#$10k of equipment destroyed

[ass-deep-in-demons]

Fandom : Lord of the Rings

Starring: Boromir + friends & family,

Tropes: character study, prequel, love letter to the canon, adventure

Rating: T+

Chapter Length: ~10k

Author's Note: I wrote it because I love Boromir and I want him to have a life. Also, I love Minas Tirith and I will be moving there next summer.

✦ Chapter 2 ✦

… in which Boromir defends the Osgiliath Bridge, and we all know how it ends.

[AO3] [masterpost]

[previous chapter]

Osgiliath, 29th of Lótessë 2018 TA

Boromir had never thought much about how the afterlife might look like. Whenever someone mentioned to him the concept of the passage of souls, he would imagine something akin to Osgiliath as a place for the eternal roaming of lost spirits.

The once splendid Ogiliath was now a labyrinth of crumbling white marble, haunted by wild cats and birds of prey. The walls were often clad in swirling wispy strands of mist wafting from the Great River. 

From his vantage point, atop one of the few still standing towers on the Eastern Bank, Boromir could almost see the spirits of his soldiers roaming the shadowed stone corridors. Many of his men had fallen defending these very walls over the last score of months. And still, it all seemed to have been in vain. No matter how many orcish camps Boromir's troops had destroyed, no matter how many Haradrim convoys Faramir's Rangers had hijacked, the Enemy did manage to encircle Osgiliath at last, and now they were going to have to fight the Shadow here, in the City, to keep control over the Great Bridge.

Presently, the Gondorian army had full control of Osgiliath, however, numerous orc encampments were scattered on the surrounding grounds, and more fiends were drawing near to the City. Boromir could see the Enemy’s commandos approaching the white walls and seeking entrance, causing skirmishes. For now, Gondor’s troops were doing an admirable job at holding them off, under the command of Angbor, a mighty warrior from Lamedon.

"Still no sight of Captain Faramir?" a welcome, friendly voice inquired, breaking Boromir's morose musings.

"I'm not expecting him to be back yet. He is bound to take longer," said Boromir, affecting composure.

"I am sure you're right," Derufin said, as he joined Boromir on the vantage point.

Faramir had ridden out at first light, with a dozen of his men, when the orcs were commencing the assault on the ruined City. There remained a Ranger encampment in South Ithilien, and Faramir went to evacuate them. Boromir's present task was to keep the Enemy out of the ruined City long enough to allow the Rangers to escape before the Bridge would be overrun.

Except the Bridge will hold, Boromir firmly reassured himself . He had actually argued this very point with Faramir last night. Faramir believed the City might very well fall, and that the Gondorian army should be prepared for evacuation further West, to Causeway Forts. This is why Faramir had insisted on rescuing the Ranger Camp in South Ithilien - he thought they might be permanently cut out from their main forces after the lost battle. Boromir listened to his brother's plight and allowed this rescue mission, albeit with a heavy heart. He had also ordered the moving of the wounded and partial evacuation of stocks and equipment to the Causeway Forts. It would be unwise to ignore Faramir’s advice altogether, and they had to be ready for every opportunity.

However, privately Boromir still believed Osgiliath would hold. He had promised his Father, after all. With the crumbling outer fortifications it was impossible to keep the orc bands outside the City for long, that was true. The plan was to hold them at bay only long enough to let Faramir's men retreat through the Bridge, then lure them into the City. Boromir was prepared to let them in and then fight them on the ancient streets, among the crumbling white walls and rubble. The labyrinth-like grounds would work to Gondor’s advantage. Boromir had fortified and manned a few strongholds inside the City: the old Garrison, the Western Bridge Towers, and the Arsenal, and also prepared a few nasty surprises for the Enemy. This way, Mordor’s advantage due to greater numbers could be countered, as the ambushes that the Gondorians had set up would allow them to eliminate larger groups of foes at once. They could trap the orcs inside and finish them off, hopefully gaining a few more months until the next assault, and complete the reconstruction of Rammas Echor on time.

"My men are in positions,” Derufin reported. “Captain Aglahad and Sergeant Hirgon are on the Western Bank, supervising the setting of our traps. Master Zbylut and the pioneers are still fortifying the fords.”

The fords were in truth what it was all about. Osgiliath was the only crossing point on Anduin for many miles North and South. There were numerous fords in the City and the Enemy could use them to move an army, but Boromir’s men have rendered the fords unpassable with barricades. To cross through them, the Enemy would need to first capture the entire City and dismantle the blockades. The only remaining link between Western and Eastern Osgiliath was the massive wooden Bridge. 

“I thank you, friend,” said Boromir. Truly both his brother and Derufin had been invaluable in their help with all of the war effort that had led to this point.

“If I die today, my chief regret will be never having written to Lady Morwen,” Derufin said, his cheerfulness belying his morbid words. “If we live through this day and I still won’t write to her, yours is the duty to smack me.”

“I will smack you right now, for prattling about maids when we are about to fight for our Kingdom,” said Boromir.

“Oh, loosen up, will you? Everything is in order, Boromir. Your plan will work. You are entirely too serious, and it would do you good if you, too, had a lass at home to think about.” Derufin blabbed and Boromir opened his mouth to retort, annoyed, but Derufin wouldn’t let him. “Do not try to counter me, I’m right. Even your Lord Father would say I’m right.”

Boromir sighed.

“It is the thoughts of Lord Steward that are the cause for my mood. I have made an oath to him that I will not let the Enemy have the Great Bridge. It is either victory or death for me today.”

Derufin snorted. 

“That is the most laughable thing you have ever said in my presence, Boromir, and I’ve heard you compose poetry for the late Princess,” his friend commented dryly.

Boromir felt a surge of bitterness.

“Do not be mentioning the Princess now! I am in earnest! Either the Bridge holds or I die defending it. My honour demands it.”

“Damn you, Boromir! Your honour demands that you serve your liege the Steward, and you will be of no use to him dead,” Derufin chastised. “If things go badly, we will retreat to fight another day. I will personally drag you to the Causeway Forts, and I know Faramir will assist me. And the Lord your Father will thank me profusely, and decorate me!” Derufin sighed. “You will not escape this war so easily, so do not look to die a hero. Instead, think of your men, and what you owe to them.”

Boromir felt his face and neck go red with shame. Derufin was of course right. What am I, a lad of twelve? he thought. To be thinking of my wounded pride, to be jumping onto my Enemy’s sword, when my men would be left leaderless, at Mordor’s mercy. He solemnly vowed to himself that he would not be courting death on this day, and would not accept his own demise so readily as that.

But neither could he suffer to break the oath he had given to his Lord. I cannot lose Osgiliath and I cannot die today, and so that leaves only one route open.

“Then we must make sure this day is ours, no matter the cost,” said Boromir, affecting a rueful smile for the sake of his friend.

“And that is the Boromir of Gondor I know and love,” Derufin exclaimed and clasped his shoulder. “When this thrice accursed pile of crumbling stone is secure again, we shall find you a pretty lady to pine after. That will cure you of all your foolish notions of heroism right away.”

Boromir groaned.

“Must that you are in league with my Lord Father to speak so,” he complained. “I do not see you making much progress in the way of…”

“Boromir!” Derufin interrupted him. “Look there! It is Faramir’s Rangers!”

Boromir snapped his head towards the East and squinted. He could not see as far as his eagle-eyed friend the archer, but he did notice a small blot of green moving on the horizon. He immediately felt relieved. Soon Faramir would be safe again on the Western Bank, helping with the evacuation. And yet… Something else caught his eye… Something bigger, vaster, a crawling ribbon of black, that was moving behind the blot of colour they had earlier identified as Faramir’s company.

“What is that, behind the Rangers?” asked Derufin dumbfounded, and Boromir felt the hairs on his neck rise to attention. He knew the answer, and dreaded it.

“That, my friend, is a Haradrim army,” he said. “One we cannot hope to hold at bay.”

“But how…?” Derufin asked the very question that was on Boromir’s mind right then. He had received no intel about this army. The Haradrim could have hidden from Gondorian scouting teams, but they could not hide from the Lord Steward, for Lord Steward saw all… Or did he? How had they missed an entire army?

“Some foul sorcery of the Enemy, no doubt,” Boromir said bitterly. “Come! We must go down and confer with the others. We cannot hope to contain them in the City, they are too many!”

They ran down the tower stairs, mouthing quiet curses. Boromir halted near the end of the staircase, because there he spotted Huor, his young Squire, sitting on the bottom step. The boy rose up quickly once he saw his Lord.

“Captain-General!” the boy saluted, but Boromir waved him off. He had given in to the boy’s pleadings and allowed him to tag along for this campaign, not predicting that the situation could grow so dire. Now he cursed his lack of proper caution.

“Huor, you are relieved from duty, effective immediately!” he bellowed.

The boy gasped.

“But, my Lord! How…” Huor cried with the expression of utter betrayal. 

“No buts, lad! This City is about to become a bloodbath, and you don't belong anywherenear it. Cross the Bridge, leave Osgiliath with the wounded and await me in Causeway Forts,” Boromir gave his orders in passing and did not even stop to see if the boy listened. “Sound the alarm!” he shouted at the nearby Sergeant. Boromir was already entering his battle frenzy, and the soldiers around him scrambled to carry out his orders. “And fetch me Captain Aglahad. Where is the Baron with our cavalry?”

“Here am I, Lord” answered Baron Hallas. The Baron and his Knights havd been stationed on the Eastern Bank in an event an operation on the field outside was needed. An event such as this.

“I need you to ride out with your Knights and secure a safe passage for the returning Rangers, Ser Hallas. They have an entire army of the Southrons on their backs,” Boromir said, and the Baron’s eyes widened in shock. “The Rangers are mounted and should arrive here soon, but they will have a hard time passing through the surrounding fields with the orc commandos pressing in on us,” Boromir said. “Bring them to safety, and then lead them through the Bridge.”

“Aye, Lord,” said Baron Hallas, and signalled to his Knights.

"Come, Derufin!" said Boromir, as he trotted towards the battlements, where the sounds of skirmish were coming from. "Let us find Captain Angbor and plan our defence."

Ser Angbor of Lamedon was Boromir’s senior by some ten years. During Boromir’s youth Angbor was considered the finest warrior of the Realm. Boromir had always looked up to the Lamedonian for his legendary fearlessness and battle prowess. Now Boromir was the commanding officer, and a seasoned warrior in his own right, but he still considered it an honour to fight alongside Ser Angbor. The Lamedonian was in command of the 2nd Company of Heavy Infantry.

They found Ser Angbor on the battlements atop Osgiliath’s Eastern Gate, already looking battle-worn, his armour soiled with black orcish ichor. The Gate was barricaded and manned with heavy-plated soldiers, to whom Angbor was bellowing commands. A division of Derufin’s bowmen assisted with the defence. The main problem with Osgiliath fortifications was that they were crumbling, and the outer wall had gaps in it. Gaps that required barricading, and now had to be defended, as the orcish commandos were constantly trying to get in through them.

“Captain-General!” Angbor saluted when he saw Boromir and Derufin ascend the battlements. “Are you seeing this? A whole army of blasted Southrons! Out of thin air no less!”

The men all looked to the East. The swaths of land below Ephel Duath were blackened with columns of marching Haradrim, and the fields surrounding Osgiliath were swarming with orc bands. Boromir’s heart rejoiced as he saw the Company of Rangers on horseback, approaching rapidly. He could see Faramir leading them, hacking at the monsters with broad slashes of his sword. Boromir’s stomach did a flip when he saw his brother deflect an arrow with his buckler. Valar preserve Faramir , he prayed. Near the battlements, the knight cavalry under Baron Hallas’ command was doing an admirable job at clearing a passage for the Rangers. Hopefully both companies would soon return to the safety of one of the sally gates.

Easy it is for our mounted knights to cleave the orc commando, for the monsters are savage, poorly equipped and undrilled, Boromir thought bitterly. The Enemy has only sent them to annoy us and wear down our defences. They are but a starter, and the main course is about to be served. Once again he looked worriedly at the marching army of Harad, which was making slow but steady progress across the plains. He could make out their banners, which appeared but blots of red over the troops from the distance.

“We need to plan an evacuation,” said Derufin.

“Aye, and then what?” Ser Angbor asked and spat over the parapet angrily. An arrow missed his head by an inch, but the warrior did not even flinch. “We retreat to the Causeway Forts, they take Osgiliath, they dismantle the barricades on the fords and then their entire army can cross Anduin freely.”

“Well, what choice do we have?!” Derufin cried. “They’re too many! They will paint this pile of stones red with our blood if we stay here!”

“What choice indeed?” said Angbor and looked to Boromir. 

They were in fact both looking at Boromir, expecting an answer from him. An answer he did not have. The situation seemed impossible, but he knew he could not show weakness at that moment. If he wavered now, he would seal their doom surer than any Haradrim army ever could.

“I say the Enemy is not yet upon us,” he said, forcing his face into stillness, and his voice into calm assuredness. ”We yet have some time left. We wait for Faramir and Hallas, and then we confer about…”

“We confer about what?” Faramir’s voice came from behind and the three men turned to face him. “What will talking accomplish, when we are about to be slaughtered?!” Faramir ascended the battlement, accompanied by Captain Aglahad and Sergeant Hirgon. “I beg of you, Captain-General, prolong this madness no further. Let us retreat to Causeway Forts, like we’ve discussed, and save what life we yet can.” Boromir could see his brother’s face was determined, his leathers splashed with ichor, hair tangled by the wind from his wild ride with the Rangers. He had rarely seen Faramir in such a frenzy.

“This will not solve our problems!” Angbor countered. “If we retreat now, we’ll have to face the same army the day after tomorrow, only in the Causeway Forts, and our position will not be better, then! Need I remind you that the Rammas is still incomplete? There are farmers toiling on the Pelennor Fields! Crops growing! If we want to save lives, we’ll have to fight today, or never.”

“Oh, yes, better to have all our forces anni…” Faramir started, but Boromir cut him off mid sentence.

“Enough. We will not squabble,” he said, with all his Captain-General’s authority he could muster. “Ser Angbor, you will continue to defend the Gate, for now. Captain Aglahad, what is the situation on the Western Bank?”

Aglahad, who was pale and sweating, and catching his breath, no doubt after running the entire length of Osgiliath to answer Boromir’s summons, swallowed visibly but managed to gather his wits.

“The 1st Company of heavy plates and the 3rd’s lancers await your orders in the Garrison, Sir!” he reported. “And I still have two companies of skirmishers that have yet to see battle today. They are manning the traps, like you’ve ordered, with Captain Derufin’s archers.”

“I’m afraid the traps won’t be of much help, when the Haradrim get here,” said Boromir. “Once they start passing the Bridge there will be too many to take down.” He looked at his most trusted lieutenants, and words failed him. He did not know what to do. Do not show weakness, he told himself. You have to be strong for their sake. They deserve to die knowing that their leader held faith, and take some last solace from that at least. “I need a moment alone to think on what to do next,” he proclaimed. “Until I’m back, proceed as planned before.”

With that, Boromir turned around and descended from the battlement. All around him, across the Courtyard of the Eastern Gate, men at arms were running errands and passing weapons necessary to keep the barricades manned and supplied, and fend off the pathetic orcish assault at the walls. Boromir crossed the Courtyard and entered a small supply station fashioned in a nearby ruined building, feeling tiredness almost overwhelm him, hoping that a glass of water would clear his head. Once his eyes adjusted to the dimmnes of the storeroom, a movement in one of the corners caught his eye.

“Huor!” he thundered. “How am I to defend this City, if even my own Squire ignores my explicit commands?”

Huor came out of the shadow and straightened. The boy was trembling, but his fists were tightened and his mouth set in a determined line.

“I would not leave you, Lord,” he said simply. Boromir opened his mouth to argue, but then he heard another person enter the supply storage.

“Do not be hard on him, brother,” said Faramir. “You would have done the same in his position. He won’t leave you alone, and neither will I.”

