#assembleing and reassembling

[stillctrsara]

Some Reassembly Required

With the discovery of an entire sub-section of extraterrestrials who may not have peaceful intentions, and who will mostly likely want some things they have, the U.N. is worried about Earth's protection. They move quickly to pardon the rogue Avengers, as well as re-work the Accords to be less restrictive, with the condition that the team get back together (and do their best to build a good working relationship quickly). Of course it falls to Tony to house lead the reunification efforts, but Peter's not about to let him go down and welcome his former teammates by himself, and neither is Pepper.

[askaceattorney]

Dear Blu,

Actually, it didn't have the fuse. It was just an empty box when it was brought into court and checked through.

The bigger question should be why they didn't stop me from rebuilding the bomb in 2.5 seconds with the fuse and everything on my person.

- Ted Tonate

[pooltablemoversla]

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles County CA - Trusted Billiards

Understanding Pool Table Moving Services

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles offers a wide range of services that are essential to the safe and efficient movement of pool tables. Understanding pool table moving services will help you appreciate the complexity. The moving services are available for both residential and business needs, and ensure precision and quality in each task. Pool tables are heavy and require special handling, packaging, as well as unique transportation methods. Here is where Pool Table Movers Los' expertise comes into play. The van is specially designed with a rail box and slate box to ensure the safety of your pool table. They also cover a large service area including Ventura County and Santa Barbara County.

Pool Table Repair Professionals are Important

Professional repair services are essential to maintain the functionality and durability of pool tables. Repairs of pool tables are best performed by experts with many years of experience. This ensures that the tables maintain their performance and quality. Professional pool table repair services are essential for the proper disassembly and repair of pool tables that can weigh up to 1,200 lbs. Professionals who are trained to repair pool tables can prevent costly mistakes. This is especially true when refelting the table or relocating it. It is wise to hire professionals for pool table repairs in areas such as Orange County. This ensures the table's longevity, protecting the owner’s investment and providing countless hours of gaming for years to come.

The Closer Look at Refelting and Recovery

Refelting and recovery are two of the most important services in pool table maintenance. Pool table movers Los Angeles provide both tasks to maintain a high-quality, smooth playing surface. Pool table repair experts restore damaged billiard fabrics and recreate the ideal playing surface. They transform your game and improve gameplay. ServiceDescription Refelting Replaces worn out felt to restore smoothness and improve ball roll. Recovering This involves removing the old cloth and replacing with a new one to ensure optimal playing conditions.

Los Angeles pool table movers are experts in the field of pool table repair. This includes refelting, recovering and refinishing.

Service List: Pool Table Movers Los Angeles

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles offers a wide range of services, including installation, repair, and refelting. They offer a range of services to keep your pool table in top condition.

Moving Services They will disassemble your pool table and transport it to a new place, making sure that it is transported safely and then reinstalled.

Installation Services: They handle everything from uncrating slates to leveling tables.

Repair Services: Includes refelting and leveling as well as bumper replacement.

Free Quote Services: They offer free quotes on all services, as they understand the importance of budgeting.

You can choose Pool Table Movers Los Angeles to receive a professional and hassle-free service.

Residential vs Commercial Pool Tables

To better understand the skill and expertise needed to handle them, it is important to know the difference between residential and commercial tables. Residential tables are usually smaller and have decorative elements. They're ideal for use at home. Commercial pool tables, on the other hand, are designed to be used frequently in public places like bars or clubs. They're more durable and built for heavy use.

Let's look at the table below to illustrate: AspectResidential pool tablesCommercial Pool Tables Size Smaller Larger Construction Decorative and Customizable Sturdier and Durable Use Home Use Public Spaces

You can choose Pool Table Movers Los Angeles to meet all of your pool table requirements for a number of compelling reasons.

Experience and Expertise With more than 18 years of experience in the industry, we have mastered moving, installing, and repairing all types and sizes pool tables.

Safe and secure moves We use specialized equipment to move your pool tables and make sure the slate box is secured.

Comprehensive Service We offer not only moving and installing pool tables but also recovering, recushioning and repair services.

Wide coverage area: We provide services to customers throughout Southern California.

