#Fuel Pump failure

[sunreisets]

I was so upset about the entire mexico race I didn’t bother posting up about it. sorry.

#wdym checo dnfed #wdym fuel pump failure for logan #wdym yukierre out of points #wdym

[sixpenceee]

In 1958, 2 pilots flew an aircraft for more than 2 months without landing, refueling by matching speed with a truck driving down a road. Their record hasn't been broken

They pooped in a bucket and peed out the door, iirc. Food and water hoisted up in a lunch pail on a rope they lowered from the plane to a truck on the surface. They'd tie off a fuel hose to the rope as well and pump it up to the plane which is what you see here. Rear seats removed and a small foam pad laid down to nap on. Engine modified with a special filler neck that let them add oil in flight, also collected from the truck by rope. I believe the record attempt ended when they were unable to safely climb away after refueling. It wasn't a personnel limitation or an emergency mechanical failure, just a very gradual loss of performance over 1500 hours of continuous operation. Could have kept going until an emergency developed, but, you know, mortality and all.

Source

#record #airplane

[moodymisty]

The words “blood hungry Sanguinius” in your announcement post activated all of my neurons at once. Anyway request time, lemme lay the scene. Sanguinius is in an established relationship, she’s a diplomat or his seneschal, somebody of great importance to him both personally and professionally. The planet they’re currently Crusading™ has put up enough of a fight to be troublesome but peace talks are finally happening, which our dear angel’s beloved is the head of. Except not everybody wants peace. Sanguinius has been waging war on this planet, not everybody is gonna be a fan but people also aren’t stupid enough to just pick a direct fight with the 10ft tall dude who could chuck a spear into space. So they aim smaller, where they know it’ll still hurt. An assassination attempt is made on his beloved. It fails, mind you, but it was too close for comfort. She was hurt and suddenly the great angel isn’t feeling so angelic. He wants cathartic visceral payback and his sons couldn’t agree more. Now that kind of adrenaline-fueled murder rampage will get anybody’s blood pumping so once he gets back he’s headed straight for their room. Obviously he’s relieved that she’s fine, patched up and everything at this point but she still smells like blood and sweat and he just desperately needs to know she’s okay. Needs to hear her voice crying out for him rather than in pain, feel her pulse against his lips. Needs to lick the blood off her. It’s precious after all, he’d hate for it to go to waste (and crucially of course he has to erase the traces of that attack, only he is allowed to draw blood from his beloved, nobody else gets to do that and live)

Do with these brain worms what you will, Misty. Go nuts ❤️

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Thank you for the fucking FOOD, friend. I hope you enjoy it, I tweaked a tiny bit just to make it flow better in my head because it was going to keep getting longer if I didn’t stop send help

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, semi-graphic depictions of violence in the beginning, Blood drinking/licking/vampirey stuff, fingering, If you squinted you could consider this dubious consent because making out after a near death experience probably isn’t the best trauma response but it’s 40k so whatever, Slightly Yandere Sanguinus also to be honest

Sanguinus lets his perfect veneer fade for a moment, as he drifts off into thought. Tactical planning and logistics fade into the background, but Sanguinus can still comprehend it all and join back in a moment without anyone noticing.

She’s asleep right now, oh how I wish I could join her.

After a tense few weeks of failed diplomacy and eventual war, you needed rest; While Sanguinus needs such a thing much more rarely, he still wishes to join you. This whole debacle has been little more than aggravating to him.

While he is used to waging war like this, he knows you took this failed diplomacy as a failure for yourself. You’re still new to this, he knows it’ll fade with time but he wishes he could at least comfort you for a little while.

Though, this whole crusade has been less than what you all expected. Fierce electrical storms have made teleporting or even using Thunderhawks or smaller landers from the Red Tear to planet-side dangerous, so they’ve set up temporary base on solid ground while the war effort continues.

He hates the feeling of it; The nature of it being less secure. He knows you’re surrounded by Astartes, but these walls are old and they don’t know the landscape, or if this old fortress has anywhere to hide. This isn't their home territory, the safety of the cold, metal walls of the Red Tear and it's sister ship-

The door suddenly barges open, and in rush two blood Angels who's armor screeches as they freeze to a halt. It manages to startle Sanguinius somewhat, as his wings shift close to his body.

“Lord Sanguinus! Someone is attacking Our Lady!”

The sentence brings him to high alert even before they finish speaking and he’s already pushing past them to make his way towards you. He barely even notices the title they used for you, one that has only been said a handful of times as they slowly became used to your presence beside him.

Sanguinus is out of his armor at the moment, a rare time for him to stretch his wings and back after being in it for nearly a week straight, and the lessened weight makes his strides even faster as he races to you. His wings are tight to his body to avoid hitting anything or catching drag, and he hears the sound of bolters and ceramite plates crashing into weaker armor. He had them guarding the room at all hours, and as such was able to get alerted to the assassins- he assumes by their dark regalia and deftness- instantly.

“I want at least one alive! I want to know how they got past our perimeter!”

The first intruder he catches sight of has their shoulder blown away by a bolter shell before they could comprehend Sanguinus’ orders, and the second gets grabbed by an Astartes and yells in pain at the audible crack of bone. The third Sanguinus notices behind him and he batters him with the end of his wing, and an Astartes manages to obtain him by grabbing his neck. No matter how skilled they were, they stand absolutely no match to his sons. Even their advantage of surprise offered them nothing in the end.

Sanguinius eventually snags the last one and hands the wretch to his sons, and the lot are carried away.

They might be alive now, but once Sanguinus gets what he wants from them, they’ll wish they weren’t. Especially after he looks towards you.

Your sitting on the floor leaned against the wall, arms tight to yourself. He can see your thin nightdress is stained with blood at the neckline, and your arms also have small bits of blood. Your cheek has a small gash that’s growing a bruise around it, like it’s from a punch or slap.

You have an Astartes combat knife in your hands, blood soaking the blade. He knows you put up a fight despite the odds. It was probably you that alerted his sons.

He can hear them communicating amongst themselves, making sure the room and perimeter are clear. The assassins are removed and will probably get prodded around in by a curious techpriest in the future. He knew that a forward base such as this was a dangerous idea, and this only further cements it. Despite the meteorological issues.

Though his thoughts are on less immediate things, now that he knows you’re safe. His clears his throat slightly but the motion does nothing to distract him.

Something Sanguinius had learned in his younger years was that all blood is different; In taste, smell. Some of it is superior to others in those ways.

As while the room is soaked in blood, he can only smell yours.

“All of you check everywhere for any others. Leave us alone unless I call.”

The Blood Angels present hesitate to move, and their lieutenant speaks why. His helmet rests in his hands.

“Should we not stay to keep you both-“ Sanguinus turns to him and his voice is firm and unwavering.

“Go.”

The captain almost seems surprised, before placing his helmet back on. His men dip their heads for a moment and leave, closing the door and leaving the two of you alone.

The Primarch comes closer, lowering to his knee in front of you.

“You’re not hurt?” His hands grasp your shoulders, and you shake your head.

“No. Not badly enough to complain about at least.” Sanguinus lets out an audible sigh of relief.

He moves to let you stand, offering a hand you take for a moment. You move away to look into a mirror and splash some water on your face, wiping the blood away from it. It does nothing to cut the scent overwhelming the air that only he can parse.

“I’ve sent them to figure out how those men got in, and if there’s more.” You look up at him, before bending down to pick up one of his fallen feathers. He lost a few in the battle, as he does all the time. The Red Tear also has many strewn about in the places he frequents. You hold it in your hand and brush along the quill shaft, smoothing it. It’s a habit you’ve developed.

“Shouldn’t you go with them?” Sanguinus furrows his brow, confused.

“I want to stay with you, so I know you’re safe. And that you feel safe.”

The way you look up at him is worried; What could you possibly be worried about right now besides yourself? You were the one who was almost killed, because he was ignorant enough to bring you here, selfish because of his desire to keep you at his side. He kneels close to you, and tries to hold his breath as his mouth waters.

“What is it, my love?”

You look at him and continue holding his feather, seeing the way his eyes leer at you. You’ve seen it before, and it’s obvious why.

“Sanguinus, you’re hungry.”

How well you already know him, even after such a short period of time.

He gently cups a hand to the side of your face, before leaning inward.

“I’m sorry my love, I can’t help it, you’re like my own personal wine.”

His lips brush across your own, and he can suddenly taste the tiny droplet of blood from where your lip had split. You eagerly return his kiss and the desperation has you gripping him like a lifeline, as if your mind is finally catching up with what’s happened. He eagerly holds you back, his massive hands cupping your waist and swallowing most of it.

Before you know it, he has you in his arms, and he gently drops you onto the bed. It creaks and groans under the weight of him, but you’re little more than a feather to it.

