silk and brocade attire and the indistinctly visible dark hair under her veil, he realized she wasn't an ordinary woman. The young man beside her, with his golden crown and jade-like face, confirmed his suspicions. He greeted them respectfully.

"Is the inn really full?" Qichi asked.

"Not exactly," the innkeeper stammered, "but with this harsh winter and many refugees, we're cautious with business."

Understandable. Qichi reached into her sleeve, handed something to Xinlu, signaling her to show it to the innkeeper.

Xinlu presented it. The innkeeper examined the finely carved jade fish. Apart from its good quality, there was nothing special about it.

His expression changed upon seeing it, quickly returning it to Xinlu, and respectfully addressing Qichi, "I have eyes but fail to recognize Mt Tai[2]. Forgive me, Madam. We'll arrange everything immediately, including meals and drinks." He then hurried to summon his staff.

Xinlu exhaled in relief, feeling much better. She called everyone down, and they busied themselves settling the horses and unloading the carriages.

Li Yan, curious, whispered, "What did you show him, Aunt?"

Qichi returned the jade to her sleeve, placing a finger to her lips, "It's a token. This guesthouse is technically under my name."

"What?" Li Yan was stunned.

Xinlu overheard, feeling in a good mood, she would like to poke fun. She was about to call him young lord, but she changed her words and said, "Young master, did you think Master traveled just for fun?"

Li Yan, realizing something, looked at his aunt in disbelief. He wanted to speak but held back as the innkeeper returned, ready to guide them to their rooms.

While others prepared meals and heated water, Qichi and Li Yan entered their room to rest.

Inside, Qichi had just removed her veil hat when Li Yan tugged her sleeve, whispering with wide eyes, "Aunt, isn't being a merchant a lowly profession?"

Qichi, intending to tease him, whispered back, "Yes, but what can we do?"

Li Yan looked down, shuffling his feet silently.

Initially, Qichi thought he was troubled, but on closer look, saw him smiling. She was puzzled, "Why are you smiling?"

Li Yan looked up, "I’m smiling because you really are my aunt, daring to secretly do business."

Qichi tapped his forehead with her finger. He covered his head, retreating playfully.

They dined together, with Li Yan insisting on staying in her room, eager to hear about her travels. Even after dinner, he wouldn't leave.

"Did Father know?" he asked.

Qichi, having rinsed her mouth and washed her hands, stood by the lamp, trimming the wick. The flame illuminated her face brightly, "He did. He reacted just like you."

Li Yan couldn't help but laugh, his forehead wound itching. As he laughed and tried to scratch it, Qichi caught his hand.

"Money is a good thing. Soon you'll find it even funnier," she remarked.

Li Yan blinked, trying to grasp her meaning but couldn't.

However, he suddenly understood why his father often mentioned her travels without detailing her activities. She was earning money.

Little did he know that her secret endeavors stemmed from necessity. When Qichi's father ruled Guang Prefecture as Prince of Guang, the court gradually became harsher towards the princes who were originally granted fiefs and sent out. On the one hand, they suppressed the aristocratic families, and on the other hand, they vigorously promoted the commoners. In her brother's time, it was even more obvious, as the tribute increased several times.

Though Guang Prefecture was prosperous, the increased tributes strained it over time. Her brother refused to impose more taxes like other vassal lords, instead mortgaging lands to meet demands.

This was precisely what the court desired, reclaiming the granted lands bit by bit and eventually confining the nobles in the capital, depending on the emperor's favor.

Though the court's policies fluctuated, those years were harsh.

Qichi, titled as Princess of Qingliu, once used the pretext of visiting her fief Qingliu County to travel, returning with a sum to aid her brother's tribute payments.

When her brother asked about the money's origin, she confessed, she had taken her own residence as collateral and exchanged it for money from the private pawnshop.

Prince of Guang was shocked, knowing the high interest rates could lead to ruin if unpaid, making them a laughingstock.

