#Frontline War Stories | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivid-ink · 8 months

Text

Kinktober #1 - Handjob "Mission Accomplished"

fem!HumanReader x Neteyam or Lo'ak (you pick! 😉)

Summary: You've been asked to fill in for Norm on one of his Na'vi patient observations, except this isn't any old observation appointment... You need to collect a semen sample and the appointment doesn't go at all to professional plan...

Warnings: 🔞 Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Happy Kinktober everyone! 😁 I'm late with this prompt as it was completely unplanned. I got inspired late last night after posting Part 4 of 'The Love Shack' and this is what my brain spat out! As usual, my inability to write short drabbles means that what was meant to be a short, sweet kink-scene turned out to be 4.6k. I've not used any names in this piece, so you're free to imagine either Neteyam or Lo'ak as the male lead in this. Enjoy the spice ya'll!

Tagging some mooties who may be interested (no pressure though): @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @adrianarose7 @vintaqestar @eyweveng @qcswrites @daeneeryss @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @teymars @neteluvr @sulieykte @teyamsatan

And OMG (I feel absolutely rotten for overlooking this until now) - Thank you to the incredible @cinetrix for her render of Neteyam which I've used in the story cover.

You swallowed tightly as Dr Blaise briefed you around the purpose of today’s observation and what was required of you. Your heart was galloping in your chest and you could feel yourself breaking out into a nervous sweat. It amazed you how unconcerned and unaffected she was about the whole thing.

“It’s a simple observation. We’re looking for any key physical differences in appearance, as well as any differences in physiological function.” Dr Blaise stated casually, “No swabs or bloods needed today. Just some notes, photos, and a semen sample. There are sample collection jars in the consultation bay already.”

A semen sample… Good Lord, she said that with all the nonchalance of someone asking for a saliva sample. Though you figured that’s what medical professionalism was all about, right? No awkwardness, no emotion, just plain science and fact.

When Dr Norm Spellman had said that he was writing a book about Pandoran Biology and Na’vi Physiology, you’d jumped at the opportunity to be involved. After all, Pandora was your home. It was the only home you’d ever known. As one of the only two human babies to be born on Pandora, you and Spider were the only generation of humans who’d never known the dying mother planet Earth.

Unlike Spider though who had taken to life on Pandora like a duckling to water, scaling trees, swinging from branches and pretty much adopting himself into the Omatikaya clan, you weren’t anywhere near as outgoing. You’d stuck to the medical labs and the avatar camp for majority of your life, rarely venturing out into the wilderness except to accompany the other scientists on their excursions. Perhaps the only similarity you shared with Spider was that you too were an orphan of war. Your parents had been on the frontlines of the battle between Toruk Makto and the RDA, and they’d met their maker on that fateful day.

You were just an intern currently, but the older staff and scientists were more than willing to teach you. Doing lab observations, drawing blood and other lab technician work was your job, so this morning’s appointment shouldn’t have been any different. And yet it was.

You’d never had to collect a semen sample before.

“Patient is a young unmated male, 23 years of age. Fit. Occupation is hunter-warrior. No pre-existing medical conditions and no recent injuries.” Dr Blaise rationally, handing you the clipboard and pen, “The patient has also been briefed about this appointment, so he knows what to expect and he’s aware he needs to produce a sample.”

“Right, understood.” You mumbled and the words were slightly hoarse. You cleared your throat, dislodging the sticky lump of uneasiness there.

Sensing your discomfort, Dr Blaise placed a heartening hand on your shoulder. Her eyes were kind and the crows’ feet at their corners crinkled as she smiled, “Look, the patient is friendly with the team, one of Jake Sully’s sons actually. So you needn’t worry about any hostility. You’ve done numerous observations and collected all sorts of samples. This is no different. It’s only awkward if you’re awkward. Besides, I’m sure you can understand why Dr Spellman didn’t want to conduct this particular observation himself, what with them being family friends and all.”

A giggle and snort left you at the humorous thought and you found you had to agree. Dr Blaise chuckled alongside you. It would definitely be ten times more awkward if the patient and medical professional were familiar with each other during this observation.

The fleeting moment of hilarity eased the nervous roil in your belly. Tucking your pen into the breast pocket of your lab coat, you took a deep breath and nodded, “Ok, I’ve got this. Thanks Dr Blaise.”

With two thumbs up and a wink, Dr Blaise turned and left you to depart down the corridor, her black pump heels clicking neatly across the hard floor.

Turning to the wall, you grabbed an exopack kit and hooked it to the leather belt around your hips. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you positioned the mask over your face and returned to the doorway that led into the consultation bay. The doorway was tall, much taller than you were used to. All the consultation bays were built big enough with high enough ceilings to accommodate the Na’vi and the avatars. While the main ventilation in the compound was suited to human lungs, the consultation bays were fitted with ventilation to suit their Pandoran patients. Scanning your ID card on the panel of blinking lights on your right, the door slid open with a hiss and you stepped into the bay.

The first thing that always hit you when you entered any of the consultation bays was the sterile scent of it. After a couple of years working here you’d think you’d have got used to it, but every single time the smell was like a synthetic slap to your senses. You wrinkled your nose in distaste. Everything smelled so chemical; too clean and too artificial. It was no wonder the Na’vi didn’t like being in here. If the smell was strong to your human nose, you could only imagine how much more potent it was to their heightened senses.

The second thing to hit you this morning was the sight of the magnificent creature that was standing in the corner of the bay, peering at the various medical models, instruments and books in the wall-mounted glass cabinet. He’d been facing away from you at first, but the sound of your footsteps had caught his attention and he turned to face you then.

A genial smile stretched across his face and he greeted you in a voice that was deep and warm, “Good morning, doctor.”

His use of English surprised you and while his words were accented, his pronunciation was clear. Go figure that Jake Sully would’ve taught his children to speak his mother tongue.

You gave a clumsy laugh and you were quick to correct your patient, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an intern. I’m just filling in for Dr Spellman for this observation.”

Your patient grinned toothily at you and gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, although his tone was teasing when he replied, “Alright Dr ‘Just-An-Intern’, where would you like me?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your throat at his playful demeanour. You smiled at him. He was charming this one, handsome too. Like all Na’vi, he towered well above you in height at approximately nine and a half feet. Though you noted that he was very well-built. Courtesy of being a warrior, you supposed. Yes, he was muscular in all the places you appreciated in a male… You silently reprimanded yourself for your unprofessional thoughts.

“Just take a seat on that gurney for me.” You replied, gesturing towards the make-shift bed against the wall. Retrieving your pen, you began to scan through the notes at the top of the form on the clipboard, double-checking the patient’s details and ensuring everything on it was as it should be.

“Ah, do you want me to take my tewng (loincloth) off?”

Suddenly remembering the aim of the observation again, you felt hot blood rush to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment, “Umm, yes please.” And in a bid to stop your embarrassment running away with your courage, you launched into a rambling outline of the appointment agenda, “Today’s appointment is an observation around Na’vi male genitalia and sexual function. I’m going to need to make some notes and take some photographs of you, both in a r-relaxed and a-aroused state, and I’m going to need to collect a s-semen sample. If you feel uncomfortable at any point…”

He watched you attentively as you babbled onward, the smooth skin of your face and neck taking on a ruddy and flushed hue. He smiled to himself. You were shy and today’s agenda clearly made you uneasy. He felt a twinge of empathy for you. His father had told him that humans were private about matters of the body, especially where it came to sex and pleasure. The Na’vi held no such restraints; sexual freedom was celebrated.

He’d already removed his tewng and had perched himself on the gurney as instructed, unbothered and uncaring of his own nakedness. He was quietly enjoying your discomfort, but not in a rude or condescending manner. He actually found your unease rather endearing.

“Any questions?” Your prattling came to a finish and you took a deep inhale as if you’d squeezed every last ounce of oxygen out of your lungs rushing to finish your speech without taking another breath.

He graced you with another charming smile, “No. You may proceed.”

Willing yourself to get a grip, you walked on slightly shaky legs to the desk in the corner and plucked the glass tablet from its stand and returned to place it on the end of the gurney. You kept your eyes lowered to your clipboard, filling in the date and the time. You could see the striped cobalt of his muscular legs in your peripheral vision where he sat with his shins dangling off the gurney. For the meantime, you dared not glance any higher than his thighs…

Your eyes moved to a set of highlighted bullet points in the middle of the page that indicated questions the patient had to be asked.

You read the first question aloud, its meaning registering simultaneously in your brain as the words left your lips, “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

You fought the mortification that threatened to consume you and your mind struck up a chant of ‘stay professional, stay professional’ in your head.

“Yesterday morning.” His answer was composed.

“And was that with a partner or was it self-stimulated?” Fuck, maybe you should’ve read the questions before coming in for the observation…

“It was self-stimulated.”

“And do you have a preference for male partners, female partners, or both?”

“Female. Definitely female.”

His voice was a smooth, velvety rumble. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in his tone stroked over you like an invisible caress that made something clench in your lower belly. You scribbled his answers on the page in a messy scrawl that had more to do with your nerves than your actual style of handwriting.

He continued to observe you as you worked. Your knuckles were pale where your left hand gripped hold of the clipboard and you were so focused, almost concentrating too hard on what you were writing. Nose twitching quietly, he parted his lips and scented the air around. The artificial smell of the bay was unpleasant, but a sweeter and much more appealing smell was filling the vicinity now. Your scent.

The blush on your skin remained and he was sure that if he reached out to touch you that your skin would be hot to the touch where your blood had rushed to the surface. He could smell hints of your perspiration and he could also detect a musky and moist feminine undertone. You were attracted to him… His masculine pride delighted in the realisation. Despite your human form, he found you attractive too.

