#Plastic Junk Warp

[thequietmanno1]

TheLreads, Vigilantes ch 118, Replies Part 2

1) “Oh yeah, Koichi got a lot of broken bones and lost a lot of blood less than two minutes ago. Good thing that was not easily solved and completely brushed aside, phew, it would be a problem if we had lasting damage to raise the stakes or something. Anyway, how’s your coma going Pop?”- Yet symbolic/meaningful, yet minor damage like Nomura’s scar-creating slash manages to stick around. Gotta love it. 2) “Koichi is mastering the art of of using so much power to blow up his target that whatever is behind said target remains completely intact, especially if it’s made out of glass.

The boy is truly becoming too powerful”- We could chalk it up to precise damage control, only inputting as much force as would be needed to blow through a target and lose all inertia when coming out the other side, but yes, Izuku’s own building-destroying punches always carried some collateral effects, which is why he needed to beat Overhaul up in the sky to go all out. 3) “yeah sure, now all his power comes from the power of friendship”- Friendship, and believing in himself!...but sadly, “believing in himself” also means he believes even more strongly in his “no-killing” rule. 4) “Shame that AfO has ignored the most likely scenario that explains this situation: The author is pulling it out of his ass as needed. It’s in a need-to-pull basis.”- Koichi has evolved to the ultimate tier of power: becoming the author’s pet character, and reaping the benefits. 5) “Well good thing he’s not literally burning himself away by kicking his, erm, quirk, into overdrive. You know, his plasma based quirk.”- Honestly, seeing Nomura start to falter a little might have helped here. Give some sense that this power-up is as taxing on him as it is destructive, rather than him just hovering on the verge of death for several chapters. 6) “All the fun thinking that Pop has more impact in the story as a ghost than as an alive person, I need to start grabbing the beer bottles again.”- Hey, at least this way she gets to contribute! 7) “Oh he’s gonna go for the close-and-personal hit?

…

KOICHI DID YOU FORGOT HE’S MADE OUT OF PLASMA? DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT THAT STUFF IS?!”-I mean, not much of an issue when Koichi’s punches have an automatic “keep-away” function built into them now. Guy’s a walking, hitting force field. 8) “You know Koichi, you should at least try aiming for his teeth, because apparently he can made solid teeth out of plasma.”- Nomura’s attempts to warp the fabric of reality in his favour to win are commendable, but doomed. 9) “OH MY FUCKING GOD ANOTHER FLASHBACK GOD PLEASE SAVE ME FROM THIS”- I can’t tell if this final battle was harder on Koichi, or you. This would’ve been a terrific opportunity to show Tenko there playing hero with them, although he most certainly didn’t live anywhere near Naruhata.

10) “This would’ve been a terrific opportunity to show Tenko there playing hero with them, although he most certainly didn’t live anywhere near Naruhata.”- Maybe, but his friends may have. He did go out and play ball with some of them when he was still innocent, it’s where he picked up the inspiration to become a hero like they all aspired to, until finding Nana’s picture solidified it. 11) “who the fuck just left their All Might figurine behind like that? Kids those days smdh…”- Litterers in the future throw away not only their disposable plastic junk, but also their perfectly-functioning toys too! 12) “You know, everybody just gives up wanting to be a hero a few years later. Everyone.”- Times like these, a re-read to refresh yourself on the inner lore of the world is necessary.  Eiichiro Oda has a whole conspiracy-ass corkboard that he refers to on occasion to keep track of plot points. 13) “DID- DID FURUHASHI FUCKING FORGOT WHAT HE FUCKING WROTE HIMSELF?!”- I can practically see the blood pouring from your eyeballs as you read this. 14) “OH LOOK, THE GHOSTS WENT AWAY

FUCKING FINALLY. GUESS THAT MESSING UP WITH THE TIMELINE SENT RIPPLES THROUGH TIME AND SPACE”- The ghosts went away, but the fight goes ever onward… 15) “I had a feeling before you were treating me like I was stupid Furuhashi, but after that last flashback I’m sure of that, and I will never forgive you for that.”- To be fair, with the monthly release schedule, I’d totally forgotten about the content of the earlier chapters, so I didn’t pick up on the inconsistency until you pointed it out.

(Vigilantes ch 116) 16) “WHEN YOU PRETTY MUCH ACT LIKE IT WAS NO BIG DEAL, JUST A FANTASY THAT YOU WERE READY TO GROW OUT OF

RIGHT???”- And now, with the hoodie getting burst and blasted away to nothing by Nomura’s barrage, it’s finally time for the Crawler to end his vigilante days for good. @thelreads

[rdpshop]

How to Replace a Nissan Sentra Rear Bumper | 2004 to 2006

Have you had some sort of damage to your rear bumper and need to get it fixed. This article goes over how to replace a Nissan Sentra rear bumper, between the years of 2004 and 2006. However, this can apply to many types of cars around these years.

The days before inflation went up like it has. Getting a bumper repair or replacement from a body shop, wasn’t that expensive. Today, paint and labor are so expensive, more and more people are learning how to do these repairs themselves. This article on how to replace a Nissan Sentra rear bumper, really won’t be that long. My goal for this article is to help the DIY car enthusiast, see how simple a job this is. Not to mention, save as much money as they can.

What Kind of Damage Would Warrant a Rear Bumper Replacement

Most car bumpers, both front and rear, are made out of plastic that contains polypropylene. The polypropylene adds a flexibility to allow the bumper to absorb impacts. I have proven that dents in bumpers can be repaired. You can watch my video, How To Pop Out A Dent In A Plastic Bumper, to see get an idea. Even though some dents and damages can be repaired in these types of bumpers. There is a point where replacing it is more economical and easier. Damages to where you would want to replace the bumper are as follows. - Multiple dents that warp the entire bumper - Bumper warped to where it doesn’t fit correctly - Damages to the snaps and mounting areas - Heavy splits and cracks - Bumper busted into halves or pieces If you have like a single dent or even a small crack, there are tricks and methods to fix these. However, when you are looking at removing the bumper for repairs, you may want to evaluate your investment. Cracks and splits usually require a plastic welder and special weld in clips. Many dents require a heat gun to heat it to pop it out. Not to mention all your time. If you do not have all these tools, then you have to weigh in how much do tools cost to a new bumper?

Tools Needed for Replacing a Nissan Sentra Rear Bumper

If you are on a budget and trying to a rear bumper replacement on a Nissan Sentra, you’re in luck. The tools needed to remove the bumper are a small flat blade screwdriver and a 10mm socket. Provided you have an inexpensive metric socket set. You can purchase a new aftermarket rear bumper for around $100. Junk yards you have to be careful with. As mentioned, you can buy new for around $100, you will find junk yards want about the same. If you can find a good undamaged and unscratched junk yard bumper, the price might be OK. Even better if you can find one the exact same color, it is always worth looking. Junk yards like Pull-a-Part or Pick-a-Part charge around $50 for a bumper cover. But again, if you go that route, ensure that you get one that needs little to no work. If your new or used bumper requires painting, there is always the aerosol method. Today’s automotive aerosol paints are as good as what comes out of a professional spray gun. RodsShop promotes Automotive Touchup Paints, be sure to check them out.

How to Replace a Nissan Sentra Rear Bumper Cover

The first thing to removing the Sentra rear bumper cover is to find all the clips and bolts. Let’s start with the 4 top plastic clips that need to be removed.

Open the trunk lid and look straight down where the bumper cover meets the truck opening. You will see 4 black push-in type clips. These will require a small flat blade screwdriver to remove them. These are 8mm Retainer Clips.

Using the screwdriver, place it in the gap between the outer part of the clip and the inside round button. Pry and lift up to release the clip. Once the center is up, lift the entire clip out of its hole. Note: After some years, these clips can become brittle and break apart. Just be patient and pull the center up. This may require digging into the center with the screwdriver and to lift it. Once the 4 8mm retainer clips are out, go under the rear bumper and look up, kind of a wide center. You will find 2 more of these same type clips. They will require the same process to remove them as the top ones. You will now have 4 10mm head bolts to locate and remove. These will be located at the opening of the wheel wells. There will be 2 bolts on each side, one at the top inside the wheel well and the other at the bottom. Looking at the wheel well, behind the tire and just inside at the top, you will find the first one.

You will want to look at the bottom of the bumper behind the rear wheel to find the bottom one.

Pulling the Nissan Sentra Rear Bumper Off Many bumpers today, snap into place on the sides. However, this rear bumper cover does not. It does however slip into some clips that keep the gap between it and the rear quarter even. In order to remove the bumper once all the hardware removal is complete. You can do each side one at a time and reach in the wheel well area. Grab a hold of the bumper and pull straight out. Do the other side the same, then from the rear, lift and pull it toward you. You may have to shift a little side to side to clear the sides of the quarter panels as you pull. Installing the Replacement Bumper Cover There are a few ways to put the replacement bumper cover back on your Nissan Sentra. If you have a helper, one will get on one side, and the other on the other. The bumper can be flexed open a little and walk it into place, ensuring that the bumper rest on the inner bumper support. From there, you can line up the mounting holes on each side and place the 10mm bolts back in and tighten. If you are a solo act, then use some tape Running a blue or green tape on the quarter panels around the mounting areas might be a good idea. Holding the bumper from the top edge, walk it towards the car. Shifting it a bit side to side will allow the sides of the bumper to go around the quarter panels. Once you have the sides clear to move forward, rest the bumper cover on the inner bumper reinforcement. Start inserting the 4 top push in clips into the holes. This will lock the bumper into place so that you can get the 4 10mm bolts started. No not tighten the bolts all the way until you have all the push in clips in place. When you have all the clips in place, you can tighten the 4 bolts. Ensure that you get the top edge of the bumper where it meets the quarter panel, into the plastic track. Often times, it will want to set below it causing an excessive or uneven gap.