Qichi resolutely said she would earn more to redeem the properties.

Prince of Guang, after a long silence, laughed heartily, pointing at her, "You are truly brave!"

After that, he turned a blind eye to her ventures.

With no other choice, she braved it, unexpectedly succeeding and unable to stop.

After all, money is a marvelous thing.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　※

Most of the lodgers in the inn were traveling merchants, toiling ceaselessly to make a living. Before dawn, they would leave the inn to continue their journey. As some guests departed, new ones arrived to take their place.

Morning light streamed through the window, casting a soft glow as Xinlu carefully styled Qichi's hair. She picked up a golden hairpin, examining it for a moment. Though it felt heavy in her hand, she handed it to Xinlu.

"Do you wish to wear this one?" Xinlu asked, surprised. Qichi usually disliked such ostentatious and heavy ornaments.

Having been kept awake by Li Yan's endless chatter the previous night, Qichi still had her eyes closed, nodding lazily in agreement. Xinlu obediently pinned it in place.

Just as her makeup was finished, there was a knock at the door. Before anyone could respond, the door swung open. Xinlu turned to scold the intruder, but upon seeing who it was, her irritation turned to joy. "It's Qiushuang!"

Qichi opened her eyes, turning to see her other maid, Qiushuang. She dressed in a yuanlingpao, a round-collared upper garment worn by men, appearing as a man for ease of travel.

"Greetings, Master," Qiushuang said, bowing respectfully. Despite the travel dust on her clothes, her face was bright with a smile. "I have completed the task you assigned. The people from Prince of Yong's residence followed me all the way here, eager to see you."

Qichi smiled and rose to her feet. "Good thing I traveled slowly. Otherwise, if I had entered the city, they might not have caught up."

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　※

Despite being at an inn, Li Yan did not forget to pay his respects to his aunt upon waking. As he approached her room, he saw Xinlu and Qiushuang standing guard on either side of the door, from which the faint sound of conversation emerged. Sensibly, he decided not to disturb them and returned to his room.

The inn was shaped like a quadrangle, and his room was adjacent to his aunt’s. By opening his window slightly, he could just catch a glimpse of what was happening in her room.

Fortune smiled upon him as he saw that her window was open. He noticed someone kneeling on the floor, and in front of them stood a screen, obscuring his view of his aunt, who must have been behind it. He recognized the kneeling figure as the old servant from Prince of Yong’s residence.

"Please, Princess, show mercy. It was wrong of my young lord to disrespect Prince of Guang’s son. Please forgive him," the old servant pleaded, his head knocking against the floor with a resounding thud.

Behind the screen, Qichi sat upright, serenely waiting as the tea on the table began to boil.

Prince of Yong's son had come to Guang Prefecture to study but had been quite the spendthrift. Dissatisfied with his allowance, he had stolen his mother's jewelry to pawn for money. 

Unfortunately for him, the pawnshop belonged to Qichi.

Though she couldn't directly expose herself, she instructed the pawnshop to inventory and sell the items, ideally in Prince of Yong’s own fief, to add to their humiliation.

When Prince of Yong’s son learned of this, he hurriedly sent people to stop the shopkeeper of the pawnshop, but the shopkeeper threatened him because Prince of Guang had done him a favor. Since Prince of Yong’s son had bullied Prince of Guang’s son several times, he would vent his anger for Prince of Guang’s son even if he died.

How could Prince of Yong’s son, an immature youngster, fight over this kind of fearless people? He immediately panicked, and sent his old servant with lavish gifts to apologize to Prince of Guang’s residence.

However, the head of the household, Princess of Qingliu, was traveling with her nephew, leaving only her maid Qiushuang behind. In desperation, they pursued her all the way here.

As the tea boiled and the old servant’s head bled from repeated kowtowing, Qichi finally spoke, sighing first, “I am but a mere woman in the inner quarters[3]. Even if I wished to forgive your young master, I am powerless. The pawnshop is a place of strict business; interests compound daily, and heads can roll over debts. You should return to Prince of Yong and ask him to pay to redeem the things back.”

