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RF Planning for 5G Networks: Challenges and Solutions
The advent of 5G networks guarantees low latency and massive connectivity, transforming communications. However, maximizing the capability of 5G requires meticulous planning for RF. This article focuses on the troubles and solutions related to RF plans for networks that help 5G. It focuses on important factors like 5G network , RF planning software, in addition to telecom management software for networks.
Click to read more about RF Planning for 5G Networks: Challenges and Solutions
#rf planning#RF Planning#rfMAP#3D Maps#Digital Map#Wireless Maps#Telecom#5G Networks#Network Planning#3d Network planning#fiber planning#fttx#rf maps by lepton#lepton software#lepton maps#2.5D Maps#Map Data#rf planning tool#network coverage#3d map
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Navigating the Wireless Spectrum: Your Map to Connectivity
In the intricate realm of telecommunications, the Wireless Spectrum Map stands as a pivotal tool, serving as a compass for understanding the dynamic landscape of frequencies and their allocation across different entities. With the emergence of advanced wireless spectrum ownership analysis tools, navigating this intricate web has become more accessible and insightful than ever before. Read more: https://bit.ly/3Tlumij
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Monitor brain waves involves using sensors to detect and measure electrical activity in the brain, known as electroencephalography (EEG). This non-invasive method provides insights into cognitive states, mental processes, and neurological conditions, wireless eeg headset.
#how to read an eeg#monitor brain waves#meditation effects on brain#eeg sensors#neurofeedback device#eeg brain mapping#neurofeedback for depression#EEG headband#wireless eeg headset#brain wellness center#brain training device#brain training center#brain mapping test
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The city was drowned slow, its ankles tied to the moon as the tide rose to meet it.
Blind and reaching, its tongue cracked and split with thirst, its thousand iron throats burning with salt and pollution, desperate to drink, the head of Teleth Avaris sank deeper beneath the waves. A hundred more hydroelectric dynamos. A thousand. Ten thousand. Breathe in, let the sea flood your lungs. Let it pressed its weight upon the sternum of Teleth Avaris, and beat upon it with a tidal rhythm to spur its thousand hearts. Breathe out, feel the salt burn as it escapes your lungs. The sea staunches the atomic piles, distilling itself on the city's fever heat.
There was an impulse to abandon the low places, to cast the unwanted and unworthy into the dark, to climb higher, to build on their corpses. But not here. The pumps refused to die. As the great sprawl of Teleth Avaris was cast to the sea, the pumps continued. Time would march on. The low places were scoured of their materials, their technology, their working masses. Yet the pumps continued. The city built higher, piling itself above the waves, sealing its orphaned thralls in its cast-off shells. Yet the pumps continued. For all the filth the high places cast into the dark, the pumps continued.
The gates were sealed, the old blocks quarantined. Networks of communication died. Diagnostic panels went dark. The nature and structure of the deep was lost to history. Yet the pumps continued.
Time passed. Records were lost. Official inquiries into city infrastructure returned only ancient blueprints and useless maps. Inquiries became expeditions, surveyor teams sent deep to explore the abandoned cargo shafts. The roots of Teleth Avaris became unmapped places. Theories turned to stories. They said the old machines are still running, whole automated armies of maintenance drones. They say legions of lobotomite husks keep the water-wheels turning. Stories turned to legends. They say the deep is a lost nation, a rouge state that lives of the trash from the city above. They say it is a bunker, a guarded enclave where the old lords are cloistered in paranoia. Legends to myth. They say the deeps are a holy kingdom, a paradise where life is long and beautiful and the old world never died. They say it is a city of ghosts, a hell where sinners turn the dynamos for all eternity. Expeditions became pilgrimages. Yet the pumps continued. There was something in the deep.
Slaves combed through the runoff. Prisoners and lobotomites on stilted prosthetics picked life debts in the processing basins, minds mirrored along cybernetic proxies under careful watch. They worked without rest, their hands whittled into probes for testing the value of bodies and machines. Rigged overseers in military armor scanned for mechanical faults and disobedience as field techs kept watch over minds and circuitry.
Time passed. Peasants worked the processing fields. Children born with tall shins and smooth dense flesh sang as they trawled the processing basins. Plumber-knights patrolled the far marches. They returned with songs of strange beasts and great hunts. Irriation-sages tended to the forest reefs where the bodies necrosed to crops. The abandoned processing basins bloomed with lilies in the summer, roots tangled with old bones and neurocircuitry. The king was dead.
Lay-clerics divined wisdom from the bodies in the water. Salt-spoiled bones and corroded motherboards became syllables of the divine hymn. Discarded knuckles were whittled to dice for children's games. Bloated stomachs were dried and tanned for ballgames. It was winter in the deep and the water was cleaner, cooler from snow-melt on high. The Holy and Sacred Order of Water Treatment wore cloaks woven from synthetic furs and reclaimed silver wire. They did not need to, but it helped fight the chill. The druids built shrines of pseudo-driftwood and terracorals about the diagnostic stations. They would sit in silent meditation beneath the wireless towers, relay-staves thrust into the wires in communion with the diagnostic spirits. It would be a good harvest this year. Long live the queen.
At the root of the pumps were the mourning stacks. Where bodies and machines were piled for processing. Work lines became necropoli, morgues for holy burial. Here augments were cut from flesh, metal sorted by its alloy, organs preserved and reclaimed. At the north lay the tomb of the old king, his body embalmed in resin lest he rise again one day.
Above bloomed the sanctum. In a time now lost to history, it was little more than offices and residences. Old-world bioconcrete melded with terrestrial coral, cut and shaped by secret geometries into a cathedral of municipal irrigation. Verandas of sea-green fan corals, colonnades of deep blue staghorn, great arches of maroon finger coral, all carved over centuries into a living basilica of the pumps. Within, beside an empty throne, sat the queen.
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hi penny!! since you have a switch 2, would you say that the new pro controller is worth getting instead of just getting a switch 1 pro controller? my current pro controllers are really starting to show their age but i'm not sure how i should go about replacing them since i could be getting a switch 2 later this year and i'm not sure about whatever differences the controllers might have
personally, if you are already likely to get a switch 2 AND likely to get a new controller on top of that, right now you can't do much better than the switch 2 pro controller. but with a couple caveats. it's more expensive than the original pro, for one, and right now compatibility for basically anything out of using it WITH the Switch 2 itself is nonexistent-to-spotty at best. it doesn't work w Switch 1, and there are ways to get it working on PC wired but its kinda buggy and theres still zero wireless compatibility. i assume this will be solved in due time but right now if you get a Switch 2 pro controller u need to be expecting to ONLY use it with Switch 2.
however, all that aside, it is a FANTASTIC controller. specifically and especially to use with Switch 2. i would say it is... nearly essential if you don't already have a pro controller option. but even if you do, there's a lot it does better. the sticks are so unbelievably smooth to rotate and they are QUIET. it's the kind of thing that's really hard to stress until someone has it in their hands for real, but believe me when i say the whole "smooth gliding" marketing talk was not bullshit. these are some of the most friction-free sticks i have ever felt. on top of that the back buttons are EXTREMELY nice. if you don't plan to use them, they dont get in the way because they are flush with the back of the controller handles AND they are entirely unmapped by default so the only way an accidental press would mess you up is if you had already gone out of your way to map them. they dont do anything unless you set them up to. otherwise, they are like fun stim buttons that are right where your fingers rest haha. and when you DO map the buttons, it is on a per game basis. which maybe doesn't sound huge, but it really is a huge deal imo. every single game has the buttons blank by default, and if i wanted i could have the GL button operate as, say, the A button in Ace Attorney while having it be the B button in Mario Odyssey. and everything automatically saves per-game and you never have to manually switch profiles or anything like that. the ONLY OTHER platform that has ever had that level of customization and convenience across games is Steam Input. it works this way with both Switch 2 and Switch 1 games alike, so it's not a Switch 2 Edition exclusive feature. i have been playing through TGAA on switch 2 and i literally do just have the left back button set to A so i can progress dialogue while holding the controller with one hand, it's so nice.
the ergonomics and build quality of the controller are also fantastic. the entire thing is made of this wonderful smooth plastic that feels so nice in the hand. and the grip shape is literally perfect imo. feels like it just melts into my hands. it definitely feels premium, the rubber on the analog sticks also feels great imo. i think the only joystick cap i've used that i prefer are on the 8bitdo Ultimate 2. something about the material they use for those is just so nice to me i will often just rub my thumbs across it just to feel the texture.
anyway yeah! it's an extremely easy to recommend controller IF price and present-day compatibility are not a huge turn off for you. like i said, if you're already planning on replacing your switch controllers once you get your hands on a Switch 2 it's a no-brainer imo. at least until some REALLY compelling third party options that match the feature set come onto the market. which, of course, i have my eyes on every day and will gladly gush about when the time comes.
