Can someone tell me why on earth someone would like hannah?
2025.02.01 19:50 WaterAdventurous2256 Can someone tell me why on earth someone would like hannah?
I hate her with a passion.
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2025.02.01 19:50 TheCurserHasntMoved (Sneakyverse) The Drums of War Chapter 51: Honors
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In the Hall of the Fallen: The light of dawn streamed through the eastern windows of the marble monument in golden shafts over the rows of marble slabs bearing the names of the fallen or standing in silent readiness for a future burden. The sound of Senator Ethan Robert's footfalls faded into the somber hush of the place as he followed a path well-worn into his memory. He wasn't surprised to find a few friends gathered at his destination. They too carried memories of the man whose name was graven among those unforgotten fallen preserved forever in stone in that place. "It really is a shame duty doesn't allow us time for a trip to Repose," he said as he joined the knot of aging men gathered around the name of the friend missing from among them.
"You and Malik are the idiots who got elected," Captain (retired) Ian McCoy scoffed in reply and handed the newcomer a small plastic cup.
Senator Robert grinned and said, "My senator deserved to be beaten, and nobody else wanted to be saddled with the job."
Senator Malik Sabr rolled his little cup between his palms and said, "The call of duty fallowed us in life after service, Heavy. I envy the peace you have won."
"Peace?" Captain McCoy asked wryly, "Do you have any idea how far I had to go to get away from the jurnos and the authors starved for stories of daring heroics?"
"There is no peace but the grave," Master Sergeant (retired) Carlos Peña said quietly.
"Aye," the group murmured as Captain McCoy unscrewed the cap of a flask.
The men were silent as they held out their little cups for their shots of cheap whiskey, and they all waited for someone to say what needed saying. It was for Senator Robert to say, "May God forgive us for making more men like us."
"Men like us," his friends echoed as they tossed back their heads and swallowed the burning cheap booze. Another war was over, more names had been graven into the hall, but they all knew why there were more blank slabs there. The men shook hands, exchanged hugs, and the knot slowly dispersed. Senator Robert prayed that the men scarred by this war would be spared leading in the next one. However, he knew that it only took one foe to make a war.
Aboard the Speaking Softly: Ambassador Sophia Laurant lounged in an enormous armchair, and didn't bother trying to make herself appear more dignified. This section of the ship was made specifically to accommodate giants, after all. Friendly, blue, four armed giants who can lend a much needed gravitas to any negotiations with any of the friendly xenos that a Human was simply too "cute" to achieve. Besides, it reminded her of being aboard the Among the Star Tides We Sing, since she had been a Star Sailor vessel. Her coworkers, or maybe more appropriately, her counterparts were likewise in pose of relaxation. However, of the two of them, only Ambassador Traevee didn't look ridiculous. Well, she was the only of the three large enough to properly fill her seat, and these were her quarters after all. She and her CIP counterpart, Ambassador Mikhail Volkov on the other hand, looked like small children by comparison.
Any suggestion of indignity though, was absent, because the three were friends, friends finally able to pause in their labors to remember that they too are people and not mere functions of their governments. The news they had learned did have diplomatic implications, but that came later. Traevee held back tears and sipped on an herbal tea imported from Terra herself. Ambassador Laurant, no, Sophia. She could just be Sophia here and now. Sophia thought it was chamomile, which didn't have any biochemical effects on most xenos, but most xenos found quite tasty. It was of the Republic's major food exports that didn't require pretty stringent controlled substance regulations, and seeing it always made Sophia smile a little. Truth be told, Sophia was more than a little worried about Traevee. This was even more deeply personal to her than even herself.
"Are you quite certain you are well? It is less than was hoped for, and I understand that your people have strong traditions about laying the remains of the dead to rest." Traevee explained with a warmth in her voice that only a mother can achieve.
"Terrans have gotten used to taking what we can get in that regard," Sophia said, "William was… well he was at the center of a reactor going critical. What was recovered is more than I was expecting."
"Which are you going with?" Mikhail asked as he too sipped on chamomile.
