#Sabre hospitality

[redskyhospitality]

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐖𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐞

RevMutu Hospitality is Global Preferred Partner with Sabre Hospitality, Servicing 3 Continent - Asia, Middle East and Africa.

We are the official Reseller of Synxis Product like GDS Connectivity via Synxis, Booking Engine and various other Technology

Our team Specializes in setting up SynXis Global Distribution System (GDS) and Booking Engines to meet industry standards. We're here to help you maximize revenue through digital channels and stay ahead in the digital world.

[travellingnews]

Sabre Hospitality Renews Agreement with Wyndham Hotels & Resorts

Sabre Hospitality, a division of Sabre Corporation (NASDAQ: SABR), today announced the renewal of its long-term agreement with Wyndham Hotels & Resorts, the world’s largest hotel franchisor with more hotels than any other company in the world. Under this renewed agreement, Wyndham will continue to utilize Sabre’s cloud-based SynXis Central Reservation System (CRS) to manage its operations,…

[yourheartonfire]

Any other day, hiding an injury they’d picked up from their nighttime cape work wouldn’t have been a problem. The hero would’ve been in orchestra or robotics lab or study hall and they could muscle through those no problem. But it was Thursday, and that meant it was fencing club.

Any other teacher and it would’ve been fine. The hero could have begged off on a stomachache or other conveniently invisible illness and the coach would’ve shrugged and let them sit on the sidelines doing homework. But today both coach and assistant coach were out, so it fell to the team captain to run practice. And the current team captain had hated hero’s guts since they were in fifth grade.

“C’mon, lazy bones, you’ve been dragging through warm-ups even more than normal,” the hero’s longtime rival drawled, flicking their sabre eagerly as they stepped up on the piste. “You’re up first. En garde.”

“We’re supposed to be doing footwork drills today,” one of hero’s friends protested.

The team captain arched an eyebrow. “You’d really rather do drills than bout? Maybe start with a few more laps?” they asked the rest of the team. There was some muttering and sideways looks. Nobody would rather do footwork, but hero knew from the worried looks in their direction that they were not carrying this off convincingly.

Well, maybe they could work with that. If the hero threw up all over the piste the rival would have to let them go to the nurse. If they timed it right, maybe they could hit the rival too.

“It’s fine,” the hero said, hoisting themselves up with a wince. They did not favor their leg as they walked up, took their stance, riding the waves of pain like they always did. And, yeah, maybe they’d never taken a wound quite as bad as the long shallow cut over their thigh, patched together in the bathroom with medical tape and superglue, but they could handle this. They always handled it.

As they saluted the team captain, something shifted in their old rival’s expression. A moment of uncertainty, a harder head-to-toe scan. But then the moment was gone and their rival gave them a smirk only a shade less smug than normal before sliding their mask down.

The hero attacked first. Their rival loved to bait them into counter-time errors, force them on the defensive, but today the hero just didn’t care. They went for it with an aggression that raised an “oooOOOHhhh!” from the rest of the team. Press, press, press, press. Their sabre seemed to move on its own through the rising red haze, and the hero watched in fascination as their rival’s weapon rose to catch it in a bind, flicked it aside - 

- and then the hero felt something across their right thigh go rrrrrrrrrrip. 

There was a terrible flash of blackness. And the next thing the hero knew, their rival was holding them up, both of them staring down at the growing red patch across the hero’s leg.

“You?” their rival rasped behind their mask.

The hero tried to speak and could only heave. Their team captain shot a glance to their teammates - then dropped the hero, letting their sabre run along the leg.

Later, much later, after they’d gotten home from the hospital, the hero got the story from their friends on the team. How they’d stumbled and the team captain had sliced them by accident, how the team captain had swiftly applied first aid and organized the 911 call, how they’d apologized to everyone from the paramedics to the school headmaster and offered to resign their captainship, how disciplinary action may be pending. But no one could explain how a practice sabre could have gone right into their leg like that...

The hero shrugged, assuring their friends it must have been a freak accident. All the while their stomach churned. 

Their rival’s voice as they’d gasped out that ‘you’. And the way they’d sliced the hero’s pants leg almost perfectly across the original cut. As if they’d known exactly how last night’s villain had drawn their wicked sharp knife along the hero’s leg.

The next night the hero was back out on the rooftops. The villain was waiting for them, with a nasty smile and a longer blade. “You,” they purred, and the hero’s heart skipped a beat.

[itsgirlcraft]

*Yawn* mm I'm tired today, almost didn't get this done lol

Day 22 of Stevetember: hospitable with my RQ/AR crossover AU!

With "LC"/leather chestplate Yellow, "Clover"/Therapist Green, and Alux ofc!

This is based on an alt version of post-ep 2 of Alux Rising, in which Alux fell into a portal when he was stabbed/pushed off the cliff. And Yellow finds him injured, takes him to an outpost where Clover works, and Clover heals him. Meanwhile, Light tries to investigate any threats that could've caused his injuries. Btw this is in RQ aftermath, when peace was made in the Steve Realm and Sabre left.

Alux greatly appreciates the Steves' kindness and willingness to take him in, unlike *ahem* some people (the Cozen kingdom). He still meets the Pepper family like in the og series, though! So, yeah, Alux likes the Steve Realm much more than his kingdom and wants to stay. But once Light overhears that his kingdom is under threat of a potential war, he wants to at least offer his services. Even though he refuses to let Cozen take Alux, he knows a lot of terrible things happen in crisis, and he's all too familiar with the desperation.

Eventually, Light decides to properly seek out whatever had brought Alux there. And so he, some guards, LC, Clover, and Alux head out. But along the way, they meet James - who also fell through the portal while wandering the trails. He's glad to see Alux is taken care of, and is happier than he's ever seen. But he doesn't know how to get back home, much less how to explain this to Azarel. Clover wants to hear him out, so LC ends up escorting James as they head towards the portal area.

Light and the guards look for the portal, while Clover and LC watch over James and Alux. Once they find the portal, Light goes through first to ensure it's safe, then some guards come thru to stake out the area. Once everything is in place, they plan to head back - since James is now here - and make a plan on what to do next. The Steves still don't generally trust James, especially around Alux - but Clover and LC hear him out and learn more about Cozen's situation. The two agree that even though he's been horrible to Alux, he's trying to change, and that means something.

Light meets up with the kingdom leaders to discuss plans and introduce the new humans to everyone. Eventually, they come to the agreement that Light and the Colorless Guards will escort them back to Cozen under disguise/armor so as not to alert the anti-magic kingdom to their identities. Alux will stay under the care of the Steves no matter what, unless he chooses to go home or start a new life in his world. James will be the main voice to speak to Azarel, to hopefully ease tension. Light will offer the color kingdoms' assistance, while Clover will help Alux speak up for himself and assure that this is HIS choice, and no one else's.

[ultrajtb]

Finally back to the SS rewrite. Got through the lack of motivation. This is gonna be a long one so enjoy.

So Dark died, and light is essentially hospitalized.

Things calm down for a bit as rainbow takes light to try and heal him.

Nightmare shows up looking for rainbow. He struggles in the search and decides to use a machine to clone himself so he can cover more ground. The process leaves him weaker though so he reversed it and goes to continue his search

Eventually he tracks down rainbow and light, capturing the two and trapping them in the nightmare dimension.

(Side Note: I think conceptually it’d be cool if the dimension was made through manipulating an end crystal to forge a pocket dimension of his own.)

So light goes missing and Rainbow is left heavily weakened.

Nightmare eventually drags Sabre into the nightmare realm too, while stranded, Sabre finds rainbow in a crater with half of his color gone and his powers clearly not working right. He puts rainbow into a makeshift machine for the time being until he can find a way to help him. Eventually he finds nightmare harvesting shadow stone and gets the idea to steal some so he can potentially use it to help rainbow.

After getting the shadow stone, Sabre uses several colors of wool to refine the shadow stone into the first version of rainbow stone.

Rainbow recovers after getting the rainbow stone infused into him and the two work together to track down Light Steve and find a way out.

They find light nearly dead, still suffering from his wounds and try their best to keep him alive while they build an exit portal.

Once free, the three decide to start building a base of operations that can act as a sanctuary from nightmare and any other dangers out there for them and any other remaining steves. They decided to build… The Rainbow Town (shocker, ik. I would make an attempt at revamping it myself but I don’t have the patience or equipment for it rn)

The install an area to function as a sort of hospital/infirmary type thing for light to rest in securely until he’s properly healed

So after the building is done they spend a few more months dealing with nightmare’s attempts at destroying their home. They start planting rainbow trees to give rainbow a power boost within the area, and plant the rainbow tree of life. The most notable event before the final fight was nightmare sending rainbow to the reverse dimension (more on that in a later post) and leaving him powerless and in such a damaged state that it begins to make him degrade mentally.

