#cloud data consistency

[vastedge330]

Cloud integration is essential for businesses looking to enhance operational efficiency and scalability. By integrating cloud and on-premises systems through APIs and iPaaS, organizations can ensure data consistency, automate processes, and streamline workflows, enabling a more seamless operation.

[charlesxavierthirster3000]

Loops and Steel — L.Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader

Summary: Your love for crocheting is apparent across the whole school, but a sense of reluctance clouds your vision at the thought of gift-giving towards Logan.

CW/Tags: fluff, kinda drags idk I'm sorry, REALLY stupid ending, not proofread I'm too lazy and it's sinus season, we have time manipulation powers guys, no use of Y/N, don't like don't read.

A/N: HELLO long time no fic guys (I'm going insane please help) this is honestly like so stupid idk why it's so FUCKING long hello???? Ik it's alr in the tags but the ending is like so extremely fucking stupid I'm humiliated....... Anyways guys try to enjoy this hahahaahhaha don't flame me pls

WC: 2.4K (holy SHIT girl) / Navigation

You had a thing amongst the X-Men— you were notorious for crocheting impromptu gifts for everyone, predominantly for winter use. No one in their right mind would voluntarily wear yarn in the summer, unless they had a thing for heat strokes. 

Well, to be fair, the craft store situated nearest to the mansion only sold the hefty type of yarn, so you physically couldn’t make anything light. But still.

Your hyperfixation on fibre arts had reached most of them— Scott with earmuffs which could be worn comfortably over his visor without disrupting the toggle, Storm and her suit-complimenting beanies, and Rogue who had received so many pairs of gloves she had to dedicate a whole drawer for them in her room. At this point, you'd woven your way through the whole mansion, pretty much everyone having received a small gift; the students with a 70% chance of having a simple keychain.

Everyone, except Logan.

It's not that you weren't fond of him—in fact, he was even up there with Rogue and the others— it's just.. he was always so reclusive. Yeah, you could hold a decently consistent conversation with him without breaking a sweat, but he seemed the type to brush gifts or tokens of appreciation off without a second thought. That’s what made you contemplate bestowing your handmade offerings of affection upon him.

If you wanted to say you were afraid of impending rejection, it wouldn’t be true. You’d handed some keychains to a few uptight kids you taught, and the sight of the metallic glint attached to a scrap of vibrant yarn in the rubbish didn’t affect you. Perhaps it was because they were only a clique of immature youngsters, but your ego wasn’t usually even touched that easily no matter the level of maturity.

So why were you so uncertain?

Inwardly, you somewhat knew that there was a chance— you craved his validation. Which was really, very pathetic. Your ego was not nearly as inflated as his, but acknowledging the info would undoubtedly have an effect on it, so you kept the classified data under lock and key. Well, maybe Charles knew. But even if he did, he fortunately kept your dignity intact.

Nevertheless, you’d gotten tipsy humiliatingly early in the night after spending quality time with Ororo and ended up stumbling back to your room, determined to overcome your inner wimp and make something for Logan. You brainstormed for approximately 7 minutes before coming with a conclusion; gloves. Just like the many pairs you'd created for his ‘friend’. 

‘I’m your friend, not your father,’ the idiot stated. Bullshit. Abso-fucking-lute bullshit. You heard them when passing by in the corridor on the way to a class and had to restrain using your powers to rewind that short burst of time just so you could shut Logan up and shove those words right back up his ass.

But unfortunately, you realised a little too much time later— after the alcohol-established period of boldness had subsided, of course— that you were still very much a pussy. Perhaps you were lost in the suppression of the alcohol, because you'd somehow already ended up with a pair of specialised gloves with slits, strong magnets fastened to the edges which accommodated the adamantium of Logan's claws.

If everything fell into accordance with your brainstorming, the magnets would automatically adjust to the position of the protruding metal under his skin every time he slid them on. Damn it, why weren't you this creative when you were sober? Maybe you should drink more. If only you had his healing factor; then your liver wouldn't be fucked for life.

You glanced up at the clock on your bedroom wall, bracing yourself for the ridiculously early time unavoidably displayed upon the aged face. 

10:21 p.m.

Fucking hell. Basically the whole goddamn mansion was still up, the younger kids an exception. It was a weekend, after all. 

After a short-lived interval of contemplation, you concluded two options. You had the option of using your energy and abandoning the project without physically undoing the whole thing; pretending it never happened, or B, actually fucking overcome your disconcerting fear of giving Logan a gift.

You'd deeply considered the first option.

Very. Deeply.

But in a self-ball-kicking resolution, you chucked your own uncertainty far, far down your throat and decided on simply marching over to Logan and handing him the navy pair of gloves.

⁠⊰⁠⊹ฺ

Mentally uttering repeated strings of curses, you approached his bedroom door— you figured that was where he was, anyway. He wasn't in his usual place; the grimy couch in front of the fireplace which was almost literally hanging on by a thread. 

Earlier, you'd taken a glimpse at the contents of the fridge in hopes of a tasty Swiss roll miraculously appearing, but instead noticed the fact that there was no beer. To conclude, Logan was probably restraining himself from impaling Scott and fermenting him into his own ‘Cyclops-made Heineken’.

Your hands fidgeted with the stitches on the openings for his claws, thumb running over the cool, metallic surface of the small magnets. God, why were you stressing this so hard? Logan was just a guy with kitty claws and a half-assed personality. He wasn't that intimidating, especially when dormant and presumably partially asleep by now. He was—literally— an old man at heart. The dude probably couldn't even stay up past 11:30.

Ultimately, you took a sharp breath before raising your free hand and firmly rapping at the door twice. Your ears picked up the faint rustle of a page turning and the brief thud of a book cover falling shut.

He was reading? Damn, guess your old man description was accurate after all. A shift of position, and the creak of a wooden chair groaning under his weight. “It's open.”

You skeptically twist the knob and push on the door, poking your head through the crack before stepping in and gently pushing it shut behind you. He's leant against his table in a semblance of leisure, gaze fixed on the metal of his dog tags as he wipes them with a thin tissue.

Your own gaze drifts to his tousled sheets, zeroing in on the faint outline of a bulky book poorly concealed by the covers. You have to curb the grin threatening to spread onto your face at the sight. He's embarrassed. 

Tragically, an unsuccessfully stifled sound somewhere between a snort, a giggle, and a spray bottle escapes your throat, “I didn't know you could read.”

The hands on his necklace halt as he looks up at you cautiously. “...What?”

You smile with feigned innocence, “I didn't know you read.”

He cocks an eyebrow, scoffing out a dry laugh. “That wasn't what ya said the first time. And I don't read.”

You suppress a snicker at his clearly veiled shame and nod over to the vague outline under his blanket. “What's that, then? Sure as hell isn't a woman.”

His eyes narrow in on you as he rises, sauntering over menacingly like he was in some type of slasher. Your smile only widens. You decide to just taunt him even more, even though it probably wasn't the greatest idea to do so to someone with metal claws. But even if you did get attacked, you could travel back and act as if it never happened.

He glares down at you, head tilted. You thought you glimpsed a twinge of humour behind the hazel, and it only adds fuel to the fire. “Whatcha readin’? Pride and Prejudice? Little Women? I presume it's a classic— y’know, considering your ag—”

An unprompted, somewhat restrained grin crawls onto his lips as he cuts you off, “Why’re you here, bub? ‘Cause 'm sure as hell you’re not here just to ask for a goddamn book review.”

Fuck. Gloves.

Heart abruptly starting to hammer in your chest, you nonchalantly shove a hand in your pocket and squeeze the coarse yet soft material of the acrylic yarn. You swallow thickly, fidgeting with a fuzzy you somehow already managed to get your fingers on, heat dragging down your ears and spreading across your face. Gosh, you probably look mortified right now.

You swear under your breath, fumbling the gloves out of your pocket. “Right—” you clear your throat, displaying them out in front of you like it was a grenade with the pin pulled. A flash of curiosity crosses his features; a cloud moving past the sun. Well, the other way round. If that was scientifically possible.

“I made these for you.” You toss them at him and he swiftly catches them mid-air, all while you stare at the fibre like you half expected each individual stitch to spontaneously combust. You unfortunately weren't Scott, so you couldn’t laser-eye the thing. “Figured freezing your fingers off might— uh—cramp your little ‘best there is at what I do’ thingy.”

He gives the intricate stitching a once-over, turning the solid navy gloves over in his hands. A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips and an eyebrow raises curiously as he regards the claw openings. “Made ‘em for me?” 

The rhetorical inquiry makes your eyes almost instinctively roll. “No. Made ‘em for fucking Magneto. Of course it's for you. Who the fuck else has claws?”

He slips one on and hoists an accusing eyebrow at you. “Don’t get ya panties in a twist, Time Bomb. Look like Pyro jus’ blew a fire in your face.”

You defensively fold your arms in front of your chest, trying your level best to ignore the itch to lift a certain finger situated between your index and ring. “Hey, you're not exactly a joyride to talk to, let alone give a gift.”

He scoffs, sliding the other glove on and flexing his fingers. “You tryna bend my bones? I can feel ‘em followin’ the magnets. Neat trick, though.” Unexpectedly, he pops his claws out with a snikt, prompting you to reflexively flinch and step back. “Jeez, Claws! Watch the face.”

He groans, “God, you're a diva.”

“What can I say? Sort of a package deal with the whole ‘Time-Waster’ schtick. You're way more of a diva than I am anyway,” you grin sarcastically bright.

There's a glimmer of amusement in the green-ness of his eyes, and you unfortunately find yourself reveling in it.

Turning on his heel, he clicks his tongue once and nods in a gesture for you to get on the bed. The action takes you aback by the unbridled directness of it, but you end up crawling up onto the cool covers regardless. “I was just here to give you those, y’know? I can leave if you want.”

He somewhat shakes his head as he settles on the chair opposite your position perched on the edge of the bed. “Stick around, ‘s not like I mind,” the words are delivered in his usual sardonic tone, but you detect an underlying sense of insistence.

Fuck. Was he laying the charm on real thick tonight, or were you just delusional?

You bite the inside of your cheek, scooching back and settling in a little more confidently. “Stick around?” you echo, teasing lilt in your tone despite how much his reassurance affects you. “Since when do you enjoy company? Or do you just wanna sit over there and brood while I talk my tongue off?”

He huffs, the noise more entertained than anything. “Don’t mind when it's yours. Quieter than anythin’ else anyway.”

The words hit you like a blow to the gut with how casual the delivery is— as if he was just making his usual comment on the tactics he could use to get rid of Scott. Inevitably, the warmth already lingering on your face strengthens as you find a response. 

“Quieter? High praise. I'm flattered, Howlett. And here I was under the impression that I’m ‘Most Likely to Talk Your Ear Off’ according to my old yearbook,” you laugh dryly, attempting to ease the nearly tangible tension hanging in the air between the two of you. 

That half-smirk makes its way back onto his lips as his gaze turns a touch more intent, “Ain't news to me. Still want ya to stay.”

Holy shit. Is he trying to cause you an agonisingly slow death? You were clearly trying to manage this whole interaction with sarcasm, but he wasn't letting any of it slide.

You swallow cautiously, throat suddenly a narrow pathway leading down to your rapidly flipping stomach. Hauling your legs up onto the bed and placing your weight back onto the headboard, you try to alleviate the voice in your head convincing you this was something further than platonic. “Wow. If I knew you were this sentimental I would've prepared a speech before I came in here. Gloves can't nearly be enough.”

He snorts, “Don't push it, bub.”

You raise your hands in feigned surrender, a grin spreading across your lips. “Okay, okay. Fine,” you mutter, brushing imaginary lint off your sleeve in a futile attempt to compose yourself. “How do you like the gloves anyway?”

He looks down at his hands in his lap like he'd just realised he was still wearing them. “Warm.”

You gawk at him incredulously. “Warm? C’mon, I deserve better than that, Log. I crocheted ‘em drunk. Practically risked my fingers. Y’know how I am under the influence— could’ve found a way to fucking impale myself with the hook or something.”

