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[rosiesthehat]

how much sand can a hand hold?

Pairing: Lady Jessica X Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags: fluff, smut (with feelings!!!), Jessica!receiving, body worship

Summary: Lady Jessica needs to be held. You're the one to do it.

Author’s Note: She must have put a Bene Gesserit spell on me bc I cannot stop thinking about this woman!! This is also on my AO3!

The torrential downpour of Caladan has always soothed you.

Perhaps it was the soft patter of raindrops against the roof of the Atreides estate or the constant fog hiding your small corner of the world from the wandering eyes of greedy onlookers. The rain silenced your mind better than any Bene Gesserit mind trick or calming tab ever could.

You can’t remember just how it was that you wound up outside, standing in the courtyard of the great house, robe soaked through, shoes long abandoned to better feel the cool concrete against your toes. Your hair, once braided back in the style that all Atreides maids maintained, now fell around your shoulders, wet strands plastered against sun-starved cheeks.

You can’t remember how you wound up here, nor can you remember how long you’ve been sharing space with the elements. The concept of time was increasingly hard to come by these days. Your duke had removed all but one clock from the home, and it towered over the long table in the dining hall, ticking where a portrait of the Old Duke once hung.

The portrait had vanished in an instant, along with other important photographs and large statues that once decorated the halls of your home. The Castle Caladan was slowly beginning to empty out, and yet, you were entirely unsure of where The Duke’s family heirlooms disappeared to. You didn’t want to place your suspicions on a thief— those employed by the Atreides name were too good of people to deal in stolen goods. You’re not one to speculate, and are perfectly content in unknowing, yet a quiet alarm at the back of your head still wails.

Your Lady has taught you well.

Though you’re not properly trained in the Bene Gesserit way, you’ve now spent three years tending to the lady of the house, and you’ve learned far more from her than you ever did from the Mentats that taught you in primary school.

She’s taught you to read people, read their every facial tick, the slight tone changes during conversation. To be a lady’s maid of one of the Great Houses has granted you the near ideal situation to learn about every single politician and army higherup that enters the Atreides fiefdom, all while remaining in the shadows.

You spend so much of your time focused on the way that the duke’s armored patrol discusses everything there is to mindlessly chat about, that restorative time spent standing in the rain is more necessary than sleep.

Even sleep brings no silence.

Your mind is at peace now, focused on the heavy patter of the rain against plasteel and vibrating shields. The courtyard receives few willing visitors, especially this late in the evening, after the great family has fattened themselves and most of their keep has lofted to bed. You very well may be the last one awake on Caladan, all alone in the rain, with only the slow drum of thunder to keep you awake.

There are only a few small lights illuminating the courtyard— you’ve yet to be granted a personal suspensor light despite your years of service— but you’re far from worried. You’ve never once felt scared since you first entered the tall gates of Castle Caladan, and yet when a slim, protective arm sneaks around your waist, a wave of comfort washes over you.

Her head nuzzles into the dip of your shoulder, lips quietly pressing kisses to your water-soaked flesh. Her hands, always probing, wandering, searching for answers just as she was taught, slide under your silk tunic, pressing warmth into the chilled skin of your stomach. You fight the shiver that runs down your spine; you know how your lady will read into every involuntary movement of your body. Yet you don’t care. Lady Jessica has already searched every square inch of your brain, already inhabited and occupied all of your thoughts. You’re entirely her’s, and there’s no need to hide anything.

Your eyes shut, head lolling back to accept her whispered kisses, and you begin to pray to whichever God you’re supposed to pray to that she’ll stay here with you forever.

“Come inside.” She purrs against she shell of your ear, her voice a mere breath, yet she still drowns out the thumping of raindrops all around you. “We need to talk.”

She’s never used the Voice on you, and will never need to. You only exist per Jessica’s request, and your every action is methodically planned to best please the woman you serve.

You take her hand in your own, and she doesn’t pull away. She knows, as you do, that the residents of the home are long gone, and you risk no prying eyes this late into the evening. You are perfectly safe to display your affection for one another, with only the stars looking down on you.

You follow your lady in through the large glass doors, suddenly lit by the warm glow of a bouncing suspensor light. You hold onto her delicate hand as if someone were trying to steal her from you as the two of you move towards her quarters, tracking in water that you’ll be the one to clean up soon enough.

Her garments are clinging to her body, impossibly tight, black fabric now translucent against the curve of her hips. The hood that she hides beneath so frequently now draped down her back, water droplets hitting the floor with each step.