Anyway final encounter. Nightmare invades, causes damage, light tries to hold him off and gets absorbed. As Nightmare is closing in on rainbow, ready to finally just kill this nuisance, he feels a burning pain in his body. His markings and eyes start to glow white as his body begins to crack.

And then finally his body is engulfed in a burst of light as every augmentation he’s had is burned out of his body by the absorbed light Steve. When all is said and done, nightmare is left unconscious, now just a normal yellow steve and light is back, but once again critically injured, now in a comatose state.

Sabre and rainbow decide to place light inside the rainbow tree of life in the hopes that one day he will be able to heal and rejoin them. But even if he doesn’t, he finally achieved his original purpose. The original beacon of hope had finally ended the nightmare that’d plagued their people for generations.

As for nightmare steve, they opted to imprison him in a heavily secured machine deep in the rainbow town bunker, armed with a four sided lock in mechanism, lava and redstone rings as power dampeners, two full redstone batteries as emergency power, and a vault door. Essentially a maximum security solitary confinement cell.

And that’s all I’ve got for this post. Hopefully I’ll be able to make more for this series now that I’ve gotten through the part I was struggling to write out. Even now I’m not fully happy with it but it’s good enough.

As always, lmk your thoughts on what I did here and have a good day/night!

[sedlex]

Meet Dominicus, 2024 Olympics' weirdest delegation... by far

- Paris, August 1 2024 -

If there is a word that is crossing the overused line this year, it is "weird".

But this humble reporter can not honestly find a term that fits the Country - sorry: Archipelago of Dominicus better.

Anyone into biotech knows this Pacific island cluster as The Place at the forefront of research, whose scientists regularly blow their peers' minds at conferences.

People more into anthropology might find interesting the story of how a group of British intellectuals who considered themselves "industrial refugees" relocated to the most remote place they could find and seamlessly integrated with the local population. Although, it's worth noting that official history and actual events from the late 1700s often diverge.

Finally, if you're into bizarre governing bodies, you probably know that Dominicus is technically a kingdom. Surprisingly, their King is the same guy who led the aforementioned expedition - meaning he should be over 300 years old, so it's likely an honorary title. Meanwhile, the actual government is run by the local nobility.

Making sense of how said nobility works deserves its own article: just so you know, you can't throw a stone to the Dominicus delegation in Paris without hitting a Prince or a Baron, a Duchess or a Seneschal.

But you definitely don't want to throw any stones in their direction: half of them are part of biotechnology research teams whose brains are too valuable, and the other half are army officers that could easily kill you, even if they look like teenagers.

Speaking of teenagers, everyone remembers Dominicus' debut at the Opening Ceremony: two of their gymnasts dared each other to do acrobatics on the parade boat, ending up doing handstands on deck while the whole world watched.

Just to promptly fall into the Seine, followed by a bunch of teammates who jumped in to save them, to be later recovered by the French Marines on duty.

The cameras alternating between the sputtering athletes and the twin Princesses, also heads of delegation, seated with the other authorities, gifted the internet with meme material for years.

This might be due to Princess Coronabeth of Ida being unanimously considered the most beautiful woman ever, or her sister Ianthe single-handedly increasing Paris' pollution with her unholy cigarettes.

Anyway, expect a whole gallery of Coronabeth's best outfits (spoiler: all her outfits are best) whenever the editor will be able to look away enough to upload them correctly.

But back to the surprise (and doubtfully sanitary) bath the Dominicus athletes took in the Seine.

They seemed drenched but alright until, the day before the fencing tournament in which their female epee team was expected to excel, tragedy struck: both Judith Deuteros and Marta Dyas, the team's most experienced athletes, were hospitalized with a nasty E. Coli infection.

Though Dyas was definitely out of the games, Princess Coronabeth herself was seen escorting Deuteros out of the hospital and back in the Village just a couple of hours later.

One fencer down should not be a major issue: time for the reserve to step up, problem solved, right?

Wrong. The reserve that Aiglamene, the 87-year-old coach of Dominicus, registered for the epee team was the infamous Gideon Nav.

If you haven't followed fencing in this Olympics and don't know her, let me enlighten you: not only does Gideon Nav do sabre, not epee (they're quite different in terms of techniques and preparation), but this boisterous redhead was kicked out of the singles tournament for - yes, I'm not making this up - punching one of her teammates, who was competing in a different weapon at the same Grand Palais.

That should've warranted a permanent ban from the team, right?

Again, wrong. Apparently the ever present Princesses told the offended party, foil bronze winner Naberius Tern, to "suck it up" and decided to let Nav stay.

Luckily for them, since Nav, 19, sporting a physique more akin to those you see on the rugby field, who seemingly came out of nowhere to make top two in the Asia & Oceania qualifiers tournament, saved the day.

Actually let's be honest: a good part of the day was saved by Camilla Hect, the third team member.

Hect, a data analyst by trade, was the stable force behind every victory: both consistent and reactive on the piste and unflappable outside, either in pointing Deuteros to the nearest bathroom and handing her electrolytes, or quietly talking to Nav, who looked on the brink of a panic attack for most of the day.

The Dominicus team somehow scrambled their way to the final, where they must've seemed like an easy opponent for France: contain Hect, attack a barely standing Deuteros, and let Nav's nerves get her a couple more red cards. Easy, right?

Once again, wrong.

To be honest, it started like that until, in the weirdest move yet, another confusing figure showed up to take one of the VIP seats of the Palais besides the ever present Princesses: the equivalent of the Pope came to cheer for the Dominicus team.

More like if the Pope were a teenage girl with too much makeup, clad in head-to-toe black robes (apparently part of her holy outfit), and by "cheering" you meant "silently staring, looking increasingly angrier at one fencer in particular."

Yes. That happened.

After a brief consult with someone who could be easily described as a bespectacled nerd but is apparently a master strategist, Aiglamene decided to switch players for the final round, moving Hect to second-to-last and leaving Nav as the finisher.

In what seemed like a self-inflicted disaster, Deuteros was steamrolled by Louise-Marie, and Hect did her best but was stalled by the tactically adept Vitalis. This left Nav needing to recover eleven points in three minutes against Mallo-Breton, who had won silver in the singles tournament just days before.

Impossible, right?

Nope: wrong.

Two seconds before pulling down her mask, Nav turned towards teenage goth Pope, who mouthed something while looking the perfect blend of angry and disgusted. Then Nav yelled, "We do bones, motherfuckers!" and proceeded to give a fencing masterclass for the next three minutes.

To the untrained eye, Nav seemed to be everywhere at once, parrying and thrusting effortlessly, moving just enough to avoid contact while setting up her next move. She attacked her opponent with such relentless athleticism that she drove her off the piste twice.

To the trained eye, it looked even more incredible: back in the 1950s, a few successful fencers switched between foil and epee, but switching between sabre and epee is unheard of. Doing it in a matter of days? Even more. And doing it successfully? Miracle level.

Luckily we have ample video footage for everybody who is not too attached to their jawbone to peruse.

In the end, Dominicus won 45-43 and the 8000+ people present were able to enjoy their national anthem while discretely googling why a Pacific Archipelago has a cow's head outline on its flag.

As for the heroine of the day, Nav jumped off the podium, into the stands, and handed the gold medal to the goth Pope - whose actual title is Reverend Daughter - calling her "penumbral lady" and getting a "shut up, you yellow-eyed moron" in return.

And then kissed her on the forehead, oblivious to the approximately 8000 phones pointed their way.

Needless to say, all the journalists trampled each other to be the first to score an interview with either Gideon Nav or the goth Pope, whose name I'm told is Harrowhark Nonagesimus, but were politely told by the press attache that it's not happening.

But Princess Ianthe will be holding a press conference at The Ritz soon to talk about her successful Olympics, so there's that to look forwad to, I guess.

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 10

...Has a Silver Lining

Prev: Ch.9 Every Cloud... || Next: Ch.11 Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Brynjolf finds Ariene in Falkreath, and after helping her out of a jam, the two prepare to storm the bandit camp at Pinewatch to retrieve a stolen silver mold for their client Endon.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 4,203

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — — 

Brynjolf swore he could feel time slowing as all eyes in the inn landed on him. The few other patrons didn’t bother to hide their stares as they watched the growing drama unfold, and the Legate he’d confronted was glaring at him with enough ferocity to kill a sabre cat. Even Ariene was staring, though she let her shock show on her face for only a moment.