Our commitment to provide a high-quality and reliable service is demonstrated by these reasons for choosing our services.

Southern California Areas covered by Service

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles offers comprehensive moving services throughout Southern California. This includes Ventura County and Santa Barbara County. It also covers the West Side/South Bay area, San Fernando Valley, San Gabriel Valley Antelope Valley Long Beach, Valencia, Pomona, Goleta, and Long Beach. They offer superior moving services to those living in San Bernardino County. Area Covered Availability Ventura County Moving, Installation and Repairs Yes, Santa Barbara County Setup, Moving, Reclussing Yes, San Bernardino County Recarpeting, Moving, and Storage Yes, Long Beach Installing, Moving and Setting Up Yes, San Gabriel Valley Moving, Recushioning and Repairs Yes,

We offer a level of service that is second to none.

FAQs

How much does it cost to move a billiard table?

The price of moving a pool table depends on several factors. These include the size and weight of the table, the distance to be covered, and the difficulty of disassembling and reassembling the table. The price may be affected by additional services like recushioning and re-carpeting. To compare costs, it's best to get quotes from several professional movers. Contacting the company directly is usually the best way to obtain a free or firm quote.

How much does it cost to have someone set up a pool table?

Costs for setting up a pooltable can vary depending on a number of factors. These include the type and size of the table, the location and any other services needed. This may include leveling the pool table, replacing felt or adjusting rails. To ensure proper installation, and to prevent damage, it's best to hire a professional. It's best that you contact a pool table professional for an accurate estimate.

Can you move a pool table without professionals?

It is possible to move a pool-table without the help of professionals, but it's not recommended. Pool tables are heavy, complex pieces of furniture which require expert handling. The wrong disassembly and reassembly of a pool table can cause damage or imbalance. Imagine moving a table weighing 1,200 pounds with delicate slate. The risk of damage would be high. Hiring professionals will ensure safe transport and proper setup so you can enjoy your pool table with no hassle.

Do you tip pool table movers?

Tipping pool table movers or other service providers is common and an excellent way to thank them for their work. Tipping can be varied, but the standard is 5-10% of total service costs or $20 to $40 per mover. You can consider tipping extra if you feel the movers did a great job. Tipping is appreciated but not mandatory.

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[historyofguns]

The article provides a detailed guide on how to disassemble and clean the popular Springfield Armory Hellcat 9mm pistol. Written by Steve Horsman, it is part of a series from The Armory Life, focusing on the care and maintenance of Springfield's firearms, including the SAINT, 1911, M1A, and XD-M. Horsman underscores the rise in gun ownership in 2020, particularly among first-time buyers, reinforcing the importance of firearm maintenance knowledge. The article offers a step-by-step process for safely disassembling the Hellcat, emphasizing the need to follow the four rules of gun safety and to consult the owner's manual for proper care techniques. Readers are guided through the disassembly process, cleaning, and recommended equipment, and are advised on the frequency of cleaning based on usage. The piece highlights the practicality and popularity of the Hellcat as a concealed carry weapon (CCW) while promoting responsible maintenance practices.

[ahrelocation825]

Movers and Packers Dubai is your best destination for the best packing, moving and storage services. We are the top Moving and Storage Company ready to take care of all your relocating needs. We are based in United Arab Emirates, in Dubai. The company offers a large variety of moving and Packer services such as Professional Packing, Furniture Dismantling and Re-fixing, Office/House Moving, Cargo Loading Unloading, Local Transport Services and more. We own a professional team of expert movers ready to help you with all your relocation needs right away. It doesn't matter if you are planning to move to a Dubai address or an international one, Dubai Movers is ready to assist you whatever your plans are.

[mystiika]

shin tag drop

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

What are your best stolen adhd tips? My brain kicks my owns ass so often

It sounds really obvious but the one I've found most useful is storing things where they will be used and in as ready-to-use a form as possible, even if it's the "wrong" place. Rubbish bin goes at the place you make rubbish. Bin bags live within arm's reach of the bin. My vacuum cleaner never gets disassembled and put back in the closet because if it did I would never reassemble and use it. Towels live where I fold my clothes, because otherwise I'd never fold them.

