#there's nothing cut and dry about it - destruction is also not an inherently bad thing

[sengokubasara3]

there's another post i want to make, eventually, about what i feel is the most overarching theme in slayers -- and it's such a simple yet broad theme that it feels difficult to explain or articulate anything about, but... there's such an emphasis on being alive, and continuing to live no matter what. the mazoku, by nature, exist in direct opposition to this mentality (though it's not so clear cut as that), making them perfectly suited to be the ideological opponents of lina and co

[muertawrites]

The Dark of the Moon (Zuko x Reader)

Summary: Late night insomnia turns into a conversation about love, and Zuko makes an interesting discovery about his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: You can thank Avatar being on Netflix and rekindling my childhood obsession for this one. I wrote this mostly as a dialogue / pacing exercise, but it’s also a bit therapeutic since I can actually relate to Zuko more than I realized or could have ever foreseen watching this show as a ten year old. Enjoy a little emotional romantic fantasy on behalf of a preteen crush and all the toxic friends I’ve ever had. ✌

~ Muerta

Zuko usually slept with you. It started one late night during a mutual bout of insomnia, in which you ran into him as you both wandered the halls of the Western Air Temple. You hardly knew him, but he sat with you and talked about everything that night - anything that wasn’t related to the war or either of your pasts that had been torn apart by it. He surprised you with his dry, even-toned sense of humor, as well as with his intelligence in not only combat but literature and philosophy as well; being a healer and a fortune teller by trade, you found a lot to talk about with him.

As the nights awake became more common, you and Zuko spent more of them together; sometimes you’d wait until you happened upon him in the halls, others one of you would designate a place to meet. Eventually, one of you would go directly to the other’s room and you’d sit, sharing whatever light or heavy thoughts happened to plague your minds. You learned a lot about him in those nights, and grew to feel proud of how far he’d come in such a short time - you often helped others, those much older than yourselves, over months to scale the internal struggles he had, and he’d managed to do so on his own. The more you gave to him, the more he gave back, and it soon became commonplace to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing as he lay in his sleeping bag on the other end of your room. 

And that’s exactly what woke you up - the strange, still energy of your bedroom that indicated his resting place was empty. You rolled over, unable to spy his silhouette under the moonlit windowsill, and you rose, your feet carrying you to where you were certain he would be. 

It was a gorgeous night, with a gentle breeze ruffling the crisp air. You found Zuko in the courtyard, gazing out over the fog veiled landscape under the swell of the full moon. Without a word, you sat beside him, watching the clouds roll by like ships on a silent ocean. His chest churned in turmoil, so intensely you could feel it in your own.

“Apparently, I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you said. “How selfish of you to have problems that keep you up at night.” 

Zuko huffed out a soft chuckle, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. He leaned back onto his palms, craning his neck backward and allowing the wind to tousle his ash-black hair. 

“You didn’t need to come out here,” he told you gently. “It’s not your job to help me fix myself.” 

“It never has been,” you replied. “I’ve never fixed anyone. All I ever do is listen and recite a few proverbs; everyone comes to their own conclusions in the end.” 

“That’s not true,” Zuko retorted. “I’ve seen you heal. You can do things not even Katara can do, just with whatever happens to be growing nearby. It’s incredible.” 

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest. 

“Physical healing and emotional healing are two super different things,” you told him. “Emotional wounds can only really be healed by the people who have them. I mean, unless you want me to crack open your chest and poke around at your heart for a little while.” 

Zuko chuckled again, the tenseness of his muscles easing up just slightly. He opened his palm and spawned a softly glowing flame, both of you watching it flicker in the cool night air. 

“I wish I’d been born a water bender,” he mused. “Something that would do good for others. All fire does is destroy.” 

You were silent for a moment, watching the thoughts swirl, tormented, behind his eyes. You thought of all the times you’d seen him smile, how his happiness made his handsome features all the more radiant and caused your stomach to bubble with joy. The memory shot a spike through your chest.  

“... You know, we only ever see one part of the moon,” you commented, breaking the quiet. “Everything behind that - the dark side - we don’t really consider, even though it’s always there and is as much a part of the moon as the side that’s in front of us.” 

Zuko smirked at you, distinguishing the flame in his hand. 

“Reciting a proverb at me?” he teased. 

You grinned. 

