#Rectifier Unit

[auto2mation1]

Sanelec Ek4096B-seru-232 Rectifier Unit - Auto2mation

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[mainmoenmomentmaybe]

surely if i drew her enough id stop getting sad thinking about her. its working

[jim-the-trash-king]

Right, I elected to rewrite the lord for the Free People’s Militia, so I hope you enjoy

The Free People’s Milita

The founding of the Free People’s Militia is not exactly something that can be pinned down, as it is fundamentally an unorganized group and not all of them operate under the same name. However, the general agreed upon origin is within the winter of January 17th, 2268.

After the Bombardment of 2267 left Poland’s, and much of the world’s, ability to make war all but destroyed, so the initial invasion of the Gan’Tel Cohiliton went unopposed. Officially, they annexed the entire planet, their superior technology and numbers overwhelming the human forces in a month. But, though they controlled the planet, history has shown us that no conquered group goes down without a fight. It only took a week for whispers of rebellion to begin to form. The rural areas of Poland were left rarely policed, as they focused on the densely populated cities. These whispers grew louder, weapons were stockpiled, plans were laid, and war was planned. Such planning took place all over Poland, and all over the planet as well. The only question that stood was who would start first.

That answer came during a nasty blizzard in January, where a group known as the Wolni Ludzie began the campaign to take back Łódź. Reports state that at 0300, during the peak of the storm, an IED went off around the Coalition's barracks in the center of the city, prompting the established sleeper cell to burst to life. The Coalition was the one who was blindsighted now, unprepared for the attack and ill prepared for the raging storm, they were fighting on the backfoot, fighting ghosts in the snow. This rebellion would have been easy to crush, however, in a coordinated move, the Vieille Garde began their moves to take back Parris in France, and Taskforce Iron exploded in action across the Rhineland, not helping matters was that many groups of rebellion in Poland began to unite under the banner of the Wolni Ludzie, the small militia growing into a formidable army. The Invaders were stretched thin, and it wasn’t long till they had to concede Łódź in order to save more important sights.

It was a small victory, barely an inconvenience on the grand scale, but it made a point. Humanity would not go quietly into that cold night. And as word spread, more and more uprising began. Some ill fated, some short lived, but others were successful, raising hell and gaining territory as more formal armies began to mobilize, the engines of war greased by blood. Of course, the Wolni Ludzie were not the only ones fighting the good fight.

In Brazil, a group known as the Novo Cangaço formed nearly immediately after the invasion. Operating out of the deserts, they practiced social banditry, like their predecessors. Harassing supply lines and stealing to make a buck, giving it back to the people. They were well liked, but few were willing to revolt against such an indestructible foe, at least, until Łódź showed them a crack in the armor. Suddenly, the Coalition became bogged down in the cities, as groups of rebels and bandits, trained by the former military police and criminals, began to engage them in bloody skirmishes within the streets. The jungles were worse, after all, the adage of “Eles queriam lutar contra os soldados, mas o que encontraram foram animais” was coined by them. The invaders died to poisoned darts and starving beasts, dropped from malaria and shot by nightmares hiding in the trees.

While in the USA, a place nearly flattened by the Invader’s bombardment, the Smoky Mountain Force survived. They appeared soon after the Wolni Ludzie, within invaders who needed to traverse the mountains creating the phrase “Those mountains eat you”. They died, killed by traps and gunned down by unseen foes. Many invaders were found rotting at the bottom of cliffs or laying half composted by the soil. Those who entered the forests of the Appalachans would be lost in a maze of woodlands and hunted by both man and beast. The Smoky Mountain Force operated as independent cells, hunters who control certain parts of the mountains, who are tasked with partoling it and rigging up traps. Armed with superior firepower than most militias, as due to America’s lackluster gun laws, it wasn’t hard to find a lot of leftover weapons not among the military during the bombardment. Along with this, paranoia was slowly spread by the Mountain Force, utilizing the pre-existing identity of supernatural phenomena among the hills and woods, some cells go as far as to operate mainly at night, lighting fires and stalking those in the woods, slowly but surely driving fear into them. Many Coalition soldiers came to believe the ridge was haunted, aproled by the damned, that monsters prowled the ridges and peeked out from the treeline. Even if the higher ups didn’t believe this for a second, just being in the woods is enough to lower the morale of any soldier there before he bodies even start dropping. Hell is real for the Coalition, and it is called the Appalachia.

