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tintenspion · 1 year

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Your fave is problematic: Manfred von Richthofen

No, I am not cancelling Manfred von Richthofen. This post is more about clearing up misconceptions in the least hostile way that is possible to me. And I‘ll try to look at it from the point of view of the early 20th century, and not overly judge his actions by modern standards and peacetime standards.

Most of the „problematic“ stuff that comes up about him is because people have an incredibly warped view on how aerial combat works, and also because he has been lifted to a sort of legend-status that is hyper unrealistic to the point where people refer to it as the „Richthofen-Myth“.

The myth of chivalry in aerial combat

First and foremost: No, he did not „spare his enemies“ when they ran out of fuel or their machine guns malfunctioned. This was a war! I see someone spreading this myth at least twice a month now. Its time to stop. If he „spared his enemies“ he wouldn’t have had 80 victories. Yes, there was this one instance where he felt bad for his opponents (his 18th victory) and talked to them on the ground, and the instance with his 61st opponent Lt. Bird, but those were the exception.

Chivalry in aerial combat has been under debate for a long time, basically since fighter planes existed, and the usual consensus is that in the air it is a „man vs man“ fight, reminiscent of knights in the middle ages. Now I do understand where that is coming from, because in the air you usually do have more individualized battles than in the trenches, but the belief that Richthofen, or anyone else to be clear, would rather force a pilot to land than shooting them is a weird misconception. MvR usually aimed for the head. Maybe I can give insights to his fighting manual in a different post.

Another example of alleged „chivalrous“ behavior would be waving to your enemy pilot or giving them a thumbs up. MvR was someone who found that to be very disrespectful, and therefore he would have never done that. Something he also thought of as disrespectful was going to the funeral of a pilot that he shot down. (Both of the described cases are from the Lanoe Hawker victory) Make of that what you will.

The weird comparisons between being a fighter pilot and being a hunter

Manfred von Richthofen was a passionate hunter from a very young age, and often used hunting language to refer to his work as a fighter pilot, as in, referring to flights as a hunt. While this is definitely something to be discussed, it is absolutely noteworthy that „JaSta“ stands for „Jagdstaffel“, which translated means „hunting squadron“, so those sentiments were not exclusive to MvR. In general, a lot of the things people criticize him for are not exclusive to him at all, and are more of a shared sentiment in society itself back then. He did refer to dogfights as a „Menschenjagd“ (human hunt) at one point in his autobiography, and also said that after shooting down a plane, his „hunting passion“ was satisfied.

„Were sportsmen, not butchers.“ is a really misleading quote stemming from the 1918 translation of his biography and being reproduced in the 2008 „biopic“ movie. In context, he was referring to himself as a „Weidmann“ and to his brother as a „Schießer“ (Hunter and Shooter). Weidmann is an out-of-fashion word for hunter, however the sportsman translation probably comes from the fact that Weidmann, in contrast to Jäger, somewhat implies a sort of hunters code on how to hunt honorably (Waidgerechtigkeit).

Side note to the hunting stuff is him hunting the Wiesent, an animal that he knew was endangered at the time (and is largely extinct now).

Something that is also at least criticism worthy is his trophy collecting, which then again was just super normal for pilots to do. He gets a lot of shit for the engine-chandelier, but honestly he probably saw that in the Boelcke-Squadron and just copied it from them. Something that I actually find hilarious and oh so flashy about him is that he requested a silver cup made for every single victory he had achived, with the serial number of the plane engraved into it, bug he stopped doing that when there was a silver shortage and he allegedly didn’t want to continue the collection with tin cups. Usually every pilot got a silver cup for their first victory, but for him that probably wasn‘t enough.

Bombing and strafing

Now we get into war crime territory! Strafing is a practice where a figher plane flies low and shoots at targets on the ground. The strafing of an enemy who has been rendered defenseless is a war crime. In his autobiography, he notes that there was one instance where he strafed an enemy because even though they were downed, they were still shooting back at him. It was debated if this can be considered a war crime, but most historians agree that it was a gray area and can’t really be considered a war crime. I am not going in depth on his general fighting style, as I have already explained the misconceptions about „chivalry in fighter pilots“, as most of the criticism allied pilots had about him were things they indulged in themselves.

As he started his aerial career out as a bomber, he stated that he enjoyed scare bombing at the eastern front, which is definitely pretty morbid and I don’t really have much more to comment on that aside from the fact that is is really alien to me.

He also had a weird obsession with shooting planes down burning. Especially towards his later victories he would shoot the fuel tank after killing the pilot so the plane catches on fire.

Pride and prejudice

Aside from like two times in his autobiography he is one of the least self-politicized historical figures there is. He never really made political statements. However I am going to adress instances and debates of him being racist because its not like I wanna sweep that stuff under the rug. He referred to Russians as „half wild asian tribes“ once which is yikes but pretty standard for the time. And because its a big point people try to make: No, so far there is no record of him being an antisemite. Im not saying it’s impossible because…i mean he lived in the early 20th century and was raised in the prussian cadet corps which was notoriously anti semitic, but there is no direct statement by him where he is saying anything regarding jews. On the other hand he did not have jewish people in his squadron (unlike what the 2008 movie wants you to believe). Then theres the whole thing with him saying that the french are all cowards and I would also bulk that in with „standard ww1 soldier mindset“.

Something that definitely needs to be adressed too in this post is „his arrogance“, because I see this popping up over and over again. Yes, he was proud of his victories. In his mothers war diary they claimed that after his 60th victory or so he allegedly wanted his victories to be counted for the squadron and not for him personally, but that is propaganda. Every discussion regarding his victory count is pretty much speculation, but I have not seen any solid (as in, written) evidence that he „faked“ or „stole“ his victories from his comrades. The relationship between him and his squadron mates completely depended on the time you look at them. He had some friends, who were not nobility (Voss, Wolff, Zeumer, Böhme and a couple more) but those friendships were from his early Jasta 2 and Jasta 11 days. Towards the end of his life the relationship between him and his comrades seems to be a lot less close, as in, they respected him, but he was a lot more reserved and usually by himself.

TL;DR

His list of sins includes:

-killing people (obviously)

-making the weird connection between hunting and fighting humans

-being cocky about his victory count

-hunting endangered animals

-being racist

#manfred von richthofen #history #red baron #ww1 #ww1 aviation #your fave is problematic

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cannibalcaprine · 1 year

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letting loose a squadron of Blood Ravens in the Solemnace Galleries like a pack of wolves into a butcher's shop

#Warhammer 40k #blood ravens #necrons

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fleurdelanuit13 · 8 months

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FFXIV Write 2023: Prompt 5 - Barbarous

In a no longer spare room of Stillglade Fane, Lyla Sylvie sat at a table that was almost all covered in paperwork. She'd been compiling and reviewing notes from previous days, but at the moment, she was pouring herself some tea. A chunk of petrified wood served as a makeshift divider to separate food and drink from work.

Lyla's ear turned as the door opened.

"You are requested," said Zhai'a Nelhah a bit smugly as he re-entered the room. He held a small bundle of mail in one hand and an opened letter in the other. Lyla's ears faced him but she did not look up.

"By who?" she asked, setting a pair of sugar cubes adrift in her cup.

"Some of the Ninth Spears—do not make that face!"

Lyla continued to make that face. Her scowl was now accompanied by the flicking of her tail and partial flattening of her ears. The Keepers locked eyes for a few heartbeats, then Zhai'a shut his as if in thought.

"I would not make light of your concerns," he told her, opening his eyes again, "yet I also know that you do not mistrust every Wailer in existence. I know this squadron personally and I have vetted them thoroughly, as has Pimoh and a host of others. You need not doubt them, but even if you do, pray do not doubt the rest of us."

"Fine," Lyla grumbled. She stirred her tea menacingly. "Go on."

Zhai'a cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and continued his analysis of the missive. "There is a poacher that they struggle to catch."

"And?" Lyla set down her teaspoon more gently than he thought she would. "That sounds like a them problem."

"Hence the request." Zhai'a put the rest of the mail on the table. "Your views are not exactly secret, but these Spears possess humility enough to beg your aid."

Lyla snorted. "And what do they expect me to do?"

