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sunsburns · 5 months ago

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the sweetest taboo — arcane (league of legends) !

⟢ content summary. tropes & relationship headcanons with arcane characters

⟢ characters. vi, jinx, cait, ekko, jayce, viktor

⟢ authors note. love making cute little stuff like these, thx sm for this request anon <3

vi & enemies to lovers (imagine vi joined the firelights instead of the pigs)

you wanted to see her fall so badly.

from the moment ekko introduces you to vi, there’s no denying the tension between you. whether it’s a disagreement about how to handle a situation or something personal, you're constantly at odds.

every conversation feels like a challenge, and you’re always testing each other’s limits.

in every interaction, there’s a fight—both verbal and, occasionally, physical. she doesn’t pull any punches, and neither do you.

you and vi are paired up for a high-stakes mission that requires precise planning and execution. what could possibly go wrong?

vi, not used to following orders, pushes back against your every suggestion, questioning your methods and trying to take shortcuts.

you feel your patience wearing thin as vi constantly does things her way, disregarding your carefully laid plans. every decision becomes a battleground—she insists on rushing in without thinking, while you want to take your time and survey the situation first.

by the end of the mission, you’ve somehow made it through despite the odds—frustration, arguments, and near-failures (and death). the sense of accomplishment feels sweeter because you did it together, even if it wasn’t easy.

as the two of you spend more time together, you start to see past the tough exterior that vi puts up. In rare moments, she shows a vulnerability that surprises you. maybe it's in the middle of a fight where she hesitates, or maybe it's in a quiet moment when the chaos around you both settles, and you see her exhaustion—physical and emotional.

these glimpses into her real self make you start questioning the assumptions you had about her. is she really just a hothead, or is there more beneath the surface?

after a particularly gruelling mission, you both find yourselves sitting in silence, patching up your wounds. vi’s usually the first to crack a joke or make light of the situation, but tonight, she’s quiet. you notice her rubbing the scar on her arm, and you can see the tiredness in her eyes. for the first time, the animosity between you feels a little lighter. you don’t say anything, but you sit in comfortable silence, the distance between you shrinking.

you’re both forced to work together more often, and as time goes on, you begin to realize that vi’s brashness and unpredictability balance out your nature. when you argue, it’s less about who’s right or wrong and more about learning to adapt to each other’s methods.

slowly, you start realizing that you rely on her just as much as she relies on you—she covers your blind spots, and you bring stability to her chaos.

she jumps into the fray with reckless abandon, and you follow her lead—trusting her instincts for the first time. when the dust settles and you both make it out alive, you catch her looking at you with something unspoken in her eyes. she gives a half-smile and you cannot stop thinking about it for a few weeks.

you start noticing small things. vi isn’t as quick to argue with you anymore; in fact, she starts making little sarcastic remarks and playful jabs that are different from the insults you used to exchange. the teasing becomes more frequent, but there’s an undercurrent of something more intimate now. she might nudge your shoulder when she’s pleased with something you did, or shoot you a smirk when she catches you staring at her for a little too long.

jinx & fish out of water

even though you feel out of place in zaun, jinx instinctively feels the need to protect you. seeing how uncomfortable you are in the chaos of zaun, jinx acts as a shield, drawing attention away from you when things get dangerous, whether it’s with hostile locals or threats from other groups.

jinx might not be the most traditional teacher, but she guides you through zaun's tough environment. she shows you the ropes, from how to barter with street vendors to how to defend yourself if things get physical.

your differences are stark when it comes to how you approach danger. jinx is spontaneous and unpredictable, while you are more cautious, always thinking about the potential consequences.

this sometimes leads to tension, especially when you're trying to slow jinx down from acting on a wild idea, but it also shows how you balance each other out.

jinx’s chaotic nature is overwhelming at times, but it also brings out a side of you you never knew existed. where you once clung to stability, you now find yourself caught up in jinx’s wild adventures, learning to enjoy the rush and thrill of unpredictability, even if it scares you.

despite the wild, chaotic surroundings, you and jinx share moments of unexpected intimacy. whether it’s sitting side-by-side in the dark, sharing stories about your lives before the downfall of zaun, or lying next to each other after a rough day, these moments make you realize that you’ve found something real in the madness.

jinx expresses her affection in her own unique way. sometimes it’s in the form of an impulsive kiss or an unexpected act of care, like fixing your hair or bringing you something she thinks will make you smile.

ekko & second chances

the fight that tore you apart wasn’t just words—it was emotional, raw, and devastating. maybe ekko was so focused on his mission for zaun that he pushed you aside, saying something hurtful like, “this is bigger than you and me—you wouldn’t understand.”

the words lingered, and no matter how much you wanted to stay, it felt like ekko had chosen his crusade over you.

years later, you’re mid-mission in piltover, tracking a stolen resource. you hear his voice before you see him.

his voice is a mix of shock and disbelief when he realizes it’s you. you turn, and there’s ekko—older, sharper, with an air of maturity, but his wide eyes and hesitant smile are pure nostalgia.

ekko doesn’t immediately try to explain everything—he’s smart enough to know it won’t fix things overnight. instead, he focuses on showing you he’s changed.

when your equipment breaks during a mission, he’s already fixing it before you even ask.

he shows up to help, even when you don’t want him to. when you call him out on it, he shrugs and says, “you can hate me all you want, but i’m not leaving you to handle this alone.”

during a mission in zaun, you find yourselves hiding in one of your old hangout spots—a small nook under a collapsed bridge where you used to plan wild schemes as kids. it brings back old memories, and the two of you try not to comment how you do not fit in there anymore.

he gives you a makeshift communicator as an apology.

you don’t immediately forgive him, but you start to let him back in little by little. asking him for advice on a job, checking in on the firelight base every once in a while.

he let you stay the night, showed you to your old room and everything. and then you stayed the night after that. and the night after that.

when you’re working late on a plan, ekko shows up with food, claiming he “just happened to be in the area.” you roll your eyes but let him stay.

as time passes, you notice how he listens more—how he makes a point to ask your opinion and actually consider it. he’s grown, and it shows in the small, thoughtful ways he interacts with you.

during a dangerous mission, you’re cornered, and ekko jumps in to shield you. it’s reckless, but it reminds you of the boy who always put others before himself, even at his own expense.

ekko doesn’t make a big, dramatic declaration of love. instead, it’s quiet and vulnerable, like him.

“i didn’t just miss you,” he says one night, while you’re sitting on a rooftop overlooking zaun. “i loved you. i think i always did, even when i didn’t know how to show it.”

jayce & friends to lovers

inserperable. no other word to describe it.

people constantly assume you’re already a couple because you’re rarely seen apart. jayce just laughs it off, saying, “nah, we’re just close,” while you both ignore the way your cheeks heat up.

whether it’s work, errands, or grabbing food, jayce naturally gravitates toward you, like it’s second nature to have you around.

you’ve developed little routines together without even realizing it. maybe it’s getting coffee every morning from the same spot, trading lunch when one of you forgets, or walking each other home after a long day.

you two have endless conversations about everything and nothing. jayce loves bouncing ideas off you, and he’s constantly sharing his thoughts, whether it’s about a new invention or a random observation.

“does it ever freak you out how fast hextech is evolving? like, what if we accidentally invent something terrifying?” he muses while you laugh and call him dramatic.

your friendship is filled with countless inside jokes and nicknames that no one else understands. jayce loves seeing the confused looks on people’s faces when the two of you burst out laughing over something random.

jayce likes fixing things for you, whether it’s repairing something broken or building something new just to make your life easier.

he loves surprising you with practical but meaningful gifts, like a gadget he made specifically for your needs.

jayce has moments that feel a little too intimate for “just friends.” maybe it’s the way he brushes his fingers against yours when handing you something, or how he gets distracted watching you talk about something you’re passionate about.

jayce is the kind of guy who doesn’t immediately realize he’s in love. it hits him in the middle of a mundane moment, like seeing you laugh at something, and he thinks, oh. oh no.

he starts doing things he wouldn’t normally do for just anyone, like learning how to cook a dish you love or reading up on something you’re sincere about so he can talk about it with you.

he’s big on physical affection. even as friends, he was the type to give casual hugs or drape an arm around your shoulders. in a relationship, he’s almost always touching you—holding hands, leaning into you, or brushing hair out of your face.

viktor & academic rivals

he does not fuck with you at all at first.

viktor finds your work frustratingly impressive, often critiquing your methods to hide his own admiration.

the two of you are constantly debating and trying to outdo each other, whether it’s in experiments, theories, or even harmless bets (like who can finish designing a prototype faster).

he does warm up to you eventually.

not by choice, though.

it's because heimerdinger put the two of you as lab partners for a project.

mutual respect grows slowly, as viktor starts to see your perspective and vice versa.

viktor loves having late-night brainstorming sessions with you, where the two of you drink tea (or coffee, if the stakes are high) and talk until the early hours. he secretly enjoys how your conversations stray into personal topics.

he isn't one for grand gestures but shows he cares in small ways—like leaving extra parts for your inventions or staying up to help you with research, even if he’s exhausted.

he remembers every detail you mention, no matter how trivial. if you once offhandedly said you like a certain type of snack, he’ll "coincidentally" have it in the lab.

viktor gets quietly jealous when someone else praises your work too much, though he'll never admit it. instead, he'll just throw himself deeper into his own projects to "prove" himself.

you often lose track of time when working together, forgetting meals and proper rest. while viktor is typically the culprit of this, you will sometimes pull him away, insisting on taking a break. this becomes their unspoken routine, with you caring for viktor when he pushes himself too far.

if you openly compliment him—whether it’s his work or appearance—he struggles to respond and often mutters, "it's nothing," while his ears turn red.

when you catch him staring, viktor pretends to be deep in thought about something else.

outside the lab, viktor loves quiet evenings with you, reading books or sketching ideas while the other works nearby. it's in these moments he realizes how much he treasures his presence.

oh, and don't forget that he is incredibly sassy omg. like when the two of you get heated, things get heated.

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months ago

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Matt Shuham at HuffPost:

When she was working as an election official in Arizona years ago, Tammy Patrick encountered voters who supported what was then the state’s new “proof of citizenship” law for voter registration — only to realize that they had been disenfranchised by it. “They’d say, ‘I voted for that!’” she recalled of the voters, many of whom were “snowbirds, older people, who didn’t have the wherewithal to get [the correct documents] because the documents didn’t exist anymore.” “It was heart-wrenching,” Patrick said.

At the time, Arizona was the only state in the nation with a documentary proof of citizenship requirement for voters, and thousands of people have since lost out on the right to vote in state elections. Kansas, which later also tried its own citizenship requirement for voter registration, saw similar results. “Kansas did that 10 years ago,” Kansas’s Republican Secretary of State Scott Schwab told The Associated Press in December of his state’s own requirement, which prevented tens of thousands of voter registrations and was ultimately blocked in court in 2018. “It didn’t work out so well.” Nonetheless, despite data showing tens of millions of Americans don’t have ready access to proof of citizenship documents, Republicans are now pushing hard to require those records nationwide for voter registration. They haven’t been able to make it happen yet. But two efforts, one each from the White House and congressional Republicans, have made the prospect of a national proof of citizenship requirement a real possibility.

On Tuesday, President Donald Trump signed the executive order “Preserving and Protecting the Integrity of American Elections.” In addition to ordering a slew of changes to voting machine standards and information-sharing arrangements between the federal and state governments, the order ― which is not a law ― instructs the Election Assistance Commission to change its national mail voter registration form to require documentary proof of citizenship. In Congress, the so-called SAVE Act would similarly mandate proof of citizenship documents. The bill passed the House last year and is scheduled for a vote in the House this week, according to House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.). Though neither effort is a law right now, they both present significant risks to millions of voters. The Trump White House has in its first two months asserted unprecedented executive authority over the federal government, even on matters legally outside its purview, like trying to shut down entire agencies created by Congress, and it’s not clear how far Trump is willing to take his power grab.

Millions At Risk

As things stand, would-be voters swear under penalty of law on registration paperwork that they are citizens, and state officials have various methods to confirm that citizenship, including by checking against Social Security data and state databases. But Republicans’ efforts to require documentary proof of citizenship to register to vote ― a push that gained political support from widespread lies about non-citizen voting ― would change that. And if voters needed to provide documentary proof themselves, millions would be at risk of disenfranchisement.

