#infantry refresher

[saviourkingslut]

one turn clear :) yuri feels a little underwhelming for a legendary, red dagger isn't really a niche that makes for all-round strong units imo. and bc of the personal c-skill he misses the flexibility of his base alt. but i think a different b-skill or even a-skill can really help to boost his performance

[salternateunreality2]

The boys when they get sick

Angeal: insists he's fine until it really kicks in, then groans the biggest, baddest, saddest, daddest groans known to man for the next week.

Genesis hires a nurse for him because he refuses to get anywhere near that mess. Angeal feels this is unnecessary, but can't find the energy to argue and lets it happen so as to at least not waste the help. Genesis also offers to read him to sleep OVER THE PHONE, HEWLEY.

He's mega depressed the whole time and rots more than he might if this wasn't how his father had died.

Sephiroth shows up with a vat of specially formulated cafeteria slop because he read that friends bring each other healing soup when they're sick. Angeal thanks him and muscles through eating as much as he can, even though it is vile and he feels queasy. Sephiroth goes away proud of himself for nailing this social interaction.

Zack bounces over, a little nervous, a little too enthusiastic, a little too chatty...but he notices the cafeteria slop, replaces it with what his mom coached him to make over the phone, and promises Angeal the slop will not go to waste. He secretly feeds it to his pet wererats in the slums.

Genesis: it's a national emergency and Angeal has to work from home to tend to him.

Genesis requires fluffed pillows, hand holding, and babying to a truly epic degree. Angeal indulges him because he was there during Gen's sickly childhood: during the scarlet fever that almost killed him, the pneumonia that almost destroyed his lungs, the bug that nearly dehydrated him to death, and many other ailments that always hit little Gen extra hard.

Sephiroth stops by with his vat of slop and Genesis informs him he is kind, but Genesis is too ill to partake at this moment; perhaps later if the spectre of death ceases to whisper his name. Sephiroth asks if the spectre ever calls Genesis her child and Angeal and Genesis raise some eyebrows.

Zack was proactively banned from the premises at the first sniffle, so he sends his trooper friend with Mama Fair's soup and orders to accidentally spill or steal any cafeteria slop. Cloud doesn't know how to act around all these firsts, so he waits until midnight, breaks into the apartment, removes the slop, and leaves the soup. Zack is proud and unsurprised at his cunning, and Angeal is bewildered.

Angeal doesn't question it too hard--cafeteria slop is a health hazard, and if it's gone, it's gone. Plus, he recognizes Mrs. Fair's handiwork and makes a mental note to lecture Zack later and check in on his friendships with the Turks.

Sephiroth: zombie mode.

He's not sick. Being sick would mean reporting to Hojo. He is Not. Sick.

He's fine.

Everything is fine.

Angeal: Sephiroth, why are you telling my ficus that you are healthy?

Sephiroth, still talking to the plant: Sephiroth is fully operational. All systems fucktioning. Go. No maintenance required. Mission reedy.

Angeal: Ok, new mission: sleep on Angeal's couch until you can focus both eyes at the same time.

Sephiroth, still talking to the plant: Mission accepted, thank you Mr. President. *Passes out on the couch for 19 hours, wakes up refreshed*

Zack: makes it everyone's problem, but insists he'll be fine and everyone should stay away. While he sits on the SOLDIER break room couch wrapped in blankets and sniffling up a storm.

It's fine, Angeal, you don't have to make him your super special soup that only you can make because he's so sad and sick. 🥺

Don't worry about it, Sephiroth, the slop can be given to hungry pets in the slums, Zack's just a little too tired right now. 🥺

Genesis, it is a little dramatic to wear a full hazmat suit. Zack's sitting in a public space, not your private office. 😒

Yeah Cloud, that's the best fucking popsicle ever, but don't get too close, Zack might be contagious (after Zack hugs him). 🥹

Cloud: doesn't say a damn thing.

Muscles through infantry work until he passes out and is thrown in medical until he can stand again, then sent out until he passes out a second time.

Zack finds out later and moves heaven, earth, Angeal, Genesis, and Sephiroth to ask some hard questions about treatment of the infantry staff while force-feeding Cloud soup.

Genesis wants to know why clearly contagious troopers are allowed out of isolation while still clearly contagious. Angeal wants to know why the company is wasting human resources instead of caring for them to prevent rust, dust, and plague. Sephiroth wants to know if Heidegger would like to tour the barracks and discuss things over a hearty bowl of slop.

[paingoes]