Painting the Replacement Nissan Sentra Rear Bumper Cover

When it comes to auto body and paint, many people feel they just can’t do that. Either due to lack of knowledge or not having the equipment. I can tell you; anyone can paint. It just takes a little information, patients and knowing the materials you will need. If you are going with a used Nissan Sentra rear bumper cover, you will want to sand it. By purchasing an aftermarket replacement, all you will need is a scuffy pad. Painting a Used Bumper Cover As long as the used bumper cover has no damage to it, all you will need is 400 grit wet-or-dry sandpaper. Get a bucket and put a little dish washing liquid in with some water. Using the 400-grit sandpaper and a small sponge sanding pad. Wet sand the entire bumper cover down. You are not trying to sand the old paint off, just a light sand to where the whole thing is dull looking when dry. Once the bumper cover is dry, go back over it with a scuffy pad. Set the cover on any kind of make shift stand that gets it off the ground and wipe it down with a prep solvent. Before applying your base coat, I highly recommend spray an adhesion promoter. Apply one coat and start spraying your base coat no more than 10 minutes after applying the adhesion promoter. Using aerosol paints, get the base coat that is matched by your paint code. Apply a coat of color and then give it about 15 to 20 minutes to dry. Apply a second and let dry the same amount of time. Lastly, apply a third coat. You may have to apply more if you are not getting the desired color match. Read the back of the base coat aerosol can to ensure flash times, especially how long to wait before applying the clear. Most aerosols require about 30 to 40 minutes before spraying the clear. I highly recommend using a 2K clear. Yes, they are more expensive but the 1K will peal dull out and peel often as soon as in a month’s time. Learn the difference between the two clears in this article, The Difference Between 2k And 1k Clear Coat. Always where a mask when spraying any kind of paints. Painting a New Aftermarket Bumper Cover All the steps will be the same as above except for the wet sanding. New bumper covers come in primer. This makes prepping so much easier. Just run a scuffy pad over the entire bumper cover until it is all dull. Same as the used bumper, wipe it down with a prep solvent and it is ready for coating. Note: It is crucial that you spray a new bumper cover with an adhesion promoter. If not, I have seen the paint peel right of the cover months later.

Watch How to Replace a 2005 Nissan Sentra Rear Bumper Video

Resources

Here is a list of parts, tools and materials mentioned in this article. Some of these links are Amazon Affiliate Links in which RodsShop will collect a small commission, however that does not infalte the cost to you in anyway. - Rear Bumper Cover - 8mm Retainer Clips - Aerosol Paints - Get Your Paint Code - Scuffy Pad - 400 Grit Sandpaper - Sponge Rubber Sanding Pad - Adhesion Promoter - Prep Solvent

Conclusion

You will find that just the mechanics of swapping out a bumper cover is far simpler than painting it. Do not let auto body and paint scare you off. I have been promoting a course for years. The course is super cheap and has great reviews. The course is at the bottom of this article. I have made many paint repairs right in my driveway. Be sure to read my article on Low Cost Clear Coat Repair. In this article, there is a video of doing a aerosol paint repair right in my driveway.   Read the full article

[pianotuning-blog]

Is old antique piano worth being cared for?

Recently i received a phone call from a customer asking me if I could tune an old antique piano. She said: "I have been looking for a piano tuner near me and has had two piano tuners turned up and refused to tune my old piano." I asked her what was the reason they gave her for not be able to tune it. To my dismay, she said those piano tuners in Sydney merely opened up the lid and had look then told her it was not tunable. They didn't even mention any potential piano tuning cost. Have to say, this sounds to me is not good enough. At least we should treat our customers with respect they deserve. Old piano is surely tunable and not all new pianos are that easy to tune either. For many times I have come across pianos that was less than 30 years old but so difficult to tune, typically with a lot of loose tuning pins, very noisy overtones. I decided to take on this “ challege “ so I book her in for a tuning service the next day.

Having said that old piano is tunable, these old pianos indeed have some challenges to service and I kind of understand why some piano tuners would not want to spend time tuning them.Antique pianos are beloved for their rich history and unique aesthetic, but they often come with a range of challenges due to their age and wear, quite often they need expertise from piano tuner or piano technicians to carry out piano repair work or even a full piano restoration. Here are some common problems that owners of antique pianos may encounter:

Tuning Stability: Over time, the tuning pins and pinblock in antique pianos can become loose, leading to tuning instability. This can cause the piano to fall out of tune frequently, requiring more regular tuning to maintain pitch stability. Worn Action Parts: The action of an antique piano, including hammers, dampers, and other moving parts, can become worn and sluggish, affecting the touch and responsiveness of the keys. Replacing or refurbishing these parts may be necessary to restore proper functionality. Cracked Soundboard: Antique pianos may develop cracks in the soundboard due to changes in humidity and temperature over the years. These cracks can negatively impact the instrument's tone and resonance, requiring professional repair to mitigate the damage. Ivory Key Issues: Many antique pianos feature keys topped with ivory, which can become discolored, chipped, or loose over time. Ivory has been banned around the world so it is nearly impossible to replace damaged key tops with ivory. The only way to get hold of ivory key top is to salvage from old junk pianos. Most of the time those ivory key tops are replaced with modern plastic key tops. Structural Instability: The wooden components of antique pianos may suffer from structural issues such as warping, splitting, or loose joints. Addressing these problem require a lot of time and resources and often comes with a hefty cost.

Owners of antique pianos should always work with experienced piano technicians. Regular maintenance and proactive care can help preserve the beauty and functionality of antique pianos for generations to come.

Owning an antique piano is more than just owning a musical instrument; it carries with it a rich history and sentimental value that transcends time. Each scratch, worn key, and faded finish serves as a gateway to the past, preserving the memories and emotions of its previous owners. As I carefully tune these antique pianos, I often find myself marveling at the stories they hold within their elegant frames. These pianos have likely witnessed numerous family gatherings, heard the laughter of generations, and provided solace during moments of both joy and sorrow. They have been the soundtrack to countless life events, from weddings and birthdays to quiet evenings spent in contemplation. Owning an antique piano is a way of capturing a piece of history, connecting us to an era that is long gone but not forgotten. It serves as a tangible link to our roots, evoking a sense of nostalgia and bridging the gap between the past and the present. For many, inheriting or acquiring an antique piano symbolizes a cherished legacy, a tangible heirloom that represents the enduring love for music and tradition within a family. Moreover, the craftsmanship and unique character of antique pianos add to their intrinsic value. Each instrument is a testament to the artistry and dedication of the craftsmen who meticulously constructed it, often using techniques and materials that are rarely found in modern pianos. The resonance of the aged wood, the gentle patina of the keys, and the delicate intricacies of the ornate design culminate in a work of art that transcends its utilitarian purpose. In a world where everything seems to move at an accelerated pace, the presence of an antique piano serves as a gentle reminder to slow down and appreciate the beauty of the past. Its enduring allure lies not only in its melodic notes but also in the profound emotions and memories it invokes. It stands as a silent witness to the passage of time, a treasure to be cherished and passed down through generations, ensuring that the legacy of music and sentiment perseveres.

[thessaliaxiv]

Holidailies 2022, Day 12: A Box of Dim Memories

I let my mind wander about today's entry and what I might like to talk about, and I thought about the garbage bag of Christmas tree decorations my mom sent me, the very last box she would ever send, as she no longer has my mailing address. Inside the package where a bunch of ornaments she'd accumulated over the years, and for some reason had decided that this was the time to, uh, pass down the junk. I mean, it's very nice junk and I'm sure it has sentimental value, but for one, I don't celebrate, and for two, she could have saved herself the postage and thrown all of this away herself, or flung it at sibling to dispose of or utilize for her own family.

Included in the bag was a clothespin reindeer, a paper plate with a Santa face childishly doodled on it, a slightly warped Shrinky Dink square with a snowman on it, and some other crafted stuff from my days in preschool, church Sunday school, and kindergarten. There's a tacky metal ornament shaped like an angel with my birth year on it. There's some macrame stuff my mom made, back in the days when she made such things. There's some other homemade baubles and plush things from her in there as well. And finally, the well-worn, falling-apart plastic tree topper.

I dimly remember making my crafted items that contributed to the annual tree detritus, I already know my birth year, and I have no emotional ties to the rest of it. Apparently it didn't mean much to her either.  I don't do holidays, for the most part. I can't tell if I'm just getting old, or just getting comfy and enjoying the season for what it is.

This isn't meant to be a downer entry, it just is what it is, you know?

[musicmakesyousmart]

Zebra Mu - Plastic Junk Warp

Quagga Curious Sounds

2017

[vgperson]

Vocaloid Highlights: September 2021

When someone asks you if you're a god, you say "ish!" Highlights Archive

========== Stand-Outs ========== Shurari Shura Mismatched Flower Tidings on the Wind Hey, Mercy. Ego Rock (long ver.) God-ish Twilight Kids Empress Future Sky Little Mermaid Impure Bengala Iki Also Sprach Trickster Ideal Cut Hair mhnmtbr Flavus It's Not Spring Shadow Shadow pomme The Wind Cries Devil Ultramarine Eulogy

========== Worth Your Time ========== Airship Warp Humanness Sugar Butter Gravity The Dark Night is Calling Us Pandora Summer Trip Train Youth Sickness How to Make the Universe Zirconia Rain Road Girl United Lame Duck Ya-Chaika Dream Pair My Fault While Stroking a Scab Read (No Title) Umbrella Colchicum Ironium Hydroxido CREATION crepuscular Dibby Dib Bap I Tire New Text on Hyenas Echoing Siren Veil Fleurir Bellflower Plastic Lady Dubidubadu God Marmalade and Daydream Hyuttoball Okuri's Light and Shadow I've Been Born Sheepret! Isotope Mural Hero Strawberry Stage Wonderland JUMP UP Avius Love is Candy Latte Flower Swaying In a World Gazing at Empty Space Shanti Room 802 How I'm Made My Four Seasons Rain That Knows No Sky Bouquet for Michelle Changing Sensation! First Summer Blooms Etiquette Alien Space Probe Beaming Lamp Wasted Nights There Really Is Shall We Dance? Shooting Star Pulse Junk Escape Log Rain eater Egg! Bad Dead End Mama Arakawa Sunset All-Out State of the Art!! Summer Mandarin Autumn's Unidentified Creature (long ver.) Less Than Ordinary Fleeting Ø Until Daybreak, Shiki Blue Knows Me Rhythm Owl in the Night Osmanthus Undead Rhapsody Fragrance Reunion Affection Proof Rain and Carbonated Drinks Anti-Reality Dream Mer Anpan skyzone19 KILIG A Little Right God of Id Full Moon Wintersweet Heart Crater Past That Sky Cactus's Prayer (Light Blue Chapter) Playback Zinnia Star Share Selfish Girl

[krispdreemurr]

The phone's ringing again.

