#seismic shard

[aurelion-solar]

Legends of Runeterra: Fate's Voyage - Volibear Followers Valhir's Prophet - Flamecaller Caprine - Herald of Celestial Convergence - Rhond, the Magma Serpent - Berserker Ursine - Sigil of the Storm - Stormbringer - Clash of Giants - Seismic Shard - Relentless Storm - Invocation of Thunder - Sky Splitter

[foamysoapbar]

Shadows of redemption

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, mention of SA, emotional distress, PTSD and trauma, angst.

Chapter 07: Breaking point

In the depths of the night, Viper found herself entangled in the familiar web of her past. The dream, a recurring specter that haunted her slumber, unfolded once again. But this time, there was a glimmer of clarity, a hint of resolution that danced at the edges of her consciousness.

In the dream, fragments of the assault materialized, like shards of a broken mirror reflecting distorted images. The details were still shrouded in haze, obscuring the face of her attacker. It frustrated her, the inability to distinguish between dream and reality, to unravel the truth that lay dormant within her mind. This time, however, the fog lifted slightly, revealing glimpses of the faceless assailant who haunted her nights. Dark eyes, blonde hair, and a scar etched upon his lips—a composite of features that began to take shape.

Days blend into nights, and the dream remained a persistent phantom reaching deeper into the recesses of her subconscious., an enigmatic puzzle she yearned to solve. Yet, the identity of her attacker remained just out of reach which made he heart ache.

Viper and Ghost embarked on a journey of emotional intimacy, the unspoken desire to transcend their past traumas hung in the air. It was a delicate dance, a tentative exploration of their shared vulnerability. The time had come to take the next step, being intimately intertwined into one.

In the intimate embrace, the world outside faded into insignificance. As the pationate heat of their bodies emenated, a tender moment of trust and vulnerability unfolded. But then, amidst the whispers of longing, a sentence slipped from Simon's lips—a seemingly innocuous string of words that reverberated through Viper's being with seismic force.

" You don't know how long I've been wanting this."

The impact was staggering—a sudden flood of emotions and fragmented recollections washed over Viper's fragile psyche. The puzzle pieces of her assault began to align, forming a chilling picture that shook her to her core. The realization, like a lightning bolt, struck her with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and turmoil.

The memories, once obscured by the mists of trauma, now clawed their way to the surface. The dreams that had plagued her nights were no longer blurry whispers, but vivid snapshots of a painful truth. In the midst of this revelation, Simon's presence became a paradox—a pillar of support and a possible embodiment of her darkest fears. Simon, the man she trusted, the one who had held her fragile heart, was the one who had inflicted upon her the pain that haunted her every waking moment . He was the one and only who sexually assaulted her under alcohol influence two years ago in the military base.

" Get off me. Get the fuck off me! " She screamed a the top of her lungs hysterically, Ghost immediately backed away from her alarmed.

Viper grappled with a whirlwind of emotions. Conflicting thoughts and feelings swirled within her, entangling her in a complex web. How could the man she grew to love be the same person who had caused her such irreparable harm? The weight of this newfound knowledge threatened to shatter her fragile sense of trust and stability.

Yet, in the middle of the chaos, there lingered a maddening uncertainty. Were her conclusions accurate, or were they the twisted fabrications of a mind ravaged by trauma? A small doubt gnawed at her, fueling a desperate longing for an alternative explanation, a way to absolve Simon from the haunting accusations her memories seemed to implicate. Despite his face reveal being just recent there was no doubt it was the same face, it's was definitely him. What made things worst was Simon unaware of the depths of his transgression, standing before her clueless.

As She confronted Simon with this revelation his initial response was one of denial. The magnitude of the accusation smacked him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in a sea of disbelief. He struggled to comprehend the depths of his own actions and the pain he had inflicted upon the woman he loved despite her being a stranger back then.

But as Viper's voice trembled with the weight of her trauma, her words piercing the air like shards of glass, Simon's denial crumbled. In its place, an enraged burst of emotion erupted from within him. The sheer magnitude of his own self-denial and ignorance fueled a storm of anger and frustration, a tempest that lashed out in shouting and intense words.

Caught in the crossfire of Viper's revelation and Simon's own internal turmoil, the room crackled with tension. Her military training, honed through years of service, surged forth as a muscle memory, her senses heightened and on guard. The walls of her emotional fortress rose, shielding her vulnerable heart from further harm.

Simon, in his bewildered state, found himself facing a woman transformed, her strength and resilience burning bright. The realization of what he had done, the weight of his actions, slowly began to sink in. It was no longer a drunken mistake, a lapse in judgment—it was a violation that shattered the trust and love they had built together into dust.

As the shards of their shattered relationship lay scattered around them, Ghost's mind rewound the tape of his own history. A flicker of recognition sparked within him, connecting the dots of his own troubled past. The specter of his alcoholic and abusive father, who had assaulted Simon's mother in the same monstrous way, emerged from the depths of his memories.

In that moment, the echoes of his own trauma reverberated through Simon's being. The realization that he was slowly becoming a version of his father which he despised most shattered his own self-image. The questions, the self-doubt, and the agonizing self-reflection flooded his thoughts, leaving him adrift in a sea of confusion and remorse.

With the truth unraveled, the fragile bonds they had built came crashing down. Viper felt a surge of anger and disbelief, her pain resurfacing with an intensity she had never known. Ghost's attempts to explain only fueled her anguish, leaving him drowning in a sea of regret and despair.

" Get the fuck out of my house ! I don't want to see your face ever again ! Get out now !" She screamed at him with boiling rage.

Betrayal tore them apart once again, and they chose to walk separate paths. The weight of guilt and the burden of their shared past became too much to bear. They distanced themselves from each other, seeking solace in the solitude of their broken hearts.

In the aftermath of this devastating revelation, both of them found themselves standing amidst the ruins of their connection. The silence between them was heavy, pregnant with unspeakable grief and the bitter taste of broken dreams. The road ahead, now appeared bleak and uncertain. Simon quietly gathered his his clothing and left without another word disappearing from Viper's life.

[playerkingsley]

because it's an opinion I haven't seen much, I will say I am a bit disappointed the shard was rejected outright at the top of the episode, if only because I enjoy seeing a PC slam their head into the big red button in d&d and come out the other side against insurmountable odds and be rewarded for it, especially when it's extremely apropos to the character in question (adjusted consequences for hubris, of course, considering they were well-warned—hence the 10 round challenge where they died twice AND the -2 con)

potential issues of balancing mechanics for two primordial shards without being underwhelming & other preconceived plans for its recipient aside, this is simply me as a person who enjoys seeing those big narrative swings in the medium come to fruition. this isn't even a case for avoiding the same emotional fallout, or discounting the highly questionable motivations behind the decision: imogen's detect thoughts & the revelations thereafter began before ashton hacked up the shard, so there could've been a path for both—most of the conversations throughout the rest of the episode could even be left unchanged and remain as compelling, were it the case.

but this also isn't meant as an indictment of the result, as I do understand why matt might've made the choices he did. not to mention we've yet to see the full effect on the dormant shard, so still plenty of interesting threads to pursue. it’s just with a campaign lacking many similarly seismic (ha) moves from the characters, it seems lackluster when the consequences read as somewhat of a deterrent.

[faeriecinna]

Manuscript Search Tag

I got a couple of these from the lovely @annakayy and @ulysses-blues ! My words are : Cold, Night, Colour, Question and Soar

I'm editing atm so a lot of these extracts are probably going to be from the earlier chapters of my WIPs :)

Cold:

Project.Seraph The lies rolled off his tongue smoothly while he pleaded. His words hung in the air, a delicate fable of veiled desperation. Each syllable carried the weight of a decision, pregnant with possibility. He held a hand out to Nevaeh, a sense of satisfaction settling over him when he realised she was no longer backing away. “My friends are waiting just a little further into the trees. I can call them out now to help us, but you must make your decision quickly, angel, it is only a matter of time before The Hunt returns for you.” Tense silence hung in the air as Teo and the other travellers waited with bated breath for Nevaeh to respond. She gave an almost imperceptible nod that rippled through the quiet - a seismic shift in the forest's placidity. The choice echoed like a distant thunderclap. A cold breeze fluttered through the trees, as if the forest itself had breathed a sigh of relief.

