#tw war/violence mention

[nazukisser]

SYNOPSIS | what a man by the name of shiina niki could give you that the heavens could not

TAGS | blood mention, food mention, war/violence mention, deity!reader & human chef!niki

READER | gender neutral

For the record, being a deity wasn’t fun. You had much more than humans, but it was long past the point where it was too much. There was always a duty, a duty to fight for whatever side you were born in. At least the humans gave themselves the ability to choose for themselves about what they wanted to do. To fight, fight, fight, again and again. You had the powers, but what was its use if you didn’t want to use them? It was fatiguing, fighting for a purpose you didn’t even have to agree with. Oftentimes, nobody really agreed with it, except for the ones who’d ordered it.

Despite mortal misconception, you could get tired, your arms could hurt, your wounds would not heal. There were times that, you too, wished for rest, where your sense of self had long disappeared. Even if there were creations of your figure on the temples and shrines the people had created, they were barely you. They worshipped you in name, yet what they really held in high regard was what you stood for to them. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, occasionally, there were those who touched your heart. There were those who truly believed that it was not a symbol they regarded in such high respect, but a being, alive like them. 

Your first meeting with him was unintentional. It was surprisingly few years ago, one night. It wasn’t often that you went to the shrine dedicated to you. Despite it being for “you”, it was really for the use of the people, doing stuff in your name, giving “you” things, but you never really took them. After all, it would cause a huge fuss if you appeared to them. Big name deities did that regularly, and while they were showered with praise, one mistake could lead to their downfall. Taking a risk like that was too big. 

Yet, you’d never smelled food like that before. You’d never seen such an alluring meal offered to you. They often thought that, somehow, raw sacrifices would work, but who’d want to eat such a thing? You didn’t even ask for it, and they’re giving you something you have to cook yourself. Either give something thoughtful or give nothing at all. 

Perhaps it was because you’d just come from battle that you were hungry (the food up there wasn’t even good in the slightest, until you were able to afford a meal from one of the deities of cooking up there, whether it be cooking in general, baking, breads, cakes, barbequed meats, stews, and whoever else was up there. They didn’t even have to fight. All they had to do was cook, and everyone was happy. Heck, they even used their cooking as a currency, even though it was technically not allowed to create your own. 

Sometimes, it was so easy to wish that you were one of them, probably living a much better life- useful and in demand, all the time, loved by everyone, instead of being a simple pawn- like the one in chess, if you would.

But somehow, even when someone was kind enough to bring proper food for the offerings, it was never enough to pique your interest. Soups, meats, breads- all simple foods that were never worth the risk of showing yourself. Maybe, if you were discreet enough, you could, and, say, an animal stole it, what could they do, right? Plus, they just let it go bad too… if only they understood.

It was only when a young chef, his hair tied into a low ponytail resting on his shoulder, had entered “your kitchen”. It was more like his kitchen than yours, though. After all, he was the one in it, using it. You’d only ever used it once, and someone got blamed for it. It was hard not to feel bad. 

But in his case, he used it and used it and used it, and it was only then that you’d come out from your hiding spot, food laid out on the table. He introduced himself as nothing more than a “decent chef”. He said that he thought it’d make you happy to get some good food. He’d always noticed that they gave you things that nobody would eat. It was a bit of a game, you supposed. Although it was hard to expect anyone to find it and play- and he’d played it perfectly.

You laughed. That was the most consideration any mortal had ever given you in the hundreds of years you’d existed. It was funny, but largely adorable, the way he acted. He asked what was funny; the only answer that came to your mind was that he was just so cute. 

And so, he came back again and again, and you did too, every time you caught the aroma of the food he’d come to make for you. It was better than the luxury foods that the deities above made; perhaps that was because he’d made it for you, with such love. 

And so, even today, he greeted you with a “Evenin’~ do ya like what I have today?” and his signature smile. You laughed, and said yes, you do. Even with your bloody body, incurable wounds, unerasable memories of war and pain, at least there were moments like these- being with someone you love, in your own home, even if it really wasn’t made for you. 

WORD COUNT | 904 words

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[stuhde]

i had shared what is happening in sudan on a long facebook post last night, but it virtually received almost little to no engagement or shares from the nearly 600 “friends” i have on the site.

this morning, my great-aunt was shot by the soldiers fighting for power, and God forbid, i lose more of my family members before eid this friday.

please read below to understand what is happening and how you can help my country. i hope the tumblr community can show more kindness than the lack of support and advocacy i’ve seen elsewhere.

يا رب اجعل هذا البلد آمناً 🇸🇩

the lack of awareness and advocacy from the African, Arab, and Muslim diaspora and the human rights community has been painful.

while Western media has done little to no coverage of the ongoing conflict in the capital city of my motherland, Sudan, it appears that the rest of the world also partakes in normalizing crimes and violence against SWANA people.

violence and war hurting the SWANA region are NOT ordinary occurrences — no one, regardless of race, creed, ethnicity, religion, and gender, should experience the unprecedented amount of violence that harms my two living grandmothers, aunts and uncles, and baby cousins who live in Khartoum.

your decision to ignore reading or educating and discussing with others about what is likely to be a civil war is complicity in viewing SWANA people as individuals who regularly experience conflict and are undeserving of help.

the silence is damaging, and it is up to us as privileged members of the diaspora (or individuals living in the Western world committed to human rights) to support the people of my country and their dream for a stable, democratically elected government.

what is happening in Sudan is a fight that started on April 15 between two competing forces for power — the Sudanese Army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) — neither groups are representative of the needs of our people. The Sudan Army is loyal to the dictator, Omar Al-Bashir, and the RSF is responsible for the genocide in Darfur.

with both power struggles backed by different Arab and Gulf nations, the two parties have been fighting for power for the last few years. While they worked together to try and end the people’s revolution, they lost. however, they are now in a constant power play of who will get to rule the nation.

this all means that war is NOT a reflection of my country — violence does not represent the SWANA people. Sudan is a nation of beautiful culture, strong women, intellectual and influential Islamic scholars, poets, and youth at the front lines of the revolution. we are a people committed to a region of peace for ourselves and the rest of the Ummah.

my family and the rest of Sudan’s innocent civilians are at the most risk, with many currently without drinking water, food to eat, electricity, and complete blockage to any mosques during the final nights of Ramadan, our holiest month of the year.

i ask that you please keep Sudan and our people in your prayers — donate to the Sudan Red Crescent or a mutual aid GoFund Me, email your representatives if you live in a country that can put pressure on either competing force of power, discuss this with your family and friends, and please do not forget to think about SWANA people — our brothers and sisters in Syria, Yemen, Lebanon, and many others need our love and support.

الردة_مستحيلة ✊🏾

#KeepEyesOnSudan

[call-me-maggie13]

My late 40s to early 50s boss just asked what’s wrong with 18-25 year olds these days

And as a 21 year old all I could think was

The world has been on fire since we were born and we’ve been told the adults are putting it out and now we’re old enough to realize they’ve been pouring kerosene on the flames instead of water.

Before my first birthday, 9/11 happened and the world wouldn’t let us forget it. When I was 6 years old, on September 11th, my teacher sat us down in front of a tv and showed us footage of 9/11 and then told us we weren’t allowed to cry. She said that it was real and those were real people jumping from the building because jumping was a faster death than burning.

When I was 7 years old, the economy collapsed and my family went from lower middle class to poverty, we went from healthy home cooked meals every night to mac and cheese and beans for weeks in a row. We started skipping holidays because mom and dad couldn’t keep the lights on and buy us new toys. We started wearing clothes and shoes until they fell apart.

When I was 11 years old, Sandy Hook was attacked by a grown man with a gun and 26 children and teachers were brutally murdered. My teachers never looked at us the same and I haven’t felt safe in a school since. After that, once a month we would have active shooter drills and we were taught to fight and cause as much damage as possible if an armed man entered our classroom because it gave other classes a few extra seconds to escape, it gave our siblings a few extra breaths of safety. We were taught to cover ourselves in other students blood and play dead if we weren’t hit, we were taught that we weren’t safe and we wouldn’t be safe as long as we were in school.

