#New Zealand Air Force

[usafphantom2]

New Zealand Air Force Douglas A-4 Skyhawk

@Destroye83 via X

[usaac-official]

Ground crew work on an RNZAF SBD-4 on Espiritu Santo, 1944

[carbone14]

Curtiss P-40M-5 Kittyhawk de la Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF)

©Artwork by ?

[intheshadowofwar]

28 May 2023

On Parade

Anzac Parade 28 May 2023

If there’s one thing every capital city needs, it’s a big ceremonial thoroughfare. Washington has the National Mall, London has the Mall, Paris has the Champs Elysees, and even humble Canberra has Anzac Parade. In times of less construction, one could stand on the steps of the War Memorial and have an unobstructed view of the long avenue, and then, across Lake Burley Griffin, to both the Old and New Parliament Houses.

It’s perhaps odd to consider that nearly none of this was intentional. Anzac Parade was part of Walter Burley Griffin’s plan for Canberra, which I’ll link to here - Griffin, it seemed, really liked his big avenues, and you can see most of the modern Canberra roads there. Looking at drawings by Marion Mahony Griffin, which are in Nicholas Brown’s History of Canberra, there doesn’t really seem to be anything in the spot where the memorial is, and a bizarre domed building that looks like a cross between the US Capitol and the Angkor Wat stands on Capital Hill. Even Old Parliament House was only intended to be temporary. Of course, the First World War intervened, and thus the War Memorial came to sit where it does now at the base of Mount Ainslie, while the permanent parliament house was not constructed until the 1980s, and certainly looks like the product of its decade.

Just as Anzac came to exist, so did Anzac Parade. Like much of Burley Griffin’s plan, it took until later to come into fruition - it was opened in 1965. Over time, it came to be lined with individual war memorials to specific services, battles or wars. They run the gauntlet from the traditional statuary of the Army Memorial to the modern, cubical Peacekeepers Memorial; from the traditional heroic imagery of the Desert Mounted Corps Memorial to the sombre, ambiguous concrete monoliths that form the Vietnam War Memorial.

My uncle has been in town recently, so I took him up and down Anzac Parade to look at the array of memorials. It was a good opportunity to reorientate myself with them - and it’s a fairly good walk besides.

We started on the left side of the road (facing towards Mount Ainslie.) At the start of Anzac Parade there are two giant basket handles on either side of the road, forming the Australia-New Zealand Memorial. It’s perhaps fitting that we start with the oft-forgotten ‘NZ’ part of ANZAC; a healthy reminder that Gallipoli and the Western Front are just as important in Wellington as they are here. Moving along, one passes the Boer War Memorial. This is a very recent addition indeed - it was well into the 21st century before the South African War had its memorial in the national capital. Past that is the Desert Mounted Corps Memorial.

I’m going to go a little deeper into this one, as there’s not much scope for the discussion of the Palestine campaign anywhere else. The Desert Mounted Corps, initially the Desert Column, operated in the Sinai Desert, Palestine and Syria between December 1916 and the end of the war, fighting against the Ottoman Empire. Initially the force was commanded by General Chetwode, but in mid-1917 General Harry Chauvel took command, the first Australian to command a corps. (Lawrence of Arabia, apparently, was not a big fan of him.) The Corps consisted of three divisions - two ANZAC and one British. An additional British division and an Indian brigade were added in mid-1918, and I believe there were detachments of French Colonial troops, although I can’t seem to confirm this right now. I tell you this because you would not know from looking at the memorial, which is entirely an Australian and New Zealand affair. Grumbling about the omitting of nationalities aside, a big reason the Desert Mounted Corps Memorial is of particular interest is because it’s actually a replica. The original was erected at Port Said in Egypt after the war, but during the Suez Crisis, it was targeted and destroyed by Egyptian nationalists as a symbol of the British Empire. The destruction of statutory, despite what some might say, is by no means a 21st century phenomenon.

