#Balance Calibration basics

[tikitakatia]

Barça: Player Mode — A. Putellas x Reader

"Initial Calibration"

Pt. 1

WC: 3.3k

Summary: Every match, glance and brush of her against you pulls you deeper in, until the world outside starts to feel less real than the pitch. You tell yourself it’s just data, but some programs can't be written off that easily.

You don’t open the box right away.

It stays in the center of your apartment like a deactivated time bomb carrying a meaningful silence. It's like it knows it’s not ordinary. Like it’s not just a simulation kit, but a door you’ve been itching to walk through again since the moment Alexia faded from the last match.

You take the slowest shower known to mankind, pull on a sweatshirt then pick at your dinner as you watch the box wearily, like it´ll grow some legs and jump you at any moment.

When you finally manage to find the strength to crack it open, it’s quiet. You see smooth layers of black foam, and each piece of equipment is tucked into its place like it was designed just for you. The haptic suit feels lighter than you remember. You slide it on slowly, each part fitting closer than it did in the museum, like the fabric already knows your shape. The gloves lock in with a soft click. You press the headset into place and feel it seal around your face like a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then you hear a robotic voice.

“Welcome to Player Mode: Home Beta.”

“Initial calibration required. Please stand on the platform.”

Your body moves before your mind finishes processing. You step onto the motion plate, the one you installed earlier under the rug, and it adjusts beneath your feet, holding you steady. Your heart’s already ticking faster, but the system doesn’t seem to care.

“System check in progress. Standby.”

The lights dim and Camp Nou builds around you in silence.

The sound comes second. A low, ambient, wind moving across the pitch in the slow hush of evening. The stadium is empty. Sunlight drips across the sky in soft streaks of peach and gold, long shadows curling along the field like smoke. The floodlights are dimmed to a hum. 

No fans. No noise. Just you and the air.

You take one step forward and your foot hits turf with a softness that makes your chest pull tight.

“Motion recognition active.”

“Walk to the center circle.”

You move. Your legs aren’t tired yet, but they feel something. Anticipation, maybe. Memory. The system walks you through the basic steps: running, turning, shifting your balance side to side. It feels clinical, even as your body moves like it knows what’s coming next.

Then the voice changes.

“Emotional calibration in progress.”

You stop breathing for a second.

Across the pitch, the tunnel lights flicker on.

You hear the sound first, the steady and unhurried clack of cleats on concrete.

Then she steps out into the field with all the certainty in the world, like she has never gone, like she’s always been here. No fanfare. No smile. Just Alexia, moving toward you in the quiet, golden hour.

Her face is neutral and focused, and her gaze cuts through the space between you.

“It’s great to see you back,” she says, voice smooth. 

“Let’s win some trophies together.”

You don’t say anything. You laugh quietly to yourself. You’re already spiraling, and she’s not even doing anything. Just standing there and saying lines the system gave her.

“Look at me,” she says.

You do without even thinking about it.

“Stay still. We’ll sync your heart rate now.”

The air shifts and you hear it before you feel it, a soft thud in your ears, a second later than your own. Then again. Louder and closer as it's syncing. Your breathing evens and hers does too. Her shoulders rise when yours do and she blinks when you blink. It’s eerily beautiful and also very unfair.

Then she steps closer.

She lifts her hands and begins to touch you like she’s doing a pre-flight check. She lightly taps your shoulder, elbow, the small of your back and the rest of your body like she’s scanning you. The pressure is minimal and professional but your brain is not cooperating and your body starts to react anyway.

Then she reaches up.

She takes your face in her hands gently but firmly, and tilts your head just enough to meet her eyes.

Your knees nearly give out.

The haptics overfire in your chest, neck and face. It feels like heat, electricity and softness all at once. Her hands are warm, bigger than you imagined, and too steady. Your breath catches. Your heart stumbles and your fingers twitch at your sides.

She stares right into you.

And then, with zero inflection, like a system prompt she says:

“Heart rate increased.”

You let out something between a laugh and a wheeze. Your whole body wants to collapse into her. Or the turf. Maybe into the sun, you weren't sure yet.

She doesn’t react. Instead her hands drop and she steps back as if nothing happened.

“Touch registered. Response noted. Emotional sync confirmed.”

The next voice that returns isn’t hers, it’s the system’s again.

“Calibration complete. Save profile?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

She turns back to you, and this time her face doesn’t look neutral. It looks... open.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

You tear the headset off five seconds after it ends.

You’re flushed, your mouth is dry, and the suit is suddenly too much. You peel it off slowly, breathing like you just finished a sprint, and sit there on the floor, staring at nothing.

You're not going back in tonight, you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You needed to sleep or cry. Or scream into a pillow.

Maybe all three.

You spend most of the next day on autopilot.

You wake up and go through the motions. Coffee, emails, you even pretend to clean something and not one second of it feels real. You’re physically present, sure, but mentally? You’re still on that pitch. You’re still hearing your heartbeat sync to hers. You’re still standing under those fake-perfect sunset lights while she looked at you like you were the only person on the field.

You spend a full five minutes staring at your fridge before you realize you already ate. Everything just feels… dumb now. Small. Flat. Like how is anything supposed to feel real again after that? And the worst part, the absolute worst part is how incredibly, embarrassingly hot the whole thing was. You flop onto your bed and immediately pull a pillow over your face because you’re not okay.

She had both hands on your face. Like full palms. Like someone telling you to calm down in a movie before they kiss you or change your life. They were big. Not just big, they were “holy shit you could pin me to a wall” big.

Warm, soft and strong.

And her touch was like… measured. Gentle. But in control.

The kind of touch where you’re like: oh. okay. so I guess you’re in charge now.

And her eyes??? Hazel. Up close. So close you could count every fleck of gold. So close it felt personal. Like she could tell what you were thinking. Which is a nightmare because what you were thinking was extremely illegal and probably against the beta tester guidelines.

And THEN. The audacity. The absolute programmed audacity of her saying:

“Heart rate increased.”

Like girl??? No shit!!! Look at yourself!! Look at your face!!! Look at your hands!!! You’re out here touching me like we’re in some emotionally repressed, slow-burn enemies-to-lovers sports romance and then acting like it’s MY problem that I’m overheating????

You groan out loud. You’ve never been thirstier in your life and the worst part is she’s not even real. She’s code. Gorgeous, smug, perfectly responsive code.

You roll onto your side and look at the headset sitting on your desk.

It’s still there waiting with the manual next to it still unopened. You haven’t read a single page.

You tell yourself you’ll check it tomorrow. Right now, you're too busy trying to figure out if it’s normal to feel this horny and emotionally broken over a high-performance AI.

You know the answer.

You're logging in again tomorrow.

The game ends in a flurry of movement, fast passes, a final goal, then a whistle that cuts through the roar like a clean edge.

You don’t score, but you play well. You know you play well. Everything feels more connected now. The haptics fire with just enough intensity to trick your body into thinking it really did run five kilometers and you’re breathing like you earned it.

Aitana runs past you, grinning. “Nice recovery on that cross,” she says, tapping your shoulder.

Fridolina follows her, slicking sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “You don’t stop, do you?”

Ona gives you a quick smile, then nods toward the sideline. “Come on. Locker room.”

You pause and try to play it cool. “Right, yeah. Totally.”

Ingrid jogs up from behind, patting your back as she passes. “Feels like you’ve been here longer than four games,” she says with a warm yet distant tone.

You want to respond but you don’t get the chance because Alexia’s suddenly beside you.

“Hey,” she says softly. Not game-mode sharp, but something gentler.

You fall into step next to her like your body remembers how.

“Locker room?” you ask, trying not to sound like a dumbass. 

“That’s… new.”

She glances at you. “Beta version. Full facility access. So you get the whole picture and not just the games.”

You nod. “Cool. Yeah. Makes sense.”

She looks at you a little longer this time, then smiles.

“Kind of nice, right? To not disappear the second the whistle blows?”

You weren’t expecting her to say that.

You nod. “Yeah, it actually is.”

The hallway opens into a wide, bright locker room with white tile, wood benches and the Barça crest above the lockers like it’s watching over everything. You follow the flow of bodies and sit near the end, peeling off your gloves like you’re really going to shower here. Like this is your space.

The others are talking, laughing and moving around you but you’re barely listening.

Alexia drops down on the bench next to you, towel hanging loosely around her neck and she leans forward, elbows on her knees, and looks over.

“You played better today,” she says.

You blink. “Oh, thanks.”

She nods. “You read the midfield better. You’re starting to know where to be before the ball gets there.”

Your heart stutters and you try not to show it.

“Guess I’m learning.”

She gives a low, almost-smile.

“You’re good at learning.”

You look at her. Really look, and realize her eyes are lighter here. Not golden, not hazel, but something in between. Her skin’s still flushed from the run. Her voice is quieter than it was on the pitch. And even though she’s sitting like she’s resting, she’s present. Entirely. Like she’s still in the match, still reading the field. 

Only now, that field is you.

You swallow hard. “You always watch this closely?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Part of the program.”

But something about the way she says it makes your chest go stupid again.

You don’t know what to say after that, so you sit there in the hum of the locker room while she looks away, towel in hand, hair damp at the edges.

You forget, briefly, that you’re not supposed to want this so much.

You’re supposed to be testing a product.

The sim doesn’t fade right away this time. There’s no hard end. No white-out screen or sudden silence. You just stay, listening to the shuffle of cleats and low conversation, the sound of water running somewhere down the hall. You could log out.