Crash Out - CTRL

(Content: (ex) royal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, guns, minor character death, rescue, reluctant caretaking, blood, past torture, wound care, panic attack, crying, guilt, comfort)

~~~~~

Antony looked again to the girl stood in front of him, one of her arms propped up against the ancient computer tower. Her other hand hooked two fingers on the collar of her broken heels. She’d come dressed like it was a new job interview. He supposed in some ways it was.

He carded through the folder she’d brought him, recognized Vi’s monogram at the corner of the page. The two of them spoke in a language no one else could. Even without the aid of the cipher-breaker, he could make out some of the fine script off memory alone. Amendments to the passion project. Top secret. Vi wouldn’t even send it over the wire, but she’d sent it with her.

“I’m an excellent shot,” Lorelai had said. And a smooth talker, apparently, if she had wormed her way out of the imperial arms. She’d been proud of that, he could tell as she recounted the story. She described the soldier who’d released her, asked for him to be spared if CTRL so happened across him. The infantry all looked the same to him, but he said he’d do his best.

She wasn’t bad, he thought. He could see why Vi had wanted her. But something about the gesture felt too showy for his tastes.

Look what I bagged, he could hear Vi’s voice in trills down his mind. She was beautiful, there was no question. But more than that, she was cute. Incorruptible and delivered right to their doorstep.

She could be such a roué when she wanted to be.

They were not onboarding, exactly, and she had picked a hell of a time to show up. The timing was no good for him — and it seemed it was no good for her either. 

“I can’t stay all night,” Lorelai had said, as if he’d invited her to.

He liked her, though. He didn’t mind walking the dark tunnels of the base with her, didn’t mind showing her around. 

“Long way from home, then,” Antony said casually. “All on a whim?”

She laughed lightly, the same trill in her voice.

“It might as well have been, the way it happened.” She brushed a hand through her hair. It caught on her broken nail. She unhooked it. 

In the range, he watched the target light up where it was shot. He watched the way she reached to reload — in the wrong place, on the wrong rifle. Muscle memory.

“Military school?” He asked. And she blushed, as if she had caught the same tell but was too late to stop it.

Then - “Are you always this giddy in a warzone?”

“No.” She put the gun down. “I don’t mean to be. You think I’m a tourist, don’t you?”

“No,” Antony answered. “Just that you’re strange.”

She couldn’t argue with that. As they started back towards the center, he held the door open for her. She did something like a curtsy as she passed through. And for the fifth time in twenty minutes, she glanced at her phone. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she saw the display.

“Something wrong?” he asked her.

Lorelai scrolled back up the message log. She bit at her nails, then stopped as her gaze returned to him.

“I told you, I didn’t know they were planetside when I first got here.” She refreshed the messages again. From the colors alone, Antony saw no change on her screen. “I left my friend — and my ship — out by the edge. Now he’s not answering my texts.”

“Oh,” he paused, “You think something might’ve happened.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip again. “I left the keys with him, I don’t know.”

Antony paused a minute. He was not in the business of charity. For a long while, their footsteps on the concrete floor were the only sound.

“What are the ship coordinates?” He offered, finally. It wouldn’t hurt just to send a scout. She’d done Vi a favor, so he could spare one for her. The fighting hadn’t even started yet.

Lorelai looked up in surprise. Maybe she wasn’t such a smooth talker, the way he’d taken her for. Maybe all those encounters had gone just like this. He felt a kind of chivalry for her, some deeply buried instinct. Maybe she brought that out of everyone.

She listed out the long string of numbers that revealed the ship’s location. She must have memorized it, even before she left.

~

The sky held the first gloom of twilight and so CTRL’s units felt no need to persevere. Even when they could see in the dark, it wasn’t a fun game to play. 

But Milo had liked it once, the way the woods turned evil at night. He’d lived in the center all his life — all his best memories had been in this stretch of land. Maybe that’s why he took it so personally when the soldiers arrived. Even when they were all flushed out, the woods still would not be safe to play in for the kids who lived there now. It wouldn’t be safe for years afterwards, when all the mines were finally dug out and the bodies all excavated.

They’d taken out two imperial units in one day and sustained minimal injuries in return — all stealth. The off-roader ran wild through the undergrowth. They didn’t need to take their chances.

But then another unit was right there — and their coxswain could not help herself.

“Floor it,” she said.

It was so easy when they were all congregated like that. Nobody was even standing watch. All close together, all it took was a single-

Milo covered his ears, covered his eyes. He didn’t enjoy it, not for anything. But he enjoyed it more than the alternative, easily.

Body parts were strewn out into the dirt. Those who survived the first explosion were shot dead right after, too dazed to even crawl away.  Cleo plucked them all off with her revolver in swift and unpretentious shots. Milo scanned around for any signs of life, anyone lying in wait to avenge themselves upon them. There was no movement.

The coxswain stood up through the sunroof, taking in the scenery just the same. The camp was shoddily arranged, probably only pitched a few days before. Maybe even a few hours.

She elbowed him. It was only then that his attention was drawn to the large hole right by the edge of the camp’s clearing. It cut a rough shape into the earth, but it was — unmistakably — a grave that had yet to be filled.

His heart sank. There was no one unaccounted for on their side. It wasn’t one of their own. If it was full, then…

She elbowed him again.

“What?” He threw his hands up. “It falls to me?”

But the others had already unloaded from the vehicle, taking what they could of the discarded imperial weaponry and food stuffs. Milo grumbled, taking unenthusiastic steps towards the grave.

His eyes widened as he caught movement inside.

He gasped in shock, loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. They were all there then, none of them eager to see a corpse but all too eager to see what else could possibly be there.

It was not a comforting sight. The figure there was bound and bleeding. Both their hands were tied behind their back. A thick rope was wrapped around their ankles — and another length connected the two restraints. Even with the limited movement, the figure had rearranged themselves into a half-upright position against the wall of earth. A blindfold — once white, now colored with dirt and blood — covered their eyes. Blood dripped in a thin line from their mouth.

“Holy shit,” Milo said.

The figure tensed at the sound, seemed to back further into the wall. Milo was pretty sure they were a boy the longer he looked, but couldn’t really tell. He looked to the coxswain for advice. Cleo stared at him like he was crazy. The others did, too. Why did this fall to him?

“Okay,” Milo said louder, “Hold on a sec. Stay right there.”

As if they had any choice. 

Milo carefully lowered himself down into the grave. It was a tight fit. He was glad the other had tried to rearrange himself. He wouldn’t have had the space to maneuver otherwise. Milo landed on the soft earth, crouching down beside the figure. He took them in.

That couldn’t be right.

When he looked back up at Cleo, he could tell she saw it too.

He untied the blindfold. The prince stared back at him with eyes so full of fear and hatred that he actually startled. 

“Holy shit,” he said again, “Your Highness?”

He visibly cringed at the title. Milo supposed he shouldn’t have used it. He wasn’t prince anymore, and CTRL wasn’t supposed to recognize that authority even if he had been. But it’s not like they were on a first name basis with each other. He didn’t know what else to say.

The prince said nothing. He seemed too occupied with trying to breathe properly inside of the tomb, though his eyes followed each of Milo’s movements with a laser precision. The air did feel thinner in here, stale. The earth was cold and seemed to wick away any life inside of it.

“Hey,” Milo’s hand moved to his knife. “If I untie you, you’ll behave? No hitting?”

He stared at him for so long that Milo began to wonder if he’d been deafened too. Or maybe just dazed, hit in the head too many times. He looked confused. 

Finally, he gave a small, slow nod. Milo removed the knife from his belt and cut away at the binds around his ankles. Without the pressure holding them there, his legs fell into a more natural position, but did not move any further. No kicking. A good sign. He placed one hand on the prince’s shoulder, gently tilting him forward to cut his wrists free from behind his back.

The prince pulled them forward slowly, just as cognizant of the threat as Milo was. Milo saw the absolute state that his hands were in. There were rope burns around the wrists, but that was far from the worst of it. The palms had been worked raw. One had a hole right through the center of it. The wound bled openly onto the soil.

Milo put the knife back into his belt, scooting backwards a bit.

“Can you stand?” He would’ve usually offered a hand, but he was very careful not to touch those right now. He stood up and took his forearms for support instead. The prince stood unsteadily. His limbs were all locked up, like he’d been tied there for a while. Milo caught him before he could stumble all the way. He leaned against the dirt wall to keep upright.

Cleo and one of the gunners helpfully extended their hands down.

“Boost,” Milo said, forming a cage with his fingers. The prince stared at him, untrusting, still unable to speak around his own gasps.

“Boost,” Milo insisted.

They nearly had to carry him out of that pit.

They pulled Milo up next, after joking for a few seconds about just leaving him there, which was not very funny. He clambered up along the dirt. He hadn’t liked those clothes anyway — and the soil was easier to wash away than gore.

He saw that the prince had collapsed onto the ground. He seemed unable to even sit up, leaning back on one elbow for support. It had to be the blood loss.

“He needs bandages,” Milo said, though Cleo had beat him to it. Her hands were cleaner anyway, better for the job.

She knelt down onto the grass beside him, taking the punctured hand in her own. The prince yanked it back abruptly, protectively. He got more blood on his shirt in the process.

