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whumpbby · 5 months

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Thinking that because it seems that the Demonic Cultivation was mostly something that Jiang Cheng took care of - either as a way to unload his grief or as taking responsibility of his shixiong's mess - it's possible that the Jiang disciples were the ones that were the best versed in dealing with DC.

Now I am headcanoning that - because JC seems like a man that has shit in hand and runs a tight ship - there's a group within the Yunmeng Jiang trained and experienced specifically to deal with Demonic Cultivation specifically. Like their Spec Ops. They are prepared to come in fast and hot, deal with the issue asap and start the clean-up - armed with talismans made to deflect DC, tame the corpses and help send them on.

So, like, one day WWX hears that there's some Demonic Cultivator causing problems in the area he's hunting with the Lan juniors and goes to deal with it. It still pisses him off that his only lasting legacy is not about his genius or his heroics (or even his good looks), but it's this thing he invented out of horrific desperate need and that's now used to cause chaos and hurt people. So, he feels it's his duty to go there and talk some sense into the person in question.

Except, as soon as he arrives at the scene and ascertains that yeah, the issue is serious and maybe it's better for him to send the disciples back home and call in reinforcements (Lan Zhan), because he can take the DC down, but the clean-up will be immense - when suddenly a group of cultivators land in front of them with a swish of purple robes and gets to work.

The battle is almost sad. In no time at all the fierce corpses are tamed, the cultivator thrown down and bound with talismans, and the cultivators are dispersing across the area to set up burials for the corpses and arrays meant to send the ghosts onwards.

It's all precise and quick, sure steps and short commands. A well-oiled machine with soldier-discipline cleaning the area of resentment. So unlike the usual exuberance and free-style of the Jiang.

Wei Wuxian is kinda stumped. How are these people, and why are they getting in his way? He didn't even manage to get any fun! You, baby Lan disciple, explain!

"They're the Red Brigade", the disciple explains in a hushed voice. "Jiang-zonghzu's personal guard. They hunt Deminic Cultivators."

Red? Ah, their uniforms are adorned with a red ribbon on the shoulder. How sentimental of Jiang Cheng. His shidi really missed him! (or wanted him dead, there's also that option). But no time to contemplate that, because these guys are super efficient and if WWX wants to do any investigation of his own (translate: being his nosy self) he has to haul ass before they clean up everything!

So, he goes to the leader of the pack with an intention of comparing notes! The guy is respectful, but so cold! Eh, is he even a Jiang? So much like A-Cheng! Well, he knows how to deal with people like that - everyone will fold when bothered for long enough!

So, he keeps following the leader and talking bullshit, as his brain takes notes on everything he can see around. The talismans they use, the arrays, the spells - that's all pretty high level and super interesting. Huh, even their clothes are embroidered with talismans (a page out of the Lan book, maybe? Sneaky, Jiang Cheng, sneaky!) and their they use ghost flags...

But something is strange. He can see traces of his own work here and there - and he's used to seeing is tools ironically used across the cultivation world, but these are... kind of not? There are traces of his work, but the sigils are not his, the flags are not his, the talismans are not his. Like someone engineered his work backwards and created something that was similar, but entirely different.

As if someone wanted or needed tools to deal with Wei Wuxian's creations specifically, without the risk of being used against them in the heat of battle. One of the cultivators has a qinqin strapped across her back - the strings are made from metal, so it's not for musical cultivation (huh, so that's how Jiang Cheng came up with the idea of disrupting Su She's music in the Guanyin Temple, it wasn't coincidence.). They came in prepared to counter anything a Demonic Cultivator would throw at them.

Hell, he can admit that going through them on his own wouldn't be easy (because he was always helplessly optimistic about his own skills)...

Oh, Jiang Cheng did his homework.

"Wei-gongzi, can I help you with anything? Shouldn't you be taking the Lan juniors home?"

Uh-oh, he was getting on someone's nerves. Better retreat for now.

But he wasn't about to drop the matter.

The Jiang Sect had a SPECIAL OPS! how was he supposed to leave that be?

He was invested, he wanted to discuss! He needed to compare notes!

#headcanon #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #mdzs #yunmeng jiang spe cops #XD

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hmshermitcraft · 3 months

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for this weeks prompt! some impulse x grian (i am sorry i started writing and couldn’t stop)

Grian loved being a graphics teacher. He loved seeing all of his students excited faces and seeing how eager they were to learn when being taught something creative. Even those that didn’t really want to go into graphics enjoyed the freedom Grian gave them and that he allowed students to catch up on work in other classes if they weren’t planning to take graphics in the future.

What Grian didn’t like were other teachers. Sure, most were nice enough but very few enjoyed teaching as much as him. So, he stayed within his department mostly. Scar and Pearl were always just as passionate about their lessons as he was.

But sometimes, neither of them are in (that’s the issue with them both living together.) So, Grian usually has to pray the replacement teachers are able to keep the classes in check, as well as running around between all three classes that day.

He is just setting up in his classroom when a pair of men walks in, both a fair bit taller than him. The first one he locks eyes on is, “Mumbo!”

“Hi Grian! Impulse and I are gonna be taking over Scar and Pearl’s classes today.”

Grian turned to look at the other, larger man and felt his face heat up. “Oh… hiiii Impulse.”

“Sup dude! Yeah, I mean, our classes are all on field trips today with the other science staff plus we both have some kind of graphics knowledge from college so we figured we’d be most helpful. Is that ok?”

“Ofcourse it is.” Grian tried not to melt into a puddle. Sure, he didn’t interact with many non art teachers but the one of the ones he did see a lot out of work was Impulse. He was friends with Pearl (and Grian’s best friend Mumbo) so he was often with them for drinks or shopping days and well… Maybe Grian had developed a little crush on the man. Nothing major, just that he was a nice sight. With a kind voice and an amazing beard and being only a little taller than Grian, he just thought he was quite attractive, especially when he would go on little tangents about engineering and science.

The three of them sat around Grian’s desk as he began explaining what the classes had been up to and the lesson plans for the day. “Hm… you know what, my first class is one for older students and Scar and Pearl don’t share it… Maybe you two could stay here and get used to things and help out some students if you’re able to?”

“That’s an amazing idea, Grian!”

To say Grian went weak under Impulse’s praise would be an understatement. However, he had a class to teach.

Watching Grian teach felt like a privilege to Impulse. Grian, who in his mind was quiet and easily flustered and who maybe didn’t like Impulse all too much, was so confident when he taught. His class were like a well oiled machine and seemed just as hooked on Grian’s every word as Impulse felt.

As the class began to work, Grian immediately began making his way around the classroom, giving some students who were already struggling help and having lively conversations with others. Impulse began observing some of the students’ work, complimenting them all until he heard Grian’s voice. “Impulse, come over here, I need to show you something!”

Like a lapdog, Impulse immediately made his way over to Grian, “Yeah, G?”

“Look at this student’s work. Isn’t it incredible?” Grian began to show Impulse some of this student’s work, including some graphics he’d made for each school department.

“Wow, these are amazing and really inspired. I love the bright colours you use as well. Welldone.” Impulse could see the student’s eyes light up, as well as Grian’s

The day ran smoothly, most of the lessons were well behaved, especially with Grian poking his head in to check. At the end of the day, Impulse came into Grian’s classroom. “Hey, G… uh I was wondering if you still rode your bike?”