When I was 15 years old, my high school art teacher locked us in the classroom and told us if we heard gunshots we should line the desks up lengthwise so that they reached the other wall because that would be harder to break through than a barricade. She told us that she knew about the threats and she wouldn’t judge any of us that wanted to leave. She told us to get our siblings and stay in the buildings as long as possible, to duck in between the cars so we couldn’t be seen until we got to ours. She told us about the trail behind the auto shop that was lined with trees and led off campus. I got my brother and his friends and we left, we spent the day sitting on the floor in my living room waiting for a phone call that the people we left behind were dying.

Two weeks later, one of my friends dragged me out of a football game and forced me to go home with him. He grabbed my brothers and my best friend and forced the six of us into a two seater car before he would tell us anything. His mom worked for the school board and had told him the police found an active bomb under the bleachers in the student section, and they weren’t informing anyone because they didn’t want to incite panic.

When I was 16 years old, ISIS set off a bomb at a pop concert in Britain and killed 22 people, injuring at least 100 more. The next day at school, our teachers went over how to stay safe if we ever experienced something like that. They told us the most important thing to remember was to not remove any shrapnel because it could be keeping us from bleeding out, they said it was more important to get yourself out safely before you worried about anyone else.

When I was 18 years old, my teachers stopped teaching and put the news up on the projector and we watched as the Notre-Dame burned. The boy I had sat next to since second grade spent the entire day trying to call his sister who was studying abroad in Paris, I watched this kid I had never even seen frown fall apart in English because she wouldn’t pick up the phone. We didn’t know it at the time, but she was okay.

Six months later, my history teacher put the news on the projector again for another fire. This time, we watched as an entire continent burned for three months. We watched their sky turned orange from the smoke and their wildlife drowned in pools because they were trying to escape the heat.

When I was 19 years old, the whole world shut down because of a global pandemic. I didn’t meet a single new person for eight months, despite the fact that I had just moved across the country. I watched as people didn’t wear masks and spread it to everyone around them, I was so scared when I went back to my room every night because my roommate was immunocompromised and I was terrified I would give her Covid and kill her.

Just two months later, I watched a video of a black man being murdered by police officers. I watched the world around me explode after George Floyd’s death, people destroying businesses and police stations. I watched some of my friends realize police officers didn’t exist to keep them safe, they existed to keep the people in power in power. I learned that some of the people I had grown up with would rather watch a black man die than admit that maybe, maybe, the system was broken.

When I was 20 years old, I went to the mall with a friend to buy a birthday present and I was pulled to the ground by a twelve-year-old girl after gunshots went off in the mall. I held this child’s hands as she cried for two hours until we were evacuated by police, and then I waited with her outside and helped her look for her mom. I gave her my phone to call her mom and I watched as she called the number over and over and never got a reply. I waited with her until a police officer took her to the station to try to find out more information about the girl’s mom, I hugged this girl I had never seen before and I wished her the best. I never found out what happened to her or her mom, it keeps me up at night sometimes worrying that this little girl was orphaned.

When I was 21 years old, I started working at a daycare and exactly a week later, Uvalde happened and I found myself crying because my students are the same age those kids were. When they came in after school the next day, one of them had asked me if I had heard about Uvalde and I told her I had, I asked her if she was scared of going to school because of it. Her reply broke my heart. “We practice for it every week so that when it happens to us, we know what to do. I’m just worried that the shooter is going to start in my baby sister’s classroom and not mine.” I listened as other students with younger siblings agreed with her, one of them saying “I would take fifty bullets, if I had to to keep my little brother safe.”

Early this year, I watched Russia launched bombs into Ukraine, blowing up churches and schools and hospitals and apartment buildings. I watched as the estimated death count rose from the hundreds to the thousands to the tens of thousands. I watched men send their wives and children to bordering countries for refuge while they stayed behind to fight, knowing they would probably never see each other again.

Just four months ago, I watched as my right to medical privacy got taken away. I watched my old roommate fall apart because she was denied the right to have her dead fetus removed from her body for almost two days, I worried every time I looked away from her that the next time I saw her would be in a casket. I watched as the women around me realized the military-grade weapons that had torn children in classrooms apart were protected by the government but our bodies weren’t.

There is nothing “wrong” with my generation, we’ve experienced all these things as children and were expected to respond with patriotism for a country that continuously sacrificed their children for the “right” to military-grade weapons, that took away my freedom of choice. We are tired, we were told the world was a wonderful place then shown, at every step, how the world was a place of destruction and pain. And we are angry. We are angry because no one but us seems to be trying to fix anything. And we are scared. We are scared because our children, our nieces and nephews, our cousins and our friends children are growing up in a world that won’t protect them.

[adragonsfriend]

Padme was not a Witness

I will never join the “Padmé was stupid to go to Mustafar” parade—she had valid reason to believe in the possibility of Anakin’s redemption—but there’s something awful in the fact that she didn’t have to witness either of his massacres.

Obi-Wan and Yoda walk past the bodies of their people—of their people’s children. Bail Organa goes to the temple and sees a kid get shot down trying to escape (more clones than Anakin, but still).

Padme hears about the second massacre after sitting in her apartment while the Temple was on fire. She’s told about them in vague terms. “I killed them like animals,” “he killed younglings,” She has a touch of denial when she goes to Mustafar partly because of her belief in Anakin, but partly because—I think—the Tuskan Massacre was never fully real to her. She understands it intellectually of course, but violence on that scale is difficult to conceptualise without seeing it, especially if it’s easier to just let it go. If she’d seen the bodies? Or seen Anakin kill them? She watched that one refugee kid die slowly, not at all violently, when she was working with the refugee organisation, and it affected her for the rest of her life. It is not a lack of caring on Padmé’s part that’s the problem.

Imagine being Obi-Wan listening to Padme saying “there’s still good in him,” after walking through the Temple, seeing the lightsaber marks on knights and children alike—not even to mention seeing her get strangled. It sounds not only wild, but honestly deeply offensive on more levels than one (besides the obvious issues it’s another, “train the boy,” prioritise Anakin over everything moment, except this time Obi-wan’s entire world has been torn apart, rather than just losing his Master)

If Padmé had actually been a witness to Anakin’s violence? If it was made present and visceral to her?

I think her opinions and her actions would’ve been different.

Thematically, it is crucial that when Luke goes to the second Death Star, he is under no illusions about who Anakin is or what he’s done, and in his most desperate moment he chooses to ask Anakin for help anyway. Padmé goes to him still a bit in denial, still a bit convinced things can return to how they once were. When she starts to push at the illusion, Anakin accuses her of betraying him and strangles her to shut her up, attempting to preserve the illusion (the difference between Anakin’s state at the time of his confrontations with Padmé and Luke is a whole other, very important topic). In part, her illusion allows Anakin to believe he can preserve the past (to be clear—he is the only one responsible for the choice to strangle her; Padme being imperfect is not an excuse for domestic abuse).

Side note, but if anyone is not sufficiently freaked out by Anakin strangling Padmé, it's important to know that strangulation is one of the flashing red warnings that physical abuse is doing to turn deadly, very, very quickly.

Luke’s complete and honest knowledge of Anakin’s worst self means there is nothing for Anakin to lose except his son, exactly as he is. No illusions, no wonderful past, not even any good memories together. Just his son.

To me, that’s one of several reasons (both thematic and logistical) why Padmé’s plea fails where Luke’s succeeds. None of those reasons has anything to do with her being stupid to go in the first place.

