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#construction equipment significance

nnctales · 8 months

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The Backbone of Construction: A Deep Dive into Construction Equipment

When you pass by a construction site, what catches your eye? It’s not just the towering structures or the bustling workers; it’s the array of heavy machinery and equipment that makes the entire process possible. Construction equipment serves as the backbone of any construction project, enabling the realization of architectural marvels and infrastructural development. In this article, we will take…

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visit-new-york · 9 months

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Chrysler Building: A Shimmering Icon of Art Deco Elegance

In the heart of Manhattan's bustling skyline, one architectural masterpiece stands tall, capturing the imagination of all who gaze upon it. The Chrysler Building, a shimmering beacon of Art Deco elegance, is not just a skyscraper but a symbol of New York City's enduring spirit and architectural innovation. With its captivating history, exquisite design, and a touch of old-world glamour, the Chrysler Building continues to enchant and captivate, leaving an indelible mark on the Big Apple's iconic skyline.

The Chrysler Building, completed in 1930, was the brainchild of architect William Van Alen. Its distinctive design is a symphony of style, blending Art Deco with influences from the Machine Age. The tower rises to a staggering 1,046 feet, making it one of the tallest buildings in the world at the time of its completion. Its crowning glory, the iconic stainless steel spire, reaches even higher, ultimately soaring to 1,476 feet. This bold architectural choice, combined with the building's tiered setbacks and intricate ornamentation, immediately sets it apart from its contemporaries.

The Chrysler Building's spire is nothing short of a masterpiece. Composed of seven concentric stainless steel arches, it seems to ascend endlessly into the sky, a testament to human ambition and ingenuity. The polished metal glimmers and reflects the ever-changing hues of the New York City skyline, giving the building a dynamic and ethereal quality. The spire's tip is adorned with a spectacular sunburst design, a symbol of hope and optimism that encapsulated the spirit of the Roaring Twenties.

Beneath the shimmering façade, the Chrysler Building holds a treasure trove of architectural marvels. The lobby, in particular, is a breathtaking work of art. A soaring, marble-clad space is adorned with ornate, artful details, including intricate friezes, Egyptian-inspired motifs, and a magnificent ceiling mural by artist Edward Trumbull. The lobby's elegance and opulence transport visitors to a bygone era of sophistication and glamour.

The Chrysler Building's enduring legacy goes beyond its architectural significance. It has played a prominent role in popular culture, making appearances in numerous films, television shows, and works of literature. Its silhouette, unmistakable and timeless, is a symbol of New York City itself, representing both the city's storied past and its ever-evolving future.

Yet, beneath its polished surface and captivating design, the Chrysler Building harbors an air of myth and mystery that adds to its allure. One enduring legend is the tale of a secret spire race between the Chrysler Building and the Bank of Manhattan Trust Building (now known as 40 Wall Street), a nearby skyscraper under construction at the same time. This tale, though perhaps more myth than fact, only deepens the intrigue surrounding this architectural wonder.

The construction of the Chrysler Building was not without its challenges. The architects and builders had to contend with the limitations of 1920s technology, including the absence of modern safety measures and equipment. Nevertheless, the determination and expertise of the builders triumphed over adversity, resulting in an enduring symbol of human achievement.

As we look ahead to the future, the Chrysler Building continues to stand as a symbol of resilience and creativity. While no longer the tallest building in New York City, its timeless elegance and iconic spire remain a source of inspiration for architects, artists, and dreamers alike. Recent renovations and preservation efforts ensure that this shimmering gem will continue to grace the Manhattan skyline for generations to come.

For those who wish to experience the magic of the Chrysler Building firsthand, tours are available to explore its exquisite lobby and learn more about its history and architectural significance. Standing in the shadow of its gleaming spire, visitors can connect with the past, marvel at its beauty, and imagine the countless stories that have unfolded within its walls.

In a city that is constantly changing and reinventing itself, the Chrysler Building remains a steadfast symbol of New York City's enduring spirit, artistic excellence, and architectural innovation. Its shimmering spire reaches for the heavens, while its hidden treasures and legendary history capture the hearts and minds of all who encounter it. As an icon of Art Deco elegance, the Chrysler Building is not just a skyscraper; it's a living testament to the dreams and aspirations of a city that continues to inspire the world. It's a reminder that in the ever-evolving urban jungle of Manhattan, the Chrysler Building's brilliance still shines as brightly as ever, inviting all to partake in its timeless allure.

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#Chrysler Building #new york city #new york #new-york #newyork #urban #nyc #ny #manhattan #city #usa #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

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m4ndysk4nkovich · 6 months

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mickey milkovich x nude, radiohead

i don’t think that anybody can disagree that 1x07 is the episode where we learn the most about mickey milkovich. no, i don’t mean he showed any development or anything like that, but we learned something about him that made him significant for the rest of the show. something that never leaves, something that is important to him. in 1x07, we learn that mickey milkovich is gay, and we learn that he is willing to sleep with ian gallagher (even when his father and sister are in the house).

in 1x06, mickey kind of has an interaction with ian that we later see and are like, “yeah, he’s totally gay”, but back then it wasn’t stated that mickey was gay. mickey steals shit from the kash and grab, and he tells ian, “you know where i live if you have a problem” kind of instigating that ian should come over.

but in 1x07, mickey has stolen the gun from the kash and grab, and ian goes to mickey’s house equipped with a tyre iron, ready to take it back.

the “i want the gun back, mickey” scene needs no introduction or explanation. we all know what happened. we all watched in awe as mickey stood over ian and both of their breaths evened out and they made contact and… bam! they’re getting undressed, just like that.

later on, we are no stranger to gallavich and fighting then fucking. it’s something many people know them for, the fact that they’ll literally beat the shit out of each other and then immediately get on each other. but here, it was supposed to be for shock value because shameless utilizes shock value. to those who didn’t know gallavich was going to happen, watching mickey, the thug who had literally just attempted murder on ian, undress and fuck ian was surprising. later on, we can understand why it happened, but we were supposed to be shocked.

so, here’s where nude by radiohead comes in.

terry wakes up from a nap and goes to take a piss in mickey’s room (there’s a bathroom in there, he isn’t just pissing in it, lol). in there, ian and mickey are naked under mickey’s covers. around them, we see a poster of a woman and we also see a drawing mickey made that says “fuck love”.

so when terry comes out of the bathroom and looks at them both, he doesn’t do what season 3 terry does, he simply says “put some clothes on, you two look like a couple of fags!” and it’s a comical scene because, what the fuck, terry, aren’t you a homophobic murderer? you woke up to grunts and crashes coming from mickey’s room, then when you came in he and another boy are naked in his bed… what do you think they were doing?

so when mickey does put some clothes on, he puts on a radiohead shirt.

the shirt says “you’ll go to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking” and those are the last lyrics of the radiohead song “nude”.

so for those who haven’t listened to the song, here’s my analysis of why this song is associated with mickey milkovich and how it ends up foreshadowing his entire character for the next four seasons.

“don’t get any big ideas

they’re not gonna happen”

literally this scene. mickey caves and gives ian the gun back because lets be honest, it was really just bait. ian leans in to kiss him, and mickey has a look in his eyes where you can tell he wants to, but he can’t. he built this wall up years ago and he’s already cursing himself for letting it come down. terry instructed him to get dressed, and he puts on this shirt. and he’s trying to put this carefully constructed mask back on but he’s struggling. and so, he pushes ian away, “kiss me and i’ll cut your fucking tounge out”. there’s no malice in his tone, it’s a threat, but it isn’t threatening.

“you paint yourself white

and fill up with noise

but there'll be something missing”

mickey hiding in the closet, marrying svetlana, being a father to yevgeny, trying to act like the perfect son of terry. he still has this mask on and he tries to hide who he is but alas, he can’t. he loves ian too much and when he gets married and pushes him away, he’s still gay and in love.

“now that you found it

it’s gone”

upon being married, he tells ian that they can still bang. maybe being married to a woman makes him feel a bit more secure because although he despises it and it’s crushing him, he can keep his whole “king of the southside” thing. now that he’s married and unhappy, terry’s satisfied, and that’s all that matters- well, at one point it was. so he tells ian that they can still fuck, but suddenly, ian isn’t as eager and easy as he once was, and he leaves. he’s gone.

“now that you feel it

you don't

you’ve gone off the rails”

he’s out, he’s with ian, he has ian. things are supposed to be fine- but they’re not. ian’s unstable and has been hospitalized, and mickey breaks. he gets shitfaced and cuts his cheek and cries into ian’s jacket. that wall he once built up? the chest he puffed up, the posters he hung, the tattoos he got, they all mean nothing. it’s all gone. the wall and mask are gone, he’s more fragile than he once was. ian’s broken and it’s simultaneously breaking him too.

“so don't get any big ideas

they're not gonna happen”

this line is so mickey in s5, s6, s7, and s10. ian calling him and mickey running to see ian. he has hope. but no, ian breaks up with him, mickey is arrested, and when ian visits he desperately wants ian back. he tattoos ian’s name on his chest, specifically over his heart, and he practically pleads for ian to stay. then, mickey and ian are fleeing to mexico, and for a second, he has hope again. he fantasizes about he and ian at the beach, ian’s freckled skin being sunburnt, them swimming in the ocean together. for once, he can imagine his dreams being true. but they aren’t. he and ian are getting their marriage license, but ian’s hand wavers over the dotted line and he gives mickey that look and mickey breaks (…ian’s leg. lol). he keeps getting his hopes up and everytime he scolds himself for it because he just ends up hopeless.

then finally, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,

“you'll go to hell

for what your dirty mind

is thinking”

it’s in the 1x07 scene i’m talking about. terry instructs mickey to get dressed, he does, and he puts on a shirt that says this. and in that shirt, he seems odd. the confidence we see him have in 1x03 is no longer there. he doesn’t necessarily look vulnerable, but he isn’t the mickey he pretends to be. he caves and returns the gun, which was just bait for ian to come anyway, and he refuses to make eye contact with ian, but when he does, it’s almost coy? he’s ashamed. he’s thinking of things he know would get him killed and he hates himself for it. terry will end him if he finds out, and yes, he has the posters, the reputation, the persona, the tattoos, the guns, etc. but in the end, it’s all an act, and we can see it. the way he licks his lips, the way his eyes won’t focus, his body language says so much.

#aria’s yapping again #i’ve lost 8 followers within the last day so i’m praying gallavich meta will save my blog #shameless #gallavich #gallavich meta #shameless meta #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #terry milkovich #shameless us #radiohead #1x07 #meta #please don’t let this flop #it took hours

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undiscovered-horizon · 11 months

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"Sea shanties" - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of a minor injury and blood]

SUMMARY: Alina catches Sturmhond in a surprising moment of weakness when he's quietly watching you sing to yourself and fix the net.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.7k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

The cold wind nips at your exposed skin and part of you beckons you to return under the deck to finish sewing the net back together. But you dread returning among the sailors: despite truly being a lovely bunch, their constant chattering and liveliness can wear you out. The berths and cabins are warm, yes, but the sea is silent, predictable and, most of all, doesn’t expect engagement. As long as you let her be, she leaves you alone in return. Here, where cold wind tugs at your clothes and saltwater spray your face, you can finally take a deep breath and relax your tense shoulders. Stitching the nets is a very monotone, maybe even boring, activity but it’s exactly what you need. Your hands fix the knots on their own, guided by experience, allowing your mind to let go of duties and worries, to slip away into much more pleasant thoughts.

“I’ll wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home,” you sing barely above a whisper. Truthfully, you can’t recall where you learned the song. It’s as if you’ve always known it, the melody haunting you whenever you’re getting lost in thought.

Alina lets out a sigh of relief when she finally finds Sturmhond. For a moment she was really considering whether he could snap his fingers and vanish. He’s leaning against the doorframe but his broad shoulders still block most of the view of the deck. Sturmhond is completely oblivious to her presence and Alina has a bit too much spite in her to let the opportunity go. She quietly approaches him, harbouring a wicked hope that maybe she can scare him and single-handedly rub away that smug smirk of his.

She stops a pace or two behind him, taking in a deep breath to yell right into his ear. "Sturmhond, I-"

But the privateer is quick to silence her:

"Keep your voice down!" he hisses at Alina.

The Sun Summoner frowns at the privateer. Not only did she not scare him but also seems to be interrupting something. And considering his wish to keep things quiet, Sturmhond is doing something he knows he shouldn’t. She stares at him through half-closed eyes, beaming with suspicion, when she hears a faint hum distracting her from constructing some passive-aggressive remark. Alina recognizes your voice, although it sounds a lot softer than what she’s used to. Being the boatswain, you’re mostly heard yelling out orders for the maintenance crew that you’re watching over; forcing seafarers to tie perfect knots, no matter how many tries it takes them and raising Hell for the smallest error in repairing sails. Even if you might come off as harsh, credit is due as Volkvolny’s sails and equipment are kept impeccable. Your discipline has definitely played a significant part in Sturmhond’s successful betrayal of the Black General.

Listening in, over the howling wind and crashing waves, Alina and Nikolai eavesdrop on the sombre song you’re singing quietly to yourself — a story of a woman mourning her lover who never returned from the sea. Despite the heaviness of the words leaving your mouth, your voice is rid of dread as though such a woeful story is nowhere near relatable to you. Alina doesn’t notice that detail but Sturmhond surely does. In fact, it brings him a sense of relief: after all, how could he compete with a dead man for your love?

A mischievous smile creeps onto Alina’s face as she’s looking between you and Sturmhond. As far as she can tell, you’re completely oblivious to the small audience watching you go about your duties. The sailor, however, is unable to control his soft expression and that lovesick, mellow look in his eyes. To be honest, Sturmhond looks so removed from reality, he might actually be unaware that there are more people in the world than just him and you.

