#'I will remain a soldier until the war is won'

[burdenedreverance]

#musings. he was just a soldier hoping he done right #'I am the stone the builder refuse' #'I will remain a soldier until the war is won'

[musings-and-overanalyses]

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind: Why This is My Favourite Ghibli Movie

CW: Major high-school English teacher vibes ahead. Proceed at your own risk.

Nausicaä of the valley of wind is a story of the titular character Nausicaä and her being a bridge between the world of humans and nature to bring peace, thus fulfilling an ancient prophecy.

Nausicaa is the princess of the Valley of the Wind. The film begins with her walking and exploring the Sea of Decay, an area with toxic air, plants and fungal spores. She collects some spores and finds the hard molten shell of an Ohmu (gigantic blue-blooded trilobite-looking creatures), which her people use to make weapons and tools. As the name suggests, the Valley of the Wind is a civilisation that depends on and bases their culture around wind, which one can see through an abundance of windmills and gliders, including the one that Nausicaä rides. They are shown to be peaceful people who do not interfere with the politics of the warring human kingdoms or disturb nature. Nausicaä in particular is shown to have a special gift with animals—from calming Ohmus to having a pet fox-squirrel. As the existence of the kingdom depends on the sea wind that shields them from the effects of the sea of decay, there is a general reverence towards nature and its other members such as the Ohmus, that are often referred to with honorifics.

This was an element I liked: the symbolism goes deep in this film; for example, with the nature of wind—it being the very breath necessary for life is contrasted with its other face, through toxic spores in the sea of decay capable of killing anyone who inhales it.

It is revealed that humans had built The Giant Men, weapons so dangerous—not unlike our atomic bombs as shown through the characteristic mushroom cloud—that the destruction caused by the war had unleashed the fury of the Ohmus, an otherwise gentle species. They wiped out entire civilisations and where they died, the Sea of Decay grew on their decomposing corpses, showing how all life is interconnected and that even in death the rage of the Ohmus, and through them the rage of nature, wouldn't subside. It is then that the viewers find out that this is not some far-off planet, but a post-apocalyptic future on earth.

New species of plants and fungi made the Sea of Decay their habitat—nature and life always find a way. It is implied that the humans lost the war referred to as the Seven days of Fire, but the truth is that it is not a war that can ever be won. Even if you win the war against nature you lose. As the story progresses, we see that the plants and fungi that Nausicaä collected from the Sea of Decay are actually trying to purify the soil and water—nature holds no grudges but only seeks balance.

The seventh of the Giant Men, a sentient atomic bomb if you will, apparently hid underground for a thousand years until the kingdom of Pejite found it for use against their enemy, the Tolmekians. They both remain oblivious to the sheer destruction that can be caused by this Giant Man and they don't care either. Despite the balance between humans and nature being a delicate one, instead of trying to rebuild together, they justify to themselves that the war is necessary for self-preservation and to put humans back on top of the food chain.

In their hubris, the Tolmekians and their princess Kushana believe that with the help of their superweapon they can destroy the Sea of Decay despite knowing that it will trigger the wrath of the Ohmus. The Giant Man however is not complete and hence, though the devastation is great, the final giant man dies and all that is remains to be done is to calm the wrath of the Ohmus.

Nausicaä saves an Ohmu child who was injured by Tolmekian soldiers to lure the Ohmus into a war. She saves the baby Ohmu and sacrifices her own life to calm the sea of maddened Ohmus. The now-calm Ohmu then revive Nausicaä, symbolising the mystical healing power of nature and its ability to support and create life.

Nausicaä is an excellent protagonist, and how the trope of the chosen one is utilised is beautiful and full of symbolism. Right from the get-go, we see her being inquisitive and brave. She is willing to defend her people but not through violence. And it is made abundantly clear that her avoidance of violence is not due to any lack of strength; when she strikes down the soldiers who killed her father, rather than feeling any sense of pride (as one might expect from a character not used to strength), it sickens her. She shows understanding even towards Kushana, whose men took over her kingdom. She sincerely loves and respects animals and plants.

There was a prophecy among the people of the valley of wind that a person clad in blue over golden fields will save their kingdom and bring peace. And towards the end of the film, Nausicaä's clothes becoming blue with the blood of the baby Ohmu she saved and the golden fields being the tendrils of the Ohmus healing her is poetic to say the least.

In addition to a good female protagonist, we also get a powerful female antagonist in Kushana, who starts out as a one-note expansionist ruler, but it is revealed that she lost her limbs and got severely maimed by the sea of decay, motivating her to destroy it once and for all. Proud and arrogant, sure, but she has a motive beyond just wanting power and possesses some form of a moral code. In another story she could be the protagonist bravely defending humanity against the evil, alien-esque trilobites and spores.

It was a unique and meaningful choice on Miyazaki's part to symbolise nature through the Ohmus—alien-looking giant insects—instead of something cute and fluffy. Oftentimes humans care more about the conservation of animals that they find cute (pandas over, say, Panamanian golden frogs), but an animal doesn't have to appeal to human aesthetics to be worth conserving.

Absolutely not to be missed is the breathtaking soundtrack by Hisaishi. There are symphonies, techno music, sitar-like instruments and a child's humming, all elevating every scene to give a moving experience.

Ultimately it is an ambitious story that aims to deal with themes of coexisting with nature, the futility and dangers of war, and of how innocent children who should live carefree lives are dragged into it and made heroes. This film is often categorised as falling into the genre of Solarpunk: a literary and artistic movement that centres around building a sustainable future interconnected with nature and community. Although this film does depict violence and wars, it ultimately shows a peaceful future is possible.

Truly a masterpiece. 9/10.

#analysis #culture #short essays #media #anime #fictional characters #film #ghiblicore #studio ghibli #musings #movies #solarpunk #climate change #nuclear #environmental issues #environment #miyazaki #feminism #review #character analysis #nausicaa #animanga #animals

[kate-komics]

Scars of the Protector

A (very) short story about how Wrecker got his scars.

This started as a warm up drawing then morphed into this. I'm just in a very Bad Batch mood lately. I've always been curious about Wrecker's scars. I had a dialogue going on in my head what drawing so I thought I'd practice a little writing too! Let me know what you think! I'm always very nervous to share my writing because I have no idea if it's any good 😅 so any constructive criticism is welcome!

Star Wars- The Bad Batch

Word Count: 660

Warnings: Angsty as hell, vague descriptions of battle, vague descriptions of panicking

Scars of the Protector

His hulking form was barely contained in the Bacta tank. The medics seemed doubtful he’d even fit. For the first time in his life, he looked small. Over a day now he floated in the salty healing water, motionless. His brothers watched on in suspense as the hours sluggishly rolled on. If they got him here sooner he’d already be healed and there wouldn’t be scarring like the medics predicted. He’d still have two working eyes and hearing in his left ear. If they actually worked as a team this wouldn’t have happened.

Hunter was always their unquestioned leader, but Wrecker was the protector. Despite his gentle nature, he knew how the regs saw him. A threat. A brute. He took on the role with great pride, always willing to step up. Always willing to fight the battles for his brothers. 

This is our fault.

The unspoken words made the air in the small sterile room heavy. There was no point in saying it out loud, they all knew. The guilt was so evident on their faces. They all panicked and now their brother was paying the price.

From the moment they were born, they were told they were special. Different in a good way. It made them better than the rest. The perfect soldiers. Out there, it made them cocky.

It was their first mission. A battlefield they’d trained for and dreamed about their entire lives. Finally fighting the war they existed for. It should have been second nature, and in a way it was. In the beginning, they flowed with the action flawlessly. The commands and formations drilled into their heads. Was it really this easy? It was, until their numbers started to dwindle. They were forced into a corner in the heat of battle.

After gurgling hours of fighting they were the only ones in the squadron left, surrounded in the rubble with no way out. How could it have gotten this bad? They were better than this, weren’t they? Instead, the prodigy Bad Batch had been reduced to cowering children in the bodies of men. They’d ceased firing. The march of the remaining droids was deafening. They’d all froze, fear gripping their quivering limbs. All of them, except for him. 

Their strongest brother. The explosives expert still had something left to save them. He gathered his final handful of thermal detonators and armed them all quickly. It was more than enough to take care of what clankers were left. He removes his helmet to get a better aim before tossing the charges over their rubble barricade.  

He turned to smile down at his brothers, as he had so many times before, to assure them it was going to be okay now. He’d protected them like he always had. They were safe again. Before he could speak, a single detonator was returned, Wrecker taking nearly all of the blow.  

The battle was won. Medics took hours to arrive.

Most men would be dead, but then again he wasn’t most men. A bred killing machine. A freak. Their brother. And now the only one to wear the evidence of the horrors they’d seen on his face. Something to remind them how they failed him that day, and a quiet promise they’d never let it happen again. They’d all make sure of it. 

They knew he wouldn’t be angry when he woke up. He was never angry. Still, they were afraid of what had changed in him. Would this be the same brother they knew? Would he still smile and laugh the way he always did? Could he even still do that?

Only time and healing will tell, and they stay by his side for all of it.

They all drift in and out of sleep in the medical bay, but none of them ever notice the small eyes peering around the corner. A vigilante gaze, like theirs, that also makes sure her brother would be okay.

#the Bad Batch #Star wars #Clone Wars #Wrecker #Fan Fiction #Short Story #I have no Idea what I'm doing #comicart

[ackerifle]

Captain Levi x prisoner of war reader please 😊 🙏

spoils of war!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem captain. reader (ft. special operations squad)

+ CW. — au: canon adjacent, war crimes, treason, imprisonment, abuse of power & authority: mistreatment/abuse of pow, non-sexual nudity, choking, restraints & hot iron branding, uncharacteristically long post because it’s combined with another work i was making; not proof-read.

it came as no surprise that paradis island was capable of producing and preparing such an overwhelming abundance of competent and proficient soldiers. even if many civilians had initially criticized their old-fashioned choice of weaponry, their contentious plays on the battlefield, and even their morales as a stand-alone concern in itself; their doubts would soon be long forgotten once the soldiers had returned, claiming their first victory that would soon become countless victories. the war may still have yet to be won, but it is no secret that lady luck certainly favored the survey corps’ soldiers with all she had.

and that is precisely why levi had so easily been able to whisk you away with not so much as a glance from his subordinates and superiors alike, during an attack no less. in retrospect, you should have adamantly defended your right to fall back on this particular mission to your commander, should have let this great burden fall onto the shoulders of one of your fellow captains, and have been done with the whole situation entirely. but there was much more for you to prove to your commander and newfound nation than your other marleyan peers.

even if you had demonstrated your worth as a valuable asset time and time again, had gotten your hands dirty for the sake of marley’s name and conquest, serve your own motherland and its peoples only to turn your back on them halfway through the war; you would remain the only ‘foreigner,’ in power, a potential traitor in the eyes of soldiers who were your supposed comrades. if you could betray once, you could betray again— and those who held such leery and low beliefs of you simply could not be reasoned with.

but the judgment and distaste that was made very well clear to you by the marleyan military was nothing in comparison to levi's contempt. actually, it was captain levi now, although that isn’t such a shocking revelation when you take into account that you had also been promoted to captain status during your years away from home. however, your title was a gift from marley, not paradis, and that alone made all the more difference.

you hadn’t remembered him when the two of you came face to face after half a decade. when all of your soldiers had either met their final fates or been broken down with wounds beyond repair, captured and detained; you too, had fallen with them. and when levi had stormed down the ghastly corridor of deadmen and far worse to reap his reward of the fight well won, he had found you. the first thing he noticed was that you looked better, happier. far happier than he could’ve ever dreamed to see you when you were still in paradis— even with the absolutely disgusting mud, grime, dirt, blood, and shit smothered onto your raw and tender skin, with injuries that were likely already infected and guaranteed to last you a lifetime of scars, and well over half of your comrades-in-arms deceased. for someone who was just about to lose everything, you seemed so alive.

at the time, he had approached you wordlessly. slowly trekking his way down to your pathetic and forlorn figure, limp with lassitude and slumped in defeat in a messy pool of your own blood. given enough thought, levi thinks he must’ve looked angry back then. teeth grinding together behind a disturbing sneer, and eyes left wide open until they felt dry enough that he may as well have cried; levi acted far quicker than even his own thoughts could. as the end of his blade dipped beneath your chin, experimentally tapping the sharp side against your neck before raising the entire weight of your head until you could face him.

for but a moment's time, something vulnerable had flashed through levi’s eyes, and he remembered this feeling from his youth, that of a scared boy. his relentless heart wouldn’t stop in its persistence to beat out of his rib cage, and his sentiment, his fondness for you had resurfaced with bone chilling ardor. he was rendered completely, and wholly speechless. mouth agape and stunned into silence, but levi must have let your name slip from his lips in a voiceless whisper, because you finally opened your eyes, “do- do i, know you.” and so you had forgotten all about him.

you truly had done something so utterly unforgivable. leaving him all alone and abandoned while he remained under the unanswered pretense that you were taken; only to have been double backing on paradis the entire time, while he was the only one suffering, left in egregious shambles over your absence. so now he was going to do something unforgivable to you.

“get up.” levi always finds a way to announce his presence before making his way down to your cellar— as if the sound of him (unnecessarily) slamming the rickety door open and stomping on the the concrete steps wasn’t enough for you to catch the hint. a faint window of yellow light from above could be seen framing his silhouette on the uneven stone ground, and you brace yourself for whatever words of wisdom levi has so graciously decided to enlighten you with today, “it’s your lucky day.”

biting back a mirthful huff and an equally incredulous leer, you study his next words carefully, “we’ve got visitors coming today.” you’re quite observant of how he intentionally takes his time when it comes to unlocking your cellar door, his eyes don’t leave you, as if he enjoys seeing you imprisoned behind bars, and it makes your skin crawl, “visitors?”

your copycat repetition was intended to be silent, though you can’t help but ponder his statement aloud. there is something odd here, levi slides the door open and enters the caged room with you, you don’t know what it is, he grabs you by the arm far too intimately for someone holding a hostage, no— you know what it is; his voice, levi doesn’t bother to close the cellar door as he guides you down the ill lit, damp and dreary hallway, he almost sounds like he’s looking forward to having these ‘visitors’ coming today.