“Huh… oh yes I do.” Grian was busy packing away some work to mark, ending up with two full bags and his arms totally full as well. “I was gonna get the bus today though.”

“Why don’t I drive you? I uh I have a van so you can easily put your bike in and it would avoid and student work getting damaged… plus the forecast says it’s gonna rain.”

“Really? Thank you so much.”

Impulse took the sheets of work from Grian’s hands to help him out and the pair walked out to the car park. Impulse put Grian’s bags and papers into a large plastic box just to avoid them receiving any extra damage while the other got his bike from the shed.

“You play the drums?”

“Yeah, some of the engineering and science department people get together and play… it’s just for fun but it’s really fun.”

“Well, I’d love to hear it some time… Uh, sorry, let me just..” Grian hoisted his bike inside and rested it on the floor beside its lock.

The pair got in their seats and Impulse began to drive, some random music playing from the radio. Grian rested his head against the window, watching as the rain began.

“Hey G, um… do you not like me?”

“Huh?” Grian turned to Impulse, looking horrified. “No! Not at all.”

“Oh… it’s just that you always seem uh not very talkative around me and you always avoid me when we hang out in groups… do you not like me hanging out with you?”

“No I- Oh gosh, this is embarrassing…” Grian sighed and stared straight ahead at the road. “I might have a bit of a crush on you.”

“Oh… that’s cool.”

The pair then burst into laughter.

“Cool!? Impulse who responds to someone having a crush on them with cool?”

“I don’t know! I thought you were too cool to like me!”

“Oh my gosh…”

The pair calmed down now, the air in the van a lot more relaxed. As they pulled up outside of Grian’s, Impulse cleared his throat.

“Would you like to go out for drinks soon? Just the two of us…”

“Like a date?” Grian asked hopefully.

“Yeah, uh if you want.”

“I’d love to.”

Grian's students totally don't notice Impulse hanging around the art department more often nowadays. And no, he totally doesn't bring Grian a snack, and Grian totally doesn't find flowers on his desk.

Mumbo, Scar and Pearl also love taking responsibility for getting the couple together, despite contributing absolutely nothing. It's their right!

#hermitshipping #ask #grian tag #impulse tag #mumbo tag #scar tag #pearl tag #gripulse #mod 🎀#weekly theme: teacher au

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kalevalakryze · 6 months

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Firebird

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Ahsoka (TV) Pairings: Shin Hati/ Sabine Wren Characters: Sabine Wren, Shin Hati, Ahsoka Tano, Ezra Bridger, Hera Syndulla, Ghost Crew 2.0, Warnings: Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Explosions Notes: For Whumptober Day 16 and @sabineweek Day 2 Prompts: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” | Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.” + Icarus Word Count: 3,571 AO3 Link: Here!

“Sabine, they’ve got TIE’s taking off.” Ezra’s voice rushed over comms, voice strained from exertion from whatever fight he’d gotten himself into.

“Copy that, do we have eyes on which shuttle is carrying the Lieutenant?” The Mandalorian dropped her rangefinder and rose her eyes to the sky, boot pressed firmly against an incapacitated trooper’s throat where she’d engaged on the rooftops.

“It will be the one with a burn across the third quadrant of its left wing.” Shin followed, and while her voice was much calmer than Ezra’s, Sabine could feel the strain of her altercation across their bond in the force, feel the ebb and flow of the force where Shin used its power to keep plastoid covered troopers off of their closing position, flowing so freely beside Ezra’s that despite the odds being against them, they moved like a finely oiled machine.

“On it,” Sabine cast her fuel gauge a wary look, there was just enough in her tanks that she might be fine, and from the screaming of a TIE fighter arcing through the air, she knew there was no time to top off at the Ghost. A TIE swirled overhead, left wing sparking and burning from a lightsaber having cut through it on takeoff.

“Kark it,” Sabine grumbled, tapping at her gauge with a shake of her head. “We ball.” The woman took to the sky smoothly, jet fuel sparking into a high flame as she dumped more to keep up with the fighter.

The Ghost soared through the sky, streaking past Sabine and offering her a chance to grab on to Chopper’s head to save some fuel as fire was concentrated against the shields and engines to slow down the surviving Imperial’s ascent.

Before the Ghost could pull away, Sabine was throwing herself from the ship’s hull, fingers brushing out as her jetpack sputtered, wrapping around one of the handles poking out past the hull to yank her weight against it, boots scrambling to push against the durasteel, hooking into the space in between ports to keep herself steady.

“Sabine, you need to hurry!” Hera called, exasperated as she pitched the ghost to the side, rolling out of the way just a hair away from the path of plasma as the TIE opened fire.

“Work in progress, Hera!” Sabine shouted into her comms, hooking her fingers into the latch of the tie to stabilize before she could dig through a pouch on her belt, revealing her stack of the newest mixture of thermal detonators and the dye packs attached to the explosives. “Hello, beautifuls.” She breathed, fingers ghosting over the neatly stacked explosives.

Piling them into a fistful, Sabine started planting them each, using the force to sail them across to the inside supports of the fighter’s wings, lining the hatch with enough to blow the top and settling the last couple against the engines, just in case somehow, the hull would survive.

They rose closer to the upper atmosphere, Sabine’s helmet automatically clicking itself shut and releasing pressure to adjust. “Hey guy, I don’t have freefloating in space on my bucket list for the year,” She grumbled, making quick work of getting her charges set.

“Sabine!” Several panicked voices hollered her names, staticy over comms the further she got out of range. The Mandalorian’s head shot to the side in time to watch an X-Wing swing in for a strafing run, she didn’t know the pilot, and wasn’t linked into their comms, but she could hear Hera on their open channel, ripping in to the pilot to get them to stop.

It was too late, however, plasma scorched through the air, singing the air with a heavy smell of ozone. Sabine watched the blue lasers arc towards her before the Ghost could sweep in to incapacitate the fighter. Her legs moved too slow when she pushed off the hull, body turning as she fired up her jetpack, propelling herself away from the fighter half a second before the lasers struck the TIE and ignited her charges.

Sabine’s head turned in time to watch the colorful, fiery explosion behind her; at least it looked as cool as she figured it would, she’d have to make sure she saved the clip in her helmet to watch later.

Her jetpack sputtered mid flight, dropping her right into the path of the first shockwave. She didn’t have much chance to see the TIE go down, when paint speckled across her visor and then she was sent into a freefall, the resounding shockwaves hitting her like brick walls with a personal agenda against her existence.

She was floating in a limbo of dizzy and peaceful, limbs too heavy to move, and her eyelids felt glued shut with weight pressing into her eye sockets to keep her from opening them.

There was a bustle of activity floating into her ears, fading like her grip on the world around her. She wanted to snap at all the people moving around her. Couldn’t they tell she was trying to sleep? A loud, persistent beeping ground away at her nerves, but she was useless in willing her body to shut off whatever alarm was going off.

The beeping grew higher in pitch, there were no breaks in the thudding tone it had carried before. At least the movement in the room seemed to cease, a pin could drop in the silence and bated breath of every body in the room.

Finally, some peace and quiet. Now she could get some sleep.

“Sabine.” There was a distortion in the voice that called out to her, warbling through the very core of her being, through the will of the force. Shin’s voice rang in the notes of their bond, scratchy and deep, but the other voice, the notes she could pick out, a tone she’d only heard in her dreams, a voice and a face she was terrified of forgetting, that had been harder and harder to pick out every day.