“So, genius privateer Sturmhond, the fright of the sea is in love with the boatswain,” Alina whispers, barely holding in an impish snicker, “but instead of his usual bravado he cowers away, settling for watching her from afar like a creep.”

He seems to ponder her words for a moment, nodding his head ever so slightly. “That is a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?” he asks. Nikolai appears to be well aware of his affliction but rendered powerless in the face of his heart’s desire, he can only accept the state of things.

“I wanted to say pathetic but either way works.”

Sturmhond looks at Alina out of the corner of his eye but only for a moment, unwilling to waste any more time not admiring you. “Wouldn’t it be more pathetic to be the best privateer in all of Ravka’s history but not know love?”

Alina clenches her fists. She puckers her lips, suddenly feeling hot as blood rushes to her face. Saints have mercy - he’s right. The sole act of seeing eye to eye with the blond man isn’t as terrible as the act of admitting it and stroking his ego. “I hate to say it but I agree,” she grits through her teeth.

Nikolai notices her discomfort. He doesn’t hide a certain satisfaction in the effect he has on her - it’s amusing to see her paper mache confidence falter, although he is painfully aware that this will prove problematic later on. “Oh my, I might think you actually tolerate me.”

She forces herself into a contemptuous scowl - it’s a little overdone to be considered natural. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Alina dismisses him.

“You know, I might be an incredible captain and all but without her…” Sturmhond shakes his head. His eyes follow your barely noticeable movements as you weave the net back together. “This whole ship would have already sunk.”

But she doesn’t believe him - not entirely. If she is to believe Tamar, and Alina doesn’t have much reason not to, Sturmhond chose Volkvolny despite having more captain-worthy vessels available. “Somehow, I don’t believe you’d allow that.”

“Right. If she wasn’t on this ship, I wouldn’t be either.”

Alina almost comes to the conclusion that you’re the sole reason he chose Volkvolny to be his flagship but she mostly dismisses that thought - Sturmhond may be doting but he’s far from completely losing his mind. He simply doesn’t give the impression of someone who’d shuffle his life around just to be able to creep on his boatswain. Little did she know at the time but the strangeness and dread the future holds is going to prove her wrong.

Their conversation is halted when one of the sailors on night watch passes by them. Alina recognizes him by the burn mark spreading across the right side of his face. Tolya called him ‘Marquis’. His long, blond hair sway in the cold wind. As he’s carrying a heavy crate from starboard to port, he’s quietly singing along to your song with certain carelessness as though he’s not entirely aware he’s doing it:

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me-”

Alina yawns. She’s had a long, exciting day and tomorrow is not going to be any easier, that she’s sure of. Whatever she wants to tell Sturmhond will have to wait until dawn when the captain wriggles free of his heart’s restless desires. Even though at first she’s annoyed that she has to wait because Sturmhond decided to play a lovesick teenager, she quickly finds it may be for the best: an in-depth discussion will surely erupt between the two of them and doing so when the moon is high just doesn’t seem like the best idea. Aside from that, she can really use a few more hours of sleep.

The Sun Summoner murmurs something resembling ‘Goodnight’ to Sturmhond and turns around to go back to the room she shares with Tamar, when a great wave shakes the ship, throwing her against a wooden wall. Despite the impact not being exceptionally painful to her, she’s sore anyway, the sound of it carried quite well.

Hearing a thud, you look up out of reflex. Glancing around the deck, your watchful eyes stop on Sturmhond, who’s staring back at you. The privateer gives the impression that you’ve just become privy to a side of him he’s not so keen on showing. Perhaps ‘side’ doesn’t quite mirror the idea. ‘Layer’ seems more fitting. It’s as though he dropped the facade of quick wit and evasive answers, only to show the exhaustion of a man carrying the world on his shoulders for a day too long. Despite the silence and distance between you, this staring feels intimate; both of you are showing something raw to one another in the gullible hope that the other will keep it secret.

He appears different, more calm than smug, than he does during the day, although still beautiful enough to make you flustered. Truly, he looks like he breaks the hearts of naive girls for a living. Despite that, as well as your experience with sailors in general, you found yourself craving his attention. Whether it’s intentional or not, Sturmhond has the ability to make people feel seen and their efforts acknowledged. Considering that establishing your position among sea dogs as a woman is a real challenge, maybe it was your hurt ego that clawed at any possibility or delusion of your exceptionalism. And maybe the privateer never intended for you to be hopelessly in love with him. Sure, the two of you have flirted back and forth but you never assumed it means as much to him as it does to you. It’s just the way he is, right?

A sharp, stinging pain in your finger makes you yelp. Discarding fantasies about the blond man in an awful frock coat, you look at your sore hand, now noticing a drop of crimson slowly rolling down your skin.

“Well, shit,” you whisper to yourself.

You put the bleeding finger against your lips. It’s a small cut, it shouldn’t bleed longer than a minute or two and then you can get back to-

“Are you alright?”

Sturmhond’s worried tone elicits mixed but engaging feelings from you. On one hand, you’re giddy at any crumb of attention he gives you. On the other hand, you just failed at the second easiest maintenance job a ship can have - one Hell of a way to make a good impression on the captain that always seems to fall on four paws.

“Yeah, just pricked my finger with a needle fixing the net. Nothing fatal.”

“Why are you doing this anyway? You’re a boatswain. This is a deckhand’s job,” he says as he grabs the net from your hands and tosses it aside.

“Believe it or not but I actually enjoy this. It’s peaceful, helps me get my mind off of things.”

He gives you a cocky half-grin. “Pricking your finger is just a tasteful addition, I presume?”

“Oh, you know, just trying to enrich things,” you joke back.

Sturmhond lets out a quiet, resigned sigh. Of course, you told everyone to go to sleep and finished the odd jobs yourself. “Have Tamar look at this,” he says in a soft voice. Despite the suddenly mild demeanour, his smug expression stays in place. “I’ll get someone else to finish.”

“Alright, captain,” you reluctantly agree. “But can it wait a few minutes? I like it here.”

Your gaze returns to the sapphire waves and black firmament, the line of horizon barely distinguishable between them. To your own surprise, Sturmhond sits down next to you on a barrel. “Just a few,” he says insincerely. You may not know it but he’s willing to sit there with you for much longer than a few minutes.

Volkvolny bobs on the waves, headed somewhere in the South-East direction. Cold water sprays on your face and clothes but you don’t mind it. It’s quite refreshing. Only now do you notice how quiet the ship is. Most of the crew must already be asleep, revelling in the few hours of rest they have until dawn. The thought of sleeping sailors makes you aware of your own exhaustion, both physical and mental.

You barely stifle a yawn. Too tired to think twice, you lay your head against Sturmhond’s shoulder. He doesn’t shy away, quite the contrary - he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to his torso ever so slightly. He smells like expensive, imported cologne and seaweed. The fragrance is hardly likable but you’ve grown to earn some masochistic pleasure from it simply because it belongs to him. The blue frock coat he’s wearing feels nice against your skin.

“Why do you always sing that song?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

“I always sing or hum doing manual jobs. It’s a habit I can’t kill,” you answer quietly. It’s hard to keep your eyes open and you can hear your words starting to slur. “I grew up in Novokribirsk. I know a lot of shanties.”

“Know anything happier than mourning a sailor?”

“Hardly,” you let out a tired chuckle. “Somehow, sailors have an aversion to happy songs. There’s one you might like.” You clear your throat, trying to recall the song from your cloudy, tired memories. “I’m a broken man on the Os Kervo pier, the last of Ravka’s privateers.”

Sturmhond furrows his eyebrows and he shakes his head in disapproval. “No, it’s still depressing.” Whether he means to or not, his finger is gently brushing circles against your arm.

“Alright, another one, um… Oh! Don’t haul on the ropes, don’t climb up the mast. If you see a sailing ship, it might be your last.”

“Ominous and tedious. I’m actually surprised you can put both in one song.”

To Sturmhond’s dissatisfaction, you pull away from him. Still, the distance between you is considerably small and you feel each other’s breaths on your skin. With half-lidded eyes out of exhaustion, you give him a wide smile. His breath shakes in his chest.

“You know, you might be the most optimistic sailor I’ve ever met,” you confess.

He could kiss you right now. Saints only know how much he wants to. If the odds are in his favour, and his vanity would like to think they are, you might even kiss him back. Or at least not slap him. Would your lips feel soft and warm against his? Would you taste of saltwater and rye bread like he always imagines? Would you giggle nervously after? In that specific way that makes him forget to breathe?

But Sturmhond can only hope your tired mind can’t compute his nervousness. “Does that title come with a prize?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Is being the most optimistic sailor truly worth such honour?” he says in an overly dramatic tone. He jokingly puts his hand on his chest. “Are you not underestimating your presence, my lady?”

“You get extra credit because I like you. A lot.”

Sturmhond swallows nervously. Since when does he get nervous around women? For a moment you’re just staring at each other again. The desire to push his lips against yours is back flooding his mind, now stronger and more desperate than before. The first chance might have been a coincidence but the second… He slowly leans in, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But you look just as lovely as you did in the morning. His nose almost brushes yours and-

“I might have a happy one,” you suddenly speak up. You look back at the sea, furrowing your eyebrows in deep thought. “Saints, how did it go?” you whisper to yourself. “Prick your finger, it is done. Roll her out and spread her wings, the time has come for better things.”

Having mastered self-control, Sturmhond doesn’t make his disappointment visible. The third time’s the charm, right? “First one that doesn’t make me want to drown myself.” The bitterness in his voice is almost inaudible but you’re too tired to notice.

“I’ll sing you the whole thing but that has to wait until morning, alright?”

“I’m holding you to that.”

His heart quickens its beat when you lay your head back on his shoulder. He should probably tell you to go back to your berth and get some sleep but maybe it can wait a few minutes? He likes it here.

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ad-hawkeye · 2 months

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Alkaid's Destiny's Call Endings

A transcript of each ending can be found below.

ASTRONOMER ENDING

Ever since he was a child, Alkaid has always harbored a profound fascination with the heavens above. Gazing into the sky, he could sense the endlessness of the world beyond the curtain of the sky.

When he grew up, he bought a small telescope, which shortened the distance between him and the sky. Through it, he could see beautiful stars traveling along mysterious tracks in space.

Eventually, Alkaid's unwavering passion led him down the path of becoming an astronomer. Countless complexities created a cascade of numbers, constructing a ladder that propelled him toward the stars.

There, he watched the birth and death of the stars as if he was watching the blossoming and withering of a flower.

FLORIST ENDING

After reaching the age of 18, Alkaid became the owner of a flower shop. He named his store "Aurora," a name he held dear, even though its profound significance remained a secret, intertwined with the threads of destiny.

He looks after the white roses, lilies, and daisies in his floral shop. He treats these delicate flowers as cherished companions, joyfully passing them into the hands of those who appreciate them properly.

"Do you have 319 white roses in stock?"*

"I'm afraid we don't at the moment. But you can leave your contact details and I'll call you to pick them up in three days."

"Okay. Thank you." The girl nods and leaves her contact information.

Alkaid takes the note and repeats her name under his breath - "Can I call you... Miss [MC Name]?

*March 19th is Alkaid's birthday.

TRAVEL PHOTOGRAPHER ENDING

Alkaid has visited countless places.

To him, the world contains both perils and marvels. In his eyes, the allure of a place grows exponentially with its danger and inaccessibility.

Fearless and resolute, Alkaid willingly embraces risk to experience the world on a personal level. He captures these extraordinary locations through the lens of his camera, cherishing them as souvenirs.

The sight of snow-capped mountains always leaves him awestruck. As Alkaid sets up his equipment, a girl walks into his camera frame. With a canvas in her hand, she trips over and falls down in the snow.

"It's too dangerous to traverse this mountain on your own," Alkaid says as he runs over to help the girl.

RACE CAR DRIVER ENDING

As the race car reaches its maximum speed, a whirlwind ensues. The boundary between life and death is so close, and fate can be heard screaming.

Alkaid can't say for sure why he fell in love with this feeling. It only lasts for an instant, but still leaves him in deep fascination.

When the car reaches the finish line, Alkaid's soul finally finds solace. Mr. McGrath, the "Best Driver of the Year", smiles gently as he received a starry candy bouquet.

"Congratulations, Alkaid!"

Alkaid looks at the girl. Again, he feels the thrilling sensation he'd just experienced. But this time, it faintly whirls around his heart.

He asks the girl, "May I have your name?"

"My name is [MC Name]," she replies.

PSYCHOLOGIST ENDING

Alkaid first became interested in psychology because he wanted to understand himself and other human beings.

Later on, he discovered that the world is a vast ocean where everyone is surrounded by water. People affect and are affected by each other. There is no shame in misfortune and feeling emotions. Reconciliation is a long process. Emotions, just like many things in the world, are contagious.

Although, ever since he became a psychologist, Alkaid thinks he's adapted very well.

"Next, please."

PILOT ENDING

Countless choices in life often originate from fortuitous encounters. Yet, this choices often carry a sense of destiny.

Planes mimic the graceful flight of birds as they ascend into the heavens. Bound by the pull of gravity, they persistently strive to soar higher and higher.

Whenever he soars into the sky and glides over the horizon, and whenever he sees a glimpse of the glow at the end of the world, Alkaid is reminded of one afternoon from many years ago.

Through torrents of rain and storms, he unfurls his wings, determined to fly into the heavens and safeguard the land beneath him.