“you’ll be happy to see them.” as if reading your mind, levi offered his ominous words of assurance, if one could even call them that. opting to ignore his response in favor of studying your surroundings, partially because you weren’t conscious for the trip down, and partially to soothe your nerves, you have distant memories here— “familiar to you yet? the old headquarters’ basement.”

levi bites his tongue to refrain from adding in a sardonic jab about how you would have been there to witness the construction of the new headquarters, the symbol of paradis island’s first victory in the war, if you had simply stayed. but levi trusts that he’s spent enough time re-indoctrinating your pasts together with the days he’s been granted leave to tend to his war trophy. but his heart still aches every time he remembers your neglectful memory was due to your own carelessness, nothing to do with marley brainwashing you, or any sort of militaristic torture into subservience. was he that insignificant to you that over the span of five short years, you would think no more of him?

the two of you seem to recall your trainee days on paradis very differently, and the notion itself puts levi in a sour mood, “hurry up, the ropes don’t make you fucking immobile.” he barks with a shove in between your shoulder blades, “cuffs with enough leeway for me to move a single centimeter at a time? how accommodating!” levi shoots you a dark glare, “behave.”

it leaves your body sore when you come to a standstill atop the steps, vision straining at the introduction of an unhealthy combination of natural and artificial lighting on your luminescent-deprived eyes. levi takes advantage of your poorly adjusting eyes, suavely escorting you into a new room. there is something that you notice immediately upon entering the unrecognizable area, it is the smell of smoke. instinctively, your eyes frantically search the room to locate the source, landing on a small coal fire, all the while levi continues to usher you forward until you bump into a wooden surface.

peering down, you’re greeted by a low, yet unusually and unconventionally capacious table. each corner holds an individual ring of rusted metal, hooked to the ends with suspicious purpose. but before you can dwell on it too much, the force of levi’s hands on your shoulder and waist have you coming to your senses. with one calculating motion, he swivels you around, turning your body until you’re faced towards him, and although your hands are tied together behind your back, you struggle like you can touch him. levi is unfazed by whatever attempts you can bring yourself to muster to aid in escaping his grasp, dropping his hands to your torso with dangerous constriction before slamming you down onto the table with all his might.

your lower back takes the brunt of the force, and by god does it hurt. the edge of the table digs spitefully into your back and spine, causing you to momentarily scream in agony. and in an instant, levi distracts you from the pain when his hands start roaming your body, starting with your shirt. when he gets closer, the severity of the situation finally sinks in, and you only hope you’re wrong about what will happen next. wildly moving in his hold does little when your limbs are bound, and your legs are lifted too high from the floor for you to even do anything, and despite still maintaining full control over your movements, levi lets out an annoyed grunt either way.

his right hand quickly descends down onto your neck, enveloping your airway with a firm squeeze, enough to get you to stop violently staggering about. levi is more concerned with the position this has now put him in, only a menial worry, really; unbuttoning your shirt with one hand proves to be rather difficult, so he’ll have to tear at the fabric. like it was an ordinary sunday morning, he is more worried with the tattered frays and cloth pieces your blouse will discard, than you, a literal captive, scrambling to get out from beneath him. he decides he will both unbutton and rip the shirt, using his thumb to sloppily shove the buttons through while also dragging the article further down your body.

“fuck, don’t. this is inhumane, even for an enemy soldier!” it hadn’t crossed his mind that you may have taken this the wrong way, his intentions that is. but you did give him an idea for another day, “well, you aren't quite a soldier— no, not even a civilian of paradis anymore, now are you?”

levi halts his movements, but doesn’t release you, instead, feigning a thoughtful pause before continuing, “but that doesn't matter, even if you miraculously find your way back to marley, they won't want you back, not after i'm done with you.” your heart drops, and your thrashing increases tenfold, causing his grip on your throat to loosen with every move, but levi is able to ignore it with his determination to get those insufferable buttons undone.

the sound of a door and hurried footsteps interrupt any frenetic and hysterical thought you’re having, even levi tilts his head in the direction of the clamoring, “hm, it seems they’ve arrived.”

casual chatter could be heard nearing the two of you, and when voices were revealed you were horrified. gathering at the open doorway was a group of four soldiers, or so you had presumed, as they had the same matching uniform as levi. there were three men, and one woman; all of which who are holding something. two with the same rope that had your arms and legs tied together, one with a singular iron rod, and the lady with a water basin and a washcloth resting halfway inside the bucket and halfway on the outside. and what terrified you even further was that they seemed unperturbed by the sight before them, it’s almost as if their smiles grew wider.

“sorry we’re a little late, captain!” the woman chirped, lowering the water basin in her hands to a more comfortable position to allow gravity to uphold its weight, rather than her arms, “it’s about damn time you all finally show up, restrain her.” levi was blunt and to the point, glossing over greetings entirely, and aiming his index finger in your direction.

there was a lot going on, and levi disappeared behind the three figures approaching you in the midst of it all. the short-haired woman must have placed the basin on the floor, because her hands were definitely free when she reached for your shirt, “it’s been so long since we’ve last seen you, you know.” how she had managed to keep such a cheery tone and face while also single-handedly witnessing your torment and anguish was beyond you, and you leaned away from her touch.

“yeah, captain said you forgot all about us.” it seemed that distancing yourself from the chipper lady had landed you into the trap of another, this time, a blond man with a blithe though hurt grin on his face, “we’ve got so much to tell you.” the tallest of the three added, carelessly placing a hand on the buckle of your belt.

entering your peripheral vision was the final soldier of what you presumed to be levi’s squad, he had been the one carrying the iron rod in his hands, now absent, as he made his way towards you, finding a spot next to the woman, “a lot happened while you were away.”

that’s right, you remember them. these soldiers were of the plethora of cadets that had enlisted in the military when you and levi had graduated. you had only encountered them a handful of times, but they were recurring guests in your life thanks to levi preparing for his promotion, the one you never had the chance to witness for yourself due to your leave. who knew they would be the same people to disgrace your pride and dignity by stripping you naked, even if they were much gentler than levi ever cared to be with you, there was no greater comparison than a pack of hungry wolves. and it was so draining to fight them, you tried and tried, but when the ropes had come out, you gave in.

and their names, they were: petra, eld, gunther, and oluo— which you had only picked up thanks to their small-talk with one another as they defiled you. shutting your eyes to avoid dwelling on the feeling of having your arms and legs strewn out, wrists and ankles bound by the rope that had been threaded through those worn out coils. all attention was focused on your shallow breathing, praying to disassociate hard enough to block out their jovial conversation. but you had picked up on something else, the burning coals. expectedly, the room was airless and sultry with a running fire and six people confined to such a small room. but this scent was different, like you could smell the heat, and that heat smelled like iron.

snapping your eyes open, you raise your head as much as your neck would allow it in your pitiful position, desperately scanning the room for answers. and you get them when you finally hear levi’s voice, “grab her arms and legs, i didn’t get this shit custom made for her to fuck it up.” readily, as if anticipating this specific command, petra and oluo had taken hold of your calves, while eld and gunther grabbed the inner side of your elbows. when levi leisurely drew near the side of the wooden table, the only thing you could see was the iron bar in his hands, the black metal now a light ash grey, emanating heat even with the distance levi was holding with you.

“wait, stop. get that fucking thing away from me!” the only control you had over your own body seemed to be your mind and mouth. even when you banged against the table, pulling away from the left side of the table where levi menacingly stood, recoiling as much as you could through the grip of the four soldiers and the ropes.

if it was forgiveness you wanted, you wouldn’t get it. that much levi would make sure of. if you wanted to run away? to be disobedient? then he’d reward your bad behavior with a deservingly bad punishment. carefully, levi lowered the scorching iron pole to align with the left side of your hips, though he wasn’t cautious for your sake, of course not, you deserved this and much more, but because he refused to let your little tantrum screw this up. you could feel the metal before it even touched your skin, burning away any body hair that may have been there to a crisp, and the sheer radiating from it had you screwing your eyes shut. you braced yourself, preparing to feel the searing iron, but it never came. levi contemplated whether or not he wanted to do it slowly, or to startle you after letting fifteen seconds pass, he fancied the latter.

it was so much more painful than you thought it was going to be. the sweltering hot iron rod blistered your sensitive skin, and you shrieked and cried in pain. it was scalding hot to the point it felt as if the metal was actually ice cold, and it pressed stiffly against your side, sinking into the fat of your hips. you had screamed until you couldn’t no more, until your voice cracked and your vocal cords bled, something the soldiers restricting you seemed to ignore. but the smell, the smell of your flesh being burned to the point it would leave a fresh, bloody mark. it was nauseating, and you gagged and heaved, but nothing to come of it. and despite how hellish it was, how it caused you unfathomable pain, caused you to convulse and spasm in your restraints, the pressure of the iron rod only lasted five seconds.

levi had counted, retrieving the metal pole and alleviating the pressure of its marking on your body after five maliciously counted seconds. you couldn’t tell if it hurt worse when the cold air nipped at the new wound than it did when it had been applied to your skin. tears fell from your eyes, and you don’t recall when you had started crying, but your face was wet with those salty droplets. shuffling resonated within the room, and the weight on your limbs was released. how tired you were, defeatedly laying your head until you could feel the rough surface of the wooden table. eyelids getting heavier by the second, you dared glance at the brand on your hip, the two letters ‘LA,’ bold and clear.

if you had the energy to, you would have flinched when a hand holding onto a lightly wetted rag came into contact with the new marking. the hand was tentative and mindful, applying little to no pressure on your hip, but just enough to cleanse the burn. you could have sworn you heard the sound of humming, but you knew you heard levi’s voice, “if you so much as think of betraying me again, i’ll do more than just mark you with my initials.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Insurgency: The Uprising

Summary: A totalitarian regime reigns over a South American country in which the virus is being distributed to its citizens at the pretense of a “cure.” Leon was sent to retrieve a sample of the virus mutation when he stumbled upon a group of anti-government activists whose main goal is to overthrow their government. Will Leon help the cause or will he fall down with the government as well?

Warning: Mentions of mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Slow burn. Age gap (Leon is 38 and reader is 21+). Reader is female.

Word count: 4,750

A/N: this is an idea I had for a book I wanted to write. I love dystopian books and movies so I really wanted to write something like this. This will be a series lol.

[part one][part two][part three][part four][part five][part six][part seven][part eight][bonus]

“The relief of giving in to destruction.” - Franz Kafka, Diaries.

“This is an urgent message from the president. This is an urgent message from the president. This is an ur-“

“Hello citizens of Pruye,” the TV warning got interrupted by the screening of a middle aged woman sitting down on a desk. Her suit was black as a flag stood behind her. The colors blue and green with a crest on the far left corner- a serpent. The woman had a brown bob with a few grey hairs. Her eyes were deep brown as her lips remained a bright pink. Her rosy cheeks puffed out the look of exhaustion as she embodied the feeling of a confident and strong leader,

“Today is an important day that all must remember. Tonight, we will launch the cure of all illnesses. The immunity to life. We shall bring peace and harmony all throughout the globe. A change never seen in history… until now.”

“Membario will become the new pharmaceutical phenomena. Our people worked hard for this cure and we shall be the first ones to prove to the world that we, too, can make history. Tonight, you all will be receiving a sample of this cure. Tonight, we will boast in the celebrations of what it feels to be victors! We are proud Pruyanians!”

The TV got turned off by someone, your coworker, “What a bunch of mierda,” Your coworker was an old man, a veteran who served in the war and now worked at where you worked. A canteen right in the middle of downtown Pruye. The streets were made of cement but had plot holes from previous battles.

The Pruyanian government, right before the current president won the election, was peaceful and harmonious in which it allowed citizens to have a voice. After President Mendez took charge, she changed everything.

Streets were patrolled by the Pruyanian soldiers who proved their loyalty to the country. Laws were changed and made to accommodate the president’s demands.

“I just don’t understand why it’s such a big deal, it’s just a drug like opium or morphine,” he continued with a grumpy voice.

“C’mon, Franco. Don’t be a buzzkill. Imagine how rich we can be if we were to sell it to other countries?” Another coworker said, a young woman in her early twenties with dyed hair. Red fiery hair covering what was a previous black raven shade.

Franco snorted as he stared at the TV and then back at the young woman, “Don’t tell me you actually believe her words? She’s manipulating us!”

You sighed and went to clean up a few tables, “You two fight like politicians.”

“Look- I’m just saying is that there are better ways to make a living. I don’t want to work here for the rest of my life,” the young woman replied as she too helped you clean around the canteen.

“Too bad, Esme,” Franco replied as he opened a newspaper and began to read, “Life’s a bitch and you can’t do anything about it.”

Esme raised her brow and looked at you for a brief moment, “He gets old but not his spirit, eh?” She nudged you with her elbow gently.

You stifled a chuckle and shook your head as you went back to the kitchen to clean the used dishes.

It’s always been you three working here. Esme, Franco and you were like family. After President Mendez delivered the order to kill all those who opposed her, your family became a target.

Your brother, around 16 years old, died right before a ceasefire was called. He was with his friends when a group of Pruyanian soldiers appeared and shot him. The cause for the shooting? He defied a soldier and showed insubordination.

Since then you’ve grown resentment to the government- specifically President Mendez.

The ground shook as you were cleaning the dishes. You slowly approached the open door entry along with Franco and Esme, watching as battle tanks drove through the city.

“Coño… what are they doing over here?” Esme asked faintly as she watched the tanks and army pass by. Their uniform blue with the serpent crest embedded on their arm. The red serpent you’ve seen all throughout the city.

“Must be presidential orders,” Franco pointed to a big screen on a tall tower. The tower stood right in the center of the city layout. Its purpose was to guide those who are lost- or maybe it was to show who the powerful ones really were.

You and Esme turned your attention to the big screen, watching as a countdown took place. They were about to distribute the cure to the citizens in 6 hours.

Esme huffed in annoyance and went back to stare at the soldiers pass by. Their boots echoing through the humid streets of Pruye as they held their weapons with a firm grip.

“They’re securing the area…” you whispered as you furrowed your brows. You turned back to look at the screen and listen to what the president had to say, “We will be patrolling the following areas- Pucalara, Miguén, San Jolonia, and San Bandero. Do not be alarmed, this is standard protocol.”

Currently, you were in San Bandero. The heart of Pruye. The soldiers all surrounded the city and held their rifles close to themselves. You watched as the tanks all moved inward, closer to the tower.

“They’re locking us in…” you spoke faintly as you quickly walked back inside the canteen. Esme and Franco exchanged a look as they followed behind you, seemingly confused.

“This isn’t protection like she claims- no. She’s locking us inside the city-“ you frantically said as you got your bag and jacket.

“Y/n, slow down. How do you even know that?” Franco put a hand on your shoulder to calm you down.

You shook your head as you swung your jacket around your shoulders, “I don’t. But knowing her… she’s hiding something and I don’t want to be here for that.”

You walked out of the canteen and walked down the sidewalk towards where the soldiers were blocking an exit. As you neared them, a soldier held out his rifle and aimed at you as he spoke through his helmet, “Turn back around. You cannot leave the area.”

You raised your hands in the air and took a step forward, resulting in the other soldiers pointing their guns at you, “I said- turn back around! Now!”