"Repose," Sophia answered, "It was important to him that he be buried there. I've never been a fan of star or void burials either," she explained further as she twisted the gold band on her ring finger almost unconsciously. "But I'm not the only one who lost my husband that day."
"It is our custom to do what you call a star burial," Traevee said. Sophia thought that she was going to explain further, but her throat had suddenly gotten too tight.
"I am hoping Grave Reclamation Services has found enough of his remains for your customs" Mikhail said softly, "Yaevdrill was a brave man. He is deserving all honors that can be given."
"William would have wanted you two at the funeral. Being in the Honor Guard… well, it was the most deeply satisfying posting of his service. We made friends, and we were getting ready for him to have life after service…"
"Aye," Traevee softly agreed, "the Among the Star Tides We Sing had that effect on Terrans."
Sophia nodded and said, "We'll have to work out with what we do with her debris. There wasn't another ship like her an all of Terran history, so we have competing ideas…"
Traevee cast her eyes toward the rear of her quarters where the cabins were and said, "Aye, she was unlike all other ships in our Fleets. The Star Queen herself let alone the Lords Admiral Council do not know what to do."
"But she was being your home," Mikhail said, "I am thinking that what the Republic is wanting, what the Coalition is wanting and even what your lords are wanting is not the important thing here."
"Indeed. But she was also the home of Greg George, the man who made your first friendship among the stars," Traevee said.
"A ship like no other," Sophia murmured. "There's going to be a presentation of the colors. I guarantee it. I know the RNI, and the Lost Boys are the most RNI of the entire RNI. They'll want to return the banner where it belongs, since it was recovered."
"Not I, that belongs to the Drill paternal line," Traevee said, "It shall have to be received by Yoivedrill. I thank you for the warning."
Sophia grinned and said, "Lina Chen, Bugsy Malone, and Emely Sullivan will all be standing beside him. The Lost Boys feel like those people in particular deserve honors."
"The Ignitia Banner for them all?"
"No, they've gotten together with the Second Star Rapid Response Group, the Fighting Pixies, and the Vengeful Vanguard."
"All groups that we know have prickley honor," Mikhail said with a light grin playing across his face, "I am hearing all of the time how they are saying that they do not need medals or honors and then they are doing this. It makes me laugh. Even the Vanguard, they have been a formation for less than a year and already they are doing these things."
"The duality of servicemen. Nobody wants to think of what they did as particularly special, and doesn't want what is special to go unremarked," Sophia said as she twisted her wedding band again.
Down the hall, in one of the cabins, on a narrow, for Star Sailors, berth, three children huddled. The youngest lay with closed eyes and all four arms wrapped around the oldest's middle, her back rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep despite the swollen, dampness of recent tears on her cheeks. The middle child leaned up against her bit brother and lay a protective hand over her little sister's back as she slept. She had no idea that pure relief could make a little kid cry so hard. Yoivedrill had his two left arms coiled around her comfortingly, and he used his two right arms to gently shift his little sister's sleeping form to be slightly more comfortable.
It was the perfect time for Traevee to ask her big brother, "Are you still going to enlist? Even now that the war's over?"
"Aye," he answered, "It was never about this war, Trae."
"But…"
"Honor for honor. We owe them."
"I know… but…"
"It won't be tomorrow, I'm still not old enough to Embark, Trae."
"I know… I'm scared, Yoive."
"You can only be brave when you're afraid."
Aboard the Longshoreman: Life comes at ya fast. It were all completely unfair, see? Bugsy Malone and his gang were gonna to have to go legit. Legit meant no more dodgin' excise, no more coffee and chocolate runs to the xenos under the CIP DEA nose, no more raidin' shady corporations for cargos they didn't really need anyhow, no more fun jobs. It were worse than any fate that any of them had ever imagined, see? Worse, they was famous. Famous all across not just the CIP, but the Republic too, which meant that everywhere they went someone'd be payin' attention to them. Fabulous wealth was hardly any compensation for not bein' able to have fun no more. All this, all this had happened by complete chance. Not the "chance" of explainin' to system-sec on how they'd got in the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow managed to haul away a tidy bay of loot, but real, actual, cruel chance. They were big damn heroes, and there wasn't a thing they could do to change that.