"They expect us to do our jobs as Hearers, and seek answers where they cannot."

He offered up the letter but did not let go of it right away. He half-expected the parchment to catch fire at her touch—gods knew she could do that without a thought.

"They've none of their own?" Lyla asked, tugging the letter from him as soon as he relaxed his grip.

"None with knowledge such as ours." Zhai'a's tail swished slowly as he took the teapot and filled a spare cup. "Were it so trivial, they would not ask."

As she read over the request, Lyla's eyes narrowed. She took a long sip of her tea. Her tail stopped most of its flicking. Past the rim of his teacup, Zhai'a saw the look he had been hoping for. Lyla's scowl became one more of annoyance and interest than disdain. Zhai'a's tail curled to the side in anticipation.

"A trophy poacher," Lyla said flatly, "butchering creatures to take only what sells the quickest, kindling a rage and sorrow feared to become greenwrath ere long, and they suspect dark magic is involved."

Lyla set the letter down and pushed it back across the table. "You could've just said that."

Zhai'a shrugged. As if anything regarding her her could ever be so simple.

"I could not have said it in good faith," he admitted. "Biases must needs be out of our way first, lest they cloud our judgement."

He could not hide his smirk after that. It actually worsened when Lyla rolled her eyes and the tiniest of smiles threatened to unsour her expression.

She ran her nails through her hair. Tiny sparks flew as the polish lit up. "They know I don't work for free, right?"

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Perish the thought of you ever working for free."

#lyla sylvie ffxiv #ffxivwrite2023 #for context this takes place post-stb #apologies in advance for typos and weird formatting or whatever

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spell-cleaver · 2 years

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Whumptober No. 18 LET’S BREAK THE ICE “Just get it over with.” | Treading Water | “Take my Coat”

Read it instead on AO3 or on FFN!

Zev had always hated the cold. But he hated being on a mission with Luke Skywalker more. This was the third time he’d put out a hand to force Zev to stop in the middle of the snowy forest, crouched low on the ground, listening.

“I can’t hear anything!” Zev hissed.

“Neither can I,” Skywalker replied under his breath. “But there’s something ahead, and we don’t want it to hear us.”

“Is this one of those Jedi instincts of yours?” Zev asked, his lip curling.

“Of course.” Skywalker eyed him. He wasn’t as tanned as he had once been, presumably due to the time away from his desert homeworld, but against the dirty white snow jacket, gloves, furred hood and boots, his skin stood out like a splash of colour. “Why?”

Zev shivered and told himself it was the cold. It had bitten through his heavy coat the moment Skywalker had landed them on this ball of ice; if it wasn’t for the goggles, he was sure his eyeballs would have frozen in their sockets. But even through those goggles, Skywalker’s gaze was uncomfortably intense, like he knew exactly what Zev was thinking.

Like—

“Vader does that a lot,” Zev said and made it clear in his voice exactly what he thought of Vader.

It rankled Skywalker, apparently, which Zev took as a win. He’d heard so much about the great destroyer of the Death Star: the man, the myth, the legend. Legends never held up. He was waiting to find out what was behind that uncrackable calm façade.

“You do know that Vader isn’t a Jedi?” Skywalker said tightly. “And that this sort of ability occurs naturally across the galaxy?”

“Jedi or not, it looks the same to me.”

Skywalker huffed to himself and turned away. Zev hated that this kid—who, admittedly, should only be three or four years younger than Zev at most—was being the more mature out of the two of them. He had been a commander after all before he resigned from Rogue Squadron, but still. Zev knew maturity. He knew self-discipline. His dad had taught him enough about that.

“Either way,” Skywalker said, “we need to be careful. The base is just up ahead—”

“And you know that how? We got thoroughly lost in that blizzard.” They’d hunkered down in a tent—Skywalker had meditated all night, who the hell did that—and waited it out, but by now Zev’s map was pretty useless. He didn’t like being useless. It gave people space to accuse him of being dead Imperial weight. “We can’t even see past that bank of trees for the snow.”

“It’s there,” Skywalker said. Maybe he was used to the Rogues obeying every instinct and order of his wordlessly, like good soldiers. He did really sound like Vader when he talked like that.

Zev had met Vader more times that he liked to remember. Imperial Army functions, where his dad would pull around his wife and child as a model soldier with a family; celebrations; parades; awards ceremonies where General Veers was awarded even more accolades. The last one had been the one that the Rebellion hated Zev’s dad the most for: Veers had received a commendation for what he’d done on Hoth, while Rebels hissed vitriol and called him the Butcher. Being the Butcher’s son, even a butcher’s son who’d defected shortly after realising how little his father cared about the Empire’s atrocities, had been less than easy.

At that ceremony, Vader had looked Zev, standing primly next to his father and fiercely missing his deceased mother, in the eye. He had looked from General Veers to his son several times, with enough intensity to knock the breath out of Zev’s chest. Then he had looked away.

Skywalker’s regard reminded him of that. It made him grit his teeth.

“I don’t believe you,” he decided.

“I get you’re new to the Alliance, but—”

“I know how army missions work, Skywalker.” Was he always going to have someone looking over his shoulder like this? Vader, sizing him up beside his father, and inevitably finding him lacking? Skywalker, dissatisfied with his lack of obedience to the ranking officer and leader on this mission?

“You don’t know how the Force works though,” Skywalker said carefully. Everyone Zev had spoken to had said their hero was bright, reckless, a bit clumsy with words and overeager but earnest. A damn hard worker. This meticulous way of speaking to Zev just made him feel like he was being coddled again. “I just wanted to explain it to you, if you didn’t. I get feelings, sometimes—they direct me to where I need to go, though it’s not always where I want to go, and they warn me of danger. And I can sense people’s presences. Life forms.” He noticed ahead of them, still crouching. “There’s a lot of life forms over there.”

“Can you read minds?” Zev asked. He wanted to know if Vader had been able to read his rebellious thoughts on him, like a dog smelling blood.

“Only if I try.” Skywalker seemed to be going for a joke, but he aborted it halfway. “I don’t.”

Zev wished he hadn’t asked.

“We need to get closer, then,” he said instead. “Our mission is to scout out the base.”

“If we get any closer, something will go wrong,” Skywalker said.

“What will go wrong?”

Skywalker hesitated. “I don’t know. But it will. I need you to trust that.”

That was impossible. Zev had been raised in the heart of the Empire. He had weathered the Imperial academy. There was no trusting someone until you saw them crack, and Skywalker was too composed for that. Too heroic.

“There might be another blizzard on the way,” he tried to justify. “We need to move fast.”

“We need to do this right.” Skywalker glanced at him. “If I told you what I suspected, would you listen?”

“Why haven’t you told me before?”

“I’m not certain—at least, I don’t want to be certain—”

“I’m going,” he decided and stood up.

“Veers, no!”

Zev barely made it three paces through the thick, snowy undergrowth before teeth snapped shut around his ankle. He howled.

Skywalker was next to him in a moment; he caught him before Zev fell hard into the thorny bushes; his grip was strong, but apparently Zev’s enormous height and subsequent weight was difficult for him. He struggled with him to the ground. Distantly, they heard shouts.

“Kriff,” Skywalker said. “I was right.”

“About the danger?” Zev spat, glancing down at the ankle. Kriff—kriff—he could see blood. He could see bone. “You didn’t tell me they’d have a kriffing trap here!”

“It doesn’t look like it’s for humans, it’s for—”

“Animals, I know! I’ve been hunting before!” The Imperials at this base were probably hoping for game to get them through the harsher nights, or just doing it for fun, and they happened to have snagged an Imperial-turned Rebel instead—

“I wasn’t right about the trap. I didn’t know what that was.” Skywalker winced as well when he looked down at Zev’s injury, the metal teeth that went all the way through and out the other side of his squishy leg. “I was right about the other thing.”

“Which is?”

The distant shouts grew louder. They weren’t as distant as Zev had thought, he realised; they were far too close for comfort. Someone had heard him scream. He could hear them assembling.

And worse, he recognised the voice barking orders.