I eat too many sweets and not enough vegetables, so frozen veggies live in the top of the freezer (the most accessible place in my freezer, adjust accordingly) and ice cream lives in the bottom of my freezer. My diet has improved a lot since I started doing this. When the mood strikes me to actually assemble some food, I cut up a lot of veggies or make a lot of sandwiches or whatever while I'm in Make Food Mode and put the rest in the freezer. Then I have food ready with much less steps involved for the rest of the time so I will actually eat it.

[mx-anthropy]

I saw a few people saying don't trust mech repair shops that are clean, and that you gotta go to the ones that are dirty and have crap everywhere 'cause they'll do a proper job and fix your rig cheaper and better.

While I agree in general, it's an even better sign if that shop has that *one* bay and workbench area that is conspicuously clean. Every good workshop has *that bay*.

That's the bay for when they need to go cleanroom on something. Pulling and refurbishing laser arrays, injection pumps, etc. Manually recalibrating gyros. Re-valving joint dampers. Fabbing up "custom" bracketry to fit that aftermarket heat exchanger that's *supposed* to be a direct bolt on OE style replacement and you just *know* it's not going to be that simple cause it never is, but the efficiency is so much better than the factory crap and who the hell wants to pay for a new genuine exchanger anyway, if you can even get one?

The number of absolute cowboy techs I've seen that think that just because they've done a bunch of work on their pa's agricultural mechs for years, they know everything there is to know about mech internals, strip down and reassemble a combat-rated set of hand actuators literally just on the god damned shop floor, only to wonder why all the hydraulics piss fluid out as soon as they run it through a test cycle. They might *look* the same as pappy's mech actuators, but they have way tighter tolerances and they run *way* thinner fluids in them. You get so much as a nick in the sealing surface of one of those rods and it's not gonna seal again. And before any goobers come for me saying "JuSt RuN tHiCkEr OiL" if you put anything thicker than 2W-5 in those things they'll just lock up. Won't leak but you'll not be using that hand for anything but karate chopping your opposition.

Anyway rant over, TLDR next time your stompy death machine needs actual proper work done, and not just entire unit assemblies throwm at the problem, take it somewhere that actually cares to understand the concept of machined tolerances.

[almostfoxglove]

ONE NIGHT EARLY

a secret santa surprise for @talaok ! ✨ as part of @pedrostories' #pedrostoriesgift24 event ✨

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.2k | CW: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, brief reference to canon-typical violence / danger / the end of the world, but you're safe.

SUMMARY: You vow to find out where Joel hides his Christmas gifts while he's away on patrol.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

It has to be here somewhere.

In the three years since you moved in with Joel—hell, even in the two years before that—you have never found your Christmas present before the day. The man’s determined, sworn to his secrecy. Takes great pride in catching you snooping around, digging, scurryin’, as he once muttered under his breath, shaking his head with that charm and smirk you can’t help but fall for. Every year, you swear you’ll find it, and Joel just crosses his arms with a shrug, cheek dimpled and eyes dark with affection, and tells you good luck, darlin’, confident you won’t.

This year, though. This year will be different because for the whole week leading up to Christmas, Joel is away with Tommy on patrol and you have the house to yourself. Seven days of freedom to pry and stick your nose where it probably doesn’t belong.

It takes you two days to tear the house apart. Every dish yanked from his cupboard, every shirt and worn pair of jeans thrown from the closet, every pocket turned out—you flip the mattress and unbundle his socks and rip the covers off all the couch cushions and find fuck all. One old, oxidized penny. Dust bunnies, dryer lint, wood shavings. Spent matches, a bullet case. A fossilized receipt robbed of its printed contents.

You spend two more going through everything again. The place is a dump; when Ellie swings by to borrow his guitar she lifts one eyebrow at you from the doorway, weary of the tornado you’ve left scattered across the first floor. Says, “Good to know four days is all it takes for you to lose your shit.”

“I’m not losing my shit,” you say, one hand waving dismissively as you climb the stairs. 

Quick on your heels she mutters, “Whatever you say, grandma,” just loud enough for you to hear. 

