#RAID configuration

[virtualizationhowto]

TrueNAS SCALE Server Build for Home Lab

TrueNAS SCALE Server Build for Home Lab #homelab #virtualization #TrueNASSCALEHomeServer #HomeServerSetup #DebianLinuxServer #RAIDConfiguration #FileSharingServer #MediaStreamingServer #HomeAutomationHub #NetworkSecurity #ServerHardwareUpgrades #selfhost

There are so many options for running a home server for storage and virtualization needs on a home network. I have run VMware ESXi and Proxmox servers for my virtualization needs for the past few years now. However, until recently, I only ran TrueNAS inside a virtual machine for testing and a few light-duty applications. A project I wanted to tackle was repurposing one of my SuperMicro mini…

[windupaidoneus]

this was so scary

[ms-demeanor]

One of the problems that came up this week is actually a problem that came up in December.

On December 15th we got a warning about disk health in a server; there is a drive that is at risk of failure.

A ticket was created for me to create a quote to replace the drive.

There was no part number associated with the ticket, and because of the type of server, there was no easy way to access configuration information online and our hardware documentation is a disaster (I have thought it was a disaster since the acquisition; I set up hardware documentation at the old job specifically to avoid issues like this and now all that documentation is gone because we didn't keep any licenses of the old job's CRM). This was not a situation where I could find a part number.

I contacted Tech Alice and asked her to check the part number on the server. Alice reported back that because the drive was part of a RAID array, she couldn't get the part number. She recommended asking Bob, and put her time entry on the ticket.

I contacted Tech Bob and asked him if he could find the part number for the drive on the server; Bob also reported back that he could not find a way to get the part number from the server, he recommended that Charlie collect the part number when he went onsite. Bob added his time to the ticket (still my ticket) and added the status "onsite needed."

Now it is December 23rd. I have messaged Charlie and asked him to check the part number when he is onsite and have added him to the ticket. I'm out of the office today, Charlie is out of the office next week. Charlie does not remember to look at the part number when he is onsite. It is the end of the year.

Now it is January 15th. We lost the first week of the year to assessments, and the second week of the year to the state and our clients being on fire - people were unable to go onsite because of all of that. Charlie is going onsite. I remind him to get the part number when he is at the client site. When he is at the client site he alerts me that actually he is at their other location, not the location with the server.

Now it is January 27th. Charlie is going back onsite, he is on my ticket, the ticket is set to onsite needed. I remind Charlie that we need the part number. Charlie does not remember.

Now it is February 6th. We have created a whole new ticket for Charlie with the *EXPRESS STATED PURPOSE* of going onsite to collect a part number for the failing drive in the server. Charlie marks the ticket as "waiting materials" and makes a note that he can't replace the drive until we order the part.

Now it is February 7th. We have explained, in writing, in Charlie's ticket that we can't order the part until he goes onsite and collects the part number, because we cannot get it because the server won't report the part number if it's in a raid array for reasons that I'll be honest I do not understand.

Now it is February 14th. Charlie closes his ticket and he and Bob pull me into a meeting. The server at the client site is so old they're not sure it's a good idea to replace the drive. Charlie has recommended that the project team quote a migration to sharepoint, which the client has expressed interest in in the past. Bob makes a note of this in my ticket. But I do not close my ticket. I do not close my ticket because I know there must be some fuckery coming. So I put my ticket to "on hold" and set it to reactivate on March 10th so that I can follow up with the project team and see if the migration project is making any progress or if we still need to replace this drive because the server drive is still failing.

It is March 13th. I have a bad week. A very bad week. My manager looks at my open tickets and asks why on earth I still have a server drive failure ticket open from December. I explain that I only have it open to follow up on the migration because the technician suggested server replacement but if there wasn't progress we should still quote a drive, but I still didn't have the part number.

My manager puts me in a chat with me, Charlie, the Project team lead, my manager, and the service team lead and asks what the fuck is going on. I paste Charlie's last update on my ticket and say that I'll be happy to quote a hard drive but I still don't have the part number.

Charlie says "Oh, I put the part number in the ticket" and pastes a photo of a drive (low light, low contrast, and blurry but with a visible part number) in the chat.

"Great!" I say, and immediately assemble a quote and find stock. Then i look back at my ticket. "But I'm actually not seeing the part number on this [my] ticket. Where was that again?"

Charlie has put the part number on his ticket, which I was never on, which he closed.

"Ah, okay. I see."

And here's where the different standards that all of us are used to using work against us.

My old job built RAID servers all the fucking time. It was totally standard, totally easy, totally sensible, and I always knew to double the number of drives we needed for the storage we got because we'd be mirroring. Because we'd be using RAID 10. Because it's robust and can take a lot of failure. A drive failing in a server configured with RAID 10 is not ideal, but it's also not a drop-everything and panic emergency. I *still* wouldn't want to leave it two months in an ideal world but I can't drive up to San Francisco and get a part number, and sometimes the world literally catches on fire.

However, these new folks use RAID 5.

A drive failing in a server configured with RAID 5 *IS* a drop everything emergency, because if one drive goes down the whole system goes down until you can replace the drive and rebuild the array, and because RAID 5 is slower than 10, this can take a very, very long time depending on how much data there is. And if *two* drives fail the data is *gone*

So.

Whose job is it to get the part number, and whose job is it to know that the server is at imminent risk of failure?

Well, now I have properly reconfigured my internal alarms about any failing server drive, but I don't understand why none of the three technicians who worked on this ticket with me didn't at any point say "hey this is an emergency" (Alice is from my old team and used to RAID 10 also, I'm willing to give her a pass) and I'm *really* confused why Bob and Charlie would recommend *not* replacing a drive in a server that is that close to failure.

(And again, I just didn't know. Believe me, I am never, ever going to shut up about drive warning tickets in the future)

And, the thing that scares the shit out of me and my manager and part of the reason why this has been a bad week and I'm having stressful conversations: What if I had just closed that ticket instead of letting it reactivate to follow up on? What if I had just marked it as done when Charlie gave me the update? It wouldn't have been an old-ass ticket in my queue that my manager flagged, it would have been a note in an after-action report when the client's server crashed.

(The client has the quote now with the statement "this failing drive puts your server at risk of failure and we strongly recommend replacing" but they haven't approved it yet because they're really cheap so I'm going to have to send it again and say "this is a mission critical part that you need to replace; your server is at risk as long as the drive is not replaced.")

So. The boss is asking "why is procurement taking so long" and really, now that I'm thinking about it - because he brought it up - how much of this really IS supposed to be my job?

[snapscube]

I started ff14 labyrinth for the first time and got overwhelmed by all the shit in my screen and died 4 times is it over for me or is this normal

do u mean “labyrinth of the ancient” as in the raid? no its super normal to be kinda overwhelmed on ur first alliance raid. its a lot of players w a lot of stuff going on!

if you want a tip, somewhere in “character configuration” in the menu u can actually toggle a setting to simplify combat effects coming from either yourself, other players, or both!

would highly recommend setting “party” and “others” to “show limited” if you’re getting overwhelmed by battle effects! you can also toggle your own to limited but i wouldn’t recommend it if ur still learning the mechanics and vibes of ur job. show limited will keep essential effects like healing domes and shit visible for you to work around while cleaning things up a lot otherwise so u can focus on dodging the dangerous stuff.

even with that though it’s gonna be a learning curve! honestly to god i was actually pretty bad at the game for a lonnnggg time. as long as ur doing ur best dont be afraid of dying and using that as a chance to figure out what went wrong, especially in the early expansions. lotttsss of leeway to fuck up without ruining anyone’s day.

[tswwwit]

Here's a thing!

Containing: Bill as a widower, a surprise reincarnation, and dire threats of matrimony.

Despite how things turned out, Dipper has no regrets.

Okay. There is one: Getting caught in the first place. 

But other than that, he’s lived his life the way he wanted to. Everyone told him joining the resistance was a terrible idea. That he had a bright future ahead of him, that he was smart, to not throw it all away for a useless, impossible task. 

Like he could ever do anything else. 

Even at the end of things, Dipper’s proud of what he accomplished. He helped so many people. He picked his fights carefully and mostly had them work out in his favor. He did the best he could, pushed himself to the very limits of his abilities, and it worked so well.

Bright future his ass. Fighting got him further than anything could. When you think of what he’s done. Where he’s clawed back territory. Who he’s saved-

A pang goes through his chest. Dipper ducks his head, hissing against the gag between his teeth.

Okay, second regret: Not saving more people. And not avenging others. Three regrets isn’t so bad. Right?

