#Retreat From Moscow

[kaibacorpintern]

i've been doing ~100 word drabbles, per the classic definition of drabble and based on one-word prompts, just to keep my writing muscles warm. here are three (Strong TW for child abuse below the cut)

PROMPT: ANODYNE (100 words)

“Insipid, derivative, bland, toothless, anodyne - " Seto paced the kitchen. In the half-light his grey hairs flashed silver, undyed at Atem’s request. Otherwise he was no different in energy, passion, or seething irritation than forty years ago. Atem washed away the echoes of theater popcorn with another whiskey and watched, smiling. “ - lacking any sense of nerve or challenge. Success without struggle! Boneless, feel-good inspiration porn! Like it was all a cute cakewalk - what’s the point?!”  “You know what this means, right?” Atem said. “What?” Seto said, wheeling around. This hadn’t changed, either - turning to Atem for answers. “Film your own biopic.”

PROMPT: ALATE (100 words)

LARVAL STAGE: WINGLESS “You little maggot.” Gozaburo pressed harder. “Spineless. Why did I allow a pest like you into the house?” Seto, on the floor under his foot, writhed and squirmed. Hands around Gozaburo's ankle - pleading, strangling. Silent. Waiting for the end, any end. ADULT STAGE: WINGED Kaiba had always been like this: shuddering with defiance, smashing through the chrysalis of an old, rotten scripture to tumble out, pick himself up, and run forward, into the future - with his magnificent coat flying behind him. But Atem had never seen him like this - shining, smiling. “Come back with me,” he said. 

PROMPT: PROXIMITY (99 words)

During his fourth or fifth or eleventh life, Seto is a French soldier, not by choice but by hunger, hungering for glory as he trails Napoleon through history. His better boots, rifle, and horse won through silver flicks of weathered cards and bone-white dice. The conquering moves south. He finds himself in the desert, in silence.  Something is here, below the sand. A history more intimate than the pyramids but no less tremendous.  A game, something nameless, and a fiery whisper in his spine.  Someone shouts: Allons-y!  He goes. Destiny recedes. They will never know how close they came.

#prideshipping #fanfiction #intern memo #writing notes #it's my off-season apparently #anyway french kaiba dies during the winter retreat from moscow

[tomorrowusa]

Lomonosovsky is just one district in Moscow. It’s analogous to a borough in Greater London. Nevertheless, it’s notable that elected officials there have gone out on a limb to demand Putin’s resignation. Officials just don’t do that in Russia these days. 

In their appeal, the deputies emphasize that the aggressive rhetoric of Putin and his subordinates has thrown Russia back into the Cold War era. They disputed economic data showing a doubling of the country's GDP and said the minimum wage did not increase to the level declared by the government.

They also said smart and hard-working people have left Russia en masse, and there is no trace of the promised stability.

Addressing Putin directly, they said: "Your views, your management model are hopelessly outdated and impede the development of Russia and its human potential."

That’s obvious to most objective observers, but saying so is near-treasonous in Russia.

A similar protest earlier this week by local lawmakers in St. Petersburg resulted in authorities summoning them to the police department.

If nothing else, it shows that at least some people in Russia are thinking about the post-Putin era.

And what is Putin doing lately? According to the BBC’s Steve Rosenberg, Putin was dedicating a Ferris wheel at the same time his troops were fleeing in terror from advancing Ukrainians. He has time for Ferris wheels but he has never visited his troops in Ukraine.

Putin grows increasingly detached from reality.

#invasion of ukraine #russia #vladimir putin #detachment from reality #moscow #lomonosovsky #local council #demand for putin's resignation #ferris wheel #ukraine counteroffensive #russian retreat #россия #москва #ломоносовский #владимир путин #колесо обозрения #нет войне #долой путина #путин оторван от реальности

[illustratus]

The Retreat from Moscow by Laslett John Pott

#laslett john pott #art #napoleonic wars #moscow #russia #retreat #winter #snow #soldiers #troops #french #france #grande armée #history #napoleonic #europe #european

[daysofyellowroses]

comfort

david von erich x reader | 3.3k |inspired by this absolutely wonderful request - apologies for the delay, i just loved writing this! | warnings: allusions to depression

this story is brought to you by my menstrual cycle, copious amounts of sweet treats & the music of neil young, enjoy 🌼

It was honestly a miracle that you didn't faint when you were told the news. The shock had you reeling, your head feeling light as your stomach felt tight and heavy. Part of you wished you had just passed out so you wouldn't have to process the information. 

Everything you'd worked for, trained for, given up, all for nothing. The blood, sweat and tears, hours upon hours of constant training, the deep bruises that marked your body, all just made pointless with one sentence.

“We're not going to the Olympics.”

Words had never stung so much. It felt like a horrible joke. You had been training since you were a little girl, being told to keep a vision in your mind of you on the platform accepting the gold medal in Moscow. 

Your entire life had been dedicated to gymnastics, it was what you knew, what you excelled at. When you'd left home to go train in Dallas it had been daunting, but at least you were only a few hours away, you didn't have to leave the state like some of your friends. 

When you would have low moments, missed your family, your friends, and particularly David, and it felt like you were missing out on the typical teenage experiences, you tried to remember it would all be worth it one day. 

Not anymore.

What did you have to show for all the years of sacrifice? You don't train for a race and then not run it. That gold medal was yours, you knew it. The thought of it had kept you going, that image of showing it to your loved ones, celebrating with them. Showing them all their sacrifices were worth it too.

All you wanted was to go home and curl up in your bed, forget the world existed. You just felt hollow inside, numbness had taken over your body. When you called home, you could tell your mom was trying not to cry. You couldn't cry, even if you wanted to, you just felt like you were on autopilot. You wanted to call David, but you couldn't bring yourself too. It wasn't like the two of you were in a relationship, it was..complicated. 

You insisted to your parents that you were fine getting the bus home, but your dad came to pick you up. When he hugged you it had you almost breaking down, but you had to stop yourself. You just clung to him and let him guide you into his truck.

When you arrived back home, you hugged your mom for what felt like hours. You finally broke down and cried when you went to your bedroom, laying in your bed and letting the tears flow freely. You wanted to be strong, to just accept your fate and keep going, but you couldn't. Not yet.

You stayed in bed for a couple of days, unable to face the world. Your mom would come in with a tray, try and get you to eat something. Your dad would come and read the newspaper aloud to you, the mundanity of life around town feeling soothing.

By the fourth day, you were starting to become one with your bed. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, taking a shower and trying to revive yourself. The whole thing kept playing over and over in your mind. It wasn't like you were disqualified or kicked off the team, forced to leave because of your own actions. It was a noble cause to withdraw, and you had no control over it. That being said, it didn't make you feel any better.

After you showered and dressed, you joined your parents for breakfast. You could see the relief in their eyes, the delight radiating from your mother. You didn't have much of an appetite but you forced yourself to eat something. Hell, you could eat whatever you wanted now. 

Your father informed you that he'd be going into town later, making the mildest of suggestions that you could join him. The thought of the pitying looks had you wanting to retreat back to your bed. Everyone in town would know. They would give you the look. The ‘poor you, what a shame’ look.

