#Fix Lags in Rust

[aphantomr]

Let's Reread Commonweal, book 1, chapters 1-5

“They’re sending us a Rust, somebody who goes by Blossom, and Halt.”

When I first read the first sentence, I thought Rust was one part of a Rust hivemind. (format: (a Rust), (Halt), and (someone called Blossom)). I spent book 1 thinking Rust was made out of butterflies, not all of which were necessarily currently in the Creeks. This turns out to break the implied rules about communication speed and being in one place at one time. Is there a reason an independent can’t be in more than one material place* at one point in time? They have the processing power for it. Could be that naively implemented parallel processing is bad for your shape as a person, could be that it’s a bad idea defensively, could be I’m missing something about how the original material body is related to the metaphysical one, could be personal and/or social preference. Probably the third, now that I’m thinking about lag. *meaningfully more than one place at one time, in a way that’d be useful for being the internet passing messages

Not when Independents don’t serve with the Line — there’s five centuries of custom back of that.

Considering how the rest of the books go, this is important context for some of the social stuff and also seems kind of unwise, considering the specialist knowledge that seems likely to be helpful for defeating an invasion. Or are they sent out separately, which seems like a lack of communication for no purpose, or sent out instead of the Line, of which Rust vs. Reems is an example?

These days there’s a Westcreek (dust dry), a West Wetcreek, a Lost Creek (swamp), and Split Creek (on some fixed astrological schedule: fire, blood, venom, beer) in the province of Westcreek. I’m leaving out the rest of the Creeks, plural, the stuff further east. For a place that wasn’t anywhere back in the day, stuff happened — Split Creek’s not a little working. Despite that evidence of past activity, Westcreek Town, Westcreek the province, West Wetcreek the watershed, the whole of the Creeks, is full of people who claim nothing happens here.

Notetaking: Westcreek is a province. “nothing happens here”, coming back from book 5, seems like part dramatic irony and part lurking long-term planning.

There’s a lot of Independents these days, sorcerers good enough that the basic deal — the Line don’t extinguish them, and in return they show up for five years in fifty and do subtle clever things to make the Commonweal work better, besides staying out of trouble and politics — applies. That’s the List, the sorcerers good enough to make themselves ageless by a means the rest of us will tolerate. But the List contains the Short List, too. Parliament gives it a polite name, but what it means is, “if this one causes trouble, send a battalion”. There’s fifty-odd names on the Short List, out of the couple thousand on the List as a whole.

Notetaking: couple thousand Independents in the Commonweal. “by a means the rest of us will tolerate” seems a bit misleading this early on, implying lich-adjacent fantasy tropes instead of the actual trials involved, though “the rest of us” isn’t technically an incorrect description of the Shape of Peace.

Out of the Short List there’s the first page; no-one tries to give it a polite name or come up with some reason for it. It’s a list of twelve names, all them older than the Commonweal. Halt’s name is the first of that dozen, by any measure: knowledge, terror, or simple grim seniority. … Rust’s name is the fourth name of that dozen, and Rust and Halt do not get on.

For as loudly as the Commonweal tries to tell its all-are-equal story, it’s interesting in retrospect how much of this character introduction is a ranked list. It’s a bit of a character flavor thing and a bit of a ‘the first chapter of the first book does need some amount of exposition’ thing and a bit that the Commonweal hasn’t managed to work all of the might-makes-right flavor out of its social fabric.

If any among the Twelve causes trouble, the standing orders are to send nothing less than a full brigade in full array. That might be overkill: the Foremost, Laurel and the Foremost, back in the day, took down everybody on the first page of the Short List, and everybody else with the Power and pretensions of lordship, and the Foremost mostly weren’t what would muster as a full battalion these days.

The beginning of my first-read journey along “wait, the Foremost was who? Wait, the Foremost was what?”

Anyone who has been in The City Of Peace for any length of time would know that. Rust and Halt may stay out of politics — they’re both known for being abrupt about it — but if you tell one of the terrors of the earth to solve a problem, you’re telling them to make policy. They don’t agree about policy and they’ve been writing snarky articles at each other in the scholarly journals for so long that the earliest ones were two major vowel shifts ago.

Hmm. Holding up the teatime strategy book next to Rust vs. Reems (let some go?) in comparison. Interesting. “Two major vowel shifts ago”: do some Independents usually speak variously old-fashionedly / formally or is that not how acting socially usually shakes out? Wake’s pattern of speech sure is something.

Either someone’s decided that Split Creek desperately needed plugging about a hundred years ago, or someone else is afraid that Halt and Rust’s long feud is soon to have a failure of decorum and believes the devastated landscape ought to be far away from the City of Peace.

Notetaking: vibes about Commonweal policy-making and Commonweal attitude towards Independents. Politics! Establish a level of ruthlessness and danger for the Commonweal and Independents.

To look at, it’s eyes front. Every single trooper has enough of a grip on the standard that the company, while by no means arrayed for war, is keeping a good eye all round. Really all round, which is, by long tradition, entirely acceptable, or half of entirely respectable, anyway; the other half is not having it show in the drill when something unusual happens.

“Really all round”: phrases that don’t make sense the first time through. Eyes in the back of your head indeed.

let even the Territorial Line make a point of being polite.

Did we lose the Regular/Territorial Line distinction in the Commonweal split, or was I reading too fast?

We’ve got Rust, all right. Rust’s horse looks good and plain and honest, too, and it might have been. It might still be; Rust has been riding the ghost of that horse since there are records, and if anyone knows how that works, they’re not saying.

As they say in glowlarion, every archmage can do three impossible things. Ghosts aren’t supposed to be able to be called up after more than three days or stick around not fading indefinitely, even in the Line’s standards(?).

Handing back the warrant sticks gives me a moment to grab some focus, the personal kind that sends your sense of self high and quivering out of your body. There’s a vast gulf between “correct” and “safe”.

? Missing some context here for the second sentence. Not quite connecting focus, correct, and safe.

Halt is also apparently incapable of sitting down for any length of time without knitting.

Credit to a book 3 let's read on brokenforums: in knitting you cast on to start and cast off to finish. Puns, my beloathed.

“What has been done with Blossom and another youngster was to keep their arms from knowing, much as when you direct the standard, you direct a thing outside yourself, for all that your strength participates in the standard.”

I kept this explanation in mind throughout book 2 and came out almost as confused as I started, though in different directions.

“Your arm knows.” Spine, and there are Independents who would know that.

? Is this “your spine knows”, is spine used as a curse, secret third thing? Someone uses “Fire, where’s the brigade …?” later, for curse usage comparison. Spine isn’t used like this again in book 1.

Halt lets the needles say “Oh, that kind of catch”.

Love it when you can’t quite be sure this isn’t a literal description.

misc. notetaking: four platoons = 1 company = 80 guys; nine files per platoon? Someone’s done better math about this, I’ll settle for rounding to significant digits. Eventually I want context for the training casualties in book 5.

Eustace stops well back of the artillery line, lies down, and starts chewing away on an eel-tree. Halt’s back up in the howdah, knitting away with apparent total unconcern for either the game of catch or the shrieking as Eustace toasts the fangy parts of the tree, which are trying to eat back. Various bits of notice of this slide through the standard while the platoons switch places, and there’s a thread of general approval coming back. Eustace’s kind will be welcome in the Creeks forever if they eat eel-tree.

Things I didn’t notice the first time around: what qualifies as weeds around here. Not much context for exactly how much of a deathplanet this is in the first book.

Halt’s comprehensive definition [of innocence] — never consumed a human soul, never slaked wrath by wide killing, and, oh yes, never coerced a bound demon into a shape empty of all but pain — was not provided to the matrons. Even more fortunately, Halt’s oddly wistful expression was not observed by any townsfolk at all. The true list is longer, and gets into strange technical questions of removal of the will and self; it’s quite all right, apparently, to send someone quietly to sleep in the middle of attacking you. Overriding the will in lesser actual degree to make them more willing to obey is not.

“slaked wrath by wide killing” is a beautiful phrase. Definitions about magic! Shiny!

“At the end of the march that made the Hard Road, Sergeant-Major, there were perhaps one hundred ninety of the Foremost still active. I assure you they were effective in a way ‘one short company’ would not imply.”

Continuation of my first-read confusion on who and what the Foremost were.

Twitch looks croggled, Halt looks amused, and Chuckles like someone whose drawers contain ants undertaking renovations. The social convention that Independents are normal people with an unusual job works against your composure sometimes.

Hmm. I’ll remember this as I keep rereading, though we rarely see a ““normal”” Independent and even more rarely see them in normal social contexts.

“Put like that, sir, no, no I can’t.” Both of Twitch’s feet are trying to tap toes. Not looking forward to this. Creeks prefer magical doings to stay politely invisible. Not entirely against such doings, the Creeks as a people and an area use a lot of focus-tools, but that doesn’t count, socially. This would, will.

“the Creeks as a people and an area use a lot of focus-tools”: Creeks foreshadowing continues.

“So we’re nailed to Westcreek Town?” A bit of appalled leaks into Blossom’s tone.

The amount of {the main characters are very extremely the underdogs} emphasis I managed to miss the first time around is hilarious in hindsight. In my defense, I don’t read much military fiction.

[smittenroses]

— Reject

Carrd | Ko-fi | Patreon | Archive of Our Own Mirror

Fandom No Straight Roads Pairing 1010/reader Chapter Summary Zimelu doesn't like the sappy soft feelings that are in his servos.

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Zimelu didn’t like having other people poke around in his circuit board. It felt invasive, it felt weird and if he was able to do it on his own, he would. It had taken a long time for Neon J to consider even giving him the ability to fix himself, but, it had been worth it, Zimelu sitting back on the couch as he tested his system, his tool box beside him as he watched everything flash up at once.

Like the fleshy performers and their injuries, Zimelu was just as prone to having issues come up. A loose bolt, his hair nylon being old, it was all things that he was used to having to deal with, but, when it came to entire parts of his body that’s when he started to get pissed. His knee had started out as just a gentle creak that he could ignore thinking that it was just water damage, but, when it had started to stiffen up and groan with every movement he made, he just couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t see the damage that he had done to his knee, but he could hear it, each groan of the metal underneath the fake flesh grinding his gears that made him want to disable his hearing.

Nothing appeared on the scans, Zimelu muttering cusses under his breath to himself as he sat up straight, looking down at his right knee before he pulled away the synthetic skin, pressing two buttons and watching as his leg fell to the floor with a thud just above his knee. It was easier to be able to grab a new part and put that on, but, Zimelu liked the challenge, propping the leg up between his thighs as he began to inspect the joints.

