#news from the cupola

[chiropteracupola]

jobs for guy who is mostly good at Avoiding, Hunkering Down In A Corner, and Feeling The Great Dread

#news from the cupola #said guy should get off tumblr and do his assignment

[mcmansionhell]

a fine selection of bonker facades from the DC suburbs

Howdy folks! In honor of Halloween, here are some of the scariest houses currently for sale in the ever-cursed suburbs of Washington, DC. It's been awhile since I checked in on this particular hotspot, and once more, it did not disappoint.

I'll just get this one out of the way. Long-time McMansion Hell-heads are well aware of this monster estate in Potomac, MD, once allegedly owned by a particular professional athlete who will not be named, because the house should suck on its own merit. The only nice thing I can say about this house is that the designers kept the materials and colors consistent, which adds some unity to what is, in reality, five turrets in a trench coat.

Some things, the economists tell us, are too big to fail. This is not one of them. Let's move on.

Many McMansions exist to mock the concept of architectural consistency and historical continuity. This is one of them. About every single type of expanded second-story window elaboration exists here: bay window, covered balcony, juliet balcony. None of them work. The house can't decide if its 19th century eclecticism or tony DC Georgian/Federal cocktail. The random cupola merely adds insult to injury.

I don't know where realtors learned how to do photoshop, but whoever taught them should have their Adobe licenses revoked. There's a certain type of McMansion I call a "hat house" - which is exactly what it sounds like. It's a house with multiple bays or masses and each has its own special hat. This is one of the most egregious examples because all of the hats are different shapes and scales. Not even the most Disney Theme Park pink sky and fairy lighting can mitigate the controlling aesthetic influence of hät.

No compilation of Bad Facades would be complete without at least one Frankentudor™. Rich people in America really like to harken back to the days of feudalism, yet uglier, more drab, and using materials mostly derived from petrochemicals. The lighting is not helping this house, which is about as gloomy, hulking, and bloated as they come.

I have some fondness for houses that derive new, inventive forms of being ugly. The spread eagle McMansion is one of them, two oblique wings with no real core. A corner lot specimen. This one is especially weird, with the quadruple portholes, the windowless bays, the mall foyer, and the hipped roof that's not quite clipped, complete with tacked on gables. Kind of neat, sad to say.

I know most of you won't agree, but I actually believe this is the worst McMansion of the set. The absolute banality of it, the out-of-proportion everything, the compound-like demeanor, the nonsensical spacing of the mind-numbingly identical windows. The most infuriating part is that whoever designed this had some kind of order, continuity, proportion in mind and just failed utterly at it, like Sideshow Bob stepping on all those rakes. I hate it!!!!

When rich people try to make overly-inflated temples to their dumb piles of money, it's deeply satisfying when they end up looking like this house, which is just a pile of roof and wall tacked on to the worst proportioned portico imaginable. Classic McMansion Hubris. Let us all laugh.

Now we're getting into the more eldritch horror part of the list. Some houses make me wonder if I have the same set of eyeballs and conceptions of what "a house" looks like as other people. This one is playing dress up games with foam stickers. It looks like Steve's shirt from Blues Clues. It abuses the prairie muntins, which is an insult to my chosen hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Bad house.

Not enough time is devoted on this blog to bad modernism, though it would be rather generous to call this house modern. It's more like postmodernism trying to remember what modernism looked like and tripping down a flight of stairs collecting random masses and windows on the way down. Houses like this give modern architecture a bad name. It's borderline libel. Also it looks like it was made out of cardboard.

This brings us to our final, and objectively worst house:

I don't even know what to say about this freak of architecture. I don't know how it came together or why. I don't know what it wants or even pretends to do. It is a horrorshow. Gables protruding from random places, stealth roof fragments, windows too small for the walls they're embedded in, a weird cathedral-like entrance, the mosquito-infested pond, the worst example of realtor sky I've ever seen, all of it is terrible. It's haunted. Trick or Treat, but without the treat.

Anyway, that does it for this installment. If you're curious about more McModern badness, this month's Patreon bonus post will be to your liking!

Happy Halloween and Día de Los Muertos!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including extra posts and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar, because media work is especially recession-vulnerable.

#architecture #design #mcmansion #mcmansion hell #bad architecture #ugly houses #dc suburbs #90s architecture #2000s architecture #y2k #urbanism #virginia #maryland

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This funky little revitalized former train depot + caboose, in Accord, New York, was redone and designed by architect Marica McKeel. It’s now a colorful modern space, but retains some of the original charm.

A bench in the entrance foyer was made from the station agent’s desk. 

In the foyer there’s the original ticket window and sliding door made from salvaged wood.

Looking closely at the door, you’ll see that they left the original turn-of-the-century graffiti. 

In the living room, which used to be the waiting room, you’ll see the original wood and ticket window among the colorful modern furnishings. 

In the living room Marica installed an orange tri-fold door that opens to the patio.

The contemporary kitchen has an architect-designed farmhouse table and Smeg appliances. 

Double height turquoise staircase.

Restored original signage.

On the landing outside the main bdm is a sitting area.

In the main bdm is a contemporary king size bed w/4 built-in cubbies and 6 built-in storage bins.

Built-in desk and storage.

The bunk room has 6 sleeper-car inspired pods (4 queen size and 2 twins), plus color-coordinated drawers.

The bright orange upstairs bath.

She used this space alongside the stairs as a reading nook. 

The 1920 baggage room was made into a yoga studio. 

Downstairs bath. Both baths have washlet toilets with heated seats, front and rear cleanse features and air dryers.

The caboose is in the yard on train tracks.. 

Small table and train benches.

Cupola with 2 cushioned perches.

Built-in engineer's desk, mini fridge, and built-in day bed

Railway artifacts and ephemera decorate the caboose.

Exterior, circa 1906.

https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/new-york/train-depot-ny/

#converted historic train depot #converted caboose #modern architecture #long post

[milfthrawnuorodo]

Safe in my Arms (Ascendancy!Thrawn x Reader)

Pairing: Ascendancy!Thrawn x Female Chiss Reader 

Summary: Csaplar, the capital city of Csilla, has been attacked by alien warships. You are a Syndic of the Mith family, forced to seek shelter from the attack along with the rest of the Syndicure. Thrawn, senior captain of the Chiss Expansionary Defence Fleet, is able to easily defeat the enemy targets, but finds himself struggling with something new: the sudden feelings of concern and panic at the thought of you in danger. These feelings are a first for Thrawn, always so confident in battle, seldom so confident when it comes to his feelings for his lover. When you two are reunited, Thrawn is forced to confront his feelings head on. His relief at seeing you alive and well quickly turns into something almost animalistic, and passion ensues, followed by the dawn of a crucial revelation. 

Warnings: Sliiiight angst, but I promise it all works out. SMUT!!! Oral (female receiving), P in V, feral Thrawn is it’s own warning, fucking on a countertop (will I ever let him fuck in the comfort of a bed??? Only time will tell). And watch out because this ending is FLUFF CITY. Like Goddamn call this bitch cotton candy the way it makes me so wet and then absolutely MELTS me. (too much?? Yeah, probably). 

A/N: So the original idea for this came from my head canon’s with my Chiss Syndic OC, Theta, which can be found here. I did originally post this as a Thrawn x Theta, but I know how beloved a solid Thrawn x Reader fic is, so here’s the compromise. Sigh,this fic is so self indulgent it should be a crime. But I hope you enjoy it!

This fic is spicyyyyy so 18+ only, minors do not interact. 

_______________________

The aroma of fresh caccoleaf was the only thing getting you through this never ending meeting. You gingerly took a sip, cherishing the slightly sweet flavor as you forced yourself to focus on the argument at hand. The Syndicure was in full session, meaning your days had been consumed by meetings just like this, speakers for various families vying for exchanges and favors to bolster their own needs above others. 

“What we are proposing would completely revitalize this meager farm area and turn it into a beacon of prosperity, attracting people from all around the Ascendancy, which could boost the local economy and present other long-lasting positive impacts. If you’ll look at the document that has been shared with each of your questises–”

The Ufsa speaker hadn’t even finished his obviously well-rehearsed speech before a representative from the Chaf family made her own grievances known. “That land rightfully belongs to the Chaf family,” she butted in emphatically. “You’ll have to pry that land straight from our hands.”