Boromir sat down on one of the wooden benches and sighed deeply. Huor handed him a glass of water, which he downed hastily. Faramir was right. His soldiers, his lieutenants, his brother and even his young Squire, still a child on all accounts, they would not abandon him, even in the face of death. And what am I doing? Cowering in a storeroom, wasting our precious time with my indecision. Some general am I, he chided himself bitterly.

Faramir must have gleaned some of Boromir’s thoughts in that moment, for he sat on the bench beside him, and put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder.

Boromir looked to his brother.

“You’ve nearly ran into the Harad army with your Rangers, during your retreat,” he said. “We’ve watched your progress from the Eastern Watchtower, they were right behind you. Have you managed to get a closer look? Can you tell me aught about them?” he inquired, hoping that Faramir could give him something, some piece of information, anything, that could yet save this day.

“Aye,” said Faramir. “This is why I am so eager to flee, though you might call it cowardice, and you would be right. There is something evil about that army, Boromir. I am telling you! I’ve fought many Southrons over the past years, but none like those. The sheer terror they inspired when we looked upon them over our shoulders… Then there is the mystery of their sudden arrival…” Faramir shuddered. “We cannot face them.”

“We must,” said Boromir tersely, “today, or tomorrow, it hardly seems to matter.”

Faramir sighed, and hesitated, before speaking again.

“I had a dream last night, before I set off to the Ranger’s Camp,” he stated, and Boromir swallowed a groan that almost escaped him. Here we go again with the dreams, he thought. But Faramir spoke further. “It was full of pathos, and ominous, but it also carried hope. Hope for our Kingdom. I’ll tell you all about it later, but for now just…” Faramir halted his speech then, overcome with emotion.

“Hush, brother,” Boromir said and grasped Faramir’s hand. “Leave the nightly terrors for when we’re both safe and sound in the Citadel. For now let us both stay wide awake and not in the dreaming.”

Faramir shook his head.

“Let me finish, brother. Listen just this once,” he persisted. “I am sorry for putting pressure on you earlier. I do not pretend to know what we should do now, and I do not envy you the burden of command. But know this: whatever you decide, we will all stand by you. The entire army. You have always been there for me. Whatever trouble was upon me, you were always there to chase it away. And this time you will, too.”

Boromir felt the sting of tears in his eyes, to his shame and panic.

“I am not sure I can do it, brother,” he whispered, not even caring that young Huor might hear him. The Squire had been with him through thick and thin, he probably knew Boromir better than anyone at that point.

“You can,” Faramir said with conviction, his gentle touch upon Boromir’s shoulder steadying Boromir’s jumbled nerves. “And you will. You are Boromir of Gondor, and that is what you do. You save everyone.”

Boromir felt all the chaos and clamour in his head go quiet then, and instead his mind was illuminated with clarity.

“Of course! That’s it! You’re a genius, brother!” he exclaimed, feeling renewed vigour surge through his veins. “I am Boromir of Gondor. Indeed! I’m Boromir. Boromir! I have to act like Boromir! I have to do what Boromir did!”

Faramir blinked and regarded Boromir with his mouth agape, but then understanding dawned on his face.

“You mean to destroy the Bridge! Like the Steward Boromir of old!” he gasped.

It was a somewhat obscure piece of Gondorian lore, the tale of Steward Boromir I, who had defended Osgiliath against the Witch King of Angmar in the year 2475, and gotten wounded by a Morgul Blade. Although Boromir I had ultimately prevailed, he had made the hard decision to let the ancient stone Bridge fall, and with it, the splendid Dome of Stars. In fact, the entire Osgiliath had been ruined in the aftermath of that war, but at least MInas Tirith had been saved, and the Shadow had retreated to lie dormant for the next centuries. Boromir and Faramir had first heard this tale together, during one of their many history lessons in the Archives, supervised by their tutors and by the Steward himself.

“Think about it! ‘Tis our only chance!” Boromir explained frantically. “If they cannot pass through the Bridge, they cannot dismantle the barricades on the fords. We could retreat to the Western Bank and easily drive them away with archers. And then defend the fords for yet many months to come!”

Faramir looked only partially convinced.

“But the Bridge is made of solid timber,” he reasoned. We cannot dismantle it on time! And to burn it would take days.”

Boromir stood and started pacing the storage room, thinking and planning out loud, only half listening to his brother.

“The Bridge is supported by wooden beams,” he said. “If our pioneers start working on them now, they can be destroyed till noon, and then the Bridge will collapse into the Great River.”

“We do not have till noon, Boromir,” Faramir shook his head.

“Our soldiers must hold off the Haradrim,” Boromir said. There was no stopping him now. “I will lead them, and buy the men enough time.”

“It will be a bloodbath!” Faramir cautioned.

“Aye,” Boromir agreed. “We will pay with blood, but the day will be ours in the end,” he said, as he stepped out of the storage building. “Huor, to me! Everyone to me!” he bellowed at his lieutenants, who were still on the battlements, commanding the defence. They hastened to meet him upon hearing his call, but Boromir was already dictating orders to his Squire. “Now lad, you wanted to be of help, and you’ll get your wish. I’ve an important task for you! You will cross to the west side and find Master Zbylut. Tell him to wait for me on the riverbank near the Bridge, with two scores of his strongest pioneers, with axes, saws and hammers. The bigger the better!”

“Aye, Sir!” Huor smiled and saluted, infected with Boromir’s enthusiasm.

“Now, Huor, make no mistake! Once this duty is done, you are to go to Causeway Forts with our supply wagons. No tarrying this time! Is that clear?” Boromir emphasised. He would not have Huor’s death on his conscience. He could not look Hurin in the eyes if he did, as Huor was the Warden of the Keys’s only heir.

“Aye, Sir! I’ll go now, Sir!” he replied, and ran off with such energy that only the youth could muster, raising dust behind him.

“What is this commotion,” Angbor demanded, as he, Derufin, Aglahad and Hirgon trotted to where Boromir and Faramir were standing on the Courtyard of the Eastern Gate.

“Good tidings!” Boromir proclaimed. “The day may yet be saved. We are going to collapse the Bridge!” Here Boromir made a pause, to allow for the gasps and muffled curses of his surprised companions. “Yes, yes, shocking. But I’ve thought about it, and it’s the only way. How much time do we have?”

“They are not yet here, but approaching, Sir!” Hirgon reported. “I estimate the Haradrim will be upon us in about half an hour!”

“Good!” said Boromir, with more apparent bravado than he himself was feeling. But he had to buoy the men up for this plan to work. “Angbor! You have done an admirable job with our defence thus far. Think you the men can keep it up?”

“Aye! The 2nd Company will stand! I trained no cowards!” Angbor proclaimed proudly.

“Excellent!” Said Boromir. “You will receive reinforcements from the 1st Company. You will try to hold them outside for as long as you can. Groups of them are bound to get through, but pay them no heed and remain on the battlements with your men.”

“Aye, Captain-General!” Angbor saluted.

“Now for the light infantry,” Boromir continued. “Aglahad, station the pikemen just inside the gates and the breaches in the outer wall. Let them be the first to greet our friends from Mordor,” Boromir smirked viciously and Aglahad nodded. “I’ve heard that a spear to the throat means well met in Black Speech. Hirgon, lead your skirmishers to the Eastern Bank, and hide them in groups amongst the ruins. When enemy squadrons breach the outer wall, I want them engaged in fighting on the streets, away from the Bridge for as long as possible. Build a barricade on the Main Street if you have to.”

“Aye, Sir!” The old warrior Hirgon rubbed his hands with glee. “We will lure them into the narrow passages. They won’t know what hit them.” Hirgon was the best suited for this job, since the men knew and trusted him. He could navigate the labyrinth that was the crumbling City of Osgiliath.

“That’s the spirit!” Boromir commended. “Derufin,” he addressed his friend in turn, “single out your best marksmen. I want them on the Western Bridgetowers, covering the evacuation. Before the Bridge collapses, we will be retreating steadily, and we’ll get out as many as we can to the Western Bank. Know that defending the Bridge will be tricky; your archers will have to sift friend from foe and aim true.” Boromir looked straight in Derufin’s eyes to make sure the Captain understood the situation. Holding the Bridge would be crucial.

“Aye, Sir! From the Western Bank’s watchtowers my marksmen will have their pickings of anyone who attempts crossing,” Derufin assured him.

“Yes, that is our plan exactly!” said Boromir, glad they had an understanding. “The rest of your shortbows you will station on the roofs on the Eastern side, to aid the infantry. And the longbowmen will man the wall and fire at the enemy troops outside.”

When all of his lieutenants mumbled their assent, the men stood in silence for a few short moments, pondering the magnitude of what they were about to attempt. So many things could go wrong in this plan. But thinking about what could go wrong would accomplish nothing at this point. They had to do it or die trying.

Boromir addressed his brother again, then.

“Faramir, I want your Rangers guarding the Bridge and the working pioneers. When the Bridge collapses, friend and foe alike might fall into the River. Some may be injured during the fall. I want your men to finish off the enemy warriors, and fish out any survivors on our side. The Rangers are best suited to such tasks.”

“Indeed,” said Faramir. “My man Damrod will see it done.”

“What? You will not lead them?” Boromir was surprised. His brother was well known across Gondor for the close bond of comaraderie he shared with the Rangers under his command. And, Boromir was hoping that by assigning his brother a task on the Western Bank he could keep him out of harm’s way.

“And leave you to fend for yourself, and likely get yourself killed by risking your neck stupidly?” Faramir asked. “I think not.”

“Aye,” said Derufin. “I’m coming with you, too. When you feel an arrow graze your ear and strike through your enemy’s pupil, it will be me having your back.”

“Very well, then,” Boromir agreed with a sigh. “But first we must go to the Eastern Side and give orders to the troops, while Angbor holds the gate.”

With that, Boromir and his officers were off, leaving the Lamedonian in charge of the heavy infantry on the barricades. As they jogged along the Main Street to reach the Bridge, Boromir once again addressed Faramir.

“Brother, and where is Baron Hallas?” he asked.

Faramir raised his brows.

“You ordered him to lead his men and my Rangers to safety, and so that is what he did,” Faramir reported. “When we returned to the City, I left my horse with them and went to meet you, but Hallas rode off through the Bridge. They are like to be with the horses at the stables, now.”

Boromir thought about his plans. The heavy cavalry would have to ditch the horses and the lances, and go back to the Western Side again with swords and shields. We’ll need every man on the defence line to give the pioneers more time with the Bridge, the thought. He decided then, that he would lead the Knights personally. It would be symbolic. The noble houses of Minas Tirith mounting one last defence of Osgiliath.

Once they crossed the Bridge, Boromir wasted no time to clue Master Zbylut and his pioneers in on the plan. The old master craftsman, who was in charge of the Gondorian division of pioneers: smiths, masons, and woodworkers, was already waiting on the riverbank, notified earlier by Huor.

“Where are your men?!” Boromir exclaimed. He’d specifically ordered Zbylut to bring a brigade of strong craftsmen and sufficient equipment.

“With permission, Lord General,” siad Zbylut, ever grumbly, “your Squire notified us of your plans. My men are already under the Bridge, setting up scaffoldings. The water around here is too deep to work without any levelling.”

“Good! Good that you’ve not delayed the work,” Bromir said, relieved. He trotted a few paces and crouched to see under the bridge better. The workers were setting pre-made wooden frames and ladders around the Bridge’s supporting beams. “Zbylut, I am about to demand the near impossible from your craftsmen,” he said, as he looked again at the old Master. Zbylut was currently the oldest member of Gondor’s army, completely bald with white beard that he kept short. “I want you to weaken the beams so that they barely hold, and then, on my signal, I want the whole bridge to fall in one swoop. Think you that could be arranged?” Boromir asked, worriedly. When Zbylut said nothing for a longer while, Boromir grew anxious. “I know it’s a lot, but I want to make sure we rescue as many men as we can, and only once Enemy troops start crossing the Bridge do we want it to collapse.”

Zbylut waved his hand impatiently.

“Aye, Aye, Lord General, I hear you!” he grumbled. “I’m thinking. I cannot guarantee it, but we could attempt it. But we’ll need horses. We could weaken the beams in a few places, and then girdle them with ropes attached to the horses. Then once you give the signal, the horses will start and tug at the beams, break and topple them. It’s risky and there is no assurance the Bridge will fall when you mean it too. I only hope it won’t break prematurely and bury my workers.” 

“Do not think I don’t appreciate what you’re doing here, Zbylut,” said Boromir. “If we get out of here alive, you’ll be hailed as heroes of this battle.”

Zbylut laughed.

“That would be a first, Lord! My men are used to working backstage,” he chuckled. “But they will appreciate a few casks of ale once the job is done.”

“Aye, you’ll get that. And the horses,” said Boromir. “I’ll go to get them now.”

“Wait, General, Sir!” Zbylut halted Boromir, who was about to leave in search of the Knights. “What will be the signal to collapse the Bridge?” he asked. Boromir thought. He planned to be fighting on the front line. The warriors on the eastern side could very well get overwhelmed. If the Enemy passed their defences and got to the Bridge, they would have to collapse it no matter who was left on the Eastern Bank. The marauders and the last line defenders would have to be sacrificed. And he needed some means to give the order no matter where he was on the battlefield at any given moment…

“The Horn,” he said to Zbylut simply. “Listen for the Horn of Gondor.”

With that, Boromir left the pioneers to their fate and directed his steps towards the Western Gate and its nearby stables. It was unfortunate that, due to his original strategy of making the entire City their battleground, he had to cross the entire length of old Osgiliath to gather all of his dispersed men, but it could not be helped. He needed his knights. All around him, the men were abandoning their earlier post and gathering under the command of Aglahad and Hirgon.

Fate had it that he did not have to go all the way to the Western gate to fetch the Knights. No sooner than he’d made it to hundred yards along Main Street, did they emerge from behind a turn, armed with broadswords and shields. Their march in full plate generated much clamour, and Boromir smiled at their sight. They were exactly what he needed. An elite team of a dozen or so noble Men of Gondor, armed to their teeth. Baron Hallas led them, brandishing a drawn longsword that was almost taller than he.

“Captain-General! Hail!” Hallas greeted. “We have delivered the Rangers and our horses to safety, as you commanded.”

“Aye! That was a well done sally, if I ever saw one, Hallas!” Boromir agreed.

“And now we are marching on to our death,” said Hallas cheerfully. “We’ve seen the Southrons. It’ll be an honour to die under your command, Lord Boromir. We’ll take as many foes with us as the Valar permit!”

“Do not be so eager to die, Hallas,” said Boromir, wincing inwardly. An hour ago he’d had a similar talk with Derufin, only then he'd been the one ready to meet his end. “We may yet get away with our necks intact. I mean to evacuate the Western Bank and destroy the Bridge before the Southrons can cross.”

Hallas uttered a colourful curse.

“You’re a clever one, General,” he chuckled. “Bordering on insane, but clever.” Boromir grimaced. Hallas was known for his sharp tongue, even towards his superiors. He let the remark slide and instead addressed the Knights. They were mostly sons of Gondorian nobility, some heirs, some spares, and some landless, who dedicated their time and skill to the service of the Steward. They were Boromir’s, he knew all of them by name, and could now recognize them by the colours and banners on their surcoats and cloaks. He knew their parents, their wives and their children. But it would have taken take too long to address each of them personally, so he spoke out loudly to the entire company.

“Hark ye! We are the noble Men of Gondor!” Boromir bellowed for everyone to hear. “We have led our men here to fight for our Homeland, and ours is the duty now to protect them! We will not abandon our soldiers to the Enemy! We are true Knights! We march East and we do not rest until the last of our men is delivered to safety! Who is with me?”

Loud cheers and voices of assent answered him, not only from the Knights but also from other men at arms gathering around on the Main Street. Boromir reached out and signalled two young men from the 3rd Company. He did not know them by names, but they certainly knew him, because they saluted instantly.