It was rust. He could see where the joints had been grinding against each other, the metal beginning to wear down with the effort of turning, but, it at least explained why it had been stiff and unable to move, Zimelu grabbing a screwdriver as he began to scrape away at the rust.

“What…” Reaching further into his knee, he pulled out a rubbery textured item, the casing clear and yet it was used, Zimelu putting the object in his mouth as he scanned his data base for what the item was. “How did— Never mind.” Spitting out the gummy water ball — which lacked the water — into the dish reserved for objects that shouldn’t be there, he returned to his knee. It explained the rust, whatever water had been left inside of it most likely getting between his joints and causing for them to malfunction. The metal of the screwdriver scraped against the joint, Zimelu turning his leg upside down every few seconds to empty out the red dust from the joint.

“I don’t get why Neon J allows you to do this yourself.” Zimelu hadn’t even realised that Eloni had entered the room, the green one sitting on the couch opposite to him, eyes trained on the leg that Zimelu had clutched between his legs, “Seems complicated.”

“He taught me, that’s it.” Zimelu knew that there was more to it, like how the motorcycle he had been given had served as a test of his abilities when they were developing, but, he kept his mouth shut on it, focusing back on the joint as he worked. “Why are you here?”

“Bored, there’s nothing else to do.”

If Eloni had anything else to say, he didn’t say it, Zimelu knowing that his eyes were on him without needing to look up as he detached the upper half from the lower half, peering further into the joints as his eyes illuminated the gears. He needed to touch them up, maybe even upgrade them if he would be lucky to convince Neon J to allow him to do so.

“Do you need to do that often?”

Slamming the lag down onto his thigh, Zimelu raised his head to yell at who he presumed to be Eloni casting a shadow, but, his gaze landed on skin — real skin — and eyes that didn’t hum with the electricity needed to keep his alight. He saw real hair and real teeth and real warmth all staring down at him, the maid peering at the detached leg, in one hand a cloth, the other a spray.

When had she come into the room? He hadn’t even heard her come in and yet she had been able to get this close to him — no, she had to be playing some sort of trick, Zimelu narrowing his eyes up at the woman as she tilted her head.

Cuteness didn’t get anyone far.

“None of your business,” he muttered, tilting his head down to avoid her gaze “Little maid.”

There was a part of him that wanted to snicker and grin when he heard the maid splutter with surprise, containing himself as he scraped more rust away, listening to the human make her little noises. Well, to humans, they weren’t just little; to them, it was their way of filling empty air when nobody was talking or knew how to talk, making the tension easier.

But he knew these noises well, knowing they were coming from someone who was incredibly flustered and being so cute… No, she wasn’t cute, she was just a pain in his ass who had to be around the manor, getting the attention of his best friends and causing for issues that he finds himself in the middle of.

“I’m not little!”

“You’re right, you’re tiny.” Zimelu allowed himself to snicker with some of his words, eyes flickering up to the maid as he watched her face warm with frustration, her cheeks puffing out and her hands at her hips. “You’re going to break the bottle if you hold it any tighter.”

“I am the perfect human height!”

It didn’t take long for Zimelu to reassemble his leg, the pieces attaching together and powering on so quickly that it didn’t even feel like there had been a time when he had no leg. It was petty, he knew, but, to stand up to his full height against the maid that had somehow bewitched the others, it was entertaining, it was hilarious.

Even more so as he pinched the cloth from her hand, still damp with the cleaning spray that was clenched tightly in her other. His senses picked up on eucalyptus and lemon that he knew he would adore if he could smell like humans, but, holding the cloth higher than her head, he watched as the maid attempted to reach it.

“You’re the average height for humans, yes, now jump for it, ruffles.”

There were a million things that his mind could calculate, a million scenarios that he could predict, but, one of them wasn’t the one that happened in front of him and made him stop. She didn’t yell, she didn’t get angry, she didn’t step on his toes, she instead laughed, beginning to jump after the cloth that dangled there in the air. It was genuine and it was sweet, dancing in his ears like something he could listen to over and over again, the heat of her body close as she hung off of him in an attempt to reach the cloth.

He lifted it higher, watching as her arm stretched further in an attempt to reach it.

A flash of green and the maid was lifted by her armpits, mischief in the eyes of the one who was meant to be on his side flashing in Eloni’s eyes and Zimelu knew he had to run if he wanted to keep this game up.

So, he did. Using the time that Eloni had to re-calibrate his balance to get enough distance, there was more laughter as they began to chase after him, ruffles and all.

Zimelu sat in the repair room as he watched Neon J tend to his leg, the older man’s sleeves rolled up to reveal the robotic arms underneath as he worked on repairing the leg, swapping out new parts for old ones, getting rid of the rust and gunk.

“Scraping it won’t get rid of the issue, Zim,” Neon J’s voice spoke up in the silence, the red-haired robot raising his head to look at his creator, his dad, watching as the screen didn’t even turn to face him, yet, he knew that he was still looking at him all the same. “You’ve been scraping away the rust here and it won’t just disappear because you got rid of the stuff you see.”

“It helps.”

“For a short while, yes.”

Zimelu didn’t have a quip for it, instead, he chose to keep his mouth shut, snuggling up against the wall as he watched him work. Unlike his own, still so hesitant to get help, he could tell that Neon J wasn’t afraid of getting it, his hands just as confident working on his leg as they were flipping through the books that he kept on the shelves. He always had help in mechanics and in music, but, even Neon J seemed to get fed up as the book he flipped through slammed shut, hand resting on top for a while.

“I’ll have to replace your leg for the time being, it’s far too damaged at this point for you to keep using it.”

Zimelu couldn’t contain the groan that ripped its way from his voice box, throwing his head back as he let the noise out. A new leg meant that he would have to re-calibrate himself to get used to it, a new leg meant that he would be thrown off balance for the time being, a new leg meant that he would have to spend more time than he’d like to having to relearn how to walk.

“Can’t we just,” waving his hands around before gesturing to where his lower leg should be, Zimelu would’ve raised his brows if he could, “gut my current one and put new parts in?”

The screen was silent before Neon J sighed, the movements that were just too human for a robotic body as he sighed, slumping against the bench. When you were still a tiny bit of a human inside of a cold, unfeeling body, you still felt those emotions, still felt the exhaustion and everything that humans wished they didn’t have to.

Despite the fact he knew that the humans didn’t want to feel them, Zimelu couldn’t help but feel… jealous. Jealous that he was able to feel like a human, eat like a human, touch like a human…

“Captain, how do you know if you like someone?”

The screen lightened up at the question, Neon J fully facing the robot as he sat there, staring.

“Do you think you like someone?” The question was tender and full of emotions that made Zimelu’s inner workings squirm with something he wasn’t familiar with, something that made him want to curl in on himself as he felt the heavy gaze of the one who created him. He didn’t like it, he wished he hadn’t said anything before he had opened his mouth.

But, the other part of him made him nod his head. Zimelu did like her.

[internalresistance]

Sitting in this warm room has a terrible sense of comfort and it's merely September.

I wonder if it's the slight sense of pain , the tolerance coated on my skin , the sense of worth which takes a small step ahead , all big words or words pretending big around such a silly object tells me I might have grown but I haven't become better .

And I still like being a little pathetic in the dark , the droopy eyes and heavy sighs on an hour long metro ride where I feel my phone is too heavy to carry kind of pathetic, the I am tired and I don't feel anything yet I got done with all the work kind of pathetic. I want to achieve so much and my rusting body would be showcased if I may , but I find I am the one rusting first kind of pathetic.

Well asking for help is the red line . As much as I want to cross it , I feel disgusted . The idea of asking for help is so noble and welcoming almost as receiving it but why reality tells different?

They know I am pathetic and all of that I keep hearing in silence but I must not tell them I am struggling with the numbers , the letters , white papers , dry pens . When does this stop ? I fear I don't see an end to it even after I say I am lagging behind .

If I say I am falling behind and I have no energy to get back up , I hear myself before anyone clearly shouting back at me ' that means you acknowledge your falling behind , your lazy attitude, and u know exactly what to do for fixing and yet you are not doing so ,simply because you are lazy ' . So as it looks , I have started to mimic everybody pointing a gun at me while I slip and fall . Somewhere in this race I have started to believe them too , making myself an enemy to my happiness.

So its breaking and building, learning and unlearning each day , and hope sticks around longer than September does .

[wraithsoutlaws]

Help, silent fury and candles for Dagger please 🙏🏻

Help tw: light self-harm-ish He spends fifteen minutes struggling with the rolling paper. The clunky metal of the new chrome hand has all the precision of a bulldozer–half rusted in the joints, and missing one or two internal wiring components that makes it stubborn. But that’s nothing  compared to the squeak of it. A little mocking laugh whenever he tries to move the middle digit, salt in the wound of losing a part of himself to some twerp barely out of grade school. Each chirp leaves a pinch of fury in his chest that has him considering total world destruction, and he’d do it to… All for a single fucking smoke. He tries not to look at the mess of torn, crumbled paper littered across the table beside him, attention drawn acutely to the one he’s got laid out flat, stuffed prettier than thanksgiving dinner with a heaping pile of synth-tobacco. This is the one. He knows it. His mouth nearly waters for it  as he slowly, cautiously begins to roll the paper, breath frozen in his lungs, a line of sweat clinging to his brow. He’s just nearly sealed it, can feel the smoke cloud his chest like a promise  and then–squeak. A chrome finger lags, then twitches, presses too hard. The paper tears and the tobacco spills and Dagger feels the crushing weight of hopelessness like an all consuming fog. He’s still for a moment, a sense of calm in his failure that passes in an instant, giving way to dynamite.  “Fuck!”  Metal fingers curl tighter than bone. He slams his fist into the table. He can’t hear that taunting squeak over the explosion of wood as it cracks beneath the weight of the metal. Again. Again. Something new breaks in the chassis of his hand. He grins wickedly, and does it again. Serves it right, fucking thing. He can’t feel it bruise or ache, and the numbness is worse. Loose tobacco and rolling paper fly into the air as he beats it into the table, as he desperately tries to make it hurt. He doesn’t notice the door of the trailer open and Dum Dum doesn’t announce himself, strolling casually inside like he’s seen this happen before, hands in his pockets until he reaches the remains of the table where Dagger sits. He finds the rolling paper on the ground and salvages some synth-tobacco from the package, working swiftly and silently without so much as a spare glance. Dagger pauses to catch his breath, eyes wild and bloodthirsty, watching him like a hungry animal. The chrome hand is backwards on his wrist, like some twisted monstrosity. He pays it no mind.  They’re both quiet. Dum Dum finishes, placing the freshly rolled cigarette between his lips for the ease of lighting, then hands it down to Dagger. He makes it look easy. Dagger considers spitting it out and stomping on it and making another hole in the trailer but it’s been thirty minutes since his last smoke and he’s already jonesing bad. He takes a long pull, filling his lungs and it’s better than sex, he’s sure of it. Smoke slithers from his lips and with it, the rage, curling around them until there’s nothing left. Dum Dum gives it a moment before he sits down beside Dagger and wordlessly pulls the broken hand into his lap. It’s not the first time he’s had to fix it. He knows it won’t be the last, delicately setting to work with a seamless grace that Dagger secretly admires from those chromed fingers. He lets him take it, he always lets him take it, and sometimes distantly, the ghost of his touch feels like flesh again. Dum Dum doesn’t wait for a thank you. He gets it only in a softened glance and a shared cigarette and he knows, to Dagger, that’s more than words can offer.