He can see the cut across your collarbone; They must’ve tried to put a knife to your throat, and cut along below it instead. Your heart beat rushes just underneath it.

“Let me help you forget all of this ever happened,”

He whispers, half lost on the smell of your blood. You still feel almost stunned, like everything is a dream, but you’d never refuse him with how safe you always feel in his arms.

Sanguinus’ hands drift up your nightdress until it’s off of you, the stained fabric getting tossed aside.

He leans down to drag his lips along the cut of your collarbone, tongue sweeping away any traces of blood. The droplets that ran down your sternum get wisked away as well, his tongue traveling between your breasts.

He would hate to see it be wasted. The ones who spilled it and attempted to do worse will spill their secrets, and suffer for what they’ve done.

He’ll keep his head turned if they end up bloodless as well. His sons can sate their appetites on them and he’ll mind little.

Meanwhile you writhe underneath him, a hand on your shoulder holding you down while the other presses down close to your hip. Your free hand grasps at him, nails digging into his skin. He hears you saying his name, whispering it like a prayer, but he can barely hear it over the sound of your heart in his ears.

He can stay under control, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t test his willpower.

He loves to call you his wine; Though in some ways it’s almost as if you’re a drug he can never allow himself to have too much of, lest he get lost in it.

His left hand drifts closer and brushes over your hip, his massive palm dwarfing your smaller body. His fingers push between your thighs with ease, and he slips his fingers into your folds and hears the way you whimper at the soft touch. It isn’t long before they press against your entrance and slowly he teases one inside, before slipping in another once he’s readied you enough for it.

He feels the heat of your body as he presses his hand against you, all the while his face never leaves your neck. It’s an awkward angle for him at his overwhelming height, but he makes it work. His teeth ever so gently scrape across the pulsing vein of your neck where old scars from him lie, and he feels the way you shiver.

His fingers curl inside of you as his lips press hard against your neck, tasting every last little bit of blood until your skin is clear apart from the thin sliver of red.

He leans away and presses his lips to yours again, catching your bottom lip between his own. The cut on your lip had just stopped bleeding but his rougher kiss aggregates it enough to make it bleed just a tiny bit more, and you moan into his mouth as he tastes it.

Your hand desperately grasps at his own pressing against your shoulder, trying to grip his fingers and keep you grounded. He loves the way you writhe underneath him, earlier events completely forgotten.

He pulls way from your lips with a soft pop and his hot breath returns to your neck.

He wants to bite it so badly. It’s tormenting him, eating at him. But then he feels when he finally reach your peak, tightening around him and crying out to him in pleasure and not pain. It’s like music to his ears, after hearing your heart race so much in fear barely hours ago. To hear you call his name not to save you but to have him make you feel like this.

He pulls his lips away from your neck as you catch your breath. Another time.

His wings droop slightly, though even folded they take up so much space, shadowing so much more than just your body. They drop even more, and it almost feels like he’s trying to surround you with them and his body.

He gently pulls his hand from your folds but you feel his finger brush against your inner thigh, and the corners of his mouth twitch as you shiver and tense.

“I will never allow your life to ever be threatened again,”

He says, a part inside of him fuming at the fact it happened to begin with. He shouldn’t have been so presumptuous, careless, though deeper down he knows he did everything he could. He’ll do more now. His sons are becoming used to you, accepting of you, they’ll do it with no complaints.

You look up at him with soft, shining skin; Lips swollen. He wishes he could stay for longer, and take advantage of his time without his armor.

“Just don’t worry yourself into dropping feathers,” You joke and smile, voice slightly hoarse. He can still hear your heartbeat racing in his ears, but it’s calming down as you lay underneath him.

Sanguinus laughs and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. He swallows down his only partly sated hunger for another time.

“I’ll try not to.”

#Sanguinus x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[seat-safety-switch]

When you’re used to geometry, it’s hard to be surprised. 2D? Square. 3D? Cube. 4D? Hypercube. That last one really screws with people for some reason. They just can’t conceptualize the concept of a cube that’s got more dimensions than usual. Of course, in the fourth dimension, they would think our cubes are kinda shrimpy and boring, so it’s really all about perspective.

Another thing that’s all about perspective is staying in your lane on the highway. All the automakers have been touting their lane-following features for years. Their idea is that, hey, people get a little sloppy with their steering sometimes. Maybe they’re sleepy, or drunk, or watching Matlock on their phones and pumping their fists whenever Matlock gets an execution kill. So the robot, the ever-present guardian angel burned into the silicon, gives the driver an annoying beep every time they wander out of their lane.

Purists – driving enthusiasts – scoff at this. You shouldn’t be driving a car if you’re not gonna pay attention to it, they explain. I think the reason for this behaviour is that cars are simply too good. In the 1970s, tires sucked so bad that even going down a slightly muddy road with a meagre hundred-and-twenty horsepower would cause heroic Dukes of Hazzard fishtail episodes. In the 1980s, you had to pay ramrod-close attention to your fuel gauge or you’d have to spend the rest of your night waiting in line for the thimble-full of gasoline they could squeeze out of a Nicaraguan hostage. In the 1990s, you had to keep adjusting your enormous shirt so that it didn’t trap your legs and cause you to stop accelerating.

Me, I never get distracted from the driving. That’s because my vehicles are in such shit condition that just keeping them on the road requires all of my attention, and often prayer. You’ve got the front end: steering components that are either completely worn out, or have been crudely substituted with some other car’s turbo-cheap imitation part. You’ve got the back end: a failure-prone differential that hasn’t stopped screaming since the Carter administration, plus a cracked axle or two. And in between them you’ve got torn unibody parts, a driver’s seat held in with paracord, and a headliner that keeps flopping down into my field of vision. Is it night time? There are additional difficulties, because one of my headlights is a Coleman lantern from 1981. Yes, the naphtha ones. Things get really exciting when I have to replace the little sock at highway speeds, let me tell you that much.

So take it from me. Distracted driving sucks, and you should pay attention to the road at all times. Because one of these days, this upper balljoint is going to fail, and I will need your side of the road for a couple minutes. You better be ready for me.

[nekomacheercaptain]

Day 13: Sanji and Kid x chubby fem! reader x Law

Poor Sanji flirted with you only to find out you were the girlfriend of the stupid tulip-headed captain. It got even worse when he went to give you food and stumbled upon a threesome with you, your boyfriend, and the Heart pirates captain. Set post-Onigashima in Wano.

Word count: 1,2K

Pairing: Eustass Kid x fem! reader x Trafalgar Law

Content: voyeurism, threesome (mfm), female reader, chubby reader, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex, masturbation, exhibitionism, praise kink, slight degradation.

“No need to lie, Trafalgar, I’ve seen how you’ve looked at her all this time, you’ve been thinking about her pussy ever since Sabaody, haven’t you?” Kid’s rough voice teased the Captain of the Heart pirates, his hips smacking against your rear with loud, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanji felt a shot of jealousy run through his body. He could treat you so much better than any of those stupid captains could, especially the red-haired one who was treating your body like a piece of meat. Even sharing it with somebody else instead of treasuring and worshipping it alone like you deserved. Sharing you with the stuck up doctor nonetheless. It was like the universe was making fun of him.

“Shut up, Eustass-ya,” Law barked back, hissing at your throat constricting around him, seeing how your eyes glazed because of his cock in your mouth, your lashes clumping together with tears. You looked so pretty being stuffed from both ends, and Sanji could swear he could beat those captains easily with all the rage fueling him as he was left to watch from the opening of the door, the three of you unaware of the cook. The food in his hands nothing but a mere reminder of how much of a failure his attempt at courting you had been . 

“However, I can’t say - ngh - I haven’t missed her throat or cunt,” Law confessed between groans, “hers is just special,” and Sanji felt his cock twitch when he heard your muffled moan around the doctor’s dick. You liked being talked about like that?

“Mhm, can’t fuck anything else after trying her pussy,” Kid hummed in agreement, a cocky grin plastered on his face, “you hear that, baby? You got him pussydrunk once and he can’t ever forget it,” his snarky comment was followed by a scoff uttered by Law, before a particularly hard thrust pressed your nose against his pelvis, taking all of him in your mouth, causing you to gag around his girth. Sanji was so mad for not being the one who got to grasp his hands in your hair and moan your name. For not being the one to feel his cock hit the back of your throat, with your beautiful lips stretched around him.