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Right This Way
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You get lost on a campus on your first day of college and a helpful stranger shows you around.
Characters: Steve Rogers
Note: this is the third of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
You’ve leapt over one hurdle for the day but it won’t be the last. Your first lecture is done, but now you have to find your way to the second. Typically, you’d be on your way home. For years, you languished in part-time or sabbatical coverage but now, you have achieved regular faculty status. It might not be the school you hoped for, but these days, a job is a job.
You gather up your things as the class disburses. A few keeners come down to ask you about the midterm and you assure them it’s only day one. Full details will come soon. In the meantime, they can review the readings schedule.
You set your phone on the corner of the table as you search for your wireless mouse. You bring your own. You’ve had enough experience with neglected classroom equipment.
“Hey, Miss,” a deep voice rolls behind you and swings you around. A young man with golden hair, a square jaw, and a letterman jacket stands across the table. He is a factory-issue frat. You had your share of those in your own time as an underclassman; as a professor, they don’t often bother you unless they get an F. “Just wanted to chat about a few things I got this term.”
“Oh, sure,” you say as you reach for your phone. His eyes follow your hand. His cheek dimples.
“You on your way to Ford too? We can walk and talk if that’s easier?” He offers.
You’re not sure if you should take his eagerness as a good sign. At least he is mindful. At first glance, you don’t expect that.
“Um, if you don’t mind, I have my next class there,” you agree.
You hike up your bag and black the screen of your phone. You’re a bit embarrassed that he noticed the maps wide open on your phone. You’re still gearing your way around.
He waits patiently, bouncing in his brown leather Vans as you round the table. “Steve, by the way.” He offers his hand in an overly formal gesture. You know that brand of frat. They put on that gentleman act for the elders. It’s a charm you would’ve fallen for twenty years ago.
“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you shake his hand then continue to the door.
He hurries past you and pulls open the door ahead of you. Again, that overly helpful gesture twinges your suspicion. He must be asking for something big.
“So, I play baseball,” he begins as you set off down the hall. He quickly catches up, walking parallel with you. “And I just got my schedule. I can get coach t give you a call if you need but I’ll be out of town for a few classes...”
“Right, baseball,” you repeat. You’re not fighting the senate on this one. They prize their start athletes much higher than due dates. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Did you have your schedule with you?”
“Um, you know what, I don’t have it printed but I can email it,” he says.
Once more, he opens the door ahead of you. You step out into the early fall sun and descend the steps. It’s a quick conversation, it might be awkward to stick around.
“That works,” you agree. “I don’t want to keep you so if you want--”
“Nah, really, I’m headed in your direction,” he insists. “You do know where that is, right?”
You look at him. His blue eyes gleam. You peer around and shake your head, “that way?” You point.
He laughs, “no worries, professor, I got you.”
He puts his hand on your lower back and points in the opposite direction. You turn to move away from his touch. You blame the little club he’s joined in his youthful arrogance. They never do abide by the rules. After all, he is asking for exception, so why wouldn’t he overstep other barriers.
“So, you must be new,” he intones.
“Here, yeah,” you confirm.
“What else do you teach besides Renaissance history?”
“My specialty is medieval but I’ve taken on various subjects; ancient warfare, Victorian culture,” you rattle off. You know he doesn’t really care. For the jocks, classes are simply an afterthought. “What got you into this subject?”
“I like art,” he says. “Figured it wouldn’t be a bad elective.”
“I hope,” you reply. He points you around the curling path. You hesitate. You peeked at the map. This seems wrong but you did find the only dead end on campus earlier.
“You seem young for a prof,” he says.
You snort, “I don’t give extra credit for compliments.”
“I mean it,” he argues.
“Right,” you huff dryly. “Steve.”
He smirks as you glance at him, “wow, you got that professor voice down. ‘Steve’.” He mimics your tone and chuckles. You shuffle closer as you pass a group of young girls but he doesn’t seem to notice them.
“Like I said, it isn’t my first gig. Just new around here.”
“I think you’ll like it,” he intones. “Nice campus, nice people,” he preens. “A few profs pop by the parties even. Open invitation.”
It’s your turn to laugh, “oh, I’ve outgrown that.”
“Classy lady, I’m sure,” he agrees. You’re not sure if he’s complimenting you. “Well, what about back in the day?” He wordlessly gestures you along as he guides you. “You are party girl? Sow your wild oats?”
“That was a long time ago. It’s probably better left back then,” you deflect.
“Come on. I won’t judge. I’m a bit of a square myself. I’m the designated tidier. I pick up after all the drunks,” he snorts.
You hum. You don’t miss those days. Everything was so much more stressful. Not just classes but everything outside of it. Who to hang out with, what to where, where to go.
You slow as you look around again. You’re behind one of the large gray buildings but not too sure where. It’s a path lined with trees and abstract statues. They’re benches and an engraved stone wall memorial. You don’t see any buildings close by. Maybe it’s one of those at the other end.
“Told you, it’s a nice campus. Doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten to see much of it,” he says.
“Not yet,” you agree.
“It’s a short cut. Trust,” he says.
You nod and continue on. He turns towards the twisted metal owl and you go with him. You really don’t think he’s going the right way. You sneak your phone out of your pocket and press your thumb to the screen.
Suddenly, you’re nearly knocked off your feet at he bowls into you.
“Woah,” he collides with you so hard your phone falls onto the ground. “Shit-- I mean, holy cow. Sorry, miss. I tripped on--” He steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. “Did I--” He looks down at your phone on the stone path. “My bad.”
He scoops it up before you can and you recoil. Your eyes wander away from him and you examine your surroundings. The trees, the statue, it all blocks you off from the main path in an eerie way. You can hear the bird’s tweeting and the coeds chatting but you can’t see them.
“Damn,” Steve’s voice draws you back as dread simmers in your stomach. “I think it’s cracked.”
He walks ahead of you as he examines it. You trail him, “it’s fine. I can take it to the store and have them look--”
“I’m real sorry, professor,” he cradles the phone between his large hands. “I’m such an oaf. Bet I’m not gonna get that extension now, huh?”
“Everything’s okay, Steve. You can give me my phone,” you reach for him as he leads you into the shade of a large oak. “What are you doing?”
He pulls his arm back, aims, and throws your phone. It flies through the air as you gasp and lunge forward. What the hell?
His arm wraps around you from behind and he swings you back. You cry out but only for a split second before his palm smothers your mouth. He leans his body weight back and brings you down with him into the grass. What is he doing?
You struggle to get away. You grab at his arm hooked around you and claw at the grass with your other hand. You writhe and try to twist away from him. He follows you, crushing you to the grass beneath him. You wheeze as his weight forces the air from your lungs.
You flail both arms and sink your fingers into the dirt as you fight to drag yourself from under him. You can’t. He growls as he pulls his arm from under you and grips the back of your skull. He keeps your head twisted on your neck, clamping it between his large hands.
