#7 avril

[almanach-international]

7 avril : la mémoire du génocide tutsi au Rwanda

Il y a 30 ans, jour pour jour, commençait un génocide qui allait faire disparaître, en trois mois, un million de personnes dans un pays de moins de 7 millions d’habitants, le Rwanda.

Tutsi et de Hutu sont des appartenances fixées par le colonisateur belge. À l’époque coloniale, les Européens ont voulu catégoriser les populations soumises en ethnies bien identifiables. Dans le cas du Rwanda, cette construction était très largement artificielle, car Tutsis et Hutus habitent le même territoire, partagent la même langue et ont adopté la même religion, le catholicisme. L’ethnie figurait sur les cartes d’identité, c’est ce qui facilita les massacres, car comment identifier à coup sûr les individus à éliminer ?

En 1962, le colonisateur belge avait laissé le pouvoir à un mouvement radical Hutu, aussitôt des massacres se sont produits. En 1973, quand Juvénal Habyarimana prend le pouvoir à la suite d’un coup d’État, les Tutsis ne sont plus désormais que des citoyens de seconde zone ce qui engendrera la création du FPR (Front patriotique rwandais) pour combattre le dictateur. Ce mouvement rebelle, implanté dans les pays voisins, est composé de Tutsis et de Hutus modérés qui ont fui leur pays. Le dictateur Juvénal Habyarimana fini par accepter un partage du pouvoir (accord d’Arusha, en août 1993) mais en même temps le pouvoir de Kigali laissait se développer une propagande anti-tutsi aux accents meurtriers. La radio Mille collines qui appelle quotidiennement à éliminer tous les Tutsis du pays est fondée en juillet 1993. Par ses discours de haine, elle joua un grand rôle pendant le génocide. Le 6 avril 1994, l’avion présidentiel est abattu par un missile, on n’a jamais su qui avait tué Juvénal Habyarimana, mais la propagande hutue désigne aussitôt les Tutsis. Le 7 avril 1994, commence des massacres qui ne s’achèveront que le 17 juillet par la prise de contrôle du pays par le FPR et la fuite des extrémistes Hutus au Zaïre (aujourd’hui RDC).

Depuis, le FPR a pris le pouvoir, son leader Paul Kagamé est président de la république. Il appartient à une famille de Tutsis qui s’était réfugiée en Ouganda, bien avant le génocide. Son régime est autoritaire, mais le pays a retrouvé la paix et a prospéré sous son règne.

Le régime organise tous les ans, le 7 avril, une commémoration du génocide mais sans pour autant avoir cherché à identifier les coupables et les victimes. La mention de l’ethnie sur les cartes d’identité a été enlevée dès août 1994, aujourd’hui il n’y a officiellement plus de Hutus ni de Tutsis, rien que des Rwandais. Néanmoins, la cohabitation entre victimes et bourreaux pose de grandes difficultés à la reconstruction du pays. Dans un souci de réconciliation nationale, les victimes ont été enjointes de pardonner à des bourreaux qui ont rapidement débité un texte de contrition. Un lourd silence pèse sur le génocide qui est commémorés aujourd’hui. Le pays a mis beaucoup de temps à le faire entrer dans les manuels d’Histoire. C’est fait à présent mais que ce n’est plus qu’un fait historique pour une très large partie de la population. Le Rwanda est un pays très jeune : 70% de la population a moins de 30 ans et n’a pas vécu le génocide.

De commémorations en commémorations, les choses évoluent à l’international. En 2021, le président Macron, mettait un terme au déni de la France et admettait des responsabilités dans le déroulement du génocide du fait d’un soutien coupable à la dicature extrémiste hutue. En 2024, pour ce 30e anniversaire, le président français affirme que la France, « avec ses alliés occidentaux et africains » aurait ou arrêter le génocide mais n’en a pas eu, à l’époque, la volonté. Il rappelle que, « quand la phase d'extermination totale contre les Tutsis a commencé, la communauté internationale avait les moyens de savoir et d'agir, par sa connaissance des génocides que nous avaient révélée les survivants des Arméniens et de la Shoah ». Le Vatican, en revanche n’a jamais fait le moindre commentaire sur l’aveuglement de l’Église face à ce génocide.

En l’an 2000, le Premier ministre belge, Guy Verhofstadt, avait été beaucoup plus clair : « J’assume ici devant vous la responsabilité de mon pays, des autorités politiques et militaires belges, et au nom de mon pays, je vous demande pardon pour cela. » La même année, le secrétaire général de l’ONU, Kofi Annan, avait juste exprimé des remords : « Au nom de l’ONU, je reconnais cet échec et j’exprime mon profond remords. » En 2003, l’ONU institue le 7 avril comme la Journée internationale de réflexion sur le génocide au Rwanda qui deviendra, en 2018, la Journée internationale de réflexion sur le génocide des Tutsis au Rwanda en 1994. Chaque année, à cette date ou aux alentours de cette date, l’Organisation des Nations Unies organise des manifestations commémoratives à son siège, à New York, et dans ses bureaux dans le monde entier.

Le Rwanda a deux jours fériés pour commémorer le génocide. La période de deuil national débute avec Kwibuka (“se souvenir”, en kinyarwandais), la commémoration nationale du 7 avril et se termine avec le Jour de la libération, le 4 juillet.