But you don’t want to.

You don’t know how long you sit there next to her, saying nothing.

There’s no system prompt telling you to move. No fade-out. Just her beside you, quiet and real and close enough that you could reach over and..

You don’t.

Eventually, Alexia stands. Stretches. The sound of her cleats against the tile pulls you back to yourself.

She drapes the towel around her neck again and glances back at you, brows lifted slightly like she’s checking if you’re coming.

“You should walk out with me,” she says.

You nod. Too quickly.

She doesn’t wait for you to catch up. Just walks slowly enough that you can. You fall into step beside her again, the same way you did on the pitch. The hallway outside the locker room is quieter now. You pass framed jerseys, old team photos, a few doors you want to open but don’t.

Alexia looks ahead as she talks, like it’s nothing serious.

“Hope you liked that,” she says. “Most testers never make it this far.”

You glance at her. “Yeah? Why not?”

She shrugs. “People drop out early. Get bored. Think it’s just matches and goals. They don’t stick around long enough to see the rest.”

You nod, feeling the warmth bloom again in your chest.

“If you’re ready to head out, the car park’s that way.” She gestures ahead.

There’s no goodbye. No confirmation screen. Just her, pointing toward a set of heavy double doors at the end of the corridor. You walk toward them slowly, half-expecting her to follow.

She doesn’t. You look back once and see that she’s already turned away, walking the other direction.

The moment you step through the doors, the sim fades.

You’re back in your apartment before you even feel the headset lift. You’re still standing on the platform, sweat sticking the suit to your back, fingers curling like they’re still holding the edge of a locker bench.

You breathe in, then out and say her name once under your breath just to see how it feels now.

The next time you log in, it drops you mid-game again.

No countdown. No tunnel. Just the field under your feet, the weight of the boots on your legs, and the soft golden light curling across the pitch like the system’s figured out your favorite aesthetic. The crowd buzzes low and steady in the background, and your heart syncs to it without needing to try.

You’re tracking back on defense. Quick, sharp, locked in. Everything feels more responsive. When you shift your balance, the haptics register it like muscle memory. When the ball comes loose, your body already knows what to do.

You don’t score this time, someone else does, but you get the clean assist that leads to it. The whistle blows sharp and final, cutting through the sound like a ribbon, and you slow to a jog as the simulation eases into its post-match rhythm.

From across the field, Alexia claps once and calls out, “That’s it, read it early!”

Your chest pulls a little tight. You tell yourself it’s just feedback. Praise, nothing else. But your mouth still twitches into a small smile.

Back in the locker room, it’s familiar now. The lighting’s soft, the layout clean. Aitana passes you on the way to the benches, tossing you a nod. Frido offers a water bottle like you’ve been doing this for months. Ona drops next to Ingrid and unties her boots like it’s routine.

You make your way to the edge of the row and you barely sit down before Alexia brushes past, towel slung over her shoulder, hair already starting to curl from the sweat.

“You’re starting to read me better,” she says matter of factly.

“It’s faster now.”

You blink at her.

It doesn’t sound like much. Could mean anything. But the way she says it, low, casual and almost thoughtful, sits with you longer than it should.

She doesn’t stay. Just drops her gloves beside you and keeps moving.

Eventually, you follow. Out through the back hall, past the framed photos and kits, through the long stretch of hallway that leads to the car park. She doesn’t walk you this time. She just gestures toward the doors like you know the way now.

You step through.

The sim fades.

When you take the headset off, you swear your heart’s still beating to the rhythm of her voice.

Your hands move without thinking. You check the console screen out of habit, expecting the usual post-match breakdown. But today, it looks different.

There’s the regular stuff, sure, match time, pass accuracy, stamina output. But then, below that, a new set of lines.

Emotional Index: 55%

AI Memory Progression: Adaptive Learning Enabled

User Anchor Profile: ACTIVE (Locked)

You stare.

You scroll.

Three new menu tabs are now visible, tucked in the corner of the dashboard like they’ve always been there.

Memory Archive.

Emotional Sync Tracker.

Custom Interactions – Locked.

You click on the archive first. Not because you mean to. Just because it’s there.

Inside, it plays back fragments of previous sessions. Highlight clips, movement sequences, even audio pulls. One is labeled 

“User-Specific – Incomplete.”

You hover over but don't open it

At the top of the screen, a soft system notification fades in.

Thank you for completing your fifth session. Player-AI engagement intensity has exceeded the standard curve. Adaptive interaction pacing will continue to adjust.

Your finger hovers over the “more info” icon. You could dig deeper. Could look at the sync logs, the anchor settings, the memory timeline.

But you don’t.

You close the window instead. Lean back in your chair. Eyes on the screen, heart still caught somewhere back in that locker room.

You know you´re getting deeper into it, and you like that.

You land in the match like it’s nothing.

Another session. Another sun-washed pitch under your feet. The system’s loading times are seamless now. No voice prompts, no menu fades. Just you, the weight of your kit, and the thrum of noise around you that your brain already calls real.

The play’s fast today. You’re not leading it, but you’re inside of it. A cog in the right place. You don’t need to think anymore, you're starting to just move. Which is exactly why it catches you off guard when you hear her voice.

“You’re not hesitating at the turn anymore.”

You freeze for a fraction of a second. Not enough for anyone to notice, just enough for it to echo.

She said that before.

You remember it clearly. Session three. Midfield. You had barely known how to read the field back then. And today? You played differently. You were off position most of the time by design.

You push it down and keep moving.

After the goal, the sim doesn’t end right away. You’re back in the locker room again, sweat sticking to your neck, your muscles burning like they’ve actually done something. You’re untying your boots when she sits next to you.

Alexia.

Same towel, same post-match calm.

“You played slower today,” she says softly. “Not in a bad way. You were thinking more.”

You glance at her. “Was it that obvious?”

She shrugs, almost smiling. “You hold your breath before you pass.”

You blink.

It’s not said like a tease. It’s not said like she read it off your performance stats. It’s said like she’s been watching you closely over time.

You laugh too quickly. “Weird thing to notice.”

Alexia leans back against the bench. “I’ve seen you do it a few times.”

There’s no reason for that to matter. There’s no reason for her to remember that.

She looks at you then, full-on. Not like a teammate. Not like a program.

Like a person.

Then, quietly: “What made you try that cross in the second half?”

You stop breathing just for a second.

“What?”

She turns her head away, like she didn’t notice how that landed. “It was different. I wasn’t expecting it.”

You don’t answer but your pulse kicks a little harder under your skin.

She doesn’t ask anything else. Just stands, drops her towel into the bin, and heads for the back corridor.

When you leave through the car park, the doors open slower than usual.

The sim fades like it always does. But this time, it takes longer to let go.

You pull the headset off with shaking hands.

You tell yourself it was just an update. A system test. The AI probably logs behavioral changes now. It’s not weird. Not really.

But that?

“You hold your breath before you pass.”

You didn’t teach her that.

Pt. 3

[jsooly]

death in the family (4) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, with a lot of time on your hands, you look into the RDA hoping to find spider.

a meatier chapter to make up for the break i took <3

(1) / . . . / (7) / (8*) / (9* - ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

living at the human base was an adjustment. a week in and you still hadn't completely come to terms with it. for one, you had a lot more time on your hands without not-so-little ones to supervise.

you tried to busy yourself with menial tasks. calibrating balances, watching the old logs, getting upset over the old logs, reading and correcting norm's scientific studies... the base was nothing like hometree, and even the rocky expanses of high camp was homier than the metal box you found yourself in. the incessant buzz of the research equipment made it hard to not be antsy, and the fluorescent lighting above your designated bunk was a poor excuse for the gentle light of the sun.

thankfully you did get a room to yourself with all the basics. a desk, bed, mirror, and bathroom. despite being human, you had little experience with human surroundings and things, and you had no possessions to occupy the furniture they provided you. you found it bitterly funny that you had a physical reminder of everything you lost.

norm knocked on your door. "hey." he pressed his lips together in an awkward smile. "your mother left this for you."

you sat up on your bed, your brows furrowing in confusion. "when?"

"about a day before they left." norm dropped a beaded necklace into your cupped hands. "i'm sorry i didn't remember sooner, i was..."

"busy?" you finished for him, not meeting his eye as you turned the jewelry over in your palms.

"yeah."

that was also a theme you were recognizing. norm had a family of his own—mated with an olangi woman and had two kids. between that and his studies, he was often away from the base.

you held up the necklace, letting it dangle in front of you. it was very... neytiri. the garment was layered 3 times, with a multitude of beads colored blue and brown along the woven string.

"she said it was hers a while back. one she grew out of." norm explained.

"why didn't she give it to me when she was here?"

"i..." norm's head tilted, his eyes flickering up to the ceiling as he searched for an answer. "this held a weight of finality for her. she wants to hear how you like it when you see each other again."

you quirked a faint smile, removing your current piece and hooking neytiri's around your neck. even though it was designed for a 8ft tall woman, it fit perfectly against your chest. it even smelled like her.

you sighed deeply, your moment cut short when norm cleared his throat. your focus snapped to him expectantly.

"i've got to go out again. i'll probably be a few days, at most." he informed you. "you remember the rules, right?"

you nodded, smiling politely as he left you to your thoughts. you weren't exactly sure of the details of the instructions norm received from jake. for the most part, you were free to do what you wanted as long as you didn't wander too close to the RDA base.

but you made a promise to kiri, and you were never one for following orders anyway. now, more than ever.