“Men, I entrust you with a special task. Go back to the stables and lead all the horses to the Bridge, to Master Zbylut. Do not stop until all of the horses are at the riverbank. You mustn't fail me” he ordered, before turning once again to the Knights. “Right! Now, we FIGHT! GONDOR!” he called, as he unsheathed his broadsword and started running towards the Bridge. 

The Knights at his back did the same, and soon their whole team was crossing the Bridge, chanting Gondor! Gondor! From the corner of his eye, Boromir saw Zbylut saluting, and he knew that the team of pioneers was already working on the beams under the Bridge. Hurry up, lads! he thought. Everything depends upon you. We’re just off to buy you some precious time!

As they crossed the Bridge and entered the Eastern Bank, Boromir could see that the first mixed bands of both Haradrim and orcs had already breached the City’s outer defences. Hirgon’s men were fighting on the streets, and arrows were flying in all directions. 

Boromir uttered a war cry and dived into the nearest narrow ruined street, joining the skirmish. Other Knights followed in his steps, reinforcing Hirgon’s small fighting teams. A knight in full plate on the field of battle was no small thing. The armour was heavy, expensive and constricted movement, but it also meant the warrior inside it could take heavy punishment during the assault. And Boromir knew how to take a beating. He would engage the orcs, shielding himself and the nearby men-at-arms from their blows, while the pikemen would skewer the foes from the flank. Occasionally Boromir would execute a flashy move with his broadsword, usually felling a foe or two and earning a cheer from the soldiers.

Slowly the company of Knights fought their way further and further East, though the number of enemies did not seem to lessen. More and more Haradrim were coming through. Boromir wasn’t particularly experienced with the Southrons, that would be Faramir’s province. Their fighting style was distinct from western sword art. They relied neither on strength, nor quickness of movement, but rather on precisely learned and exercised technique. They seemed to be able to parry each of his blows with little effort and without any hurry. Moreover, they came equipped with long, viciously sharp stilettos, that they would use mercilessly on armoured knights, whenever occasion arose. Boromir witnessed two of Hallas’ knights, Ciryon, and later young Hador of Halifirien, fall in the battle from well measured thrusts of such daggers - the Haradrim struck between the plates of the armour or aimed for the neck. Gondor’s finest slashed open like cattle, he thought with terror.

Only after Boromir caught the gist of Haradrim battle choreography did the fighting become any easier. Unfortunately, with time more and more of them would come through, and keeping them away from the Bridge was becoming harder and harder. Boromir and the Knights managed to fight through the entire Eastern Side, and now were approaching the Courtyard of the Eastern Gate, where the skirmish was particularly frantic.

Soon Boromir found himself having to engage with several foes at once. A quick look around confirmed that the other knights were getting similarly overwhelmed. Moreover, Boromir was starting to feel something of that feeling of hopelessness and bone-chilling anxiety, which Faramir had mentioned earlier. Is this some enemy’s magic? Or am I getting mad? He looked around. Other men under his command seemed to be faring no better, judging by their pale, sunken faces, and increasingly sluggish movements. Mayhaps we are all of us simply tired, he tried to reason with himself, but the sense of foreboding remained with him, sapping his strength. It felt like hours since he had joined the fighting.

Boromir was parrying well-measured slashes of steel delivered by two Southern fighters, and had the morose thoughts additionally occupying his attention, so when another enemy came for his head from his right flank, he noticed it too late. He saw the blade being raised, saw the Harad Man prepare the strike, but knew immediately he wouldn't be able to parry it on time. He prepared to take the blow, hoping it wouldn’t be fatal... but then the enemy jerked and fell, an arrow with green fletching sticking from his neck. The other two Haradrim uttered cries of shock seeing their comrade collapse, and another arrow went through the open mouth of one of them, killing him instantly. Boromir had the presence of mind to use the moment of confusion and slash open the third Southerner with his sword.

Having a momentary respite from oncoming attacks, he looked around to spy Derufin, and sure enough, his friend jumped off the nearby half-collapsed building.

“That was a close call! My reflexes are dulling,” he called out to the archer, raising his shield to catch an orcish arrow aimed at his heart. “Many thanks for saving my neck.”

“Do not thank me yet,” Derufin called back. “You’re not going to like this!” He then made a brief pause to fire another arrow at one of the orcs who were pestering Baron Hallas a few paces to the left. “The Haradrim are assaulting the Eastern Gate. They have some sort of a ramming device. We need to commence the retreat!”

“We don’t know if Zbytlut’s Men are ready!” This was a tough choice. If he tarried with the evacuation, the men would be slaughtered. It was only a matter of time, because they didn’t have enough force to face the army, sooner or later they’d be overwhelmed. On the other hand, if he signalled retreat too early, then Mordor’s fighters would follow them uninterrupted. If enough passed the Bridge, they could bring the fighting to the other side and threaten the entire plan.

“We need to at least pull back Angbor’s men off the battlements! The outer wall is lost as is!” Derufin cried. To that Boromir had to agree. There was no sense in manning the wall if the Gate was about to be rammed open.

They both looked to the battlement above the Gate, where Angbor was running frantically and bellowing commands. With a start, Boromir noticed that the Lamedonian was wounded - a short arrow was sticking from his arm, although he seemed to be paying it no mind. Boromir knew this kind of battle frenzy well. It made one numb to all injuries, which could lead to fatal mistakes.

“I’ll get his attention,” said Derufin and fired before Boromir could react. An arrow with green fletching embedded itself in a wooden beam that was supporting the parapet, mere inches from Angbor’s shoulder. The warrior looked to the direction the arrow was fired from, and spotted Boromir and Derufin. Boromir gave the signal then, and the first phase of their retreat began.

When the heavy infantry and longbowmen came down from the walls and joined the commotion on the courtyard, Boromir called out to Angbor and the nearest fighters.

“The Knights will hold the line! The rest of you get behind and start retreating! Steady! In order! But keep up the fighting!” He knew other officers would pass the command. He had to focus on holding the line, to give others a chance at retreat.

“Keep that shield up like we practised,” Derufin’s voice came from behind Boromir’s back. Next thing Boromir heard was a whistle of an arrow next to his ear. They would sometimes fight like this, in a well coordinated duo; Boromir would be shielding the two of them and hacking at any foes closing in, and Derufin would be firing from behind Boromir’s back, keeping the enemies at bay. One of these days he’ll put an arrow through my skull, Boromir thought with amusement. He hoped it wouldn’t be this day, because he still had work to do.

The Knights listened to Boromir’s command and aligned in a formation, serving as a barrier between the foes that were coming through the walls. As was, the way still wasn’t completely open to the Enemy, even when Angbor’s men retreated, because they still had to scale the walls and the barricades with their ladders. But that would soon change, when the Gate would be breached.

As if on command a horrible thunder shook the ground and the Gate trembled. It was made of reinforced timber, and barricaded from the inside with debris. Boromir wondered how long it would take to ram it open. Not long, judging from the loud cheering of orcs and Haradrim alike. They were waiting for the Gate to give way, and it would happen soon.

“We’re backing away from the Gate!”  Boromir bellowed to the rest of the Knights. “Keep up the fight!”

Slowly, facing the East, they made their retreat towards the Bridge. Boromir had no time to turn back and check how the evacuation was going, but he hoped Angbor had it under control.

Another thunderous ram ripped the air. Boromir’s ears ached as he saw the debris barricading the Gate from the inside move a little under the impact. New vigour seemed to surge into the Haradrim. Buoyed by the battering ram’s sounds they attacked the line of Knights with double force, thrusting viciously with their stilettos. Boromir saw three more Knights fall. Farewell brothers ! Arthael of Minas Tirith , Milancar the Younger, and Hirgon the Red Face, Boromir spared a moment to remember their names, momentarily overcome with grief and terror. And he would have joined them very nearly; a Southern stiletto was about to collide with his neck, but another short blade that deflected its course.

“Hello, brother” Faramir panted. “Hogging all the glory to yourself once again?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Boromir replied, as he regained his bearings and started parrying the Southron’s frantic blows with his shield.

Faramir lunged from behind Boromir’s back and slashed the Southron’s stomach open with hisblade. This was Faramir’s preferred style during combat, one he’s learned among the Rangers: he wielded dual short swords, moved quietly and defended himself with evasion. The Southrons, who preferred light armour to heavy plate, were easy targets for his blades.

“I bring good tidings,” Faramir grunted in between his strikes. “Work under the Bridge is done.”

Boromir smiled viciously. The fight was almost over.

“This is our last stand, then, brother,” he said to Faramir, and then he shouted commands to his men. “Companies! Abandon fight and run! Save yourselves!” He heard Angbor echo his command behind his back. “Knights! Tighten the line! We hold them off as long as we can! Retreat steadily!”

Boromir felt his muscles burn with exertion, as he pushed himself to his limits. From the corner of his eye he saw another of the Knights, Ser Rennor, fall from a dagger to his neck. There remained a couple dozens of yards between them and the Bridge. Their men were running to the other side. The Knights were holding off the Haradrim horde, retreating slowly, but also dying under Southern blades one by one. To his left, Paranion of Lamedon, Angbor’s compatriot, fell from an arrow through his eye, and a group of Southrons ran over his body, giving chase to the retreating troops. Whatever foe breached their line, Boromir hoped would be stopped by Derufin’s archers patrolling the Bridge. To his right, he saw Ser Angbor join their last stand.

“The men are safe! It’s time we passed the Bridge ourselves!” Angbor shouted. They were almost upon the Bridge, but they had to keep up the fight, for fear the Enemy would pursue and strike at their backs if they turned away and ran.

“Hallas! No!” Faramir cried, and Boromir saw the Baron topple to the ground. Only three other Knights, beside Boromir, Faramir, Derufin and Angbor remained standing and holding the front line. They were slashing their swords and ramming their shields like madmen, to keep the Haradrim front at bay. Backing away slowly they reached the Bridge at last. Boromir saw another Knight, Ser Seidon fall, in the same moment as he felt an arrow pierce his thigh. He cursed, but kept his balance. The wound hurt like the fires of Angband.

Now would come the tricky part. They had to retreat through the Bridge, while fighting, and only signal Zbylut once they reached the other side, hoping that the horde of the Enemy would fall with the Bridge.

KABOOOOOOOOOM!

Boromir looked up and saw his fears confirmed in the distance: the Eastern Gate’s wings were rammed wide open. But then something unexpected happened. The Southrons ceased their assault and their horde parted to the sides, leaving a clear passage. Boromir and his comrades were left alone, in the middle of the Bridge.

Suddenly, seemingly out of thin air and shadow, a blood-chilling vision materialised before him.

Nine black horses with frothing mouths and eyes of red madness. And upon them Nine Riders in black hooded capes, their bodies seemingly made of foul shadows. The Riders were charging at them from the Gate with insane speed.

Boromir knew he had to move, but he found himself paralyzed with fear. The sheer hopelessness and terror that the Riders awakened in his heart… He’s never felt like that in his life. In that moment he fully comprehended the enemy’s might. Mordor had the power to smother all hope, and that, to Boromir, seemed worse than all the Haradrim armies in the world. There was no chance for Gondor, no matter the outcome of this battle, his country was lost. The Enemy would prevail.

Then he heard his brother’s fearful sob, and that sound sobered him a little. It was ever his most important task to keep his brother out of harm’s way, and this time was no different. Even if everything else was lost, Faramir was still breathing. The Riders would reach the Bridge in a few moments, and he had to use those moments well, for Faramir’s sake. He dropped his sword and shield, inhaled frantically, and blew the Horn of Gondor with all the might left in his lungs. Whips snapped loudly, Zbylut’s horses moved at once and Boromir felt the entire Bridge shift and shake, in the very same moment that the Riders reached it at last. Boromir did the only thing he could think of: he pushed Derufin over the Bridge’s railing, grabbed Faramir’s arm and jumped.

His stomach made a salto as he fell a dozen feet and hit the water. He felt more than saw the Bridge collapse into the River, and the resulting wave of water slammed into his body and submerged him. He didn’t know if the Black Riders made it through or not. He lost his grip on Faramir, too. Valar, let my little brother be safe, he prayed, as he fought to reach the water’s surface.

Then he felt something heavy hit his head and the world went black.

To be (likely) continued...

Header image gifted by @quillofspirit. Thank you! <3

[081098]

hey all, here are a few Gaza fundraisers that i'd like to draw attention to this week. these have all been vetted by @/90-ghost, @/nabulsi or @/el-shab-hussein. i compile fundraiser links sent to me here:

Muhammad Atallah - €14.9k of €82k goal - GFM: https://gofund.me/2258572c

Nabila Mohammed - $2.7k of $10k - GFM: https://gofund.me/39c2807d

Nada Saftawi - €13k of €16k - GFM: https://gofund.me/bea5fd0d

Dr. Husam Farhat - $7.6k of $29.5k - GFM: https://gofund.me/6dee7dc8

Abdel Muti Al-Habil - €12.2k of €25k - GFM: https://gofund.me/b2ffd173

Mahmoud Khalaf - €27.6k of €30k - GFM: https://gofund.me/0ee1236d

Musab Abed - £5.8k of £8k - GFM: https://gofund.me/9dad46d9

Fatima Alanqar - €7.6k of €20k - GFM: https://gofund.me/6b1e699c

let's learn more about these folks🍉

Muhammed is 17 years old, and was shot by an explosive bullet in February while retrieving supplies for his family whose home has been completely destroyed. This campaign covers the estimated €31k for a bone graft operation, with the rest going towards rebuilding their home.

Nabila is 64 years old, and this campaign is being run by a friend of her daughter. She has had difficulties obtaining medicine to treat her diabetes and other medical issues. Here is a quote from the GFM that really broke my heart: "I know that I don’t have as much life left as I have, but I have the right to live and enjoy this."

Nada is an artist and was a teacher prior to current Israeli aggressions. She shares her love for learning with her 3 beautiful children. The family has been displaced multiple times.

Dr. Farhat's home and business was destroyed by the ongoing conflict. This GoFundMe aims to evacuate the family first to Egypt and then to Malaysia, where Dr. Farhat can complete the final year of his PhD.

Abdel, his wife and their two-year-old daughter, along with their extended family have suffered immensely from the violence over the past year. Their homes have been destroyed, they have been displaced multiple times, and they are currently living out of a tent.

Mahmoud is a PhD student currently residing in Ireland, who is fundraising to get his family out of the Gaza Strip. Here is a devastating account of one of the attacks: At one time, my family barely escaped death when sniper bullets hit the house where they sought refuge. [...] They saw flashbacks before their eyes from their journey in life and thought: "This is the end. Here is where everyone in this family dies."

Musab is 22 years old and was studying medical equipment engineering at Al-Azhar University. As many of you know, most universities in the Gaza strip have been severely damaged if not destroyed which has affected many of Gaza's young adult population. Musab, his family, and their beloved pets are struggling with daily resources, but this campaign will support them in rebuilding their lives.

Fatima and her husband have five children under the age of 12, and have been displaced 17 times. The family was forced to wean their youngest who due to the lack of milk production caused by food shortages.

[rainedragon]

do you have any tips for scanning old magazines/catalogs? i'd like to help archive some of the publications i have, but i don't really know where to start ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ

i'm mostly concerned about binding (especially on glbs) and what scanner specifications to look at, but any other advice or resources would be appreciated too!

So, I'm not actually an archivist, I'm a web developer by trade. I own a relatively inexpensive flatbed printer/scanner, mostly because it was what I could go out to a physical store and buy for relatively cheap when I started out scanning old magazines and catalogs.

