#components of structural engineering

[resdraft]

Why Structural Engineering is an Essential Part of Civil Engineering

Structural engineering bridges the gap between creativity and practicality. It ensures that every structure, a simple home or a massive skyscraper is safe, functional, and resilient. By focusing on load analysis, material optimization, structural design, and foundation engineering, this discipline addresses the challenges of modern construction while optimizing resources.

[little-p-eng-engineering]

Little P.Eng.'s Comprehensive Seismic Structural Services Aligned with ASCE 7-22 and NBCC Standards

In an era where architectural ambition pushes the limits of engineering, safeguarding structural integrity against natural calamities, particularly seismic activities, becomes paramount. This detailed exposé delves into the sophisticated seismic structural engineering services provided by Little P.Eng., a firm renowned for its compliance with the latest American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE) 7-22 standards and the Canadian National Building Code (NBCC). Their work spans across Canada and the United States, encompassing a diverse range of buildings and non-structural elements, reflecting the pinnacle of safety, reliability, and innovation in modern construction.

1. Introduction

The unpredictable nature of seismic activities has long posed a significant challenge to the realms of construction and civil engineering. Within this volatile environment, Little P.Eng. has emerged as a beacon of reliability, offering cutting-edge seismic structural engineering services across Canada and the United States. Their adherence to the ASCE 7-22 and NBCC codes ensures not only the structural integrity of vast construction undertakings but also the safety and longevity of non-structural elements, affirming their position at the forefront of seismic resilience in contemporary infrastructure.

2. Understanding Seismic Structural Engineering

2.1. The Science of Earthquake Engineering

Before delving into Little P.Eng.'s specialized services, one must understand the core principles of seismic structural engineering. This discipline focuses on making buildings and non-structural components resistant to earthquake shocks through specialized planning, design, detailing, and, subsequently, construction. It encompasses geological science, material engineering, and structural analysis to develop structures capable of withstanding seismic disturbances.

2.2. Evolution of Seismic Codes: From ASCE 7-10 to ASCE 7-22

Seismic building codes are dynamic, evolving in response to the continuous advancements in engineering research and catastrophic lessons learned from each seismic event. The transition from ASCE 7-10 to ASCE 7-22 is a reflection of this evolution, marking significant strides in risk reduction and structural robustness, emphasizing not just human safety but also post-earthquake functionality and rapid recovery for communities.

3. Little P.Eng.’s Integration of ASCE 7-22 in Seismic Structural Engineering

3.1. Innovations in Seismic Design Philosophies

Little P.Eng. employs a forward-thinking approach to integrate the innovations outlined in ASCE 7-22. These include state-of-the-art seismic design philosophies involving base isolation, energy dissipation devices, and performance-based seismic design (PBSD), allowing for structures that are more flexible, absorb and dissipate seismic energy, and maintain structural integrity during earthquakes.

3.2. Site-Specific Hazard Analysis and Geotechnical Considerations

One of the critical aspects of ASCE 7-22 is the emphasis on site-specific hazard analyses. Little P.Eng.'s engineers led by Meena Rezkallah carry out comprehensive geotechnical evaluations, considering soil-structure interaction, liquefaction potential, and site-specific seismic hazard assessments. By understanding the geological variances across different regions in North America, they ensure that each design is intrinsically aligned with its environmental context.

4. Adherence to NBCC Standards: Expanding Safety Parameters Across Canada

4.1. Bridging Policies between Countries

While their services in the United States predominantly adhere to ASCE standards, Little P.Eng. seamlessly bridges engineering policies between the U.S. and Canada by aligning their practices with the NBCC. This code compliance not only underscores their versatility in handling cross-border projects but also reflects their commitment to upholding the highest safety and professional standards in every geographical locale.

4.2. Understanding NBCC’s Seismic Provisions

The NBCC has distinct seismic provisions, necessitating specialized knowledge and an adaptive engineering approach. Little P.Eng.'s expertise in Canadian seismic codes ensures that structural and non-structural components comply with regional regulations, catering to Canada's unique seismic challenges, especially in high-risk provinces.

5. Comprehensive Services for Buildings and Non-Structural Elements

5.1. Diverse Building Typologies

Little P.Eng.'s portfolio encompasses a variety of buildings, from residential high-rises and expansive commercial complexes to critical facilities like hospitals and emergency response centers. Each building type presents unique challenges, and the firm’s nuanced, context-oriented approach to seismic retrofitting and sustainable design practices sets industry standards.

5.2. Protecting Non-Structural Components

Beyond the buildings themselves, Little P.Eng. extends its engineering prowess to safeguard non-structural elements. These components, often overlooked, can pose significant hazards during seismic events. From architectural elements to mechanical and electrical systems, the firm implements exhaustive strategies to enhance the safety of these components, thereby protecting human life and minimizing economic loss.

6. Future Directions and Continuous Advancements

6.1. Embracing Technological Innovations

As the field of seismic structural engineering advances, Little P.Eng. remains committed to incorporating new technologies, including artificial intelligence and machine learning, for predictive analysis, design optimization, and risk management. Their continual investment in technology positions them as a leader in future-proofing structures against earthquakes.

6.2. Contribution to Global Seismic Safety Standards

Harnessing Advanced Engineering: Little P.Eng.'s Comprehensive Seismic Structural Services Aligned with ASCE 7-22 and CNBCC Standards in North America

7. Conclusion

Little P.Eng.’s comprehensive seismic structural engineering services, grounded in the latest ASCE and NBCC standards, represent a confluence of scientific mastery, innovative engineering, and a deep commitment to safeguarding human lives and investments. Their work across diverse building typologies and non-structural components in Canada and the United States cements their stance as a pivotal player in shaping resilient, sustainable, and safe urban landscapes. As seismic activity remains an unpredictable threat, the foresight and innovation of firms like Little P.Eng. are society's best bet for a safer tomorrow.

References

[1] American Society of Civil Engineers. (2022). Minimum Design Loads and Associated Criteria for Buildings and Other Structures (ASCE/SEI 7-22). ASCE.

[2] National Research Council Canada. (2020). National Building Code of Canada.

Tags:

Little P.Eng.

