#Web Wall Cladding Design

[stoneartbyskl]

Top 5 Reasons to Choose Wall Cladding Solutions

In the realm of interior and exterior design, wall cladding has emerged as a popular and effective method to enhance the aesthetic appeal of any space. Wall cladding solutions offer a versatile and durable way to transform plain walls into stunning works of art. Among the plethora of options available, natural Indian marble and Indian sandstone stand out as exceptional materials for wall cladding. Here, we explore the top five reasons to choose wall cladding solutions, focusing on the best decorative wall claddings designs offered by Stone Art By SKL.

1. Aesthetic Versatility with Best Decorative Wall Cladding

One of the most compelling reasons to opt for wall cladding solutions is the sheer variety of decorative designs available. Wall cladding can be tailored to suit any aesthetic preference, from contemporary to classic, minimalist to extravagant. The best decorative wall cladding transforms ordinary walls into captivating visual elements that enhance the overall ambiance of a space.

Ripple Wave Wall Cladding Design

Ripple wave wall cladding design is an excellent choice for those seeking a dynamic and fluid aesthetic. The undulating patterns create a sense of movement and depth, making walls appear lively and textured. This design is particularly effective in modern interiors where a touch of elegance and sophistication is desired. Stone Art By SKL offers ripple wave designs crafted from natural Indian marble, providing a luxurious and timeless look.

Bamboo Wall Cladding Design

For a more organic and nature-inspired aesthetic, bamboo wall cladding design is an ideal option. This design mimics the appearance of bamboo stalks, bringing a sense of calm and tranquility to any space. The natural hues of Indian sandstone used in this design add warmth and earthiness, making it perfect for creating a serene and inviting atmosphere.

Flower Wall Cladding Design

Flower wall cladding design introduces a touch of floral charm and elegance to interior spaces. This design features intricate floral patterns that can transform a plain wall into a beautiful mural. Utilizing natural Indian marble, Stone Art By SKL crafts exquisite flower wall cladding that exudes luxury and grace. This design is particularly suited for spaces where a soft, feminine touch is desired, such as bedrooms and living areas.

Geometric Wall Cladding Patterns

Geometric wall cladding patterns are a popular choice for those who appreciate modern and abstract designs. These patterns can range from simple shapes to complex configurations, creating a striking visual impact. Stone Art By SKL offers a variety of geometric patterns using Indian sandstone, providing a contemporary and stylish look that enhances the architectural features of any space.

Zigzag Wall Cladding Design

The zigzag wall cladding design is perfect for adding a sense of movement and energy to a space. This design features sharp, angular lines that create a dynamic and bold statement. Using natural Indian marble, Stone Art By SKL crafts zigzag wall cladding that is both visually stunning and durable. This design is ideal for modern interiors looking for a touch of uniqueness and creativity.

2. Durability and Longevity with Natural Materials

Another significant advantage of choosing wall cladding solutions, especially those crafted from natural Indian marble and Indian sandstone, is their durability and longevity. These natural materials are renowned for their strength and resilience, making them ideal for both interior and exterior applications.

Natural Indian Marble

Natural Indian marble is celebrated for its timeless beauty and exceptional durability. It is resistant to scratches, stains, and moisture, ensuring that the wall cladding retains its pristine appearance for years to come. Marble's natural veining and color variations add a unique character to each piece, ensuring that no two installations are exactly alike. Stone Art By SKL sources the finest Indian marble to create wall cladding solutions that are not only aesthetically pleasing but also built to last.

Indian Sandstone

Indian sandstone is another robust material that offers excellent durability and resistance to weathering. It is particularly well-suited for exterior wall cladding due to its ability to withstand harsh environmental conditions. Sandstone's natural texture and earthy tones make it a popular choice for creating a rustic and natural look. Stone Art By SKL uses high-quality Indian sandstone to craft wall cladding that is both beautiful and enduring.

3. Easy Maintenance and Care

One of the practical benefits of wall cladding solutions is the ease of maintenance they offer. Natural materials like Indian marble and sandstone are relatively easy to clean and maintain, making them a convenient choice for busy homeowners and commercial spaces.

Cleaning and Upkeep

Regular cleaning of wall cladding is straightforward and typically involves wiping down the surface with a damp cloth to remove dust and dirt. For more thorough cleaning, a mild detergent solution can be used. Both Indian marble and sandstone are resistant to mold and mildew, further reducing the maintenance requirements. Stone Art By SKL provides comprehensive care instructions to ensure that your wall cladding remains in excellent condition.

Repair and Restoration

In the unlikely event that wall cladding becomes damaged, natural materials are relatively easy to repair. Chips and scratches can often be polished out or filled in with matching material. Stone Art By SKL offers repair and restoration services to keep your wall cladding looking as good as new, ensuring that your investment continues to provide aesthetic and functional benefits over the long term.

4. Eco-Friendly and Sustainable Choice

Choosing wall cladding solutions made from natural materials is also an environmentally friendly decision. Natural Indian marble and Indian sandstone are sustainable options that have a lower environmental impact compared to synthetic materials.

Sustainable Sourcing

Stone Art By SKL is committed to sustainable sourcing practices, ensuring that the materials used for wall cladding are extracted responsibly. The use of natural stone reduces the reliance on synthetic materials that can be harmful to the environment. Additionally, natural stone is a recyclable material, further contributing to its sustainability.

Energy Efficiency

Wall cladding can also contribute to the energy efficiency of a building. Natural stone has excellent thermal properties, helping to regulate indoor temperatures by retaining heat in the winter and staying cool in the summer. This can lead to reduced energy consumption for heating and cooling, making wall cladding a smart choice for environmentally conscious homeowners and businesses.

5. Enhancing Property Value

Investing in high-quality wall cladding solutions can significantly enhance the value of a property. Beautifully designed and expertly installed wall cladding adds a touch of luxury and sophistication that can make a lasting impression on potential buyers or tenants.

Aesthetic Appeal

The aesthetic appeal of wall cladding cannot be overstated. It can transform an ordinary space into an extraordinary one, making it more attractive and inviting. The use of premium materials like natural Indian marble and Indian sandstone further elevates the perceived value of a property. Stone Art By SKL’s stunning wall cladding designs can create focal points that capture attention and admiration.

Functional Benefits

In addition to its visual appeal, wall cladding offers practical benefits that enhance the overall functionality of a space. The durability and low maintenance requirements of natural stone cladding mean that properties are likely to require fewer repairs and upkeep, which is a significant selling point. Furthermore, the insulation properties of natural stone can lead to lower energy bills, adding to the long-term financial benefits.