Moving along, one passes the grey, funereal Vietnam Memorial, which asks visitors to walk inside it, and in which the names of the dead are gathered on a ring above. Then you pass the Korean War Memorial, with its army, navy and air force figures surrounded by tall steel poles that look like rain, and after that the comparatively conventional memorial to the army. At the end of Anzac Parade, nestled into the corner, is the Hellenic Memorial, which commemorates the battles of Greece and Crete during the Second World War. It’s built to resemble an amphitheatre, with a pillar marked with the Greek Orthodox cross and pair of steel beams in the middle. A map of the Aegean, almost stained glass in appearance, is made from tiles on the floor.

Perhaps entertainingly if one knows the history of Greco-Turkish relations, it’s positioned directly across the road from the Mustafa Kemal Ataturk Memorial. There probably aren’t many western democracies, with the obvious exception of Germany, that have memorials to the enemy in their capital - still less to an autocratic dictator. Yet Ataturk holds a key position in Anzac mythology. As a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Ottoman Army, he played a role in the defence of Gallipoli against the British and Anzac forces. After the war, he became a key figure in the Turkish nationalist movement, and eventually the President. I have to be very careful what I say here, as I have to load and edit this in Turkey where it is illegal to defame Ataturk, so I’ll focus my discussion on the inscription on the memorial.

It’s a long one, and it’s a little hard to see on my photograph, so I’ll just type it out.

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours … you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway counties, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom, and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.

Beautiful sentiment, right? The only problem is that Ataturk almost certainly didn’t say them. I’ll link to an excellent article on the subject at Honest History (and honestly, I’d recommend that website for a lot of things) but the basic gist of the problem is that knows when he said it, or if he dictated it to someone else, or if it was a letter, or really anything else about the providence of the quote, and it really seems to have started being kicked around in the 1980s. There is no evidence prior to 1953 of the speech (or letter, or dictation, or lavatory graffiti) existing.

So why, when we know he probably say it, is it still there? I think it’s because it’s comforting. It’s a little bit of myth making that serves to make the past a little more bearable. To imagine your father or grandfather lying in the bosom of a friendly nation is palatable. To imagine him buried in an enemy country, whose soldiers killed him, is less so.

Traveling back down Anzac Parade, one next passes the memorial to the Royal Australian Navy Memorial, a mishmash of flesh and steel shapes which includes a fountain. Beyond that is the ‘shower curtain’ - the derogatory name a veteran nurse gave to the Nurse’s Memorial. This is the most vertical of the memorials on Anzac Parade - a blue glass structure that visitors can walk into, listing the names of conflicts and postings of the nursing service and displaying images of nurses throughout Australian military history. It is worth pointing out that this is a memorial specifically to nurses in the Australian service, not Australian nurses - nurses who died in the British service are not commemorated either here or on the Roll of Honour. I know you’re getting sick of links by now, but here’s one to a video on that subject.

We then pass the Royal Australian Air Force Memorial, which I’ve never been a particular fan of - it just seems a bit dull to me, if I’m completely honest. Past that is the great tan monument to the Rats of Tobruk - the men of the 9th (and one brigade of the 7th) Division who defended Tobruk from the Nazi Afrika Korps in 1941. (I am going to get into so much trouble for calling Rommel’s Afrika Korps ‘Nazi,’ which is of course precisely why I did so.) Finally, one passes the impenetrably abstract Peacekeepers Memorial, before reaching the other side of the New Zealand Memorial.

This walk took us about an hour, and on the way home, we decided to try to find the Air Crash Memorial in the Pialligo Forest. The key word was ‘try,’ because it turns out there’s no road access and it’s a 3.2km walk to reach it. As we’d already been walking, we decided to call it a day. The air crash in question was the Canberra Air Disaster - a Lockheed Hudson crashed on approach to Canberra airport on the 13th of August 1940, killing three members of the cabinet and Chief of the General Staff General Sir Brudenell White. This is another name we’ll probably come back to. Suffice it to say, it was a major body blow to Robert Menzies’ first government and probably contributed to its fall the following year (although Menzies buggering off to London for several months to pester Churchill probably didn’t help either.)

All in all, it was a good day. I don’t know when I’ll write again, though I’m hoping soon - otherwise I shall see you in two weeks, as there’s a few thoughts I might want to get onto paper while I’m in Sydney.

[humanspaceflightday]

NEW ZEALAND - Yuri’s Night 2024 International Space Event at the Air Force Museum.