[recoverandroiddata]

How To Fix Rust Stuttering, Freezing, Lagging or FPS Drop On PC | #rust

[perfectsolutionsgaraged]

Winter-Proofing Your Garage Door: Tips from Perfect Solutions Experts

Winter can be tough on your home, and your garage door is no exception. Cold temperatures, moisture, and freezing winds can wreak havoc on your garage door’s components, causing everything from annoying squeaks to serious malfunctions. But don’t worry — with a few proactive steps and help from a trusted garage door company like Perfect Solutions Garage Door, you can keep your door running smoothly all winter long.

In this guide, we’ll walk you through expert tips to winter-proof your garage door, ensuring it stays reliable and safe through the coldest months of the year.

1. Inspect and Replace Weather Stripping

Weather stripping is your garage door’s first line of defense against cold air and moisture.

Why It Matters: Cracked or worn weather stripping allows cold air and snow to seep into your garage, raising your energy bills and exposing your car and belongings to freezing temps.

DIY Check: Close the garage door and run your hand along the edges. If you feel a draft, it’s time to replace the seal.

A garage door repair professional can replace old weather stripping quickly, making your garage instantly more weather-resistant.

2. Lubricate Moving Parts

Cold weather can cause metal components to contract, leading to stiff or grinding movements.

What to Do: Use a high-quality, silicone-based lubricant on springs, rollers, and tracks.

Avoid Grease: Grease can thicken in cold weather, causing more harm than good.

Scheduling regular maintenance with a garage door company like Perfect Solutions Garage Door ensures all moving parts stay properly lubricated and functional.

3. Test the Auto-Reverse Feature

Safety is key, especially in icy conditions where slips and falls are more likely.

The Test: Place a solid object (like a piece of wood) under the door. Close it — the door should automatically reverse upon contact.

If It Fails: This is a serious safety risk. Call a garage door repair expert immediately.

4. Check the Balance of the Door

An imbalanced door can overwork the opener and cause premature wear and tear.

How to Check: Disconnect the opener and manually lift the door halfway. If it doesn’t stay in place, the balance is off.

Fixing It: Adjusting garage door springs can be dangerous — it’s best to let a professional handle this.

5. Insulate the Door

If your garage doubles as a workspace or connects to your home, insulation is a game changer.

Why It Helps: Insulated doors keep your garage warmer, reducing heat loss and protecting stored items from extreme cold.

Options: You can install insulation panels or upgrade to an insulated door with the help of a garage door company.

6. Seal Gaps and Cracks

Even small cracks around your garage door frame can let in cold air and moisture.

Quick Fix: Use weather-resistant caulk to seal any visible gaps.

Long-Term Solution: If the frame itself is damaged, consider a replacement or repair.

7. Protect the Garage Door Opener

Cold weather can cause garage door openers to lag or malfunction.

Battery Check: Cold temperatures drain batteries faster, so replace them if they’re weak.

Smart Upgrade: Consider a smart garage door opener, which lets you monitor and control the door from your phone — perfect for snowy mornings.

8. Keep the Tracks Clean and Clear

Ice and debris can accumulate in the tracks, causing the door to get stuck or move unevenly.

Simple Maintenance: Clean the tracks with a cloth and mild cleaner. Remove any built-up debris or ice.

Alignment Issues: If the tracks are bent or misaligned, a garage door repair technician can realign them for smooth operation.

9. Upgrade to Cold-Weather-Resistant Components

Certain garage door parts wear out faster in freezing conditions.

What to Upgrade: Nylon rollers (which don’t get as brittle as metal), heavy-duty springs, and rust-resistant cables.

Expert Installation: A garage door company can swap out vulnerable components to give your door extra winter resilience.

10. Schedule a Professional Winter Tune-Up

The best way to ensure your garage door survives the winter is to have it professionally inspected and serviced.

Comprehensive Check-Up: A technician will inspect every part of the door, from the opener to the springs, to catch and fix potential issues before they become big (and costly) problems.

Peace of Mind: Knowing your garage door is winter-ready lets you focus on enjoying the season, not worrying about unexpected breakdowns.

Why Choose Perfect Solutions Garage Door?

At Perfect Solutions Garage Door, we specialize in keeping your garage door running perfectly, no matter the season. Our experienced technicians can handle everything from preventative maintenance to emergency garage door repair, so you’re never left in the cold.

We’re a garage door company committed to providing top-notch service, reliable solutions, and expert guidance to keep your home safe and secure all winter long.

Don’t let winter weather catch you off guard — contact Perfect Solutions Garage Door today to schedule your winter tune-up and stay ahead of the freeze! ❄️🚪

[howtonerdoutovereverything]

Here Be Monsters: An Original Story Based On a Prompt from r/writingprompts

“Can you please tell me why you always insist on doing something batshit crazy every Halloween?” Darin questioned with an edge in his voice.

Eric turned to face Darin, who was lagging behind him and staring at the leaf-covered path they were walking along. “In what world is taking a walk into the woods ‘batshit crazy’? By that logic, all lumberjacks should be in mental institutions,”

Darin rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “You and I both know damn well that you’re not just planning on ‘taking a walk’...”

Eric almost had something to say to that, but decided against it, instead nodding slightly. “I guess you got me there. But hey, if you don’t want to be a part of this…”

“...Then I shouldn’t have come,” Darin finished the all-too-familiar sentence. “Goddamit, Eric, you say the same thing every fucking year, and every fucking year it isn’t true!”

“What do you mean it’s not true?” Eric’s toying inflection made Darin’s stomach churn. “I always give you an out!”

“You quite literally drag me along,” Darin kicked a pebble in his way. “I think you might’ve ripped the hood of my jacket. And choked me a little,”

“My mom knows how to sew; she’ll fix it up for you,” Eric said, choosing to ignore the second part of that statement.

“Not if I tell her it was your fault,”

Eric placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “You wouldn’t DARE!”

Darin just growled, and even Eric knew to back off.

The end-of-October breeze floated by, probably carrying a few ghosts along with it. For a while, all that could be heard was the rhythmic crunching of dead leaves between the boys’ feet as they walked along the old trail. At one point, Eric stopped to grab a large stick off the ground and started dragging it in the dirt as he walked, occasionally scraping a few leaves with it. Darin just sighed and tried to retreat further underneath his hood.

“Hey, question…” Eric eventually broke the silence, as anticipated. “Where do you think the whole ‘draw a plan out in the dirt with a stick’ thing you see in movies came from?”

Darin just stared at Eric for a moment, trying to process what he had just said. “What?”

“You know, the whole ‘alright, troops, here’s the plan, we line up like this and go here and here’-”

“I know what you mean, dickhead!” Darin interrupted loudly. “But what made you start thinking of that? Or do I even wanna know?”

“I was just thinking…” That was never a good way for Eric to start a sentence. “If, and this is just an if, something were to go really wrong tonight, I could use this stick to draw up a plan to save our asses,”

“That’s very reassuring,” Darin said through clenched teeth.

“Isn’t it? I’m always three steps ahead,” Darin wasn’t sure if Eric missed the sarcasm or just decided to ignore it.

But before he could figure it out, his drifting eyes caught onto something a few feet away from them. Eric saw it not long after, and the two of them only needed to look at each other before making their way toward it.

An old sign stood before them, about as tall as Eric was. The metal pole was covered in rust and dirt, and the sign itself had several dents all over it, also stained with dirt. But, as was to be expected, what really stood out about the sign was what it said.

“Here be monsters,”

Three words, written in a black, bold font. No symbols. No pictures. Not even a sticker placed by a passerby looking to advertise something. It was startlingly plain.

Eric didn’t need to look at the sign for very long before he had something to say about it. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” he said, squinting his eyes. “Or is this a Halloween decoration? Because if so, who the fuck is even living out here? There aren’t any houses,”

“I don’t know if it’s a Halloween decoration…it looks pretty old, and like it’s been outside for a while,” Darin noted.

“Hmm, I guess so,” Eric agreed, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, let’s keep going,”

Eric started to walk again, but was stopped by Darin grabbing his arm. “Wait,”

“What?”

“Why…why would this sign be here?”

“Like I said, it’s probably someone’s idea of a joke. Maybe they don’t want kids walking around here, so they put this sign up to scare them,” Eric shook Darin’s hand off. “Come on, Darin. Obviously there aren’t any actual monsters out here,”

“I-I know that!” Darin said with a quiver in his voice. “It’s just…weird,”

“Can’t argue with you there. Anyways, let’s keep walking. Maybe we’ll find whoever put this sign up,”

“Or what,”

“Yeah, or what, I guess…you know, sometimes you’re really cheesy, Darin,”

As the boys continued on their way, Darin couldn’t help but feel anxious with every step. Obviously he knew he wasn’t in any real danger…well, that wasn’t entirely true. There could be animals out here. But at least he knew that there weren’t any monsters. Because monsters obviously did not exist. Which was exactly what Eric had told him. Which, unlike a lot of things Eric said, was true.

And yet, every time he heard even a slight noise, he whipped his head towards it, only to find it was just a bird or a car driving in the distance. Every now and then, he looked at Eric to try and validate his jitters, but of course, Eric just walked on, unfazed by his surroundings.

