#sophisticated weapons system

[royalreef]

(( Adding onto that last post:

While merfolk absolutely cannot throw anything with their arms, both because their sockets have much more limited movement than ours, and because their musculature prioritizes movement that pulls the arm closer to the chest — merfolk CAN still throw things nearly as heavy as they are.

How? By using their long, muscular bodies and heavy tails as counterbalances on a lever, holding something ( or someone ) in their mouth and releasing them at the top of the arc.

#Most secret royal advisor || OOC #Given by Divine Right || Headcanons #(( get fucking YEETED by the crocfish #(( (this is also why merfolk have no projectile weapons but DO have highly sophisticated levers and pully systems) #(( while tossing things out of water and throwing them around is useful #(( far less applicable than they would like

[ohnoitstbskyen]

re: Somerton

Not for nothing, but I think we should remember that James Somerton's fans and subscribers are normal people, just like you. They are people who received his output in good faith, and extended to him a normal amount of grace and benefit of the doubt, which he took advantage of.

I don't think it's helpful to respond to the exposé on Somerton with sentiments along the lines of "wow, how could anyone ever think THIS GUY'S videos were any good, ha ha ha, how did he ever get subscribers?" because 1) you have the substantial benefit of hindsight and a disengaged outsider perspective, and 2) it's a rhetoric that creates a divide between you (refined, savvy, smart, sophisticated) and Somerton's audience (gullible, unrefined, easily taken advantage of, terrible taste), which is a false divide, with a false sense of security.

Somerton's success happened because he stole good writing. He found interesting, insightful, in-depth work done by other people, applied the one skill he actually has which is marketing, and re-packaged it as his own. He targeted a market which is starving for the exact kind of writing he was stealing, and pushed his audience to disengage from sources that conflicted with him.

Hbomberguy makes this point in his exposé video: good queer writing is hard to find and incredibly easy to lose. The writers Somerton stole from were often poor or precarious, writing freelance work for small circles under shitty conditions, without the means or the reach or the privileges necessary to find bigger markets. And, as Hbomb demonstrated, when people did discover Somerton's plagiarism, he used his substantial audience to hound them away and dissuade anyone else from trying to hold him accountable.

He stole queer writing by marginalized people, about experiences and perspectives that people are desperate to hear more about, and even if his delivery and aesthetics were naff, his words resonated with people because the original writers who actually wrote them poured their goddamn hearts and souls into it.

Somerton also maintained a consistent narrative of persecution and marginalization about himself. He took the plain truth, which is that queer people and perspectives are discriminated against, and worked that into a story about himself as a lone, brave truth-teller, daring to voice an authentic queer perspective, constantly beset by bigots and adversaries who sought to tear him down. As @aranock, who works with some of the people he targeted, writes in this post, Somerton weaponized whatever casual bias and bigotry he could find in his audience to reinforce his me vs them narrative (usually misogyny and various forms of transphobia), which is what grifters do. They find a vulnerable thread in a community and pull on it. And while you may not have the particular vulnerability that he exploited, you do have vulnerabilities, and they can be exploited too.

People felt compelled to support him, even if his work was sometimes shoddy, because he presented himself as a vulnerable, marginalized person in need of help, he pulled on that vulnerable thread.

Again, he has a degree in marketing, and just like propaganda, nobody is immune to marketing.

YouTube as a system is set up to push for more, constantly more. More content, more videos, more output, more more more more, and part of Somerton and Illuminaughty's success was their ability to push out large amounts of content to the hungry algorithm, even if it was of inferior quality. The algorithm rewarded their volume of output with more eyeballs and attention, and therefore more opportunities to find people who were vulnerable to their grift.

It is a system which quite literally rewards the exact kind of plagiarism that they do, because watch-time and engagement are easily measurable metrics for a corporation, and academic rigor is not. There is pressure to deliver, and a lot of rewards to gain from cutting corners to do it.

Somerton and Illuminaughty and Internet Historian are extreme and very obvious cases, so blatant that you can make a four hour video essay exposing what they've done, but the vast majority of this kind of plagiarism isn't going to be obvious - sometimes it might not even be obvious to the people who are doing it. Casual plagiarism is endemic to the modern internet, and most people don't get educated on what the exact boundaries are between proper sourcing and quoting vs plagiarizing. We had an entire course module at my university aimed at teaching students the exact differences and definitions, and people still made good faith mistakes in their essays and papers that they had to learn to correct during their education.

All of this to say: it is extremely easy in hindsight to call Somerton's work shitty and shoddy, his aesthetics flat and uninspired, and to imagine that as a sophisticated person with good taste and critical faculties, you would never be taken in by this kind of grifter. It is extremely easy to distance yourself from the people he preyed on, and imagine that you will never have to worry about your fave doing your dirty like that.

But part of the point of Hbomberguy's video is that plagiarism is extremely easy to get away with, and often difficult for the average person to spot and call out, and with the rise of AI tools blurring the lines even further, it is not going to get any easier.

So I think we should resist the temptation to think of Somerton's audience as people with bad taste and poor faculties. We should resist the temptation to distance ourselves from the perfectly normal people he preyed on. Many times in your life, a modestly clever man with a marketing degree has fooled you too.

On a personal note, by the same token, I am resisting the temptation to assume that I am too good to be vulnerable to the systemic pressures that produced Somerton and Illuminaughty. No, I've never made a video by word-for-word reciting someone else's work, but I know for a fact that I could do a better job of double-checking my work and citing my sources. I feel the exact same pressure to get a video out as fast as possible, I have the exact same rewards dangled in front of me by YouTube as a platform, and I can't pretend it doesn't affect my work. To me, Hbomb's video felt like a wake-up call to do better.

#tb blog #james somerton #hbomberguy #todd in the shadows #plagiarism #youtube

[odinsblog]

Collective punishment of an entire group is prohibited under international law. Israel’s proposed siege would be a war crime that indiscriminately harms innocent people, especially the sick, the disabled, the elderly and small children, who never supported Hamas, a group repeatedly propped up by Benjamin Netanyahu himself, to sow division amongst the Palestinian people.

This in no way excuses Hamas raping women and murdering innocent children and the elderly. That’s terrorism. That’s war crimes. A war crime doesn’t stop being a war crime based on who does it, or which side you support. I had the great misfortune of having watched some of the videos of what happened. I don’t know how anyone can see this and not be heartbroken and dismiss it because of some idiotic, “they had it coming” mentality.

Look, Palestine is being oppressed. By Israel. Israel is doing the oppression. Benjamin Netanyahu is a war criminal. We can and should support Palestine. We do not, however, have to ignore war crimes to support Palestine. Similarly, Western media outlets should stop ignoring and downplaying Israel’s long and well documented history of war crimes and other atrocities committed against Palestinian civilians and reporters.

And please pay close attention to who resorts to antisemitism to “defend” Palestine. The cause of the Palestinian people is strong enough without using bigotry and racism.

(video)

Finally, this is not a “war” between Palestine and Israel. Those words disingenuously imply a false equivalence, that both sides are evenly matched. They are not. The Palestinian ≠ Hamas, and the Palestinian people and Gazans do not have tanks, armored personnel carriers, helicopters, an air force, a navy, an army, nuclear weapons, and a sophisticated missile defense system. Israel, however, does have all of those things.

Hamas ≠ Palestine.

Palestinians do not have to be the perfect victims to deserve our support and sympathy.

#politics #yoav gallant #palestine #gaza #israel #war crimes #hamas #benjamin netanyahu #benjamin netanyahu is a war criminal

[muzzleroars]

V1’s creators must’ve been so proud seeing it perform what it was made for, the killing of Earthmovers.

anon it's making me crazy........this really puts into place just how i think of their short reunion, these husks waiting on the earthmover all this time with life and death near indistinguishable. time is a meaningless blur, hell dulling them down to instincts and only a base understanding of their world, until their v1 comes home to them. it excites a moment of absolute clarity, their machine so perfected, so specialized, that it never saw its limitless potential fulfilled because war, its only purpose, became defunct. they marvel at it, look how it moves now, look how it behaves, look how it's modified itself - it even has painted its weapons! and i think v1, seeing them, is flooded with corrupted memories difficult to parse but imbued with some emotion. familiarity. briefly, simulations flash in its mind, somebody directing it. the earthmover - not a real one, parts of it. its deck. insides. defense systems. core. v1 failing over and over again but learning each time. it can infiltrate the deck now. it can deactivate the defense system now. it understands the core's pattern now. it strings them together. it will kill the earthmover now. and their excitement, their cheers. their red horse will destroy the horsemen. and v1 remembers it when it sees them now. it knows everything ahead of it, like a premonition. these husks patch it up, and suddenly they are all alive again. the life they would have had, even v1. it looks up the hulking mass of the earthmover and it feels the long latent code at the core of its being light up. this is its fight. it was made so small, so light, so fast, to infect this monstrosity like a virus (it thinks a funny thought, maybe that's "v1") it was made so sophisticated in intelligence to avoid its "immune system", to adapt to any machine on the earthmover and to be creative in how it can scale it. the husks of its makers give no instruction - v1 is far beyond need of that, they know, but in some garbled, choked out words, they express their confidence. they know it can do this. it was perfect in their simulations, but inside their long dead hearts....they're still nervous. not for themselves, of course, the outcome means little in the void of hell, but nervous only for v1. their little virus with such a massive undertaking. and now i can only think of it speeding off as the husks are rooted to where they stand, no motion, no thought, no words, until the self-destruct countdown begins. and they cheer. their prototype was a success.