He does his best to tune it out, tapping his fingers on his makeshift cardboard counter, going through the stock of "potions" again, keeping himself distracted. It almost works, the ringing fading into the background, becoming just noise --

But then it stops, abruptly.

He holds his breath.

When it resumes, it's louder than before.

He grits his teeth, plastic grinding against plastic. Forces himself to not look. He doesn't have to think about it. He can re-glue some of the swords together, maybe dig through the junk pile for some new parts to retrofit. He can manage. He's been managing.

He doesn't have to answer it.

He knows he shouldn't answer it.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

The latest ring seems to go on forever, pounding through his skull, making him ache, and he almost hears a voice hears words hears his name--

He grabs the receiver and lifts it to his ear before he can stop himself.

He calls a name into the phone.

And the phone echoes it back at him, warping his voice, distorting it, playing back overlapping clips of sound, his own words taken and broken and--the whole family can--please, just--hurts I can't--gonna be a big--exciting vacation plans--sorry I didn't mean--there's nothing wrong there's nothing wrong nothing nothing nothingnothingnothingnothing--

He slams the receiver back down, gasping. His hands are trembling with the clatter of plastic, and he can't force them to still.

All the calls have been like this, since the last from him. Static and echoes and garbage noise. It doesn't matter which phone, where he is. The calls always come.

He thinks, dully, about the first few days after, pleading into a receiver for someone, anyone, to answer.

He guesses something heard.

With a last shudder, he turns away and stalks back to the counter, straightening out his 'wares' again. He reminds himself that it's nothing he can't handle, that he knows better, that he knows to not answer the phone.

Almost gently, almost sweetly, the first ring echoes through the air.

He closes his eyes, and waits.

[nasa]

Tomorrow’s Technology on the Space Station Today

Tablets, smart appliances, and other technologies that are an indispensable part of daily life are no longer state-of-the-art compared to the research and technology development going on over our heads. As we celebrate 20 years of humans continuously living and working in space aboard the International Space Station, we’re recapping some of the out-of-this-world tech development and research being done on the orbiting lab too.

Our Space Technology Mission Directorate (STMD) helps redefine state-of-the-art tech for living and working in space. Here are 10 technologies tried and tested on the space station with helping hands from its astronaut occupants over the years.

1. Astronaut Wanna-Bees

Astronauts on the space station are responsible for everything from conducting science experiments and deploying satellites to tracking inventory and cleaning. While all are necessary, the crew can delegate some jobs to the newest robotic inhabitants – Astrobees.

These cube-shaped robots can work independently or in tandem, carrying out research activities. Once they prove themselves, the bots will take on some of the more time-consuming tasks, such as monitoring the status of dozens of experiments. The three robots – named Bumble, Honey, and Queen – can operate autonomously following a programmed set of instructions or controlled remotely. Each uses cameras for navigation, fans for propulsion, and a rechargeable battery for power. The robots also have a perching arm that lets them grip handrails or hold items. These free-flying helpers take advantage of another STMD technology called Gecko Grippers that “stick” to any surface.

2. Getting a Grip in Microgravity

We wanted to develop tools for grabbing space junk, and something strong and super-sticky is necessary to collect the diverse material orbiting Earth. So, engineers studied the gecko lizard, perhaps the most efficient “grabber” on this planet. Millions of extremely fine hairs on the bottom of their feet make an incredible amount of contact with surfaces so the gecko can hold onto anything. That inspired our engineers to create a similar material.

Now the Gecko Gripper made by OnRobot is sold on the commercial market, supporting industrial activities such as materials handling and assembly. The NASA gecko adhesive gripper that’s being tested in microgravity on the Astrobee robots was fabricated on Earth. But other small plastic parts can now be manufactured in space.

3. Make It, or Don’t Take It

Frequent resupply trips from Earth to the Moon, Mars, and other solar system bodies are simply not realistic. In order to become truly Earth-independent and increase sustainability, we had to come up with ways to manufacture supplies on demand.

A demonstration of the first 3D printer in space was tested on the space station in 2014, proving it worked in microgravity. This paved the way for the first commercial 3D printer in space, which is operated by Made In Space. It has successfully produced more than 150 parts since its activation in 2016. Designs for tools, parts, and many other objects are transmitted to the station by the company, which also oversees the print jobs. Different kinds of plastic filaments use heat and pressure in a process that’s similar to the way a hot glue gun works. The molten material is precisely deposited using a back-and-forth motion until the part forms. The next logical step for efficient 3D printing was using recycled plastics to create needed objects.

4. The Nine Lives of Plastic

To help fragile technology survive launch and keep food safe for consumption, NASA employs a lot of single-use plastics. That material is a valuable resource, so we are developing a number of ways to repurpose it. The Refabricator, delivered to the station in 2018, is designed to reuse everything from plastic bags to packing foam. The waste plastic is super-heated and transformed into the feedstock for its built-in 3D printer. The filament can be used repeatedly: a 3D-printed wrench that’s no longer needed can be dropped into the machine and used to make any one of the pre-programmed objects, such as a spoon. The dorm-fridge-sized machine created by Tethers Unlimited Inc. successfully manufactured its first object, but the technology experienced some issues in the bonding process likely due to microgravity’s effect on the materials. Thus, the Refabricator continues to undergo additional testing to perfect its performance.

5. Speed Metal

An upcoming hardware test on the station will try out a new kind of 3D printer. The on-demand digital manufacturing technology is capable of using different kinds of materials, including plastic and metals, to create new parts. We commissioned TechShot Inc. to build the hardware to fabricate objects made from aerospace-grade metals and electronics. On Earth, FabLab has already demonstrated its ability to manufacture strong, complex metal tools and other items. The unit includes a metal additive manufacturing process, furnace, and endmill for post-processing. It also has built-in monitoring for in-process inspection. When the FabLab is installed on the space station, it will be remotely operated by controllers on Earth. Right now, another printer created by the same company is doing a different kind of 3D printing on station.

6. A Doctor’s BFF

Today scientists are also learning to 3D print living tissues. However, the force of gravity on this planet makes it hard to print cells that maintain their shape. So on Earth, scientists use scaffolding to help keep the printed structures from collapsing.

The 3D BioFabrication Facility (BFF) created by TechShot Inc. could provide researchers a gamechanger that sidesteps the need to use scaffolds by bioprinting in microgravity. This first American bioprinter in space uses bio-inks that contain adult human cells along with a cell-culturing system to strengthen the tissue over time. Eventually, that means that these manufactured tissues will keep their shape once returned to Earth’s gravity! While the road to bioprinting human organs is likely still many years away, these efforts on the space station may move us closer to that much-needed capability for the more than 100,000 people on the wait list for organ transplant.

7. Growing Vitamins

Conditions in space are hard on the human body, and they also can be punishing on food. Regular deliveries of food to the space station refresh the supply of nutritious meals for astronauts. But prepackaged food stored on the Moon or sent to Mars in advance of astronauts could lose some nutritional value over time.

That’s why the BioNutrients experiment is underway. Two different strains of baker’s yeast which are engineered to produce essential nutrients on demand are being checked for shelf life in orbit. Samples of the yeast are being stored at room temperature aboard the space station and then are activated at different intervals, frozen, and returned to Earth for evaluation. These tests will allow scientists to check how long their specially-engineered microbes can be stored on the shelf, while still supplying fresh nutrients that humans need to stay healthy in space. Such microbes must be able to be stored for months, even years, to support the longer durations of exploration missions. If successful, these space-adapted organisms could also be engineered for the potential production of medicines. Similar organisms used in this system could provide fresh foods like yogurt or kefir on demand. Although designed for space, this system also could help provide nutrition for people in remote areas of our planet.

8. Rough and Ready

Everything from paints and container seals to switches and thermal protection systems must withstand the punishing environment of space. Atomic oxygen, charged-particle radiation, collisions with meteoroids and space debris, and temperature extremes (all combined with the vacuum) are just some conditions that are only found in space. Not all of these can be replicated on Earth. In 2001, we addressed this testing problem with the Materials International Space Station Experiment (MISSE). Technologists can send small samples of just about any technology or material into low-Earth orbit for six months or more. Mounted to the exterior of the space station, MISSE has tested more than 4,000 materials. More sophisticated hardware developed over time now supports automatic monitoring that sends photos and data back to researchers on Earth. Renamed the MISSE Flight Facility, this permanent external platform is now owned and operated by the small business, Alpha Space Test & Research Alliance LLC. The woman-owned company is developing two similar platforms for testing materials and technologies on the lunar surface.

9. Parachuting to Earth

Small satellites could provide a cheaper, faster way to deliver small payloads to Earth from the space station. To do just that, the Technology Education Satellite, or TechEdSat, develops the essential technologies with a series of CubeSats built by college students in partnership with NASA. In 2017, TechEdSat-6 deployed from the station, equipped with a custom-built parachute called exo-brake to see if a controlled de-orbit was possible. After popping out of the back of the CubeSat, struts and flexible cords warped the parachute like a wing to control the direction in which it travelled. The exo-brake uses atmospheric drag to steer a small satellite toward a designated landing site. The most recent mission in the series, TechEdSat-10, was deployed from the station in July with an improved version of an exo-brake. The CubeSat is actively being navigated to the target entry point in the vicinity of the NASA’s Wallops Flight Facility on Wallops Island, Virginia.

10. X-ray Vision for a Galactic Position System

Independent navigation for spacecraft in deep space is challenging because objects move rapidly and the distances between are measured in millions of miles, not the mere thousands of miles we’re used to on Earth. From a mission perched on the outside of the station, we were able to prove that X-rays from pulsars could be helpful. A number of spinning neutron stars consistently emit pulsating beams of X-rays, like the rotating beacon of a lighthouse. Because the rapid pulsations of light are extremely regular, they can provide the precise timing required to measure distances.