(There are some wonderful fanfics out there that show Padmé actually making her disapproval about the Tuskan massacre—both despite and because of her love—actively known during their marriage, and I think that interpretation of her is a stronger character than ROTS gives us, and more in line with what we’re shown in the first movie)

[balkanradfem]

Debunking the 'males follow reason, women follow emotions' myth

A woman makes a rational demand to a male, he denies her. She gets frustrated and upset, he accuses her of being overly emotional, and the reason why women can't make good decisions. It's a situation we've seen repeat over and over again, and we've gotten convinced. After all, m*n don't get emotional, they make rational decisions, they don't have that annoying trait of having to cry or care too much, they just do what is right in any situation, while a woman could never stand in their place.

Historically, m*n have been making a lot of these, rational, non-emotional decisions, so let's analyze how they've been doing. Historically, a lot of m*n have both started, and fought in wars. According to them, this is a logical, hard factual decision they've made, and they're proud of it, wars are integral to humanity, we have to fight if we want peace, and so on. So rationally, what do wars achieve for humanity? Mass destruction, mass murder, terrorism, mass rape, mass famine, intense trauma, destruction of environment, destruction of animals, destruction of culture and property, sea of corpses. But, m*n have decided that this is reasonable, because to the country that's been doing it, it can bring new assets, colonization of land mass, new natural resources to exploit. Massive damage to one part of the population for the benefit of another part, this they say, is rational.

If you're a male, it's rational for you to cause damage to countless individuals if there is some sort of benefit to you in doing it. This is presented to us as a reasonable, human and rational thinking. They've not only indoctrinated us to believe this, but put this into their laws. They've created laws that allow them to commit murder under the circumstances of war. They've made sure to give themselves a way to commit murder to get what they want, and not be punished. Again, this is presented as inevitable, cold hard factual thinking.

I would argue that the emotions followed here are greed, sadism, pride, and deep sense of egotism. Deluding themselves into believing that the entire world is turning around their personal needs and wants, and any amount of damage made for this cause is irrelevant. This isn't rational thinking, this is selfish, valuing themselves to the point where other human lives have zero value to them; it's irrational. A woman who puts herself before others is immediately informed that she is objectively selfish, irrational, unrealistic, self-centered, and deserves any kind of harm going her way. M*n have been operating like this from the beginnng of human life, and expect to be praised as 'rational and objective', by these same women they call selfish for not acting as free servants for a second.

Let's look at another 'rational' concept males have created and developed: capitalism. Cold hard logic is – if you can exploit other people to the very maximum, and take the value of their labour for yourself, you should get to do it, and if you can't, work until your health gives out and you die in pain. Again, a group of people gets power to exploit another, resources are given to those with financial power; those who do not have it, have to fight to survive. We know at this point it's caused deaths, sicknesses, mental illness, hunger and low quality of life to the majority of the population, we also know it's caused massive environmental damage, to the point where the climate of the planet is threatened, and animals under mass extinction. Was this a logical move? Was it a normal, rational system to build? Yes according to m*n, because they get to use their financial power to rape women they wouldn't otherwise get to rape.

I would argue again, that the emotions followed in this case are selfishenss, cruelty and greed. When a woman tries to exploit people around her for her own benefit, she is called the worst slurs and names imaginable, and no punishment is too cruel to inflict on her. While m*n have been doing this for centuries and apparently we need to acknowledge that this is in fact, smart, rational and reasonable way to live, and also inevitable.

So let's see what women have been doing on earth at the same time while m*n were busy murdering people in wars and inventing financial systems that bring destruction; women were creating the human population. We were making sure that everyone alive gets to eat, drink, clean clothing, care. We were putting our labour and our minds in taking care of our family members, and fighting for our human rights whenever the situation, or the information we got allowed for it. We struggled to stand up to power-hungry m*n in our life who would exploit us, we studied and invented, we found our ways in every trade, every school, every cultural institution that did good to the planet, and we outpreformed m*n almost immediately after we got in. We gave our lives to make sure the human race isn't erased by the amount of murder and terrorism going on. We put our efforts into protecting the environment, we figured out medicine and then got destroyed for it, we lost countless of our own to murder, rape and torture, we tried to keep safe the ones who got hurt.

While m*n 'rational' and 'logical' thinking lead us closer to destruction, we've been fighting to preserve life.

Having the creatures in charge who believe themselves more rational, but function out of a place of empty pride, absolute ignorance, endless hunger for power, endless greed and insatiable sadism, is not a reasonable way to lead the civilization. In fact, it's been proven over and over again, that this causes low quality of life for everyone, creates practices that allow and support cruelty and destruction, and deals massive trauma and pain to the most of the living humans.

What is 'reasonable' to them, is for them to ignore everyone else's emotions, well being, safety, even the right to exist, and follow only their own. The reasoning they follow has nothing to do with being rational, it has to do with being selfish, proud, ignorant, and I can't stress this enough, being incredibly and utterly stupid. They're destroying the land they depend on to live, and feeling proud and rational to do so, while calling women stupid and selfish for wanting human rights.

It's been enough of this. A rational male has not been born or seen on this planet. We need to assume that every time a m*n says something, he has absolutely no clue what he's talking about, and is likely attempting to cause some damage for his own benefit – in all cases we will be right. We cannot let someone with a track record like this to be in the charge of decision making, nor should we respect their decisions. They couldn't even make laws that protect human lives. They couldn't even base their own accomplishments on the things they achieved – they had to take credit for our achievements over and over again. They are irrational, power hungry creatures that stop at nothing, humanity means nothing to them, human lives have no meaning to them. But they do to us.

We can make decision that make sense, specifically because we care about not destroying lives or the environment. We are capable of making the 'tough calls' because we will make the call that will not result in mass destruction! The only thing they keep holding over our head is that we don't have experience – but we can get it. And experience never helped them make less destructive, less stupid choices.

Male emotions are based on self-delusions. They refuse to see any consequence of their action, and play ignorant to the very end. Their empty pride, empty self-importance, empty confidence and empty arrogance is based on nothing but the lies they've told to themselves. Even slight factual analysis and statistics that come from male decisions, make their reasoning crumble into pieces.

Women's emotions are substantiated by facts. In every case when a woman has been told off for being emotional, she's getting gaslit and turned away from the cause of her emotion, which is always factual. It is reasonable to be upset at being treated as less than a human being. It is reasonable to care about the lives of other human beings. It is reasonable to care about the state of the world, state of the environment. It is reasonable to stand against destruction and loss of human lives. And yet we get told off for having the most substantiated, reasonable responses to male violence and terrorism.

And then there's one emotions males love to use to pretend they're not emotional: anger. It provides them with enough threat to stop women from analyzing and pointing out the failure of males, it works to protect them from the realization of how useless, harmful and destructive they've been. Making horrid, harmful and selfish decisions and exploding in anger if anyone comes close to pointing it out, coupled with blaming everyone else for having an emotional reaction to being harmed, is their primary 'reasonable' way of managing life. And this is what we have in charge on earth. A creature who causes damage, and then uses emotion to hide the damage they've done, while pretending to be an ignorant little baby, blissfully unaware of anything he does having any consequences.

We're done believing their lies.

[kurithedweeb]

I know we always talk about Garroth ending up looking exactly like his father, but what about Dante growing up to look eerily like Gene.

When he joins up with Phoenix Drop, he's still young. He's a little on the short side, still a bit too thin from life in the wild and imprisonment, and he's a little anxious and shaky around so many people after having grown unused to living in a village. The smiling faces of the citizens remind you of your old home, of clamoring crowds and standing frozen in the plaza as your brother . . .

Anyway, it's good here. It's easy to fit in. The guards joke around with you and make sure you're healthy. They don't know a thing about dual wielding, but you get plenty of sparring partners out of helping the local baker practice her magick, and you maybe make a friend too. You're not too sure how you feel about the Lord, but she's a kind soul and does her best to make sure you're comfortable here in town, and her kids are great. Babysitting the boys is easily your favorite duty. Yeah, it's good here. For the first time in a long while, you feel like you're doing good.

Then the war comes. The children and non-combatants are sent away. The jovial atmosphere of the guard tower has soured into solemn silence as you make your final preparations. In the morning, you step into the battlefield and you go to war for the first time in your life. You have a horrible feeling in your gut that it won’t be the last.

