#SAP for Metals and Mining

[ingenx]

In conclusion, SAP Intelligent Asset Management (IAM) is a transformative solution for organizations seeking to optimize their asset management practices, particularly in metals and mining. With SAP for Metals and Mining, businesses can unlock the full potential of their assets, improve maintenance processes, and drive sustainable growth. Embracing this comprehensive solution enables organizations to stay ahead of the curve and achieve long-term success.

[yandere-wishes]

જ⁀❤ ︎ Yandere! Orion Pax x Reader VS Yandere! Optimus Prime x Reader

જ⁀❤︎ Old Friend by Mitski (Sped Up) and John Wayne by CAS

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ Orion Pax ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion is sweet, saccharine, bright. His smile holds nothing but promises of hope and luster. Sometimes you forget to breathe when he stands too close. Sometimes you forget just how easily the sun burns.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ He's all too luminous for a mech all so small. And yet, between his soft rays and even softer words, you can't help but wince at the prick of his abnormal obsessions. An obsession with a buried past, an obsession with a truth too shrouded to see, an obsession with you of all things...

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You notice the radiance and desperation when he holds your hand. Metalic digits scraping yours as he walks you through the mines. You can almost see how badly he craves more. A desperate need to do more, understand more, to be more. You see it again when he's pulling Jazz from the rubble of a collapsing mine, see the too-blue flicker in his optics as he shoves rocks and debris.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion is too shy to kiss, too shy to ask for attention. He smiles and looks away, optics burning holes into the Energon veins. You wonder what he sees? If all the information he's rapaciously absorbed bleeds from his optics into the world around him. What does Orion see? You need to know.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You're always blinded by his light. Maybe it blinds him too. You feel a little too powerful for a second as you pull him into a kiss. Quixotic little robot trying to conquer the sun.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You taste Cybertron under his tongue when you kiss him. Idealistic, perfect, too foreign to be true. One too many puzzle pieces too lost and fractured to understand. When he places his servos on your shoulders, you swear you feel the warmth of Cybertron's core melting into you, burning and thawing all in an effort to love.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ He's so desperate to save the world, so sure he can do it. He's so tiny you think as he runs his hands over the hologram map. So small and innocent. For such a big cruel world.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion's obsessions only grow after his transformation. The T-cog only feeds his mania, feeds his flawless hope. His light is getting more blinding now. Burning like the sun, he's going to destroy himself you think as you reach out for him...

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion dies. The little rowdy hopeful mech you always knew is thrown into the world's core. You scream after him, cry after him. Back then it had never occurred to you that he may have been better off dead. It's Optimus that reemerges from Primus's domain, Optimus not Orion. The light has reached its nuclear apex. You can't even look directly at him. Optimus is an angelic blur of hope and luster.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You're starting to miss Orion...

・┆✦ ʚOptimus Primeɞ ✦ ┆・

ᯓ★ You still taste Cybertron when he kisses you. Sugary and sweet like weeping tree sap. He's seen the world end more times than he cares to admit. You've watched him rip his own spark out more times than you care to admit.

ᯓ★ He still bleeds light, radiance glowing from scratched blue metal as he walks along the overworld wreckage. Only now...now you cover your eyes, the light has become too smoldering, suffocating. Just like the precious prime himself.

ᯓ★ Optimus's spark beats in rhythm with yours. You feel his every pulse, feel the Martix's weight bleeding into you. Optimus likes to keep you close, too close. You feel his warmth until you can't breathe. Until his essence is pulsing around you keeping you grounded as it seeps into your frame. It's such a strange thing to feel a spark crack and bleed every single day. To feel as he annihilates himself over and over again, leaving you to writhe in agony.

ᯓ★ Optimus is always gentle, he treads you so tenderly it almost hurts. He feels like everything he touches starts to break. D-16, Cybertron and finally you. That's why his kisses are feather-light. His digits slide tenderly up and down your frame...funny he used to be bolder when he worked in the mines.

ᯓ★ Sometimes when Optimus kisses you, you can feel him feeding you information. Small balls of light exchanged between tongues all harbouring promises of a light-drenched Cybertron, of a victory parade. Of Optimus holding you so tightly in his arms for as long as he's online

[swaps55]

2024 Year In Review-ish

It's funny, I started to ruminate on how 2024 was kind of brutal on a few different fronts - lots of professional stress that sapped up my creative energy and exacerbated the burnout I've been running into after 5 straight years of nonstop writing.

But when I think about it...there's was still a lot of good, exciting things that happened this year. No, I didn't finish Mezzo - not even close - but I did write a scene that goes high on the list of things I am most proud of. Everything I did accomplish for that story landed right where I wanted it.

And while I didn't write as much as I wanted, I was creative in totally new ways. I picked up bookbinding and ran with it, which required getting some foundational skills in about a dozen different hobbies. I went from not even having a needle and thread in my house to being able to sew a textblock that only occasionally gets accidentally sewn into my chair. I learned how to design and cut vinyl. I developed an unhealthy addiction to metallic paper. I learned how to round and back (with loooooots of room for improvement, but I can do it). I've gotten comfortable with cutting and measuring, and even more important - I've gotten comfortable with fucking up.

I still can't use a foil pen with any success, but that's for 2025.

I can make things for my friends now, which is something I've wanted to be able to do for years. For Christmas, I typeset and bound a Stephen King book that exists only as a PDF - one of the first "ebooks" that my dad proudly paid for, downloaded, and printed out two copies - one for him and one for me.

For 20+ years my printed copy has lived in a box that has moved from Virginia to Kentucky to Texas to California. His printed copy has lived in a 3 ring binder with the rest of his Stephen King collection. Now he has a bound copy.

That's a big win. That feels really, really good.

Mezzo is going to get written, and I'm going to be proud of it. But I really have needed the time to rotate my crops and redirect my creative efforts into something new.

It's also important for me to remember that ten years ago I had the worst year of my life, even if it ended on a hopeful note on New Year's Eve. This year was rough, but I got to spend it with the person I love most in the world, and my goofy ass dog who is currently dying to steal the rest of my lunch.

It's been a challenging year, but still a good one.

Hoping all of you have some joy and comfort on the eve of this new year. 2025 might be scary, but I'll hold your hand if you hold mine, and we'll figure it all out.

[teacasket]

pink champagne

genre: fluff au: non idol au warnings: alcohol word count: 0.5k   pairing: gn!reader x bang chan a/n: happy 2024, everyone!