He grunts absentmindedly— gaze seemingly too focused on your face as if he was admiring you more than the gloves. But like him snapping out of a trance, his attention is almost immediately diverted back to the stitching when he processes your statement. “I'll be usin’ ‘em. Smart move for the claws. Don't have to destroy ya hard work when I pop ‘em out.”

Sighing dramatically, you lean back against the back of the bed with your arms splayed behind your head. Taking on your usual route, you taunt him in a flat tone, “Guess that's the highest form of Logan Howlett appreciation I'm gonna get tonight. Have I reached my quota? It's a shame; I'm such a thoughtful, empathetic, charisma—”

A low chuckle graces his reaction as he cuts you off, “God, really testin’ your luck tonight, aren't ya?”

You shrug, a giggle bubbling up your own throat— some of the emotion-filled tension lifting off the atmosphere as you get back to your usual banter, “What can I say? Maybe next time I'll make you a tophat— perhaps a red tailcoat to go with it, if I'm feeling real dedicated.”

He glances up at you skeptically, an eyebrow once again raised as he scrutinises your expression, “Oddly specific, Time Bomb. Ya know somethin’ I don't?”

You beam at him, observing the way it only enhances his skepticism. “Possibly. Somewhere in the far, far future, you're one of the greatest there are.”

Special credits to this song for making me push through the final stretch of this fucking fic 😭😭😭😭

[reasonsforhope]

Scientists have developed a new solar-powered system to convert saltwater into fresh drinking water which they say could help reduce dangerous the risk of waterborne diseases like cholera.

Via tests in rural communities, they showed that the process is more than 20% cheaper than traditional methods and can be deployed in rural locations around the globe.

Building on existing processes that convert saline groundwater to freshwater, the researchers from King’s College London, in collaboration with MIT and the Helmholtz Institute for Renewable Energy Systems, created a new system that produced consistent levels of water using solar power, and reported it in a paper published recently in Nature Water.

It works through a process called electrodialysis which separates the salt using a set of specialized membranes that channel salt ions into a stream of brine, leaving the water fresh and drinkable. By flexibly adjusting the voltage and the rate at which salt water flowed through the system, the researchers developed a system that adjusts to variable sunshine while not compromising on the amount of fresh drinking water produced.

Using data first gathered in the village of Chelleru near Hyderabad in India, and then recreating these conditions of the village in New Mexico, the team successfully converted up to 10 cubic meters, or several bathtubs worth of fresh drinking water. This was enough for 3,000 people a day with the process continuing to run regardless of variable solar power caused by cloud coverage and rain.

[Note: Not sure what metric they're using to calculate daily water needs here. Presumably this is drinking water only.]

Dr. Wei He from the Department of Engineering at King’s College London believes the new technology could bring massive benefits to rural communities, not only increasing the supply of drinking water but also bringing health benefits.

“By offering a cheap, eco-friendly alternative that can be operated off the grid, our technology enables communities to tap into alternative water sources (such as deep aquifers or saline water) to address water scarcity and contamination in traditional water supplies,” said He.

“This technology can expand water sources available to communities beyond traditional ones and by providing water from uncontaminated saline sources, may help combat water scarcity or unexpected emergencies when conventional water supplies are disrupted, for example like the recent cholera outbreaks in Zambia.”

In the global rural population, 1.6 billion people face water scarcity, many of whom are reliant on stressed reserves of groundwater lying beneath the Earth’s surface.

However, worldwide 56% of groundwater is saline and unsuitable for consumption. This issue is particularly prevalent in India, where 60% of the land harbors undrinkable saline water. Consequently, there is a pressing need for efficient desalination methods to create fresh drinking water cheaply, and at scale.

Traditional desalination technology has relied either on costly batteries in off-grid systems or a grid system to supply the energy necessary to remove salt from the water. In developing countries’ rural areas, however, grid infrastructure can be unreliable and is largely reliant on fossil fuels...

“By removing the need for a grid system entirely and cutting reliance on battery tech by 92%, our system can provide reliable access to safe drinking water, entirely emission-free, onsite, and at a discount of roughly 22% to the people who need it compared to traditional methods,” He said.

The system also has the potential to be used outside of developing areas, particularly in agriculture where climate change is leading to unstable reserves of fresh water for irrigation.

The team plans to scale up the availability of the technology across India through collaboration with local partners. Beyond this, a team from MIT also plans to create a start-up to commercialize and fund the technology.

“While the US and UK have more stable, diversified grids than most countries, they still rely on fossil fuels. By removing fossil fuels from the equation for energy-hungry sectors like agriculture, we can help accelerate the transition to Net Zero,” He said.

-via Good News Network, April 2, 2024

[astonmartingf]

FALLING FOR YOU ; MV1

max verstappen x reader

. . . in his own little way, max finds the solutions to his problems not without a little help from his friends and ends up giving you the confession of a lifetime

amgf yeah... there's this, just fluff. i won't be as active this week because of exams and research but this is prime time of my impulsive ideas so either i can milk this opportunity to write every single day, or avoid this app for the remainder of the week. enjoy 👍

Max strives for stability. 

He enjoys the same routine that consists of jogging at eight am, early morning workout by nine am, brunch, a few rounds of sim racing, stopping by for a few phone calls and online meetings. If he isn’t expected to fly anywhere else he’d have his usual afternoon snack, play with his cats, more sim racing from six to eight pm, dinner with his team, reviewing data and notes, an hour for his own leisure— mostly sim racing, before heading to bed at one am.

Whatever happens in between is usually one of Lando’s plans in an attempt to spice things up in his life. Whether it’s going to the movies, buying ice cream at the convenience store down the street, or playing padel. Max is very much thankful for his friends.

Max also strives for the best.

He takes pride in his skills in racing and acknowledges his talent, and flaws. Honing them like a sharp knife through whetstones, he polishes himself and cuts through the defenses of the grid. He is a World Champion for a reason, and with a great car and team behind him, he knows they’ll get far. Max is very much thankful for the trust his team set upon him.

Max hates uncertainty. 

Well- hate is too strong of a word and dislike would be too weak for his opinions. 

Max despises uncertainty.

Especially when there’s you- the current root of all his “problems”. Despite his tendency to be blunt and straightforward statements, uncertainty always left a distasteful feeling in his mouth. 

Realizing that his wavering feelings for you have now shattered the routine he built to perfection. Long gone are sleeping on time and hello to staying up with you crowding his thoughts. Head full of the lingering scent of your perfume and the same voice playing in his head.

Max hated it. He despised how you orbit around his mind, bouncing through the walls of the gray matter inside his skull. He often catches himself smiling at the thought of you- before a bitter scowl fills his face and an incredulous and slightly constipated look pasted on his face.

But that was the least of his worries, such feelings could be fixed (a term he used to convince himself these are temporary). It’s not that Max doesn’t believe in relationships or think it’s nothing but a distraction, deep inside he’s aware that he craves affection. It’s the vague emotions clouding his heart making him think twice.

Then again, Max is thankful for his friends. 

“What did you say?” Lando squinted his eyes in the hopes to hear his words clearly. With a blank look- almost as if he put on a mask void of emotions Max spoke once more.

“Do I like YN?” 

The rest tilted their head to the side, in confusion. “D-did you perhaps ask us. . . if- if you like someone?” George, asked once more to make sure of his words, sighing in disbelief.

“It’s not just someone, it’s YN.” Max pushed the question once more and glanced at everyone on the table.

The silence was deafening. Max’ statement was too loud and too quiet at the same time, no one spoke and they left each other contemplating on the next words he will say.

“I need help. How do I know I like YN?” Collective gasps were heard throughout and one by one they slowly left the group of friends on the table leaving Max with Lando and George.

“How about we sleep over your question and. . .think— think about it you know?” Lando, the first to talk regarding the revelation that their stoic friend has now developed feelings for someone.

“Sleep? I hardly get any sleep these nights. I want to confirm my feelings now so I can finally sleep peacefully.” 

That’s when the pair noticed the bags under his eyes, mostly due to the lack of sleep like he said. Lando took a glance at George and started to talk telepathically at each other.

George sighs before pushing Max from his seat, “You see Max these feelings can’t be confirmed in a night, these requ-”

“It’s been weeks, George, I can’t lose sleep over such a trivial matter.” Max retorted with a firm stance using his lack of sleep as a front to confirm his feelings.

“Okay, first of all feelings are not a trivial matter. They are valid, and whatever is going on in your head about YN shouldn’t be taken lightly. Not because we’re curious but because we care about your emotional well being.” Lando spoke in a serious voice which only added on to Max’ confusion.

Feelings are not a big deal, at least not for him.

“And we're curious as to why you like YN.” George chimed as he followed the pair outside the room.

“Yes we’re curious but now how about I give you some romance books that you can study and read. Only you can confirm your feelings Max, let’s stop by my room and I’ll give you books you can read and next week- next week we’ll talk about this matter again.”

Lando now sounds like a mom scolding his child for misbehaving, dragging the latter to his room and sending him off with a tower of romance books.

Max is smart, he can understand such concepts by himself.

Feeling accomplished, Lando glanced at George smirking at him before walking away with Max to his apartment.

Max on the other hand went inside his room and began to bury himself in the books he brought along. “If I’m not sleeping at least I get my feelings in line.”

One chapter. And another turns to five and in the blink of an eye a week has passed. Max returned to his routine but instead of sleeping at one he pushed it to an even later hour to make time for reading which helped him sleep.

The first nights were hard, after finishing a chapter of the book he finds himself falling asleep and now you appear to become more vivid in his mind. Invading his dreams as romantic scenarios play on repeat while Max mindlessly sleeps which results in him waking up flustered and warm.

Passing by you on the paddock became frequent; it's as if the universe has its way to bring you together. Now everywhere Max looked there was you, in the corner of his sight you occupied a chunk of his thoughts and as much as he hated to admit he found himself anticipating your presence.

By the end of the week you managed to invade his thoughts and heart which only strengthened his theory and confirmed his feelings for you. With no time to waste, Max went to look for you. The second practice was over, he’s telling you what you’re doing to him.

With new found information from the team about your whereabouts, Max made his way to the hospitality locating where you’re assigned he opens the door abruptly to see you preparing food. You stand straight feeling the intimidating aura around him, you watch him exhale a sigh of relief before talking a large step in your direction. On instinct you back away giving him space, every step Max takes is a step backward from you.

Unknowingly your feet hit the corner of the marble countertop and like a cliché scene Max remembers from the books he’s been reading you stumble backwards.

Max is a racer for a reason, and with swift reflexes he managed to catch your fall and brought you up to your feet. “You should watch where you’re going. I don’t want you falling just like how I fell for you.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence from the both of you paired with the low buzz of the booming air conditioner right near you. You blink your eyes incredulously, “What?”

“I mean. . . I do want you to fall for me, it would be sad to find out that my feelings are one-sided. But I mean my words YN.”

You adjust your posture and back away. “What are the words Max? About me falling to the ground or you. . . you f- falling for me?” Your voice thins out at the end unsure of what you just heard.

“Both. I don’t want you to fall, it’s dangerous just like how you did to me. You enamored me with those charms, I just want to know how you did it.” Max spoke with the most bored and plain looking face he could muster up. His palms were sweating inside his pockets in extreme nervousness.

“Is this- is this your confession perhaps?” You try to piece things together, like the subtle clues Lando and George have been leaving out of nowhere.

“Yes. This is my confession.” Max blurts out as sweat drips from the side of his forehead. And just as he was losing hope from this failed confession your bubbly laugh bursts the silence in the air.

“You know, you need to work on your confession more. That was unlike any other, but I understand what you mean. Do you want me to fall for you, Maxie?” 

Max stares at you and you don't miss the soft gaze he set upon you. You note the light blush spread around the apples of his cheeks as his eyes light up the moment you called his name. The once awkward silent air was now filled with a warm feeling that spread all over your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

“I do. I fell for you, I like you, and I want to mean something to you.”

His way with words caught you off guard, Max Verstappen, who would’ve thought. You smile at him, this time it’s you walking towards his direction.

