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everwhovian · 28 days ago

Note

AU where In ho finds out his wife joined the games and neither of them realized the other joined until they woke up in the bunks

Aahhhhh! This is breaking me! I also jumped on the opportunity to have Yuna meet Young-il!!!

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The last thing he remembered was the car.

The heavy scent of cheap leather filling his lungs as he slid into the back seat, the smooth black interior absorbing the dim streetlight outside, and the door closing behind him with a kind of finality that should have warned him more than it did.

There had been a faint sting in his nose – something chemical, something wrong – and a man’s voice beside him, smooth and practiced, offering him comfort or instruction or reassurance, though the words slipped past him like water.

He had been too tired, too desperate, and sleep had begun to pull at him before he even registered what was being said. He didn’t remember drifting off. He didn’t remember arriving.

Only the overwhelming need to try something, anything, that might buy them time.

And now –

Now he was waking up in a place that didn’t belong to the real world.

The light above him was white and loud, fluorescent and sterile in a way that reminded him of operating rooms and interrogation chambers, that too-clean buzz that stripped everything of warmth.

The floor beneath him – no, not floor, a bed – was hard, a thin mattress that offered close to no comfort and barely enough space for his legs.

His body protested as he shifted, as though he’d been lying there for hours or days, frozen in a position meant to render him docile. When he managed to sit up, the nausea was faint but immediate – the heaviness in his limbs, the fog in his brain, the unmistakable chemical thrum under his skin.

Sedation. Professionally administered.

Around him, the world came into focus in fragments: rows upon rows of identical beds stretching into the distance, stacked like scaffolding along the walls in crooked, uneven towers, some with figures still slumped on them, others already beginning to stir.

In-ho remained still. Watching.

Always watch first. Always find the exits.

But there were none.

He looked.

There were no windows. No vents. The ceiling was just as sealed and smooth as the walls. The only door – if it could even be called that – was a massive steel gate bolted shut at the far end of the room, and it looked like it hadn’t been opened in a long time. Or maybe it was built not to open at all.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed relentlessly. Cameras blinked quietly in each corner.

The walls were white. The floor was white. Everything felt scrubbed of personality, of warmth…

Everyone wore the same uniform: green tracksuits with white numbers printed neatly over the chest. No names. No individuality.

He looked down at his own.

132.

A number. Not a name. Not a man. Not a husband or a detective or a brother – just a number in a sea of them.

The sight of it sat wrong in his gut, not frightening exactly, but unsettling in a way he couldn’t yet name. Like this was a system, a machine, and he had willingly thrown himself into it without understanding what it would do to him.

He tried to remember how he’d justified this. What he told himself to make it sound reasonable. A game, they said – just a game. Children’s games, even. Silly, harmless things. And a cash prize. Enough to pay off the debts. Enough to buy time for treatment. Enough to buy hope.

Last night… was it only last night? He had sat beside Yuna in her hospital room and waited for her to fall asleep.

The machines had beeped quietly behind her. She was stable, for now. Still smiling. Still strong. Still trying to convince him not to do anything reckless.

Her fingers had curled gently in his, even as sleep claimed her, and when he was sure she wouldn’t wake, he had pressed a kiss to her forehead, stood carefully, and left a note on the nightstand.

He didn’t write much. Just: ‘Don’t worry. I love you.’

Afterward, he went home.

He hugged his stepmother in the kitchen without saying why. She didn’t ask. She never did, not when his silences came weighted like that. She only held him back, steady and quiet, the way she always had when words weren’t enough.

And then, he had walked down the hall and stepped into Jun-ho’s room one last time.

His brother was curled up on his side, deep asleep, one arm tucked beneath his pillow, the blankets half-kicked off in his usual restless way. He looked impossibly young like that. For a moment, In-ho had just stood there in the doorway, watching him breathe. Then he stepped forward, pulled the blanket gently up over his shoulders, and tucked him in one last time like he was still eight instead of twenty-three.

He hadn’t planned to leave forever. Just long enough to win. Just long enough to bring the money home. To buy them time. To fix what needed fixing.

And now –

Now he was here.

His mind was still trying to find logic, trying to sort the pieces into something that made sense, but none of it fit. There were too many people. Too much silence. Too much cold. And the players near him were whispering questions that only made things worse.

“Where are we?”

“Is this part of the game?”

“I don’t remember getting here…”

He should have stayed still. Should have watched longer. But old instincts were hard to fight, and his legs carried him slowly toward the crowd, toward whatever passed for answers. Blend in. Move quiet. Stay alert.

The crowd in the center of the room was thickening – people grouping together not out of strategy but out of fear. Like they knew something was coming. Like maybe it already had.

He took a step forward, hoping to hear something useful. Some clue. Something that would give him a reason not to feel the dread already gathering in the base of his spine.

It happened by accident, the way terrible things often did. A glance sideways. A shift in the crowd. The movement of a hand, a voice that sounded too familiar from too far away.

And then he saw her.

He almost told himself it was just someone else – someone who happened to carry herself the same way, with the same calm intensity, the same quiet certainty that steadied other people without even trying.

Just for a second – a familiar profile, dark hair pulled back, a line of her jaw he’d memorized long ago.

But he looked again.

And everything stopped.

Yuna.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, wearing the same green tracksuit. Her arms weren’t crossed, her shoulders weren’t hunched. She was speaking to someone – trying to soothe, maybe trying to organize – her voice too low for him to hear, but her presence as familiar to him as his own breath.

The number across her chest was 174.

For a moment, his body simply stopped.

His lungs didn’t draw air.

His legs rooted themselves where he stood.

His mind didn’t race – it collapsed into a quiet static that drowned out everything except the sight of her.

Yuna.

Not in the hospital bed he had just left her in. Not under the protection of doctors and nurses who knew what to do when her liver failed again.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

The air felt thinner. The buzzing louder.

She shouldn’t be here.

There was no universe in which she was supposed to be here.

And yet here she was. Already in it. Already marked. Already counted.

In-ho swallowed, and it felt like gravel scraping down his throat.

He had come here because she was supposed to be safe. And now they were both inside something he didn’t understand, both trapped, both branded by a number.

And suddenly the promise of money, the idea of games, the sales pitch whispered into his ear by a man in a suit – all of it rang false, all of it burned away, leaving only the cold certainty that nothing about this was harmless.

He didn’t know what this place was.

But he knew now – the cost of being here wasn’t just his.

And whatever was coming, he’d let it swallow him whole before it touched her.

He just stood there, feet rooted to the floor like something in his body had forgotten how to function because she was here, and it didn’t just make sense.

She moved as she spoke, gentle gestures, the kind he knew so well – one hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a frightened boy beside her, the other tucked to her chest, her voice quiet but firm, soothing in its calm. She was trying to help. Of course she was. Even here.

And she hadn’t seen him.

For a moment, he just watched her – not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t know how to do anything else. Because walking toward her meant accepting what he was seeing.

It meant admitting that he had failed to protect her before this even began.

But then she shifted – stepped a little to the side – and the crowd behind her threatened to fold and close and swallow her up again. And the thought of losing sight of her, even for a second, made something snap loose inside him.

He moved.

Slow at first. Steady.

His legs felt stiff, like he was walking underwater, each step heavier than the last. But his focus was absolute – only her, only the space between them, only the unbearable need to reach her and confirm that she was real.

He approached her from behind, close now, close enough to feel the slight ripple in the air when she moved.

And when he was only an arm’s length away, he reached out – hesitant, trembling – and laid his hand gently on her arm.

She stiffened.

Then she turned.

And when her eyes found his, everything else fell away.

“In-ho?” she said, his name barely a whisper.

His throat clenched. His hand remained where it was, lightly gripping her sleeve like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

She blinked, and in that flicker of movement he saw it – the shock, the disbelief, the dawning realization of what this meant.

“What –” he started, but the words caught on something sharp. He swallowed, tried again. “What are you doing here?”

She stared at him like he was the one who shouldn’t be real. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this entire place wasn’t. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t move. Only answered, quiet and low.

“I woke up and you were gone,” she said gently. “I saw your note.”

His breath stilled. He nodded once, guilt tightening in his chest.

“And then…” Her voice softened even more. “I found the card. It must’ve fallen out of your pocket. It was on the floor, next to the bed.”

“I found your note,” she went on, her voice careful now, threading between emotion and clarity. “And the card. You must’ve dropped it.”

His brows knit. “Card?”

“The one with the symbols,” she said. “No name, just a number…”

His heart lurched – a cold, sick weight pressing into his chest. He hadn’t even realized it was missing.

“I didn’t know what it was,” she said. “But I called it. I was worried. I thought… maybe I could help.”

He stared at her, heart beating slow and heavy, too much to process all at once. She hadn’t been recruited. She hadn’t been coerced. She’d followed a thread he hadn’t meant to leave behind – because she loved him. Because she worried. Because she couldn’t sit still, not when she thought he might be in danger.

“I’m sorry,” she added, quieter now. “I didn’t know it would lead here.”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head, voice thick. “Don’t be sorry.”

She looked at him again, and in that look was everything – fear, determination, sorrow, and something solid beneath it all.

The same strength that had gotten her through hospital rooms and test results and weeks of not knowing what tomorrow would look like.

His jaw tightened until it ached, every muscle pulled taut with the effort of holding himself together.

He didn’t know what part of this was worse – that she was here, that she had followed the trail he hadn’t meant to leave, or that no amount of logic or strength could undo it now.

His hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them to release.

But Yuna noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She always did.

She studied him for half a second longer, her eyes narrowing just enough – not with judgment, but with that quiet, unwavering stubbornness he had fallen in love with before he ever knew what to call it.

That look she gave him when he thought he could carry the weight of everything alone and she refused to let him.

And then, wordlessly, she reached for him.

Her hand came up slowly, without hesitation. Fingers brushed along his cheek, the side of his jaw – a gesture so familiar, so simple, it made something inside him crack.

In-ho didn’t say anything, he just stepped forward.

He closed the space between them in one fluid motion and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and buried his face in her shoulder.

And Yuna folded into him like she’d been waiting.

She also didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Her arms circled around his back, fingers twisting lightly in the fabric of his tracksuit, her body pressed fully to his, solid and warm, and here.

He let his eyes fall shut.

The noise of the room, the crowd, the sterile white light – all of it faded.

There was only this: her heartbeat against his chest. The way her hands stayed steady even now. The weight of her in his arms. Real. Alive.

He exhaled slowly, everything in him settling into one silent promise.

He couldn’t change how they got here.

But he would shape what came next.

And nothing – not the game, not the guards, not the numbered uniforms or the rules – would ever touch her without going through him first.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

Yuna made it across first.

Her feet struck the ground just past the red line, knees trembling, lungs aching from the effort of stopping mid-stride. She barely remembered the last few steps, only the thundering pulse in her ears and the unbearable stillness that followed.

She didn’t look back – not right away. She couldn’t. Not with the weight of silence pressing down like a held breath.

Red light.

The voice echoed overhead, cheery and inhuman.

Yuna forced herself to stand still, even though she was already safe.

Her chest rose and fell once. Twice. The eyes of the doll scanned the field behind her.

And then, slowly – hesitantly – she turned.

Her eyes scanned the field instinctively, already searching for one face – and when she saw In-ho, several meters back, she nearly cursed out loud.