“This one’s more like a metaphor,” you admitted cheekily. “That tea I make, the one that tastes awful but makes pain completely disappear?” 

Zuko nodded. 

“I need fire to make it,” you continued. “I have to roast the ingredients over an open flame before boiling them. Without fire, I couldn’t do most of my healing; it would be too painful without the tea to help.” 

Zuko said nothing, but you could sense your words sinking into the cracks in his troubled thinking. 

“Fire is heat and light,” you added. “It’s just as important to life as water or earth or air. Every element is capable of destruction or creation - there isn’t a single one that’s inherently good or bad. The person that controls them is the only one who determines that.” 

There was another long pause, in which you busied yourself noting the different wild plants growing between the stones that paved the courtyard. You listed the different medicines you could make with each, the process calming you. 

“I’ve done some pretty shitty things to people I care about in order to embrace my goodness,” Zuko finally spat. The bitterness in his tone stung you. You turned to him, and for a split second you caught a familiar, rageful glimmer in his eye; the sight made your own temper flare. 

“Zuko, don’t do that to yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t just your father who hurt you and you know that.” 

“I know,” he snapped, cutting off the end of your words. “I still care about her, though. I don’t even know if she really ever cared about me, but I still… I still miss her.” 

Your ribs seemed to cave in, crushing your heart and lungs. He’d told you about Mai many times, and all you ever saw was that the darkness in her drew out the darkness in him; it even hung over you, clouding out the comfort you felt with Zuko and replacing it with unease and doubt. You feared there was no place in his heart for you - not while Mai still remained in it, no matter how badly her memory made him bleed. 

“It’s hard,” you choked out. “I still miss some of the people who hurt me, too.” 

That was all you could manage to say. You pulled your knees to your chest, half-burying your face in the fabric of your night dress as you forced the tears welling in the corners of your eyes not to flow. 

This is what you get, you scolded yourself. This is what you get for feeling things for people you know could never feel the same about you. 

A sensation of warmth curling around your shoulders made you jolt. Instinctively, you inched away, glancing in Zuko’s direction as he retracted the arm that had draped around you. You expected him to look away, but he didn’t - his pale amber eyes instead locked with yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You hold your head so high… I forget sometimes that you’re trying to heal, too.” 

His words caused your tears to spill, though you didn’t cry; your face remained stony, and no sobs shook you. Your tears fell as easily as water from a cliff’s edge, impeded by nothing but the will of gravity. 

“... The cards you lent me,” Zuko said after a pause, almost blurting the words. “I’ve been reading them, to help me let go of everything I left behind. I don’t think I’m doing it right.” 

A few weeks ago, you’d given him a deck of cards you used for fortune telling. Each card depicted a different object, element, or scene, and were laid out in combinations that gave insight into a person’s spiritual path. You liked them more than other forms of fortune telling, as it encouraged its readers to make their own assumptions and drive their own fates instead of having it simply told to them. You gave your deck to Zuko so he could reflect on something finite, instead of getting consumed by his own thoughts. It was exactly what you used them for, and you knew they would help.

“Why?” you asked softly. 

“I drew a card that didn’t make sense,” he told you. “I laid down the Tides, then the Crossed Blades, and then… I pulled the Badger Mole. The other two I understand - one is for movement and change, the other is for strength in allies, but I… can’t figure out what the Badger Mole is supposed to mean.” 

“Badger moles are strong, powerful,” you explained, speaking dispassionately from memory, “but they’re gentle. The card represents the duality of both. They mate for life, too, so it also represents love and companionship.” 

As you spoke, you felt a meteor crash between you and Zuko. His face fell, dumbfounded, as he looked at you, his eyes darting minutely back and forth as you watched the pieces mend together in his head. 

“What do you feel?” you whispered, part of you terrified of his answer.

“... I feel like I’m fighting the tide,” Zuko replied, his tone awestruck. “It’s pushing me to shore, but I keep trying to swim back out to sea.” 

The corners of your lips curled upwards slightly, your cheeks still sticky with tears. 

“It’s really scary, huh?” you said. “Loving another person.” 

“Yeah... especially when you’ve never known what it feels like before,” Zuko added softly. 

You reached out, tentatively resting your palm against his cheek. His hand rose to close over yours, the sensation trembling you to your core. 

“How many times have you pulled the Badger Mole?” you asked. 