Yuri’s Night 2024 at the Air Force Museum of NZ, an International Space Celebration; Come along and see Canterbury’s Aerospace on display, completely free; Turn up any time throughout the day (below for some workshop times)

– Planetarium tours – Mars Rover display – Build-Your-Own-Rocket workshops – Static Rocket displays – Giveaways (from stickers to aerospace collectibles) – Astronomical displays – Wind Tunnel exhibit – Build a Shuttle – Send a postcard to space (Really!) – watch a rocket launch (weather dependant) – Touch a piece of rocket that’s returned from Space! – Spot Prizes of cool aerospace swag! – and so much more!

Yuri Gagarin became the first human in Space on April 12th 1961. Fast forward 40 years and “Yuri’s Night” was created as an international space party, celebrating everything aerospace!

– Rocket Workshops at 10am and 2pm (spaces limited) – Rocket Launch at 1pm weather dependant – Planetarium tour numbers subject to space constraints

– Therese Angelo Wing of the Museum (hang a left and go past the cafe upon entering)

Proudly brought to you by the Christchurch Rocketeers, Royal Aeronautical Society of NZ, and the Air Force Museum of New Zealand

Event displays volunteered by: – Christchurch Rocketeers – Royal Aeronautical Society of NZ – Air Force Museum of NZ – Canterbury Astronomical Society – Aerospace New Zealand/ Aotearoa Aerospace Academy – House of Science – UC Aerospace Club – SpacewardBoundNZ – Canterbury Astronomical Society

Yuri’s Night 2024 International Space Event WHERE: 2024-Apr-13 @ 09:30 AM - 2024-Apr-13 @ 04:00 PM WHEN: Air Force Museum of New Zealand Harvard Avenue, Wigram, Christchurch, New Zealand

[nebraskaenergy]

Scattershot Friday

Well, are you fascinated by the Trump trial in Nw York this week. If so, I;m sorry for you, but here’s a report on this bullshit waste of time. At least they’re simply looking to steal money so it could be worse. Excuse me a moment while I was this filth out of my system. This is interesting. I don’t have much of an opinion, do you? Let me know. These guys at least talk a proper game hopefully…

[frank-o-meter]

There’s also a photo of Garland and his family. I’m curious about the sequence in which the photos were taken:

I’m guessing he and his buddies arrived to get a group photo done.

The photographer noticed what a fine figure he had and somehow convinced him to pose nude.

I perhaps with an offer of a free family photo to seal the deal?

During Great War Edgar Garland was captured by the Germans. After the war he was awards the Victoria z metal. Garland had a relatively long life, dying in 1973 at the age of 78.

Edgar Henry Garland  (1895 - 1973)

While a Lieutenant in The Royal Air Force in 1916, E.H. Garland posed nude for photographer S. P. Andrew, Ltd of Wellington. The photos are now archived in the National Library of New Zealand.

[vinylburns]

Samantha from Otaki

Samantha was a sexy DJ with a passion for horses and funky music. She spent her days riding through the rolling hills of Otaki, New Zealand, and her nights spinning sick beats at the hottest clubs in town. But Samantha wasn’t content with just being a solo act. She wanted to share her love of music with the world, so she formed a group called Otaki Airforce. Together with a talented group of…

[meazalykov]

the stylist

aitana bonmati x actress!reader

summary: you're used to this, she isn't. she asks for you help in one of the biggest moments of her life.

it’s 2020, and you’re in barcelona for a collaboration between the football club and the spanish film industry—a whirlwind of press, promotion, and bridging two seemingly different worlds. 

you're used to the attention, the cameras, the lights, but something about stepping into the club’s facilities feels different, exciting.

the air is filled with energy as you watch barcelona’s women’s team train, the players effortlessly weaving around each other, laughter mixing with shouts of encouragement and reassurance. 

that's when you see her—aitana bonmatí. she’s different from everyone else on the pitch, even from the other players who are all exceptional in their own right. 

there’s something about the way she moves, a certain fluidity and elegance, every step calculated but not forced. her focus is razor-sharp, but when she laughs, it’s like watching the sun break through clouds. 

you’re captivated, and you don’t even realize you're staring until your assistant nudges you, bringing you back to the present moment.