A new year, a new city, a new friend. This is how trouble begins, you think, as you follow Chan through the crowds. Sequins and lamé glitter under the golden lights of crystal chandeliers, and premature confetti covers the floor. Waiters in dark, clean-cut suits carry trays of champagne, while guests drink, mingle, and take pictures in front of the famed staircase.

You climb up that very staircase, earning yourself a few disgruntled cries and disdainful looks. Chan mutters an apology but darts upwards before they can say anything. On the other hand, you linger to take in the beauty. They don’t have historic hotels or fancy parties like this where you're from.

The guests on the stairs scan you up and down. Sneakers and a warm coat aren’t wrong for this party, but scuffed canvas and loose, fraying threads are. You squeak out a jumble of incoherent words and run up after Chan.

He waits for you by the elevator and graciously gestures for you to head inside first. The doors shut, and the long ride to the topmost floor starts.

“Told you the lobby would be worth it,” he says, smiling as if you were against the idea in the first place.

“Shut up. You sure we can get on the roof?”

He pats his bag, heavy with illegally copied keys and other secrets. His friend used to work at the hotel, or so Chan said. You didn’t bother asking for more detail.

On the highest floor, he leads you down hallways of closed doors before stopping in front of a metal door with the words STAFF ONLY painted in red. He slides in his key, and the lock gives. When he pushes it open, you brace yourself for an alarm, a security guard hurtling through one of the dozens of doors, anything that signals that you and Chan aren’t permitted onto the roof, but there's nothing.

You tentatively step out, and the winter chill saps all of the warmth from your skin. Your breath makes wispy, summer clouds in the winter air as you take in the city below you.

Music and shouts intertwine like a sonata. Faraway windows glow, shining like the stars above, and crowds swell and ripple like a silver snake. There is so much light, it threatens to drown out the night.

“I love it,” you declare, spellbound by the view. You sit beside Chan, close enough to feel his leg shift as he involuntarily leans closer. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, I got a surprise.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out an unopened bottle of pink champagne. “Friend of mine stole it on the last day of work. He said it was expensive, so it’s probably good.”

“Is this the same friend who used to work here?”

“Maybe. Watch out.”

It doesn’t open with a pop and a flying cork but with a light hiss that is barely audible over the sudden thundering of fireworks. You stare in awe as the sky lights with gold and white, so blinding you have to look away. If you reach your hand up, you swear you could catch a spark in your palm.

“Happy New Year,” Chan says. He takes a hearty swig of champagne, exhaling with pleasure as he holds out the bottle to you. “Hope it’s a good one.”

“Me too. Happy New Year.”

As you put the bottle to your lips, you think this is what fireworks must taste like.

if you liked this, maybe you’ll like one of my older pics also centered around chan and new year’s: ringing in the new year

[fishyvamp]

This is just a small snippet of a larger fic I'm working on and I'd thought I'd share it, it is an OC x Reader fic and yeah it might be out of season with the holidays over, but I think it's still worth sharing.

The sound of crunching snow echoed through the forest, the scent of decay heavy in the air as you trudged through the thick forest to your cabin hidden deep in the woods. The moon was high in the sky. You should've been back in your cabin hours ago, but no, you had to see those caves at sunset. Had to watch the snow glitter in orange and pink. You had to experience it at least once before you surrendered dreams of seclusion. The frost of the air seeped into your clothes shredding at your skin threatening to sink into your bone like a frozen death. You didn't know how much longer your aching legs could go on. The chill of sleep running up your spine.

You had to move on. You had to follow this trail, and yet the more time marched on the further you went the more you body began to buckle. It didn't help that the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like you were being watched. You wanted to get home, wanted to curl up in the warm of your bed listening to the crackle of a fire as a record played. Anywhere but here where the chatter of your teeth and crunch under boot was all you could hear. That is before you noticed a faint low growl. Your body moving towards the sound you freeze in place boots melding to the ground as glowing eyes stared back at you.

You wanted to bolt and flee from this place you body tense as it stepped out from the thicket. Large cloven hooves flattening the snow beneath its feet. A glowing lantern hanging from a staff held firmly in its claws. Its body that of a man was decorated in tinsel and Holly berries and on its back was a large wicker basket. Large enough to hold a man. It's face, that of a goat with large snarling fangs and long black goat horns. The beast easily stands as tall as many of the trees towering over you.

The beast stepping ever closer, its shadow engulfing you deeper into the only blackness of the cold winter night. You could not move even as you fought to get your feet to even take a step. The claws reach ever closer gripping the scruff of your coat, easily picking you up, “mine.” Its scratchy voice rasped, placing you in the basket. The lid closes over top encasing you completely. You felt petrified physically even if you knew you should fight back and that it would be so easy to push open the basket and run.

However as he moved and the basket swayed the exhaustion came back replacing the adrenaline that raced through your body only moments before. You needed to stay awake. Needed to stay alert because if you didn't… did it even matter anymore? Weren't you about to get eaten by whatever had you? You had no fight or strength anyways. The cold sapped away every ounce of energy you had a couple miles back. Surrendering to your helplessness you let the darkness creep in.

You didn't know what to expect waking the next morning clothes stripped from your body leaving under warm heavy patchwork quilts. It was still dark outside so surely you weren't asleep that long even with all the energy you've seemingly found. Pushing off the plush fabric you fall out of the massive bed with a huff. The sound of metal clinking as you moved horror racking your body noticing the chilled metal connecting to you and the wooden leg of the bed. You needed to escape before it came back. Your mind working overtime scanning the surroundings. It looked like a normal cabin master room albeit with larger ceilings then expected. Likely to accommodate the larger Beast’s size.

A sign of sapience, perhaps? Not just a feral animal. Maybe he could be reasoned with, there was no signs of harm anywhere on his body. You didn't feel like he had violated despite waking up bare for the taking. Rising shakily to your feet you test the limits of the chains you can move just about everywhere even able to enter the large grandiose bathroom. You felt like a child in here being almost too small to use much of anything. Couldn't barely see yourself in the mirror, but what you did see had you frozen in fear, tattoos of a chain wrapping around your neck with a holly berry bunch in the center breaking the chain.

What was that? Your fingers tracing the outlines feeling something warm and pulsing underneath it felt almost magic in nature and yet you couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

“You're awake,” a deep rumbling voice gruffed. The skin up your back prickling as you came face to face to the beast once more. Not wanting to be defenseless you grab the nearest object to you… a toilet brush. No matter you planned to wield it like a mighty Excalibur and fend yourself from the brute one slash at a time. “Put that down.” He commanded the mark around your neck beginning to burn painfully as you stood firm. “Now.” He bellowed cloven hooves clanking against the ground.

