#Factory Drop In Anchors

[fangirlfuel]

After the Storm

---

Esteban didn’t speak the entire drive back to the hotel.

The city lights blurred past the window like streaks of color — orange, red, white — but he barely blinked. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, clenched. You watched his jaw flex, the tendons in his neck tight, like he was holding something in.

And you knew he was.

It had been a terrible race. A crash that wasn’t his fault. A retirement. A pit strategy that didn’t make sense. But more than that — it was the growing pressure, the whispers in the paddock, the endless “What’s next for Esteban Ocon?” questions that no one seemed to have the answer to.

You reached out and placed your hand on his. Warm. Grounding. He glanced at you, eyes tired but soft.

“I’m here,” you said gently.

He didn’t say anything, but his fingers curled around yours like they needed the anchor.

When you reached the hotel, Esteban didn’t go straight to the elevator. Instead, he lingered in the underground garage, leaning against the car as if the silence there gave him more peace than the polished luxury above.

You stood beside him, close but not crowding him.

“Want to talk about it?” you asked softly.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. His French accent was thicker when he was tired, when he didn’t bother to guard himself. “I feel... numb.”

You waited.

He turned to face you, and your heart clenched at the look in his eyes. Not anger. Not even sadness. Just that deep, hollow ache of someone who didn’t know how much longer they could keep pretending it didn’t hurt.

“I gave everything,” he whispered. “And it still wasn’t enough.”

You stepped closer, your hand gently resting on his chest. His heart thudded beneath your palm, a steady rhythm in the quiet gloom.

“Esteban... look at me.”

He did.

“You are not the result of one race. Or ten. You are not defined by points or podiums or contracts. You are you — the man who never stopped fighting. The man who never had it easy but still made it. Don’t you dare forget that.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands coming up to hold your waist, drawing you nearer.

“Why do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you.”

That broke something in him.

He buried his face in your shoulder, arms wrapping around you like he needed to feel everything real and solid in a world that felt like it was falling apart. You held him tight, running your fingers through his hair, whispering nothing in particular — just soft reassurances, just warmth.

Just love.

---

Back in the room, he showered silently while you laid out his favorite hoodie — the faded Alpine one he always stole from the factory. He didn’t say a word when he came out, hair damp, eyes a little clearer. But when he saw you curled on the couch in one of his shirts, waiting with a blanket and warm tea, something softened in him.

He walked over, dropped beside you, and pulled you into his lap.

“Can I stay like this?” he asked.

You nodded, threading your arms around his neck. “As long as you need.”

The tea went cold. The city outside dimmed. The air between you hummed with unsaid things, but not all silence needed to be filled.

Eventually, Esteban spoke. Quietly.

“I was always afraid I’d have to fight for everything. Even love.”

You tilted your head, watching him.

“But then you came along,” he added. “And you didn’t make me earn it. You just gave it.”

“Because it was always yours,” you said.

He looked at you then — really looked — and something in him broke open. Vulnerability. Gratitude. Maybe even a little awe.

“You see me,” he whispered.

“Always.”

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and full of everything he didn’t know how to say. Not desperation. Not heat. Just a kiss like home. Like thank you. Like don’t go.

When you finally pulled apart, foreheads touching, he smiled for the first time that day. A small one. Real.

“I don’t know what’s next,” he admitted. “But with you... I’m not as scared.”

You brushed a thumb along his cheek. “Then we’ll face it together.”

He nodded, arms tightening around you.

“Mon amour,” he said, barely a breath. “Thank you.”

---

That night, the world outside could’ve collapsed — and Esteban wouldn’t have noticed.

Because he had you.

And you? You had him.

In the silence. After the storm.

---

[etherealily]

ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ // ꜰʀɪᴇᴅʀɪᴄʜ ʜᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ

Friedrich Harding + fem!reader. Based on this ask <3

My other fics, if you have the time.

Note : Haven't done physics since high school, don't be smart alecks in the comments. Also, I somehow wrote pure love? No angst? Ew.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're a modern marvel, and he's a futuristic businessman looking to invest.

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"Women are not common in this line of work."

His tongue's close to the mouth of his cigar, and he wonders for a moment if that may accidentally send off the wrong message. Entice you, perhaps. Seduce you. Inadvertently offend you.

"But not unwelcome?" A tilt to your lips. A sip of your wine, and his eyes reluctantly follow the drops down your throat as you gulp.

"Not at all." He's not sure how to do business with a woman, truly. He's trying to be respectful, but he's lost. Did that smirk mean you wanted his business or wanted him? Or both? Or neither?

"You are... a feminist, then, I take it?"

"A feminist? What a novel word. Is it French?"

"It is, indeed. Fourier penned it down first. Means someone who believed women and men can belong in the same opportunities, if I am not mistaken."

"But they do not."

"Come again?"

"You would not be able to imagine a man in the art of child-rearing and a woman sweating in a factory, now could you? Well, unless there is something gone terribly wrong in their lives. A loss of their spouses, perhaps, leading to him to raise or her to provide."

"And this is your segue into saying something has gone terribly wrong with the deal?"

He smirks. Beautiful. "Precisely. Your father and my father had been in business decades ago, and had a fixed deal. Which was expertly designed to benefit both sides back then, but times have changed, wouldn't you agree?"

"The deal is outdated?"

"Very much so. Aged like... milk, perhaps, though I suspect our fathers hoped for wine.", he replies, licking his lips before he leans back to rest his arm on the back of the exquisitely crafted chair you have allowed him to seat himself in.

"I can give you this...", you say, punctuated with a tap of your finger on the topmost layer of the collection of photos (expensive to procure, he notes. You must have fit into your inheritance of the business perfectly) "And throw in its newer model, as well, and lower it to the same price as the original, but that's all I can do."

"But it appears the original has increased in price.", he observes, one knee over the other.

"I assure you, Herr Harding, no price increase is without reason. Tough times, wouldn't you agree?"

His tongue rolls around to the back of his molars, before he shakes his head. "What else can you offer me?"

You lean forward. "This, this, and perhaps an anchor or two."

"For?"

"Twenty-five."

He snorts. "And if I walk out right now?"

"I will close the door behind you. I do not wish to let in a draft."

Audacious.

"You need to help me out here, I'm afraid.", he smiles, courteous and professional. It doesn't matter how breathtaking you were, this was a business meeting.

"Trust me, Herr Harding, this is me helping you out."

"There has to be something you can do. I cannot, in good conscience, you see, unjustly increase my procurement costs while our profits stay stagnant."

You point. "Ah. Stagnant, but never bad."

"No one would say no to more money, would they, madam?"

You laugh at that, though hushed and polite. "Alright. Three of the new models, then. Three anchors. No originals."

"The new models at the price of the originals?"

"Yes."

He stands, his hand out. "You have a deal, madam."

"Thank you, sir."

Your handshake's firm, he notes. You've either been rigorously trained, or you're made for this.

"I do, however, have a condition, Herr Harding, one that I know my father set, but not rigidly enough, not even nearly, and all our customers skirt around it."

He nods, his brows furrowing for a moment, before he sighs. "The weaponry."

"The weaponry.", you affirm. "Herr Harding, we provide solely for cruise ships and merchant ships, not military ships, not ones which create havoc in the oceans."

"You refer to the HMS Medusa.", he mutters, attempting to fix his hat on just perfect so that you are not privy to the bulging vein on his forehead. He recalled the horror stories his father told him about sea-wars, and conversely, the horror stories he'd been told of his business partner who refused to take part in naval ship-building.

"It is said to be huge, stacked with carronades, and it is already the talk of the town, despite having just been ordered this year.", you explain, your hand gesturing to the door of the study so that you may walk him out.

The clicking of heels overlap, just as your voices do.

"But madam, military ships are the new—"

"I am aware, but it was my late father's wish—"

"I understand that, however, you must think of how it looks for me to refuse my customers - the Navy, essentially - simply because you do not wish your accessories part of a military effort.", he reasons, his fingers skirting around the rim of his hat.

"These are my conditions, Herr Harding. I will have my people draw out the deal, and if you are not interested, simply do not sign. I bid you a good evening."

His first time dealing with a woman was proving to be the last time he'd ever want to.

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Friedrich had grown up watching his Papa at the factory, his little feet straining to keep up with Herr Harding's purposeful strides as he moved with his hands behind his back, his workers earning warnings, instructions, and approval alike from their boss.

Now, he is the Herr Harding, and he, too, strode with his hands pinned behind him, moustache twitching every time that he sees something he approves of. "Good job, Johann.", he mutters offhandedly, before his eyes fixate on something approaching him.

The annoying "businesswoman" who could not even lower her price for one of her oldest, most trustworthy business partners. You.

Yet, he remains civil, cordial, even, as he walks to you. Although, it's hard to remain himself when the sunset on the horizon strategically behind you blazes the edge of your hair just so. It's as though your hair's dripping Sun.

"You might have written, I could have sent a rider to bring you on horseback."

"Ah, that's no trouble. I quite like walking by the port. The sea breeze calms me."

"So, this is a random visit, then?"

Your brows furrow. "No, it is mentioned in the drawn-up agreement that you signed. We come and ensure our materials are not being used on a war ship, or anything to do with the military."

He fights a scoff and suppresses an eye roll. "Right. I must've missed that. It is the first time this has ever happened. Do you mean to say, all these decades, you have had spies?"

You chuckle at that, shaking your head. "No, no, this is a new condition that we added. We— Herr Harding."

You've noticed, it seems.

"Those are cannons."

"That will be covered. They will be tucked in safely to the—"

"Herr Harding, it was my father's wish not to inadvertently induce violence, because his father, my grandfather, said to him—"

"Military ships are the new necessity.", he grits out, patient and firm.

"My father believed—"

"Your father believed that he could bring popularity to such an imbecilic concept as "cruise ships", madam! They have never, and will never exist ; there is no one with such an interest in the sea besides pirates and dolphins, and your father, god rest him!"

Your scoff (and what would have been a very biting retort, he's sure) is cut off when the foghorn sounds. It seems to give you enough of a jolt not to say something you do not mean, although Friedrich knows that what he's just said had crossed a line.