He was still out there, too far back, his figure unmistakable even in a crowd of green uniforms. Her stomach twisted sharply. He was supposed to be right behind her – not stuck in the middle of the field with less than thirty seconds left on the damn clock.

He was standing still now, half-turned, gaze focused on something in front of him. And then she saw it.

A young man – maybe twenty, maybe younger – a step too far ahead, balance off, feet shifting just enough to betray the panic.

She watched it unfold like a slow nightmare: the boy’s foot slipping forward, the fabric of his sleeve catching light, the beginning of a stumble –

In-ho moved fast.

His hand shot out, caught the front of the kid’s jacket, yanked him back with practiced force. The boy fell into his chest, arms flailing for balance, and then froze, body stiff, breath hitched.

Neither of them moved.

Yuna’s breath caught painfully. Her nails dug into her palm.

Somehow, by some miracle of timing and muscle memory and luck, they didn’t move.

Neither of them were shot.

The shot went somewhere else.

Yuna squeezed her eyes shut for half a second.

Then the silence held.

The doll’s head rotated again, slowly, mechanically.

She couldn’t breathe until the next “green light” sounded.

She just watched as In-ho slowly, carefully pulled himself out of the boy’s grasp and started moving again – silent, deliberate steps toward the finish line, as though none of it had touched him at all.

In-ho made it across the lines with only seconds to spare.

And Yuna was already moving.

She stormed toward In-ho, her footsteps quick and furious, the breath still tight in her chest – not from the game anymore, but from him.

She reached him in seconds.

Her hand came down sharply against his arm. Not hard, but firm.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped. “You scared me half to death.”

In-ho didn’t say anything. He barely even turned. His expression was blank, the kind of blank she recognized too well – the one he wore when everything inside him was rattling too loud to speak.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped when she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

The boy – 062 – had dropped to the ground just a few feet away, his back flat against the floor, staring up at the ceiling like he couldn’t quite believe he was still alive.

Yuna turned toward him, and something inside her shifted.

The slope of his shoulders. The tremble in his hands. The way he seemed suspended between collapse and disbelief.

God, he’s the same age as Jun-ho.

She turned back to In-ho, glared at him one last time – sharp and narrow – then crouched beside the boy without another word.

“Hey,” she said softly, brushing his shoulder. “You with me?”

The kid was still staring at the ceiling, chest rising too quickly, hands fisted in the fabric of his tracksuit like he didn’t trust the ground beneath him.

Yuna stayed crouched beside him, hand resting gently on his shoulder, giving him the space to breathe but not the room to drift too far.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then, hoarse and soft, barely audible over the sound of shuffling feet and distant sobs, he whispered, “He saved me.”

Yuna blinked.

Then she let out a snort.

“Yeah,” she muttered, glancing back at In-ho where he stood with arms crossed, hovering nearby and doing an awful job of pretending he wasn’t. “He does that… without thinking about how much I’m going to strangle him for scaring the shit out of me.”

She didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t need to.

Her glare found him perfectly.

In-ho didn’t react, but the tension in his jaw said plenty. Yuna rolled her eyes and turned back to the boy.

“Come on,” she said, patting his arm. “Up you go. We’re not lying on this floor forever.”

He blinked up at her, still stunned, but his limbs obeyed – slow, unsteady – until he was sitting upright, then gradually climbing to his feet.

She rose with him, steadying him with one hand as she brushed dust from his sleeve.

“I’m Yuna,” she said, simply. “And that idiot over there is In-ho.”

The kid looked between them, eyes still wide, but now more grounded. Real. His breathing steadied. His shoulders began to relax and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Young-il,” he murmured. “I’m Young-il.”

Yuna gave a quiet nod of approval. “Nice to meet you, Young-il.”

He offered the barest hint of a smile – not quite there yet, but trying – then glanced over her shoulder at In-ho, still hovering a short distance away, stiff and silent, jaw set like he hadn’t relaxed a single muscle since the game began.

Yuna followed his gaze, then rolled her eyes with a sigh so practiced it might’ve been muscle memory.

In-ho stood a few steps away, arms crossed, shoulders squared, face carved from stone – the same way he always looked when the ground beneath him had shifted and he hadn’t found his balance yet.

Yuna exhaled, just loud enough for Young-il to hear.

“Don’t mind him,” she muttered. “He always looks a little grumpy at first.”

Young-il didn’t laugh. But something flickered – a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the briefest gleam in his eyes.

Yuna caught it instantly.

It reminded her of Jun-ho, again. That sharp little spark behind tired eyes – the kind of look he gave her when he was pretending not to be scared, pretending he had everything under control, even when he didn’t. When he was eleven, fifteen, twenty-three – it never really changed.

Young-ill had a tiny flicker of something underneath the shock. A glimmer of attitude buried beneath all the adrenaline. And in that moment, she knew.

They were going to get along just fine.

She nudged him lightly with her elbow, just enough to make him look at her again. “Come on” she said. “You’ll be trouble. I can tell already.”

Young-il looked at her sidelong, but then he gave her a little smirk. “Maybe.”

Yuna smiled to herself.

God. Jun-ho would’ve liked him.

And she was already starting to care, in the way that crept up behind you – not a decision, just a quiet inevitability. Just like it had been with Jun-ho. Just like it always was when she caught that flicker of something in someone too young and too brave for their own good.

She looked at In-ho again, still stoic, still watching.

Then she leaned a little closer to Young-il, her voice low but warm.

“Don’t let that stone face fool you,” she said. “He’s all soft underneath. Just does a terrible job hiding it.”

Young-il didn’t answer. But the corner of his mouth twitched – like he believed her.

And when she stepped forward, he didn’t hesitate to follow.

#what remains asks #squid game #hwang inho #hwang in ho #hwang inho's wife #hwang in ho's wife #seo yuna #squid game 2015 #hwang inho's games #28th squid games #28th squid game #hwang bros #squid game fanfic

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theother456-stories · 3 months ago

Text

Billy wasn’t famous. Not yet.

At 403 followers, he was just another guy trying weird stunts to get noticed online. So he made a promise — ridiculous, impossible, but catchy enough to go viral:

“For every new follower, I gain one pound. I’m hooked up to a machine. This is real. Follow me and feed me.”

The camera panned to the sleek, humming device strapped around his waist — a nutrient-delivery system feeding a calorie-dense formula directly into his stomach. Every time someone hit “Follow,” it pumped one pound’s worth into him.

He grinned into the camera.

WEIGHT: 212 lbs | FOLLOWERS: 403

“Let’s see what happens.”

At first, it was a joke. A few dozen new followers trickled in. The machine clicked, his belly swelled, and he laughed it off.

But by the hour mark, the number had passed 1,000.

Then it exploded.

Weight: 1,500 lbs | Followers: 1,500

His shirt shredded. His belly piled into his lap like rising dough. He struggled to sit up straight.

“Whoa—okay, this is getting out of hand,” he chuckled, cheeks puffier already.

The comments started flooding in.

“I can’t stop watching him grow.”

“This is hot, I don’t care what anyone says.”

“Make him a mountain.”

Weight: 3,000 lbs | Followers: 3,000

He was now too heavy to stand. His body spread outward in every direction, wobbling with each mechanical hum. His limbs sank deep into his own girth. He could only wiggle his fingers.

“He’s so big already and it’s only been a few hours.”

“Filling out the whole room like a balloon. YES.”

“More. MORE.”

Weight: 6,000 lbs | Followers: 6,000

His entire living room was packed with him. Fat billowed out like a tidal wave across the floor. His head was nestled in a ring of chins, nearly motionless. He wheezed and giggled, completely overwhelmed, flushed with heat and adrenaline.

“He looks amazing.”

“So soft and massive.”

“My heart is racing watching this.”

Weight: 10,000 lbs | Followers: 10,000

The machine no longer clicked — it roared. Nonstop flow. Constant growth. His apartment walls strained around him. His weight pressed into the walls, the furniture, the very structure.

He was giddy, drunk on it. “I c-can’t even—” he stammered, voice muffled by his own chest. “This is insane…”

Weight: 15,000 lbs | Followers: 15,000

The floor gave out. He plunged into the unit below in an avalanche of pure flesh, flattening furniture with a wet, seismic thud. He filled the entire lower level, his gut pressing up against windows, his back rising toward the ceiling again.

“He’s a living building.”

“This is making me lightheaded.”

“I want to climb him.”

Weight: 20,000 lbs | Followers: 20,000

Emergency services tried to intervene. They couldn’t even get through the door. He was blocking every entrance, every hallway. Cameras on drones had to be brought in to keep the stream going. He smiled faintly, eyes barely visible between thick, pillowy cheeks.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“He’s not a man anymore — he’s a god.”

“I’m shaking. Keep going.”

Weight: 30,000 lbs | Followers: 30,000

By now, Billy had become a continent of flesh. They had to knock out walls to relieve the pressure. His growth stretched down the street. His belly alone spanned multiple rooms. His breathing was slow, rumbling like a furnace. Still, he was conscious, eyes fluttering as every pound added more weight, more softness, more him.

“He’s beyond human.”

“This is doing things to me I don’t understand.”

“I never want this to stop.”

Weight: 40,000 lbs | Followers: 40,000

Billy’s mass consumed most of the city block. Scaffolding was built around him to support his growing sides. The machine, now housed in a reinforced chamber, kept pumping without pause.

His voice was a low, warm rumble. “I feel… heavy,” he whispered, half-lost in his own body, buried in bliss.

“He’s beautiful.”

“This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever watched.”

“50K or bust. Literally.”

Weight: 50,000 lbs | Followers: 50,000

At this point, Billy was a legend. A landscape. An ever-expanding mass of soft, plush flesh that seemed to pulse with life. He filled streets, wrapped around buildings, and still… kept growing.

A giant digital counter ticked upward, pinned above the stream:

WEIGHT: 50,000 lbs | FOLLOWERS: 50,000

Buried in the center of it all, Billy could just barely be heard through a deep, body-shaking microphone.

“Thank you… all of you… I’ve never felt so full.”

The comments kept scrolling.

“He’s perfect.”

“He needs to get bigger.”

“100K is next. Feed him more.”

And the machine whirred quietly on.

#fat gay #fatboy #gaining fat #get me fatter #ssbhm belly #ssbhm feedee #fat belly #fatty piggy #obese gainer #fatty

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hezzabeth · 2 years ago

Text

The trumpets were old plastic souvenirs painted gold, so the off-key wailing was hardly surprising. A band of disheveled people marched onto the stage, still blowing on the plastic trumpets. Surprisingly, Isabeau was among them, her face displaying a bored, blank expression. They abruptly stopped once they reached the center of the scaffold, the wood creaking under their feet.

A man wearing green tights and a shirt reading "Medieval Christmas market 3345" on it walked onto the stage. His hair had been cut into a peculiar bowl shape with a blunt fringe, and someone had painted red circles on his cheeks.

"All hail Sister Morganna! Conduit of the one true god," the man bellowed in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“Did you bring your solar flare gun?” Dityaa asked.

“Of course I did! I never go anywhere without it,” Revati snapped back.