The Station Explorer for X-Ray Timing and Navigation (SEXTANT) demonstration conducted on the space station in 2017 successfully measured pulsar data and used navigation algorithms to locate the station as it moved in its orbit. The washing machine-sized hardware, which also produced new neutron star science via the Neutron star Interior Composition Explorer (NICER), can now be miniaturized to develop detectors and other hardware to make pulsar-based navigation available for use on future spacecraft.

As NASA continues to identify challenges and problems for upcoming deep space missions such as Artemis, human on Mars, and exploring distant moons such as Titan, STMD will continue to further technology development on the space station and Earth.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com

[mighty-ant]

Ill Met by Fistfight

The first sign that something’s amiss is the Ratcatcher, its front fender twisted and warped against the railing in a crash nearly worthy of Launchpad himself. 

The second is the silence pervading the tower; not the sort that delineates emptiness, but instead makes the high ceilings themselves feel as though they’re holding their breath. 

Gosalyn bounds out of the elevator unawares, clutching her bag of takeout. “Hey, Drake!” she shouts, revelling in the echo and Drake’s inevitable insistence that she use her indoor voice. “We picked up Hamburger Hippo! I definitely didn’t eat your fries on the drive over.”

From across the room Launchpad can see Drake huddled in front of W.A.N.D.A.’s giant, darkened screen, though he doesn’t stand or turn to greet them. “Oh!” Drake exclaims, in the high voice that comes out when he’s been taken by surprise but doesn’t want anyone to think he was. “You guys are back early.”

Gosalyn scoffs. “Yeah right. How long have you been sitting in front of the computer? The sun went down hours ago.” She strolls around to the opposite side of the lair with Launchpad following just a pace behind, unsure how to feel about the wariness settling uncomfortably on his shoulders. 

“Ah, right, right, right,” Drake replies, hands moving busily and silently in front of him. With his back to them and the wide brim of his hat further obscuring him, Launchpad can’t tell what he’s fiddling with. “How’d shopping go?” 

“Pretty good I think,” Launchpad says. He watches Drake’s shoulders flinch at the sound of his voice with no small amount of concern. “We got enough junk food for ten kids.”

Gosalyn falters at Launchpad’s lie, looking back at him in confusion. With her starting the school year so late, she and Launchpad had gone out to buy class supplies and a new hockey uniform while Drake filled out the last of her enrollment paperwork. In spite of that, his response is a distracted, “Good, good.” 

“Is it?” Gosalyn says quizzically. 

“Drake,” Launchpad begins as they finally reach the computer bank. “You okay?” 

He hears the plastic click of something being closed and watches Drake purposely relax the hitching line of his shoulders. He tilts his head back just enough that a majority of it remains in shadow. “Course I’m okay. Were you and Gos about to find the right uniform?”

This close, Launchpad can see the jagged tear in the fabric of Drake’s uniform, an impressive feat considering it’s made of kevlar polymer. His stomach sinks as he crouches beside Drake, who tenses again at his proximity. But Drake surrenders with a halfhearted sigh as Launchpad reaches up and pulls the hat off his head. 

Gosalyn gasps behind them. 

Drake’s removed his mask, but only to begin hiding a lurid black eye with concealer. A bruise that’s nearly as dark decorates his opposite temple, and there are bandages on his top and bottom bill sealing fresh cracks. 

Wincing under their scrutiny, Drake says, “I lost track of time,” his tone verging on wry. He drops something on the table with a rattling clatter—a makeup compact. 

“Drake, w-what happened?” Launchpad says, confused and aghast, setting his hat aside to clutch gently at his hand. 

“How did you get this beat up? We were barely gone a few hours,” Gosalyn demands. Her eyes, wide with alarm, and the way she stands stock still bely her acerbity. Gosalyn’s reaction doesn’t surprise Launchpad, for all that his heart goes out to her. She has never seen Drake hurt like this before; not even when he faced the Fearsome Four and Bulba did he come off quite so badly. 

Drake’s hand becomes whiteknuckled in Launchpad’s grip. He stares hard at the edge of the computer console instead of looking up at either of them. “There was a break-in,” he intones, with a gravity that makes Launchpad’s stomach drop even further, if possible. “At McDuck Labs. It was-it had to be that F.O.W.L. McDuck warned us about. They…” Drake tears his gaze up to meet Gosalyn’s through his unswollen eye. “They stole the plans for the Solego circuit.”

“What does that mean for my grandpa?” she asks very quietly. 

Drake swallows tightly and Launchpad feels his pulse race under his hand. “I-I’m not sure, Gos. Fenton has a copy of the schematics, he understands what went wrong, and now they do too. But-but I don’t want you to worry. This doesn’t change anything, you hear me?” he says fiercely, leaning forward with a grunt of pain. “I made you a promise. We’re still getting your grandpa back, no matter what. I’m not giving—”

Gosalyn dives forward, wrapping her arms around Drake’s middle in the first embrace she’s ever given him. 

He opens his arms to her in a way that seems practically instinctual, clutching her back with one hand even as his entire body buckles. “Hachacha,” he hisses, smiling through gritted teeth. “Watch the ribs, kid.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs against Drake’s uniform, making him jolt. “For everything. I’m...I’m sorry I never told you that before.”

Launchpad wraps his free arm around Gosalyn, taking some of her weight now that he knows Drake is every bit as injured as he looks. He covers Drake’s other hand with his own and meets his lost expression over Gosalyn’s curly hair with a reassuring smile that couldn’t begin to betray the depth of his feeling for this stubborn, beatendown hero. 

Drake meets Launchpad’s smile with a wobbly one of his own as he briefly tightens his embrace around Gosalyn despite the strain it must put on his ribs. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says.

“Pft. Sure,” she retorts, carefully releasing him. “What were you gonna do, just cover your face with makeup and pretend you were fine?”

Drake winks tiredly, though the effect is rather lost with his one unswollen eye. “That was the plan.”

“What happened?” Launchpad asks. 

“I realized that I can’t get out of this chair,” Drake says, chuckling hoarsely. 

Launchpad rises slightly. “Well you’re not doing yourself any favors sitting here,” he says, making to lift Drake out of his seat. “Can you wrap your arms around my neck?”

Drake’s face goes pink. “I-I don’t—LP, you don’t have to—” 

He cuts himself off with a squeak as Launchpad scoops him up, tucking one arm around Drake’s shoulders and the other beneath his bent knees. While Drake might be wiry, he isn’t a tall man, though Launchpad only seems to remember that when he has him in his arms. 

“Gos, can you get the first aid kit?” Launchpad says as he begins taking careful steps toward the common area. 

She rubs her eyes surreptitiously on the back of her sleeve. “Yeah, no problem,” she says at once, running off. 

“How bad is it? Really?” Launchpad asks quietly as he approaches the couch. 

Drake starts to sigh but winces halfway through. “Nothing’s broken,” he says, his cheeks losing some of their crimson stain as he stares resolutely at Launchpad’s shoulder. “But whatever bruiser F.O.W.L. sent certainly packed a punch. He kept me busy the entire time these egghead guys were stealing the plans.” Launchpad sets him down on the couch and he relaxes into the cushions with a groan. “I called McDuck just before you two got back.”

Launchpad sits down beside Drake’s hip and reaches up, sweeping a few messy strands of hair out of his forehead. “You could’ve called us,” he presses, as his hand moves down to cradle Drake’s cheek, his thumb lingering delicately beside his bruised eye. 

Drake closes his uninjured eye as a renewed blush races across his beak. “Don’t give me that look,” he says. “You two were having a good time. And I didn’t realize who I was dealing with until I was in the thick of it.”  He opens his eye in a squint. “You and Gos did have a good time didn’t you?”

Launchpad chuckles gently. “We did. She’s a great kid, Drake.” 

“Yeah, she is,” Drake murmurs as Gosalyn bustles back over to them, carrying their industrial sized first aid kit. She drops it on the coffee table with an unceremonious thud. 

“How’s the patient?” Gosalyn asks, but the humor in her voice falls flat. She wrings her hands in front of her for a moment before she becomes aware of the movement and stuffs her fists into the pockets of her jacket. 

Drake groans, long and dramatic. Launchpad is sure that if he had the energy, he would throw one of his arms over his face for good measure. “He’ll be better once he has some painkillers,” Drake replies, sneaking a smile Gosalyn’s way. Undoubtedly he’d noticed her uncharacteristic nervousness as well. “Believe it or not, I probably got worse beatings from my childhood bullies.” 

“Shocker,” Gosalyn retorts with a small grin, “I bet you went to school in a cape and everything.”

Drake barks a laugh and immediately groans. “I did!” he wheezes. 

“Why don’t you pick out something to watch, Gos,” Launchpad says as he presses a few tablets of aspirin into Drake’s palm. “DW isn’t going anywhere, and you and I can keep him company.”

Gosalyn scrutinizes them suspiciously. “Do we have to watch Darkwing Duck or can I pick a real movie?”

“Hey!” Drake protests once he’s swallowed the tablets dry. 

Launchpad activates a cold pack and nudges Drake until he holds it over his black eye. “Whatever you want, kiddo,” Launchpad replies, “just, uh, nothing scary all right?”

Gosalyn hops into the armchair and turns on the television to start scrolling through Webflix. Once she’s sufficiently distracted, bar the glances she keeps throwing at Drake over her shoulder, Launchpad turns back to him. “Think you can get the uniform off, or should we cut through it?”

Drake pouts with a huff. “I hate to waste a perfectly good costume but I don’t think I can raise my arms over my head anymore.”

“No problemo, DW,” Launchpad replies. He fishes around in the first aid kit and takes out a hefty pair of scissors intended for the hyper durability of the Darkwing costume. He steadily cuts through the top layer of the suit, revealing the blue short-sleeve compression turtleneck beneath. Drake closes his eyes as Launchpad works, the unbroken sound of the scissors slicing through fabric overshadowed by the opening score of the movie Gosalyn has finally settled on. 