“No one’s sure where that came from, so split up! Two squads to the north. You lot, head west. You—” The voice paused; Skywalker went very still, turning his face away, closing his eyes. Zev watched, but clearly the camouflage against the snow worked. “—take the east side. If there are Rebels here, Lord Vader will want them found.”

Zev felt the colour drain out of his face. “You’re kidding me.”

“I was really hoping Vader wasn’t here,” Skywalker muttered.

“Vader’s here?”

“By the looks of it, Vader, General Veers, and a significant portion of the Imperial Army. There must be something important going on here.”

It wasn’t just the pain putting the nausea into Zev’s stomach. “It’s a strategic planet.”

“Yeah.” Skywalker glanced back. “We need to run. They’re headed this way.”

“Run? I can’t—”

A snap-hiss was all the warning Zev got. Skywalker’s lightsaber wasn’t blue, as Zev had heard; it was green. As green as his mother’s eyes had been. Zev yelped at the sight of it, then stifled himself. Skywalker slashed through the trap, close enough to the exposed skin of Zev’s legs to both burn and freeze it simultaneously and tugged the metal jaws out of his flesh.

Zev did his best, again, not to scream.

Skywalker cut a swath of fabric from his coat and swiftly tied it around Zev’s shin, the blood pumping over his hand, then tied it tightly enough that Zev thought his foot would fall off. His heart was thundering in his chest. Despite all his training, everything his dad had taught him, he had never been injured in the field like this. He did not know what to do.

But Skywalker did. “Run!”

That was one order Zev was happy to obey.

Pain lanced up his leg with every step, until he was gambling, galloping, stumbling through the undergrowth like a three-legged deer. Skywalker had shot off at the speed of light—how could Jedi move that fast—to begin with, but then he dropped behind and kept pace with him. It felt insulting. Zev knew it wasn’t meant that way.

“Keep running,” Skywalker urged, hardly out of breath. He pranced over hidden logs and bushes like they were nothing. “Our ship is nearby. We just need to get out of atmo.”

Zev stared at the lightsaber hilt, beating innocuously against Skywalker’s thigh. A literal sword of light from the stories, the romantic side he’d got from his mother prompted; the scepticism that the academy had beaten into him told him instead about how he’d seen something like that before, as well.

At his father’s medal ceremony, a rich, ornately dressed patron had loudly boasted how much they had contributed to the bounty that was out for Luke Skywalker’s corpse. Lord Vader had wordlessly and gracefully drew his lightsaber and sent their head rolling, bloodless, across the marble floor. They didn’t even have the chance for their expression to shift from that smug, inattentive smile.

What a barbaric weapon. At least a blaster did it from a distance. At least everyone knew to expect them. Why were people who could already kill with their minds allowed to just carry a sword of fire wherever they went? If he ever had to duel Vader, Zev would rather have a blaster at his side. And that might be a possibility they had to encounter, soon.

Skywalker held out a hand to stop them so fast Zev almost crashed past it. A force caught him and set him gently back down on the ground, before he floundered out of the woods and onto what looked like a beach. He picked himself up, grimacing with pain at the trail of bright blood he’d left in the snow like flags in a race, and glared at Skywalker.

“Don’t touch me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. There was the earnestness. But the way his head tilted as he scanned the white, featureless horizon, jaw working and brows creasing, undid the effect. He was staring into space again.

What happened, when two unnatural beings like Skywalker and Vader collided? If they didn’t move soon, Zev would kriffing find out, but Skywalker wasn’t moving.

“You said the ship was near,” Zev said. No matter that they’d been hiking for days to get over here. How had they got that turned around? “We need to move.”

Vader was here. Zev did not want to have him root through his mind, stare at him like he had before. He did not want to be the one whose head rolled. Unconsciously, he glanced at Skywalker’s lightsaber again.

His father had spent his life serving under a religious fanatic who made irrational military decisions, he thought, semi-hysterically. Zev was going to die this way as well.

“I misinterpreted,” Skywalker said.

“What does that mean?”

Skywalker pointed straight ahead. Zev peered out of the wood, following the snow plain to the horizon. He saw nothing.

Except, that wasn’t a snow plain.

“That’s a pretty bad misinterpretation, Skywalker!” Zev snapped.

“It’s a narrow channel. The river is usually very still. We can circumnavigate it, like we did when hiking here, or go straight across.”

“It wasn’t frozen over when we landed!”

“It is now.”

“Will it stay that way?”

Skywalker scrunched his eyes shut, reaching out a hand. For a moment, Zev had to stop and stare. Vader was never so obvious when he was uncertain, not from the stories he’d heard. At least Skywalker wasn’t an infallible hero in that, then.

“Yes,” Skywalker said at last, hesitantly.

“You don’t sound like you believe it.”

“It will stay that way if we’re careful. I can guide us over the safe bits; if we stick to the bits that feel safe, we’ll be fine.”

“None of this feels safe!” Zev gestured to his leg. Stars, he should’ve stayed with the Empire. Funnelled his pocket money into the Rebellion instead, or something. What the hell was he doing here? Why the hell had he agreed to go on a mission with this guy?

“We can go back the way we came,” Skywalker offered gently. “I have medical supplies. We can find somewhere to hide, pitch the tent, then I’ll stand watch while you treat your injury more effectively.”

“Yes!” Zev enthused. “Let’s do that.”

“Alright. It’s this way, then.” Luke nodded to their left. “We should hug the edge of the woods, get some more shelter—” He cut himself off. “Get down.”

This time, Zev obeyed fast enough that he didn’t get thrown down by an unseen force. They ducked behind a thorn bush, holding their breaths.

“And you’re sure the footprints went this way?”

It wasn’t near. In fact, through the forest, it would take General Veers quite a trek to get to them. But the voice seized Zev’s heart. Skywalker glanced at him; even through the goggles on his face, his expression was something uncomfortably like sympathy.

Longing, even.

Could he read the inferno of emotions in Zev’s chest? If he could, Zev would need him to unpick them for him.

“Yes, sir. They’re a bit muddled, but there’s a blood trail as well. It got a bit kicked up around here.”

“Then fan out and search this area. They can’t have gone far.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zev whispered, “We’re going across the ice.”

Skywalker glanced at him. “What?”

“I am not staying here to be found. We’re going across the ice. It’s against Imperial policy to follow on foot, and to get speeders they’d have to go back, fix them to deal with the cold, by which time we’d better be across.”

“We will be,” Skywalker reassured. It was obvious this was not one of his premonitions. “Alright. Move slowly. The ice is thick, but it creaks. Our coats should camouflage us.”

“What does a desert boy know about ice?”

“Hoth was a steep learning curve.”

Zev suddenly wondered if Skywalker had watched his squadron die under Zev’s father’s fire.

“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Zev had never moved so slowly. Every footstep, snow crunching underfoot, was like a cannon bursting from under his toes. The blood that drip, drip, dripped behind him, melting through the top layer of white snow crystals, was fairy tale-esque in the trail it left behind. The only colour in this bleak, monochromatic landscape.

Skywalker stepped onto the ice first. It creaked slightly under his foot, but he spread his weight, his snowshoes doing their job—Zev’s right one had been crushed in the trap, so he didn’t know how he’d manage—and got several metres without so much as a hitch. He beckoned to Zev.

“Come on.” His tone was a murmur, almost. Zev heard it in the rush of cold air against his cheeks.

He followed gingerly. Every tiptoe across the ice felt like inviting doom. Up close, it wasn’t white: it was deep aquamarine, shot through with frost-tipped planes. His own distraught face stared back at him as if out of a shattered mirror. Skywalker’s reflected back as well, upside down from this angle; Zev glanced at his reflection, and for a moment he thought he looked afraid. A crack in the ice bisected his reflection, like he was made of fragments himself.

“Stay low to the ice,” he murmured again. “They’re coming. We need to get into the haze of snow before they get here.”

They kept moving. Skywalker stepped in an irregular, zigzag pattern that made Zev’s head spin, but he knew how to dodge blaster bolts so the logic to it made sense. He followed behind closely.

Wouldn’t the ice, thick as it was, be weaker when he stepped on it, having already born Skywalker’s weight? Wasn’t he heavier?

“What is there to say that where you step is safe for you but not for me?” he asked. “I’m a lot heavier than you.”