Night:

Project.Ink Fionn offered a nod, though doubt remained in his expression. With a lingering gaze at Rowan, he retreated into the crowd. The elven nobility continued to observe, casting furtive glances at the mysterious human. As the night progressed, the dance floor beckoned, and Killeen found herself standing before Rowan. "Dance with me," She demanded, her voice holding a mix of authority and an emotion that struggled to surface. Rowan, caught off guard, nodded hesitantly. The surrounding Fae observed the unlikely pair, murmurs rising like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Colour:

Project.Ink Although in the back of her mind Rowan knew exactly what she was approaching, she refused to let herself believe what she was seeing until the glow of the early dawn sun began to cast shards of colour onto the rotting pine needles underfoot. Stained glass windows – or remnants of them – still clung to the fragmented wood window frames and crumbling stone archways. Her heart stopped and her head span. In her dreams, the church had been resplendent and ornamented, gilded and imposing in its looming grandeur.  It wasn’t hard to imagine the pews filled with worshippers, caught in the throes of fervent exaltation. In person, it was a deteriorating memory of the hallowed halls that had commanded devotion long before Rowan even came to be. The carcass had been picked clean and only the bare bones were left, jutting at sharp, splintered angles and still bathed in the sanguineous glow from above.

Question became Inquired:

Project.Ink The air felt heavy with an unspoken tension, and the flickering candlelight cast unsettling shadows that swayed with an unnatural rhythm. Her parents, a middle-aged couple with eyes that held an baleful gleam, sat at a weathered wooden table. "Rowan, dear, how was your day?" her mother inquired, her voice too melodic, the cadence too perfect. There was an eerie precision to her words, carefully crafted. Rowan offered a hesitant smile, the subtle disquiet settling in the corners of her mind. "It was... usual, I suppose." Her father, a man with an unchanging smile that he wore like a mask, chimed in. "Good, good. Routine is essential, especially in these times." The words hung in the air, their weight pressing on Rowan's shoulders. It was a phrase she'd heard often, a mantra that echoed throughout the village whenever discussions veered too close to scrutiny.

Soar became Flight:

Project.Seraph A snort jolted her from her respite with a sharp gasp and she whirled, coming face to face with a solo soldier and his accompanying horse. A desperate whine left her and she willed her aching legs into motion once again, covering just enough land so that she could spread her wings and take off into the sky. Flight was much slower, but with her body weakening with exhaustion, she couldn’t risk her mortal legs giving out on her while being chased by the one man who wasn’t entirely convinced by her watery charade. Before she could even make it a fair distance, the air close to her ear was displaced with a hiss and the angel’s eyes widened as arrows began to fly. She bobbed and weaved, her flight path erratic in an attempt to become less of an attainable target.

And with that, I'm gonna NO PRESSURE tag @spideronthesun @indecentpause @savvyminnow @frostedlemonwriter and @melpomene-grey

Your words are going to be :: sick, small, remember and cloud

[visceravalentines]

It Ain't Georgia, But It's Close Enough

A visitor comes to Ambrose. She's a big fan of Bo's work. A little bit of a different vibe for the Halloween times.

2.8k. TW mild body horror, emetophobia, religious themes and religious trauma galore.

When Bo awoke, he could see his breath in the air. 

“What…the fuck….” he groaned, pulling the blankets up to his chin.  It was only October.  He wouldn’t be turning the heat on ‘til November.  But it was cold. 

Bo exhaled again over the quilt, just to be sure he wasn’t seeing things.  His breath plumed like tobacco smoke. 

In an act of great courage, he flung the blankets off and rose out of bed.  The floor was freezing and he hissed through his teeth, wrapping his arms around himself in his boxers and thin t-shirt.  He minced out into the hall and swore down the stairs.  There was frost on the goddamn windows. 

Bewildered, he pounded his finger on the thermostat, listening intently until the furnace kicked on with a groan and the smell of burning dust.  Yesterday had been a balmy 72 degrees and sunny.  They weren’t even due for the first frost for weeks.  “Makes no fuckin’ sense,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

Well, he had shit to do today.  A little cold snap certainly wasn’t going to change that.  He started the coffee brewing and went upstairs to bundle on layer after layer. 

Twenty minutes later, Bo was crunching across the stiff spines of frozen grass and glancing back with incredulity at his bootprints in the frost.  He sipped coffee from the thermos gripped in one gloved hand and relished the warmth as it diffused through him. 

In all his years spent in this valley, he couldn’t remember a single autumn this cold.  The leaves hadn’t even changed yet and they trembled as he passed, paralyzed in their prime.  An early frost like this meant they would rot on the branches, the bright colors leached away into black and beige. 

He walked through town, marveling at icicles on the eaves.  There was no snow—that would really be odd—but everything was crystallized in a glistening dust of frost.  The birds were silent, no doubt hunkered down for warmth.  Bo slurped his coffee for reassurance.  Weird.  The whole thing was weird. 

The glass in the station door was shattered across the floor, just like he left it.  He slipped inside, making a halfhearted attempt to avoid stepping on the shards.  He set his coffee on the counter, grabbed a broom, swept up the mess.  A disassembled box from some delivery past just barely fit over the broken window and he taped it in place.  If winter was here to stay, he’d need to put up something sturdier, but that would suffice for now. 

He hauled the garage door up, the wheels screeching in the cold.  He’d left his truck parked innocuously out front the night before and he grumbled as he scraped frost off the windshields.  He backed it into the garage, dropped the tailgate, hopped up into the bed and laid down a tarp.  Once the stage was set, he ducked back into the office. 

Being active had heated up his blood and he stripped off his gloves and his beanie before tromping down the stairs, his footfalls seismic in the heavy silence.  He threw the door open unceremoniously and there she was, his chore for the day. 

Exsanguination left her pale, and with her cornsilk hair and the tiny icicles reaching down through the grate above her, she looked like some fairy tale ice queen.  The blood beneath her throne was tacky and dark.  Why did there have to be so damn much of it? 

Bo stopped just on the edge of the puddle, head tilting slightly as he appraised her face one last time.  She was still pretty, just less so. Eyes half-lidded, mouth round and gaping in the shock of being dead.  Blood cracked and crusted on the right side of her head.  She didn’t last long, this one.  The next would be better. 

He set about cutting through the tape, unbuckling the restraints.  The marks in the skin of their wrists made his stomach lurch and his lip curl every time without fail.  It was reflexive and subconscious. 

When she was free, Bo wormed one arm beneath her shoulders and the other behind her knees and lifted her out of the chair.  The blood gluing her to the seat made a sticky sound as it was disturbed.  She was rigored in position, limbs clenched, movement minimal even without the embrace of the chair.  It was much easier to carry them when they were stiff. 

Bo sidled up the stairs.  Her head hovered inches from his shoulder.  Vincent hadn’t wanted this one, had enough to do, but maybe he could convince him to take her.  Dropping her off in the workshop would be significantly easier than trying to dispose of her in these conditions. 

He weaved through the doorway, her calves hitting the doorframe only once, and lifted her awkwardly into the bed of the truck.  He had to climb up to position her properly on the tarp.  He cocooned her in it, secured it with bungie cords so not a strand of blonde hair snuck out.  By the time he was done he was panting, sending mist curling up off his tongue, nose running in the cold. 

The sound of a throat being cleared sent his heart hammering like a hare startled out of the brush.  Bo jerked up, looking towards the wide-open door to the garage, absolutely stunned to find a woman standing there, leaning against the hood of his truck. 

“Howdy,” she said with a crooked smile. 

How had she snuck up on him?  He hadn’t heard a single footstep. 

“Think I’m interruptin’ somethin’.” 

Fuck.  How much had she seen? 

Bo did a double-take.  She was barefoot on the freezing concrete.  For that matter, she was wearing a pair of denim cutoffs that left her legs utterly exposed without a goosebump to be seen.  Her ample bust was barely contained by a thin white tank top, and she seemed well aware of the path of his gaze, smirking at him when he finally met her eyes. 

Bo flashed her a short-fused grin that vanished immediately upon delivery.  “Nah, just loadin’ up some trash to burn.  Ain’t you freezin’?” 

“Not at all,” she answered.  That smile on her face was a permanent fixture.  “I s’pose next you’re gonna tell me that’s transmission fluid on your front there.”  She indicated with her chin and he looked down at himself.  A dark maroon bloodstain like a gaping mouth colored the stomach of his shirt. 

Bo looked up at her with the sharp and deadly gaze of a surprised predator.  He did the math fast in his head.  He could leap over the side of the bed, which would put him about four feet from her unless she started running.  Even if she did, he could catch her.  Barefoot on the asphalt?  He could catch her. 

She chuckled and it unsettled him, the way it sounded like the husk of something dead and dry rattling in the wind.  “Y’don’t have to worry ‘bout me, Bo baby.  I’m the last person to turn you in.”  She bit her lip.  “But by all means, we can chase if you wanna chase.” 