—

"the location of jake sully." general ardmore enunciated her words.

spider was fastened against the interrogation machine, mechanical panels of green light whirring around him in a blur. behind the RDA general, a map of his brain was blown up, scientists buzzing around it like flies searching for their last meal.

"a single thought, and we'll see it." she continued monotonously, "we know you know where he is."

"i don't know! i swear!" spider screamed, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he fought a battle against his very own mind. his eyes squeezed shut, gritting his teeth to zero in on the pain.

quaritch observed the boy, letting the interrogation continue for a few seconds longer before pulling the plug. the general whipped to face him, disgruntled, but he held out a giant blue hand to calm her.

"let me try the personal approach."

"you're not his father." ardmore reminded him, her eyes cold and calculating. "i meant to discuss something i saw on your fallen soldier's body cam, by the way."

quaritch's eyes momentarily drifted to a shuddering spider, blood trailing out of his nose.

"what?" quaritch answered the general.

"you encountered another savage human, did you not?"

"yeah." quartich replied, wanting to speed up the conversation so he could make his play at spider. "do we have to do this now—"

"did you notice she didn't have a gas mask?"

the general's words made him freeze. huh. he, in fact, did not notice that.

"and she was breathing just fine." ardmore scoffed, stepping off the interrogation platform and rubbing her temples. "wonder what freak of nature cooked her up. regardless, she could be a step further in solving the problem of sustaining human life on pandora. she's a person of interest."

"i assume jake sully took her when he ran and hid." quaritch mentally rifled through his memories for any indication of your continued stay in the forest. by his understanding, you were a sully as well.

"that's your first mistake." ardmore's voice was clipped as she stormed off. "just keep an eye out. and if she did flee with the family, don't kill her."

quaritch tossed an unimpressed look at ardmore. he didn't care about the girl, but duty was duty.

"i'm gonna talk to the kid," quartich circled back to his original task. ardmore waved him off.

as if talking would work on spider—and it didn't. quaritch sat on the table next to spider, trying to appeal to his need to escape from here, the tantalizing chance of being out with the recom group. he knew the boy would scheme against them, but he figured he could handle anything the runt tried.

if anything, he was glad spider was the only connection to jake sully he had to tame in order to pursue the enemy.

"i'm not going to ask you to betray jake sully. i know you're not going to do that. you're loyal, and... i admire loyalty." quaritch's lips twitched up in a smile. "just... ride along."

spider refused to look at his pseudo-father, but he wasn't going to pass up that deal. anything to get out of there.

soon enough he was on the squad's airship. quaritch's heavy hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him down into a seat.

"you listen up," he towered over him. "there's a tracker built in that mask. we hit the ground and you take off, i'll have you back in two minutes and i'll give you an old school ass whippin'. understood?"

spider rolled his eyes at him, writhing in the mutant's iron grip.

"understood?" quaritch repeated, his glare sharp and unforgiving.

spider narrowed his eyes, "yes sir." he responded derisively.

when the recoms found a clearing in the forest, they stationed their ship and huddled up among the lush greenery.

"wherever jake sully is, we'll find him." quaritch promised, determination set in his features. "and his batshit crazy wife, too."

he earned a round of murmured chuckles from his squad.

"matter fact, every one in the sully lineage is a pain in the ass." quaritch rested his hands on his belt as he continued. "the oldest son took out zhang. the little ones bit y'all, and their human adoptee put more holes in this squad than i can count on one hand." he clicked his tongue in disappointment. "that's not good. we can't have that. which reminds me of our second objective: bring the girl in for testing."

spider frowned, his mind racing to decipher their intentions. but you should be long gone by now, so his worries subsided.

"if that girl can be just as savage as the rest of 'em, we should have no problem going full na'vi. we're already blue."

spider thought it laughable when he listened to them planning to go 'full na'vi.' he couldn't help but think that it would be easy as pie to mislead them, since they were stupid enough to entrust their learning to him.

oh yeah, there was no way these guys were catching jake sully anytime soon. not if he had any say in the matter.

—

you felt much more comfortable in the forest. sounds of your footsteps didn't echo behind you and for once, you breathed in fresh air instead of the musk of scientists parked in front of their microscope for three days straight.

well, you were mostly soundless. the beads of neytiri's necklace click clicked together every time you took a big leap. but you figured you blended in well enough to the soundboard of pandora.

crouching atop the thick branches a ways away from the RDA base, you caught sight of quaritch hanging out the side of an airship that was taking off.

you followed from a distance, remaining perched and hidden among the leaves. you craned your neck out, eyes peering down at them. you could make out the bandages over the wounds you inflicted. and—

"spider." you whispered before you could stop yourself. he was okay.

though you could hardly call being right in the palms of your enemy 'okay.' your first instinct was to leap out but you silenced the urge and pondered your next move. you knew firsthand you couldn't take them all, so you trailing behind them was all you could do until you found the right opportunity.

—

meanwhile, after a treacherous flight over a raging sea, the rest of the sullys found uturu with the na'vi of awa'atlu, a metkayina clan. no one was happy to begin with, and the rocky start with their hosts didn't help with their moods.

"don't cause trouble." jake warned them in their family huddle. "learn fast, pull your weight."

the soft cries of their youngest caught everyone's attention, all heads turning in her direction.

"i wanna go home," tuk sobbed, her usually bright eyes blurry with tears. "i miss y/n."

"aw, tuk," neytiri cooed with sympathy, her head tilting in concern.

"this is our home now." jake pulled her into his side, squeezing her comfortingly when her head knocked against his chest in defeat. "and soon enough, y/n will be able to live with us."

"what does your father always say?" neytiri supported her husband, giving her children expectant looks.

"sullys stick together." they droned unenthusiastically in unison.

"that's right," jake nodded, a sad yet hopeful smile on his face. "sullys stick together."

tsireya beckoned them outside, and they rushed into the water. that was one thing they were excited about. tuk waddled behind her older brothers', their flashy diving throwing her off guard. she whimpered softly as she glimpsed at the deep water, but after remembering she leaped off a waterfall with you, she figured she could handle a couple feet's worth of water.

she took a few steps back before catapulting herself off the walkway with an excited whoop.

she surfaced with a gasp followed by a bright laugh. "i wish y/n was here, she'd love this!"

"y/n?" aonung treaded water, approaching the group as they surfaced and breathed in deeply. "who is this y/n?"

"just our sister back—"

"shhh, tuk!" lo'ak snapped, lightly shoving her shoulder.

"what?" she whined, her face disappearing underwater momentarily. she returned above water with a glare.

"you have left behind a sister?" aonung scoffed in disbelief. "what, is she more ugly than you?"

lo'ak bared his teeth but before he could bite back, neteyam stepped in. "she's older than us, old enough to live by herself."

"she's staying with our human friends—"

"tuk!" lo'ak hissed, rearing on his youngest sister with an incredulous look. "take a hint!"

"what?" she whined again, more aggressively. "it's true!"

"they don't need to know everything!"

"ahhh," a stupid smirk wormed its way onto aonung's face, looking at tsireya and roxto for support in his interrogation. "is this sister a demon?"

"aonung." tsireya cut in sharply, her brows knitted. he ignored her, enjoying how visible lo'ak's rage was.

"i am not surprised. after all, you all are contaminated with demon's blood."

"let it go." neteyam bit out in lo'ak's ear, pushing him as best he could in the water. lo'ak, a million retorts dormant on his tongue, took his older brother's advice and tore himself out of the water, storming along the walkway back to their marui.

"wait!" tsireya called behind them helplessly. she swam closer to the walkway as neteyam helped pull tuk out of the water. "i apologize for my brother. he has no manners. please, come back out with us."

neteyam flashed her a brief, appreciative smile. "we'll be back in a few minutes. i promise."

the minute he turned his back to walk off, his smile immediately dropped and he let out a deep sigh. his work was definitely cut out for him.

—

you watched as spider taught the recoms how to tell if a fruit was poisonous or not. eventually they broke their huddle to go harvest what would be lunch, dinner, and probably breakfast.

strangely enough, a seed of eywa floated out of nowhere and found its resting place on your new necklace. wildly confused but preoccupied with spider, you shooed it away.

now or never. you told yourself, skillfully descending the tree. landing without a sound, you stalked through the bushes, hanging low to the ground.

you snuck up behind them, crouching just behind spider as he looked on with crossed arms, like a schoolteacher supervising kindergarteners during recess.

you grabbed his wrist. "spider. come on, let's go." you whispered urgently.

he tensed up, startled, resisting your grip. "y/n? why are you—"

"we can chat later. come on, they're all distracted."

"i can't."

"why?"

"tracker." he tapped his mask.

your stomach flipped. shit. how are you going to work around that? you sunk back down out of sight.

"okay. face them, act normal. don't react, and don't talk." you whispered your instructions. "i'm gonna ask you questions. show one finger for yes, two for no."

he folded his arms behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"are you okay?" you asked.

he held up a finger. yes.

"okay. do they know jake left?"

yes. his single finger remained extended.

"do they know where they are?"

he flashed two fingers. no.

"but they're still pursuing them." you asked for clarification.

yes.

"can they track them?"

yes.

"they can. with what? radio chatter?"

yes, he indicated, but made a keep going motion with his hands.