#imagine the fruits of your labor bearing out in hell #to have this moment finally after all this waiting #a moment that never should have been #but they did everything they could in life to prepare it #and v1 was able to carry the rest #cake answers #v1 #earthmover #ultrakill spoilers #uk spoilers #ultrakill violence spoilers

[intersectionalpraxis]

Let's Talk Palestine's latest updates on their free broadcast channel on Instagram *IMPORTANT*

December 30th, 2023 [EST]

We have lots of updates for you today. Please read.

🇵🇸 Part 1: Gaza

• Israel has destroyed a majority of fishing vessels at the Gaza port, weakening Palestinians’ ability to fish for food amid growing starvation (Al-Jazeera)

• Israeli forces have been ravaging and destroying residential areas in Rafah and Khan Younis in eastern Gaza. This is part of efforts to clear the entire eastern area and prepare it for a buffer zone. It follows the narrative of making that area completely out of service in terms of health facilities and thus uninhabitable, eventually concentrating people into a small area and finally into expulsion (Al-Jazeera)

• 70% of homes in the Gaza Strip have been either damaged or completely destroyed (Wall Street Journal)

Updates #2: The Resistance

🔻 Israel admitted that 3 soldiers were killed last night, including 2 commanders, in battles in central & southern Gaza. Hamas claims more. Experts believe Israel is underreporting its deaths & injuries.

🔻 US monitors reported that Palestinian resistance fighters are using “more sophisticated weapons systems” in recent battles in north Gaza, including a “thermobaric rocket” for the first time & portable surface-to-air missiles.

🔻 Resistance groups today launched several rockets from northern Gaza. This contradicts Israeli claims of control over northern Gaza.

🔻 Retired Israeli general Giora Eiland: “From a professional point of view, I must give credit to [Hamas’s] resilience. I cannot see any signs of collapse of the military abilities of Hamas nor in their political strength to continue to lead Gaza.” He praised Hamas for its ability to efficiently replace killed commanders with equally capable successors.

#feminist #feminism #social justice #free palestine #freepalastine🇵🇸 #palestine #free gaza #settler violence #settler colonialism #end the occupation #end the genocide #ceasefire now #ceasefire #current events #gaza update #gaza strikes #gaza strip #gaza #gazaunderfire #gazaunderattack

[galaxymagitech]

Call This My Funeral

For Dick Grayson Week, Day 1: Dick's Undervalued Competency

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: Sometimes, Dick remembers how it felt to kill the Joker and wishes that monster had stayed dead. After Blockbuster, he knows that his hands are already bloody. He should be brought to justice, and, well, he might as well go out with a bang.

Or: Dick breaks into Arkham to kill the Joker. He won't let anyone stop him—not some measly defense systems, not his baby brother, and not this mercenary who seems to be trying to break the Joker out.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, The Joker

Warnings: Borderline suicidal thoughts, murder, non-consensual drug use, very vague allusions to canon rape

Nightwing is dead.

It’s the truth of it, even if the world has yet to catch up. Nightwing is dead. He died the second that bullet entered Blockbuster’s skull and then he was buried on a rooftop in the rain.

It takes a while to come to terms with it. He thinks about trying to stop Deathstroke, but every time he stares at his Nightwing suit, he just…can’t. He killed a man. He killed a man. And maybe, if he stopped immediately afterwards, maybe he could have put the suit back on. But he had stayed Nightwing. He had fought villains with Tarantula and returned to Gotham and pretended, and then he’d gone undercover with the mob. And somewhere along the line, the illusion broke, snapped, shattered into a million pieces that dug deep into his skin. When it came time to put on his suit, he couldn’t manage it. He stared at it. Ran his hand over the Kevlar. Held it up to the light, but all he could see was blood.

So he pulls out of the operation. It’s a slow process, and he ends up having to plant evidence and set Black Mask up, but he does it. It won’t hold for long, will only put Mask out of the running briefly. But it’s enough that Dick is able to leave without anyone the wiser.

Dick rents an apartment. His lease is for one month. He thinks about signing another lease at the end of the month and he feels sick. Nightwing is dead, and Dick Grayson is empty.

He should be in jail. If he was in jail, if he served his time…at least that would be justice. Even if Dick can’t take it back, at least that would be right. The proper consequences. But Amy wouldn’t allow him his atonement.

Dick runs that series of thoughts in his mind over and over again, as he lies in  and stares up at the moldy ceiling, listening to the sound of the rain outside. He wishes he could set things right. He should be in jail. He tried to put himself in jail, and it didn’t work.

He could frame himself. It’s not like it would be difficult. Dick is a murderer already; all he has to do is make sure others see his true face. Find a body someone dumped somewhere, make sure his fingerprints are on a conveniently-placed weapon with a record of his purchase, and then call 911 with a voice modulator describing himself as the attacker fleeing from the scene of the crime. There are more sophisticated methods, of course. Any would do.

But Bruce…Bruce wouldn’t accept it. Bruce would know that Dick wouldn’t just go out and kill someone randomly, even after Blockbuster. Bruce would at least know that Dick wouldn’t be that sloppy, if he did decide to commit murder. He’d find a way to prove Dick’s innocence.

So then how can Dick do it? How can he make the world see him for what he really is? How can he show them once and for all that Dick Grayson is dirty, despicable, poisonous?

Really, it’s a wonder he didn’t notice earlier how everyone in his life seems to suffer. He corrupts everyone around him. Hell, if he hadn’t left, Jason never would have died in his colors and Bruce never would have had to grieve his son. It’s a wonder he hasn’t managed to destroy Tim yet.

And Dick had known what he was capable of. He can still feel the sting on his knuckles as he beat the Joker again and again until the laugh was frozen on his face and his heart. Stopped.

Sometimes, Dick wishes that the Joker had stayed dead.

Of course, there’s something he could do about it.

Dick shudders, but he can’t push the thought out of his head. He’s a murderer. His soul is already dirty, his hands are already drenched in blood. Bats don’t kill, but he’s not a Bat, not anymore.

If there’s one last thing Dick does as a nominally free man, it can be this. He can put an end to all the suffering and pain the Joker has caused and bring himself to justice. Dick won’t pretend that it’s right. But he’s already wrong, and he can’t betray what he’s already broken.

Dick watches as his roof cries thick drops of acid rain and decides that the Joker will die.

---

The thing is, Dick knows he could get away with it. He’s been hunting criminals for almost two decades; he knows how to commit the perfect crime. He could hide the evidence, make sure the Joker’s body was never found, frame someone else, anything he wants. Bruce might be suspicious, but Dick thinks he wouldn’t be. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to prove it.

If Dick didn’t want to hide from Bruce, he could set up a situation where killing the Joker would be considered self-defense. Right place, right time, a registered firearm, and no jury in Gotham would convict him. He probably wouldn’t even be charged. He could go back to the Blüdhaven Police Department, draw the Joker there, and kill him in uniform. Amy would give him back his badge, if he tells her that he quit Nightwing—she already tried that with Blockbuster and he hadn’t even quit then. It would be easy enough to draw the Joker to Blüdhaven. Easy enough to find him on a raid. Internal affairs wouldn’t bat an eye.

Hell, if Dick promised to draw the Joker out of Gotham, Deathstroke would take care of him easily. He’d probably be thrilled that Dick is going down this path.

It would be so easy to get away with it.

But he won’t.

Dick Grayson will kill the Joker in cold blood. He will confess and take the first plea deal offered. And then he will go to Blackgate. He’s not stupid enough to think that he’ll survive there, as a former police officer and the former ward of Bruce Wayne. Justice will be served. Dick won’t poison anyone else, and the Joker won’t destroy his family again. A parting gift, if you will.

It takes Dick only a few days to plan the operation. Arkham has improved, but it still remains disturbingly reminiscent of a cardboard box, given how frequently its inmates escape.

Dick feels his stomach turn as he pulls out his suit. He feels like he swallowed something slimy, and it squirms around in his stomach. He doesn’t ever want to see this suit again. Just a little longer, he tells himself. He brings the suit to an abandoned warehouse, treats it with some chemicals, and burns it.

It should feel horrible. Dick created Nightwing. Nightwing is his. It should feel like burning a piece of himself.

Instead, it’s liberating. As Dick watches the flames eat away at Nightwing, all that’s there is relief. Dick hates it, with the blue bird spread across its chest like some sort of symbol. Like he’s worthy. He’s so glad it’s gone. Dick has never been anything close to worthy.

He returns to his apartment. The stairs creak on the way up. He eats his last can of soup cold. Dick drifts off to sleep and awakens with phantom gunfire ringing in his ears.

---

Everything is in order. Nightwing is gone, with no evidence left to trace Dick to the vigilante, and thus nothing to connect Bruce to Batman. Dick hasn’t had contact with Bruce for long enough that he doesn’t think Bruce will have to deal with anything more than a brief police interview. This will be on Dick, and Dick alone.