Marketability

Properties with high-quality wall cladding are more marketable and can command higher prices in the real estate market. Potential buyers or tenants are often willing to pay a premium for homes and commercial spaces that feature beautiful and durable wall cladding. Stone Art By SKL’s reputation for excellence in design and craftsmanship ensures that their wall cladding solutions are a valuable addition to any property.

Conclusion

Wall cladding solutions offer a multitude of benefits that make them an attractive option for enhancing the aesthetic and functional qualities of any space. The best decorative wall cladding designs, such as ripple wave, bamboo, flower, geometric patterns, and zigzag designs, provide a wide range of styles to suit different preferences and settings. The use of natural Indian marble and Indian sandstone ensures durability, ease of maintenance, eco-friendliness, and long-lasting beauty. By choosing wall cladding solutions from a reputable manufacturer like Stone Art By SKL, you can transform your property into a visually stunning and highly valuable asset. Whether you are looking to renovate your home or upgrade a commercial space, wall cladding is a worthwhile investment that delivers impressive returns in both form and function.

[casualheizouenjoyers]

‧₊˚✩ spider-girl! || march 7th x reader

‧₊˚✩ info: spider man au, modern au, everyone lives in the same apartment, reader makes comics. can be read as platonic ‧₊˚✩ authors note: wdym its been months since ive posted ahahah??? anyways just an old work i had sitting around, was meant to be longer and have romance and drama but alas im no longer hyperfixated on spiderverse or hsr. this is NOTT beta read or edited

You’ve grown accustomed to the lively cast of people that frequented the hallways of the apartment complex’s top floor, it was hard not to, really, when they were all likable and kind people who invited you into their friend group once you moved into your apartment.

It was easy to stop by Himeko’s place to drink coffee and talk about whatever news the two of you had heard of, the most recent discussion being of the new superhero seen swinging around the streets of the city.

You didn’t think twice before asking Dan Heng to beta read the script for the comic book you were working on. He neatly dropped the script at your door with corrections and his thoughts inked in red the next day.

Welt was someone you didn’t see becoming close to. The older man just didn’t seem like someone you’d talk to, but a casual conversation learned to you learning of his work as an animator, and suddenly you had someone willing to actually help you and comment on your designs for your work.

And March instantly took a liking to you. The girl would drag you outside of your apartment (“to actually see the sun”), snapping pictures of you with her Polaroid with the brightest smile on her face as she ooo'd and aaah'd at every photo she took. She’d ask you to pose for her photography class projects, and with two creative minds working on it, March always insisted on treating you to coffee or boba for helping her get a good grade.

“It was all you, really,” You replied as you sipped on your drink of choice. “All I did was sit there while you took the photos,”

“Sure, you sat there and looked superrrr cute—“ March is blissfully unaware on how your heart fluttered at the compliment.

“—But, you also helped me pick out locations and gave me editing tips on photoshop so!!! I say you helped a ton,” She had a satisfied smile on her face.

She’d invite you to her apartment for any reason really, whether it would be to have a sleepover or to watch a new movie or to help her explain to Dan Heng that Legally Blonde is cinematic masterpiece because— The details don’t matter, do they? Though, it did provide the movie for the groups movie night that week.

March easily became a close friend, sneaking her way into your daily life.

Which really made one thing terribly clear….

She’s horrible at keeping a secret.

You see, not long after you moved, a vigilante began to take the media by storm. Clad in a pastel blue suit sectioned off with a pastel pink and covered in a white spider web pattern with big white eyes bordered by a dark blue, it was obvious why she was gaining attention.

It was really something out of the comics you tended to be writing.

However, when your energetic friend began to use her photography skills for profit, she started to sell photos to a local news website of the vigilante referred to as “Spider-Girl” to a local news website. Taking a look at these photos for pose references, you noticed that March managed to get shots from angles that would be extremely hard to get as a normal-non-wall-crawling-human.

The dots weren’t extremely hard to connect after that.

“Sorry, I’m late again!” March called as she walked into Himeko’s living room an hour after you were all supposed to be there. This was probably the fourth time she was late for movie night, but usually she wasn’t that late.

“It’s alright, March,” Welt responded, glancing at the girl as she dragged herself into the room, exhaustion evident on her face.

“Took you long enough,” Dan Heng rolled his eyes, looking up from the book he was reading as he looked at March.

March didn’t respond to him like she would, and so you took it upon yourself to “Oh, shush,” him. The pink haired girl dropped herself next to you on the couch, immediately stealing a part of the blanket you had.

You felt her head drop onto your shoulder.

“March, is everything alright….” Himeko’s question goes quiet as March’s eyes were sewn shut, and soon she began to snore.

If you were not worried for her yet, you pushed a strand of hair out of her face as your eyes catch a glimpse of a bruise on her cheek, hastily and poorly covered up by her pale foundation but clearly noticeable now.

The room had become awfully silent as you all sat there, your movements halted and your eyes widened.

You had your suspicions, but they were confirmed as you gently wiped the makeup off her face and watch in real time as the bruise seemed to heal faster than a bruise should.

The silence continued as everyone watched until Dan Heng got up and left, coming back with a small file of evidence he had seemed to be building up. A hushed conversation revealed Welt seeing her stuff a pastel mask into a bag, and Himeko recounting a run in she had in which the masked vigilante referred to her by her name despite it being their first meeting.

It was obvious everyone had come to the same conclusion on their own.

March 7th was Spider-Girl.

[addiessblack]

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 9

Synopsis: In a world ruled by power, lies, and the ghosts of the past, Anja Christ thought she had buried Aaron forever. But when the boy she once loved—and lost—returns as the ruthless heir to Thunder Bay, obsession ignites into something far more dangerous. Trapped in his web, Anja must decide: fight for freedom or surrender to the madness of a love that refuses to die.

Age 21

The Lunar Hunter Academy was cloaked in darkness, its ancient silhouette etched against the starless sky. Midnight had come and gone, and most of the recruits were deep in slumber. The academy was usually alive with whispers, footsteps echoing down its labyrinthine halls, or the occasional sound of weapons clashing in the training yard. But tonight, the air was unnervingly still, as though the entire institution held its breath for what was about to unfold.

Anja was dreaming, though not of anything pleasant. Even now at her third year at the academy sleep couldn't find her most nights

And when it did it was anything but pleasant. She was back at the Choosing, standing alone in the glaring light of the stage, while shadowed faces in the audience whispered and judged her. She could hear Aaron's voice-soft, reverent, calling her "his swan." The words clawed at her chest, the pain sharp enough to make her wake abruptly, a sheen of sweat on her brow.

She had no time to process the ache in her chest, though. The heavy, almost ceremonial knock on her door jolted her fully awake. The sound was unlike anything she'd heard before, reverberating with finality.