#lovebrush chronicles #alkaid mcgrath #lbc spoilers

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aboredindividual · 2 months

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Nests- what from, for what and when for

Nesting is an instinct present in omegas that often brings them the most comfort. Nest are made of many soft materials such as linen, pillows, sheets, blankets, plushies etc. that hold scent for a long periods of time. They are highly personal and individual for each omega and being in one that hasn't been made by your family is an priviledge and an act of utter trust. But even if nests look similiar, they may vary in use and purpose.

Common Nest Materials

Bed

Not exactly a material per se but the most important part of nest, bed gives it ,,skeleton'' that make them more comfortable and less floory. Normal beds of course exists but there are some designs of them that are more appealing for omegas and have steady popularity because of it.

Omegas often choose beds that have closed space, resebling a nook that you can easily hide in. It can be achieved by building in the bed, equipping it with canopy, curtains or even snagging a tent! But remember that exceptions always exist and omegas can live in normal rectangle ones.

Blankets&Sheets

They are often made from soft, scent holding materials. They are commonly light but omegas can also buy heavy weighted ones for extra comfort if they wish. It depends on the person's tastes.

Pillows

Long and short, smooth or fluffy, round or squared etc etc. There are many great designs of soft pillows that can strike you fancy. Average pillows are the most often choosed option but long body ones are very close behind! Omegas like to hug things after all and there are also specially designed pillows for pregnant omegas and betas that can be a life saver

Clothes

Used clothes are common but not only restricted to them, they are most used in nests during heat and pregnancy. The longer used by them or significant other, the better!

Types of Nests

Comfort nests

They are the only type of nest that can be made by all secondary genders, even if omegas make them the most and best. Dynamics make them for as name descibes- comfort. They want to feel safe when they are for example sick, stressed, anxious or sad. They are constructed from closest available materials from bed and simply have to smell good and feel safe. They stem from childhood memories where babies spend their first years in mothers nest. All people associate them with security and stability because of this and often try to replicate them to feel safe, regardless of secondary gender.

Heat Nests

The most known nest type, omegas use them when they are close, in and little after their heat. When Omega has no mate, the nests are often similiar to comfort ones, albeit there are some things stolen from their family members as a buffer and source of additional comfort. When Omegas DO have a mate, they want to be surrounded by the scent of them, so they resort to cloth thievery and Laundry heists for maximum effect. The nest is a perfect combination of them and their mate.

Pregnancy Nests

They are the sturdiest and long-lasting of them all, being made during pregnancy and are used for it's remaining months, birth and first developmental years of ther childrens lives. Less priviledged people use their normal beds as the place they will build it in, but those with more money can dedicate entire room for such a nest. The beds are often round in shape or spacious, with curtains or something to separate the parents and children from outside world.

Kiddy nests

They are often made by the parent or the child themselves as a imitation behaviour or playing. The plushies and pillows are the most popular ingredient in those nests. Please note that young children under 8 doing this is a normal behaviour and doesnt at all reflect the childs future presentation.

#omegaverse headcanons #omegaverse worldbuilding #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #a/b/o verse #omega #My pinterest board is full of plushies now #omegaverse lifestyle

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carionto · 8 months

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What if we just hollowed it out?

Progress on the Dyson Ring was unbearably slow (by Human standards) and Captain Knoslark and some of his crew were busying themselves with a twice-a-week extended D&D session. He was banned from GMing after trying to introduce the Deck of Many Things, so relegated himself to a Wild Sorcerer Drow build. When it was not his turn during combat, he would make sure when his turn did come up, the holographic projections he programmed would show off his descriptions of his magics in the most spectacular fashion. He was irritatingly good at the visuals, and nobody wanted to praise him outright for fear his ego might explode, but it did pass the time well enough.

The construction efforts have become so routine and uneventful that the only people who had anything stimulating to do on the clock were the observation officers. Even then, it was just ships going in and out of the system, sometimes big groups of civilian craft would bunch together in the Oort cloud for a race, other times an alien diplomatic vessel and escort would jump in for a visit or to drop off a person who had "made a mess on a vessel not outfitted to handle Human strength", which typically meant somebody forgot alien doors don't have a manual override and broke it by opening it by hand without much trouble. Most exciting was when a new Dreadnought or other large military ship was constructed and it set out on its first voyage outside the shipyards around Earth.

Of course, their main job was monitoring celestial objects and make sure any wandering meteors or debris weren't on a collision course with anything important, and if there was one, tell the nearest patrol ships and they would go out and redirect or destroy it.

Today, Officer Xiang spotted something a bit bigger. A rogue planet! Trajectory analysis indicates it will pass into the Oort cloud in two years and pass through Sol over the next forty three, only once coming relatively close to Mars, but not enough to influence its orbit. It was, however, big enough that they could complete a significant portion of the Dyson Ring. Big enough that, in theory, it would then be able to output enough power at once to power the planetary Warp Gate for anything up to the size of the Moon.

Unfortunately, deeper scans showed it once had living organisms on it, and was thus protected under intergalactic preservation laws: "The surface of any rogue planet that once housed life shall remain untouched, and the planet shall be marked as a historical landmark and scientific object for study purposes only."

To this, Captain Knoslark inquired: "Hmm... but what about below the surface? It's just cold rock at this point, right? What if we find a natural crevice and just dig a little further? For Science!"

As a junior officer and there being almost no people who are experts on such niche intergalactic laws yet, Xiang and the others couldn't find a reason why this wouldn't work, but it felt... off.

"Just think, it'll be fine - we'll reinforce some of the ore and create a porous interior, preserving the structural integrity of the planet as a whole and keeping the surface as is. AND we get about 85% of a whole planet to further our progress - that's a whole 17 moons worth! And and it would be within our jurisdiction during the time. It's a win-neutral as far as I can see."

That sounded like logic. Maybe? Either way, we would have to talk to the higher ups about this plan. Even if anybody wanted to, hollowing out a planet is not a thing you can do in secret. You need, well, literally a planet's worth of ships, equipment, and crew to do something like that within just over four decades, and we want to get it done in less than one.

No matter our advancements, dedication, willpower, grit, force, or cunning, the two foes Humanity cannot defeat, but must always accept and handle properly - logistics and the accompanying bureaucracy. Still, it would be nice if we didn't have to use up more of our moons so quickly for one project.

#humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #hollow planet #carionto

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ohsalome · 1 year

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It would be intentionally dishonest to say that the Chornobyl Disaster of 1986 was an accident, as official party line stated. According to the nuclear scientists who analyzed the event, not only was it inevitable, but "it was just a matter of time and which power unit that would not withstand the first". The problems were present on every single level - starting from the materials used for the plant, and ending with the work protocols.

The higher-ups at Moscow not only knew that the Chornobyl Nuclear Plant was one of the most dangerous NP in ussr, and that "the radioactive danger of a potential disaster is 60 times than that of Hirosima and Nagasaki" - according to the results of the official KGB investigation; at the moment of the disaster the project managers had reports of at least 29 emergency shutdowns, 9 accidents and 68 key equipment failures that had already happened on the Chornobyl NP. The real number could be much higher but is currently unknown due to many KGB archives remaining classified.

For example:

On September th 9th 1982 at 18:18 during a trial run of the reactor of the first power unit there was a significant release of radioactive substances into the environment. The total activity of beta-emitting radionuclides exceeded natural levels by dozens of times, and in the area of Chystohalivka village, located 5 kilometres from the Chornobyl power plant, the figure was exceeded by hundreds of times. The investigation team found about 20 gross violations in the operation of the power unit. Instead of following the protocol of alerting the civillians and declaring the village a "temporarily contaminated territory", KGB implemented measures to hide the fact of an accident ever happening.

Every report of the KGB investagative teams that we have access to ended the same: taking measures to conceal the very fact of the accident occurence. It came to the absurd situations when the workers were unaware of the fact that the previous shift's team had encountered an emergency situation.

------

Source: The KGB dossier on Chornobyl - from construction to accident

#chornobyl #chernobyl #nuclear plants #ukraine #ukrainian history #ussr #soviet history

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 9 months

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(GFL Short Fic) "Holding out for a T-Doll"

Alternative title: "Local Woman Too Angry To Die"

On an infiltration mission to the inner cities, AK-15's S/O has been kidnapped due to their relation with Griffin and Kruger.

Unfortunately for the kidnappers, Task Force DEFY has a tracker on every member of the squad, and they do not take kindly to anyone attacking their own. Post-edit note: SURPRISE SONG FIC!...People still do these, right? This feels super corny but also kinda funny. It's like writing a 90's action flick. Word Count: 2.3K

AK-12's eyes scanned the building, her glowing pink irises subtly changing colors every few seconds.

AK-15, RPK-16, and AN-94 said nothing as they watched from on top of a skyscraper, looking downward at the warehouse.

(AK-12) "Confirmed. I'm reading S/O's tracker in there."

(AK-15) "Threat assessment?"

(AK-12) "Humans. Doesn't look to be affiliated with Sangvis, or any of the protesters in the city. Might just be human traffickers."

(AN-94) "Our orders were not to cause a scene-"

(RPK-16) "Kind of hard to do when AK-15's beloved is taken, is it not?"

AK-15 just crossed her arms, making no visual recognition of the teasing.

(AK-15) "This is not a matter of relations. S/O is simply a comrade in arms, and a vital source of information on the inner workings of Griffin. If they were to be sold to Sangvis, it could have dire consequences."

(AK-12) "I'm sure that's the entire reason."

AK-15 glared daggers at 12, who simply just shrugged while keeping her smug smile.

(AK-12) "Regardless, I agree. You'll be happy to know I'm ordering that we're going loud, given our primary mission was already accomplished before this whole ordeal happened."

(AN-94) "Our orders?"

(AK-12) "94, get us a ride out of the city and call for the Commander. We're going home after this. Had enough of this place, anyway."

AN-94 nodded and moved downstairs. AK-12 turned to RPK-16.

(AK-12) "I want you to provide cover fire and a distraction to catch their attention. We'll signal when we're all ready, and commence the rescue on your signal. AK-15, you'll be our vanguard to save S/O. I'll move in the shadows to secure your escape in case they get any funny ideas. I also didn't scan anything that could be a significant threat other than a few low grade explosives."

(AK-15) "Understood."

AK-15's ponytail flowed in the wind, stomping towards the stairs and her scowl growing angrier by the second, quickly followed by the other two members of DEFY.

...

S/O remained tied up in the chair with a piece of cloth crudely fastened over their mouth. The two men in the room spat on the ground looking at them and left.

(Guard 1) "Why the hell aren't we just killing them, they're part of a fuckin PMC with those tin cans!"

(Guard 2) "Apparently boss said we can get some money if we talk to the right people. Let's just-"

The intercom suddenly came alive in the warehouse, making the two men grab their weapons.

(Guard 2) "The hell?!"

The intercom began blasting music at such a high volume that it made them recoil. It was quickly accompanied by several men shouting and rushing throughout the warehouse with their weapons at the ready.

The two went towards the main lobby that had crates and all sorts of construction equipment scattered, everyone taking positions. One of the guards stood near the door where the intercom system, trying to turn the music off.

(Guard) "Turn that fucking thing off already!"

(Guard) "I-I can't! Things not-"

A fist suddenly came through the wall and intercom, grabbing the guard's face and violently dragged him away as he screamed, startling everyone and making them aim their weapons at the rubble.

Before anyone could get a sense of what was happening, the same body burst through the rubble, a massive, angry looking woman dressed in black with a long white ponytail emerged, her light purple eyes glowing.

A panicked guard pulled the trigger once, a single gunshot reflecting off her shoulder, and all she did was give them a glare, scaring the absolute hell out of everyone further.

AK-15 dove behind a crate as gunfire rained down all around her. Trying to analyze the area, she then recognized what song was playing over the intercom.

"Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods?

(AK-15) "...Seriously?"

"Where's the streetwise Hercules To fight the rising odds?"

An exacerbated sigh left AK-15's mouth before she refocused her attention, reloading the pistol the guard she killed had. Some of the guards had moved to flank her while her position was suppressed, which she immediately turned to shoot.

"Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed "

She pulled the trigger three times, each one entering the head of S/O's kidnappers, and AK-15 snuck around the corner they had entered.

"Late at night, I toss and I turn And I dream of what I need"

She stopped right at the end of the crates as the gunfire followed her position. Without warning, a hail of bullets tore through the upper windows, hitting every one of the guards trying to pin her down. AK-15 grunted in thanks, which RPK spoke up.

(RPK-16's Voice) "Coming from the door on your left."

"I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night"

AK-15 saw the door swing wide open, and before the men inside could open fire, she kicked the forklift towards them. The machine skidded across the floor and slammed right into the doorframe.

"He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast And he's gotta be fresh from the fight"

Wasting no time, she sprinted up the stairs as more guards came from below, all attempting to shoot her.

She didn't bother to fire back as she dodged the oncoming bullets, knowing that with every second passing, S/O might be in more danger.

"I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light"

The door she was about to enter had another group exit, one that noticed her approach far too late. She grabbed one of them by the collar and effortlessly tossed them over the railing before punching the next one in her way.

(AK-15) "Get out of my way."

"He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon And he's gotta be larger than life Larger than life"

One of the guards managed to open fire, she was far too close to escape, and the bullet tore into her chest. Even though she felt some amount of pain, she clenched her teeth in ever increasing anger, grabbed the arm holding the gun and snapped it like a toothpick.

With a vicious headbutt, she completely knocked them out and more than likely broke their nose and some of their teeth.

"Somewhere after midnight In my wildest fantasy"

Hearing the fight happening outside, S/O tried to get out of their restraints until a guard ran into the room. The guard immediately had their weapon pulled out and wrapped their arm around S/O's neck, backing away in fear from the door.