Max stiffened at the proximity between the two of you, his feet stuck to the floor preventing him from backing away. Your face gets closer to his and all the thoughts clouding his mind have been wiped away.

You face him and whisper something in his ear before walking away towards the kitchen at the back, legs shaking and breaths heavy. 

Taking a moment to himself Max meditates in an attempt to calm his bouncing heart, legs shaking as if they ran a hundred miles, and his mind whirring into different ideas and possibilities.

Max never falls- literally and figuratively.

Yet you managed to be the root of all his problems. The person who made him fall, there was no doubt that Max fell and will still be falling for you.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Brazilian GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Returning to the paddock for the sprint race, I focused on one thing: the job. The rain hadn’t come yet, but the air was thick with humidity, and the dark clouds rolling in on the horizon promised it wouldn’t hold off for long. As I climbed into my car, I pushed every stray thought out of my head. This was my escape. The only time Henry couldn’t get to me was when I was strapped into the cockpit.

The sprint race itself went well. I pushed hard, held my position, and finished P3 again. Behind Lando and Oscar, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied with my consistency, but there was still a fire burning in my chest, a determination to do even better in the main race. For now, though, I basked in the small victory.

After pulling into parc fermé and handling the brief celebrations with my team, I made my way back to the garage. That’s when I saw him—Henry. His smirk stretched across his face as he stood by my workstation, arms crossed like he owned the place. I immediately felt my stomach churn.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse, delaying the next session. Rain lashed against the paddock’s roof, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Teams were stuck in their garages, waiting for updates from the FIA. It felt like the world was put on pause, and unfortunately for me, that meant I was stuck with Henry.

I tried to keep busy, double-checking data with the other engineers and chatting with Landon when I could. But Henry was like a shadow, following me wherever I went. His presence was suffocating, his comments laced with the same inappropriate undertones that made my skin crawl.

“Staying dry in here, sweetheart?” he asked as I passed by, his voice dripping with mock concern.

I ignored him, but he wasn’t deterred. He leaned against the table where I was reviewing some data and lowered his voice. “You know, I’ve been thinking... You’ve been looking really tense lately. Maybe after this weekend, we can spend some one-on-one time. You know, help you unwind.”

My jaw clenched, and I felt my fingers curl into fists at my sides. I didn’t trust myself to speak without snapping, so I stayed silent, my eyes glued to the tablet in front of me.

Henry chuckled, clearly amused by my lack of response. “Silent treatment, huh? That’s fine. I like a challenge.”

I needed to get away from him. Grabbing the tablet, I stood abruptly and made my way to the other side of the garage, pretending to check something with one of the mechanics. But no matter where I went, Henry was always close behind. It was like a game to him, and I was the unwilling participant.

At one point, I slipped into the back of the garage, trying to find some space to breathe. But Henry followed, cornering me near the equipment racks. His eyes glinted with something that made my skin crawl, and I pressed myself against the wall, desperate to put distance between us.

“Why so shy today?” he asked, his tone low and teasing. “You know, you don’t have to be so uptight around me. I don’t bite... unless you want me to.”

That was it. My breaking point was so close I could feel it bubbling under the surface. But I couldn’t afford to lose my composure, not here, not now. Instead, I forced myself to look him in the eye, my voice steady but cold. “Henry, I’m not in the mood for this. Back off.”

He smirked, leaning in just enough to make my pulse quicken. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.”

I stepped past him, my entire body trembling with frustration and disgust. I needed air, space—anything to escape him. But the rain still poured outside, trapping me in this nightmare of a garage.

The FIA announcement came through the garage speakers, crackling to life over the ambient noise of the rain hammering against the roof.

"Attention, teams. Due to the persistent rain and worsening conditions, qualifying will be moved to a slot a few hours ahead of the originally scheduled race time tomorrow. This will allow us to monitor for a potential break in the weather. Further updates will follow."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. This was my chance to escape, at least for now. As soon as the announcement ended, I grabbed my things and slipped out of the garage. The quicker I got to my driver’s room, the less likely Henry would have a chance to corner me again. My heart pounded as I walked briskly through the bustling paddock, my eyes darting around to make sure he wasn’t following me.

Once inside the sanctuary of my driver’s room, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling deeply. I allowed myself a moment to breathe before gathering my thoughts and changing into my casual clothes. The sooner I was out of here, the safer I’d feel.

As I finished changing, I peeked out the door, scanning the hallway for any sign of Henry. When I didn’t see him, I let out a small sigh of relief. For once, it looked like luck was on my side. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stepped out and made my way toward the paddock exit, keeping my head low and moving quickly.

Just as I was about to turn the corner, I nearly collided with someone. Looking up, I saw Franco Colapinto grinning down at me.

“Hey! You’re in a rush. Everything okay?” he asked, his tone light and friendly.

I plastered on my best fake smile, pushing down the lingering nerves. “Yeah, just trying to beat the rain back to the hotel. You know how it is.”

Franco chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. “True. I don’t envy whoever’s on the FIA’s weather team right now. Anyway, I was going to ask—do you want to join us for dinner tonight? I invited Alex and Lando, too. Figured it’d be good to unwind before tomorrow.”

I hesitated for a moment, my instincts telling me to retreat to my hotel room and hide for the rest of the evening. But the thought of being surrounded by friends, even for a little while, sounded comforting. And besides, Franco’s friendly demeanor was hard to resist.

“That sounds great,” I replied, the smile on my face feeling a little more genuine this time. “What time?”

“Let’s meet in the hotel lobby around seven,” he said. “We’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then,” I said, giving him a small wave before continuing toward the exit.

As I stepped out into the rain-soaked paddock, I felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos. For a few hours tonight, I could pretend everything was normal. Even if I had to put on a brave face, I’d take any reprieve I could get.

Returning to the hotel felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The ride back had been quiet, giving me time to stew in my thoughts, but the moment I stepped into my room, I set my bag down and headed straight for the bathroom.

I didn’t just want to shower—I needed to scrub every trace of Henry’s words and his unwelcome touches from my skin. Turning the water as hot as I could bear, I stepped under the stream and let it pour over me, cleansing not just the grime of the day but the lingering weight of his actions. I scrubbed at my arms and shoulders, imagining I could wash away the memory of his arm around me, his hand gripping my waist. By the time I turned the water off, my skin was pink from the heat and friction, but I felt lighter, freer.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I leaned against the bathroom counter and took a moment to steady my breathing. Tonight wasn’t about Henry, I reminded myself. It was about Franco, Alex, and Lando—people who didn’t make me feel small or uncomfortable. I dried off and slipped into a pair of comfortable jeans and a sweater before tying my hair back loosely. With a glance in the mirror, I forced myself to smile. It didn’t quite reach my eyes, but it was a start.

At exactly seven, I stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby. The boys were already there, chatting and laughing. Franco spotted me first, waving me over with a bright grin.

“Perfect timing!” he said, his energy contagious. “You ready?”

“Always,” I replied, smiling back as Alex and Lando turned to greet me.

“Glad you could make it,” Alex said warmly, giving me a quick hug.

“You’re not allowed to bail halfway through, by the way,” Lando added with a smirk. “We’re keeping you hostage for the evening.”

“Oh, no,” I teased, feigning horror. “Guess I’m stuck with you guys then.”

They laughed, and just like that, I felt a little more at ease. We piled into a car Franco had arranged, and he directed the driver to a small, tucked-away restaurant he’d found online. It was styled like a quaint town eatery, the kind of place that served hearty, comforting meals with a side of charm.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with rustic wooden tables, dim lighting, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. We grabbed a table near the back, and before we’d even ordered, the banter started.

“So,” Franco began, leaning forward with a grin. “What’s the over-under on Alex spilling his drink tonight?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “One time. It happened one time.”

“And yet, it lives rent-free in my memory,” Lando quipped, dodging Alex’s playful swat.

As the night went on, I found myself relaxing more and more. The boys were effortlessly funny, their lighthearted teasing pulling me out of my own head. When the food arrived—big plates of pasta, burgers, and fries—we dove in like we hadn’t eaten in days.

“So, what’s everyone’s game plan for tomorrow?” Franco asked between bites.

“Win,” Lando said confidently, earning a laugh from everyone.

“Revolutionary strategy,” I teased, shaking my head.

“And you?” Alex asked, looking at me curiously.

I hesitated for a moment, but their expectant faces made it impossible not to answer. “Honestly? Just survive the chaos. If the rain comes like they’re saying, it’s going to be wild out there.”

“You’ll do more than survive,” Franco said firmly. “You’re the rain master, remember? We’ll all be trying to keep up with you.”

I laughed softly, grateful for the confidence he had in me. The conversation continued, moving from racing to random topics like who could do the worst impression of their team principals (spoiler: it was Lando). By the time we left the restaurant, my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much.

As we walked back to the car, Lando nudged me lightly. “See? I told you tonight would be good.”

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, feeling a warmth in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a long time. For a few hours, I’d been able to forget the weight of everything else and just enjoy the company of my friends. And for that, I was endlessly grateful.

The morning of the race was a whirlwind of nerves and anticipation. I stood in front of the mirror in my hotel room, mentally preparing myself for the challenge ahead. Today was a new day, and no matter what had happened leading up to this moment, I was going to race like it was my last. The pressure from Henry and the team’s constant expectations weighed on me, but I refused to let it break me. Not today.

After going through my usual routine of getting ready—gearing up, double-checking everything—I made my way to the paddock. The moment I stepped foot into the familiar environment, I could already feel the tension mounting. Of course, Henry was the first to spot me. As usual, he had a comment or two to make as I walked past him, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. His voice had that familiar smugness, but today I had one thing on my mind: get into the car and forget about him.

I didn’t let his presence affect me; I couldn’t afford to. I gave the bare minimum responses, nodding along as he made more remarks, his tone still pushing boundaries. His touch lingered longer than I wanted, but I kept my focus on the goal. I was here to race, not to let him ruin this for me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I made my way to the car. Once I was suited up and strapped in, the world outside of the cockpit faded. It was just me and the machine. The roar of the engines, the feel of the track beneath my tires—I was in my element. Qualifying started, and the nerves I’d been holding back finally seemed to evaporate.

But the track wasn’t as wet as I’d anticipated. The rain had calmed down to a drizzle, and the surface was surprisingly dry. That meant I couldn’t push as hard as I’d wanted, and the lap times didn’t reflect the pace I knew I was capable of. When I crossed the line, I felt a pang of disappointment. P5. Not terrible, but not what I had hoped for. Still, I couldn’t let it get to me. There was still the race, and I could make up for it.

The starting grid was a blur, and before I knew it, the lights went out. As we all took off, the rain came back in full force, and my confidence surged. This was my domain—racing in the rain was second nature to me, and I could feel myself carving through the field. It was almost effortless.

I overtook car after car, inching closer to the front. The rain never let up, but it didn’t bother me. I was in the zone. By the time I reached P3, I had a surge of pride—this was where I belonged. But the track was starting to get dangerous. The spray from the cars was so thick, visibility was reduced to almost nothing.

Then came the call.

"Bring your delta positive," Landon’s voice crackled over the radio. "Yellow flags. Be careful."

I felt the pit of my stomach drop. Yellow flags weren’t a good sign, and I could hear the tension in his voice as the tone of the message shifted. "We’ve got reds, we’ve got reds!" he said, loud and clear.

"What’s going on?" I asked, my hands tightening on the wheel.

"Franco has spun and crashed," Landon replied, his voice thick with concern. "We don’t know if he’s okay yet."

My heart skipped a beat. Franco. My mind raced with worry, the thought of him hurt gnawing at me. I had to swallow the lump in my throat, focusing on my breathing to calm myself. I needed to know he was alright.

"Franco, please be okay," I whispered under my breath.

The tension felt suffocating as I continued to slow and adjust my pace. It felt like an eternity before the radio came back on.

"Franco’s fine," Landon said, a slight relief in his voice. "He’s out of the car, shaken up but okay."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Franco was fine. But the weight of the situation still hung in the air.