"airships?"

yes.

okay. you thought. at least you knew jake and the rest weren't about to contact the human base anytime soon, if ever.

you clutched your head. spider's tracker put a dent in your plans, but you weren't totally surprised. and idea popped into your head. your fingers curled around your own comm choker, snapping it off your neck.

checking to see if the coast was clear, you tied it around spider's wrist. thankfully, it looked like any other omaticayan bracelet.

"i just tied my comm to you." you explained. "i'll reconnect to the system with a spare back at the base. use it whenever you feel the need to or get a chance."

he raised one finger to show he understood.

"round up!" quaritch's booming voice echoed even in the open space. "let's check out the loot."

"i'll see you." you whispered, patting his arm in farewell before sneaking off to a safe distance once more. you caught spider's faint nod before leaving.

tracker in the gas mask. you pursed your lips, racing against the sunset back to base. what could you possibly do about that?

—

"lo'ak, go back out there with your siblings. your hosts are waiting." jake ordered his son firmly, watching the boy pace anxiously.

"they can insult us all they want just cuz they decide to be decent people and house us?" lo'ak sneered.

"hey." jake snapped, eyes narrowing. "none of that. go outside."

lo'ak rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he begrudgingly obeyed his father's orders.

as soon as he left, jake sunk into a seat, dropping his face into his hands. "this was the right thing to do." he whispered, but it teetered between a statement and question of confidence.

"no use second guessing yourself now." neytiri advised, stoking the fire.

a beat of silence passed between them. gentle ocean breeze whistled past their marui, filling the atmosphere with a cool touch.

"what do you think she's doing?" jake mumbled.

"sleeping, hopefully." neytiri hummed with a far-off smile.

"knowing her?" jake chuckled, shaking his head. "definitely not."

they shared soft laughter, competing for who's prediction was the most accurate.

if only they knew you were single-handedly trying to undermine the RDA's operations.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky @aureolinb @whosbibi2000

© jsooly ‘25

[mystic-rox]

Love & Pain | Mini Series

Master List

Pairings: Hotch x Reader | Morgan x Reader | Reid x Reader | Garcia x Reader | Elle x Reader | Prentiss x Reader | Rossi x Reader

Warnings: migraines

WC: 1.1k

Aaron Hotchner

Hotch noticed the signs before you said a word. You hadn’t answered your phone, the house was dark, and the curtains were drawn in that exact way you only did when your migraine hit hard.

He didn’t call your name. He didn’t knock. He just stepped in, soft and precise.

There you were, blanket tangled at your feet, face drawn, eyes pinched shut. He crouched beside you, pressing the back of his hand to your cheek, then disappearing like a ghost into the kitchen.

When he returned, he knelt silently beside the couch with water, two NSAIDs, and a cool compress wrapped in the sleeve of one of his old cotton shirt, because he knew the fabric wouldn’t irritate your skin.

“I’ve already turned off the heat pump,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath. “And shut off your Wi-Fi. Too much EM activity can sometimes worsen symptoms.”

You cracked an eye open, pain-spiked but grateful.

“I just want to die,” you muttered.

Hotch’s jaw ticked slightly. “Then I’ll sit with you in hell. Until it passes.”

His hand brushed over your arm as the cold cloth kissed your forehead. No one did silence like Hotch. And no one made silence feel more like safety.

⸻

Elle Greenaway

Elle let herself in like she always did, like a SWAT officer breaching a scene, just with more reusable bags.

“You didn’t answer your phone. That, in this house, is an emergency.” You tried to sit up, but the pain sent you reeling.

“Ah-ah,” she said, already sliding a small espresso across the nightstand. “You’re still under the two-hour window, right? Caffeine’s gonna help narrow the blood vessels.”

She cracked her knuckles. “Now gimme your hand.”

You didn’t argue. She found the fleshy point between your thumb and forefinger and applied firm, rhythmic pressure. LI-4 — one of the strongest known acupoints. She’d memorized it. Of course she had.

Ten minutes later, she coaxed you through gentle neck stretches while playing a lo-fi playlist at low volume. She’d even brought anti-inflammatory turmeric crackers, in case you could stomach food later.

“You don’t have to fight through this,” she said, brushing your forehead. “You just have to let me fight with you.”

⸻

Spencer Reid

Spencer came in like a tornado wrapped in calm. His arms were full: magnesium glycinate, a bottle of electrolyte water, lavender essential oil, and a set of noise-canceling headphones paired to his laptop.

“You’re horizontal, which is good,” he murmured, kneeling at your side. “But your neck’s too angled, that can make it worse.”

He reached behind your head and adjusted the pillows, aligning your cervical spine like he’d studied anatomy for this exact moment… he had.

Then he handed you two magnesium capsules and a chilled bottle of electrolyte water. “You’ve been low on fluids today. That disrupts sodium-potassium balance in neurons, which worsens migraines.

Once you took them, he gently rubbed lavender oil into your wrists, then placed the headphones on your ears.

“Binary beats calibrated to theta wave patterns,” he explained softly. “Might help with the pain processing.”

Then he stayed, reading to you in a warm murmur, his voice the only thing soft enough not to hurt.

⸻

Penelope Garcia

Garcia burst through your door like a glitter cannon, except quiet. Dressed in muted tones- a rare thing- she held a basket like Mary Poppins for migraine sufferers.

“No processed sugar, no MSG, no dyes,” she whispered proudly, revealing homemade bone broth and rice cakes with almond butter. “I researched your triggers. No sins shall pass.”

She pulled a bottle of eucalyptus oil from her bag, added a few drops into the diffuser, then dimmed your smart lights to a warm amber hue.

“Your phone’s now in dark mode. Also, I changed your font settings to reduce flicker,” she said. “You’re basically living in a spa for your brain.”

You smiled weakly, and she immediately kissed your hand. “You are not broken, sugarplum. You are inflamed and fabulous, and I’m here to remind your neurons who’s boss.”

Then she sat beside you and led you through box breathing, 4 seconds in, 4 hold, 4 out. Like code. For your nervous system.

⸻

Derek Morgan

Morgan came in with urgency masked in calm. He was already unscrewing the peppermint oil as he kicked off his boots.

“Forehead, temples, base of your skull,” he said, dabbing it on your pressure points. “This stuff activates cold receptors. Cools inflammation.”

He slid a gel pack behind your neck, then pulled you up just enough to rest against his chest. Strong hands moved to your shoulders, working tight muscle bands in deliberate strokes.

“I mapped your trigger zones,” he murmured. “And I turned off every light in the hallway.”

You leaned into him, breathing easier.

“I’ll rub till it stops,” he promised. “Or till my hands fall off. Whichever comes first.”

⸻

JJ Jareau

JJ knocked gently before entering. She wore a soft hoodie and carried a tray like a nurse who made house calls just for the people she loved.

“I made ginger tea, good for nausea,” she said, setting it down. “And warm compress for the back of your neck. You always carry tension there.”

She crouched next to the bed, holding the heating pad against your skin as if it were a holy object.

“This was already a rough week,” she whispered. “Stress, skipped meals, two hours of fluorescent lighting on Tuesday. We’re going to work on better pacing, okay?”

She’d already blocked your calendar. Already texted your team.

“You need permission to rest,” she said gently. “Let it be me.”

⸻

Emily Prentiss

Prentiss didn’t knock. She just entered quietly, like the migraine version of a guardian angel with combat boots.

“I’ve got your meds,” she said, crouching beside the bed. “You’re still under threshold, so they should still work.” She helped you sit up with perfect precision, handed you your triptan, then adjusted the pillows behind you.

“I shut off the power strip to your monitors. I also flipped the breaker on the hallway light. And I put your phone in airplane mode.”

When you opened your mouth to protest, she pressed a cool finger to your lips.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “Boundary setting is part of healing. Let me teach you.”

She dimmed your entire world down to shadow, scent, and the safe sound of her breathing.

⸻

David Rossi

Rossi moved through your home like a quiet butler with a black card and a heart too big for his chest. “I brought butterbur, the good kind. Certified PA-free.” He handed you the capsule and a small glass of lemon water, gently guiding your fingers.

Then he adjusted the HEPA air purifier he’d brought with him, just a little white noise and clean, filtered air.

“I also made a low-histamine soup,” he added, removing the lid. “Nothing spicy, no preservatives. Just vegetables, salt, and a hell of a lot of love.”

He sat beside the bed, rolling your sleeve up and checking your pulse, not because you asked him to. Because he had to. Because he cared.

“I’ve seen worse pain in my life,” he said softly. “And I’d still trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

You didn’t need to answer. Not with words. Just the way your hand found his.

[melinoelabs]

It isn't that everything strange tastes like chicken.

Chicken does not possess a flavor as we understand it. Rather, chicken is akin to a TV test pattern or a white-balance card. It is a calibration point that determines the entire culinary balance of the individual palette.

This is what the Wal-Mart of the extreme sciences would call a 'cognitohazard.' Your basic run of the mill stared-into-the-mouth-of-the-infinite-and-went-mad-with-forbidden-knowledge type thing. But we've all eaten chicken, we all know what chicken tastes like, right?

No.

We all know what our minds have filled in to protect us from the cosmic truths hidden within the deliciousness of tyrannosaurus' most edible heir. A false memory we re-experience with each taste of forbidden knowledge.

And whenever your senses are baffled, your primed nervous system retreats to the defense mechanism it knows.

As a consequence, no two people taste the same chicken. For that to happen, a second person would have to experience the taste and carry its memory with them without succumbing to madness. Thus far, it has only happened to one person.