The old servant froze at her words.

“Xinlu, see him out.”

The door opened, and Xinlu and Qiushuang entered to escort the old servant out. As he was being led away, he tried to speak further to ask for a letter or something to delay the pawnshop for a few days. But when he looked up, he was struck by the sight of a familiar golden hairpin in the screen’s shadow. It was one of the pieces Prince of Yong’s son had pawned. His hands shook, and he could say no more.

Once the servant left, the screen was removed. Qichi glanced out the window and saw Li Yan, his gaze fixed intently on the direction where the servant had gone, his lips pressed tightly together.

She knew he was a resilient child at heart.

Notes: [1] 安北都护府 (Ānběi Dūhùfǔ)/Protectorate General to Pacify the North: An ancient administrative office/military government responsible for frontier defense. [2] 有眼不识泰山 (Yǒu yǎn bù shí Tàishān): Literally translates to "having eyes but not recognizing Mount Tai." Mount Tai is one of the most famous and culturally significant mountains in China, often representing greatness or importance. The idiom is used to describe someone who fails to recognize a person of great importance or status, typically due to ignorance or lack of awareness. In other words, it means failing to recognize the eminent or distinguished when one encounters them. [3] 一介深闺女流 (Yī jiè shēnguīnǚ liú): A phrase meaning ‘a mere woman of the inner quarters’, emphasizing the speaker’s supposed limited power and influence.

[emerald-notes]

The Astronaut, single by Jin

Note: It’s been a long time and here I am, still stuck in ‘The Astronaut’. Gonna share some personal opinion on this and I swear, I’ll shut up.

Rating - 10/10

“A life, a sparkle in your eyes, Heaven coming through, And I love you.”

Where do I even start? I feel like no matter how much I rant, my love for this song can never be expressed in words. The lyrics, the music and the mv, all of these have their own charms. I just absolutely love it.

Let’s start with its lyrics. I love the references of the cosmos used in this song. If Jin was an asteroid drifting all alone, Army was his heaven, a safe place. When Jin is in darkness, Army shines upon him like the Milky way. “You became my universe” is enough to prove how Jin dedicates his life for us and how we have become everything for him. We all know from the previous solo works of Jin that he is someone who constantly doubts himself and it is the love of the Army that brings him back from despair.

Isn’t it amazing how Jin, and all the BTS members in general, show how grateful they are to us? I am also grateful to them for making us feel loved. This song directly touches the heart. It is, in fact, the best kind of love letter one can ever wish for. It is a song that feels too personal. I feel like it was meant for me, as an individual. That’s one of the best achievements of this masterpiece.

The music video is so cute. Jin, representing an alien crashing on earth, who apparently doesn’t have any emotions. The little girl of his neighborhood plays with him often and he unconsciously grows empathy within himself. On the day his spaceship is finally leaving to go back to space, Jin realizes that it is the earth that is his true home and comes back.

Here are a lot of indications. For a start, the little girl represents Armys. If Jin was someone without dreams, the Armys made him want to dream. Just like the little girl helped him with the development of emotions. Again, though unconsciously, when the alien Jin decided to leave for good, he left his helmet with the girl so that she doesn’t hurt herself riding the bike alone without him around. As our Jin was leaving to join the military, he had left his precious song and along with it, a lot of content for the Armys to enjoy in his absence. Even the morse code for ARMY was literally tattooed on his neck in the mv. Just like the alien Jin realizing that the girl was his true home and coming back to her at the end, our Jin also promises us his coming back after serving his time in the military. Hence, I love the music video so much and I keep coming back to it time after time.