Your limbs screaming as you fought for control over your own body. He did not have time for this dark fur glowing under the light of the bathroom, a smile on his twisted face, goat-like eyes glaring down at you as he folded his arms. “put that down!” The resistance fading from you as you dropped the brush, the burning around your neck painful, knees buckling beneath you as you grab your throat to soothe the burning or what you did not know. It just hurt so much. “Listen the first time pest,” he growled, scooping you off the floor into his warm hair, arms undoing the chain around your ankle.

The beast wasn't gentle as he deposited you roughly to the bed, turning his back on you to scour the closet for something warm for you. A simple t-shirt and red and green flannel pants. Nothing too fancy, but something to help you regain what little dignity you had left. Not wanting to anger him as he just stared expectantly watching you redress before finally turning his goat tail wagging as he softly praises you, “good boy.” he doesn't rechain you nor does he shut the door behind him. An opening that felt too good to be true. Logically you shouldn't bolt. It was clearly a trap, but a burning feeling in the back of your neck called to you like a siren saying this won't come again.

You have one chance as foolish as it was: you creep out quietly looking towards the kitchen seeing him bang his pots and pans preparing a meal of some sort. And while clung to you, you did not want to stay another moment trapped worried about what he was going to make you do.

Conveniently you find your coat and boots by the door and softly you do your best to put them on opening and closing the door silently before bolting. Your feet carrying you deeper and deeper into the woods, the golden rays of the sun illuminating the ground. There was no telling where you were, but something screamed at you to keep going to keep running. You turn around to make sure he wasn't following when the world suddenly stops and you're greeted by a massive man dressed in jeans and plaid with a thick full beard. That same burning feeling telling you to run was now telling you to trust. “Help me.” You whisper, concern racking his face as he helps you to your feet guiding you down the icy mountain. “My name is Nicholas,” He whispered, holding you close, “you're safe now.”

[your-nanas-house]

May I please request Willy Wonka falling in love with Jewish baker fem!Reader by their exchange of their respective foods (him: chocolates; her: baked goods) as well as love of dancing & literature and Willy proposes to her by quoting two of her favorite Jane Austen novels: “You pierce my soul. I have loved none but you. My heart is, and always will be, yours”? (I’m a romantic sap.)

Made for each other

◇ Pairing: Willy Wonka X Jewish baker!Reader

◇ Warnings: fluff, romance, shitty writing, love

◇ Summary: Willy is smitten of the jewish baker.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. It's so short sorryyyy. 😭

Willy really didn't know if it was her looks and pleasant aura that made him fall head over heels... or the sweet scent of her masterpieces created in the little Jewish bakery of hers.

But he honestly didn't cared, he just accepted things as they were.. allowing himself to day-dream and be his little silly self in love.. secretly at first but seen his extroverted persona, it took him little time to approach the woman.

Gosh, she sure was stunning with her love for dance, her passion in literature and her talent in cooking.

She was like.. sweet honey mixed with a tiny bit of liquorice, dark chocolate and a hint of a beautiful.. flower, one that could match her beauty and that delicious smell.

Willy couldn't really resist, his whole self was attracted to her like a metal attracted by a magnet or.. music for a giraffe.

They just clicked together so well, balancing their relationship easily while taking care of each other, supporting their business which because one as soon as Willy managed to create his fabric.

Magic... that's what they created together; magic... of a silly young chocolatier and a young jewish baker.

His friend Noddle saw it as well, reason because she was the main cause that put the fixed idea of marriage in Willy's head. A symbolic and actual bond that would make their relationship become serious.

The issue?... the proposal. Well it wasn't actually a problem for him since his theatrical side came out easily as soon as he saw in front of her.

His chocolate eyes staring deeply in hers as he kneeled down slowly after a whole performance dedicated to her.

"You pierce my soul. I have loved none but you. My heart is, and always will be, yours" he recited as he pulled out a box of chocolate, opening it to reveal a simple but eccentric proposal ring.

"Be mine forever—"

[iteratorsex]

Considering how we can stil clearly notice several examples of what must be some kind of metallic material despite conventional ore seemingly not existing, i wonder if metal production could be a potential task for many purposed organisms, filtering it out of the soil, water and air. Similar to certain real world species such as Pycnandra acuminata which filters nickel from the soil and has sap which is about 25% nickel as a result.

that or it could be like. Ceramics. There's definitely iron DUST in the ground and it probably does get filtered and refined but I still doubt that mining alone would make up for it, ESPECIALLY within iterators and large scale factories

It would likely just become a luxury product because of its relative scarcity and how long it takes to get it out of the ground compared to how it is in our own world

I personally HC a substitute for iron and steel produced by organisms and held together with a microbial structure akin to bones is used instead, and that it also happens to look shiny and metallic as well

[stonegearstudios]

Ok, Expanding the frozen Dark Sun idea after talking to some people

A luckless planet, deep in the Astral Sea, has nearly completely frozen over, the so called Verdent Basin is one of the only inhabitable regions left, where temperatures can reach a balmy -15C in summer!

The Verdent Basin is a heavily volcanically active region, supplying the needed warms... with other delights such as toxic gases, pyroclastic flows, ash storms and more

The world froze over because of the abuse of magic. Specifically, magic traditionally came by tapping into the seemingly limitless power of the sun

the sun of this world is a (relatively) small and artificial construct that closely orbits the world, the moon is much larger but further away

Solar Magic is taboo, informally policed by mob justice and lunar cultists. Their magic is far less potent, but since the moon only reflects energy, instead of generating it's own, it runs no risk of further draining the sun

One of their goals is to gather old relics of Solar Magic and burn them in their sanctified braziers, in the belief that is ritual will restore the Sun, fraction by fraction

Landscape based off of both Iceland and South Pacific archipelagos

Not just snow all the time, for example, snow can only fall when it's relatively warm. Truly frigged places receive no real precipitation

Bred super sled dogs?

Certain plants have adapted to live near open volcanic areas, a major source of food but they don't taste great

metal is scarce, both because this region was never rich in them, old existing mines are buried and forgotten, but also because carrying metal outside is quite dangerous. Weapons made of bone are much less likely to freeze to accidentally exposed skin or sap your body heat

Many settlements are underground, but they are constantly wary of toxic gasses seeping in. Finding villages that resemble the aftermath of the Lake Nyos disaster is not unknown

Ancient settlements (and their accompanying treasure) are frozen beneath snow and ice

Most armour must, by necessity, be more focused on keeping the wearer warm, rather than maximum martial protection.