With the heavy duty layer of the suit removed, Launchpad gathers a handful of cold packs from the first aid kit to bundle around Drake’s ribs. But he stops Launchpad with a hand on his knee. 

“The Solego plans weren’t the only thing stolen tonight,” Drake murmurs out of Gosalyn’s earshot. “If...if you need to get back to Duckburg tonight, we’ll understand.”

Launchpad blinks down at Drake, laid up and bruised, gaze imploring through his one eye. Exasperation and overwhelming fondness momentarily silences him, and he covers Drake’s hand with his own. 

“If Mr. McDee calls, I’ll be there. But ignoring the fact that you can’t stand right now, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to. “

“Well that’s never going to happen,” Drake huffs, closing his eye again. Smiling, Launchpad lowers his head to drop a quick kiss on the end of Drake’s beak. He leans back but doesn’t get far with Drake’s other hand fisted in the bottom of his shirt. Drake’s face is the pastel pink of a sunset and Launchpad takes a moment to admire it before he meets Drake’s beak for a longer kiss.  

[dearlydecayed]

Soup for Shigaraki

Mmm yes first fic. No idea how this works, so just do whatever Tumblr users do if ya like it ig Summary: You're a member of the league when Shigaraki falls ill, and of course doesn't take care of himself. Being the good villain Samaritan you are, you do it for him.

Pre-relationship (?)

Word Count + Warnings: 1,665 - Sfw, Shiggy swears at you and is a bastard in general, and descriptions of sickness. Not beta read.

-----

It's been three whole days since you'd seen him- since anyone else had seen him for that matter.

The entire league was off doing busy work to kill time; little side-missions and personal vendettas to fulfill while they waited. While you waited. While the world waited.

Shigaraki couldn't exactly lead a revolution while bedridden.

Dabi and Toga had left the base a few minutes ago, Dabi huffing in general annoyance while the latter trailed behind cheerily. She had invited you along, but you declined. You had someone to check on.

Pushing yourself off the counter you had been leaning against, you turned to the broad and decrepit expanse of cabinets that made up the bar. The top rows were filled with glasses, cups, and bottles, so you worked off a foggy memory as you scrounged the lower levels. Sure enough, your hands made contact with a singular dusty can. Aha. Pulling it out, you grimaced at the expiration date but nonetheless cranked the lid open with the pocket knife you carried. Red liquid sloshed in the tin, and you gave it a cursory sniff. At least it still smelled like tomato soup.

Rummaging through another drawer, you found a clean-ish spoon and rinsed it off in the sink. Unable to find a pot, you made your way over to the small stove-top in the corner.

The scent of gas filled the air as the ancient device clicked to life, and you were reminded of why no one used it when Dabi was around. Placing the can directly on the burner, you couldn't help but hum to drown out the sound of metal scrapping metal as you stirred the broth; steam wafting through the air as it began to boil.

The best you could manage for a hot pad was a tattered rag as you took the tin off the stove; and let the scent of tomato soup soothe your concerns of expiration. Dipping a finger into the cooling liquid, you confirmed that it tasted about right too.

Now for the tricky part...

Same as when you'd checked it earlier, his door was locked. The hallway was as silent as it had been for days, and worry crept into your periphery as you again pulled out your pocket knife. Picking the lock was an easy feat, and you soon stepped into your leader's dark room, tin can in hand. You'd only observed the space in passing prior to this, and you took a moment to take it all in.

It was a lot more cluttered than you had anticipated, his walls lined with shelves of fandom paraphernalia and books. Dark clothes littered the floor and haphazardly hung off a hamper in the corner- interlocked with junk food wrappers and boxes.

You would've lingered longer at the sight if a pathetic sniffle hadn't caught your attention; your gaze drawn to a slumped pile on his bed.

There, your noble leader lay snot-faced and unconscious as his throat rasped with every breath. His face lacked its usual paleness, instead graced with a red flush, and you knew his temperature would be scorching by the sweat on his brow. Regardless, you set the can down on his desk, and sat yourself on edge of his bed.

Before moving further, you closed your hands on both of his wrists. Instantly, his arms relaxed, rendering his hands immobile for the near future. Benefits of a paralysis quirk included immobilizing your delirious boss, apparently.

You then confirmed your prior hunch as you placed a palm against his forehead, clammy skin shuddering at your touch. A gurgled groan escaped as he squirmed under your hand, his brow furrowing as some form of consciousness returned to him.

His eyes still closed, a croaky "Kurogiri..?" was offered as you propped him up against some pillows.

"Mm. Afraid not, boss"

In the moments it took him to process your words, you moved the soup can to in between your thighs, bringing a spoonful of liquid into the air in front of him. His bleary eyes opened a few times, clearly straining to gain some awareness and failing miserably as they fell shut again.

You shushed him, and readjusted. "Shh shh, 's just me, boss. I've got some nice, warm soup for ya." To illustrate your point, you teased the spoon to lightly rest against his chapped lips, desperately hoping he remained passive instead of really waking up and throwing a fit.

Blessedly, he did no such thing.

Rather, his lips finally parted and you were able to ease the spoon in, letting the liquid fall into his mouth. He swallowed, made a noise, and you took it as a sign to get another spoonful.

Time became irrelevant as you spoon fed him, his tense shoulders falling and his face relaxing as soup levels fell. The only sounds in the whole base were his raspy breaths and the spoon scraping against the can.

When the can was about half-way empty though, he became fussy and pursed his lips again, refusing the spoon. You also noted that his fingers were beginning to twitch, and you took it as a definite sign to bolt.

However, you didn't leave until he was laid back down and tucked in.

A cup of water left on his bedside table, you locked the door on your way out.

-----

"What the fuck are you doing."

Rather than a writhing mass on his bed, you were greeted the next day with a much more conscious Shigaraki.

Reheated soup in hand, you stood dumbly as the door clicked shut behind you.

The next few moments were tense as he stared you down, before being interrupted by a painful cough racking through him. As he tore open a lung, you let your gaze drift to his bed side table where an empty glass stood.

"Oh good, you drank some water."

His scarlet glare was again directed at you after briefly glancing at the table himself, and he sneered. "The fuck do you want."

You blinked at him, and raised the can up a bit. "Y' want more soup?"

This seemed to catch him off guard, and his bleary eyes met with the soup can for the first time since you entered. He sniffled, and moved to sit up. "Give it to me then get the fuck out." You raised your hands in surrender and stepped forward to pass the can to him. Sure enough, he snatched it like a feral animal and almost went to chug it before he noted the ragged edges were you had sawed it open, and instead went for the spoon with a petulant grumble. "D' ya need anything else or-"

"Fuck off."

"Mk."

Toga had asked later why you were buying chicken noodle soup, and you told her it was for emergencies. -----

He was sitting up and playing on a handheld device when you entered the next day.

Though sweat still clung his brow, his face had regained its normal paleness and his eyes were noticeably sharper when they snapped to you.

His gaze rather quickly re-centered on the new can of soup and glass of water your were holding however, and you stepped forward with a chuckle to set both on his side table.

Game forgotten, it was tossed down to the foot of his bed as he downed the glass you had given him. Before leaving, you glanced to the screen and recognition sparked in your gaze. "Oh, is that the newest installment?"

Now sipping at the remaining liquid, he eyed you over the rim and grunted in hesitant confirmation.

"Do you have the gold or platinum edition? I can't tell by the level you're on."

"S' gold," he croaked.

You hummed in acknowledgment, and left his room yet again.

-----

The next day, you walked right into his chest rather than his room.

"Ah," you offered after stepping back. "I guess you don't need anymore soup then?"

He stepped out into the hallway too, looming over you as you stepped back further into the wall. Red eyes clear as the night you had met him, he stared down at you while reaching for the can.

Four fingers brushed against yours as he took the soup from your hand, and he turned silently to walk down the hallway into the main gathering area.

Kurogiri took that moment to warp in, startling then quickly fussing over Shigaraki as he nonchalantly spooned the soup into his mouth.

-----

Life of course resumed after his recovery, and you quickly forgot about the night spent nursing your boss back to health as business continued as normal.

It wasn't until many nights later that you had any time to yourself, let alone him after days of making up work.

You had been sitting on a tattered couch well into the night, scrolling aimlessly on your phone when a plastic bag was thrust unceremoniously into your lap. Not looking up, you scrambled to unbag it when you saw liquid begin to cling to the plastic.

Pulling the warm container out and holding it upright, your brow furrowed at the sight. Sure enough, a styrofoam container of soup was sitting in your hands.

It was then that you looked up, and were unsurprised to see Shigaraki looming awkwardly near you. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, and his eyes seemed determined to rest anywhere but you.

Not wanting to be rude to the man who disintegrates people on a whim, you offer an "Uh, thanks?"

He tches at you, and turns to leave. "I fuckin' hate soup," Is all he offers before he disappears around the corner, and his door slams shut.

You shrug, and pop the lid off to check the damage. It had spilled a bit in the bag, but was still a hearty portion. A plastic spoon was even attached at the side, and you plucked it off as you snuggled in to the couch.

You couldn't place the flavor, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

[ihaveonlymydreams]

Junk

BY RICHARD WILBUR

Huru Welandes

worc ne geswiceσ?

monna ænigum

σara σe Mimming can

heardne gehealdan.

—Waldere

An axe angles

from my neighbor’s ashcan;

It is hell’s handiwork,

the wood not hickory,

The flow of the grain

not faithfully followed.

The shivered shaft

rises from a shellheap

Of plastic playthings,

paper plates,

And the sheer shards

of shattered tumblers

That were not annealed

for the time needful.

At the same curbside,

a cast-off cabinet

Of wavily warped

unseasoned wood

Waits to be trundled

in the trash-man’s truck.

Haul them off! Hide them!

The heart winces

For junk and gimcrack,

for jerrybuilt things

And the men who make them

for a little money,

Bartering pride

like the bought boxer

Who pulls his punches,

or the paid-off jockey

Who in the home stretch

holds in his horse.

Yet the things themselves

in thoughtless honor

Have kept composure,

like captives who would not

Talk under torture.

Tossed from a tailgate

Where the dump displays

its random dolmens,

Its black barrows

and blazing valleys,

They shall waste in the weather

toward what they were.