God, what else could he have managed, if he hadn’t been stupid. If he hadn’t slipped up this one time, if he could have escaped. If he could have- 

“NEXT!” 

Bill Cipher’s voice rings through the room. Two claps punctuate the statement, and the line moves forward. 

Claws dig into Dipper arm, tighter than before. While they still don’t break the skin, the way he’s dragged forward has him hissing again. His skinned knees burn as they slide against stone, and the pain reminds him not to let up his guard.

Not here, in the Fearamid. There’s no worse place. 

In a way, he’s kind of lucky. The massive pyramid that makes up Bill Cipher’s headquarters and fortress has never before breached. No member of the resistance has made it into the command base of the terrible demon who rules the west coast. 

Dipper never thought he’d end up here, ever. The closest he’d imagined was in vague daydreams. The impossible kind where he had amazing powers, spouted cool one-liners, and could smash through the entire awful fortress to kick Bill Cipher right in his angles. 

“Ugh.” Bill’s groan resonates through the room. “Why the hell would I need gold? Real crappy offering.” Another clap, then, “NEXT!”

Being tribute wasn’t exactly on Dipper’s bucket list.

So here he is. Dragged along by his captors to be one more present for the Nightmare King himself. 

Demons try to slake their master’s insatiable greed with an endless parade of presents. The raiding never ends. The looting, the theft, the bribes - everything, everywhere gets poured into the coffers of this monster. Nothing is enough for him. It never will be. 

So it’s pretty weird that Dipper’s here. By himself. 

A hundred humans at once might provoke a passing interest. A few tons of liquor or - apparently not gold, no wonder that assassination attempt failed - could also catch his eye. Only the most elaborate, creative gifts might gain a bit of his favor, which is hard to get on a good day. 

One human who really made Bill’s day worse, though? That might get a second look. Dipper didn’t think he was that big of a deal, but it would be kinda cool. 

Or he wasn’t, and his captors will twist him into a new flesh configuration once they reach the front of the line, like performance art. Or he has been a pain, and when Bill finally gets his hands on him and can do whatever he wants to him, he’ll do unthinkably horrible -

No. Dipper can’t think like that, not now or ever. Fear won’t help. It never helps. 

Terror one of Bill’s tools. He thrives on mortals cowering before him, and Dipper won’t do that. 

He shakes his head to clear it, and gets the hood shoved further down for his efforts. The thin string around his neck draws tighter as a demon adjusts the cloth. Then it plucks at it, in an apparent attempt to make its captive look more ‘presentable’. 

“You sure it’s-” One of the demons mutters above him. Another pluck at his hood pulls it upwards, and he hears a smack.

“Shh! Don’t show everyone ‘til we take credit,” insists the leader. Tension makes his voice rough. “You saw it. Just like in the pictures. Boss’ll love it.”

Sounds like they’re trying to reassure themselves rather than actually thinking this will go well. Dipper snorts. Amusement on the gallows.

All four demons shush him. He can practically picture them holding fingers to their mouths in unison, hissing at their captive. It makes him snort again, and a hand shoves his head down.

Shushed, of all things. The sheer absurdity makes him want to laugh.

Being captured was bad enough. All his hypervigilance turned out useless when it really counted. Everything he’d taken notes on, the plans, the studies - none of those mattered when he was dangling by his ankle from a snare in the woods like a helpless animal. 

But the way he was taken captive? That was notable. A realization that only hit once he was stuffed into a box and had nothing to do except think - but an important one.

For one, most demonic traps leave their victims in multiple pieces. And for another, he wasn’t devoured afterwards. There was an odd amount of caution involved in his handling for a human with so little magic. Almost like they were frightened of doing it wrong.

And after that, he should have been smacked around and beaten for his defiance. Hell knows he didn’t take this bullshit lying down. But instead of ending up with open wounds and a broken jaw, there’s a bag over his head and rough cloth gag to shut him up.

In fact, aside from a few bruises and scrapes, Dipper’s perfectly fine. By all demonic standards, his entire kidnapping makes no sense.

Unless you know what Bill Cipher likes to do to humans.

Dipper tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He hadn’t wanted to think of it. Now the idea won’t stop popping up, cold grey swimming through his thoughts. 

There aren’t many pictures of Bill’s ‘sculpture’ garden. Most aerial shots just get the gist of it, a field spotted grey against green. Stone hands reaching for the sky or clutching their faces, thousands of bodies screaming for their life or hunkered down to the ground -

Swallowing again doesn’t help. His mouth is too dry, even when the gag is damp between his teeth.

Soon he’ll be one of the thousands of ornaments Bill makes of human lives, instead of killing them nice and clean. Another trophy. 

Maybe it won’t hurt? Dipper hopes it doesn’t hurt. He hopes that that’s what he’s here for, rather than anything more creative. But it’s the only fate that makes sense. 

A bit of cold comfort, then. He might not be mutilated. If he’s ‘just like the picture’ - whatever that means - then Bill will want him to stay exactly as he is.

It sounds absurd. But who knows? Odds are Bill Cipher has a type, and Dipper will make an exceptionally pleasant sight once he’s permanently a part of his estate. Maybe he’s got a thing for rebellious, fashionless nerds having the worst day of their life. Whatever goes on in that triangular brain is too weird for Dipper to fathom.

He hopes that being a statue is peaceful. Or at least not too painful. That it happens in a flash, like he’s seen in video. And if he’s lucky, the company he’ll keep for the next… forever might include his -

“Bo-ring,” Bill interrupts the next offering before the demon gets three words into their speech. “I’d say do better next time, but guess what?”

Two claps this time. Something explodes with a splatter, close enough that Dipper and his kidnapping coterie all flinch back.

“There won’t be another.” Bill finishes. He pauses for laughter at his dry semi-joke, then claps once more. “NEXT!” 

The line of supplicants moves forward. Dipper’s knees skid across the floor as he’s dragged forward, sliding to a stop as his captors pause in their line. 

They must be pretty far at the front by now. The group of demons in front of Dipper’s speaks excitedly to an unresponsive audience. He swears he hears a yawn. 

Impressing Bill Cipher is difficult at the best of times. Doing it with one single human seems reckless even by Dipper’s limited knowledge, but excited murmurs keep darting over his head. 

Either they know something he doesn’t, or there’s another factor in play. And hell, considering the tributes Dipper’s overheard, they could hardly do worse. Nothing’s impressed Bill so far. At best he’s waved off their offerings to be piled up with all the, quote, ‘other crap’. 

The latest batch doesn’t fare any better than the previous one. Like last time, Bill groans and something goes ‘splat’. A sprinkle of unknown fluid hits Dipper’s knees, soaking into his jeans. 

“Ugh,” Bill groans, low and extended. It seems like it’ll go on forever, until he hears, “NEXT!”

Dipper’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches, arms and legs pressing against their bindings. None of which stops him from being pulled along in his kidnapper’s wake. 

This is it, then. Facing the lord of dreams himself, eye to… cloth, Dipper doubts he’s going to get a real look at him. 

Which might be for the best. Word is that Bill can manage terrible things to the human psyche, given the chance. Dipper’s very human, and he doesn’t have enough magic to defend himself even if anyone knew how to manage it.

So maybe it’s okay that he’s a little terrified, because it’s natural. And even more importantly,  Bill won’t see it. 

“My lord,” The demon that captured Dipper speaks in a gravelly voice. He’s a green-gray lizard creature, with several eyes, and his sheer amount of muscles belies a sharper mind than usual. Anyone who fought him might have made that mistake. “I found you somethin’ really cool.”

He sounds strangely excited about presenting a single mortal to his king. A hint of pride, maybe, that he kept it so intact? It could be difficult for demons, because Dipper’s sure never heard of it before.

His thoughts are interrupted by a slow push, sliding him forward across stone. Careful force, that lets him keep his balance instead of planting on his face. At least he’ll face his fate upright.

One more tribute. Sitting in front of a king, in a crowd of monsters, Dipper has his pride. And he will not bow. 

And the response from Bill Cipher is… probably not what the leader wanted. 

Dipper hears another groan, followed by a heavy sigh. “Wow. A human. Never seen one of those before.”

Ah, great. Sarcasm. Bill Cipher sounds as impressed with Dipper as he was with the dozen tributes before him - bored, tired, blase. 

Dipper straightens his back, oddly offended. Wait, he doesn’t suck as tribute, right? Part of his pride hinged on his captor not being an idiot. It made losing less embarrassing.

“Ugh. Seriously getting tired of this crap.” Bill’s voice has a tinge of annoyance to it. Kind of a whine, even. “Like I don’t have enough in the rock garden already. The shine rubbed off that apple a while ago.”