Sanji placed the food carefully on the ground to not make noise, his eyes never leaving your frame, seeing your plump, juicy ass bouncing off of the stupid tulip-head’s hips as he thrust his cock into you so wildly one would think he was a savage, his hand bruising the skin beneath his hold on your hip, while the stupid emo-doctor basically ripped off your hair while he was lucky enough that you would gag and choke on his cock. He didn’t know how lucky he was. It should have been him. Sanji would never hurt you. He would never make you cry. Other than in pleasure that is. So he imagined it was him being privileged enough in life to have his cock in your mouth.

His hand palmed himself through his pants at the fantasy as he fervently kept watch on you, your sweet, desperate sounds keening him on, even if they were made by and for other men. It didn’t take long before he held his cock in his hands, softly pumping himself while watching you get fucked by the two men, shocked when your boyfriend’s hand suddenly slapped your right asscheek with his hand, a visible handprint on your skin and a loud and surprised moan emitted, although muffled, from you.

‘Fucking bastard, he’s being too careless,’ Sanji thought to himself, but his cock got harder at the scene, and he refused to admit to liking how rough your treatment was. He spat in his hand to make pleasuring himself easier, seeing how your breasts moved with each thrust, along with how the delicious fat on your body jiggled, noticing all the beautiful stretch marks decorating your skin; an abundance running down your hips. Oh what he wouldn’t give to sink his hands down in your soft flesh and kiss all those marks, a living proof of life and growth covering your body. 

Sanji cursed at the two men allowed to be embraced by your heat, wether it be by your paradise of a cunt or heaven of a mouth, his hand picking up the pace as he saw the tulip-head do the same, his thrusts even rougher than before; and Sanji couldn’t help but grow weak in the knees at the small whimpers and cries he could hear from you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me too tight,” Kid exhaled through grunts. 

Law scoffed, placing a hand to stroke your cheek, meeting your teary gaze, “gonna cum already, Eustass-ya?” his voice was cocky and challenging, even though his breath was heavy, clearly affected by you just as much as his rival was. 

Sanji narrowed his eyes at the two men. Who could ever last long being allowed to use such a goddess for their own pleasure? They were both fools; ignorant, stupid, selfish fools exploiting such a beauty. Oh how he would give himself completely to you, not being pleased until you had experienced all the orgasms you wanted- no, all the orgasms you deserved. Just so he could hear you moan for him. He would gladly let his face be your destined throne for life; a lady deserves a good place to rest after all. 

But the stupid doctor did one thing that would leave Sanji in eternal debt to him; he pulled his cock out of your mouth with a loud pop, a long string of saliva falling from your lips as you gasped and heaved for air. Suddenly nosebleed fell down to Sanji’s hand pumping himself wildly, but he didn’t care, he could finally listen to your absolutely delicious moans and cute gasps, exactly what he needed to feel his release take a shortcut, suddenly being on the verge of orgasm due to your beautiful, natural sounds of pleasure.

He saw how your delicate hand wrapped around the drool covered cock in front of you, his selective hearing blocking out the sounds that belonged to the stupid captains as they grunted and groaned your name. He forced his focus on your mesmerizing body and its softness, your cute face scrunched up in pleasure with your mouth hanging open in the most serene way he had ever seen, shaping a perfect ‘o’. And god your moans, those beautiful moans that assured him you enjoyed yourself, despite the roughness the giant behind you made you endure.

“Oh fuck, Kid! Law!” Sanji’s heart skipped a beat at your sudden exclamation, your voice crying out their names, and he closed his eyes as he felt that glorious wave of release pool over him, not able to find himself to care where his seed landed. He bit his lip to not give his presence away, hearing your moans through his orgasm, making it feel like you were right there in his ear.

“Y/n, you’re so perfect,” his fantasy couldn’t help but make him whimper out a praise for you as he felt his knees buckle and the glory of orgasm wash away, coming down from his high. 

Oh why couldn’t the only mess he had to clean up be the mix of your juices and his cum between your thighs?

This glorious idea hit me like lightning as I was falling asleep, jolting me awake to write it immediately before I forgot about it. Thank you for reading, and hope you enjoyed it!

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji #one piece x reader #one piece #sinful #kinktober 2022 #my work #trafalgar law #eustass kid #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x reader x trafalgar law #eustass kid x reader x law #sanji smut #eustass kid smut #law smut #trafalgar law smut #x reader

[female-malice]

In the early morning hours of April 22, 2021 – Earth Day – nine women aged between 20 and 68 turned up at the Canary Wharf branch of HSBC carrying hammers and chisels. Wearing patches that read “better broken windows than broken promises”, they proceeded to smash the building’s windows, before sitting down on the pavement to await arrest. The Met were called at 7:10am, and before long all nine women were arrested on suspicion of causing criminal damage.

The nine were Jessica Agar, Blyth Brentnall, Valerie Brown, Gully Bujak, Miriam Instone, Tracey Mallaghan, Susan Reid, Samantha Smithson and Clare Farrell, co-founder of Extinction Rebellion (XR). As members of XR, they were taking action against HSBC pumping £80 billion into fossil fuels investments in the five years following the Paris Climate Agreement, going directly against the pledge to keep global temperature rise below 1.5 degrees.

Their trial started in October, with all nine pleading not guilty. Amazingly, Farrell let go of her lawyer, deciding to self-represent, writing and delivering the closing remarks in court herself. “It’s painful for me to be part of a society so immoral, so off track,  it is set to destroy the next generation, and billions of lives are likely to be lost on the current course, and my heart asks me to do the work which has the best chance of affecting a change of course,” she said to jurors. “Never before has there been such grave responsibility on a generation of people to succeed in such dire circumstances. It’s beyond serious – we have all the information and there is no room for failure, every day counts.”

On November 16, over two years since the HSBC protest, jurors found all nine women not guilty. Below, we speak to Farrell about the outcome of the trial, taking inspiration from the suffragettes, and the importance of faith within the climate justice movement.

During the trial, you decided to ultimately let go of lawyers and self-represent. How did you come to that decision?

Clare Farrell: Well, I kept a lawyer at the beginning and I delivered my defence with a lawyer asking me questions. But I sacked him – and I’ve sacked him before, so he doesn’t mind, it’s fine! – just before we went into the summing up, which is the closing part of the trial. I did that because I wanted to be able to address the jury again myself, and if you’re represented by a lawyer or a barrister, they have to do the summing up for you. As activists we do this work to speak truth, and I think some people find it quite difficult to be represented – they feel that they should be taking responsibility themselves, and they also feel they have a lot to say.

I saw that during the action against HSBC you wore patches which read ‘better broken windows than broken promises’, which is a phrase coined by the suffragettes. Do you think Extinction Rebellion and the suffragettes have much in common?

Clare Farrell: Yeah – well, I hope so! We were very inspired by the movements of the past when we set up XR, and the suffrage movement is obviously a relatively recent story of radical political success in this country’s history. Also, the Chartists broke windows before them, so I saw it as part of a tradition or lineage in British political life and history.

What’s also interesting for me is how present the suffrage movement felt in our trial because we had the colour scheme – the white, purple and green – and those patches. Those things were raised in the courtroom because they were there on the day, they were part of the action. So I felt greatly supported by the suffragettes in a strange kind of way while I was on trial.

You said in your speech that the prosecution didn’t dispute that the climate crisis is making the world “totally uninhabitable for hundreds of millions of people”. Was this a bit jarring for you, given that you were essentially on trial for trying to address the climate crisis issue?

Clare Farrell: I think this is what’s really difficult about the way that these trials are happening in the court system at the moment. Because the judge said very clearly, this is not a case about the climate crisis; they said this is going to be a case about the defences that are available through the Criminal Damage Act. Did they do the damage? If yes, have they got an excuse? If they can convince you they had a lawful excuse under this little thing called ‘belief in consent’, you can let them off. If they can’t, then they’re guilty.

You’re trying to speak to a bigger picture, which is being somewhat described as irrelevant by the court system, but obviously, it is the entire point of what we’re talking about. So there’s a real paradox at play. We were very lucky, because the judge let us make arguments based on two other defences, which included ‘necessity’, which is when an action is to prevent death and serious injury, and ‘protection of property’, the idea being I was damaging some property to protect some other property. And then there was ‘belief in consent’. So when we gave our evidence, we had to speak to all of those three defences. Then at the end, he took two of them off the table, but a lot of people don’t get given that room to talk.

There’s another trial coming up in February, for other people who broke windows. They have a different judge, and it’s actually a judge who has put people in prison before for talking about climate change to a jury. So if he deems it irrelevant, those people could have a completely different experience, even though they’ve basically done the same thing, but on a different day at a different bank.

It shows us that when the jury has a chance to hear what you have to say, they understand the seriousness and the efficacy of this kind of action when you’re in an emergency. If they’re not allowed to hear any of that, then it’s very easy for a judge to say, ‘well, look, that’s them on the video, they broke the window, it wasn’t legal, you just have to find them guilty’. And then that’s that. So it really depends on the day that you get arrested, the day that your court gets listed, which judge it is, which police officers are there, which prosecution barristers you’ve got, which jurors you’ve got… the whole system is very unpredictable.