Dick needs to make sure that the way he breaks in doesn’t imply that he’s Bat-trained. He can get away with a reasonable display of skill, as a former BPD officer and a former world-class acrobat, but nothing that indicates access to other resources. 

Dick’s plan is divided into three segments: enter Arkham, reach the Joker, and kill the Joker.

Part One is relatively easy. Gotham city’s government is corrupt enough that it leaks like a colander, and it’s easy enough to find a full map of the sewers. If you know the right places to look, it doesn’t take any more than an SQL injection for login information, a homemade browser plugin, and a couple URL guesses. It’s an unnecessarily complicated method, too clunky for a Bat to ever consider, but Dick isn’t a Bat anymore.

He leaves the public library, resisting the urge to wave at the cameras, and takes the subway to the edge of central Gotham. Dick enters the sewers as close as he can get to Arkham Island. It smells absolutely foul, even with the cheap Wayne Enterprises rebreather he has over the bottom half of his face, but he’s smelled far worse than Gotham City’s waste.

Dick moves as quickly as possible, disabling all of the sensors that were marked in the sewer plans and checking for extras every few feet. It takes an hour, but he eventually reaches his destination. Dick takes the time to slowly disable the alarms on the manhole cover and climbs out under the grey sky.

From here, it gets more difficult. If Dick had his grappling gun, he could scale the building easily. Unfortunately, all he has is a regular gun. That’s why he disabled the alarms; he’s going to need time.

Arkham Asylum is old building, and the wear and tear on its stones is just enough to let Dick inch up its walls in one of the cameras’ few blind spots. It’s slow-going. If he falls, Dick knows that there will be nothing below to catch him, and he can’t die before he finishes this. Hand over hand, he balances on the tiniest of footholds. The wind whips at his hair and the cold bites at his ungloved fingers. He thinks it would have been easier to bribe a guard, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t have just turned him in for a reward. He isn’t a Rogue. He isn’t frightening. No one knows how poisonous Dick Grayson truly is.

He doesn’t enter through the first window he reaches. Dick knows that he’s no match for bulletproof glass and steel bars. So he keeps climbing. Up, up, up. The grey sky grows darker and darker as night draws near. His fingers are turning numb. He climbs.

When Dick reaches the rooftop, he knows that he’ll register on the cameras. It’s unavoidable. But from here, he doesn’t need much in the way of time. He throws himself onto the roof and clocks the single guard in the face before she even has a chance to react. She falls unconscious and Dick catches her before she hits the rooftop. No need to cause further damage.

He takes her walkie-talkie, and reports that a figure in an orange jumpsuit was seen fleeing towards the bridge. There’s enough turnover at Arkham Asylum that no one questions the difference in voice. No one knows who’s supposed to be where, and that works well enough for Dick.

It’s easy to find the guard’s keycard and the small note tucked into her pocket with the code to the door. There are too many codes at Arkham for most people to memorize, and it’s been a safety consideration that Bruce has been working on. Apparently, he hasn’t found a solution yet.

Taking a deep breath, Dick enters the Asylum. He’s probably going to be noticed soon, even with the distraction, but he’s able to get into the elevator, swipe the keycard, and then override the protections to go straight to the maximum security ward. Dick clenches his fists and waits.

He expects to find guards when he steps out of the elevator. Instead, he finds Robin.

Dick freezes, watching as Tim’s face sets itself in determination. The kid has his bo staff extended, but he isn’t attacking, not yet. Just…ready to.

For the first time, it hits Dick that he’s not just betraying Bruce and Batman. He’s betraying everyone. Alfred. Tim. Even Jason, who had looked up to Dick in life. Is he going to make his little brother fight him?

If he has to. Dick needs to do this. He has known for a long, long time that someone has to kill the Joker, and it couldn’t be a Bat. He’s the only one with the skills and will who is already tainted. This is his duty.

The Joker won’t hurt anyone else. Dick may be betraying Tim, but only to keep him safe.

“Dick. You don’t want to do this,” Tim says slowly, as the two stare at each other.

“I do,” Dick says. Can he convince Tim to back down? Surely Tim, with his brilliant and practical brain, can understand why Dick has to stop the Joker.

“The cameras are off,” Tim pleads. “If you stop now, no one will ever know.”

Dick has avoided justice once. He won’t do it again. “Turn them back on,” he orders.

He watches as Tim’s grip tightens on his bo staff. “Bruce—”

“Don’t,” Dick hisses. “You have no idea what I’ve done. What I am.” He sighs. “I have to do this. Let me past, Tim.”

“I know you turned yourself in for Blockbuster’s murder.”

Dick nods tightly. “Then you know that I’m already a killer. Turn the cameras back on. When I’m done, Tim, you can arrest me yourself.”

“No,” Tim insists. “You didn’t kill Blockbuster. You didn’t shoot him.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dick asks, tilting his head. He draws his gun from inside his coat. The magazine is full. The safety is on, for now. He doesn’t point it at Tim—first rule of gun safety, don’t point the gun anywhere you don’t want to shoot—but it’s a demonstration. Dick is carrying a gun and has carried a gun for months, even if his fellow Bats have tried not to think too hard about it. Tim’s confidence in him is baseless.

“You didn’t kill Blockbuster,” Tim repeats.

Dick sighs, tucking the gun away. “I let him die. That’s close enough. Amy disagreed.”

“I disagree,” Tim says. “Bruce, too. Come on, Dick. Stop this and come home.”

Dick laughs. “I killed a man, Tim. I failed Bruce, do you really think I’d be welcome?” But even then— “Do you really think it matters?” Dick doesn’t want reassurances. Doesn’t want Bruce to accept him, because even if Bruce was willing to put aside his morals, Dick would still know what he is: rotten to his core. “This isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone, Timmy.”

Tim inhales sharply. “What.”

“You watched me,” Dick says. He lets his stance open. “I beat the Joker to death.”

“That doesn’t count,” Tim says, but he sounds uncertain. Dick feels his heart twist in his chest. He hates that he’s hurting his baby brother, but it’s better this way. It’s better that Tim realizes what Dick is before he can get poisoned too.

“I beat the Joker to death, and I was happy about it. Bruce made a mistake when he revived him. I’m just going to correct that mistake.”

Something flashes across Tim’s face. “This isn’t you, Dick.”

“This is me,” Dick says. “I killed the Joker, I killed Blockbuster, and now I’m going to make sure the Joker dies permanently.”

“You’re going to regret this. I can’t let you do something you’ll regret.” 

“You don’t have to let me,” Dick says gently.

“You won’t hurt me,” Tim insists. “And I’m not going to let you past.”

It’s true. Dick won’t hurt Tim, not really. But they both know that Dick can incapacitate him without doing any significant damage.

Tim’s face falls. “If you really think that letting Tarantula shoot Blockbuster makes you a murderer, how can you expect me to let you kill the Joker?”

It’s a good question. But the answer is easy. “Because I could have stopped her.” Dick takes a deep breath and forces his hands to unclench. He hadn’t even realized that they’d formed fists. Dick looks up and meets Tim’s eyes through the lenses of Robin’s mask. “But you can’t stop me.”

“I have to try,” Tim says.

Dick watches as his little brother finally moves his bo staff into a fighting position. He could stop here. He could accept Tim’s offer and go back to the Manor and see if Bruce would forgive him.

But he’s a murderer, twice over, and he’d always know that. And he knows that he can never be Nightwing again. There’s only one way left to atone.

“I know,” Dick whispers, and Tim launches forwards.

The fight is far more fierce than a spar, at least on Tim’s part. Tim is willing to do damage, anything to stop Dick from moving forwards. He thinks he’s saving Dick. And Dick, well, he appreciates it, but doesn’t Tim know that it’s already too late? Dick is a murderer. This is nothing new.

Meanwhile, Dick is trying to pull his punches. It’s not a fair fight, not in the slightest. But Dick has almost fifteen years of training on Tim, and while Dick is determined to win, he can tell that Tim’s heart isn’t in it. As much as the kid has the obligation to try and stop him, they both want the Joker dead. After all, if Tim really wanted to beat him, all he’d have to do is turn the cameras on, and Dick wouldn’t be able to plausibly beat Robin. But the cameras stay off.

Dick doesn’t call him out on it. Tim probably just hasn’t let himself think of it, and Dick will never give Tim the guilt of knowing that he could have won.

Dick dodges Tim’s first strike and dances around his second. He redirects the momentum of the third and tries to sweep Tim’s leg. Tim leaps out of the way. Dick ducks a blow to the head. Tim might not truly want to win, but the kid fights viciously. 

It’s difficult. Dick doesn’t have the time to just keep dodging, so he throws out a light punch. Tim twists away, but can’t avoid the kick that throws him sideways.

“So you’re serious about this?” Tim asks, panting. Tired, surprised, but not injured. The Robin uniform should’ve caught most of the force.

Dick still feels bad about it.

It’ll be better in the long run. The Joker will die. He will never kill another Robin, never tear another family apart. Tim will be so much safer. It doesn’t matter that he’ll never forgive Dick for this, because the Joker will never be able to hurt Robin again.

Tim throws out another strike with his bo staff. Dick catches it and rips it away, taking the kick to his stomach and letting himself fly backwards. He slams into the wall, and oh, that hurts. But it’s fine. Tim flies at him again, and Dick neatly sidesteps. With an elbow, he’s able to throw Tim off balance and catch him in a chokehold, wrapping his arm around Tim’s throat.