“Every time,” Zuko breathed. “I’m so stupid for not realizing. You make me feel wild and calm all at once. I get this crushing feeling in my chest when I see you or even think of you, and I thought it was just fear or sadness. But… you don’t make me want to lash out like I used to, with my father and Azula and Mai… just the thought of you makes me want to be the best person I can be. Even though I know you already accept me for not being that person.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, somewhat defeatedly, your knees falling away from your chest and crossing in front of you. Your body was heavy, but your head felt light. 

“I love you, Zuko,” you murmured. “But I’m afraid.” 

Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his eyes closing as he steadied his erratic breathing. 

“If you’re scared, I’ll protect you,” he said quietly. “That’s what I think lovers are supposed to do.” 

The word made every organ in your body jump to your throat. Lovers. Your limbs felt weak, but your heart felt strong with Zuko holding you. 

Without thinking, you took his face in your hands and kissed him. It wasn’t hard and passionate like you expected, but firm, gentle, his lips pressing to yours like two palms grasped in an assuring embrace. He lay one of his large, able hands on the back of your neck, his thumb tenderly stroking your skin. 

When you finally broke apart, Zuko gazed at you with a soft, forlorn expression. His fingers reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I’m sorry I talk about her so much,” he said. “It must kill you.” 

You shook your head, a soft smile forming on your lips, still red from where Zuko had kissed them. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him. “I know some people from my past you’d happily drive a knife into.”

Zuko chuckled, the light, airy smile you saw when he was truly happy spreading to each of his cheeks. The spike that drove itself through your heart when you thought of it earlier was gone, replaced by the sweet warmth of a low flame on a cold night. With him, you were safe. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” Zuko suggested, taking your arm to help you stand. 

His hand slipped easily into yours, your fingers twining together. He leaned forward and kissed you again, his lips only grazing yours, causing your skin to buzz with the sensation. 

“... Do you think we’ll have to talk to Aang about this?” you asked as you walked back to your room. 

Zuko raised an eyebrow at you, confused. 

“He is your great-grandfather,” you elaborated with jest. “I should probably do the chivalrous thing and ask for his blessing or something.” 

Zuko laughed, nudging you with his shoulder so that you stumbled over your feet. You shoved him back, to which he took you by the waist and wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing your cheek. 

“He probably won’t care,” he replied. “But my uncle will love you.”

[nona-gay-simus-main]

10 More Mistakes Beginner Writers Make:

Disclaimer: All of these mistakes are things I have had to learn to avoid and have found in most manuscripts I critique. You can find the same advice from industry professionals, all I have done is distilled it for a Tumblr post.

10 Mistakes Beginner Writers Make Part One

1. Hand-holding

New writers have a tendency to say something, then repeat the same thing several times in slightly different ways. Maybe they’ll say it in the narrative then in the dialog, and not in the fun way that characterises characters.

Don’t do this. When you hold your audience’s hands, it makes us feel like you don’t trust us. Even if you are writing YA. Or middle grade, for that matter - though you probably should be a little bit more obvious there. 

Nobody wants to read a book that treats them like an idiot. And no matter how obvious you make something, there’s always going to be someone who doesn’t get it, but those are outliers. Trust your audience.

2. Character Voice

Character voice is pretty important for any book. People have different personalities and backgrounds. A character who went to an Ivy League school and is working on Wall Street won’t sound the same as a janitor who barely finished high school. This isn’t a judgement call, it’s just reality.

Just like a charter who likes dry, sarcastic humor, won’t sound the same as someone who is completely humor-less. Or a character who grew up in one part of the world, a character who grew up in another part and so on.

All of this needs to be reflected in your character’s dialog and if you are writing first person or third person deep - likely, the narrative too. 

And if all your characters sound the same - and probably sound the way you do - they just start to blend in. 

3. Filler

We all love fluffy cuteness with our characters. Or a sex scene. Or that really funny scene where the band of ragtag heroes shares embarrassing childhood stories. 

But unless those stories lead to a realization or come back around in act three, you need to cut them. Kill your darlings.

4. Flashbacks

Most of the time the flashbacks only slow down the pacing and add absolutely nothing to the story that couldn’t be added in a couple of lines of dialog. Often times writers would even have the necessary dialog and still add a flashback and it’s the most frustrating thing.