How did you feel when you heard that you were found not guilty?

Clare Farrell: I just cried. I was grabbing hold of the desk, gripping the table. And I cried. I’ve never been through anything like it in my life. The whole process of the trial was just so hard on [my] soul and body and everything. It’s physically hard, it’s emotionally hard, and it’s kind of made worse by the fact that it’s so fucking boring, because most of the time nothing is happening.

Also, you can’t tell from looking at a jury what they’re going to do. You spend weeks looking at these people from across the room and thinking, ‘I really hope you like me’! On the day when the verdict came, it was remarkable that they were only out for two hours. That’s not very long, because they had to decide on nine defendants so they’d have had to discuss each person individually, at least a little bit. So they must have really been pretty sure about what they wanted to do. The person who read out names and said ‘not guilty’ seemed very pleased to say it, to put it like that! And there was one juror who was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded and grinning, because he was obviously really happy to let us off.

What would you say to critics of Extinction Rebellion, who are maybe more sceptical and don’t believe that radical action can result in progress? Or maybe don’t believe that there’s a climate issue at all?

Clare Farrell: I would hope that our trial has shown where ordinary people’s heads are at. It proves that the reality we live in – in terms of what’s being done at a corporate level, and what’s being done at a government level, and the rhetoric of Rishi Sunak – I hope that this is just proof that all of that is completely out of step with the general public. The general public don’t want their kids to die. They don’t want to live in a world that collapses. More and more people realise that that is precisely what is gonna happen. And they don’t want it!

I think there’s something to be said for these kinds of actions which can be an awakening for people. People are always complaining about tactics, saying people don’t like being disrupted or they don’t like what you’re doing because it’s annoying – but if you can see that someone’s in mortal danger, it’s very normal to want to tell them. I think it’s also proof that when people spend the time having an in-depth conversation about what’s taking place, there’s no question in people’s minds about what is the right thing to do. I hope so, anyway.

I hope so too. Those are actually all the questions that I had, but is there anything else that you’d like to add?

Clare Farrell: One thing which is on my mind a lot at the moment has to do with faith. I’m not a religious person, but my reflections since the trial have been quite a lot about how faith exists for me and also how it seems to be very lacking in our wider society in Britain. We live in a materialist, cynical context, which is enormously problematic because I’ve spoken to a lot of people over the last six years who’ve said to me, ‘it’s nice for you to try, but realistically, you’re never going to win – it’s too big, it’s too difficult, the power is too entrenched’. I feel like one of the key requirements for us is to find a sense of faith and in that understanding ourselves to be part of a greater whole, and not just discreet little beings that are separate from one another.

I feel really extremely lucky to have had an experience like this where we were able to win a trial and go home and think, ‘oh, right, what do I do now?’, because I thought I was gonna be in prison for Christmas. What do we do with our freedom?

The HSBC 9 are crowdfunding to cover their remaining legal costs and raise money for other activist groups’ legal costs. You can donate here. You can also read an open letter written in support of the HSBC 9 here.

#cc

[frooopsen]

Sevika working out

Some spilled thoughts.

Thinking about Sevika doing a workout with mostly static exercises….and one hell of a murderous look on her face.

She‘s angry.

So angry where she can‘t bring herself to even speak or punch a punching bag. 🥊

Minute long Dead hangs - thinking about causing death to whoever crossed her.

After she‘s done and her hands are sore, she decides that she‘ll go till failure on all exercises. It’s helping, she thinks to herself as she puts down the mat for the next exercise

Planking… GLARING through it.

Sweat beading at her temple, teeth gritted, shallow breaths escaping because her body is approaching the point of shaking.

She‘s been doing this plank for seven minutes. In her periphery she notices someone watching her and ego and anger are a bad combination. She‘ll show those fuckers.

10 minutes isn‘t enough, she wants that burning feeling to permeate her blood vessels before she falls to the ground.

The sweat is now dripping down her chin. It tickles like a bitch and it fuels her anger more.

When the plank is done, she rests for five, drinking some water, not giving a shit about whether the water drips onto the ground a bit. She takes her sweater off, only tanktop and sweatpants left.

No one at the gym would dare call her out for it. She always cleans up after herself and everyone knows it.

Next. Wall sit. She hates it.

She has two options….go for time…or for weight.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her arms have a good pump…her legs are hidden under the grey sweats….she remembers a girl once sputtering after Sevika caught her staring at them…her legs could use the pump as well.

She decides to add some plates to keep on her lap while she sits through it.

She strains while more or less carefully planting them onto her thighs. She knows her shoes will hold her in place, she knows this won‘t be any less brutal because of it.

At first the wall is cool against her back and she likes it.

Halfway through her ten minute goal she starts cursing in her head.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

So she takes her hands from where they are dangling at her sides and sets them on the plates.

She decides to watch her hands for a while, the veins bulging slightly because of the increased circulation.

She feels the way her knee stings and ignores it. It will be fine.

It snaps her out of whatever trance she was in and she grunts, because suddenly those plates feel like they weigh double.

She checks the time. One more minute.

She huffs and puffs on the last few seconds before pushing the plates off and sliding down the wall.

It‘s painful when her shirt rides up a bit and her skin scrapes along the wall. She will check on that later.

Hollow Body Hold is what she wants to finish with.

Those ten minutes feel more like hell than any of the other exercises. Most of the anger has been successfully channeled, but it‘s lacking now.

She tries to get angry, tries to pick it back up, but she‘s burnt through it for now….she knows she has a lifetime‘s worth of anger stored inside her but she can‘t fucking access it.

It would help if that realization made her angry….but it just disgusts her.

So instead, she focuses on the fact that she has nothing to do after she‘s done at the gym.

She focuses on the fact that she‘s working her abs right now, that she‘s building and honing the muscles that most of the girls love tracing…and she loves the feeling of that.

She thinks…maybe after the gym she should make her way to the brothel…make this day worth something.

Fuck she wants to let loose.

Needs it.

She hasn‘t been in two weeks.

She closes her eyes as her legs shake a bit, and her arms do as well…just a bit longer.

She goes through her regular girls…figuring out what she wants tonight.

No bratting. She needs someone who knows how to take an order…a pretty thing that will be thorough and determined to please.

She knows who she wants.

She‘ll find her - if anyone is with her she‘ll pay double to take her away.

When her muscles cramp and her limbs drop, she grunts before trying to relax and stretch the muscles that won‘t uncramp after a quick stretch.

Fuck. She‘ll need some electrolytes.

She decides to eat before heading to the brothel. She‘ll need the energy. The soreness will set in soon enough after demaning so much and then fucking someone into a mattress.

But that will be tomorrow.

Now? Now she‘s got a place to be.

Warm, welcoming lights with the softness of someone‘s body…

#sevika #arcane sevika #sevika arcane #sevika exercising #gay gay muscles #spilled thoughts #gay thoughts

[gpuzzle]

unfinished farming game rant

getting progressively more and more annoyed at my failure to find a farming game with the autistic attention to detail of something like Factorio and its modding scene

farming seems to fall under one of two paths: the first one is the rural version of racing's rFactor 2 or, being kind to it, Gran Turismo; a gorgeous to look at virtual world that prides itself on realism, and at its best it will have the design and immerse you in that virtual world completely; simulation at its finest

unfortunately, it tends to be just a bunch of brands that make it selling point (real supercars you can't buy! tractors from every licensed brand under the sun!) to an audience devoted to jacking off to leather seats

the other path is the one which is Harvest Moon Again; it's functionally adapting the mechanics from Tokimeki Memorial and every game that followed in its wake into a small, consistent, repeatable series of actions that don't require a ton of complexity; the game is one part small, routine minigames, one part visual novel

both of these are fine experiences - Stardew Valley is lovely and I 100% believe the soothing effect of a Farming Simulator, but still not quite what I look for, and the autism of the Factorio modding scene has yet to divert towards biology

and while Strange Loop Games' Eco has the sufficient level of autism as far as ecosystem management, but it's also a life simulator; due to the game not having any PvP and the inability of a player to specialize in everything, it turns into the kind of game that veers into the same problems of MMORPGs; I'm sure I'd love this game as an option, but I feel it presents kind of danger for me as EVE does

the fundamental gist of the game that I want here is pretty much some degree of supply chain management (the gist of games like the already aforementioned Factorio) with thematics and mechanics centered around farming and the required infrastructure; whether that's wells, pumps and waterworks, the housing for processing whatever you harvest, or just the area of harvesting itself, we can have something in that vein

I mean what's the capstone cycle of early game Factorio, when the game slams headfirst into a difficulty spike wall? acquire copper, iron and coal through electric mining; the coal is then split into two paths, which are feeding the giant boilers that fuel everything and being used as the fuel for the first level processing of copper ore and iron ore; which then are processed in a number of ways and eventually turn into the two main research beakers (automation and logistics) to progress on the tech tree, and keeping a surplus for whatever other things you need (mostly the tower defense aspect)

this sort of gameplay loop can 100% be brought to a farm system; accounting for hydration, for light, for fertilization, the harvesting itself could be automated, etc

with these games, expansion is largely done via tech tree, but we could borrow a leaf from a completely different game - Prison Architect - which structures its short term missions as grants and uses that to fuel its own tech tree and limit to expansion - to push it in that direction

IDK, just spitballing here (for now!)