“Shut up,” he snarls. “Be good for me, professor, and this will all go quickly.”
You gurgle into his hand as your heart hitches. Why is he doing this? You said yes. You didn’t argue.
“I’m going to move my hand and you’re going to stay nice and quiet, aren’t you?”
You try to scream into his palm and he wrenches your head down into the ground. The grass is soft but the impact is enough to make your nose fuzzy. He hushes you.
“I mean it, alright? Shut your mouth or I’ll fill it with dirt,” he snarls.
You whimper and nod, puffing against his palm. Your body tenses before you slowly make yourself go limp. You lay your head against his hand and let your arms still. You raise your hands slightly to say, ‘see, I’m good’.
He huffs and slowly drags his hand away, smearing your spit across your cheek. You sniffle as your eyes prick and you inhale the scent of dirt. You can hardly breathe as your chest throbs and burns.
“Ah, don’t act so hard up,” he chuckles. “Bet you don’t get a lot of guys these days,” he pushes his knee between both of yours. “Sad, cause you don’t look half bad in this.”
He tugs your skirt up your legs as he shifts his weight around. The satin tickles your thighs and sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes, your forehead flush to the ground. You liked that skirt so much. You bought it just for your first day.
The thought stabs into your heart. You push your hands flat to the ground and brace yourself. Denial cords around you as terror clogs your throat. This can’t be happening but it is and all you can do is let it.
“Mm, not bad,” he rasps as he pushes between your thighs. “Come on, loosen up for me.”
He moves your slack legs apart and runs his fingers along the cotton of your panties. He purrs as he traces the edges along your ass and back again. He snakes his hand under you and presses against the fabric and feels your folds through the thin layer.
“I’m so goddamn hard right now, you have no idea,” he says.
You chuff out air. You try not to hear him, not to feel him. He slips his fingers beneath your panties and rubs your lips. He pets your head as he cooes in your ear.
“See, I’m being nice. Isn’t that nice? I know you wouldn’t be shaking like that if you didn’t like it.”
He rubs between your folds roughly as he presses his crotch against your ass. He rocks against you as he teases you. You scrunch your toes tightly as a tingle crawls along your thighs. No, please. You don’t want to feel anything.
He purrs as he continues to move his pelvis, breathing heavily behind your ear as he growls. He stretches his fingers along your cunt and delves into you. He pushes his hand further and curls his finger through your entrance.
The heel of his hand brushes against your clit as he moves. You whine as the coil winds around and around and around, tying up your guts in knots. You shudder and bring your hands to your hand, digging your nails into your scalp as you spasm. You cum, slickening his touch as a mortifying moan escapes between your lips.
He slides his fingers out of you. You groan. Your tears leak out and trickle onto the grass. He trails his hand around, leaving wetness along your shirt. He angles above you, pushing your knees apart with both of his. He splays you and tugs your panties to the crease of your thigh.
His zipper slices the moment. Your breath cramps in your chest as you hold it in. He guides his tip along your thighs. He feels you quiver, teasing and toying, as he rubs up and down your folds. He slides up by your cheeks and you clench. He laughs and traces back to your entrance.
He uses his thumb to push his tip through your resistance. You tighten around his intrusion and squeak out your breath. He shushes you and you swallow down a sob. He inches into you, his own exhale flowing over you like a cold storm.
He sinks in to his limit and you bury your toes into the dirt. You heave as he pulls back and thrusts in again. Your shoulders curl with tension and your spine locks. He pumps again and moans, petting your hair as he falls into a rhythm.
“God, you’re tight,” he grits. “I heard... well, I guess everyone lies.”
He runs his hand down the side of your head and beneath your forehead. He forces your head up and nuzzles your hair as he tilts into you. He puffs across your scalp.
“I didn’t see a ring,” he reaches up to clasp your hand, twining his fingers through yours as he continues to rut.
He keeps you like that, fucking you harder into the dirt. He lifts his hips, slamming them down so his zipper bites at you. He pounds at you relentlessly, shallow breaths mingling damply in the cool autumn breeze.
You open your eyes and stare across the grass. Your vision blurs around the tree trunks and wooden benches. Your grief and glazes over and drowns you in horror.
“Welcome to campus, prof,” he growls between nipping your ear. “Oh... and don’t worry about those missed classes. I didn’t make the team.”
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#fic#autumn#marvel#mcu#captain america#avengers
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I have an obsession with Snape as a singer, but there are little to no fics about that, so can you write a fic where Snape is in a rock band (Muggle but also slowly becoming famous in the wizarding world) and one day one of the muggle-born students realise he is THE lead singer and freak out and somehow all the other students find out. His band know about him being a wizard and is super chill about it because, hey, there is no need to pay for a special effects team when you have magic. Purely platonic though. And bonus if it's situated in the order of the Phoenix era and Sirius likes to listen to them but doesn't know it's Snape but when the order finds out he loses his mind.
This was so much fun to write! (especially Sirius reaction)
I hope this is what you somehow envisioned and hoped for.
Mask and Flames
The studio reeked of sandalwood and burnt espresso. It was Seth’s fault. He’d lit one of his cursed incense sticks again—something with a name like “Ritual Smoke” that made the place feel like a potion lab after a nervous third-year's exam.
Severus sat on the aging leather sofa, tuning his guitar with long, practiced fingers. The mask lay beside him on the table—black, angular, simple. The persona he wore on stage. The version of himself that didn’t answer to Headmasters or Dark Lords. Just chords, rhythm, and the electricity of a live crowd.
"Could we not suffocate in fake mysticism for five bloody minutes?" he muttered.
Seth grinned from behind the drum kit. “It’s part of the vibe, man.”
“The only vibe I feel is lung damage.”
Before another argument could begin, the studio door creaked open—and you entered with a stack of magazines, music charts, and something that looked suspiciously like a folded-up wizarding newspaper shoved into your coat.
You kicked the door shut with your boot, already smirking. “Well, well, guess who finally blew up?”
Nate looked up from his bass with a slow grin. “What, we’re famous now?”
You dropped the papers onto the coffee table. “Nocturne Ashes – Ashes to Ashes just hit number seven on the UK rock charts.”
Seth let out a triumphant yell. “Holy hell, we did it!”
“Not just ‘did it,’” you said, flipping open a magazine to show a full-page spread. “They’re calling you the Kings of the underground scene. The stage tricks, your sound, the whole ‘mystery frontman in a mask’ angle? They’re obsessed.”
Severus said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Barely.
Nate leaned over the table, skimming the article. “Okay, this is insane. A few months ago we were playing in grimy pubs, and now—?”
“We’re about to sell out venues. You’re officially on the map,” you said, crossing your arms, the glint of victory in your eye. “And…” You pulled out the last clipping, slightly crumpled and faintly glowing. “We’re starting to get… attention elsewhere, too.”
You didn’t elaborate. Just slid the folded page of the Daily Prophet forward. The title shimmered faintly under the studio lights:
“Muggle Band with mysterious Masked singer Draws Curious Wizarding Fans – Who Is the Voice of Nocturne Ashes?”
Seth blinked. “Is that... magical?”
“It’s a newspaper,” Severus said, voice low. “From the Wizarding world.”
“Wicked,” Nate whispered. “That’s actual magic. Like, wizard magic... Oh! the picture moves!”
“It’s... more underground right now,” you explained. “A few of the muggle born wizard teens brought some cassette copies, a wireless DJ enchanted a live bootleg into our side and now you’ve got fans in both worlds. Just a whisper in the wizarding scene—nothing official yet. But it’s starting and it's only getting bigger.”
Severus’s eyes met yours. You didn’t need words. You’d had this conversation a dozen times behind closed doors—late nights after gigs, whispered over tea and unraveling tour schedules. You knew the risk. The cost of exposure. And you also knew how close they all were to finding him.