She wanted to snap her eyes open, to fly out of bed and run into her buir’s arms, to do something but the stones inside of her skin wouldn’t give her a chance to budge.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow, me’suum’ika.” Shin’s voice sounded strained, and too far away, like their bond was growing stagnant in Sabine’s indecision. Fingers wrapped around her hand, warm where they sparked against the unbeaten pulse point against her wrist. “You promised,” Their voice wavered with emotion that they fought to keep concealed, Sabine hadn’t heard that tone since they’d gotten her back from the Bandits.

Promises meant more to Shin than even their connection to the force, Sabine knew that better than anyone, and well… She intended to keep her word. Clan Wren would still be waiting for her, at the end; The Manda would not go anywhere, the cosmic force would still connect all beings, but if she walked out on Shin now… What kind of Mandalorian would she be? Surely not one who deserved to join her people in the afterlife they’d all strived for.

Sabine stopped struggling to see Ursa, there was no where she could go where her mother would not be able to reach, and if the unthinkable happened and she did somehow forget the timber of her voice or the sharpness of her face, she knew there were hundreds of others walking across the galaxy who would be more than happy to help her remember.

Shin’s hand started to slip from Sabine’s palm; She couldn’t move to reach out for them like she wanted, she didn’t want them to leave her either, didn’t want to see someone else give up on her. Someone was crying, voices were murmuring, she could hear the charge of shock paddles-

The first beep of the heart monitor was hard won, an exhaustive struggle that had the same reaction in the room as the flatline. Oxygen forced back into her lungs painfully, and warm fingers brushed against her pulse point once more, squeezing at her wrist to feel the next thud of her heart in her veins themselves. The tension in the room was cut with each thud and each successful breath, pain reigniting in her body in the feeling of broken bones and half sealed abrasions.

“Better,” She could hear the relief in Shin’s voice as their fingers interlocked with the limpness of her own, squeezing her hand even as the activity picked back up around them.

Ahsoka’s presence washed over her in their own bond, another string that she’d familiarized herself with, the calm soaring feeling that came with each interaction the Master and Apprentice shared through their woven destinies.

“Prep her for the bacta tank,” A medic called out, unfamiliar voice ringing in her ears as cold gloved hands started touching her, though from the warmth seeping into her hand, she was able to rest easy knowing no one had moved Shin, at least until after the calm and quiet suggestion of sleep that had been passed through their bond, and the promise that she would wake up on the other side… eventually.

There was no way to gauge how much time had passed, but every now and then, Sabine would gain an awareness of the real world happening around her. Of Shin’s back pressed into the cool glass of her bacta tank, steadfast in their post as her protector.

“Shin, she won’t wake up anytime soon,” Ahsoka’s voice floated through the void, in her mind’s eye, Sabine could make out the vision of Ahsoka stepping into the medbay, arms crossed over her chest and a carefully impassive look on her face; Ahsoka learned just as fast as Sabine had that Shin didn’t like sympathies, but she also knew that if Ahsoka’s distaste of Shin’s actions showed, the Gray Apprentice would close themselves off further and often turn to violence to defend their actions or beliefs.

“You need to go take care of yourself,” Sabine could hear the lightness of the Togruta’s footsteps as she came to a stop in front of the tank, could feel piercing blue eyes on her suspended form, as if Ahsoka knew that Sabine had some awareness of the world around her.

“I will not leave,” Shin was closed off to them visually, she could not find a way to bring some vision of the other woman to her eye, though she assumed, from the unease rolling off of Ahsoka and the concern in her tone, that her wolf wasn’t doing the best with her incapacitation. This must have been an argument the two force-sensitives found themselves in often, as Shin’s voice curbed on dangerous, the air Sabine could not feel filling with the tension of a hand curling around a saber hilt.

“There is no reason to fight, Shin,” Ahsoka called, calling for calm across their own unstable bond; Her second apprentice varied greatly to the Mandalorian, and Ahsoka had never been able to determine if it had been Baylan’s teachings, or the influence of her time with the bandits that had them so willing to fight in a situation it did not call for. “She isn’t going to like waking up and seeing you like this.”

“Then it will not be the worst thing I have done to her.” They replied, and while there wasn’t a hint of regret, their tone took on something somber that Sabine wasn’t a fan of. The Mandalorian could feel the brush of their muddled presence, reaching out to the anchor point of their bond, to the scar that entwined them together forever.

Drifting off to the comfortable thrum of their force bond being brushed against, Sabine was only half aware of the Togruta sweeping defeatedly from the medbay.

Consciousness did not find Sabine when they emptied the bacta tank and pulled her from it, nor did it find her as she was cleaned up and reassessed, as what wounds were left had been set to heal on their own, with minimal medical interference, now that her body would need to fight on its own once again, enjoying her quiet limbo over the thought of returning her active mind to the real world.

The first time her eyes opened in weeks she was met with dim lights and near silence.

Bandages wrapped firmly around her abdomen, criss crossing against her back where the jetpack had burned and shrapnel had made homes in her skin, now almost entirely healed after her extended nap. Sabine gave her muscles an experimental flex to ensure she could still move, fingertips touching and toes wriggling under the warm blankets; someone must have just recently changed the thin hospital sheets for ones straight from the warmer. Her movement brought the reminder of pain, aggravating sore muscle under the haze of protection offered by the medicine pumping through her IV.

Tired golden eyes scanned the rest of the room next. There was a raw set of armor, seemingly fresh from a forge, stacked in a corner next to weapons crates, where she could see Westar power cells placed carefully on top of the locked containers, and a newer model of a jetpack she couldn’t recall the name of leaning up against it all.

Shin was settled into a hard-backed chair shoved right up against her cot, knees pulled up to their chest and a datapad sitting against them, fingers idly swiping along a document that Sabine couldn’t focus her gaze on. Her wolf looked exhausted, Sabine couldn’t tell how much of the darkness around her eyes was eye makeup, or bags from lack of sleep. Their hair was in disarray, even the braid carefully tied and sitting at their collarbone seemed frayed and rushed, as if tying it had been a mere afterthought to something more important.

The armor strapped to their arms and legs was filthy, burns scorched across unpainted metal and deep groves went unfilled, a state Shin hadn’t even let become of themselves when they’d all been stranded on Peridea.

The only indication Sabine had that they’d showered or changed clothes even once since they’d gone after Thrawn’s contact had been the dark blue of Ahsoka’s tunic bunched up around their torso, leaving their bare arms on display (which, Sabine would never complain about, if only Shin wasn’t wearing gauntlets and pauldrons strapped tight to her bicep), and the way pants so clearly borrowed from Ezra were tied tight around her waist, bunched up and stuffed into her boots with their greaves strapped awkwardly around the extra fabric.

“You look like Bantha shit,” The Mandalorian croaked tersely, wincing at the feeling of glass in her dried out throat. Silver eyes flashed to meet her open eyes immediately, the datapad clattering to the floor in the scramble of their legs to push outwards to turn themselves to face her.

“You look dead,” Their voice sounded as equally rough as Sabine’s own, bringing a teasing smile to tug at the purple haired woman’s lips.