"Boss," Fingers said, "I think I got it."
"Got what?" Bugsy Malone asked as he slumped in the sofa of the ship's rec room.
"Privateerin'" Fingers said brightly, "We just get ourselves a letter of marque from the Republic and we can just go after pirates."
"Half o' our customers are technically pirates, ye daft Muppet," Knuckles said from behind a copy of Hamlet.
"Well, we're famous big damn heroes now, I think we can forget about them either way."
Bugsy Malone took another despondent swig of beer and considered that for a moment. "Bugsy the Privateer…" he mused. It wouldn't be the worst thing, see? More anti-hero than hero. Then he'd still get some action and maybe not go out shittin' himself in old age.
"And, we'd still get to keep most of the loot," Snake added with a sudden smile, "and we could make port anywhere and not have ta worry about bein' arrested."
"And pay taxes," Slick muttered darkly, "Every last bureaucratic bloodsucker in the Republic and the CIP shall want their pound of flesh from our daring labors."
"Look," Fingers said pleadingly, "We tried to just lay low and we found the fucking We Sing. If we haffta be heroes, we might as well get a say in how instead o' doin' it by accident all the damn time. At this point, it's go legit, or go to jail."
"Chicks dig antiheroes," Snake considered.
"Did ye forget? The shippers think you're me boyfriend," Knuckles said with a grin.
Life were a strange thing sometimes, see? Nobody really knows where they'll end up, or who'll they'll be when they get there, and Bugsy Malone figured that it coulda' been worse. "Well, we gotta go to some weird Republic ceremony. We'll figure things out after that."
Once again aboard the Speaking Softly: The cleaning robots had all been stowed, regularly scheduled maintenance had been reshuffled, drills had been postponed, systems had been set onto automatic, and every last cubed thousandth inch of usable space had been made available by sending out the whole of the Big Stick attack group to sit in a parking orbit around a nearby gas giant. A full corps of RNI troopers, every last Lost Boy, the Fighting Pixies, and a goodly portion of the officer and enlisted Naval ratings from both Third Fleet and the SS RRG were crammed into that made available space. Technically, they could have fit every last serviceman aboard, including the Army and SAR Corps, aboard, but they'd have to stack them, and that might have ever so slightly damaged the dignity of the moment.
Technically, some parts of the ship weren't utilized in this way at all, the RNI barracks, officer's quarters, enlisted quarters, guest quarters, the galleys, the engine rooms, the corridors, and corridors were not fit-to-purpose, so really they might be able to get some of the SAR Corps aboard in some of the available standing room. Again, that would not have matched the dignity of the moment. Men and women clad in the almost shiningly reflective Dress Whites of the Navy and the patches of night sky made manifest Dress blacks of the RNI clogged the corridors anyway as they slowly made their ways to the various places where their formations would muster for the ceremony.
They'd redo this entire ceremony in a few places with more room and more pageantry, of course. Alpha Centauri Prime Habitation Station, Outreach, New Texas, Rico, Mars, Luna, and Terra herself to name a few, but that was for the civilians. This was a private, intimate affair for the servicemen, by the servicemen of the Republic and a few guests. The simple fact of the matter was that there were so many individuals of so many ranks to receive honors that they themselves had to form up into an ad-hoc formation in one of the large bays actually intended for ceremonial use while everybody else had to content themselves with the fact that at least they weren't being saddled with medals for doing nothing more than their jobs in unlucky circumstances. Not yet anyway. Some of the grateful men and women forming up with their comrades knew that their actions were under review for commendation, and they'd have the dubious honor of adding valor amongst the ribbons of qualifications and achievements of their ribbon blocks in the future.