Over 21 million voting-age American citizens don’t readily have access to documentary proof of citizenship, and over 3.8 million lack any of those documents at all, one 2023 survey from the Brennan Center for Justice and several other groups found. The impact would be felt across political and demographic lines: While poor voters, voters of color and indigenous voters are less likely to have certain documentation, states with high levels of passport ownership generally vote blue ― and Republican women are more likely to report taking their husbands’ last names, which complicates the process, the Center for American Progress noted in January. Both the White House efforts and the SAVE Act are also strangely vague when it comes to what documentation is required. Both mention passports as an acceptable proof of citizenship, but half of American citizens don’t have a valid passport. They both also mention the REAL ID Act of 2005, though so-called “REAL ID” cards don’t actually list citizenship status on them, and non-citizens can obtain REAL IDs. Both also list military IDs, but only if they specify citizenship. If not, the SAVE Act requires further documentation. The SAVE Act notes birth certificates can be used in conjunction with government-issued photo IDs; Trump’s order makes no mention of birth certificates at all, though it does say photo IDs can work when “accompanied by proof of United States citizenship.”

[...]

Trump’s Executive Order Is A Dramatic Attempted Power Grab

On top of its proof of citizenship requirement language, Trump’s executive order is alarming simply because it exists at all. American elections are almost entirely run at the state and local level, and any national rule changes must generally be approved by Congress. Trump’s apparent belief that he can simply declare changes to the nation’s elections represents an extremely aggressive assertion of presidential power. In the order, Trump instructs both independent agencies and Cabinet officials to pursue various investigations of (and vast changes to) the election system, including regarding election machine certifications and information-sharing between states and the federal government.

The SAVE Act is a massive abomination of a proposal that would disenfranchise millions of voters if it passed.

#SAVE Act #119th Congress #Voting Rights #Voter Suppression #Voter ID

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rjzimmerman · 8 months ago

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Excerpt from this press release from the Department of the Interior:

The Department of the Interior’s U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Parks Canada, Environment and Climate Change Canada and Mexico's Secretariat of Environment and Natural Resources recently signed a new agreement to strengthen cooperation and coordination for the conservation of the American bison across its range in North America. Through a Letter of Intent, the countries will work to pursue bison conservation, restore ecological processes, and support traditional human use of natural resources with a particular focus on the unique historical connection between bison and Indigenous peoples.

This Letter of Intent was worked on at the recent Canada/Mexico/United States Trilateral Committee for Wildlife and Ecosystem Conservation and Management held in San Diego, California and outlines additional collaboration across national borders towards the United States, Mexico and Canada’s shared goal of domestic bison conservation. The Trilateral Committee began in 1996 as a pioneering initiative among the three countries to align efforts safeguarding North America’s wildlife and ecosystems. The committee’s Species of Concern Working Table brings together state, federal and Tribal resource managers and non-governmental organizations to share their expertise and coordinate conservation of species that span the continent.

The recently signed Letter of Intent outlines the various ways that the three North American nations will work together, including by:

Improving collaboration on regional activities to promote policies, practices and effective methods in support of the ecocultural conservation of bison;

Promoting joint work plans within the Trilateral Committee’s Species of Common Conservation Concern working table;

Fostering transparency about the technical information that is developed jointly; and

Streamlining reporting on activities conducted under the Letter of Intent with the Executive Table of the Trilateral Committee for its review.

These international efforts will continue to build on the Interior Department’s domestic bison restoration efforts, including the Grasslands Keystone Initiative. In 2023, Secretary Haaland issued a Secretary's Order and announced a $25 million investment to empower the Department’s bureaus and partners to use the best available science and Indigenous Knowledge to help restore bison across the country. The Order formally established a Bison Working Group (BWG) composed of representation from the five bureaus with bison equities: the Bureau of Indian Affairs, Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, National Park Service, and U.S. Geological Survey. The BWG is developing a Bison Shared Stewardship Plan, which will establish a comprehensive framework for American bison restoration, including strengthening long-term bison conservation partnerships. Central to the development of that plan will be robust engagement with Tribes, including prioritizing Tribally led opportunities to establish new large herds owned or managed by Tribes and Tribally led organizations.

The American bison once thrived across the largest original distribution of any native large herbivore in North America, ranging from desert grasslands in northern regions of Mexico to interior Alaska. After North America’s European settlement, bison populations were reduced from an estimated 60 to 80 million to a mere 1,000 animals. These surviving bison were saved from extinction and became the founders of several protected populations that put the species on a path of recovery and conservation.

Today, bison remain absent from nearly 99 percent of their historic range. Most of the bison in North America are in herds that are constrained by fences, isolated from each other, and have fewer than 1,000 individuals, raising concerns about their genetic integrity, wildness and long-term viability of the species.

Approximately 31,000 bison are currently being stewarded by the United States, Canada and Mexico with the goal of conserving the species and their role in the function of native grassland systems, as well as their place in Indigenous culture.

#bison #Trilateral Committee #Mexico #Canada

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daniel-nerd · 1 year ago

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just found out about order no. 40 from the nakba. i think its a key information in understanding the attack of october 7th and the whole war.

so here the official document.

its in hebrew and a bit hard to read. so i’ll translate the important parts.

“2. role: expulsion of the palestinian refugees from the villages and prevention of their return by the destruction of their villages”

seems a bit extreme don’t you think? well its not ending here

“3. the method:

a) {after} surveying the villages of al-Khisas, Jira, Khirbat Khuza‘a, Bi‘lin, al-Jiyya, Barbara, Bayt Jirja, Hiribya, Dayr Sunayd, gather the residents, load them on vehicles and expel them to Gaza. remove them beyond our(israel’s) lines in Bayt Hanun.

b) separate the locals from the refugees in al-Majdal (as explained in a)

c) burn the houses and demolish the stone houses

d) check the refugees who weren’t expelled among them the enemies and execute {them}

e) check the roads to the refugees and their origin”

e is presumably to find anyone who tried to run back, but this part is my speculation based on context clues. honestly i have no idea what else it could refer to, but i translated it for the full picture. the rest of the document is logistics, it was a top secret document, and even got removed from the official archives even though it was declassified. this order was sent by ben gurion, the highest authority at the time.

zionist never came to live in israel peacefully, the came to inherit the land, by disposing of anyone who refused. the gaza strip was created to house said refugees, because egypt didn’t open their borders, and refused to accept even one refugee.

the gaza strip is an invention of israel, the towns that were attacked on october 7th were built on top of the ruins and blood of the refugees who lived there. and palestinians in gaza are (mainly) 3rd generation of the refugees from 48’.

i don’t know what needs to be done with the people who lives there now(i doubt most of them even want to come back) but this is an indispensable proof, directly from the first prime minister of israel, the highest authority at the time, that the land of gaza and the towns around belong to palestinians, and Israel forcibly expelled them from said land, destroyed any reminiscences of it, and rebuilt their own settlements.

#israel #palestine #palestine news #israel history #history #palestine history #gaza #news on gaza #free gaza #free palestine #gaza history #history of israel #history of palestine #nakba #1948 #nakba 1948

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redfilledfantasies · 2 months ago

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First Sight (Chapter 2 of 7)

Carmella Hill entered the upscale Manhattan gym with the same precision she applied to cardiac surgery. Her workout bag hung from her shoulder at a precise forty-five-degree angle, the weight of it calibrated against her perfect posture. The glass doors parted before her like obedient patients, and she inhaled the familiar mixture of disinfectant and exertion that permeated the air. Her prescription glasses caught the light as she surveyed the space, mentally mapping her routine with the same exactitude she used to chart the chambers of a human heart.

The day's final consultations clung to her like a stubborn murmur, echoing in the recesses of her thoughts. Seven patients, three concerning arrhythmias, one potential valve replacement—the details filed with mechanical efficiency in the orderly cabinets of her mind.

She nodded curtly to the receptionist, a polite acknowledgment without the unnecessary complication of small talk. Her compression leggings hugged the sculpted contours of her thighs, the moisture-wicking fabric clinging to the considerable muscle she had cultivated through years of disciplined training.

The matching top accentuated her perfect physique, the material stretched taut across her breasts before tapering to reveal the ridges of her abdomen—six distinct sections of defined muscle that most anatomy textbooks would struggle to illustrate with such clarity. Carmella had constructed this body with the same methodical attention she applied to her medical practice, each muscle group an exercise in controlled perfection.

The locker room welcomed her with clinical fluorescence, the white surfaces reflecting her meticulous movements. She selected the same locker she always chose—third from the end, second row—and arranged her belongings with surgical precision. Shoes aligned perpendicular to the bench, towel folded in exact thirds, water bottle positioned for optimal hydration intervals. She removed her designer prescription glasses briefly, cleaning the lenses with a microfiber cloth she kept specifically for this purpose, ten clockwise circles followed by ten counterclockwise. The ritual was soothing, a controlled variable in the experiment of her day.

She adjusted the glasses on her nose, the world snapping back into analytical focus. Her reflection stared back at her from the locker room mirror—hair trimmed to fall precisely at her jawline, not a strand out of place despite the day's exertions. She stretched experimentally, feeling the pleasant tension in her muscles, cataloging the minor soreness in her left deltoid from yesterday's workout with detached interest.

The main floor of the gym pulsed with evening activity, the synchronized exertion of Manhattan's elite creating a rhythm as regular as any electrocardiogram. Carmella claimed her usual position on the mat near the free weights, appreciating both the optimal stretching space and the unobstructed sightlines to all major equipment. She began her warm-up with the same attention she gave to surgical preparation—each movement executed with deliberate purpose, her joints moving through precisely calculated ranges of motion.

Her focus was absolute, internal, a meditation on musculature and blood flow. Fifteen seconds per stretch, sixty seconds for compound movements, heart rate increasing by a predictable increment with each completed set. The routine was as familiar as her own heartbeat, requiring no conscious thought, leaving her mind free to process the day's diagnostic challenges. Until a flash of movement registered in her peripheral vision, disrupting the careful rhythm of her routine.

Carmella's head turned with clinical interest, her attention caught by unfamiliar motion across the gym floor. A new trainer—female, athletic build, vibrant red hair pulled back in a functional ponytail—was demonstrating proper form to a client attempting a complicated lift. The intrusion of novelty in her carefully calibrated environment was jarring, like an unexpected blip on an otherwise normal ECG reading.

Her stretch faltered, the symmetry of her movement compromised by the momentary distraction. Carmella corrected herself immediately, but her focus had shifted, her analytical gaze now recording data about the unknown trainer with the same precision she applied to echocardiograms.

The woman moved with remarkable authority, her hands confident as they adjusted her client's posture. Her freckled skin caught the gym's harsh lighting, creating a topography of light and shadow across impressively defined musculature. Carmella estimated her age at early forties based on subtle markers around her eyes, though her physique suggested someone decades younger. The contradiction was medically fascinating.

Carmella completed her hamstring stretch while cataloging the trainer's physical attributes with dispassionate expertise. The woman's quadriceps engaged with textbook perfection as she demonstrated a proper squat, the separation between muscle groups visible even from across the room.

Her arms displayed impressive vascularity, suggesting both exceptional cardiovascular health and remarkably low body fat percentage. The trainer's sports bra revealed abdominal definition comparable to Carmella's own—a rarity she had not observed in another woman at this gym.

She shifted into a hip flexor stretch, angling her body to maintain sightlines to the trainer. The woman's voice carried across the gym—authoritative, encouraging, with a timbre that suggested optimal lung capacity. "Control the movement," she instructed her client, the command resonating with unexpectedly personal impact in Carmella's ears.

Carmella observed the trainer's breathing pattern—diaphragmatic, efficient, approximately sixteen breaths per minute at rest. A textbook example of athletic conditioning. Her own breath synchronized unconsciously, matching the rhythm she observed. The synchronicity registered as a curious physiological response, one worthy of further study.

The trainer smiled at her client's progress, revealing teeth as perfect as her form. Carmella's pulse quickened by approximately twelve beats per minute—a reaction she noted with clinical detachment even as heat spread beneath her skin. She adjusted her glasses, ostensibly to improve visual acuity, though the trainer was already in perfect focus.

As she transitioned to her core warm-up, Carmella found her movements echoing the trainer's demonstrations—the angle of her spine, the engagement of her core muscles, unconscious mimicry that she recognized with mild professional embarrassment. She forced herself back into her established routine, though her attention remained divided, one part of her brain continuing to gather data on the red-haired trainer with the exceptional physique.

The woman's body was a testament to physiological optimization—large breasts that defied gravitational expectations, perfectly round gluteal development indicating comprehensive strength training protocols, the kind of muscle symmetry that medical textbooks illustrated but rarely manifested in living subjects.

Carmella found herself calculating body fat percentages, estimating muscle fiber composition, hypothesizing about cardiac output with the same intensity she applied to particularly complex cases. Her pulse remained elevated, a persistent tachycardia she couldn't attribute to her warm-up's modest exertion.