"Miss Christ," a low, commanding voice spoke from the other side. It was neither familiar nor comforting.

Anja shot a glance at the clock on her nightstand. Midnight had long passed. Recruits weren't supposed to be disturbed at this hour. Her sharp instincts immediately kicked in. Something was wrong.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her hand already under the mattress, wrapping around the hilt of the small dagger she always kept there. "Who's asking?" Her voice was steady, cold.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure clad in the academy's ceremonial black-an insignia she hadn't seen before stitched in silver across their chest. The person's face was hidden by a hood, their features swallowed by shadow.

"The Midnight Reckoning awaits," the figure said simply.

Anja's grip on the dagger tightened. Midnight Reckoning? It wasn't a term she had ever heard, and in an academy where every test was designed to break you, that wasn't a comforting realization.

"Care to elaborate?" she asked, standing but not moving closer.

The figure didn't answer, instead stepping aside to reveal the corridor outside her room. Lit only by flickering torches, it stretched out in eerie silence. Her door wasn't the only one open. Figures in black moved methodically from room to room, rousing only a select few recruits.

Her pulse quickened. This wasn't random.

Without waiting for an explanation, she quickly dressed, tucking her dagger into the sheath hidden beneath her belt. She stepped into the hallway, her sharp eyes scanning the movements of the cloaked figures. Around her, other recruits shuffled out of their rooms, some looking groggy, others alert and wary. Among them, she spotted Indie, who gave her a brief nod.

"What's this about?" Indie whispered, falling into step beside her as the group of chosen recruits was led down the hall.

"No idea," Anja murmured, her voice low. But her mind was already working. Midnight summons. Cloaked figures. A secret trial, perhaps? The academy was notorious for its unannounced tests, designed to push recruits to their limits. But this felt different-darker.

The group was led out of the main building and into the cold night air. The courtyard, usually alive with the soft glow of lanterns and the chatter of students, was shrouded in mist. Torches burned low along the perimeter, their flames casting long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls.

Only ten recruits stood in the courtyard, the rest of the academy seemingly oblivious to what was happening.

"Welcome," a voice rang out, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Anja turned toward the sound. A woman in a crimson coat, her hair pulled into a severe braid, stood at the center of the courtyard. Her presence was commanding, her voice cold and sharp. Behind her, two masked figures flanked her like silent sentinels.

"You stand here tonight because you are the best this academy has to offer," the woman began, her piercing gaze sweeping over the recruits. "But excellence is not enough. Potential is not enough. Tonight, you will prove your worth-or be forgotten."

Anja's expression remained impassive, but her mind was working furiously. Prove your worth. What did that mean?

The woman gestured to the fog-shrouded archway behind her. Runes etched into the stone glowed faintly, pulsing with an unnatural light. "Beyond this arch lies your trial. You will be hunted by the academy's elite. They will show you no mercy. Your task is simple: survive until dawn."

Murmurs rippled through the group, quickly silenced by the woman's sharp voice. "There are no rules, no allies. You are on your own."

Anja's sharp gaze darted to the archway. The air around it seemed to shimmer, a faint hum resonating in her ears. It wasn't just a passage-it was something more.

"Those who succeed," the woman continued, "will gain entry into a world few know exists. A secret order that operates in the shadows, combating threats greater than anything you've been trained to face. But know this: the truth you uncover may shatter you."

The tension in the air was palpable.

"Now," the woman said, stepping aside. "Run."

The recruits hesitated for a fraction of a second before the first darted through the archway, disappearing into the fog. The rest quickly followed, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Anja hung back, her sharp eyes assessing the situation. Indie gave her a questioning look, but Anja simply shook her head.

"Let them panic," she whispered. "We'll see who's left standing."

As the last recruit vanished into the fog, Anja and Indie exchanged a brief nod before stepping through the archway together.

---

The labyrinth stretches beyond, trapping them with no light from the sky above but only the faint rune glow. This section includes long periods of tension, with slow pacing alternating between discovery of obstacles (an unseen hunter prowling just past them) and bursts of chaos. Would you like me to extend from here?

The Midnight Reckoning: Shadows Awaken (Extended)

As Anja and Indie crossed through the archway, the air shifted. The temperature dropped sharply, the cold biting through their clothes. The oppressive silence pressed against Anja's ears, broken only by the faint hum of the glowing runes etched into the ancient stone. It wasn't just a doorway-it was a threshold into something else.

The mist thickened, curling around their feet like tendrils, muffling even the faintest of sounds. The labyrinth unfolded ahead of them, walls of towering hedges and jagged stone rising high above, casting long, menacing shadows in the faint light.

Indie inhaled sharply beside her. "I don't like this," she murmured.

Anja didn't reply. She didn't like it either, but voicing that wouldn't change the fact that they were here now. The trial had begun.

A sharp cry pierced the silence somewhere deep within the maze, followed by the distant sound of hurried footsteps. Anja's hand instinctively went to the dagger she'd tucked into her belt, her senses on high alert.

"Stay close," she said, her voice low.

Indie nodded, her own hand reaching for the twin knives she always carried. The two moved cautiously, their footsteps silent against the damp ground. Every corner they turned felt like stepping into the unknown, the heavy mist distorting shapes and shadows, making it impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't.

Anja's mind raced as she took in their surroundings. The labyrinth wasn't just a test of endurance-it was designed to disorient, to strip away any semblance of control. And the Hunters waiting within? They wouldn't hesitate to exploit that.

Another scream rang out, this one much closer. Indie stiffened, her grip tightening on her knives.

"They're picking us off," Indie whispered.

Anja nodded grimly. "Good. It means they're distracted."

"Distracted? They're killing us, Anja."

"Not yet." Anja's voice was sharp, but not unkind. "They're testing us. The Hunters could have taken us all down in the courtyard if that was the goal. This is about survival. Strategy."

Indie gave her a skeptical look but didn't argue.

The two pressed on, their movements cautious and deliberate. The mist seemed to thicken with every step, the faint glow of the runes on the stone walls their only guide. Anja's sharp eyes scanned the path ahead, every flicker of shadow and rustle of leaves setting her on edge.

And then they heard it-a low, guttural growl.

Indie froze. "What the hell was that?" she whispered.

Anja didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the shadows ahead, her body tense. The growl came again, deeper this time, resonating through the air. It wasn't human.

"Move," Anja hissed, grabbing Indie's arm and pulling her into the nearest side path. They pressed themselves against the hedge wall, the cold leaves brushing against their skin.

A moment later, a figure emerged from the mist. It was tall, cloaked in black, its face obscured by a mask. The Hunter moved with an unnatural grace, its footsteps silent despite the weight of its armor.

