#solius posting

[soliusss]

Funniest thing I’ve seen on tiktok are those sigma male boys getting mad that American psycho was written by a gay man and going “well I like fight club better” buddy I’ve got some world ending devastating news for you

[fandom-geek]

just occurred to me but now i'm having feelings abt how ala mhigo got told “no charity, you’ve got to trade if you want shit” by ul’dah post-sb, while garlemald gets given a trade agreement as a concession to their egos after receiving a ton of charity.

especially with the in-game context that most ala mhigans have been refugees in eorzea for the 20 years of the occupation, that gaius was canonically enslaving ala mhigans to send off to the mines (mentioned in both 1.0 and 2.0), and that the people we’re seeing on-screen were wealthy enough to live in the imperial capital and would’ve benefitted from the proximity to the imperial family (see: forum solius).

like. idk, the msq is just trying to make you forget how every single garlean we see on-screen benefited from the empire and its crimes, even if they weren’t actively complicit.

stormblood was pretty good when it came to how it portrayed colonialism, but it feels like the msq writers have retreated from that because they want us to be sympathetic to garlemald. it feels like an extension of how gaius was morally whitewashed in shadowbringers despite never actually opposing what garlemald did, only that an ascian was using him for his own purposes.

i think it’s a shame we’ve never been able to ask gaius point blank if he would do what he did again if it wasn’t an ascian asking him to do it. both in terms of story potential and just sheer... why wouldn’t we?

[astrology-bf]

FFXIV Write 2024 | Day 19: "Taken"

Master Post | My AO3 | Challenge Info

~3.6k words | Teen | M/M | WoL/Jullus pyr Norbanus | CW: Endwalker Spoilers

Jullus’ gloved fingers worked over each other in a slow and futile grind where they were clasped in front of him, the motion both to try and stir a bit more warmth within his hands as well as keep himself distracted from the biting chill against his face.

He could have sworn the burnt-out capital was growing colder every day. And he very much wanted to swear for a whole host of reasons; not the least of which because he was standing a mere fulm from a man whose name was used to frighten children into good behavior.

Kaleid the Black seemed utterly determined not to live up to his name, however.

He was wearing white, to begin with; a hooded robe of some soft fabric which came down to his knees, only kept from blending in with the snowy surrounds by its blood-red trim. It looked more like a healer’s garb than one belonging to a monster.

Then again, the tales often claimed Kaleid the Black wore white for exactly such a reason; so that he could take decent Garleans by surprise. Eorzea’s own black wolf… though at least Gaius van Baelsar never feigned at being a sheep.

Jullus glanced over at the eikon-slayer. The cold was forgotten for a few moments as his thoughts turned to the rather unassuming Hyur currently standing with his arms crossed, gazing out into the city’s ruins as they awaited Alphinaud and Alisaie’s return from gathering ceruleum. His face was set in a sedate expression, but the furrows in his brow and the slackness in his lips spoke of weary frustration.

Understandable, if Jullus pyr Norbanus was of a foolish mind enough to try and empathize with him.

He sniffed and turned his head back forward, but his eyes soon drifted back to the magician at his left. Ifan - that was what the eikon-slayer had insisted Jullus call him - wore gloves which didn’t extend past his second knuckles, leaving the ends of his fingers exposed to the cold air. 

Yet he wasn’t shivering, nor did he seem to feel the chill against his face and neck when a fresh bluster caused the temperature to briefly drop.

Jullus wasn’t so fortunate. He couldn’t help but huff and shiver visibly as the wind bit at him, his hands clasping tightly as he started counting down the seconds until he could head back inside.

“Cold?”

Ifan was looking at him when Jullus glanced back in his direction. He had one eyebrow raised, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. 

The Garlean officer returned the eikon-slayer’s gaze for a few moments. Then he sniffed, and masked the urge to roll his eyes by scanning the surroundings. 

“What do you think?” he answered, a little more curtly than he intended. 

Ifan sniffed in answer. He gave a hum as he too let his eyes drift over the burned ruins near Forum Solius, drumming out a little rhythm on his bicep. At length, he uncrossed his arms and looked at Jullus with a slightly annoyed expression.

“Take your gloves off,” he directed, seeming rather resigned.

Jullus’ head snapped to the left as he frowned at the magician. 

“What?” he asked.