Revati had never seen Sister Morganna up close. During her childhood visits, Sister Morganna was a distant figure. Glimpses of her gloved hands could be seen waving from the castle windows. Every summer solstice, she would lead a parade across the park, carried by men in a gold and white carriage. Through the mesh curtain windows, her shadowy figure could be seen shifting about. Now, Sister Morganna was walking across the scaffold boldly and freely.

She was dressed in a sky-blue and emerald dress, with a thick red and golden scarf covering her scalp, the ends trailing down her shoulders. Slowly, she turned toward the waiting audience, and Revati gasped. Sister Morganna's skin was the same color as fresh lavender. A single round, circular eye glanced about—an eye that could see and understand everything, even things that had yet to be—an eye that could glance into the very nature of people.

“She’s an alien!” whispered Dityaa.

It was an eye that could read minds; no wonder she had successfully started a cult.

“Technically, she’s a human from a faraway planet,” Revati hissed back.

The "faraway planet" was the closest the solar system got to actual aliens. Over a thousand years ago, a group of scientists set off to colonize Pluto. Obviously, they vanished, the ship sinking into the darkness of space. Three hundred years ago, their descendants returned. They were, of course, different.

Sister Morganna calmly walked across the stage and raised her hand.

“Praise be to Marduk, son of the sun, radiant is he,” Sister Morganna said.

“Radiant is he,” the crowd echoed, their expressions blank.

“Who’s Marduk?” Hissed Dityaa.

Revati merely shrugged, completely confused.

“Today we bring forward two heretics, those who smother the great transition,” Sister Morganna said, gesturing towards Bridgadeiro and Aurora.

“Heretic? I don’t even understand what I did! All I said was 'Bless Goup' when my new friend sneezed,” Bridgadeiro argued, nodding at Aurora.

“And I didn’t do anything! I swear,” Aurora cried.

“Goup is a lie! A false prophet created by an ancient snake oil seller,” Sister Morganna said with a small, tight smile.

“False prophet? The rainbow mat of crystal light has been proven to work! It balances your mind, body, and spirit,” Bridgadeiro smiled, and Sister Morganna turned to him, her one eye slowly blinking.

“I can see you standing on that mat, praying to the dark,” she whispered. “Your brother, he drowned, didn’t he? On that hot summer night? You cried and prayed! You think it was her that brought him back,” she added, and the smile dropped from Bridgadeiro’s face.

“She did save him! Goup saved him,” Bridgadeiro said, and Sister Morganna shook her head.

“Oh, you’re a true believer... you poor little boy,” she sighed. “Some gods are lies, but Marduk is true and ancient. My people have lived on his surface! We have been blessed with his gifts! Praise Marduk,” Sister Morganna said.

“Praise Marduk,” the entire crowd screamed, including Revati, who found herself clapping her hand over her mouth. Sister Marduk had hijacked her vocal cords.

“Now repent and embrace Marduk or sacrifice your light to his glory,” Sister Marduk cried.

“I repent! All hail Marduk!” Aurora cried, bursting into tears.

“Well, I’m not repenting. Marduk is just another name for your home planet that blew up centuries ago,” Bridgadeiro said with a small shrug.

“Very well,” Sister Morganna said. Revati sighed, pulling out her solar gun and setting the final charge to maximum.

“Oh, you’re not going to…” whispered Dityaa, and Revati nodded, pulling the trigger.

The solar flare hit the stage in a blinding loop of ultraviolet light. Sister Morganna screamed, flying upwards and landing face-first in the crowd, her body twitching.

“Praise Marduk! This must be an omen!” Aurora smartly yelled from the stage.

The crowd, no longer under Sister Morganna’s control, began to scatter in all directions. Some stumbled towards the fallen leader, striking her with whatever they could find. Others pushed and shoved each other, stumbling over cobblestones.

Through it all, Bridgadeiro stood, completely confused, his hands still tied behind his back. People pushed and shoved, stumbling over each other and tripping on the slick cobblestones. Revati fought through the tidal wave of chaos until she reached the scaffold again. Bridgadeiro was staring down at her, completely transfixed.

“Did you just save my life again?” He asked.

“Yes!” Revati replied, climbing up to the scaffold.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen! He said it so quickly,” Aurora said as Revati began to undo her bound hands.

“It was pure instinct!” protested Bridgadeiro.

The crowd was starting to swarm towards the stage like ants around a sugar cube. From above, Revati could see the smoking, twitching form of Sister Morganna.

“What are they doing?” Bridgadeiro asked, and there was a faint creaking sound as Isabeau joined Revati.

“They’re probably going to kill her; none of them wanted to worship an ancient Babylonian god!” Isabeau said and then she smiled. An actual smile. “I can talk normally again! She’s really gone!” Isabeau cried with delight as Aurora pulled her hands free.

“She’s gone!” Aurora echoed, grabbing Isabeau. Revati watched them kiss for a fraction of a second before politely turning her head.

“Did she really control all these people with her mind? Why would she do that?” Bridgadeiro asked as Revati began to undo his constraints.

“The tornado and the second invasion messed a lot of people up,” Revati merely replied.

“You seem fine,” Bridgadeiro replied, and Revati chuckled.

“Trust me, I’m not fine,” Revati said firmly. Life on Baker Street before the tornado had been hard. But there had been drawing lessons with her father. There had been fairytales with her mother. There had been tea parties with Dityaa. Dityaa.

“Where’s Dityaa?” Revati said as Bridgadeiro tugged his hands free. There was no telltale flash of Snow White silk in the crowd. Everyone was dressed in shades of green and mud brown.

“She was out there before,” Bridgadeiro said, gesturing to the bottom left corner of the courtyard. Revati jumped swiftly off the scaffold, ignoring the pain searing up her ankles. People were pressing in from all sides, shrieking, laughing, and, in some cases, singing. A blur of purple skin and red fabric passed her head on outstretched hands.

“Did you see a girl in a white dress?” Revati screamed in general; no one answered, and the crowd pushed her forward. People were spilling out of the courtyard into the laneways. Someone had decided to start looting the shops. Revati felt herself thrown against a wall, crushed face-first into the bricks. A hand grabbed hers, calloused, well-worn fingers gripping her wrist.

“I saw her at the end of the crowd! This way!” Bridgadeiro ordered her.

“You’re helping,” Revati gasped; something hot and red was trickling down her cheek. Revati was bleeding.

“Let the crowd push you forward; don’t fight it and try not to stumble,” Bridgadeiro said firmly, still holding her hand. The crowd surged and pressed in. Revati could see nothing but gleeful faces, smell nothing but hot, foul sweat.

Then suddenly, the crowd began to break into pieces, trickling away like water. They had reached the back wall of Medieval Faire. There was a hole in the wall. A massive hole. Beyond the hole lay the freezing wilderness of Mars. People were climbing out of the hole, running into the cube-shaped snow. One of them was Dityaa, spinning around and dancing with the Duke of Io. Dityaa spotted them and waved happily.

“They’re all going to freeze to death,” Revati realized, marching to the hole.

“It looks like some of them had enough to steal jackets,” Bridgadeiro added. Revati and Dityaa rarely left the park. When they did, Amma always made them wear her old protective gear. Dityaa seemed oblivious to the cold. It was almost as if the Duke's love was covering her in a warm, sacred light.

The escaping people were beginning to join in with their dancing.

“Look! He was waiting for me outside the wall,” Dityaa yelled, resting her head on his shoulder. Revati stepped closer to the wall. Revati let go of Bridgadeiro’s hand and carefully climbed through the hole. The freezing winter of Mars blew around her, fighting against the park's atmospheric heating system. Snow began to blow around her chest, and Revati felt flushed and dizzy.

The Duke was dressed in the same outfit from the night before. The same thin jacket and trousers. Up close, his blue hair was a little too shiny. Up close, Revati could actually feel heat wafting off his body.

“The Duke was waiting for you… outside in that outfit?” Revati asked suspiciously. Dityaa’s expression froze for a moment as if considering this.

“Sissy’s right! Let’s get out of the cold, darling; I have so much to tell you,” smiled Dityaa. The Duke held up a hand. The tip of his finger turned blue.

“Ah, the sister,” he remarked, reaching towards Revati. His eyes glowed with the brilliance of true Ai, and darkness prevailed.

Here's the revised text with corrected spelling and grammar:

True, jet-black, soothing darkness.

For Revati, who spent most of her nights lost in nightmares, it was actually comforting.

In fact, Revati felt herself sink into it.

The darkness was as soft as the mattress she once slept on.

“Oh, don’t sink into it, Dimpy. It’s not time for that,” her father’s voice whispered in her ear.

Dimpy.

Revati was Dimpy, Dityaa was Rinky.

Jay would draw pictures of them flying across the stars with wings.

Dimpy and Rinky; the sisters were so close they could be twins.

“You’re not real. You died, and your consciousness is in a plastic box,” Revati muttered.

The darkness was warm and sleepy, lulling Revati into nothing at all.

“Some of me is in that box, but scientists don’t know everything. Some of me is also in you, in your sister, and in your mother,” her father’s voice said.

“And I’m guessing I’m dead?” Revati whispered.

“No, you’re just recovering from a traumatic brain injury. Someone has placed a standard issue healing pad on your forehead,” Jay’s voice replied soothingly.

“And how do you know that?” Revati groaned doubtfully.

A distant, tiny light had appeared in the dark.

A pinprick that seemed to strip away things.

“Dimpy, you know I was a nurse! Relax, your glia cells are busy repairing themselves. Look, they move like fireflies,” her father said.

He was right; more dots of light had appeared.

They buzzed around gently.

For a moment, one of them flashed, lighting up everything.

Revati, in that second, saw a much younger Dityaa handing her a doll.

“I remember that doll. I bought it the day Dityaa was born,” her father said.

“Dityaa tried to give it to me after we buried you. I told her I’d take the book of fairy tales instead,” Revati remembered.

“Once upon a time, in the ancient kingdom of Mithila, the earth yielded a miraculous gift. A baby girl was born. She was discovered in a furrow by King Janaka and named Sita. As she grew, her grace and beauty were matched only by her wisdom and strength of character.

One day, Rama, a prince known for his valor and virtue, won her hand in marriage by stringing the mighty bow of Lord Shiva.

Soon after the wedding, Rama and his best friend were exiled to the forest. Sita, full of devotion, followed.

The forest was dark and full of dangers.

The most dangerous being was the demon king Ravana,” a woman’s voice, the voice of the maternity droid, whispered.

The lights were growing stronger, and Revati remembered something.

“Dityaa’s in trouble,” Revati realized.

“Yes, she is,” her father replied.

Revati’s mind was so bright she could see her father.

He looked younger than what she remembered.

He was dressed in the blue protective outfit Amma kept packed away.

Standing next to him was a woman.

A familiar woman cloaked in a fuchsia and green saree.

“You’re the lost princess,” Revati realized, and the Princess nodded.

“Wake me up, wake me up, and I will find my daughter,” the Lost Princess insisted.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo2023 #science fiction #life on mars #saying farewell to armageddon #speculative worldbuilding #speculative fiction #futurism #nibiru #spilled writing #writing science fiction #sci fi ya #sci fi

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lonestarbattleship · 1 year ago

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May 4, 2024 Update from the Battleship Texas Foundation

"BATTLESHIP TEXAS UPDATE

A new plank made from the deck of #battleshiptexas will be apart of the ship's store in the near future. You can find all of the items made from the ship's deck here: https://store.battleshiptexas.org/collections/deck-wood

The ship is currently moored at Pier D in Gulf Copper Shipyard where it will continue to undergo repairs and preparations to become a museum ship once again!

