#Factory Library 2

[ariyan24]

Native Instruments – Factory Library 2 Download

Native Instruments Factory Library 2 is a remarkable and indispensable addition to the arsenal of music producers, sound designers, and musicians worldwide. This downloadable treasure trove of sonic excellence builds upon the legacy of its predecessor, offering an extensive collection of meticulously crafted sounds and instruments that serve as a boundless source of creative inspiration.

At its core, Factory Library 2 is a sonic playground, boasting a vast array of instruments, synthesizers, effects, and samples that cater to a diverse spectrum of musical genres and styles. Whether you're crafting electronic beats, exploring cinematic soundscapes, or diving into the realms of EDM, hip-hop, or orchestral composition, this library has you covered.

What sets Factory Library 2 apart is its commitment to sonic fidelity and innovation. It leverages cutting-edge sampling and synthesis techniques, resulting in lifelike, organic sounds that are both expressive and customizable. The intuitive user interface ensures that even novices can easily navigate and manipulate these sounds to suit their creative visions. https://extraplugins.com/product/native-instruments-factory-library-2-kontakt/

[cranberry-writes]

Dating Headcannons for The Boys characters!

Please send requests, i need motivation

Characters listed; Hughie, Butcher, M.M, Frenchie, Kimiko

Warnings; Mentioned drinking and cannon typical violence/language. Also i’m barely on season 2 please bear with me

Hughie;

- He’s so so sweet about your relationship

- He gets you flowers for no reason other than he saw them and thought you’d like them

- He has thousands of reminders so he won’t forget anything, from a drink you liked to your anniversary he will have it written down.

- Later on in the series he gets protective and cautious about the relationship, scared someone (homelander) will mess it up by hurting you

- He’ll probably push you away a bit to try and protect you but after you knock some sense into him he’ll be back to normal

- Loves park/library dates, going on a picnic during the summer and to the library when it’s to cold out.

- He will do so much for you (flowers, gifts, dates etc) and insist it’s nothing but will cry (happy tears) if you do the same

- Don’t get me wrong tho, he’s still a bad ass (sometimes). He just dosnt want you to think differently of him because of it, he’s hurt people, killed people, and he honestly isn’t too keen on focusing on it. Even if you two are in the same line of work.

- And if you two don’t work together he tries to keep his ‘work’ life and dating life separate, very separate.

“You’ve never told me what you do for work, maybe i could stop by and meet your co-workers.”

“Uh, actually, i don’t think that’ll work.”

“Why not? is everything ok there or something?”

“I-, uhm, work alone, so i don’t even have coworkers for you to meet really, it’s really boring infact you’d probably fall asleep just from me talking about it hahaha.”

- You find out like two days later

Butcher;

- Little shit

- I mean that affectionately

- His pet names will range anywhere from “Darlin’” to “Fucker” and i WILL stand by it

- He’ll probably introduce you to his work before he does his dog

- But his dog is the big ticket, you meeting Terror is essentially his way of proposing before proposing

- He’s protective but not in the “i’ll watch your every move” more in the “im teaching you how to use every weapon to ever exist” way

- Honestly work would probably come before you for a while before he sucks it up and actually makes an effort

- Dates will be at the most shity bar imaginable, unless he’s apologizing for something then he’ll take you to the nicest place he can and put on a suit. (it’s the Cheese Cake factory and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt under his jacket but he’s trying)

- Unlike Hughie he will introduce you to his work at some point, granted it would still be a while before he did but he would at some point.

- He’s sweet in his own way

“Darlin’, look what i got ya.” And it’s a Garfield shirt a size to big but you still wear it anyways

MM;

- Definition of husband material

- remembers anything and everything after being told one time

- makes you baths with rose petals and candles and all that stuff if you mention you’ve been tired lately

- Takes you out to the movies and a nice restaurant at least twice a month

- Good gods he’s sweet to you

- He knows how to cook/bake and will make stuff for you all the time

- My guy will make a meal from your culture and practice making it almost daily just to give you a taste of home.

- He really loves back massages and cuddling after a long day

- Put on some crappy reality show for background noise and nap together

- He wants you as far away as humanly possible from his work, will literally say shit like “everyone at work has the plague you can’t visit” as a joke to try and change the subject

- Chances are you won’t find out

- His favorite flowers are tulips and nothing will change my mind about it

“Baby what are these?”

“Tulips, I bought them from a street market on 11th today. They’re your favorite, right?”

“Gods, sweetheart you’re perfect.”

Frenchie;

- When you two meet you both think it’s just going to be a one night stand

-…then it’s two nights, then three, then a week, then you start spending more time at his place than your own. One day you guys just realize you’re moved in and dating

“Are we dating?”

“…Was there anything else we could be mon cœur?”

- honestly i don’t think you two would get together if you weren’t working together, or at least you were also into some shady shit

- But overall you guys have a strong relationship, one gets hurt the other kills someone, someone is hungry the other is already cooking, stuff like that

- He also cooks but it’s only french food, it’s like a super power. He can cook any french food effortlessly but literally anything else he messes up

- If you are french he’ll be super happy someone else will appreciate the same stuff in a similar way

- If not then he’ll be happy to share stuff with you, teach you some french words and tell you about stuff he grew up with

- Honestly he’s just happy someone (other than Kimiko) will listen and take an interest

Kimiko

-I have a confession to make, Kimiko is my favorite and i have a very blatant bias towards her

- Kill anyone you want bby i don’t care ill always like you

- Anyways, It probably takes you a while to get close enough to her that she’ll consider dating you

- Once y’all get to that point i don’t think you could break it tho

- I think she would like constant minimal physical contact, like hand holding or leaning on each other

- I think she’d be pretty protective over you, like someone looks at you wrong and she wants to maul them

- Learn sign language with/for her she will love it

- Draw with her, get her supplies, like those alcohol markers i’m sure she’ll love them

- Honestly i don’t think she’d be big on pet names, she wouldn’t object to it but i don’t think she’d give you one first

- Cook for her, i just think it would be sweet and she deserves it

“I got you some of those markers you’ve been looking at for a while.”

Thank you, this is nice

- Please she’s perfect i love her

[nasa]

For the Benefit of All: Assistive Tech Developed from NASA Tech

What do modern cochlear implants and robotic gloves have in common? They were derived from NASA technology. We’ve made it easier to find and use our patented inventions that could help create products that enhance life for people with disabilities.

October is National Disability Employment Awareness Month, which highlights the contributions of American workers with disabilities – many of whom use assistive technology on the job. Take a look at these assistive technologies that are NASA spinoffs.

Low-Vision Headsets

The Joint Optical Reflective Display (JORDY) device is a headset that uses NASA image processing and head-mounted display technology to enable people with low vision to read and write. JORDY enhances individuals’ remaining sight by magnifying objects up to 50 times and allowing them to change contrast, brightness, and display modes. JORDY's name was inspired by Geordi La Forge, a blind character from “Star Trek: The Next Generation” whose futuristic visor enabled him to see.

Cochlear Implants

Work that led to the modern cochlear implant was patented by a NASA engineer in the 1970s. Following three failed corrective surgeries, Adam Kissiah combined his NASA electronics know-how with research in the Kennedy Space Center technical library to build his own solution for people with severe-to-profound hearing loss who receive little or no benefit from hearing aids. Several companies now make the devices, which have been implanted in hundreds of thousands of people around the world.

Robotic Gloves

Ironhand, from Swedish company Bioservo Technologies, is the world’s first industrial-strength robotic glove for factory workers and others who perform repetitive manual tasks. It helps prevent stress injuries but has been especially warmly received by workers with preexisting hand injuries and conditions. The glove is based on a suite of patents for the technology developed by NASA and General Motors to build the hands of the Robonaut 2 humanoid robotic astronaut.

Smart Glasses

Neurofeedback technology NASA originally developed to improve pilots’ attention has been the basis for products aimed at helping people manage attention disorders without medication. The devices measure brainwave output to gauge attention levels according to the “engagement index” a NASA engineer created. Then, they show the results to users, helping them learn to voluntarily control their degree of concentration. One such device is a pair of smart glasses from Narbis, whose lenses darken as attention wanes.

Anti-Gravity Treadmills

A NASA scientist who developed ways to use air pressure to simulate gravity for astronauts exercising in space had the idea to apply the concept for the opposite effect on Earth. After licensing his technology, Alter-G Inc. developed its anti-gravity G-Trainer treadmill, which lets users offload some or all of their weight while exercising. The treadmills can help people recover from athletic or brain injuries, and they allow a safe exercise regimen for others with long-term conditions such as arthritis.

Wireless Muscle Sensors

Some of the most exciting assistive technologies to spin off may be yet to come. Delsys Inc. developed electromyographic technology to help NASA understand the effects of long-term weightlessness on astronauts’ muscles and movements. Electromyography detects and analyzes electrical signals emitted when motor nerves trigger movement. Among the company’s customers are physical therapists developing exercise routines to help patients recover from injuries. But some researchers are using the technology to attempt recoveries that once seemed impossible, such as helping paralyzed patients regain movement, letting laryngectomy patients speak, and outfitting amputees with artificial limbs that work like the real thing.  

To further enhance the lives of people with disabilities, NASA has identified a selection of patented technologies created for space missions that could spur the next generation of assistive technology here on Earth.

Want to learn more about assistive technologies already in action? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[roxygen22]

Would you kindly write a sequel to the "Bun in the Oven" fic please? and thank you!!!!

You are my very first ask - like, ever! I hope you enjoy.

C/W: Pregnancy, labor

A/N: You'll need to read Part 1 for context

Bun in the Oven (Part 2)

Willy was so excited about the news that he practically ran to the library the next morning to tell Noodle. He rushed through the door, yelling, "Noodle, I..." before a patron shushed him. "Oops, sorry!" he cringed and whisper-yelled in response.

Noodle ran out from behind the desk to grab Willy's arm and pulled him to the office. "Willy, you know the library rules. You gotta be quiet. Wait...," she paused with furrowed brow. "Is everything okay? Why aren't you at the factory or store? And why are you out of breath? Did you run over here?"

"I did! I have the most stupendous news." He paused for a breath. "[Y/N] is going to have a baby! You're going to be an aunt!" Willy picked her up and spun her around. He looked like he had eaten a hover choc; he was so excited that he could barely keep his feet on the ground.

"Whoa!! How long do I have to wait?" she asked through her grin.

"About seven or eight months. It's very early yet. Which gives me time."

"Time for what?" Noodle questioned.

"To learn everything I can, of course! There weren't exactly many expectant mothers or babies on my voyages. I didn't have any siblings to care for, either. I know little to nothing about how to take care of [Y/N] or the baby. I need to know what to expect for...expecting."

"Well, Willy, you've come to the right place to learn things. Let's get started!" Noodle started thumbing through the catalog, and off they went on a scavenger hunt for facts.

<><><><>

It was nearly lunchtime by the time they finished. Willy decided he would pay you a visit at work before heading back to the factory. This was a common occurrence, so much so that he was on a first name basis with all your coworkers, and they him.

"Hey, Willy!" the secretary said warmly. "[Y/N] is in the back."