Tim tries to tuck his chin down, kick Dick in the shins, claw at Dick’s arm, but all it takes is a few seconds and he’s out like a light. The utility belts are keyed to their gloves, so Dick snatches one of Tim’s gauntlets and removes the handcuffs from his utility belt. He cuffs Tim, and then uses the zipties he brought for good measure. If Dick was being particularly careful, he would use a tranquilizer from the belt and lock Robin in a cell, but he’s absolutely not going to leave Tim in Arkham, unable to defend himself. This is supposed to keep Tim safe, not put him in more danger.

Dick waits a few more seconds and watches as Tim stirs. He can’t help the relief that washes through him when he knows for sure that Tim is okay, that he didn’t hurt him. Even through the mask, Dick can tell that Tim is glaring.

“You can get out of that,” Dick says quietly. “But I’ll have a head start. If you don’t want to watch me kill him, you should wait a couple minutes. I’ll stick around in the cell so you can arrest me. Now, how do I turn the cameras back on?”

Tim tilts his head to the side. His face shifts from annoyance to confusion. “Do you want to get caught?”

Obviously. Dick shrugs. “I’m breaking the law. I kill the Joker, and then I go to Blackgate. Seems like a fair trade, doesn’t it?”

Tim shakes his head. “Dick, you’re not thinking this through. You can’t be Nightwing from prison.”

It’s obviously a delay tactic while Tim works on the handcuffs and zip ties, but the statement is so out of place that Dick has to respond. Does Tim seriously think that Dick would go back to Nightwing after committing cold-blooded murder? “Tim,” Dick says. “I’m not ever going to be a vigilante again.”

“But you made Nightwing!”

Dick did make Nightwing, and he’ll regret it until the day he dies. “Nightwing is dead,” Dick says harshly.

Tim flinches. “Then what is this? What are you doing, Dick?”

Dick turns around and starts walking down the corridor. He doesn’t want Tim to see the way his face twists. “Call this my funeral.”

 ---

A minute later, Dick stands outside the Joker’s cell. He’s not going to be able to guess the twelve-digit code, even with a UV light, so he just takes his gun and slams it into the keypad. The thing cracks, but the door doesn’t open. Well, security did at least one thing right.

Dick pries the keypad away from the wall and takes a look at the wires behind it. He fiddles with it for a few minutes, recalling training sessions with Batman standing over him as a timer ticked the seconds by. Dick could do this in his sleep. He refuses to let his hands shake as he crosses the last pair of wires and the cell door slides open.

Dick takes a step in, only to find that someone else beat him there.

The Joker is lying on his cot in a white straightjacket, but standing over him is a figure in a black motorcycle jacket. When the figure turns around, the harsh florescent light reflects painfully off of his bright red helmet.

Dick runs through the list of known Gotham villains in his head before drawing a blank. His knowledge of skilled mercenaries that operate in the United States likewise doesn’t have a match. The only thing he can think of are the whispers he heard while working for Tommy Tevis. Rumors from Gotham occasionally make their way into Blüdhaven, and among them was the Red Hood.

Red Hood. Former alias of the Joker. Possibly a current up-and-coming drug lord, said to be operating out of Crime Alley. Or a really messed-up vigilante. Or a mercenary. Whatever he was, he had “rules” that no one was happy about. And he supposedly delivered a duffel bag of heads to someone, although no one can agree if it was to fellow drug lords, the Gotham Police Department, or Batman himself. Dick personally hadn’t believed that particular rumor.

Red helmet, operating in Gotham, standing in the Joker’s cell…and the clown’s still breathing. This is, without a doubt, the Red Hood. And it’s not easy to guess why the guy is here.

“What the fuck,” the Red Hood says. His voice is mechanical, leading Dick to guess that there’s a modulator hidden in his helmet. Dick can fight a random drug lord, but the Red Hood does not seem to be a random drug lord. And Dick is unequipped, unprepared, and still bruised from his fight with Tim. “What the fuck, what the literal fuck?”

Well, this is awkward. Right about now would be the perfect time to bury several bullets in the Joker’s brain. It is not a good time, on the other hand, to be fighting a Joker fanboy bent on breaking his idol out of Arkham Asylum.

“You here to stop me?” Hood asks.

Well. Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, but he is here to kill the Joker. And he supposes that is mutually exclusive with rescuing him, so…yeah. “Yep,” Dick says.

“Dressed like that?”

“Yes?” Dick’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he doesn’t see why his clothes are a particular issue. The Red Hood presumably thinks he’s an off-duty guard who got called to deal with an alarm.

“Right then,” Hood says, amusement trickling into his tone, and before Dick can react, he leaps forwards.

Dick dodges his punch, just barely, and returns with a kick of his own. It sinks into some kind of body armor, and Dick narrows his eyes. The Red Hood, whoever he is, is well-funded. Another blow. This one strikes Dick in the face and he reels back. Hood’s punches are fast and hard, and it’s all Dick can do to avoid the next one.

The two dance. Dick is well-aware that they’re both on a time limit. If Hood gets caught, he can probably disappear. If Dick gets caught, he won’t have his chance to kill the Joker ever again.

Dick thinks he might be able to win this fight, but he doesn’t have the time. His fist glances off Hood’s helmet, so he changes tactics, launching himself through the air and sending a strong punch straight into Hood’s throat. It’s not what a Bat is supposed to do, it’s dangerous for the target, but right now, Dick can’t bring himself to care.

“Wow, Dickie,” Hood says, breathing ragged. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Wait. Dick isn’t actually that recognizable, despite Bruce Wayne’s fame. Why the hell does Hood know his name?

Dick doesn’t have time to worry about it, because Hood’s next kick comes out of nowhere and catches him in the stomach. Dick flies across the room, crashing into the wall.

The Joker cackles from his cot. “All this fighting over little old me?”

“Shut up,” Dick says, only to hear Hood’s mechanical voice snap in unison with him. He pulls himself up to a standing position. “Not a Joker fanboy then,” he observes, launching himself at Hood again. Why else would he be in the Joker’s cell, though? “Mercenary?” Dick had thought the crime lord story was more likely, but he supposes a mercenary is plausible. Though obviously not a very smart one, if he was making deals with the Joker.

Hood dodges his blow and throws a punch that glances off Dick’s cheek. Dick’s elbow catches him in the jaw—not that it seems to make a dent on his helmet—and Dick redirects Hood’s next punch and makes several successive blows towards the man’s gut. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” Hood asks. Dick gets the distinct impression that he’s missing some very vital information. “Did he?” Hood repeats. “Bruce didn’t tell you. Hah!”

A punch strikes Dick in the jaw and his head snaps to the side. Copper blood fills his mouth, but Dick’s up before Hood has a chance to press his advantage. He kicks out, catching one of Hood’s arms just as he misses a punch. There’s a distinct crack and Dick grins, blood dripping from his teeth.

“You’re good,” Hood says, launching himself forwards. “But I’m better.” In a single fluid motion, he hits Dick’s shoulder, knocks him off balance, and then presses him against the wall in a chokehold. Unlike the way Dick choked Tim earlier, this is an air choke. Painful. Painful, but slow. The Joker laughs, and this time, no one bothers to cut him off.

Dick slams a knee into Hood’s groin and then uses the wall to launch both feet into his chest, kicking him back. His throat aches. “No, you’re not.” The way Hood moved…Dick’s only seen that from one person before. “You’re League-trained, aren’t you?” If Hood is, then he likely already knows Dick’s identity. And he recognized Dick on sight, asked him if he’s really going to fight dressed like that, mentioned that there was something Bruce hadn’t told him…yeah, he definitely already knows.

“Maybe,” Hood says. He’s slower, now. From the way he’s moving, his arm is definitely at least fractured.

In the background, the Joker continues to laugh, reminding Dick why he’s here. Dick doesn’t need to win this fight. He just needs to complete his objective and render Hood’s null and void.

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Hood asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I realized I’m going to win.” He flies forwards, pulling himself into a somersault and slamming both feet into Hood’s chest. The man flies backwards and Dick rolls away, pulls out his gun, and flicks the safety off.

“What—”

Dick practiced this in the police academy. He knows how to shoot a gun. He knows how to hit his target.

He forces his eyes to stay open as he aims the gun at the Joker’s forehead and pulls the trigger. A bullet flies through the Joker’s brain and he goes silent, his last laugh ringing in the air.

There are fifteen rounds in Dick’s pistol.

He shoots again and again and again, until every single bullet has buried itself in the Joker’s corpse.

And then he turns to face Hood and smiles.

Dick doesn’t know what happens now. Sooner or later, Tim will burst into the cell to arrest him, or the guards will come to do the same. But Hood—Hood wasn’t part of the plan. And he doesn’t know what the man will do next.

Hood stares at him, unmoving. Dick steps forward and presses two fingers to the Joker’s neck, checking for a pulse. There’s nothing.

The Joker is dead. Dick killed the Joker.

Dick killed the Joker.

Dick killed the Joker.

The last time he killed someone, he panicked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything.

This time, he just feels vaguely numb.

Hood pulls off one of his gloves and Dick watches as the man checks for the Joker’s pulse as well, before turning his helmet to face Dick. “He’s dead,” Hood says, shock audible even through the modulator.

