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nitefise-art · 1 year

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Companion fic to my Zero comic, Part 2/?

To many scientists, the Great Crater of Paldea was a treasure trove of discoveries to be made and data to be analysed. This was particularly so for biologists. The Crater’s age and relative isolation from the rest of the region had resulted in the development of an enormous collection of unique flora and fauna. Or so Clavell understood. Jacq loved going on about biodiversity, but there was only so much taxonomy talk one could digest in one sitting.

Seeing the environment up close and personal once again, however, gave Clavell some fresh appreciation for his colleague’s ramblings. No matter how many times Clavell went to Area Zero, the sight of cascading waterfalls over untamed vegetation never ceased to put him in awe. How many million sunsets had those sheer cliffs witnessed, untouched, and how many more were yet to come? Surely mother nature took inspiration from paradise, when it formed Area Zero right in the centre of Paldea.

In that moment, Clavell felt small.

But only for a moment. There were students he had come to fetch.

The outer walls of Research Station 4 were more tired than Clavell remembered; although, in fairness, one could probably say the same thing about him. More alarming was the rate at which tera crystals had sprouted in the vicinity. Station 4 had always been subject to greater tera activity, even when Clavell had worked down here all those years ago. But never had he imagined that the crystals might threaten to swallow the building whole.

As the door slid open and the glow of the crystals streamed past him into the empty station, Clavell stepped cautiously, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. As he had feared, tera crystals had invaded the interior of the station too. Papers were strewn across the floor, which itself looked like it was long overdue for a good mop. A cylinder lay over a broken pipe. All was silent, save for the grunt from Oranguru, who informed Clavell that he could sense recent activity.

The children have been here. Fine. As much as he wanted to examine the place top to bottom (it looked like something had gone on a rampage), he needed to move on.

But then, a grainy voice spoke to him from above.

“Greetings, Director Clavell. I was not expecting you.”

Clavell started at the sudden noise. He did not consider himself a man of nervous disposition by any means, but he could not shake off a feeling of unease even once the voice had ceased to speak. There was no mistaking that familiar timbre, and yet, why did it sound so foreign?

“Turo?” he called, slightly louder than necessary. “…Is that you?”

“Please do not venture any further, Director. I do not wish to endanger your safety.”

Clavell did not at that moment give a Skwovet’s behind about endangerment to his safety. Who was Turo to talk of safety when he had, presumably, just opened the Zero Gate to a group of children?

“This isn’t time for enigmas, Turo. Where are my students?”

“Based on my observations, the students are well equipped to handle themselves.”

And was he not? What kind of joke was this?

“I am sorry Director. It is time for me to go.”

“Turo, wait! Turo!!”

This time, the ceiling did not respond. Clavell stared into the darkness in bewilderment. He would be the first to admit that it was not uncharacteristic of Turo to leave one train of thought unresolved once his attention had been captured by another, but only to a degree. What could possibly be so urgent? Surely the students couldn’t already be—

Clavell’s own train of thought was interrupted when Oranguru let out another grunt and pointed at the rubble. On closer inspection, Clavell realised that he was not pointing at the rubble at all, but the previously unnoticed door behind it. This was rather inconvenient. Clavell’s highest priority now was to get to the Zero Lab as quickly as possible; at the same time, he knew Oranguru would not veer him off course for a mere trifle. With a sigh, Clavell did as was suggested, making a mental note not to be detained too long.

If he had been more prescient, Clavell would have left the adjoining chamber alone. Indeed, he would have stayed far, far away from the depts of the Crater entirely, if not for Raifort’s news that morning. Turo had always had an obsession with Area Zero, one that, in all honesty, Clavell considered erred on the side of unhealthy, and he had not been afraid to say as much. But in the end, no matter where their conversations led, he always left his friend to his own decisions. As long as Turo was safe and happy, as far as Clavell was concerned, so was he. After all, who was he to pronounce on the worth of another man’s treasure?

But despite the soundness of his convictions, as Clavell entered the next room, his legs slowed, his jaw slackened, and what he thought he knew were immutable truths suddenly threatened to collapse around him. The faint glow of tera crystals trembled in his eyes.

Before him, suspended in a vat, was the body of his dear friend, Professor Turo.

#pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon sv #pokemon sv spoilers #clavell #director clavell #turo #professor turo #area zero #paldea #nitefise-art #my writing #zerofic #x

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jumbled-messy-confused · 11 days

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The Subtle Art of Subterfuge

Summary: The relentless pressures of command and the weight of unspoken burdens push General Kirigan to the brink of collapse. To safeguard their leader’s well-being, Ivan and Fedyor must navigate their own concerns, master the delicate balance of loyalty and tactical overstepping, and, quite incidentally, mislead the Tsar himself to ensure Kirigan gets some much-needed rest. Amidst the chaos of war, a story of loyalty, duty, and quiet moments of humanity unfolds, revealing the cost of responsibility and the strength found in vulnerability. Notes: This story is an AU. It takes place before Alina turns up. Kirigan is not the villain he will be later in the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with respect to Ivans view of the Tsar and the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

The campaign tent in Kribirsk, battered by the relentless winds, mirrored the week's unyielding pressures. Outside, the gales threatened to rip the canvas from its moorings, while inside, General Kirigan sat hunched over a desk that served as the command centre for his strategic planning. Maps of troop movements and supply lines were spread out before him, an extensive compilation of data that demanded his attention. The weak light of a lantern flickered, struggling against the gloom of the day, casting long shadows over the documents that held the key to future manoeuvres. The air was bitterly cold, the kind that clawed at your flesh and settled deep within your bones. The sky, a blanket of unyielding greys, promised nothing but the continuation of the dreary cold. Kirigan, however, seemed detached from the world around him, his focus solely on sifting through and organizing the intelligence, his occasional coughs stifled in the crook of his arm when he thought no one was watching.