I made my way into the pit lane, my mind still racing. The red flags meant the session would be paused, and we’d have to wait it out. As I pulled into my pit box, I let out a slow, steady breath, still shaken but thankful. The team was already working hard to keep me updated, but for the moment, I had to reset.

I couldn’t let my emotions take over. I still had a race to finish.

As the red flags finally lifted, I found myself back on the track, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The rain had only intensified, turning the surface into a treacherous challenge. Visibility was at an all-time low, and the spray from the cars ahead of me blurred everything around. Every inch of the track felt like a gamble.

The lights went out again, and we were racing once more. I quickly regained my focus, the familiar rhythm of the car returning beneath me. I knew this track like the back of my hand, but today, it was a whole different beast. The rain made everything unpredictable. My heart was still pounding in my chest, but I pushed it aside, keeping my focus sharp. This was the moment where I had to trust my instincts and my training.

As the laps wore on, I found myself battling alongside some of the best drivers on the grid, feeling the pressure building up. Then came the moment that would define the rest of the race.

Carlos and I were side by side on one of the straights, inches apart, both of us fighting for the same piece of real estate. It was going well until, suddenly, Carlos’s car began to aquaplane. His back end snapped out, and in the blink of an eye, he was off the track. Instinctively, I tried to react, but it was too late—my car was already slipping, too. The moment my tires lost grip with the wet track, I felt the dreaded sensation of aquaplaning.

My heart leaped into my throat as the car began to slide. I fought the wheel, trying to regain control, but it felt like the world was spinning out of control. Carlos was already in the gravel, but I had a split second to save myself. I yanked the wheel, bringing the car around in a full 360 spin. Time slowed down as I felt the car slide and twirl, but somehow, by sheer force of will, I managed to keep the tires pointing in the right direction.

It wasn’t over yet. The car didn’t want to cooperate. As soon as I regained control of the wheel, the back end started to drift into the next corner. I could feel the tires barely gripping the surface as the car skated dangerously, but I didn’t panic. My fingers tightened on the wheel, my foot on the throttle, and I steered the car back into line.

Somehow, I managed to correct the slide, keeping my position. No spinouts, no off-track excursions. I hadn’t lost anything—except maybe a few heartbeats—and I was still in P3. The radio crackled to life as I rejoined the racing line.

"y/n, that was some incredible driving," Landon said, his voice a mix of relief and admiration. "You’re still in it—keep it up."

I allowed myself a small exhale of relief, but I knew this wasn’t over. The rain was still coming down hard, and the conditions were only going to get worse.

Behind me, Max was gaining on me. He was hungry, and I could feel the pressure building with every corner I took. Esteban and Pierre were still in front of me, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the battle for P3 would turn into a fight for the win.

As the laps ticked down, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t just here to survive—I was here to win. I would prove to everyone that I could handle anything, even when it felt like the world around me was falling apart. I wasn’t going to let the conditions, or the pressure, take me down. This was my race, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me.

The final laps felt like a blur, a perfect mix of instinct and skill. I could hear the tires screeching as the rain continued to pour, but it was as if I had found my rhythm, my comfort in the chaos. Pierre and Esteban were still holding strong in front of me, but I could feel them starting to struggle with the conditions. The track was slick, every corner becoming more and more treacherous with each passing second.

I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away. I focused on the corners where they faltered, waiting for my chance. As we hit the straight, I pulled out from behind Esteban, my eyes fixed on the gap between him and Pierre. I knew exactly how much grip I had, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I closed the distance with a calculated precision, then took the inside line into the next corner. Esteban was slow on the brakes, his car sliding just slightly in the rain, and I dove past him before he could react. In an instant, I was on Pierre's tail, my heart pounding in my chest.

He wasn’t giving up easily, but the rain was a relentless opponent, and I could see the strain in his movements. With one final push, I threaded my car through the corner in a perfect line, pulling ahead of him just as we came to the final stretch.

I could hear the roar of the engine in my ears, the tires biting into the wet tarmac, and my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the car. And then, just as the checkered flag waved ahead of me, I surged forward, crossing the line in first place.

The moment the race ended, a rush of emotion hit me, and I heard Landon’s voice crackle through the radio, full of excitement. “You did it! Master of racing in the rain, huh? I think the storm has nothing on you.”

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension lifting as the weight of the victory finally set in. "Maybe I’ve just got a magic touch on the wet tracks," I teased. "Looks like the rain’s not the only thing I can control today."

Landon chuckled on the other end. "Whatever it is, you crushed it. Proud of you."

As I slowed the car to a stop, the pit crew and team stood at the barriers, all cheering and clapping. The adrenaline that had kept me sharp during the race now flowed freely, and I allowed myself a moment to soak it in. I had done it. I had conquered the storm.

The podium ceremony was a blur of smiles, flashing cameras, and cheers, but for a moment, I allowed myself to truly savor the victory. The rain may have been relentless, but it hadn’t stopped me from coming out on top. I glanced over at Pierre and Esteban, both grinning ear to ear as we all stood side by side on the podium.

"Finally!" Esteban chuckled, holding up his trophy, the relief in his voice palpable. "It’s been a long time coming, but this is worth it."

Pierre nodded, his eyes sparkling with pride. "You’ve been quick all season, Y/N. Well-deserved. I’m just happy to be up here with you."

I grinned back at them, genuinely happy for their success. It was a long time coming for both of them, and I could tell how much this podium meant to them. Seeing their joy, their sense of achievement, made the victory feel even more meaningful.

We all raised our trophies high, basking in the moment as the crowd cheered. But as the noise of the celebration filled my ears, my eyes couldn't help but wander to the crowd below.

I caught sight of Henry, his smug expression standing out among the rest of the team. His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, the joy of the podium felt distant, overshadowed by that familiar, disgusting feeling.

I couldn’t shake it. That sickening reminder that despite my hard work, my success, there was still something toxic lingering in the background. I forced myself to smile as I stood there, trying to shake off the unease creeping up from my gut. The team’s cheers filled the air, but all I could hear was the thought of the media duties that awaited me. I would have to face Henry again.

As the ceremony wrapped up and we made our way down from the podium, the momentary elation of the win started to fade, and reality hit me again. I tried to push the thoughts out of my head, focusing on the next step. But I knew deep down that the weight of what I was still facing wasn’t going to go away just because I’d crossed the finish line in first place.

I had a lot to prove, not just on the track, but off it too. And the hardest part? Getting through the next few hours, knowing what was waiting for me after the cameras stopped flashing.

[whisper-in-the-night]

Undesirable

Plot: Thomas is omega who will never find his true mate. Or no?

Warnings: omegavers; slight mention of bullying; deviation from the canon; omega!Thomas Hewitt, alpha!male!reader / Y/N

Note: it's my first work in this fandom and even first work in Omegaverse, so I hope it'll be fine. Thanks for reading. About 3-4 chapters planned here.

Part 1 | Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

•••

It's hard to be an omega. And it's even harder to be an omega when you don't fit the description of an 'ordinary, attractive' omega.

Thomas understood the essence of this system from his childhood, as soon as he went to school. And although, because of his strength and size, Hewitt thought he was at least a beta as a child, fate seemed to mock him. During one of the tests to determine the second gender, his results finally turned out to be positive. The young man nervously looked at the neatly folded piece of paper in the envelope. He carefully pulled it out and unwrapped it. Many of his health data were written on white blank paper, but what caught his attention was the green inscription in the middle of the sheet "Omega".

At first, the boy did not attach importance to this word, his childish curiosity and some naivety accepted it simply as a fact. Other children in the class were violently discussing their secondary genders, sharing their impressions and all that. A couple of minutes after the results were given, Thomas was approached by a group of children who had previously often mocked him because of his external features. As soon as they surreptitiously noticed the inscription in Thomas's results, mocking laughter broke out in the crowd. "Look at him! He's a freak! So also omega! No alpha in your life will look at you, monster," one of the boys said enthusiastically, grinning nastily.

That evening, Thomas locked himself in his room. After several unsuccessful attempts to invite her son to dinner, Luda went up to the second floor and gently knocked on the child's door. There was no response. Then she cautiously opened the door. The lights in the room were turned off and the windows were curtained. The woman cautiously went inside, when suddenly she heard a slight crunch under her feet. Picking up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor, Luda read the unfortunate word. She carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the child into her arms. The boy allowed himself to cry out loud, burying his face in his mother's chest, clutching the fabric of her dress in his fists.

As the years passed, the Hewitt family was left alone in this ill-fated town on the outskirts of Texas. They had to come to the current of life that we all know about. This family consisted mostly of betas, with the exception of the youngest, Thomas. And yet now, life seemed much easier for him. Since he left school, just for many years, his abusers have grown up and left, and Thomas has become a little easier. Although self-doubt and pain remained deep in his big warm heart. He really believed in their words. Thomas was too big and strong man to be a desirable omega. Too strong, too big, too wayward, too rude. The man has long accepted his place in society. Although sometimes he still sat in his room at night with a heavy heart. Sometimes he wished he had a mate he could rely on, a mate who could protect him and calm his heat, maybe even give him pups. But Thomas knew he didn't have time for that, he had to protect the family.

***

The sun seemed to come out of hell in Texas this year. The heat was incredible, there was a drought all around. The small grass turned yellow, and those rare trees turned into a kind of deadwood. There's not a cloud in the sky.

Thomas was helping his mother in the store, it was damn stuffy in the room. Recently, due to the intense heat, there were no visitors from the word at all, so he did not care about his appearance at all. The sleeves of a light-colored shirt were rolled up to the elbows, dark tangled hair was pulled into a low ponytail, only a few strands fell over a face in a leather mask. The man's brown trousers were slightly damp from how often he wiped his sweaty palms on the fabric.

Suddenly, a light ringing of the door bell was heard, followed by Luda's tired but pleasant voice.

"Hello, how can I help you?" the woman asked the man who entered.

"Oh yeah, hey. I'd like to refuel my car," you replied smiling, scratching the back of your head, "Do you have some gasoline?"

The woman smiled slightly, which caused fine wrinkles to run across her tired face, and turned towards the back room, shouting a short "Tommy!". A couple of minutes later, a dark-haired man came out from behind the shelves, holding a canister of gasoline. His gaze slid down on you, as if assessing you, and his eyes widened for a moment. You were a tall, muscular man, it seemed, even one and a half times bigger than Thomas himself. Your short sleeved high-collared shirt was unbuttoned at the top buttons, and because of the sweat, the outlines of your strong body showed through the damp fabric. You were also wearing beige breeches that hugged your toned ass beautifully. Thomas licked his lips almost instinctively and came out from behind the counter, handing you a can of gasoline. And indeed, you were almost a head taller than him, which made Thomas feel almost small, which had not happened to him for a long time. The man's nostrils were touched by your island fragrance. Something like an orange with black pepper and bergamot mixed with your body's natural scent. Your pheromones, even under a veil of suppressants, made Thomas feel heavy in his knees.

You smiled briefly and picked up the canister, lightly brushing the rough skin of Thomas's fingers. It almost made the man blush. You took your wallet out of your pocket and handed the woman some green bills, so she nodded curtly.

"Tommy, can you help the young man?"

He didn't need to be asked twice. Although Thomas hesitated a little at first.

Thomas followed you outside in case you needed help, which he clearly doubted. You looked like a confident, independent person who didn't need anyone's help. Besides, you were clearly an alpha, given the smell of your pheromones. It was an extra time for Thomas to be in your presence. He had met alphas before, at least because many of his victims were one, but he had never felt such a strange sense of comfort around an alpha before. Your presence calmed his inner omega.

"The summer is too hot this year," you muttered with a slight grin, sorting out the car and seemingly hoping to strike up some kind of small conversation with the big guy. There was no response. Thomas's head was too busy with your pleasant scent. "You're not the talkative type, are you?" There was playfulness in your tone, but you clearly weren't trying to humiliate another man. Thomas frowned a little at first, listening to your words, but eventually relaxed, nodding briefly. The scars on his face always made it difficult for him to speak clearly, but lately, due to the intense summer heat, every word he uttered seemed almost painful.

After ten long minutes of intense silence, you finally finished refueling the car and put the empty canister on the ground, brushing off your hands.