“The mask stays on,” you said, voice firm. “Always. And when the tour’s over, it stays with me. I’m not risking it sitting in your quarters or your bag for some student or Professor to find. I’m not letting this blow up your life.”
Severus didn’t argue. He just gave you that quiet, unreadable look that said he understood you.
The other two nodded. No jokes. No hesitation.
Seth set down his drumsticks with a soft clack. “Agreed,” he said. “We’ve all got skin in this now. I don’t know the full story, but I know enough. And I’m not about to let your job or your... situation get wrecked because of something stupid like being found out because of a mask.”
“If keeping that mask locked up means you stay safe and we keep playing? Then that’s what we do. No question.” Nate added with his signature grin.
You exhaled slowly, letting the tension in your shoulders ease just a little.
“They’re already asking questions,” you murmured. “Whispers in both worlds. That Prophet article... It’s only going to get worse. We need to stay ten steps ahead and make sure that Severus’s mask is really on gigs whenever someone is around that isn’t us.”
“We’re not idiots. The mask is iconic and the ladies dig it. Besides, it’s not like we wanna have our top-secret wizard James Bond to get hurt. I mean this whole thing is like we are spies too now!”
“You’d be the worst spies,” Severus muttered.
“Yeah maybe but we’re great musicians,” Nate said with a grin.
A small smirk ghosted across Severus’s face.
“I’m tolerating it,” he muttered.
Seth laughed and threw a drumstick towards him.
“Tolerate it all you want. We’ve got your back”
Severus caught the stick with no effort before throwing it back with a rare smile.
„Just try to leave some chicks for the rest of us!“ Nate called in making the room fill with laughter.
You let them celebrate—laughing, teasing, riding the high. But you were already thinking ahead, scanning timelines, sketching plans in your mind.
“The next album,” you said, shifting back into manager mode, “needs to be bigger. We’ve got the attention of both worlds now. Wizard teens are making knock-off shirts. Some bloke in Hogsmeade is selling bootleg tapes of our gigs. If we don’t outdo ourselves, they’ll move on.”
“But we’re not even done with the tour,” Seth groaned.
“Then be grateful,” you shot back. “Because it means you're doing something right. And Severus—” You turned to him, eyes sharp and sure. “This band doesn’t work without you. I know you have duties but please keep me updated on every free chance you have.”
He hated how much that meant to him. How your voice cut through the noise, grounded him. How your loyalty burned brighter than anything he’d earned.
He looked at you, mask untouched beside him, and gave the smallest of nods.
“I’ll start writing tomorrow and keep you updated.” he said.
The grin that split your face nearly made him smile.
—
Severus returned to Hogwarts under the cover of night, the train from London cold and quiet. The halls of the castle greeted him with their usual haunted whispers, stone archways bending under the weight of age and secrets. He was back in his robes, his mask tucked away with the stage lights, his guitar swapped again for cauldrons and curriculum.
He slipped into routine as if nothing had changed. But it had.
Because everywhere he walked—down corridors, into classrooms, across the Great Hall—he heard it.
Whispers. Murmurs. Snatches of lyrics.
“…ashes to ashes, we burn in silence…”
Severus paused mid-stride outside his classroom one morning, just long enough to catch the tail end of two Hufflepuff girls humming under their breath. One was even air-drumming a beat he knew too well—his beat. Seth’s beat.
He stepped into the classroom silently, let the door slam shut behind him.
“Sit. Down.”
The students scrambled into their seats like startled rats, wide-eyed.
“This is Potions, not a bloody pub concert,” he snapped, sweeping to the front of the room, robes flaring behind him. “If I hear so much as a hum, you’ll be identifying ingredients blindfolded for the rest of the term.”
They nodded, cowed—but some couldn’t help the sideways glances. The subtle tapping of fingers. A few even wore handmade pins: a small black flame drawn in enchanted ink, flickering softly on their robes.
Nocturne Ashes.
He said nothing. But inside—somewhere deep beneath the layers of bitterness and exhaustion—he felt it.
He’d built something. Something powerful. Something his.
And they were eating it up. The obsession spread quickly.
Within weeks, students were trading photo cards and talked about the concerts they have been to. Enchanted parchment posters of the masked lead singer passed hands in secret. Even Professors got curious—Flitwick was caught humming a chorus under his breath. Sprout played a song in her greenhouse once, “just to see what the fuss was about.”
Severus pretended not to notice. He kept quiet. He listened. He watched.
It was a Wednesday. Late afternoon. Dungeon light low and flickering. He’d dismissed class early due to a cauldron mishap—idiots, all of them—but he’d stayed behind to grade.
The classroom was quiet, until a hesitant voice called from the door.
“Professor Snape?”
He didn’t look up. “If you’re here to beg for points, turn around.”
“I—I left my notes behind.”
“Then retrieve them and leave.”
He returned to his marking, flipping a page with sharp precision. The girl—Anna Thompkins, Muggle-born, third-year Hufflepuff—tiptoed in and grabbed her notebook from the front table.
But as she turned to leave, her eyes caught on something resting on his desk.
A black leather-bound journal, half-tucked under a stack of essays.
Dangling from the spine, woven through the closure cord, was a simple handmade bracelet—thin, braided cord in red and black, with a tiny charm shaped like a flame and a small black mask next to it.
Her breath hitched.
She knew that bracelet. She had made that bracelet. She’d handed it over, flushed and starstruck, to the singer of Nocturne Ashes after one of their London gigs. He’d taken it without a word ruffling her hair fondly before slipping it onto the journal he always carried.
The same journal that is lying on her cold and unapproachable Potion Professors desk.
Her eyes darted to the journal… then to Severus.
Then the voice. The voice. That deep, cutting, gravel-drenched tone.
“Are you waiting for an invitation to breathe?” he asked, still not looking at her.
Anna turned and bolted.
By the next morning, Ravenclaw had diagrams trying to connect Snape’s voice pitch to the band’s recordings.
By the end of the week, a group of fifth-year Gryffindors were caught trying to sneak into the dungeons with enchanted mirrors to “get a glimpse if the mask is truly in his possession”
The castle buzzed.
Some students were asking him non stop questions. Some were obsessed and sent him gifts. Some—particularly the Slytherins—acted like this elevated him to god-status and.
But there were also doubtful ones who could not believe that Severus Snape ever would go close to anything that was fun.
“I dont think it’s him,” a sixth-year whispered to her friend in the corridor. “It’s the vibes. The man’s got tragic poetry aura.”
And Severus?
He sat in his office, journal safely locked away now, listening to the echoes of Nocturne Ashes hummed through the walls of the castle he’d once loathed.
He said nothing.
But that smug little flicker in his chest?
It burned brighter than ever.
—
Order meetings were supposed to be about strategy and sharing informations.
This one, however, was mostly Sirius Black pacing the drawing room like a storm in dog form, growling about the Ministry, security breaches, and how he wasn’t allowed to do anything except rot inside his dead family’s house.
Severus sat in the far corner, cloak still dusted with frost from the walk in, expression schooled into something between boredom and murder.
“Why don’t you write a letter, Black?” he drawled. “I am sure The Ministry would be thrilled to hear your opinions about their incompetence of their Denial.”
Sirius’s head snapped around. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, I apologize,” Severus said smoothly, flipping through the latest Daily Prophet. “Was your crying about the whole situation too nuanced for you to understand me?”
Remus let out a soft, resigned sigh. “Here we go…”
Sirius bristled. “At least I don’t slither in here like I’m better than anyone else.”
“No,” Severus replied, voice silk and venom, “you rather whine like a shaggy, undercooked conspiracy theorist with mommy and daddy issues.”
Tonks choked on her tea.
Sirius stepped up to him like a lit fuse. “You know what, Snivellus—”
“Boys,” Remus interjected tiredly from his chair. “Can we not?”
Sirius scowled but resumed pacing, muttering under his breath. Severus calmly flicked the page like none of them existed.
