#Russia Bianca

[digitalfountains]

Bianca Borba by Daniel Aratangy

- Playboy Russia, April 2014

[my-anime-goods]

Tokidoki Bosotto Russia-go de Dereru Tonari no Alya-san (Alya Sometimes Hides Her Feelings in Russian) - Pop Up Shop in Marui featuring goods with new illustrations at Marui City Yokohama from 27 April to 12 May 2024.

[gregor-samsung]

" Un giorno - era di maggio - che la Città [Kiev] si svegliò risplendente come una perla nel turchese, e il sole rotolò fuori per illuminare il regno dell'etmano, e i cittadini erano già in moto, come le formiche, per i loro affarucci, e gli assonnati commessi dei negozi cominciavano ad alzare fragorosamente le saracinesche, un rombo terribile e sinistro attraversò la Città. Era di timbro inaudito - né di cannone né di tuono, ma così forte, che parecchie finestre si aprirono da sé e tutti i vetri tremarono. Il rombo si ripete, attraversò di nuovo tutta la Città alta, si riversò a ondate nella Città bassa, a Podol, e, attraverso l'azzurro e magnifico Dnepr, si perde nei lontani spazi moscoviti. I cittadini si svegliarono e nelle strade cominciò lo scompiglio. Dilagò in un istante, perché dalla Città alta, Pečersk, arrivò di corsa, urlando e ululando, della gente insanguinata e dilaniata. E il rombo si ripeté una terza volta e così forte che nelle case di Pečersk cominciarono a cadere fragorosamente i vetri e il terreno tremò sotto i piedi. Molti videro allora delle donne correre con la sola camicia indosso, gridando con voci terribili. Ben presto si seppe da dove era venuto quel rombo. Era venuto da Lysaja Gora, fuori della Città, sul Dnepr, dove si trovavano depositi colossali di munizioni e di polvere. A Lysaja Gora era avvenuta un'esplosione. Per cinque giorni la Città visse aspettando terrorizzata da Lysaja Gora l'ondata dei gas asfissianti. Ma le esplosioni cessarono, i gas non si sparsero, la gente insanguinata scomparve, e la Città riacquistò il suo aspetto pacifico in ogni sua parte, ad eccezione del piccolo angolo di Pečersk dove erano crollate alcune case. Inutile dire che il comando tedesco ordinò una severa inchiesta, e inutile dire che la Città non seppe nulla sulle cause dell'esplosione. Correvano voci diverse. - L'esplosione è stata provocata dalle spie francesi. - No, è stata provocata dalle spie bolsceviche. Si finì col dimenticare l'esplosione. "

Michail Bulgakov, La guardia bianca, traduzione di Ettore Lo Gatto, Einaudi, 1967; pp. 59-60.

Nota: la prima pubblicazione incompleta di Belaja gvardija [Б��лая гвардия] avvenne a puntate sulla rivista letteraria sovietica Rossija nel 1925 e l'opera teatrale ricavata dall'autore sulla base delle prime due parti riscosse subito un enorme successo (si dice che lo stesso Stalin vi assistette almeno una ventina di volte). Nel 1927 l'opera completa fu stampata a Parigi mentre una edizione censurata venne diffusa in Urss solo 1966. Come molte opere sgradite al regime La guardia bianca fu conosciuta nella sua interezza dai cittadini sovietici solo nel 1989.

[snifekinner]

what hetalia characters would be like if i served them in a pub

(based on my experience in a pub in Waterloo right near the station)

england is that asshole regular who is always in at the same time, has way too many opinions, is pretty decent to the older staff but ruthlessly grills the new ones and gets scathing if they don't know his regular order or they don't use the right glass. he lives nearby. he goes to the pub and has like 5 or 6 pints there then on his way home he goes by the 24/7 offie and picks up a 4 pack of Stella (or two if it's been a really hard week) and then goes home and drinks them on his own watching old british tv. usually drinks the exact same thing for the first few rounds (pint of house bitter, has to be in a glass with a handle) and then tries some of the guest beers. likes a pale ale or a porter, nothing too far on either side of that.

ivan as a customer, i'd see him once or twice a month because he usually has people to dinner at his and has to travel a lot for work even though he hates travelling, so whenever i see him he's like. exhausted and either very irritated and liable to start an argument, or very sociable and will buy drinks for the bar staff. there's been a night where we think we'll have to call the police because he refuses to leave at closing time and starts smashing glasses but the manager kind of talks him round and takes him outside for a cigarette, and the next few nights everyone's steeling for the worst thinking he'll come back and we'll end up having to bar him (which like, no one wants to do because he's generally a nice guy and he drops a lot of cash when he visits) and then he finally turns up like 3 weeks later with gifts for the bar staff and full of apologies for how he acted last time and he's super repentant for the next few months (until he starts getting comfy and starting arguments again).

france - i would love him as a customer tbh. he would be lovely and charming, he would give tips even though he doesnt have to. he'll buy red wine by the bottle, even if he doesn't drink the whole thing, he'll take the rest home with him. he comes to the pub because it's near his (beautiful very expensive victorian terrace) house but he likes to also pretend its beneath him. mainly because arthur is the other local regular and he loves to piss him off. the caveat to him being super generous is he is also very exacting, so everything has to be perfect. he will complain if the glass has a smudge on it. he can see smudges that are not visible to the normal human eye. he also turns up with different women all the time and the staff say nothing.