I will forever be grateful to Coldplay for accepting Jin’s request and making this song a reality. They are the sweetest souls ever. It shows how a real artist can recognize and appreciate another great artist. I love the bond between Jin and them, especially with Chris. It makes me immensely proud how far Jin has come. While he considered Coldplay as his idol in his youth, he is now collaborating with them side by side. Both of their styles of music are evident in this track. As if two beautiful melodies came together to become a better version of themselves.

I can’t talk about the Astronaut without bringing up the concert in Argentina. Here’s another reason for me to be grateful to Coldplay. They really understood the significance of this song for the Armys as a goodbye gift from Jin and that’s why they decided to have him at their personal concert. I could see the admiration in their eyes when Jin was performing. I also enjoyed the part where Chris opened his arms for Jin to run and embrace him while he sweetly kissed him on the cheek. This interaction was everything. When, both Chris and Jin were singing together to my favorite part and they couldn’t help but laugh in between, we could see Jin’s sparkling eyes so clearly. It shows how overwhelmed he was with emotion. I won’t lie about crying to that part myself.

Finally, the “I love you” part deserves its own paragraph. Would you think that it wasn’t intentional of Jin to finish his last live performance for the Armys by saying that he loves us? I think not. Jin is a genius and an absolute sweetheart for that. The reactions of the Armys at the concert was genuine. They looked so happy and sad at the same time. And I love you too, my Jinnie.

I am fully absorbed in this piece of art. It has become a part of me and I am totally obsessed with it now. I thank you, Jin, for making me feel this way. This work of yours is going to live in my heart rent free for the rest of my life.

[jomiddlemarch]

Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel

“You let them send you this slop, Sasha? General of the Second Army? You drink it?”

The questions had been asked by the stranger in Aleksander’s private rooms, a tall man with loose dark curls and a beard that rivaled Aleksander’s for panache, a quilted jacket over an open-necked linen shirt Alina recognized as the fashion from Ketterdam at least a dozen years ago. He leaned against the mantle with a wineglass in his hand in a way that would have frankly horrified Ivan and made Fedyor’s eyes take on an admiring gleam, his figure lithe, his pelvis angled in a way that was so far beyond suggestive Alina could not find it provocative, only amusing, which she allowed to show in her face.

“See, your ladylove agrees with me. Wise and winsome and Sasha’s beloved, so she must be powerful and you needn’t demonstrate, tovenares. Unlike Sasha, I can take some things on faith,” the stranger said. “What I can’t take is this pathetic excuse for mulled wine.”

“Do you think you’ll introduce us?” Alina said to Aleksander, who had a rare smile, one that was wry and fond, an expression that made her imagine how he might have been if his long life had not been one of persecution and torment and the need to secure the safety of his people.

“I’ll try—if I can get a word in edgewise, that is,” Aleksander said. The other man shrugged, a chain at his throat glinted with the gesture, the gold disk of a talisman half-hidden by the fold of his collar. “This is Coenraad Gijs Lueck, an old friend from Kerch, playwright at the Eerste Speelhuisje. Alina. Coen, Alina Starkov, Lady Kirigana, the Sun Summoner of Ravka.”

“Lady Kirigana, you honor me,” Coenraad said. “Though you must simply call me Coen, as Sasha does when he is not pretending at some noble formality, as if we never bedded down together in a rat-riddled garret and supped on two day-old maslin we filched from ruddy old Paepke in the market—”

“You stole the rolls, Coen, not I,” Aleksander replied.

“That’s right,” Coen said. “You’re welcome, by the by. You would have starved without me.”

“I must thank you for keeping Sasha alive,” Alina said. “It sounds as though you are old friends and those are precious, especially to someone like Sasha.”

“I gather you understand him well,” Coen said, nodding in approval and assessment.

“Well enough,” Alina answered, inclining her head towards Aleksander. “I have a thorough acquaintance with Dame Baghra.”