Animals that generate a volatile heat source in their bodies ala Lost Planet? I'd want a slightly novel way to do that

[diorzs]

young sylvia has freckles in the vol 10 extra pages right,, so i assume she still has them... sylvia with freckles,,, aurhrhg

imagine counting them to fall asleep,,,

the brainworms are becoming too strong 😭😭

# FRECKLES

pairing(s) — sylvia sherwood x gn!reader

genre(s) — fluff fluff fluff

cw. nothing!!

masterlist. note : this is the cutest thing ever enough!! lol …. guess whos alive ….

the breeze of the chilling winter air made me cringe, i never really adored the season full of holidays and slippery paths. shaking my head at the thought, i attempted to hug myself to warm myself up. i looked up slightly, was it really snowing right now? “god, i hate winter.” i muttered to myself, ungrateful for the white fluff that graced my concrete sidewalk and stairs. though, i was glad to swing open my apartment door, letting the warm air engulf me as i climbed up the stairs to my floor.

“finally home.” i smiled, hanging up my coat and kicking off my boots at my doorway. i walked to the kitchen, noticing my cat’s eyes slowly blinking open, before she followed me to the kitchen island. “hi celia!” i softly whispered, petting the white cat. i quickly grabbed a mug, “maybe i should make some coffee..” i trailed off, unbeknownst to the excited footsteps behind me. “coffee sounds good!” a pair of arms wrapped around me, “holy! ‘via don’t do that again oh my god.” a sheepish smile came onto the familiar face of my wife. “sorry! i was just excited about you coming home..” i only fondly smiled, kissing the cheeks of my lover, as i finished making my coffee.

i sat down on the comfortable couch of our shared living room, careful to not spill any coffee. “so…?” the redhead started as i ran my hands through celia’s fur. “so?” i asked, a playful lilt to my words. i sipped on my coffee before continuing, “i’m surprised you didn’t trash my apartment whilst i was gone.” i smirked slightly, chuckling at the pout sylvia had on her face. “me too, to be honest,” the spy sighed, grabbing the remote sitting on the coffee table. “how about a movie?” i only nodded, continuing to sip my coffee peacefully.

i laughed loudly, amused at the terrified expression sylvia had plastered on her face. “it isn’t funny!” she exasperated, slapping my arm. i only frowned teasingly before breaking out into another fit of laughter. once we died down, i rested my head onto her shoulder. she only responded by placing her head atop mine. “don’t jump or else i think my head might fall off,” i said playfully, she only scoffed jokingly, turning her attention back to the tv.

the rhythmatic sound of the clock ticked away, it being the only sound in the apartment. celia was softly snoring, whilst me and sylvia only kept quiet, scrolling through our phones. the coffee i had sipped, which was long gone now, was wedged between my thighs. the tv was its usual color of jet black, turned off hours ago due to complaining neighbors. i heard sylvia giggle at who knows what, and so i slowly got up. stretching, i picked up my mug, making my way through the living room and to the kitchen. i carefully placed the mug into the metal sink, fetching myself and my wife a snack.

“ooh! thank you, love!” her bright smile shone through the darkness of the apartment as she grabbed the bag of chips i was previously holding. “it’s no problem,” i muttered, chuckling at her childish reaction. i turned to her, kissing her cheek, watching the red bloom on her face, and beneath her freckles. “you’re such a sap!” she whispered to me, annoyed. “i only kissed your cheek!” i whispered back defensively. “still!” she playfully groaned, stuffing her face into my shoulder. “just eat your chips before i do,” i said, shoving her off of my shoulder jokingly. “rude..” she mumbled, i rolled my eyes, but smiled contently.

smiling, my eyes wandered to sylvia, fast asleep after giggling and laughing with me for the past hour. “‘via…’via…” i whispered, shaking her awake softly. she groaned in retaliation, “..what?” her eyes fluttered awake from under her glasses, i smiled admiring her for a few more moments before responding. “let’s go upstairs, i’ll take celia with me, but we should be heading to bed soon,” she only whined, rightfully annoyed, but proceeding to walk to our shared bedroom. “c’mon celiaa, please don’t scratch me…”

i ruffled my hair with the towel, attempting to dry it to no avail. “‘viaaa!” i said in a singsong tone to try and wake her up even though it was late. i heard a distant, “yes?”, and shouted for her to meet me in the bathroom. her hair was messily in a ponytail when she saw me, and i only smiled, gazing at the woman i fell in love with. “come here, i’ll brush your hair and wipe off that mascara.”

“helloooooo? come to bed…what are you even doing?” she said, whining for me whilst i finished pulling up my shorts to sleep. “i’m right here,” i smiled, tucking myself into bed alongside of her. we stared at each other for a little while, before bursting out into a fit of giggles. after hugging my stomach from laughing, i held sylvia tight, gazing at the ‘imperfections’ (as she likes to call them) on her face.

“what is it? why are u looking at me like that?” “no reason, i just love your freckles.” i confessed, kissing her face all over. “s-stop! they-they’re not even cute!” she sputtered in between kisses. “well to me they are…how ‘bout i count them until we both fall asleep to prove how much i love them?” “w-whatever you say” she stuttered, and i kissed her forehead.

“one..two..three…” and slowly, we both drifted off to sleep as i counted her freckles.

posted — 06 / 02 / 24

© diorzs all rights reserved 2024

[ingenx]

In the age of Industry 4.0, digital transformation isn't an option; it's a necessity. SAP technology provides the backbone for manufacturers and mining companies to not only survive but thrive in this rapidly changing landscape. Let's embrace the technology that will shape the future of these vital industries

[conalnghing]

An Acting Snail religion post because i wont be avaliable for the the next week:

Misc. Info

The Acting Snails believe in 3 main gods:

The God of the Skysea, in charge of the Skysea (ofc) more info on this in this post:

The God of Tubers, in charge of everything under the ground and especially tubers like potatoes, yams, cassava, and to some extent ginger (which may not be a tuber idk)

And the God of Snails, which is in charge of procreation and organisms in general.

This time, were going to focus mainly on the God of the Skysea. They are the creator of both the Net and the Great Opaque, (details in the post i linked before) which they must expend some concentration to maintain.

If either fails, a great disaster will happen. If the Great Opaque fails, the souls will rush into the world below and fill every object with life, even normally inanimate ones such as rocks and corpses. If the Net fails, the souls will escape to outer space above, and every organism born after that will be soulless.