“You’re bleeding,” she said impatiently, like it wasn’t obvious. She held up the water bottle. “I’m just gonna patch it up. I’ll be quick.”

She gestured to the torn up, makeshift bandage that now hung in tatters on the prince’s wrist. He did not offer his hand back, but when she reached for it again he did not resist. The torn strip of fabric fell away.

She poured the water over his injured hand, washing away the dirt and blood that had coated every inch of it. Milo watched carefully — it was a nasty cut. He thought he was seeing it wrong, but no. It went all the way through his hand. It had to hurt.

The prince made a small, choked noise as she pressed the gauze to it, confirming his suspicions. His hand was shaking slightly, barely steadied by her grasp. She wound the bandages tightly, stopping the bleeding for the first time in what was surely hours. Was he always that pale? Milo couldn’t remember, couldn’t tell from the pictures he’d seen.

Cleo handed the water bottle to Milo, which he took thankfully. He moved over a bit. Before he could pour it out, the gunner stopped him. She grinned mischievously.

“You’ve got royal blood on your hands.” She pressed her hand to his own, smearing some of it onto her fingertips. “That was one of my bucket list items.”

It’d been one of his, too. This was not how he had pictured it.

They loaded back into the off-roader. Cleo took the prince’s arm again, helping him to stand even though he fought against it. She shrugged, letting him walk the remaining few steps to the vehicle without help. Even though he was clearly about to keel over.

By then, the sky was fading from twilight and into the true dark. Milo was glad to get out of there. Something about that camp felt haunted. Probably something to do with all the dead bodies.

He slid into the backseat beside the prince, who immediately backed up into the furthest side of the vehicle, one leg drawn up protectively in front of his chest.

Milo said, “You’re quiet.”

He’d been told the opposite was true. But the prince just stared at him wide-eyed, his expression heavy with doubt and accusation. Milo noticed he hadn’t really closed his mouth once since he’d found him. His chest was heaving rapidly beneath the bloodied shirt. Panic attack, maybe. 

“Drink,” Milo said, removing his canteen from his bag and offering it to him. Dehydration was a consequence of blood loss — and even if it hadn’t been, who knew how long he was in that grave?

Somehow, the look grew even more accusatory.

Good instinct, honestly. Milo almost admired it. He took a swig from the bottle, just to prove it wasn’t poison, before offering it up again. 

This time, the prince took it. He held it carefully in his less-injured hand, fingertips only, shaking just a little.

“Better?” Milo asked once the bottle was empty. 

The prince handed it back, nodding with an expression that Milo could really only describe as abashed.

~

“My family was very protective, so no.” Lorelai shook her hands out a little bit. “No prior experience.”

“Bit of a big jump,” Antony had to point out. 

“To armed militias? Yes, I’ve been told.” She smiled. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t have to be armed, necessarily. I’m good at data input. I’m good with field work. All I’m saying is, if you wanted me to, I could.”

“And do you want to?” He had to ask. The secret question hung in the air. Do you enjoy it?

She seemed to sense the trap as soon as it was laid. Her smile grew crooked.

“Do you want me to?” She asked slyly. Her tone was almost playful.

He rolled his eyes. She was only a handful of years younger than him, but she seemed so much more like a kid. He guessed that was what money did. The scars along his arms ached right on cue.

She glanced at her phone again.

“Nothing?” He asked.

“No. You?”

“Nothing.”

She’d kept it under tight cover this entire time, but the worry slipped through whenever she saw the unchanging screen. It was more than worry now.

At that same instant, the doors to the compound opened.

He saw Cleo first, then a blur of motion to his left as Lorelai sprinted across the room. He caught sight of the prince standing upright for only a second before she tackled him. He just barely caught her as they fell onto the floor.

He murmured something to her in his native Latin. Lorelai, who was sobbing into his shoulder, responded in kind. Antony guessed she really had been holding it down. And it looked like she’d been right to be worried. The prince was pinned in place by her — and though half his face was buried in her hair, the bruise was still visible on his cheek. There were matching ones all along his arms, stark against the pallor. Blood stained his skin and clothes.

Antony looked to Cleo. Cleo looked to him. 

What do we do?

He almost didn’t want to interrupt the moment — he was sure if he said anything in that instant, neither of them would even hear him. 

“Watch them,” he gestured to one of the guards on-duty. He knew Lorelai was unarmed, was certain they wouldn’t have brought Paris inside if he had a weapon — though he would’ve appreciated some notice that he was being brought in at all. 

Milo crossed the threshold. He looked worse for wear.

“He’s gonna need a medic,” he explained, unhelpfully. Antony could tell that much. 

~

“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” He didn’t keep the irritation out of his voice now, remembering the way she’d said my friend. Well, if that’s all-

“You didn’t ask,” Lorelai said, “I didn’t think it’d come up, honest.”

Antony facepalmed. 

The two of them hung just outside the medbay. Lorelai’s nice blue jacket had been turned purple from the contact. The gems on her face glistened just the same as her eyes.

“It’s a pretty fuckin’ huge conflict of interest,” he explained.

“It’s not like I’m married to him,” she said in that honeyed accent, almost apologetic. 

Antony sighed. She continued.

“And it’s not a conflict, not anymore. You heard what happened. Empire hates him.” 

The hatred was clear, but that didn’t mean there was no conflict. Antony could think of a long, long list of conflicts. They had names and families. 

“I hate this,” he said to no one in particular. Lorelai frowned. “I guess you’re in no rush to go anywhere now though, huh?” 

It was fully dark now. No stars were out tonight. Only the neon glow of the low-flying battleships. She nodded, a small blush rising to her face.

“You can’t stay long,” he told her. The needle was dipping dangerously close. The real conflict could pop off at any second. He needed them both out quickly. He didn’t need to bring that same wrath down on the base. He just got this job.

“But you can stay for tonight, I guess,” he conceded. “Don’t think you’ll make it far otherwise.”

~

CTRL had carved them out some corner downstairs — not a bedroom. Many of their own didn’t even have bedrooms. But it was passable for what it was, a collection of pillows and blankets against a soft mat, guarded by an armed sentinel. 

Antony would not have felt safe enough to sleep there, but then he never would have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

From what he could tell, the girl had fallen asleep quickly, making herself right at home. The prince had not. Antony looked up over the comms to find him leaning in the doorway. He leaned more heavily against his left than his right. The fracture of his rib showed when he walked. He looked more alive after they’d given him plasma, less ready to pass out at any second. But not by much. 

He’d washed the blood off him. His hair now lacked the pinkish tint it’d taken at the base of his neck. The bruises were all the more visible along his bare arms than when he’d had blood and soil to hide them. He was wearing what Antony distinctly recognized as one of Milo’s shirts.

He’d regained his speech, apparently.

“What do you want?” He asked through gritted teeth. His voice sounded sore, cut up somehow. It was clear that it hurt him to speak.

“Excuse me?” Antony replied, still not appreciating the tone.

“What. do. you. want?” Paris glared back at him. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Antony said. He was out of patience for this kind of thing. What did he want? He wanted to live until the end of the week. In the long term, he wanted the destruction of Empire. Somewhere in between, he wanted to see the beaches of Sedonia again. He had no desire to share any of these dreams with the lapsed prince and was sure he’d have no interest either way.

“What do you want from me?” Paris clarified. Naturally. Antony didn’t expect for him to be thinking about anything other than himself.

“I want you to get the fuck out of my sight, frankly,” Antony admitted.

And a shadow of a recognition crossed Paris’s face. Contempt was a language he could understand. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“What? It doesn’t mean shit. I told her: you are leaving tomorrow morning and that is the end of it. Goodnight.” Anthony waved him away.

“Don’t fucking giving me that,” he hissed. “You didn’t have to lie to her. What do you want?”

“Are you stupid?” Antony asked. “I want you gone. That’s all.”

“Are you seriously just letting me walk out of here?” He said it like he was angry about it, a heavy note of accusation just beneath his words. 

He reminds Antony of a mouse he’d once saved from his cats. It had been curled up in the corner of the box he’d trapped it in. Nearly every part of its body stayed deathly still, but each rapid heaving of its chest as it tried to catch its breath showed enormously on its small frame. Its eyes had been enormous as it stared out the edge of them. He could tell how fast Paris’s heart was beating just by looking at him.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” Antony squinted at him with a disgust he didn’t bother hiding. “We don’t have a court system. We don’t even have a cell. I could kick it off to Galatea, if you want. Do you want that?”

Paris gave a small shake of his head, visibly alarmed at the suggestion. Thank god. It was an empty threat, anyway. Antony would hate to bring Galatea into this, the busybodies that they were.

“As far as I’m concerned, you were never here.”

Paris only looked angrier. He looked like he wanted to kill him.

“You’re lying,” Paris spat. His hands curled up his fists at his side. As if he’d get any use of them now.

Something clicked in Antony’s brain. He tilted his head, a soft and astonished smile appearing on his face.

“Oh wow,” he realized, “You can’t stand it, can you?”

The prince’s eyes widened. He knew he’d hit the mark. He dug in.

“You can’t accept that not everyone is like you. You think we have to take advantage of any weakness, because that’s what you would do, isn’t it?”

His voice picked up too quickly, too loudly. He was sure everyone could hear it out in the hallway. Paris recoiled as if he’d been slapped.

“That’s all you know how to do. You think the whole world is as cruel as you are. But it’s not. It wasn’t. It’s cruel because you made it this way! It didn’t have to be!”