Now, I’m not inherently against flashbacks, I think they can be used well - it’s just that most of the time they aren’t.

5. Plot Structure

Please structure your books. Please? Structure does not exist to limit your creativity, it exists to give the reader a satisfying experience and help you write the best story without going too much over or under. And unless you are writing literary fiction or non-fiction, you do need it.

There’s plenty of structures to choose from - The 3 Act Structure, The Hero’s Journey, Save The Cat. You can even structure the book around a character arc, instead of a traditional plot structure - especially if it’s a romance or a contemporary. Just pick something and use it.

6. Believability

Look, just because something happened in real life, doesn’t make it believable in fiction. Reality is Unrealistic. 

The goal is being believable, not realistic.

And while I’m at it - something that happened in real life may not inherently make someone a bad person, doesn’t mean it’s a good look for your character. 

7. Step By Step Writing

Please don’t go over every minute detail of your character’s routine. Most of the time it’s perfectly fine to say “character A took a shower” instead of describing all the things they do in the shower.  

Or perhaps you just don’t know how to transition from one plot-relevant scene to the next. Well, I’m terrible at transitions. But you know what the solution is? Learn to write better transitions. 

8. Obvious Dialog

If your dialog sounds a bit flat and/or cheesy, you may have made it too obvious and sincere. In real life, people rarely say exactly what they mean, so why would your characters talk like that?

I’m not saying make your characters compulsive liars, I’m saying add another layer to their dialog and save the real sincerity for vulnerable moments. 

If your characters always say what they mean, it makes them look really one dimensional and over-the-top and if they are having a vulnerable moment every other chapter it takes away from the power and importance of those moments.

9. Vague Descriptions

You need to always be looking for ways to make the description more vivid and punchy. Really hit us in the gut with the right verb or adjective. Saying something like “he walked” might be perfectly serviceable, but saying “he trudged” or “he jogged”, might also help characterize your character and really create a vivid picture in the reader’s mind.

10. Weak Character Arc

I had to start writing my book from scratch, because I realized the structure and characters arcs were not... good. 

Nobody wants to read about a character who starts perfect and ends perfect. They can start and end at the same place, that’s fine, but it has to be earned. They have to want something, and depending on the type of character arc either let go of what they want and get what they need instead, or get what they want and realize it doesn’t make them happy. Then they have to either let go of it or continue down the read to self destruction.

Obviously not every minor character needs a character arc, but definitely at least every character who has a POV should. Which, remember, should be no more than four characters if you’re a debut.

[programaticallydelicious]

Negotiations

I walked into the room, avoiding direct eye contact with the alien waiting for me. Its huge eyes just looked like a jet black sclera set in a sack of vaguely damp, wrinkled gray leather. If eyes are a window into the soul, this creepy little guy would give satan a run for his money. They just put me on edge, somehow. I’d have to make eye contact anyway, but it could wait.

I strode up to the meeting table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. I shuffled around in my bag for a moment before pulling out a small piece of tech, which I set on the table in front of me.

“Before we begin, I want to be sure of a few things. This device you’ve provided us with, it is 100% effective at understanding and translating languages, correct?”

The alien across from me nodded. It’s a nice little allowance they’ve made for comfort, learning our body language, but its bulbous head threw the whole gesture off. It made me think of one of those old inflatable toys with a weight on the bottom, that would lean too far to the side before bouncing straight back up. Woobles or something. It didn’t really matter.

“Nearly. We occasionally find a race with one or two concepts that it has trouble with, but that’s easily smoothed over.”

I took a deep breath, and waited a moment to compose myself. This whole thing was going to be more trying than not interrupting old man Higgins up the street while he went on about whatever racist sentiment was in his head at the moment.

“One or two…okay. That’s odd.”

The alien blinked. Eyelids came in from not just the top and bottom, but also the sides. That’s just plain creepy. Reminds me of one of those really old movies they threw on the media blacklist pretty much as soon as first contact started. Something in black. Whatever it was, I remember seeing it as a kid, and that guy at the beginning had nothing on this alien’s eyes.

“Have you already found something it can’t translate?”

I nodded, then pulled out my communicator and scrolled through a few documents. I really needed to clean this thing out. Can’t believe I didn’t get around to it before coming to such an important meeting. Imagine the debacle that would result if I opened exactly the wrong thing. Never can know what that might be, honestly.

