#(and this was the only one available at the time that had all the hardware i needed--it was the same model just a bigger size)

[bosspigeon]

something i think is very funny about veilguard is the black sclera FINALLY being an option now

i know i was pretty fuckin loud about qunari/vashoth NEEDING to have black sclera back in the day (it sets them apart a bit more as something more than just "taller humans with horns) , and i still stand by that, tbh, but upon playing da2 (the game with the first Solid Qunari "design"--even if it was like three models reused ad infinitum) for the first time in several years on a bigger screen and higher definition, i've come to a realization

i don't think the qunari actually ever had black sclera, i think their eyes were just so deep-set and shadowed by their brow (because THE HORNS FOLLOW THE BROWBONE, VEILGUARD!!!!) that it just looked like the da2 qunari's sclera were black!

so, we were wrong the entire time

but i WILL keep doing it regardless😤

[milkteabinniechan]

*⁠♡Happy Father's Day - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY membership // m.list

pairing: single dad! Chan x afab reader

warnings: fingering, lots of mouth sounds, angst (if you squint your eyes)

I’ll tell him about you.

Your friend had an adorable three year old. A loud, sticky, energetic three year old. But adorable nonetheless. You had a pretty regular babysitting gig going. A few people around your neighborhood had talked and heard about your services and now you were basically a seasoned vet when it came to entertaining toddlers.

But your friend was a full time stay-at-home mom now and could watch her own adorable, sticky three year old. And now you needed another spot to fill those last bit of monthly bills. So she said there was a new dad at the preschool that seemed like he was struggling. “Struggling”, she said in air quotes. You agreed and asked her to give this new dad your information. Even though you mostly worked with the mothers, money was money.

A few days passed and eventually your phone rang, an unknown number flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi. This is Chan. The.. uh.. Dad from Sunnyvale Preschool? I was told you could help me out with babysitting?”

He sounded nervous, or maybe he was just a shy person. Maybe he hated talking on the phone. But did his voice sound sexy? There was a deep, velvety smoothness to the way he spoke. Even between the stutters and pauses. You lingered for a moment, lost in the thought of that voice of his.

“Are you still there?” His voice pierced through your eardrum.

“Shit. Sorry, yeah. I’m here. And yes, I am available. Do you have time this week to set up a meet and greet?” your voice quickly went into customer service mode, knowing exactly what to say, memorizing the script you had made for yourself months ago.

THe two of you agreed on a time and day and said your goodbyes. You took a deep breath and tried to forget the way the sound of his voice made you feel. And you prayed all night that he didn’t look as good as he sounded.

Soon, you found yourself at the front door of Chan’s house. An expansive four bedroom home with one of those driveways that was nearly at a ninety degree angle. The door itself was large with two thin lines of stained glass running vertically down the front. A wooden WELCOME sign layed lazily against the door. A novelty sign you could buy as a last minute purchase at a hardware store. The front door clicked open and Chan stood in the doorway, child on his hip.

“Come on in,” He said warmly, arm gesturing for you to walk inside, “Did you find the place okay?”

Inside was a long staircase leading up to the bedrooms, a chandelier hanging from the top floor and swinging down gracefully into the foyer where the three of you stood. Past the stairs was a long hallway that led to the living room and an open floor plan kitchen. Windows surrounded the rooms in a sunlit blanket that made the whole house seem as if it was holding its arms out to you, embracing you.

The three of you sat down on the sectional couch in the living room. You sat on one end, while Chan and the small child sat together on the other corner. Chan introduced the small girl as Lilly. She clung to Chan tightly, her small, chubby finger gripping onto his shirt as if it were a lifeline. You smiled at Lilly and introduced yourself to her. You held eye contact with only her and asked her about some of her favorite things. You had learned over the years that children appreciated when you spoke to them like you understood them. Like everything they said was important, because to you it was. Lilly lit up and talked excitedly about some of her favorite books, jumping at the opportunity to show you. She ran to her room and hastily returned with a few small books. One was about animals, another was about a tractor that made a new friend. You exclaimed in amazement at Lilly’s amazing books. She was smart and she was quiet, but you could tell she was very well loved.

Chan watched the two of you talk about books and the different noises that animals make. It had been a long time since he had seen Lilly open up to someone so quickly. It made his heart feel full to burst, seeing the way you interacted with his daughter.

“You’re hired.” Chan said as you started to walk out of the door. His sudden decision startled you, usually it took most parents to call a few days after the meet and greet. You smiled warmly at Chan, giving him a firm handshake. The two of you quickly made a schedule of the days you would be working and before you knew it, you were in the routine with him.

Months went by with the three of you falling into this routine. You knew exactly when Chan would get home, you knew the foods that Lilly liked to eat, with her tastes changing by the week. You knew when to have dinner on the table and when to have Lilly in bed. And there was comfort there. A comfort in Chan coming home, in making a meal for him. You loved Lilly, and you couldn’t ignore this role that you were easing into.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

Chan walked in the door to find you greeting him with balloons and a cake on the dining room table. Lilly ran to Chan and squeezed his leg. You stood by the balloons and cake, waiting for his reaction. But for a moment he just stood there. Then, he picked Lilly up, propping her on his hip and walked towards you, embracing you with his free arm. He pulled you in close and whispered a soft thank you against your neck. As he pulled back from the hug, the two of you lingered there for a moment, caught heavily in the tension building thick between you. Later that evening, you walked back downstairs from putting Lilly to bed. You entered the kitchen to see Chan cleaning off the rest of the plates and silverware, blue frosting speckled on forks and spoons alike.

“I hope the cake wasn’t too much,” You spoke softly, moving towards Chan at the sink, “It was Lilly’s idea, she really wanted a cake.”

Chan chuckled softly at the thought of his daughter begging for a cake, with only blue frosting, blue being her current favorite color.

“It was perfect,” Chan stopped washing dishes and turned towards you, “you’re perfect.” Chan slowly moved his hands from the warm sink water, to your waiting waist. His fingers crept along your stomach and landed flush along your back, pulling you close to his body. You gasped at the sudden movement, but your body reacted reflexively to his touch. He took you by the hips and propped you up on the kitchen counter. He moved in towards your legs, spreading them open, making room for him. He gripped your thigh with his large hand and pulled it up and around his waist. Your eyes burned bright at his brazen actions as you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep, possessive kiss. Chan forcefully glides his tongue into your mouth, letting it graze across your teeth. You let out a soft gasp as you feel his tongue slide inside, sending a shiver up your spine. You open your mouth wider for him, letting your tongues tangle together in a slow, sensual dance. You press against Chan, craving more of his touch, desperate for it.

He lets his hand fall lazily down your chest, then your stomach. He easily unclasps the button of your pants and lets his hand slip inside. The rush of warmth from his hand causes your head to fall back, your back arching at his every movement. A low growl escapes from inside Chan’s chest seeing how responsive you are to his touch. He lets his teeth graze lightly along the skin of your neck while his fingers trace hypnotic circles around the entrance of your cunt. He can feel how wet you already are for him and it causes something feral to happen in his brain. He buries his fingers deeper inside you, the sudden impact and pressure causing you to squirm and squeal pathetically in his strong arms.

A small, faint cry comes from the top of the stairs and suddenly the two of you snap back into parent mode. The sound of Lilly’s tiny voice pushing all other thoughts and feelings aside. The two of you run upstairs to find Lilly in her bed, crying from a nightmare.

Chan melts instantly at the sight of his daughter safely lying in her bed, instantly thinking the worst may have happened. He sits on the bed with her and holds her close. He consoles her and reminds her that dreams cannot hurt her, he reassures her that he is here to protect her. That he will always be here for her. But as he speaks, he looks at you too. He looks at you as if he wanted you to hear what he was saying as well, like he was speaking to you and Lilly. That you were both important to him. As if he wanted to protect you too. And love you too. You gave Chan a small nod, so he knew you understood. You loved him too. And you would protect both of them with your whole heart.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo

[river-taxbird]

Have YOU got an old Windows PC Microsoft has told you can't run Windows 11? It's time to give it a new life!

How to install Windows 11 on unsupported PC Hardware using Rufus. You can also disable some other Windows 11 bullshit like data harvesting and needing a Microsoft account.

It has been in the news a lot lately that Windows 11 isn't allowed to be installed on PCs without certain requirements, including the TPM 2.0, a chip that was only included in PCs made in 2018 or later. This means that once Windows 10 stops receiving security updates, those PCs will not be able to (officially) run a safe, updated version of Windows anymore. This has led to an estimated 240 million PCs bound for the landfill. Thanks Microsoft! I get you don't want to be seen as the insecure one, but creating this much waste can't be the solution.

(I know nerds, Linux is a thing. I love you but we are not having that conversation. If you want to use Linux on an old PC you are already doing it and you don't need to tell me about it. People need Windows for all sorts of reasons that Linux won't cut.)

So lately I have been helping some under privileged teens get set up with PCs. Their school was giving away their old lab computers, and these kids would usually have no chance to afford even a basic computer. They had their hard drives pulled so I have been setting them up with SSDs, but the question was, what to do about the operating system? So I looked into it and I found out there IS actually a way to bypass Microsoft's system requirement and put Windows 11 on PCs as old as 2010.

You will need: Rufus: An open source ISO burning tool.

A Windows 11 ISO: Available from Microsoft.

A USB Flash Drive, at least 16GB.

A working PC to make the ISO, and a PC from 2018 or older you want to install Windows 11 on.

Here is the guide I used, but I will put it in my own words as well.

Download your Windows 11 ISO, and plug in your USB drive. It will be erased, so don't have anything valuable on it. Run Rufus, select your USB drive in the Device window, and select your Windows 11 ISO with the Select button. (There is supposed to be a feature in Rufus to download your ISO but I couldn't get it to work.?

Choose standard windows installation, and follow the screenshot for your settings. Once you are done that, press Start, and then the magic happens. Another window pops up allowing you to remove the system requirements, the need for a microsoft account, and turn off data collecting. Just click the options you want, and press ok to write your iso to a drive.

From there you just need to use the USB drive to install windows. I won't go into details here, but here are some resources if you don't know how to do it.

Boot your PC from a USB Drive

Install Windows 11 from USB Drive

If you had a licensed copy of Windows 10, Windows 11 will already be licensed. If you don't, then perhaps you can use some kind of... Activation Scripts for Microsoft software, that will allow you to activate them. Of course I cannot link such tools here. So there you go, now you can save a PC made from before 2018 from the landfill, and maybe give it to a deserving teen in the process. The more we can extend the lives of technology and keep it out of the trash, the better.