How did she know his name?  Her face was familiar and foreign at the same time.  She was beautiful, just his type.  It was possible they’d met before, maybe, somewhere, but he thought he would’ve remembered someone like that. 

“What d’you want?” he snapped. 

“Came to see you, gorgeous.”  Now she was looking him up and down.  “Rumors don’t do justice.  You are a honey trap.”  

Something was very wrong.  He could sense it, but he couldn’t place the danger.  It was all around him the way the woods close in on you at dusk and suddenly there are eyes on you in every direction. 

In her hand, she flicked the lid of a Zippo off and on.  It drew his attention; had she been holding it before?  “Care for a smoke?” 

Bo’s mind was racing.  “Sure.  Lemme hop down and we can light up together.” 

She beamed.  “Wonderful.” 

He clambered up and over the side of the bed, boots hitting the concrete.  His gaze was locked on her as he moved carefully in her direction, hand reaching in his jacket for the pack of Reds tucked in his breast pocket.  He faltered as he realized it wasn’t there.  He glanced down, felt his other pockets—nothing. 

When he looked back up, she was holding it out to him, smiling implacably, a cigarette already pinched in her lips and smoldering. 

Every hair on his body stood on end.  “What the fuck?” he said, unnerved.  “What’s goin’ on?  Who the fuck are you?” 

“C’mon now.  I know your mama taught you ‘bout the devil.”  She shook the pack.  “Go on.” 

Slowly, Bo reached out and slipped a smoke from the box, one eyebrow cocked and skeptical.  His eyes didn’t leave her face again.  “You’re the devil,” he repeated doubtfully.  “Like…the devil.  Alright, sure.” 

She took a long drag.  The smoke wheeled out from between her teeth when she grinned at him.  “Left the horns at home, sugar.  Thought this might be more up your alley.” 

Bo drew out his own lighter, which was still tucked comfortably in his pocket where it belonged, and lit up.  “I don’t think I gotta say I don’t believe you.” 

“Hmm.” 

He blinked, and suddenly the person standing in front of him was his mother.  The smoke roiled in his throat and he coughed hard, retched, stumbled backwards, throwing one hand out to steady himself against the truck. 

“What does the devil look like, Beauregard?” she asked in his mother’s whipcrack voice.  He blinked again and now it was his father, severe and scowling.  “Why don’t you tell me?” 

Bo leaned against the truck, wild-eyed.  “Stop it.  Fuck—”

His father’s face and body melted like wax, coagulated into the bloodless visage of the girl bundled in the back of the truck.  “How’s this?” she said in the rasp of a death rattle, eyes glassy and staring. 

Bo said nothing, gaped at her, struggling to remember how to breathe. 

The girl’s head lolled to the side and something stretched at the back of her skull, elongating, a second skull ballooning and forming attached to the first, half an identical pretty face, three blind eyes turned on him, two grinning mouths speaking his name, and he dropped to his knees like he’d been hamstrung. 

And then suddenly, it was over, and the woman was bringing the cigarette back to her lips, smirking at him, scuffing the sole of her bare foot against the concrete. 

“Seein’ is believin’, honey,” she said.  “Faith is for fools.” 

“What d’you want?” he gasped. 

“You already asked that,” she said, “and I already told you.  I came to see you.” 

Bo swallowed hard.  His mouth was desperately dry.  “Does that—am I—”  

She laughed and it was shrill like a scream.  “C’mon, Bo, you know you ain’t that lucky.  I didn’t come to collect, not today.”  She stepped leisurely towards him.  “You’re one o’ my best, you know that?  So many deadly sins wrapped up in one fine package.” 

He stared up at her, uncomprehending.  She was shaking her head slowly in something like admiration. 

“You’re a force of misery, sugar.  It’s eatin’ you up and you just can’t help but inflict it on everyone around you.”  She reached out, carded her fingers through his hair, trailed them down his cheek.  Her touch made his skin crawl, like her fingers were sending tiny invisible filaments threading through his flesh to tug ever so slightly at the tissue.  “So much pain ‘n sufferin’ wrought in this little town.” 

She seized his jaw suddenly in an iron grip, bent low over him, her hair hanging in a curtain around the two of them, cutting him off from the world.  His breath froze in his throat.  He couldn’t look away from her. 

“I’m proud of you,” she cooed, gazing at him like he was a rare and fascinating species of bug pinned to a card.  “How long you been waitin’ to hear that?”  Her grin stretched wider. Her spit was tinged pink. "Should I put on her face and say it again?"

He didn’t answer her.  He couldn’t.  Her eyes were impossible, swirling voids, and they were just eyes, and they were magnetic and inescapable.  He was hot and cold at the same time.  His skin prickled all over, it was too tight, it was shrinking around him, constricting, splitting open.  He could no longer feel the ground beneath his knees and he was weightless and sinking and bile rose acidic in his throat and then she jerked his head down and he snapped back into his body and only then did he realize he had left it and there were tears on his face and his ears were ringing. 

“You're doin' so well on your own, but I got one little note for you,” she murmured, and in her voice he heard the slither of every snake through the leaves.  “You're wastin' your time in that church up the way.  It ain’t helpin’ you none.”  She squeezed his jaw.  “See, the thing of it is…you gotta be sorry before you can be forgiven.” 

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and a wave of deafening static overwhelmed his brain, black and white and buzzing and bright in the darkness and he was sitting on the living room couch staring at the TV screen staring at the static and his mother was yelling she was yelling at him she was always yelling—

“Delightful to meet you, Bo baby.”  

Bo stared at her.  She was standing at the door of the garage, still wearing that terrible smile.  He was still on his knees, slumped against the truck, a puddle of vomit steaming on the ground in front of him.  He didn’t remember throwing up but he could taste it in his throat. 

“You’re somethin’ special, don’t you forget it,” she said.  “Takes a truly pathetic sorta person to wreak such havoc on the outside and have nothin’ to show for it on the inside.”

With a giggle like the bleat of a goat and a little wave of her fingers, she turned and started to go.  She only made it three steps before she paused and looked over her shoulder, winking at him.  

“I’ll be back for you, sugar.” 

Bo’s vision blurred as he watched her disappear out of sight.  He was coated in sweat and shaking.  With great exertion, he lifted his hand to his lips and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.  His head was pounding.  His body ached.  He wanted to get up, he had to get up. 

A sound.  

A sudden rustling in the truck bed.  

His blood turned to ice.  Fear gripped his innards and twisted.  It had been so long since he had been so afraid.  The rustling persisted, and he heard the soft, wavering exhalation of precious breath. 

He wobbled to his feet like something newly created, slick palms squeaking on the side of the truck.  With immense trepidation, he peered into the bed. 

The tarp quivered. 

Bo shuddered.  Did he have to look?  He had to look. 

He peeled his fingers off the edge one by one and reached, slowly, toward the shrouded shape.  He had to see, he had to know who was breathing, because it wasn’t the girl, it couldn’t be the girl, he had watched her die, he knew she was dead. 

The tarp jerked and his hand jerked back.  There came a sniffle, and then—

“…Mama?” came a small, scared, horribly familiar voice.   

Bo was out of the garage in a split second, out and not looking back, not for a second, not for anything.  

He made it halfway up the road before his wits started to catch up with him.  He wanted to keep running, run forever until he reached the edge of this nightmare, but he fought that instinct mightily and slowed himself to a rapid stride up the road to the house and away from the garage.  It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be real.  He knew what was real, and this wasn’t it. 

For the first time in years he thought about prayer, about asking someone somewhere for help.  But he found to his surprise he couldn’t remember the words.  All the Sundays spent stuffed in a suit jacket, all the nights around the dinner table saying grace, all the thousands of Hail Marys prescribed in the confessional booth–all dissolved like flesh in acid.  

Was that her doing?  Or was it his?  

The frost had vanished, the icicles melted, the sun bright and warm overhead.  The birds were singing in vibrant harmony.  The leaves swayed in the breeze, green and thriving.  A perfect October morning. Bo barely took notice.  

The clatter of hooves on asphalt faded away behind him. 

He didn’t look.  