Finishing up your notes, you settled the clipboard down on the gurney and mentally prepared yourself for the ‘looking’ part of the observation.

Eyes still glued to the brown leather of the gurney’s mattress, you declared your next action, “Alright, just stay relaxed for me with your thighs slightly parted. I’m going to begin the physical part of the observation now.”

“Sure.”

Your gaze travelled from the beautiful stripes on his outer thighs inward to the slightly paler blue of his inner thighs and finally, up to his groin. Suddenly, you didn’t understand why you were so nervous about this. He looked fairly… normal? Apart from the general larger size of everything and the blue hue of his skin, everything was as expected. Feeling a little braver now, you grabbed the glass tablet and took a couple of photos and then set it down to return to your clipboard.

“Is everything the same?” He asked out of the blue, “Same as with human males, I mean.”

You looked to his face instinctively and found his amber eyes trained on you, “Ah yes, more or less. Penis, foreskin, testes; everything expected is there and I haven’t noted any real differences in physiology apart from the lack of hair, but that’s consistent with the lack of body hair all Na’vi have apart from on your heads and tail tufts.”

Following the words down the clipboard sheet you came to a section that was titled ‘Texture and Sensitivity’. You paused. How the fuck were you supposed to assess those? The section didn’t have any required questions or sample questions to help you, and no suggestions either, just a space for you to jot down your notes. You looked from your patient’s body and then to his face, and when he gave you a small smile, your gaze shot back down to your clipboard sheet in embarrassment. Texture and sensitivity were tactile aspects. You didn’t really understand how you could assess them without touching the patient.

Evidently you were taking too long in your deliberation, because your patient’s voice sounded again with a gentle query, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to work out how to assess the next bit.” You apologised sheepishly. You weren’t doing a very good job of appearing collected, you realised.

“What’s the next part?”

“Texture and sensitivity. So, what it feels like and which parts respond the most to touch.” You stated in as even a voice as possible. You huffed out a laugh then and shrugged, “It’s a tricky one because they’re tactile observations and I don’t know how to assess them when you can’t touch the patient.”

“Why can’t you touch the patient?” His response was clearly a surprise to you and he couldn’t suppress his grin as you goggled at him in shock, “You can touch me if it will enable you to do your job.”

You were almost about to say that you couldn’t possibly do that, but you stopped yourself. You were a med-science professional. The patient was consenting and your research required you to perform a physical examination. In a professional capacity, there was no reason you couldn’t touch the patient to achieve the intended outcome of the examination.

You remembered Dr Blaise’s words: It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Fuck, you needed to swallow a bucket of concrete and toughen up. The sooner you completed this observation, the sooner you would be out of this uncomfortable situation.

Nodding resolutely, you agreed, “Alright, but you will guide me with your own hands. That way I can be assured that you’re only leading me where you’re comfortable to be examined.”

Your patient dipped his head in agreement, the tuft of his tail curling and uncurling charmingly on the gurney next to him. You set your clipboard down and moved to position yourself before him, standing between his knees. You lifted your eyes to his and they locked with his gentle gaze. Tentatively you offered him your hand and he took it, his large palm and long fingers engulfing it easily.

“So first up, texture?” He reminded, and you nodded.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his crotch and settled your hand over the shaft of his cock. It was very warm beneath your palm. Gently, your fingers tested the slightly springy flesh, noting how smooth and silken his skin was. At this closer proximity, you noticed that there was also spattering of bioluminescent freckles on the shaft. You made a mental note of that.

You touched the base of his cock, gingerly feeling around the length of it and you asked, “What’s the sensitivity like here?”

“I can feel it, but it’s not intense or anything. It’s more sensitive up here.” He guided your fingers nearer to the tip and you stifled a small gasp when he assisted you in pushing his foreskin back to reveal the smooth, dark purple head of his cock.

You’d never interacted with a naked man this close, human or Na’vi, and you certainly had never touched one in such an intimate place. Your body was starting to tingle in various places; in very unprofessional places. It was a surreal situation to be in and you found that you felt oddly calmer now than you were a few minutes ago.

Trailing the pads of your fingers over the smooth tip, you found it was moist and a little slippery. Your thumb tested the underside of it, “Sensation?”

A quiet hiss left him and you instinctively attempted to move your hand away, but his hold over your wrist kept it there, “That’s sensitive. That feels good.”

Your heart was still thumping and your cheeks were still warm, but it wasn’t nerves anymore that were causing your reaction. God, his skin was so soft and so warm… Your curiosity was growing now; your innate desire to explore taking hold of you.

You traced the raised rim of his cock head with your thumb and forefinger, watching as your patient emitted a rumbling groan. His hold on your wrist tightened and he began to move your hand over him. You intuitively wrapped your fingers around his cock. You felt entranced almost, caught up in the moment as you unwittingly began to enjoy the feel of him in your grasp.

The hot flesh in your hand was growing, elongating and engorging as the stimulation aroused him. You watched, amazed, as it swelled to its full capacity. The fingers and thumb of your hand could no longer meet each other. The girth of his cock was easily the same width as your forearm and by your approximations, it looked like it had also more than doubled in length from its relaxed state.

The erect shaft had lengthened out of his foreskin and it was a lovely shade of striated blue all over, except for a paler purple underside and head. In its aroused state, you discovered that while it shared structural similarities to a human male’s genitalia, it also possessed other aspects which were very different. The engorged shaft of his cock was ridged all along its length and as your hand smoothed up and down the column of it, you noted that the ridges were firm and palpable against your hand.

It was the most arousing thing you’d ever seen… Those ridges must feel so good inside for the woman…

You didn’t perceive his eyes on you, watching you as you explored his hard flesh. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even cotton on to the fact that he wasn’t even guiding your hand anymore. He could smell you, smell your arousal dampening between your thighs and the sight of your much smaller hand stroking and squeezing his cock was incredibly sexy.

You ran your enclosed hand in one full stroke from the base of cock and up to the head of it, fascinated by the ridged texture of it and the slippery, bulbous tip. However, your patient emitted a hissing intake of breath then and you jumped a little, snapping out of your thoughts.

“S-Sorry! Is that painful?” You stammered, shooting him a slightly apologetic frown.

He shook his head with a husky chuckle, “No, it’s just very sensitive. A lot more than earlier.”

“Where?” You asked, stroking him from tip to base and back up again.

“Everywhere. The ridges and the head especially.” His voice was notably breathier than before and his breaths were coming quicker, shallower and less even.

“That is fascinating.” You muttered, and your other hand joined in on your exploration. You fondled his balls lightly, observing the weightiness of them.

Your patient grunted and he parted his thighs a bit more. He leaned back to brace his weight on his palms behind him. He gave a small roll of his hips, which caused the top half of his cock to push and pull within your grasp. He moaned and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. When you didn’t object, he continued the motion, thrusting lightly into your hands, both of which were now grasping his length one on top of the other.

Clear and viscous pre-ejaculate began to ooze from his tip, increasing in quantity with each roll of his hips. It was so copious that it was beginning to pool on the backs of your palms and drip down towards your wrist. Lord help you… there was nothing professional anymore about what you were doing… Not that your patient appeared to have any objections…

Still completely spellbound by the situation, your curiosity pushed a murmured query past your lips, “Is there always so much pre-ejaculate?”

“Depends. Generally the more aroused a man is, the more he produces.” He replied and when your bashful gaze lifted to meet his, he smirked wickedly.

You were such a pretty little thing to him, your smaller hands trying their best to keep hold of his slick cock. He knew that this was beyond the normal boundaries of the appointment. He knew that while you would’ve been required to touch him to examine him, stroking him off was probably not anywhere on the agenda. He suspected he was supposed to produce the sample on his own, but looking at you now, so enraptured by his body… How could he have resisted? And besides, he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was, your scent told him so.

You tightened your hold on his cock experimentally, squeezing harder. Each time the swollen head of his cock pushed out of your hands to greet you, you swiped your thumb over the oozing slit on its tip. He was panting heavily now, his impressive abdominals bunching and flexing as he continued to thrust his thick cock through your hold. The bioluminescent freckles that dotted his shaft were glimmering brightly and you never thought you’d ever use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe genitalia, but his cock was gorgeous.

All of him was gorgeous, truth be told…

You were attracted to Na’vi men. Ever since you were old enough to notice the opposite sex, you’d been drawn to male Na’vi. After all, you’d grown up on this moon, inhabited by and surrounded by tall, beautiful Na’vi. The humans who surrounded you at the compound and the camp were your family, and they were all much older. There were no men of your own species to look at or be attracted to. Spider was the only one of your generation and he was like your annoying, gross brother. Your attraction to Na’vi men had been an inevitable result really.

So now as you stood in the consultation bay, between the knees of this striking and aroused Na’vi male while he pumped his cock in and out of your hands, you’d never felt more validated and aroused in your life.

Your patient’s fingers were digging into the squeaky brown leather of the gurney now, straining slightly as his hips continued their onslaught. Your hands and wrists were completely drenched, soaking in his thick pre-cum. The slippery mess caused his cock to squelch obscenely as it slipped through your hold. The whole situation was so sensually explicit and you were never more thankful in your life than you were now that there were no CCTV cameras installed in the consultation bays.

You’d be expelled from your chosen profession for patient abuse… Though by the half-lidded, slack-jawed expression of pleasure on his face, he didn’t look much like he was being unwillingly abused…

A string of Na’vi curses left him then, followed by several panted moans. He abruptly pushed off his palms to sit upright and he stuttered, “W-Where is the container?”