It was fine. They were fine. They would do the stupid thing and then go home. Darin would help count the candy his little sister had gotten while trick-or-treating, watch It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with her, and then go to bed. It would all be fine…

“For the love of God, would you please stop whimpering?” Eric said, snapping Darin out of his thoughts.

“Whimpering?” Darin repeated. “I’m not w-whimpering!”

“Yes, you are. I can hear you. You sound like a little lost puppy. They should cast you in one of those ASPCA ads,”

“Sh-shut up…” Darin muttered, no bite to it. Why did he let Eric drag him into shit like this? Especially when he got no sympathy in return?

Eric, naturally, did not shut up. “For just seven dollars a month…” he said in an overly saccharine voice. “You can help this poor little pup Darin grow some fucking balls and stop believing that there’s a scary monster in the dark out to get him,”

Darin hunched his shoulders as Eric continued to laugh and mock him. He was allowed to be scared, wasn’t he? People got murdered and buried in the woods all the time. What if there was an active serial killer on the loose? What if those creepy clowns decided to come back? Eric wouldn’t make fun of him then, would he? Fucking bastard.

THUD!

Darin jumped, a high-pitched noise escaping his throat. “What was that?!”

Eric stopped walking, looking around a bit. “Maybe a tree fell?” he suggested. “Although that would be weird…”

THUD!

Darin glared at Eric as though a point had been proven.

“...Another tree?”

THUD!

“OK, are they building another gas station or something? What the fuck IS that?!”

Not a second later, Eric got his answer.

A giant silver figure emerged from the shadows, its red eyes cutting through the growing darkness. It bared its sharp fangs and claws as it made its way toward the boys, who found themselves unable to move as they took in the massive wolf before them, its size comparable to the old trees surrounding them.

The wolf bent its head and sniffed the two, its nose about as large as they were. After a few seconds, it lifted its head again, staring at them intensely.

“You smell…unfamiliar,” it said, its voice so deep it shook the ground.

“Um…Eric dared to speak (because of course he would). “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Darin wanted to strangle Eric so badly right now.

The wolf squinted its eyes. “That depends…why are you here?”

Darin, despite wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry, was somehow more afraid of what Eric’s response to that question was going to be than of the giant fucking wolf in front of them. So he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak. “We…were exploring. Just…you know…for fun. W-we…had no idea you were here,”

“What about the sign?”

Darin gulped. “We…thought it was a joke?”

The air was dead still as the boys watched the wolf’s every movement. Its ears and tail twitched a bit, and its claws scratched the ground, leaving deep marks in the dirt.

“It has been a while since we have encountered humans,” the wolf finally spoke.

“W-we?” Eric said, now stuttering as well.

“Indeed. Me and my monster brethren have inhabited this forest for centuries. We have done our best to separate ourselves from humans, as we know that your kind have told yourselves many tales about us and the dangers we pose to you. So as to prevent any kind of conflict, we keep to ourselves and expect humans to do the same,”

“B-but…most humans d-don’t think monsters exist…” Eric said.

Yeah, like you ten minutes ago, Darin thought to himself.

“I suppose that is how your kind has prevented the current generations from meddling in our affairs,” the wolf mused. “If we are seen as fictional, we will not be hunted,”

All of a sudden, rustling could be heard, the sound of it coming from seemingly everywhere. More shadowy figures began to emerge, from behind trees, from under piles of leaves, from under the ground, and even from thin air.

“That being said…” the wolf continued as the shadowy figures began to surround it, making various bone-chilling noises, some of which sounded like laughter. “If we were to be hunted again, we would not hesitate to fight back,”

Darin and Eric took a few frantic steps back. “I-I promise, we are not here to hunt you!” Eric exclaimed. “W-we can leave now! No, scratch that, we WILL leave now!”

“And never come back,” Darin added. “And also never tell anyone. We promise! Is…is that OK?”

The monsters all looked to the wolf, who stared at the boys with a menacingly thoughtful gaze. “...Very well,” he said. “But know that if you fail to uphold your promise, your fate will not be in your favor,”

“Understood,” Darin and Eric said in unison under their breaths, before running as fast as their legs could take them.

After putting considerable distance between them and the monsters, the boys stopped to catch their breaths, falling to the ground. After a few minutes, Eric could feel Darin’s eyes cutting through him, and he turned to look at him.

Eric paused for a moment, then sighed. “OK, maybe next Halloween we’ll just go to the movies or something,”

[techarena]

In the realm of gaming, the seamless interaction between player and virtual world is essential for an immersive experience. However, even in the most meticulously designed games, technical issues can arise that disrupt this harmony. One such problem that has frustrated gamers is the phenomenon of Rust freezing or lagging when shooting. The adrenaline-pumping moments of firing a crucial shot can quickly turn into a frustrating ordeal when the game stutters or freezes, leading to missed opportunities and diminished enjoyment. In this article, we delve into the potential causes behind this issue and explore possible solutions that gamers can employ to restore the fluidity of their Rust gaming sessions. Rust Freezing or Lagging When Shooting Fix Rust Freezing or Lagging when shooting can be triggered by various reasons such as outdated Graphics Card Driver, corrupted game files, incompatible system and many more. To fix it, try the following steps: Fix #1: Check System Requirements – First make sure that the game is compatible to run on your device. The minimum requirements to run this game is: OS: Windows 8.1 64bit Processor: Intel Core i7-3770 / AMD FX-9590 or better Memory: 10 GB RAM Graphics: GTX 670 2GB / AMD R9 280 better Storage: 25 GB available space Fix #2: Restart your PC – Restart your PC as it is a simple yet effective method to fix various bugs and glitches caused by temporary data. Fix #3: Check Internet Connection – There is a potential chance that the Rust freezing or lagging when shooting issue can be caused by slow or unstable internet connection. In such cases make sure that you connect to a wired connection or a different network. Fix #4: Verify Integrity of Game Files – Sometimes game files can get corrupted or go missing due to bad installation or other reasons and causes such issues. To fix that you can verify integrity of game files on steam to restore the missing files and eliminate the corrupted files. Fix #5: Update the Game – Check for available updates, as there is a higher chance that this issue will be fixed after updating the game as developers often release patches with fixes for various bugs and glitches. Fix #6: Update Graphics Card Driver – Ensure that your Graphics Card Driver is up to date, as it gets updates which often include bug fixes and compatibility improvements that can resolve many game-related issues. Fix #7: Close Background Applications – Applications running in the background may take a lot of resources which may lead to this error. So, it would be best if you close them. Fix #8: Disable Antivirus and Firewall – Try disabling your Antivirus and Firewall as they can interfere with the game. If the game works fine after disabling antivirus and firewall, add it to the Exception list. Fix #9: Disable Overlay – Overlay applications, such as Discord overlay or Nvidia ShadowPlay, can interfere with games. Temporarily disable any overlay applications before launching the game to see if the issue persists. Fix #10: Disable Overclocking – Overclocking your CPU or GPU can sometimes cause issues with game performance, including this issue. Try disabling overclocking and running the game at default settings to see if it resolves the issue. Fix #11: Change In-game Graphics Settings – Try changing and experimenting with different graphics settings to figure out the best one for your Device. Fix #12: Contact Game Support – If none of the solutions above worked for you then consider contacting game support for further assistance regarding this issue as they will be able to help. Also read: Wayfinder Fatal Error EXCEPTION ACCESS VIOLATION Fix Conclusion In conclusion, gaming enthusiasts are all too familiar with the excitement and frustration that come hand in hand with competitive gameplay. The phenomenon of Rust freezing or lagging during shooting instances has undoubtedly posed a challenge to players seeking seamless interactions within the game world. As technology continues to evolve, developers are continually working to address these technical hiccups, ensuring that players can experience the thrill of Rust without the disruptions that arise from freezes and lag. By implementing the various solutions discussed in this article, gamers can take proactive steps. To minimize such issues and create a smoother and more enjoyable gaming experience.

[guardian-rocket]

@blackjack-ohare

“Giant head flying through space, huh? Now that’s traveling in style.” It wasn’t surprising to learn there were plans to make the entire settlement mobile. Despite being on the edge of known space, Knowhere had been the target of several attacks through the ages and there would be more in the future. Keeping Knowhere a moving target just made sense.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t bring a hat to wear for the tour. Make it official-like.” The comment came as Blackjack tossed the stick from his dumplings into a refuse bin, licking the last traces of spiced sauce from his fingers. Warm, sweet, and sour all at once. Delicious. He approached Rocket to stand at his right side where the two could walk side by side. Less of a chance to get separated than if he lagged behind the other and it made it easier to converse over the din of the streets.

@blackjack-ohare

When Blackjack commented about his plan to make Knowhere mobile he just nodded and grinned at the other.

“You’ll get over it,” Rocket said dismissively patting the other gingerly on the shoulder. He led Blackjack for a rusted yellow platform lift so they could get to the rest of the city, pressing his fist to pressing a large green button that lit up and started to lift with the sound of mechanical pistons releasing gasses as they went up.  Once they got up past the plaza, the city seemed to go on forever, but only because of how it was built, buildings were stacked to the top of the skull with skyways connecting everything, some even hanging from the interior crown.  The population within Knowhere did seem a lot less crowded which may explained the availability for free housing that Rocket had hooked BlackJack with.  

While the city bustled, there was a lot of workers visibly laboring over repairs among the crowds, fixing the walls, signs, and even the railings that had been damaged.  

“We got a few convenience stores open 24/7, the one over there, Blotty’s In & Out is going to be closest to where we are,” He spoke and walked briskly, knowing BlackJack wouldn’t have any trouble keeping up with his long legs.  If anything he was trying to set a quick pace for his sake.  “Run by a family of ascavarians, real nice people, but uh... stay away from their daughter, she’s got a mean temper.  Over here is where we meet up for poker night, but there’s a whole betting hall attached that’s pretty popular... If you wanna good place to grab a hot meal, there’s Pescamore’s down the street there, they’ll have some good food, relatively cheap too and I know they’ll have vegetarian options for you... since you don’t cook, that may be a good place to keep in mind.” Rocket had them turn at the restaurant labeled as Pescamore’s in the Krylorian language before heading down another street, the street seemed wider down this way, and more open with taller buildings coming up.

“Munitions are going to be available at various checkpoints in case of emergency, we’ll work towards getting you clearance, until that, just know it’s there,” Rocket said, scratching the back of his neck, knowing that the weapons visible in their secured vault would likely make the other halfworlder go starry eyed.  Weapons for the Guardians were in no short supply and they had multiple locked down vaults all over the city with security that Rocket himself designed to be practically impregnable by anyone he didn’t put into the system.