the actual collaboration project is a chaotic blur of scripts, media appearances, and photo ops with the team. and then, you get the chance to talk to her. aitana is quieter than you imagined—thoughtful, a little reserved, but there's a spark in her eyes that you can't ignore. 

she teases you for not knowing much about football, and you tease back, pretending you don’t know who she is when, in reality, you’d already spent hours watching clips of her play. 

one conversation turns into two, then three. before you know it, you’re staying longer at the training grounds, just to catch a glimpse of her or to share a quick chat over coffee.

it doesn’t take long for something to blossom between you. it’s like everything clicks into place, like you were always meant to find her in this way. 

by early 2021, you’re together, stealing moments between your busy lives—you, jetting off to film sets and premieres; her, dedicating every ounce of herself to the sport she loves. despite the chaos, every time you’re together, it’s just... easy. simple.

you learn quickly that loving aitana means living in the moment. she teaches you to embrace the small things, to find joy in an early morning run along the beach, or in a lazy afternoon spent watching the waves lap against the sand. 

and you, in return, show her the magic of your world—the glitz, the glamor, and the art of bringing stories to life on screen. in the end, it's not about your worlds; it’s just about the two of you, finding pieces of yourselves in one another.

by 2023, things get even crazier. 

it’s the year of the women’s world cup, and aitana is on fire. as part of the spanish national team, she trains harder than ever, and you watch from the sidelines, cheering her on in stadiums from new zealand to australia, wearing her number and beaming with pride. 

every pass, every goal feels like a triumph, and when they finally win, you’re there in the stands, screaming and crying as they lift that trophy into the air. it’s a moment you’ll never forget: aitana, surrounded by her teammates, glowing with pride, holding the world cup above her head like a queen with her crown. 

you rush down after the match, and when she finds you in the sea of friends and family, she pulls you close, her sweat and tears mingling with yours as she kisses you deeply. 

“we did it,” she chants in catalan, and you know she means all of it—not just the world cup, but everything leading up to that moment.

it’s a whirlwind from there. aitana’s name is on everyone's lips. every headline praises her for being one of the best midfielders in the world, and talk of the ballon d’or starts almost immediately. 

the idea of winning such a prestigious award is exhilarating—and terrifying—for aitana. 

she’s humble to a fault, always quick to deflect praise, always wanting the spotlight to be on the team rather than herself. and while the world hypes her up, aitana becomes more nervous as the ceremony approaches. 

one night, she confesses to you that she feels overwhelmed by it all. 

“what if i don’t deserve this?” she asks, and you just shake your head, holding her close as she wraps her arms around you tightly. 

“are you serious? of course you deserve this. you deserve everything, aitana,” you tell her, and you mean it more than anything.

then there’s the matter of the ceremony itself. it’s in paris, and it will be one of the most glamorous nights of the year. 

aitana hires a stylist, wanting to make sure she looks her best, but every fitting seems to leave her feeling more out of place. the dresses are either too flashy, too revealing, or just... not her. 

you’re on set, filming for a movie during most of this, but every time she calls you, you can hear the frustration in her voice. she’s worried about standing out for the wrong reasons, about wearing something that doesn’t feel true to who she is.

when you finally wrap up filming, you decide to head back to barcelona early, just to be with her. you find her one evening, sitting on the floor of your shared apartment, surrounded by garment bags and fabric swatches, looking utterly defeated. 

“i just want to feel comfortable,” she admits, the vulnerability in her voice breaking your heart.

you smile, tilting her chin up so she looks at you. 

“you know you’re dating a professional, right?” you tease, and she laughs, but there's relief in her eyes. 

“i've done this a hundred times. let me help you.” 

together, you dive into the chaos of dresses, sketches, and fabric samples. you know aitana better than anyone, and you know exactly what would make her feel beautiful and confident. 

you pull out a stunning black dress, elegant and understated, with just the right amount of sparkle—a shimmer that catches the light without being overpowering. 

“try this,” you say, holding it up to her.

when she slips into it, it’s like everything clicks into place. the dress hugs her perfectly, shimmering around her frame like a sky full of stars, the black fabric cascading down like liquid silk. the muscles she has fit into the dress stunningly.

you watch as aitana turns in front of the mirror, a smile spreading across her face, the confidence you knew was there all along finally showing. 