“What, didn’t-” A dry cough rattled her chest, she only managed to turn her head to the side to cough into the pillow, her arms still felt like they were full of beskar. “Didn’t have anything nice to say to anyone? Didn’t say anything at all?” It was meant to be tasing, but the pull of their lips into what little resemblance of a pout they would allow answered enough.

“I’ll go get the medic.” They stood sourly to pick up the datapad, tossing it into the seat they’d been occupying for gotal’ad knows how long.

Sabine finally reached out, atrophied muscles protesting even as her fingers latched around the cold metal of their wrist. “Wait…”

They did, turning to glower at them with a rage that had too much vulnerability under the surface, weakness they did not want the Mandalorian to be privy too, even if she could feel it in the knot of burnt out nerves in her abdomen. “Would you lay with me, and just… forget the world a minute? Ten out of ten recommend.”

Shin’s weight shifted between their feet uncomfortably, even as Sabine forced herself to move, to make room in the hospital bed that felt both too big and too small. “You need the medic,” They insisted, but it wasn’t a denial of the offer; Shin looked exhausted, and the prospect of laying down seemed enough that they’d be willing to let Sabine get away with just a few more minutes without being poked and prodded by medics.

“I need you more right now, I’m not going anywhere,” She let go of their wrist, hoping the invitation was enough to keep them around. IVs and wires were moved too carefully when they’d finally relented, though Sabine could feel the tightness in their muscles ease as their head dropped back against her pillow.

Shin was laying ramrod straight next to her, as if moving would break her, afraid to do anything that could hurt her what a softie, stabbing people one day, then playing statue to avoid inconveniencing them almost two years down the line..

“C’mere, Kurs’kaded.” Another grunt of exertion as she forced her arms to move, though they were quick in how they turned to cave into the touch the minute Sabine offered, tucking themselves up into her side as their face found their spot in the crook of her neck, fisting the fabric of the uncomfortable shirt in their fists as their nose crinkled.

“You don’t smell right,” They complained in a quiet whisper, bringing a tired giggle from the older woman.

“Plenty of time to fix that later, doubt anyone’s been able to nail my skin care routine during my nap,” Sabine’s fingers brushed through their hair, relaxing more and more with how their shoulders eased and the way the force around them felt like it started to clear. “Speaking of naps…”

“You need a medic,” But their voice was already thick with sleep, breath soft where it began to even out against Sabine’s neck, the offer of safety in the arms they’d been missing for so long too enticing; they couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept.

“You spent so long watching after me, let me return the favor, just for a bit.. Someone will come along eventually.” It didn’t take Shin long at all to nod off with the promise, and the press of her fingers against Sabine’s scar to ground themselves to her life probably wasn’t detrimental to assuring her of the Mandalorian’s survival either.

“You’re awake,” Sabine’s attention was pulled from the sleeping blonde for the first time in hours, stopping her thousandth trace of the constellations craved across their skin in beauty marks and freckles.

“Or you’re just tripping really hard right now,” Sabine teased in a quiet whisper, watching Ahsoka as the woman moved to lower herself quietly into the seat closest to her.

Ahsoka’s lips pursed, clearly fighting a smile as her hand came to rest on the open space of the mattress between them, itching towards touching Sabine to verify for herself just how alive her Apprentice was. Sabine gave a quiet, fake dramatic sigh as she brought her hand down to rest overtop of Ahsoka’s, much smaller than the Togruta’s as she curled her fingers around the older woman’s. “What did you guys even do while I’ve been out?”

“Well… Some of us-” Her eyes flickered to Shin before coming back to Sabine with a knowing look. “Waited for you to come back.”

Sabine offered a nod of her head in understanding as she bought her other hand from Shin’s hair to rub circles into their back. “What about everyone else?”

“Mmm. Ezra and I handled the Imperial cell; There were whispers of a New First Order, but it doesn’t seem as if they’re organized enough, not after our last round of strikes.” Ahsoka shifted, hand slipping from Sabine’s to fill the empty canteen that had been sitting, just out of reach, toppled over when Sabine had reached for it in the force, too weak to grab it with her abilities, and too disappointed when she’d found it empty.

Water was filled and passed over gratefully, as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing the slow, heavy breathing from the slumbering wolf; the only reaction they had to Sabine gulping down water was to press their face closer to the movement of her throat and to slip under her shirt, chasing the warmth that had been steadily rising in the older woman’s skin.

“How are you feeling?” Ahsoka asked at last as she returned to her chair, taking the canteen when Sabine had finally finished with it.

“I’m not going anywhere for a hot minute, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sabine promised, knowing that she had zero intention of almost dying any time soon, and that she doubted she’d find a return to the battlefield for at least a month while she figured out the limits her wrecked body could handle.

“Next time, don’t push yourself so hard. It was a close one,”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Sometimes, the student teaches the Master, you know.” Ahsoka’s facial marking rose with the knowing smirk she offered, before she shook her head and rose. “You should get more rest while you can, I’m sure the medics will come to check on you once they believe Shin is asleep and won’t attack them again.”

“.... again?...”

“Go back to sleep, Sabine,”

#sabineweek #whumptober 2023 #day two #no.16 #lyric #gurney #flatline #quote #icarus #star wars #ahsoka series #fanfiction #near death tw #explosions #sabine wren #shin hati #wolfwren #ahsoka #ahsoka tano

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iwannakissasopwithcamel · 6 days

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Kreuzer Spinne M3 - "Triplane Terror of the Northern Front"

Role: Scout Served With: Gotha Empire First Flight: 1592 Strengths: Extreme Handling Weaknesses: Slow, Unstable Inspiration: Fokker DR.1 (1917)

Description:

Lacking rotary fighters put the Gotha Empire at a distinct disadvantage going into the war in Macchi. The Macchi Singvogels were massively more agile than the Kobra MCs. Eventually, Gotha had to bite the bullet, despite the lack of available castor oil.

The M3 was limited to a mere 110hp engine, so it was made lean and mean: metal framed, closed cowl, and with triple wings for maximum lift. Its secret weapon was birch cantilever spars instead of tension wires for greatly reduced drag. The M3 served many of Gotha’s best aces in large ‘Wolf Pack’ squadrons in the second half of the war, making them quite sought after by post-war pilots.

Despite their excellent characteristics, the M3’s reliance on synthetic lubrication gave them chronic overheating problems in the northern heat, causing an early retirement from service which preserved a great many machines.

#flying circus #flying circus rpg #tumblr polls #Fokker DR.1 #triplane

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againsttheskull · 3 months

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Destroyer

It was the first sunny day of the season and they had spent it out over the water. By the morning light, the sea was blinding. Each steel gray battleship reflected the White Sun’s rays right into the cockpit. The aircraft, small and inconspicuous, hovered above the enemy fleet like a nervous fairy. It was no weapon of war. The shipmen down below took notice and little green lines of inquiry began to flash upon the craft’s receiver.

The pilot tilted the screen down and positioned the craft a good mile away from the north-most ship. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a finger pointed in the right direction, and then the unbearable cacophony of steel rendering.

The sea rushed in to fill the gap, causing massive waves to rock the once-still ocean. Where the SS Iselin had been only seconds prior, there now sat a deformed metal mass no larger than the length of a truck. The surrounding water filled with a reddish color, blood and oil escaping the same clutch. As the radio went wild between the remaining fleet ships, the broken body of the Iselin sunk quietly beneath the waves. There were no survivors. Delta had been twelve.