[thetechexplained]

Way to fix Lags, Low FPS, & Low GPU Usage in Rust

Way to fix Lags, Low FPS, & Low GPU Usage in Rust

Here, we’ll show you guys the steps to resolve the lags, low FPS, and low GPU usage issues in Rust. The Rust game has to make a huge segment of the reliable fanbase for itself. It just seems that different Computer users are having a hard time getting their hands on this game. Many users complained that they are facing lags, low FPS, & as well as low GPU usage problems in the Rust game. Earlier…

[bangtanpromptsfics]

pyxis.

dialogue prompt #9: “Cheer up it's Christmas Eve, sweetheart”

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: christmas au, brother's best friend au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 3,412 (oh no)

warnings: reader is a lil sad but nothing angsty tho

summary: christmas was always an eager wait. less for the tree decorations, family dinner and the fuss of toddlers. more for your childhood best friend who you kissed under a mistletoe years back.

a/n: ahhh!!! I'm not completely satisfied with how this turned out to be. the inspiration was from a few christmas themed fics I read here and the movie ‘It's Christmas, Eve’. anyway this was my attempt though it's nowhere near christmas time. one of my personal goals is to celebrate a christmas like the west, the snow, the fuss and the commotion ;-;. Also I lost sense of time and space and this turned out to be 3k ;-;

masterlist

“Cheer up it's christmas eve, sweetheart”, your mother chimes as she pours brown batter into little cupcake moulds.

You simply smile at her, the festive mood not really getting to you because of exhaustion. Uni was tough, and enjoying this Christmas when you know you have tons of essays due in a few days was hammering inside your brain every now and then.

“Is that chocolate?”, you ask, leaning your tired body on the counter where she is at work.

“And orange”, she smiles, turning around to preheat the oven.

“Where's Jin”. Though you hated the routinely flicks against your forehead, the absence of your big brother felt weird.

“He went with Jimin to get the Christmas tree”.

The mention of Jimin brings a smile to your face. His soft features and captivating grin filling your head. If there was one of the few things you enjoyed coming back to your hometown for holidays, it's chocolate cupcakes your mom bakes and Jimin.

His family are friends with yours after all. You, Jin and Jimin attended the same school until college and other priorities in life drift you apart. Though the bond must have rusted a bit, you can't deny the fact that you still have that crush which started somewhere in middle school, on a chritmas eve like this when he kissed your cheeks shyly under the mistletoe. Your friends and family, and even Jimin himself must have seen it nothing more than platonic, but you still find yourself relieving the moment in your head however crazy it may sound.

Standing up straight, you decide to fix your bed hair and complete the skincare routine before the said duo drops.

“Mrs. Y/L/n...”, Jimin softly kicks the back door. He is carrying one end of a huge fir, and your brother on the other end, grunting from the freezing snow outside.

“Oh dear place it right there”, you mother is quick to her feet helping the boys and doing her usual commentary on how well the tree looked.

Jimin looks more handsome than ever, especially with his nose and cheeks dusted in scarlet from the cold. He looks really huggable in his fluffy sweaters and red beanie. Jin is busy commanding around so you choose to sit back, a very typical sibling energy and the size of decoration boxes and the tree itself not really appetizing to your will to find any strength.

“Hey Y/n!”, Jimin stares back at your eyes in a split moment which has your lashes fluttering suddenly. You probably look like you are carrying a disease and right now you become very hyper aware of that.

“You alright? You look tired”, he comments. You feel his eyes carefully studying the black under your eyes and worrying his mind because that's what he is like. He cares about everyone and everything, has a heart so soft it hurts to even think about it.

“Jet lag...”, you say, “I'll be fine”. You shoot a little thumbs up on his way to reassure.

“Why didn't Jin get the tree earlier? It's Christmas in a few hours”, you dodge the focus around you and walk near in an attempt to closely examine the tree for no reason other than feeling Jimin’s eyes a little too long on you.

Your brother gets visibly annoyed seeing you start a very unnecessary talk. So he is completely obliged to shoot back with, “Because you were in charge of Christmas decorations this year but your lazy ass flew down here only yesterday”.

“You know I was busy with Uni!”

“Whatever”, he shrugs, getting back to the box of tree decorations. You feel a little bad seeing yourself not being helpful during a festive season. It felt like you were procrastinating on your responsibilities as always.

“Um...is there any way I can help?”, you ask softly, earning a mischievous grin from Jin and your mom fills in the answer.

“We need more baubles. Also I missed out gifts for Aerum and June, so maybe you can get them”. Now this was already tiring and you were not lying earlier either, the jet lag was still choking you alive. You wonder if the huge pile of stars and glitters beside your foot aren't enough but then maybe it's true because this is the largest fir you ever saw for Christmas in your house. And speaking of the five year old notorious duo, your cousins-- Aerum and June, you have no other option than to step out into the butt numbing cold and get something for the sake of not getting your brains eaten.

While you stand there doing these calculations, Jimin puts a two and two and immediately suggests to tag along with you.

“That'd be great! Thanks sweetie”, your mom chimes, her fine lines of face gathering around her eyes while she does so and you catch her throwing a wink to your side and you pretend you never saw that.

“Thank you Jimin”, you smile in all honesty while he reciprocates the same.

“No problem. I'll get my car. Will you be ready in an hour? I think you just woke up”

“Uh...yeah”, you fake a laugh, “Yes I'll be ready in an hour”

Jimin still lives here in your hometown, attends a community college nearby and his house is just a few steps away from your own. You remember how you had the same analogy in your mind as well. You like living here. You like Jimin’s company. The lake Park and the annual ice skating competition in December and the bookstores and coffee shops at the outskirts of the town. And you can't seem to clearly remember when and where that feeling started to become foreign. Maybe it was a teenage quirk to explore the world that you are now a three hour flight away from all of this. It wasn't a deep regret, but seeing Jimin, it almost felt like it. It felt like you betrayed him. Because he seemed to be keeping his word to this day.

This year, it's a few degrees lower than what it usually is and you find yourself chattering your teeth together as you walk to Jimin’s house.

His footsteps rush to get the door as soon as you ring the doorbell and he greets with the same wide grin as if he hasn't just saw you an hour ago.

“Let's go?”, he asks immediately, getting house keys from his coat pocket and locking the front door before stepping out making you confused.

“There's no one home? Where are your parents?”

“Oh well didn't Mrs. Y/L/n tell you?”, he studies your features and gets his response so he continues “They went to New York this year for Christmas. It's some elder people thing I think...so I'll be spending Christmas this year with your family”

“Really!?”, you chime, and then immediately notice a very childish jump you did with tiny fists and all, feeling a little embarrassed at yourself, “Ah... uh I mean that's great”.

“Yeah”, he giggles, sounding like a twelve year old who is still waiting for his growth spurt, “Get in the car it's freezing in here”.

Since it's been six odd months you've spoken to Jimin, you figured it would would be strange and awkward to be with him, but his demeanor states otherwise. He could effortlessly begin conversations and build momentum with you and by the time you are at a thrift store, he is aware of the little gist of student life and the dramatically exaggerated history research paper still due.

“What are you getting for the twins?”, he asks, seeing you checking out the kids toys section with absolutely no idea and that's exactly what you reply to him.

“How about this puzzle?”, he brings a big jigsaw to your glance and you figure it's a great thing to have their little brains engaged and give yourself time to breathe.

“It's perfect!”, you add, immediately placing it your cart with a few decors you picked up from earlier aisles.

Jimin places an extra pack of Christmas candies in the cart, and you send him a questionable look knowing it's his way of bribing the kids coming this evening. He puts too much effort into people's happiness, something you wish you were capable of as well.

The shopping went smooth. It was therapeutic to get hot chocolate with extra marshmallows afterwards like he insisted followed by that very cliche movie scene where one of them develops a creme moustache and the other notices and dabs it off.

You want this moment to linger a little longer, but your whole family arrives in less than two hours and the decorations were due. If Jin doesn't have you in the next thirty minutes he might as well eat all the cupcakes your mom is baking as revenge.

“I had a great time”, Jimin states as he stops the car in front of your house, stealing the words from your mouth and warmth hugs your cheeks immediately.

“Me too. It's been long since we spent time with each other”

You hear a lone sigh with white fogs coming out of his plump lips while he does so, as if he were suddenly sad when you mentioned that.

“Are you okay?”

His grips tightens around the steering, “I've missed you”, he says, eyes meeting slowly. And as if he was suddenly pulled back to earth he conjures another sentence to not sound so vulnerable.

“I uh... It's just--”

“I've missed you too”

Even with the gear box painstakingly blocking the way, you throw your upper half towards his body anyways and you find him hugging you back. His hugs still feel the same from years back; safe and warm and filled with love.

If it wasn't for the constant reminder that your brother is probably plotting a murder against you, you would've stayed much longer in his embrace. Maybe the hug was a big straightforward for a bond still gradually blooming, but it didn't feel weird at all and when you pull back he is smiling down at you.

“I thought you two lovebirds flew off”, a very annoyed Jin states from above you. He is balancing himself on a chair to attach the mistletoe to the ceiling.

“Sorry hyung”, Jimin says. And somehow now you are getting super aware of the way your family is low key shipping you both. Not that it's an irritating thing of course though you seem to act like it. But you have no idea what's going on with Jimin, what if he said he missed you as your childhood friend? It's a lot difficult to segregate his priority of giving affection. He seems to be giving justice in terms of care for every living being he knows.

“The circus is on its way so I hope you both hurry with putting up everything together”, the voice above states, now lowering himself to ground after putting up the twig.

Three of you giggle at the mention of your family as a circus. Well in a way it definitely was. You have a bunch if uncles who crack awful jokes, a trait Jin himself as picked up from a tender age of ten. Then their wives and kids who share certainly the same braincells in comprehending things. You bet they'll ask you again about your major and your dating history once they walk in through that door amidst clearly stating everytime that you are a history major and yes still very single.

In the hallway there is a half decorated tree. A thread of fairly lights wrapped around the green and very few baubles hanging here and there.

“I'll put up the star and join you”, Jimin says, digging out a golden star from the carton. Though now he doesn't know why it was a good idea for him to announce that when both of you were almost the same height. He is just a few centimeters taller than you and the top of the fir is still very much way above your heads.

So with a chuckle you both figure Jin has to do it.

“This is your final year right?”, Jimin asks stepping closer to you. He seemed nervous about something. Or was it anxious?