“Er,” The lizard demon hesitates. “Uh, well. Nah, see, there’s-”

“Eh, whatever.” With another sigh, Bill snaps his fingers. “Alright, one statue, coming u-”

“Wait!” 

The crowd hushes. A few gasps, a couple whispers at the sheer audacity. Even Dipper twists to look at his captor in sheer surprise. A useless gesture, he still has a hood over his freakin’ face. But, like. What? 

That gruff voice burst out so quickly that it sounded almost defensive, and - what the hell is going on?

The too-busy hall has gone eerily quiet. Even the mad Nightmare King doesn’t speak, probably surprised at this act of open defiance.

“I- sorry, sorry, my lord. But, like, you’re gonna really like this one.” The demon continues, rapid like he’s on the verge of panic. But insistent, too. A tense excitement runs through his words. “You gotta take a look.” 

Dipper blinks in a fruitless attempt to clear his eyes. Stupid fabric over his face. He’s flying blind here.

He wishes he could see everyone’s reactions. Mortals bore Bill at best. Aside from making them into decorations, he barely bothers interacting directly. One young human shouldn’t make a demon yell at Bill Cipher. He shouldn’t matter, or be important, or even register as anything. What the hell?

The crowd stays deathly silent. Bill doesn’t speak. A slow tapping of fingers thuds like a drum in the quiet, a slow contemplative beat.

The Lord of Nightmares holds his own counsel as he judges this outburst. Weighing his options.

“Huh,” Bill says, a second after Dipper thought everything would explode - “Got a lotta confidence in your prize, I see! Guess that’s kinda interesting.” His voice grows louder as he approaches, but there aren’t any footsteps. This monster floats. “Whatcha got there?”

“Well, he was runnin’ about messing up some stuff, and, well, we saw him and - y’know.” The lead demon continues babbling, voice rising to a squeak. Bill must have closed the distance, meeting him eye to multiple eyes. “And! And we made sure not to leave a mark or anything, we was real careful.” A beat of pause; presumably Bill giving him an askance look. “Aside from tying ‘em up, yeah? He woulda run off otherwise.”

“Huh.” Bill says, again. More thoughtful now.

The same thing Dipper might have said, if he wasn’t gagged. True, he hasn’t been beaten up for fun, or toyed with, or devoured. But he’d guessed it was to leave him a more presentable statue. 

Said Nightmare King must be very close by now, intrigued by the semi-sales pitch - or maybe because there’s a secret. Dipper can feel warmth in front of him, radiating from an unseen source. 

Another drumming, fingers on metal. Then, with a hint of a shrug. “Alright. Show me.”

The hood whips off, and Dipper gets a dizzying look at a massive room, black stone bricks and red lines, demons everywhere. Adjusting to the light takes a second, until his eyes land on the shape in front of him.

Dipper blinks a few times - then glares at this jackass.

Bill Cipher, King of Nightmares, conqueror of half the country and weird goddamn asshole, blinks right back.

Dipper’s seen this monster before, though not in person. Cipher’s always on the news. Appearing on TV and in print, whenever he conquers another piece of territory. His pictures are in magazines, photographs in articles, he has a few intimidating ad spots online - he’s everywhere, even on some forms of cash. It’s impossible to avoid this stupid shape.

And wow, none of that is photoshopped, huh. Turns out Bill’s exactly as weird as advertised. Polygonal and golden. Noodly limbs, top hat, everything.

A total, monstrous asshole.

Dipper strains at his bindings, rising up on his knees. Unfortunately, the gag’s still in place, so instead of cursing this jackass out like he wants to, it’s all muffled shouting. 

Bill Cipher goes perfectly still. He hovers in place, a motionless midair shape.

His single eye has a split pupil, and it meets Dipper’s own without moving. Or blinking, either, even though it’s been long enough that Dipper gave up trying to match it.

He’s just. Staring.

Which is… honestly getting eerie. The motionless focus, the impenetrable gaze. Not intimidating, of course. But weird.

Dipper drops back with a huff. Great. He’s having zero effect on this guy. Not even annoyance, and he hoped there’d be some. 

As a last ‘fuck you’, he lifts his bound hands in Bill’s direction, and flips him off.

Bill’s pupil narrows to a single thin line. He makes a strange, back-of-the-throat sound without any visible neck. Like he’s choking.

“So, uh,” The lizard demon rubs at the back of his neck. Greenish sweat pours down his scales, and he wipes it on his tunic in short swipes. “Do you-”

“Shut up and gimme.” Bill interrupts. He darts forward in a blink of motion, making grabby hands in the direction of Dipper’s face. “Gimme gimme gimme!”

Neither Dipper nor his captor have time to react. Bill simply seizes him by the shoulders, hauling him away from his captors and onto his feet so fast his shoes leave streaks on the floor.

“Mh!” Dipper yells against his gag, stumbling to catch his balance. It isn’t the most eloquent protest, but he hopes the ‘you jerk’ gets across anyway.

While Bill’s hands are relatively small, they’re impossibly strong. His grip on Dipper’s biceps feels close to bruising, slightly shaking in its intensity.

Bill tugs him closer. The bizarre pupil flashes through a series of shapes too rapid to parse. A second later it flips horizontal, sweeping a beam of light up and down Dipper, head to toe. 

While it doesn’t feel like anything, Dipper does his best to wriggle away. He hopes it messes with whatever scan this bastard’s doing. He hopes it’s as annoying as this demon is. A kick aimed at one of Bill’s floating legs didn't land, but it was worth a shot.

Bill ignores his struggles. He laughs at the kicks, which deserves more kicking. He wraps those horrible noodle arms around Dipper's biceps like ropes and giggles when Dipper growls at him, flickering side-to-side in weird, glitchy glee. 

The sound of his stupid laughter makes Dipper want to fight him all the harder - useless, of course, those arms only look noodly. They’re super-magically powered. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. 

“Oh.” Bill says, lower than before. He draws Dipper close, bringing him almost within headbutting range. “Oh, now this is beautiful.”

“Mh?” Dipper tries to glare to poor effect. Confusion and anger keep jockeying for space in his head, and he’s pretty sure it shows. 

And Bill starts laughing, high and loud and wild. He’s glowing now, surface lit from within with a bright golden light.

“Well! Gotta say this is interesting!” Bill pushes him back slightly, at a human-ish arm’s length. Though he still keeps a solid grip on Dipper’s arms , squeezing tight. “But man, this wrapping’s crap! What happened to ribbons on presents, guys?” His eye rolls. “Lemme fix that.”

With that said, he grows a third arm from one of his sides and snaps his fingers.

The cloth of Dipper’s gag parts like it was clipped with scissors. The bindings on his wrists cleave open, the chains on his ankles explode off his socks, and it’s only because Bill’s still holding him upright that Dipper doesn’t fall over out of sheer surprise. 

He wipes at his mouth - spitting out threads in the process, he’d really been trying to chew through the gag - and coughs. With his wrists untied, he can flex his fingers and drop his arms to his sides, hands clenched into fists. 

Because now he’s… free-ish. For some reason. With Bill holding onto him there’s zero chance of getting away, but still. 

Dipper works his jaw a little, to loosen it. Rubs his wrists to ease the low ache. There’s a huge crowd of demons in this immense hall, so. No escape routes, not when the place is packed with monsters like a can of sardines. 

Eventually he has to admit he’s wasting time. The big problem is right in front of him, if he can just. Face it. 

Taking a deep breath, he turns his head to look at the worst creature in the entire goddamn world.

Bill’s lower eyelid has risen up in a curve, kind of like a smile. Still laser-focused on Dipper’s face, boring into him as if he could see into his soul. Or maybe plotting a laser course through his prefrontal cortex. 

But there isn’t any mockery. No taunting or yelling or stupid puns. None of the typical theatrics that you’d see on a news report. Just… more staring.

Dipper clears his throat. He tugs at the collar of his shirt. 

The whole room has gone so, so quiet. He didn’t think it could get quieter than before, but that was people glancing at each other, waiting for a chance to leave the crime scene. A hush littered with bits of gossip and gasps, warnings passing between the crowd. 

This silence is an indrawn breath. Held in anticipation. 

So. Here he is. In front of the greatest, most powerful monster in history, and instead of being a cool dramatic confrontation, with like. Action, or a witty back-and-forth - it’s just awkward. 

“Well, sapling?” Bill prompts, eye narrowing. He releases Dipper’s arms only to point directly at his face. Like he's accusing him of something. “Got anything to say for yourself?”

Dipper breathes in deep. 