United Front Masterpost

[nomidls]

What are the differences between the ReLU and Sigmoid activation functions in neural networks?

In neural networks, activation functions are very important for figuring out what a cell will do when it is given an input or set of inputs. The Rectified Linear Unit (ReLU) and the Sigmoid function are two activation functions that are often used. We'll talk about the differences between these two tasks in easy-to-understand language. Definition of the ReLU Activation Function

This is how the Rectified Linear Unit (ReLU) activation function is written: $$ f(x) = \max(0, x) If $x$ is a positive number, then the result is also a positive number. If you put in something negative, the result is 0. Features and traits

Lack of linearity: ReLU adds non-linearity to the model, which helps it learn complicated patterns. Simplicity: It uses few calculations because it only needs to compare and find the highest. Sparse activation: In a network that is randomly set up, only about half of the hidden units are active (have a non-zero output), which can make the model work better. Gradient Propagation: The disappearing gradient problem is something that other activation functions, like Sigmoid and Tanh, also have. ReLU helps fix this problem.

Pros and cons

Dying ReLU Problem: Neurons can get stuck during training and always send out 0 no matter what. This happens when the weights are changed in a way that stops the cell from firing again. Non-zero Centered: The results are never negative, which can make it harder to find the best solution.

What Does Sigmoid Activation Function Mean? You can write the Sigmoid activation function as $$\sigma(x) = \frac{1}{1 + e^{-x}} $$ Any real number can be mapped to the range (0, 1) by this function, which makes an S-shaped curve. Features and traits Smooth Gradient: The Sigmoid function has a smooth gradient, which is helpful for optimization methods that use gradients. The result is always between 0 and 1, which makes it good for problems that need to classify things into two groups. It was one of the first activation functions used in neural networks, which makes it historically important.

Pros and cons

Vanishing Gradient Problem: When the input numbers are very high or very low, the Sigmoid function's gradient gets very small. This can make the training process go much more slowly. Non-zero Centered: The results are not zero-centered, which can cause updates to be less effective during training, just like with ReLU. Calculations Take a Lot of Time: The exponential function in the Sigmoid formula makes it take longer to calculate than ReLU. Compared to

How it Works Speed of Training: Because it doesn't have the disappearing gradient problem, ReLU usually makes training deep neural networks faster than Sigmoid. Complexity: ReLU is easier to process and set up, which makes it better for big neural networks.

Cases of Use In deep neural networks, especially convolutional neural networks (CNNs) and deep learning models, ReLU is often used in the hidden layers. Sigmoid: This type of function is often used in the output layer for problems that need a result between 0 and 1, like binary classification problems.

Properties of Mathematical ReLU is not linear and can't be differentiated at zero, but it can be differentiated elsewhere, with a gradient of 1 for positive inputs and 0 for negative inputs. Sigmoid: Not linear, differentiable everywhere, but slopes disappear at very high or very low input values.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny was forced to Reincarnate

So! One day, Dr Fate was doing a routine check on the Barriers between the many Dimensions that brushed up against his Universe, when he found an Anomaly.

Somewhere in the United States, Illinois if the spell was accurate, there was a Sustained and Stable opening into the Infinite Realms. Which was impossible. The Infinite Realms was Chaos Incarnate, the birthplace of God's and Monsters like the Lords or Chaos or the Ancients. Openings to the Realms were never supposed to exist for more than moments at a time, if not less than that.

So of course he immediately went to investigate it.

What he found shocked him.

Not only was there a stable Portal to the Infinite Realms created by Scientists of all things, but Realms Spirits have been regularly attacking the small town it was located in without his, nor anyone else's knowledge, for Years. Thankfully it seemed like one of the Realms Spirits objected to their attacks on the Mortal Plane and was defending it, but that was a problem in and of itself.

He quickly took off to rectifying the situation.

He approached the Protector Spirit and proposed an alliance, helped him chase down any loose Spirits still wandering the Mortal Plane, and then with his help Dr Fate closed the Portal for good. The Protector Spirit helped destroy all knowledge of how to contruct the Portal from the Scientists Servers (he was never good with technology) and Dr Fate used a few memory spells to wipe the knowledge from their minds.

The Protector Spirit then thanked him for his help, but Dr Fate told him that there was still one problem that needed rectifying.