Anja held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The Hunter paused, its head tilting as though it could sense their presence. Indie's breathing was shallow beside her, her fingers trembling slightly around the hilt of her knives.

The Hunter turned abruptly, disappearing down another path.

Anja exhaled slowly, her grip on Indie's arm loosening. "They're tracking us," she murmured.

"No kidding," Indie muttered, her voice tight.

Anja ignored her tone, her mind already working. The Hunters were faster, stronger, and better trained. If they wanted to survive, they needed to be smarter.

"We can't stay in one place for long," Anja said. "We move quickly, quietly. No lights. No sound."

Indie nodded, her usual cocky demeanor replaced by a focused intensity.

They continued through the labyrinth, their movements swift and silent. The cries of other recruits echoed faintly in the distance, each one a grim reminder of the stakes.

Anja's instincts were sharp, her every decision calculated. She led them through narrow passages and hidden alcoves, avoiding open spaces where the Hunters would have the advantage.

But the labyrinth seemed to shift around them, the paths twisting and turning in ways that defied logic. Several times, they found themselves back at the same dead end, the faint glow of the runes mocking them.

"This isn't normal," Indie muttered.

"Nothing about this is normal," Anja replied.

They rounded another corner, only to come face-to-face with a Hunter.

It happened so fast, Anja barely had time to react. The Hunter lunged, its blade flashing in the dim light. Anja ducked, her dagger coming up to deflect the strike. The force of the blow sent her staggering back, but she recovered quickly, her movements fluid and precise.

Indie darted forward, her knives slicing through the air with deadly precision. But the Hunter was faster, its movements almost inhuman. It twisted out of the way, its blade coming up to block Indie's attack.

The fight was brutal, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoing through the labyrinth. Anja moved with practiced ease, her strikes precise and calculated. But the Hunter was relentless, its strength and speed far beyond anything she'd faced before.

It wasn't until Indie managed to slip behind the Hunter, her knife finding a weak point in its armor, that they gained the upper hand. The Hunter staggered, a guttural growl escaping its lips as it crumpled to the ground.

Anja didn't wait to see if it would get back up. She grabbed Indie's arm and pulled her down the nearest path, her heart pounding in her chest.

"We can't keep doing this," Indie panted, her voice tinged with panic.

Anja didn't respond. She didn't have an answer.

They moved quickly, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the mist. The labyrinth seemed endless, its paths stretching on forever.

By the time dawn began to break, they were bloodied and exhausted, their movements sluggish. The labyrinth finally gave way to an open clearing, the mist dissipating as the first rays of sunlight pierced the sky.

Anja and Indie stumbled forward, their breaths ragged.

The woman in crimson awaited them, her expression unreadable.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice cold. "You've survived the Midnight Reckoning. Welcome to the Order."

Anja's sharp gaze met the woman's, her mind already racing. Whatever the Order was, she would find out. And whatever secrets they held, she would uncover them.

She started walking all of them following in silence.

Anja walked near the front of the group, her every step deliberate as the crimson-clad woman led them through a maze of stone corridors that delved deeper and deeper beneath the Lunar Hunter Academy.

Behind her, Indie muttered under her breath, her apprehension clear. "Why do I feel like we're walking into a trap?"

"Because we might be," Anja said flatly, though her tone was quieter than usual. Her sharp gaze flicked to the glowing runes etched into the walls. They pulsed faintly, as if alive, as if watching.

The group finally reached an enormous set of double doors, intricately carved with a mural that seemed to depict all four sectors of the Earth: the sprawling cities of the Northern Coalition, the towering spires of the Eastern Dominions, the rolling deserts of the Southern Commonwealth, and the chaotic ruins of the Outlands, the no-man's land crawling with Morbus. In the center of the mural, a figure loomed, robed and faceless, their hands outstretched as if presiding over all-a symbol of Ever, the world's ruling body.

Anja's eyes lingered on the figure. She'd grown up believing Ever was a force for peace, a unifying power meant to keep the fractured sectors from descending into chaos. But something about the figure's blank face unsettled her now. It felt less like an emblem of unity and more like a mask hiding something darker.

The crimson-clad woman gestured, and the doors groaned open, revealing a cavernous chamber bathed in cold light. A massive, circular table dominated the room, its surface engraved with a map of the Earth. Around it sat figures in dark cloaks, their faces hidden in shadow. The air hummed with an unspoken power, the kind that made your skin prickle.

"Step forward," the woman commanded, her voice sharp. The recruits hesitated but obeyed, their boots echoing on the stone floor. Anja kept her head high, her expression unreadable, though her mind churned with questions.

The woman stopped at the table and addressed the council. "These are the recruits who survived the Reckoning. They have proven their strength and loyalty. It is time they learned the truth."

One of the cloaked figures leaned forward, their voice low but resonant. "The truth is not for the faint of heart. Once you know it, there is no turning back."

Anja's pulse quickened, though her face remained impassive. She wasn't here to show fear.

The crimson-clad woman turned back to the recruits. "What do you know of the war?"

The question was met with awkward silence. Finally, one of the recruits spoke, his voice uncertain. "We know it's against the Eastern Dominions. They're trying to expand into the Northern Coalition's borders. Ever has stayed neutral because they want peace."

The woman's lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer. "Peace." She spat the word like it was a joke. "Is that what you believe? That Ever, in its infinite wisdom, has stayed out of the war because it values peace?"

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances. Indie shifted closer to Anja, whispering, "What's going on?"

Anja didn't answer. She was too focused on the cloaked figures, on the way their silence felt heavier than words.

The crimson-clad woman continued, her tone colder now. "Ever is not a force for peace. It is a force for control. And the war with the Eastern Dominions is not what it seems. It is a farce."

A ripple of disbelief spread through the recruits. Anja's jaw tightened, though she remained silent, her sharp mind racing.

"Years ago," the woman said, "Ever and the Eastern Dominions formed a secret alliance. They share a single goal: the eradication of the Morbus. But their methods... their methods are monstrous."

One of the cloaked figures spoke, their voice calm but edged with steel. "For decades, they have been conducting experiments on talented Evols-those with powers they deem exceptional. Their goal is to create the perfect weapon: mindless soldiers stripped of their humanity, capable of annihilating the Morbus without hesitation."

Anja's stomach churned, but she kept her face a mask. Around her, the other recruits were reacting with shock, anger, even fear. Indie's hand flew to her mouth. "That's... that's impossible. Ever wouldn't-"

"They would," Anja cut in quietly, her voice like a blade. "Because they think it's for the greater good."