With a glare you slowly took steps back as you walked away from them. They weren’t letting people out which meant that they were also not letting people in.

As you walked back to the canteen, you noticed how people began to get out of their houses and grow confused at the soldiers. Why were they blocking the exits and entries of the city?

Right as you were about to walk inside the canteen, shots were fired. You crouched down to the floor and covered your head with your arms as you looked over your shoulder and saw soldiers shooting the civilians with weapons launching at them.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the people with machetes and guns fight each other. The sound of bodies falling down to the floor as well as the blood seeping through their lifeless bodies, staining the cement under them.

Rain began to pour down, making it hard for the soldiers to see through their helmets. You watched as a person stabbed a soldier from behind with their knife but then fall to the ground dead as the soldier behind them shot them in the head.

This was war.

-

Leon was called to the main office of the organization he was currently working at. Which was for the government. He found himself inside the White House again for some reason.

As he waited inside a room, he couldn’t help but notice how bright and sunny the weather had been lately. Which was a contrast to what he felt. Drained and exhausted.

The door opened gently and two men dressed in expensive suits stepped inside with a file in their hands. They approached where Leon had been sitting and sat on the couch across from him.

“Good news, your request for a getaway vacation has been approved,” one of the men, balding and tired, said as he laid the file on the coffee table between them. Leon leaned forward to pick it up and go through it.

“And the bad news?” Leon asked without glancing at them.

The other cleared his throat before speaking, “You’re being sent to another virus mission.”

Leon looked up from the file to stare at the two men. Another mission about the virus, when will it ever end?

He sighed as he closed the file and leaned back against the couch, “So another zombie apocalypse. Great, just what I fucking needed…” he whispered as he put the file back on the coffee table, “No.”

“No? What do you mean no? This is important, people’s lives are at risk and we can’t-“ Leon quickly interrupted the balding man.

“You can’t save everyone when it comes to this. I’ve seen it many times, why don’t you all just do what you did back in Raccoon City, huh? Bomb them until there’s no trace of the virus,” Leon got up and began to walk towards the door.

“This is different,” the other man said, causing Leon to stop in his tracks. “This isn’t like the virus you’ve seen before… this is much more dangerous.”

Leon turned around to look at the two of them before walking back to sit on the couch. “Go on.”

“Ahem-“ the man continued, “South America. The branch wants you to go over there and retrieve a sample of the virus. That’s all you have to do. Once you give us the sample, we’ll proceed from there and you’ll get your vacation.”

Leon narrowed his eyes at him, growing suspicious of how easy the mission sounds, “You aren’t telling me everything, are you?”

The balding man laughed nervously and readjusted his black tie, “Not per se-“

“There’s a revolution going on in the country of Pruye where you’re being sent to. They mutated the virus’s genetic code into something more dangerous and they’re using it as medicine- I believe you know where this is going,” the other man said.

Leon nodded and kept quiet as the man talked, “The government is planning on distributing this ‘medicine’ to other countries but we cannot let them. Your mission is not only to retrieve a sample but to also stop the spread and destroy the evidence of the virus ever existing. You will be given a team- both air and land to help you complete your mission. Your task is not let others know the real reason why you’re there. You are acting as a soldier proving aid to the government. Once you have retrieved the virus sample, we will pull you out of the country and bring you back.”

“This time I’m actually getting help. Nice,” Leon replied sarcastically. It was obvious that Leon wasn’t all too excited about this. He’s been used as a killing machine ever since Raccoon City. He’s been tossed around the globe with expectations of solving everyone’s issues. And he’s tired. He’s 38, he should be worrying about other things other than war and death.

His hands rested on his thighs as he began to stand up from the couch, “When do I leave?”

“First thing in the morning, you’ll be on a private plane provided by the government,” the balding man answered.

Leon nodded before finally walking towards the door and exiting the room. As he walked down the halls of the White House, he wondered what life would be like for him. Is this all he’s ever going to do? Was his life purpose about fighting and killing? He couldn’t wait to retire.

-

Smoke covered the entire block. Rain poured down harshly against your skin, causing your hair to stick to you like glue. The smell was of gunpowder and metallic blood infiltrated your nose. A vision full of haze as you stood up from being crouched down on the floor.

Blood.

A lot of blood.

They brought tanks and a helicopter. “¡Al suelo!” Someone yelled.

You got down on the floor as an incoming tank shot a building, causing it to crumble down just a few feet away from the canteen. Your eyes widened in horror at the sight.

People screamed- from pain and from the fight. You got up and ran to try and find Franco and Esme. You needed to get them out of here now.

You staggered as you ran towards the canteen. The debris that had fallen over from the building covering the road. You jumped and ducked as soldiers hid behind them and shot at anyone who they deemed a threat.

Panting through the bloodied streets, you had reached the canteen. You heard groaning and some yelling more up ahead.

You didn’t know what took over you but you found yourself running towards that sound. As you approached the yelling, you saw that Esme had been hit by a piece of debris from the collapsed building. Her leg had been squished and she desperately tried to pry the piece off of her. You kneeled down beside her and pushed the debris aside, watching in horror what had happened to her leg.

Her bone broke and penetrated her skin. Snapped in half like a twig. There was blood pooling down her leg. You froze, you didn’t know what to do. You weren’t a medic but you also weren’t heartless enough to leave her.

You took off your jacket and applied it to her wound, hoping you could at least stop the bleeding. She gripped your arm as she let out a bloody scream in pain.

“Estoy aquí- respira. Todo va estar bien-“ you tried to calm her down but she let out another yell, “y/n it hurts- grragh”

Of course it hurt, her bone was poking out of her skin.

“Where’s Franco?” You asked as you tried to get her distracted from the pain.

She didn’t respond and instead pointed to a mountain of rubble. Metal rods and pieces of cement fell down on top of people. You could see limb pieces- arm, legs. But you couldn’t recognize all of them.

Your eyes followed her finger as she pointed to the gore display.

“He’s under there…” she replied weakly and let out another pained scream.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as your heart rate quickened. Slowly standing up, you walked over to the mountain of rubble. “Franco?” You called out in a panicked tone.

Silence.

You hurriedly kneeled in front of the mountain and hastily moved the rubble away. Taking piece by piece as you denied the thoughts scurrying through your head.

Almost immediately, your heart dropped down to your stomach as you recognize the veteran necklace. With shaky hands, you reached for the necklace and took it.

Franco was dead.

Your vision blurred as you held the necklace on your chest. You let out a blood curdling scream as you trembled in horror.

The ground shook as more bombs blew off. Troops stampeded through the streets, their weapons aimed at the citizens of San Bandero.

You went back to Esme and tried to pick her up, “Come on,” you grunted as she leaned her weight on you.

Dragging her alongside you, you managed to walk further away from the city and towards the exit. The soldiers bordering the entry/exit road had been killed and now laid there lifeless. Their uniforms stained with the red tint of what could be assumed was their blood. Maybe it was also someone else’s.

As you managed to get her out of the city, you walked through the dense forest and laid her down on the ground as she leaned against a tree.

“I’m going to get help- stay here and don’t make a single sound-“

“Leave me,” Esme interrupted you. Her gaze defeated and weak as she looked up at you. “I’m only going to slow you down. You need to get out here…”

Your eyes softened at her, “I can’t leave you, Esme. You’re coming with me-“

“For fuck’s sake y/n! Just go!” She cut you off again. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Just go…”

You stared at her in silence, your feet frozen in place.

“Esme…”

“Just go. I’m not going to live, you saw what they were doing to us… please, Y/n… just go…” she rolled her head back against the tree and grunted softly in pain.

You stared at her in silence as you contemplated your next actions.

“Y/n, go to La Séten mountain…” she heaved as she tried to breathe, “There’s- there’s a group of people who can help you, give them this.”

She weakly handed you a piece of paper with writing on it. You took it and put it in your pocket as you nodded shortly.

“I will…” you whispered as you looked into her amber eyes, “I’m sorry, Esme…”

Esme gave you a weak and faint smile, “Don’t be sorry… promise you’ll live… for me…”

You nodded and held her hand as your eyes welled up in tears, “I will.”

You leaned closer to her and gave her forehead a gentle kiss. She closed her eyes and exhaled for the last time in her life.

You stifled a sob as you let go of her hand. You’ve lost Franco and now Esme too.

You walked through the forest, making your way to the mountain Esme mentioned.

-

“Madam President, the city states have been seized and are under troop surveillance.”

“Wonderful, let the Chief in Command proceed with the plan. We mustn’t delay the delivery.”

“Yes, Madam President,” the female assistant walked out of the President’s office, the same one when the announcement was first made. President Mendez let out a soft hum and stared down at the files in her hands.

“Tonight, we will change lives Doctor Ramirez,” she spoke as Doctor Ramirez walked closer to her desk.

“Yes, we will Madam President and it’s all thanks to your help. Without your sponsorship, we couldn’t have progressed so quickly with our research,” Doctor Ramirez was a tall and lanky man with glasses. His hair was neatly parted at the side and his white coat shielded the suit he was wearing underneath. He exuded wealth and power, much like the President herself.

President Mendez laughed and clapped her hands slowly, “Oh.. Doctor Ramirez, you are too humble.”

“Not all Madam President… not at all,” he replied with a quiet tone. His eyes unreadable.

-

The path to La Sénte Mountain was a rough one. It’s one of the biggest mountains in San Bandero that has been classified as unreachable. There was an abandoned trail that originally was used for horse riding but ever since the country got ruled over by President Mendez, everything turned industrial.

Trees aligned the rail as the tall grass reached up your shins. It had gotten dark by the time the bombs and the shootings all faded in the background. As you took a step up, you turned back to look at the city that was once your home become occupied by soldiers. The helicopter flashed its light in search for citizens. There was smoke and fire coming out of the city from where you stood.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. With a sigh, you continued your trail up the mountain. Unknown to you that you were being watched by eyes hidden in the grass, trees, and bushes.

Hours passed and it was now some time past midnight. You took a break to catch your breath. Sitting down on a rock, you took out the piece of paper Esme gave you.

It was a small map with the word ‘Insurgents’ on it. The map was a layout of Pruye, it contained information about where each government and army building was located around the coast as well as the center of the country.

You tucked it back into your pocket not before hearing a twig snap. Anxiety quickly coursed through your veins and you got up to leave. Whatever was out there was probably not friendly given the current uprising in the country.

With a force against your feet, you kept climbing up the mountain. Climbing for what felt hours until you saw an orange light emitting from a cave.

Fire. Someone had lit up a camp inside a cave in the mountain.

You gripped the edge of the cave and pulled your body up. As you entered, you were immediately met with guns pointed at you. There were about four men pointing their rifles at you as you climbed up. A woman came up to you and dragged you up by your arm, helping you stand on your feet.

There was a table right in the center of the cave with a lantern. And behind that table stood a woman with a scar across her face. Her eye a different color as the scar ran right through it.

“Hold your weapons,” she raised her hand to stop the men from shooting you. The men took two steps back and slowly lowered their weapons. The woman who helped you up left your side and walked back to where the other woman was standing.

“I assume you were told about us,” she began as she went around the table and walked to stand in front of you. She was taller than you by at least two inches. Her hair was short and black. Her skin tanned and full of freckles.

You nodded and took out the note Esme gave you, “A friend of mine told me to come here.”

The woman took the note and inspected it before giving it to the woman who helped you up.

“Another recruit, Esme was really good at recruiting more people,” she said casually. Your eyes widened, she knew Esme?

“I don’t suppose you know what we do or who we are?” She walked back to the table and motioned for you to follow behind her.

As you neared the table, there were papers scattered around messily. Maps and files with important information. The woman turned to you and took out her hand for a handshake, “Name’s Yanira. Welcome to Insurgents.”

You took her hand and shook it with a firm grip, “Insurgents? What are you guys?”

She let go of your hand and focused back down on the table, “We are an organization looking to overthrow President Mendez from her position. She and her minions have been controlling our land far too long. It’s time we claim back what’s ours.”

An anti-government group. And they’re fighting the Pruyanian government for freedom. You furrowed your brows and stared down at the table as well as Yarina kept speaking, “We need as many people as possible if we want to make this happen. You’ve seen how they treat people back in the city states. Why don’t you join us?”

You looked at her with wide eyes, “What? Why would you want me to join? I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

Yarina chuckled softly, “You’ll learn. We’ve got plenty of people who can teach you different things,” she leaned closer to you, “We’ve been preparing for this moment. All we need is more help. And you- I have a feeling you can help us big time,” she whispered and then leaned away.

She focused back on the table and continued discussing whatever it was that she was talking to the other people.

Join them? You can help them? Up until now you were just a girl working in a canteen living paycheck to paycheck. And now everything turned upside down. The army has taken control of four city states and you’ve lost more people.

It was no lie that a war was coming but to actually partake in it was terrifying, at least to you. But witnessing how everyone seemed to have the spirit and the faith that everything will work out in their favor is beginning to persuade you.

What more do you have to lose? You’ve lost your family and now your friends. It’s time to fight back for what was once yours.

“Okay,” you nodded slowly and looked at Yarina.

“I’ll join you.”

Yarina smiled brightly and hung an arm around your shoulders, celebrating with the other insurgents.

It all felt so overwhelming yet so real. This was happening and there was no turning back.

“Okay, here’s everything you need to know so far,” Yarina pointed to the map.

“The coast has been guarded up by the navy army of Pruye. President Mendez sent out an order to not let anyone in or out of the country. The ports have been closed and the soldiers are patrolling the beach.”

She then pointed to the center of Pruye, right on San Bandero, “San Bandero has become the military center of the country and is where most of the soldiers have been patrolling. This is where their control comes from. If we can target and destroy their center from this point then we have a chance at liberating the other city states.”

You furrowed your brows, “It’s not easy. I’ve seen what they brought. Tanks and helicopters. Are you sure you want to target them first? What about the civilians?”

Yarina let out a soft exhale, “We can perform an underground evacuation- some of our soldiers will go in the sewers and take people out of the city towards the forest. Once the people have been evacuated, we will proceed and attack the main tower.” She then pointed to a tall building colored in red right in the middle of the map.

“This is where most of the military controls the country. If we can hijack and steal their data, then we can convince the rest of the country to join us. And we can also delay the soldiers from terrorizing other city states.”

She already had a plan for everything. No wonder Esme knew about this. If this group was this good then that means that there’s hope for liberation.

“Okay…” you began slowly, “What do you need me to do?”

“You, my friend, have a special mission,” she slid a piece of paper your way.

“The United States will send some troops over here to aid President Mendez. I want you to go back to San Bandero with a few of my people and infiltrate their meeting location,” her finger pointed to another building on the map, “This place is called La Fundación de Membario. It is heavily guarded by soldiers. The place is where President Mendez is currently staying at. She’s going to personally welcome the Americans and give them a run down of what Pruye has been up to. She’ll most likely tell them about us and knowing her-“ her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as she stared at you.