Outside, the restless shifting of horses and the sound of hooves stamping impatiently against the ground filled the air, as Ivan and Fedyor had prepared them for departure at Kirigan's earlier command. Having returned to the tent, they found Kirigan still deeply engrossed in prioritizing the information for his report to the tsar, oblivious to their presence and the readiness of the horses. "He looks like death," Ivan muttered under his breath, as Kirigan massaged his temples, a gesture betraying a weariness that seemed too profound for one man to bear. Fedyor's nod, almost imperceptible, came as a silent agreement to his grim assessment.

Their voices were a hushed murmur, barely audible over the howl of the wind and the occasional snort of the horses outside. They stood at the edge of the tent, their eyes never straying from Kirigan, who seemed to have sunken further into his chair, another quiet sign of his waning strength. Ivan's mind replayed the morning's decisions, the subtle signs of Kirigan's decline that he had failed to recognize. Regret gnawed at him as he recalled the healers' departure, a move that seemed prudent amidst the chaos at the front lines and the multitude of wounded there. Now, witnessing Kirigan's deteriorating condition, Ivan couldn't shake the feeling that he should have insisted on keeping at least one healer in the camp. And yet, there was a part of him that knew Kirigan too well, the pride that would not allow weakness to be displayed, the same pride that now left Ivan questioning whether any of them could have seen through the façade.

"We can't let him ride like this," Fedyor breathed, his words just about reaching Ivan's ears over the snapping of the tent’s fabric in the fierce wind. "He's barely holding on."

With a furrowed brow, Ivan’s thoughts whirled with potential solutions. Then, inspiration struck. “We’ll warn him of a brewing storm,” he murmured, the idea crystallizing as he spoke, “and suggest that taking the carriage is merely a precaution against the weather.” He was certain Kirigan would reject any notion of rest, but he might be persuaded to seek shelter from a storm for practical reasons. As another cough racked Kirigan's frame, this time his face half-shielded by both hands in a vain attempt to stifle the sound, his companions knew it was time to act. Exchanging a resolute glance, they nodded to each other, a silent accord reached. Without a word, they began to implement their hastily formed plan, each move deliberate, their resolve unwavering.

With determined steps, they approached their general, their faces etched with solemnity. "General, the weather is turning," Ivan began, his voice cutting through the mournful tune of the wind against the canvas. "A blizzard is coming. It would be unwise to travel on horseback."

Kirigan’s eyes, clouded with fatigue, lifted to meet theirs. A subtle crease formed between his brows, a brief sign of his bewilderment. “The report,” he stated, his voice hoarse, “You do realize I must deliver it to the Tsar this evening.” "And it will be delivered," Fedyor assured him, standing close but careful not to overstep boundaries. "If we set out now, we will arrive in time. The carriage ride will offer you the quiet needed to finalize it. It's better to have it ready upon arrival than to rush through it before presenting yourself to the Tsar." For a moment, Kirigan’s gaze lingered on the maps scattered across the desk, lost in silent contemplation of the journey ahead. Then, with a weary resolve, he gave a tired nod, too spent to notice the fabricated tale of the impending storm - or maybe simply too spent to argue. With a deep breath, he began the methodical process of gathering the carefully selected documents, ensuring that each piece of intelligence was ready to form the basis of his report to the Tsar. Meanwhile, Fedyor slipped out of the tent, no doubt making the necessary arrangements for the carriage and their departure.

By the time Kirigan had completed his preparations, Fedyor had returned. They exchanged a look of relief, a mutual understanding that they had successfully diverted their general from a dangerous course.

As the carriage trundled away from the camp, Kirigan delved into the pages before him with a concentration that defied his evident exhaustion. He pored over the reports, annotated and corrected with a meticulous hand.

Yet, as the afternoon progressed, Ivan could see the toll it was taking on him. His once precise movements over the papers became sluggish, and his intense focus seemed to drift. A subtle shift in Fedyor’s stance told him that his partner had also noticed Kirigan’s waning alertness. As if in response, the shadows within the carriage seemed to deepen, casting a pall over Kirigan’s features, mirroring the fatigue that was slowly closing his eyes. And finally, the inevitable happened; Kirigan’s head nodded forward, succumbing to the exhaustion that overpowered even his formidable spirit. Fedyor, his gaze lingering on the now peaceful face of his general, allowed a rare, soft sigh to escape—a sound that resonated with Ivan’s own sense of relief. He was quick to secure the reports before they could scatter across the carriage floor, all the while feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders at the sight of his superior finally surrendering to much-needed sleep. Catching Fedyor’s eye, Ivan allowed himself a brief, shared glance of satisfaction, before he set to work, mirroring the general’s earlier meticulousness. Yet, despite the focus the task demanded, Ivan’s gaze continually returned to Kirigan, vigilantly monitoring for any signs of his condition worsening.

The carriage’s movements were subtle yet unyielding, each bump in the road nudging Kirigan’s form. His body, limp in his exhaustion, shifted incrementally with the carriage’s rhythm, inching ever closer to the cold, unforgiving wall. Fedyor, observing the subtle movement, leapt from his seat and reached Kirigan just as his body began to lean perilously to the side. With a deft movement, Fedyor stopped his descent, his arms wrapping around the general with practiced ease. He then maneuvered himself into the corner, his repositioning allowing Kirigan to recline securely against him, his head now resting against Fedyor’s chest.

