#thelastranger

[the-thursday]

OTP for the fandom ask!

I think it's no secret that I am huge fan of Craltine, I so love them asdjajagsh

[artanogon]

Fav au idea for Stigal?

ahhhh man. hard question

i don’t usually vibe with aus but— i feel like a canon divergent au (obviously, bc fuck flanagan) or a modern au set in sweden could vibe (i was writing a fucking fic abt that) 

but yea im pretty chill with the canon lads if flanny could fucking WRITE

[scribbling-albatross]

#4 for the fic meme

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

*deep breath* oh God there are so many. Off the top of my head I can think of five.

One if them that I really like is a crossover between Living in Borrowed Time and @meridiansdominoes 's Dominoes fic, because I'm WILDLY self-indulgent and also because if Fives, Rex, and Ahsoka got together post-time travel, Sideous would be dead in a matter of minutes.

[solarishashernoseinabook]

1 for RA!

1. if you could hit any character without repercussions, who would it be? Ferris! Because fuck Ferris! :D

Link to the ask game if you want to play!

[araluen-arrows]

4. Unadvised please?

The Queen’s eyebrows knit closer and closer together as she skimmed farther down the latest report from Caraway. Farmers overburdened with tax. Northwest villages on brink of famine. Children begging in larger towns. 

She read to the bottom and realized that the report wasn’t even from the Baron, probably because he would have never authorized it. No, it had been meticulously drawn up by a village headwoman who had managed to see Caraway’s unjust system for what it was. Cassandra made a note of the woman’s name for future reference. She also made a note of the Baron’s name for more immediate reference. 

“Your Majesty?” the messenger asked, worried by the lack of reponse from the Queen, that he would be punished as the bearer of bad news.

Cassandra looked up distractedly, then noticed the poor man was still kneeling on the floor. “Oh! My apologies, Martin. You’re free to go.” 

“My Queen.” With a final bow, he turned and backed out of the room, never turning his back on her. 

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to his delivered report and slumped lower in her chair. “Formalities, formalities. I have no time for court protocol. I have a nation to run.”

“All due respect, my lady,” said Lord Peter, one of her advisors, “but not only are these formalities tradition, they help cement the authority of your office and the authority of the Crown.” 

“I do not require you to parrot the words of my childhood tutor, lord,” Cassandra said frostily. “I know perfectly well the necessity of protocol.”  Protocol that Lord Peter had technically breached by addressing her as “my lady”, but the man had always been a hypocrite. Currently, she had larger problems than overbearing advisors. 

“Now,” she said, forestalling his reply. “Lord Anthony, does this report from Caraway seem accurate?”

Anthony glanced at the report, then at the treasury records of Castle Caraway and Castle Araluen. He hesitated. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then,” Cassandra said quietly, “would anyone like to explain to me why all tax income from the northwest is coming from the common people? No money from the nobility at all?”

“My lady, have you stopped to consider that the population of the commoners is over twenty times larger than—”

Cassandra managed to refrain from throttling some sense into Lord Peter. That was the problem with nobility at Castle Araluen, she thought. They were too cloistered, too removed from the outer reaches of the country, and they failed to remember the humanity of the ones they taxed. The people were not a source of income or men-at-arms. They were—well, they were people.  

“Have you stopped to consider,” she said, each word weighed down with thinly veiled contempt and anger, “that the nobility is far more than twenty times richer than the common man? That the way they earn their money in the first place is by bleeding their people dry?”

No one dared to meet her eyes. Cassandra took a deep breath, wondering if she’d overstepped. There was a fine line she had to walk when addressing her senior advisors. She couldn’t afford to lose their support and weaken her already tenuous grip on the court. 

Lord Anthony consulted his papers again. He cleared his throat cautiously. “Ah, Your Majesty—there’s the small matter of King Herbert’s treaty with Caraway Fief in 497 CE.”

“Enlighten me.” Cassandra realized her hands were clenched too tightly around the report, so she deliberately set it on the table. She schooled her expression into a blank slate and managed to push back most of her frustration. For now. 

“Fine details aside, the King agreed to waive land taxes on Caraway in exchange for loyalty in the war against Picta, Your Majesty. But because the law requires a tax of ten silver reels from each fief per fifty persons, the money has to come from somewhere.” 