The water sheds, designed to help keep the weather out, have been removed for repair. They will be placed back once those repairs are complete.

Fasteners used to hold the water sheds in place are being removed. These will be made into keepsakes in the future. The water sheds, designed to help keep the weather out, have been removed for repair. They will be placed back once those repairs are complete.

AFT FIRE CONTROL RESTORATION: The ship's aft fire control tower is looking great! The mullions for the windows are fitted, floater net baskets added, and more. These repairs and additions will help return the ship to its 1945 appearance.

DECK REPAIRS: The decking on the ship's bow is being removed moving aft. Steelworkers will soon follow them to blast the steel and make repairs where needed. A pressure treated pine will be put back on the deck. Yes, some of this wood is being saved to produce items to raise funds.

For more information on the deck visit: link

A resin used to level the deck in 1990 is being removed. The new planks will be cut to fit the deck instead.

1990 pine decking removed from the O1 level. These boards will be cut down and shipped off to become Battleship Texas keepsakes.

Margin pieces from the ship's O1 level have been saved to be used as a pattern.

The removal of the pine decking on the ship's O1 level is nearing completion. We are now able to see remnants of gun mounts, deck lights, and more!

This is where a 5".51 cal. Gun was before being removed throughout the ship's service career.

If you have taken a picture on the ship's bow before, you may recognize that the fans that were placed over this hatch area are now gone! This is more step forward to improving the ship's appearance.

With the removal of the ship's decking on the bow, the ward room temperature has increased considerably! It was 85 degrees Fahrenheit today.

RADAR TOP MAST: The radar top mast has been removed from the ship's main mast and will receive structural repairs before being placed back on the ship.

MAIN MAST: The deck on the ship's main mast is being repaired and replaced in certain areas. Gun mounts are also being added back.

Repairs made to the ship's main mast are nearing completion. The radar mast is still being worked on, but once complete, it will be placed back. The foundations for the 20mm Oerlikons will also be put back!

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:

WHAT’S NEXT? - Battleship Texas will remain at Gulf Copper Shipyard for until her new home is ready for her. Additional steel work, removal and replacement of the ship’s deck, and superstructure/aft fire control restoration will continue. And painting the topsides!

The ship's smoke stack is being repaired to help keep it watertight. They will also use the scaffolding to run pipe to the whistle, as well as installing the ship's siren.

Workers are continuing to repair the ship's drainage system. This will help reduce standing water on the lower decks.

Drain system repairs being made in the ship's galley, and the condenser room just below it. These were previously blanked off.

TOURING? - The Battleship Texas Foundation is working on new touring opportunities before the ship reopens.

REOPENING? - There is a lot to be done before the ship is ready for touring at its new home in Galveston, Texas. Reopening is projected to happen sometime in the later half of 2025.

MISSING GUNS? - The ship's anti-aircraft guns are currently undergoing restoration. The guns and gun directors will be replaced once their restoration is complete.

The new oak foundation for one of the ship's 5"/51 cal. Guns in the aircastle awaits its stand and carriage.

Come on Texas!

To donate to the preservation and operation of Battleship Texas, please visit: https://battleshiptexas.org/

Support Battleship Texas by making a purchase through the ship's store: https://store.battleshiptexas.org"

Posted on the Battleship Texas Foundation Facebook page: link

#Battleship TEXAS #Battleship Texas Foundation #Update #USS TEXAS (BB-35)#USS TEXAS #New York Class #Dreadnought #Battleship #Warship #Ship #Museum Ship #Galveston #Texas #repairs #Gulf Copper #Restoration #May #2024 #my post

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edupunkn00b · 1 year ago

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Meus ex Machina, Chapter 19: Silvertongue and Hesper

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Silvertongue and Hesper - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 2689 - Rated: T - CW: non-graphic torture, blood

Where Janus went in the pre-dawn hours. But first, what happened to Lucas after he left HQ on Remus and Roman's 21st birthday. If you haven’t yet read Progression, stop here and read it now for maximum impact. The flashback at the start of this chapter takes place two days after the end of that story.

For at least the hundredth time and for the second time in the past 72 hours, Lucas punched in the coordinates to The Inn. This time, though, he made the trip out to their old watering hole alone.

The ghost of Re’s giddy nervousness bounced around the ship.

Really? You’re gonna let me have a drink tonight?

Sure, Re. You only turn twenty-one once…

Banking around the scaffold of the Newland Towers, Lucas jumped at the static he picked up from the construction site. For the past three days, Lucas had stayed up, listening, waiting. He’d kept the aircar radio open the whole way out, childishly hoping Jan or Pat or anyone else would reach out. Tell him it was all a mistake. Ask him to come home.

No-one did.

He set down behind the bar and circled his and Jan’s old haunt. A flashing ‘closed’ sign shone in the darkness, and the landing pads out front were vacant, but Andrew’s movement behind the bar cast long shadows in the back windows. The gate was down in front so Lucas returned to the alleyway.

Shiny, new, and with five layers of encryption, the deadbolt on the backdoor was impressive. The rusted screws holding it in place, however, were not and one swift kick opened the door.

“What the hell—” Andrew’s tough guy shout from the bar dropped to a whisper when Lucas came into view. His eyes darted side to side, searching for someone in the empty bar to rescue him.

“Lucas! Hey… hey, um, no hard feelings, right? You know I didn’t call the feds on Re… they just… they just showed up and took care of the body, I…” He stepped back, fumbling along the railing under the taps for his emergency call switch. “But y—you got outta here way before they got here, right?”

“The call button’s two meters to your left,” Lucas responded, flipping a bottle sealer at the powerbank just above the switch. It exploded, sparks raining down on Andrew’s hand. “You wouldn’t want the corpos to just show up coincidentally again, now would you?”

“No, Lucas, no…” He shook his head. “Of course not. C’mon, man… You know it’s not like that. You and Jay have been coming here for years… You all are like family to me.”

Lucas’ voice was quiet. “You took my family from me.” He unbuttoned his coat and peeled it off, revealing a harness with an antique taser and five extra charge canisters. “You took my brother.” Gaze focused on his coat, Lucas walked to the rack next to the front doors and hung it on the closest hook before drawing down the window shade and checking the locks on the door.

“You took my boys.” Andrew’s eyes widened and he slowly straightened, shaking hands raised near his head. Lucas snapped a fresh charge into place and watched the standby light stutter to life. “You took my love.”

Finally he looked up, eyes ablaze. “I’ve lost everything.” Andrew began to tremble, sympathetic nervous system rooting him in place, full freeze mode. As though that could do anything to help him now. Lucas absorbed the fear pouring out with his rank sweat and smiled. “Just as you’re about to.”

Lucas unlocked the taser and flicked it on. A sharp buzzy whine filled the room, followed by the trickling sound of urine dripping from Andrew’s pant leg. Lucas tsked. “So soon? Very well.”

“No, no, no… Lucas… You don—you—you don’t wanna do this… This—this isn’t you.” Lucas aimed the taser and the man’s words jumbled, hands out as though he could stop the assault. “Wha—what would Jan think if he—”

Lucas’ eyes brightened, orange fire pushing away his doubt. “Jan already thinks I’ve been purchased. He already thinks I betrayed him. To you.” He grinned, his smile broad and easy. And empty as the bar. “Let’s show him who I really answer to, shall we?”

“No… no, please, Lucas, no—” With a bang, refurbished guidewires shot out and embedded in the man’s neck. 50,000 volts cut short his pleas, the bright white glow rivaled only by Lucas’ orange eyes.

The slow death of Andrew’s brain ripped away the last shreds of Lucas’ control. Eyes squeezed shut, he doubled over, arms crossed over his head as the bartender’s dying cries shot through his heart. Seared flesh set fire to his nerves. Andrew’s fear his pain would never end. The fear of what would happen when it did.

And Andrew’s last thoughts, the tiny spark of relief that it was finally over.

Lucas slumped to the floor, barely noticing the knot on the side of his own head. He lay there for as long as he dared before pulling himself to his feet and staggering to the toilets.

The lukewarm recycled tap did a poor job on his hands and no matter how hard he scrubbed with the bar’s watered down soap, bits of Andrew’s blood clung to his knuckles and under his nails. In the engraving on his ring.

He took it off, twisting to get it past the callouses, and held it up to the light. Dingy rust filled in the swooping cursive ‘Ja’ on the engraving. Shoulders slumped, he fought the tightening in his throat, the burning behind his eyes.

But he was spent. His eyes flickered weakly under the dingy bathroom lights. A sob ripped up from his throat and hot tears spilled over, dripping down his cheeks and his neck as he rubbed at his stained wedding ring under the faucet.

His wrist buzzed and hope sparked in his chest.

Hope quickly doused by the message on his comm. Instead of a message from Jan, from Pat, from the boys, a bold proximity warning scrolled across the tiny screen.

CORPORATE POLICE ACTIVITY 100 YARDS AND CLOSING…

CORPORATE POLICE ACTIVITY 50 YARDS AND CLOSING…

CORPORATE POLICE ACTIVITY 10 YA—

A small blast was followed by the crash of the front door coming off its hinges. His ring hit the basin, rattling as it rolled around and down the open drain.

“Come out with your hands up! Come out—shit! Look what they did to him! Dear god…” The buzz of a dozen tazers more advanced than his own couldn’t cover the tremor in the pig’s voice. “Arms up! That’s an order!”

Lucas’ comm hummed quietly, a constant vibration against his wrist now.

Auto-distress alert enabled. Contacting HQ in 30… 29… 28… 27…

“We have you surrounded!” Jackboots tromped down the old hardwood floors and came to a stop outside the locked bathroom door. Dust sprinkled from the hinges as they banged on it. “Come out or we’re coming in!”

Lucas turned off the water and watched the numbers tick before tapping Disable just as the distress call countdown hit 1.

His comm screen went dark and he wiped his hands on his pants. “Be out in just a mo’!” he sing-songed. Only Jan would’ve caught the hitch in his voice. Well, Pat, too, most likely. But they weren’t here to care.

He checked the mirror, drying his face and smoothing back his hair. He smiled at the dim but growing amber rings around his eyes, then turned and opened the door.

Rain and hail drummed against the hull, a syncopated beat that dragged Lucas from a deep sleep. He’d been dreaming of home again, of the boys chasing each other through the halls. Pat’s more Teddy Bear-than-Papa Bear warnings to slow down. Re promising Pat they’d try before erupting in laughter with Ro, a soft, calm laugh, nothing like his laughter the last time he’d seen him.

Jan’s smooth hot toddy voice, spice and heat and comfort. His hand, ungloved, unshielded, carding through his hair.

Lucas leaned back and shook his head to clear away the clingy wisps of dream from his mind.

But Jan’s voice only grew louder.

-”We need to talk, Hesper. Where can I find you?”-

Amber light bled through his eyelashes and he smiled. -”Mmm… So formal, ma cheri,”- he purred back. -”And yet so rude! Not even a ‘good morning, how did you sleep? How would you like your tea?”-

Jan’s shield was strong, nothing but a faint buzz was his answer.