Okay, then. Space to talk? A chance to say whatever he wants?

Yeah. That he can work with.

“Fuck you, Bill.” He spits out the words, putting all the hate in his heart into the venom of his tone. He steps forward, getting right in this asshole’s… face? Surface? Whatever. “I hope you die. In a fire. And that your ugly-ass pyramid falls on you, and you get crushed in the rubble, and - and that your exoskeleton gets melted down for scrap, because you just suck that much.”

Bill… says nothing. No magic twists Dipper into a terrible shape. No pain jolts through his body.

And when Dipper dares to look him in the eye, his face reflects back from the infinite depths of Bill’s pupil, blown wide from the tiny slit of seconds ago. By this point it’s nearly a circle. Which is weird, and kind of intimidating - 

But he’s not made of rock yet. Bill hasn’t retaliated, probably because he’s too stunned to react. And fuck him. 

“And another thing,” Dipper continues, less steadily now. He didn’t have a speech prepared. But since he’s not dead, hell, might as well make the most of it. “You’re dumb as hell, and I hate you. So much. You’re the worst thing that could ever happen to m-”

Something goes ‘splat’ just beside him, making him flinch. Another wet sound lands nearby, followed by another, and another. A slow patter that builds in pace, rapid and thick. 

Dipper stares in horror as literal, throbbing hearts pop up and circle around Bill Cipher’s top hat, spinning in a rapid circle. As more manifest, old ones fall to the floor like the world’s worst rainstorm, spattering red across the stone. Even his pupil is that same friggin’ organ now, pumping away in silhouette. 

“Aha. Ha ha!” Bill’s voice raises in pitch with his laughter, and his fingers wiggle in anticipatory glee, just before his arms extend and coil around Dipper’s body, pinning his arms to his sides. “HA HA HA HA HA!”

Dipper opens his mouth to protest. Rather pointless in retrospect, though he does get out a “Hey!” as he’s lifted off the ground.

That stupid heart-rain has stopped, at least. Now it’s just Bill, glowing incredibly bright and giggling like the complete madman he is. 

Dipper kicks out in protest, swearing and struggling. Bill’s dumb noodle arms have some give to them, but they’re wrapped tight enough that it doesn’t matter.

“YOU!” Bill’s voice was already loud, but now it resonates. Filling the hall with a boom, ringing against the walls. His eye has blown out to a circle again, and in the depths a few strange, starlike dots glimmer. “Of course it’s YOU! Nothing was gonna keep you away, was it? And now you’re back!”

This is the point where Dipper would protest again. Or threaten, or question or - something. 

But it’s pretty hard to get words out when an insane demon is spinning you around like a carnival ride, complete with fireworks overhead. 

Below him the crowd cheers, a raucous chorus. He could swear more demons are pouring in by the second into an already packed hall. Lights are going off and on in a strobe, with the pop of fireworks ringing overhead. Music blares from one corner, then another as stereo sound kicks on.

Between the explosions, the lightshow, the noise - Dipper would try to figure out what the hell is going on, if he weren’t trying not to be sick from the spinning.

Bill doesn’t seem to notice any of this, focused on the human he’s captured. Eventually he slows, letting Dipper touch solid ground again Dipper with a glimmer in his eye that instantly makes him wary. Something is up, and he doesn’t know -

“I know just what to do with you, kid.” Bill says, eye narrowing. Two hands come up and cup Dipper’s cheeks, strangely warm - “C’mere!”

Watching Bill’s eyeball drop back into its socket, and the huge, sharp teeth emerge from the mouth where his eye should be, Dipper knows immediately that this. This is how he’s going to die.

Then the eyelids purse into lips, and Bill hauls him in face-first. 

“Mmmmwha!” A long, exaggerated sound. Pretty dramatic, really. Bill draws back, eye smiling at Dipper as he squeezes his cheeks with both hands. “Oh man! You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that!” 

“Whuh.” Dipper says, intelligently.

Bill cackles, chucking Dipper under the chin, then tickling it with a couple fingers. “Ha! Did one little smooch rock your world?” His eye wiggles, with horrible, terrible implications. “Don’t worry, there’s way more where that came from!”

Dipper reels from the sensation of having his whole face - not eaten, or rearranged, but - His legs totter, but the arms around him keep him upright.

A million questions whirl around. None of them have answers. They simply spin and spin and spin until Dipper’s brain feels blank, like - 

Oh. Okay. 

Intellectually, Dipper knew that Bill could break minds. He just thought it’d be more gory and torturous. For some reason. 

“And as for you-” Bill turns towards the cluster of demons that brought Dipper here, to this weirdo showcase. Under his gaze, even the most terrible monsters cluster together with nervous smiles. “Who’s in charge of your little outfit?”

Tentatively, arm shaking, the leader raises a hand. Bill’s eye snaps to it and he floats in, right in front of the lizard demon’s sweating, scaly face. 

Then his lower eyelid rises in that strange emulation of a smile, and he gives him an incredibly hard high-five. 

“Alright everyone, listen up!” Bill proclaims, turning towards the crowd. Grabbing the lead captor’s wrist, he raises it up like a winning prizefighter. “These guys get free drinks for the next two millennia!”

 A cheer rises up from the crowd. The lizard demon’s mouth purses in a ‘o’ of delight, hands fluttering at his cheeks like a human winning a gameshow.  Dipper spends a moment staring at the frankly bizarre site of a group of demons clutching each other like giddy highschoolers, bouncing in a circle.

“You heard it here first, guys! The boy is back!” Bill shouts. He whirls in a full circle, nearly giving Dipper a heart attack. It feels like any moment he’s going to fall, even when he’s wrapped up - “And you know what that means?”

Gasps bubble up from the gathered demons. A susurrus of voices starts, fluttering back and forth in the crowd.

‘Party’, is whispered from one corner. Another careful voice ventures to ask, ‘Party?’.  The word repeats, flickering in and out of hearing as it spreads through the crowd. Off in the back a single voice lets out a loud ‘Wooo!’

“That’s right!” Bill is so, so loud, and so, so pleased. He holds Dipper overhead, bouncing him up and down. “Iiiiit’s PARTY TIME!”

An explosion of confetti covers the room. A disco ball drops from the ceiling, music bursts from unseen speakers, and Bill sets his captive down on the floor next to him. His arms uncoil, spinning Dipper around like a top until he thinks he’ll fall-

As the room reels around him, Dipper reaches out for the closest solid surface, leaning on it until the room stops whirling around him. 

If the surface happens to be the worst asshole ever, well. He didn’t have any other options. 

“Hell, free drinks for everyone tonight!” Bill shouts, to a huge, monstrous cheer from the crowd. Part of the room has transformed into a long bar, and a good third of the demons are already rushing towards it. “Get while the getting’s good, guys!”

Watching the stampede, Dipper’s too surprised to move, until the demon under his elbow does it for him. 

“Stick close, sapling. These guys can get pretty rowdy!” Bill says. His metallic surface is warm, not quite hot to the touch. The corner pressing into Dipper’s side, though, that’s annoying. “Don’t want you getting lost again.” 

A tight belt wraps around his waist and makes him startle - but it’s just Bill again. A small black hand pats his stomach twice before taking hold of his shirt.

And Dipper’s standing here, not dead. Not a statue, not an experiment. Kind of an offering, maybe, but a weird one. He’s just…

Standing beside Bill goddamn Cipher, unharmed by the most unhinged creature in the universe. And why the fuck is that? 

An explanation has to be nearby. A reason. For everything. 

Why he’s here. Why he got this reaction. Why this Bill is so not like the Bill on the news, and maybe even why demons are chanting ‘chug chug chug!’ to a monster bodysurfing the crowd, drinking from a bottle the size of his arm. 

Dipper feels a glass pressed into his hand, cold with a slender stem. He holds it absentmindedly, glancing around the room and the raucous party kicking up, trying to find sense in the nonsensical.

The hall is huge, so. Fits a party atmosphere, he guesses. Bill himself has one ropy arm warped around his waist, with a grip on his shirt so tight he’s pretty sure it’d tear if he took off running. Behind them is the dais where Bill reigned over the tributes, making each and every decision from his throne - 

Dipper does a double-take, glancing back over his shoulder.

A second throne sits next to Bill’s on the dais. Way harder to spot, though; it lies in shadow, unlike the brightly lit rest of the room. The dark grey blends with the shaded light until it nearly matches the black walls. A seat too small for any human-sized person, and too human-shaped for any different kind of person. Instead of either, a painting rests on the seat. 

Easing out of Bill’s grasp is impossible, but with effort Dipper manages to twist around for a better look. 