Un article de l'Almanach international des éditions BiblioMonde, 6 avril 2024

[punksalmon]

guess what i replayed recently.

[galm-2]

some of the sheets from the artbook that I cleaned up a bit. Blurbs transcripted in the ALT text.

[legomaniaisbored]

The Ace Combat community on tumblr described in 2 'words'

Ciphixy shippers.

I am one of them. I am in fact on Ace Combat Tumblr

[dreamblasterharuka]

Meine Kneipe

October 1925. Five years after Osea officially prohibited the creation and distribution of alcohol. About six months since Trigger had to leave her home and accidentally stepped into the world created by the people breaking the law to do it anyway. The seedy world of bootlegging, speakeasies, and rum-running.

I've had this AU in mind for forever, and I finally had a chance to write it. Also, look at me actually writing Trigger/Tabloid!

Kinda long, so press that read more at your own risk. Title comes from Meine Kneipe by Von Wegen Lisbeth.

Also on AO3

October 1925. Five years after Osea officially prohibited the creation and distribution of alcohol. About six months since Trigger had to leave her home and accidentally stepped into the world created by the people breaking the law to do it anyway. The seedy world of bootlegging, speakeasies, and rum-running.

Cool night air kissed Trigger’s skin as she kept watch for cops or rival mobsters ready to rain on their parade. Fall had firmly settled in, and winter would be just around the corner. Honestly, the cold stung a little, but it was either that or leave the car window up and deal with the overwhelming smell of tobacco.

Count kept up his overconfident facade on the ride over, but he’d smoked like a chimney the entire way. So he clearly wasn’t that confident. He always smoked when he was nervous, but he got pissy when called on it, so Trigger avoided bringing it up. The way he kept patting the pocket holding his Colt 1911 was a bit more subtle.

She didn’t blame him for being anxious. A big business deal was going down that night, and Wiseman put him in charge of making sure it went smoothly. Even if Count was a known con man and a…What was the fancy word Tabloid used? Pathonomic? Liar, he was pretty good at talking to people. In this world of liquor and crime where a few well placed words could be the difference between walking away scott-free or jail, it was a good skill to have. 

Trigger wasn’t worried. Count was a good liar, and better at wiggling out of trouble. Besides, Huxian had his back, acting as the muscle. Trigger saw her fight people much bigger than her and win. She would also just shoot anybody who started anything. If anything, Huxian should’ve wound up with the name Trigger, and Trigger should have wound up with Butterfingers, or something.

Trigger never sat in on the meetings. Her job was to stay in the car and be ready to bolt. She was supposed to be on lookout, too, but she hadn’t seen anything through the dense treeline. The meeting was in a little house in a thicket in the middle of nowhere, with one dirt road leading past it. She could barely make out the lights in the house, but not any movement. Not that she expected bootleggers to have set up their operation in their living room. She hadn’t heard any gunshots yet, so it must’ve been going fine.

She found herself flipping open the little silver pocket watch she kept in her breast pocket. Checking it had become something of a habit since her mother pressed it into her hands and sent her off on the first train to the city a few months ago. Half the time she didn’t even see the time and would have to open it again. Her mother never kept jewelry, so it was probably the closest thing she would get to having a family heirloom. Just tracing her fingernails on the indents of bluebells etched into the lid gave her comfort.

She needed to write a letter home, soon. She tried to write one once a month, to let the family know she was still alive and had a roof over her head, and of her little adventures. Big adventures never made it to paper. As far as they were concerned, she made a living making deliveries for a local general store, which was technically true. 

A shadow passed in the front window, then several more. Trigger dropped the watch back into her breast pocket and settled her hand on the grip of the revolver kept in her cross-draw holster. It probably wouldn’t do much, and she was supposed to book it at the first sign of trouble, but she’d never been good at backing down from fights. It’d probably be more effective to try and run someone over, but Avril would bring her back to life to kill her again for the damage to the car.

Apparently she didn’t need to worry. The silhouettes of her compatriots appeared in the doorway, hauling a large box between them. She could tell it was her friends by Huxian’s long ponytail and the way Count held his hat down. At least it was just a fedora, and not his top hat. She swore one of these days somebody was going to shoot him on principle. 

Time to get to work. Trigger craned her head out the window. “Need any help with those?”

Count’s smile looked downright manic. The meeting must have been intense. “Nope. Just get the car running.”

The bootleggers killed the lights, leaving them completely to the dim light of a half-moon. Not like it bothered her. It was still enough to see the dash and turn the engine over. Back when they had to work for Mckinsey, starting the car meant having to hand crank it. She missed the excuse to hop out and stretch, but she for sure didn’t miss having to try and get everything working while getting shot at. Wiseman had a vested interest in keeping them alive, hence the self-starter. 

She turned the key. Her heart pounded in tandem with the engine humming to life. Count and Huxian dropped the crate in the trunk with a clatter, and were now roshambo-ing to see who rode shotgun. Trigger watched over the little gauges in case anything looked off.

The L.M. Raptor was a nice car. It didn’t have much room for passengers, but it could carry quite a bit in the trunk. More than that, it was zippy, and could keep its top speed for a while before starting to peter out. Combine that with the fact it was “easy” to work on and modify, it was a darling of the criminal underworld. She couldn’t name a single part in it, except for maybe the steering wheel and pedals, despite Avril’s best efforts to teach her. 