You, Sir Laurance and Sir Garroth make a good team. It makes you sick. The three of you cross the battlefield at a slow and inevitable pace, cutting down any soldier that dares stray too close, and together you cleave the enemy forces in half, scattering them. The killing comes easy to you. You had hoped that in this peaceful new village, with time, you would become unfamiliar to how easily you were once able to take a life, but right then you’re glad your body never forgot the motions of death. Glad for the blood that stains your hands—how can you be glad?

You can’t remember how long you fought for. Days, weeks? Surely not months, or so you think. Yours is a small force, and though Miss Lucinda is a good healer, she grows tired while the other army’s numbers are replenished time and again. You remember the bags under her eyes as she tipped a potion sip by sip into your mouth the time you were shot through the face.

You remember sneaking into the enemy camp in the dead of night, skirting around the edges of it to the back line where the archers rested. You quietly slit five of their throats before you were noticed, and managed to slash another across the belly before the arrow caught you in the side of the face, in one cheek and out the other. The wood of the shaft cracked when you bit down. It was everything you could do not to scream as you fled. Dale thought you were a fiend when you first stepped out of the shadows, face obscured in blood and cradling your jaw as you cupped a hand beneath your mouth in an effort to catch more blood before it left a trail. Laurance held you while Garroth split the arrowhead from the rest of it with a knife and pulled the shaft out the other side of your face, your jaw gripped tight in one hand to keep you from struggling. It took hours to pull the splinters from your cheeks and tongue before they sent you to wake the healer. The whole ordeal had been excruciating. You might have cried. You remember that a lot more clearly than most other times at war. After a while, it’s hard to tell which side spills more blood when so much is shed that red squishes out of the earth wherever you step.

Every day, you fought dawn to dusk. And then one day you won. By Nicole literally knocking some sense into her father, of all things! You find a quiet corner to throw up in and for a beautiful moment, you think life in this little town you’ve started thinking of as home will go back to being good. Until your Lord tells you to guard the village as she races past the gates, and she doesn’t come back. None who followed her do either.

For days, you stand waiting at the gates. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. O’khasis is gone, Scaleswind has made a refuge of the plaza, and still there is no sign of your Lord or your brothers-in-arms. You won’t even leave to have your wounds seen to. Nicole has to drag a doctor to the gates to treat you, and the entire time you watch the forest hoping that any moment they will reappear. You only step away when someone brings you news that the ship that took the children away has returned. You should be the one to tell them.

Zoey knows something is wrong the moment she sees you. Levin and Malachi smile and ask where their mother is—they call you ‘uncle’ while they do. You get down on your knees before them, and you gather them close in your arms, and you cry as you tell them their mother has been missing since the day the war ended. You’re still holding them when the exhaustion catches up with you.

Zoey is with you when you wake. She tells you you’ve been out nearly two days. She fusses over you, and you know you’ve worried her because that’s what she does when she’s worried. You’re a mess anyway, so you let her fuss. You drink the broth she makes you, you change into the clothes she provides, you sit still while she cuts the unruly mats of your hair and shaves your face. You used to cut yourself shaving all the time, no one ever taught you how and you were only six or so when Gene was learning to; you don’t remember now how he showed you each step or the laugh in his voice at the face of disgust you made when you slapped a little hand into the lather on his face and left behind a tiny palmprint. Zoey doesn’t cut you once. When she’s done with you, she takes you by the arm and guides you back into civilization, where everyone who remained has decided already on search parties to go out looking for your missing friends.

You head each expedition. Dale brings himself out of retirement to watch over the town while you’re gone, and asks only that you also look for his son. Does he know you used to be a tracker, used to spend days in the woods trailing coyotes and runaways for enough coin to carry you through the cold months? You try for him, but the ground is soft still and every step anyone takes leaves a print, all overlapping and muddled. You keep an eye out as you circle the same stretches of woods for days, but you find nothing. Your group goes further and faster than any other, the first to find and dismantle bandit camps and dens of fiends, but no matter how far you go you find not a sign of anyone who has disappeared that day. It’s as though they vanished into thin air. Every time you return home, Dale looks at you with hopeful eyes, and every time you must take him aside and break his heart a little more. Eventually, he stops asking.

For a year, you search. The area has never been safer. You have never felt so alone as when people start to suggest that a funeral may be in order.

You feel like a monster for the rage in your voice when you denounce these people. You know they aren’t dead—you would have felt such a thing, you know, you would have felt pieces of yourself snapping like wire pulled too taut, you would have felt the sharp edges tangling inside you—it would have felt like it did when the brother you killed rose from the grave to slit your throat and cut your very existence from the memory of Boboros. You hear white noise rumbling in your ears when the first brave soul says Sir Dante, there’s been no sign for a year now, and your blood is boiling when you slap their comforting hand off your shoulder. You spit that you’re not giving up just because everyone else has taken no evidence of life to mean the surety of death, and with their pitying looks burning into your back to return to the woods. You scream into the trees until you can’t anymore. When it doesn’t help, you use your considerable tracking skills to hunt something, anything, until you feel human again.

You crawl back home the day before the funeral with your cape stained with blood; they held it back so you could attend. You polish your armor and swords until they shine, and the warped reflection of your own face makes you feel sick the way waging war did. You stand at attention the entire ceremony without moving a muscle. When Dale reads the names of the deceased at the end, offering their souls into the embrace of the Matron, you salute, and the clatter of your armor silences the crowd.

Everyone who fought in the war salutes with you. So do your Lord’s sons. You’re too tired to cry. You hold your salute long after everyone else has left.

The remaining forces of Scaleswind return home. One by one, family by family, the streets of your home empty. Without your Lord, without your guard, the citizens trickle out the front gates and never turn back. Some apologize to you as they say their goodbyes, and some of them you actually believe. You close the gate behind each of them until all that remains is you, Zoey, and your Lord’s sons. Then Zoey tells you she’s taking the boys to the Yggdrasil Forest. She holds you tight for too long and kisses your brow when you show them to the gate for the last time.

You can’t believe you ever thought you knew what loneliness was before this.

For five years, you are completely and utterly alone. You search and you patrol and you do your best to maintain the village. You don’t believe in Irene, but every day before dawn you stand before her statue and look down down down over the cliff’s edge and pray that this won’t be the rest of your life. That you haven’t deluded yourself into believing a fantasy, that you haven’t made such an incredible fool of yourself that people can’t bear to be around you, that you haven’t been forgotten. For five years, you pray that someone, somewhere, remembers that you exist. You look down down down over the cliff’s edge and have the terrible thought that you don’t know what you’d do if you were forgotten again.

The gate is falling apart. You don’t know how to repair the damage the weather’s done to it, you tried to patch the cracks but it never holds. With each year, you’ve been pushed further and further outtowards the coast. The only places you have the energy to maintain anymore are the guard tower and your Lord’s home. You blockaded the gates when the mechanism broke, you check it on occasion to be sure no bandits get in, and one day you hear voices from the other side. Familiar voices. You scramble up the wall and look over the other side at a boy you don’t recognize looking back up at you. He says, Is that Uncle Dante? and you climb down as fast as you can to embrace Malachi.

He’s nearly the age you were when you first met his mother. He’s grown tall, and strong enough to carry his brother on his back. Levin is fevered when you first see him, flush and hurting even as he dozes, and Malachi tells you he can’t walk from how bad he hurts. You remember how Zoey fretted over him when he was young, how sometimes he’d scream for seemingly no reason, and once you show them to their mother’s home Malachi refuses to leave his bedside.

You sit with them and ask where Zoey is. Malachi tells you of her obsession, and the relief that you are not alone in the belief that those who disappeared are alive feels like a hint of betrayal. You’re relieved that she’s driving herself into a downward spiral because of what? Because it makes you feel like you were reasonable to fight not to let their souls be put to rest?

