#and (2) a statement of his identity to the crowd

[wildsaltair]

question for the class: do we think maybe the breastplate Proximo gives Maximus is the one Proximo wore when he was a gladiator? maybe the one he was wearing when Marcus Aurelius freed him?

[testyqwcde]

I know this scene is viewed as one of the most Haladriel-coded moments. However, I've always found it confusing, as it could also suggest that Halbrand wasn't entirely honest with Galadriel about his true intentions, that's why I didn't love it lol

She is actually saying that thier 'cosmic connection' ( or whatever you call it) is another illusion...

And he is like

Not all of it was an illusion...

Sounds like he's admitting some level of manipulation in his interactions with Galadriel during Season 1.

We know the showrunners left Sauron's intentions deliberately ambiguous: "We designed every moment so you can be, 'Is it a thing he's saying because it's true? Or is he playing a role to manipulate her?'"

However, I will be acting as Halbrand's advocate here and provide Tolkien's quote again: “He was given an opportunity of repentance... and so his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse...”

Based on that, we can be almost sure that Halbrand was a genuinely repentant Sauron. This interpretation is further supported by the fact (as confirmed by the showrunners) that he didn’t orchestrate his meeting with Galadriel at sea, nor did he manipulate her into staying on Numenor. It was the falling petals (Valar's 'message') that made Galadriel remain on the island.

Not to mention, his thoughtful and vulnerable looks when nobody was around.

The only truly questionable act comes after the eruption—his wound. We still don’t know its origin. But even if that raises doubts, it’s too minor to justify the “Not all of it” statement, especially considering the trajectory of Galadriel and Sauron’s relationship.

So, we return to the question:

Why “Not all of it” then? And why do they make Galadriel use the word illusion instead of lie or deception?

Deception would be a more suitable word to describe Halbrand's manipulation (if it were one) because of half-truths, withholding information and misleading appearances.

Illusion refers to false appearances or phantasms, associated with magic or sorcery when we speak about Sauron.

"Sauron’s power was in craft, domination, and the weaving of lies and illusions, a counterfeit ‘magic’ that sought to enslave free wills" (Tolkien's Letter)

Halbrand did not adopt his fair form to manipulate Galadriel, as it was confirmed he had no intention of meeting her initially. Instead, he may have chosen this appearance to better blend into the crowd. For a Maia, assuming a fair form is not necessarily an act of dark sorcery. It is Annatar who represents a deliberate illusion, a crafted false identity. This proves that Sauron began employing true illusions only in Season 2.

So, they aren’t mere tricks or mental influence, they’re manifestations of his dark sorcery, designed to twist reality, cloud perception and manipulate the mind.

With that said, the idea of illusions seems to fit better with Season 2 Sauron, who may now be using his full power including shape-shifting and sorcery.

So when Galadriel accuses him of casting an illusion, she is clearly referring to their interactions during Season 1. She knows he is a sorcerer and believes he used his powers to cloud her judgment, just as he did with Celebrimbor. And he knows it. So, could his response 'Not all of it' refer not to the events of Season 1, but to something happened in Season 2?

And if so, where?

The visions Galadriel receives through Nenya are unlikely to be Sauron’s illusions. While he may be able to influence the rings to some extent, it seems doubtful that he is sending those visions himself. After all, he lacks foresight, he doesn’t see into the future.

So what could he have created that wasn’t entirely an illusion, something that was partly deceptive, yet contained a glimmer of true emotions and feelings beneath its facade?

Sorry not sorry

Not all of it was an illusion.

[galaxygurlll]

FP1 - Aussie GP 2019 - Part 4

A new team? With two females? This is unheard of and will most certainly shake things up in F1! Meet Y/n Rose-Ocean and Evelyn Match as they get assigned seats into a new team into the F1, Porsche Royal racing. Y/n holds the number 38 whilst Evelyn holds the number 72. The two are introduced as rookies in the 2019 season, but, their area has been yet to be revealed, it being closed by tarps, and the two girls' identities have also remained a secret. Over time, even though she’s one of the youngest, she soon becomes the “grid aunt” and even “grid older/younger sister” as well.

Warnings for this chapter: None

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Previous chapter

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/galaxygurlll

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Continuing on...

The atmosphere is immaculate.

Ev and I are walking into the paddock, side by side with Aurel on my left and Urs on Ev's right. The sound of clicking enters my ears and I look around and find a camera pointing towards us and I give a quick wave to it.

With the security around us, we're able to avoid all the press and people wanting to ask us questions and get statements from us which I am somewhat happy about. I mean, I know that after Sunday, it will become a weekly occurrence, I hope.

Our little group passes by some of the other drivers that are just entering their garages and we even pass by Lance who I wave to as well and get a nod and smile in response before he disappears inside Racing Point to most likely talk to his team.

It's only a few more seconds before one of the security people is opening up a flap that lets us inside the Porche garage. "Alright girls, you can head up to your drivers' rooms but make sure to be down here in around an hour or so please," Aurel informs us causing both Ev and I to nod as we take off our hoods and sunnies.

"Sure thing boss and second boss, see ya later!" I call out to the brother as the two of us girls rush up to our rooms and agree to spend time right now in our own rooms, but later on will hang out in one another's.

As soon as I close the door, I practically rip off my disguise and let out a breath of a realise. In a few hours time, I will be driving in FP1 for the first time in F1 amongst the top 10 teams and top 20 drivers in the world. Talk about pressure.

I'm not too great with my emotions, but I've been compacting these feelings deep down and just need to let it all go. But I can't. Not yet at least.

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Small time skip

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As soon as I place my helmet onto my head, I realise a deep sigh and make a quick jog over to my car. Upon taking the steering wheel out, I hand it to one of my engineers to hold onto whilst I hoist myself up and into the vehicle before taking it back and putting it into place.

Now, time for the waiting game.

The garage is still hidden by the tarp, but is about to be revealed for the first time ever. Porche Royal Racing.

And then, the countdown in my headset begins. I'm way too nervous to even look over at Evelyn. "3... 2... 1..." And as soon as that last number was spoken, the garage becomes bright. Sunlight finally able to reach the inside and I can hear the distant cheers of the crowd.

"Alright y/n, wait for the signal to head out onto the track," The voice of my race engineer, Gavern, echoes through my ears and I give him a thumbs up as he turns around to face me before turning back around. It feels like forever until I hear the words, "Alright, you are free to go, follow the people that are instructing you out."

I don't respond back, but I do follow those instructions and wait to be signed out before driving down the pit lane towards the exit slowly before speeding up and heading out onto the track.

It feels so surreal. Honestly. Like, if I was told when I was five that I'd be here, I would never have believed it. Having the air rush past me as I go speeds only imaginable in a casual car on the road. Of course, I had practised in the car before starting in Formula 1 but this is nothing like that feeling.

Looking through my mirrors as I go through turn 6, I spot Ev a little ways behind and send a quick thumbs up to her, hoping that she can see it. "Good pace so far, keep going," Gavern, my race engineer, speaks making me jump for a second from the scare, "Yup, cool," I respond back, "Did I scare you?" He asks making me sigh whilst going through turn 10, "Yes, sorry. I'm gonna get used to that. At some point," As he responds back, he's chuckling making me roll my eyes, "Sorry, good driving though. I'll leave you be for now."

I decide not to respond and keep my eyes ahead of me as I hear other car engines all around the place. Turn after turn, car after car, gear change after gear change. My mind doesn't even get to properly comprehend what I am doing but also it does at the same time as I take each turn so gracefully and precisely whilst using enough oversteer to keep steady and to try not to crash.

This goes on for some time, from what I realise as I have to shake myself back into reality as I got so deep into focus.

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Small time skip

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I stayed out for as long as needed and possible before getting told over radio that, "That's enough information for now, you can pull in and recharge for FP2." And, of course, I listen to the message and pull into the pit lane and see many curious eyes from the other teams garages as I drive by them.

Hopping out of the car after parking the car, I make sure to keep my helmet on before spotting Gavern gesturing me over to him just as Ev pulls in as well and, with a quick wave and thumbs up to her, I hastily walk over towards my race engineer.

Gavern decides to also give me a brief run down on everything that happened during FP1, including the other drivers:

Running wide, Valtteri lost the rear of his Mercedes, narrowly avoiding the wall before executing a nearly perfect hand-break turn.

Alex took a spin exiting turn two damaging both ends of his Toro Rosso, not the start he was hoping for.

Daniel was wearing Aussie themed boots and has a new helmet design but was only in P19 in FP1.

Drivers kept driving through the dirt.

Lewis placed P1 in FP1.

Ev placed P17 in FP1.

And I placed P14 in FP1.

It's now some time until FP2, and I need a rest. I'm all sweaty and puffed out for now. But, I can do this. I'm already up high in the grid, but it is also on FP1 so, drivers could be hiding their true talents.

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Next chapter

Part 5: https://www.tumblr.com/galaxygurlll

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Authors note:

Hey everybody! I am so sorry for being off the grid lately but I started my holidays around 13 days ago and just wanted a bit of a break. But, I am back now and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. The next one will include both FP2 and FP3 so let me know if you lot would like a sneak peak of that once I start writing it! Also, I'll be putting up a poll as well after this, so, look out for that! Anywho, enough from me, cya next time!

Tag list

@chaoswithus

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Do I Know You? - Part 2

Summary: While Lullaby spends their first days alone in a long while, Khopesh and the rest of his claw are busy on their mission. It's a matter of extreme delicacy, and importance as it involves the disappearance of hybrid children. 

Previous Chapter: HERE

Next Chapter: Not Here Yet Here Now

First Ever in the Series: HERE

Tag List: @kit-williams @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan (all of whom have amazing characters that make cameos here!) @sleepyfan-blog @egrets-not-regrets @legionsofthehungry

@passionofthesith @bispecsual @bleedingichorhearts @beckyninja

Location: Redacted 

Time: 11:00 PM

Current Objective: Pre-mission Briefing 

As Khopesh enters the briefing room alongside his Claw and behind his ‘father’ Anrir, he realizes there is a familiar face here. 

A portly Death Guard with a mouth of sharpened teeth on his gut, probably to replace the jaw decaying off his face. 

“Xerxes,” Khopesh greets the marine who smells of death with a sharp but genuine smile. 

“Ah…Khopesh….good to seeee…you once…Again.” He breathes, both mouths speaking in sync. 

The other in the room, an Ultramarine Apothecary, glances between the two. “You know each other?”

Xerxes smiles. “Indeed…Medeathe…we share some…common interests…” 

Khopesh grins. The absolute Cheek of older cousin Xerxes, implying their alliance right in front of a stranger. Well the Ultramarine is a stranger to Khopesh, he's not sure if Xerxes knows him better. They'd make an odd combo regardless, with Xerxes as a walking nurgle corpse and Medeathe practically the poster child for an Ultramarine, with his bright blond hair and deep blue eyes. 

As for the reason Khopesh and Xerxes interact…not like he can complain, he'd probably do the same. 

Xerxes continues his explanation, “And I often traverse ... .his neighborhood.”

“Haven't seen you as often though. Have you found a place with better leftovers to pilfer?” Khopesh chuckles. 

Xerxes takes the comment in good humor and lets out his odd lilting and slow laugh. “HaHaHa, Perish…the Thought…I have been…occupied with matters…of the home…”

Anrir perks up a bit at that. “So it's finally happened then?”

The others in the room perk up a bit at Anrir's apparent interest. 

“What's fucking happened?” Karlsor asks. 

Xerxes lopsided grin grows wider. “Ah…sharp as…ever…Nightlord…and Yessss.” Xerxes pulls out his vox and begins swiping through it. 

The Night Lords, save Ghosk, immediately crowd around the image being shown. Khopesh, Claude and Karlsor are curious as to what the older Marines are talking about, and Anrir does so for scientific curiosity…mostly. Ghosk doesn't want to bother leaning pushing his way into the crowd, but he does glance at the images being shown. 

On the screen is a baseline human and a tiny bundle with a face in her arms. Ghosk seems to realize something Khopesh doesn't and chuckles with a “Well I'll be…”

Khopesh and Claude don't really get it. “A baby?” Like sure babies are cute but plenty of bonded humans have them from previous pregnancies or adoptions. 

“Your baby?!” Anrir asks with an uncharacteristic, almost reverent tone.

“Holy Fucking Shit.” Karlsor mumbles. 

Xerxes beams with pride. “They're name is Vespa… my little Larva.” He says, cooing over the photos. And indeed in other pictures where the child is a bit older it's far more obvious the little one has mostly their mother's looks, but their bright green eyes and their mossy hair hint at their father's identity. 

Medeathe just stares wordlessly, perhaps he feels uncomfortable with the thought of hybrid children. 

Claude blinks. “Wait! That's actually possible?? For a human and an Astarte to…To-”

“Yes!” The Ultramarine breaks in on the awkward statement with a terse tone. “It is Possible, Scout. Do not make a scene.”

Khopesh narrows his eyes at the rebuke. Mild or not, he doesn't take kindly to people chastising Claude for no reason. 

Medeathe takes a steadying breath, and his next words are much kinder. “I apologize for my tone, Scout. But I've had that conversation so many times at this point it's driven me damn near the edge of my sanity.” 

Xerxes laughs again. “Indeed…there is a reason…at the clinic…they call you…the Midwife…” Medeathe rolls his eyes but Xerxes continues. “He is…the foremost…when it comes…to labor and delivery of…hybrid children. He was even consulted…during my mate's…premature delivery.”

Claude speaks up. “It is alright older cousin, I understand the headache of having to explain things more than once.”

Khopesh pulls back on his snark. Medeathe is right, baselines can also treat the subject of hybrids…poorly, and perhaps the Ultramarine didn't want Claude to pester Xerxes. He'll hold his tongue for now.

No someone Else was doing that already. “I knew when I smelt the pregnancy hormones from your mate on you. When was the due date! And how long was the gestation!? Were there any complications pre or post delivery? You must tell me!” Anrir asks with urgency. 

Xerxes chuckles and is about to reply when-

“Save the baby pictures for Afterward gentlemen. We have a matter of great importance to attend to.” A dark and gruff yet refined voice speaks from the doorway. 

The others turn to see a Black Legionnaire with a face of criss-crossed scars and a cybernetic implant that goes from his chin to his forehead. In fact it seems to go further, actually trailing along the marine's bald head and down to the back of his neck. 

“Captain Horlux.” Anrir greets, making a quick battle sign to which all the Claw members stand at attention and make way for the other marine. 

Horlux walks past, seemingly reading each of the Claw up and down. Claude feels himself sweat a bit, the Captain's gaze is intense, and his presence feels as if it has a pressure all its own. He briefly remembers how it felt being examined by his previous Raven Guard commanders. 

Just as Claude is feeling his stress rise. Horlux nods, seemingly satisfied with what he's observed and turns to walk to the front of the room with a quickly grunted. “At Ease.”