The painting is set in a gilded frame with elaborate designs - mostly triangle based, no surprise there - but the picture itself is of a human. 

Sitting in the smaller throne is a portrait of a young man. Messy brown hair and a lean build, wearing casual clothes and a faint half smile. His head tilts towards the viewer, as if they just caught his attention. His expression looks like he heard a dumb joke and is ready to retort, amusement shining in his dark brown eyes. Beneath his bangs a series dots and lines in pink stands out, like a strangely shaped… birthmark.

Dipper’s hand flies to his chest. His heart feels like it’s stopped for a second. 

No, wait. That can’t-

He whips around, getting a ‘hey!’ from Bill who nearly spills his martini at the motion. Dipper smacks him out of the way, his hat is blocking the view.

Now that he’s spotted them, they’re impossible to miss. One portrait hangs out to the left of the throne, sleepy-eyed and cowlicked hair blinking in the viewer's direction. On the right a shirtless human lounges on a couch, jeans slightly undone. Another hangs from the ceiling of all things, glaring down at Bill’s throne from above like an annoyed god.

Shit. The pictures. 

They all look exactly like Dipper. 

“Geez, aren’t you squirmy? Ha! Figures!” Bill says, floating closer. When one of his arms loops around Dipper’s neck and he tousles his hair, it meets a man gone still as a statue. “You’re always a pain in the angles! It’s adorable!” 

“What the fuck is this.” Dipper can’t even make it a question. His voice is too tense to rise at the end. 

Bill’s eye swivels from his face, to the portraits, then back again. It rolls in its socket so far back it comes around again. “You. Duh.”

“How-” No, that’s not the right question. “What- Wh- huh?” 

Not his best showing. Words aren’t working right; they fail him along with his usually organized thoughts. Dipper can’t concentrate. His mind filled with too much weird and why and - in an insane section of his brain - an incredulous, really, Bill?

“Oh, that.” Bill says, flicking away dismissively. He gestures over the portraits, the party, and then at himself. His arm makes another loop around Dipper’s neck, loosely draped. “What’s to wonder about? It’s simple!”

“Is it.” Dipper says, flat. He stares forward, even as the arm snakes around and around his torso in two loose loops.

“Absolutely!” Bill’s voice drops as he closes in. Not quiet, but muted enough to not be heard over the party crowd. “See, you got away from me once, kid. And fair enough, that’s what mortals do!” The stem of the martini glass shatters in his grasp, and he drops the remains with a casual flick. “They die on ya!” 

Dipper glances at the portrait on the throne, then back to Bill. Tries to swallow, though his mouth feels dry with a sudden, looming realization.

“But there’s no escape this time. Never again.” Bill's eye narrows, so close to Dipper's face it's nearly touching. “Prepare for happily ever after.”

[allwormdiet]

Sentinel 9.4

Back in the saddle again

You know, I'm not sure if tinkers actually are "supposed" to be smart. The other examples we have to work off of besides Kid Win are Bakuda (constant state of fucking around and finding out until it killed her), Armsmaster (he of the dumbfuck raid boss solo plot), and Dragon (actually no notes on Dragon's relative intelligence), plus Chariot in just a minute here who literally only succeeds at being a mole because the Protectorate allows him to succeed as a ploy

I'll concede that they're adept engineers and scientists, sure, but you can know how to build a nuclear reactor and still be dumb enough to build it in your backyard. There's no single measure of intelligence that everyone measures high on, that's just not how it goes.

Then again like two-thirds of this chapter are lowkey about Kid having self-esteem issues so like, I get that he's being hard on himself. I feel like half the cape POVs we've gotten so far have self-esteem issues, never mind Taylor Hebert Queen of Self-Image Problems

I'm gonna skim over a lot of this fight like I had in 9.3, but while this can't feel good for one's confidence, honestly I'd mostly just be relieved. Like, yes, let the villains whose powers are Railgun and The Fucking Sun take it easy on me, that's fine, I like my body parts staying in the configuration they have.

Thank God he actually has a chance to feel like he's contributing, without the horror of accidentally killing someone

Wow, Trickster sucks. Why do they put up with this guy?

So, somehow I doubt he's somehow lacking in a specialty, but from the description of his apparent focus issues (plus the fact that taking medication to help with focus nearly took him out) I wonder if the way his tinker stuff goes involves having a bunch of little things, if the lack of focus is somehow a sign of what his specialty actually is.

Oh fucking boy

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay (sarcastic)

Also I don't know why they specifically would go to cities that have already been Endbringered but there's a real "kick them while they're down" energy to it that I do not care for. Goddamn jackals.

Is it the "another tinker" thing or the "that wasn't Armsmaster" thing that he's more excited about lmao

Weld's adapting a little better to his role, and Clockblocker is able to keep his mouth shut and play along, so things are improving.

I dunno man, it's a citywide apocalypse, does bedtime matter anymore?

Hey what the

Fuck

is going on here

Tinker-to-tinker communication

Y'know, now I'm curious what the wages are for a non-Tinker Protectorate member. Obviously Tinkers can have it made if they've got something the higher-ups want, but is Miss Militia making enough to own a house? Is your income tied to merch sales?

Think this is the first time someone has outright said triggering as a parahuman rewires your brain to some extent. Curious to see further elaboration on that.

I think if you're gonna hire a mole, you should make sure they can lie convincingly. That feels like step two.

(Step one is "make sure you can trust this person to be a mole for you")

Fucking gottem

Well hey Kid, looks like you're pulling your weight after all

Current Thoughts

I do think Sentinel is a neat arc but I'll admit, in recounting and rereading this it lost me a little bit. That might just be the Travelers fight though, I could feel the lack of stakes to the fight like a gap between my teeth.

Kid seems like a solid character, classic impulsive inventor with an actual exploration of what that impulsiveness does to his work ethic and self-worth. I'm glad he gets a chance to shine here and I hope he figures out his exact specialization so he can stop being so down on himself

The Wards do seem to be coalescing into more of a team as things progress, sure would be a shame if the resident lone wolf was to fall for obvious bait and disrupt that or something.

[mxchineherald]

[starter for @runes-menagerie.]

 He’d made a promise to her that he would take her with him, and he’d already broken it. She had a bad feeling about the meeting, but so did he. “I’m so sorry,” he said to her as he put her back onto the configuration table, “I cannot risk you being taken by them. I will be back! I won’t let anyone hurt you.” he activated the table, locking her in place to it so that she couldn’t follow him.

 And then he left her behind.

 Jayce had told him about the raid on Silco’s shimmer plant on the way to the meeting. He heard about the lives lost, including that of a child. His disgust was only measured by his iron will and patience, otherwise he would have beaten the walls with his crutch in his anger. A child. A child! There was no way to preserve peace, at this point, without giving in to Silco’s demands. He feared for his people – their future – under the rule of such a vindictively blind man, but this was their only choice. Jayce had made it so.

 And they were successful. After hours of debate and argument, the Council gave in, voting unanimously to grant Zaun its independence. There was something powerful about being in the room where it happened, but he wasn’t sure he would want to tell the tale.

 Then, there was a loud crack. He felt a shove against this augmented limbs, forcing him out of his chair and away from a bright gold dome that formed over Mel Medarda and Jayce. The BOOM left his ears ringing, but he could still hear Cassandra Kiramman’s shout of pain as he went flying. He slammed against a chunk of the now shattered round table. Two ribs snapped under the pressure, and something ripped open in his gut. His back came into hard contact with a stone column. Something plucked in his upper spine, sending a burning twinge up to his neck. He fell amongst the rubble, unable to get up while dust, ash, and bits of heated ember landed over him. The golden dome still persisted, but within it, he could spot the silhouette of Mel and Jayce, locked in a ducked down embrace. His augmented hand outstretched for Jayce before he lost the last of his strength, falling limp against the stone and wood. Vision faded, and soon with it went his hearing.

 Life came to him in brief flashes. Something jostling him from his uncomfortable position on the ground. Hands against his chest and neck. “Vi..tor? Viktor… Ope..y..eyes! Please!” Jayce. He was trying to wake him. Pointless. He could feel it. He was dying. There was a burning, torn feeling in his insides. He could feel his blood leaking into his abdominal cavity like a trickling river. Dread seeped into his core. Sky. She was in the lab, helpless. Without him there to explain, what would happen to her? The sound of tearing cloth caught his ears past the ringing, and he felt fresh air against his skin. He was so cold. Was he even on the ground anymore? No, he was moving. He was being carried, quickly.