"You are a liar, then, Herr Harding."

His arms open, almost like a hug, although you know it is not. "I am a businessman, madam."

"A liar. We should not like to do business with you again."

"You cannot afford to lose us as customers!", he calls to your retreating figure. "You know this!"

"My father used to tell your father everything, but those times have changed! You and I are not best mates, Herr Harding! I have gained a lot more customers than you know of!"

That gives him pause.

Truth of the matter was that he could not afford to lose your business.

He sighs. God. Doing business with a woman? Hell. No wonder "feminism" was such a novel phrase. Hopefully it stays in France.

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His hat presses against his chest as your maid opens the door.

"Is the Madam in?"

He's not sure what they call you, but he's sure they won't take it kindly if he used their Lady's first name so casually.

"Sir, it has nearly gone midnight."

"It is alright, Frieda.", a voice is heard, and his brows bunch together, paired with a squint of his eyes, and he can almost make you out in the bluey dark of the night, your beauty highlighted by the vague orange tint of the maid's candlelight. What a challenge you were proving to be. "Let him in."

His gaze is fixed on the floor when you excuse yourself to tighten your robe's knot, and then, he dutifully follows you into your study, which is surprisingly already sparkling with gentle glows of burning candles throughout, a gold sheet over the dull browns he'd been privy to not a month before.

"This is wildly improper, Herr Harding."

"Yes, yes. I am aware. I simply wished to convey my apology. I... spoke out of line, and I hurt you. I, of all people, know how tender the name of a father is in a child's head, how precious, and it was a line I did not wish to cross."

"Is that it?"

He huffs. He could leave while he's in the safe zone, having apologised for both the rudeness and the late-night visit. But when has Friedrich ever been able to resist a tiny peek past someone's walls, especially someone as exquisite as you, in your nightrobe, repeatedly running your hands through your hair to ensure the results of sleep (or tossing and turning) left it?

"No. If you have time, I'd like to go over the next order."

You raise a brow for a moment, before you scoff. "Unbelievable."

He, for one, did not expect this. "Come again?"

"Midnight, on a Sunday, and you expect—"

"I'm sorry, I'm confused, how does the day matter?"

"No one reads the contracts!", you whine, shouldering past him and causing him to lurch forward to hold onto the table for balance. You return rather huffily, dropping a tiny stack of papers identical to the one delivered to his house nearly a month ago for him to sign, onto the table with a flutter. "We've adopted Industrial Britain's idea of a "week-end", though they have only Saturday afternoons off. We have a five day workweek. It's novel, but I've found it highly increases my employees' spirits, and they work better."

His finger slides across the page as he reads, his lips mouthing the words before his striking blue eyes move up to yours, brimming with incredulity. "You're telling me that two days of the week, neither you, nor your employees work? And you've somehow managed to gain customers in this... this... chaotic new system of yours?", he splutters, his hands running through his hair.

"It intrigues people that my company's services are not available every day of the week, it makes it seem scarce and exclusive and—"

"Mad! I'm in business with a madwoman, a child, as well, as I've found out from due research on my part."

"I am twenty, I am no child!", you retort, stacking up the papers with aggressive taps onto the table, before you move past him to place them back.

"Two decades you've lived on this planet, then, and more than half that time, you were a child, a non-conscious entity that merely did as told!", he spits, his arms folded so as to not clench and reveal just how vexed he was.

"And, what, you've got a couple decades on me, have you?", you scoff, mirroring his stance. "You're twenty-five, Friedrich, you are considered young in this world, as well!"

The use of his first name is what sets him off. How dense of him to expect the same courtesy of professionalism from a twenty-year-old, a girl at that, that he so kindly provided? It's almost like your very presence disturbs the air around him, tugs at the very ends of his self-restraint, offends his sense of propriety.

His hand is on you in an instant, the soft curve of the side of his palm aligning with your jawline, his index and thumb digging into your cheeks on either side, so hard he could feel your pulse. "Yes. That's half a decade wiser, little girl.", he hisses, ignoring the rage in your eyes in favour of glancing down at your lips.

It's almost as if you're aware of every silly, sinful, wrong thought that's just permeated through his brain that instant, because you slap him away, the impact echoing through the room.

He knows what's coming. It's what any self-respecting woman would do. But before you shriek 'get out', he's going to attempt to salvage this wreckage of a business relationship.

"If you are so against ships on the offensive side, enlighten me with your plans for how ships — even merchant ones — may be able to defend themselves from being seized by pirates or enemies of the Crown.", he challenges, breathily, because he's just come this close to heaven, and hadn't even made his presence known at the gates.

Your demeanour shifts, a split second frown on your brows. "Come again?"

"You have any ideas for a ship that runs solely on defence? Because I'll tell you something, if you manage, that, you'll be a pioneer."

You suck on your teeth, eyes dancing around the room. "Do I have your word to maintain secrecy?"

"Of course."

"Herr Harding.", you warn.

"Yes, you have my word."

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"Welcome, Herr Harding, to the future."

It's good there's a lack of light in this room, because it'd have been over for his dignity had you seen his jaw slacken.

"Now, believe it or not, growing up, I was quite the patriot. Quite the skeptic, too, although those often go hand-in-hand.", you begin, gesturing for him to duck as he nearly collides with a hanging model of a ship.

"And I, too, asked my grandfather and father how they hoped to engage solely in non-violence. I thought, should our enemy attack, we must be properly armed to strike back."

He follows you through the expanse of what most houseowners would use as a wine cellar, traipsing past tiny models of ships with labels he can't read, because you refuse to linger long enough with the lamp.

"Then, I realised, a good offence is worth nothing if your ship has already acquired a heavy amount of damage."

"So... you have come up with a preventative measure? Some form of device that can detect offensive intention?"

The glint in your eyes travels to your mouth as you grin. "Not quite, Herr Harding."

He loves this, he decides. There's something about the excited, almost manic way you move around, floaty, dreamlike, angelic, as you speak about what he assumes is the only thing that brings you joy and solace alike, since your father's passing.

"What if you could detect the approach of another ship, as well as its speed and direction?"

Friedrich tilts his head. "Surely you don't mean to suggest—"

"This contraption, Herr Harding, can do two calculations at once. First, the speed of the waves in general will move this knob any which way.", you demonstrate, tapping your nails on the glass. "However, this knob is for any irregularity, any... ripples, I would say, that disturb this regular pattern. Ripples big enough not to be a whale or dolphin, that is."

Remarkable. He must remember not to gasp. "Seems there are plenty variables."

You seem genuinely pleased by that. "A man of science. Good. Yes, this is a prototype. I'm working on it. However, this...", you declare, moving around the unnaturally long table to another model. "A propeller that minimises cavitation—"

"Propellers? For big ships?"

"Why not? David Bushnell did it in 1776. Why can we not?", you ask, a glimmer of mischief in your tone. "Now, these minimise cavitation, which will minimise noise. And less noise means..."

"They won't see us coming."

"That's on the offense-side, Herr Harding. I mean to say that we can creep past them, most likely. I also have a method of creating safe fog that envelops around the ship but not the crew."

He's in absolute awe.

He settles in the study armchair upstairs with a huff after you two climb the arduous stairs, without invitation, though he has a nagging feeling that the two of you had gone far past that.

"You do not mean to tell me you come up with these alone?", he muses, the question a scream in the tranquil of your study at one in the morning.

"You do not mean to tell me you run your business alone?", you retort.

"You are fascinating.", he murmurs, and you pretend you didn't hear it.

"Am I allowed to include these in my ships? Or will it take a while to perfect?"

"It will take a while."

He nods. "Fair enough. I feel honoured to have seen these."

You seem quite pleased at that, a form of childlike validation, it seems.

He points at you with a single ringed finger, with playfully narrowed eyes to boot. "You tell me the moment it's ready, alright? The propeller and the... the fog... contraption. Yes?"

You nod, and he stands, his fingers drumming at his waist. "Anything else?"

You shake your head. "I will give you the regular order by...", you mumble, flicking through pages and pages of a rough yet new book, presumably a ledger. "The fourth?"

The corners of his lips curl down in acknowledgement. "Alright."

He reaches over to the table behind you, nearly desperate for a taste of heaven once more. But he is nothing if not a gentleman, so he clutches onto the hat he'd been pretending to reach for. "I shall take my leave. Thank you for bearing with me tonight."

Doing business with a woman was tiresome, but a business with an inventor? Fantastic, magic, even.

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Friedrich isn't sure when his nails had become this blunt. Surely he had a lot more left to chew? He flexes his hands before him. No, he has not got anything left but skin to chew. It's tempting, but he wouldn't want blood to stain his legal documents as he signs them.

Perhaps one day, there will be an invention where a message once sent can receive a reply immediately, without the sender having to anxiously await it. Hell, perhaps you'll invent it.

For now, however, he has to wait the stipulated three days. You live too far, he thinks. Unnecessary.

Today, ideally, is when the return letter should have arrived.

Nine words is all he'd written.

Nine words and that had taken, possibly seventy-two hours to reach you, and another seventy-two for a letter back to reach him.

He wishes it would reach, but he sits, wringing his hands together, a bit too close to his candle.

He contemplates attempting the trick many a friend of his has shown him, swiping a finger through the flame, but recalls that this is possibly the hand he will have to use to place a ring on your finger.

If you accept.

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The fog of the early morning, and the fog from trying out your fog-contraption amalgamate into what can only be known as the eeriest blanket Friedrich has ever found himself cloaked in.

But he finds himself cloaked in anticipation a moment later, because something nearly angelic, a silhouette of sorts that seems equal parts ominous and ethereal. He knows it's you.

As you get closer, however, his mind begins to play tricks on him. You're either holding the letter he sent you, or some sort of cleaver meant to mutilate him, and in this fog, he's sure he'd be left unprotected. He's rooted to the spot.

"'I have a proposal. A real one this time.'? What is that supposed to mean?"

It is the former. The letter.

He cocks his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. The daftest, most dexterous girl he's ever loved. "You do not understand? I thought I was the epitome of clarity."