A little stunned by his sudden and urgent tone, you stumbled in your own response, “The w-what? Oh, the sample jar?”

Panting heavily through parted lips, he nodded at you and you pointed to the desk on his left. You saw his gaze follow your eyeline and when he caught sight of the plastic collection jars that sat patiently waiting, he let out a hearty guffaw.

He reached for one and deftly flicked the already loosened lid from its mouth, still chuckling away between his huffing breaths, “It’s so small. You ready, doc?”

“For what?” You asked, realising only as the words left you what a dumb response it was as he handed the sample jar to you.

Your patient smiled at you and it was a salacious leer, all narrowed eyes and pointed canines showing, “You’re about to get your sample.”

One of his hands returned to guide yours, wrapping around your one remaining hand where it encircled his stiff cock. The pace of this rocking thrusts increased and he began to exhale with throaty moans that you swore made your own feminine core throb with desire. Gingerly, you held the collection jar up to him, being extra careful not to drop it.

With two more lurching breaths, his abdominal muscles contracted and his back bowed inward, his entire torso going rigid. You felt his cock harden impossibly before it pulsed and the breath he was holding left him in a coarse growl while his face twisted into an almost pained expression. His cock pulsed again and the first spurt of ejaculate missed the sample jar entirely, landing with a warm splat in the middle of your chest where the frills of your blue blouse peeked out from behind your lab coat. Quickly, his free hand grabbed hold of yours to position the jar better, while his other hand attempted to position his cock so he could shoot straight into it.

He was absolutely breathtaking in the midst of his orgasm. The luminous freckles on his face were twinkling and the striped cobalt skin of his neck and chest was glossy with a sheen of sweat. His cock continued to throb and pulse, emitting rope after rope of thick cum that splattered untidily over the mouth and sides of the sample jar.

You could see why he’d laughed at the size of it. There was no way the small jar could have held the full volume of what he was producing.

Coming down now off the high of his climax, your patient slouched against the wall behind the gurney, breathing hard. He caught your eye and he grinned indolently at you.

The adrenalin and heightened arousal in the atmosphere was fading rapidly now, and cold, hard reality was slowly returning to you. You looked at the pearlescent contents of the sample jar, which was still decently full despite majority of the sample not making it in there. You smiled to yourself.

Mission accomplished and what an exciting mission it was…

Carefully setting the jar down on the flat worktop of the metal sink next to you, you replaced the lid on it with sticky fingers and made a note to thoroughly wipe the jar down later before handing it to the lab techs.

Returning your attention to your patient, you smiled at him, suddenly shy again, “Thank you for your co-operation today. I’ll leave you to clean and freshen up. You can see yourself out after.”

His answering laugh was husky and he dipped his head at you, “I should be thanking you for your co-operation I think, doc.”

“Not a doc, remember?” You grinned at him and you were about to turn on heel to depart into the adjacent washroom when you heard him call out to you again.

“Hey Not-A-Doc, if you ever need another sample, I’m happy to provide another one, whether for med-science research or your own personal research.”

A girlish giggle left you and you felt your face flame again. You shook your head, making your way into the washroom to clean yourself up. He was a naughty one that one…

2K notes · View notes

my-darling-boy · 5 days

Text

(TW injury description)

I am SO glad you asked I lose my mind over this man. Sidney Beldam! He’s most known for his miraculous recovery from a major facial injury sustained while he served as a young sergeant in the First World War. If you’ve read the Facemaker by Lindsay Fitzharris you might recognise him! Sources differ slightly about his story, so I’ve pieced it together as best I could. The photos below were from about February 1919!

Born in 1897, Sidney was about 17 living with his mother in Cambridge, England when the Great War commenced. While he didn’t enlist initially, he was soon conscripted when it came about in 1916 though thankfully he was in a non-combatant role driving lorries transporting soldiers to boats headed for France. It’s where he learned he enjoyed driving! However in April 1917, Sidney was transferred to the Machine Gun Corps and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant where only 7 months later, his life would change forever.

During the battle of Passchendaele, one of the muddiest most gruelling segments of the war, Sidney was on the frontlines when a shell burst, sending a shrapnel fragment tearing diagonally through his nose and the right side of his face. The young soldier collapsed face first into the mud which ended up saving his life as falling backwards would have caused him to choke on his own blood. For three days Sidney laid in a mangled heap floating in and out of consciousness while vermin scurried about his body and the other dead and wounded around him. No one would ever know the details of those agonising three days, but the trauma he experienced there left him with a lifelong phobia of rats and cockroaches. After the initial wounded had been cleared out, a wandering band of stretcher bearers discovered Sidney alive after one man touched him with his boot fully expecting him to be dead. Miraculously, he was still clinging to life.

The 19 year old sergeant was rushed down the line and then transferred to two different military hospitals where his wounds were hastily stitched in an effort to save his life before infection could spread. Unfortunately, closing the gap where he was missing flesh in his cheek caused his upper lip to be pulled into a sneer and a sunken depression formed where most of his nose was missing around the bridge. Still, he was lucky to be alive, which he later used to remark. Well he was luckier still as he would be transferred to Sidcup military hospital in Kent where he would become a patient under Sir Harold Gillies, the man often considered the pioneer of modern plastic surgery. When he arrived at hospital in 1918, his wounds were healed but his face still bore the heavy trauma of his experience. If you want to see his photographs upon arrival, I won’t post them here but if you search his name, the photos are everywhere. IMO they’re not graphic but I know it can upset some people.

Gillies went to work trying to restore Sidney’s face. This required him to reopen the wound in his cheek where a skin flap was grafted to allow his upper lip to return to normal. He also folded down a skin flap from his forehead in order to create a new nose. Behind his facade, a series of tubes and canals had to be inserted for proper sinus drainage and other unnamed functions. While his initial handful of surgeries did most of the work to reconstruct his face, Sidney underwent over 40 surgeries between 1918 and the 1930s, some reconstructive and some to evacuate the tubes behind the flesh, meaning the common cold was a routinely painful affliction for him. Gillies understood operations were traumatic for the men at Sidcup, especially since most required more than one, and so made a point about creating a lighthearted ward environment, one Sidney says was quite jolly with the staff doing everything they could to make them feel comfortable and dignified as possible. And while I thought the topmost photos were the most updated case study photos for his recovery, I stumbled upon another set from 1920 in the Faces of War by Andrew Bamji I have not seen posted anywhere!

And lads listen. In such a sweet little twist, while Sidney was still recovering from the bulk of his major surgeries, a local pianist by the name of Winifred volunteered to play for the resting servicemen, all of whom had some form of disfigurment or amputation. Carrying in her sheet music, she and Sidney laid eyes on each other for the first time and she later remarked how his smile instantly lit up the whole room! For them, it was love at first sight. The two were soon married, and although it was in the 1920s, I don’t have an exact year for this. This most likely came after Sidney was finally discharged from service in 1921. There is a photo of their wedding and y’all look how SWEET!!

Between his initial surgeries and army discharge, Gillies asked if Sidney would be his personal chauffeur, an offer he took up quickly as he loved driving from his time with lorries during the war. One somewhat humorous account tells of Gillies—who was a bit scattered at times—asking Sidney to renew his driver’s license as the surgeon left it until the last day to take care of; Sidney in a rush waited in a long line at the county hall before jumping the queue and begging the administrator to expedite his employer’s license as it was needed to drive him to the hospital the next day. The man refused, even for a surgeon to get him to his patients. Sidney went to another staff member who was friends with Gillies and begged him the same. The man cheerily agreed but was still in need of a signature from the stubborn administrator who again refused... at least until he found out Harold Gillies nearly won a golfing championship, at which point he took Sidney to his personal office to expedite the license as he was happy to do business for a skilled golfer (apparently saving people’s lives doesn’t matter as much??). A no doubt perplexed Sidney was finally able to get back to the hospital on time!

After his army discharge and most likely about the time of his marriage, Sidney moved back to Cambridge where he worked for the council as a rent collector. He was so well liked, apparently even from the people he collected from, that he soon worked his way to Housing Manager for Cambridge. About this time, he had a daughter, Pam. Every account I read of him, people gush about how sweet he was. His wife recalls how Sidney was always adored by all his family and friends. His granddaughter Marilyn McInnes in an interview said, “He was the most warm and optimistic and loving man. I adored my grandfather, I was constantly on his lap as a small child. I never noticed anything funny about his face, I guess I thought all grandads looked like mine.”

Sadly, Sidney Beldam passed away from cancer at about 80 years old in 1978. But considering the man was given 6 months to live and ended up living for 60 years more surrounded by a large and loving family, I’d say he certainly had a full life. There is a picture of him and his wife in the 60s and they are absolutely charming!!

But anyway that’s me done rambling I’ve a massive crush on him. His story makes me genuinely happy to tell and I’m so glad you asked!

#I love love love this man sm he’s just described as this ray of sunshine!!#I want to put him in my pocket #And the story of him and his wife like actually kill me that is so cute #I’m so happy he was able to live a full life #Also yeah lads he is so fine ngl when I saw him in that book I was like WOW #he has such gorgeous eyes and I love his nose #and his smile #wwi #world war 1 #sidney beldam #history #wwi medicine #injury tw #medical tw #long post

274 notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 3 months

Text

Humans are weird: Ramming Speed

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The idea of ramming space ships into each other as a form of combat maneuver was beyond many galactic military minds comprehension.

A single spacecraft, let alone a military grade class vessel, would cost up in the billions of credits. Entire galactic economies had nearly bankrupted themselves trying to maintain a fleet large enough to secure their borders, so in turn each military ship became an asset not to be squandered lightly.