His worry deepened as Ivan watched how his partner adjusted his hold on the sick man, ensuring he was securely anchored against him. The fact that Kirigan did not react to being moved that way spoke volumes of his condition, revealing an exhaustion so profound it verged on unconsciousness. With the weight of concern pressing on his chest, Ivan’s hands resumed their task over the reports, continuing the work that the general could no longer manage. The carriage’s rhythmic sway became a backdrop to his focused task, each line of text a step towards completion, building upon the substantial groundwork laid by Kirigan before succumbing to fatigue. The General’s breaths were shallow, and despite Fedyor’s efforts to steady him, his body was occasionally wracked with coughs that threatened to dislodge him from his protective embrace. Then, in the moments of calm between the spasms, a new problem made itself known. Kirigan’s form began to tremble, a visible shudder that spoke of a fever’s encroaching grip. Fedyor’s hand moved to Kirigan’s forehead, his touch confirming the heat that was rising from within. “He’s burning up,” he whispered, his voice a soft echo in the close confines of the carriage.

In response, Ivan gently draped his thick, red cloak over Kirigan's trembling form. The rich color of the fabric stood out vividly against the general's pale complexion. He arranged the cloak with a practiced ease, ensuring every shiver was met with a layer of warmth. As his Heartrender abilities allowed him to perceive the changes in the General’s condition, he was acutely aware of how rapid the rhythm of Kirigan’s pulse had become, an invisible yet palpable sign of the fever raging within. He also noticed each subtle hint of energy as Fedyor intervened, gently coaxing the pulse to slow when respiratory distress tightened Kirigan’s breath or when he began to shift restlessly, striving to maintain a semblance of calm and afford Kirigan whatever measure of rest he could amidst the bouts of coughing.

After Ivan finally had finished the report for the tsar, he leaned back in his seat, his gaze lingering on the face of his leader. The dark circles under Kirigan's eyes were not just signs of his acute illness but also of the relentless days and sleepless nights of the last weeks. His features, though drawn and reflecting a weight loss that his slender frame could ill afford, did not convey frailty but rather an unsettling delicacy. It was as if the hardships had sculpted away any excess, leaving behind the essence of a man who bore his burdens with an unwavering resolve.

Kirigan's face, unusually soft in his deep state of exhaustion, appeared youthful, almost disarmingly so. It seemed out of place with the heavy responsibilities he carried—a stark contrast to the power and command he wielded. Ivan felt a twinge of something akin to protectiveness, a desire to shield this man who, in these quiet moments, seemed too burdened for his years.

The carriage wheels spun a steady rhythm against the cobblestones, the sound a constant undercurrent to the General's labored breathing. As the Little Palace neared, Ivan caught Fedyor's eye, a silent signal passing between them. It was time to wake Kirigan, to give him a moment to gather himself before they rolled into the courtyard. Fedyor leaned in, his voice a low murmur, "General, we're nearing the Palace." The words were a gentle summons, pulling Kirigan from the depths of his fevered rest.

Kirigan's response was a mere flutter of eyelids, a slow drift back into consciousness. His eyes, normally so clear and commanding, now were glassy with unspoken suffering. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his body seemed weakened, as if the strength that once defined him was now but a whisper of what it had been. Ivan caught the subtle shift in Kirigan’s expression, a hint of realization dawning as he apparently became aware of the protective embrace encircling him. As he slowly turned his head, his gaze found Fedyor’s. There was no surprise in his eyes, only the weary acceptance of a man too tired to question the comfort offered. He did not comment, nor did he need to; their years of camaraderie spoke in the silence between them. Then, gathering the remnants of his strength, Kirigan attempted to rise, his movements tentative and slow. But his effort to sit up was a struggle; his body seemingly resisted every command. Fedyor, perceptive to his General’s plight, stepped in. With a firm yet careful grip, he aided Kirigan to an upright position, providing the support his weakened state demanded.

"You need the healers," Ivan's voice was a gentle yet firm declaration, cutting through the silence of the carriage’s shadowed confines. In the briefest of pauses, a shadow of awareness seemed to pass over Kirigan’s features, hinting at the pressing responsibilities that lay in wait. “The report for the Tsar…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, the effort to speak visibly taxing him. Ivan interjected softly, ‘It’s completed, General. I’ve seen to its finish, and I’ll ensure it’s delivered to His Majesty.’ He placed a reassuring hand on Kirigan’s shoulder, feeling the fever’s heat radiating through his Kefta. ‘Your well-being is paramount now. Let us take care of you.’ In the dim light, Kirigan's eyes became a battleground. In a fleeting moment there was a clash of pride against the stark reality of his physical limits, a duel between the ingrained sense of duty that defined him and the creeping exhaustion that threatened to overpower his will.

The struggle within was evident, yet, beneath the surface, there was a weariness, a fatigue so profound it seemed to echo in the very air around him.

Ivan watched, his heart heavy with a mix of respect and concern, as Kirigan's resolve wavered, his eyes closing wearily in a moment of exhaustion. And then, with a slow, almost imperceptible nod, Kirigan conceded, an admission of his humanity that Ivan had seldom seen.

As the carriage came to a halt in the sparsely populated courtyard of the Little Palace, the murmur within ceased, drawing curious glances from a few Grisha scattered around. Ivan opened the carriage door, his gaze briefly sweeping over the onlookers before fixating intently on Kirigan, who was next to disembark. The General, looking more vulnerable than ever, emerged into the evening light, his body swaying perilously. To the untrained eye, his movements might have seemed deliberate, a mere adjustment to stepping onto solid ground after a long carriage ride. The General’s face, however, told a different story. Already pale, it now turned a ghastly shade of white. Kirigan’s lips, usually set in a firm line, faded within seconds into two bloodless streaks. Tiny beads of sweat erupted across his forehead, and his hand gripped the carriage’s frame with a trembling strength. It was a rapid transformation, one that laid bare the severity of his condition to those who knew him best. Fedyor, who had swiftly exited the carriage as well, was quick to offer support, sliding Kirigan’s arm around his shoulder in a firm yet gentle hold. Ivan, recognizing the action as a stark highlight of the General’s poor condition, was slightly shocked by Fedyor’s forwardness. He himself would have never dared to expose the General’s weakness so openly. But surprisingly, Kirigan simply acknowledged the need for support in front of his subordinates and leaned exhausted into the strength provided by his loyal companion.