Your heart never ceases its heightened beating when you’re around the lady of the house, even when you plate her meals and refill her wine, you find her presence so very overwhelming. Her softspoken nature and the well-assured manor with which she carries herself is enough to make a young woman fall in love in a second.

And that you did.

She drops your hand, much to your chagrin, when you are safely behind the closed doors of the lady’s bedchambers. Your touchless anguish doesn’t last long though, before the same hand moves to cup your cheek, pushing away the pinwheel curls that have glued themselves against your skin. Her smile is inviting, yet shy, as it always is. Her eyes are dilated, searching for yours in the low light of the room. You return her touch, your shaky hands resting on the apex of her hips, bunching the fabric together to pull her in the centimeter it takes to connect your lips.

Each of your lady’s kisses brings another tear to your heart. They’re hurried and desperate, as if constantly racing against the clock of fate. Jessica’s lips were always warm, always coaxing, as though she were searching you for secrets. You wonder if she kisses the duke like this.

It’s growing increasingly difficult to pull yourself from her, but the way that her body pins you to the heavy door and her kisses become sloppy, inattentive, you force yourself back, panting for breath for a moment.

“What ails you, my lady?” You speak quietly, your hands now moving upwards to envelop as much of the woman’s body as possible, arms holding her like she’s a young fawn ready to flee at any moment.

A small panic racks over Jessica’s face before it drops from view, her forehead leaning to press against your shoulder.

“The emperor has granted the family rule of the spice planet. Arrakis.” Her voice is muffled against your skin, and as you strain your ears to hear her, you note a sense of fear in the Bene Gesserit’s voice.

“Is this not a blessing?” You ask her calmly, a hand raising to the back of Jessica’s head, releasing her hair from its strenuous bun and smoothing the soft hair when it falls. “The Atreides name will become synonymous with power. Is this not what the duke has wished all along?” The lady’s head suddenly snaps up, eyes dark and glistening with the beginnings of tears. “I do not care what the duke wishes.” Her voice is now a low growl, as if she intends to rip Duke Leto apart with her teeth. “This will not bring honor to this Great House. Dealing in Spice will only bring ruin.”

Her eyelids shut tight before the tears are overwhelming, streaming down her angled cheeks like the very rain you’ve just escaped.

“My lady…” you begin, but your words fail you as she begins whispering the Litany. You’ve always hated when she does this. You wish she would feel the wholeness of her fear, especially when she is entirely protected, held tightly in your arms, where she can accept her fear, knowing that nothing will ever hurt her as long as you’re by her side.

Your thumb lightly swipes at the wetness of her cheek, but you deem the action too impersonal, and quickly replace the finger with your lips, sprinkling kisses to each of her freckles. The saltiness of her discarded water tickles at your tongue, and you begin to worry for the lost water, for the way that she will soon yearn for it on the dunes of the desert planet.

“Come with me…” she rasps, her head returning to your shoulder. “To Arrakis.” Her voice is weak, pleading, praying. A short of silence fills the room, save for the pattering on the roof above you. “Please.”

You’re sure that if you were any other member of her staff, she wouldn’t ask such a thing of you. That the rest of the Atreides fief will be easily replaced by whatever thirsty breed of human resides on Arrakis, if there are any habitants there at all. It’s an incredibly heavy demand that she’s laid you, a demand that has made your stomach drop. To abandon your life in the serene halls of the castle, to drop you onto the hottest planet in the system, to dehydrate your life and to fill your palms with sand instead of the green leaves you cherish so much…

It isn’t even a demand worth making.

“Of course. I’ll never leave your side, my lady.” You purr back to her, arms squeezing so tightly around her frail body that you fear you may take all of the air from her lungs.

She returns your embrace, telling you without words how much she needs you, how desperate she is for your presence on a planet that may soon become her final resting ground.

“You’ll catch a cold if you leave these clothes on for too long, my lady.” You hate to break your hold on the woman; these moments are so few and far between that this one might very well need to sustain you for the next few weeks.

Jessica nods weakly, unsticking herself from you, and beginning to undress. You help your lady, as is your job, and now, your only natural instinct. You work in tandem to pull the floor-length gown over the woman’s head, the wet garment falling to the floor with a dejected whump.

She’s left in only her undergarments now, freckled skin glowing in the pale light from Caladan’s moon.