“She’ll want the Americans to target us.”

You pinched your brows together and looked back down at the files of the American soldiers that were expected to come, “But why is the U.S. sending their military over here?”

“Because President Mendez sent an emergency alert to their President. She declared her country was threatened by us and needed backup. So, the U.S. playing God in all wars- decided to send their people over here to control us.”

You looked up at her from the files as she spoke again, “But you know what I think? I think they don’t stand a chance against us. We know the country better than anyone. They’ll die right before they can touch land,” she replied quietly.

She sounded like she wasn’t lying. It was a promise to herself and to the people of Pruye.

“When do I start?” You asked after putting the files back down on the table.

“Tomorrow morning. You can stay at our camp and we’ll teach you the basics. For now, you should rest. We’ve a long day tomorrow,” she patted your shoulder and walked deeper into the cave. The other insurgents gave you a look and some gave you a firm nod as they followed their leader.

You exhaled shakily as you looked out the cave. From now on, you were a soldier. No longer the girl working in a canteen. That life was long gone.

You were now part of the Revolution.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #id leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon #di leon

[ponder-the-orb]

Moonlit Quiet

Pairing: Dame Aylin x Isobel Thorm

Tags: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff, Spoilers for Act 2

Word count: 3K

Summary:

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch.

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss.

What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness? 

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again. 

AKA: Aylin and Isobel take some time to themselves following Ketheric's death.

Read on AO3 or below

***

It’s been over a century since Isobel has seen Moonrise Towers bathed in the light of its namesake. Longer still since she’s set foot in this bedroom – her bedroom.

It’s not a space she ever imagined seeing again, but she’d found her hand on the doorknob before she’d realised she'd climbed to the top of the tower. An old instinct she’d presumed. Either that or she’d just been desperate for some – any – form of home comfort in the aftermath of such a battle. 

She chooses not to dwell on how it remains just as she left it: sheets rumpled, hearth warmed, her own cleric robes pressed and hanging on the back of the wardrobe- just as any other evening. 

Kicking off her boots by the window, she can almost pretend it is just any other evening. Her father could be working below, stern but happy in his way, and she could retire from her daily rituals ready for an altogether different sort of ritual atop her sheets.

She smiles as she hears the old but familiar thump of someone landing against her mattress.

Her darling. Her angel. 

It’s almost dizzying how normal a sight it is. The Dame Aylin on her bed, battle-mussed and resplendent in her full armoured regalia. She glows a gentler silver now, like Isobel’s own slice of moonlight waiting against her pillows.

For once, she’s silent, but the blazing promise in her eyes speaks volumes. 

Want. Need. Impatience. So much that even decades of death can’t stop the way Isobel’s knees weaken at the sight.

She hurriedly shutters every window until the room is solely lit by Aylin’s glow. Under any other circumstances, she’d leave them wide open. She’d always like to sleep under the watchful light of Selûne and for the first time in years she can feel her Lady’s caress reaching across the land. It’s another old familiarity, one she loves– but tonight requires privacy. 

She undresses Aylin with practised care. The sword finds a new home against the carpet, sheathed and quiet for now. She’ll need it again, no doubt sooner than Isobel would want, but it need not sing at this moment. Their battle is won. Plans for the rest of this war can wait.

There’s a quiet relief on Aylin’s breath as Isobel unlaces her armour. Piece by piece the silvered soldier falls to the bed, Isobel’s hands slow as they find the strength waiting underneath. She pauses as she brushes above the collar of her mail, her thumb meeting the ivory line of her throat. 

She’s rooted, awed, as she feels each long breath– so real, so alive against her touch.

That first lightning bolt of shock and elation at seeing her here had fallen along with Aylin’s breastplate against the sheets. She can’t quite place where in her head she is right now, somewhere between a shaky sense of regularity and the colder fear that she’ll close her eyes too long and awaken back at Last Light. Alone, hiding and still mourning the losses she can’t tell another living soul.

Aylin’s look softens as she continues to work. They both know she could dissipate the armour with but a thought, she had so enough times when the heat between them called for it. She stays still for now, letting Isobel ground herself in the ritual, the feel of the metal, of her angel’s fingers against her. Her worship belongs to Selûne, but true devotion– that will forever be for Aylin. It’s a thought that borders on blasphemy, but it would taste a lie to deny it. There’s no careful composure or rehearsed words needed. It’s something aching, intimate– pleasure and want so desperately pressed into each other with shaking hands and parted lips.

“I never thought I’d do this again,” Isobel admits after a moment, tugging at the heavy neck of Aylin’s mail. “I think I’ve forgotten just how many pieces there are.”

Aylin laughs and she sits back, pulling the chain shirt over her head as if it were made of cotton. “Take all the time you need. We have so much of it now.”

Time. There was supposed to be near enough an eternity of it before.

She cups Aylin’s cheeks, makes a memory of how she melts just that little bit into her touch. 

They’d whispered such promises between these very walls so many times, enough that the weight of Isobel’s own mortality seemed to flit further away with every kiss. What force could possibly break them apart? Fight past Selûne's own sword and shatter this happiness ? 

Bile rises in Isobel’s throat, her fingers firm against Aylin's face as she presses their foreheads together. It’s another familiar gesture, the touch so delicate but the words behind it clear.

Nothing will take you from me again. 

“Yes, we do,” is what she says aloud, dipping down so their lips can finally meet.

She knows it’s the calm before the hurricane, one moment of pure unfiltered serenity before Aylin’s composure snaps. Her mouth opens, gasp hot as she pulls Isobel into her lap.

“Oh my darling, my fearless Isobel,” she whispers against her mouth, tugging her close with a strong arm around Isobel’s waist. “ Please let me adore you now.” 

Isobel groans. She’d almost forgotten how perfect her name sounds in Aylin’s voice– the strength of a battle cry; more delicate than a prayer.

She shifts under Isobel and her lips are everywhere, her chin, her ear, her throat. Pieces of her own armour clatter to the floor as impatient hands roam over her, seeking lost skin.

It’s a task unto itself not to press her down onto the bed right now and ravish her until they’re both sweetly exhausted and sore. Gods-knows she wants to. It would be so easy to lose herself in Aylin until dawn dared intrude on them.

She squeezes the curve of Isobel’s thigh and lights burst behind her eyes.

It’s everything. It’s too much.

“ Aylin - wait.” She catches her face, slowly guiding it back to hers.

Aylin’s hands immediately still. “Does something trouble you?” Her voice is thick– those moon-bright eyes blown wide as an eclipse.

Isobel smiles. That’s a sight she remembers all too well. Her Aylin. Her perfectly besotted love.

“It is as you said. We have time,” she breathes, gathering the spill of Aylin’s hair and letting it slip between her fingers. “So please, could you let me do this?” What exactly she’s asking for she isn’t quite sure. There’s a century still hanging between them, so many moments to make up for, far far too many.

Perhaps too many for the years she has left with her.

She swallows and brushes the down of Aylin's cheek, marble to flesh.

For now, she needs to be slow. Deliberate. Relearn her love inch by beautiful inch.

She knows that Aylin will forever be Aylin: the Moonmaiden’s justice, her unwavering paladin– as regal and proud as the heavens themselves. It’s her duty to stand as such until her immortal service is finally complete, perhaps when the last vestige of Selûne's light fades into that final night. But for now, she’s battled enough. It’s finally Aylin’s time to be savoured – and Isobel knows she’s more ready to take on that duty.

She brushes the peach curve of her lips, then those new golden scars fractured across her face. She pauses against the darker flecks on her jaw: blood from their new allies, from illithids, her father-

She tucks the thought away. It’s a feeling too messy for her to fully fathom right now, raw and tender as a new bruise. She quietly makes a vow to process it fully in her own time. Much much later. 

He’s at rest, his poison gone and Isobel would rather throw herself into the fetid pit under this tower than let him snatch the joy from this night as well. 

She can’t hide her gasp as she pulls Aylin’s undershirt from her body. Wider, deeper scars splinter over the firm muscles of her torso and finish in a jagged patch over her heart. 

Once, such marks were almost a comfort to Isobel, a shining reminder of every battle won and every chip she’d taken to come home to her. She’d never imagined it like this, the evidence of every sword and dagger and javelin plunged through her. 

She cups her hand to Aylin’s breast, the gold fully eclipsing each finger. 

“Does it hurt?” she whispers.

Aylin’s expression doesn’t falter as she covers Isobel’s hand with her own. “Not anymore. Such cowardly attempts would hardly be enough to break me.” 

They’re strong words, proud as every gallant decree that the world expects of an emissary such as her. And Isobel knows they’re a lie.

She can see it, beyond her stone-hard smile there are cracks, invisible and silent but no less present than those golden tracks left by battle and brutality.

Death for Isobel had been timeless, easy even. Nothing but the dreamless dark. Being ripped back into life, that had been a harder weight to bear. She’d awoken to her home now twisted with perverse Sharran magic, Selûne’slight snuffed out by the haunted visage of her own father. ‘ For love. For our family,’ he’d said, flat and chilled as a wall. And in the same breath, he’d revealed the worst of it: Aylin too was gone. Nothing mortal or immortal to ever bring her back.

It her own spear through the heart, but what was that in comparison a century caged, a century alone and shadowed, broken again and again and again until the might and wrath of a goddess was belittled down to naught but a tool.

Isobel’s vision pools with red.

She tries to ground herself in the drum of Aylin’s heart, forever steady as the rocking tide, but she sees her own trembling fingers betray her. 

Aylin tips her chin up with her thumb. “There is something else. Tell me.”

Isobel refuses to meet her eye.

“All this time- all this time you were so close,” she whispers shakily. “I should have known. I could have found you.”

Aylin shakes her head and strokes the length of her back. “None of that.”

The touch does nothing to quell her anger. “I’m a fighter too. I may not be any sort of divine Paladin, but I could have done something instead of hiding at Last Light.” She drops her head to Aylin’s shoulder as if she could muffle the guilt of her words in the broad muscle. “If it were me down there, you would have razed that vile temple to the ground, brick by brick, until you freed me. I was not even there when your cage was broken.” 

There’s a long moment of quiet before the hand at Isobel’s back slides up to cradle her neck. 

“You are indeed most ferocious,” Aylin says, her voice soft with fondness. “Before, I’d never laid eyes on anyone so in tune with my Mother’s power. It was the most remarkable sight to behold. And from what I understand, you were doing precisely what was needed of you at that Inn. You protected our allies, strengthened them so they could destroy this tower’s forces and the powers so wicked that laid beneath. Without you, they would have all been destroyed by the shadows that ruined this land.” She tilts Isobel’s head slightly, letting each word brush against the point of her ear. “ That is why I am free.”

Isobel shifts into the touch, lets the soft rain of her lover’s words unravel the tension inside her. 

She’s free, Aylin is here and she’s free.  

She focuses on the thought. How it happened and who found her are facts she’ll need to let go of one day. She’s with her, solid and soft and oh so strong against her palms and that is the only thing that could possibly matter.

Aylin guides her face back with warm hands. Her intention is clear as she drops her eyes to Isobel’s mouth, the conversation probably over in her view.

She halts Aylin’s kiss with a finger to her lips. 

There’s something else, one last weight she must unburden from herself before they can finally take that first step in moving forward.

She touches her own chest, rubbing the spot over her heart. “A hundred years, Aylin. It’s a lifetime to most, even to me. I may scarcely remember being dead, but I know I came back changed. Wrong.” From the moment she’d jerked awake in her tomb, she’d felt it– something bitter and cold resting inside her. 

Aylin pulls back, eyes wide. “Did that foul necromancer hurt you?”

“No, no, my love,” she answers, running her hands across Aylin’s shoulders until the fire in her gaze quietens a little. “Whatever brought me back and healed my body was unnatural to say the least. I think some part of me knows I shouldn’t be here.” Even now she knows it. Under the joy and shock and wonder there’s still a seed planted deep in her chest, rotting. 

A large part of her wishes that was the only thing changed in her.

She takes another breath. “That’s not all. After I ran from my Father, I had to fight, to harden against it all, become a warrior against people I’d once held dear. If… if I’m completely truthful, I think the person you truly knew remains in the crypt I was pulled from.”

Aylin tilts her head, an eyebrow raised. “And you believe that will eventually turn my heart from you? Or do you think that my time caged has changed my own feelings?”

Isobel bites her lip, fighting the urge to look away. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I do.” Aylin’s hands trail down Isobel’s body, her eyes following. “To many an immortal, a century seems so little. It’s nothing but the blink of an eye in the face of eternal life. For me however– it was the first instance where I truly understood the weight of time. Every second that I felt Ketheric’s wicked connection or looked up at generation after generation of craven Sharrans was its own eternity in that cage. Yet, as is my duty, I swore to never show my cracks.” 

Her hands continue their gentle path as she speaks, slipping under Isobel’s shirt and pausing at the dip of her waist. “I am my Mother’s sword, her glory– but it was not her power that kept me steady in the Shadowfell. It was my memories of you, my love.”

Warmth blooms like a blush under Aylin’s hands, her thumb caressing just under Isobel’s naval. She strokes her neck, waiting for those pale eyes to meet hers. “Even though you thought me dead?” she whispers.

Aylin’s smile softens. “Even then.”

Her thumb moves slightly lower, dipping just under the loose band of Isobel’s trousers. It’s a promise and a reassurance.

I’ve got you. I want you.

Aylin kisses her chin as she continues. “And yes, you are changed just as I am, but did you think I would not recognise that voice, that love in your eyes as clear as our Lady’s light the moment I saw you again?”

Isobel’s answering smile threatens to split her cheeks, the last of her doubts disappearing into the fading curse just beyond. She kisses her forehead. Their noses brush. “Perhaps I just wanted to hear you say it,” she murmurs, shifting up so she can unlace the final armoured pieces on Aylin’s legs. She rises to help her, her fingers never leaving her bare skin as she works. It’s the only protection she’ll need for now.

“Then I will say it as many times as you need. Until the stars burn out, until this tower crumbles to dust around us– let it be the last thing I ever utter in the light of this world.” She presses her words across Isobel’s face, gentle as moonlight, steadfast as an oath as she finally lands on her lips. “My love most high. My Isobel.”

“Aylin,” she gasps against her mouth. It’s the only words her kiss-drunk mind can find as she pulls her impossibly closer, the world blurring in gold and pink around her.

It’s such a simple truth: loving Aylin will forever be the easiest thing she’ll do. Easier than loving herself, than her purpose, than her goddess. A century passed and that want hasn’t quietened, not even slightly. She’d wept, cursed, grieved for Aylin and a single kiss had her falling again, more desperate for her touch than her next breath.