The few onlookers’ expressions morphed from casual interest to stark alarm as they witnessed their usually indomitable leader falter. A gasp rippled through the crowd, and an observant guard immediately stepped forward, her gaze meeting Kirigan’s for a fleeting moment, a silent question hanging between them. With a weary nod, Kirigan granted permission, and she carefully placed his other arm over her shoulder, mirroring Fedyor’s supportive stance. Together, the trio began their measured procession towards the infirmary, Fedyor and the guard synchronizing their steps, moving with deliberate care to match the General’s weakened pace. The door guard, having kept a watchful eye on the unfolding scene, seamlessly swung the palace doors open just as the trio set into motion. His actions were a quiet echo of the shared concern for the General, and as they moved toward the infirmary, it was clear that others within the palace were equally ready to provide aid, their actions reflecting a collective sense of care for their leader. Ivan watched them leave, appreciating as Kirigan permitted himself to be helped. To admit vulnerability was not a sign of weakness but a testament to true strength, and Ivan knew that in allowing himself to be cared for, Kirigan only garnered more sympathy and solidarity from those around him. With the knowledge that his General was in good hands, Ivan turned his attention to the task ahead. Though the prospect of addressing the Tsar was a necessary evil, the loyalty he held for Kirigan outweighed his personal contempt. Standing before the throne on behalf of his leader was a duty he accepted without hesitation, but driven by loyalty to Kirigan alone, rather than any reverence for the man who wore the crown. With the report clutched securely under his arm, Ivan’s stride was purposeful as he entered the throne room. The Tsar, ensconced upon his grand throne, looked up with a flicker of annoyance, his brow furrowing in a frown. ‘Where is Kirigan?’ he demanded, his voice echoing off the high walls.

“Circumstances necessitated his immediate conveyance to the healers, Your Majesty," Ivan began, his voice laden with the gravity of the situation. "Ravaged by a fever of vehement intensity, he was found to be without consciousness for a significant portion of our journey. It was imperative that he receive medical attention forthwith.” Ivan’s declaration, filled with a solemnity that bordered on the sepulchral, left the Tsar with no room for doubt about the direness of the General’s condition, effectively forestalling any thoughts of summoning him, despite his illness.

Ivan’s carefully chosen words had the desired effect, and he could see that his strategic embellishment had achieved precisely what he intended. A sense of satisfaction began to settle within him as he noted the softened expression of the sovereign. "In all these years, this has never happened," the Tsar murmured, his initial irritation giving way to a look of profound concern. "He must indeed be gravely ill." Just as Ivan was about to bask in the success of his ruse, the Tsar continued. "I trust you will serve as his proxy in the coming week until he has fully recovered.” The voice of authority resonated with a clear expectation of duty. “I appreciate your diligence in this matter.” Ivan could barely keep a straight face as the Tsar’s words sank in, internally berating himself for the corner he’d painted himself into. Yet, he quickly regained his composure. “The General would surely honour Your Majesty’s concern with great esteem,” he mustered. “Now, if I may, I shall relay the particulars of his report.” He then proceeded to deliver the details contained within the documents, his presentation precise and thorough. As he concluded, the Tsar nodded, a gesture of satisfaction at the information provided, and with a dismissive wave, he signalled Ivan’s leave. The casual flick of the wrist, as if swatting away an annoyance, gave Ivan ample reason to suppress a disdainful sigh. But with a final respectful bow, he excused himself, successfully suppressing the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation as he maintained a dignified exit. Once beyond the Tsar’s scrutiny, the formalities of the court faded into irrelevance, and he quickened his pace, eager to make his way to the healing quarters.

The infirmary was a sanctuary of serenity. The healers, with their practiced quietude, moved like shadows, their presence felt more in the gentle touch and the soft rustle of fabric than in any spoken word. They guided Ivan with subtle gestures, a tilt of the head or a slight wave of the hand, directing him to a secluded corner where General Kirigan lay resting.

There, in the dimming light, Kirigan’s form was a still silhouette against the crisp linens of the infirmary bed. The healers had divested him of his Kefta and tunic, the heavy garments replaced by the comfort of soft, thick blankets that had been tucked around him with meticulous care. His sleep was deep and undisturbed, the kind that only comes after exhaustion has wrung every last drop of wakefulness from the body. Though his features remained pale and drawn, the feverish sheen had left his skin, and the terrible cough that had racked him these last hours was now absent, replaced by the steady rhythm of peaceful breaths.

Fedyor, ever the vigilant guardian, had pulled a chair close to the bedside. His posture, usually so rigid and alert, now betrayed a hint of weariness, the tension of the long journey ebbing away in the tranquillity of the room. Yet, his eyes remained fixed on Kirigan, a silent promise of protection that had been upheld throughout their arduous trek. Upon Ivan’s arrival at the bedside, Fedyor’s gaze lifted from Kirigan to his partner. His eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of curiosity and concern. "Is everything alright?" he whispered, the question barely more than a breath.

Ivan's smile wavered, a hint of sheepish guilt flickering across his features. "Let's just say the General has been granted a few days of... enforced rest," he murmured back, his voice tinged with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension.

"What did you do?" Fedyor's tone was half-amused, half-astonished, as he leaned in closer.

Ivan recounted the tale in hushed tones, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he detailed the slight liberties he had taken with the truth—his delivery so convincing that the Tsar was genuinely alarmed for Kirigan’s well-being, compelling Ivan to step in for the entire following week. A silent chuckle shook Fedyor's frame, and he reached out to pat Ivan's arm affectionately. "Well, you'll have quite the story to share with him once he's awake," he said, his voice a soft murmur of amusement. "Good luck explaining this one."