#farming game autism

[usafphantom2]

Major Tom Pugh(Pilot) and Major Ronnie Rice(RSO) were airborne in SR-71 #978 on May 15, 1972, whenever everything you can think of that could possibly go wrong went wrong.

They are flying a routine giant-scale mission when Tom becomes concerned about a strange hum in the interphone system. The system seems to go back to normal. The flight continues. Tom maintains a Mach 3.8 at 79,500 feet when a generator fails. This failure was a mandatory abort; just over one minute later, the other generator failed, and then they were in real trouble. Emergency AC/DC power did not come online; the fuel pumps stopped pumping the JP7 fuel to the engines without electrical power and lacked pump pressure to pump the fuel. Both engines stopped, causing them to flame out.

To add to the crew's grief, the inlet spikes went full forward, and the 978 Began pitching and rolling; they knew that the aircraft was approaching the limits of the supersonic flight envelope.

Tom instructed Ron to get ready to bail, but the intercom system failed.

Tom held the stick gently while struggling to control the jet without causing further pilot-induced oscillations. While also trying to reach the all-import standby electrical switch located on his right-hand panel. To reach that critical switch, he had to move his left hand off the throttles and onto the control stick to free his right hand so he could restore some of the electrical power to the airplane. Tom miraculously pulled the switch to retain power. Mission accomplished! Having descended to 41,000 feet slow to Mach one, he managed to get the generator back online, and both engines relit. 🔥🔥

Tom crossed Laos to recover at Odorn RTAFB without further problems. Post-flight analysis showed that Tom and Ron overflown Hanoi at 41,000 feet! They had been fortunate, considering the number of SAMS that circled the city. It appeared that the Vietnamese radio operators and their Soviet advisors had been asleep at the switch during the 978 mid-altitude pass over one of the best-defended cities in the world,

Tom and Ron were each awarded air medals for successfully landing their disabled aircraft.SR-71 #978 “The bunny” had pulled off a lucky escape from what appeared to be an easy shootdown situation. The SR 71 with the bunny, her luck wouldn’t last for long as her days were numbered 😞 She was lost on Thursday, July 20, 1972, while attempting to land at Kadena AFB during extreme crosswinds.

Linda Sheffield Miller

Source, Lockheed Blackbird: Beyond the Secret missions, The missing chapters by Paul Crickmore

Picture #three is Ronnie Rice with his wife, Kathy, talking to my Dad, Butch Sheffield. The next photo is Tom Pugh when he was wing commander at Beale Air Force Base. .

@Habubrats71 via X

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 215 Trivia

I expected a rocket this chapter, but I didn't expect this many of them…

This is a Newtonian telescope based on the secondary mirror and spider supports. Here, these supports are entirely pointless since it seems to be embedded into glass anyways. The glass could mean it's a Schmidt-Newtonian telescope instead, but the design is still redundant.

The design here is a very generic "spy satellite", similar to how the Hubble Space Telescope looks. I don't think it matches any specific satellite.

If you want to know more about orbits, I highly recommend reading the Dr. Stone Reboot: Byakuya if you haven't already!

The first photovoltaic cells were layered brass/gold/selenium, created by Charles Fritts in 1885. Senku upgraded his with a layer of glass coated in magnesium fluoride, which prevents the sunlight "escaping", thus converting more of it to electricity. They're about 1% efficient.

The black cat post here is a reference to Yamato Transport, one of Japan's largest door-to-door delivery services. Their logo is a black cat holding a kitten, symbolizing that they take care of your items as if it were family.

The time between the first "level 1" rocket and the completed "level 99" rocket was 3 years according to Senku, meaning the first rocket test in this chapter was around April 5753.

For some reason this sound effect is in English. I guess it really needed that "M" sound at the end?

Sai mentions missing a hyphen in a line, however machine code tends to not use hyphens at all. That said, if we remember the trivia from chapter 204 then we know that the Mariner 1 was destroyed because of a missing hyphen, and the Mars Climate Orbiter was destroyed on landing because of a failure to convert units.

For the Mariner 1 specifically, the issue was a missing hyphen in the guidance program (redundant system). NASA called it the "devil's hyphen" and used it as a warning to focus on software.

The calendar here is more helpful than you'd think: the arrangement of visible dates here is somewhat rare, happening only once every 28 years. The last confirmed year we had is 5750, making this…

…March, 5760.

The chapter isn't even over yet…

(Yes this means Senku is around 30 years old when they launch the second rocket, since he turned 20 in 5750.)*

The Senku 3 rocket is similar to the one he made as a teenager, but looks a lot less refined thanks to stone world craftsmanship. After two failures, their name writing seems to have gotten lazier…

Most of the rocket problems are self explanatory, but the bubble one is a little less logical: it forms in the fuel tank, and when it pops, it creates a pressure wave that can erode metal from the fuel pump. Obviously having tiny pieces of metal in your fuel is a bad thing…

I don't know how this crowd isn't scared of how close they are to all these explosions and out-of-control rockets!?

This doesn't look right…

…Do Xeno and Senku not notice that Chrome and Suika seem to be watching them from the roof…? I guess there's no better way of learning if you're trying to be sneaky about it!

(*This ended up being unintentional on Inagaki's part, and he brought up a correction here.)

#trivia #dr stone #chapters #215

[avissapiens]

Jockbull Summer Week 2 (19/11/23-25/11/23)

Model used is Tsonghan Wu

1

Went hard with the push ups this week. It gives me such a euphoric rush. I’ve built my chest in the gym normally so by the time I've got a pump from doing a single set of push ups I've got my own set of stress toys to flex and play with. The highest score for this week was 36 with no backtracking. One notable Session involved Scandinavian_King(of Set C fame) pushing me harder and harder to keep doing sets past my first one. Each time to failure. I get so easily riled up with shit like that. Guys taking advantage of the muscle lust to push me harder. I think that night I got a total of 90 in a 5 min span.

2

Muscle related competition was a bit sparse this week. K was out sick so no push up rival. I did end up trying to beat my great friend Teal’s record of 50. That did not work. But I'll get there. Need to get there. Need to fucking win.

3.

This is a fortnightly task but I have noticed an issue. It is related to the problem of me defaulting to these shitty pieces of clothing just cause they are there. I wear them, they make me feel like a dysmorphic trash bag and then because I wear them they are dirty and get put in the wash basket. Which interrupts me being able to instantly put them in the Task box. Luckily I've got some Rawgear stuff coming to pad out the wardrobe before I get to those pieces.

4.

This was the first time I actually got to practice the accent with Jockrs. Truth be told, I'm fucking great at that kinda stuff. I’ve always had a natural ability for voice modification and accent work. So i put it at like a 5/10 on the intensity scale for the whole time we were on the call. Jockrs didn’t fare as well. Obviously it’s a little harder to go from Aussie to Cali than my more neutral “trans-atlantic” mess. One thing i'd like to overcome in this whole process is the Irony poisoning. I spent so much of my life as a Snarky sarcastic dweeb. So much of my life being “Ironic” and joking about without taking things to the genuine core of me. So even this task it’s difficult to get started because in the first couple minutes you’ve got that awkward Irony block for doing something that feels affected. It was such a fun experience tho. After a while the voice just flows through you and it is such a flowey, breathy voice. So fluid and easy.

5.

Rather than describe every BtG episode I'm going to focus on different things that I love and how this show absolutely scratches some old fantasies from my days as a dumb teenager in the musclegrowth kink community. Episode 3 where Baki is placed in a normal high school athletics test, and because of his sheer strength and inhuman physique is completely out of bounds and therefore almost flunks. Absolute Muscle RP fuel. Add to that all the gore and viscera in the other scenes. It’s very itch scratchy and possibly kink forming if you’ve got the abyss already bubbling away.

6.