You feel your heartrate begin to quicken once again. Though you’ve seen the lady in this state several times over the years, as it is your job to dress and undress her as many times as she may need to in a day, you’re still left shaken from her beauty every time.

You chew on your lower lip to fight the feelings that have now overcome you, and you toy with the long sleeves draped over your fingers as you avert your gaze to the floor. No one should see the lady of the house like this, not even the duke.

It’s only a second’s time before those skilled hands are under your blouse, tugging it upwards, forcing the fabric off of your body. Jessica’s hands push your skirt over your hips and onto the floor as well, and when you step out of the circle, your lady catches you in her arms. 

You won’t mind the difference in weather on Arrakis as long as you still have a place in your lady’s arms.

She’s nimble, focused, ever working towards a goal. You barely register the way her hands unclasp your bra and work it over the crests of your shoulders, nor the way you’re quickly rid of your underwear.

Her hands are methodical, as though making sure they’ve touched each square centimeter of your shivering skin.

You feel completely vulnerable, standing naked in front of the woman you’re made to serve. Though you’re not embarrassed, not one bit. The way she’s whispering praises in the old Bene Gesserit tongue, her eyes scanning over every little goosebump that’s raised, you can tell how deeply she cares for you, how beautiful she finds you in this moment.

She kisses you, languid and wanting, gripping into your flesh so tightly that you’re sure to be left with a few bruises. Her lips taste of berry, and if you look hard enough, you may notice that they’re dyed a dark purple. She’d been drinking tonight, either to strengthen her mind or to weaken it’s worry.

“My lady…” you manage out between heavy kisses, your hands desperately tugging at her own bra’s clasp, whines escaping your lips when it does not effortlessly unhook. You don’t really have anything to say now, only to revel in the way the words sound leaving your lips. You’d called her such a title with such admiration for so long, now she was your lady.

“Stay with me tonight.” Jessica begs into your lips, praying to you as her hands leave your skin to remove the rest of her clothing.

You swallow in a dried throat, nodding eagerly to the woman who draws you to her bed. She lays flat against the bed, frail body enveloped by the sea of satin sheets and heavy duvet. Sitting above her, eyes and hands frantically searching over the body that’s always so purposefully modest, always covered in yards of expensive fabric, yet now on full display for only your eyes.

You can feel the heat in your face, and are impossibly thankful that for the dim light for hiding your bright pink blush. The heat between your legs, however, cannot be concealed.

Your lady, adoring the innocence in your gaze yet growing increasingly impatient, props herself on her elbows. She hooks a slender finger under your chin, pulling your wonder-filled gaze up to meet her own.

“I’m yours.” She whispers into your lips before greedily biting into them, her familiar kiss burning with passion. The words fill you with a sense of dedication, of true love, which is only coupled with an intense sense of dread when you realize that she will never be wholly yours. That she will always linger on the arm of the duke, no matter what planet you’re on.

A flash of lightning fills the room with a strikingly white light when Jessica pulls you down on top of her. You eagerly sink into her, your wet lips moving from her own down her jawline, reveling in the way her back deliciously arches into your body when you kiss the smattering of freckles that run down Jessica’s neck and lead you to the curve of her breasts. Your hands flatten against her spine, feeling the tense, full muscles of her back.

The way her skin jumps, her muscles spasm… it’s evident that, much like you, your lady has not known the touch of another in quite some time. It breaks your heart, truly. A woman as gifted and as, simply put, entirely bewitching, as she is, deserves to be loved and worshipped every moment that she breathes.

You deem yourself extremely lucky to get to be the one to love her.

You nip at her, knowing that whatever marks you leave on her porcelain skin will be easily covered come morning, but the knowledge of their existence is worth more than anything. You’re staking claim over the woman beneath you, in your own triumph over the man that has done nothing but degrade you for as long as you’ve known him.

The Lady’s svelte fingers are curled tight in your hair, tugging hard, but the pain is welcome. Her breath is hitched, her light moans filling the heavy air around you, though you’ve barely begun your worship of her body. Her whimpers escalate when your kisses make their way to her pebbled nipple, sloppy kisses from swollen lips, lovedrunk from the intoxicating scent of her lavender perfume.

Jessica’s hips begin to buck up into your own, her moans turning to desperate whines, throwing words into the room in a language you don’t understand. When her stuttering voice becomes a bit too loud, you force yourself off of your lady’s breast and connect your lips once again.

