Ferrari has selected the 87th edition of the Geneva International Motor Show for the world premiere of the new 12-cylinder berlinetta, the 812 Superfast, the most powerful and fastest Ferrari in the marque’s history.
This new car not only introduces a plethora of innovative features but is also particularly significant as the V12 series marked the official start of the glorious Prancing Horse story in 1947, 70 years ago this year.
The 812 Superfast thus ushers in a new era in Ferrari 12-cylinder history, in doing so building on the invaluable legacies of the F12berlinetta and F12tdf. It is aimed at clients demanding the most powerful and exclusive Ferrari in the range: an uncompromising sports car that will deliver exhilarating driving both on road and track yet also be comfortable enough to allow its owners to enjoy it as an all-round experience.
I almost can’t believe it, but I’m actually posting two fics within the space of a few days!! This week has been crazy productive.
So this fic is not a Christmas fic, but it is kinda Christmas-y, because I wrote this while listening to copious amounts of Christmas music. It has a very different feel from the last fic I posted, but I hope you guys like it~
Sterek, ~6k words, rated T
It happens on a Monday. Derek stayed up stupidly late the night before, reading a weird German serial killer novel Erica lent him, and overslept. He’s running late, out of breath and a little sweaty from jogging all the way from the subway, and when he yells, “Hold the elevator!” an arm obligingly snakes out between the doors and he slips inside.
The guy who held the door for him doesn’t even look up. He’s slouching back against the wall, scrolling disinterestedly through his phone, his other hand curled around a bouquet of flowers wrapped in crinkly paper. He’s got messy brown hair and a mole right by his mouth, four more in a cluster along his jaw, and, under the scent of cold air and wet pavement that’s clinging to his jacket, he smells—good. Really good. Warm and a little gingery.
The elevator doors slide shut. Derek’s so focused on trying to look at him without letting the guy know he’s looking that it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize the guy just said something. To Derek.
Derek blinks. “What?”
The guy smirks. “Running a little low on caffeine? I asked what floor you want.” He nods at the elevator buttons, and Derek flushes. Right.
The guy leans forward to press the button, and Derek leans in a little after him, trying to subtly smell him again.
The Terminators are a batch of Turkish Air Force F-4Es, modernized by Israel. they received AGM-142 Popeye/Have Nap integration, Litening-II targeting pods, and the capability to launch AGM-65D/G Maverick, AGM-88 HARM, GBU-8 HOBOS, GBU-10/12 Paveway II LGBs, general purpose and cluster bombs for air-to-ground missions, while retaining the capability to launch AIM-7 Sparrow and AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missiles
Prompt 51: Postwar: isolated Katniss did not sit frozen in that quiet tomb of a house, suffocating! She ran madly into the woods. It’s years before anyone sees her again. What’s become of 12, Gale, Haymitch, mom…of Peeta? [submitted by @567inpanem]
Want to keep on reading? You can find the rest of the chapter on AO3 and FF.net.
If memory serves, fish in very cold ocean water (around 0 C) don’t have hemoglobin because at that temperature oxygen just dissolves into water. I assume their blood is clear.
Hmm so it requires a medium to exist…what if Amanu lived in a very thick miasma? I know they have communities and perhaps the air is unfiltered and in presence of so many god-like hyperintelligent fungi nerve cluster things surrounding them maybe it makes the air thick enough for that to allow to happen? Aaahh not sure
Author: Ellie Word count: 1171 Prompt: hello~ could u please do a really fluffy changgu soulmate au?? the kind where ur first words to each other are tattooed on each others wrists if u know what i mean,, thank u!!! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶
Notes: I don’t have a damn clue what the streets of Seoul smell like. I just know that there’s street food and shitty air.
You’d never been to South Korea before. It was an entirely new and disorientating place to be, with almost everything in a foreign language. The air was different, filled with the smell of street vendors’ food and car smoke, and the world was awash with neon signs, tall grey buildings and bustling clusters of people, a far cry from the crisp air and clear streets of your hometown.
Here, you stood in the middle of Seoul, completely alone. You were supposed to meet your old school friend Yeonjung at her apartment, where you would stay for your two-week holiday. She’d moved back to Korea three years ago, though you’d stayed in touch, and she offered to be your guide when you came over.
