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siriusleee · 6 months

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i. hidden caches

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi (my bed frame broke this week and a new one was $200 I didn't have), I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

The ending had come quicker than anyone expected. The epidemics and endemics and pandemics of the years past had given false confidence to everyone. We survived the last thing, the news reporters had said, gray building beneath their eyes, and we can survive this. Behind them images of towns being devoured played.

Bodies can decompose in as little as nine days. The first to go is the soft tissue: the eyes, the tongue, the soft flesh of the cheeks. When bacteria and insects are introduced, the flesh breaks down faster. Bones take longer - sometimes years to fully wear away into the dust that collects underfoot. But these things - whatever turned them kept them covered in a thin layer of adipocere to protect them from the elements. They kept shuffling along long past the time when they should have reverted back to a primordial soup where they lay.

But they still decomposed. The trick was to stay ahead of them, away from the gnashing teeth that transmitted the virus, away from the hands and feet that never seemed to tire. So few people could. Whole towns and cities were decimated, felled beneath the hordes of horror that ambled slowly past, swallowed up by the feet that didn’t stop moving until they wore themselves down to stubs, which were them pulled forward by hands and knees that never tired.

But yours did. The familiar path towards the north was more overgrown this year than in the past. For a few years, there had been wary companions, eyes that lingered until the snow and frost rolled in to freeze the Biters where they stood. But as the years wanned on the crowd grew smaller and smaller until you only caught hints of others moving north: horse prints, trash left behind, the occasional Biter left decomposing in the bushes.

This year there was nothing. Either you had moved too early or there was no one left. The latter is too terrifying, so you push it away and think about whatever groups may wander through here after you.

The woods loom tall above you, the snow that fell earlier in the morning just barely dusting the branches above your head. None of it had reached the leaves that are too waterlogged from recent rains to crunch beneath your feet. A blister is rubbing itself raw at your ankle; you know that if you don’t stop to treat it, it will be unbearable tomorrow, but you brush the thought off. You need to reach the marker before nightfall.

The markers had appeared between one trip north and your trip back down.

West Village - 20km

The first year it had appeared left the group you were with in a tizzy. The group had fractured down the middle. If all of you found each other, how hard was it to think that a larger group had finally banned together? Civilization needed to rebuild eventually.

You didn’t trust the shaky scrawl that printed the words, so you had been with the group that refused to go. The next year there was another marker tacked to the first.

Body snatchers. Beware.

It was amazing to you: how well rumors could start and spread without phones or the internet. For months, every person you and your group came across would give the same warning, and ask you all the same questions. Have you seen the body snatchers? Are you the body snatchers?

Humans turned cannabolids. Farms where people were forced to reproduce. Spits with babies roasting above the fire. You wanted to think that it was the stuff of fiction.

In the third year, there was another argument. The group cleaved in half again when the promise of civilization reared its head. Your group had divided again at the markers, disappearing into the thick woods.

Almost no one survived the winter that year. You’d held the hands of all the dying and covered them under a thick blanket of snow before dividing their possessions up between the remainder of the group. In the end, there were just three of you. And when the winter rolled away you all broke apart, whatever ties that held you all together broken by the cold.

The next year you were the only one in your camp.

The markers had become a sort of prayer to you, that one day you’d meet someone else on the road - some scream and shout that there were others out there even if you were too wary to speak to them.

But it’s been two years - the crude paint of the West Village sign fading, the body snatchers warning falling to the earth unceremoniously. The wood started to rot.

And you were utterly alone. Around you, the sound of nature getting ready for the winter fills in the ever-present silence that usually surrounds you. It’s been weeks since you’d last seen a person: a lone traveler moving in the opposite direction as you. And you’d hid from them, worried that they were the sort of feral people turned into when they were alone for too long - a body snatcher. Worried that you were that kind of feral.

You know the markers when you approach them like your body’s memorized the number of steps it takes to reach them. Your chest thumps as you approach the spot where they should be nailed to a tree, growing taller into the air each year. Your boots falter against the wet leaves as you approach the place.

The markers have been repainted. Or at least the West Village one has. This time it’s nailed to a post in the ground; you bend down to inspect the dirt around the post. It’s packed underneath a thick layer of loam - whoever put it up must have put it up much earlier in the year. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wonder if any members of your former group are still there.