For anything that is staple bound, like a magazine, and can be put flat on a table while open, scanning is relatively easy. You just need a flatbed scanner that is bigger than the pages, and a book to put on top of the lid to keep it flat (don't use too heavy of a book or you will damage the scanner 1-2 magazines is usually good. Also, don't forget they are there, open the lid and fling them across the room). Line up a corner of the page on the corner of the scanner and you should be golden. Scan in photo mode if your scanner software has options. Ideally, for things like the GLB, you would either want a copy you can destroy (which I kind of think is what some of the 'latest magazines' scanning farms were doing in the 2010s) and to carefully unbind the whole thing and scan the pages flat (which I have no personal interest in doing because destroying books pains me and I'm not trying to digitize "clean" digital copies for any professional reason). OR, my understanding is you want something with a V-shaped cradle of some type that is specialized for scanning books, either as an actual scanner or a camera setup with software. The problem is last time I looked those were like 10K and up if you get a piece of specialized equipment.

I've vaguely dabbled with the idea of doing a very hacky version of a DIY build with boxes cut down to the right angle and some panes of glass and my DSLR for my pink house catalogs because they are too big but I never really got it fully figured out. I will admit, I haven't tried super hard. I kept getting reflections, and I had to worry about the glass scratching the pages, and I didn't feel like getting a proper light.... I know I should really try again, and try a little harder, but it's a lot and I have a lot of other stuff I need to do so it just keeps getting kicked down the road.

That said, if you want to get into trying a DIY build, there is a whole community of people who were doing that in the 2010s that have posted good info on types of glass and way more detailed suggestions than I can make here: https://diybookscanner.org/forum/index.php This box scanner is essentially what I was trying to set up and it theoretically should work, I'm pretty sure my whole issue is that I was trying to do it all quickly at like midnight one day and did not have the right lighting and didn't try too hard to fix that. Like... I could have tried a lot harder than I did https://www.instructables.com/Bargain-Price-Book-Scanner-From-A-Cardboard-Box/ (good pictures of one here: https://diybookscanner.org/forum/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=1202)

And then I needed to take it apart because I needed the table back...

But yeah, if you don't want to invest thousands or destroy them, I would say try a cardboard box scanner for things like the GLB, see if you can get it to work for you?

And then for things that can go flat, a combo scanner/printer that is good enough for photographs will be more than good enough for the print resolution of most magazines and the scanner/printer combos are way cheaper than dedicated scanners because they think you are going to become an ink customer and buy printer ink, so they make it cheaper. But the joke is on them. My combo scanner printer has never had ink in it before. (Note: do read reviews and make sure it's not stupid enough to require it's ink to be full to scan. I wouldn't put it past some companies to add that to their software). If you are really passionate about this, there are a lot of people who are way more dedicated to archival book scanning who have developed all sorts of DIY solutions for speeding up the process, automating parts of it, etc, and searching for terms like DIY book scanner should get you in the right place on the internet.

[lt-sarai]

Woke up at 3:45am.

Clocked in and left at 4:45.

Arrived at 6 and set up, starting a little after 7:40.

Thrown to the wolves on my first day. No training. No idea of I did it well or correct.

Finished at 2:30. Take down equipment.

Finally leave the school around 3:45. Already been awake for 12 hours.

Drive home for an hour. Still on the clock.

Get home, weedeat a path in the back yard so I can have enough room to park mom's car somewhere other than the street so my $10k worth of work equipment doesn't get stolen or destroyed.

Bring in my work laptop so I can update it and get the things I was told to do downloaded and ready to go for tomorrow.

Clock out at 6:30pm.

Total time clocked: 13 hours, 45 minutes.

Multiply that by $19/hr, plus .35¢/mile for 116 miles gets me $296.15 before taxes. For one day of actually quite grueling work.

Who knows if I will be able to handle this after 6 years of doing basically nothing.

All I know is that there are not enough hours in the day, as it is now 8:40pm and I'm already an hour late to bed.

Goodnight.

[dojnd]

NAGGERS or how I learned that I'll never "get it".

I want to tell a story. I've told it once or twice in person. I only remember one time because I thought I made an impact, only to see that person sucked in by the Tea Party. One of the saddest things ever because it's tough thinking you reached someone only to find out… Nope.

It starts with a South Park episode. I know, I know. A fricken South Park episode. I know this will discredit the story in the minds of some. How can something meaningful start with South Park? I think that can only come from folks that have not watched South Park. The show started out innocently enough. YES, in the beginning there were a lot of fart jokes, but that was never the extent of the show or its humor. As time went on, Matt and Trey used their platform to further their ideals - ideals I'd mostly call Libertarian. Did you know I was once registered as a Libertarian? Don't hate me for that. I once thought that the ONLY aspect of the Libertarian Party was CIVIL liberties. Most of the folks I know are CIVIL Libertarians. Individual rights. Let us smoke pot and stuff - that sort of thing. Once I realized the actual libertarian party of today was just a right wing nutjob sort of thing, I got myself right the fuck away from it. I remember my conversation with [Facebook friend] and [Friend not on Facebook who is now Facebook friend's husband] about Libertarianism. I asked them the standard civil liberty questions all of which they were totally on board with - even sex work which is a sticking point for some. But then I got to the business related actual stance of the current Libertarian party… "Do you agree that Wal-Marts should be able to destroy bird sanctuaries to build stores". "Do you believe that energy companies should be able to pollute the atmosphere at will?" Their answers, of course, was "NO, are you crazy? The Libertarian party doesn't condone that!" Of course they do. Did I change their minds? Of course not. Husband seemed a little rattled, but he's not on Social Media for me to check. My friend though is clearly in the VIP section of the Trump train.

So where was I? I got sidetracked. I do that - get sidetracked. In these sorts of rants, I like getting sidetracked. It helps me tell the whole story. Or the whole story from my actual perspective. South Park Episode. That's where I was.

In the South Park episode "With Apologies to Jesse Jackson", Randy (Stan's dad) is on an improbably live episode of Wheel of Fortune. He has made it to the final round and is faced with a final puzzle. The category is "People Who Annoy You", and the puzzle is N _ G G E R S. Randy gets very uncomfortable, and the African-American cameraman peers around his equipment in a cautionary way. Randy says he thinks he knows the answer but he doesn't want to say it, and Pat Sajak tells him he better hurry. Thinking he's going to win $10K, Randy blurts out the N-Word, which is not the correct word. The right answer is, of course, NAGGERS. The episode then goes on its regular road of zany hijinks.

One of the plotlines of that episode is Stan's relationship with Token. Stan is good friends with South Park Elementary's only African American student, Token. Token Black is his full name. If you don't find that funny, well… Don't watch South Park. Anyway, Stan and Token are friends, and Stan spends much of the episode trying to apologize to Token. Token won't have any of it. Token tells Stan, essentially, that he won't ever understand what that word means to him and people like him. That Stan will never "get it". I'll spare you the remaining details of the episode because it's much better for you to watch it yourself. But the episode ends with Stan coming to a realization that he "doesn't get it". Token expresses appreciation that Stan finally "Gets it" by admitting he "doesn't get it".

I was very unsatisfied by this ending. It's safe to say, "I didn't get it". I won't go so far as to say I hated it, but… Never mind. Yes, I did. I did hate the ending of an otherwise poignant episode.

That episode aired in March, 2007. Fast forward seven and a half years to December-ish 2014. It was a bad time for me. Describing why it was a bad time for me is a good 3 chapters of a novel I'm not writing, so we'll skip that part.

I was walking to the liquor store. I could lie and say that I was walking to the grocery store in the same shopping center, but why would I do that when I'm talking truth? Anyway… Walking to the liquor store.

There's a hill between me and the liquor store. Duke of York Lane, opposite Sorley Rd. In order to buy booze, I have to walk up this hill. I was having a particularly bad day. It was around Christmas, but it was a mild enough day that I only needed my lightest jacket. At the time, my lightest jacket was the leather jacket I purchased with Marlboro miles many years before. I had long black hair with grey roots. In my mind, my 45-ish self looked like a fuckin' hoodlum.

I was starting to walk up that terrible hill, deep in thought about how terrible my life was when I heard a car turn the corner onto my street. I moved to the side and let her pass. It was a hatchback. She pulled into a spot further up from me. She parked, got out of the car, and opened her hatchback. When she went to the back of the car, I recall her sizing me up. Not in a "Oh my God, look at THIS hottie" way (of course) but more like a "is this guy a threat" way. I rolled my eyes internally, knowing I was as much of a threat as a ladybug, but knowing how I might LOOK. The lady grabbed some of her holiday treasures and went into her town house without closing the still-full hatchback brimming with Christmas presents.

I was surprised. Although I knew I wasn't a threat, I figured to a stranger, I'd probably LOOK like a threat. Why did this lady leave her car open? As I passed, I saw she had a treasure trove of good shit. I remember her having a game console, a TV, and other goodies any thief would LOVE to have. I snapped out of my stupid depression and started actively thinking - why did this lady leave her shopping spoils so available to a stranger? I could've easily grabbed that game console and took off, never to be seen again. I mean, maybe my long hair might've been easy to identify, but I could've run into my home and shaved my ass (and head) bald in NO time.

Midway between the lady's car and the liquor store it hit me: I'm white. I'm a pasty-ass white dude, and not a threat in the eyes of most people. Leather jacket and long hair aside, I am not a young, black man and will never be seen by default as a criminal by people who don't know me.

This hit me. HARD. I stopped in my tracks. I couldn't continue. My brain stalled, and after it rebooted, the first thing I remember thinking is "Now I get that South Park Episode". I "get it" now. I get that I don't "get it". There's no fucking way I'll ever understand being afraid to walk down the street, hoping a cop doesn't stop and frisk. I'll never understand being looked at as a criminal by default by a stranger on the street. I won't experience some security person following me around a store because they think I'm gonna steal something.

I composed myself and I moved on. In the following days, this Eureka moment led to several others. Most notably was I'll never know what it's like to be a woman. I'll never experience a shitfuck boss telling me I could really go places if I suck their dick. I'll never have to fear walking down the street fearing rape or being catcalled. I will never be subject to ridicule for truthfully reporting I have been assaulted or discriminated against.

I get it now. I get it that "I don't get it". That doesn't mean I'm a hero, or "woke" (a term I'm not fond of) or anything else beyond AWARE that I can't put myself in someone else's shoes. The only thing I want others to "get" is that they don't get it either. We're all Stans. We, especially dumbass white dudes like me, can't understand the struggles of non-white non-cis non-males because we'll never experience the prejudice that others do. Just try to be aware!

[tiannasfanfic]

DCEU HC: Acquiring Weapons

Fan Theory

I’ve seen some discussions about how Adrian Chase is able to get his weapons and equipment.

After thinking on it some, I have a theory. I based this slightly off of similar topics that have been touched on in X-Men, Civil War, DC’s Powerless and The Boys.

Everyone knows Americans love their guns. This is a well known fact even outside of America. Hell, any weapon really. American’s love being armed to point that you can walk into a sporting goods store in Texas and buy a flame thrower for under $10k. And, in all reality, guns are ridiculously easy for anybody to get. And I do mean anybody. But gun laws and ammo laws in America can differ wildly from state to state.

For example, here in Oklahoma, incendiary rounds are completely legal. I can order online and have them delivered straight to my door without any special permits. One site I found doesn’t require an ID (some do) and only limits how many I can buy in one order, but I can just do multiple orders to get more if I wanted.

Now, I have no idea what Washington’s gun and ammo laws are, but I almost want to say our current laws don’t really matter for this.

I’m imagining a version of America in a universe where super powers are real, a large number of people have them, plus superheroes and supervillains are everywhere. Hell, there are entire insurance companies dedicated to handling ONLY super related claims because of whole city blocks getting destroyed on a near daily basis. You probably have to buy supplementary medical coverage to cover super related injuries, too. This world is completely different from our world now and runs on completely different rules.

Eventually, people would start realizing that everything we have as citizens in the US in regards to firearms probably won’t work in most cases anymore. Even the US military can’t touch some of these supers.

America would probably flip their shit worse than any other country in the world. At that point, I imagine the majority of people would be demanding military grade weapons be made available to the general public. People would be scared. And laws would change drastically.

With the demand for higher powdered weapons at an all time high and continuing to rise, demand for your more basic designs of weapons would fall. Especially once the criminals started getting ahold of the bigger, more powerful weapons. A great example of this is Gotham, since Gotham and Evergreen are in the same universe. You could probably go to Gotham and buy a rocket launcher if you wanted to.

What the hell am I saying? Gotham probably has weapon vending machines like in Borderlands. There you go, Penguin. Your next money maker. You’re welcome.

This could be the reason why Adrian Chase can get his hands so easily on weaponry with a busboy salary. I figure he starts off with the cheapest models for what he wants, then upgrades them piece by piece. He’ll still need to save for each upgrade. At the end of the day he’s still a busboy. But I don’t think he’d have to save nearly as much as he would in this universe.

[duhragonball]

I was thinking about Goku and Krillin's friendship and it occured to me that they spent months training with Roshi together but then only saw each other for maybe a day every few years. Have you ever had a realization that tripped you out like this?

This is a really good ask, anon, and I just wanted to take a moment to say so. 

I have had a few ‘a-ha’ moments like these, but I’m kind of blanking on specific examples.  I’ll see what I can come up with.

1) For openers, there’s the whole thing where the Red Ribbon Army has a Dragon Radar, but it’s nowhere near as sophisticated as the handheld one Bulma invented.  I think the same holds true for Emperor Pilaf, but his gang is only three people.   You’d expect the RRA to have the best equipment possible, because that’s their whole deal, and by normal standards they probably do have the best possible Dragon Radar... but Bulma’s is simply that much better, because she’s on another level.   And it’s easy to overlook that, because Bulma’s supposed to be a genius teenager, like Donatello in TMNT, but the RRA’s Dragon Radar is the first hint that she’s even more special than we could have guessed. 

2) Rewatching Dragon Ball in 2019, I gained a new appreciation for the filler episodes where Mr. Popo trained Goku.  The first time I saw them, I was hoping we’d see Goku grow up and make progress over the three year gap, but instead they just focused on his early days on the Lookout, with Popo just saying things and Goku failing to understand.  It was very frustrating to watch.  

But in 2019, I noticed that all those episodes get paid off in the Piccolo Junior fight.   Popo kept telling Goku to be “quicker than lightning” and “quiet as the sky”, and Goku just couldn’t figure out how to do that, let alone fight at the same time.   He had to unlearn all the stuff that had helped him defeat King Piccolo, and he couldn’t do it... at first.    But by the time he fought Piccolo Junior, he put it all together, as demonstrated with his big finishing move.   Piccolo thought he had vaporized Goku, only for Goku to fly up into the air and crash into him.   Why didn’t Piccolo sense Goku’s presence?   Because Goku had learned to become as “quiet as the sky”.  Why couldn’t Piccolo dodge it?   Because Goku had learned to become “quicker than lightning.”  So it vindicates those filler episodes pretty nicely.   They weren’t just marking time, but they were setting up what the manga was going to do later.

3) I think last year, it hit me that Vegeta had probably never lost a fight before he went to Earth.   That alone isn’t probably any big deduction.  The only people stronger than him were all working for Frieza, and he knew to steer clear of them until he was ready.   But it explains why he was so giddy about the zenkai effect.   He had always known about it, but he never mentioned or cared about it until he experienced it for himself after losing to Goku, and then Zarbon. 

Yeah, I think this occurred to me during a conversation about Vegeta killing Nappa instead of helping him.   In theory, Nappa could have recovered and gotten a lot stronger, just like Vegeta did.   But Saiyans Saga Vegeta didn’t care about that.   He only gave his henchmen one chancemand discarded them as soon as they lost.   This attitude would also explain why he never dared to challenge anyone at a higher level.    He knew no one would show him any mercy, so the zenkai boost would have been meaningless to him. 

So he might have regretted killing Nappa after he experienced the zenkai firsthand, although he was so drunk on his own increased power that he probably never stopped to consider it.   But before Earth, Vegeta probably dismissed the zenkai as a crutch for lesser Saiyans.   In his mind, a truly great Saiyan never loses battles in the first place.  Or so he believed, until he lost a few times, and became stronger for it, and had to reconsider.