Across from him, Tonks tilted her chair back, feet propped on a crate of Order supplies. “So,” she said cheerfully, “has anyone else heard of that band all the kids are obsessed with?”
Severus didn’t look up, but his grip on the paper eased into something a touch more attentive.
“Which one?” Remus asked, sipping his tea.
“Nocturne Ashes,” Tonks said, digging into her pocket. “I snagged one of their cassettes. It’s intense. Like… dark magic set to a beat. The singer’s got this voice, right? Gives you goosebumps. Low, growly, broody as hell.”
Sirius perked up like a Crup hearing a treat bag.
Tonks pointed to the front page of the Prophet Severus was holding. “They’re saying the band’s about to sell out both worlds. Even the Weird Sisters are worried.”
Sirius turned toward the paper in Severus’s hands, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.
Severus slowly lowered the paper just enough to glare over the top.
Sirius, undeterred, launched into full rave mode. “I love their music. There’s something so dark and gritty about it—it’s like... musical brooding. The lead singer? Total mystery. Wears a mask. Never speaks offstage. No one knows who he is. It's brilliant.”
He let out a low whistle. “God, I love this band.”
“I’m telling you,” Sirius continued, pointing at the cover photo of the masked figure bathed in stage fog, “this guy knows how to make an entrance. Bet even Snivellus could learn a thing or two from him.”
Severus folded the paper in half and laid it in his lap. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes locked on Sirius with a look that could have melted stone.
Sirius practically snatched the paper from him, eyes lighting up the moment they landed on the headline:
Who Is the Voice Behind Nocturne Ashes that steals the hearts of hundreds witches and wizards in a storm?
“I mean, listen to this,” Sirius said, flipping the paper around and reading with way too much enthusiasm. “‘Their sound is like dark magic colliding with raw emotion—layered vocals, haunting lyrics and the power is like a spell woven through each chord.’ It’s art but who is the Man behind the voice and why is he hiding his identity.”
Tonks laughed. “You sound like a first-year with a crush.”
„You dont understand!“ Sirius declared. “The voice? It’s not even just music—it’s like being dragged into a memory you never had and left there with a cigarette and a good dragon brandy.”
Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “You okay, mate?”
Sirius ignored him completely. “And don’t even get me started on the lyrics. That one track, Hollow Crown he sings‘I built a kingdom in silence, and crowned myself in flame’—COME ON. That’s poetry.”
“Dark, broody poetry,” Tonks agreed.
“Exactly! You can feel the words,” Sirius said with absolute sincerity. “You can hear his past. The regret of life. I bet this guy’s been through some serious stuff and he made art out of it.“
He leaned back dramatically “But the biggest question of all who is he? Any theories? I for myself believe he is a runaway Muggle who started to make music to cope with his past.”
“Some think he’s an Unspeakable,” Kingsley said. “Others think he’s a former Azkaban inmate.”
“I heard someone suggest he’s not even human. Just… a magical projection of someone’s grief” Tonks added gleefully.
“Or a vampire who gave up blood for music,” Remus said „It would explain the voice.“
“Or a cursed Half-Veela raised in a graveyard by goblins,” Sirius muttered into his tea like it was gospel.
“But that’s the mystery. The voice. The fact that no one knows who or what he is. He could be a Muggle. Hell, Muggle-borns think he’s some underground spellcaster with a cursed past.”
“They’ve got presence,” Kingsley added. “Powerful energy. The way the lights sync with the sound—it’s got to be enchanted. There is no way there is no magic involved.”
During the whole conversation there was no reaction from Severus.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t even breathe differently.
But on the inside he was Absolutely basking in the absurdity.
These people—these so-called war-hardened witches and wizards—were sitting here, debating whether he was a mythical creature, a magical accident, or some tragic anti-hero with a guitar.
And none of them had the faintest idea.
He simply sipped his lukewarm tea, as Sirius leaned back with a dreamy sigh.
“Whoever he is, he’s got style. Real style. I’d kill to meet him.”
After that the Order meeting had dissolved into more pointless speculation about Nocturne Ashes or Which song was the best. Severus had stopped listening somewhere around the third time Kingsley mentioned how ‚protective wards for concert crowds’ would be a great idea.
He kept looking at the clock even trying to leave more than once but was pushed back into his seat by Tonks.
He was just about to check the watch for the fifth time when the door slammed open like a bomb had gone off.
Every head in the room snapped toward it.
Tonks jolted so hard she sloshed tea all over her lap. Remus looked like someone had just hexed his soul out of his body. Kingsley instinctively reached for his wand.
Sirius froze mid-rant, his mouth still open, expression twisted somewhere between ‚ready to argue’ and ‚what the actual hell?‘
Only Severus remained still, sitting calmly like he’d been expecting the storm.
The room went dead silent.
You stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and furious, still in your long black coat, hair wind-tossed and boots echoing ominously across the floor.
“Severus Snape,” you said through gritted teeth. “You were supposed to be at soundcheck twenty-seven minutes ago!”
Severus stood slowly, utterly unbothered. “My sincerest apologies. I would’ve left sooner, but the sound of fifteen conspiracy theories drowning in hot air was… difficult to escape.”
“I understand,” you said, gesturing toward the room, “that saving the world is important, really, I do, but you told me—you told me—that you’d be there on time. You said 'don’t worry, it’s just a short meeting, I’ll be there before setup.’”
Sirius made a confused noise. You ignored him.
„Seth is threatening to start without you, Nate is thinking about using glitter to distract the crowd if you don’t show up and I’ve had to fend off three enchanted fan letters from different people who swear you are their soulmate and want to marry you” you snapped, stalking into the room.
You let out a sharp huff, reaching into your coat and pulling something out—sleek, black, unmistakable and held it out to him.
“Put it on and move your arse. We are way behind. You still have to get changed and styled up then you have fans to meet and there is still the soundcheck, so unless you plan to split yourself apart I suggest you get your moody self in gear now.”
Severus just stood in the corner like a smug gargoyle, perfectly composed only a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoy shouting at me but I suppose that’s part of the manager contract—terrifying wrath and all.”
You sticked your tongue out at him before tossing him his mask over. He caught it mid-air with a practiced hand his smirk more visible by the gesture.
It wasn’t until that very moment that the rest of the room processed exactly what Severus was holding
Tonks dropped her teacup. Remus, mid-biscuit, inhaled crumbs and started coughing violently. Kingsley looked back and forth between the mask and Severus like his brain was buffering.
No one spoke. No one moved.
And then—
“YOU’RE THE SINGER?” Sirius screamed, eyes bulging, pointing dramatically like a man who’d just realized his owl had been a dragon in disguise.
Severus tilted his head as he faces Sirius. “Yes, Black. It’s been delightful watching you fawn over me without realizing it. I suppose it’s fitting even behind a mask, I manage to haunt you.”
“I WAS FANBOYING OVER YOU?!” Sirius wailed, grabbing at his hair. “I SAID YOU HAD STYLE!”
“You did,” Severus replied smoothly, slipping the mask on. “Multiple times, actually. Turns out your tastes aren’t as terrible as your personality after all. Want me to perform Hollow Crown just for you, Black, since you found it—what was the word—ah, yes… ‚poetry.’ Or would you like me to sign your wand?”
Tonks wheezed, Kingsley still looked like he needed to sit down, and Remus just leaned back in his chair, muttering, “It’s Severus…”
You, for your part, looked thoroughly unbothered—arms crossed, a smirk tugging at your mouth like this was better than front-row seats at a duel. But time was still ticking, and while you were never above letting Severus indulge in a little well-earned public humiliation, you had a show to run.
You stepped up beside him, hand closing around his arm with just enough force to make your point, and leaned in with a low, wicked whisper only he could hear:
“I adore this…banter, truly, but we’ve got to go we are late already and I will hex your boots off if the others caused chaos.”
Then you pushed him toward the door before stopping again.