Decades of rage and frustration bled into Antony’s words. He couldn’t help it. God, he couldn’t fucking stand it. He watched as the shock eclipsed Paris’s expression, as the fury seeped out of it. He’d got him.

“You spend your whole fucking life abusing and exploiting everyone you come across and you think it’s okay because it’s just the way things are! But it’s not! It’s not fucking okay! It doesn’t have to be like this! It never did!”

His own anger got away from him. He felt like he’d just run a marathon. Now he was the one struggling to catch his breath, the one about to pass out. It took everything to bring himself back.

He looked up at Paris — he’d been looking his direction the whole time, but he’d stopped seeing him somewhere in between. His head was somewhere else. Now he regained his focus. 

Paris looked like he was about to cry. For a minute, with his hair still wet and the oversized shirt, he appeared so young that Antony almost felt bad. Almost.

“You can’t stand it,” he repeated, “Oh god, this must ruin everything for you.”

He was even paler than he’d been when they found him. His eyes were wide, but the pupils were all dilated. He was shaking. Antony didn’t have the patience for it anymore.

“You leave tomorrow morning,” he said. “There’s a back door, you won’t have to deal with the Imperial checkpoints. You should sleep while you have the chance.”

Paris nodded, taking a few unsteady steps backwards to the exit. He didn’t answer. Antony felt his irritation flare up again.

“And would it have fucking killed you to say thank you?!” he snapped. 

To his amazement, Paris’s face reddened several shades, eventually settling on a soft pink.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He couldn’t look at him.

~

Morning came. Cleo sat up on the fortress walls with Lorelai. Dew was settled onto every surface. It was colder that sunrise than it had been in months, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Um, I spy…something orange,” Lorelai said around bites of a red apple.

“It’s the surveyor mark,” Cleo said.

“Shit, how are you getting them all first try?”

“Do you know how many times I’ve played this game here?” Cleo responded.

Lorelai shrugged. “FMK?”

“It’s 4AM,” Cleo said.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The trapdoor flipped open. One of the scouts popped through midway.

“Car’s ready,” he said to Lorelai. 

She nodded and pass the remaining half of the apple to Cleo. She left all clad in the other girl’s clothing, down to the tennis shoes.

“I’ll see you around, then?” she said hopefully, the same way she had to Vi, without quite the same implication.

Lorelai climbed down the ladder until she’d hit the ground level of the base. She found Paris where she’d left him. Conscious now, but just as silent and sullen as he’d been the night before. She did not particularly blame him for that.

His hands were still a bit too bloodied to hold, so she placed her own gently around his wrist, feeling the pulse that still beat there. He rose reluctantly from beneath the blankets. She knew moving hurt him. 

Antony was waiting by the exit. She was relieved to find she had not totally burned that bridge. Antony said none of this had ever happened. He meant it. She’d check in with them later, once she’d gotten Paris across the border. It wouldn’t be long now, anyway.

She watched Paris slip Antony a folded up note. She knew what it said. It was signed from him, but it was in her handwriting. He couldn’t have bend his fingers around the pencil.

Ships are moving in Gamma formation but half of them are unarmed carriers. It’s a feign. Late gen G-12 ships have a point of catastrophic failure at ball turret joint. IRW Palace is in orbit so there’s a 99% chance Lt.Furness is here. He will try to torch the whole forest if he feels like he’s losing. Keep an eye out for that. Invest in flame retardant.

Thank you.

                                                         ~Paris

Antony’s eyes scanned the paper. Paris walked away before he could see a reaction, but Lorelai saw him slip the folded note into his jacket pocket. She waved goodbye before she clambered up into the transport.

The ride back to the ship was fast and quiet. The woods went by so much quicker on wheels and they did not run into any trouble. She couldn’t believe she’d trekked through it, alone and on foot, just one day before. It felt like forever ago.

She was pleased to see her ship was right where she left it, free of crack marks and bullet holes. The driver opened up the door for them. They fell out onto the forest floor.

“Make sure you do those hand exercises. I’m serious,” the driver called after Paris. He nodded in response, not really paying attention. His eyes were all far out.

The transport disappeared back into the forest, leaving thick tread marks in its wake. 

She opened the door for Paris, because she wasn’t sure he could it himself. He climbed in silently. She slid into the driver’s seat. It was all icy inside. She adjusted the ship’s settings to break through orbit again. It gradually warmed as the engine kicked to life. She felt a sense of homecoming that surprised her.

She glanced over to him to find him still staring off into nothingness.

“…Are you okay?”

It wasn’t a very good question. She knew that. She already knew the answer.

He nodded mutely. Lorelai frowned. She waited a while, hoping he’d go on. But the distant look in his eyes remained and his lips did not move. She realized the rest of the drive would probably be in silence. He got like that sometimes, even on better days.

“…Okay. I love you.”

It was the worst thing she could’ve said. He gripped the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling it up to cover his face. As much as he tried to be quiet, he couldn’t help the way his body gasped for air in-between sobs. 

“Oh, honey,” Lorelai gasped. 

She’d seen him cry before. It happened enough out of frustration, bitter tears forming at the edges of his eyes, wiped away just as quickly as they came. Not like this.

She placed a hand in between his shoulder blades, trying to steady him. She might as well have not been there at all.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” his voice broke up. He curled away from the touch. “I-I-I-“

None of the words were making it out. Lorelai moved mechanically, so used to piloting by now that she could do it without thinking. She put one arm behind the passenger seat, checking behind her before she backed out.

“Okay. Okay, breathe,” she whispered, because he needed reminding sometimes.

He stopped trying to speak through it. The ship entered the open morning sky. The inside of it was filled up with the sound of his half-sobs, barely muffled from within the fabric of his shirt.

“Easy,” The ship was on autopilot now. The sky gradually darkened as it pulled out of the upper atmosphere. She ran her fingers in circles along his arm. “In for four, out for eight. You remember. You’re fine.”

She could feel him struggling to make up the ragged breaths through all the convulsions. Little half-formed words slipped to the surface, none of them coherent. 

“Breathe,” she insisted.

Slowly, it steadied. He was still crying, but it didn’t possess him the same way it had. He reluctantly removed the fabric. His face had turned red and blotchy underneath it. He turned away as if he was embarrassed by it, like it might’ve offended her. 

“…’m sorry,” he mumbled into the glass pane of the window. She looped her fingers into his own, careful of the blisters that had formed there. His skin was warmer than hers now. It was the only time she could remember that happening. 

“It’s okay.” She pressed her lips gingerly to the bruises on his knuckles, the same way he’d done for her when her arm was cut open. “That was a lot. I’d cry too. I’d cry way worse, you know me.”

“…’s not that,” he said. His voice still shook even on small sentences. He wiped desperately at his eyes.

“What is it?” She brought her other hand to hold his now. She traced her fingers gently over the raw skin, as if she might be able to read his fortune that way.

He shook his head and he did not answer.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @dietofwormsofficial @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[mariacallous]

Would the European Union’s eastern front-line states fight back like Ukraine if Russia attacked them? Unfortunately, this is no longer a hypothetical scenario: Hardly a day goes by without a Russian government official or pundit threatening Poland, Finland, or the Baltic states with missile attacks, an invasion, or both. In word and deed, Russian President Vladimir Putin has made clear that he seeks to restore Moscow’s former European empire.

The answer is probably yes, because the countries that have lived under the Kremlin’s rule know from their own long histories what Russian occupation entails. Those memories have been refreshed by today’s carnage in Ukraine, where the massacres of civilians by Russian soldiers in Bucha and Irpin served as a reminder that a loss of territory to Russia is not just a tactical setback, but also a prelude to barbaric violence.

The post-Cold War pretense that Russia would behave in a fundamentally different, more civilized way from its past practice is gone, reviving memories of more distant tragedies. Citizens of the three Baltic states remember mass executions and deportations at the hands of the Soviets in the 1940s, including the nearly 100,000 people who were deported to Siberia in 1949. Poles cannot forget the execution of more than 20,000 military officers in the Katyn Forest by order of Soviet leader Joseph Stalin.

The list of Moscow’s crimes against its neighbors is long—and that list shapes Central Europe’s strategic posture today. As Polish Foreign Minister Radoslaw Sikorski recently vowed, Poles would “eat grass rather than become a Russian colony again.”

Unsurprisingly, therefore, 80 percent of Finns surveyed in a 2022 poll said that they were prepared to defend their country. That same year, the Warsaw Enterprise Institute found that 66 percent of Poles were eager to come to their nation’s defense, and many are now volunteering for basic training. Residents of other nations from the Baltic Sea to the Black Sea are expressing a similar determination to protect their lands and fellow citizens from a Russian assault.

The will is there, but is there a way? It remains uncertain whether there will be enough soldiers to fight Putin’s forces. Europe’s front-line countries may have a much greater recruitment problem than what Ukraine faces now—a problem that goes beyond these states’ already grim demographic trends, which have shrunk their populations by millions of people in recent decades.