Count won the game and wound up in front. 

“Only because he cheated.” There wasn’t a whole lot of space in the back, so Huxian half-draped herself across the seat.

Count had the sharp liquor smell to him, which might’ve explained the attitude. “I did not! Tell her, Trigger.”

Trigger shrugged. She wasn’t really sure if it was possible to cheat at rock-paper-scissors, but she noticed Count tended to win more often than not. Maybe Huxian had a soft spot for him and let him win, but Trigger wasn’t stupid enough to ask. She bruised easy. 

Getting back to the city should have been a piece of cake. Once they got to the main road, it was a straight shot for an hour until they crossed county lines. Long, boring drives weren’t her favorite, but her friends made it bearable. It was always slightly different each time, and it was nice to listen to the conversation. Kept her from daydreaming too much. Usually, it helped her keep an eye out for any obstacles. Usually.

Light flooded the car. Two headlights, way too bright to be stock, practically chewed on her bumper. Her rearview was at a bad angle for it, becoming a miniature spotlight straight into her eyeballs. Trigger couldn’t tell a thing about its make or model, but she could take a wild guess. A shrill siren pierced the air, confirming the worst. Pigs.

Her head ran through scenario after scenario. Yeah, she was speeding, but surely not enough to be suspicious. It was just as likely to be a regular speed trap as it was to be an ambush. Maybe it would be better to pull over and get read the riot act than speed off and have every cop in the county on their tail. 

Something popped behind them, a bullet whizzing past her open window that she really should have closed that when they left. Trigger could feel the grin growing on her face. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to pull over now. 

A simple “Hold on.” was the only warning she gave before shifting and hitting the accelerator. The Raptor lurched, ready to be set loose. She jerked on the wheel, swerving from side to side, hopefully enough to make them think twice before shooting. It might buy time, but it wouldn’t be enough until they found an escape route. Luckily, there were still side streets to take, but she doubted they would really lead anywhere they could lose them. 

Huxian dove beneath the seats, reemerging with a violin case. She undid the latches, and started putting the Thompson submachine gun together with a practiced ease. They usually weren’t supposed to shoot at cops, since it was more trouble than it was worth. But the cops usually didn’t shoot at them first. For all they knew, these could be hitmen that managed to score themselves a patrol car.

A few more bullets whizzed past her window, but not a single one hit. Down and to the left. Whoever they were, they weren’t very good.

Huxian tucked the Thompson under her arm and flung her door open. Count, who’d been watching over his shoulder, was now fully turned around and halfway over the front seat to grab a fist full of her coat as she hung outside. 

Trigger might’ve heard him yell something along the lines of “What the hell is wrong with you?” but it was drowned out by a burst of automatic fire. Huxian had to have held the trigger down for at least a full second, shooting wildly into the air above their pursuers. 

The other car slammed on the brakes, and swerved. It was good enough for her. She tore down the closest right turn, the inertia flinging her friends back into the car. Lucky for them. If it was the other way, they’d probably be dumped on the pavement. 

Unfortunately, this place didn’t have anywhere to hide. Houses scattered to the right, far enough apart that they couldn’t hide between them. To the left was a sea of corn, as far as the eye could see. Just tall enough to maybe cover them. It wasn’t a great option by any means, but it was still their best. She drove straight until she could make out the break in the rows for a fire road, and pulled onto it, just in time to hear the siren turn onto the street.

Fire road was generous. What it really was was a dirt path made for a tractor. A small tractor at that. While Trigger might’ve been used to driving these as fast as possible back on the farm, that was with farm equipment, and alone. It was much different bouncing around in a proper car with two other people hanging on for dear life. While she tried her best to avoid the stalks, it was somebody’s livelihood, after all, the occasional heavy cob would bend in their way, smacking into the window. One particularly bold husk somehow found its way into her still open window, covering her in corn silk. 

It seemed to go on forever, unable to see anything but the path ahead, listening to the wailing siren somewhere behind them. She couldn’t tell if it was fading or getting louder, until it went silent altogether. Nobody spoke. The excitement of getting to drive fast bled into anxiety of needing to drive fast, and then into the fear that something was going to jump out at them from in between the stalks.

Finally, finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel as the dirt path spit them back onto a proper road. It looked free of any cars. After rolling up her window and checking their direction, she put the pedal to metal back to the city. 

She forgot who started laughing first, but it turned into a proper contagious giggle fit between all of them. The whole drive continued like that, only pausing for brief moments at a time which were broken again as soon as someone made eye contact. 

They pulled into Wiseman’s in the wee hours in the morning, after most of the patrons ducked out for the evening. And by most, she meant the only people still hanging around were Wiseman himself behind the bar, and Avril, Tabloid and the Princess hanging out at one of the card tables.

Cossette wasn’t really a princess, or at least Trigger was pretty sure she wasn’t, but she looked the part. Big blue doe eyes and smooth golden hair made her look like she stepped straight out of a fairytale. She was a little naive, but not stupid, like a fairytale heroine, as well. She was Erusean, here in Osea to study. Trigger suspected she might’ve been a noble, judging by how nice her clothing and jewelry was, but Cossette never said, and she wasn’t about to pry. Honestly, she could probably afford to hang out somewhere nicer, but the Useans seemed to be on the brink of a turf war, and Trigger could understand not wanting to wind up in the middle. Besides, she was more than willing to throw some of that money around at the bar, and she had made friends with Avril, which was no easy feat. 