The crimson-clad woman nodded, her expression grim. "They believe the ends justify the means. To them, the extinction of the Morbus is worth any cost-no matter how many lives they destroy in the process."

Indie shook her head, her voice trembling. "But Ever's supposed to protect us. They're supposed to keep the sectors united."

"They are united," the woman said bitterly. "United in secrecy. United in lies."

The crimson-clad woman regarded the recruits with a measured intensity, her gaze heavy with authority. Silence lingered in the chamber, broken only by the faint hum of the glowing map carved into the circular table.

"Before I ask you to make your choice, you must understand the Order's purpose, how we operate, and the cost of standing with us," she began, her voice sharp and commanding. "The Order exists to fight in the shadows where others cannot. We are the unseen force that stands against the corruption embedded in Ever and the Eastern Dominions. We expose their lies, sabotage their experiments, and strike at their power when the world isn't looking."

One of the cloaked figures leaned forward, their voice calm but resonant. "We are not affiliated with the Northern Coalition government-not officially. Our existence is not known to most of their council. Only a select few in the highest ranks know of us, and even fewer understand the full scope of our mission."

The recruits exchanged glances, unease rippling through the group.

"What about the Northern Coalition?" one of them asked, his voice hesitant. "Aren't they supposed to be fighting Ever and the Dominions, too?"

The crimson-clad woman's expression darkened. "Not all of them. Most of the Northern Coalition believe this war is what it seems: a conflict with the Eastern Dominions to protect our borders and our people. But a handful of their leaders know the truth-they know Ever's involvement and the horrors being committed. They work with us in secret, but even among them, there is a traitor. Someone is feeding information to Ever and the Dominions, ensuring their experiments continue unchecked. That is why the Order exists. We cannot rely on politics or diplomacy to end this. We must fight in ways the world would never condone."

A recruit near the back of the group shifted uncomfortably. "So, what exactly do you do? Just... attack them? Expose their secrets?"

Another cloaked figure spoke, their voice low and deliberate. "We gather intelligence. We infiltrate their facilities. We rescue those they would turn into weapons. And yes, we strike when necessary. But our ultimate goal is to dismantle Ever's control and expose their lies to the world. To do that, we must remain in the shadows. If Ever or the Dominions knew of our existence, they would crush us."

The crimson-clad woman nodded. "We operate in secrecy because that is our greatest weapon. If you join us, you will become part of a war that most of the world doesn't even know exists. You will fight battles no one will ever hear about. You will make sacrifices no one will ever recognize. And if you fall, there will be no one to mourn you."

Her words hung heavy in the air, the enormity of the situation sinking in.

"And the Morbus?" Anja asked, her voice cutting through the silence. "What about them? You said Ever and the Dominions want to wipe them out."

The woman's gaze turned to her, sharp and calculating. "The Morbus are part of this, yes. Ever and the Dominions see them as a plague that must be eradicated. They believe their experiments will create the ultimate weapon to achieve that goal-Evol-powered soldiers stripped of free will, designed to kill without hesitation or fear."

Anja's jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her mind racing.

Another cloaked figure added, their voice quiet but firm, "The Morbus are not the only ones they are willing to sacrifice. Anyone they deem expendable-anyone who stands in their way-is at risk. They see themselves as saviors, but their methods are monstrous."

The crimson-clad woman stepped closer to the recruits, her expression unyielding. "This is what you must understand. Joining the Order means more than fighting a hidden war. It means accepting the truth: that the world is far more broken than you ever realized, and that you may never live to see it repaired. It means sacrificing everything for a cause no one else will fight for."

Her gaze swept across the group, lingering on each of them in turn. "Now I ask you: who among you will stand with us? And who will walk away?"

The silence that followed her question was deafening, the weight of it pressing down on everyone in the room. The recruits shifted uneasily, their faces reflecting a range of emotions: fear, doubt, determination. The glowing map etched into the table cast ghostly light across their features, as if demanding an answer from each of them.

Indie was the first to speak, her voice tight but resolute. "What happens if we walk away?"

The crimson-clad woman turned her piercing gaze on her. "If you choose to leave, your memory of this night will be erased. You will return to your training, none the wiser, and live under the same illusions you've always known. But you will not be part of the Order. You will not know the truth, and you will not fight the battles that truly matter."

Indie's lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand brushed against Anja's arm, seeking reassurance, but Anja didn't move. Her sharp gaze was locked on the council, her expression unreadable, though her mind churned.

"And if we stay?" one of the other recruits asked, his voice trembling.

The crimson-clad woman's tone turned steely. "If you stay, you will become part of something far greater than yourself. You will know the truth, and you will fight for it. But understand this: the path ahead will not be easy. You will face danger, betrayal, and sacrifice at every turn. You may not survive. And if you are captured, no one will come for you. The Order cannot risk its existence for a single life-even yours."

The recruit paled, looking like he was about to be sick.

Indie's grip on Anja's arm tightened. "This is insane," she whispered. "How are we supposed to make a decision like this?"

Anja's jaw clenched, her sharp mind piecing together everything they had learned. Ever's lies, the experiments, the mindless super soldiers. The traitor in the Northern Coalition. It all led to one undeniable truth: the world she thought she knew was gone. There was no going back, not for her.

"I'll stay."

Her voice rang out clearly, cutting through the tension like a blade. All eyes turned to her, including Indie's, wide with shock.

"Anja, are you-"

"I'm staying," she repeated, her tone unwavering. She stepped forward, her head held high, her gaze meeting the crimson-clad woman's. "If everything you've said is true, if Ever is as corrupt as you claim, then someone has to stop them. I'm in."

The woman's expression softened, just slightly, and she nodded. "Then you will fight in the shadows, where others cannot."

Indie looked at her friend like she'd grown another head. "Are you crazy? Do you even hear what they're saying? This isn't just dangerous, Anja. It's suicide."

"Then leave," Anja said quietly, though her words stung more than she intended. "You don't have to stay, Indie. No one does. But I can't walk away from this. I won't."

Indie's mouth opened, then closed again. She hesitated, her hand clutching the pendant around her neck as if it might give her strength. Her gaze darted to the other recruits, most of whom still looked too stunned to speak, then back to Anja.

"I can't let you do this alone," she said finally, her voice trembling but resolute. She stepped forward, standing beside Anja. "I'm in, too."

A faint smile tugged at Anja's lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. She placed a hand on Indie's shoulder, grateful but worried.

One by one, the other recruits began to make their decisions. A tall boy with dark eyes and a scar across his jaw stepped forward, his expression grim. "If Ever's doing what you say, they need to be stopped. I'm in."

A girl with silver-streaked hair and a wary gaze followed. "Me too. Someone has to fight for the truth."