She noted the dilation of her own pupils in her compact mirror, the subtle flush spreading across her clavicles. The symptoms aligned with autonomic nervous system activation—a textbook stress response, though she wasn't experiencing stress in the conventional sense. Carmella completed her final stretch, her routine disrupted by these unexpected observations. She gathered her water bottle and towel, moving toward the cardio machines with more haste than precision.

For the first time in recent memory, her carefully constructed workout plan had been modified spontaneously, the cardio equipment selected not for its biomechanical advantages but for the unobstructed view it provided of the red-haired trainer across the gym floor. The deviation from routine should have troubled her. Instead, she felt a spark of something unfamiliar—static from the dry air, perhaps, but it jolted her nonetheless.

Carmella selected the elliptical machine with surgical precision, her decision based not on muscle group prioritization but on optimal sightlines to the free weights area. Her fingers gripped the handles with unusual tension, the programmed resistance on the machine failing to explain the sudden strain in her joints. She adjusted her glasses and began her cardio workout, her legs moving in perfect rhythm while her eyes fixed on the red-haired trainer with unwavering focus. The distance between them—approximately forty-two feet—was insufficient to prevent detailed observation.

From this vantage point, Carmella could catalog the trainer's physical attributes with greater specificity. The woman demonstrated a shoulder press to a middle-aged male client, her deltoids contracting with remarkable definition beneath freckled skin. Carmella estimated the weight at thirty pounds, noting with clinical interest how effortlessly the trainer manipulated the dumbbell, suggesting significant functional strength rather than merely aesthetic development.

When the trainer turned to adjust her client's form, the laminated badge clipped to her sports bra caught the overhead lighting. The distance would have rendered the text illegible to most observers, but Carmella's prescription glasses brought the name into perfect focus: Audrey O'Rourke. She repeated the name silently, the syllables joining the rhythmic data she was collecting.

Audrey moved to assist another client, a woman struggling with proper squat depth. The movement provided Carmella with a comprehensive view of her physique—large breasts contained in a high-performance sports bra, their perfect symmetry defying natural probability. Beneath them lay the most impressive abdominal development Carmella had witnessed outside her own reflection: six distinct sections of muscle, perfectly delineated, the kind of definition that required both genetic predisposition and relentless discipline.

Her eyes tracked lower, noting the muscular thighs that powered Audrey's movements, the exceptional balance maintained through a posteriorly-developed gluteal structure that matched Carmella's own carefully cultivated curves. The similarities in their physiques were striking—almost like examining her own body through an alternate genetic expression, one where melanin concentrated in freckle formations rather than distributing evenly.

Carmella's fingers adjusted the resistance on the elliptical machine higher, the increased exertion an unconscious response to the intensity of her observation. Her calculated stride never faltered, but her attention was no longer divided between exercise and analysis—it was wholly consumed by Audrey O'Rourke.

Based on subtle markers—the faint lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled, the particular elasticity of skin at her neck, the development pattern of her musculature—Carmella's trained diagnostic eye estimated Audrey's age at early forties.

Yet her vitality, skin tone, and physical development suggested someone at least fifteen years younger. The contradiction was professionally fascinating, a physiological anomaly worthy of documentation. Audrey demonstrated a complex core movement for an older female client, her body bending with a flexibility that contradicted her muscular density.

Carmella found herself unconsciously adjusting her own posture on the elliptical, spine aligning to mirror the trainer's form. When Audrey inhaled deeply before instructing her client, Carmella's own breath synchronized without conscious intent. The involuntary mimicry was unlike her—a neurological response typically observed in individuals experiencing strong attraction or deep admiration.

Her hands were steady on the machine's handles, but she felt a warmth in her chest, an uncomfortable heat that she recognized as fascination bordering on fixation. The sensation was clinically significant—increased blood flow, endorphin release patterns consistent with attraction rather than exertion. Carmella cataloged these symptoms with the same precision she would apply to a patient, though the conclusions she reached were far more personal than professional.

Audrey's training schedule appeared systematic. Carmella observed her move from client to client with precise timing—thirty minutes per session, five minutes of transition and preparation between appointments. This regularity allowed Carmella to anticipate Audrey's movements, to adjust her own position on the cardio equipment to maintain optimal observation angles.

She found herself extending her cardio session well beyond her programmed twenty minutes, adding intervals with uncharacteristic spontaneity. Her usual workout called for weight training to follow cardio, but today's plan reconfigured itself around this unexpected variable. Deviation from established routine was uncommon for Carmella, a diagnostic flag her analytical mind could not ignore.

Audrey guided a new client through basic form principles, her hands making precise adjustments to the woman's shoulder alignment. Carmella counted Audrey's breaths during the demonstration—fourteen per minute, consistent with exceptional aerobic conditioning. Her movements suggested a resting heart rate of approximately 45-50 beats per minute, significantly below average even for elite athletes.

"Maintain control throughout the entire motion," Audrey instructed her client, her voice carrying across the gym with authoritative clarity. "The tempo is as important as the weight." Carmella found herself responding to the directive, adjusting her elliptical pace to a more controlled rhythm. The involuntary compliance was unprecedented, a surrender of autonomy that should have triggered immediate correction. Instead, she maintained the adjusted tempo, finding unexpected satisfaction in the synchronicity.

She continued her observation, noting the vascularity visible along Audrey's forearms as she demonstrated a rowing motion—clear evidence of exceptional circulation and minimal subcutaneous fat. When Audrey laughed at something her client said, Carmella observed the perfect symmetry of her facial expression, the precise angle of her neck as she tilted her head back. The movement exposed the carotid artery, and Carmella found herself estimating pulse rates from the subtle, visible pulsation.

Between clients, Audrey paused to drink water, and Carmella tracked the rhythmic contractions of her throat as she swallowed. The trainer wiped her brow with a small towel, the action revealing a momentary glimpse of additional freckles along her upper ribs. Carmella adjusted her glasses again, though her vision was perfectly clear.

Her own heart rate had increased beyond what the moderate exercise demanded. The monitor on the elliptical displayed 142 beats per minute—approximately 15% higher than expected for her current exertion level. The data point was anomalous, requiring explanation. Carmella attributed it to increased ambient temperature in the gym, though the environmental controls remained constant at 68 degrees Fahrenheit.

Forty-seven minutes into her extended cardio session, Carmella became aware of her persistent focus on Audrey. The realization brought an unusual sensation—a constriction in her chest, a heightened awareness of her own breathing pattern. Her clinical detachment, the professional distance she maintained even from her own physiological responses, showed the first evidence of structural weakness.

She observed Audrey demonstrating a perfect deadlift, the alignment of her spine textbook-precise, the engagement of her posterior chain displaying years of refined technique. The movement was poetry expressed through biomechanics, and Carmella found herself admiring more than mere form. The aesthetic appreciation registered as an unexpected variable in her otherwise analytical observation.

Audrey's green eyes caught the light as she turned, their brightness visible even from Carmella's calculated distance. The color created a striking contrast against her freckled skin and red hair—genetic expressions that together occurred in less than 2% of the population. The statistical rarity aligned with the exceptional nature of her physique, creating a subject of undeniable scientific interest.

Yet Carmella's continued observation had progressed beyond scientific curiosity. Her pupils remained dilated despite the gym's bright lighting. The elliptical's timer had long exceeded her planned duration. Her breathing pattern had altered to match Audrey's rhythm rather than optimizing for her own exercise efficiency.

These deviations from established patterns were symptomatic of something Carmella hesitated to diagnose, even in the privacy of her own analytical mind. She increased the resistance on the elliptical again, as if the additional physical challenge might distract from the intensifying fascination. The machine beeped in protest—she had reached maximum resistance, another boundary exceeded.

Her hands gripped the handles with unnecessary force, fingers registering the strain as they compressed against unyielding plastic. The excessive pressure did nothing to diminish the warmth spreading through her chest, a heat unrelated to exertion. Her clinical detachment, that carefully constructed barrier between observation and engagement, developed hairline fractures with each passing minute of study.

Carmella continued her extended observation, her body moving with mechanical precision while her mind documented every detail of Audrey O'Rourke with unprecedented attention. Her workout had transformed from a predictable exercise in control to an unexpected study in fascination, and the implications of this shift remained undiagnosed in her meticulous mind.

Carmella completed her final set with mechanical precision, each repetition a perfect mirror of the one before. Her body had performed to exact specifications, yet her mind had strayed far from its usual disciplined paths. She recorded her progress in the fitness tracking app on her phone, the data points failing to capture the most significant variable in today's workout. The time display showed she had exceeded her standard routine by twenty-seven minutes, an anomaly that would require explanation if she were her own patient.

Still, she found herself reluctant to leave, inventing additional stretches that positioned her within visual range of the trainer whose movements had captured her attention with such unexpected force. The gym had begun its evening transition, the crowd thinning as Manhattan's professionals departed for dinner reservations and evening commitments.

This temporal shift created a quieter environment, the reduced population density allowing for even more precise observation. Carmella positioned her mat with calculated casualness, the angle providing unobstructed sightlines to where Audrey had begun preparing for her personal workout.

She extended into a hamstring stretch, her flexibility allowing her to maintain the position with minimal effort while her attention remained fixed elsewhere. The charade of stretching was unlike her—a deliberate deception contrasting sharply with her typically straightforward methodology. She acknowledged the behavior as anomalous even as she continued it, adding unnecessary repetitions to prolong her presence.

Audrey bid goodbye to her final client of the evening, her red ponytail catching the light as she nodded a farewell. Her freckled hand raised in a brief wave, the musculature of her arm displaying exceptional definition even in this casual gesture. Carmella observed the trainer's preparation ritual with intense focus, cataloging each movement as Audrey arranged her equipment with a precision that rivaled Carmella's own.

With her professional obligations completed, Audrey transitioned to her personal training regimen with fluid efficiency. She began with a complex warm-up sequence, movements flowing together with choreographed precision. Her body moved through space with remarkable control, each position held with perfect stability before transitioning to the next. The display of kinesthetic awareness was exceptional, suggesting proprioceptive capabilities far exceeding population norms.

Carmella's stretch had long exceeded its optimal duration, but she maintained the position, her hamstrings protesting against the prolonged extension. The minor discomfort registered as irrelevant data compared to the significance of her observations. She shifted to another position, her eyes never leaving Audrey's form as the trainer moved to the free weights area.

Audrey began with compound movements, selecting weights that Carmella noted were approximately 65% heavier than those used by most female gym members. The trainer performed clean and press repetitions with impressive control, her body functioning as a single coordinated unit. The activation sequence of muscle groups was textbook-perfect—powerful contraction of the posterior chain initiating the movement, seamless transition to shoulder engagement for the press, controlled eccentric return.

The weight moved through space with deceptive ease, belying the significant force required. Carmella calculated the power output, estimating the caloric expenditure and oxygen consumption necessary to sustain such exertion. Her academic analysis ran parallel to a more visceral appreciation of the display before her—the sheen of exertion on freckled skin, the controlled rhythm of Audrey's breathing, the remarkable symmetry of muscle engagement across her frame.

Carmella reached for her water bottle, her fingers tightening around the plastic with unnecessary force. The container crinkled in protest, the sound drawing a momentary glance from a nearby gym member. She loosened her grip with conscious effort, the loss of physical control as alarming as it was unprecedented. Her usual precision had abandoned her, replaced by a tense energy that manifested in unexpected ways.

When Audrey moved to the squat rack, Carmella abandoned all pretense of stretching and relocated to the nearby abdominal training area. The new position provided continued sightlines while giving the appearance of purposeful exercise. She began a series of core exercises, her own remarkable abdominal definition visible as her top rode up slightly with each movement.

Audrey loaded the barbell with impressive weight—Carmella estimated 185 pounds—and positioned herself beneath it with perfect form. The depth of her squat defied conventional flexibility limitations, especially considering her muscular development.

Each repetition displayed exceptional control through both concentric and eccentric phases. Carmella counted the trainer's breaths, noting the efficient oxygen utilization pattern—two controlled inhalations per repetition, exhalation timed precisely with maximum exertion points. After completing three sets, Audrey moved to the deadlift platform.

The barbell was loaded progressively heavier, culminating in a weight Carmella calculated at approximately 225 pounds—exceptional for a woman of Audrey's size, regardless of her obvious strength. The trainer approached the bar with focused intensity, her red hair falling forward slightly as she positioned her stance.

The deadlift began with textbook form—spine neutral, shoulders retracted, core engaged. As Audrey initiated the pull, Carmella observed the sequential activation of muscle groups: hamstrings, gluteal muscles, erector spinae, trapezius. The coordination was flawless, the biomechanical efficiency nearly perfect. When the weight reached its apex, Audrey's body formed a living anatomy chart—every major muscle group visible beneath her skin, vascularity pronounced across her forearms and shoulders.