Yeonjung was supposed to meet you here, but had cancelled via text just as you’d arrived, due to an emergency she hadn’t explained. She’d then given you her address and told you which train to take, but had forgotten to give you actual instructions on how to get there. And so now you were stuck in the middle of nothing familiar, with only 12,000 won in your pocket, an English/Korean guidebook and no idea how to pronounce anything. Steeling your nerves, you flipped through the guidebook and prepared to ask complete strangers for directions.
The kick of the blast shot resonated through
Hera, the impact much more forceful than the sound. Then again, she could
barely hear anything but a persistent ringing in her ears. With effort, she
pushed out a breath of air as her knees gave out on her. Her own weight became
too much for her legs to bear as she collapsed to the ground. Hera’s
bloodstained clothes were tattered and torn in several places, exposing the
bruised and bloodied skin smeared with dirt and dust underneath. She was
struggling to breathe properly now, her throat dry and chest tight. When she
tried to wet her lips, she found them chapped and dusty against her tongue.
The only thought she had was that her last
shot had been aimed straight and true.
Activated at Will Rogers Field, Oklahoma, in June 1943, the 640th BS (L) was one of four squadrons of the 409th BG (L). By September the squadron consisted of 55 officers and 217 enlisted, though their training was hampered by a lack of aircraft; the unit had borrowed five A-20 Havoc light bombers from the 50th BS (L) in July, but did not receive their own aircraft until August 1943.
Men of the 409th BG, 462nd BS
The 460th moved several times in the coming months; to Woodward Army Air Field, OK, in October 1943, then to DeRidder Army Air Base, LA, in December. By February 1944 the squadron had finished training and was ready for deployment, moving to Little Walden, Essex, England by way of New York. On 13 April 1944 the squadron completed its first mission, and by the end of the month they had flown 16 more without loss.
A-20 Havocs in formation; the aircraft in the foreground is of the 640th BS
Over the next several months the 640th frequently participated in missions, losing several aircraft in action and in training accidents. In September the group moved again, this time into occupied France. The next month the squadron transitioned out of their old A-20 Havocs and into brand new A-26 Invader attack bombers. Missions continued regularly, with new pilots and gunners replacing those who rotated home or were shot down.
A damaged 409th BG A-26 that ran off the end of the runway
At the end of hostilities in Europe the 640th had a listed strength of 68 officers and 296 enlisted, having flown a total of 257 missions during their brief year-long tour of duty. The squadron was folded in with the rest of the 409th BG at the end of the month, in preparation for deployment to the Pacific Theater. The war ended before the transition could be completed, and the unit was inactivated on 7 November 1945.
Among one of the most heavily decorated officers of the 640th was Eric Courtney, Jr. He joined the 640th as a 2nd Lt. by December 1943, and had been promoted to 1st Lt. by the end of the squadron’s first month in Europe. He would be promoted to Captain by March 1945, after having received the 12th Oak Leaf Cluster on his Air Medal. He survived the war and, to my recollection, disappeared to history as one of thousands of airmen who fought in the skies over Europe.
Reader Imagine: You and Tony are convinced that Steve and Bucky are in love with each other, much to Bucky’s annoyance- who goes out of his way to “prove” he isn’t.
You and Tony were certain of it. Three weeks of watching and documenting, getting F.R.I.D.A.Y. to play back audio records of their wistful conversations- there was not a doubt in your minds.
Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes were in love.
You just had to prove it. Stalking after Bucky down the corridor as he went to meet Steve for their early morning Tuesday training session (you had their schedules committed to memory), you listened attentively as the brunette spoke animatedly on the phone to someone you assumed to be a woman. “Psh,” you spat, “Cover-up.”
Bucky whipped round at the sound and you quickly retreated, sprinting down the corridor, mortified at the possibility of being caught following him. You thought you’d lost him after ten minutes of aimless sprinting and allowed yourself a break, propping yourself up on your knees with the palms of your hands as support after being doubled over for a minute or two- only to find yourself being stared out by none other than the gay man himself.