When she’s gone, you take a deep breath. The living room is a slaughter, more disastrous than the aftermath of any raiders or weather event. Couch cushions stand mountainous and stripped naked, the carpet’s rolled up against one wall, all the charcoal and half-spent logs have been scraped from the fireplace onto the floor. You’ll admit that might not have been strictly necessary, but you’ve looked everywhere, checked everything, and uncovered zilch. No gifts. And at the very least, Joel has—with his handsome, freckled, silvered face proud and smiling—conceded that his hiding spot is in the house. Doesn’t stash nothing at Tommy’s or in Ellie’s garage. It’s here. Somewhere. Driving you up the goddamn wall.

It’s not like you even know what you’re looking for, but you’ll know when you see it—of this you are sure.

Room by room, you reassemble the house, shuffling all the knick-knacks you’ve each cautiously assembled in this bizarre second chance at a life into their proper positions. His carvings are your favorites, and you rehome them on their shelves with care. You slide the few photographs each of you has into line on the mantle, behind the string lights. It ain’t the same as the world that for nearly thirty years has been dead and gone, but now and then you get flickers of that long-absent comfort. The day the Christmas lights go up in Jackson. The snowmen built by your neighbor’s kids in the street. Jars of homemade strawberry jam. 

Ellie and Joel playing guitar, his deep timbre humming along to her clumsy chords. 

The tight squeeze of your chest when his boots croak the porch and you know he’s finally home. 

The softness of his face first thing in the morning, scarred and weathered, kind. All the long tresses of his graying hair slumped out of place.

As you restore the house’s comfort and clutter over the shrinking days of his absence, you recheck and recheck and recheck and continue to come up empty. At night in the black veil of your shared bedroom, you sleep on his side of the bed with your face crushed in his pillow, breathing him in. 

On the 24th, you wake prepared to wave the white flag when he returns in the evening. You’re going to pout about it, but you’ll give in. Surrender to the superiority of his stupid, squirrelling mind, and admit once and for all that he’s bested you. You have no fucking clue where he hides his gifts. He wins. But you sulk as the day bleeds by, and more than once catch yourself affixed with a frown as you trudge through the crunch of Jackson’s snow-packed streets. As you groom the horses due for the next patrol shift and eat your dinner in the mess hall across from folks you’re only half listening to as they regale you with tales of their day, too distracted by the scrape of spoons against bowls and the emptiness of your hands.

Greedy, that’s what you’re being. Wanting all of him for yourself. You just miss him. You hate when patrol stretches this long, leaving you alone with your cloying worry.

After the sun has set and bowls have emptied, Jackson goes blue. All the snow piled to frame the gravel roads glitters with fresh frost and ice. On your way back to the house, you watch your shadow slide and flicker as you pass beneath the warmth of streetlamps. Someone down the road has a window open, letting the notes of their piano ribbon through the air. 

Even with all the lights and the chatter that tonight could bring fresh snow to the valley, you can’t help but feel a hollowness that you’ve only managed to shake when Joel’s around and the two of you are alone. It’s not all the time, but it happens—a magic you’d believed impossible before you stumbled across this Eden half-dead and were brought inside. Impossible until you met him, and everything latched into place. 

You’ve loved before. Almost got married once, in the world that’s gone. But there’s no comparing how it felt to fall slowly, clumsily into Joel. 

You’re not sure when he’s due to return tonight. Hopefully soon.

Shedding layers as you tread into the hollow house, you light a weakling’s fire in the hearth you know he’ll tease you for, then ascend to your bedroom to change, flicking the light on upstairs so he knows, whenever he gets back, that you’re home. Waiting for him, empty-handed but no less relieved. But as you cross the gold-lit bedroom, a floorboard near the foot of the bed wheezes strangely. This whole house croaks and groans just like everything in Jackson—that sure ain’t new—but this sound is different. You’re not sure you’ve heard it before. Not sure you’ve ever stepped in this exact place.

A grin slips sharp across your face at the smell of victory. You kick back the corner of the rug to bring your heel down hard against the board beneath it, and pop. Up comes the plank, perfect as a seesaw, revealing the black cavern beneath. 