You wait for her at the gates deep into the night and take her to her boys when she bursts from the woods, frantic that she’d lost them, and safe if your Lord’s home she holds you so tight your ribs hurt from the force of her grip. After so long, you’re not alone anymore.

You wake before dawn and strap your swords to your back. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe enough to go without your armor. You hike up the steep cliff to the Irene statue. You kneel before her to offer your thanks. You look into the pool at her feet and fear grips you by the throat.

Your brother’s face looks back at you.

You wear your swords the way he did. Your hair falls like his, dark in the shadow of Irene. Your face is gaunt and pale from old habits, eating only enough to sustain yourself so rations will stretch long enough for you to find more—do you remember how they starved Gene before they killed him? How they weakened him so he wouldn’t have the energy to fight? How pale and gaunt he was, dirt streaking over the side of his face, blood and grime drying in his hair, shaking and sweaty with how hard he fought back? Do you remember the scar that twisted around his throat when he returned from the dead to get his vengeance? Your collar is open over the scar he left twisting across your own, and it matches his own so very well. In the shadows of your eyes, you see his own staring back.

You think of the war. You think of how easy the killing was. You think of how easily Gene cut through the guards, the Lord, the memories of Boboros. The rage in his voice when he denounced you as his brother, the twist of his smile when he told you he would leave you to rot, Dante. No one will ever remember you. You can see that twist in the corners of your own smile, pushed into shape by the deep scars on your cheeks. You and your brother are the same.

You’re shaking too much to stand. You never go without your armor again.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Star Wars was real and the prequels were happening in modern times but the Star Wars government made all non-Earth weapons illegal so Earth became a huge weapons exporter and I was working the gun counter at Cabela's and Yoda came up and asked for a shot gun and when I asked what it was for, he smiled and said, "Weekend plans, I have," then I woke up screaming.

[claratcssthings]

Dude, I'm not okay.

I recently read a Solarballs fanfic on the AO3 website (Archive Of Our Own), and I came across one called "Behind his Mask", I decided to read it, because I was curious. After reading everything, I kind of focused... Traumatized. All those deaths... Everything Mercury was capable of doing... I felt like I was Anne Frank herself writing down the tragedies during World War II in her hiding place in Netherlands, or a young civillian being a witness of one or more of the attacks to the jews. When I went to sleep, I dreamed about the fanfic again, I woke up almost crying with fear, but I immediately hugged a teddy bear and managed to calm myself down with some much better thoughts.

I swear... I feel like Solarballs fans just love death and suffering....

[justheretoposttrash]

day 5 of meandering about endeavor (and briefly hawks)--(taking a more meta-look at the fandom with this one):

i find it fascinating and honestly sorta cool that the fandom is so divided on endeavor in a way that lines up well with how people are divided on his character within the text itself.

the responses are certainly not black-and-white or binary, but it's easiest for me to give the examples of hawks and natsuo as sorta opposite ends of the spectrum. many endeavor fans are similar to hawks--enjoying his cooler moments while also greatly appreciating how much he puts himself through in his efforts to change for the better (as an aside, i do find it hilarious how many endeavor fans enjoy seeing that man beat the shit out of and actively suffering. kinky lol). endeavor haters, on the other hand, generally want nothing to do with his character (while some even say that they want him to die, when it comes to fictional people in a story, that's basically the equivalent of "keep this guy far away from me"). the need for unequivocal and complete separation from his character is similar to what natsuo wants and sticks with in the story (although he does have his moments of sensitivity regarding his father, in spite of this).

i think that the reasoning behind irl fans and the characters also often align. for hawks, it's incredibly inspiring and gratifying to see that someone is willing to put in the work to change, even if doing so will be difficult and often unrewarding. the worse the actions are, the more painful the upward climb becomes, but also the more crazy it is that the person in question is willing to make that climb in the first place. i've noticed a lot of endhawks fans in particular really finding a lot of personal healing through exploring these ideas, whether they want to change for the better themselves, or they wish those in their life who'd hurt them would be willing to grow as people the way endeavor's character does. sure, there are some people who gloss over the terrible things that he's done, but many seem to enjoy actively engaging with what he's done and working through what it means for them.

for natsuo, it's not just about it being "too little, too late", though that's definitely a big part--but also that he as a person cannot have a relationship with his father while keeping himself safe and healthy. a lot of real-life relationships end up this way, especially between parent and child once the child reaches adulthood, and it's a very healthy boundary to set. for irl people engaging with fiction that triggers similar emotions, this looks more like ignoring, not engaging with, or wishing for the removal of the character activating them---and if that "boundary"-esque wall can't be drawn, if they repeatedly are unable to avoid the character's presence, this often wells up as anger and turns into venting, which is only natural if you're being bombarded with a stimulus that you feel unable to control. (sure, blocking and filtering tags is available, but algorithms can be incredibly confounding/unavoidable, not everyone remembers to tag their stuff perfectly every time, and in this case, the maligned character plays an incredibly crucial and central role in the canon material itself--so if you want to consume, y'know, mha, you have to grapple with a text that at best isn't always for you, or at worst occasionally betrays you.)

i don't mean to overstate my case--a lotta ppl like stuff or hate stuff without questioning it--but i think in the case of this one particular character, a lot of nuance tends to emerge, and there's a lot of potential there for analysis/learning. I also think that some conflict and friction becomes inevitable between disagreeing fans regarding endeavor's character. naturally, your average person getting crushed in the gears of day-to-day life is going to feel hurt when they're accused of not engaging with the thing that brings them much-needed comfort in the "correct" way, especially if they have indeed been putting a lot of work into thoughtfully engaging with it behind-the-scenes. it's also difficult to give people you disagree with the benefit of the doubt, bc honestly there are plenty of wild takes or arguments made in bad faith out there--and very few ppl want to wade through a bunch of cortisol-spiking statements just to find one that is reasonable enough but that still might be disagreeable to them.

it's likewise interesting to see the reactions of people either calling hawks a murderer and hating on his character, or claiming he did nothing wrong and that twice shouldn't have fought/deserved to die (and while i can understand wanting to defend silly bbygirl birdman, man oh man would hawks not be happy with the latter take if he were a Real Boy). i don't believe either group comprises the majority of mha fans by a longshot, but there's still enough that i've noticed these little trends in one pocket of the internet or amother. i got nothin prescriptive here, i just find it all interesting to talk about.

lastly, i wanna say that, while telling stories from the POV of an abuser and trying to give them sympathy at the same time is so often a gross and very Bad Move, crazily enough i think mha is one of the best executions of this that i've seen. aside from the nuanced way endeavor gets treated by other characters (some supportive, some rightfully angry, some rightfully hateful), what stands out to me is that, by having us see through his pov, the story actually shows what anyone could realistically expect as a best-case-scenario of an abuser starting to atone. we don't have to question if he's sorry, don't have to question if he understands what he did as wrong, don't have to question that he's doing actionable things to make progress, etc., because we spend so much time with his thoughts. and it's not perfectly linear and it does come way too late, but it is kind of wild to see this kind of best-case evolution unfold bit by bit. of course, the flipside to this is that real life doesn't work this way and you can never have absolute certainty that an abuser genuinely understands/won't go on to abuse again. still, being able to see a direct model for what accountability and working towards atonement looks like is refreshing, when by comparison so many other character arcs in other stories 1) end in redemption through death, 2) have the character barely do any internal work/stay an absolute asshole, or 3) resolve a past "sin" that actually wasn't that bad to begin with. when all three tropes are avoided, when someone did something unforgivable but is veritably changing for the better but is still alive, what the heck happens next? what the hell do you do? what does anyone do? some options are explored in mha in a pretty neat way--natsuo never wants to see enji, and enji agrees. touya wants to see enji every day (at least implicitly so) and enji makes that his vow. so many flawed parents irl are unable to respect their childrens' wishes when it comes to letting them completely go so they can live their lives, or when it comes to staying ever-present and showing them genuine care, and yet enji becomes a parent capable of doing both opposite-seeming things at once, finally willing to do and become what his children ask of him. the todoroki saga is certainly not perfect---i for one have *thoughts* about how the very end of rei's arc has been handled---but i think it's unique for how it benefits from providing so much of endeavor's pov, whereas other stories from an abuser's pov might have slapped on shitty apologia or only provided an "explanation" for why that character is so nasty without going too much further than that. while this choice may force some fans to have a level of closeness with a character whose presence begets feelings of hurt and hopelessness, it also makes sense why this choice has captivated other fans and provided, oddly enough, a sense of inspiration and hope.