Jumping up quickly you propped yourself up against the wall nonchalantly, one hand pressed against the cool paint and the other resting on your waist, after a moment or two you pretended to only just notice Bucky who had been staring at you the entire time, now bringing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose as he shook his head in exasperation, whispering faint exclamations of disbelief. “Oh hey there Bucky.” You smiled cheesily, waving your hand with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I didn’t see you there.”
Bucky groaned and pressed the flat of his hand against his eyeballs, “Are you actually- (Y/N), seriously? I literally watched you- I can’t believe this.” You rocked back and forth on your heels, now bringing both hands to rest on your hips, “Hm?” You hummed in innocence, raising your eyebrows up at him in challenge, refusing to acknowledge he had just caught you stalking him.
Bucky didn’t seem impressed. “Why were you following me?” He asked forcefully, his brow furrowing as he got straight to the point. You smiled widely. “I wasn’t following you Bucky.” You said simply with a shrug, dismissing the idea as fantasy. “Yes you were.” He stated, mirroring your stance in an attempt to dominate.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes you were.”
“But why would I, Bucky? Is this your subconscious wishing that I was?” You teased, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively up at him causing him to throw his hands up in exasperation. He opened his mouth as if to argue the point further, but upon watching you hitch your eyebrows and deepen your smirk, he scowled and padded away.
“Oh, Bucky!” You called after him in a sing-song voice. He didn’t stop walking, his figure retreating around the corner. “I know.” You said ominously, your eyes darkening mischievously as you laid your playing cards on the table. You watched his head pop around the corner, the rest of his torso still concealed behind the wall, giving him the ghoulish quality of a floating head. Fighting the urge to laugh, you kept the smirk firmly plastered on your face.
“Know.. What exactly?” He questioned uneasily, his eyes growing weary. He began moving towards you hesitantly, as if approaching a flighty bird. You examined your nails a moment, revelling in the power you had over him.
“About you and Steve, of course!”
This really threw him through a loop, “What are you talking about?” He cawed, his eyes narrowing and his face scrunching up in confusion. “Know what about me and Steve?”
You smiled devilishly again, “I know what you’ve been up to..” You stated, near to singing the last word in your gleeful mischief. Bucky’s head reared up and whipped from side to side in an unidentifiable emotion. Eventually his spluttering stopped and he looked at you with wide eyes, “What on earth are you talking about, (Y/N)?!” He groaned, tugging at his hair frustratedly. It was at moments like this he really wished he could read your mind, in the two years he’d known you you’d confused him infinitely more than any other person he’d ever met. Your strangeness both appealed to him and freaked him out.
“I know you love each other!” You shouted, throwing your hand in the air, pulling a cluster of confetti from your pocket as you made the declaration. A moment passed.
Two, three moments in silence.
Then Bucky burst into raucous laughter as the confetti settled in his hair, peppering him with an oddly fitting rainbow of colours as you watched on in bemusement. This wasn’t exactly the reaction you and Tony had planned on garnering when proclaiming your knowledge of their intimacies. He would not stop laughing. You joined in after a while, nervous giggles slipping from your lips as you tried to figure out what was so funny.
“You think..” Bucky began after a while, recovering from his eruption of laughter, clutching deftly at a stitch in his ribs. “That me.. And Steve are..” He disintegrated into fits of giggles once more, grabbing onto your shoulder for support. “Are.. Gay?” You finished for him, only adding to the screamed laughter that poured from his lips. You gave him a look that embodied your thoughts of “what the fuck is happening” which he took note of and managed to sober up.
“What made you think that?” He chuckled, swiping at a few stray tears lining his cheeks.
“Well, you’re not denying it, for starters.”
“We aren’t in love.” Bucky stated, then added hastily. “Well, I do love him. But he’s my brother, my oldest and bestest friend. It’s entirely platonic, maybe there was a time when we could have..” He trailed off for a moment then shook his head and returned to the present. “But things change, stuff happens and.. We’re perfect as friends.” He finished with a broad and content smile, beaming at your unimpressed face.
“I don’t buy it.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Because Thursday’s!” You shouted, as if that was all the explanation you needed. Bucky shot you a puzzled look.