“you look breathtaking,” you say, coming up behind her and resting your hands on her waist. in the mirror, you see her bite her lip, trying to hold back tears as she turns to face you.

“thank you,” she whispers, and you know she’s thanking you for more than just the dress. for supporting her, for believing in her, for always being her anchor through everything. 

“i’m so proud of you, aitana,” you tell her, pulling her into a hug, feeling her warmth, her strength. 

masterlist

[usafphantom2]

RNZAF 75 Squadron Douglas A-4G Skyhawk NZ6216 (1986)

aviationphotocompany.com/p882451834/e9d…

More A-4 images: aviationphotocompany.com/p973745392

Credit embedded

[mistydeyes]

Hi,if you’re not busy can you write a fic of Cod characters with a cia agent gf ?

yes ofc! yk i love a good little government agent gf moment :)

a double life

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: From hidden occupations to a particular set of skill sets, the 141 learns to adapt to having a girlfriend who has all the right qualifications (and who could completely kick their ass).

pairing: Task Force 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

"Sorry I can't be there to meet you, Price," Laswell spoke over the web camera feed, "got tied up in South America." Price nodded as he held the bridge of his nose, Laswell had promised her best field agent to act as a point person for their mission in New Zealand. However, just the thought of some middle-aged retired veteran or worse yet, hot-shot rookie, made his headache pound even further. "She's a good one, Price," Laswell reassured, "skilled in practically every major language and the best marks in her physical fitness examination." "Yes Kate, I read her file, but it seems like you failed to include a photo-" He was interrupted by a sturdy knock at the door. "Looks like she's here."

As you cracked the door open, you practically dropped the files that sat in your arms. "What are you doing here?" Price asked jovially and you could feel the breath release from your sternum, "didn't expect an on-base visit like this." As the pieces began to fit together, you realized he didn't know what you were actually there for. "John, Kate sent me here," you whispered as you shut the door gently, "heard you're going to New Zealand." As the realization hit him like an oncoming train, you braced for impact. "You-you work for the CIA?" he asked almost foolishly and you nodded in response. "I did say I worked in Virginia," you corrected, "and you had to know my surprise visit yesterday wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment thing." Price could feel his headache reach a fever pitch as he reviewed your file again. "Then what's with the name?" he asked, "you lie about that too." You let out a laugh as you explained, "People have nicknames and mother's maiden names, John." As you sat back in your chair and crossed your legs, Price wondered what he had done for the universe to gift him you.

soap

Despite your initial reservations, Johnny was quite good at keeping your occupation vague and nonchalant in conversation. You were honest about your work in central intelligence and he took that secret to the grave. Your long-distance relationship was written off as you working in some company in DC and no one batted an eye at your occasional inference at military strategy or surveillance techniques. When you returned home, you would always be sure to show him extra appreciation for his covertness. "Tryna make me patriotic?" he would joke before you would kiss him and stifle his laughs.

However, he loved testing your skill set and seeing if you were as trained of an operative as your file read. "Let's see what they teach you over there, Bonnie," he joked as he lined up his sights at the air gun range. You refrained from kicking him as you stood back to watch him. You almost let out a laugh when you saw his small pellet ricochet just slightly off target. "Hmm and that's why Ghost is your long-range weapons specialist," you teased as he got up and switched positions. You breathed in as you looked down your sights and positioned your rifle towards the farthest target on the range. "You Americans, always so fucking cocky," he muttered under his breath before you quickly shut him up with a quick shot directly into the center of the target. The metal hen spun around widely at your expert marksmanship and you exhaled your held breath. You stood up and tried to size up your tall boyfriend. "Best 2/3?" you offered and you smiled as he kissed your forehead before ushering you out of the way to try again. "Fucking CIA training," he whispered as he got into position again. "You say something, you glorified sergeant?"

gaz

It was 4 am when you arose from the bed and leaned into Kyle, taking in his warmth and seeking refuge from the cold London air. You could always rely on your boyfriend to be your human-sized space heater. As you laid your head across his chest, you could feel him stir lightly. "Time to go already, love?" he asked with his eyes still closed and you muttered in confirmation. You always knew what challenges came with living so far away from the States but you had someone who made it all worth it. He kissed your forehead lightly as you rolled off the bed. You tried to quietly make your way to the bathroom to let him get some more hours of precious sleep but upon your return, it was clear Kyle was more awake than before.