Perhaps it was this conservative mindset that nearly shattered when these powers first looked upon the Terran ship codenamed “The Ram”.

Unlike other modern vessels the ships of this new classification lacked all weapon emplacements. No energy cannons, missile launchers, rail guns; it was entirely free of weapons. What it did have was excessive amounts of armor plating, several separate shield generators, and a pair of overly powerful engines that could reach max speed in roughly five minutes.

The first time it was observed in combat was during the Terran/Crux war. Both powers had sizable fleets at their disposal and for the first couple months the two powers played cat and mouse games between each other; each trying to find a more advantageous position to commit their forces. Much to the dismay of both powers the first large scale battle was triggered by mere chance than a tactical decision.

A Crux patrol stumbled upon a Terran patrol emerging from a dense nebula in the Viper System. Both patrols requested reinforcements. Nearby patrols were soon diverted to the engagement and within short order what was a small skirmish ballooned into a full scale battle.

There were no battle lines or frontlines as ships opened fire at near point blank range with each other. Even when higher rank Admirals arrived to take charge both sides were too embroiled in the slugfest to make any more nuanced tactical moves without exposing themselves to the enemy.

It was here that the Ram emerged and showed its prowess.

Crux warship crews were not trained on how to handle enemy vessels rushing towards them. What’s more several gun crews became panicked when they saw the Ram ships rushing headlong towards them without diverting course.

With the extra armor and shielding the Terran ships not only struck head on into Crux ships but emerged from the attack relatively unscathed. In most cases the prow of the Ram ships punched clean through the entire hull of the Crux warship and emerged through the other side.

The Crux fleet desperately tried to regain order and form battle lines but each time they did so the Ram ships would plunge head first into their formation and take out the command ship coordinating the effort.

As more and more Terran ships arrived and formed their own battle lines the tide of battle soon drastically changed. After thirteen hours of intense fighting the last of the Crux fleet withdrew from the battle leaving the Terrans the victors.

A full fifth of the Crux navy was lost during the battle with the Ram ships having personally claimed 45% of the kills.

While the war itself would continue for another two years, the Ram ships and their unorthodox tactics had earned them a modicum of respect from the wider galaxy, and a great measure of fear from the Crux.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

362 notes · View notes

hexed-padlock · 8 months

Text

Still super obsessed with the idea of Tav being part of the og party that killed Strahd and they just… dont mention it. At all.

Like, you’ve got:

Gale: Archmage of Waterdeep, wizarding prodigy, Chosen of Mystra herself

Karlach: frontliner of the Blood War and escapee from Avernus

Wyll: The Blade of Frontiers and son of Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard

Astarion: Vampire spawn of Cazador Szarr, and former magistrate

Shadowheart: Priestess of Shar, Lady of Loss

Lae’zel: Githyanki warrior and proud servant of Vlaakith

And my Tav’s canon: Slayer of the Dread Lord Strahd von Zarovich, currently trying to find a way to bring it up to the party and is 100% awkward about it because they died *after* killing Strahd and only because they tripped off a cliff and their old party thought it’d be funny to cast Reincarnate instead of Revivify.

The story everyone knows is that (Tav) died in the fight against Strahd as a “final heroic sacrifice for the greater good.” When in reality, they’re too embarrassed to correct anyone so they’ve picked a new name and literally made a deal with Neferon or Exethanter for completely different magic to what they used to wield and now they’re committed to the disguise/new life/fake backstory of being tricked into a Warlock pact. At this point, they’re neckdeep in this awkward situation where everyone believes they died a hero’s death, their old party is kinda just laughing about everything, and their BG3 party is completely oblivious.

Astarion: “It’s near impossible to kill a true vampire lord. Cazador is almost unbeatable.”

Tav the Strahd Slayer: “…I see.”

—————————————

Upon request, I’ve decided to start a short fic series of reveals—all just drabbles and oneshots since I’m not used to writing anymore.

Below will be a masterlist of the different posts once I begin with them.

“Do the Cattle not know you?” - Facing Cazador (Serious, Sassy Tav)

“A New Type of Vampire” - Raphael discusses the Ascension ritual and Tav remembers a similar story (Flashbacks, Traumatized Tav)

761 notes · View notes

aif0s-w · 11 months

Text

You know, even if you check the Ukrainian news regularly, you still don’t see every awful thing that happens here.

Even I, as a Ukrainian, don’t see all of it. Every day I wake up and read the news. There are always some very big and awful new stories (like yesterday’s strike on Kramatorsk) that everyone will talk about right until the russians do another big and awful thing.

And then there are these smaller stories that people (including myself) often don’t notice. They always go “Today russians shelled *any village, city or town near the frontline or the border*. X wounded, Y killed” . And everyone is used to see this particular village, city or town in such news. Everyone just scrolls past it. And these stories almost never make it to the big foreign media, so most of the world never hears about it.

But these news are not just numbers and statistics. It’s real people, who died, or lost limbs, or their loved ones, or their homes.

Literally at every moment, russians are bombing some places, killing or torturing some people, or doing some other unimaginable horrible thing.

Obviously, if we start to think about every single person who was hurt and every single building that was damaged, we’d all go crazy. So I’m not asking anyone to do this.

I’m asking you to remember about Ukraine, at least sometimes. If you see a post (on tumblr or somewhere else), made by someone you trust, about one of the russian war crimes, please reblog it. Don’t just like it, reblog it. Yes, even if your blog is about cake recipes. Even if you only have 5 followers. This is very important.

Facebook, Instagram and Twitter ban Ukrainians all the time and take down our posts as sensitive content. Meanwhile Tumblr doesn’t do this but still, most users aren’t interested in our suffering so most posts about Ukraine get maximum 300 notes. Sometimes 500 if you’re very lucky. And it kinda feels like it’s always the same people who reblog it.

So, if you care about Ukrainians, please help us be heard. And thanks a lot to everyone who already supports us - we see you and we love you💙💛

#ukraine

807 notes · View notes

hayatheauthor · 1 year

Text

Forging Epic Battles: Techniques for Writing Gripping War Scenes

I want to start this post off with sort of an author's note: this is a long one! I tried to keep my detailing to a minimum but I guess this topic Is just so vast I couldn't help but pour it all out. This really is sort of an ultimate guide and I hope it helps! Also, it was requested by @xweirdo101x (if you want to request something just send me an ask)

War has long captivated readers' imaginations, evoking a sense of grandeur, sacrifice, and the clash of ideologies. As writers, we have the power to transport our readers to the frontlines, immersing them in the chaos, drama, and emotion of epic battles.

Crafting gripping war scenes requires a delicate balance of research, skillful storytelling, and an understanding of the human experience in times of conflict. In this guide, I will explore various techniques that will help you create dynamic and compelling war narratives, transporting your readers to the heart of the action and leaving them breathless.

Setting the Stage: Creating a Compelling War Setting

When it comes to writing gripping war scenes, creating a vivid and immersive setting is paramount. Whether you are crafting a historical war or inventing a fictional conflict, the setting serves as the backdrop against which your characters and their stories unfold. Here are essential steps to help you create a compelling war setting that captures readers' imaginations:

Research Historical Context or Build a Fictional World:

For historical wars, immerse yourself in research to understand the time period, social dynamics, and political climate surrounding the conflict. This knowledge will lend authenticity and depth to your narrative.

If you're building a fictional world, establish the rules, geography, and cultural aspects that shape the war. Consider the unique elements that set your world apart and make it feel real to readers.

Describe the Physical Environment and Atmosphere:

Depict the landscape, whether it's a war-torn city, a rugged battlefield, or a desolate wasteland. Pay attention to sensory details—sights, sounds, smells—to transport readers into the heart of the war.

Convey the atmosphere of the setting, capturing the tension, fear, or anticipation that hangs in the air. Is it shrouded in darkness and despair, or does a glimmer of hope persist? Use descriptive language to evoke the desired emotional response.

Incorporate Cultural and Societal Elements:

Explore how the war has affected the culture and society within your setting. Are there new traditions, rituals, or customs that have emerged in response to the conflict?

Consider the social dynamics at play—class divisions, power struggles, or the impact of war on marginalized groups. These elements add layers of complexity to your setting and provide opportunities for conflict and character development.

By carefully constructing your war setting, you transport readers into a world brimming with authenticity and intrigue. Whether it's the trenches of World War I, a futuristic intergalactic battle, or a mythical realm engulfed in strife, the setting sets the stage for compelling storytelling.

Building Conflict and Tension

In the realm of war fiction, conflict and tension are the driving forces that propel your narrative forward and keep readers captivated. From the clash of opposing ideologies to the internal struggles within characters, here are essential techniques for building conflict and tension in your war scenes:

Establish Clear Goals and Stakes for Characters:

Define the objectives and desires of your main characters within the war. What are they fighting for? What personal or collective goals are at stake?

Create conflicts of interest between characters, where their motivations and objectives may diverge, leading to tension-filled interactions and confrontations.

Introduce Opposing Forces and Ideologies:

Develop compelling adversaries that challenge your protagonists. These opposing forces may represent different sides of the conflict, ideologies, or even personal vendettas.

Explore the contrasting beliefs, values, and philosophies driving each side, heightening the ideological clash and intensifying the conflict.

Utilize Internal Conflicts within Characters:

Explore the internal struggles and moral dilemmas faced by your characters. How does the war affect their beliefs, principles, and sense of self?

Delve into the emotional turmoil and psychological toll of war, showcasing the internal battles characters face as they navigate the chaos and make difficult choices.

By effectively building conflict and tension, you create a dynamic and engaging narrative that keeps readers invested in your war story. The clash of goals, the ideological friction, and the internal struggles of your characters add layers of complexity and depth to your storytelling, drawing readers deeper into the heart of the conflict.