The Claw relaxes where they stand and move to gather where Horlux and the Ultramarine Apothecary are setting up the presentation. 

“I have Gathered you here to undertake a very important and delicate mission.” Horlux explains, and some images flash on the projector screen.”

Images of a warehouse appear, along with several images of different baselines and Astartes. They seem to be bonded pairs.

Khopesh smiles while a growl bubbles up in his throat. He remembers the rage he felt when he learned of the Chaos Blood Angels who would kidnap bonded humans to kill them so they could feel the warp backlash of the bond breaking. Then kill the Astarte if they'd captured them. 

“Easy Curzling,” Horlux hushes. “So far we know for a fact these baselines aren't dead. However, they have all been through a truly horrific experience.”

The next slides show the baselines; mostly social media or medical photos. Every single baseline shares one thing in common; they are all heavily pregnant, clearly near the end of their terms. The after was far more clinical, and each stomach that was once round with child now laid flat and empty. The only evidence on the outside of the previous state was a perfectly stitched scar. “We have reason to believe there are illegal experiments regarding Pregnant Baselines taking place at this location.” The coordinates flash up on screen.

“Your first priority; determine the fate of the missing offspring, extract any that remain alive. Second; capture the perpetrators alive so they may face judgement. Third; secure the scene and retrieve any and all documentation of their doings for evidence.” Horlux turns to the room. “Any questions?”

Claude hesitantly raises his hand. “I must ask, what Kind of experiments do we believe are being committed?”

Horlux seems to take a moment, seemingly debating what or how to explain. “All we know for certain is that our most recent victim was somehow taken and returned to her domicile without her nor her Astarte mate noticing. We have reason to believe some kind of sleeping or amnestic agent was used on both of them. When the baseline awoke she had no memory of the trip, and her child had been removed from her womb. Her mate rushed her to the hospital as soon as they awoke and discovered her state.”

Xerxes speaks next. “Do you think…the perpetrator is targeting humans…whose pregnancies are those…from Astartes?” His tone is clearly troubled. 

And Claude meanwhile is still boggled that such a thing is even possible. But putting that aside, it Is troubling. He may not be an apothecary but he knows Regular baselines can be fragile. Those that are pregnant or freshly born are even more so! 

Horlux nods. “Indeed, which is why we cannot wait any longer. The most recent victim was a few days ago. Our Hydra sector and Apothecary Sargent Medeathe here have been instrumental in gathering information and scoping out possible holding locations. But now it's time for your Night Lords to do what they do best.” Horlux says. “Get in under cover of darkness. Find the missing offspring. And drag the offender or offenders back here to face punishment.”

“Sir yes sir!” The Claw replies. 

Horlux turns to Xerxes. “You will be using your little friends to provide further reconnaissance.”

“With Pleasure.” Xerxes replies, bringing some of his little pets to play and walk over his hand. Medeathe can't seem to stop himself from physically recoiling at the sight, even if the movement is slight. 

Khopesh lets his teeth show. “Not a fan of bugs ey Sargent?”

Medeathe huffs. “Not a fan of…strange insects.”

Strange…aka Chaos. And again Khopesh narrows his eyes. He's worked with skittish Loyalists before, so he'll put up with this. The sooner this gets done, the sooner he returns to you. 

Claude speaks up. “I…can't say I disagree. They also ah…trouble me a bit.” 

The statement actually causes Medeathe to laugh a little. “Well, at least one of your lot has some Sense here.” 

As the squad turns to leave for their mission, Khopesh catches Xerxes's attention and pulls him to the side. 

“Forgive me for delaying our mission, but this is the first time I have been away from Lullaby for an extended period.” Khopesh says quickly and quietly. “Has there been any change in the…”

Xerxes smiles reassuringly…as reassuring as a half rotted face can be. “There has been…no movement…of my pets Nor the…Interloper. Be…at ease…” 

Khopesh feels that knot of tension in his gut unwind. He's grateful for that. “Thank you Cousin. I know you said the same when I'd first asked but I still find myself troubled by the vision.”

Xerxes nods in understanding. “It is…only natural…to be so concerned with one's…life mate.”

Khopesh nods. “Still Thank You.”

Xerxes waves his hand. “Let us save thanks…for later…for now…” His eyes and voice become deathly serious. “We have a mission to complete.”

…

Location: Warehouse 

Time: 11:47 pm

The group stays in the trees at the perimeter of the structure, from the outside it looks very innocuous, but Night Lords know that such places are Perfect for traps.

“Gather round,” Anrir pulls out the building plans for the warehouse, the Hydra Sector Horlux spoke of had clearly done some digging into mortal building records to find this. Rooms, doors, walls all labeled with letters so they could be identified. 

But they know that This is the building as it was during its first construction. There's no telling what could be swapped or changed on the inside. 

“Alright, Xerxes you're up.” Anrir prompts and the Death Guard does as he's instructed. 

“Go…lend me…your sight…” He breathes, and his wasps go on their way. The warehouse is surprisingly insulated against the weather, but Xerxes wasps are specialists in getting through small spaces. 

“Hrm…it is…very dark. But my pets…can see….ah…tricky tricky…” Xerxes breathes. “The inside layout…is mostly the same. Some new walls…have been erected…here…here…and here…” He marks them on his map, and Khopesh notes how the routes from the entrance split in two directions. 

“Looks like we'll need to split into groups of two to sweep the place.” Ghosk grunts. 

“Not yet, Xerxes,” Anrir prompts. “What do you see?”

Xerxes focuses again, and his expression morphs into slight frustration. “Hrm…it seems that…there are certain rooms…my pets cannot enter. There is…interference…”

“Interference how?” Karlsor asks. 

“Hrm…my pets…are sensitive to…vibrations. Differences in air pressure…and sound waves…can make their vision and flight…more difficult. Certain rooms…seem to have those frequencies…emanating from within…”

“So there's some kind of device or system we need to dismantle then?” Medeathe asks. 

Xerxes nods, and he seems troubled. “It would seem…so…”

Anrir speaks next. “Any life signs otherwise?”

Xerxes answers. “No. All the places…my pets can see…are uninhabited…and look as if they have been so…for a looong time…no traps that they can sense or see.”

“Very well.” Anrir nods. “We can assume that if the missing offspring And the perpetrators are anywhere, they are within one or more of those shielded rooms. They are our first priority, therefore, our breach Must allow us to sweep and secure those, as well as blocking off the exits for any potential hostiles.” He points to the map. 

“Xerxes will remain outside so he may focus on relaying what his sentries see to us over vox. Ghosk and Karlsor take the rear exit. Khopesh and Myself the route that goes right. Claude and Medeathe the route that goes left, any questions?” 

Khopesh almost protests, if anything Claude should be paired with one of them. 

“No fa- I mean…Anrir. We are ready when you are.” Claude nods, seemingly having no problem with the orders. So again, Khopesh holds his tongue. Anrir nods. “Very good. Everyone to your positions, and on my signal, we breach.”

…

Claude, Medeathe, Anrir and Khopesh creep up to the building's main entrance, while Karlsor and Ghosk make their way to the back.  

“Karlsor, Ghosk, are you ready?”

“Ready on your signal Anrir.”

“Good, on my ‘go’ 3…”

Claude readies himself, right behind Medeathe who will be leading. 

“2…” 

Khopesh flexes his claws, he'll be busting down the door and the others will follow after before the split. 

“1-GO!”

A flurry of movement breaks out and a CRASH is unleashed as Khopesh kicks the flimsy door open. Their thundering foot falls seem to make the walls shake as they flow into the building.

Claude and Medeathe as planned go left, down a hallway with their bolters drawn they come to another fork. Claude takes a half second to recall the map, and the direction to the shielded room on this side of the building. 

“It was a right turn. Keep up Scout!” Medeathe grunts, barely giving Claude a chance to cover the other side of the hallway as he moves. 

They come to the locked door of the shielded room and Claude prepares to set the charge to blow the lock off. Any Space Marine could kick the door down, but that would leave the breacher vulnerable to counterattack by those inside the room. A detonation will open the door and hopefully stun any hostiles inside so they can neutralize them. 

“Wait!” Medeathe hisses. “Let me,” He pushes past, and brings out his own detonation charge. “If the infants are inside, we can't risk using a full charge.”

Claude nods, of course of course. He takes position to the side of the door. 

BANG! 

The charge still blows the door back, but not off its hinges and Claude and Medeathe surge inside, bolters drawn. Claude looks left, then right, checking all corners and possible attack points before lowering his weapon with a “Clear.”

And now that his focus is off of checking every corner for hostiles, he truly takes in the room before him. It is Much more clean and inhabited than the rest of the warehouse. In fact it’s covered floor to ceiling in medical machinery. 

And filled with tiny fragile humans inside that machinery. Almost like…a nursery. 

He's…he's heard of these types of machines. They're called…Incubators. And though small…the little ones inside Seem to all be breathing. Some are completely baseline in appearance and others have horns or teeth, longer claws, pitch dark eyes. There are clearly a number of different hybrids here from all kinds of Astartes here. 

But…there's still something wrong with them. In spite of the loud entry they're…they're all so quiet and…Some of them have surgery marks others have… metal body parts.

“Augmentation…” Claude whispers with a strange horror in his voice. They've clearly been augmented. Claude isn't sure why he feels so upset, he was given his first augment as a young child. 

Yes, when he was around ten! These are neonates or barely any older!

“It's fascinating,” Medeathe breathes in awe. “To think someone could construct a facility of This level in an abandoned warehouse.”

Claude doesn't really like the…reverence in his tone, but he can't deny the statement rings true. He chocks it up to Medeathe's specialty being in neonatal care. “I suppose. Now we need to report the location.” Claude hurriedly types on his vox. 

“Anrir, come in Anrir, we have located the missing offspring. We're in sector X of the building…there appear to be about twenty incubators.”

-Bzzt "Message received, we will proceed to your location. Are any of the little ones injured?”

Claude swallows the lump in his throat and answers. “All have life signs, but they're all…all of them have evidence of augmentation…and they are all currently inside incubators with locks and hooked up to various tubes…I'm not sure how to remove them.”

“Medeathe should know how to remove them while keeping them stable. Follow his orders until we can reach you.”

“Wilco.”

Medeathe looks over the room. “Seems almost a shame to dismantle this…” He sighs. 

Claude pushes the same discomfort as before aside and shrugs. “Well, the medical equipment can be salvaged…and it'll do more good in a hospital than here.” He peaks into the incubator he's standing in front of as Medeathe busies himself with the mechanics of how to transport the infants. 

The little one inside is soooo small, pudgy and soft looking, and an odd part of Claude's heart wants to hold them. He thinks this little one is female but he's not one hundred percent sure. But he cannot remove them yet, so he moves to place his hand to the glass where hers is. 

“Ah Ah Ah! Don't…do that.” Medeathe grunts. “This little Night Lord has a touch of psychery. You might startle her.”

Claude pulls back. “Oh right…I wouldn't want to-”

Time stops, just for a moment. 

“Sargent Medeathe…” Claude's tone is a question, but it is laced with…fear. The Sargent's hands stop moving. “How did you know this little one is a Night Lord spawn?”

“I ah…I saw her eyes. She opened them when you weren't looking.” He replies. 

Claude feels heat pool under his skin, rage…and disbelief. “You could've said she was a Raven Guard or even a Carcharodon, but…you also said she has psyker capabilities.” He mumbles. “But you're Not a psyker, there's no way you could know that unless…”

Suddenly his mind goes back to the breach…how Medeathe seemed to know the Exact way to go. How He was the one to set the charge before Claude breached this room. 

Even his odd stare when Xerxes had shown his newborn. Claude felt his skin crawl. 

“Oh Little Primaris…” Medeathe soft voice speaks, almost like that calm disappointment parents would show children when they've seen something they shouldn't. 

Claude whips his bolter out and trains it on the Ultramarine. But rather than jumping to attack him, the Ultramarine regards him with a calm…almost Fond look. It makes Claude want to vomit. 

“Halt!” Claude snarls, training his bolter. “You are under arrest.”

The Ultramarine tilts his head. “Under whose jurisdiction?”

“The Alliance.” Claude states. “You will be taken to stand trial for your crimes-”

“Ah yes!” Medeathe nods astutely. “The Alliance, full of Traitors…and Heretics…and Deserters-Tell Me, why does a Loyalist son of Corax himself, take orders from a Chaos inclined Night Lord?”

Claude hesitates. “Anrir is Not Chaos.”

“But your other Brother is…the one with a set of throne damned Bat Wings who made a mess of my front door.” He replies. “The other one with the foul mouth may not look it, but I can sense the Stink of that rotten warp corruption upon him…” He steps carefully around Claude who still has his bolter trained on him. 

For a moment Claude thinks to shoot the bastard dead, until he sees something move on the ceiling behind Medeathe. Instinctively, he knows who the dark shape is, and what it's signing. 

Can't shoot in here. Risk to babies. Keep him talking. 

So he allows Medeathe to keep talking. 

“And as for your…Anrir, he's a Traitor to the Imperium. All of his wretched ilk are.” Medeathe swears. “Even back in their ‘loyal’ times; nothing but a bunch of savage skin peelers looking to sow fear and get their fill of torture.”

The hypocrisy sets Claude off. “And what does that make you then!?” Claude snarls. “Look where you're standing, look at what you've done to these little ones and their families!” Claude gestures to the room of infants too young to be parted from their parents. “DON'T moralize to Me about torture, the torture you've put those human baselines and their mate's through by Stealing their children from their wombs is worse than anything the Nightlord's could do!”

The dark shape is almost in position now, but Claude is truly having to hold himself back from killing Medeathe outright. 

The Apothecary’s response is chilling, Claude can Feel the smile behind the helmet. “I am only continuing the good work I did before. The Imperium will need more Neophytes, more serfs, and of course…more servitors. It is only natural to pick from hybrids as they have an even better chance of surviving the process.” He gently places his hand on Claude's bolter. Claude allows him to move the gun down. 

He gestures to the cradle in front of Claude. The tiny female baseline with brown skin and fully pitch black eyes stares back. “And as for the spawns of Traitors like This little Night Lord, they will Finally have a chance at redemption.” Medeathe turns to the Raven Guard. “That's what you want too, isn't it?” 

Claude forces himself to not recoil as Medeathe reaches a hand out to gently touch his face. “Don't you want what you were promised…to serve the Imperium and Atone for the sins of your blood?” Medeathe breathes, thinking he's got the Primaris right where he wants him. 

That does catch Claude off guard. “How d-did you?”

“How did I know you have Traitor's blood?” Medeathe coos. “Oh dear child, it's written all over your face. And come now…why else would those wretched traitors tolerate an abomination like you?”

And all at once, the spell passes. Claude nods jerkily and almost…laughs. “Of course…”

“See, I told you you'd see sense.”