Soulless plants will have plasticky, waxy and unnaturally green leaves, and their fruit will be oversaturated but tasteless. Soulless animals will be unconcious and unmoving, and their eyes glassy like a corpse. The only sign of life is their heartbeat and breathing. However, if they are fed and hydrated enough, they will age and die just like the normal animal.

But anyways, more on the God of the Skysea:

The God of the Skysea

Heres a traditional depiction of them:

As you can see, they are made of fog and air, and fog is constantly flowing out of their nostrils, mouth (creating the trunk like thing in the picture) and pores on their skin.

The spirally-maze patterns on them are an abstracted depiction of wind, a common pattern in art depicting the God.

Their most notable feature is their 8 arms, which they use to constantly maintain the world. The story goes that 2 of their arms are dedicated to searching for rifts in the Great Opaque, 3 dedicated to maintaining the Net, and 2 dedicated to grating magic to the people, leaving one arm to themselves.

Their tenples and their worship

Here is a stele dedicated towards the God of the Skysea:

The stele is made of volcanic rock, mined and carved by artisans on the Southern Islands I mentioned before.

The first thing you might notice is the use of 3 colors on the stone: orange, light orange and dark red. The actually reflect the importance of different carvings on the stone.

First, the orange is a pigment of yellow ochre. The spirally, maze-like patterns from before are drawn in orange, and a hand also made with yellow ochre. This is the hand of the God of the Skysea, reaching out from the clouds to help the devotees who offered this stele to them. This pigment is of least importance, as it is easily found, prepared and can be rubbed off easily. So, it is normally used to draw patterning or images used to inform other people reading what the purpose of the stele is.

Second, the blood red pigment is made of either hematite or red ochre, mixed with tree sap. It acts like a glue more than a paint binder, so the patterns must be drawn onto the stele fast after the ground hematite is mixed into the sap. In this particular stele, it is used to draw a picture of a cloudy sky (the {{{s represent abstracted clouds) and rain falling from it, and is used to make it clear what the devotees hope the God of the Skysea does: bring rain for their crops and drinking water. This pigment is of secondary importance, as it is a bit rarer. The red color and metallic smell also play a part in it, as it is similar to blood, considered as a holy substance granted by the God of Snails during birth. (this is not true. Blood is created by bone marrow just like in our world, but it is a cultural holdover from ancient times.) It is used to draw important images used to clarify what the stele is for to the gods reading it.

Third, the light orange pigment is a mixture of ash and yellow ochre, mixed with water and pressed into carved grooves in the stone. On this stele, it is used to write the words:

God of the Skysea (lit. Skysea God)

This sentence is used to indicate the recipient of the stele.

The next sentence says:

The light at the end of the dark passageway, the God of the Skysea (lit. cave light Skysea God)

This sentence is used to praise the God a little, to make them favour the devotee sending the stele a little more.

The next sentence says:

Give us (lit. give me all)

The "me all" part of the text is a compund word that means "us". It's use is to tell the God of the Skysea what the devotees want.

The nest sentence says:

Potable water. (lit. food water)

This sentence is used in conjunction with the picture in red, to clarify what the God of the Skysea should bring down.

The last character is:

Written message. (lit. carving)

This character is used to clarify that it is not supposed to be read out loud, and insead read by using clues from both the pictures and words.

hope you guys liked this short religion post before another geography one!! byeee

[gloriousmonsters]

Mememememe I want to see

please enjoy a selection from you're on a path in the desert, chapter 2: 'The Ancient', brought about by wondering what ganondorf's motivation is and being honest and brash enough he kind of likes you and is like 'sorry, kid' while murdering you to attempt a breakout in the first chapter. narrated by Zelda, starring Link and Ganondorf.

--------

You're on a path in the desert. Or... it's more of a beach, isn't it? You can hear the sea. Small crabs scuttle and hide among rocks smoothed by eons of lapping waves; the pristine sands glitter, here and there, with old coins and jewels set in tarnished metal. Pirate treasures, as if a ship was wrecked here long ago. A lonely blue sky arches high above, unmarred by a single cloud. A path of scattered white rocks, like sun-bleached bones, lead toward the edge of the water. At the end of this path, a man with evil eyes is imprisoned. A king. You, hero, must slay him; or it will be the end of the world.

Voice of the Curious: He didn't seem that bad!

- Yeah, he wasn't as bad as she hyped him up to be.

- Bad? He was very bad! I'm completely on board with the 'slaying' thing now.

- Hang on, how are we here? Didn't we die?

> I see what you mean, but he did very much kill us. That was a thing that happened.

Voice of the Curious: I guess, but he was so... sad. He just wanted to escape. He seemed like he'd been there for a really long time.

> He did.

Excuse me, who's this? And what are you saying about dying? Please don't tell me—

Voice of the Curious : We died and we came back to life!

- More or less.

- I died and it was terrifying and now I'm me and also this other part of me and they're both me and I don't know how that works or what's going on and I'm going to start crying probably

> This isn't the first time we've been here. Your 'man with the evil eyes' was the one that killed me, not the other way around.

He's not mine, and... It wouldn't be the same, the other way around. You need to slay him, not kill him.

- I get it. I'm a human, and he's a monster.

> Semantics.

Very important ones. Listen to me, hero. I hoped that this wouldn't happen, and I didn't want to scare you with the possibility. But please believe me—we're walking a fine line, now. All is not lost, but every failure widens his chance at escape.

Voice of the Curious: Really?

I do not like how you said that. This... voice, whatever it is, it seems very young. Don't let naivety influence you, hero. One failure means he's already found a chink in your armor—it is even more imperative you keep your guard up. Whatever he said, whatever he did, put it out of your mind. Focus on this. He is evil, and he will destroy everything if he escapes. You are the hero, the only one with the power to stop him. I—everything depends on you.

Voice of the Curious : That's a lot of pressure...

- I love pressure.

- I hate pressure.

 > Are you really sure I can do this?

Yes. You’re the only one that can. 

Voice of the Curious: Wow, she sounds... so serious. I don't know if I trust her, but I think she likes you.

Ha. That's... You matter a great deal to me. By definition, of course. You’re the hero, you matter to everyone. But we don't have time to sit here and talk about our feelings, whatever they might be. Your quest is the same, hero. It's time to go forward.

> (proceed to the prison)

N: At the edge of the water, the path of rocks continue—for a little while. Soon they're fewer and farther between, and in their place are footholds of debris, half-rotted hulls of wood, old chests rammed up on some invisible sandbank below the water. There have been many wrecks here, and as you pick your way forward, you see the largest of them up ahead. Splintered and broken, its massive hull impaled on the tall and jagged rocks that rise from the hidden seabed, like towers of some sunken castle. The rest of it is remarkably intact, but it looks ancient. Weathered, by years that have sapped color from cloth and wood and leached memory from material. Every detail blurred. The figurehead is faceless, nearly formless, like the... like the image of a loved one long forgotten.