[icantthinkofagoodnameoranything]

I like to think that the solders who die in the magic forest are kinda trapped there as punishment after death. Like, because of the slaughter they at least allowed to happen, their spirits can’t move on.

And that bears who spread the propaganda about unicorns, were in command or actively trained soldiers (think like, Padre or Caricias) can sometimes feel the pain of their wounds…

…So think of the absolute AGONY someone like Azulin, who *burned the forest down* would feel the moment he died.

[writingsofestella]

vespera - ch. 0

Apostate!Din Djarin x Ex!Jedi!OC -(no use of Y/N Canon Divergent - some plot changed for sake of story, the razor crest lives )

tws // general canon violence, usage of blasters and weapons, mentions of death, minors DNI 18+ only, angst, mature content, more tags to be added later on

a/n: first chapter of the new story. posting this into the void and hoping someone likes it to read it. this story has been spiralling around in my brain for weeks now and i wanted to share it and get it out there. let me know what you all think, and i hope you like it.

wc: 2637

It was nice to see people celebrating. With all of the chaos in the galaxy, it was good to see celebrations of happiness, now and then. Children laughing and chasing each other, adults holding one another tightly, neighbors helping neighbors, excitedly talking and cheering.

The great stone water fountain in the middle of the small village hadn't been running for years. The marshal had seemingly had the only working fountain in the entire town in his home. Of course, he was a businessman first, and couldn't help but use that to his gain. Man had to make credits somehow, he claimed.

How ironic it was that after an anonymous tip, the people investigated the water lines that ran through the town, through the buildings, only to find that the pipes had been turned off and rerouted. The marshal, who had claimed to have his people's best interests at heart, had pled innocence.

It was also ironic how, overnight, he ghosted the town. By morning light, the great fountain in the center was bursting forth with fresh water from the underground spring. Other smaller fountains in the town were filled with water once again, restoring life to the dying town.

If someone were to be paying attention, they'd think it strange that all this seemingly happened within the few weeks after the stranger had arrived to their little town.

The hooded stranger paid them all no mind, as she stood in the shadow of an alleyway. She leaned against the cool stone wall, taking comfort in it.

The heat that bore down on the planet Utov from its' two suns was almost unbearable for her to handle, which might have been another reason the town's fountains were now back in order.

Maybe she just hated seeing old men in power.

It was all just coincidental, of course.

One of the townsfolk, a young mother with a kid on her hip, excitedly came up to her. She had a wide smile on her face, relief and joy evident on her once worn and tired features. "Fyra, isn't it amazing? We won't have to worry about water anymore!" 

Fyra smiled from under her scarf. "It is. What does the little one think?" She asked, looking from the mother to the child. 

"Oh, he's got all sorts of ideas in his head about who did it." The mother, who was named Siane, teased, lightly. 

The kid, a young boy no older than six, looked at Fyra with wide eyes and a toothy smile. "You did it, didn't you?" He loudly whispered. "They said it was a shadow in the night, that no one really saw who it was!" 

"Hush now! We don't want to be bothering our traveler with that." Siane lightly chastised, teasingly pinching the boy's ear.

He let out a whine in protest, squirming.

Fyra simply gave a tilt of her head, amused. "What a shadow that must've been then." She responded lightly, holding her fingers out and wiggling them playfully. 

The boy giggled, and reached his own little hand out for her to take. She squeezed his hand playfully, before letting it go. Fyra didn't miss the inquisitive look she received, however, from Siane.

"These kids and their imaginations." She sighed out, shaking her head, but there was a happy smile on her face. "We're going to Danthi's later to celebrate. Are you coming?" Siane asked, tilting her head slightly.

"I don't know. I might, might not." Fyra said, undecided yet. "You know I'm not one for large celebrations." She said.

Siane let out a snort, shaking her head. "Yeah, I can tell. You're over here sulking in the corner instead of coming out and celebrating with us."

"I'm not sulking, I'm in the shade." Fyra retorted, shaking her head.

Siane let out an exasperated sigh, and then shook her head. "Alright, alright. Well, if you wanna go, you know where we'll be at." She says, as her little boy starting squirming to be let down and go run around with the other children. "I'll see you later then." She said, and with a nod, was being dragged out to the crowd by her child.

Fyra let out a quiet huff, that smile still playing on her lips, as she shook her head. She slipped away from the main celebration, making her way down the alleyway. She might go get a drink later, maybe something refreshing since she felt parched already from the day.

As she walked around the corner, however, a sinking feeling filled her stomach, and the hairs on the back of her neck and her arms stood straight up. She held her breath as she slowed her steps.

Without warning, a vibrocord whip flew past her head and she swerved, just in time to avoid getting trapped in it.

The culprit of the vibrocord stepped around the corner as it whipped back to its owner. A Mandalorian, in worn, chipped armor, appeared in the shadows of the alleyway. The only thing new on him was his beskar helmet, which stared down at her, unrelenting. His fingers twitched over the blaster at his hip.

A bounty hunter.

All the way out here.

"That's a rude way to say hello." She found herself saying, body tense, ready to run.

"You're a hard woman to find." He spoke back, voice rough through the modulator in the helmet.

"Maybe that's the point."

He gave the slightest tilt of his head. "They told me not to bother speaking to you, just to bring you in." He spoke out, voice even, controlled. "But I'll offer you a deal. You can come with me peacefully, or, I can drag you, kicking and screaming."

"That's not much of a deal." She retorted back, her body tense with the adrenaline filling her to run once again. Her heart raced as she tried to will the Force to calm her, help her think rationally so she'd make it out of this alive.

"Murderers with a bounty of their head don't usually get deals at all." He retorted, taking a threatening, stalking step toward her.

She cursed internally. She thought she'd gotten far enough away to not have any bounty hunters follow her this far out.

She had thought wrong.

"How kind of you." She retorted, voice dry as she took a cautionary step backwards. "Too bad I'll have to decline your deal."

With a roll and a duck, she narrowly avoided the vibrocord whip that shot past her head. Without hesitation, she used that momentum to bolt forward. 

Right Into the busy marketplace. 

She didn't hesitate. Ducking and weaving in between people, she ignored the yells of profanity as she pushed through. She could hear his footsteps, heavy and powerful, chasing after her. The screams and yells of the people they pushed through.

She could only hope the people would slow him down enough for her to escape. She pushed herself further into the crowd, no longer pushing, blending in and moving with the crowd. 

Sharply, she turned into an alleyway, a small cantina set in the back. Making her way, briskly, past the couples lingering outside, she was quick to get inside. It took her a minute to blink, for her eyes to adjust, but she was still moving. She couldn't stop. Her heart raced, chest heaving, as she tried to keep the panic at bay.

The cantina wasn't busy, most crowds outside still in the marketplace, celebrating. There were a few people she knew inside, people she had helped, setting up for the party.

Her eyes landed on the bartender, who was hanging something up. 

Danthi, with her greying hair pulled back into a tight bun and a towel over her shoulder, immediately shot up to look at her. Her hazel eyes locked onto her.

Frya pulled down the cloth over her face. "Danthi-" She sucked in a panicked breath. 

"Oh Fyra! What's got you so panicked, you look like you've seen a ghost!" She immediately gushed out, coming down off of the ladder to her side.