None of them felt the weight of the moment more keenly than the George family. Fame and honor had been foisted upon their name since the day Ignitia burned, but even still they stood unbowed under that tremendous weight. Major General Eric George was in his dress blacks, his ribbon block carried only his qualifications and training achievements, and beneath that was every medal he had ever been obliged to receive, and war the golden laurel of the Order of Sol on his head. He rarely ever wore the actual laurel, and he had his reasons. If anybody asked, he'd say something about the men who actually deserved the honor never making it out of that asteroid, but the truth was that he was a humble man. An almost genetic trait in his family. Still, he was among the formation of men due to receive further honors and accolades, and thankfully was not the Master of Ceremonies. That responsibility thankfully fell to another. He was content to have formed up in the same block of glittering black as his three surviving sons.
Paradoxical as it was, since most military men considered medals and accolades to be primarily for civilians benefit, the Old Man knew that the men needed to let each other know that their courage and valor at arms was noticed. He just disagreed that he deserved to get such recognition. However, once again, he'd been serving long enough to know that what he thought he deserved didn't matter in this case. His sons still had trouble with that lesson, and they might never learn it. In the moments when he was most honest with himself, he hoped that they'd find life after service before they gained that particular pearl of wisdom. In less honest moments, he looked forward to when his Johnny would take over his command of the Lost Boys. There was no real reason his son had to take over command, there were descendants of the other Founders around, but pride was a strange thing.
All of that had little to do with the moment. All over the ship, troopers and ratings filed into formation with far less pomp and circumstance than they'd prefer, but nobody thought that holding this ceremony on the planet below would be appropriate. There was no sense in making the former enemy watch their ceremonies. Those poor people had enough to worry about in the next few months. Next few generations, really, but in both lights it would have been inappropriate to hold the ceremony planetside while the locals grappled with everything they knew changing forever. Therefore, the Republic made do.
Major General Eric George was getting yet another medal for his leadership during the operation on the Axxaakk homeworld, and since he was the highest ranking serviceman there, he was obliged to receive his first. Rank hath its privileges and its obligations. Luckily, a serviceman can only receive the Order of Sol once, so the general was not obliged to wear two golden laurels as he saluted the Master of Ceremonies pinned a third Order of Terra to his chest. The new medal gently clinked against its fellows, the Order of Terra, the Order of Sol, the Martian Cross, the Broken Chain, six Iron Stars, five Gold Crosses, and more besides, all with their deceptively small sizes. So far as the general was concerned, the weight of blood behind each of those medals alone made it a minor miracle that his uniform jacket didn't rip beneath the burden it bore. The Master of Ceremonies finally returned the salute he was holding, which signaled that he may drop his own salute and right face to march back to his place in formation. Now all he had to do was ignore the new weight dragging at his heart and watch.
Elsewhere in the formation, Captain John George watched his father receive recognition for his long and valiant service. He knew his father, and he knew that they had a similar view on medals. They weren't for the man receiving them, not really. They were for everyone else. For those who didn't make it out of the fires of war alive without doing anything but being among the victorious dead, for those who were enabled to do their jobs by a critical choice made in a critical moment, for those behind the front line who needed to know that those under fire were honored for their courage, and for the families and civilians back home who needed to be able to say that the Republic cared about valor. The man who received the medal, on the other hand, was picking up another duty. Captain George still couldn't stop the swell of pride he felt when he watched his father receive that duty amongst that which he already bore. He had big boots to fill, and he didn't mind that they'd just gotten bigger.
Then, he was obliged to wait his turn. He didn't have very long to wait. A couple of lieutenant colonels, three majors, and four other captains were ahead of him. He knew their deeds on the planet below, he knew they well and truly deserved to be recognized, but in his view, more alcohol and less responsibility would have been his call, but nobody asked him. Well, that wasn't true. He'd personally recommended a dozen of the men in the formation, but that was beside the point. It was his responsibility to identify such men, and when the Republic offers a duty you can carry out, you don't refuse her.