> Are you all right?

Your path ends—or rather, takes a new form—at the side of the wreck. An old rope ladder leads up the barnacle-encrusted side. The old wood creaks as you ascend, but even that sound is... muted. This ship isn't just wrecked, it's becalmed. The muting of that sound makes you acutely aware of the absence of others. No birds cry in the sky; no fish splash in the water. The land behind you is already lost in a hazy fog. This is a lonely place.

Voice of the Curious: She's making it sound so depressing. It's sad, but it's also sort of cool, right? It's like an old pirate ship! It doesn't feel like a prison, it feels like... like a hideout!

Please be quiet. It's a prison. It might look... odd, but it's a prison.

Voice of the Curious : Do you think there's treasure?

...No.

Voice of the Curious: ...You want there to be treasure too, right?

I'm not interested. We have a very important job to do. To your left, across the weathered deck, a door leads to the fo'c'sle. It's not locked, but it's encrusted with barnacles, warped in its frame. Beside it, a sword is embedded in the wall, as if left there after a battle long ago. It gleams with its own light—

Voice of the Curious: It's not glowing, though. It's just a sword.

It's not—but... Ah. Yes. Well, it doesn't need to glow, does it? It's the hero's sword. It's made to kill evildoers and monsters. It's meant for your hand, and your hand alone. Take up the sword, hero. You'll need it if you want to save us all.

- But it's not glowing. Didn't you say it was important it glowed?

- What if I don't want to save everyone?

> take up the sword

- don't take up the sword

Sword in hand, you force open the door, rusted hinges screeching as you shove your whole body's weight against it. Before you is a sheer drop, lightless, only the first few feet visible in the foggy sunlight that filters past your shoulders. A rope ladder hangs over the ledge at your feet, vanishing into shadow. The air is musty, damp, and smells of moldering spice and rotting silk, wood permeated with gunsmoke and worried by the icy teeth of the ocean over the course of centuries. If this is the prison the king's been confined in, killing him will be a mercy.

His voice echoes up from the darkness, tired but commanding.

The King: I knew you'd return. Come here, boy. Let us speak face to face.

Voice of the Curious: He remembers us! And he sounds... older. I mean, he was already older than us. But he sounds much older now. 

Of course he's old, he's been in prison for a long time. Don't dwell on it or wonder about it, the more time and thought you give him the more dangerous he is. Just get down there and accomplish your quest.

> proceed down the 'stairs'

After what feels like half an hour of nerve-wracking descent, feeling for foot and hand-holds in the darkness, light begins to bloom below you. When you come to the bottom, a few minutes later, you find yourself facing another door—this one richly carved wood, remarkably well-preserved considering the state of the ship. It's hard to make out much in the light filtering through the cracks around it, but you can see intricate, geometric patterns, and the snarling face of a boarlike beast carved huge in the very center.

Voice of the Curious: What—

You waste no time fooling around and asking questions, and open the door. Striding within, you find yourself confronted with a surprisingly lavish room, dimly lit by old oil-lamps. Rich rugs cover the floor; a huge bed stands in the back of the room, partly hidden by curtains, and a huge desk carved with intricate details dominates another side of the room. Tapestries, paintings and maps nearly cover the walls, save for a section that seems dedicated to a number of weapons—at a glance you see twin swords and a trident. Everything feels a little... oversized, as if you're a child venturing into the room of an adult. When you look closer, you can see signs of wear and age—cracking paint, books with pages puffed by soaking and drying out, scratches in the fine wood and dust on the tapestries—but the overall effect is still opulent, overwhelming. This feels right for a prison meant to confine a king; it would be suitable for an emperor, confined to his office by the new regime, allowed to keep a pretense of dignity.

But across the room from you, there's a strangely bare section of the wall, interrupted by only two things: A porthole filled more by spiderwebbing cracks than glass, showing only blank darkness, and the King, who stands tall and studies you thoughtfully with pale gold eyes.

The King: You approach me, yet again, with your blade in hand. Interesting.

He's a big man, broad and heavy, a physique that might impress as brutish or sedentary if not for the way he holds himself. Straight-backed, imperious, with a hint of a fighter's grace in the way his stance shifts as his eyes track the step you take forward. There's no gray in his hair, or deep wrinkles on his face, but something about him gives an impression of great age and greater weariness. His face is craggy, but his eyes are delicately lined with black; he wears a topaz on his brow, and fine robes that inspire ideas of entrenched and confident authority. As he seems to reach an internal resolution in his appraisal of you, his teeth bare in what is hard to determine as a mocking smile or a grimace of pain.

The King: I suppose that if you try to kill me this time, it will only be fair. But I'd rather we talk.

Voice of the Curious: Ooh, talk! Yes! I want to know what's going on! Just, um, maybe we should stay at a distance.

Remember what you're here for. Don't listen to him, or him. Please, hero. Kill him now.

- slay the king

- kill him?

- You killed me last time, I'd like an apology before we do anything else.

> All right. Let's talk.

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

ROAD TO FICTIONAL WRESTLEMANIA

KARL HEISENBERG ADDRESSES HIS OPPONENTS AHEAD OF THEIR SHOWDOWN:

(ABW Backstage Interview with Karl Heisenberg)

(The scene opens backstage at WWE Monday Night Fresh. The camera zooms in on Karl Heisenberg, clad in his usual mechanic’s outfit with his trademark hammer slung over his shoulder. His glasses gleam under the lights as he lounges against a metal crate. Heisenberg is scheduled to face Cal Kestis, the United States Champion, and Jack Marston in a triple threat match for the title. The interviewer, holding the mic nervously, steps in)

Interviewer: Karl, in a few weeks at Fictional Wrestlemania, you’ll be stepping into the ring with the United States Champion, Cal Kestis, and Jack Marston. What’s your strategy going into this match?

Karl Heisenberg: (chuckles) My strategy? Oh, I don't need a half-baked "strategy." See, I don’t do “plans” like some religious nut with a glow-stick fetish or that wannabe cowboy freak trying to live up to daddy's reputation. I am the plan, sweetheart. I show up, I break things, and I take what’s mine.

Interviewer: Well, Cal Kestis is known for his agility and he’s successfully defended his title in the past. And Jack Marston has that gritty resilience we’ve seen in past matches. You really can’t count them out of anything. Don’t you think you’re underestimating them?