Additional note: This removes the requirement for having 4GB Minimum of RAM, but I think that requirement should honestly be higher. Windows 11 will be unusable slow on any system with below 8GB of RAM. 8GB is the minimum I think you should have before trying this but it still really not enough for modern use outside of light web and office work. I wouldn't recommend trying this on anything with 4GB or less. I am honestly shocked they are still selling brand new Windows 11 PCs with 4GB of ram. If you're not sure how much RAM you have, you can find out in the performance tab of Task Manager in Windows, if you click the More Details icon on the bottom right. If you don't have enough, RAM for old systems is super cheap and widely available so it would definitely be worth upgrading if you have a ram starved machine you'd like to give a new life.

[seat-safety-switch]

Dog business has never been better. People ask me, how did you come up with the idea to train dogs to run a cafe? In response, I tell them just one simple truth. That they are corporate spies, sent here to commit espionage and make off with my business plan. I'm onto you bastards! You won't get away with this!

For the rest of you, who are surely not here to rob me of my intellectual property, I will tell you some of the story of how this happened. Once, I had a very smart dog. Dachshund, although by mentioning the specific breed, I don't mean to discourage anyone else. If you have a Lhasa Apso, you can still open a hardware store staffed entirely by dogs. They're very good at fetching, probably better than the useless lugs at Home Depot. I digress. You want to hear about the cafe.

All around me, I heard businessfolx complaining about the fact that "nobody wants to work anymore." And that was partially true. Nobody wanted to work for shitty wages, while getting yelled at customers, and being treated like shit by their overweening dickhead bosses. You know who loves to work for no money at all? Dogs.

I figured that if I could train shelter dogs to do retail jobs, then I could rake in a bunch of money, people would get some fun puppy time, and the dogs would be "enriched," but not in money. Of course, if the dogs took a giant crap on the floor, were a little bit slow with the non-dairy creamer, or bit a customer, what did you expect? They're dogs.

Of course, I needed a dog trainer, and for that I secured the most unemployed one I could find, Juliette DeSchnauzer, who really needed a job because she was on parole. Parole for what? I didn't ask. With her help, the first week went great. Only a few dogs went haywire, and when they did, they often got adopted. Saved me the trouble of having to fire them.

As these things do, though, it started to fall apart when I franchised. Every city had dozens of shelter dogs that were just waiting for the opportunity to make a mocha frappuccino. Unfortunately, Juliette D. was no longer available. She had, in business speak, leveraged her social media presence into getting paid to speak at dog-training conferences all over the world. The amazing woman who taught a Golden Retriever to fetch – a cronut.

Still, business is doing great. Of course, we have the occasional dust-up with the health inspector, but I'd like you to show me a single human-run cafe in this town that hasn't been shut down for the employees peeing in the coffee maker.

[dredgen-dumbass]

(Disabled) player's guide to making D2 more accessible

because so far (correct me if I'm wrong) I haven't seen one on here, & maybe (hopefully) it'll help someone.

Alright, to get it out of the way, I'm disabled. I have neurological damage from a tbi, and more recently another concussion, and among many many other things it makes gaming a lot more complicated. It can (unfortunately) be difficult to find advice for disabled gamers online that isn't just "get good" or "then gaming isn't for you", so I figure this might be helpful, since it was for me.

I can't speak to other conditions, so this is more about adjustments for specific symptoms, but I can only really speak from experience. That said, I've had to learn quite a bit, so it's sharing time :)

(I play on Xbox. Some settings aren't the same between platforms, just a warning. For that reason, some of this post is going to be xbox-specific.)

This is divided up into menus & subjects of bullet points are bolded to be easier to skim.

Controller settings - (and explanations for some of them in case y'all don't know)

Test out different look sensitivity. The default is 3, I moved mine up to 5. I have issues with spacial awareness and saccades dysfunction, and this has made it easier for me to keep whatever I'm looking at on-screen.

ADS sensitivity- if you don't know, this is the speed when you aim down sights. The default is 1, I have mine reduced to .5, and I've found that the larger difference between the look & ADS sensitivity can really function as having two look settings available when using a weapon that doesn't have a very extreme scope.

The default sprint-turn scale is 0.4, I bump mine up to 0.8 for similar reasons to the look sensitivity increase. (Turning this up makes you turn faster, turning it down makes you turn slower.)

Alternatively, if you have more issues with overstimulation/visual clutter/quick movements/etc, you may want to turn everything down a bit to slow down your camera, but that may make combat harder to keep up with, especially pvp.

Axial & radial deadzone. This helps with stick drift. Stick drift is a pain for everyone but if you have fine motor issues, tremors, arthritis, etc, it's even worse. Finding what works best for your hardware will help make sure you're compensating less, which puts less strain on your hands.

I've seen people recommend turning off controller haptics for the same reason- the vibrations make you grip the controller harder and can cause worse strain. Personally, I leave them on because the sensory input helps balance out the awareness issues, but maybe it's for you! (this one's a system setting, not a d2 one.)

Video settings

Brightness can be important if you have issues with eye strain. I would recommend changing this relative to the lighting in the room, not just your monitor. Turning it up may help with visual issues with the tradeoff of risking overstimulation. Again, all of this is very dependent on the person.

Motion blur- Evil, evil, evil, turn this off. Visual problems or not, it's harder to follow things on-screen with it enabled. Combined with any garden variety problem with eye movements or cognitive strain it's even worse.

Chromatic aberration- I turn this off. It's a nice vfx, but it can wind up just being added visual stimulus and if that's a problem for it's worth losing. It can also make the radar harder to read. Not worth it (personally.)

Film grain- off for the same reason. It's a smaller change, but a clearer view is worth it if it helps you.

Sound settings

If you have problems with your hearing/auditory processing, I highly recommend turning the sfx & music drastically down compared to the dialogue, and then just turning up your system audio.

Personally, I often play with music entirely off, but I know that can be a very boring experience to a lot of people, so take that as you will.

(my current settings: sfx 8, dialogue 10, music 1)

if you're playing with an Xbox party or in a discord call, etc, I really recommend messing with the mixing settings there when you first get on to balance out peoples mics, regardless of processing problems.

Gameplay settings

HUD opacity- I turn mine down to high, the default being full. Just another thing that makes it easier to keep track of stuff.

Radar Background Opacity- Opposite here. If you have problems with spatial awareness you're probably relying pretty hard on the radar instinctively, so the clearer it is, the better. I play with mine on medium, you may want to play around.

Subtitles- Are on by default, so that's nice. Let's check out their settings menu for a moment.

Turning on show speaker name can be really good for hearing/auditory processing issues.

You can also change the color for the speaker name/caption text if the clearer contrast will help you.

The best background style for visibility is box, but it won't look as nice. Another trade.

Background opacity may be easier to lower if you switch to box, since the faded style isn't even. A lower background opacity may help you follow things on-screen at the cost of caption readability

If you don't need captions but do need to reduce visual clutter, try turning them off!

Colorblind mode is, obviously, helpful if you're colorblind, but I have also heard it recommended because the color changes can help improve contrast. Not one I've tried, but worth including.

Full auto firing/Full auto melee- Does what it says. Turning this on might help in the same way as turning off haptics/messing with deadzones, ie by changing how much you need to click. You can still fire normally with it on, so if anything it just gives you another option.

Reticle location is slightly below the center on d2. I prefer to center it, though it takes some getting used to. More helpful if you frequently switch between other games that center theirs.

Neutral/targeted reticle color- The defaults are white and red respectively. I prefer black for targeted because I feel like it makes it easier to see what I'm actually aiming at, but you may want to leave it for contrast. To each their own.

Other

Brief overview of Xbox accessibility settings

Xbox has a narration setting. I would assume anyone who needs it is aware of this, but just in case.

If you need more assisted play, there's controller assist where you can combine two people's input

Turning off haptic vibration (as mentioned) is in accessibility -> controller

You can make the on-screen keyboard larger!

There are party chat settings for both text to speech and speech to text

There's also game transcription!

Games that have the function can also do their own read-aloud. I don't know if/how this applies to destiny

Mono output for audio may make things easier to understand depending on your audio setup

There's also high-contrast mode for both dark or light

Colorblind filters are here, too

Night mode! You can change how much it dims/filters your device. If you have problems with blue light or eye strain, or have to limit screens for medical reasons like me, this setting is a lifesaver. The filter will affect how your games look, but personally it's worth the tint. Same is available on most PCs.

Hardware, etc.

The Xbox Adaptive Controller is highly customizable and great for anyone with physical impairments that make the standard Xbox controller difficult to use. Find it here.

I've seen thumbstick extenders recommended for arthritis, might also be helpful for similar conditions

If you have arthritis/fine motor issues/muscle weakness/tremors/etc/etc/etc controller grips might make holding a standard controller easier

If any of those are the case for you, then you might also benefit from a lightweight controller (or playing with a standard controller plugged in & removing the batteries for a lesser weight adjustment)

evilcontrollers also has one-handed controllers and a one-handed controller customizer much like the standard controller customizers

evilcontrollers for hardware accessibility in general

If you play on PC and have muscle or joint issues then you may want to look into different keyboard/mouse shapes. Lightweight, vertical, and ball mice are all options, though there's apparently some argument about using them for gaming. I've also seen good reviews of the Azeron keypad from people with muscular/joint problems. There's also split keyboards, wave keyboards, one-handed, etc etc etc.

If you have problems with auditory processing I would HIGHLY recommend gaming with noise-cancelling headphones. (Hell, do everything with noise cancelling headphones.) I would recommend these for everyday, but they also work pretty well for gaming. The mic is mid, but it works well enough, and there's multiple sound modes + active noise cancelling.

Other other (oh no I forgot these, editing now)

Compression gloves !!!!!

Pause and do hand exercises after a while

20/20/20 rule for eye strain

may come back and expand this as I think of more things

There is a lot that Bungie could do to improve the game's accessibility without causing an imbalance with abled players, but I'll save that for another post. Feel free to reblog this with any other advice/anecdotal stuff/whatever, I'm considering this as opening a discussion.

I don't know of any clans specifically for disabled players but I'm sure they exist? If anyone has recommendations for community stuff, please do throw that in.

As always, my dms are open. Being a disabled gamer can suck sometimes and if you need a space to vent w/ someone who gets it, I'm your guy. If you're just curious how it impacts gaming, I don't mind being asked, I just don't feel like posting about myself that much unprompted.