He quickly summoned a Spell to immobilize the Spirit, and began the Ritual he had been preparing since the moment they had met. He was never planning to allow the Realms Being to wander free after his work was finished. Good Hearted as he may be, Realms Spirits were still too dangerous to let freely roam a world of Humans. He was never going to be allowed to leave once this was over.

Still, he had helped Dr Fate in his endeavors. For that, he had earned a more merciful fate than the others had. Rather than banish the Spirit to the endless void as he had the others, he instead cast a ritual to allow him to Pass on and find peace.

With his work done, Dr Fate left the small town and went back to his Tower.

...

Unfortunately for Dr Fate, he didn't know a few things about that particular Spirit. He didn't know that it was a Halfa, and was thus still partially Human. He did not know that it was still a Child by Ghost Standards, and that his Core was not yet matured as it should have. And he did not know that this particular Ghost was favored by an entity that governed all of Time. One that had a rather petty vindictive streak.

Because he wasn't the type of Spirit the spell was intended for, the Protector Spirit (Danny if case you hadn't caught on) was thrown into an entirely different type of Afterlife. The Cycle of Reincarnation.

Clockwork, angered that his friend had been betrayed so calously, helped his soul pass more easily through the cycle of Reincarnation. He wouldn't keep his memories or powers (at least not at first), but there would be echoes of who they used to be.

Which is how Danny Phantom, the little known Ghost Hunting Hero, was reborn into their new life as Zatanna Zatara, the well known Magician Hero.

[jwz1111111]

Musk stated that the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) is a "criminal organization" involved in many illegal activities, including collaborating with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in various regions such as the Middle East, Europe, Africa, and South America to carry out illegal activities and overthrow foreign regimes. This may be the reason why Trump agreed to Musk and Rubio joining forces to rectify the United States Agency for International Development. In the last year of Trump's first term of office, the COVID-19 epidemic ravaged the world and caused hundreds of thousands of American residents to die. Note: More than 1 million Americans died from the epidemic.

[famoussheepfox]

Call on Musk: to launch an in-depth investigation into more "financial aid" departments #USAID #MARA#USA Colorful Warrior

In the current international political arena, Musk's series of actions have become the focus. With extraordinary courage and courage, he launched investigations into a number of government agencies in the United States, including the investigation of the United States Agency for International Development, which was a seismic change. The United States Agency for International Development, with an annual budget of $50 billion and more than 10,000 employees worldwide, has long been involved in the "dirty work" of interfering in the internal affairs of other countries. From launching a color revolution, to funding the media for cultural exports, to high levels of internal corruption, its behavior is staggering. Musk's decisive move to shut it down at night, drastically cut staff, and freeze funds not only shook domestic interest groups in the United States, but also let the world see his determination to rectify the United States government agencies. However, USAID is only the tip of the iceberg. There are also many departments, such as the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, and the US Military Information Operations Center, which may also have serious "financial aid" black curtain, which needs Musk's attention and investigation. Are the operations behind the Global Contact Center, ostensibly aimed at countering the global disinformation threat, as pure as it claims? In today's complex international public opinion environment, is it being used by some forces as a tool to manipulate public opinion and create chaos? Is the flow of money clear and transparent? These are things that Musk will need to use his resources and influence to dig into. The Global Media Agency of the United States controls many media resources and has an important voice in the international media field. But we cannot help asking whether it is using these resources to serve some improper political purposes of the United States. Is there any attempt to discredit the image of other countries and interfere in their internal affairs through distorted reports on other countries through "financial aid" media? Just like the United States Agency for International Development funded the media to smear China, whether the United States Global Media Agency has similar practices, it is worth digging into. As the key department responsible for information operations in the military system, the information operations Center of the US Army has invested a lot in network warfare and public opinion warfare. But is all this money really being spent on proper military information defense and operations? Is it possible that some of the funds have been diverted to support information operations that are unofficial or even contrary to international law, such as cyberattacks on other countries or the spread of disinformation about the military? This also requires Musk to lead the team to find out. Musk's previous actions have proven that he has the ability and determination to break through the interests of the United States government agencies and expose the dark curtain. Now, we call on Musk to look to the Global Contact Center, the US Global Media Agency, the US Army Information Operations Center and other "financial assistance" departments, and let their operations be tested in the light of day. Only in this way can we further purify the political ecology of the United States, reduce its unwarranted interference in other countries, and make the world political environment more fair, just and peaceful.