With precise marching steps, he made his way to the Master of Ceremonies and his staff, came to at attention, and saluted. His citation for conspicuous valor was read off, but it was just noise in his ears. He had no idea what he'd done to be saddled with another medal, and he didn't particularly care. He'd done his job to the best of his ability planetside, and that's exactly what he'd do on his next drop. It spoiled the moment a little bit, but Captain George had to bend down a little so that the Master of Ceremonies could place the golden laurel for the Order of Sol on his head before pinning the medal to his chest, but not by much. Neither of the two men could help the difference in height between them. The Master of Ceremonies pinned another three medals to his chest, the Lunar Cross, the Broken Chain, and the Iron Star. He allowed himself a little pride in the Broken Chain, the medal awarded to those who free enslaved people. Slaveholders and slavers were getting so rare that very few men were awarded that one anymore. The Master of Ceremonies returned his salute, he dropped his, and he marched back to his place in the formation. Now, all he had to do was try to ignore the tiny indentations on the inside of the laurel resting in his crimson hair, put there to remind him that honor comes at a price.
Sergeant Linus George had watched his father and brother receive their honors with the dignity and bearing befitting officers of the Republican Naval Infantry, and he patiently awaited when he too would pick up a weight to carry for the rest of his days. He had his suspicions that there might be PR reasons behind at least one of the medals he was obliged to receive on that day. It didn't matter why, it was a part of the job, a part of the service. He knew about this particular danger long before he ever thought about enlisting. When the time came, he marched up the isle in the center of the formation and came to a stop before the Master of Ceremonies.
He snapped a crisp salute, and like his brother, he had to accommodate a height disparity to also receive the laurel of the Order of Sol. The Senate and Vox Populi had to both vote in favor of any recipient of this particular honor. Sergeant George hoped he could live up to it as its medal was pinned to his chest, that and the Broken Chain, the Lunar Cross, and Iron Star joined the few medals already on his breast. He did not believe his path led to Command, but just like the Order of Sol, he knew he could not refuse his Republic should she call him to another duty.
Corporal Peter George was one of the vanishingly few men who did not stand at attention during the ceremony, and that was because he simply couldn't. He needed to lean on his cane to stand for any length of time, even though he had pushed himself to leave it behind in physical therapy. His father and older brothers had received their medals with poise and grace, and despite his own views on what they were, he couldn't help the swelling pride in his breast as he watched his brothers receive their laurels. To him, they'd been heroes since before he could walk, and that sentiment only grew as he matured.
When Corporal George's turn came, he couldn't march with as much poise as his brothers in arms, and the sharp tacking of the cane's tip on the deckplates rang out like a bell tolling for all those unable to receive their honors. He'd had a lot of time to think over the past three weeks. Time to think, to think, and more time to think helped along by Gideon's innocently cutting questions. The medals, the recognition, the honors, they weren't for him, just like he'd always thought, but they weren't just to make the civvies feel like he'd been properly rewarded for his deeds either. They were for the men, too. The men needed to know that their RNI noticed those among them who had saved their lives, those who had given theirs up, those who in the churning chaos of chance forged order and victory. It was important to the men that he receive these medals, they needed to show him honor somehow. Only honor can repay honor.
He stopped and saluted in front of the Master of Ceremonies and waited for him to finish reading out his citation for receiving the Order of Sol. When the shorter man finished, Corporal George struggled to bend down to allow the man to place the golden laurel with its deliberately uncomfortable divots about his brow. He straightened up once more and leaned on his cane and waited to receive his honors. Then, once again his cane made a bell toll for the victorious dead as he walked with as much poise as his recovering body could manage back to his place in the formation of RNI troopers. He had a long while to stand in that formation. Nearly every E-4 and below who'd gone boots down was receiving something that day.