Ivan's smile deepened, not only from the humor of the situation, but from the relief that Kirigan was finally at peace, the harsh cough and feverish delirium replaced by the gentle rise and fall of his chest in sleep. There was no regret in Ivan’s heart, only the certainty that it was right to lift some of the burdens from this exhausted man.

So he settled into the quiet vigil beside Fedyor, the two men again united in their silent watch over their General. The evening’s calm enveloped the room, the candlelight casting a gentle glow. Outside, the wind, once a roaring force, now murmured a tranquil respite, echoing the day’s earlier turmoil yet soothing in its current hush. In this secluded space, only the steady breathing of the resting General filled the air. The world outside continued its restless dance, but within these walls, there was a shared moment of peace, a quiet affirmation of the enduring spirit that bound them together through every trial.

#jumbled-messy-confused #be kind #fantasy #Shadow and Bone AU #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #the darkling #grishaverse #hurt/comfort #h/c #fanfiction #fedyor kaminsky #Ivan #friendship #protectiveness #fanart #fanart... kind of

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deftswerve · 2 years

Video

Webb Inspects the Heart of the Phantom Galaxy <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/nasawebbtelescope/">by NASA's James Webb Space Telescope</a> Via Flickr: This image from the James Webb Space Telescope shows the heart of M74, otherwise known as the Phantom Galaxy. Webb’s sharp vision has revealed delicate filaments of gas and dust in the grandiose spiral arms which wind outwards from the centre of this image. A lack of gas in the nuclear region also provides an unobscured view of the nuclear star cluster at the galaxy's centre.

M74 is a particular class of spiral galaxy known as a ‘grand design spiral’, meaning that its spiral arms are prominent and well-defined, unlike the patchy and ragged structure seen in some spiral galaxies. The Phantom Galaxy is around 32 million light-years away from Earth in the constellation Pisces, and lies almost face-on to Earth. This, coupled with its well-defined spiral arms, makes it a favorite target for astronomers studying the origin and structure of galactic spirals.

Webb gazed into M74 with its Mid-InfraRed Instrument (MIRI) in order to learn more about the earliest phases of star formation in the local Universe. These observations are part of a larger effort to chart 19 nearby star-forming galaxies in the infrared by the international PHANGS collaboration. Those galaxies have already been observed using the Hubble Space Telescope and ground-based observatories. The addition of crystal-clear Webb observations at longer wavelengths will allow astronomers to pinpoint star-forming regions in the galaxies, accurately measure the masses and ages of star clusters, and gain insights into the nature of the small grains of dust drifting in interstellar space.

Hubble observations of M74 have revealed particularly bright areas of star formation known as HII regions. Hubble’s sharp vision at ultraviolet and visible wavelengths complements Webb’s unparalleled sensitivity at infrared wavelengths, as do observations from ground-based radio telescopes such as the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array, ALMA. By combining data from telescopes operating across the electromagnetic spectrum, scientists can gain greater insight into astronomical objects than by using a single observatory — even one as powerful as Webb! MIRI was contributed by ESA and NASA, with the instrument designed and built by a consortium of nationally funded European Institutes (the MIRI European Consortium) in partnership with JPL and the University of Arizona.

This image was processed by ESA.

Read more: esawebb.org/images/potm2208a/

Image credit: ESA/Webb, NASA & CSA, J. Lee and the PHANGS-JWST Team. Acknowledgement: J. Schmidt

Image description:

Delicate gray, webby filaments form a spiral pattern winding outwards from the center of the galaxy. These spiral arms of the galaxy are traced by blue and bursts of pink; these are the regions in which stars are forming. The very heart of the galaxy is colored blue and has speckles, which are young stars, which are forming around the nucleus of the galaxy.

#jwst #webb #james webb space telescope #hubble #flickr

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mooglemeet · 1 year

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It has come to my attention that the entirety of the Crystal Data Centre is now classified as congested. This means, for the foreseeable future, no characters will be able to be made on the data server.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, given we can all data travel, but I know from previous lockouts it does have a huge impact on roleplay communities who generally flock to these places for a sense of companionship and kinship - as well as friends coming from other games who may not be able to directly play with their loved ones as far as free companies goes.

If attempts are being made to cultivate communities on the other servers, especially Dynamis (given it’s the newest server), please let me know and I’ll boost those here.

#[ mod speaks ]

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ordinum · 3 months

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a new personal blog for various interests.

i spend a lot of time writing pieces about my ocs, and enjoy roleplaying them as well. i have a web of characters that surround my main oc, a garlean engineer for the VIth legion. i hope to share some information about them.

i'm currently looking for other fans of garleans and/or garlemald. i'd like to find other garlean writers particularly, but i welcome anyone with similar interest. i have an appreciation for ishgardians (and elezen) too, with several related ocs. for roleplayers, i'm located on the crystal data centre. i also love everything to do with lore discussion, analysis, organisation, and any new information.

i'll do some reblogging on here, and might post some of my own creations. as this is a personal blog for interests, it'll probably have an array of content aside from ocs. however, a large portion of my time is spent focusing on them.

adult, no minors.

#ffxiv #garlean #garlemald #garlean oc #ffxiv rp #ffxiv oc #ishgardian #elezen #ishgard #writer #roleplay #garlean empire #ff14 #looking for mutuals #looking for friends #final fantasy #final fantasy xiv

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mariacallous · 1 year

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The inconspicuous office is in Moscow’s north-eastern suburbs. A sign reads: “Business centre”. Nearby are modern residential blocks and a rambling old cemetery, home to ivy-covered war memorials. The area is where Peter the Great once trained his mighty army.

Inside the six-storey building, a new generation is helping Russian military operations. Its weapons are more advanced than those of Peter the Great’s era: not pikes and halberds, but hacking and disinformation tools.