It took all your years of experience to contain your eye roll. You were proud of your position, honored by your duty to both your family and the Ascendancy, and, yes, you lived to serve your people in any way possible. But you also had a tendency to get frustrated at how selfish and self-serving members of the Aristocra could be. Your whole mission as one of the few female members of the Syndicure was to inspire unity amongst the families and encourage compromise and support over supporting self-serving needs. Though, with so many of the Aristocra being dead set in their old-fashioned ways, you more often than not felt like you were fighting an uphill battle. 

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, preparing to interrupt the argument which was clearly not making any headway, when a resounding alarm began to blare throughout the meeting room. The room was silent for a single heartbeat, before the Syndicure erupted into noise and chaos, each person trying to speak over the other to figure out what was going on. A voice projected over the loudspeaker.

“This is an emergency. Please remain calm and make your way to the shelters beneath the Cupola. I repeat, this is an emergency. Please remain calm and make your way to the shelters beneath the Cupola ”

The announcement hadn’t even finished before people were scrambling towards the doors and filing down the hallway towards the emergency exits that would take them to the shelters. You stood from your seat, making sure to grab the questis from the table before turning to navigate the throngs of people. A quick scan of the room told you that a majority of the Aristocra were well and able to take care of themselves. However, your eyes landed on a lone straggler, an elder from the Irizi family, struggling to make haste towards the exit, having long been forgotten by members of his own family in their own rush towards safety. Without hesitation, you crossed the short distance between you and loop your arm in his, wordlessly offering him your support. A look of surprise flitted across the man’s face, but was quickly replaced by a nod of respect and gratitude before leaning on your for support as you both made your way to the exit. This image, two rival families coming together to support each other in a time of crisis, this was what being a member of the Chiss Ascendancy was about: above family ranks, above political rivalries, above all else, you were all Chiss.

Joining the rest of the speakers, syndics, and various members of the aristocra in the shelters, you found an empty seat, getting a moment to collect your bearings for the first time. You spare a look down at your questis as a barrage of notifications lit up the screen. You could hardly process the words, having to reread the same sentence multiple times. 

Csaplar, capital of Csilla, is under attack by alien ships. Seek shelter immediately. 

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had dared attack the Ascendancy. It certainly hadn’t been in your lifetime, and from the looks of the faces around the shelter, you decided it most certainly hadn’t taken place in the lifetimes of even the eldest members of the Syndicure. You furiously refreshed your notifications, hoping for another update, but there was none to be found. With a worried sigh, you crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to get comfortable. “Stars only know how long we’ll be stuck down here,” you thought to yourself.

“Alien warships,” a nearby Syndic scoffed. “And they have the audacity to attack us?” His voice increased in pitch to emphasize his incredulity. 

“I’m sure the expansionary defense fleet has already lasered them to stardust by now,” another Syndic reassured. 

The words settled like a lead weight in your stomach. Thrawn. The adrenaline, which had just begun to wear off, peaked again and you worked to control your breathing. He was supposed to be coming back from his mission today. You had just spoken over holovid the night before once Thrawn had retired to his quarters, and you had been looking forward to having him planetside with you. Now, with this latest attack, if he was in the middle of it…your thoughts trailed off into the unknown. You knew it wouldn’t do any good to panic now, but the thought of Thrawn being up there, facing off against three enemy warships was enough to get your heart racing all the same. 

_______________________

Thrawn stood on the bridge, staring out the viewport at the sight before him. The alien warships were gone, blasted into rubble too small to even make a dent through the atmosphere. Always the calculated and stoic Senior Captain, Thrawn had kept a level head throughout the unexpected ordeal. The Springhawk was returning home from its mission, coming out of hyperspace just outside Csilla’s gravity well, when the foreign ships began firing on the planet’s capital city. It took less than a minute for the Chiss ships to return fire, and within fifteen minutes the battle was over. Thrawn stood motionless, staring into the empty space where the ships once stood, a sudden anxiety settling into his bones. His chest felt tight and your name fell off his lips in a silent plea. He knew you were there, in the capital. He knew the aliens had to be targeting the capital city–it was the most logical conclusion. Unfortunately, it was also the conclusion that sent an unfamiliar wave of panic through Thrawn. He forced himself to take exactly one deep breath, steeling himself, and forcing his feet to take him back to the Captain’s chair. “Continue course to Csaplar,” Thrawn announced, thankful to hear that his voice didn’t betray an ounce of the worry that plagued him. “The likeliest conclusion is that you are fine,” he thought to himself in an attempt to regain his internal control. You have to be fine. 

_______________________

The defense force had you waiting two hours in the shelters, to be sure that no further threats arose. Two hours you spent sick with worry about what was going on in the skies above. You fully believed that Thrawn was the most intelligent man you’d ever met, and the Ascendancy as a whole was far safer for his role in the expansionary defense fleet. But that didn’t mean you never worried about him every time you knew he was going into a dangerous situation. More than anything, it was the not knowing that was tearing you up the most. You tried to distract yourself with your colleagues, who, in typical syndicure fashion, all seemed to be trying to one-up each other in outrage, as if they were personally defending the ascendancy’s honor. If there was one thing that could bring together the Aristocra, it was a common enemy. 

Shortly past the second hour mark, you got the all-clear to evacuate the shelter. There would be a briefing with General Ba’kif in one of the meeting halls, and it was clear the Syndicure would be out for blood, demanding answers that may not even be available yet. As the sea of individuals rushed to assault the general with their questions, you strode right past the door of the meeting room, instead heading straight for your office. You had just shut the door behind you when you realized you weren't alone.

Thrawn stood in the middle of your office, and the familiar sight of him in the black uniform was nearly enough to bring tears of relief to your eyes. 

At the first sight of you, relief flooded Thrawn’s body and for the first time in over two hours, he felt as though he could breathe again. It took all of two strides for Thrawn to close the distance between you, his strong arms taking you into his grip, pulling you to his chest. You gripped him just as hard, breathing in the familiar scent.

You stood like that, embracing each other for several heartbeats. “I’m relieved to see you unharmed,” Thrawn’s soft voice broke the silence. You tilted your head back, looking into the eyes of your beloved. “Thrawn,” you started, but your voice broke, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. You forced a deep breath before continuing. “What happened?” With a final press of his lips against the top of your head, Thrawn stepped back and motioned for you to take a seat as he began to recount everything they had found out over the last few hours. 

_______________________

That night, You rinsed off the last of the dinnerware, passing the dripping plate to Thrawn, who methodically dried it off and set it amongst its freshly clean counterparts. The dinner had been a simple affair, but you cherished these nights the most. They were too few and far between. Though, you supposed you were somewhat in luck–the estimated repairs for the Springhawk were to take between four and six weeks, and you’d soak up every ounce of time together you could get. 

Thrawn had been unusually quiet tonight though, and you watched as he gripped the edge of the countertop, clearly lost in thought. Thrawn’s focus shifted as a pair of soft arms wound their way around his midsection. “Tell me what’s bothering you, love,” your voice was barely above a whisper. Up on your toes, you pressed a kiss to Thrawn’s neck, “And don’t bother denying it. You know I can read you as easily as a data cylinder,” you quipped, trying to ease the tension. 

With a small sigh, Thrawn turned to face you. His lean body propped up against the countertop, arms crossed at his chest, and though he was looking at you, you could feel that his gaze was far away. 

“There was a moment today, after the attack,” Thrawn started, then paused, thinking over his words. “I had a feeling I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before.” You waited patiently through another extended pause, giving Thrawn what you hoped was an encouraging nod.

“As soon as the battle was over, I was hit by this strange sense of terror. There was this sudden, overwhelming dread, and I was convinced something had happened to you.” Thrawn paused, his throat working. “I don’t know what I would have done. What I’d do if–” Your features instantly softened, and you interrupted the thought, stepping up on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Thrawn’s lips. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, pulling away momentarily. “I’m fine.” You pressed another kiss to his lips. “I’m okay,” you reassured, murmuring against his lips, and it was as if upon hearing those words, feeling your soft lips against his, something within Thrawn broke. His hands were off the counter, gripping your waist, pulling you closer to him as his lips crashed against yours, gripping you in a fierce kiss. You hardly had a second to react before Thrawn picked you up, twisting your positions so he could place you on the countertop, not even breaking the kiss. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, though you certainly weren’t about to stop him. Thrawn’s grip on your hips tightened as he deepened the kiss, pulling you to the edge of the counter. Suddenly, you understood where Thrawn was coming from. The relief at having him here, the knowledge that you were both safe, both together, it was enough to have you mirroring his intensity.