And that also explains how he warmed up to the Super Saiyan Legend over the course of one afternoon.   He and Goku made such sick gains that week that he started to wonder if you could zenkai your way to Super Saiyan, and then he was begging Krillin to shoot him just so he could get a step closer.

4) In the same vein, it occurred to me at some point that Bardock was probably stronger than King Vegeta, and neither of them realized it.   Maybe it was just a dub-ism, but I’m pretty sure “Father of Goku” has a line about Bardock’s power level being 10000.   At the time it was released, 10k wasn’t that big a deal, but in the Saiyans Saga, Vegeta was somewhere around 18-24k. Later, he would claim to have surpassed his father as a child, so I think it’s fair to assume that King Vegeta must have been in that 10,000 neighborhood. 

Which makes a nice subtle commentary on why the Saiyan Kingdom failed. They tried to breed better warriors, putting all their stock in the royal family, when the true secret lay in warriors like Bardock, who were constantly getting clobbered and healed.  Prince Vegeta only started to make real progress once he began fighting on that same regimen.

5) Also about “Father of Goku,” Frieza only wanted Planet Kanassa subjugated because of the psychic powers of its inhabitants.   I think the dub insinuated that the planet itself gave people those powers, but whatever the case, Frieza heard about these people with unusual powers and wanted them stamped out immediately.   Just like he wiped out the Saiyans over the Super Saiyan Legend, and just like he planned to destroy Namek to prevent anyone else from using the Dragon Balls. 

In short, Frieza fears and despises legends.  Why?  Because he’s so powerful that real people can’t hurt him, so his fears naturally turn to half-truths and folklore.   He chases down ghost stories and rumors, because let’s face it, what else does he have to occupy his time.   That’s why King Cold was happy to have the Saiyans working for him, while Frieza wanted them all dead.   Cold didn’t share Frieza’s hangups.   Cold barely knew what a Super Saiyan was, while Frieza thought about it all the time. 

6) One day I thought about that timeline where Cell killed Trunks and took the time machine to find the androids.    That specific timeline is pretty much empty.  The Z-fighters are all dead, and so are all of the androids and Trunks.  They don’t even have a Cell anymore because he went back in time and never returned.   There’s still a population, I guess, because the Trunks of that world wouldn’t have just stood by while Cell absorbed everyone on Earth, but that’s about it.   Bulma might have survived Cell’s attack on Trunks, but she’d be the only “name” character on the board.  It just sounds like a pretty depressing world.   Maybe this was the timeline Whis picked out to relocate Blunks and Future Mai in Dragon Ball Super.

7) It sort of blows my mind that the entire Majin Buu arc takes place over a couple of days.    Like, episode 207 through 250 all takes place over one day.   We know this because Goku only had 24 hours to be back in the living world, and that time was cut short by his use of SSJ3.  Then the Elder Kai started doing his ritual to make Gohan stronger, and that took like 25 hours, I’m pretty sure.  That wrapped up in #262, and there was no break in the action from that point onward, all the way up to the defeat of Kid Buu in #287.  So yeah, eighty episodes over two days.   It’s practically real-time footage, save for skipping over the Elder Kai’s ritual and Goten and Trunks practicing and sleeping. 

It’s hard to catch on to this, though, because so much stuff happens in the anime version that leads you to think that it’s a much longer span of time.    After Vegeta wrecks the stadium, the anime can’t decide whether or not Mr. Satan would stay there or return to his dojo.   In the Fusion Saga, Mr. Satan wanders from Buu’s house to the nearest town, then he wanders to the next town over, doing his “Last Man on Earth” bit, except this all happens during the Gotenks/Super Buu fight, which barely lasts half an hour.   In the afterlife, Chi-Chi is worried that she can’t find Gohan, but she wouldn’t have even been there that long, and wouldn’t she still be in line to meet King Yemma?  She was one of the last Earthlings to die, so how did she end up in heaven so quickly?

8) I used to think Movie 13 (the Hirudegarn one) was canon, but the last time I watched it, I noticed all these glaring problems.  They use the Dragon Balls in this one, which means it has to be set six months after the wish to make everyone forget about Majin Buum which means it’s been a year since Kid Buu was defeated.  Okay, fine, except Gohan and Videl are still in high school.   Shouldn’t they have graduated by then?   

More importantly, their high school and Bulma’s house seem to be in the same city.   I guess that’s an easy mistake to make.   It took me a long time to even notice, but Orange Star High is in Satan City, which is a totally different place from West City.   I mean, right?  They’re not terribly far apart, but they’re not the same place either.

Then again, they seemed to make the same error in Episode 287, where Bulma’s out shopping and Great Saiyaman 1 and 2 foil a robbery.   Are they in West City or Satan City?  Maybe there’s more to this...

[samgirard]

I love your Avs history stuff! The Nate-and-EJ-as-narrative-parallels one was very good. The way you frame and tell the stories reminds me a lot of like a medieval storyteller, in a way. So, fair lorist of the Avalanche from Colorado, care to tell us of the tale of Patrick Roy?

how do i begin to describe someone like patrick roy? patrick roy is a violent, temperamental egotist whose lionizing represents some of the worst impulses of hockey’s id. he is a control freak who was simultaneously short-sighted and stubborn as he was capable of innovating the game itself. he is one of the best goalies in the history of the colorado avalanche, if not the league itself, and acting in spite of him has turned this team into who they are today. 

above all, patrick roy is an asshole that thrives on dramatic exits.

roy’s history with the avalanche starts with his last game as a hab, against the detroit red wings, december 2, 1995. roy already had a contentious relationship with the habs’ coach, mario tremblay, and when he let in five goals in the first period and four more in the second until tremblay would pull him, roy took it as what it was: public humilation. there, on the bench, he declared he would play his last game as a canadien. four days later, he got his wish, and was traded to the colorado avalanche. 

roy would become the best goalie in avalanche history, winning two stanley cups with them and earning their franchise record in wins. along the way, after getting pulled in a tied game in anaheim against the ducks, roy went into the visiting coach’s office and smashed it up with his stick, destroying video equipment in the midst of his tantrum, and threatening the then coach, bob hartley, to never do it again. after this, the reporter who broke this story tells that roy cornered him in a parking lot, accusing him of running it to make him look bad before the avs went to montreal, and punched him in the face. 

roy was also accused of other violent acts during his career. in 1997, roy was arrested after threatening and allegedly attacking a dj at a bar in colorado springs. in 2000, during a fight with his wife, roy ripped two doors off their hinges and was tried for domestic violence and destruction of property, dropped due to his wife’s lack of desire for conviction, and the two would divorce in 2005. 

after a game 7 ot loss against the wild in the 2003 playoffs, roy immediately retired, and the goalie would become a coach. 

after retirement, roy buys his own little castle in the q, and becomes owner, gm, vice president of hockey ops, and head coach of the quebec remparts. he’s involved in at least one other violent altercation, charged by the co-owner of the remparts with throwing punches, and inciting his son jonathan into fighting another team’s goalie without the other goalie’s agreement. his team loses the 2012 qmjhl playoffs against the halifax mooseheads lead by nathan mackinnon, and the remparts goaltender louis domingue, who roy blamed for the loss, recounts that roy is “worst person [he has] ever met.”

following this in 2013, roy is named head coach and vice president of hockey ops, as an additional concession for taking the job, for the colorado avalanche, sharing player-personnel decisions with his former teammate, joe sakic. 

roy as a coach was as erratic and dramatic as he was as a person. in his first game as avs coach, he gets in a shouting match with bruce boudreau, then with the anaheim ducks, and almost knocks over the partition between benches, getting fined $10k for his actions. he starts the practice of pulling the goalie at 3 minutes, setting the standard for pulling the goalie today, with insane moves like pulling the goalie at 10 minutes.  he publicly rips into his star center, matt duchene, for celebrating too ebulliently in a losing game.

during all this, roy butts heads with sakic and the rest of the organization over who had the final decision in player decisions. this all comes to a head in the summer of 2016, when roy questioned sakic on a number of decisions like trading nick holden to the rangers, whose trade lead roy to personally call alain vigneault to congratulate him on what he had gotten. however, it was tyson barre that was the last straw for roy. 

in the summer of 2016, tyson barrie was part of the avs’ young core, and one of  the brightest spots on their blueline, despite his issues on defense. tyson is a contentious player, to say the least, and his contract negotiations broke down to the point where he became one of the few players to enter into an actual arbitration hearing. the hearing was, by all accounts, vicious and grueling in its assesment. roy was strongly against keeping tyson, thinking of him as a 5th dman, and strongly preferring a stronger, bigger defenseman. when tyson signed a contract with the avs before the arbitrator made her ruling, roy did what he does best: he threw a tantrum, took his toys, and went home. 

two weeks after tyson signs with the team, roy resigns as head coach, six weeks before training camp, and not through an official team statement, rather putting out a pr statement of his own, citing lack of “say in decisions that impact the team’s performance.” roy not only leaves, but he takes every coaching staff and support staff member loyal to him as he returns to the remparts, preferring to be king of a castle he can control. roy guts the avalanche logistically and in morale, and his leaving is a key part of how the following 16-17 season would become the worst in franchise history. 

roy returned to the remparts to lick his wounds, acting as head coach and general manager this time around. the other teams, not looking kindly on a coach so power-hungry that he would abandon his team like that, avoided seriously considering him as a coaching candidate since then, except for one secretive interview with the senators last year which came to nothing. i fully expect some desperate team or another to turn to roy eventually, and i wish them luck. 

[thwip--thwip]

Hi! Love your writing. Do you have any fic recs (including stuff you’ve written) with steve/bucky/sam helping out the whumpee? If not thats cool. Thanks! 🙂

Hello & thank you so much! I don’t read much fic that doesn’t involve IronDad, and I definitely don’t read much fic without Peter as a main player, but I think I’ve got a few things that might float your boat?

red alert by @thwip–thwip | 1k

“Oh,” Peter blinks again, and Tony can feel it as the kid tentatively pokes at the wound, blood welling up from between Tony and Steve’s fingers. Peter’s hand comes away dripping red. “Yikes.”

*

Written for the prompt ‘human shield’ for Whumptober 2019.

It me! You said including myself so….xD This is about the only thing I have that fits this criteria. It’s a short little fic I wrote for Whumptober, but it features a little bit of Steve!

When the Dead Are All Living by @captainkirkk | 10k

Somehow, Peter continues to run into a dangerous, homeless man around New York. Somehow, Peter avoids being killed. Somehow, they become something like friends.

(Peter and Bucky’s unlikely friendship, following Bucky’s road to recovery).

One of my favorite authors, this fic doesn’t exactly have the whump you might be looking for, but it’s an incredible look at a Peter-Bucky friendship and one of my all time favorite Bucky fics.

Held Together verse by TunaFishChris | 32k

Steve is not coping well in the twenty-first century. At all. Three months after the Chitauri invasion, he decides he’s had enough.

But just as he’s about to end it all, he runs into the new hero in town.

This is a really great series, both parts! Steve is the whumpee in the first part, and it’s somewhat split in the second part with Peter but - a great Peter-Steve friendship fic, and overall just a fun time!

the rattle of their hearts by @iron–spider | 58k

Tony deals with the aftermath of Infinity War. He needs to get things back to normal. And Peter is an essential part of normal.

How could I not put @iron–spider on any list of mine? This fic has some great Peter-Bucky interaction, with a little Steve thrown in! Also just - it’s @iron–spider! Everything she does is AMAZING, I guarantee it. If you don’t like her writing, meet me in the Denny’s parking lot and we’ll fight to the death.

The Closest Thing He’s Got by @upcamethesun | 15k

After Spider-Man’s final showdown with the Vulture leaves him the worse for wear, he’s found by none other than Steve Rogers.

Or, five times Tony Stark deeply resented Steve Rogers’ new involvement in Peter Parker’s life, and one time he did not.

Another Steve fic! This definitely seems like it’d be up your alley; featuring Civil War Feelings and Peter being an absolute wild child, such a fun time.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by @captainkirkk | 3k

Peter’s trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

The original Peter’s-trapped-and-can’t-get-out fic, I will never shut up about how good aloneintherain is. Featuring Steve and all of the core six Avengers!

It Was Probably The Pudding by Serendipity_Cometh | 77k

Given that over the course of the past eleven months Peter Parker hasn’t contracted so much as a head-cold, the teenager thought it safe to assume that the whole ‘irradiated spider bite’ gig had equipped him with an immune system of steel that rivalled Captain America’s.

So when he wakes up one night in the midst of the worst asthma attack he’s suffered in almost eight years, neither he nor the rest of the team can think of a logical explanation.And everything sort of goes downhill from there.

(Set in an Alternative Universe where Peter moved into the Avengers’ Tower following the events of The Amazing Spider-Man.)

Another absolute classic and one of my favs, featuring a deathly ill Peter and the Avengers, circa 2012. Steve is a wonder in this one - and we get a little Stony. As a treat.

shelter also gave their shade by @mellaithwen | 4k

Injured after his final battle with the Vulture, Peter Parker gets some unexpected help.

“As if anything would’a kept you away from that beach.” Captain America scoffs. “Brooklyn’s ours, Buck. Besides, we look after our own.”

Spoilers for Spider-Man: Homecoming

Steve and Bucky pick Peter up after the fight with Vulture :’) Have a little heart to heart, such a good fic!

Coulson’s Eleven by @copperbadge-writes | 32k

After Vanko destroyed the Stark Expo, SHIELD instituted a Superhuman Detention program, designed to capture and hold dangerous people – dangerous people like Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and others who made themselves noticeable. The superhumans SHIELD has imprisoned – and some SHIELD agents themselves – have other ideas about what constitutes 'dangerous’…

Incredible AU fic and one of my all time FAVES! Doesn’t quite have the whump, but it does have some wonderful Peter-Steve friendship! 

I hope this satisfied your craving, my dear anon! Please remember to leave a comment for the author if you liked any of the fics here!

[esandcasg]

Chapter Ten - Something Kinda Oooh

The landing on the glacier was hard. During my younger days of pioneering base jumping and wingsuit sky diving off Preikestolen, I had become accustomed to state of the art parachute technology, flaring the canopy around twenty feet above the DZ and generating a silky smooth landing that the average Ryanair pilot could only dream of.

But not here. Whilst Andrew’s rudimentary blanket parachute had saved our lives – as had his quick and imaginative thinking – it didn’t make for a particularly aerodynamic and controllable descent, like a Boeing 737Max in override mode.

We crashed into the hard glacial ice and the three of us were immediately pitched into a roll, becoming entangled in the blanket, like three sausages in a meaty triple layered Gregg’s. To make matters worse, Andrew hadn’t shaken vol-au-vent crumbs off the blanket after his lunchtime offering, so as we tumbled down the glacier I was blinded by sharp flakes of puff pastry that swirled around my face as we rolled.

We came to a sudden stop and my face slammed into what appeared to be a wall of granite, which I assumed was Ifan’s abdominal muscles. The three of us wriggled our way out of the blanket, disentangling arms, legs and other appendages on the way.

“Where’s the door?” Asked Ifan.

I sat up, neatly brushing my hair back into its standard windswept mountain bouffant styling, as vol-au-vent crumbs rained down on my lap. We were on a nondescript glacier in the middle of a nondescript mountain range. In truth we could have been anywhere, and I’d totally lost track of where Andrew had taken us in the last chapter. A few meters further down the glacier was a ten meter wide crevasse. I walked to the edge and gazed down. I shuddered slightly. It seemed as bottomless as Ifan’s drinking ability when handed pints to finish. If we’d rolled just that little bit further we would be dead, no question. I walked back to Andrew and Ifan and sat down next to them.