The software engineers behind these systems are employees of NTC Vulkan. On the surface, it looks like a run-of-the-mill cybersecurity consultancy. However, a leak of secret files from the company has exposed its work bolstering Vladimir Putin’s cyberwarfarecapabilities.

Thousands of pages of secret documents reveal how Vulkan’s engineers have worked for Russian military and intelligence agencies to support hacking operations, train operatives before attacks on national infrastructure, spread disinformation and control sections of the internet.

The company’s work is linked to the federal security service or FSB, the domestic spy agency; the operational and intelligence divisions of the armed forces, known as the GOU and GRU; and the SVR, Russia’s foreign intelligence organisation.

One document links a Vulkan cyber-attack tool with the notorious hacking group Sandworm, which the US government said twice caused blackouts in Ukraine, disrupted the Olympics in South Korea and launched NotPetya, the most economically destructive malware in history. Codenamed Scan-V, it scours the internet for vulnerabilities, which are then stored for use in future cyber-attacks.

Another system, known as Amezit, amounts to a blueprint for surveilling and controlling the internet in regions under Russia’s command, and also enables disinformation via fake social media profiles. A third Vulkan-built system – Crystal-2V – is a training program for cyber-operatives in the methods required to bring down rail, air and sea infrastructure. A file explaining the software states: “The level of secrecy of processed and stored information in the product is ‘Top Secret’.”

The Vulkan files, which date from 2016 to 2021, were leaked by an anonymous whistleblower angered by Russia’s war in Ukraine. Such leaks from Moscow are extremely rare. Days after the invasion in February last year, the source approached the German newspaper Süddeutsche Zeitung and said the GRU and FSB “hide behind” Vulkan.

“People should know the dangers of this,” the whistleblower said. “Because of the events in Ukraine, I decided to make this information public. The company is doing bad things and the Russian government is cowardly and wrong. I am angry about the invasion of Ukraine and the terrible things that are happening there. I hope you can use this information to show what is happening behind closed doors.”

The source later shared the data and further information with the Munich-based investigative startup Paper Trail Media. For several months, journalists working for 11 media outlets, including the Guardian, Washington Post and Le Monde, have investigated the files in a consortium led by Paper Trail Media and Der Spiegel.

Five western intelligence agencies confirmed the Vulkan files appear to be authentic. The company and the Kremlin did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

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crankusmaximusmagnus · 10 months

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Advisor: "You can't just moe your way out of an international crisis, Senator."

Licinia:

#ff14 #ffxiv oc #ffxiv #garlean #hyur midlander #ffxiv gpose #gposers #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv reshade #ffxiv rp #crystal data centre #ffxiv mateus #licinia fae lucon #the smiling viper

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cardworksartblog · 2 years

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Gamercat family photo (plus their weird platonic girlfriend who sneaks him into the outside world to explore sometimes)

Individual Character Info under the cut!

Gamercat / Project Companion

The main character of this oc group, and the first one i came up with. Gamercat is a slugcat made by TSoQ for the sole purpose of companionship. Gamercat has advanced intelligence, and has an affinity for games. He's disabled, and has malformed ears and tail, signifying that they have somewhat weak cartilage. Despite this, they can move around with the same ease as a normal slugcat. They will still get tired faster though, leading to any secret trips taken outside of the can to be rather short-lived.

Tiny Rage / Experimental Sibling

Tiny is Gamercat's younger sibling. They were made by TSoQ with the purpose of seeing how far out they could push a slugcat's colour and pattern genetics without introducing any more risk of deformation than normal. Tiny got their name from the rage TSoQ's neighbours displayed upon hearing word of what their new project was. It is purely by chance that he developed the same personality as butterdick the chihuahua from a rescue animal centre that doesn't tell you that hes killed 4 cats and passed the black plague onto all 40 of his previous owners.

Lumpy / Misshapen Attempt

Lumpy is a result of TSoQ fucking around with lizard genes to see what comes out. They're a red lizard with the build of a green lizard and the temperment of a sheepdog. They're also Gamercat's best friend, and the two sleep in the same nests every night for comfort.

Wyrmer / The Firefly

Wyrmer is an odd creature that lives in the spiralling cavern systems with Dweller, acting as their own personal lantern of sorts. It survives off of the nectar of the fruits that grow within the caves. It also likes sneaking in and perching upon quartz' shoulder and getting scritchies lol.

Mandy

Quartz' overseer! It keeps an eye on TSoQ's outer structures, and is often responsible for a few red lizards getting dropped from quartz containments onto a scavenger nest thats proving to be a pain to the Messenger.

Quartz / Ten Shards of Quartz, Midnight's Tides

The iterator herself, Quartz! Theres alot to say abt her, but some more important things are that she had no city on top of her Can, leading to her not really encountering much of the ancients, other than the occasional one or two repairmen and inspectors.

This caused quartz to start enjoying the ambient noise of her body whirring, and disliking the noise that the ancients brang. When they all fizzled out, quartz felt relieved to learn that she would never have to deal with some noisy oafs in her can telling her what to do. They didn't like feeling totally alone, however, so they made Gamercat as a creature to give them comfort.

Cavern Dweller / The Escapist

Around 3 cycles before Sliver Of Straw sent her final message and Died, quartz' communication basically shit itself and died due to an error in her system's functions that ended up corrupting crucial data to her internet. This caused quartz to be totally isolated from all other iterators for a considerable amount of time.

When she was finally able to connect to her surrounding iterators, she was shocked to find out SOS had died. She became rather.. paranoid? And made The Messenger in order to stay in contact with the other iterators without having to worry about her patchy connections. She didn't want to be left behind if they all decided to ascend to wherever sliver of straw went.

Gamercat's friend, and tour guide to the outside. Dweller helps sneak gamer out during cycles to go on secret adventures, and while they're often very short, dweller tries their best to help gamer have a good time.

