#functional cargo block

[dailytrickartt]

Anatomy

[imitationgame77]

ART's Walls

For any network system with capabilities to communicate, it is very important that it has walls (basically, firewalls) to protect it from potential attack from the outside.

It is interesting to note how the way ART is controlling its walls between itself and Murderbot seems to demonstrate the level of its trust and their intimacy.

[Artificial Condition]

Super machine-intelligence like ART obviously needs to protect itself carefully from a potentially dangerous threat like a rogue SecUnit. So, when Murderbot first meets ART in Artificial Condition, it cannot see what ART really is. It only drops its wall for .00001 of a second - just to show how powerful it is.

They become close so that Murderbot can interpret ART's reactions in its feed quite well, but the walls are still there.

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But the presence in the feed was too big and diffuse for a human or augmented human, I could tell that much even through the feed walls protecting it.

[...]

It said, You’re a rogue SecUnit, a bot/human construct, with a scrambled governor module. It poked me through the feed and I flinched. It said, Do not attempt to hack my systems, and for .00001 of a second it dropped its wall.

It was enough time for me to get a vivid image of what I was dealing with. Part of its function was extragalactic astronomic analysis and now all that processing power sat idle while it hauled cargo, waiting for its next mission. It could have squashed me like a bug through the feed, pushed through my wall and other defenses and stripped my memory. Probably while also plotting its wormhole jump, estimating the nutrition needs of a full crew complement for the next 66,000 hours, performing multiple neural surgeries in the medical suite, and beating the captain at tavla. I had never directly interacted with anything this powerful before.

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[Network Effect]

In Network Effect, it was not explicitly referred to as walls, but I got the feeling that when ART allowed Murderbot access to all its cameras, it was at least dropping a large portion of its walls. Hidden cameras are a very important part of its security system after all.

It was ART's way to show its trust to Murderbot, and Murderbot understands this.

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I suddenly had views all over the ship. ART had given me access to its cameras. I snarled, “Stop being nice to me!”

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[System Collapse]

By the end of Network Effect, when Murderbot (implicitly) accepts ART's proposal of marriage to join the next mission, they have reached the level of intimacy where ART does not seem to think it is necessary to have a wall between them.

So, in System Collapse, when Murderbot decides to accept communication request from AdaCol2, it is Murderbot who suggests having a wall between them, to protect ART.

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ART-drone threw out an extra comm- and feed-block wall between us and the shuttle and I said, Let’s do full containment protocol. Which was the protocol we’d come up with (we being ART, Martyn, and Matteo and me, before my incident when I effectively became useless) for dealing with potential contamination situations.

Let’s, ART-drone said, which was its way of being nice and not letting me know that it didn’t need my advice about which containment protocol to use. Then it made it worse by adding, Be careful. The wall went up and I was alone in the dark except for my two drones, both on standby now, and the Pre-CR system.

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

And ART cannot drop the wall fast enough at the first chance of excuse.

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

ART-drone dropped the wall between us, though not the one protecting the shuttle’s systems. Is that a good idea? I asked it. Is containment protocol for everybody but you?

After it sees the file it will either attack us or ask for further contact, ART-drone said. The wall will have to go down either way.

Right, fine, whatever.

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

Not to mention that ART is practically constantly inside Murderbot's walls throughout System Collapse, (ostentatiously) to monitor its stats, because of [redacted].

And considering how private Murderbot is, it is very significant that it seems completely okay with that. Murderbot has become more vulnerable with self-doubt with [redacted], but it really does not show a least sign of discomfort in having ART there at all times.

[fairyboygenius]

everywhere, everything

simon “ghost” riley x original female character

prev | next

a/n: new title how we feeling! laying groundwork mostly, we’ll get into more concrete plot very soon :) also if you requested something from the build-a-hybrid ask game i’m SORRY the brain worms have taken me over those’ll hopefully start coming out soon :) love love love you guys

no warnings :)

fic under the cut i kiss you on the forehead

As expected, Allie met everyone at breakfast the next morning.

She had woken up early, sleep schedule still fucked up by jet lag and the lack of a routine. Her routines took months to build up, but only a couple days of missing one could ruin it. Allie’s regulation was like a Jenga tower, and outside circumstances that disrupt routines always pulled the blocks that caused it to collapse.

But, whatever. At least there was room for her Keurig in her room. And Lola seemed to like the dog bed Laswell had purchased for her.

Allie showed up to the mess hall about five minutes early, sipping her sweet coffee as she leaned against the wall. Her military-issue cargo pants weren’t quite flattering- tight around her apron stomach and hips, loose everywhere else- but they were, functionally, just pants. Besides, her ass looked pretty great.

Still, as she fidgeted, twirling the ends of her braids, unease sat deep in her weary bones. These men, some of the best the SAS had to offer, were going to be her teammates and comrades. She’d patch up their wounds, they’d keep going out and getting hurt. Such was the cycle of an army medic. They’d be grumpy but hopefully grow to respect and tolerate her. She’d long accepted the community she longed for was not often found among war-hardened soldiers.

That didn’t stop her from hoping.

A loud, broguish Scottish accent bouncing off the high ceilings shook her out of her reverie. She looked up, spotting three men heading towards her from the same direction she had come from. These must be her hall mates, and future patients/pains in her ass.

The voice seemed to belong to the one in the middle, his close-cropped mohawk in desperate need of some styling. His blue eyes sparked, and his gait was hyper in a way that convinced Allie fairly quickly that he had ADHD. He’d be fun, she thinks- good for a drink after a stressful mission, or some sleep deprived conversations in a tent in Somalia.

The man on his left was a bit taller, bronzed skin glinting against a plain white T-shirt. He looked up then, smiling at her, and she managed a tired smile back.

As the group approached, her eyes quickly skated over the third member of the group. Taller than them both, black skull balaclava. Black hoodie and jeans. Something sparked in her chest seeing the way his thighs strained against jean fabric, his broad shoulders and big, gloved hands.

Down, girl.

“Hey, you’re our new medic?” The man who had smiled at her was standing right in front of her now. “I’m Kyle. Kyle Garrick, but they call me Gaz.” He gestured to his friends. “Mohawk is Soap, ski mask is Ghost.”

“Gaz, Soap, Ghost.” Allie nodded, pointing at each of them to associate the names with their faces. “I’m sure you’ve already been briefed on me, but I’m Allie. And this-“ Lola sat, as though she knew she was being introduced- “is Lola. She’s my service dog.”

Gaz nodded. “You waiting on breakfast?”

Allie let out a breathy laugh. “Woke up way too early. Fuckin’ jet lag.”

“Ah, tha’s righ’, yer American.” Mohawk-Soap- grinned. “Bit o’ a long trek for ye, then.”

“All this way for little ol’ us,” Gaz said, his voice teasing. “C’mon, the doors should be open. We’ll see what they have. Maybe we can get ya a full English.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I hate baked beans. The texture…” Allie shuddered. “Also, I don’t know what’s in blood sausage, and I’m frankly really scared to ask.”

“Smart lass.” Soap maneuvered to the front of the group, leading them through the line. Because of the jostling, Allie ended up in the back, just in front of Ghost. She turned back, giving him a friendly smile- it seemed like something she should do- and he just nodded back at her.

Not too disappointing, she hadn’t been expecting much more from ski mask guy. Not like he could smile back. But she had at least hoped to catch a glimpse of his eyes crinkling or some other indication.

Christ, she looked good.

Her hair wasn’t just red, as Simon had seen it in that photo- it was a plethora of colors. Copper, scarlet, rust, burgundy. Streaks of blonde framed her face, escaping from those goddamned braids. They caressed her freckled skin- oh, yeah. She had freckles. A line over her nose, dark brown pinpricks like stars against tan skin. Big brown eyes avoided eye contact, lashes framing them delicately. Teeth sunk into her plush bottom lip, examining the food options in the line. Full English, as Gaz had predicted. No blood sausage, but baked beans slopped on red trays, the liquid overflowing and coating the eggs in bean sauce.

Allie politely refused the beans and just got eggs and toast, and the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stood up. She had the slightest Southern accent. It wasn’t blatant, but there was something about the way she drew out her vowels that reminded him of sweet iced tea and wraparound porches. (He didn’t know much about the South.)

She was wearing a black long sleeve, almost skin tight, and the military-issued cargo pants that had no business looking that good on her. It was easy to let his eyes trail over the sway of her hips, the muscles in her thighs flexing under soft flesh, her plush ass. He almost forgot to tell the worker serving food what he wanted.

“Tha’ tea o’ coffee, lass?” he could hear Soap asking from all the way across the mess hall as he walked over and sat down across from her.

Allie took a sip from her travel mug. “Coffee. Milk and two sugars. I’ve never been much of a tea person. It’s just leaf water.”

“And coffee is just bean water.” The words come out of Simon’s mouth before he can stop them. Allie raised an eyebrow at him, a slight smirk on her features.

“Not a fan of bean water, I take it?”

“He’s a proper Brit,” Gaz said. “Only drinks coffee when he’s sleep deprived and we’re out of English Breakfast. What you got against tea?”

Allie shrugged, leaning down to scratch Lola’s head absentmindedly. “Oh, I like it. I just like coffee better, I guess.”

“We all ‘ave our preferences, right, Lt.?” Soap tried to goad him, but Simon just grunted and went back to his breakfast.

“Even if they’re wrong,” he grumbled, and Allie shot him a little smile, eyes glimmering with mirth. She playfully rolled her eyes, sipping from her coffee.

Breakfast was only 45 minutes, but they didn’t have anything scheduled until training at 0930- that’s when they found out Allie had been given a laminated schedule by Laswell last night- so they lingered. Simon learned that Allie’s laugh- or at least the version of it she did around others- sounded like wind chimes, light and musical. His deadened heart fluttered as she caught his eye. She looked away quickly, but that didn’t stop the blush from blooming on his cheeks. Thank fuck they were hidden.

Somehow, they all ended up moving as a unit. Allie was sandwiched between Soap and Gaz, looking a bit caught off guard. She had ended up roped into an argument about… something. Simon wasn’t listening to the specifics. He was more so focused on staring at the way Soap placed a hand on her waist, which Allie quickly moved away. Didn’t make a fuss of it or anything. It was fascinating, really, how she didn’t say anything or act like anything was wrong, yet Johnny still looked a bit like a wounded puppy at the rejection.

“This is where I leave you.” Allie stopped in front of the gym door, extracting herself from the group. “I gotta to the medbay to help out for a bit- apparently, there’s a big group coming back from an intense mission. It was so nice to meet y’all, and I’ll see you at lunch. C’mon, Lola.” She tugged at her service dog’s leash.

Simon had to plant his feet to the ground to stop himself from following.

[qvrcll]

a love like this

summary: the love shared between you and ellie blossoms, thuds, weakens and throbs. but never once does it die.

warnings: angst (comfort), nsfw implied in some parts, vomit mentioned, violence / alcohol / blood mentioned

a/n: had my playlist on blast whilst writing this and im 110% i rushed the end but god i love writing like this and for ellie too! enjoy :-)

Imagine Ellie fessing up the courage to confess to you; awkward, toothy and flimsy lipped, she cups her heart in her hands when she treads over the threshold of your home with nothing other than a circuitous smile twitching against her lips when another person greets her.

She preferred to be doing anything other than attending parties; Dina knew it, curtesy of their conversation a few weeks prior that hued just how much Ellie preferred the smell of coffee coloured journal pages, guitar strings, twines threaded without the heat and vigour of sweaty bodies, alcohol and the unbearable thought of returning home (“Really, Ellie, just come. You’ll have fun, I promise!”)(“I really, won’t, I promise. I’ll make it up to you… just… please?”)(“…Fine.”)