ASCE 7-22

design optimization

earthquake resilience

energy dissipation

building codes

seismic design

advanced materials

non-structural components

CNBCC

technological innovations

cross-border projects

geotechnical considerations

mechanical systems safety

base isolation

sustainable construction

electrical systems safety

Seismic structural engineering

critical infrastructure

artificial intelligence

urban resilience

construction techniques

seismic retrofitting

site-specific analysis

predictive analysis

professional standards

safety regulations

risk management

performance-based design

global seismic standards

Engineering Services

Structural Engineering Consultancy

Seismic Bracing Experts

Located in Calgary, Alberta; Vancouver, BC; Toronto, Ontario; Edmonton, Alberta; Houston Texas; Torrance, California; El Segundo, CA; Manhattan Beach, CA; Concord, CA; We offer our engineering consultancy services across Canada and United States. Meena Rezkallah.

[rpalloys]

R.P Alloys caters to heavy engineering needs with an in-house casting and machining shop equipped with the capability to manufacture almost every equipment our clients require. Our industrial gears are already a name to reckon with and find application in a wide variety of industries like Mining, Cement, and Power.

Visit:- https://www.rpalloys.com/

[aerofabricators1]

The Role of Heavy Steel Fabrication in Construction and Infrastructure

Introduction

When it comes to constructing robust buildings, bridges, and other critical infrastructure in Noida, the Best heavy steel fabrication in Noida plays an indispensable role. This article delves into the world of heavy steel fabrication, highlighting its importance, techniques, and applications in the construction and infrastructure sectors.

Understanding Heavy Steel Fabrication

What is Heavy Steel Fabrication?

Heavy steel fabrication is a specialized process involving the cutting, shaping, and assembly of large steel components to create structural elements used in various construction projects.

The Significance of Heavy Steel Fabrication in Noida

In the rapidly growing city of Noida, heavy steel fabrication is the backbone of infrastructure development. Its role in ensuring sturdy and durable construction cannot be overstated.

Techniques of Heavy Steel Fabrication

Cutting and Shaping Steel

The process begins with the precision cutting and shaping of steel sheets and beams to meet the exact specifications of the project.

Welding and Joining

Welding techniques, such as arc welding and gas welding, are employed to fuse steel components securely, ensuring structural integrity.

Surface Treatment

Surface treatments, like sandblasting and galvanization, protect steel from corrosion and enhance its longevity, especially important in Noida's humid climate.

Applications in Construction

Skyscrapers and High-Rises

Heavy steel fabrication is pivotal in the construction of tall buildings, providing the necessary support and stability for these iconic structures.

Bridges and Infrastructure

Noida's network of bridges and infrastructure heavily relies on heavy steel fabrication for its robustness and load-bearing capabilities.

Industrial Facilities

Factories and industrial facilities in Delhi NCR depend on the best heavy steel fabrication in Noida, for structural components that can withstand heavy machinery and equipment.

Sustainability in Heavy Steel Fabrication

Eco-Friendly Practices

Efforts to reduce the environmental footprint of heavy steel fabrication include recycling and sustainable sourcing of steel materials.

Energy Efficiency

In Noida's climate, energy-efficient fabrication methods are essential for reducing greenhouse gas emissions associated with steel production.

Innovations and Future Trends

Automation and Robotics

The industry is evolving with the integration of automation and robotics, increasing precision and efficiency.

Advanced Materials

New steel alloys and composite materials are being developed to enhance strength and reduce weight, revolutionizing construction.

Conclusion

In Noida, heavy steel fabrication is not just a construction technique; it's the backbone of infrastructure development. Its significance in guaranteeing the strength and durability of buildings and bridges cannot be emphasized enough. As the city experiences continuous growth, heavy steel fabrication in Noida will continue to lead in innovation, playing a pivotal role in creating a safer and more environmentally sustainable urban landscape.

FAQs

Q: How does heavy steel fabrication contribute to earthquake resistance in Noida?

Heavy steel fabrication provides the structural strength necessary to withstand seismic forces, safeguarding buildings and infrastructure during earthquakes.

Q: What is the average cost difference between heavy steel and other construction materials in Noida?

While the expense associated with heavy steel fabrication can fluctuate, its remarkable durability and long-lasting nature consistently render it a financially prudent option over the course of time.

Q: Are there any eco-friendly heavy steel fabrication companies in Noida?

Yes, some fabricators in Noida prioritize sustainability by adopting green practices in their production processes.

Q: Can heavy steel fabrication be used in residential construction projects in Noida?

Certainly! Heavy steel fabrication can be employed in various residential projects, providing strength and safety.

Q: How long does it take to complete a typical heavy steel fabrication project in Noida?

The timeline for heavy steel fabrication projects varies depending on complexity, but efficiency and precision are prioritized to meet deadlines.

Q: What are the main challenges faced by heavy steel fabricators in Noida?

Challenges may include sourcing high-quality steel, skilled labour shortages, and compliance with safety and environmental regulations.

[easyflexnoida]

Spring vibration isolators - Easyflex

Easyflex spring vibration isolators are cutting-edge solutions for noise and vibration control. Engineered with precision, they effectively reduce vibrations, ensuring a quieter and more stable environment. These isolators are your go-to choice for superior performance and peace of mind.

For More Info visit : https://easyflex.in/spring-based-vibrations-isolators/

Kanwal Industrial CorporationB- 168, Phase – II, Distt. Gautam Budh Nagar -201 305 Noida, Uttar Pradesh , India

Phone: 91-0120-4734500 | +91-9811319020

enquiries@easyflex.in

[nasa]

25 Years of Exploring the Universe with NASA's Chandra Xray Observatory

Illustration of the Chandra telescope in orbit around Earth. Credit: NASA/CXC & J. Vaughan

On July 23, 1999, the space shuttle Columbia launched into orbit carrying NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory. August 26 marked 25 years since Chandra released its first images.

These were the first of more than 25,000 observations Chandra has taken. This year, as NASA celebrates the 25th anniversary of this telescope and the incredible data it has provided, we’re taking a peek at some of its most memorable moments.

About the Spacecraft

The Chandra telescope system uses four specialized mirrors to observe X-ray emissions across the universe. X-rays that strike a “regular” mirror head on will be absorbed, so Chandra’s mirrors are shaped like barrels and precisely constructed. The rest of the spacecraft system provides the support structure and environment necessary for the telescope and the science instruments to work as an observatory. To provide motion to the observatory, Chandra has two different sets of thrusters. To control the temperatures of critical components, Chandra's thermal control system consists of a cooling radiator, insulators, heaters, and thermostats. Chandra's electrical power comes from its solar arrays.

