#Glass exporting countries

[anamseair]

Explore India's growing glass export industry in 2024, key trends, major exporters, top destinations, HS codes, and strategies to find reliable buyers for long-term success.

[simp-ly-writes]

Betting on Hearts

Cross-over: Contemporary! Peaky Blinders x The Gentlemen (2024)

Pairing: Edward "Eddie" Horniman x afab!Shelby!Reader,

Summary: Being the main face to the (legal*) Shelby Business Empire, you too dabble with the less than legal side when prompted to (against your Brother's wishes). So when a certain Duke and Glass Family start stirring things up on your doorstep, you decide to seduce the duke into compliance but maybe, Eddie had the same idea for you too...

Warnings: 5000~ words, depictions of blood, overprotective siblings, emotional manipulation (seduction), reader is a bit... much. Probably some other tags that I am forgetting

A/N: more notes later.

Masterlist | Taglist Request | read-through and edited.

↳ The Shelby empire was dominant in many industries and with you being among the middle children, just behind your three older brother's, you mainly took to the newer parts of the business but you of course wrangled your way to the darker sides as well no matter how much your family protested (except for Polly, she openly cheered you on before her untimely passing)

↳ You were the Queen of import/export, the face to the Gin company and co-owner to your new digital sports betting app, your younger sister Ada had stepped in to help you manage it all. Using the earnings from the gambling you put it towards the branding and advertisements of your other departments and the greater Shelby corporation

↳ Arthur, the spirited yet your mentally-barley-afloat brother as he drank half the gin you supplied to his section of the business or found himself high as a kite while insisting on keeping your hands as clean as possible, coming with you on every assignment. Arthur maintained his "Garrison" bars across the country, moving on to establish high dining and was currently trying to stick the Shelby name into hotel management.

↳ John, a man that carried a huge heart with his irresistible charm and humor. He (while trying to convince the youngest, Finn to join him) managed the productions and manufacturing of each one of your industries. Supplying the parts, the bottles and ingredients, alongside the construction materials for every one of Arthur's expansions alongside supplying for your... darker dealings. The company, to a degree, was self-sustainable

↳ And of course, you had Thomas, the mastermind of the whole empire and the one you reported every minuscule detail to at the end of the day. You wouldn't call him kind, but he was considerate to a degree. You could always count on him to protect you where other's have failed but that also caused the greatest conflict between the two of you. It was hard, managing family verses business with him, lines always threatening to be crossed as your relationship was strained. Thomas respected you deeply, you had stuck with him when the rest of the family fell apart and offered him new perspectives to cultivating legal business. Yet he was too protective of you, he couldn't stand to lose you and openly admitted that you where his first choice if he needed to choose who would live

↳ In recent times, your family was playing chess against with a rising power called the Glass family who not so suitably started poking their fingers into your sectors, fixing your gambling sites with their newest expansions. You chuckled to yourself within Tommy's house. The men reported on the new business the Glass family had established, a boxing ring as you shoved Arthur in his chair with a teasing smile.

"Remember when you wanted to become a boxer, brother?" Arthur flips you the finger, a frown emerging from his moustache as he pours himself another drink, mumbling about you being a spoiled little brat yet you don't bother to catch the end of it.

The spy coughs, returning all of your attention back as Thomas glares at you both to hold yourselves, John's face has gone red trying to conceal his laughter at the childish faces you pull at him as Thomas throws his hand up, signalling for the man to continue.

"They have been having some difficulties in expanding their weed enterprise as well, we are still trying to get to the bottom of as to why this is as the documentation we have stolen shows nothing out of the sorts." A series of copied folders and photographs are then spread against the hardwood table as your painted nails sort through each stack, categorizing them in sequential order. Your green nail taps on top of a dead mans face thoughtfully stroking his cheek as you look at the bullet hole placed in between his eyes, "And what is the backstory to this incident exactly?" you comment.

The spy looks towards Thomas who already looks bored, there was nothing of significance to be said just yet but this newest bit of information had him raising as eyebrow. "Well, that kill was confirmed to be done by the new Duke of Halstead as I were one of the men stationed to dispose of it."

The spy throws another bundle on the table labelled, "The Duke." You excitedly snatch the manila folder quicker than anyone else at on the table as your eyes dart across every picture and piece of information you can grasp. Captain, Aristocrat, Medals... More Medals, Service, First Place, Honour Roll, Head Boy, Family Strain, oh... Your thoughts pause, cheeks heating when you flick up a stapled bundle of papers, a defined uniform, blue beret. The next page a Polo champion in college and deep black suit for the funeral. Slamming the folder shut, all eyes snap to the sudden noise.

"We are joining the upper echelon of society, brothers! Do let me meet up with him- I promise not to disappoint," you plead, already knowing that you are perfect for the mission. You and the Duke were both public-facing faces with one foot in reality and another in the pits. It would be a simple mission really, you convince yourself and your brothers as they immediately protest to the idea. Step in, seduce, convince him to sign-out and step out- as simple as that.

You look at Thomas, eyes strong, eyebrows furrowed as you level his stare. "You know I'm the only who can properly do this job, Thomas and if it does not work out, we can just kill them off just like the last, right?" The spy departs, bowing his head before speedily turning out of the room as tension only rises in the room, getting caught in your throat as you hitch your breath watching as Tommy's mouth moves into an echoing, "fine."

--

↳ So here you sat, in your covered box from the sun at the races. You clapped joyfully with a smile spreading your cheeks. You tip your hat down, seeing your bets adding up on your card as Ada cheered loudly beside you, leaning over the railing as she praises your chosen racer. Interviews for the sportsmen start as the Jockey casts a wink up at your sister. Ada throws down a business card the he clutches, placing it in his breast pocket with a tap to his chest before continuing to answer the post-race questions.

"Have yourself a date?" you tease out, picking up your spiked lemonade to hide your smile curving up into a knowing smirk. "Well you are one to talk sis, I heard down the grapevine that you had a certain duke chasing after you like Cinderella," Ada rebuttals, fixing herself a drink at the cart as you eye the three shots of vodka she stirs in, "isn't that a bit much for..." you look down at your wrist-watch, "...1PM? We do have dinner at Arthur's later tonight you know."

"We all can use a pick-me-up every now and then," she comments as you hum out, eyeing up your singular shot drink before shifting further down the couch to create space for her as she removes a pillow, placing it on her lap as she kicks off her heels and sets her feet up upon the coffee table. "Now, you didn't answer my question, go on then," she sasses, setting her drink down and leaning closer to you with knowing eyes gleaming into your own.

You roll your eyes, face going red while pushing her face away from your own as she laughs, "So you do have the hots for him!"

"No, its just that a second sun is bursting in my face and plus, we could never work," you retort, now refusing to meet her chasing eyes as she grips your hand. "Oh, come on (name)! details, details! don't leave me hanging here, thats brothers work," Ada presses forward just as your resolve crumbles. You place a hand to the bride of your nose, pinching as you eyes squeeze shut. "I won't repeat myself so listen closely," you start recalling the first day you met Captain and Duke, Edward Horniman.

--

↳ Running around your house, asking various staff members of your estate as to where your old mail had been distributed you felt around the thin papers and pages till you felt weight and lifted out the invitation from the stack. Mr. Johnston's Estate invites you to his quarterly festivities, your fingers trace over the pressed letters and seal before looking towards your closet

↳ You had worn a tailored dress that perfectly accentuated your body for tonights assignment. Within a closer inspection, various hand stitched black branches and birds spread across the top sheer level of fabric set to a black backdrop. Your hair was pinned upwards, showcasing the glowing skin of your neck and upper chest that you spent way too much time blending in with your makeup.

↳ You suitably leaned against the bar-top, feet already sore from the high heels you wore to make your legs appear longer and by the looks around the room, your plan of seduction was already in the works as a woman ordered a drink for the two of you. Her red lipstick simmering brightly under the dim lights, beckoning you in closer yet you held your resolve. Thanking her for the drink while placing a hand on her own before walking towards the neighbouring room. Feeling her stare as you left, you offered her a floating kiss before turning the corner.

↳ The windows were open as you walked down the long hall towards the cheers as multiple guests played various card games within the billiards room, you pulled the sleeves of your dress down further as you dropped the drink on a floating tray- it's sickeningly sweet taste formed a headache as you pinched your temples.

↳ You strolled around the room, smiling at every face that met yours, shaking hands with others as you enjoyed watching every. single. face. fall in recognition to who they were just flirting with. Stuttering apologies, you grew disappointed when their eyes drifted cautiously around the room for a threat of a man, one of your brothers. You scoff at this, turning towards the next.

↳ With the most recent man that was trying to capitalize on the half-attention you were giving him, absent-mindlessly nodding along to his business proposition as you both strolled around the estate, you found yourselves back at the entrance as your eyes snapped over to the late party-goers just making their arrivals, one of them being just the man you were waiting for as he stumbles through the open doors.

His beauty stumps you in person, the blurry pictures you obtained from at the table do not do the man justice as he practically glows under the warm lighting above. His hair tussled in a wind-swept way as your hands itch to fix every strand. Chocolate eyes are all you want to drink in before your attention is being called back as you start to glare at the intrusion.

"So what do you think, Mademoiselle Shelby?" the man asks to you, hand starting to drift up your arm, another on your leg before your eyes snap back down to his face from over the crowd. You rip your arm away from his touch, sending him a cold smile as you fix the lapels of his jacket for him, gripping the suit closest to his neck as you pull him closer to you. Any outside looker would think your reaction to be a romantic display yet by the sweat starting to form at his hairline, you were receiving just the reaction you wanted.

"I have no interest in working with a boy who already starts to sweat at the mere touch of a woman," and with that you drop him, watching as he falls into a group of people who all glare down at him, stepping around as he scrambles out the backdoor. You fix your appearance in your phones camera before making your way towards your mission.

--

Edward Horniman's Perspective

Re-buttoning his suit jacket, he places his keys in the hands of a staff-member while making his way up the stairs. Susie had been waiting for him in the lobby rather impatiently, her foot tapping against the tiled floors as she dully looked at the floral decorations that hug around the vaulted space before her eyes snapped to Eddie form spinning around to face her.

"You look a bit shit," she says while eyeing him up and down, taking notice to the small amount of blood beginning to form at his side with distaste.

"Remind me why we're here?" Eddie states, taking the conversation reigns as he begins to glance around the room. Susie begins walking closer to him, making their way out of the foyer.

"We are here to learn why Uncle Sam wants in to your estate and subsequently our Business," Susan replies, a subtle shake of her head as if ringing out the terrible idea of it all. Her feet start to falter as she instantly notices you stepping into the room behind them both with a champagne flute delicately place in your hand.

"Then whats his business?" Eddie pushes forwards, moving them both through the sea of people as Susie snaps her head back forwards, doing her best to maintain composure and not cause a scene as she allows Eddie to guide her further into the estate.

"Meth. He's made billions from it."

"Then what are you, Susan, a drug dealer with a heart?" Eddie question's, raising a brow as he stops to pick them both up a drink. A small smile spreading across his lips as they chime together before Susie proceeds to down the rest of it.

"Everything alright?" concern now rising in his features as he looks around the room, his gaze stopping, breath intaking sharply at the sight of you. He is unable to tear his gaze away as you turn your head to face him, you offer a small smile. Eyeing the man from his shoes, the seam of his pants, his neck that swallow deeply as your hand rises from your side, up to your collarbones as you delicately play with the necklace you wear. You finally stop at his eyes as you mouth a cheeky hello before turning around back towards the bar.

Susie still remains looking at her now empty drink, unknowing to Eddie's distraction by the sound of the crowd as she continues conversation normally. "We like money just as the next man, but his gear comes with a rather violent price tag. We stay in our lane because comparatively, its a peaceful one. We let him in, carnage will follow."

Susie now looks up, noticing that Eddie had not replied to her speech as she follows his gaze to your back as your fingers play with the lip of your cup. You laugh at whatever the bartender had just said to you before your glass has been topped off once more, you turn around, flashing them both a smile before slowly making your way closer to them.

Eddie takes a step forwards, wishing to meet you halfway before Susie reigns him in, nails digging into the arm of his suit jacket as she pulls him back to her side.