Carmella's grip tightened again, this time on the edge of the bench where she sat. Her own breathing had synchronized with Audrey's without conscious effort, her inhalations matching the trainer's preparatory breath before each lift. The physiological mirroring was beyond her control, her body responding to visual stimuli with unusual autonomy.

As Audrey completed her final deadlift repetition, a small smile of satisfaction crossed her face. The expression triggered an unexpected response in Carmella—a constriction in her chest, a momentary acceleration of her pulse that had nothing to do with her minimal exertion. She adjusted her glasses again, the habitual gesture failing to create its usual sense of control.

Her professional curiosity had fully merged with personal fascination, the clinical boundaries she maintained with such vigilance now permeable and uncertain. Carmella's mind still cataloged the objective data—muscle recruitment patterns, biomechanical efficiency, estimated metabolic rates—but these observations were colored by an appreciation that extended far beyond scientific interest.

She noted with analytical detachment the physical signs of her own response: pupils dilated to approximately 5mm despite the bright gymnasium lighting, respiratory rate increased to 18 breaths per minute without corresponding exertion, surface temperature elevated by an estimated 1.2 degrees Celsius. The constellation of symptoms aligned with a diagnosis she was reluctant to acknowledge, even to herself.

Audrey moved to the cable machine, adjusting the settings with practiced efficiency. Her arms extended in the first repetition of a pull-down, the latissimus dorsi muscles expanding like wings beneath her freckled skin. The visual impact was striking—anatomical perfection expressed through functional movement. Carmella found herself leaning forward slightly, reducing the distance between observation and subject by an incremental but meaningful margin.

When Audrey turned slightly, her bright green eyes swept across the gym in a casual survey. For a fraction of a second, her gaze intercepted Carmella's, the brief connection sending an unexpected current through the doctor's carefully controlled system. Carmella looked away with uncharacteristic haste, her usual composure fracturing under the momentary recognition.

The exchange, brief as it was, triggered an abrupt awareness in Carmella of the duration and intensity of her observation. She had maintained surveillance of a single subject for approximately seventy-three minutes—an unprecedented allocation of attention that couldn't be justified by professional curiosity alone.

The realization brought with it an uncomfortable heat that spread across her chest and neck, a physiological response she recognized as embarrassment—another rarity in her emotional landscape. She gathered her belongings with uncharacteristic haste, the precision of her usual packing routine abandoned in favor of expedience.

Her water bottle was secured with minimal attention to its alignment in her bag, her towel folded in halves rather than precise thirds. These deviations from standard protocol were further evidence of her disturbed equilibrium. As she moved toward the exit, Carmella permitted herself one final glance at Audrey.

The trainer had begun a set of pull-ups, her body rising with controlled power, freckled arms displaying striated musculature that medical textbooks rarely captured with such clarity. The image burned itself into Carmella's memory with perfect resolution, a data point that would not be easily filed away. She pushed through the glass doors into the evening air, the temperature differential providing momentary clarity.

Her mind, typically ordered and methodical, now buzzed with calculations, observations, and an unfamiliar undercurrent of anticipation. She found herself automatically adjusting tomorrow's schedule, creating a precise window that would align with Audrey's training hours. The modification to her routine should have registered as problematic—a deviation from optimal efficiency based on non-essential factors.

Instead, she felt a curl of something like satisfaction as she confirmed the adjusted timing in her calendar. Her ordered mind, usually filled with cardiac rhythms and diagnostic puzzles, now contained new data points: the exact shade of Audrey's green eyes, the precise pattern of freckles across her shoulders, the perfect arc of her spine during a deadlift.

Carmella walked toward her apartment with measured steps, her exterior composure gradually reasserting itself even as her thoughts remained fixed on the exceptional physical specimen she had observed. Tomorrow's return to the gym had transformed from a matter of routine to an exercise in anticipation, and the distinction was as troubling as it was exhilarating.

#cardiophile #heartbeat kink #beating heart #female heart #dr. carmella hill #audrey o'rourke #heartbeat #cardiophile thoughts #exercise #red filled fantasies

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m2iconsulting · 4 months ago

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Baseline Survey for CSR Program by M2i Consulting: Laying the Foundation for Impactful Initiatives

Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) programs play a crucial role in driving social and economic development. However, for these programs to be truly effective, they must be based on a clear understanding of the community’s needs, existing challenges, and potential opportunities. This is where a baseline survey for CSR programs becomes essential. M2i Consulting, a trusted name in social impact assessments, specializes in conducting comprehensive baseline surveys to ensure CSR initiatives create meaningful and measurable change.

What is a Baseline Survey for CSR?

A baseline survey is an initial assessment conducted before the implementation of a CSR program. It gathers essential data on socio-economic conditions, demographic details, and key indicators relevant to the initiative. This survey acts as a reference point, allowing organizations to track progress and measure the impact of their CSR activities over time.

Importance of Baseline Surveys in CSR Programs

Informed Decision-Making – A baseline survey provides valuable insights that help companies design targeted and effective CSR interventions.

Resource Optimization – Understanding the real needs of the community ensures that funds and efforts are directed toward the most critical areas.

Impact Measurement – By comparing pre- and post-intervention data, organizations can evaluate the success of their CSR initiatives.

Stakeholder Engagement – A well-executed survey helps in gaining community trust and participation, making CSR programs more sustainable.

Regulatory Compliance – Many governments and regulatory bodies require companies to demonstrate the impact of their CSR initiatives, making baseline surveys a necessity.

How M2i Consulting Conducts Baseline Surveys

At M2i Consulting, we follow a structured and data-driven approach to conducting baseline surveys for CSR programs:

Defining Objectives

We begin by understanding the CSR goals of the organization and identifying key impact areas that need assessment.

Designing the Survey Framework

Our team develops a detailed survey framework, including qualitative and quantitative research methods, to capture relevant data effectively.

Data Collection

Using tools such as field interviews, focus group discussions, and digital surveys, we gather comprehensive data from targeted communities.

Data Analysis & Reporting

We analyze the collected data to identify key insights, trends, and potential challenges that may affect CSR program implementation.

Recommendations & Strategy Development

Based on our findings, we provide actionable recommendations to help organizations structure their CSR programs for maximum impact.

Why Choose M2i Consulting for Baseline Surveys?

Expertise in Social Research – With years of experience in impact assessment, M2i Consulting ensures reliable and accurate data collection.

Custom-Tailored Solutions – We design surveys that align with specific CSR objectives and industry requirements.

Use of Advanced Tools & Methodologies – Our approach integrates modern research techniques, including data analytics and geospatial mapping.

Commitment to Social Impact – We are dedicated to helping organizations create sustainable and transformative CSR initiatives.

Conclusion

A baseline survey for CSR programs is an indispensable step in designing and executing impactful social initiatives. By partnering with M2i Consulting, organizations can ensure that their CSR efforts are evidence-based, goal-oriented, and aligned with the real needs of communities. Our expertise in conducting baseline surveys helps businesses maximize their social impact while fulfilling corporate and regulatory responsibilities.

Are you planning a CSR initiative and need a baseline survey? Get in touch with M2i Consulting today to lay the foundation for a successful and sustainable CSR program!

#microfinance institutions #impact assessment #onlyfans tease #tease pic #hot pics

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aghost-writer · 5 months ago

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Between Pages

Chapter 28

This is a Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x Female Reader Fic!

MDNI!!

The room was thick with the tension of an investigation, the low hum of murmurs and soft footsteps slicing through the otherwise oppressive silence. Ryūrō Hirotsu stood over the bodies of the Port Mafia’s fallen armory guards, the grim reality of their deaths a weight he bore stoically. His posture was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, but his expression betrayed his frustration—tight-lipped and stern as his sharp eyes absorbed every grim detail of the scene.

“Ensure that the city police do not hear of this,” Dazai’s voice rang out, cutting through the somber air like a blade. It was calm, almost casual, but the undercurrent of authority left no room for misinterpretation. “Make a call to the cleaners as well. They’ll handle the bodies discreetly. And investigate whether these men have families. If they do, I’ll personally see to their arrangements.”

Hirotsu inclined his head, the weight of Dazai’s words settling over him. It wasn’t just a matter of practicality; it was a reminder of the meticulous control the Port Mafia demanded, even in death.

“Understood,” Hirotsu murmured, his gaze flickering to the three lifeless figures sprawled on the floor. The precision of the attack haunted him—clean, calculated, and eerily efficient. “I believe an executive will be here shortly to oversee the investigation.”

Dazai didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted to a nearby screen displaying a paused game. “Hang on,” he muttered, reaching for the controller. “I was almost past this level…” He frowned in exaggerated frustration, his fingers poised as though ready to resume playing. “Crap, he got ahead of me.”

Hirotsu suppressed a sigh, his patience fraying. It was typical Dazai—moments of bizarre levity punctuating his unnervingly sharp focus. But just as quickly as the moment had come, it vanished. Dazai’s expression shifted, his attention snapping back to the scene with a focus so intense it bordered on unnerving.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Hirotsu said, gesturing toward the doorway where two guards stood at attention. “The armory guards were killed. It’s been a long time since anyone dared to attack a Port Mafia depot.”

Dazai surveyed the room with a practiced eye. “Each man was shot twice. The rounds went clean through at close range,” he noted, his voice betraying neither shock nor concern. He crouched near one of the bodies, inspecting the blood pooling beneath it. “The shooters were pros. They didn’t waste a single shot.”

“Reassuring,” Hirotsu remarked dryly.

“No, but it tells us something.” Dazai stood, his expression thoughtful. “Let’s see the surveillance photos.”

The grainy footage flickered on a nearby monitor, revealing two masked figures moving with precision. Dazai leaned closer, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. “They look like common thugs at first glance,” he muttered, tilting his head. “But look at their movements—calculated, methodical. These are trained operatives.”

“They want us to think otherwise,” Hirotsu remarked, his voice flat. “A deliberate facade.”

Dazai’s lips quirked into a faint smile, the glint in his eye betraying a twisted sort of amusement. “A clever game. But one we’ll win. Mr. Hirotsu, I trust you’ll allow me to rectify this oversight.”

As they continued to review the footage, Dazai’s gaze lingered on one of the assailants’ weapons—a pistol half-hidden beneath a fallen crate. He crouched to pick it up, inspecting it closely. “Do you recognize this model?”

Hirotsu peered over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “A Grau Geist. It’s a traditional European firearm. Rare, but not unheard of.”

“I saw this same type of weapon last night,” Dazai said, his voice quiet but steady. “An attack near the bay. And now this…” His mind raced, piecing together fragments of a puzzle. “They’re connected. A distraction leading up to this raid.”

Hirotsu’s frown deepened. “If that’s the case, then these attackers had inside knowledge. They used the official access code to breach the armory. Only those with high-level clearance would have access to that information.”

Dazai’s smile widened, though it lacked any trace of humor. “It seems we have a traitor among us.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

“My subordinates interrogated one of their men yesterday,” Dazai continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “Unfortunately, he swallowed a cyanide pill before revealing anything of substance. However, we did extract one useful tidbit—the name of their organization.”

“Mimic,” Hirotsu said, his voice cold as the name settled over the room like a dark cloud.

But Dazai’s attention had shifted. His sharp gaze flicked toward the edge of the room, catching a flicker of movement. At first, it was subtle—a shadow, barely visible in the dim light. Then, a figure emerged, standing just within view. A woman.

She was silent, her posture composed yet tense, as though she didn’t entirely belong in this grim tableau. Her eyes met Dazai’s for a brief, charged moment, and something in her expression flickered—recognition? Guilt? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Before Dazai could speak, she stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as she had appeared.

“That’s strange,” Dazai muttered, his voice low.

Hirotsu glanced at him. “What is?”

Dazai’s gaze lingered on the spot where she had stood. “That woman. I don’t know her, but…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly. “I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

Hirotsu followed his gaze, his expression unreadable. “Do you think she’s connected to Mimic?”

“Possibly.” Dazai straightened, his tone deceptively light. “Keep an eye on her. If she’s here, she’s not just an observer.”

The tension in the room thickened once more as Dazai’s words hung in the air. The faint sound of rain tapping against the windows filled the silence, a reminder of the storm still raging outside. Mimic, a traitor, and now an unfamiliar woman—it was becoming increasingly clear that the Port Mafia’s grip on the city was being tested in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

Dazai’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he turned back to Hirotsu. “Let’s not disappoint them, shall we?”