"No, by all means, be vaguer.", you hiss, waving the letter around in front of his face. "Perhaps I'll understand in about a century."

Shaking his head, Friedrich moves closer. "Did you see what came with it?"

"Yes.", you mutter, handing him the necklace. He folds your fingers around it, gently pushing it back to you.

"The ring in it, acting like a pendant? It is for you. Clear now?"

You remind him of a statue, the way you're looking at him, the only indication that you are alive being the way your eyes dart between his.

"Clear now?", he repeats, fingers reaching for your earring. "Lovely is the woman that wears diamonds."

No one has ever said that in his life. He's sure you're smart enough to figure that out, but you say nothing.

"These are pearls.", you scoff, grateful for one bit of banter, one subject change, at the very least.

He nods, biting his lip. "True. But this is not.", he murmurs, tapping on the ring resting on your palm, along with the chain around it.

"I—"

"I do not wish to be unprofessional, and I definitely do not wish to embarrass you, in any way, shape or form, because I have given you more than a tiny peek— no, an endless view behind my walls, and as a businessman... well, you know more than most how that is a suicide in the business world. I— I am afraid I am rambling, and taking up far too much of your time."

Shaking your head offhandedly, you rub the delicate chain between your fingers, your mind clearly elsewhere.

"You do not have to give me an answer that you do not want to give. You do not, in fact, have to give me an answer at all. But you did come onto this pier, to my port, because you wanted... at the very least, to know more."

You don't respond, so he pushes. "Am I right in assuming that?"

"I don't know why I came."

"I don't know why I wrote. We are in the same b— well, ship."

That earns a pity-laugh out of you.

Sighing, Friedrich is forced to shake his head for the thousandth time in your presence, and he's prepared to do it for the rest of his life, if you'll have him. "Here."

"What?"

"May I?", he asks, his palms hovering over your shoulder until you nod with permission. He places them on your shoulders, gently steering you to face the ship. "That's your fog-contraption."

He sees you smiling.

"The propellers are, of course, not visible, but I can show you the plans later."

You're still smiling.

"Look at the ship. Our ship. Your ship."

You do, and he swears he just saw a spark fly in your eyes. God.

"And now, look at me. The only question you need to answer is whether you can look at both the ship and me the same way."

Your lips part, and he's not sure if you're simply amused that he's compared himself to a ship, to your life's work, or if you're about to say something.

It seems to be neither.

You just keep looking at him, and it's throwing him off, frankly.

"What is it?" Perhaps you cannot see him in this fog.

"I'm not—"

Not in love with you.

Not interested.

Not an idiot.

Not ever going to reciprocate.

"Not what?"

"Not sure that's fixed right.", you say, and he looks over his shoulder. The fucking contraption. Teach him to love an inventor. "It's getting caught in the— hold on."

You make for the ship, but he grabs your arm, close enough that it seems like you're in the glistening study again, illuminated solely by candlelight and love. However, his fingers do not jab into your cheeks this time, no, this time, they flow against your features, jaw clenching, throat bobbing as the words he wishes to say are somehow adhered right there.

"I will not hold on.", he says, sternly. "Either kiss me, or give me an explanation, but I will not be made to wait."

He's sure he's inches away from throwing himself into the murky waters beside him.

"My affections may be seen as offensive, or seen as repulsive, or even, unfortunately, disrespectful, but I find comfort in the fact that they are at least seen.", he murmurs, his forehead against yours, tiny little kisses blooming on each of your knuckles.

He's really, desperately hoping your little fog machine works, because the last thing he needs are his employees seeing a younger woman reject him, especially with the bluntness you seem to possess and wield.

"Are they seen? Tell me they are seen. They are seen, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Are they reciprocated?"

"I'm not sure."

A tilt of his lips. "But there is a chance."

Nodding, you shrug. "Yes."

"You're a scientific mind. Tell me the chances. Not in percentages, I can never comprehend them."

A small laugh escapes you. He wants it to ring through his ears until he's driven further into insanity. "A good one."

"Air-travel-being-invented-by-tomorrow-good, or I-can-kiss-you-now-good?"

It's cheeky, he knows, and he knows you're amused, if your scoff is any indication. "Well, you know, I think it may take a few decades, but air travel may be—"

"Teach me percentages so I can tell you which feature of yours occupies which percentage of my heart.", he murmurs, shaking his head with a breathless "Shh-shh-shh." at your imminent snarky retort.

Friedrich will let you talk later. For now, as his lips move with yours and the fog acts like the veil you will wear when he weds you, he'll do the talking.

[jellycreamjammedart]

For Cassie, do any of the stuff she had back in the Pizzaplex still have a use for her in the Playtime caves?

What tools does she add to her arsenal?

Should we assume that the underground part of Playtime is so large that parts of it can plausibly be underneath a mall kilometers away?

Answering your last question first, I'd say yes. Which probably would help make sense how an elevator from the underbelly of the PizzaPlex can crash-land through the cavern into the Prison or the Mining area of Playtime Factory, when the top surface locations of both business being not even remotely close to one another. Even though the whole thing still sounds kind of silly.

As for Cassie's arsenal, she certainly would still have everything she had in the PizzaPlex minus the AR collectibles. The problem is that initially none of those tools are compatible with Playtime Co. tech and machinery, not to mention the complete lack of a V.A.N.N.I network (and thus, Helpi is also offline.)

But with how intuitive Cassie was with those tools back in RUIN, on top of being daughter of a technician, she certainly would be able to eventually circumvent the incompatibility and make modifications/adaptations to make her tools functional again, with the addition of a few cables and stuff to help make those possible.

At the beginning she'd only have her Faz-Wrench with very limited use, as I headcanon it can also work as a taser (it is kinda shaped like one when you think about it too, doesn't it?) which is a decent help for defense. it'd require modifications for any of its hacking properties though- which might be possible already in design (if you inspect the 3d model of the Faz-Wrench you can see input sockets for cables like USBs.) One of its prongs got slightly bent in the elevator drop, but that's an easy fix (easy but still needing delicacy in handling.) With enough adaptations, it could be very useful to help troubleshoot and maintain some machines like Safe Haven's generator.

The VANNI mask is as good as a cheap Halloween mask at first. But if Cassie manages to restore functionality to it without the network, it'd essentially work on its own grid, and be used as a neural-based controller for other devices if Cassie wears it. There's no "AR world" or VANNI network in Playtime Co. though, so it can't quite work the exact same way as it did back in the PizzaPlex... but with it she can see through walls! And now there's no M.X.E.S. limiting her time to use it meaning it's relatively safer to wear (though I imagine seeing through walls for too long in a row could cause a sensory overload perhaps? Hm, that would have to be a togglable property.) The mask would also make Cassie invisible to The Doctor just as it did for the Glamrock Endos and Ruined Glamrocks (but back then that was just trading them for M.X.E.S.) The Doctor sees "everything", but it's always through technology like cameras and monitors, things susceptible to the mask's interference, since he no longer has his organic eyeballs. Along with the see-through-walls property, I imagine Cassie MAYBE also developing other vision modes like infrared, night vision, heat vision, etc. Hell, if she gets one of those gas masks Playtime Employees would wear, she could use it to further upgrade the VANNI mask to also double as a gas mask to keep her safe from the red smoke. And perhaps restore its ability to run simulations too, like the one we see in the Brazil Ending... so long Cassie doesn't get too lost in her own memories and lose touch with reality- but current friends like Doey would be great anchors to help prevent that.

Flashlight? Broke. Busted in the elevator fall. RIP.

The Roxy-talky technically would already be usable, but it'd run in a frequency that doesn't match Playtime Co. communication-- Com'on, of course Fazbear Entertainment would design those things that way to force customers into buying more of their own mascot-talkies, rather than have them work with any other walky-talkies. Greedy corp shitty designs, amirite? Other walky-talkies would have to be manually recalibrated to run on the same frequency the Roxy-talky does in order to communicate with it. Sounds like a hassle, but would allow for a safe isolated communication line if you get what I mean.

Once Cassie is more recovered from her injuries, I think Doey would get her a GrabPack with a few hands- not that he'd expect anything from her, but if you don't have one you're very limited in what you can do there. And boy, that girl would overhaul that shit over time, especially when combining it with her own tools already. Connecting the mask to it as a neural controller would let her control the GrabPack with pretty much just her brain so her actual hands remain free. Controlling the GrabPack that way would also increase the dexterity of the hands meaning they're a lot more posable with a wider-range of movement (picture Cassie shooting a hand out towards Player/Employee only for it to stop inches away from their face with the middle finger up. Admit it WE all wished we could do that with those hands DONT LIE LOL.)

And that's not mentioning the hypothetical scenario of Doey and perhaps the more capable toys of Safe Haven hunting The Doctor's automatons for sport for parts. Who freaking knows what else Cassie could add to her arsenal with such resources.

At this point, she DREADS the possibility of being limited and unable to help those left that she holds close like it happened in the PizzaPlex, so she really would start applying herself, especially technologically, for her toy friends in Safe Haven. She learned in the PizzaPlex, and would vow to do better for Safe Haven.

[purplehairedwonder]

not sure if you are still doing snippets (which have all been amazing by the way!) but would love to see law maybe deciding on dressrosa to try and seduce doffy to give the strawhats more time?

Definitely still taking them, anon! Sorry for the delay in posting it; for some reason, it gave me more of a challenge than I was expecting when I sat down to write it, but I think this would be fun to expand into a full one-shot!

The first thing that Law registered as consciousness returned was pain; his entire body throbbed, and even thinking about moving sent a jolt of white-hot pain down his spine. More than that, his body felt heavy, every limb like an anchor, and his brain foggy—telltale symptoms of Seastone.

The second thing he noticed was that he had woken up at all. And, as he cracked his eyes open to be met by Doflamingo’s toothy smirk, he wondered if he would come to regret that.

“There he is,” Doflamingo said. “I was starting to think you would sleep all day, Law.”