He was close. Lucas checked the local time. Technically morning, though the sun wouldn’t be up for hours. It had been winter when they’d met, too. He shook off the thought and lit up the room with his eyes.

-”Is it actually morning where you are?”- Jan asked as though he didn’t know. As though he wasn’t close enough for Lucas to smell his cologne.

Or maybe he just imagined it.

-”I have risen with the light…” Lucas pushed a memory of Jan’s smiling face back at him, hair mussed and splayed out on his pillow. He wasn’t sure how much got through Jan’s shield. Or who he was trying to hurt more. -”Does that count as morning in your calculation?”-

-”I wish to speak with you, Hesper,”- he sent, dull and flat and cold.

Lucas checked the sensors. The others weren’t with him. Jan had actually come alone. He chewed at his lip. Whatever this was, the platform was already dotted with intent detonators. If this was some surprise attack, Lucas would soon know. He sighed, his curiosity getting the better of him, and he lowered the gangway.

“Welcome aboard, ma cheri,” he called down the open ramp. An elegant shadow in grey and yellow stepped into view and Lucas bowed, one arm sweeping out. “Wipe your feet before you come up, s’il vous plaît. It’s simply filthy out there.”

Hurrying back to his bunk, he pushed up the platform to hide his bedding and flipped down both benches on either side of the little table where he ate and planned and built most of his tools. He started to sit, then rose again and dispensed two cups of hot water for tea, dropping in sachets from his dwindling stash and set them down across from each other.

By the time Jan turned the corner into the main area of the ship, Lucas was sat back, right arm hooked over the back rest, left leg crossed over the other, ankle to knee. He lowered orange-tinted lenses over his eyes and smiled.

“Welcome aboard,” he repeated, biting his cheek when he realized he’d already run through his script.

“You already said that,” Jan replied, voice smooth. Well, mostly smooth, with only a tiny catch at the end which could just be a bit of his old morning hoarseness. Jan’s mind was completely shielded—fuck he’d gotten good at that—but there was a twitch in his left pinkie and he hesitated before sitting. “I appreciate the hospitality,” he nodded before switching their cups and taking a slow sip from the one that had been in front of Lucas.

“Ah, ma cheri, you wound me…” He shook his head and took the other tea cup, blowing away the steam. “You still don’t trust me.” Lucas clucked his tongue, grateful he’d thought to don his glasses as his eyes burned in the attempt to keep his voice light. “Well?” He looked up over the lip of his cup between sips. “While your company is a pleasure as always…” They could both pretend Jan’s cheeks warmed from the heat of his tea. “You said you had something to discuss with me.”

Jan set down his cup and watched the steam rise. “To be completely honest with you, Luc, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here.”

All Lucas’ powers couldn’t stifle how much he wanted Jan to say his name again, how much he needed Jan to say his name again. He hid his face behind his cup and took another sip to buy time to settle his heart. “Interesting,” he murmured, cracked voice betraying him. Jan’s eyes shot up.

Lucas sat, silent and pinned down by his gaze, until Jan finally continued. “I suppose given everything that’s happened, I…” Jan addressed his cup, lifting it up for another slow sip. “I was so sure we’d done everything we could do to help Re. That we’d given him every safeguard, every protection possible. But…” He shook his head. “If I was wrong about that,” he whispered, more to himself than to Lucas. “What else have I been wrong about?”

“What’s happened?” Lucas leaned forward, reaching for Jan before he could even think to stop himself. “What’s wrong with Re?”

Jan leaned back, eyebrow raised, and sipped his tea. -”You don’t hear him?”- he asked silently.

Brow furrowed, Lucas closed his eyes and reached out. There was the buzz of Jan’s shield, a dark, staticy hole where his feelings should be. A couple asleep in their ship two platforms down. The rumble of families in the surrounding shelters. A little boy crying from a nightmare. And then…

Lucas gasped. Like finally noticing a song playing in the background, he suddenly registered the touch of Re’s mind in the distance. His cup clattered to the table and he leapt to his feet. Re! “You left him alone? Unshielded and alone and—”

“And happy,” Jan murmured to his cup, seated serenely across from him. “And not alone.”

Lucas slowly took his seat, stretching, feeling for any sense he could detect of Re’s thoughts over the distance. He’d moored this ship on the knife’s edge of his own abilities, near enough to hear everyone in HQ. Far enough he wouldn’t be too tempted to listen.

Re was completely unshielded but… he was calm. His thoughts rippled around him, gentle and rhythmic drops on a pond. Sleeping? Given the hour and the wordlessness of his thoughts, probably. A light sleep, no dreams yet, nothing that would trigger a strong emotional response at least. He was calm and content and… happy.

And Jan was right. Re was not alone.

“Is Ro—” He shook his head, answering his own question. No, if Ro had been with him, the boys most certainly would be up and making good trouble around—or outside—the house. No, he was with…

“He’s with Machina,” Jan answered.

“You left him alone with your twitchy bot?” Again, Lucas was on his feet, stomping toward the controls. “You trust him not to hurt him? I know you remember what hap—”

Jan followed and caught his arm, pulling him away from the pilot’s seat. His hand was warm through his gloves, gentle as it lingered on his forearm. “The Muse would never hurt Machina. Never intentionally.”

“I’m not talking about your fucking robot getting hurt! How do you know it won’t hurt Re?”

He never got to answer.

Lucas’ wrist buzzed half a second before a charge rocked the ship. “Get down!” he ordered and pushed Jan to the deck. Another blast hit the other side of the ship.

The glow of his comm screen peeked out from under Jan’s sleeve and he pushed it back. Jan swore. “They’re close. Too many to count.”

Lucas nodded, shifting to tap at his own wrist. Bright white dots surrounded their location. The hull clanked, hurricane clamps tearing at the fuselage. “Damn.”

Jan twisted beneath him, eyes wide and staring at his wrist. “You still wear your—”

He ignored the question and pushed to his feet before offering a hand to Jan. “You turned off your proximity alarm.”

“Had to,” he muttered, brushing imagined dust off his cloak. “It went off every day at the DC. Don’t avoid the question. Why do you still wear—”

Another blast rocked the ship. The corpos were getting bolder. And closer. A second blast was followed by a pained cry. They were now near enough to trigger the intent charges.

Lucas shook his head, eyeing the roof hatch. “We need to get out of here.”

The outer hull blew and jackboots tromped up the gangway, comms crackling. Lucas dropped the inner blast door just before they reached the top, then grabbed Jan and a pack. He sealed off the corridor from the inside just before the corpos entered the main control room.

They were now trapped inside the ship.

-“We need help,”- Jan corrected and pressed the HQ alert on his wrist. -“Now.”-

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frostkingoftheapocalypse · 1 month ago

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---- Plotted starter for the wonderful @ssolessurvivor

There was a private acknowledgement of the simple brilliance of the Target Insurgent Command's ability to source, and set up, their secure bases in the Core System - all sanitized sectors, scrubbed from interstellar databases - keeping them neatly off Earth military's radar. The visual that was unfolding below the ship's navigation window of the eighth uncovered Insurgent home-base fit the basic specs for the last seven of them. The visual that, too, confirmed the redacted, violently-acquired data had within it some legitimate implications, was also, if nothing else, a relief to see in person for the S.I. Captain of the starship Mountainbreaker.

Earth Military's past encounters to ferret out these militia by the root had turned up nothing but empty settlements. Despite the lack of discovered bodies, and the abandoned functioning structures showing no sign of having cut any corners for human habitation. Earth had sent in suppression teams. Oo-ra junkies. Their missions a siren of a red flag that any resourceful operation could see coming a lightyear away.

There was a fifty-fifty chance that this - off-record, covert-op - mission would still find the base currently jutting from a haze of cloud cover neither hostile, nor occupied. It was sensibly tucked between five mountainpeaks, on a bleak little moon behind Jupiter's bulk. A glorified rock like this was a prime candidate for an IMC terraforming and atmosphere stabilisation project. There was a dribble of sad jungle below, traipsing around the mountains in fits and starts, incompatible with the freezing rings of Jupiter it neighboured. At least three atmosphere towers would have been required to achieve even this much life in the dead of space.

Seeing it, it was a wonder that the handful of interested parties - both overt, corporate, government, and classified - that had funded this ship's belly full of pilots and black-ops Frost Giant titans, had retained enough hope to sanction this mission. Everyone knew there was a mole - or an army of moles - in Earth's upper echelon command structure. It was only a question of how far up the intel was being leaked. And to whom.

"Smart buggers." Beast's helmet siddled into Haetta's peripheral vision, the logo sprayed onto her visor edge sparkling in the silverish light being thrown down onto the moon by the nearest orbiting sun-mirror. Like the rest of her gaudy taste, 90% there to tease her commanding officers, it was a set of animal fangs, in a glittering red dark paint, enough to be mistaken for black, "We might not be able to avoid going in hot if they spot us."

"Bring us down behind the Saturn-most mountainpeak. Southside approach."

"So we are going in for their blind spot."

A deep rumble of affirmation, "They'll expect it. If they're tactical and have sky resources. Command thinks they do. I give it a twelve percent chance that they'll launch titanfall from between those two ridges. Only their best should be able to meet us up there." If the Insurgents did offer to bite, it would be a gamble well taken: a proper bait and capture, the most ideal of the two options. Swift and nasty. If not, the ghost entry would get his squad intel for their preliminary scaffolding of plan B. Either option would be a happy place for the veterans that had signed up for the insane death-risk missions given to the classified squad Jotunheimr.

"Tell Hawk to reign Mountainbreaker in. I want a three-eighths swoop above the mountain, as steep as she can make it. We'll execute the last of the fall by air. She can pick us up from a seperate rendevous point once we signal to her."

"Ohooo, she loves that run. Hope you've picked out a shiny, shiny, big ol' diamond for her afterward, Cap-sir, that's basically a courting gif--"

"Fall into line, Sergeant."

Beast gave a sloppy salute, smacking her helmet button on the way to wipe away the opaque solar-shielding in her helmet, so that Haetta could see both the eye-roll and the ear-to-ear grin - respectful, coming from her - before sauntering away.

---

Flung up against the launch-bay walls, the titan-encased squad easily readied their JO-T0N Black-Ops Modified Chainguns. Like being caught with your pants down, there was never a point to starting a run with their weapons away for their grade of missions - 42.8156% of their targets shot at them from the air from the get go. The open hatch that the Jotunar dangled recklessly over shrieked like a singer's mouth hitting a joyous high-note with the howling hurricane of wind from their near-vertical descent.

The gravelled order came clear and low from inside their helmets, readouts flickering to life,

"Prepare for Titanfall."

#ssolessurvivor #v: burning bridges for the lives of a new frontier #{ILL GIVE THIS VERSE A COOL NAME LATER}#{IM MAKING THIS UP AS I GO FORGIVE ME hehe #{LETS Gooooo

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compneuropapers · 1 year ago

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Interesting Papers for Week 28, 2024

Hierarchical control over foraging behavior by anterior cingulate cortex. Alejandro, R. J., & Holroyd, C. B. (2024). Neuroscience & Biobehavioral Reviews, 160, 105623.