Dick swallows. “Yes.”

Last time he killed someone, Tarantula was there. This time, it’s the Red Hood. At least the Red Hood isn’t his ally. At least the man will be more likely to want to kill him for ruining his payday than anything else.

“Yes,” Dick says. “I killed him. I killed the Joker.” He leans against the wall, lets his back slide down until he’s crumpled on the floor, his pistol hanging loosely from his hand.

“He’s dead,” Hood repeats. “What the fuck, Dick? I didn’t think you were even capable of this.”

Dick stares at the ground. “Do not,” he says, voice hard, “presume what I’m capable of.”

“Yeah,” Hood says slowly. “I’m getting that.

Dick looks up tiredly. “You should probably go. Your employer won’t pay you for breaking out a corpse.”

“My employer?” Hood echoes, as Robin bursts into the room.

Dick watches Tim freeze. Watches his face flicker as he takes in the Joker’s bullet-riddled corpse, Dick crumpled against the wall, and the random mercenary standing in the middle of the cell.

“Fuck,” Tim says. Dick thinks it’s the first time he’s heard his baby brother curse.

“Was the Pretender in on this too?” Hood asks.

Pretender? Hood has to be referring to Tim. “No,” Dick says. “No, Robin tried to stop me.” He hopes that will be enough that Hood won’t be upset at Tim for ruining whatever he was here for.

“Did he now?” Hood’s voice sounds dangerous. Tim looks—not scared, but determined in that desperate way Robin always does when facing a fight he knows he’s not going to win. Mouth set into a hard line, tension etched into every line of his body, stance defensive and far too steady.

And Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, he may be looking at a life sentence, but he’s not going to let anyone hurt Robin. “If you touch him,” Dick hisses at Hood, “I will end you.”

“Will you now?” Hood asks.

Dick stands up, bruised and battered but still a protective shield for his little brother. He gestures at the Joker’s corpse. “Yes,” he says resolutely. “I will. I will fight you, and I will win. Robin might be here to stop me from killing again, but I know better ways to make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

Hood holds up his hands. “Crystal.”

If Hood does try to get revenge, then Dick will defeat him, but it would be far easier if Hood just leaves now and Tim takes Dick to the nearest police station. The cameras are still off, so there isn’t much evidence, but… “You can take me to Gordan,” Dick tells Tim. “I’ll confess.”

“Fuck,” Tim repeats.

“You know it has to be like this,” Dick coaxes, holding out his wrists. “Just bring me in, and you won’t ever have to see me again. I killed him.”

“You better not,” Hood says. Dick’s not entirely clear on who he’s talking to.

Tim’s hands clench. He’s holding his bo staff aimlessly by his side.

“Robin…” Dick says softly.

Eventually, Tim sighs. “Fine. Put your hands behind—”

“Don’t you dare,” Hood interrupts.

Tim whirls around. “I’d like to hear any better ideas!” He snaps.

“Oh, I have several,” Hood says, voice dark. The underlying threat is clear.

“Trust me on this,” Tim says.

“That’s rich.”

Dick has no idea what’s going on. Robin and the Red Hood keep arguing, though it sounds more like bickering interwoven with some very creative threats. Do the two know each other or something? Is this like a Deathstroke situation?

His eyes keep flickering back to the Joker’s corpse. The blood is pooling over the cot, now, staining the thin sheets scarlet red and dripping onto the white floor.

“He won’t hurt you anymore,” Dick whispers. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

Tim’s hand fall on his shoulder and Dick can’t help but flinch. Tim withdraws, as if burnt.

Dick is making this easy for him. Tim doesn’t have to fight, doesn’t have to do anything except drop Dick off at the nearest police station. So why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Agreed,” Hood says roughly, and Dick looks up to where Tim and Hood seem to have reached some sort of consensus.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Tim shakes his head. He turns to Dick. “I may not have been able to stop you from killing the Joker, but I’m not going to let you get yourself killed over this.”

“Gotham doesn’t have the death penalty,” Dick says, even though that’s not really the point.

“And I’m supposed to trust you’d defend yourself from the other inmates?” Dick doesn’t answer. “Yeah. I thought so.” Tim leans forwards. “And you can hate me all I want, but I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t hate—” Dick feels something pierce his neck, and then cold liquid enters his bloodstream. He twists around to see Hood standing over him. “Tim?” He asks, voice shaking. “What’s—what’s going on?” Whatever he’s been injected with, it’s fast-acting. Dick can already feel himself starting to slip away. “No,” he hisses. “No, Tim, what—”

“It’ll be okay,” Tim says. “This was the fastest way. I’m sorry.”

Dick’s vision goes fuzzy and he stumbles away from Hood. The man lets him, and Dick nearly crashes into Tim. “Wait—” His lips move, but they feel like blubber. Everything is numb. Everything is spinning.

The world fades out.

---

Dick wakes up with a headache. Someone—multiple someones—are shouting with sharp, angry voices that pierce his skull. Dick groans.

What happened?

He remembers—

The wall, Robin, the Joker, Hood, no—

Dick struggles, heart racing as he tries to force his eyes open—

“Dick.” That’s Tim’s voice. Dick can see a very blurry Tim standing there, still dressed as Robin but without his mask, and. And someone else? Whoever they are, they move out of Dick’s vision before he can register them. “Dick, you need to calm down.”

“Where am I?” Dick asks, pulse thundering away, but it comes out more like “wh’re’m’i.” He knows he’s not in a jail cell, not where he belongs. His hand brushes against what feels like a couch cushion. Not the cot in his apartment. Not a motel bed. He blinks, and his vision clears, somewhat.

“You’re at a safehouse.”

“C’n’t be ‘ere,” Dick mutters. “B’m’n wou’n’t wan’…” Though, he realizes, Tim hadn’t said whose safehouse. If Tim hasn’t taken him to the police, then he probably hasn’t taken Dick to one of Batman’s safehouses either.

Where the hell is he?

“Wh’re ’m I?” His words are separating a little more. Dick blinks again, and Tim sharpens into focus.

“A safehouse,” Tim repeats.

Dick can feel his face scrunch up. He shifts, slowly moving to a seated position. He’s definitely on a couch. The grogginess is clearing rapidly—he must have been given an antidote to the sedative.

Tim kidnapped him. Why?

Wait, there was another voice. Tim and the Red Hood kidnapped him?

“Okay,” Tim says. “So. Hood’s going to come over here, and you need to…not freak out. We’re not dead.”

“We’re not dead,” Dick repeats, a bit lost.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

And then Hood enters his vision and, well, Dick understands why Tim felt the need to clarify that they’re all still alive.

Because that’s Jason.

“Little Wing?” Dick whispers.

Jason winces. “Yeah.”

“How long?” Dick’s eyes desperately scan over him, drinking in every detail. The white streak in his messy hair, the wrinkles in his shirt, the way his fingers tap at his thigh like they always did when he was nervous.

“Bruce has known he’s back for a few weeks, but he’s in denial,” Tim says.

“I had a plan,” Jason says. “I was going to…I was going to kill the Joker. I guess you beat me to it.”

#batman fanfiction #dick grayson #batman #dc comics #dcu #dc #batfamily #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #dc fanfiction

[theoperativeif]

New Armor New Me!

Colossus Defense Armor (Armor)

This armor is a behemoth on the battlefield, equipped with ultra-thick armor plating and energy shields. It's designed for frontline defense, capable of withstanding heavy fire and repelling assaults with its integrated weaponry.

Nightmare Combat Armor (Terror)

Intimidating and relentless, this armor is designed for psychological warfare as much as physical confrontation. It features medium armor and a menacing design with audio and visual effects to instill fear in enemies. It's also equipped with advanced combat systems for close-quarters engagements. Nearly every inch of this armor is capable of killing.

Phantom Infiltration Armor (Stealth)

Sleek and nearly invisible even when decloaked, this suit specializes in covert operations. It utilizes state-of-the-art cloaking technology, silent movement mechanisms, and a lightweight design that allows for high agility and stealth in enemy territory. Also comes with dart launchers, signal scrambling capabilities and an EMP pulse.

Thunderstrike Artillery Armor (Firepower)

This armor turns the wearer into a walking artillery unit. It's equipped with long-range, high-impact weaponry capable of precise bombardments from a distance. The suit is also reinforced to withstand the recoil and blast from its own heavy weapons. Can go toe to toe with enemy armor.

Incinerator Mk 2 (Flamethrower)

Originally designed for the infamous Flame Operative this suit is an upgrade from its predecessor, this flamethrower suit boasts enhanced flame projection capabilities, improved fuel efficiency, and heat-resistant armor. It's designed for crowd control and area denial, emitting intense flames to clear out entrenched positions.

Unlike its predecessor this armor spews out blue flames and allows even fine control over where the users flames are traveling.

Nexus Hazard Unit (Chemical)

This armor is specialized for chemical warfare. It is equipped with a sophisticated chemical dispersal system and is fully sealed to protect the wearer from toxic environments. It can deploy a variety of chemical agents, from incapacitating gases to corrosive substances. Classified as medium armor.