“My lady…” You purr, your hips now matching her bucking rhythm, pressing your dripping cunt into her own. “You must be quiet.” A smile pulls on the corner of your lips, understanding that you are now in the position to tease the woman that so frequently toys with you. “You don’t want the duke to hear how his favorite concubine has fallen victim to her lady’s maid, do you?”

You lightly giggle before pressing another silencing kiss to the lady’s lips, but even physically quieting her moans does not do much to keep her at bay. Her begging has made it into your mind whatever Bene Gesserit ability makes her capable of putting thoughts in your head is working overtime. Though she has seemingly reverted to the old tongues now, you understand fully her few weak attempts at pleads.

You slide your thigh between the witch’s legs, tightening your muscles so that Jessica can hump against you while you fight for control of your own mind back. You dip your head, pressing it into the woman’s shoulder blade, hoping that the blood will rush back to your skull, and you will think clearly once again. Or, at least as clearly as you are ever able to when around Lady Jessica.

“Please, my love.” She pants, burying her nose deep into your hair. “Please.”

It’s a true gift to be begged by a Bene Gesserit, especially one so high in command in one of the Great Houses, and you know it. Only a handful of men have ever experienced such a thing, you’re sure. And you’re the most fortunate among them, for you get to hear the genuine pleads of a woman desperate for your touch.

As you’d do anything that your lady requested of you within a heartbeat, her imploring is unnecessary, but delicious for your ears. Your hand swiftly drops to replace your thigh, reveling in the warmth of Lady Jessica’s heat. You release a moan of your own, ignoring your rule of silence, when the first of your fingers slides into your lover with ease.

You bite down on Jessica’s shoulder with hopes to muffle yourself, eliciting a sharp whine out of the woman, and you instantly feel regret behind your decision. You pull your teeth from her flesh, peppering soothing kisses and licks to the red flesh you’ve left behind.

You whisper countless apologies against her skin, but the lady is far too swept up in rocking against your palm to voice her acceptance.

Your second finger glides into Jessica, thumb rubbing circles against her clit. She’s close to undoing, her body spasming with every lightly peppered kiss, every stroke your fingers make. As your thrusting quickens, you feel her clench around your fingers, as though she’s unwilling to let you go. Not that you’d ever go willingly anyway.

Sensing her closeness, you return your kisses to her cheeks, pressing gentle, loving pecks to her beauty marks, wrapping a hand around her jaw to hold her forehead against your own.

“Come for me, my lady.” Your panting breath matches her own as she does just as you’ve asked, her body tensing against you, hands wandering over your flesh to find something suitable to hold onto as she rides through her orgasm.

When Lady Jessica finally hits the back of the bed, her chest heaving and arms fallen to grip into the duvet below her, you remove your hand, creating quite the unbecoming display as you greedily lick her wetness from your fingers.

“You are so beautiful, my lady.” Your voice is low as you drop to lay against her chest, pressing the last of the kisses you can muster before your head drops from its own exhaustion. Your lady is quiet. Her arm is lazily draped over you, hand toying with your hair. Her lips are quivering, as if searching for the appropriate words.

What does one say to your lady’s maid after she’s turned you into a whimpering mess for the entire castle to hear?

“You are incredible, my darling.” She whispers into the room, head dropping to take its place nuzzled into your scalp.

Jessica pulls one of her once discarded blankets over your sweating bodies, turning to envelope you wholly, arms finding comfort wrapped over your shoulders. She yawns quietly into your hair while you match her embrace, eyes shutting when your tiredness from the day truly sets in.

These delicate moments are all you can afford to gift your lady, and while the duke may garnish her with the priciest jewels from across the galaxy, you know that he’s never once treated her kindly, never once given her the gentle touch that she so desperately deserves.

You sleep soundly, knowing that you can at least offer her your softness.

♱

“We’ll have to give up the black dresses.” She meets your gaze in the mirror as you brush through soft hair.

You giggle softly, admiring your shared reflection in the mirror. She’s right, it’s not often that either you or Lady Jessica are spotted outside of your matching black gowns. But unless you both wish to die of heatstroke on your new planet, you may have to find a more suitable color.

“I’ll have your tailor come to meet you by the day’s end.” You hum, placing down the brush to begin tying your lady’s hair back.

“Come to meet us.” She corrects you sternly, yet still in that most endearing voice that constantly makes you swoon. “I’ll have a new wardrobe made for you as well.”