For half a second, you think about following the arrow, but before the thought can fully form in your head, you let your feet carry you forward on the path. Just ahead is the rest area you’ve always used. Your tree, one with branches high enough that the only things who can see you are the birds whose nests you disturb, erupts from the ground ahead of you.

You climb up like you were taught; throwing your rope onto the first branch you can physically reach and lash it to yourself. It’s more difficult to climb the tree with your pack and bow, but you don’t want to risk leaving it behind for anyone who may come through after you. When you reach the point where the rope reaches the tree, you pull yourself onto the branch. The blister on your ankle is screaming, but you don’t pause until your hammock is secure and your harness is wrapped around you. The cool wind cuts through the thin fabric of the hammock, but it’s not too cold as you peel back your socks to reveal an angry raw spot crawling across your ankle.

Too tired to do much more, you slide your other boot off, tying them together and then to your pack. The gentle sway of the trees makes your eyelids heavy, and you let yourself drift off into the first good night's sleep you’ve had in a while.

The bitter cold wakes you up, the wind moving your hammock back and forth gently. The darkness spins above you, clouds backlit by the moon. Not for the first time you think about how easy it used to be, curled up with another warm body beneath the thick blankets - how easy it was to switch on the percolator in the morning and wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee, how easy -

You press the heel of your hands into your eyes and try to press away the thoughts that are racing through your brain. Remembering the before drives people crazy; you’ve seen how it can eat people up and you refuse to let it eat at you. So you pull your thermal blanket closer around yourself and try to get some sleep.

But the sun rises earlier than you expected and extra sleep never comes.

It doesn’t take long for you to pack what little you have back in your pack and descend back down. At the bottom you dig out the little bit of jerky you still have saved from the summer months; it’s disgusting, but it’s enough to push you forward to the next place.

You walk the entire time with your bow in your hand, waiting for some animal to run out in front of you and meet its mark, but the forest is silent today as you push towards the next stop in your journey north, a small nameless village secluded away from the rest of civilization - just good enough to sleep in for the night.

The sun has just started to sink below the treeline when the village finally springs into view. The blister on your ankle has popped, and you think you can feel blood rushing into your sock, but you don’t dare stop and check; you don’t want the scent of fresh blood to attract any Biters that may be hidden away for now. Your fingers cramp around the bow and your stomach growls. You’d picked a smooth rock up from the ground hours earlier and popped it into your mouth to try and trick yourself into thinking you were eating something, but it hadn’t worked. If anything it made your hunger worse.

There was salvation coming - on your second year coming through here you’d snuck off from the group and buried a cache. Each year you did your best not to touch it unless it was to refill something inside of it, but this year you knew you’d have to empty it.

You crunch over tire tracks that crisscross over each other on the main road into the village; they’re dry enough that you know whoever managed to scrape up enough gas to drive in and out was gone, but the thought of someone driving up on you made you nervous, and make your steps quicken. If people were driving through here then you needed to be gone before sunlight tomorrow.

Weary, you push yourself towards the back half of the village to a little two-story you know well. It had been the same house your group, and then yourself, slept in each year on your way to the north camp; in the back, beneath an overturned chair that was slowly rotting with time, your little cache was stored.

You shoulder your way through the half-rotted back gate and freeze. The chair is tossed to the side, rusted parts puzzle pieced across the ground. And directly where your cache had been buried is a hole, smoothed over from time and rain.

You could cry if you had any water left in you to cry. So instead you walk numbly into the house - habit making you click the lock on the door even though it’s long since stopped working. The same thick dust that was here last year is still across the floor, so thick your steps don’t even disturb it. You pass through the living area and up the steps. On the landing, you don’t pause - to the left of you is the nursery that’s always been empty. The first few times you’d stopped here the sight of the broken-down white crib and sage walls made something ache inside of you, and you’d learned not to look. It’s better to just let things alone and try to stifle your imagination.

The attic ladder swings down with ease and you test your weight on the rungs before climbing up - any broken bones and you may as well just shoot yourself where you lay. It creaks ominously beneath you but keeps as you clamber through the hole. You let yourself collapse on the floor beside the ladder after pulling it up, and wrapping a rope around the ladder to keep anyone from pulling it down in the night. All at once, hunger and exhaustion pull you down towards the floor.