"Somewhere, just beyond my reach There's someone reaching back for me"

AK-15 disposed of another group that tried to engage her in close quarters and failed.

Finishing off the last one in the hallway with a bullet to their chest, she felt her head budge towards the wall, accompanied by a metallic clang.

"Racing on the thunder And rising with the heat"

Turning towards the source, one of the guards had gotten up and stared in horror at the metal pipe that was now completely bent in their hands.

"It's gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet"

She grabbed the pipe from them and slammed it against their head, the pipe shattering completely as she found S/O's signature, right behind the door with another guard, using them as a shield.

"I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night"

S/O and the guard saw the outline of a massive figure standing outside the door, making the guard panic even more.

(Guard) "C-COME IN, AND I'LL PULL THE TRIGGER!"

"He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast And he's gotta be fresh from the fight"

The door flew off the hinges and almost slam into the both of them, the guard diving out the way and aiming for S/O. AK-15 rushed in and immediately got in front of S/O, with her back tanking an onslaught of bullets that opened fire.

S/O looked horrified, more for AK-15 than themselves. She clenched her teeth making sure not to move until the only noise was clicking.

"I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light"

AK-15 spun around and was prepared to mutilate S/O's attacker before AK-12 leapt down from the vent, on top of the guard and knocking him out.

Her pink eyes glowed in the darkness, addressing them coldly, devoid of her usual emotions.

"He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon And he's gotta be larger than life"

(AK-12) "Everyone blocking your escape is dead. Proceed."

AK-15 nodded and ripped off the restraints on S/O, being a bit more gentle when it came to their mouth.

(S/O) "T-Thank you!"

(AK-15) "Do not thank us yet. We have yet to escape."

(S/O) "Right...By the way, what's with this music?"

(AK-15) "I do not know, I just wish we could've used a less annoying distraction."

(S/O) "If it's annoying you, then it must be annoying the enemy, right?"

AK-15 made a noncommittal grunt before they moved to escape.

"Up where the mountains meet the heavens above Out where the lightning splits the sea I could swear there is someone, somewhere watching me"

AK-15, S/O, and AK-12 ran out the room and down the hallway, kicking open the door they found an empty parking lot. They stood on catwalk that was dozens of feet above the ground.

And without waiting, AK-15 carried S/O bridal style and leapt off with AK-12, making them scream in surprise.

"Through the wind and the chill and the rain And the storm and the flood"

As soon as they landed, several of the guards burst out from the door across from them and tossed grenades at the three.

I can feel his approach like a fire in my blood

AK-15 dropped S/O before grabbing a nearby dumpster, dragging it across the ground and slammed it in front of them, right as the explosions went off.

AK-12 covered S/O as debris ran down, tearing apart their already dirty and battered suits.

(Like a fire in my blood, like a fire in my blood Like a fire in my blood, like a fire in my blood, blood)

Before the guards could do anything else, they dove for the concrete when a wild barrage of bullets almost took their heads off, firing wildly across the wall.

I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night

RPK-16 continued to lay down suppressive fire as AN-94 sped into the parking lot, slamming on the brakes and kicking open the door towards the side her comrades were on.

"He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast And he's gotta be fresh from the fight"

Not needing to say anything else, AK-15 picked up S/O like a suit case and threw them into the back seat, quickly joining as AK-12 closed the door behind them.

As the bullets flew through the windows, AK-15 held S/O tightly to shield them from any potential stray shot.

"I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light"

AN-94 put the pedal to the metal, quickly escaping the warehouse and dodging oncoming traffic and onto the main road so they could not get tailed.

Once they were out of harm's way, S/O took a deep breath as AK-15 released her grip on them.

"He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be-"

(AK-15) "Turn that off already."

AK-12's pink irses flashed gray before she closed her eyes, the music in the car being shut off. As soon as her eyes closed, her signature smile came back.

RPK-16 rolled up her windows as she turned the safety on her machine gun.

(RPK-16) "I thought the song was quite fitting, honestly."

(S/O) "That was intentional?"

(AK-12) "It was. Clearly it was worth it, seeing how you're in the car with us now."

S/O looked worried at how damaged everyone was. AK-15's suit was almost threads, with the amount of bullets that either flew off her, or entered.

AK-12 and RPK-16 did not fare any better, and even AN-94 had parts of her blue suit scorched with black marks.

(S/O) "I'm...I'm so sorry, everyone. One second I was inside my room, and the next-"

(AK-15) "The fault is mine. You were supposed to be under my watch and-"

(RPK-16) "I don't think it particularly matters whose fault it is. After all, we're still breathing, aren't we?"

(AN-94) "Affirmative. Our damage is superficial. Yours is not."

(S/O) "...I guess I can at the very least say, thank you."

(AK-12) "Hm.~ Apology accepted. Besides, if we let even one of those men lay a finger on you, 15 would've torn us to shreds."

(AK-15) "Please, shut up already."

S/O laid a hand on her back and felt a piece of metal slightly out of place, making them recoil. Sighing, AK-15 grabbed their hand.

(AK-15) "I will be fine. I am entering sleep mode for the duration of the drive."

S/O nodded and moved to give her space before realizing AK-15's grip was not budging. She wanted their hand there. Slightly blushing at that, they rested onto her as well, both of them sleeping.

(AN-94) "A Griffin Black Hawk will be picking us up as soon as we reach the destination."

(AK-12) "Which is how long?"

(AN-94) "Four hours."

(AK-12) "Make it three. I already feel like I'm intruding on their love nest just sensing them."

(AN-94) "Understood."

(RPK-16) "...That song sure is interesting. Music in general is quite fascinating, given how humans normally are-"

AK-15's eyes opened and glanced over to RPK-16.

(AK-15) "Do not start singing it."

RPK just smiled and looked out the window as AK-12 scooched away from S/O and AK-15.

The duration of their escape was a quiet but surprisingly comfortable one. DEFY's mission was successful, and they were leaving with every member accounted for.

#girls' frontline x reader #girls' frontline headcanons #girls' frontline imagines #ak 15 x reader #ak 15 gfl #ak 12 gfl #an 94 gfl #rpk 16 gfl

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mariacallous · 3 months

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Two years after Russia’s invasion, Ukraine and its Western supporters are at a critical decision point and face a fundamental question: How can further Russian advances on the battlefield be stopped, and then reversed? After capturing the ruined city of Avdiivka, Russian forces are moving forward fitfully in other areas along the front. Russian advantages in manpower, materiel, and defense production have grown in the past year, whereas U.S. ammunition deliveries have been throttled and are at risk of being curtailed almost entirely because of an impasse over funding in the U.S. Congress. Supplies of critical munitions for frontline Ukrainian units are dwindling, and soldiers are being forced to ration. Some units are experiencing significant manpower shortages.

The current battlefield dynamics have no single cause; they are mostly rooted in decisions that were made since the fall of 2022. When Russia mobilized its war economy, the West did not, and Ukraine could not. When Russia constructed a network of defensive fortifications hundreds of miles long and multiple layers deep, Ukraine did not. Russia obtained more than a million (by some estimates, three million) artillery shells and thousands of drones from its partners, including Iran and North Korea. The West could not match that, having already reached the bottom of the barrel of similar resources. Moscow has gone to great lengths to regenerate personnel and replenish its forces, whereas Kyiv has yet to fully mobilize.

Without a surge in Western military aid and major changes to Kyiv’s strategy, Ukraine’s battlefield position will continue to worsen until it reaches a tipping point, possibly by this summer. On the present course, in which Ukrainian ammunition and manpower needs are not met, Ukrainian units are likely to hollow out, making Russian breakthroughs a distinct possibility. But this is no time for despair; it is time for urgent action. Russian forces have vulnerabilities that can be exploited and advantages that can be eroded over time, but only if Ukraine gets what it needs now.

DAMAGED BUT DANGEROUS

To create an effective strategy that capitalizes on Russia’s weaknesses, Western policymakers and observers need to see the Russian military for what it is now: not the hapless, broken, depleted force that many wished it would be by now but a still dangerous organization advancing in Ukraine. Understanding the current state of Russian combat power means processing contradictory information and answering a number of complex questions. Is the Russian military in decline, reliant on Soviet-era equipment, conscripted convicts, troops who abuse methamphetamines or other drugs, and foreign-supplied drones and artillery shells in order to push forward at high cost? Or is it an increasingly adaptive and well-resourced organization, able to overpower Ukrainian positions all along the frontline?

The trouble is that both descriptions are partly accurate. Perhaps the clearest and most practical view of the Russian military is an anecdote told by Ukrainian soldiers and recently shared with The New York Times: the Russian army is neither good nor bad, just long.

In the opening months of the war, the Kremlin was reluctant to admit that its initial blitz on Ukraine was a failure. By August 2022, damaged Russian units had become brittle, and when tested by Ukrainian forces they collapsed in Kharkiv and retreated from Kherson. But Russia has since come to terms with the requirements and costs of a prolonged conflict. Realizing that its war effort was in peril, the Kremlin did what it had not wanted to do previously: it mobilized 300,000 men, dramatically increased defense spending, and purchased essential weapons from its partners to bridge gaps.

Kyiv now finds itself in a sustainment crisis similar to what Moscow experienced two years ago. But unlike Russia, Kyiv cannot mobilize its defense industry and quickly scale up production; it must rely on Western military assistance. Ukraine also has a smaller population than Russia, which means its casualties are felt more deeply.

When Ukrainian forces are sufficiently manned, supplied, and entrenched, however, they have shown that they can inflict high costs on Russian forces and frustrate Russia’s ability to convert its on-paper advantages into decisive gains. The battle for Avdiivka is the most recent case in point: using frequent airstrikes and committing up to 30,000 men across a dozen units, Russia still needed five months to capture the ruined town. Russia wanted Avdiivka badly, and it got Avdiivka … badly: in the course of the siege, it lost more than 600 armored vehicles and likely thousands of soldiers. The heavy losses underscore that Russia’s offensive capabilities are still deficient when trying to overwhelm prepared Ukrainian defenses.

There are few locations left across the frontline, however, that are as heavily defended as Avdiivka was, meaning that future Russian advances may come more easily. Furthermore, Russian weaknesses will matter very little if depleted Ukrainian units can no longer mount a defense, or if they cannot rapidly replicate the types of defenses that were constructed at Avdiivka over ten years.

THE LAST RIDE OF THE SOVIET ARMY

Russia’s two main advantages are its remaining weapons and manpower, though even these are not as strong as the Kremlin would like its enemies to believe. Take Russia’s vast reserves of armor: since 2022, its forces have lost at least 14,000 pieces of equipment. The Russian general staff has offset some of these losses by exhuming the grave of the Soviet army and refurbishing for use thousands of mothballed tanks and armored vehicles. In 2023, Russia revived 1,200 tanks and 2,500 armored vehicles that were previously in long-term storage while producing only 200 new or modernized tanks. But these stockpiles are not infinite. Some researchers have noted that Russia has already removed between 25 to 40 percent of its strategic reserves depending on equipment type, and the best equipment was probably pulled early on. What remains is likely to be in worse shape or even unsalvageable. If Russia continues at this rate, its remaining inventory will dwindle in the next couple of years, and its future options will be constrained as a result. This depends, of course, on whether Ukraine is resourced to mount an active defense and regenerate its own combat power.

The West has not kept pace with Russia’s ammunition production. Although Russia draws from its older ammunition stockpiles, it has also accelerated new artillery production. It is on track to produce two million 122-millimeter and 152-millimeter artillery shells by the end of this year, and has purchased an estimated one to three million rounds of artillery from North Korea and Iran. If the United States and the European Union hit their production goals, they intend to collectively produce about 2.6 million rounds, and not all of that will go to Ukraine. In early March, the Czech Republic announced that it could broker 800,000 artillery rounds for Ukraine from third parties, but delivery timelines are closely guarded.

Ukrainian air defenders have also had to ration their interceptor missiles. Russian missile attacks have grown more experimental and complex since late 2022, and Ukraine’s interception rates have declined as a result. In early January, Ukrainian officials said that lower-altitude air-defense systems around Kyiv could withstand only a few more large attacks.

The erosion of Russia’s equipment and ammunition advantages will matter very little if Ukraine is not resourced to defend itself in 2024. It will not matter if Soviet-era tanks are less capable and survivable if Ukraine is not given the supplies to destroy them. It will not matter if foreign artillery shells have a higher “dud rate” than domestic versions, if Russian forces can maintain a firepower advantage of around five to one, and Western production and delivery delays continue. It will not matter if Russian long-range precision-strike missile production has reached its zenith—or if, as Ukrainian officials say, Western sanctions are reducing the quality of Russian missiles—if Ukraine is not equipped to defend its skies. In this worst-case scenario, Russian heavy bombers could be used to destroy Ukraine’s cities and critical infrastructure.

HUMAN RESOURCES

Russia’s initial mobilization in 2022 was chaotic, with untrained personnel rapidly deployed to plug holes in frontline units. In the months that followed, however, the Russian military set up a pipeline for regenerating units at training ranges in occupied Ukraine and Belarus. Russia is now regenerating enough manpower to keep its lines stable and launch limited offensive operations through at least the rest of the year. After fending off Ukraine’s counteroffensive last fall, it introduced more troops into occupied Ukraine. For instance, Russian and Ukrainian forces in occupied Donetsk were roughly equal in September 2023; by February, Russia had a two-to-one advantage.Ukrainian commanders noted earlier this year that some Russian forces appeared better trained than they were last year; others still use crude tactics to simply overwhelm or exhaust Ukrainian troops.