Dissociable encoding of motivated behavior by parallel thalamo-striatal projections. Beas, S., Khan, I., Gao, C., Loewinger, G., Macdonald, E., Bashford, A., … Penzo, M. A. (2024). Current Biology, 34(7), 1549-1560.e3.

Active reinforcement learning versus action bias and hysteresis: control with a mixture of experts and nonexperts. Colas, J. T., O’Doherty, J. P., & Grafton, S. T. (2024). PLOS Computational Biology, 20(3), e1011950.

Alignment of brain embeddings and artificial contextual embeddings in natural language points to common geometric patterns. Goldstein, A., Grinstein-Dabush, A., Schain, M., Wang, H., Hong, Z., Aubrey, B., … Hasson, U. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 2768.

Optimal reaching subject to computational and physical constraints reveals structure of the sensorimotor control system. Greene, P., Bastian, A. J., Schieber, M. H., & Sarma, S. V. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(14), e2319313121.

Maturation of cortical input to dorsal raphe nucleus increases behavioral persistence in mice. Gutierrez-Castellanos, N., Sarra, D., Godinho, B. S., & Mainen, Z. F. (2024). eLife, 13, e93485.

Antipsychotic drugs selectively decorrelate long-range interactions in deep cortical layers. Heindorf, M., & Keller, G. B. (2024). eLife, 12, e86805.4.

Perceptual learning changes the amplitude not the shape of the temporal window of visual processing. Lin, L., Ruan, X., Liu, R., Zhu, J., Zhang, W., Lu, Z.-L., … Hou, F. (2024). Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 50(4), 523–534.

Learning leaves a memory trace in motor cortex. Losey, D. M., Hennig, J. A., Oby, E. R., Golub, M. D., Sadtler, P. T., Quick, K. M., … Chase, S. M. (2024). Current Biology, 34(7), 1519-1531.e4.

A role of frontal association cortex in long‐term object recognition memory of objects with complex features in rats. Masmudi‐Martín, M., López‐Aranda, M. F., Navarro‐Lobato, I., & Khan, Z. U. (2024). European Journal of Neuroscience, 59(7), 1743–1752.

Predictive coding networks for temporal prediction. Millidge, B., Tang, M., Osanlouy, M., Harper, N. S., & Bogacz, R. (2024). PLOS Computational Biology, 20(4), e1011183.

Unravelling the multisensory learning advantage: Different patterns of within and across frequency-specific interactions drive uni- and multisensory neuroplasticity. Paraskevopoulos, E., Anagnostopoulou, A., Chalas, N., Karagianni, M., & Bamidis, P. (2024). NeuroImage, 291, 120582.

Collective sensing in electric fish. Pedraja, F., & Sawtell, N. B. (2024). Nature, 628(8006), 139–144.

Stochastic attractor models of visual working memory. Penny, W. (2024). PLOS ONE, 19(4), e0301039.

Brain mechanism of foraging: Reward-dependent synaptic plasticity versus neural integration of values. Pereira-Obilinovic, U., Hou, H., Svoboda, K., & Wang, X.-J. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(14), e2318521121.

Space as a scaffold for rotational generalisation of abstract concepts. Pesnot Lerousseau, J., & Summerfield, C. (2024). eLife, 13, e93636.3.

A midbrain GABAergic circuit constrains wakefulness in a mouse model of stress. Ren, S., Zhang, C., Yue, F., Tang, J., Zhang, W., Zheng, Y., … Hu, Z. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 2722.

A machine‐learning tool to identify bistable states from calcium imaging data. Varma, A., Udupa, S., Sengupta, M., Ghosh, P. K., & Thirumalai, V. (2024). Journal of Physiology, 602(7), 1243–1271.

Ocular surface information seen from the somatosensory thalamus and cortex. Velasco, E., Zaforas, M., Acosta, M. C., Gallar, J., & Aguilar, J. (2024). Journal of Physiology, 602(7), 1405–1426.

Causal functional maps of brain rhythms in working memory. Wischnewski, M., Berger, T. A., Opitz, A., & Alekseichuk, I. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(14), e2318528121.

#neuroscience #science #research #brain science #scientific publications #cognitive science #neurobiology #cognition #psychophysics #neuons #neural computation #neural networks #computational neuroscience

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lastimeexteriors-omaha · 2 months ago

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Can you install blinds or shades on skylights?

Skylights are a fantastic addition to any home, bringing in natural light, making rooms feel more spacious, and even boosting your mood. However, with all the benefits come a few challenges—like too much sunlight or heat on those blazing summer afternoons. So, you might wonder, "Can I install blinds or shades on my skylights?" The answer is yes, and doing so can make a difference in comfort and style.

Why Install Blinds or Shades on Skylights?

Skylights can flood your space with sunlight, but that constant light can sometimes be too much. Here’s why adding blinds or shades can be a game-changer:

Control Light: Blinds or shades allow you to easily adjust the light entering the room. You can choose a cozy, dim atmosphere or full brightness.

Manage Temperature: Direct sunlight can quickly warm a room. Installing blinds or shades helps regulate the temperature, keeping the space cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter.

Enhance Privacy: While skylights are often high, privacy can still be a concern in some homes. Blinds or shades can add a layer of privacy to your living spaces.

Types of Blinds and Shades for Skylights

Before jumping into the installation process, you’ll want to choose the right type of blinds or shades for your skylights. Here are some options you might consider:

Roller Shades: These are a popular choice for skylights. They can be rolled up completely to let in full light or rolled down to block it out. You can even find motorized versions for easy operation.

Honeycomb Shades: Honeycomb shades are an excellent choice for insulation and light control. Their cellular design traps air, helping to maintain a comfortable room temperature.

Venetian Blinds: For those who want adjustable light control, Venetian blinds can be tilted to direct light in various directions. They offer a classic look and are relatively easy to maintain.

Blackout Shades: If your skylight is in a bedroom or a room where you sometimes want complete darkness, blackout shades are the way to go. They can completely block out light, ensuring a restful sleep environment.

Can You Install Blinds or Shades on Skylights Yourself?

You might be tempted to tackle this as a DIY project, especially if you’re handy with tools. While installing blinds or shades on standard windows is relatively straightforward, skylights present unique challenges. Here’s what you need to consider:

Height and Accessibility: Skylights are often located in hard-to-reach places. You’ll likely need a tall ladder or scaffolding to reach them safely, making the installation process tricky.

Proper Fit: Skylights come in various shapes and sizes. Getting blinds or shades to fit perfectly requires precise measurements. A poorly fitted blind can look off and fail to function correctly.

Motorization: Many skylight blinds have motorized options for ease of use. Installing motorized blinds involves more than just hanging a shade—it includes setting up the motor and ensuring it's properly wired or connected to a remote control system.

Given these challenges, while you can install blinds or shades on skylights yourself, it often makes sense to call in the professionals for a seamless finish.

Benefits of Professional Installation

Here’s why opting for professional installation is often the best route:

Precision Measurement: Professionals take precise measurements to ensure the blinds or shades fit perfectly, leaving no gaps for light to sneak through.

Proper Installation: The pros have the tools and expertise to install blinds or shades securely, ensuring they function smoothly and last longer.

Safety: Working at heights comes with risks. Professionals are trained to handle these situations safely, reducing the chance of accidents during the installation process.

Warranty and Support: Many professional services offer warranties on their installation work, providing peace of mind in case any issues arise later on.

Why Choose Lastime Exteriors for Skylight Blinds Installation?

Lastime Exteriors offers expert solutions for skylight blinds or shade installation. Here’s why they should be your go-to choice:

Experienced Team: With years of experience in the industry, the Lastime Exteriors team knows how to handle skylight installations. They ensure a hassle-free experience from start to finish.

Quality Products: They offer a range of high-quality blinds and shades, ensuring style and durability. You can choose from various options to suit your home's unique aesthetic.

Professional Installation: Lastime Exteriors handles the installation process with precision and care. Their experts will ensure your blinds or shades fit perfectly and function smoothly.

Customer Satisfaction: They pride themselves on delivering top-notch customer service. Your comfort and satisfaction are their priorities, ensuring you get the best results for your skylight project.

Yes, you can install blinds or shades on skylights, significantly enhancing your home's comfort and style. While it's possible to make it a DIY project, professional installation by experts like Lastime Exteriors ensures the job is done right. Whether you need light control, temperature regulation, or added privacy, the right blinds or shades can make all the difference. So, take the next step and make your skylight the star of your space!

Ready to Enhance Your Skylight? Contact Lastime Exteriors Today!

If you want to add blinds or shades to your skylights, why take on the hassle and risk of a DIY project? Let the professionals at Lastime Exteriors handle the job for you. They offer expert installation services that ensure a perfect fit and smooth operation.

Call them at (402) 330-0911 with questions or to schedule an appointment. You can also email [email protected] for a free estimate! Don’t let uncontrolled light and heat affect your comfort—contact Lastime Exteriors today and transform your skylight into a stylish, functional home feature.

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toodleoorblx · 1 year ago

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Fractured Persona

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Word count: 3,318

Summary: Rio's a phytologists, a scientist who specializes in plants. Or, she was a phytologist. After the outbreak (that she may or may not have caused) happened, everything went downhill.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - /?

Warnings: Violence, cursing.

A/N: So I was gonna post this tomorrow but i got excited. So here's my new Zombie Apocalypse AU! I got inspired while watching The Walking Dead. This will be uploaded to Ao3 once I finish writing chapter 5 for Natural order. Enjoy <3

Zombie apocalypse AU

Chapter 1

Rio traverses the dense forest, with the daylight piercing through the canopy of trees above. Every sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves fills her with deep unease. It’s been several months since the outbreak, and since her father's passing; and a few weeks since she managed to escape.

Prior to the outbreak, she was conducting experiments with her dad at the SHIELDS laboratory. The virus originated from a plant they were studying called arctic-fall. This flora only emerges during winter, hence the name. Its spores release a zombifying disease. Rio was the scientist who uncovered it, along with her father, who was one of the first to fall victim to the infection. The spores infiltrated the ventilation system, spreading and claiming the lives of all the workers and guards, only for them to rise again.

When the virus initially spread, it rapidly engulfed Washington. There were fires blazing, people screaming, sirens wailing, helicopters circling, cars colliding, and gunshots ringing out.

Curtis noticed that Rio had been bitten during the initial outbreak. She hadn't even realized she had been bitten until Curtis pointed it out.

_____

Curtis ushers Rio into a small, secluded office tucked away near the back of the building. The room feels forgotten, the only light source being a flickering light bulb. With only a single window offering a view of a scaffold outside. The space is sparsely furnished, dominated by old filing cabinets and empty paint buckets.

With urgency in his movements, Curtis pushes one of the filing cabinets in front of the door, barricading them from whatever chaos raged beyond. Outside, the air is filled with the cacophony of alarms blaring and sprinklers hissing, while distant gunshots echo from the lower levels. They’re currently on level two.

Curtis's labored breaths fill the room, punctuated by occasional grunts as he frantically searches for anything sharp amidst the sparse surroundings. Rio's grip tightens on her white lab coat, her gaze darting around the room, avoiding the blood splatters that stained the fabric. It’s a grim realization that washes over her, sinking deep into the pit of her stomach.