“No, I can’t possibly—” you retaliate, eyebrows turned up as you think of how much money a new desert-safe line of clothing would cost. Especially from the man that Jessica frequently shops from.

You’re cut off by a gentle pinch at your hip, which makes you laugh, though it still upsets you, because you feel so very guilty accepting gifts from her, even though you know it’s the duke’s money she’ll be spending.

“I do hope my eyes don’t turn that awful blue-within-blue.” Jessica’s nose turns up at the thought. You don’t know many who frequently use the Spice Melange, but those that you have encountered, those empty, total blue eyes staring straight into your soul, have not been very kind people.

“Your eyes will be beautiful no matter what. Arrakis could never take your beauty from you.” You smile back to her, placing your hand on her shoulder when you’ve finished the hairstyle that has become second nature to you. You imagine that the dual suns on Arrakis will tan your skin within the week that you’re there. Jessica’s will manifest in more of the lovely freckles that dot her skin, and you will welcome them.

Jessica places a hand atop yours, leaning her head to meet your chest. You feel your chest swell, like she’s taking the breath out of your lungs simply through her touch. You would truly travel to the ends of Arrakis to ensure that the smile that you adore so dearly will always remain on her lips.

You love your fair lady so dearly, and it pains you that you’re the only one that will ever know.

[glasskey]

The Boston Globe Episodes

Today I’m going to talk about The Boston Globe episode and how it paved the way for Nick, June and Holly’s journey. The Boston Globe episode is a powerful statement about the break down of truth in the face of dictatorships, and the threat of it in current political climates. In regards to the future of these characters, the episodes featuring the Boston Globe are extremely pivotal.

It’s telling that Nick and June spend the first 3 months of their babies life together at the now haunted and abandoned Boston Globe. Its the place where knowledge and truth once flowed and it’s where we truly begin to see how Holly is used as a vehicle to tell a larger tale. Here the printing presses are all painted in handmaids red, nooses hand from the rafters and bullet holes punctuate the walls like the final word in the resistance. It’s no coincidence that Holly undergoes her most formative months in this broken down home of free knowledge and information, as she will be fundamental to the restoration of democracy to her country.

It’s also the place where Nick and June begin to truly fall in love with one another. Nick and June have sex, at last unrestrained by the boundaries of the Waterford household, and there’s a lustful abandonment to it bred by years of captivity. We’re finally given a glimpse into their somewhat free life away from Gilead. Blaine’s always been somewhat of an enigma, stoic, dutiful and domesticated. But here in the semi free world we see the layers are almost instantly stripped away, he becomes immediately emotional and vulnerable….years of service have suffocated him.

These are their child’s most developmental months and it is the most formative moments of their relationship, where their feelings grow into a lasting bond. By the time she returns to the Waterfords, their child is well on its way to being fully formed, just as is her relationship with Nick. By the time their child is born, their bond will be forged and they will love each other entirely. It’s no coincidence that when Nick is married off to Eden, June almost miscarries.

June wanders around the secret location dressed in Blaine’s clothes, she’s in her first trimester, she’s wearing the t shirt she took off him the first night they were together and very possibly the night they conceived Holly. His clothes act like some kind of personal shield, it’s the best he can do in his absence. Later as she makes the Globe her home, she jogs between the small cities of presses to a shrine she has erected, an assortment of mementos and photographs from the surrounding desks. Just like the Handmaids letters, she intends to keep their stories alive, their voices heard.

Upstairs she gathers old editions and pieces together the story of the The Sons of Jacob and their rise to power. As Holly grows in her womb, rebellion grows in her heart and June returns to the Waterfords with a crystalized intent to destroy Gilead. Nick looks at the wall of clippings reconstructing his past and begins to truly understand, this is the moment when Blaine’s loyalties truly turned. He tries to convince her to go, he’s understandably worried about her future and the future of his unborn child….he should be, it’s a girl.

The two share a morning cup of coffee and there’s the facade of a normalcy as we get a glimpse of Nick and June as a couple in the real world. “If I wake you then you leave, how is that a win for me?” She asks him. Atwood’s text describes June as no longer wanting to leave Nick, June’s caught in a dream from which she no longer wishes to wake. The rare moment of domesticity in this moment is so brief, but overflowing with contentment. Just a flash and then it’s gone, like all the other precious moments of peace these two get.

[usafphantom2]

B-1B Named Rage Brought Out Of Mothballs To Fly Once Again

Previously placed in long-term storage, the bomber is now flying again, with only two B-1B attrition replacements left at the boneyard.