But this one was different, it always has been.

You were hosting it.

She offers a tight lipped smile to passing bodies, lets their denim and cargo and rough edged apparel scratch her fingers as she squeezes past them — (“Ellie, good to see you man!”)(“Hey, how you doing?”)

And maybe she’s in for some peace, a moment of respite. A room with windows and furniture as creaky and awkward as her. Her guitar, resting mothballed under her elbows when she rasps a breath.

And it’s different, like it always has been.

She starts to think of you — the reason for her arrival, her prior approval of even being here, in her sombre flannel and coarse converse sneakers. Your breathy laugh, the stint of your smile. It makes her heart jitter, makes her flatline and hit a curb, makes her think and think and think, until she’s not functioning manually and relying on muscle memory to guide her through the wooden walls of your house.

And it’s loud, hot and utterly chaotic — some rooms carry the smell of weed, others sex, some smell of love and others of quiet aptitude. But Ellie doesn’t stop for a greeting or invitation, not even a small gaze. She keeps at her pace, wandering like her feet had carried her a purpose all along.

It’s stupid.

I should’ve stayed home.

Why did I—

“Ellie!”

Her body is putty in seconds, molten and uncaring in their attempt to remain careless. Suddenly, she’s embarrassed, full of the emotion as she swings around and — god, have you ever looked at her with so sweet of a gaze before? It makes her throat bleed with desiccation, her hands clammy when they weren’t meant to be, clamouring for ground. But they’re disappointed and she’s anxious, swallowing harshly as she tries to remain idyllic.

“Hey, cool party,” she pauses, nearly bites her tongue whole for the absurdity of the comment, but continues when you puff a smile so large it makes her melt from the inside, “couldn’t have missed it for the life of me.”

You offer a laugh, tapping a hand against her arm in friendly fashion; it registers as a cautionary tale to the auburn haired girl, who compresses with vigour and eyeballs your palm for where it lay, splayed against her upper arm like it could burn her any moment. Her brain, however, is as quick as her and she shifts her eyes back to your own, overstrung with her ability to blotch your friendliness towards her.

God, Ellie, get it together.

“I’m so glad you came, Ellie, seriously,” she hears your voice break into blocks over the music, waning like crystal over pumice as her ears blur the line between rigour and words — but her heart is breathing, beating, creating new sounds and jitters as you press into her like you’ve known this antsy, scratchy emotion of longing as long as she has, trapped in your chest like leps. A jar of moths, disgusting and upsettingly real.

But Ellie’s brain hums a thought of conviction — get a grip.

She shifts, forcing herself to null her warmth against your touch, forcing the feeling to be as dense as the alcohol you’re nursing in your other hand, the walls that surround her as she flicks her gaze from your face to your nose, to your lips, to her shoes… but you’re light and feathery and the demiurge to all her sufferings — so she quickly begins to hate herself again, for the blush has only worsened.

She hopes you can barely see it.

And so the night progresses. You sway from person to person, but Ellie picks up on your decision to hover close to her — intentional or not, she’s brimming with crusted hope, melted itch and pinning as she tries to cram her crush on you in a box, and mentally sit on it, burn it, compile it in the deepest recesses of her mind.

But your touch, your eyes, the swing of your body and the flit of your air is like the poetry she scribbles on the forefront of her journal, like the endless lines divided into her sketches. And your words are constant, the music she creates and hitches with breaths so shallow, it begins to exhaust her.

And it becomes so real, in the moment almost everyone is filtered out of your house at midnight (except for her, sitting on the couch with a cup of juice, sodden and fresh with ripe feelings) that she’s loved you like she was your heart. And it hurts, worsens, when you take a seat beside her, materialising into the object of all her desires and travails.

“Some party that was,” your lips curl into a deviant smile, back sinking into the pillows like you need a rest. Ellie offers back a scoff, light and airy in tone. Still, she supposes this could be a million times worse — she has you, still. Hers or not, she has you.

“I enjoyed it,” a sip of her juice, “better than most other parties. So, that’s that.”

“Is that a compliment, Miss Williams?” you bite a smile, enjoying the look of faux repulsion that overwhelms her features.

“I don’t know, is it?” She asks, noting the dangerous plummet in her stomach when you rest your head on your hands, allowing your knees to bump against each other. Ellie swallows, and she hopes the action melts into the ebbing lights strewn all over the place, misplaced in the shadows you two are tucked into, bathed in the humming music that makes it way over — Slowdive, she recognises.

You perk up, craning your neck and slotting it atop her shoulder, stifling a giggle as she goes stock like cardboard underneath you — “I’d say a lot of what you do mean a lot of different things, but hey…”

Ellie is gutted. You have her wrapped around your finger.

“Example being?” She asks, her voice reverberating to you like waves against a crested coast — you alleviate your gaze, trying to read her again, trying to pry her eyes for malcontent or maybe a lapse in judgement, and Ellie has never seen you this unsure. This backtracked, this molten, and some part of her aches you feel it too, that numbing pain of loving someone to the point of insanity.

And then, your voice is like a lifeline.

“Like how you look at me.”

Her heart flatlines. Hits a curb.

“L-Like what?” She stutters, trying to find substantiality in your words, your tone, the way your eyes flicker to find hers — have you ever been afraid like this? Have you ever hesitated like this? Have you ever stared at her like this, clamouring against your insides like you’d burst?

But still, you smile, shift your gaze to the corner of the room. When Ellie reaches it, she spots discarded bottles of alcohol, piles of playing cards, a random shoe splayed against the table — it should make her laugh, but the silence is making her sick.

“Like you want to kiss me.”

Before Ellie can stomach the comment, your mouth opens again, and shuts and she noticed the sheen of sweat against your brow — “God, I don’t know why I said that. I just — I don’t know. I wish you would — maybe you don’t even want to and—“

“I do. I wanna kiss you.”

Ellie is short and sweet in all the right places and the meaning never leaves her words. She smiles when she sees you cracked with relief, burst with colour as your pinkie interlocks with hers so delicately, she might even have imagined it. But your skin is so real, so warm, it reminds her, again and again.

“Then kiss me” you murmur and Ellie flows forward, meeting you halfway with a small sigh and a heart so full it could be shared. And it’s so funny, how you sigh and lick back at her, exploring parts she’s afraid for anyone but you to see, flourishing against the curl of your fingers, the scrape of your tongue like she’s soaring.

She’s been yours for so long. She just hadn’t known you’d been hers too.

Thank god she had come to the party.

It’s different after Joel dies — she spits venom, bites her bullets and scratches against maps. Seattle, Santa Barbara. An aquarium, a camp ground, two rifles, a shot gun.

Everything is automatic when she’s dripping in blood.

She doesn’t love you any less — when she’s curled into herself, alone and beaten in a make-shift bed, she thinks of her limits, and yours too. Of pearly white picket fences, a farm so full it came lined out of a book. A home, walls papery light with paint, a ring. Dinner. Laughter, hugs, warm kisses. Swollen nights with air so hot, it suffocated her — but god, it’s you beneath her, swallowing her for what she is. Smiling at her, whispering I love you, and it’s you.

Those nights, with dreams as vivid as those, end with her pacing her room in worry. And then, immediately, a detour for your room.

And she’s red-rimmed, defeated and painted in exhaustion when you open the door — the hunt for Abby had done a number on her and as much as you’d usher her out of it, make her promise to never pick up a gun, the thought it easier said than done. And it makes you dampen with grief, how this girl you’d loved so fully had reverted to a cold body you’d hold to smooth out and clean the bruises and cuts, so she’d slit the neck of another without a thought.

Still, she’s here.

“Ellie?” You rasp, rubbing your eyes as the girl ripens in your vision. She’s ill with grief and it’s apparent in her shoulders, when she thuds into your room hesitantly and envelops you into a tight hug in the darkness. You blink, eyebrows creasing with worry, as you hold her body over the threshold.

“Ellie—“

“I’m sorry.”

The words seem so quiet and cracked around the edges, it makes your throat hurt. Makes your eyes dampen and hurt a little at the creases, and reminds you that she’s struggling against her skin too.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, guiding her back with a little step. She stifles, like she’s keeping a hold on her tears with nimble hands and craggily arms, keeping a tab on them so roughly it messes up the sewing she’s so meticulously crafted. The smell of ardour and the sting of her violence, all washing down with her tears and her fears and your warm, grounding arms.

But still, she bites her lip, professes herself to look up — “no, it’s not okay—I should—“

She’s silenced immediately when your lips take over.

She’s kissed you before, in living rooms and heated parties. At gatherings and staple lookouts. In the corner of horse stables and on that living room table neither of you love. On that couch, under the fluorescent light. And through tears, salt, scratches against her back as she worked her fingers within you, smirking against your numb lips as she had curled within you again with no vouch for relief.

But this had been different — there was no difficulty with kissing you, as it had always been. Her lips were chapped and rough and she felt awful, but you moved against her like she was made of porcelain.

How can you love me like this?

How can you kiss this broken thing?

How can I live knowing you pick up the pieces I break myself?

“Ellie—“ she hadn’t even noticed when she had begun to cry, just had known that her chest constricted with a pain so billowing, it touched, “Ellie, look at me. Look at me, please.”

She lifts her gaze, eyes red and black where they weren’t supposed to be.

“I love you. And I always have. And I will be here when you need me. Whenever you need me. God, Ellie, I just need you to come home to me,” you stifle a cough, aim to gain ground to comfort her. But it just breaks you, as you clamber against her hold and sink into her arms. It’s a funny thing, a broken thing holding something unbearably broken, but Ellie’s throat is jammed dry with nothing but small whimpers, as she holds you like air. Like relief. Like the small thought of ‘at-least I have this—have you.’

And the night washes away with grief, with glory, with your arms caging her so tightly it wanes the thought of his bloody, cracked skull away. The screams null and Ellie lets the two of you have this, this moment of peace when neither of you are aware, tangled into one another where neither of you know of the people she’d kill tomorrow, gutting them inside out for answers unspoken.

Maybe she didn’t have to know.

Loving you was enough.

But of course it wasn’t easy.

Ellie stumbles in the red-lit room when Abby, with her tight lipped anger and muscle, holds a blade to your neck.

Ellie’s head blares with the colour red, of signs screaming no, of memories where you had held her poor, beating heart in the palm of your hand.

Memories of you strewn against her bed, messy and angular with love seeping against your skin. Of your fingers and your hair. Of your eyes and that crook in your neck she’d seat her chin in forever.

Of the night you’d kissed her, 12 A.M., brown leather couch as she drifted away her fears. And the raw, smitten, scary, devotional way she had loved you, lord, the way she loved you.

“No—No, please. Please, leave her—“ she chokes, gambling with fate as she watches Abby press the blade against your skin, a tight red line forming. The image of you lifeless, spat in blood, crosses her mind and she nearly vomits against the cold, hard floor. But when Abby releases you, spitting some word about getting the hell out of here, Ellie crawls on her bones and skin to hold you against her.

She had known fear, again, that night. She had almost known loss for a second time.

After the ordeal, the two of you gather yourselves and settle into a routine on a farm house. Tommy arrives, breaking the cycle, turning Ellie against her convictions again, and it makes you scared of the day she’d leave.

Until you catch her red handed, bag in her hand, almost leaving without a word.

“Ellie? What are you doing?” you’re perplexed, heart aching with an impossibly large feeling, biting you completely. Ellie is cold, gaze vacant as she fights against your hands, your touch, crumbles your advances as you tell her to stop and come back to bed. To forget this. To remember you.