What the Russian invasion of Ukraine has made clear is that technology cannot take the place of soldiers in a major land war. They are needed to crew tanks and trenches, move and service artillery, fly planes and drones, and occupy and keep territory. Ukraine, for instance, needs thousands of new soldiers each month to rotate forces, replace casualties, and prevent further Russian advances. Even more would likely be needed (along with regular allotments of Western-supplied ammunition) for Kyiv to go back on the offense and push Moscow’s forces out of the occupied parts of Ukraine. A country’s ability to generate a large and steady stream of infantry is thus essential to deter and, if necessary, defeat a potential invader.

But no matter what they tell pollsters, many citizens of Russia’s potential targets may choose to leave when the prospect of war becomes real. Their westward migration would be much easier than it might have been when these countries were not yet members of the European Union. In addition, there is a demand pull from Western Europe, which faces its own population shortages and need for labor. If these factors are not addressed, the likelihood of an exodus casts doubt over these countries’ capacity to guard Europe’s eastern frontier.

Central Europe is a beneficiary of one of the EU’s greatest successes: freedom of movement. The absence of internal borders between most EU member countries allows an easy flow of people and goods, ensuring the rights of nationals and legal residents to live and work in other EU countries. Short distances, cheap flights, educational opportunities, and cultural affinity have created unprecedented mobility of EU nationals. Equipped with language abilities and fungible skills, many young people from Warsaw, Tallinn, or Helsinki feel more at home in Berlin, Amsterdam, or Barcelona than in their own countries’ towns and villages.

In recent years, many Central Europeans have also acquired second residences abroad. Poles, for instance, have been buying real estate in Spain in record numbers. If their rising prosperity and desire to diversify their savings is one reason, then unease about the future since the return of Russian aggression is likely another. In Spain, after all, they would be safe from errant missiles and artillery duels.

The second reason why Europe’s front-line states may have a recruitment problem if Russia attacks is that much of Western Europe would be more than happy to accept large numbers of young people from their eastern neighbors, even if the migration was induced by war. Western Europe’s own labor shortages—and the prospect of large numbers of skilled young migrants who are considered easy to integrate—would be as much of a motivation for Western European generosity as solidarity with a country under attack, as suggested by the reaction to the influx from Ukraine in nations such as Germany.

Europe’s demographic trends are by now familiar: The continent’s working-age population has been shrinking for 13 years, now down by almost 10 million people—from a peak of 270 million in 2011 to roughly 260 million now. Today, the worker shortage is acute. Out of the 27 EU countries, 19 have shortages of bricklayers, truck drivers, nurses, and other skilled laborers. At the end of 2023, three-quarters of small- and medium-sized European businesses reported that they were failing to find needed labor. Germany alone is set to lose as much as 10 percent of its working-age population over the next decade. Europe is aging fast and losing tax-paying citizens—a threat that, to countries farther from Russia, feels as existential as the threat of war in the east.

It follows that many EU countries would be more than happy to absorb working-age people escaping front-line states under attack. Instead of being an economic burden, these war refugees would be a boon to Europe’s labor-deprived economies.

What’s more, many countries across the West face military recruitment problems. There is simply a shortage of people willing to serve and fight if needed. Poland now plans to train Ukrainian citizens of conscription age living on its territory for potential deployment in Ukraine. But this would also create a precedent for establishing a foreign fighting force on Polish territory, which other states could follow as a way to replenish their demographically shrunken forces. In the past, it has not been unusual for a country to have military brigades or even divisions composed of foreign citizens from war-torn nations.

From a political and societal perspective, it will also be easier for Germany, France, or Italy to take in European refugees who have connections across the continent, share a similar culture, and are generally eager to integrate. For European politicians, this could be a way to promote immigration without the political backlash that was visible in the recent EU parliamentary elections, where parties campaigning against the current trend of mass migration from Africa and the Middle East polled a record share of the vote.

The EU’s front-line states, if under attack, may therefore face a soldier shortage considerably more dire than the one facing Ukraine. It is hard to have a nation under arms if the bulk of the nation can easily leave. Of course, the affected countries could always institute border controls to keep recruits from fleeing, which even EU law allows. But unless there is a firm and detailed plan, these kinds of controls would take days, if not weeks, to put in place—and they would likely be met with an outcry in Brussels and Western European capitals, since they would contravene one of the EU’s proudest achievements. And by definition, any plan implemented only as a last resort following an attack would come too late to deter Moscow from attacking in the first place.

As war-waging Russia advances westward, European countries on the front line need to plan how to retain their own people. The ability of an EU member to fight will depend on the timely imposition of border controls, but even more on the patriotism of its people. Like the Ukrainians now, many front-line Europeans will fight for their nation—and for their nation’s place in a free Europe. But if their fondness for other parts of Europe trumps the sense of duty to their country, then they may choose to enjoy the benefits offered across the continent rather than face the Russian armies on their native lands.

One of the tasks for Europe’s front-line countries is, therefore, to sustain a vibrant patriotism. Only a deeply shared sense of nationhood can overcome the temptation of an easy and comfortable exit—and engender a willingness to sacrifice. Without cultivating this sense of patriotism and duty, Europe’s front-line states may face a soldier shortage that they haven’t bargained for.

[kurthsleftboot]

🔮FEH BANNER HOPES PREDICTIONS 🔮

SEPTEMBER 2024 NEW HEROES - BINDING BLADE

feh oc, either pjazdi (?) or new reginn

attuned lillina - probably red cav mage

ascended cecila ? - probably mage (personally, i want ascended sue)

5 star elffin - inf colorless/blue mage, refresh skill

instant demote - probably wolt, could be anyone

ghb - jahn

OCTOBER 2024 HALLOWEEN SEASONAL

veyle might be the leader of a harmonic - probably colorless dragon, infantry

rafal - 5 star red dragon infantry/armour

almedha - 5 star green mage, infantry

demote could be a random engage character, i hope its pandreo tbh lol

tt unit - nasir, colorless/blue inf dragon. PLEASE INTSYS IM BEGGING YOU

[panco-1812]

I drew a Dancer Kaze alt concept some months ago. FEH please give this boy some alts He will be a Green Tome Infantry unit, using a fan that creates wind and had a dance ability [Refreshing Breeze]

.

[silverxxs-world]

World tag team champions match

FTR vs The Infantry 

Basketball nigle

Bless you

Nigel what

It’s actually refreshing to see the infantry

This is a good match I just don’t know what to say

Ong that was close almost infantry win

Dax’s headbutted cash

Shatter machine for the win

[fehtism]

hi! could I ask what your ideal build for a legendary azura would be? :)

here's a high investment (you asked for ideal) build for legendary azura focusing on scoring high in arena when she's the bonus legendary! the B duel flying skill is required in the A slot for her to score high. Firestorm dance in the C slot allows her to have canto as well as further buffing any allies she refreshes with gray waves II. soaring guidance allowing warping for infantry and flying allies synergies well with gray waves II increasing movement for infantry and flying allies. aether is only there for scoring purposes, she is generally not intended to see combat.

if you want to use her in aether raids and do not care for arena scoring feel free to replace firestorm dance 3 with wings of mercy 3 which is generally a cheap skill.

B Duel Flying is a skill on Erinys who is in the standard pool. It is unfortunately not on any other unit.

Firestorm Dance 3 is currently only on spring triandra but it will be the remix skill of mythic triandra and you can get it from a copy of her during the remix and refine banner coming up.

Soaring Guidance is unfortunately only Summer Ivy currently but will likely be released on other units later. Other options are guidance 4 from rearmed tana or a skill like joint drive speed or joint drive attack. she could even run a rein or hold skill in her c slot.

The Aerobatics seal is intended to increase her mobility.

Thanks for the ask and hope this helps!

[cherrypikkins]

NonNG+ Maddening Run Verdant Wind Route - Blood of the Eagle and Lion (and Deer)

Sometimes you just have to trust the coin flip - like I did when dealing with Dimitri, who can counter-attack from any distance and can instantly kill your strongest units in the process.

Drama and war crimes continue as we take on Dimitri and Edelgard once more on Gronder Field.

Highlights below:

Here is the team I brought and how I used them:

Brought along Great Knight Sylvain to tank Dimitri's cavalry units coming from the rear, since they will one-shot any mages who are not across the bridge. Also used to tank monsters along the way to Edelgard. Greatly helped by the Seiros Shield.

Trickster Byleth w/ Rapier+ to deal with the heavy units on the hill. Foul Play was also used to switch places with other units as needed - usually to transport units in danger to safety or to send more effective units to given location.

Wyvern Lord Hilda who is carrying Freikugel but prefers to use her humble Mace+ instead. Used to gambit stun the Kingdom forces and crack open heavy units like nuts. Has Alert Stance+ and Evasion Ring and so can blink tank like it's no one's business.

Barbarossa Claude with Critical Ring). The reason I give Hilda the highly effective Ashes and Dust gambit instead is so that Claude can quickly follow up to Enclose units that are not stunned. As such, they are usually on crowd-control duty.

In particular, Claude was able to deal with Ingrid in two turns this way - Enclosed on the first and crit on the next. It had to be done.

With Dimitri, it was a complete gamble, based on the screenshots on top. But given that he was going to one-shot every last one of us if not stopped, Claude had by far the best chances with a 54 to crit.

Claude, who had a lot to do on this map, also had the honor of completely disrespecting Hubert with a ballista crit.