“Now brother,”  she said loudly, catching on to Brynjolf’s ruse immediately. “There's no need to cause a scene. Legate Skulnar and I were simply having a…disagreement.” 

Legate Skulnar looked back and forth between the two, skepticism written plainly on his face. 

“Brother?” he asked, shrugging Brynjolf’s hand off his shoulder with a snarl. “I don’t see much resemblance between the two of you, kinsman.” 

Brynjolf silently cursed the fact that Ariene’s features were so distinctly imperial before giving the Legate his best eyebrow raise. 

“Half-brother, if you must know. My father took an imperial wife after my own ma died; not that it’s any of your business, sir.” 

Legate Skulnar didn’t look convinced, and Ariene stepped forward deftly, standing so that she was next to Brynjolf and no longer backed into the corner. 

“I tried to explain to the Legate that I was here on business, but he wouldn’t listen,” she said. “Insisted I was some kind of runaway from the legion. As if ‘Ariene’ isn’t one of the most common Imperial names of the last decade.” 

Brynjolf had no idea if that was true or not, but he supposed that if he didn’t, then Skulnar might not either. 

“The legion?” he repeated with a laugh. “Ari’s ma is in the timber business. Why else would we come to this little splinter of a city? Certainly not for the hospitality.” 

The Legate was still clearly suspicious, but Brynjolf saw the moment that he realized that his catch had slipped away. The gaze of the other patrons had turned from Brynjolf to Skulnar, and while he could arrest the both of them right there, it definitely wouldn’t do him any favors with the locals. Falkreath’s allegiances did technically lie with the empire, but this was due more to the Jarl’s personal greed than the consensus of the citizens, and Brynjolf would be willing to bet that keeping up a good image for the Legion was one of the Legate’s top priorities. 

“Fine,” Skulnar eventually growled. “You can move along. But I’ll be keeping my eye on the two of you while you’re here, is that understood?” 

“Yes sir,” Brynjolf drawled, his tone anything but respectful, and Skulnar glared.

“Stop antagonizing him, brother,” Ariene said, taking his arm. “Come, let me tell you about the spot I found in the woods. It’s a perfect place to plant our next business venture.” 

She led him to a tiny room off the side of the bar, motioning for him to shut the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, she dropped his arm and put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Brother?” she repeated, and Brynjolf shrugged. 

“I wanted to distract him from who you are. Passing you off as a Skyrim native seemed the best bet, considering the circumstances.”  

“I suppose since it worked, I can’t complain too much…” Ariene trailed off, her expression changing as she gave Brynjolf a once over. “By the Nine, Bryn, what happened to you?” 

It was then that Brynjolf remembered that his clothes were still torn and muddy, that his hair was a stringy mess falling into his eyes, and that there were still traces of the makeshift blood on his face. He'd probably looked like a madman, stalking up to a Legate and challenging him right there in the inn.  

“Oh, right,” he said, wiping a few flecks of the red-stained mud from his cheek. “This is nothing, I just had to pull one over on some bandits camping out in Helgen. No actual fighting was done.” 

Ariene sighed, then sat on the edge of her bed, gesturing for Brynjolf to sit in the room’s only chair. 

Brynjolf sat, frowning at her. 

“Are you alright, lass?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just been a long few weeks. Gulum-Ei is a stubborn son of a bitch, and traveling in the Reach right now is a nightmare. Those ‘Forsworn’ are around just about every other hill. Then there’s this nonsense with the Markarth job, and to top it all off that Legate out there’s been on my ass for the past three days. I was certain I was going to have to have a mysterious ‘accident’ in the woods and disappear to get away from him.” 

“Now that sounds time consuming,” Brynjolf said. “I’m glad I showed up when I did so we could avoid it.” His tone was light, playful, but Ariene wouldn’t look directly at him as she spoke. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “I worried that the message would arrive too late, or that you wouldn’t understand the code, or…” 

She trailed off, but Brynjolf heard the unspoken doubt loud and clear. 

I wasn’t sure you’d even come.

“One of the Guild’s best and brightest calls in for backup?” She looked up at him and he smiled at her, causing a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. “Of course I came, lass. And your code was perfect. The little clue about the First of Frostfall was a neat trick.”  

“Thank you,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have bothered to encode it at all, but Skulnar was already suspicious of me, and I was worried he’d confiscate the letter from the courier.” 

“I wouldn’t have put it past him,” Brynjolf agreed. “But you didn’t even mention him in your note. Which means that what you need help with has nothing to do with the Legion, and everything to do with bandits and this silversmith job. Tell me about it.” 

Ariene nodded, and just like that, she was all business, every trace of worry and doubt vanishing from her in an instant. 

“I went to Markarth to meet the client, Endon. I was expecting some kind of job targeting a competitor of his, or perhaps a robbery to bring some extra cash flow to his business. But no.” She shook her head ruefully. “He wants us to raid a bandit camp to retrieve a stolen item.” 

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t that a job for the Jarl’s guards? Or even the Companions?” he asked, and Ariene sighed. 

“Apparently, all official channels are too busy with the civil war and Forsworn attacks. I guess he heard that the Guild was returning to power and figured ‘who better to steal back something that was stolen?’ Their camp is at the base of the mountain range just northeast of here.”

“You’ve staked the place out?” Brynjolf asked, and Ariene nodded. 

“This is the problem: it’s not a normal camp. There’s this old woodcutter’s hut in the forest, and I’m convinced it’s bigger than it seems. I’ve seen more men go in and out over the past three days than should be able to fit comfortably inside.”

“Maybe it’s connected to some kind of cave system,” Brynjolf mused, and Ariene nodded again.

“My thoughts exactly. But if that’s true, I have no way of knowing how many opponents I’m dealing with until I’m already inside. That’s why I wrote to you for help…though I was prepared to attempt the raid alone if I got no response in a few days.”

“Well, I’m glad I made it before you tried something like that,” Brynjolf repeated. “So when do you want to make your move? Tonight?” 

“Tomorrow,” Ariene replied. “I think we both could use some sleep. Besides, the best time to hit them would probably be midmorning. From what I can tell, that’s when most of them come out to do…whatever it is bandits do during the day. Pillage, and so on.” 

“Sounds like a plan, lass,” Brynjolf said, getting to his feet. “Now, what kind of drink do they serve here?” 

They ordered a small meal, and since talking about business in the open areas of the inn seemed a foolhardy choice, they spent the rest of the evening having a mostly improvised conversation about their imaginary family members back in Riften.

As they talked, Brynjolf noticed the tension slowly bleeding out of Ariene’s shoulders, and he found himself relaxing as well, for what he realized was the first time in weeks. It was fun, sitting by the fire with a drink in his hand and making up stories about how Cousin Joric had fallen into the breeding pool at the Riften Fishery and thus was sentenced to a week of floor scrubbing. Being on a con again– even one as simple as pretending to be a family of timber workers– was energizing, and he couldn’t help but smile as he and Ariene shared a block of cheese and traded tales. 

Despite his long day, Brynjolf found sleep that night to be elusive. Lying in one of the inn’s creaky beds and staring at the ceiling, he could feel the anticipation rising in his chest. Tomorrow, they would head into the woods to face down an entire encampment of bloodthirsty bandits. And this time, he probably couldn’t trick his way out of dealing with them.  

— — — 

The next morning, Ariene led the way through the woods to where the bandits had made their base. Brynjolf realized he’d never actually seen her out in the field besides that first job in the marketplace, and was impressed by how silently the lass moved through the dense underbrush of the old forests of Falkreath. He typically associated thieves with back alleys and city streets, but he supposed that Ariene’s history as a mercenary in her father’s crew had garnered her plenty of experience with the wilderness. 

It didn’t take them long to reach what on the outside looked like a perfectly convincing woodcutter’s hut, and they crouched down in the bushes across the road to watch the door. Sure enough, clusters of bandits began exiting the hut, a few at a time spread out across the morning. About half of those who left headed up the road to the east, while the other half took the road west, and Brynjolf could picture them meeting up with their fellows and staging traps for unsuspecting travelers. 

“Alright, lass,” he said in a low voice once it had been a good half hour since anyone left the cabin. “How do you want to handle this?” 

“If there really is a secret passageway, then they’ve probably left at least one man left inside to guard it,” Ariene replied. “It’s what I’d do. I say we go in through the front here, take the guard by surprise if we can, and figure out our next move from there.” 