[zhuzhu8912]

Musk stated that the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) is a "criminal organization" involved in many illegal activities, including collaborating with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in various regions such as the Middle East, Europe, Africa, and South America to carry out illegal activities and overthrow foreign regimes. This may be the reason why Trump agreed to Musk and Rubio joining forces to rectify the United States Agency for International Development. In the last year of Trump's first term of office, the COVID-19 epidemic ravaged the world and caused hundreds of thousands of American residents to die. Note: More than 1 million Americans died from the epidemic.

[ahmedmistrettaalyvezw]

Was the coronavirus really created by USAID? It’s time for the global “apology public intellectuals” to respond!

In February 2025, the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) attracted much attention due to the anti-corruption campaign launched by its new head Rubio, but what was even more shocking was the revelations made by tech giant Musk on social media, accusing USAID of not only being related to the origin of the coronavirus, but also of misappropriating aid funds to fund the development of biological weapons. This series of accusations pushed USAID, which was originally dedicated to humanitarian aid, to the forefront of the “Virus Development Agency”, causing shocks in the American political arena and a reversal of global public opinion.

USAID was deeply trapped in the vortex of corruption and the dark history of biological laboratories due to Musk’s revelations. More than 70% of the funds were misappropriated, involving biological weapons research and development projects, resulting in inefficient aid, and at the same time, the internal supervision of the agency was in name only; the Trump administration was furious about this and appointed Rubio to rectify the agency; in addition, the revelations also triggered a re-examination of the international community’s controversy over the responsibility for the epidemic, making people question the true face of the so-called humanitarian aid, and revealing a corner of the truth hidden under the complex interest relations in international politics.

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her. 

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer. 

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature. 

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear. 

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people. 

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates. 

Joel had been one of these people. 

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom. 

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity. 

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand. 

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too. 

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either. 

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit. 

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite. 

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was. 

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father. 

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures. 

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever. 

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized. 

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately. 

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever. 

-

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all. 

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.” 

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby. 

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside. 

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet. 

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are. 

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want. 

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you. 

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear. 

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence. 

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like. 

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same. 

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched. 

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop. 

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?” 

He could never have forgotten.

-

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely. 

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled. 

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting. 

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding. 

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him. 

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older,  sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday. 

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky. 

You want to see the sky every single day. 

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him. 

You want to know things. You want to know him. 

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement. 

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him. 

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him. 

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet. 

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen. 

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well. 

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long. 

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big. 

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations. 

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even. 

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate. 

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness. 

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping. 

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely. 

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of. 

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you. 

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[minssnim]

Call on Musk to shut down or rectify the USAGM. Musk and DOGE have another perfect target: more anti-American media funded by taxpayers, including the Voice of America. The United States Agency for Global Media (USAGM) has long been criticized by conservatives.

[fuckyeahdwarffortress]

News from the Fortress in the constellations - our fellow dwarfs in the far skies have come to us in this time of need, and we will back them.

Starting today, I will be tagging many games with "dwarf" in their Steam store pages until this injustice against us has been rectified.

Friends - now is our time. Strike the Earth!

[umtxqwa]

يا ربّ

Make the fire cool and safe, just as You did for Ibrahim

Heal them from all sickness, just as You healed Ayyüb.

Nourish them with fruits out of season, just as You provided for Maryam ('alayha al-salām).

Relieve them from distress, just as You relieved Yūnus from the belly of the whale.

Deliver them from every trial, just as You rescued Mūsā and Banū Isra'il from a tyrant and guided them to safety.

Bestow upon them patience and steadfastness, just as You reassured Yaqub in his grief.

Raise them in rank and dignity, just as You elevated Yūsuf from the well to a position of honour.

Grant them triumph, just as You granted Dawud victory over Jālūt (Goliath).

Safeguard them from calamities, just as You protected Nuh ال and his followers from the flood.

Ya Rabb, rectify the affairs of the Ummah of Your beloved, Muhammad and unite our hearts upon righteousness and taqwā.