"Great! Thanks, Sarah!" Willy smiled back. He ventured to the back of the shop to find you in the breakroom contentedly humming to yourself while getting your lunch ready. You hadn't yet spotted him, so he took advantage of the moment to stop and stare. You were already glowing. Sensing someone behind you, you looked up and beamed at him. "Willy! What are you doing here?"

"Hello, my sweet." He leaned down to kiss the top of your head, then sat down next to you. "You know, I can't wait to hear you hum like that to the baby. Did you know he or she is about the size of a pea right now?"

"I did not. Where did you learn this? Let me guess, you've already paid dear Noodle a visit at the library?"

"Indeed. I haven't even been to the factory yet today. I want to learn everything I can so I can take good care of you and the baby." He held up a bag of books he had checked out.

Tears started welling up in your eyes at the evidence of how genuinely excited Willy was about the prospect of being a father. He was diving head first into this experience, even doing research despite his challenges with reading. Seeing your tears, his smile faltered. "Am I overwhelming you?" he asked in a small voice.

"No, my love. I'm just so happy that you are so happy that I just can't contain it," you replied.

<><><><>

The months that followed did little to quell his excitement. He took great pleasure in telling the news to anyone who would listen, even once it became obvious. The whole town knew very quickly that the famous chocolatier and his wife were expecting.

You could not have asked for a better partner than Willy. He was quick to track down the object of your cravings at any time of day. He doted on you and did everything he could to ease your discomfort as your belly grew. He was tempted to make a chocolate remedy for anything that ailed you, but he also didn't want you testing his recipes unless he knew for certain that every ingredient was safe for baby.

It became Willy's evening routine to sing softly to your belly when he came home from the factory. You had been feeling flutters and kicks for a couple of months before he could finally feel them, too. The first time was a moment you'll cherish forever. You played with his hair as he rested his head in your lap. He suddenly stopped singing mid-lullaby. You looked down in time to see the shock on his face. "Was that...did the baby just kick?!" You smiled and nodded. He sat up and rested his large hand against your belly in time to feel another kick. He had the biggest, goofiest grin you had ever seen. After that, it became a little game between the two of them. Willy would nudge, baby would nudge, and so on.

<><><><>

You kept working until the last month of pregnancy, and that was only because Willy begged you to take leave and rest. Since business had picked up at the factory and stores, you could afford to take some time off; however, you needed to stay busy to keep your sanity. You used the time to put finishing touches on the baby's room.

Noodle often came by to check on you during her breaks or after the library closed. You were grateful to her for satisfying your craving for social interaction that was no longer fulfilled by your coworkers at the shop. It was lonely at home during the day when Willy was at work.

Like Willy, Noodle had also taken an interest in feeling the baby move around. The little one would suddenly become very active when they heard her voice. "Seems like we both like it when you stop by for a visit, Noodle."

"Do you think the baby will be a boy or a girl?" she asked as she looked up from her hands on your belly.

"I think it's a girl. Willy guesses a boy. What do you think?"

"I think...," she froze as she felt your belly tighten and sees you clench your teeth. "Are you alright?"

You took a breath and waved her off. "Oh, I'm fine. I've been having some discomfort off and on today, but it doesn't last long. What were you going to say?"

She eyed you suspiciously, "Ok, if you say so. I think it's a girl. But I will love them regardless."

You smiled. "Me, too. Now would you like a snack? I made some chocolate chip cook...," you paused as another more intense wave of pain radiated across your midsection. "Cookies."

Noodle stared at you with one eyebrow raised. "You can deny it all you want, but I think you're in labor. That wasn't even five minutes since the last contraction."

"Sounds like you have been studying with Willy," you said with a smirk.

"Should I go get him?"

"No, I don't want to bother him right now. This my first baby so it will take a while, even if this really is the start of labor. How about we play a game to pass the time? Dealer's choice." You broke out a deck of cards to distract the girl, but you remained keenly aware of the frequency of your discomfort.

About an hour later, you were overcome with pain, not just discomfort, severe enough that you couldn't talk through it. Noodle grabbed your hand in concern. When the pain subsided, she announced, "Alright, I am going to get Willy."

"Good idea, because I think my water just broke."

<><><><>

Noodle ran to the factory as fast as her legs could take her. After asking three Oompa Loompas, she finally found Willy elbow deep in the mechanics of his taffy pulling machine.

"Hey, Streudel! How's it...wait, why are you out of breath? Did you run here? Is it [Y/N]? Is she in labor?" Noodle, out of breath, could only nod once before Willy took off running. There would be no catching up to his long legs, so she took a pause on a candy mushroom by the chocolate river to catch her breath.

Willy [barely] had the wherewithal to stop at his desk on the way out to call the midwife. Coat, hat, and cane in hand, he bolted out the factory gate and headed for home. He came in to find you leaning against the kitchen wall with one hand and holding your back with the other. You heard him enter, but you were in too much pain to acknowledge him. Without a word, he came up behind you and started applying pressure in just the right spot of your lower back to ease some discomfort, enough that you could speak again.

"You have magical hands, my love," you sighed as you leaned against him.

"I called the midwife. She should be here soon," Willy said calmly. By the time she arrived, he had already gotten you settled in the bedroom. He never left your side, helping you into whatever position felt best to labor in.

After what felt like a lifetime, your son was born into Willy's arms in the wee hours of the night. The midwife patted Willy's cheeks and commented that they didn't even need her. He had it all under control. A tired smile graced your face as you took in the scene. All that studying paid off after all, you thought.

The midwife checked the baby boy over, cleaned him up, and handed him back to the proud father. "Hello, my little cocoa bean," you heard him whisper in awe. "I'm your papa."

Masterlist

[beantothenighe]

I'm going to need Norm to show up at the end of episode 1 in season 2 outside of the Vault with a little backpack, his pit boy and an army of hacked roboc robots ready to join the team to kick his dad's ass cause he deserves to get a hit in.

Lucy asked how and why he's here. Jump cut to Norm in the Vault 31 considering his options, telling Bud "Yeah, No. Ima go find my sister, and clean this mess up." And he just straight up hacks his way out. He found her by tracking her pit boy signal.

Ghoul asks about the Mr. Handys, Norm shrugs. He's not a fighter and he knew he wouldn't make it out in the wastes alone so he found an old map of the old world and located a Robco factory and got himself some muscle. He's named all of them.

The Brotherhood gang of Maximus, Thaddeus, and Dane join too cause I need this found family road trip.

Norm shows Maximus and Thaddeus how to play the games on the pit boy and Lucy starts a new books club with Ghoul and Dane when they find a library. Everyone is determined to prove Dogmeat loves them more than anyone else by giving him bribes.

Cooper gets attached to these two stupid Vault kids and three moronic Brotherhood brats and one stinky dog. It isn't the one he was looking for, but it's a family he's found none the less.

Then they get to New Vegas and take turns beating the shit out of Hank destroy Vault Tec, then go home to 33 and clean house before settling down. Give the Brotherhood gang clean water and all the oysters they can eat.

The End.

[solshifts]

FUN REALITY IDEAS ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹

Hey guys! I decided to make this a new series for fun shifting ideas to try and motivate not only me but other people so enjoy!⋆˙⟡♡ ☆ ⋆｡°✩1. DisneyWorld DR - everything is free for you and you bring your Comfort Characters along ☆ ⋆｡°✩2. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory DR - Win one of Wonka's golden tickets and explore his chocolate factory with no consequences!

☆ ⋆｡°✩3. Magic Tree House - Go on adventures via Tree house!! Explore the world! ☆ ⋆｡°✩4. Mermaid DR - Become a mermaid when you touch water and explore the seas! ☆ ⋆｡°✩5. Rich DR - Buy whatever your dreams desire or even spoil your friends! ☆ ⋆｡°✩6. Pokemon - Become a pokemon trainer or even a gym Leader and capture cute pokemon! Build a team of any pokemon you like or even a specific kind of pokemon (fairy pokemon FTW) ☆ ⋆｡°✩7. Famous Roblox Builder / scripter /clothes designer / ui maker etc; - Make roblox games that become famous over night! (for those who play roblox like me ;) ) ☆ ⋆｡°✩8. Shifting Library - Shift to a reality where theres a whole bunch of information for shifting! ☆ ⋆｡°✩9. Magical girl/boy DR - Shift to a reality where you discover an artifact (wand, bracelet, ring, makeup mirror etc;) that turns you into a magical girl/boy! ☆ ⋆｡°✩10. Archeology DR- Shift to be a world -renowned archeologist that discovers dinosaur bones from millions and millions of years ago (New layout what do you guys think?!)

[alltimefail-sims]

Moonwood Mill's community has repurposed an old logging factory into their very own local library. Its open and airy structure make it the perfect location to curl up with a book or catch a view of the night sky, and out back, the Wildfangs have dragged old workout equipment into the former loading dock for a handy make-shift gym. 

I was bored and decided to make some tweaks to improve the function and overall look of The Moonwood Mill Library! I really do love the concept of the Moonwood community taking an abandoned factory and turning it into a makeshift community space, but the original execution left much to be desired. Don't worry though; I did my best to maintain all the grime, damage, DIY features, and disrepair... but without the gaping empty spaces and random wall and ceiling configurations that were giving more "unfinished building" than "abandoned building."

INFORMATION & DOWNLOAD BELOW ↓

Packs I Used:

This lot is completely CC Free and labeled as a “Library” lot type! This reno uses very few packs and the only objects used from Growing Together and Outdoor Retreat are the sleeping bags (GT) in the sewer area, and the shower (OR), so really you could consider this an Eco Lifestyle, Get To Work, and Werewolves build... as long as you have those three, you will be fine!

TOU: All I ask is that 1. you do not reupload and claim the build as your own (yes, even if you tweak it a little…) and 2. you tag me if you use it! I would love to see this in other people’s games and saves, that’s why I’m sharing it! ❤️

Additional screenshots are on my Patreon post. This build has been play-tested, but please let me know if you run into any in-game issues!

DL: Patreon (always free)

+ @publicvanillabuilds, @pancakesrealty

[tsatsked]

Analysis of some details in Polar Town

Specifically locations 1, 3 and 5 of the UTTU part of Rayashki event. There are not a lot of screenshots - if you need some, I can DM them. Thanks to @vingler-mirror for the screenshots of Civic Square descriptions and the final Spotlight Chronicle

1 - Rayashki Elementary

Big-Eared Monkey and Mr. Crocodile - a reference to Cheburashka and Gena the Crocodile in form of August’s nicknames. The song Vila often sings might be based on The Blue Wagon from the 70s cartoon.

The collage shows not a bayan accordion but another accordion type called “гармонь” (garmon’) in Russian

2 - Hotel

Honestly, I believe Windsong enthusiasts will analyse the texts better than I could have

3 - New Mine

We’re getting more lore about the critters based on Inuit mythology. Kikituks are said to be evolved from shamanic statues into amphibious creatures and preferring mammal meat over fish nowadays. Ijiraks are said to be former people trapped into the boundary between life and death for wandering too far into the wild. Qiqirns are described as malevolent canines that wander aimlessly for eternity (it can be connected to their role in shamanism).