You’ll have to shoot something tomorrow and check the well for fresh water. There are still to many miles before you make it north enough to be safe for the winter, and you won’t make it without water and food.

You try to distract yourself from the cramping of hunger and how little water is left in your jug by peeling your boots off. As you’d thought, the blister had split and bled, but thankfully your sock had caught most of it.

You clean up the best you can in the dusty light filtering in from the little window that looks out the back garden and wonder who could have known the cache was there. An old group member who spotted you checking it in the past? Or was it a lucky guess, someone who came through after you and spotted the freshly disturbed dirt and came to the right inference?

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter as you pull your thermal blanket from your pack and lay down, but you can’t quite convince yourself of that lie.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

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contemplatingoutlander · 3 months

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Interesting proposal by Nate Loewentheil in a guest column in The New York Times. Not only was his proposal thought provoking, but two of the comments regarding it by readers were also worth contemplating. Below are some excerpts from the column, followed by the two comments.

Here is a proposal for the environmental movement: Pool philanthropic funds for a day, buy a small plot of land in Washington, D.C., and put up a tall marble wall to serve as a climate memorial. Carve on this memorial the names of public figures actively denying the existence of climate change. Carve the names so deep and large, our grandchildren and great-grandchildren need not search the archives. This is not a metaphor. The problem with climate change is the disconnect between action and impact. If politicians vote against construction standards and a school collapses, the next election will be their last. But with climate change, cause and effect are at a vast distance. We are already seeing the consequences of our past and present greenhouse gas emissions. In coming decades, those emissions will wreak their full havoc on the climate, and it will take hundreds, possibly thousands, of years for those pollutants to fully dissipate. But in the short term, the most immediate burdens are borne mostly by the poor in America and distant people in distant lands. Misaligned incentives are at the heart of why some political and business leaders deny and delay. [...] I would first nominate those who have sown confusion over climate science, like Myron Ebell, who recently retired as director of the Competitive Enterprise Institute’s Center for Energy and Environment, where he sought to block climate change efforts in Congress, and served as the head of Donald Trump’s transition team for the Environmental Protection Agency. Mr. Ebell has argued that the idea that climate change is “an existential threat or even crisis is preposterous.” Then there are lawmakers who have consistently stood in the way of federal action, like the recently retired senator James Inhofe of Oklahoma, the author of the book “The Greatest Hoax: How the Global Warming Conspiracy Threatens Your Future.” [color emphasis added]

Below is the first thought provoking comment to this article:

There is, in Iceland, a memorial to a dead glacier - the Ok Glacier. It reads: "Ok is the first Icelandic glacier to lose its status as a glacier. In the next 200 years all our glaciers are expected to follow the same path. This monument is to acknowledge that we know what is happening and what needs to be done. Only you know if we did it." [color emphasis added] --Chris D., Colorado

Photo of the plaque at the at the Okjökull (OK Glacier) memorial.

Here is the second thought provoking comment to this article:

For reference this graph https://i.redd.it/ljifc828iui31.jpg is from the Exxon internal scientific report on climate change, 1982, produced by scientists working for that fossil fuel corporation. Look at what their graph predicted for 2020. Approaching 420 ppm CO2 and a rise of 1.2 C degrees above pre-industrial temperature - very close to what we actually got in 2020. Then look at what the graph shows for later this century, based on not reducing emissions. Very serious temperature rises, that could make agriculture very difficult in many countries. Yes, and then Exxon, having seen this, got involved in PR campaigns to "cast doubt" on climate science, to protect their assets. [color emphasis added] --Erik Frederiksen, Ashville, NC

1982 Exxon graph depicting average global temperature increases over time correlating with increases in atmospheric CO2. NOTE: Graph color was modified for greater clarity.

Fossil fuel companies like Exxon, and fossil fuel oligarchs like the Koch brothers should be included in any "Climate Wall of Shame."

#climate change #disinformation about climate change #climate change deniers #climate wall of shame #myron ebell #james inhofe #koch brothers #exxon #fossil fuel industry #ok glacier memorial #nate loewentheil #the new york times

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mapsontheweb · 10 months

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McDonald's Restaurants by Magnitude of Mountain Backdrop / Rut

by u/Gigitoe

Eating a Big Mac® while gazing at Big Mountains is an experience that millions of Americans can relate to. But little do we ask ourselves, which McDonald's restaurants have the biggest, baddest mountain backdrop?