Posted on Jul 20, 2024 12:55 PM EDT

Recently retired Lancer Rage takes to the skies above Davis–Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona

Cayden Smith

After three years at the boneyard, a B-1B Lancer, nicknamed Rage, has been resurrected and is flying once more. The re-appearance of the aircraft comes as the Air Force’s B-1B bombers look to be in the twilight of their service career.

Aviation photographer Cayden Smith recently pictured B-1B Rage, with the serial number 86-0115, flying at Davis–Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona. The 309th Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Group (AMARG), located at the base, manages the Pentagon’s adjacent aircraft boneyard in Tucson.

B-1B Rage pictured flying at Davis–Monthan Air Force Base. Cayden Smith

Cayden Smith

Rage was one of 17 B-1Bs retired in 2021 which ended up at the boneyard. This was to help consolidate the B-1 fleet from 62 to 45 aircraft to help improve overall readiness rates and cut costs before completion of the type’s replacement, the B-21 Stealth Raider.

Moreover, Rage was just one of four B-1Bs placed into what’s known as Type 2000 (reclaimable) storage. Essentially, as we have explained before, this means the aircraft are maintained in a fashion that makes it easier and quicker for them to return to service should the need arise, due to any potential future combat losses or accidents. Type 2000 storage is one step down from Type 1000 “inviolate storage,” which prohibits any part of the aircraft from being removed. Yet even in this type of storage, it can still take months to get aircraft ready to resume their operational duties.

Rage pictured flying at Davis–Monthan Air Force Base. Cayden Smith

It seems highly likely that the bomber has been restored to operational readiness to replace the B-1 that crashed at Ellsworth Air Force Base, South Dakota earlier in January this year. As part of the aftermentioned consolidation of the B-1B fleet in 2021, there are strict legal requirements set by Congress for the service to maintain a fleet of 45 B-1Bs.

The remains of the B-1B after the aircraft came to rest adjacent to the runway at Ellsworth, in satellite imagery dated January 6, 2024. PHOTO © 2024 PLANET LABS INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. REPRINTED BY PERMISSION

The B-1 fleet has seen its fair share of incidents and accidents over recent years, alongside general readiness issues. Notably, in 2021, an issue with the augmenter fuel pump filter housing led to a fleet-wide grounding.

This is not the first time we’ve seen a recently retired B-1B come back from Tucson to replace another due to an accident occurring.

In April this year, a B-1B nicknamed Lancelot — also retired in Type 2000 storage — was flown to Tinker Air Force Base, Oklahoma, to complete the regeneration process before joining the Air Fleet. This was in order for it to replace another aircraft that was written off after a catastrophic engine fire during routine maintenance at Dyess Air Force Base, Texas, in 2022.

Lancelot pictured earlier this year. U.S. Air Force photo by Clayton Cummins

Parts of B-1Bs have also been removed from the boneyard for various non-flying test purposes, too.

Other bombers have also been removed from the Bone Yard and placed back into service. In May 2019, the B-52 Wise Guy, serial number 60-0034 touched down at Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana to replace another one of the bombers that crashed and burned at Andersen Air Force Base, Guam, three years before. Before that, the B-52 Ghost Rider, serial 61-0007, returned to service at Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota, in February 2015 to replace a B-52 written off after an electrical fire broke out during routine maintenance in 2014.

While the size of the B-1 fleet has significantly downsized in recent years, the Air Force still values the Lancer. Efforts have been made to extend the life of the bombers prior to the introduction of the B-21, including flight envelope restrictions having been placed on the fleet, as well as systems and potential weapons upgrades.

A B-1B during a Bomber Task Force mission over the Pacific Ocean, June 25, 2022. U.S. Air Force photo by Master Sgt. Nicholas Priest U.S. Air Force photo by Master Sgt. Nicholas Priest

The mission-set of the B-1B has also shifted back primarily to long-range strike after years of providing close air support and strike support for counter insurgency operations during the Global War On Terror. These extremely long sorties — which can last nearly 40 hours — point to the kinds of operations the service likely expects to conduct with its new B-21.

Moreover, the type is also prized due to its load-carrying capabilities, including the potential carriage of larger weapons and possibly hypersonic cruise missiles. The B-1B’s ability to carry many stealthy cruise missiles over great distances is already extremely relevant to a potential fight in the Pacific against China. These include the ability to fire Long-Range Anti-Ship Missiles (LRASMs), allowing the B-1B to target entire floatillas over great distances.