“Where are my manners,” Law drawled. “The hospitality has been so generous.” He raised a shackled wrist a few inches in emphasis. That height was all he could manage between the drain of the Seastone and his injuries before dropping it back to the armrest.

“I see your smart mouth hasn’t abandoned you,” Doflamingo said with an amused quirk to his lips. “Unlike the rest of your allies.”

“You used to like my smart mouth,” Law replied, though Doflamingo’s words broke through the haze in Law’s sluggish brain. The Straw Hats on the Thousand Sunny must have gotten away with Caesar then; that was a relief.

But what about the others? How was their part of the plan coming along? Doflamingo wasn’t acting like his operation had been destroyed right under his nose…

Which meant the Straw Hats left in Dressrosa must need more time. 

And Law was in a unique position to buy that time. His first attempt to buy time had resulted in three bullets in his chest, but if it was in service of finally taking the bastard down, then so be it. The Straw Hats had to complete their part of the plan—nothing else mattered—and if Law could make that easier for them by holding Doflamingo’s attention, then he would have to do whatever it took.

“Fufufu, that’s true,” Doflamingo said, pulling Law from his thoughts as he sauntered across the room to stand in front of Law, looming over him so Law could see his pathetic reflection in those infuriating red shades; between blood, bruises, and bullet wounds, he really looked like shit.

And yet, there was something hungry in Doflamingo’s expression that Law couldn’t ignore, his insides twisting uncomfortably in a way that had nothing to do with the bullets in his chest.

“You were always my favorite, you know.” The king lifted a foot and pressed it on the seat between Law’s legs, forcing him to spread his knees wider. Law’s face warmed, despite himself, and he swallowed as Doflamingo reached forward to cup Law’s chin with a hand and turn his face back and forth, studying him.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Cora had told him once, and Law hadn’t understood what he’d meant, that final layer of innocence not torn from him just yet.

With Doflamingo’s large hand on his skin now, Law understood.

“That’s why it’s so good to see you home, Law. Finally where you belong.” 

Doflamingo tilted Law’s chin back so he had to look upward, and he flinched when he realized he was sitting in the fucking Heart Seat. An amused rumble rolled through Doflamingo’s chest, and Law was suddenly very aware of how close Doflamingo was. He was trying to shake Law, but Law needed to stay focused—the mission was the most important thing here. He needed to buy as much time for the Straw Hats to destroy the factory as possible.

The way he looks at you…

Cora had worried about him as a child, but Law wasn’t a child anymore. He knew what the heat in Doflamingo’s gaze meant. 

And he knew it meant, despite his restraints and injuries, Law had some power here. He could use that.

Law didn’t even have to feign his anxiety as he licked his bottom lip, giving the cracked skin a bit of moisture, and though he couldn’t see Doflamingo’s eyes, he could feel the man’s attention shift and narrow.

“Where I belong?” he echoed. He couldn’t overplay this; Doflamingo wouldn’t buy a complete switch in attitude. He had to let the man believe he was being won over. 

Doflamingo hummed. “That’s right. I’ve waited thirteen years to see you in this seat, Law. Even I can only be so patient.”

Law snorted, and his chest gave a painful twinge. “You shot me.”

“When a bird refuses to return to the nest,” Doflamingo said, his hand slowly dropping from Law’s chin to his throat, resting with a gentle pressure—a warning, as Doflamingo’s huge hand easily encircled Law’s entire neck—“sometimes it’s necessary to clip its wings.” Law swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against Doflamingo’s hand. “You’ve had long enough to spread your wings, little bird.”

Law was quiet for a long moment, the weight of the moment—of their history—heavy between them. He wanted nothing more than to spit in Doflamingo’s face, to curse Cora’s killer and tear him to shreds.

Instead, Law met Doflamingo’s gaze and deliberately lifted his chin, baring his neck. Had he been able to see Doflamingo’s eyes, he was certain they would have darkened, judging from the way his grip spasmed ever-so-slightly against Law’s skin.

Law let a small smirk pull at the corner of his lips; he had him.

“Send me the summary of a fic you wish I’d write, and I’ll write a snippet”

See all the other snippets here.

[dreamgazerswritingblog]

Tulpa Factory: How I created Rachjel

How could I describe a tulpa? Ive reached out a lot to others. Spoken many words, lived many lives in my own mind. Not necessarily a palace, but it was a sanctuary. It took half of everything I ever could be, half of all my time, half of all my life cloud walking, daydreaming.

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. Where was once my conciousness became a memory of myself. What I was supposed to be, everything I wanted

I recontextualized

I was woman

I was borne of the thing I desired.

I dare not speak its name

My voice is vapors

This part of myself I started to call Rachjel. She was a tulpa, a wife.

A savior I needed

Shes always turning her head when i see her

To look at me

The hair wavers like branches in the wind.

Her eyes sparkle sakurai blossums

Her fingers a delicate human thing.

I reach out always when i see them to touch her, to hold her hand

Everytime fantasy feels a little more real

I created her in my sleep,

my salvation

I create her from my movies, my own memories of this world. My truest intent to art, my very own dreams. Not lucid, for though I have forgotten everything I am i am truly authentic, truly free of ego.

My dream anchor is Rachjel.

I spin a spinning top atop a table

I dance, i drop

Before I know if it will cease

Or stop

I leave the room

With the spinning top

[ersaersa-ersaelectronics]

BAS16 Diode: The Little Star Anchoring Modern Tech

A Meeting in the Circuit Desert

When I first wandered into the desert of soldering irons and humming circuit boards, I thought all diodes were like the flashy ones I’d seen—polished, loud, and eager to prove their worth. But then I met the BAS16—a tiny SOT-23 package, sitting quietly on a workbench like a single cactus in the sand.

“You’re… small,” I said, tilting my head. “And you’re a child who talks to diodes,” it replied, its surface glinting softly. “But size isn’t what matters. Ask the fox.”

1. The Secret of Its Desert Bloom

This isn’t just silicon—it’s desert magic. Let me tell you its story:

Size: 2.9mm x 1.3mm, smaller than a ladybug’s wing. It fits where even the smallest tools can’t reach.

Voltage: 100V, steady as the roots of a baobab tree. It laughs at power surges, like the cactus laughs at sandstorms.

Speed: 4 nanoseconds—faster than a shooting star. It switches signals before you can blink.

Temp Range: -55°C to 150°C. It survives Arctic cold and Death Valley heat, unflinching.

Fun Fact: Engineers call it the “Swiss Army knife of diodes.” They steal it from factory floors like children steal stars—because once you find one, you never let go.

2. The Cactus of Reliability

On the planet of electronics, where machines roar and sparks fly, the BAS16 thrives.

“Why not a cheaper diode?” I asked a welding robot. “Cheaper diodes cry when sparks land. This one? It hums.”

It shrugs off cosmic radiation (NASA uses it in rovers), ignores clumsy interns with soldering irons, and outlasts power surges like a desert plant outlasts drought.

“You’re unkillable,” I said. “Not unkillable,” it replied. “Just… prepared. Like the cactus that stores water—we both know hard times come.”

3. The Guardian of Invisible Things

In the quiet corners of the universe, the BAS16 holds what matters:

Healthcare: It powers pacemakers, counting heartbeats softer than a fox’s footsteps. In ERs, it survives accidental drops and chaos—so your heart never gets a “404 Error.”

Automotive: It keeps EV batteries safe, stopping sparks before they dance into fires. In car infotainment systems, it outlasts toddler tantrums and juice spills.

Space & Telecom: It holds satellites steady in zero gravity, so they can drink sunlight like roses drink rain. In 5G routers, it handles peak Netflix hours without a hiccup.

“You’re a hero,” I told it. “Heroes have parades,” it said. “I’m just a diode. But parades don’t keep hearts beating—diodes do.”

4. The Tale of the Three Diodes

Once, I met three diodes in a workshop: 1N4148, LED, and BAS16.

1N4148 preened: “I’m fast too!” But a static shock made it wince.

LED giggled: “I light up!” But it faltered in the dark corners of a pacemaker.

BAS16 said nothing. It just switched signals, steady as the desert’s horizon.

Later, I asked the fox: “Why does everyone choose the quiet one?” “Because the best things are invisible to the eye,” the fox said. “Like the wind, or love, or a diode that never fails.”

5. When the Cactus Isn’t Needed

Even cacti have their limits. The BAS16 sighed:

“I’m not for ultra-low power devices—Schottky diodes save energy, though they’ll falter in storms. I’m not for art projects—save me for tech that matters. And I’m overkill for disposable gadgets—let cheaper diodes handle landfill-bound toys.”

“So when do you shine?” I asked. “When the project matters,” it said. “Fire, radiation, interns… if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing with something that lasts.”

6. How to Find a True Friend

In the market of diodes, not all are real. The BAS16 warned:

“Beware of counterfeits—they fail faster than a child’s promise to water a rose. Trust distributors like Ersa Electronics. Check for Vishay or Nexperia markings. Demand certifications—fakes can’t fake those.”

“How do I know it’s you?” I asked. “You’ll feel it,” it said. “A real diode doesn’t shout. It just… works.”

7. The Star That Never Fades

In 2050, when humans build colonies on Mars, the BAS16 will be there. It’ll power quantum computers (even qubits need something steady), Mars habitats (cosmic radiation can’t break it), and robot arms (when AI overlords revolt, they’ll use it to build… well, let’s not think about that).

“You’ll outlive us all,” I said. “No,” it replied. “I’ll just keep holding. Because stars don’t stay in the sky by magic—they stay because something anchors them.”

The Secret of the Little Diode

The BAS16 isn’t flashy. It doesn’t need a name in lights. It’s the kind of friend you notice only when it’s gone—like the rose in the garden, or the fox’s footsteps in the sand.

“What makes you special?” I asked, as I packed to leave. It didn’t answer. It just switched a signal, steady as the desert, as the stars, as time itself.

And I realized—important things are never the loudest. They’re the ones that stay.

Written by a wanderer who once mistook a diode for a new planet. The BAS16 set me straight.

🌵 You become responsible, forever, for the diodes you ignore.