Your hands were desperate, clumsily trying to undo Thrawn’s uniform. Stars damn all the regulation zips that made these things so damn hard to remove. Eventually, Thrawn took pity on you, stepping back to remove the rest of the jacket, discarding his undershirt as well, letting both fall to the floor. You had only a moment to appreciate the toned, muscular skin, biting your bottom lip as you took in the view, and then Thrawn’s lips were back on yours and your fingers went straight to tangle themselves in his hair. 

“I need to—“ Thrawn gasps out between kisses. “I need to taste you.” 

You nodded your head fervently and spread your legs, leaning back on your hands as Thrawn pressed sweet kisses along your neck and down your still-clothed chest. Pushing up your skirt, you lifted yourself just enough for him to slide your damp panties down your leg. Thrawn let out an audible groan. “I do believe you’ll be the end of me,” he growled in a low voice, before falling to his knees. 

The sight of Thrawn on his knees before you was almost enough to push you over the edge. Thrawn slid your legs open, resting them on his shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your core. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could even beg for more, he dove right in. 

He ate like a man who had been starved for days, unable to get enough. A single finger joined his tongue, and left you squirming on his counter. Your hips thrust up into his face, a second digit joining in, stretching you. He curled his fingers, hitting that spongy spot deep inside you, and stars danced behind your eyelids. “Thrawn!” you exclaimed, panting. His fingers moved faster, harder, expertly dragging your orgasm from you. “Thrawn, I’m going to—“ before you could even finish that sentence, your orgasm ripped through your body. Your back arched, cunt tightening around his fingers. His tongue lapped up your juices, which only prolonged the orgasm. Gasping for air, you slowly came down from her high, coming to just in time to spot Thrawn trailing soft kisses along the inside of your thighs, working his way back up to kiss your face. Thrawn pressed himself up against your soaking core, and you could feel how much he enjoyed that experience as his rock-hard member pressed against your sensitive mound, eliciting another moan from you, his name dancing on your lips. “Thrawn.”

“I need to feel you,” he moaned against his kiss. “I need to be inside you.” His kiss was frenzied, his need was unmistakable. You had never seen the man so undone, and you could hardly believe it was on your behalf. It felt like a dream. All you could manage was a breathy “yes,” in response, but it was all the approval Thrawn needed. 

Without missing a beat, Thrawn’s hands were on his belt, quickly undoing it, his pants falling to the floor soon after. You let out a sigh as he freed his cock and gave his member a rough couple pumps. Your mouth watered at the sight of it–thick and long, and deliciously veined, as if it was designed purely for your pleasure. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction as you took in the sight before you: 

Thrawn, his typically meticulous hair now a disheveled mess, his impressive member in hand, and a look of absolute feral need in his eyes. 

Thrawn held the tip of his cock, teasing your opening. Even when he was overcome with need, he still took the time to savor this moment. In a moment of impatient desperation, you thrust your hips up off the counter, which Thrawn rewarded with a swift thrust of his hips, his cock finally filling you to the brim. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust. A breathless moan of approval from you is all it took for him to lose himself. 

His thrusts were hard and his pace was quick. He needed this. He needed to feel you beneath his fingers, to know that you were safe in his arms. You threw your head back, the pleasure radiating through your body. In and out, in and out. Thrawn’s breathing was labored, letting out breathy moans. His pace quickened, and he could tell you were nearing another orgasm. Your cunt tightened around his cock as you neared her edge, and Thrawn let out a gasp and another moan, your name on his lips. It was enough to send you over the edge once again, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer into you. Feeling your pussy pulse around his cock was just enough to cause Thrawn to lose any remaining composure. “Fuck,” Thrawn grunted, grabbing your hips tight enough to bruise, thrusting his hips even harder. With a final groan, Thrawn’s hips faltered and his cock twitched as he emptied himself inside you.

Thrawn pressed his forehead to yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. He loosened his fingers from their iron grip on your hips, and he was surprised at the slight shake that unsteadied his hand. “That’s new,” Thrawn remarked to himself, still perplexed at how thoroughly you had undone him. He was enamored with you. His hands absentmindedly trailed along your side as he pressed tender kisses along your neck and jaw, still soaking in your scent. He paused when he reached the apex of your neck and he relished the feel of your pulse beneath his lips, further proof that you were alive and well. 

“I love you.” The words tumbled from Thrawn’s mouth, his deep voice barely above a whisper. You froze beneath his touch. Even Thrawn seemed momentarily taken aback by the words which he hadn’t even meant to say out loud. But with every moment that passed, Thrawn realized how true they were. He was in love with you. And, if he was being honest with himself, he had been for quite some time. “I love you,” you whispered back, the softest smile on your face. Thrawn couldn’t help his smile as your lips met again, but this kiss was different: full of passion, yes, but something softer. Love. 

“Damn,” you breathed out, breaking the kiss after several moments. “Maybe warships should attack the ascendancy more often,” you said with a playful smile on your lips. 

Thrawn bit back a growl and, with a scowl, took you into his arms, lifting you off the countertop. “Don’t even joke about that,” he said in a low voice, immediately followed by a soft press of his lips to your temple. Thrawn started towards your bedroom, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into, but knowing that he was in too deep to turn back now. 

#thrawn x reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn ascendancy #mith’thraw’nurodo #thrawn hc #thawn x you

[homomenhommes]

Description: This, the most ambitious and tallest of the known Imperial Easter eggs, represents the Uspenski (Dormition) Cathedral where the tsars of Russia were crowned. Based on a cup attributed to the Nüremberg copper and silversmith Sebastian Lindenast, the elder (ca. 1460-1526), the walls, towers, and staircases are clustered around the central, opalescent white enamel egg, the top of which takes the form of a graceful yellow gold cupola. The turrets of the Kremlin are fashioned in red gold and the roofs are enameled translucent light green. There are musical chimes in two of the towers, the decorative clock dials measuring about half an inch (12 mm.) in diameter. The Spasskaia Tower, which is duplicated, bears the coat of arms of the Russian Empire and of Moscow. Through the glass windows of the egg can be seen a minutely accurate representation of the interior of the cathedral, with its rich carpets, decorations, and High Altar, shown on an oval glass plate.

Two Cherubim chants, traditional triumphal Easter hymns, are played when a mechanism is wound up by a gold key two and a half inches (63 mm.) long. Tiny enameled icons of Our Lady of Kazan and Christ Pantocrator decorate the walls of the cathedral. The egg, which rests on an octagonal white onyx base, is consciously designed as a pyramid and is built up of other smaller pyramids. Engraved at the foot of the model in white enamel on a round gold plate is the date, 1904 (Snowman, 1979; Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, 1997). Fabergé’s bill for the egg says:

Egg, “Moscow Kremlin,” of different colored gold, with a white enamel egg representing the Uspenski Cathedral, with music, on a white onyx pediment. (Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, Fabergé Imperial Easter Eggs, London, 1997)

The bill is signed by A. (Editor’s note: Alexander) Fabergé for C. Fabergé and dated St. Petersburg, June 7 (OS), 1906. The egg can be removed from the towers, which hold it in place.