But they were going to look at you eventually, and you had nothing to hide. So you told your father you'd join him, wanting to rip the band aid off.

As it turned out, it wasn't the worst experience ever. You did indeed get the look, but people refrained from commenting. They knew the situation, you knew the situation, there was no need to rehash it. 

While your dad was in the hardware store, chatting to the owner, you wandered around, enjoying the peace. As you were wandering around an aisle you bumped into a very familiar blonde, craning your neck up and letting out a soft sigh as you met his eyes.

“You live two minutes down the road and I bump into you here?”

“The mysteries of life at work I guess.”

You smiled a little, glancing around before looking back to David. You could see the guilt in his eyes, tell he wanted to say it. Tell that he wanted to say it was a damn shame. But he didn't, and you found yourself wanting him to. 

“How've you been?” You asked, resting your hands on your hips. “My dad tells me you're involved with wrestling now?”

While you could tell David was a little caught off guard, he gave you a polite nod and cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, yeah I just kind of..fell into it.”

You knew for a fact that couldn't be true, but he hadn't pressed you, and you weren't going to press him. Not in the middle of Earl's hardware emporium anyway. 

“Enjoying it?” 

“So far so good.”

You nodded softly, taking a deep breath as you slowly folded your arms. 

“Could we..get together later? I feel like we need to catch up properly.”

The look of relief in David's eyes had you feeling at ease.

“Of course,” He nodded, giving you a small but reassuring smile. “Why don't I pick you up around six?”

“Sounds good,” You smiled, for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I'll see you then.”

As much as you had tried your best to look casual when David arrived at the house, you couldn't deny that you'd spent a fair amount of time perfecting the casual hair and makeup look, planned your outfit carefully to look as though you'd just thrown it together. 

“You look great,” David smiled as you hopped into his truck. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I'm pretty hungry, we could get something to eat?” You suggested, your appetite coming back to you. 

“Sounds like a plan,” David nodded. “Let's do it.”

Before you knew it you were in the diner you'd spent so many nights dreaming about while you were training. On your brief visits home, you and David would spend hours there, chatting and laughing and occasionally holding hands across the table. You'd feel guilty for ordering a milkshake and David would insist he'd take the blame, putting on a ridiculous accent and pretending to be a coach to make you laugh til the glass was empty. 

It was actually a nice feeling to order a burger and fries, along with a large milkshake you refused to feel guilty about. When you looked back at David and found him smiling at you, you rolled your eyes with a grin. 

“Something on my face?”

“Not yet.”

You laughed as he winked at you, shaking  your head.

“Your jokes ain't changed then.”

“Course not,” David shrugged, leaning back against the red leather booth. “have to remind you what attracted you to me in the first place. Aside from this,” He swept his hand down his body. “obviously.”

“Oh obviously,” You nodded, a serious look on your face for a moment before you both laughed. 

“Just feels nice being here with you again,” David sighed softly, resting his hand on the table. “We never really got much time before but..I'm glad we do now. Obviously it's not the best circumstances but..”

“But it's fine,” You smiled, sitting up and resting your arms on the table. “we’re here now.”

“Indeed we are,” David smiled, glancing around for a moment before looking back at you and clearing his throat. “listen, I don't know what your plans are but if you're sticking around then..I'd love to ask you on a date.”

“You..wow,” You raised a brow, looking over to David with a smile as you rested your head on your hand. “We're kinda just doing things in reverse I guess.”

“I guess so,” David nodded, a slight flushed red coloring his cheeks. “I want to do it right.”

You admired his sentiment, it was sweet. The two of you had never really had a real relationship, or been on dates, with you being away in Dallas it didn't make sense. But you always hung out when you were home, whether it was in the diner or driving around in David's truck. On more than one occasion he'd snuck into your room (at your encouragement) and the two of you would try to stay quiet as much as possible. 

You'd never really thought about how a relationship would look, that was supposed to be in the next chapter of your life. But the book was evidently going to be a little shorter, and a relationship with someone you truly cared about and loved was certainly a fair compromise. 

“I think you doing it right won't be a problem,” You grinned, sitting back as your drinks were brought over. You looked at the glass in front of you, the red and white straw poking out of the pink milkshake. 

“Thank you,” You smiled at the waitress, easing the glass closer to you. You lightly swirled the straw before taking a sip.

“Hm,” You sat back and glanced over to David, lightly tapping your glass. “You may have competition. This milkshake is close to stealing my heart.”

“Oh really?” David grinned, reaching across the table to gently touch your hand, your palm turning to touch his. “Bring it on.”

A couple of days later, you were starting to feel okay again. Your parents were incredibly supportive and loving, making life at home feel easier. David honored his promise and asked you out on a real date, which was very cute. He came and picked you up, took you to a nice restaurant, made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered but the two of you. After dinner he took you home, walking you to the door and kissing your cheek like a gentleman. You told him that he could come in, but he told you that he was leaving while you wanted more, and you knew where he was.

As it turned out, David's parents were away at a funeral, and you were able to walk in the front door rather than risk breaking your leg using the drain pipe. Kevin was out on a date, and Kerry and Mike were watching TV when you arrived.

You gave them both a hug, wanting to stay and chat but finding it adorable how many excuses David made to lure you away. In the end you grabbed his hand and led him upstairs, wanting to make the most of an almost empty house.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you smiled as you realized where you were. David's arm was wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your neck. The need for water outweighed your need for comfort, so you carefully slipped out of bed, grateful you'd thrown on one of David's t-shirts before going to sleep. You found your discarded panties on the floor, slipping them on. Kevin's bed was empty, and you presumed his date had gone very well because none of the boys ever slept on the couch. 

Making your way down to the kitchen, you were surprised to find a light on. Kerry was sitting at the table, and you gave him a smile as you walked in.

“Couldn't sleep?” You asked, going to the cabinet to get a glass. 

“Nah, just tossing and turning,” Kerry sighed softly. “figured I may as well just get up. You?”

“Wanted water,” You explained, taking your glass to the sink and filling it with water. “I know I won't be able to sleep again now. Never can when I wake up in the middle of the night.”

“It's a pain in the ass,” Kerry nodded. “I'm the same. If I'm awake that's it.”

You took a sip of water, standing by the sink for a moment before walking over to the table and sitting across from Kerry.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, your hand lightly gripping your glass.

“Of course,”  Kerry nodded. You suspected he knew what you were going to say but you felt the need to say it anyway.

“How have you been handling it?” You asked, your stomach feeling tight. “Since we were told?”

Kerry was quiet for a moment before he let out a breath and rested his arms on the table. 

“Better than I expected,” He told you. “At first I thought..this is it, the end of the road, what the hell am I supposed to do now you know? But since coming home it feels like the world opened up again. I got my family, a roof over my head, it could be a whole lot worse. How are you finding it?”

You took a sip of water, lightly pushing the glass away when you set it down on the table.

“I'm finding it easier now,” You nodded. “I really couldn't handle it at first, I just stayed in bed for days. I'm still amazed I managed to drag myself out, I was just miserable. But my family definitely helped too, and David,” You smiled, glancing up for a moment. “I don't know what I'd do without him. Without all of you,” You looked back to Kerry.

“You know this is the first time I've really talked about it, I've been avoiding the subject.”