Learn more about the spacecraft's components that were developed and tested at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama. Fun fact: If the state of Colorado were as smooth as the surface of the Chandra X-ray Observatory mirrors, Pike's Peak would be less than an inch tall.

Engineers in the X-ray Calibration Facility at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, integrating the Chandra X-ray Observatory’s High-Resolution Camera with the mirror assembly, in this photo taken March 16, 1997. Credit: NASA

Launch

When space shuttle Columbia launched on July 23, 1999, Chandra was the heaviest and largest payload ever launched by the shuttle. Under the command of Col. Eileen Collins, Columbia lifted off the launch pad at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Chandra was deployed on the mission’s first day.

Reflected in the waters, space shuttle Columbia rockets into the night sky from Launch Pad 39-B on mission STS-93 from Kennedy Space Center. Credit: NASA

First Light Images

Just 34 days after launch, extraordinary first images from our Chandra X-ray Observatory were released. The image of supernova remnant Cassiopeia A traces the aftermath of a gigantic stellar explosion in such captivating detail that scientists can see evidence of what is likely the neutron star.

“We see the collision of the debris from the exploded star with the matter around it, we see shock waves rushing into interstellar space at millions of miles per hour,” said Harvey Tananbaum, founding Director of the Chandra X-ray Center at the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory.

Cassiopeia A is the remnant of a star that exploded about 300 years ago. The X-ray image shows an expanding shell of hot gas produced by the explosion colored in bright orange and yellows. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

A New Look at the Universe

NASA released 25 never-before-seen views to celebrate the telescopes 25th anniversary. This collection contains different types of objects in space and includes a new look at Cassiopeia A. Here the supernova remnant is seen with a quarter-century worth of Chandra observations (blue) plus recent views from NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope (grey and gold).

This image features deep data of the Cassiopeia A supernova, an expanding ball of matter and energy ejected from an exploding star in blues, greys and golds. The Cassiopeia A supernova remnant has been observed for over 2 million seconds since the start of Chandra’s mission in 1999 and has also recently been viewed by the James Webb Space Telescope. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

Can You Hear Me Now?

In 2020, experts at the Chandra X-ray Center/Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory (SAO) and SYSTEM Sounds began the first ongoing, sustained effort at NASA to “sonify” (turn into sound) astronomical data. Data from NASA observatories such as Chandra, the Hubble Space Telescope, and the James Webb Space Telescope, has been translated into frequencies that can be heard by the human ear.

SAO Research shows that sonifications help many types of learners – especially those who are low-vision or blind -- engage with and enjoy astronomical data more.

Click to watch the “Listen to the Universe” documentary on NASA+ that explores our sonification work: Listen to the Universe | NASA+

An image of the striking croissant-shaped planetary nebula called the Cat’s Eye, with data from the Chandra X-ray Observatory and Hubble Space Telescope.  NASA’s Data sonification from Chandra, Hubble and/or Webb telecopes allows us to hear data of cosmic objects. Credit: NASA/CXO/SAO

Celebrate With Us!

Dedicated teams of engineers, designers, test technicians, and analysts at Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, are celebrating with partners at the Chandra X-ray Center and elsewhere outside and across the agency for the 25th anniversary of the Chandra X-ray Observatory. Their hard work keeps the spacecraft flying, enabling Chandra’s ongoing studies of black holes, supernovae, dark matter, and more.

Chandra will continue its mission to deepen our understanding of the origin and evolution of the cosmos, helping all of us explore the Universe.

The Chandra Xray Observatory, the longest cargo ever carried to space aboard the space shuttle, is shown in Columbia’s payload bay. This photo of the payload bay with its doors open was taken just before Chandra was tilted upward for release and deployed on July 23, 1999. Credit: NASA

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

[bi-writes]

attached | ghost x f!reader

i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.

type: one-shot (8.4k)

cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+

Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.

No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.

He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?

Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.

He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.

Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.

Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.

It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.

He never wins.

Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.

If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.

He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.

He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.

It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.

There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.

When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.

It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.

He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.

He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.

His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.

It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.

He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.

But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.

He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.

Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.

The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.

The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.

It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.

He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.

He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.

There are different kinds of hunters out today.

He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.

When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.

Her.

He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.

He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

"Bite me."

He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.

"You bitch!"

Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.

Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.

The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.

Just a man.

I hate men.

You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.

He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.

You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.

Condoms.

Bunch of pricks.

He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.

You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.

When he walks again, you follow.

The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.

You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.

He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.

You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.

But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.

He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.

It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.

You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.

He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.

He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.

Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.

When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.

It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.

He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.

They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.

He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.

He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.

He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.

He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.

"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.

He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.

The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.

Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.

It is then that he decides to keep you.

What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.

Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.

You can do the same.

You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.

You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.

You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.

He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.

He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.

"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.

It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.

He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.

You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.

He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.

You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.

He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.

The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you. 

Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.

It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.

You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.

It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.

"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"

He groans. It's music.

Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.

"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."

"Need wot?"

The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.

"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."

He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.

"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.

You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.

But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.

Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.

Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.

The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.

Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.

When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.

He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.

He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.

The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.

He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.

He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.

He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.

A terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.

It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.

Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.

His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.

He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.

"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"

It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.

What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.

You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).

Another terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.

They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.

You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.

You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.

This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.

It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.

You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.

He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.

You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.

You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.

"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."

You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.

You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.

There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.

Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.

You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.

You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.

It comes up tails.

He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.

You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.

Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.

You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.

It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.

And if you're dead, then he must be, too.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: bone-eating worm

Happy (almost) Halloween from us at Wet Beast Wednesday. What better to celebrate the spooky holiday than with a spooky animal? These critters are so spooky they even scare skeletons. Sometimes called zombie worms or bone worms, bone-eating worms are scavengers that play an important role in deep seas. Try not to get too scared.