That person?

Guy Fieri.

[shabbytigers]

seems like yesterday’s election could have gone worse

do i like this outcome? not fucking really, jack! but as a dual us/de citizen i now calibrate degrees of fascist catastrophe insofar as “fash rising to a full 20 ass percent of the fucking vote” is objectively speaking less catastrophic than “fash presently ensconced in power without meaningful opposition and currently actively abolishing what’s left of checks and balances, stamping on human faces, wrecking governance, and smashing the infrastructure of civilized life, in every domain, at speed” 🙃

the american press says germany did not thrill en masse to the pre-election outreach gestures of elon musk and jd vance, and that’s good news if true. i realize there’s an irreducible contingent of these goons and bootlickers everywhere but it matters how much the rot has spread

and i don’t think that ever-rising numbers are inevitable here. the us is headed for some spectacular failures and breakdowns in basic infrastructure everyone takes for granted. i figure other countries will see that unfolding and experience some degree of “not like that,” i.e. enough people trembling on the margin of going full brainworms will pull back that we steer clear of the timeline in which AfD actually takes over

(anyway that’s my current internal narrative. please don’t suggest i need to be dooming harder. i like to be functional in daily life and able to ever think about anything else for ten seconds, and i’m having more enough trouble as it is in those regards just watching the us burning from here)

(at least lindner is gone. try spinning that as not good news. you can’t)

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The salt of life

Disclaimer: This makes no sense, it's just a list of Sydcarmy musings and analogies but I wanted to share it anyway.

In culinary metaphors

Syd is affecting Carmy like TABLE salt affects mixes in bakery. She enhances Carmy’s flavor, but does not change it. That’s not always a good thing. It all depends on finding the right balance and timing and ensuring the ingredients are correctly mixed because otherwise, the whole thing is ruined.

Salt is dangerous. As a matter of fact, it can kill you.

Salt is basically sodium. Sodium is poison when incorrectly used, but it also makes the ❤️ beat when its levels are balanced out with the potassium in our blood.

In medical terms

Syd is the heart.

Carmy is the circulatory system that would dry up and die unless the heart irrigates it.

The Bear, their place, is the blood. The family.

What makes the heart beat is electricity.

They generate this power. This spark. And it can get out of control, like all sparks, of course.

That’s the chemistry they create when they are together → Beating.

None make sense without the other, BECAUSE THEY FORM A SYSTEM, is you separate the veins and arteries from the heart and the blood, they are simply lifeless. Isolated they don't make much sense.

THEY ARE A SYSTEM. THE MAIN SYSTEM.

How that system works

She lit the spark in him and gave him a heart when he was used to being a robot who only worked and smoked the competition.

Sydney could definitely work without Carmy, but at this point, it wouldn't make sense for her. She would feel lifeless, even if she wins 100 stars elsewhere. Her place is The Bear, the restaurant and the chef. Because that's what she chose with her heart.

Carmy has worked and thrived without her and wouldn't do it again unless it's out of spite, just to show her.

However, I don't think it'll come to that like it once did with Michael, or his parents, he has learned that lesson the hard way by now.

Carmy works as a SYSTEM, as part of something bigger than him, if he becomes isolated, S3 Carmy takes the wheel. He doesn't work like that, he crashes and burns.

But during most of S3 the "spark" Syd ignited in him, the one that got the blood flowing again, gave him a heart, a purpose, where there was only a hurt man who felt so much pain that couldn't even express it and thus, sublimated it in the form of a work addiction and functional depression, and therefore couldn't overcome it either, got out of control.

The SYSTEM was broken, because the elements that formed it attempted to work separately. There was no synergy, just energy that was out of balance. Not completely, but mostly.

Back to the salt

I have already gone over the analogy between Carmy and onions, acid, etc. Most in the fandom have, but here's a reminder of what I think about that:

So, the result of mixing culinary purpose salt (table salt) with acid ingredients is a WEAKER ACID.

We can all agree on Carmy being "intense", right?

Well, when in contact with her he can calibrate himself better.

I emphasize "contact" because when they are OUT OF TOUCH, the effect is almost instantaneous and painfully obvious in Carmy, which has always been, and in S3 it started to become more apparent in her too, as you can see in these previous entries:

They belong together to balance each other out, when there's this distance between them, that we saw in S3, THEY ARE IMBALANCED.

Salt is the balancer ingredient in any recipe. It enhances what needs to be enhanced and neutralizes what needs to be neutralized if used correctly

But salt on its own is no good, it needs to work as part of a recipe, a dish, A SYSTEM.

She's the salt, his salt, the one that brought flavor back to his life, and that's why his story re-started the day she came into his life. Carmy and all that he represents, the restaurant he inherited, the family in it, the family business that Cicero keeps funding, the extended family now Syd found at The Bear, is the system. He is a system that needs to be balanced and sometimes neutralized. Salt is the main ingredient for him, because he lacks of it, he's acid.

Bonus track: Le Chatelier's principle

I have mentioned this before but it bears repeating→ When her dishes were out of balance it was always because of the "acid" ingredient, which means she's outta balance too. Carmy doesn't balance her, he doesn't have that effect on her. In chemistry, acids tend to dissolve salt BUT they can create NEW SALTS too (Le Chatelier's principle). She's fighting this because she knows that once she fully lets Carmy in, it's gonna be the end of the world as she knows it. She won't be able to fight it much longer after this breaking point ↓

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[galacticnikki]

100 Witchcraft Tips in 100 Days!

Day 12 - Elemental Divination With Candles

Candles represent all four elements. The solid wax represents earth, the wick and smoke represents air, the melted wax represents water, and the flame represents fire. Each elemental property of the candle can be used for divination purposes.

1. Fire Scrying (Fire)

Fire scrying also known as pyromancy is an ancient divination method. Fire scrying is the act of looking into a flame and looking for guidance or insight into a situation. I personally don't believe there's one true way to interpret the flame. I recommend that if you're just getting into fire scrying to keep a journal. It's recommended that you start with a smaller flame like that of a candles as it's much easier to focus on. Every day, or so often as you feel comfortable doing so, light a candle and observe it. Note down how you feel as your watch the candle, the shapes, symbols, or movements that catch your attention. Note how it's moves and shifts, how it responds to the environment, note as much as possible. There's so many factors that can mess with a flame and noting it down can help you separate the mundane from the magical. Over time as you look over your notices check for patterns. This can help you determine what the different movements mean and basically calibrates your reading to your environment, to your practice.

2. Smoke Divination (Air)

Smoke divination is another common divination method. It's very similar to fire scrying as it's best to have a journal to metaphorically calibrate it to your environment and practice. There are several sources of smoke you can use which include, candles, burning herb bundles, bonfires, or incense. I recommend starting with incense as it produces a steady stream of smoke which makes it easier to read for beginners. Once you understand the meanings behind the smoke patterns move to a candle.

3. Melted Wax Scrying (Water)

Melted wax scrying is a method I've recently learned about. The process involves dripping candle wax into a bowl of water and deciphering meaning from the shapes and patterns created by the wax. These drippings can be shaped like many things and can be interpreted in various ways. Circular blobs usually symbolize completion, cycles, and wholeness. Heart shaped blobs symbolize love, emotional fulfillment, or matters of the heart. As you read the wax make sure to note down your results.

4. Solid Wax Divination (Earth)

Solid wax divination is a form of divination I recently created. It's a type of divination takes inspiration from the standard melted wax scrying method. As your candle burns the wax melts away or drips down the sides. This method utilizes that to it's benefit. Ask a question, light your candle, and wait. Eventually your intuition will tell you to blow out or snuff the candle depending on your personal preference. Once you've blown or snuffed out your candle take a close look at it. Really look at the details when you're doing this for the best results. Is the wax cracked anywhere? Is the wick standing up straight or is it bent over? What's the texture of the drip like? Did any shapes form in the wax pool? Was the drip balanced or lopsided? Note this information down and keep a journal. I know I mention journals a lot but trust me when it's a huge help in the long run.

If you want to find more of these entries use the hashtag #100 Witchcraft Tips in 100 Days!

[misericordevn]

Just read Misericorde 2 in like an eight hour feverish haze. I'm currently recommending it to any of my friends who would be remotely interested. I really adore how deftly it threads the needle of setting it in a different society with different priors, beliefs, and values while still making things so earnestly human and relatable. it's so so hard to write historical fiction without either otherizing people in the past or conversely making them 21st century people who just talk in thees and thous and so on

Thank you! It's a tough balancing act and I realize that basically any choice will end up bothering someone. It's interesting. I have bounced off of many historical games and films for having what I would consider egregiously modern dialogue, and I have seen a handful of criticisms of Misericorde for having very modern language. It's a fair cop!

The thing is, everyone's barometer for this is calibrated differently. My goal with Misericorde was to make the dialogue approachable but seasoned with historicity. That's why characters often make cultural references to things that the story just breezes by, e.g the sinking of the White Ship, the poetry of Gwerful, etc. Any impenetrability comes from the subjects and attitudes of their discussions rather than the words. In my head everyone sort of has BBC Period Drama Accent. It's not accurate, but it's evocative.

A meticulously accurate Misericorde would be very difficult to read and even more difficult to write. It's an interesting idea though, isn't it? And isn't it funny how everyone has a different perspective on what "accuracy" is? Volume Three coming soon.