Information about the background character because I've got attached to him: the Rayashki guest arrived here following an Irish merchant ship. He’s a miner from Greenland expedition team with a bushy red beard and bear belly. He has a crude front but is a symphony enthusiast and likes literature - the temporary library helped him to bond with his teammates over literature without feeling weird. Also he has a little daughter. Pushkin’s Ode to Liberty that he read is a historically interesting piece where the author supports a political activist exiled to Siberia (the ode gets Pushkin exiled too but to a more gentle place)

4 - Swimming Pool

The descriptions go in chronological order of mermaid history.

@sleeplesssmol have copied Rusalka Spotlight Chronicle in their post here!

5 - Port

Among the stage descriptions, there are two interesting objects described:

A preserved seabird, seemenly for the migrated critters.

Rayashki Cheese - is said to be made out of milk from northern tundra. The cheese’s wrap design is based on Friendship cheese made by KARAT. The peculiar detail about it is that the only KARAT factory is in Moscow

Rayashki seemly participates in barter with the ships.

Cultural Palace - is a common name for major club-houses

6 - Civic Square

The polar bear statue was made after one of the meetings and now is taken care of as a symbol of the community

[rockethorse]

Alright, let's meet Calcinidae Bay!

Calcinidae Bay is a(n unpopulated) work-in-progress CC-free Sims 2 neighbourhood where all the buildings are made from shell challenges.

I'm planning on posting more about Calcinidae Bay and its lots, so I wanted to make an intro post to start the tag! Feel free to mute the tag "Calcinidae Bay" if you're not interested.

Shell challenges are quite popular in the Sims 4, but they're possible to do in any Sims game and the principles are largely the same; one player puts down a bunch of walls, then other Simmers have to turn those walls into something without altering that "shell". Rules may vary depending on the creator and between game versions, but here are the general rules I'm playing by:

Walls that are already placed cannot be deleted, moved, or swapped with fences/half-walls.

New exterior walls cannot be connected to the the shell; they must be separated by at least one tile. This includes vertically (e.g. additional storeys, basements, dormers). New interior walls may be placed freely, but any preexisting interior walls must be preserved.

Fences and half-walls are allowed to be added/connected anywhere.

Foundation can be added freely but any existing foundation must be preserved (though it can be replaced with any of the 3 basegame foundation types).

There are some lots in Calcinidae Bay that don't follow these exact rules (such as my Foundations For Families houses) but do follow other building-restriction challenges, but the majority of lots are based on Sims 4 shell challenges converted to the Sims 2.

Let's take a look under the hood!

Calcinidae Bay is split into five sections, and has two roads leading in/out of town. Its terrain is Compass River by Leekeaux on MTS.

The blue/cyan area is the civic centre, where the entertainment, business, and government buildings are. There are some residential lots here, but mostly community. The road out leads to/from the future Downtown subhood.

The yellow section is the suburban area where most Sims live. It has a lot of housing, some smaller shops, and community lots like a library and public primary/secondary schools. The road out leads to/from the future Shopping District subhood.

The red/pink area is the rougher side of town. Since there are no roads out, there's less incidental traffic, so the real estate is less valuable and thus tends to be cheaper. This is where the remote offices, factories/warehouses, and affordable housing is/are.

The purple area is where the rich snobs live and gather. Houses here will be larger, older, and more expensive, and the few community lots will be more exclusive. (Note that "expensive" does not always mean "tasteful".)

Lastly, the green area in the corner is military ground. Eventually, it will have barracks, offices, and research facilities.

And if you were wondering, "why Calcinidae?" Well, Calcinidae is a family of hermit crabs - creatures that take shells left by others and repurpose them for their own use. :) The hermit crab and its shell are the coat of arms for Calcinidae Bay (and would be on its flag were I using custom content).

Most of the shells I use for Calcinidae Bay are remade from Sims 4 challenges, but I would love for Sims 2 players to donate shells too! Feel free to send me a Sims2Pack of a packaged shell OR simply draw the floorplan out on a grid and I'll remake it myself. You can also include other rules/suggestions about what the lot should be, what objects must be used, etc.

Lastly, I can't promise how useful all the lots in Calcinidae Bay would be for other players, especially since shell challenges can result in some unintuitive floorplans, but if you would like any of them, simply ask and I will do my best to share them. :)

[cityof2morrow]

EP11KB: Industrial Storage Units (3t2)

Published: 2-7-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY “In need of a funkier, more futuristic skyline? The EP11 Kitbash Series (Simmons, 2022-2023) makes neighborhood assets from Sims 3: Into the Future (EA/Maxis, 2013) (and other EPs) available for Sims 2. Sets include single-tile shells and other items you’ll be able to plop on lots. Then, build above, below, in, and around them to create useable structures. Shell challenge anyone?” Here is a set of industrial storage containers from Oasis Landing (Sims 3: Into the Future, EA/Maxis, 2013) as decorative lot objects. They work well on industrial and/or factory lots and will go down with walls. The Storage Cylinder has space for up to four 1-tile doors and/or full-height windows. Otherwise, cover the openings!

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. Cost: §1100 | Build > Architecture Storage Sphere 001 and the “-RECOLOR” files are BOTH REQUIRED for recolors to work – this set includes 30 color options. You also need the BB_Niche1_Master (BuggyBooz, 2012) and Element TXTR Repository from the Repository Pack (Simmons, 2023). ITEMS Storage Cylinder (~23x23 Tiles) (3248 poly) 5-Story Storage Spheres 001 and 002 (3004 poly) - click on the BASE of Storage Sphere 1 to recolor it. Storage Filler Material (638 poly) – make sure it is facing in the same direction as Sphere 001 and placed on the same tile. **Poly counts are semi-high due to meshing issues but limiting placement to 1-2 per lot should minimize the risk of pink flashing. Mind your system settings! DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA BUILDING TIPS (suggested methods) Build an octagon (20 tiles across, 19 tiles front-to-back) with sides of alternating lengths of 6 and 7 tiles respectively. Going clockwise, the front side should be 7 tiles across, the next should be 6 tiles across…and so on.

Once you’ve got 8 sides, add doors and/or windows to the center tile on the sides which are 7 tiles across. Use these entrances to get sims in and out of the building. Finally, place the Industrial Storage Cylinder on the tile directly in front of the front door/window. Add other details as needed.

For the Industrial Storage Spheres, you can build a functional catwalk between them. Place at least two, making sure the sides with the opening in the top gate and floor supports are facing one another.

Using columns, walls, etc., build up to the sixth floor, then add floor tiles and fencing.

CREDITS Thanks: Simblr community. Repository Technique Tutorial (HugeLunatic, 2018), Sims 3 Object Cloner (Jones/Simlogical and Peter, 2013), Sims 3 Package Editor (Jones/Simlogical and Peter, 2014), S3PI Library (Peter), S3PE Plugin (Peter, 2020), TSR Workshop v2.2.119 (2023). Sources: BB_Niche1_Master (BuggyBooz, 2012), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Oasis Landing (The Sims 3: Into the Future) List of Community Lots (Summer’s Little Sims 3 Garden, 2014), Recolors-ACYL (CuriousB, 2010).

[morgana-artt]

Silent Words (P x Deaf!GN!Reader)

Note: Just a little thank you to those that commented on my previous post, y'all were so sweet in encouraging me to write, I'm not great at writing but I really hope you enjoy it! My requests are open if anyone has any ideas and I'm also open for criticism especially with things such as deafness, I want to be as respectful as I can be when writing things like that.

Note #2: The reader in this wasn't born deaf but eventually lost their hearing as a child. And pinning, LOTS of pinning because I'm a sucker for that stuff lol

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Finally getting back to the hotel, P made his way into the main lobby and greeted Sophia with a nod and she with a wave. "Hello Gepettos puppet, I'm glad you are back safe. Did you manage to get to the factory?", she asked as P nodded in reply, "That's good. Please take a rest you deserve it" she smiled as P nodded and made his way to Eugenie, his legion arm wasn't doing good and needed an upgrade.

Upon walking to that section of the room, he caught a glimpse of a new face- or the back of the head of someone he had never seen before. Remembering how Sophia said to introduce himself to new people as a way to be polite (of course when doing this outside of the hotel he had to be careful and wary), he walked towards the piano room and saw you with your back turned reading a book of some sort. He walked closer and mimicked a cough to get your attention- you didn't react. He tried again and still no reaction making him tilt his head, his eyebrows twitched, were you ignoring him on purpose? He walked a little closer before feeling a gentle pull on his arm making him turn around and see Sophia, she smiled, "They are deaf" she stated making P raise an eyebrow causing Sophia to soften her gaze. "They can't hear you which is known as being deaf, there is different types of deafness some people can still hear although poorly and some can't hear at all. They arrived here not too long ago, still... introduce yourself they're nice" she said with a smile as P turned around and faced you, so you couldn't hear? P had yet to learn about disabilites and yet it intrigued him, while he did say a few words he was rather silent for the most part which he preferred. One reason was that his voice sounded flat and the second reason was that he saw no point in being talkitive for the sake of being talkitive.

He stood up straight and walked towards you before gently tapping your shoulder causing you to turn around, your (E/C) eyes stared at him before giving him a smile. "Hello" you said quietly, P nodded his own way of a hello. "Are you also staying at this hotel?" your voice soft and a little scratchy as if you didn't want to disturb the silence of the library. P nodded, he pointed to your ears making you blinked in confusion before realising what he meant, "Ah, yes. I can't hear, haven't been able to since I was 8" you explained to the puppet who watched you intently. "Are you...P? I've been told there was a special puppet around and I'm assuming you're him?" you asked, P as usual gave a silent nod, still looking at your ears. A voice called out for P, it was Eugenies. P bowed to you before making his way to his legion arm upgrader, you smiled as you faced back to the book in your hand.

Sometime passed and P made his way to the piano room again but found you with Miss Antonia, he watched as you were moving your hands in certain ways without opening your mouth and speaking while Antonia was chatting with you.

This interested P, you were moving your hands and fingers in certain ways towards your face and outwards. He walked towards you making you turn your head, you waved and noticed him staring at your hands, "I'm using sign language, it helps me communicate more easily without having to speak" you said, your voice hoarse which indicated that you didn't speak very often yet made the effort to explain it to him which stirred something in him. You, forcing yourself to use your voice in order for him to understand your movements made him feel a bit bad (though how is that possible? He was just a puppet after all). His eyebrows furrowed as he scooted closer to you and pointed to your hands then at him to then you, you blinked as Antonia chuckled "I think he wants to learn from you" she stated as you let out a small 'oh!'.