“No I mean of course you'd say something that's absolutely fucking HORSESHIT!” The laugh turns into a snarl as he slams his fist straight into Medeathe's helmeted face. The Ultramarine reels and falls back a few steps. 

“You wretched little Traitor bastard!” He curses and reaches for his own bolter. 

“Ah Ah AH!” Khopesh chimes gleefully, dropping from the ceiling and literally swiping the side arm away with a slash of his Lighting Claws. Before delivering a sharp kick to Medeathe's gut, sending him back to Claude. 

“You don't know ANYTHING!” Claude snarls, landing another devastating punch. “You don't Know ANYTHING! ABOUT! MY! FAMILY!” Claude locks in, just as he had the Last time he faced a bully, and starts beating the blue off Medeathe.  

“Not so much fun to be the one caught between, Is it Ultramarine!?” Khopesh snarls as he and Claude literally volly the apothecary back and forth as he fruitlessly tries to escape. 

“N-no!” The Ultramarine is beaten to the ground and tries to drag himself to his sidearm. 

CRUNCH! “ARGHGAAAAH!” 

“Ooops~” Khopesh chimes with sadistic glee as his armored boot Crushes the Ultramarine's wandering hand. 

Claude drags Medeathe back and locks his arms around the apothecary's neck. He tightens down and the Apothecary begins to lose consciousness. 

“You,” Claude huffs, his breathing is labored. “Are Under Arrest! You will be Tried! And you will ANSWER! FOR YOUR CRIMES!” The Apothecary struggles in his grasp before he goes limp, but Claude waits a few agonizing extra moments to make sure he is well and Truly out. 

Then he slaps on the Astarte grade restraints but as he does Claude is breathing hard, almost hyperventilating. He can barely hear Khopesh as he talks until…

“Claude…CLAUDE?!” Khopesh gently takes Claude by the shoulder. “You alright Claude?”

Claude feels his veins ice over. “They're all so small…” The little ones, taken from their mother's too soon. All in the hopes of What!? Making more neophytes!? Kidnapping and traumatizing and butchering mothers and children with metal and organ augments!? Even if it were possible to make Space Marines on Terra as the Imperium had, the children hybrid or not deserved a Choice on what they'd become. 

“Hey Hey! Look at me!” Khopesh snarls. “We Saved these little ones, and who knows how many more pregnant baselines?”

Claude nods, shakily, but he does. 

“Without you, they'd still be in Danger and that!” He points to Medeathe's unconscious body. “Fucking bastard, might be free to try again!”

“That's true.”

Khopesh smiles. “Of course I'm right. And now we need to focus on moving these little mites and getting them back to their families.”

“Well said Khopesh.” 

Claude and Khopesh turn and see Anrir and the other Night Lords filing in. 

“Father!” Claude, much like a child himself, feels so relieved to see his family. 

“Good to see you Anrir.” Khopesh greets. “We'll certainly need your expertise since the other apothecary is…” He glances to the unconscious Ultramarine, still held in restraints. “Out of commission.”

Anrir nods. “I assume there is a good reason for this.” 

Khopesh smiles wide. “You might need a Special Cell for this one.” Khopesh pulls out the recording he'd taken while Medeathe was rambling. 

Anrir's expression morphs subtly, and Khopesh gets Excited. Anrir is disgusted. Karlsor picks that up as well. 

“Ho ho ho, looks like we'll get to have a fuckin Party once we get this fucker back to base.” 

Anrir nods. “Yes…I think we shall.” He then sends a copy of the log to Horlux and Xerxes. With the additional message for Xerxes to receive Medeathe into custody. By which he means Ghosk and Karlsor haul (drag) the bastard outside so Xerxes can keep his and his pets eyes on him till he awakens. 

The elder Night Lord moves along the incubators, examining them and the infants inside. “The air inside these is laced with a sleeping agent. Not enough to be deadly, but enough to keep the little ones drowsy and quiet though I wouldn't be surprised if this room was also sound proofed…” Anrir grimaces, and he recognizes the IVs. “And they're hooked up to nutrient drips, and waste disposal tubes. The fool couldn't even be bothered to feed or change them by hand. Idiot.” Anrir growls. 

Khopesh feels his excitement Skyrocket. Not about the infants’ situation, fuck no this room makes him so angry it hurts. But Anrir being this angry means the retribution will be Slow and Aaaagonizing. 

Exactly! The kind he relishes, and the kind this misbegotten bastard deserves. 

“Our play time will have to wait, Khopesh, there is still much to do here.” Anrir points out. “Not only securing safe transport for these little ones, but turning this building upside down to ensure all relevant evidence is collected and no…unwanted surprises assail us. Oh come now…”

Anrir coos as one of the little ones begins to cry in their pod. Perhaps the gaseous agent that kept them calm is running out. He reaches one ancient hand to the little one and lays it against the glass. 

The little Night Lord gurgles, and puts her hand up against his, babbling with interest at this new face that she may or may not be able to see. “There now, isn't that better. Shhh…”

“Brrr-agalb-lphht.” The baby says in response, but she is calm now and Claude feels a more proper relief flow over him. 

Khopesh puts his hand on his younger brother's shoulder. “Well done Claudy, well done.”

Claude nods, and even blinks a bit. He Actually feels a bit of wetness coming to his eyes. They're happy tears, but still he wipes them away quickly. 

“Thanks…but we've got more work to do.” 

…

1 Day Post Mission

The Claw walks throughout the rest of the compound, their sweep after showing that the other shielded rooms held medical supplies, and documentation of the…experiments Medeathe was conducting. 

“I suppose he's lucky none of the little ones passed from this.” Ghosk sighs, thinking about the cluster fuck the Apothecaries had experienced moving all the offspring from their ‘nursery’ to the neonatal care unit at the nearby Steelix Base. 

Khopesh's grin splits open. “Not like it matters, he's a dead man regardless.”

Anrir nods as he gathers the documentation. “Too true. At the very least he was smart enough to not sign his name on these pages.” 

“But Not fuckin smart enough to realize that stealing offspring would land him where he is now.” Karlsor remarks. 

“To think a Son of Gulliman would fall so far.” Claude ponders. 

“Evil doesn't have a legion color, Claude.” Anrir hums, taking a moment to read over the medical study's findings. 

“And neither does Crazy.” Khopesh adds. 

2 Days Post Mission 

“We've cleared the entire structure Anrir.” Claude reports proudly, he's also holding a number of different documents. 

“Claudy found the last of the papers. Sniffed em out, through a wall.” Khopesh announces, also with pride. “Yeeesh, these are more…personal.”

Anrir cocks an eyebrow, somewhat unimpressed. Not by the find but what he imagines the pages entail. “Let me guess. ‘No one understands what I'm doing.’ ‘I am the only one who can lead us into the future.’ ‘Everyone else are Fools and will quake when I am finally allowed to put the brilliance of my research into the sunlight?’”

“Yep, pretty much.” Khopesh shrugs. 

“Eh seen one evil scientist motherfucker seen em all.” Karlsor huffs, and casts a pointed look at Anrir. 

Anrir is not amused. “Get back to work.”

…

3 Days Post Mission at the Steelix Base Neonatal Care Facility.

The Claw waits with varying levels of boredom or anxiety. Things have been wrapped up, the Warehouse is fully cleared, Medeathe is set for transport, everything is Done.

So whyyyyy are they stuck here!? Khopesh groans, mentally of course. Most of his energy comes from Desperately wanting to see you again. Oh he's missed your sweet voice and your warmth and your nest…

Karlsor is like Khopesh but not Quite as intense. Really his annoyance is being amplified by Khopesh's fidgeting, and that base annoyance comes from wanting to go home to his Sunshine. He can't act out directly so he settles for directing a Very low frequency growl at Khopesh to tell him to Stop Moving Dammit!

Ghosk is old and tired and annoyed and wants to pull his Rabbit into bed the Second he sees her. And he's mutually being annoyed by Khopesh fidgeting And Karlsor's noises. But he's better at tuning them out…

“Mother fucker I SWEAR if you don't hold fucking STILL!” Karlsor hisses, as Khopesh's leg keeps twitching. 

For the most part…

“Hush.” 

And immediately the line of Night Lords fall into order at the sound of their apothecary's voice. He'd been pulled into some kind of meeting, why they decided to have it here they have no clue. 

Luckily, Anrir explains. “It seems we are finally set to be dismissed from further duties related to this case.”

““Thank Fuck.”” Ghosk and Karlsor sigh in unison. ““Oh fuck. Fucking stop it motherfucker!” Claude and Khopesh can't help but snicker. “”The fuck are you fucking laughing at!?”

“Language!” Anrir chastises. Ghosk rolls his eyes, while Karlsor bites his tongue. “There is one last matter to handle.” Before the Claw can complain, Anrir continues. “One of our Legion Brothers wanted to thank us personally for our aid.”

A Legion brother? 

And indeed, through the same door as Anrir came an Astarte and a Baseline. The Night Lord has a dark Mohawk that sweeps down his neck and short buzzed sides. The human baseline has dark skin with a warm undertone, and her hair is done up with an elegant headscarf.

In her arms she holds a tiny bundle, with a face. 

“Is that…?” Claude asks as the woman and her mate approach. The Night Lord is on guard, even anxious with what has happened, but he knows this place is safe. 

And that he has these Battle Brothers to thank for the return of his little one. 

“I am Siros,” The Nightlord greets, “Nightlord Chaplain and this, is my bonded.” He has his arm wrapped sweetly around his mate. 

“My name is Folake, and before we…we leave to take her home I just…” Folake begins to tear up, but she forces herself to finish. “I just wanted…wanted to say Thank You.” 

She gently rocks the child in her arms. The little Night Lord with brown skin and her father's dark eyes. Claude smiles as he remembers her past form, and how much more peaceful she looks, free of that awful machinery. 

“Have you chosen a name yet?” Khopesh asks, also looking at the little one. He agrees, she looks much healthier. 

“Not yet…” Folake admits. “After everything that has happened…my Husband and I have been so caught up in just having her back, we haven't had time to think about it.”

The little one's eyes suddenly open, and she sees Claude. He's not sure if she recognizes him but she giggles and makes those silly noises again. 

“Abbabbab-plllthth-brrr..” Then she breaks into another giggling fit. Her mother actually cries on the spot and Siros can't seem to help but pull his family close and purr. 

“Your father has told me…that it was You that stopped him. The man who…who stole my daughter.” Folake says, once she's wiped the tears away. “So he couldn't hurt anyone else. Could you please, tell me your name?”

Claude blushes. “Ah well…It wasn't just me. My older brother Khopesh is the one who helped me take him into custody. And All of my brothers made the mission possible.” He explains, nervously. “My name is Claude.”

Folake seems to think for a moment. “Claude…Claude…Claudette!” 

“Brabblpthft!” The baby babbles happily  in response and her mother beams. 

“Do you like that? Do you like that name, my sweet child?” She nuzzles her baby, then turns to her mate. “What do you think, Siros?”

Siros reaches down a huge pale hand and tickles his little one, causing her to try and nibble his hand. He smiles a wonderfully soft smile. “I think it is a fitting name.”

Claude feels a variety of emotions but mostly overwhelmed, happy and a tad embarrassed. “Ah…thank you! Truly! It's an honor.”

Siros nods, then turns to Anrir and says something in Nostraman. “I appreciate your invitation, but I will need some time to spend with my family.”

Anrir smiles and responds in the same language. “He's not going anywhere, I'm happy to hold him until you have a chance to…visit.”

Siros smiles, and it is indeed a proper Nightlord smile. But then he turns back to his love. “Come my darling. Let us take our little Night Lord home.”

With that the family departs. 

Claude stands there for a moment slightly stunned. Well…it's not everyday you get a child named after you. But at the same time there's a…warmth he feels. 

Anrir takes notice and gently places a hand on his shoulder. “You have done well, my son.” Anrir's expression falls to become more somber. “But you must understand, not all of our missions will end so happily. This is the risk we undertake, even here where there is so much less conflict. It is not just a risk to our bodies, but to our hearts and minds as well. Do you understand?”

Claude nods. “I do father.”

Anrir nods in approval. “Good, now…let us go Home.”

“Fucking FINALLY!”

“Language Karlsor!”

…

Last stop before he's finally, FINALLY clear to call you, is a final debriefing at the Rot Bone Base. 

Captain Horlux addresses all of them. “Well done. Your performance on this recent mission was exemplary. Not only were all the pilfered offspring returned, but the perpetrator was brought to face justice.” A troubled look passes across the Black Legionnaire's face. “Medeathe was one of the Alliance's most expert apothecaries, especially in the area of hybrid deliveries. To lose that is a blow, but we will recover.”

“Hopefully his research notes can provide us some aid in training other apothecaries.” Anrir hums. “However mad he may be, the fact he was able to set up an entire nursery and keep all the infants from dying is testament to his skills.”

Claude doesn't like the comments about Medeathe, but again, they are technically correct. 

Horlux grunts, before picking up another sheaf of papers. “The only question that remains is How the bastard managed to abscond with all that medical equipment and supplies.”

Anrir agrees. “True, we'll have to keep him alive until we can ascertain if he was operating alone. It is not infeasible that Medeathe could have falsified the supply documents and removed or collected items over a longer period of time to build his lab. But it's just as plausible that he could have done so with outside help.”

Horlux nods. “He'll be turned into your custody for interrogation. I'll send the order now, and it should be processed in about a day.” The old marine huffs as he goes over the mountain of paperwork in front of him. 

“My condolences.” Anrir jokes, but the sentiment is genuine. 

“Yeah yeah, go on. You and your Claw are dismissed for now.” Horlux waves his hand. “But remember! Keep the bastard Alive until we can get that information out of him.”

Anrir salutes, and he and the Claw turn to leave. Claude notices Khopesh typing a message on his vox. 

“Trying to contact Lullaby?” He asks with a smile. 

Khopesh nods quickly. “Yep yes yes Yep, that last meeting was driving me Insane, but now we're dismissed and I can Finally contact them.”

Khopesh 🦇💙: Lullaby! I cannot wait to see you and hold you and LOVE you! When I see you I will pull you into my arms and not let go until the Sun Rises! 

Lullaby 🎶🌙: Awe Babe!❤❤ That's so sweet! 

But you know I'm just in the bathroom. You don't need to text me from the living room. 

Khopesh 🦇💙 :Lullaby…what are you talking about? I am not in the living room, I am at the Rot Bone Base. I've only just been debriefed and released from my mission. 

Lullaby 🎶🌙: Wait, then…who's here with me right now?

Khopesh's blood runs cold. His pace had turned from a swift walk to a run to full on sprint. Claude had kept pace as he noticed Khopesh's mood change from excited to fearful. 

“What's going on?” Claude asks as the two run through the base and outside. 