[quotesfrommyreading]

Yet supertalls not only ascend; they also sway, flutter, vibrate, bend, and lean. Often a lot. Chicago’s Willis Tower—which is more than 50 feet taller than 432 Park—can move up to three feet in strong winds. If you were to look down at the spire of a tall building during a windstorm, you’d see that it careens left, right, and around, like an inebriated giraffe.

All of that motion can cause people to feel a little drunk themselves. Occupants of tall buildings have, in high winds, reported nausea, distractibility, difficulty working, and fatigue, though researchers report that skyscrapers “rarely, if ever, induce vomiting.” As winds howl, buildings can moan like creaky container ships, or clatter like subway cars. “No Realtor would ever give a potential tenant a handbook that explains how these buildings behave, because they wouldn’t buy them, probably,” says Peter Weismantle, the director of supertall-building technology for Adrian Smith + Gordon Gill Architecture, which designed Central Park Tower.

And yet some motion is safe and normal, and often goes unnoticed. In fact, evolving approaches to handling high winds are a big reason contemporary supertalls have gotten to be so numerous, and so thin.

Tall buildings get celebrated as gravity-defying, but it’s their defiance of the wind that should inspire awe. Imagine a strong wind blowing south over Central Park. The wind hits the supertall and pushes it backwards into a lean, then causes the structure to sway as the gust picks up and dies down. Wind can get stronger at higher altitudes and intensify as it whips off neighboring high-rises, so what registers as a gentle breeze on the fifth floor may give way to howling on the 45th. Wind barreling around the supertall creates turbulent eddies on the building’s exterior that cause the structure to wag from side to side. These are the accelerations that tenants are most likely to perceive, and slender supertalls are even more susceptible to them.

Developers know they cannot control the wind. What they can do—and this is an industry term—is confuse it. For this, they recruit a wind-whisperer like Derek Kelly. Kelly, an engineer with the consulting firm RWDI, is a garrulous Canadian who, when I asked about superslims, told me the company has worked on “almost every building you see out your window.”

Take 432 Park. Once the developer had an early design for the new tower, Kelly began by making the proposed supertall—a solid, skinny, square column—super small. Kelly and his colleagues 3-D-printed a knee-high model of the building, and stuck it into a miniature Midtown Manhattan, complete with dozens of neighboring high-rises that can affect the windscape at 432 Park’s site. They put the model buildings on a turntable inside a wind tunnel, then subjected them to smoke and powerful fans. RWDI adjusted the wind tunnel’s settings to mimic Manhattan’s gusts and rotated the tiny neighborhood in 10-degree increments to get a baseline measurement of how the proposed supertall would sway, absorb winds careening off other structures, and shift the wind around it—all of which remains too complex to accurately predict with algorithms, Kelly said.

Even a 10-story building will move, and most of us can handle our homes wiggling about five milli gs (a measure of acceleration) in any direction. Early tests on 432 Park’s prototype revealed poor aerodynamic performance. Rafael Viñoly, 432 Park’s architect, said in a 2014 lecture at the Skyscraper Museum that tests on one version of the building revealed the supertall would dance 30 milli-gs—just shy of the threshold found to “cause some occupants to lose balance,” according to research published in the International Journal of High-Rise Buildings. “If you’re standing here, your cup of tea moves,” Viñoly said at the lecture, rocking his lectern back and forth to demonstrate. He called the experience of 30 milli gs “absolutely frightening.”

When problems like these arise, Kelly brings the developer and the design team to RWDI’s wind tunnel for a “shaping workshop.” Architects and engineers tweak the shape of their supertall, 3-D-print new versions, then put each one in the wind tunnel to see how much it moves. “For some of these buildings in New York,” Kelly said, “we’ve done 12, 16 versions in an afternoon.”

The decorative flourishes on a supertall that seem ornamental can be key to diffusing the suction-filled whirlpools that sway a building as wind whips around its sides. You could notch the corners, like on Taipei 101, which resembles a towering stack of gifts. You could twist the building, like the Twizzler-esque Shanghai Tower. You could taper it to look like the tip of a paintbrush, like the Lakhta Center, or cut out sections to let wind blow through it, like the Shanghai World Financial Center, which is nicknamed “The Bottle Opener.” 432 Park’s designers decided to make it more porous: Every 12 stories, there are two “blow through” floors with cutouts for windows, but no glass.

But can you comfortably host a dinner party on a blustery evening? To try to experience for themselves how hospitable 432 Park would be, Viñoly and his colleagues traveled to the Marine Institute in Newfoundland to be jostled around inside its simulator—a 20-ton steel ship’s bridge mounted on hydraulic pistons and surrounded by screens. Typically, ships’ crews use the simulator to practice for encounters with icebergs and roiling seas, but for the past 15 years, the institute has hosted supertall designers who want to double-check their work before they build. On these occasions, the institute covers up the nautical instruments, projects a city skyline on the screens, lugs in a forest-green sofa, puts water-filled glasses on a wooden kitchen table, and hangs a glass chandelier. Once the supertall’s team of designers settles in, the room starts rocking and rolling to mimic what tenants will feel on a windy day, during a strong gale, or during a once-a-century hurricane. At 432 Park, the blow-through floors alone wouldn’t settle the building, so the developers ultimately installed two tuned mass dampers—a pair of 600-ton counterweights between the 86th and 89th floors that can move 11 feet, to offset the supertall’s sway.