Despite Russia’s capacity to recruit more soldiers, manpower is still a constraint on the Kremlin’s ambitions. Russia cannot easily translate its greater supply of men to superiority on the battlefield without risks. Although Russian military officials claim to have 25 million personnel available, they have in practice only what they can generate through volunteer pipelines. Out of concern for domestic stability and regime security, the Kremlin prefers not to call for another round of mobilizations if it can be avoided. Even if the Kremlin wanted to occupy larger swaths of Ukraine by 2026, it is far from certain whether it would be willing to accept the risks of staffing a force large enough to accomplish this aim.

Ukraine and Russia are both having difficulty enlisting sufficient troops in their 20s and early 30s, the preferred age range for infantry. For Kyiv, it is a matter of policy; only men who are 27 and older are mobilized. Although Russia has a larger overall population, its military-recruitment challenges are compounded by labor shortages and the emigration of hundreds of thousands of men since 2022. If Russia were to expand the scope of its offensive operations through 2024 and 2025, its pipeline of volunteers would be insufficient on its own, and the country would likely need more rounds of mobilization.

Russia uses cash incentives and expensive social guarantees to attract volunteers. To meet quotas, authorities also use coercive methods such as conducting raids on factories, dormitories, and even restaurants looking for men to enlist, and pressuring immigrants and inmates. Russia is recruiting foreign fighters—and soon possibly foreign felons—into its ranks as well. Recruiting convicts may have already passed the point of diminishing returns. Before the war, the population of Russia’s prison system was stable at around 400,000 to 420,000. By 2024, that number had declined to 266,000, almost certainly as a result of recruiting by the Russian military and by private mercenary companies such as Wagner.

The remaining convicts may not be available to enlist, either, because Russia typically employs around 100,000 prisoners at any given time to help with persistent labor shortages across the country. Russian authorities estimate a shortfall of 4.8 million domestic workers. These shortages extend across multiple industries and a majority of Russian regions. Labor pools that were tapped to resolve past shortages—migrants, prisoners, students—are now needed for the war or for conscription. Unfortunately, Russia’s looming manpower challenges in 2025 and beyond will matter very little if the brute-force tactics of Russian troops exhaust and overwhelm Ukrainian units in 2024.

HOW SOON IS NOW?

For much of the past five months, Russia’s strategy was to conduct multipronged attacks to deplete and exhaust Ukrainian forces along the frontline. Then it made Avdiivka its main target. Once the city fell, in mid-February, Russia immediately intensified its attacks in that direction and elsewhere. Russian forces have very few reasons not to continue their assaults. By persisting, they maximize momentum before the ground thaws and mud returns, take advantage of understrength Ukrainian forces as they ration equipment, and engaging Ukrainian forces before they have time to fully dig in, all while American aid is stalled in the U.S. House of Representatives.

Overall, it is a bad sign for Ukraine and its supporters that Russia has enough confidence in both its own abilities and Ukraine’s precarious position that it is accelerating attacks in the run-up to the Russian presidential election, in mid-March. These offensives would likely not be authorized if the Kremlin were uncertain about its prospects for success. In other words, Russia is forecasting more battlefield wins.

Russia’s current objectives appear to be advancing to the boundaries of Donetsk and rolling back the results of Ukraine’s 2023 counteroffensive in Zaporizhzhia. In Donetsk, they may be trying to reach the city of Pokrovsk in order to secure key road and rail networks and seize the remainder of the Donetsk oblast, or province, from which they could eventually attack the remaining Ukrainian strongholds near Kramatorsk and Sloviansk. Russian forces will likely try to make headway in the Zaporizhzhia oblast as well, particularly around Orikhiv, where the terrain is open and fewer Ukrainian defensive positions have been prepared. In the north, Russian forces are trying to approach Kupiansk, which could act as a toehold in the Kharkiv region.

A full reoccupation of western Kherson seems unlikely given the difficulty of the terrain there, Russian manpower and force availability notwithstanding; furthermore, the destruction last year of the Kakhovka Dam now limits paved routes over the Dnieper River in Kherson. Nor are there signs that Russia is amassing the forces required to reoccupy the Kharkiv region by the end of 2024. For Russia to attempt a new offensive on the entire region, the rest of the frontline would need to be stable—with Ukrainian forces fixed in place or unable to redeploy—and Russia would need to generate at least another combined-arms army but probably more (50,000 to 100,000 men, depending on the status of Ukrainian defenses). These circumstances do not exist today. But if conditions on the battlefield do not change, and if Russia generates sufficient force, this could be Ukraine’s future.

To hold their positions in 2024, Ukrainian forces need urgent replenishment of ammunition and manpower. If reinforcements are coming, Ukraine can defend the frontline this year and regenerate combat strength while the West’s industrial base ramps up for 2025 and beyond. Western military assistance—specifically American aid—must be approved quickly to sustain critical ammunition supplies and to maintain existing combat systems. Next, Kyiv must generate and train personnel to replenish frontline units. Unfortunately, finding more soldiers will most likely require an unpopular mobilization. Aid delays make Kyiv’s dilemma even worse. Finally, Ukraine must accelerate the construction of prepared defensive positions.

Without these urgent steps, Ukraine’s rationing of ammunition will continue through the spring and summer. Facing continual Russian attacks, undermanned units could become increasingly hollowed out and lose the ability to defend themselves. Unless immediate changes are made, this is the path that Ukraine and the West are on.

The Russian military’s long-term weaknesses will not matter if Ukraine is not supported this year. Ukrainian frontline soldiers are in mounting jeopardy—not because they lack the will to fight or do not know their enemy’s weaknesses, but because of shortfalls in ammunition and manpower. If the West, specifically the United States, does not want to see the frontline in Ukraine continue to bend or—even worse—break, it must urgently approve aid. And if Kyiv wants to sustain its efforts, it has to make difficult choices about how to generate more manpower. Time is running out.

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sandcobangevent · 1 month

Text

sherlock and co flashbang submission!!

‘Drop the case.

Or I will let the whole world know how hopelessly in love you are with your precious doctor.’

- Show Your Hand by @drinkingmelonwater !!!

“Sherlock, have you seen my socks?” John asked, emerging from his room. “My stripey yellow one’s missing its pair. Have you- oh my god what are you doing with my sock.”

Sherlock, who was in the process of dipping John’s sock into a beaker of acid, didn’t reply.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?! I wear that, you know?!” John yelled, attempting to rescue his sock to no avail.

“Apologies, but I’m afraid this is important,” Sherlock replied briskly.

“Important enough to destroy my stuff?” John snapped. “Couldn’t you have used your own?”

Sherlock hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”

John sighed, “Nevermind, you can have it. Keep the other one too, if you want. No use having one sock without the other.”

Sherlock brightened instantly, resuming his experiment with vigor, at the expense of John’s stripy yellow sock. John sat down on the sofa, now sock-less, and stared out the window at the rainy sky outside. It was a downcast sort of Tuesday, the kind that made you want to sleep in and enjoy a nice mug of hot chocolate. He would get no sort of rest, however, for he was interrupted by a case.

“Sherlock, John?” Mariana knocked and opened the door. “We have a client.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock replied. “Tell them to leave their damp shoes and belongings by the door.”

“How did you- nevermind, just get down here as soon as possible,” Mariana said before retreating.

“Another client already?” John exclaimed. “Excellent. Wait, let me get the microphone.”

“Grab a towel too,” Sherlock called. “The client will have absorbed a significant amount of rainwater, if how much rubbed off on Mrs. Hudson in their brief interaction is anything to go by.”

When John returned, towel in one hand and microphone in the other, Sherlock was waiting for him by the door. Together, they went downstairs to meet their new client.

“Boys,” Mariana said, “This is Flora Hawkins. She’s our new client.”

Sherlock was right. Flora was drenched in rainwater. She’d removed her boots and raincoat by the door, but water still dripped from her hair in rivulets, leaving damp spots on the floorboards.

John handed her the towel, “Hi, Flora. Why, exactly, are you covered in water?”

Flora didn’t dignify his question with a reply.

“What I want to know,” Sherlock said, “Is what exactly prompted someone to run from Camberwell to Central London in the middle of a rainstorm.”

“Jesus Christ, Camberwell? You walked that far?” John gasped.

“I like walking,” Flora said defensively. “It’s better for you.”

“What brings you here today, Flora Hawkins?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve got a case for you,” she replied. “But, I suppose you already know that. Recently, I’ve gotten in a spot of trouble. In Surrey, there’s this lovely nature reserve. I’ve been several times, and it has this gorgeous lake and forest. But, about a month ago, some company or another bought up the land and started cutting it down to build a factory! Right on top of the wildlife living there, like it was no better than mud! So, I called up some old friends from Uni. We were part of this activist club, and all cared deeply about nature. So we went to the construction site to protest.

“Only, when we got there, the site was abandoned. Turns out the workers have Sundays off. We basically showed up to nothing. A few members started getting worked up, and before I knew it, a riot broke out. People were smashing construction equipment, yelling, screaming, causing a huge ruckus. Monkeywrenching is crazy illegal, and I saw cameras all over the place. So I smashed them. I work for a tech company, I know my way around cameras, and how to destroy the data they store. After that, we ran off. They still don’t know who did it, last time I checked.”

“Hey, um, you know I’m recording this, right? For the podcast. It’ll be on the internet and, well, you know,” John asked.

Flora sighed, “I know. I might have minded, if not for what happened next.”

“What happened next?” Sherlock leaned forward eagerly.

“Well, I started getting emails. I dunno from who, they were always just… strings of random letters. Attached were photos of…”

“Blackmail,” John breathed.

“Right. The sender threatened to release the photos to the police and the press if I didn’t cough up £100,000,” Flora said.

“And what did you do about them?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, nothing. I wasn’t like I could go to the police, they’d arrest me for vandalism. So I ignored them. The emails kept arriving, all from different addresses, once a week, and I did nothing. Until one day, I didn’t receive an email. I received a letter.”

From her pocket, Flora produced a letter. It had been sealed in a plastic bag to keep it dry, which was a good call. The outside of the bag shimmered with water droplets. Sherlock snatched the bag, ripped it open, and handed the letter to John.

“Watson, read the letter aloud for us,” he instructed.

John stared at the letter, neatly typed and printed. He read it aloud.

“Hawkins,

This is your final warning. Drop the money off at the Peckham Road petrol station on Saturday, 2pm. Fail to comply, and there will be consequences. I will be watching.”

“That’s why I came to you,” Flora explained. “I live with my mother, and I was worried. If I didn’t do something… who knows if the consequences might be more than jail?”

“Don’t worry,” John reassured, placing a hand on Flora’s shoulder. “We’ll find the culprit, right, Sherlock?”

“Hm,” Sherlock closed his eyes, deep in thought. “Watson, hand over the letter. Hawkins, may we see the emails sent to you?”

“Sure, I’ll pull them up now, and forward them to you later,” Flora replied, tapping at her phone. “Here.”

Sherlock took Flora’s phone and compared it to the letter. “South London Gallery postage stamp, bought at Camberwell, perpetrator likely lives in the area. Standard A4 paper, office quality. Typed, not handwritten; even the envelope. Could be a show of excess caution, but there could be a specific reason for the blackmailer to conceal their handwriting… Then, there’s the location.”

“What is it?” Mariana asked. “Did you notice something?”

“I believe so,” Sherlock said. “When did the letter arrive?”

“Yesterday.”

“Inconsistent with the emails,” Sherlock muttered thoughtfully. Then, he stood. “I believe I have solved part of the case.”

“Already?! Christ, Sherlock, what is it?” John exclaimed.

“The email blackmailer is not the letter blackmailer.”

“How’d you know that?” Flora asked.

“Simple, really,” Sherlock said. “There are many discrepancies between the emails and the letter. For one, the delivery date. The emails always arrived on Wednesday, at 11am on the dot. However, the letter arrived on Monday. The letter also requests a different drop off location for the money. It doesn’t add up.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean it’s a completely different person,” John argued.

“Perhaps not. However, it’s enough to raise suspicion. If there is someone already aware of the blackmail, then we may have our culprit,” Sherlock turned to Flora expectantly.

“…You think it’s Tom?” Flora asked.

“Wait, hold on. Who’s Tom?” John interrupted, confused.

“An ex-boyfriend,” Sherlock explained. “The breakup was recent too. It wouldn’t be difficult to reason that Hawkins here fought with ‘Tom’ over the blackmailing incident, and broke up with him when they refused to see eye-to-eye. It makes sense that he did it. Bitter over the breakup, he decided to get revenge. It would explain why the blackmailer knew your address, and why the letter was typed. He knew you would recognize his handwriting. I doubt he really expected you to pay up, but he offered an avenue just in case.”

“That piece of shit!” Flora cursed. “I knew he was shady, but to take advantage like that- I ought to give him a piece of my mind!” With that, she gathered her belongings and stormed away.

John coughed, disrupting the silence that ensued after Flora’s dramatic departure. “So… is that it? Because that’s barely enough for an episode. Heck, Sherlock, you hardly even had to leave your chair!”

“This is hardly the end, Watson. The email blackmailer is still very much at large,” Sherlock rose from his chair and turned for 221B. “Grab your raincoat. We’re going to Surrey.”

—

“Sherlock, did we really have to take a train to Surrey in the middle of a rainstorm? I mean, couldn’t we have waited a few hours for the weather to clear? Feels like it’d be a whole lot easier to investigate when you can see more than a dozen feet in front of you,” John winced as he trudged through the slurry of mud that was once a working path.

“Contrary to your belief, this was entirely necessary. The construction crew will have cleared out due to the rain. This is our chance to investigate uninterrupted,” Sherlock explained.