"I don't think you are quite ready for the big leagues, Captain-" Susan warns, looking at the side of Eddies face before he turns back to her, a charming smile accentuating his features before he speaks.

"I just killed a man, Susie. I think I can handle speaking to a woman-"

"Hm, well thats just not any ordinary woman, Edward. That is Miss. Shelby- the possible saviour to every one of our problems if we did not already... push some buttons," Susie states, smile waning as you get progressively closer, many people still try and gain your attention as you hold up your hand, wishing not to be disturbed.

"And there's room to fix that I'm sure, but what exactly did WE do?" Before Susie could answer, your heels are in front of Eddies dress shoes as you extend a hand forwards in greeting. "Miss. Shelby," Susie greets you with a composed look, her smile dropped as she tries to stare through you.

Edward picks up your hand, pressing a kiss on to the back of it as you hold hands for longer than necessary before pulling away. "Your Grace, Miss. Glass," you greet, "a pleasure it is to see you both here tonight." Your voice is like honey, hanging in the air as you smile at them both.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss. Shelby," Edward replies, noticing Susie's mock indifference as she shifts her weight slightly under your faux-gentle eyes; sharped to a cutting-stare as you strike her down. "You two make a rather charming couple, if I may ask, how recent is this development?" you question, hiding your growing smirk in your drink as Eddie's gaze falls to your lips and the print you leave against the glass, snapping back up to your eyes- yours crinkle in a second greeting.

"You have yourself mistaken, Myself and Miss. Glass are merely business associates," Eddie clarify as you set your glass gently on the bar-top, hand brushing against Eddies bicep in the movement. Your eyes continue to lock on to one another, a silent conversation being played as you lean a bit closer, taking a deeper look at his features as you notice Eddies gaze roam your's own. In that moment, Susie decides to step back into the conversation.

"What does your family want?" she deadpans, eyeing the closing distance between you and Eddie with hardened eyes as her hand threatens to crush the glass in her hand. "Well, by the looks of it, your business had became my business, thanks to your mingling," you charismatically charm, hand hovering on Eddies arm as you adore the jealous look brewing inside her.

"And if you two are merely just associates, I think this calls for a more... personal discussion with the Duke since our businesses are now becoming tied together, is that not tight Susie?" you finish with as Eddie looks between the two of you, undeceiving of who to follow alongside. But by the look of your eyes snapping to his lips once more as you tongue swipes across your own, parting them slightly- his decision is made.

"I will be back in a moment, Susie," Edward says, following in-step as you lead him out of the crowded space. Just as Eddie reaches the hall, he casts his head back, sending Susie a knowing look as if to say, I'm fixing it before disappearing. Susie glares at your lipstick stained glass sat on the counter with distaste before being led towards Mr. Johnston by his assistant.

--

Your Perspective

Success, you cheer to yourself, as you loop your arm around Eddies arm, leading him towards a nearby study you know to be empty. The door softly closes behind you both. In the next moment, you pull Eddies arm to his side, shoving him against the door as it rattles from the impact.

Eddie's eyes are blown wide as he hisses out slightly in pain, forgetting about the gun-shot wound before becoming distracted by the feeling of your soft lips against his own. Your heels make you tall enough to capture his lips into a delicate battle of heated touches, your skirt being bunched up by Eddies hands, your gentle caresses of the stubble of his cheeks as playful bite his lower lip, wishing to explore more.

Gasping for air as you pull away, you further taint his skin a deep red to match his lips you coated in your lipstick. Pressing a kiss at the side of his mouth as he whispers out a tease before you trail over to his cheek, paving a way to his chin and down his neck as his head raises, exposing more skin for your greedy lips. He grips your hips, keeping you in place as you suck a mark onto the base of his neck. A soft moan escaping between his lips before an equally greater hiss as blood continues to pour out of his side.

You take a step back, gently opening his jacket, your eyes cast upwards, through your lashes as you playfully pout. You place a palm at his inner thigh, watching as his eyes grow in size as your hand drifts just past the growing bulge in his pants- stopping slightly before the wound as you hum out thoughtfully while looking at it.

"My, my, your grace. Whatever do you have here?" You rhetorically ask before pressing your hand into the opening, listening as he hisses out, hands swiftly moving off your hips and onto your hand as they pull your touch off of him side.

"You little fucking temptress," Eddie curses out, eyes darkened as his tongue sweeps over his lips, you take a few steps back. The Duke presses himself off the wall, taking wide strides as your hands begin to sweat yet you do not break eye contact. Continuing to swiftly walk backwards as best you can in heels before tripping over a rug and falling against the back of a chair.

Eddie's arms cage you in against the chair, your breath hitching as he places his face within the crook of your neck. His facial hair tickling your skin, a soft burn forming with every word he speaks, "Now tell me, Miss. Shelby, what is it you want from me?"

You swallow. Hard. Knuckles turning white at the force you grip the chair with before trying to compose yourself, a shaky breath you exhale conceal in a moan. Pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear, "I want you to kiss me, Eddie," you murmur, hand fixing those curls you wanted to from the start. Your fingers curl around a few strands within an instant as Eddie sucks a bruise to your neck, licking the area afterwards. "What are you here for?" he questions once more as you shake your head, wondering how far you can truly push this.

"No. That was not a proper kiss, sir. Kiss me." You state again, taking a deep breath in as victory when Eddie pulls away, eyes boring into your own, blood now tainting the band of his pants as your eyes flicker down to it. Your chin is gripped as Eddie pulls you into that proper kiss you were begging for but he pulls away too quickly as you press your lips together to hide your frown. Your cheeks were warm, hair a mess, your chest raises up and down like you had just ran a mile.

Edward appears in the same state as he stumbles back, hand gripping his side, eyes tipping down to your chest before snapping back up with a cold look- you needed to answer, couldn't have your signature bleeding out before he could sign.

"I need you out of my bettings, your grace," you breathily state, hand placed on your chest as you feel your heart-rate still bumping fast. You take deeper intakes of air, feeling for your heart starting to slow as you watch Eddie crunch over, blood-loss starting to make him go dizzy.

You swiftly stand and hobble towards the desk, finding a first aid kit in one of the lower drawers as you unknowingly bend down in front of Eddie as he curses you out once more, you look back, murmuring an apology before standing up straight and beginning to make work of his clothes, jacket off, tie discarded and shirt unbuttoned, you pluck the remnants of the bullet out from his side.

Eddie grits his teeth together, hands curled into fists as he watches you work, your tweezers poking into his muscle. "If you would stop watching me so closely, maybe I could focus more and poke you less," you sass, looking up at his while blowing the hair out of your eye. Eddie fixes the stand behind your ear before raising his hand once more. "Well just a minute ago you were practically on your knees begging for me to look at you," Eddie responds with a smirk, you huff and maintain your work, gathering the last bits of metal before treating the area and wrapping his torso snuggly.

The Duke's blood stains your hands as you look down at them thoughtfully. The thick liquid cascades off your fingertips, falling onto your dress, marking a pair of birds. "You owe me a new dress," you say, wiping your hands with the small cloth the kit provided before taking a stand. You start to walk away before Eddie grasps your arm, you pause mid-step, feet now plated in wait.

"Thank you, Miss. Shelby. I will sign to never fix a game with your business if you promise to have a meeting with Miss. Glass and I," Edward compromises, letting go of your arm and watches as you walk towards the exit, "I don't think you are in any position to make compromises, nevertheless demands, Edward. But... I'll keep you updated on my decision," and with that you close the door softly behind yourself for him to get dressed. Pressing your forehead to the wooden surface, you grip your hands into fists before settling your head up high as you descend the stairs and move towards the coat room. You sneak your keys and coat before slipping out the side door and walk towards your car.

A series of hastened footsteps against the gravel have you rolling down the window to your Range Rover, foot on the brake, hands on the wheel- ready to make haste. You do your best not to be surprised when the Duke's face greets you on the other side, a I know something you don't smile resting on his features as you raise a brow to it.

"We never exchanged contacts," he states to you casually, as if it were the weather. You hum out, analyzing his statement while look out the windshield before looking back at him. Light rain begins to fall as you press a lingering kiss to his cheek, "I will find you in due time, you and Miss. Glass. Have a good night, your grace." And with that, you roll up your window, and drive off underneath the moonlight.

--

You take a deep sip of your drink as Ada sits still, mouth open as you swear to be losing circulation to you hand. Pins and needles start to form at your fingertips form how tightly she holds onto your hand. "Fuck, sis. Sounds like you got him good," Ada says, barley able to conceal her smile.

Shaking your head you take a deep sip of your near melted lemonade before clearing your throat and checking for the time, it would be an hour's drive from here, you both had to leave soon. "Well even if I have managed to, 'get him good...'" you raise your hands in quotations, starting to mock even the idea of you two together yet your heart speaks otherwise, beating rapidly in your chest as you recount the feeling of his lips on yours. The small hickey on your neck still bruised as you wonder if his has healed since then.

Ada raises a brow, watching as you absent-mindedly reach up towards your mark, fingers circling around the mark as you continue to speak, "...Tommy would never allow it-"

"Fuck what Tommy thinks, he's not you. Do YOU want to see him again?" Ada cuts you off, a serious look taking over every feature, tightening into sharp lines- as if daring you to say else-wise.

You refuse to meet her eyes, looking outside to the near empty tracks, "I mean..."

↳ Taglist: @daffodilstark @leavemeslowly @iamasimpingh0e @kneelarmhstrung @surazim

↳ A/N: What did you all think? I am quite happy with this being a standalone but I am willing to write a pt.2. If you have any ideas as to where it could go- send an ask, DM, or comment and I'll see what can be done further :) (i'm also taking a break soon... maybe... probably).

[whencyclopedia]

Carthaginian Art

The art of the Carthaginians was an eclectic mix of influences and styles, which included Egyptian motifs, Greek fashion, Phoenician gods, and Etruscan patterns. Precious metals, ivory, glass, terracotta, and stone were transformed into highly decorative objects ranging from everyday utensils to purely ornamental pieces. Just as the Carthaginians imported and exported all manner of trade goods, so too their art reflected their vast network of contacts across the ancient Mediterranean but they would eventually produce their own distinctive art which uniquely blended elements from other cultures. The distinctive qualities of Punic art can be best seen in their stelae, jewellery, sculpture, and masks.

Surviving examples of Carthaginian art are sadly few in comparison to contemporary cultures, and they are further limited in scope by the fact that the majority of artefacts come from a burial context and so are predominantly small in scale and of a religious nature. Secular art and objects produced exclusively for their aesthetic value are rare indeed. Nevertheless, enough examples survive of jewellery, figurines, ceramics, and stonework to hint that the Carthaginians were not as artistically impoverished as earlier historians saw fit to claim.

Influences

Carthage was founded in the 9th century BCE by colonists from the Phoenician city of Tyre. This fact and the city's continued close ties with the mother country meant that art was heavily influenced by that of Phoenicia, at least in its formative years. Just as Phoenicia was itself a melting pot of diverse cultures, its wealth based as it was on maritime trade, so too Carthage would become a cosmopolitan city with visitors, residents, and artists from across the ancient Mediterranean. Egyptian art was particularly influential and many motifs are seen in Carthaginian art such as the goat with head looking backwards beneath a sacred tree or rigid standing female figures. Near Eastern art was another strong influence, seen especially in figurines of the god Melqart/Baal. The influence of Etruscan artists is seen especially in Carthaginian pottery decoration from the 4th century BCE.

Above all, though, Carthage's art took inspiration from the Greek world from the 5th century BCE onwards. Not only were the Carthaginians appreciative collectors of Greek art, taking fine art as booty from their campaigns in Sicily, but they also produced imitative art. There was a large Greek community at Carthage, and many of these must have worked as skilled craftsmen in the workshops of the city. In turn, they would have taught local artists or the next generation. We know of at least one artist whose father was a Greek immigrant but who signed his work as 'Boethus the Carthaginian' and who became so appreciated that his work was dedicated at Olympia.