The hovercraft took him back to dry land. The Emperor, the only person the show had ever really been for, stood up to shake the hands of the pilot, of the scientists, and of his Admiral who had pushed so hard for the demonstration. The Emperor lowered himself to speak to Delta, the way you might any child, and saw the tremors all through his body, the cold sweat of convulsions. The Emperor wiped Delta’s hair from his face and said no more.

He was returned to his own quarters back at the institute. The nurse had to hold up one side of him just to make it down the hall. He kept it together as he’d been taught to while in company, but back in his own territory he could no longer suppress the nausea. He spent most of the night on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, as the doctors and the scientists buzzed around taking vitals and hooking him up to strange machines.

By the next week, the deal was done. The royal guards had been sent to collect him. All that he owned could fit into one suitcase, which the director had packed for him personally. The director had also picked who would be leaving with him as a charge - one physician, one scientist. Dr.Martino’s grip tightened harshly on his neck whenever he fidgeted too much. Dr.Yanna had a bad drinking habit. Delta was not happy about these choices, even from the most remote corner of his mind. But he had learned to tolerate both of them at the institute and could appreciate the familiarity. He wasn’t scared of the guards. He kept his head down until they arrived at the palace - and long after that too.

It had presented an interesting but not unprecedented engineering problem, finding out where to keep him. In the past week, they had built the basement up with the same dense psychic insulation that the institute had perfected. Delta had five hundred square feet of space, at the time sparsely furnished. His vague hope was that while in the isolated chamber, they would remove the dampening collar from around his neck. But they left him there with no mention of it. He thought back to the wreckage of the Iselin and realized it was unlikely the collar would ever come off again. He rubbed at the raw skin idly, leaning against the new bed frame. The space was larger than his old room had been, but he had not gotten up to explore it. He sensed that the guards would not like to open up the chamber doors and find him anywhere they had not left him. It was the inclination of many third parties to treat the psionics like machinery - and to be disconcerted by anything that contracted this. Besides that, he knew they were scared of him. As isolated as he had been, even in such ascetic surroundings, he could read fear. It radiated off all of them now.

(Part II)

#whump #whump community #living weapon #living weapon whumpee #h/c #not much whump in this one but it’s necessary background info. next update will be *very* soon #delta #martino

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itsmythang · 5 months

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Nicknamed "Calculus," Philip Emeagwali won the 1989 Gordon Bell Prize for pioneering high-performance computing applications in oil-reservoir modeling using computational fluid dynamics. - At 17, Philip earned a full scholarship to Oregon State University, majoring in mathematics. He later achieved multiple graduate degrees, including a Ph.D. in Civil Engineering from the University of Michigan. - In 1989, Philip Emeagwali's notable achievement was The Connection Machine, a supercomputer solving a 350-year-old packing problem, one of the greatest unsolved mathematical challenges. - This innovative machine, utilizing 65,000 parallel-linked computers, became the world's first supercomputer, performing 3.1 billion calculations per second—exceeding the theoretical top speed of the Cray Supercomputer. -

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league-of-sam · 8 months

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The Day He Met The Reaper | Ghost x Reader

GhostxReaper Universe

Masterlist

Summary: Task Force 141 ran like a well-oiled machine. It ran with precision, excellence, exactly what you’d expect from a group made of the finest men the military could offer, led by one of the most infamous lieutenants of the SAS. It was only natural for him to be opposed to the spare part. t.w // bad language, slight misogyny? angst, not a whole lotta warnings for this one.

Price had the entire team gathered in the training hall.

Soap was busy winding Gaz up, Alejandro and Rudy sat playing cards. Price stood, hands holding him up as he loomed over the map table, brows furrowed in frustration.

Alex stood near him, arms crossed over his chest as he muttered things to Price, the two of them exchanging words quickly and quietly.

And Ghost, he stood in the corner, like always.

He was a watcher.

Eyes moving rapidly, analysing, examining, focusing on every tiny detail his pupils could see. It was why no one was ever able to get one up on him.

Because he saw everything and moved silently, undetected.

A Ghost.

He watched, amused as Soap leaped up, swiping Gaz’s cap from his head before taking off running around the building, a disgruntled soldier hot on his heels.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, one so quiet you would need to be practically pressed against him to even know it happened, as the mask hid the faint smile gracing his lips.

Bunch o’ fuckin’ idiots.

He couldn’t blame Soap, though. The man had to be on some kind of spectrum, Ghost wondered, and it’d been over an hour since Price had dragged them all from their free time, spouting about Laswell coming.

“Right, bloody pack it in, the pair of ya.” Price’s voice boomed, pulling Ghost from his thoughts as he yelled at the two younger sergeants.

Sprinting past, Soap had tripped, Gaz taking the opportunity to grab his shirt, yanking him backwards and sending them both clattering into the map table.

They halted to a stop, giving Gaz enough time to snatch his cap back, pulling it tightly onto his head as he mumbled profanities to Soap, who just laughed.

“Didn’t think joining the SAS would land you the role of dad, huh, Cap?” Alex chuckled, nudging Price with his elbow.

“Fuckin’ tell me about it.”

The calm was limited, as the rumble of engines and the screeching of halting vehicles sounded from outside.

And of course, Soap took that opportunity to swipe Gaz’s hat once again, “You know what? No-SOAP give it back!”

A boisterous laugh fell from Soap’s mouth as he took off, Gaz once again right behind him. Ghost chuckled, shaking his head, and pushing himself further into the darkness of his corner.

If there were visitors, he wanted every possible angle he could have to get the jump on them if needed.

“Attention on deck, boys!”

Ghost’s head perked up just as Laswell was coming into view and he managed to snap a hand onto Soap’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks as he ran past.

“Ey lads,” He grumbled, shooting both Soap and Gaz a glare, “Laswell’s ‘ere.”

“C’mon ya twats, stop pissing about and gather.” Price ordered.

The men in the room moved to stand around the table, but not Ghost. He stayed planted in his spot, hidden in the shadows.

It didn’t take him long to notice that he wasn’t the only one hoping to hide in the darkness.

That’s when his eyes landed on you.

His heart began to pound.

A stranger, a beautiful stranger, in black combat boots, cargo trousers, a tight black shirt tucked in neatly. Long hair cascading, framing your face, accentuating the mask over your mouth and nose.

A beautiful stranger.

In a mask?

His eyes then settled on the pistol strapped to your hip, and almost immediately, he found himself gripping his own blade and stalking towards the empty space next to his Captain.

“Who’s the lurker, Chief?” He asked, venom laced in his tone with his gaze locked on you.

You looked back at him, mask shifting as you raised an impressed brow.

He ignored the questioning looks from the rest of his team, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at their lack of observational skills.

"As you well know, this mission is of the highest priority. Shepherd wants it done on the down low, keeping it tight and clean. Lucky for us, I have the perfect person to ensure that happens." Laswell said as she turned toward you, signalling you over.

Ghost found himself unable to tear his eyes from you, mesmerised by the way your hips moved, how silent your steps were, the way you carried yourself.

You were a soldier, and a bloody good one.

“This is Reaper,” Laswell introduced you, “She’s your new lieutenant.”

Reaper, huh.

He watched as you greeted the group, before turning to him, and his heart skipped a little as your sweet voice filled his ears, “Impressed you clocked me, I guess that makes you Ghost.”

The man didn’t know what to say. How was it possible for someone to know about him, but him not have the faintest clue who they were?