[myrain]

In the dimly lit corridors of my heart, there once resided a guy. He was the lighthouse in my stormy seas, the solace in my chaos, and the keeper of my deepest secrets. With eyes that held galaxies and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts, he wove his way into the very fabric of my being. I trusted him with the fragile pieces of my soul, believing that in his arms, I had found my safe haven. Every whispered promise, every shared dream, every moment of vulnerability was a thread in the tapestry of our connection. I poured my faith into him like a river into the ocean, never once doubting the strength of our bond. But then, like a sudden eclipse shrouding the sun, he vanished from my life without warning or explanation. His presence in my world faded like a ghost in the mist. I searched for reasons in the shadows of my mind, grasping at memories like shards of broken glass, trying to piece together the puzzle of his disappearance. Was it something I said? Something I did? Did I unknowingly tread on the fragile ground of his heart, triggering a seismic shift that tore us apart? The questions echoed in the empty chambers of my soul, reverberating with a haunting intensity that threatened to consume me. And as I stood on the precipice of his absence, staring into the abyss of his silence,  I realized with a heavy heart that some connections are meant to fray, to unravel, to dissolve into the ether. His departure was not a mere act of negligence or forgetfulness; it was a deliberate severance, a conscious choice to erase me from his world. So, I let go. I released the tendrils of my love that had ensnared him, letting go of the illusions that bound us together. I whispered his name into the wind, a silent prayer for peace and closure, knowing that some wounds never truly heal. And so, dear reader, let it be known that the boy who disappeared from my life, deliberately and with malice aforethought, was named Terry. His name resonates with me like a bitter taste, a reminder of the fragility of human connections, the ephemeral nature of trust, and the harsh reality that some hearts are meant to break.

[onlycosmere]

The Lost Metal

Brandon Sanderson:

So what are we gonna read? Well, I have draft number two of Wax & Wayne 4, The Lost Metal.

And as I warned you, if anyone came in late, the prologue is available on my YouTube channel with me reading it, or we sent it out as a newsletter. If you're not on the newsletter ask one of your friends, or go hang out in the 17th Shard and ask them. I give permission that they can send it to you so you can read it if you want to. It might be posted, as far as I know, on there as well. I expect when I read these things that they're gonna get around. So we're going to read chapter 1 of The Lost Metal. And I'm just going to kind of read until we hit to 7:30.

Chapter 1

Marasi had never been in a sewer before, but the experience was exactly as awful as she'd imagined. The stench, of course, was incredible. But worse was the way her booted feet would occasionally slip for a heart-stopping moment, threatening to plunge her down into the "mud" underneath.

It would be bad, but manageable, if the place was slippery in a consistent way. Inconsistent slippage was far worse. At least she'd had the foresight to wear a uniform with trousers today, along with knee high leather work boots. That didn't protect from the scent, the feel, or, unfortunately, the sound. When she stepped, map in one hand, rifle in the other, her boots would pull free with a squelch of mythical proportions. It would have been the worst sound ever if it hadn't been overmatched by Wayne’s complaining.

"Wax never brought me to a rustin’ sewer," he muttered by her side.

"Are there sewers in the Roughs?"

"Well, no," he admitted. "Pastures smell almost as bad, and he did make me march through those. But Marasi, they didn't have spiders."

"They probably did," she said, holding the map toward his lantern to read it. "You just couldn't see them."

"S’pose," he grumbled, "but it's worse when you can see the webs. Also, there's, you know, the literal sewage."

Marasi nodded to a tunnel to the side, and they started that direction. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What?" he demanded.

"Your mood."

"Nothing's wrong with my rustin’ mood," he said. "It's exactly the kind of mood you're supposed to have when your partner forces you to stick your front side into a bunch of stuff that comes out the back side."

"And last week," she said, "when we were investigating a perfume shop?"

"Rustin’ perfumers," Wayne said, eyes narrowing. "Never can tell what they’re hiding with those fancy smells. You can't trust a man that doesn't smell like a man should."

"Sweat and booze?"

"Sweat and cheap booze."

"Wayne, how can you complain about someone putting on airs? You put on a different personality every time you change hats."

"Does my smell change?"

"I suppose not."

"Argument won. There are literally no holes in it whatsoever, conversation over." They shared a look. "I should get me some perfumes, eh?" Wayne said. "Someone might be able to spot my disguises if I always smell like sweat and cheap booze."

"You're hopeless."

"What's hopeless," he said, "is my poor shoes."

"Could have worn boots, like I suggested."

"Ain’t got no boots," he said. "Wax stole ‘em."

"Wax stole your boots. Really?"

"Well, they're in his closet," Wayne said, "instead of three pairs of his poshest shoes, which somehow ended up in my closet, completely by happenstance." He glanced at her. "It was a fair trade, I liked those boots."

She just barely kept her balance at another slip. Rusting hell, if she fell, he would never stop talking about it. But this did seem the best way. Construction on citywide underground train tunnels, or just the Tunnels, was ongoing, and two days ago, a demolition man had filed a report warning that he didn't want to blast the next section. 

Apparently, seismic readings had indicated they were near to a cavern of some sort. This area underneath Elendel was peppered with aging caverns, and the seismograph readings the demolition man had found indicated an unknown one was somewhere in this region. The same region where a group of local gang enforcers kept vanishing and reappearing, almost as if they had a hidden exit to an unmarked, unseen lair.

She consulted the map again marked with construction notes and a nearby oddity that the sewer builders had noted years ago which had never been investigated.

"I think MeLaan is going to break up with me," Wayne said softly. "That's why maybe I've been uncharacteristically downbeat in my general disposition as of late."

"What makes you think that?"

"On account of her telling me, 'Wayne, I'm probably going to have to break up with you in a few weeks.'"

"Well, that's polite of her."

"I think she got a new job from the big guy or something," Wayne said, "but it ain't right, how slow it's going. Not the proper way to break up with a fellow at all."

"And what is the proper way?"

"Throw something at his head," Wayne said, "sell his stuff, tell his mates he's a knob."

"You’ve had some interesting relationships."

"Nah, mostly just bad ones," he said. "I asked <Jamie Walls> what she thought I should do. You know her, she's at the tavern most nights."

"I... know her," Marasi said. "She's... a woman of ill repute."

"What?" Wayne said. "Who's been saying that nonsense? <Jamie> has a great reputation! Of all the whores on the block, she gives the best—"

"I do not need to hear that next part, thank you."

"Ill repute," he said, chuckling. "I'm gonna tell <Jamie> what you said about her, Marasi. She worked hard for her reputation. Gets to charge four times what anyone else does! Ill repute indeed."

"And what did she say?"

"Well, she said MeLaan just wanted me to try harder in the relationship," Wayne said, "but I think in this case, Jamie was wrong, because MeLaan doesn't play games. When she says things, she means them. So it's, you know."

"I'm sorry, Wayne," Marasi said, taking him by the arm.

"I knew it couldn't last," he said, "rustin’ knew it, you know? She's like, what, a thousand years old?"

"Roughly half that," Marasi said.

"And I'm not even 40!" Wayne said. "Probably more like 16, if you take count of my spry, youthful physique."

"Or your sense of humor."

"Damn right!" he said, then sighed. "Things have just been rough lately, with Wax being all fancy these last few years, MeLaan being gone for months at a time. Feel like nobody wants me around. Maybe I belong in a sewer, you know?"

"You don't," she said. "You're the best partner I've ever had."

"Only partner."

"Only?" she said. "<Gorglan> doesn't count?"

"Nope, he's not human. I gots papers what prove he's a giraffe in disguise." Regardless, he smiled. "But thanks for asking, thanks for caring." 

She nodded then led the way onward. 

When she'd imagined her life as a top detective and lawwoman, she hadn’t envisioned this part. But at least the smell was getting better, or she was getting used to it. Or maybe the insides of her nose were just dying off. Still, it was extremely gratifying to find, at the exact place marked on the map, an old metal door set in the wall of the sewer. 

She had Wayne hold up the lantern, and one didn't need a keen detective's eye to see the door had been used lately. Silvery scrape marks from the sides of the frame, handle clean from the pervasive filth and cobwebs.

"Nice," Wayne said, leaning in beside her. "Some first rate detectivin', Marasi. Sewer portion notwithstandin'. How many old surveys and building reports did you have to read to find this?"

"Too many," she said. "If I'd known how much of my job would involve searching the documents library..."

"They leave that part out of the stories when they write about us," Wayne said. "All the research."

"You did this sort of thing back in the Roughs?"

"Well, it was the Roughs variety," Wayne said. "Usually involved holding some bloke face down in a trough until he 'remembered' whose old prospecting claim he'd been filching. But it's the same principle really, just with more swearing."

She handed him her rifle and investigated the door. He didn't like her to make a big deal out of him being able to hold guns these days without his hands shaking. She'd never seen him fire one, but he said he could if needed to. He really was getting better.

They'd been working almost six years now, since Wax's retirement following the incident surrounding the Bands of Mourning. Wayne was an official constable, not some strange, barely-inside-the-law deputized citizen. Even wore a uniform once in a while.