Khopesh 🦇💙: Do not panic. Stay in the bathroom and make an excuse like you're having stomach issues. Try to sneak out the window. 

Lullaby 🎶🌙: Okay. I love you. Please hurry!

Khopesh🦇💙: ❤

“There's a fucking Hydra in my Nest!” Khopesh snarls with Claude close behind. 

A soon to be very Dead, very Flayed Hydra. And if Anything happens to his Lullaby there won't be a single power on this world or any other that will be able to stop his wrath!

[ruumirmir]

𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘛𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 Part I Part II

ੈ♡˳ Author's◇ note - ladies and gentlemen i fear that im just yapping atp. Ough this is literally my own character how hard can it be to not make his dialogues ooc (quite a lot). aNYWAYS lo and behold part 2 of the voicelines. They're all subject to change as far as lorecrafting goes. But for now!!! loverboy has a lot to say:

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] A big hulking figure followed by the sound of rattling metal chains as he walks...It would make anyone tremble with fear. Celestia knows what lies under that helmet, but you can rest assured that The Captain is fairly merciful to all. It's just a simple matter of being courteous and following orders. Dare I even say it... one thing that I've heard and observed from the grapevine- is that he's one of the more popular Harbingers... if the bold statements from my comrades are anything to go by.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] Contrary to belief, the Prime Doctore is a completely sane man. His younger segments, not so much. His experiments have killed hundreds, and I'm sure he would continue if it wouldn't threaten Regrator's profits. He works a little too closely with Lord Regrator, which is bad enough for me. I can't stand it when he asks me to keep their struck deals and the Doctor's activities under wraps... but I do it anyway. I'd be happier if they were never in the same room together, but apparently, those two make 'quite the pair' if I had to quote some rumors.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] Her reputation as dangerous, even among the Harbingers, should suggest you steer clear of her. I once made the mistake of catching her closed gaze while I was at the palace- and a nasty feeling of paranoia plagued me for days on end. However, if you end up under her radar and she deems you 'interesting'... well- I'll send you my condolences.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4]

The Knave, Arlecchino... she's quite the enigma. While she and Lord Regrator are both Harbingers, their demeanors, methods, and goals cannot be more distinct. Her methods, to say the least, are a touch... extreme. There's no denying her skills as a master manipulator and ruthless 'Father' of the House of the Hearth. It's certainly an improvement from the late Crucabena, or so I've heard from the older orphans. But then again, I haven't noticed any changes in the mortality rate of her... "children".

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4]

The old Rooster's influence can be found throughout Snezhnaya, and his connections are vast. He seems to be on good terms with Regrator, but that's the only thing I'm sure of. He serves as an advisor to the Fatui Harbingers, and his assistance goes beyond the scope of his political power. I suspect there's something important that he may be working on, but I have no idea where to start… They say he's a master strategist, but his only plans involve making a show that impresses a crowd. I only hope the next time he assembles the Harbingers together, it will be over his casket.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4]

Sandrone is the head of a team of engineers who build mechanical lifeforms. Some are small and cute, others gigantic and powerful... but all are emotionless and unfeeling. When I hear the word "creation" I think of beauty and passion, but Sandrone seems to only care about destruction. Just like the mech that carries her around. You'd never see her alone; it's as if the puppet is her true identity.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4]

Tartaglia, or Childe as some people call him, He definitely has the strength of a Harbinger, that much is undeniable. But he can be impulsive, even downright suicidal at times. It's as if he has no fear of dying. I guess that's what happens when you live for the thrill of the battle. I can't deny that... Even though he's a loudmouth, his skills back up his words. I've seen him cut through enemies as if they were made of butter. That being said, he's still young at heart. Occasionally disruptive for the duties carried out. He's developed an interest in dueling with me ever since Pantalone granted me this title. Lucky for me, I can always request for Regrator's presence whenever I want him to turn tail and disappear.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4]

The first time I saw Signora, I was struck by her beauty and gracefulness. Unfortunately, my admiration was short-lived as she turned to glare at me the moment she noticed. Arrogance. Ego. Self-conceit- now those are mere words when it comes to the Fair Lady. She was as cold as the snow that covers Snezhnaya and as temperamental as the flames she wielded. She had no tolerance for the weak and would just as easily snuff out a life without a second thought. Although I hold no love for her, I almost felt disrespected on her behalf when the Rooster thought to grant only half a day of mourning at her funeral.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘐

The Northland Bank is a place of opportunity, a place where you can put your destiny into your own hands... and a place where you can see it stripped from you without warning. I have seen many people come and go in my time here. People from all walks of life, eager to make a name for themselves. Some have found the money and fortune they sought after, while others have fallen flat on their faces.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘐𝘐 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 3]

I've seen countless conflicts waged with blood and steel, and they pale in comparison to the lives destroyed by the pen. They're both weapons in their own ways. The sword is more direct, no question about it. Yet the pen... it can cut in a more subtle manner, but it slices deep. Both are capable of ruining someone's life. The former requires power while the latter requires intelligence. Really brings out the irony in calling this feathered quill my 'signature' weapon.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘐𝘐𝘐 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4]

To the untrained eye, it may seem like some sort of cruel joke. A title like ‘Venator Dux’ is usually given to one who would strike fear in their enemies and inspire confidence in their allies. Lord Regrator, however, has a different plan in mind. Pantalone sees me not as a ruthless warrior, but as the keeper of his secrets. Someone who can wield knowledge as a weapon and turn his enemies’ greed against them. To him, the title of ‘Venator Dux’ is a reminder of my duty. In his words, I was a useful piece that could shift the entire board on his whim. And isn't that something to take pride in? Knowing you're the most favored player in a man's game?

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘐𝘝 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 5]

My father died a proud soldier under the tsaritsa's name. He fought and bled on behalf of the nation she created and dedicated his life to protecting. *Sigh* My father would be ashamed if he could see me now, kneeling before a man. Especially after cursing his grave out for dying under another. The irony is not lost on me. Yet, I would rather serve a man who I respect, who I can reason with, than one who demands endless devotion from her subjects. In a strange way, I feel as though I am honouring my father's memory by following my own path.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘝 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6]

Hilarious to think back to my first year of duty. I was no more than a simple receptionist at the Northland Bank back then. Just another faceless pawn, doing my duty to the tsaritsa without questioning her intentions. All I knew was that I was serving the Fatui's goals. I did not kill anyone directly, yet I still had blood on my hands. Every transaction carried the potential for loss and pain, yet I pushed on regardless. I may have been just a receptionist, but I was already well aware of the cost of ambition. Pantalone then, was different from everyone else I'd met in the Fatui. He didn't use force of arms like the other Harbingers; instead, he used his words and intellect to manipulate the political landscape.

In addition, he held a unique perspective on the tsaritsa's ideals. Not once did he preach about blind devotion. He simply told me that if I wanted to make my mark on this world, I would have to be willing to play by his rules. It took me three years to realize what he insinuated... and I found myself gravitating back to him despite leaving the organization of my own accord.

𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘏𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘴 Playing the piano, perhaps? I'm no good at it yet... but I've been getting better with some help guiding my hand around the keys. It is... nice to unwind after a long day and let the instrument carry me away.

𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] *Sigh*... I have to be diplomatic with people I despise and feign politeness with those who can’t hold a conversation to save their lives. Sometimes- when I’m in the middle of running an important operation, few of my juniors just keep making mistakes. It makes me wonder how Lord Regrator manages to do the same for days on end with a smile on his face... I'm not like him at all.

𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘥 I've got a soft spot for a well-seasoned dish of meat. Any kind really— A hearty serving does wonders. Leaves you delightfully stuffed full, satisfied, and warm. I'm not too worried about the specifics of the dish as long as I can savor a mouthful of rich flavor.

𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘥 Desserts that are too sweet are an affront to my tastebuds and moral values. Sugar is supposed to be an element, not the whole personality. The only thing that does it well is dark chocolate.

𝘙𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘎𝘪𝘧𝘵: 𝘐 Oh! A thoughtful choice, traveller. The aroma alone is tantalizing. Your efforts are appreciated. Thank you.

𝘙𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘎𝘪𝘧𝘵: 𝘐𝘐 Hmm... a pragmatic choice. It may not be an extravagant feast, but it serves its purpose. Your gesture is noted.

𝘙𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘎𝘪𝘧𝘵: 𝘐𝘐𝘐 An... interesting choice. I suppose variety is the spice of life, but I find my satisfaction elsewhere. Nonetheless, your intention is recognized. I won't let this go to waste.

𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 Why is there a celebration? A date marking the day of your own birth... It's simply illogical, but the Fatui celebrate birthdays like everything else, so I'll play along. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! There, I said it. You're now a year older, and one year closer to old age and inevitable death. Oh- haha, don't sulk like that, I'm just pulling your leg. Relax. I wouldn't ignore such an occasion. Here, my gift to you... A box of my favorite chocolates. Freshly imported from Fontaine... straight from a bakery approved by Lady Furina herself. They're a bit expensive; but only the best for people I respect.

𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 [Unlocked at Ascension Phase 1] There are depths to my abilities yet untapped. I'm flattered that you thought to lend me a hand.

𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘉𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘜𝘱 [Unlocked at Ascension Phase 2] Oh... careful now, I might want to test it out against you.

𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘹 [Unlocked at Ascension Phase 4]

Oh, I've unlocked something new... Fascinating. That burst of light was unexpected but now... I can feel the power. Everything feels lighter and sharper at the same time. I'd be a formidable force indeed in the coming weeks... Well, back to work. My Lord expects a report on current fiscal state by the end of the week.

𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 [Unlocked at Ascension Phase 6]

Aha, I can do a lot more now. More power, better focus, and more options. This is truly remarkable... I'd love to see how my coworkers react to this. Lord Pantalone will be especially pleased, I'd wager. He'd never pass up the opportunity to see his prized jewels shine brighter.

Bonus:

𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵

Why not try your luck at gambling if you're running low on mora?

You could con a pretty penny out of someone with a couple of these trinkets. Hmm... no?

This is a pretty fun hobby.

𝘑𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺

What? No other companion to recruit?

I'll be charging you a fee of 5000 mora per hour for my services... Ha- I'm just messing with you.

I'm a busy man, so let's keep today's adventure short.

[noc1818]

A Score To Be Settled ~ Chapter 3 Welcome to the Gala

Hi everyone! Here’s Chapter 3 of A Score to Be Settled. It took me a while to write because I really wanted to make sure I got it right and didn’t rush through it. So far, this is my favorite chapter—but as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading and for all your support—it means a lot!

Chapter 3 Sneak View:

The gala was dazzling. Gowns shimmered under the kaleidoscope of lights, masks cloaked identities, and secrets clung to every smile. Chrollo Lucilfer moved through the crowd like a phantom—flashing charm, hunting for opportunity.

But he wasn’t the only predator.

When champagne "accidentally" spills, and a person with a familiar mask steps out from the shadows, the game begins. Names are spoken that should remain unspoken. Eyes meet, bloodlust simmers, and a single whispered challenge changes everything.

"Dance with me… and we’ll talk more, friend."

And just like that, every Spider in the room turned to watch.

Content Warning: This piece contains murder, death, and manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Word Count: 5099

York New Central District (Reader) 

The gala was only a few days away, and all the last-minute preparations were set in motion. You were currently waiting in the rented hotel room for Illumi to arrive. Not only did he have your tickets for the event, but he also had the dress you were going to wear. Just the thought of how much that dress must have cost made you nervous, especially considering the delicate balance you had to maintain with Illumi.

The deal you had with the Zoldycks was simple: you provided them with intelligence about the troupe, and in return, they gave you the resources to continue your “research.” However, you weren’t entirely sure how important this arrangement was to them. The only Zoldyck you communicated with was Illumi, and he always seemed disinterested in the intel you provided, though he never failed to pay what was owed.

There had been a few occasions when your information wasn’t enough or didn’t meet his standards. In those times, he reminded you of the many disposal methods available for handling loose ends. The cold, terrifying aura Illumi exuded made it clear he wasn’t making idle threats—he would do exactly what he said.

Three knocks at the door signaled his arrival, punctual as always. As you approached, you could feel the ominous aura seep beneath the door—there was no mistaking it, it was definitely Illumi. You opened the door to be greeted by those doll-like eyes and his expressionless face. Today, however, Illumi was dressed more casually than usual. He wore a simple forest-green turtleneck with a black jacket layered over it, paired with black slacks and pristine black shoes. While his attire was more laid-back, you knew each piece was from a designer brand, evident from the flawless stitching in the fabric.

“Y/N,” Illumi said, his voice as disinterested as always.

“Illumi, please come in,” you replied, stepping aside to let him enter. You watched as he walked in, surveying the room with his usual cold gaze. He also carried a small cardboard box, which you assumed contained the dress for the gala.

“This room is... meager. You couldn’t have picked a better place to meet? It looks improper for a Zoldyck to be seen in such an establishment,” he said flatly, clearly displeased.

“I’m staying here for now. It’s close to the gala and near enough to keep tabs on the troupe. It also helps throw them off—makes them think their enemy is a high roller,” you said, a snicker escaping your lips.

“I see,” was all he said, placing the box on a small table in the room. He looked at you briefly before glancing back at the box. “Make sure the dress meets your specifications. We paid a lot for it.”

His statement served two purposes: first, to remind you of the debt you owed the Zoldycks, a debt that was only growing with each favor they granted; second, Hisoka had informed him that the dress was specially designed to attract Chrollo’s attention. If it would help Illumi obtain the information his father wanted, he would make sure it was perfect.

You walked over to the table, preparing to lift the lid off the box and inspect the dress. It was exactly what you had requested, and you couldn’t hide your awe at how stunning it was. A black, floor-length, strapless satin gown with a high thigh slit—it was breathtaking. But what truly made it a masterpiece were the decals: red ruby gems embedded in various sizes, forming an intricate design of spider lily flowers that trailed from the bodice, around the waist, and up to the left side of the sweetheart neckline. The stems of the lilies were stitched with golden thread, adding an elegant shimmer. The dress looked like a piece of wearable art, something fit for the wealthy or elite.

Yet, it was you who would wear it—with the matching mask—to the upcoming gala.

Your awestruck expression didn’t go unnoticed by Illumi.

“I got it right, didn’t I?” he said, observing your reaction. “I’ll admit, I was surprised you picked something so... elegant. And expensive.”

Typical Illumi—always with the backhanded comments. It was his way of reminding you that while he might think the dress was nice, it was costing him and his family. You’d better make it worth it.

“I’ll make sure to take extra care of it and return it once the gala concludes,” you replied, running your hand over the smooth fabric.

Illumi raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “No need. Keep the dress. It’s not my mother’s style, nor her size. Just pay for it by delivering the intel you were hired to gather.”

“I always deliver,” you said with confidence.

“I would hope so, considering the time and resources you’ve been given. The clown, however, seems certain you’ll come through.”