In the shadowed hideaway, a small box lies in the dark beneath the floor.

There it is.

But all the world beyond this room, this box, disappears the moment you set it in your palm.

You don’t hear the porch steps’ announcement, nor the turn of the latch. You don’t hear the squealing door or how the heavy footsteps soften as he removes his boots to leave outside. Not even your name, often intoxicating on his tongue, reaches you in the bedroom—nor when he repeats it on the stairs. 

You’re too busy staring at what you’ve found after all you’re searching.

Then Joel’s in the doorway behind you, and you wake from what you’ve just now begun to believe must be some strange dream.

“Stubborn,” comes his voice, and at the sound you smack the box against your chest to hide it as you whirl around, still on your knees. Stupid you know. Useless. He can see the rug peeled back and the hole cut out of the floor, slender as a piano key. He knows you’ve won.

Broad in the door’s wooden frame, pink-cheeked and snug in his leather coat, Joel stands with the frosting of fresh snow clinging to his hair. He’s been growing it out, to your great pleasure, letting all his silver and curls go free. “I didn’t—” you start to say, but the words thin out and crumble. Your head’s not on quite straight, your heart not yet settled. Eyes still nickel round with shock.

You hadn’t considered how he might react if you succeeded. Maybe he’ll be mad. Take it back. 

But as you stare up at him, all bambi, Joel shakes his head and one snow-dotted curl slips out from the shell of his ear. As he rights it, his scarred hand rising, you see the dirt under his nails in the warm light. The stain on the knee of his jeans. You see too his lips, plush and touched by winter’s aridity, as they twitch in one corner, curling into his cheek. Curling up. Smiling as his eyes hold yours, not mad. Not shy. He’s been inside long enough now that there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the color in his cheeks might even be a blush. 

“Are you mad?” you ask, your voice soft enough to call a whisper.

He shakes his head again, steps over the threshold, and amber light from the lamp falls over him like Midas, turning him from man to gold. One step more and his mouth pulls wider, cuts that wink in his cheek you can’t help but stare at. “Course not,” he says gently. “Knew you were lookin’. Y’can have it one night early.”

It probably doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re surprised to discover you’re hoping as you swallow hard, blinking some of the shock from your eyes. He’s here; you ought to get up and hug him—welcome him home, your person here, safe and whole—but you’re too scared to move. Terrified that any flinch will make the box and its contents disappear. 

“Is this for me?”

Wry, he rolls his eyes. “Think you know it is.”

“I feel bad,” you say. “I got you a shirt.”

He’s generous enough to chuckle, and the low, earthy sound of it strikes flames along the column of your neck. “Could use a new shirt,” he says, smirking a little. “This one needs a wash.”

“Shut up,” you chide, but the words come out weak. He’s not allowed to joke right now because if you laugh, you might start to cry.

“Darlin’,” he says too softly. That’s the tone that makes honey of your insides, cruel in the gentle way it asks you to let him in.

Though your vision starts to puddle, you wrestle the feeling back. “S’pretty.”

The slightest nod. Then he unzips his coat to lay over the armchair in the corner of the room and you watch him, pinned to the floor despite the ache in your knees. “Was hopin’ you’d think so,” he admits with his back to you, the blades and muscles in his shoulders and back sliding gracefully beneath his flannel like waves on a lake. Antithetical to the thunder of your heart, Joel moves with a patience you can’t quite believe. In no rush at all, like you’re not holding what you’re holding in your shaking hands. Like some little band of metal doesn’t mean what it did before the world bit the dust and fell away.

The question sits like an icicle on your tongue, slowly melting, pooling behind your teeth. 

Joel lumbers back, the soreness of his body just barely visible in his bow-legged stride, to sit on the edge of the bed just behind you. The mattress squeaks. One hand cards through his hair. Slow is his next breath. Steady. But on the exhale, you swear you hear the tiniest shake, a tiny tremble. 

Realization strikes down at you like lightning: electric and tingling, zipping skull to spine to fingertips, blinding and white. He’s nervous. 

Which means the ring in your hand isn’t just a ring.