Poor Hubert. He's had a terrible run. But there's always Enbarr, which is coming up in a few maps.

Sniper Petra who has Hunter's Volley and also Lethality from her time spent as an Assassin - first used to deal with Imperial Fliers and then to help untangle the furball of Kingdom and Imperial infantry units.

Bow Knight Leonie with The Inexhaustible and an Accuracy Ring to help clean up the cavalry units tanked by Sylvain and the swordmaster units stunned by Hilda.

Gremory Lysithea with Thyrsus to melt down cavalry and heavy units. Her adjutant is Lorenz - I like to imagine that they fight over / take turns / share Thyrsus between them.

Dancer Marianne with Blutfang to refresh turns, provide support, and do extra damage where needed.

Bishop Linhardt to keep everyone healthy and warp Felix further up the hill.

Speaking of whom, War Master Felix has Brawl Avo+20 as a result of mastering War Monk and so can blink tank right next to Hilda. Was able to take on the hill solo including dealing with the Petra and Bernie clones. Since he has Healing Focus, getting temporarily stuck on a burning hill was no problem.

For dealing with Edelgard, I used Stride on the group in preparation for a swarm. Felix had other plans and took her on solo. Sometimes you just have to gamble for those crits and crest proc.

... All in all, the Kingdom army is the main problem of this map. The Bernie Ballista will purposefully silence and heavily damage your mages so will be tempted to take the hill. While this can be done, killing too many Imperial guards right off the bat will trigger Dimitri's rampage early. You want to get your fragile units well across the bridge before then, because the Sylvain clone + mounted units have the Passage ability, meaning they can slip past any unit to get to your squishy mages. Cross the bridge, leave behind your best tank, and immediately have a plan to deal with Ingrid who will charge in to greet you.

Don't be afraid to use gambits on the Kingdom forces as needed. Dimitri, in particular, cannot be gambit stunned.

Once you have dealt with the Kingdom army, the rest of the map should be a bit more straightforward. It helps to know well ahead the problems that will arise and have a plan to deal with them as they come.

Good luck!

[squadron-goals]

It is getting serious!

30 July 1914

The mobilization order has just come. All officers are recalled to their regiments by telegraph. Boelcke and I leave. I still have my mobilization order as an observer. The comrades looked sadly after us. They have to stay behind at school to finish training. But with this operation it can still take months, and by then everything will probably be over? … I'm supposed to report to Großenhain. I interrupt my journey in my garrison in Wittenberg. The streets were black with people. My regiment had to leave the next day: it belongs to the flying brigade. I was only allowed to stay a few hours. I say goodbye to everyone. Who knows if I will ever see any of the dear old comrades again ... Everyone is so sure about a victory! I love flying and yet, what I would have given to be able to go out with my old, dear regiment! O proud regiment, you will fight true to your principles, true to your traditions! You are, after all, a Margravian regiment, a true German core troop, and you have never failed! ... The glass of champagne that I quickly downed as I said goodbye to my comrades tasted quite bitter, a few furtive tears had fallen in ... .

1 August 1914

The farewell to my garrison was still trembling inside me when I arrived in Grossenhain. The journey was terrible. The general state of war moved everything. The trains were overcrowded. I was glad that I was able to come at all. How I longed for my comrades! But the sense of duty drove away all softness, now it was time to be hard on yourself! I didn't see anxious faces anywhere, only seriousness and determination: suddenly we were like one big family: the strangeness that usually hangs over people who don't know each other was completely stripped away. You talk to each other as if you have known each other for a long time. The personal disappears, the community comes to the fore. National sentiment had finally broken through: the love of Germany! O glorious fatherland, you will not perish as long as you still have such sons, as long as you are still able to awaken such deep feelings in everyone! Because now everything is understood, therefore, despite all the excitement, an uplifting calm over everything! At the overcrowded stations, everything waits patiently for hours, No murmur disturbs the calmness. Here in Großenhain everything is deserted and quiet. I still couldn't sleep in my hotel room ... I leaned out of the window. A glorious starry sky arches over the outwardly quiet earth. I dreamt: I let my whole life pass me by. At such an hour, everyone thinks with particular fervour of everything they love. My parents and siblings, I have not seen them! They won't sleep either and be thinking of me now too! But they know that I now belong only to my country, to my people! My home village, my beautiful forest! How I love it all! ... Where will fate throw me now? Will we pilots live up to the challenge? We still have too little practical experience in flying, we are still too young ... The stars are fading. Day is coming. Life begins again ... Ringing of the bells! Seriously admonishing and yet also liberatingly joyful ... Densely packed crowds stream to the church. The German people feel their God again, know that only in God rests true human strength, that faith alone gives strength to weak people in times of need. We will be strong, for God and the law are with us! ... A battalion of infantry passes by. What a joyful and refreshing sight! Singing, flowers in their buttonholes, bayonets flashing on their rifles! Invincible in hope! The market fills up. Men of older age with suitcases in their hands: the last reserves of the Landwehr! Eyes sparkling with joy despite the seriousness. The external differences disappear. March off. Singing. Soldiers ... There is a knock, I snap out of my pondering. My orderly! Duty calls.

7 August 1914

I'm writing this in the compartment. Finally we have finished loading. I boarded the tran two hours ago, I couldn't wait. There are a lot of people outside and comrades who are leaving after us. We're the first of the Fliegertruppen to get close to the enemy, hurray! I almost forgot: my old regiment, my dear 20s, are supposed to have fought heavy battles before Liège, heavy losses! Poor, good fellows! ... Two days we are on the train, endlessly long and yet it is beautiful! Everywhere we are cheered on. There are flowers and refreshments everywhere. Everyone wants to give us something, even the poorest one doesn't want to be left behind ... We ate and drank and smoked our way through Central and West Germany in the truest sense of the word ... Finally we are approaching our final destination. Hours of waiting before the entrance. Military transport after military transport waiting to be unloaded. The evening sky was blood-red. The muffled rumble of the guns in front of Liège gave us an inkling of the hard work that was about to begin.

[ask-mortarion-the-death-lord]

I am stuck in an eternal battle of loving tau battlesuits especially the stormsurge and loving those funky lil tau auxillaries like the kroot and vespid.

as such, i think if the t'au get a large range refresh at any point what i would want to see would be among other things

a 'multi unit battlesuit kits' instead of a bunch of separate highly distinct battlesuit kits. a] it feels flavourful as standardization is an important aspect of t'au logistics b] it frees up room for more distinct non battlesuit kits by standardizing the battlesuits a bit reducing future workload [and opens up the possibility of future new battlesuits using upgrade sprues instead of having to build entirely new models] c] more room for interesting personal customization on the modelling end

as for the kinds of battlesuit kits as it were that come to mind, what makes the most sense to me is an 'infantry battlesuit kit' for things like the stealth suits or crisis flavoured stealth suit alternative, a 'battlesuit kit' for things like the crisis suit itself, a 'nova battlesuit kit' where we move things like the ghostkeel and broadside to sit along with the riptide, and a 'ballistics [or heavy i suppose] battlesuit' kit for things like the stormsurge or a hypothetical superheavy stealth suit [which would be rad as fuck].

then for the auxillaries, i think the best strategy there would be focusing on a select few auxillaries to really pimp out [as in you could run entire armies of just them] instead of spreading things out too thin in that regard.

kroot and vespid are obvious starting points in that regard, and since they can use a lot of stuff from the t'au list to fill certain holes like transports then it just comes down to what each army needs with some exception for flavour

kroot without including imperial armour and legends roll with shaper [leader] kroot hounds, kroot carnivores and kroot farstalkers [troops] and the krootox [troop ride thing?] and seeing as they're one of the t'aus biggest partners id give them a bit more bulk of options then other t'au allied auxiliaries.

personally id give the kroot a second leader option if nothing else, a kroot shaman to act as a psyker unit whos gimmick would be stealth and moblity psychic toys to get the kroot to the fight. another possible kroot 'leader' idea would be a single unit kroot assassin/elite fighter kinda model to contrast against the shapers role as a commander. kroot carnivores could probably be retooled as a 'kroot kinband' to cover the three least genetically unusual variants of the kroot kindband that we officially know of. namely carnivores, stalkers and hunters, which in essence are your kroot tactical marines, kroot assault marines and kroot devastator marines if they were snipers. by pooling them all together ya give the player room for some wacky unit loadouts depending on what they equip and leave more room for wackier genetic kroot variants. from there ya have of the kinbands we know of, headhunters acid spitting kroot who could be the 'elite kroot' infantry option and the vultures winged kroot for some speedy lil 'fast attack' buggers. from there what makes the most sense to me would be defensive but slower heavy weapon kroot genetics. farstalkers function fine though i would bump them up to an elite kroot infantry option like headhunters myself. kroot hounds also function fine i feel as speedy chaff. the krootox meanwhile just needs to be made a much bigger boy so he can act as the mobile artillery platform that punches you to death he clearly wants to be. after that i think adding the knarloc riders and greater knarlocs into the main army just makes sense if were rounding out the kroot portion of things, and i also think adding some appropriately kroot vehicles well not essential would if nothing else be really fun. say a kroot hovercraft transport, a kroot 'ball tank' [ie a tank sized kroot warsphere] and a kroot aircraft that would be on speed.