I think that's all for now. Happy gaming :)

[cottonlemonade]

A Simpler Life - Masterlist and random Headcanons

pairing: post-time skip Kita x chubby!Reader genre: fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut warnings: spoilers, eventual mdni, nsfw (part 4) synopsis: In pursuit of a calmer, simpler life you flee the city to move to the countryside - only to fall in love with your neighbor. [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Here are some thoughts I had while writing that didn’t find a space in the story:

> it took Kita a solid hour to formulate his first note to you

> before having sex for the first time, Kita goes to buy condoms while he is on an errand in the city so as to not alert the entire town - he is really careful about it all only to then realize that you went to buy condoms at the town‘s pharmacy so all his sneaking was for naught and he gets knowing looks next time he’s grabbing supplies from the local hardware store

> he swears the local grannies to secrecy so nothing gets back to Yumie before it‘s time

> he has definitely been happy about accidentally cutting his hand while trimming a tree because he was looking forward to getting fussed over by you

> when you start dating, Roku‘s bed systematically moves closer to the house every couple of weeks - of course Kita notices but he doesn‘t say anything because he thinks it‘s too adorable and by Christmas morning Roku‘s bed is inside, in the corner next to the front door

> I looked up typical dog names in Japan and found that it‘s usual to name dogs numbers depending on their litter size and it felt very appropriate for Kita to do that (Roku means six)

> when you mention that you miss certain veggies from your home country that are not readily available in Japan Kita goes out of his way to grow them for you in his greenhouse

> Kita continues to run his farm successfully while you spend your days helping out around town with whatever necessary 

someone called in sick at the bookstore? They call you to jump in

they need help organizing a school festival? They know you have the best ideas

one of the grannies wants to paint her bedroom pink? She knows who to call

these little odd jobs fulfill you so much more than any office ever did and Kita is so ridiculously proud of how fast you became such an integral part of his community

> he proposes to you with those little wild tulips

> (I chose these plants because a) I wanted a small wildflower native to Japan and b) white tulips symbolize purity, innocence and respect, plus these particular flowers (tulipa edulis) are said to have an effect of vigor - imo that just fit perfectly because as I said before, once Kita has you, he is insatiable)

[lonestarflight]

Cancelled Equipment: Lunar Application of a Spent S-IVB Stage (LASS)

"LASS vehicle landing legs and footpads."

In August 1965, NASA began the Apollo Applications Program (AAP) to develop science-based human spaceflight missions using hardware developed for the Apollo program following the first moon landing. They encouraged and invited proposals for new uses of Apollo hardware then under development. One such proposal came from the Douglas Company (DAC) and International Business Machines (IBM) for a modifying the Saturn S-IVB stage for use as an unmanned lunar logistics vehicle to carrier equipment to the moon to support extended human stays and/or a lunar base.

LASS vehicle launch configuration.

In their proposal, the Saturn IB/V S-IVB Stage would be modified with landing gear and other equipment. The Saturn Instrument Unit (IU), which sat on top of the S-IVB and was the computer system that controlled the entire rocket.

Procedure for LASS vehicle landing leg deployment and separation from the Saturn V S-II stage.

The mission was an unmanned, direct-flight, using an existing lunar beacon to obtain a precise landing location.

"The LASS required either a highly throttleable J-2 type engine (J-2X) or a moderately throttleable J-2S with RL-10 engines added to provide proper landing control.

LASS vehicle engine and plumbing arrangement.

"DAC studied several configurations and recommended a vertical lander with a payload package on top. Landed payloads in the order of 27,300 pounds (12,380 kilograms) were claimed by DAC with the 1965 Saturn V capability. This payload was based on a more optimistic delta-V budget than used in other studies. However, the landed payload would still be substantial (7200 - 8600 kg) using the more conservative values."

"The LASS vehicle just before touchdown on the lunar surface. The illustration displays the position of the IU and, above it, the tapered LASS vehicle payload volume."

"After an unspecified period of time, astronauts would land near the LASS vehicle in an Apollo LM. The Douglas/IBM team provided few details about how the crew would interact with the LASS vehicle. They offered only a few vague suggestions concerning, for example, how astronauts in bulky space suits might ascend the approximately 60 feet (18.3 meters) to the top of the LASS vehicle to reach the payload. Neither did they describe how payload items would be moved from the top of the LASS vehicle to the surface, though they suggested that unspecified 'cargo & handling equipment' with a mass of 3100 pounds (1400 kilograms) would be available. These and other mysteries would no doubt have been addressed if NASA had opted to fund additional LASS studies.

The Douglas/IBM engineers did, however, define five typical LASS payload configurations and mission durations. All would feature lunar exploration hardware under consideration in 1966 for AAP lunar missions and would see IU navigational and communications electronics serve double-duty as experiment data support equipment.

Configuration 1 was most in keeping with the role of the LASS vehicle as a sequel to an S-IVB-derived laboratory in low-Earth orbit. The LASS vehicle's LH2 tank would be lined with 3940 pounds (1785 kilograms) of micrometeoroid shielding and thermal insulation before launch from Earth; this weight would be subtracted from the weight available for payload above the IU.

About 7700 pounds (3490 kilograms) of the payload above the IU would take the form of a two-man shelter similar to the SSESM proposed for the Earth-orbiting S-IVB laboratory. Life support gases and liquids and other expendables would account for 4500 pounds (2040 kilograms) of the payload. Experiment apparatus with a total weight of 500 pounds (227 kilograms), a 1000-pound (454-kilogram) unpressurized Lunar Scientific Survey Module (LSSM) rover, and a one-or-two-person Lunar Flying Unit (LFU) of unspecified weight would make up the balance of the payload.

Configuration 1 would see the two astronauts lower themselves into the LASS vehicle LH2 tank by unspecified means through an airlock in the shelter. The LH2 tank would then serve as either a laboratory or an emergency shelter. The crew would live in the LASS vehicle for up to 14 days before they reactivated their LM and returned to the Apollo CSM waiting in lunar orbit.

The other four LASS payload configurations would not make use of the LH2 tank, so the weight of the shielding and insulation surrounding it in Configuration 1 could be applied to payload above the IU. Configuration 2, with a 30-day lunar surface stay time, would include a 13,000-pound (5900-kilogram) four-man shelter, a 3800-pound (1725-kilogram) small (though possibly pressurized) rover, 4500 pounds (2040 kilograms) of science equipment, and 5700 pounds (2585 kilograms) of expendables. The Douglas/IBM team did not explain how four astronauts could reach the LASS vehicle on the Moon using the three-man CSM and two-man LM.

Configuration 3 would include a four-man shelter, an LSSM, science equipment, and 8500 pounds (3855 kilograms) of expendables. The four-person crew would remain on the Moon for 59 days. Configuration 4 would include a two-person shelter, a small rover, scientific equipment, and 11,000 pounds (4990 kilograms) of expendables. The crew would evenly divide their time during their 120-day lunar surface stay between the shelter and the small rover. Configuration 5 would include a two-person shelter, an LSSM, scientific equipment, and 13,800 pounds (6260 kilograms) of expendables. The crew would evenly divide their time during their 195-day stay between the shelter and the LSSM.

The Douglas/IBM team suggested that the astronauts might tip the roughly 60,000-pound (27,215-kilogram) LASS vehicle on its side to place its payload above the IU — which in this case would not include a shelter — close to the lunar surface. They did not, however, explain how the astronauts might accomplish this feat. They suggested that the crew could live inside their LM while they unloaded equipment from the tipped LASS vehicle and converted its LH2 tank into a shelter.

A LASS vehicle with more extensive modifications — for example, a large rectangular hole cut into its LH2 tank for mounting a telescope — might be tipped on its side and converted into a lunar surface astronomical observatory. Ultimately, multiple upright and tipped LASS vehicles might be dragged together to form a 'LASS Modular Lunar Base.' The Douglas/IBM engineers ended their report by declaring that 'LASS is envisioned to be the vehicle to support all lunar surface programs.'"

Information from Astronautix.com: link

Information from the "No Shortage of Dreams" blog: link

[iamderp07]

Meet Eddie Dear's Family! These are my new Welcome Home Original Characters (WH OCs) that I created based on Eddie Dear, one of my favorite WH characters! It took me a while to finish them, but I'm happy to have them out of my head!

Some Dear Siblings HeadCanon/Fanon Facts down below 🤣👇

1. Their parents are Elizabeth and Eddison Dear. Beth is from Texas, and Edd is from Louisiana.

2. Emmett is the oldest among the three Dear siblings, and Eddie is the youngest. Ellie is the middle child and the one and only daughter of Beth and Edd (All of them are equally loved, don't worry 😆🤣👍).

3. Emmett is 8 years older than Eddie, while Ellie is 4 years older than Eddie.

4. Eddison and Emmett work at the family-owned hardware shop, with Emmett often handling deliveries using his truck. Beth works at the family post office, where she used to work alongside Eddie. Meanwhile, Ellie owns a diner that was passed down from her grandparents.

5. The Dear siblings all have mitten like hands! Though Ellie has more feminine ones. Perfect for hugging their friends, neighbors, partners, and of course each other!

6. Eddie frequently stays connected with his family through phone calls and mail. ☎️📬

And I like to think that they've added a personal touch to their letters by using custom designed letters, each serving as a unique signature from every family member.

7. Emmett inherited his name from their great-grandfather on their mother's side, while Ellie and Eddie's names were derived from their parents' names - a shortened and endearing version:

Elizabeth - Ellie

Eddison - Eddie

8. Ellie and Eddie talk a lot about their day via phone call-A LOT. During late-night conversations, they end up talking for hours. Eddie often shares a lot with her about Frank, and she loves listening to her brother gush about him.

9. Emmett and Eddie also talk via phone, where Emmett tends to let Eddie take the lead in the conversation. There are times when Emmett ends up dozing off but still holds onto the phone.

10. During calls and when together, Emmett assists Eddie in managing his forgetfulness, much like their father. Emmett provides advice and solutions, especially when he notices Eddie in need of help or feeling troubled. Ellie also contributes in a similar supportive manner.

11. Eddie and Ellie are often mistaken for twins based on their looks and close sibling bond. Ellie actually gets flattered whenever someone mentions this because it makes her feel younger.

12. Among the three siblings, Ellie and Eddie have shared a close bond since childhood (probably because of the short age gap and since Emmett works a lot with their Pa). Despite Emmett being the more reserved and stoic one, all three of them have a good sibling relationship.

13. Emmett is usually fine with receiving hugs but occasionally gives one.

14. Emmett's instrument of choice is the guitar, while Ellie likes to play the harmonica. Eddison bought Ellie her own harmonica for her 12th birthday, and she has always carried it around with her since then.

15. Ellie and Emmett had their Mailman/Mailwoman phase.

16. Ellie is lesbian while Emmett just assumes he is cisgender. He wrong, he is actually bisexual ufhsjgkxxjgz

17. Ellie is like the second mom of the family.

18. At some points during the year, Eddie heads back to his hometown to visit his family.

19. Ellie has a terrible fear of heights.

20. One of the reasons why Eddie has a fear of bugs is probably because of Ellie.

21. Emmett would bring Eddie alongside him during his deliveries when Eddie is around and available.

22. When Ellie and Emmett first arrived in the Welcome Home Neighborhood, Wally somehow mistook them as Eddie's parents. This made Eddie laugh.