With this in mind, the B-1 fleet — now including Rage — will still be put to good use until it eventually faces retirement for good, but it is a bit concerning that two of just four attrition reserve airframes are already regenerated back to the relatively tiny fleet.

Hat tip: thanks to aviation photographer Cayden Smith for allowing us to use his pictures of Rage in this article.

Contact the author: oliver@thewarzone.com

[lonestarbattleship]

"Battleship Texas is now moored at Pier A in Gulf Copper Dry Dock & Rig Repair where it will continue to undergo repair and restoration.

Thank you to all of the staff from Gulf Copper Shipyard, Valkor Energy Services, and the Battleship Texas Foundation, who made this possible!

For more information on #battleshiptexas, please visit: battleshiptexas.org/"

Photographed on August 22, 2024

Posted on the Battleship Texas Foundation Facebook page: link

[mariacallous]

Who is this speaking with a sneer on their lips and contempt in their voice before news of the Princess of Wales’s cancer broke? A monarchist or a republican?

“Kate's admission that she had doctored the photograph, and her apology for doing so, were the latest self-inflicted wound by the House of Windsor, for which trust and integrity are fundamental commodities.”

Those who do not know the UK might assume it is a revolutionary who wants to undermine trust in the integrity of the monarchy because they want it gone

Republican sentiment in the UK is indeed stronger than tourists like to imagine and the BBC likes to admit.

Irish nationalists and Brits of Irish descent are wary of the crown. Just 45 per cent of Scots want to keep the royals “for the foreseeable future”, with 36 per cent ready to get rid of them ASAP. Meanwhile, the constitutional pressure group Republic reports that for the first time a plurality of people under 45 favour abolishing the monarchy.

But however greatly they have grown in number, British republicans have little vim and less vigour. They (we if I am levelling with you) don’t care enough about the monarchy to abolish it, or most of us don’t. It’s not a political priority or a practical project.

Republicanism last grew in the UK in the 1990s after the marriage of Prince Charles (as he then was) to Princess Diana fell apart. Jack Straw and other Labour politicians of the day were Republicans in theory.

But in practice they imagined cancelling all their other political plans so they could focus on dethroning the Queen and recoiled at the prospect.

Even if a majority of the country favoured a republic (which it never has), an embittered monarchist minority would never forgive the government. And as the government became unpopular, as all governments do, the minority would become a majority and demand a restoration.

No way would serious Labour politicians waste their time. Nor would serious Scottish nationalist politicians who made the same calculations.

British republicanism died for the very British reason that it was too much trouble.

If you want to find creepy obsessions, and bullying, hectoring sadism, turn to the UK’s monarchists.

The quote I began with was not from some obscure Republican website, but from the Daily Mail, Britain's best selling newspaper and most-read news site. It is a monarchist institution, at least it says it is.

And if you think I am being a snotty intellectual sneering at the tabloids, the BBC was just as bad. The line between snob and mob in the UK is always thin and often invisible.

The BBC has a podcast dedicated to PR called “When it hits the fan”! In its latest episode it berates the royal family for making “big mistakes” in not explaining why Prince William missed the memorial service for his godfather, and compounding the sin by allowing his wife to be photographed without a wedding ring.  ( I know, the horror.)

The princess has now been forced by the pressure from those who claim to adore her to admit that she had a cancer diagnosis and now needs chemotherapy. She didn’t want to talk about it at first because, frankly, her health ought to be no one else’s business.

Given what we know, it seems at least possible, don’t you think, that her husband missed engagements because he was concerned about his wife

After leaving the hospital, she put out a picture of herself and her children she had edited to make her kids look good. She is not the first mother to have done this, and in any case her illness may have distracted her,

Now that they have forced her to talk about her chemotherapy, the ferrets are reversing and everyone who had hectored the royal family is sobbing and sighing.

To my mind, and I suspect to the minds of many other​s, they are displaying the sickest side of British monarchism.

Imagine a criminal who beats you up in the street. He kicks you when you are down, humiliates and destroys you. And just when you think he’s finished with you, he bends over and says with a sweet smile “how brave you are and how courageous. We are all so terribly proud of you.”

There is a limit to how much of this treatment modern members of the royal family will take.

Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have fled to America, and are hated for it. I accept that a part of that hatred is racist. A larger part is a modern version of British anti-Americanism. The self-aggrandising virtue signalling of the progressive American rich grates with many in the UK. It’s too egotistical; too “let’s talk about me” for traditional British people to tolerate​.