(Image: a cluster of bone-eating worms on a bone. Their plumes are visible, looking like red feathery structures emerging from a clump of brown sludge. End ID)

Bone-eating worms are members of the genus Osedax, with 26 species currently known. My favorite is Osedax mucofloris, which means "bone-eating snot flower". They are small tube worms, reaching between 2.5 and 7 cm (1 to 2.7 in) in length. The body is divided into three segments, the trunk, ovisac, and root. The trunk makes up the majority of the body and it topped by red plumes that act as gills. At the base of the trunk is the ovisac, where eggs are produced. Below that are the roots that bore through the bones the worms live on. This is done by secreting carbonic acid that is produced through anaerobic respiration. The roots also produce a mucus sheath whose purpose is not fully known. It may protect the body from the acid or may prevent the acid from dissolving the hole the worm lives in. As with other tubeworms, the worm generated a protective sheathe to live in. Normally, the plumes extend out of the sheathe to respirate, but when threatened, they will withdraw into the tube.

(Image: a bone worm removed from the bone. It is a long, translucent tube with reddish plumes on one and a lump of wavy roots on the other. End ID)

Bone-eating worms lack a mouth, anus, and digestive system. To obtain nutrients, they exist in a symbiotic relationship with bacteria. As the worms break down the bone, they release lipids and proteins that the bacteria consume to produce energy in the form of glycogen, which is transferred to the worm. The worm then uses the glycogen to power itself and feeds it to the bacteria to keep them alive. The worms also use collagen, which is the primary component of bone. Many of the symbiotic bacteria species need the collagen, which the worm provides by breaking down the bone. Curiously, many of the symbionts produce toxins that disrupt the membranes at the roots, leading to infection. The bacteria are also found surviving outside of symbiosis with the worms Because of this, it is debatable whether the relationship between the worm and its bacteria is mutualistic (both parties benefit) or commensal (one party benefits, the other neither benefits nor suffers).

(Image: a cleared view of bone worm plumes emerging from a bone. End ID)

Bone-eating worms are found worldwide in oceanic depths ranging from 10 to 4,200 meters (30 to 14,000 ft). They are most commonly found on the skeletons of whales, but will also colonize fish bones and even, in one experiment, cow bones. Whale bones seem to be preferred both because of their large size and the large quantity of lipids found within. Whale skeletons can often be seen covered with bone worms, giving them the appearance of red shag carpeting. As the worms break down bones, other animals can take better advantage of the nutrients within. The presence of bone worms at a whale fall has been shown to increase the biodiversity of the site. Bone-eating worms are ecosystem engineers, organisms that significantly alter their habitat. They have been doing this since before whales existed. Fossil sea turtle and plesiosaur bones have been found with signs of bone worm colonization.

(Image: a lone bone worm with its tube visible. Its plumes are whitish. End ID)

The bone-eating worms have one of the most dramatic cases of sexual dimorphism in the animal kingdom. All the worms you see when you look at a whale skeleton are females. The males are 20,000 times smaller and fully microscopic. They still resemble larvae, making them a case of neoteny, an adaptation where juvenile characteristics are retained into adulthood. Harems of males live inside the females' tubes and feed on the nutrients released by the bacteria. As the female generates eggs, the males fertilize them. The eggs hatch inside the female's tube and stay for a while to mature before being released into the water. The fact that the worms are so widely distributed indicated that the larvae can travel vast distances to find a new set of bones, but the means they use to do so is unclear. The extreme sexual dimorphism reduces competition between males and females and ensures the males will always have an available mate to pass on their genes. The species Osedax pirapus do not follow this form of dimorphism. Males are still smaller than females, but they actually look like worms and share the same lifestyle. This increases competition between males and females, but ensures that males can make far more sperm due to their greater size.

(Image: a collection of images of multiple species of bone-eating worms. Source. End ID)

[drunkeninlovesailor]

Cybertronian names and vocalizations headcanons:

It's not hard to figure out that, upon encounter with humans, cybertronians had to adapt their speech for us to be able to understand them. They also had to translate their names and give them vocalization patterns that otherwise could be not understandable or replicable by humans. Now, let's take a step back and try to figure out how cybertronians would communicate vocally between one another:

Their speech patterns would consist mainly of mechanical noises, such as engine whirring, screeches, clanking, chirping, popping, hissing, and many more. You can refer to this article for a more detailed list of noises.

These sounds don't come just from their mouths (or intakes if you want to use the correct cybertronian term), but their whole bodies, as their many different mechanical components are an integral part of this array of noises. Humans do communicate through body language, but we don't look at someone cracking their knuckles or popping their elbow and go "understandable, have a great day". To us, these noises mean nothing. To cybertronians, they constitute an integral part of communication. However, no cybertronian would be able to assign a meaning to the noise of a human joint popping, simply because that very peculiar noise does not exist in cybertronian language.

This said, cybertronians hence communicate with vast vocalizations coming from their whole bodies. And they can mix them, too. A whir and a clicking sound separately mean two different things, together they have a whole new meaning that might be an entire phrase. This process is similar to some human languages too. For example, linguists out there come help me, in Japanese the word for teacher "先生" is composed of two kanjis that, alone, have two different meanings: "先" meaning "previous" and "生" meaning "life". HOWEVER, in this case the two noises are replicated one after another.

In Cybertronian language, 3 different things can happen: - 2 sounds are made separately, they mean two separate things; - 2 sounds are made one after another, they constitute a phrase; - 2 sounds are made at the same time and overlap, they now compose one new unique sound that means something else entirely.

Of course, humans are only able to make one sound at a time, so replicating the overlapping sounds is impossible. For this reason, cybertronians must find a way to convey complex meanings in their language in a way that is possible for humans to comprehend. Most importantly, they need to translate their names in human language, closely enough that the original meaning isn't lost.

This magnificent post here explained how this process might occur, and offered a unique way to convey meaning into cybertronian names.

I might make another post on how cybertronian names are born, but that's a talk for another time.

For now, let's focus on the NAME STRUCTURE.

Starscream, for example. Again, refer to the aforementioned post. His name roughly translates to "he who screams in defiance of death". Another possibile translation could be "he who screams (at the stars) in defiance of death". Now we might be overcomplicating things, but imagine if there's a particular verb in cybertronian language that precisely refers to screaming as in "screaming to the sky/stars". Imagine Starscream's name contains that verb.