 Jayce burst into the lab by kicking the doors open. Rushing up to the exam table, he set Viktor’s limp body down, being extra careful with his head. “Come on, Viktor… Stay with me…” He leaned down, gently stroking some hair out of his lab partner’s face. He felt so chilled to the touch, like there was barely any life left in him.

 Then, he rushed to the table, where Viktor’s notes were still spread across. Details on the Hexcore, its evolution, its transfiguration of his limbs. Seeing a journal set on top of them, he opened it up, flipping to the most recent pages, trying to find something – anything – that could help him understand what had happened to his partner.

 He was running out of time, and he couldn’t risk bringing Viktor to a hospital, not in his current state. They still had an Ethos, and he knew Piltover would be quick to use it against any Zaunite they could, now. If only Sky was here to help him. She was always quicker at reading Viktor's handwriting.

 He hadn’t yet noticed the Hexcore on the configuration table, but he was close enough to hear it.

[virtualizationhowto]

Top 5 Home Server OS distros for self-hosting

Top 5 Home Server OS solutions for self-hosting #homelab #selfhosted #homeserverOSrecommendations #besthomeserver2023 #CasaOSvsDietPicomparison #mediaserversetup #UmbrelOSfeatures #topserverOSforRaspberryPi #networkattachedstoragesolutions

Home servers and home server labs have exploded in popularity because users want to self-host and learn self-hosted services, keep control over their data, and just geek out overall. There is much interest in “home server OS” solutions that make installing and standing up self-hosted solutions easy. This guide discusses the top 5 home server operating systems you should check out. Table of…

[selfiesandwinepics]

This could not have been easier… the UGREEN NASync DXP4800 is well constructed, nicely packaged, and has a great OS and features for a home / smb NAS. I was able to install 4 Toshiba N300 Pro NAS HDs in about 2 minutes including unboxing, and have this thing powered up and on my LAN in minutes. 4x18TB in RAID5 gives me about 49 real TB of usable space in a fully redundant configuration.

Access from machines on my lan is easy, secure, and very performant. Sustained write speeds in my office are at the theoretical limit the gigabit Ethernet supports—I could upgrade my switch and Ethernet on my main photo / video processing PC if I was so inclined, but 1Gbps is pretty ok for most tasks. When you’re loading an hour and twenty minutes of video at 1Gbps you are reminded it isn’t capable of 10x that speed if your lan / computers support it. I immediately want to upgrade everything lol.

Easy, simple, safe, secure. I’m not usually impressed by these kinds of things but uGREEN provided an Apple level experience here… honestly it’s simpler and easier than Apple. Have you tried navigating System Settings on an iPhone lately? 🙄

If you’re looking for a cost effective RAID enabled NAS, this is a pretty good option.

[wizardshark]

Just had an interesting talk with my boi @digby-official about a post apocalyptic setting in the Bible belt where Judaism and Christianity has recombined. They believe Jesus was the Messiah but we killed him. He came back and brought with him the end of days and now we attempt to follow his teachings living in the post-end of days capital of his kingdom (the state that he was a senator for).

I'm thinking technology-wise it's electricity without computers. Much less guns than fallout type post apocalypse because the Messiah lead the movement that successfully banned guns from America, so using guns is heretical. This, plot wise, puts guns only in the hands of the antagonists, and makes an easy "ante up" button for danger. World wise, this also means guns are VALUABLE, because the means to develop them and the knowledge how are long gone. So sure you can bring your legendary AR16 to this raid, but are you going to use one of your 21 irreplaceable bullets? Probably not!

I'm still configuring the actual plot, but the setting is very fun to think about in an RPG apocalypse world way, so I'm hoping to get a pretty fun short story out of it.

[theurbanmechcomesforthee]

CATAPHRACT- ALTERNATIVE MEASURES OF STEALTH

"Leopard primary, deploying package. Have fun, Chatterbox." yelled the dropship pilot, preparing to take off. Cataphract had been explained that, per the mission, this was as close as they could make it to the pirate base without detection. Dropping his scanners to minimum engagement distance, he picked up speed towards the target designated.

This new loadout was unfamiliar to him. The weight was the same, and the distribution had not changed much, but his new armament puzzled him for a brief moment. The replacement of one of his RAC/5s was certainly, to borrow a human phrase, "one of the decisions of all time." However, with the new development of Tri-charge ammo and his willingness to test the new ammo, it didn't mind it as much as it might otherwise. The rotary autocannon was not new to him, but its configuration was. New vented barrel extensions had been fitted to the barrel, as well as a new ammunition, called "Weed Burner" caseless shells. Supposedly they allowed the autocannon to fire a burst of flame much like a vehicular flamer at close range. They also doubled the ammo he had, which he was happy to hear.

Sprinting over to his destination, he tore across the rocky plains, nearly leaping between each drop of the foot actuator. Each step was calculated, matching angles with the terrain to boost speed, not simply the clumsy running of perhaps a Hunchback pilot of similar base speed. After 43 minutes, 54 seconds, and 23 microseconds recorded of total travel time, he established visual contact with the enemy base. Stealth, not speed, was the name of the game now.

///TARGET VISUAL CONTACT ESTABLISHED. MACHINIST, EYES OPEN FOR [THREAT] CONTACT. Stafford opened the line again, now both able to coordinate with the machine, and actually having something to talk about.

"Eyes peeled. Make your way in there. Turrets are going to activate if you don't take down the terminal building. I don't want your armor shredded before the fun begins."

///ALTERNATIVE METHOD. SIGNAL INTERCEPT.

Thinking quickly, Cataphract concentrated divertible heat into two vents, allowing him to show up on heat contact but not boiling the vents. While the turrets were relaying the data, Cataphract picked up the signal destination, and with some clever signal imitation of the unsecure terminal, he managed to send a shutdown message to the turrets, and allowing him time enough to hack the terminal. After looking inside the terminal, optimizing the speed for the signal throughput of the degraded terminal, and then feeding the access codes to him, he turned on the turrets again, now matched to his every command. An impressive security feature, Cataphract noted, was the separation of the turret network from the gate, which was at a separate terminal in the same building. However, separation alone would not suffice. The gate opened at his whim, allowing him to walk inside.

What he saw when he walked inside was a mostly empty pirate colony. Heavily developed, clearly, but mostly empty from a dropship taking them to a raid. The few that were at their posts were either blackout drunk, or did not recognize the machine, and simply accepted him not firing at their buildings as a sign of a friendly unit. At the other end of the colony, past the residential buildings, was the mechbays, tactically placed to be the last line of defense to the improvised command structure. The massive silo loomed over him, the massive doors not budging. A jam was detected, someone shouted at the massive mech. Now was the time for action.

"You're doing good so far. I didn't think they'd let you walk through without ID, but if nobody's at the gate and the turrets didn't go off..."

///ALTERNATIVE MEASURES OF STEALTH, NOW BEING DEPLOYED.

"Don't you fuckin' do it, Cat Ears."

playaudio ["Stress, Justice", 1:57]

The screeching of sirens blared as the rotary autocannon ripped through the door, the flames firing from the rotatable barrel nozzles from the rounds firing softening up the armor for subsequent shots.

With no effort at all the door latches burned off, allowing Cataphract to pry apart the massive silo doors with one mechanical hand and a barrel arm. Kicking a nearby tank onto its turret, he began firing the spread of MRMs, tearing through catwalks while high explosives and incendiary charges flew everywhere past where the missiles struck first. Rotating the autocannon nozzles to the various mech harnesses, he fired away as the autocannon rounds began to rip through the walls and support beams. A Locust appears behind him, to which he punches the mech with the MRM 20, and lets loose the missiles, obliterating the engine and pilot. Now with the mech refit harnesses destroyed and collapsing onto the pirate mechs, the mechs begin to fall over like dominos, to which "Chatterbox" opens fire on the rear parts of the mechs on the floor.

///ALL TARGETS DESTROYED. STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE IMMINENT. REQUEST EVAC.

The music grinds to a halt, and the mech tears its way out of the burning hall. Turning the defense turrets against the other combat vehicles attempting to intercept him, he makes short work of a small lance of medium tanks, now melted slag in the wake of the colossal machine.

Incoming fast was the same dropship that had dropped him off earlier. As it slowly descended, he looked up to the massive hunk of steel, and begins formatting a battle report, as his machinist spoke up to him on the comms.

"How'd the test run go?"

///TEST COMPLETE. NEW WEAPONS SUFFICIENT.

"That's good. You did good work today, buddy. Let's get you patched up."

///UNDERSTOOD. DROPSHIP DOCKING SUCCESSFUL. WAITING ON YOU, MACHINIST.