But the main reason why conservatives in general and the conservative press in particular hate them is that they have opted out. They don’t share royal duties. Instead of taking abuse, they call their lawyers. They just won’t play the game anymore.

In truth there are not many who will. The old queen stayed on the throne too long. King Charles was too old for the job when he was finally crowned, and now he is ill with cancer, as is the Princess of Wales. Meghan and |Harry have fled, and Prince William is pretty much on his own to do the royal duties of a monarchy whose supporters demand that it conducts itself on a grand scale.

I look at his children and wonder if they will put themselves through it or run like their Uncle Harry. You should not blame them if they do.

It’s people who claim to worship the royals who will drive them away or drive them mad.

Republicans will never kill the monarchy. Royalists just might.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

The Princess of Wales’ ‘authentic’ apology shows how ‘trustworthy and honest’ she and Prince William are, a PR expert has claimed.

Catherine Middleton issued a public statement after the now infamous Photoshopped image released for Mother’s Day caused a frenzy online.

It marked the first time the Princess had been seen officially since her surgery and was supposed to quell social media rumours, which had become a frenzy in recent days.

However, after the picture was released on Sunday, eagle-eyed members of the public were quick to point out a number of ‘errors’ in the image which appeared to have been digitally manipulated.

The Palace came under immense pressure over the picture after it was withdrawn by Reuters, AP, Getty, and AFP, before the Princess released a statement to reveal she, in fact, had edited it.

In a post, Catherine Middleton wrote:

Now, a PR expert has said she believes the apology should put the barrage of social media rumours and frenzy of tabloid speculation to rest.

Sophie Attwood, PR Expert and Author of Beautiful PR: Finding Your Brand’s Heartbeat For Authenticity In Communication, told Tatler it was ‘not surprising’ that the image had caused such a ‘controversy’ — but that Catheine's statement has been key to restoring confidence in the Princess.

She said:

"Trust and open communication are the key to the success of any brand, especially in an age in which social media grants us greater access to these people than ever before.

The Royal Family have done the right thing in addressing the situation with the honesty and openness that the public have come to know and expect."

Attwood went on to detail how Catherine’s apology showed she was ‘approachable and human’, saying:

"The Princess of Wales’ recent apology is written from herself and does, for me, appear authentic. Signing off with simply a ‘C’ is also a good move, she’s suddenly approachable, human and has simply made a mistake.

I also really like the fact that this has been designed to appear as a really short apology, leveraging the shorter character count on Twitter and reducing the formality of the situation — acknowledging the stories but making the situation appear like it's simply not a big deal."

Attwood went on to say she expects the public to forgive the Princess for the furore, and said they know Catherine and William to be ‘open and honest.’

She added:

"The steps that [the royals] have taken in order to address the confusion and reinforce the idea that they are trustworthy, honest and open will likely support this."

After the admission, the Princess was pictured as she joined Prince William on the drive out of Windsor ahead of the Commonwealth Day Service.

She didn't join the royal family at the event however, instead attending a ‘private appointment.’

Reports suggested the Princess has been left hurt by the scandal, which has been caused.

A palace insider told The Telegraph that Catherine had just tried to make the picture the ‘best it could be.’

Meanwhile, according to the Mirror, a friend of the Princess said she was ‘deeply upset’ over the storm caused by what was supposed to be an ‘innocent family photograph.’

As to exactly when Catherine will return to duty, that is still yet to be seen. But, amidst the controversy, Prince William has been continuing with public engagements.

He led the royal family at the Commonwealth Day Service on March 11, before attending the private funeral for Thomas Kingston on March 12.

On March 14, he’s due to visit WEST, the new OnSide Youth Zone in Hammersmith and Fulham, before marking the 25th anniversary of the Diana Award by attending the Legacy Awards.

[typhlonectes]

Check out this incredible shot of a newly hatched Big Sandy crayfish taken by the team at White Sulphur Springs National Fish Hatchery!

This fella entered the world at a whopping six millimeters – a little smaller than a pencil eraser. White Sulphur Springs National Fish Hatchery works with the Virginia Department of Wildlife Resources and Loughman Lab - WLU Crayfish Conservation Laboratory to raise the federally threatened crayfish with the ultimate goal of restoring their populations in the wild. photograph by Andrew Phipps/USFWS 

via: U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Northeast Region