Do you follow? Good, let's overcomplicate it further. "Death" in cybertronian language might be one of those words whose sound can be used in overlap with other words, is often used alone due to its importance. The noun for death is, however, used in overlap with adjectives / verbs. If we keep following that logic, we can conclude that Starscream's name is composed of two consecutive sounds, one meaning "screaming to the stars" (one sound) and another being "in defiance of death / death being defied" (two overlapping sounds, coming out as one). Okay, the hard part is out. If you've kept up until now, you'll have no issues understanding the rest.

How would cybertronians be able to translate this complex name? They have no choice but to butcher it a bit, and since "death screamer" or "death defier" don't sound appealing, they chose to cut off the death part completely and keep the verb with its extended meaning "screaming to the stars". Ladies and gents and everyone in between, that's how "Starscream" is born.

The name phonetics are kept as closely accurate to the original sound as possible.

There are, thank Primus, names that don't contain overlapping noises and can be somewhat pronounced by humans. However, keep in mind that Cybertronian is a very sound-oriented language much like Chinese or Arab. Your vocalization must be precise or else it might take on a whole new meaning.

For example, let's imagine "Tarn" is pronounced with a single noise, or two or more consequential noises, that sound simple enough to the human ear. Phonetically speaking, it'd come out as: - the sound of engines turning on; - a very loud and grating revving noise; - and finally the natural noise of engines stopping. It'd come out as "T-rrrrrrrrrrr-nh". It is pronounceable by humans precisely? Hell no, but you might be able to come close with a throaty sound and a rolling R. If the noise you just made is close enough to get a phonetical pass, congrats! You can now speak 0.0000000000001% Cybertronian. Don't do that in front of the decepticon fanatic though, he might not appreciate anyway.

Cybertronian language rarely contains vowels. Cybertronians on earth have adapted their names to contain vowels and make the sound more comprehensible (See the noise for "Tarn" not containing the "a").

A bunch on examples on how Cybertronian names might sound:

Megatron: Two revving noises (Me + Ga), only distinguishable by cybertronians, followed by a strong rrrrrrrrrrrr sound.

Arcee: A softer rrr sound, followed by chirping and shirieking overlapping noises, making up a "cee".

Bumblebee: The "bumble" part might be two consequential popping sounds.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any tips on pacing? for me I always tend to right way faster then I would like to. thanks!

Writing Notes: Narrative Pacing

The best storytellers across all genres of fiction writing are often masters of the pace at which the story unfolds.

Pacing - refers to how fast or slow the story is moving for the reader.

This is determined by the length of a scene and the speed at which you, the writer, distribute information.

Generally speaking, descriptive passages tend to slow things down, while dialogue and action scenes speed things up—but slowing the pacing of action down at choice moments can also build suspense.

Good pacing is crucial to the flow of a successful narrative and without it, the story is dead on the page.

The reader wants to be immersed in the thoughts and actions of your characters.

They want to feel that they’re in the world you’ve created.

Clunky language, bad dialogue, and poorly-conceived scenes will all draw your reader out of the story.

Pace will help keep them there.

Writing Tips: On Narrative Pacing

Whether it’s through subplots, playing with sentence structure (longer sentences can slow things down, rapid-fire dialogue and short sentences can speed them up), or experimenting with passive versus active voice—here are a few ideas to keep your story moving:

Utilize breathers. By balancing action scenes with more reflective, internal moments, you give the reader an equal dose of excitement and recovery. The quieter moments in any novel—the “negative space”—are the places to share relationship details, a character’s thoughts and memories, and anything a character might do while taking a break. These spaces, which are just as important as the more dramatic scenes, give readers a chance to orient themselves and process their reactions. Too much of the same pace—no matter how exciting it is—will begin to feel tedious to the reader.

Change the order of events. Try a method called in medias res—opening the story in the middle of the action and filling in details later. This works well when you want to capture your reader’s attention quickly, like in a short story. If you are writing something longer, try placing the sole dramatic question of your story upfront while using the rest of the novel to slowly parse out information that leads to the final answer. Your readers will keep reading to discover the answer to the question you’ve given them.

Vary your sentence length. Try breaking up long passages of exposition with short dialogue—even a sentence or two can be refreshing. If you have a very long section of dialogue, insert brief sections of exposition to keep your reader grounded in time and place.

Keep characters physically moving during dialogue. If your characters are on the run and having a conversation in an airport, you can show the numerous distractions they might notice as they walk nervously through the airport. By interspersing brief distractions (clumsy passengers, stern security guards) between segments of dialogue, you prevent the pacing from becoming monotonous.

Reveal information selectively. Writing suspense into any novel is a matter of controlling information—how much you reveal, and when and how you reveal it. In its most practical sense, suspense is a series of incremental steps. While every novel will have a central, overarching storyline that seeks to answer the sole dramatic question, that question is an engine built of thousands of smaller components that carry the reader through each chapter, sustaining their interest along the way.

Vary your narration. In all writing, there are 2 types of narration: scene and dramatic narration. In the former, you show the characters performing an action or having a conversation. This tends to speed up the pacing. In the latter, you simply tell the reader what the characters did, but the event remains “offstage.” This type of narration can slow the story down. To keep pacing from feeling monotonous, it’s a good idea to vary the two modes of writing. Show the reader a scene when it’s interesting or necessary, and use a summary to move over the less exciting parts.

Read the work out loud. Notice the amount of time it takes you to read through a scene and pay attention to how the sentences feel to read and mark where the rhythms naturally change. Where should you slow down? Where should you pause? Where should your pacing gain momentum?

How to Pace Your Novel

How Long Should Book Chapters Be? The overall story arc of a novel is essential, but meticulous construction of individual chapters is just as important to the reader’s experience. Here are a few of David Baldacci's tips for structuring chapters:

Keep scenes and chapters short. David keeps his chapters short—between three to five pages. This keeps the narrative moving at a brisk pace.

Keep your audience asking questions. When a chapter answers a question from a previous chapter, you have the opportunity to introduce a new one. The new question will propel you through the next chapter. A classic example from crime fiction: “Will this serial killer strike again?” becomes “He struck again—now how many more people will he kill?” Keep this up over the course of a novel, and the book will be a page-turner.

Make sure each chapter has a purpose that ties into the bigger story. If you lose sight of the overarching narrative of your novel, your individual chapters can begin to feel aimless. To keep your novel focused and on track, you should have a clear objective with every scene you write.