then the vespid. vespid only have the vespid stingwings as things stand so they'd need a lot more fleshing out. what i'd give em would be

vespid queen as a leader option, seeing as how vespids are based on wasps to some extent, their females have been stated to be bigger, and wasp queens are bigger then wasps i think it'd be rad for the vespid leader option to be a big vespid queen that doubles as a commander and a terrifying combat blender [a vespid hive tyrant as it were]. if thats too much you could have a 'vespid strainlord' as a smaller command unit instead/as well? vespid stingwings kinda double as a 'fast attack' unit ontop of being the main vespid unit, so to expand on their roster i think it would be most prudent for an elite vespid troop and a heavy weapon vespid troop. alternatively the stingwings could be the elite vespid troop option with a less expensive but less powerful alternative. as they already move as fast as vehicles they dont really need a 'bike' like option, and a transport vehicle can be kinda redundant for em. instead they could get some fun monsters say a big ol dragonfly monster thing [emphasis on dragon], smaller flying pet things like how the kroot have kroot hounds, and a kinda big vespid monster boy [vespid brute? idk] finally though they could some vehicle options to emphasize how they're an advanced race on their own. their starships are described as stalactite like and considering their role, they could sport a single unique vehicle transport in the form of their own vespid brand drop pod that deep strikes, and idk, something like the hammerfall bunker a static defense/shooting piece.

[e350tb]

Sicily ‘43: The First Assault on Fortress Europe by James Holland

Spare a thought for the Italians. For all that Second World War historiography has obsessed with conflict between the US and the British, relations between the Axis were infinitely worse. The Germans treated the Italians - indeed, as they treated their other European allies - with such barely concealed contempt that it beggars belief. Of course, on the internet, ‘Italy Bad’ is a bit of a joke - in real life, the consequences of this contempt were very real for Italian soldiers and civilians; and while the enslavement of Italian prisoners and the massacre of Italian citizenry were in the future in the summer of 1943, the Axis conduct of the defence of Sicily clearly show an alliance in its death throes.

James Holland is an extremely talented wordsmith, and it shows through in Sicily ‘43, which intertwines ‘top down’ (that is, generals and commanders) and ‘bottom up’ (soldiers and civilians) history quite skilfully. This is a very accessible book that treats its subjects with appropriate sympathy, and it brings to life the myriad problems of fighting a campaign in rugged terrain without modern roads vividly. While much has been made of the ‘race for Messina’ (which as Holland demonstrates was mostly in Patton’s head) and the apparently plodding advance of the Eighth Army, the sheer difficulty of dislodging German forces from hill after hill is made abundantly clear. It seems every major town in the northeastern corner of Sicily had to be wrestled out of Axis hands, and with armour difficult to employ in Sicily, it was largely up to the infantry to do the wrestling. With this in mind, it becomes remarkable that the Allies managed to capture the island in just thirty-eight days - and to do so while consistently taking less casualties, even against crack Fallschirmjagers. (Air and artillery superiority certainly play a part here, but its still worth noting.)

A large part of Holland’s thesis in this book is that the Allied commanders - in particular Sir Harold Alexander, who gets particular praise - have been a bit hard done by by historians, and that for the most part, the Invasion of Sicily was well planned and well executed. I haven’t read enough about Husky to comment on that (although there’s probably a Cornelius Ryan book on the subject), but he makes his case for the Allied leadership well - with the notable exception of the airborne landings, which come in for a lot of criticism. Considering the results, and particularly what happened to the gliders of the 1st Airlanding Brigade, it’s very hard to argue with him.

I’m sure a lot of people could find fault with Sicily ‘43, especially if they’re not Alexander fans, or if they wanted a ‘harder’ campaign history, or if they think it’s a bit too reactive to the Ryan/Hastings version of history. Personally, I recommend it. It’s an excellent overview of the campaign from all sides, with a good choice of viewpoints from the ground. It’s certainly an excellent refresher after reading about the Gallipoli Campaign.

[girlsofprey]

A really important point! Also, Star Wars itself was a deliberate meditation on Joseph Campbell's hero's journey, which was extensively influenced by the psychoanalytic traditions of Jung and Freud, as well as classical mythologies from several cultures.

Tropes, aesthetics, and structures are shared, often culturally transcendent aspects of storytelling that proliferate throughout time, space, medium, etc. The idea that anything is truly original is a flawed premise. Take another Lucas production, Indiana Jones. The ruggedly handsome adventurer did not originate there, nor did the the action/adventure film, nor did the "Nazis are the bad guys and we have to fight them however we can" film. These were not unknown concepts by the 80s, in which Raiders of the Lost Ark was produced and distributed. And yet, Indiana Jones still feels original. It feels refreshing. But in the end, it's just a reinvention and reconfiguration of tropes.

Similarly, fantasy, science fiction, space operas - none of that was new in '77, when A New Hope premiered. The idea of a chosen one? Been there, done that (literally, that stuff is BIBLICAL, and those weren't even the origins of the trope). The son is destined/prophesied to kill the father? Somebody wave at Freud and tip your hat to Oedipus while you're out there. Beyond that, Wells, Verne, and Burroughs had entrenched ideas of existential threats and the meaning of life within their adventure stories. The Time Machine, Dune, John Carter of Mars, From The Earth to the Moon... all of these came first. Of course they were influential to the plot, tropes, structure, world-building, and aesthetics of Star Wars. As was real life history - it's a well-known fact that the Galactic Empire and its Stormtroopers are aesthetically (and somewhat ideologically, if in a fairly simplistic sort of way) based on the Nazis, and the name stormtrooper literally comes from the WWI (not Nazi, but yes, German) term for German infantry shock troops. Their tactics and aesthetics were also based on the Soviet Union, or at least the idea of it with which Lucas was familiar. [Henderson, Mary S.; Mary Henderson (1997). Star Wars: The Magic of Myth. New York City: Bantam Books. ISBN 978-0-553-37810-8.]

The beauty of media, of literature, of stories, is that every piece converses with the next, within and across genres. They play together, play against each other, build and tear down and build and tear down, invert, subvert each other, etc, etc. I could write an entire thesis on the significance of intertextuality in creating iconic pieces of media (but I won't, at least not today). But the fact is, nothing is original, and everything is connected. And that, my friends, is the most beautiful thing of all.

There's a tweet that's gone viral where a person laments realizing that Star Wars "ripped off" Dune, and how learning all the elements Star Wars took from its inspiration tainted it. And I think it shows how poisonous the emphasis on originality in art can be. Because yes, it's wonderful when art makes something new, but it's also wonderful seeing how art plays on what came before, and the conversations it has with its predecessors.

There's going to be a lot of people talking about how much of an impact Goku from Dragon Ball Z has made on fiction in the wake of Akira Toriyama's recent passing, and all the characters who were inspired by him and his story. But Goku himself is derivative - he's inspired by the Monkey King from Journey to the West, one of the first novels ever written. He's far from the first character inspired by the Monkey King, either, and also far from the last.

None of this makes Goku's impact any less than it is. None of this decreases how Goku's story has inspired countless imitators. Just as Toriyama created a new icon from imitating what he loved about Journey to the West, so did Toriyama inspire countless artists to make their own iconic works with his take on the Monkey King's archetype. Goku is, in many ways, the heir to a legacy that spans back to the 16th century, and likely beyond - because I doubt the original Monkey King was formed in a vacuum.

We're taught to think that originality and imitation are opposites that cannot coexist, but they're not mutually exclusive. One can follow in another's footsteps and still take a new journey with its own unique twists and turns. The great works of art are not spawned in the absence of inspiration - they are in conversation with what came before and what will come after.

[sjvllsblog]

Memories from Stalingrad:

Part of the memoirs of Josef Goblirsch who fought assigned to the 54th Jäger Regiment of the 100th Jäger Division: “The first action that our regiment had to undertake was the conquest of the unique Hill 102 that dominated all of Stalingrad, the Mamayev Kurgan. We had taken this height, crowned by two cylindrical water towers to the south of the highest point, on September 14, but it was lost to the Soviets again on September 16. Now it was the renewed objective of our Division. We knew it would be a tall order against a hardened and untold enemy. We knew his rigorous way of fighting from many previous encounters.

At 03:00 on September 27, preparations began, and at 05:00 a preparatory barrage was unleashed by our artillery, which the Soviets immediately answered with heavy defensive fire. A salvo from Stalin's organ landed in a ravine killing fifteen Jäger troops and wounding 100 men from two neighboring companies. There were only minor injuries in my unit. The silent conduct of wounded or dying comrades only impressed me at the beginning of the war, no more. At 0630 hrs our Regiment attacked. The first target was Hill 102 immediately north of us. It had been a favorite excursion spot for the city's population in earlier times. From this commanding height almost the entire city and shipping on the Volga could be controlled. The platoons had been assigned to the Jäger Company led by me now attached to the 2nd Battalion, 54th Jäger Regiment. After heavy losses, we advanced only 200 meters. Casualties increased, but around 0900 hrs we reached the first objective, a ravine about 100 meters from the water towers. The incessant Soviet mortar fire kept us upside down: Stukas and shelling did little good. At 1:00 p.m. they ordered us to barricade ourselves.