“That's understandable,” Kerry sat back a little, lightly tapping his hand on the table. “Most people are sympathetic but they don't really understand how it felt. I just can't stand that look people give you, like you're a kicked puppy or something. I'd rather just not talk about it if they're gonna start pitying me.”

“Exactly,” You nodded. “Obviously it's normal for people to have sympathy but it just..feels different when it's actually happening to you.”

“Well you can talk to me about it anytime,” Kerry smiled. “About anything.”

“I know,” You smiled, getting up from the table and walking around to Kerry. “I really appreciate it.”

He stood up and you wrapped your arms around him, feeling another weight lifted off your shoulders as he hugged you back.

“I'm gonna try and get some sleep,” You sighed softly, pulling back and gently squeezing Kerry's arm. “I'll see you in the morning.”

When you got back to David's room, you slipped back into his bed as quietly as possible, smiling when his arm immediately wrapped around your waist. 

“Where'd you go?” He murmured into your neck, his voice addled with sleep you wish you could borrow. 

“Just wanted some water,” You told him, turning around and looking at his perfect face, how peaceful he looked. “Go back to sleep.”

He didn't need to be told twice, and while you found sleep still eluded you, you felt more content as you nestled into him.

A couple of days later, while the sun was splitting the rocks, you were relaxing in the Von Erich's backyard, the smell of barbecue wafting through the air. You were sitting beside Kerry, beer in hand and feeling pretty relaxed.

“Oh, did I tell you the news?” He grinned, taking a sip of his beer.

“Absolutely not,” You raised a brow with a grin. “Tell me immediately.”

“I'm joining Kev and David in the ring,” Kerry told you. “got my first match on Saturday.”

“Oh..that's..that's so amazing,” You smiled, giving Kerry a hug. “Wow, how cool is that?” You pulled back and gave him a smile. “You better believe I'll be in the front row.”

“I hope so, I need the support,” Kerry laughed softly. “Feel free to make a banner.”

“You think I wasn't gonna make one?” You teased, taking a sip of your beer and watching David approach you from the corner of your eye.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Me?” You looked over at him. “Yeah, of course.”

You got up from the table and followed David into the house, sitting down beside him on the couch when you got to the living room.

“What's going on?” You asked, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest.

“It's..it's stupid,” David sighed, sitting back and resting his hands over his thighs. “But I just need to get it out.  Because..if you want Kerry instead of me I'd rather just know about it now than be dragged along and made a fool of, and yes it would be hard to deal with but if it would make you happy then-”

“David,” You gently touched his arm, turning towards him. “I'm with you, and that ain't gonna change. If I wanted to be with anyone else I would be, but I'm not because I want to be with you.”

“You don't have to spare my feelings,” David looked over at you, and you gently squeezed his arm. “I can handle it, I promise. I see how close you two are.”

“Because we're friends,” You sighed softly. “And we've been through a shared experience. I know that I can talk to you about anything, but Kerry has had the same thing happen to him. And now he's moving on and I'm..”

You took a deep breath, looking down to David's arm. “I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I mean, I know what I'm doing today, but..what about the future? I have nothing, I don't have a job, or a degree, or..anything. Everything I knew is just..gone and I..”

“Hey,” David sat up and moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around you as you buried your face in his shoulder. “you got so much going for you, alright? And a long old life ahead of you, so don't waste it getting stressed out. Your life hasn't taken the path you expected but mine hasn't either. I didn't think I'd end up doing what I'm doing, and I never even dared think I'd be lucky enough to get you back, have you here with me. But it's turned out pretty damn great, and I promise you that what's in store for you will be so amazing. You don't need to figure it all out right this second, you got time.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” You smiled softly, looking up to David and feeling yourself breathe again. “I just need to know so I can make sure I keep doing it.”

“It's me who should be asking that,” David smiled softly, his hand gently stroking your back. “Whatever I did I'd do it a million times over.”

“Well before you do that, maybe you could do something else first,” You smiled, softly biting your lip.

“Oh yeah?” David grinned, raising a brow. “What's that?”

“You could go get me a burger,” You teased, laughing softly as he rolled his eyes with a grin. “or just kiss me, whatever you feel like doing first.”

“I'm on it,” David smiled, standing up before leaning down to kiss you, his hand gently stroking your neck, your hand moving over his as you kissed him back, feeling truly content. 

#the iron claw #the iron claw fanfiction #david von erich x you #david von erich x reader #harris dickinson fanfic #we got here eventually #🌼💗🫶🏻

[mariacallous]

From the seventh floor at Kherson State University, Oleksandr Khodosovtsev and Ivan Moisienko had a clear view of the enemy. It was a cool December morning, and the Russian troops that had occupied the Ukrainian city of Kherson since the earliest days of Moscow’s full-scale invasion had recently retreated east across the Dnipro River. Mushroom clouds hung over the horizon as they gazed through the rattling floor-to-ceiling windows of the botany department. The explosions, they thought, were likely coming from the tanks less than 5 kilometers away from where they stood.

That morning, the pair—both professors of botany—had arrived on the train from Kyiv and made their way through the partially ruined streets of Kherson to reach the university. The city was still being shelled, and to access their laboratory meant scaling a spiraling stairwell lined with stained-glass windows looking out over the Dnipro River, towards the enemy.

Their mission was to rescue a piece of history: the Kherson herbarium, an irreplaceable collection of more than 32,000 plants, lichen, mosses, and fungi, amassed over a century by generations of scientists, some from thousand-kilometer-long treks across remote areas of Ukraine. “This is something like a piece of art,” says 52-year-old Moisienko. “It’s priceless.”

Herbaria like the one in Kherson, a port city in the south of Ukraine, are about more than just taxonomy. They serve a vital role in the study of species extinction, invasive pests, and climate change. Though it's by no means the world’s largest—the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris has 9,500,000 specimens—Kherson’s herbarium is, Moisienko says, valuable because of its unique contribution to the field. Rare species found only in Ukraine, some of which are at risk of extinction, are documented on its shelves.

When Russian tanks rolled into Ukraine on February 24, 2022, they threatened not only the thousands of dried, pressed, and preserved specimens stored at the university, but the land where those samples had been collected. In the more than 17 months since Vladimir Putin declared his “special military operation” in Ukraine, millions of acres of land—about 30 percent of the country’s protected areas—have been maimed by indiscriminate bombing, burning, and military maneuvers. Russian troops have scorched tens of thousands of hectares of forests and put more than 800 plants at risk of extinction, including 20 rare species that have mostly vanished from elsewhere, according to the non-profit Ukraine Nature Conservation Group (UNCG).

The Ukrainian government estimates that a third of the country’s land has been contaminated by mines or other unexploded ordnance. Large swathes of the countryside could remain inaccessible for decades to come. That means it could be a long time before scientists like Khodosovtsev and Moisienko can go back out to collect samples.

The pair weighed up these considerations last fall, as they contemplated returning to the hollowed-out city of Kherson. Russian forces had been pushed out of the city in November but continued to bombard it. Between May and November, at least 236 civilians were killed by shelling, according to regional officials. Regardless, Khodosovtsev and Moisienko decided to go in.