The sun shall glory

in the glitter of glass-chips,

Foreseeing the salvage

of the prisoned sand,

And the blistering paint

peel off in patches,

That the good grain

be discovered again.

Then burnt, bulldozed,

they shall all be buried

To the depth of diamonds,

in the making dark

Where halt Hephaestus

keeps his hammer

And Wayland’s work

is worn away.

[bryanhasanswers]

Morning-ish Part IV

So you want part’s one, two and three? You wanna see those first? Smart thinking kid. Well then, you gotta go: 

here for part I

here for part II

here for part III

Or maybe you DON’T want to read the first chapters? You just want to swing right into the middle of the jungle? Fine with me, Tarzan.

-------------------------------

I was gone - Bryan Fury didn’t exist.

Nothing clicking no sparks. The ONLY thing keepin’ me connected to this shitty-ass world was the data stream from my cybernetic suite, informing me on my recovery status. So far the news had been pretty bad. I’d lost several liters of blood. There was kidney damage.... punctured lung... lacerated liver...

Shit! Not my LIVER - I need that fucker.

My brain had even been put into an artificially induced coma while the nano bots in my blood stream scurried around to the hotspots trying to rebuild all the destruction.

Seriously - is there ANY good news here?? Whoa, wait - did I just... think that?! I did! Hey - look at me - I’m thinkin’ again! I... I’m back... But then - why don’t I see anyth - 

The next sensation was...

Is that - booze? Yeah - an’ it smells like... vodka. But I can’t uh... see.

I didn’t know if my eyes were open or closed - if I was sitting or standing or lying down or what. It was a weird and pretty fucked up feeling. I started to panic a little and had to get a grip.

Keep it together BF... You can smell the vodka, right? Right?? Okay, then just focus on the booze... you’re good at that.

I put all my attention into the sense of smell. I tried to identify everything about it.

It’s cheap shit... plastic bottle. Reminds me of my college days... what was that shit we used to drink? Oh - yeah! I know what that is - it’s...

“....FF-ffffucking Popov VODKA!”

The thoughts exploded out of my lungs as words, and I HEARD them! Then out of the darkness, came another voice. It was a woman and she sounded almost as excited as I was.

“Mr E! Mr E!! He’s alive! He just spoke! He spoke!”

Like a high-tech chain reaction, my systems had been coming back on line. First my thoughts as the coma was reversed, then the sense of smell - then hearing and now... I could see wireframe images taking shape all around me. 

The room was being mapped with a bright green grid...

Low ceiling, pipes and shit - narrow stairs - some look broken... I’m lying on the floor, in a... a basement?

The wireframe was snapped to and mapped the person next to me who was shouting to “Dr. E.” 

That’s the chick who’s been shouting - She’s looking at the stairs... Are we in the basement of the book store? There’s a bottle next to her - that explains the booze smell - and bandages and other medical shit. She’s trying to help!

“Dr E! He’s awake! Awake!! Please hurry! Dr. E!” 

I could hear her voice was quickly slipping from excitement to fear. I turned in her direction and tried to smile. It didn’t have quite the effect i was hoping for.

“DOCTOR EBENEEZER! WHERE ARE YOU?! HELP! OH GOD, HE’S GETTING UP I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO...DO?!!!”

She tripped, fell back on her butt and I saw her featureless, texture-less wire frame form slide at warp speed backwards across the floor until she hit a shelf against the far wall. Some shit fell off and bounced on the ground around her.

Also - she was right! I was I was sitting up - fuckin’ nanobots RULE! 

But I needed to calm my mysterious benefactor down. I knew I must look pretty goddamn scary and the kid was starting to completely lose her shit.

“Omygodomygodomygodomygod - please don’t hurt me!”

I concentrated for a few seconds and then - the details popped in - I had color... texture...I could SEE - but now I needed to fucking speak. I could see my caretaker scramblin’ sideways along the wall like a startled fiddler crab knockin’ books and stools and junk all over the place until she slammed to an abrupt halt in the far corner of the room.

“H-Hhey - kid - shuddup, relax and lissen to me for a second...”

When I spoke it sort of had a mixed affect. At least her shouting stopped, which was a nice change, but she was frozen still as a statue sitting rigid against the damp clay tile of the old basement wall, staring at me with huge frightened eyes. I noticed the color immediately - hazel. 

The kid was pretty too. Dark brown hair, with faint freckles across the nose. She had those little adorable dimples you get from smiling a lot. She was wearing old, ripped jeans with cute little glam patches and glittery bull-shit on ‘em. and a baggy white sweatshirt that had three blue apples arranged in a triangle on the front. Yeah - that’s right - in just a fraction of a second, I could see all that. I could tell that this was a nice, goodhearted kid. It made me consider how this all must look to her...

You were probably helping out the weird old guy at the bookstore on weekends for beer money and now you’re face to face with a zombie, cyborg assassin, freak-show who has been shot a billion and six times and is now somehow sitting up and staring right at you.

My normal M.O. is to be the monster truck that drives mindless terror deep into the heart of my targets, just before I literally beat their brains out. 

I’m SUPER good at that. 

What I’m NOT super good at, is getting people to feel relaxed and comfortable around me. I’m not exactly and affable guy. I don’t know all the right shit to say in every situation - so I just went with the stupid ol’ truth.

“Kid - I know you were trying to help me. So cool your shit - you’re going to be okay.”

She continued to stare at me with those big, frightened hazel eyes. Shaking a little bit, and staying real silent. I kept trying to reach her.

“Look - I get it... this is an unusual situation. You’re scared. So... I’ll say it again nice and slow...so it sinks in. You... are... going... to... be... okay. And that’s a really big deal coming from me, because - I pretty much never say that. Now what’s your fu- ah what’s your name?”

She seemed to relax and her breathing got a little deeper and less rapid. Then she spoke - in a pretty goddamn steady voice too.

“Penny - I’m... I mean - you can call me Penny.”

[comfy-whumpee]

Rozen 3

[Rozen arc in order.]

Rozen wakes up with a start to the sound of a knock on their door.

Nobody should be knocking on their door. They don’t tell their address to anyone. Their only post is rent and bills and junk mail. Whoever is out there, they’re not getting in. Not the morning after they rescued someone.

Speaking of. They get up, opening the door to the living room. Reece is there, they see with relief, although he’s not on the sofa and instead curled up on the floor beside it. Whatever makes him comfortable, they suppose. He probably hasn’t been on a bed in a long time.

They circle around to check on him, and his eyes move to them. He’s awake.

“Jeez, you scared me,” they murmur, smiling slightly to show they mean no offence. “How are you feeling, Ellis?”

There’s another knock on the door, louder. Ellis looks in the direction of the hall, a frown dipping the middle of his brow.

“Don’t worry about that. Did you sleep alright?”

He blinks slowly, then nods, but his eyes stay on the hall. Pulling an arm under himself, he gets to his feet, swaying slightly through a head rush and then moving towards the door.

“Ah.” Rozen snags his hand, cutting his motion short. “Ellis, do you know who that is?”

Ellis’s arm is limp. He turns to look at them again, eyes searching their face. Then, a tremulous smile twists his mouth, something small and scared and appeasing. Fake as a free lunch. “Master,” he says.

They were warned about that, but it still surprises them to see the word leave his mouth, sincere and plain as though it were just the man’s name.

“His name is Alistair,” they tell him, not letting go of his hand. Three more pounding knocks echo through the room. “Ellis, if that’s him, you know I can’t let him in, don’t you?”

“He will,” Ellis says distantly. He looks away from Rozen towards the window, and Rozen looks too, but sees nothing. “Rule twelve.”

“You are Master’s pet and you need to be kept,” Rozen supplies. They memorised the dozen after getting Nic to write them out. Knowing how he’s been conditioned to act is going to be invaluable.

The preparation pays off as Ellis’s eyes focus on them properly for the first time that morning, surprise widening them slightly. They meet his gaze levelly, tugging his hand in a little, trying to close the gap. “That’s right, Ellis. I know your rules. I know you.”

Fear enters his eyes at that, and he glances away again as the door rattles under that man’s fist. Because it must be him, there’s nobody else who would do this so persistently, not with Ellis’s return a secret.

“Ellis,” they repeated. “I know what you are, and I accept you. I want to help you. Can you sit down for me?” They tug him gently back towards the dining chair from last night. “I promise I’ll let him in after just a minute.”

He goes where they guide him, for a moment, and then stiffens. “You’re lying,” he whispers, and the fear returns to his stare, and he tentatively tries to pull away. “You’re lying, you stole me.”

“Rescued,” Rozen corrects, letting him stand for a moment but not letting go. “You wanted to be rescued last night, Ellis. What changed?”

A tremble runs up their arm from his hand. “I didn’t,” he protests. “I didn’t, I don’t, I-I want to go back. I want to go home.”

“Why?”

“Because I need him!”

The front door bangs. Not a knock, this time. Engels is trying to force his way inside.

How the fuck did he find them?

“Please let me go,” Ellis whispers. He’s crying, now, when they look back. “Please.” He’s begging, his head lowered, his eyes big and miserable, even his body angled in a supplicant’s stance, and he’s still shaking, flinching with every thump on the front door.

Rozen sighs. “Nope. Sit down.” They give him a firm push, he folds, and his butt hits the seat of the chair. They grab his other wrist. “And uh, sorry.” With a sharp pull and a twist, they get his hands behind him, and pull a plastic tie around them. When he jerks forwards, about to pull away, another tie loops around the first and the chair.

“Stay put for me,” they say, though they haven’t given him a choice, and head for the door.

Yep, that’s Engels. They can see him clear as day through the spyhole, smiling serenely with his hands in his pockets. Rozen turns to the umbrella stand, and pulls out the crowbar they keep there – for work, of course. Then, chain on, foot set to block it being pushed open further, they crack the door.

“Good morning,” Engels says. “Rozen, I believe? I think we need to talk.”

Rozen hasn’t heard his voice before, but it’s just what they expected. Smooth baritone with a gentle edge, the kind that can drop into persuasive charm at a moment’s notice. To a practised ear, it’s black ice on a crossroad. “Disagree,” they tell him, their own voice flat and dead level. “Please exit my property.”