“I have to finish it,” she says, and the words come out with difficulty. You see the picture of vengeance in her but you don’t care — you curse, turn your back against her, cry into your fist as she huffs.

Why can’t you hug me?

Why can’t you come back to bed?

Why can’t we just tend to sheep in the morning?

The words are hitched in your throat, swallowed unknowingly by your tears as the threat of her abandonment becomes all too real — you question her, interrogate her. She answers, spits back. (“You were just going to leave without a word?!”)(“It’s not easy for me.”)

Eventually, the door shuts with a thud and you bite into your hand, knowing she’s left already. You read the clock, the blurry numbers of the early morning making it all worse — it all doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t seem real. Ellie’s gone, reworked your importance in her life, thrown away those memories like augmented fragments into the dirt, crushed it under a boot.

That day, you pack pack your heart away into that place.

And when Ellie treks to find Abby, to finish it, she feels regret. She feels it when she catches Abby, chokes her in the salty membrane of the sea, when she closes her eyes. Struggles against her breathing as she remembers you.

That night on the couch, a vibrant memory. Your kisses against the corner of her mouth, your hand trailing up the expanse of her back just beneath her shirt, the way your legs lingered on hers in the early morning hours. Your laughter and the stretch of your smile and you and you and you.

And she lets go — “just take him.”

The trek back home is bloodier and more bruised. She stumbles against grass and cries into her hand pathetically. She knows you like the back her hand — but she’s gone too far now. There was nothing you could’ve done to make her stay and it made her sick with spit, with vomit. She curses, biting her tongue when familiar buckwheat brushes her skin and she knows she’s home.

She threads carefully, taking that familiar route back. It’s been some time, but the smell of the place is familiar. The chickens, the sheep, the broom, the table, the fence — all sodden with memories and love. As she ambles up the steps, she crumbles against the door, her hand trembling.

Her body buzzed with nerves and a familiar feeling of sickness so deep it drowned her, until the door creaked open and you stood there, eyes wide in horror at her arrival.

You thought you’d gone mad.

She purses her lips, bites them when you near her with out-stretched hands, and then gasps when you slam a hand into her side, fall into her as you fight her to the floor.

“What the fuck, Ellie!” you screech, balancing against one knee as you force yourself to hate her. Your face is wrinkled with grief, with aimless pain, it makes Ellie scramble for something to hold onto, to press into the floor as though it would let her sink into the wooden surface as a whole — but your rage, your anger, bleeds into her as she silently chokes, weeps.

Your words are fuelled by rage, anger, but never hate. You both barely notice, even after you’d quietened to catch your breath. And a few seconds pass, where you quickly thrust your palm to calm the onslaught of tears, the strength of your heaves as you cried from between her lap. Ellie stiffens and then melts with wracking sobs, trying to calm down for your sake, tentatively touching your hands to reveal your grief for what it was, to her.

But when you open your eyes, they’re caught with the excess blood against her. The image of her new self, dragged back from the hell she sought and rejected, becomes too real — the jaunting splice of skin against her hip, the cut on her cheek, the blood against her brow, the missing chunk of fingers. Her pain, her defeat, becomes too mellow for you to swallow, and before either of you know, you gather her up in your arms so swiftly it knocks the air out of her.

And it makes Ellie weep, hard and raw, into that familiar crook of your neck, where you pick her up amongst other things.

“I’m so sorry—you were right I shouldn’t—“

“Ellie.”

She gazes up, as you scrub against her back later in the shower, gaze rubbed raw with forgiveness.

“Do you remember what I said to you on that couch at my party?”

She ponders, scratchy, wracked with tears as she chuckles lightly.

“That I looked like I wanted to kiss you?”

You nod, lathering soap against the suds of dirt. Cleanse her. Let her shine anew.

“I still think that, even after all these years, And that’s enough for me,” you grin softly, kissing the soft skin of her shoulders, holding her as she breaks against you, “You’re enough for me.”

This was enough.

You were enough for her.

But she wasn’t sure if she was enough for you.

“I wish I could give you more,” she bites the words, holding you like you’d disappear. You towel dry her hair, seat her in bed and turn off the lights, glancing into her eyes and rinsing them for vigour as you tucked a stray hair behind her ear, shifted the blanket to gain better access to hold her gingerly around her wounds.

“You want to give me more?” your words are hot on her lips, as her fingers graze your hips, “just give me yourself. I stayed in this god forsaken house because I loved you through the hurt — just let me love you,” you cradle the words, let your heart spew out in the cold open.

And Ellie shadows it with her own calloused palm, shaky, but genuine. Real. Awkward but registered in her conviction as she nods, presses her mouth again yours to reconcile the hurt, knowing she’d have this and you, evermore, even as time ambled on.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[lonestarflight]

Launch of STS-92 Discovery

"In a perfect on-time launch at 7:17 p.m. EDT, Space Shuttle Discovery trails a blaze of flame amid clouds of smoke and steam as it leaps into the night sky. The launch of mission STS-92 carries a crew of seven on a construction flight to the International Space Station. Discovery also carries a payload that includes the Integrated Truss Structure Z-1, first of 10 trusses that will form the backbone of the Space Station, and the third Pressurized Mating Adapter that will provide a Shuttle docking port for solar array installation on the sixth Station flight and Lab installation on the seventh Station flight. Discovery’s landing is expected Oct. 22 at 2:10 p.m. EDT"

"Designed by the crew members, the STS-92 patch symbolizes the second mission to carry U.S.-built elements to the International Space Station (ISS) for assembly. The black silhouette of the Space Shuttle Discovery stands out against the deep blue background of space in low Earth orbit. In the foreground in gray is a profile view of the ISS as it appears when the shuttle and crew arrive, with the station consisting of the Unity node, its two pressurized mating adapters (PMA), the Zarya functional cargo block, the Zvezda service module, and the Progress cargo vehicle.

Following the shuttle's rendezvous and docking, the ISS configuration will be augmented by the two elements delivered by Discovery–the Z1 truss and PMA-3. These two elements, depicted in red, will be installed using the shuttle's robot arm and be connected to ISS during four spacewalks. The multi-national nature of both the STS-92 crew and the ISS are reflected in the multi-colored Astronaut Office symbol."

Date: October 11, 2000

NASA ID: KSC-00PP-1551, KSC00pd1549, KSC-00PP-1552, KSC-00PP-1561, KSC-00PP-1557, KSC-00PP-1555, STS092-S-001

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 2

The Dead Land

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, non-specific injury, angst, nightmares (not described)

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo runs his first mission for Rex's resistance cell and learns more about his new companions.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Previous Chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list | Read on AO3

This is the dead land

This is cactus land

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

“I’m scanning at least four Venators in various stages of decommissioning,” Cerra said. “This one, near the equator, is still mostly intact. Probably our best bet for a functional pod.”

“Planetary security looks tight,” Echo said. “And there’s an Imperial outpost under construction. Looks like the Empire wants to oversee the Scrapper Guild in person here. If they spot us, it will complicate the mission.”

“Got a better option?” Cerra asked.

“No,” he conceded. “I don’t suppose I do.”

“Then let’s hope they don’t spot us.”

Entering atmosphere was bumpy as hell, and the sub-light drive was still making that disconcerting racket, but despite Echo’s pessimism, their shuttle went undetected. He flew low over the Venator, scouting for a landing zone that was at least somewhat secure.

“Any chance you can put us down on the flight deck?” Cerra asked.

“Negative,” Echo replied. “It’s blocked by debris.”

“Figures,” she sighed.

“There,” Echo said after a few moments of searching. “Plenty of cover, not too far from the Venator.”

He landed the shuttle as Cerra readied the cargo floater. Echo exited first, scanning for hostiles before motioning her forward.

“On the plus side, the shuttle blends in with the rest of the junk,” Cerra muttered.

They moved as quickly as possible with the unwieldy cargo floater, keeping a wary eye for Scrapper Guild members. The path was rough and littered with sharp, twisted durasteel fragments and shards of broken transparisteel. Cerra wore sturdy work boots and durable clothing, and she had a blaster strapped to her thigh, but Echo hated how vulnerable she appeared without armor or a helmet. If she slipped and fell, she could easily sever an artery in this scrapheap. He resolved to help her get her gear in order before the next time she went offworld. 

They picked their way stealthily to the massive ship, and once aboard, made their way through the shadowy corridors. Cerra seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Echo realized she must have spent a significant amount of time on a Venator. The ships were confusing to navigate even when they were powered up and illuminated, and based on the amount of dust and refuse that littered the passageways, this one hadn’t been operational in a long time.

When they finally reached the med bay, Cerra dropped her satchel and got to work while Echo stood guard.

“Better make sure this thing actually works before I tear it out,” Cerra said.

“I hope you don’t need me to restore power to the ship,” Echo said, remembering Bracca. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Rex warned me,” Cerra said. “I brought an auxiliary power unit. It doesn’t have enough juice to actually run the pod, but I can at least make sure it’ll turn on.”

She connected a cable to her small power unit, and pumped her fist in victory when the screen flickered to life. 

“Wizard,” she mumbled, disconnecting the cable and immediately beginning the complicated process of uninstalling the pod. She worked in efficient silence, stopping occasionally to consult a datapad, and within an hour, they loaded the surgical pod onto the cargo floater and began their return journey to the shuttle. 

“I need to make a detour,” Echo said as they approached the armory. 

Cerra nodded and moved to guard the entrance, blaster ready. Echo quickly found what he was searching for, extracted it, and returned to the cargo loader. Cerra didn’t question him once he was back, merely resumed her rapid progress. With the cargo floater fully loaded, it was trickier to get out of the Venator than it had been to get in, and Cerra lost her footing, tumbling down the hull and slamming to the ground.

Echo cursed and ran to help her. “You good?”

“Yeah, all good,” she said. “Gloves are toast, though.”

She stripped off the mangled gauntlets. They had, fortunately, protected her hands from being cut when she scrambled for purchase on the jagged piles of scrap, but in their present state, they would only serve to hamper her dexterity.

“Better not fall again,” she said with a shrug.

As the shuttle came into view, Echo spotted movement and froze.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said grimly. “Scrappers have found the shuttle.”

“I guess the camouflage wasn’t as good as I thought,” Cerra said. “How many?”

“Three at least. We need to get rid of them before they call for backup.”

Cerra craned her neck to see around the pile of rubbish where they were hiding. “Damn. It’d be nice to have a sniper right about now.”

Echo chuckled drily. “Yeah. Ready?”

“Say the word, boss.”

“Go.”

They got as close as they could before they broke cover and fired on the scrappers. They stunned the three they could see, and Echo ran to secure the ship while Cerra retrieved the cargo floater. As he powered up the shuttle, he could see her running full tilt toward him, pushing the cumbersome lift ahead of her. Just when he began to think they’d managed to make a clean break, he saw a flash in his peripheral vision, and a shot blasted into the floater as a scrapper opened fire on Cerra from their vantage point inside the hulk of a derelict freighter. Cerra ducked behind the surgical pod and returned fire, and Echo ran to back her up, cursing. He laid down cover fire as she wrangled the floater up the shuttle ramp, and as soon as she slapped the control to close the ramp, he leapt back into the pilot’s seat and took off.

The shuttle jostled from the impact of blaster bolts as the scrapper continued firing, but within seconds, they were out of range. Cerra secured the cargo as Echo piloted them out of atmosphere, and as soon as they were clear of the planet’s gravity well, they jumped to hyperspace.

It was the middle of the night when they arrived at the repair shop, but Gregor was waiting on the landing platform outside the garage. As they disembarked, he sent Echo a casual salute and handed Cerra a cup of caf.

“Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite commando?” she asked, gulping the hot liquid as though it were life itself.

“I think I’m the only commando you know,” Gregor chuckled.

“Still my favorite,” she said. “Ugh, I can’t wait to shower. That planet was disgusting.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait,” Rex said. “The timeline for Fireball’s extraction just got a lot tighter. We need to finalize our plan tonight and move out in the morning.”

Cerra shrugged. “Your call, Cap. You’re the one who has to smell me.”

As Cerra walked into the garage, Gregor narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

Echo glanced at her and realized she was hunching slightly to the side as though to protect her ribs, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. There was no blaster wound, so she must have hurt herself when she slid off the hull of the Venator. Gregor arched a disbelieving eyebrow and strode directly to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets until he found a small medkit.

“Let me see,” he ordered.

“Bossy,” Cerra grumbled, but she shed her jacket and sat obediently on the sofa. 

Gregor peeled her shirt up her torso, and Echo turned away to give her privacy. Still, he heard Gregor’s hiss.

“Karking hell, Cerra.”

“It looks worse than it is,” she said.

“Really? Because it looks like you got drop-kicked all the way to Karthon and back. What happened?”

“I fell off a spaceship like a kriffing idiot,” she said. “Are we going to get this mission briefing started, or are we all just going to stand around yammering about nothing?”

Rex frowned. “Don’t you want to wait until Gregor finishes with the bacta?”

“I want to take a farking shower,” she snapped, and despite himself, Echo glanced at her, surprised by the sharpness in her tone.

Gregor worked quickly, but it was obvious that Cerra was in a considerable amount of pain. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her clenched fists shook as they rested on her knees.

“Almost finished,” Gregor murmured quietly.

“Good,” she said as her voice broke. 

“Does it hurt when you breathe?” She merely shrugged in response, and Gregor gave her an impatient look. “I need to know if you cracked any ribs.”

“Why? Nothing you can do for that anyway,” she said.

“I can put you on light duty,” Rex said.

Cerra shot him an irate glare. “Nope, doesn’t hurt to breathe. In fact, I feel great. Never been better. Can we please, please get started?”

“Fine,” Rex sighed as he began to outline the plan of attack.

Gregor finished with the bacta as Rex spoke, then put away the medkit and quickly returned to the sofa. As he sat, he gave Cerra’s hand a little squeeze, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she closed her eyes. Echo would have thought she had fallen asleep, except she occasionally asked a clarifying question or commented on the plan.

As Rex wrapped up the briefing, he said, “It’s vital that we remove Fireball’s chip as soon as possible, so Cerra will remain here and get the surgical pod operational. Any questions?”

Gregor and Echo shook their heads. Cerra watched Rex with an unreadable expression. When nobody spoke up, Rex dismissed them all with orders to get some sleep. Gregor went to the barracks, while Echo headed for the refresher, just as desperate for a shower as Cerra. As he left, he overheard her speak to Rex in a low voice.

“Can I have a word?” she asked.

The two disappeared into the small office at the back of the garage, and Echo took the longest shower of his life, reveling in the luxury of hot water. As much of his life as he’d spent on starships, he was accustomed to the efficiency of sonic showers, but there was no way in hells that he would opt for the sonic when a real shower was available. By the time he finished, he was relaxed and bone-weary, and he headed straight for the barracks.

A low, strained conversation emanated from behind the office’s closed door. Echo didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but his cranial implant amplified Cerra and Rex’s voices as they argued.

“—can handle himself. He has more training than any of us,” Rex said.

“It’s not about his ability,” Cerra said. “It’s about keeping him alive. He’s been through enough.”

Echo slowed to a halt. Were they arguing about him? Did Cerra not think he was capable? He frowned. She hadn’t said anything during their mission to Karthon, and she’d seen him in action. He could take care of himself, and he didn’t need her interfering with Rex’s plans.

“We need his infiltration skills,” Rex said.

“Dank farrik, Rex, you saw the extent of his brain damage when AZI removed his chip. Another hit could kill him.” Cerra kept her voice down, but her distress was evident.

Gregor, Echo understood suddenly. Cerra was worried about Rex’s plan to use him on the extraction team. Echo hadn’t realized how severe the injuries hiding beneath the commando’s irreverent disposition were.

“He knows it’s dangerous,” Rex argued.

“He doesn’t care about the danger because he trusts you so much that he’ll do anything you order,” Cerra said. “Use Echo on the infil team instead. Please, Rex. He’s just as skilled as Gregor, and he’s not at risk in the same way.”

“You know Gregor will never let me ground him,” Rex said.

“I’m not asking you to ground him. I’m asking you to assign him to pilot the ship instead of being part of the extraction team.”

“Cerra, I will protect him,” Rex began.

“Like you protected Fives?” Her voice cut like a vibroblade.

Despite himself, Echo gasped. Rex was silent.

“I’m sorry,” Cerra said after a tense moment. “That was out of line.”

“No,” Rex replied. “You’re right. I’ll put Gregor on pilot duty.”

After a long pause, Cerra finally responded. “Thank you.”

Echo realized he’d been listening much longer than he’d intended to. Shaking himself, he hurried to the barracks and climbed into his bunk. It was some time before Cerra entered, and Echo assumed she must have finally gotten her shower. She moved silently through the shadowed room and climbed into her own bunk. She must have been exhausted, because within a few minutes, he could hear her breath even out as she dropped into slumber.

He was jealous of her ability to fall asleep so easily. He’d never slept well, even before Skako Minor, and his insomnia had only gotten more severe after his experience with the Techno Union’s particular brand of hospitality. Still, he must have dozed off at some point, because quite suddenly, his eyes snapped open at the sound of a distressed whimper.

The sound was barely audible. Echo probably wouldn’t have even heard it if he hadn’t been so restless already. The cry came again, muffled and indistinct, and Cerra thrashed in her bunk. 

Gregor moved with such impressive stealth that Echo didn’t even realize he’d gotten up until he heard the commando quietly murmur words of comfort under his breath.

“Gregor?” Cerra asked in a hushed, broken voice.

“Shh, I’m here,” he whispered.

The bunk creaked, and Echo heard the soft rustle of bedding being rearranged.

“I’ve got you,” Gregor said softly. “You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cerra shuddered, and a muffled sob followed by stifled, gasping breaths rang out through the barracks. Echo could tell that she was trying to stay quiet by pressing her hands over her mouth. 

“It’s all right,” Gregor soothed. “All the way out, remember? One, two, three, four, five. You’re all right, sweetheart, I have you. Now breathe in. One, two, three, four, five.”

Echo had an uncomfortable sense of voyeurism, as though he were intruding on an intensely private moment, but there was nothing to be done. Gregor continued to quietly coach Cerra until she brought her breathing under control. Once again, the barracks descended into silence, and at last, Echo fell asleep. When he awoke early the next morning, Gregor and Cerra were still curled up together in Cerra’s bunk, fast asleep. Gregor was lying, fully clothed, on top of the blanket, with Cerra’s body tucked securely against him and his arms wrapped around her.

---

Previous Chapter | Next chapter

[mxchineherald]

[cont. from x.] @jynxd

 While the Bridges were blocked off with security checkpoints and armed guards, there were still other ways to reach his home again, especially when he knew the people he did. His father was a sea scrapper, and several of the Zaunite dock workers on both sides of the river knew him personally. He was like part of the found family. So, of course, it was no issue to sneak him across the water, even with his delicate and dangerous cargo.

 A metal containment cylinder, thrumming with growing magic, held his most prized invention within. The Hexcore. It was created to be a proxy for casting spells – an artificial mage, of sorts. He had only just begun to understand it, himself, when his life fell to pieces. First, he found out he was dying, then he found out his best friend – his partner of eight years – wanted to create weaponry from the very technology they invented to save lives. The superheated argument with Jayce still rang clear in his mind as he watched the tug boat he was on pulling up to the docks of the undercity. No, not the undercity. Zaun.

 The gentle bump of the boat coming into contact with the dock rocked him back and forth, and he stood to his feet with the aid of his crutch. He pulled the strap of the containment cylinder over his shoulder, and made his way off the boat with the help of a fellow passenger. He almost fell, but managed to catch himself.

 A flicker of green light from under the nearby pier caught in his periphery. Curiosity carried him in its direction slowly, cautiously. He really shouldn’t have been making detours. He needed to get the Hexcore to Singed’s lab, where further study could be conducted on it, but then e saw a shifting shadow in the green light. When he got closer, he saw a young man with dark skin and white hair, dressed in clearly Zaunite fashion. He was clutching his leg, and looked to be in a fair degree of pain. From the scuffs and dirt, he assumed he’d been in some sort of explosion. Sympathy played out on his face, imagining the amount of pain the man had to be in.

 Then, he was noticed.

 At the young man’s words, he gulped back his awkwardness, then moved a few steps closer. “A kind face is a rare gift. I was taught to share it.” He though back to how his mother had raised him with the Zaunite culture of protecting and helping their own, and – well – now was precisely the time where those lessons kicked in. With the man’s request heard, he thought for a moment, then nodded his head. A detour it was, then.

 His augmented leg felt numb and tingly, a sign of waning energy from the Hexcore, no doubt, but it still functioned better than it ever had. His crutch, while supportive, was ambulatory, and it was quite obvious that someone else needed it more for the time being. He thought it over, then pulled it out from under his arm and offered it out. “Use this. I’m afraid I cannot kneel to help you up, or I might be stuck down there with you.”

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Miles C. Peyote and Howie Thetaxi

(I’ve already made an information post like this, but said post is pretty long; in fact, it’ll just get longer and more expansive as I develop new characters and stories for [The Future Mob Project]. And I’m worried that the sheer length will make readers lose interest when they click on a link to look for a specific character. So, I’ll be making separate information pages for each character while still maintaining the all-inclusive post. Got it? Good.)

Who They’re Based Off Of: Lewis Dawkins (Dawko) and Ryan (8-BitRyan), respectively.

Their Methods of Work: When your reputation precedes you from all the way across the pond, you’ve definitely done something right! (Unless that was never your intention, in which case you’ve done something horribly, horribly wrong.) Remember the board game Mouse Trap? Well, Miles probably played it a few too many times in his youth, if the booby traps he sets up nowadays are anything to go by. Whether the goal is to kill or simply capture someone, his designs never fail to be. . .elaborate. Howie, meanwhile, doubles as a mechanic and driver. From ditching cops to running enemies off the road, he has more than enough skill to make professional racers envious. Never, NEVER forget the importance of seatbelts if you’re getting into a car with him. (Also, never put your feet on the dash. It’s rude.)

Red Attire: For Miles, a pair of leather boots (Oxblood). For Howie, a pair of gauge earrings (Carnelian)

Notes:

These two got their start in The Marble Hummingbirds, a different mob based in the UK that has had a strong alliance with The Pentas Family for years now. As part of standard underground affairs, Miles and Howie volunteered to relocate to the US and work more closely with Murdock and the others. The adjustment was a bit difficult (especially for Howie), but they both understand that it makes several aspects of business more efficient. They both retain a good balance of loyalty between their original crew and their new one.

Miles is selective when it comes to speaking. He’ll talk some when he’s among people he trusts or is in a place that he’s deemed safe/comfortable, but when he’s out in public, he’s just. . .very quiet. He’ll still talk a bit for the sake of politeness or formality, but only a bit. If an area is open or unfamiliar, he prefers to use body language and the like. (This does absolutely NOT stop him from cackling like a maniac over his traps.)