“I’m paying attention, Veers. I don’t want you to die.”

“You weren’t paying attention back there.”

“I made a mistake, I’m sorry. This is a fast way to get to the ship.”

“It’s just also a dangerous way.”

“Yeah.”

Zev shivered. But that was his dad back there, searching for the faceless Rebel that had replaced his only son. Their last conversation played on repeat in his head: Veers’s absolutely adamance that Zev was wrong, that Lord Vader’s decapitation of that random Imperial was justified even if neither of them knew the facts behind it, Zev desperately trying to make his father see how the values he had taught him contradicted this.

It was either face the past or risk the future. He had to trust this unnatural Jedi hero. He resented it with every fibre of his being.

But the moment he divided from Skywalker’s forged path, he felt a change in the ice underneath him. It shifted under his step, groaning. His reflection rippled, afraid.

He slipped back onto Skywalker’s path. The faint fall of snow had split them from sight of the shore, Zev’s bright trail of blood leading into a white haze. There was nothing but Skywalker’s instincts to say whether they were heading away from the Imperials, towards their ships, or the wrong way entirely.

“Just to break the ice,” Skywalker said, then winced at his own phrase, “we’re both thinking it. I wanted to confirm. That’s…” He hesitated. “That’s your dad back there, isn’t it?”

“What’s it to you?” Zev bit out, a little louder than he should have. The ice bounced it back at him; he stumbled and heard it crunch, then scrambled away again. Before his eyes, the tiny plate he’d punched loose in his overeager kick bobbed merrily, caved in on all sides, and slowly froze back to the main plate.

“I’m sorry,” was not what Zev had been expecting. “I know it’s hard to have a parent on the other side of the war.”

“The hells would you know about it?”

For a moment, he hoped this would be the moment Skywalker cracked. This would be when he revealed that darker core Zev could tell was there. No perfect mask stayed unscarred for long. Vader’s mask was replaced regularly for the wear it took on the battlefield.

“I’m sorry,” Skywalker repeated.

“Don’t pity me,” Zev said.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t judge me either.”

“You think I would?”

“You’re Luke Skywalker. You wouldn’t understand any of this! You’re too busy saving the day to worry about the grey areas of the galaxy!”

And that was why Zev couldn’t trust anyone perfect. He was antsy around all the Rebel leaders, Princess Leia especially, for how they kept their faces blank and their feelings neutral throughout the war, their masks impeccable. He hated following symbols. They weren’t real people, they wouldn’t understand him, and they definitely wouldn’t try to. They’d just look right through him—or down on him, if they saw him at all. And they took everyone else away.

How many of his friends at the academy had never taken their anti-Imperial thoughts to their natural conclusion because they were so enamoured with the shiny stormtrooper armour? How many people had died for an emperor who sat on a throne and never bothered to look them in the eye? How many fathers had been lost, because they were so loyal to one, impossibly powerful leader, that they refused to listen to their own sons?

It had been naïve to think that the Rebellion might be different, for that. But Zev would be.

Skywalker said, “I understand what people say about me. I don’t like it.”

“They say you’re a hero.”

“Yeah. I’m not going to judge you, Zevulon.”

“If you’re going to be unprofessional and use my first name, it’s Zev. But don’t. Don’t use it.”

There were shouts in the distance. People were onto their trail. Skywalker looked behind them and swallowed.

“You can move faster than me,” Zev told him. “Go. They’re following my trail.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” Skywalker’s gaze moved from them to him. “How do you deal with it?”

“What?”

“Knowing your father hates Rebels.”

That was the final straw. Zev stared at Skywalker, silhouetted in goggles and a massive hood against the white fall of snow. The ice underneath his feet was almost luminescent, blue-green and brilliant, with the light that Skywalker seemed to exude just by existing.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Zev said, his voice lower and colder than the bottom of this river. “Let’s get this over with.” He marched forwards, shoving past Skywalker.

“Veers, wait!” Fingers caught the edge of his jacket, but he brushed them off. He wanted to be done with this mission. He wanted to be done with all of this. He never wanted to think about his father again.

The ice cracked. His foot went through. His knee, then waist, then torso followed. When his head hit the water, it was like being folded in liquid nitrogen.

He instinctively gasped for air. Frigid water flooded his mouth, his nose. He coughed and spluttered, eyes streaming even underwater. It was so dark under here, that aquamarine fading to a dark, hungry blue that lurked beneath his kicking boots. His broken snowshoe trembled with how hard he beat his legs in the water, even as the cold bit into the holes the trap’s teeth had left behind; it wobbled some more, then dropped off his boot altogether. He watched it sink.

Everything was so slow. His head was pounding, but… He needed…

He needed to get out of here.

Straining, he reached for the surface. His coat was a dead weight around him; survival training, no matter how abstract it had been to swim leisurely in a pool compared to this, seized the back of his mind. He shrugged off his coat, watching that billow to the bottom of the river as well. When he reached the surface, he extended a hand.

He met only ice.

No, no, no—

How far had he shifted? Was there a current? Had the ice shifted instead? He couldn’t see the hole he’d fallen through anymore. Light streamed into the water in the distance, but it was too far away to make out—was that it? Shadows flickered along the surface. Where was he? Where was up? Down?

He knew where that was. The more he kicked, the more the cold sank into his muscles, and the less he kicked. Slowly, he drifted towards the dark blue embrace.

Thumping. Lots of footsteps, it sounded like—through the water, at least. Skywalker should run. When Vader caught him, he’d kill him.

Bubbles wibbled in front of Zev’s face. His lungs burned. Slowly, his vision went red. Then blue. Then, just before the true blackness crept in, he saw a shadow flicker above in the paler blue part of the world.

A spear of green shot through the haze.

The sight of a lightsaber so close to his face shocked him out of his stupor. He gasped, more water choking him, but it spun around him as neatly as a factory machine. He followed it around with staring eyes, bubbles dribbling from his lips. When he looked up, he saw a perfect circle of white, limned in green. It exploded outwards.

That horrible force he hated so much seized him. One moment he was dying, then he was lying on his side on the ice, retching. That green light had not stopped. It was… warm.

He noticed that where Skywalker reached it out, hovering it a few millimetres above his clothes, steam evaporated off of him.

“This is taking too long,” he muttered to himself, and deactivated it. Zev wanted to protest, wanted the light and warmth back. Skywalker shrugged off his coat. “Take this.”

“What?” But he’d already bundled it around his shoulders. A shock of residual warmth from Skywalker’s body went through his shoulders. “Why?”

“Because you’re half dead.”

“No,” Zev said, struggling to get it out. “Why didn’t you run?”

“Why would I?”

Of course he hadn’t run. He was a hero. But he didn’t look calm and collected now. He was shivering violently without his coat, one of his hands curled limply at his side, and kept looking to the horizon.

“Veers,” Skywalker said.

“Zev.”

“What?”

Zev stared at Skywalker’s lightsaber. “Just—call me Zev, alright? You’ve already saved me twice.”

That got a mirthless smile. “Alright. Zev. Do you think your father will kill you, if he finds you?”

“What?”

“If he finds you, will your father kill you? Rebel or not, you’re his son.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t escape,” Skywalker said. “You can’t move very far like this. We’d freeze before we got back to the ship.”

“You can still escape.”

“Will your father kill you or not? Or hurt you?”

“No!” Zev said. “I don’t think. No. He won’t.” He was furious at him. But he loved him. Angst about their relationship and Zev’s betrayal aside, he had that low, low bar to count on: his father would not kill him if they ever saw each other again.

Skywalker swallowed. “I have a flare,” he said.

Zev’s eyes widened. “You need to escape. No.”

“You’re sure that your father won’t hurt you?” Skywalker’s voice cracked. And Zev watched, with shock and horror, as Skywalker cracked as well. Hot tears were steaming up his goggles. “That fathers don’t do that?”

“No! Why?”

“You think I’m like Vader.”

“Yes? No? It’s—”

“You should. You’re right. Do you know what he told me when I last confronted him?” Skywalker’s words were an avalanche. “He’s my father.”

Zev watched Skywalker. Skywalker watched him back.