Avril Mead wasn’t mean, per se, but she definitely had no time for bullshit. It was a mechanic thing. The better a mechanic is, the less time they have. And she was a really good mechanic, so she really had no time. She and Trigger were roommates at the boardinghouse. They thought the other didn’t like them for the longest time. It took Avril approaching her one night after a shootout to figure out that they just communicated differently. Now Trigger was the only other person allowed to help with the car, due to “weird sixth sense crap” that helped with driving. It was a badge of honor for her.

Tabloid was the first to notice them come in, flashing her one of his signature smiles. The kindly man, who got his nickname by working for one of the local rags, had been her first, and for a while, only, friend when she came to the city. He was smart, mostly working as a bookkeeper for both the bar and the general store upstairs. Probably smart enough to not work in the criminal underworld, but times were tough and he sent most of the money back to his family. That, and she knew hiding behind all the smiles and witty comments was an anti-authority streak a mile wide. 

“Deal went well, I take it?” Wiseman was the owner and operator of the speakeasy, and their boss. A sharp negotiator and businessman, he grew the place from his basement. When their last job fell through, he took Trigger and the others under his wing, acting more like a mentor or father figure most of the time, but he wouldn’t hesitate to give a good kick in the ass when it was needed. It was easy to see why all his employees were so loyal to him.

“Of course it went well!” Count tipped his hat out of the way. “We got the price down and they still were practically begging us to come back.”

Wiseman smiled. “Well, bring it out and let’s see it then, yeah?”

Count, Huxian and Avril all went back to the car. Count and Huxian to get the alcohol, and Avril to check on any damage to the car. Trigger suddenly felt anxious, and tried to remember if she damaged the car on their little excursion. If there was so much as a scratch on the paint, she would be getting an earful. Maybe she should’ve went with them to distract her, but she was pretty sure she would only get in the way, and three people would be mad at her instead of one.

Seeing as there wasn’t really anything for her to do, Trigger took one of the seats at the bar. Normally, it was impossible to get a seat this up close and personal. This was one of the biggest speakeasies this side of town, featuring tons of tables and a dance floor in front of a large stage. There wasn’t a band tonight, but when there was, it was standing room only. Here, in the early hours of the morning, the cavernous space was deafeningly quiet. Her companions loudly bustling around was an out of place comfort. 

Count and Huxian returned from the alley out back, hauling the crate of clinking bottles between them, and dropping them off behind the bar next to Wiseman. Avril limped in behind them, looking only mildly annoyed. That meant that the Raptor was fine, and Trigger didn’t accidentally scratch the paint on the way out of dodge.

Tabloid took the spot to her left, peering over the bar to count the amount of bottles in the crate and making some marks in a ledger. He hummed to himself, and closed it, apparently pleased with what he saw. His eyes wandered to hers, and he studied her for a moment before reaching out to her. Or her hair, rather, pulling something staticy out. A string of corn silk dangled from his fingertips. “What is this?”

He let the piece drop, and ran his fingers through her hair, checking for more. She would’ve been lying if she said she wasn’t just a smidge mortified. Her short hair was messy on the best of days, and driving around at top speed with the window down turned it into a proper rat’s nest. Tabloid was probably her best friend, and heaven knew he’d seen her in much worse states, but it was still embarrassing to have a handsome man pick vegetable matter out of her tangled hair. “It’s corn silk.”

He plucked another strand out of her hair. “Why do you have corn in your hair?”

“Trigger drove us through a cornfield.”

She pouted. Count made it sound like she drove straight through, running over corn the whole way. “There was a road.”

Wiseman paused his glass cleaning, the look in his eye going from mildly amused to concerned parent. ‘Why’d you drive through a cornfield?”

“Cops came after us when we skipped town. Started shooting at us outta nowhere.”

“We lost them in the corn.” Count rolled his eyes at her, but she wouldn’t let her excellent corn driving go unnoticed.

Wiseman was quiet for a moment. “Do you think it was McKinsey?”

Police Captain Doug McKinsey was supposed to be a keeper of the law, and made sure the papers knew about all the ‘hard work’ he’d put in keeping liquor off the streets. What he actually was was a rat in a human body. In truth, he would target people who couldn’t fight back and implicate them in some nonsense crime. He’d then wrap them up in his own bootlegging business under threat of prison, and use blackmail from that to keep them there. Many of the people he targeted were from immigrant families, or otherwise had people relying on them. Prison wasn’t just a threat to them, but the threat of starvation to their loved ones.

She, Avril, Tabloid and Count were all victims of his scheme. They’d made booze, laundered money, and got in life-threatening danger because of him. They’d been trapped under his thumb, helpless, until somebody set one of his buildings on fire, destroying all the blackmail. No one knew who the arsonist was, but no one stuck around to find out. From there, the four of them signed on with Wiseman and his crew, after running into them previously, and the rest was history.

The cops tonight might’ve been McKinsey’s boys, but she couldn’t say for sure if it was a hit. He was a self-centered bastard, which was a two-pronged sword. Sneaky and underhanded, he was always backstabbing as soon as it benefited him. But he was also a massive coward. If he was taking a swing at them, he wouldn’t have done it without having his ass covered. In theory, they could go public with all his criminal activities, and with Tabloid’s link to the papers, the entire city could know by sunrise. He was stupid, but she didn’t think he was stupid enough to kill them without being sure that couldn’t happen. 