We sat in silence for a minute trying to comprehend what had just happened, and the series of events that we had been lucky to survive. The second Ifan. The avalanches. The parachute jump. As a blissful serenity surrounded us, like the time we drank beer on the pontoon by the lake in Sweden, I gazed up at the summit of ‘Craven Mountain’. Even some minutes after the series of avalanches and serac explosion that had nearly claimed our lives, snow and ice particles still rained down the mountain like a giant white blanket of fog slowly creeping its way through a horror movie set.

I looked a bit further down the mountain and saw the burning wreckage of the BMW M3 that had suddenly appeared in the story as a reference to my younger days. I thought back to the last time I had sat in an M3. My sister had picked me and Rob Buysman up from Marylebone station on our way to Earls Court to see Oasis on their proclaimed Be Here Now tour. Except her drunken ass of a boyfriend had other ideas and directed us all across London to the point where we missed The Verve who were supporting, and my sister turned up halfway through the Oasis setlist.

But the question that lingers on from that experience was why didn’t I take Ifan? Why did I end up going with Rob? Maybe these are questions to be answered in the Vertical Summit 2 Author’s Notes.

I was brought back to the present by Andrew breaking the silence, as he one-cheek-sneaked and let rip.

“I have no idea where the hell we are,” he said, as he cupped his fart and deposited it in Ifan’s face. “And I have no idea what we do now.”

We turned in unison as we heard the unmistakable mechanical throbbing of a tank drawing nearer. It was accompanied by shouting of Craven’s men. They were looking for us. And by the sound of it they weren’t far away.

“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Ifan, wafting fart away from his face. “It fucking stinks.”

We stood and started making our way up the glacier, in the opposite direction of the approaching troops. We had no equipment, no rations, no weapons. Ifan and I simply held an ice-axe each. Andrew still had his 5L daypack, but at that size I didn’t hold much hope of it containing anything useful. Perhaps an owl or two that we could grill later for dinner.

As we climbed we kept as close to the medial moraine as possible, hopeful of staying out of sight of the troops below. I could only hope that the tank couldn’t make it onto the glacier and cross the series of crevasses, but this is Vertical Summit where anything is possible.

As we reached something of a plateau that probably didn’t make sense from a geographical perspective, we had our first real opportunity to try and get a fix on where we were.

“There,” said Andrew, pointing back slightly the way we had come. “There’s K2. Next to it is Elbrus. I think we’re on some sort of tributary spur of the Godwin-Austen glacier.”

“That’s all very well. But where does this leave us?” Asked Ifan, picking up what appeared to be a sweaty sardine that had been left out overnight from another expedition. He inspected it before delicately putting it in his mouth.

“I have a theory,” I started. Both Andrew and Ifan looked at me expectantly. “I think we need to go back to Kangleong.”

“What?” Barked Ifan, as bits of sardine bone and flesh flew everywhere. “Kangleong is destroyed. You know this.”

“I know. But think about it. All this shit started that moment I tore those prayer flags from the summit. All of it. The storm that killed everyone, Craven, our lives being ruined, now this. It all leads back to that defining moment.”

As Ifan rummaged around on the floor for the bits of the all-important protein that he had lost, Andrew stared at me for a moment before nodding.

“You are right. I mean, at the time I thought it was really funny. But clearly you have angered some sort of mountaineering disaster novel god. The prophecy spoke of this.”

“But you are still missing the point,” continued Ifan. “Kangleong doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Something will exist,” countered Andrew. “Even if it’s just a pile of rocks. We climb it and put flags on the top. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” repeated Ifan and I in unison.

We set off for Kangleong, nestled deep in the Himalayas. In theory, it would have been a two month expedition to cover the twelve hundred kilometers, especially if we had taken the slow but necessary precautions to avoid Craven’s troops. But after half an hour we gave up as we had the Swansea 10k the next morning and had to save our legs. Andrew didn’t even want to risk a cheeky spot of parkour.

Worried about DOMS, Ifan drew back his sleeve to reveal a wrist mounted computer, like a 1980s Casio calculator watch on steroids. He punched in some numbers, and a few moments later his C-Max appeared. A red light oscillated from behind the front grill.

Whilst Andrew and I climbed in – I had called shotgun - Ifan opened the boot and dug out three Tesco’s meal deal bags, handing two of them to Andrew and I. Climbing into the cockpit, he put the C-Max into flight modus, and we sat back as he ignited the boosters and we shot off into the mountain air, leaving the Karakorum and Gasherbrum ranges behind us.

Once at an appropriate altitude, Ifan hit the hyperdrive switch, and the light around us was distorted into a rounded tunnel as we were propelled towards the Himalayas at lightspeed. I didn’t even have time to take a bite from my soggy southern fried chicken wrap before Ifan hit the switch again and we came out of hyperspeed. The journey had taken a mere 0,004 seconds; just long enough for Andrew to finish his lunch.

As speed slowed to normal I was startled as something hard hit the windscreen; a loud thud that seemed to resonate through the car as it bounced through the air. And again. I noticed a small fissure of a crack open up in the glass between where Ifan and I sat. As more and more objects hit the car I saw a buildup of ice on the windscreen that slid in an upwards trajectory due to our speed.

“Have we come out of hyperspace in a meteor shower?” Andrew asked from the backseat. He leaned forward so he was between Ifan and I.

“It’s ice!” Shouted Ifan above the noise of the impacts. “We’ve come out in a hail storm.”

“I’ve got a very bad feeling about this,” I said.

As golf ball sized hail stones hit the car, smoke started to seep out from under the bonnet. A moment later it was in the cockpit, pouring out of air vents. Lights and warning alarms flashed on the display panel.

“Hey, what’s that flashing?” Asked Andrew, pointing towards the dashboard.

Ifan wafted his hand away. “Hold on guys, we’re going down.”

As he wrestled with the controls my stomach lurched repeatedly as we lost altitude in big chunks. As we came down through the cloud line I noticed a snowy clearing in a valley ahead of us, between two Himalayan peaks.

“Over there,” I pointed.

“Yeah, that’ll do nicely,” said Ifan, as he tried his best to aim towards where I was pointing. Once more the car plummeted in altitude and I thought for a minute we wouldn’t make the landing zone. But in a battle of strength – Ifan versus mother nature – there would only be one winner.

“Brace yourselves…” warned Ifan, as we came over the clearing.

We hit the ground hard, and I felt the impact resonate through every bone in my body. The front suspension on the C-Max collapsed sending the nose of the car into the snow. As we ground to a halt, snow was pitched forward over the windscreen, a lot like when Luke crashed his snow speeder on Hoth.

Ten minutes later, Ifan had finally managed to finish parking and we all climbed out of the steaming wreck.

Whether it was Ifan’s brilliance as a pilot or my lazy writing, but fortunately we had come down just off the Yangma glacier, a big slug of ice that ran up to Kangleong base camp, which left us just a few hours trek to the start of our climb. Or maybe I should say where Kangleong base camp used to be.

I let out a sigh as I thought back to the last time I was here. It was 2013. I was working at BP and was bored to the point that my brain was turning to mush. But back then I was actually trying to write a serious mountaineering disaster novel. My how things have changed in the last eight years.

I shook the memories out of my mind and followed Ifan and Andrew into the local prayer flag shop, where we picked up a few tasty offerings that would hopefully restore peace to the galaxy. After that we popped into the adjoining Yangma Tavern for a cheeky pint and pub meal, and with that we set off for Kangleong.

I didn’t know what to expect as we approached Base Camp. My mind wandered again. Ground zero. The series of events that had changed everything from me. From seeing Ifan topless for the first time, to summiting the world’s toughest climb. Adrenaline and nervous energy built as we approached.

But as we climbed the rise that would give us our first view of New Kangleong, whatever I expected, it wasn’t this. The majestic granite monolith was gone. In its place was a pile of rubble and debris that rose a few thousand meters into the sky. Sitting on the top was a vertical slab of ice and rock that stretched a further one thousand meters up into the Himalayan air, and now represented the new summit of New Kangleong. It almost reminded me of a flake sticking out the top of a 99.

“What the fuck is that?” Asked Ifan.

“Don’t you guys see?” Replied Andrew. “It’s The Sill. In the explosion it has remained intact, somehow.”

He was right. The Sill was a mystical feature on Kangleong that changed both elevation and size based on what chapter you happened to be reading in Vertical Summit 1. But mountaineering purists and geologists would argue that it was approximately one thousand meters long and three hundred meters wide. Except now it stood on its own as the peak of Kangleong.

We would have to climb it. In some ways the climb of Kangleong had suddenly got even harder, especially as it would have to be done without ropes. Something referred to as free soloing.

I saw the fear etched on the faces of Ifan and Andrew. Whilst I came from a free soloing background, I knew that this was new territory for these guys. In my youth I had pioneered new free soloing routes up some of the worlds hardest climbs, most notably The Dawn Wall on El Cap, a climb that featured in a Netflix documentary The Dawn Solo. The documentary also focused on my penchant for a morning Tommy Tank.

People asked all the time why I did it. Why did I climb without a rope, harness or other safety equipment? Aren’t I scared of death? The truth was that I got really tired of answering those questions over and over again. But you can’t blame those who ask the questions: fans, friends, me, any rational, thinking, non-suicidal human being. Why is it not enough to be one of the best climbers in the world? Why remove the protection? It’s as if Novak Djokovic played a grand slam tournament where the penalty for losing was beheading. Which they should introduce.

But the questions were valid. Was it because I wanted to push myself? Because I didn’t value my life? Because I wanted to achieve absolute sporting perfection? All good questions. The answer was that I knew that it was the only way a guy with my ears was going to get a babe like Sanni McCandless.

I stared up at the summit of New Kangleong. Something about it made me uneasy. It wasn’t just the climb in front of me, but it was almost as if…  as if I felt a presence up there. Something that I hadn’t felt since…

I faced Andrew and Ifan. “I’ll go alone.”

“Don’t be stupid, we do this as a team,” said Andrew, but I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t quite convinced of his own words.

“This is my mess, I will fix this. Plus, Craven is up there. And I have to face him alone.”

“What? How do you know Craven is there? Why do you have to face him alone?” Asked Ifan, the questions spewing out of him like the infamous cous-cous honking episode.

I turned to face The Sill. I didn’t want to see their reactions.

“Because he’s my father.”

There was stunned silence behind me as I set off for the summit. I tried my best to keep my emotions in check. I had to be clear of thought and one hundred per cent focused if I was going to make this climb. Free soloing something of this magnitude was like a gold medal level of achievement, where years of preparation comes together in one moment of perfection. There would be no place for silver.

After a few hours of scrambling up broken rock I reached the smooth granite and ice face of The Sill. I placed a hand on it, felt it’s smooth surface and the energy running below it, as if it was the force that I would harness and help me climb this beast. I looked up. A sheer vertical slab of rock with an endless series of elite level ice and rock climbing pitches lay in front of me.

I took a deep breath.

“Fuck this,” I said to myself. I checked around to make sure that the Netflix film crew were nowhere to be seen,  before digging out my Mandalorian jet pack that I had concealed under my jacket.

I snapped it in place and hit the booster. I mean, it’s not my fault that no one challenged me with the whole ‘pictures or it didn’t happen’ ethos.

I blasted my way up the thousand meters in a number of seconds, and landed smoothly on the top of Kangleong. I was back. Seven years and lots of memories later. Except this time I was the first person to conquer the new mountain. New Kangleong.

But I knew that this was only wishful thinking. I’d known it since I saw Kangleong from base camp. Since I sensed it.

As I stared out over the shrunken view from the summit of Kangleong, I heard the unmistakable mechanical breathing from behind me. I turned slowly.

Twenty meters away stood Craven.

“You came alone. That was unwise.” Even at this altitude the wind was strong and he had to shout to make himself heard.

“I came to finish this, father.” I shouted back. “The ride is over.”

“Oh, no, no. l say when it's over.”

From his waist holster he pulled out his ice axe. He hit a button which turned on a series of red LEDs around the rim of the axe. An innovative feature that allowed climbers to see cracks in the ice, almost like an illuminative dye-pen. But in the hands of Craven it looked sinister.

He took a step towards me.

[fangirlfiction]

Born to Ride

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (eventually)

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: part 1 of the Born To series. A mystery man shows up on your doorstep, and your job, and your doorstep again, to make you an offer you have a hard time refusing. things go well, but only for a little while.

Warnings: some mentions of violence, some fighting. maybe some language. this chapter is pretty mild. this series as a whole is angsty though!

A/N: hello hi hey! so, I wrote a lil 4 part mini series! and this is the first part! the next part will go up on the Friday of each week (for the time zone people, this is my Friday, so whatever time this is going up for you is when the next parts will go up!) also, if you want to be on the taglist for this series or any of my writings, just send me an ask and I can tag you ♥ thank you for being so patient with my sporadic writings, things have been kind of tough the last few months, but I’m trying. okay, I love you all! 

series masterlist

You sigh as you pull up to your trailer.

As you put the car in park and put your name tag in your cup holder, you think about the long bath you plan on taking, and the equally long nap that will inevitably follow. You exit your car and step through the front door, rolling your eyes when you are instantly greeted by your boyfriend yelling at the TV down the hall. You kick off your shoes and move to the cabinet where you keep the box of tips from your job at the diner. 

You dig through the cabinet in frustration. “Danny, where is the money box?”

His voice rings out from down the hall, “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

Narrowing your eyes at his tone, you slam the cabinet door closed and stalk towards the only bedroom in the small trailer. Your boyfriend is sprawled out on the bed, eyes focused on the T.V. as he smashes buttons on the controller in his hand. “Danny, what do you mean ‘somewhere’?”

He sighs and pauses his game, turning to you. “The guys were here, and we got hungry watching the game. What was I supposed to do?”

“Where. Is. It?”

He uses his head to gesture to the corner of the room, and your eyes land on the small box you use to hide the extra cash. Lid open, and lying on its side. Empty.

You walk over and grab the box, and hold it up. “What the hell did you buy? There was at least $300 in here!”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, okay. But it was my turn to host and we needed the money.”

“That was weeks worth of tips! Do you know how many shitty days at the diner I had to put in to make that?”

“It was just laying around in the box. You never spend it anyways.” He turns back to his game and picks up the controller. “I don’t know why you don’t race anymore. The money you were making there would have paid for anything we could have ever wanted.”

You resist the urge to scream as he resumes his game, and you turn and leave the room, box in hand. You step into the small bathroom and close the door, leaning against it and letting out a long breath. As you feel your blood pressure return to normal, you reach into the pocket of your uniform and pull out the wad of ones from your overnight shift and place them in the box. You hear your boyfriend yell in frustration at his game and you check that the door is securely locked before you kneel down and open the lower cabinets. You quietly push the cleaners and soaps to the side before finding the loose spot in the paneling. You wedge your nail into the tiny gap and pop the panel off, revealing a small hole, only slightly larger than the box sitting next to you. 

With one more glance at the locked door, you reach inside and pull out the cinched bag, and tug it open to reveal a gun, and a relic from your past that you wished you could forget. The buckle wasn’t big, just the right size to fit on any standard utility belt. It was the only uniform you had from your old life, a requirement for any standard suit, for ease in identifying the others that were like you. Your fingers trace the hourglass shape, the red outline glinting at you in the light of the bathroom. 

A distant knock draws you from your thoughts, followed closely by your boyfriend’s voice. “Babe, can you get that? I’m busy!”

You roll your eyes and return the gun and buckle to the bag, before returning the bag, and now the money box, to the hole. As you reattach the paneling and hide the location, you yell out, “Coming!”

You close the cabinet doors softly, flush the toilet just in case, and leave the bathroom, making a beeline for your front door. When you approach the door, you are surprised to see a man in a suit with a pair of dark sunglasses, and not your boyfriend’s loser friends as you were expecting. Your brows draw together as you open the door just enough to step outside, and turn to face the man. “May I help you?”

The man clears his throat and answers with your last name, and you give a small nod. “Yes?”