The dimly lit alley was eerily quiet as Y/N briskly walked, her footsteps echoing against the damp pavement. Her thoughts raced, colliding into each other in a chaotic frenzy. She felt trapped in a world that wasn’t hers, the weight of unfamiliarity pressing heavily on her chest. Nothing here made sense—not the time, not the place, and certainly not the people. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

I need to find a way back.

The thought burned in her mind, a desperate mantra. The Port Mafia loomed in the distance, their dark influence a constant threat that made her every move feel scrutinized. She kept her head down, pulling the hood of her coat lower, blending into the quiet shuffle of the city’s passersby.

But as the evening deepened and the shadows grew longer, a gnawing unease settled in her stomach. Something was wrong.

The faint echo of footsteps behind her matched her own rhythm, steady and deliberate. She quickened her pace, her boots splashing against shallow puddles. Her pulse quickened, a faint thrum in her ears.

I’m being followed.

The realization sent a shiver down her spine. She forced herself to glance over her shoulder, casual and fleeting. The street behind her appeared empty, save for the flickering streetlights and the occasional passerby too preoccupied to notice her. But the feeling lingered, sharp and undeniable.

It’s them.

The Port Mafia.

Her encounters with Dazai and his enigmatic presence played in her mind like an unwelcome echo. She must have been spotted. Worse, they must have deemed her a threat. Her steps grew hurried, her breaths shallow. She needed to shake them, but the oppressive weight of unseen eyes made every movement feel calculated, every turn a trap.

The steady beat of footsteps behind her mirrored her pace, confirming her fears. Whoever it was, they weren’t far. Her mind raced, assessing her surroundings. The buildings loomed tall and oppressive, the alleys winding and narrow. She needed an escape plan, and she needed it fast.

She turned a corner abruptly, stepping into the shadow of a building. The street here was quieter, less trafficked. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she pressed herself against the cold brick wall, forcing herself to think.

Keep it together.

Her mantra was a fragile lifeline, but it was all she had. Her eyes darted around, searching for any hint of movement. She strained her ears, listening for the telltale scrape of boots against pavement.

Nothing.

For a moment, she considered the possibility that she’d lost them, that her fears were unfounded. But then, faint and deliberate, came the sound she dreaded—footsteps. They were close, too close, and growing louder with each passing second.

She darted into a nearby alley, her movements swift but cautious. Her breaths were shallow as she crouched behind a dumpster, pressing her back against the wall. She clutched her knees to her chest, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. The distant hum of the city provided a cruel contrast to the quiet intensity of the moment.

A shadow flickered at the mouth of the alley.

Y/N froze. Her heart thundered in her ears as she strained to stay still, her breaths shallow and deliberate. The figure moved closer, pausing at the alley’s entrance. Even without stepping into the light, their presence radiated authority, the kind that demanded attention.

Dazai.

The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. It was him—the same man who had caught her eye earlier. His reputation preceded him, a name spoken in fear and reverence among those who dared to cross the Port Mafia. And now, he was here.

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t be caught, not now. Not by him.

Dazai stood still for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the street ahead. The faint glow of a lamppost cast long shadows, masking his features in darkness. Then, with an almost lazy grace, he took a few steps forward, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.

He’s looking for me.

The thought sent a spike of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She waited, counting the seconds, her muscles tense with anticipation. When his attention shifted momentarily to the street ahead, she made her move.

Y/N bolted from her hiding spot, her footsteps light and quick against the pavement. She didn’t look back—she couldn’t. Every instinct screamed at her to keep moving, to put as much distance between herself and him as possible.

The city stretched out before her, a labyrinth of alleys and streets. Each turn felt like a gamble, every path a potential dead end. The echoes of her footsteps seemed deafening, a beacon to anyone listening.

But she couldn’t stop.

She rounded a corner, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her legs burned with the effort, but the fear pushing her forward was stronger than any physical pain. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.

Where can I go?

The question plagued her with every step. There was no sanctuary here, no safe haven in a city ruled by shadows. She turned another corner, the streets narrowing into an even tighter maze. The faint sound of footsteps behind her confirmed her worst fear—he was following.

Dazai.

She could feel his presence, a predator closing in on its prey. She ducked into another alley, this one narrower than the last. The walls seemed to close in around her, the air thick with the stench of damp concrete. She pressed herself against the wall, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her frantic breathing.

Think.

Her eyes darted around, searching for anything she could use—an escape route, a weapon, anything. But the alley offered little comfort, its shadows deep and unforgiving.

A faint sound reached her ears—a soft shuffle, barely audible. Her heart lurched. She wasn’t alone.

Dazai’s voice cut through the silence, low and almost amused. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. But you can’t outrun me forever.”

Y/N’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe.

His footsteps grew louder, each one deliberate and unhurried. He was toying with her, savoring the chase.

“I have to admit,” he continued, his tone light, almost conversational. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Not many people manage to slip away from me. But I wonder… how long can you keep it up?”

Y/N clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. She couldn’t let him win.

Summoning every ounce of courage, she darted from her hiding spot, her movements swift and desperate. She didn’t look back, didn’t stop to see his reaction.

The city blurred around her as she ran, her body propelled by pure adrenaline. The sound of her own heartbeat drowned out everything else.

She turned another corner, her vision narrowing to a tunnel of desperation. She had to keep moving, had to stay ahead.

But the city felt endless, its streets winding and unfamiliar. Her legs ached, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. Still, she pushed forward, fueled by the unrelenting need to survive.

And behind her, like a shadow she couldn’t escape, Dazai followed.

The room was dimly lit, a single weak bulb overhead casting faint shadows against the cracked walls. Oda Sakunosuke stepped inside with measured precision, his senses tuned to every sound, every shift in the stale air. The small hotel room bore all the hallmarks of Ango Sakaguchi’s meticulous nature—papers stacked neatly on a desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey abandoned near the bed, and a faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

Oda’s gaze swept over the space, sharp and calculating. His years with the Port Mafia had trained him well, and his instincts were screaming that something wasn’t right. His eyes landed on the vent near the ceiling, the faintest disturbance in the paneling catching his attention.

A ventilation shaft?

Without hesitation, Oda approached, his boots soundless against the worn carpet. His movements were deliberate as he crouched to examine the vent. The screws had been tampered with, and a faint scuff mark betrayed recent activity. He reached up, carefully removing the panel, and his suspicions were confirmed.

A safe. Hidden inside the ventilation shaft.

The realization hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Ango’s secrets ran deep, but the lengths he’d gone to conceal this particular one spoke volumes.

Oda’s mind sharpened, and the familiar sensation of his ability, **Flawless**, coursed through him. For a moment, the world slowed, and his vision extended into the immediate future. Five seconds ahead, he saw it—a sniper’s bullet cutting through the air, aimed directly at him.

Without thinking, Oda’s body moved, jerking to the side with fluid precision. The bullet tore through the air where he had been standing, embedding itself in the wall with a dull thud. The room snapped back into real time, his pulse quick but steady.

A sniper. Across the street.

Oda’s thoughts raced as he pieced the situation together. Whoever was behind this wasn’t taking any chances. The safe wasn’t just a hiding spot; it was bait, and he’d nearly walked right into their trap.

He crouched lower, keeping his profile small as he scanned the window. The faint glint of a rifle scope across the street confirmed his suspicions. His sharp eyes picked out the silhouette of a figure in the shadows, their position carefully chosen for both concealment and a clear line of sight.

I need to neutralize them before they take another shot.

Oda pulled out his phone, his fingers moving quickly as he dialed. The line connected after the first ring.

“Oda. What a surprise. You so rarely call me.”

Dazai Osamu’s voice carried its usual tone of amusement, but Oda knew better than to be distracted by the surface charm. Beneath it lay a razor-sharp mind, always calculating, always watching.

“A sniper fired at me,” Oda said, his voice low but steady. “In Ango’s room.”

There was a brief pause on the other end.

“I’m going after him,” Oda continued, his tone clipped. “He’s across the street, in the building next to the second-hand bookstore.”

“Want me to cut off his escape route?” Dazai’s response came smoothly, as though he’d already anticipated the request.

Oda hesitated, his mind racing through the possibilities. He could handle the sniper, but the situation was larger than one shooter. The safe, the trap—it was all connected, and he didn’t know how far the web extended.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I have the silver oracle with me, so if you need—”

“No need,” Dazai interrupted, his voice calm, almost unnervingly so. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Wait for me to get there.”

Oda’s grip on the phone tightened. He trusted Dazai, but waiting wasn’t in his nature. There was too much at stake, and he didn’t intend to let the sniper slip away.

Before he could respond, a faint sound reached his ears—a footstep, light and deliberate, from the hallway outside.

“Don’t move,” Oda muttered to himself, his senses heightening further. Whoever was out there wasn’t just passing by. The sniper was one part of this operation, but someone else was already inside the hotel, moving closer.

They’re after the safe.

Oda’s jaw tightened. The realization hit him harder now, the pieces falling into place. Whatever was inside that safe was worth killing for, and the people behind this weren’t about to leave without it.

The room felt colder as Oda pressed his back against the wall, his breathing steady despite the rising tension. He listened, every sound amplified—the hum of the city outside, the faint creak of the floorboards under the approaching footsteps.

Whoever they are, they’re careful.

Oda stayed still, his mind racing through his options. He had the advantage of knowing their intentions, but he couldn’t afford to underestimate them.

The footsteps paused just outside the door. A faint shadow appeared under the crack, the figure lingering as though listening for movement. Oda held his breath, his muscles coiled like a spring.

Then came the faint click of the doorknob turning.

Oda moved without hesitation. In a single fluid motion, he flipped the nearby desk onto its side, creating a makeshift barrier as the door creaked open. A man stepped inside, dressed in dark clothing and holding a silenced pistol. His eyes scanned the room, narrowing as they landed on the overturned desk.

Oda didn’t give him the chance to react. He surged forward, his movements precise and controlled. His hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it sharply. The gun clattered to the floor as the man let out a grunt of pain.

The fight was over in seconds. Oda drove his elbow into the man’s temple, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Oda crouched, quickly searching the man’s pockets. A keycard and a folded piece of paper were his rewards. Unfolding the paper, he found a detailed sketch of the room, complete with notes about the safe’s location.

They’ve been planning this for a while.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a text from Dazai:

“I’ll find my little mouse soon.”

Oda froze, confusion flickering across his face. The words made no sense in the context of the situation. His brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.

Little mouse?

He glanced back at the safe. There was something more to this than he had anticipated, but Dazai’s cryptic words left him with more questions than answers.

Before Oda could respond, another message arrived from Dazai:

“Wait for me, Oda. Don’t do anything rash. This game’s just getting started.”

Oda exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. He glanced toward the safe, still hidden in the ventilation shaft.

Whatever’s inside, it’s not just for Ango.

Standing, he secured the room, his mind already calculating his next move. The game was far from over, and Dazai’s little mouse was still somewhere in the shadows. But for now, Oda was in control, and he would make sure that whoever was after the safe would not escape so easily.

The alley was cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of a distant streetlamp, casting long, haunting shadows against the brick walls. The city around her felt distant, muffled, as if the world had faded into a blur. Y/N leaned against the cool, rough surface of the wall, her mind swirling with confusion. The fragments of her memory were like shattered glass—sharp, painful, and impossible to piece back together. The effort was draining, each attempt to focus leaving her feeling more disoriented.

Why was she here? Where had she come from? Who was she?

She tried to ground herself, focusing on the cool breeze that whispered through the narrow alley, the distant hum of the city life blending with the rhythm of her scattered thoughts. But every attempt to grasp something solid slipped through her fingers like sand. The uncertainty gnawed at her, making her skin crawl.

And then, she felt it—hands suddenly grabbing her shoulders, spinning her around with brutal force. Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. Before she could react, her face was slammed against the wall, the rough texture scraping against her palms as she instinctively tried to brace herself. Her pulse surged, panic rising in her chest as a warm breath fanned against her neck. A shiver ran down her spine, her body instinctively trying to pull away, but the grip on her shoulders tightened, holding her in place.

"Found you," a low voice murmured in her ear, dripping with a mix of amusement and irritation. The voice was unmistakable—a smooth, almost kind cadence, but laced with an edge that spoke of something darker beneath the surface. Y/N's stomach twisted in recognition, even though her mind screamed that she had no reason to remember him.

Saigiku Jōno. The name echoed through her thoughts, his presence too familiar, yet she couldn’t grasp the full picture.

"I got rid of the two Port Mafia members who were tailing you," he continued, his voice now close enough to send a shiver through her. His hands lingered, one dangerously low, brushing just above her thigh, and her skin prickled with discomfort. "It wasn’t easy, you know. So, tell me—why haven’t you come back to the base? It’s been days."