“Of a sort, yes. Mind humoring me for a few minutes?”

The alien steepled its hands together, and leaned forward. That’s just plain creepy. I wonder how they learned such context specific body language? Not that it really matters, I guess. Not my problem.

“Certainly. After all, it can take years to accept a race into the Federation.”

Nodding again, I pulled up a document on my communicator, then leaned back in my chair as I began. This was going to be more interesting than that time your classmate Jimmy found some old matches somewhere and almost burned the school down by mistake.

“Excellent. This shouldn’t take much time. I mentioned that we found some issues with your device. Allow me to demonstrate: Espionage.”

The little device on the table beeped, and a red light flashed.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FOUND”

I sighed. That one had been an accident. We just had the thing sitting in a conference room while we discussed the implications of the visit when it came up. But, when something that simple for us to understand came up, we had to try for more.

“Reverse Engineering.”

Again, a beep and a flash of red.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FOUND”

“Spycraft.”

And again with the beep. This was going to get irritating if I didn’t speed things up a bit. Too bad we hadn’t managed to find a mute option for that feature.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FO-”

“Overwhelming Force”

“ERROR: NO-”

“Scorched Earth”

“ER-”

“Kamikaze”

“E-”

Blitzkrieg, Stealth, Mutually Assured Destruction, Acceptable Losses, Pyrrhic Victory, Guerilla Warfare, Encirclement, Entrenchment, Siege.”

The device gave off a series of distressed beeps, punctuated by rapid blinking of the little red light. I almost felt sorry for it. Almost.

“TOO MANY ERRORS DETECTED. REBOOTING. RUNNING SELF DIAGNOSTIC. NO DISCREPANCIES FOUND,”

I paused, and glanced across the table at the alien before looking back down at the translator. This was going to hit it harder than a washed up holovid actor with no auditions and less money hits rock bottom.

“Xenocide”

The chair across from me clattered to the ground as the alien practically fell out of its seat. I don’t blame the poor thing. Of all the aggressive, militaristic words we tried, that was one of the ones we least expected to translate. I mean, really. Who has a word for the intentional extermination of an entire sapient species when they don’t even understand fundamental hostile international mechanics like spying?

“Why do you have a word for…what was all that just now?”

I chuckled a bit while motioning for the alien to sit back down. His reaction had been pretty good, perfectly suitable for one of those hammed-up old dramas where the hero realizes they’ve been working with the villain all along.

“We were confused about that too. So we took a look at the information you sent as part of first contact with us. We noticed something interesting. Every single race in your Federation is carnivorous. Why is that?”

The alien seemed smaller somehow as it settled back into a seat. It looked kind of like a balloon slowly losing air, if that balloon was made of moldering gray leather with eyes that made your spinal column decide it wanted a holiday in Fiji.

“First contact has always been made after sapient races make it to multiple worlds. We’ve never found a sapient herbivorous race which failed to destroy themselves in resource wars and aggressive action. We’ve never found herbivores capable of surviving long enough to leave their own world.”

I leaned forward in the chair and smiled while finally making direct eye contact with the alien. I think the poor thing shivered when I did that. Not that I blame it. Imagine your reaction when you start to put the pieces together and realize that your friendly, upstanding next door neighbor might be the world’s most wanted criminal.

“And the races you have found, while commonly using threat displays, do not waste resources on wars they cannot easily win, correct?”

The alien nodded as it slouched a bit in its chair. It looked kind of like it was trying to hide. Who wouldn’t want to hide from the monsters in their closet?

“Wasted resources means decreased likelihood of survival.”

I shrugged. That was true enough, though rather coldly logical. Dispassionate logic like that has never been our strong suit. Then again, that’s why I’m in this situation in the first place, so it evens out.

“And yet herbivores constantly waste resources on aggression, on movement, on having more young than will possibly survive.”

The alien was staring at me. I’m not sure when the last time it blinked was. I wonder if those eyes need some kind of lubrication to keep from drying out. Probably, they looked a bit less creepy than they should’ve. Looked like they were losing their shine.

“And they die for it. That’s exactly why we’ve never encountered spacefaring herbivores. Their inherent aggression is their own demise.”