“Maybe. They might’ve just been regular cops, though.”

“What if they weren’t pigs at all?” All eyes turned to Tabloid, still picking corn silk out of her hair. “If some gangsters managed to get their hands on a patrol car, they could’ve killed everyone and all the witnesses would assume that it was just the police taking care of criminals. With how corrupt they are, it wouldn’t surprise me if the police department swept the whole thing under the rug, and the real killers would get away scott-free.”

Count rested his head on his hand. “Who would go to the trouble, though?”

Tabloid finally stopped messing with her hair, and Trigger couldn’t tell if she was happy about that or not. “Now that’s the question. One of the Useans, maybe? Rumor has it that they’re all ready for a turf war.”

Cossette dropped her head, and seemed awful intent on studying her nail polish. She looked almost guilty, but Trigger couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t like any of it was her fault. Although the world was currently at peace, scars of the last war still lingered. Even after leaving everything behind to start a new life across the ocean, it was easy to blame one’s neighbor for the actions of their homeland. Trigger even experienced it out in the sticks, when a passer-through Erusean practically spat at her mother for being from Shilage. The guy received a bloody nose for it, and she got a lecture.

Gangs in the city tended to group up by whichever country their families were from. The Osean and Erusean families were the biggest, but the current rumor was that the Shilagean and Volsagean families entered some kind of pact. That led to more rumors that they were doing it to take on the Eruseans, which could only result in a full on turf war.

Wiseman seemed to notice the change in mood and grabbed a bottle from the crate. “We can talk about this tomorrow. For now, let’s test the goods.”

With the popping of the cork, the atmosphere and passion of a full bar returned for a moment. Wiseman lined up a few shot glasses, pouring an even amount in all of them in one fluid, practiced moment. Her own face of amazement scrunched as she counted seven glasses, one for each person in attendance, including herself.

Trigger didn’t like alcohol. There was something horribly ironic about it, how it was liquid currency, one that changed almost everything about her life and fate in an instant. She risked her life for it, she might as well enjoy the fruits of her labor. But it was gross. The only way she’s ever liked it was when it was mixed in with so much syrups and other flavors that she couldn’t taste it. People told her that it wasn’t about the taste, it was how it made you feel, but the only time she’d been drunk she just felt tired and weepy. A long day could do that to her, but for a chunk of change she could pay for the privilege of doing it in public. No thanks. She didn’t touch the stuff if she could help it.

But she had to make exceptions for moments like this. A celebration of their skills, surrounded by her friends. She grabbed her glass and joined the toast. Maybe the sweet taste of success would make the taste tolerable.

She downed the shot and immediately sputtered. No, the sweet taste of success did nothing. This one tasted like burning, and it felt like it the whole way down. The only consolation was that she didn’t spit it all over the counter this time. Small improvements. Everyone else looked pleased, so it must have been the right kind of burn. Count and Huxian even went for more, the absolute psychopaths.

Before she knew it, another hour of camaraderie passed. It was already too late when they arrived, and pretty soon the earliest workers would be getting the day started. Trigger would have to be out of bed in a couple of hours. Wiseman spotted the time on her pocket watch, and promptly threw them out of his bar. 

At some point, Avril and Cossette disappeared into the night. Avril likely drove the Princess home, or a car came to pick them up, and Trigger was conflicted. The two girls almost acted like young lovers at times. While she was glad their friendship had grown so strong, it could be incredibly awkward to be their third wheel. Unfortunately, Avril was supposed to be her ride, and Trigger really didn’t want to walk home alone. The city was sketchy enough in broad daylight.

Count and Huxian both lived the opposite direction, and were both more than a little tipsy. She was pretty sure Wiseman lived above the general store, so he shouldn’t have to leave the building. Any one of them would have gone out of their way to help her get home, but she didn’t want to be a bother. 

“Hey, Trigger.” Tabloid, ever the knight in shining armor, waited at the bottom of the steps. “Walk you home?”

She smiled and nodded. They lived fairly close together, so he hopefully wouldn’t be too put out by it. Taking his side, they trekked into the darkness.

The night was quiet, or at least as quiet as the city got. Constant lights and sounds, even in the dead of night, were some of the hardest things she’d had to get used to when moving to the city. She still got headaches from it sometimes. But she could feel in the back of her chest where the city changed her. Even if she snapped her fingers and appeared home, the silence would be just as eerie and concerning. But she would adjust. Just like she’s adjusted to all the other weird stuff in her life.

Their conversation went the same way most of their conversations went. Tabloid carried on with most of the actual conversing, and she interjected whenever she could actually think of something to say. It was comfortable. Even as he ranted about a proposed city infrastructure bill because the money would just land in the pockets of the legislation pushing it. 

Eventually, they arrived at the boardinghouse, and their evening finally wound to an end. 

“Thank you. For walking me.”

“Anytime. Get some rest, yeah?” He gave her a soft smile, and her heart leapt into her throat. All she could do was nod.

Like a proper gentleman, he watched to make sure she made it inside safely, even if it meant sticking around while she fumbled around her pockets for her keys. Somehow, it was more nerve-racking than the police chase. Finally, she found the right one, and slammed the door behind her, leaning against it as she waited for her heart to stop pounding so hard.