I am a glutton for punishment and I made an extra task for myself in each of the sets. I did this by drawing tarot cards. Letting the universe speak to me to guide my journey. For this set I drew a Wheel of fortune which talks about fortunate initiative, spontaneity, random success, equality of souls.

And i translated that to "Take more chances with guys in the gym" I hopped on this one quick too. 

I had to kinda work myself up for it but this really chill seeming asian dude with nice curly hair who has legit been at the gym the same time as me for i'd wager 80% of my workouts.

He was just resting and I asked his name and stuff complimented him and asked his goals.

His name is Adrian, he used to do a lot of sport and was focused on strength gains back in high school, but now he's in uni and is more focused on just looking good.

He goes to my school but does law and commerce so unlikely we'll ever share a class or even be there at the same time.

He asked some of my stuff yada yada.

And he kept saying super low under his voice like "you're so huge dude. So huge"

And then when he was leaving he came and said goodbye. It seems small, I know but it’s a big achievement for me every time I make a gymbro. It’s hard making friends in this country.

#jockbull summer

[workersolidarity]

🇵🇸🇪🇬🇮🇱 RAFAH BORDER CROSSING BETWEEN EGYPT AND GAZA OPENS TO 20 TRUCKS WITH AID TO GAZA

The Rafah border crossing between the Gaza Strip and the Egyptian Sinai opened Saturday to 20 trucks carrying humanitarian aid to Palestinians suffering under Israeli siege for two weeks now after a Palestinian Resistance attack operation against illegal Israeli settlements near the Gaza Strip on October 7th kicked off the latest round of Israeli bombing in the Palestinian enclave.

According to reports, the Rafah border crossing between Egypt and Gaza has opened to allow a small amount of Humanitarian Aid to be delivered to Palestinian civilians displaced by the Israeli bombing campaign in Gaza.

According to Hamas authorities, a convoy including 20 aid trucks carrying medicines, medical supplies and food were allowed to pass through the Rafah crossing on Saturday.

According to recent reports, some 200 trucks carrying approximately 3'000 tonnes of aid have been halted at the Rafah border crossing for days now, waiting for an opportunity to pass through the crossing to deliver aid to civilians suffering under indiscriminate Israeli bombing of civilian infrastructure and residential buildings in the Gaza Strip.

"The relief aid convoy that is supposed to enter today includes 20 trucks that carry medicine, medical supplies, and a limited amount of food supplies [canned goods],” a Hamas spokesperson told reporters.

The United Nation's Emergency Relief Coordinator, Martin Griffiths, told reporters the aid convoy was a welcome sight following “days of deep and intense negotiations with all relevant sides to make sure that aid operation into Gaza resumes as quickly as possible and with the right conditions”.

“I am confident that this delivery will be the start of a sustainable effort to provide essential supplies – including food, water, medicine and fuel – to the people of Gaza, in a safe, dependable, unconditional and unimpeded manner,” he added.

Israel, for its part, has refused to allow fuel to be included in the limited Humanitarian Aid being allowed into Gaza.

The lack of fuel is of major concern for aid workers and the Palestinian population as it is desperately needed for providing essential services such as water pumping and to power generators inside hospitals in Gaza. The failure of which could result in countless unnecessary deaths as medical workers are unable to perform power intensive procedures such as certain surgeries or a cesarian section.

Many residents of Gaza traditionally fill up tanks for water access, lacking indoor plumbing, and so without fuel, they are unable to pump water for consumption and sanitary needs. Experts also told reporters that babies dependent on incubators are at immediate serious risk of death.

“Fuel is absolutely critical,” Juliette Touma, communications director at UNRWA, told Al Jazeera. “Fuel needs to come in. If we are expected, and we would like to, continue to deliver assistance to people, we will need fuel.”

Currently, a multitude of hospitals in Gaza are not operational, having run out of fuel and shut down major health departments.

James Bays, a reporter with Al Jazeera News said that although the opening of the Rafah border crossing to allow 20 aid trucks into Gaza was "significant", the hope is that it will eventually lead to more aid being allowed into the Palestinian enclave.

“I have to say 20 trucks, given that Gaza used to get – in terms of aid coming into Gaza before this conflict started – about 100 trucks of aid a day … so this really is a drop in the ocean,” he said.

Cindy McCain, the executive director of the World Food Programme, told Al Jazeera News in an interview that 20 aid trucks being allowed into Gaza is nowhere near enough.

“The situation inside Gaza is dire. Not only is there no food, there is no water, electricity, or fuel. And that combination is not only catastrophic but can lead to more starvation and disease as well,” she said. “We’ve got to get more trucks in.”As the situation in Gaza deteriorates under illegal Israeli blockade and siege, Palestinian civilians are forced to ration food and, in many cases, are being forced to drink dirty water from old wells. Meanwhile, hospitals are running out of medicine, food and fuel even as thousands of Palestinians shelter in hospitals as they become displaced or wounded in the bombing.

According to a statement issued by Hamas' media operations, it is expected that truckloads of aid “will not change the catastrophic medical conditions in Gaza”.

According to a Gaza Ministry of Health report issued on Friday, some 3'785 Palestinians have been killed in Israeli attacks, including 1'524 children, 1'000 women and 120 elderly citizens. Another 12'493 Palestinians have been wounded, including 3'983 children and 3'300 women.

Meanwhile, the targeting of hospitals, ambulances and clinics have led to killing of 44 medical professionals and another 70 have been injured in the assault.

#source1

#source2

#source3

@WorkerSolidarityNews

#palestine #palestine news #palestine solidarity #free palestine #gaza news #gazaunderattack #free gaza #gaza strip #gaza #save gaza #Israel #israel news #israeli occupation #israeli occupation forces #israeli apartheid #israeli war crimes #israel #war #news #war news #international news #world news #global news #middle east #humanitarian aid #politics #geopolitics #WorkerSolidarityNews

[eretzyisrael]

by David Israel

The Wall Street Journal’s editorial board on Thursday night published a scathing attack on President Biden’s Israel police, especially the way he’s been mistreating PM Benjamin Netanyahu’s government.

To remind you, last Tuesday, NY Times pundit Tom Friedman wrote (White House Urging Israelis to Play Nice, Tom Friedman Says US to Reassess Relationship with Israel): “US diplomats … find it hard to believe that Bibi would allow himself to be led around by the nose by people like Ben-Gvir, would be ready to risk Israel’s relations with America and with global investors, and WOULD BE READY TO RISK A CIVIL WAR IN ISRAEL (sic.) just to stay in power with a group of ciphers and ultranationalists.”

In its response to that and similar brazen attacks fueled by the administration, the WSJ editorial board (What Does Biden Have Against Israel? – The President treats the governing coalition in Jerusalem worse than he does Iran) asked: “Why does President Biden go out of his way to snub, criticize and give marching orders to the government of Israel? At least rhetorically, the President and his Administration treat Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his governing coalition worse than they do the ruling mullahs in Iran.”

The WSJ is critical of Biden’s repeated declaration that he will not invite the Israeli PM to the White House, while US Ambassador to Jerusalem Tom Nides has been warning that Israel is “going off the rails,” and both men know that their statements provide shameless support to Netanyahu’s enemies.

“When Mr. Netanyahu was most vulnerable, in late March, Mr. Biden needlessly decreed that Israel ‘cannot continue down this road’ on judicial reform,” the WSJ editorial continued, noting that “the Prime Minister had already changed course and agreed to moderate the reforms—a domestic Israeli affair in which the US President has no business. Mr. Nides publicly instructed Mr. Netanyahu, as if with his chauffeur, to ‘pump the brakes.’”

“This is no way to treat a democratic ally,” argues the editorial, and suggested “the President’s Israel policy has been counterproductive. US aid to anti-Israel international bodies has resumed, and all of the West Bank and East Jerusalem is treated as ‘occupied territory.’ This is now a liberal article of faith, but how does it advance peace to indulge Palestinians in the belief that Jews are interlopers in Judea and at the Western Wall?”

The WSJ says Biden is undermining Israel’s democratically elected government while “Hamas and other Iranian proxies are gaining power in the West Bank, activating another front against Israel.”

The paper warns: “The new wave of terrorism against Jewish civilians will set back the Palestinian cause but advance Iran’s.”

The editorial also lists Biden’s other failures in the Middle East, including abandoning the Abraham Accords, one of his predecessor’s most brilliant achievements. Biden also failed to keep Saudi Arabia in the Western camp, driving it instead to deepen its relations with China. And the administration’s promises about a better nuclear deal with Iran are all gone.

Perhaps most disappointing has been the failure to extend the Trump-brokered Abraham Accords. The Saudis are the prize, but Mr. Biden’s open hostility drove them to hedge their bets by signing a Chinese-brokered deal with Iran instead. Normalization with Israel may have to wait for a U.S. President interested in rallying a coalition to contain Tehran.