“For the world to see, Dame Aylin shall forever be indomitable,” Aylin hums, slowing their kiss to lace their fingers together, “but so too is this.”

She presses one last, achingly gentle kiss to Isobel’s lips before ripping her shirt over her head. Her breath catches in her throat as Aylin twists them, pushing her into the mattress and caging her there with her torso. She swallows Isobel’s gasp as her lips drop to her chest, the heel of Aylin’s hand grinding between her legs with a warm familiar rhythm.

“Now, time enough has been wasted,” she mouths over her breast, the words rippling down to her beating heart. “It is as I said, I have a darling to adore.”

Everything else melts away after that.

It’s an ungraceful mess of hands and hearts. Words of love and gratitude spill against scars and skin as they finally find themselves within each other again.

Come morning, they will have to face the future. There are allies to bury, secrets to share, the road to Baldur’s Gate twisting and dark in front of them– but for now, between these silver-bathed walls, their world is nothing but the two of them. 

As close to heaven as either of them will ever need.

***

These two have taken up waaaay too much brain space over the last couple of weeks so have something soft.

#aylin x isobel #dame aylin #isobel thorm #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #bg3 fic #moon lesbians #I just love them your honour #moonangel

[scotianostra]

On 22nd March 1421, Scottish army. under the Earl of Buchan defeated English forces at Bauge in Anjou, France.

Not heard of it? That’s because the history we were taught in school was all anglicized, oh we did get a wee bit about the 100 year war, mainly Agincourt, because the English won that day, or possibly Crecy, another victory for them, Bauge and many other times the English were gubbed are ignored.

Ok you might be wondering why I say a Scottish army, historians all say that the majority of the troops were Scottish soldiers, aye there was a few Frenchmen fighting on “our” side, but this was very much a Scottish victory over an English army.

This all goes down as part of the Auld Alliance, which was signed in 1295 by King John Balliol and Philip IV of France. The Alliance was renewed periodically after that date and by the 1410s it was very much “in play” as Henry V of England initiated the third phase of the Hundred Years War, often known to historians as the Lancastrian War.

In 1418, it was the French Dauphin who called on his Scottish allies for assistance in his efforts to curtail Henry’s depredations after the great battle of Agincourt in 1415. It had to be the Dauphin, or Crown Prince, who sought help from Scotland because the French king, Charles VI, was already showing signs of the mental illness that would eventually see him nicknamed Charles the Mad.

The French aristocracy had split into two factions with many supporting the Duke of Burgundy in his aspirations to take the throne, while many others stayed loyal to the King and the House of Valois, known as the Armagnacs. Increasingly it was the teenaged Dauphin, the future Charles VII, who made all the major decisions for the Valois regime and, faced with the Burgundy alliance with Henry V and the surrender of many of his own forces, he sent for help from Scotland.

The complicating factor at the time was that King James I of Scotland was still a prisoner of the English, albeit that he was part of the royal household of Henry, whom he greatly admired, and he would actually fight with the English army against the French in France in 1420. In charge of Scotland was the Duke of Albany, Robert Stewart, who had become regent when James was first captured by the English in 1406 while en route to France.

There had been no large battles between the Scots and the English since the Battle of Homildon Hill, or Humbleton Hill, in 1402 won by the English, but with England preoccupied with France, Albany no doubt felt it safe to respond positively to Scotland’s oldest ally. By 1419, there was also peace of a sort along the border with England so the Scots could afford to send an army of around 6000 men including men at arms, spearman and archers to serve alongside the remaining French royal army.

Henry V’s of England’s brother, Thomas the Duke of Clarence led 10,000 men south towards the Loire. They set about besieging the castle at Bauge when the Scots were garrisoned, they made contact with them the day before Good Friday. A truce was reached, lasting until Monday, so that the combatants could properly observe the religious occasion of Easter.

The English lifted their siege and withdrew to nearby Beaufort, while the Scots camped at La Lude. However, early in the afternoon of Saturday Scottish scouts reported that the English had broken the truce and were advancing upon them hoping to take them by surprise. The Scots rallied hastily and battle was joined at a bridge which the Duke of Clarence, with banner unfurled for battle, sought to cross. A detachment of a few hundred men under Sir Robert Stewart of Ralston, reinforced by the retinue of Hugh Kennedy, held the bridge and prevented passage long enough for the Earl of Buchan to rally the rest of his army, whereupon they made a fighting retreat to the town where the English archers would be ineffective.

Both armies now joined in a bitter melee that lasted until nightfall. During this time Sir John Carmichael of Douglasdale broke his lance unhorsing the Duke of Clarence; since that day the Carmichael coat of arms displays an armoured hand holding aloft a broken lance in commemoration of the victory. Once on the ground, the Duke was killed by Sir Alexander Buchanan. The English dead included the Lord Roos, Sir John Grey and Gilbert de Umfraville, whose death directly led to the extinction of the male line of that illustrious family, well known to the Scots since the Wars of Independence. The Earl of Somerset and his brother were captured by Laurence Vernon (later elevated to the rank of knight for his conduct), the Earl of Huntingdon was captured by Sir John Sibbald, and Lord Fitz Walter was taken by Henry Cunningham.

On hearing of the Scottish victory, Pope Martin V passed comment by reiterating a common mediaeval saying, that the Scots are well-known as an antidote to the English.

#scotland #scottish #france #england #100 year war

[kishigunpla]

When playing as Char's Neo Zeon in New Gihren's Greed (Shin Gihren no Yabou), if you follow a specific chain of events, you can recruit Amuro and get a special ending.

In this post, I'll be translating both the recruitment event and the ending.

Amuro Recruitment Event

Neo Zeon Soldier: Commander! Transmission from Amuro Ray! I'll patch him through!

Amuro: What are you trying to pull now…? What are you planning?

Char: People can change. Weren’t you the one who said that, Amuro?

Then you should know! Now is the time for human innovation! And all humans must leave Earth, or else it will be crushed under the weight of those who remain there.

Char: Become my comrade, Amuro!

Amuro: … (long awkward silence)

Amuro: …Understood.

However, if your actions are motivated by self-interest, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Don’t ever forget that.

Char: Heh, do as you please.

--------------------------------

Special Ending

Neo Zeon Soldier: The enemy forces have gone completely silent! The forces barricaded inside the Capitol are also signaling their surrender! We’re victorious!

Nanai: Commander, we have succeeded in overthrowing the Federation government that subjugated the Earth. Now there is no one who can stand in the way of your ideals.

Char: Indeed, but now the real battle begins.

Char: Will you shoulder the burden of all humanity with me, Amuro?

Amuro: You haven't forgotten my words, right Char? Until the time comes when all humans can understand each other as Newtypes, I'm prepared to stand by your side and watch over you.

Char: Heh…I look forward to it.

The Neo Zeon army led by Char Aznable won the battle, and complete migration of humanity on Earth to space has commenced.

After losing the Earth Federation Forces, the people on Earth no longer have the will to resist.

Soon all of humanity was migrated to space.

With this, the basis of the conflict between space and Earth was removed, and the embers of conflict that had continued to spark war were completely extinguished.

But even then, Char's time of peace never came.

He still has the mission of turning all humans into Newtypes.

Beside him is his former nemesis, Amuro Ray.

Char was confident.

If he were to waste this victory gained at such great cost, then he would never forgive himself…

--------------------------------

The playthrough I grabbed these screenshots from can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIoOfP8XHD4&list=PLsCkunZppimHaGFyZxFlntrQOuDEhCwp1

#gihren's greed #char's counterattack #char aznable #amuro ray #kishi's translations

[mariacallous]

I’m just a defense analyst, so I’ll leave a proper critique of Ridley Scott’s new blockbuster biopic Napoleon to the many reviewers who have already disparaged it. I, for one, found it to be a lukewarm mélange of battle scenes and romantic vignettes, leaving me with neither a sense of the man Napoleon Bonaparte—the bicorne-hatted soldier-turned-emperor of the French—nor a feel for the age of upheaval he so much defined. For a grand piece of historical fiction from the director of such masterpieces as Blade Runner, Thelma & Louise, and Black Hawk Down, the film curiously fails to entertain.

My perspective on Napoleon is a different one. Scott’s film stands in a long line of movies, novels, and even history books that have given the world an entirely wrong view of how wars are fought—and even more importantly, how they are won. And that matters, because the mythical idea of war embedded in Napoleon and so many other works has become so widespread in our culture and discourse that it ends up informing actual decisions about actual wars.

Let’s call it the decisive battle myth. Napoleon, with its focus on famous battles such as those of Austerlitz and Waterloo, perpetuates the dangerous idea that wars are decided by great and bloody clashes. This obsession is as old as there have been written accounts of history, but in popular culture in the English-speaking world, the myth can be traced back to the 1851 publication of The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World: From Marathon to Waterloo, which helped kickstart an entire genre of works focusing on battles supposed to have singlehandedly changed the course of history. In film, think of The Longest Day, Midway, and Stalingrad; in books, the list of battle histories and battle fiction is too long to contemplate. The genre even plays in counterfactuals: The 1993 movie Gettysburg, based on Michael Shaara’s novel The Killer Angels, suggests that the South could have won the U.S. Civil War had the Battle of Gettysburg gone the other way.

No matter what these works have taught us to think, the decisive battle is a myth. Wars between major powers are not decided by great battles but by attrition of soldiers and materiel, which in turn is determined by such things as force size, logistics, production, and technology. Battles, large and small, are important only to the extent to which they accelerate attrition and wear down the other side. Yet the myth of the decisive battle—the idea that an adversary can be defeated in one big and bloody but short engagement—remains powerful. It’s also dangerous, because it affects not only ordinary moviegoers but military and political leaders as well. In other words, the very people deciding whether to start and how to fight a war.

Scott’s focus on battles is hardly surprising. Napoleon fought numerous campaigns culminating in big set-piece battles, after which the defeated side sought peace; at the Battle of Austerlitz, Napoleon defeated the allied armies of Austria and Russia, forcing the former to sue for peace and the latter to retreat home. But the French emperor’s most celebrated victory—exactly 218 years ago today—was only an episode in a long war that did not end until 10 years later, after attrition and mutual exhaustion.

The focus on decisive battles orchestrated by a brilliant military leader such as Napoleon has been poisoning Western military thinking for centuries by suggesting that great power wars can be short affairs. The idea that an adversary can be decisively beaten in just one or a few engagements has incentivized political and military gambling: Think of the German Schlieffen Plan that bet on a single, decisive encirclement of French forces and their quick annihilation or capitulation in 1914, with the disastrous result of condemning much of Europe to four years of attrition with millions of soldiers killed. The idea of a quick, decisive battle inspired then-Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein to invade Iran in 1980, which led to a horrifically bloody eight years of attrition.

More recently, Russian President Vladimir Putin thought one decisive push toward Kyiv in early 2022 would quickly and painlessly conquer Ukraine. Hundreds of thousands of deaths later, the grinding war goes on. For all the emphasis on Napoleon’s quick campaigns and decisive battles, his wars tell a similar story of long and painful attrition: More than 5 million European soldiers were killed or otherwise died during the Napoleonic wars, a level of carnage, relative to total population, on par with World War I. France alone lost around 860,000 soldiers, including 38 percent of all men born between 1790 and 1795.

That Napoleon is only a movie doesn’t make it better. There are documented cases of films influencing a policymaker’s decisions to go to war. In 1970, for example, then-U.S. President Richard Nixon repeatedly watched the film Patton during the decision-making process to expand the Vietnam War into Cambodia, taking inspiration from the movie general’s willpower and single-minded belief in U.S. military power. One academic study found that popular culture, including fictional films, can frame the way we think about a multitude of issues, and there is no reason to believe that military officers and policymakers are exempt from these effects. Movies can help prevent wars, too. Former U.S. President Ronald Reagan was inspired by the television film The Day After and Tom Clancy’s novel Red Storm Rising to push for nuclear arms control. But if decision-makers and military leaders are prone to fighting the wars of their imagination, then a popular culture that reinforces the idea that wars can be short and decisive may incentivize willingness to look for a quick military solution to a political problem.

There is much more in Napoleon that made me cringe as a military analyst. What you see on the screen has absolutely nothing to do with warfare in the age of Napoleon—as a matter of fact, the clouds of gunpowder from the era’s muzzle-loaded muskets meant you would not be able to see very much on a Napoleonic battlefield to begin with. The battle scenes are a Hollywood mishmash of medieval melees, meaningless cannonades, and World War I-style infantry advances.

One scene that stands out is the apocryphal depiction of Napoleon leading a cavalry charge into what are supposed to be the Russian lines at the Battle of Borodino. As a former artillery officer, of course, Napoleon never led a cavalry charge in his life. For all of Scott’s fixation on Napoleon’s battles, he seems curiously disinterested in how the real Napoleon fought them—and just as disinterested in the changing character of Napoleonic warfare. By 1812, Napoleon’s enemies had not only learned to adapt by emulating the French style of fighting, but the battles themselves had turned into meat grinders of such a scale that no individual could control them. The battles of Wagram (in 1809), Borodino (1812), and Leipzig (1813) each involved hundreds of thousands of troops and many hundreds of cannons. The idea that the commander of his country’s armies in an 1812 battle had the liberty to lead a horse charge is so preposterous that the scene makes Mel Gibson’s Braveheart—considered one of the most historically inaccurate films in recent decades—look like a paragon of historical realism.

Napoleon’s military genius was not just about individual heroism or skilled battle tactics, but more importantly his vision for structural reforms. Napoleon helped institutionalize the corps system, dividing up large armies into smaller ones as a way to enable more effective command and control, as well as greater speed and range. Key to this new corps system were Napoleon’s marshals, distinguished military officers who sometimes remained undefeated in battle and whose deaths Napoleon mourned deeply. It was the marshals and other officers to whom Napoleon delegated authority; they proved to be a major asset contributing to his victories. In the film, these colorful independent actors are relegated to the role of footmen.

The film’s wild inventions go much farther. The British Army, led by the Duke of Wellington, features prominently, even though it played only a minor role in battle. Rather than the fighting role, the British contribution to Napoleon’s defeat lay in the sea blockade and in financing the huge standing armies of Austria, Prussia, and Russia that bore the brunt of the fighting. The duke and Napoleon never met in person, another invention of the movie that could have been omitted without loss, since it is devoid of meaningful dialogue that might have helped the audience better understand Napoleon’s volatile and ruthless character. Scott could instead have depicted the heated argument between Napoleon and Austrian diplomat Prince Klemens von Metternich during their famous eight-hour encounter in Dresden, then the capital of the Kingdom of Saxony, in 1813. The meeting convinced Metternich of the French emperor’s troubling mental state and the impossibility of making peace as long as he reigned.