That stare. That alertness, the instincts, and expectation that people should follow them, because they were evidently right. How Skywalker had flinched, revealing that first hint of the darkness at his core, when Zev first brought Vader up.

“He cut off my hand before he told me that,” Skywalker got out. He waved his dead hand. “It’s a prosthetic.”

Zev stared at it. “It must’ve died in the cold ages ago.”

“It did.”

“You’ve only had one functioning hand this whole time and you didn’t say anything?”

“It wasn’t relevant! Your injury was!”

“Vader is your father?” Vader had a son? A Rebel son? One who had an Alive Only bounty on big enough to buy the Empire out from under him?

“Apparently!”

He thought about how Vader had stared at him, at that awards ceremony. Standing tall and proud next to his decorated father: an army cadet, ready to serve by his side. He thought about how Vader had looked away.

Zev reached out a hand to take Skywalker’s dead one. “Send up the flare,” he told him.

“You’re sure? You’ll be alright?”

“So will you.” Zev’s chest ached. That might be from inhaling all that water. “Once they rescue us, we’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“Send up the flare,” Zev insisted. “Now, you have to trust me.”

When Luke looked at him, he was not judging him. Zev didn’t know why he’d ever thought that he was.

This war had left no one unscathed. Maybe Luke, Princess Leia, Zev’s dad, Vader, all the symbols of good and evil he’d ever looked up to, were just much better at hiding it than he was.

Luke fumbled in his bag for the flare. Looked at it in his left hand. “I need you to help,” he said, wiggling his dead prosthetic.

Zev nodded and took the string. Together, they lifted it, aimed, and fired.

It soared into the sky with an ear-splitting squeal. Bright yellow, orange, red: the antithesis to this cold landscape around them. When it exploded, just the sight of the showering sparks warmed Zev, somewhat. So did the distant shouts.

They huddled together on the ice, heat bleeding through each other like hope, and waited for their fathers to rescue them.

#luke skywalker #zevulon veers #my writing #random words on a page #whumptober 2022 #no.18 #for darkness shows the stars

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not-a-vegan3 · 2 years

Text

Monster Hunter AU

This AU takes place in the 1700s (but fuck you they got revolvers cus they cool) Hunters(well all the important ones) Becky Botsford: 16 year old hunter specializing in killing vampires, famous for killing Dracula, youngest squadron leader in the hunting businesses and mentor to Tj. Hopelessly in love with Tobey, a vampire she was sent to kill.

Todd "Scoops" Ming: 17 year old hunter specializing in killing werewolves, third in command in Becky's squadron. Mentor to Johnson. Engaged to Violet.

Violet Healsip: 16 year old hunter medic, second in command in Becky's squadron. Engaged to Todd.

Rose Franklin: 16 year old hunter, specializing in killing banshees, ghouls, and other undead. Part of Becky's squadron.

Tj Botsford: 14 year old hunter in training. Courting Johnson. Johnson Healsip: 14 year old monster hunter in training: Courting Tj.

Rexagon "Rex" Franklin: 15 year old hunter strategist, previous apprentice to Becky, part of her squadron.

Hunter Throbheart: 16 year old hunter, in love with Becky, part of her squadron. Miss Power: 56 year old hunter general, hunts witches.

Steven Boxleitner: 32 year old hunter, old mentor to Becky

Monsters

Theodore McCallister the 3rd: 116 year old vampire, grand duke to the north in love with Becky.

The butcher: unknown age, surprisingly friendly giant, farms sheep.

Granny May: 1000 year old banshee, rival to Rose.

Mr Big: 500 year old demon of greed, loves rabbits, and Leslie. Leslie: 80 year old human locked in a soul binding contract to Mr Big.

Steven- Dr Two-brains: 32 year old werewolf

Charlie: 25 year old werewolf, twin brother to Meatloaf Meatloaf: 25 year old werewolf

ARG: 21 year old, harmless gorgon.

The Whammer: nobody knows what he is

Nocan: 10000 year old dragon, loves fighting

That's it for now any questions will be appreciated

#wordgirl au #wordgirl #becky botsford #todd scoops ming #tobey mccallister #tobecky #tobey mcallister iii #violet heaslip #rose franklin #miss power #kid math #rex #granny may #tj botsford #johnson wordgirl #mr big wordgirl #nocan the contrarian #Wordgirl Monster hunter AU

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qvid-pro-qvo · 1 year

Note

15 + sereshace - liz

grapejuice - harry styles

There's just no gettin' through Without you A bottle of rouge Just me and you Sittin' in the garden, I'm a couple glasses in I was tryna count up all the places we've been You're always there, so don't overthink I'm so over whites and pinks

They're celebrating all of the squadron, but Natasha's about three hours past where she can care anymore.

The mission, about a year in their rearview, finally got declassified, and there's a lot of pomp and circumstance. Dress whites that feel too tight around the collar, presentations and awards and special commendations. Everywhere she turns there's talks about promotions and so much of the upper brass the corner of her mouth twitches with how much she's had to grin and bear it.

The bottom line is, she needs air, and soon, and when she gets the chance her hand reaches out to shake and make her excuses so she can wander out into the courtyard of the too-nice hotel. She stops at the bar on her way out, grabs a glass of red wine, and lets the glass sit precariously on a walkway railing for a moment while she collects herself.

It's almost empty out here, a couple of other stragglers in uniform. There's a gentle breeze that feels good on her face. She takes a couple of deep breaths, and takes the glass off the railing, lifts it to her mouth and takes a couple of swallows.

"Need a refill?" a voice says behind her. Familiar. Warm.

"This is my refill," she returns, turning her head to smile at Bradley. His whites shine in the lights that illuminate the gardens, but she doesn't miss the way he's already unbuttoned the top two, away from prying eyes.

She takes the chance to stretch her neck after keeping her posture so straight for so long. He follows the line of it with his eyes. She knows, because she does it, too.

"What're you doing out of the party?" she asks him.

"Avoiding questions and the admirals that're asking them," he tells her. His eyes scan the garden, and when they don't pick up on anyone with stars on their lapel, he leans forward and kisses her cheek. "You all right?"

"Fine," she murmurs, smiling at the daring kiss. "I'm avoiding questions, too. Avoiding everyone, really." It's then she sees that he's empty-handed. "Didn't you ask if I wanted a refill? Where's your drink?"

It's Jake who answers, jogging up to them with a prize in his hands. "He was waiting for me to sweettalk us into a bottle," he laughs, coming to a halt next to the both of them before holding it aloft for them to admire. Natasha takes the moment to admire his own look, his whites still styled to perfection. He might as well have been motionless for the last few hours. "Voila."

"You butcher the French language, Seresin," Bradley snorts, before taking the bottle and peering at the label. "A cabernet?"

"It was one word," Jake shoots back, rolling his eyes, before moving to stand next to Nat and wrap his arm around her waist. She leans into him, can't help the instinct. "And don't pretend like you can taste any difference. You've got no taste for the finer things."

Bradley's eyes look up from the label, and he looks between Nat and Jake for a moment with a smirk. A little bite of his lower lip.

"I mean, if you're offering a taste of something fine -"

"Boys," Natasha chuckles. She has to interrupt, bring some type of common sense to the banter. Pulling back from Jake, even with his pout at the motion, she nods to the hotel, where music and chatter carry over the courtyard. "There is a party in there. In our honor. I was just getting some air."

"And we'd figure we'd join you," Jake says, snagging the bottle again. "Y'know. Take a breather."

Bradley steps forward again. Rubs shoulders with Jake, and together they block her view of the party completely, pressed together, shoulder to hip.

"If they need us, Bob said he'd text," Bradley tells her. "We'll be all right for a little while longer. C'mon, Nat. Let's breathe."

They are alone out here. The air is cool, and the pathways dive deeper into rows of flowers that look a little mazelike. She itches for it, the chance to disappear, to hide away with the two of them and finish a bottle of wine, doing their best not to spill.

Jake reaches for the pin on her lapel. Straightens the line of it.

"Just for a few minutes," Jake pleads. Looking into her eyes with something longing.

She knows. She feels it, too.