I held eye contact. I’d almost swear the alien was a weird statue right now. Don’t know who would commission a statue made of old greasy leather, but I’m sure there’s someone with too much money and too little sense who would give it a shot.

“Indeed. Now, back to the subject at hand. I’ll ask you before we continue: what can you offer humans for joining your Federation?”

The alien sputtered as it started moving again. I’d swear it looked offended. Maybe it doesn’t see where this is going. Not that it really matters, I guess. I mean, it probably matters about as much as posting a formal complaint to a new corporate policy, which is to say not at all.

“We’ve already sent the offer. You’ve seen that, I’m sure.”

I nodded, and began to tap out a staccato rhythm on the table with my fingers. I never could remember where I learned this stupid tune. I’ve known it as long as I can remember, and it just moves into my head on occasion and sticks around like that one couchsurfing friend who doesn’t understand the idea of wearing out their welcome.

“And I’m asking, what else do you have to offer?”

The alien just shook its head again, staring at the device. I wonder if it thought we might’ve tampered with it. As if we knew how. That little thing is way beyond our current abilities. We had some scientists pry it open and look inside, just to be sure.

“Nothing. I’m not sure why you’re-”

I raised my hand, cutting him off. Huh. Not sure why that worked. Did they learn that much of our body language? That’s still really creepy, if it’s the case. Or, maybe I just have it on edge. I dunno. I guess it doesn’t matter.

“May I have permission to connect my datapad with my ship’s computers?”

The alien glanced away from me for a moment. I assume it was checking in with superiors somehow. Maybe it was psychic, to an extent. Or maybe they just had an implant of some sort. We’ll find out eventually, I’m sure.

“Yes, if you like.”

I sighed. I guess that makes things easier for us. I don’t think anyone was going to like what I was about to do. This whole thing felt kind of like one of those holovids of an accident, where you know what’s coming and don’t want to keep going, but for some reason you just can’t seem to stop and pull yourself away.

“Computer, show video: Hiroshima”

A screen appeared in the air above my datapad. It started playing back an old, grainy video. Shaky, taken by hand in an aircraft in a firefight. Below, you can barely see a city being blotted out by a massive explosion. A cloud of smoke, fire and debris was rapidly climbing into the sky, billowing, growing, blooming into an eerie and easily recognized mushroom cloud.

“That’s…you’re using weapons of that scale on a population center? How recent was this?”

I shrugged, and closed the video. The screen on my datapad went back to the document I had up earlier. Gotta love how well they managed to predict this whole thing. I made a mental note to recommend a raise for whoever set up that document for me.

“Three centuries ago. Prior to our invention of spaceflight. Part of a much larger conflict. This is a relatively minor example of “overwhelming force”“

“ERROR: NO A-”

“Shut it. Computer, show infosheet: Battle of Stalingrad.”

A series of graphs and diagrams appeared above my datapad. They showed resources, time, maps, battle plans, and death tolls. Images were interspersed throughout, as were annotations on the tactical value of this, the emotional value of that. Prominent among them was a single apartment building, including notes on sniping from the roof and support via tunnels.

“That…what purpose would that…why w-”

Again, I raised my hand to cut him off, before closing the infosheet. Maybe it was both. Nah, couldn’t be. Only way it was both having this guy on edge and our body language is if it somehow had our body language built in. Unsettling thought, but not exactly likely.

“Because Stalingrad was an advantageous location and the people who died there were considered ‘Acceptable losses’“

“ERRO-”

“Computer, show gallery: General Sherman’s March to the Sea.”

A multitude of images appeared over the datapad. Rail lines and roads intentionally broken and destroyed. Farms and fields scoured clean and left to fallow. Buildings and towns razed to the ground. A broken people left to mourn and starve.

“So much waste…that can’t be intentional, can it?”

I glanced at the images, the wanton destruction that campaign caused, and the very orders that caused it. That kind of thing may be considered morally reprehensible now, even a war crime, but it wasn’t always. At the time, the strategy was extolled as one of the reasons the war ended the way it did.

“It was intentional.”

The alien stared at me, its reflective black eyes bigger than I’d ever seen them before. Creepy as all hell, that’s for sure. I’d rather not deal with these kinds of meetings in the future. Maybe after this I could negotiate for some kind of retirement.

“But…why?”

I tapped my datapad and closed the gallery, then leaned back and tossed my feet on the table. May as well relax, I already knew how this was going to end.