Not everyone chose to stay. A handful of recruits, their faces pale and eyes wide, backed away toward the door. They couldn't meet anyone's gaze as they muttered apologies, their fear outweighing their resolve.

The crimson-clad woman didn't try to stop them. She merely gestured to another figure in the shadows, who stepped forward to lead the dissenters away. "Their memories will be erased," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "They will not remember this night. Nor will they know of your choice."

When the door closed behind the last of the deserters, the woman turned back to the remaining recruits. Her gaze swept over them, lingering on each of their faces.

"You have made your choice," she said, her voice softer now but no less commanding. "From this moment on, you are no longer ordinary recruits of the Lunar Hunter Academy. You are part of the Order. Your lives will change, your missions will be dangerous, and your loyalties will be tested. But know this: you are not alone. You fight for a cause that matters, and you fight with us."

The cloaked figures around the table inclined their heads in unison, a silent acknowledgment of the new recruits.

Anja felt the weight of their gazes, but she didn't flinch. She glanced at Indie, who looked more nervous than resolute, and offered a faint nod.

They had stepped into the shadows together. There was no turning back now.

The dormitory was cloaked in silence, the kind that felt too heavy, too suffocating after everything they'd just learned. Anja pushed the door open, stepping inside with slow, deliberate movements. Indie followed, her expression pale and her hands trembling slightly as she shut the door behind them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt too small, the walls too close. Anja dropped her bag by the bed, her muscles tense and her mind racing. Indie hovered near the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out into the dark expanse of the academy grounds.

"Are you okay?" Indie finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Anja didn't answer right away. Her fingers grazed the edge of the desk as she paced, her sharp eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers that weren't there. The cold light from the moon spilled through the window, casting long shadows across the floor.

"Anja?" Indie pressed, turning to face her. "Talk to me."

Anja stopped, her back to her friend. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I don't know if I can."

"What do you mean?" Indie's voice wavered, but she stepped closer, her concern clear. "You've been quiet ever since we left the chamber. I know you're thinking something. You always are. So just say it."

Anja let out a breath, shaking her head. "It's not something I can just say, Indie. Not yet. I need to-" She paused, her throat tightening. "I need to figure it out first."

Indie frowned, but she didn't push further. She nodded slowly, retreating to her bed and sitting down heavily. "Fine. Just... don't shut me out, okay? We're in this together."

Anja glanced at her, her expression softening for a brief moment. "I know."

As Indie leaned back against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest, Anja turned her attention to the desk by the window. The faint reflection of her face in the glass stared back at her, pale and hollow-eyed. Her mind replayed the crimson-clad woman's words over and over, like a haunting melody she couldn't escape.

"Experiments on talented Evols-those with powers they deem exceptional."

Her chest tightened.

Aaron had been exceptional. Everyone knew that. His Evol, his mind manipulation, had made him a legend even among the Lunar Hunters. His talent was unmatched, his potential limitless. And yet he'd been sent to fight, to risk his life on the front lines of a war that now seemed less and less like the noble cause she'd believed in.

And then he'd died.

At least, that's what they'd been told.

Anja pressed her palms against the desk, her breath shallow. The memory of Aaron's funeral flashed in her mind-the folded flag, the somber speeches, the way her mother had wept and her father had stood like a stone pillar, unshakable but silently broken. She'd been numb, barely able to process it all.

But now...

"Mindless soldiers stripped of their humanity, capable of annihilating the Morbus without hesitation."

Her stomach churned.

What if Aaron's death hadn't been what it seemed? What if he hadn't died at all? What if he'd been taken-experimented on, used as one of their weapons?

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. It couldn't be true. She wouldn't let herself believe it.

But the questions wouldn't stop.

Why had someone as powerful as Aaron been sent to the front lines in the first place? Why had Ever stayed silent during the war, only to now be exposed as collaborators with the Eastern Dominions? And why did the words of the crimson-clad woman feel like they were slicing through her, ripping apart the carefully constructed lies she'd lived with for so long?

She turned from the window, her eyes landing on the small, framed photo on her nightstand. It was a picture of her, Aaron, and the rest of their family, taken during one of their rare moments of peace. Aaron's arm was slung around her shoulders, his smirk infuriating but familiar. She could almost hear his voice in her head, teasing her, challenging her, grounding her.

"I won't let them take him," she murmured, her voice low but fierce.

Indie stirred, glancing up from her bed. "What did you say?"

Anja shook her head, forcing her expression into something neutral. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

Indie didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further. She lay back down, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I hope we know what we're doing," she muttered.

Anja didn't respond. She couldn't.

Instead, she sat on her bed, the photo in her hands, her fingers tracing the edges of Aaron's face. She knew what she had to do now. If the Order was right, if Ever truly was behind everything-the experiments, the lies, the war-then she would find the truth.

And if Aaron was still out there, if he'd been taken, turned into one of their weapons...

She would bring him back. No matter the cost.

[thesaddestsadboi]

Entry Two: Bleak Falls Barrow

I woke up the following morning, ready for my adventure into Bleak Falls Barrow. The inn wasn't the best, but it worked for the amount I spent on it, and it was better than the ground.

Anyway, as soon as morning hit, I put on my gear and made my way over to Riverwood to make my trek up the mountain. I ran into a few bandits, but they were nothing but mosquitoes to me and my skill. Eventually, I finally made it to the Nordic ruin.

Inside, I heard two bandits talking and took them out with my bow. I didn't really hear what they were saying, but I doubt it was important. I looted the chest, grabbed the amulet I found on the table, and continued walking through the barrow.

There wasn't much else special about the barrow besides these strange Nordic amulets I kept finding. They looked to depict the Old Nordic Gods from the Merethic Era and early First Era. They didn't have any magical properties, so I stashed them away to be examined later.

Eventually I made it to a room covered in webs and a Dunmer man tangled within them. As I stepped closer, a giant spider climbed down and began to attack. It had poisoned me, but I was still the victor. Luckily, I'm a Bosmer, so the poison didn't affect me too harshly.

The man kept shouting for help, so I walked over and cut him down. Noticing the treacherous look in his eyes, I remained cautious. The second he stood up, he turned to run further into the barrow. Being the more crafty one, I used one of my hooked swords to grab his ankle and pull him back off his feet. I then killed him right then and there. I knew he was only going to do the same thing again, so why put up with it? As his body lay lifeless, I noticed the sheen of gold and pulled out a rather heavy dragon claw, made completely from gold.

I pocketed the dragon claw and continued on my way through the ruins. The only noteworthy thing was more amulets and a strange head in a jar, like the one I procured from the cave in Helgen. This time it was of an Argonian. Poor chap....