"There's a Mandalorian after me." She said, trying to reign in her fear. "I don't know how he found me but-"

Danthi gently grasped her arms, standing in front of her. "Calm down, breathe." She said, voice soothing. She started to lead her behind the bar. "Hey, you two!" She yelled at the two sitting near the door. "Whoever distracts the Mandalorian gets free drinks for the next month." She barked out.

The two aliens grinned. Downed their drinks. They cracked their necks, then walked outside, casually, as if not going up to face a Mandalorian bounty hunter. 

Danthi turned back to her. "We knew this would eventually happen, right?" She said, continuing to lead her around the bar. Pushing open the half door, she led her in. 

"Yes, but I didn't think it'd happen so soon- I just came back here not that long ago." She breathed out, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"There's a trapdoor leading to underground tunnels. Follow it, straight, 'till it dead-ends. You'll find a transport droid that'll take you to a port." She ducked under the bar, grabbing a canvas bag, giving it to her. "Take this and run." 

Fyra was overwhelmed with emotion, with information. She tried to control it, letting the Force in to try and let it wash over her again. "But what if he comes in here?" 

She gave a shrug, a grin growing on her face. "I'm not scared of any man, let alone a Mandalorian." She tucked Fyra's scarf better atop her head. "You need to go. Let this be your payment for helping us." She said. "Let us help you, just this once." 

"Danthi-" 

She pulled Fyra into a tight, quick hug, before pulling back. She pulled out the key from under the collar of her shirt, unlocking the trapdoor.

It looked dark, dimly lit. Like a dungeon or a tomb for the dead, dust and dirt spewing out down below.

Looking back up to Danthi, she gave one more look. "Thank you." She breathed out. 

"Go. May the Force be with you." She smiled, giving one last squeeze of Fyra's arms. 

They could hear yelling outside. An argument. She could sense the rising danger just outside the cantina doors.

"Come on, Mando! Don't you ever take a day off and drink?!" 

"You think there's a living bein' under that armor or do you think he is the armor?"

The two women locked eyes again, and Danthi all but pushed her down the trapdoor. 

She landed on her feet, half stumbling, with a cloud of dust, dirt, and sand shooting up around her. Jerking her head back up, she got one last look at Danthi's confident, grinning face, before it was sealed back up.

And she was left in complete darkness.

Swallowing thickly, she took in a steadying breath. Letting it out, she reached to her side for the silver-hilted weapon she kept at her side. Her fingers ran over the worn but familiar buttons, but she did not ignite it. Instead, she reached for the flashlight she kept on her belt.

Yellow flickering light ignited in the tunnel as the flashlight came to life. It casted shadows against the walls, down the endless tunnels. Little creatures of the darkness slithered back into it, hissing and clicking noises following as they disappeared back into their darkness.

Ignoring the shiver that ran up her spine, she slid her scarf back over her face. She started walking down the tunnel, heading straight and true as Danthi told her. She tried to keep her memories in check. She was not being left behind in a tomb. She was not being abandoned by her Master. 

There was, however, someone hunting her down once more.

She could sense danger up above her and she had no doubt that it was the Mandalorian. Quickening her steps, she continued down the tunnel, trying to keep herself calm and grounded. She had to keep moving, had to keep going. 

Reaching the end of the tunnel, she heard a noise that made her heart drop to her stomach. It was the sound of flame, and then, metal melting. 

She turned off the light, sliding it back onto her holster, swift. Jumping up onto the ladder, she could hear the metal trapdoor being melted, falling away and crashing to the ground. She pushed away any and all thoughts about Danti being hurt. She couldn't. She couldn't let herself slow or let Danthi's efforts go in vain to get her out safe.

She was fine. She had to be.

Rapidly, she climbed up the ladder, using her shoulder to try and open it. "Dank ferrik!" She hissed out when it didn't budge. With a lift of her hand, she swiped it across the lock. 

A click resounded and it flung open. 

She pulled herself up and out, finding herself in another alleyway, on the outskirts of town. Heaving for air as she pulled herself up, she saw the transport droids with the sandships, hovering and waiting. 

Shoving the trapdoor back, with a loud, resounding SLAM and another flick of her wrist, it locked behind her, sealing it shut. She bolted toward the ship, not caring if anyone was out to see her frantic movements. 

She slid to a stop in front of the sandship, wide eyes, heaving chest, looking at the R2 droid in the ship.

"I need to get to the port. Now." She commanded.

It beeped in response. A question of where she wanted to go.

"Doesn't matter. Closest one. One that can get me off-planet." She retorted, hopping into the sandship, tying the bag Danthi had given her around her back and under her shoulder. 

Within seconds, she was taking off, zooming across the dry, hot desert. She felt the blaster before she heard it, the heat flying past her ear.

She gasped, ducking down immediately, head shooting back to look behind them. 

The Mandalorian had made it out, standing with a blaster in hand. A shiver raced down her spine as their gazes locked. 

He fired again, and she did not hesitate to use the Force to project an invisible shield around them. 

The droid screamed in fear and the ship dipped to the side, swerving. She slammed into the side of the ship with a forceful exhale.

She sucked in a fast breath, pain in her ribs. "It's alright!" She yelled to the little droid, breathless from the impact. "I got you, keep going!" 

The droid sped along, and she used the Force to protect them from any other blaster shots, seemingly redirecting them as they flew past them.

The Mandalorian's form, shining and reflecting the dying suns' light, stared her down, slowly lowering the blaster as he grew smaller and smaller behind her. 

She knew, without a doubt, he was not giving up. Mandalorians, as they were, never gave up, never stopped, until they were dying. This would not be the last time she saw him. She only hoped she was far enough way when she did that she could escape him again.

With the rising stars and moon above, she could only hope to the Force that she'd have the strength to keep one step ahead. That the universe would guide her where she needed to go.

As he disappeared with the town growing steadily smaller and smaller, she let the town, and its' people, go from her heart. She would hold their kindness in her chest, but she knew she probably would never be able to come back again.

The life of a Jedi in this galaxy would never be safe.

all writing is my own. please do not redistribute, repost, or share on other platforms. thank you

[a-j-s-the-only]

sometimes war is necessary

even if it’s against myself?

[stupidfuckingwindow]

It's so fucking sickening to me, honestly, how proud Zionists really are of the war crimes they support. I've seen so many comments now on YouTube, supporting the Israeli Government and defending it with their lives.

This was on a post about the deaths caused by Palestinian schools, children, and teachers being bombed.

The irony of supporting a genocide while making claims that the ones being targeted and murdered are the perpetrators, is insane to me. Being uninformed is not an excuse. It does not take much effort to educate yourself on this situation and to understand that this is murder on a massive scale.

Even if you cannot donate at this time or do much to help, the least one can do is learn about what has been happening for decades, and spread the message to others.

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Okay so remember in like episode 4 when Mon Mothma has a talk with Luthen in the back of the museum-shop and she told him "Don't lecture me on vulnerability. No one is more at risk than I am. You think I haven't thought this through? I'd be the first one to fall."

And remember how in episode 5, Mon Mothma was planning and trying to reorganise a party while Cassian and the team were planning and trying to reorganise a heist against the Empire?

And remember how in episode 6, Taramyn and Gorn and Nemik died, and Cassian had to run away again, and everything was heavy and painful for these people who fought first line?

And remember how in episode 7, Luthen sent Vel to kill Cassian but Cassian was assaulted by a sandtrooper then a protocol droid then arrested and incarcerated without trial, while Mon Mothma was at a party in the comfort of her house, whispering about money and secret rebellions to her friend with a smile on her face and an expensive dress on her back?

And how in episode 8, while Cassian was imprisoned, physically tortured by an electrifying/ paralysing device, working 12h shifts day after day, eating liquid tasteless food through a tube and forced to take a "shower" at the same time as all the other naked prisoners; and while Paak was being brutally arrested and tortured for information; and while Bix was also being arrested and about to be tortured for information; Mon Mothma was at a party in the comfort of her home, an expensive dress on her back, her hair neatly brushed, sharing a drink and smiles with Empire enthousiasts and political enemies? People she seemed to despise a few episodes prior?