Howie has no qualms about reckless driving. Swerving, speeding, staging accidents; he can do it all without batting an eye. Whatever it takes to get himself and his buddies (plus their cargo) from Point A to Point B without getting stopped or caught. However, this mindset only applies to his personal driving. When he’s casually out and about, he can’t stand other drivers who tailgate, block lanes, cut others off, etc. If you act rude toward him in traffic, he can and will make a side-quest out of finding a way to get back at you. And yes, this extends to when he’s on the job. It’s not at all uncommon for him to go back and forth between chatting with his passengers and yelling at idiots on the road in the middle of a high-stakes-chase.

Miles has a habit of collecting plushies; especially odd-looking ones. (For example: the creepy-yet-cute stuff you might find on Etsy.) But his plushies aren’t just for aesthetic or decoration. He’s modified each and every one of them to be soft little storage units. Some have well-hidden zippers in their backs, while others have their heads function as the lids to jars stuffed inside their stomachs. Miles uses this strategy to hide valuables, such as varying sums of money or the odd piece of jewelry taken from a target.

Howie is miraculously conscious of animals on the road. That’s one of few exceptions to his typical stance on get-away-driving. He'll always make sure to avoid hitting cats, dogs, raccoons, deer. . .or squirrels. As a matter of fact, one squirrel that he managed to spare back in the day seems to have pledged a life-debt to him. Seriously, he met this squirrel while he was still working in the UK, and by now it’s followed him to the US. Wherever Howie is, the squirrel always seems to be somewhere in the background, just watching and waiting.

Along with all the get-away driving stuff, Howie has helped The Pentas Family to form its very own chop-shop. Whenever cars are stolen from targets or enemies, Howie will be there to dismantle or sabotage said cars. Legitimate parts are sold, and certain jobs involve filling a vehicle with counterfeit parts in order to frame its owner. 

Ever since relocating, both Miles and Howie live out of The Five Seasons, a hotel near the Cove Port Inlet’s city entrance. The building is connected to the abandoned subway tunnels, and the duo rotates between sharing the hidden den; Miles will use it to build/test his traps, and Howie will use it simply to store/tamper with various car parts. The hotel just so happens to be right across the street from the car repair garage (Oh, For God’s Brake!) that Howie uses for his day-job.

Current Stories: [TBA]

@sammys-magical-au

[this-week-in-rust]

This Week in Rust 541

Hello and welcome to another issue of This Week in Rust! Rust is a programming language empowering everyone to build reliable and efficient software. This is a weekly summary of its progress and community. Want something mentioned? Tag us at @ThisWeekInRust on Twitter or @ThisWeekinRust on mastodon.social, or send us a pull request. Want to get involved? We love contributions.

This Week in Rust is openly developed on GitHub and archives can be viewed at this-week-in-rust.org. If you find any errors in this week's issue, please submit a PR.

Updates from Rust Community

Official

Announcing Rust 1.77.1

Changes to u128/i128 layout in 1.77 and 1.78

Newsletters

This Week In Bevy: 2d Lighting, Particle Systems, Meshlets, and more

Project/Tooling Updates

Dioxus 0.5: Signal Rewrite, Remove lifetimes, CSS Hotreloading, and more!

EtherCrab 0.4.0: Pure Rust EtherCAT, now with Distributed Clocks

nethsm 0.1.0 - first release for this high level library for the Nitrokey NetHSM

BugStalker v0.1.3 released - first release of rust debugger

git-cliff 2.2.0 is released! (highly customizable changelog generator)

Observations/Thoughts

On Reusing Arc and Rc in Rust

Who killed the network switch?

Xr0 Makes C Safer than Rust

Easy Mode Rust

Bashing Bevy To Bait Internet Strangers Into Improving My Code

Conway's Game of Life Through Time

Functions Everywhere, Only Once: Writing Functions for the Everywhere Computer

Rust Bytes: Is Rust the Future of JavaScript Tooling?

Explaining the internals of async-task from the ground up

Programming ESP32 with Rust: OTA firmware update

Fast Development In Rust, Part 2

Rust Walkthroughs

Modelling Universal Domain Types in Rust

[video] developerlife.com - Get started with unit testing in Rust

Research

Rust Digger: More than 14% of crates configure rustfmt. 35 Have both rustfmt.toml and .rustfmt.toml

Miscellaneous

Building a Managed Postgres Service in Rust: Part 1

Beware of the DashMap deadlock

Embedded Rust Bluetooth on ESP: BLE Client

Rust Unit and Integration Testing in RustRover

[podcast] cargo-semver-checks with Predrag Gruevski — Rustacean Station

[video] Data Types - Part 3 of Idiomatic Rust in Simple Steps

[video] Deconstructing WebAssembly Components by Ryan Levick @ Wasm I/O 2024

[video] Extreme Clippy for new Rust crates

[video] [playlist] Bevy GameDev Meetup #2 - March 2024

Building Stock Market Engine from scratch in Rust (I)

Crate of the Week

This week's crate is cargo-unfmt, a formatter that formats your code into block-justified text, which sacrifices some readability for esthetics.

Thanks to Felix Prasanna for the self-suggestion!

Please submit your suggestions and votes for next week!

Call for Testing

An important step for RFC implementation is for people to experiment with the implementation and give feedback, especially before stabilization. The following RFCs would benefit from user testing before moving forward:

No calls for testing were issued this week.

If you are a feature implementer and would like your RFC to appear on the above list, add the new call-for-testing label to your RFC along with a comment providing testing instructions and/or guidance on which aspect(s) of the feature need testing.

Call for Participation; projects and speakers

CFP - Projects

Always wanted to contribute to open-source projects but did not know where to start? Every week we highlight some tasks from the Rust community for you to pick and get started!

Some of these tasks may also have mentors available, visit the task page for more information.

greptimedb - Support specifying time ranges in the COPY FROM statement to avoid importing unwanted data

greptimedb - Support converting UNIX epoch numbers to specified timezone in to_timezone function

mirrord - Capability to modify the local listen address

mirrord - Fix all check-rust-docs warnings

Hyperswitch - [REFACTOR]: Remove Default Case Handling - Braintree

Hyperswitch - [REFACTOR]: Remove Default Case Handling - Fiserv

Hyperswitch - [REFACTOR]: Remove Default Case Handling - Globepay

If you are a Rust project owner and are looking for contributors, please submit tasks here.

CFP - Speakers

Are you a new or experienced speaker looking for a place to share something cool? This section highlights events that are being planned and are accepting submissions to join their event as a speaker.

* RustConf 2024 | Closes 2024-04-25 | Montreal, Canada | Event date: 2024-09-10 * RustLab 2024 | Closes 2024-05-01 | Florence, Italy | Event date: 2024-11-09 - 2024-11-11 * EuroRust 2024| Closes 2024-06-03 | Vienna, Austria & online | Event date: 2024-10-10 * Scientific Computing in Rust 2024| Closes 2024-06-14 | online | Event date: 2024-07-17 - 2024-07-19 * Conf42 Rustlang 2024 | Closes 2024-07-22 | online | Event date: 2024-08-22

If you are an event organizer hoping to expand the reach of your event, please submit a link to the submission website through a PR to TWiR.

Updates from the Rust Project

431 pull requests were merged in the last week

CFI: (actually) check that methods are object-safe before projecting their receivers to dyn Trait in CFI

CFI: abstract Closures and Coroutines

CFI: fix drop and drop_in_place

CFI: fix methods as function pointer cast

CFI: support calling methods on supertraits

add a CurrentGcx type to let the deadlock handler access TyCtxt

add basic trait impls for f16 and f128

add detection of (Partial)Ord methods in the ambiguous_wide_pointer_comparisons lint

add rust-lldb pretty printing for Path and PathBuf

assert that ADTs have the right number of args

codegen const panic messages as function calls

coverage: re-enable UnreachablePropagation for coverage builds

delegation: fix ICE on wrong Self instantiation

delegation: fix ICE on wrong self resolution

do not attempt to write ty::Err on binding that isn't from current HIR Owner

don't check match scrutinee of postfix match for unused parens

don't inherit codegen attrs from parent static

eagerly instantiate closure/coroutine-like bounds with placeholders to deal with binders correctly

eliminate UbChecks for non-standard libraries

ensure std is prepared for cross-targets

fix diagnostics for async block cloning

fixup parsing of rustc_never_type_options attribute

function ABI is irrelevant for reachability

improve example on inserting to a sorted vector to avoid shifting equal elements

in ConstructCoroutineInClosureShim, pass receiver by mut ref, not mut pointer

load missing type of impl associated constant from trait definition

make TyCtxt::coroutine_layout take coroutine's kind parameter

match ergonomics 2024: implement mutable by-reference bindings

match lowering: build the Place instead of keeping a PlaceBuilder around

match lowering: consistently merge simple or-patterns

match lowering: handle or-patterns one layer at a time

match lowering: sort Eq candidates in the failure case too

pattern analysis: Require enum indices to be contiguous

replace regions in const canonical vars' types with 'static in next-solver canonicalizer

require Debug for Pointee::Metadata

require DerefMut and DerefPure on deref!() patterns when appropriate

rework opaque type region inference

simplify proc macro bridge state

simplify trim-paths feature by merging all debuginfo options together

store segment and module in UnresolvedImportError

suggest associated type bounds on problematic associated equality bounds

suggest correct path in include_bytes!

use the Align type when parsing alignment attributes

warn against implementing Freeze

enable cargo miri test doctests

miri: avoid mutating the global environment

miri: cotrol stacked borrows consistency check with its own feature flag

miri: experiment with macOS M1 runners

miri: extern-so: give the version script a better name; show errors from failing to build the C lib

miri: speed up Windows CI

miri: tree Borrows: Make tree root always be initialized

don't emit load metadata in debug mode

avoid some unnecessary query invocations

stop doing expensive work in opt_suggest_box_span eagerly

stabilize ptr.is_aligned, move ptr.is_aligned_to to a new feature gate

stabilize unchecked_{add,sub,mul}

make {integer}::from_str_radix constant

optimize core::char::CaseMappingIter

implement Vec::pop_if

remove len argument from RawVec::reserve_for_push

less generic code for Vec allocations

UnixStream: override read_buf

num::NonZero::get can be 1 transmute instead of 2

fix error message for env! when env var is not valid Unicode

futures: make access inner of futures::io::{BufReader,BufWriter} not require inner trait bound

regex-syntax: accept {,n} as an equivalent to {0,n}

cargo add: Preserve comments when updating simple deps

cargo generate-lockfile: hold lock before querying index

cargo toml: Warn on unused workspace.dependencies keys on virtual workspaces

cargo fix: bash completion fallback in nounset mode

clippy: large_stack_frames: print total size and largest component

clippy: type_id_on_box: lint on any Box<dyn _>

clippy: accept String in span_lint* functions directly to avoid unnecessary clones

clippy: allow filter_map_identity when the closure is typed

clippy: allow manual_unwrap_or_default in const function

clippy: don't emit duplicated_attribute lint on "complex" cfgs

clippy: elide unit variables linted by let_unit and use () directly instead

clippy: fix manual_unwrap_or_default suggestion ignoring side-effects

clippy: fix suggestion for len_zero with macros

clippy: make sure checked type implements Try trait when linting question_mark

clippy: move box_default to style, do not suggest turbofishes

clippy: move mixed_attributes_style to style

clippy: new lint legacy_numeric_constants

clippy: restrict manual_clamp to const case, bring it out of nursery

rust-analyzer: add rust-analyzer.cargo.allTargets to configure passing --all-targets to cargo invocations

rust-analyzer: implement resolving and lowering of Lifetimes (no inference yet)

rust-analyzer: fix crate IDs when multiple workspaces are loaded

rust-analyzer: ADT hover considering only type or const len not lifetimes

rust-analyzer: check for client support of relative glob patterns before using them

rust-analyzer: lifetime length are not added in count of params in highlight

rust-analyzer: revert debug extension priorities

rust-analyzer: silence mismatches involving unresolved projections

rust-analyzer: use lldb when debugging with C++ extension on MacOS

rust-analyzer: pattern analysis: Use contiguous indices for enum variants

rust-analyzer: prompt the user to reload the window when enabling test explorer

rust-analyzer: resolve tests per file instead of per crate in test explorer

Rust Compiler Performance Triage

A pretty quiet week, with most changes (dropped from the report below) being due to continuing bimodality in the performance data. No particularly notable changes landed.