Developing Dynamic Characters

In the realm of war fiction, dynamic and well-developed characters are essential to breathe life into your narrative and create an emotional connection with readers. By crafting relatable protagonists and antagonists, you elevate the impact of your war story. Here are key considerations and techniques for developing dynamic characters within the context of war:

Crafting Relatable Protagonists:

Give your main characters depth and complexity by exploring their backgrounds, motivations, and personal histories. What drives them to participate in the war? What are their hopes, fears, and vulnerabilities?

Develop relatable goals and desires for your protagonists that resonate with readers. Show how the war impacts their lives and pushes them to grow, change, or make difficult decisions.

Creating Compelling Antagonists:

Craft antagonists who are more than just one-dimensional villains. Give them their own motivations, beliefs, and reasons for engaging in the war. This adds depth and complexity to their characters, creating a sense of empathy or understanding.

Explore the potential for redemption or transformation within your antagonists. Are they driven by misguided ideals, personal vendettas, or the pressures of their circumstances? Allow their development to challenge readers' perspectives.

Conveying the Psychological Impact of War:

Explore the emotional and psychological toll that war takes on your characters. Depict their fears, traumas, and inner conflicts as they grapple with the horrors and realities of the battlefield.

Show the evolution of their beliefs and perspectives as they confront the brutalities of war. Allow their experiences to shape their character arcs, highlighting the resilience, resilience, and vulnerabilities that emerge in the face of adversity.

By developing dynamic characters in your war narrative, you create a multi-dimensional and emotionally resonant story. Readers will become invested in their journeys, experiencing the triumphs, losses, and personal transformations that unfold throughout the war.

Writing Action-Packed Battle Scenes

Action-packed battle scenes are the heart of war fiction, where the intensity and stakes are at their highest. These scenes immerse readers in the chaos, danger, and adrenaline of the conflict. To craft gripping battle scenes, consider the following techniques:

Structuring Battle Sequences for Maximum Impact:

Begin with a clear sense of purpose for the battle scene. What are the objectives? What is at stake? Establish the goals and set the stage for the conflict.

Build tension gradually, starting with smaller skirmishes or encounters that escalate toward the climactic moments. Consider pacing, alternating moments of heightened action with moments of respite for emotional impact.

Balancing Fast-Paced Action and Descriptive Details:

Use concise and vivid language to convey the fast-paced nature of battle. Focus on capturing the essence of the action, highlighting key movements, and sensory details that immerse readers in the experience.

Strike a balance between brevity and providing enough detail to engage the reader's imagination. Avoid overwhelming readers with excessive description, ensuring that every word serves a purpose and contributes to the overall impact.

Using Sensory Language to Immerse Readers:

Engage multiple senses to transport readers into the battle scene. Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations to evoke a visceral experience.

Leverage sensory details to enhance the emotional impact of the battle, capturing the fear, adrenaline, and urgency felt by characters and evoking a similar response in readers.

Good action-packed battle scenes bring the war to life on the page, immersing readers in the heart-pounding action. Remember to focus not only on the physical aspects of combat but also on the emotional and psychological experiences of your characters.

Conveying Emotional Resonance

In war fiction, it is crucial to convey the emotional impact of the conflict on both individual characters and the larger society. By tapping into the raw emotions experienced during times of war, you can create a profound connection with your readers. Here are key techniques for conveying emotional resonance in your war narrative:

Show the Human Cost of War:

Portray the personal sacrifices, losses, and tragedies that characters endure in the face of war. Highlight the emotional toll on their relationships, families, and communities.

Explore the range of emotions experienced by characters, such as fear, grief, anger, and resilience. Through their struggles, allow readers to empathize with the profound impact of war on the human psyche.

Engage the Senses to Evoke Emotion:

Utilize sensory language to evoke emotions within readers. Describe the sights, sounds, smells, and tactile sensations associated with war to create a vivid and immersive experience.

Connect specific sensory details to the emotions they evoke. For example, the acrid stench of smoke may elicit a sense of danger or the distant cries of anguish may stir feelings of sorrow.

Develop Authentic and Complex Relationships:

Showcase the bonds formed and tested amidst the chaos of war. Explore friendships, romances, and the camaraderie among soldiers to highlight the connections that sustain characters in the face of adversity.

Depict the conflicts and tensions that arise within relationships due to the strain of war. This adds layers of emotional complexity and authenticity to your narrative.

By effectively conveying emotional resonance, you invite readers to experience the human side of war. They will connect with the characters on a deeper level and become emotionally invested in their journeys.

Navigating Moral and Ethical Dilemmas

War is often accompanied by moral and ethical dilemmas that test the values and principles of individuals and societies. As a war fiction writer, it is important to explore these complexities and shed light on the difficult choices characters face. Here are key considerations for navigating moral and ethical dilemmas in your war narrative:

Present Conflicting Perspectives:

Introduce characters with differing moral viewpoints and beliefs. Show the diversity of perspectives within the war, whether it's among the protagonists, antagonists, or the larger society.

Challenge readers to contemplate the gray areas of morality and the complexities of right and wrong by presenting conflicting viewpoints and the reasons behind them.

Highlight the Consequences of Choices:

Illustrate the consequences of characters' actions and decisions. Showcase how their choices ripple through the narrative, affecting themselves and those around them.

Explore the moral dilemmas characters face, such as choosing between duty and personal convictions, sacrificing the few for the many, or grappling with the aftermath of their actions.

Offer Reflection and Discussion:

Provide opportunities for characters to reflect on their choices, engaging in internal dialogue or discussions with others. This allows readers to contemplate the moral implications alongside the characters.

Invite readers to reflect on their own moral compass and engage in discussions surrounding the ethical dimensions raised in your war narrative.

Navigating moral and ethical dilemmas makes your war fiction go beyond the surface-level action and delve into the deeper questions of humanity. It prompts readers to question their own values, moral boundaries, and the intricate web of choices that arise in times of conflict.

Research and Authenticity in War Fiction

For war fiction to have a lasting impact, it is crucial to conduct thorough research and strive for authenticity in your narrative. By grounding your story in accurate details and historical context, you enhance its credibility and immerse readers in the world of war. Here are key considerations for incorporating research and authenticity in your war fiction:

Study Historical Events and Settings:

Research the historical events, conflicts, and time periods that serve as the backdrop for your war narrative. Gain a comprehensive understanding of the context, including the political, social, and cultural factors that influenced the war.

Dive into the specifics of battle strategies, weaponry, and tactics employed during the time period. This knowledge will help you create authentic and realistic war scenes.

Explore Personal Accounts and Memoirs:

Read personal accounts, memoirs, and interviews of individuals who have experienced war firsthand. These sources provide invaluable insights into the emotions, challenges, and nuances of the human experience during wartime.

Pay attention to the details of daily life, the physical and psychological tolls, and the individual stories of courage, sacrifice, and resilience. Incorporate these elements into your narrative to add depth and authenticity.

Consult Experts and Military Advisers:

Seek guidance from military advisers, historians, or experts in the field to ensure accuracy in depicting military operations, protocols, and terminology.

Engage in conversations or interviews with individuals who have expertise in areas relevant to your story, such as veterans, soldiers, or scholars. Their perspectives can offer valuable insights and help you portray the realities of war with authenticity.

Strive for Emotional Truth:

While research and accuracy are crucial, remember that emotional truth is equally important. Balance historical accuracy with the emotional resonance of your characters and their experiences.

Capture the human aspects of war, such as the impact on relationships, the psychological trauma, and the bonds forged in the face of adversity. Connect readers to the emotional core of your story.

By incorporating thorough research and striving for authenticity, you create a rich and immersive war narrative that resonates with readers. The combination of accurate historical details, personal accounts, and emotional depth brings your story to life.

War fiction is a genre that holds immense power to captivate readers, evoke emotions, and shed light on the complexities of human nature during times of conflict. Through the techniques and considerations I have explored in this guide, you have the tools to craft compelling war narratives that resonate with authenticity and engage your readers on a profound level.

I hope this blog on forging epic battles will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday

580 notes · View notes

real-fire-emblem-takes · 3 months

Note

The FE fandom is unfairly criticized for their treatment of main women leads because not enough people factor in how sexist the writing is. Edelgard would get less hate if she was held more accountable. Micaiah would get less hate if she didn't get written out of the final part and awful blood-pact device. Celica and Erika would get less hate if the writers didn't hand them the idiot ball. Female leads are often awful units compared to male counterparts. The male leads always upstage the female ones or are written overall better bc they were unconcerned with making them a sellable waifu. There's definitely sexist people in the fandom, and male characters everywhere get cut more slack, and I'm not denying an element of sexism in all of this, but holding the writers accountable something that needs to get brought up more.

Im gonna discuss my opinions on this take now.

Edelgard is held accountable and punished for her actions by literally dying in 3 out of the 4 routes. Like the Agarthans are not blamed for what Edelgard did. She takes complete responsibility and suffers the consequences for starting a war.

Erika giving the Sacred Stone to Formortis because she believes Lyon, an extremely skilled healer and magic user who has been studying the stones will get rid of him through using it is a smarter decision than Ephraim attempting to kill THE DEMON KING ALL BY HIMSELF. Like at least Erika's plan made sense and could have worked if Lyon was able to resist Formortis. People who call Erika stupid for her scene while not doing the same for Ephraim's are hypocritical in this regard.

While SOV is quite sexist in how so many of the women are damseled, Celica sacrificing herself for Mila makes complete sense and is not rooted in sexism because at that point in the game most people believe that they still need the gods to survive and a single human life is worth less than the life of a god. Celica trusted Jedah because to her that was her only choice. What is sexist is her having to be repeatedly saved by men while nothing similar happens to Alm.