“Because it rendered the enemy unable to use resources Sherman couldn’t keep. Computer, assemble and show video grouping: RTS Games”

A large grid of videos came up, showing a huge range of scenes. Largely battle, the settings varied from open space to deep ocean, from early history to the far “future.” Even battles across space and time could be seen.

“The translator can’t have gotten that right. Those are military tactical simulations. Higher level than anything I’ve ever seen or heard of.”

I laughed as I closed out all of the videos and turned back to the alien. Creepy and unsettling as it might be, I’m pretty sure I was terrifying the poor thing. Not that I really felt sorry for it. Not at all.

“No. They aren’t. Those are games. Toys. For. Fun. And they’re a couple hundred years out of date. From what I’ve seen, nearly every human capable of coherent speech is capable of tactically overwhelming your Federation. And since we’re already here, in space, it’s too late for you to say no. So, I’ll ask again:

What do you have to offer us?”

[junker-town]

Pebble Beach made for a pretty much perfect U.S. Open

For the first time in a long time, the national championship offered nothing to complain about.

The 2019 U.S. Open at Pebble Beach will go down as the moment Gary Woodland jumped from one of the best golfers in the world to one of the best golfers in the world. He finished up at Pebble Beach at 13-under for the week, which was enough to become the first and only guy to beat Brooks Koepka in the last three years of national championships.

But the tournament will go down as something else, too: as the perfect example of what the U.S. Open can be when it gets its venue and setup exactly right.

The U.S. Open has long been golf’s most complained-about tournament. But the 2019 version left even its harshest critics little to be mad about.

Industry criticism of this particular championship goes back generations. So many U.S. Opens are remembered as much for players being mad about them as playing well in them. This has been going on for at least 50 years and probably longer. Some retro hits:

In 1970, the tournament was at Hazeltine, one of famed architect Robert Trent Jones’ courses. In the middle of the championship, while he was leading, Dave Hill said of the track: “They ruined a good farm when they built this place. All it needs are a few cows and 80 acres of corn.” He said they should plow over the whole course.

In 1974, Hale Irwin won at 7-over. The event earned the nickname The Massacre at Winged Foot, with players all over the field telling horror stories about the course’s rough.

In 2004, the USGA didn’t properly water down Shinnecock Hills ahead of Sunday, leading to greens that were so fast they ensured only two players finished the week in red numbers.

In 2007, Phil Mickelson and others were furious with the thickness of the rough at Oakmont. Mickelson, upon missing the cut, called the course “dangerous.”

In 2010, the last time the tournament was at Pebble Beach, Tiger Woods called the greens “just awful.” Ryan Moore delivered an all-timer of an anti-USGA screed. When a reporter asked him if he’d play another U.S. Open, Moore replied: “Probably, just to torture myself. I get angry, and it makes me hate golf for about two months, and then I’m OK again.”

In the half-decade leading up to the tournament’s return to Pebble Beach, new issues popped up every tournament — some around course setup, others around rules.

In 2015, Chambers Bay was so baked out that the U.S. Open barely resembled a golf tournament. In 2016, the Dustin Johnson moving-ball controversy at Oakmont created Sunday leaderboard uncertainty that lasted over an hour. In 2017, Erin Hills was so easy that legions of people who’d criticized the USGA for making U.S. Opens too hard went the other way. (Brooks Koepka’s 16-under tied for the lowest score to par in tournament history. In 2018, Shinnecock created problems again, with high winds and a dry course leading to Saturday carnage and again infuriating the pros. That year included Mickelson intentionally putting a moving ball, maybe (read: probably) to spite the UGSA.

The criticisms leveled at the USGA over the years have varied in their fairness, and your view of the organization probably depends on how much you care what the winning score is in relation to par. I don’t personally care whether the U.S. Open winner is 20-under or 20-over, so I don’t care much about USGA course setups as long as they’re safe. But no matter what your course design fancy is, the 2019 championship was likely cool with you.

Pebble Beach turned out to be the perfect mix of impossible and possible. It was exactly the kind of “test of golf” the USGA always says it wants.

Every course setup takes and gives, but few do so as inherently and as well as Pebble Beach.