Dweller keeps various crystals strung around their neck to keep their cloak on, the crystals being a parting gift from their birth colony.

They are cautious of TSoQ, who is unaware of both their presence and their secret outings with Gamercat.

#iterator #rainworld #slugcat #rain world #gamercat tag #slugcats #rainworld oc #slugcat oc #slugcat oc tag #slug cat #iterator tag #rainworld iterator #iterator oc

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woltourney · 10 months

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ROUND 6 / THE FINALS

Chuchu Chura (@spaceace144) v. Huge Beef (@isayoldbean)

Chuchu Chura:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Chuchu Chura (she/they)

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Lalafell

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. PLD, WHM, RDM, DNC, and most importantly, FSH

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Adamantoise

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. This is Chuchu! She's a mute lala who became my reason for living when I started playing during covid. When I made her I want to make the least intimidating tank, so I made the smallest (yes she is min height), pinkest tank I could! She doesn't really have a lot of lore that I've come up with, but she's definitely lawful good, loves adventuring with her wolf pup, capybara, and Nigel her chocobo, and adores fishing.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. :^) *waves* *lalafell dances* *dotes* *giggles*

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. She's just brought me so much joy over the past few years and if someone else can get a little joy from seeing her in this tournament, then that's enough for me. Of course I hope she still does well! I've spent hours in gpose getting pictures of her to be my wallpapers, I've gotten commissions of her, I'm even trying to crochet an amigurumi of her. I just love her so much! Good luck, Chuchu!!!

Huge Beef:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Huge Beef, she/her

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Sea Wolf Roegadyn

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. WAR, MCH, NIN, RDM, AST, FSH (Note from submitter: CUL)

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Crystal Malboro

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. Beef was a fearsome pirate captain who was mortally wounded in an ambush and presumed dead. Hydaelyn intervened to ensure her survival, but the tremendous burst of aether she expended in doing so accidentally wiped Beef's brain completely clean and left her with total amnesia. With nothing but her axe and a talent for busting heads, she decided to set forth and become an adventurer. It turns out that it's a great way to get into fights without getting in trouble with the law, earn fame and money, and get the ladies swooning, so she couldn't be happier with her chosen line of work. In her free time she works on fishing boats, seeks out gourmet recipes, and works her charms on as many beautiful maidens as she can.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. "What kind of question is that? Why WOULDN'T I win? Have you seen me?"

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. hi this is my wol she's a terrible person but she's incredibly sexy so it's fine i guess. also her name is huge beef. because she's huge and beefy. ok thank you for perceiving her

And now I'll ask for the final time...

#💎 shout #💎 round six

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 2 months

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Discovery tests theory on cooling of white dwarf stars

Open any astronomy textbook to the section on white dwarf stars and you’ll likely learn that they are “dead stars” that continuously cool down over time. New research published in Nature is challenging this theory, with the University of Victoria (UVic) and its partners using data from the European Space Agency’s Gaia satellite to reveal why a population of white dwarf stars stopped cooling for more than eight billion years.

“We discovered the classical picture of all white dwarfs being dead stars is incomplete,” says Simon Blouin, co-principal investigator and Canadian Institute of Theoretical Astrophysics National Fellow at UVic. “For these white dwarfs to stop cooling, they must have some way of generating extra energy. We weren’t sure how this was happening, but now we have an explanation for the phenomenon.”

Understanding the age and other aspects of white dwarf stars helps scientists reconstruct the formation of the Milky Way Galaxy. Using 2019 Gaia data, Blouin collaborated with Antoine Bédard of the University of Warwick and Institute for Advanced Study researcher Sihao Cheng to make the discovery.

Over 97 per cent of stars in the Milky Way will eventually become white dwarfs. Scientists have long considered these stars to be at the end of their lives. Having depleted their nuclear energy source, they stop producing heat and cool down until the dense plasma in their interiors freezes into a solid state, and the star solidifies from the inside out. This cooling process can take billions of years.

According to the new paper, in some white dwarfs, the dense plasma in the interior does not simply freeze from the inside out. Instead, the solid crystals that are formed upon freezing are less dense than the liquid, and therefore want to float. As the crystals float upwards, they displace the heavier liquid downward. The transport of heavier material toward the centre of the star releases gravitational energy, and this energy is enough to interrupt the star’s cooling process for billions of years.

“This is the first time this transport mechanism has been observed in any type of star, which is exciting, as it is not every day we uncover a whole new astrophysical phenomenon,” says Bédard, Research Fellow at the University of Warwick.

Why this happens in some stars and not others is uncertain, but Blouin thinks it is likely due to the composition of the star.

“Some white dwarf stars are formed by the merger of two different stars. When these stars collide to form the white dwarf, it changes the composition of the star in a way that can allow the formation of floating crystals,” says Blouin.

White dwarfs are routinely used as age indicators: the cooler a white dwarf is, the older it is assumed to be. However, due to the extra delay in cooling found in some white dwarfs, some stars of a given temperature may be billions of years older than previously thought.

“This new discovery will not only require that astronomy textbooks be revised but will also require that astronomers revisit the process they use to determine the age of stellar populations,” adds Blouin.

The research is supported by the National Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada (NSERC), the Banting Postdoctoral Fellowship program, the European Research Council, and the Canadian Institute for Theoretical Astrophysics (CITA).

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics

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ddagent · 2 years

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I’m still resting, recovering from Covid, so here is an extract from one of my favourite B5 WIPs.

Captain John Sheridan stood, in full dress, as the Chosen One of the Grey Council made her first appearance on Earth. It had been on the Presidential calendar long before Santiago’s assassination, and Clark had been reluctant to cancel. In fact, he’d seemed to welcome the idea. Which was why John, General Hague, and the others in their conspiracy of light had grown concerned. Weeks of intelligence gathering had produced one key truth: Clark intended to assassinate Satai Delenn during her visit to Earth.