“You have sex every Thursday.” You dead panned, hitting him with the facts. Bucky’s face twitched a smile but he didn’t lose it this time. “We train every Thursday.” He corrected you.
“B-but,” you began, stutters lining your voice. “The audios of you two, the moaning, the grunting-”
“Weights.” He said simply by means of explanation.
You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t believe you.” You declared, striding past him and towards Tony’s office to inform him of your findings. Bucky shrugged and walked off with a smile, planning the same with Steve.
It didn’t phase Bucky at first, in fact him and Steve found it quite hilarious. But then he began to notice the watchful and devilish looks Y/N was shooting him every time he was in Steve’s presence. It really began to grate on him, especially when Tony started making his comments.
“I’m going to check up on Steve,” Bucky said, bringing a firm hand down on his thigh as he made to leave the room.
“You sure you aren’t just going to check out Steve?” Tony quipped, not looking up from his device, still tapping away furiously, a faint smile lining his features. Bucky snorted and dismissed the comment, leaping up and going to seek Cap’s company.
Then Sam chimed in.
“I’m his best-friend.” Bucky argued, “We’ve known each other near enough our entire lives and we share a much deeper connection than you do with him!”
“Aw hell no,” Sam said, bringing his fist down on the table with force. “Just ‘cause you’re sleeping together don’t mean you’re his best friend, I mean maybe you do get "deeper” with him than me since I don’t-“
"What the hell, Sam?” Bucky interrupted in horror, the words pouring from his mouth forcing him to picture a disturbing visual. “We’re not sleeping together!” He shouted, almost completely forgetting about his conversation with you, seeing as it had happened over two months prior. Though the thought slowly returned to him as he mulled it over. “What made you think that we were-” Sam perked an eyebrow up at him, his mouth curving into a smile.
“Y/N.” They said in unison. “I’m going to kill her.” Bucky cried, storming out of the room and making a beeline for your room where you were sat innocently reading, before your state of tranquility was disturbed by the harsh knocking of fist against wood, or more precisely- metal against wood. You sighed heavily and hoisted yourself up, barely managing to unlock your door before Bucky barged in, eyes ablaze and fists clenched.
“I’m not fucking gay!” He roared, staring you down. You returned his glare with your own bored, lazy gaze.
“That’s exactly what a closeted gay person would say.” You stated, moving back to resume your position on the bed before Bucky caught ahold of your wrist and spun you round.
“If I was gay,” Bucky huffed, his eyes wild and his hair fanning his face as he breathed heavily. His mind whirring as he contemplated what he was about to do. “Would I do this?”
Your words were quickly silenced by hastily pressed lips against your own, moving ferociously, a hot tongue swiping at your lips as you struggled to process what was happening. The shocked gasp you emitted making entrance for Bucky’s tongue which moved sultrily within you. Roaming hands lit your chest aflame and ignited a passion within you, suddenly you were kissing him back. Your once frozen hands finding the nape of his neck, tying them tightly into the loose strands of his hair that decorated the back of his head. You tugged and pulled when he found a soft spot on your neck, earning moans of approval as you did so, sometimes pulling so hard he emitted a growl that stirred your insides and turned them to mush.
You could feel your feet tripping backwards and then your backside crashed into your writing desk, Bucky soon hoisted you atop it, grabbing you by your thighs and almost throwing you aggressively, grunting as he did so. He peppered your neck with kisses, nibbling at the tender skin and leaving territorial marks. You moaned ever so slightly and pulled back quickly, panting and struggling for breath. “Bucky.” You breathed, wide-eyed and still struggling to process what the fuck had just happened.
But Bucky only smirked and pressed your lips together again and again until you were certain it wasn’t Steve he wanted, but you.
(I’m actually Stucky trash and it was really hard not turning this into a Stucky fic because they actually are in love and you got it right the first time girl)
Brig. Gen. Robin Olds was an American fighter pilot and general officer in the U.S. Air Force. He was a “triple ace”, with a combined total of 16 victories in World War II and the Vietnam War. He retired in 1973 as a Brigadier General. He served from 1943 until 1973.