There is a general problem of identifying the exact origin of many art pieces which is exacerbated by the Punic habit of copying foreign motifs and styles. Traditionally, historians had favoured the view that, at least in general, finer pieces were imported and more rustic art was locally made. This unflattering view is steadily being revised following the discovery of large workshop areas in the city suggesting a healthy export trade and by new archaeological discoveries so that the position that all of the fine art was imported is becoming increasingly untenable.

Continue reading...

[modelbus]

Who else could I possibly do this for except Wilbur? And does this even count as fluff?

Pairing: Cc!Wilbur x Gn!Reader

Flufftober 28 - History has its eyes on you

Wilbur’s hunched over a map, furiously scribbling on it. The sight makes you wince. Not because he’s defiling a priceless map of the country—he is—but because of what a mess he looks like. Unkempt hair spills wildly into his eyes, glasses smudged and dirty. His usual elegance and fashion is nowhere to be seen, leaving him in simple pants and a mismatched sweater.

You’ve been at war for 131 days, going on 132, and he’s been like this for all of them. It’s what war does to someone in charge, you assume. The leader of a country that was fighting for its life.

Everyone expects your country, and him, to lose. Wilbur’s determined not to let that happen.

“I brought tea.” You announce, setting the cup directly on top of the map.

“Thanks.” He murmurs distractedly, reaching for it and taking a drink. Wilbur pauses, narrowing his eyes and looking up at you. “This is—“

“Chamomile.” You confirm for him. “You need sleep, Wil.”

“I need to be strategizing. I need to be right here, doing everything I can.”

This is a familiar routine. In the midst of war, you enjoyed these familiar things. New and old.

“You’re of no help if you run yourself to death. A nap, Wil.”

“I really should start making you call me by title.” He grumbles, unmoving.

“And I really should start just dragging your ass to bed.”

Rounding the table, you stand next to him to stare at what he’s looking at. You manage more of the financial side of things, not the actual fighting, so all the lines and marks look like nonsense to you.

“I’m thinking we need to defend here more heavily. Our exports rely on it.” Wilbur taps a city along the water with his pencil end. There’s already loads of marks around the spot. “But that’s leaving this spot open. We can fill it by delegating soldiers from here, but we’re spread thin then.”

He was going to drive himself to the brink of insanity.

“Just take a break, please.” You implore. Although you’ve been regularly bringing him meals and water, sleep is a necessity too. “A nap. Two hours. I’ll even wake you.”

“Do you have any idea how many places can fall in two hours?”

“None, because your generals are the very best. Trust them.”

Wilbur scowls at nothing in particular, making you sigh.

“Let someone else take the reins for now.” You coax, hoping you’ll be making it somewhere.

“History has its eyes on me, not anyone else. Their failures are my failures.” He retorts.

You’ve known him since childhood, yet never would’ve imagined him in this situation. In charge of a country at war.

“History can wait.”

His head snaps up, and he finally turns his entire body towards yours. “No it can’t! We’re making it right now, and we need to…”

Wilbur trails off as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. After a long moment he relaxes into it, dropping his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I can’t leave my country without me.” He murmurs into your ear.

“You won’t.” You promise. “I’ll get work done while you sleep, how about that?”

“Not for long.” He argues. Somewhere along the way, this turned into a negotiation rather than begging. You’ll take the progress.

“Eight hours.”

“One.”

“Five.”

“Two.”

“Five.”

“Three, and that’s final.”

“Deal.” Three is more than you expected from him, so you’ll take it. “Now, respectfully, get your ass out of here and into bed.”

Wilbur laughs softly into your shoulder. You can feel his smile pressed against your skin, which, in turn, makes you smile.

“Just another minute of this?” He implores quietly.

“Anything that you need.”

History does have its eyes on Wilbur, and unfairly so. But you’ll make certain his name in the history books will be gilded with gold, esteemed highly.

After a deep breath, Wilbur pulls away and straightens. He gives a longing glance back at his map, one you intercept immediately.

“No.” You deadpan. “Go.”

“And here I thought I had the highest position.” He grumbles, heading towards the door. He pauses there, looking back at you. “Thank you.”

“I’m not your best friend for nothing, Wil.” You reply softly.

He nods his head, then vanishes. You look around the room, taking in the multiple dull pencils and maps. There’s maps on the floor even, making your cringe. You said you’d get work done while he slept, and you will.

But first, you’ll clean this mess up for him.

[basedhighsenberg]

Bold of certain people to accuse the US of not having culture, when they live in countries who's main cultural exports are "we used to sacrifice people to the sun" "we started WW1" and/or "we got bombed by Bill Clinton"

Do not throw stones in your glass houses please

[mariacallous]

When U.S. President-elect Donald Trump was first elected in November 2016, many European countries rallied around German Chancellor Angela Merkel as the new leader of the free world. This time around, they will have to look somewhere else: The three-party coalition in Berlin under Chancellor Olaf Scholz has just collapsed after the Free Democrats—a small pro-business party—rebelled on the economic direction of the country.

The timing seems terrible after Trump’s reelection just the day before, which threatens to throw Europe and Germany into an era of instability. In reality, however, the crisis in Berlin could prove to be good news. The coalition of Scholz’s Social Democrats, Greens, and Free Democrats was the most dysfunctional, dithering, and divided German government in decades. The members of the coalition actively worked against one another on European Union affairs, Ukraine aid, China policy, and economic reform. With Trump returning to the White House, Germany and Europe cannot afford near-total paralysis in Berlin.

After the 2021 national election in Germany, the three parties declared “a new beginning” to break the reform stagnation of the Merkel era. Then, after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, they promised a reckoning with Germany’s old business model, which had depended on Russia for cheap gas, China for growing exports and investment, and the United States for military protection.

Two years on, even the rosiest of optimists would struggle to see the glass of change as even half full. Rather than step up as a leader of Europe and the West, the coalition abdicated leadership in Europe, avoided pressing strategic decisions, and pursued narrow national interests first. On Ukraine, Germany can scrape together a passing record at best. Yes, it has been one of the biggest donors, leads in commitments for heavy weapons deliveries, ranks second in total aid to Ukraine after the United States (although only 15th by aid as a percentage of GDP), and has accepted the most voluntary Ukrainian refugees of any country.

However, Germany has no strategic focus or sense of urgency. Going against his coalition partners and contrary to his own claims of being in lockstep with allies, Scholz has continued to prohibit the delivery of German-made Taurus missiles, even after Britain, France, and the United States delivered their own long-range strike missiles. And support for Ukraine has been cut and deprioritized in the 2025 federal budget, with the German government disingenuously declaring that loans backed by the interest earned by frozen Russian assets would offset the cuts. This clever use of Russian assets was supposed to expand Western aid, not replace it.

For its own defense spending, Germany finally reached NATO’s minimum of 2 percent of GDP this year, but the special off-budget fund created to boost spending to this level will run out in 2027. How Berlin intends to finance defense in 2028 and beyond is entirely unclear; the coalition simply kicked that can down the road. Social Democratic Defense Minister Boris Pistorius—the most popular politician in Germany, which is why the unpopular Scholz has largely sidelined him—said that the 2025 budget does not provide the necessary funds to cover increased personnel costs, much less to invest in new capabilities. Germany’s discussion about restoring conscription to its depleted forces led nowhere beyond a voluntary option. Far from becoming a leading security player and the “best-equipped armed force” in Europe, as Scholz promised, Germany looks to be continuing business as usual.

In Europe, the Scholz government has been seen as the most unilateral, inward-looking, and uncooperative German leadership in a long time. Not only did Berlin unilaterally reintroduce border controls in a panicked reaction to right-wing populists surging in opinion polls following a series of violent attacks involving migrants, but the German government’s representatives at the European Union were also increasingly abstaining from votes because the coalition’s three parties had no unified position.

Broader European interests seemed completely absent from German calculations; for example, when Germany joined Hungary, Malta, Slovakia, and Slovenia to vote against imposing tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles. And Free Democrat Finance Minister Christian Lindner, whom Scholz fired on Nov. 6, was the first to say “no” to former European Central Bank President Mario Draghi’s proposal to increase European competitiveness with large-scale investments financed through joint debt.

With early elections expected by the end of March, it will be a new opportunity for Germany to assert leadership on these strategic issues. If a vote were held today, the most likely result would be a grand coalition of the right-of-center Christian Democrats and the left-of-center Social Democrats—with the former coming out on top and thus providing the chancellor. They collectively poll at about 48 percent of the vote. When Merkel, a Christian Democrat, was the chancellor, she ruled under this constellation for 12 of her 16 years in power, and although this time was marred by perceptions of inertia, a change of chancellorship could bring new strength to Germany’s foreign policy.

Friedrich Merz, the Christian Democrats’ party chairman and likely chancellor of a grand coalition, would finally achieve his life goal after having been pushed out from politics by Merkel two decades ago. On security, Merz has already signaled that he is more forward-leaning on Ukraine than Scholz. He publicly challenged Scholz to deliver Russian President Vladimir Putin an ultimatum: Stop attacking Ukrainian civilian infrastructure within 24 hours, or Germany will deliver Taurus missiles. Although Merz would need to follow up his rhetoric with action if and when he actually moves into government, a grand coalition could also provide new fiscal flexibility to underwrite defense spending and aid to Ukraine, since both parties could agree to loosen Germany’s fiscal restrictions, which Lindner and the Free Democrats opposed.

This would be the kind of leadership that Germany’s European partners have waited for since 2022, when Scholz proclaimed a Zeitenwende—or new era—in security and defense without ever following up. And that kind of leadership will be indispensable with war raging in Europe and Trump in the White House for a second term.

[justforbooks]

Stieg Larsson

His Millennium trilogy was a worldwide hit. But to the Swedish author, it was only ever a sideshow to his true life’s work: fighting fascism, racism and rightwing extremism

It is a relatively well-known fact that the author of the bestselling and most widely known Nordic noir crime series of all time never got to witness his own success. Swedish novelist Stieg Larsson died of a sudden heart attack 20 years ago this week, aged only 50, before the publication of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and the Millennium trilogy that followed.

What is less well known is that on the day of his death (9 November 2004), Larsson was due to give a lecture on the Nazis’ November pogrom at the headquarters of the Workers’ Educational Association in Stockholm. Kristallnacht, “the night of broken glass”, was an important date in Larsson’s calendar, which he commemorated every year. To him, it epitomised the abyss of far-right extremism he spent his life fighting.

Larsson’s life as an antifascist activist has been increasingly overlooked in the wake of his books’ phenomenal global success. One of Sweden’s most lucrative literary exports, the Millennium series has sold more than 100m copies across its various titles, according to publisher Norstedts. The novels have since been adapted into a number of Swedish TV films, a Hollywood blockbuster starring Daniel Craig, and expanded into two further trilogies by two other authors.

“And yet, the trilogy is only one episode in Stieg’s journey through the world, and it certainly isn’t his life’s work”, his life partner, Eva Gabrielsson, wrote back in 2011 in her memoir. Gabrielsson refers to the “Stieg of the ‘Millennium industry’” as being created after his death. The Larsson she knew was an unwavering antifascist – a deeply rooted conviction that shines through passage after passage of his page-turning crime thrillers.

Two decades on, the novels read like a gloomy premonition of Sweden’s political landscape to come, with the far-right Sweden Democrats a de facto part of the governing coalition since 2022. Larsson exposed the undemocratic underbelly of a country usually associated with Scandinavian exceptionalism rather than murderous Nazis. It was a side of Swedish society he knew all too well as a journalist.

In The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, a suspenseful whodunnit set on a fictional Swedish island inhabited by a wealthy industrialist family, Nazi pasts are never far beneath the surface of the plot. The Vanger brothers – Richard, Harald and Greger – were all members of the extreme right organisation New Sweden, with Harald becoming a “key contributor to the hibernating Swedish fascist movement”. The investigative journalist Mikael Blomkvist later finds photos of Greger with Sven Olov Lindholm, a Swedish Nazi leader in the 1940s. And the fascist ideology of Richard – grandfather of the missing Harriet and her vicious brother Martin – led him to the Finnish trenches in the second world war.