“The last time the construction crew left, all their cameras were smashed. There’s no way they’ll leave the place unattended,” John countered.

“They won’t. But they won’t have cameras either. After the cameras proved themselves faulty, the company would have found alternative methods of protection, such as a security guard. A security guard that we can fool.”

“Brilliant. So what’s the plan, walk up and tell the guard we’re investigating the vandalism?”

“Precisely, Watson. Precisely.”

“Hey! What are you two doing here?!” a voice cut through the rain and fog.

John whirled around to find himself face-to-face with what he supposed was meant to be a security guard. It wasn’t a very impressive security guard. He was gangly, his too-large uniform hanging off his shoulders and pooling at his boots. The acne and scraggly beard only made him look more like a teenager. The man- boy, really- had squared his shoulders to look bigger and more menacing, but with rain-drenched hair and clothes, he looked more like a wet cat. The only vaguely intimidating thing about him was the taser strapped to his belt, which he hovered his hand over in warning.

“Hey- look, we were just-“

“We are investigators, hired by the company to look into-“

“The lights? Finally! I’ve been trying to get someone to look into that for ages, but nobody seemed to believe me,” the guard interrupted.

“Sorry- what lights?” John asked. He exchanged a glance with Sherlock, who simply shrugged in response.

“You don’t know? Well, I’ve been stationed out here for a few weeks- ever since the cameras were smashed. The name’s Adam, by the way. I usually work night shifts, and this past week, I’ve been seeing lights in the distance. Brief, flashing lights. I’ve reported the incidents dozens of times, but it always gets waved off. Not anymore, though. They finally sent you two to investigate,” the guard was so eager, John almost felt bad for having to burst his bubble.

“Actually, we’re here for-“ John began.

“We’ll look into it,” Sherlock interrupted.

John blinked, “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Adam,” Sherlock said, ignoring John’s protests, “Where do you see these lights coming from?”

“Over there,” Adam replied, pointing at the tree line by the lake, which was barely visible through the rain. “The flashes appear at night, in the same general area.”

“Have you investigated them?” Sherlock asked.

“Ah,” Adam blushed. “I’ve been too nervous to go see for myself. I mean, what if it’s aliens?”

“I doubt it,” Sherlock said coldly. “Come, Watson. It’s time to investigate.”

“It’s just over there,” Adam pointed, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll leave you two to the investigation. If you need me, I’ll be over there, watching. From under the shade, far from the rain. Comfortably.” With that, he scampered off.

“Watson, pull up the photographs Hawkins sent to you,” Sherlock instructed, before crouching down by the treeline, prodding away damp leaves and shrubs with a stick.

John did as told. “So what, you think the lights are connected to our case?”

“I think they’re more connected than you can imagine,” Sherlock replied. “Look here. It’s rather faint, the rain’s washed most of it away, but those are definitely not natural marks.”

John peered at the mud. Sherlock was right, there were faint, odd-looking marks. There were a few that seemed to be bootprints, but also several wide, shallow divots, and most peculiarly of all, three deep indentations, no more than a centimeter in diameter, arranged in a triangular shape.

“What on Earth is this?” John gasped.

“These are clearly bootprints, so the shallow indents are likely caused by a person pressing their legs and torso against the ground. The three marks are likely caused by the legs on some sort of equipment- I’d wager it was a camera tripod. If the photographer was sitting on their knees, the camera would be at just the right level to- bingo.”

“Bingo what?” John asked. It was always fascinating to hear Sherlock’s deduction process live, right as it happened.

“Take a look at the photographs of Hawkins. They’re both taken from a low angle, almost exactly from this spot. This mystery photographer is the one who captured the photo of Hawkins.”

“Hold on,” John said, “If this photographer caught the photo of Hawkins, then why did they stick around afterwards? I mean, those flashes of light Adam saw, they were the camera flash, right? Why linger around?”

“That is a great question, Watson, and the one we must find the answer to.”

“Sherlock,” John called, “Sherlock, stop pacing. Adam’s not going to reply if you wear a hole in the rug.”

Sherlock stopped pacing to flop back onto the bed next to John. “I have theories, John, but no concrete answers. Who is the blackmailer, and how can we catch them?”

John leaned back, laying next to Sherlock. He stared up at the water stained ceiling of their rented room. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“What?”

“Would you like to share your theories?”

“…” Sherlock flicked his eyes towards John before fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “I contacted the Irregulars. Turns out, there’s no shortage of blackmail systems in England’s underbelly. Many have homeless networks of their own, watching for slip ups among Britain’s most influential. We have plenty of suspects to choose from.”

“Any idea who it might be?” John asked.

“Perhaps.” John waited, but Sherlock didn’t continue.

Laying there, next to his friend, listening to the rain outside begin to ebb, John felt strangely relaxed. He felt his eyelids begin to droop, and didn’t bother fighting the lull of sleep.

“Watson.”

“John!”

John felt hands on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He grumbled, turning and batting the hands away.

“John, wake up!”

John opened his eyes. Sherlock was standing above him, eyes gleaming.

“Mmh, what time is it?” John murmured sleepily.

“It’s 2:18 am, and Adam’s messaged us. He’s seen the lights, it’s time.”

“Oh shit, really?” John jolted up, suddenly wide awake. “Let’s go!”

“You see that, over there?” Adam pointed. John and Sherlock watched as, in the darkness, there was a small flash of light. It wasn’t very bright, but in the dark, it may have been a spotlight.

Without hesitation, Sherlock began creeping towards the light. He edged around, creeping like a cat, before breaking into a sprint and leaping at the shrubs. John heard a soft yelp, which thankfully didn’t sound like Sherlock. He ran to Sherlock and turned on his phone flashlight to reveal a short-haired woman with her cheek pressed to the mud, wrists pinned behind her back by Sherlock Holmes.

“Ack!” the woman yelped, “Get off- What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Sherlock, what-“

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m- not- answering- until- you- get- off!” the woman yelled, thrashing wildly. She actually managed to throw Sherlock briefly, but he held firm until John pulled him off.

“Sherlock, stop-“ John said before turning to the lady. “Sorry about that.”

“You better be,” she scowled, “Who do you guys think you are, going around tackling photographers in the middle of the night?”

“What’s a photographer doing in the middle of the night?” John asked incredulously.

“Wildlife photography,” Sherlock answered.

“How’d you know that?” both John and the photographer asked at the same time.

“Your bag has a logo on it. WWP, World Wildlife Photography. It would explain why you’re in a nature reserve in the middle of the night,” Sherlock explained.

“Oh.” the woman said. “When you put it like that, it sounds bloody obvious, doesn’t it?”

“I will ask you again,” Sherlock said, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Kathleen Moore,” Kathleen glared at Sherlock. “And didn’t you answer your own question? I’m here because I’m a wildlife photographer.”

“Not at all,” Sherlock replied, “Why would a wildlife photographer stay in the same place for over a week, and why would you photograph the worst possible area? Factory construction has driven away most of the wildlife. Not much for you to shoot, is there, Kathleen Moore?”

“Well, I-I’m here for freelance work. I’m taking photographs of the damage caused by the factory to publish in a magazine,” Kathleen replied.

Sherlock regarded her suspiciously, so she continued. “I’ve already got reporters purchasing my photos.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock asked. “Who?”

“Marcus Douglass,” Kathleen replied easily.

“Sorry, who’s Marcus Douglass?” John asked. The name didn’t ring any bells.

“A reporter, obviously,” Kathleen sneered. “Does only one of you have your brains on at a time?”

John probably would have yelled at her for the insult, if Sherlock hadn’t aimed a kick at her shins. Kathleen fell to the mud with a wet splat.

“This is assault!” she wailed. “You can’t do this!”

“Cooperate and I won’t have to,” Sherlock said coldly. “I have questions to ask.” Sherlock reached out a hand wordlessly. The photos, he seemed to say. John retrieved his phone and pulled up the pictures of Flora Hawkins. They were taken from almost exactly where John stood. He handed the phone to Sherlock.

“You took this photo of Flora Hawkins in this very place one month ago. Don’t deny it, you know you did. Then, you sold it to Marcus Douglass.”

Kathleen’s lip quivered. “I didn’t realize what I’d done until it was too late. I saw the person I’d captured in the photo, and heard the commotion, but I’m used to tuning out distractions, so I kept working. I was so tired afterwards that I forgot to delete the photo off my SD card. When Marcus Douglass approached me, he was genuinely interested in my work, so I showed him the photos I’d collected. He loved them, and offered a very good price, so I saw no reason not to sell them to him. It wasn’t until after I’d sent him off with a copy of the photos that I realized what I’d given him, and by that point, there was nothing I could do. He’s gone off and blackmailed the poor girl, or got her arrested, hasn’t he?”

“Hey,” John said soothingly, bending down to rest a hand on Kathleen’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Any and all blame falls squarely on his shoulders.”

“Why stick around afterwards?” Sherlock asked. “The one person that showed interest in your work turned out to be a fraud. Why continue?”

“Well, I wanted to give up, and very nearly did, too. I took some time off and gave it some thought. I’m still very invested in this little passion project of mine, even if nobody else is. So I chose to keep going,” Kathleen replied. John had to admit, he admired her dedication to her job.

“Very well then, Ms. Moore. That is all. We will leave now,” Sherlock said, turning away.

“Sherlock,” John hissed under his breath. “You tackled this poor girl and kicked her to the ground. Oughtn’t you apologize to her?”

Sherlock looked as if he’d been asked to eat a lemon, peel and all. “Very well, Watson. My- apologies, Kathleen.”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” John said cheerfully. “Sorry again, Kathleen. Have a nice day- night- is it day now? Whatever. Have a nice one.”

Kathleen gave him a soft smile. “Sorry for what I said earlier, I was worked up. Have a nice day as well. I should go as well. Bye, John.”

John waved goodbye as Kathleen packed up her equipment, then turned to Sherlock. “Well, we have a name now.”

To his surprise, Sherlock was frowning, almost glaring at his shoes as he walked. “Sherlock? You alright there, mate?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Who? Kathleen? Why not?”

“I didn’t call you John earlier.”

John’s mouth fell open slightly. “But she did.”

“She knew who we were already. She could be in cahoots with the blackmailer. We can’t trust her testimony.”

John sighed, “So what, we’re back to square one?”

Sherlock sighed as well. “Unfortunately.”

When they returned to their room, it was three in the morning, yet John and Sherlock both found themselves unable to sleep. Sherlock sat in bed, tapping frantically at his phone, while John paced in slow circles around the room.

“Bugger,” Sherlock cursed under his breath. “Another Marcus Douglass, but this one’s a baker. Not the one we’re looking for. Marcus Douglass may just be a name Kathleen Moore used to throw us off the culprit’s scent.”

“What about Kathleen herself?” John asked.

“I’ve checked. Some of her work’s been published. On the surface, she’s just a small wildlife photographer. She has a website for freelance work, but- wait.”

John moved to peer at Sherlock’s phone from over his shoulder. “What is it- Marcus Douglass. He’s listed as a customer.”

“Marcus Douglass, for ‘Show Your Hand’…” Sherlock opened a new tab and googled the name.

“‘Show Your Hand’… It’s a tabloid magazine. Why did Kathleen think a tabloid wanted wildlife photos from her?” John wondered aloud.

“She didn’t. Her work for Show Your Hand likely wasn’t related to wildlife at all.” Sherlock frowned, “Dammit, there’s no Marcus Douglass on the list of writers for Show Your Hand.”

“Wait, what? If Kathleen’s work wasn’t wildlife related, then what was it?” John asked.

“It’s the perfect moneymaking system. Show Your Hand collects evidence of wrongdoing, then blackmails them. If they refuse to pay up, they publish the scandal. Kathleen Moore was likely hired to watch the area. Hawkins wasn’t the intended target, the company building the factory was.”

“So you think Show Your Hand is behind the blackmail?”

“Yes.”

“That’s brilliant!” John exclaimed. “You’ve done it again, Sherlock!”

“…Thank you.” Sherlock said softly. “But don’t praise me yet. The most dangerous part is still ahead of us.”

“What’s that?”

“We need proof of guilt. Evidence. Show Your Hand has headquarters in London. In the morning, we will pay them a visit.”

“Breaking and entering again?” John sighed. “One of these days, we’ll be able to solve a case without committing a crime.”

Sherlock suddenly glanced sharply at John. “Be careful, John. These people know who we are and tipped Kathleen off about us. Make sure you don’t have any blackmailable secrets out in the open.”

John shrugged, “I don’t think I do. I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

Sherlock yawned softly, then laid down, turned over, and fell asleep. He must have been exhausted. Sherlock clearly didn’t sleep earlier. John glanced at the clock. 3:13. He knew he should be heading to bed as well, but his mind was racing. They were getting close, he knew it. Sherlock’s warning was ominous, but John was sure he would be alright. He wasn’t a secretive man, and had few skeletons in his closet. John glanced at Sherlock. He might not have anything to hide, but what about..?

Sherlock’s phone chimed softly. John glanced at Sherlock, who stirred softly but didn’t wake. The phone chimed again. Sherlock had left it on, and it emitted a soft glow. John reached for it, intending to turn it off, when he remembered Sherlock’s warning. They were being watched by a blackmailing organization. The text was from an unknown number. John itched with curiosity. The phone chimed a third time.

He knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the text.

‘Drop the case.

Or I will let the whole world know how hopelessly in love you are with your precious doctor.’

“Sherlock, John!” Mariana called when they returned to 2218.

“Hey, Mariana,” John said. “We’re back.”

“There’s something I think you guys should see,” Mariana said, biting her lip.