Ifan returned his gaze, cocking his head casually. 

“Trust me,” he said, nodding down at Jullus’ hands. “Take your gloves off.”

Jullus stared at Ifan, blinking slowly as his fingers flexed where he still had them clasped. As he readied to refuse, however, another icy breeze whipped right across his cheeks and made his shoulders clench and his mouth clamp shut again. 

A grimace tugged against his features, before he glanced around once more. Then, slowly, he began to pull his gloves off at the fingertips, as the eikon-slayer asked.

Ifan waited patiently for the Garlean officer to bare his hands and tuck his gloves away, but wasted not a moment once the fingers were exposed: he stepped in front of Jullus, and placed his hands on either side of his in a firm clasp, saying not a word and keeping his gaze off towards the right. 

Jullus’ lips parted - not in protest, but rather in a disbelieving gasp at the sheer warmth in Ifan’s hands. His eyebrows lowered at the ends as his chin and gaze soon followed them, and was left staring wordlessly at the bronzed fingers shielding him from the wind’s bite.

He had the gentlest hands Jullus had ever felt, despite their strength: only applying enough pressure so that the Garlean didn’t need to expend effort to keep his own hands aloft. They were soft, too, save for some slight callusing on his right thumb and index finger. There was even a light floral scent, likely from something the magician used to keep his hands feeling that soft.

Jullus hadn’t smelt perfume since…

He swallowed as he glanced away from Ifan’s hands. The magician kept his gaze averted until he felt the shivering in Jullus’ fingers start to ease, before looking back at him with an inscrutable expression.

“Better?” Ifan asked.

A catching in the back of the Garlean’s throat was all that Ifan got in affirmation, though it was hardly necessary given he wasn’t truly keeping Jullus’ hands held in between his. 

Ifan stared silently at him for a few moments, then gave another hum before he looked away once more.

Jullus wet his lips. “I suppose you have some sort of magic keeping you warm?” He shifted his gaze back to Ifan, his fingers twitching in between the warm hands grasping them.

“You could say that, aye,” Ifan answered, without looking back at him.

There was a brief pause. “...Can it be used on others?” 

Ifan’s eyes flicked back towards Jullus, and the Garlean pursed his lips before he lowered his chin in a vain effort to look dignified. It didn’t seem to work, given the flicker of amusement in the eikon-slayer’s wine-dark eyes.

“I have spells for that, aye, but what’s keeping me warm right now isn’t exactly the sort of magic I can easily share,” he said. There was a strange density within his voice despite its airiness; like static on the wind, before a thunderstorm. “...Or want to, for that matter,” he added.

Jullus’s chin rose, and he returned a little frown. “I don’t take your meaning.”

The magician’s gaze drifted again, lips pursing thoughtfully. Then he lowered his left hand from Jullus’ and reached down to the hem of his white robe, hefting it up in a smooth motion to expose his body underneath.

He wore grey boots which came up to his thighs over trousers made of the same fabric as the robe, but Ifan was otherwise exposed save for a loose linen undershirt, which he lifted up as well. Jullus’ lips tightened out of instinct as he glanced down at the magician’s naked stomach, only to relax into a gasp as he stared dumbly at the thing on his left side.

“...What manner of wound is that?” Jullus asked, staring at the cracks of orange-red that seemed to be etched into the eikon-slayer’s skin. 

So mystified was he by the strange injury that he failed to realize that his fingers had reached out to graze against it, nor even felt the way his digits twitched reflexively at Ifan’s body heat. 

Ifan kept the robe hitched up, and save for a brief huff out through his nostrils at the still-chilly fingers grazing on his side he gave no protest at the Garlean’s touching him. “An eikon bite.”

Jullus’ eyes snapped back up to his, expression growing horrified. “An eikon?”

Raising an eyebrow at Jullus, the magician simply shrugged. “I am the eikon-slayer, aren’t I? That’s what you lot call me.” Then he paused, and snorted as he looked off to the side. “Oh, right. Kaleid the Black, can’t forget that,” he added, his tone growing bitter.

“Is that why you wear white?”

The question left Jullus’ lips before he knew it, and his blood ran cold at the way that Ifan turned his gaze at him; slowly, but still suddenly, as if the utterance was raw meat being waved before a beast.