What was that all about? Was she getting sick?

She neatly set her coat on the rack, and took the stairs up two at a time, nearly running into the ugly fruit bowl painting that marked her floor. Her door creaked as she opened it, slightly stirring Avril. Trigger paid her absolutely no mind as she crossed the floor over to the window and shoved it open. Part of her wasn’t sure it was supposed to open at all with how much groaned. The sudden onslaught of noise and cold air must’ve been a nasty wake up call to Avril, who was now grumbling behind her.

“What’re you doing? Close the damn window!”

Trigger ignored her, squeezing out the small gap she was able to make, and leaned out as far over the street as the flimsy windowsill would let her, in time to see Tabloid about to turn the corner. He stopped just as he did, and waved at her. She couldn’t see his face from there, but she hoped she got a laugh out of him. She waved back as he disappeared around the corner.

She pulled herself back into the room, and straight into the line of fire. Avril’s pillow collided with the back of her head with enough force that it probably would have sent her flying into the road, killing her instantly. She didn’t say anything about it, however, because she would’ve been annoyed enough to attempt homicide if the situation was reversed. She did, however, keep the pillow until after the window was fully closed before tossing it back.

Flopping unceremoniously onto the bed, she landed at eye contact with a stack of papers on the desk. Right. She needed to write a letter home. Her eyes burned. It wouldn’t hurt to do that in the morning. 

It had been a long night, after all.

[mikhailwrites]

Soaring Ever Higher 3 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

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Ghost still owes Trigger that drink. However, it's not so easy for RAF and SAS soldiers to meet by chance. Or is it?

Two months after returning from Colombia, Ghost finds himself in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Scotland, to supervise part of the SAS selection in the Highlands. He actually volunteered because it’s been either that or R&R, and he hates the leave much more than dealing with recruits.  

The weather is British or, well, Scottish, he supposes. Heavy clouds hang low, crying rivers over several dozens of trekking soldiers. Ghost doesn’t particularly mind; he would take rain and cold over humid heat any day. He’s on the tail of the group. He is casually noting who’s lagging behind, who’s breathless or sweating more than they should. For once, his mind takes a break, and he can take in the scenery. Harsh rocky terrain, hillsides covered in lush green grass and hardy shrubs. Ghost stops for a minute to take a few deep breaths, to taste the rain and the air. Momentarily, he looks back, just in time to spot… something flying in the distance. A bird, eagle, perhaps. But then it gets bigger and bigger, closing in fast. Soon, it’s clear that that’s no bird, or at least not one made of feathers and flesh. It’s a… jet? Every fibre in Ghost’s body tenses and senses focus on discerning if it’s friend or foe. It doesn’t make sense for it to be an enemy this far inland. How would they get here? And why? The jet closes in, rolling between the hills at high speed, manoeuvring with practised and deadly efficiency. Ghost realises the jet is flying even lower than he first thought. He can hear the aircraft now, too. The sharp, powerful whine will morph into a thundering roar once the jet passes.

As it closes in, Ghost frowns. That’s not the Typhoon. Nor the Lightning II. It’s bigger, sleeker, and weirder. And it’s dark, almost black. With three white strikes and claws painted on the tail fin. No way. Ghost’s breath hitches as the jet passes him. One person is sitting in the cockpit, and Ghost is pretty sure he knows them.

What are the bloody odds?

Later that day, when they return, and most of the people in selection end up immediately in their bed, he goes to the canteen, hoping to catch some locals there. He’s in luck; there’s an SAS sergeant currently engaged in a lively chat so that Ghost can pick up her Scottish accent. He gets a tea and waits patiently until she disengages.

He asks about the RAF bases around and is given a name: Lossiemouth Airbase. Apparently, the gal has some friends and even family there. Military runs in their blood or something. Ghost tries his best to be tactical and friendly at the same time, and he suspects he fails horribly in the friendliness department. It’s not that he’s a bastard or cold; no matter what people say, he’s just… not as good with words as he is with actions. It’s simple, really.

“You interested in a tour?” the Sergeant asks him with an easy smile, “I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“I’d like to meet someone stationed there,” Ghost admits.

“Right! Well, you should be able to get inside with your military ID. If yer lucky, you could even catch someone driving there who could take ye,” she shrugs and smiles, unperturbed by Ghost’s presence. It’s refreshing, but it makes sense; all sort of people try their luck in the selection; she must’ve seen weirder stuff than tall, broad and brooding Ghost.

He gets a couple of days off at the end of the selection. The last part are interrogations and he doesn’t need, nor does he want to be present for that. Instead, he hitches a ride to Lossiemouth.

His military ID gets him through the security checkpoint without any issues, just like the Sergeant said it would. After that, he’s a little lost. The base is big. It's not the biggest he’s been to, but it's big enough to warrant asking for directions. He also feels different. RAF is its own thing, with its own language and culture. Even though he only wears a plain black balaclava, he gets a lot of lingering stares. In the end, he chooses his victim: a wide-eyed young man.

He asks for the Strider squadron and then, specifically, for Trigger. The man, a Lance Corporal by the insignia on his shoulder, looks up at Ghost with poorly disguised surprise. “You a friend of Trigger’s?” he asks, searching Ghost’s plain attire for any indication of rank. He has a feeling he should be addressing the man as “sir”, but there’s no proof.