"Well, thank you. I think without you, I would already be stuck somewhere on the road in this wilderness..." You said, looking back at Thomas and smiling amiably. "Well, alright. I'm already a little late. I wouldn't like to be late for my sister's birthday. For missing her 'special day' one more time, she'll definitely stab me half to death," you said with a light laugh and patted Thomas on the shoulder, "Bye."

Finally, you went to the car door, got into the driver's seat and started the engine, driving away from the old shop.

Thomas watched your dirty beige car drive away for a long time. Your touch is still clearly felt on his hot skin, and his head is slightly dizzy from the citrus scent of your body.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Weather-related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Barometer - an instrument for determining the pressure of the atmosphere and hence for assisting in forecasting weather and for determining altitude

Blizzard - a long severe snowstorm; an intensely strong cold wind filled with fine snow

Breezy - swept by breezes (i.e., a light gentle wind)

Chilly - noticeably cold; chilling

Clear - cloudless

Cloudy - overcast with clouds

Cold front - an advancing edge of a cold air mass

Flurry - a gust of wind; a brief light snowfall

Fog - vapor condensed to fine particles of water suspended in the lower atmosphere that differs from cloud only in being near the ground

Forecast - to calculate or predict (some future event or condition) usually as a result of study and analysis of available pertinent data; especially: to predict (weather conditions) on the basis of correlated meteorological

Global warming - an increase in the earth's atmospheric and oceanic temperatures widely predicted to occur due to an increase in the greenhouse effect resulting especially from pollution

Gust - a sudden brief rush of wind

Hail - precipitation in the form of small balls or lumps usually consisting of concentric layers of clear ice and compact snow

Hazy - made dim or cloudy by or as if by fine dust, smoke, or light vapor in the air; obscured by or as if by haze

Heat - to become warm or hot

High-pressure - having or involving a high or comparatively high pressure especially greatly exceeding that of the atmosphere; having a high barometric pressure

Humid - containing or characterized by perceptible moisture especially to the point of being oppressive

Humidity - a moderate degree of wetness especially of the atmosphere

Hurricane - a tropical cyclone with winds of 74 miles (119 kilometers) per hour or greater that is usually accompanied by rain, thunder, and lightning, and that sometimes moves into temperate latitudes

Lightning - the flashing of light produced by a discharge of atmospheric electricity

Muggy - being warm, damp, and close

Overcast - clouded over

Pollution - the action of polluting, especially: the action of making an environment unsuitable or unsafe for use by introducing man-made waste

Pour - to rain hard

Precipitation - something precipitated, such as a deposit on the earth of hail, mist, rain, sleet, or snow

Rain - water falling in drops condensed from vapor in the atmosphere

Shower - a fall of rain of short duration

Smog - a fog made heavier and darker by smoke and chemical fumes

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read them!

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Air/Wind ⚜ Temperature

[raintemper]

Hi I'm back with another scuffed oc post. Redesign for Sunlit? More likely than you think. He's so silly,

Sketch page and additional oc info under the break

Tmw u have to convince your not-bf to save your life because your parents want to factory reset you because you're too obsessed with your not-bf

Starless is an early iterator who was not tasked with solving the great problem (at first), he mostly focused on discovering and treating illnesses that came with having a city above the clouds in perfect position to be laser beamed by the sun. Eventually it is also put to work to find the solution, but he does it alongside his previous work.

Sunlit comes along in the group and finds a deep fascination with Starless' research and wants to also do the cool things instead of solving the impossible problem a hundred other iterators are failing to solve. Starless, out of boredom, occasionally sends over some of its studies if asked. Sunlit is a little too engrossed in this and way too emotionally attached to Starless to do his job properly.

Think,,, he will try his best to impress Starless by discovering new viruses and then helping him find the treatments for it, but he is actually creating the new viruses to make it look like he found something. Starless is not very particularly impressed, just because this is what most of its functions focus on does not mean he likes doing it. (Imagine trying to impress an artist by showing them nft?? Lol idkk if that's a fair comparison)

Obviously Starless is almost instantly suspicious of them. No need for him to act on it though because Sunlit stands out so much as an outlier himself. Consistently ignoring his citizens, doesn't care about the problem, accidentally almost caused an epidemic with one of his (supposed to be secret) virus creations. So his creators had plans to completely reset his system. Starless was almost reset as well just by association but was thankfully able to avoid it.

So Sunlit is very sad and scared and asks Starless to please save his life. Starless is not completely unattached to him at this point, but knows whether it helps or not, it'll come to regret either path in the future. (Is Sunlit unhinged enough to figure out a way without its help and then haunt it later on. Perhaps?) Anyways after a little bit of pathetic whimpering from Sunlit(/j), Starless writes him a code to copy and preserve his self in a part of Starless' own system (how fun).

Post mass ascension, Sunlit gets rotted and corrupted and Starless has to deal with it's (what are they) trying to also corrupt it via suspicious links and data transfers.

(silly reminder that these guys are based off existing ocs of mine in which the roles are swapped. It was Starless doing the tormenting but he was much more charismatic about it.)

[boinin]

Batten down the hatches: Rin's ego is about to land

The latest chapters show Rin playing with an unfamiliar aura: what looks like swirling rivulets of water.

This represents the refinement of his ego and playstyle since the under-20 match. But what exactly are they going for with the swirling water? Here's my two cents.

Rin is strongly associated with water, specifically the sea. He grew up by the coast; he and Sae shared a love of watching the sunset over the water after training together. Those childhood memories are turbulent now, like dark clouds on the ocean's horizon.

It's here he realises that he can no longer play the puppetmaster football that helped him thrive in Blue Lock. As good as he is, it wasn't authentic... and it's nowhere near where he needs to be to compete with his brother, or even Isagi.

Rin's flow state is the most unique out of any others we've seen. Let's dig into it. All panels are from the official translation, which is important as the translation choices are 1) consistent and 2) likely chosen carefully.

In the dying moments of the match, Rin complains about feeling restrained. Being Itoshi Rin is eating him alive.

Cool, calm and aloof.

A genius. Prodigy. Puppetmaster.

Team player. Team captain.

Isagi Yoichi's partner. Shidou Ryuusei's rival.

Itoshi Sae's little brother.

The prospect of defeat rudely wakes him up. His pretence comes crashing down hard, triggered by his ineffectiveness in spite of the teammates around him. It's one of the best rugpulls in sports manga.

When the power of friendship comes knocking, Itoshi Rin tells it to fuck off and die.

What a glorious moment... and not just because it posits Rin as a Uchiha Sasuke kinnie. I prompt you to examine his eyes in this panel.

They're a swirling vortex of hate and destruction, befitting Blue Lock's angstiest character. The shape reminds me of this:

Satellite images of Hurricane Franklin and Hurricane Idalia, August 2023. Image credit: NOAA Satellites.

Rin's true ego, which he unleashes against Sae, is a storm.

Optional soundtrack for the rest of this post (because Rin 100% listens to this once it comes out in Blue Lock's universe).

Although it isn't portrayed visually as such in the under-20 arc, the metaphor fits Rin's evolving playstyle. What is more destructive, more uncontrollable, more senseless than a hurricane? A violent force of nature that we can predict but never avert?

When a storm approaches, all we can do is rank it, track it, then attempt to mitigate the inevitable damage.

In football terms? Sounds a lot like playing Rin.

It's even alluded to in chapter 250: the graphics for Rin's formation are similar to the satellite images of large storms.

Within the U20 match, there are exchanges that support this theory. Darai calls Rin's evolving playstyle arrogant and avaricious. The latter (meaning extreme greed) is evocative of a force that pursues what it wants without regard for anything in its surroundings. What it can't have, it destroys.

Niou is confident enough in his physicality to try withstand his opponent's attrack. Rin literally flips him into the air. Niou's hubris brings to mind all man-made constructs which are supposedly storm-proof... until a cyclone comes along and proves otherwise.

The contrast between Rin and Sae's egos are interesting. If we accept Rin's is a storm, i.e. a destructive force of nature that cannot be controlled, Sae's is the opposite despite being as impossible to defy. Sae's motif is defined in the manga as "beautiful destruction", plays and passes depicted in graceful data strings. Rather than natural, his playstyle is sleek and controlled, and dominant to the point of appearing pre-ordained by his opponents.

Their attitudes are equally different. While Rin drools and loses composure in the final minutes, Sae does little more than raise his eyebrows throughout the entire game. He's completely emotionless.

It's the extremes of human nature: animalistic rage versus robotic detachment. This time, the latter wins. Will Rin have an opportunity to face his brother again, with a better grasp on his ego? Here's hoping.

My final thoughts on Rin are speculative. How does one beat a storm? Not just endure—but subdue and calm one?

It's beyond human capability. The ability to control the weather exists only in myth and fantasy, and even then it's usually in the hands of powerful entities, not mere heroes or wizards.

Subduing something as powerful as a hurricane would require a god.

Is this Isagi and Rin's endgame?

Time will tell.

[electronickingdomfox]

Star Trek TOS crew biographies

There are plenty of detailed biographies of the TOS crew, both online and in reference books. But I wanted to check what actually appears in the Original Series and the six TOS movies about this subject (that is, not counting secondary sources or later series). And the result is... very little, actually. I was surprised by the amount of data that I took for granted, just to find out it came from a novel or wasn't 100% set in stone. This is what I could find about each major character, just judging from the TOS series and movies. Feel free to add to this or correct mistakes.

This is the corrected version of the post. So if you're going to reblog, please reblog this one.

Note on chronology: The series and movies are hardly consistent when it comes to actual dates. Most episodes suggest the mid-late 22nd century (Tomorrow is Yesterday, Space Seed, The Savage Curtain). But The Squire of Gothos takes place 900 years after the XIX century setting of Trelane's house! In the movies, however, Kirk says he comes from the late 23rd century (The Voyage Home). And in the second film, Kirk receives a bottle of romulan ale dated 2283. The ale is said to take a while to ferment, so maybe the current year is 2284 or 2285 (but could be much later). The events of Space Seed are said to have happened 15 years ago (so around 2269 or 2270, at minimum). The five-year mission dates established in later series, don't really match any of this. Star Trek Generations reworks the chronology, though subtly. The present plot is set seven years after Encounter at Farpoint (which should be the same year of The Neutral Zone, that is, 2364). Thus the current year would be 2371. Kirk disappeared in the Nexus 78 years ago (2293). And it's said that he had taken command of the Enterprise 30 years before this (2263). As he had been captain for a while before the five-year mission, the start of such mission could be 2265 (and I think the date on the bottle at the beginning was symbolic for this). More explicitly, Voyager canonized 2270 as the end of the mission. But as seen above, nothing of this matches TOS canon, not even in the movies.

James Tiberius Kirk:

Although in the series he's referred just as James T. Kirk, his middle name "Tiberius" appears in Star Trek VI. "Tiberius" was also his middle name in TAS episode Bem, and the novel The Galactic Whirlpool (both by Gerrold), as well as in Roddenberry's TMP novelization. So yeah, no doubts about his name.

He was born in Iowa (Star Trek IV) and had one brother, George Samuel Kirk, and three nephews (What are little girls made of?). Sam married a woman named Aurelan (Operation: Annihilate).

Kirk was 34 in The Deadly Years. Assuming each season is a year of the five year mission, he could be 33 at the start of the series. And this is the only reference for his age I could find. At age 13 he witnessed the massacre of Tarsus IV (Kodos was governor twenty years ago, in The Conscience of the King).

At age 18 he had just entered the Academy and was tormented by Finnegan. At this time he also met Ruth (fifteen years before Shore Leave).

He served in the USS Republic as an ensign, at some unspecified time after his Academy years, where he reported Ben Finney for negligency (Court Martial).

At age 21 he visited the planet Neural and befriended Tyree (thirteen years before A private little war).

He was a lieutenant in the USS Farragut at age 23 (eleven years before Obsession), where he first encountered the cloud creature that massacred his crewmates.

He teached at the Academy as a lieutenant. One of his students was his friend Gary Mitchell (Where No Man has Gone Before).