In the sequel, The Girl Who Played With Fire, we find the biker gang Svavelsjö MC (whose logo features a Celtic cross, a symbol common among white supremacy groups) at the centre of a sex trafficking ring. The gang is well connected with the organised extreme right: its number two, Sonny Nieminen, has had dealings with neo-Nazi groups such as the Aryan Brotherhood and the Nordic Resistance Movement while in prison. Lisbeth Salander’s nemesis and, as it turns out, brother – a giant brute who feels no pain called Ronald Niedermann – was part of a skinhead gang in the 1980s in Hamburg, we are told; it’s a nod to a nascent far-right subculture in Germany responsible for arson attacks and murders.

And in Larsson’s final novel, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest, Blomkvist and Salander expose a shadowy clique within Swedish intelligence called “the Section”, comprised of members of the extreme right Democratic Alliance. “Within the Section this was no obstacle,” we learn. “The Section had in fact been instrumental in the very formation of the group.”

While the Millennium trilogy touches on many themes, especially violence against women (the original Swedish title Larsson insisted on for the first novel translates as “Men who hate women”), Larsson condemned the Swedish far right’s influence at all levels of society.

These convictions were rooted in his biography. His grandfather, with whom he grew up with in the icy north of Sweden, was an anti-Nazi communist imprisoned in an internment camp during the second world war. The grandfather would recount the horrors of the November pogrom, leaving a lasting impression on the young Larsson, himself a committed activist, first in the anti-Vietnam war movement, then in Maoist and Trotskyist circles. But it was Larsson’s commitment against the far right that would shape his politics for the bulk of his life.

In 1979, Larsson joined the Swedish news agency Tidningarnas Telegrambyrå, where he spent the next 20 years of his modest career as a low-level journalist. But as rightwing extremists began robbing banks, stealing weapons and murdering people in Sweden in the mid-1980s, Larsson became the agency’s go-to expert.

From 1983, he began writing for the British antifascist magazine Searchlight as a Stockholm correspondent. In 1991 he co-authored a Swedish-language book on rightwing extremism. And over the years he penned numerous reports and articles on contemporary antisemitism and the far right for organisations and institutes in Israel, Belgium and France.

A pivotal moment came in 1995. Larsson co-founded the Expo Foundation, which publishes a quarterly magazine on racism, antisemitism and the far right to this day. By 1999, it had become his day job. It was a calling that came at great personal cost, landing him on neo-Nazi hitlists. He received bullets by post. Colleagues were targeted through shootings or car bombs. According to Gabrielsson, it was for security reasons that they did not marry, leaving her without inheritance rights under Swedish law.

“Stieg was a nerd at heart, but there was a certain machismo to covering the far right in the 90s,” says Daniel Poohl, head of the Expo Foundation since 2005. “It was men researching dangerous other men and sometimes that meant having a baseball bat to protect yourself. Because that’s what you do when you feel that you’re on your own.”

Poohl is sitting in the first floor office of Expo in a nondescript block in a residential neighbourhood in Stockholm. Framed covers of the compact, stylish magazine, which today has 7,000 subscribers, adorn the wall behind him. In the next room, the 14 staff members are busy planning the coming issue, page drafts of which are plastered on the wall.

It’s hard not to think of Larsson’s fictional investigative publication Millennium, with which there are plenty of parallels in the novels. “A lot of people have said to me that Millennium is basically Expo,” says Poohl. “But it’s not. Millennium was the ultimate dream magazine. Stieg was a bad businessman, so it would never work in real life.”

The success of the novels, which Larsson wrote in his spare time, has partly helped the foundation, however. A representative of Larsson’s estate said that the holding company that controls it has donated a total of over 40 million Swedish kronor (£2.9 million) over the years, which “have clearly been crucial for Expo’s activities.” .

Poohl from Expo confirmed that the foundation received one off payments, as well as an additional yearly support from the Larssons for a period and a cut of the fourth novel in the series, The Girl in the Spider’s Web, published in 2015 and authored by David Lagercrantz.

“People sometimes think we received a lot of money through the books, but it’s less than they think,” he says. “We’re thankful for the financial support that we have received during the years. But the royalty agreement has since ended.” Poohl adds: “The sad part is that Stieg didn’t get to use his fame to further his political work.” Joakim Larsson, his brother, declined an interview request due to health reasons. Gabrielsson, now 70, didn’t respond to multiple interview requests.

With the electoral success of the far-right Sweden Democrats, a party rooted in Swedish nazism, Larsson’s political nightmare has in many ways come true. “He tried to show that they weren’t simply a gang of madmen plotting to infiltrate Swedish society … but a real political movement that had to be combated through political means,” wrote Gabrielsson back in 2011. The “Millennium millions”, as a Swedish documentary has called the fortune made through the trilogy, would have undeniably been a big boost to his other life’s work.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[burins]

trick or treat! -blorb

another little snippet! this was originally the start of the clark POV to mission parameters and then i realized that if i continued the fic like this it was a) going to be so so depressing and b) it was going to be a real challenge to get clark to the place he actually is in mission parameters.

Clark was seven, the first and only time he saw his father cry. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and so he’d snuck down into the kitchen to get a glass of milk and see if he could stand in the kitchen doorway and make out the tail end of one of the late night shows Ma and Pa stayed up for. Only Ma and Pa weren’t in the living room. A puddle of golden light was spilling from the kitchen doorway, and Clark thought he’d be in trouble for being out of bed, but neither of his parents noticed him. Ma’s hand was on Pa’s shoulder, rubbing small circles into the worn fabric at his collar. Pa had his face buried in his hands. There was a pile of papers on the table. “Well, maybe we can take out another loan,” Ma was saying, in the soft soothing voice she used when Clark had a nightmare. “Just to get us through the year.” “There are no more loans,” Pa was saying, muffled through his fingers. “I talked to [name] at the bank last week. They’re going to start taking the land if we can’t make payments. Martha, we have to seriously talk about--” And then Clark was fleeing back up the stairs, but up the stairs was no good, because his hearing was getting better and better every day, and he could still hear the low, desperate drone of his father’s voice, the words he did not yet understand-- mortgage, interest rate, loan term-- and the tone he did.

the long backstory to this is that while doing some background reading for mission parameters i realized that if i set it when i set it (roughly the mid-2000s) Clark would have been growing up during the height of the 1980s midwestern farm crisis, which is a hell of a time to be an alien kid in Kansas. 300,000 farmers defaulted on their loans! a number of banks failed completely! and so you have Clark growing up in this environment where a) everyone over 60 still remembers the great depression and b) everyone he knows is being absolutely screwed over by the banks. because agriculture runs on credit-- you need credit to buy equipment and supplies and seeds, and then you pay it off at the harvest. or you can leverage the value of your land. except that in the 80s the farming land bubble that had ballooned in the 70s completely collapsed, and lots of farmers saw the value of their land crater. so they've mortgaged their property to get capital to farm, and now their property isn't worth shit, and also interest rates are peaking at 21% on these loans. AND there were two droughts that decade, plus the price of grain dropped because of an export embargo on the USSR. just a whole shit deck stacked against you if you're a farmer. (as a side note this also led to an upsurge in right-wing white extremism and xenophobia in rural areas of the country as well as a corresponding surge in progressive and left-wing organizing.)

this is a lot of infodumping to say. oops! i made a guy with serious economic trauma and then i paired him with a billionaire! and i tried to wrangle with that a bit in mission parameters but it's uh. well! it sure is a thing!

we have long passed the point at which this is a "little snippet" but i do think Clark growing up in a community where his friends at school were losing their homes and moving to cities would have really shaped his sense of justice. and i'm attached to the idea that Ma and Pa were doing their best to help their neighbors and modeling that for Clark.

[trainsinanime]

tell me about french train headlights

They're all the same! Or at least they were, from the mid-1950s to about the early 1990s. They all look like this:

Okay, some context for why I find this interesting. Suppose you see a picture of a train, especially one made in the second half of the 20th century, and you want to know where the train is from. The key trick to telling this at a glance is having a bit of autism, but more specifically, the headlights.

In Europe, all major and many minor countries used to have their own government-owned railroad and their own train-building industry, which would build trains to the specifications of their railroad company. There has always been some exporting going on, but for the most part, the trains you'd find in Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria and so on would be all completely different. This has changed drastically over the past 20ish years.

One thing about this old model is that railroad companies would standardise certain parts within their fleets, especially small parts that need servicing and replacing every now and then. It saves on how many different types of spare parts you need to have.

Headlights are the most notable among these by far: Every train needs to have some of them. All trains have basically the same requirements for their headlights, no matter how fast or slow or whatever they are. Before LEDs, you needed to service the headlights regularly to replace the light bulbs. Also they are glass parts at the front of a fast moving vehicle, they can get damaged, so spare parts logistics are an issue. And most importantly, we as railfans can easily see them. So you get something like this:

As a result, basically all railroad companies in post-war Europe standardised their head- and taillights for all or most of their trains. And all of them had completely different ideas. Fundamentally, all of them agreed that you need white headlights and red taillights, and since modern trains are easily reversible, you put both of them next to each other.

But do you make the white and red lights the same size (West Germany, Netherlands) or different sizes (Austria, East Germany)? Are they separate things, or do you combine them into one assembly (UK, Switzerland)? Do you make them anything approaching normal sized or gigantic (Poland)? Maybe I'll do an overview post over these later, but I don't have enough pictures in my library right now and I'd have to scour Wikipedia for them later.

The French headlight design shown here is in many ways just one of many, but also interesting in its own right: The actual lenses for red and white are the same size, but the white headlight gets this huge lens assembly that makes it look much more prominent. You can clearly see that different French designers had very different ideas about whether you align the center-lines (most of them), or the bottom of the lens assembly. Why is the headlight lens so big, and what are the metal tabs around the bottom half of the circle? I have no clue. My guess is to put some coloured glass panes in, but I have no idea why you'd need that. Also, note that the red taillight classically has a fresnel lens, that's unique as far as I can tell.

I've taken all these pictures in the Cité du Train, the big central French railroad museum in Mulhouse. (That's why I was posting about traveling to Basel early this weekend. Mulhouse is actually really close to Basel, and going via Switzerland is the most practical—and most scenic—route for me) The oldest locomotive I could find with these headlights was CC-7107:

During high speed trails in the early 1950s, this locomotive reached a speed of 326 km/h (203 mph). That made it only second best behind the other locomotive at the trials, BB-9004:

This one reached 331 km/h (206 mph), a world record that would not be beaten for a long time. The difference was nothing to do with technical performance. Instead, both locomotives melted their pantograph, the part on top that touches the overhead line to get power, at around 320 km/h (200 mph). BB-9004 had a second one that it could lift up to continue accelerating, while CC-7107 only had the one. For a long time, SNCF pretended that both locomotives had reached 331 km/h, to protect the reputation of both manufacturers.

What's notable for our purposes is that BB-9004 has different headlights. As far as I can tell, these seem to be an earlier standard design, also found e.g. on the CC-65001 diesel locomotive:

And even on steam locomotives, like this class 141 R:

So CC-7107 lost on the high speed world record, but it was the way of the future when it came to headlights. These headlights then started cropping up everywhere. From the detail pictures I've shown you above, we have e.g. Le Petit Gris (the small grey one, an EMU for suburban services in Paris):

A CC-6500, dressed up with a nameplate for the express train it was hauling. Fun fact: One locomotive of this type (not this one) was used in the US for a while, as Amtrak was trying out new electric locomotives to use. They weren't happy with it and bought a Swedish one instead, mostly because this locomotive's suspension did not work well with the American track quality.

A Z 2200, a diesel railcar for rural lines designed to be cheap first, second and third.

A BB-26000, which feels altogether way to new to be in this museum.

It's from the 1980s, so I guess the first are reaching retirement age. But at the same time: The train I took from Basel to Mulhouse was still pulled by one of these BB-26000.

Other favourites include the BB-25600 with its rare diagonal light arrangement:

Or the really terribly lit gas turbine train RTG, which puts the headlight on stalks:

Fun fact: Amtrak did end up buying a few these. They didn't use the same white headlights (although they did use the same stalks), but they did use the same fresnel lens red taillights.

And the headlights went all the way up to the top. To the TGV. Only these headlights aren't very aerodynamic, so for their high-speed train, SNCF decided to cover them up.