I admit I'm being extremely nitpicky with this point, but Erika and Celica both act completely in character when they make their mistakes and therefore are not Idiot Balled. Idiot Balling is when a character acts uncharacteristically stupid and out of character to serve the plot.

Idk about the specifics with Micaiah in Radiant Dawn but yeah it sucks how Ike takes most of the spotlight from both her and Elincia :/

The only female lead that is a substantially worse unit than her male counterpart is Erika. She is an outlier that should not be counted. Celica, Micaiah and Elincia all have utility that Alm and Ike Lack while Edelgard is literally just as good of a frontliner as Dimitri. And Lyn is just as weak as Eliwood.

Character writing is subjective.

You are severely overestimating the importance of waifus and underestimating the importance of husbandos to the franchise. Straight and Bi women play Fire Emblem too.

Also characters who have depth tend to be more popular regardless of their gender. It is profitable to have waifus with layers.

I am not denying that sexism was and somewhat still is a thing in the writing and gameplay of this series; However, the fandom is just as guilty in how female characters are treated - perhaps more guilty in the newest two games where these issues rarely rear their ugly head in the story and the gameplay. The fandom should be held accountable too instead shifting most of the blame on the writers.

Anyway if you read all of this, have a heavenly creature i found recently <3

#petty playground squabbles #fire emblem #fe #fandom takes #gameplay takes #story takes #sexism mention

133 notes · View notes

swamp-cats-den · 4 months

Text

On Jan 14, 2023, russians launched a missile meant for destroying warships at a residential building in Dnipro, killing 46 people in one go.

A year has passed, and I still sometimes see the picture from above in my head. It just can't leave my mind - a girl sitting in a destroyed bathroom wearing Christmas tree decorations cause we used to celebrate the so-called 'Old New Year' on that date.

She had (maybe still has) a twitter account. A couple of months before the Dnipro strike, her partner was killed on the frontlines. She was writing that she was depressed, and could barely get through work. And then russia fired a missile at her apartment, killing her parents who were sitting just next door.

I don't know how she's doing now. I hope to god she's ok, as much as she can be.

There's another story my friend told at the demonstration in Tallinn today. Her friend from Mariupol moved to study in Kharkiv (that's where they met), and when the full-scale war started - to Dnipro as it was safer. Both her parents stayed to defend Mariupol, and were taken prisoners of war. In autumn 2022, her mom was released in a prisoner exchange,and came to Dnipro to her daughter. They lived in that residential building. The girl was killed. I'm not sure about the mum, but I think she died too. The father is still in russian captivity. I don't think he knows what happened.

I just wanted to share these two stories.

If you zoom in, here you can see that the girl from the first story is holding on to a plushie .

#Ukraine #russian war crimes

144 notes · View notes

howtofightwrite · 6 months

Note

What do you think of the squishy wizard trope? Shouldn’t people that travel around and go “adventuring” have some baseline of athleticism?

So, we're back to a game design discussion, again.

The short version is, if it doesn't make sense to you, don't use it.

Squishy wizards are almost more of a gameplay consideration. If you have a game, and you're balancing ranged damage against melee damage, if your ranged damage units do enough damage, you can create a situation where melee damage straight up doesn't work. It's not viable. The 40k meme about the Tau comes to mind: “Sure, they suck in melee; too bad you'll never get there.”

If you tone down ranged unit's damage, that can easily create a situation where they become the ones who are irrelevant. Such was the experience of every level 1 Wizard in AD&D. Once in awhile, you can get into the perfect situation to end an encounter, but most of the time you're just biding your time until you get to level 5 and can learn to accidentally fireball your party's front line, but that is a long time from now.

If ranged units can do a lot of damage, they need to be fragile enough that you can remove them from the board. And the Tau comparison comes back to mind once again.

All of this combines to create a board environment, where melee fighters need to be tanky enough to get into combat and stay there. Ranged units need to be fragile enough that they can remove each other, deal enough damage to harass the melee units, without doing so much damage as to render them completely irrelevant to the board.

And, while you can build a story around that structure, you don't need to.

Gandalf isn't a fragile wizard. He's not some “book nerd,” who spent high school getting shoved into lockers. When the time comes, he goes toe to toe with a Balrog (or, the Balrog, whichever), and doesn't immediately die. He clearly manages to hold his own, in melee combat, with a massive monster. (In fairness, he's also not human. I mean, none of Tolkien's, “the race of men,” are conventionally human, but Middle Earth's Wizards are an entirely different race of beings.)

In a lot of games, solution is to give the frontline fighters a ridiculous amount of health. Now, I'm going to trash on D&D for a second, but consider that a 10th level Fighter should have somewhere around 94 - 114hp. Remember that critical hits represent some kind of significant injury. These are not just blows that connect with your armor and will leave a bruise, this is someone ran you through. Someone could crit on your fighter, with a long sword, and stab them in vital places at least 4, and probably 5 times, before it actually kills them. That's a comical amount of damage someone to suffer. (Now, granted, a 10th level character in D&D is basically a superhero. If you're thinking of Boromir's death in Jackson's Fellowship of the Rings, that is what it takes to put down a relatively high level fighter in D&D. Which is to say, hilarious amounts of abuse.)

If you signed up for that, cool. I'm not going to stop you. I'm not even going to tell you it's wrong. If you want to tear down a super-humanly powerful character through prolonged combat sequences, or due to attrition of multiple fights in quick succession, that works. I mean, hell, that's how DC killed Batman in the 90s.

If your wizard power fantasy is that a wispy intellectual gains cosmic power through hard academic study, cool. Again, that's entirely valid, and as I mentioned, it even fits into a power fantasy. If you were bullied as a teenager for your atypical interests, and habit of reading, here's a character that studies strange and esoteric subjects, and has real power as a result.

At the same time, it's entirely reasonable to have an averagely healthy mage, whether they study magic academically, or have some ingrained talent that they've honed, plop them down next to a veteran swordmaster who's fought in wars on nine continents with the scars to prove it, and while they may look a bit anemic in comparison to their buddy, is still in better shape than the average villager they interact with on a daily basis.

That's where I tend to land in all of this.

When you're creating characters for your writing, it can be helpful to assign them attributes. Now, I don't mean this in the literal RPG stat blocks. (I've tried that a few times, it doesn't really work for me.) But, just a few text descriptors (which, does sound like Fudge, come to think of it.) You might describe your mage as Smart, or Intellectual, Wise (or Absent Minded), Willful. You know, “wizard stuff.” If you describe your warrior as, Strong, Tough, Tenacious, and Cunning, you're not making the wizard squishy, you're making another character less squishy. A lot of the time, we set the base line by what other people are doing. It's reasonable to say your mage is less durable than your soldier. (Unless your mage has a reason to be that tough. Maybe they're from some frozen wasteland, and are just absolutely jacked from surviving in a hostile environment.) But, that comparison doesn't mean that your mage is deficient.

Now, on the other hand, frail characters can be interesting. You're taking out their ability to fight conventionally, so when they do start decisively ending situations, whether that's through their own creativity and guile, or sheer magical power, it can be very gratifying. And, to be clear, I am very fond of flawed characters, especially when they have to work within the framework of their flaws to find solutions, rather than just overcoming them through the power of love, friendship and mescaline.

When handled well, flaws are about creating limitations for how your characters can solve problems. These can also make your story more interesting. If you say, my character can't fight, (and you don't back down from that and just let them cheat so they can fight, because they're so goddamn special), they're going to need to find other solutions. That can result in a better, more interesting, and less predictable story.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

169 notes · View notes

alexandra-scribbles · 4 months

Text

Thoughts on Galadriel.

To be honest, I do not think the Noldor who lived in Beleriand and ME after the war liked Galadriel much. (I love Galadriel and loved what Cate Blanchett as her in the movies) But like thinking about the Noldor of Beleriand, excluding those who lived in Gondolin and Nargothrond before both kingdoms fell, Galadriel basically abandoned the Noldor the moment she set foot in Beleriand. She went to Menegroth and stayed there under the protection of Melian for the most part of the first age, all while the rest of the Noldor, her brothers included, were out in the frontlines of war.

Even during the long peace, most of the Noldor in Beleriand had to see orcs attacks and such, their homes were not 100% safe, they didn't have the luxury of being protected by a Maia. The Valar had more or less abandoned the people of Beleriand (not just the Noldor) to their fates. So while the people who lived in Barad Eithel, Dorthonion, Ladros, Himlad, who were basically the ones holding the siege, all those people who died during the fire. Who had to move further south. Those elves could see Fingon, Fingolfin, Angrod, Aegnor, and the Feanorians willing to protect their people and die for them. (and I bet Aredhel would have been there too if she hadn't been kidnapped by Eol but that's another thing). But like Galadriel once she stepped in Doriath she never left until she felt considerably threatened and when she did, she and Celeborn moved east beyond the blue mountains. She wasn't even there when the war of wrath really broke out. Like right now I don't really remember if she managed to see the host of valinor and when the war was done and she did come back to the coast... she was denied passage.

Galadriel couldn't go back to Valinor by the end of the first age because I remember reading that she was denied passage, because she was not humble. The Galadriel we see in LOtR is an older and wiser Galadriel that had perhaps realized that most of her actions in the first age were born of hypocrisy (Hipocrisy was a big theme in the first age but that's also another story).