“Yeah...you?”

“Yeah...”, his sweet tone was drawn almost like a whisper and you sense you should ask him further about what's wrong. But before you had to deal with a starter he continues,

“Are you planning to work in Chicago as well?”

“Sweetheart help me clean up the kitchen please”, your hear your mom's voice overpowering through the house. Which is good. Because you don't know what you are supposed to answer. It was as if he was almost hopeful that you'll choose your hometown all over again. But you aren't sure. So you take the opportunity to step away from the situation excusing yourself.

And while you are clearing the blobs of batter stuck on the counter, your mind is a haywire. What are you going to do? Though you know your whole family wants you to stay, it's still a foggy place to be in. Four years apart in another city as a college student has not provided much, except caffeine addiction and sleepless nights. Things were not even as fun as everyone told you.

A few steps away Jimin silently prays that you stay, because he had truly missed you. Even though you have outgrown from the eighteen year old shell as he had known, he finds himself actively choosing to be with you. Even when other things in life occupies his mind, there's an element of it which goes back to you.

“They are here!”. You groan silently, while your parents are throwing their hands in air, giggles and chatter fills in as your uncles and aunts and the taunting toddlers welcome themselves in.

“Y/n! You have grown so much!”, the older aunt comments, and you supply a manufactured smile to tag along. Other comments follow by soon, about how tired you are, gasps about not having a partner and future plans, all of which are not completely answerable at the moment but you manage to get through them all and finally excusing yourself back to the garage convincing there are more decor supplies in there.

Families are nice. They make festivals brighter and lives less lonely. But yours was just hard sometimes. Not that you completely loathed the people now fueling themselves off the cup cakes your mom bakes, you were just merely lost, still yet to come up with an answer to what your stance is after graduation.

“Hey...”. Jimin has joined you now which you notice feeling a warmth against your shoulder when he sits, with an extra scraf knowing the garage is still comparatively chilly than the house, “you okay?”.

“Yeah...I was just...thinking”

“Is this about earlier? I'm sorry if I made you anxious”, he quickly adds.

“No!...I mean yeah but, it's high time I find a ground with this. What are your plans?”

“I was thinking about teaching at Jefferson High”, he shifts rather uncomfortably. He is talking of the school in your town, your school, where you have lots of memories with Jimin, “You know...like we said during Junior year in high school?”

“I'm sorry Jimin”, you feel the guilt inside you growing, “I never kept my promises”.

“Hey...that's okay! Everyone changes. I just want you to be happy. I...I hope you are happy Y/n”, he reassures, taking your hand from your side and squeezing it between his soft palms.

“I don't know about that either...”

As much as you hated showcasing vulnerability to another person, you know Jimin is an exception. You had cried to him about everything during school days and he had never invalidated a single thing, even when you were visibly dramatic over a downpour during a family picnic when you were five.

Jimin is frozen on his seat as if he can't find the words. He was never good with words so instead he hugs you, a little longer than the last time till he is sure you have calmed down. Grateful for not ending up crying, you smile up at him and remind yourselves to get back inside to avoid suspicion, especially from the kids who take humiliating people as an important milestone to achieve.

When you enter back inside and get immediately surrounded by a million questions and chores thrown at you, you find your answer. Maybe your heart belongs back to everything your younger self had blabbered about. Not to mention, this fairly good reunion with your crush feels nice, though, he might still see it as platonic. Maybe he makes things less daunting.

By the way Jimin was owning everyone's heart in the house, it felt like he was family. Well in a way he is. But to put more clarity, he bought things together and his actions bought so much peace and love within everyone. Even the notorious twins listen carefully to him and help the uncles and aunts in the kitchen.

He is again by your side, two cupcakes rests on his palms and you take it with a silent ‘thanks’.

Seeing no signs of him beginning a talk now, you think of coming up with something. Maybe a memoir from today? Or about how absolutely handsome he looks right now? Wait.

“They are under the kissing twig!”, Aerum screams like the house caught in fire, her sibling joining by the side to provoke the habit even more.

“It's called a mistletoe Aerum”, your aunt corrects before pasting a smug across her lips.

Nothing changed. They are the same people. Hyping you and Jimin to kiss just like when you were thirteen. If the factor of time is removed, this is the exact night. Both of you cemented to the flooring as if you forgot to exist.

Both of your necks snap together to the mistletoe Jin had attached to the ceiling earlier. And when you lower your gaze back, face gawks at each other eye to eye. It's the same. He has that blush, the shyness from years ago. It's going to be platonic. Yet again. And this moment will only ever be romantic and flowery in your head.

June was the first to squeak, and Aerum shuts her eyes the moment Jimin is leaning his mouth towards your lips. It was difficult to relax under the stares of many, but when he ghosts his mouth over your again and leans in for a second kiss, you are fixated on him. Hands holding each other, the plump of his lips so soft it felt like you were biting into a fluff of cloud.

Maybe he'll have an explanation to your family for this. Not like anyone in the audience was disappointed. Your mother was almost in tears? And Jin looked hardly surprised with any of this. As if it was all swell according to his plans.

“You both are so cute”, one of the aunts awes and your mother is quick by her side, completely agreeing to it.

“Jimin...”, you return your gaze to the equally flustered man who just kissed you and he sounded almost breathless,

“I'm sorry if this was wrong it ju--”

“I like you”, you immediately snap in and his face is a void for an instant. Fully processing the words, his eyes disappear when he grins, “I like you too...a lot”.

“Are you two dating?”, the twins haven't dropped the case yet, running to your feet to help their curious brains.

“Yes...”, Jimin responds, looking up at you for a reassurance, which you quickly supply with a nod, “Yes we are dating”.

When the kids are satisfied they go away snickering to themselves.

“I decided to stay”, you say.

“Really!?”, his disbelief was comical, yet wholesome considering how much he wished for this, “I'm...I'm so happy!”.

Giggling at him, this time you lean forward and peck the corner of his lips.

“You lovebirds better get a room”, Jin announces and thankfully not loud enough to catch everyone else's attention.

Usually Jin expects a punch to his arms from his sister, but he sees how grateful you are for his mistletoe decor. He leaves the couple, satisfied that there won't be any more ranting about how much Jimin likes you.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[pumpkin-stars]

Peaceful Living

hints of Will Miller/Frankie Morales (!?)

Word Count: 670 (i didn’t know where it was going so i stopped oops)

Masterlist

This originally started as something for @autumnleaves1991-blog​​‘s Writer Wednesday, where I wanted to explore Will and his motorbike, but then it became... whatever this is... It has absolutely nothing to do with the prompt anymore, but I’m including it anyway :)

It’s a bumpy ride, but it’s an old bike, and an older road. He’s seen a lot since he first scraped together enough money to buy the rusted Ironhead and fix her up, but his baby’s still running strong. The seat bears the imprint of his ass, and, he’s sure, his ass bears the imprint of the seat, his one trusted companion through everything. Always waiting to take him home after deployment, grumbling engine grounding him in that familiar noise, the one that says home safe, once again.

She’s the most cared for bike this side of the Mississippi, and he knows his team will tease him for turning up on it again, but that’s just how they are. They named him after the bike, for fuck’s sake, what did they expect? One and the same, baby.

“Can’t have Will without Harley showing up.”

“Her name isn’t Harley.”

“That’s not what her bodywork says.”

“The maker isn’t the name, Benny.” He’d rolled his eyes.

He’d been the victim of a game once - girlfriend or motorbike. (It was always motorbike).

Together they go, down the winding path to the old farm house, the rickety fixer upper Fish bought with his share of their Colombian fortune. It’s from their second misadventure - just him and Pope, two months on foot, just ‘lost hikers’ trying to find their way. They’d split the cash four ways after Molly refused more of their blood money…

There’s a honk behind him, and he looks over his shoulder, pulling out the way of Santi as he drives along in that new Maserati, wincing at the speed he flies past, missing all the work Frankie’s already put in on the farm. There’s new fencing, trimmed (but still unruly) hedges, his first attempt at a harvest already growing strong, that adorably grumpy looking baby longhorn lazing in the sun.

Pulling back onto the path, Will smiles down at the hedgehog who’d narrowly missed Santi’s tires, nodding a greeting before it goes about its day. Fifty three hurried steps to get the whole way across the strip of overgrown track.

He reaches the farmhouse some time later, cutting Jax’s engine and removing his helmet just in time for three dogs to rush out of the roofless barn, heading right for him. He jumps out the way of the bike, and lets them knock him over, grunting at the impact (though it’s far from the worst fall he’s ever had), laughing as their tongues lag and tails wag, greeting him with slobbery kisses.

“Sometimes I think they like you more than me,” Frankie grins, emerging after them with four ice cold beers in hand. Will grins, watching Benny jump off the back of a rusted truck and walk over to him, ushering the dogs out the way before helping him to his feet.

They greet each other with the customary hug and a pat on the back, and Santi takes Benny’s place, pulling Will down to hug him properly. Each of them take a beer from Frankie, and then it’s his turn, ever-present cap spun to the side to avoid jabbing him in the face.

Again.

“What’s the job for today?” He asks.

Frankie shrugs, “I gotta clear out the back, and uh, move that piece of shit out the way.” He points to the old truck.

“Not gonna try and start it?”

“Don’t have the patience, man.”

He doesn’t blame him. But there might still be something under the bonnet that could be useful for something.

The dogs are still jumping, excited by the visitors, even if they do appear every few days.

It’s not like any of them need to work anymore, but Frankie always gets restless without something to occupy his hands, and a farm was always something he’d thought about - flying over field after field, seeing tractors working them, those little white spots of sheep grazing everywhere he looked… it always seemed peaceful, and after so long, peace was what he needed.

Will had to agree.

[betwixtedthoughts]

Bet Thinks:

Masking is the external consequence of a very arduous internal process.

I can only speak for myself, but I have never stood at the door and thought, “I don’t want people to think I’m a freak, so I’m going to pretend to be normal.” Absolutely never! I have been blessed to be raised with a very patient brand of unconditional love, and so I have never once thought of myself as abnormal or a freak (except the funky fun kind).

This may not be the case for others on the spectrum, but that is why I cannot fathom “hiding symptoms” to be the cause behind masking because I still mask.

Masking is the result of what I call my “Mental Simulator.”

Everyone has one, but not everyone is constantly conscious of using it. What do you do when someone says, “Hi!” and waves at you across the street? Whatever your response is, that is the active use of your mental simulator. You already know what you’re going to do.