“Something like that,” Ghost answers without really answering, and he doesn’t clarify on his own rank, either. These are not his men, his people; why should he care?

RAF bloke nods and points to one of the large hangs further away. Ghost thanks for the help and goes on about his business.

The day is pleasant, with clear skies and sun that’s not too hot. It's a true rarity around here. As he nears the hangar, he notices the gate is open and, sure enough, there’s Trigger’s aircraft. Ghost strides across the tarmac, eyes set on his target. A shadow passes over him, and he pays it no mind. But then he’s startled by a deafening roar. He looks up, but the plane is long gone. Bloody madmen, these fighter pilots.

The path before him is clear, so he continues, noticing four Typhoons taxying on the runway. Nearing the hangar, he notices two people there. One is Trigger; his mohawk is easily recognisable. The other is a young woman with short, dark hair, clad in a grey overall and tinkering with something on the workbench.

Ghost comes nearer, stopping right at the entrance.

“Take a look at the starboard tail; it’s been acting up again,” John tells the engineer, motioning with his hands to illustrate the issue better. “I got a feeling it’s gonna jam one of these days. Maybe the frost issue, again?”

The engineer nods, scratching at her neck. “Listen, John, I know you love her. Believe me, I do, but it may be time to let her go. The tail, the flaps, the outer cockpit glass crack... I could go on. These issues? They’ve been stacking up lately. She will let you down one day, and I won’t be up there with you to fix ‘er up.”

“I ken,” Trigger sighs, brushing his fingertips over the edge of the wing; his voice is wistful. “I ken, Avril. But what am I gonna do?”

She cleans her oil and lubricant-stained hands and tosses the rag on the workbench nearby. “Fly something else, of course. The craft doesn’t define you. Do you think the brass doesn’t like you enough to get you the Lightning? Plenty of those down at Marham base. Or, hell, maybe some hush-hush deal to get a Raptor loaned?”

“I dinnae ken,” John shrugs, “that thing in Colombia is gonna stink for a while longer. Just… look at the tail for now. Please.”

“I’ll do the thorough maintenance, like I always do, love. Don’t worry. I’ll get the old Gray Ghost here all patched up and air-worthy,” the Scrap Queen smiles. “Just don’t go feeling sorry for saving someone’s life. You’re a good lad, John; don’t let the brass scream it out of you.”

“Thanks, Av, wouldnae still be here if not for ye.”

“That’s for damn sure,” she laughs as she picks up the toolbox and stepladder and goes around the plane. That’s when she notices Ghost, still standing by the entrance.

“Uh, John… you’ve got a visitor,” she calls out.

Trigger walks up from behind the jet with a mildly confused look. The frown deepens momentarily as he takes in the visitor in question. “Ghost? How did you... what are you doing here?”

Avril eyes him with sudden recognition; there’s a subtle smile on her lips as she pretends to focus on the machine.

 “I was nearby, and I still owe you that drink,” Ghost goes straight to the point. No greeting, no explanation. Simply stating the facts.

John visibly relaxes and chuckles. “That you do, but considering I stood you up, I guess we are even.”

“Duty called. Nothing you could do,” Simon shrugs. “So, I still owe you a drink.”

“Well, who am I to say no if you insist?” John inclines his head, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I insist,” Ghost nods before he changes the topic. “I overheard her, something about old Ghost?” Ghost lowers his voice. He’s still unsure if he should feel offended or not. He’s not that old, after all.

Trigger takes a few seconds to connect the dots and then starts laughing. A bright, hearty laugh that causes Ghost to smile in return. Not that anyone could see it under the balaclava. “Come ‘ere,” Trigger leads him around the plane until he stops and points at something under the fuselage. Ghost looks, unsure what he should see there. Then he understands. Behind the front landing gear, on the cover that is now open, is writing in thick black lettering: Gray Ghost. “It’s her name. And thank you for spoiling that, by the way. I was saving that piece of trivia for when we’re at least the second, possibly even third, drink in.”

Ghost’s mind is reeling both because of the explanation and implication. “So... that Ghost saved this Ghost’s arse, eh? What are the odds?” Ghost shakes his head in amusement.

“Not massive, I reckon, but it is funny,” John agrees, then, suddenly, his smile freezes, “or... it’s fate,” he says in a low voice, almost whispering. The sparks in his eyes are proof enough that he’s only joking.

“Yeah, I guess as far as destiny is concerned, I could’ve ended up worse than a destined love made of steel and having some wicked angles and curves,” Ghost snorts, placing a palm on the nose. The metal is warm as the sun shines through the open gate. “I wonder where the ring goes.”

Trigger laughs, then feigns offence. “Oi! This lass is already taken! And you don’t have what it takes to be with her, anyway.”

“Oh, and what is that? Lack of common sense and self-preservation?” Ghost mocks him lightheartedly.

“Exactly! Anyway, I still have some stuff to finish here, so how about you walk around, see our lovely home, and I’ll meet you here at…” he looks at the wristwatch, “five?”

Ghost agrees and goes on to explore the base as suggested. He truly hopes they will get to enjoy that drink this time—that, and maybe something more.