That’s the goal, anyway. New cars and planes go through rigorous testing before hitting the assembly line, but each supertall is essentially a prototype. “We’re going into production on one-offs every single time with the hopes that we get it right,” the structural engineer Stephen DeSimone told me. If you could crawl out over the side of 432 Park and look down at the facade during a windstorm, “you’d have not one but two heart attacks. Because the thing does move,” Viñoly said in his 2014 lecture. “Don’t tell the tenants that.”

  —  The Marvels—And Mistakes—Of Supertall Skyscrapers

[bellamer]

Apparently Hurricane Bianca had a sequel. I watched the first one as a freshman in high school. I'm watching the sequel right now, which looks pretty low budget but maybe I'll enjoy it. Maybe will watch the first one, see if it's as good as I remember.

[vasfasan]

live footage of me straight up bullshitting to my american mates about life in russia for the sheer buffoonery, fun, and whimsy

[keepsmovingforward]

Also I lost my tags. New tag drop:

[mergeman]

Reunion

This is my annual Valentines day post for my partner @nonotnolan

The Discord server was lagging as 14 people were all trying to sign in at once. Marcus looked at the familiar usernames that popped up. These men from all across the planet were near an dear to Marcus. The video chat started and a stately older English man filled the screen. He was Lord Lloyd Thompson the 3rd and his estate had helped the rest of us attend College.

Next was Ganesh Pogrom from India his Engineering firm had been the jumping off point for many of our careers.

Aiden from New Zealand

Enrique From Columbia

Zach from San Francisco

Amir from Saudi Arabia

Gorgio from Russia

Usado from Japan

Hans from Germany

Hassan from Turkey

Diego form Mexico

Kai from Vietnam

James from Australia

And Marcus is in Boston and has just graduated from M.I.T. with honors.

The group caught up with each other talking about family, successes and tragedies. Usado had just received a Nobel for his work on a bacteria that could consume plastics and excrete oxygen. James just got married to his long time girlfriend Bianca. Lloyd was celebrating the birth of his first great-great grandchild.

The 14 men laughed and cried as they heard the new updates until it got to 11:55 pm local time for Marcus. Each man took his turn to say goodbye to the youngster. At midnight a bright white light enveloped Marcus. Soon the light dissipated and a new stunned Marcus was sitting at the computer. Nothing physically had changed but each man recognized that a new soul was operating the body.

Ganesh took charge and welcomed this Marcus to the family and explained to the newest member that he was a victim of the Eternal student. A soul forced to swap bodies every time he graduates from college. Ganesh explained to the New Marcus that he had all of Marcus's knowledge, abilities, and memories but it would take time for his soul to get used to the new body.

A request to Join popped up on Ganesh's Dashboard and he accepted it. A shirtless young man appeared and introduced himself as Brody form Vancouver Canada. He apologized for his tardiness as he and his boyfriend were in the middle of fucking when the swap happened.

Brody apologized to the new Marcus for taking away his life, then logged off to get to know himself better. Marcus sat back stunned as the others welcomed him to their support group.

[somethingsnow]

Orson and Ursa are here now

Okay so I like to headcanon that Orson and Ursa are Canadian and fellow Canadian children who have experience winter know that you get bundled up like that one kid in a Christmas movie by your parents (I have a coat it’s bright blue and when zipped up I turn into blueberry so yeah) also there’s two kinds of winter outfits all black or bright colours (traffic cone) I decided to put them in a somewhat bright winter outfit also they do have Octo watches but keep them under their sleeves also with the stitching and patches I like to think that sometimes their play fighting can get out of hand which resulted in ripped clothes (luckily the winter coats and ski pants are thick so there was no blood spilled) but by accident they did scratch each other’s faces which is why bandages on their faces also ski pants have so many pockets so many pockets are here (fun fact thing idk Bianca and Barnacles were from Russia specifically Siberia originally but something happened were them and their mom moved to Canada, Nunavut Bianca stayed in Nunavut while Barnacles joined the Octonauts) also Orson has more straight fur while Ursa’s is a bit more curly which is why with the fluff on their faces is a bit different from each other I have rambled enough for now but their will be more ramblings of mine but for now enjoy and goodbye.

[celenawrites]

in between

Summary -

You talk with Gaz after a rough mission.

Note -

Reader's callsign is Artemis and Gaz calls reader 'Artie' affectionately.

No pronouns used so far. (unless my sleepy self missed any, for that I apologize. But I usually write for female or femme presenting readers.)

Reader is written as POC, although I haven't mentioned any racial features except maybe one mention of their skin color.

Gaz and Artemis are like more than best friends but not a couple per se? If my brain can keep up, I might work out a mini-series out of this, who knows.

Also, I HC that Gaz is a mama's boy and has a younger sister named Bianca, who he's like very close to. This headcanon is so dear to my heart (T_T)

I wish I could be more prosy, more poetic with this piece cuz that's what Gaz deserves. But it's already late at night and I need to sleep before I go out with my friends so this'll do (until I get fed up and re-write this a year from now lmaooo).

I was going to leave this untitled but AO3 needs a title in order for me to publish this so I guess...this oneshot is called 'in between' ig? bon appetite y'all

word count - 1.9k

AO3 Version

You can see he’s thinking again. 