“While Tehran escalates its proxy wars and whittles down US nuclear demands, Mr. Biden carries out diplomatic offensives against Saudi Arabia and Israel,” says the WSJ editorial.

#wall street journal #israel #joe biden #tom nides

[seat-safety-switch]

When I was growing up, the house down the street had an infestation of bats. The town was asked to do something about it, but thankfully didn’t bother finishing the job. These bats were totally harmless. While I will admit that there was an unfounded fear of rabies, this was basically due to anti-bat racism on the part of a real estate developer. Said developer saw a convenient excuse to knock down the place and start gentrifying our neighbourhood. Profits, not people, he probably said before most of him disappeared out in the woods.

Of course, when I put it like that, it’s going to sound suspicious. Surely, the owner of the bat-infested house must have had him murdered. This is a salacious lie, and it’s one that his widow tried to spread at the town council meetings. It’s also preposterous: according to the chief of police, the dude got eaten by bears when his car broke down on the highway and he chose to walk home through the forest during peak “hungry bear season.”

This in itself is a little suspicious, because the guy who owned the bat-infested house was named Robert Bear. Upon further investigation, however, it was determined that he was not related to any actual bears (the animal.) No, his unique surname came from having a great-great-great grandfather who once fought a bear (the animal) in his home country, whose name is unpronounceable (both the animal’s, because it is unknown to history, and the country’s.) Robert felt bad about the whole thing, but it did conveniently produce a lack of witnesses against him for the bylaw proceeding. And so the bats got to stay.

Really, the only unanswered question is why the real estate dude’s car broke down in the first place. I was also curious about this, which is why I formed a team of teenage detectives to investigate the situation, and – if necessary – to confront our inner demons and use them to kill God. Ultimately, we determined that it was a shitty old Mercedes, and the fuel pump seized up. Carlita, our science expert, figured out that several gallons of bat guano poured into the tank was the cause of the failure, an intriguing coincidence.

We confronted Robert about it, and he congratulated us on our diligent scientific research, and gave us each five hundred bucks in “scholarship money” from a Hefty bag of cash that he had lying in the basement, next to a jerry can and funnel. At this point, like all good detectives, we agreed that we had solved the mystery and decided to never speak of it again.

[heliopauseentertainments]

I forgot to post something for WIP Wednesday. Oops. Uh, have this spoilery snippet of Solar Flare's epilogue, that needs much editing. There's another scene that needs finishing but we're well on our way.

Wrapped in tarpaulins containing tubes full of pumping coolant, Megatron waited as his processor gradually returned to normal functioning. The coolant, forced through interwoven tubing, drew away the worst of the thermal energy he had absorbed, dissipating it through small powered fans embedded in the tarpaulin. The fans roared, picking up the slack where his own onboard cooling system couldn’t keep up, as they sent the heat into the transport’s overhead vents back outside.

The only thing that would bring him back down to a safe baseline faster than this elaborate, emergency setup would have been a swim in an icy lake, a natural feature Nyon notably lacked on this side of the caldera wall.

The comparatively cold air of the temperature-controlled shuttle breezed through his own vents, bringing soft tingles of relief as the air brushed by his metal.

The smaller burst capillaries in his extremities were closed up by his self-repair nanites but more major silicon jointing would need to be replaced. He was lucky nothing vital melted to the point of failure.

The soldiers, however, hadn’t bothered to clean away the coagulating fuel and oil on his frame, let alone his hand. Obvious evidence of what he had done to Zeta coated his plating. It would be hell to remove it later on his own—not that Rodimus would necessarily let him do that himself.

His joints were still stiff, aching from where linkages had expanded but they were beginning to contract. Many would now be deformed but they were not immediate threats to his health and wellbeing.

Yes, he would need further, more advanced care for a complete repair but at least now he would live long enough to get more thorough medical assistance than what could be provided by dubiously competent soldiers administering first aid post-battle.

At his side in the shuttle sat Rodimus, daring to complain about being cold while the constant pinging of Megatron’s overheated armor was muffled into soft pops under the bulky coverings. Rodimus’s voice, despite his struggle with volume control, was hardly audible over the roar of the fans and the shuttle’s engines.

#admin post #fic #wip wednesday #fic solar flare

[voraciousvore]

Bucky's (10/44)

***Contains violence/ gore***

Chapter 10: Escape?

She took a second to catch her breath and examine her surroundings. Other than the friendly Giant Leon, nobody knew she was here. She was under the table, facing a menagerie of colossal men’s dress shoes, larger than cars, of various shades of brown or black. Patty took cautious steps forward, so as not to be seen or accidentally kicked or stepped on. She just about had a heart attack when one of the shoes shifted in front of her, inches from knocking her over. She gave them a wide berth and continued on to the end of the table.  

Peering from around a table leg, Patty’s stomach twisted into knots as she viewed the vast distance between herself and the exit. She needed to get the hell out of the restaurant before anyone realized she was missing, but wasn’t sure if she could even make it. Everything, from the tables to the Giants, looked incomprehensibly massive from her vantage point on the ground. She had gotten used to seeing the restaurant from high up in the tank, or being carried around on a plate, or from the top of a table. Now, she felt smaller and more vulnerable than ever. 

 Despite the obstacles in her path, Patty was determined. She plotted her next move. She would sprint from table to table, and pray that nobody spotted her or squashed her underfoot. She only had one shot to get it right, and failure was not an option. Her whole body shook with tension as she geared herself up to run out in the open. The table she was currently at was designed for larger parties of Giants, so it was situated deeper within the restaurant, further back from the other tables in the main dining section. Patty had a long, long way to hoof it to the next table.  

She waited for the right moment as a waitress stomped past, then forced down her fears and ran like the wind. The distance to the next table felt like miles, but Patty didn’t slow. She pumped her legs like pistons in an engine, fueled by pure survival instinct. By the time she reached the table, her lungs felt like they were on fire and her heart was about to pop. She hid from view and gasped for breath. Fortunately, this table wasn’t currently seating customers, so Patty felt a bit safer and less exposed while she recaptured her breath. 

The next few tables were closer together, but there was considerably more foot traffic. Patty was afraid, not only of being stomped on but of being seen. The Giantess waitresses moved fast and didn’t look too closely where they were stepping, but the customers occasionally took leisurely glances around the restaurant, and it was hardly inconceivable that somebody might spot her, or worse, just seize her up and take advantage of the opportunity to eat her as a free snack. Patty cowered behind the table leg at the thought, but she knew she couldn’t stay here. She needed to move before the employees noticed she was missing and tracked her down. 

The task was daunting, but Patty bided her time for the right moment and forced her feet to move. A waitress balancing plates in both hands rushed around a corner with alarming speed, and Patty had to dive out of the way of her shoe as she clomped past. Patty stifled her squeal of fright and clambered back to her feet, not ceasing her flight until she was under the next table. She panted for breath, staring absently at a titanic pair of heels. 

Nobody came after her, so she was confident she had passed by unseen. Patty walked to the other side of the table, keeping plenty of space between her and the gigantic pair of heels, and prepared herself for the next leg of her journey. When the coast was clear, she sprinted to the next table. She wasn’t used to doing so much exercise, particularly in bare feet, and she could feel the strain in her body. Her chest was beginning to burn with exertion and the skin on the soles of her feet was raw. These were minor inconveniences compared to being eaten alive, or torn limb from limb, or having her fingers or toes chopped off for disobedience. She kept moving, pushing through the pain. 

She felt like she was running a marathon. All her senses were on high alert, but she tragically managed to overlook a spill and slipped in a spot of gravy on the floor in between tables, nearly faceplanting. She managed to arrest her fall by banging her knees and elbows instead, promptly scrambling back to her feet and diving for cover. Somehow, Patty avoided being seen the entire way, perhaps because she was so tiny compared to the Giants around her, who were focused on their dining experience. With her head spinning, she rushed under the next table. She saw a Giant’s sandaled foot in front of her and tried to stop, but her feet were slippery with gravy and she slid forward and collided with the base of the sandal, launching herself headfirst onto the huge foot. Patty froze up, terrified that the Giant would find her, but by some miracle he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. The foot shifted a bit but was otherwise undisturbed. She was grossed out, being on top of a gigantic, smelly, sweaty foot, with tufts of hair on the toes and big thick toenails, but she was too scared to make a move to get off. She nervously surveyed her surroundings. 