You smiled at him and excused yourself from Antonia and sat on the couch and waving your hand for P to come sit with you which he did. "I'll teach you some simple conversations" you said as you began to teach him things like 'Hello', 'How are you?', 'I'm feeling...', etc... It took him a while to move his hands in certain ways (especially his legion arm) he made a few mistakes but that only made you smile before correcting him. 'There you go! You did really well!' you signed and clapped, he hung his head a little as if getting embarrased and also feeling something stir in him more. 'Thank you...' he signed back, he enjoyed this and wanted to learn more but he saw the time and pointed at the clock making you turn your head, 'ah...probably should go to bed. Thank you for taking the time to learn with me P, stuff like this...means a lot' you signed and stood up along with P, 'Goodnight P' you signed before gently touching his arm making the cogs in his chest turn even more. With that, you walked off to bed. P watched you before putting his head down, he felt determined to learn more as he enjoyed speaking that way and with you no doubt.

He walked to Antonia on anything about sign language, she located him to a section of books that would help him and he set off to learn. At times through the days you would catch him reading intently, "P? What are you reading?" you said as he then quickly hid the book at his side and signed 'Nothing important. Also you don't need to talk, it's okay', you blinked 'oh? Have you been practising?' you chuckled as he stared at you, he WAS practising and he was doing it for you so you didn't feel obliged to use your voice and hurt your throat more.

As the days passed, you were still staying at the hotel and was sitting next to the fire with the hotels cat in your arms. During the days, you would converse with P via sign language and you noticed him getting better and better which made you have a sense of pride as you thought it was really sweet of him trying. Staring into the orange wisps of the fire you heard footsteps approach, turning your head you saw your puppet friend approach you as he sat next to you. 'Busy day?' you signed, 'Yes, many puppets, I can smell the oil...it stinks' he said, his face scrunching up. You could see him changing more and more every time he came back and with the biggest change of them all- was his hair. You really liked it like that and wanted to play with it, would P be okay with that? 'Hey, P...' he tilted his head at you, 'can I...play with your hair?' you signed to him making him sit up straight- he nodded a bit too enthusiastically for his liking but he liked all the little touches from you, despite not being able to hear you, you would sit next to him as he tried to play the piano with your hand on top of the instrument and feeling the vibrations with your eyes closed and your shoulder touching his. He loved moments like that.

You smiled and sat in front of him, his legs opened with you between them with your own legs at the side of his waist as you ran your fingers through his silky brown/blackish hair. His eyes immediatly closed as he felt his ergo stir inside him, he leaned closer to you pulling you closer by your waist making you blush, his head now into the crook your neck as you played with his hair. With becoming more human he could now smell so him being able to smell a soft almost flowery scent from you made him move closer into you, he pulled back after a few minutes and looked directly into your eyes for signing, 'You smell nice', ah... bless this puppet he was so direct that he forgot humans get a bit flustered at stuff like that- you included. Your face heated up more, 'Antonia was kind enough to lend me a perfume-', 'It suits you' he replied back as he went back to the position you two were in previously. You had a feeling he knew what he was doing sometimes. Cheeky thing.

With more days passing you and P would have fully fledged conversation in sign language, the only person who really understood was Antonia but she didn't take notice of your private conversations...sort of. She would catch phrases here and there. She smiled as she glanced at the two of you sitting on the floor signing away with a smile while P would stare, his gaze looking more lovingly as the more you delved into your story. P would glance at your hands and at the one that was closest to him, the more time he spent with you the more he wanted to be close to you and with this language you were speaking with just the two of you he felt so close to you. It was just him and you, conversing in your own little world and he enjoyed that.

Later one night you were looking out the window, getting to the Krat hotel was dangerous you remember almost being hit as you didn't hear puppets and it frustrated you. You can fight but you're no where near as good as P or even a stalker. You sighed but any feeling of despair was quickly washed away as you felt a familiar presence next you and knowing who it was you didn't bother to turn around and smiled as you felt a head on your shoulders. 'Hello you' you signed as P leaned closer to you, 'You aren't asleep yet? Are you okay?' he asked and you shook your head 'I'm...doing okay. The city has become so...isolating and depressing it's hard not to think about it how many lives have been lost and how lucky- or unlucky- I am to have to surived for so long.' You faced P, 'P...I know it's only been a few days but...I really care for you. I'd even call you a dear friend and even a...ahem, well, You've done a lot for the people of Krat and I just hope you know that you have my support no matter what. P, I...' you couldn't say it. The three words you wanted to say, they wouldn't come out, as if your fingers were frozen and refused to budge. You sighed, 'I should probably head to bed now...would you like to join me?' you asked shyly as P nodded not a moment after.

You were already in pj's and watched as P took his coat and shoes off now only in a plain shirt and pants (which were thankfully clean) and headed into the bed with you, laying next to you he gently moved his legion hand towards your face the cold finger tips grazing your ear making you shiver slightly as you close your eyes and lean closer into him, you could feel...beating? You could feel his heart beat making you smile as if it was like music to your touch. It wasn't long before you drifted off to sleep knowing P would alert you if anything were to happen.

Without your knowledge, P signed you something that you wouldn't be able to see but he meant every word of it. The three words that wouldn't come out of you either.

'I love you'

And with that he pulled you close, hoping one day he'll get to express those words to you but for now he enjoyed all the little moments with you and that was good enough for him right now.

[soulsistersims]

UN APARTMENT PARISIEN

INFO

Windenburg

Factory One

270.396

30x20

3 Bedrooms

2 Bathroom

Library

Links Patreon YT

Thanks for your support ♥

[scotianostra]

On August 13th 1888 John Logie Baird was born in Helensburgh.

John was the fourth and youngest child of the Rev John and Jessie Baird, he showed early signs of ingenuity by setting up a telephone exchange to connect his house to those of his friends nearby.

His first interest in television came in 1903 after he read a German book on the photoelectric properties of selenium.Baird sailed for Port of Spain, Trinidad in November 1919 and realising that the island teemed with citrus fruit and sugar, he set up a jam factory. Unfortunately the local insect life either ran off with the sugar or landed in the hot vats of boiling preserve.

Baird returned to the British Isles in September 1920, and after a brief spell in business in London, he started to experiment with television. In Hastings in 1924 he transmitted the image of a Maltese cross over the distance of 10 feet.Baird's first public demonstration of television was in 1925, in Selfridge's shop in London.

The breakthrough came in October 1925 when he achieved television pictures with light and shade (half-tones), making them much clearer.He demonstrated these to invited members of the Royal Institution in January 1926. The pictures measured only 3.5 x 2 inches.In 1928 Baird sent television pictures from London to New York by short-wave radio. He also demonstrated television in colour, and developed a video recording system which he called 'phonovision'.

In 1929 the BBC sent out experimental television transmissions. At first Baird had to pay the BBC to transmit his images. A year later the Baird company brought out the world's first mass produced television set, called 'The Televisor'.The BBC began using his system for the first public television service in 1932, before switching in 1937 to the Marconi-EMI version.

In July 1937 the Royal Society of Edinburgh awarded Baird an Honorary Fellowship.

At the age of 43, John Logie Baird married South African pianist Margaret Albu in New York. The couple had two children – Diana and Malcolm.

During the Second World War, Baird continued to fund his own research. His achievements included high-definition colour and 3D television, and a system for sending messages very rapidly as television images.

John Logie Baird died at his home in Bexhill-on-Sea on 14th June 1946, and was buried in Helensburgh.

In a National Library of Scotland poll John Logie Baird was voted the second most popular Scottish scientist from the past behind James Clerk Maxwell.

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 16 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.1k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Library

Chapter 16 - The End of The World 

That summer of 1943 that you spent with your parents will be the last light before the long and dark night that follows. The war is going badly — for your occupiers, that is. The Allies have taken Sicily, and the Soviets have booked a major victory at Kursk. News coming in is sporadic, the censors working overtime to downplay military setbacks, but rumors persist. The pincer is closing from the south and east; they whisper: Stalin’s Red Army will punch through the Eastern front after winter, and the Allies will be crossing the Alps.

More tangential proof of how the war is going is how more and more men disappear from public life — Hitler must be getting desperate, drafting reinforcements from the traitorous country that assassinated his right-hand man. And where the men disappear, women take their place. 

Registered as unemployed, you received a summons in the late fall of 1943 to report for labor in support of the war effort. At the outskirts of the capital, a car factory has been converted to produce army trucks — massive 3-ton personnel carriers. Every morning, when the sun is barely up, you get on a bus with about fifty other women of all ages, all dressed in the same drab, dirty blue coveralls. The only splash of color in the early morning twilight is the scarves everyone ties around their head to protect their hair. 

Your nimble fingers earn you a position wiring the dashboard and ignition systems; your once soft hands and manicured nails are definitely a thing of the past now. Your fingertips start forming blisters and calluses from twisting the copper wires into place; your nails are chipped and broken, caked in dirt and thick black grease. The harsh degreaser soap cracks the skin on your palms, leaving them sore — the cold winter air stinging the raw skin.

You haven’t heard from anyone in the resistance since your last encounter with Jan — he probably reported you as compromised to Emil, and everyone has been steering clear of you since then. Rationally, you know it’s not personal. But in your heart, you cannot help but be bitter: after all you’ve done, after all the risks you have taken, you end up on the assembly line building trucks for the enemy. And not a peep from your comrades. 

But you don’t need them, you think sourly. You took your first steps into resistance activities by yourself, stealing food stamps here and there to help the people you knew. It grew from there, but it wasn’t until late 1941 that you actually got in contact with the resistance proper and your activities were scaled up. And now that you’re on your own again, you’ll just do what you always did: as much as you possibly can.

The factory is run tightly. Hawk-eyed supervisors check every aspect on the line, writing up workers for faults, deficiencies, and mistakes. They are supported by the armed guards — young boys with large guns and on an even larger power trip — that patrol the grounds and the factory floor and gleefully punish poor performance. 

Poking and prodding, trying to find cracks in the system, you knew you’d push the envelope too far at some point. It’s a risk you’re willing to take — you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t at least try. So you experiment: wiping sand on the fine gears behind the fuel gauge, making the cursor stick. It’s simple and subtle enough not to get noticed during inspection. The first time you get caught, it’s for cross-wiring to the headlights with the windscreen wipers — which, in terms of sabotage, is mostly harmless, at most an inconvenience. A warning and compulsory study of the manual is all you get. But you know you probably overstepped when you get caught not tightening the contact cables in the ignition system, which would cause them to fall out sooner rather than later, stalling the whole machine.

“With me, missy,” Your supervisor sneers, her red-painted lips twisted into a scowl, knuckles whitening as she clutches her clipboard. It hasn’t escaped your notice how your supervisor has dressed quite nicely daily: makeup, well-fitted dresses, nylons. 

“It was a mistake,” You lie, defending yourself. “It’s cold, and my fingers-” 

You don’t finish your sentence as the supervisor grabs you by the collar of your coveralls and pulls you out of the factory hall. “Are you insane?” She hisses. “Sabotage is treason.”

“They’re going to kill us anyway,” You choke out, stumbling after her. 

Harshly pushing you out the factory door into the snowy courtyard, she stares after you, coiled with anger. “I’ll take my chances,” She spits after you. “Stay there until I come get you!” She adds, yelling.

Folding your arms, you shuffle your feet in an attempt to get warm. It’s still early in the day, and it’s freezing cold. Your breath is coming out in puffs of opaque smoke, and within a minute, you are shivering. Opportunistic bitch, you seethe.