Now, this door. It was shut tight, of course, and had no lock on this side. But it seemed the people she was hunting had found it closed too, as there were a bunch of marks on the metal on one side. Looking close, she found that there was just enough room to slip something through the door and frame. "I need something sharp to get through this," she said.

"You can use my razor sharp wit."

"Alas," she said, "you aren't the type of tool that I need at the moment, Wayne."

"Ha!" he said. "I like that one."

He handed her a knife from the backpack, where they kept supplies like rope, along with their metals, just in case they faced an Allomancer. These kinds of gang enforcers shouldn't have access to that sort of thing. They were just your basic "shake down shopkeepers for protection money" types. Yet, she had reports that made her wary. She was increasingly certain this group was funded by the Set, and if she caught them they might finally lead to answers she'd been hunting for years.

With the knife, she managed to undo the bar holding the door closed from the other side. It swung free with a soft clang, and she eased the door open to look at a rough hewn tunnel leading downward. One of the many that dotted this region, dating back to the ancient days before the Catacendre, to the time of myths and heroes, ashfalls and tyrants. Together, she and Wayne slipped inside, then did up the door to leave it as they found it. They dimmed their lantern as a precaution, then started down into the depths.

Brandon Sanderson

Chapter 2

"Cravat?" Steris asked, reading from the list.

"Tied and pinned," Wax said, pulling it tight.

"Shoes?"

"Polished."

"Proof one?"

Wax flipped a silver medallion up in the air, then caught it.

"Proof two?" Steris asked, making a check mark on her list.

He pulled a small folded stack of papers from his pocket. "Right here."

"Proof three?"

Wax reached into his other pocket, then paused looking around the small office, his senator's chamber in the house of proceedings, he'd left that...

"On the desk back home!" he said, smacking his head.

"I brought an extra," Steris said, digging in her bag.

Wax grinned. "Of course you did."

"Two copies, actually," Steris said, handing over another sheet of paper, which he tucked into his other coat pocket. Then she consulted her list again.

Little Maxillium stepped up beside his mother, looking very serious as he scanned his own list, which was mostly just scribbles. At five years old, he knew his letters, but preferred to make up his own.

"Dog picture," Max said, as if reading from his list.

"I could use one of those," Wax said. "Very useful."

Max solemnly presented it, then said, "Cat picture,"

"Need one of those too."

"I'm bad at cats," Max said, handing him another sheet, "so it looks like a squirrel."

Wax hugged his son, then tucked the sheets away reverently with the others. The boy's sister, Tindwyl—as Steris liked traditional names—babbled in the corner, where <Kath>, the governess, was watching her.

Finally, Steris handed him his pistols one at a time. Long-barrelled and nasty looking, they had been designed by Ranette to look menacing, but had two safeties and were actually unloaded. It had been a while since he'd had to shoot anyone, but he continued to make good use of his reputation as the lawman senator of the Roughs. Cityfolk, particularly politicians, tended to be intimidated by small arms. They preferred to kill people with more modern weapons, like poverty and despair. 

"Is a kiss from my wife on that list?" Wax asked.

"Actually, no," she said, surprised.

"A rare oversight," he said, then kissed her, lingering before pulling back. "You should be the one going out there today, Steris. You did more of the work preparing them than I did."

"You're the house lord."

"I could appoint you as a representative to speak for us."

"Please, no," she said. "You know how I am with people."

"You're very good with the right people."

"And are politicians ever right about anything?"

"I hope so," he said, straightening his suit coat and turning toward the door. "Because I am one now."

He pushed out of his chambers and walked the short walk to the Senate floor. Steris would watch from her seat in the observatory balcony. By now, everyone knew how particular she was about getting the same one. Wax instead stepped into the vast chamber, which buzzed with activity as senators returned from their short recess.

He didn't go to his seat. For the last few days, different senators had been given a chance to debate the current bill, and his was the last speech in line. He had positioned it right after the planned break, as he hoped it would set his argument off, give him a final chance to avert a terrible decision.

It had taken a great deal of trading and promising to get this spot in the debate; and not a few of his political enemies were upset that he'd managed it.

He stood at the side of the speaking platform near the center, waiting for the others to sit, hand on his holster, looming. You learned to get a good loom on in the Roughs when interrogating prisoners, and it still shocked him how many of those skills worked here.

Governor <Varlance> didn't look at him. The man instead adjusted his cravat, then checked his face powder. Ghostly, pale skin was fashionable these days, for some arcane reason. Then he set out his badges on the desk, one at a time, as he always did, making everyone wait.

Rusts, I miss Aradel, Wax thought. It had been novel to have a competent governor for once. Like eating hotel food and finding it wasn't awful. Or spending time with Wayne and discovering you still had your pocket watch.

But the governor's job was the type that chewed up the good ones, the ones who tried to swim deep. It was the same type of job that let the bad ones float blissfully along the surface. Aradel had stepped down two years back, and it did make some kind of sense that the next governor chosen had been a military man, considering the tensions with the Malwish right now. Though Wax did question where <Varlance> had gotten all of those medals. So far as he knew, the army hadn't seen any actual engagements. Were they for, perhaps, excellence in shining your shoes?

<Varlance> finally nodded to his vice governor, a Terriswoman, of course. She had curly, dark hair and a traditional robe. Wax thought he'd known her in the village, but it could have been her sister, and he'd never thought of a good way to ask. Regardless, it always looked good to have a Terris on the staff. Most governors chose one. Made you look respectable. Almost like the Terris were another medal to be shown off.

<Adathwyn> stood up and belted to the room. "The governor recognizes the senator from House Ladrian."

Though he'd been waiting for this, looming and whatnot, Wax now took his time sauntering up onto the podium, which was lit from above by a massive electric spotlight. Funny, how ordinary he thought that all was now. If he walked into a room and there wasn't a light switch on the wall, he'd search for it for an embarrassingly long time before remembering there were some buildings that just weren't wired yet.

He turned around in a slow rotation, inspecting the circular chamber. The spotlight was low enough that he could still make out the faces around him. One side held the elected seats, senators who were voted into office to represent a guild, profession, or historical group. The other held the lords, senators who held their position by benefit of birth. The guild system left many people without a representative. As many as twenty percent of the population worked jobs without a senator's seat, by Marasi's estimate. The lords were supposed to make up for that, representing everyone who lived in their assigned region of the city. But when had a group of nobles ever cared about beggars? Maybe in the Last Emperor's time and just after, but people just weren't like that anymore. They were petty and short-sighted.

"This bill," Wax announced to the room, loud and firm, his voice echoing, "is a fantastically stupid idea."

Once, earlier in his political career, talking so bluntly had earned him ire at best. Now, he caught multiple members of the senate smiling. They expected this from him. Many of them seemed to enjoy it, as if they knew how many problems there were in the city and were glad that one man was willing to call them out, ignoring propriety and political necessities.

"Tensions with the Malwish are at an all time high," Wax said. "This is a time for the entire Basin to unite, not a time to drive wedges between ourselves and those who should be our strongest allies."

"This is about uniting," a voice called to him. The dock worker senator, <Maelstrom>. He was mostly a puppet for Hasting and Erikell nobles, who had been consistently a painful spike in Wax's side. "We need a leader for the whole Basin officially."

"Agreed," Wax said. "But how is elevating the Elendel governor, a position nobody outside the city can vote on, going to unite people, <Maelstrom>?"

"It will give them someone to look toward, a strong capable leader!"

And that, Wax thought, glancing at <Varlance>, is a capable leader? We're lucky he pays attention to these meetings, rather than spending the time going over his appearance schedule, <Varlance> had, so far in his one year tenure, rededicated seventeen parks in the city. He liked the flowers.

Wax didn't say anything to this effect. Steris had warned him not to antagonize the governor. There was bluntness, and then there was stupidity. He had to walk a fine line between them. Instead, he kept to the plan, getting out his medallion and flipping it in the air. 

"Six years ago," Wax said, "I had a little adventure. You all know about it. Finding a wrecked Malwish airship, intervening in a plot by the outer cities to find its secrets and use them against us in Elendel. I stopped that. I brought the Bands of Mourning back to be stored safely."

"And almost started a war!" someone muttered in the reaches of the room.

"You'd rather I let the plot go forward?" Wax called back. When no response came, he flipped the medallion up and caught it again. "I dare anyone in this room to disparage my loyalty to Elendel. We can have a nice little duel. I'll even let you shoot first."