Lamblike, you force yourself to your feet and the mattress mouses as you sink against his side. Igneous is his body against yours—such a familiar warmth. Rigid and walled to all but a few. Open to you, in moments like these, when he lets you glimpse the whole of him in his eyes and you swear you might be capable of reading the thoughts straight from his mind. Joel nudges his arm harder to yours, and you see the question coming before it slips from his tongue. You see it brewing in the gilt of his eyes just as clearly as you hear your own answer ricochet in your head. 

You don’t cut him off, jump to yes. Instead you lower your hands from their hold against your chest at last, letting the box sit in your lap, open to his regard. Evening lamplight makes ice of the clear stone set squarely on its ring, and the heat of his breath kisses your cheek as he leans in to mumble,

“Y’gonna make me get down on one knee?”

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

NOTE: I am officially moving away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

[mebis-reblogs]

So, we know iterators not only have moving parts, we know that memory conflux is modular, being assembled and reassembled by backroom robot arms

On that note, have you noticed how pieces of the conflux cells are mounted over poles, as if the poles are a grid-rail of sorts?

Well, that's because they most likely are exactly that

Notice how the first step in the closing of a karma gate is a rapid deployment of poles to act as rails for the segments of the first barrier layer

Even puppet chambers aren't just segmented by projection tiles, but also by a grid made out of these rails (most likely for the arm to slide through)

[featherbreak]

"The piece had been assembled from fragments, manually, and not by a bone magician. [...] It had been painstakingly—passionately—laboriously reassembled, from the skull of someone who, soon after death or symptomatically during, had exploded."

- Harrow the Ninth, ch. 33

Camilla Hect (BoE/New Rho version): @featherbreak Photos: @stingray_photos (IG) (NOTE: hugest of ups to the photographer extraordinaire who made an incredible sculpt of Pal's skull The Bones!!!?)

[kxsagi]

I beg you like the beggiest begger in all of beggingdom to bless us with necromancer!rin 😭🙏🏻

“𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩”

a/n: HELP I KNOW REQS ARE CLOSED BUT I LITERALLY SET MYSELF UP FOR THIS ONE BECAUSE I WAS THE ONE WHO TALKED ABOUT NECROMANCER! RIN IN THE FIRST PLACE 

so take this quick drabble loves, this was long-awaited

you meet necromancer! rin on a tuesday. the clouds hang heavy like grief and the cemetery smells like crushed leaves and fresh rot. you were just passing by honestly. you didn’t mean to trip over a jawbone. 

"that’s mine," he says, when you scream and nearly punt it like a soccer ball. his voice is flat. cold. he looks at you like you're the one who rose from the ground and not the half-assembled skeleton curled at his feet. 

you blink. "you lost your jaw?" 

"no. it belongs to him." he gestures to the pile of bones like it’s a pet dog he’s reassembling from memory. “he’s being difficult.” 

you should’ve run. but you don’t. because something about him makes you pause. maybe it's the dead-frog color of his eyes, or the way the wind doesn't move his cloak, or maybe it's the faint shimmer of moonlight on the ring of bone dust circling his boots. 

“… you’re not gonna sacrifice me, are you?” you ask, half-joking. 

“do you want to be?” he shoots back, not looking up. he’s holding a skull like a grapefruit, thumb pressed thoughtfully to its temple. 

you decide right then that he’s either dangerous or lonely. or both. 

and you’ve always had a soft spot for things like that. 

he tells you his name is rin. you learn later that he only tells his name to the dead. 

“why me, then?” you ask one night, legs hanging over a tombstone as he draws sigils in the dirt. 

he doesn’t answer. but a skeleton near your foot twitches and flips you off. 

you’ve been coming back every night for weeks now. you bring snacks. he doesn’t eat, but he likes holding the wrappers. “colors are interesting,” he murmurs one time, rolling a candy bar package between his fingers like he’s never seen foil before. 

sometimes he shows you things, like a crow he taught to say "leave" in three different languages, or a skull that laughs when you tickle its chin. other times, he just sits beside you, arms folded, quiet. bones shift in the dark. you think one of them is starting to like you. 

and then there are nights where he’s cold, sharp-tongued, distant. 

“you shouldn’t come here.” 