23. Emmett is actually good friends with Howdy and Barnaby. Howdy and Emmett would talk about business, while he and Barnaby tell each other jokes.

24. Ellie actually has good balance and poise. But gets all clumsy when she's flustered.

25. Ellie has a crush on one of Julie Joyful's siblings. Specifically, she has a crush on Franny Joyful.

[vanfleeter]

Platonic

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Fem!reader Summary: Somehow breaking and entering leads to a brave move. Warnings: Language. Literally all fluff. Friends to lovers. Breaking and entering is illegal, do not do it. This is pure fiction. A/N: Thank you to Gilmore Girls for the breaking the lock inspiration.

Closing the door to your car, you carry the handles of a plastic bag containing a couple containers of ice cream as you rummage through your purse looking for your house keys. As always you make the mental note to leave your keys on the same ring as your car fob and you never do.

Reaching the front porch, you glance up to find the door of your house slightly ajar. Okay, you might be forgetful most times but you definitely remember closing and locking the door on your way out this morning. Slowly setting your things down on the porch, you cautiously open the door, peering your head inside. It was eerily quiet but you had that feeling of knowing someone was most certainly inside the house.

Quietly and carefully you reach for the umbrella hanging on the hook. What damage could you do with an umbrella? Only weapons available, make do with what you got.

Hearing the floorboards creak in the living room, you turn your attention towards it, holding your umbrella over your shoulder ready to swing if necessary. Taking a step around the wall you come face to face with Jake.

“Oh god!” You exclaim. “Oh! What the hell?!”

Meanwhile Jake cowers slightly, shielding himself with his arms. “Your choice of weapon is an umbrella?”

“Well it’s the only thing available,” You say, lowering the umbrella. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”

“The back door.” He says, nonchalantly pointing with his thumb over his shoulder.

“The back door is locked..”

“It was..”

Your eyebrows rise and you leave the living room, setting the umbrella on the floor by the stairs. “Did you break in?”

“Can’t be considered breaking in when the lock is broken.”

“The lock was not broken.”

“It most definitely was broken. One simple twist of the knob and gentle push and boom, anyone could have gotten inside.”

You gasp seeing the back door fully open with Jake’s screwdriver hanging from the hole in the door. “You broke my door?”

“I didn’t break your door. Can’t break something that’s already broken.”

“Jacob Thomas, I cannot believe you did such a thing!” You exclaim as you grab hold of the door. “You are fixing this, right?”

“No, I just thought I��d leave my screwdriver there as a decoration–of course I’m going to fix it!” He laughs. “Needed to be fixed anyways, I was going out to the hardware store to buy a new lock.”

“You? Hardware store? Never thought those words would be uttered in the same sentence.”

Jake rolls his eyes, “Ha ha ha.. I’ll have you know that I am quite the handyman.”

“Prove it to me by fixing my door.”

Jake shrugs his shoulders. “Fine, but you have to come to the store with me.” He says.

Your shoulders drop as you scrunch your face up. “Whaat?” You whine. “Why must I be tortured because you broke my door?”

Jake rolls his eyes and snatches his keys off the kitchen counter. “If you don’t come with me, I will not fix your door.” He twirls his keys around his index finger, watching you with a raised brow.

You groan, slapping your hands to your thighs. “I guess.”

You sipped on your tea while you watched him on his knees, focused on the task at hand. His body was tense, light groans falling from his mouth. Though if it was the position he was in or the frustration he was feeling, you couldn’t tell. Sticking his fingers back inside, he hums with satisfaction as he twists his fingers and drags them back out. “There we are..” He says, a smile evident in his voice. When he bent back over, you caught a glimpse of his hips, the slight pudge peeking over the top of his jeans.

Something about him seemed different to you but you couldn’t quite place a finger on it. There was a feeling, growing steadily in the pit of your stomach as you watched him move above the kitchen floor, rummaging through the many tools spread out behind him. Screws, hammers (why he would need that was beyond your knowledge), nails (still why those were needed), a wrench, a drill, and a handful of screws, plus the shiny new doorknob he bought to replace the one he broke, and a deadbolt. You made sure he bought a deadbolt, so that no one, including Jake, can break into your home.

“Can I ask why you broke into my house?” You ask, setting your tea down on the kitchen table. “You never did answer me after I nearly whacked you with an umbrella.”

“Uhhh.. No reason..” He says, not once tearing his eyes away from the circular hole in your back door. “And you should look into choosing a different object for your choice of weapon. An umbrella is weak.”

“My usual choice of weapon is a frying pan,” You say, unaware of him rolling his eyes. “Sadly, I chose the front door as a point entry and not my back door.”

“A frying pan?”

“What? It works.”

“Do I even want to know why you know that?”

“You’re not the first to break into my house.”

Slowly Jake turns his attention from the task at hand and over to you. “Someone else has broken in?”

“More like something.” You say. His brows raise again and you sigh. “A raccoon may or may not have magically found its way into my house at one point.”

“And you used a frying pan on it?”

“Actually, yes.” You state matter-of-factly. “Stunned the poor thing… But at least I got it out of the house on my own!”

Jake chuckles and turns back to the door. “Maybe moving in here wouldn't be such a bad idea.” He mumbles.

“Why would you move in here?”

“You need protection.”

“I need protection? From who? A sneaky raccoon or a best friend who breaks and enters whenever he so chooses–and you have yet to answer my question. Why. Did. You. Come. Over. Here?”

He smiles a teeny bit and picks up the doorknob and places it inside the hole. “Can’t I visit my best friend?”

“Well sure.” You say, nodding your head. “But when you use the front door like a normal person after ringing the doorbell.”

“You weren't home.”

“You know, I could press charges.” You tell him as you stand from the kitchen chair and walk over to the fridge to swipe some strawberries.

He leans around the frame of the door and cocks his head. “You would never.”

“Oh don’t test me, Kiszka.” You bite into the strawberry, your eyes closed as you do so, so you can’t see his mouth dropping slightly agape as he watches you bite into it. He quickly recomposes himself when you reopen your eyes. “I’d love to see another one of you behind bars,” You smirk and take the strawberries back over to the table and sit back down.

He rolls his eyes once more and refocuses his attention back on the door. Soon silence filled the room like a basement filling with water after a bad storm, though the only sounds filling the silence every now and then was when Jake would pick up and drop tools to the floor.

An hour later he was groaning and grumbling as he pushed himself back up onto his feet and stretched out his back. “I’m too old for this.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even thirty, old man.”

He reached over and snatched one of the few strawberries remaining in the plastic container. “Payment for reinstalling a new knob.”

“Payment? Ha!” You laugh. “You don’t get a payment when you are the one who broke it in the first place.”

“Okayyyyy, so then payment for the deadbolt.”

“You just drive me nuts.”

He chuckles and walks over to the fridge and takes a water bottle.

“And now you steal my water.”

“I performed manual labor,” He says, cracking the lid. “My body demands water.”

You huff and eat the last strawberry. “So why did you want to come over to visit?” You ask, dropping the empty container into the trash bin.

“Do I always need a reason to come visit?” He says, leaning against the counter. “Just to visit a reason in and of itself.”

“Sooo then if I want to visit you, I could just break the lock on your back door and just help myself right in?”

“All I ask is that you don’t steal a guitar.” He says, taking a drink. “Hmph!” He quickly swallows the water and caps the bottle and drops it on the counter. “I left something in the car for you.”

“Aw, you brought me a gift?”

Jake winks before quickly disappearing out of the back door. A minute later, he comes back inside, finding you facing the cupboards as you strained yourself on the tips of your toes to reach a glass bowl from the top shelf. He quickly places the bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table before rushing up to your side. He stretches above you to reach for the bowl himself.

The sensation of his body brushing against yours sent the faintest of goosebumps along your skin. You glance up at him, finding him scrunching his face as he continues to stretch his arm upwards to grab the bowl for you. The last time you were this close to him was when he, much to yours and everyone else’s surprise, pulled you to the dancefloor during Josh’s wedding the year prior.

This time was different. You didn't feel like friends. No. It’s more than a platonic relationship. You felt that feeling again. What was that feeling? His torso brushed against your side again as he managed to grab the bowl and lower himself back down to the balls of his feet. He looks down at you as he hands you the bowl.

“I can fix a door, but I can’t fix a broken bowl.” He says, adjusting his shirt. Your eyes were still focused on his jaw, following the outline of it to his chin, which then led to his mouth. His lips. So plump and pink. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You say, looking back up at his eyes. Even his eyes looked beautiful.

He chuckles and presses a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping away and walking back over the kitchen table. The simple forehead kiss alone sent butterflies flying wildly within your stomach.

When he turns back to face you, you see that he’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. They’re a little crumpled, a few missing a petal or two. “I promise they looked a lot better than this, but I had to hide them in the car so you wouldn't see them.” He says as he walks back over. “Is this a good enough reason to come visit?” He hands you the flowers and you take them in your hands.

“They’re beautiful,” You say as you lean into them and inhale deeply. The scents alone sent your head swirling but the thought he had to even buy you flowers sent your whole body soaring into the clouds.

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.” You look up at him and smile. “Sorry,” He sheepishly laughs. “That was too corny.”

You giggle and set the flowers on the countertop. “Not corny, but cute. Been a while since someone’s called me beautiful.” You admit, a twinge of sadness panging your heart.

“Well it’s true,” He says. “I mean it.” You feel his knuckle brush up against your chin before he gently lifts it so you’re looking him in his eyes again. “And I’ll keep telling you that every day until my last breath.”

“Very romantic for best friends.”

He smiles. “That is because I hope we can be more than just best friends.” He says.

“Jake..”

“I know this could alter everything, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

Your eyes travel back to his lips. “Kiss me..” You breathlessly whisper.

He didn’t hesitate and you’re glad that he didn’t. As soon as his lips make contact with yours, the same feeling reignites and explodes like a million tiny fireworks inside of your body. The goosebumps rise again when you feel his hand slide around your waist and come to a stop on your back holding you close.

“So I guess the Fourth of July is canceled,” He says when he pulls apart from you. “Because I think we just had our own little firework show.”

You giggle, pressing your forehead into his chest. “Shut up.”

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you. “Are we still platonic?” He asks.

“I think that kiss confirms that to be a ‘no’.” You say, lifting your head back up. “Platonic or romantic, I’ve realized that I want you regardless.”