The civilian guests watched the ceremony unfold before them, and those who knew a little about the Republic realized that this ceremony was understated because the men giving and receiving the honors didn't need much in the way of pomp and circumstance to understand the moment. Those less familiar wondered why they sat or stood in a small area off to the side that gave them a good view of both the Master of Ceremonies and the formation at the center of the packed hall. They watched the RNI formation salute and right face as one, and watched the blocks of formations march clockwise in order to bring a formation of Navy ratings to the fore, and the Master of Ceremonies was replaced by a navy one in dress whites. Then it began again. One by one the men and women of the Navy received their medals, some received yet another, while others bore their very first below young faces with too-old eyes. Once again, the formation at the center of the ceremony saluted, and right faced before the formations marched like clockwork until a smaller formation from the Army in dress greys stood at the center. Then, once more the formations marched, and a comparatively tiny cadre of men and women wearing crisp white dress uniforms with sanguine crosses on the shoulders of their jackets that almost burned with radiance stood and awaited their honors and rewards. The SAR Corps. Every last man and woman from the other branches had good reason to love and honor these grimly determined men and women who did the work even though they were too few, always too few, and overlooked by nearly all except the Republic's armed services. They were not overlooked today. Major General Eric George himself had insisted upon their attendance at the ceremony, even if only those receiving the highest honors could be cajoled into participation. Very few of the gathered guests properly understood all of that. However, they all felt something as the hours marched on. A steady realization that they were being included in something private and intimate, that they had been invited to share in a long cherished family tradition.
Captain Lina Chen didn't care whether she was weeping. In chairs behind her, her crew held hands or embraced each other as the final honors came inexorably closer. The Last of the SAR Corps received her medals, and the whole order of the formations changed. A chief petty officer marched up to the knot of civilians, snapped off a salute, and murmured, "If the ladies and gentlemen would please follow me, it is time for your part of the ceremony." Then, he led the way to the place where each of the Masters of Ceremonies had stood and told them, "If you would please stand here. Those of you here as a group, please have your representative stand at the front." Captain Lina Chen found herself standing beside the infamous Bugsy Malone. She smirked at him, he glared at her. Well if he'd just have been a guild merchant like her, he'd have never been a hero. The incongruity of her criticism of him and her presence here never entered into her head. On her other side, one of the SAR Corpsman stood alone, and a Star Sailor boy towered over them all. Captain Lina Chen idly wondered if he was a survival from the Among the Star Tides We Sing.
Then, the ceremony began. A company of RNI troopers from the Lost Boys marched in silently, and had in their hands ancient bolt-action rifles with polished wooden stocks, and they were joined further by their shipboard trooper counterparts, a company from the Fighting Pixies, and by a company sized formation of the Navy's drill team, and finally, the Vengeful Vanguard. They moved in perfect silence and precision as they marched in crisscrossing lines, dots of burnished white in the black of RNI troopers stood out like stars in the night sky, and the only sound made was their boots on the deck and the clapping of the old guns onto white gloved palms. They never looked to one side or another, and yet reached behind themselves or to one side to catch or toss a rifle to one of their fellows as their complex march unfolded before them. Captain Lina Chen realized that this was a small sliver of the pageantry of ceremonies to come, but this felt somehow heartfelt and intimate. The Lost Boys somehow came together and unfurled a tattered and singed banner. At its center was an orange circle, which Captain Lina Chen had always thought was a star, but the patches of green in the circle cast doubt on the old name, the Two-Star Banner, the yellow star in the windward upper corner almost shone in the hall. Then, a dozen of them tossed their rifles behind themselves to be caught and held aloft in the left hands of their fellows as they ceremonially folded the flag. A pair peeled off when the flag was folded in half, then four more when it was folded into a narrow strip, and the man at its end began to tenderly fold the flag into a triangular shape. A pair of men would retrieve their rifles and return to the formation until the flag was folded in the hands of the man at the end of the flag. The folder saluted him, took the flag in both hands, and marched up to the Star Sailor boy.