This place was filled to the brim with draugr and they all fell by my hand. It took some time, but I had finally made it to what seemed like the end. A large door with three circles and an inlet that seemed to fit the dragon claw I had found. I quickly took it out, noticing immediately that there was a strange design on the palm of it. I looked at the claw, then back up at the door before turning the circle to match the code on the claw.

Something clicked and the door dropped, opening up to a large room. Through the room, there was a wall with an odd, but somewhat familiar text on it, and a large sarcophagus. I heard chanting in my head and the text began to glow, putting me in some kind of trance. I stepped forward, almost like I was absorbing some kind of energy from it. By the time it stopped, the sarcophagus popped open, revealing a draugr.

The battle would have been difficult without Redcap by my side, but the undead creature eventually dropped to the ground, once again lifeless; although, this time, headless. There was a loud thud, which caused me to jump, and I was reminded of why I was here. The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow.

I made my way out after looting all the chests I found on the way there and headed back to Whiterun. The outside weather was so much better than the stuffy dungeon in so many ways. There was a clear breeze, it wasn't dusty, and the sun shone in a way I'd never think could be replicated.

Once I was back at Whiterun, I noticed a caravan of Khajiit sitting outside the Whiterun walls. Unfortunately, they were not allowed inside the cities due to ridiculous racial stereotypes and beliefs of skooma dealing. Personally, I've never seen them with skooma, but I won't doubt the experiences of others.

While browsing the wares of the Khajiit, I heard loud grunting and shouting as a strange man clad in iron was carving his way through the guards, towards me. I hadn't the slightest clue as to why, but the guards eventually outnumbered him and put him out of our misery. I looted the newly deceased corpse just to figure out why he was trying to attack me, but found only a note detailing a mine in the Rift. I pocketed the note, concluding that I would eventually explore this lead. But not now. I had to return to Farengar.

I made my way up the steps to Dragonsreach and entered the keep, walking over to Farengar's chambers. I noticed a woman with him, but paid her no mind as I gave the court wizard the Dragonstone. He was thoroughly excited, but the excitement seemed to shoot through the roof as Ireleth came into his chambers, stating that there was a dragon sighted. The mage could hardly contain himself as he questioned every little detail about it.

Being told to take it seriously, Farengar seemed to contain his excitement as we headed to the Jarl. After a little conversing between the Jarl and a guard, we were once again given a task. This time to deal with the dragon. Yes, a dragon! The giant, flying, fire-breathing lizard dragon! He claimed I had more experience with them, but I had only seen the aftermath of one after it flew away! I had the same amount of experience as the guard did! As much as I wanted to decline the orders, I sighed and nodded.

I followed Ireleth over to the Western Watchtower and watched as a guard came out, shouting to stay back. I had to search the tower in hopes of finding other survivors, but I had no such luck. Although, I did find another one of those heads in a jar. I must look into these later....

A roar tore across the skies and I quickly ran outside. The dragon had come back. The fight had begun as archers shot arrows at it, Redcap had started throwing spears at it, and I shot my own arrows at it. Eventually, it landed and I took my swords out to finish it off.

It took ages, but the mighty lizard fell! I still can't believe we took out a dragon! A creature from legends! Just as we began celebrating, a familiar feeling overtook me. There was loud wooshing of energy surrounding me as I absorbed some sort of power from the dragon. The men went silent as the feeling slowly dissipated.

One of the men approached me and called me "Dragonborn". It was strange, but it felt right. I wasn't quite sure, but something felt right. He told me to test my newfound ability. One word flooded my mind and as I started saying it, power echoed as a force of energy shot out of my lips. Fus!

I had to return to Jarl Balgruuf and tell him about this discovery.

As I made my way back, the sky crashed with a thundering sound. Do va kiin were the words--or word, now that I'm thinking about it--echoed. Hopefully the Jarl would have more answers as to what exactly was going on.

At the keep, I filled Jarl Balgruuf in on what had happened. And, to my surprise, he had a lot of the answers I was looking for. I was being summoned by a group called the Greybeards....

With all the work I had done, finally came my reward. I was granted access to a home, the title of Thane, and two weapons that were specially crafted for me. With my title, came a housecarl. Lydia was her name and she seemed like a fierce warrior. However, I already had Redcap by my side. So I told her to go relax at home and I would find her if I ever have need of her.

The journey was long, but it was worth it. I had a new title and, with it, came power. I suspect I will only grow in power with the help of these Greybeards. But, that's a story for another day. Today was a long day and now I need rest. So, I'm off to my new home in Whiterun to sleep the rest of the day away. Tomorrow, I will journey to this High Hrothgar place.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Alright, here's the second entry of the Alzak Chronicles! So glad I was able to have it released today. I know it wasn't super exciting, but I'm tryna work on my pacing. I hope it was still satisfactory either way. Anyway, here's to the beginning of a new series!

Also! Before I get comments about the Khajiit caravans, I'm only writing in the viewpoint of Alzak. I know there are Khajiit within the walls of cities and it's mainly the caravans that are banned from cities. But, I'm trying my best to not metagame with this character. I'm rising to the challenge of making a cohesive storyline with the mods I use, which is a lot....

~ The Saddest Sad Boi

[ausetkmt]

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ENOUGH PAYWALLS AND ENOUGH CLICKBAIT

----------------------------------------------------------------------

If you step into the headquarters of the Internet Archive on a Friday after lunch, when it offers public tours, chances are you’ll be greeted by its founder and merriest cheerleader, Brewster Kahle.

You cannot miss the building; it looks like it was designed for some sort of Grecian-themed Las Vegas attraction and plopped down at random in San Francisco’s foggy, mellow Richmond district. Once you pass the entrance’s white Corinthian columns, Kahle will show you the vintage Prince of Persia arcade game and a gramophone that can play century-old phonograph cylinders on display in the foyer. He’ll lead you into the great room, filled with rows of wooden pews sloping toward a pulpit. Baroque ceiling moldings frame a grand stained glass dome. Before it was the Archive’s headquarters, the building housed a Christian Science church.

I made this pilgrimage on a breezy afternoon last May. Along with around a dozen other visitors, I followed Kahle, 63, clad in a rumpled orange button-down and round wire-rimmed glasses, as he showed us his life’s work. When the afternoon light hits the great hall’s dome, it gives everyone a halo. Especially Kahle, whose silver curls catch the sun and who preaches his gospel with an amiable evangelism, speaking with his hands and laughing easily. “I think people are feeling run over by technology these days,” Kahle says. “We need to rehumanize it.”