Sherlock frowned, “What is it, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Follow me.” Mariana led them up the stairs to 221B.

John and Sherlock gasped as they entered 221B. “What the hell happened here?!”

A small cyclone had torn through the room. Drawers were open and shelves were ransacked. Random odds and ends lay on the ground. The window was ajar, a cold breeze blowing through the flat.

“I checked this morning, and found the flat like this,” Mariana explained. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“What do we do?” John asked.

“Nothing here. They’ve made their move. Now it’s time to make ours.” Sherlock turned for the door. “Come with us, Mrs. Hudson, we’re going to Show Your Hand headquarters.”

After lunch, of course. The three of them stopped by a sandwich shop for a bite, and Sherlock explained the case to Mariana. Then, they hailed a cab. The cab brought them to a modern-looking, nondescript building. Sherlock swung the door open and led them inside.

John and Mariana followed Sherlock to the front desk. “Hello, we have an interview scheduled for 1:30.”

The receptionist didn’t even look up from the paperback novel he was reading. “Directory’s on the wall, elevator’s to the left.”

They piled into the elevator. “So, what now?” Mariana asked, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Before Sherlock could reply, John hit the button for floor 3. “Now, we visit Bobby Crawford,” he said.

Sherlock and Mariana stared at him uncomprehendingly, so he continued. “Robert Crawford is one of the executives at Show Your Hand. A search of his name will reveal an obituary for Marcus Douglass Crawford, his son.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he grinned excitedly. “He’s the true mastermind of this scheme. That’s brilliant, John.”

John smiled softly, but the elevator door opened before he could reply. “Let’s go.”

Crawford’s office was at the end of the hall. The door was locked, but Sherlock picked the door open. Inside, it appeared no different from any ordinary office. It had a desk, a potted plant, and a dull gray rug. The entire room was military-neat, not a speck of dust out of place. The only odd thing about the room was the floor-to-ceiling wall of filing cabinets. They were labeled A-Z, and Sherlock wasted no time reaching for one. Out of the ‘F’ box, he dug out a manila folder labeled ‘Flora Hawkins.’ It was thin, almost empty, and only contained the photographs emailed to her, alongside some personal information, such as her address.

“This should be sufficient evidence. Scotland Yard can handle the arrest and investigation.” Sherlock said. “Let’s go- Watson, what are you doing?”

John was digging through the ‘S’ cabinet, rifling through folders. “Looking for something,” he grunted.

“Looking for- John. What are you looking for.” it wasn’t a question. Sherlock knew what John was looking for, or at the very least had a good guess.

“He’s looking for this, of course,” a thin, cold voice spoke from behind them. In the doorway, a man stood. He was in his 60’s, with a significant gut and thinning gray hair. In his hand was a manila folder, stuffed fuller than the one marked Flora Hawkins. On it was the name Sherlock Holmes.

“You look surprised to see this, Mr. Holmes. Curious, that you’re surprised while Dr. Watson isn’t. After all, didn’t I send you all this myself?” Crawford drawled. At Sherlock’s confusion, he laughed, high and cruel. “You don’t know! Watson here has seen your deepest secret, and you didn’t even know!”

Sherlock stiffened. “Watson, what’s this about?”

John bit his lip guiltily. “Yesterday, when you were asleep, you received a text.”

“And you read it?!” Sherlock asked, hurt.

John winced, “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am.”

Sherlock looked down, unable to meet John’s stare. “What did you see?”

“I can answer that,” Crawford said, disproportionately cheerful. “Watson here is totally aware of your little crush on him. Isn’t that right?”

John fixed Crawford with a murderous glare. “Fuck off.”

“Heh, I’ll take that as a yes.” Crawford smirked.

Sherlock grit his teeth, not daring to look at John. He knew. Had known for a while now, in fact. Their friendship, which Sherlock had grown to cherish, while not necessarily over, was certainly damaged. Would John be able to look him in the eye, or compliment his brilliance, or any of the other little things Sherlock loved to see him do again without feeling awkward?

“Worry not, Holmes. You needn’t mourn the loss of your friendship for long. You two aren’t going anywhere,” Crawford shut and locked the door, then meandered over to the desk and unlocked a small drawer. From it, he produced a revolver. He flicked off the safety and pointed it at Sherlock. “A single move from you, from either of you,” Crawford said, flicking the gun at John, who’d made a move toward him, “And I’ll blow your brains out.”

“What do you want from us?” John asked tensely.

“Your deaths, mostly,” Crawford said easily. “I can’t have you ruining my empire. But I suppose I could settle for your quiet retirement. If you leave the country and never return, I might not have to kill you.”

“Fuck off,” John hissed. “That’s not happening.”

Crawford shrugged. “Okay. I’m not picky. I suppose I’ll just have to kill you then.” He brandished the weapon between John and Sherlock. “Let’s see, who first? How about… You.” Crawford aimed the gun at John. “I’ll enjoy the look on our consulting detective’s face when his boyfriend gets a bullet to the head.” His finger twitched on the trigger.

John closed his eyes, bracing for impact. Sherlock made an aborted leap for John, sweat beading on his brow.

Suddenly, Crawford was bowled over as Mariana sent his desk chair flying into him. He hit the ground with a curse, gun flying out of his hand. Sherlock leapt forward, snatching the gun from him and pointing it at him. Mariana leveled a kick at Crawford’s vital organs.

“John, call the police!” Sherlock barked.

As John dialed the police, Mariana and Sherlock worked to restrain Crawford and tie him up. When the police arrived, they took the three of them in for questioning. It was well into the afternoon by the time they returned to Baker Street. The air was charged with an awkward tension. Mariana left them on the steps to 221B, unable to be rid of the tense atmosphere soon enough. John and Sherlock stood in their disordered flat, resolutely looking anywhere but each other.

“John,” Sherlock began, at the same time John said, “Sherlock.”

They both stared at each other, then chuckled awkwardly. John motioned for Sherlock to continue.

“I understand if, in light of some new developments, you find yourself, ah, unable to maintain friendly relations with. Me.” Sherlock’s voice broke, and he glanced away, twisting his hands.

“Sherlock, I-”

“I get it. My feelings are unreciprocated, and I wouldn’t expect you to return them. I have made peace with them. I would not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable my ass!” John snapped. “If anyone’s uncomfortable here, it’s you.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy like I did. I shouldn’t have read your texts.”

“Quite alright,” Sherlock said, waving off the apology. “I forgive you.” His posture was still stiff, and he still refused to look at John.

“Hey, look at me, Sherlock.” John reached his hand up to brush Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock flinched softly at the touch. “Even if I wish it was with better circumstances, I’m glad things turned out the way they did. Because, well…” John leaned in and kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock froze like a deer in headlights, making no move to reciprocate or even indicate he was still alive. When John pulled away, he gasped for air like a drowning man, searching John’s face for answers uncomprehendingly.

“I love you too, Sherlock.” John said simply, a sappy grin breaking his rosy cheeks.

Sherlock was sure he was grinning just as hard when he pulled John in for another kiss.

#not sure if im doing this correctly or not tbh #sherlock and co #john watson #submission #sherlock & co #sherlock homes #mariana ametxazurra #flashbang event

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visit-new-york · 10 months

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The Williamsburg Bridge remains a beloved and functional part of New York City's infrastructure, offering more than just a physical connection between boroughs. It weaves together the social, cultural, and economic fabric of the city while serving as a reminder of the city's enduring spirit and resilience.

Accessibility for Bicyclists: In recent years, the Williamsburg Bridge has become increasingly popular among cyclists. The addition of dedicated bike lanes and paths has made it a key route for those commuting between Brooklyn and Manhattan by bicycle. This has contributed to the city's efforts to promote sustainable transportation options.

Emergency Services: The Williamsburg Bridge, like other major bridges in New York City, is equipped with emergency evacuation plans and protocols. It is considered an essential route for emergency vehicles and personnel during crises or natural disasters.

Cultural Influence: Beyond its practical role, the Williamsburg Bridge has had a profound cultural influence, particularly in the Brooklyn neighborhood it connects to. Williamsburg, with its vibrant arts scene, has become synonymous with the bridge's name, and it has featured prominently in local art, music, and literature.

In Popular Culture: The Williamsburg Bridge has appeared in numerous movies, TV shows, and music videos. Its distinctive architecture and picturesque views have made it a favorite location for filmmakers and artists looking to capture the essence of New York City.

Connecting Diverse Communities: The bridge has played a crucial role in connecting diverse communities in Manhattan and Brooklyn. It has been a conduit for the exchange of cultural influences, economic activity, and social interactions.

Historical Preservation and Restoration: Various organizations and government agencies have been involved in preserving and restoring the bridge to ensure its longevity. Efforts have included repainting the bridge, restoring its architectural features, and maintaining its structural integrity.

Design Features: The Williamsburg Bridge's towers are constructed of steel, and its suspension cables are made of wire rope. The bridge's overall design showcases elements of the Beaux-Arts architectural style, with ornamental details and decorative flourishes.

Maintenance Challenges: Maintaining a bridge of this size and age is an ongoing challenge. The bridge requires regular inspections, repairs, and upgrades to keep up with modern safety standards and the demands of urban transportation.

Future Developments: As New York City continues to evolve, the Williamsburg Bridge remains a vital part of the city's infrastructure. Future developments and improvements may include further enhancements to pedestrian and cyclist facilities, as well as ongoing efforts to reduce environmental impacts.

Centennial Celebrations: The Williamsburg Bridge celebrated its centennial in 2003 with various events and activities to mark its 100th anniversary. This milestone offered an opportunity for New Yorkers to reflect on the bridge's historical importance.

Artistic Expressions: Over the years, the Williamsburg Bridge has been a canvas for artistic expressions. Street art and graffiti have adorned its support structures and pedestrian walkways, contributing to the bridge's cultural identity.

Traffic Congestion and Alternatives: Like many urban bridges, the Williamsburg Bridge experiences traffic congestion during peak hours. This congestion has prompted discussions about transportation alternatives, such as improved public transit options, to ease the burden on the bridge and reduce environmental impacts.

Hurricane Sandy and Resilience: The bridge, like other infrastructure in New York City, faced significant challenges during Hurricane Sandy in 2012. The storm surge resulted in flooding and temporary closures. In response, the city has explored ways to enhance the resilience of critical infrastructure, including the Williamsburg Bridge, to future extreme weather events.

Iconic Landmark: The Williamsburg Bridge is not just a transportation link but also an iconic symbol of New York City's skyline. Its unique silhouette and the way it frames views of the city have made it a subject of admiration for photographers, artists, and tourists alike.

Community Engagement: The Williamsburg Bridge has been the focus of community engagement and activism. Local residents and organizations have advocated for improvements, safety measures, and the preservation of its historical and cultural significance.

Economic Impact: The bridge's role in connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn has had a significant economic impact on both boroughs. It has facilitated the movement of goods and people, supporting businesses and industries on both sides of the East River.

Night Illumination: The Williamsburg Bridge is often illuminated at night, casting a stunning glow over the East River. The changing colors and lighting schemes have been used to mark special occasions and holidays, enhancing the bridge's visual appeal.

Symbol of Progress: Throughout its history, the Williamsburg Bridge has symbolized progress, connectivity, and the spirit of innovation. It reflects the dynamism of New York City as it continues to evolve and adapt to the needs of its residents.

The Williamsburg Bridge stands as a testament to both engineering innovation and the enduring cultural significance of infrastructure in urban life. It has served as a lifeline for generations of New Yorkers, connecting people, neighborhoods, and opportunities across the East River.

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 5 months

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by Col. Richard Kemp

Hamas has constructed an extensive network of underground tunnels to gain protection for terrorists, to move fighters and equipment, to store weapons, to house command and control facilities, as well as to launch attacks and carry out ambushes. Some of these tunnels have been fitted with heavy blast doors to afford greater protection and frustrate assaulting troops. They are booby-trapped and rigged with explosives, early-warning devices and surveillance cameras. I have been into the tunnels during this conflict and can confirm that this network adds exponentially to the already immense challenges of fighting in urban areas, recognized by military professionals as perhaps the most demanding of all battle environments. Indeed, I am not aware of any comparable purposely built underground complex that any armed forces have had to tackle in any other conflict.

Hamas’s tactics are based on the exploitation of the civilian population of Gaza. Their above-ground infrastructure utilizes protected locations, including a large number of schools, hospitals and mosques for weapons storage, fighting positions, and tunnel access and egress. They have similarly used office and commercial facilities, shops and residential buildings. I have been briefed by combat troops on the ground that in some areas as much as every house and in other areas every other house contains elements of terrorist infrastructure; and I have been shown, for example, children’s bedrooms used to store grenades, anti-tank missiles and other munitions.

In addition to all this, Hamas is holding a large number of hostages in the Gaza Strip, which adds significant complications as the IDF seeks to find and rescue them and to avoid inadvertently killing them. Hamas has used the presence of their captives, including simulated and recorded hostage voices and related markings, to lure IDF soldiers into ambushes. Along with the tunnels, this adds yet another unique dimension to this conflict.

No place devoid of terrorists, munitions

This daunting combination of concurrent and conflicting challenges, coupled with the fact that Hamas systematically uses Gazans as human shields, and operates within and beneath civilian infrastructure, means that it is literally not possible to achieve the objectives of defeating Hamas and rescuing the hostages without the tragic consequence of civilian casualties and the regrettable destruction of civilian property from both ground and air. No army in the world would be able to do so, no matter what tactics they employed, and indeed no other army has ever done so in any comparable conflict.