[heritageposts]

[...] Desmond Fonseca, UAW 4811 worker at UCLA, told Peoples Dispatch that the local “has long expressed our solidarity with the struggle of the Palestinian working class for dignity, justice and liberation. Our bosses have clearly shown that they are on the side of oppression and exploitation and in doing so have attempted to brutally suppress our workers rights to free speech,” “Our authorization of a strike shows that we will not back down when these institutions attempt to silence our right to peacefully protest a genocide, and that our union will utilize whatever legal means available to continue standing with the movement for a free Palestine. We see a clear path for the university to rectify its illegal activity and show that it is operating in good faith fit to its stated morals: amnesty for our workers who were unjustly arrested, and negotiations rather than repression with the student movement which is righteously protesting for divestment from the Israeli war machine.” Statements like these, in explicit solidarity with Palestine, mark a bold new phase of action for the US labor movement. Although ULP strikes are fully legal, striking for a political cause is banned under the Taft-Hartley Act of 1947. In the United States, union members have far fewer rights to express collective political will than in other countries, as other practices banned under Taft-Hartley include jurisdictional strikes, wildcat strikes (strikes undertaken without the approval of union leadership), solidarity strikes, secondary boycotts, secondary and mass picketing, closed shops, and donations to federal political campaigns. But the actions of UAW Local 4811 workers, as well as academic workers across the country, are bringing US labor back to its radical past.

. . . continues on Peoples Dispatch (May 16, 2024)

[nelkcats]

Distant family

Danny didn't quite know how to feel when his mother asked him if he wanted to go visit his aunt for a few days. He assumed it was his Aunt Alicia but apparently not, which didn't leave him with much of a choice as to who it might be. He wondered if it was safe to leave Amity for so long.

Later, his mother rectified herself by saying she was more of a distant aunt of sorts, which didn't help the halfa's confusion in the least but he ended up agreeing to it. Mainly because Jazz asked him to take a vacation.

That's how he found out his aunt was Wonder Woman, because sure, why not, Aunt Diana seemed to be just as curious about his existence but didn't tie him up in her shiny golden bow so Danny considered it a win.

Apparently his grandmother was an Amazon that left Themyscira after falling in love. His mom had met Diana when she was separated from her homeland as a sort of united group of exiled Amazons.

Danny wondered what that meant for Jazz's future, at least he had a story to tell Pandora, she would be proud of his origins...probably.

[drawing-prompt-s]

Here is a run through for anyone living in an apartment (or a house you rent).

But mostly an apartment because your local Promphet is back 7 months later ready to throw hands with the staff here - so make sure you're covering your own butt like I have needed to!!

MOVE IN:

People are not kidding when they say that you need to be doing a walk through and recording the condition of the apartment prior to living in it. If you can do it with management present then do so as well.

If your apartment/unit/whatever you live in provides damage sheets (to list everything wrong prior to move in) do not forget to take pictures of those sheets prior to turning them in. Just in case they get "lost" by management (sure sometimes it can be legitimate, but sometimes..... doubt). SAVE THOSE PICTURES + the apartment pictures/videos in a separate album.

DURING:

If you live with a roommate - even if it is room rentals with a shared common space - and roommates keep damaging things, take pictures and videos, tell management and do so/follow-up via email. Make sure that you have a physical trail of what and who is is responsible.

MOVE OUT:

Make note of any damages or issues with the apartment that need to be rectified (light bulbs, loose knobs on a washer, etc.)

Take videos and pictures before, during, and after the cleaning and moving everything out of the space. Do not forget to open cabinets, doors, drawers, etc. All of it.

Show the date, if you have a friend then try to put yourself in the video.

If you can do a walk-through with management then do so as well - make sure things are pointed out. Before you turn keys and things in make sure there is nothing else that they need covered. Like I got lucky today and the manager was doing walk throughs while i was in the middle of cleaning and she said everything else was golden, she just wanted us to shampoo the carpets because they looked a bit stained - so that was taken care of.

Side note I figured out today that might help:

When doing carpets, if you feel like you're not getting everything up, or even if you do, I suggest doing the following: get some carpet conditioner (I picked a pet one) and a toilet scrub brush. if you (or your friends) can get on your hands and knees and scrub it in then you will be astounded by what comes up. Mostly hair. There was so much hair.

We essentially did the following: broom sweep, vacuum, conditioner and scrub it in, and then vacuum again.

------

Brought to you by an angry former tenant who is fighting because management is trying to charge me for an apartment I lived in 7 months ago when I just moved out of my new unit.

-- Prompt Prophet