There is no reason to believe that the myth of the decisive battle will lose its power any time soon. As the historian Cathal J. Nolan writes in The Allure of Battle: “The idea of decisive battle will always be more alluring than winning by attrition—morally and aesthetically; to generals and theorists, and to publics hungry for war news.” Nolan might have added film directors to his list.

Let us hope that U.S. and NATO military strategists and force planners do not draw too deep an inspiration from Scott’s depiction of Napoleonic battle. It’s bad enough that the allure of the decisive battle is already shaping U.S. deliberations over how to fight a possible future war with China over Taiwan. Disregarding the likely attritional character and extended length of such a fight—and the requirements in manpower, weapons, ammunition, production capacity, and political constancy that would entail—could spell disaster for the United States and its allies. Focusing on long attrition instead of dramatic clashes would certainly make for a boring film experience, especially since one only has to look at Ukraine to see the long slog of attrition playing out in real life. Nonetheless, stripping Napoleon of the romanticism associated with epic battles decided by the archetypal hero on horseback would be a small first step in gaining a better understanding not only of past wars, but also of how future wars will be fought.

[eretzyisrael]

We Forgot

You shall remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt,

how he happened upon you on the way and cut off all the stragglers at your rear, when you were faint and weary, and he did not fear God.

It will be, when the Lord your God grants you respite from all your enemies around in the land which the Lord, your God, gives to you as an inheritance to possess, that you shall obliterate the remembrance of Amalek from beneath the heavens. You shall not forget! — Dvarim 25:17-19

I have heard this read in the synagogue numerous times, and taken part in discussions of the meaning of this mitzvah (commandment). But I did not truly understand it until Simchat Torah of this year.

A mitzvah can always be understood in relation to actions. The well-known injunction to “love thy neighbor” in Lev. 18:19 appears in context as “Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.” It does not require me to have a warm feeling toward the residents of the apartment next to mine. Rather, it orders me to avoid feuding with other Jews (not always an easy thing).

The commandment to remember Amalek does not mean to produce in myself a certain state of mind, similar to what I aspire to when my wife tells me to remember to bring home a carton of milk. That would be impossible anyway, because I wasn’t there in the desert when Amalek first did its dirty deeds. How can I remember what I didn’t experience? So what does “remember” mean here?

What I realized on Simchat Torah was that it means that we must not only keep in mind the evil that Amalek intends, but we must act on that awareness. It means that we must not let our guard down, we must take positive actions to prepare for Amalek’s viciousness. Only after we have achieved our independence in the land of Israel and fully defeated all of our enemies, can we stand down from our condition of high alert. Only when Amalek is finally obliterated will it be safe to obliterate our memory of it.

This has actually been the human condition for ages, and remains the condition of most of the world’s population today. If a tribe forgets that it has enemies, it will soon be swallowed up. But recently, several generations have grown up in North America and Western Europe whose enemies have been kept far enough away from them that they’ve come to believe that it’s normal to live in peace. It is actually exceptional. I think that shortly they may find out that this isn’t true.

For Jews, the wolf of Amalek is always at the door. This is certainly true in Eretz Yisrael, where Amalek has been battering at us for at least the last 100 years. But since 1967, many Israeli Jews have lost the existential anxiety that gripped the generation of 1948. The Yom Kippur War was a reminder of it, but the fact that we recovered from the initial defeat and won a clear-cut military victory (though it was taken from us diplomatically) and that our enemies didn’t penetrate our home front, soon erased the fear of the first days of the war. There were other warnings, but the desire to live as though we were one of the large Western democracies made us suppress the precarious reality of the Middle East in which we live.

So we reduced the size of our ground army, and relaxed many of the procedures that were, it turns out, essential to protecting our people. We have become dependent: on America, on technology, on our Air Force. Officers assumed that we were so strong that nobody would challenge us, so it was safe for them to fudge a little on their reports to higher-ups. What could happen? Our General Staff decided that technology could replace boots on the ground; they advocated for a “digital battlefield” on which every soldier would be tied into to sophisticated information systems that would provide real-time intelligence and command, blah blah blah. Their reports all said that goals were achieved. A whole paper structure was built that did not reflect reality. The map was not the territory. “We’ve never been stronger,” said the top generals, until Hamas revealed their nakedness on October 7.

Our leaders should have known the intentions of our enemies. All they had to do was listen to what the spokespeople of Hamas, Hezbollah, the PLO, and Iran said in public. But perhaps because they themselves were so easily bought, they held our enemies in contempt. They assumed that quiet could be purchased with American dollars to the PLO and Qatari cash for Hamas. But it turns out, as anyone who has studied the Middle East even a little knows, that money was only a means to an end. They were happy to take it and build fancy villas for themselves, but they also dug tunnels and manufactured rockets. And they never lost their aspiration to once and for all kill and drive out the Jews from what they claim as their land.

The generals and the politicians forgot that we are not a large western democracy, but rather a small country in the Middle East. They forgot that our enemies are not stupid. They forgot that honor and deterrence go together. They forgot that the more complicated a system, the more weak points it has, and that technology can fail. They forgot that Maginot Lines never work. They forgot that only ground forces can hold territory.

Most importantly, they forgot how much our enemies hate us and how this motivates them. They forgot Amalek.

Abu Yehuda

#Israeli Society #Jew Hatred #War

[wd-ghosty]

Loyal Seladon

Era of unification chapter - 1

Remember when I made a dark crystal AU where the gelfling won the garthim war? No!? Me neither, until now that is. I've already made a couple chapters, but I never posted any here so here it is. I think ya'll already know what this chapters about considering the name... let's go.

After the battle of Stone in the woods as everyone was celebrating their victory Seladon slipped away from the crowd of mixed gelfling, she was glad that they won but there was this terrible turning in her stomach… “What if they find out what I said?” Her eye dilates, she feels all the booze she drank coming back up, and her head starts aching. “No. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no.” Her mother and her younger sister are both dead at the hands of the general, she only has brea left, she's all maudra now, and she has no one to depend on. If they all find out that she offered her whole race up as collateral for the lives of her and her sisters what would they do?

She got on her hand and knees and started throwing up everything that went down, the sour taste of half-digested food and beer were engraved in her mouth, she tried to take a breath but the puke just came on coming, and after it was all gone she could just cry. She heard someone screaming her name but she didn’t care she cried until she passed out, she knew that eventually, they would all know and she would truly be without anyone she didn’t want it to happen but she knew it was the truth.

When she woke up she was on an uncomfortable bed, the sheets were rough, the pillows were hard, and the blankets were thin. She was in one of the abandoned stones in the wood houses, the sunlight from the open window burned her eyes as she tried to open them, once she finally sat up straight she was greeted by a tall drenchen man leaning against the bed she was on. He was sleeping… He was, “Gurjin?” She screamed as she jumped back in shock, but that scream had woke up Gurjin along with every other person in the town. “Seladon… Good morning” Gurjin being his old bubbly self greeted Seladon ignoring the fact that she was freaking out. “Wha- What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here?” her screaming didn't stop, Gurjin stood up his dreadlocks fell over his shoulders and back as he towered over Seladon. “Why are you screaming so much? You’re gonna wake everybody up.” Gurjin managed to quiet down Seladon for the moment, but then he asked a question that made Seladon's stomach sink.

“Why did I find you in the woods passed out with puke on the ground?” Seladon instantly remembers everything that happened last night and her pale face instantly flushed, “AaA!? I, uhh.” She scrambles trying to look for a reasonable excuse, “You don’t have to tell me I just wanted to know if everything is alright. Gotta protect the All Maudra, right?” Seladon looks at him with a blank expression, “Yes you're right. I must lead all of Gelfling kind to victory, against the Skeksis empire.” Her voice was monochrome as she said that she looked as if her body was on auto-pilot or her mind was somewhere else. Gurjin was confused by this sudden change but didn’t mention it, “I’ll be off now.” Seladon walks off into the town to look for her sister.

As she walked through the stone in the wood village she saw the way all the gelfling of different clans interacted with each other. The Vapra and Sprinton soldiers all acted as if they were better than everybody else, never referring to the drenchen by their names but by their race. The sifan were staying away from everybody, mainly just doing what they needed to do without interaction. The grotton were avoided like the plague, nobody but the dousan would interact with one. All stone in the wood gelfling that remained were childlings and their caretakers, all the soldiers were either fused with the arathim spitters or drained. And the dousan were tending to everybody's wounds, and nurturing all of the injured, even if the majority of them couldn’t read they did have the best doctors and medicine in all of Thra.

As she looked around the town, she saw nothing but division, Even though the gelfing race had started a new era we were still stuck in the last one. This is what the Skeksies had done to us, we were all one but none of us saw that, and that’s why they’ve remained in power for 2000 trine.

“Seladon!” she heard her name so she looked around to find the source and found her sister, “Brea! I've been looking for you.” They hug each other before Brea drags her off, “the Maudras are having a meeting, but they can’t make any real decisions without you.” Brea led Seladon to what was once where the late Maudra Fara would ten to the needs of her people, all the Maudras were standing in a circle conversing obviously panicked, but when Seladon stepped into the room they all went silent. “All Maudra Seladon.” all at once they bowed to her, and the awkwardness in the room was too much to bear. The first to act was Maudra Maudra, “How are we actually supposed to wage war on the Skeksises? How are-” Maudra Seethi cut her off “Mara! Did you not ask that question at Seladon's coronation?” Seethi is very obviously annoyed.

Maudra Argot spoke up trying to calm the others down “Everybody. Let’s allow our Maudra to speak.” She motions to Seladon inputting her into the conversation, “Uhh…” The anxiety inside of Seladon takes a deep breath and remembers all the meetings she had to sit through with her mother. “I- I officially want to go to war with the Skeksisies. They drain us gelfling for our essence to ensure they don’t die, they’ve been diving us scine the start of the era of divvsion, everythign they’ve ever done is to ensure they maintainpower over us gelfling, but all of that officially ends today.” All of the Maudra look at eachother their faceses amixure of calm, worried, and fear. *Clop!* Maurda Leaside Bangs her cane on the group instantly grabbed the attention of everybody in the room. “Why are we still thinking about this?” She glares at all the ladies in the room.

“It doesn’t matter if we go to war or not, We Will Be Drained.” *Panting* Maudra Mara’s breaks her silence and screams “How are we supposed to go to war with immortal Skeksies? We are nothing compared to the-” Someone put their hand on Maras back and grabs her face, “We are thousands compared to eighteen! Their are over fivethousdand Gelfing of everyrace of thra, not including those of mixed blood. Their are eighteen Skeksies on Thra, we will survive!” The calm and colected Maudra Seethi barred a person for the first time in what feels like forever, “Fara is dead! Our sister has fallen by the hadns of the Skeksies and as you sit here wailing the Skeksies are probably scheming. Pull yourself together Mara!”

As Brae stands their watching the women she looked up to scine the day she was born, panic, and scream at eachother, she realises that this never happened when mother was around. Mother could always keep the maudras in check, none of them doubted her, Maudra Fara even said that she’d follow her into the mouth of the mondoleviaden if it was what she wished for. “Everybody Quiet!” This is the first time she ever seen Seladon genuinely angry, she would always get mad at her but it was more frustration or sadness but never true anger. “Is this how you would all act if my mother was here? Or Maudra Fara? The woman who probably has the most battle knowledge died right before a war stared, and our All Maudra is also dead. The skeksies took out our most reliable leaders and now were all lost, but I urge you all to calm yourselves.” This was the first time brea ever saw her mother in Seladon. She’s always been the perfect heiress, she never talked back to mother, everything about her appearance was perfect, she was well educated, and she was trained since birth in leading our people. So seeing her like this was exzlierating for brea, shocking, but still fun to watch. “We need to prepare for an attack, considering the skeksies have been able to fool us for twothousand trine they’ll probably strike first, but we cant act before we know what were up against. They might try to get the podlings on their side this time around, so we need to focus on defense, and we have to make sure we have enough food and water for everyone.” Maudra Ethri but’s in, “What do you mean by “Everyone”?” Seladon looks at her confused “Everyone is what I mean? I believe it’s best if All gelfling stay together until our threat is defeted, Power in numbers you know.” *Gasp* All of the maudras including brea look at seladon in shock. “What about? Uhh…” Maudra Mara tries to reject her proposal but can’t think of a good reason to, “Where will we all go? Will see stay in certain capitals, or will we completely abandon our towns?” The once calm seethi started to distress, and that made all the other maudra’s worry but Brea offers a answer.

“We can pick the places hardest for skeksis to get to. I bet it would be hard for them to get theri carriages into the caves of grot, the great sog, and the crystal dessert.” All the other maudras look around filled with doubt. “But we need to think of food, and the only place that growns alot of fruit out of those three places is the great sog. unless you’re all fine eating moss everyday, and escaping nurlock attacks?” Maudra Arogot inputs her two sense. “Shouldn’t we think about sami thicket? They have alot of fertile land we can’t just leave it?” Maudra Ethri tried to calm down Mara with her nomonation. “And they have one of the biggest capitals, they’ll be able to hold the most people.” Maudra Leaside is annoyed by all the ruckus. “Ladies! Please stop arguing. We need to think of places the skeksis can’t get to easily, but we can still thrive in… well, we won’t be able to thrive, but we need to be able to survive. We all saw the magic The Emporoe used, what happenes if any settlement is attacked and the grotto girl isn’t with them?”

“What happened to the collector could happen to any number of gelfling.” Seethi cuts off Maudra Leaside and the chaotic room instantly quiets down. Seladon gets up from her chair. “This meeting is adjourned. Brea.” Seladon and her sister leave the throne room and soon all the other Maudra’s soon follow. But Maudra Mara and Maudra Ethri were last in the room but before Ethri could leave the room Mara stops her. “Can we talk."

Seladon and brea walk through the town square, “The second sun is centered, we were seriously in their for that long?” brea comments on the time to try and get a reaction out of Seladon. “Yeah, mothers meeting would rag on for a long time, I would always loose track.” Brea is trying to strike up a conversation with Seladon but it’s ineffective, Seladons mind is somewhere else. Brea spotted a certain dousan boy and sneaks off, and Seladon walks back into the woods.