As far as I can tell, SNCF used these headlights in the TGVs up to the Réseau series, including the Eurostar. That meant that they're also found, though behind faded glass, on the TGV Atlantique 325 in the outdoor area. Number 325 is notable because it was involved in another high speed trial, and reached 515.3 km/h (320.3 mph) on May 18th, 1990.

That was a world record, of course; in fact only the French ever exceeded 500 km/h on conventional railroads. So these headlights did get their world record after all. They didn't get to keep it for long, though. In 2007, a newer TGV reached 574.8 km/h (357.2 mph). That one is still in service, though, and it was equipped with newer LED headlights. I think it's highly unlikely that this record will be broken anytime soon, but if anyone does, I wouldn't be surprised if it were the French again, they like that sort of stuff.

Some final odds an ends with the headlights, though: Here's CC-40101, which isn't actually relevant, I just like the way it looks.

Designed for service in France, Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany, with four different voltages and four different train control systems, and that with mid-1960s technology. It wasn't quite as successful as hoped, and in service it only ever reached Belgium, but still, look at that design. The front is supposed to evoke an athlete, a sprinter about to start, but this type of design has instead become known as "Nez cassé", broken nose.

BB-9291 shows a rare early version without red tail lights at all. Someone thought they were saving money.

This small work train has a free-standing version of the headlight, which shows us how deep it really is. Apparently, the French headlight is actually not that deep, and isn't that a nice summary for this post?

And a personal favourite of mine, I even bought a T-Shirt with it on it, the Z 600:

The design, in particular the side windows (recessed instead of flush, no outside visible gasket) says Swiss, the headlight and SNCF logo says French, it's narrow gauge and it has a third rail to provide power. Just all around a weird little train, for the weird little line known as the Mont-Blanc Express from France via Switzerland to the bottom of the Mont-Blanc mountain. The train was built in Switzerland, experts of building small trains for mountains, but for the French part of that rail line, so it got French headlights.

Headlights with exporting is a fun topic in its own right. Do you keep the headlights from the country of origin, or demand your own? You will find both approaches. Both Portugal and the Netherlands bought very similar electric locomotives from France. Portugal has French headlights, the Netherlands insisted on (less interesting) dutch ones.

These days, of course, you will still find these headlights, but they're getting rarer. They stopped being used in new trains around the mid-1990s. What's more, the ones you do find, like on this MI-84 in Paris, probably don't have the fresnel lens taillight anymore. Instead, those were replaced with LEDs.

LED lights for railroads make a lot of sense. They last forever and require less power. And since most railroads have standardised their head- and taillights, you just need to design one replacement light for most of France, and then keep building that one until SNCF stops giving you money.

(Since we're showing a picture from Paris, a quick note: These headlights were never used on passenger-carrying trains for the Paris metro. However, some work trains do have them.)

These days, standard headlights are completely gone. LEDs don't need a lot of replacing, and they give you much more freedom to do things like shapes and patterns and designs. Also, we don't have the "one country, one railroad, one rail industry" pattern anymore. Instead now we have multi-national rail conglomerates. Alstom is technically French, but arguably just as much German, ever since they bought Bombardier's rail division, nominally Canadian. Stadler is Swiss, except for the stuff they build in Germany or Poland or Belarus or Hungary or…, and some of their most interesting products right now are built and designed in Spain.

The end result of that is this:

That's a company I saw at a trade fair (Innotrans, Berlin, 2022) that makes LED train headlights, and specifically they make… all of them? Okay, I'm exaggerating, but this is a great picture to drive a European rail fan insane as they try to assign the different headlights to different trains. You get Stuttgart trams, German (and Turkish) high speed trains, lots and lots of Swiss stuff. Nothing specifically French that I could tell, but at least the German high speed train regularly travels to Paris.

The standard headlights, or their LED variants, were still in use for work trains until fairly recently. There are not that many companies that make rail grinders or ballast tampers, and those tend to just use whatever headlight their customer tells them to. But these days they go for shaped LED headlights as well, because they're just better, and because thanks to European standardisation, a headlight approved in one country can (generally) be used in all European countries.

(All pictures © me, feel free to use them under CC-BY-SA 3.0 DE if you want)

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Poaching Turtles for the Pet Trade

When I was a kid in the 80s, I remember hearing about tortoise shell glasses–also known as horn-rimmed glasses–that were made from the shells of real sea turtles and other chelonians. They were considered trendy when they first appeared in the 1920s, though by the time I came around horn-rimmed glasses were supposedly the mark of uncool nerds. Of course, actual tortoise shells were no longer used as the trade in sea turtle parts was banned in the 1970s by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES), an agreement among almost all the countries in the world.

There’s been illegal poaching of sea turtles since then for culinary, medicinal and ornamental use, but growing awareness has cut down on demand on the black market. Unfortunately, their terrestrial cousins are facing increased threats from poachers, not just as food or medicine–but as pets.

Exotic pets are any non-domesticated animals kept as pets, like birds, reptiles, fish, and wild mammals. Some of these species are easy to breed in captivity, such some freshwater fish kept in aquariums. But many are captured from wild populations; many parrot species, for example, are threatened with extinction simply by how many are trapped for the pet trade.

There are a lot of responsible exotic pet owners and breeders out there, to be sure. Unfortunately, the trade is badly marred by a proliferation of poachers, and people whose only thought is to have the coolest, rarest, or most impressive endangered species in their collection. Think of wealthy people with pet lions, tigers, and other big cats, or poachers capturing rare reptile species to sell to the highest bidder. In spite of all the education done by responsible exotic pet enthusiasts, the bad apples make all too big an impact on wildlife populations.

It’s estimated that the global exotic pet trade may be worth over 40 billion dollars; almost half of that may be illegal. Demand for these animals largely comes from North America and Europe, while the countries whose wildlife is most frequently poached are developing nations that have a lot of species biodiversity. Because wildlife may be shipped all over the world rather than under a single jurisdiction, it’s difficult to track or stop black market trade in wildlife, to include endangered species.

Turtles are no exception. Wildlife officials have seen an increase in poaching of tortoises and freshwater turtles in recent years due to the demand of the exotic pet trade. Because these animals often reproduce slowly, and only after they are several years old, breeding them can require more time and patience than unethical dealers may want to invest. And as turtles are famously slow, it’s all too easy for poachers to pick them up and carry them away.

Poaching turtles has some pretty negative consequences. Over half of the world’s 360 species of turtle and tortoise are being pushed toward extinction by the illegal exotic pet trade. It’s not just turtles in tropical areas that are being stolen, though. The United States is seeing thousands of turtles being illegally exported out of the country. From 1999 to 2017, exports of mud turtles (Kinosternon spp.) rose from 1,844 to 40,000, while musk turtles (Sternotherus spp.) saw an export increase from  8,254 to more than 281,000. And other species have seen similar increases both in the United States and beyond.

When all the turtles of a given species are removed from an area, it has a damaging effect on the ecosystem. Every species has interdependencies with others, and when poaching turtles leads to their extirpation–or even entire extinction–they take with them all the relationships they had with other animals, plants, microbes, and other organisms in their home ecosystems. That leads to less biodiversity, weaker ecosystem health, and potentially the extinction of species that were dependent on the now-missing turtles.

The rise of the internet and social media has been a double-edged sword for wildlife. On the one hand, it’s made getting information about the challenges wildlife face much easier to access, and facilitated a lot more necessary conversations about these animals and their habitats. After all, I likely would have a harder time getting the information in this article to you if I were limited to newspapers, magazines, or other physical media that only come out at certain intervals or only in limited regions.

However, there’s a plethora of videos and other media portraying exotic pets as cool and trendy, but neglecting to mention how much work they may need for proper care. Additionally, since most of the internet isn’t professionally edited, anyone can write anything they want. This means that inaccurate information can be quickly and easily passed around, much to the detriment of the animals receiving inadequate or harmful care. And turtles, which can live several decades, may be sentenced to a shortened lifespan consisting of poor health and suffering.

Thankfully enough responsible caretakers of these animals put forth information on proper care, and realistic looks at how much work it takes to give these animals the best life possible in captivity. We cannot duplicate a wild life for them, but we can at least give them the right food, enclosure, and enrichment. So the best thing good exotic pet owners can do is educate, educate, educate. If you have exotic pets, be open about the work you put in giving them good lives. And if someone makes a suggestion that could lead to even better care, be receptive to that new information rather than getting defensive. If you’re trying to help educate someone who may be new to caring for their exotic pets, try to keep things positive and supportive so that they don’t feel attacked (though there’s not much you can do if they decide to double down on their inadequate husbandry instead.)

It’s also incredibly easy for people to acquire all sorts of exotic pets. Major chain pet stores may have reptiles, amphibians, birds, and more, and employees may not always have accurate information on how best to care for them. Even independent pet stores vary in quality and understanding of exotic animal care. Many people go to large exotic pet trade shows, where hundreds of vendors proffer thousands of snakes, lizards, insects, spiders, birds, and more to anyone with cash to spend regardless of experience or intent. Craig’s List and similar websites offer opportunities for people to sell exotic wildlife to others in their area with little oversight. And for those who don’t want to have to leave the house, exotic animals can even be bought online and shipped right to your door.

While there are certainly shops and dealers who are mindful of the negative ecological impact of the trade in wild-caught turtles and other wildlife, others aren’t so scrupulous. If you are someone looking to acquire an exotic animal, it’s best to be very particular about sourcing; if a seller can’t tell you much about where an animal came from (for example whether it was captive-bred or wild-caught), find a different source. Avoid endangered or threatened species; even legal trade can encourage illegal black market demand for these species. If it seems too good to be true–a rare animal available for sale, or one selling for an incredibly good price–there’s probably something sketchy in its origin.

Consider giving a home to rescued or otherwise “secondhand” exotic pets, to include turtles. A lot of them end up rehomed or even abandoned because people buy these animals and then either don’t understand how much work they take, or simply get bored with them. And again, turtles’ long lifespans often work against them as few people keep a turtle for its entire decades-long life. Rescues do a lot of good work to help these discarded animals find better homes, and are also often very good sources of information on proper care.

You can also make a difference by simply not purchasing exotic pets in the first place, which reduces the demand for them. The normalization of wildlife as pets creates a setting in which these animals are more readily caught and traded because “Well, it’s okay because those other people are doing it!” There are already tons of domesticated pets–dogs, cats, rabbits, rats, mice, guinea pigs, and more–in need of homes. Sure, they may not be as trendy as sugar gliders, bearded dragons, or rare turtles. But as domesticated animals they have been specifically bred to be around humans and be our companions. They’re much more suitable as pets than the truly wild animals that are passed around in the exotic pet trade–and certainly more than those that were taken directly from the wild and which can no longer contribute their genes to wild populations.

Finally, instead of spending potentially hundreds of dollars on a wild-caught turtle or other animal, try giving that money to a nonprofit organization that works toward wildlife conservation instead. The Orianne Society, for example, focuses on reptile and amphibian conservation. And the Turtle Conservancy, as the name suggests, specifically exists to help promote the protection of endangered chelonians. If you have native turtle species in your area, see if there’s a local organization working on habitat restoration that could use your help with volunteering or a donation.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[anamseair]

Discover insights on glass export from India, top buyers, HS codes, and strategies to find reliable global partners. Explore market trends, leading exporters, and opportunities in the growing glass and glassware sector.

[anonymous-inquiry]

medieval au?

do tell :}

my soap box has been given to me in the form of my bf humoring my need to ramble, so here it is

CHONNY JASH MEDIEVAL AU

(v1- background)

All of this is taking place in a sort of pseudo medieval universe. Most of the cultural aspects of medieval Europe exist here, except there are more advanced technological innovations that did not come around until at least the 19th century.

okay, so

Heart, Mind and Soul are three brothers who control three neighboring kingdoms, which are part of one bigger kingdom. The smaller kingdoms are not associated with each other on anything other than federal level. They have their own laws and do not interfere with the others' dealings. Mind and Heart left shortly after their 16th birthday. It was already established that the kingdom would be divided into three city-states for the triplets after their 18th birthday, as it had grown in size and was losing structural integrity, but Heart and Mind fought for it to be expedited. Heart would get the temperate beaches in the South, Mind would get the high altitude forests in the North, while Soul stayed with their father, Whole, to control the centrally located grasslands, the Capitol. The brothers leave to their established kingdoms six months after their 16th birthday, and from then on do not speak.