The only problem is, most people don’t even have to think about it. Their body just lifts their hand and waves back, their face breaks into a smile, and they say “Hi!” or “Good morning!” back. Most people don’t have to calculate the exact height at which to raise their hand, the volume or tone with which to say the words, and with what degree of smile appropriate.

And therein lies the problem with leaving the house. Masking happens as a coincidental result of always running that mental simulator. Or should I say the meltdowns are a coincidental result of overworking that mental simulator? Projecting as “normal” isn’t the abnormal condition, the breakdowns are. The meltdowns happen when the mental simulator cannot keep up.

Because see, when I get ready to leave the house, I am forced to prepare myself.

“I am about to step into the world, and there will be things I cannot predict out there. There will be loud sounds, bright lights, lots of things to touch and feel and smell, and lots of people.”

Which means my mental simulator is about to get a workout.

“Is there anyone else in the neighborhood outside? If there are, do I recognize any of them? If I do, is it appropriate to say hello? Have they seen me? Are they in a good mood? Should I say hello? What if they want to start a conversation? Do I have time for that before I need to leave?”

This process can happen rapidly. The more frequently an event occurs, the more prepared I am to deal with it. The more times I encounter someone (anyone) outside in my neighborhood, the more I can develop a rapid and suitable response. I can now wave and say hi while I walk to my car. I now know this is an acceptable response to seeing someone I know walking around outside. It is polite, but it also gets the message across that I need to go. Etc. etc.

Other times, this process lags. The more tired I am, the less experience I have with a situation, the more surprised I am by the event, and other circumstances can slow it down. That often means I end up missing the appropriate timing to respond. Several years ago, if someone were to say hello to me from across the street, I would be blindsided by it. I possibly offended many people because my simulator took too long to decide whether I should smile, wave, say hello back, do all three, or just keep going, and I lost the opportunity to respond.

How tired I am, my experience with the situation, and how surprised I am by the event are all alarmingly critical variables.

My mental simulator is continuously at work, and that takes energy, which means the longer I’m forced to keep it running at full speed, the more exhausted I become. The longer I am out, the more tired I am at the end. Makes sense, does it not? Yes, but the reality of the matter is that exhaustion is sometimes the difference between me being quick enough or too slow to respond to an event, especially at the end of the day.

There was a time where I couldn’t respond to a neighbor waving to me on my way in at the end of the day despite it being the same process as that morning, simply because I had overextended my simulator that day. I had no more energy left to run even one more simulation.

My experience, on the other hand, determines how deeply the event is buried and the amount of energy my simulator requires. It’s like running water down a pipe. If the pipe is small, clogged, or rusted shut, it takes a long time for water to get to the other end. But if the pipe is wide, clean, and frequently used, the water will rush through to the other side. This is the difference between something I’m encountering for the first time or for the hundredth time.

As for surprises, it’s not that I don’t like them! It’s just that surprises mean events I’m unprepared for. And even small events such as bumping into someone I know at the store can be jarring because it’s inserting a new simulation into an already running one.

Think of that like cooking. You’re preparing a meal, and you have all the ingredients and tools you’ll need. You’ve already set the pot on the stove. You’re adding ingredients to your pot. When all of a sudden, you’ve got an entirely different dish to prepare on top of it all. You’re in the middle of keeping track of the first meal because it’s already started, and it’s too late to stop now, but you’ve also got to slice, dice, and prepare the ingredients for this second dish.

Now you’ve got to get them both finished, and they both have to be edible. Sometimes the second dish has to be completed before you can get back to the first, and sometimes the first demands stirring or adding ingredients at fixed intervals. You’ve got no choice but to juggle them both.

Sounds exhausting, no? It’s just as exhausting dealing with surprises. In the same way someone might not mind preparing two dishes simultaneously, I don’t generally mind surprises, but it is still taxing.

And unfortunately, the insertion of these new simulations into existing ones is an inevitable result of leaving the house. That is part of the reason I “gear myself up” for the day before I leave. I have to be prepared to juggle sometimes upwards of ten different dishes at the same time, and they all are going to finish at different times and have different needs in the meantime.

Not to mention the more dishes you’ve got cooking at once, the easier it is to make mistakes. And making mistakes means you’ve got to expend energy to fix them, and the increase in frustration for making the mistake in the first place. Simple things become more and more difficult, until it feels like you either can’t do anything right or that it’s absolutely impossible to get everything done in time.

This mental strain leads, expectedly, to mental exhaustion. I am always tired when I get home, but I’m still not done for the day. Continuing with my metaphor, just because the dish is done cooking doesn’t mean I’m done in the kitchen. I still have to plate the meal, eat it, and clean up afterward.

When I get home, I shut down so I can process my day. I go over the entire excursion. I confirm that I accomplished everything I set out to do, and I review every interaction I inevitably encountered. Not only to make sure I didn’t commit a major faux pas but also to assimilate the events into my simulator for future reference. I reject or approve the effectiveness of the responses I made that day and prepare counter-responses for similar events in the future.

It doesn’t matter if it was a ten minute run to the store or an eight hour day at school, I do this every time I go out. The length of the time out, the strain on my simulator, and the number of surprises determine how much I have to go over and how long it will take for me to “restart.”

This is, incidentally, one of the reasons routines are so comforting. When I have a pattern, it becomes as close to autonomous as is possible for me. These routines become the simulations with the lowest amount of energy required. And I revert to these autonomous routines when I need to process.

I come home, and I fall into my “shut down routine.” I set aside my keys, hang my purse, take off my shoes, and change clothes. If I have not bounced back by that time, I now utilize idle clickers on my phone as they function exactly like my autonomous routine in giving my body something to do on the surface while allocating most of my energy to processing.

Lashing out occurs when the processing couldn’t finish or when my exhaustion levels exceed functioning level.

I don’t mean to bite people’s heads off when in that state, but in either situation, I am so tired that I have no energy to allocate to tone or vocal regulation and all I feel is one more simulation I need to run on zero energy.

Metaphorically, it’s like, in the process of cleaning up the entire kitchen, being told you need to start cooking again. To start the whole process all over again.

And at that point, I have no option but to “blue screen of death” and abort everything.

This often looks like I’ve jumped from a neutral basal state of concentration to immediate frustration or lashing out.

I’m not masking my symptoms while I’m out; I’m just running on, basically, an adrenaline rush. I’m geared up, on guard, and prepared for anything and everything the world has to throw at me. And I tunnel-focus on getting back home so I can retreat to my low-energy lifestyle.

For autism, experience is really the best coping mechanism. The more things you’re exposed to in low tension environments, the better off you’ll be in the long run. The more experience you have, the more you’ll develop routines for events outside, and the more stuff you can make low-energy, the less tired you will be at the end of the day, and so on.

Routines are about predictability, and we find predictable comfortable because we know what to do in response. Rather than lock yourself up in a bubble of comfortable, expand your comfortable. Develop patterns to handle events outside your current routine. It eases the burden on you mentally.

[libermachinae]

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 4, Sensory

Also available on AO3! Notes: Day 4 of @prowlweek and I went a bit squish. Scav’s a good-ish boy.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

Scavenger apologized probably somewhere around a hundred times. Hook couldn’t keep track of them all, and even Prowl must have been satiated, because he gave up on his lecture halfway through and kept it to a crisp, “Do as you’re ordered.”

“Mixmaster and Scavenger, you’re coming through this time,” Prowl announced as he loaded up the terminal with their next set of coordinates. “Long Haul, you’re anchor.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because that’s your order,” Prowl said.

“Bonecrusher’s the one who caused problems the last time, shouldn’t he be the one stuck behind?” Long Haul’s shoulders were squared and his plating flaring. Though he resented the reaction, Hook could understand where it came from: after being put on guard duty twice in a row, their resentful transporter was probably starting to feel like his skills were being undervalued.

“I’m the leader of this mission,” Prowl said, turning to stare Long Haul down. “If you take issue with my command style, you’re welcome to leave.”

“I’m not gonna do that and you know it,” Long Haul snapped.

“Precisely.” Prowl turned back to the console, as though that constituted a satisfying end to the argument.

Hook tried to get a steadying hand on Long Haul’s shoulder but was pushed off, the larger mech stalking away. Not that there was far to go. The present had been confined to the space of the cave they stood in, their only indication that real time was passing the changing light that filtered in through the ceiling. Their chronometers had fallen out of sync with each journey, but it was pointless to reset them every time, when Prowl had them going back in just minutes after they returned.

He finished punching in the coordinates, the timestream shimmered to life, and the team lined up behind him. Only now, Prowl didn’t bother to specify the order they would travel in. He took the lead, Scavenger slipped in front of Hook, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster lagging behind, and a silent agreement was passed not to bring it up as an issue. If Prowl was relaxing his regulations a bit, that could only mean fewer opportunities for them to mess up.

Part of Hook wondered if they should take a break soon, give everyone a chance to fuel up and ease off, maybe even have a chance to get caught up on everything they had missed. That’s how they’d done it with Scrapper, but he stopped that line of thought before the pang in his spark got to be too strong. This wasn’t the right time to bring it up, anyway, so he put his focus to keeping his processor under control as he stepped into the timestream.

He did a better job of it this time, practice having made him more accustomed to the feeling of time rejecting their intrusion. He reached forward at once point and took Scavenger’s hand, keeping him from rushing ahead like he had the first time, and in response felt a squeeze that held until they nearly reached the exit. This time, Hook could see what they were approaching, but the only thing he was able to make out was that it was dark. Not like the cave, though. There was something familiar about it.

At Prowl’s signal, he let Scavenger slip free of his hand, then followed shortly after, emerging among the roots of another long-lost Cybertronian city.

“An abandoned sector?” Hook said as he peered around. Compared to their last stop, the streets here were barren, lights only distantly visible through the breaks between buildings. Someone turned on their headlights and illuminated the building across the way, its large doors slightly ajar.

“What would the time killer want with this place?” Scavenger asked as he crept closer.

“The what?”

Scav grinned at Prowl.

“The time killer,” he repeated. “We’ve got to call this guy something, don’t we?”

“He hasn’t killed anyone.”

“He’s Cybertronian?”

“Yes, but—”

“There you go! Killer.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Hook said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Prowl said. “Come up with something better. Bonecrusher, you’re on guard duty. Scavenger, Mixmaster, Hook, with me.”