He didn’t trust his mouth in that moment, and merely offered you a grunt.

Hold on, a lieutenant?

No.

Fuck that.

That was his role, he was the lieutenant of 141, not some prissy little girl.

Ghost’s jaw locked tight as he watched you remove your mask, his body stiffening as you revealed something more beautiful than he’d ever seen before.

Fuck.

He moved no muscle as he watched his team greet you with such welcoming kindness, and his fists clenched at his sides at the way Alejandro, Soap, and Alex had embraced you.

Not only were you coming in at the same rank, but you also already knew half of his team…what kind of kick in the face was this?

A strange kind of hate began to fill him, especially when you began explaining what you knew of the mission, and why you were there in the first place.

“This is quite the intel, (Y/N), I’m proud of you.” Price said, and you smiled widely, causing Ghost to roll his eyes.

Stupid fuckin’ pretty little mouth.

“Unfortunately, it’s all we were able to get before (Y/N) and her team were, uh, compromised.” Laswell said.

That got his attention, then.

Compromised?

He shook his head once more; of course you’d been compromised.

“You all need to get a good night’s rest; everyone needs to scrub up on their training before we try to take Hassan.” Laswell spoke again.

Ghost slipped from the room at his Chief’s dismissal, desperate for fresh air. There was a weight on his chest, something he couldn’t explain.

It made his palms sweat.

Outside, he had pushed his mask up, lifting a lit cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply.

It had taken him years to get used to working with people again, allowing the likes of Price and Soap to depend on him, and him to depend on them, and now there was a stranger within.

Another person that could potentially hurt him.

Tossing the cigarette to the floor, he ground his foot into the tarmac before stomping back toward the building, ready to demand your return to the CIA.

He walked with such purpose that he barely noticed when his body collided with something- someone.

It was the tiny squeal you let out as his expert reflex stopped you from falling to the floor that made him realise what had happened.

By the time he looked down at you, his hands were tightly gripped on your hips, your body pressed flush against his as your small hands balled the fabric hoodie.

“Fuck- s-sorry, my bad.” You mumbled out, still tight against his chest.

He held your eyes for a moment, and then let go, pushing you to arm’s length, “Watch where ya goin’, next time.” He growled.

“Right, yeah. Sorry.”

He threw a glare to Alex, who stood behind you almost protectively, before pushing past you to continue into the room.

Only now, his steps were lighter, less urgent.

“Somethin’ a matter, Simon?” Price asked, an eyebrow raised as he looked beyond Ghost, seeing Alex lead you from the building.

Ghost was silent for a moment, his hand grazing the part of his chest where yours just lay, the skin feeling both hot and cold underneath the fabric.

Your scent still floating around him.

Price pushed again, stepping toward the lieutenant for an answer.

“Uh, negative, Captain.”

He couldn’t decide what the fuck had just happened, but he did know one thing; you were doing something to him, making him feel something.

Something that was beyond his comprehension.

It had to stop.

a|n: thank you all so so much for reading, i appreciate you more than you will ever know. i hope you enjoyed the first segment of ~Ghost and Reaper's story from his POV. more to come, and please request in my Ask Me Anything if there's something you'd love to see.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost fanart #call of duty #cod mw oc #cod mw2 #cod mwf2 #callofduty #gaming #cod mw19 #captain price #john mactavish

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contentment-of-cats · 1 year

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WIP bit 9

Once, long ago, he’d been a man of power. A warrior. A peacekeeper. A Jedi Master. But out here, in the place that the Sith could not reach, he was a man with one eye, terrible burns, using a stick to walk and a bowl to beg. No destiny beyond the next meal, the next bottom of the barrel job moving from one place to the next. That’s over now.

The one with the grenade launcher takes out the one who would take him out. A child of the Empire is fighting for his life and those of the two little Chiss girls. She goes about her business with a frightening efficiency and accuracy, her face a mask.

“Agral, get ready! Kinnard and this squad coming your way with the teeny-tinies.” Load. Aim. Fire. Launch. The girls already on the way to their new rescuers - to Thrawn. Mace is tired of destiny. He doesn’t want one. “Come on, Pops. We have to move.”

Pops? Pops?!

Before Mace can protest, the galaxy shakes, tilts on its side, throws him, goes black.

He comes to as the child of the Empire heaves herself up the ladder, airing an impressive vocabulary while she does so. He is over her shoulder, lashed in place, looking down. Her holstered blaster swings at her hip, and those who would take their lives are coming. If she drops him, she saves herself, but she will not.

Tell me, child of the Empire, what do you see?

Smell: The stink of a cargo hauler, machine oil and fuel, too many unwashed bodies in too small a space.

Touch: Smashed up against durasteel and transparisteel, people all around her and packed so close that one needs to breathe out as the other breathes in.

Taste: Ashes. Sickness. Blood.

Hearing: The wails of frightened children and mourning adults, the scream of engines firing. Voices over a comm talking about the evacuation, how this is the last transport. The miasma closing on their position. They’re going up.

Sight: A girl’s fists slam into the transparisteel, the loudest screaming is her own. Begging. Begging to stay. Begging the man who could have been Mace’s brother to go with them.

“Open the hatch! Elder, please!”

It’s to no avail. The ship lifts, and the colorful fog rolls in. The man stumbles back to a small circle, coughing, bending in pain as blood splashes from mouth and nose. Faces turn purple, and this child can’t look away from the death of her home, her kin.

A face in her mind’s eye. Gerrera. A vow made with her entire being. “My hand eternally raised against you, my blade made for your blood, my enmity unending, your death a celebration. May your end come at my feet.”

The roof under her running boots. The ramp of a Gozanti and lifting so suddenly that there’s only air under her heels for a moment before they both tumble to the deck.

“He saved their lives. He saved mine. Take care of him.”

An armored stormtrooper lifts him from her shoulders and she charges away across the hold. They lay him down gently in a medbed, the trooper setting aside his helmet to show a gruff veteran who gives him a smile and starts cutting Mace’s robes off.

“That’s a good burn, Pops. Don’t worry, bacta’s gonna fix it right up." An injector hisses against his neck. “You’re getting a nap, then you’ll wake up as good as new.”

Pops? Pops?!

When he wakes up-

Wakes-

Up-

“Thrawn-”

#thrawn #pyrondi #mace windu #chiss skywalkers #mission #wip bit

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rabbitcruiser · 7 months

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National Motorcycle Ride Day

The second Saturday of October is celebrated as National Motorcycle Ride Day and aren’t we all grateful for this blessing of a day. The first motorcycle was built in 1885 in Germany and has been dominating the roads ever since. Their popularity has brought about various motorcycle types, the major ones being street, off-road, and dual purpose. These are further divided into many subtypes; these subtypes often have a racing counterpart.

History of National Motorcycle Ride Day

For many, the motorcycle is more than a means of transportation, it is an experience, a feeling, an adventure like no other. It is often associated with emancipation, the desire to break free from all the chains. It comes as no surprise the motorcycle has managed to secure its place in everyone’s heart. It is one adrenaline-filled ticket to your freedom.

The first motorcycle came into existence in 1885, when Gottlieb Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach, two German inventors, built an internal combustion gasoline-fueled motorcycle. It was named “Daimler Reitwagen” (riding wagon), the first of the modern motorcycles that we all know today. This invention inspired many others, who began making their versions of the self-propelled bicycle.