Captain Lina Chen watched as the boy struggled to hold back tears and snapped up a trembling salute as he received the banner in his lower hands with tender reverence. Her eyes went wide. Was that the banner? Her head spun with the heady realization of just how deeply she was being honored. She struggled to keep her feet as the Lost Boys did it again, and presented a crisp, new banner to the woman in the SAR Corps dress uniform, and she too fought back tears as she received the banner. Then, it was the Navy men who unfurled a banner, which much like the Lost Boys Banner, had a burning world in its center and a star in the upper windward corner, but this had the outline of a Republican destroyer superimposed over the burning world. It must have been raining in that hall aboard the supercarrier the Speaking Softly, because how else could the drops of water have gotten on the folded banner? Watching Bugsy receive his banner from the Vengeful Vanguard, which was a field of red with an outline of the broken form of the Among the Star Tides We Sing at its center. Captain Lina Chen stopped herself from laughing at Bugsy's eyes popping out of his head, since she didn't trust the laugh to not turn into sobbing.
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2025.02.01 19:50 Even_Conclusion_5366 Miku Mac and cheese 🫕
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 | submitted by Parking-Jicama9062 to GodofWarRagnarok [link] [comments] |
2025.02.01 19:50 DrawMeLikeYouHateMe Is he going to go through with the wedding?
 | A guy I was in a situationship with got his marriage fixed by his mother (common in our part of the world). He claimed he has no interest in it and its completely arranged with his mother calling the shots. He was very indifferent to it and seemed to have cold feet. So I asked this question and the chart does reflect this situation. Since it is very uncommon in our part of the World to call off a wedding, we would need a very strong No from this chart. Descendant on Algol meaning his head isn’t at the right place. L7 Venus has a lot of dignity but it is with Saturn (L10 from L7 so his mother). I gave 1H to his fiancée and see a separating aspect which could mean the wedding might be called off. (Venus leaving both Mars and Saturn and moving to North Node). I don’t see my Yes testimony from the chart so imo it says No but I am unsure if I have chosen the right significators or I am well connected enough with the situation to have casted a radical chart. Would appreciate the help. submitted by DrawMeLikeYouHateMe to horary [link] [comments] |
2025.02.01 19:50 Randomboi20292883 SCP with interactive file chooser?
I remember reading this skip that was sci-fi, possibly by qntm. It had this gimmick where, in the end, you typed in file names to retrieve stuff. Stuff was redacted, but in the discussion board the author said that if you change the name from "level4blahblah" to "level5blahblah", the redactions were lifted.
submitted by Randomboi20292883 to SCP [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 PutridPrize808 Need Feedback on My Itinerary
 | Hey guys, I’ve put together an itinerary for my upcoming trip, and I’m wondering what you think. Does it seem too detailed or overwhelming? Should I make any modifications? I’d love to hear your suggestions, whether it’s cutting things down, adding must-visit spots, or just general advice. Let me know what you think! Thanks in advance!🙏🏻 submitted by PutridPrize808 to SchengenVisa [link] [comments] |
2025.02.01 19:50 Cirtil AI bringing subs together
 | https://preview.redd.it/fsclfxky0lge1.png?width=1792&format=png&auto=webp&s=b7a7d3c5bdb8a6156b619a2d0fae1f010f33684a submitted by Cirtil to aiArt [link] [comments] |
2025.02.01 19:50 Nothin_Means_Nothin Ceramic coating recommendations
Just bought a new car and am looking to get a ceramic coating applied for protection and to keep it shiny. Any recommendations on a reliable shop in the area. Looking more for a trusted shop than a cheap one. If I can get both that'll be ideal but I realize that may not be realistic.
Im in San Jose. I'm willing to go as far north as Fremont/Newark/UC and as far south as Gilroy. Budget is around 1k, but I'm willing to go higher if the shop comes highly recommended. Thanks
submitted by Nothin_Means_Nothin to bayarea [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 MistDevotion 25 [M4A] Victoria, British Columbia - Looking for friends and kink-friendly hookups
I'm looking to talk and meet up with someone for a kink-friendly hookup. I am 6'0, 170 and fully clean-shaven. I also have a somewhat feminine body and am mostly a bottom. Please don't reach out if you have an std or affecting health condition, because I'm not looking to use protection. I am into many things, so don't be afraid to ask! I have a very open schedule so I'm always free to talk.