_______________________________________________________

So I made this chapter awhile back, so it's kinda wonky I tacky hope it didn't bother any of you. And I joke you liked it. <3

#writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #the dark crytsal: age of resistance #the dark crystal #dark crystal #seladonxgurjin #seladon #rek'yr x brea #brea x rek'yr #skeksis #gelfling #a03 fanfic #a03 writer #tavra #my art #fanart #artists on tumblr #fiction #books #art #oc art #original art #original character #redesign #original post

[inafieldofdaisies]

Ship Moodboard and snippet | The Deceiver and The Wolf | Jacob x Mercedes

Mercedes was but a blur of white as she moved through the trees, eyes set on the shoreline they had passed on their way up what felt like an eternity ago. She could hear her name echoing behind her, followed by rustling and twigs snapping, signaling that just as suspected Jacob was catching up to her. Her laugh was victorious when she made it past the treeline and onto the river embankment without him interfering, Dolos' carefree bark urging her on as she aimed for the little boat ramp ahead of her. "Mercedes", Jacob called out, voice laced with annoyance when her feet hit the wooden dock and she discarded her flats at the base of it before sending him an innocent smile. "What?" Icy gaze settled on her, "I wasn't done with the lesson." "Well, I decided I had enough for today.", then she added under her breath, "Or for the whole week really. You suck at it, frankly." The last part she practically shouted, ensuring the jab would land. "So you just take off running without any direction?", he advanced down the path, his movements reminiscent of a predator, slow, controlled and with his sights set on one thing: her. Where most, especially his men would have flinched at his tone and shook like a leaf just at the idea of defying him, Mercedes thrived on pushing his buttons, seeing how far she could take things before he'd snap out of his emotionless soldier act.

One of her shoulders lifted up in a shrug as her fingers began untying her dress, each small step she blindly took back presumably getting her closer to the river, "You had your fun playing soldier and forcing me to come along. I think it's time I had mine." The laces of her corset were a challenge on its own with her eyes remaining on his and added another layer of seductiveness to the game set in motion. Dolos moved past Jacob, threading into the shallow parts of the blue-green water after releasing another happy bark, seeming completely oblivious to the tug of war happening between the two of them. Finally, the bodice gave way, allowing her to slip her dress down her legs until she was left down to a nude colored bralette and its matching set of panties. Despite the sight a couple of feet away from him, Jacob appeared as calm as the river where it meandered between the small islands. One quick look behind her confirmed she was at the end of the dock, so she came to a stop, sending another smile his way, "You can go back into the woods, Jacob. Don't stop on my behalf. I will be here when you're done playing caveman." "It's going to be freezing, sweetheart.", he retorted matter-of-factly, ignoring her remark. She suspected as much, but didn't let that stop her, erasing the remaining distance, her breath hitching at the biting temperature as she dove in. "Are you just going to stand there and watch? I do love an audience.", Mercedes asked the moment she broke the surface, finding Jacob standing like a statue where the ramp began, arms crossed over his chest, rifle dangling forgotten on his back.

A chuckle broke free at his lack of response and she turned, gliding further away from the dock, her body slowly getting used to the water she wished was a heated pool instead. The good old days. Oh, how I miss them. As she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, she could almost pretend she was at a resort, that a drink was waiting for her instead of a grumpy ginger that had decided to take her out 'hunting' at the crack of dawn staring daggers into her. In her mind, she counted down the seconds, wondering if he'd break his last record of holding out and just when she was starting to wonder if maybe this time around would be different and he would actually walk away, a splash sounded behind her, making her smirk, confirming she had won yet again. "It's freezing, I was right.", Jacob muttered as swam closer. "Is it?" "If your lips turn blue, I'm carrying you out, Mercedes, no arguments." She spun around, playfully splashing water in his direction before his arms encircled her waist, her hands coming to rest on his bare shoulders, "I'm sure you'd find a way to keep me warm."

"Ah, you two over there,", a voice resonated somewhere behind them, making her flinch, "keep it down, will ya, you're scaring the fish." The way Jacob's eyes darkened as he stared over her shoulder made her crane her neck around to sneak a peek at whoever had addressed them. "It's that godawful Deputy.", his words were low, promising more activities she wanted no part of. "Don't.", her fingers cupped his jaw, forcing his gaze to hers and away from the eyot's shoreline, "Let him fish. We're having fun, don't ruin it with another game of cat and mouse." Her regareded her in silence, and she could almost imagine him weighting his options - deciding between going after the only Deputy remaining free from Joseph's arrest party and who was more of an ally to Mercedes, or staying there with her. "It would be too easy anyway.", she tried again, hoping the words would create enough doubt, deter him from the idea of a hunt. His demeanor revealed little, prompting her to begin thinking of ways to warn Hartley of the incoming danger, then Jacob opened his mouth, shocking them both. "Fine. Just this once."

#this moodboard is my favorite for sure... I just had to include the snippet that goes with it <3 #I'm laughing at Calahan trying to fish in peace and Jacob and Mer crashing his party of two (him and Zorro) #Like leave pretty boy alone; he's trying to relax ffs #oc: mercedes “mercy” sibley #jacob x mercedes #ship: the deceiver and the wolf #jacob seed x mercedes sibley #jacob seed x oc #jacob seed #character moodboard #moodboard #ship moodboard #snippets #wip: in hope of tomorrow #aesthetic #fc5 ocs #fc5 deputy #far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 #fc5 fandom #character inspiration #character aesthetic #ship dynamics #myedits

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

Ptolemaic Gondor?

Tolkien named Ancient Egypt as one of the inspirations for Gondor-particularly aesthetically and in their capacity for grand architecture. The crown of Gondor also resembles the crown of Upper Egypt, tall and conical, with similar symbolism between the combining of the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt and the combination of the Gondorian crown with the Arnorian diadem-the Elendilmir. I think there is also a deeper link between Gondor and Ancient Egypt, particularly Egypt under the Ptolemaic dynasty, the last to rule Egypt before the Romans annexed it.

Under the cut for a brief history of Ptolemaic Egypt and what that has to do with Gondor!

The Ptolemies were descended from one of Alexander the Great’s generals, called, unsurprisingly, Ptolemy. Alexander and his army were from Macedon, a northern Greek kingdom. In the chaos after Alexander’s death his generals carved up his empire, with Ptolemy rushing to Egypt and having himself proclaimed Pharaoh. The Ptolemaic dynasty ruled from Alexandria, a city founded by Alexander in the Nile delta, on the shores of the Mediterranean. Ptolemy was a Macedonian, and many other Macedonians, both soldiers of Alexander and others, followed them to Egypt. Alexandria became a great centre of Greek Hellenic culture dominated by Macedonians, who became basically a ruling class of this new Ptolemaic state. The highest offices of government were reserved for Macedonians, Macedonian Greek was the court language, the military was made up (at first at least) of Macedonians and mercenaries, with no recruitment from the Egyptian population. The traditional Egyptian religion and the role of the Pharaoh within it remained (with some Greek introductions), but in most other things Macedonians and their customs dominated. No Ptolemaic Pharaoh even knew how to speak Egyptian until Cleopatra VII (yes, that’s THE Cleopatra), the last ruler of the dynasty! Even she seems to have done little to better integrate Egyptians and Macedonians, with the Macedonians remaining firmly in charge until the Romans annexed Egypt.

Now the Ptolemies were not the only successors of Alexander, and one of their main rivals were the Seleucid empire, founded by fellow Macedonian general Seleucus. The Ptolemies often fought for control of the Levant in the Syrian wars. During the reign of Ptolemy IV the Ptolemies and Seleucids were embroiled in the fourth Syrian war. Faced with manpower shortages within the Macedonian ruling class, Ptolemy IV’s army included Egyptians trained to fight in the Macedonian style as part of the phalanx. At Raphia, Ptolemy IV won a decisive victory, with the Egyptian troops playing a key role in the battle. While this did improve the lot of Egyptians within Ptolemaic Egypt, Macedonians continued to dominate both the state and the military, and the failure to further integrate Egyptians into the army contributed to the weakening of the Ptolemaic state, which enjoyed arguably its finest hour at Raphia. A succession of poor rulers and civil war would see the state decline, eventually being annexed into the Roman empire after the death of Cleopatra VII.

Now, how does that fit with Gondor?

Gondor was founded by Númenorian exiles, with a Númenorian ruling class. Its main languages are Westron (descended from Númenorian Andunaic) and Sindarin, a common language among certain Númenorian communities. Comparisons may be made between Alexandria and cities like Pelagir and Osgiliath as centres of Númenorian dominance and culture (Pelagir especially, there is a reason Castamir liked it so much). And, like Ptolemaic Egypt, it seems like Númenorians dominated the military, with other peoples excluded. To quote Faramir:

“But the stewards were wiser and more fortunate. Wiser, for they recruited the strength of our people from the sturdy folk of the sea-coast, and from the hardy mountaineers of Ered Nimrais.”

This would seem to imply that prior to this, these peoples were excluded, and Númenorians dominated the military. But the Gondorians learned their lesson, at least to a greater degree than the Ptolemies did, and were able to slow their decline by better integrating non-Númenorians into the state. Númenorians still hold the highest positions of power (Denethor and Imrahil are the two most powerful men in the country in the late third age, both are Númenorians), but military discrimination is at least heavily reduced.

The appendices and unfinished tales do say that Northmen were recruited into the Gondorian military after the Kin-Strife, and mentions them in Eärnur’s army sent to fight Angmar. These may have been analogous to the mercenary forces used by the Ptolemies, rather than representing a widening of recruitment (though many Northmen did settle in Gondor after the Kin-Strife).

Obviously the comparisons are not 1:1, but I think early Gondor may well have resembled Ptolemaic Egypt in the structure and stratification of society. I suspect that this began heavily breaking down after the Kin-Strife. For a start, a lot of Númenorians are dead, or have been forced to renounce their ancestry by Eldacar. The Gondorians will need to look elsewhere for a supply of manpower. Númenorian supremacy may well start being seen as treasonous due to Castamir’s actions, and an active threat to the continued existence of the Gondorian state. By Denethor II’s time the Gondorian army seems far more diverse, and even many of the aristocrats may well be non-Númenorian (though again, Denethor and Imrahil occupy the most powerful positions).

#gondor #lotr #lotr meta #my posts #I've seen people compare Númenorian imperialism to modern imperalism like that of the european states from 1600-1900s #While I think that fits for Númenor I don't think it quite works for Gondor #Ptolemaic-like Gondor seems to fit much better with how this society works-it's very much not like anything from the modern period to me #also apologies if I made any historical mistakes #I'm not a historian or an expert on ptolemaic egypt to feel free to correct me if I got anything wrong #I just think ptolemaic egypt is an interesting comparison for what we know about gondor

[mostly-him]

I love your stuff! The TFP meets G1 is great.

Just out of curiosity, as a fellow Screamer fan…what do you think would make Starscream cry? Any version is fine.

(My personal input: I think G1 cries about Skyfire when no one is looking. I also think he cries alone in his room when Megatron really knocks him around and hurts him badly. He tries to hide the pain from the abuse because he can’t escape and he has to put on a good face as second in command, but deep inside it’s so painful and he can only tolerate so much.

I haven’t watched Prime yet but I think TFP Screamer also cries about the abuse. He cries in bed at night, tears running down his long face, because he doesn’t know when the day will come when Megatron kills him. Also he cried when Breakdown died because he’d gotten close to Knockout and knew how bad KO must have felt-ooops that’s my Knockscream coming out lol)

Be prepare for a long answer (and maybe bad english 🤗)

Well, I think that in the case of G1 universe, Starscream is in a very fair situation. Despite Megatron being the strongest (physically speaking) of the two of them, it is usually Starscream who tends to start the conflict between the two. He is the one who is always plotting against Megatron and who tries to kill him at least once a week (sometimes it just seems like a necessity so as not to lose the habit) even when they seem to be having a good understandment. Starscream is always searching new ways to bully him, and when he finds them, obviously Megatron reacts (you can expect otherwise). But even then, scared and beggin for his life, Starscream still pushes his luck until he has to fly away from the nemesis to avoid being punished or "killed" 😆

So no, I personally don't see G1 Starscream as a victim (maybe a self-victim 🤷🏽‍♀️) but as a piece of a very complex and toxic relationship he obviously likes to feed and maintain (as much as Megatron likes it too), considering all the chances to kill Megatron he purposely missed over the millenia. To me, he is as insane as Megatron is, and they deserve each other as they are their own punishment.

Starscream is cynical and conniving, and a very intelligent character who can manipulate even the toughest of his enemies, besides being the best flier of Cybertron. But he is also very impulsive and emotional at times, and his excessive ambition and selfishness tend to blind him. That is why the decepticons haven't won the war 😆

.

Tf prime is a totally different story �� I think the writers took it out of Starscream without a valid argument behind Megatron being so wild with him.

Megatron brutalizes him, most of the time for no valid reasons, and that makes him a sadist who prefers to break his own soldiers than to focus his ire on his true enemies. You can't expect that a character who is always being hurt, insulted and beaten, remain sassy, proud of himself and cynical like G1 Starski does. I cring everytime I see tfp Starscream cower to not only before Megatron, but before every character that approaches him with brusque body language. He is always afraid. He is paranoid. He is terrified of everything! 😐 So I sincerely don't like his portray in the show very much despite I LOVE tfp.

I think tf prime Starscream would be the one who could cry in the solitude of his room 😬

... and G1 would totally bully him for that 😆

.

(Ohhhh, my fav tfp characters are Breakdown and Predaking. I love them so soooo much 😁)

Also, thank you so much!! 😊

#g1 starscream lost in tfp #characters portray #sorry for the looooong reply 😅 #Just to clarify: I'm not imposing any opinion #just writing what I think of the 2 tf shows I love the most 🙂 and of my fav characters portrayed in them #thank you!!

[fernthewhimsical]

Baduhenna Deep Dive: pt. 2

Aspects:

Battle What we know of Baduhenna is that the first part of her name means "battle", and that in her forest a mighty battle for freedom took place. I see her as a protector who battles for her people and for the land. The Frisians and Romans lived in peace with each other until the Romans asked too much, and took the Frisians' lively-hood and family. After that, the retaliation was quick and ruthless. To me, Baduhenna is tied to fighting for freedom from oppression, and standing your ground when it comes to your rights and morals.

If we see the paranoia of the Romans as battle-madness or -frenzy, Baduhenna might also be associated with these aspects, much like the Irish Badb. Badb flies over the battlefield as a crow, where her cawing incites madness. Crows flying through the dark forest spreading panic and paranoia so the Frisians can claim victory is quite an enticing image, and one that I associate with her as well.

Valkyrie/War-goddess Donahue, in his article “the Valkyries and the Irish War-Goddesses” exposes perhaps a deeper link to Badb. He states that it is likely that the Scandinavian and Germanic Valkyrie and the Irish Wargoddesses evolved together. That is to say that because of the close relations between the Celts, the Gauls and the Germanic people it is likely that these cultures intermingled, and through that their mythology and beliefs were influenced. The Valkyrie for example, went from demons, “those who bring fear”, to beautiful, almost Goddess-like, women who chose the slain and poured mead in the Halls of Valhalla.