And Sheridan Starkiller was going to stop him.

The Minbari delegation entered the room; the Chosen One in hooded white robes, while two other members of the Grey Council entered in grey. Two Minbari Warrior Caste also entered, alongside two Minbari in black robes and a green jewel pinned to their lapel. A young attaché – Lennier, John remembered from the file – lingered close to the Chosen One. She strode to the centre of the room and offered President Clark a traditional Minbari greeting. It was noted by a few of the Generals that the Satai did not remove her hood. They bitched behind John at the statement she was making. It’s tradition, John wanted to snap at them. The Chosen One is a sacred figure, and she is the first one since Dukat. They would die for her.

Which was what Clark was counting on.

The President, barely hiding his revulsion for the ISN news cameras, introduced the assembled Generals to Satai Delenn in turn. John was next. ISN was ready for the kill; to catch the moment Satai Delenn came face to face with Starkiller Sheridan. But it never came. She did not flinch; did not react. Simply bowed her head and moved onto the next face, the next name. The Warrior Caste, however, reacted. His name had been a conspicuously late addition to the guest list and John was absolutely sure he would now be removed from the reception later that night.

Good. That was what they had been counting on.

John watched the security feed outside the Chosen One’s quarters as she, her acolyte Lennier, and the others of the Minbari delegation left for the reception downstairs. The hotel in Geneva was one of the oldest on record, built during the late twentieth century, and still carried many of its traditional features – such as poor security, an old-fashioned elevator, and easy-to-override doors. Clark had allegedly chosen this hotel as Satai Delenn apparently possessed an interest in Earth history. John and the others suspected it was because this place was an easier target to manoeuvre an assassination.

Not on his watch.

As the Minbari delegation disappeared from view, John’s screen glitched – just for a second – and the corridor appeared empty. John slipped out of his own hotel room two floors down and made his way up the flights of stairs to the delegation’s floor. Approaching the Chosen One’s door, John took a deep breath. Hague had argued that someone else could do this; someone else could sneak in and check points of entry, possible assassination methods. But John knew it had to be him. If I’m caught, you can just say I’m a rogue operative. Everyone knows I hate the Minbari.

You don’t, John.

I know. But they don’t know that.

John entered Satai Delenn’s hotel room and quickly closed the door behind him. He whistled low in appreciation: the suite was rich in colour, with velvet couches and trays and bowls of room service littering the tabletops. John’s hand hovered above a fresh orange. Before Hague had brought him back home, he’d been out on the rim with the Agamemnon. Later, John. Stop a second war with the Minbari, and you can eat all the oranges you want. There were a few crystals and data pads lying around, and a book of poetry by Tennyson. Moving into the Chosen One’s bedroom, John raised an eyebrow at the mound of pillows propping up the head of the bed. His eyebrows rose further at the emerald silk nightgown on the bed and a hairbrush.

What the hell?

Suddenly, John’s feet were swept out from underneath him. He hit the floor with a thud; a large metallic tube pressed firmly against his windpipe. A woman loomed over him. “You do not belong here.”

“Well, lady, neither do you.”

John aimed his heels at her calves and watched the petite woman topple. He pushed forward, wrestling the woman to the ground. Her thighs were pinned either side by his own; his hands wrenching the pipe from her grip and pinning her down to the ground. John Sheridan stared at the face of the would-be assassin and found himself greeted by the most alluring woman he had ever seen. Soft green eyes, brown curls slightly damp at the ends. And what looked like a Minbari bonecrest forming a crown around her head.

His momentary distraction at her appearance allowed the woman to gain the upper hand. Using the superior strength one associated with the Minbari, the woman flipped John onto his back. She straddled him; her midnight blue robes pooling over his Earthforce uniform. The ridiculous part of John’s brain helpfully reminded him that he had not been this intimate with a woman since before his divorce with Anna had been finalised. As her hands encircled his wrists and squeezed, that part of his brain, thankfully, shut up.

“You do not belong here. Why are you here?”

John squirmed but could not get free. The woman atop him seemed amused at his predicament. Deciding to come clean and hope she was an undeclared member of the Satai’s security detail, John spoke: “I’m here to protect Satai Delenn.”

“An admirable job you are doing. I am Satai Delenn.”

“Huh?”

Before John could probe further, the silence in the room was cut short by the sound of the door unlocking. Low voices – human voices – echoed in the empty suite. Above him, the woman claiming to be Satai Delenn froze. Her grip loosened around his wrists and John brought himself to a sitting position. Listening, John realised it was Clark’s assassins making their play while Satai Delenn was supposed to be at the reception. If they found her here, they would kill her without a second thought. Offering her his hand, John continued with his plan: keep the Chosen One alive.

“Do you trust me?” he mouthed, hoping she didn’t recognise his face from earlier.

“No,” she said, voiceless, accompanied by a slight shake of her head. Yet, her hand took his. “But you may proceed anyway.”

Gripping Satai Delenn’s hand, John brought them to their feet and ushered her inside a sliding closet just off the main sleeping quarters. He closed the door as softly as he could; a crack of light slipping through and showing how tightly they were pressed together. If only the Minbari Warrior Caste could see us now, he mused. Starkiller Sheridan and Satai Delenn all snuggled up together. But there was little time for musings as the men entered the room. They picked up the hairbrush incredulously (for Satai Delenn’s hair, John realised; is that why you never removed your hood?) before tossing it to one side. They then placed three drops of a vial into the decanter by her bedside.

“Bonehead bitch won’t wake up after that.”

The other man, lingering in the doorway, laughed at that. “We should take out the whole lot of ‘em. Show ‘em who’s boss now.”

Both men left laughing and John realised seconds later that his arms were wrapped protectively, possessively, around Delenn.

#ship: john x delenn #fic teaser

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