The bar is filled with only a few patrons. Price is quietly nursing his whiskey on the one end of the bar table as he quietly talks into the phone(probably talking to Laswell) and observes his subordinates - namely Soap and Ghost engage in a captivating game of billiards. As far as you can observe, Soap is too impatient and Ghost is taking advantage of his restlessness and leading the score. Gaz sits beside you, one of his warm, deft hands nursing his own glass of bourbon and yet, his eyes show that he’s a thousand miles away from you, somewhere you cannot reach him. 

You want to be where he is. 

Your thigh touches his, gentle and unassuming and you let him warm you up. The team needed a pick-me-up after the brutal mission and what better way to loosen up than to drink the night away? 

But you can tell that even drinking heavy or watching Soap bicker with the usually dry Lieutenant about pool will not be enough for your Sergeant to forget all that had transpired this past week. You don’t blame him for it. 

The mission is all you can think about. 

It was pretty smooth-sailing - you got trustworthy intel, thanks to Laswell and so you planned an ambush to get a weapon cache, and trace an infamous cartel leader deep in Russia, hiding with his lackeys in bumfuck nowhere. And then things went south halfway through extraction, forcing you to barely get hold of the cache before you made a run for it - which led to you taking a bullet to the thigh while you covered Kyle and Price from roaming hostiles who spotted all of you because of a small error on your Gaz’s part. 

Luckily the bullet had just grazed you, and Ghost helped you patch up with the first aid kit they kept in the helicopter. Throughout it all, Garrick had his eyes downcast as he barely spoke while you rode away back to base. After landing, Price took a meeting and dismissed you just as fast, ordering you to go get your leg checked at the infirmary. Gaz followed you to the doctors - barely speaking despite your attempts at lighting up his sour mood. The moment you sit down on the cold bed and allow the nurse to take a look at your injury, you see the quiet man abandon you in the medical bay - but not before your eyes meet his, full of sorrow and remorse and a hint of something indecipherable. 

You know what guilt does to a man. 

The silence is killing you now. 

Sure, Soap is possibly the most outgoing out of your lot, and sometimes you’re even surprised at how your Lieutenant can make you choke on your own breath by making you laugh at his terrible jokes; and yes, Price and his odd way of comforting you works too. But all you want this instant is for your best friend to look at you like he always does (eyes brimming with mirth and warmth - so much so that you can get drunk off of it alone), you want to hear what he has to say about the faux rivalry between Soap and Ghost, you want him to ask Price to join you as he orders you another fruity mocktail because you’re the DD of the night (there’s a rotation set for it and it’s your turn now), you want him to drag your chair close and feel his body press to your side closer still as he talks about how his mother is, or what his sister is up to - you miss them, you really do. 

(He was nice enough to take you to them off-duty once and his mother apparently approved of you for her son, which you consider to be honor of the highest degree, especially from your best friend’s only guardian no less. His sister had been accepting too, roping you in to stay for the night and you all ended up having a self-care night - watching movies in nothing but soft robes, face masks and eating hot cheetos while Bianca did your nails and Gaz laid with his head in your lap, your free hand softly massaging his curls. And you all looked the epitome of domesticity )

“Penny for your thoughts?” you nudge him with your elbow that was previously resting on the table, and you break whatever reverie he might’ve been immersed in for the majority of the night. You’re tired and you want your Kyle back. 

You almost laugh at yourself, as you remember an old memory back from when you were new to the team and were not used to the British currency at all. You want to recall that memory to Gaz and watch him laugh, see his eyes crease into little moons that take away your breath every single time(you can never get used to the sight, never get used to him), hear the soft chuckle as he points out how silly it was for you to not know how pounds work. You’d rack your brain, settling for a half-hearted jab at him about him being British as you both laugh the night away, maybe joining your teammates for a round or two at the pool table. 

But you know now is not the time for that. 

You watch him intently, watch his brows furrow up as he closes in on himself, giving you barely a chance to penetrate his walls without setting off his defenses. You playfully shove at his shoulder, drawing his attention to you instead of whatever train of thought is running incessantly in his head. 

“It’s all cool, man”, you say and you cringe at yourself internally. You have never been good at comforting others - you rough-house, you use sharp words and sharper knives, given your field of work. You have never been blessed with someone treating you with a kindness you know you’re wholly unworthy of. So you have no idea how to deal with someone like him. 

He looks at you before his gaze flutters around your vicinity, dark pupils looking black under the dim yellow lights and his skin golden under the overhead bulbs (his skin against yours casts a nice contrast, despite the differences and the scars and burns - despite everything). You gently clasp his hand in yours, squeezing it in your palm as you look at him, unblinking and intense. He cannot take his eyes off of you even if he wanted to. 

You whisper to him, leaning closely so he can hear you over the jeering of his teammates, the buzzing of patrons and the background droning of the TV as it plays a recording of a football match from last season. 

“It’s not your fault”. 

He swallows a lump in his throat, and you watch as his eyes turn just a tad bit glassy. He’s close but he won’t cry. He never cries, not in public at least. 

He nods, and speaks, his voice throaty and scratchy and still him:

“I know, Artie. I know.”

He squeezes your hand back, the warmth emanating from his deft fingers grounding you as he continues speaking, “I know it’s not my fault. You’ve told me that. Heck, Price has told me the same, and yet…”

He drawls, and you almost lose focus because of how nice he sounds, because it has been a long day and you’re grateful that you can finally talk to your closest companion again, and so you nod in support, allowing him to talk, to cool off. Whatever he needs, you’d give him all in a heartbeat. 