Stiff resistance from the Soviet 269th Infantry Regiment prevented any further advance. Huddled in shell craters and trenches abandoned by the Soviets, tending to small wounds, we eagerly awaited the coming of darkness. At night we saw our end drawing near. Ten enemy bombers in the east were heading for our positions. Suddenly Luftwaffe fighters appeared and shot down half of them in less time than it takes to count. The rest moved away, still with their bombs, and disappeared over the Volga which we would have had a good view of if we had dared to raise our heads above the parapet of the shell crater in which we hid. Our own artillery did not help us in our situation. Some members of my unit had fallen, others were wounded. The medic assistants were overworked and exhausted just like all of us: shooting, jumping, digging, shouting orders through the heat of battle. As night fell we were relieved by a reinforced Jäger company to refresh our staff and our spirits. The wheeled vehicle platoon had been reduced to ten exhausted men, only 30% of its authorized strength. The next day the remnants of my unit rested in the barracks behind the first staging rooms on the road to Gumrak.

We learned that the slopes of Hill 102 facing the Volga and the city quarter behind it had come under a very heavy air attack at 0630 hrs. Stukas launched with sirens blaring, hundreds of bombs dropped from He-111 bomb bays. Our own artillery fired incessantly over our heads at targets on Hill 102 and the railway embankment to the east. After a long rocket barrage they heard infantry fire and also hand grenades, but despite the greatest effort accompanied by heavy casualties, neither the water towers nor the hill fell.

Two days later I received woefully inexperienced reinforcements as the battle for Hill 102 drew near and the northern section of the railway station continued with undiminished ferocity. It was mainly Croats from our division who were able to advance to the railway embankment east of Hill 102 the next day. Soon our entire battalion was disbanded. The soldiers of my company were totally exhausted, the wheeled vehicle section was reduced to ten men. We were now ready to support the 2nd Battalion in their attack on the northern section of the main railway station. The objective of this attack was to encircle the Soviets defending Hill 102...

(Colorized photography by Faku Gastón Filipe)

(FgF Colourised)

[maximuswolf]

Its time for these AAA game studios to stop being afraid to cover certain "controversial" wars. Games like Call of Duty have no excuse to be running out of ideas.

Its time for these AAA game studios to stop being afraid to cover certain "controversial" wars. Games like Call of Duty have no excuse to be running out of ideas. I mean Call of Duty is a prime example of video game companies, especially for FPS games, are just running out of ideas at this point. I mean you have 2 wars that have been barely touched and would be a big refresher if a video game company grew a pair and risked centering their game around the Vietnam war or the early 2000s war in Iraq/Afghanistan (circa 2004-2008). I get it some bad shit happened in those wars but bad shit happens in every war. I mean for God's sake CoD WW2s campaign portrayed the holocaust, MW 2 let you mow down innocent civilians in an airport, and you have the GTA games which are literally about committing crimes! Sure some games have had small sections portraying these wars as a side story or flashback and even DLC but never the whole story. Side note indie games dont count for the record im still talking AAA studios like Ubisoft, EA, Activision etc. And even when a game company tries it always seems like they are dancing around it instead of fully committing. Like for example: a story will take place in the middle east and instead of fighting an actual enemy in that area you fight some made up middle eastern private paramilitary force that is funded by some kind of russian black ops group with like some private spec ops mercenaries from China with some unrealistic goal like world domination instead of just fucking making the enemies like the Republican Guard/Al Queda, Taliban stuff like that where you dont need to spend months trying to figure out some crazy elaborate story. And as for the good guys enough with the special forces operators and made up rag tag groups of special forces dudes in plain clothes with plate carriers, helmets and heavily modified weapons who are coming out of retirement for "one last hurah to save the world" and just have a good story following a basic infantry battalion of 11 Bravos in normal issued gear (no backwards hats, big beards, or plate carriers with some lame patches on them that say like "lets roll" or some shit) with normal standard issue weapons like M4s and M16s and the only attatchments being an ACOG scope, foregrip, and maybe a flashlight/laser combo. And have the story vibe be similar to COD ww2s campaign which has been the best war campaign ive played in years. Same standards go for a veitnam war game no guys in red bandannas dual wielding pistols taking on like 20 vietcong just have normal infantry dudes taking out vietcong in conventional warfare. No excuse to be so obviously running out of ideas for shooters when all these game companies have barely touched these gold mines of content! Submitted July 14, 2024 at 03:03AM by nrizzo24 https://ift.tt/cLuomF2 via /r/gaming

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

An aspiring bartender:

Can someone at that bar teach SH how to open a stuck shaker? He is seldom able to provide precise origins for most drinks—which ironically he prepares.

French 75 Cocktail

The French 75 is amongst the most popular champagne cocktails we have ever known. A pure and beautiful amalgamation of bright citrus flavour with a base liquor of gin or cognac, this could be a perfect cocktail for literally any occasion.

When Charles Dickens visited Boston, way back in 1867, he liked to entertain the literary lions of the town in his room at the Parker House with “Tom gin and champagne cups,” as an 1885 article about the hotel claimed. A Champagne Cup is bubbly, sugar, citrus and ice. Add Tom gin, as that story seems to indicate, and you’ve got something perilously close to the French 75.

Indeed, the combination of gin and Champagne was a popular one with gents of a certain class. According to their contemporaries, it was a favourite of Queen Victoria’s son, Edward, the Prince of Wales. The combination of cognac and Champagne was just as well-known, if not more so; as the “King’s Peg,” it was a standard served in the eastern parts of the British Empire.

Rudyard Kipling, in his short story, "At the End of the Passage," also notes the existence of "King's Peg," where the whisky is swapped out for cognac, and the soda water is transformed into champagne.

Though cocktail historians are unsure of the French 75's exact origin—some trace a cocktail of gin, champagne, sugar and citrus back to the 1860s—everyone agrees that one strand of its DNA points directly to a combination of cognac and champagne that used to be known as the "King's Peg." Those roots inform the swap-in for Grand Marnier, adding richness and complexity to this cocktail, and a pop of vibrance from the orange liqueur.

However, the popular story of the provenance of the French 75 (Soixante Quinze) is that a British Army Officer named George Clappison stationed in France at that moment. It was he who made this less potent cocktail. He put together the key ingredients at their disposal – London gin from home and the local champagne – to create a punchy drink, which he named after the iconic French M1897 75mm artillery gun. When the soldiers returned to their home, they brought the recipe along and since then, there has been no looking back, and the drink's fame was sealed in cocktail history.

The Canon de 75 modèle 1897 is the source of the name of the cocktail. The Canon de 75 modèle 1897 is still used in France on ceremonial occasions.

Some legends also claim that this champagne-based cocktail was invented somewhere in the 1920s at the New York Bar in Paris—later Harry's New York Bar—by a Scottish barman from Dundee Harry MacElhone, and was originally called 75th Infantry. MacElhone began working at Ciro's Club in London after World War I and years after in 1923, he took it over and it became one of the world's most famous cocktail bars.

Harry’s A B C of Mixing Cocktails – Harry McElhone – C.1920’s

The cocktail gained popularity at New York City's famous Stork Club. This recipe was republished with the name "French 75" in The Savoy Cocktail Book (1930), which helped popularise the drink.

Harry's New York Bar in Rue Dannou, Paris's opera district in the 2nd arrondissement.

When the formula of gin or cognac, Champagne, lemon and sugar got the moniker of the fast-firing, accurate French field gun that had become an icon of victory in World War I, it suddenly took on a new cachet. As the British novelist Alec Waugh dubbed it, “the most powerful drink in the world.”

THE FRENCH 75: 1920s The British novelist Alec Waugh dubbed it “the most powerful cocktail in the world” and he was only half referring to its potent combination of liquor and champagne.

A few cocktails are mentioned in films, but, we're going to look at the French 75. This cocktail It's one of the most sophisticated and refreshing cocktails around and was referenced in the Oscar-winning film “Casablanca” in 1944.

It gained popularity through this Hollywood classic, where Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman's character regularly sipped on the cocktail in the nightclub. The French 75 seems to be the ultimate coping mechanism at Rick's Cafe for both sides of the battle.

Early in its life, this classic cocktail was made with cognac. Gin quickly overtook it as the most popular base, and London dry is the preferred style of gin.

Those are not your only choices: The French 76 uses vodka, the French 95 features whisky, and almost every spirit (including tequila) has been used in this drink over the years. No matter which liquor you choose, the best French 75 is made with top-shelf brands and fresh juice No matter how this cocktail came into existence, there was nothing that could replace it. You can make this cocktail by following these simple steps!

French 75

INGREDIENTS:

.5 oz Lemon juice

1 tsp Sugar

2 oz London dry gin or cognac

Champagne, chilled

Glass: Champagne flute

PREPARATION:

Add the lemon juice and sugar to a shaker and stir to combine. Add the gin and fill with ice. Shake, and strain into a Champagne flute filled with cracked ice. Fill slowly with Champagne.

Note: The original French 75 cocktail recipe is not made with ice.

It's surprising how the French 75 cocktail is so popular outside of France. Yet look around the cocktail menus in most bars around Paris and elsewhere in France and, chances are, you'll not even see it listed!

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