“Good,” He kisses your forehead. “So do I.”

want to be added to the taglist? feel free to reach out! :)

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[matrixbearer2024]

I just want to clarify things, mostly in light of what happened yesterday and because I feel like I'm being vastly misunderstood in my position. I would just like to reiterate that this is my opinion of things and how I currently see the gravity of my actions as I've sat and reflected. On the advice of some friends, I was encouraged to make this post to clear up any misunderstanding that may remain from my end.

I don't hold it against anyone for disagreeing with me as this is a very nuanced topic with many grey zones. I hope eventually all parties related to this incident can all get along as well, as I do still prefer to be civil and friendly with everybody as much as possible.

I've placed the whole conversation here for people to interpret themselves, and as much as I want to let sleeping dogs lie— I can't help but also feel like the vitriol was misplaced. I don't want this to be a justification of my actions or even a place where opinions conflict, I'm just expressing my thoughts on the matter as I've had a while to mull it over. Again, this is a nuanced topic so please bear with me.

The "generative AI" in question at the time was a jk Simmons voice bank that I had gathered/created and trained myself for my own private and personal use. The model is entirely local to my computer and runs on my GPU. If there was one thing I had to closely even relate it to is a vocaloid or vocoder. I had even asked close people around what they had thought of it and they called it the same thing.

I created a Stanford Vocaloid as I experimented with this kind of thing as a programmer who wanted to mess around with deep learning algorithms or Q-learning AI. By now this whole thing should be irrelevant as I'd actually deleted all of the files related to the voicebank in light of this conversation when I decided to take down the project in it's entirety.

I never shared the model anywhere, Not online or through personal file sharing. I've never even made the move to even advocate for it's use in the game. I will repeat, I wanted to keep the voicebank out of the game and I only use it for private reasons which are for my own personal benefit.

I recognize ethically I am in the wrong, JK Simmons never consented to having his voice used in models such as this one and I recognize that as my fault. Most VAs don't like having their voices used in such a thing and the reasoning can matter from person to person. As much as I loved to have a personal Stanford greeting me in my mornings or lecturing me in physics after long days, it's not right to spoof somebody's voice as that is genuinely what can set them apart from everybody else. It's in the same realm of danger as deepfaking, and for this I deeply apologize that I hadn't recognized this fault prior to the conversation I had with orxa.

But I would clearly like to reiterate that I had never advocated for the use of this voicebank or any AI in the game. That I was adamantly clear on calling the voicebank an AI(which I think orxa and some others might have missed during the conversation) which is what even modern vocaloids are classified under. And that I don't at all share the files openly or even the model because I don't preach for people to do this.

I would very much rather a VA but because money is tight(med school you are going to put me in DEBT) and the resources available to me, I instead turned to this as a tool rather than a weapon to use against others. I don't make a profit, I don't commercialize, I even recognize that the voicebank fails in most cases because it sounds so robotic or it just dies trying to say a certain thing a certain way.

Coming from the standpoint of somebody who genuinely dabbles in robotics and had a robotic hand as my thesis, I can honestly say how impressive software and hardware is developing. But I will also firmly believe that I don't think AI will be good enough to ever replace humans within my lifetime and I am 19. Nineteen.

The amount of resources it takes to run a true generative AI like GPT for example is a lot heavier than a locally run vocaloid which just essentially lives in your GPU. As well as the fact AI don't have any nuance that humans have, they're computers— binary to the core. I also stand by the point that they cannot and will not surpass their creators because we are fundamentally flawed. A flawed creature cannot create a perfect being no matter how hard we try.

I don't want to classify vocaloids as generative AI as they're more similar to synthesizers and autotune(which is what my Ford voicebank was as well when I still had it) but to some degree they are. They generate a song for you or an audio from a file that you give as input. They synthesize notes and audio according to the file fed to them. Like a computer, input and output, same thing. There's nothing new generated, it's like a voice changer on an existing mp3.

I'm not saying this to justify my actions or to come off as stand-offish. I just want to clarify things that didn't really sit right with me or that seemed to completely blow over in the exchange I shared with orxa on discord.

To anybody who's finished reading this, thank you for your time and patience. I'll be going back to just working on myself for the time being. Thank you.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 11: Alive and Kicking

[Also Available on AO3]

Shadow Dance Masterlist

Summary: Rory and Ghost race to save Price from the crashed helicopter

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, swearing, character with trauma, established relationship, military inaccuracies, includes some in-game dialogue, references to previous fics (All Along the Watchtower), angst, fluff, domestic fluff flashback, flirting, kissing

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC - 3rd person POV (Rory Sinclair)

Word count: 4K

A/N: the further continuation of Rory's story, this follows and expands upon the COD: MW2 reboot canon. Told from Rory's POV.

A very, very self-indulgent chapter this time around. I dont get the chance to write a lot about Rory and Price's domestic life and I wanted to borrow a bit from real life. Hope you enjoy!

tagging: @taciturntraveller and @voltac

Rory could always easily imagine a different life for herself with John. A life without the bloodshed. A life without the constant violence. She was always right on the edge of living it, a fleeting moment of a few weeks of reprieve before taking part in another mission that rabbit holed into the madness of a wartorn wonderland. Living in the untouched safety of their bubble of domesticity, a quiet peace they had made for themselves, their biggest worry had been what color to paint the powder room. 

On a particularly wet Sunday, mid-morning, in late September, they stood in the paint aisle of the local hardware store surrounded by an array of sample chips in every shade and tone imaginable, and somehow she had managed to bypass them all, gravitating to one bleak little corner. 

“Fuckin’ hell, love,” John gruffs, arms crossed over his chest in his favorite sheepskin lined denim jacket, beanie tucked over his ears, looking down his nose at the paint chips she holds like a fan. “Tha’s three different versions o’ white.” 

“Shut up,” she laughs and shakes her head, the damp ends dripping down the back of her neck. “They’re lace, linen, and cream.”

He meets her giggle with a straight face and a lifted brow. “They’re bloody white. Need your ‘ead checked if you think there’s some sort o’ difference between these and the color of the ‘landlord white’ walls back at the flat, my girl.” Arm curling around her back, his wide, warm hand drifts down to rest on the back pocket of her jeans furthest from him. Giving her hip a squeeze, he presses her tight against his side and his thumb starts to rub circles into her as he shifts his weight on his feet. 

The umbrella she carries drips a steady stream of rainwater onto the linoleum floor, a small puddle forming at the blunt plastic tip. One to join the many others dotted throughout the shop, blockaded by yellow ‘Caution: floor slippery when wet’ signs as the sound of a mop being dragged in the same constrained fashion as Pac-man joined in with the quiet chorus of The Verve’s Bitter Sweet Symphony that played over the store’s speakers.

“Oh, I am sorry I wasn’t looking for something garish in the room where guests do their business. Pardon me.” Her words are lathered in sarcasm as she animatedly waves the cards in her hand. 

“Didn’t say garish, did I?” Giving her a dangerous glance from under his brow, he reaches out and grabs the first card from the wall that takes his fancy. “What about this one?”

Her brow cocks at the sight and her lips curl into a little sneer, one that makes her nose scrunch up with distaste. “Forest green? In a toilet?” she asks skeptically. “Love, it’s a small space. You don’t put dark colors in there, it’ll only make it feel smaller.”

“It’s a bloody cloakroom, Ror,” he grumbled, his mouth scrunching up under the bristles of his mustache. “It’s not supposed to feel like the Ritz-Carlton, it’s where someone takes a piss and moves on.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes the card from his hand decidedly and tucks it back into the sleeve on the wall. “It’s too dark. I told you to just leave this with me.”

Truth be told, she was used to making the decisions to the design of the townhouse. It had been her home before John had arrived on the scene, her first purchase after she turned twenty-one and her trust fund (including the money from the sale of her mother’s house in Canada) was finally made available to her. She had paid for all of the renovations herself, picked out the furniture and lighting. That home was her baby and it was hard not to be the one to have final approval on all the changes. It was like letting a little piece of herself go, handing over more control to her dear Captain.

“And I told you I wanted to make some decisions around the place,” he says, tugging her into him a little tighter. “Still feel like a guest in our ‘ome sometimes.”

“Oh piss off, now you’re just taking the mickey.”

“Am not.” Shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat, he jutted out his square jaw, and stretched out his lower back.

Placing her hand on his chest, she uses the other to sweep across the wall of samples like she’s Vanna White. “Fine, if choosing the toilet color is of such great import to you, go ahead. You have my blessing to freely choose.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at her, leaning back slightly to keep her in his full view as he bobs on his heels. “This is a test.”

The quiet chuckle that bubbled out of her was one she could hardly contain, looking taken aback by his sudden wariness of the task. “Classic coming from you of all people.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“I am not dignifying that question with an answer.” She juts an accusing finger up at him, and pokes the underside of his chin, her nail poking into the stubbled skin. “You know damn well.”

Grumbling in response, he reaches out and grabs another sample card to try and change the subject. “And this one?”

“You want lavender?”

“’S grey.”

“It’s not. It’s bloody purple.”

“Now you’re taking the piss.”

Laughing, she reaches into her purse on her shoulder and digs out her mobile. Doing a quick search on her phone, fingers tapping away on the screen, she pulls up a picture of a dress and gives him a cocky grin. “Is it white and gold, or black and blue?”

“What’re you on about?” Peering at her phone screen, he gives it a quick glance before answering, “Tha’s white an’ gold,” stating it without a second look, absolutely sure of his decision.

“It’s not.” She locks her phone and slips it back in her bag. “It’s blue and black.”

“Proves nothin’,” he says with a sharp nod of his head, directed by his tightly clenched jaw.

Giggling at his reaction, her dimples emerge and her eyes shine. Even in a moment where he’s clearly proven wrong, Captain John Price has to believe he’s right. 

His face immediately softens, hard eyes turning crystalline as he regards her warmly, his scrunched lips curving into a gentle half grin. “Christ, I'll never get enough of that laugh, y’ know tha’?” 

She hums and she meets his gaze, curling into him and wrapping her arms around his, her hand finding the rough palm she has come to know so well, intertwining her fingers with his. “I'm aware.”

John lifts their conjoined hands, hers dwarfed in comparison, and he brings her slender wrist to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the flesh. Warm breath ghosting over her, his mustache tickles against the raised veins, smiling as the smell of her perfume fills his nostrils. Fills him. Refusing to let her go quite yet, he places another kiss to the center of her palm, lingering for a moment against the softness of her.

“What was that for?” she murmurs. 

“Don’t need a reason. Not with you, love.”

Her face warms and without a shadow of a doubt her cheeks turn rosy as she glances away and turns her attention back to the wall of samples. It’s the least she can do to try and hide the fact that she’s blushing profusely, thankful that he hasn’t mentioned it considering that would only make things worse. 