Ifan stared at him again. His head tilted slightly, and the muscles of his mouth were totally relaxed despite the pointed intensity within his dark blue irises. He didn’t move a muscle otherwise… still and silent as a corpse, if Jullus had to put some words to it.

“I wore white before I earned that title,” Ifan said, at length. “And I still wear it for the same reason; because Thaliak, my patron god, wears white in the icons of my homeland. Sun-bleached linen, grown with sweat and tears out of a desert with oasis water, worked by cunning craft into something so basic, so essential, that even poor people and corpses wear it. Wisdom you can wear.” 

He had the robe still raised, and hadn’t made a move to shift Jullus’ hands from where they were; his left clasped lightly within Ifan’s, and his right still touching the magician’s god-scarred side.

Jullus, for his part, said nothing as he looked back at the eikon-slayer. 

Ifan took in a long breath, then, before closing his eyes and chuckling mirthlessly. “Black probably does suit me better, but I’d be an animal if I stopped trying to break that limit. And I want to be wise. To be human.” 

Then he opened his eyes, and let his lips drift into the ghost of a coy smile. “That answer the question?”

The fingers against Ifan’s side twitched slightly as their owner stared at him. Jullus still said nothing as he tried to reconcile his image of the eikon-slayer with the man in front of him.

A man whose naked torso he was still touching, despite him being an enemy.

Jullus blinked, then swallowed as he sharply pulled his hands away… but only by a scant few ilms, before the absence of the eikon-slayer’s warmth bit keenly at his fingers.

Ifan’s face grew less amused as Jullus hesitated after pulling back. He kept the robe hitched up and his right hand extended, waiting for the officer to either touch him or draw back completely.

Jullus didn’t move.

A few more moments passed before the magician let out a heavy sigh. Then he rolled his eyes, stepped forward, and pulled Jullus into a hug that allowed him to put his hands under the white robe.

The Garlean stared as he was pulled into the hug, cheeks tingling with warmth at the other man’s proximity. “What are you-”

“Just take the bloody help, all right?” Ifan snapped. “You’re freezing.” He slid Jullus’ hands up and around his back, huffing at the lingering chill, then wrapped his arms around the officer and held him loosely as he glanced around - keeping idle watch while Jullus warmed himself.

Barely a fraction of a second passed before a shuddering gasp left the Garlean’s lips. All thoughts of his duty faltered as he felt the eikon-slayer’s back against his palms, and his cheek and neck against his face. He was warm enough that Jullus could ignore the cold for just a little bit, and though a small reprieve the officer nonetheless felt the backs of his eyes starting to sting.

Ifan said nothing further, though his thumb lightly worked over the fur of Jullus’ collar as he held him.

The wind continued blustering every so often, whistling over the ruined buildings and whipping up small flecks of snow from every surface it was resting on, accompanied by the occasional and distant clanking of derelict magitek. 

Even when Jullus closed his eyes, the absence of humanity was deafening. So he turned his thoughts to the warm man in front of him; the strength in his back muscles, the faint scarring over his right shoulder blade, and the rhythmic noises of his breathing in his ear.

Again, he was struck by that light floral scent.  

Jullus wet his lips. “You believe this ‘Thaliak’ truly exists, then?” he asked, attempting to make conversation.

Ifan shook his head. “No. I think humans made him up.”

Jullus blinked as his eyes opened. He shifted his head so he could catch Ifan’s gaze out of the corner of his eyes. “Why worship a god who isn’t real?”

“Do you believe in Garlemald?” Ifan asked.

The officer blinked again slowly, then nodded with a hesitant frown starting to pull at his features. “...Of course,” he answered, firmly. 

Ifan nodded in return. “I worship Thaliak for the same reason you probably think Garlemald is worth fighting for.”

Jullus’ frown deepened. “That’s hardly the same thing,” he said. “We’re standing amidst Garlemald; it’s a real place.”

“We’re standing in the ruins of something that used to be a city, a city that itself was just a bunch of buildings in the snow,” Ifan replied, pointedly. “...But Garlemald? Your home? The place you earned for yourselves, against all odds? That’s a thing of faith. You believe in it.”

The frown on Jullus’ face vanished. His lips were parted slightly as he gave Ifan a sidelong gaze, seeming stunned by Ifan’s choice of words. Ifan had him fixed in the same stare; sidelong, and still embracing him. 