Kirk had a relationship with Areel Shaw when he was 29 (four years before Court Martial).

He became captain of the USS Enterprise after Pike. If we suppose TOS first season happens during the first year of the five-year mission, Kirk was around 37 at the end of this mission.

There's a big gap of fifteen years between Space Seed and the second movie. And apart from the five-year mission, most of those years are unaccounted for. Kirk's been an admiral for two years and a half at the start of TMP. But we don't know if he became an admiral right after the Enterprise's mission, or much later. That is, we don't know at what point of that gap take place the events of TMP. However, the fact that he only cites his "five years out there dealing with unknowns like this" as proof of his experience with the Enterprise, suggests he left the ship right after the end of the five year mission. The TMP novelization also agrees with this placement in the chronology. Around this time, both Spock and McCoy had retired from Starfleet, though they both returned when Kirk took the Enterprise again for the V'Ger incident.

By The Wrath of Khan, Kirk should be 48 years old (fifteen years since he left Khan stranded in Space Seed). If David is around 30, Kirk's relationship with Carol could have been at the Academy, but it's also possible that David is younger.

The third and fourth films happen shortly after The Wrath of Khan, but no idea how much time elapsed since then and the fifth and sixth films (though see the info for McCoy).

Spock

Known simply as "Spock". His full name is considered unpronounceable for humans, though the novel Ishmael gives it as "S'chn T'gai Spock".

His parents are Sarek and Amanda (Journey to Babel). Amanda's last name was never given, though TAS episode Yesteryear, some novels, and the 2009 reboot film establishes it as "Grayson". Spock also has a half-brother: Sybok (Star Trek V).

He was betrothed to T'Pring at age seven (Amok Time). We also learn in Yesteryear that he went through a coming-of-age ritual around that time: the Kahs-wan. It's possible that he had to pass the ritual before bonding with his future wife.

He probably joined Starfleet eighteen years before Journey to Babel, since that's the time he spent not speaking with Sarek. If he joined Starfleet at 18 years old, he'd be 36 by season two. Yesteryear happens 30 years after Spock's Kahs-wan, making him 37 in the episode, which more or less fits the info in Journey to Babel.

He was part of Pike's crew thirteen years before The Menagerie, during the events in Talos IV. He'd be 22 by then. Spock served under Pike for eleven years (also from The Menagerie). That means Kirk had been captain of the Enterprise for at least two years before this episode.

After that, Spock's career runs more or less in parallel with Kirk's, so I won't go over it again.

Leonard H. McCoy

His middle initial first appears in Star Trek III, as well as the name of his father: David. The novel Provenance of Shadows explains the middle initial as "Horatio", but other novels call him "Leonard Edward McCoy" (???).

Much of his biographical background comes from the "Writer's Guide" by Roddenberry and Fontana, but never made it to the series. That includes the fact he's 45 (by season one?) and born in Georgia. As well as the fact that he's divorced and joined Starfleet as a result of this, and that he has a 20 year old daughter (Joanna). Presumably, the story of his divorce and Joanna would have appeared in The Way to Eden, but the story was severely altered. His daughter is mentioned, but without name, in TAS episode The Survivor, and in several novels. The Gold Key comics call her "Barbara" instead. His ex-wife is given different names in the novels and comics: Honey, Jocelyn, Joan, Gillian...

No idea when he joined Starfleet (that depends on how long was his marriage), or when he met Kirk.

Nineteen years before Albatross, he led an inoculation program in Dramia Two. He may have been around 30.

Ten years before The Man Trap, he had a romance with Nancy Crater. Though in the episode he sometimes says he knew her twelve years ago, and other times ten years ago. Either it's a mistake, or the relationship simply lasted two years (though McCoy's doubts about Nancy remembering him, imply the relationship wasn't very long).

At some point, he visited Capella IV for a few months (Friday's Child).

By the time of The Pirates of Orion, he had been a doctor for 25 years, so he may be near 50 during the episode.

He served in the Enterprise for 27 years (Star Trek VI), but only under Kirk, it seems. If he was 45 when he started, he'd be 72 in the last film, and Kirk would be 60 years old.

Note on McCoy's age in later series

The "Writer's Guide" statement that McCoy was 45 at the time of TOS, was contradicted by later series. In TNG episode Encounter at Farpoint, he's said to be 137 years old. While in the episode The Neutral Zone (also from TNG season one) the year is 2364. As both episodes probably happen in the same year, McCoy would have been born in 2227. Since, according to later series, the five-year mission lasted from 2265 to 2270, McCoy would have been 38 at the start of the mission. I'm following the Writer's Guide figure, however, because I consider this document more relevant for TOS itself. After all, many things that are facts in later series, aren't the same in TOS, and viceversa. Also, considering that the age of the characters seems to be close to the age of the actors, I find more likely that McCoy was 45, and not 38, at the start of TOS. To give you an idea, Shatner was 36 in season two (Kirk was 34), Nimoy was also 36 (just as Spock) and Kelley was 47. The twelve year gap between Kirk and McCoy, would be almost the same as the eleven year gap between Shatner and Kelley.

Montgomery Scott

Very little about him, but at least we got his full name in the series. He's supposed to be Scottish, and has lived in Aberdeen (Wolf in the Fold).

Apart from being Chief Engineer in the Enterprise, he was engineer advisor in a freighter, running from Deneva to the asteroid belt (Operation: Annihilate).

Uhura

We never knew her first name in TOS! This is one of the things that surprised me the most. However, "Nyota" is her first name in the reboot films, the new series, and well before that, the novel The Entropy Effect.

She was probably born in east Africa, since her native language seems to be Swahili (the language she reverted to when her memory was wiped in The Changeling). Thanks to user @sapsuckers-and-stardust for pointing this out.

Very, very little about her bio background. Most of it has to be collected from novels or comics, and those never intended to be coherent with each other.

Hikaru Sulu

Though his first name was unknown for a long time, it was revealed to be "Hikaru" in Star Trek VI. But before this, he was also called Hikaru in The Entropy Effect.

Sulu was born in San Francisco (Star Trek IV).

Again, almost nothing of his bio in the series/movies. Though the DC comics explored his character significantly. And in Star Trek: Generations, he had a daughter, Demora.

By Star Trek VI, he was finally a captain of his own ship, the Excelsior.

Pavel Andreievich Chekov

His full name appears first in The Way to Eden, where we also learn he had a romance with Irina Galliulin at the Academy.

Chekov has no siblings (Day of the Dove).

He's 22 by season two (Who mourns for Adonais?).

After serving in the Enterprise, he was first officer in the USS Reliant during The Wrath of Khan, though he returned with Kirk after the Reliant's destruction.

Christine Chapel

She abandoned her career in bio-research to sign aboard the Enterprise as a nurse, and search after her fiancé Roger Korby (What are little girls made of?) Strangely enough, a few episodes before, she had confessed her love for Spock. She chose to stay in the ship after finding out Korby was dead.

By the time of TMP, she was a doctor in the Enterprise, though she doesn't appear as part of the crew in the later movies.

Janice Rand

She served as a yeoman in the Enterprise during the early five-year mission, but disappears from the series afterwards.

In TMP, she's the transporter chief. And in Star Trek IV, Janice is seen at Starfleet Command, along with Chapel.

By Star Trek VI, she was the communications officer of the Excelsior, under Sulu.

[mariacallous]

Elon Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) has plans to stage a “hackathon” next week in Washington, DC. The goal is to create a single “mega API”—a bridge that lets software systems talk to one another—for accessing IRS data, sources tell WIRED. The agency is expected to partner with a third-party vendor to manage certain aspects of the data project. Palantir, a software company cofounded by billionaire and Musk associate Peter Thiel, has been brought up consistently by DOGE representatives as a possible candidate, sources tell WIRED.

Two top DOGE operatives at the IRS, Sam Corcos and Gavin Kliger, are helping to orchestrate the hackathon, sources tell WIRED. Corcos is a health-tech CEO with ties to Musk’s SpaceX. Kliger attended UC Berkeley until 2020 and worked at the AI company Databricks before joining DOGE as a special adviser to the director at the Office of Personnel Management (OPM). Corcos is also a special adviser to Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent.

Since joining Musk’s DOGE, Corcos has told IRS workers that he wants to pause all engineering work and cancel current attempts to modernize the agency’s systems, according to sources with direct knowledge who spoke with WIRED. He has also spoken about some aspects of these cuts publicly: "We've so far stopped work and cut about $1.5 billion from the modernization budget. Mostly projects that were going to continue to put us down the death spiral of complexity in our code base," Corcos told Laura Ingraham on Fox News in March.

Corcos has discussed plans for DOGE to build “one new API to rule them all,” making IRS data more easily accessible for cloud platforms, sources say. APIs, or application programming interfaces, enable different applications to exchange data, and could be used to move IRS data into the cloud. The cloud platform could become the “read center of all IRS systems,” a source with direct knowledge tells WIRED, meaning anyone with access could view and possibly manipulate all IRS data in one place.

Over the last few weeks, DOGE has requested the names of the IRS’s best engineers from agency staffers. Next week, DOGE and IRS leadership are expected to host dozens of engineers in DC so they can begin “ripping up the old systems” and building the API, an IRS engineering source tells WIRED. The goal is to have this task completed within 30 days. Sources say there have been multiple discussions about involving third-party cloud and software providers like Palantir in the implementation.

Corcos and DOGE indicated to IRS employees that they intended to first apply the API to the agency’s mainframes and then move on to every other internal system. Initiating a plan like this would likely touch all data within the IRS, including taxpayer names, addresses, social security numbers, as well as tax return and employment data. Currently, the IRS runs on dozens of disparate systems housed in on-premises data centers and in the cloud that are purposefully compartmentalized. Accessing these systems requires special permissions and workers are typically only granted access on a need-to-know basis.

A “mega API” could potentially allow someone with access to export all IRS data to the systems of their choosing, including private entities. If that person also had access to other interoperable datasets at separate government agencies, they could compare them against IRS data for their own purposes.

“Schematizing this data and understanding it would take years,” an IRS source tells WIRED. “Just even thinking through the data would take a long time, because these people have no experience, not only in government, but in the IRS or with taxes or anything else.” (“There is a lot of stuff that I don't know that I am learning now,” Corcos tells Ingraham in the Fox interview. “I know a lot about software systems, that's why I was brought in.")

These systems have all gone through a tedious approval process to ensure the security of taxpayer data. Whatever may replace them would likely still need to be properly vetted, sources tell WIRED.

"It's basically an open door controlled by Musk for all American's most sensitive information with none of the rules that normally secure that data," an IRS worker alleges to WIRED.

The data consolidation effort aligns with President Donald Trump’s executive order from March 20, which directed agencies to eliminate information silos. While the order was purportedly aimed at fighting fraud and waste, it also could threaten privacy by consolidating personal data housed on different systems into a central repository, WIRED previously reported.

In a statement provided to WIRED on Saturday, a Treasury spokesperson said the department “is pleased to have gathered a team of long-time IRS engineers who have been identified as the most talented technical personnel. Through this coalition, they will streamline IRS systems to create the most efficient service for the American taxpayer. This week the team will be participating in the IRS Roadmapping Kickoff, a seminar of various strategy sessions, as they work diligently to create efficient systems. This new leadership and direction will maximize their capabilities and serve as the tech-enabled force multiplier that the IRS has needed for decades.”

Palantir, Sam Corcos, and Gavin Kliger did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

In February, a memo was drafted to provide Kliger with access to personal taxpayer data at the IRS, The Washington Post reported. Kliger was ultimately provided read-only access to anonymized tax data, similar to what academics use for research. Weeks later, Corcos arrived, demanding detailed taxpayer and vendor information as a means of combating fraud, according to the Post.

“The IRS has some pretty legacy infrastructure. It's actually very similar to what banks have been using. It's old mainframes running COBOL and Assembly and the challenge has been, how do we migrate that to a modern system?” Corcos told Ingraham in the same Fox News interview. Corcos said he plans to continue his work at IRS for a total of six months.