"Okay," she succumbs, and their delighted smiles make their faces shine almost as bright as the garden lights. Her eyes roll at their obvious joy, but feels her cheeks heat at the affection. "Fine. But if either of you spill, I'm throwing you in the fountain." And then she pauses as she looks for a preferred path to wander down. "Did either of you geniuses bring an extra glass?"

"Who needs a glass," Bradley chuckles, following her as she turns to go deeper into the garden, "when we have a bottle?"

for @katiesharms. opened up prompts! <3 send me one!

#prompt fill #sereshace #ask the status qvo #natasha trace #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #phoenix #hangman #rooster #bradley bradshaw x jake seresin x natasha trace #my fic #my writing #top gun: maverick #tgm #qvo ships tgm #cw alcohol #alcohol mention

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usafphantom2 · 11 months

Text

U.S. Army grants research and development contract for precision guided ammunition to BAE Systems

The partnership aims to advance long-range fire capabilities to defeat fixed and mobile targets in challenging environments.

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 05/23/2023 - 14:00 in Military

The U.S. Army has signed a $72.5 million contract with BAE Systems for research and development of precision guided ammunition.

The contract, granted by the U.S. Army Combat Capabilities Development Command (DEVCOM AC) Armaments Center, will last for three years and aims to boost the Army's long-range precision fire modernization efforts.

Brent Butcher, Vice President and General Manager of Weapons Systems at BAE Systems, expressed enthusiasm for the partnership established with DEVCOM AC and highlighted the importance of developing a highly maneuverable long-range fire capacity, capable of facing high-value targets on the battlefield.

Over the past few years, BAE Systems has invested in the development of ultra-long range and hyperspeed ammunition. In this contract, the company will work in collaboration with DEVCOM AC to further improve the performance of precision cannon ammunition, allowing them to defeat fixed and mobile targets in environments with degraded or non-existent GPS signal, with a range twice as greater than precision guided ammunition (PGMs) launched by cannons currently in use.

As early as 2021, BAE Systems received a $16 million contract to develop and demonstrate the effectiveness of PGMs against long-range land targets.

Tags: Military AviationBAE SystemsUS Army - US Army

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Daytona Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work around the world of aviation.

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over-the-time-flow · 9 months

Text

Though he was shot down, Butcher isn't too upset. This was just a warm-up for the revival of Gaizok, after all. It seems we'll have a lot on our plate even if we manage to ride out Char's rebellion...

...But a fat stack of 20k moneys certainly helps to lift the mood, i'd say.

Back on the bridge, as Neo Zeon retreats, they start connecting the dots. Even Gaizok aside, it was too weak of a squadron... they were certainly attempting to buy time.

As the machines fly back onto the Argama, Astonaige rushes to see if Kayra's alright, while Hathaway laments not being able to save Quess... if only the Gaizok didn't show up. Amuro decides to be blunt, and tells him that there's no use anymore. Now that Char's gotten his claws in her, there's no way this'll end any way other than misery.

Hathaway: "I'll bring her back before it gets to that point. I won't let her die."

Though he surely wanted this to come across as determined and cool, Amuro says that thinking like that will just lead to him ending up like Quess, but Hathaway says that's fine by him. Unwilling to argue this any further, Amuro drops the subject.

Further adding to Amuro's stress, Chan voices her own intent to continue piloting. Someone's gotta keep an eye on Hathaway, after all.

Separated in their own, much less heavy conversation, Raul and Raj discuss the Timeflow Engine. Raul can't put it into words well, but while it's working mostly fine, he keeps feeling strange vibrations from the engine block during use. Raj says he'll look into it.

Later, on the bridge, Bright and Amuro alike voice their disbelief at the return of Gaizok. They wonder if someone should tell Kappei, the sole surviving pilot of the Zambot 3, but with the Zambot 3 itself gone...

Inserting himself into this conversation about dead children, Raj laments the Zambot 3's demise, as he would have loved to study its Ion Engine... Mizuho immediately reprimands him for his lack of tact.

The crew discusses what to even do. There's now a third threat on the horizon, but there's no choice but to attempt to ignore it for now. Speaking of other threats, Raul asks about how the Nadesico is doing, and while the Martian Successor situation is almost as bad as our own, Captain Hoshino is a talented one, so Bright says there's no need for worries. Most importantly, we can't afford to worry about other fronts right now; we've got to save the Earth.

Even later, Raul and Raj run into Mizuho hard at work with data input. Turns out she's jotting down notes on the v Gundam and other top-of-the-line machines we've got lying around. When it comes to mecha designing, you've gotta be holistic. Raul can't hide his excitement to see what new Excellence frame she'll come up with next, but Raj reminds him that that's if they'll even continue to get funded after all this is over. Still, Mizuho says, this is all she can do to make herself useful right now.

In a nice little role reversal of the two's dynamic, Mizuho's motivational remark coated in self-deprecation has fired up Raul, who says we've all gotta do what we can, and he won't lose to the Ra Cailum crew either! As Raj tries his best to remind Raul to pilot carefully even if he's all fired up, Mizuho takes the chance to ask again.

Was that talk about the Timeflow Engine being a time machine true?

Well, not quite. Raj apparently gave up on that line of research long ago, figuring it'd be much easier, realistic and practical to just make it into a particularly efficient engine. Speaking of time machine talk, last time they talked about this they were discussing their mysterious saboteur. We still have no leads on who that was, huh...?

"PREPARATIONS COMPLETE... FOR THE AXIS DROP..."

#srw r #super robot wars r #lets-play #translation

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xiv-wolfram · 1 year

Text

The Horrors of War - Comic Script

Stormblood - lvl 65

Raubahn weighs the consequences of his decisions when a friend is badly wounded.

Wolfram Saga Comics (Chronological)

This is the script for a future comic. Posting for those who don’t want to wait to get the story. Numbers indicate frame number. A/B mean a frame is split.

A landscape shot of Rhalgr's Reach, focused on the chirugen’s area pivoted towards the waterfall. Narrator - "A group of Resistance fighters and Flames was attacked by the Garleans. After checking on the survivors General Raubahn calls his friend and former partner Wolfram as the Warrior of Light is preparing for the Nadam.”

Rau pacing near the waterfall, worried - "-so the squadron didn't stand a chance. We lost a dozen. It's a miracle he survived. Perhaps his size was an advantage… Anyroad he's unconscious and they say he may not wake."

Wolf in a tent in the Steppes, worried - "I'm so sorry about your friend Rau. I certainly hope he'll recover …Yet please do not blame yourself. We all signed up for this revolution." Thought - ‘I’d wager he’s beating himself up about it…’

Rau annoyed, growls - "You don't know what it's like. You can speak to me of revolution as this grand idea. Hells, I even bought into it - but you weren't a soldier. You don't understand what it's like. You don't understand war. I do - so all of this is on me. I knew better and went along with it anyroad because I wanted to see our homeland free. All of their blood is on my hands. "

Wolf worried - "You're right Rau, I’m sorry. I'm not a soldier. I don't have the experience you do and I'm sorry if I ever made light of what’s at stake. You know that sometimes I feel uncomfortable when things are serious and I may not give the situation the gravitas it deserves. I'm so sorry for the way I am. I wish I were different. I really do."

Wolf smiles sadly - "However, I do know what it's like to have people you care about suffer for a cause. It's horrible. And it's even worse when it's *your* cause. In your name even. Do you know what helps me through it? Putting the blame where it truly belongs. Something you taught me many years ago... Well in this case the blame belongs with the Garleans and no one else."

Rau worried. Thought - ‘That was much more harsh than I’d intended…’. Say - "Wolf he's so young. And his kind lives much longer than us. He could have had a comfortable life in Ul'dah…instead, he wanted to come to fight with his friends …I believe a part of him wanted to support me. How is that not my fault?"

Wolf surprised - "Oh! I see…" Thought - "Not simply a friend… perhaps a lover? No wonder he's so broken up about it. Large and lives longer than Hyur…Bran?! Godsdamnit I always liked him. Poor lad. In that case, I know just how he feels."

Wolf smiles sadly - "I had a similar loss not long ago…she sacrificed herself for our mission. Far too young for her fate. She was there to help me as well. It’s an awful thing to experience and I'm so sorry this happened." Thought - ‘If I’d known Ysayle’s age I’d never have… And she deserved so much better. Thrice damn that crystal.’