[pistatsia]

Marc Snuffy: the one who's in control

my Snuffy & Lorenzo fic using this characterization

Snuffy is the epitome of the word 'control'. From his motto to the use of his body with its perfect, calibrated balance on the field in the form of jiu jitsu (elements of which were also utilised by logic genius Sherlock Holmes in Conan Doyle's fictional style).

Snuffy controls everything from the individual strengths of his players to their place in his strategies, while also building all of his logic on a solid, confident base: for example, when constructing his team at Ubers he goes by the club's tradition and builds it on defence rather than attack. Even Lorenzo was raised by him to be flexible and adaptable (and most importantly, with the understanding that the most important thing is not to win, but to live), which can be seen in his attitude to the game - both serious and entertaining at the same time. And capable of accepting both losing and winning with dignity.

He controls even personal relationships, clearly defining the conditions for both sides, their benefits and losses - where it would seem that there should be no room for formalities. And if about Barou this could be hardly regarded to the football, then with the starving Lorenzo everything is a bit more complicated.

And I think it's obvious to everyone that this not entirely healthy level of control, going far beyond the boundaries of dedication, grew out of his trauma from Mick's death and their failure.

It's evident even in his relationship with the characters closest to him, Lorenzo and Barou. Through them both - two people so similar to Mick Moon (Lorenzo in appearance in his homeless era, Barou in both appearance and personality) - Snuffy recreates his trauma in an attempt to rewrite it with a happier ending. The kind of thing that Barou gets a glimpse of and is rightly angry about.

Of course this is hardly fully realised, only partly - in life, for example, kids who were bullied in their childhood sometimes become teachers. And then they stop the bullying near them as working adults, giving the new kids the happy ending they once deserved. And that's exactly Snuffy's case: he saves his players from a fate he himself couldn't avoid. He's willing to keep them as safe as he can control, growing them in almost hothouse conditions, which is exactly what Barou hates. So much so that he's easily willing to take the blame if they fail.

But at the same time, which makes perfect sense for such a person, Snuffy hates it when things get out of control, especially when there is deliberate sabotage - which is actually what Noa is teasing him about. I'd even go so far as to say that Snuffy is the kind of person who can only focus on a far-reaching goal by completely ignoring the unimportant things along the way - for example, he saved Lorenzo's life, but it seems they never talked about the fact that he didn't have to play football for Snuffy to love him, and that "worth" of his isn't that important.

Remember how Snuffy reacts to Barou's attempts to get out of his control and break his patterns: he's full of cold fury. That look is far scarier than shouting and punishment.

Because through Barou's prism Snuffy sees both his and Mick's paths. And most of all Snuffy is terrified of falling back into that helplessness - when he wasn't prepared for the event that broke his life in two. An event over which he had no control.

But it would seem impossible to be prepared for such an event. It's like a natural disaster and a terrorist attack - it's something that tears the usual fabric of life apart.

But when has that ever stopped anyone, right?

So Snuffy, in the moment of tragedy that destroyed his past, felt that he had a duty to anticipate everything. He had to know how and where to act, find the right words for Mick, save the careers of both of them, and basically hold the world on his shoulders so that it wouldn't break them apart.

It's terribly cruel and certainly unfair upon himself - but that's the way trauma works.

And that's why the journey he takes with Barou's help is so satisfying and liberating. Blue Lock does show overcoming one's traumas and chains visually and vividly very well - and how, with Barou's help, Snuffy was able to transcend his limitations, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, is perceived both visually and consciously, because it's relatable.

Because a person who is able to prepare for everything, to expect both loss and failure in advance, who knows exactly all his skills and advantages....

...also clearly sees the limitations of his body and mind. He simply cannot go beyond them - because he controls himself so much that he unwittingly limits himself, almost self-sabotaging - just to stay on predictable, familiar ground.

Logic is incapable of improvisation.

And this is what Barou is talking about - and what he teaches Snuffy anew, re-igniting his desire to live and play.

He shows Snuffy again that both life and football are made up of unpredictable moments - those where you are happy that something unexpected has happened that you weren't waiting for, those where you amaze yourself by going beyond your limits, those where you are happy and at the peak. Those where you need logic, but where you can't build your victory and happiness on it alone. Because happiness is in illogicality and unpredictability.

These moments are the things a person's destiny consists of.

The moments that Mick Moon lived for.

And the moments for which Marc Snuffy survived and rose again.

[mysterybyte]

“Why watch a girl with a ‘stunt cock’ when you could be watching two girls?” – A Wise Perv

Did you ever notice Lottie’s silky alabaster skin develops a full-body flush when she gets really excited?  Now that’s HOT AND SEXY.

Following the Wise Perv’s advice, I was watching a preview from Viv Thomas of Freya Mayer with Lottie Magne.  I noticed halfway into riding Freya’s tongue, Lottie was wearing a full-body sex flush. Chest, arms, hips, thighs — when Lottie gets turned on, she gets turned on all over everywhere!

(Her flush doesn’t show up well in the still photo samples, but apply some contrast in Photoshop, and it becomes more visible.  Technical discussion below.)

Lottie Magne and Freya Mayer in “Cute Couple” (stills) / “Holiday Surprise” (video), at Viv Thomas.

Fair Warning: technical photo-geekery follows…

Processing:

The stills from this shoot have low color saturation and a little too much cyan in the color balance (more about that later.)  I first switched to 16-bit color, then fixed the basic color and contrast.  Next I increased the color saturation, then copied the green and blue color channels into two layers contained within a layer set, and used overlay blending mode for the set to boost the contrast in the red hues throughout the photo.  I’ll skip the finer details of tweaking the layer blends and just mention the final tweak using the shadow/highlight filter that brought the photo to what you see above.  (Original version is below, for comparison.)

Color in Portrait Photography:

First, a brief note about my own background.  I have a college degree in fine arts and for several decades have pursued an avocation in landscape and product photography.  In those specialties, either rich color or stark black-and-white (or sepia, or whatever) are the usual color selections.  Muted color generally doesn’t sell.

Photographers and videographers routinely dial down the color saturation when photographing people, to avoid skin tones that are too ruddy, or otherwise not natural and healthy-looking.  This minimizes color shifts caused by subtle variations in lighting, such as light reflecting off of a nearby colored wall or filtering through trees.  It can also work against the photographer when color is a key part of the subject of the photo.  For example, a redhead in a midnight blue dress looks very different when photographed in rich color versus in soft black-and-white, so it wouldn’t make sense to use an in-between color saturation setting.  It usually weakens the photo.

I have also noticed that many photographers’ color balance is often skewed toward cyan, but I have no idea why, unless they simply aren’t seeing it in their own work and correcting it.  Having the white balance skewed to cyan only looks good on blue and green subjects like plants and Smurfs.

Cameras are usually good at auto-adjusting white balance for warm/cool lighting, but they don’t seem to do so well at adjusting for cyan/magenta color balance.  If you’re a photographer, you’d be well advised to always double-check the cyan/magenta balance in your camera RAW editor when you process your images.  Mine usually needs ~6% magenta, and I’ve seen that most of the online gallery sites need a ~6% to ~12% magenta filter added to get rid of the cyan haze in their photos.  Of course, make these adjustments using a color-calibrated monitor and with the room darkened, or you risk messing up the color due to your eyes & brain compensating for room lighting.

Okay, if you made it this far, you deserve a treat!

[lasi-nariyoyoreads]

What is real personality of sungchan riize please?

Sungchan's personality

He seems like a funny guy.

Disclaimer:

My readings are made for fun and you should read them for fun too. So don't take them seriously.

Cards: the lovers, rev 4 of wands, rev the chariot

He's probably a romantic person, in the general sense of the word "romantic".

He could be a passionate person who isn't afraid of his own emotions, he's probably comfortable with his body and with expressing himself through it. Is he a main dancer or something like that? Even if he isn't in the dance line, I think he might enjoy performing and dancing.

He might be seductive and he loves to connect with others.

Is it possible he isn't exactly a precise person?

Like idk he might be late to appointments or schedules, he might forget to charge his smartphone or to bring money or something like that.

He might be too focused on certain aspects and forget the basic stuff.

He's a bit out of control, he might be an emotional person?

So idk he might cry often or he's the first one to laugh at some joke or he might change his mood easily.

He might be a bit chaotic at work too, like he could be the most likely to forget a certain step in a choreo or some lyrics? Or he might mess up while giving a speech?

Some days he might be hardcore practicing like crazy and others he truly feels like he lacks energy.

There's this kind of imbalance. It might be because he's young or it's just because he doesn't know how to calibrate well his energy and how to manage better his work/life balance.

He kinda gives me Sana vibes, so someone who is confident in their body and in their personality, but who can appear clumsy.

I might assume he's well-loved by the fandom because he's kinda cute and he knows how to communicate well with his fans.

He's probably an extrovert I guess.

[velvetafterdark]

Hey, i know it's been a while since you last talked about Cargo Plane. I was wondering if the 'ask the cast' thing was still going on. I was also wondering if I could ask 3 (4 really) questions at once:

Why exactly does Bumblebee still need his cane? I know it was explained, but im failing to understand.

Has Starscream's weight affected his movement/speed/agility? We know he can still fly just fine, but what about walking?

Early on in the fic, you mentioned that Ironhide had some troubles with his size. Is he also fat?