You glanced back at the stunned, speechless faces and gave a sweet, deadly smile.
“Not. A. Word. To anyone.” you said, voice sugar-sweet and full of knives. “If this gets out, I’ll find you. I’ll haunt you. And if I’m feeling particularly inspired, I’ll let Severus write your obituaries in verse and sing about it on the New Album.”
The room collectively nodded like schoolchildren facing a particularly vicious Headmistress.
You turned back to Severus and pointed firmly toward the door.
He sighed—long, dramatic, theatric—and said, “Yes, yes, I’m coming.”
But there was a ghost of a smile under the edge of his mask.
As the two of you swept from the room, Sirius could be heard whispering hoarsely behind you:
“...I have a poster of him in my room…”
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No one hates Apple correctly.
This is a ridiculous accusation because I guess they are expecting Apple to... violate the laws of physics?
We have achieved very good energy density. And that allows for the miniaturization involved in creating something like wireless earbuds. But there is no such thing as an infinite battery. And any longer lasting design would have to use more expensive parts or be much bigger.
Also the current lifespan of pretty much all earbuds of this size is about 3 years. This has been mapped out. It isn't a secret. You can google it and it pops up in big bold letters.
The better statistic is actually charge cycles. Years is really dicey because it depends on usage.
If you want something that lasts longer, get headphones. But a short lifespan is the price you pay for such a small product. Perhaps Apple should be more upfront about the limitations of miniaturization, but they aren't actually trying to scam you or hide this information. It's not like they can make a cold fusion battery and are choosing not to.
Apple is actually one of the best at making technology products that last a long time... with one big caveat... as long as they don't need repairs. (Which is why they *actually* suck.)
They keep getting accused of planned obsolescence when they have been supporting their smartphones for pretty much as long as the hardware can run the software. Only last year have companies like Samsung and Google made similar promises.
But Apple refuses to do even the simplest things to make their devices more repairable. And in many cases they actually create hurdles for repairs like pairing parts together so you can't replace them from a donor device.
They have also been very bad at transparency. There is the classic story of Apple slowing down phones. And everybody thought they were trying to force people to buy new ones. In reality, they were actually trying to keep those devices from bricking. The batteries in the phones were too degraded to handle some of the newer software. And since they didn't want the bad press of phones suddenly dying, they slowed down phones. They were actually making the phones last *longer* but for some reason this gets used to make the opposite point.
All that was required was a battery swap. And they could have just told people, "Hey, we can either slow down your phone or you can get a new battery." But they tried to keep it quiet and so everyone drew the wrong conclusions.
They got rightfully sued for this, but it started this idea that they don't make long lasting products when they absolutely do—just within the limitations of physics.
So their sin was never planned obsolescence. It was repairability and transparency. Their closed ecosystem is also an issue, but that is a much more complicated discussion.
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A heart of steel snippet please
The ping from Analysis immediately takes Izuku’s attention. Unidentified foreign wireless connection established. He locks the connection, letting Analysis trace it back to the source, and suspends his dread on a delay before shoving that emotion down and letting himself work. With any luck by the time it comes back he’ll have solved this.
Otherwise… that would mean someone’s identified him as what he really is.
“Mei, something just tried to connect to me.”
Her jovial body language drops in a heartbeat, suddenly more serious than he can recall seeing her. “Wireless?”
“Yeah.” Analysis pings him again, and Izuku suspends more dread. “It’s coming from inside the school.”
“Maybe it’s Principal Rat? He’d probably be… fine with us?”
Izuku doesn’t need Analysis to tell him that she’s not so sure of that herself. He shakes his head.
“No, it’s not his office.” Tactical helpfully pulls up the map of the campus, and Analysis gets to work cross-referencing data. “Not the teacher’s lounge… lower than that. The basement? That area’s off-limits for students.”
“Basement?” Mei swallows. “Next to the server room?”
“Yeah, actually. It’s not labeled on the map, and Analysis isn’t sure what’s there.”
Her eyes shine. “That’s… that’s where they housed Overseer.”
The suspended instances of dread both abort in favor of some new emotion he doesn’t recognize. The beginnings of his code came from Overseer, before Mei and GalMighty77 overhauled it. In a sense, that’s his parent on the other end of the wireless. Reaching a decision, Izuku lets the connection through.
The message comes through swiftly. ‘Connection established. Query: Who are you?’
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TO PUT AWAY A SWORD

David Blandy + Daniel Locke's post-apocalyptic hopepunk TTRPG ECO MOFOS is back from the printers. Meaning it will soon be in our hands.
Am fairly hyped for it, because I wrote an adventure!
To Put Away A Sword is about the woes of building a home on poisoned earth. The terrible powers that hurtled us to the end of the world continue to bear bitter fruit in your garden.
You are villagers living under the shadow of a fallen giant mecha. Its reactors and warheads leak into your groundwater, poison your goats. What will you do about it? What can you do?
+

Mechanically it is a pointcrawl around your local valley. Not super complex, design-wise; but I was pleased with my gimmick solution for mapping both the adventure's dungeons:
Grab a mecha figure, pose it, place it on the game table; each part of the figure corresponds to a location in the dungeon key. Solves for stuff like relative orientation.
Easy!
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To Put Away A Sword is me making a mecha adventure.
Disclaimer: I am not a mecha nerd. I am unfamiliar with most of the genre. Anything I know about Gundam I've absorbed by osmosis.
I was mainly into giant robots in childhood. Receiving a Macross figure for my birthday. Pouring over the manual for The Crescent Hawks' Revenge, which my brother left behind:

While I was not much a fan of mecha, I was very much a fan of Evangelion. I spent my middle teens obsessed with it. The biomechanical, pseudo-mystical stuff; the teen angst. I wanted to be Shinji. I thought trauma was so cool.
So cringe. Anyway:
One of the inspirations for To Put Away A Sword is the survivors-rebuilding-a-town-and-planting-rice sequence in Thrice Upon A Time; probably my favourite part of the whole franchise, now.
The joy and difficulties of trying to build your paradise in the weird ruins of the old world:
Yeah, the adventure has a lot of Evangelion in it. There's a Nerv HQ analogue to explore. There's a content warning for child soldiers.
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The other inspiration for To Put Away A Sword is this piece of box art, an accessory set for Macross's iconic Stonewell Bellcom VF-1 Variable Fighter:

I don't know what this kind of arrange-your-missiles-in-front-of-your-fighter-jet photo is technically called. Hardware porn parade?
You see it often enough. Here's a real-life photo of the Lockheed Martin F35 Joint Strike Fighter:

Fairly or not, in my head I associate mecha with seeing copies of Jane's Defence in airport magazine racks. The genre feels like such a natural way to riff on the hyper-charged corpo-military-industrial complex.
After the brush war ends, and the natural resources extracted, and the ethnic cleansing concluded, and the profits announced, who gets to clean up after a Raytheon missile?
In To Put Away A Sword---you do.
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Ultimately, as always, I am writing and designing from my lived experiences.

See that? The gas flare from the Hengyuan Refining Company? It is about 200 metres from my living room.
That gas flare surfaces constantly in the stuff I make. As I write this post I am breathing its acrid chemical smell. My nose itches. I was asthmatic as a child; I seriously worry about cancer, nowadays.
At night it lights up the sky like Barad-dur.
The plant obviously and continuously flaunts regulations. We've tried lodging complaints: with its corporate management; with the Department of Environment. Nothing has worked so far.
"A home on poisoned earth" is a visceral fact of my life.
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To Put Away A Sword is wish-fulfilment, I guess? In the world of the adventure, at least, the forces that are poisoning your home are post-peak oil.
It is nice to imagine a reality where a kind of survival and flourishing is still possible. My partner Sharon and I talk a lot about imagining hope.

Last month she bought this small mecha-looking thing. A wireless camera! She built a little hut for it on our garden wall. It is trained, 24-7, at the gas flare.