[usafphantom2]

Randy’s Warbird Profiles: Grumman F7F-3P Tigercat

June 28, 2024 Angela Decker Warbirds News 0

By Randy Malmstrom

Since his childhood, Randy Malmstrom has had a passion for aviation history and historic military aircraft in particular. He has a particular penchant for documenting specific airframes with a highly detailed series of walk-around images and an in-depth exploration of their history, which have proved to be popular with many of those who have seen them, and we thought our readers would be equally fascinated too. If Randy’s last name seems familiar, it is because the U.S. Air Force’s present-day Malmstrom AFB, near Great Falls, Montana is named in honor of his cousin, Col Einar Axel Malmstrom. Col Malmstrom commanded the 356th Fighter Group during WWII, flying P-47 Thunderbolts, the first of Randy’s articles featured an example of the type, P-47D 45-49406 (N7159Z) at the Flying Heritage & Combat Armor Museum in Everett, Washington.

This installment of Randy Malmstrom’s aircraft profiles takes a look at the Grumman F7F Tigercat. On January 2, 1930, Grumman Aircraft Engineering Aircraft Corporation was founded by Leroy (“Roy”) Grumman three of his friends, Leon (“Jake”) Swirbul, William Schwendler, and Edmund Ward Pool, when they left Loening Aeronautical Engineering Corporation. First located in Baldwin, New York, the plant was moved to Valley Stream and Farmingdale before moving to Bethpage, New York in 1937. Initially nicknamed the “Tomcat” (but considered too suggestive), what became the “Tigercat” was designed as a carrier-based aircraft for the larger U.S. Navy Midway-class carriers.

Detail design began in 1941 but was delayed by including an “unsatisfactory” tailhook design and poor directional stability with only one engine operational, but the biggest delays came from the Navy asking Grumman to give priority to the development and production of the Hellcat. The Tigercat was powered by a pair of Pratt & Whitney R-2800-34W Double Wasp radial engines and was fitted with four M2 cannons (two in each wing root) and four 0.50 cal. M2 Browning machine guns in the nose. It had a max payload of 2,000 lbs. and could be configured to as a single or two-seater.

XF7F 1 at Moffett Field 1946

XF7F-1 BuNo 03550, the second prototype, at Moffett Field, California in 1946. NASA photo

In November 1944, F7F-1 BuNo 80291 completed the type’s carrier qualification trials aboard USS Shangri-La (CV-38), but by that time the land-based VMF-911 had been training on F7F-1s at MCAS Cherry Point, North Carolina since the summer of 1944. After producing just 34 -1s, Grumman began turning out F7F-2s, which, at the Navy’s request provided space for a radar operator, which required the capacity of the reserve fuel tank to be reduced from 426 to 375 gallons.

The story of the Tigercat in World War II is a case of so close, yet so far. The first squadron to receive the F7F-2N was Marine Night Fighter Squadron Five three One (VMF(N)-531) Grey Ghosts, which embarked aboard USS Attu (CVE-102) on July 24, 1945. As the ship neared Guam, the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6. After unloading in Guam, the squadron arrived on Okinawa on September 1, the day before the Japanese signed the “Japanese Instrument of Surrender the following day. The same fate befell Marine Photographic Squadrons Two Five Four (VMD-254) and Three Five Four (VMD-354), both of which operated the F7F-3P. The combat debut of the Tigercat would have to wait five years just across the Sea of Japan. During Korea, VMF(N)-542 Tigers and -513 Flying Nightmares flew night interdiction and close air support sorties with the latter squadron shooting down a pair of Po-2 biplanes on night harassment raids. Combat operations for the Tigercat ended in April 1952, when the Flying Nightmares flew it final combat sortie, although a number of F7F-3N/-4N/-3Ps continued to fly in non-combat roles until the end of the war.

While 1,500 Tigercats were commissioned, fewer than 500 were delivered, and, to my knowledge, only eight remain airworthy. This particular F7F-3P, BuNo 80483, was delivered to the U.S. Navy on July 24, 1945 and was assigned to NAS San Diego. After 46 hours of non-combat flying time, it was relegated to the boneyard at NAS Litchfield Park, Arizona but became one of less than twenty Tigercats eventually rescued from Litchfield. This example flew for SIS Q Flying Services out of Santa Rosa, California. In 1962, SIS Q Flying Services of Santa Rosa, California won a National Forest Service contract to provide airborne forest fighting services in California and Oregon and acquired a number of Tigercats, including 80483, and outfitted them for aerial fire fighting operations. Registered as N6178C, this aircraft flew over 1,300 hours with SIS Q Flying Services before eventually being sold.

Grumman F7F 3N Tigercat Sis Q Santa Rosa CA March 3 1988 RuthAS

Our subject Tigercat in Santa Rosa, California on March 29, 1988 during its career with Sis Q Flying Services. RuthAS photo.

In November 1988, it was shipped to Duxford, U.K., and for a time was painted as a Tigercat of U.S. Marine Corps VMF(N)-542. It was then acquired by a John Sessions entity in 2003 for the Historic Flight Foundation which is now shuttered but was previously located in Spokane, Washington. In 2016, it was sold to Comanche Maverick Air, L.L.C., a Houston, Texas-based entity, owned by Dan Friedkin. It is currently painted as an F7F-3P with tail code “MW” of U.S. Marine Corps VMJ-1, and in the name of a former Tigercat pilot, aeronautical engineer and author Lieutenant Commander A.M. “Mike” Granat, United States Navy (Ret.), Lt Commander Granat flew over 30 aircraft, including the Tigercat.

About Randy Malmstrom

Randy Malmstrom grew up in a family steeped in aviation culture. His father, Bob, was still a cadet in training with the U.S. Army Air Forces at the end of WWII, but did serve in Germany during the U.S. occupation in the immediate post-war period, where he had the opportunity to fly in a wide variety of types which flew in WWII. After returning to the States, Bob became a multi-engine aircraft sales manager and as such flew a wide variety of aircraft; Randy frequently accompanied him on these flights. Furthermore, Randy’s cousin, Einar Axel Malmstrom flew P-47 Thunderbolts with the 356th FG from RAF Martlesham Heath. He was commanding this unit at the time he was shot down over France on April 24th, 1944, spending the rest of the war as a Prisoner of War. Following his repatriation at war’s end, Einar continued his military service, attaining the rank of Colonel. He was serving as Deputy Wing Commander of the 407th Strategic Fighter Wing at Great Falls AFB at the time of his death in a T-33 training accident on August 21st, 1954. The base was renamed in his honor in October 1955 and continues to serve in the present U.S. Air Force as home to the 341st Missile Wing. Randy’s innate interest in history in general, and aviation history in particular, plus his educational background and passion for WWII warbirds, led him down his current path of capturing detailed aircraft walk-around photos and in-depth airframe histories, recording a precise description of a particular aircraft in all aspects.

Author ProfileRelated Posts

Angela-Decker

Angela Decker, from McPherson, Kansas, discovered her passion for aviation after earning a Master’s in Military History from Norwich University in 2011. Since 2012, she has volunteered with vintage aviation groups, excelling as a social media content creator and coordinator. Angela has coordinated aviation and WWII events, appeared as Rosie the Riveter, and is restoring a Stearman aircraft. She is the Operations Logistics Coordinator at CAF Airbase Georgia and an accountant with a degree in Economics from the University of Georgia. Her son, Caden, shares her love for aviation and history and is studying Digital Media Arts.

@VintageAircraftNews.com

[workersolidarity]

🇮🇱⚔️🇾🇪 🚨

CASUALTIES ARRIVE AT HOSPITALS IN YEMEN AFTER ISRAELI AIRSTRIKES ON HODEIDAH

📹 Scenes from the arrival of the wounded to a hospital in the port city of Hodeidah, in western Yemen, after the Israeli occupation forces bombed an oil refinery at the port, leading to massive fire and resulting in a number of casualties.

According to reporting in the Israeli and Lebanese media, at least a dozen, but as many as 25, Zionist F-35 stealth fighter jets, F-15 fighter jets, reconnaissance aircraft and refueling planes were brought together in a well coordinated attack, which the occupation army claims had no American involvement (Yemeni sources contradict this claim), to target a power station and other areas of the port of Hodeidah.

The city is under the control of the Ansar-Allah movement and is located on the Red Sea in western Yemen, some 1'000 miles from the occupied Palestinian territories.

According to Al-Mayadeen News, Israeli raids targeted the Ras Katheeb power station in Hodeidah Governate, leading several fires to break out at the oil refinery, which local fire and civil defense teams are struggling to extinguish as the configuration rages at the port's oil storage facilities.