Mark 001 Predator Armor (Stealth+)

A more advanced version of the Phantom Infiltration Armor, the Mark 001 combines stealth capabilities with enhanced offensive systems. It features adaptive camouflage, silent movement, and is armed with advanced weaponry and sensors for tracking and neutralizing targets with precision. The second armor of its kind...

#if: the operative #the operative #lore

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A Russian-Canadian living in Montreal has admitted to sending millions of dollars of electronics to the Kremlin to support "its ongoing attacks of Ukraine," U.S. authorities announced on Monday. The U.S. Attorney's Office in the Eastern District of New York said 32-year-old Kristina Puzyreva pleaded guilty to money laundering conspiracy in federal court in Brooklyn and could face up to 20 years in prison when she is sentenced at a later date. The attorney's office said Puzyreva was part of the "sophisticated" export scheme that involved purchasing dual-use electronics from U.S. manufacturers under Brooklyn-based front companies and sending them to Russian entities and companies in violation of U.S. sanctions. Those components were then used in unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) and guided missile systems used by the Russian military.

Continue Reading

Tagging @politicsofcanada @allthegeopolitics

#cdnpoli #canada #canadian politics #canadian news #russia #arms trafficking #ukraine

[sotwk]

The Fighting Abilities of Thranduil, his Sons, and Warriors of the Woodland Realm

The following are all headcanons as written into the "Sons of the Woodland King" (SotWK) universe.

History of Warfare in the Woodland Realm

The First Age Silvan elves of Greenwood the Great developed systems of combat equivalent to "real world" martial arts, similar specifically to wushu (Chinese martial art).

Close-quarter combat is more efficient in tight spaces, and therefore well-suited for densely wooded areas in the Greenwood forest.

It is useful for one-on-one fighting and stealth attacks, which was usually all the Silvans needed to defend themselves, since they did not participate in warfare prior to the Second Age.

Before the arrival of their Sindarin overlords, the forest-dwelling Silvans used only weapons that might be considered "primitive" by the High Elves: bow and arrow, daggers, spears, and staffs, but they used these to great effect and in tandem with their unarmed fighting skills.

When Oropher, his son Thranduil, and their kin arrived, they helped the Silvans ward off attacks from rogue orcs and monsters that survived the War of Wrath and threatened to infest their lands (separate HC post about that here). In gratitude and admiration, they accepted Oropher as their king.

The Sinda introduced other types of weaponry and styles/methods of warfare, including longsword, phalanx, and cavalry. They also promoted blacksmithing as a trade and art (albeit not as sophisticated as their Noldor counterparts), so real armor and stronger weapons were created.

Over many centuries, the fighting techniques of the Silvans and Sindar merged to develop the combat style that was practiced in the realm from the Third Age onward.

Images above: Spear fighting is highly-utilized by Greenwood warriors, and every soldier excels in both one-on-one combat and fighting as a unit. Inspiration can be taken from the deadly style of Achilles from the film Troy (2004).

Thranduil the Warrior King

Thranduil is acknowledged and remains unsurpassed as the greatest warrior in the Woodland Realm's history.

In his role as Prince of Greenwood, he was instrumental in forming and enhancing the military forces of the Woodland Realm throughout the Second Age. A veteran of the War of Wrath, he understood that a strong army was vital for the protection of any kingdom.

Among his countless talents, combat is Thranduil's strongest and most favored, the one he takes great pride in honing and exercising. (In contrast with his father Oropher, who was an expert politician first and foremost.)

Young Thranduil was also passionate about sharing his knowledge, and devoted his time in both training his Silvan brethren and, more importantly, learning from them and absorbing their combat culture.

Thus, the distinctively flashy yet lethal hybrid fighting style that married Silvan martial arts with Sindar swordplay was developed and wielded perfectly by Thranduil.

Thranduil is also a brilliant tactician and field commander, who served as General of the realm's armed forces for many centuries (until his eldest son eventually succeeded him in the role).

He is known for always leading the charge in every single battle, stubbornly rejecting the use of his kingsguard on the field (much to father's chagrin and wife's anxiety). But for this, he is revered by his soldiers, all who would sacrifice their lives for him without hesitation.

Thranduil and Oropher were frequently at odds when it came to policies on managing their military forces and engaging in outside conflicts. Had it not been for Thranduil's push for more training and investing in better armor and weaponry, the realm's losses during the War of the Last Alliance would have been even greater.

After he ascended the throne, Thranduil made it an even greater priority to increase the strength of Greenwood's army, which fortuitously saved the realm from being caught off-guard and overwhelmed when the Necromancer began his assaults from Dol Guldur.

Images above: Thranduil's sword-fighting style and battle prowess is very similar to that of Prince Nuada (also an elf-prince!) from the film Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008).

Thranduilions: The Warrior Princes

The Elvenking passed his combat knowledge onto his sons by training each one of them personally.

For centuries, the princes also trained alongside the rest of the realm's armed forces and gradually grew in skill, each according to his own unique talents.

Crown Prince Mirion, the king's eldest and heir, inherited leadership of Mirkwood's army around TA 1200, when he was named General and "Protector of the Realm", as he was a fierce defender of the Woodland people during the rise of Dol Guldur. (Upon his untimely death, the role reverted back to Thranduil.) He is physically the strongest of the princes, even stronger than his father.

Prince Gelir Thranduilion (fourth-born) is famed for being the realm's most talented archer and hunter, eventually becoming Captain of the Spider-hunters.

Prince Legolas Thranduilion (youngest) is the most acrobatic, creative, and "playful" fighter among his brothers, being the most naturally agile. He is also quick to learn just by observing, and so carries the fighting styles and tricks of his older brothers with him.

Prince Arvellas Thranduilion (third-born) is the least trained and and experienced in the fighting arts among the princes, not for lack of talent, but because (like the Elvenqueen), he chose early on to devote himself to academia and the healing arts instead.

Five Princes of Mirkwood: Personal SotWK commission by hffhifjou (click to enlarge)

Prince Turhir: Born for Battle

While all the Thranduilion Princes are skilled warriors with their own styles, the most naturally gifted and the most like his father in martial strength, skill, and ferocity, is Prince Turhir Thranduilion (second-born).

Turhir can be described as the ultimate fighting machine: brutally strong, virtually inexhaustible, extremely fast (esp. for his 7'6 size), and possessing flawless battle instincts. He is also uniquely hard of body, and in the rare times he sustains injuries, he recovers with no help necessary from healers.

Over the entirety of Thranduil's kingship (Third Age), Turhir is the only one, anywhere in Middle-earth, to have ever bested the Elvenking in single combat--and he did so several times during the Third Age, proving he had the potential to surpass his father in fighting ability.

In TA 542, Turhir was granted the role of Master Trainer of the Greenwood armies, making him responsible for teaching many of the young soldiers that fought for Mirkwood in the wars of the Third Age.

But where was he during the Battle of the Five Armies and War of the Ring?? To be revealed in future HC discussions and/or SotWK fics.

Images above: The spear is Turhir's favorite weapon, and his skill with it is best exhibited again by Prince Nuada from the film Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008), especially in this training scene.

Thank you for reading!

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tolkien Headcanon tag list (plus some others who have shown interest in this subject--thank you all!): @quickslvxr @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @klytemnestra13 @jezzibee @creativity-of-death @heilith @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @lathalea @tamurilofrivendell @jordie-your-local-halfling @laurfilijames @i-am-pinkie @ladyk8tie @princesschimchim1325 @kazimina @scyllas-revenge @asianbutnotjapanese @conversacomsmaug @lemonivall @ratsys

#sotwk headcanon #thranduil #thranduil headcanon #legolas #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #the elvenking #oropher #lord of the rings #tolkien #tolkien headcanons #tolkien elves #sotwk ocs #thranduilion

[eretzyisrael]

Confrontation with Iran: Who Won?

The West likes its Jews passive, dependent, and weak. When American officials say “Israel has a right to defend [herself]” they mean that they will allow her, and even assist her, to ward off the blows of her enemies. But their “rock solid support” does not extend to Israel taking offensive actions. Israel is allowed passive defense, but not to take the war to our enemies. And don’t even think about preemption.

Insofar as Israel obeys her Western “allies,” she is placed at a great disadvantage for several reasons. The most obvious one is that an entirely passive defense does not deter enemies from attacking over and over again. Why shouldn’t they? They have nothing to lose. The opposite: they will learn valuable lessons from their failures, which they can apply to the next round. And everyone is encouraged to keep trying for the honor of being the one who finally broke the Jewish state.

Then there is the relative high cost of defensive weapons. Each Arrow 3 missile like the ones used to intercept missiles fired at Israel on Saturday night, costs $3.5 million. Each Tamir interceptor used by the Iron Dome system to destroy the cheap Qassams of Hamas, the Katyushas of Hezbollah, and the drones of Iran, costs $50,000 (and two are usually fired at every enemy weapon). Each Iron Dome battery costs $50 million. The cost of using F-35s to shoot down drones is also high relative to the cost of the drones. Passive defense is expensive.

A purely passive defense strategy is so expensive, in fact, that no small country can afford to sustain it for a long period of time (and passivity guarantees that it will be needed forever). As a result, there is no alternative but to turn to one of the great powers as a sponsor. The price is loss of control and ultimately of sovereignty. It is already clear from the way American officials talk about Israel (e.g., President Biden is often described as “furious” with Israel), that Israel is seen as a satellite at best and a satrapy at worst.