With that, the atmosphere shifted. The room suddenly felt heavier, the tension creeping into your skin like a chill. Illumi’s presence alone was unsettling, his aura a silent threat. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that your success wasn’t optional—your life depended on it. You had no desire to be at the mercy of either Hisoka or Illumi. Both were terrifying in their own right.

As he saw your reaction, his oppressive aura eased. You had gotten the message.

“Well, if that’s everything, I have a job to attend to. The tickets are in the box with the dress. Y/N, make sure you deliver what’s owed—or you’ll be at the mercy of the Zoldyck family.”

“Understood,” you stammered, your voice tinged with genuine nervousness. Illumi was one of the few who could pierce through your cold, calculated demeanor. You feared him—and what he would do if you failed.

With a hum of acknowledgment, he turned and left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and preparations.

Three Hours before the Gala (The Troupe) 

It was right after the meeting about the heist, where everyone’s roles had been assigned, and now the final preparations were underway. All members were getting into position. Shalnark and Kortopi were on surveillance duty, already en route to the security room. Shalnark was practically buzzing with excitement about the upcoming heist, while Kortopi seemed more interested in keeping things quiet and efficient.

Shalnark almost skipped down the hallway, eager to take control of the cameras and communications for the gala. With a priceless artifact on display and the elite of society gathering for the debut of the Beso de la Muerte, security was bound to be tight—something they’d planned for extensively.

But for Shalnark, this was child's play, especially with his Black Voice Nen ability. He and Kortopi approached the security room, which, to their surprise, was unguarded from the outside—likely because they had arrived three hours early. Less hassle, less risk.

Shalnark knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, a very confused guard opened it.

“Sir, guests are prohibited from entering this part of the manor—” the guard began, but didn’t get to finish.

In a flash, Shalnark jabbed his needle into the back of the guard’s neck, turning him into a puppet with practiced precision. Inside the room, the second guard turned at the sound of his colleague’s voice cutting off—but before he could react, Shalnark’s new puppet moved swiftly, delivering a precise chop to the neck of his fellow guard, knocking him out cold. With both guards dealt with, the security room was now under their control.

Shalnark turned to Kortopi with a wide grin. “Alright, we’re in! This should be an interesting gala, don’t you think?”

Kortopi didn’t respond verbally—just nodded in agreement. Shalnark pouted at the lack of conversation but quickly got over it as he moved to the security panel. With ease, he hacked into the system. The Spiders now had full control of the gala’s cameras and communication lines.

To check in, Shalnark texted Chrollo: "Boss, we got eyes and ears."

A few minutes later, Chrollo replied: "Good. Keep an eye out for anyone suspicious."

Smirking, Shalnark texted back: "Will do, Boss."

He was practically buzzing with anticipation. He’d never seen anyone rattle Chrollo before—and he was eager to meet the person responsible.

Elsewhere in the manor, Feitan and Phinks were handling a different task: eliminating the guards near the artifact and extracting information about the vault’s location and security measures. Both were well-suited for the job—lethal, efficient, and, in Feitan’s case, particularly persuasive.

Blood splattered across the wall as the head of a bound guard was severed cleanly from his shoulders. Feitan clicked his tongue in annoyance, wiping the blood from his fingers onto the hem of his overcoat.

Phinks chuckled as he glanced over. “No info again?”

Feitan scowled. “Information, yes. Useless.”

Phinks stepped closer to the remaining three guards tied up in the corner. They looked terrified—one even vomited after witnessing the beheading.

“Which of you knows the most about the artifact?” Phinks asked, voice calm but chilling. “If two of you point to the same person, we might let you go.”

The guards looked at each other in panic, the fear of being chosen nearly as bad as the fate awaiting them. Predictably, they each pointed at someone else.

Phinks sighed and turned to Feitan. “Which one do you think’s the most helpful?”

In the blink of an eye, Feitan was beside the hostages, examining them with eerie precision. All three flinched at his sudden appearance, but one caught his eye—a man sweating profusely, eyes darting around with barely contained panic. More telling, his uniform was slightly different from the others.

“You. Next,” Feitan said flatly.

The man immediately began to cry, begging for his life, but Feitan was already dragging him toward his makeshift interrogation station. The duo once again proved themselves not just efficient—but terrifyingly effective.

Shizuku and Uvogin had slipped into the manor through the basement, knocking out two waiters and taking their uniforms to assume their roles for the night. Posing as servers, their main objective was to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious on the gala floor. However, they were quickly becoming a headache for the head waiter in charge.

Every five minutes, Shizuku would ask him what she was supposed to do with the tiny hors d'oeuvres on her tray, and Uvogin had already devoured his third tray of them.

“For the last time,” the head waiter snapped, exasperated, “you’re supposed to carry the hors d'oeuvres around and offer them to the guests! It’s not that hard to understand—I swear, they must be hiring people off the street these days!”

Shizuku just stared at him blankly, clearly already having forgotten everything he said.

“You know what? Just go upstairs. If the guests want something, they’ll come to you,” he muttered, turning—only to catch Uvogin tilting his tray and shoveling the rest of the food into his mouth.

That was the last straw.

The head waiter charged toward him, trying to rip the tray out of his hands. “YOU CANNOT EAT THE FOOD! IT’S FOR THE GUESTS, NOT YOU! IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN, I WILL CHARGE YOU!”

Uvogin burst into booming laughter, effortlessly holding the tray out of the man’s reach. “Alright, alright, fine! I couldn’t help it—they’re just too good! I’ll go grab some more.”

As Uvogin headed back toward the kitchen, the head waiter turned—only to see Shizuku heading down into the basement instead of the gala hall, still carrying her untouched tray of hors d'oeuvres. With a weary sigh, he took off after her to explain the job yet again.

It was going to be a long night for him.

Though Shizuku and Uvogin might have been the worst waiters imaginable, they made excellent muscle and backup if things went south during the gala. And being nearby when the action started was exactly the point.

Machi and Pakunoda, on the other hand, were assigned to be plants inside the event. They were currently getting ready in one of the two hotel rooms the Troupe had rented to carry out their operations. Their role for the evening was to pose as a power couple—Mrs. and Mrs. Clove.

Their mission was simple: mingle with the crowd of high-rollers and gather information about the problem at hand—you. Machi and Pakunoda were two of Chrollo’s most trusted comrades, going all the way back to their days in Meteor city. Any order from their boss was taken seriously, but this one even more so. Whoever was behind the trouble—they were going to find out.

Their cover story was that they were a loving couple running a brand-new fashion startup out of Yorknew. The business, supposedly funded by their wealthy families from the tropical paradise of Agrena, painted them as golden children destined for success. Naturally, Agrena’s brand would be introducing the peak fashion trends for the summer, making them instant celebrities among the wives of the rich and powerful, all eager to get their hands on the latest styles.

This alias served two purposes. First, it would make the Cloves highly desirable connections for the socialites, as everyone wanted a first look at the next big fashion wave. Friendships would be formed, and with friendship came gossip—and valuable information. Second, the high-rollers themselves would view the Cloves as easy targets: two young women with a "new business" and "daddy’s money." They would circle like sharks, thinking they could exploit them without effort.

Of course, they were all fools—putty in Machi and Pakunoda’s hands. Manipulation came easy to them, and even easier with Pakunoda’s ability. Every handshake activated her psychometry Nen power, allowing her to access a person’s memories with just a simple question.

The icing on the cake? Their "designer outfits" for the evening were actually thrifted from a bargain store in Meteor City. Throughout the night, the guests would fawn over their looks, desperate to get a piece of their supposed "exclusive" style—all while Machi and Pakunoda smiled, wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Meanwhile, Nobunaga and Bonolenov were patrolling the outskirts of the manor, responsible for keeping watch and preparing transportation for when it was time to leave. As they walked the perimeter of the estate, they carefully noted the locations of guards and security cameras. From their vantage point, they could also observe all incoming guests, keeping an eye out for anyone who seemed suspicious.

Nobunaga leaned against a tree, casually watching as an unmarked, black-tinted car rolled to a stop nearby. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. However, the car simply parked and shut off without incident.

Stepping out of the vehicle was none other than Chrollo Lucilfer. For the occasion, he was dressed to the nines—wearing a freshly pressed black suit and gleaming black dress shoes. His ensemble was completed by his hair worn loose and a mask, perfectly fitting the masquerade theme. The mask covered only the upper half of his face, hiding his tattoo but leaving his piercing steel-gray eyes visible. He casually tossed the car keys toward Nobunaga, who caught them without missing a beat.

"Boss, you're a bit early. Eager to get to the spoils today?" Nobunaga asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at his watch.

"No, actually," Chrollo replied, his gaze shifting toward the manor. "I just wanted to take a look. Quite lovely, isn't it? Did you know they imported white roses specifically for the gala to match the theme of the ball?"

"Sounds like rich people nonsense to me," Nobunaga muttered with an eye roll.

Chrollo chuckled softly. "Ah, but you see, Nobunaga—cater to a crowd, and soon enough, the crowd will be eating out of your hand."

With a smirk, Chrollo turned and made his way toward the manor, ready for the night’s games to begin.

York New Central District the Gala (Chrollo) 

Chrollo strode across the gala floor, exuding effortless charm, his confident smile catching the eye of many. This event was truly a spectacular stage for a heist—one of a kind, really. The manor’s entrance hall had been transformed to match the theme of a grand masquerade ball. The marble floors gleamed to perfection, and golden curtains cascaded from the ceiling, sectioning off different parts of the gala: the entryway, dining space, dance floor, and, of course, the artifact display, which was heavily guarded and cordoned off.

The entry and dining halls were lined with tables covered in heavy white linen tablecloths, each adorned with white roses as the centerpiece. The tablecloths themselves were embroidered with intricate gold detailing along the edges, completing the air of luxury.

Yet, more fascinating than the venue were the guests. Oh, how the rich adored a themed party. Nearly everyone followed the dress code, with a few daring outliers. The women wore extravagant, floor-length gowns in shades of white, taupe, and cream—princess-like dresses encrusted with jewels. They looked lovely, but there was little variation, nothing truly unique.

The men, much like Chrollo, were dressed in tailored black suits and polished slacks, blending seamlessly into the monochromatic sea of elegance.

As always, Chrollo melted into the crowd with ease, making his way toward the check-in line at the reception table. As the guest ahead of him in line finished checking in and eagerly made their way toward the event, Chrollo smoothly slipped over to the table.

It wasn’t hard to notice that the woman managing guest check-in had her eyes on him. She was clearly checking him out, albeit with a poor attempt to disguise it by glancing down at the guest list. Chrollo recognized the opportunity and decided to take advantage of it. Flashing his most charming smile, he stepped closer to her.

“Good evening, Miss. How’s your night going so far?” he asked, his voice sweet, feigning genuine interest. It was one of his usual manipulation tactics—appearing attentive to encourage people to open up about themselves.

“Oh, it’s going really well! Everyone looks so lovely tonight. I’m just happy I get to see all the beautiful outfits,” she responded eagerly, taking the bait without hesitation.

“But my dear, you should be looking at yourself—you look absolutely stunning this evening,” he said, maintaining steady eye contact and keeping his disarming smile in place.

She blushed, her expression turning dreamy. “How can I help you tonight, sir? Do you need to check in?”

He chuckled. “Oh, no need. I've already checked in—you’ll find me listed under Mr. Lucilfer.” She glanced at the list and confirmed his name was there, now puzzled as to why he’d approached.

“Oh, I see. Then how can I help you, Mr. Lucilfer?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Well, you see, I couldn’t pass up the chance to speak to such a stunning woman. It’s not every day I come across someone so captivating. What’s your name?” His words were smooth, calculated—and she fell for it completely, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.

“O-Oh, my name is Aria,” she replied, smiling.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aria. How about I grab us some drinks? But before I go, I need a quick favor. I’ve been trying to find Ms. Shino—I need to let her know I am here, we're good friends.”

The request slipped seamlessly into the charm offensive.

“Oh, that would be lovely! She’s actually right over there,” Aria said, pointing toward a bubbly woman in the crowd.

Target acquired. Chrollo flashed her a dazzling smile, keeping his gaze locked on hers, making her all but melt in place.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll be right back with our drinks so we can get to know each other better,” he said with a wink, turning to head toward Ms. Shino.

Chrollo’s job was simple: flirt with the girl to gather intel about the artifact—and, as a little personal challenge, see what he could learn about her family’s fortune. Child’s play for someone like him. It was almost ridiculous how far charm and good manners could get you.

As he strode confidently toward his next mark, the gala doors opened. Instantly, he became acutely aware of a familiar aura. Turning toward the entrance, he spotted his least favorite magician walking in—Hisoka. But it wasn’t just Hisoka that caught his attention; it was the woman clinging to his arm.

Who is she? Chrollo wondered. He made a mental note to get a better look at her later—perhaps even strike up a conversation. For now, though, he had a target to charm.

The Gala (Reader)

You clung to Hisoka’s arm as the two of you entered the event venue. The last thing you wanted was to be Hisoka’s eye candy for the evening, but this was his idea of how you could make up for the button incident.

The moment you stepped over the threshold, you felt an intense gaze settle on you both. It was none other than Chrollo Lucilfer—and you couldn’t suppress the surge of bloodlust that rose within you at the sight of him.

Almost immediately, Hisoka yanked you tightly against his side, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Ah, ah, dear. Keep that bloodlust in check, or he’ll notice you right away. Though… maybe that would make things more fun. I’d love to see just how deep that bloodlust of yours goes.”

The brush of his lips against your ear sent a shiver down your spine, but his words did the trick—you reined your bloodlust back in. Still, you caught Chrollo watching. That same enigmatic look he’d worn all those years ago was back—utterly unreadable. And just as quickly as you noticed him, he vanished, effortlessly melting into the crowd.

You kept your arm linked with Hisoka’s as he led you deeper into the venue after checking in. Your eyes scanned the surroundings in awe—never had you seen an event like this.

From the ceiling hung sweeping black and gold curtains. The black ones shimmered with embedded crystals, mimicking stars scattered across a night sky. They fell elegantly to the floor, forming a crescent shape around the main stage. Dangling from the fabric were strands of colored glass shaped like tiny teardrops, each one catching the light from the balcony above.

As the lights hit the glass, they cast a kaleidoscope of gradient hues across the floor, reminiscent of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Colors danced across the sea of guests, reflecting off gem-encrusted gowns and shimmering fabrics. The event staff, all dressed in black, moved seamlessly through the crowd—some offering hors d'oeuvres on silver trays, others stationed along the venue's edge, waiting attentively for instructions.

Most intriguing was the ocean of masks, casting an air of anonymity over the gathering. Each one was distinct, either perfectly tailored to the wearer’s outfit or carefully coordinated with their partner’s. It was the perfect setting for a dramatic debut.