The son of Army Maj. Gen. Robert Olds, educated at West Point, and the product of an upbringing in the early years of the U.S. Army Air Corps, Olds epitomized the youthful World War II fighter pilot. He remained in the service as it became the United States Air Force, despite often being at odds with its leadership, and was one of its pioneer jet pilots. Rising to the command of two fighter wings, Olds is regarded among aviation historians, and his peers, as the best wing commander of the Vietnam War, for both his air-fighting skills, and his reputation as a combat leader.
Olds was promoted to brigadier general after returning from Vietnam but did not hold another major command. The remainder of his career was spent in non-operational positions, as Commandant of Cadets at the United States Air Force Academy and as an official in the Air Force Inspector General’s Office. His inability to rise higher as a general officer is attributed to both his maverick views and his penchant for drinking.
Olds had a highly publicized career and life, including marriage to Hollywood actress Ella Raines. As a young man he was also recognized for his athletic prowess in both high school and college, being named an All-American as a lineman in college football. Olds expressed his philosophy regarding fighter pilots in the quote: “There are pilots and there are pilots; with the good ones, it is inborn. You can’t teach it. If you are a fighter pilot, you have to be willing to take risks.”
Awards as Command pilot.
•Air Force Cross
•Air Force Distinguished Service Medal
•Silver Star, three oak leaf clusters
•Legion of Merit
•Distinguished Flying Cross, five oak leaf clusters.
•Air Medal, with 39 oak leaf clusters.
•Air Force Commendation Medal
•Presidential Unit Citation, with oak leaf cluster •Outstanding Unit Award, with two oak leaf clusters
•American Defense Service Medal
•American Campaign Medal
•European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal with six campaign stars
•World War II Victory Medal
•National Defense Service Medal, with second service star.
•Vietnam Service Medal
•Air Force Longevity Service Award, with six oak leaf clusters
•Small Arms Expert Marksmanship Medal
•Distinguished Flying Cross (United Kingdom); •Croix de Guerre (France), with star
•Vietnam Air Gallantry Cross with Gold Wings •Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal.
•Vietnam Air Force Distinguished Service Order, 2nd Class
•Vietnam Air Force Meritorious Service Medal
He was awarded a fourth Silver Star for leading a three-aircraft low-level bombing strike on March 30, 1967, and the Air Force Cross for an attack on the Paul Doumer Bridge in Hanoi on August 11, one of five awarded to Air Force pilots for that mission. He flew his final combat mission over North Vietnam on September 23, 1967.
Air Force Cross Citation
Colonel Robin Olds
U.S. Air Force
Date Of Action: August 11, 1967
“The President of the United States of America, authorized by Title 10, Section 8742, United States Code, takes pleasure in presenting the Air Force Cross to Colonel Robin Olds (AFSN: 0-26046), United States Air Force, for extraordinary heroism in military operations against an opposing armed force while serving as Strike Mission Commander in the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing, Ubon Royal Thai Air Base, Thailand, against the Paul Doumer Bridge, a major north-south transportation link on Hanoi’s Red River in North Vietnam, on 11 August 1967. On that date, Colonel Olds led his strike force of eight F-4C aircraft against a key railroad and highway bridge in North Vietnam. Despite intense, accurately directed fire, multiple surface-to-air missile attacks on his force, and continuous harassment by MiG fighters defending the target, Colonel Olds, with undaunted determination, indomitable courage, and professional skill, led his force through to help destroy this significant bridge. As a result the flow of war materials into this area was appreciably reduced. Through his extraordinary heroism, superb airmanship, and aggressiveness in the face of hostile forces, Colonel Olds reflected the highest credit upon himself and the United States Air Force.”
Brig Gen Robin Olds died on June 14, 2007. He was 84 years old.
I’m not a music writer but I wanna talk about the tough divinity in women, about how it sounds in our music, about grimes and fka twigs and dawn Richards and kelly lee Owens. I wanna talk about the grotesque heads of the hostas pushing their way out of the matted dirt and slime in my garden beds, twisted cronenberg clusters shedding worm castings to reach the light and air where they can unfurl. How long do they spend underground before they crown? How many of them die before we see them? How shallowly we eye them, commenting on color & stripe & bloom & leaf. We forget the frost. We forget the war they fought to reach us. We do them a disservice to call them pretty. They’re miracles.