“Last night, you broke into my house and kidnapped my ward.”

“A year ago you broke into his house and kidnapped him.”

Engels’s nostrils flare, but the rest of his face stays perfectly calm. Not smiling anymore, though. “That’s not what happened. Are you telling me you’re going to hold him captive here?”

Rozen lifts their chin. They’re much shorter than him, and Ellis too, but who gives a damn? “I would call it protective custody, given the nature of his situation. Given your nature.”

The blue eyes stare down at them, slowly freezing over. “I don’t believe you know what his situation is at all. He came to me, and stays willingly with me. Please release him before I call the police.”

“Call the police, then,” Rozen says simply, and pushes the door closed.

It doesn’t click. It bumps against a foot, and then Engels is leaning against it, trying to push his way in with brute force, hands assisting. His leg presses against the wood all the way up to the knee, and Rozen looks down, and then swings the crowbar.

With a satisfying crack, it connects to the knee, and the leg buckles slightly. Shoving their shoulder against the door too, Rozen gives it a heave, and for a moment they almost get it, before it stops short again.

No, no, he’s not getting in. Ellis doesn’t have to see this guy again. They shove with their full body weight, but this guy is strong, and pushes back harder. The chain strains against its holder, metal links warping in the corner of Rozen’s eye.

“Ellis!” Engels shouts through the gap, one hand reaching in to try and undo the chain.

Rozen squeezes around the edge of the door, sacrificing an arm for the sake of getting their crowbar around again. Their feet slide back a little across the floorboards as Engels gives another push, grunting with the effort.

They swing, the angle of their body forcing them to give an inch, but the crowbar crunches as it lands, and the hand snaps out of sight. Moments later, the push stops, and Rozen slams the door shut with a gasp of relief.

That was not supposed to happen. They lock the door, and then look through the spyhole. Engels is retreating, moving back down the drive.

Faintly, they hear Ellis crying from the living room.

Catching their breath, they drop the crowbar back into the umbrella stand with a clang. Inhale for four. Hold for two. Exhale.

They need to have a conversation with their rescue.

[drabbles-of-writing]

Can We Keep Him? (pt 1)

This is part of my Uncursed AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Edalyn Clawthorne was known to sell the strangest human items.

You could stop by her shop any day and find objects that seemed to serve no real purpose, yet they were enticing all the same.

And nearly every time, you’d find her selling them alone. On a very rare day, her sister Lilith would join her when she had nothing better to do.

This didn’t stop Edalyn, though. She was getting more charismatic by the day, and with her seemingly endless supply of human objects. There was no rhyme or reason to what she sold or when she sold them. Her selling spots were different every day, and every hour she had a new sale tactic.

By all accounts, she was a loose cannon ready to be fired.

There was, however, one thing everyone knew that was consistent with Eda.

You don’t steal from her.

“Come one, come all! See the newest items taken from the human realm!”

Eda gestured at her pile of objects she’d scavenged from metal bins, holding up items she thought would really catch someone's eye.

Wandering buyers paused at her stand every now and again, looking over what she had to offer.

Eda had recently gotten far less items to sell, what with pretty much everything she was finding in the humans metal bins being nothing but half-eaten food.

Unfortunately, moving further into the realm was out of the question. She’d nearly been caught many times and threatened for something called the ‘cops’ to be called on her.

She didn’t know what those were but she would prefer not to run into them. She’d had to go out of her way to find trash slugs, for the Titans sake!

Today, of course, was a slow day. She’d been at her stand far past morning and into the late afternoon with selling barely enough to buy a bag of chips. She was already mentally preparing herself to face Lilith with even less pennies to her name.

Eda was sitting in an old chair behind her table full of items, her cheek resting in her hand. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open, and she felt herself slipping.

That was, until she heard her pile of junk crash to the ground.

Eda was up like a shot, whirling her head to the other side of the table, where many of her stolen goods were strewn across the ground.

Something stumbled out from the pile, wobbly on its feet as it tried to reorient itself.

It was a demon. A rather small one, at that. It resembled a black dog with no skin on its face, revealing a white skull with a single half-broken horn. It’s red collar was a bit odd, too.

Resting on the demon's head was a small plastic crown from Eda’s junk pile. The thing only fit around one of its horns.

“Hey!” Eda snapped, causing the demon to jerk its head towards her. “You gotta pay for this mess!” She demanded, gesturing to the items laying across the ground.

“Oh, um,” The demon looked around frantically. “No I don’t!” He shouted before bolting back through the marketplace.

“Wh--get back here!” Eda shouted, leaping over the table and racing after the demon.

The demon ducked and twisted through the stands and customers trying to mind their own business. Stands were knocked over and witches were knocked to the ground in Eda’s rampage to chase down the little thief.

The demon broke through the marketplace and ran through the town. Eda drew a circle in the air and a tangle of vines launched towards the demon. He just barely dodged it and skittered towards a park that was, thankfully, currently empty.

The demon scampered up the slide and onto the top of the playground, peering out from behind the bars built into it.

“You’ll never take me alive!” The demon shouted down, waving a small fist in the air. “For I am the King of Demons! Ruler of the Boiling Isles!”

“Uh huh, sure, whatever,” Eda rolled her eyes, standing at the bottom of the slide with her hands on her hips. “Either you give me back my human-crown-thing, or I’m gonna take it from you.”

“Ha! You could never hope to defeat I, the King of Demons!” The demon sneered. “This is my crown now, and you can’t do anything about it!”

Eda drew a circle in the air once more as vines sprung from the ground. The demon squawked as the vines dove into the playground, grabbing him and lifting him out and throwing him onto the ground at her feet, winding him momentarily.

“You were saying?” Eda said, plucking the mini crown off the demon's head.

“That’s not fair! I wasn’t ready!” The demon shouted, stamping his feet like a toddler before jumping up and trying to take back the crown that Eda now held far out of his reach.

“You know what’s also not fair? Stealing the stuff I already stole!” Eda scolded before curling her lip in disgust. “Great, now I sound like a warped version of my dad.”

“Give! It!” The demon demanded, still trying to jump for the crown.

“No. Go find your own crown.” Eda said sternly before stepping away and letting the demon fall over.

The demon started kicking his feet around and Eda rolled her eyes. She was about to turn away before the demon sat up and squealed.

It was like a long, drawn-out squeak made of pure rage.  

Eda stared at the demons for a few moments as he fell over in his long squeal, reminding her of a little kid having a tantrum.

She then burst out laughing.

She doubled-over, clutching her stomach as she snorted and laughed at the demon, who had stopped his squeak and was now glaring up at her.

“Oh, so you think that’s funny, do you?” He snapped, crossing his arms and pouting. “You’ll regret that someday!” “I-I can’t--” Eda wheezed, dropping the crown as she tried to pull herself together. “That’s--it’s just...that’s the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” She wheezed out, shaking her head and wiping the tears away from her eyes.

“I am not cute!” The demon insisted. “What’s so funny about being cute, anyway?” “I just--I wasn’t expecting it!” Eda snickered.

The demon then noticed the dropped crown and sprung up to his feet. He rushed over and snatched the crown before darting back, clutching it tightly to his chest as he raised his head proudly.

“Foolish mortal! You’ve fallen for my...uh...my trap!” He said, his tail raised high. “The crown is mine once again!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you adorable little pup.” Eda chuckled, finally calming down as she stood up again. “Something like that isn’t really worth the trouble of you coming back again. Let’s call your little show your payment for it, eh?” She said.

“You…” The demon looked from the crown and back to the bright-haired witch. “You're not going to take it away?”

“This time,” Eda reminded him. “I catch you stealing again and you’re going to have a lot more trouble, you hear me?”

“Oh,” The demon blinked, very surprised at this outcome. “The King of Demons...will accept this offer.” He said, putting the crown back around his unbroken horn. “You’ll be spared of my wrath this time, witch!”

“Sure thing, demon.” Eda snickered. “Hope I see you around, if only for that squeak of rage.” She teased, saluting the little demon.

The demon blinked up at her dumbfoundedly for a few moments, watching as she turned to walk back to her stand.

“I hope I see you around, too!” The demon finally said, waving after her. “If only to show you what force you’ve reckoned with!” Eda rolled her eyes and didn’t reply, simply waving behind her.

What a weird little creature.

[lastofthesystemlords]

Stargate Fic: Magnetism (Part 2)

AO3

A pinch-hit for devinsxdesigns, who has been SUPREMELY patient and also provided this amazing artwork as inspiration for the Stargate Winter Fic Exchange.

I’m so sorry this is in pieces, but real life got in the way, as it so often does, and I’m not quite finished yet. ♥️♥️

—

Daniel is drawn to trouble like a magnet. Jack has had it up to Here, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything to get him home.

__

__

The magnetism held until black spots began to crowd in at the edges of Jack’s vision, but then it cut off abruptly. He could hear Carter suck in a desperate breath and knew she’d had the same trouble he had. “Metal off,” he coughed, fumbling with the clasp on his dog tags.  He called out for his team members’ status even as he scrambled on hands and knees toward the cliff’s edge.

“Fine, sir,” Carter rasped, sounding anything but as she stripped off her dog tags and unloaded her pockets.

“I too am well, O’Neill,” Teal’c said, flexing his fingers carefully. He winced but declared, “I do not believe my arm is broken.”

Jack took his word for it, bigger concerns on his mind. He neared the edge, sending several smaller pieces of stone skittering down.

“Careful, sir,” Carter called. “It may not be stable.”

“Daniel!” Jack dropped to his stomach and pushed forward with just his toes, careful not to dislodge any more debris. “Daniel!”

At first, all he could see was the rubble, huge boulders and smaller shards of stone, heaped at the base of the cliff and scattered on several smaller ledges on the way down. The remains of that delicate bridge that had so fascinated Daniel were lying in the shallow pond at the bottom, those pretty little decorations still glinting in the sun. Then the crunch of gravel alerted him to his teammates’ approach. “Stay back,” he ordered. He couldn’t lose anyone else over the edge.

“Can you see him?” Carter asked.