"You sure you don't need me to drive you to the airport?" he offered yet again as you dressed quickly in dress slacks and a blouse. "MI6 is sending a car," you explained as you collected your overnight bag, "just try to get some sleep, my love. I'll text you when I land in Langley." Despite your soft kiss on the cheek, Kyle still pouted as you pulled away. "Don't understand why you can't be a liaison officer for us," he mumbled but you ruffled his hair slightly. "When the position becomes available, I'll be the first application on there," you smiled, doing a final check of your things, "just tell Price to write me a hell of a recommendation letter." With that, you shared another long kiss as you slightly cringed at his morning breath. "I'll be sure to say hi to the cybercrime analysis team for you, hopefully, they'll actually take my advice this time," you laughed before exiting out of your apartment and embracing the cold English air you had grown to love.

ghost

When the question arose of your occupation, you would always smile and defer to being just an "American government worker." However, you always knew Simon had more than just an inkling as to your occupation. When you spoke about military strategy, and combat techniques, or even had various conversations in different languages over the phone, it was clear to him that you were more than just a civilian. The shock didn't even resonate with him when you uttered the words, "Paramilitary Operations Officer," it all seemed to fall into place. He wouldn't bat an eye when it came to long stretches of days that you were in minimal contact with him. "I'll be back," you would reassure as you pulled on a dark hoodie and headed out the door with a bag. Simon would always be there to clean your wounds and ice your bruises.

It was a shock when Simon hadn't heard from you in a month. You had left in the middle of the day in a black Mercedes that disappeared off the English skyline. It was the unfortunate timing that he had been on leave when you left and there had been no word from Price regarding a new mission. Every morning, he would turn over in your king-sized bed expecting to see you smiling back at him. However, the days dragged on without any information meeting his ears. You could practically still picture his terrified face when you turned the key into the door and slammed your bag down. Simon paused upon seeing your blackened eye and wrapped knuckles. The eye bags on your delicate face further added worry to the situation. "Don't ask," you whispered as you fell into his chest, "intel was shit." That was all Simon needed to lift you gently and place you back on the couch. As he held you in his arms with an ice pack to your eye, you slightly pulled away from his touch. "I promised I would come back, didn't I?"

[spiritundaunted]

The RAF Chapel at Westminster Abbey was unveiled in 1947 at a service attended by King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mary, Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret. The royal guests are looking up at the magnificent stained glass window of the chapel.

The Chapel is dedicated to the men of the Royal Air Force who died in the Battle of Britain in 1940.

The exquisite stained glass window includes the badges of 70 squadrons who fought in the Battle, together with the furled flags of New Zealand, Canada, Australia, South Africa, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Belgium, and the United States of America.

Left, the Chapel stained glass window. Right, detail of the Polish squadron badge.

[madhatterbri]

All Around Me | D.P.

Summary: Y/N dreams of Damian Priest and knows she must protect him.

Taglist: @magicalbuttertarts @theworldofotps @mrsarcherofinfamy @brideofinfamy @smallestsnarkestgirl @terrortwinunicorn @miss-kuki-nz @new-zealand-chic

Despite the darkness in her dreams, Y/N could see the former El Campeon clear as day. He had his hair up in a ponytail. A cocky smirk pressed to his lips. He wore all black with chains perfectly placed in his clothes. His vest was her favorite.

Carefully, she walked around him in a circle. Her hands begged to touch him. To know what it was like to feel him against her skin. She reached her arm out slowly. Her fingertips grazing his tan tattooed skin. The electricity that ran through her body at the simple touch was her new high. An addiction that she knew she needed more of.

She had never felt this way about anyone before. Before him, she was a shell of a person. Now, she felt like a moth drawn to the flame. Nothing would ever be able to extinguish her fire that burned for him. Something about him made her feel alive. A feeling she hadn't felt in a while.