Rau voice over linkpearl - "What did you do?" Wolf worried, dark thought - "You won't actually tell him. You know how he'll react. Just as he did last time. He doesn't want to know this side of you."

Wolf worried, sighs. Thought - 'No, the days of hiding anything from him are behind me.' Says - "I…well first I had one of my episodes. I cried but managed to calm myself and then…"

Wolf looks determined - "I fought my way through a landscape of Allagan monstrosities. I butchered an entire ship of Garleans. Cut through them like they were nothing. It mattered not if they were laying down their arms and begging for mercy. I ended them all. Then I defeated two Ascians… took my time with Lahabrea. Figured I might as well get revenge for Thancred too. I lashed out with a rage I didn't know myself capable of. I hadn't felt anything like that…other than the night you were captured. I'm grateful Pipin stopped me back then before I acted - now that I know what I’m capable of."

Wolf embarrassed - "By the end, I'd burned through so much of my own aether that I passed out and was unconscious for a week. To put it simply…I could have died because I didn't know where to put all of that hurt and blame so - I put it on myself…for my own naivete. I let it consume me. It was the first and last time. I refuse to give into my guilt like that ever again."

A) Rau surprised - "Oh…" B) Wolf worried - "Is…that all?" Dark Thought - "Told you. He's horrified at what you allowed yourself to become, he-'

A) Rau worried. Thought - ‘That couldn’t have been easy for him to admit to…’ B) Rau ponders - "Good."

A) Wolf shocked - "Good?! Rau, that's the opposite of what I'm trying to say!" B) Rau smirks - "No, not what you did to your Aether. Good that you got revenge for her. Did you feel better after?" Thought - 'Also…incredibly impressive.'

Wolf smiles uncomfortably - "Oh…I know I'm supposed to say I felt horrible and regret it, but honestly - yes. I felt a bit better. I don't feel any guilt for what I did to them." Dark Thought - 'You should though…and for keeping me locked up the whole time. I didn't get to join in the fun.'

Rau smiles sadly - "Thank you, Wolf. I'm sure that wasn't easy to tell me given my reaction in the past. Just know that I have changed as well. After Nanamo…at the banquet…I now know what it is to be consumed by anger and believe I understand you better for it."

Rau smiles warmly - "Thank you for letting me vent to you. I always appreciate our conversations. You've helped me regain my resolve. I won't let myself be consumed by guilt or let it cloud my judgment. This cause is worth more than anything. Even if it claims my own life I will see our homeland free."

Wolf concerned - "I'm glad my words helped you. And I thank you for your understanding. I'll do everything in my power to free Ala Mhigo…But Rau…"

Wolf closes eyes, blushing and smiling awkwardly - "Don't even consider sacrificing yourself. Your life is worth more than all of Ala Mhigo. All of Gyr Abania. All of Eorzea. There is no cause on this whole bloody star worth losing you for. Not a one."

Rau blushes, surprised - "Um.. Wolf I…uh…"

Ciri walks into the tent, addressing Wolf - "It's time." (Zoomed out shot.)

A) Wolf looks serious - "I have to go. I'll talk to you later." B) Rau confused, blushing (linkshell click) "The whole star?! Surely he wouldn’t say something like that to just any friend..."

Wolfram Saga Comics (Chronological)

#ffxiv #ffxiv wol #oc wolfram #hyur highlander #ffxiv oc #hyur #wolbahn #wolcomic #raubahn #raubahn aldynn #WolframSaga

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lupinerage · 9 months

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Tagged by beloved mutual @arrows-for-pens

Rules: List ten books that have stayed with you in some way, don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard - they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you.

1 Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites by Joy Demorra @thebibliosphere

2 American Gods by @neil-gaiman

3 Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

4 White Night by Jim Butcher

5 Roverandom by JRR Tolkien (also Leaf by Niggle, but it's technically a short story)

6 Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

7 Hunting Adeline by HD Carlton

8 Eragon by Christopher Paolini

9 Wraith Squadron by Aaron Allston

10 Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

(honorable mention to Terry Pratchett, my brain refuses to let me read his books despite Adoring every quote I've ever read)

Tagging @gentlerainmorninghush @sexloveandkittys @thatqueer-dm @theselkiesea and @fear-theory

And anyone who sees this and wants to do it, please do.

#american gods tho #read that book 7 times #remember None of it #devour cover to cover in two or three days #retain nothing #repeat #no idea why

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whyisthislife · 1 year

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It's been almost a year since the Russians came to rape, torture and butcher us. I know I might have had high expectations, but hell, Sanderson was my, well, hero. I grew up reading his books, I was immersed in the cosmere head to toe. His books meant the world to me. They were part of my life.

That is why I'm still not entirely over what happened. Or, to be precise, what didn't happen. Though, to be honest, I moved from the "Why?" stage to the "Jesus this is so fucking funny" stage.

When Russia came to rape, torture and butcher I, among other messed up shit, experienced cognitive dissonance. Sanderson's books and the messages in them used to be, and this is not an understatement, my guiding principles, or at least a very large part of them. So last year, when I was trying to find some footing during all the madness, I turned to those books. To the Ideals of the Knights Radiant, to the reasons why Vin and Elend fought. And then I thought, "Wait a minute, where is Brandon? Why hasn't he said anything? Why hasn't he showed his support?" And so it went, days, weeks, months. No stream, no video, no nothing. Hell, the guy just kept on playing games and making podcasts where he discussed movies as if nothing was happening. Why bother?

And that just made me so fucking angry and sad. You know, how rad would it be if Sanderson, instead of gathering money for another upcoming book or something, gathered money for a squadron of drones for us that would be called Windrunners?

Yeah. Tough.

With great power comes great responsibility. A well-established writer with an immense following like Sanderson had to use his power, his influence, responsibly. It was his duty. He didn't have to gather money for us. A simple word of support and compassion would be enough. Write tweets. Make videos on his youtube channel. Streams. Anything that showed he saw, he knew, he felt. He could spread the word making people more aware of what was happening to us.

But he did nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Brandon Sanderson, the person who writes about the oppressed fighting tyranny and evil, chose to stay silent while thousands of people were, and still are, being raped, tortured and violently killed.

Do what you want with this knowledge. But this is a fact. What I know is that I'll never be able to read those books. They have nothing in common with the person who wrote them. Maybe that's fine with you. But as a person who lives where a war is raging, I tell you what: you can really see peoples' true colors when being faced with the harsh, cold, ruthless reality.

#brandon sanderson #the cosmere #stormlight archive #mistborn #cosmere #the stormlight archive

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brookstonalmanac · 2 months

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Events 2.14 (after 1930)