The named mechs followed Prowl into the nearest building, staring up at tall ceilings that only served to offer more room to an incredible collection of junk. Scrapped sheet metal, rusted beams, and all manner of useless spare parts filled the space, a warehouse that had been made to a cheap and convenient dump for some unofficial industrial venture. The whole thing rung familiar to Hook, but it was the rumble of and engine in need of a tune-up that caused his processor to alight in recognition.

“Wh—seriously? Since when do you all show up early?”

Hook whirled around, his spark spinning with way too many emotions to process at once.

“Scrapper?” Mixmaster choked out.

“But no Long Haul. Great. I guess we can just start building the arena on top of the scrap piles, that’ll stand just fine.” Scrapper wasn’t paying any attention to the mechs he was addressing, too wrapped up in his planning and calculations to notice anything amiss. The casual ignorance of a mech who was so profoundly gifted in his ability to notice details struck an emotion in Hook that he did not have the words to describe, and he found himself stepping forward.

“Scrapper—”

“Scavenger, stop standing around,” he said, possibly ignoring Hook, though more likely failing to notice him. “I need you to start sorting through this mess and figure out what’s useful. Mixmaster, help him excavate however he needs; your skills aren’t going to be any use until we get this cleared and Bonecrusher gets here to set up the foundation. Hook, you review the blueprints last night?”

“Of course, sir,” Hook said, forcing himself out of his stupor and back into the role of the perfectionist second-in-command he had played for four million years. The changeover was so natural, he forgot he was lying.

“Start laying out the perimeter. Give us a sense of the space we’re working with,” Scrapper ordered. “Once you’ve got that, I’ll need your help with the fine details, make sure everything’s to Megatron’s specifications. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Scrapper turned and walked off, optics fixed to the datapad he’d walked in with. Hook stared at his frame as it retreated, taking in the way his legs bent and arms swung, the cant his helm adopted when he was deep in thought. The last time he’d seen Scrapper functioning had seemed like such a non-event, it hadn’t occurred to him to savor it like this. Now, every frame was saved to his memory, copied to multiple folders and heavily encrypted.

There were so many things he wished he could do to that frame. But, if they really were all the way back to setting up gladiator arenas, then the team wasn’t really a team yet. There were rumors about Scrapper and Long Haul, evidence of Mixmaster and Bonecrusher’s late night ‘science projects,’ and a few nights spent fantasizing ceaselessly, but nothing at all like what would come later. Hook, he reminded himself, wasn’t even the second yet. At this point in the timeline, he’d only recently been assigned to Scrapper’s crew and made up for it with a kiss-up habit he was still struggling to break.

He wished there was time; the things he wanted to do to that frame. Scrapper disappeared through the far door, and Hook made to follow him, reclaim lost days he’d never imagined would be significant enough to miss. A hand caught his arm, he turned to Mixmaster’s optics, and was reminded of their reality.

“Prowl says we should go,” Mixmaster said.

“Oh.” Hook didn’t remember setting his vocalizer that low. “Where is he?”

“I’ve got him,” Scavenger said. He’d been leaned over a pile, sensitive digger arm extended in from of him, now revealing that Prowl had been hiding beneath it. “It’s good we got Scrapper while he was still in planning mode. I don’t know if this will work again if he comes back.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Prowl said. “You’re all compromised and there is no sign of the target, so we’re going back.”

He led the way back out of the building. Mixmaster complied without much fuss, surprisingly eager to get back to the time portal, but Scavenger lagged, glancing over his shoulder to the place Scrapper had disappeared to.

Hook paused to wait for his teammate.

“Hey, c’mon, Scav,” he said, offering out a hand. It was all he could do to close the distance, because he knew if he went to Scavenger right then, he might not be able to stop his legs from carrying him all the way back.

Still, the mech hesitated.

“Is there a problem?” Prowl asked, back at his side.

“N-no, Prowl, uh, boss,” Hook said, trying to hide how the mech’s reappearance had startled him.

“It’s him,” Scavenger said, with a reverence that he usually saved for just one mech at a time. He glanced back at Prowl, optics bright with something. Realization? Hope? Primus, don’t let it be that. “Prowl, could we—”

In two strides, so quick and silent he might have teleported to Scavenger’s side, Prowl pushed himself into the mech’s space, silencing him with presence alone.

“No,” he said, his voice the blade that cut off Scavenger’s fragile buds of hoe. “No. Scavenger, on this day, four million years in your past, Scrapper had a normal day. He worked with you and the rest of the team, erected Megatron’s next arena, and forgot about it among every other day he spent doing the exact same thing. He did not get removed from his place in time, nor did he mention ever encountering a different version of you. This is how things happened, and we can’t change it, no matter how badly we—you want to.”

He was leaning far into Scavenger’s space, closer than Hook had known he was capable of. And although the display was apparently meant to be domineering, show that Prowl was the one in control, there was something else to it, captured in the way Prowl’s hand reached up and touched, so gently, the excavator’s wilting backhoe.

“That’s four million years ago. More recently than that, Spike Witwicky tracks him down, isolated in an Earth construction lot, and kills him. We can’t undo that, either. It’s not ours to change.”

Scavenger’s whole frame perked up under the surprise touch, subconsciously tilting his stick into Prowl’s hand. Hook watched Prowl’s gray fingers stroke with surprising care, a jealousy coiling in his spark that he was only able to tamp down with the knowledge that Scavenger would be delighted to share the memory when they next combined.

Prowl said something else, so soft Hook couldn’t hear it. When he leaned back, he and Scavenger’s optics were locked, the latter nodding in some private agreement.

“Now move it, both of you,” Prowl said, voice returned to its usual commanding timbre. He turned and proceeded out the way he’d been headed before, leaving Hook and Scavenger to follow. It wasn’t a problem this time, though they walked after him on legs that felt suddenly weak. It still took a great deal of will on Hook’s part not to cast a final glance backward as they left, but he managed it, keeping his optics ahead of him, on the doorwings that swayed with each step Prowl took.

[furnacerepairoshawa]

8 Signs You Need a Furnace Replacement

There are things in our life that require immediate replacement – like when your favorite pair of jeans gets ripped or when your car lets out a shrieking sound as you cruise down the road. And then there are things that require changing even before they go totally kaput – your heating system being one of them.

In spite of the fact that it’s a lot more budget-friendly to replace a furnace before it dies, many homeowners are reluctant to shell out the dollars for a new furnace before they know for sure that their heating system absolutely can no longer do its job. But that reluctance could cost you a lot more than you think when your old furnace goes in the dead of the winter and destroys the drywall, pipes, or even the carpet in your home.

So, when do you know it’s time to make that furnace replacement? Here are some tell-tale signs that it’s time to replace the furnace.

Frequent Furnace Repairs

If your furnace makes you more acquainted with the furnace repair technicians than your own family, it’s time to part ways and get your home a new and efficient heating system. There are certainly some quick fixes and cleaning techniques you can do to extend the life of your furnace which includes some service calls and paying for some parts, but the truth is you are simply putting off the unavoidable. The amount you spend on those recurrent repairs can be expensive – something that you could put aside for the cost of a replacement furnace. A furnace can only live around 8 – 12 years and when it starts demanding more repairs than it should, it’s definitely a sign you need to get a new one.

Increased Energy Bills

Is there an unusual increase in your energy bills? If your energy bill is rising and it certainly isn’t because of the bone-chilling cold outside or a consequence of a city-wide rate increase, it may be because your heater is lagging. Your heating system’s engine may no longer have the ability to provide the proper warmth like it used to. As a homeowner, you can check for possible filter issues or do some basic fix to get this addressed. However, if everything has been checked out, this is indeed a sign you need a replacement furnace.

Heating Inconsistencies

Another sign that you need a furnace replacement is the inconsistency of temperatures from one room to another. If your furnace used to equally distribute warmth in all rooms but no longer does, your heating system might be having some issues. Keep in mind that the make and design of a room also affects the temperature inside. It is highly recommended that you call in the experts to do a check up to determine what is causing the heating inconsistencies.

Irregular Furnace Cycle

The cycling of a furnace is inevitable. However, when there is an incessant roaring up of your heating system that makes you reach out for your remote control so you can adjust the volume of what you are watching, it could mean that you need a new furnace. If your furnace cycles on and off irregularly, it might be a sign of a system failure. Then again, the irregular cycling may also be a sign of some leaks or an open window that you need to assess.

Encountering Humidity Problems

During the winter season, your home is prone to more humidity. Having a dehumidifier during the cold months can help you from getting your lips chapped and your skin dry. With that said, the humidity problems in your home may also be caused by an inferior heating system. If you are encountering humidity problems in higher levels than the usual, you have to do a thorough investigation. The humidity problems brought about by a furnace usually comes from the air it uses to combust and where it was drawn from. The least you can do is replace the exhaust and intake.

Excessive Noise from the Furnace

Your heating system’s cycling on and off is one thing; clanking noises coming from your furnace is another thing altogether. The cause of the clanking could be the unit itself such as a worn-out motor or it could be the pipes expanding and contracting. When this happens, it’s best to contact your local HVAC professional.

Dust and Soot Spurts Out

An easy issue to spot is when your HVAC system starts spurting out dust and soot. Although this could mean a very simple fix such as vacuuming out the dust, it can also mean a more serious problem with the ignitor or burning chamber.

Rust Around the Heating System

A little bit of rust on your furnace isn’t too big of a deal, but too much oxidation around your heating system can be an issue. The rust can eventually taint and corrupt the important parts of your HVAC system including the heat exchangers. If rust has already made its way into your heating system, it will not only cause some problems with your furnace, it can also spread pollutants in your home. The rust in your furnace is a sign of poor ventilation, poor humidity conditions, or excessive water temperature. A heating professional should address these issues before you make the decision to install a new furnace in order to avoid the same problems in the future.

Furnace replacement is indeed a large investment you make for your home. Although it is expensive, the return can be priceless – warm and comfortable home that you and your family will enjoy. In addition, lower utility bills will be a welcome addition thanks to energy-efficient HVAC systems!

The post 8 Signs You Need a Furnace Replacement appeared first on Furnace Repair Oshawa | 24 Hour Emergency Heating.

[nicolemakes]

Going over the rust again on the Axel.

I used pieces of pipe lagging foam cut and torn into sections to make an aplication tool. Then some revell Orange 30 is applied to the foam and blotted on something before being applied. I rotate the foam to avoid it making a repeating stamped pattern.

I went over it again with some black pigment to tone it down a little and fixed it with some enamel thinner. Then I hit the running gear with some rail rust pigment.

Enojy!