Y/N knew this was a foolish girl's dream. She was part of the new Judgment Day. A pact that she was forced to uphold. They could never be together. Damian could barely hide his disdain when he saw who she was aligned with. The look on his face burned in her memory.

Like usual, she started to walk away from him. Her heart couldn't take the rejection in fantasy and reality. Except this time, Damian grabbed her wrist. He pulled her towards him. Her back pressed against his chest.

The air felt thicker. It felt as if she couldn't breathe. She tensed against him, unsure of what to do. His hands rested around her hips as if he were afraid she'd run. Y/N allowed the feeling of being truly wanted to wash over her. The feeling was not one she had ever experienced.

Y/N turned around to look at him. His face was softer than the rough appearance he gave in the ring. Her hands touched his face gently. As if the simplest of touch would cause him to shatter like glass. He whispered he loved her.

She swore she could hear soft music from instruments play around them. Their eyes locked together. A single tear fell down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb.

The darkness around them started to fade away. The darkness replaced by a bright light. Her breath was caught in her throat. No one had ever made her feel like this. She knew no one ever could again.

Damian took her hand in his. His fingers locked in hers. Her heart felt alive. No longer would she be loyal to the new Judgment Day. She would only be loyal to Damian his needs. He told her before that he would never leave her. Y/N laughed it off to herself at first, but now she believed.

Their faces started to lean closer. Her breath hitched in her throat. This was finally happening. After she waited so long for him. Her heart pounded loud enough that she could hear. They closed their eyes about to kiss.

Y/N woke up and sat up. She was covered in sweat and gasping. Much to her dismay, she was back in her hotel room alone. Today was the day Damian Priest would fight against Finn Balor. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She knew she had to protect Damian.

[dronescapesvideos]

F4U-ID, Royal New Zealand Air Force.

It survived the war only to be melted down for scrap in 1948

[kaapstadgirly]

Al Jazeera news ticker: 16 February 2024.

-> Gaza Health Ministry: At least 28, 663 Palestinians killed and 68, 395 injured in Israeli attacks since October 7

-> Gaza Media Office: 126 journalists killed in Gaza strip since October 7

-> Gaza Health Ministry: Hundreds of Palestinian health workers killed since war began

-> UN Relief and Works Agency says 1.7 million Palestinians displaced in Gaza and 1.5 million are sheltering in Rafah

-> UN Relief and Works Agency says 156 United Nations staff members killed in Gaza since October 7

-> Health Ministry: 395 Palestinians killed by Israeli forces and settlers in Occupied West Bank since October 7

-> Prisoners Society: More than 7, 003 Palestinians detained in Occupied West Bank since October 7

-> Israeli Government: 1, 139 Israelis killed in Hamas attack on Southern Israel on October 7

-> Israeli troops storm besieged Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis

-> Israeli soldiers force patients and families sheltering in Nasser Hospital out of the facility

-> Israeli strike kills at least 8 Palestinians in Rafah, Southern Gaza

-> Video emerges of decomposing premature babies left to die during Israeli forced evacuation of Gaza Hospital in November

-> Israeli strike on a car in Gaza City kills at least two people and injures five

-> At least 12 people killed in Israeli bombing of house in Al Nuseirat Refugee Camp in Central Gaza

-> Ceasefire talks between Egypt, Israel, the U.S. and Qatar end without breakthrough

-> Hezbollah fires rockets at Northern Israel in response to attacks across Lebanese border

-> Funerals held for victims of Israeli air raids in Southern Lebanon

-> Israeli air strikes kill three fighters in southern Lebanese town of Qantara

-> Israeli army says 15 rockets fired from Lebanon towards Kiryat Shmona

-> Leaders of Canada, Australia, and New Zealand 'gravely concerned' by Israel's planned ground offensive in Rafah

-> South Africa urges International Court of Justice to consider action on possible Israeli ground operation in Rafah

-> UN trade body says Gaza will need new 'Marshall plan' for post-war reconstruction

-> Palestinian authority president urges Hamas to speed up exchange of captives held in Gaza for prisoners in Israeli jails

-> Israeli forces raid towns and villages near Jenin in Occupied West Bank

[theworldofotps]