I'm okay with 22 and over and I am fully clean.
Reach out if you're interested, I'm also interested in making friends if sexual encounters aren't what you're looking for! My hobbies include gaming, music, and cars. For kinks, I'm into watersports, public play, praise, and temperature play. But I'm also open to exploring new things!
If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. Please only make serious inquiries.
submitted by MistDevotion to r4r [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 AloneInTheDark321 Nico para o city aquece: "City want to negotiate transfer fee over €40m, not triggering €60m clause at this stage".
 | Portistas que acham? Vendem? Se o Nico sair vai ter impacto brutal no desempenho desportivo, na minha opinião é reset a meio da época, desistir do título, dar tudo para o 2o lugar, e uma pré-época antecipada para o Anselmi. submitted by AloneInTheDark321 to PrimeiraLiga [link] [comments] |
2025.02.01 19:50 WhoIsStrappy I have 3 boost left $RayNeek boosting whoever boosts me first !!
submitted by WhoIsStrappy to ChimeBoostMe [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 MissUnlucky2025 Daughter needs neurodiverse assessment but ex won’t agree
I have a 6 year old DD. She is extremely impulsive, physically hurts her baby brother (he’s 1), lacks empathy (her eyes look dead when these things occur) and has no cognisance of the significance of what she is doing. Sometimes it’s like someone flicks a light switch and she switches in and out of these moods. Whenever these moods are “on” I have to keep her baby brother away from her because I don’t know what she will do. She has HUGE tantrums where she enters a fugue state and never remembers what she does in these tantrums.
While in these tantrums, she has hit me, nearly pushed me down the stairs, tried to push her brother into oncoming traffic (I was there and stopped in before it got anywhere) and she’s also pushed his head first into a wall because he was annoying her and wanted her toy.
When she is out of these moods, she a loving and caring little girl but I don’t see much of this little girl anymore.
My ex was emotionally and psychologically abusive and he continues to manipulate my DD but there’s nothing I can do, I’ve exhausted all avenues and spent a small fortune trying to protect my kids.
I have primary custody and the kids are with me 99% of the time, my ex takes up about 20% of the contact that he could have. He still has PR.
I have GPs, school, social workers and a therapist all saying she needs a neurodiverse assessment but my ex won’t agree. He’s saying it needs to be investigated why she has issues in my care. Which absolutely makes no sense! She’s displaying this in school, with her therapist and other professionals.
Something like a neurodiverse assessment has to be signed off by all the people with PR from what little I know.
Has anyone ever experienced it where your ex is blocking your kids getting the help they need and what can you do? I can’t afford to go back to court again 😩
submitted by MissUnlucky2025 to FamilyLaw [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 ProfessionalPlant419 Not 18+
submitted by ProfessionalPlant419 to hamedelloco [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 Putrid_Carpenter_913 Plot hole: why would Dutch ever rejoin Micah?
Spoilers ahead:
I got the impression that at the end of the main story, Arthur finally convinced Dutch - albeit too late to matter - that he was right and Micah was a rat, hence why Dutch walks off despondently.
Then, in the epilogue, he's suddenly working with him again? It's like the whole last mission didn't happen. My head canon is that Dutch was always planning to kill Micah in revenge, so he used the fact that only he knew where the Blackwater money to lure him into a truce, but since Micah already had his own gang, Dutch could t just kill him outright and needed to wait for the opportune moment.
Though it also seems implausible that Micah would buy it. Imagine you're a gangster who rats out your gang on a bunch of heists leading to most of their deaths. Years later in witness protection, your old boss calls and says 'hey, how'd you like your share of the money from that heist you ratted us out on? And maybe we can commit more crimes together? Come meet me deep in the woods if you're up for it.' I think anyone would see through it.
submitted by Putrid_Carpenter_913 to reddeadredemption2 [link] [comments]
2025.02.01 19:50 Salt-Fill-2107 Jotaro at home (by me)
 | body text submitted by Salt-Fill-2107 to StardustCrusaders [link] [comments] |