“What about this?” she offers, slipping another card free from the spot on the wall.

He appraises it with the same resolute focus he carries while facing down the next target, assessing for weaknesses, compensating for strengths. “Green… green’s good,” he says with a shrug.

Of course he refers to it as just “green”. It could more accurately be described as a soft sage. A cool grey-green meant to evoke the quiet calm of a pastoral scene subdued by morning mist.

“Yeah, you approve?” She says with a hopeful grin. He bloody well should, he's never taken any issue with her design choices before.

“I’ll even paint it on the walls for ya,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the side of her head, nose pressed to the soft strands of her hair. 

“You do spoil me,” she croons.

“Better than paying some other git to come in, eh? Make the job take longer than it should, miss spots, overcharge.” A slow, easy smirk like a drawl curls his lips. “I’m not lettin’ some bastard do a runner with your money, sweetheart. Besides, could put on a real show for ya like when I fixed the kitchen sink.” He lowers his voice, waggling his brows enticingly, winking suggestively. “Jeans hung low. When it gets too hot, i'll ‘ave t’ take off m’ shirt. Shake my arse f'ya when I get up the ladder.”

Squealing with laughter, she uses her hands to cover her mouth, catching the attention of a passing employee as she wipes the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “Stop,” she whines without any real intent behind it. Her cheeks flush red and she buries her face in his arm before meeting the placid depths of his blue irises. “I need a painter, not a bloody Chippendales dancer.”

He smiles wider, cheeky and boyish as his eyes crinkle at the corners taking in her joy.

“You’re fuckin’ adorable, darlin’, y’know tha’? Blushin’ like a bloody school girl when I tease ya.” 

He pulls her into his embrace and her umbrella is quickly forgotten, left to limply drain on the floor while the sample chip dangles in her grip, hanging loosely from her fingers as her arms coil around his neck. It wasn't often they enjoyed a public display of affection, but the empty back corner offered a safe haven free from prying eyes as they kissed and he took the opportunity to firmly grab the cheeks of her arse in his hands. 

….................

When painting day arrives, John treats it with the same professionalism as an op. Laying down tarps, painters tape along the crown moldings to stop drips, washing the walls clean and waiting until they are dry. Laying out his tools making sure they are all easily accessible, including some spare rags for cleaning up messes. He doesn’t miss a thing when it comes to that extra bit of effort to make the finished product perfect. He's precise, exacting. With him the details always matter and there’s no slouching allowed. 

She rests in the doorway, watching him work – knelt down, knees cracking, back held stiff and straight, he pops open the lid of the can with a flathead screwdriver and stirs it with a stick bringing the base and pigment together. A gentle smile graces her lips as she recognizes the movement all too well as the same careful circles he uses when he makes her tea, properly mixing in the milk and honey until they are perfectly combined. She's come to enjoy the cuppa he makes more than her own.

His gaze flicks up, noticing her figure reclining against the doorframe, and his eyes crinkle as a smug grin draws weathered lines of a hard life of fighting into his face. “Enjoyin’ the show, are ya?”

“Chose to do this shirtless, eh?” She remarks as she places a mug of steaming black coffee for him down on the sink countertop.

“I'm a simple man, love. If I can put a smile on tha’ face o’ yours, I'm over the moon.”

“And you think being shirtless'll do that, yeah?”

“Don't deny it doesn't.”

“Thank you, love,” she whispers quietly, genuine in her gratefulness. 

He rises to stand, roller in hand, his jeans sitting below his soft belly, the trail of his adonis belt visible. Purposely flexing his chest, his pecs jump as he squeezes his impressive biceps for her.

Groaning, she rolls her eyes, unable to keep them from roaming over him. “Shut up you daft prick and get to work.” Curling her hand into the denim of his waistband, she tugs him towards her and he all too happily accepts her advances, ducking his head down so she can reach his lips. But she bypasses them entirely, opting instead to kiss the freckle on his nose. 

He's always been like this, quick to fix things around the house when he can, when it's within his expertise – and when it's not, she's caught him with many a how-to video on his phone. Never complains about chores, earns his keep. He's always been a provider, even as a teen with his mum, taking care of things at home while she worked two jobs. Sometimes she wonders if deep down there is a part of him that believes he has to pay back her kindness, the way she enjoys spoiling him, indulging him in the life of luxury he didn't know before. Perhaps they both have things they are insecure about, even after all this time together.

When she turns to leave, his chuckle carries down the hall after her, following her tail. On her six. He’s always there. The solid support that keeps her moving, keeps her marching forward, doesn’t leave her questioning the choices she’s made. 

Her father once asked her ‘Why him?’ and she couldn't give a straight answer, especially when so many of the reasons they were together were in redacted mission files. But the simplest answer was the culmination of protection, patience, praise, personality, and philosophy he provided, that they shared. How many other people would she meet that she could show her real face to? How many others could stomach the things she'd done and not recoil at the thought of violence committed by her hands? But these were of course things she could never tell her father, even if they were the subject of quiet whispers during a midnight conversation in bed with John.

She chose him. That's all that mattered. He was the one she would always choose, for better or worse.

Pulled back into the reality of a downed helicopter in the middle of a firefight against Shadow Company, the shouts of her team were muffled in her ears by the tinnitus ringing in the extended, soul-crushing beep of a flatline. The sound of life support finally being cut loose. Letting go. The overwhelming sense of dread nearly brought her to her knees with pulse-pounding terror at the thought of facing her greatest fear alone. Abandoned. It was like being struck by a lorry, her body crushing inward, a bruised and beaten heart struggling to pump in proper time as she reconciled with having the life of someone she loved being stolen from her once more. 

Gritting her teeth, she tried to force herself to breathe through the sudden anxiety that tried to cripple her, but her mind refused to be reasoned with. The wounds of grief were an improperly healed break – tender, quick to pain, felt bone deep. Raw. Time didn’t make things any easier, it just made a person forget until the fracture snapped and the ache could spill out. And spill it did. The torment of a stolen youth came flooding back, a life upheaved. The panic made for a perilous partner in life. Her hand gripping at her chest, fingers curling into the material of her shirt, she bent over at the waist and breathed deep. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Begging for the state of calm she found looking down the scope or looking into eyes that she trusted with a multitude of secrets, of frightening truths. 

“John…” His name was a breath on the wind as she watched the tendrils of smoke blow away, fading into barely-there wisps. Fingers flinching, the nerves spasmed as a tremor stirred to life in her joints. Not like this. I can’t just fucking stand here, she snapped at herself. I won’t. He needs me.

Soap’s boot hadn’t even gotten over the wall before Rory was already turning back for the crash site. Single-minded in her purpose, her strides ate up the concrete, bee-lining straight for where the black smoke continued to churn up into the sky. She ran. Ran to the point where her chest began to ache. Sprinting until the anchor of her lungs in her ribcage slowly dragged her down. Each ragged, searing breath clawing up her throat, tearing its way out of her mouth as her legs pumped with a mind of their own. The old, lasting hurt seeping from her pores with each pounding of a boot on the ground.

Ghost stomped up behind her moments later, every long step of a comfortable jog equaling out to two of hers. Clutching his rifle tight as he followed her, he glanced at her but said nothing. 

“Shut up, I know,” she said hoarsely, running down a never-ending, nightmarish stretch of black asphalt. Her pace felt inadequate as she surged forward, seeing how easily he kept up with her despite each step taking the effort of trudging through knee-high snow.

“Didn’t say anythin’.”

“Fuck you. You never have to, Si.” Her lips curled with annoyance, licking the salt of sweat off her top lip. “Absolute bullshit, that is, by the way.”

“He's gonna be fine,” he assured her, but it did little to sway the stress, having heard the fear in his own voice earlier as the bird went down.

“Don't. Not a fucking word until I get a visual on him.”

Rounding the building, her eyes widened, staring at the burning crater where the helicopter crash landed. Both seeing and unseeing, frozen in disbelief. Shattered glass, broken metal, and flaming wreckage were spread out around the crash site. Jagged edges kissed by fire jutted out in all directions, the tail sitting alone and smoking several meters away. 

Please, love. Please answer.

She worried her lip, biting harshly into the flesh until it stung, peeling it away with her teeth as she headed straight for the cabin, digging frantically back on the carnage of metal. The scorching heat had little effect on her – burns meant little if it meant getting to the only man she pictured spending the rest of her life with.

“John, love, can you hear me?” she called out, bending back one of the broken blades with Ghost’s help. 

Every rapid beat of her heart was just for him, hoping that as long as it pumped like a fist was squeezing it in her chest then his would too. For the first time in her life, she prayed.

At the sight of the gloved hand punching through the cracked windscreen of the downed helicopter, she damn near felt her soul leave her body with a sense of elation. The will for him to persevere pushed her into action as she cleared glass away using the heel of her hand covered in kevlar.

The golden rays of the waning light of day beamed into the cavernous darkness of the wreck and she caught a glimpse of that stupid bloody skeleton mask sitting askew, curled halfway up his face, whiskers on show. Reaching in, fingers wrapped around nylon and acrylic, she carefully pulled the mask off, giving him a clear airway free of the stifling material. His eyes were smeared in black, sweat streaking through it as it crept into the lines of his crow's feet. Despite the situation, drenched in sweat and grease makeup, she thought he was the most handsome man on the planet. 

“There you are…” she breathed, brushing her hand through his hair.

The relief was unparalleled when two clear blue eyes blinked open. A slight haze to them as he tried to focus past the light filtering in, staring up at her as if she were an angel there to save him. Soft and hopeful and full of recognition.

“Sweetheart…” he rasped.

She leaned into the battered cabin and smiled. “Not supposed to call me that on the job, remember?”

He huffed out a rough laugh, the dimples hidden by scruff coming into view like the first stars in the evening sky. “Get me the fuck outta ‘ere.”

“My pleasure.”

Taking his hand, wrapping her fingers around the large mitt she could never fully grasp, she helped pull him out, dragging him forward as he crawled out from the wreckage. Ghost doing the same for the pilot.

A moment passed between them, their boots on the ground, where all they could do was stop and stare at one another in the dusky hues of the late afternoon as they caught their breath. Hair sweaty and mussed, chests heaving, their shadows stretched out across the ground, growing outward away from the chaos. He was alive, he was right there. It was a bloody miracle – if she believed in those. 

Cupping his cheeks in her hands, her thumbs brushed over the peaks dusted with freckles and lines, assessing the damage. Nothing more than a few marks and scratches, some burns, a little blood. The fear had all but subsided except for one quiet lingering whisper that continued to remind her they were lucky this time… third time's the charm… a shiver coursing down her spine in response.