Heisenberg: (mockingly laughs) "Agility"? Oh, don’t make me laugh. Cal Kestis is a D-tier fighter, at best, who thinks just because he prays to “The Force”, he’s got what it takes to be a champion. He only won the United States Championship out of sheer stupid luck. In fact, the only thing he has going for him is that Goth girl, Merrin, who follows him around and makes sure he doesn’t lose. Yeah, “real impressive”. Oh, “so scary”. Let me tell you something about Cal Kestis—he's a boy playing hero in a galaxy that never wanted him. He thinks his religion, The Force, gives him power, but I've got real power, honey. My skills don’t come from cults or Daddy’s sad legacy like Marston over there. I built my power with my own two hands. You know, the kind of thing real men do.

Interviewer: Since you mentioned him, anything else you want to say about Jack Marston?

Heisenberg: Jack? Oh, that poor sap. Daddy’s little desperado. He’s spent his whole life trying to prove he’s more than John Marston’s shadow, but newsflash, kid: you’re just as boring as your old man. John was nothing more than a championship thief, and his son? Jack’s not even that. You, Jack, don’t even have an iota of the already-minuscule charisma and talent that your father had. You’re just a sad little wannabe cowboy. Now let me make one thing clear; Cal is a religious nut and Jack is a cowboy reject. Me…I’m a f****** storm…and Cal and Jack are walking straight into it.

Heisenberg smirks, leaning closer to the mic.

Heisenberg: Marston can bring his plastic revolvers, Kestis can bring his “Force,”…and I’ll bring my hammer and a whole lot of pain. I don’t care who’s in my path, I’m gonna crush anyone who stands in my way. That United States title? That’s not Cal's to defend or Marston’s to dream about. It's gonna look real nice around my waist when I'm done with those two clowns.

Interviewer: (looking a bit uneasy) So you're confident that at Fictional Wrestlemania, you’ll be walking away with the United States Championship?

Heisenberg: Confident? Nah, that’s too small a word. I’m certain. There’s a difference. You see, they’re gonna be walking into the ring thinking they’re the main character. They’re thinking of cementing their legacy. But me? I just want to tear them apart and have a good time doing it. I’m the one-man wrecking crew they didn’t know they needed to fear, but after Fictional Wrestlemania…they’ll never forget.

Heisenberg adjusts his glasses, the sinister grin never leaving his face.

Heisenberg: And when I walk out of that ring with the United States Championship, it won’t be because of destiny or honor or any of that crap they keep preaching. It’ll be because I am the future of this place. And the future? It belongs to Heisenberg.

He turns and walks off screen, leaving the interviewer visibly relieved as the camera fades out.

[tdvotes]

Total Drama: Counting the Votes

Welcome to... Total... Drama... Counting... the Votes!

On this series I will be analyzing every Total Drama vote ever, and for the first time ever, I have finally revealed who voted for who every time!

This is absolutely my original idea. You have never seen this series before. You may have seen other people try this concept before, but this time I went all the way.

You may have noticed by now, but some episodes say Final count, some say My final verdict, and others say My final guess. This is an indicator of how certain I am of how many votes were cast for each person:

Final count means we are given the number of votes in the episode.

My final verdict means we are not given the numbers directly, but I am sure that that's what it is.

And my final guess means that I am very unsure of at least one vote.

You may have also noticed that I always list the person who went home first, with the word votes, and then everybody else without the word votes, in order of most votes to fewest.

Once every 13 episodes, we will do a different series called Ranking the Votes, where I will rank how hard it was to determine the votes for each elimination. After each Ranking the Votes, I will add links to each post in that set to this post.

Stay tuned next for a different kind of tournament!

I will update whenever I feel like it.

Links under the cut!

Not So Happy Campers, Part 2

The Big Sleep

Dodgebrawl

Not Quite Famous

The Sucky (or Not So Great) Outdoors

Phobia Factor

Up the Creek

Paintball Deer Hunter

If You Can't Take the Heat...

Who Can You Trust?

Basic Straining

X-Treme Torture

Ranking the Votes s1a

No Pain, No Game

Search and Do Not Destroy

Hide and Be Sneaky

Wawanakwa Gone Wild!

Trial by Tri-Armed Triathlon

Haute Camp-Ture

Camp Castaways

Are We There Yeti?

The Very Last Episode, Really!

Ranking the Votes, s1b

Alien Resurr-Eggtion

Riot on Set

3:10 to Crazytown

The Chefshank Redemption

The Sand Witch Project

Full Metal Drama

Ocean's Eight - or Nine

Million Dollar Babies

Ranking the Votes, s2a

Super Hero-Id

The Princess Pride

Rock 'n' Rule

2008: A Space Owen

Top Dog

The Aftermath IV: Who Wants to Pick a Millionaire?

Ranking the Votes, s2b

Walk Like an Egyptian Part 2

Super Happy Crazy Fun Time Japan

Anything Yukon Do, I Can Do Better

Slap Slap Revolution

The Am-AH-Zon Race

Can't Help Falling in Louvre

Jamaica Me Sweat

I See London...

Greece's Pieces

The EX-Files

Picnic at Hanging Dork

Ranking the Votes, s3a

Niagara Brawls

Chinese Fake-Out

African Lying Safari

Rapa Phooey!

Awwwwww, Drumheller

Hawaiian Style Punch

Ranking the Votes, s3b

Bigger! Badder! Brutal-er!

Truth or Laser Shark

Ice Ice Baby

Backstabbers Ahoy!

Runaway Model

A Mine is a Terrible Thing to Waste

The Treasure Island of Dr. McLean

Grand Chef Auto

Up, Up and Away in My Pitiful Balloon

Eat, Puke and Be Wary

The Enchanted Franken-Forest

Ranking the Votes, s4

Heroes vs Villains

Evil Dread

Saving Private Leechball

Food Fright

No One Eggspects the Spanish Opposition

Suckers Punched

You Regatta Be Kidding Me

The Obsta-Kill Course

Sundae Muddy Sundae

The Bold and the Booty-ful

Ranking the Votes, s5a

So, Uh, This is My Team?

I Love You, Grease Pig!

Twinning Isn't Everything

I Love You, I Love You Knots

A Blast from the Past

Mo' Monkey Mo' Problems

This is the Pits!