“There is no need to risk anyone's life to save some equipment or a building,” Moisienko says, noting with passing remorse how he’d been pained to leave behind one of his prized microscopes. “For this collection, when it's gone, it's gone. There is no way to get it back.”

As the pair began mapping out the evacuation, they determined that in order to mitigate risk on the ground they needed to limit both the number of people and time spent inside the besieged city. There would never be more than three team members—Khodosovtsev, Moisienko and one of their two colleagues—on a trip, and each venture would last no more than 72 hours. The power grid went down regularly, and there was a citywide curfew of 4 pm, meaning they had hard deadlines to get in and out of their lab. And there was bureaucracy. “During the wartime, even to get around the country, you need to have some substantiation, like documents,” said Khodosovtsev, 51.

That got even more complicated when, on their first trek back to the university that December, they discovered that Russian troops had taken up residence in four of the rooms storing part of the plant collection.

Besides the deep sense of violation the botanists felt, this also posed a procedural problem. The “sitters”—a common expression for enemy soldiers who have occupied a Ukrainian building—had changed the locks on all but one of the doors, and the spaces now needed to be documented; a mandatory procedure typically carried out by the local police. Thankfully, their logistics team pulled some strings and got the process expedited. In just a few weeks, the locks had been changed again, and the rooms had been photographed for the official records.

In video footage capturing that first, largely fruitless trip, Khodosovtsev can be seen celebrating the return of one of the 24 more valuable boxes with a kind of enthusiasm typically reserved for the football pitch. “Collemopsidium kostikovii is saved!” he cheers as he raises his fist over his head. “To the sound of explosions!” he adds, as the rumble of mortars interrupts his brief moment of self-congratulation.

Limited resources, another knock-on effect from the ongoing conflict, also threatened to upend the men’s carefully laid plans. While Moisienko drove around to dozens of Kyiv’s home hardware stores in search of plastic boxes to transport the collection’s vascular plants, Khodosovtsev returned to Kherson equipped with little more than a headlamp strapped across his brow and a backpack filled with the same household tools you might use to move apartments.

On this second trip, the magnitude of the task became clear to Khodosovtsev. He had 700 boxes to evacuate. On his first incursion, it had taken him 15 minutes—and way too much tape—to wrap, stack, and rope together half a dozen boxes of samples. At this rate, the botanist said, he’d be blowing past the three days earmarked for this section of the herbarium. Never one to be discouraged, the scientist settled into familiar territory and began doing what he does best: calculating.

“Just two wraps of sticky tape and one roll of rope,” he said, beaming as he reveled in how he’d managed to shave his box-stacking time to just “three and a half minutes.”

This kind of methodical precision proved to be a helpful distraction from the realities of what was going on just beyond the paned glass. A mere 24 hours before Moisienko returned for his third and final trip on January 2, he learned the building where he planned to scoop up the last portion of the herbarium was hit by shelling. Instead of this news derailing his mission, it only seemed to harden him. “We are focused on [the herbarium] so much that you just ignore everything, all these shellings that [are] going on around you,” he said.

Even so, as he worked methodically, packing plant after plant, he started to contemplate how the glass windows of the lab could become deadly projectiles if a shell went off nearby; and how far it was down to the ground floor. At eight stories tall, the academic building sticks out. “The chance the Russians would hit the university building [was] really high,” he says.

He tried to treat the nearby rumbling as white noise, though one day, a shell landed just outside the window as he was packing a sample.

By January 4, Moisienko had finished loading up the last boxes of the collection into the back of a truck. It traveled west for nearly two days, covering approximately 1,000 kilometers, before reaching Vasyl Stefanyk Precarpathian National University in Ivano-Frankivsk in Western Ukraine, the institution that has served as a university in exile for the staff and students of Kherson State University for more than a year.

It’s a kind of safety. But, as Moisienko points out, only as safe as anything or anyone can ever be in a country where missiles fall out of the sky on a near daily basis. “Nowhere in the country is 100 percent safe,” he says.

On January 11, Kherson State University was once again struck by shelling, this time only blocks away from where Moisienko had been working less than a week earlier. “That building remains [in] danger, and it's still dangerous to be in Kherson as it’s shelled still now on a daily basis,” Moisienko says. “We've done the right thing.”

[ciderbird]

I think it’s kind of poetic and slightly funny how Napoleon retreats from Moscow in a fur coat that Alexander gifted him, and then the latter enters Paris on a horse called Eclipse, that was also, a gift from Napoleon

#you can say it was the ECLIPSE of that friendship *badum tss* #why do I have nothing better to do than think about two dead guys all day #napoleonic wars #tsar alexander i #napoleon bonaparte #alexander i of russia

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 49

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Don't. I need him.”

Chapter Warnings: Violence, guns, death, gore

AO3

Spotify

Safe Object Storage, colloquially known as SOS, was a section that existed in every containment building, whether Heavy or Light. Inside were kept designated Safe SCPs, though their level of danger determined in which section they were kept.

You didn’t understand 079’s directions or 682’s confidence until you read the designation of one of the glass cases.

“I estimate that this object will be the most useful,” 079 pronounced as you set him on a nearby table. Your arms were starting to ache now that 682 had grown to the size of a kitten. He reminded you of one too, jumping onto the case only for you to dislodge him by lifting it.

The jade ring lay inside, polished and gleaming in its velvet ring holder. Yes, it certainly would help, but you placed it into the pocket of your lab coat for now. You’d only used it once, and from what you remembered, the effects had been… intense. You’d rather keep it tucked away until you absolutely needed it.

You also grabbed SCP-178, the pair of stereoscopic glasses that to the average person allowed them to see instances of 178. During testing, you’d discovered you did the opposite—make the entities manifest in reality. It could prove useful, though you had no idea if you could control the creatures in any meaningful way.

Other SCPs were looked over and passed, either because you were unsure of your effect on them, or they simply wouldn’t be helpful. The last one you examined, you left where it was, not even bothering to lift the glass.

“Don’t get soft now,” 682 growled from where he was perched on your shoulder like the world’s most belligerent bird. “You need to use all the weapons in your arsenal.”

The Soviet GP-5 mask seemed to stare up at you, its dark, circular eye guards like a pair of empty sockets. As soon as you’d been forced to wear it during testing, you’d known what it truly was. The official SCP-1499 document stated it could “transport” its wearer to a bleak, alien landscape filled with violent beings of unknown origin.

In actuality, it teleported the wearer to somewhere in Russia, making them believe the buildings they saw were of alien design, and the people they saw were hideous monsters. You’d known this, just as you’d known a previous wearer—most likely a Foundation agent—had decided to attack these “creatures,” not knowing the truth of what they were doing.

What you had done to the mask was worse. As soon as you’d donned it, you hadn’t gone anywhere; you’d forced five of those “monsters” to appear in the testing chamber with you. The security personnel had fired on them until they no longer moved.

No one had confirmed it to you afterward, but you knew you were responsible for the sudden and unexplainable disappearance of five people in Moscow.

“No,” you said, placing the glasses in your other pocket. “This will have to be enough.”

“And if it’s not?” asked the reptile.

You didn’t answer.