You nearly scream out when you are suddenly doused in ice-cold water, your sopping coveralls now so cold it’s practically burning on your skin. From the boyish laughter behind you, you know these are the guards, joking in German — there’s nothing you can do. 

You stand frozen in place, the cold water trickling from your wet hair down your spine — it’s like you’ve just run a marathon; you struggle to catch your breath, thoughts running through your head in a blind panic. Finally, you sink into a squat, your legs almost giving out from under you — you need to hunker down, tucking your hands under your arms, desperately trying to preserve your core temperature. You are shivering so hard it’s making your stomach hurt, like your intestines themselves are violently shivering too.

It’s impossible to say how long you sit there. You notice it starts snowing again, but you can’t feel it. It’s like you’re frozen into place, your insides still quaking. The snowflakes stick to your lashes, making your lids heavy and your movements even more sluggish. It feels like your blood flow has slowed down to a crawl. You want to cry from pain, from humiliation. From anger. But your tears are frozen solid with the rest of your body.

When you are forcefully pulled up back onto your feet, no sound makes it out of your mouth. Your lungs hurt — your throat is so dry it’s numb. Whatever sound of pain or protest you try to make only comes out as a puff of air past your ice-cold lips. Your legs are stiff and barely cooperating, but the supervisor, who is holding you by your arm, nails digging through the layers of freezing fabric, doesn’t stop pulling until she shoves you down by the coal furnace near the offices. 

The moment she lets go of you, your legs immediately give out again — your knees skid over the concrete floor. The warm air is like relentless pinpricks on your skin. 

“Let this be a lesson for you and everyone that has any ideas,” She hisses at you venomously, grabbing your chin to force you to look up. “Warm up and return to your place on the line.”

It’s a lesson, alright.

Next time, you won’t get caught.

The winter of 1943 into 1944 is long, and the cough you’ve developed doesn’t disappear until late spring. Miraculously, you never really got sick after your punishment besides the persistent coughing, but as your grief wanes, a wave of new anger emerges in you. You never wished ill, hurt, or even death on specific people — your ultimate goal was always freedom. But now you find a macabre kind of glee as you sprinkle sand on the fuel gauge and fray the cables in the ignition. 

I hope your truck stalls as you run. I hope you run out of fuel. I hope it kills you.

When you catch sight of the supervisor, you smile sweetly at her. You’ll get yours too, you think. 

At night, you sit with your ear pressed against the radio, listening to the BBC news on the lowest possible volume, running Bradley’s bracelet between your fingers like rosary beads. You are desperate for any news of the advance. Southern Italy is so far away — is Bradley there now? The reports say the fighting is heavy; progress comes at great cost. You stopped being scared for yourself, but the more you are scared for Bradley. Alone in the dark apartment, tears roll down your tired face. 

Talking during work is forbidden, but on break, huddled together in the corner of the factory courtyard, whispered rumors swirl out of the earshot of supervisors and guards. When one of the armed guards passes, everyone dissolves in a fit of giggles, not from nerves but as a carefully honed defense mechanism. The bored guards don’t bother with women’s gossip. 

Soon, rumors and gossip are the only things to go around: rations are tightening, and more and more is getting diverted to the war effort. Cigarettes get passed around after a single puff, soup becomes more water than anything else, and you even resort to sharing mugs of ersatz coffee. The less there is, the more you care for each other. During breaks, you brush each other’s hair, braiding it or pinning it into curls. Sometimes, someone procures some hand cream, and you take turns massaging it into each other’s sore hands. It establishes a strange sense of normalcy in a world that steadily feels like it’s in free fall.

***

Every key Bradley touches on the creaky piano seems to be the wrong one. He can hear the melody so clearly in his head, but when he tries to play it or even just hum or whistle it, it’s like he cannot find the right tone. It sounds off.

He can remember the moment so clearly: the starry spring night along the river bank, the melody floating down from the open window. Flexing his hand, he can almost feel your fingers threaded through his, your body pressed against his as you followed his lead. Just like he tries to remember the melody, Bradley tries to remember your smile.

He knows he remembers, but he just can’t recall it. When Bradley tries, he is unsure if he remembers you correctly. It’s like it all happened in a dream, and he remembers shapes and colors, but the more he tries to grasp the details, the vaguer they become.

It’s January 1944, and the last six months have been one frustration after another for Bradley. At least he’s no longer grounded, but he hasn’t felt like himself since returning to England. It’s like Bradley woke up, and reality wrapped around him like a coat he had outgrown — constricting his movements, leaving him uncomfortable in his own skin. He can forget that only when he flies, at least for a moment.

Except it’s making him forget everything, he desperately wants to hold onto.

“I thought I’d find you here, Rooster,” 

Bradley sighs lightly before turning to the voice. Mav stands at the door opening, in his crisp dress uniform, an easy grin on his face. As he saunters into the empty pub, a gust of cold air follows him from outside.

“Long time no see,” Mav continues as he pulls out a chair, still grinning, plopping himself down across from Bradley. 

“Yeah, good to you again, Mav,” Bradley responds neutrally as he closes the lid on the piano, slowly turning around to face Mav. “How are Penny and Amelia?” He asks conversationally.

For a moment, the older man’s looks soften, his cocky grin faltering. “Good, good,” He nods. “Amelia sent you a letter to thank you for the postcards. Did you get it?”

“I’m not sure; it might have gotten lost in the mail,” Bradley replies vaguely. It’s probably somewhere in the packet of unread mail piling up in Bradley’s footlocker. Writing letters has been a chore because he cannot talk about what he wants to. The censor would not allow it, so putting pen to paper and pretending that everything is just okay is something Bradley rarely can summon the energy for.

He feels guilty. He knows this makes him a terrible friend, and he cannot explain why he can’t just write a short message home.

Mav just nods but doesn’t reply. An uneasy silence falls between the two men. They haven’t seen each other in a good two years, since before Bradley went on detachment to the UK. For a while, Bradley thought it would do them good — the distance would soften the sharp edges of their fraught relationship a bit more. Maybe he put too much stock in it.

“So,” Bradley starts, tone forcefully light. “What brings you here, Mav?”

“Mass mobilization,” Mav shrugs in response. “You know that something big is afoot.”

“I meant here,” Bradley’s voice is a little bit sharper as he gestures around him vaguely. He ignores the jab of guilt in his gut. “In this empty pub.” 

“Oh, yes-” Mav pulls an envelope from this heavy woolen navy coat. “You are getting recalled to the US Navy Fleet.”

Bradley reaches out and plucks the envelope from Mav’s outstretched hand. He scans the letter's contents — he’s due to report at Navy command for the European theater in five days. There’s nothing odd about the order in the larger scheme of things.

“Why are you the one delivering it?” Bradley looks at Mav, eyes tight. Is he getting picked up like a small child?

Mav’s eyes widen for a split second, before his easy grin returns. “Wouldn’t want to get this lost in the mail,” 

Another moment of silence.

“And I have shore leave, so I thought…” Mav trails off, face suddenly serious. He looks at Bradley intently, who meets his gaze almost defiantly. “I wanted to check in on you. See you are doing okay.” Mav adds levelly. Bradley sighs.

“I’m fine,” He replies softly. Even to his own ears, it sounds like a lie.

“So I thought…” Mav starts again.

“It’s funny,” Bradley cuts in, unable to stop himself. The burden of guilt is weighing him down — leaving you behind, failing his friends and family, forgetting — so he lashes out. From guilt. From shame. From pain. He wants to pretend it makes him feel better. “It’s really funny how you always tell me not to think, and yet that’s all you seem to do.” 

Mav stares at him, face neutral, unimpressed. The lack of reaction is making Bradley angrier. “So you thought — you thought what? That you know better? That you know what I need?”

“Calm down, lieutenant,” Mav simply replies, suddenly and simply pulling rank, effectively ending the conversation. Knuckles white, Bradley grits his teeth. Deep breaths. 

Mav gets up, dusting himself off, not a tremor of anger in his movement. He is the picture of calm, not sparing him a single look. Bradley stands up automatically, as he would for any ranking officer.

“Something is in the works,” Mav simply says. “Something big — bigger than we’ve ever seen.”

Finally, he meets Bradley’s eye again. Mav’s expression betrays little, but his eyes are full of hurt. “I th- I had hoped we could make amends,”

Before it’s too late.

Bradley nods — the guilt now like a stone around his neck. No one knows what is happening, only that ship upon ship of American armed forces is being unloaded and stationed in England. There are whispers of an attack on a scale never seen before. A landing. A suicide mission.

“I trust no one in the air more than you, Mav,” Bradley finally admits, the last of the frustration finally ebbing away. Why does he keep getting so angry? “It’ll be an honor to fly with you again.”

Mav cracks a smile — a genuine one. “Thank you, Bradley, and welcome back to the fleet.”

Bradley chuckles, but inside, he knows he’s not ready. Forgiveness is more difficult than a few words. 

But does it really matter?

In the end, when he will inevitably fly to his death, the very fate Mav tried to shield him from — will it matter?

“How long are you staying, Mav?” He asks instead, grabbing his coat. “Enough time for a drink or two?”

***

It’s dark in the small, crowded room. You sit on the floor, packed in like sardines. The bare bulb that had been burning in a harsh yellow light earlier spluttered before softly popping out of life. The noises from the outside are disorientating — you hear screaming and yelling, doors slamming and shots. You have your arms around a girl younger than you, softly stroking your fingers over her hairline as she cries into your shoulder. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the whine of Stukas as they fly towards the capital. You think.

The thing is, you haven’t been allowed to leave the factory for over a week now. After the news broke that Berlin had fallen and the Führer was dead, all the guards, the young boys with rifles too big for them, went into a blind panic. They locked the gates, screaming orders, pointing their surely loaded guns at the sacred factory workers. 

Since then, you’ve been sleeping on the hard concrete floor as the next shift picked up. You suppose you should be happy it’s May, so the floor is not so cold anymore.

The winter of 1944 into 1945 had been the harshest you’ve seen in years: it was bitingly cold, rations were lower than they’ve ever been, and there was no bread, milk, or flour. Soup was more water than anything else, more potato peel than vegetable. Even if you still had extra ration books, they wouldn’t do you any good — there simply wasn’t anything to trade them for. Gas and coal became a rarity, turning the city into an unforgiving ice-cold hellscape. You had never been so cold for so long in your life. 

The ugly blue coveralls were increasingly ill-fitting, hanging off your frame awkwardly.

It shouldn’t have brought you joy, but as production was being pushed into overdrive, supervisors were forced to join the line, leaving behind their clipboards and clean clothes. More shifts were added, the factory now roaring day and night — sometimes shifts were scheduled in such quick succession there was no time to go home. You would huddle up with the other girls in the corner of the factory on the cold floor (because god forbid you’d use the now-empty offices), so exhausted you couldn’t even hear the noises of the line anymore.

The guards were getting rotated out quickly, replaced by seemingly younger and younger boys — some almost dwarfed by the rifle on their back; their too-large uniforms make it look like they're playing dress-up. 