Background Notes: This somewhat startling egg marked the Imperial couple’s return to Moscow in 1903. They had tended to avoid the capital following a disastrous incident during the celebrations to mark their coronation. Hundreds of Muscovites died, crushed to death, when a crowd ran amok in Khodynka Meadow. Many Russians took the tragedy as a bad omen for the reign of the new tsar. Indeed, Nicholas II’s first cousin, Marie Pavlovna, Grand Duchess of Russia, recalled:

In the court circles, the disaster was little mentioned … but seemed under a cloud of sadness and premonition. All, perhaps without saying, regarded this catastrophe as a bad omen at the very beginning of the new reign. (Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, Fabergé Imperial Easter Eggs, London, 1997)

Tatiana Muntian in von Solodkoff, Fabergé: Juwelier des Zarenhofes (Hamburg, 1995) redates this egg to 1906, even though the egg itself has 1904 on its base. Writing in the World of Fabergé (Moscow, 1996) catalog, Muntian says the egg was to have been presented in 1904, but there was a delay, probably because of the Russo-Japanese War. This issue is discussed further in the introduction to the chapter entitled “Encyclopedia of Who’s Who in the House of Fabergé.” (Lowes and McCanless, Fabergé Eggs: A Retrospective Encyclopedia, 2001)

Muntian also observes in Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, Fabergé Imperial Easter Eggs (London, 1997), that another disaster was connected with this egg. Nicholas II’s favorite uncle and brother-in-law, Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, was assassinated in the Kremlin by a socialist-revolutionary terrorist early in 1905. This was the first and only time a member of the ruling dynasty was murdered in the ancient citadel of the Moscow tsars. This may have delayed presentation of the egg for a second year. Nicholas II did not receive the Moscow Kremlin Egg to give to Alexandra Feodorovna until 1906, and the bill of sale was not presented until that year.

Despite these sad associations, the Moscow Kremlin Egg held the most prominent position in Alexandra Feodorovna’s display cabinet in the Mauve Sitting Room of the Alexander Palace. This is not surprising; the tsarina was deeply religious and became more so with age. Tsar Nicholas II had remarked in 1903 how much he enjoyed the Cherubim chants of Kastelskii during Easter services in the Uspenski Cathedral. Muntian says in Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, Fabergé Imperial Easter Eggs (London, 1997) this is most likely why the music was included in this egg.

An archival Fabergé photograph of this egg would indicate that some of the chain work that decorated the cross at the egg’s apex, is now missing. The cost of 11,800 rubles made it the most expensive Tsar Imperial Easter egg to date. The egg is readily identifiable in the 1922 inventory of confiscated Imperial treasure. An expert valuation was made of this egg in 1927. Found by Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, the valuation noted that, “The article is badly damaged, many domes broken, two chains missing from the cross. Cupola dented, one window broken, another missing. One eagle and two flags missing. Various small parts dented. Key broken.”

Despite all this damage, the valuation assessed the egg’s worth at 46,400 rubles-the highest of the sixteen eggs valued in the list.

Amidst the troubles of 1905, Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna moved from the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg to the Alexandra Palace at Tsarskoye Selo, 25 kilometers south-west of the capital, feeling they and their family would be safer there. From this point on, all Alexandra’s Easter eggs would be housed at the Alexander Palace, with the exception of the 1907 Rose Trellis Egg. Alexandra left all her other earlier Easter eggs behind at the Winter Palace.

[ltwilliammowett]

A light on a reef

Until the end of the 17th century one of the threats facing shipping heading to Plymouth on the southern coast of England was the isolated and treacherous Eddystone reef, 23km directly offshore. Much of the hazard is underwater, creating complex currents, and extraordinarily high seas are often kicked up when conditions are very windy. In 1620 Captain Christopher Jones, master of Mayflower described the reef: "Twenty-three rust red [...] ragged stones around which the sea constantly eddies, a great danger [...] for if any vessel makes too far to the south [...] she will be swept to her doom on these evil rocks." As trade with America increased during the 1600s a growing number of ships approaching the English Channel from the west were wrecked on the Eddystone reef.

King William III and Queen Mary were petitioned that something be done about marking the infamous hazard. Plan to erect a warning light by funding the project with a penny a ton charge on all vessels passing initially foundered. Then an enterprising character called Henry Winstanley stepped forward and took on the most adventurous marine construction job the world had ever seen. Work commenced on the mainly wooden structure in July 1696. England was again at war, and such was the importance of the project that the Admiralty provided a man-o-war for protection.

The Winstanley Lighthouse, by English School, 17th century (x)

On one day, however, HMS Terrible did not arrive and a passing French privateer seized Winstanley and carried him off to France. When Louis XIV heard of the incident he ordered his release. " France is at war with England, not humanity," said the King. Winstanley's was the first lighthouse to be built in the open sea. It was a true feat of human endeavour. Work could only be undertaken in summer and for the first two years nothing could be left on the rock or it would be swept away. There was some assistance from Terrible in transporting the building materials, but much had to be rowed out in an open four-oared boat in a journey that could take nine hours each way. Winstanley's lighthouse was swept away after less that five years, during the great storm of 1703.

John Rudyerd's wooden lighthouse of 1708, by Issac Sailmaker, c. 1708 (x)

Winstanley was in it at the time supervising some repairs- he had said that he wished to be there during " the greatest storm that ever was." The next lighthouse was built by John Rudyerd and lit in 1709. Also made largely of timber and with granite ballast, it gave good service for nearly half a century until destroyed by fire in 1755. During the blaze the lead cupola began to melt, and as the duty keeper, 94- old Henry Hall, was throwing water upwards from a bucket he accidentally swallowed 200g of the molten metal. No one believed his incredible tale, but when he died 12 days later doctors found a lump of lead in his stomach.

Smeaton's Eddystone Lighthouse, by John Lynn (active 1826-1869) (x)

John Smeaton, Britian's first great civil engineer, was the next to rise to the challenge of Eddystone. He took the English oak as his design inspiration - a broad base narrowing in a gentle curve. The 22m high lighthouse was built using solid discs of stone dovetailed together. Work began in 1756, and from start to finish the work took three years, nine weeks and three days. Small boats transported nearly 1000 tons of granite and Portland stone along with all the equipment and men.

  Sir James N. Douglass's Eddystone Lighthouse, Plymouth, England, photochrome print, c. 1890–1900. The remnants of John Smeaton's lighthouse are at left. (x)

The Smeaton lighthouse stood for over 100 years. In the end it was not the lighthouse that failed; rather that the sea was found to have eaten away the rock beneath the structure. In 1882 it was dismantled and brought back to Plymouth, where it was re-erected stone on the Hoe as a memorial, and where it still stands.

The Eddystone lighthouse today (x)

It had already been replaced by a new lighthouse, twice as tall and four and a half times as large, designed by James Douglas, which now gives mariners a beacon of light visible for 22 nautical miles (40,78km).

#naval history #lighthouse history #eddystone lighthouse #17th - today #age of sail #age of steam #modern

[fictionalafvsmybeloved]

How about this non-credible gem!

I remember when things like this were getting posted on

r/Noncredibledefense all the time, the mods started removing them for being "low effort posts". I happen to thing they're pretty low effort as well, so I'm going to rate Just This One and ask that you send me some thing other than a photoshop in the future.

This is an M113 with the gun and mantlet from a "Hetzer" photoshopped to the front. This would not work, the front of the M113 is entirely taken up by the engine and driver's positions.

But, I'll tell you how to turn an M113 into a casemate gun TD anyway.

In the 1960's Germany had something called the Kanonenjagdpanzer 90.

This guy, the idea of gun TDs was starting to become obsolete, but this is what we're going to try and mimic.

Put a water proof side hatch on both sides of the M113

Move the engine to the back of the tank, the original rear door is the new engine service hatch

Take the gun and traversal system from an M56 scorpion mount it where the previous engine hatch was

upgrade the gunners sight with nightvision

make a mantlet for the gun and install the sight in it; don't worry about armor, just make it waterproof with good traversal speeds and angles

mount panoramic nightvision periscopes for the driver and gunner

enlarge the commander's cupola and install a rotatable nightvision view finder

install seating for the gunner and loader

install ammo racks

And that should do it! If you followed the instructions your vehicle will have a FINAL SCORE of:

Credibility: 7/10 - Ready For The A1 Model

Coolness: 6/10 - Forest MultiCam

BONUS

The Online Tank Encyclopedia ,where you'll fine plenty of cursed things that people actually tried to build! (sometimes they even succeded)

#noncredibledefense #ncd #noncredible defense #tank ratings #tanks

[eschercaine]

Daemon of Asshai-by-the-Shadow

A lone shadowbinder answers the priestess’ summon.

𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 - 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚖��𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕.

As night fell, the river Ash glimmered with a faint green luminescence and long white bands of mist filled the air, creating a tranquil yet mysterious ambiance. Its black walls that sprawl for leagues across both sides of the river could contain Volantis, Qarth, King’s Landing, and Oldtown combined.