The Site Director had an office in each containment structure, as well as in the administration building. If he’d retreated to the admin section, you would have been out of luck due to the retracted skybridges, but apparently, he hadn’t made it out of Heavy Containment before then. And those bridges wouldn’t span the gap, not even for a Site Director. Only an all-clear signal or an override from the O5 Council would open the isolated sections of Site-20.

After briefly plugging him into a nearby security console, 079 showed you the interior view of Leahy’s office. The angle was from somewhere in the corner, a security camera, and there was satisfaction in observing the Site Director trapped in a cell of his own. It had been turned into a makeshift hold, the sofa, table, and desk turned on their sides to provide cover from whatever tried the door, which was the only way in or out of the room.

You didn’t know who exactly he expected to show up. Leahy had no shortage of enemies, and now three of them were outside his door.

079 had warned you the guards were heavily armed, but he’d failed to mention they were MTF. At least you knew where 682’s guards had gone. They were covered head to toe in armor, Kevlar, and visors, and were trained to face the deadliest anomalies the Foundation had.

682 didn’t ask if you had a plan. You only had the one, and you slipped it over your finger, the jade band shrinking snug against your skin. The familiar rush of startling, brilliant awareness washed over your body, alighting neurons and nerves, filling your mind with thoughts faster than you could process them.

You set the laptop on the floor a few feet from the entrance, far enough away so the two SCPs wouldn’t become collateral damage.

“Open the door.”

079 wasn’t plugged into the network, but his fragment would hear you. You unholstered the pistol, checked the clip and chamber, and noted it would be overkill. You only needed three bullets.

The door slid open. As predicted, one of the MTF immediately pulled the pin from a smoke grenade and launched it toward the breach.

You stuck your arm around the doorway and fired. The bullet shredded the steel canister, causing a midair explosion of smoke and chemical residue. To their credit, the MTF didn’t panic as the office filled with smoke, blinding them. They were still in control, confident their training and armor would protect them.

You stepped into the room and fired twice into the floor. The first bullet ricocheted off the tile, bounced upwards, and caught a soldier in his chin guard, knocking his head back. The second entered his brain through the bottom of his jaw.

Before he could fall, you caught him by the straps of his vest and held him up, the bullets fired on you caught in the mesh of his armor.

The dead MTF still held his P90 TR in one hand, the stiff glove holding his finger against the trigger. You bent his arm back over his shoulder and squeezed the inside of his bicep, digging into the median nerve. His hand twitched, dying muscles rallying one last time, and the gun sent a spray of bullets across the room.

Now the MTF did start to panic, not expecting one of their own to fire on them, the smoke blinding them from realizing he was already dead. You didn’t aim for hitting them directly, instead herding them toward the side of the room away from the Site Director cowering behind his overturned desk. You only had seconds before their training overtook basic human instinct.

You released the arm and unhooked an ET-MP grenade from the dead man’s belt. Already the soldiers were coming to their senses, aware they’d left Leahy exposed, unable to shoot through the smoke for risk of killing him.

That split-second hesitation was the last piece falling into place. Shoving the armored corpse sideways, it hit Leahy hard, forcing him to the ground and covering him. You tossed the grenade and aimed into the smoke.

It bounced once, and on its returning arc upward, you squeezed the trigger.

“GRENA—”

The explosion bloomed at hip height, briefly revealing the three soldiers in the smokey haze before sending a shock wave across the room. It slammed you back against the wall, cracking the concrete surface from the force of your body. Without the ring, you would have been little more than a broken doll thrown by an angry toddler.

As it were, your brain ached like it had been rattled in your head, your ears filled with a high-pitched whine. Your right ear couldn’t hear anything beyond that. You coughed, the smoke in your lungs reaching a level of irritation you couldn’t ignore. The vents in the ceiling whirred to life, 079 clearing the air for you now that the smokescreen was no longer needed.

You staggered to your feet and ignored the distant pains of your body. If you were lucid and moving, you were fine. Grabbing the dead soldier by his vest, you hauled him off Leahy, finding the man was still alive, shaken but in better shape than you were. You didn’t know what you looked like, not having seen your reflection clearly since before the breach, but by his pale, sweaty expression, it wasn’t comforting.

His eyes shifted past you, and it was the only warning. You turned. There wasn’t much left of the soldier from the waist down, but that didn’t stop him from aiming his pistol at your chest.

The calculations were clear—you couldn’t raise your own pistol before he could squeeze the trigger. The muzzle flashed, the explosion of gunpowder worsening the whine in your right ear, but no bullet pierced your chest cavity to puncture your lungs.

A greenish grey blur flashed in front of you, taking the bullet in the side before hitting the tile. Instead of tearing through him, the slug was absorbed into 682’s flesh, and his size increased to that of a large cat.

The MTF had time to draw in a breath to scream before the entity descended on him, ripping out his throat in a spray of crimson that painted the nearby wall. A trail of gurgles left him before there was silence.

You left 682 to enjoy his well-earned meal, checking the rest of the bodies, or what was left of them, finding no other survivors. Your heart beat at a steady, strong rhythm, one that hadn’t changed from beginning to end.

“Are you armed?” you asked as if speaking to the room at large, though he knew the question was for him. Leahy had at least one weapon, judging by the shape of his coat, but you were curious if he would choose honesty.

“Yes.”

He understood there was no purpose in lying or fighting. Good.

“Toss them.”

Now you did turn, watching as he pulled a pistol and stun gun from within his lab coat, sliding them across the floor. It was the same stun gun he’d used on you when you first wore 714. Rage erupted along your nerves, dimming just as quickly. His suffering was assured, but now was not the moment.

You kicked away the weapons, not bothering to pick them up, your own pistol still held in one hand. You stared down at him. He seemed so… small from how you remembered. Or maybe you had stretched beyond your limits. With each passing minute, you felt less and less like yourself. Cold liquid seeped in your veins, as if the heat of your hatred had been inverted into endothermic apathy.

“Christ, Reid,” he uttered in a quiet breath.

682, who had grown to the size of a dog after eating what was left of the MTF, lunged at Leahy, trapping him further against the wall.

“Shit!”

“You do remember,” the reptile mused. He was large enough to start regaining his crocodilian shape, his green mane hanging over his eyes as he bared pointed teeth through a long snout. “I feared you had forgotten me, Site Director. Your shameful little secret, though I am growing by the minute. Perhaps I shall add your flesh to mine. You do not appear to be using it for much.”

He opened wide his maw, prepared to swallow the man whole.

“Don’t. I need him.”

682 paused, one yellow eye appraising you through his shaggy mane. Whatever he saw made him growl and snap his muzzle shut. Leahy flinched from the sharp teeth closing in front of his nose, and 682 gave a low chuckle. He moved away, perhaps to feed on more bodies or to return to 079. You didn’t care which. Your entire focus was on the man watching you with the same expression one would wear around an injured wild animal.

You raised the pistol and aimed between his eyes.

“I’ll tell you where 049 is,” Leahy said with a quickness that bordered on earnest. “But… you’re not going to like it.”

“Talk.”

Your tone was as cold as the slush in your veins. He winced.

“It would be better if I show you.”

“Where?”

“One of the medical labs.”

You waited to feel something. A rush of panic, or heart-clenching fear at 079’s words being proven true.

You felt nothing.

“Move.”