“Garlemald is what you all think it that it could be,” the eikon-slayer said, “and because you believe in it, that makes it real. Same with Thaliak. There might not be a handsome man with an Ewer in the Heaven of Water, but he represents something very real… a teacher, in the sense of someone to look up to as an example. Sometimes you have to conjure teachers out of thin air to make sense of the world, just like you need to build a society to live in.”

Jullus’ mouth closed. He pouted for a moment as his lips worked over each other, and then he shook his head.

“We don’t worship her,” he protested. “Not like you do with your gods.”

“Don’t you?” Ifan asked, almost musically.

Jullus’ breath caught in his throat. He leaned back, turning his head fully to the left so he could catch Ifan’s full gaze and tell him to his face that he was wrong.

His lips parted… but no words passed them.

The Garlean stared at Ifan, the breath seeming to refuse to shift past his larynx as the seconds passed in silence. 

Why was he wrong, exactly?

The eikon-slayer blinked at him slowly, as he allowed the heavy silence to do all the talking… at least at first.

“You cry her name right before you offer her the blood of innocents, or charge to meet your deaths,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You starve and freeze yourselves unnecessarily for the sake of honoring her. And you cling to her banners like they’re icons with the power to ward off bad luck… enough that you’ll drag your family into a field full of almasty with only one of your radios for protection.” 

His voice became aggrieved as those last words left his lips, and the faint ghost of an angry sneer pulled at his handsome features as he tilted his head slightly. “...Isn’t that worship?” It was less a question, and more a mocking statement.

Jullus’ face fell. He closed his mouth, and his chin lowered as his fingers curled in shame against the eikon-slayer’s back, under his robes. Failing a rebuttal, his pride demanded that he change the subject.

“...Your scar keeps you warm all the time?” Jullus asked, leaning back into Ifan so he didn’t have to see his eyes.

Ifan huffed. “It puts me in pain nearly every hour of every day, but aye. It also keeps me warm.” He clicked his teeth as he once again took a brief survey of their surroundings. “Like I said, there’s gentler magic to heat someone up.”

Jullus nodded slowly, still keeping his face hidden. “What is it like?” he asked, after a hesitant swallow.

Ifan raised an eyebrow. “The pain?”

Jullus shook his head. “Using magic,” he clarified.

There was a pause as a look of surprise crossed Ifan’s features. Then he snorted in amusement. “I don’t have phrasing for it which isn’t lewd,” he answered, shaking his head.

“Lewd?” The officer finally glanced at Ifan again, one eyebrow raised in turn with a very confused expression.

“Mhm.”

Jullus’ brow settled into a slight frown. He waited a few moments for the eikon-slayer to say he was jesting, but Ifan simply kept on gazing at him with that same amused expression.

“...Try me,” he said.

The corners of Ifan’s lips pulled into a flat smile. Another hum rolled out of his chest as he nodded before answering in a quiet tone. “It’s like a daydream so good it makes you come.”

Jullus gave an indignant scoff, drawing back slightly at the waist before he settled. Again, he gave the eikon-slayer room to come clean about jesting… only for Ifan to once again show he was serious by means of his silence. 

The Garlean’s lips twisted in a little pout. “...Really?” he asked, unable to repress his curiosity. 

Ifan snorted again, and gave Jullus a lazy grin. “Aye,” he said. “When you get really involved with a fantasy to the point you can change anything about it, with that same feeling you get when you’re about to fall off the edge. Being untethered from reality. That’s how it feels for me, at least.” 

Then he took in a long breath through his nose, humming wistfully before tilting his head at Jullus - a gleam of curiosity in his dark blue eyes. “Do you have anything that makes you feel like that?” 

Jullus frowned a little at the question, but an answer came to mind without much thinking. “I wouldn’t call it the same sensation, but… hiking.”

Ifan’s smile took on a brighter cast, and Jullus felt the tension in his own face draw back by a hair at the mere sight of it. “Aye?” the magician asked.

Encouraged, Jullus nodded up towards the snow-capped mountains lying to the city’s east. “When you’re standing up in the peaks and looking down at the capital - how it used to be, rather - you can’t see any of the problems. Merely a city in the snow. A city which wasn’t there when our forefathers looked down at the same place… but such a thing didn’t stop them from building it, regardless.” 