So what I want to get at is, Galadriel was not named queen of the Noldor and was not included in Noldori Politics at all during the second age (looking at you Amazon), because I don't think the Noldor considered one of them anymore. I think that the moment she decided to marry a sinda and remain in menegroth with the rest of Thingol's people she was 'set aside' by the Noldor as a whole. So yeah, those are my thoughts regarding Galadriel, if anyone else wants to add anything else, I'll be more than happy to read your thoughts <3

#tolkien #silmarillion #the silmarillion #lord of the rings #lotr #galadriel #the sindar #sindar #noldor

107 notes · View notes

loulouwrites · 2 months

Text

PROSE . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie found comfort in her letters during his darkest moments, even if they were never meant for him warnings: angst, war, death, ptsd, a bit of politics, happy ending, unedited for now word count: 2.2k a/n: a short lil story x

Lieutenant Adam Weiss would read those letters over and over, a smile on his muddy face whenever he pulled the envelopes from his pockets, almost as if the words made him forget where he was.

The letters were creased and the envelopes were worn, mud caked the sides and gritty fingerprints decorated the edges from where he would run his hand down the pages. Some of the letters were longer than others, ranging from one page to four, front and back.

Captain Alfie Solomons watched the boy pull out a fresh letter, amazed he received so many. Delivering letters to frontline soldiers was not a priority in the war, nor should it be, men waited months for notes from their family, but somehow, Adam always received his - he must have been the luckiest lad in France.

People didn't write to Alfie.

His parents were long gone, his sisters had husbands they would rather scribble away to, and the few friends he had were scattered throughout Europe, fighting the same fight he was - one none of them quite understood.

Adam's smile felt like an assault on the captain, the grin he wore reminiscent of a time before, a time that didn't exist anymore. The lieutenant had never shared who the letters were from, he kept them tucked into his breast pocket, only pulling them out when everybody else was busied with other, more important tasks.

"Who's writing you these letters?" Alfie asked the boy, trying to stretch his legs the best he could in the cramped quarters below ground.

Adam's grin faded from his face, and he shrugged non-committally, tucking the letter away.

"Just a girl I know," he said, face bashful.

"A girl you know," Alfie nodded. He was surprised he had never met Adam before the war, they were both raised in the same area, both Jewish, of a similar age, yet their paths had never crossed. "A pretty girl?"

"Just a girl," Adam scowled, crossing his arms across his chest.

The sound of gunfire interruped whatever Alfie was about to say next.

Lieutenant Adam Weiss succumbed to injuries sustained in the battlefield two weeks before the armistice was signed. He died at the age of 24, with a hole in his head, and even more in the chest.

Alfie didn't feel much when he died, there had been so much death that he feared he had become immune to it, and he was never particularly close to the man. Yet, it didn't stop him from taking the letters from the dead man's pocket before his body was dragged away.

He had no intention of reading the letters that were now kept in his own breast pocket, he wasn't even sure why he took them in the first place, but the weight of them comforted him.

More letters arrived the day after Adam died, a small envelope addressed to him at the bottom of the pile, and Alfie took that one too, snatching it from the boy who delivered them before he could question it.

It was a lot quieter these days, men were being picked off one by one, and those that were still alive, found little to talk about. At first, they would joke about finally being away from their wives, or make lewd comments about the nurses, but now, there was nothing, it was if they couldn't remember their lives before.

Alfie opened the letter before he could stop himself, the cursive handwriting was so neat, not a word had been crossed out, suggesting the author had taken their time with every word, possibly rewriting it completely whenever she made a mistake, a showing of her care, not just for the letters, but for Adam too.

He carefully read the well wishes and pleasantries. The one page letter was not particularly engaging or poetic, but the talk of day to day life in London was comforting to Alfie in the most painful way.

His eyes led to the bottom of the page, where the writing got slightly messy, and the words were slanted more than they were in the beginning.

Revolution is in the air, and peace is on the horizon. You will be home soon, hopefully before the month draws to a close, and we will celebrate your birthday together, as we have always done.

The slaughter will end, and you will be home.

Your dearest, and only friend.

She didn't sign it, there was no need to, he supposed, the letter was not for him, it was for the boy dead on the battlefield, and he already knew her name.

Alfie scoffed as he reread her words.

The slaughter will end.

Bullshit.

The armistice was signed less than two weeks later. The girl from the letters was right, the slaughter had ended and peace had come - though the men returning were forever changed.

Alfie wondered whether word about Adam had reached her, it should have by now. He considered tracking her down and telling her himself, he was the boy's captain, after all, but he had no fight in him to search for a nameless girl in London - he was tired.

The journey to London was long, they had heard them like cattle onto boats and trains, the men silently sitting in their misery, no celebration to be had.

The time allowed Alfie to read the other letters he had been carrying. He read them in no particular order, skimming through the cursive writing, more to distract himself from the sadness filling the train carriage, than anything else.

Mr Feldman brought me flowers again, he thinks I'm his dead wife.

Your mother came over for shabbat, she cried a lot.

I still go to the bakery we used to go after school, the bread isn't as nice now that Issaac isn't there to make it.

James proposed to me - again. It is the fifth time I have declined. He doesn't understand why I have no intention to marry a ten year old.

The girl talked a lot about what was happening at home, Alfie appreciated that, other than well wishes and the odd scathing political rant, she rarely mentioned the war, the men reading letters didn't need reminding of the war, the needed to be reminded of home.

Life returned to a new normal in the years following the war. Alfie was able to forget the war better than most, maybe because the violence didn't end for him. He went from a war in France to a war in London, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

Tensions rose, men died, and Alfie survived - as it was, as it always would be.

He sat in his office a lot, when everybody had left for the day, he would pull out the stack of letters from the second drawer of his desk, and read them over again, as if he couldn't recite them word for word at his point.

He had a favourite, one that was now more creased than the others, and had more bends in the edges, read far more often than others.

I had an argument with my mother, again. I shall not bore you with the details, but I am certain the war will end soon, that the trend sweeping the East will come here and you shall return home.

We will go to Abraham's bakery the day you step off the train and eat the pineapple cake you like so much, we will then go to Finsbury Gardens and spend the rest of the day there, and we shall end the day at the pub, I haven't been allowed in without my male companion.

May you remain safe and well, and may you return home soon.

Your only and closest friend.

The girl was not a particularly poetic writer, yet Alfie was more enthralled by her prose than he ever had been by Shakespeare or Austin, because alone in the dark of his office, he could lie to himself, and believe those letters were for him.

He fiddled with the papers in his hand as he stood outside of the bakery. It had just opened, and people ushered in and out, their eyes avoiding his.

He had built quite the reputation for himself upon his return.

The bell above the door dinged when he walked in, and the lady at the counter looked away from the customer she was serving to wave at him.

He hovered behind the girl in front as she chatted to the woman, laughing and pointing to various cakes and pastries.

"Sir?" The woman waved a hand up and down to get his attention, and Alfie snapped out of whatever daze he was in, clearing his throat out of embarrassment.

"Urm...yeah," he muttered, looking down at the paper in his hands. He could recite this letter word for word, why couldn't he remember the cake now?

The baker and customer watched him as his eyes flickered to the page and back up to smile apologetically at them.

"I can help," the girl smiled at him, holding a hand out for the letter. "I'm a good reader."

She thought he couldn't fucking read.

"I can read," he defended, and she held her hands up jokingly. His eyes skimmed the words, failing to find the one he needed.

What kind of fucking cake was it?

And why did he even fucking care?

"For fuck's sake," he muttered, holding the letter out to the girl. "There's a type of cake in there, can you find it?"

She let out a small laugh as she took the paper with a smile on her face. He watched as she began to read it thoughtfully, her smile slowly dropping from her face and her eyebrows pulled together. Her head snapped up, and she held the letter up, a scowl on her face.

"Where did you get this?" Her tone wasn't something Alfie could place, a mixture between shock and confusion, and something else entirely.

He was never one to be lost for words, but he couldn't string a sentence together for the life of him, what the fuck was happening?

He must have been quiet for too long, because the girl fled the bakery, brushing his shoulder as she pushed past him, the letter still in her hand.

His favourite letter.

His body reacted quicker than his brain did, and he rushed after her, jogging to catch up with her as she stormed down the street.

"Oi," he called out when he was close enough for her to hear, "give me my fuckin' letter back."

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face him, pushing a hand to his chest when he was close enough to touch.

"It is not your letter," she spat. "Where did you get it?"

"The fuck are you chattin' about? You stole it from me."

"And you stole it from Adam," the girl shrieked, turning to storm away again, but Alfie was faster, grabbing her arm to stop her.

"Fuckin' hell," he smiled despite himself. "You're the girl from the letters."

"Who the fuck are you?" She cried, pulling her arm out of his grip.

"My name is Alfie Solomons," he held his arms out in defense, watching as her eyes widened at his introduction.

He really did have a reputation.

"I was Adam's captain in France," he reached down to take the letter from her hand, and she didn't put up a fight when he pulled it from her grip. "I took the letters off Adam when he died."

"Why?" She whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Couldn't tell ya, love," he shrugged. "Maybe because they made him very happy."

Her face scrunched up as if she were in pain at his words, and she breathed a deep breath to quell the tears in her eyes.

"They made him happy?" She breathed out, Alfie nodding in confirmation.

"It was annoying, really," he joked. "They made me happy too, even if I did steal 'em."

She huffed a laugh in response, dabbing at her eyes with her gloved hands before gesturing to letter he now held in his hands.

"Keep it," she sighed. "It was pineapple cake, by the way."

She went to turn away, but Alfie spoke before she could.

"Tell me to fuck off if you want, but would you fancy goin' to Finsbury Gardens?"

She looked at him blankly, and Alfie was certain she was going to say no, to tell him to fuck off with his letter and leave her alone.