“I have a job for you.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyeing the man. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s a dirtbike race on Saturday. We need you to win it.” 

You shake your head, “You must have me mistaken for someone else, I don’t race.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a news article, one with your smiling picture largely printed on it. You give him a regretful look. “Anymore. I don’t race anymore.”

He glances behind you at your trailer, before meeting your eyes again. “We’ll pay you.”

You pause, but recover immediately. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

You turn and slip back inside, locking the door as soon as you’re inside. Your boyfriend walks into the room, curious. “Who was that?”

“No one. Just some solicitor.”

He shrugs and grabs a beer from the fridge before leaving you to your thoughts. 

-

The man shows up three more times before you finally hear him out. Once at your trailer, and twice at the diner. You finally agree to talk to him three days after his initial visit. You convinced yourself it had nothing to do with the pile of overdue bills on the table at home. 

You plop down in the booth across from him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Alright, let’s hear the pitch.”

“There’s a race this Saturday, in Boston.” He slides a flyer to you, but you only glance at it briefly before meeting his eyes again. “We need you to win it.”

“Who is we?”

“An interested party.”

You raise a brow. “Why do you need me to win?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why me?”

He shrugs. “Because we heard you were the best.”

You shake your head. “I haven’t ridden in years. I don’t even have a bike anymore.”

“We will provide all the equipment, and pay the entry fees. All that we require is that you race, and win.”

“And if I don’t?” He looks at you, confused. “Win, I mean.”

He gives you a grim smile. “Let’s just say it would be in your best interest to come out on top.”

You take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “And if I win, I get the prize money?”

“Of course. The $2,000 reward will be yours. Along with an $8,000 thank you from the interested party.”

You let out a low whistle. “$10k? You’re offering me $10,000 to show up and win a race?”

“Yes.”

You eye him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. We need a job done and you are the most capable to do it.” He eyes the diner, a faint look of disgust passing over his features. “And $10,000 can change your life.”

You sit silently for a minute, weighing the options. You were almost certain that something illegal was involved, but you had been on the wrong side of the law before. And $10k would be enough to get you away from the life you were living, at least. It could easily get you away from Danny. Without another thought, you look up at the man. “Yes.”

He simply nods, and slides a phone to you. “All communications will go through this phone. After your final payment, destroy the phone and any other records you may have.” He then passes you a duffel bag. “Inside this bag you will find a plane ticket, along with the keys to a storage unit in Boston, which is where you will find any and all gear you may need. If there are any other problems, contact us.”

You take the phone and the bag, and you nod. The man stands, and gives you one last look. “We’ll be in touch.”

As he walks away, you check the plane ticket, and you’re shocked to find that it’s slated to leave in a few hours. Without wasting another second, you leave the diner for what you hoped was the last time and headed to your trailer. You were relieved to find that Danny was out with his friends, making it easier to pack and leave without any issues. The mystery man had included a second ticket for Danny, but you rip it to shreds and toss it, before leaving a note taped to the fridge.

Visiting my sister in Kansas. 

See you soon. 

xo

-

The flight came and went without a hitch. Well, there was one hitch. 

Danny.

As you step off the flight and check your phone, you are shocked to find dozens of texts, missed calls, and voicemails. You look at the phone in annoyance, realizing it is your last lifeline to the most recent chapter of your life, and to Danny. And that realization makes it that much easier to drop your phone and smash it under your heel, before discarding it in a nearby trash can. You gather your bags and head to the storage facility, pleased to find a dirtbike just like the one you rode a few years back. There’s gear too, all decked out in a familiar shade of red and black, with a photo taped to the side of the helmet. You look down at it, realizing where they drew the gear inspiration from. The picture is from your last big win, a grin stretched across your face and a trophy tightly gripped in your hand. Your other hand is intertwined with none other than Danny, your bike mechanic at the time. You quit one week after this picture was taken, while you were getting bandaged up in a hospital room. You shudder at the memory, as the worst of it comes back in flashes. Two men, dressed in all black. The sound of gunshots. The feeling of fire as it tore through your body. You absentmindedly rub your shoulder.

You shake your head and fold up the picture, before tucking it in your pocket. With one final check of the gear and nothing left to do, you head back to the hotel and do the only thing you can do. 

Wait.

-

Race day comes slowly. You spent the few days leading up the race doing some light practice and feeling ready. But now, as you stand at the start line straddling your bike, you start to panic. You haven’t raced in years. Hell, you haven’t even ridden in years. And looking at the others around you, you were starting to become acutely aware of that fact. Before you can spiral any further, a familiar voice yells your name from behind you. You turn and groan as Danny runs up to you, pushing a bike. Your bike, from years ago.

“Danny, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing! I thought you were done with racing until the end of time.”

You roll your eyes, “I was. But then… Wait, how did you find me?”

“Margie heard you talking to some guy at the diner, said you agreed to go to some race in Boston. And then I found the ripped up ticket in the trash, and I knew this is where you’d be.”

He steps closer to you, looking ready to kiss you, but you step back. “I thought maybe you were too nervous to tell me about the race. In case you lost and didn’t get the prize money.”

You suppress an eye roll, and nod. “Uh, yeah. That was it.”

“Anyways, I brought your old bike. It was still on display at the garage and they let me tune it up and bring it to you.”

You feel a small surge of affection as he gestures for you to take the bike so he can take the new one. “Thanks, Danny.”

“Where’d you get this one from, anyways?”

“Uh, they loaned it to me.”

“Huh.” He leans down to inspect the bike. “Looks like it cost a pretty penny.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” The loudspeakers crackle to life around you, urging racers to move to the line so the race can begin. You glance at Danny. “Guess that’s my cue.”

“Good luck, and win us at that money!”

You turn and push your bike back to the line, hopping on and firing it up, smiling at the familiar feel. As the announcer reads the rules, you pull your helmet over your head and nudge the visor down, before wrapping your hands around the grips and getting ready. Seconds later, you hear the horn ring out, signaling the start. Everyone jumps into action almost simultaneously, sending dirt and mud flying. 

You manage to beat the bulk of the pack, pulling ahead and starting in 10th. As you fly around the track and the laps add up, you move closer and closer to the top. At the start of the last lap, you find yourself in second, right behind an all blue bike. You inch closer and closer to him, trying to find an opening to take first, and smirking when you see the turn in the lap up ahead. Knowing this is your best shot, you ease to his left, preparing to pass him on the inside. As the turn approaches and you start to overtake him, a sudden movement to your right causes you to look over at him. The driver is turned to face you, a gun in his hand and aimed right at you. You resist the urge to scream and hit the brakes instead, putting distance between you and the still moving driver. He seems to temporarily forget, and then remember, the bend in the road and he tries to swerve to avoid it, but the jerky movement sends him flying into the trees instead. You recover from your temporary shock and take off again, quickly passing the fallen driver and flying through the course. When you pass the finish line and see the wave of the checkered flag, you feel no joy, no pride. Only shock. You drive straight through the track, past the reporters, past the celebrating crowd, and past Danny, who is yelling your name. 

You finally come to a stop outside of your tent, and you grab your things and take off again. Just as you enter the parking lot, the mystery man in the suit stops right in your path. You swerve to avoid him, narrowly missing, before jumping off your bike and turning to face him. “Congratulations. We knew you could do it.”

“What the hell was that?!”

“What?”

“The blue driver pulled a freaking gun on me!”

He frowns, “When? I didn’t see anything.”

“Right before he crashed! He could have killed me.”

“I never saw a gun.”

“But he-” You cut yourself off. “I have to go.”

“What about your-” He stops mid sentence, and you realize that the sound of footsteps behind you have steadily grown louder. You turn and find Danny, and for the first time in years, you’re actually happy to see him. “Danny, let’s go.”

“But what about-”

“No, let’s. Go.”

He shrugs, “Okay.” before taking the bike from you and leading you to his truck and trailer, and you glance back at the mystery man as you put space between you. “I’ll just load this up with the other one.”

You whip your head back in his direction, “Other one, what other one?”

“The bike you had before I brought you yours. I talked to the registration group and no one knows who it belongs to, so I’m taking it with us.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, we can sell it! It’s practically brand new.”

You turn and look back at the mystery man, shuddering when you see that he’s gone. You turn back to Danny. “Okay, whatever, can you load quickly so we can just go?”

“Yeah, yeah, calm down. I’ll be done in a second.”

You walk off and move to the passenger door and climb in, before immediately locking the doors. As promised, Danny is in the car and driving away in a matter of minutes. You are down the road and navigating your way to the freeway before you know it, and as you watch the buildings fly by, you finally let yourself feel some relief. That is, until you hear the explosion.

-

part two here!

[stantonlangston99-blog]

Auto Dashing Love Books (195 Manuals).

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[the-firebird69]

Foreigners up at the majority of the equipment is here in the United States it's about twice as much as all over the world it's an extremely important point and the foreigners must get in is known about this too slow that's too few of you it's twice as much equipment over here as there's over there so they're coming in and they're going after it and they're still pulling it out 12:22 p.m. today it's like a stream of each place that come out of so he looked and saw and said oh oh so here we go here in the United States we have of Tommy f

1. 200 million 5 mi tank

2. 500 million one mile tanks

3. 2 trillion 1/2 mi tanks

4. 100 trillion 200 ft tanks

5. 200 trillion 100 ft tanks

6. 600 million special tanks

7. 400 trillion standard battle tanks 50 ft or bigger to 100'

8. 80 million rocket launchers for 1 mi

9. 60 million rocket launchers for 2 Mile

10. And 50 million rocket launchers for 3 Mile missiles

11. 200 million rocket launchers for half mile missiles

12. 300 million rocket launchers for quarter mile missiles

13. 400 million rocket launchers quarter mile or less and

14.500 million rocket launchers of regular size which is really to 300 ft

15. There's an assortment of other weapons is around 50,000 20 mi tanks 100,000 10 Mile tanks 200,000 5mi tanks and the different tanks in the other ones these are very heavily armored they have Shields and they have modern weaponry very modern weaponry and their cannons have rocket assist all of them

16. 200 million class A 400 ft spaceship fighter jets capable of carrying 700 tons of ordinance all of which on ship could destroy New York City

17. 300 million class a 200 ft spaceship fighter jets they carry a 600 tons each and they're almost the same thing but the lift is based on the wing design which is outstanding it's my husband's yippee each of them could destroy three quarters of dc you see in one run. It's all high-tech is very fast up to 100,000 mph in the atmosphere 2 million in space

14. 700 billion 45 ft roughly or up to 100 ft fighter jet spaceships each capable of carrying 5 to 20 tons of ordinance and 7 million rounds of mohs they haven't been beaten in battle yet

15. 600 billion 30 ft fighter jet spaceships each carry five tons of payload and carry 1 million rounds of ammo, they're very formidable in armored

16. 700 billion 20 ft Jets and these are for close in fighting and their hover Jets as well they can vector and they are more or less with the modern jet is with a little smaller they go into small places and hide and crevices and are used for cities they also carry about one ton of ordinance and 1 million rounds they can't be beat they're very tough customers and their armored all these jets are armored

17. 200 million firefighter vessels and their airships their spaceships

18. 300 million groundbreakers meaning they go ahead of everybody and look for mines and they might sleep and they break the ground while they're doing it and it sense

19. 200 million special groundbreakers and these are the same length about 150 ft and they come with armament and armor

20. 200 million Tower type facilities for being deployed now well 300 stories each

21. 600 million small vessels 45 ft or smaller

22. 800 million vessels sea vessels 100 ft to 200 ft all armored and fully armed and full of robots as the spaceships and other are

23. 10 billion ships 800 ft fully armored and with ordinance they go 80 miles an hour have full sensor race on all of them

24. 20 billion chips 2,000 foot or greater to about 3,000 ft fully armored with ordinance please go about 300 miles an hour and can hit a spaceship and 3,000 miles from the surface of Earth with energy weapons or missiles

25. 4 million 2,000 ft vessels fully armored highly capable and can fire about 200,000 mi into space effectively

26. 5 million $3,000-ft vessels armored highly capable can fire 300,000 ft in miles into space

27. 7, m 4,000'. 8m 10000' 3m 2 Mile 2m 4m 1m 5m 200k 10m 40k 20m 20k 30m, 10k 40m, 4k 100m 80 200mile Ships

FOLKS THIS IS THE USA ONLY THIS IS THE USA ONLY THESE ARE VESSEL SHIPS TANKS JETS COUNT FOR THE USA ONLY ADD ONE HALF OF THE ABOVE FOR FOREIGNERS FOR THE TOTAL MAKE A NOTE OF THIS THIS IS FOR THE USA ONLY AND THEY'RE NOT ALL OUT YET IT'LL TAKE ALL DAY THEY'RE GOING TO TRY AND LOAD UP SPACESHIPS THEY'RE TRYING TO MOVE THE SPACESHIPS IN YOU NEED ANYTHING NOW

[hjkdfki]

NFT Quick Start Guide: 20 Important NFT Terms and “Blackspeak” MadCanner NFT Quick Start

It’s been a year since Beeple sold his $69.3 million NFT, and in that time, the technology has progressed from “obscure” to “up and coming” to “mainstream.” NFT has progressed from “obscurity” to “emergence” and now to “mainstream” in less than a year. MadCanner NFT Quick Starthttps://discord.com/invite/Wduk7zNjPM

The entire world appears to be participating in this crypto boom, and the NFT market is gradually returning to rationality and maturity following its initial chaos, while the market’s vitality continues to attract an increasing number of crypto newcomers. However, given the rapid development of NFT, many NFT “whites” may struggle to keep up, or may even become confused.

As a result, today’s article will introduce you to twenty common NFT terms; after reading this, you will quickly advance! Together, look down.

NFT 01.1:1

Additionally, you can say 1/1 or 1 of 1, as this type of NFT exists only once and is therefore unique.

In other words, a single 1/1 NFT can only be owned by one person. If I possess it, you will not possess it, and if you possess it, he will not possess it.

For instance, Beeple’s Everydays: the First 5000 Days is a 1:1 NFT; due to its scarcity and uniqueness, this type of NFT is typically more expensive.

Ocean Front, Beeple, 1:1 NFT MadCanner NFT Quick Start

02.10K undertaking (10K project)

Typically refers to an NFT project with 10,000 unique avatars; each image in a 10K project is unique and has its own characteristics. We are aware of Bored Ape Yacht Club (BAYC) and CryptoPunks (CryptoPunks), both of which are ten thousand dollar projects.

It is worth noting, however, that as NFT projects evolve, the term “10K projects” does not necessarily refer to the number of such projects that total 10,000, but also to this type of NFT project, the number of which may not always equal 10,000.

03.Project PFP/Avatar

PFP stands for Profile Pics, i.e. a collection of multiple avatars (virtual images), also known as avatar type NFT. Typically, a 10K project is also a PFP project.

Clone X is a PFP project by RTFKT studio and artist Takashi Murakami.

04. Aeroplane (Airdrop)

Originally, the term “airdrop” referred to a feature on Apple’s cell phones that enables users to quickly transfer data, pictures, and other content between them. Airdrop is a term used in the cryptocurrency world to refer to the free distribution of cryptocurrency or NFT to individuals by platforms or organizations.

Airdrop is the Chinese term for what we commonly refer to as “airdrop.” On various NFT platforms, we can see that many platforms will occasionally host NFT airdrop activities, during which users can receive an NFT for free by performing certain operations in accordance with the activities’ specified contents.

05. (casting)

Mint is also referred to as casting. NFT is a type of digital asset that is stored on the blockchain. “Mint” also refers to the digital file that is created during the process of creating NFT digital assets.

While NFT is based on digital files, not all digital files are compatible with NFT. The “mint” process can also be referred to as the “chain” process, as all of the data contained in the digital file will eventually be recorded on the blockchain.

06. Incinerate (destroy)

The antonym of Mint is the term Burn, which refers to the act of destroying NFT. If you decide that you no longer want your NFT or an NFT project after the remaining unsold NFT has been sold officially, the project developers may choose to destroy the remaining unsold NFT.