John brought her hand to his lips, kissing the bare pads of her fingertips in silent thanks for racing to his side. His eyes tender as he gazed down at her, the steely vision of the soldier unintentionally gentled by the woman wrapped in the strong, protective grasp of his arm around her waist. Planting his paw on her lower back, pulling her body in towards his,  crushing her against him, he soaked into her the way a plant derived nourishment from the sun.

The breeze ruffled their hair, the heat of the fire meeting with that of the waning sun and that of his skin as his thumb wiped away the makeup that streaked down her cheek with a bead of sweat. The flames of the crashed bird continued to flicker and flare behind them, spitting up at the sky and fueled by the ravenous desire to expand. The audience, the mission to finish – in this moment, it didn't matter – not as his lips crashed into hers. Not as his mustache tickled her skin. Not as his beard rasped against her chin as he tilted her head just so. Not as the rumble from his chest vibrated through her. Ramped up on adrenaline and fear, they kissed one another like they would never see their partner again, cognizant of how close they came to that situation once more, albeit the roles reversed. They gripped roughly at whatever they could get their hands on, heated and desperate. All sense of professional propriety gone, forgotten. 

Fingers wrapped around the shoulder straps of his vest, Rory pulled him deeper into her embrace as his hand fisted at her hair, kissing themselves breathless on the battlefield.

Ghost glanced away from the couple, standing stiffly as he cleared his throat once, then again a little louder. “Glad to see you’re still standin’, Price.” 

At the grating of Simon's chuckle, the couple parted, brushing their hands over their uniforms, straightening themselves out. Lips kiss-swollen and red, Price wiped his hand over his mouth as Rory turned away sheepishly and raked a hand through her hair. It was hardly becoming for a Captain and a Lieutenant to be seen in such a light, but who was going to call them out when every member of the 141 already knew their not-so-well-kept secret.

Glaring at the smouldering wreckage, a scowl curled John's lip as the mask of the lover fell away to reveal the warrior below. “Ruined my bloody mid-flight cigar. Tha's reason enough t’ kill Graves.”

“Someone's clearly in need of nicotine,” Rory said, patting his chest just above the pocket where he kept his cigars. “And a strong drink. We'll have to get you patched up as well, of course.”

He gruffed and reached for his radio when Ghost’s crackled first.

“Soap to Ghost. I’m with Rudy. Graves is KIA. How’s Price?”

Ghost gave Price a fleeting glance, a visual once over, and his eyes crinkled slightly as he smirked below his mask. “Angry. Lost a good cigar in the crash…” Checking on the younger man beside him, who much like the Captain, only suffered a few scrapes and burns, he continued, “Pilot’s okay too. Out.”

“So,” Rory said, looking between her fellow soldiers. “Graves is dead… Shadow’s been cleared out, and if there are any stragglers they’ll be quick to surrender, I’m sure. Your orders, Captain?”

“The prisoner. The Colonel and Gaz have ‘er secured. Need to have a chat.” Price’s stare was locked with hers, the unspoken orders exchanged between them.

“And I suppose by the way you’re looking at me, you think I can help with that, eh?” Angling her head to the side, she gave him a little smirk knowing exactly what he expected of her.

“There’s nobody better.”

“Then lead the way.”

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

[botgal]

CA Internet Bills Status as of 7/17/2024

I had wanted to wait to make this post until all of the bills updated texts had been uploaded to the usual sites, but it appears what whoever's supposed to be updating AB 3080 has been lagging, so I'll just go with what I have for now. It'll be long as I'll be looking at their statuses and analyzing their updated texts so I'll put it under a cut for now.

A reminder that California's legislature is currently on recess and will be until August 5th. So no immediately imminent bills at this exact moments. But please read below the cut to get more information on the deadlines coming up.

When I last posted, all three of the bills had gone into review in their respective committees and sadly all of them passed out.

AB 3080: 11 Aye - 0 Nay

AB 1949: 11 Aye - 0 Nay

SB 976: 7 Aye - 4 No Vote

All three bills have been amended during their time in committees.

Ab 3080

AB 3080 was amended and passed from committee as amended, it is now available for a floor vote. This is the only one of the three bills where its amended text hasn't been posted anywhere I can find. However, in the analysis of the July 3rd meeting, there were acknowledgements made that not only is there no effective and safe way to verify age to view online content, but also that the existence of VPNs can circumvent any attempts to region lock sites designated as "adult" (the definition as it stands still appears to be limited to commercial websites where more than 1/3 of their content annually is sexually explicit). And that the methods to implement such a thing on commercial and non-commercial websites alike can be prohibitively expensive. So the author of the bill agreed to amendments in the bill as such according to the analysis:

"In response to the concerns of opposition, the author has agreed to amendments that allow a less restrictive means to suffice in meeting the obligation of the bill, mitigating the impact on protected speech and expression. The amendments provide that “reasonable steps” includes the business implementing a system that includes metadata or response headers identifying the product as sexually explicit to parental control software, embedded hardware applications, and other similar services designed to block, filter, monitor or otherwise prevent a minor’s access to inappropriate online content, or that blocks users designated as minors by the operating system of the device used to access the website. It also limits enforcement of this new cause of action to the Attorney General and requires the Attorney General to promulgate regulations to provide better direction for reasonable steps to verify age in addition to those listed."

So it appears that the bill may allow more websites instead to mark themselves or certain portions of their content as adult in order to be properly vetted by in-device content filters and parental controls that can be set by the device operators (or their parents in the case of minors), rather than a method that would require users to provide identification.

It's eased up quite a bit since its initial incarnation. But it's still better safe than sorry with this kind of bill, so Californians let's still push the state senators to veto this bill completely.

Organizations in support of this bill:

Organizations in opposition to this bill:

AB 1949

AB 1949 was amended and passed from committee as amended, and is currently referred to the Senate Appropriations Committee.

This one has also seen some fairly positive changes during this committee analysis as can be seen in the latest version of the bill. The latest version has removed any indications towards age verification. As well as it having changed several of its details. The bill only comes into effect and prevents the sale of data if the website has actual knowledge of the users' age, and that there shall be an option for the user to transmit a signal that they are under 18 for this purpose. Which again should help the argument against strict age verification barriers due to advertising purposes.

"a business shall not use or disclose the personal information of a consumer if the business has actual knowledge that the consumer is less than 18 years of age, unless the consumer, in the case of a consumer at least 13 years of age and less than 18 years of age, or the consumer’s parent or guardian, in the case of a consumer less than 13 years of age, has affirmatively authorized the use or disclosure of the consumer’s personal information."

"A business shall treat a consumer as under 18 years of age if the consumer, through a platform, technology, or mechanism, transmits a signal indicating that the consumer is less than 18 years of age."

But, once again, it is best to still work against this bill and prevent its passing at all in case it there's push to use it as a stepping stone for any bills which may further push an age verification agenda.

Organizations in support of this bill:

Organizations in opposition of this bill:

SB 976

This bill passed with amendments and is currently referred to the California Assembly Appropriations Committee. Unfortunately no major changes have been made. Only an amendment clarifying that any parental controls are only meant to limit access to "addictive feeds" and limit access to school hours, not any of the content. As this function still requires a "verified adult parent to a minor", this still holds open the door to potential future age verification dangers. As it still states that an application may choose to withhold services to minors altogether, and explicitly leaves open the possibility to allow provisions for age "assurance". So we definitely want to strike this one down if we can.

Organizations in support of this bill:

Organizations in opposition to this bill:

As of this moment, the California Legislature is out on recess until August 5.

The Senate Appropriations Committee (AB 1949) is set to meet on August 5, no word on whether it will be heard that day or on the next set hearing, August 12. So if you wish to send a position letter to the committee it would be best to do so a week before that date, so by July 29. Just to be safe.

No word on when the Assembly Appropriations Committee is set to meet, but the deadline for fiscal committees to pass bills through is August 16, so I expect that SB 976 will be heard before that day at least.

And AB 3080 is set to go to the senate floor rather than be seen by another committee before being read. No word on when the next bill readings will be on the assembly floor after it's reconvened August 5th, but I'll keep an ear to the ground for that.

The last day for each house to pass their bills for the year will be August 31st. So any bills we can stop before then are halted for good for the year.

And for any bills that do slip through, the last day for the governor to sign, let pass without signing, or veto bills is September 30th. So even if the bills pass from the floor to his desk, there's still time to send him messages to urge him to oppose any that slip through.

Thank you for your time, both in reading this and in taking the time to help us fight these bills.

[charliewhaw]

What would happen if Alastor shared and accept Vox viewpoint of adaptation of time and advanced technology? Do you think you’ll become much stronger or just become very different but the same level!?

( This is a fun question! Alastor accepting new technology? Now there’s something to be curious about! ) (( Post edited and contributed to by balloondrifloon. ))

There are two ways this would go, and both have the same result.

Way one: Alastor would have accepted Vox’s offer to join the Vees. It would have either been a blatant yes or no, no in between. However, if Alastor said yes, then it’d be purely business.

He’d keep his friendship with Vox, so there would be that. But the Vees would only serve as a source of technological advancement for him.

Vox and Alastor would work together in creating new tech, but the advertisement of this new tech would be solely left up to Vox as Alastor’s interest in tech wouldn’t be monetary.

No, Alastor craves knowledge and power. He would contribute to the technological advances without participating in their intended uses. Like smartphones, for instance: He wouldn’t play on a smartphone, but instead, make smartphones fascinating enough to play on so he could spy on people through the phone cameras and microphones. He would spend his time gathering information to use against others when the time came.

Alastor’s true involvement in the Vees would be sinister. Outwardly, though, he would be a bubbly personality that Vox would happily show off to Hell as his partner in tech.

Way two: Alastor still rejects Vox’s offer. There’s no thought behind it other than not wanting to be owned by a company. He was an individual, after all. One that won’t easily go down as just another member of some organization. If he went down in history, he would want to go down as Alastor: The Radio Demon, not Alastor, that one member of the Vees.

If Alastor doesn’t join the Vees, he would have to put a lot more effort into staying on top of technology. However, Alastor is an insanely intelligent man and learning a new trick or two is definitely in his wheelhouse. He’d easily figure out coding and hardware design, with or without Vox’s help. Alastor’s technology wouldn’t be fun and entertainment-based like Vox’s tech is. It would be more focused, refined, and skilled at gathering intelligence. This could take any form that Alastor masters, such as hacking networks, spy systems, or even branching out into something uniquely his, like voodoo-infused weapons defense.

This would be available to the public but only in small quantities, because Alastor’s technology would still not be monetary focused. It would be considered an honor and privilege to own something Alastor designed, and people would literally kill each other for it. Owning weapons defenses, or spy systems, or being a part of his hacking networks would be seen as having a rare power. A sentiment Vox could never rival because his technology is commonplace.