"Okay," she nodded eventually. "But only if you take me to the pub after, I need a new male companion."

"It'd be my pleasure, love."

#alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons fanfic

86 notes · View notes

nyxnoir1337 · 5 months

Text

Random 3 am thoughts

Fox was the most decorated clone on Kamino. with the highest performance scores. Do you think people occasionally forget this as most see the as glorified pemail pushers or flimsi I believe in Star wars. Like shinies and frontliners will come to Couresant for leave or to join the guard and their just casually cruising through the layers on their way to 79's or something when all of a sudden a gang of crooks is seen trying to run away from a crime. Then suddenly, a guard drops out of the sky and tackles one of them quickly, knocking them out before engaging the rest of them. One tries to flee as the lone guard is seen mopping the floor with the rest of the cronies when, without sparing more than a glance, nails the runner with a stun shot in between knocking out another goon. More guards begin to arrive and begin cuffing the criminals with the first one going to retrieve the tall kriffer with golden markings who tried to make a name for it. The guard l ooks up and makes eyecontact with the spectators. He briefly nods his head out, then before throwing the kriffer with dreads over his shoulders to take him to the dunk tanks. Nobody believes then when they fall the story at the bar that the grand are crazy nutters who take things like stairs and doors as suggestions when in pursuit. They did it so silently as well. The others laughed then off but the watchers recmembered that fox cars trained with the likes of commander Cody and wolffe and tell themselves to tread carefully on courasont from noone on lest they be the next ones hunted down.

I still think the guard moves like batman and his and extended partners through the planet wide city. Busting in through Skylights traveling in the Shadows the whole Shebang.

#star wars #clone wars #the clones #cc 1010 #fox #corie guard #commander fox

106 notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 4 months

Text

Humans are weird: When there is no honor to be had

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Vindi War had been the first intergalactic war humanity had faced while fighting alongside alien allies. Up until then humanity had chosen that while it had made several defensive pacts and alliances over the last several decades with other great powers they would not allow their military forces to be placed under the command of foreign powers. Yet the conflict with the Vindi had escalated to such an extent that human military might was no longer capable of winning the war alone.

So one by one several treaties were called up and the allies humanity had cultivated added their own forces to the progressing war. Things finally seemed to be turning around when the Vindi carried out an assassination against the Cargav leader Tul. The assassin had stowed aboard a Cargav transport as it docked with the flagship of the Cargav contingent and slit Tul’s throat while he was sleeping in his quarters. No one realized the commander was dead until long after the act had been carried out and the assassin had snuck back off the ship.

In the human mindset while the assassination of a leader could cripple a war there were procedures in place to limit the extent of the damage. The chain of command existed so that responsibilities would pass on to the next in command ensure that the human military was never without a leader. Tactics and strategies were taught to all commanders instead of being shared with only the top leaders. Even the diversifying of military branches made it so no one single leader was in command of all forces to allow for flexible reactions to situations.

The Cargav did not have any of this.

In their culture when a war leader was chosen they would be the sole voice of the war until the conflict ended. Their authority was unquestionable and every Cargavan who joined the campaign under their leader swore a blood oath to follow them into the jaws of hell itself if needed.

They had no concept of betrayal or power grabs; no dreams of launching violent coups or misusing military might for personal gain. To the Cargavan’s war was a sacred passage that one would follow for the betterment of all their people. So when Tul died every Cargavan, from lowest orderly to fleet captain felt an overwhelming sense of shame and failure. The death of their leader was seen as the darkest mark of shame their people could obtain and the only way they could undo it was by mass ritual suicide. In that way they would indeed follow their commander into the depths of hell were they could command them once more.

When the human commander Jarvis Lee heard of this he at first did not believe it was a real tradition. He had not done extensive background research on his allies aside from military tactics and could not believe that of the 300,000 Cargavan’s deployed to the campaign all of them would kill themselves.

This reality was finally accepted however when Lee was informed that all Cargavan forces had withdrawn from frontline activities and began donning ceremonial robes. A coalition broadcast soon went out not long after with the Cargavan second in command beginning a death chant of his people.

Realizing that the sudden loss of three hundred thousand allied combatants would cripple the war effort; Lee got on the fastest shuttle and flew directly to the Cargavan flagship after every transmission he sent was blocked.

With every Cargavan in the process of the death ritual Lee met no resistance with boarding the flagship. It took several minutes for Lee to orient himself with the ship’s layout and find the hold the death rite was being carried out in. He sprinted down the winding corridors hoping he would reach there before it was too late. ------------------------------

“Zem zull na, brea ka lu mo. Dea fra muz tah, sen bou nei ru.”

The rhythmic chanting was getting louder as Lee pounded through the alien corridors. His breathing was beyond labored and with each frantic sprint the grey shrouds circling his vision grew thicker; but he could not stop.

He did not care what significance a death ritual held for the Cargavan’s; only that with the sudden loss of the entire Cargavan contingent would mean for the campaign.

After what felt like an eternity Lee stumbled upon the central chamber the rite was being broadcast from. He swiped his access key across the nearby panel but the device merely blinked red and denied him entry. Through the thick metal doors Lee could hear the chanting growing louder and knew he had mere minutes to stop the ceremony but was powerless to get through the doors.

Just as he was about to give up hope he heard the sound of terran boots on deck plates and turned to see his honor guard finally catching up to him.

“Breaching charge, now!” Lee shouted at them.

“Sir?” the leader spoke as he caught his breath, but nonetheless reached down and pulled a small circular device from his belt before handing it to Lee.

Lee snatched the charge from the guard and slapped it on the door as his honor guard slowly began backing away. He spun the activation dial for ten seconds before activating the timer and running back down the corridor. The charge went off just as he turned the corner sending a shower of broken metal, fire, and smoke back after him missing him by mere inches.

Before the smoke had cleared Lee was storming back down the ruined corridor and leaping through the wreckage of what once was the door. Inside he was greeted by the heavy glares of some thousand or so Cargavan’s who had ceased chanting.

They stood gathered in ordered rows like a funeral and at the head of them lay their fallen leader and his second in command standing watch over his corpse with holy blade still in hand.

“YOU DARE!”

The second shouted as he stepped down from his platform and approached Lee. It was only now that it dawned on Lee that he did not actually have a plan on how to stop the ceremony itself. He’d been so focused on just reaching here before it completed that the plan had not fully formed; and now seeing the second in command now coming towards him with eyes full of murderous intent did he push his mind to the limit to concoct a plan. He was just about to open his mouth to address the second when he realized he had never learned their name to begin with. His dealings had always been through Tul and Tul had never introduced his second in command.

Pulling himself up and dusting off his uniform, Lee calmly addressed the gathered Cargavan’s with a voice that filled the entire chamber.

“I came here today to pay my respects to a fallen hero the likes of which will not shine again for generations.” Lee began as he decided to make his gamble. “Yet I am shocked to see his funeral attended by the likes of such cowards.”

The second in command stopped his approach and Lee could see the veins beneath his skin bulging. Lee pressed on knowing he only had one chance to stop the death rite and save his own skin.

“You’re commander is slain from right under your noses, and rather than hunting down the assassin down you all put the blade to your throats.”

Lee walked forward until he was standing before the second in command and looked up at them. They snarled through clenched teeth as they spoke.

“You know nothing of our ways.”

Lee frowned and looked around at the other gathered Cargavan’s.

“I know lazy soldiers when I see them.” Lee remarked. “Has the knife of one assassin cast such fear into you all!?”

He felt hands grabbing his uniform before he saw them and was hoisted into the air like a doll. The second gave an angry roar and threw him down towards the alter where their fallen leader lay. Lee landed heavily, a loud crunching sound informing him of his now broken shoulder, but rallied to his feet quickly.

“And you believe your soldiers would do any differently?” the second challenged as he resumed his death like pace towards Lee, “That they would suffer this injustice to their honor!?”

Lee spat out a glob of blood and looked at the alien, matching his death glare with one of his own. “They would morn my passing and then they would choose a new leader to take my place.” Lee admitted, “But before they did they would scour the worlds of the universe for my killer and bring him before my grave. They would boil the flesh from his body and grind his bones to fertilize the fields of my home, and then cast what remained into the void of oblivion!”

The words stopped the second in his place. No doubt he had not imagined humans capable of such a martial code and this was confirmed by the now interested looks of the surrounding warriors.

“Your leader is dead.” Lee continued as he pointed to Tul, “Yet you would meet him in the after without avenging his death? Did he mean so little to you all?!”

“We die today because he meant everything!” a random Cargavan shouted from the crowd and was met with supportive cheers.

“Then prove it!” Lee countered. “Tul’s enemies still yet live and his killer walks free thinking he has not only slain your leader but all of you as well!”

Lee stepped up on to the platform so everyone gathered could see him. “I ask you now to continue this war until it is won. And when the blood of Tul’s enemies has finally dried upon your blades you may then seek him in the after and present to him the monument of those you have killed in his name and proven your loyalty to him now, and forever!”

Raising his clenched fist high Lee shouted “Who will be Tul’s vengeance!?”

For a death breaking moment there was not a single sound; one could hear a pin drop from across the room. Lee looked over the crowd and debated if he had overplayed his hand when he saw the second raise his hand.

“Vengeance!” they shouted.

One by one the surrounding Cargavan’s began raising their hands as well and shouting the word. Over and over they shouted until the noise deafened Lee and he breathed a sigh of relief. In his eyes the crisis had been averted and the war could continue; little knowing the bloodbath of butchery he had stirred in the hearts of every Cargavan that would push them from noble warriors to genocidal war criminals.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

215 notes · View notes