The man drew the shadowy curtains away to get a glimpse outside of the palanquin lugged on the quivering backs of slaves. Bazaars and hovels are nearly devoid of inhabitants. Save for a single person wearing a wooden mask and peering out, the windows of numerous abodes were sealed. He could sense its gaze from afar, causing a certain degree of discomfort.

He stepped out of the palanquin when the slaves came to a halt in front of the red temple. The man drew his hood forward and ascended the stairs, stopping right by the entrance.

He waited and waited, and then the massive doors opened. A beautiful woman with long hair the color of deep burnished copper, unsettling red eyes, and pale, unblemished skin stands before him. “Despite your reluctance to respond to my summons, I saw your arrival in the flames,” the priestess says, her deep voice tinged with the music of the Jade Sea. “I have several matters to share with you.”

The red priestess invited him in. The temple is a grand labyrinth of columns, steps, abutments, spans, cupolas, and turrets that blend together as if hewn from a single colossal stone. A plethora of various hues of red, yellow, gold, and orange come together and converge on the temple walls, dissipating into one another like the skies at sundown. She conveyed him to an inconspicuous, vacant room with a prodigious stone bowl in the middle that had a hissing fire.

Both of them were quiet for a considerable length of time prior to him inquiring, “What is the purpose of my presence here, priestess? What news do you wish to share with me?”

“R’hllor has shown me a prophecy,” she says, her gaze fixed on the flames. “You, too, have a role to play.”

The man nearly rolled his eyes. Another prophecy again, he thought. “What exactly do you mean?”

“When the Blood Betrayal of the Bloodstone Emperor began an age of darkness, a great warrior wielding a burning sword rose to fight this darkness lying over the world. And that sword was Lightbringer.”

The man was nonplussed in regards to her ultimate objective, yet he chose to go along with it. “The Azor Ahai,” he says. “I’ve heard that story countless of times.”

“The red comet heralded the arrival of our savior. Bosys bantis amazis, se morghor zijomy amazis. Meri kivio darilaros oz maghagon kostas.”

The long night is coming, and the dead come with it. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.

“Darilaros,” he drawls. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian. The proper translation for that prophecy would be, ‘The prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.’”

“Impressive,” says the red priestess, smirking.

The man only shrugged, ignoring her praise. “How is this relevant to me?”

She shifts her eyes to meet his. “I see a girl in the flames, surrounded by traitors in every nook and cranny.”

The man’s expression hardened, his eyebrows narrowing and his lips pressing together. A spark of vexation flares in his eyes as he hated repeating himself. With a motion, he pushed his hood away — unveiling his shoulder-length silver hair and dark purple eyes — the latter of which fixed a fierce gaze upon her. “And I implore you once more, priestess, how is this relevant to me?”

“The girl, a princess of royal blood, calls to you… shadowbinder,” she countered. There was ice in her voice that made his magic recoils in fear. The red priestess returns her gaze to the fire. “Her death will result in the extinction of dragons, leaving humanity defenseless against a long night that never ends.” The ruby at her throat gleamed red. “This girl bears a weight on her shoulders, and that’s where you step in. She needs your stalwart assistance as the vipers plot their devious stratagems. Blood, I see, and dragonfire threatening to consume everything it touches. Sail to Westeros to find the girl… for your destiny is intertwined with hers.”

For a brief moment, the man remained silent before cocking his head to the side and letting out a small, mirthless laugh. His actions do not appear to amuse or offend the red priestess. “I’m not a dog that you can summon with a shrill whistle, priestess,” he snarled. “I might have engaged in sorcery, but do not anticipate me to hold faith in capricious matters such as destiny, visions, or auguries, for that is a completely disparate matter.”

She cocked her brow. “Do you not believe in it?”

“No, I do not,” the man says emphatically. “The very concept of it helps people believe that all unfortunate things happen for a reason, yet there is none.”

The priestess only hums. Her lips twitch again, this time into a small smile, before returning to her blank expression.

He steps closer to her, looming over her. “And you want me to sail west in search of this girl?” he harrumphed. “What if your fires are wrong, and this journey you want me to take turns out to be a fool’s errand that will cost me my life?”

She stood unflinching before him. “I can comprehend your disbelief. Although I admit that my readings may have been false on several occasions, my vision in the fire was true. I am as mortal as you, shadowbinder. All mortals err,” the priestess reassured him. “And, no matter what your personal beliefs are, you will be swept up in the forces of destiny inevitably.”

When she was finished, two acolytes escorted him out, and the doors shut behind him. And with a defeated sigh, he pulls his hood up and fades into the night, returning to his humble abode illuminated by the glistening river. While he considers whether the red priestess’ words should be taken seriously, he kept himself busy by returning several scrolls and books to their proper places.

During his youth, he had already journeyed around much of the east and the other parts of the known world, but he chose to return to Asshai. But before he can contemplate rejecting the notion of traveling to Westeros, his body acts instinctively as he began stuffing his belongings in a burlap sack.

Daemon hopes the priestess’ prediction proves right this time, otherwise he won’t hesitate to kill her.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd au #daemyra au #daemyra #rhaenyra x daemon #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #don't mind me... just writing a short fic ✌️ #daemon as a shadowbinder... cool right?? #in this he is a dragonseed living in asshai or...? 🤔 #i haven't thought much of his origin #i hope y'all like it 😊

[usafphantom2]

#onthisday in 1940 the first bombing raid on Berlin, Germany of the Second World War by Bomber Command took place. Aircraft including Wellingtons, Hampdens and Whitleys took part.

Vickers Wellington | Classic Warbirds

During September 1932 the Air Ministry issued Specification B.9/32 which required an aircraft with a range of 720 miles and a bomb load of 1,000lb. Vickers design, initially known as the 271 would compete with Handley Page's H.P. 52 design, which would also be ordered into production as the Hampden. Vickers entry would be built using the geodetic construction method, which had first been used on the Vickers Wellesley, power would be supplied by a pair of Rolls-Royce Goshawk engines. This enabled a range of 2,800 miles and a bomb load of 4,500lb. More than four times the amount called for in the specification.

The prototype Wellington was ready by May 1936 and featured the fin and rudder of a Supermarine Stranraer and instead of Rolls-Royce engines, a pair of 915-hp Bristol Pegasus engines were installed. The 15th June 1936 would see Captain Joseph Summers at the controls as the new aircraft prototype made its maiden flight. Later that month, with the nose and tail cupolas of the aircraft covered, the Wellington appeared at the RAF Display, Hendon on the 27th June 1936. This was followed two months later on the 15th August by an order for one hundred and eighty Wellington Mk Is by the Air Ministry. These aircraft would be produced under a different Specification B.29/36, which required a more angular fuselage, the tail unit to be revised and hydraulic powered turrets in the nose, ventral and tail positions.

Testing of the new aircraft was initially done by Vickers before being flown to Martlesham Heath so the Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment could conduct official trials. However as these trials concluded the prototype crashed on the 19th April 1937. The cause was found to be elevator overbalance in a high-speed dive. Despite this set back, development of the Wellington continued and before the year was out, on the 23rd December 1937, the first production Mk I flew. Although originally fitted with the Bristol Pegasus X engine, April 1938 would see the 1,050-hp Pegasus XVIII engine become the engine of choice for Wellington Mk I aircraft produced.

Deliveries of the Royal Air Force's new bomber began on the 10th October 1938, with No. 99 Squadron, RAF Mildenhall the first to receive the new type, with a crew of up to six people, a top speed of 245 mph and able to carry 4,500lb bombs over 1,200 miles, and by the time war broke out the following September a total of ten squadrons were equipped with the Wellington, two of which were reserve squadrons. With larger main wheels and the landing gear strengthened the Mk IA appeared. This new version also had its Vickers turrets replaced with Nash and Thompson ones. The Mk IC followed and this had its ventral turret removed in favour of either a Vickers 'K' or Browning machine-gun firing from the beam position on either side. The Wellington's bomb bay was also strengthen to allow the use of a 4,000lb bomb. Just under one hundred and fifty Mk ICs would be used as torpedo bombers.

With a pair of 1,145-hp Rolls-Royce Merlin X engines the Wellington Mk II appeared with a Mk I adapted to serve as the prototype. Making its maiden flight at Brooklands on the 3rd March 1939, this new version started to enter RAF service in October 1940.