His tone started off hesitant, but it gained strength and clarity as he explained. A light fondness crossed his features, fear and frustration easing like the chill which Ifan’s warmth had temporarily dispelled.

“I feel like I can do anything, seeing that sight. A daydream good enough to…” Jullus caught himself before he repeated the magician’s words in full, and instead cleared his throat with a somewhat respectful nod towards the other man.

Ifan’s eyes followed the Garlean’s up to the mountains, but his gaze returned to Jullus as the brightness in his smile turned fonder and more amiable. He took in a slow breath, then nodded at the officer again. “Do you a deal?” he said.

Jullus pursed his lips again. “...Go on.”

“If by some miracle we should ever be on friendly terms, in peacetime,” Ifan suggested. “I’d like you to show me that. Garlemald, as you see her, from up in the mountains.” He tilted his head, and gave the officer a rather inviting smile.

Jullus paused, then scoffed and looked away. “I doubt that’s ever going to happen.”

“Then no harm in agreeing to it, hm?” Ifan countered, pointedly.

The pursing of his lips quickly became a slight scowl as Jullus found himself disarmed. “...Fine. We have a deal,” he agreed, more to avoid being pestered.

Ifan’s smile became a grin, and he gave the officer a wink. “Looking forward to it, Jullus.”

Jullus glanced back at the magician catching his gaze, and he felt a faint smile pull at his lips at the sight of Ifan’s grin. His fingers flexed where they still rested on his back… and then his smile began to fade as where he was began to hit home: with his bare hands up under the eikon-slayer’s robe, hugging him, whilst out on a duty to make preparations for fighting Ifan and his allies.

It took all his strength. But at last, he slid his hands away and took a good step back. 

Cramming down the urge to wince at just how cold it was, Jullus reached for his gloves to slide them back over his hands as he spoke again in a much more formal, distant tone. 

“I think it’s time we headed back,” he stated, as much to himself as to the eikon-slayer. “Wait here, while I go and see how Alphinaud and Alisaie are faring.” 

Ifan let his robe fall. He kept his hands down by his sides, however, his head still tilted as he gazed at Jullus. His smile had settled into that same sedate expression he had worn, though something in his eyes made Jullus’ chest tighten and his hands twitch despite being covered up again.

“...Scholar be with you.” Ifan’s farewell was casual, and accompanied by a curt nod.

Jullus’ jaw tightened as his shoulders shifted. He gave Ifan a nod in turn, and then said nothing further as he stalked away towards where Alphinaud and Alisaie were likely finishing their task.

Ifan kept his eyes on Jullus until the officer had vanished behind a ruined building. Then he let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping slightly as he looked around… then paused, head tilted to the side as his eyes drifted to the right. 

The magician hid a smile as he reached up to stretch, then walked a few fulms to a nearby wall so he could lean against it. He crossed his arms, and gave another hum as a voice spoke softly to him from the other side.

“Finally escaped the watchful gaze of your keeper, have you?” Thancred asked.

“One of them,” Ifan answered, at a similarly low volume but still loud enough that the rogue could hear the teasing note within his tone. “Took you long enough.” 

[autumnslance]

The Die is Cast

The literal meaning of "Alea Iacta Est" (if not entirely grammatically correct? I don't recall enough Latin, I had 1 semester and the class was at 8am, which is always a mistake, young college-goers.), one of the more controversial quests to come out of the Endwalker main scenario due to how it ends. The phrase in any case is one attributed by one writer to Julius Caesar concerning his crossing of the Rubicon, and like that famous phrase, is intended to also mean that we've hit a point of no return.

These sections also like to use "Thicker than a Knife's Blade", the music usually playing in the Forgotten Knight (though introduced in ARR patches). "Each Drop" is also a common one, or the instrumental version of "Flow." "And Love You Shall Find" was first used in the Werlyt storyline for the town there, and while many of EW's town themes use "For Those We Can Yet Save" (orchestrion roll when, Soken?), Tertium likewise uses that theme from Werlyt (Labyrinthos towns use "Down the Up Staircase", the Antitower theme, and it's meant to be a hint as to Labyrinthos's purpose and main secret.)

WoL cannot yet attune to the aetheryte, but spends time talking to the refugees and soldiers freezing and starving around Tertium. Some even recognize the WoL from past campaigns, reacting with horror and painful memories from the other side of our sweeping victories.