Leahy blinked, but beyond that, he silently obeyed. You kept him in front, pistol in one hand and the open laptop in the other. 682 stayed a few steps ahead, scouting the way for any obstacles, human or SCP, but the way was clear up to the medical lab. It was obvious why. The closer you got to your destination, the number of black stains and rust-colored ooze marking the walls and floor increased.

You were somehow unsurprised when he led you to the same medical lab where you and 049 had cured the anomaly-afflicted patients. Those empty beds were shoved against the wall, their haphazard arrangement indicating chaos. One gurney stood out in the middle of the long room, this one different for two reasons. It held wrist and ankle restraints, and it was corroded by black ooze and rust, the same kind infesting the walls.

“106 attacked before we knew what was happening,” Leahy said without prompting. “Most of our people were taken. 049 included.”

All you could do was stare at the gurney, and some of your rage broke through the icy surface.

“What were you doing to him.”

“Do you really want to know?”

He barely got out the words before you rushed him, shoving him against the wall and holding the barrel of your shotgun against his neck.

“Okay! Okay! Jesus.”

You put some weight on that shotgun, impressing on him the importance of speaking the truth and speaking it quickly. He eyed you, his hesitancy a bad sign, as if death by your hands might be the preferable option.

“We… were going to extract semen samples. Sperm donations for the project. But it was proving difficult, there was an internal sheath that was impossible to penetrate, so I ordered him to be surgically opened. We never got the chance—”

 You backed off and aimed the shotgun at his face.

“I should kill you,” you hissed, some of that radioactive fury leaking through the cold.

“You certainly could.”

He was pale, sweat dotting his skin, and he was clearly worried, but there was a distinct lack of terror that was disappointing. You’d been certain a man like Leahy was a coward at heart, but being faced with his own death, he seemed oddly detached.

“Not going to beg for your life?”

He released a breath that sounded almost amused.

“Would it help?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

You ground your teeth together. Having the Site Director on his knees begging would be a satisfying sight, but it wouldn’t save 049. You had to focus. It was getting more difficult the longer you wore the ring, your thoughts floating like silk ribbons in the wind if you had nothing to focus on. Your head was also starting to hurt like a sonofabitch.

Your vision drifted away, drawn to one of the large, rusted stains on the wall where 106 had either entered or left this dimension. Focus snapping into a focal point, you shifted your gaze back to Leahy.

“I have a better use for you.” You tilted your head toward the stain. “Go in there.”

He scoffed, disbelief slanting his features.

“I’d rather you shoot me.”

You lifted away the shotgun, pulled out your pistol, and fired it into his thigh.

Leahy screamed and clutched his leg, nearly falling if not for the wall behind him and your fingers suddenly gripping the collar of his lab coat.

“A shame you’re too old for him,” you growled. “If you were twenty years younger, I’d break both femurs, just to be sure.”

There it was, the fear in his eyes, clouded by pain and an animal need to run and hide. But there had been a purpose for the bullet.

682 appeared next to you, his own interest showing, though you weren’t sure if he was drawn by the agonized panting coming from the Site Director, or the blood dripping down his leg.

“As much as I enjoy the screaming,” he lamented with a sigh, “I cannot accompany you in that realm.”

“That’s fine. I won’t be long.”

You released Leahy and watched for him to collapse. He didn’t, but he clearly wanted to as he pressed down on the wound that refused to clot.

“F-fuck, Reid, I’m going to bleed out.”

Releasing an impatient breath, you pushed against his shoulder so he was standing upright, and before he could comment on the rough treatment, you snatched at his belt buckle and unlatched it. His expression would have been funny at another time when your veins weren’t burning with an arctic freeze.

With a yank, the belt came out of its loops, and you wrapped it halfway up his thigh. The bullet had entered above his right knee, the swelling tissue and damaged bone effectively keeping him hobbled. You needed him limping but conscious, because where you were going, you wouldn’t have the boons granted by the ring. You didn’t know how 714 would affect you while in 106’s dimension, but this wasn’t the time to cross-test anomalies.

The tourniquet stemmed the bleeding to trickle before it stopped completely.

“You’ll live,” you answered his pinched, angry expression. “The bullet went where I wanted.”

He wasn’t impressed, and he wasn’t grateful, but you didn’t need him to be. You only needed him weak and easy to control.

Stepping back a safe distance, you slipped off the ring. The world shrank on itself, your focus returning to its normal clarity and limited width, and the warmth infusing your limbs was a relief. You shivered, closing your eyes to slow down the readjustment.

It wasn’t just the physical differences. The thick mental barrier fell, and several different realizations and memories crowded in, vying for your attention even as you tried to hold them at bay.

Smoke, gunshots, blood and explosions. Four lives snuffed out, violently and without care, without a thought, only obstacles in the way.

Valens, tortured and assaulted for a project that was equally as cruel.

The plan to go into 106’s realm. You could still see the steps, what the colder, more alien version of you wanted. It was insane. How you’d had such certainty a moment ago and now wanted to run the other way was jarring. It was like dreaming you could fly, only to wake on the edge of a building and assume the same rules still applied.

And then, shooting Leahy. You didn’t know which part of you had done that, the lines too blurred to distinguish.

Speaking of. He was staring when you opened your eyes, though he hadn’t moved, not when 682 was close by, waiting for the Site Director to be stupid. It was a shame he wasn’t. It seemed shooting him was the right move, cowing him just enough to make him manageable.

Your own nerves were much more rebellious. Nausea roiled your gun, stomach threatening to heave after what you’d done, at what had been done to 049. Lines were being smashed to pieces, and you imagined more would be trampled before it was over.

But 049 had no one else. No one with clean hands, a clear conscious, and who lacked a mountain of growing damage caused and received. All he had was you, and it would have to be enough.

You slung the shotgun over your back but kept out the pistol, grabbed Leahy by the arm, and pushed him toward the rusted spot. It seemed solid, but as soon as he put his palm against the surface, he sank through like a thick, viscous liquid.

You didn’t let go, knowing the connection between the two sides might not be a linear corridor, and entering one after another might not put you in the same location. The Site Director was almost all the way through, and for a moment you were afraid the portal would bar your way, your own abilities keeping you from entering an anomalous space.

But the viscous rust slid over your hand, coating it in a distant cold/heat sensation that you instinctively knew should hurt, but didn’t. You kept a grip on Leahy’s coat, closing your eyes as it swallowed up your arm and then over your head, forcing your body to follow.

You endured the eerie feeling of pushing through a solid wall into somewhere that shouldn’t exist—and burst out the other side to infinite darkness.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 #scp 049 fanfiction #scp fanfiction #wolveria writes

[centuriespast]

Marshal Ney Supporting the Rear Guard during the Retreat from Moscow Adolphe Yvon (1817–1893) Manchester Art Gallery

[josefavomjaaga]

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

#napoleon's marshals #michel ney #ida saint-elme #memoirs #napoleon's family #eugene de beauharnais #russian retreat #russian campaign #russia 1812 #also #we have a phone call by a certain vice-queen interested in the exact definition of the word “protection” in this particular context

[polish-art-tournament]

round 1, poll 6

Dirce chrześcijańska:

painted in 1897

chrisitan girl killed in an ancient roman amphitheatre

emperor Nero is here

yeah this was painted right after quo vadis was published

antiquity-inspired scenes with many characters and skillfully executed lighting details and theatrical poses are basically Siemiradzki's trademark

violent scene with tits out right at the front what more can i say

really fascinated me as a child, it's right there as you enter the 19th century gallery in the national museum so i would always come in like O.O hello naked lady.... i see you are still dead...... i wanna know what happened......