Vox would have to fight to keep up with Alastor’s advancements. They’d constantly be toe-to-toe. Alastor’s would be creating software to hack into Vox’s defenses and gather data on both Vox’s audience and the Vees, while Vox would be in a constant state of upping his defenses to prevent that from happening. “Angelic Security” would never have been considered nor trusted seeing as hackers had a consistent window into Vox tech privacy and firewalls.

Vox, for the safety of his company, would attempt to put his rivalry aside and ask Alastor to join him on numerous occasions. These occasions would always be followed by rejection and another temper tantrum on Vox’s part.

In either situation, Alastor joining the Vees or not, Alastor would be the first to know anything that happens in Hell. You thought he was good at gathering intel to use to his advantage before? You’ve seen nothing yet. This would make it much, much worse. You wouldn’t be able to sneeze in your bathroom without Alastor knowing. Not a piece of information can get through Hell without being already known by Alastor.

Don’t call him Alastor. He prefers Al. It looked like “ai” and that amuses him.

You may think this is a lot of work for one individual, and you’d be right. Al can’t do it all by himself.

So he’d make himself an assistant.

His shadow would do just fine. He would infuse it with electricity and it would be able to jump into his tech and help with software design. Not only that, but it could easily travel through the wires and internet further work as Al’s eyes and ears on Hell.

Al doesn’t use a microphone. He’s got a headset looped around his neck at all times. The headset has little antlers and deer ears on it.

His attire is quite modern. Still spiffy, but modern-spiffy. He wears a red jacket that’s sleek, almost plastic-looking, and lacks tatters. It gives off a contemporary, digital appearance. Instead of his monocle, he wears smart sunglasses that have a HUD display from his point of view. The hoof-shaped soles of his shoes light up and change colors like RGB lights.

He’s really fun to look at.

Al would still attend the overlord meetings, however, he would seem far less interested, wanting to get back to what he was developing. He wouldn’t go in person, instead sending a hologram, so he could work while he listened to Carmilla talk.

Al wouldn’t have a radio tower. He’d have a recording studio with soundproof pads on the walls. Instead of using only radio, he would record digital audio, which he would make available live on his radio show, then later available on his website and other platforms as podcasts.

Al is a wifi hotspot. The hotel never lacks good wifi. People get so excited to see him because it means they finally have full bars in Hell’s naturally spotty connection. Vox’s wifi doesn’t reach everywhere, and where it does reach, it’s not exactly safe to use because Al’s hackers might be lurking, waiting for someone to connect.

Angel Dust would call him over to stand as near to him as he allows while he attempts to upload photos to Sinstagram.

Niffty wants him around while she streams her… ‘anime’… Al requests she wears headphones and keeps the screen from being tilted in his direction.

Charlie and Vaggie use him to keep up to date with the social media platforms Al advertises the hotel on.

Al runs the social media accounts for the hotel, even if they sometimes wished he didn’t. He might be technologically advanced, but he still doesn’t give a shit about what people think or say. His interest in social media is purely business and he has no fascination in it outside of keeping the hotel in the spotlight.

His influence would actually draw more people to the hotel, either as fans, or people who actually wonder if the hotel would work because someone as powerful and influential as him says it does.

He would monetize absolutely everything in social media that he could for the hotel’s budget, then leave the money at Charlie’s disposal.

Cannibal Colony takes a lot of influence from Al. Rosie does her best to keep the colony as tech free as she can, but she lets some things slip by if it means supporting her deer friend. That being said, they have an agreement that Al isn’t to bring new technology into the colony without Rosie’s approval.

Al’s voodoo power is still stronger than his tech power, but together, they’re a deadly combination. He infuses his voodoo into a lot of his tech, which is another reason his tech isn’t super mainstream. But, boy, does it pack a punch.

Al installs a soul detector at the hotel’s entrance without anyone knowing. It quite literally kicks any rejected souls away. Al decided one day that this included Lucifer. You can imagine the king’s surprise when a pixelated, hoof-cloven boot appeared out of the wall and punted him across the hotel’s front lawn.

Al’s prank was not appreciated.

Speaking of pranks, he’s constantly doing shit to ‘prank’ Hell. He never gives any context or ever comes out and says it was a prank, but you know he was fucking with you. Sometimes there’s not even proof he was, and it was simply a mind game. Pure entertainment for Al.

Like, for one example, Al dressed in blue all day long, only to act like everything was normal. He went outside and let people take photos of him. The next day, he’s back in his normal attire, and all photos of him have been altered overnight by his hacking systems and turned red. There is absolutely no proof he ever wore blue.

What? You saw it? No, you didn’t. He would never wear blue. Preposterous.

In conclusion, Alastor would be insanely powerful if he took advantage of technology. I guess we’re lucky he doesn’t.

[randomthefox]

Yeah, people treat Sonic as though it isn't one of the most popular video game series ever. Like getting into it is somehow as time-consuming and demanding as, idk, playing Dark Souls.

They made these games to be accessible to everyone. Furthermore, they have these games available on multiple platforms. It's not like this is the '90s anymore and the only way you can play Sonic CD is if you drop the '90s equivalent of $1,000 on a hardware upgrade. Thanks to the efforts of Christian Whitehead, you can now play it on a tablet or a phone.

Given the availability of the options, I'm gobsmacked that "I didn't play the games, I just made shit up relied on vibes and memory" IS STILL AN ACCEPTABLE THING TO SAY IN 2025. YOU COULD ADMIT THAT OUT LOUD WITH YOUR OWN MOUTH, AND PEOPLE WILL PAY YOU MONEY FOR YOUR PRODUCT.

(...And frankly, I don't even buy SatAM apologists' argument that Sega didn't give SatAM's crew enough to work with, because A.) that's not true, and B.) you mean to tell me Ben Hurst, Pat Allee and Len Janson, who created kids' cartoons, knew no kids who had a Sega Genesis at the height of the console wars? Really?)

Man, all I can say is God damn, hating Sonic games must be a lucrative business.

They wear their resentment and loathing for the video games on their sleeve. Always with the "SatAM/Archie/The Movies are what made Sonic so popular!" rhetoric. As if that isn't completely fucking backwards.

They're literally children's games for babies. You can play them on your damn phone. And honestly the phone version is the best version of those games available. And if you have an iPhone which statistically most people do, they're FUCKING FREE.

There is honestly NO LEGITIMATE EXCUSE for people not playing these games. They're FREE, and they're designed to be able to be beaten by a fucking five year old. I know this because I PLAYED THESE GAMES AS A FIVE YEAR OLD AND I BEAT THEM.

Sonic Adventure 2 is ON STEAM and it's only $10. You don't have $10 Mister Hollywood movie writer man??? It takes like three hours to play through. You don't have three hours in your work day to play the game while having your work laptop open and jot down script notes?

Naw, who needs to actually play the video game. It's just a stupid video game. Who cares. We're making a MOVIE, which will be good because movies are better than video games. I remember Shadow rode a motorcycle and used a gun or something right? Yeah just throw that into the movie, why bother to go back and actually check to make sure that makes sense.

The people who make these movies literally just fucking hate Sonic and they're not even TRYING TO HIDE IT ANYMORE they're openly admitting that they didn't bother to ACTUALLY PLAY THE GAME what does that tell you about their opinion about the games??

[rearranged-fanfic]

(Update 6/3)

Sit down a spell, weary traveler. Come and sit by my fire; bask in the warmth of the flame and rest your aching scrolling finger. You'll be sitting a while, for I have a tale to tell:

Okay, so I've had a Toshiba laptop for the better part of ten years. Maybe a little longer. That laptop has survived being struck by lightning, submerged in a bathtub, and literally having a whole bookcase topple down onto it. I thought it was immortal...

I was sadly mistaken.

About six months ago, I noticed that the typing was getting sluggish. I'd patter away at the keyboard and the letters would appear with a bit of lag. That's fine, since I use Dragon to talk-to-text for quite a bit of my writing. I really only use the keyboard for final assembly, editing, and doing quick rewrites. So, it really didn't bother me. Fastforward to April, which we will call The Great Depression. The time discrepancy between typing and having letters appear on screen became a whopping 40 seconds. Yes, I timed it.

But that was okay, because I could still use my Dragon headset.

Until I couldn't.

It would connect, but the words wouldn't appear on screen. I made sure that all of my programs were up-to-date, and that everything was working. The headset connected to my family's computers just fine. So that meant it was something wrong with mine.

Without being sure if it was the hardware or software at fault, I backed everything up to OneDrive and Google Docs.

I factory reset.

Twice. To no avail.

Over the next few days, my laptop stopped registering any keyboard input at all. It got to a point where I wasn't able to turn it on or off.

Taking it to an electronics store to get repaired didn't help, either. No luck. They said that it would be more cost effective to just buckle down and get a new one, since the age of the laptop meant that I would probably be constantly maintaining it.

My poor Toshiba died kicking and screaming, putting up a fight worthy of an epic ballad.

I saved up for a few weeks, got a new laptop, and went through the rigmarole of getting all of my programs back on it. My files are in order. My life is in shambles (but that's normal, LOL).

I DID do some story work without my computer, but... it's bad. Like, I'd die in shame if I posted anything that I thumbed in. So. Many. Spelling. Errors. How people write on their phone is beyond me. That's a talent I simply don't possess.

At this point, I'm thinking of renaming this story "HIATUS" lol. JK. But I'm seriously peeved that this happened after my last big break. Why couldn't the Depression and laptop breakdown coincide nicely? I guess that's too much to ask of the universe *Shakes fist at the sky*.

I'm creating a damn bingo card for every stupid thing that happens to me while I try to write. Because this is getting ridiculous. I broke my fingers, there was a total solar eclipse, I had a major-ish mental breakdown, and my computer bit the big one. With a free space, that's a bingo. Let's hope I don't get a blackout before the end of 2024.

I doubted the fanfiction curse. I really did. But it's apparently real. And this writer's curse has teeth, people. It bites hard.

I have my MerMay two-shot pretty well done (because I was typing it during The Great Depression), but the next chapter for REARRANGED is still rough. Crimson Chapter 3 is halfway done, but who knows how long that'll take.

The bottom line is that I'm alive and still working on the stories. The next update on this blog will be the posting of several chapters for a few different works. Fingers crossed.

Also, I'm very, very slowly answering the comments in my AO3 inbox. Some of them were pretty lengthy, so it might take a bit. Oof.

If there ever comes a time that I drop this fanfiction or am unable to continue for whatever reason, either I or my husband will be posting the entirety of my outline, as well as anything that's been pre-written for you guys to enjoy. That way there are no questions left unanswered or mysteries unsolved.