Remember?

[bittyfromquotev]

The Noise

He didn’t care.

It was too loud.

Everyone at the return parade to celebrate their victory in the war was having fun, but Sun didn’t care.

He wanted the noise to stop.

The sound of drums and trumpets and other instruments vibrated with power in his chest, rattling the metal and wires within his scarred body. He pushed his even more ruined brother along in a wheelchair as if he was nothing more than a S.T.A.F.F. Bot. He kept moving even though all he wanted to do was run away and hide. He wanted quiet. The large band parted eventually, forcing Sun to roll a crippled Moon and himself through the tunnel of noise.

The band grew ten times louder than before, blaring into Sun’s audio sensors and forcing him to hunch over. He tried to stand straight again for the people, he really tried, but he couldn’t. It’s as if his joints rusted in place.

He pursed what would be his lips together, biting on the soft material that made up his tongue. He would get through this even if he had to be reset because of the delayed reactions to his panic this would bring.

The band wouldn’t stop. As the rest of the military branches followed behind Sun and the army, the noise got increasingly louder. The civilians at the parade cheered with all their might every time someone announced something on the booming microphone. Images of a hospital flashed though Sun’s mind. A hospital. Snow. Red snow. The screams of the Ukrainian victims. The ones he and his comrades were unable to save. Moon’s leg, lying mangled in the dirty snow several yards away from who it belonged to. Instead of the overjoyed faces that were actually there, Sun saw faces of fading hope.

The faces of defeat that were plastered on the victims of the war.

His grip on Moon’s wheelchair tightened as he looked on. Luckily, it wasn’t long before they all came to a stop. The military that walked, the band that played, the people that cheered.

It all stopped.

However sudden it was, the relief was obvious as soon as his sensors processed the silence.

Sun didn’t care for Moon’s concerned gaze trained on him as he breathed a sigh of relief.

All was quiet.

He would be okay.

[deadpuppetboi]

So you think manhunt gangs would come together for movie marathon, Which movies do you think would be each gang's favorite?

I've tried hard to have to make this as accurate as possible, knowing their erratic personalities and such.

The Hoodz - Heat (1995)

Various movies encapsulate not only a bank robbery but how intense a shootout is such as Heat.

The Hoodz have had their fair share of bank robberies (even the ones with a badge) and have had times where they didn't know if they were going to make it. They take notes but share a good beer while at it, reminiscing on the ‘good old times.’

The Innocentz - Scarface (1983)

This movie has it all.

Drugs, gang wars, corruption, death, murder, and the disillusionment of The American Dream. Coming from immigrant parents or being immigrants themselves, The Innocentz (or some of them) found themselves in Tony Montana’s shoes. They want to hit it big and become the next drug lord like that one guy in Liberty City. Then again, they all love to reference ‘Say hello to my little friend’ whenever they watch the movie and laugh about it like the coked-up druggies they are.

The Smileys - The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland (1999)

The image of them SCREAMING at the screen in complete despair over Elmo losing his blanket is something I can see them doing.

It's what I did when I was younger so I can see every member doing the same and cursing any other character who bothered Elmo in the slightest. They take their valuables very seriously, especially Barry who holds his ‘daughters’ close to his heart, threatening anyone who dares to even touch them.

The Wardogs - All Quiet On The Western Front (1930)

There's a scene where the main character Paul is asked by his Professor to tell young men about his heroism and patriotism when he served in the war. At first Paul is hesitant as he has so words to say before he finally tells them the truth. The real truth. There is death. There is murder. There is no mercy. That is all.

“It’s dirty and painful to die for your country.”

And everyone calls him a traitor, a coward, an embarrassment of a soldier who should be proud to serve his country.

It's an anti-war movie, sure, but it stays with The Wardogs constantly even when they remember walking back to their hometowns after serving their time overseas.

Cerberus - Se7en (1995)

Let's be honest, these guys have faced the worst of the worst in their line of work.

They may work with Starkweather but they work with all sorts of stupid rich assholes who cause even the worst of crimes to each other. All because of the dumbest feuds, the mishandling of expensive products, and the greed of collecting the greens. Se7en displays a world they've seen countless times whether it be in their ‘normal’ job or the job they take shooting down who is against their boss. They’ve seen detectives look too far into their work, serial killers who tore into men/women/children for their sick desires, innocent people in the wrong place and time, and watch as the life in their lives fades away.

So a serial killer who bases his killings on the seven deadly sins is not far from what Cerberus has faced by far.

CCPD - Maniac Cop (1988)

Sometimes these guys watch even the most ridiculous films centered around cops just for the hell of it.

Whether it be for fun, to live through a power fantasy, or even just to watch countless people (innocent or not) die in horrific ways, it's still a classic for the whole precinct to watch this movie or watch the series in general. Watching a dead cop go on a killing spree across New York City while simultaneously setting fear into the hearts of men and women alike just brings absolute joy to the gang as a whole.

It's a classic, classics never die.

SWAT - Falling Down (1993)

All it takes is one bad day.

I’m sure that rigorous training, having to support a family with blood money, having to work with a very disgusting man who runs a snuff film industry, and having to kill people whether they were innocent or not will demonstrate some problems.

You get frustrated.

Upset.

Angry.

You want to be able to have things go your way but you can't and everyone looks at you like you’re selfish for it. You want to have a normal life and have a normal family outing but you’re plagued with images of corpses being rigorously shot at a far or close distance, their insides painting the walls. You feel like you’re going to lose it by your wife asking for more money, your kids wanting a new toy, or even the traffic blocking your way to your ‘regular’ job. You're going to lose your mind and you’re one bad thing away from grabbing that gun and letting lose on everyone who ever put their doubt into you.

But give the SWAT some credit, at least they have each other to vent out their frustrations when the pressure becomes too much.

The Skinz - None

No one asked them. No one likes them. They weren't even invited. If they rode up they’d be met with a rain of bullets.

Bonus!!!

The Camheadz - 8mm (1999)

This movie is about a snuff film.

I mean, I feel like this gang in particular plays a huge part in Mr. Nasty’s snuff films not because their heads are cameras but because I feel like each one of them has a distinct style in general.

Like, one wants to go after women, another goes after men, another the homeless, and so on. They all have their tapes, each inserted into their camera heads to record their best moments and to either save for themselves or to sell for a few more bucks. But let's be honest, they keep the tapes for themselves, just for personal reasons.

So to have a film perfectly demonstrates their lifestyle, even if it doesn't get everything right, it does play well into how deprived human beings can be just to get what they want.

The Clownz - It (1990)

I mean, duh, what else would they watch?

They saw the miniseries and studied the book like it was the Bible just to increase their obsession like the white-painted fiends that they are. Speaking out lines from the alien creature clown itself to either scare children or grown men alike.

We all float down here, Cash.

The Jury - Punishment Park (1971)

Imagine a world during the Vietnam War when President Nixon decreed that those who were ‘anti-war’ would be detained and forced to either spend time in jail or spend three days out in the desert being hunted down by police so that they may reclaim their so-called ‘freedom.’

That is Punishment Park.

A pseudo-documentary film that was highly controversial for its political views but is now highly regarded for taking a stance against the government. It seems like the kind of movie for The Jury knowing how they seem to take the law into their hands, display their political views, and see the movie like the manhunts they frequently did.

The Lost - Dark Days (2000)

Numerous movies depict the harsh and despairing reality of homelessness for those who are homeless.

It's a cold reality that millions of people face from the most remote or even the most popular of places. Always forgotten, always left behind, and always left in the dark. The Lost can heavily relate to this scenario not only because of the various reasons why and how they became the way they are and how. It's a normal day and night for Carcer City, just as bland and bleak as it has always been.

They can only dream of becoming as rich as Starkweather is but they’ll accept what they’re given, they don't have a choice.