DOGE has already slashed and burned modernization projects at other agencies, replacing them with smaller teams and tighter timelines. At the Social Security Administration, DOGE representatives are planning to move all of the agency’s data off of legacy programming languages like COBOL and into something like Java, WIRED reported last week.

Last Friday, DOGE suddenly placed around 50 IRS technologists on administrative leave. On Thursday, even more technologists were cut, including the director of cybersecurity architecture and implementation, deputy chief information security officer, and acting director of security risk management. IRS’s chief technology officer, Kaschit Pandya, is one of the few technology officials left at the agency, sources say.

DOGE originally expected the API project to take a year, multiple IRS sources say, but that timeline has shortened dramatically down to a few weeks. “That is not only not technically possible, that's also not a reasonable idea, that will cripple the IRS,” an IRS employee source tells WIRED. “It will also potentially endanger filing season next year, because obviously all these other systems they’re pulling people away from are important.”

(Corcos also made it clear to IRS employees that he wanted to kill the agency’s Direct File program, the IRS’s recently released free tax-filing service.)

DOGE’s focus on obtaining and moving sensitive IRS data to a central viewing platform has spooked privacy and civil liberties experts.

“It’s hard to imagine more sensitive data than the financial information the IRS holds,” Evan Greer, director of Fight for the Future, a digital civil rights organization, tells WIRED.

Palantir received the highest FedRAMP approval this past December for its entire product suite, including Palantir Federal Cloud Service (PFCS) which provides a cloud environment for federal agencies to implement the company’s software platforms, like Gotham and Foundry. FedRAMP stands for Federal Risk and Authorization Management Program and assesses cloud products for security risks before governmental use.

“We love disruption and whatever is good for America will be good for Americans and very good for Palantir,” Palantir CEO Alex Karp said in a February earnings call. “Disruption at the end of the day exposes things that aren't working. There will be ups and downs. This is a revolution, some people are going to get their heads cut off.”

[hadesoftheladies]

I don’t understand how people (mostly men) insist not having empathy makes you more objective when it’s the exact opposite. Empathy literally forces you to look at data outside your own perspective (experiences, biases, neural patterns, subconscious craving for comfort and internal consistency) and is perhaps the closest you can get as a human being to living outside your own head. It literally broadens perspective which broadens how you analyze data. It is one of the best tools in coming as close as humans can to objectivity.

Logic and rationality can be applied to many different perspectives. That’s why you can have intellectuals believe vastly different things despite having the same cognitive skills in analysis. IQ doesn’t make you more balanced or objective. That’s why creatives are often seen as geniuses, too, because they can switch between multiple perspectives and create things that force us to do the same.

Feeling is also honest data. Emotions are like, some of the most honest parts about ourselves and can inform us on things our cognitive systems would steer us away from in order to avoid discomfort.

Emotions and empathy can cloud judgement, but they can also enhance perspective and enhance how we look at information.

I think it’s childish how people (mostly men) keep trying to pit these useful “tools” against each other and make it their whole personality. Like no, “rational” isn’t a personality trait, or “emotional”. Stop trying to gender tools we all have. (I swear men will gender anything according to that unnatural and constructed gender binary, everything must be split in half and pitted against the other).

You know what people are neglecting that’s making their judgements shit? Self-awareness (and no, not self-consciousness). If people developed self-awareness more, they’d know how to better utilize their emotions and cognitive capabilities.

They’re just either too lazy, too tired or too irresponsible to culture it.

I also think people who demonize empathy are some of the most intellectually and morally lazy people ever. Like you’re rationalizing your avoidance of inconvenience, not “being objective.” (Also, most “real” intellectuals I’ve met are invested in moral questions and development genuinely, as opposed to just being indifferent and flippant. Being indifferent and flippant suggests that you aren’t thoughtful and actually just a talking head. Thoughtful people are the ones aware of what is in their heads and curious about how those got there—and curious about people in general. They aren’t interested in appearing invulnerable. They’re more invested in reaching internal consensus).

Anyways. Time to go eat dinner.

[lilacprose]

𝚖𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 // 𝚖𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 | 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚟𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

summary; Darth Vader arrives to a rainy planet in search of Jedi knights. The hunt does not go as swiftly as he hopes and instead becomes haunted by old ghosts and shadows. word count; 2,573 words a/n; Originally posted on ao3, but decided to post it on Tumblr as well. Hope the crowd likes it! content includes; Intense fight scenes, anxiety/panic attacks.

misc; read on ao3 • fic trailer • fic gifet • askbox

I am what remains

Darth Vader’s steps leave a trail of lifeless bodies. This place was a wasteland of a planet that seemed to have rain as its inner core. Mist fogs up his field of vision, and rain droplets tap his helmet. The crescent moon casts a marine shade over him as he treads through humid, foggy terrain. Just merely minutes before, he wiped out an entire village of Jedi hiding in tents and covering themselves from the rain. Jedi campfires flickered in the distance. They took no notice of the Imperial ships that deftly touched ground or when a sudden gust of wind snuffed out their only source of light. He had stood so close to them for a fleeting moment, listening to their breaths and their whispers. It was the wind; it was the rain; it was nothing. There was nothing to worry about—until he activated the breathing mechanism, and they all screamed in darkness. With his lightsaber ignited, he slaughtered every one of them as a sea of stormtroopers emerged from their hiding places and joined him. Fire strobed in the night, flashes of red going through body after body of man, woman, and child. They didn’t stop until the last severed limb fell to the ground. Stormtroopers split up to look for other scattered Jedi. He would usually let them do the rest. He had done what he was made to do. His mere presence on the planet was enough. Word will spread that the Empire is here. They will all try to run, but soon learn that it is useless. Years have gone by, star systems have been overruled until nothing but cataclysmic rubble remained. There is a mark in the universe in the shape of his silhouette, and the sound of his breath resonates in the black emptiness of the galaxy. The legend of the dark lord has come to be more terrifying than the man. He is the name that breathes in fear and exhales demise. Just as it does now. Always has and always will. Here, in the rain, on a planet left to be barren by his cybernetic hand. 

His heart pounds in his chest still. It was something he noticed happening more regularly. Fatigue becoming a more frequent occurrence. A racing heart, a heavier head, and a blinding field of vision. He can feel the aging of the body now more than ever. But he can never allow himself to admit that. He raises his chin to gaze higher over the horizon before him so that those thoughts may never reach his head. He listens for the troopers in the distance, blasters firing off. His heart rate starts to slow down, following the steady rhythm of his breathing mechanism. It is the only constant he finds himself leaning on after all these years. The machine grounds him. It is a ticking metronome that keeps him in line with where he needs to go. Always looking forward, never back. A consistent march onwards, onwards, onwards—

Crack. 

He halts. Scans the surroundings. Turns around slowly. Somebody is watching, and he knows it, but the data inside his helmet shows no form of life before him. A presence, a crack, in the force. He grazes the top of his lightsaber on his belt and looks behind him. Between trees, far into the horizon where illuminated clouds meet the soil. 

A hooded cloak. 

A man. 

One of them. 

He grunts and turns around. The black cloak floats in the air as Vader rushes toward him. His towering stature leaves no room for stealth. Not that stealth is of any priority now. He wants the person to see his helmet reflect the moonlight. He wants to be seen . He wants them to be afraid . They will all know that Darth Vader is coming once they see that sliver of red in the darkness. And he will come forth with no hesitation or mercy. 

He’s not far now. The cloak is there, swaying in the distance.

Are you what remains? 

His cloak is there, swaying in the distance.

The wind gushes and howls. Or perhaps it is the machine keeping him alive that he hears. He’s not sure and can’t be bothered to tell. The two sounds merge into a long, sustained pulse that rings in his ears. He sees the blue moon reflect in his helmet. He knows that wherever he goes, Vader’s black armored shadow will follow him. Sometimes he stops and doesn’t move – not a single muscle, without a twitch to be seen on his shadowed face – just to taunt him. He stands there, only a few heavy steps away, the hood of his dark robes pulled over his head. Waiting, listening, observing. He knows it will drive Vader to the precipice of madness, charge him to attack. The mechanical breathing grows louder as Vader marches towards him. He crosses his arms, closes his eyes, and reaches into the Force, but he doesn’t have to. Because it doesn’t take a cosmic force for him to know the excruciating pain Vader is in. Each heavy step digs the steel prosthetics deeper and deeper into the charred flesh. There is a dark field surrounding Vader as he moves. Thick and black, like the fuel for a Star Destroyer. He feels it all. The pain, the hurt, the ever-darkening rage. Reflected in his own bones. Remnants of Mustafar. 

Obsidian riverbanks flash before his eyes, and for a brief second, his lungs fill with volcanic ash, only to be replaced by the earthy scent of rain just as fast. He tilts his head as he looks at Vader who has stopped yet again. He looks around him as if something were to appear at any given moment.

Not just yet.

There is something that echoes between the trees. Echoes interspersed with the high-pitched noise in his ears. Repeating over and over as Vader starts to walk away from him. The ringing starts to take shape and reverberates in his mind: 

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.  Died with the birth of Vader.  Left here is only Vader.  

If he could he would let out a laugh that would startle the machine. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a quick turn behind a tree, hears how Vader halts, and frantically searches for him. He moves with the grace of a phantom and walks so lightly that no sound is made. 

He’s behind him now. Vader’s gloved cybernetics tightly grasp the base of his lightsaber. Glowing red and aiming at air. Vader’s shoulders heave in frustration. He begins to see his own hooded reflection in the back of the helmet the closer he gets to Vader. The scar over his eye burns. A sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. For a second, he doesn’t realize what it is. It’s the wind; it’s the machine; it’s a voice. Something slithers up his leg as it whispers to him. He throws a glance at his leg, seeing nothing but hearing a voice he can’t tell from Vader’s or his own.

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

He glances back at his reflection in the helmet, and it dawns on him that it’s the shadow of the dragon that he hears. Crawling up Vader’s arm, digging its claws into his lungs, huffing old words back to his covered ears—

Suddenly, Vader turns around. The red blade points at his neck. 

He chuckles.

I will destroy you!

The lightsaber is lifted to the Jedi’s neck, but he doesn’t move. Only a chuckle escapes him. The blade casts a light on his lower face. The man stands before death, yet he is unfazed. His lips don't tremble like the others. Vader moves the blade closer. He reaches deep into the Force to see who the man before him is, but feels only the complete absence of light within him. This isn’t the light energy of the Jedi. It is something far darker. 

Still not flinching, the other senses what Vader is doing. He, too, reaches into the depths of the Force. Vader feels his parasitical presence inside his mind. A single image is placed in his central vision.

Padmé.

Vader yells and strikes a blow at him with his lightsaber. The other responds just as fast. His blade emits an eerily familiar shade of maroon. Vader's breath is heavy; the other’s lips are sealed tightly, and his breathing is controlled, almost like he isn't breathing at all. They stand still in mirrored positions. Lightsabers raised and touching, with red sparks falling like the mist around them.

At the same time, they slowly lower their weapons. 

Vader keeps a close eye on the other’s hands; the still-ignited blade points towards the ground as his hands move to take down the hood. He drops his cloak on the ground. Rain droplets hitting dark leather sound between his own breaths. There is no other movement, not a flinch—only a mere coldness in his gaze and the traces of a scar across one eye. The longer Vader looks, the more he notices how his eyes slowly turn a deep red. 

Still, the other made no movement, as if the rain had frozen him. A furrow grows behind the mask. Surely this is a trick. It must be the fatigue. Imagination. Vader has not seen those robes since...

Since they burned with him. 

His hand does something it never does. He trembles, trembles, trembles as the other person slowly starts to walk, forcing him to step back. 

And Vader sees it now. 

Anakin before him.

You lack conviction

Anakin raises his lightsaber, and the sword clashes with Vader’s. Two maroon blades of equal speed light up the blue night. 

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

With one hand, Vader strikes Anakin down. Whoever is doing this to him will not have the upper hand. Vader is much stronger than any man; a dead one is nothing to him. A few strikes, and he can already feel his opponent weaken before him. Vader will destroy him.