Soul’s Kingdom: Harmonia - A nation on a peninsula that does not often deal with its external neighbors. While it is the technical name of the entire nation, it only really controls the central part. Biggest export is livestock and their products, alongside agricultural exports due to the rich soil. Its architecture is primarily made of natural resources like wood, hay, and mud. Not many people travel to Harmonia as it is blocked by the state of Capitosa. The only way to get to it is through the state of Mota, and with nothing to make it distinct other than the nation's capital, most people don’t go to Harmonia.

Mind’s Kingdom: Capitosa - Inhabiting the northern part of the country, characterized by frigid temperatures and jagged peaks, Capitosa’s biggest export is coal and other natural resources. The mountains are filled with ores, but farming is near impossible. Capitosa relies heavily on imports from Harmonia to fill in the gaps, in exchange for resources. Capitosa has a large standing military. It has no navy. Architecture is primarily made of stone and glass. There is high volcanic activity in the area. Capitosa does not engage in diplomatic affairs with any other nations, and does not allow tourist travel. It is extremely hard to become a citizen of Capitosa due to these regulations. They have no foreign embassies. The only engagement they have with the outside world is through trade, and that is largely through the other states of Harmonia.

Heart’s Kingdom: Mota - Despite having less land control compared to its neighboring nation, Mota controls much of the ocean around it. Its climate is warm and a bit tropical (think like Southern Italy - it parallels much in architecture and cultural aspects as well). Its biggest export is fish and other marine products. The sandy soil does not make for great agriculture, but there are some things that grow exceptionally well. It is also a tourist destination for travelers. Mota’s military is weak, but it has a comparatively strong Navy due to its location. Architecture is largely adobe and tile, due to the high amounts of sun the nation receives.

Thank you and stay tuned for more about this silly little universe :]

[bu1410]

Palermo - Italy

Hotel du Lac - Tunis

Hammamet - Tunisia

Costantine - Algeria

Fez - Morocco

Casablanca - Downtown

Typical Moroccan ''Grand Taxi

Benalmadena - Spain

Good evening TUMBLR - March 4th - 2024

From today , in order not to boring my 3 or 4 readers, I decided to alternate the writing of my work's experience, with holidays/vacation's adventures.

I hope that will make my writing less boring and more various.

Neverthekess, the overall title remains the same':

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

Ch. I - August 1975 - Italy - Tunisia – Algeria – Morocco – Spain – France – Italy.

So me and my ''partner in crime'' Gianluigi, we decided to make a Mediterramean circumnavigation: the Citroen DS19 purchased from by Mr. Proserpio, Gianluigi's uncle, for the modest sum of 300,000 lire (150 euros) we hope it will take us on a journey through six countries. The travel from Milan to Palermo was smoothly. It should be noted that the works on the Salerno – Reggio Calabria highway section (especially in the Lagonegro area) were already underway, and will continue for many years to come. Once in Palermo, we slept the night in a moribund AGIP Motel, an attempt by ENI (italian Hydrocarbur Giant) to provide Italy with a network of decent and not excessively expensive motels, obviously doomed to failure.

TUNISIA We board the ship to Tunis early in the morning and the got first surprise: on the ferry there is Mr. Mastelloni, a very popular Italian comedian at that time, of which no one ever really understood what he was, artistically speaking I mean. However, it was easy to understand: he was accompanied by a young ''blondy boy'' with blue eyes, similar to the main carachter of ''Death in Venice'' movie. As well as by two whiskey-coloured Afghan dogs, which were ''trendy'' at that time. We spent the night standing up, since we had a bridge ticket, so we slept little and badly on the sofas in the on-board bar. After docking in Tunis and disembarking, we understood that we were behind everyone at the customs check. A business card from the son of the Tunisian Minister of Industry, in Gianluigi's possession, comes to our aid (we have to deliver to this guy two sample chairs produced by G. Luigi's workshop for possible approval and export). As soon as the local policeman saw the business card, he immediately made us leave the queue, and in an instant, followed by the protests of the other passengers in the queue under the midday sun, we were outside the fence of Tunis port. We stay overnight at the Hotel du Lac, a building with the strange shape of an inverted pyramid: from the window of our room, on the 22nd floor, it was easy to see the sidewalk about 60 meters below: ''Let's hope that the building doesn't tip over this very night'' I told my friend. In the evening we take a tour of the old Medina, with dinner in a typical restaurant: large crevettes dish with a unique flavor at a price at which in Italy you would eat a sandwich on the street! For the rest, at the time, there was no nightlife, the clubs were all closed, in a sort of early lockdown. The following day, after having delivered the chairs to the Minister's son (followed by his exaggerated thanks) we left for Hammamet, where we would treat ourselves to a couple of days of relaxation before embarking on the journey to Algeria. And here I must make a premise: Tunisia in 1975 was a nation that was emerging from the long post-colonial period, and was governed by a Socialist regime. The ''Mediterranee hotel'', where we stayed, was a typical expression of this management: the various activities of the hotel - kitchen, rooms, swimming pool, beach -were managed by various cooperatives.

The result was simply disheartening. On the access staircase to the restaurant, in a glass showcase, the day's food was displayed: lunch with tomato-colored soup where 2 crevettes were floating - green salad with tomatoes, carrots, peppers and hard-boiled eggs. Two flies flew happily inside the box… and then there was nothing else…. In the hotel lobby we come in touch with a group of Italians from Abeille Insurance on a reward trip. The wife of one of them, a tall, large guy weighing at least 120 kg, takes us by the arms and, speaking in a low voice, she asked: - ''I saw that you have a car, right? - ''Yes, I answer cautiously… - - Well, the Lady continues – I ask you a favor, would you take my husband to eat in the city this evening? We are willing to pay for dinner for you too, there is no problem, please, we have been here for three days, my husband doesn't eat anything that is offered to us, and this morning when he got out of bed he almost fainted to the floor ……'' Well, the rumors spread at fast speed: attracted by the possibility of ''eating'' in the evening, 8 Italians found us and board our the Citroen before we can say anuthing! We choose the ''Barberousse restaurant''and we were threated with excellent grilled meat and local rosé wine – our guests had a sort of big binge, and all of them filled several take away containers. After the dinner, while wandering around the Medina of Hammamet, we understand the reason for Mr. Mastelloni's trip to Tunisia: some advert on the walls inform us that the 'Deuxieme Festival des Homosexuelles'' (the 2nd Homosexual Festival) was underway in a nightclub of the city!!! We were really astonished that in a Muslim country such kind of festival could take place. After a two-day stay where we also discover that around the hotel swimming pool yet another cooperative cooks excellent meat and fish brochette, we set off for Algeria.

ALGERIA The Tunisian state roads have good asphalt, and the journey was smooth till the border. The formalities at the Tunisian border post were completed in a few minutes. Then a couple of kilometers of ''No Man's Land'' took us to the Algeria border post.

The police shack was in very bad shape. The immigration policeman at first doesn't believe it was me on passport picture. (I had a mustache in the passport photo). Than he went back into the guard post box with both of our passports. After about twenty minutes, the Algerian policeman opened the shack's window and, shouting incomprehensible words in Arabic, literally throwed our passports at us! I stop Gianluigi from replying, I collect the passports and said ''merci Monsieur, au-revoir'' we finally left: certainly not a good welcome to Algeria!

Algeria is a land that is iconographically symbolized by deserts and dunes, but the region we pass through instead appears to us as a sort of ''African Switzerland''. Kabylia is mountainous and green and in the distance you can see numerous flocks of sheep and cows. The farms are bordered by well-maintained fences. We travelled quickly, and in the evening we arrived in Constantine. We pass impressed on the famous Sidi M'Cid: a 164 m long suspended bridge that crosses the Rhumel river in Constantine. It was opened to traffic in April 1912 and until 1929 it was the highest bridge in the world, standing at considerable height of 175 m. The next day we were traveling towards the North-West - at midday we have a quick lunch in white Algiers: its kasbah is still impressive but we had no intention of stopping there. And then away again, the roads were worse than the Tunisian ones; the asphalt is often full of potholes or completely missing. This is despite the country being a large oil producer, so asphalt should be available at very low cost. It was evening when we arrived in Sidi Bel Abbes and for the overnight stay we choose the pompous ''Intercontinental'' an old hotel built during the French occupation of the country. The rooms were dirty, sheets not washed since when? Bathrooms with taps from which a trickle of water flows slowly. The dinner, however, is a farce: - ''What are you offering for dinner''? - ''Des pates avec sardines'' (Spaghetti with sardines) - ''Et apres''? (And after''? - ''Des sardines'' (Sardines) - ''Chaude''………….(hot…) The next morning we literally escaped from the Intercontinental and pass through Tlemcen. From the main road it was possible to have a glimpse of the vineyards of the famous ''Coteux de Mascara'' rosé wine planted by the French. During the years of the civil war from 1991-1995, all the vineyards were removed. At the Western Algerian border we were lucky, and we crossed without problems. Further on, after the usual 2 kilometers of no man's land, at the Moroccan border post of Zouij Beghal a singular encounter: four Italians from Venice traveling in an Opel Rekord: - ''Where do you come from?'' we asked them

- From the Cape North'' - ''Cape North''? - Yes, we have few days holidays, and we promised ourselves to run from Padua to Cape North – than Morocco – Algeria – Tunisia – Italy. - ''Ahh….ok …''vaste programme''……. good continuation guys ….''

MOROCCO In the meantime, the Moroccan policeman kindly asked us to give a lift till the first village to an elderly lady that was carrieng a box containing four chickens. It is very common practice in Morocco, being asked to give a lift of stranded people. Once left the lady at the Attamiaas souk, our journey continued towards Oujda, the first important Moroccan city on the road to South-West. The route was very tormented, with ups and downs among the stony hills and sudden, very steep descents towards the ouadis and their unsafe bridges. We were crossing one of these bridges, where the road narrows sharply, when, about halfway through it, suddenly a blue Mercedes Grand Taxi enters the bridge from the opposite side!!! The Mercedes star on the hood of the car seems to get bigger and bigger as the taxi gets closer to us! In this situation - Gianluigi was driving - the only thing to do would be to stop and lean the car as much as possible against the balustrade of the bridge. Which - for inscrutable reasons - my friend didn't do! In fact I had the feeling that he speeds up in an (useless) attempt to reach the opposite end of the bridge before the Mercedes meet us! By then we understood that two cars cannot pass on the bridge at the same time, and we huddle closer and closer to the right parapet of the bridge, fearing the impact of the bodies at any moment! WHICH HAPPENED ! But… after a skid I believe due to the blow received on the side of the Citroen by the Mercedes, my friend managed to put the car back in the right direction!! We arrived on the other side of the Ouadi and we find ourselves at the first lay-by and we stop – for a moment we didn't had the strength to go down and check the damage to the car. In the meantime we realize that the blue taxi, far from stopping, has disappeared up the opposite slope. At this point Gianluigi took out a providential bottle of whiskey from the cardboard box, purchased on the ship between Palermo and Tunis! A couple of sips and we recover from the scare! It was needed!! Finally we got out of the car and realize that the end part of the left side of car's bodywork was missing! The impact with the Mercedes detached it. As we run back, and we see it lying in the middle of the bridge: it was a little battered, but once we returned to our car, we manage to put it back in his place: everything was resolved with a great scare and minor damage to the car, but it

could have gone much worse: the clash could have thrown us further down, onto the dry riverbed of the Ouadi and than perhaps I wouldn't be here to tell you about it…… After a couple of hours (and after a few further sips of whiskey because every now and then the memory of the narrow escape came back to us) we arrived in Fez.