Silence. That was one thing he'd earned. A lot of the people in this room didn't like him, but they did seem to respect him, and they knew he wasn't an agent for the outer cities. He flipped the medallion and Pushed it higher, all the way up to the top of the ceiling high above. He caught it again when it came streaking down, glimmering in the light. As he did, he made certain to cast a glance toward Admiral <Jons>, current ambassador from the Malwish nation. She sat in a special place on the floor of the senate, among where mayors from the other cities were given seats when they visited. None had come to this proceeding, a visible sign they considered even a vote on this topic to be ridiculous.

"I know," Wax said, turning the medallion over in his fingers, "better than anyone the position we're in. You want to make a show of force to the outer cities, prove that they have to have to follow our rules. So you introduce this bill, elevating our governor to a presidential position of the entire Basin.  This ignores the reason everyone outside Elendel is so mad at us. The bad faith actors who are leading some of the outer cities wouldn't have gotten so far without support of their people, if the average person living outside Elendel weren't so damned mad at us for our trade policies and general arrogance. This bill isn't going to placate them. This isn't a show of force. It's a maneuver designed to specifically outrage them. We pass this law, and we're demanding war between ourselves and the outer cities."

He let that sink in. They knew it.

They tried to ignore it.

They wanted so badly to appear strong, and if left unchecked, they'd strong-arm themselves right into a war, never realizing this was precisely what their enemies wanted. An excuse to rebel, a justification for war.

Wax pulled out the stack of papers in his left pocket. He held it up and turned around.

"I have 60 letters here from politicians in the outer cities. These are reasonable people, willing, even eager to work with Elendel on policy, but they are frightened, worried about what their people will do if we continue to impose tyrannical, imperial policies upon them. They're worried about war. It is my proposal that we vote down this silly bill, then work on something better. Something that can actually promote peace and unity. A kind of national assembly with representation for each outer city, and and elected supreme official from that body." 

He'd expected boos, and got a few. But most of the chamber fell silent, watching him hold the letters aloft. They were afraid of what he was proposing. Afraid of letting power leave the capital. Afraid that the political ways of the outer cities would change the entire dynamic. They were cowards in that regard, and they were also playing to the hands of the Set, a shadowy organization which included his sister and his late uncle as high-ranking members, who had been pulling the strings for years.

They were still active somewhere. They might even have agents among the senators. They wanted war most of all, though he didn't know exactly why, even still. A way to gain power, certainly, but there was something else. Orders from someone, or something, known as Trell.

Unfortunately, he couldn't pin his arguments on an organization that most people still didn't believe existed. He turned around slowly, still holding up the letters, and felt a little spike of alarm as he turned back to <Maelstrom>. He's going to shoot, Wax's instinct said.

"With all due respect," Senator <Maelstrom said>, "you are a new parent and obviously don't know the proper way of raising a child. You don't give into childish demands. You hold firm, knowing that your decisions are best for them, and they will eventually see reason. As a father is to his son, Elendel is to the outer cities."

Right in the back, Wax thought, turning around. Amusing how those instincts worked here. He didn't respond immediately. You waited to aim well for return fire like this. Thing was, he'd made these arguments before, mostly in private, to many of the senators in this room. He was making headway, but he didn't have enough time. Now that he had these letters—now that they'd all seen them—he needed a chance to go back to each senator, the ones on the fence, and share these words, the ideas, and persuade. His gut said that if the vote happened today, the bill would pass. So he hadn't come here just to make the same arguments again. He'd come with a bullet loaded in the chamber, ready to fire.

He carefully folded up the letters and tucked them snugly into his pocket. Then he took the smaller stack, two sheets from his other pocket. The ones that Steris had made copies of in case he forgot. Actually, she probably made copies of the other ones too. And seven other things she knew he wouldn't actually need, but would make her feel better to have her bag, just in case.

Rusts, that woman was delightful.

Wax held up the sheets and made a good show of getting in just the right light to read it.

"Dear <Maelstrom>," he read out loud. "We're pleased by your willingness to see reason and continue to enforce Elendel trade superiority in the Basin. You will make us all wealthy, and we promise you half a percentage of our shipping revenues for the next three years, in exchange for your vocal support of this bill and eventual vote in favor. From, Houses Hasting and Erikell."

The room erupted into chaos, of course. Wax settled in, hooking his finger around his holster, standing and waiting for the cries of outrage to run their course. He met <Maelstrom>'s eyes as the man sank down in his seat. He had hopefully just learned an important lesson: Don't leave a paper trail detailing your corruption when your political opponent is a trained detective.

Rusting idiot.

Footnote: Brandon initially stated that he would be reading chapter 1, but continued reading until some point in chapter 2.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

NASA's InSight hears its first meteoroid impacts on Mars NASA's InSight Mars lander has detected seismic waves from four space rocks that crashed on Mars in 2020 and 2021. Not only do these represent the first impacts detected by the spacecraft's seismometer since InSight touched down on Mars in 2018, but it also marks the first time seismic and acoustic waves from an impact have been detected on the red planet —a development providing scientists a new way to study Mars's crust, mantle and core. A new study published in Nature Geoscience—on which Brown University Assistant Professor (research) of Earth, Environmental and Planetary Sciences Ingrid Daubar is a co-author—details the impacts, which ranged between 53 and 180 miles from InSight's location, a region of Mars called Elysium Planitia. "It was super exciting," Daubar recalled of the impacts. "My favorite images are the ones of the craters themselves. After three years of waiting for an impact, those craters looked beautiful." Of the four confirmed meteoroids, which is the term used for space rocks before they hit the ground, the first one the team found made the most dramatic entrance: It entered Mars' atmosphere on Sept. 5, 2021, exploding into at least three shards that each left craters behind. When NASA's Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter flew over the estimated impact site to confirm the location, it used its black-and-white context camera to reveal three darkened spots on the surface. After locating these spots, the orbiter's team used the High-Resolution Imaging Science Experiment camera to get a color close-up of the craters. There is also audio of the impacts available. After combing through earlier data, three other impacts were confirmed as occurring on May 27, 2020; Feb. 18, 2021; and Aug. 31, 2021. "Having a really precise location for the source of the impacts calibrates all other data for the mission," Daubar said. "This validates the estimates we've made and will allow us to do this more precisely… It also tells us a lot about the impact process itself and the seismic results. We've never actually seen this before." Researchers have puzzled over why they haven't detected more meteoroid impacts on Mars. The red planet is next to the solar system's main asteroid belt, which provides an ample supply of space rocks to scar the planet's surface. Because Mars' atmosphere is just 1% as thick as Earth's, more meteoroids pass through it without disintegrating. Moreover, InSight's seismometer has detected more than 1,300 "marsquakes." Provided by France's space agency, the Centre National d'Études Spatiales, the instrument is so sensitive that it can detect seismic waves from thousands of miles away. But the Sept. 5, 2021, event marks the first time an impact was detected. InSight's team suspects that other impacts may have been obscured by noise from wind or seasonal changes in the atmosphere. Now that the distinctive seismic signature of an impact on Mars has been discovered, scientists expect to find more hiding within InSight's nearly four years of data. Planetary passion For Daubar—who in addition to her role at Brown is a research scientist with the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory leading the Impact Cratering Working Group on the InSight mission—she sees the data's potential for enabling further study of other planets, including Earth. "In a broader sense, the reason we study other planets is to understand our own planet better," she said. Daubar has been an assistant professor of planetary sciences at Brown for three years, but her cosmic curiosity developed much earlier. "I was lucky enough that my public high school in East Lyme, Connecticut, had a planetarium," Daubar said. "It sparked my interest in astronomy and space." In college, she majored in astronomy at Cornell University. She went on to earn a Ph.D. in planetary sciences at the University of Arizona and became a research scientist with JPL. "I love craters," Daubar said. "I think they're one of more exciting planetary processes we can study." Daubar is among several hundred scientists and engineers around the world contributing to the InSight mission, she said. "I'm a visual person and I've worked on cameras a lot," she said, "so to me, having the visual evidence of this physical phenomenon is really exciting. We actually have 'before and after' images. It's so cool to me that surface of this plant is changing right now. It's not some ancient geologic process." Science behind the strikes The data from the meteoroid impacts offer various clues that will help researchers better understand Mars. "We have tons of data, which is really exciting for scientists," Daubar said. "We've explored the planet a lot. There's a lot we know—and a lot we don't know." Most marsquakes are caused by subsurface rocks cracking from heat and pressure. Studying how the resulting seismic waves change as they move through different material provides scientists a way to study Mars's crust, mantle and core. The four impacts confirmed so far produced small quakes with a magnitude of no more than 2.0. That doesn't provide scientists with a glimpse deeper than the Martian crust, whereas seismic signals from larger quakes, like the magnitude 5 temblor that occurred in May 2022, can reveal details of the planet's mantle and core. "These particular impacts are really small and close—they didn't go through mantle and core," Daubar said. "But it allows us to use this knowledge for the whole catalog of events with a new understanding from these data points on location and source." Importantly, the impacts will be critical to refining Mars's timeline. "Impacts are the clocks of the solar system," said Raphael Garcia, of Institut Supérieur de l'Aéronautique et de l'Espace in Toulouse, France, who is the study's lead author. "We need to know the impact rate today to estimate the age of different surfaces." Scientists can approximate the age of a planet's surface by counting its impact craters. On Mars, the surface has had more time to accumulate impact craters of various sizes because the planet lacks the tectonic plate movement and active volcanism that constantly renews the surface, as they do on Earth. By calibrating statistical models based on how often they see impacts occurring now, scientists can estimate how many more impacts happened earlier in the solar system's history. "Seismology is one way we can tell what's inside a planet," Daubar explained. "The InSight mission is the first mission to actually study the interior of the planet." InSight's data, in combination with orbital images, can be used to rebuild a meteoroid's trajectory and how big its shock wave was. Every meteoroid creates a shock wave as it hits the atmosphere and an explosion as it hits the ground. These events send sound waves through the atmosphere. The bigger the explosion, the more this sound wave tilts the ground when it reaches InSight. The lander's seismometer is sensitive enough to measure how much the ground tilts from such an event and in what direction. "We're learning more about impact process itself," Garcia said. "We can match different sizes of craters to specific seismic and acoustic waves now."