“I know you’re not mad, and you don’t think it’s my fault. And yet, you almost died cuz I was too dumb to check my ‘9 and Lord knows how sorry I am for that”, his voice is thick with remorse and unshed tears as he looks at you earnestly for forgiveness, for redemption. 

But he doesn’t need those.

You shake your head, drawing circles on his wrist with your thumb as you quietly mumble at him, “ ‘s not your fault, Kyle. Moreover, that’s what friends are for. Saving each others’ asses is part of the job, and I’m too attached to yours to stop saving you now”. 

Your other hand cups his cheek gently, wiping away at his eyes and you watch enamored as he blinks away a few small, stray tears and your thumb gently swipes them away without a question. 

“So you like my ass, huh? That it, Artemis?” he jokes, and you can just softly laugh as you ruffle his head, his soft curls askew due to you playing with his hair gently.

You hum contently, turning your attention to your already empty glass, before looking back at your teammate expectantly. 

“Also, who would buy me fruity, expensive drinks when I can’t have a lick of alcohol?” you jest, slowly pulling away from him as you sit and face the bar instead of him, failing to notice how he almost chases after your touch. 

“Is that all I am to you, Artie? A means to an end? Someone who can get you freebies?” he laughs breathily, asking the bartender for a refill for you as he recovers from the withdrawals he feels at the lack of your gentle, familiar touch. 

“Well it’s either pampering me, or dealing with Ghost behind the steering wheel” you both wince slightly at that, remembering the few times you have both survived Ghost and his impeccable driving skills. 

You know that he’s far from over it, the mission is still something he’ll possibly worry about for as long as he can think - but you can see him ease up a little due to your antics. He’ll be alright, you assure yourself as you clink your glass with his, smiling at him as you slowly talk more and he shares all the stuff Bianca has been up to. He shows you the produce his Ma has just harvested from her home garden, and you marvel at how big her home-grown pumpkin is. 

As you laugh and whisper to each other, your eyes travel to the end of the table and you lock eyes with your beloved Captain (now free from his long phone call), as he raises his glass to you and drinks - a small gesture of gratitude for getting his favorite Sergeant out of his head for the night. 

You feel your ears warm up in embarrassment as you try to avoid the keen gaze of your Captain and focus on your friend right now. You think about how much he has observed - the soft, hushed words, the casual touches, the lingering looks of yours that carried love and yearning and something more for Kyle and no one else. You wonder if he’d reprimand you, give you a reminder about being a soldier and how fraternization with your comrades will not end well for you. But he says nothing - he doesn’t get up and chide you, he turns away from you both and instead focuses on Soap and Ghost as they bicker over who won the last round. You’re almost thankful to him for that, as your attention turns back to Kyle (your dearest Kyle, the only thing who keeps you going on days when your job gets too much for your brain to handle) and as he animatedly gushes about his family and talks about how you both need to go back home and try out his Ma’s famous pumpkin pie she’s making this weekend, you can only think about one thing only. 

You would die for this man, easily. 

You wonder if this is how Icarus felt when he was too close to the Sun. Not fear, but endless warmth and safety engulfing him just moments before he fell. 

[digitalfountains]

Bianca Borba by Daniel Aratangy

- Playboy Russia, April 2014

[executethyself35]

Oc Masterlist

(inspired by @xxluckystrike's)

Bianca "B" Hernandez

she/her, estp-a, 1918, staff sergeant

Having Gone from Cuba to New York was insane for a small child. Constantly butting heads with her mother, and becoming a U.S. citizen was the last straw. Bianca was working various odd jobs and couch surfing from one friends to another's when the U.S. decided to officially enter the war. She had nothing going on really in her life and the military wanted people, so she joined up. There was also the fact that she knew it would piss her mother off. So, now she's making friends, maybe falling in love with someone, and dragging herself all over the Southern U.S. and Europe. What could go wrong?

SHIP: Bill Guarnere

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #b vibes

Playlist:

Zipporah "Zippo" Fieldman

she/her, estp-a, 1914, technician 5th grade, sniper

Being born in Russia during the Great War, and living as an adult in 1930s San Francisco causes someone to harden emotionally, even more so as an older sister. Zipporah was working for her father at his deli shop, and going to the local synagogue whenever she could, when the war broke out. Having decided that if she was gonna live through a second world war, she was going to fight in it. Now, she's going all over the place, going from the Southern U.S. to almost all of occupied Europe, and making friends along the way, maybe even fall for the guy who she couldn't stand at first.

SHIP: Joe Liebgott

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #zippo vibes

Playlist:

Olive-Marie "Ollie" LeBeau

she/her, enfj-t, 1921, technician 3rd grade, nurse/medic

Born in New Orleans, Olive-Marie lived a happy humble life, until her father passed when she was 10. Her mother met a wealthy French man and they fell in love. From then after, her life became different. Her new step-father tried his best to be a good father figure to Olive-Marie and her older brother, while also taking care of his own children. Her mother on the other hand had finally gotten the social status she wanted and it went to her head, she didn't become a complete asshole though. It was a party her family was attending where she would meet the man she would come to loathe and her finacee, Roland Marrow. Forcing her to date him first because his family had wealth and both parents wanted their children to settle down. Olive-Marie didn't want to settle down though, especially not with a man who was cheating on her 24/7. When the war broke out Olive-Marie wanted to join up and become a nurse, but her family didn't want her too. Then they heard Roland was joining up and decided to make Olive-Marie become engaged to him so she wouldn't run rampant out there. Now, she's out here across Southern U.S. and Europe, saving people, making friends, and falling for her fellow medic, while saying fuck you to her finacee.