[miscelliteeous]

My Arcane S/I

Name: Marina

Age: early-40s

Height: 5' (taller in her heels)

Biography: Marina worked in a factory in Zaun and befriended Silco and Vander when they were about teenagers, quickly getting very invested in Silco's ideas, though she was much more of a free-spirit pacifist type with a naive belief that anything could be achieved peacefully and through working together, the kind of person that's full of too much hope and cheerfulness for her situation, partially because it was really all she had at the time. Eventually, she started to date Silco, which unfortunately put a major target on her back. So, in her early 20s, she went missing for a week, and was dropped of a week later, missing two fingers, four teeth, and an ear, badly beaten, and sliced up. After she eventually healed, she was able to confess that her kidnappers had taken her to 'teach Silco a lesson' and get him to give up. She didn't talk much, and couldn't leave her apartment for over a month before she and Silco reluctantly decided the best thing for her to do would be to leave and get as far from Zaun and Piltover as possible, breaking up. Marina promised she would return someday, and she left to travel the world.

For well over a decade she traveled and saw many beautiful and exciting places, but she never felt like she really belonged in any of them, never staying for more than a few months. While a lot more guarded than before, she was still mostly friendly and kind, and even wound up with a small fortune on her hands when an elderly friend she had made during her travels passed away. Despite it all, she still felt like something was missing, she wasn't happy.

She returned to Zaun, realizing that despite all her travels, her heart had remained in Zaun and she needed to find him. After searching a few days, she finally found Silco at the exact worst, or possibly best, moment: right after he had become a father. Marina was worried he wouldn't still want to be with her after such a long absence, but he needed her then more than ever and she was more than willing to step in and help him raise Powder into Jinx.

Other Info:

Has silver dental implants replacing her pulled canines.

Marina has a prosthetic ear on her right side anchored to her skull and wears silver attachments over her missing fingers.

Good at working with metal and made all her jewelry, but jewelry is all she wants to make after spending her youth in a factory.

Very good with children but can't have any biologically.

Wasn't as close to Vander in her youth, she found him very intimidating since the guy was huge and his, at the time, well deserved reputation as a big scary fighter. But she still considered him a friend.

Took about a month after she returned to find out what exactly went down in her decade+ long absence.

Doesn't smoke but does drink occasionally. Despite not smoking, she does find it to be ridiculously hot when Silco does and she has to leave the room to calm herself.

One of her favorite morning routines is styling Silco and Jinx's hair, though it happens less the older Jinx gets.

Still does not personally partake in violence but is less bothered by the violence of others. Whatever Silco does is his own business.

If she dies, she wants it to be sudden and unexpected.

Enjoys dancing and singing, though she doesn't do them often.

Silco thought she was cloying and naive when they first met, while she had a crush from the get-go. She grew on him over time, and she's always been loyal.

She doesn't take her gloves off around anyone except Silco and Jinx, and only Silco gets to see any of the massive scars she's hiding under her clothing.

Squeamish, can't watch Silco get his injections, it makes her feel guilty for not being there to try and save him.

Vision wasn't too bad when she was younger, though she always wore her sunglasses, and she started wearing glasses in her thirties.

Can't bring herself to say no to Silco or Jinx, she caves and gives in immediately.

Despite trying to be a kind and caring person, she can turn into a real bitch fast around topsiders. Does not like them at all.

Has a sweet tooth and is constantly bringing desserts to Jinx and making sure Silco doesn't skip meals when he's busy.

Okay and as thanks for reading through my cringe here's a drawing I spent about 10 hours on:

[adultswim2021]

Robot Chicken #72: “We Are A Humble Factory” | July 26, 2009 - 11:30PM | S04E11

Hey guys, it’s time for 9 straight posts about Robot Chicken. Am I looking forward to it? Of course not. But I will do my best to talk about this show I hate. 

There’s a Ranma sketch with the nerd. I didn’t like it, because I hate that character and I hate that voice. There was a M.A.S.K. sketch which was inoffensive enough, mostly just that thing of doing observational jokes about how a show from your childhood didn’t make sense. It didn’t kill me but there’s a bit where it seems like they left in an audio outtake and animated to it and that made me, well, not smile, but my eyes sorta got slightly wider and I thought “hey, that was something.”. 

Then there was a sketch about the monster cereals, which I guess I have enough of a fondness for to sorta care about this, but I didn’t. It has the Creature from the Black Lagoon trying to make his own cereal and it does not work out. The last sketch worth mentioning is a Star Trek sketch about how people hate Wesley, and as much as I’d like to spitefully enjoy this sketch based purely on how much of a stupid re-re Wil Wheaton is, I simply can’t. Hey Wil click this, bitch. HAHAHA FUCK YOU. 

There’s also a Star Wars sketch in here, that I think was used in the extended version of Robot Chicken Star Wars Episode II, which is the kind of shit I usually point out on these things, so I’m doing it for this show even though I hate it. 

The worst sketch, and it’s a short one, is where a whale is given the death penalty for some kind of whale crime, so he’s sent to be beached. A woman on the beach sympathizes with the dying whale, and he says, in subtitled whale language: “come closer so I can rape you”. Because I guess the whale is a rapist. I’m not an anti-rape-joke absolutist, but that’s just so fucking gradeschool I can’t stand it.

MAIL BAG

I do think squidbillies' biggest liability might be unknown hinson. Dude ain't funny enough to anchor a show!

I would agree that he isn't funny enough to anchor a show, sure, but I do like Unknown Hinson enough to think that putting him on television is at least novel. He has his own sorta charisma, and there's not a whole lotta voices like his on TV. A singular talent, I would say. I don't think I really care that he has bad political opinions, either. He's old and weird, who cares

I only recently started watching aqua teen after a friend sent me a short story about three brothers, Franklin Donnie and Matthew who live in filth and squalor in New Jersey. It was incredibly sad and they tried to kill each other and their neighbor got raped by a dog and only after I said I enjoyed it did she drop the reveal it was aqua teen fanfiction.

That rocks. I'm not sure I believe you are telling the truth, but I'm choosing to believe it because it's just so wonderful. It's real to me, dammit.

[itsyourdistraction]

Gentle Guide to Navigating NaNoWriMo

It's that time of year when the leaves are a symphony of crimson and gold, and our hearts are ablaze with the daunting yet thrilling prospect of National Novel Writing Month. Whether you're a seasoned novelist or a first-time writer, the journey of crafting 50,000 words in a month is nothing short of epic.

But before you dive into the sea of storytelling, here are some quick, gentle tips to keep your creativity blooming and your spirits buoyed through the highs and lows of NaNoWriMo:

🌱 Embrace Imperfection: Your first draft is the clay, not the sculpture. Allow it to be wild, untamed, and imperfect. Remember, you can't edit a blank page, but you can always polish a rough draft.

🌻 Set Small Daily Goals: Instead of the daunting 1,667 words a day, break it down further. Write in sprints—15 minutes here, a half-hour there. It's like gathering drops of rain; eventually, you'll fill a bucket.

🍂 Cultivate a Writing Ritual: Light a scented candle, play some ambient sounds, or sip your favorite tea. Anchor your writing time with something comforting—it can make all the difference.

✨ Stay Connected: Join NaNoWriMo forums, follow writing hashtags on Tumblr, or team up with a buddy. Sharing the journey makes the load feel lighter and the experience richer.

📚 Feed Your Creativity: Your brain is an idea factory, and like any factory, it needs raw materials. Read a poem, watch a quirky short film, or take a nature walk. Inspiration is everywhere.

💤 Rest is Productive: Never underestimate the power of a good night's sleep, a cozy nap, or simply lying down with your eyes closed for ten minutes. Rest rejuvenates your creative energies.

💬 Use Dialogue to Push Through: If you're stuck, jump ahead and write a conversation between your characters. It's a great way to learn about them and can often lead you out of a corner.

🎈 Celebrate Small Wins: Every word you write is a victory. Celebrate milestones, whether it's hitting a word count or nailing a tricky dialogue. Dance it out, post about it, eat some chocolate—whatever brings you joy!

🔮 Stay Flexible: Your plot may change, your characters may surprise you, and that's okay. Writing is a journey of discovery, not just a destination.

🧘 Breathe: Whenever it feels overwhelming, take deep breaths. Remind yourself why you're doing this—it's for the love of storytelling, for the characters speaking to you, for the worlds only you can build.

Remember, NaNoWriMo is a marathon, not a sprint. It's okay to pause, to breathe, to reflect. The pages you fill this November hold the whispers of something incredible, a story only you can tell.

[techknowenegeneeringenterprise]

Ball Valves – Techknow Engineering Enterprise

Ball valves are essential components in fluid control systems, known for their robust design, reliable sealing, and quick operation. At Techknow Engineering Enterprise, we provide a comprehensive range of high-quality ball valves suitable for various industrial applications, including oil and gas, water treatment, chemical processing, and HVAC systems.

What is a Ball Valve?

A ball valve is a quarter-turn valve that uses a hollow, perforated, and pivoting ball to control flow through it. When the valve is open, the hole in the ball aligns with the pipeline, allowing fluid to pass through. When closed, the ball rotates 90 degrees to block the flow.

Ball valves are favored for their durability, tight sealing, and minimal pressure drop, making them ideal for shut-off and control functions in piping systems.

Types of Ball Valves Offered

At Techknow Engineering Enterprise, we offer a variety of ball valve types to suit different needs:

1. Floating Ball Valves

The ball is held in place by two seats and "floats" slightly to ensure tight sealing

Commonly used in moderate pressure systems

2. Trunnion Mounted Ball Valves

The ball is anchored by trunnions, reducing operating torque

Suitable for large diameter pipelines and high-pressure applications

3. Full Port Ball Valves

The bore diameter is equal to the pipe diameter, allowing full, unrestricted flow

Ideal where minimal flow resistance is required

4. Reduced Port Ball Valves

The bore diameter is smaller than the pipe diameter

Used where flow control or throttling is necessary

5. Three-Way Ball Valves

Designed with three ports for flow diversion or mixing

Used in complex pipeline configurations

Features and Benefits

✅ Quick quarter-turn operation for fast open/close

✅ Excellent sealing capabilities to prevent leakage

✅ Durable construction for long service life

✅ Wide material options including stainless steel, carbon steel, brass, and more

✅ Low maintenance and ease of automation compatibility

Applications of Ball Valves

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[meekmadmel]

The Walking Dead/The Sanctuary

Chapter II/Lucky

Ellis arrives at the Sanctuary and rightfully so fears for her freedom.