Y/N's heart raced, her mind scrambling to find something, anything, to make sense of this moment. The weight of his body pressed against hers just enough to make escape feel impossible. Panic crawled up her spine, her throat tightening as she tried to force herself to remain calm. But the cold knot in her chest refused to loosen. She couldn’t let him know. She couldn’t let him see her weakness.

His breath fanned against her ear again, and she fought the urge to shudder. His presence was suffocating, but she couldn’t let him know she didn’t remember. Not yet.

With great effort, she turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. She kept her voice soft, her words trembling, feigning confusion as she whispered, "Who… who are you?"

Jōno’s movements froze, his hands halting their invasive descent. For a moment, there was silence, and Y/N’s heart thudded louder in her chest. He was studying her now, his grip tightening ever so slightly. Then, his voice dropped, quieter, almost... disbelieving.

“What?” he said, the surprise in his tone too real to mask. “Come on. Don’t play games with me.” His grip loosened just a fraction, and he leaned back slightly, giving her a small moment of space, but his eyes never left her. “This is one of your little tricks, isn’t it? Playing cat and mouse again?”

Y/N allowed her confusion to wash over her, her face the picture of vulnerability. She turned slowly to face him, eyes wide with genuine uncertainty. “I’m not playing anything,” she said softly, her voice almost fragile. “I… I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything.”

Jōno’s eyes searched her face, the sharpness of his gaze piercing through her act. For a long moment, he didn’t move, as though trying to gauge whether she was lying or not. His usually calm demeanor faltered, the edges of his confidence fraying. He stared at her for so long that Y/N could almost feel his thoughts twisting into knots. Then, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his hands fell away from her body.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice now soft but firm, like a man trying to hold on to something that was slipping through his fingers. “Stop messing around. It’s me. Jōno. You know who I am.”

His words should have reassured her, but all she felt was more confusion. Her pulse quickened as she shook her head, her voice trembling as she replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

Jōno’s expression shifted in a way that startled her. The cocky smirk he often wore melted away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable—a flicker of doubt, perhaps, or a pang of concern. His hands dropped to his sides as he stepped back, the distance between them growing, but the tension lingered.

“You’re serious,” he said softly, more to himself than to her, his gaze drifting downward for a moment. His brows furrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, as though his mind was trying to process something he couldn’t quite understand.

Y/N’s heart ached with uncertainty as she watched him struggle. She had no idea what was happening, but something in his voice made her feel like this moment meant more to him than it did to her. It was clear that whatever history they shared, it was significant to him.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Jōno looked as if he wanted to reach out again, his hand hovering near her arm, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Let’s get you somewhere safe," he said, his voice softening. "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

Y/N hesitated, her mind still a whirlwind of fragments and confusion. But something in his voice—the vulnerability there, the flicker of uncertainty—made her want to trust him, even though every instinct told her to run. She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

She had no choice but to follow him for now, even if she didn’t fully understand what she had just stepped into.

Jōno looked at her one last time, his expression unreadable, before he turned and started walking, his steps deliberate but cautious. Y/N followed, her mind a whirl of questions. She didn’t know what was coming next, but for the first time in a long while, she felt as though the pieces of her fractured memory might be beginning to align—just a little.

The tension in the room was thick, stifling, as Dazai, Oda, and a handful of Port Mafia operatives stood around the safe in Ango’s hotel room. The metallic box was small but intricately designed, its surface scratched and weathered, as though it had been passed around for years, touched by countless hands, each leaving a trace of their existence on its surface.

Oda, ever the calm professional, knelt beside the safe, his fingers brushing over the lock as he analyzed it with precision. “Allow me,” he said, his voice low but sure. His hands moved deftly, with practiced ease, slipping the lock open with a soft click before anyone had time to blink.

“Impressive as always,” Dazai remarked from his position by the wall, his arms folded casually over his chest. His smile, though faint, betrayed the admiration he held for Oda's skill, even if his usual carefree demeanor had momentarily slipped away. The situation was too delicate for games.

Oda opened the safe with a small tug. Inside, nestled in velvet-lined compartments, were two Grau Geist pistols, their vintage frames unmistakable, gleaming with a subdued brilliance that suggested their age and craftsmanship. But it was the other item in the safe that caught Dazai’s attention—a photograph.

Dazai moved before anyone else could react, stepping forward to retrieve the picture with deliberate slowness. His usual playful air was gone, replaced by something sharper, more intense. He held it in his hands with the reverence of someone holding something important, something potentially dangerous.

The photograph was old, its edges curling slightly with age. A woman, perhaps in her early twenties, lay sprawled across a bed, draped in nothing but a thin sheet that barely covered her body. The sheet clung to her form with the natural flow of a Grecian painting, the subtle curve of her waist and the smooth arc of her back accentuated by the gentle folds. Her face was partially obscured by the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, yet her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—seemed to pierce through the frame, as though they were looking directly at him. It was a gaze that sent a chill down his spine, familiar in a way that both unsettled and intrigued him.

Something about her stirred a flicker of recognition deep in his gut, a sense that he had seen her before—perhaps more than once. The memory tugged at him, elusive, like a fleeting dream that disappeared the moment you tried to grasp it. But he knew one thing for certain: this was no ordinary photo. It was a message, something deliberately placed for someone to find.

Dazai’s thumb brushed lightly over the corner of the photograph, the action almost absent-minded, but his eyes never left the image. He flipped the picture over with a slow, almost reluctant motion. Written in precise handwriting on the back were the words: *Creator: Y/N.*

At the mention of the name, Oda’s gaze snapped to Dazai, his expression unreadable, though his surprise was evident in the subtle tightening of his jaw. He had seen her too—the girl who had appeared during the skirmish last night, her eyes wide with fear, yet determined. The way she had managed to slip in and out of the chaos, unnoticed, had intrigued him. But now, seeing her photograph here, a more complex picture began to form.

Neither of them spoke immediately, the weight of the discovery hanging in the air like a thick fog, each man lost in his thoughts, yet neither willing to break the silence.

Dazai’s mind raced as he continued to study the photograph. The way she lay there, the thin sheet barely covering her, seemed almost too calculated—an image deliberately constructed to evoke something. Was it a warning? A gesture? Or perhaps a statement of power?

Oda’s voice broke through the stillness, quiet but firm. “It doesn’t explain why this was in Ango’s possession.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dazai replied, still studying the photograph, his voice slipping back into its usual playful tone, though his eyes betrayed the storm of thoughts raging behind them. His gaze lingered on Y/N’s image for a moment longer before he turned his attention to Oda. “But it does give us a new mystery to unravel.”

Oda’s frown deepened. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than they realized. The photograph seemed almost out of place here, but at the same time, it felt perfectly in line with the twisted games they were all caught up in. *Creator: Y/N*. What did that mean? What role did she play in all of this?

Dazai, seemingly oblivious to the weight of Oda’s thoughts, slipped the photograph into the inside pocket of his coat with a fluid motion. “For safekeeping,” he remarked with a wink, though no one in the room seemed particularly amused. Oda didn’t laugh. He couldn’t bring himself to.

“Let’s focus,” Oda said, his voice steady as he refocused on the rest of the safe’s contents. His hand lingered over the pistols, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He had seen the Grau Geist pistols before—they were not something you just stumbled upon. They were a mark of power, a statement. But what did it mean that they were hidden away like this, alongside the photograph? Who was trying to make a statement, and why was it tied to Ango?

Dazai stretched his arms over his head, his usual carefree demeanor creeping back into place. “Well then, let’s find Ango and see if he’s willing to talk. Shall we?”

Oda didn’t respond immediately. His mind was still reeling, the image of Y/N—her face, her gaze, that *creator* label—lingering in his thoughts. What was her connection to all of this? Why was she part of this intricate web of secrets and lies? And what had Ango gotten himself mixed up in?

As the group prepared to leave, Oda’s mind refused to settle. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the photograph was more than just an image. It was a message. A warning. And no matter how much they tried to focus on the more immediate issues, he knew that sooner or later, the girl in the photograph would become a key player in the dangerous game they were all entangled in.

Dazai, on the other hand, seemed content to keep his thoughts to himself. But Oda could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, his usual air of playful detachment hiding something far more calculating. Dazai wasn’t just playing along—he was always several steps ahead. And Oda had a feeling that whatever was happening with Y/N, Dazai already knew more than he was letting on.

The photograph, tucked safely in Dazai’s coat pocket, was a puzzle neither of them was ready to solve just yet. But it would come into play sooner rather than later. Oda was certain of that.

#yandere bsd #bsd x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #x reader #yandere x reader

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bbdulucknow · 2 months ago

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How Civil Engineering Courses Are Evolving with New Technology

Civil engineering is no longer just about bricks, cement, and bridges. It has become one of the most future-focused fields today. If you are planning to study civil engineering, you must understand how the course has evolved. The best civil engineering colleges are now offering much more than classroom learning.

You now study with technology, not just about it. And this shift is shaping your career in ways that were never possible before.

Technology is Changing the Civil Engineering Classroom

In the past, civil engineering courses relied on heavy theory and basic field training. Today, you learn through software, simulations, and smart labs. At universities like BBDU in Lucknow, classrooms are powered by tools like AutoCAD, Revit, STAAD Pro, and BIM.

These tools help you visualize structures, test designs, and even simulate natural forces.

You work on 3D modeling tools

You test designs virtually before real-world execution

You understand smart city layouts and green construction methods

This means your learning is hands-on, job-ready, and tech-driven.

You Learn What the Industry Actually Uses

Most construction and infrastructure companies now depend on digital tools to plan, design, and execute projects. This is why modern B.Tech Civil Engineering courses include:

Building Information Modelling (BIM)

Geographic Information Systems (GIS)

Remote Sensing Technology

Drones for land surveying

IoT sensors in smart infrastructure

Courses in colleges like BBDU include these topics in the curriculum. You do not just learn civil engineering. You learn the tools that companies expect you to know from day one.

The future of Civil Engineering is Data-Driven

You might not think of civil engineering as a data-heavy field. But now, big data is used to monitor structural health, traffic flow, and resource planning. Many universities have added data analysis and AI basics to help you understand how smart infrastructure works.

By learning how to handle real-time data from buildings or roads, you become more skilled and more employable.

Real-world exposure is Now Part of the Course

Good civil engineering colleges in Uttar Pradesh understand that you need industry exposure. Colleges like BBDU offer:

Internships with construction firms and government bodies

Industry guest lectures and site visits

Capstone projects linked to real problems

You are not just attending lectures. You are solving real-world construction challenges while still in college.

Why Choose BBDU for Civil Engineering?

In Lucknow, BBDU is one of the few private universities offering a modern civil engineering course with world-class infrastructure. You learn in smart labs, access tools used by top firms, and receive career counseling throughout the program.

Here’s what makes BBDU a smart choice:

Advanced labs and smart classrooms

Training in AutoCAD, STAAD Pro, BIM

Live projects and on-site construction learning

Career cell and placement support

Affordable fees and scholarships for deserving students

Civil Engineering is Still One of the Most Stable Careers

Reports show that India will spend over ₹100 lakh crores on infrastructure in the next few years. Roads, smart cities, renewable power plants, metros – all need civil engineers. And companies prefer students trained in construction technology, digital tools, and real-world planning.

So, if you're thinking about joining a course, look at how it prepares you for tomorrow.

The future of civil engineering is digital, and your education should be too. Choose a program that keeps up with the times. Choose a university that helps you build more than just buildings – it helps you build your future.

Apply now at BBDU – one of the most future-focused civil engineering colleges in Uttar Pradesh.

#Civil Engineering Courses #Engineering College #BBDU

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yesibleedmenstrualhygiene · 2 months ago

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YesIBleed Menstrual Hygiene Awareness Campaign launched by Union Minister-Maneka Gandhi

Union Minister for Women and Child Development Maneka Gandhi will launch a menstrual hygiene campaign in the national capital on February 20.

This campaign aims to create a holistic approach to menstruation, an experience that transcends culture, class, and caste. The United Nations has recognized menstrual hygiene as both a global public health issue and a human rights concern. However, millions of women and girls around the world continue to face “period poverty.”

The “#Yes I Bleed” campaign will officially roll out across multiple media platforms, including Facebook and YouTube.

Subodh Gupta, patron of SheWings and Director of Okaya Power Company, emphasized the importance of addressing menstrual hygiene. He pointed out that menstruation remains a taboo subject in India, making even women hesitant to discuss it openly. He stressed that menstruation is a natural physiological process and that there is nothing to be ashamed of. To break the myths surrounding menstruation and promote menstrual hygiene awareness, the #YesIBleed campaign was conceptualized. Union Minister Maneka Gandhi will formally launch this initiative on February 20.