Napoleon w Smorgoniach:

painted in 1930

if you know me you know i'm a napoleon girlie

not a very glorious scene, this is Napoleon leaving the army in Russia after the catastrophe that was the retreat from Moscow

there he is, at the porch, in his gray redingote (dude where's your warm winter coat)

another wintery landscape, love me some wintery landscapes

theres dogs C:

see more of their works! Siemiradzki, Rozwadowski

#henryk siemiradzki #zygmunt rozwadowski #napoleon #polish art #polska #polls #round 1

[thekristen999]

✨2023 writing round-up✨

I enjoyed seeing @exhuastedpigeon 's write-up and thought I'd post mine :)

I wrote 97k words in 2023. Which is more than I thought! I struggled with finding time to be creative this year. My RL has been such a chaotic ball of stress. But things are getting better, and I think my Muse will be more exited to come out and play this year!

February

bro·ken 32k

This was my favorite story I wrote this year. It’s dark, gritty, and a deep exploration of what would have happened if Eddie and Buck hadn’t meet until the S3 timeline. With both guys at rock-bottom and how they find each other to heal.

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bro·ken

adjective 1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. 2. having given up all hope; despairing.

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

March

Not Today 2k

A coda to the lightning strike that uses those events to explore Eddie’s encounters and emotional understanding of death.

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Eddie propelled himself up the ladder, shutting off those parts of brain he refused to listen to, only focusing on how fast he could climb, how hard he tried pulling on Buck’s safety line, until finally, he gave in to the only logic he was willing to consider.

What Buck needed; Eddie couldn't provide.

(Eddie and his battles with death and dying)

We’ve Got Fun & Games  7k

I wrote humor? :) It was a great fun to have the 118-taking part in a mini version of the Amazing Race and all the shenanigans that follow during a contest across the city.

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"Um. You trained for this?” Ravi asked.

Eddie released a long-suffering sigh. "We trained. Every day. For a month.”

Buck could not believe his ears. Did they not grasp the glory of the great adventure before them? He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Running across the scorching plains of Africa, bolting down the steep steps of Shanghai, diving straight into synchronized swimming routines with Olympic athletes in Moscow. These are only a few obstacles we might encounter during…The Amazing Race."

Bobby frowned. "This is for charity.”

Buck spread out his arms to encompass the couple hundred people mingling around the park. "And it’s against all the other firehouses in the city. We do have a reputation to uphold."

April

Tick...Tick...Boom 3.6k

A very intense story on the dangers first responders face during a call gone wrong.

.

“Eddie,” Buck warned.

He started to say something else when the door cracked open.

A woman poked her head out, her voice shaking. “Yes?”

“Are you alright ma’am?” Eddie asked.

The question was rhetorical. Blood dripped down her chin from a busted lip, her puffy face framed by the beginnings of two black eyes.

“I’m fine. Is there, um…,” A shadow loomed. Her trembling hand gripped the door frame harder. “How can I help you, officers?”

“We’re with the L.A. Fire Department,” Eddie said, his voice calm. “We really need to come in. It’ll just take a moment.”

The woman glanced behind her, whispering, “I can’t…. I’m trying….”

The shadow retreated.

Eddie stuck his foot under the door, slowly pushing it open as he eased his way inside. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

May

We All Fall Down  3.5 k

I wanted more from the finale. Like the skeleton was there, but I needed more details and bit more logic.

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He’d done this before. Inside the well. Trapped forty feet underground instead of in a tin can, rising water the constant threat.

Eddie stared at the radio, knowing this time there’d be someone on the other end to hear him if he needed to say something. If his time his second chances had finally run out.

He wouldn’t die alone. Not really. His team would be there. Just inches away. He could tell them, tell Buck….

(A nuanced re-working of the events of the episode to satisfy certain wants and needs)

August

Cutting The Ties That Bind 34.K M

I wrote something that wasn’t a hurt/comfort or an angst fest! It had lots of sexual tension, drama, and meaty plot. I love world-building.

.

Evan Buckley was a businessman, he had meetings and deadlines like everyone else. Sometimes he used intimation. While using the very same tactics he was trying to end while converting his family business into legitimate operations was a little hypocritical, it was the results that mattered.

Occasionally, he got threatened, but it was usually all hot air and ego. That all changed the day his breaks were tampered with. Enter Eddie Diaz, security specialist, who was not easily impressed by Buck’s expensive suits or financial conquests. That was okay. Buck enjoyed a challenge.

(The Mafia AU)

November

Follow You Into The Dark  14k

I had a need. I wanted to put both Eddie and Buck in the worst possible situation where they literally had to depend on the other in ways they had never before.

.

Buck kept a firm grip around Eddie’s arm as he was guided down hallways. They’d both experienced something like this before during the Academy: cadet’s exercises where both teammates were blindfolded and forced to depend on the other to escape burning buildings. This wasn’t unlike that experience, except of course this was real and Buck’s freaking eyes were swollen shut and Eddie was concussed and deaf.

(Or a serial arsonist terrorizes the city, plunging Buck and Eddie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse.)

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 on abc #writing round up 2023 #kristen999writes

[ammg-old2]

The Wagner head, Yevgeny Prigozhin, has accused Moscow’s leadership of lying to the public about the justifications for invading Ukraine, in the latest sign of conflict between Vladimir Putin’s government and one of his most important allies.

In an explosive 30-minute video posted on his Telegram channel, Prigozhin dismissed Moscow’s claims that Kyiv was planning to launch an offensive on the Russian-controlled territories in eastern Ukraine in February 2022.

“There was nothing extraordinary happening on the eve of February 24,” Prigozhin said.

“The ministry of defence is trying to deceive the public and the president and spin the story that there was insane levels of aggression from the Ukrainian side and that they were going to attack us together with the whole Nato block,” the Wagner head said.

Shortly after Russia attacked Ukraine, Putin claimed Moscow’s invasion had thwarted Ukraine’s own plans for “a massive attack on the Donbas, and then on the Crimea”.

Prigozhin also said Russia’s leadership could have avoided the war by negotiating with Ukraine’s president, Volodomyr Zelenskiy.

“When Zelenskiy became president, he was ready for agreements. All that needed to be done was to get off Mount Olympus and negotiate with him,” he said.

Prigozhin has been arguing with top military officials for months, blaming the minister of defence, Sergei Shoigu, for battlefield failures.

However, his latest tirade appeared to be a new escalation, as the warlord directly contradicted Putin’s rationale for the invasion, implying it was based on lies in what amounts to the harshest criticism by any prominent Russian war figure of the decision to attack Ukraine.

“What was the war for? The war needed for Shoigu to receive a hero star … The oligarchic clan that rules Russia needed the war,” he said.

“The mentally ill scumbags decided: ‘It’s OK, we’ll throw in a few thousand more Russian men as cannon fodder. They’ll die under artillery fire, but we’ll get what we want,’” Prigozhin continued.