Three Zones and a Baby

Hurl and Go Seek

Ranking the Votes, s5b

Meet the Victims

Pirates of the Cabbagean

Drown Town Abbey

Numbskull Island

Jurassic Fart

The Launchback of Notre Game

The Wheel of Vomit

Paddle Field Earth

The Truth, The Pole Truth and Nothing But the Truth

Tortoise Rigamortis

Caved by the Bell

Ranking the Votes, s6a

The Pink Painter Strikes Again

Taking It to the Rim Reaper

You Poor Saps

Choosin' For a Bruisin'

Ice to Beat You

Canoe Believe It?

Fun Fight at the O'Cake Corral

Haulin' and Ballin'

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Circling the Drain

Working K9 to 5

Off the Hook!

Ranking the Votes, s6b

Note: if you're wondering why I didn't add links for the reboot seasons, it's because Tumblr only lets you put up to 100 links in a single post. But don't worry, each episode is linked at the top of the Ranking the Votes post.

[dreamweaved]

@devilspurs asked: atticus knows he's a heavy being, with all this metal melded to his body. he knows it could be uncomfortable, but the fact briar has never complained once makes him think the halovian is a little weird for itㅤ-ㅤyet despite this glaring factor, briar still insisted on cuddling. with an ear pressed to his husband's chest, atticus softly speaks, " i love the sound of yer heartbeat. "

it was hard to explain it. atticus' weight grounded him, both physically and mentally. truthfully yes, the heft of him was a bit much for too long. but briar enjoyed the comfort it provided. much more it seems, than his love knew. moored as he was in his contentment, his delight- the solid feel of his body was hardly noticeable. focus drawn entirely on the smell, and sound of him so close.

briar is... mostly bare now save a loose fitted shirt, and casual pants. dressed down, knowing the two of them haven't anywhere to be for some time still. fingertips freed of their usual adornments run smooth lines through the other's hair. and, with a small breath, he allows his eyes to drift shut. to savor the moment, and soak in this brief lapse in their otherwise chaotic life. ( he knew what he was getting into with him, it was an accepted fact of life. ) and when atticus speaks, briar's hand moves to tuck a bit of hair behind an ear.

" it's believed that ... " a gentle tone, thumb brushing the shell of his ear. head kept back against the cushion of the pillow behind him. " that when two people are in love, their heartbeats synchronize. " call him a sap, but the thought was a romantic one to be sure. and he loved romance; loved to see it, to read about it, to feel it. " the body knows before the mind does. "

his hand stops, and he goes silent for a moment. evens his breathing to allow him to listen for a moment. it made him happier than he could ever put to words to hear it. to know that this too, is yet another thing about him that's loved so openly.

" well mine definitely knew. " he admits then. " maybe not right away but, i felt it as soon as you took me from that place. " palm brushes now against the nape of his love's neck, and he considers for a moment encouraging him to move so he could have a kiss. but, feels content to chatter away- to spill his heart's contents, and let himself speak his mind. " something in me changed, right down to the core of who i am. it was like a puzzle, finally being finished. like the harmony i strived for every day was achieved at last. and the more time i spent with you, the harder and harder it got to imagine myself anywhere else. " and, as his words taper off a bit, his body slumps some. if only to feel the weight atop him grow heavier too.

" you make me happier than i've ever been in my life, atticus. " finally, a small gesture to ease him up. just enough that he can curl both arms around his shoulders, to kiss his nose and gently bump their foreheads together. " me, and this heart of mine. you make us both, very happy. "

unprompted / oh my g od

[workersolidarity]

🇺🇦🇷🇺 EVEN WITH HIGH CASUALTY RATES, UKRAINIAN SAPPERS RETURN TO WORK CLEARING RUSSIAN MINES, REUTERS CELEBRATES.

In an article posted to Reuters by Vitalii Hnidyi, the author writes about Ukrainian sappers who have lost limbs while doing de-mining work and have since returned to the battlefield to clear more minefields.

The article celebrates the amputees of Ukraine, now in the hundreds of thousands by some estimates, a pattern we have seen frequently in Western news outlets as Ukraine's Counteroffensive failed on a massive scale.

During the 5 months of the Ukrainian Counteroffensive, tens of thousands of Ukrainian soldiers were killed or severely wounded, with little to no territory taken.

Now Russian Forces are back on the Offensive as Ukraine's Western allies become distracted by the conflict in the Middle East, focusing on Israel as Ukraine loses the little ground they gained during their offensive.

Still, Western news outlets try to put a positive spin on these developments by celebrating Ukrainian amputees forced back into the war by circumstance.

The Reuters article covers the experience of a Ukrainian sapper, named Andrii Ilkiv who was clearing a mine field in the Dementiivka village of the Kharkiv region in December, 2022 when a buried mine exploded, blowing one of his legs clean off.

"At first you don't feel pain, and you can use this moment of numbness to perform first aid – put on the tourniquet, before the state of shock comes over you," Ilkiv told Reuters.

"I lifted myself up, looked down, one of my legs was gone... they started pulling me out, I tried to help with my good leg, moved bit by bit and managed to get myself out without triggering two mines that were there."

But despite losing his leg, Ilkiv has returned to work as a sapper, continuing his work clearing mine fields for the Kiev regime in the Kherson and Kharkiv regions.

According to the Reuters article, Ilkiv's mine-clearing Unit, comprised of approximately 100 sappers, has seen four of its team killed, and 16 wounded by errant mine blasts.

Ilkiv told Reuters he was one of 14 sappers injured in blasts who've returned to work on prosthetic limbs to continue clearing mines, but is confident he can continue his work.

"Of course, obviously there's fear when you return, when you stand next to a minefield there's fear, but on the other hand you know that with the help of a metal detector, a sapper spade and special equipment, you can move, and conduct demining work," said Ilkiv.

Ilkiv said he told his shocked wife that there was still much clearance work to be done and that he wanted to return to sapping. "She was a bit surprised, shocked. But she has accepted it," Ilkiv said.

According to the Ukrainian authorities, some 174'000sq km of its territory is still strewn with mines and other potentially dangerous unexploded ordinances as the Russia-Ukraine conflict rages on with no end in sight.

Still, Ukraine's Western allies refuse to accept defeat, and insist the Ukrainians fight on to the last man. In pursuance of this goal, Western countries' news media faithfully publishes articles that try to put positive spin on the horrendous losses and casualties Ukraine has suffered, but little can change the facts on the ground, and the fact is, Russian Forces are on the offensive and already beginning to take territory.

One can only assume we will continue to see more articles that will attempt to illicit pitty on Ukrainian casualties while insisting the Ukrainians can still win the war.

WorkerSolidarityNews will continue to cover the events of the Russo-Ukrainian war as it develops.

#source

@WorkerSolidarityNews