In a statement by the Israeli occupation forces (IOF), "Fighter jets struck military targets of the Houthi terror regime in the area of the Hodeida Port in Yemen, in response to the hundreds of attacks carried out against the State of Israel in recent months.”

“This is a complex attack, one of the farthest and longest carried out by the Israeli Air Force. It required careful planning and preparation for a variety of possible threats in the area,” IOF Spokesman Rear Adm. Daniel Hagari said in a press conference.

Yemeni sources contradict the claim that only Israeli forces were involved in the strike, telling Lebanese News outlet, Al-Mayadeen, that the attack was coordinated between American and Israeli occupation forces.

The source noted the nature of the targets chosen by the Zionist army is "evidence that the enemy is blind," adding that "the aggression will be responded to."

Meanwhile, a member of Yemen's Supreme Political council, Mohammed Ali al-Houthi confirmed that "the Israeli enemy's bombing unites the Yemeni people, and there will be more effective strikes."

"The crime committed by the Israeli aggression would not have happened without the coalition and support from America and Britain, and their participation in it," al-Houthi said of the strike. "This Israeli crime will not deter us from continuing to support Gaza, but rather there will be operations that will disturb the sleep of the temporary entity."

Similarly, the head of the Yemeni negotiating team, Mohammed Abdul Salam, emphasized that pressuring the Arab country to stop supporting the people of Gaza is a "dream that will not come true for the Israeli enemy."

Abdul Salam warned that "the brutal Israeli aggression will only increase the determination, steadfastness and persistence of the Yemeni people and their valiant armed forces, and in an escalating manner."

Additionally, Mohammed Al-Bukhaiti, a member of Ansar-Allah's Politboro warned that the Zionist entity would "pay the price for targeting a civilian facility," adding that "we will meet escalation with escalation."

The Palestinian resistance also denounced the attacks. In a statement issued by the Hamas resistance movement, the resistance condemned "in the strongest terms the brutal Zionist aggression against the sovereignty of the Republic of Yemen and the targeting of oil and civilian facilities," affirming its full solidarity "with the brotherly Yemeni people and the Ansar Allah group, and we mourn their martyrs and appreciate their courageous positions."

The resistance group Palestinian Islamic Jihad also condemned the Zionist aggression on Yemen, and condemned "in the strongest terms the governments that allowed the Zionist aggression aircraft to pass through their airspace to carry out their crime."

#source1

#source2

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[did-i-do-this-write]

Mission Log

Team: Reese (lead), Nic (potential recruit)

Objective: Monitoring

Status: In progress

Report: Reese (lead) is following up and caring for Nic — updates to follow

Word Count: 896

Taglist (ask to be +/-): @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

Read the whole scene under the cut!

Something was off.

Nic stared down at the roughly sketched design she was working on. She erased and re-drew and re-structured. If she could perfect the design and build a prototype, she could sell her ideas for double what she originally calculated.

But where the hell was she going to find a workshop around here? These people lived in the middle of fucking nowhere. Surrounded by trees on all sides, their only neighbors were raccoons and squirrels.

Not exactly state-of-the-art.

Nic threw her pencil down on the desk and rubbed her temples. Her headache pounded behind her eyes. Maybe that was why her brain was mush. A poster of some athlete in mid-basketball shot stared back at her from the wall. She was grateful for the peaceful place to work, even though that girl - what was her name? Sky? - had fought tooth and nail to keep her out.

It didn't bother Nic at all. She probably would have reacted the same way if someone tried to force her to give up her private space. The girl had interesting tastes, that was for sure. Concert posters and sports memorabilia lined the walls. Were those their local Philadelphia teams, or were they from somewhere else? Nic didn't know. And her headache and empty stomach made it even harder for her to care.

Nic cracked open the door and peered out into the family room. It didn't seem like anyone was there. She listened carefully for the sounds of shuffling in the kitchen. Nothing.

Her stomach growled. She decided to take the risk.

Her initial instincts were right. There was no one on the first floor. She raided the fridge for a yogurt and an apple. She grabbed a soda for good measure and scarfed everything down while standing in the middle of the room. The others would be none the wiser.

She tossed her trash into the bin.

CRASH!

The unmistakable ring of metal clashing with metal. Nic whipped her head around to find the source. Smaller, less aggressive clinks and clangs emanated from the door on the far wall of the kitchen.

Slowly, Nic approached it. She cracked the door to see what all the commotion was about. The big guy who brought her here - Reese - was moving tools, organizing shelves, and working on his car. At least, that's what Nic deduced, seeing the hood up and tools scattered next to it.

It was a nice machine. 1962 Chevy pick up truck, cherry red with white and silver accents. Meticulously taken care of by the looks of it. Nic watched her dad fix one or two of them in the days when she visited him at the shop.

But that was before he died.

Nic's head swiveled to the right. There were two nice hanging shelves, set at eye level, covered in small figurines and trinkets. Intrigued, Nic felt pulled towards them. They were all made of stone, carefully smoothed out so the pieces fit together perfectly. One of them was a cube, each face a smooth, glossy collage of greys and browns and tans in various shapes.

Nic picked it up and felt the sides.

"Careful with that," Reese peered out from behind the hood of his car, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Is this a puzzle?" Nic guessed. She was just being polite. She knew the answer.

"Yeah, actually, it is. I can show you how to-"

"No, I got it."

Nic pressed a piece in the center until it gave way, then pressed one of the corners, and finally pulled out one piece that was sticking out until the whole thing collapsed into her hand. Just a pile of cubes and prisms and pyramids.

Reese looked impressed. "Wow. That's a new record. Took Nate a week to figure that out."

Nic laughed through her nose. It wasn't that hard of a configuration.

"Did you make all these?" she asked as she put it back together just as quickly.

"Sure did. 'S a little hobby of mine. Passes the time."

Nic put down the cube and inspected the other figures more closely. A lot of them looked like fighters or warriors at the ready. A small human figure holding a shield, ready to defend. Another one holding an axe, ready to strike. The figure standing in a fighting stance with a sword caught Nic's attention. She picked it up.

"This one looks like it moves," she observed.

"It does," Reese said proudly.

Nic tried to manipulate the rounded joints, but they didn't budge. "But you can't do it without your element."

Reese's pride faltered. "No. That is a puzzle I haven't cracked yet."

Nic held it out to him. "Show me?"

Reese blinked. "Yeah, sure." He took it and held it standing in his palm. It looked puny compared to his hand.

A moment of focus was all it took for the stone to come alive. The figure took a simple swing with it's great sword before returning to its starting position and solidifying back in place, following Reese's will.

"You gave it joints," Nic explained.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? You didn't affix the limbs directly, you used marble-like stones to fasten the arms and elbows, allowing it to move naturally."

"Well, somewhat naturally," Reese corrected. Only those with an earth element could make it work.

"How do you make one?"

Reese smiled. "I'll show you."

[canmom]

today i had the bright idea to organise all my videos. right now they're spread across three hard drives, following a rather haphazard organisation scheme - sometimes based on director, sometimes based on studio, sometimes based on country of origin, sometimes just getting a top level folder because I couldn't think of a good grouping.

well, now they're all going on one hard drive (and i need to make some kind of raid setup so i don't lose the lot if it breaks). i have an old raspberry pi sitting around which might be able to act as a media server/seedbox if it still works. anyway, the question is, how do I organise this thing?

top level is easy enough - animation here, live action there. then I can further sort by country level categories like anime, donghua, etc. - easy enough so far.

but then it's like... sometimes it makes sense to sort by studio, like the Ghibli movies should live together for example. and sometimes director makes more sense, like Masaaki Yuasa's stuff should be together even if he made it at 4°C, as with Mind Game. and sometimes I couldn't tell you which studio or director made a thing, so it would just get a top level folder.

and then it's like... Studio 4°C has a very strong identity as a studio so their stuff should probably live together, right? unless it was directed by Masaaki Yuasa, who gets his own folder..? and should 90s Berserk, animated at Oriental Light & Magic, live with the later film trilogy by Studio 4°C? in that case they shouldn't go in the 4°C folder.

I could put it in one 'objective' scheme, by year for example, and use some kind of system of symlinks to also organise by director, studio etc. but clearly what I'm really looking for is a tagging system. it's common to have that for music libraries. however, I only want to play back in mpv, since no other player is as configurable, properly supports ICC profiles and vapoursynth, etc. etc. mpv is a great player but it's not a library system. probably the open source world has figured this out at some point? also I want to be able to access this drive from Linux and Windows.

clearly i need to just categorise them by Borges' Celestial Emporium and call it a day...