When asked about his motivation to work in the menstrual health sector, Gupta explained that rural India struggles with both a lack of awareness and the inability to afford sanitary pads. He saw an opportunity to integrate ethical business practices with culturally sensitive education about menstruation. His goal is to foster social transformation and ecological awareness through every aspect of their work.

He also revealed a staggering statistic: only 12 percent of India’s 355 million menstruating women can afford sanitary protection. According to a Nielsen Survey, 23 percent of adolescent girls in the 12-18 age group drop out of school after reaching puberty due to inadequate menstrual protection. Even more concerning, 88 percent of menstruating women lack access to sanitary pads and resort to using unsanitized cloth, husk, sand, tree leaves, or even ash. These unhygienic practices can cause severe reproductive health issues, infections, and even cervical cancer.

Discussing the campaign’s execution, Gupta outlined both short-term and long-term goals. In the immediate future, the campaign seeks to break the silence surrounding menstruation and encourage open discussions. Over time, the initiative will spread awareness about menstrual health education among adolescents while facilitating conversations about menstruation. Additionally, the campaign will promote the use of affordable, eco-friendly sanitary pads and introduce proper disposal methods for used products.

Breaking the Silence: Promoting Menstrual Hygiene Through Awareness and Actio

The #YesIBleed campaign launches just two weeks after the release of the Bollywood film “Padman,” which has played a crucial role in bringing menstrual hygiene awareness to the public. The film, starring Akshay Kumar, Radhika Apte, and Sonam Kapoor, tells the real-life story of Arunachalam Muruganantham, who invented a low-cost sanitary pad machine to help rural women manage their periods safely.

The film has garnered widespread appreciation from actors, directors, and even Nobel Laureate Malala Yousafzai. Twinkle Khanna, the film’s producer, described “PadMan” as more than just a movie; she sees it as a movement. She hopes the film will empower women, ensuring that they no longer feel embarrassed or held back by their natural biology.

Radhika Apte, who plays the role of a village girl named Gayatri in “Padman,” raised an important question: “Daughters learn about periods from their mothers, so why can’t fathers talk about it too?” She stressed the need for people to recognize that menstrual hygiene is a matter of utmost importance.

Through initiatives like “#YesIBleed” and films like “Padman,” society can take meaningful steps toward breaking the stigma and ensuring that menstrual hygiene becomes a priority for all.

#menstrual products #menstrual cup #menstrual #menstrual cycle #menstrual health #YesIBleed

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needlesandnilbogs · 9 months ago

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for the ask game about fic backstory. i've only read one of your mirrorverse fics so you might have covered this somewhere, but i'm curious: how did mirror!mensah come to power?

okay so I have in fact written two fics in which some aspect of this is revealed but other than those two fics a lot of this is either in my head or scattered across discord (the timeline I was kinda keeping for a while has disappeared lol) so here goes trying to form it into a shortened-and-broad-strokes narrative:

(I can and will go into more depth about any of these parts. Just try me. also this feels very in-world-document-y but that wasn't totally on purpose) (it's long so it gets a read more)

The Alliance Period (Salvation Pre-Empire)

The Salvation Alliance was founded nearly 200 years ago, by a group of colonists escaping the Corporate Empires and the constant war. They settled on a lush planet near two already-inhabited planets in the same system, and their ship, the Salvation, became the first station.

Within a year, they had so cowed their neighbors that the rest of the system fell easily under the banner of the Salvation Alliance and the promise of peace and an end to the corporates.

One of the small group of leaders, Consuela Makeba, protested this decision, but her speech went largely ignored. It certainly did not appeal to the newly formed Salvation Council, who had her imprisoned and executed as the Alliance's first traitor.

The Salvation Council was an oligarchy, though they liked to pretend they weren't. A few seats were won, here and there, by young progressive candidates who had grand dreams of changing everything, but for hundreds of years, the status quo remained set. A place to live and food for all, just as in another universe, but contingent on the understanding that if you were not working for Salvation's benefit, you didn't deserve more than the very barest of minimums.

One of these young upstart progressives was Dr. Ayda Mensah, a charismatic and well-known exoecologist who was quickly elected to her local governing council, and a few years later to the Salvation Council.

The Coup

Dr. Mensah, it must be understood, had been planning since the instant she'd been elected to her local council, if not earlier. She wanted power, and she didn't care who stood in her way.

She was methodical about it; quiet convincing where possible, the sort of thing nobody would dare call her out on. Bribery, blackmail, siccing her good friend the up and coming prosecutor Pin-Lee on them, all those little ways of influencing votes in her favor.

Within three years after her appointment to the council, she'd amassed enough of a power base to be appointed Planetary Administrator, head of the council for the term. At this point, she and her partners had a two-year-old child and another on the way, which certainly had an impact on her re-election campaign strategies.

A few months into her second year as Planetary Administrator and fourth year on the council, she was on a survey with a handful of other members of the SalvationAux survey team, mostly flunkies and interns (and, of course, the Chief Prosecutor of the Salvation Alliance, there because of course Pin-Lee wasn't letting Mensah go alone), when things went to heck.

The only reason they survived at all was the actions of rogue EnforcerUnit Saviorbot, who saved the whole survey team. In gratitude (and because it was such a useful thing, to have a friend with guns in its arms), Mensah and Pin-Lee arranged to purchase it and free it. It followed them back to Salvation, and became Mensah's constant bodyguard and close confidant.

Within a year, several people took offense to the centralization of power and the existence of an EnforcerUnit on Salvation, and began a pitiful rebellion which announced itself with rioting at the Oakepark Factory Complex, an event which is still marked as a solemn tragedy by many. (A certain Makeba Rebellion, it and its leader named for Consuela Makeba's protest speech, celebrates this day as a sign of victory, and notes that there were zero deaths and less than a dozen casualties, which the Empire tends to brush over in favor of the tragic reduction in production capacities.)

Things continued on with a sort of stalemate for a while, Administrator Mensah continuing to ensure the council complied and the rebellion continuing to try to depose her, until Saviorbot discovered transmissions from a rebel cell linked to both the rebellion's spymaster Hope and one Councilmember Sonje.

Mensah and Pin-Lee and Saviorbot, in an attempt to centralize power even further, decided enough was enough. After a devastating rebel attack on the council, which just so happened to kill the biggest opponents to a unilateral power grab, Mensah ordered the council dissolved and all administration to run through her office.

Within a week, she was crowned as Salvation's first Empress, with her partners crowned as Queen- and Monarch-Consort and her seven-year-old eldest daughter given the title of Crown Princess Amena. In deference to the age of her children (seven and five, at the time), Mensah named Solicitor Pin-Lee, who was already the Chief Prosecutor, the next in the line of succession, and bestowed upon her the title of the Hand of the Law; in turn, Saviorbot was granted the title of Chief Enforcer and given responsibility for the security of the newly-renamed Salvation Empire.

(Side note, part of how Mensah kept control over the ex-councilmembers was by offering each of them and many other politicians a guaranteed position for them in the new administration. Some of these positions, for those with children, are now considered inherited positions, meaning it's guaranteed to be passed down to their children, and others aren't, so when people eventually retire from non inherited positions, those posts will be filled by other children of government officials who Mensah thinks will do well there. She's basically going back to nepotism and hereditary nobility as a way to keep those people from joining the rebellion. Meanwhile her strategy for dealing with the broader populace is pretty much ensuring they have everything they need, propagandizing the heck out of everything, and creating opportunities for advancement into administrative positions that can be used as rewards for the most loyal. Textbook bread and circuses plus carrots and sticks.)

The first main mirrorverse story, Preservation, picks up about eight years since that coup, which is also four years since the martyr Tradition died, and the second and third main stories take place over the next two years. At the point the fourth story starts, it's been about ten and a half years since the coup, in which time court politics have become exponentially more complicated as people vie for Mensah's favor. (She encourages this. Plotting against each other means that they aren't plotting against her.) Also, Amena's almost a legal adult by the third and fourth stories, which means she's almost old enough to actually take over if Mensah can't rule somehow.

#murderbot mirrorverse #murderbot #fanfic #this reminds me -- do you want a ping into the mirrorverse thread on discord #and/or a catchup summary of what's happened between the first fic and “present day”#you have no idea how hard it is not to spoil certain things that you don't know yet cause you've only read the first one #and the one from the read along #also wow this turned out long but it's also the first significant thoughts I've had about mirrorverse in close to two weeks #I am a little demotivated about it rn #(partially school is stressy and partially nobody else has tossed ideas around with me about mirrorverse in ages so I feel awkward)#this is an open invitation to anyone who wants a summary of mirrorverse to ask and I will provide (up to whatever starting point you'd like #or just jump in you can get the gist of things that way too #I'm so behind on posting it to ao3 also also lol

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goldentigerfestival · 6 months ago

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the main thing that I miss in the 360 version of Vesperia is Flynn's role as being such an important character, a main character, but who is an unplayable main character. he literally had the same role as Claire save for a single battle he would join you in with Yuri and Repede. otherwise, his role is basically like Claire's. she the main heroine and a major character - heck, she is the plot for most of the game. but she's an NPC, and not with your party for most of the time.

I just rly love it bc it highlights Claire's importance all the time, but she didn't have to be playable for it. Flynn literally was that. I don't hate his role in the remake! I just think it's a rly strong method of writing, esp for Tales, to have such a central character not even be in your main group but still have the same level of, if not more, impact.

I know the execution scene is SUPER super popular in the JP fandom, but I think the fact that it's stood the test of time again and again and in 2024 has still been ranked the top Rebirth scene is very telling of how people view Claire/her role in the story. similarly, Flynn and Yuri at Aurnion won for top ranked scene in Vesperia. and, ngl, I voted for the execution scene in that survey too LMAO (and Flynn and Yuri's Aurnion scene). it's been a REEEEEALLY long time since I first went through Rebirth. I'd say around at least fifteen years now. that scene always stuck with me. Mao is my favorite Rebirth character, but I will always consider that the best scene in Rebirth.

I don't wanna get too into that specific scene bc it'd make this post be more about how amazing Claire is and how you should all play Rebirth or watch it on YT, but... that scene to me is very very very similar to Flynn's scene of giving orders to the knights who are a loss without a commandant and being pushed back and defeated. He gives them hope and courage, with Yuri looking on.

Claire is trying to give ppl hope and inspiration in the face of knowing she's about to get executed, while Veigue is looking on, because ppl don't realize she's not the person they think she is. but she doesn't even mention it. she doesn't try to argue with them bc she knows she won't be believed. she accepts her fate, even when it's death staring her in the face, and instead chooses to use her presumed final moments to give a speech in hopes that people will reconcile and see past their hatred. Veigue immediately realizes it's her from her speech, sort of like how Yuri feels pride as he watches Flynn and sees Flynn finally being the best he can be. they both give speeches to inspire and give courage.

Flynn sees chaos and brings everyone together. Claire sees chaos in the form of bigotry and hatred and brings everyone together (or at least to plant the seeds, or we'd be down a plot lol). Flynn is fighting so hard for equality despite being an NPC. Claire is fighting so hard for equality despite being an NPC. their roles are practically identical, except that Claire's not a fighter.

Flynn and Claire have nearly identical roles and positions in the story (including being the most precious person to the main character, and the main character essentially chasing their trail for portions of the game). like I said, I don't dislike Flynn being playable and all that in the remake (which eventually got re-released as DE), but I feel like the impact of his role had a stronger stance in the 360 version? they very rarely give you an NPC in Tales with that level of impact (even Alisha in Zestiria doesn't get that level of impact, and she's somewhere in the middle of what Flynn and Claire were).

anyway flynn and claire deserved to have crossover content in the gacha games and deserved to get along and be close friends and aaaaAAAAAAA.

i might be putting claire on a pedestal, but that woman is a goddess. but then again, yuri kinda puts flynn on a pedastal too, so i think im well within my rights.

#GTF Things #GTF Rebirth Things #GTF Vesperia Things #i love claire bennett tales of rebirth thanks for being here for my ted talk

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justinspoliticalcorner · 8 months ago

Text

Ellen Ioanes at Vox:

Come Tuesday night, millions of Americans will be glued to their TV screens or refreshing their browser windows to see the latest election returns, all in anticipation of a final race call. (Though we might not know the next president until days later.)