Two Wellington Mk III prototypes were produced, the first was a converted Mk I fitted with Bristol Hercules HEISM engines, which made its maiden flight on the 19th May 1939, and the second was a Mk IC designed to take the 1,425-hp Hercules III engine, which flew in January 1941. In the end neither of these two engines were used when the Mk III went into production, with the 1-590-hp Hercules XI used. A new rear FN.20A turret was introduced to the aircraft which had four 0.303-in machine-guns, which was twice the existing armament.

The Mk IV followed and this was powered by a pair of 1,050-hp Pratt & Whitney Twin Wasp R-1830-S3C4-G engines, which had been ordered by France but not delivered and were consequently available for use.

As a result of Vickers being asked to investigate whether a Wellington could be fitted with a pressurised cabin for use as a high altitude bomber/Pathfinder, the Mk V & VI would be developed, at the same time, for this role. The Mk V would be powered by turbocharged Bristol Hercules VII engines and had a service ceiling of 36,800 ft, whilst the Mk VI was powered by 1,600-hp Merlin 60 engines and its service ceiling was 1,700 ft higher at 38,500 ft. Both aircraft featured a FN.20A turret positioned in the tail that could be remotely controlled. It was to be the Mk VI that was the preferred of the two, but only sixty four would be built, four of which served in the pathfinder role. However by this time the de Havilland Mosquito was in service and was used in the role instead.

The next intended Wellington was the Mk VII which was to be powered by a pair of Merlin XX engines, but this only reached the prototype stage. In the end the sole example was used by Rolls-Royce to develop their Merlin 60 engine.

Although Coastal Command had been using the type it wasn't until the production of the Mk GR.VIII that a variant of the Wellington was produced specifically for use within Coastal Command. Based on the Wellington Mk IC the aircraft was fitted with Air-to-Surface Vessel Mk II radar and some versions would have a Leigh Light installed in the ventral turret with the light operator positioned in the nose meaning this armament was removed.

The Wellington Mk X was the last bomber version built and also the most produced, with 3,803 rolling off the production line, with its roots in the Mk III the Mk X would be powered by a pair of either 1,675-hp Bristol Hercules VI or Hercules XVI engines. As well as serving with Bomber Command some would serve with Operational Training Units, and post-war a number would become T.10 crew trainers after conversion work undertaken by Boulton Paul. The Mk X would also provide the basis for the Wellington Mk GR.XI which would have the same engines as the Mk X and would serve with Coastal Command. These would have ASV Mk II radar installed at first before ASV Mk III radar replaced it and this would also equip the 1,735-hp Hercules XVII powered Mk GR.XII, which also featured a Leigh Light.

The Wellington would immediately see action the day after the Second World War (1939 – 1945) broke out, when on the 4th September 1939, alongside the Bristol Blenheim, they carried out the first raids on German territory by Bomber Command when they attacked German shipping at Brunsbuttel. The Wellington would operate during daylight as it was considered that by flying in tight formations its fire power would make them able to fend off attack successfully. However early raids showed that the defensive armament of six 0.303-in machine-guns, two in each turret located in the nose, ventral and tail positions were inadequate. As a result a gun was fitted in the beam position and the Wellington would now operate mainly at night.

The Wellington would play a big part in Bomber Command's early wartime operations. Major operations for the type saw it take part in the first raid on Berlin, Germany on the 25th August 1940 and drop the first 4,000lb 'Blockbuster' bomb on a raid over Emden, Germany on the 1st April 1941. At the height of its time with Bomber Command the Wellington made up 601 of the 1,047 aircraft for Operation Millennium when Cologne, Germany was attacked on the 30th May 1942. By the end of 1942 the Wellington's time as a frontline bomber was coming to an end as by now the four-engined heavy bombers that would form the backbone of Bomber Command from now on, the Avro Lancaster, Handley Page Halifax and Short Stirling, were now in service. The final time the Wellington would be used in major numbers by Bomber Command was on the 8th October 1943. There was still No. 300 Squadron using the type as 1944 got underway but they were only allowed to lay mines and attack minor targets. No. 192 Squadron would also keep using the aircraft for intelligence gathering into 1945.

The type would also serve with Coastal Command, which lead to perhaps one of the more unusual aircraft of the war. Appearing in 1940 with a metal ring under the fuselage, with the idea to detonate magnetic mines by use of a coil which created a field current.

As well as serving in Europe the Wellington would serve in the Middle East and Far East and would also be converted for transport and training duties. By the time the final Wellington, a Mk X, was delivered on the 25th October 1945, 11,461 had been produced and the type would serve until 1953 training pilots and navigators.

Technical Details

Click on the aircraft image to view a larger version.

Top Speed Range Service Ceiling Armament

Wellington Mk I 245 mph 1,200 miles 21,600 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington Mk II 254 mph 1,540 miles 23,500 ft six 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington Mk II side profile image

Wellington B Mk III 235 mph 1,540 miles 19,000 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington B Mk IV 255 mph 1,500 miles 18,000 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington B Mk VI 300 mph 1,510 miles 38,600 ft four 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington B Mk X 255 mph 1,885 miles 22,000 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington GR Mk VIII 235 mph 2,500 miles 18,000 ft six 0.303-in machine-guns

and either two depth charges or

torpedos

Wellington GR Mk XI 255 mph 2,020 miles 19,000 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

4,500lb bombs

Wellington GR Mk XII 256 mph 1,810 miles 18,500 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

5,100lb bombs

Wellington GR Mk XIII 250 mph 1,760 miles 16,000 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

5,000lb bombs

Wellington GR Mk XIV 250 mph 1,760 miles 16,000 ft eight 0.303-in machine-guns

5,000lb bombs

Wellington C Mk XX Transport version able to carry eighteen people.

Wellington C Mk XVI Transport version able to carry eighteen people.

Wellington T Mk XVII Trainer version.

Wellington T Mk XVIII Trainer version.

Wellington T Mk XIX Trainer version.

Wellington T Mk X Trainer version.

[thetruearchmagos]

The Commonwealth Calls

Hey all! I've had this one brewing for a while, and I've decided I ought to get it out at some point. I present, thus, what could very well be an introduction into the world of one of the 12 Worlds 'main' characters, Gustav J. Schmidt. Hope you might like it!

Tagging @lividdreamz @hessdalen-globe @caxycreations @theprissythumbelina @the-stray-storyteller @thatndginger @dogmomwrites @sanguine-arena

Sitting in the open cupola of one vehicle amongst countless hundreds, the commanding officer of one platoon amongst dozens, Second Lieutenant Gustav J. Schmidt was struck, not for the first time, with the almost physical sensation of being keenly aware of his own mortality. As his eyes scanned the rolling green hills laid out before the heights he held for any signs of anything interesting, Gustav tried to hide the very real sense that this could very well be 'it', to use the rather short euphemism he recalled from the officer's mess and tutors at the academy.

To a man not yet halfway between nineteen and twenty, it was a sobering thought. But one he'd keep damn well secret.

Gustav checked his watch, a silver piece with a leather strap, one last luxury before commissioning. The time was fourteen minutes past six in the morning, and a warm sun was rising over a landscape dotted with thick heads of smoke here and there; It was time to go.

First came a light buzz of static, but after a second spent toggling the set mounted in the turret he could soon listen to the flat, electronically-decrypted voice of Major Hoang coming over the net.

"Good morning, Cricket Company, rise and shine! All units, sound in."

"This is Cricket-One-Lead, Clear."

His words came out a little hoarse. One by one came the voices of his fellow platoon commanders over the Tac-Net, the last one from the still new-enough-to-be-unfamiliar tones of Lieutenant Abdur of the 2nd Sipahis, in charge of a four-strong platoon of seventy tonne armtracks that had been assigned to give some composite-armoured muscle to C Company, 3rd Internationals. Having already read the game plan for the day ahead, Gustav knew they'd need all the muscle they could get.

#my writing #writing #my wips #worldbuilding #writeblr #original writing #my worldbuilding

[chiropteracupola]

isn't it fun how being asked to list things you've done and skills you have makes it so that you become instantly sure that you've never done anything and that you have no skills?