While the warlord was careful not to directly attack the Russian president, Prigozhin did question several decisions made by Putin, including the Kremlin’s decision to exchange more than 100 captured Azov fighters for Viktor Medvedchuk, a close ally of Putin.

And in one instance, Prigozhin appeared to criticise the Russian president for continuing to self-isolate.

“We still have self-isolation in our country, and therefore none of the decision-makers have yet met [with military generals and discussed how to win the war]. They all talked on the phone.”

Prigozhin, whose Wagner troops have pulled back from Bakhmut, also attacked Russia’s current war efforts in the face of Ukraine’s counteroffensive.

Directly contradicting Putin’s claims that Moscow has fended off Kyiv’s counterattack, Prigozhin also accused the Russian military leadership of lying to the public about the scale of its losses and setbacks in Ukraine.

“The Russian army is retreating in all directions and shedding a lot of blood … What they tell us is the deepest deception.”

#current events #politics #russian politics #russo-ukrainian war #2022 russian invasion of ukraine #russia #yevgeny prigozhin #wagner group

[tomorrowusa]

Executing your own troops must do wonders for morale. No wonder Russia is losing.

Those comparisons of Putin to Stalin and Hitler are not really hyperbole.

“We have information that the Russian military has been actually executing soldiers who refuse to follow orders,” U.S. National Security Council spokesman John Kirby said at a press briefing in Washington on Thursday. “We also have information that Russian commanders are threatening to execute entire units if they seek to retreat from Ukrainian artillery fire,” he added. “It’s reprehensible to think … that you would execute your own soldiers because they didn’t want to follow orders,” Kirby said. “And now threatening to execute entire units. It’s barbaric.” [ ... ]

Kirby said Moscow appears to have resumed the “human wave tactics” of throwing hundreds of poorly trained soldiers at the Ukrainian lines, which the Kremlin first used in the winter offensive last year. “Russia’s renewed offensive is a sobering reminder that President Putin has not given up his aspirations to take all of Ukraine. As long as Russia continues its brutal assault, we have to support Ukraine,” Kirby said.

If Russian troops know that Putin's Mafia-style enforcers are probably going to shoot them, they have plenty of incentive to shoot the pro-régime henchmen first. 💡

It's Day 614 of Putin's 3-day "special operation" in Ukraine. It's getting increasingly difficult for Russia's dictator to find people who will voluntarily fight for his cherished goal of restoring the decrepit Soviet Union in all but name. Just yesterday you may have seen a post here about how kids in Russia are being militarized.

The best advice we can give to Russian males of military age is GET OUT.

Neighboring Mongolia and Kazakhstan are supposed to be beautiful in the autumn. It's the perfect time for a vacation.

Putin has ruined Russia for at least a generation; it's gradually turning into a large version of North Korea. Even if the war ends tomorrow there is little future for anybody in Russia – except maybe in Putin's secret police.

Leaving Russia may be difficult but staying there could become catastrophic.

#invasion of ukraine #john kirby #russia #poor russian morale #russians shooting russians #russia is executing its own soldiers #get out of russia #russia is losing the war #vladimir putin #владимир путин #путин хуйло #добей путина #путин – убийца #путин - военный преступник #путлер #пушечное мясо #бывший ссср #союз постсоветских клептократических ватников #путин – это лжедмитрий iv а не пётр великий #россия - террористическая страна #россия проигрывает войну #уехать за границу #руки прочь от украины! #геть з україни #вторгнення оркостану в україну #україна переможе #деокупація #слава україні! #героям слава!

[illustratus]

The Retreat from Moscow by Ernest Crofts

#ernest crofts #art #napoleonic wars #russia #france #french #invasion #history #napoleonic #winter #1812 #europe #european #french empire #first french empire #soldiers #army #grande armée #snow #landscape

[leeenuu]

A view of unidentified graves of civilians and Ukrainian soldiers in a cemetery in the recently retaken area of Izium, Ukraine, Thursday, September 15, 2022 who had been killed by Russian forces near the beginning of the war. A mass grave of Ukrainian soldiers and unknown buried civilians was found in the forest of recently recaptured city of Izium. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)

An Ukrainian serviceman stands in a basement which, according to Ukrainian authorities, was used as a torture cell during the Russian occupation, in the retaken village of Kozacha Lopan, Ukraine, Saturday, September 17, 2022. (AP Photo/Leo Correa)

Servicemen pay last respect at the coffin of Olga Simonova, 34, a Russian woman who was killed in the Donetsk region while fighting on Ukraine's side in the war with her native country, in a crematorium in Kyiv, Ukraine, Friday, September 16, 2022. (AP Photo/Roman Hrytsyna)

Houses destroyed and damaged after Russian attack on civilian neighbourhood in the recently retaken area of Izium, Ukraine, Wednesday, September 14, 2022. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)

Ukrainian servicemen walk on a field to rescue the body of an Ukrainian soldier in a retaken area near the border with Russia in Kharkiv region, Ukraine, Saturday, September 17, 2022. (AP Photo/Leo Correa)

Experts work during the exhumation of bodies in the recently retaken area of Izium, Ukraine, Friday, September 16, 2022. Ukrainian authorities discovered a mass burial site near the recaptured city of Izium that contained hundreds of graves. It was not clear who was buried in many of the plots or how all of them died, though witnesses and a Ukrainian investigator said some were shot and others were killed by artillery fire, mines or airstrikes. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)

A field is covered with craters left by the shelling close to Izium, Kharkiv region, Ukraine, Tuesday, September 13, 2022. Ukrainian troops piled pressure on retreating Russian forces Tuesday, pressing deeper into occupied territory and sending more Kremlin troops fleeing ahead of the counteroffensive that has inflicted a stunning blow on Moscow's military prestige. (AP Photo/Kostiantyn Liberov)

Emergency workers have a rest during the exhumation of bodies in the recently retaken area of Izium, Ukraine, Friday, September 16, 2022. Ukrainian authorities discovered a mass burial site near the recaptured city of Izium that contained hundreds of graves. It was not clear who was buried in many of the plots or how all of them died, though witnesses and a Ukrainian investigator said some were shot and others were killed by artillery fire, mines or airstrikes. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)

Residents in a neighborhood collecting water from a well in Kharkiv, Ukraine on Monday, September 12, 2022. (Nicole Tung/The New York Times)

Oleh Semeniuk, looks at a crater created by an explosion from a window of his apartment that was damaged after a Russian attack in a residential area in Kharkiv, Ukraine, Friday, September 16, 2022. "I'm a railway worker and we are made of iron", says the 59-year-old man while standing at the site of an explosion that hit an area near his apartment. (AP Photo/Leo Correa)

Local residents crowd near a car distributing humanitarian aid in the town of Balakliia, recently liberated by Ukrainian Armed Forces, in Kharkiv region, Ukraine, Tuesday, September 13, 2022. (REUTERS/Gleb Garanich)

#war in ukraine #russian world

[mariacallous]

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

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

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

DAMAGED BUT DANGEROUS

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE LAST RIDE OF THE SOVIET ARMY

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

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

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

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

HUMAN RESOURCES

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

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

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

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

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

HOW SOON IS NOW?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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