SHIP: Eugene Roe

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #ollie vibes

Playlist:

Torrance "Torrie" Stylinski:

she/her, enfp-t, 1921, 2nd lieutenant

Born in London, England, to an Irish mother and Namibian father, Torrance is their eldest child. Her parents divorced when she was 10 and her mother took Torrance and her little sister to Ireland, where she lived up until her grandfather died when she was 15. This caused her grandmother to uproot Torrance's entire family to Hattiesburg, Mississippi. When the U.S. went to war, Torrance joined up because she wanted to and she needed to get away from her mother, who was trying to set her up with a local boy. Now, she's shocking people with British accent, explaining English slang, and making jokes with her friends and the guy she likes, all across the Southern U.S. and Europe.

SHIP: George Luz

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #torrie vibes

Playlist:

Marselle Rosaliano

she/her, enfj-t, 1922, private first class, nurse/medic

Born into a mob family in Alpine, New Jersey, Marselle had a very happy life. She had a happy life with her two younger brothers, and then finding out her best friend Rose and her younger sister Lavanda were her half sisters, made her even more happy. She also had a girlfriend named Lacey, and that relationship did not end well. Marselle was working at a department store and living in the apartment above her brothers sub shop, when Pearl Harbor happened. Marselle decided that she wanted to become a nurse and join the military. Now, Marselle is out in the Southern U.S. and Europe, being absolutely confused by all the innuendos her friends are making, and not understanding that the guy she has a huge crush on is flirting with her.

SHIP: Skip Muck

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #marselle vibes

Playlist:

Elizabeth "Eliza" Thomlin

she/her, estp-t, 1923, corporal, nurse/medic

Being born into a religious cult as the 5th of nine children, in Asheville, North Carolina, Elizabeth had a terrible childhood. Supposed to be born with a twin like her other siblings, Elizabeth twin had died in the womb, this causing her mother to spiral. Elizabeth also being the only child born with red hair and green eyes, she was deemed the "devil child" of her family. Elizabeth's mother hated her and told her and showed it everyday, and father allowed it to happen. Elizabeth was homeschooled up until she was 14 and her father decided to put her into school because she was constantly getting into trouble at home. In her sophomore year of high school she meets her best friend Anna. Right before her and Anna's junior year, Elizabeth moved out and moved in with Anna and her Mother. After she moved out, Elizabeth started acting out once again, living her life on the edge. But, she didn't have any sense of direction in what she wanted to do with her life, and that's when the war broke out. When it broke out, Elizabeth wanted to join up to get away from whatever her life currently was and saw a sense of purpose in joining up. She also new of the risk of death and was willing for it. So now Elizabeth is going around the Southern U.S., where she lived most of her life, and Europe. Making friends, going back and forth between two companies, and falling for a man she claims to hate, who she has just as much a reputation as he does.

SHIP: Ronald Speirs

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #eliza vibes

Playlist:

Mary McCullen

she/her, estp-t, 1921, sergeant, mortar squad

Born in Washington State, to two devout Irish Catholics, with her fathers moto being "Fit God in whenever you can". Having gone to church every week up until her father passed when she was 12, in a motorcycle accident. That changed something in her, she hates motorcycles now and hates going to church. Mary's mother said that going to church would make her feel closer to her father, and that was the last thing Mary wanted, a reminder. When the war broke out, Mary was in a void, her eldest brother was in prison for arson, she was helping take care of her older sister's kid, and she needed to get out, so she joined up. As of late, she's getting used to the heat of the Southern U.S. and then the whiplash of the weather in Europe. With her close friends and the idiot she's falling for, she's getting better mentally, but also taking one toll after another.

SHIP: Donald Malarkey

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #mary vibes

Playlist:

Julia "Jules" Vasquez-Rodriguez

she/her, estp-a, 1923, private first class

Growing up in The Bronx and having two older brothers who bully you ruthlessly, makes you a little mean. The baby to her three full siblings, but the middle child including her 4 younger half siblings, Julia deals with craziness often. Julia had moved out of her childhood home to an apartment in Philadelphia at 17 for work, where she met the one person she would consider her best friend for life, Joe Toye. Julia met him while she was moving in and was having issues with her groceries, since then they were close. She watched him leave when the war broke out, while she sat there working at a boutique. Julia finally had enough of sitting around and doing nothing while her best friend was running around all over Europe, so she joined the airborne. Now she's in the same predicament as the other replacements, not being treated with respect, until she gets put Easy Company. Now she's got more friends than she ever had, and she might finally realize that she's in love with her best friend.

SHIP: Joe Toye

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #julia vibes

Playlist:

Allison "Allie" Harten

she/her, entj-a, 1917, 1st lieutenant, intelligence officer

The eldest daughter to an army man, and a traditional mother, Allison is all her father. All Allison wanted to do throughout her life was join the military, since she had no brothers and wanted to continue the family tradition, having both her father and grandfather being in the army. And all her mother wanted Allison to do was be a stay at home wife and never work. Allison never wanted to do that, she knew she would settle down, but not right now, she has a life to live. And once she turned 18 in 1935, she joined the army, having gotten into a non full in combat position thanks to a family friend of her grandfathers. But, once the war broke out and a new division opened up, Allison was interested, especially when she heard it was an elite one. So Allison joined the airborne, but she was the only woman. This made her decide that she was gonna start a women's division, no matter how small it was, she was going to prove that women belonged in the military. Now, she's ordering around the others, dealing with Sobel's incompetence, and trying not to murder anyone. And, she's going around Europe collecting info, and trying, but failing miserably at not falling in love with a certain cigar smoking sergeant.