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[brookylnbabyyy]

Mr. I can treat you better

In the shattered remnants of my being, he found me, a broken vessel discarded amidst the debris of our shattered dreams. With tender words and gentle promises, he vowed to mend my fractured spirit, whispering, "I can treat you better." For a fleeting moment, a flicker of hope ignited within me, casting a feeble glow against the darkness that engulfed my soul.

In those initial weeks, he showered me with gestures of affection, weaving a tapestry of happiness and warmth around me. Chocolates and sweet notes became the currency of his love, each token a testament to his devotion. He pledged to walk by my side until the very end, a promise sealed with a delicate neckpiece that bore his essence, a constant reminder of his presence in my life.

His friends, too, embraced me as one of their own, extolling his love for me in reverent tones. They spoke of his adoration, of how he couldn't stop talking about me, painting a picture of a love that knew no bounds. Suddenly, I found myself elevated to the pinnacle of his affections, basking in the warmth of his love like a flower turning towards the sun.

But as swiftly as the tide turns, so too did our fortunes unravel. Like a seismic upheaval, our once-stable world trembled, shaken by unseen forces beyond our control. He grew distant, consumed by a whirlwind of obligations and distractions, leaving me to wonder if I had been replaced by another, his former "number one." Desperate for answers, I confronted him, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and longing. I yearned to reclaim the blissful moments we had shared, to rewind time and erase the fractures that marred our fragile bond. But with each passing day, his excuses grew stale, his distance an insurmountable barrier between us.

"And then, in a single breath, it was over." He severed our ties with the callous indifference of one who had never known the depths of my love. Like a phantom, he faded from my life, leaving behind only echoes of his presence, haunting me like ghosts of a forgotten past. I tried to resist, to cling to the shards of our shattered love, but they cut deep, reopening wounds I had thought long healed. Ignoring his calls and deleting his messages became acts of self-preservation, a feeble attempt to shield myself from further heartache.

Left with nothing but the necklace he had bestowed upon me, I stood before the mirror, grappling with a decision that felt like a betrayal of my own heart. Should I keep it, a tangible reminder of the love we once shared? Or should I cast it aside, banishing the memories that threatened to consume me whole?

In the end, I chose to break free from the chains of his memory, to release myself from the prison of false hope and shattered dreams. With trembling hands, I tore the necklace from my neck, watching as it fell to the ground in a shower of broken promises and shattered illusions.

[arya-college-jaipur]

From concept to reality: how engineering behind skyscraper construction

The engineering behind skyscraper construction involves a meticulous process that combines creativity, technology, and determination. Skyscrapers like the Shard in London and the Channel Tunnel between the UK and France exemplify the innovative engineering feats that shape our world. Key aspects of skyscraper engineering include advanced structural design, cutting-edge materials like reinforced concrete and steel, and innovative techniques such as base isolation systems to enhance resilience against natural disasters. Engineers leverage state-of-the-art technology like Building Information Modeling (BIM) and virtual reality tools for efficient planning and construction, while sustainable practices such as rainwater recycling contribute to energy conservation in these monumental structures. Best engineering college in rajasthan plays a crucial role in fostering the next generation of engineers who will continue to push the boundaries of architectural and structural innovation.

Landmark engineers push the boundaries of structural design by utilizing complex mathematical models, advanced materials, and innovative techniques to ensure strength, durability, and safety in skyscrapers. The construction of iconic skyscrapers like Taipei 101 in Taiwan showcases the resilience and engineering capabilities required for tall structures, impacting urban development and tourism industries significantly. Moreover, landmarks such as the Millau Viaduct in France stand out for their unique features like pre-fabricated components to minimize environmental impact and streamlined designs for enhanced wind resistance. In conclusion, from concept to reality, building iconic structures involves a blend of visionary design, cutting-edge engineering, and a commitment to pushing the boundaries of what is possible in architecture. Skyscrapers not only redefine skylines but also inspire future generations to dream big and innovate in the realm of engineering marvels. In Jaipur, private engineering colleges like private engineering colleges in jaipur contribute to nurturing the talent and expertise needed to drive forward such groundbreaking projects and shape the future of architectural innovation.

How do engineers ensure the safety of skyscrapers?

Engineers ensure the safety of skyscrapers through a comprehensive approach encompassing various key aspects. Here are some methods they employ to guarantee the safety and structural integrity of these towering structures:

1. Design and Planning: Structural engineers meticulously consider site conditions, intended use, aesthetics, and environmental impacts during the design phase. They monitor construction progress closely to ensure adherence to design specifications

2. Regular Inspections and Testing: Engineers conduct regular inspections and tests on various systems within the skyscraper, such as fire protection, ventilation, plumbing, and electrical systems. This helps identify and address any defects or damages promptly

3. Advanced Structural Analysis: Utilizing tools like Building Information Modeling (BIM) and advanced structural analysis software, engineers model and simulate the behavior of skyscrapers under different loads to ensure their stability and safety

4. Foundation Design: The foundation of a skyscraper is crucial for its stability. Engineers assess soil conditions and choose suitable foundation types like piles or caissons to support the immense weight of the building

5. Material Innovation: Engineers explore innovative materials like high-strength concrete and advanced steel alloys to enhance structural stability against gravitational forces

6. Wind-Resistant Designs: Skyscrapers are designed to withstand powerful winds by incorporating aerodynamic features like setbacks and tapered profiles. Dynamic systems such as tuned mass dampers are integrated to counteract swaying during storms

7. Seismic Resilience: In earthquake-prone regions, engineers implement seismic design principles like base isolators to absorb seismic forces and protect occupants and surrounding structures

8. Compliance with Codes and Standards: Engineers ensure that skyscrapers comply with relevant codes, standards, and regulations governing safety and performance to guarantee structural integrity. 

By integrating these methods and technologies, engineers play a crucial role in ensuring that skyscrapers not only stand tall but also provide safe environments for occupants while withstanding natural forces and potential hazards effectively.

[olumpus]

Ensuring Safety Through Innovation: The World of Laminated Safety Glass

Introduction: In today's rapidly evolving world, safety is paramount in every aspect of our lives. Whether it's at home, on the road, or in commercial spaces, ensuring the well-being of individuals is a top priority. One significant stride in achieving this is the development and use of laminated safety glass. This revolutionary glass technology has transformed the way we think about protection, combining durability, transparency, and security in a single solution.

Understanding Laminated Safety Glass:

Composition and Construction: Laminated safety glass is crafted by sandwiching a layer of polyvinyl butyral (PVB) between two or more layers of glass. The PVB layer acts as a bonding agent, holding the glass layers together in the event of breakage. This unique composition enhances the structural integrity of the glass, preventing it from shattering into sharp, dangerous pieces.

Safety Features: The primary advantage of laminated safety glass is its ability to remain intact upon impact. Unlike traditional glass, which can break into sharp shards, laminated glass holds together, reducing the risk of injuries. This feature makes it an ideal choice for applications where safety is paramount, such as car windshields, building windows, and glass doors.