In the end, this also meant that since winter, all regulations were out the door — no more clipboards, no more testing before the trucks as they joined the motor pool, ready to be distributed over the rapidly approaching front. It made sabotage a lot easier: the majority of trucks that rolled off the line in your factory were faulty in one way or another. Knowing looks were exchanged: nuts and bolts were not fully tightened, hoses were not fully screwed in, and contacts were not fully connected. 

Everyone is doing their own part — their own small resistance. There was no discussion; there was no structure or organization. Just a hope that every little bit helps bring the war to an earlier end as the Allies and Soviets are approaching.

You hear gunshots now — the wave of terror that moves through the room is almost physical, as everyone recoils as one. You tighten your arms around the girl as she chokes out a sob.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetie,” You console her softly despite wanting to cry yourself. You’ve been cut off from the world, and there’s no guessing what has been happening since the fall of Berlin. Are the Allies here? 

Naively, your heart feels a little bit lighter at the thought. Far from any sea or ocean, Bradley wouldn’t be there, but — and you hate yourself for hoping it so fiercely — maybe you could ask someone to contact him? Tell you where to send a letter. If only to find out that he is still alive. To let him know you are still alive. 

That you are waiting.

In the dark room, shaking from fear, the small fantasy brings you comfort. 

More shots ring out — you hear shouting, but you cannot make out what language through the thick concrete walls of the factory. When the heavy door suddenly rattles violently, like someone is trying to force it open, the room suddenly erupts in a flurry of chaotic and panicked movements; the air is pierced by crying and screaming. Everyone is scrambling up, trying to get away from the door. In the crush, you fall back, awkwardly wedged between bodies—the girl you had been holding before has disappeared in the darkness. The door rattles again; it sounds like someone is trying to break it down. 

More screaming, the mass of people moves back even more. It’s getting hard to breathe and the uncomfortable angle of your body—upper body leaned back, feet barely touching the ground—makes it hard to push back. It’s getting hot.

The door explodes open—the last oxygen is pushed from your lungs—light streams into the room. You aren’t sure if the spots in your vision are from the sudden blinding brightness or it’s your consciousness slipping. Just when you think you’ll lose grasp, eyes fluttering closed, the bodies disperse. Stumbling forward, you follow the flow of the crowd out the door. All the noise seems far away as you try to catch your breath. 

A tall figure is motioning sternly at the door opening, commanding everyone to come out. You do your best to keep pace with the rest, coughing dryly, trying to keep yourself from tripping over your own feet. 

Hurrying out the door, tearing up from the bright May sunshine stinging your eyes, you’re stopped dead in your tracks by someone calling out your name.

“Anya? - Anya!”

You haven’t heard that voice in so long, for a moment, you are confused. You should know who that is. Turning toward the voice, eyes still struggling to focus — your breath stocks mid-cough.

“Emil!” You choke out. It’s been almost two years now since you last saw him. Blinking, you stare at him — he’s dressed in his pre-war military uniform, looking more clean-cut than you have ever seen him, two rifles slung over his back. It’s making you acutely aware you are standing there in dirty coveralls and messy hair after sleeping on the floor for the past week.

He pulls you into a hug, clapping his hand a little too hard on your shoulder, rattling your skeleton.

“I’m so glad you made it,” He admits.

“I’m glad to see you well,” You reply with a smile. “What’s the occasion?” You motion to his uniform as you pull away, awkwardly straightening your coveralls as if that would hide the grease stains.

Emil smiles at you — and it’s probably the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on him. “We’re liberating the city.” 

“I want to fight too.” The words are out of your mouth before you fully realize the implication — but you are determined. 

“I didn’t expect anything less from you,” Emil laughs, not in an unfriendly way, but in the way a big brother humors his younger sibling. “And I could use your help right away.”

A dizzying amount has happened since the fall of Berlin, since you’ve been locked away in the factory — the Allies under Patton are crossing the border into Bohemia, while the Soviets have punched through the eastern defensive line at the Dukla pass. The Wehrmacht and SS are retreating from the oncoming fronts on both sides — which is, unfortunately, driving them straight into the valley of central Bohemia and straight into Prague.

“We will not allow them to have their last stand here,” Emil concludes as you follow him through the motor pool. You nod fiercely. If the Nazis are allowed to build a final stronghold here, the Allies and Soviets will not hesitate to raze the entire city to the ground if it will end the war. 

“But first, we need trucks,” He states, looking around pensively. “Unfortunately, the guards were probably warned of the government army mutiny in the city, and they’ve gotten rid of all the keys.”

“You need mechanics first,” You cut him off. “Most of these trucks were sabotaged in one way or another.” You add sheepishly. Emil shakes his head, laughing.

“Again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you in a factory where they had the misfortune of putting you to work.”

“How many do you need?” You get straight to business. “I can put together teams to check the trucks and-”

“And how will we start them, Anya?” 

“Lucky for you,” You frown, trying not to sound arrogant as you pull the cabin door of the truck open. “I’m quite the expert on ignition systems now.” 

Clambering in, you waste no time ramming the heel of your boot repeatedly into the metal plating under the steering wheel. The ongoing shortages of almost everything meant that the overall quality of factory parts had decreased. The screws are weak — you’ve turned so many of them just but simply trying to affix the plating, you know that a few well-placed kicks will shake them right out of their holes. 

Emil has climbed up the steps and is looking at you skeptically. But you are right; at the fourth kick, the metal plate practically pops out of place. Prying it away with your fingers, the small screws scatter over the cabin floor. Now for the best part. Reaching into the hollow under the steering wheel, you gently tug at the contact cables. One comes out so easily; you know it would have probably disconnected at the first large bump in the road. The other one needs a little bit more cajoling before it releases from the ignition.

Triumphantly, you show the two cables to Emil, stepping on the clutch as you twist the exposed copper ends together. The truck roars to life. 

“So, how many did you need?” You reiterate lightly. Emil claps you on your back as he laughs again. You cough uncomfortably. Spending several years traveling in partisan groups has robbed Emil of some of his gentler habits.

You have a renewed energy as you pull out your toolbox and direct the women who decided to stay, check over any trucks in the motor pool and ready them for rollout. You work until your fingers bleed — but it doesn’t matter. Liberation is close, and you're determined to speed up the process in any way you can. 

It’s late afternoon as the last of the trucks rolls out from the motor pool. Emil climbs into the cabin; you are hot on his heels.

“What’s next?” You ask almost breathlessly, so wired in anticipation you can barely feel the pain in your hands and the tiredness prickling behind your eyes. Emil smiles down at you from the passenger seat, as you balance on the bottom step of the truck cabin. “Go home, Anya,” He tells you, in that same borderline patronizing voice that a big brother would use for their annoying sibling.  

“I want to help,” You defend yourself. Haven’t you proven again and again that you are capable enough? Why are you being sent home like some small child? “I can help.”

“Go home, eat, and rest up,” Emil re-iterates, undisturbed by your acerbic tone. The truck rumbles impatiently. “When you are ready, come find me.”

You deflate a little. “Find you where?” “Do you remember where old Vineyard Street is?”

“Of course I do!” You bite out, almost offended. It’s one of the main streets on the eastern side of town, leading from the river valley over the large hill and ending somewhere on the far outskirts of the metro area. It was renamed to Schweiner Street at the start of the occupation, like so many streets, but you never forgot.

“Then I’ll see you there!” He grins, hand on the door, slowly pulling it close. You jump back onto the ground. 

“Wait!” You call out over the roaring engine sound. “Where on Vinyard Street?”

The longest fucking street in the city, half of it steeply uphill.

“You’ll know it when you see it!” 

Fuck. As the trucks roll away, the energy leaves you, too. Dragging your heavy feet, you finally start getting ready to get home.

You’ll know when you see it? Fucking riddles are the last thing you need now.

***

It’s pitch dark when you finally reach the bottom of Vineyard Street. A warm shower, hot gruel, and fitful sleep strangely make for the best few hours you’ve had in weeks. Dressed in fresh clothes, hands buried deep in the pockets of your increasingly threadbare green wool coat, you keep your gaze down. 

It’s chilly for a night in early May when the sun takes all the warmth with it as soon as it goes down. But you can smell the blooms in the air, and the first lilacs are dotting the streets in happy colors. There are no stars in the sky; only an occasional flicker of the moon peeks out between the heavy clouds rolling by. 

It’s eerily quiet. The streets lights are off, and most buildings are dark. The whole city looks like this. As a precaution, you have been moving through side streets, keeping out of sight from patrols. Small groups of people are moving through the dark — you can’t tell if they are friend or foe, so you’re not staying around to find out.

There is a strange buzz in the air. It has you on edge.

Before leaving home, you emptied the old cardboard box you had wedged deep behind the heavy wooden armoire in your bedroom. It’s where you kept everything you never wanted anyone to find: the old fake identities, your gun, and Bradley’s identification bracelet. The cold metal of the gun presses uncomfortably against the small of your back. 

Ironically, what feels even stranger is the foreign weight of Bradley’s bracelet on your wrist. You’ve never worn it before — it was always tucked in your pocket or twisted around your fingers. It feels odd as it’s a bit big on you, almost sagging down your hand. But more than anything, it feels right. There’s a reason you still have it; there’s a reason you put it on tonight. If anything, it makes you feel less alone as you make your way through the darkness, preparing for the battle ahead. The road ahead of you goes up at a steep angle. From your vantage point at the bottom of the hill, the street disappears into the darkness before you. It’s eerie, like you are looking at a ghost town. Not a single light is on as far as you can see, the buildings flanking the road looming.

You’ll know it when you see it.

As you trudge up the street, you can’t help but feel hesitant. See what? What are you on the lookout for? What if you miss it?

You hear the faint echo of voices. It stops you dead in your tracks, heart beating frantically. Hands sweaty, you can fumble open your coat, reaching back for the gun tucked in your waistband. Back flat against the wall, you edge up the street. 

You can’t see over the top of the road, where it flattens out for about a block before it the way pitches up at a severe angle again. But the flicker of lights, reflected in the dark windows around you, catches your eye. Someone or something is just over the edge.

Holding your breath, afraid to make the smallest sound, you shuffle up the sidewalk. The light becomes brighter, growing from small sparks reflected in the dark windows, to a soft flickering glow cast on the walls. You hear the echo of whispers. It’s hard to pinpoint where they are coming from, the sound strangely, hauntingly, bouncing down the barren street. Craning your neck, trying to peer up, catch a glimpse of some movement at the top of the road. The closer you get, the more you expect to see over the bend, see where the voices and lights are coming from.

But there is just darkness. If it weren’t for the surrounding buildings, you’d be sure the way up was simply vanishing in never-ending darkness. Your hands are shaking, fingers gripping the gun tightly. The more you try to calm yourself down, the harder the tremors become. The strange sense of impending terror has been creeping up on you with every step, slowly completely devouring you, until your breath is stocking in your throat, your chest is tight, and your legs feel like they are filled with jello.

You can’t stop the small whimper escaping your lips. You have to keep going. Standing on an unlit street, by yourself, with a gun in your hand in the middle of the night, is bound to get you into trouble. You have to trust that you will find Emil.