De Vries, in his article “studiën over Germaanse mythologie” also speaks of the links between Valkyrie, the matronae (triads of Goddesses commonly worshipped by the Germanic tribes), the Norns, the dísir, and the Goddess triad that is the Morrígan.

Next to Badb and the Valkyries, there is another Goddess to consider. The Gaulic Goddess Cathubodua, whose name means “battle-crow”, which is also a name Badb wears as "Badb Catha". All we have of Cathubodua is the inscription of the name upon a shield, unfortunately, not a lot to go on.

Where does Baduhenna fit in? The Annals tell us that there was a battle, that the Frisians against all odds attempted to overthrow the tyrannical Roman leader, that they won that battle and killed 900 Romans, and that the retreating Romans were so paranoid, that they slayed 400 of their own men.

If we look at this recount in another way, a different story can perhaps be told: a small group of people won a battle against a far greater and better trained army. This battle was fought in a sacred forest, dedicated to their Goddess; a Goddess of war. Divine intervention perhaps, the Goddess choosing which side of the conflict will be the victor, and which will be slain. Much like both the Valkyrie and the Morrígan. The remaining soldiers fleeing, but being so overcome with confusion and madness that they turn on their own battle-brothers. Just like the madness that Badb spreads when she flies over the battlefields in her form as a crow. Which is why Braakman is his article “Baduhenna. Godin van het Slagveld.” states that Baduhenna and Badb are one and the same, and says: “Baduhenna had struck again.”

Forest It is known that the Germanic and Frisian tribes honoured their Gods in groves and forests instead of temples. So perhaps there is no reason for Baduhenna to be a Goddess of woodlands. I, however, definitely see her as a Forest-goddess. She is a goddess of the deep forests, the dark woods, with the floor covered in mists. A dense forest in which you can easily get lost, or perhaps doubt if you have travelled into the Otherworld between one tree and the next.

There is also a Dutch saga that tells of another Roman emperor. He became shipwrecked and came ashore in what is now the province of Gelderland. Even with his diminished numbers, and with the local people fighting like beasts, he managed to conquer the local village. He lived there for a while, but he and his men became restless. They decided to venture into the nearby forest to see if there were more villages to conquer. Instead, they found a dense forest, filled with ferocious animals such as lions, wolves, boar, and bears. For the first time in their lives, they retreated, and ran all the way back to the village. They asked the local villagers what the forest was. They said it was wild and dark, and filled with animals that were too ferocious to think about fighting. And when you do manage to come out to the other side, you will find something even more deadly and terrifying: Frisians. "Does it have a name?" the Roman asked. When told that they didn't name it, out of fear, the Roman named it "the Forest without Mercy."

Now, there is absolutely zero link between this forest and Baduhenna's forest folklore/history/myth-wise. And yet I link them anyway. A terrifyingly dark forest with strangely behaving animals and Frisians on the other side sounds right up Baduhenna's alley. It also reminds me of Járnviðr, the Iron Woods of Norse mythology. A dark forest filled with monstrous wolves, magic, and giants.

Wetlands Tacitus describes in the Annals how bridges had to be built over the wet ground to get to Baduhenna's forest, so her woods would probably have been wetlands. There is much speculation about where her forest might have actually been located, but no traces of her woods have ever been found. Thinking of the battle in her forest, it would also make sense for it to have been wetlands. Her grove itself where perhaps rituals and sacrifices were held would have to be accessible, of course. However, if the woods were wetlands, then only those who knew it well could traverse it safely and with ease. While the Romans would have been constantly finding their footing and bearings, especially if there was fog. I associate Baduhenna with wetlands and marshes, and there is a path through wetlands close to my home that is a favourite spot to connect to her

Magic Though there is nothing in the Annals and subsequent research that suggests a link between Baduhenna and magic, through my years of connecting with her, she has made herself known to me as a Goddess of Magic. Perhaps through her close connection with the Morrígan I perceive her this way, but Baduhenna and magic are connected. Like the Morrígan, I see Baduhenna as a shape-shifter. I see her as the wild witch in the woods. Practising the folk magic of the land and the forest. Using what you have at hand, or finding what you need out in the wilderness. One who rides the hedge and easily walks between the Realms.

I connect her with the swirls of mist that curl between the trees, and through that connection with the Dutch "Witte Wieven". White Women or Mist Witches who are seen in folklore as Faerie women, witches, seers, and spirits. In Dutch folklore we also have Alvinnen, the female equivalent of Alf or Elf. These were also seen as seers, witches, Fae, ghosts, and often even Goddesses. To me, Baduhenna is one of them, and as such, hold great powers of witchcraft and magic.

Mist Through her connection with the wetlands and Witte Wieven I also connect mist of fog with Baduhenna. In the Netherlands, low-hanging fog, especially in the early morning light, are called Witte Wieven, which is based in the folklore about them. In the tales of Hans Christiaan Anderson, as well as some local folk tales, we also have the character of the *Moerasvrouw*, or swamp-woman. She brews the mists and fogs in her swamp where she lives. She is seen as benevolent and kind in most stories, at least to other members of the Fair Folk. Seeing as how Baduhenna's Woods were also wetlands, I think this is an interesting connection to Baduhenna and the Witte Wieven.

Death Through her connection to both the Irish War-goddesses and the Valkyrie, death is part of Baduhenna's portfolio. Primarily death through battle, but like the Morrígan, perhaps also prophesizing the deaths still to come. I see her as the crow who calls out when your time is up. Who gathers your soul at the moment of death, and hands it over to the one who will carry it to where it needs to be.

Activism Again, this is a personal connection I make with her, but through her story of fighting against oppression and standing up against a system that is harmful I connect with Baduhenna through activism. For me, standing your ground, voicing your opinions loudly, and trying to dismantle a bigoted, oppressive system is very much in line with this goddess. Any act of defiance or activism can be devoted to her, and fighting for those who have had their rights stolen is sacred to her.

[Deep Dive Masterpost]

#deity #pagan #paganism #mine #baduhenna #goddess #dutch goddess #frisian #mythology #dutch #heathen #heathenry #valkyrie #the morrigan #folklore

[leftistfeminista]

Poems from a Chilean Marxist woman political prisoner

In Pinochet's grasp, I'm forced to wear A garment not meant for daily wear Lingerie, they call it, meant to please But all it brings is shame and unease

The cold creeps in, my skin exposed No protection from the winds that blow I am not a toy, a thing to see I am a prisoner, can't they not see?

I have a voice, I have a mind Ideas that won't be left behind But all they see is my outer shell A form to ogle, a sight to dwell

This lingerie, it serves no purpose Other than to bring me to my knees It is not fit, it is not right To force me to wear day and night

Oh Pinochet, why do you do this? Why must you make my dignity miss? I am a Marxist, I'll never bend My spirit strong, until the end

But in this moment, I can't deny The sadness that creeps up inside For being forced to wear this shame It makes me wish I were not here, not this way.

I am a Marxist woman, political prisoner of war, Locked away in Pinochet's harem, behind closed doors. Once proud and bold, a fighter for the cause, Now reduced to this, a sight for them to gawk.

My clothes are gone, replaced with lingerie, A cruel joke by the guards, to mock and ridicule me. It leaves me exposed, to their leering taunts, My body, my soul, put on display for them to haunt.

They mock my beliefs, they gloat that they have won, That my socialist cause, has been defeated and undone. But in my heart, I know that I'm still free, For my spirit remains unbroken, and they cannot take that from me.

I sing the Internationale, with defiance in my voice, And in my mind, I see a brighter future, a world with more joys. So though I may be captive, they cannot take my soul, For in my heart and mind, I am still in control.

So let them mock, let them sneer, let them laugh and jeer, For I am a Marxist woman, and I will not disappear. For I am a soldier, in the fight for justice and peace, And I will keep fighting, until my struggles cease.

In Pinochet's prison, I am trapped and bound, A Communist leader, now reduced to mere flesh and bone. In lingerie I'm dressed, a sight to behold, Not for my comfort, but to make me look bold.

The guards they leer, their eyes full of lust, My body exposed, my dignity crushed. This outfit, it serves no practical need, A tool of humiliation, it's all they can conceive.

I once had a voice, I once had a fight, I once dreamed of a world that was just and right. But now I am weak, I can only lament, Trapped in this cell, where my dreams are spent.

The guards, they taunt me, with cruel words so mean, "You wanted to be powerful, now look at you, a sight so obscene." I am but a shadow, of what I once was, Reduced to mere flesh, my spirit now crushed.

Oh, how I long for my days of old, When I stood tall, and my voice was bold. But now I am captive, my fate in their hands, Left to wear lingerie, subjected to their demands.

In this cell of despair, I cry and I grieve, For the loss of my power, for the loss of my belief. But I will not be broken, my spirit will rise, For the revolution still lives, in my tear-filled eyes.

Oh cruel guards, with hearts of stone, You leave me here in lingerie alone. A symbol of my oppression and pain, A garment meant to bring me shame.

I was once a leader, strong and bold, A fighter for the working class, I was told. But now I'm here, a prisoner in this place, Subjected to your leering and disgrace.

The lingerie you make me wear, Is not for practicality, but only to ensnare. To leave my body exposed and bare, A target for your lustful leers and glare.

You taunt me, saying I was once so strong, A powerful leader, but now I'm wrong. Reduced to weakness, my dignity stripped away, As I stand here in this undergarment display.

But still I hold my head up high, For I know the truth and will not comply. This lingerie may cover my skin, But it cannot quell the fire within.

So go ahead and mock me all you may, But know that I will fight for freedom come what may. For I am a Marxist, a woman of the people, And I will not let your taunts bring me to my knees.

In Pinochet's dungeons dark and drear,

I'm but a mere political prisoner here.

A leader once, of the Communist Party, Fighting for justice, equality, and liberty.

But now I'm locked within these walls so grim, And the guards they taunt and mock at me within. They laugh and say that I once sought so much power, To radically change the world, to shake it to its core.

Yet now I stand before them, exposed and weak, Allowed to wear naught but lingerie, so fragile and meek. It offers no protection from their lustful gaze, No warmth to soothe my soul, nor solace for my days.

My body is on display, for all to see, A symbol of my defeat, a misery. I stand before my enemies, so humiliated and stripped, And with tears I lament, with each sob I'm gripped.

Oh how I longed to lead with strength and grace, To bring about change, to put an end to this disgrace. But now I'm here, in this desolate cell, A broken woman, with no hope of ever leaving this hell.

Defiant and fierce, I stand before them, soaked and bare, My clothes stolen, leaving me exposed and unaware, I demand more, with voice raised high and bold, But their laughter echoes, their cruelty never grows old.

They offer me lingerie, a garment meant for show, To cover my body, but nothing for the chill below, A mockery of my beliefs, my cause so pure, A reminder of their power, my struggles now obscure.

But I won't surrender, I won't give up the fight, Though they have taken everything, they can't steal my might, I'll put on this lingerie, but it won't break my spirit, For my beliefs and principles, I will always inherit.

I'll stand tall and proud, with fire in my eyes, And fight against the oppressors, until I see the skies, I may be imprisoned, but they cannot control my soul, For I am a warrior, and my cause will never grow old.

In my cell, I am a prisoner of war A fighter for equality, for justice, I implore I've fought with all my heart and soul, But my clothing was stolen, leaving me with a cold.

The guards appeared, with a mocking grin, And offered me lingerie, to hide my skin I raged, I shouted, I demanded more, But all that was given, was a cheap lingerie store.

I could not bear to stand naked and bare, So I reluctantly put it on, with a simmering glare. I may wear this lingerie, but they'll never break my spirit, For I am a fighter, a rebel, a revolutionary merit.

My ideals still burning, my spirit still strong, I'll fight till the end, to right this wrong. And though they may try to humiliate me so, I'll stand tall and proud, in my rage, don't you know.

So Pinochet's guards, hear me now, I'll never give up, I'll never bow. For my cause is just, my heart is true, And I'll fight for equality, for me, and for you.

In the heart of darkness, where freedom's light is dim, Where shackles bind me, where my soul is grim, I rise from the showers, drenched and cold, To find that my clothes have been taken, sold.

The guards, with cruel laughter, present me with a choice, A lingerie, they say, to hide my voice, To make me a spectacle, a sight to see, A plaything for their pleasure, a show for their glee.

But I am not a toy, nor a show to see, I am a revolutionary, a leader, a Communist Party. My body is not a tool to be used for their gain, And I will not be stripped of my dignity and my pain.

I demand more clothing, I demand my right, But my voice is but a whisper, lost in the night. For the guards, they hold the power, they hold the key, And I am left with nothing, but to bend my knee.

With reluctant anger, I put on the lingerie, A symbol of my oppression, a cloak of my misery, But my spirit remains unbroken, my heart remains true, And I vow to fight on, for the revolution that's due.

For I am a socialist, a fighter, a warrior, With the fire of justice in my heart, I will never surrender. And though I may be captive, I am not defeated, For the cause of equality, I will always be heated.

In the darkness of my cell, I sit and ponder The injustice that I suffer Once I stood proud, a leader of the masses But now I'm nothing but a prisoner, dressed in lace and glasses

The lingerie they give me, it's not what I desire It only serves to make me a source of lecherous desire It leaves my skin exposed, vulnerable to their gaze I feel so humbled, in this state of utter disgrace

I wanted to be powerful, a revolutionary voice To lead the people towards equality, to make a better choice But now I'm trapped, a prisoner in this place Reduced to nothing, but a body for them to debase

They taunt and mock me, these cruel prison guards Say that I'm weak, that my power is but a mirage But in my mind I'm strong, and my spirit will never die For the ideas I hold, they will never be denied

In the end, they'll see, they'll know that I was right That I was more than just a body, in their sight For I have a mind, a soul, and a heart that's true And these are the things, that will see me through.

In Pinochet's prison, I wear only lace, A garment meant for beauty, not for grace. My body exposed to leering eyes, A source of taunts from the guards so wise.

I once was a leader, bold and proud, With principles and beliefs that shouted loud. But now I'm here, a prisoner confined, My power taken, my spirit confined.

I long for clothes that give me warmth, That hide my body from their lustful swarm. But all they give me is this lingerie, A symbol of my weakness, my humility.

I feel so ashamed, so embarrassed, so small, As their taunts make me feel like I've lost it all. They mock my past, my beliefs, my might, Saying I'm nothing now, just a body in sight.

But in my heart I know I'm still me, A fighter, a believer, a woman free. Though they may take my clothes and my pride, They can't take away my soul, my will, my side.

So I wear this lingerie with my head held high, A symbol of their cruelty, their lies, their deny. For I am more than just a body, a form, I am a woman, a leader, a Communist, reborn.

#poetry #poem #chile #Political Prisoners #feminism #feminist literature