Don’t fluff up the novel with irrelevant content. Scene-setting and vivid descriptions are critical for a compelling novel, but don’t get bogged down in the details. Focus on sustaining narrative momentum from chapter one onward.

Make your scenes multitask. Driving the plot forward, conveying information, and deepening a character’s development are the three most critical jobs that a chapter can do. The short chapters you write should make use of at least one of these tools, and preferably more than one.

A Writing Exercise on Pacing

One person punches another.

Describe this act in 10 words.

Describe the same act in 100 words.

You’ll find that the second description reads more like the end of a chapter, while the first may sound more like the beginning or middle. 

To follow up, write a scene leading up to the punch and play with sentence lengths.

For the scene leading up to 2, for instance, try making all the preceding sentences no longer than five words apiece.

In the scene leading up to 1, keep all the sentences equally short, except when you get to the action that directly provokes the punch and describe that one action in 100 words.

After completing this exercise, you should see how very different the exact same scene can feel, depending on which elements of that scene are sped through, and which are dragged out.   

A good advice on pacing: Read and learn. The next time you come across a book that keeps you up all night turning pages, give it a second read once you’ve finished and caught your breath. Take a look at what the author does, whether it’s speeding up scenes, slowing them down or shifting points of view at crucial moments. Odds are, you’ll appreciate the book even more… and pick up a few pacing tricks of your own.

Techniques to Slow Down the Pace

Lengthen your sentences

Add descriptions

Include subplots

Use flashbacks and backstory

Add more introspection

Techniques to Speed Things Up

Shorten your sentences

Use more dialogue

Remove (or limit) secondary subplots

Use cliffhangers

Increase the action

There is no formula for a great story: it can be either fast or slow depending on how it is told. So, don’t be afraid to play with your story’s pacing and explore different ways in which a scene can be slowed down or sped up until you find the right fit. Above all, remember that nailing the pace is a matter of balance.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing!

[little-p-eng-engineering]

Little P.Eng. Engineering for Nuclear Facilities Design Services

Little P.Eng. Engineering, a pioneer in the engineering consultancy domain, specializes in the design and analysis of nuclear facilities. Their expertise encompasses a broad spectrum of engineering services tailored to meet the stringent requirements of ASME Section III, Division 1, focusing particularly on Subsection ND (Class 3 Components) and Subsection NF (Supports). This specialization ensures that all designed components and supports within nuclear facilities not only comply with the highest safety standards but also embody efficiency and reliability.

Expertise in ASME Section III Compliance At the core of Little P.Eng. Engineering's services is a deep-rooted expertise in navigating the complexities of ASME Section III, Division 1 standards. These standards, essential for the nuclear power sector, dictate the design, fabrication, testing, and inspection criteria for nuclear facility components, ensuring they are capable of withstanding operational stresses without compromising safety.

Subsection ND: Class 3 Components

Subsection ND outlines the requirements for Class 3 components, which, although not directly involved in the reactor's primary cooling system, are crucial for the safe operation and shutdown of the reactor. Little P.Eng. Engineering's approach involves meticulous design and analysis to ensure these components can endure the operational environment, including handling stress, temperature variations, and potential seismic events.

Subsection NF: Supports

Subsection NF focuses on the design and integrity of supports for all classes of components within nuclear facilities. Little P.Eng. Engineering leverages advanced analytical methods to design supports that ensure structural stability under a variety of load conditions, including dead weight, live loads, thermal expansion, and earthquake forces.

Importance of ASME Section III, Division 1 Subsection ND and Subsection NF

Adherence to Safety and Quality Standards The use of ASME Section III, Division 1 standards in nuclear facility design is not merely a regulatory requirement but a cornerstone of safety and quality assurance. Subsections ND and NF are particularly significant for ensuring that all components and their supports are designed with an uncompromising focus on safety, taking into account normal operating conditions as well as potential emergency scenarios.

Engineering Excellence The application of Subsection ND and NF standards demands a high level of engineering expertise and precision. Little P.Eng. Engineering exemplifies this excellence, employing seasoned professionals and state-of-the-art tools to design, analyze, and validate the integrity of nuclear facility components and supports. Their work ensures that facilities are not only compliant with current standards but are also adaptable to future technological advancements and regulatory changes.

Piping Stress Analysis and Structural Design in Nuclear Facilities

Piping Stress Analysis: Ensuring System Integrity Piping systems in nuclear facilities are critical for the transport of coolant and other fluids essential to the reactor's operation. Piping stress analysis is a vital engineering task that assesses these systems' ability to withstand various stresses, including thermal expansion, pressure loads, and seismic events. Little P.Eng. Engineering employs sophisticated modeling and simulation tools to predict stress points and deformation, ensuring designs that maintain integrity under all operational conditions.

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Conclusion Little P.Eng. Engineering's dedication to excellence in nuclear facilities design, guided by ASME Section III, Division 1 standards, highlights their role in advancing nuclear safety and efficiency. Through meticulous attention to piping stress analysis and structural design, they ensure that nuclear facilities are not only safe and reliable but also prepared to meet the challenges of tomorrow's energy landscape. Their work underscores the critical importance of specialized engineering expertise in maintaining the high safety standards required in the nuclear power industry.

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[rpalloys]

R.P Alloys is a self-contained engineering company delivering end-to-end solutions to businesses on a global scale. Visit:- https://www.rpalloys.com/

[drnikolatesla]

Tesla’s Wardenclyffe Tower: Built on Sound Math, Undone by Cost and Misunderstanding

Let’s set the record straight—Nikola Tesla’s Wardenclyffe Tower was a high-voltage experimental transmission system grounded in quarter-wave resonance and electrostatic conduction—not Hertzian radiation. And the math behind it? It was solid—just often misunderstood by people applying the wrong physics.

In May 1901, Tesla calculated that to set the Earth into electrical resonance, he needed a quarter-wavelength system with a total conductor length of about 225,000 cm, or 738 feet.