In 1894, Hildebrand & Wolfmüller became the first series production motorcycle. Soon, other big companies joined the bandwagon, such as English Royal Enfield, Triumph, American Harley-Davidson, Indian Motorcycle Manufacturing Company.

Motorcycle production escalated during the First World War, to improve communication systems with front-line troops. Motorcycles replaced messengers on horses with dispatch riders who carried messages, conducted reconnaissance activities, and acted as military police. After the Second World War, the motorcycle industry experienced widespread popularity brought about by lower costs, engineering advancements, and better road networks. Today, motorcycles represent one of the most affordable forms of transport all across the planet, with Asia-Pacific and Southern and Eastern Asia regions dominating the market. The evolution of the motorcycle from being an instrument of transportation to a thrill-packed adventure machine is why it deserves a special day of appreciation. And the month of October gives us the perfect opportunity to celebrate the wonders of this great invention.

National Motorcycle Ride Day timeline

1867

The First Coal-Fired Steam Engine Motorcycle

The Velocipede is a two-cylinder, steam-powered motorcycle.

1894

Officially Named

German company Hildebrand & Wolfmüller are the first to call it the “motorcycle.”

1903

Harley-Davidson

William Harley and his friends Arthur and Walter Davidson launch the Motor Company.

2015

National Motorcycle Ride Day

The holiday is founded for celebrating riding motorcycles in the fall weather.

National Motorcycle Ride Day FAQs

Is it difficult to ride a motorcycle?

Riding a motorcycle isn’t at all difficult. Although it may take some time to adapt to the motorcycle’s weight, controls, and maneuverability. For a beginner, it can take between two to eight weeks of daily practice to learn how to ride a motorcycle safely.

How much does it cost to maintain a motorcycle?

Costs come around $1,000 a year which includes regular maintenance (oil changes, chain maintenance, etc.). This needs to be done every 5,000 to 20,000 miles depending on the motorcycle.

Is it safe to ride a motorcycle in the rain?

One must steer clear of riding at the beginning of a storm, as the roads are full of brake fluid, oil, dirt, and other grime before it rains. Drive extra slow just after the storm begins when it’s still raining.

National Motorcycle Ride Day Activities

Join a riding groupTeam along with other enthusiasts to celebrate this day. Participate in riding events and discover a whole new world of adventure.

Plan a tripIt’s time to take that trip you have been planning for years. Search for the best and the most scenic places to ride the motorcycle.

Meet up with other ridersEverything gets better if you have someone to share it with. Connect with other bikers and plan activities together. Make the celebration a year-round event.

5 Interesting Facts About Motorcycles

Yamaha manufactured pianosYamaha is a multinational conglomerate that still produces musical instruments.

Tomato soup can carburetorA tomato soup can was used as a carburetor in the first Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Motorcycle theft monthsThe highest number of motorcycle thefts happen during July, August, and September.

The longest motorcycle jumpThe record for the longest motorcycle jump was set by Robbie Maddison in Melbourne, Australia, jumping 346 feet.

Harley-Davidson is the leading motorcycle manufacturerHarley-Davidson is the leading motorcycle manufacturer, producing 5.6 billion dollars in revenue in 2017 in the U.S. market.

Why We Love National Motorcycle Ride Day

Motorcycles are fun: The feeling of riding the wind cannot be put into words, one has to experience it themselves to know it. The exhilarating ride is enough to feed the starving soul. So if you want to experience what true freedom feels like, hop on and go wherever the road takes you.

They are affordable: Unlike the costly supercars, motorcycles can be extremely affordable, without cutting out the fun. They are an easy and affordable form of transportation that will get the work done without burning a hole in your pocket.

Motorcycles are environmentally friendly: Motorcycles are considered an environmentally friendly mode of transportation. Their low fuel consumption and lower per-mile carbon emissions make them a friend to the environment. Giving you a guilt-free adventure-packed ride that you need.

Source

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hirocimacruiser · 2 years

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Happy new year special!

TUNED CAR

Tetsuya Ota goes all out on the circuit!

I don't know what kind of year it will be, but for now

To celebrate the start of 1995, I attended the Amcraid driving event held at Tsukuba Circuit. We asked racing driver Tetsuya Ota to test-drive five flashy tuned cars.

Laugh and blow away the dark social conditions with a tuned car. If you do so, you will surely find something good!

After connecting the patch, RX made a rocket start that felt like it was kicked off, and the RX danced out to the Tsukuba Circuit. In an instant, it hits the rev limit, 2nd gear 3 4 5 and 6 in no time. The feeling of acceleration is about twice that of normal. Exit the S curve in 4th gear and enter the first hairpin and step on the brakes. The stopping power that works hard is also strong. As I released the brakes and turned the steering wheel, I braced myself, saying, "I'm going to go under." RX enters the corner smoothly and smoothly.

Aiming for the strongest GT-R on public roads!!

Tetsuya Ohta

The Trust RX is a tuned car that was developed with the goal of being able to run on public roads in less than 1 minute at the Tsukuba Circuit. The base GTR boasts the strongest touring car race, but it has strong understeer from the beginning and is not good at small turns. Simply increasing the power will not result in a time. I was curious about how they overcame that, so I boarded the RX.

Tetsuya Ota, who loves sports cars, is a racing driver born in 1959. Continuing from last year, he will continue to drive the Taisan Star Card F40 in 1995 in the All Japan GT Championship. Thank you!

The console is so densely packed with measuring instruments that even a full-fledged endurance machine would turn blue, just like the cockpit of a jet plane. Wait, I can't check it while driving anyway, so I listen to the explanation moderately and check only the tachometer, oil pressure gauge and water temperature gauge. A racing club with a 600-horsepower capacity with a direct feel.

In order to eliminate the GTR-specific understeer, this car adjusts the suspension and sets it to oversteer, and the grounding of the front is greatly increased. However, as it stands, the grip of the rear is reduced by the amount that the front is biting at the start, and the traction is reduced and the power is overpowered. Therefore, the ATTESA mechanism was also modified to advance the timing of the shift to 4WD, thereby suppressing oversteer at the start. The setting is exquisite, and if you drive with an understanding of it, you can corner much better than normal. It can be said that the RX, which has potential comparable to the N1 machine, is the strongest GTR that runs on public roads.

MENU HAPPY

●Engine: T78 Hybrid Turbine/TVVC Mini/GReddy Racing Wastegate & Intercooler/GREX 87.5 Piston & Oil Cooler & Conrod and many others Aero: GRACER Aerostyle ●GREX PRO Shock & Spring ●BL SUS Evolution muffler, etc. Trust 0479-77-3000

#Greddy R32 #Greddy RX #R32 GTR #BNR32 #JDM #GRACER #Trust R32

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spheretechpackagingindia · 5 months

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Volufill Series Oil Filling Machine In India.

An Edible Oil Filling Machine Is A Type Of Liquid Packaging Machine That Is Designed For Filling Containers With Edible Oils, Which Can Have Varying viscosity depending On The Type Of Oil.

These Machines Are Used To Package Various Types Of Edible Oils, Such As Coconut And Peanut Oils, Among Others.

#edible oil filling machine #oil filling machine #mustard oil packing machine #automatic oil filling machine #coconut oil filling machine #engine oil filling machine #cooking oil filling machine

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gasha40k · 2 years

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I have built many a thing since the last post! As promised, here is the robot.