But with the push of the force, Vader is suddenly thrust several feet back. Wet soil drags between gloved metal fingers. He breathes in as he rises and shrugs his shoulders as he exhales. Runs towards Anakin with a yell and his saber held high in the air.

Anakin’s arm is still extended as he watches Vader get up from the ground. A subconscious flick of the wrist spins the lightsaber in his cybernetic hand. It spins behind his back and in front of him, before it violently crashes into Vader’s. Anakin hammers at Vader’s lightsaber with heavy blows enough to separate cybernetics from flesh. Again and again. Vader fights back–oh, how hard he is trying. He towers over Anakin like he’s already won, but his body is a statue crumbling before him. Every red blow weakens him, sends him closer and closer to the ground.

The base of his lightsaber is grasped tightly with both hands above his helmet.

Vader falls to his knees. 

And two lightsabers lower.

Anakin raises his chin and looks down at Vader. Through gritted teeth, he tells him to get up. The grip on Vader’s lightsaber loosens in his hand. He asks him again, but not as quietly as before. He yells with a thunderous tone that shakes the trees around them. 

Without hesitation, without mercy, the lightsaber swings and aims for the helmet.

Vader pulls the lightsaber in front of him before Anakin can hit him. It takes too much strength to hold Anakin back. Anakin is dead, Vader chants himself, so why has he now dropped to his knees? Why is he unable to move? Why has the lightsaber nearly fallen out of his hands when it has never done so before? Never in front of the thousands, millions of opponents that had faced him. 

It takes a ghost, a shadow swinging his blood-red lightsaber for Vader to lose his balance. A black shadow with the voice of a dead man. Burned to coal by the fires of Mustafar. 

But he is here. 

He is here now with a body untouched by fire. He sees the faces of a man and a child with age lines and battle scars. A river’s reflection of who he used to be, of who he is, of who he isn’t. Of who he was supposed to be had fire not consumed him.

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Anakin never tires. He keeps his eye on the helmet. Harder, harder. The field of vision becomes broken and black edges form. The suit starts to fail him, bit by bit things start cracking. The metals and the obsidian made to protect him are faulting. His heart races, and the armor adjusts to it in vain. Hot flashes throughout his body and a single horrifying thought takes over his mind. 

The suit can’t keep him alive any longer. 

With a kick in the stomach, Anakin sends Vader to the ground. Crackling sparks emit from his chest plate. The green and red lights flicker. The breathing mechanism fractured. He lies on his back, his helmet cracked. Body paralyzed. Vader struggles to breathe. His heart pounds in his chest. And there is nothing but quiet. No stormtroopers. No blasters. No wind or rain or rustling trees. The silence sends him spiralling as slow footsteps approach his side. Lightsaber humming; lifting, lifting, lifting above his head. Darkness fills his vision. Only the line of the lightsaber illuminates the void. He shakes his head and all that comes out of him is a panicked no. Over again. No, no, no. This isn’t happening to him. Not to him, not by him.

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Here now, here to end him—

Remains

His eyes flash open. He regulates his breathing. Tries to. Still fractured. Still paralyzed and unable to rise. Where is he now? His field of vision is a haze, unable to make out anything in the room or place he is in. Is this a hallucination inside the Bacta tank, a trick of the water making him see things? Or is he lying there, on a stretcher surrounded by surgical instruments attaching metal to bare flesh. It must be. It hurts . He flinches in an attempt to move away from the needles that sew him together. 

He wants out.

He wants away.

He wants to die.

Then – a sudden touch on his knee. A placed hand. He fails to make out a face in the darkness inside the helmet. But the hand, he recognizes. The hand that was once placed on his shoulder. After battle, in assurance.

“It’s all right, Anakin. Breathe. You’re safe now, my friend.”

The voice. It breaks him. The voice crashes over him, and he just... Can't . Can't stop the rapid flow of air through his lungs. Whatever remains of his vocal chords he had became shattered in screams that cut him up inside like crushed glass. And it’s the last thing he feels. Before the tears join the water that submerge him. Water that has him drowning in anaesthesia along with the memories of future and past. Nothing else matters but the present and where he's going. 

There he’ll awake, with a clear mind and clear direction. Black cloak drifting over his empire. This is what he wants. 

There he’ll stand, atop manmade planets surrounded by explosions of stardust. Breathing in power, exhaling out fear.

Mechanical mind, mechanical body.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Planetary alignment provides NASA rare opportunity to study Uranus

When a planet's orbit brings it between Earth and a distant star, it's more than just a cosmic game of hide and seek. It's an opportunity for NASA to improve its understanding of that planet's atmosphere and rings. Planetary scientists call it a stellar occultation and that's exactly what happened with Uranus on April 7.

Observing the alignment allows NASA scientists to measure the temperatures and composition of Uranus's stratosphere—the middle layer of a planet's atmosphere—and determine how it has changed over the last 30 years since Uranus's last significant occultation.

"Uranus passed in front of a star that is about 400 light years from Earth," said William Saunders, planetary scientist at NASA's Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia, and science principal investigator and analysis lead, for what NASA's team calls the Uranus Stellar Occultation Campaign 2025.

"As Uranus began to occult the star, the planet's atmosphere refracted the starlight, causing the star to appear to gradually dim before being blocked completely. The reverse happened at the end of the occultation, making what we call a light curve. By observing the occultation from many large telescopes, we are able to measure the light curve and determine Uranus's atmospheric properties at many altitude layers."

This data mainly consists of temperature, density, and pressure of the stratosphere. Analyzing the data will help researchers understand how the middle atmosphere of Uranus works and could help enable future Uranus exploration efforts.

To observe the rare event, which lasted about an hour and was only visible from Western North America, planetary scientists at NASA Langley led an international team of over 30 astronomers using 18 professional observatories.

"This was the first time we have collaborated on this scale for an occultation," said Saunders. "I am extremely grateful to each member of the team and each observatory for taking part in this extraordinary event. NASA will use the observations of Uranus to determine how energy moves around the atmosphere and what causes the upper layers to be inexplicably hot. Others will use the data to measure Uranus's rings, its atmospheric turbulence, and its precise orbit around the sun."

Knowing the location and orbit of Uranus is not as simple as it sounds. In 1986, NASA's Voyager 2 spacecraft became the first and only spacecraft to fly past the planet—10 years before the last bright stellar occultation occured in 1996. And, Uranus's exact position in space is only accurate to within about 100 miles, which makes analyzing this new atmospheric data crucial to future NASA exploration of the ice giant.

These investigations were possible because the large number of partners provided many unique views of the stellar occultation from many different instruments.

Emma Dahl, a postdoctoral scholar at Caltech in Pasadena, California, assisted in gathering observations from NASA's Infrared Telescope Facility (IRTF) on the summit of Mauna Kea in Hawaii—an observatory first built to support NASA's Voyager missions.

"As scientists, we do our best work when we collaborate. This was a team effort between NASA scientists, academic researchers, and amateur astronomers," said Dahl. "The atmospheres of the gas and ice giant planets [Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune] are exceptional atmospheric laboratories because they don't have solid surfaces. This allows us to study cloud formation, storms, and wind patterns without the extra variables and effects a surface produces, which can complicate simulations very quickly."

On November 12, 2024, NASA Langley researchers and collaborators were able to do a test run to prepare for the April occultation. Langley coordinated two telescopes in Japan and one in Thailand to observe a dimmer Uranus stellar occultation only visible from Asia. As a result, these observers learned how to calibrate their instruments to observe stellar occultations, and NASA was able to test its theory that multiple observatories working together could capture Uranus's big event in April.

Researchers from the Paris Observatory and Space Science Institute, in contact with NASA, also coordinated observations of the November 2024 occultation from two telescopes in India. These observations of Uranus and its rings allowed the researchers, who were also members of the April 7 occultation team, to improve the predictions about the timing on April 7 down to the second and also improved modeling to update Uranus's expected location during the occultation by 125 miles.

Uranus is almost 2 billion miles away from Earth and has an atmosphere composed of primarily hydrogen and helium. It does not have a solid surface, but rather a soft surface made of water, ammonia, and methane. It's called an ice giant because its interior contains an abundance of these swirling fluids that have relatively low freezing points. While Saturn is the most well-known planet for having rings, Uranus has 13 known rings composed of ice and dust.

Over the next six years, Uranus will occult several dimmer stars. NASA hopes to gather airborne and possibly space-based measurements of the next bright Uranus occultation in 2031, which will be of an even brighter star than the one observed in April.

IMAGE: This image of Uranus from NIRCam (Near-Infrared Camera) on NASA's James Webb Space Telescope exquisitely captures Uranus's seasonal north polar cap and dim inner and outer rings. This Webb image also shows 9 of the planet's 27 moons—clockwise starting at 2 o'clock, they are: Rosalind, Puck, Belinda, Desdemona, Cressida, Bianca, Portia, Juliet, and Perdita. Credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, STScI

[astronerdscorner]

Run checken run 🐓

From the category ... "you don't often see" an object from the southern sky today.

IC 2944 in the constellation Centaur contains not only quantities of ionized hydrogen (Halpha), oxygen (OIII) and sulphur (SII) but also so-called globules. These are the dark spots in the center and consist of dense molecular clouds in which new stars are formed.

In total, over 10.5 hours of data from a telescope in Chile were used here.

Image processed by Andreas Grelak, original data from Telescope Live

[posttexasstressdisorder]

www.spaceweather.com

NEW EVIDENCE THAT COSMIC RAYS SPARK LIGHTNING: Every second, almost 50 bolts of lightning zig-zag across the skies of Earth. Despite centuries of study, however, researchers still aren't sure how the bolts get started. Electric fields in thunderclouds are often too weak to ignite a powerful discharge.

A lightning bolt over Brazil. Photo credit: Sergio Mazzi

A new study just published in the Journal of Geophysical Research may have solved the mystery.

"We believe that most lightning flashes in thunderstorms are ignited by cosmic ray showers," says the study's lead author Xuan-Min Shao, a senior scientist at the Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico. To investigate the earliest moments of lightning formation, Shao and colleagues built a radio interferometer named "BIMAP-3D." Consisting of an array of 8 antennas in Los Alamos, BIMAP-3D can make three dimensional images of lightning and pinpoint the bolts inside thunderclouds. Here's an example:

Caption: Colors in the image represent time. Blue traces the earliest moments of the bolt, while red denotes the end.

This is a lightning bolt from a massive thunderstorm that passed by Los Alamos on July 30, 2022. BIMAP-3D imaged more than 300 bolts during the 90-minute storm. It was a treasure trove of data.

The experimenters realized that some of the bolts they observed happened in parts of the storm where electric fields were too weak to cause the "Initial Breakdown Event" (IBE)--the initial spark that sets the lightning in motion. Modern theories of relativistic electron avalanche couldn't explain what they saw. Their suspicions soon focused on cosmic rays. Cosmic rays are high energy particles that come from distant supernova explosions and other violent events across the cosmos. They strike Earth's atmosphere all the time, creating a secondary spray of particles called "cosmic ray showers." Regular readers are familiar with these showers because we routinely monitor them using Earth to Sky cosmic ray balloons over California.

One of the important things about cosmic ray showers is that they contain antimatter--positrons as well as ordinary electrons. The Los Alamos 3D lightning maps contained strong evidence for positrons. Electrons and positrons are bent in opposite directions by Earth's magnetic field, so they leave opposite imprints on the lightning's polarization, which BIMAP-3D also measured.

"It took me a while to figure this out," admits Shao. "I started with electrons only at the beginning, but could not explain the observations. With both electrons and positrons involved, all the observations can be consistently explained."

Positrons clinched the case for cosmic rays. "The fact that a cosmic ray shower provides an ionized path in the cloud that otherwise lacks free electrons strongly favor the inference that most lightning flashes are ignited by cosmic rays," the authors wrote.

In fact, it's still unclear how much of Earth's lightning is sparked by cosmic rays. Many more storms need to be studied with this method to improve the statistics. "This will require a lot of long-term and good quality lightning data," Shao says.

Stay tuned! And meanwhile, read the original research here.