Applications of Laminated Safety Glass:

Automotive Industry: Laminated safety glass has become a standard in the automotive industry, particularly in windshields. Its ability to hold together upon impact not only protects occupants from flying debris but also plays a crucial role in the structural integrity of the vehicle.

Architectural and Building Design: In the realm of architecture, laminated safety glass has opened up new possibilities. From skyscrapers to residential homes, the use of laminated glass in windows and facades provides an added layer of security without compromising aesthetics. The glass can also be customized with varying degrees of tint for privacy and sun control.

Security and Anti-Burglary Measures: Laminated safety glass is a key player in enhancing security. Its resilience makes it a formidable barrier against forced entry, deterring potential intruders. This application is crucial in commercial spaces, museums, and government buildings where the protection of valuable assets is paramount.

Hurricane and Seismic Safety: Regions prone to hurricanes and earthquakes benefit significantly from laminated safety glass. Its ability to withstand impact and remain intact during natural disasters contributes to the overall safety of structures and the people within them.

Conclusion: As we continue to prioritize safety in our daily lives, laminated safety glass emerges as a beacon of innovation. Its versatile applications across various industries underscore its importance in creating a secure environment for individuals and assets. As technology advances, we can only anticipate further refinements in laminated safety glass, pushing the boundaries of what is possible in the realm of safety and protection.

[edwardgdunn]

How A Spoiled Rich Kid Changed Himself And Became a Legend

“I know who you are and I know what you’re all about. But make no mistake, you will NOT bring any of that BS in here. If you do, you won’t be in here. This is a zero sum game. No second chances. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good, take a seat.”

As a senior in high school, I was incredibly fortunate to have an extraordinary English teacher who left an indelible mark on me. As I have looked back over the years, my perspective regarding why her impact was so seismic, altering the course of my life in ways I am still unwrapping, has evolved. It seems that about every ten years or so, I see something else, some new thing I hadn’t realized before. There is little doubt that she ignited my omni-present passion for writing. She introduced me to the writers that inspire and teach me to this day…

James Joyce, Eudora Welty, Saki, Joseph Conrad, Kate Chopin, Ambrose Bierce – so may more.

But I have come to realize that one book she shared with me, perhaps more than any other, was a harbinger of things to come in my own life. It took me decades for the realization to fully materialize. And maybe, who knows, I might see it all differently, yet again, ten years from today.

The story is that of a young man who was raised in a privileged, affluent family. His parents, seeking to protect their young son from the proximate horrors of the world, kept him completely confined to the family compound. There, they reasoned, he had everything – every delight, distraction, and education a young man could want or need. The expectation was that he would follow in his father’s successful footsteps as well as his family’s religion. To his loving parents, he seemed fine with this arrangement. But the day finally came, as it inevitably will with all young men, that his curiosity and longing for independence became to powerful for him to further ignore. He ventured out of the compound and into the surrounding city.

For the first time he encounters the beggars, the sick, the mentally ill, poverty, and death. The shock to his coddled mind is overwhelming. The carefully curated illusion iss at once shattered into shards of incomprehensible bewilderment.

Upon returning to the compound, his word view in tatters, he sees that his only choice is to leave the cocoon that has been his safe harbor his entire life – to go forth into the world of sadness, sorrow, and struggle, His earnest hope is that there might exist a pathway the led through the hopelessness, confusion, and misery. A path that isn’t only available to those born to wealth and privilege but to everyone.

He joins a religious group who believe that happiness can be achieved through asceticism, a rejection of the body and physical desire. He loses his desire for property, clothing, sexuality, and all sustenance except that required to live. He successfully renounces the pleasures of the world.

After a time however, he is wholly dissatisfied. The path of self-denial does not provide the truth he is in search of. He realizes that the oldest of the adherents have lived the life for many years but have yet to attain true happiness of any real measure. So he leaves the group and ventures on.

He decides to embark on a life free from the spiritual quests he has been pursuing, and to instead learn from the pleasures of the body and the material world. He meets a beautiful courtesan who entrances him. But she will not have him unless he proves he can thrive in the material world. She convinces him to take up the path of the businessman. His hones his skills and takes the beautiful courtesan as his lover.

Soon, he is a rich man and enjoys all the pleasures an affluent life can afford someone. He gambles, drinks, and anything that can be bought is his for the taking. Yet, he sees it all as nothing more than a game, caring not whether he wins or loses. The more he accumulates, the less it satisfies him, and he is soon caught once more in a cycle of unhappiness that he tries to escape by engaging in even more gambling, drinking, and sex. When he is at his most disillusioned, he dreams that his lover is rare songbird is dead in its cage. He understands that the material world is slowly killing him without providing him with the happiness for which he has been searching. One night, he resolves to leave it all behind and departs without telling anyone.

Sick with sadness that perhaps the world is but unhappiness, misery and death, he considers drowning himself in a river in his path rather than cross it. But there he encounters a man who tends the ferry. The man seems to radiate the peace and happiness that has proven so elusive. He inquires how the man was able to attain such a state and the man simply replied, “By watching and learning from river. When the water encounters obstacles, rocks, fallen trees, it does not resist or combat them, it simply flows around them, through them, with them, always in keeping with its true nature. – always being the river.

The ferryman agrees to allow our journeyman to work and live with him for a time so that he too can learn the lessons of the river – and he does. Just as the water of the river flows into the ocean and is returned by rain, all forms of life are interconnected in a cycle without beginning or end. Birth and death are all part of a timeless unity. Life and death, joy and sorrow, good and evil are all parts of the whole – the One.

Armed with all he has learned over the many years of his long journey, he finally leaves the ferryman and the river and sets off  into the forest alone. He sits down underneath a beautiful tree and vows not to to rise until he has assembled and integrated everything he has learned. He sits for 49 days when in one enlightening instant, the puzzle is completed. He sees the world as it really is. He understands the cause of suffering and how it can be defeated. He clearly apprehends the path to true and lasting happiness. The remainder of his life, his learnings become his teachings that he freely shares with all who would seek to live in the light. He is happy. He is at peace.

The name of the book is Siddhartha. The author is Herman Hesse.

Check out the podcast episode…

Check out the Happiness 2.0 Podcast — https://podcast.edwardgdunn.com/

Happiness 2.0 Blog — https://edwardgdunn.com/blog

[tempest-toss]

What's wrong?

The gallery, which I forget is a Great Collaboration and thus is a living building, had a seismic event.

Around that time, Site Director Anne Marie tells me that Easel ran out of his room with high emotional distress.

An investigation of his room showed that the normally plain walls were covered in chalk, glass shards, wood pieces, stones, porcelain, wax, and acrylic. Ominous messages were written too, the largest stating "We're coming, big brother".

Apparently Easel ran to the inner courtyard, where his friends are consoling him.

--Eleven

[allspecsuncontrol1]

What should you know about a 3m Safety Window Film?

M Safety and Security Window Film is designed for exterior and interior applications. It helps to protect the shattered glass from spontaneous glass breakage and seismic events. Moreover, it extends the durability of the glass and offers long-lasting protection. These clear 3M Safety Window Films rely on their thickness to provide security benefits.

Let's dig into the facts about window security film.

● The safety film holds glass pieces together after the impact of any hard-hitting thing.

● These films reject 99% of harmful ultraviolet rays, protecting building occupants from skin cancer.

● Window film can provide one-way viewing, and allow natural light while maintaining your privacy.

● The film prevents fading and color loss in office furniture and furnishings, extending the life of valuables by up to 3-500%.

● During natural disasters, it can protect building residents from flying glass shards.

● It adds modern elegance to your space and makes the interior look visually appealing.

Are you looking for services for window tinting in Florida? Then complete your search with us. All Spec Sun Control offers quality solutions for window film. Feel free to reach us, always ready to support our customers.

[merelygifted]

NASA’s InSight ‘Hears’ Its First Meteoroid Impacts on Mars - NASA JPL

The Mars lander’s seismometer has picked up vibrations from four separate impacts in the past two years.    

NASA’s InSight lander has detected seismic waves from four space rocks that crashed on Mars in 2020 and 2021. Not only do these represent the first impacts detected by the spacecraft’s seismometer since InSight touched down on the Red Planet in 2018, it also marks the first time seismic and acoustic waves from an impact have been detected on Mars.

A new paper published Monday in Nature Geoscience details the impacts, which ranged between 53 and 180 miles (85 and 290 kilometers) from InSight’s location, a region of Mars called Elysium Planitia.

The first of the four confirmed meteoroids – the term used for space rocks before they hit the ground – made the most dramatic entrance: It entered Mars’ atmosphere on Sept. 5, 2021, exploding into at least three shards that each left a crater behind.  ...