Triage done by @simulacrum. Revision range: 73476d49..3d5528c

1 Regressions, 2 Improvements, 5 Mixed; 0 of them in rollups 61 artifact comparisons made in total

Full report here

Approved RFCs

Changes to Rust follow the Rust RFC (request for comments) process. These are the RFCs that were approved for implementation this week:

Merge RFC 3543: patchable-function-entry

Final Comment Period

Every week, the team announces the 'final comment period' for RFCs and key PRs which are reaching a decision. Express your opinions now.

RFCs

No RFCs entered Final Comment Period this week.

Tracking Issues & PRs

Rust

[disposition: merge] Pass list of defineable opaque types into canonical queries

[disposition: merge] Document overrides of clone_from() in core/std

[disposition: merge] Tracking Issue for Seek::seek_relative

[disposition: merge] Tracking Issue for generic NonZero

[disposition: merge] Tracking Issue for cstr_count_bytes

[disposition: merge] privacy: Stabilize lint unnameable_types

[disposition: merge] Stabilize Wasm target features that are in phase 4 and 5

Cargo

[disposition: merge] feat(add): Stabilize MSRV-aware version req selection

New and Updated RFCs

[new] RFC: Add freeze intrinsic and related library functions

[new] RFC: Add a special TryFrom and Into derive macro, specifically for C-Style enums

[new] re-organise the compiler team

Upcoming Events

Rusty Events between 2024-04-03 - 2024-05-01 🦀

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Rust for Rustaceans Book Club: Chapter 4 - Error Handling

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Crafting Interpreters in Rust Collaboratively

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Last Tuesday

2024-05-01 | Virtual (Indianapolis, IN, US) | Indy Rust

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2024-04-05 | Kampala, UG | Rust Circle Kampala

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2024-04-11 | Reading, UK | Reading Rust Workshop

Reading Rust Meetup at Browns

2024-04-15 | Zagreb, HR | impl Zagreb for Rust

Rust Meetup 2024/04: Building cargo projects with NIX

2024-04-16 | Bratislava, SK | Bratislava Rust Meetup Group

Rust Meetup by Sonalake #5

2024-04-16 | Leipzig, DE | Rust - Modern Systems Programming in Leipzig

winnow/nom

2024-04-16 | Munich, DE + Virtual | Rust Munich

Rust Munich 2024 / 1 - hybrid

2024-04-17 | Bergen, NO | Hubbel kodeklubb

Lær Rust med Conways Game of Life

2024-04-20 | Augsburg, DE | Augsburger Linux-Infotag 2024

Augsburger Linux-Infotag 2024: Workshop Einstieg in Embedded Rust mit dem Raspberry Pico WH

2024-04-23 | Berlin, DE | Rust Berlin

Rust'n'Tell - Rust for the Web

2024-04-25 | Aarhus, DK | Rust Aarhus

Talk Night at MFT Energy

2024-04-25 | Berlin, DE | Rust Berlin

Rust and Tell

2024-04-27 | Basel, CH | Rust Basel

Fullstack Rust - Workshop #2

North America

2024-04-04 | Mountain View, CA, US | Mountain View Rust Meetup

Rust Meetup at Hacker Dojo

2024-04-04 | Portland, OR, US | PDXRust Meetup

Hack Night and First Post-Pandemic Meetup Restart

2024-04-09 | New York, NY, US | Rust NYC

Rust NYC Monthly Meetup

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Rust Meetup: Better Builds w/ Flox + Hangs

2024-04-11 | Seattle, WA, US | Seattle Rust User Group

Seattle Rust User Group Meetup

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Monthly Meetup: Topic TBD!

2024-04-15 | Somerville, MA, US | Boston Rust Meetup

Davis Square Rust Lunch, Apr 15

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2024-04-16 | Seattle, WA, US | Seattle Rust User Group

Seattle Rust User Group: Meet Servo and Robius Open Source Projects

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Rust Meetup at Hacker Dojo

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Rust Lunch - Fareground

2024-04-25 | Nashville, TN, US | Music City Rust Developers

Music City Rust Developers - Async Rust on Embedded

2024-04-26 | Boston, MA, US | Boston Rust Meetup

North End Rust Lunch, Apr 26

Oceania

2024-04-30 | Canberra, ACT, AU | Canberra Rust User Group

April Meetup

If you are running a Rust event please add it to the calendar to get it mentioned here. Please remember to add a link to the event too. Email the Rust Community Team for access.

Jobs

Please see the latest Who's Hiring thread on r/rust

Quote of the Week

Panstromek: I remember reading somewhere (probably here) that borrow checking has O(n^3) asymptotic complexity, relative to the size of the function.

Nadrieril: Compared to match exhaustiveness which is NP-hard and trait solving which is undecidable, a polynomial complexity feels refreshingly sane.

– Panstromek and Nadrieril on zulip

Thanks to Kevin Reid for the suggestion!

Please submit quotes and vote for next week!

This Week in Rust is edited by: nellshamrell, llogiq, cdmistman, ericseppanen, extrawurst, andrewpollack, U007D, kolharsam, joelmarcey, mariannegoldin, bennyvasquez.

Email list hosting is sponsored by The Rust Foundation

Discuss on r/rust

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 22

“They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.” | Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | "Watch out!"

Alt. No. 8

Hunting

--

Pairing: Fili/Kili or Fili & Kili Rating: T Words: 2,917

Warnings: Zombies, guns, profanity

--

A/N: How did this get so long?? Currently listening to a zombie anthology which explains the subject matter.

None of the original prompts sparked anything. So I picked an alternate prompt. And then some of the original prompts sparked inspiration.

--

Fili hadn’t known that the end of the world would be televised. He had never thought that he would watch the implosion of governments on TikTok on his phone while hiding in his basement listening to the roar of planes overhead. 

But it was.

And he had. 

Or it was until there was no more cell service. That was when he got scared. 

“Hurry up, Fili. We need to get moving.”

Fili nodded, but he did not verbally respond to Thorin’s order. There were no more requests, no more “could you’s.” Everything that needed doing was important and time sensitive. Fili was fiddling with an old GPS that Thorin had in his storage unit.

“You are such a pack rat,” Dis had admonished when Thorin pulled up the metal door that squealed loudly. The storage unit was large, but organized—Bilbo took credit for that—and they were able to quickly sort through and find what they needed.

Winter Gear? ✔ Camping Equipment? ✔ GPS? ✔ Any other old electronics? ✔ Paper maps? ✔ Tools? ✔

The thing was that the GPS unit had not only been stored away because it was obsolete once everyone had smartphones, it had not be entirely functional anymore. And sitting in storage for over a decade had not improved its capabilities and functionality. They were currently traveling using paper maps that were at least 30-40 years out of date and Bilbo’s sense of direction. They were all crammed into a cargo van that Dwalin had used to haul equipment to gigs back when music was a thing that most people had time for. They also had a trailer. Between the two they had stored a lot of things they thought they needed or might need in the future and they had place for the five (hopefully soon to be six) of them to sleep on inflatable camping pads.

It was slow going for many reasons.  

The highways were full of stopped cars. Sometimes cars had just been abandoned on the highway. Sometimes only one lane was open and everyone who still had gas to put in a car seemed to be trying to get to the same places. 

So they were using narrow, barely two lane county roads most of the time. These were better, but not by much. Cars were still abandoned. Farming equipment could also be blocking these roads along with herds of cattle who had escaped from their enclosures. These roads also had a tendency not to connect all the way through. The road would dead end for a mile only to pick up again. But it was impossible to drive for a mile through the torn up fields. So they had to detour, hope that seemingly straight roads were actually straight, and try to return to their original road.

If it had been winter they could have tried driving across the fields. Frozen earth would support the weight of the van and trailer, but the rough terrain may have done significant damage to their vehicles. But as it was, those were not options that they had to weigh. It was spring. The fields were often muddy swamps that were barely traversable by tractor. Ditches were overflowing. Sometimes roads were impassable due to flooding.

“At least we don’t have to worry about having enough to drink,” Bilbo had offered when Thorin had started cursing the incessant rain. 

Thorin had scowled.

But now they had reached an impasse. Thorin’s knowledge could take them no further. The relevant map had gotten soaked by coffee and torn. The roads were now all blurry smears. 

So they needed the GPS working.

Now.

Fili felt the pressure not just from those around him, but from within himself as well. 

Kili had a habit of not listening and not doing as he was told. 

The last communication they had with Kili was over a week ago now. They had been rationing an allotted amount of gasoline in the generator and they had called Kili on the two-way radio that Fili and Kili had left over from their childhood. Kili was told to stay put. To not leave his dorm room unless necessary. The building had a kitchen, bathrooms, exterior doors that locked when closed and you had to have a key to get inside. 

But Kili never listened. 

That’s how he had broken his arm when he was 6 and his foot when he was 15. 

Fili was hoping that for just one time Kili would stay where he belonged. Safe.

What Dwalin was working on kept making clicking metal noises that was driving Fili to distraction. “Can you not?” he snapped, looking up from the GPS unit and his tiny soldering kit.

“No.” Dwalin’s voice was firm with no inflection. And he continued cleaning the guns. 

That was the other thing.

There were guns everywhere.

And there were people with those guns. 

People who were jumpy, scared, and didn’t know what they were doing. And, more dangerously, were those that were jumpy, scared, and did know what they were doing. 

The trailer they were hauling had enough guns and ammunition to power a small militia. 

Fili had always hated guns. He had friends who did 4H for the shooting sports and they had wanted him to join. They went deer hunting and drank alcohol pilfered from their parents in thermos. Fili declined. They went to gun ranges and rented guns that you could not legally own and that was their idea of a good time. 

Fili would much rather stay at home and build model kits, tinker with electronics, and work on little things that Kili told him he should get patented. 

And now guns were everywhere.

But for good reason. 

The RN2a virus was that reason. 

Scientists were working on a vaccine, but right now there was not much hope. So far the only known infection routes involved direct contact between an infected persons’ bodily fluids and your own mucosal membranes (eyes, nose, mouth, etc.) New information was being released and retracted on a near daily basis. No one was taking their chances. 

You could recover from the disease, but having it did not give you immunity. There were people who had it 7 times before it killed them. The disease was not the worst part, nor was the death, it was the “reanimation” that came afterwards. 

Those that had been reanimated had already been given a variety of nicknames—Zombies (obviously), biters, the undead—and then there were the more politically correct terms like—infected, afflicted, and reanimated. The news very carefully did not say what they had been reanimated from. They were always careful to talk around the whole “dead come back to life” bit. But everyone knew it. Most people by now had known someone who had succumbed to the disease. 

It had started slowly. That was why Kili had still started college like he had been planning before the pandemic started. It grew slowly for over a year, with there being scattered reports of the dead coming back to life (and it being a symbol of the End Times), and then it had exploded in recent months. It hadn’t felt like the end of the world at first. It just felt like a bad flu season, then it felt like COVID all over again with “work from home” and “shelter in place” orders popping up everywhere. Fili returned to his part-time job of delivering groceries just like he had during COVID when he had been finishing up his senior year of high school online. 