Brynjolf nodded, and once they were sure there was no one else on the road to see them, they both rose to their feet and made their way to the cottage door. Ariene’s picks made quick work of the lock, and she looked up at Brynjolf, a question in her eyes. 

He nodded to her and she pulled the door open by a hair, allowing Brynjolf to peer inside. He quickly scanned the interior, noting a cluttered workbench, a low burning fire in the hearth, and a wooden railing in the corner that indicated stairs.

“You were right, lass,” he whispered. “There is a basement. Up top here looks all clear for now.” 

“Take point,” she whispered back, sliding her picks into her pocket and pulling her bow off her shoulder. “I’ll cover you from behind.”

Brynjolf nodded, and the two of them slipped into the house. They approached the stairs, and Brynjolf crouched low, peering down into the basement through the gap in the floor. 

There was a single man sitting at a table with his back to them, an open bottle of wine in his hand. Brynjolf slowly descended the stairs, wincing as the wood boards creaked beneath his feet, but the man did not stir. As soon as his feet were on the stone floor, Ariene called out in a clear voice: 

“If you scream, you’re a dead man.” 

The bandit whirled around, his hand moving to an axe he wore on his belt, but he froze when he saw the tip of Ariene’s arrow pointed at his heart. 

“What do you want?” he asked, and Brynjolf smiled. 

“Just to have a chat, lad, maybe a look around. You see, we’re looking for some particular merchandise.” 

“Endon’s stolen mold,” Ariene added. 

“Endon's mold?” the man repeated. He offered a nervous smile. “I'm afraid you have the wrong place, my friends. You'll find no silversmiths here. I assure you, I have nothing of value. I'm nothing but a poor woodcutter just trying to make ends meet." 

Brynjolf glanced at Ariene, who had a triumphant glint in her eye. 

“I never said it was a silver mold,” she said, and the man licked his lips. 

“Oh? Well uh, Endon is a silversmith in Markarth, so I just assumed…”

“Look, lad,” Brynjolf interrupted. “We’d like to avoid a fight just as much as you would. If you just tell us where the mold is, we can all be on our way, no harm no foul.” 

The man bit his lip, eyes flitting between the two thieves. 

“We can make it worth your while,” Ariene said, and Brynjolf nodded, pulling out his coin pouch and giving it a shake. 

“I see…” the man said slowly, his gaze fixed on the purse. After a moment, he nodded to himself and got to his feet.

“Well, I can't say exactly where the mold is, but something does spring to mind,” he said casually. “It seems there's this strange button on the wall opposite the fireplace in my house. Always wondered what it was for.” 

Brynjolf glanced at Ariene, and she gave a single nod of her head. 

“Fair enough,” Brynjolf said, and tossed the coin to the bandit. The man caught it deftly and nodded to them.

“Thank you kindly, friends. Think I'm going to head out now. Take a long vacation from woodcutting, you know? Good luck.” 

He edged past Ariene, who kept her bow trained on him as he climbed back up the stairs, only lowering it once he had left the cottage and closed the door behind him. 

“Well, so much for finding it in the house,” she muttered when the man was gone. 

“When has the Guild ever had that kind of luck?” Brynjolf pointed out, and Ariene snorted. 

“Good point. After you, then,” she added, gesturing towards the button. 

Brynjolf pressed it, and the bookshelf against the wall swung open, revealing a tunnel leading down deeper into the earth.

“So there is a cave back here. I wonder if they dug this out, or if it was here naturally?” Ariene mused as they made their way down the tunnel. 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he rounded a corner and found the end of the tunnel opening out into a large open room. 

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t look like any rock formations I’ve ever seen,” he said, pointing at a scaffolding rig that blocked their view of most of the cave. 

“Get down,” Ariene whispered, and Brynjolf immediately dropped to one knee, his hand moving to his daggers. 

A second later, he saw the bandit. 

Through gaps in the old wooden boards, he could just make out a rope bridge connecting the outcropping of rock they were standing on to another part of the cave system, and standing on that bridge with his arms folded was a burly looking man in iron armor. He was positioned so that he’d see whoever came walking out of the tunnel, but he hadn’t startled at the sight of them, so it was just possible that they were hidden from his sight where they were crouching. 

“Let me by,” Ariene breathed, and Brynjolf nodded, letting the lass slip past him. 

She crept forward into the cave, angling herself so that the makeshift wooden wall was between her and the bandit’s line of sight. She scanned the room, a frown creasing her forehead as she did so. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as she made her way back to him, and she shot him a grim look. 

“There’s no way around him that he wouldn’t notice and raise the alarm,” she murmured. “But I think he’s the only one on guard in this chamber.” 

“Your call, lass,” Brynjolf whispered. “However you want to handle this, I’ll follow your lead.” 

Ariene didn’t say anything for several seconds, and Brynjolf almost wondered if she hadn’t heard him, but then she met his eyes, her gaze hard. 

“I’d draw your weapon if I were you.” 

Brynjolf immediately pulled his daggers free from their sheaths as Ariene turned back towards the bandit. She lifted her bow and pulled back the string, aiming her shot through a gap in the scaffolding. She took a breath in, and on the exhale, let the arrow fly. 

The arrow struck the bandit square in the neck, and he fell back immediately with a gurgled cry. Ariene started to straighten, then cursed and ducked back down, drawing another arrow as a confused call echoed in the room. 

“Rogjar? Are you alright?”

A moment later, a bandit rounded the corner, and on seeing the body on the bridge, he gave a cry of alarm, drawing a sword from his belt. Another bandit joined him in an instant, his own weapon drawn and his eyes hard. They both ignored their fallen comrade and headed across the bridge, right for where Brynjolf and Ariene were hiding. 

Ariene let her second arrow loose, and it caught the bigger of the two bandits on the shoulder. The man staggered, then grunted and shifted his grip on his warhammer. Brynjolf had just enough time to think “Well that’s not a good sign” before a third arrow shot by and caught the first bandit in the thigh, causing him to stumble forward. 

Ariene shot one more arrow, but it missed both targets, and then the larger of the two bandits was on the pair of them, swinging his warhammer towards their heads. Brynjolf rolled forward, slashing out at the man’s legs with his daggers. The thug gave a cry of both pain and surprise as the blades sliced into his flesh; no doubt he was used to people trying to move away from his wide, slow swings, not towards them.  

Brynjolf spun quickly, jabbing one dagger into the back of the man’s neck before he could turn around. The bandit fell forward, and Brynjolf slammed the hilt of his dagger on the top of the man’s skull, just to be safe. He turned back towards the other bandit, just in time to see Ariene strike him across the face with the arm of her bow, knocking him to the ground. She drew her own blade and followed him down, pressing her knee against his chest and slitting his throat before he had a chance to recover. 

She looked up at him, panting slightly, and he nodded to her.

“Alright, Ariene?”

“Fine,” she said, getting to her feet with a grunt and wiping the blood off her blade. “You?” 

Brynjolf turned back to his fallen foe and pulled his dagger out of the man’s back. 

“Right as rain, lass.” 

The two spared a few minutes to roll the bandits’ bodies off the bridge and hide them among the boxes and crates in the pit below. The cavern was far too vast for the bandits to have dug themselves, and Brynjolf spotted a few old burial urns and nordic weapons shoved up against the wall in one corner. 

“Looks like our marks here found an ancient burial ground and converted it into a hideout,” he said conversationally as he rolled one of the corpses behind a pillar and out of sight. 

“And they’re making good use of it, too,” Ariene said. “Look at this.” 

Brynjolf looked to where she was pointing. Crates and barrels full of produce, cured meats, clothing, and other simple goods were stacked along one wall. Beside the crates were entire wagons in various stages of being broken apart, and there, in a shallow pit just off to the side, was a pile of khajiit corpses. 

“They’re not just hassling random travelers or raiding villages,” Ariene said quietly. “They’re attacking whole trade caravans. My guess is they overtake them on the road and force them to unload their goods in here, then kill them so they can’t report on their location.” 

Brynjolf shook his head at the brutality. 

“It’s a damn shame. And Khajiit traders are some of our best customers.” He paused, a fraction of a conversation floating back to his mind. “Tonilia mentioned that there’d been delays along the southwest routes.”

“Looks like we found the culprits,” Ariene said as she stashed a bandit’s body behind one of the carts. “Or some of them, anyway.” 

“I’m no lover of law and order, but I’m amazed that the hold guards were too busy to deal with this,” Brynjolf mused. “I understand not wanting to track down one man’s missing shipment, but these are entire caravans disappearing.”