#news from the cupola #I believe the appropriate term to describe the feeling would perhaps be 'hellacious?'

[elfboyeros]

Hair and Statues

Obsessed with the idea of Indigo cutting her hair short after she had her babies and not telling Calvin.

It was rare for Indigo to spend a lot of time with her father solely while he was working, but when daddy dearest is an architect and you are the dean of the college, so when the building needs work, you call your dad for help.

“Citrouille, what about this?”

“Père, I don’t know…”

“You want to put a statue in the pavilion. The cupola is your addition to the campus, just like how you got to choose the architecture, you get to choose how the sculptures look,” Finnian explained.

Indigo sighed, looking at the different statues of the goddess with her father in the warehouse art studio, “But this isn’t making sure that the dome looks like the rest of the campus, or putting in glass windows this is a sculpture, a statue, of the goddess, Mother Bridgehid, saint that the college is named after! I’d rather not be offensive.”

“We can get one made,” Finnian commented.

“That’s too expensive.”

“Then I’ll pay for it.”

“Daddy,” Indigo huffed, looking over at him next to him with an unamazed gaze.

“You want a sculpture made, citrouille, I will get you a statue made,” Finnian replied.

She looked past her father for a moment, seeing her husband enter the art studio and saying hello to the owners, “Calvin!” she sighed.

“Hi, angel, hey Dad,” he replied, approaching her and her father. Getting a small hello from Finnian, before wrapping an arm around Indigo’s waist and exchanging a small kiss, “The sculptures are pretty.”

“Tell my father he can not pay for a new sculpture for the rotunda,” Indigo requested, wrapping her arms around Calvin’s middle, and resting her head against his chest.

Calvin looked at Finnian watching him shrug, “Angel, if he wants to pay for a sculpture for your rotunda—”

“My rotunda,” Indigo scoffed “It’s to cover the catacombs, it’s not my rotunda.”

“If he wants to pay for a sculpture,” Calvin repeated, slightly sterner than before, “let him pay for a sculpture.”

“You’re no help,” she groaned letting him go.

“It would technically be a donate, angel eyes,” Calvin added.

“Yes, citrouille, a donate to the school,” Finnian stated.

Indigo sighed, “Let me think about it. We’ve only looked at a few sculptures, I wanna look at some more then I’ll decide.”

Finnian nodded, “Why don’t you do that with Calvin, and I’ll get to make some phone calls.”

Indigo agreed, before walking through the warehouse with her husband, discussing the statues, some domestic talk, but mostly talk of the statues. Yet, Calvin can’t take his eyes off her, screw those statues. Her in one of his shirts in both their favorite colors, the brown pants that fit her nicely, and her hair. Goddess, her hair!

She had gotten her hair cut maybe a week or so ago, and he’s still over it! She looks gorgeous like always and her having short hair isn’t an issue at all, at this moment in time, she looks a lot more comfortable with herself than she had recently. She just hadn’t told him she was getting her hair cut. She had only told him that she wanted to maybe get a hair cut not that she was going to.

“Darling~” She cooed, leaning against a statue, a hand on her hip and the other resting on the stone of the sculpture.

Oh shit, he hadn’t been paying attention, “Sorry, Angel, I wasn’t paying attention,” Calvin admitted.

“You, of course,” Calvin answered.

“Staring at me or the statues?”

 Indigo hummed, returning his domestic stare for what felt like the longest few minutes of the day, “Your hair is getting really long,” she remarked.

“And you cut all yours off,” he remarked.

“Are you still mad about my hair,” she giggled.

“I’m not mad. I was just attached to your long hair,” Calvin admitted, “I liked playing with it, I liked it when you asked me to braid it for you, but if you like it, I like it.”

“Tata, said I look more like a mom now,” Indigo commented.

Calvin chuckled, “What?” she questioned.

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now,” he chuckled.

“Oh really!”

“Oh yeah,” Calvin hummed.

Indigo rolled her eyes, looking back at the statutes and sighing, “I really don’t want père to pay for a sculpture to be made.”

“Angel if he is offering just let him, and then the rotunda has a new modern sculpture of the goddess, that will be a first for the college.” Calvin explained, “Maybe it can be a new place of worship for the religious on campus if it’s new!”

“I married a genius,” Indigo sighed, looking at him with a smile, “you just made it worth it.”

“I’m not a genius,” he replied pulling her close, “It’s the fact if been with you for some long.”

#bridgehid #indigo #calvin #finnian #coralstone #original character #drabble #writing #fiction #romance #short #indigo x calvin #calvin x indigo

[stmichaelthearchangel]

Collision frequency of artificial satellites: The creation of a debris belt Donald J. Kessler, Burton G. Cour-Palais First published: 1 June 1978 https://doi.org/10.1029/JA083iA06p02637 Citations: 564 PDFPDF Tools Share Abstract

As the number of artificial satellites in earth orbit increases, the probability of collisions between satellites also increases. Satellite collisions would produce orbiting fragments, each of which would increase the probability of further collisions, leading to the growth of a belt of debris around the earth. This process parallels certain theories concerning the growth of the asteroid belt. The debris flux in such an earth-orbiting belt could exceed the natural meteoroid flux, affecting future spacecraft designs. A mathematical model was used to predict the rate at which such a belt might form. Under certain conditions the belt could begin to form within this century and could be a significant problem during the next century. The possibility that numerous unobserved fragments already exist from spacecraft explosions would decrease this time interval. However, early implementation of specialized launch constraints and operational procedures could significantly delay the formation of the belt.

--

But if we make it to Mars and then accidentally contaminate the planet with our literal shit, it might be harder to answer this question. How would we know if the life we find on Mars is truly Martian, or something that’s come from Earth? And if our microbes from Earth take a liking to Mars and spread, there may be no way to undo that.

The UN Outer Space Treaty — signed in 1967, two years before the Apollo 11 landing — stipulates that member states “shall avoid harmful contamination of space and celestial bodies.” That may be difficult if we get to Mars because wherever we go, our fecal matter goes too. Thinking about poop on the moon helps us think about a possible origin of life on Earth

As new missions to the moon are planned, we need to think carefully about the need to preserve the artifacts left at the Apollo landing sites. NPR’s Nell Greenfieldboyce recently reported that just landing within 100 meters of an Apollo site could potentially damage it.

Protecting the history of human exploration on the moon also means protecting the garbage — its historic value is immense, but so is its scientific value. We need to preserve these sites so scientists can return to them and take samples.

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The European-built Cupola was added to the International Space Station in 2010 and continues to provide the best room with a view anywhere.

In addition to serving as an observation and work area when the crew operates the Station’s robotic arms, it also provides excellent views of Earth, celestial objects and visiting vehicles.

Its fused-silica and borosilicate-glass windows, however, sometime suffer from impacts by tiny artificial objects: space debris.

ESA astronaut Tim Peake took this photo from inside Cupola last month, showing a 7 mm-diameter circular chip gouged out by the impact from a tiny piece of space debris, possibly a paint flake or small metal fragment no bigger than a few thousandths of a millimetre across. The background just shows the inky blackness of space.

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Space debris targeted for orbital cleanup has been hit, possibly by other space debris

The payload adaptor from a 2013 launch by the European Space Agency has been fragmented by a collision in orbit, officials say

In May, the ESA announced it would be the target of the ClearSpace-1 mission, an “active debris removal mission” designed to fly to VESPA, grab it, and then burn up during reentry, destroying both itself and the space junk. The plan was to launch as early as the first half of 2026.

Now that mission is in doubt. “On 10 August 2023, ESA’s Space Debris Office was informed by the United States 18th Space Defense Squadron that new objects have been detected in the vicinity of (the) payload adapter,” the space agency said in a press release on Tuesday.

#long read

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here’s a bargain- an 1876 Second Empire Victorian in Springfield, Ohio has so many great details, lots of potential, and is only asking $189.9K. But...I can’t explain why some of it gives me a creepy feeling. 

This doesn’t match up as the front entrance, but I love the lampposts on the porch.

I suppose that the entrance could use a bit more light. At first I thought that the wreath on the door meant that it was divided into apts., but it’s not.

This fireplace is still beautifully intact.

This ceiling’s got it goin’ on with the original details and wallpaper.