The desperate worry in her voice forced Jack to focus. He was the CO. It was his job to keep a level head. “Not yet,” he said, twisting to make eye contact with first Carter, then Teal’c. He noticed livid bruising on Teal’c’s forearm. If that wasn’t broken, he’d eat his hat. Either way, it made his next decision easy. “Teal’c, I need you to head back to the gate and alert the SGC. Best case scenario, we’ll need a medical team standing by. More likely, we’ll need a full med evac — plastic or fiberglass gear only. Carter, wrap up his arm. Then I need you to go through our supplies. I need some sort of rappelling gear, splints, bandages… whatever you think might help us.”

Both nodded and set to work at once, leaving Jack to continue the search for Daniel. He didn’t see any sign of him at the bottom, so he risked leaning a little farther out so he could scan the edge of the crater.

A glimmer in the sun on a ledge about a third of the way down the crumbling  wall had his heart rate surging with hope — Daniel’s glasses. Jack squinted, searching for any sign of camo print and wishing, not for the first time, that he could tag every member of his team with blaze orange. Finally, he spotted him a short distance away from the glasses. His uniform was covered in dirt and a number of smaller rocks, but it was definitely Daniel.

He didn’t stir at Jack’s shout — unconscious then.

Jack refused to even consider the alternative.

“How’s he look?” Carter called.

Jack shimmied back to join her on more stable ground. “He’s in one piece, more or less, but it looks like he’s out cold. What’ve you got?”

“I found some rope in our packs, but some of the rappelling hooks and clips are warped from the fluctuating magnetism. I wouldn’t trust them, sir.”

“I’ll do without,” Jack answered. “Won’t be the first time.”

“Sir, I think we should wait for help from the SGC. Without proper gear, and with Daniel unconscious —”

“Negative, Carter. It was a two-hour hike out here. Even if Teal’c can manage to shave some time off of that, it’ll still be nightfall before a full evac team can get here. I won’t risk a repeat of that collapse in the meantime.”

As if to prove his point, Carter’s gizmo whined again — mercifully back in the range of human hearing, though it was no less alarming — and several more chunks of rock tore loose from the edge.

“Carter, correct me if I’m wrong, but rocks aren’t usually affected by magnets.”

“There must be metal in the soil up here,” Carter answered, slipping almost unconsciously into scientist mode as they both shimmied back out to the edge to check on Daniel. By some stroke of luck, the largest rocks had missed him, but Jack didn’t intend to test that luck any further.

“Teal’c says you were right about the impact crater, if that makes any difference.”

Carter nodded, half to herself. “Perhaps an iron-heavy meteorite, drawn in by the fluctuating magnetic fields…”

Jack did not like the sound of that. “Carter, are you saying this maget issue can get strong enough to drag in space junk?”

“Theoretically, sir, it’s possible.” She glanced around at the ground they were sitting on. “As large as the central crater is, there is no way of knowing how far the ancient debris field extends beyond it. This whole area could be unstable.”

“That settles it then,” Jack declared, grabbing one of the coils of rope. “We’re getting Daniel up here, and we’re going home. We’ll meet the evac team on the way back to the gate. See if you can rig up some sort of sling using the tarp. I’m going to see about finding the safest route down.”

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (prologue)

Next->

In Los Aburridos, California, off Route 83, in Litwak’s Arcade, inside a tiny wall socket, a disgraced, despised, thought-to-be-dead king paced.

Not in a hard set, back-and-forth motion, but in a wide, loose path, like an oval. The motion felt marginally soothing to him, having driven thousands of races on an oval track in his life. But the shape was the only resemblance. He was agonizingly slow, going only as fast as two legs could carry him. Aside from his shoes clapping against the floor and Litwak shuffling in the outside world, there was no sound at all. No screaming crowd, no roaring engines, no gamers laughing. There was no room for any of that in the lonely hole in the wall. 

The dead wall socket served as an abandoned cord station. It was cold, isolated, torturously quiet, and had barely enough electricity to sustain his physical form. It was also Turbo’s last safe haven in the world. It would keep him hidden from those who would punish him for his murderous crime. It would give him time to figure just how in the hell he would ever return to society and make something resembling a life again. But it would offer no distraction from the hellfire scorching his mind. And he knew that in a matter of minutes, he would be handed a hefty canister of fuel to only further feed the inferno. But most things were fuel in recent memory. Nothing was going to make him feel better. Really, it was the anticipation that drove him to pace.

Any minute now, she would show up. And she would bring him the truth of what became of the world he left behind, and of what that world did to her. Or, more to the point… what he did to her.

Ever since they had been reunited, there was something in Mavis he did not recognize. He had always known that she did not exactly have a happy life. He could recall even early in their friendship, the moments that her fear would seep through. In those moments, she would almost always react defensively, by fighting him or running away. Often, he would go to sleep with her and find her gone in the morning. 

But since being reunited, her night terrors had been different. She would shriek, and wake in a sweaty, terrified mess, but instead of running away, she would simply… break. Clutch onto him and not let go, weeping openly. Always refusing explanation. 

It seemed impossible for either of them to move forward in their partnership, criminal or otherwise, until they were both completely on the same page. So, finally, Mavis promised to deliver the truth, which, she told him, she already had in writing.

There was a faint flash down the entrance corridor when a static crack broke the relative silence and snapped at Turbo’s mind like a whip. He jolted and froze, gazing down the wide corridor at the wooden barrier that they had been slowly building to deter any possible wanderers from finding his hideout. It was tall enough to obscure her, but he knew she was there. And sure enough, after a brief pause, he saw Make-it Mavis rise up over the barrier, hovering with the feathers on her boots.

As usual, he felt an odd mess of emotions when he saw her. Mostly, he felt his heart echo sickly down through his stomach and guts. 

After clearing the barrier, Mavis lowered a short distance into the corridor, seeming almost reluctant to enter fully. When Turbo met her halfway, he noticed immediately that she would not meet his gaze. She was not angry, or even resentful. Just reluctant. A little sad. Maybe even afraid. 

Unsure of what to say, he breathed hoarsely, “...Hey.”

Mavis cleared her throat a bit. “Hey, T,” she said quietly.

She stood straight, rigid, one hand clutching the strap of her messenger bag and the other keeping its pouch close to her body. Jutting out from the top ever so slightly, he could see just the corner of a book. That must have been the truth she promised the night before, because upon noticing him eyeing it, she held it just a bit further away.

“You…” he spoke carefully, “you still wanna do this?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, almost interrupting him. “Yeah, I do, it’s just…”

Finally, she lifted her gaze to his, but her eyes were so guarded, like she was one word away from turning tail and leaving. “Turbo…” she said slowly, “you’re really not gonna like what you read.”

He sighed through his nose, brow furrowing sympathetically. “I know. I never expected to.”

“And I,” she spoke just a touch louder, “I say some real mean stuff about you in this.”

Half a snicker escaped him. “Oh no. You’ve never been mean to me before.”

“Okay-- Yeah, okay, but this is different,” she half-smiled anxiously.

At that, she reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a ringed notebook that told a hundred stories with its appearance alone. Turbo felt a twinge of gravity in his stomach as he looked it over in her hands. Its cover was splattered with dry paint and bore many deep, scribbling scratches carved with a ballpoint pen. Many pages were dog-eared and a fair amount were stained and warped. Even the plastic ring binding seemed to be barely holding everything together.

Turbo wanted to make a smart remark to lighten the mood, but he was coming up empty. There was something in the way that she looked at the notebook that struck him silent. She had not yet offered it to him, instead keeping it close to her body and regarding it with a grave sort of disbelief.

“I just…” she shook her head a bit, “when I wrote this, I never… ever thought you’d actually read it.”

Morbid curiosity pounded Turbo’s brain, the kind that he was certain would bite him in the ass later. He was unsure what to say at first, but after Mavis did not continue, he prodded, “I mean… I don’t have to, if that’s--”

“No,” she interrupted, shoving it into his arms, “no, you really do. It’s-- it’s just easier this way. It’s all in there already, and I promised, so just take it.”

Turbo blinked, catching the ramshackle notebook. She interrupted him again before he could reply, her voice quick with anxiety.

“There. Take it. I gotta get back before they close the gates. Read as much as you want. I’ll come back once the arcade closes. Okay? Good. Enjoy. Bye.”

She turned, and just before she could get away, Turbo grabbed her by the wrist. It was enough to stop her from fleeing the emotional situation as she so often did, but she did not turn to look at him. Once it was clear that she would merely listen, Turbo realized he was not sure what he wanted to say. 

“Mav,” he finally said, “don’t think that I don’t know what a big deal this is. I know this probably goes against every digit in your binary to show me this. I get it. So… let me at least say thanks, before you go flyin’ outta here.”

Mavis sighed, but he could see from the curve of her cheek that she smiled for a moment. She said slowly and earnestly, “If we’re gonna be partners… If we’re gonna work together, then you gotta trust that I’m in it for the long haul. If you want proof that I won’t ditch you, then you’ll find it in that book… or some supporting documents, at least.”

Turbo could hear his heart in his ears, but he let out a slow breath and loosened his grip on her wrist. As his hand fell, Mavis caught it in hers.

When she finally turned her head towards him again, he saw a bit of a glisten over her blue eyes, and the saddest, sweetest smile he had ever seen. 

“Just make sure to read to the very end,” she told him, “and to trust me.”

Forcing out a small smile of his own, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

For a moment, they lingered.

But after a single squeeze of his hand, Mavis flew back over the barricade, and another static crack indicated her departure. Silence closed in around Turbo again, but there was something about the book in his hands that felt so loud. As he wandered back into the station proper, he ran his fingers over the cover, one that had once been perfectly smooth, but after being exposed to Mavis, now bore a myriad of ridges and bumps and gritty textures. Stepping over the worthless junk strewn on the floor, he found himself a seat on one of the dusty old couches, and tucked one finger under the cover.

He paused, taking a moment to breathe and steel himself to whatever was to come. As he lingered, he could feel in his gut that the story he was about to read could quite likely change his relationship with Mavis. Perhaps even with himself.

But he had survived far worse than a book already.

Flipping open the cover, Turbo began to read.