SHIP: Bull Randleman

FIC: Let's See How Far We've Come

OC TAG: #allie vibes

Playlist:

[gregor-samsung]

" Per tutta la vita fino al 1914 Kozyr' era stato maestro di villaggio. Nel '14 era andato alla guerra in un reggimento di dragoni e verso il 1917 era stato fatto ufficiale. L'alba del 14 dicembre '18 lo trovò colonnello dell'armata di Petljura, e nessuno al mondo (lui meno degli altri) avrebbe saputo dire come ciò fosse accaduto. Era accaduto perché la guerra per lui era una vocazione, mentre la professione di maestro era stata soltanto un lungo e grosso errore. Del resto, così capita molto spesso nella nostra vita. Per una ventina d'anni, uno si occupa di qualche cosa, per esempio, di diritto romano, e il ventunesimo anno, ad un tratto, si accorge che il diritto romano non c'entra, che egli non lo capisce e non lo ama neppure, perché è un bravo floricultore e arde d'amore per i fiori. Ciò dipende, bisogna supporre, dall'imperfezione del nostro ordinamento sociale, per cui gli uomini il più delle volte trovano il proprio posto soltanto verso la fine della vita. Kozyr' lo aveva trovato verso i quarantacinque anni. E fino a quel tempo era stato un cattivo maestro, crudele e noioso.

- Dite ai ragazzi che escano fuori e montino a cavallo, - disse Kozyr', e si strinse sulla pancia la cinta che scricchiolò. Fumigavano le bianche case del villaggio di Popeljucha, e le quattrocento sciabole di Kozyr' uscirono in ordine di battaglia. Nelle file della colonna ondeggiava il fumo delle machorka e il massiccio stallone baio di Kozyr' si moveva nervosamente sotto il suo cavaliere. Le slitte della salmeria cigolavano e si snodavano per mezzo chilometro dietro il reggimento. Il reggimento dondolava sulle selle, e subito dopo Popeljucha alla testa della colonna sventolò sull'asta la bandiera a due colori: una striscia azzurra e una striscia gialla. Kozyr' non poteva sopportare il té, e a qualunque altra cosa la mattina preferiva un sorso di vodka. Amava la vodka imperiale. Per quattro anni non ce n'era stata, ma sotto l'etmano essa era ricomparsa in tutta l'Ucraina. Dalla borraccia grigia la vodka passò come una fiamma allegra nelle vene di Kozyr' e passò anche nelle file dei soldati dalle fiaschette prese nel deposito di Belaja Cerkov'. "

Michail Bulgakov, La guardia bianca, traduzione di Ettore Lo Gatto, Einaudi, 1967; p. 116.

Nota: la prima pubblicazione incompleta di Belaja gvardija [Белая гвардия] avvenne a puntate sulla rivista letteraria sovietica Rossija nel 1925 e l'opera teatrale ricavata dall'autore sulla base delle prime due parti riscosse subito un enorme successo (si dice che lo stesso Stalin vi assistette almeno una ventina di volte). Nel 1927 l'opera completa fu stampata a Parigi mentre una edizione censurata venne diffusa in Urss solo 1966. Come molte opere sgradite al regime La guardia bianca fu conosciuta nella sua interezza dai cittadini sovietici solo nel 1989.

[arcobalengo]

LA NATO ATTACCA

L’EUROPA

 

“Una squadra di sabotatori ha usato la Polonia come base operativa per far saltare i gasdotti Nord Stream che trasportavano gas dalla Russia alla Germania attraverso il Mar Baltico”: lo ha appurato una indagine ufficiale tedesca, riportata da The Wall Street Journal. 

Gli investigatori tedeschi hanno ricostruito la rotta nel Mar Baltico dello yacht Andromeda, proveniente dalla Polonia, a bordo del quale hanno trovato tracce di HMX, esplosivo militare per la demolizione di infrastrutture sottomarine. Si aggiunge così un altro capitolo esplosivo all’inchiesta del giornalista statunitense Seymour Hersh “Come l'America ha fatto fuori il gasdotto Nord Stream”. Tutto ormai è provato. Nel dicembre 2021 viene convocata alla Casa Bianca una task force – composta da ufficiali della CIA, dello Stato Maggiore e del Dipartimento di Stato –  con il compito di sabotare il Nord Stream. Nel giugno 2022, durante l’esercitazione NATO Baltops, incursori statunitensi e norvegesi, operando dallo yacht Andromeda inviato dalla Polonia, piazzano le cariche sottomarine. Tre mesi dopo, il 26 settembre 2022, un aereo P8 della Marina norvegese sgancia una boa sonar, il cui segnale fa esplodere le cariche.

Il Wall Street Journal lo definisce “uno dei più grandi atti di sabotaggio in Europa dalla Seconda Guerra Mondiale”. È una azione bellica compiuta da tre membri della NATO – Stati Uniti, Norvegia e Polonia – contro la Germania, membro della NATO, per impedire all’Europa di importare gas russo a basso costo. 