“Well, I’m sure if they were nord caravans then the local authorities could find it in themselves to spare the resources,” Ariene said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. Brynjolf grimaced.

“Aye…you’re probably right, lass,” he said. “Good thing we’re here to pick up the slack then, eh?”

Ariene smiled briefly, then straightened and drew her bow again.

“At any rate, I don’t see the mold with these crates; I’d wager the more valuable cargo is stashed deeper in the cave. Let’s move further in and see what we can find.” 

The two made their way back up to the upper level and followed the tunnels through the old burial chambers. In one of the large chambers, a makeshift bar had been set up with a few tables and chairs, though the room was thankfully deserted as they passed through. They found more evidence that the ancient nords had used the caves as a burial ground, with more funeral urns, looted crypts, and carved stone doors around every corner. 

True to Ariene’s prediction, most of the bandits were out raiding, leaving the cave system mostly empty. There were a few stragglers here and there, but with the element of surprise on their side, she and Brynjolf had little trouble in dispatching them. Upon entering yet another wide open room set with a few tables and chairs, Ariene turned to Brynjolf and smiled sheepishly. 

“I almost feel bad for dragging you all the way out here now, it seems I would have been able to manage this on my own after all.” 

“Perhaps,” Brynjolf said, picking up a letter from the table and scanning it with little interest. “But between you and me, lass, even if we don’t draw our blades again for the rest of the day, I’m still glad I came. Just because you can handle a job like this on your own doesn’t mean you should have to without backup. Besides, the Guild’s been terribly dull the last few weeks; it’s nice to get out and about for once.” 

They followed another narrow tunnel out of the room, and found themselves in a small chamber with a wooden door blocking their way. Ariene walked up and tested the handle experimentally, then stowed her bow on her back and pulled out her picks. 

“Locked,” she said as she began fiddling with the lock, and Brynjolf snorted. ‘

“Never would have guessed,” he quipped, and Ariene rolled her eyes. 

There was a beat of silence, then Ariene frowned. 

“Odd,” she murmured. “Bryn, give this a try, would you?” 

Brynjolf sheathed his daggers and knelt beside her, taking the picks in his hands. He wasn’t as good at lockpicking as Vex, but he was still pretty damn good at it, so he was surprised when, after a minute or so of trying, one of the picks broke inside the lock. 

“Shit,” Brynjolf swore quietly as he pulled the broken pieces out. 

“This lock is far too strong for a random door in a bandit hole,” Ariene said as Brynjolf pulled out his own pair of picks. “What could be hidden back here?”

“Take a wild guess,” said a gruff voice. 

Brynjolf turned, only to find himself on the wrong end of a very sharp looking sword. He looked up to see a bandit woman in plate armor with war paint in harsh lines across her face glaring down at them. Ariene cursed and reached for her bow, but the woman shook her head and stepped closer, pointing her sword mere inches from Brynjolf’s neck. Ariene froze, and a sneer spread across the woman’s face. 

“Now then,” she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “What am I going to do with you?”

— — — 

AN: Honestly I love that we've wound up on an entire side quest barely related to the main focus of the story, it feels very on brand for a skyrim story (also I'll talk any excuse to keep having these two dance around each other. :3 )

Prev: Ch.9 Every Cloud... || Next: Ch.11 Fic Masterpost

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

2024 Paralympics 🇫🇷 Versatility is the mantra of wheelchair fencing 🤺

Unlike their able-bodied counterparts, fencers at the Paralympic Games switch between weapons to compete in multiple disciplines, an aspect that presents various challenges. There are three different weapons used in fencing: the foil, épée and sabre - each of which has different compositions, techniques and scoring target areas. All weapons in general, are based on the same basic set of rules making it relatively easy to switch between foil, épée and sabre.

Why is everyone speaking French? 🇫🇷

Like its Olympic equivalent, the official language of wheelchair fencing is French. The referee will say “En garde” ( On Guard, come to the start line), “Prete”(or “Ready” if English), then “Allez” (literally “Go!”; or “Fence if English) to start bouts.🗡️ 🤺 ⚔️

The use of French dates back to the 19th century when Napoleon established fencing as a mandatory discipline in the military. Fencing grew in popularity in France and made its way to the first modern Olympic Games in 1896.

Wheelchair fencing was pioneered about half a century later by Ludwig Guttmann at the Stoke Mandeville Hospital in England UK 🇬🇧 after World War II as part of rehabilitation for patients with spinal cord injuries. It made its Paralympic debut at the inaugural Games in 1960.

Historical, Stoke mandeville games, 1955 two female competitors in wheelchairs taking part in the fencing competition, Stoke Mandeville hospital, Aylesbury, Bucks, England, UK.

Sir Ludwig Guttmann CBE* FRS** (3 July 1899 – 18 March 1980) was a German-British neurologist who established the Stoke Mandeville Games. In September 1943, the British government asked Guttmann to establish the National Spinal Injuries Centre at Stoke Mandeville Hospital in Buckinghamshire. The initiative came from the Royal Air Force (RAF) to ensure the treatment and rehabilitation of pilots with spine injuries, "who often crashed on approach with their bombers damaged".

When the centre opened on 1 February 1944, the United Kingdom's first specialist unit for treating spinal injuries, appointed Guttmann its director (a position he held until 1966). He believed that sport was an important method of therapy for the rehabilitation of injured military personnel, helping them build up physical strength and self-respect.

Sir Ludwig Guttmann and the birth of the Paralympics.

An ever-present in the Paralympic sports programme since Rome 1960, wheelchair fencing is governed by the International Wheelchair & Amputee Sports Federation (IWAS).

The wheelchair fencing competition at the Paralympic Games is in full swing, taking place under the prestigious glass dome of the Grand Palais in the heart of Paris.

📹 Behind the scenes: the process of getting ready for wheelchair fencing 🤺 And yes, well done to the volunteers, well done to the technical Teams.

📹 Passage en coulisses: les détails de la préparation d'une compétition d'escrime fauteuil🤺 Et oui bravo aux Volontaires. Bravo aux Équipes techniques

*CBE Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (CBE)

**FRS Fellowship of the Royal Society (FRS, ForMemRS and HonFRS) is an award granted by the Fellows of the Royal Society of London.

#Paris2024 #wheelchairfencing #Paralympics #escrimepourfauteuil #SirLudwigGuttmann #NationalSpinalInjuries #Buckinghamshire #CentreatStokeMandevilleHospital

Posted 6th September 2024

[nero-vanderwolf]

Ann remembers that day in first year like it happened yesterday.

It had been in summer, near break. She had been on her way to talk to Ryuji, to tell him her mom had agreed to him staying over. Instead, she witnessed the whole terrible incident.

Ryuji had yelled something at Kamoshida, and punched him. It was a solid hit, landed square in the teacher’s gut. In retaliation, Kamoshida had pushed Ryuji to the ground, pinned him, and snapped his leg at the joint.

The sound had echoed across the entire field like a gunshot, sending a cold chill down Ann’s spine. She remembers the cold feeling of dread in her stomach, the ice of her blood as she rushed forward to haul him to his feet, the rest of the track team moving away as though Ryuji held some sort of disease.

She remembers taking him to the nurse, waiting with him for Ms. Sakamoto to come get him. She remembers getting the text from Ryuji saying he was in the hospital, begging her parents to take her there immediately so she could check on her friend.

She remembers hugging him and crying, sobbing into his shirt. She remembers the mist in his eyes too, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Ann knows Ryuji has grown since then. Less temperamental, mainly. He still hates his father, but no longer becomes violent at the mention of him. She’s proud of him, honestly.

She recognises Ryuji in Goro Akechi. She sees the same anger at injustice in his eyes, hears the same righteous bitterness in his voice. She recognises the way Akechi holds himself, the way he takes out his frustrations on Shadows. Maybe that’s why Ryuji hates him so much. Maybe Ryuji also sees himself in the detective, maybe Ryuji hates how similar they are. Or maybe he just hates how pretentious Akechi seems.

Ann pretends not to see the new pink line on Ryuji’s neck when he and Akechi come back from stealing all the poker chips in the room. She looks the other way when Ryuji winces as he adjusts his scarf to cover the mark, silently passes him a small bottle of medicine to help with the pain. She smiles when he does, pretends she isn’t worried about him.

She pretends not to see the bloodstains on Akechi’s sabre, pretends not to see the dried lines of blood on Ryuji’s neck. She looks the other way on a lot of things, pretends not to see. All for her friends, she supposes.