The Lore of The Demon King

Description: The story of how Finn Bálor came to be Bálor. Word Count: 1,067

Wanted to get a few Halloween type stories out! Massive thank you to my beloved Kay for her help with this. ________ Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist​ @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose @99hook @madhatterbri @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @surdelcielo @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @terrortwinunicorn @alyyaanna @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456 @mcreignsera @auburnwrites​ @aews-four-pillars @thatnerdwriter​ @sjwrites22​

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. _______ In the dead of night, when the veil between worlds thins, the legend of Bálor the Demon King awakens in whispers. Many believe Finn Bálor, the enigmatic Irish wrestler, harbors within him a power darker than the ring has ever known. But very few know the true story of how he became to be the demon king. How a mere mortal came to hold some of most powerful ancient abilities at his fingertips. The most common story tells of Finn stumbling upon these powers by accident.

It was Halloween night, years ago, when Finn found himself lost on an old country road in Ireland. Mist blanketed the ground as a chill settled over him, the crisp autumn air turning stale with every breath he took. His headlights barely cut through the thick fog that seemed to be everywhere, his phone had long since lost signal. He was searching for a way back to Bray when he stumbled upon an ancient stone. One marked by symbols that twisted like snakes, old and weathered by centuries of rain and ruin.  

Ever the curious man and not one to pay much attention to the stories of his childhood Finn climbed out of the car. Taking careful even steps towards the large stone, the moon barely peeking out from the clouds seemed to draw a signal to it. The stone whispered to him, low and relentless, in a language he didn’t understand. Drawn by an unseen force, he traced his fingers over its jagged edges. The stone was hot to the touch, in that moment, the ground opened, and Finn fell, spiraling down into darkness.

When he finally woke up Finn realized that he was no longer in Ireland. He was in a world of shadows, in the forgotten lair of Bálor, the mythical demon of Irish folklore or the original Demon King. Red eyes glowed from every corner of the darkness, watching, waiting. A heavy, suffocating pressure filled the air as Bálor's voice, cold and ancient, drifted toward him. Seeming to come from every direction around him filling his head.

“You’ve called me, haven’t you, Finn?”

Bálor’s voice was a deep, echoing growl that sent shivers through Finn’s body and his heart racing as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“You want to be a king. But to be a king, you must face the darkness within and believe when I tell you the darkness is more than a mere mortal can handle.

Finn tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat as his eyes quickly flicked around the room before stopping in a corner where there was movement. Bálor’s form emerged from the shadows one that made Finn’s blood run cold. He was a towering figure with a single, massive eye in the middle of his forehead, flickering with a hellish light. His skin was a tapestry of ancient scars and painted symbols, his hands ending in claws. The tips seeming to drip black from what Finn could only assume was the essence of lost souls. Without warning, Bálor lunged forward, binding Finn in chains of shadow that tightened around him.

“Feel it, let the darkness consume you, become one with it.”

Each link of the chain sank into Finn’s skin, burning, twisting him from the inside out. The pain was unbearable, the sound of his own screams echoed in his head. But as it took hold, Finn felt something inside him awaken. Something feral, powerful. His body grew heavier, his skin darker, and strange markings appeared all over him, searing into his flesh. His mind teetered on the edge of sanity, but he could sense the power flooding through him, a dark gift from Bálor himself.

“Now you are one of us.”

Bálor hissed, his monstrous smile spreading wide as he watched Finn fall to his knees the power pulsing around him.

“Take this gift back to your world but remember that the darkness will follow you. It will consume you, piece by piece. Until you are nothing… but the Demon.” 

In a flash of blinding pain, Finn was thrown back to the surface, gasping on the cold, misty road. He was alone, but the symbols, the darkness, the feeling inside of him, they all lingered. When he glanced in the side mirror of his car, his face was his own, but in his eyes, instead of the normal blue he saw it. Bálor, lurking in the depths, watching, waiting for his next emergence.

And each time Finn dons the paint, each time he calls himself The Demon King, and wields those ancient powers. The darkness slips a little further into his soul, threatening to take him once and for all.

So, this Halloween, if you hear the echo of chains in the shadows or see a flicker of red eyes staring from the dark corners of the ring. Remember, it’s not just Finn Bálor no it’s the Demon King, the cursed soul of Bálor himself, still lurking, still hungry for a new host.