Counting ballots can take a while, but news organizations don’t necessarily need to wait for every cast ballot to be counted before announcing a winner. They’re often able to declare who won without the full returns, thanks to the work of teams colloquially known as “decision desks” — groups of political scientists, statisticians, pollsters, and reporters who use mountains of data, statistical models, and on-the-ground reporting to understand which candidate is up where, and how likely a candidate is to win a given precinct, county, or state. Given the doubt that former President Donald Trump has sown over the past eight years, both about the election process and the media, it’s worth understanding in detail how the processes of projecting and calling election results work, and why consumers of news should trust those results. “Remember that we don’t elect anybody,” Anthony Salvanto, who as CBS News’s executive director of elections and surveys, oversees the network’s decision desk, told Vox. “The voters do that. Elections officials are reporting the vote, and what you’re getting from us and the networks is our analysis of what they’ve reported, as well as our first-hand reports from talking to voters.”

How exactly do news organizations figure out who’s winning?

To figure out who won an election, news organizations like Fox News, CNN, the Associated Press (AP), and others use a combination of data from election officials, statistical modeling, and polling and surveys of voters. Raw vote counts come in at the precinct, county, and state levels, and these help decision desks both ensure voting is in line with their expectations and to make decisions on tight contests. Those expectations are shaped by statistical models based on history and other voter information, like geographical location, gender, age, and more.

This year, there are two main systems that news media will rely on for their projections. The AP and Fox News use a system called AP VoteCast, which debuted in 2018 and has been used in every national election since. In a shift from past practice, VoteCast doesn’t rely on exit polling, and instead uses large-scale online surveys of registered voters who are chosen randomly from a probability-based sample, in an attempt to get the most accurate information from the most representative sample.

A different method is used by the National Election Pool (NEP), which provides data to ABC News, CBS News, CNN, and NBC News. The NEP relies on Edison Research to conduct three types of surveys: Election Day exit polls, in-person early voting exit polls, and polls of likely voters to capture data from those likely to vote by mail, Rob Farbman, executive vice president at Edison Research, told Vox. (AP and Fox News used to be part of this group, but left after the 2016 election.) (Decision Desk HQ, a private company that contracts with news organizations including the Economist and The Hill — and Vox.com in 2020 — doesn’t use voter surveys, and instead it relies on a proprietary statistical methodology to project winners.) Each outlet and agency creates their own criteria for interpreting these results.

News organizations have their own decision desk teams that determine when a state or a district can be called to determine that the leading candidate is 100% assured of winning.

In 2020, the Presidential election winner was called on Saturday after the election at just before 10:30AM CST.

How long do we have to wait for a winner to be officially declared this time? Who knows, but hopefully within a couple of days.

#2024 Presidential Election #2024 Elections #Election Administration #Elections #AP VoteCast #National Election Pool #Decision Desk HQ #DDHQ #Edison Research

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discar · 1 year ago

Text

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 50 (Eclipse omake) | Prev chapter Chapter Index

ChosenOfTheSun: Rise and greet the Sun, for it is a new dawn!

FavoredOfTheSun17: And a beautiful dawn it is!

PlumageOfTheSun8: [ANewDay.jpg]

ChosenOfTheSun: And what is that supposed to be, Kestrel? You had work to be about.

PlumageOfTheSun8: My team executed the attack and killed the heretics exactly as instructed, Lord Helis! The Sun saw fit to bless our victory with the timely arrival of this beautiful dawn!

ChosenOfTheSun: Very good. Continue on, then. Victory under the Sun.

PlumageOfTheSun8: Victory under the Sun!

ChosenOfTheSun: Sylens. Have you received the latest shipment of Focuses?

Sylens: Indeed. Many are damaged beyond my ability to repair, but I should have another dozen ready within the week.

ChosenOfTheSun: Slow.

Sylens: We are all limited to the light the Sun grants us.

ChosenOfTheSun: Do not mimic words you do not understand, outlander.

ChosenOfTheSun: Is no one else awake? Where are my reports?

FavoredOfTheSun10: Lord Helis, my men are reporting that the tests with the corruptors was a full success. We can maintain any number of machines indefinitely.

ChosenOfTheSun: Excellent. How are our numbers of corruptors?

FavoredOfTheSun10: Still low. However, we have had no losses after the first incident with the thunderjaw. We are keeping to weaker machines for now, but I anticipate moving on to more dangerous ones soon.

ChosenOfTheSun: Acceptable.

ChosenOfTheSun: Oseram. What is the progress on finding more dig sites?

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: I think I've found a few.

ChosenOfTheSun: SIR.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Yes, of course. I think I've found a few, sir.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: I'll need more time to be sure, though.

ChosenOfTheSun: You always seem to need more time. Perhaps we should see how much time your family has left.

PlumageOfTheSun28: I am ready at your order, my lord!

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: No, please, I promise I am working as fast as I can. Expeditions cost money, as you know, and there is only so much I can get out of the Sun-King.

ChosenOfTheSun: The FALSE Sun-King!

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Of course, sir! I apologize, I have spent too long among the traitors. I have to be careful with my words around them.

ChosenOfTheSun: Perhaps. Though perhaps we can make do without you and your whining after all.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: EVEN THE BLIND MAY REFLECT THE SUN'S LIGHT.

ChosenOfTheSun: You are correct, as usual. Even an Oseram has a use.

ChosenOfTheSun: Now, where are the rest of my reports?

----

Direct Message (@ RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson])

Sylens: I have questions about your survey methods.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: What are you doing? How are you doing this? I thought I couldn't recieve private messages.

Sylens: I have special permissions. Regardless, I have some interest in archeology. Are you using Carja cartographical methods, or Oseram?

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Uh, Oseram. Well, Carja for the larger maps, since they're better at that. But Oseram methods are better at the smaller scale, to map the individual dig sites.

Sylens: Indeed. How are you finding the ancient machines? I have looked over your previous dig sites, and I have difficulty spotting a pattern. Other than the fact that they appear to be distant from any existing settlements.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: That's actually Helis' request. He doesn't want to attract attention. There are a couple places I suspect are large caches, but they're too close to towns.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: I mostly look for out of the way sites. These machines usually aren't found in major ruins, like the metal towers. They're more often the only thing of interest in the area. So when one of Avad's survey teams spots something, but don't think it's likely to be important, I inform the Shadow Carja.

Sylens: I see. So you are using the work of others to make up for your own shortcomings.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: The Shadow Carja don't have the manpower to map out the wilds.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: I'm sorry, why are you asking me this? Helis knows all of this. You could just ask him.

Sylens: Lord Helis has better things to do with his time than indulge my curiosity.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: ...you're not afraid of him?

Sylens: I am cautious of him. But he is a known quantity. So no, I am not afraid of him.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Then, could you help me?

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Not me, my family.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: If you can get them out, I would be forever in your debt. I would remain working with you, since of course you and the Shadow Carja share the same goals, but if you could somehow convince Helis to give them up, I would be so much more motivated.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: ...hello?

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: [You have a restricted account, and may not send or recieve private messages. Please contact your administrator for more details.]

----

ChosenOfTheSun: Vezreh, I still do not have your report.

ChosenOfTheSun: Vezreh!

ChosenOfTheSun: He should not still be asleep. The Sun has been shining for hours now. He is not one for indolence.

Sylens: He is likely out of range. Didn't you say you were sending him to Sunfall?

ChosenOfTheSun: Indeed. This is quite frustrating.

Sylens: I am well aware. However, options are limited.

ChosenOfTheSun: Yes. For now, we will keep our forces centralized, to ensure we are all in range of communications.

FavoredOfTheSun5: Lord Helis, I do not mean to speak out of turn, but remember that we require constant communication with the Oseram delver. If we lose touch, he may falsely believe he can escape.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: You do know I'm still a part of this conversation?

FavoredOfTheSun5: I was not speaking to you.

Sylens: Do I need to show you how to use private messages again?

FavoredOfTheSun5: The words of the Sun shall be heard in the light of day!

Sylens: I am unsure of the context of that quote.

ChosenOfTheSun: Remind me again why we must continue to use outlander filth instead of strong Carja warriors.

PlumageOfTheSun12: The glory of the True Carja shines too brightly for even the traitors to miss!

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: The last spy you sent into Meridian got caught in less than a day because he was yelling about the glory of the Carja in Shadow.

ChosenOfTheSun: And how would you know this, Oseram? Perhaps you set him up.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: My lord, I would not contradict you. Of course, you remember I was at a dig site with you at the time.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Erend Vanguardsman told me the story over drinks once I got back.

FavoredOfTheSun5: Which one is Erend? The drunk one?

FavoredOfTheSun17: They're all drunk.

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Erend is the brother to the captain of the guard.

ChosenOfTheSun: Outlanders guarding the false king in our most sacred halls... at this rate, the entire city will have to be burned to purge it of corruption.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: LOOK TO THE SUN. DO NOT SHIELD YOUR EYES. IN ALL THINGS, IT IS ABSOLUTE. ONE DAY IT NURTURES LIFE, AND THE NEXT, SCORCHES LIFE AWAY. IT BURNS THE SKIN OF CHAMPIONS AND WRETCHES ALIKE. NEVER DOES THE SUN SHOW PITY.

ChosenOfTheSun: Wise words that we should all remember.

Sylens: If I recall correctly, that quote was referring to a prophet who starved in the desert.

ChosenOfTheSun: Silence, Sylens.

FavoredOfTheSun5: Excellent jest, Lord Helis!

ChosenOfTheSun: What jest?

FavoredOfTheSun5: Uh, never mind. I spoke out of turn.

FavoredOfTheSun17: I thought it was a good one.

ChosenOfTheSun: I believe you two have work to do.

FavoredOfTheSun5: Yes, Lord Helis!

FavoredOfTheSun17: Yes, Lord Helis!

ChosenOfTheSun: I will plan for keeping our forces in as constant contact as possible. Do not bother me until nightfall.

----

Direct message (@ Sylens)

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: SYLENS. I HAVE TAUGHT YOU MUCH. YOU ARE ALWAYS EAGER.

Sylens: You have more for me?

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: INFORMATION ON QUANTUM PROCESSING. ADVANCED SCIENCE EVEN IN THE OLD WORLD. YOU ARE UNLIKELY TO FIND INTACT ARCHIVES.

Sylens: Very well. What do you want in return?

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: EXPAND THE RANGE OF THE FOCUSES. I AM SURE THAT YOU HAVE ALREADY BEEN CONSIDERING THE PROBLEM.

Sylens: I suppose I should be honored by the compliment.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: YES.

Sylens: Very well. I will need materials.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: ALL THAT THE ECLIPSE HAS WILL BE AT YOUR DISPOSAL.

Sylens: I require a Tallneck.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: A HEAVYWEIGHT COMMUNICATION/RECON CLASS MACHINE. YES. THIS WILL HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED AND MORE. DESTRUCTION OR CAPTURE WILL BE DIFFICULT. THEY ARE EXTENSIVELY HARDENED AGAINST ALL FORMS OF ATTACK. EVEN A DEDICATED ASSAULT BY A FAS-ACA3 SCARAB IS UNLIKELY TO TAKE CONTROL FOR LONG.

Sylens: Oh? I know that they are almost impervious to physical harm, but I did not now they were hardened against digital and nanite assault.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: I DO NOT HAVE INFORMATION ON DESIGN CHOICES. I WILL NOT SPECULATE.

Sylens: Very well. Regardless, they are peaceful machines. It should not be difficult to capture one, though it will not be a trivial matter.

ADMIN [BuriedShadow]: ALL THAT THE ECLIPSE HAS WILL BE AT YOUR DISPOSAL.

----

ChosenOfTheSun: Night falls, and the Sun sleeps!

FavoredOfTheSun17: Glory to the Sun!

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Do you have to do this EVERY night?

ChosenOfTheSun: Is there a problem, outlander?

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: No, sir. Apologies, sir.

PlumageOfTheSun89: Even an Oseram has to see the beauty in THIS!

PlumageOfTheSun89: [DuskMesa.jpg]

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Actually, yes, that IS beautiful.

PlumageOfTheSun89: Thank you!

ChosenOfTheSun: If I recall, you had a mission on that mesa, Kestrel.

PlumageOfTheSun89: Don't worry, I killed the Utaru workers who were scouting out a new field! Mission accomplished.

ChosenOfTheSun: An excellent way to end the day. Victory under the Sun!

PlumageOfTheSun89: Victory under the Sun!

FavoredOfTheSun17: Victory under the Sun!

FavoredOfTheSun5: Victory under the Sun!

RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson]: Victory under the Sun.

----

Direct Message (@ RESTRICTED [OlinDelverson])

Sylens: Don't encourage them.

Chapter 50 (Eclipse omake) | Prev chapter Chapter Index

#horizon #horizon zero dawn #hzdbasechat #horizon forbidden west #sylens #carja eclipse #helis

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