Trapped in the confined space with her best friend, Rio feels a wave of dread wash over her. The only semblance of defense they have is a rusted pocket knife, its age surpassing even her own, and the feeble barrier of an empty filing cabinet—the only thing standing between them and the relentless horde outside.

Great… Fuck her life.

Before Curtis found her, she watched one of her associates get pinned to the ground by what looked like a herd of them, they tore her open like she was made of paper. Clawing at her and chewing on her flailing limbs, actively losing mobility. She saw the pain and agony on full display on her colleagues face, before it got mauled.

Rio’s senses felt assaulted, she couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak or yell, she just… watched. Watched in horror. She felt frozen, maybe it was shock, maybe it was the fact she felt like if she moved she’d be next. But luckily Curtis swept in just in time. She felt two pairs of hands grip her, two warm strong hands on her left arm, and two bonier hands grip her right arm, with a harsh force. They felt cold and… lifeless. One pair of hands led her to safety… or so she thought.

"Alright, I-I think we're safe in here," Curtis mutters, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he paces back and forth before Rio. Her once tidy brown hair now hung disheveled, streaked with blood and viscera from the gruesome scene they had just narrowly escaped. Rio's eyes track Curtis's movements, her own gaze clouded with shock and exhaustion.

"Vidal," Curtis sighs heavily, his hand coming to rest on his hip while the other raked through his short brown hair. His lab coat, once pristine, now a macabre tapestry of blood and gore. "I don't- fuck, I don’t know what to do!" he confesses, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and frustration. "I don't know what went wrong, but you were there. You know. You and your dad were both in the advanced lab, working on experiment-3.” he licks his lips and huffs a mirthless laugh. “What. Happened."

Rio remains silent, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and guilt. She longs to explain herself, to provide some semblance of clarity in the chaos that surrounded them. But the words elude her, trapped within the confines of her mind like caged birds taunting her with their elusive freedom. All she can do is stare at Curtis with hollow eyes.

It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault.

She didn't even realize she had said anything verbally til Curtis pushed her back with one strong motion. His expression is warped with anger and confusion.

Curtis's laughter rings out, but there was no joy in it, only a hollow desperation that echoed through the tense air. Tears well up in his eyes as he speaks, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not your fault? It's not your fault!?" He chokes on his words, his laughter turning into a mixture of anguish and disbelief. "You and your father were the only people in the room, hell, the vicinity! And you're telling me that whatever happened in there wasn't your fault?!"

“Yes.” Rio's voice is barely a whisper, her head bowed as tears drip from her hidden face, her fingernails digging into her palms.

Curtis huffs, his frustration evident as he points an accusatory finger at Rio. "You…" His voice trails off, prompting Rio to slowly lift her head. What she saw is unexpected—a pair of wide blue eyes, filled with fear, staring into her very soul.

"...W-what?" Rio stammers, her voice barely above a whisper as she tries to comprehend Curtis's apprehension.

Curtis's hand hovers over his pocket knife, his movements slow and deliberate as he takes a few cautious steps back. His eyes remain fixed on Rio, filled with a mix of uncertainty and suspicion.

Before Rio could respond, the deafening roar of gunfire shatters the tense silence, sending both of them instinctively diving for cover. A bullet tears through the wooden door, grazing Rio's right shoulder with a searing pain that elicits a sharp cry from her lips. She recoils slightly from the impact, her hands instinctively pressing against the wound to stem the flow of blood, staining her once pristine white coat crimson.

Glancing up through the haze of pain, Rio meets Curtis's gaze, expecting to see concern or at least a hint of action. But to her dismay, he remains rooted in place, his eyes fixed on her as if waiting for some sign or revelation. Rio can’t lie, that stung. Him not moving an inch when she’s literally bleeding out!

She wants to flick him off, but the pain and shock leaves her immobilized, her world reduced to the agony pulsating through her wounded shoulder.

The gunfire slows slightly and the moans of the monsters quiet more and more. Curtis slowly rises up from his hunched position.

“HELP, SHE'S BEEN BITTEN AND SHE'S NOT CHANGING!” Curtis yells without takinging his wide eyes off of her.

Rio's brows furrowed in confusion, her mind racing with a whirlwind of disbelief. Changing? But she hadn't been bitten… had she?

With trembling breath, Rio slowly lowers her gaze to her arms, her heart pounding erratically in her chest. And there, on her right wrist, she saw it—a bite mark, its not too deep, but it penetrated her skin. The irritated bite is crimson against her tan skin. A wave of nausea washes over her as the reality of her situation sank in.

Her complexion pales as she feels her heart skip a beat, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she shakily inspects the wound. How had she not felt it? The adrenaline coursing through her veins must have dulled her senses, but that offers little comfort in the face of the looming threat.

What troubles Rio even more was the absence of any signs of transformation. She knows little about the process or how long it took to turn, but she is certain she shouldn't be feeling completely fine aside from her gunshot wound. The uncertainty gnaws at her, a knot of fear tightening in her chest

"I feel fine, Curt. I'm- I'm still me. Your friend," Rio reassures Curtis, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.

But Curtis shakes his head erratically, his breathing ragged as he struggles to contain his emotions. He tightens his grip on the pocket knife until his knuckles turn white, his gaze darting nervously to the approaching footsteps and the sound of guns being cocked.

"Rio," Curtis begins, his voice barely above a whisper as he shifts uneasily on his feet, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for wh-"

Rio's words are cut short as Curtis swiftly moves the filing cabinet away from the door. Before she can react, the door bursts open, revealing a man clad in a military suit, rifle in hand, with several others standing behind him.

The military man's gaze locks onto Rio's arm, his expression darkening at the sight of the bite mark. The rapid rise and fall of his chest betrays his displeasure as he raises his rifle, causing Rio's heart to lurch in her chest. She freezes once again, her body tensing as she braces herself. Dammit.

"Take her back to base. Strucker will know what to do with her," the man commands, his tone slow and cautious, betraying the gravity of the situation.

"Take me where?!" Rio manages to mutter, her voice filled with confusion and fear. But her attention was so consumed by trying to comprehend her situation that she failed to notice one of the military men handing Curtis a syringe filled with a strange blue liquid.

Before Rio can react, Curtis grabs her shoulder with a harsh grip, eliciting a pained yelp from her lips. She feels a sharp prick as the needle pierces her skin, injecting the mysterious serum into her neck. A wave of dizziness washes over her, and she collapses to the ground, her vision fading to black as unconsciousness claims her.

_____

After that, Rio was subjected to a series of grueling experiments, the location shrouded in mystery but the duration lasting at least a few weeks. It seemed unlikely that they had enough time to achieve their objective, whatever it may have been—perhaps a search for a cure, though Rio could only speculate.

The only information Rio gleaned from her captors is that she’s immune. Immune to their spores, bites, and scratches, as evidenced by the multiple scars that marre her skin. With the threat of infection seemingly nullified, Rio's vigilance waned, and she grew a little sloppy in defending herself.

The days blurred together as they poked and prodded her, manipulating her blood in a desperate quest to uncover the secret of her immunity. But despite their efforts, they failed to crack the code. Rio scoffs at their incompetence, confident that given the opportunity, she could have deciphered the mystery herself.

Sedated for much of her captivity, Rio's memories of the ordeal were fragmented at best, if they existed at all. The passage of time became a haze, punctuated only by moments of pain and disorientation

Rio’s eyelids grow heavy, she's exhausted. And the soothing sounds of nature aren't helping at all; she almost dropped her M16, her weary muscles protesting with each step. She's so tired. She needs shelter, somewhere safe to sleep and evaluate.

She could try to find a tree with a big enough burrow in it. But that's pretty compromising. Granit, the crawlers can't run, but they can sneak up on you, and start clawing at you if they can smell you. It was a bad idea to begin with.

Rio sighs heavily as she comes to a halt, taking a moment to survey her surroundings. To her surprise, there’s no crawlers in sight, nor any signs of wildlife.

Strange.

Rio doesnt know how deep exactly she is in the forest, but she figures she's deep enough to see wildlife somewhere. Though she does see tons of edible plants.

Turning to her left, Rio sees something in the distance. About half a mile away. She squints as she uses her hands as a visor, hiding her eyes from the bright sunset. Rio’s eyes widen in surprise as she catches sight of a small cabin nestled amidst the trees. A surge of relief floods through her, infusing her with renewed energy despite the encroaching darkness.

Feeling a newfound sense of hope, Rio readjusts the weight of her supplies on her back and tightens her grip on her M16. With determined steps, she makes her way towards the cabin, her heart pounding with anticipation at the prospect of finding shelter for the night.

_____

The door creaks open, the home is adorned with chipped and rotting wood. She takes a deep breath and walks in with great caution. As Rio cautiously steps through the creaking door, she’s greeted by the sight of a humble interior, bathed in the soft glow of twilight filtering through the grimy windows. The walls are adorned with peeling wallpaper and patches of chipped paint.

Furniture, worn and weathered with age, dot the room—a threadbare couch nestled against one wall, its cushions sagging with use; a rickety table cluttered with discarded books and trinkets; a rusted stove standing sentinel in the corner, its once-shining surface now dulled by neglect.

Rio turns around to find a quaint kitchen, dull blue paint coats the cabinets and counters. A scentless candle is lit, illuminating the kitchen. Rio narrows her eyes in distrust.

Wait.

Before Rio can turn around she feels something quick and hard hit the back of her head, she whimpers in pain before her vision goes black.

As Rio slowly blinks, her vision struggles to focus, her head throbbing with each heartbeat. A sharp pang of pain shoots through her skull, and she winces.

Groggily, Rio surveys her surroundings, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of what appears to be a basement. Its abandoned, overrun with moss and tangled vines, the air heavy with the musty scent of neglect. Cracked pillars loom in the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the damp stone floor.

There are no windows to offer respite from the darkness, only a solitary lantern perched on a vintage table, its feeble light barely penetrating the gloom. And there, upon the table, lays all her belongings—her gun, pocket knife, damascus kukri and bag. They sit there untouched, almost taunting her.

Regret floods Rio's mind as she realizes her mistake in coming there. How could she have known someone lived here? It looked completely abandoned!

With a frustrated sigh, Rio attempts to rise, only to nearly trip and fall as she discovers her wrists and ankles bound with zip ties. Panic wells up inside her as she squirms and struggles against the restraints, but her efforts only result in raw irritation and a sharp pain as the zip tie digs into her skin.

"Is anybody there?" Rio's voice echoes through the dimly lit basement, raspy and dry from disuse. How long had she been unconscious? Furrowing her brows, she scans the room for any sign of life, but finds none.

Lovely.

As the stairs creak ominously, Rio's heart races with fear, her mind racing with possibilities of what—or who—might be approaching. The tension in the air is palpable as she braces herself for the unknown, her muscles tense and ready to (try) to spring into action if necessary.

With each echoing footstep, Rio's anxiety mounts, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she presses herself against the cold wall, eyes wide with apprehension.

Finally, the figure emerges into view, and Rio's breath catches in her throat. It's a woman, her presence commanding and her gaze as cold as ice, the color of her eyes is piercing blue. Her wild, curly raven hair frames her face, a bold streak of white cutting through the dark locks, hinting at her age. Fine lines crease her features. She looks to be in her forties.