“We need to move on and find a better place to set up for the night,” Thorin said. “Do you think you can finish this in the van?”

“It moves too much,” Fili replied tersely. “I’ll probably damage it when we hit a pothole or swerve to avoid hitting another fucking deer.”

“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow then.” Dwalin’s voice had a sharp edge and everyone looked at him. Then they all saw the forms moving near the distant tree line. 

—

Kili looked out the window of his dorm room into the green space that was sheltered on three sides by the building. A pine tree blocked a lot of the view, but also kept them from being seen. 

“Do you think they’re still coming?” Ori asked. 

“They wouldn’t just leave us here.” Kili scratched at some dried acrylic paint on the windowsill, remnants of a previous student’s art project.

“I don’t think they’d leave us here,” Ori said defensively. “Just that they got held up. Or something happened.”

“Something did happen. The power went out. And the radios died. That’s all that happened.”

Ori did not say anything more. He looked back at the pages of the book he was reading. The first thing Ori did when it looked like things were getting bad again and like they might all be told to stay in their dorm rooms for weeks on end was go to the library and check out a massive pile of books. Ori caught a clump of pages under his fingernails and ran them up and down. He had been on this one page of a thriller (probably not the best choice) for over thirty minutes now. 

“Do you think we should do something?” Kili asked suddenly.

“Like?”

“Like make our way to them? Maybe we’ll run into them on the way.” Kili started pacing the length of the room from the windows, past the desk to the door and back with a detour for the space between their beds. 

“And maybe we wouldn’t run into each other. We’d miss each other by a mile and then that would be it unless we both got the radios working again at the same time and were within range of each other.”

Kili grunted. And he kept pacing. And chewing at his fingernails. 

“Stop,” Ori said without looking up from the book again, even though he was just staring at the weird shapes that the negative spaces made by the words.

Kili looked up, “Stop what?”

“All of it.”

—

The brick buildings of the college finally appeared. It had taken them over a week to travel what they normally traveled in an afternoon. The town surrounding the college appeared to by empty. There were the same abandoned cars, but there was also random items like trash bins, jackets, single shoes, backpacks, and such littering the road.

Thorin drove slowly. His knuckles white. 

Bilbo reached over and put a hand over one of Thorin’s. Nobody said anything. 

Fili wanted to jump out of the van right now and charge up to Kili’s dorm, pound on the door, and demand to be let in. He was getting the feeling that nobody was going to be there waiting for them. And the silence in the van told him that he was not the only one with these dark thoughts. 

Dis stared out the window and worried her fingers.

“We’ll find him,” Fili said quietly when he took one of her hands in his own.

“I hope so,” Dis whispered. 

—

They finally found a place to park that had a decently clear path forward if they had to exit in a hurry, which was always a possibility.

“Do you remember where he was living?” Dwalin asked, stuffing a gun into the waistband of his jeans. This question was directed at Fili. Dis and Bilbo had been charged with staying with the van. They were to keep it running and ready. Thorin had pressed a small but powerful glock into Bilbo’s hands. 

“I’m pretty sure it was the one on the other side of the hill.”

“Pretty sure?”

“We didn’t move him this year!” Fili snapped. “I still remember where he lived last year. I know his campus mailing address, but that is no good because it would take us to the main student union!”

“We don’t have time for bickering,” Dwalin interrupted before Thorin could respond. “We need to get moving and get away from the city center.

“Here,” Dwalin held a gun out to Fili.

Fili held up hands, shaking his head, “No. I don’t even know how—”

Dwalin did not drop the hand that held the heavy black metal and plastic object. “You hold it with one hand, steady it with the other, keep both eyes open when you aim, squeeze—don’t pull—the trigger.” 

Fili shook his head again.

“Take it or you’re staying with your mother,” Thorin snapped. His eyes were scanning the trees and buildings of the campus looking for any signs of Biters or of students or faculty.

Fili took a deep breath and took the gun. It was heavier than he expected. Following Dwalin and Thorin he was overly aware of the gun’s weight in his hand, it kept pulling his attention when he needed to be focusing on far more important things.

--

“Are you sure it was them?”

“Ori,” Kili said, stuffing another item into his backpack. “We practically grew up in the van. I would recognize it anywhere.” 

Kili slung a duffle bag over his shoulder and then shrugged on his backpack. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his keys from the dresser even though it was likely that he would never use that brass colored key to open the door to his dorm ever again. “I saw them turn left towards the sporting fields.”

Ori shut the door behind them with a click.

— 

Dwalin flung an arm out, stopping Fili in his tracks. He had been distracted by the unfamiliar weight of the weapon in his hand.

“Biters.”

Thorin’s gun made a small sound when he turned the safety off. 

“Where,” Fili wanted to ask. But silence was one of their best protections. He scanned the trees that were just starting to turn green and the red brick buildings hoping to spot them.

“Kili,” he breathed.

“Fuck,” Dwalin swore at the same time.

“What is he doing?” 

And then Fili saw the Biters, not fifty yards from Fili and Ori.

Kili grinned when he spotted them and started waving his arms. 

Thorin made a harsh arm motion, trying to get Kili to stop.

But it was too late. The Biters had seen them.

“Goddammit,” Dwalin bit out. And he started to run, sprinting across the open green to close the distance between them, Kili and Ori, and the Biters. He squeezed off a few shots while running, but none of them hit their mark. But the noise did draw the Biters' attention away from Kili and Ori who had both frozen in place when they saw the Biters. 

There were at least seven Biters.

Dwalin ducked behind the low wall surrounding a decorative fountain. Thorin and Fili followed suit.

“Get over here!” Thorin roared.

Kili and Ori started running. Their bags bounced heavily on their backs. Ori was falling behind until Kili slowed and took a bag from him.

Fili wanted to shout at him, to curse, “Just get over here,” he gritted under his breath. His fingers were cramping where they were wrapped around the now warm metal of the gun. “Come on, Kili.”

Thorin and Dwalin fired off a few more rounds, but this time it did not draw all of the Biters’ focus. Two of them had broken away from the group and were going to cut Kili and Ori off before they reached the fountain. 

And then Kili fell.

Fili leapt over the wall before he could even consider the possible consequences.

He could smell the Biters. He could see their red rimmed eyes. Their ragged breathing was loud, whistling.

He was not going to make it to Kili in time.

Fili stopped. Planted his feet shoulders width apart. Ori brushed past him at a run. Raised both of his arms, his left hand cradling the butt of the gun and steadying his right hand. Kili was pushing himself to his feet, eyes fixed on the Biters who were quickly closing the distance. Fili leveled his gaze, both eyes open, the sight was centered on the Biter closest to Kili. 

A breathe.

And a squeeze. 

Fili did not think about the things he thought he would think if he had to kill a Biter. He always thought he would think about who they had been, who they could be again if the disease could be reversed. His mind was blank. Then he fixed the sight on the second Biter. Another squeeze. And another bloody hole in a human body that stopped moving for the last time.

Fili seized Kili’s hand and together they ran for the shelter of the wall and the protection of the group. 

“Are you okay?” Fili asked as soon as they were seated behind the wall, chests heaving with exertion and relief. 

Kili nodded. “I think so.”

“What were you thinking? We were coming to get you?”

“I was going crazy looking at the walls of that room.”

“Impatient,” Fili shook his head. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I didn’t know if I’d see you again,” Kili admitted quietly. Fili could barely hear him over the sound of a few more gunshots from Thorin and Dwalin.

“And now you’re going to see me so much that you’re going to get sick of me,” Fili teased. “The van and that trailer are really cramped, and with two more people…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be sick of you.”

“Good.”

Kili leaned his head on Fili’s shoulder. And for a moment of silence, things felt like they were all right.

--

Taglist Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls @metztliluaa-blog @i-am-pinkie Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[m0thkiller]

been back on my space engineers grindset. ive turned the SCS TERN into a series of ships based on my traveller TTRPG setting. I still feel super new at the game even though ive built like a half dozen ships now of all different types. the current lineup is the Isopod utility shuttle(with a mining and repair variant), Gig orbital shuttle (with cargo or personnel variants), the tern cargo ship, the Kingfisher frigate, and my current project, the Eagle modular cruiser. (all of these pics are in various stages of development so the ships may look dif between frames. this is the most up to date lineup

my favorite part is the sort of reiterative process of drawing sketches of ships, then scuplting the hull to get a vibe for how it looks in 3d, and then resketching

even though its not complete, the Eagle is already my favorite because of how it can tactically dismember itself into distinct self sufficient hull sections. This means that in the future when i need new specific functions for a proper big boy ship i can swap out the hull sections for new ones. this feature took a lot of head scratching on how i would manage to make it look flush and in one piece (including airtight corridors between sections) while also not fusing it permanently via merge block.

With this feature in place ive already got a good idea for replacement parts like a carrier section and cargo section

it ofc isnt the only vessel with a fun gimmick involving subgrids, the kingfisher has a mounting gantry on the back for a drop tank like a fighter jet (the orange vessel whos 3d inertial stablizers, initialily installed to allow easier retrieval, turned it into just a small high capacity tanker). this tank is inert while connected and flashes on the second you disconnect, so youre encouraged to flick the nose up and "kick" it off the back of the ship before combat; letting the drop tank figure itself out. so you dont have a huge ungainly bomb dangling between your thrusters.

[janokenmun]

hard to pick a favorite

if i had to it'd probably being able to return and destructure tuples whenever u want. i LOVE returning multiple things from functions without having to declare a new struct every time

but also the enums are so powerful (while not being awful like c unions)

and cargo Just Works

and the documentation is SO GOOD. definitely the best language documentation i've used so far

also using entire blocks of code as an expression in an assignment statement or w/e is really funny and enables some mildly cursed designs (also i like the if-as-expression syntax more than the ? : syntax like in C)

speaking of syntax the syntax in general!!! it's So Explicit which is very nice. makes it very easy to read imo (especially since my IDE autofills the types for let statements)

a lil bit of functional programming is also nice but tbh i dont use that as much as i could

also so many compiler checks!!! helps me to not have to focus as much on the code. if it compiles its probably correct

ALSO THE UNIT TESTING IS SO GOOD ITS SUCH A NICE LIL FRAMEWORK BUILT RIGHT INTO RUST & CARGO

also very nice that if it gets in ur way theres usually a way around it. what with Cells for getting around mutability issues, Rc for multiple ownership, and unsafe blocks for system-level nonsense, stuff like that

lots of things. its my favorite language for a lot of reasons

reblog with your favorite rust feature

[hishbacrateco]

Understanding the Standard Pallet Size in CM; Why It Matters for Global Logistics

In the world of warehousing, transportation, and logistics, pallets play a critical role in material handling and supply chain operations. These simple yet highly functional platforms provide a foundation for storing and transporting goods efficiently. However, not all pallets are created equal. One of the most important considerations when choosing a pallet is its size, and the standard pallet size in cm can vary depending on region, industry, and specific application.

What is the Standard Pallet Size in CM?

The most widely recognized standard pallet size internationally is 120 cm x 100 cm (also written as 1200 mm x 1000 mm). This is commonly referred to as the ISO standard pallet, and it is prevalent in many global markets, especially in Europe and Asia.

Another popular size is 120 cm x 80 cm, known as the Euro pallet or EUR1 pallet, which is widely used across European Union countries due to its compatibility with racking systems and container dimensions.