I’ve taken to calling this spectacularly poorly built boy, “Clarence.” He is large and quiet, but boy, does he pack a punch and swallow an onslaught cannon like it’s breakfast. This is the first Redemptor I’ve ever built, assembled over the course of a week or so with some third party bits. Unfortunately, Clarence is not properly built. His arms are a bit fucked, but I’ve done my best to post it as naturally as I can. He is strange, but he is nice.

For comparison, here’s Clarence next to Big Harold. Not entirely sure Big Harold can maintain his title when he’s a bit of a shrimp next to Clarence.

I initially planned to really ball out with custom bits on this Redemptor. I was going to give him a sword, custom legs, custom shoulder plating, a custom helmet, and more, because the plan was for him to be a sort of “updated” version of Big Harold.

This, however, hardly would’ve been lore-friendly. Chapter-Master Lucius Harold was entombed within a Venerable Dreadnought chassis during the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum— long before the Gale Sicane, or the Indomitus Crusade. Even after Chapter-Master Sicane’d Torchbearer crusade reached the Thunderbearers flagship with Primaris reinforcements, Harold had been far too injured to survive out of the cockpit, and as such, he hardly would’ve been strong enough to cross something like the Rubicon Primaris.

That, and I would’ve been spending ~$150 on a single fucking model. Nuh uh. Too broke for that shit. Anyways, I also built a Firestrike turret that I’d had in my shame pile since I started the hobby.

It’s a total shame these kinda suck and got completely forgotten by GW, because I really like the model. There’s already so little Astartes artillery that it’s a real bummer that this unit is as mediocre as it is.

I also finished a Techmarine friend. He babysits Harold and Clarence to make sure they don’t get into any shenanigans.

Techmarines are hugely important to the Thunderbearers. Where Chaplains tend to be philosophical and ideological leaders, Techmarines tend to be religious leaders. They’re responsible for administering oils, lighting the candles upon armor and weapons, writing machine blessings onto purity seals and weapon trim, and venerating the Dreadnoughts.

As Thunderbearers view Bolters as the ultimate conduits of justice, being entombed within a Dreadnought is like becoming that conduit of justice. They are divine justice given form, and a stunning example of mental self-domination from the pilots.

Thunderbearers Techmarines are a lot less focused around polytheism and engineering as the Adeptus Mechanicus. They’re the organic speakers for the machine spirits of every piece of weapon and armor, able to channel even the lowliest bolt pistol’s machine spirit into a raging, sentient beast.

Here’s the whole collection so far. I’ll say, it’s definitely taken shape, especially compared to how it used to look. Very excited for whenever I get all of these painted, which likely will not be for a very long time.

This is our little heavy support side, with Clarence and Squad Kellam. The bane of armor.

Here’s our little main section, with Apothecary Celsus and Force Commander Sadrian.

And here’s Squad Cambarn, the Bladeguard, Squad Taranis, the Devastators, and an as of yet unnamed Outriders squad.

On the Crusade front, things were very slow on account of lifestuff, but they’re picking up. My brother’s Ultramarines, the Cobalt Lancers, arrived on the planet as Imperial reinforcements. Choking off the beachhead, they caught an Ork assault in a pass through a plateau overlooking the beach called Deadside Pass. They lost kinda hard, and now the Orks have a way into the Pandaxu Lowlands, the continental mainland. On the right side of the continent, territory is being taken en masse, and things are beginning to get spicy.

Not entirely sure what the next post’ll be but it’ll be something I guess. Sick.

#warhammer 40k #miniatures #painting #building #loreposting #collection #calthradia crusade #adeptus astartes #thunderbearers #big harold

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askcharaandfriends · 2 years

Note

So Undyne, I'm the same Anon who wanted the lecture, and I wanted to know more about the technology designed with magic in mind.

How is that done? For example: Napstaton! he's a ghost who got themselves a robotic body! What does magic-conductive wiring look like? What's the wiring made of? How does magic flow through a monster's, ghost monster's, or human's body? How did being a ghost change how Napstaton used his body before and/or after fusing with it?

(Which reminds me of monster biology- that might be interesting to know more about too.)

[I am not a magical engineer I'm not sure if I can answer this in a satisfactory way]

Undyne: sheesh dude, if you keep asking me for university lectures I'm going to start asking you to pay me university fees. JK Lol... unless....?

Anyway I can't tell you all my magical engineering secrets [mainly because I'm still working on the patents] but because i like you, I guess there are some things I can tell ya.

Magic in technology is basically used to keep things running smoothly all the time. Imagine a complicated Rube Goldberg machine. You know? The thing with like dominoes and marbles and balloons? And they just do something simple like turn on a light. But they're soooo mesmerizing to watch... unless something goes wrong and it doesn't work. Magic is the thing that makes sure all the dominoes fall in the correct order. It bridges the gap between physics and imagination.

Of course, there are still limits. It needs a power source- usually a charged chrystal or something [I don't remember what it's called... lachrima maybe???] The chrystal can be recharged by electricity. So as long as the chrystal is in your phone, you can keep it charged by plugging in your phone.

And automated magic needs programming, so runes are carved into the machine. The runes are instructions for the magic to follow when No one is there to direct it. Just like computer programming, the instructions have to be precise and account for undesirable outcomes. Otherwise you can get chaos.

Now for Napstaton. See... the thing is... they're less of a sentient robot and more of a ghost who possessed a bunch of metal. I mean... they really are a robot. All the robot parts work like a robot should. The transforming stuff is real robotics and magic technology. But I didn't program their body. [Like the Queen thought when she promoted me]. Napsta runs the programs, Napsta is the programs? They control the whole thing, basically. It was ghost piloting of really cool armor. And they liked it so they bonded to it and "it" became "them".

The wiring and stuff is all just normal copper. All the stuff humans have in their machines to conduct electricity. Magic either follows the path of the runes or in Napstaton's case, flows like magic does through any monsters body.

You see, magic flows through a monster (or wizard) pretty much the same way blood flows. There are paths that start from the SOUL and branch out and get smaller and smaller towards the extremities. If someone has a bloodstream, magic will use that. If not, like for a ghost, it behaves like a bloodstream but like just for magic and invisible. Even non wizard humans have a magic flow in their blood. [That's why vampires like it]

As a ghost, napsta could go through stuff fly and disappear, and could not be harmed by physical attacks. But also they had minimal ability to interact with the physical world. As a robot, they can interact so much more! They can't disappear or go through stuff, but thanks to jet pack technology they can fly! And they aren't completely immune to attacks like before, but being made of metal makes them more resilient than the average monster. They can eat solid monster food! They can drink oil! Having a body has made them pretty happy. They came out of their shell a bit since... going in to their metal shell.

But it's not for everyone. Their cousin, Hapsta, really knows how to rock his incorporeal bod. He makes it look easy. He says he likes the freedom of movement and flow that comes with not having a body. He likes not being tied down so much. Though he is willing to consider a body, if one ever appeared that could satisfy all his needs. I offered to make him a robot body like Napsta's. He considered it for a long time. Toyed with it. Seemed to like it. But finally said, "Thanks darling, but no. That's Napsta's thing. If I find a body i like, I want it to be just for me, you know?"

#Napstaton #hapstablook #ghosts #robot #metal and magic #undyne lecture #technology #magic #how magic works

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