This is just a mantel, but it has the wall behind it, so I don’t know what the story is, even though it looks original.

This is weird. It’s a sitting room, but it’s also got a washer and ironing board.

Definitely an original fireplace.

Hate the kitchen. It’s dark and dingy. I would at least paint everything and change the backsplash. Plus, it could use an exhaust hood over the stove.

The upstairs hall needs a little lift, but I don’t know what hall this is, unless it comes up from the kitchen, since it’s the same color.

This pretty rose hall is the one that comes up from the main staircase.

This bdrm has a fireplace and transom window above the door. It’s very dark, though.

Another room with a ceiling intact.

The bedrooms look worn and dark, but this one’s got a great window seat. They need some TLC and brightening.

Nice sink.

Another dark bdrm. 

Some potential in the attic.

Close up, the home has lovely colorful details.

Look at the pattern, although it could use new flashing. The windows are phenomenal.

Some of the exterior needs restoration.

This must be ladder that goes up to the cupola.

Now, that’s cool. 

https://www.historicalhomesofamerica.com/post/1876-ohio-second-empire-mansion-with-detail-in-every-corner-lists-for-just-189-900

#bargain victorian house #victorian architecture #old house dreams #long post

[lonestarbattleship]

"USS Texas (BB-35) on firing exercises with USS Wyoming (BB-32) astern [between August 5 and November 14] 1928, after the modernization of both ships. The more extensive work done on the 14-inch New Yorks is apparent, compared to the limited changes on the 12-inch Wyomings. There are a couple of further interesting details here - note the silhouette of the director operators in Texas' fighting top, with the hunched silhouette of a man's back at right in the main battery director cupola indicating the instrument is facing out to starboard. On the spotting level below, there is a noticeable concentration of bodies and shadows on the starboard side watching the results, as compared to the basically empty port side. The lowest level of the top, where the 5" guns were directed, does not seem to be crowded; this matches with the alignment of the starboard 5" guns, still trained dead ahead. The 5-inch guns are visible in the protruding "air castles" amdiships; the extension given to this added casemate battery is apparent from the bow-on angle. The four gun ports in Texas' bow no longer contain guns, but their original ability to fire directly forward is illustrated by this view.

Lastly, note the rangefinder above the flag bridge; this is very hard to see, since we are viewing it in profile, but follow the foremast's vertical leg down from the concentration dial (clock-like object for communicating range) and it is the next object disrupting the leg's lines. This rangefinder, for tactical and navigational purposes, is trained out to starboard as well, but its arms are just visible. Rangefinders like this were included in the designs for the North Carolina and South Dakota-class fast battleships, but only installed in the North Carolinas, and quickly deleted in favor of radar."

Caption is exclusive to Haze Grey History Facebook page (link) and was shared with the permission of Evan Dwyer. Click this link to read more of his works.

NHHC: NH 63648

#USS Texas (BB-35) #USS Texas #Battleship Texas #New York Class #USS Wyoming (BB-32) #USS Wyoming #Wyoming Class #Battleship #Dreadnought #August #November #1928 #interwar period #united states navy #us navy #navy #usn #u.s. navy #long post #Haze Grey History #warship #history #military history #military #my post

[tuoyu]

9/10

19.6.23 some more thoughts, almost a month since the release date:

initially i preferred PLMS, due to 「e o」’s anti-groove tendencies. my mind has changed though… nowadays i seem to enjoy 「e o」 a lot more. the atmosphere is overwhelming… the production is sublime, the music is out of this reality.

5.6.23 review (archive)

With each album release, Cero has undergone metamorphosis.

The Japanese fusion band’s 2018 work – Poly Life Multi Soul (PLMS) was almost unrecognisable from their previous output. The album rendered the passage of time, from dusk till night, in dreamlike sequences. Energetic bossa-nova grooves, warm synths/guitars, and intricate jazz harmonies form a mellow and surreal soundscape underpinned by shibuya-kei aesthetics. PLMS explored a transitory state between worlds, dusk and evening, wakefulness and dreaming.

「e o」 is Cero’s follow-up to PLMS. With singles being trickled out since 2020, the 2023 album reflects a renewed artistic vision.

Fdf was the first single released in 2020, a cosmic-funk hit featuring lively horns and colourful cascading synths. The bright melody and whimsical percussion against a sonic void is an unexpected but welcome stylistic shift from plms’s synth-washed roots.

In August 2021, the single nemesis was revealed. It opens with glistening vocals from Shohei Takagi and muted, staccato keys. Sparse drums and synth arpeggios follow; the song blossoms with a radiant electric guitar solo from Tsubasa Hashimoto. Like fdf, nemesis features a brightly textured production – despite which, the presence of “negative space” is just as prominent, becoming akin to outer space as one roams amidst the funk-infused sonic cosmos.

For me fdf and nemesis were a mood reset. The upbeat funk influences and imagery of outer space was a total departure from the grounded, mellowness of PLMS. In particular, nemesis’s release truly affirmed Cero’s exploration of a new, celestial soundscape. Personally I found fdf so charming that it was and remains one of my favourite songs of all time.

In 2022 there were two singles, cupola and fuha. Sun-drenched guitar/synths and silky vocals from Takagi paint a familiar and earthy ambiance; they might be a more cerebral take on PLMS’ mellow grooves. The tracks are meticulously produced to the point of displaying a sterile quality, where the even mundane becomes extraterrestrial.

Finally,「e o」 was released on 24 May 2023 with 11 total tracks. Epigraph is a gentle opener. Takagi’s voice melts into nostalgic strings and warm guitar riffs, while drums splatter in the back. Nemesis follows, setting the scene with cosmic grandeur. Tableaux switches back to introspection with cool, jazzy keys; the horn “chirps” near its end brings life to the strange creatures of flight being pondered on in the lyrics. Hitode no umi builds on this atmosphere with flowing vocals and crisp percussion. The pair of singles then follow — fuha and cupola feel much more digestible within the context of the album, brimming with nostalgia and an otherworldly light. Evening news is soulful; its lullaby-like piano resembles a night sky, the sparkling synth notes that pop out later are like stars. For me it intensified the sense of isolation one feels when looking at the album cover.

The singles released previously have been marked as the (e o) version in the album, with minor changes made to each track so far. This was not the case for fdf (e o), a track that had undergone its own metamorphosis. It sounds different from the very first second. One might notice: glitched up toy-noise sample, funkier drum beat, and ethereal synth harmonies that took over the original percussion beat. The addition of those wind chime-y synths made fdf fit into the album sonically with much greater ease. The 2023 fdf is just as impactful as the 2020 version.

Sleepra and solon shift back to an introspective mood. Feathery, cloud-like vocals drift amidst calm synths and guitars. If fdf is an intergalactic cruise, the two tracks reflect the “cruise” inside the mind of the traveller – from nostalgia, cosmic euphoria, to alienation.

The last track, angelus novus references directly Paul Klee’s artwork and Walter Benjamin’s interpretation of it. The song seems to tie together various themes of the album, such as its abstract nature, the tensions between the past and future – nostalgia and concerns for an uncertain future (nemesis talks about “an obscured sun… a world with dead coral reefs…”), and an endless journeying through the cosmos (one can hear whirring extraterrestrial drafts after the first verse), much like the one the angel has undertaken after its owner’s passing. The song itself is sombre – mostly keys in minor, I still love the sparkly synths that appear throughout the album, including at the end of this track; the scarce drum splatters may be a callback to the first track, epigraph.

It must be said that without understanding the lyrics, I’m probably missing out on the majority of the storytelling. I also wondered about the sequencing – fdf being followed by sleepra felt jarring. Some tracks I wished were longer; evening news and angelus novus in particular would be even better if they were explored more deeply (I just miss PLMS’s eight-minute ending track...)

From pop-oriented fusion in earlier works, to PLMS’s jazz-infused hypnagogia, then to「e o」’s jazz - electronica - funk cosmos, Cero is once again unrecognisable. The atmosphere is overwhelming. The textured yet clean production evokes an otherworldly yet familiar soundscape, suspended between the grandeur of outer space and the depths of one’s internal world. While PLMS was dreamlike, it was still well-grounded in its mellow grooves. On the other hand, 「e o」 is no longer of this reality.

#im blogging…? #music diary