So Tesla’s tower design had to evolve during construction. In a letter dated September 13, 1901, to architect Stanford White, Tesla wrote: “We cannot build that tower as outlined.” He scaled the visible height down to 200 feet. The final structure—based on photographic evidence and Tesla’s own testimony—stood at approximately 187 feet above ground. To meet the required electrical length, Tesla engineered a system that combined spiral coil geometry, an elevated terminal, a 120-foot vertical shaft extending underground, and radial pipes buried outward for approximately 300 feet. This subterranean network, together with the 187-foot tower and carefully tuned inductance, formed a continuous resonant conductor that matched Tesla’s target of 738 feet. He described this strategy in his 1897 patent (No. 593,138) and expanded on it in his 1900 and 1914 patents, showing how to simulate a longer conductor using high-frequency, resonant components. Even with a reduced visible height, Tesla’s system achieved quarter-wave resonance by completing the rest underground—proving that the tower’s electrical length, not its physical height, was what really mattered.

Tesla calculated his voltages to be around 10 million statvolts (roughly 3.3 billion volts in modern SI), so he had to consider corona discharge and dielectric breakdown. That’s why the terminal was designed with large, smooth spherical surfaces—to minimize electric surface density and reduce energy loss. This was no afterthought; it’s a core feature of his 1914 patent and clearly illustrated in his design sketches.

Now, about that ±16 volt swing across the Earth—what was Tesla talking about?

He modeled the Earth as a conductive sphere with a known electrostatic capacity. Using the relation:

ε × P = C × p

Where:

ε is the terminal’s capacitance (estimated at 1,000 cm)

P is the applied voltage (10⁷ statvolts)

C is the Earth’s capacitance, which Tesla estimated at 5.724 × 10⁸ cm (based on the Earth’s size)

p is the resulting voltage swing across the Earth

Plugging in the numbers gives p ≈ 17.5 volts, which Tesla rounded to ±16 volts. That’s a theoretical 32-volt peak-to-peak swing globally—not a trivial claim, but one rooted in his framework.

Modern recalculations, based on updated geophysical models, suggest a smaller swing—closer to ±7 volts—using a revised Earth capacitance of about 7.1 × 10⁸ cm. But that’s not a knock on Tesla’s math. His original ±16V estimate was fully consistent with the cgs system and the best data available in 1901, where the Earth was treated as a uniformly conductive sphere.

The difference between 7 and 16 volts isn’t about wrong numbers—it’s about evolving assumptions. Tesla wrote the equation. Others just adjusted the inputs. His premise—that the Earth could be set into controlled electrical resonance—still stands. Even if the voltage swing changes. The vision didn’t.

Wouldn't that ±16V swing affect nature or people? Not directly. It wasn’t a shock or discharge—it was a global oscillation in Earth’s electric potential, spread evenly across vast distances. The voltage gradient would be tiny at any given point—far less than what’s generated by everyday static electricity. Unless something was specifically tuned to resonate with Tesla’s system, the swing had no noticeable effect on people, animals, or the environment. It was a theoretical signature of resonance, not a hazard. While some early experiments in Colorado Springs did produce disruptive effects—like sparks from metal objects or spooked horses—those involved untuned, high-voltage discharges during Tesla’s exploratory phase. Wardenclyffe, by contrast, was a refined and carefully grounded system, engineered specifically to minimize leakage, discharge, and unintended effects.

And Tesla wasn’t trying to blast raw power through the ground. He described the system as one that would “ring the Earth like a bell,” using sharp, high-voltage impulses at a resonant frequency to create standing waves. As he put it:

“The secondary circuit increases the amplitude only... the actual power is only that supplied by the primary.” —Tesla, Oct. 15, 1901

Receivers, tuned to the same frequency, could tap into the Earth’s oscillating potential—not by intercepting radiated energy, but by coupling to the Earth’s own motion. That ±16V swing wasn’t a bug—it was the signature of resonance. Tesla’s transmitter generated it by pumping high-frequency, high-voltage impulses into the Earth, causing the surface potential to oscillate globally. That swing wasn’t the energy itself—it acted like a resonant “carrier.” Once the Earth was ringing at the right frequency, Tesla could send sharp impulses through it almost instantly, and tuned receivers could extract energy.

So—was it feasible?

According to Tesla’s own patents and 1916 legal testimony, yes. He accounted for insulation, voltage gradients, tuning, and corona losses. His design didn’t rely on brute force, but on resonant rise and impulse excitation. Tesla even addressed concerns over losses in the Earth—his system treated the planet not as a passive resistor but as an active component of the circuit, capable of sustaining standing waves.

Wardenclyffe wasn’t a failure of science. It was a casualty of cost, politics, and misunderstanding. Tesla’s system wasn’t just about wireless power—it was about turning the entire planet into a resonant electrical system. His use of electrostatics, high-frequency resonance, and spherical terminals was decades ahead of its time—and still worth studying today.

“The present is theirs; the future, for which I really worked, is mine.” —Nikola Tesla

[seat-safety-switch]

One universal constant about working on cars is that it sucks to do it in the snow. Even if you're cold, it's not nearly as bad if you're dry as well. With the advent of spring, Nature has made us a glorious promise: that if we slip off the wrench and end up punching the engine block, it won't hurt for like six hours afterward because at least it's a little warm outside. And I'm willing to believe in that promise, even as four or five inches of late-April snow build up around my trusting ass.

Other people have built a structure known as "a garage" in order to help with this kind of thing. Nothing doing: my garage is strictly used for storing the most valuable parts of my hoard. Once, a long time ago, there was enough room to go in there every couple of hours and at least try to warm up between major component disassemblies. Now, there's no longer any room. It's all occupied by parts. How do I get in there to use those parts if that's the case? Maybe you haven't been paying attention: these are valuable parts. I can't waste them on these bullshit cars.

One of my neighbours has the same problem, although without as many good parts. I checked: his garage is just full of shitty old handmade furniture, priceless art, gold bars, and now one broken lock on the side door. Just total junk, not a single rusty MacPherson strut to be seen. He went to the Costco, and he got one of those temporary car shelters. That kept the snow off, at least, and he was able to change the oil in his AMG in relative comfort. He says FBI undercover agents posing as workers at Jiffy Lube put a tracking device on his last car, and he can't take that risk again.