“Then you understand everything,” Coen laughed. His eyes were a curious color, between blue and grey, and she saw in them something of Ivan’s protectiveness, Fedyor’s warmth, and some history that was known only to the two men in the room, that had made them closer than comrades, more trusting than brothers. He glanced down at the goblet in his hand and grimaced. “You must also understand he has the most noxious taste in mulled wines, far too sweet, any wines really, and the kitchen here does nothing to rein in his worst appetites. There’s no clove in this, no badian, and far too much honey, though I know Sasha does not believe that is possible.”

“Come now, it’s not that bad,” Aleksander protested. So, he could sound young, piqued by something inconsequential. Coen shot her a look that was the next thing to a wink and Alina gave a little sniff as she were a coquette at the Imperial Court, a friend of Coen’s since she’d been in petticoats and he in short pants.

“It’s like the syrup they give to the otkazat’sya children when they have the winter catarrh,” Alina said. “Coen is right, Sasha, it’s disgusting. Even a little canella would help. A lot of canella would be better and plenty of zingiber.”

“She’s brilliant as well as lovely,” Coen said, the admiration plain in his tone but also a subtle shift in his stance, the way his eyes rested upon her. “Worth a thousand starless nights, a thousand years dark without a moon—”

“Alina’s worth cannot be measured,” Aleksander said, suddenly stern and almost proprietary. She could sense the tension within him, the urgency of his shadows, and the equally swift, lethal stillness that had overtaken Coen. He was Grisha, that was clear, but she thought now he was no Alkemi or Tidemaker as she’d imagined, but rather a Heartrender who’d long eluded the Kerch slave-markets. Was he even from Kerch? She’d never met a Grisha from the Bone Road or the Wandering Isle and wouldn’t have been able to recognize the signs in Coen’s gestures or expressions. There was no need for a battle, not now anyway, not before she understood the stakes.

“I liked hearing it said,” Alina put in. “It sounded like a line from a play.”

“Snotra’s Folly,” Coen said. “It ran for six seasons, made enough for a villa in Scheveningen. Ivan would hate it, it’s vulnerable to attack from the coast until there’s a heavy fog.”

“He does loathe a weak coastal defense,” Aleksander said. “I imagine you have brought all the spices and wine necessary for a properly mulled glass—did you leave them in the kitchens or are they in your trunks in the Doverennyy suite?”

“Kalyna should be bringing in something worth drinking in a few minutes,” Coen said. “I took the liberty—”

“As you ever have done,” Aleksander said.

“As I’ve ever needed to. For your own good,” Coen said. He spoke of events that Alina was not privy to, terrors and torments shared, plans Aleksander had not yet told her of.

“Did you order honey-cakes and cherry mazurek?” Alina asked. “Sasha won’t want to try the wine without something sweet.”

“You could give him a kiss then,” Coen said and grinned. “I did order the pastries. I hadn’t known there would be an alternative for Rijkje.”

*

“I’m glad Coen came to see you. He’s a good friend to you. For you,” Alina said later, lying in Aleksander’s arms, the embroidered bed-curtains closed around them. She’d conjured the light of a single, steady candle-flame to see by as it was the moonless night Coen had mentioned. She could still taste the mulled wine, its exquisite blend of spices and spirit, and the brief bliss of honey and marchpane on Aleksander’s lips after he took the last bite of dessert. Coen had demurred, averring he preferred savory, and cried off for an early night, the strain of his travel having caught up with him.

“He’s a better spy,” Aleksander said, stroking her loose hair, grazing her temple and the apple of her cheek.

“Is there any difference for you?” Alina said. “He called you Rijkje—he knew you as Eryk, didn’t he?”

“He did. He does,” Aleksander said. “He trusts you, milaya.”

“And do you trust him?” she said. He took her closer into his embrace, bent his head so he could murmur in her ear.

“As far as I may,” he said. “He isn’t you, so I cannot trust him completely.”

Because when I first reblogged Tim Curry as Shakespeare, I said I headcanoned him as Aleksander Morozova’s best friend from Kerch and @orlissa​ said “write it.”