Fez was founded under the rule of the Idrisids during the 8th-9th centuries AD. It initially consisted of two autonomous and competing settlements. Successive waves of mainly Arab immigrants from Ifriqiya (Tunisia) and al-Andalus (Spain/Portugal) in the early 9th century gave the nascent city its Arab character. After the fall of the Idrisid dynasty, other empires came and went until the 11th century, when the Almoravid sultan Yusuf ibn Tashfin united the two settlements in what is today the neighborhood of Fes el-Bali. Under Almoravid rule, the city gained a reputation for religious culture and mercantile activity. Fez reached its peak in the Marinid era (13th-15th centuries), regaining its status as a political capital. Numerous new madrasas and mosques were built, many of which survive today, while other structures were restored. These buildings are counted among the distinctive features of the Moorish and Moroccan. We stayed at the Moorish-style hotel les Merinides, where in the evening we had a delicious dinner of local dishes. The night was spectacular, the hotel stood on a hill and I cannot forget the view of the city lights, and of the sky illuminated by the full moon and a myriad of stars. The next day, unfortunately (in the sense that with hindsight we should/could have taken more advantage of the hospitality of Fez…) we left again for Casablanca, our final Moroccan destination. Yes, because August 15th was approaching, the date on which we had an appointment with the Mr. Proserpio in Benalmadena, on the Costa del Sol, Spain. Now my three readers need to consider an important factor: we are in 1975, so no cell phones, no computers etc and international calls between Morocco and Europe were very problematic. We arrived in Dar El Baida (Casablanca) and the problem arises of finding the Toubkal hotel (a structure we found in Morocco's tourist brochures). As soon as we arrive in the city, we notice a fruit and vegetable shop: I stopped, get out of the car and show off my French knowledge (I studied it in middle school, and my teacher would be proud of me…) I ask the greengrocer: - Excuse me Monsieur, the direction to go to the Toubkal hotel? - And he ''The Toubkal Hotel''? T'as dit l'Hotel Toubkal??? Ahh yes……Wait…. one minute……'' I saw returning from the shop with two very fat Maroccan women, together by bags and bags of fruit and vegetables. Whereupon the rear doors of the Citroen are opened, and everything - bundled women, vegetables, fruit is introduced into the car!! Then the greengrocer approaches the window and says to me:

''Elles save ou' est l'hotel Toubkal, elles vont vous donner la management''! Au revoir, M'salamah! '('They know where the Toubkal hotel is, they will give you the management''! Goodbye)

So we set off again, and at every crossroads I was asking: ou'? And the women: ''a droite - a gauche-tout droite'' (Where to go''? and the women ''To the right - to the left - go straight...''). We end up leaving the city, and it occurs to me that the Toubkal hotel is near the Place des Nations Unies, therefore in the city centre……. You should know that the Moroccans have established a scale of values of ''shrewdness'' of nationalities where obviously they are in first place - les Marocain sont de raquins (Moroccans are like sharks) and all the others are more or less imbeciles. According to this scale, the Japanese are considered the most badmouthed, followed by the Germans and the English - Italians and French are nationalities that should not be trusted too much… Well, when we now understood that we have been victims of a typical ''Moroccan'' scam, the women say ''ici ici'' (here...here) and tell us to stop - we were in a suburban street, and so we asked the women: So where is hotel Toubkal '' ? They get out of the car, look at each other perplexed and then at

'in unison, throwing their hands in the air in the typical Arab expression, they tell us: ''ça moi je ne sait pas…'' (This I dont know) and disappear with all their belongs! We than continued following the signs for Center Ville until we reached the aforementioned square and then finally, in a side street, the Toubkal hotel. We spent a couple of pleasant days in Casablanca, visiting mosques and the waterfront, eating exquisite Atlantic fish dishes and drinking excellent Moroccan wines (Rosé Boulaone – Red Guerrouane). We spent the evening at the (reconstructed) coffee shop from the famous movie ''Casablanca'' at the Hyatt hotel: waiters in period uniforms, delicious dishes, mint tea served in an exemplary manner.

And then we started the journey to Spain: Tangier (Tanja as the Moroccans call it) was the first stop over on the way back to North. While waiting for the ferry that will take us to Algeciras, across the Strait of Gibraltar, we stay in an old hotel, Les Almohades, directly on the seafront. In the evening we go out for a walk on the promenade, before dinner, and we were approached by a Moroccan guy who was dragging himself on homemade crutches. Like all Tangerois he was fluent in at least three foreign languages, and he offered us ''hierba, buena cossa……'' (hashish) and then kif, the ''smoke'' of Moroccan production. Gianluigi senses the deal (if he brings it to Spain he will be able to resell it at a good profit) and buys a couple of pieces.

''Good - says my friend - let's take him to the hotel and then go out for dinner'' But at this point the limping Moroccan changed register and becomes annoying - suddenly some friends of the guy materialize who - following our steps - sing and shout like:

''hierbaaaa…… hieerbaaaa los hombres tenern hierbaaaa…policia…policiaaaaa'' (Hashish......hashish.....this guys have hashish...). My friend immediately come up with a plan: ''Let's get to the first street, turn the corner and then start running uphill towards our hotel – we'll get rid of the ''stuff'' before entering the lobby. No sooner said than done, once we reach the corner we started running! The chasers understood the game, and started running too, always shouting! With a great surprise, looking back, we discovered that the limper has thrown his crutches to the ground and he was running like a new Usain Bolt!! We manage to maintain a certain advantage, and arrived near the hotel and Gianluigi throwed the package of stuff into a rubbish bin, as we enter the hotel. We went up to the room, and with the lights off we were looking down to the street: the pursuers have arrived, and after a meeting with their neighbors, they head to the rubbish bins, where they recovered the stuff! And then, not satisfied, they direct sneers at us towards the window where they suppose we are observing the scene of their triumph! It was like that Gianluigi's career as a ''smoke trafficker'' ended, before it even began.

Early in the morning we boarded one of the first ferries to Algericiras. After a quiet Strait of Gibartar crossing, and having traveled the 120 km that separate Algeciras from Benalmadena, we arrived at the residence where – supposingly – Mr. Proserpio & Family were waiting for us. We had managed to reserve an apartment for the entire month of August - the Proserpio family would stay there for 15 days, with Gianluigi and me for the rest of the month.

Citron DS19 Pallas

[shinobicyrus]

The tech industry is a huge part of the Israeli economy (accounting for 50% of Israel's exports) and the Israeli government loves their tech sector because it's been indelibly married with their larger military industry complex. Many of the high-tech surveillance and security systems monitoring the Gaza wall, for example, are the product of Israel's massive tech-sector, and all that is for sale to the highest bidder.

So hearing Israel be audibly anxious about how mobilizing a huge swath of their citizenry for ethnic cleansing is hurting their economy, their precious tech sector in particular, fills me with only the pettiest schadenfreude.

But the anti-capitalist in me is also mesmerized by this new portrait of dystopia Israel has dropped. That of the citizen-soldier that must also continue to work part-time while soldiering:

Early on in the war, Raz [a software engineer] was at his base within a few miles of the border with Gaza preparing for a mission, while simultaneously talking on his phone with an overseas customer about a software project. "I had to juggle between those two," recalls Raz, sitting in his company's glass-walled office with a view of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance. "I remember it being super, super hard." Israeli aircraft were firing guns overhead while Raz was talking business with a client. "One of the customers asked, 'What's this noise?' and I had to explain that this is shooting sounds," Raz recalls.

It's like being an "essential worker" but instead of COVID it's a goddamn war. You could write an entire book about the absurd concept of a soldier being force to juggle his job in a warzone for the sake of the economy.

The tech sector in Israel builds a huge number of military and intelligence (i.e. spying) systems, which they export to other countries. It's such a vital part of Israel's entire economy that the IDF is actively pulling back soldiers to lessen the burden on their workforce.

Israel's own economic anxiety has done more to temper their war crimes than international pressure has so far managed.

[solarpunkbusiness]

The National Bureau of Statistics reports a 19.7% increase in revenue from selling cans and aluminum scraps collected from streets, packaged, and exported to Brazil and South Korea in fourth quarter (Q4) of 2023.

According to the report, scavengers exported aluminum scraps worth N1.32billion in Q4 2022, while wastes valued at N557.34million were exported in Q1. The exports increased by 168.85% between Q2 and Q3.

In fourth quarter, income saw a modest 5.33% rise to N1.58billion, mainly due to exports to South Korea, indicating potential for new income streams.

Economic Impact of scavenging

Waste collection and recycling: Scavengers are the primary collectors of recyclable materials such as plastic, metal, glass, and paper from various sources, including landfills, dump sites, and streets, sort these materials, which are then sold to middlemen or directly to recycling facilities

Job creation and income generation: Scavenging provides employment and income opportunities for a significant portion of the population, especially those from low-income and marginalized communities. Women and children, earn a living by collecting and selling recyclable materials, which can provide a crucial source of income for their households.

Contribution to the informal economy: The scavenging industry is a significant component of Nigeria’s informal economy, which accounts for a substantial portion of the country’s economic activities.

Environmental and social impact: Scavengers contribute to environmental sustainability by diverting waste from landfills and open dumpsites, reducing the amount of waste that ends up in the environment. However, scavengers often face hazardous working conditions, lack of access to social protection, and social stigma, which can have negative social and health impacts.

Challenges and opportunities: Scavengers face numerous challenges, such as lack of recognition, limited access to formal waste management systems, and exposure to health and safety risks. Efforts to integrate scavengers into the formal waste management system and provide them with better working conditions and social protection can create opportunities for their economic and social empowerment.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 66: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A glass box, its clear panels leaded at the seams, its trio of locks glinting gold. Warm blue lights dance frantically inside it, seem to beat against the glass walls like trapped wings. The keys are nowhere to be found. Knowledgeable PC’s can identify it as fey made.

A Random Musical Instrument that always sounds like a Random Music instrument when played.

A vellum document folded and sealed with a red wax seal as ornate as any used by the nobility. If unsealed it is a formal invitation to the unnamed bearer and a small part of guests to the 60th birthday of a Chodo Contague, which is occurring 2d4+2 months from when the letter was found. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that Congangue is a major crime boss of a largest city in the nearby country.

A blackened iron coffer that has seen better days. The coffer is locked and must be picked or smashed open. Inside are three cones of incense wrapped in sanctified, unholy cloth stitched with golden signs of Chaos.

A detailed sketch of a halfling maiden wielding an impressive sword.

A signed receipt slip from a black-market pawn shop including an evaluation for the item sold into hock. To the untrained eye, the receipt lists the sale of one plain silver ring for 2 gold pieces by Mary Goodwife at John’s Honest Pawnshop. The entire note is written in Cant, the language of thieves and mentions that interesting contraband can be purchased discreetly at John’s Honest Pawnshop to those coming in asking to buy Mary an engagement ring.

A heavy pleated kilt, whose green and red tartan pattern identifies it as being from the northern Kerr clan.

A glass jar with a large toadstool inside with a few smaller mushrooms around it. The jar is filled with some sort of viscous substance, completely submerging the mushrooms. A note glued to the glass claims that the contents to be the beginnings of Myconid birth, but assures viewers the sprout is "inert".

An unsent letter from a parent to their child congratulating them for their job as chef and finally revealing the secret family recipe to the kid.

A leather wallet stamped with the image of a merchant’s ship. It contains a high-quality forgery of a tax-exempt import / export license on goods produced by Random Artisan’s Tools. According to the paperwork, the bearer, up to three of his retinue and up to one ship or wagon can pass through any border, bridge, gate or city without paying any toll, tax or fee of passage or a tax on the goods so long as they were produced by those tools. The licence expires 5d10 months from the time it is originally found.

—Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A glass box, its clear panels leaded at the seams, its trio of locks glinting gold. Warm blue lights dance frantically inside it, seem to beat against the glass walls like trapped wings. The keys are nowhere to be found. Knowledgeable PC’s can identify it as fey made.

A Random Musical Instrument that always sounds like a Random Music instrument when played.

A vellum document folded and sealed with a red wax seal as ornate as any used by the nobility. If unsealed it is a formal invitation to the unnamed bearer and a small part of guests to the 60th birthday of a Chodo Contague, which is occurring 2d4+2 months from when the letter was found. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that Congangue is a major crime boss of a largest city in the nearby country.

A blackened iron coffer that has seen better days. The coffer is locked and must be picked or smashed open. Inside are three cones of incense wrapped in sanctified, unholy cloth stitched with golden signs of Chaos.