Some useless trivia for you:

Soap, or, rather, Trigger, in this case, is flying Northrop YF-23. Two prototypes were made in the late 80's/early 90's to go toe to toe with (Y)F-22, one of them was painted charcoal grey and named Gray Ghost. And yes, that is one (but not the sole) reason why I decided he will be flying this cool af, weird-ass thing.

[raes-trash-art]

little something for @azukokarisma and @niginithechaoticbicon. love you guys

[thebestdamnthing]

July 7, 2024

[bluebellwrenart]

Tabloid x Avril height difference breathe if you agree

[marshmallowgoop]

My part of MeeTsu's "Head Above Water" MEP!

A huge motivating factor for creating my YouTube channel back in February was the ability to be involved in MEPs (Multi-Editor Projects). So, I'm absolutely thrilled that I had the opportunity to be a part of this one, which came together beautifully!

Check out the full video here!

[zealouselement]

Trigger

[cookiekurimu]

The queens 👑

Art by cookie

[voxmilia]

Doing my skin care routine while high and listening to 2000s pop, feeling aphrodite and dionysus smiling down in approval

[braveincafleet]

when you wish you had editing abilities

Someone needs to do a Yassen & Alex/Kyra/Jack/Tom gif set or video with the song/lyrics of Avril Lavigne's cover of how you remind me. It would fit so well especially for season 3.

[dreamblasterharuka]

You asked to send an AC couple so I'm here to deliver.

Avril x Cossette with 19

19. The “good fucking God, I’m so excited to see you” hug.

I've never written for this pairing before, so I hope I did it well. The title comes form Things I Miss by Moxie. Thank you!

Also on AO3

Things I Miss

Avril had to admit, this wasn’t how she thought her life would turn out.

When she was little, before she knew how garbage the world could be, she wanted to be a pilot. Just like everyone in her family before her. She wanted to be like the heroes on TV and in the old war stories. Then her dad died and her grandpa forbade her from joining the military in any form, so she found another love in being a mechanic.

It was the only thing that kept her sane while she was in the penal unit. Probably the only thing that kept her alive, too. For a while there, she thought that was it. Either she would get snuffed out in the war or spend the rest of her life rotting in prison with a bum leg that only served as a reminder that she would never get to be a pilot.

Hanging out in a private jet to Erusia so she could act as an advisor to the new queen was not something she had on her bingo card, but here she was.

She didn’t need a private jet, or the armored security detail she was supposed to meet up with, but Cossette insisted. While the civil war ended a while ago, Erusian politics were still a powder keg a few nasty words from going off. An Osean in a position of potential power wasn’t going to help. Especially with the rumors surrounding their relationship.

Cossette was definitely taking a risk by doing this. For a young, sheltered princess, she sure seemed to take them a lot. At least this time she wasn’t running face first into enemy power or base jumping in the middle of a dogfight. Avril respected the hell out of it, none of them would still be around if not for that bravery, but she could do without the constant heart attacks.

Despite the risks, Avril had to admit she was excited to finally be there. After the war ended, she wound up sticking around, helping out wherever she could and providing emotional support and advice when asked. Eventually, Cossette offered for her to stay permanently. Of course she accepted.

There wasn’t anything for her back in Osea, except for paperwork, and unfortunately, there was a ton of it. What was supposed to be a quick trip back to get her affairs in order turned into a three month slog through bureaucratic crap. Video calls that lasted way too long into the night, even with the different time zone excuse, kept her going, but it wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing. And as cheesy as it was, absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

After tens of hours doing nothing but traveling in a straight line, she finally felt the plane turn. She closed the windows hours ago in a failed attempt to catch some sleep, and opening it was nearly blinding. It took a couple minutes for her eyes to adjust enough to see the city off in the distance. They were landing at a private airstrip on the outskirts of town to avoid any press they didn’t want.

The landing was shockingly smooth, much smoother than all the military transport she was used to. Smoother service, too. As soon as she got the go ahead to stand up and get her luggage, an attendant got to it first. Even if it was nice to not have to carry stuff on her leg, it was still incredibly weird watching someone else haul everything she owned down to the group of very obvious security guards. Avril caught a glimpse of a much shorter, blonde figure, dressed in her trademark white, flitting between them.

She smiled to herself. Of course. Cossette told her that they wouldn’t see each other until she arrived at the castle, but she should’ve expected something like this. There was probably an official security reason for it, but she wouldn’t be shocked if it was all for the sake of a surprise. Well, it definitely wasn’t unwelcome.

Avril was only on solid ground for a moment before Cossette darted past them, clearly faster than they were expecting. One made a move to grab her, but she was already gone. Avril snorted. She couldn't even blame him for missing her. She started to amble over, even though she knew she wouldn’t get very far.

Cossette slowed down just before reaching her, giving her just enough time to really see her. The rest of the world faded into the background. The look on her face was brighter than when she opened the window by an order of magnitude, yet she wanted to drink in every detail. Grainy video calls really didn’t do her justice. 

They flung their arms around each other, hanging on to each other like something would rip them apart at any moment. Cossette was clearly minding her leg, but in that moment she didn’t care if they went tumbling into the dirt. They were there, together and safe, and that made it all worth it. All of the paperwork and travel, all of the fighting and risk taking. Totally worth it.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” Cossette’s voice was warm in her chest.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. All she did was lean over and kiss her.

[metaru-lee]

i cant believe linkin park, avril lavigne, and fort minor invented every single naruto amv in existence