The twins offer to aid the camp; the Contingent has supplies meant to share and can help the civilians the Ist has taken in, but Quintus refuses, instead ordering Jullus to take the Eorzean trio out into the city and seek out ceruleum. There's not much left to scavenge.

Forum Solius is meant to be a bit wrenching; this is a military parade square turned into a children's playground, a park where families were meant to relax and spend time together. The yards are littered with warmachina wreckage, the places where kids are meant to play and pretend empty and ruined. The pond is brackish and still, but a little ceruleum is found in the tank that used to heat it.

While at the fire to dry and warm up, Jullus recounts how life in the city was for the citizens, the lights and sounds and people. Even the too-brief summers with warmth and green grass, and longer sunlight. But then it's time to move on, and seek more ceruleum for the heaters back at the station.

I have a post already detailing Thancred's surprise visit and how it's meant to be in person, with our favorite rogue stealthing invisibly, thanks to his own skills paired with G'raha's spell. While Jullus is busy, WoL reports, and while Thancred can't say much, he reassures his comrade and reminds us to play along with the Garleans for now, especially to keep the twins safe, given those collars.

The cutscene skips directly back to Tertium and Quintus's controversial orders; rather than warm the people, he wants to fuel the magitek armor and prepare the soldiers for battle. The twins are taken away, and Jullus is obviously pained at the idea of using the shock collars, but prepared to do so anyway. The WoL follows instructions, the twins stand down, and Jullus takes WoL to his home.

The camera cuts in these scenes are interesting; as Jullus recounts the pain of killing his own tempered family, and Garlemald's fall and the meaning of their flag, we cut to Quintus staring at his own tattered flag. As the twins talk in their cell, huddled together for warmth, the camera cuts to Jullus and WoL on their journey through the city and across the Eblan Rime to Camp Broken Glass.

Alisaie finds parallels between Varis and Quintus, and also Sharlayan's policies, and she rejects them all. While not enjoying fighting for its own sake, she wants to stand for what's right and for those she loves, and believes fiercely her brother's diplomatic skills will lead to a new way, allowing them to stop fighting. The conversation shows the long way the twins have come, separately and together, from their initial introductions, actions, and beliefs in ARR.

As Jullus makes Quintus's demands at camp, Estinien and the other scouts free the twins. A-Ruhn stops the fighting decisively; I'm amused by him calling Jullus a child, as Lorebook 1 puts the youngest Senna sibling at 18 years old. Quintus, listening to Lucia's report on the scattered legions through Jullus's comms, orders his men to stand down...and then the despondent legatus shoots himself. All we are spared is the actual trigger pull.

It's a rather sudden and direct sequence, that comes with little warning. As dark as Garlemald gets, this is not a fantastical sort of horror, but an all too realistic one as we watch Quintus load his weapon and put it to his chin, and the next scene is the splatter on the flag, his unmoving body, the still-smoking gun.

As the twins are hurrying their comrades to the stations, hoping to speak to Quintus before he "does anything rash", not knowing they're too late. As Jullus is at Broken Glass, unaware of his commander's choice--and leaving him the highest ranking officer of the Ist remaining, despite his youth and inexperience.

And Garlemald isn't finished yet; there's still a tower to deal with, but first, let's get the refugees tended to, and maybe have a nice dinner...

(the WoL really does have a terrible track record with dinners, but hey the last one with the Scions was good, right?)

[hotfudgecherryrosy]

Apparently someone posted my reblog of solius’s post that blew up to r/tumblr and i just found out by watching an oz media video and going WAIT WHAT THE FUCK THATS ME???

Horror

[rausule]

Conatus subversio ducum militarium Russorum a Prigozhin Kremlin permisit habere litmum experimentum fidelitatis aliquorum circulorum defensionis et politicae Russicae: Surovikin solum est eminentissimus et notissimus exponens id quod ad omnes effectus est. parvum deiectionem, quae tamen magnam differentiam habet ad remotionem odiosorum ingenia e potentia missionis comparata. Re vera, Kremlin, cum decisionem generalem "ad dispositionem" relinqueret, eum a ordinibus non feriret, demonstrat adhuc habere duces militum in re militari niti singulari momento in historia Russica, quae in conflictu repraesentata est. in Ucraina, quae facultates humanas et materias absorbet, quae Russia magna difficultate compensare procurat.