Il Segretario di Stato Antony Blinken  ha definito  il blocco del Nord Stream “un'opportunità straordinaria per eliminare una volta per tutte la dipendenza dell’Europa dall'energia russa, un'enorme opportunità strategica per gli anni avvenire” e ha sottolineato che “gli Stati Uniti sono divenuti il principale fornitore di gas naturale liquefatto  all'Europa”. GNL, ovviamente, molto più caro del gas russo. Ora arrivano alla conquista del mercato energetico europeo la Exxon, la Chevron e altre compagnie USA che “hanno  registrato profitti record grazie all'impennata dei prezzi del petrolio”.  

A causa del crescente prezzo dell’energia – scrive il Wall Street Journal – “l'Eurozona scivola verso la recessione, perché l'inflazione danneggia i consumi, e l'Europa è bloccata dall'equivalente economico di un lungo Covid”. In questa Europa è iniziato “il più grande dispiegamento multinazionale di forze aeree nella storia della NATO” con l’esercitazione “Air Defender” che si svolge in Germania sotto comando USA. 

Di Manlio Dinucci.

🔴 Per ricevere tutti gli aggiornamenti segui Giorgio Bianchi Photojournalist

Se non fossimo che degli umili servi, dovremmo farci ripagare i danni e gli esborsi subiti

[anchesetuttinoino]

DISCOTECA BILL GATES: «L'UMANITÀ HA DUE SCELTE: LA TERZA GUERRA MONDIALE O UN'ALTRA PANDEMIA»

Il miliardario sarcopenico eugenetico più odiato del pianeta terra avverte che nei prossimi anni l'umanità dovrà affrontare o una Terza Guerra Mondiale o un'altra pandemia mortale. In un'intervista con CNBC, Gates cita "molta instabilità" nel mondo, che potrebbe scatenare "una guerra importante". Ma anche se questo conflitto venisse evitato, "allora sì, ci sarà un'altra pandemia, molto probabilmente nei prossimi 25 anni".

Questi messaggi binari suonano come quelli del climatizzatore o dei contagiati e morti di draghiana memoria. Perché non dire che pure una guerra INSIEME a numerose pandemie è un fenomeno altrettanto probabile? Si tratta di triggers formulati per generare un temporaneo effetto di consenso, funzionano particolarmente bene con il bestiame.

Nonostante tutto la risposta molle alla pandemia deve aver indispettito non poco l'uomo più detestato del pianeta. Critico della risposta americana alla crisi, Gates ha infatti dichiarato:

«Il paese che il mondo si aspettava guidasse e fosse un modello non è stato all'altezza di tali aspettative. Sebbene alcune delle lezioni della pandemia siano state apprese, sono state molto meno di quanto mi sarei aspettato».

La delusione di Gates non è isolata; molti altri attivisti globali per la salute stanno spingendo il mondo occidentale per ottenere risposte migliori alle nuove epidemie.

Questo tema ricorrente è emerso anche durante la panfuffa, secondo il professor Paul Hunter dell'Università di East Anglia, esperto in epidemiologia delle malattie emergenti:

«Nell'Occidente ci interessiamo veramente solo a una malattia quando inizia a rappresentare una minaccia diretta per noi stessi. Il problema è che molte di queste malattie avrebbero potuto essere impedite, se i paesi sul campo avessero avuto le risorse necessarie».

Gates ha ribadito la speranza che gli enti sanitari comincino a pensare a lungo termine nei prossimi anni, aggiungendo:

«Stiamo ancora mettendo insieme le nostre idee su cosa abbiamo fatto bene e cosa non abbiamo fatto bene... Forse, nei prossimi cinque anni, miglioreremo. Ma finora la situazione è abbastanza deludente».

GLI STATI COME DELLE PARROCCHIE DI UN'UNICA, GRANDE CHIESA DEL MALE

Anche l'Organizzazione Mondiale della Sanità (OMS) sta veicolando questo messaggio dall'alto delle gerarchie. Quest'anno, l'OMS ha condiviso un avviso sulla diffusione del virus dell'influenza attraverso il bestiame, gli uccelli e gli esseri umani e ha esortato le nazioni a lavorare insieme per essere meglio preparate a fronteggiare una pandemia.

«C'è una certezza: ci sarà un'altra pandemia influenzale in futuro»

Lo ha dichiarato Nicola Lewis, direttrice del Worldwide Influenza Centre. Lewis ha aggiunto:

«Il mio messaggio alle comunità internazionali è che dobbiamo accantonare le nostre reticenze. Dobbiamo mettere da parte i nostri interessi parocchiali e ricordarci degli impatti e delle conseguenze devastanti di una pandemia globale causata da qualsiasi agente patogeno».

I "TIMORI" DI UNA GUERRA MONDIALE

Il Dr Morte Bill - che vale 157 miliardi di dollari secondo il Bloomberg Billionaires Index, quindi al netto degli ovvi fondi neri in suo possesso ed in sua gestione - non è l'unico nome influente a mettere in guardia da un potenziale conflitto globale.

Jamie Dimon, CEO di JPMorgan Chase, ha precedentemente affermato che le tensioni geopolitiche rappresentano la più grande minaccia per l'economia globale.

«Abbiamo già affrontato l'inflazione, abbiamo già affrontato i deficit, abbiamo già affrontato le recessioni e non abbiamo mai visto qualcosa del genere dall'epoca della Seconda Guerra Mondiale»

Lo ha riferito all'emittente indiana CNBC TV-18 lo scorso settembre riferendosi all'invasione della Russia in Ucraina.

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