Willing your legs forward, almost tripping as your ankle gives out as you put weight on it, but it doesn’t deter you. If anything, it makes you angry enough to keep going. 

It’s only another minute before you reach the top of the road, and it’s like a bubble pops and you’re stepping into a completely different world.

The cobblestone street is dug up, the stones built high in three-line deep barricades — cars, trams, and furniture are haphazardly piled between the cobblestones. The whispers are clear now, yet as unintelligible as before — there is no one source of light, just flashes of lanterns between the barricades.

You are stunned. For sure, there is no way you could have missed that, but of all the things you were expecting to find — this, whatever this is, wasn’t it. Even after years of living under occupation, bombings, and soldiers marching down the street, Bradley; you feel wholly unprepared for walking into, well, a battlefield.

Aimlessly standing before the first barricade, eyes wide, you only belatedly notice you are starting down the barrel of a rifle perched just over the top of the pile of stones. 

Shit.

“I - I,” The words barely make it out of your mouth between the shaky breaths. You put your hands up more by instinct than by rational purpose. Bradley’s bracelet is heavy on your wrist.

“Get down!” A voice hisses from behind the barricade. You practically fall to the ground, your knees buckling. Breaking your ungraceful movement downward with your hands, the gun you have been holding all this time clatters loudly against the stones. A few moments of silence pass before a hand, holding a burning cigarette between the fingers as the only source of light, beacons you with a simple wave.

“Stay low!” The voice hisses again. You scramble, clumsily cramming the gun in your coat pocket, before crawling on hands and knees to a lower spot in the barricade. Just when you start crawling over, someone grabs you by the arm and pulls you over forcefully. You yelp as you vault over the pile of rocks, landing on your elbow.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t make it, Anya,” Emil grins at you, a lit cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. His uniform still looks crisp but has a vague whiff of mothballs. Rubbing your elbow, you sit up, frowning. 

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” You deadpan, trying to save some of your dignity. Looking around, there are a lot more people than you anticipated. Now that you are inside the barricade, small groups of people are crouched down, huddled together. You realize that the flickering ghostly lights you have seen are matches lighting cigarettes. 

Keeping low, you follow Emil to the far end of the barricade.

“Did you sleep before you came here?” He asks, shrugging the rifle off his shoulder and sitting down, leaning against the smooth wooden surface of a dinner table jammed into the barricade as structural support.

“A couple of hours,” You reply, still glancing around, trying to understand what is happening around you.

“Good,” Emil yawns as he hands you the rifle before making himself comfortable. “You’re on night watch.”

Hesitantly, you reach for the rifle. You notice Emil’s eyes flash towards your wrist as you grab it from him. A little bit too fast, you pull the rifle from his hands, covertly trying to pull the sleeve of your coat further over your wrist before he can ask.

You’ve done nothing wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s your business and yours alone, you think tersely. So why are you so afraid of getting questioned?

Mercifully, Emil has already pulled his cap over his eyes. 

Before you manage to settle, trying to find a comfortable spot while leaning into the high barricade, rifle aimed over the top, you hear soft snoring. 

Peering into the darkness over the river valley, distressingly few lights spread throughout the city; these are the last moments of peace and quiet you will know for a long time. Before the sun comes up, someone comes to relieve you from the watch. Emil is still fast asleep. Handing the rifle on, you huddle beside Emil, burrowing in your coat. 

You don’t feel tired at all, you think. You are wired with anticipation. This is it. This is the last stand.

Freedom or death.

Your body catches up before your brain does — you don’t know how long you have been asleep. It could have been a catnap or hours. Whatever it is, it wasn’t enough. Your eyes feel so heavy. So much so it’s a struggle to open them. You sigh tiredly. Around you, voices are chattering — you can’t really hear what they are saying, just the shape of words and sounds that reach your ears. 

When you realize that you won’t fall asleep again, your brain finally starts up, and you become much more aware of your surroundings. There’s something heavy on your head, pulled over your eyes. Lazily shrugging it off, you blink heavily against the sun, still bleary-eyed.

“Anya, are you awake?” Emil materializes next to you, crouched down. He deftly picks up his cover from your lap, where it fell, neatly setting it on his head again. Did he put that on your head to shield your eyes from the morning sun? 

As aloof as Emil always has been, awkward in friendly gestures, he is kind.

However, following Emil as a shadow is Jan. He’s hard to miss, but you didn’t notice him last night. You look at him pointedly, daring him to say something. He meets your gaze shortly before huffing and turning away. Emil doesn’t notice, or isn’t interested in noticing, as he unfolds a map in front of you.

The battle is beginning. 

***

You are running. The ground is shaking under your feet; you’ve never felt something like it. Things you are pretty sure shouldn't move, like whole buildings, are quaking. The sound of the artillery shells tearing through stone and flesh is deafening, but somehow, your heavy breathing is louder than anything else in your head.

As a shell hits so close, you almost skid down the stairs you’re running up, as it turns the whole world into jello for a moment—the paper map of the city in your pocket crinkles as your hip collides with the wall. Between the explosions and screams, it’s such a mundane sound it sticks out. You clutch onto the railing for dear life. 

Is it possible to be so scared you just stop being scared?

You are not sure if you’re feeling anything right now.

All you can think about is that you need to get to the roof. High up on the hill, you and several others were sent sprinting up the road, looking for an even higher vantage point to see where the guns are. You hesitate to really think why some doors to buildings are open: the windows smashed, the facades charred. The silence, the complete lack of human sound in the buildings, is far more chilling than the hellfire raining down on you.

It’s quiet now.

You wait for almost half a minute, frozen on the stairs you almost slipped down, hands still around the railing so tightly your knuckles have turned white. The explosions don’t return. 

They may be recalculating their trajectory, picking new targets.

You scramble up, not even bothering to dust yourself off. Part of you wants to start running again to get to the top of the building as fast as possible. But your gut tells you to tiptoe, not betray your position.

Trust your gut.

It has gotten you this far.

Threading lightly in your heavy boots, holding your breath intermittently as you make your way up the next two flights of stairs. Outside, it’s still quiet; you can even hear the birds twitter in the trees again — it’s completely surreal.

But then you hear it. At first, so softly, you think you must be imagining it. There is no one here. But it sounds like a voice. Not like someone in conversation but someone dictating — flat inflection, clipped tones. 

You tiptoe up the next flight of stairs. On the landing, you see one apartment door open. Someone is here — no one should be here. This is dangerous. Should you be scared? But try as you might, you can’t really recall the feeling: the icy grip on your heart, the knot in your stomach. Is it because you haven’t felt anything but fear in the past few days? Is it just part of you now?

You pull out your gun with a calmness you hardly thought you could possess in a moment like this. Carefully, you click the safety off. The soft click echoes through the hall, but the voice drones on undeterred.

Creeping past the entry door, the house you enter is in disarray. Whoever lived here fled — afraid of the Nazis feeling from the east, afraid of the Soviets following them or the Allies closing the pincer from the west. Who knows. 

People spent the war in many ways. Someone was always going to lose. Those who chose to support the Nazi regime are already being rounded up—those who flee run west. The Americans are kinder captors than the Russians, they say.

A small twinge in your soul. Will the Allies beat the Red Army to Bohemia? Could it be that…

You bury the thought as you move deeper into the apartment. 

Now is not the time for dreaming.

You hold the gun pointed at the ground — grip firm, not frantic. Breathing steady, not panicked. 

The voice becomes louder. The door between you and the voice is slightly ajar, muffling the sound. It’s definitely a man’s voice. And he’s speaking… German?

You falter for a moment, coming to a standstill in the hallway. 

What are you about to walk in on? A scout? A spy? A group left behind?

Holding your breath for a moment, you close your eyes. Focus. 

You can only hear one voice — that much you are sure about. But as you listen, that is not what stands out. It’s that low buzz, the crackle of static. It’s a sound so etched into your mind you are almost surprised you didn’t hear it earlier.

You’re only hearing one voice because whoever is in there is relaying something through radio in German.

With the tip of your boot, you gently push the door open. The hinges whine softly. You slink through the opening.

It looks like a bomb went off in the sitting room. The floor is covered in books and broken glass. The windows are wide open, the curtains billowing into the room.  And there, by the window, crouched between the chaos, is a figure dictating coordinates he is reading from a map.

Suddenly, it all makes sense, but you also don’t understand anything about what you see.

Glass breaks under your boot.

Jan turns around, eyes wide. Within a fraction of a second, his face turns red, like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

That moment might have been less than a second; it might have been ten. You don’t know. You can’t feel. You can’t think. 

You just raise your arm, pointing your gun at his head. 

Not a single tremor in your aim. Not a hitch in your breathing. You squeeze the trigger.

The recoil is the only thing you feel. Jan slumps against the wall, the radio still buzzing. Blood gushes from this head, quickly pooling around his lifeless body. 

Methodically, like it’s just your physical form going through the motions, you simply brush past the body, turning off the radio and wrenching the Nazi map Jan had been holding. 

Every barricade on the hill is marked on it. Jan had been calling in the positions of the uprising strongholds to the artillery battery on the other bank. 

Your blood should run cold. You should be angry. One of your own.

Instead, you tear off the tricolor resistance armband off Jan’s arm. He’s not one of you. He will not be remembered as one of you. 

When you return to the barricade Emil is commanding, he’s waiting for you already. Wordlessly, you hand him Jan’s map and armband. Emil doesn’t say anything — he just looks at you. At first, you think it’s with pity.  When he claps his hand on your shoulder a little too forcefully, somewhat awkwardly, you realize it isn’t pity in his eyes. It’s sympathy.

Someone hands you tea in a chipped enamel mug. Sitting down on an upturned apple crate, the enamel too hot against your fingers, you catch sight of Bradley’s bracelet on your wrist. In just a few days, the weight has become so familiar, such a constant, you almost forgot it’s there.

Your stomach twists. It’s the first thing you’ve really felt in hours. Bradley was the first person you ever pointed a gun at. It’s very vivid in your mind how much your hands shook, how breathing in the icy mountain weather hurt your lungs, and how the terror coursed through every fiber of your body.

You felt so much, you felt so deeply then.

It’s strange. Alien. You know it happened to you but in a different lifetime. It’s like you’re fragmented. The you who was a student wasn’t the you who met Bradley. The you who said goodbye to Bradley wasn’t the you who sabotaged trucks. The you that has killed… you’re not even sure if there’s anything left of you, really.

In the hours and days to follow, you barely get the time to ponder the changes in yourself when the world is rapidly changing around you. A world born from flames and blood. The artillery batteries pound resistance positions and soon get support from the air. The high whine of Stukas, in broad daylight, rain bullets and incendiary bombs down on the city. The plumes of smoke obscure the sky. The smell of fire, burning houses, fabric… bodies, permeates.

When a breeze picks up, you think, you hope you can still smell lilacs. Just to assure yourself that the putrid smell of burnt rubber, scorched flesh, and hair has not settled in your nose permanently. 