1939 – World War II: German battleship Bismarck is launched. 1942 – World War II: Battle of Pasir Panjang contributes to the fall of Singapore. 1943 – World War II: Rostov-on-Don, Russia is liberated. 1943 – World War II: Tunisia Campaign: General Hans-Jürgen von Arnim's Fifth Panzer Army launches a counter-attack against Allied positions in Tunisia. 1944 – World War II: In the action of 14 February 1944, a Royal Navy submarine sinks a German-controlled Italian Regia Marina submarine in the Strait of Malacca. 1945 – World War II: On the first day of the bombing of Dresden, the British Royal Air Force and the United States Army Air Forces begin fire-bombing Dresden. 1945 – World War II: Navigational error leads to the mistaken bombing of Prague, Czechoslovakia by a United States Army Air Forces squadron of B-17s assisting in the Soviet Red Army's Vistula–Oder Offensive. 1945 – World War II: Mostar is liberated by Yugoslav partisans 1945 – President Franklin D. Roosevelt meets King Ibn Saud of Saudi Arabia aboard the USS Quincy, officially beginning U.S.-Saudi diplomatic relations. 1946 – The Bank of England is nationalized. 1947 – The act abolishing all noble ranks and related styles comes into force in Hungary. 1949 – The Knesset (parliament of Israel) convenes for the first time. 1949 – The Asbestos Strike begins in Canada. The strike marks the beginning of the Quiet Revolution in Quebec. 1954 – First Indochina war - small French garrison at Đắk Đoa is overrun by the Viet Minh after a week's siege. 1961 – Discovery of the chemical elements: Element 103, Lawrencium, is first synthesized at the University of California. 1966 – Australian currency is decimalized. 1979 – In Kabul, Setami Milli militants kidnap the American ambassador to Afghanistan, Adolph Dubs who is later killed during a gunfight between his kidnappers and police. 1983 – United American Bank of Knoxville, Tennessee collapses. Its president, Jake Butcher, is later convicted of fraud. 1989 – Union Carbide agrees to pay $470 million to the Indian government for damages it caused in the 1984 Bhopal disaster. 1989 – Iranian leader Ruhollah Khomeini issues a fatwa encouraging Muslims to kill Salman Rushdie, author of The Satanic Verses. 1990 – Ninety-two people are killed when Indian Airlines Flight 605 crashes in Bangalore, India. 1990 – The Voyager 1 spacecraft takes the photograph of planet Earth that later becomes famous as Pale Blue Dot. 1998 – An oil tanker train collides with a freight train in Yaoundé, Cameroon, spilling fuel oil. One person scavenging the oil created a massive explosion which killed 120. 2000 – The spacecraft NEAR Shoemaker enters orbit around asteroid 433 Eros, the first spacecraft to orbit an asteroid. 2003 – Iraq disarmament crisis: UNMOVIC Executive Chairman Hans Blix reports to the United Nations Security Council that disarmament inspectors have found no weapons of mass destruction in Ba'athist Iraq. 2004 – In a suburb of Moscow, Russia, the roof of the Transvaal water park collapses, killing more than 28 people, and wounding 193 others. 2005 – In Beirut, 23 people, including former Prime Minister Rafic Hariri, are killed when the equivalent of around 1,000 kg of TNT is detonated while Hariri's motorcade drives through the city. 2005 – Seven people are killed and 151 wounded in a series of bombings by suspected al-Qaeda-linked militants that hit Makati, Davao City, and General Santos, all in the Philippines. 2005 – YouTube is launched by a group of college students, eventually becoming the largest video sharing website in the world and a main source for viral videos. 2008 – Northern Illinois University shooting: A gunman opens fire in a lecture hall of Northern Illinois University in DeKalb County, Illinois, resulting in six fatalities (including the gunman) and 21 injuries. 2011 – As a part of Arab Spring, the Bahraini uprising begins with a 'Day of Rage'. 2018 – A shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida is one of the deadliest school massacres with 17 fatalities and 17 injuries.

#Events

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sebeth · 3 months

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All-Star Squadron #9 (Revised 1/21/24)

All-Star Squadron #9 by Roy Thomas, Adrian Gonzales, and Jerry Ordway.

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

“Should Old Acquaintance Be Destroyed…”

Liberty Belle, Johnny Quick, Hawkgirl, Commander Steel, Atom, Robotman, Firebrand, and the Shining Knight share a New Year’s Eve toast with FDR and Winston Churchill.

Sir Justin toasts Churchill: “I would salute Winston Churchill – the Prime Minister of a beleaguered and embattled Britain. Aye, verily, from my liege King Arthur’s day to this, there be no man more worthy of knighthood, and of merrie England’s gratitude. In sooth, sir, you are Britain – in this which you yourself named its finest hour!”

I forgot to mention it last issue but Sir Justin had a last name created for him. He is known as Justin Arthur in the modern time.

FDR has arranged for Hawkgirl to receive a phone call from Hawkman at midnight.

Firebrand’s brother, Rod, still hasn’t recovered enough to be sent stateside from Pearl Harbor.

The Atom, as Private Al Pratt, will return to his tank corps training in Virginia.

The All-Stars ask Steel to continue his story – what happened after he and two British commandos landed behind Nazi lined in Poland. The first part of his origin story was in All-Star Squadron #8 which I recapped in an earlier post.

Steel relates Antoni, Ludeck, and he landed near Konigsberg in East Prussia. The trio are soon ambushed by German forces, led by “Ein Schlachter”, the Butcher. Steel’s comrades are killed and he is captured.

Steel, stripped of his costume, awakens in a concentration camp. Steel speaks to a few of the camp’s prisoners and attempts to escape but is quickly re-captured. Steel’s antics capture the camp scientists’ attention and they discover his enhancements.

The scientist recalls a medical conference in Munich where Gilbert Giles (Steel’s creator) discussed the possibility of the enhancements. One of Steel’s captors refer to him as an “uber-soldat” which translates to super-soldier. A nice reference since the creators of Steel intended for the character to be an homage to Captain America’s World War II adventures.

Steel makes yet another escape attempt and once again fails. A prisoner grabs a bottle of acid and throws it at the Butcher causing a massive facial disfigurement. Steel falls into unconsciousness.

Steel finishes his tale by informing the All-Stars that’s the last moment he remembers. He has no idea how he ended up in Ottawa in time to save Winston Churchill.

Elsewhere in Washington D.C., Baron Blitzkrieg gloats about his upcoming victory. The Baron reveals he was “the Butcher”. The German doctors were able to save his eyesight after the acid attack but his face was beyond repair. He was used as a guinea pig and the experiments allowed him to “siphon off the mind’s vast energies – giving him full control, for brief periods, of his body’s resources…he could be super-strong or amazingly swift…even soar like a bird!”

The Baron reveals he created Steel’s amnesia and installed an order to assassinate Churchill when he hears the words “now begins the age of chaos”. The Baron sent Steel to Ottawa to stop “the Black Assassin” and gain the confidence of the All-Stars, FDR, and Churchill. Kung, however, was a wild card.

Midnight strikes and Hawkman and Hawkgirl are chatting on the phone. Hawkman is stationed near San Francisco.

The Hawks’ call is interrupted by an individual asking for Steel. Steel answers the phone. FDR wonders how anyone would even know Steel was at the White House. An immediately suspicious Liberty Belle orders Johnny Quick to remove FDR and Churchill from the room. FDR agrees: “I’ve found Liberty Belle’s instincts to be almost flawless.”

Steel pursues the fleeing Johnny Quick, FDR, and Churchill.

“Good Gravy” – I love the old-fashioned comic book expressions.

Steel locks the doors behind him but it takes the Shining Knight and Robotman a whopping one second to destroy the doors.

The remaining All-Stars catch up with the brawling Steel and Johnny Quick. Johnny’s faster but Steel hits harder – the advantage of having steel-lined bones.

Firebrand surrounds FDR and Churchill in a ring of fire to prevent Steel from reaching the leaders.

The Shining Knight cautions his teammates: “No – wait, all! Truly, he is enchanted somehow! We must needs find the key that will release him from the spell!”

Sir Justin continues to be my favorite All-Star – observant, compassionate, a true knight.

Robotman confronts Steel in a “Man of Steel” fight. Unfortunately, Superman doesn’t drop in to make it a three-way fight for the title.

Firebrand throws a ball of fire at Steel’s face causing Baron Blitzkrieg to recoil in emotional trauma and destroying the psychic link to Steel.

Steel, dazed and confused, has no idea what’s going on.

Robotman offers to check out Steel’s infrastructure for any surprises.

Johnny Quick and Liberty Belle, along with the Shining Knight and Firebrand, share their first kiss.

Baron Blitzkrieg, big bad Nazi villain, whimpers for Zwerg, his faithful sidekick: “Zwerg…Zwerg! Help me, Zwerg…don’t leave me…it’s…so dark in here…can’t see! Please – turn on the lights! Promise me, Zwerg…promise me I will see again!”

Zwerg assures the Baron: “I promise, Herr Baron. You shall see again – and on that day, we’ll strike like lightning in the night, you and I, and smash the Allies, and their hated All-Star Squadron, for all time!”

Sorry, Baron, I can’t muster any sympathy for you – not only are you a Nazi, but you were also in charge of a concentration camp. I hope Firebrand throws a fireball at your face every time she encounters you!

#justice society #jsa #all-star squadron #steel #commander steel #hank heywood #baron blitzkrieg #shining knight #sir justin #justin arthur #hawkgirl #hawkman #liberty belle #firebrand #johnny quick #robotman #dc comics #dcu

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