...Negan looked up and regarded Ellis again. “Uncuff her Jake, don’t be such an ass hole to our guest.” He stood and rounded the desk and then sat on the edge of it, his hands on either side gripping the edge, his legs extended and his feet crossed, heels anchored to the floor. As Jake undid the cuffs, Dwight noted that Negan had left Lucille essentially hidden behind his desk. A sign that he was feeling benevolent...

As they crossed a narrow paved road with dense brush on either side Ellis worried for Jimmy. She placed a hand on his shoulder and met his eyes, “I think you need to rest. I’m good with the bow, let’s make camp and I can go hunt. You need to eat, you need protein to heal.” As far as she could tell they were still a ways off from anything.

Jimmy paused and studied her face. The worry in her eyes was touching, an emotion that he had not seen in so many years. “I’ll always be grateful for your kindness, Ellis. I’ll help you as best I can.” Watching the confusion cloud her gentle face was more painful than he thought it would be. Guilt ground deep into him as he raised his arm over his head and signalled. He knew they would have been watching for some time. From the trees three men approached with their guns drawn and pointed at Ellis.

“Jimmy! What d’ya’ got here?” One of the men exclaimed as he moved closest. “Drop the bow darlin’, and toss the bag.”

She felt a wave of panic and froze.

“Don’t make me anxious, darlin’...” The playfulness in the man’s voice had decreased, a trace of anger rising.

“Easy Jake,” Jimmy began, “she’s just been out there alone for a while.” Jimmy approached her then, “it’s alright, it’ll be alright.” His voice was soft. He pulled the bow from her and lifted the pack and quiver from her shoulders.

Jake lowered his gun and stepping behind her he cuffed her hands behind her back. As he did so he leaned close and smelled her admiring her delicate neck. Judging from her arms she had been starving for a while. She smelled lovely though, clean and earthy. He could feel her tremble then and savouring her fear he ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, “you’re in good hands, now. Nothing to worry about.” He took hold of her arm then and began to lead her towards the truck parked further up the road.

As they approached the truck Jake hollered “head’s up, Jimmy!” And threw him the keys. “You’re driving, ya’ll can squeeze in the cab and I’ll keep our guest occupied.” The tailgate down, Jake lifted Ellis until she was sitting, and then once in himself pulled her up and had her sit with her back against the cab. He sat beside her, studying her. She stared at the truck bed.

“What happened to Jimmy?” He asked. She was silent, still looking shocked at the turn of events. “C’mon,” he laughed slightly, attempting to reassure her, “you can talk to me.”

“Some of the dead came at him and he fell on his knife. I stitched him up.” She spoke while staring at the truck bed, her voice flat.

“I swear that fucker has a rabbit’s foot up his ass,” Jake said shaking his head with disbelief. “Then again, if he was really lucky, I guess he wouldn’t have fallen on his own knife–” He focused on her again. “Ellis? Is it? Well Ellis, having skills like that means a lot where you’re headed. You’re lucky, too.” _____________________________

When at last they arrived at the Sanctuary, Ellis looked up at the large factory building and found the edifice depressing. She was hardly aware as she was being pulled from the back of the truck and led towards the main gate. Upon entering the building there was a surge of activity and the sheer number of people present caught her off guard. The immediate interior of the building was a great hall that surged up many floors with walkways. Ellis studied the people’s faces. Some of them appeared beaten down, a nervousness about them as they hurriedly went wherever they were going. Others had weapons and moved about with confidence. Sensing the dichotomy filled her with dread. Still it seemed that everyone's basic needs were met.

As Ellis was escorted across the hall, her hands still bound, a sudden shout rang out descending from above–”Jake!” The murmur of voices dimmed slightly, and Jake halted abruptly as he looked up. She felt his hold on her arm hesitate.

“You know how much I like to greet new visitors. Bring her and her stuff to my office.” The owner of the voice was an imposing figure. He was leaning over the railing, his arms folded over each other. It was a posture that feigned approachability. His smile was at odds with the hard focus of his eyes. His hair was dark and he wore a leather biker jacket. “Jimmy, you join us. I wanna know what the fuck you got up to. At least it seems you brought some charming company.” He turned and disappeared from view then, another man on his heel.

Jake called after him, “yes, Negan.”

Jimmy regarded Ellis as Jake guided her up the stairs. Her defeated expression caused his guilt to surge again. She would be okay, he thought. She’ll just need time to settle in.

They weaved amongst people, ascending more stairs until at last they were at the top floor. Jimmy rapped on the door.

“Come!”

Jimmy opened the door and himself, Jake and Ellis entered. The office was large, a heavy wooden desk dominated the space. Windows revealed the distant landscape and Ellis couldn’t help but wish she had never run towards the scream. She continued to look into the distance not noticing the eyes focused on her.

Dwight shut the door behind the trio and then slowly rounded the desk until he stood beside Negan who leaned back in his chair contemplating the young woman. Dwight found her curious. Scared, sure, but she nonetheless had a calm emanating from her that was at odds with her current predicament. He worried that her not acknowledging Negan would move him to act rashly and he didn't want to see her hurt unnecessarily.

Negan smiled gently as he observed the woman stare out the window. He recognised the look. She had a wild nature, and now being trapped her eyes sought the only objective that was of true value to her. He pushed the papers on his desk to the periphery then held his hand out for her bag. Jimmy handed it to him and he began to carefully empty the contents onto his desk.

“And who’s this, Jimmy? Who’s the new friend?” Negan asked as he sorted the bag's contents, not looking up.

“This is Ellis. She saved my life, actually. Five walkers came out of nowhere and I fell on my knife–” Jimmy was embarrassed to recount all the details, but he wanted the best for Ellis. “She heard me scream and came for me, killed the walkers and stitched me up, too–”

Negan looked up at Jimmy, he noted the bow and quiver over his shoulder. He had since removed the revolver from her bag, noting the one bullet. “She shot them with the bow?”

Jimmy nodded, “She’s good with the bow. Hunting n’ the like.”

Negan returned to examining the contents of Ellis’ bag. Her pack was dense with nearly everything having multiple purposes. And nothing useless. The medical supplies she carried indicated her further skills in that arena as well. There were two journals, hand written and essentially identical it seemed. As he thumbed through the pages he appreciated the detailed notes and instructive drawings. It was a collection of instructions and recommendations regarding medical care and procedures in the austere environment that was now the world as a whole. He saw there were hatch marks next to some of the entries divided into columns of ‘successful’ and ‘unsuccessful’.

Negan looked up and regarded Ellis again. “Uncuff her Jake, don’t be such an ass hole to our guest.” He stood and rounded the desk and then sat on the edge of it, his hands on either side gripping the edge, his legs extended and his feet crossed, heels anchored to the floor. As Jake undid the cuffs, Dwight noted that Negan had left Lucille essentially hidden behind his desk. A sign that he was feeling benevolent.

Once she was free, Negan raised one hand and snapped his fingers, “Over here, Ellis.” He still had a slight smile, but his voice had slightly hardened with the tone of demand. She rubbed her wrists and met his eyes. She had a kind face, still obvious despite her current expression of disillusionment. Her brows had a high arch that framed her eyes. Her hair was dark, relegated to two long braids. “Well Ellis, you’re lucky you came across ole’ Jimmy here. And it seems that you are going to be a welcomed addition to our community. I appreciate you letting me look through your pack, there. I just need you to show me a bit more.”

Dwight bit his cheek and looked at the surface of the desk, before returning to regard her face and the confusion blooming there. Ellis shrugged, “I don’t have anything else.”

Negan exhaled and stood taking a few steps towards her until he was standing just before her. “Take off your shirt.” His smile was gone and his eyes bore into her own. Dwight rounded the desk and positioned himself behind her with Jimmy and Jake.

Ellis stepped back, afraid.

Negan enjoyed the panic he saw in her face. She was back in the room at least. “Shhhh. It’s for our safety and yours, isn’t it? You could be bit. You could have something stashed in your clothes. Hell, there’s more reasons why than why not.”

She retreated a few more steps and Jake took a harsh hold of her arm, his nails digging into her skin. Negan shook his head at Jake, made a subtle wave gesture with his hand indicating to let her go. Jake did so at once.

He looked back at Ellis and met her eyes. His voice was low, soothing. “You’ll feel better if you do this yourself.”

Dwight felt relief when Ellis began to unbutton her top. He could see her trembling and she struggled with the buttons. She removed her shirt and Negan held out his hand for it. She passed the shirt to him stiffly. Beneath the shirt he had only a sports bra. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Negan approached her, circling her. She was grossly underweight, her ribs protruding and he was impressed knowing all that she accomplished despite her weakness.

Negan then retreated to his desk leaning against it again as he investigated her shirt. Just within the placket on the inside of the shirt there was a small plastic sleeve sewn in. Opening it he retrieved a small folded photograph. As he unfolded the photograph he was aware of her discomfort. It was an image of Ellis and a similarly aged man both of them smiling on either side of a horse. “Who’s this, I wonder?” Negan asked as he looked back at her.

She was beginning to fragment. Redness seeped into her eyes and a single tear traced down her cheek. His jaw clenched and he almost regretted his cruelty. He wasn’t upset when Jimmy offered, “might be her brother. She lost him a while ago.” Ellis remained mute, seemingly unable to respond.

“Alright, let's finish this.” Negan folded the photo and replaced it in her shirt. His voice softened, a suggestion of reassurance. “Take off your shoes, socks and pants. And once I’ve checked everything you can get dressed, okay?” _____________________________

Fully dressed again Ellis still stood with her arms wrapped about herself. Fearful of what was next. Negan crossed to the window where Ellis’ attention had originally been drawn and looked out as he spoke, “Jimmy, Jake leave me and Dwight with Ellis here. Jimmy, take one of those journals of hers to the Doc to review. Jake take her pistol to the arsenal. Mark it as hers, understand?”