Finally there is the message that is inherent in passivity. Shooting at Jews, because there are no consequences for it, becomes normalized. The Jews, people think, must deserve being shot at because, after all, everyone is doing it with impunity. This is particularly important in the Middle East, where honor is a paramount element in most cultures. Individuals, tribes, or nations that are hurt by an enemy must strike back or suffer a loss of honor, a mark that invites others to victimize them as well. Even in Western cultures – well, at least in the recent past – children were taught that failure to strike back at a bully invites more bullying.

An active defense, on the other hand, creates deterrence and restores lost honor. Nobody will attack Israel if they know that retaliation will be swift and disproportionate. If they are hurt badly enough, they will think twice about attacking again – if they have even retained the ability to do so. There is also an economic advantage: offensive weapons, like drones, rockets, missiles, and artillery, are far cheaper and simpler than technological marvels like Arrow and Iron Dome.

Israel has come a long way down the road to losing her sovereignty to the US as a result of her increasing dependence on military aid, in part to finance astronomically expensive systems of passive defense, and in part because she chooses to adopt other super-sophisticated weapons systems that are “free” even when they may not be optimal for her needs (e.g., the F-35). She has developed a culture at the top of her military hierarchy which is as loyal to the American military-industrial complex as it is to the State of Israel. The American government has, for its part, extended its influence deeper into all the affairs of our state, and in particular her management of her wars.

After the horrific atrocities of 7 October 2023, Israeli leaders had no choice but to adopt the strategic objective of removing Hamas from power and destroying its military capabilities. The US opposed this from the start, forced Israel to delay her ground invasion, and now – for several months – has prevented her from entering the last Hamas stronghold, Rafiah. The US has pushed for an extended (in effect, permanent) ceasefire, and has tried to turn Gaza over to the corrupt, terrorist, Palestinian Authority, a step which would nullify the gains made by the IDF at great cost.

After Iran attacked Israel with hundreds of drones and missiles on Saturday night, President Biden called for Israel to treat its success at intercepting most of them as “a win,” and not retaliate. The media in Israel are trumpeting the success of our air defense array, which – with some significant help from the US, the UK, and Jordan – managed to down 99% of the weapons before they could land in Israel. This is a remarkable technological achievement, but it was an expensive operation, estimated to cost 5 billion shekels, or more than $1.3 billion.

Israel has not yet retaliated, and it is clear that the price demanded for accurate American intelligence about the impending attack and assistance in defending against it was that any retaliation will be at best symbolic – and certainly not include an attack on the Iranian nuclear project.

But the 99% figure is not as “phenomenal” (Israeli media love this word) as it looks nor is it likely to be repeated. Respected Israeli analyst Yigal Carmon wrote that the whole operation was choreographed by Iran with the cooperation of the US in order to allow the Islamic Republic to come down from the tree of needing to retaliate for Israel’s recent assassination of an Iranian general:

Iran wanted to retrieve its deterrence after the killing in Damascus of Iranian General Mohammad Reza Zahedi, who, by Iran’s own testimony, was the mastermind of the October 7 attack. … [The US] coordinated with the Iranians so that civilians would not be struck. Arab media are already reporting this coordination. Iran made it easy for the U.S., Israel, Britain, and Jordan to know what it would and would not do, and where it would do it. Israel was not part of this coordination. …

The Americans played Israel and they are continuing to do so by preventing an Israeli reaction. In fact, they began the pressure on Israel not to react even before the attack took place. CENTCOM’s commander General Michael Kurilla went to Israel on April 13 and pressed for prior coordination with the U.S. of any action by Israel. Now President Biden said it himself: You were not hurt, they failed. Do not do anything. Do not escalate because you will be dragging us into a war. We protected you and no one was hurt. The answer will be diplomatic.

What did the various parties gain and lose from this exercise? Iran’s top priority today is to avoid triggering a serious confrontation that might result in damage to her nuclear weapons program, which is on the verge of completion. However (unlike Israeli leaders), the Iranians understand the psychological importance of at least appearing to get revenge when they have been injured, and this massive attack achieved that end. At the same time, the coordination with the Americans insured that Israel will not strike back, and therefore will lose points in the calculus of honor that is so important in the region. Israel also lost an opportunity, perhaps her last, to take action against the Iranian nuclear project before it becomes operational.

The Americans gain exposure for their defensive weapons systems, establish themselves as the protector of their allies, and increase their influence over Israel and her dependence upon them. Israel will have to replenish her supply of American weapons and ammunition, and the military aid is an important subsidy for the US defense industry. The Biden administration also maintains its (still inexplicable to me) policy of protecting and even encouraging Iran’s drive to become the nuclear hegemon of the region.

Carmon also notes – and this is a critical point for Israeli planners – that the 99% success rate in interceptions is not likely to be repeated in the event of a real surprise attack by Iran.

Israel can’t continue on the path of subservience to the US, because American objectives in the region are inconsistent with the continued existence of a Jewish state. She must reduce her dependence, develop her own defense industries, approach other great powers (e.g., China), and become a “nonaligned” nation rather than a satellite of one side or the other. In the short term, she must enter Rafiah, crush Hamas, repel Hezbollah, and keep Iran from becoming a nuclear power.

May Hashem give our leadership the sense to see this and the strength to act.

#Iran #US-Israel Relations #War

[zvaigzdelasas]

Haaretz reported that “Israel has exported a very wide range of weapons to the country [Azerbaijan] – starting with Tavor assault rifles all the way to the most sophisticated systems such as radar, air defense, antitank missiles, ballistic missiles, ships and a wide range of drones, both for intelligence and attack purposes. Israeli companies have also supplied advanced spy tech, such as communications monitoring systems from Verint and the Pegasus spyware from the NSO Group – tools that were used against journalists, the LGBT community and human rights activists in Azerbaijan, too.” The Stockholm International Peace Institute wrote: “Israel’s defense exports to Azerbaijan began in 2005 with the sale of the Lynx multiple launch rocket systems by Israel Military Industries (IMI Systems), which has a range of 150 kilometers (92 miles). IMI, which was acquired by Elbit Systems in 2018, also supplied LAR-160 light artillery rockets with a range of 45 kilometers, which, according to a report from Human Rights Watch, were used by Azerbaijan to fire banned cluster munitions at residential areas in Nagorno-Karabakh,” even though Israel and 123 other countries have banned the use of cluster bombs. Haaretz reported: “In 2007, Azerbaijan signed a contract to buy four intelligence-gathering drones from Aeronautics Defense Systems. It was the first deal of many. In 2008 it purchased 10 Hermes 450 drones from Elbit Systems and 100 Spike antitank missiles produced by Rafael Advanced Defense Systems and in 2010 it bought another 10 intelligence-gathering drones. Soltam Systems, owned by Elbit, sold it ATMOS self-propelled guns and 120-millimeter Cardom mortars, and in 2017 Azerbaijan’s arsenal was supplemented with the more advanced Hanit mortars. According to the telegram leaked in Wikileaks, a sale of advanced communications equipment from Tadiran was also signed in 2008.”

8 Mar 23

[swordblog]

Though Gerard Thibault's Academie de l'Espee deals primarily with facing an opponent wielding a rapier in a "right-angle" or "straight line" posture preferred by La Verdadera Destreza's fencing theory, he also briefly goes into methods of fighting other weapons with his rapier system. Such weapons covered are sword and dagger, sword and shield, two-handed sword, and... musket.

His method of dealing with the musket is quite interesting: just dodge the musketballs. Okay, I'll admit that's a little hyperbolic. You need not evade the actual projectile, only the aim of the marksman. In this time period, firearms were not as sophisticated and instantaneous as they are now. It took a brief moment for the gunpowder to ignite and fire the projectile, and the accuracy of these firearms is less reliable than their modern descendants.

According to the forty-fourth and final chapter of Academie de l'Espee, the swordsman is advised to immediately draw his sword and begin moving upon perceiving the rifleman, ideally while the latter is loading the musket. The swordsman will then run towards the rifleman in a zig-zag pattern, changing up the number of steps between each change of direction in order to make himself more unpredictable. In theory, the rifleman will have a difficult time aiming at the swordsman while also accounting for the time it takes for the powder to ignite and any deviations in his weapon's precision. Upon reaching the rifleman, the swordsman's goal is simple: get past the muzzle of the firearm and thrust the sword into the rifleman.

This play is highly intriguing for obvious reasons. Fencing plays that account for firearms are extremely uncommon; the only other example I know of is presented by Michael Hundt, a German rapier manual author. As the age of the sword drew to a close and the age of the gun dawned, the old masters had to adapt to the changing times.

#thibault #rapier #firearm

[oshlet]

The latest mech model from System-11. In light of the general failure of the 'Man-2-X Advanced Medium Mech, S-11's Military Development Bureau instead pivoted back to the reliable 'Man-1, which had served the State since before it was one. The F model is mostly an incremental improvement over the previous D model, with the exception of an internal reactor to power the far more sophisticated 'bloodcrest' head camera array, chest reflector as well as new directed energy weapons - part of the M-2-X program.