“but i want to.” 

“people don’t want the things i have. they want what they’ve lost.” 

you look at him then, and for a moment, he looks young – not powerful, not dangerous, not the boy who pulls spirits from soil and threads soul to corpse with a flick of his wrist. 

just lonely. 

“i’m not here for what i’ve lost,” you say. “i’m here for you.” 

rin doesn’t respond. but his hand brushes yours. 

just once. 

just enough. 

you fall in love the day he lets you touch the stitches on his arm – black thread, curved like constellations. “protection,” he mutters, cheeks flushed. “it keeps things in. or out.” 

“what am i?” you whisper, tracing a line down his wrist. “in or out?” 

he stares at you like he’s reading your soul backwards. like he’s trying to decide if you’re something he’s allowed to want. 

“i haven’t figured it out yet,” he breathes. 

but when he kisses you that night – slow, unsure, tasting like dust and something old and aching – you know you’ve already crossed the line. 

a month later, you find a skeleton waiting on your porch. it’s holding flowers. 

“he sent me,” it rasps, bones rattling. “he’s not good at this.” 

you smile. 

“i know.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[sky-and-amusement-park]

(some) of ur hi3rd favs and a philosophy text related to how i view their characters. resolution got nuked so here's a quick explanation of each - Kiana - A Thousand Plateaus (G. Deleuze & F. Guattari) Everything is flows and connections that can be assembled and reassembled in infinite ways, and stable identity is just a temporary crystallization of forces. Mei - Fear & Trembling (S. Kierkegaard) True faith means choosing what you love over what society calls ethical, a choice so personal you can't even explain it to others. Bronya - Phenomenology of Perception (M. Merleau-Ponty) We understand the world through our body's lived experience, not through abstract thought separated from physical existence. Fu Hua - The Myth of Sisyphyus (A. Camus) We all know this one from the memes, her whole shtick is very sisyphean lol Himeko - The Ignorant Schoolmaster (J. Rancière) Anyone can learn anything because intelligence is equal in all people; the role of teaching is to awaken will, not transmit knowledge. Welt - Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (L. Wittgenstein) The limits of language are the limits of the world. Otto - Thus Spoke Zarathustra (F. Nietzsche) We must create our own values and become who we truly are, even if it means standing alone against everyone. Kevin - Philosophy of History (G.W.F Hegel) History is a rational process where humanity progresses through conflict and suffering toward absolute knowledge/freedom. Elysia - Minima Moralia (T. Adorno) In a totally broken world, the only honest philosophy is fragmentary reflections on how to preserve some trace of human happiness despite everything.

[historyofguns]

The article, authored by Steve Horsman and featured on The Armory Life, provides a detailed guide on how to disassemble, clean, and maintain the Springfield Armory Hellcat 9mm pistol. Part of a five-part series covering the care of popular firearms from Springfield Armory, the guide is particularly aimed at new gun owners amidst the record number of first-time pistol purchases in 2020. It emphasizes the importance of adhering to gun safety rules, such as treating all guns as if loaded and maintaining muzzle control. The article recommends first reading the owner's manual and then offers step-by-step instructions for disassembling the Hellcat, highlighting the need for proper tools and minimal lubrication during cleaning. Horseman underscores routine maintenance as essential for those using the Hellcat as a concealed carry weapon (CCW) to keep it free from dust and grime, thereby ensuring its reliability. The piece is part of the Springfield Armory Workbench video series, which also covers the SAINT AR-15, the 1911, the M1A, and the XD-M models in subsequent parts.

[thecatinthepurplepants]

tbh mairuma just has a different flavor in my brain when I interact with it than other pieces of media, ya know?

Watching another show I'm looking at the lore, the plot, the characters, the aesthetics, it's like a fun puzzle ball that I get to both assemble more completely as more information gets revealed and also pull apart with my gay little raccoon hands to see how everything works together and how it could all potentially be reassembled into something different and played around with

With mairuma it's all that but only after I'm done pointing emphatically at the screen whenever any of the characters do anything and then spinning around in circles like an overexcited jack russell terrier

It's like Coca-Cola with the cocaine still in it to me