Hisoka guided you toward the crowd, his path seemingly set on a woman with striking pink hair. She looked up the moment he approached, her gaze flicking from Hisoka to you. The way she sized you up with a single glance made it feel like she was analyzing every inch of you.

“Machi, darling—you look absolutely stunning in that ensemble,” Hisoka purred with a smirk, deliberately nudging you forward on his arm.

You could have cursed him then and there. This was his idea of entertainment—throwing you into a den of wolves just to see if you’d survive. And, of course, your role was the unassuming lamb, blissfully unaware of the danger around you.

Machi, still practically shooting daggers at you with her eyes, finally shifted her attention to Hisoka.

"You're late."

"Consider it fashionably late, my dear," he said with a wink, then turned his attention to you. "Allow me to introduce my date—Y/n. Isn’t she just ravishing?"

As Machi got a closer look at you, her expression shifted. She immediately flagged you as suspicious. The very first thing Machi noticed was your mask—the embedded cross on the forehead almost perfectly mirrored Chrollo’s. That was no coincidence. She immediately had a hunch you were going to be a problem. Secondly, you were Hisoka’s date. He only ever pursued people who piqued his interest, which made you someone to watch closely. Still, she was on a job and had a role to play. You’d be considered a secondary threat—for now.

“Y/n, hmm… I’ll remember that. Nice to meet you,” Machi said with a tone that made it clear you’d been marked.

Sensing danger, you tried to diffuse the situation by slipping into the role of a bubbly, airheaded companion—fortunately, Pakunoda was still engaged in conversation with other guests.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you, Machi! I absolutely love your dress—what designer is it from?” you asked in a bright, cheerful tone.

“Actually, my wife and I designed it,” she replied, eyes never leaving you.

You played along with exaggerated enthusiasm. “No way! That’s the most gorgeous outfit I’ve seen—you and your wife must be design geniuses!”

Machi’s smile was sharp—she saw this as an opportunity to assess you further. “I’d love to tell you more about it. Why don’t you come over and chat with my wife, Pakunoda? She can even read the lines on your hand to find the perfect style match for you.”

“Oh, that sounds—” you began, but Hisoka smoothly cut in.

“Y/n, why don’t you go get us some drinks? That way we can continue our conversation with Machi and her wife.”

What a cheeky little caveat. It was both a graceful exit and a clear warning—they're already suspicious.

“Oh, of course, dear,” you said, flashing a smile before melting into the crowd, scanning your surroundings.

You were looking for him. It didn’t take long. There he was, that familiar sweet smile on his face as he spoke to a beautiful woman. You recognized her from your research: Ms. Shino, daughter of the mansion’s owner—and host of the event. Smart of him to cozy up to her. She likely had direct knowledge about the artifact. 

Now was the perfect opportunity to make your first interception. Effortlessly, you wove through the crowd, plucking two flutes of champagne from a passing server’s tray—your eyes never leaving your target. You blended in smoothly, moving with grace, and activated your Zetsu to mask your presence. There was no room for error; he couldn’t sense you approaching.

You spotted him chatting with the woman in front of him, smiling in that charming way of his. He even reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she was clearly falling for it.

You’d have to act quickly—and precisely—if you were going to break this up. It wasn’t the cleanest method, but it would do the trick.

Closing the distance, you approached under the guise of greeting Ms. Shino like an old friend. In a carefully timed misstep, you "tripped" forward, sending the champagne splashing all over Chrollo.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry—I’m such a klutz,” you stammered, feigning embarrassment as he turned to face you.

“Here, let me grab some towels to help clean that up—”

But before he could speak, Ms. Shino jumped in, just as you’d predicted.

“Oh, please, don’t worry about such trivial things! I’ll be right back with some towels.”

And just like that, she was gone—whisking herself away in a flustered rush. The poor girl was far too kind for her own good. Of course, she thought this handsome, mysterious man was genuinely interested in her. She wanted to impress him—by showing how thoughtful and different she was.

Now, it was just the two of you. Alone.

Chrollo watched as Ms. Shino disappeared into the crowd, then slowly turned to face whoever had spilled a drink on him. But as his eyes met yours, he didn’t say a word. He simply stared, unreadable. There were plenty of reasons why he might be sizing you up—from your demeanor to your ensemble—but the silence spoke volumes.

“Oh my, sir, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to spill my champagne on you,” you said, feigning sweet, wide-eyed innocence.

Chrollo matched your tone with a polite, practiced smile. “Oh, it’s no problem. Nothing that can’t be washed. Still… it’s a shame Ms. Shino left so quickly. After all, you were the one who caused the spill.”

“Seems a bit too late for that—she’s already gone,” you replied with a casual shrug, then added, “If you don’t mind me asking, I noticed you’ve been talking with Ms. Shino for a while. I’m curious what captured your interest?”

You stepped closer—a daring move.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, miss,” he replied smoothly. “But since we’re asking questions… I must say, your ensemble is quite stunning. Though, wouldn’t you agree it’s a little strange?”

His eyes traced the lines of your outfit before settling on the cross embedded in your mask.

“Oh, do you like it?” you said, voice sweet and steady. “You see, I wanted an old friend to be able to find me easily in the crowd. One has to get creative for a masquerade ball, after all.”

That sly smirk returned to his lips. “Honestly, I’d say you’re the belle of the ball. So striking among the sea of beige and white gowns. But to arrive on Hisoka’s arm? It does make me wonder—just who are you?”

You were already gambling by being this close to him. But if you were going to take a risk, you might as well raise the stakes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Lucilfer… or should I say, Chrollo?” you replied, your tone dripping with syrupy charm.

Now, you had his full attention. His body tensed the moment you said his name. In a blink, he seized your hand and pulled you in close. You froze for just a moment—you hadn’t expected him to move so fast. But you had said his name like it meant nothing. That alone was enough to spark alarm.

Leaning in, his lips nearly grazed your ear as he whispered, “I’ll ask again, dear—just who might you be? And I suggest you start speaking quickly. The others are already watching.”

You met his challenge, leaning in just as close to whisper back, “Dance with me… and we’ll talk more, friend.”

A gleam of interest flickered in his eyes as he smirked. “Why, of course. I’d love to dance with the belle of the ball. You seem like someone I shouldn’t let out of my sight.”

With that, he led you toward the dance floor—every pair of the Spiders eyes locked on the two of you.

[dragonlizard89]

Identity in the Face of Change in From Up on Poppy Hill

From Up On Poppy Hill is Studio Ghibli's latest work, recently released on home media in Japan. It follows Matsuzaki Umi and her coming of age. The movie is directed by Hayao Miyazaki's son, Goro, and is set in 1960s Japan, a time of great change for that country.

The screenplay was done by Hayao, surprisingly, since it lacks the epic flavor and environmentalism of his other works. It is, instead, slice of life more similar to Whisper of the Heart. But don't take that to mean its plot flounders without direction. Unlike K-On! or other slice of life works, From Up On Poppy Hill's plot moves with purpose. There isn't much breathing room, to be honest. None of the 90 minute running time is wasted. Viewers are whisked along at a brisk pace.

The backgrounds depict a bygone era. They buzz with life. The buildings are old and wooden, and most of the story takes place in a seaside town full of character. You will be taken on a journey. Really, all the scenes feel like they've been lived in. I heartily recommend this movie. Don't be scared off by Goro Miyazaki's previous effort that fell flat on its face, Tales from Earthsea. This is a great movie.

I noticed three primary story arcs in the movie: 1) the romance between Umi and Kazama Shun, 2) preservation of cultural identity and history in the face of modernization, and 3) self-identity. Umi is the Ghibli archetype, in that she is a strong girl, well-characterized and filled with silent strength. The male lead is not quite as developed, but still an interesting character. They both struggle with who they are because they don't have father figures in their lives. This identity struggle parallels that of the second theme I identified (preservation of cultural identity). Umi and Shun cannot know who they are without knowing their past (their fathers). In the same way, Japan as a country cannot know itself if it loses its past.

The strongest symbolism in the movie is that of an old clubhouse at their school called the Latin Quarter. The school board votes to tear this old, decrepit building down. The building is wooden, things are breaking down, and it is cluttered with years and years of stuff from clubs past. It represents Japan's cultural history. 20% of the student body initially wants to keep it, as noted by a survey. 80% want to tear it down to replace it with a new clubhouse. Shun, in a speech at a debate concerning the clubhouse's status, says that the 80% are blind since they are moving with the crowd instead of preserving their history. Clearly, the makers of the film are making a statement about the importance of not letting new ways completely destroy the old.

The minority opinion of the student body eventually wins out. The students work hard, and on Umi's advice, they bring in the girls of the student body to clean up the old shack, fix the lights, chandelier, rotting wood, and peeling paint. They throw away unnecessary clutter. The result is a new Japan that still has the frame of the old Japan. It is a beautiful building, and a beautiful people, because they have the strength not to lose their identity to the flavor of the moment. They aren't weak. They don't change themselves because other people tell them to. But they also don't live in the past, recognizing its vitality to themselves. They change, but for the better, not ruthlessly.

I am not sure how true to history Ghibli's idealist statement about identity and change is. After all, every industrialized, modernized country thinks it has lost something of itself. And every third world country looking up thinks it needs to shed its past to move forward. All I know is that From Up On Poppy Hill is teeming with character and visual treats. Watch this movie. 9/10.

Gender Roles

As a side note, there were a couple moments that I enjoyed for comedic reasons, or simply found questionable. One was that the clubhouse was entirely occupied by the male students. Don't female students have hobbies too? Maybe it just reflected 1960s Japan, which would've been more traditionalist.

The second scene was when the male students called in the girls to clean up their mess. The girls were all decked out in cleaning outfits complete with face masks and brooms and buckets. They marched into the old building. It had me roll my eyes and think to myself, "Traditional gender roles, coming through!"

[raayllum]

Do you truly believe that Callum is the only best thing that's happened to Rayla?

I don't think Callum is the only good thing in Rayla's life, but I do absolutely agree with her sentiment that he's the best thing she's ever had / that's ever happened to her. This is for a few reasons (mostly only talking about arc 1 as that's the time she's referring to, but I'm also gonna be touching on S4/S5):

In Bloodmoon Huntress, the long time headcanon of post-s1-s3 fans that Rayla was a relatively friendless / lonely child was confirmed. This makes Callum and Ezran her first real friends, and while she's more likely to lean on Ezran for support (in arc 1 at least) initially than Callum is, Callum is still more so her peer (due to being similar ages) and is her first and main Best Friend. For that alone, I'd buy her statement.

Then there's the other ways Callum has changed her life. He is:

The person who inspired her to actively work towards breaking the cycle past the point of 1) believing it was right for Zym to return home and 2) to make up for her parents' perceived/failures mistakes, as seen most prominently in 2x07. This is something she is willing to die for, and while Rayla is (unfortunately) willing to die for many things, this is the cause she believes in and feels centred in: "Every fibre in my body is telling me that [leaving her] is wrong [...] It doesn't just feel like the right thing to do, it feels like the right thing for me to do. It's where I'm meant to be." ("Look at yourself, Rayla. Who are you? What do you stand for? Once you know that, you'll end up where you were always meant to be.") Someone giving you a much more positive worldview that aligns with your values and sense of rightness is certainly a big deal (and a positive one, particularly for someone who's struggled with hesitating over what feels right for so much of her life.

Callum is the first person in Rayla's life to love her wholly unconditionally. While Rayla is deeply loved by all four of her parents, and I've gone on record saying that Tiadrin and Lain didn't do anything wrong, arc 1 sees Rayla brush up against the lingering cultural hangups and choices that make her family's love for her feel if not outright be somewhat conditional. She is shunned by her village (condition 1), while Ethari says goodbye to her and embraces her he still turned his back on her (condition 2), Runaan was heavily disappointed in her betrayal of him/the mission and left her (condition 3), and her parents put their duty over her / being her parents (condition 4). Callum says fuck all that shit. He refuses to leave even when she's pushing him away. He loves and admires her for the exact things she's been punished or shamed for ("You have true courage and a big heart" -> "Even when her own people might misunderstand and turn against her"). He says she doesn't deserve to be Ghosted, she doesn't deserve to be unjustly turned away for a mistake she didn't even make, he says and shows that it's okay for her to be scared and that she can (and should) rely on him.

This is even more intrinsically tethered given Chasing Shadows and the canon fact that Callum and his love for her 1) kept her from throwing what little remained of her life away entirely and 2) literally kept her from forsaking her name/identity/everything else that makes her Rayla and 3) gave her the courage to try and come home to somewhere she'd be safe and loved, even if she knew/felt she didn't deserve to. There's an underlying belief in Chasing Shadows we see carry through into S4 where Rayla truly believes Callum can do and overcome just about anything, and if he can do the impossible, then maybe so can she:

She backed away, close to the pit’s edge. The crowd shouted and screamed at her ears, their spittle landing on her neck. It rattled her. The human kicked dirt at her, and Rayla scraped at her eyes, angry—infuriated, even. Humans were frustrating. Humans were clever. Humans could do anything, they could be anything, they could take their own fates and change them—

It is for all these reasons that Rayla clearly considers him to be her family and the love of her life. She gives him the pendant (from Ethari to Runaan, then Ethari to her, and then her to Callum) as a symbol of both familial and romantic love. He seems to be the first person she's had serious feelings for and certainly the first person she's fallen in love with.

She was originally going to confess first (2x09) back when she clearly didn't have any thought or inclination he'd ever love her back, either. Then he did, and it elevated an already very steady and safe relationship to one that was good natured, even more incredibly supportive, and wholly unconditional.

And given how he supports and loves her in S4 and S5, I am even more inclined to think she's Right <3

[angeldeviloshi]

Thinking back to this.

And it's really interesting how this chapter highlights Fumiko and Yoshida as polar opposites in a shared role under PS.

That she's eager and assertive in embodying the violence of the state vs Yoshida's reluctance and distancing of it yet still binds himself to it as his obligation, in their belief that they're doing this for the greater good.

The way they satellite Denji with this is intriguing too in Yoshida being a student, a child and Fumiko an adult impersonating that same role for their job to be for Denji what Yoshida could not for Denji to remain "normal".

Yoshida's insistence on preserving Denji's normal life as a child as a fellow student as the most peaceful way to maintain what he believes is PS's and Denji's common interest vs Fumiko's violation of Denji in the context of his manhood as the CSM and appropriating his identity as a child for him to lean on her.

That she will protect him as the Denji-senpai fan for witnessing his tears of being a hero, a misrepresentation of his pain in the gun fiend fight. That Denji was crying not because he lost someone dear to him but because he can't save everyone as Chainsaw Man, vulnerable under the Chainsaw. So she'll "protect" Denji until he gives himself up into becoming the Chainsaw again, Yoshida telling him he can't help him now after he promised Denji he would live a normal life at the karaoke after handing Fumiko to him.