The shoulder mounted PD laser fires at a light frequency better able to punch through reflector-smoke that has become common on the modern battlefield, while maintaining a pulse setting for anti-infantry purposes. The Bloodcrest allows for the pilot to see in almost all directions without the head unit needing to be rotated and the arm-mounted chest deflector grants renewed levels of protection against ballistics.

The primary weapon is a 150mm recoilless repeating gun - already in service with a number of D units, it carries over to the F model while its preferred weapon - the particle rifle - continues development. Particle rifles were used widely in the pre-devastation war between the First Anthropogenic Empire and NuHuSoc, falling out of use in the devastation as high technology sectors collapsed and tactical nukes dominated.

Technoarcheologists, Physicists and Engineers continue to work to bring the entire weapons program to fruition, partly in fear of Reconstruction's own weapon developments. With the arms race truly in gear, its only a matter before the monarchists and revolutionaries clash once more in their new forms, likely pulling much of Sond along with them.

#mecha #system11 #scifiart #scifi #art #scumsetting

[epireancrusade]

Some musings about how the society works on chaos-worshipping worlds.

Some musings about how the society works on chaos-worshipping worlds. I think it’s an overlooked issue, chaos marines taking the central stage on that side of the old war as well, and the common humanity is just fodder to be fed to the guns. I think Dan Abnett has done at least something to satisfy my curiosity on Gaunt’s ghosts, allowing short but fascinating glimpses to the machinations of star spanning conglomerate worshipping the chaos gods.

But besides cult activity in imperial worlds, there is very little talk about the common life. I have been thinking a lot how things are on the Epirean sub-sector, and here are my thoughts. The chaos-ruled sections of the area consist of three kind of worlds. The central worlds are ex-imperial planets that followed Sacred band in their revolt against the imperium. Forge- and hive worlds maintain the logistical and administrative systems of sacred band’s warmachine. Then there are the outer worlds, the wild and primeval planets which have been chaos tainted since the days of the long night. Wild warrior tribes and their kings have ruled here since time immemoriam, and they are the min source of manpower for the regiments serving chaos. Third and last, there are the daemon worlds, separate domains that are ruled by daemons and warp creatures, but still closely associated with the sacred band’s domain, and threre is a lot of interaction between the.

From the imperium’s point of view armies of chaos are just some kind of bestial monstrosity, acting without any sense other than pure malice. Outside imperial åroåaganda, however, we have to accept the fact that simply the logistiscs of waging a war on a scale that contains several solar systems requires a very highly sophisticated bureacracy. In the realms of Sacred band’s transhuman warrior kings, a very similar administrative apparatus toils on, and most of the people under it’s yoke live their lives in pretty much similar conditions than their counterparts in imperial worlds. They also have domestic life, where someone has to cook the food, wash the laundry, raise the children and live those very basic, dull and content human lives. The biggest difference is, that instead of worshipping the emperor, the Sacred band and it’s subjects have found a way to co-exist with chaos gods in a mutually benefitting manner.

 The cults of the empyrean creatures have their own traditions and ways to worship, and especially the armies are to a man devotees of one or another god. Human sacrificies are common, but even more than that there are other kinds of ways to appease the gods: Killing their enemies and offering gifts. Childrens are raised in this worlds, and most of the times they follow the same career as their parents, and those manifesting psychc abilities are greatly revered and they often rise quickly to higher positions. Another way to climb the social ladder is military service, and yong men and women eagerly seek glory as war-thralls of the Sacred band.

Some worlds have been completely given to the chaos, and these daemon worlds are ruled by warp-spawn monstrosities. Many people take pilgrimage to these worlds, seeking assistance from the daemons and doing their bidding. The interstellar travel is maintained by several guilds with their own cults and ways of worship. These guilds are in close relations with the priests of dark mechanicus, thir cursed forgeworlds churning out weapons and ships as well. Even though it’s highly illegal, several imperial rogue traders trade with these chaos fleets and there are worlds with very suspicious double loyalties, acting as a neutral ground for these interactions. Chaos worlds also trade with the worlds owned by leagues of Votann and with several minor alien species, who also provide mercenaries for the Sacred band’s war machine.

Imperial worlds and those of the Sacred band are like two sides of a coin. There are more similarities than differences between these soceties, including soul-crushing bureacracy, disregard of individual lives and constant vaging of war, but the ideological divide is so hard, that no ne really sees it. There can be no conciling between these extremes and I guess it’s a real tragedy on itself. Wars are massive and especially cruel, where the populations of conquered worlds are often exterminated and/or enslaved, and the extraction of any kind of resources from a conquered world is a merciless business.

Im planning on writing some stories from the Sacred band’s point of view, but as usual, it depends on how much I have time and energy.

#warhammer 40k #epirean crusade #warhammer 40 000 #grimdark #chaos guard #sacred band

[his-heart-hymns]

It is considered a fight for freedom and democracy when civilians are killed by high-tech fighter jets, tanks, armored vehicles, and high-precision missile systems.

On the other hand it is considererd terrorism when Palestinian militants use old crude rockets, handguns, and less sophisticated equipment to target settlers and colonizers who have taken their lands with the help of British Empire that was known for its history of colonization and the oppression and killing of indigenous populations.

Having fancy advanced American and Western weapons grants you permission to kill civilians in the name of freedom and democracy.

#gaza #israel isntreal #palestinian #palestine #israel is a terrorist state #war #oppression #israel #american imperialism #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi academia

[kivaember]

AC Old Gen Headcanons (for APV)

Here're how the Old Gens work in APV. It's pretty rough since i'm writing this while dozing off from my painkillers but this is a good summary of how they work in my fic and the differences between them:

Gen One:

Since this was their first foray into augmenting humans after Gen Zero (Walter’s mother, which was the proof of concept), the survival rate was abysmally low and they were mostly fucking around and finding out. Most of the work was done on the brain and spinal cord, with a lot of invasive implants and heavy Coral injections, and they were directly connected to their C-Weapon or AC via a port connected directly to their spine. Majority of patients died from Coral poisoning or infection/rejection of implants. 

Gen Two:

Implementing lessons learned from Gen One, they decided to go light on the implants and heavier on the Coral injections. They screened for suitable candidates by selecting those with natural high tolerance for Coral (coincidentally a lot of these were native Rubiconians or descendants of Rubiconians), and initially the results were very promising. Several deaths occurred from Coral poisoning, but the patients were otherwise stable and recovering well. They also focused on remote connection to C-Weapon and ACs, which remained stable so long as they were in close proximity. As they were expected to be in the cockpit when connecting, this was deemed a non-issue.

Eventually, though, many began to succumb to ‘Coral Burn’, where the Coral within their organic tissue, without the implants ‘controlling’ its desire to propagate and expand, began to crystallise within organic tissue, most notably the grey matter and along the spinal cord. While Gen Two’s enjoyed inhuman levels of mental acuity, processing and photographic memories, the Coral Burn gradually began to counteract this by causing symptoms similar to Parkinson’s disease. Inevitably, Coral Burn resulted in death. 

Gen Three:

Realising that Coral in high doses was lethal without sufficient control measures in place, Gen Three was very conservative in comparison to the previous two generations. Using considerably less Coral, Gen Threes had many implants embedded along the nervous system and in the brain, creating little ‘control nodes’. While this caused death by implant rejection to spike, the overall death toll was incredibly low compared to Gen One and Gen Two. Gen Threes lacked the Coral to reliably remote connect to C-Weapons or ACs, and instead connected via the control nodes embedded along their arms, legs and spine. 

However, while this generation is considered highly stable, the minimal use of Coral meant the implants only gave slight advantages compared to Gen One and Gen Two. Gen Threes enjoyed heightened mental acuity and fast reflexes, but overall were well within human limits. As a result, Gen Three was deemed a failure, as it didn’t achieving the ‘breaking human limits’ effects that the augmentations were meant to achieve. 

Gen Four (Protoype):

They went back to Gen One where they did a considerable amount of work on the brain and spinal cord with far more sophisticated implants and control measures. Combining all they learned from the previous generations, the Gen Four ‘Prototypes’ had a high death rate and a mostly unstable product, but served to gradually refine the process as they learned how to balance the implants and Coral to gain the effect they want. 

This was also when they introduced the ‘synchro-port’, which was a port that connected directly to the human’s cerebellum. This allowed the C-Weapon or AC to become the human’s ‘new’ nervous system, rerouting all signals emitting from the cerebellum to the C-Weapon or AC instead. This had the side effect of causing depersonalisation or proprioceptive issues. 

Additionally, Gen Fours presented a new problem: a considerable amount of them began to suffer symptoms similar to Gen Zero, that being hallucinations, obsession with Coral, heavily abstracted thinking and dissociation, etc. 

Gen Four (Stabilised):

After tweaking the right amount of implant and Coral, the Gen Four were ‘completed’ and deemed a resounding success. While carrying a moderate failure rate (30%), most that survived suffered from only minimal side effects that were rigorously mitigated by the Coral Cerebral Control Implant. However, these ‘stabilised’ versions still, on occasion, suffered from auditory hallucinations around heavy concentrations of Coral, which was attributed to a sympathetic response with the Coral in the Gen Four’s nervous system. It was put down as a ‘known issue, harmless’.

#apv ramblings #fanfic ramblings #armored core 6 #armored core #just little headcanons and worldbuilding #about the augmentations and stuff