Etiam magis, praesidentia indiget ad ordines mundi militaris et indolis Surovikin sicut Surovikin eximi non potest ab scaena tout curia, sicut adhuc utilis esse potest ad bellum et politica proposita: generalis enim vir magnus est. experientia (et flu).

Successor eius Viktor Afzalov primas suas in mense Iulio die 10 palam fecit dum nuntiavit Magistro Defensionis Staff Valery Gerasimov in specie televisifica, quamquam in vi aeris munere CSM per quadriennium functus est.

Afzalov, anno 1968 natus, e Pushkin Scholae militaris anno 1989 lectus est cum specializatione in electronicarum aeris defensione et in 2000 academiam militarem deduxit, deinde anno 2010, academiam militarem generalem Staff virium armatorum frequentavit. Foederatio Russiae. Mense Iulio 2017, ex decreto praesidentiali, praefectus Vks et aeris defensionis Districtus Militaris Orientalis constitutus est, mense Augusto 2018 locum principis virgae accepit. Mense Octobri 2022 , Afzalov praefectus copiarum in zona operationis militaris speciali designatus est, et mense Ianuario 2023 legatus praefectus factus est.

Afzalov institutio respondet necessitati Surovikin removendi e scaena publica - ut mox obliviscatur - et punctum communicationis externae habere referatur, propterea veri simile est quod munus eius efficax erit.

Afzalov phantasma esse videtur: nihil notum est de vita privata, magistratus retia socialia non habet, numquam colloquia media dedit et numquam informationes divulgavit de familia sua. Ubi natus est nec purus praesent.

Eius profile est igitur illius hominis, qui non placet arcu, reservata ac fugax, quae eum facit perfectam indolem ad munus solius oratoris, qui post purgationem Surovikini ad ordinationem militarem restituendam inservit, ideoque; Verisimile est, cum praesidentia novum ducem constituat, in oblivionem deficiet.

Ex parte aeris in conflictu operationum, quod factum est, non habebit quascumque repercussiones, sicut scimus eas maxime consistere in imperio terrestri, quo instrumento aeronautico utitur secundum necessitates operationes. Re quidem vera consentaneum est VKS generales operationes ab Afzalov non decerni et administrari, sed a duo Dronov-Golovko, respective copiis aeris et spatii praefecto, sub rigore Defensionis Generalis. Rebellio Prigozhin re vera a summis ducibus militaribus in potestatem armatorum apud Kremlin induxit, quae, ut scimus, inseritur decernendo de bellicis rebus.

Nunc praedicere de quis Surovikin in praeposito Vks substituere possit et locum Afzalov in interim fundamento capere, difficilius est ob tenuitatem internam condicionem, at si nomen haberemus, nomen haberemus viri ornatissimi Andrey. Dyomin, praefectus current copiarum Air et missilium Defensionis et Deputatus Praefectus Virum Aerospace

Dr De Beer

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who else up doing transgender operations on illegal aliens in prisons

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save me...save me butch lesbian version of male one piece character....save me...

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have you guys seen that post about dungeon meshi that’s like kabru is trying to play mental chess with a guy who likes to pretend he’s a dog (laos) That’s literally me. My coworker has been trying to bully me the past week and a half and I genuinely had no fucking idea until I mentioned it to my sister and she was like dude he’s bullying you. I’ve been genuinely oblivious. Anyway, funny story. The other day he came up to me while I was stocking and said “you’re the reason all the shoes are going missing.” And my immediate response was “yeah it’s cause I keep eating them all” and it stunned him so badly he just walked away. This is hilarious to me. I will continue to torment him like this. Hes trying to play mind chess with a guy that meows at his coworkers in the back. You’re not gonna win bro.

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I don't like rennalas fight

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thought about John and Arthur malevolent and for some reason my brain returned to the ogs from the source material

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good afternoon chat this is my first time scultpingnplease be nice. it is ion

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Brain works in mysterious ways

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I love grand karcist ion

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This is a karcist

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twitter is like russian roulette I like going on there to look at art bc the algorithm is pretty good at that but then I'll get jumpscared by A post expressing cesspit opinions and I want to blow my brains out and I close the app again