In North America, the dominant pallet size is 121.9 cm x 101.6 cm, which corresponds to 48 inches by 40 inches, often called the GMA pallet. Meanwhile, in Australia, businesses typically use square pallets measuring 116.5 cm x 116.5 cm, while in many parts of Asia, a 110 cm x 110 cm pallet is commonly adopted.

Why Standardization Matters

Pallet standardization is not just about measurements; it’s about optimizing compatibility across supply chains, improving safety, maximizing warehouse space, and reducing shipping costs. When all stakeholders in a supply chain use pallets of the same size, operations become more seamless, especially in automated systems or international shipping.

For example:

Truck and container optimization: A 120 x 100 cm pallet fits well within standard shipping containers, maximizing space and load capacity.

Warehouse racking systems: Pallets must align with shelving dimensions to ensure safe and efficient storage.

Global trade: Adhering to standard sizes helps businesses avoid repacking or pallet exchange issues at customs or during cargo transfers.

Material Types & Applications

Standard-sized pallets come in different materials such as:

Plastic pallets: Ideal for hygiene-sensitive environments like pharmaceuticals and food industries. They are reusable, durable, and easy to clean.

Wooden pallets: Most common, cost-effective, and recyclable. However, they may be subject to international regulations like ISPM 15 for treated wood.

Metal pallets: Used for heavy-duty applications and storage of heavy goods or hazardous materials.

Regardless of the material, having the right dimensions remains a top priority for compatibility and regulatory compliance.

Choosing the Right Size for Your Business

If your operation is confined to a domestic market, following your regional standard might suffice. But if you’re part of an international supply chain, it’s crucial to use the 120 x 100 cm ISO pallet or ensure that your packaging can be adapted to multiple sizes. Failure to consider pallet size can result in increased shipping costs, delays, and even damaged goods.

Conclusion

The standard pallet size in cm, particularly the widely accepted 120 cm x 100 cm is more than a set of measurements; it’s a building block of modern commerce. Understanding and adhering to pallet sizing standards helps streamline logistics, reduce operational costs, and enhance compatibility across global networks. Whether you’re a warehouse manager, a logistics coordinator, or a small business owner involved in shipping, knowing your pallet dimensions is a smart move that pays off across the supply chain.

[sangeetasha9820]

Sun, Style & Statement Looks 10 Summer 2025 Trends to Own

As temperatures rise, so does the fashion game! Summer 2025 is all about expressive styling, bold silhouettes, and the perfect blend of comfort and glam. Whether you're lounging by the pool, heading to a brunch date, or strolling through a street market, these top 10 fashion trends will keep you looking cool while staying hot.

1. Sheer Elegance

Translucent fabrics are ruling the season. From organza overlays to mesh dresses, sheer layering adds a touch of mystery and drama. Pair with bold bralettes or minimalist underlayers for an effortless high-fashion look.

2. Neon Pop

Neon is making a fierce comeback — think electric greens, vibrant oranges, and shocking pinks. Whether it’s a full outfit or just an accessory, adding neon to your look is the easiest way to stand out this summer.

3. Relaxed Co-Ords

Matching sets are going nowhere. Summer 2025 brings lightweight linen co-ords, printed cotton duos, and oversized fits that are both stylish and breathable — ideal for warm-weather dressing.

4. Y2K Revival

Chunky accessories, low-rise cargos, butterfly tops, and metallic shades are taking over. Channel early 2000s nostalgia with a modern twist. Think bold and playful — perfect for Gen Z and millennials alike.

5. Statement Maxi Dresses

Maxi dresses are back, but this time they’re bolder. With dramatic prints, asymmetrical cuts, and backless styles, the 2025 maxi dress is a show-stopper for both day and night wear.

6. Sporty-Chic Aesthetic

Activewear-inspired fashion is making waves. From tennis skirts and visor caps to color-blocked windbreakers, sporty pieces are now a stylish part of everyday wear. Bonus: comfort is built right in.

7. Tassels & Fringe

Boho gets a glam upgrade with fringe details on skirts, jackets, and bags. Whether it’s a beach party or a music fest, tassels bring energy and movement to your look.

8. Oversized Sunglasses

Eyewear in 2025 is all about bigger and bolder. Think tinted lenses, geometric shapes, and retro styles that add personality to even the simplest outfits. A must-have accessory for every summer ensemble.

9. Bold Florals

Florals for summer? Yes — but this year it’s louder and larger. Exaggerated flower prints and 3D floral appliqués are blooming across dresses, tops, and even denim. It's garden glam at its finest.

10. Eco-Fashion Staples

Sustainability is more stylish than ever. Organic fabrics, natural dyes, and upcycled accessories are trending. Look for brands that blend eco-conscious design with high-impact fashion.

Conclusion

Summer 2025 is a season of self-expression, comfort, and bold fashion moves. From sheer elegance to eco-conscious choices, this year’s trends are a perfect mix of fun, flair, and functionality. Whether you’re a trendsetter or a laid-back fashion lover, embracing these top 10 styles will have you turning heads all summer long.

So go ahead — sun, style, and slay your way through the season!

Would you like me to create social media captions, reels scripts, or outfit ideas based on these trends?

If you need more information you can check our full blog with full information

[roofboxinfo]

Innovative Roof Box Modifications and Car Accessories for Every Lifestyle

From astrophotography to urban farming, and from podcasting to car customization, modern vehicle accessories have evolved far beyond simple storage solutions. In this 2000-word guide, we explore five unique and creative ways to enhance your car’s functionality—whether you're a photographer, urban gardener, tech enthusiast, or car detailer.

1. Roof Box Blackout Mods for Astrophotography: Capture the Night Sky

For astrophotography enthusiasts, light pollution is the biggest enemy. However, with roof box blackout mods for astrophotography, you can transform your rooftop cargo carrier into a mobile darkroom.

Why Use a Roof Box for Astrophotography?

Blocks stray light from street lamps and passing cars

Provides a stable platform for long-exposure shots

Protects camera gear from wind and moisture

How to Modify Your Roof Box

Line the interior with blackout fabric or adhesive foam to prevent reflections.

Install a weatherproof camera mount to secure your DSLR or telescope.

Add ventilation to prevent lens fogging during temperature changes.

This setup allows photographers to shoot star trails, meteor showers, and deep-sky objects without setting up a separate tent. For a step-by-step guide, check out our full article on roof box blackout modifications.

2. Roof Box Urban Farming: Grow Fresh Produce on the Go

Urban dwellers with limited space can now turn their rooftop cargo box into a mobile garden with roof box urban farming.

Benefits of a Mobile Garden

✔ Maximizes small spaces – Ideal for apartment balconies or driveways ✔ Portable gardening – Move plants to optimize sunlight exposure ✔ Protects from pests – Elevated position keeps critters away

Best Plants for Roof Box Farming

Herbs (basil, mint, thyme)

Leafy greens (lettuce, spinach, kale)

Compact vegetables (cherry tomatoes, peppers)

How to Set It Up

Use lightweight, waterproof planters to avoid overloading the roof box.

Install a drip irrigation system for easy watering.

Ensure proper drainage to prevent root rot.

For more tips on creating your own rooftop mobile garden, check out our detailed guide.

3. Never Lose Keys Again: Car Seat Gap Storage Solutions

How many times have you dropped your keys or phone between the seats? With never lose keys car seat gap storage, you can keep small items organized and within reach.

Why You Need a Seat Gap Organizer

Prevents lost items from slipping into hard-to-reach places

Holds phones, wallets, and keys securely while driving

Non-slip material keeps items from sliding out

Top Features to Look For

Expandable design to fit different seat gaps

Easy-to-clean fabric for long-term use

Multi-compartment storage for better organization

For the best car seat gap storage solutions, read our in-depth review.

4. Turn Your Roof Box into a Sound Studio for Podcasting

Content creators can now record high-quality audio on the go by converting their roof box into a car roof box sound studio podcast booth.

Why Use a Roof Box as a Studio?

Soundproofing reduces external noise (wind, traffic, etc.)

Portable recording space for remote interviews

Protects microphones from weather damage

Essential Setup Tips

Line the interior with acoustic foam for noise reduction.

Mount a shockproof microphone stand to minimize vibrations.

Use a portable power bank for off-grid recording sessions.

Whether you're a podcaster or musician, this mobile sound studio setup ensures professional-quality recordings anywhere.

5. Transform Your Ride with 3M 2080 Gloss Black Vinyl Wrap

For car enthusiasts looking to upgrade their vehicle’s appearance, transform ride with 3M 2080 gloss black offers a sleek, professional finish without permanent paint.

Benefits of 3M 2080 Vinyl Wrap

✔ High-gloss finish mimics factory paint ✔ Protects original paint from scratches and UV rays ✔ Removable without residue for easy changes

Best Applications

Roof wraps for a sporty two-tone look

Hood and trim accents for customization

Full-vehicle wraps for a complete makeover

For a step-by-step guide on applying 3M 2080 vinyl wrap, check out our expert tips.

Final Thoughts: Which Modification is Right for You?

Each of these five innovative solutions offers unique benefits:

Astrophotographers → Roof box blackout mods

Urban gardeners → Mobile farming roof box

Organization lovers → Seat gap storage

Podcasters & musicians → Car roof sound studio

Car customizers → 3M 2080 vinyl wrap

Whether you're looking to enhance functionality, creativity, or style, these modifications prove that roof boxes and car accessories can do much more than just carry luggage.

For more details on any of these ideas, click the links above and start transforming your vehicle today! 🚗✨

[fastophonda]

Fas-Top.com – Elite Bed Cover Options for Your Honda Ridgeline: TonneauCover or Soft Topper Tonneau Combo

Protecting your Honda Ridgeline’s truck bed isn’t just a smart move—it’s essential for preserving performance, value, and appearance. Fas-top.com/shop-your-truck/Honda offers two Ridgeline-specific solutions:

The Soft Truck Topper – Lightweight and highly durable

The Topper & Tonneau Cover Combo – Versatile dual-function innovation Let’s dive into what makes each product a top-tier upgrade.

 Soft Truck Topper Highlights

Weather Protection: All-season fabric blocks rain, snow, and UV rays.

Quick Install: Tool-free clamp system for fast, damage-free mounting.

Tailored Fit: Designed specifically for Honda Ridgeline beds.

Durable Materials: Tear- and fade-resistant fabric for long-term use.

Roll-Up Access: Simple roll-up system gives you instant access to your full bed.

Great Value: Ideal protection at a price that won’t break the bank. Ideal Users:

Campers, explorers, and DIYers

Anyone looking for reliable cargo shielding without added bulk

 Topper & Tonneau Combo Highlights

Two-in-One Design: Converts effortlessly between full topper and tonneau.

Heavy-Duty Construction: Withstands tough terrain and rough weather.

Aerodynamic Form: Enhances fuel efficiency with sleek lines.

Lockable Security: Keeps gear protected and accessible.

Easy Access: Roll-back feature means no wasted time.

Sealed and Secure: Keeps out the elements and prying eyes. Best For:

Multi-use drivers—from worksite to trailhead

Truck owners seeking advanced features in one product

Why Ridgeline Owners Choose Fas-Top.com Fas-Top designs with your specific truck in mind. No guesswork, no compromise. Just reliable protection and stylish integration. What Sets Fas-Top Apart:

Custom engineering

No-drill, DIY-friendly setup

OEM-style finish

Smart pricing backed by durable results

Ready for an Upgrade? Don’t let your Ridgeline’s bed go unprotected. Explore the Soft Topper or Tonneau Combo at Fas-top.com/shop-your-truck/Honda today and gear up for a smarter, cleaner, more secure truck experience