Furthermore, Hamas’s form of operations—most of which directly and intentionally contravene the laws of armed conflict—also explain the necessity for the IDF to act with immense combat power when required and to operate with force across all areas of Gaza. No place in the Strip is devoid of terrorists and their munitions unless and until the IDF has cleared and secured them.

#hamas #gaza #urban warfare #idf #human shields #tunnels #terror tunnels #richard kemp

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ryuuka-balaen · 9 months

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I'd dug it up earlier to send to someone as it had been relevant in conversation recently, so may as well post it here too; a lil bit of CatLore(tm) for my main Warhammer Army; the Knights of Noble House Valere.

When I decided that it would be healthy for me to try to partake in physical hobbies more often rather than spending all my free time online and having almost exclusively online friendships, the first thing I went to try was Warhammer. I'd been trying to get into it for nearly a decade and I've always loved my funny little minis and models so it was the most obvious choice to me, especially being that I'd just been given a new 3d printer I could make terrain and models with. However, this came with a small issue; I didn't like the style of the models I already had as much as I used to. Which meant I needed to browse through which factions 40k had to choose from, and find something with an aesthetic I did enjoy.

What I found that i liked was the Imperial Knights and Grey Knights.

First, some official lore as Context;

Imperial Knights are huge mechs owned by influential families called Noble Houses. Before the founding of The Imperium of Man wherein the God-Emperor took the Golden Throne, the Noble Houses were some of the first humans to leave Terra and colonize the galaxy in an event referred to as The Long March. For the purpose of this colonization, they built huge agricultural mechs with chainsaws that could reave forests for lumber, explosives that could level mountains for construction, etc. Of course, these tools were repurposed into weapons of war. The mechs were equipped with armour that can withstand a nuke and autocannons that shoot shells wider than a man is tall. The planets colonized by these Noble Houses are referred to as Feudal Worlds. When the Age of Strife began and humanity lost a significant portion of the knowledge required to create and upkeep their most advanced technologies, contact between distant worlds was also lost. Many Feudal Worlds that were isolated from this regression have yet to be rediscovered by The Imperium.

Grey Knights are the God-Emperor's Special Boys who live on Saturn's moon Titan in a Grand Fortress-Monestary. unlike other chapters of space marines, there are only every 800 Grey Knights at any one time, and every single one of them is a psyker and has mad wizard powers. They also all wear ~Special Boy~ armour that's been sanctified and blessed with Mystical Rituals that makes them harder to kill than your average Space Marine. They exist only to fight invasions of the Daemon forces of Chaos, and will take any measure to do so. The whole thing is very edgy and they try very hard to be cool.

Unfortunately, the rules of warhammer40k don't normally allow one person to use models from two different factions in their army at the same time, and doing so is referred to as a "Soup Army" which is generally very frowned upon by the gaming community. Regardless, I happen to be and continue to be a fool of a kitty that likes my funny little Knights, and what I wanted to do was run an army that's made half and half of the two factions I like.

That begs the question though; Why would these two factions be fighting together? the Grey Knights are Daemon Hunters, and as such only fight against those corrupted by Chaos, and while the Noble Houses of the Feudal Worlds which have been rediscovered by The Imperium do fight alongside The Imperium, they don't do so Often or Consistently. (And, by game rules, while any imperium army is permitted to field either one large or up to three small Imperial Knights models, that isnt enough for me)

While I do like the Imperial Knights official lore, I'm pretty neutral on that of the Grey Knights (as much as I do like to make fun of them, the idea of an order of paladins that'll show up anywhere, anytime to lay the smackdown on some demons is pretty cool). So, my solution to that question was; What if they aren't Grey Knights? Any military that's fielding gigantic irreplaceable Death Mechs is also going to employ footsoldiers, aren't they?

The Knights I paint and play are of the Noble House Valere, one of the many to take part in The Long March and the many to still be isolated following the Age of Strife. The House, however, has not been idle in it's isolation. From the time contact was lost in the 25th millennium House Valere has continued to make technological progress, re-engineering the systems utilized in their great Knights to smaller and more compact forms, to create Exosuits in which even an untrained wearer could rival a Space Marine in combat. While this is surely impressive, the real feat of innovation achieved by Valere's researchers is undoubtedly their progress in harnessing The Warp. Normally only Psykers would be able to utilize the reality-bending power of The Warp, however the continued study and research between the 25th to the 41st millennium has seen these researchers engineer methods for machines to make use of The Warp, and integrating this into the Exosuits of House Valere's Knights allows every one of their footsoldiers to wield the power of a Psyker.

The current Standing Army of House Valere, which is to say the models I currently have (though many are currently unpainted), numbers at six Knight Mechs, one Armoured Troop Transport, and seventeen Exosuit Soldiers.

In Game Terms that's;

one Knight Preceptor, two Armiger Helverins, and two Armiger Warglaives for 1,000points of Imperial Knights,

one Nemesis DreadKnight, one Brother-Captain, one Brotherhood Champion, one Razorback, five Terminators, five Grey Knights, and five Purifiers for 1,000points of Grey Knights,

which all together makes a happy Tournament-Standard sized army roster of 2,000points.

House Valere's age of peace is not to last much longer, as the universe permits none to escape it's wrath and there are a great many who, whether for Tech-Heresy, claims of territory, or simply Hunger, would see The House's citizens dead.

As a footnote; I do want to clarify that when i wrote this i felt like an absolute madwoman and it seemed very Chuuni / "9th-grader's Overpowered Self-Insert OC" but fuck it cringe is dead, I'm having fun, and others have said its neat so im keeping it.

#/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\#warhammer40k #warhammer OCs? i guess.#or like. non-canon lore?#except the core books explicitly state “the universe is huge anything is possible”#so like. GW does validate anyone's silly lore in a very star wars expanded universe kind of a way.#part of why im posting this now is because i *just* assembled the last 5 models tonight #though they still need bases #poor dudes are comically small compared to the others lmao

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titanomancy · 7 months

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Part deux of the Ash Wastes terrain focus is up, and since now I'm paranoid that anything I don't control directly is likely to be disappeared off the internet, I've elected to simply archive it in its entirety below the fold.

[H3] LADDERS, HATCHES AND RAILINGS

As any good ganger will tell you, a good vantage point is key to getting the drop on your rivals. To help fighters clamber around your Habs and gantries, the Thatos Pattern kits come with a host of extras - including a versatile set of ladders.

These ladders are modular, to allow for alternate strut heights. They're separated into a top section, plus short and long middle sections that allow any combination. They also can hang freely on the bars of the platforms, allowing you to combine them with whatever terrain configuration you have gone with.

These curved railings, vital for any sniper lurking near the edge of a significant drop, are also very easy to add to any build. These can be attached without glue, and will sit on the curved bar on the platforms.

Want to add some additional details to the underside of your platforms? Both of the platforms and the Hab have fittings on the underside to attach accessories from the Sector Mechanicus terrain kits – such as cables, chains, and ladders – further adding to the variety of build options on offer.

The platforms are also the same thickness as Sector Mechanicus floors, which allows for the Sector Mechanicus railings to be used on them.

For that little bit of extra detail – not to mention more cover – the underside of the roof has fittings for a long ladder section (D39, for those of you checking your construction guides) to glue into, giving gangers easy access to the roof.

Speaking of extra detail, each Hab comes with four tension cables that attach to slots on the central strut. These can be assembled in two ways – down to the base, or up to the Hab. Or if your strut is tall enough, and you’ve got cables spare… both!

Need to clamber up a stack of Habs? You can add a ladder attachment (D40) to the bottom of a ladder. This allows it to neatly and gluelessly join two curved bars, giving you an easy way to access a roof, a second Hab, or a mounted platform.

The Habs were designed to allow for easy movement of models – the roof sections don’t need glue, so you can easily take them on and off, and there are plenty of wide openings in the sides of the Habs. The kit also comes with panels, however, allowing you to fill some of these openings in. Combined with the careful placement of ladders, this can make for an interesting battlefield where fighters must climb and dodge their way through a maze of modules and walkways.

Need to keep the sun off your face… not to mention that pesky rain of radioactive dust? The awning can be built in 2 ways. It can attach to a balcony piece (A18), or you can attach two parts (D13 & D14) Which will let it attach to the curved bar.

The Hab walls have fittings for aerials, a hanging lamp, or an anemometer… which is useful to let you know when a storm is on the horizon!

The kit also comes with a shelf of stowage, and an electrical box, which can be glued onto the blank wall or blank panel. These kinds of details are great for marking out some Habs as workshops, armouries, or Rogue Doc chop shops.

There are several separate components, such as aerials, a searchlight, and radar, which can be glued on the corresponding fittings found on several other parts. Much like the stowage, these can mark out a vox-equipped Hab, or a full comms centre.

Need an ash wastes objective or just an interesting piece of terrain? The strut top made from D15 and D16 has the same fittings as the Hab, to allow for two of the aerials to attach to it and create a communications array.

Strut D17 actually has six fittings to attach aerial accessories to, allowing for plenty of customisation and stacking.

There are two aerial features (D33 and D34) – a wind gauge and a communication emitter – that will both fit onto the top of the vertical aerials.

Want to connect a Hab roof to a Sector Mechanicus walkway or Zone Mortalis level? Like the platforms, a Hab roof has curved bars – and with the Hab being the same height (to the curved bar) as a Zone Mortalis column, this means it is the correct height to place floors.

A Zone Mortalis walkway will sit onto the vertical bars on the platforms and the Hab roofs. With these being curved, they can pivot and tilt at different angles.

Like the railings from Sector Mechanicus, Zone Mortalis and the Gang Stronghold, the railings will fit onto both of the other terrain set floors and vice versa.

The walkways fit the same gap as Sector Mechanicus floors. Use C15 (not C16) to attach the two together – this allows for several walkways to join two Habs or platforms.

That’s all for now – hopefully, these articles have given some insight into the versatility of the Thatos Pattern terrain sets, and inspired you to plan your very own ash wastes outposts!

#games workshop #citadel miniatures #warhammer 40k #necromunda #ash wastes #terrain #thatos pattern hab module #sector mechanicus #zone mortalis #warhammer community

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biblioflyer · 9 days

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Visible Mutations and Power Level: Same Storm, Different Boats.

Previously I discussed why X-Men as a setting is fundamentally pessimistic as a necessity according to the creative choices made. It is an essay in 5 parts:

1,2,3,4,5

A bonus chapter on the class dimensions of X-Men and how this informs the assumptions of the principle actors has exploded into an essay all on its own. As Tolkien would say, the tale grew in the telling.

This chapter examines different forms of privilege and liabilities.

Something that I only vaguely gestured at that a reader pointed out likely had profound significance was Xavier’s wealth and his ability to pass as Sapiens. At least until he was publicly outed by Gyrich. Of course, as the old trope goes, much like any straight ally was automatically presumed to be gay not even all that long ago, Xavier was long the subject of rumors.

Xavier’s wealth and status as Human passing very likely plays a role in influencing his rosier outlook on Human affairs compared to Magneto. That isn’t to say that Xavier has faced no hardship, but money has a way of buying discretion. Xavier’s lifestyle adds an extra layer of security atop his already discreet powers in a few different ways.

High society can be unapologetic gossips and gatekeepers, but money opens doors that might be denied to more lowly specimens around whom there are rumors of having unnatural abilities. Additionally, large estates protect privacy and easy international travel means Charles can lay low if he has an outburst that raises suspicions.

All in all, except for when Gyrich attacks him and triggers a public display of his abilities, Charles has always been the one in charge of who gets to know he is a Mutant. As a consequence, while I firmly agree with Xavier’s ideals at the level of principle, Xavier has a natural bias towards optimism.

For his reality checks, he has to rely on empathy and the occasional direct exposure to someone’s memories and the trauma contained within, to understand how challenging it is to be a Mutant, especially a visible Mutant, in the world outside of Xavier’s mansion without resources or allies.

As a telepath who has done deep trauma work with the likes of Wolverine, Rogue, Sabertooth, and Magneto: I’m inclined to cut Charles quite a bit of slack. I think it's important to remember that he has willingly thrust himself into the minds of people who have had some of the worst experiences a human being, Sapiens or Mutatis, can have. That when he comes out of their minds he is surrounded by the trappings of inherited wealth matters, but attributing complete insensitivity and ignorance to him seems overly harsh.

For the moral messaging of the setting, it matters that Xavier is someone who acts as the trauma sponge for everyone who shows up on his doorstep, even the likes of Sabertooth, and still wakes up most days and chooses to pursue justice within Human created power systems and advocates for an integrated society.

Notably, Xavier’s path of integration means that he himself implicitly is seeking a legal system that is recognized as having legitimacy by both Humans and Mutants. That legal system is one that could, at least in theory, hold Xavier accountable if used his powers in a manner deemed unacceptable by Human and Mutantkind.

This is, again in theory, at least one answer to something I’m calling “the Omega problem.” Some Humans are granted inordinate power by various social constructs like presidencies, directorships, expertise, and wealth itself, ultimately even the top 1% of all special operators can’t really hope to personally, through force or the threat of force, impose their will upon more than a handful of people at a time with the right equipment without their luck running out. Ask King Charles I (England), Czar Nicholas II, Saddam Hussein, Moamar Qaddaffi, or Yevgeny Prigozhin how well things work out for a mere mortal when the social construct that empowers them is dissolved. Even the Ancient Egyptians were known to expedite the cycle of Pharaoh incarnating as Osiris in the Underworld so that a new, more pliable god on Earth could embody Horus.

Next: How Mutant powers scramble the assumptions behind Human systems of justice in a manner guaranteed to cause panic.

#x men #x men 97 #x men 97 spoilers #x men the animated series #mutants #Magneto #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #Marvel #privilege

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