So I set out to answer this question, using rut, a topographic metric that does particularly well at identifying cities with badass mountain backdrops. (For more info, check out this Mercury News article by John Metcalfe, or my research paper)

Roughly speaking, this is how rut works:

The higher the mountains rise above a restaurant, the more impressive they appear, and the greater the rut.

The more steeply the mountains rise above a restaurant, the more impressive they appear, and the greater the rut.

Here's a tier list that shows the rut of the ruttiest McDonald's restaurant in various cities. The cutoffs are rather arbitrary, so please don't poison me with a Grimace Shake if your city doesn't get the tier you like :)

S tier - rut > 400 m (i'm lovin' it. would visit just for mountain views)

A tier - rut between 200 to 400 m (impressive, but probably wouldn't visit just for mountain views)

B tier - rut between 100 and 200 m (mountains nearby, or distant big mountains, or very distant huge mountains)

C tier - rut between 50 and 100 m (big hills nearby, or distant mountains, or very distant big mountains)

D tier - rut between 25 and 50 m (hills nearby, or distant big hills, or very distant mountains)

E tier - rut between 10 and 25 m (small hills nearby, or hills in the distance, or very distant big hills)

F tier - rut between 0 and 10 m (flatter than a patty)

For more locations, here's a spreadsheet with the rut of every McDonald's on this map.

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Note: a rut of X doesn't mean the surrounding mountains rise a height of X above the restaurant. Instead, a rut of X means that a restaurant's mountain backdrop is as impressive as a restaurant at the base of a vertical cliff of height X. The less steeply the surrounding mountains rise above the restaurant, the lower the rut.

Also note: rut only considers rise above surroundings (relative height differences and angle of elevation). it does not consider absolute elevation, nor the "aesthetics" of a mountain, nor visibility (or lack thereof) due to weather or smog.

Attributions: Gavin Rehkemper (locations), FABDEM (elevation model), Google Earth Engine (calculations), ESRI (basemap), Kai Xu (rut metric and map)

If you like rut, you'll probably like its older brother jut even more. Jut measures how impressive, spectacular, or badass a mountain is—considering both its height above surroundings and steepness. If you want to find the most impressive mountains near you or worldwide, you may find the link above to be useful.

Let us know if you have any questions or comments—I'm happy to address them!

#maps #Gigitoe #mcdonalds #mountains #us

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bunnyshideawayy · 3 months

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and since i’m yapping i wanna quickly rant about how stupid and selfish the Feysand death pact is.

yes, i know losing a mate would be devastating for the other. yes, i know Feyre and Rhys watched each other die and were put through hell together. that still doesn’t change my mind. what they did was selfish, for more reasons than just it leaving Nyx orphaned and heartbroken. (btw do we know the timeline for aging as a fae? like do they grow up like humans do until they reach like 20 something and just stop aging for a while? lmk)

Feyre and Rhys are high lady and high lord of the night court, they have the court and its people to consider. what would happen to if they should die together? who would rule the NC if Nyx was to young to become high lord? who would protect Nyx and Velaris? News flash, it wouldn’t be the IC. the only one who stands a chance politically would be Mor, who is Keir’s daughter and Rhys’s cousin, but Cas and Az would be left with no official court positions. Rhys is barely keeping the Illryians in line, should he die they will revolt and Cas and Az will not be able to handle that idc how powerful they are. Amren wouldn’t be able to do much politically i don’t think she is even known outside the NC. Cas and Az have little to no respect from the other courts, they’d maybe have the help of the Summer and Day courts- that’s it. Keir would probably try to become HL of the NC if Nyx is still to young and he would have the entire support of the CON. if that happened Nyx, Mor, any of the IC would never be safe. Nesta and Elain, too. Just rhys dying would drastically change the political landscape, losing both he and feyre would be catastrophic.

Now onto Nyx.