At long last, she was nearly at the front door. The last sprint would be difficult.  Not only was there a wide gap between the last table and the exit, but Patty would have to pass by the seating hostess unseen, and time her journey to when someone was opening the door since she couldn’t open it herself. She didn’t think it would be possible on her own. She looked down at the Giant’s foot beneath her, with the toes wiggling absently, and realized she may have stumbled on the solution by lucky accident. The restaurant patrons at her table were paying the check and preparing to leave. Out of exigency, Patty took a substantial risk and latched on tight to a strap on the sandal, hoping desperately her presence would remain undetected and she wouldn’t fall off. Fortunately, her small size came in handy for once and the Giant was oblivious to the additional passenger on his foot. The world lurched around her as Patty found herself tugged along, moving much faster than she could ever run with the Giant’s great strides. 

Despite her nausea at the rough, haphazard ride, Patty felt a rush as the Giant reached the door and pulled it open. She perceived the fresh breeze of the outside air on her face and nearly cried with joy. She was almost free. Then, the Giant stepped over the threshold, into the sunlight, and Patty’s entire plan went south. Unbeknownst to her, the tracking device on her arm had an alarm on it that was set to go off if the human wearing it left the restaurant. Patty was startled by the earsplitting siren that screeched from her wrist. Worse, the device had blinding lights that blinked rapidly to telescope her position. 

Patty panicked. She untangled herself from the Giant’s sandal and dropped to the ground. To her horror, all the Giants in the vicinity heard the noise and stared down at her with surprise. She had been discovered. She couldn’t hide with the piercing wail and the lights giving her away. She didn’t have time to plan, to look around, to think or even breathe. She ran. She ran with the full force of her fright nipping at her heels, looming over her with the threat of death, thirsting for her blood. She ran blindly, dodging Giant feet as she went, on full display to the world. 

Patty was terrified to be in full view of the street, surrounded by Giants walking around enjoying their day in the downtown space, looking down at her with curiosity as she dashed by them on the sidewalk. With no time to think, she ducked into a nearby alleyway and continued to pound her sore feet on the pavement. It would have been a narrow passage hemmed in by brick walls to a Giant, but from her perspective the lane was quite wide. She clawed at the tracker, trying to pull it off her wrist or break it. She grabbed a nearby pebble that was a sizable stone to her and prepared herself to smash it down on the device, while hopefully not shattering the bones in her wrist in the process. She knew she only had moments before capture. She couldn’t outrun a Giant, and she couldn’t hide with the tracker making so much noise. She needed to disable it, stat. 

Unfortunately, Patty would not be so lucky. As she pounded the rock down on the screaming tracker, a shadow loomed over her. She looked up to behold Bucky, in all his terrible, blubbery glory, towering over her with his colossal stature. He was so wide that he blocked the entire alleyway, his bulging belly scraping against the brick walls on either side. He had to hunch his shoulders to fit in the cramped space. He was breathing heavily, with his face redder than usual, even though he didn’t have to travel far by Giant standards to catch up to the runaway. Patty squealed with alarm and tried to run, dropping the stone in her haste, but Bucky’s extensive reach was too much for her to escape. He stretched his arm out and snatched her up in his oversized fist. Patty screamed and cried and struggled, with her limbs pinned to her sides, but she knew all was lost. She was caught. 

Bucky brought her up to his glittering eyes, huffing and puffing like a beast. “You fucked up, Patty,” he growled. He fiddled with a remote that turned off the siren on her wrist and stuck the remote under his belt. 

“Please, just let me go,” Patty cried. “I can’t take this anymore!” His sweaty fingers tightened around her, making her yelp with the intense crushing force against her ribcage. 

“Shut up! I don’t care,” he snarled, baring his yellow teeth. “You belong to me. There’s no getting away. I will always hunt you down and find you.” He labored to turn around in the narrow passage, sucking in his large gut to make room. He shuffled out, exhaling in relief when he squeezed out of the passage into open space. He dusted off his red vest and lumbered back to the restaurant. Patty resisted fruitlessly as the big neon letters that read “Bucky’s” glowed in lurid red above her head, the light dripping down on her like blood. She was devastated by her abject failure. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t make a scene in front of the Big Corp executives,” Bucky remarked. “Otherwise, your punishment would be far worse.” 

“P-punishment?” Patty squeaked. Her heart sank. 

“Well, yeah. You didn’t think I would just let you go back without a second thought?” Bucky sneered. He carried her through the restaurant and into the back rooms, back to the dimly lit, grubby room with the washtubs where he rinsed her off when she first arrived. He plopped her into the tub and walked off. Patty stood up and waited for him to come back with a heavy cloud of dread hanging over her. She huddled her arms around herself protectively, digging her nails into her skin with trepidation. She was shaking. She thought about Little Debbie with her missing fingers and clenched her hands into fists under her arms, as if she could hide her precious fingers from Bucky’s wrath. 

The Giant returned, and Patty couldn’t help but retreat into the wall at the sight of his staggering mass. He held up a big butcher knife with a wicked edge that glinted in the dim light. Patty’s face drained of color and her stomach did a flip. Her legs turned to jelly, and she failed to remain standing as she made herself as small as she could in the corner. 

“No... don’t...” she moaned, cowering. She covered her head with her arms defensively. 

“Oh, yes!” Bucky replied. His eyes gleamed as sharply as the blade. He forced her out of the corner with his finger and pinched one of her legs between his fat digits. Patty’s eyes widened and she attacked his fingers with her fists and kicked with her free leg, trying to pry herself loose. Bucky laughed at her pathetic attempts to squirm out of his grasp. 

“In order to keep you from running again, I have to incapacitate you for a while,” Bucky stated casually, as if he were talking about something trivial like the weather rather than mutilating a defenseless person. He lowered the butcher knife down in front of Patty. She could see her spectral, warped reflection in the polished blade like a mirror. Bucky squinted slightly, leaning forward to block out the overhead light with his bulk like a solar eclipse. “Goodness, you’re so small... hopefully I don’t accidentally cut off your entire foot. Customers won’t like that. I’d probably have to discard you like defective merchandise if I did that.” 

Patty screeched as loud as the alarm on her tracker as the blade descended on her foot. She couldn’t see over Bucky’s massive finger, but her toes exploded in pain. Bucky let go and Patty continued to bawl, staring in horror at her foot. He had cut off three of her toes. The severed toes, like little skin-toned macabre sausages, floated in a puddle of crimson as blood squirted out of the stumps remaining on her foot. Patty couldn’t stop screaming. The pain was horrid and encompassed her entire world. She was shaking and her body was covered in sweat, despite how cold she felt. She couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. 

Bucky belted out cruel peals of laughter at her suffering. He leaned in more and scraped up the severed toes with the tip of his finger. He licked them up with his tongue and ate them. He soaked up more of her blood with his finger and imbibed it, clearly enjoying himself. Patty slumped to her side and vomited from a mixture of disgust and blood loss.  

Bucky didn’t give her any time to recover and picked her up by the same leg that she was bleeding from. Patty shrieked as he dangled her upside down in front of his face. He parted his lips and slid her leg inside, sucking up the blood seeping from her wounds. Patty cried as she felt the agonizing sting of his squishy tongue running over the gaping injuries. She hadn’t imagined that her punishment would be this ghastly. The pain was intolerable. She let out a fresh scream, and Bucky’s lips tightened around her thigh in a grotesque smirk. She could feel his upper and lower incisors putting light pressure around her leg. 

Bucky started to walk, with Patty hanging out of his mouth. She thought her punishment was over, and he would take her back to the human section, but she was wrong. Bucky headed for the kitchen. Patty felt dizzy as her vision swam before her in a mess of pots, pans, cooks, and steam. Bucky brought her over to a stove and removed her from his mouth. Patty could see shimmering heat waves emanating from the hot stove. 

“W-what are you d-doing?” she stammered. Bucky flashed her a savage sneer. 

“We have to sanitize and cauterize your wound, dear,” he answered. He lowered her over the stove. The air above it radiated heat. 

“No, wait-” Patty protested, but Bucky pressed her toe stumps against the scalding surface. She screamed yet again as her toes sizzled, releasing the foul odor of burning skin and flesh. Bucky was not very careful, and all of Patty’s toes ended up burned, not just the severed sections. Patty blacked out from the additional pain. 

She came to a moment later, limp as a rag doll in Bucky’s fist. Her arms were swinging listlessly side to side in cadence with his strides. He placed her in the secluded human box in the back, on the floor instead of one of the couches. There were a few humans inside recovering from being eaten who gazed upon her with horror. She was sure she looked terrible, covered in sweat and bruises and blood as she was. 

“Somebody attend to her injuries,” Bucky muttered gruffly, shutting the ceiling up above. The humans rushed over, but Patty couldn’t keep her eyes open. She tried to rouse herself from the floor, but gray static overwhelmed her and she passed out again. 

Chapter 11

Chapter 1

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #Bucky's #gore #gt writing #g/t story #gt story