And 1 more question for you: Are you still writing Cargo Plane, or is it cancelled? (If it's cancelled or if you're still working on it and its just taking a long time, that's fine, no pressure. Ive enojoyed it so far, so thanks for the great fic :) )

Bee: My cane helps me move around comfortably. The knee replacement I got helps me move without pain, but I don't have very good calibration. If I walk without the cane, I tend to lose my balance unless I swing my leg at the hip. That hurts if I do it for too long; lots of pressure on my back.

The cane basically acts like a guide; if I move my leg with the cane, then I can't stumble or lose balance. Honestly, I don't mind needing a cane to move; I have a good life with good friends, all considered. It bothers me more when people expect me not to use it just because I don't seem disabled.

Jackie: T' be honest, Star's probably fitter than me. He's leggy; not hard for him to outpace me if he ain't careful. He's a big boy, but he ain't outta shape. Same with 'Hide; always been a bigger fella. Little more muscle than Star, but they're both husky.

Cargo plane is in a weird spot, tbh. I love it to death, but the setting itself has gotten a bit stale for me. This is not to say that I'm not writing kink, sta/rjack, or any of the other things I love anymore. Just that I've got a different continuity, or rather, au, that I'm dedicating most of my time to.

Mission Control is my ongoing fic series. The series itself is Gen, but there will be kink fics in it. Lots of queer love, lots of fat appreciation.

Maybe one day I'll return to Cargo Plane, but right now I need something fresh. Thank you all for the support, and I hope you enjoy the new writing I'm working on.

[sgiandubh]

The medium is the message

With a Droughtlander even more dry than we were used to, we still manage to get back to some inglorious basics. With even more drama and tattle - oh! - on the menu, I suppose this time it was my brain that refused somehow to process further details. And blissfully prompted me to a five-hour totally unplanned siesta: now my circadian rhythm is completely upside down - don't care.

In a nutshell: in these strange lands, no news is never good news, something I find extraordinary, to say the least. And if we have no news, we're making them, aren't we?

Digitalization and the omnipresence of Internet in our lives gave us a tremendous tool, readily available at the end of our fingertips. All it takes is a subscription and we're all turning, as by magic, into potential news outlets. As Spiderman once taught us, 'with great power comes great responsibility'. Something that should make us think twice. It doesn't always work. That is a shame.

That a very basic Internet basement troll suddenly proclaims and promotes herself as a celeb journo of sorts should be - and, thankfully, isn't - of no consequence to the world's balance. The fact that the crowd she attracts seems to live suspended to her every pronunciamiento is still as new and as mind-bogglingly pathetic to me as it was the very first time I saw it in print. With bias galore (I am being merciful, here) and no editorial policy whatsoever, other than me, me, me: look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair, she somehow managed to maintain, for a very long time, a relevant presence. Ozymandias she ain't, though. Her repertoire is very limited, yet perfectly calibrated to a thirsty, easily entertained and uneducated mob.

That a compact group of desperate housewives suddenly found a daily interest in bashing every breath and every move of a (let's be fair) lesser known male celeb is, yet again, a thing of wonder. This time, it's all about camaraderie and endless fun, without giving a hoot about consequences. 'We keep it to ourselves'. I am rolling my eyes very hard at you, here: no, you don't, while knowing perfectly well it is taken into account by someone, somewhere. All you want is to find power in numbers, and when you fail to do so, you double down on vulgarity and silliness.

That an arrogant dimwit walks down the pixelated avenidas of these lands, asking the same question over and over and over again, simply makes me laugh and ask her (over and over and over again) in return: and you're still as stupid today as yesterday, right? But compared to the above, this is light (and poor) entertainment.

By now, I took the whole grand tour and sometimes I wonder what the hell I am doing here and why I am still around. In my world, such people exist (pretending the contrary would be a pious lie), but they come in more sophisticated and articulate varieties. These? Pfff, seriously? Amateur league.

If this was only about mathematically determining, with infinitesimal accuracy, if Desi loves Lucy and more, this whole hullaballoo would have been over for a long while, once the people here made up their minds one way or another. I know that. You know that. TPTB know that. Desi knows that, bless his heart. Lucy knows that (yes, even remote, dignified Lucy). With the talk of the town over, our virtual drones would patrol a consensual landscape of fanfic and biblical exegesis of Herself's voluminous (some would add cumbersome, oh the blasphemy!) body of work, with the gifted, very gifted sketch and the docile distribution of press releases thrown in the mix for good measure.

It's more than that and you all know it. As for me, I am here to bring some sanity, a sprinkle of empathy and that different angle this place missed.

Count on that. I am not going anywhere. Let me be the fly in your ointment. But be assured: never without good reason.

[stoopidnightcrawler]

Hey there. Now I'm gonna talk about something different. About the swords. Greatswords in general.

More details: If I had to fight with swords, and in front of me were swords from the Souls series. Which one would I choose and why?

You can also share your thoughts and write what YOU would choose in such a situation.

But first, let me give you the criteria for my choice.

Length. Basically, one of the reasons why greatswords have become popular in general. I took 150 cm from Claymore as a base and then pushed off from it, in terms of the length of other blades.

Dynamic, or blade behavior. This is quite an important point, because a short sword that behaves like a club is not a very pleasant situation. (Yes, bastard, I'm looking at you. A very ordinary Longsword who has tipped the scales to 3 kg and works like a club with a blade.) Sometimes I'm gonna call it also a "Balance".

Weight. Well, yes.. I don’t think that a sword, with a length of 150 cm and weighing 5 kg, will be good in combat.

And here are a few less important points. The strength and profile of the blade. It's trivial that if the blade itself is like a thick rail that will fall off after a couple of blows, you would hardly want to pick up this sword in principle. Therefore, although these are the least important, I will definitely mention them when describing the sword.

Well, now.. we'll begin.

And in third place, perhaps, the object on the cover of this post. Greatsword of Artorias!

Surprisin', huh? The irony is that relative to its length of 180 cm, the Artorias blade has a pretty decent weight of 3.8 kg. At the same time, the sword itself behaves not like a heavy club, but rather like a quite frisky classmate. Therefore, with all its parameters, it is very well balanced. The blade profile itself and the rest of the sword assembly are well done. But, questions arise with durability. Personally, I am not sure that the handle will be reliable enough for the dynamics that Artorias develops. But despite this, I think that the Sword of Artorias will be quite a good sword in a real fight.

Now, to the second place. And this is the elegant Drakeblood.

It's mostly Longsword rather than Greatsword. Just a bit heavier. It weighs 2 kg and is 130 cm long. Everything seems to be in the same proportions as the Claymore, but. The pivot points create an almost ideal base for blade control. That is, this is one of those Greatswords that I would use not as an inert sword, but rather as a more controlled one for each strike. And since its pivot points are so well calibrated, it follows that everything is fine with its balance. At the same time, the blade profile is perfect for both powerful thrusts and good strikes. And the overall ratio makes it an extremely reliable weapon.

That is, yes. It is short, in comparison with its brothers. But at the same time, it gives equal opportunities to the user. You can play it as a Longsword, or as a Greatsword. I can play from defense and timely counterattacks. In general, you can tie my "Longsword game", as Fiore, Liechtenauer and many others bequeathed. And at the same time, Drakeblood is quite a Greatsword, with which I can play Marozzo, Figueiredo and many others, which I will get to in principle.

However, its length did play a role. Because there is a candidate for no less successful opportunities and at the same time, it is a full-fledged Greatsword. It displaced Drakeblood from the first place.

And I am talking about the Great and Beautiful Flamberge.

Uh... Duh. Who were you expecting here? Claymore? Nah.. not this time.

So why Flamberg? It's simple. It's based on Montante. With good dynamics for Greatsword, length and weight. At the same time, the blade itself has a false guard and ricasso for the "half-sword" technique, with which you can counter a heavier, longer and sometimes superior weapon. Being based on Montante, it fully opens up many schools of the two-handed sword. Di Grassi, Marozzo, Figueiredo and much more(unlike some).

Flamberg, with a length of 150 cm. has a good weight of 2.8 kg (unlike some). The simplest and most proven straight guard (unlike some, damn!).

Besides, you want to trust the sword itself. It won't break from its own weight (UNLIKE SOME FUCKING THINGS). And the blade profile itself is very good and has decent proportions to the tang and itself (LIKE THE BITCH OTHERS DON'T DO).

And yes, I think we shouldn't ignore the elephant in the room.

Fourth place. Claymore.The last possible option.

Yeah.. tell me that Claymore is a real base. A real Two-handed sword. Only, I know what a Two-handed Claymore is. Especially in the proportions and profile that are in the game. And yes, indeed, the average minimum weight of such a sword will be 3 kg. Yes, with a minimum base of 150 cm for two-handed swords.

But before I lay out all the complaints about it, let's find out what a Claymore really is. And the fact is that it is a Longsword. More precisely, a Highland sword, which is made from a purchased blade and a two-handed handle attached to it, sometimes. Most often, of course, a suitable one. (And sometimes a crooked goat horn!) Which makes it a Longsword by default. But what happens if you simply scale up the Longsword to become a two-handed sword? Let's say that the Highlanders have learned to fine-tune the balance for Longswords. But does that make them two-handed sword specialists? That's the whole point. A two-handed sword is not a big Longsword. A two-handed sword is its successor. With its own rules and dynamics. If you increase the Longsword to the state of a two-handed sword, you will get an extremely unbalanced sharp club that can only be used like in DS1 and 3.