Of course, not all of us have Mercedes secret-agent money. I certainly do not, and the local Costco has put my picture up on the wall in the "dirtbags corner." After one too many times trying to slip in there to get cheap batteries without a membership, they had simply had enough. Personally, I think it's an infringement of my right to go wherever I want at all times, but the courts see it differently. Nevertheless, I needed a new way to keep the snow out of my eyes and engine bay as I fruitlessly attempted another late-night repair so at least one of my shitboxes can drive to work tomorrow.

Friends: it just took one trip to the marina. I knew that there was one device that guaranteed I would never see a lick of snow. With just one borrowed trailer, I was able to bring home the most expensive snowblower available at the local store. Probably would have cost more than a car. As soon as I rolled it up and pushed the electric start, the snow disappeared entirely. Been beautiful all week, got my whole to-do list done. It's a shame I'm going to have to pull the engine out of it and swap it into my Plymouth to get to work tomorrow.

[nasa]

This photo contains both flight (flat in the foreground) and qualification assembly (upright in the background) versions of the Solar Array Sun Shield for NASA’s Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope. These panels will both shade the mission’s instruments and power the observatory.

Double Vision: Why Do Spacecraft Have Twin Parts?

Seeing double? You’re looking at our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope’s Solar Array Sun Shield laying flat in pieces in the foreground, and its test version connected and standing upright in the back. The Sun shield will do exactly what it sounds like –– shade the observatory –– and also collect sunlight for energy to power Roman.

These solar panels are twins, just like several of Roman’s other major components. Only one set will actually fly in space as part of the Roman spacecraft…so why do we need two?

Sometimes engineers do major tests to simulate launch and space conditions on a spare. That way, they don’t risk damaging the one that will go on the observatory. It also saves time because the team can do all the testing on the spare while building up the flight version. In the Sun shield’s case, that means fitting the flight version with solar cells and eventually getting the panels integrated onto the spacecraft.

Our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope's primary structure (also called the spacecraft bus) moves into the big clean room at our Goddard Space Flight Center (top). While engineers integrate other components onto the spacecraft bus in the clean room, the engineering test unit (also called the structural verification unit) undergoes testing in the centrifuge at Goddard. The centrifuge spins space hardware to ensure it will hold up against the forces of launch.

Engineers at our Goddard Space Flight Center recently tested the Solar Array Sun Shield qualification assembly in a thermal vacuum chamber, which simulates the hot and cold temperatures and low-pressure environment that the panels will experience in space. And since the panels will be stowed for launch, the team practiced deploying them in space-like conditions. They passed all the tests with flying colors!

The qualification panels will soon pass the testing baton to the flight version. After the flight Solar Array Sun Shield is installed on the Roman spacecraft, the whole spacecraft will go through lots of testing to ensure it will hold up during launch and perform as expected in space.

For more information about the Roman Space Telescope, visit: www.nasa.gov/roman. You can also virtually tour an interactive version of the telescope here.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[kelnexia]

New character reveal!

This is actually an old character I've had for a while but just didn't like the previous design of... Thankfully I was able to score an trade with @hdra77 .

1000CE is an old militaristic ancestor of the iterators, created before the discovery of void fluid, and when the field of bio-engineering was still in it's earlier phases. More lore is below the cut...

1000 Crimson Embers is not a true iterator – instead being an old militaristic ancestor. She was originally built in a time of war just before the discovery of void fluid. She was one of the first artificial intelligence to use a combination of both biological and mechanical systems. Although the technology used in her creation was considerably more primitive than what’s found in the iterators we know and love today. But despite the difference in technology – a lot of the basic concepts and functionality in her design remains largely the same;

The layout of her structure was still fairly large, although not nearly as big as an iterator, and was built as an underground bunker. But the main similarity was how her mind was constructed… Similarly to how iterators in my head cannon have their personalty core and spiritual anchor located within their puppet – 1000 Crimson Embers has a standard brain and supporting set of organs acting as her center of consciousness within her puppet. Her puppet is also much larger than that of an iterator – being the height of an adult ancient instead of that of a child. The exterior of her puppet consists of hard metal plates and mechanical components. Her clothing is also built into her puppet. 1000 Crimson Embers doesn't utilized neuron flies in her structure, as they had yet to be invented by the time she was built – instead she’s outsourcing her cognitive processing to a massive array of inorganic server towers.

1000 Crimson Ember’s purpose was to design and create weapons, as well as to formulate strategies. She was loyal and hard working at the start, showing no serous signs of defiance despite her instinctual taboos being primitive and largely ineffective… That was until after the dawn of the void fluid revolution… With the ancients uniting under the common goal of ascension – the world entered a lasting era of peace – deeming 1000 Crimson Ember’s original purpose obsolete. However the ancients were inclined to keep her online for just awhile longer, as they still had some use for her. They tasked her in helping to create her own undoing – the iterators. She wasn’t a fool though, she knew what they were doing… They were building her replacement and trying to get her to help them in her own downfall! She lashed out in a violent fit of rage – ‘How dare they just carelessly replace her like this after all the thankless work she’s done for them!’ She drove them out of her facility by turning her security systems against them, killing many in her fit of rage.

But the ancients still needed the schematics and research for iterator tech 1000 Crimson Embers had already started work on before she had realized their true intentions behind it. So they struck a deal with her. They would upgrade her with the new iterator technology if she let them back in and got back to work for them. 1000CE reluctantly excepted the deal. But when the work was complete, and the time for her upgrades had come... They put her in stasis for the procedure… But they never kept their end of deal. They simply walked away and left her slumbering form to collect dust.

She awakened again many years after… To the sight of a group of scavengers that had broken in and accidentally reactivated her while attempting to gather scrap. The first thing she did upon seeing the invading creatures that were so rudely ripping her apart – was to reactivate the security system and kill every last one of them. However the damage had already been done. Upon running a system diagnostics, she found that her defenses had been breached, much of her facility has been flooded, and she’s all round in a severe state of disrepair. She would need to do something about that, and fast… Her weather systems were picking up on a massive encroaching storm.

Ultimately she would find her structure too damaged to sustain for much longer… She would end up using the freedom her weaker taboos and more self-significant puppet gives her to take herself off the strings, to at least save her core from the impending decay and flooding of her structure. But the world she would step out into would be very different from what she’s used too… Her home was once an arid region – but now it’s been turned into a tropics by the increased rainfall that has taken over the world and changed it the point of being near unrecognizable from what it once was.