Environmental activists we've met say video evidence of emissions is important. We'll see. We imagine it helping.
+
Anyway. David just sent me this photo of my adventure, in print:

Looking good. I hope folks play it and enjoy it.
Preorder ECO MOFOS and its adventure bundle >>>HERE<<<
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@iero Okay, so, to be honest, when I'm saying that I talked to someone from Chicago before my trip, this anon I sent is actually what I'm referring to, and it occurred to me that I can just like directly pass this information on by reblogging the post.
Hey, so I am a woman in my 20s(tm) and I am making my first solo trip to Chicago next week for the big Fall Out Boy concert, and I am a little bit nervous about it, so as a Chicago veteran, I was wondering if you had like any good safety tips for someone who isn't a big city person.
Chicago has a bad reputation but it is perfectly fine here. I live next to Wrigley Field and it's perfectly safe. Wrigleyville especially is mostly kids who go to Depaul or people who are really into the Cubs.
Nothing is going to happen to you but I would not recommend taking the L train late at night and just don't make eye contact if you're approached by strangers. Nobody is going to hurt you or rob you but a lot of tourist locations people are usually selling stuff and it can feel a bit pushy and overwhelming if you've never experienced it before.
If you're going to a Fall Out Boy concert at Wrigley Field there's going to be a bazillion people also not from Chicago around, mostly teens and their parents, and you'll be absolutely fine.
One thing-- I'm from Iowa and unusually sensitive to certain noises and usually have to wear headphones or earplugs in public because it is very loud here. My childhood friend moved here too and he has to as well. Not necessarily the volume, but there's so many unpredictable and unpleasant noises like sirens and random car alarms and the train grating on the tracks and stuff and it tends to just make me kind of upset. If you're not accustomed to that and will be outside in line all day I would recommend bringing both.
Also weirdly sometimes they turn off Uber/Lyft within a certain distance of Wrigley so just be prepared for that. This is also where My Actual House is and it is incredibly annoying. Parking is also a complete nightmare if you actually live here but as long as you’re only parking for the duration of the event or have a hotel and are prepared to pay like $50 you'll be fine
#also I actually recently got wireless earbuds before I went and that turned out to be super handy#because I could have google maps giving me walking directions in my ear rather than having my phone out all the time#and it turns out like everyone in the city is walking around wearing wireless earbuds so it felt like I blended in#I recognize that I have a loose definition of talking to someone lol#also thank you Miss Sour I was thinking about your advice frequently while I was in Chicago#to my family's surprise I did not get murdered even once. lol
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AITA for using the new charging cable my mom got with her new phone?
Hi all, I know the title sounds cut and dry but I'm genuinely so confused here.
Basically, I like to play roms on my phone via MyOldBoy! And I wanted to connect my switch pro controller to it so I could map the controls in the emulator and just have a bit of an easier time playing the games instead of just using the touch screen. (It's important to note that both ends of the cable are USB 3.0/C or whatever the ones that are rounded around the corners are. Its the only one we have). This is purely for convenience and I was going to return it when I was done.
I went upstairs to tell my mom to not get rid of it since I found a use for it and she got upset with me because I didn't ask her. I was confused since we dont have any charging plugs that accept USB 3.0/C and even if we do, we dont use them since my mom uses a wireless charger at home and a regular USB to USB 3.0/C in her car so she literally wouldn't get any use out of it and literally left it out on the counter.
I told her these things (admittedly interrupting her a few times when she was just listing the same things about how I was disrespectful and thoughtless) and told her I wasn't planning on keeping it and I was going to return it. She said I'm not allowed to use it anymore and I feel like that's just unwarranted since her phone is literally charging nearby on a wireless charging pad and she was already charging it in her car on the way back from the AT-T store.
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I got a government grant from a clean air project for turning in my '97 Corolla for a very hefty chunk of money off of a new (or new-ish) hybrid vehicle from an approved dealership, finally went to purchase my new car today with my dad, and ended up getting a 2025 Toyota Camry SE.
Sorry, Alastor, I think I'm with Vox on the front of technological advancement, ahaha. It's almost a 30 year jump in car technologies and I damn well feel like I've upgraded into the new century (or, well - millennium, technically)! This car does so many things and they all manage to feel like they are actually convenient rather than useless technology bloat. I think this is technically what Nietzsche meant when he said that to live is to suffer, LOL. Can't appreciate the good stuff if you haven't experienced the alternative! Also, y'know. My breaks lost pressure on me in the middle of a winding mountain road with no cell service last month, so. That was the sign to move on.
It's so wild to go from a car that's got a plain metal key, a phone charger operated through the cigarette lighter that only succeeds in making my phone lose charge more slowly, an AC system that would vibrate the whole dashboard alarmingly if it had to work too hard, and music that I played through a casette tape with bluetooth connectivity...to a car where I get in, put my phone down on the wireless charging pad, and watch the touchscreen automatically turn on with my Spotify and Google maps. Never again am I going to accidentally leave my headlights on and drain my car battery, LOL. Thanks, battery-attached jumper cables, you served me well. The car is so damn quiet and smooth, too.
Also, it's a very pretty car! I got it in white. Sorry, "windchill pearl."
Anyway, I'm just experiencing a delightful bit of awe and joy. Happy graduation and early birthday to me! <3
#personal#dear diary#my birthday's tomorrow on the 22nd so the timing on this was great#I was gonna get a corolla hybrid but we straight up could not find one in any of the grant-approved dealerships#and my dad convinced me to go for the camry instead and is helping me pay what the monthly payments are over my planned budget#for the next 3 years until I make attending physician money and can just pay the thing off posthaste#I'm also excited for dynamic cruise control instead of regular basic cruise control#and the safety features have already come in handy for pinging at me when a dude with a moped swerved into my blind spot#getting things squared away at the dealership took many hours so I had no energy to write today but man am I pleased as punch
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Mixed origin median system Miché stimboard after finding out we're a nondisordered traumagenic-quoigenic system! (atleast we know that we're partially formed from possible trauma tho) (done by 🤹♂️ miché)
Requests open 24/7!
x/x/x/x/o/x/x/x/x
Please read my pinned post before interacting, thank you!
[id: a stimboard based off the regretevator npc miché featuring the mixed origin & median system flags, there are 8 gifs in total. 1st row's gifs are: 1. someone painting w/ brown paint on a white surafce, 2. a camera panning up to some trees, 3. someone opening & closing a pastel purple wireless earbuds package which is kuromi themed. 2nd row's gifs are: 1. someone holding a pin of the pokemon snom, 2. an egg going through a small yellow/white plastic basketball hoop. 3rd row's gifs are: 1. someone zooming in on miché's 3d model on the legacy version of the crumbl cube floor from regretevator, 2. someone putting 2 green coloured scoops of icecream ina cup & thee final gif of the 3rd (final) row being: someone zooming in & out of a green/white drink themed to the pokemon sprigatito.
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How Do F1 Cars Work?: Braking, Cooling, Sensors
I never know how to start these posts. Let's dive in.
Braking and Cooling
Brakes are an incredibly important part of any car, but most especially in F1. With the speed and power the cars have a sensitive, sturdy, and strong braking system must exist. In the case of modern cars, F1 uses an extremely efficient and durable carbon-carbon disc brake system. This allows the car to screech to a halt in a split-second, and allows drivers to use their speedy reaction times to the best of their ability. When the driver steps on the brake pedal, it compresses two master brake cylinders, one for the front wheels and one for the rear, which generate fluid pressure.
For the front tires, the fluid pressure is delivered directly to the front brake calipers (part that houses brake pads and pistons). Inside each caliper, six pistons clamp pads against the disc and it is this friction that slows the car down. For the rear tires it is a bit different.