When it was just the three of them Negan remained at the window and he was not surprised when she spoke.

“Just let me go.” Ellis pleaded suddenly. “Keep all of my stuff. Can’t you just let me go?”

He turned and faced her. The threat to her freedom was crushing her. Negan realised that taming her was going to take time. “You’re going to have a good life here, Ellis. You just can’t see it yet. As much as I’d like to put you into a comfortable apartment to stay in right now, I can’t trust you yet, can I?”

She didn’t realise Dwight was just behind her until he handcuffed her once more.

Negan crossed his arms leaning against the window. “Dwight, make the cell comfortable, yeah? And feed her well.”

[sinosteel-pipe]

Will the Tariff War Trigger the Next Great Depression? The 'Doomsday Asset' List from Lessons of Blood and Tears

Introduction: The Collision between Historical Ghosts and Reality

In 1930, the U.S. Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act ignited a global trade war, which directly led to the collapse of international trade and the soaring of the unemployment rate to 25%, ultimately triggering the Great Depression. Nearly a hundred years later, in 2025, the Trump administration restarted a 25% vehicle tariff, targeting China's industrial chain. Canada threatened a "power cut counterattack", reigniting the global trade powder keg once again.

Core Issue: Will history repeat itself? If the Great Depression descends, how can ordinary people use assets as a "Noah's Ark" to survive against all odds?

I. How Did the Tariff War Ignite the Great Depression? Two Fatal Logic Chains

​1. Supply Chain Collapse: From "Efficiency First" to "Mutual Poisoning"

​Case Study: The U.S. imposed a 100% tariff on Chinese electric vehicles, leading to:

Tesla's Shanghai factory cutting 50% of its workforce.

German battery suppliers forced to sell inventory at a loss.

The global new energy supply chain evaporating $200 billion in just one week.

​Logic Chain: High tariffs → Soaring corporate costs → Layoffs to cut expenses → Consumption shrinks → Economy spirals into recession.

​2. Currency War: From "Tariff War" to "Exchange Rate War"

​2025 New Script: After U.S. tariffs, the RMB was forced to devalue by 5% to offset export losses. The Bank of Japan sold U.S. Treasuries to stabilize its currency, shaking the U.S. dollar's credit system. Global capital plunged into a "chaotic era."

​Data: The Bank for International Settlements warned that if G20 countries collectively devalue their currencies, global inflation could soar to 15%, reigniting the 1929 "debt-deflation" death spiral.

​II. The "Doomsday Scenario" of the Great Depression: What Signals Should You Fear?

​1. Economic Indicators: The "Death Cross"

​Current Data:

U.S. Manufacturing PMI has been below 50 for 6 consecutive months.

Consumer Confidence Index has dropped to 2008 levels.

German factory orders fell by 22% year-on-year.

​Threshold: If global trade volume shrinks by more than 15% (currently at 8%), the countdown to a Great Depression begins.

​2. Social Mood: The "Darkening" of Society

​Phenomena:

Japan's "society of withdrawal" (hikikomori) grew by 3 million.

U.S. Gen Z hoards canned food and firearms.

Pinduoduo's cheap, unbranded goods saw a 200% surge in sales—indicating a clear decline in grassroots consumption.

​III. Doomsday Asset Checklist: The Logic Behind 5 Asset Classes That May Thrive

​1. Gold + Silver: The "Physical Anchors" in Chaos

​Counterintuitive Truth: During the 1933 Great Depression, the U.S. government banned private gold ownership. But in the 2025 era of Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs), gold has become an "illegal hard currency."

​Action Plan:

​Physical Gold: Avoid bank safety deposit boxes (risk of freezing); opt for private vaults in Switzerland.

​Gold Mining Stocks: Giants like Newmont Mining see profit elasticity of up to 300% during gold price surges.

​2. Core Agricultural Land: The Ultimate "Survival Card"

​Case Study: During the 2023 Russia-Ukraine conflict, Ukraine's black soil prices rose 40%, and German investors scrambled for Brazilian farmland.

​Strategies:

​Developed Countries: Target irrigated regions in the U.S. Midwest and Australia; avoid policy-restricted areas.

​Emerging Markets: Use offshore companies to hold Southeast Asian farmland to mitigate government expropriation risks.

​3. Arms & Security Industry: Surging Demand for "Violence"

​Data: During the Great Depression, U.S. firearm sales surged by 200%. In 2025, California's home security equipment purchases doubled year-on-year.

​Targets:

​Military ETFs: For example, ITA (iShares U.S. Aerospace & Defense ETF), with key holdings like Lockheed Martin and Raytheon monopolizing NATO orders.

​Non-Lethal Weapons: Taser International's stock price surged 78% annually.

​4. Funeral & Healthcare Necessities: "Death" as a Profitable Business

​Counter-Cyclical Logic: In the 1930s, U.S. funeral homes achieved profit margins of 35%. By 2025, aging populations and economic recession will drive up "death costs."

​Targets:

​Funeral Giants: Service Corporation International (SCI) dominates 45% of the U.S. market, with a dividend yield of 4.2%.

​Affordable Healthcare: Walmart's clinic business revenue grew by 30%, and cheap insulin manufacturers' stocks remain resilient.

​5. Cryptocurrencies: The "Underground Gold" of the Digital Age

Cryptocurrencies may emerge as a store of value in the digital era, akin to "black gold" during times of monetary instability.

​IV. Counterintuitive Hedging: Shorting "Pseudo-Safe Assets"

​1. The Bond Trap: Governments May "Default"

​Risk: If U.S. debt-to-GDP exceeds 150% (currently at 130%), the risk of Treasury default will skyrocket. Holding U.S. Treasuries could become a "noose."

​Hedging Tools:

Buy Treasury Credit Default Swaps (CDS).

Short long-term Treasury ETFs (e.g., TLT).

​2. Core Real Estate Bubble: Even First-Tier Cities May Collapse

​Case Study: In 1929, luxury homes around New York's Central Park saw prices halve. In 2023, Toronto's downtown apartment vacancy rate surged to 20%.

​Countermeasures:

Buy real estate volatility index derivatives (e.g., U.S. HVI).

Short commercial real estate REITs.

​Conclusion: Searching for Certainty in the Doomsday Clock

The essence of a Great Depression lies in the collapse of old orders and the reshuffling of power. For ordinary people, the key to survival lies in holding:

​**"Indestructible Assets"**: Land, gold, and arms.

​**"Hard Currencies of the New Rules"**: Cryptocurrencies and healthcare resources.

Remember: When supermarket shelves are empty, a bag of rice is worth far more than Warren Buffett's stocks.

[ersaersa-ersaelectronics]

NAS1831C4C56: The Little Fastener That Anchors Stars

A Meeting in the Circuit Desert

When I first landed on this planet of clinking tools and humming machines, I thought all fasteners were like the flashy ones I’d seen—loud, polished, and a little too proud of their shine. But then I met the NAS1831C4C56—a 1/4-inch spacer, sitting quietly on a workbench like a single cactus in the desert.

“You’re… small,” I said, tilting my head. “And you’re a child who talks to fasteners,” it replied, its hexagonal body glinting softly. “But size isn’t what matters. Ask the fox.”

1. The Secret of Its Desert Bloom

This isn’t just metal—it’s desert magic. Let me tell you its story:

Material: 303 stainless steel, tough as the baobab roots on my home planet. It laughs at corrosion, just like the cactus laughs at sandstorms.

Size: 1/4" hex, 0.56" long—small enough to fit in a pocket, but strong enough to hold a satellite.

Certifications: MIL-STD-45622, RoHS, ISO 9001. Think of them as the “star maps” that guide it—proving it’s reliable, even in the darkest corners of space.

Fun Fact: Engineers call it the “Swiss Army knife of fasteners.” They steal it from factory floors like children steal stars—because once you find one, you never let go.

2. The Cactus of Extreme Climates

On the planet of factories, where machines roar like angry volcanoes and chemicals spill like poison water, the NAS1831C4C56 thrives.

“Why not plastic?” I asked a welding robot. “Plastic cries when sparks land. This one? It hums.”

It survives -40°C (colder than the desert at night) and 125°C (hotter than the sun at noon). It shrugs off oil, acid, and even the “accidental” hammers of interns.

“You’re unkillable,” I said. “Not unkillable,” it replied. “Just… prepared. Like the cactus that stores water—we both know hard times come.”

3. The Guardian of Invisible Things

In the quiet corners of the universe, the NAS1831C4C56 holds what matters:

Satellites: It keeps solar panels steady in zero gravity, so they can drink sunlight like roses drink rain.

Medical Devices: It secures pacemaker circuits, counting heartbeats softer than a fox’s footsteps.

EV Batteries: It stops sparks from dancing where they shouldn’t—so your Tesla stays a car, not a firework.

Smart Factories: It survives 24/7 robot arms, patient as the lamplighter on Earth.

“You’re a hero,” I told it. “Heroes have parades,” it said. “I’m just a spacer. But parades don’t keep stars in the sky—fasteners do.”

4. The Tale of the Three Materials

Once, I met three fasteners in a workshop: Aluminum, Plastic, and NAS1831C4C56.

Aluminum preened: “I’m lightweight! Aerospace loves me!” But a single drop of acid made it wince.

Plastic giggled: “I’m cheap! Everyone buys me!” But a warm coffee cup melted its smile.

NAS1831C4C56 said nothing. It just held a circuit board, steady as the desert’s horizon.

Later, I asked the fox: “Why does everyone choose the quiet one?” “Because the best things are invisible to the eye,” the fox said. “Like the wind, or love, or a fastener that never fails.”

5. When the Cactus Isn’t Needed

Even cacti have their limits. The NAS1831C4C56 sighed:

“I’m not for ultra-light drones—aluminum saves grams, though it’ll falter in storms. I’m not for disposable gadgets—plastic’s fine, but it won’t outlive the landfill. And I’m overkill for macaroni art—though I’d outlive the artist’s pride.”