It starts right away. Wanna hit driver on the 386-yard, par-4 first? It’s gettable in a way few par-4s at U.S. Open courses ever are, but it’s also tight, with out-of-bounds markers hugging the fairway on both sides. Most players hit iron instead, including Woodland, who birdied it on Friday and otherwise made stress-free pars there every day.

Wanna attack the pin at the 100ish-yard seventh, the iconic hole at the edge of the world? Do it, but you can’t if the pin is placed at the very front of the green, at the bottom of a downslope that would send your ball bouncing into a back bunker. On Saturday, that’s where the pin was. Only 20 players birdied it, before the pin moved back and 28 made birdie on Sunday. Even on that exceptionally short hole, red numbers were at a premium.

Wanna make up ground on the course’s most gettable holes? The four easiest this week, statistically, were the par-5 sixth, par-4 fourth, that par-3 seventh, and the par-5 18th? That’s smart, but the Pacific Ocean’s in play on all of them, making ambitious shots at least a little bit risky even for the most locked-in pros.

Almost every green here is tiny, and hitting them means succeeding in some challenging target practice. But it also means going to the middle provides a birdie look more often than not. As long as the greens aren’t so fast that the best players in the world can’t hold them, there’s little to complain about. That might’ve been the case in 2010, when Graeme McDowell won at even par, but it wasn’t the case in Woodland’s win.

“It just puts a real premium on the shots required by the players,” Jeff Hall, the USGA’s managing director for rules and open championships, told me beforehand. “The targets become very small. You talk to players, they’ll probably say, ‘Jeez, I can put the ball in the middle of every putting green four days in a row, I’m gonna have really good chances to make birdies.’”

In the end, that’s how Woodland won. The champion wasn’t bad at anything, but he only stood out in two areas: approach shots and putting. He was third in the field in Strokes Gained on approach, averaging a gain of 2.1 shots per round on the field. He gained another 1.8 putting, compared to only about half a shot per round gained off the tee and chipping/pitching. The most iconic shot of Woodland’s day was a vicious 3-wood from the fairway on the par-5 14th from 263 yards out to set up a short chip and birdie.

Gary isn't scared. #USOpen #LexusGolf pic.twitter.com/ZI7BSWPwqt

— U.S. Open (USGA) (@usopengolf) June 17, 2019

(Woodland also hit a brilliant chip from the fringe to save par on the 17th, but his lead was safer then, and he later said the shot at the 14th gave him the confidence for that chip.)

In past years, the USGA’s taken flack for setting up courses in ways that turned out to be tricky, not just challenging. Mike Davis, the organization’s CEO, acknowledged after 2018’s Saturday bloodbath at Shinnecock that “well-executed shots were not only not rewarded, they were penalized.” At Pebble, the requirements were clear and doable: Hit the ball onto these outlandishly tiny greens, and then go get your birdies, like Woodland did.

The course was fair the whole time. That shouldn’t be mistaken for easy.

The fairways were firm but didn’t resemble concrete. The greens were fast but still receptive to descending golf balls. If you strolled near any green at Pebble over the weekend, you heard that hollow thudding sound a ball is supposed to make when it lands on a green. (Andy Johnson sums it up well here.)

Maybe the best thing about the course was how it forced the best players in the world to think their way around it. Most of Pebble’s greens slope back toward the fairways, and players had to think their way around the place to avoid having brutal downhill putts.

“It just takes a little bit of concentration because there’s some shots where you need to land the ball 10 yards short of the pin and some holes, like back into the wind, it might only be 3 or 4 yards,” Rory McIlroy said after his Saturday round. “But you can’t go firing at pins because you’re going to one-hop it over the back all day.”

13-under might be low for your U.S. Open taste, but it was a product of elite shot-making, not a setup that guaranteed anyone would finish that far below par.

The course was so good that Mickelson, of all people, called it “perfect.”

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he told reporters after he finished up his Sunday round at 4-over for the week, which would eventually tie him for 52nd. “It’s a perfect hard test. When you struggle a little bit or if you pull shots like I did, it’s very penalizing. And the guys that are playing well, it gives them a chance to separate and make some birdies and reward great shots. It was perfectly done and I’m just so excited to see — to go watch our national championship.”

Any U.S. Open needs three things be its best: 1) a stunning setting, 2) a chance for the best golfers in the world to self-destruct, and 3) a chance for those same golfers to put on a master class. Pebble Beach provided all three.