Ann cries when Akechi disappears, almost breaks when Ryuji comes back and Akechi doesn’t. She slaps him, but regret settles in immediately. She feels like she’s fifteen in first year again, clinging to Ryuji after he texts her that he’s in the hospital for a broken leg.

She feels small in the grand scheme of things as she hugs Ryuji, calls him an idiot for almost dying. She hugs him and ignores the way Ryuji reminds her of Akechi. She hugs him and pretends not to see their dead teammate in his smile, in the way he hugs her back and apologises.

Ann pretends not to see the ghost of Goro Akechi lingering in the shadow of Ryuji Sakamoto.

oh my god... this ones so good. ann feeling helpless to protect the ones she cares about. they're hurt yet she doesnt mention it, the visible hurt they have. and the fact that its not just ryuji and akechi who see themselves in each other, ann recognizes that might be why they hate each other. she recognizies the marks on ryuji. she recognizes that she finds akechi in ryuji after he died. she doesnt say anything though. she doesnt mention it at all, she just takes it. she doesnt want to say anything to anyone, she bottles it up so no one has to hear what she has to say.

[theroyalsims]

BREAKING: SHANG SIMLA HAS A NEW EMPRESS! KENJI AND ALICE WED IN HISTORIC “HYBRID” WEDDING

It’s official! Alice and Kenji walked out of the Grand Palace as man and wife!

Their Imperial Majesties Emperor Kenji and his new wife and newly-minted “Empress Alexandra” tied the knot in a modified and modernised royal wedding ceremony. 

Originally, Shang Simlan royal weddings last for three days, including the pre and post-wedding festivities. The main ceremony is officiated by the High Priest of the Church of Shang Simla, and the bride, the groom, and their guest wear traditional Shang Simlan garb. However, Kenji and Alice’s wedding ditched the traditional robes. Alice was shown wearing a champagne-coloured dress sans the typical veil royal brides tend to wear. Kenji, meanwhile, looked dapper in his tux. 

(Above: The couple tied the knot at the Grand Palace, pictured above.)

The decision to not wear traditional Shang Simlan outfits was reportedly due to the backlash that the Palace received when it shared photos of Kenji, Alice, and Princess Hanna during the most recent Plum Harvest Festival. While majority of the locals found the photo to be quite lovely, especially since it was the first time Alice was photographed wearing the traditional royal dress, quite a few people did complain that it was improper for a Westerner - a blonde and blue-eyed foreign Princess - to wear royal robes when she was not yet a legitimate member of the Imperial Family. Some even claimed that it was a form of cultural appropriation, because it seemed like Alice was wearing it as a “costume” like a common tourist.

The subject of cultural appropriation is a heated topic in Shang Simla nowadays, especially following the release of a certain pop star’s music video. The video shows the singer wearing an altered low-cut and mini-skirt version of a traditional Shang Simlan dress while dancing seductively. The artist has been declared a persona non grata in Shang Simla, and both the song and the music video has been banned in the country. 

(Above: The Shang Simlan Palace received flak over this photo which showed then-Princess Alice wearing traditional royal robes.)

While we missed out on the traditional dresses, Alice and Kenji did stick to some of the traditions. They were wed by the High Priest, and took part in the exchange of cups, where the bride and the groom pour each other a cup of rice wine as a symbol of devotion. The couple also walked under the Arch of the Generals. Twelve soldiers, each representing all the provinces of Shang Simla, formed a sabre arch which Alice and Kenji walked under. The tradition is reportedly done to show the provinces’ continued loyalty and allegiance to the Emperor and Empress. Also, a post-wedding banquet will be held tomorrow before the couple will be sent off to their honeymoon. 

The foreign guests included the King and Queen of Arendahl, The Queen of Sulani, The Crown Princess of Tartosa, The Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Glimmerbrook, and Henley’s Grand Duke and Duchess. As for the bride’s family, her two daughters and their husbands were all in attendance, but the little ones were notably absent. Queen Emilia, of course, was present, with Prince Jacques and Crown Princess Anya in tow. Prince Leonard was reportedly too ill to fly abroad and attend. 

(Above: Two royal families united by love. [L-R, back row: Prince Jacques, PM Khari Chegeya, The Duke of Fjord, Princess Mikka, an Prince Chan; front row: Crown Princess Anya, Queen Emilia, Olivia Dorsey-Chegeya, The Duchess of Fjord, Empress Alexandra, Emperor Kenji, Princess Hanna, Princess Haneul, and Princess Rojie)

For the groom’s part, the Dowager Empress was reportedly present during the ceremony, but skipped the photos. The ageing matriarch of the Shang Simlan Imperial Family has been in-and-out of the hospital this past year and even had to undergo emergency surgery over the holidays. However, Kenji’s sisters were present. Kenji’s elder sisters, Princesses Mikka and Haneul, were in attendance, as well as his youngest sister, Princess Rojie, who came with her husband, Prince Chan. Of course, Princess Hanna, Emperor Kenji’s only child, was also present for her dad’s big day. The little royal looked beautiful in a powder blue floral coat. 

(Above: Here comes the bride, all dressed in...NOT white. Empress Alexandra wore a simple yet beautiful dress which perfectly highlighted the breathtaking tiara she wore for the occasion.)

The bride looked beautiful in a vintage-inspired, champagne coloured dress. As expected, no veil was worn (considering this is the bride’s second wedding), but we did get a tiara debut! The new Empress wore an impressive diamond and ruby tiara straight from the Shang Simlan royal vaults. It was the perfect “topper” to her elaborate updo! We’re hoping to see more of this sparkler soon because it’s such a stunning piece! The bride also carried a bouquet of red Shang Simlan tulips, interspersed with Brindleton blossoms as a nod to her home country.

The Shang Simlan Imperial court earlier announced that the former “Princess Alice” (whose full name is Alexandra Olivia Caroline) will be styled as Her Imperial Majesty The Empress Alexandra of Shang Simla. Her daughters, Olivia and Emily, will not be receiving any courtesy titles. 

Who would’ve thought that The Queen’s little sister, poor old Princess Alice, would one day be an Empress!? We’re sure she’ll do wonderfully!

Congratulations to the happy couple! 

[usafphantom2]

In 1966 the SR 71 disintegrating ! The pilot, and the RSO’s did not eject they were thrown out.. I wrote this article a few years ago in aviationgeek club. Here it is.

In 1966 test Pilot Bill Weaver bailed out after his SR-71 disintegrated while flying at Mach 3.18 at 78,800 feet and by some sort of miracle he made it down to New Mexico alive and well. The RSO Jim Zwayer was not so lucky.

On Jul. 28, 2021 the aviation community lost another of its icons, Lockheed test pilot Bill Weaver.

Weaver was born on Dec. 6, 1928 in the Hollywood Hospital in Los Angeles.

According to Roadrunners Internationale, he attended college at UCLA for a year before being accepted at Annapolis. Graduating June 1951, 25% of the graduates from Annapolis and West Point were offered the choice of joining the US Air Force formed in 1947. He chose the Air Force where he went through flight training at the Hondo Air Base near San Antonio, (South Texas Training Center & South Texas Regional Airport), built 4 months after the attack on Pearl Harbor in a record 90 days. Weaver graduated in class 52E and was sent to Williams AFB for advance training before deploying to Kaegu, Korea (T-2) in 1952 where he flew 89 missions in the F-89 Scorpion and F-86 Sabre. Leaving the USAF, he joined the Lockheed Skunk Works where his second cousin, Engineer Dorsey Kammerer worked for Kelly Johnson. During a span of 30 years at Lockheed, Bill flight tested all models of the Mach-2 F-104 Starfighter and the entire family of Mach 3+ Blackbirds–the A-12, YF-12 and SR-71. Weaver subsequently was assigned to Lockheed’s L-1011 project as an engineering test pilot, became the company’s chief pilot and retired as Division Manager of Commercial Flying Operations. He flew the Orbital Sciences Corp.’s L-1011, modified to carry a Pegasus satellite-launch vehicle. An FAA Designated Engineering Representative Flight Test Pilot, he was also involved in various aircraft-modification projects, conducting certification flight tests. According to Roadrunners Internationale Weaver once said,

“Among professional aviators, there’s a well-worn saying: Flying is simply hours of boredom punctuated by moments of stark terror.”

And yet, I don’t recall too many periods of boredom during my 30-year career with Lockheed, most of which was spent as a test pilot.”We lost a brave patriotic American Bill Weaver. Our sincere condolences go to his family. Bill flew in test flight every member of the Blackbird family.