To create a Greatsword, you need to take into account the blade profile, its distal taper, adjust its rotation points and, preferably, vibrations, through the rest of the fittings such as the pommel and guard.

In Drakeblood's case, it's Longsword, which is so well balanced, given its mass, that it can be used either way. But in the case of the Claymore made from stuffy parts, we have an extremely unbalanced stick that will most likely also bend at the tang.

3 kg. this is not a joke, depending on its dynamics, it can take you somewhere itself, in which case, you will lose control of the weapon. And no, you will not be Guts, who can master it. Otherwise, you are still better off taking a sword much more balanced, for starters. And then choose the most convenient, and not suffer with an abusive bitch named Two-handed Claymore.

//You're not going to carry around a bunch of .50 caliber ammo and a super-heavy gun just to prove you're different, are you? A .308 ammo and a handy gun that you can comfortably handle will be enough.

That's why the Claymore is the last option for me. With its fragile proportions, ugly V-shaped guard and broken balance. Say what you will, but this is true for me. The claymore is a bad sword. It has no style. It has no power. It has no reliability.

Comments are open for a Flame War.

[kata-4]

The model of the Hussar "Gashal" was created in the middle of the war, by one of the engineers Jacob Farakaso, his work attracted the attention of the military due to the fact that the designer, even despite his injuries sustained in the war, had a very sad effect. The lower limbs lost their mobility, but by exerting strength, he managed to assemble a semblance of an endo-skeleton that allowed him to move as before, connected to the cervical region and stretched inside with fibers of synthetic flesh with nerve endings allowed him to return to service, but since he was commissioned. He spent some time with his family, learning about the applications of nutcrackers in the news and other sources, and seeing that they have their own weaknesses as flaws, the dying creature caused pity, because he also lost many comrades.

he began developing his own model that would allow the nutcrackers to be more protected and maneuverable, but for a long time he did not come up with engineering solutions, which depressed him. Except that the daughter had just brought a hussar figurine, its mechanics, although simple, but reliable, movable joints, a head that could be retracted into the shoulders, as if a soldier was hiding his head from the shots that came from an easel machine-gun pillbox.

sleepless nights spent at the table brought out a very effective model, his ideas on reinforced mechanical parts, as well as an ultra-sensitive hydraulic system capable of reacting much faster, like a powerful computer, it could protect its owner from a blow, from a shot from a heavy gun, give speed that was not a strong feature, jump over trenches, not fall into mud traps where so many wounded died, because such a simple trace from a shot by a large artillery shell collected water and blood inside itself, becoming quicksand

Sample number one: Hashal – passed the tests of basic motor skills based on computer modeling of the military and staff situation, tests without substance.

entry number 0-19/F-1:

the test revealed small failures in the body and joints of the cervical spine, yet it is very difficult to create a body for creatures when you do not have a sample, it cost a lot to establish system consumption, but a very impressive result. The chest opening was adjusted to the maximum, the spike was not so important, the magnetic belts turned out to be strong, but the check related to water turned out to be very unsuccessful, as well as for chemical reagents, some types of gas melt wires and their insulation, I do not have enough material to protect the cables.

Maybe I should turn to an old friend, he was sorting out the nutcrackers, maybe I can find the answer in them

Revision: this nutcracker took me a lot of time, I had to use ship cables with their insulation, but I had to look for details from undermined and faulty installations, tanks, and similar equipment, this made it easier for me to fuse some fragments, as well as microcircuits.

The control has improved, the balancing is almost calibrated, I made the inner ribs from titanium and aluminum, I had to melt a whole sheet of plate armor of the tank, oh gods, they will obviously kill me soon

Entry 0-20/F-2:

My fears were true, my adventures were noticed by those whom I clearly would not like to see in my house, they were looking for my prototype, the workshop was destroyed, I can't say how long I still have to live, they can kill my daughter, except for her I have no one left after that the case.. The projectile flew into our complex, damn freaks! So many civilians died then, and Jesse.. she was torn apart, the Collie was not sleeping then and did not let go of my hand: daddy, please.. Don't leave, there's a war! They're killing there! I'll work as long as I can, but how long will I last?

I don't remember how much time has passed since I finished it, it remains only to carry out the final touches, but how to carry them out without filling? Where will I get such a creature, even though such creatures could try to escape the same way, or have offspring, but here? How can this happen at all, especially here..

The Collie began to behave more closed, as if hiding, even though I said that secrets should only be told to those whom I am ready to entrust them, she is probably afraid to tell me about it, the main thing is that it does not attract too much attention to us.

entry number 1 from a personal notebook:

Well, still, these weasels watching my family noticed my daughter's behavior, they came with weapons to the complex! This is not acceptable! The rules do not give them the right to come here with weapons, with soldiers.. but among them I saw white coats, damn scientists, always climbing where they shouldn't and playing gods

Insomnia is killing me two or three months after people came to the complex, but I finally managed to get an answer from my daughter, damn it! She found the offspring of these creatures, even two, where should I put the other one? Of course, I can restore and upgrade the previously destroyed nutcracker, but how much will it be useful?

To the touch, these lumps of flesh are pleasant to the eyes, they are quite small, and so inquisitive, one of them with grayish-blue eyes constantly asks me, if I take it, he does not come off me all day. I feel like a mother to these creatures, if they can reproduce, then I can assume that two nutcrackers could have hidden them initially in our complex, but they could have got in other ways, they are difficult to see if they climb through the ventilation ducts. Collie became their babysitter, but they trust her more.

[dimalink]

Cabin Pilot – world tour in space for a pilot

It is still in development a little videogame Cabin Pilot. It is programming with new for me dialect of Basic – BBC Basic for SDL 2.0. Basic it is very interesting! It has a good manual. That’s helps a lot.

This game which makes you a pilot of a space avenger. You will fly across different planets. And to shoot. It is, something like, retro 8 bit simulation and arcade. 2 in 1. Something like for NES it was a games like Top Gun. Or I am very impressed with idea of videogame Spitfire (Spitfire Command) for computer BBC Micro. Just imagine, that at this 8 bit computer, out of several colors, it goes out a simulation and arcade, But how to look at this, whole aircraft of a second world war. It plays very interesting!

So, you are a pilot of a space avenger. And you fly different planets. Different planets here - it is different background. Blue, green. Blue - it is planet-ocean. Green - it is planet-jungle. You have a laser. And shoot with it. At once, a burst, lots of small lasers are goes out as you press shoot. With a space button. And you need to shoot in aim zone. It is small square, not big. To move at the enemy, do aim. And shoot. Main idea, is that enemy , at least, by its parts will to be in this little square.

Game use simple sound. And, by the way, two sounds. One for sound of a motor or fly sound. Second -for shoot. And that`s all. Shoot – it is a fast series of a notes.

Now, I am at the point, of calibrate game balance. To calibrate, I need a game process. You, something like, fly and shoot at enemies. Enemies are rockets. And different space ships. Which also can shoot in response. It is rather dynamical and rather realistic. Also, something to simulation, someway. I need to fix game balance. So, this is a task! And it requires a time!

And, one more point, that’s for sure, in game, it will be a story with text. Now, a game structure is complete. And game will have a 2 episodes. In first episode it will be 4 levels. In second episode it will be 3 levels. And a text screens with story. In a first episode - you are a young pilot, which for the first time, is send to battle missions. And everything start with patrol flight.

In a second episode – you are from the beginning are dropped  without a training into a active big battles. At the very frontline. And you always move by planets. One planet – it is planet ocean. When you will start your story. And there is a planet-desert, planet-jungle. And planet with background cyan color. And every planet, where you will be, they has a their own screen with description of the planet. It is something like element of science fiction.

Of course, all of these, a little reminds about Star Wars, yes, there is something about it. Cabin of a spacecrafts and space avengers makes a big impression in this series of a movies. Han Solo, Chubaka, Princess Leya, Skywalker. All of them, are flying there. And, I am more about retro episodes. 4,5,6.

Speaking about a cabins. So, before game starts you can select a cabin. One of 5. Something like different space ships. But as idea, it is only a visual side. Cabin for interest!

Such a space shooter about space, different planets. And space avengers, science fiction.

What will make this little game be different from this game I say – Spitfire (Spitfire command)? I have my own little game. Another. You are space avenger. Different planets. And it plays another way. There is a story. 5 types of cabins at you selection. Different backgrounds. And science fiction. Simulation and arcade.

As a real thing, it is very cool that I saw this game SpitFire (SpitFire Command) for BBC Micro – at the very start I want to make my own program something like that. Saying right - game has a title Spitfire Command. And I just say it more short for myself.

 Are you ready for world tour around the space? And different planets? Maybe, you are ready! But, little game is still not programmed for the final release. I have some troubles. I write a story for some time. And I have a questions about a game balance. And I, at the start, plan it as a faster time to finish everything. But scales of the game expands a little.

What ahead?

Calibrate game balance

Programming of text screens and description of planets

Check, that everything works as planned!

Game for this time with BBC Basic for SDL 2.0. Cool Basic! I decide to try some new Basic!

Live long and prosper! Have your good Basic day!

Basic Pascal pack - whole pack of games and programes, written with basic and pascal. It is retro. With each game and program there is a page at author`s website. There are aditional information, descriptions, pictures, arts.

Basic Pascal: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/packs/basicpascal/index_eng.html

Itchio: https://dimalink.itch.io/basic-pascal GameJolt: https://gamejolt.com/games/BasicPascal/773385 Website: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html