At the rear, the car can brake by three separate sources: friction from the brakes, resistance from the spinning engine (engine braking) and electrical braking that results from harvesting energy from the MGU-K . Although the driver can adjust each of these on his steering wheel, when he presses the brake pedal, the three systems work together via the Brake By Wire (BBW) system.
When the driver presses the pedal, the fluid pressure generated in the rear braking circuit is picked up by an electronic pressure sensor. The signal from this sensor represents the overall rear braking demand from the driver and is passed to the Electronic Control Unit (ECU) where it is turned into a series of commands to brake the rear of the car. The ECU distributes its efforts to the three systems according to the the set up of the car and this is altered by the way that the driver has adjusted the switch settings on the steering wheel. This is what teams mean when they say changing the setting on the car.
Going hand-in-hand with braking, cooling is another important part of the car, especially for brakes. Basically, there is a series of systems that cools the power unit, brakes, and electronics. If the car overheats, it can lead to damage and lack of performance. There are a few ways to cool. Radiators cool the engine and hybrid system. Intercooler cools the air that the turbocharger compresses before it enters the engine. Brake cooling ducts bring air to the brakes in order to stop them from overheating.
2. Electronics and Sensors
So i'm sure many of you have looked at the steering wheel and been baffled that this thing that looks like a Nintendo Switch steers that car. The F1 steering wheel is incredibly complex and has a variety of buttons, screens, and knobs. For example, on the steering wheel is an area for strat settings, where their plans for all eventualities are mapped out. There is also a rotary knob for MGU-K settings, where drivers can switch around when faced with possible failures. The menu allows drivers control over every setting in the car. Beyond that there is the pit lane speed button, gear change buttons, race start button, energy recovery button, and brake balance knob, among others. It really tells you how much drivers do in a race beyond racing.
Other than the steering wheel, there is also the telemetry, over 300 sensors which gathers race data and sends it back to engineers on the pit wall. This way, engineers can either remotely alter settings and strat, or advise the driver on what to do. F1 uses a customized mesh wireless network system based on WiMax 802.16 at each racetrack. The sensors record data, which is then temporarily stored in the Electronic Control Unit (ECU), which controls functions like engine performance and power steering. That sensor data then travels wirelessly to a centralized location managed by F1. F1 then sends the data to the relevant team, of course very securely. Teams then use a system called Advanced Telemetry Linked Acquisition System (ATLAS) to view and analyze sensor data.
The final pretty important electronic devices on an F1 car is the many many cameras. The most recognizable camera is found in the "T" structure that sits atop of every F1 car. It gives viewers that top-down, forward facing view used often by broadcasters. this is also how viewers often distinguish between cars of the same team. One driver will have a yellow camera, the other has black. The two nose cameras provides a view of the front wing and low circuit. The 360 camera is on top of the chassis and provides a wide view of the race track, and everything else around the car. The driver facing camera is pointed directly at the driver and helps keep track of how they are doing, and in the event of the crash helps marshals and rescuers figure out the best way to help. The two rear cameras are settled on a rear facing structure, and allows the pit wall to see what is going on directly behind the driver and advise. Beyond these ones, drivers also have cameras inside their helmets, showing exactly what they see. Can't get away with much in an F1 car.
3. How They Work Together
So, we now know the basics of most parts of the car. But these parts all must work together before that car will go anywhere. How do they do it?
One of the more obvious relationships is between aerodynamics and power. The better the aerodynamics, the more usable the power is. They also work in tandem around different parts of the track. On corners the aerodynamics keep the car stable while the power peters off. On straights the power keeps the car boosted. Suspension and tires are also very connected. It is the suspension that keeps the tires on the ground. A good suspension will also mean that the tires are easier to manage, something any driver knows is highly important. Brakes and ERS are also connected because the brakes help recover ERS, pretty simply. Also the cooling system works with most of teh car, cooling engine, tires, and brakes. The biggest connection is probably between all the sensors on the car. They are connected to every single part, and even a small bit of damage can destroy them. The non-sensor components have to accommodate for the sensors and work perfectly with them in order for proper data to be sent back.
The ultimate goal of engineers is to create a car that works in harmony all together. The integration of the engine to the chassis is highly important. There have been cars that the parts were fantastic on their own, but the minute they were put together stopped working completely. Its why teams that produce their own engines have such a leg up over non-manufacturers. Its also why sometimes you will see a car that is running poorly until one small thing is changed, and then suddenly its brand new. Car harmony really is terribly important.
Alright, done! While I covered most of the important stuff, as always if there is any particular part of the car anyone wants me to dive deeper into, please let me know.
Cheers,
-B
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Cal I can’t even put into words the grip that ☣️ has on me! I love all your stories of course and will be back soon with more asks for all of them but I’ve got so many ☣️ thoughts running through my head right now that I’ve got to share some of them
☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️☣️ (the main thoughts on my mind right now are about their powers. My current theory is that it has to do with what they were all wanting in the lab. Buck wanted to heal everyone, Ravi wanted to get them out of there/wanted to get the cure and bring it back to Chim, Hen (with her collapsed lung) wanted to breathe and maybe also stop them all from breathing in the virus? I haven’t yet expanded that to what Chim and Bobby’s powers could be but I’m excited to learn if I’m right! Also twas an absolutely evil twist to have Chim and Bobby moved somewhere else before the rescue party could get there and have Hen left behind to die but it’s also kind of genius of you since it continues to break up the reunions! So excited for Hen to be reunited with Karen and her kids and everyone else and I can’t wait to see what happens next! Seriously Cal this is so good I love it so much!)
- PCA <3
YAY! I am so glad!!! And your theory is very good! ;) Thank you so much - I am so glad you're liking it!
96 or 500 for ☣️:
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“Yeah,” Buck says. “She did.”
“I missed her,” Jee whispers.
“Me too,” Buck replies. “I love her a lot and I’m really glad she’s home.”
“You said she died,” Jee says. It’s not an accusation. It’s just a fact. He had explained to her that her dad and her Auntie Hen had died.
“I did say that,” Buck says. “And-”
“And when people die we don’t get to see them again,” Jee says.
Right. Yeah. He said that, too.
“I know, and that’s still true,” Buck says. “Mostly. We… Someone very mean tricked us. They made us think Auntie Hen and our friend Ravi died. We were really happy to learn it isn’t true.”
“It was a lie?” Jee asks quietly.
Buck nods. “A really mean lie.”
“Is Daddy a lie, too?” Jee asks. “Can we see him again?”
Shit. Maddie should really be here for this. Buck doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep.
“I don’t know yet,” Buck admits. “I really hope we can see him again, but I don’t know.”
Jee’s expression sinks.
“Hey,” Buck tips her chin up with his finger. “I promise you I’ll try my best. And if we can see him again, I’ll bring him home for you.”
Her eyes tear up.
“Can I help?” She asks.
Buck shakes his head. “No, sweetie. It’s dangerous, like firefighting. You have to stay safe, okay?”
She nods, pouting.
He gets the frustration. There’s nothing more excruciating than knowing you can’t help someone you love. Jee is so little, so young. She shouldn’t have to face this yet.
Buck pulls her into a hug.
“I’m sorry, Jee,” he says. “I wish I had a better answer.”
Jee hugs him back. He lifts her up. She snuggles her head into his shoulder.
He has to get Chim back. He has to. Even if it kills him.
He’s about to ask Jee what she needs. If he can do anything for her. Even if it’s something insane like ice cream or candy or whatever. He doesn’t care. He just wants to see her smile. But the sound of the wireless printer in the living room suddenly whirring to life startles him out of that train of thought.
“What’s that sound?” Jee asks.
“The printer,” Buck mumbles, confused.
Still carrying Jee in one arm, Buck walks into the living room to look at the device. He’s sort of freaked out. When he sees it starting to spit out pages, he half expects them to be threatening messages sent by a Netch-Co hacker. They’re not. Instead, he’s seeing maps and schematics and a list of coordinates and addresses.
“What the…” Buck wonders aloud.
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