And I wonder if her appealing to Denji as a child was her cajoling of sorts for her job as his bodyguard and "junior" that Yoshida assigned her as, her assault as a reminder for what being Chainsaw Man entails for Denji after Denji tells her he's not turning into Chainsaw Man again.

Yet the contradiction of her actions also makes it clear that Denji is inseparable from the Chainsaw Man to her (her calling him Denji-senpai as she assaults him at the cinema and karaoke) calling herself a Chainsaw Man fan at the hospital after Denji in his despair accepts this notion too by Barem's actions. (reasons why I'm 🤔 about her being spared by the hybrids) her being the Chainsaw Man fan who doesn't transform says something about her proclaimed fandom too.

Note that people in PS uniforms have been spotted transforming too (why the crowd doubts Fumiko's statement abt Denji being safe and just some guy even w her authority) Lots to think about here.

The way this ties back to Yoshida's parasocial relationships talk too. The buffer he places between himself and Denji while trying to connect with him as a means to keep him leashed, the buffer Fumiko weaponises to yank the chain.

The way they're also polarising mirrors to Kishibe in his beliefs and his affection for Denji. (When he calls Denji "Denji-kun" when handing Nayuta to him thinking she'll be better off with him, that he tells Denji he shouldn't die because out of everyone he's met, Denji is the one most suited for devil hunting. The shift in his perception of Denji's death as a hybrid the way he spares himself from witnessing Quanxi's "death".) Even as he remains skeptical of Denji's love being what defeats Makima.

The way this plays into their gender and gender roles too.

[4tlasb0und]

hii i’m aroace and honestly, I think the experience differs for everyone so everyone’s going to identify/not identify with something. Personally I don’t want to date/romance someone but I do have a queer platonic partner. Also, for my asexuality, I like physical affecttion but not kissing or that sort For representation, the main thing is to make sure it’s not based off stereotypes, which shilo and aura aren’t! It just has to be thoughtful. Aro people can date but don’t have to, and ace people can have sex but don’t have to. As long as their identities aren’t erased and are acknowledged and taken into thought of, it’s chill.

I try my best to make sure that when I say Aura is sex repulsed by trauma, it’s not that she’s asexual by trauma, it’s literally just the repulsion that’s trauma based. She lost all idealization of it after her experiences. To me they’d be more focused on slow progression on both of their ends for skin contact and nonsexual body intimacy. Just the weirdest hugs ever, like the stiffest lap sitting but the most tangled upper body hug. As well as that common noble/royal thing of cuffing/linking arms by the elbow. I like thinking it’s what Shilo learned as manners, lead the lady and all but Aura’s just a regular ass person, so she sometimes just wraps both her arms around his upper arm in like a nerves based hug to avoid getting separated in crowds.

Ik all of this is kinda unrelated to the ask but I’ve been thinking of ways to discuss how I view their type of “intimacy”(that word also doesn’t feel exactly fitting but that’s prolly cuz it’s been associated to sexual stuff for so long)

I’ll end up writing about it, but their bond is based on a refixing of the Zing soulmate trope from hotel Transylvania. The movie sequels are kinda weird, esp after 2, but the third one does go over how you can “Zing again” which I really like instead of how most soulmate media is “oh it’s this one person and it’ll always be that one person, you better hope they’re not corrupt or gonna die”

It’s also interesting having Aura be someone who was basically sent into a huge cluster of vampires from a clan known for mesmerizing, dominating, and commanding mortals and kindred at just under 18 so she’d likely confuse that Zing for another vampiric thralling ability

Your statement on kissing made me realize I never thought hard on that in regard to them but tbh I just don’t think they’d be against it or entirely for it. Maybe face kisses, or more kissing on their beloved creature, Casimir, but probably no lip locking would be between them. The only circumstances I could see for that is both thinking the other was full on dead and needing close contact but even then I don’t think it’d be an intense gross kiss

[mightyflamethrower]

By Lloyd Billingsley, Power Line

On August 2, 2023, Tablet editor David Samuels interviewed David Garrow, author of Rising Star: The Making of Barack Obama. On October 7, 2023, Hamas launched a massive attack on Israel and committed the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. In light of those events, and the recent attack on Israel directly from Iran, consider some of Samuels’ own statements during “The Obama Factor” interview:

The sheer amount of political capital and focus Obama put into achieving the JCPOA during his second term, to the near-exclusion of other goals, suggests that the deal was central to his politics. It also carries more than a whiff of the kind of politics in which the American Empire is seen not just as unexceptional, but also, in some ways, as actively evil. It was a politics born out of the confluence of the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement, which saw a racist war abroad being used to protect a racist power structure at home. That old alliance of civil rights, anti-imperialism, and identity politics made the Democratic Party that Obama positioned himself to lead—college-educated, corporate-controlled—seem cool, allowing it to use post-1960s radical ideology as a language to sell stuff.

In the absence of what was once American journalism, it is hard to know which portrait of Obama’s post-presidency is truer to life: Obama as a celebrity-obsessed would-be billionaire, or as a would-be American Castro, reshaping American society from his basement, in his sweats.

"Touchdown!" 

The election of Joe Biden in 2020 gave the Obamas even more reasons to stay in town. The whispers about Biden’s cognitive decline, which began during his bizarre COVID-sheltered basement campaign, were mostly dismissed as partisan attacks on a politician who had always been gaffe-ridden. Yet as President Biden continued to fall off bicycles, misremember basic names and facts, and mix long and increasingly weird passages of Dada-edque nonsense with autobiographical whoppers during his public appearances, it became hard not to wonder how poor the president’s capacities really were and who was actually making decisions in a White House staffed top to bottom with core Obama loyalists. When Obama turned up at the White House, staffers and the press crowded around him, leaving President Biden talking to the drapes—which is not a metaphor but a real thing that happened. (Samuels’ link)

I have heard from more than one source that there are regular meetings at Obama’s house in Kalorama involving top figures in the current White House, with Secret Service and cars outside. I don’t write about it because it’s not my lane. There are over a thousand reporters in Washington, and yet there are zero stakeouts of Obama’s mansion, if only to tell us who is coming and going. But he clearly has his oar in.  The easy explanation, of course, is that Joe Biden is not running that part of his administration. Obama is. He doesn’t even have to pick up the phone because all of his people are already inside the White House. They hold the Iran file. Tony Blinken doesn’t.

Rob Malley is just one person. Brett McGurk. Dan Shapiro in Israel. Lisa Monaco in Justice. Susan Rice running domestic policy. It’s turtles all the way down. There are obviously large parts of White House policymaking that belong to Barack Obama because they’re staffed by his people, who worked for him and no doubt report back to him. Personnel is policy, as they say in Washington.

Which to me is a very odd and kind of spooky arrangement. Spooky, because it is happening outside the constitutional framework of the U.S. government, and yet somehow it’s been placed off the list of permitted subjects to report on. Which is a pretty good indicator of the extent to which the information we get, and public reactions to that information, is being successfully controlled. How and by whom remain open questions, the quick answer to which is that the American press has become a subset of partisan comms.  What scared me back then was coming to understand that a new milieu had been created consisting of party operatives, the people in the FBI and the CIA who are carrying out White House policy, and the press. It is all one world now. And that’s something people still seem loathe to admit, even to themselves, in part because it puts them in a state of dissonance with this new kind of controlled consensus that the press maintains, which is obviously garbage. But if you question it, you’re some kind of nut.

But historically speaking, Jews are not, or were not, a particularly American obsession, except among some morons and leather fetishists on the right. But they are a major obsession on the periphery of the American empire, where envy and fear of the mythic role that Jews supposedly play in Washington, because of Israel, are defining emotions, regardless of the facts. So how do you talk all this foundation-land, community-organizer shit and then preside over the transformation of the country into a Gilded Age oligarchy? Maybe I just answered my own question: Obama is the Magic Negro of the billionaire industrial complex. And targeting Jews as outsiders and pushing them outside the circle was the way that the Gilded Age oligarchy consolidated itself in America, back then and also now.

[listlessnessss]

Instead of amab/afab and msoc/femsoc, which has some people really hashtag triggered, i'm going to just be more brutally honest and call things, people, and experiences malebrained/fembrained because it gets to the heart of what people are gesturing at when they say amab/afab, doesn't correlate 1:1 to assigned sex, and can be changed if one so wishes. now that type 2 trans people are transitioning because they genuinely want to and now we know that gender identity, sexual orientation, and gender stereotypes are different things, we see a mix and match resulting in, for example, fembrained ftms.

Now to discuss a recent twitter dot com controversey. (I unironically think twitter is the most toxic place on the internet, because more people inc normies use it, and are not anonymous and can receive public figure status). a tguy made a comic about his experience with toxic masculinity and the QRTs essentially showed him toxic masculinity proper (ie. you're not a real man statements) and the leftist internet would 9/11 itself if those insults and behaviors were happening between or directed towards cis men. okay like yes i do think there can be a bit of a malignant learned helplessness among ftm-spectrum people due to fembrained upbringing and socialization. (see how much better it works) BUT this does not mean men should not be fembrained, and when you're criticizing feminity, you're missing that positive femininty exists within any and all genders. The malignant learned helplessness thing is much overplayed by people who have a bone to pick with ftm-spectrum people in the first place, and by the more normie "TMAW" cis contingent...

Such malignant learned helplessness is a highly specific negative trait correlated with a small but real percentage of ftms (and cis women, but curiously nobody seems to have a problem with them behaving like that... transphobia. I gather that people find it uncanny and offensive, or unfair, in some way when people who behave like this identify with manhood, and I'm a cis they them woman who's crypto so I don't really get a say in the social dynamics... but.) But it is not characteristic of nor necessary for transmasculine self-identification. The transandrophobia crowd would do well to listen, at least sometimes, to cis feminine and or gay men, on some issues. If they want their own tguy space, I think that's fine, too. I'm really live-and-let-live on these types of social issues. But people should be able to make a kind of informed consent when it comes to their behaviors, to fully weigh the pros and cons with the understanding of how such behaviors will be received by the outgroup and within the ingroup.

I do agree that there's some lack of guidance/theory/writing on the effects of toxic masculine expectations and the norms of the "universal malebrained" and how they can negatively impact ftm-spectrum people's understandings of themselves. I myself saw myself to be at the bottom of this kind of totem pole, an anomaly, a shut-out, and knowledge of social uncanniness has served as the limiting factor for my self-understanding moreso than fears about physiological uncanniness (although I am for sure bonepilled, too). The solutions on offer are to 1.gaymaxx(?) (say that you're this way because you're a gay man), 2.identify with lesbianism and gain social support there, 3.be proud of looking/seeming trans. Some of these solutions are good, but they cannot with 100% accuracy lead to an elimination of 'negative feminity'.

You're free to tell me I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about... but food for thought on how msoc/femsoc, amab/afab, etc, are just more fembrained ways of saying "malebrained/fembrained". I think it is absolutely possible to psychologically transition from one into the other and to understand how you are received. Being fembrained has, for me, been not an innate quality which myself nor anyone else possesses/lacks, rather, a logic about oneself which external forces have tried to pressure me into internalizing, and which I have, in different circumstances, found myself embracing or resisting. My fembrain is an elaborate social mask.

Ultimately, it's far more important to resist characterization of that twitter guy as not-a-man (definitionally, transphobia) than to offer bizarre explanations for the complex motivation behind such backlash against him from within the ingroup.

[icenews]

Top IND vs ENG Rivalry Moments at Iconic Venues

The cricketing rivalry between India and England is one of tradition, grit, and unforgettable drama. Spanning over nine decades, the contest has been played on some of the sport's most legendary grounds—each venue holding its own story, its own moment of glory or heartbreak. Whether it's the lush outfields of Lord’s or the spin-friendly pitches of Chennai, the India-England rivalry has produced magic at every corner of the cricketing world.

Let’s look back at some of the top IND vs ENG rivalry moments that unfolded at iconic venues—moments that shaped the legacy of this timeless contest.

1. The Oval, 1971 – India’s First Series Win in England

The Oval witnessed history in 1971 when India, still carving out its identity in world cricket, pulled off a stunning victory to clinch their first-ever series win in England. It was a landmark moment—not just in the rivalry, but in Indian cricket history.

Bhagwat Chandrasekhar bowled a match-winning spell of 6 for 38 in England’s second innings, dismantling the hosts for 101. India chased down a modest target, and the celebrations that followed marked the dawn of a new era. This win at The Oval was a statement: India had arrived on the global stage.

2. Lord’s, 1986 – Vengsarkar’s Masterclass

Lord’s, the "Home of Cricket," has seen plenty of high-quality battles, but for Indian fans, the 1986 Test is a golden memory. Dilip Vengsarkar, already known for his love affair with Lord’s, produced a majestic hundred that guided India to a famous win.

It wasn’t just about the runs—it was the composure with which he handled the English attack in seamer-friendly conditions. India won the match by five wickets and later went on to win the series 2-0. Vengsarkar’s ton was class, elegance, and timing—everything Test cricket stands for at its best.

3. Chennai, 2008 – A Chase for the Ages

In the wake of the 26/11 Mumbai attacks, India and England came together to play a series that had far more meaning than just sport. And in Chennai, India produced one of the greatest fourth-innings chases in history.

Set a target of 387, India—led by a masterful 103* from Sachin Tendulkar—pulled off a stunning run chase. Virender Sehwag set the tone with a blistering start, and Tendulkar finished it with emotion and elegance. The crowd erupted, not just for the win, but for the resilience the team showed during such a somber national moment. It was cricket rising above sport.

Check Out:- Highest Wicket-Takers For South Africa In Test

4. Lord’s, 2021 – The Final-Day Turnaround

Fast forward to 2021, and the India-England rivalry was more intense than ever. At Lord’s, India pulled off an incredible turnaround on the final day of the second Test.

After being in a tight spot, India’s tail—particularly Mohammed Shami and Jasprit Bumrah—batted courageously to set England a target. Fired up, the Indian pacers then came out all guns blazing, bowling England out in less than two sessions. It was raw, emotional, and unforgettable. The aggression, the pride, and the victory at Lord’s made it one of India’s most satisfying away wins.

5. Headingley, 2002 – Dravid, Sachin, and Ganguly Shine

Headingley was where India’s famed middle order came together to deliver a clinical performance. Batting first in tough English conditions, Rahul Dravid anchored the innings with a masterful 148. Sachin Tendulkar and Sourav Ganguly piled on the pressure with centuries of their own.

India declared at 628/8, and the bowlers did the rest. India won by an innings and 46 runs—on English soil, against a strong England side. The performance wasn’t just dominant, it was elegant and methodical—a blueprint of how to win away from home.

The Venues That Tell a Story

From the manicured lawns of Lord’s to the buzzing stands of Chennai, each venue has played host to moments that have defined the India-England rivalry. These are not just places on a map—they're the stages where cricketing folklore was written, where players became legends, and where nations found pride in sport.