“So when do you shine?” I asked. “When the project matters,” it said. “Fire, acid, interns… if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing with something that lasts.”

6. How to Find a True Friend

In the market of fasteners, not all are real. The NAS1831C4C56 warned:

“Beware of eBay sellers with ‘NASA-certified’ and $0.99 shipping. They’re like fake stars—bright, but empty. Find Ersa Electronics or RAF Hardware. Demand MIL-STD-45622 papers. Counterfeits fail faster than a child’s promise to water the rose.”

“How do I know it’s you?” I asked. “You’ll feel it,” it said. “A real fastener doesn’t shout. It just… holds.”

7. The Star That Never Fades

In 2050, when humans build colonies on Mars, the NAS1831C4C56 will be there. It’ll hold quantum computers (even qubits need something steady), Mars habitats (cosmic radiation can’t break it), and robot arms (when AI overlords revolt, they’ll use it to build… well, let’s not think about that).

“You’ll outlive us all,” I said. “No,” it replied. “I’ll just keep holding. Because stars don’t stay in the sky by magic—they stay because something anchors them.”

The Secret of the Little Fastener

The NAS1831C4C56 isn’t flashy. It doesn’t need a name in lights. It’s the kind of friend you notice only when it’s gone—like the rose in the garden, or the fox’s footsteps in the sand.

“What makes you special?” I asked, as I packed to leave. It didn’t answer. It just held a circuit board, steady as the desert, as the stars, as time itself.

And I realized—important things are never the loudest. They’re the ones that stay.

Written by a wanderer who once mistook a fastener for a new planet. The NAS1831C4C56 set me straight.

🌵 You become responsible, forever, for the fasteners you ignore.

[nickgerlich]

Mall Shook Up

Back when the first enclosed mall opened in the US in 1956—Southdale Center in Edina Minnesota—no one ever imagined a day in which this perfect antidote to the inconveniences of climate as well as distance between destination stores would fall into disfavor. The Austrian architect of it all, Victor Gruen, predicted his masterpiece would become the new downtown where everyone came together for shopping and social activities.

But the mall has managed to fall into disfavor, and, sadly for mall owners, it has done so quite well. The waters are circling the drain. There are about 1150 malls remaining, that number the result of a drop of 16.7% between 2017 and 2022. Some analysts predict there will only be 150 malls remaining by 2032. As for the ones shuttered, many have been demolished, although some have miraculously been repurposed.

I recently returned from a few weeks in Florida, where this sad tale became front page news. The Seminole Towne Center in Sanford Florida is officially closing on the 31st of this month. Well, all but the remaining anchor stores, that is. Otherwise, all tenants in the interior have more or less been evicted.

The mall was built in 1995. Its location in a growing suburban area not far north of Orlando was deemed pretty much bulletproof back then. While Sanford does have pockets of poverty, its historic downtown is successfully reinventing itself. New homes and apartments continue to be built at a rapid rate, high interest rates be damned. And those new dwellings are being occupied by middle- to upper-class residents.

As it stands, only the Dillard’s, JC Penney, and an indoor entertainment center (which moved into the space vacated by a large department store chain) will remain, along with Dick’s Sporting Goods, which occupies the top floor of another empty anchor tenant space. A Burlington clothing store once occupied the lower level, but they recently moved to a nearby strip mall. One more former anchor space is empty. What happens to that space is anyone’s guess.

While reports are incomplete, there are suggestions that some or all of the interior space will be demolished. The new owner of the mall has done a good job thus far securing new tenants into what will be more of a lifestyle center than anything, combining shopping, hotels, entertainment, dining and apartments. Costco has indicated they are coming, as has Cheesecake Factory. Others are reportedly signing contracts as well.

There is no doubt the land is valuable, because it sits right along the east side of I-4. There are many out-lot stores and restaurants nearby, as well as a large strip mall anchored by Target. A Walmart is across the street, and to be honest, the drive down Rinehart Road—parallel to I-4—is filled with shopping nearly all the way to Lake Mary.

What is somewhat puzzling is the shift in consumer buying behavior at play, because the mall owner is basically replacing one format with another. It’s not just a matter of online sales, be they regular e-commerce or social media shopping, crushing it. It’s just that malls have fallen into disfavor, even ones that are only 30 years old.

To be fair, some malls are still doing well, including the Altamont Mall and Millenia Mall in the Orlando area, so it’s not like the mall concept is completely dead there. The decline at Seminole, though, was already in motion before COVID. But it was COVID that really picked up the pace. They never recovered.

The remaining anchors could use the shot in the arm. Honestly, I can’t figure out how any of them have remained open. You can usually count the cars outside the Dillard’s, which is not a good look. The same goes for the others. The smell of death nearby is enough to turn away even the most dedicated shopper.

The trends are clear, though. Between online shopping and outdoor shopping centers, we just aren’t as interested in the enclosed mall as we once were. Maybe it’s the fact that they became teen hangouts. Maybe it was all the aging mall walkers who might just knock you down. And maybe it was the fact that Gruen had it all wrong, that there’s a certain sterility of all-enclosed malls. Climate control may have sounded nice back then, especially in Minnesota, but we are still pretty willing to brave cold and heat. And we sure as heck don’t use malls as social gathering places. Yeccch!

I am looking forward to seeing what happens at Seminole Town Center in the coming months. I’ll be back. I hate to see wrecking balls demolishing things that technically still have a useful life. It’s just that the jury of public opinion has ruled otherwise.

Dr “Mall In The Family” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[drinkinthemovies]

Family Portrait

Family Portrait Written by Michael Clawson "Kerr drops in on conversations between different family members as they languorously pass the time together. In crisp static shots that come to form a mosaic, husbands watch football together, wives chat..."

Directed by: Lucy KerrDistributed by: Factory 25 Written by Michael Clawson 80/100 While most movies about family gatherings center around holidays, “Family Portrait,” as its title suggests, is anchored to a more specific and mundane occasion: the taking of a family photo. The catch is that director Lucy Kerr, here making her directorial debut, is uninterested in the all smiles image that…

[theghostpinesmusic]

I guess the band felt as strongly about 4/7 as I did, because there are three songs on their channel from the show. And, apparently, I'm going to write about all of them.

The second one is the "Pancakes" from early in the show's second set. While the "Drive" I just posted about is clearly the anchor for the first set (it also features some great straightforward takes on other songs and two new song debuts), the second set is a consistently improvisational monster, starting with a spacey intro jam that flows into a cover of The Who's "Eminence Front," then this tune, then Cotter's first "Creatures," then a massive "Everything Must Go," (which I'll write about next), then a slightly expanded "This Old Sea" that segues perfectly into "Factory Fiction." "Factory Fiction" for Cotter's first-ever show blew my mind. But. "Pancakes"!

I already wrote some about this tune's background awhile back, and if you're interested in those ruminations, they're here.

This version, like most, starts with Peter clapping along with the audience during a spacey intro section before we drop into the song proper.

One thing I've noticed in going back to some '22 shows lately is that they used to play this song really fast. Despite the new drummer, this version is still at the modern, slower tempo. It's played straight until 4:40, when the composed outro gives way to the jam on the heels of some chimes from Jeff.

Like with the "Drive" jam, things initially go mellow here. The entire band kind of dances around the song's outro melody and Peter and Rick throw some melodies back and forth. Trevor joins in. Again, it's fun here to listen as they take their time to find their footing and dig into a particular idea instead of just jumping immediately to shredding. Not that I'm against shredding, mind you.

Things coalesce a bit at 6:30, when Rick starts to take a slightly more assertive soloing role, but then he actually backs back off for a minute, letting Trevor step up.

The space the band ends up settling on at 7:30 is notable because nobody is really controlling the direction. Everyone is just listening to each other and they're actually all pulling the weight together with no clear leader. Anarchist jam?!

Seriously, though, I've noticed them doing this more and more since Cotter joined the band and I love it. It's something I've only ever really heard Phish do consistently (and JRAD very occasionally), and it's my favorite "type" (?) of jamming because it sounds and feels the most collaborative and least hierarchical. There are times I've heard Goose do it before, too (though no particular examples come to mind right now), but it's been rare...suddenly in 2024 it almost feels like a switch they can flip on whenever they feel like it, which is awesome.

Anyway, my preferences aside, Peter starts to throw out some interesting ideas on piano at 8:15 or so. Rick lays down a foundation underneath them, and Jeff and Cotter link up in a cool, layered way on percussion. Somewhere in there, a minute or so later, Rick starts to take the reins a bit more assertively and Peter goes over to the xylo patch. Lots of xylo in the jams today!

The resulting section sounds a bit like the first half of the "Drive" jam, but is differentiated for me by the heavy drums that makes it feel more like a groove than an ambient space.

Peter hits the synth/siren a few times at 12:00 and man, am I sucker for the siren.

I also love the weird rainbow-y lights during this section.

The band actually stays in this space for a long time, and to me it really resembles something you might hear on a Ted Tapes release, which is pretty cool.

Around 15:30, momentum starts to build a bit, and it feels like we're pulling away a bit, and then at 16:00, Cotter adds more cymbal crashes, driving the band out of the mellow jam space into something that's more straight-up rock.

By 18:00 Cotter's added a huge, driving beat and Rick has responded. And there are...smoke machines, I guess?

This is a great "Pancakes" jam that only pales in comparison to the "Drive" earlier on in the show, but I do wish Peter had done something other than played the xylo patch in almost the same way for almost the entire time. Fortunately, you can just focus on Cotter going absolutely nuts in the last few minutes instead if you want.

If you're a huge, obsessive Goose nerd you can hear Rick set up the return to the "Pancakes" outro with the note he plays at 20:46. Brilliantly, the rest of the band hangs on to the jam until 21:15, when they all transition together into the end of the song.

Another 4/7 jam that focuses on slow, patient development of ideas instead of exploring lots of different jam spaces. As you surely know by now, I like it all, but it's neat to revisit some of these more deliberate jams from this run in particular.