I know feyre and rhys didn’t expect to actually get pregnant so soon but they made the pact then decided to try for kids, that is also selfish and irresponsible. idc if they thought it would take 200 years to get pregnant, idc if they didn’t expect the wigs, they still made the pact and knew the consequence of having a kid would mean one of them would have to stay behind to take care of them even if they were grieving! “well mates are different!” do you really think feyre and rhys are the first and only mated pair in pyrithian history? i’m sure there has been someone who lost their mate and still pushed through for their kid(s). it was a desperate thing to do and love makes you desperate. i get it and i don’t expect these deeply traumatized characters to be perfect but i DO expect us as readers to see stupid, and say stupid. it’s obvious even they regret their pact after the pregnancy. so we can all drop this act, what they did was selfish and that’s okay! they made a blind and short sided decision that will have incredible, negative consequences should it ever happen. not just for them and their family, but for their entire court and the entire island of pyrthian, maybe even world, maybe even universe given its now canonly connected to the CC universe. thank the mother they both have way to much plot armor so we don’t have to worry about losing either of them. but the possibility is terrifying!

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nc-vb · 1 year

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fuck the people who decided charging hundreds of dollars for diabetic supplies was a good fucking idea

#this shit's so expensive and they wonder why people have to conserve their supplies #i'm lucky i have insurance that'll cover me when i turn 25 here in ontario or else i'd be paying 200 bucks out of pocket for my insulin #give or take a few more bucks #i never talk about this because it makes me so angry that the world is so unfair-#- and people would rather profit off of that unfairness rather than give others a fighting chance #like no wonder so many people are homeless bc they have to prioritize medicine and being able to eat #especially over how much a simple apartment costs???? like i'll be living at home for the rest of my life at this rate #JUST so i can afford to live and have my medicine.#just... fucking mind blowing selfishness.#✦ nc vb.

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hirocimacruiser · 4 months

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Achieving a goal is the beginning of a new challenge. To run really fast, HKS thinks.

A drag race scene where people compete for 0.001 seconds over a distance of about 400 meters in just a few seconds. '91 is a drag field that demands quick response and power from the engine, clutch, suspension, and even a single drop of oil or gasoline, as well as durability and transmission ability to handle instantaneous high power. -In '95-'96, the ``HKS R32 DRAG GT-R'' won the series championship in the RRC Drag Race Championship for three consecutive years. The following year, in 1997, the ``HKS DRAG 180SX'' in the BERC Drag Race Championship Pro Stock class and the ``HKS R33 DRAG GT-R'' in the Pro GT-R class achieved the Avec Championship. Having achieved one goal in 1997, what we aimed for in 1998 is:

Quarter mile time in 9 seconds with FF base vehicle. They then talked about their know-how from drag racing to date, and ``HKS FF DRAG CELICA'' made its debut. The first goal was achieved on October 9, 1998 at Sendai Highlands with a time of 9.886 seconds. He further improved his time to 9.727 seconds, and in 1999 he set a goal of breaking the quarter mile in the 6-second range, and has already begun a new challenge. "Achieving a goal is the beginning of a new challenge" - HKS' never-ending battle continues

HKS

■Company overview

●Name HKS Co., Ltd. Established October 31, 1971

●Capital 607,475/Kawa Representative Director and President Naruyuki Hasegawa

●Location Head Office 2266 Kamiogawa, Kunikami City, 418-0192

●Business details

Development, design, and product sales of automobile parts, racing engines, turbocharger-related parts, and automotive components and systems Design, development, and manufacturing of original mufflers, suspensions, and engine parts Development of complete cars, development of aircraft engines

●Number of employees: 407 (333%, 74 women)

●Equipment overview

Experiment building: Dynamometer (1,000/800/600~300/200/PS) Chassis dynamo, exhaust gas analyzer

Old experimental building: Dynamometer (600/600-500-200/PS)

Manufacturing factory: 10ft machining center, 5 NC lathes, 41 cam polishing machines, 21 biston narai, 11 turning centers, 21 crank Kenjoshi, Monzen Kendanmei, 21 surface grinders, 1 gun drill machine.

Muffler factory: Pipe bender, robot welding machine, 1 laser machine, shell machine, multi-spot welding machine 11, 100T press, TIG welding machine, CO2 welding machine multi-stage

Muffler 2nd factory: Pipe bender / shirring / Yasuda machining center 1 piece

Suspension factory: Cold solid coiling machine, continuous coiling machine, surface grinding machine, shot peening machine, automatic setting machine, automatic load testing machine, etc.

●Affiliated companies

HKS Aviation Co., Ltd. HKS Service Center (Tokyo/West/Kyu)

HKS USA, INC (USA)

HKS EUROPE()

#HKS #JDM #HKS GTR #HKS 180SX #HKS drag car

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