As the rivalry continues to evolve, one thing is certain: wherever India and England meet, history is never far behind.

Check Out:- Asia Cup Schedule and Squad 2025

[nosmokesport]

Gilgeous-Alexander’s Masterclass Pushes Thunder to 2-0 Lead Over Timberwolves

Oklahoma City—The MVP chants had barely faded when Shai Gilgeous-Alexander turned the Western Conference Finals into his personal showcase.

Before the ball even tipped off in Game 2, the stage belonged to Shai. Standing center court, NBA MVP trophy in hand, the Paycom Center crowd greeted him like royalty. But if anyone thought the moment would make him shy away from the spotlight, they were mistaken.

Instead, the 25-year-old delivered one of his most efficient and commanding postseason performances yet, leading the Oklahoma City Thunder to a dominant 2-0 series lead with a 124-103 victory over the Minnesota Timberwolves.

This wasn’t just a win. It was a statement.

Humble MVP, Ruthless Leader

Though the crowd exploded in cheers during his pre-game MVP celebration, Gilgeous-Alexander kept things subdued.

“I didn’t want it to distract me,” he admitted after the game. “It’s an honor. But there’s still work to do.”

And he went right back to work.

While his Game 1 was a bit uneven, SGA recalibrated fast. Game 2 showcased everything that’s made him the league’s best: patience, poise, and clinical execution. He scored 38 points on just 19 shots, dished out 7 assists, and grabbed 5 boards—all while making the game look effortless.

Shai Strikes in the Shadows, Then Takes Over

Gilgeous-Alexander didn’t barrel into the game. He let it come to him.

Three shots. Three makes. That’s all he needed in the first quarter to set the tone. Then came the second frame, where the MVP finally took off.

With just minutes left before halftime, Shai hit a high-arcing three, sliced through defenders for a quick layup, and calmly sank free throws to stretch the Thunder’s lead to eight at the break. Momentum flipped, and Minnesota never fully recovered.

By the time the third quarter ended, Gilgeous-Alexander had already orchestrated a 17-2 Thunder run, virtually icing the game before the final buzzer.

Jalen Williams: Quiet Killer

Shai may have worn the crown, but Jalen Williams was every bit the sword.

Williams played with supreme confidence and polish. His 26 points came with dazzling midrange touch and relentless energy on the boards. Add in 10 rebounds and five assists, and you have a player who is no longer a rising star—he’s arrived.

“We feed off each other,” Williams said postgame. “Shai sets the pace, and I just flow with it.”

Their chemistry is fast becoming one of the league’s most dangerous duos.

Midrange Mastery: A Lost Art Found in OKC

In an era ruled by the three-point shot and paint scoring, Oklahoma City continues to zag while others zig. And it's working.

Together, Gilgeous-Alexander and Williams hit 15 midrange jumpers. These weren’t bailout shots—they were the plan. Smooth pull-ups. Turnaround fades. Elbow floaters. Precision attacks that frustrated Minnesota’s defense.

“It’s demoralizing,” said Timberwolves veteran Mike Conley. “You cover the rim, cover the arc… and they still torch you in the middle.”

Oklahoma City’s Identity Is Crystal Clear

What sets this Thunder team apart isn’t just talent. It’s composure.

After trailing for much of the first half in Game 1, the Thunder have now outscored Minnesota by 47 points over the last six quarters. That turnaround didn’t happen by accident.

“We reset,” said Thunder coach Mark Daigneault. “We adjust. We stay locked in.”

SGA has become the embodiment of that mindset. Since shooting 2-for-13 in the first half of Game 1, he’s gone 20-for-35 from the floor and added 58 points to his postseason resume.

What’s Going Wrong for Minnesota

For the Timberwolves, the formula that helped them get past Denver just isn’t translating.

Anthony Edwards, who looked unstoppable earlier in the playoffs, has been contained for long stretches. Karl-Anthony Towns, meanwhile, has struggled to find spacing in the halfcourt and looks visibly out of rhythm.

“We’re not dictating anything,” admitted Wolves head coach Chris Finch. “They’re forcing us into tough spots every possession.”

Worse yet, the Timberwolves’ usually tenacious defense is breaking down under OKC’s patient probing. The 124 points allowed in Game 2 marks their worst defensive performance of the postseason.

Shai’s MVP Mentality: One Game at a Time

Despite the roaring crowd and the MVP trophy presentation, Gilgeous-Alexander hasn’t lost sight of the bigger picture.

“We’ve won two games,” he said, brushing off reporters’ attempts to fuel a celebration. “We need four.”

That mentality, more than any stat line, is why the Thunder are two wins away from the NBA Finals.

Game 3: Make-Or-Break Moment for Minnesota

The series shifts to Minneapolis for Game 3, where the Timberwolves will face not just the Thunder—but also their own doubts.

The Target Center is expected to be rocking. But passion alone won’t fix their shot selection, defensive miscues, or lack of offensive rhythm. If the Timberwolves can’t correct course, a 3-0 hole might be too deep to escape.

Meanwhile, the Thunder know better than to relax.

“We respect them,” said Jalen Williams. “They’re tough. But we’re tougher right now. And we’re not satisfied.”

Final Stats Snapshot

Shai Gilgeous-Alexander: 38 PTS, 7 AST, 5 REB, 5 STL

Jalen Williams: 26 PTS, 10 REB, 5 AST

Thunder FG%: 56.2%

Timberwolves TOs: 18 (converted into 27 Thunder points)

Run of the Game: OKC’s 17-2 third-quarter spurt that broke the game wide open

NoSmokeSport’s Take

This isn’t the Cinderella Thunder team from a couple of years ago. This is a legitimate title contender led by a fully-formed MVP and a deep supporting cast. What Oklahoma City lacks in veteran postseason experience, they make up for with razor-sharp execution and a fearlessness that’s hard to coach.

Minnesota’s adjustments will be crucial, but right now, the Thunder are in complete control.

Source: Thunder Roll to 2-0 Lead: Gilgeous-Alexander’s MVP Night Turns Into Timberwolves Nightmare

[elementramarketing]

From Business Dreams to UK Reality: One Entrepreneur’s Journey to Securing a Business Visa

Breaking Barriers: One Visa, Big Dreams

Raj Mehta had always been a dreamer. From the crowded streets of Pune to late nights perfecting pitches and business models, he was chasing something bigger — international success. His product was ready. Investors were curious. But the one thing standing between him and expanding into the global market?

The Problem: Ambition Meets Bureaucracy

It all started when Raj landed a potential partnership with a retail chain in London. His software solution promised to cut their logistics costs in half. But during the negotiations, the UK partners insisted on face-to-face meetings and an extended on-ground presence. “You need to be here,” they said. That’s when the daunting search for how to get a UK business visa from India began.

Raj was quickly overwhelmed. Between visa types, confusing eligibility criteria, financial requirements, and ever-changing immigration policies, he was drowning in paperwork and contradictory advice. He wasn’t looking to settle permanently — just explore partnerships, attend conferences, and register his business presence.

Every rejected application story he came across online made him more anxious. What if his documents weren’t “perfect”? What if a small error cost him his business opportunity?

The Research Phase: Understanding Business Visa Requirements for the UK

Determined, Raj began researching thoroughly. He discovered that the right option for his short-term goal was the “UK Standard Visitor Visa for Business Purposes.” This visa allowed him to:

Attend business meetings or conferences

Arrange deals or negotiate contracts

Participate in trade fairs or exhibitions

Conduct site visits or explore joint ventures

He learned that unlike work visas, this visa didn’t allow employment or long-term stay. The key was clear intent and strong documentation.

The critical business visa requirements for the UK included:

A valid passport

Proof of business activities in India

Letters of invitation from UK business partners

Financial documents showing he could support himself

A travel itinerary with return ticket

Proof of business ownership or employment

The Hurdles: Delays, Misguidance, and Sleepless Nights

Despite having the documents ready, Raj still struggled. He faced issues like:

Not knowing how to frame a strong cover letter that explained his business purpose.

Confusion between the UK Business Visitor Visa and Start-Up Visa (which was not applicable to his case).

Scheduling biometric appointments in a city where slots were limited.

Doubts about the sufficiency of his financial proof and whether his invitation letter met the format.

Time was running out. His UK partner was waiting. The trade expo was in three weeks.

The Turning Point: Organizing the Application Strategically

Instead of panicking, Raj decided to take a methodical approach. He grouped his documents under clear categories:

1. Identity & Travel

Passport with at least 6 months validity

Recent passport-size photo

Confirmed return flight booking

2. Business Purpose

Invitation letter from the UK company

Expo registration details

Letter from his company explaining the visit purpose

3. Financial Evidence

Bank statements from the last 6 months

ITR returns

Business account balance sheet

4. Supporting Documents

Company registration certificate

GST filings

LinkedIn profile screenshots, media coverage

The Relief: Visa Approved!

Within 10 business days, Raj received the email: “Your UK business visa has been approved.” He was relieved. More than that, he was empowered. His trip to London became the turning point in his business — not just because of the deals he struck but because of the confidence he gained from navigating international regulations successfully.

Business Visa Tips from Raj’s Experience

If you’re planning to apply for a business visa for the UK from India, here’s what Raj recommends:

Use long-tail search queries like “how to apply for UK business visa from India for meetings” or “UK standard visitor visa for business purpose” to get targeted information.

Keep your intent clear and your documentation stronger than required.

Make sure your UK contacts mention the visit’s purpose explicitly in their invitation.

Don’t mix up business visitor visas with work or startup visas — they are entirely different.

Submit documents that show your financial stability and ties to India.

Why the UK is a Strategic Destination for Indian Business Owners

The United Kingdom remains one of the most strategic global markets for Indian entrepreneurs. Whether it’s FinTech, software services, fashion, or hospitality — the UK offers:

Access to one of the world’s most powerful financial hubs (London)

Strong trade relations with India

Frequent business expos and B2B networking events

Multicultural support and communities

If you’re planning to expand your business network, explore funding, or build international partnerships, applying for a business visa to the UK is your gateway to global growth.

Conclusion: Business Visas Open Doors to New Possibilities

A business visa is not just a travel document — it’s a bridge between ambition and achievement. Like Raj, many Indian entrepreneurs face fear and confusion when dealing with international travel paperwork. But with a little guidance, thorough research, and preparation, the path becomes clear.

If you’re searching “how to get business visa for UK from India,” know that you’re not alone. Whether it’s your first time or a recurring journey, each business visa application brings you closer to your international goals. Here You Can Apply for Best Visa Services.

[eyewear-2025]

Reading Glasses for Men "Not Just for Reading: Why Stylish Men Are Making Reading Glasses a Fashion Statement"

Let’s be honest — reading glasses used to be just a necessity for the 40+ crowd. But in 2025, that narrative has changed completely. Today’s reading glasses are no longer just about function — they’re a major fashion flex.

From sleek metal rims to bold acetate frames, reading glasses for men have evolved into a full-blown style statement. Whether you're flipping through a book, working on your laptop, or attending a Zoom call, the right pair of reading glasses can instantly boost your look and reflect your personality.

👓 Why the Shift? From Utility to Identity

What once was a tool for better focus is now a powerful accessory. Today’s man wants eyewear that:

Makes him look sharp and intelligent

Matches his lifestyle and personal brand

Feels comfortable while making a strong visual impression

📈 The rise of hybrid work, screen fatigue, and Zoom meetings has pushed more men to invest in stylish reading glasses — even if they don’t technically “need” them yet.

🔥 Trending Reading Glass Styles for Men

1. Rectangular Acetate Frames

Timeless and versatile

Looks great on round and oval faces

Adds seriousness and edge

🧑‍💼 Perfect for work calls, client meetings, and corporate looks

2. Round Metal Frames

Lightweight, intellectual vibe

Inspired by vintage fashion and literary icons

Ideal for men with angular features

📚 For the thoughtful reader, creative writer, or minimalist stylist

3. Tortoise Shell Frames

Sophisticated yet trendy

Earthy tones complement Indian skin tones

Works well with both western and ethnic wear

👌 A go-to for men who love timeless aesthetics

4. Clear Transparent Frames

Clean, modern, Gen-Z approved

Matches with everything in your wardrobe

Great for video calls and daily use

🖥️ Function meets fashion — without overpowering your look

5. Half-Rim Readers

Lightweight and elegant

Minimalist but noticeable

Great for professionals who prefer subtlety

🎯 Understated elegance that works from boardroom to brunch

💡 How to Choose the Right Pair?

Whether you're buying your first pair or refreshing your current one, here’s what to keep in mind:

Feature

Why It Matters

Frame Shape

Should complement your face shape. Angular for soft faces, round for sharp features.

Lens Coating

Choose anti-glare, blue light filtering, and scratch-resistant coatings.

Material

TR90, acetate, or stainless steel are durable and lightweight.

Fit

Should sit snug on the nose and temples — no pinching or slipping.

✅ Always go for optical-grade lenses, even in non-prescription readers.

📱 Not Just for Books: Multi-Purpose Use

Modern reading glasses are not limited to flipping pages anymore:

Digital Reading & E-books: With anti-blue light lenses

Crafting, Cooking, DIY Projects: Better focus for precision work

Work-from-Home Life: Ideal for switching between screens and papers

Styling Accessory: Even used in shoots, fashion walks, and content creation

🧠 Today’s men don’t hide their glasses — they flaunt them.

🔝 Best Reading Glass Brands in India (2025)

Lenskandy.com – Stylish, budget-friendly, and ultra-trendy

Vincent Chase – Great designs and comfort

Titan Eye+ – Trusted name with quality assurance

John Jacobs – Premium look, mid-range pricing

Fastrack Eyewear – Youth-friendly frames with bold colors

🛍️ Budget Guide: Reading Glasses for Every Man

Price Range

What You Get

₹499 – ₹999

Basic reading frames with anti-glare coating

₹1000 – ₹1999

Trendy designs + blue light protection

₹2000+

Premium frames with customization, durability & designer looks

🎯 Style meets utility — without burning your pocket.

🕶️ Style Tips: How to Rock Reading Glasses

Pair them with a beard or stubble for a mature, rugged look

Go bold with matte black or tortoise shell for a more impactful appearance

Layer with smart-casual outfits – think polo shirts, blazers, or even ethnic wear

Use them as a power accessory – carry them even when not reading!

📸 Pro Tip: A classic black frame + white kurta = instant style elevation.

✨ Final Thought

Reading glasses aren’t just for reading anymore — they’re a symbol of intellect, maturity, and effortless style. As more Indian men embrace eyewear as part of their personal branding, it’s clear that glasses are the new cool.

So, whether you're flipping pages, typing reports, or scrolling your Kindle — don’t just wear any pair. Wear the one that makes a statement.