“Why aren’t the Allies coming to help?” A young man, his old uniform jacket dirty, sleeves slightly too short, peers out of the broken cellar window into the street as a sortie passes low overhead. Emil, after days of fighting, is not looking as crisp anymore — streaks of dirt cover his face, his uniform dusty, tired look in his eyes. “After all we’ve done -” The young man turns angrily. “Where is the RAF?”

You don’t bother looking up; instead, you inspect your dirty fingertips and broken nails. Idly, you wonder if your hands will ever be clean again. Mindlessly, you tug on your coat sleeve — the seam is fraying — gently brushing your calloused fingertips across Bradley’s nameplate. Every ridge and divot of his embossed name and the insignia are a comfort, a constant. Every time you remember to feel the weight on your wrist, your heart skips a beat —  it’s still there, it’s still real. It’s your final tether to him. Your final tether to you.

“The weather over the channel still hasn’t cleared up,” Emil finally replies, voice monotone. 

“And the Americans are stopped at the demarcation line in the west,” You add, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the bare cellar wall. When you first heard that Patton’s army crossed the border and liberated the city of Pilsen, you were so sure it was only hours until they’d make it into Prague. 

That was two days ago. 

“And we are stuck here, in hellfire, no air support, and cut off from supply lines by an entire Army Group and the SS,” The young man spits. “We are left to die while the Red Army takes its sweet time — they skipped liberating us to get to Berlin first, and now we’re the last defense for every Nazi in Europe!”

“To fight is to die, soldier,” Emil intones mildly, in that same bored tone as he plays with his lighter. “You knew that, and yet you picked up a gun.”

Silence falls in the cellar. Outside, the explosions rumble, sending tremors through the ground. You are not scared of dying. If you ever were, then you can’t even really remember anymore. Fear, anger, happiness, you know what they are, you know you’ve felt them, but now it’s like a thick fog has taken its place. All you feel is kind of nauseous, tired, and the chill from the wall behind you.

Before you know it, you are back on your feet, clambering into a truck, tearing down the hill toward Resistance HQ in the old town. Someone dumps a glug of clear alcohol over your hands, in a vain attempt to clean them. You wince as you desperately wipe down your hands with a rag, the alcohol penetrating every crack and cut in your skin. There is no running water anymore. This will have to do.

The uprising is only a few days old, but the horrors you’ve witnessed are more than you have seen in the years of occupation. The carcasses of burned-out residential buildings barely stop smoking before a new salvo of artillery lands. Bodies — fighters, civilians, enemies, limbs — litter the street. Fireballs light up the night sky so brightly it almost looks like daytime in a terrifying, incredible display. The smell is unbelievable. 

 A jumped-up schoolgirl playing at war. 

Maybe there was more truth in that than you’d like to admit.

However, you don’t have time to dwell on it as the truck finally comes to a violent halt. In the first few seconds, you barely recognize where you are. It’s like walking into a wasteland that was once the old town. You used to walk down this street every day, from the tram to class. The town hall, which was used as the HQ for the uprising, is… no there anymore. The air is thick with smoke and dust. The ground is strangely hot, and everything is cast in a strange orange glow from the surrounding fires. 

Pulling a rag from your pocket, you tie it around your face. It does little against the smell, but it at least stops some dust and smoke from choking you completely. After that, you move on autopilot. 

Save whom can be saved. 

Note who didn’t make it. 

Get out before the Luftwaffe returns.

Your heart is beating a mile a minute, adrenaline coursing through your veins. But you aren’t scared, focusing only on your task: pushing away rubble, helping victims up, trying to stop the bleeding on a too-deep leg wound, grunting in exertion as you push the stretcher with the man above your head so he can get pulled into the back to the truck—a flash.

You blink, disorientated. Colorful spots fill your vision.

Turning, you try to find the source of it in the chaos and the smoke. More flashes. Finally, your sight refocuses — someone is taking pictures. Through all the noise, you hear it clear as day.

“Let’s go; we need to get out of here.”

It’s an American. 

Your feet start walking before your brain catches up. The man is walking quickly to another truck with a Red Cross. The Red Cross is here? Your breathing is rapid now. You need to talk to them. You have no idea what you will tell the photographer, but you need to speak to him. 

You pick up your pace. The Red Cross photographer is disappearing quickly through the smoke.

“Wait!” You yell out, pulling the rag from your face. He is already climbing into the truck cabin. “Hey! Wait!” You yell louder, more desperately. 

He looks over his shoulder, straight at you. It looks like the Red Cross photographer waits for you to catch up for a moment, but then he slams the truck door shut. You break out into a sprint, almost reaching the truck before it tears away.

“Fuck you!” You scream, tears suddenly stinging in your eyes. Breathing heavily, you stay behind, seething, on the torn-up street, watching the Red Cross truck disappear in the mess of the medieval maze of the old town.

The desperate anger is the first thing you have felt in days. It’s overwhelming. Suffocating.

Distracting.

It’s only when someone almost knocks you over as they run past you in a mad dash, it’s like you wake up from the wash of madness that had you rooted in place.

A high-pitched whistle pierces the air, closing in on you at frighting speed.

You run, scrambling over the broken pieces of stone, slipping over pools of blood.

Don’t look back.

The truck with the wounded is behind you.

Don’t look back.

You need to get out of here, find any place to hide.

Don’t look back.

It must be a mere second before impact now; the whistle of the bomb is so loud your eardrums scream along with it. 

In a fatal moment, you turn your head.

A sea of flames melts the truck from sight. The pressure wave, so hot your mouth is drier than cotton on the first breath, is powerful it lifts your feet from the ground and carries you up like a feather in the wind.

“I’m flying,” Is all your brain manages to conjure up in the split second, almost with a sense of wonder and joy, before your body is flung against a wall. Crashing to the ground, you lose consciousness as fire rains down on you.

note | good news: war is almost over. bad news: everything else

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[intothestacks]

So, the escape room I made for the Grade 4s & 5s works like this (1/2):

Firstly, I made it cooperative instead of competitive, in honour of the book I’ve read for the past 2 years to the Grade 4s (Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library by Chris Grabenstein), which is kind of like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory but set in a library with an escape-the-room game that turns out to be cooperative.

The story for the game is that, one day during library time, the lights go out, and when they come back on, the grownups are gone and they’re locked in the library. The landline doesn’t work, and neither does the computer, so they can’t call for help. But an unknown voice speaks from the intercom telling them that they must figure out who’s behind this if they want the grownups to return and the library to unlock.

There are 4 teams, each of which must follow clues that culminate in a clue that must be used with the final clues of the other teams to solve the final riddle, which is the name of who’s behind the library lock-in (the final clues are the letters L-O-K-I).

Each team has envelopes with a different symbol on it which in itself are technically clues to who’s behind what’s going on: 

a green sugar skull (to represent Loki’s daughter Hella, goddess of death)

a green snake eating its own tail (to represent Loki’s Monstrous Child Jörmungandr)

a blue wolf (to represent Loki’s Monstrous Child Fenrir the Great Wolf)

a brown symbol of an eight-legged horse (representing Loki’s horse-child Sleipnir).

Each envelope also has a number so they know the order to open the envelopes in.

The clues are all Viking-themed and lead them to different areas of the library. The first clue for each theme is centered around an object (a Mjollnir necklace, a pop-up card of a Viking ship, my cellphone, and a box that looks like a fake book).

Every team has one activity where they have to decipher something and the other clues are more like a scavenger hunt style. 

For example, the clue leading to the religion section requires them to put magnets that I printed pics of gems on them in the correct order in order to place the corresponding coloured letter magnets to spell out RELIGION.

The order of the gems is based on a list I provide them of the Nine Worlds of Norse mythology, with each world name shaded as the corresponding colour of a gem.

Two of the other interactive clues are rebuses, and the final interactive clue is the word “languages” written in Norse Runes (I provide them with a list of the Norse alphabet).

[theamityelf]

Since I'm never going to take the time to actually write an SDR2 musical, I'm just going to post all my Danganronpa 2 musical brainstorms that I dumped on some acquaintances on Discord. Just as documentation.

First of all (and this is genuinely just copy-pasted in the order I said it.), Akane would have an upbeat song like Violet's in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory musical. And maybe Nekomaru would keep trying to interrupt with a more basic melody, but then she keeps interrupting him back. Gundham’s song would be similar to H-llfire from Hunchback.

Akane's stuff could have shades of Dead Girl Walking (Reprise) from Heathers, if that makes sense. Just a vibe thing.

Plot-wise, I think the Twilight Syndrome Murder case can be dropped to just the envelope of photos, but I'd like to include the Funhouse if possible. (I specified this because I know the stageplay dropped the Funhouse, and precedent makes me stubborn.)

Chapter One:

First scene is just Hajime being confused and meeting people. Maybe we meet everyone through song, where everyone gets a verse to say their talent and their general deal.

Then we have Usami overpowered by Monokuma and Monokuma establishing the killing game. I'm thinking no song for that.

Impostor gets a song where he becomes the leader and encourages everyone.

First murder happens. A song for the trial, where Teruteru gets kind of Patter Song vibes to convey how no one could understand him at the end of that trial in the game. He's constantly interrupted by Nagito and the others.

After the trial, Nagito gets a short song about his bizarre ideology. It's going to get a few reprises later. That's why it's short. (Also, Nagito's song gets cut short by Kaz and Nekomaru abducting him.)

Chapter Two:

Instead of initially not knowing where Nagito is, the group is told the next morning that Kaz and Neko tied him up in the old building, and instead of having Mahiru bring him breakfast just once, it's a thing she does every day. She also still helps Hiyoko with her kimono

There's a song about exploring the new island, basically goes over all of what's there, in accordance with who Hajime spoke to in those places in the game (so, Fuyuhiko gets a verse in the diner, Sonia in the library, etc.) Fuyuhiko is the only character who doesn't sing (yet); he hasn't sung at all, this whole time. Not in a meta way, where he's acknowledging that everyone else is singing; he just doesn't do it.

Akane's song happens here, because it's where she first starts training with Nekomaru. Fast-paced duet where he keeps trying to slow her down.

Monokuma's motive is simplified from a video game to just an envelope of photos.

Mahiru asks Hajime to feed Nagito for her one day because she has another thing to do. He does, and Nagito sings part of a reprise for his song from earlier, but Hajime walks out on it.

Kazuichi brings Hajime in on his plan to crash the girls' beach trip, they find the body. When they find the mask, Sonia gets a song that is superficially her explaining Sparkling Justice and really her getting to be open about her interest in serial killers; there's a lot of creepy lyrical dissonance and I'm picturing it to be like (extremely deep cut incoming) the song "Silver and Gold" from the musical 1619: When Destinies Collide, as far as the general sound and the casually grim lyrics.

Investigation happens, Nagito pops in (and depending on the tone of the musical, his first line when he shows up can be something like, "Hey guys, good news! I've been in everybody's cabin tracing the shape of their shoes!"). The trial happens. They sing through presenting the evidence, except Fuyuhiko still only talks. The reveals happen the same as in the game, and Fuyuhiko's first sung word is just a long cry of Peko's name. From Chapter 3 on, he's a singing character.

Okay, that's as far as I got. Might add more later.