A detailed sketch of a halfling maiden wielding an impressive sword.

A signed receipt slip from a black-market pawn shop including an evaluation for the item sold into hock. To the untrained eye, the receipt lists the sale of one plain silver ring for 2 gold pieces by Mary Goodwife at John’s Honest Pawnshop. The entire note is written in Cant, the language of thieves and mentions that interesting contraband can be purchased discreetly at John’s Honest Pawnshop to those coming in asking to buy Mary an engagement ring.

A heavy pleated kilt, whose green and red tartan pattern identifies it as being from the northern Kerr clan.

A glass jar with a large toadstool inside with a few smaller mushrooms around it. The jar is filled with some sort of viscous substance, completely submerging the mushrooms. A note glued to the glass claims that the contents to be the beginnings of Myconid birth, but assures viewers the sprout is "inert".

An unsent letter from a parent to their child congratulating them for their job as chef and finally revealing the secret family recipe to the kid.

A leather wallet stamped with the image of a merchant’s ship. It contains a high-quality forgery of a tax-exempt import / export license on goods produced by Random Artisan’s Tools. According to the paperwork, the bearer, up to three of his retinue and up to one ship or wagon can pass through any border, bridge, gate or city without paying any toll, tax or fee of passage or a tax on the goods so long as they were produced by those tools. The licence expires 5d10 months from the time it is originally found.

An old rose made from ash, carved with the Elven script for "Good".

A scorched brass horseshoe that was thrown from the hoof of a Nightmare, a type of fiendish equine named after the terrible dreams suffered by those that encountered them. The wicked creatures are best known for serving as mounts under a variety of malevolent beings throughout the Lower Planes.

A wheel of aged dwarven cheese, clad in beeswax.

A hand mirror made of silver, with ornaments of beautiful and long-haired androgyne faces covering the frame.

A one-gallon cask of Untergraad, a liquor made popular by students and modeled after the medical or scientific alcohol commonly pilfered from laboratories. It's often flavored with herbs and its alcohol content is both very high and incredibly constant. Drinks are usually poured to the proportionate weight of the imbiber. A skilled bartender can push an Untergraad drinker to the very edge of riotously drunk with a measured dose.

A rather drab-looking painted portrait set in a brightly shining metallic locket.

A crude effigy and shamanic heirloom from one of the hagtrees that grow deep in the forest.

A physical shard of blackest night said to be a prison for the partial essence of the Trickster himself. Any close to it may be undone by its troubling aura.

A scroll describing a dread spell that fills the foes' minds with their own worst nightmares.

A clear crystal broach of purest clarity whose core dances with whirling white specks like that of the fiercest blizzard.

An abhorrent lodestone from which a gnawing sense of wrongness emanates.

A military uniform, in white and sky-blue color, with a unicorn emblem.

An elegant dress with rich black silk back and sides and a deep purple velvet insert in the front creating a striking combination of fabrics. The solid half-sleeves have a beautiful floral pattern, tree-cornered lace that falls into a point of silver-thread piping.

A simple bamboo mouth-harp.

A leather wallet stamped with the symbol of a mortar and pestle. It contains a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the healer’s guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair color) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A hair clip made from a mermaid’s scales along with a piece of coral.

A wooden doll depicting a man, possibly from a Stone Age culture, carved with a spear in his hand, his waist adorned with braided sinew as a belt of sorts.

A silver flask midway full of a strong and harsh brew of ale.

A mesmerizing crystal that pulsates with an otherworldly energy, resonating with alien life force, casting haunting reflections within its crystalline structure.

A wrought iron bottle filled with a plant based supernatural libation known a Zozo Juice. It is a fiery red drink with thick orange bubbles that almost makes it appear molten in nature. Although it is technically an ale, its more like coagulated blood considering how thick it is. Bubbles crawl slowly to the surface through its sanguine blood-like depths. It is an extremely spicy drink that makes it almost unbearable to consume.

A pickled kobold fetus in a jar that occasionally twitches when the light gets too bright.

A crude set of glass wind chimes that faintly hums in starlight.

A dwarven hunk of flint carved with a short prophecy.

A clockwork sphere with iron wings. At center is nut-sized storage hole.

A collection of fourteen perfectly spherical steel balls. When held in close proximity to each other, they snap together into a cube by themselves. If one ball is removed from the cube, they collapse back into a pile.

A carpet that depicts a map of the heavens, showing many different, colorful constellations and whirling planets, woven in thick, richly dyed wool.

A tall, thin sculpture of a sort of squashed-in horse, carved out of translucent stone.

A rowan wand, charged with the first circle of seven marks for binding.

A big copper key that looks like it has been lying around turning green for a couple hundred years. It is six inches long may be the heaviest key ever hefted. It is squared off flat on the sides and Investigative PC's can discover an inscription under the verdigris that when scrapped at reads; “Random Motto”.

A silver bracelet with dozens of small charms hanging from it. The charms represent various symbols of luck and fortune from different religions, cultures, and traditions.

A hat made of soft felt and adorned with small branches, flowers and butterflies that change color with the seasons. It was crafted by a fey artisan as a gift for a mortal friend.

A wooden crate full of human hands of all shapes, sizes and colors and all of them are remarkably preserved and in near perfect condition. Some of them have perforations where the cut is.

A thin sheet of ironoak on which is sketched a charcoal drawing of a child wearing fabulous clothes and draped with jewels. Dangling from one corner, a handful of tiny iron charms dangling from copper chains, three missing.

A brilliant blue mug beset with scores of tiny gems in a fractal depiction of riches raining from a pearl moon. The surface of the glazed and fired clay is polished to a mirror sheen.

A marble statuette featuring a sea eagle rising from the waves, its eyes inlaid with bronze flames, its talons blood stained.

A willow-woven tablet secures a bas relief of kingdom soldiers huddled around a dirt map, conversing and holding their weapons. In flickering light, it hums softly, like a distant conversation barely heard.

A frivolously thin linen jacket sewn with iron studs in the shape of saffron stems, slightly rusty. It smells strongly of the depicted herb. While worn, the wearer finds themselves extremely clear minded, regardless of their physical condition or alchemical impairment; this clarity does not extend to control over their body’s functions.

An ash-gray shawl whose fringes wave and flicker like living fire, warm to the touch.

A rich green linen tunic embroidered with a massive golden peppermint, the flowers made of threaded silver. It fills the air with the same smell, always fresh.

A thin chain made of alternating links of gold and silver and features a bloody daffodil wrought from rose gold.

A bronze brooch engraved with a pair of sandals, their straps broken and trailing. They hum excitedly when not in motion.

A thickly padded shirt featuring a stylized blackberry bramble; the berries at the hems are sewn with tarnished silver thread.

A feastbowl carved from a single piece of marble, edged in faces which on inspection always seem to be people the viewer knows and cares for.

A silk ribbon stitched with gold and silver thread in stanzas of a poem about dying wealthy.

The Winter Aristocrat’s Dinner: A framed painting of a thin, beautiful, long-haired person eating a luxurious feast alone at a table in the snow that is, at first glance, a wonder. Closer inspection shows shadowy figures shivering at the edges in the dark, left out. Whatever figures were once painted there are covered now by a soft, porous mold that peels away easily but seems endless.

An azure-lacquered tablet that has a moon-bent tree made from polished ironoak laid into its face, the roots of which entangle each other and protrude from the tablet to end in small spikes.

A deep purple linen shirt sewn with extraordinarily thin iron wire in the shape of a cloud-shrouded moon over the right breast. Between the wires grows a pale green mold, clinging to the shirt in flaky outgrowths. The wearer can always see the moon’s outline, no matter what it is hidden behind. In moonlight, the mold grows noticeably.

A tin brooch shaped like a lightning-struck tree, with a dozen forks of lightning made from carefully inlaid porcelain, some of them broken.

A small porcelain thimble chased in scarlet and has a crimson silk slip cover. The markings on the thimble itself are minute and depict a cheerful but strained proprietor hawking various wares from a cart.

A handtruck featuring a thick bronze pry at the base of a long ironoak handle with two stubby wheels. Tiny iron charms in the shape of hearts dangle from the spokes of each wheel.

An archaic keepsake box with trinkets from a commoner from a forgotten era. Although these items may have some cultural significance, the items contained in the box are generally commonplace for that era. It does signal that other potentially more valuable artifacts from this era may be in the vicinity.

A beautifully crafted urn that, if broken, releases a vengeful spirit

A writ of freedom for years of indentured servitude paid off.

A tear stained map of the local cemetery with an “X” marking a specific grave.

A letter from family thanking the recipient for the money they've been sending, but ma isn't getting better so they should come home to see her soon.

A child's toy and a note in childish writing "so u arnt lonly" with it.

A polished black lacquer music box, with a picture of a migratory duck on the lid and an inscription inside that reads, "Home is Wherever I'm With You." The mechanism plays a nasty dissonant tune.

A seemingly unremarkable stone that emits a soothing, melodious hum when rubbed, but only those with a pure heart can hear the hidden harmonies that convey ancient wisdom.

A letter with the following written inside "we only need 300 more gold until we can bring her back and live peacefully once again as a family".

A veil with delicate, hand-painted patterns that shift and transform over time, subtly mirroring the emotions and experiences of the wearer, revealing a narrative of their life's journey.

A long thick staff-like musical instrument made of multiple joined rattlesnake rattlers that functions like a rain stick.

A bottle of cheap rotgut booze, only a quarter of it remains.

A wooden hand with articulating fingers. You can't tell if it's a mannequin hand to be used by artist, or a prosthetic. Every time you look away, it seems like the fingers slightly change position.

An antique hookah that looks recently used.

An armband made from vampirized human flesh, bone, and small hematite stones.

A pewter belt buckle with a symbol of a grinning face.

A nearly translucent roll of old parchment.

A large, intricately carved stone bowl filled with a thick, red liquid that smells like copper and rotten meat. The bowl is etched with strange, serpentine symbols and is supported by a trio of coiled serpent legs.

A simple and unassuming clay and bamboo, free-reed aerophone resembling a cross between an ocarina, a harmonica, and a pipe organ. The khaen covers four octaves, in a diatonic scale.

A whistle shaped like a wooden bird.

A velvet pouch filled with brilliant blue sand.

A turtle shell bowl polished to a beautiful shine.

A talisman displaying the symbol of a prominent noble house.

A collection of sandstone tablets filled with strange symbols. If translated, the tablets discuss the coming of a great serpent god. A thousand and one souls must be sacrificed in the name of the great serpent in order for it to manifest in the material plane.

A fishing hook made from ivory and studded with red beads.

A bound cluster of porcupine needles in a bag.

A silver fork with a crescent moon engraved onto the handle.

A single stone and wire earring that hums a faint, relaxing tune.

A clay urn the size of a fist that is covered in undecipherable writing.

A small copper frog statuette.

A small holy symbol of an exotic xenian cult dedicated to Random Domain.

A small flute carved from unfamiliar wood, giving it an unusual sound when played.

An occult mask that covers both the face and the head. It consists of a crown made to look like gold, but fake, and a veil made of heavy leather with holes for the eyes.

A mask of white porcelain with high, dramatic cheekbones and striking, red painted brows.

An acorn-sized seed with a green and orange swirled pattern. Knowledgeable PC’s can determine that it originated from the Feywild but aren’t sure what it will grow into.

A rod of whittled-down, bloody dragonhorn that has been scrimshawed with blasphemous prayers to the Archfiend of Random Evil Domain.

A bundle of unopened correspondence of a prominent politician.

A burnished copper coin that bears the crest of a forgotten kingdom.

A one-gallon cask labelled “Skullbungle”, bearing the design of an exploding grinning skull on the top lid. This jet-black drink swirls with red highlights and is made by distilling strong dwarven spirits through a mash made of hallucinogenic mushrooms and powerful chillies. Staggeringly strong and harsh yet incredibly tasty. Imbibing the drink often produces soothing hallucinations, making this a popular drink among the downtrodden as well.

A leather wallet stamped with the symbol of a wagon wheel. It contains a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the wagon-makers and wheelwrights guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.