Several lords and ladies widened their eyes at the implication. Lord Peter remained stony-faced: probably because he was exactly the type of man that would turn a blind eye to this sort of thing, Cassandra thought. 

“Then am I correct in concluding that the treaty benefits only the nobility, because most common farmers don’t own the land they work, Lord Anthony?” she asked. 

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” Anthony acknowledged the truth with a grim nod. “Most of the tax in Caraway is therefore levied on the harvest even before a share of it goes to the lords and their knights.”

Cassandra mentally berated herself for not having realized this earlier. She had a responsibility to her citizens, and not noticing or stopping injustice was the same thing as perpetuating it. She should have done better. 

In her head, she also thought some very uncomplementary things about the baron of Caraway and wished she could say them to his face. Maybe she ought to send a forcefully worded carrier pigeon. 

“Then hear my decree,” she said instead, reaching for a pen and some parchment. She read aloud slowly as she wrote: “All harvests are thereafter to be taxed only after they are collected. No tax is to be derived from the farmer’s share of the crop. Deductions for Harvest Day may only be made if aforementioned holiday is directly paid for by the baron and his nobles. The fees levied on market transactions will remain in place.” 

She signed her name at the bottom with a flourish and handed it to the chamberlain.  “Lord Anthony, I will rely on you to figure out the new figures that Caraway nobles must pay. The Scribeschool can help with the wording of the final amendment.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Anthony struck his staff against the flagstones. “Consider it done.” 

“Your Majesty!” Lord Peter burst out, blindsided by the current turn of events. “This is violating the letter of the treaty! It is unadvised—”

Cassandra’s self-control snapped. “What is unadvised, my lord, is to continue talking when your contributions are so obviously unwanted. If the nobility has qualms about paying their fair share, they’re welcome to join the class of the common people.” 

Luckily for Peter’s career, he desisted, turning an admirable shade of puce that clashed horribly with his red robes. “I—You—yes, Your Majesty,” he said finally. 

And Cassandra was forced to admit that that gave her almost—almost—as much satisfaction as the newly amended law.

[artanogon]

The Treasure Along the Way for the fic title!

will is old, and nearing the end of his life. he sits one final time in his old ranger cabin with his former apprentices, and tells them stories of his life, and everything he did, and everyone he met. he tells them about his friends, his lovers, his now passed-away mentor and father figure, halt. he reminisces on it to himself, and looks to his grown apprentices, and then he thinks of the future. 

[artanogon]

For the character ask thing, Halt

Favourite thing about him: 

he always seems like he’s such a grump but he’s just a big ol’ softie who just wants his adopted sons to be happy and stop asking him so many questions

also, his snark. he has a snarky line for everything and it’s great

Least favourite thing about him: 

the fact that he seems to be Physically Incapable of taking a break. he could get stabbed in the stomach and be trying to sit up two minutes later going “let’s get moving”. somebody please stop him

Favourite line: 

“Why does this boy ask so many questions?” He asked the trees. 

Naturally, they didn’t answer. 

(he’s just so exasperated and so very dad in this scene) 

brOTP

probably cralt, or his very snappy/snarky friendship with Erak. mostly cralt. 

OTP

probably also cralt. I’m a sucker for friends-to-lovers ships

nOTP

Halt/Will. why would anyone ship this??? why???

Random headcanon: 

he cuts his hair with his saxe knife because Ferris was always fixated on getting a “proper haircut”, so it started out of spite and has now just become habit 

Song I associate with him: 

I Am a Rock by Simon and Garfunkel (ironically, mostly)

Favourite picture of him: 

@whydowehavehands‘s day 25 RA inktober piece: https://whydowehavehands.tumblr.com/post/188589833228/inktober-day-25-tasty-one-of-them-decks-the

[inevitabletruth]

Look what just arrived in the mail! It's my Valentine's Day Gnocchi package from Virtual Experiences and Six Feet Films - Antiviral Film Project Fundraiser!! #avfp #sixfeetfilms #thelastranger #fundraiser #virtualexperiences #valentinesday https://www.instagram.com/p/CZz9WXwp-eg/?utm_medium=tumblr