The woman wears black combat boots, a dark green thermal jacket, and a gray tank top, her dark jeans completing the ensemble. Around her neck, a necklace adorned with a brooch glinted in the dim light.

As the woman's sneer pierces Rio's defenses, she can't help but feel a wave of dread wash over her.

"Why did you come here?" The older woman's demand cuts through the tense silence, her voice a surprising contrast to the chaos Rio’s grown accustomed to. It's like a breath of fresh air, soothing and unsettling in its calmness. Rio's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight of the woman crossing her arms, a dagger held firmly in one hand. The sight sends a shiver down her spine.

"I didn't mean to intrude, lady.” Rio scoffs. “I just wanted shelter. I didn't know anybody was home." Her words came out steady and monotone. (Though she's freaking out internally.)

The woman huffs, her expression unreadable as she licks her dry lips and closes the distance between them. Rio's heart pounds in her chest as the woman crouches down next to her, her hands fidgeting with the dagger as her intense gaze bores into Rio's.

"Then tell me, sweetheart," her voice is low and steady. "Why should I not kill you right now, hm?"

Rio's eyebrows furrow at the unexpected threat, caught off guard by the woman's directness. (How humanity has fallen.) She hesitates, chewing nervously on her lip as she watches the older woman's gaze flicker down to her lips before meeting her own confused eyes.

With a resigned sigh, Rio gathers her thoughts. "I can help. If you let me stay," she offers, her voice steadying more and more as she speaks. "I know how to navigate forests, I know what plants are edible and which are deadly. I've noticed that wildlife is scarce outside," she continues, observing the slight faltering in the woman's stoic expression. "Something tells me that canned food will only last for so long. I can keep us fed."

For a tense moment, the woman remains silent, her gaze piercing through Rio's. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she relents with a reluctant sigh. "I... suppose," she concedes, kneeling down to grasp Rio's wrists. Rio's breath hitches in her throat as the woman's bruised hands brush against her skin, their touch simultaneously soft yet strong. The woman is leaning in front of her, the smell of vanilla and lavender invade her nose. She tries to ignore the goosebumps that erupt on her arms as the woman deftly cuts through the zip ties binding her wrists and ankles. “Have you been bitten?”

Rio doesnt know what to tell her. Yes she's been bitten numerous times but none of which have had any effect on her. She decides to keep her immunity a secret. For now. “No. No, I haven't been bitten.”She shakes her head.

Agatha’s eyes turn to slits, she huffs in skepticism. But thankfully leaves the matter alone. "Agatha Harkness," the woman introduces herself with a quiet and begrudging tone.

Agatha. Rio repeats in her head.

The older woman stands up and with a swift motion, she sheaths her knife in her thigh holster before taking a few steps back, crossing her arms defensively. A small sneer tugs at the corners of her lips.

Rio can’t help but find amusement in Agatha's demeanor, she sounds like a child being forced to share a toy. Suppressing the urge to laugh, Rio offers a warm smile in response.

"Rio Vidal."

#marvel #agatha harkness x rio vidal #mcu #zombie #alternate universe #horror #survival #agatha harkness #rio vidal #Spotify

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bbsprint · 1 year ago

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PMT01: Scaffold nano & Trowel pico

Scaffold nano & Trowel pico v1.1.0 have been released tonight.

Updates add a myStages to Scaffold, and QoL improvements to the powerup editing experience in Trowel pico.

Now that it's out, I'd like to also take this moment to talk about the development and release of both.

One year minus one day ago I had announced in Twitter I would work on the level editor for the demo version of BRICKBREAKER SPRINT (nano) so fans could breathe in more life to the game even in its limited state and to also showcase how much it can do with its limited toolset at the current time.

The reasoning for a completely separate technology version was simple, WebGL. WebGL in Unity is so limited for even the most basic things (I had to install a package to support cross-app copy/paste before nano+'s release!) and I said "hey, might as well give the multiplatform users something to be able to edit with, doesn't need to be just windows which is what the currently unpolished-ish trowel desktop is!"

But then it hit me that the same limitations would likely make it hell for me to support just levels downloaded as files (internally stored with "bxtp" extension btw :) ) so then... I came at a crossroads

just say FKIT and not do it, make ppl wait for BB Lite

still say FKIT and kickstart the foundation of the online service that I had planned since the first design iteration of the game

guess what I took?

I don't regret it.

Currently, Scaffold's login system is attached to itch.io. In the future, this will use my own account system (called Luna, still in development)

Now then... developing Scaffold's frontend was a challenge in itself, because I'm a masochist. I chose yet another technology to make the frontend in, this time Svelte, Sveltekit as backend saying "okay, no more fear of ServerSideRendering now that I can afford a VPS for this"

but... Svelte has been an absolute joy to work with. Its learning curve even smoother than React's (my first frontend framework, which powers cometSpectrum!), and I got everything rolling very quickly

At first, I was going to use my regular website design language, but it's kinda jank, so I said NO and started from scratch with a simpler façade. For the style I wanted to pursue... it was perfect. Some people have complimented the graphic aspect of the site, and I'm happy I could deliver exactly what I wanted. (and yes the icons being in opposite directions compared to bbsprint's UI is entirely on purpose)

BTW, the site is made in such a way that a BB theme could be used as the site's theme and every color will change except for PNG icons, i love it (this functionality is used for people using their OS's Light theme)

This is actually the first made-by-me website project that has "public" facing write actions to a database and stores actual files. It works... very well, and I am very happy about it. It's like a combination of everything I've learnt up to this point, down to API design and interop between programs.

I did say this was the foundation for Scaffold, and I plan for this game to keep Scaffold as its prime way of getting stages, even when getting to storefronts like Steam or GOG. Kind of like an osu! situation.

You're at this part of the message... wanna see how Scaffold's logo used to look like?

#bbsprint #bbsprint backstage #game dev #scaffold (bbsprint)#trowel pico (bbsprint)#postmortem

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profilescaffoldingltd · 10 months ago

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Profile Scaffolding is a scaffolding company based in London, dedicated to providing top-quality scaffolding services for both residential and commercial projects. With a strong commitment to safety, efficiency, and customer satisfaction, Profile Scaffolding has established itself as a trusted partner for homeowners and businesses alike. Our residential scaffolding services cover everything from loft conversions and roof repairs to window replacements and home extensions, ensuring that all projects are carried out with the highest standards of safety and professionalism. We offer tailored solutions to meet the specific needs of each project, whether it involves temporary roofs, chimney scaffolds, or edge protection, making them a reliable choice for residential scaffolding across London.

Profile Scaffolding offers a range of services for commercial clients to support large-scale construction and maintenance projects. We provide scaffolding for new builds, renovations, and complex structures, with services including access equipment, platform hire, crash decks, and birdcage scaffolds. Our commercial scaffolding team is highly experienced in managing the unique challenges of commercial projects, ensuring that all scaffolding systems are robust, compliant with industry standards, and installed with precision. By using high-quality materials and adhering to strict safety protocols, Profile Scaffolding guarantees the stability and durability of its structures, making them the go-to choice for commercial scaffolding needs in London.

Website: https://www.profilescaffolding.co.uk/

Address: 26-28 Hammersmith Grove, Hammersmith, London, Greater London, W6 7BA

Phone Number: 0208 945 3135

Business Contact Email ID: [email protected]

Business Hours: Mon - Fri: 07:00am - 05:00pm Sat: 07:00am - 12:00pm Sun: Closed

#Scaffolders #Commercial Scaffolding #Scaffolding

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windowcleaningsupplies · 1 year ago

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Enhancing Clarity: A Comprehensive Guide to Window Cleaning Tools

Windows serve as the portals to our homes and offices, allowing natural light to flood our spaces and offering views of the world beyond. However, maintaining their cleanliness is essential not only for aesthetic appeal but also for ensuring a healthy living or working environment. In the arsenal of tools available for this task, there exists a plethora of options tailored to different needs and preferences. In this guide, we delve into the world of window cleaning tools, exploring their functionalities, advantages, and how they contribute to achieving sparkling, streak-free glass surfaces.window cleaning supplies

Squeegees:

Squeegees are perhaps the quintessential tool for achieving streak-free windows. Consisting of a rubber blade attached to a handle, they efficiently remove water and cleaning solutions from glass surfaces. Their design allows for swift, uniform strokes, making them ideal for both residential and commercial applications. Squeegees come in various sizes to accommodate different window dimensions, and some models feature adjustable handles for added convenience.

Microfiber Cloths:

Microfiber cloths have revolutionized the way we clean windows, offering superior absorbency and trapping capabilities compared to traditional cotton cloths. These ultra-fine fibers capture dirt, dust, and grime with ease, leaving windows spotless and lint-free. When paired with a cleaning solution, microfiber cloths excel at polishing glass surfaces to a brilliant shine without leaving behind residue or streaks. They are reusable and machine washable, making them an eco-friendly option for sustainable cleaning practices.

Extension Poles:

For windows located in high or hard-to-reach areas, extension poles are indispensable tools that enhance accessibility and safety. These telescopic rods can be attached to squeegees, scrubbers, or other cleaning implements, allowing users to reach windows situated on upper floors or in narrow spaces without the need for ladders or scaffolding. Extension poles come in various lengths, with some models featuring twist-lock mechanisms for secure attachment and adjustable angles for versatile use.

Scrubbers:

Stubborn dirt and grime often require a bit of elbow grease to eradicate, and scrubbers are designed precisely for this purpose. These abrasive pads or brushes feature durable bristles or abrasive surfaces that effectively loosen and dislodge dirt from glass surfaces. When paired with a cleaning solution, scrubbers provide thorough cleaning power, preparing the glass for a streak-free finish when used in conjunction with a squeegee or microfiber cloth. Some scrubbers feature pivoting heads or swivel mechanisms for enhanced maneuverability, ensuring thorough cleaning even in tight spaces.

Window Cleaning Solution:

Choosing the right cleaning solution is crucial for achieving optimal results when cleaning windows. While commercial glass cleaners are readily available, many opt for homemade solutions using ingredients such as vinegar, dish soap, or rubbing alcohol. These DIY solutions are often more cost-effective and environmentally friendly, providing effective cleaning power without harsh chemicals or fumes. Regardless of whether you choose a commercial or homemade solution, be sure to use a spray bottle for even application and minimal waste.

Water-fed Pole Systems:

Water-fed pole systems offer a streamlined approach to window cleaning, particularly for large-scale or multi-story buildings. These systems consist of telescopic poles equipped with water jets and soft bristle brushes at the tip. Purified water is pumped through the pole and sprayed onto the window surface, loosening dirt and debris. The brushes agitate the dirt, while the continuous flow of water rinses it away, leaving behind a clean, streak-free surface. Water-fed pole systems are highly efficient and reduce the need for chemical cleaners, making them an eco-friendly option for commercial window cleaning operations.

Conclusion:

Maintaining clean and clear windows enhances the overall appearance and ambiance of any space while promoting a healthy indoor environment. With the myriad of window cleaning tools available, from squeegees and microfiber cloths to extension poles and water-fed pole systems, achieving sparkling, streak-free windows has never been easier. By investing in the right tools and techniques, you can keep your windows looking their best year-round, allowing natural light to illuminate your surroundings and providing unobstructed views of the world beyond.

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