In 1966 he also bailed out after his SR-71 disintegrated while flying at Mach 3.18 at 78,800 feet and by some sort of miracle he made it down to New Mexico alive and well. The RSO Jim Zwayer was not so lucky. He [Weaver] had a long successful career as a test flight pilot. I was told he was still flying into his 80s. We salute you,’

Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) says on her Facebook Page Habubrats. Published by Dario Leone

@Habubrats71 via Twitter

[lucaskrishnatetryriviere]

Isolated, but never alone

To inhabit the rift, as one of the solutions, is to exist at the edge. Without knowing you, without knowing the familiar sound of your footsteps, of your tiredness, of the efforts you made for us, all of us, your large family, I need to tell you something. Something to your ghost, since you haunt our memories. Grandpa, you live in the bark of the mango tree, the fruits of the lychee and the soil. You lifted the soil, every stone of this inhospitable land with your hands to build a home on it, a legacy, a legacy of a slave. And it is from this land that we will make a world, a world that is ours, a world of hospitality, which means, a world that does not exist without a space of resistance and a high tautness of ourselves in order to live there with dignity. We inherit the violence. We inherit the violence of your matrix, of your birth,of the batarsité of our names and of our lives. Bastards, instead of being nothing. Since you did not have any other choice, for the upcoming dignity, than to learn how to handle the sabre, how to handle the colonist’s sabre in order to conquer his cane in the plantations. Well, Grandpa, allow that we pirate your fencer’s knowledge, your sugarcane cutter’s knowledge. We maroon your memory and your knowledge. Your sabre in our voice, your sabre in our eyes, the sabre on your back. Grandpa, allow us to enmesh your flesh to our branches. To live with our ancestors, isolated, but never alone.

We have ashes as offerings, Lucas Tétry-Rivière, La Réunion, documentary, 25min, color, 2016-21, text and voice by Gabriel Tétry-Rivière, trad. Samir Ammour.

[illusion-reality-steve]

Update: upcoming mini ask-a-thon

Hey, so I have a few "what if Reality Steve experienced this from Earth?" asks in my inbox. I finally got to answering all of them, and I've scheduled them to all be posted this Monday. So expect that soon! Enjoy the mini ask-a-thon. I won't make a unique tag for it, but I'll tag it under "reality steve experiences earth wishlist."

Beneath the read more will be a list of the asks I'll be answering on Monday.

Sunburn/tanning

Sabre writing the script

American Hospital

TV/movie characters

Cosplay

Minecraft Mods

Horror

[st-louis]

15 questions; 15 tags (thank you @goodsticklehky as always please consider this a tag if you wanna do it)

were you named after anybody? my first name is after one of my maternal great-grandmothers and my middle name is after one of my paternal great-grandmothers. it’s jewish tradition to name kids in honor of a dead relative, so. it was pretty much a given

when was the last time you cried? yesterday because my husband was being such an asshole and this has been such an awful fucking month. burst into tears at the arboretum. lmao.

do you have kids? i have a four-year-old future supervillain. yesterday she pointed to a diagram of the male reproductive system and said, “that looks like a TERMITE face” and she wasn’t wrong.

do you use sarcasm a lot? not really honestly. more online than in person. i am pretty serious irl.

what sports do you play/have you played? i played soccer as a little baby, softball through middle school, and sabre fencing from age like ten until i graduated high school. i’m sure you guys have all heard about how i came in last at the final junior olympic qualifiers

what's the first thing you notice about someone? the very first thing is probably height and whether i could fight someone unfortunately. i’m sorry this is how i am as a person

eye colour? gray

scary movies or happy endings? neither or happy endings i guess. the happy ending isn’t important to me necessarily. i just hate scary movies.

any special talents? i have a really high pain tolerance and can be a basically functional human being even though i haven’t gotten one single night of good sleep in over five years (and i mean uninterrupted eight hours. i usually get like 4 a night). once my intestine ruptured and i went through a whole day of work like that before i went to the hospital

where were you born? a small suburb in pennsylvania. i’m still here

what are your hobbies? writing, reading, researching things i’m interested in, hockey, cooking i guess. i’m pretty boring. i like to organize things and collect things and categorize them.

do you have pets? not yet...i promised my kid i would get her a dog when she stops sucking her thumb but i am dreading it.

how tall are you? 5′ 4″

favourite subject in school? i always liked english and history best. in law school my favorites were criminal law and criminal procedure.

dream job? my absolute dream would just be to write full time in a cabin in the woods and never have to see anyone ever again. my actual job is pretty close to a dream job in that i get to write, research, and never have to actually appear in a courtroom and i have good health insurance.

[ars-matron]

The Last Sun Reread

Chapter 6: New Saints

In the evening Rune and Brand leave for the hospital. They take Brands motorcycle and Rune thinks over what he's learned so far. Not much, his suspects aren't over powerful or intelligent. He can't see how someone would just be able to get around the Tower's wards and protections.

They stop several blocks from the hospital and Rune heads to a nearby coffee shop. He drops a bunch of change before going in and squats down to pick it up, and Brand makes some comments about Rune's ass that he think is flattering but makes Rune uncomfortable. Rune gets his coffee and changes the subject.

He brings things around to speculating about motive and the ability to carry it out. He's asking the right questions.

"Here's another thing. Say they've hired muscle. Say Ella, or whoever, has hired a practitioner very skilled at magic or contracted with something skilled at magic. If this hired muscle has the power to break through Lord Tower's controls why the hell am I still alive.?"

Okay, I know I said I would try to hold back on the spoilers JUST IN CASE anyone reading this hasn't read them before. But screw it. Because I have been thinking about this for a while now.

He's alive because Ashton is, for the time being, controlling the lych, and Ashton, and more importantly whoever the hell he's working for, doesn't want Rune dead. If the end goal was Rune's death he would have died twenty years ago. His attackers wouldn't have worn masks AND contacts to make sure that Rune couldn't identify them.

Which brings me to my next question. What exactly was the end game of that night supposed to look like? Rune wasn't going to die, he wasn't even going to be abducted. They expected him to be able to go to the guarda and whoever for help. How was it supposed to end If Brand hadn't come to?

AND, back to the chapter.

Brand thinks they weren't trying to kill Rune, just sort of feel out how powerful he was, or how annoying he might be towards there plans. This is also probably true. But mostly I think they had other reasons for keeping him alive.

New Saints Hospital was once Riverside Hospital built in 1885 and once housed mental patients and the contagious, Typhoid Mary was there. Now it's a swanky hospital for Atlanteans. Rune can see the ghostly residue of the old hospital though. They get there, walk around for a bit, have a short conversation about Max's uncle that Rune says they'll talk about later, and then realize they have no clue where Christian is. So Brand goes off to ask a nurse or someone for help.

Enter Quinn!!! He gets Rune's attention. He psssts Rune from around the corner. He has cow-licked blond hair and is wearing a music festival shirt that is at least three sizes to big for him.

HE'S WEARING ADDAM'S SHIRTS!!! My heart!

"Can you come with me?" he asked. I said, "Probably not. Do I know you?"

Quinn tells him that he's, Quinn Saint Nicholas and that if they don't go somewhere else people will die, and then he runs off, so Rune follows, though he does release his sabre from it's wrist guard just in case it's a trap. They end up in a part of the hospital that is all columns and a large skylight. It's very bright and very white. Rune asks why they are there.

"We come here because this is the floor where we talk. Blond looks really-really red on it."

Rune of course thinks this is a threat. Then he starts talking to Quinn and for a moment thinks that he must not be all there in the head.

After they talk for a while though Rune realizes he knows Quinn's voice. He was the one who called the day before. He mentioned leaving the car running. Rune realizes he's a seer. Rune hates seers.

He thinks about the party, where he was a baby and drunk seer looked at him and said, "He will be the most beautiful man of his generation." and how everyone has been bringing that up ever since.

Around this time Brand realizes that Rune ran off, texts and when Rune calls to tell him he's fine, threatens to put a bell around Rune's neck. I'm surprised he hasn't tried those little toddler harnesses yet.

When he hangs up Quinn says, "That was Brand!"

"I miss Brand. He'll make me laugh. Why did you never try to kiss him a second time? is it because he pushed you into the water?"

Not a prophecy, because it was the past, but either way.

Then Quinn sees that Rune is mad that Quinn is delving into that sort of thing and he 'remembers' that Rune doesn't like seers.