Or perhaps an NFT project using the “new equipment,” allowing the holders of the original NFT to destroy the original NFT in order to “upgrade” to the “new equipment” NFT.

For example, the sports brand Champion previously launched digital apparel, which was distributed to 888 randomly selected holders of the NFT program Non-Fungible People. These recipients were given the option to “upgrade” their NFTs, which required them to destroy their original NFTs and recast them. The “upgraded” NFT will feature a new image of Champion dressed in a digital costume.

Upgraded NFT dressed as a champion

07. Gasoline Tax (Fuel Fee) MadCanner NFT Quick Start

The Gas Fee, alternatively referred to as the “fuel fee” or “petrol fee,” is a fee that must be paid to the blockchain network in order to conduct various transactions.

Whether you are minting, buying, selling, or destroying NFTs on the blockchain, you require computing resources to do so, and thus must pay a Gas Fee to the blockchain network’s “miners” in order for the “miners” to perform a specific operation. Additionally, this is referred to as the “miner’s fee.”

The fuel fee is proportional to the amount of traffic on the blockchain and the size of the NFT, and will be higher if the network is congested or the file is excessively large.

The fuel cost varies by blockchain; for example, because the ethereum network’s fuel cost is so high, an increasing number of people are switching to other blockchains. For example, Solana is an emerging public chain with extremely low transaction fees when compared to ethereum.

08.Gas Conflict

Gas wars occur when the demand for casting the same project exceeds the capacity of the blockchain network to handle in a single block/unit of time; that is, when an NFT project is snapped up by a large number of people at the same time, the higher the fee is to obtain the casting opportunity faster, which increases the gas fee of the entire blockchain network in order to obtain the NFT you desire; this is what a gas war is. war.

Generally, this situation occurs more frequently in the more popular NFT projects, so you may be unable to grab if you only prepare “just right” funds.

In China, the situation is different; in general, NFT’s offer price is how much, and we can purchase at that price, except when it comes time to compare hand speed and Internet speed.

09. Minimum Floor Price (floor price)

The term “Floor Price” refers to the floor price, or the lowest price. As the term implies, the floor price refers to the least expensive NFT in an NFT project.

For instance, the floor price of Bored Ape Yacht Club on OpenSea at the time of the researcher edit was 110.69 ETH, or approximately $360,000 for Bored Ape №7656.

ten (White List)

This is comparable to the list of some of the NFT platforms that have been launched in China. order of precedence.

Therefore, how do I join the whitelist? In general, each project has its own set of whitelist rules; all you need to do is identify projects that have not yet begun or will soon begin and become an early follower, join the project’s official community, and adhere to the project’s rules to earn whitelist qualifications.

11. Disagreement

DC is a community-based communication platform; many NFT projects will establish an official Discord community.

12.FOMO

FOMO, or Fear of Missing Out, is a term that refers to the fear of missing out on something. In the field of NFTs, this means that people are afraid of missing out on popular NFTs.

13.Ape

While we may associate Ape with Bored Ape, this phrase actually refers to the act of purchasing NFT in a hurry without conducting adequate preliminary research on the NFT project. This type of behavior is actually associated with FOMO emotions.

14.DAO

DAO is an acronym for Decentralized Autonomous Organization, which literally translates as “Decentralized Autonomous Organization.”

A DAO is an organization led by a group of individuals who lack traditional corporate leadership experience and who establish their own rules and make decisions using blockchain-based smart contracts. Individuals with similar interests and goals form a community, which manages the organization’s operations and makes decisions from the bottom up via voting.

At the moment, an increasing number of NFT projects have their own DAO; for example, the NFT project Meebits has its own DAO, which was established by members of the Meebits NFT project community. The community’s objective is to create a meta-universe for these avatars using the MeebitsDAO. To accomplish this, the organization will use all funds raised to acquire virtual lands across multiple metaverses.

P2E

This is an acronym for play-to-earn, which refers to the increasingly popular “earn while you play” model in the gaming industry. Axie Infinity is one of the earliest and most popular P2E games, affectionately dubbed “Crab” by domestic players.

16. Rug yank MadCanner NFT Quick Start

In NFT, it primarily refers to developers of NFT projects abruptly abandoning the project and withdrawing investors’ funds without warning.

Recently, a rug pull scam occurred. The promoters of the United States-based “Frosties” project earned approximately $1.1 million from the sale of the project’s NFTs, but quickly shut down the project and transferred the funds to a series of separate crypto wallets, rendering the project incapable of meeting its initial reward promises. As a result, two of the project’s promoters were also arrested by police.

17. Itinerary

In the NFT space, a roadmap is a collection of ad hoc projects aimed at adding value to a community. They are typically associated with PFP projects, and many popular NFT projects have their own proprietary roadmaps.

The Bored Ape Yacht Club has published a road map.

Art that is generated

This is the art of algorithmic generation, and many of the most popular 10K projects fall into this category. By infusing the project with uniqueness via algorithms, various features are randomly combined to create an NFT ensemble with unique properties, such as BAYC and Cool Cats. Another example is the Chromie Squiggle series of projects, which is a generative NFT project in its own right.

#1696 Chromie Squiggle

IRL

This abbreviation stands for “In real life,” in contrast to the virtual world, which refers to the real physical world in which we live, and IRL is frequently used in contexts involving NFT.

Whale 20. MadCanner NFT Quick Start

A Whale is an individual who has a large sum of money to invest or who has invested in a large number of NFT projects and owns multiple NFTs. Whales will purchase or sell large quantities of a particular collection, thereby driving the market in either direction, and many people will monitor the Whale’s wallet to see what they purchase or sell next as a barometer of their future investment decisions.https://discord.com/invite/Wduk7zNjPM

[wayfard]

NFT Quick Start Guide: 20 Important NFT Terms and “Blackspeak” MadCanner NFT Quick Start

It’s been a year since Beeple sold his $69.3 million NFT, and in that time, the technology has progressed from “obscure” to “up and coming” to “mainstream.” NFT has progressed from “obscurity” to “emergence” and now to “mainstream” in less than a year. MadCanner NFT Quick Start https://discord.gg/6SA6brU2Xc

The entire world appears to be participating in this crypto boom, and the NFT market is gradually returning to rationality and maturity following its initial chaos, while the market’s vitality continues to attract an increasing number of crypto newcomers. However, given the rapid development of NFT, many NFT “whites” may struggle to keep up, or may even become confused.

As a result, today’s article will introduce you to twenty common NFT terms; after reading this, you will quickly advance! Together, look down.

NFT 01.1:1

Additionally, you can say 1/1 or 1 of 1, as this type of NFT exists only once and is therefore unique.

In other words, a single 1/1 NFT can only be owned by one person. If I possess it, you will not possess it, and if you possess it, he will not possess it.

For instance, Beeple’s Everydays: the First 5000 Days is a 1:1 NFT; due to its scarcity and uniqueness, this type of NFT is typically more expensive.

Ocean Front, Beeple, 1:1 NFT MadCanner NFT Quick Start

02.10K undertaking (10K project)

Typically refers to an NFT project with 10,000 unique avatars; each image in a 10K project is unique and has its own characteristics. We are aware of Bored Ape Yacht Club (BAYC) and CryptoPunks (CryptoPunks), both of which are ten thousand dollar projects.

It is worth noting, however, that as NFT projects evolve, the term “10K projects” does not necessarily refer to the number of such projects that total 10,000, but also to this type of NFT project, the number of which may not always equal 10,000.

03.Project PFP/Avatar

PFP stands for Profile Pics, i.e. a collection of multiple avatars (virtual images), also known as avatar type NFT. Typically, a 10K project is also a PFP project.

Clone X is a PFP project by RTFKT studio and artist Takashi Murakami.

04. Aeroplane (Airdrop)

Originally, the term “airdrop” referred to a feature on Apple’s cell phones that enables users to quickly transfer data, pictures, and other content between them. Airdrop is a term used in the cryptocurrency world to refer to the free distribution of cryptocurrency or NFT to individuals by platforms or organizations.

Airdrop is the Chinese term for what we commonly refer to as “airdrop.” On various NFT platforms, we can see that many platforms will occasionally host NFT airdrop activities, during which users can receive an NFT for free by performing certain operations in accordance with the activities’ specified contents.

05. (casting)

Mint is also referred to as casting. NFT is a type of digital asset that is stored on the blockchain. “Mint” also refers to the digital file that is created during the process of creating NFT digital assets.

While NFT is based on digital files, not all digital files are compatible with NFT. The “mint” process can also be referred to as the “chain” process, as all of the data contained in the digital file will eventually be recorded on the blockchain.

06. Incinerate (destroy)

The antonym of Mint is the term Burn, which refers to the act of destroying NFT. If you decide that you no longer want your NFT or an NFT project after the remaining unsold NFT has been sold officially, the project developers may choose to destroy the remaining unsold NFT.

Or perhaps an NFT project using the “new equipment,” allowing the holders of the original NFT to destroy the original NFT in order to “upgrade” to the “new equipment” NFT.

For example, the sports brand Champion previously launched digital apparel, which was distributed to 888 randomly selected holders of the NFT program Non-Fungible People. These recipients were given the option to “upgrade” their NFTs, which required them to destroy their original NFTs and recast them. The “upgraded” NFT will feature a new image of Champion dressed in a digital costume. https://discord.gg/6SA6brU2Xc

[voidwerks]

Enemies Against Humanity: A Guide to Notorious Foes of Mankind in 40k

Since my previous guide “Warp Transit and You” seems to be quite popular, here’s another!

In the 41st millennium, it’s hard being a human. You have to work 80 hour weeks, you’ve lived in the same 3-room apartment your entire life, and you were nearly arrested last week because a hive ganger mugged you (for collusion of course). That said, it could be a LOT worse, because the universe is full of things that would love to malice you in every way imaginable (and you have a fairly colorful imagination!). The Imperium, founded by the Emperor of Mankind 10k years ago, is the one thing keeping various heretics, xenos, and other monstrosities lurking in the void from completely inconveniencing your life by ending it very, very painfully. 

First, and arguably the most common xenos threat to your very delicate life are Orks. Although they are not known for their intellect, Orks are known for being as strong as a gorilla with the strength of ten gorillas. Simplistic in their desires, there are few things Orks love more than fighting for the sake of fighting. When led by warbosses, Orks can be riled into a greater and greater frenzy of indiscriminate violence. They will always head straight for whatever they think will offer them a good fight, which more often than not happens to be human settlements. While they appear to be armed with little more than weapons and vehicles made of scrap metal, Orks are quite dangerous, and commanders who underestimate them rarely live long enough to learn from that mistake.

Next are the ancient and enigmatic Eldar. Considered mysterious by even Imperial scholars, Eldar once had a massive empire spanning the entire galaxy before the Imperium even existed. This is something they have never forgotten, and they hold it over every other race they meet. There are numerous varieties of Eldar: those that dwell on massive world-ships known as Craftworlds, who generally keep to themselves until they need to keep primitives from fucking something up; Dark Eldar, who built a city within the webway to escape Slaanesh, a city so vile and so corrupt that it would make Vegas look like the Vatican; Exodites, simple elf-farmers who ride dinosaurs; Corsairs, dashing rogues who live a life of piracy (and will kick you out the airlock); and Harlequins, devotees of their race’s trickster god and protectors of the Black Library.

The Imperium is always wary of Eldar. On the one hand, they consider all Eldar the same, so the actions of Dark Eldar and Corsairs are often blamed on Craftworld Eldar. In addition, Craftworld Eldar frequently kill anyone that happens to be in their way when they are on a mission without explaining (since humans in particular tend to misunderstand their goals, take it the wrong way, don’t believe them until shit is already going bad, or end up doing exactly what they were trying to stop in the first place). On the other hand, the Eldar and the Imperium are also frequently allies against greater foes, such as the Necrons, or the forces of Chaos, and the Eldar have worked in the benefit of the Imperium on numerous occasions in the past. At the end of the day, if Eldar are involved you probably don’t want to be anywhere nearby, because whatever it is is waaaaaaaay above your pay-grade. 

The Tyranids are a rapidly growing menace towards the Imperium, and one that does not appear to be slowing down either. Like an inter-galactic swarm of locusts, the first Tyranid fleets arrived from the galactic south-east and devastated numerous worlds before being routed in a massive battle over the homeworld of the Ultramarines chapter, Maccrage. In most cases, once a Tyranid fleet begins making landfall on a planet, the planet is already lost. Thousands turn into millions into billions in short order, and swarm in numbers that even the Imperial Guard cannot meet. The only effective means to defeat Tyranids is to sever their link with the Hive Mind. On the ground, this tends to be through Hive Tyrants or some bio-titans. However, to truly turn them back, one must destroy the core hive-ship in space, which is far easier said than done.

If the Tyranids arrive, unless you have access to a warp-capable ship and left several weeks earlier, you’re either one of the poor bastards assigned to “defend” the planet or one of the countless civilians left behind. In either case, it is wise to save one shot for yourself, because it is only a matter of time til they reach you. 

The Necrons are arguably the oldest race still in existence, coming to power over 60 million years prior during the War in Heaven, which shaped the foundations for the galaxy we now live in. Though most Necrons are effectively mindless husks, they are led by rulers of ancient dynasties, who’s goal is to restore the power they once held. The Necrons are hated foes of the Eldar, who fought them when their race was still young, however the Necrons hate the beings of the Warp more than anything. Equipped with horrifically powerful technology, the Necrons have few rivals in battle. Thankfully, most Necron tomb-worlds remain dormant as of 40k, but those that do arise quickly reap a bloody toll from any young whippersnappers that happens to dwell on their lawns. 

At the opposite end, the Tau are an incredibly young race, having advanced from their own stone-age into a technologically advanced golden-age within the past five thousand years. Somewhat short-lived, slightly shorter than the average human and arguably weaker too, Tau utilize their incredible technology to level the playing field against much more powerful foes. Compared to most races throughout the Milky Way, the Tau are a relatively peaceful race that seek to forge an efficient, cooperative society. They accept any race interested in working towards their Greater Good™, though there are usually some terms and conditions involved. As a result, the Imperium frequently butts heads with the Tau over their colonization efforts or attempts to convert existing Imperial worlds into the Tau Empire. While technically small, the Tau Empire is roughly the size of the Ultramarine’s own dominion, and isn’t a threat to be taken lightly. However, due to their nature, size, and the fact that there are generally far more pressing threats in the galaxy, the Tau gradually continue to expand their borders in the face of any who stand against them.

Also known as: blueberries, spooky scary socialists, and/or weeaboos

Last but certainly not least is the threat posed by other humans! As far back as the Great Crusade, planetary leaders have decided that they know better than the Imperium and secede. This tends to be quite inconvenient for everyone involved, and frequently ends with a lot of people getting killed (which can’t be written off on the centennial tithe-returns). Now and then it still happens, and generally the Imperial Guard or even the Space Marines restore order quickly enough. However, in the past 10k years the greatest threat to the Imperium comes from humans that have fallen under the sway of the Chaos gods. What can start as an innocent look into a heretical tome, a dark whisper into the ears of a budding psyker, or even the worship of ancient idols, this can all quickly escalate into a Chaos insurrection. Whether it is cult groups formed by the planet’s civilians and militias, renegade Imperial Guard forces, or traitor Space Marines, they all pursue the agendas of the daemons of the Warp. Individuals touched by the Warp are forever tainted, and in many cases whole cities or entire planets must be put to the torch to prevent the spread. While these various groups frequently open small rifts to the Warp, allowing their allies and daemons to pass through, the worst possible outcome is if these groups can manage to create a rift wide enough to engulf the entire planet (or even the whole sector). In such cases, the planet and it’s inhabitants are lost to the Warp, and may be so for decades, centuries, or even millennia before the Warp recedes once more.