"Then he burst into another delighted smile. "But you like me anyway. You kissed me on the eyebrow once. And you'll hit the bully with a bar stool after he calls me a freak. Or at least you do most of the time. Sometimes Addam grabs the stool first. Once I was very brave and kicked him in the shin myself."

I love him!

And this is where Rune realizes he's seeing probabilities. He is no longer concerned that Quinn might not be sane, or at least, not in the same way as before.

So he asks if Quinn can see where Addam is. He can't, but he's pretty sure that's what he needs to tell Rune. That is isn't a who, but a where they need to look into. Rune thinks about all the places that could mess up magic signals. Null zones, the Westlands, the convocation building.

"Anything to do with the anchorite's court. Now there was a mad fuck."

Can't wait until we learn more about that!!!

Quinn tries harder to see what could help them.

"I can only see a little. I think there are…ghosts. And a dried river. And a desert. I definitely see a desert filled with sand and broken glass. Ciaran will tell you more. He's waiting for you at the bar with the ice cubes. make sure you bring Max."

Rune is upset he has to deal with Ciaran, which, interesting. And he asks about Max. Quinn tells him it's what Matthias wants to be called. He reaches out to touch Quinn to help him focus, only his bare hand touches his neck on accident and power surges between them. Rune curses himself, hopes it did trigger anything and then….

"Oh gods oh gods oh gods, what is it? it's like a hole in reality. It will want to touch your face, because you are food to it, and then everything will start in the middle again, and oh oh oh oh there are storms, and there are waves as big as buildings, and we're all a school of fish trapped in a bottle, but none of this happens at once. And…and…and…"

Looking at this now, I'm wondering how much this has to do with the lych…"and then everything will start in the middle again" I have no clue lol

Right after this Quinn's nose starts to bleed and Rune can't get his attention again. So he take a tissue from Quinn's pocket that is already spattered with blood, and hands it to him carefully. Poor baby, gets so many nosebleeds he has to keep handkerchiefs on him.

Quinn's afraid that Rune is mad at him. Because sometimes when his nosebleeds it means he told someone something they didn't like. That Addam would always take him somewhere safe and stay with him until he was better. And he nearly cries when Rune says Addam sounds like a good brother. Then we get the truly sad part about Quinn knowing that the rest of his family don't like him. The ones who put with him only do so because Addam makes them.

"If Addam dies, I won't make it." "It'll be fine, Quinn." "You don't understand. It'll either be with a rope or in the bathtub. I don't know why I don't just steal Ella's sleeping pills. I'm much less scared of swallowing pills than I am of cutting myself. But all those times that Addam dies and leaves me, all I see are ropes and bathtubs."

Truly disturbing. Again. Poor baby.

"But..of all the way that Addam can be saved, it's you on the path."

Then he knows that Brand is on the way and they won't be able to talk alone anymore, and he asks Rune to not tell Brand he nearly cried.

Brand is indeed barreling down towards them, but Ashton is with him. Ashton is wearing a shiny silver shirt that matches his eyes, and truly terrible cologne, that Rune just thinks is fancy and in vogue because of how awful it smells. I see we were all traumatized by Abercrombie and Finch.

Ashton claims he was there to speak with Christian, unlikely. Rune says he could just as easily talk to Quinn. When he does, asking if anyone knows where Quinn is, Quinn says.

"Why don't I know why you're here?"

Why indeed? The lych? Did we figure this out and I forgot?

Brand thinks he's crazy and Rune asks what it means, but Quinn says it's too loud just before saying they are going to attacked, Rune has just enough time to try to impart that Quinn is a seer before grenades and bullets start raining down on them.

The battle starts, and Ashton does NOTHING to help. He gets shot and acts shocked. Quinn eventually gives Rune a sigil that has a door spell in it. He can't go through.

"But I can't go! I can't! I'll die! Every time, I die, because I'm not good enough to fight them and they're always there. And you can't stay here, because if you do you may die, which means Addam dies, and I need you to save him."

He tires to give it back but Quinn dodges him.

"A lot of times, you give it back. Go! Hurry!"

He directs Rune to take them under the hospital into the steam tunnels that used to heat the place. Before he finishes the spell for the door Quinn gets a nosebleed and says.

"They'll come for you, even down there, but you can run. You need to find Ciaran and let the ghosts eat first and run towards the people on the corner and leave the bug alone. And tell Addam I love him!"

Quinn passes out, his shield spell protecting him. Rune finishes door spell and Brand kicks Ashton through it and pulls Rune in after him.

Ashton is acting like a child and Brand tells him to calm down because they are still in trouble, which Ashton then threatens to have Brand whipped is ever touches Ashton again. Rune loses his cool.

"My vision went red. I grabbed Ashton's jaw before he could say anything else, and slammed him against the wall."

YEEEESSS!!! Kick his ass!

After Rune sets him right Ashton plays the wide eyed shocked card again, trying to see like he's surprised that someone had actually kidnapped Addam.

They make their way through the tunnels, Brand says that the people upstairs were using stun grenades and tranq darts (again, not trying to kill them), and eventually they do encounter another group of black dressed solders. Only to get a good look at them, they are recarnants. People who have been raised from the dead. They are obviously soldiers. A few have some pretty heavy guns.

There is more fighting, this time Ashton is playing around with dramatic moves that are showy, but really aren't effective in any way. Eventually they take them all out, Rune is able to use his shatter spell to disintegrate them in the end. Only to be bowled over by sickness as something else approaches. Something dark and massively powerful.

A larger, robed figure appears. "Thick with death magic"

"The world came loose. Literally loose. A huge bite of reality tore free around the man"

paces of crates, the floor, and dust from the fight lift up to spin around the figure, then he flings it at them. Rune gets pretty banged up, wire cutting his face, his smashed elbow. Then Brand throws himself on top of Rune to protect him. When it's over Rune wiggles free of the unconscious Brand to confront this figure.

"When he was near, I realized that he was dead. He was an it, a recarnate. A raised body. Which was not possible. A recarnate could not fling magic around like that."

It gets close to him and seems very interested in Rune. Asking, "what are you?" and saying he smells wonderful, like abasement. Brand is up, and throws Rune behind some shelter. He signals that he's going to use his most powerful spell to get this thing to go away, and Brand takes cover. The Lych notices too and pulls power itself. It holds up its arms as though it's about to surrender.

"It said, I love missed so much, if things such as you walk this world."

I know Rune has had a very terrible thing happen to him in the past. But he is far from the only person to ever experience such things. It was a lot, all at once, yes. But, there has to be something else about him if the lych is saying its never witnessed something like Rune before.

Instead of surrender, which was really too much to ask for, the lych pulls the parking garage above them down on their heads and disappears. And they run off before a car can crush them.

[josefavomjaaga]

Claude-Louis Pétiet, intendant général in Napoleon’s army, and two of his sons, Auguste-Louis and his older brother Pierre-François; Auguste serving as Soult’s aide de camp since 1804 (camp de Boulogne)

-

During the battle of the Gebora in February 1811, Auguste Petiet was seriously wounded. He relates it in his memoirs:

The Spanish, by the attack of general Girard, having experienced a violent shock which disunited them, the marshal duke of Dalmatia decided to have them charged by the only two squadrons which had remained with him to form part of his guard, a squadron of the 10th of hussars and one of the 21st of chasseurs. The marshal gave me the command. I mounted an excellent Andalusian horse which carried me quickly up the hill. My arm was tired of sabering the fugitives, when General Mendizabal, believing me to be poorly accompanied, threw at me his aides-de-camp and some Portuguese mounted chasseurs employed near him as orderlies. In an instant I was surrounded by several cavalrymen; my shabrack was covered with sabre blows, but I had not yet received any wound when, raising my arm to reach one of the officers, this movement uncovered me and a sabre blow which cut my hat gave me a wound in the head six inches wide. My riders hurry to free me, but my temple is cut, the blood runs down my features and onto my horse; a redingote covered my uniform. The first hunter who approaches, taking me for a Spaniard, gives me a blow with his sabre on the left shoulder. I call my hussars of the 10th and the former children of Lassalle support me and lead me away from the battlefield. I met the marshal who asked me if the wound I had received in the head was from a gunshot. On learning that it was a sabre wound, he exclaimed: "Ah! that's so much better!” - This "so much better" showed me his interest and I was touched by it.

Soult: Is that a gun wound?

Petiet: No, Sir. A sabre wound, Sir.

Soult: Well, that’s alright then. Go get yourself patched up, you’re bleeding all over the floor.

Petiet (sitting on a cot in a hospital tent, with a surgeon bandaging his head, beaming): He loves me!