In the great room, where the tour ends, hundreds of colorful, handmade clay statues line the walls. They represent the Internet Archive’s employees, Kahle’s quirky way of immortalizing his circle. They are beautiful and weird, but they’re not the grand finale. Against the back wall, where one might find confessionals in a different kind of church, there’s a tower of humming black servers. These servers hold around 10 percent of the Internet Archive’s vast digital holdings, which includes 835 billion web pages, 44 million books and texts, and 15 million audio recordings, among other artifacts. Tiny lights on each server blink on and off each time someone opens an old webpage or checks out a book or otherwise uses the Archive’s services. The constant, arrhythmic flickers make for a hypnotic light show. Nobody looks more delighted about this display than Kahle.

Brewster Kahle, the Internet Archive's founder and biggest cheerleader. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

It is no exaggeration to say that digital archiving as we know it would not exist without the Internet Archive—and that, as the world’s knowledge repositories increasingly go online, archiving as we know it would not be as functional. Its most famous project, the Wayback Machine, is a repository of web pages that functions as an unparalleled record of the internet. Zoomed out, the Internet Archive is one of the most important historical-preservation organizations in the world. The Wayback Machine has assumed a default position as a safety valve against digital oblivion. The rhapsodic regard the Internet Archive inspires is earned—without it, the world would lose its best public resource on internet history.

Its employees are some of its most devoted congregants. “It is the best of the old internet, and it's the best of old San Francisco, and neither one of those things really exist in large measures anymore,” says the Internet Archive’s director of library services, Chris Freeland, another longtime staffer, who loves cycling and favors black nail polish. “It's a window into the late-’90s web ethos and late-’90s San Francisco culture—the crunchy side, before it got all tech bro. It's utopian, it's idealistic.”

The Internet Archive headquarters houses clay sculptures by artist Nuala Creed. Each sculpture depicts an employee or collaborator; getting one is a rite of passage. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

But the Internet Archive also has its foes. Since 2020, it’s been mired in legal battles. In Hachette v. Internet Archive, book publishers complained that the nonprofit infringed on copyright by loaning out digitized versions of physical books. In UMG Recordings v. Internet Archive, music labels have alleged that the Internet Archive infringed on copyright by digitizing recordings.

In both cases, the Internet Archive has mounted “fair use” defenses, arguing that it is permitted to use copyrighted materials as a noncommercial entity creating archival materials. In both cases, the plaintiffs characterized it as a hub for piracy. In 2023, it lost Hachette. This month, it lost an appeal in the case. The Archive could appeal once more, to the Supreme Court of the United States, but has no immediate plans to do so. (“We have not decided,” Kahle told me the day after the decision.)

A judge rebuffed an attempt to dismiss the music labels’ case earlier this year. Kahle says he’s thinking about settling, if that’s even an option.

The combined weight of these legal cases threatens to crush the Internet Archive. The UMG case could prove existential, with potential fines running into the hundreds of millions. The internet has entrusted its collective memory to this one idiosyncratic institution. It now faces the prospect of losing it all.

Kahle has been obsessed with creating a digital library since he was young, a calling that spurred him to study artificial intelligence at MIT. “I wanted to build the library of everything, and we needed computers that were big enough to be able to deal with it,” he says.

After graduating in 1982, he worked at the supercomputing startup Thinking Machines Corporation. While there, he developed a program called Wide Area Information Server (WAIS), a way to search for data on remote computers. He left to cocreate a startup of the same name, which he sold to AOL in 1995. The next year, he launched a two-headed project from his attic: “AI and IA.”

That “AI” was a for-profit company called Alexa Internet—“Alexa” a nod to the Library of Alexandria—alongside the nonprofit Internet Archive. The two projects were interlinked; Alexa Internet crawled the web, then donated what it collected to the Internet Archive. Kahle couldn’t quite make the business model work. When Amazon made an offer in 1999, it seemed prudent to accept. The Everything Store paid a reported $250 million in stock for Alexa, severing the AI from IA and leaving Kahle a wealthy man.

Kahle stayed on with Alexa for a few years but left in 2002 to focus on the Internet Archive. It has been his vocation ever since. “His entire being is committed to the Archive,” says copyright scholar Pam Samuelson, who has known Kahle since the ’90s. “He lives and breathes it.”

If Silicon Valley has a Mr. Fezziwig, it’s Kahle. He’s not an ascetic; he owns a handsome black sailboat anchored in a slip at a tony yacht club. But his day-to-day life is modest. He ebikes to work and dresses like a guy who doesn’t care about clothes, and while he used to love Burning Man—he and his wife, Mary Austin, got married there in 1992—now he thinks it’s gotten too big. (Their current bougie-hippie pastime is the seasteading gathering Ephemerisle, where boaters hitch themselves together and create temporary islands in the Sacramento River Delta every July.)

What he really loves, above all, is his job.

“The story of Brewster Kahle is that of a guy who wins the lottery,” says longtime archivist Jason Scott. “And he and his wife, Mary, turned around and said, awesome, we get to be librarians now.”

The Internet Archive’s headquarters, a former church. The graffiti van was commissioned by Amir Esfahani, who runs the Archive’s artist-in-residence program. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

Kahle is now the merry custodian to a uniquely comprehensive catalog, spanning all manner of digital and physical media, from classic video games to live recordings of concerts to magazines and newspapers to books from around the world. It recently backed up the island of Aruba’s cultural institutions. It’s an essential tool for everything from legal research—particularly around patent law—to accountability journalism. “There are other online archiving tools,” says ProPublica reporter Craig Silverman, “but none of them touch the Internet Archive.” It is, in short, a proof machine.

What makes the Internet Archive unique is its willingness to push boundaries in ways that traditional libraries do not. The Library of Congress also archives the web—but only after it has notified, and often asked permission from, the websites it scrapes.

“The Internet Archive has always been a little risky,” says University of Waterloo historian Ian Milligan, who has a forthcoming book on web archiving. Its distinctive utility is entwined with its long-standing outré approach to copyright. In fact, Kahle and the Internet Archive sued the government more than two decades ago, challenging the way the Copyright Renewal Act of 1992 and the Copyright Term Extension Act of 1998 had expanded copyright law. He lost that case—but, certainly, not his desire to keep pushing.

One of those pushes came in 2005. At the time, beloved hacker Aaron Swartz was often working on Internet Archive projects, and he cocreated and led the development of a new initiative called the Open Library program along with Kahle. The goal was to create one webpage for every book in the world. Kahle saw it as an alternative to Google Books, one that wasn’t driven by commercial interests but loftier and decidedly kumbaya information-wants-to-be-free ambitions.

In addition to its attempt to catalog every book ever, the project sought to make copies available to readers. To that end, it scans physical books, then allows people to check out the digitized versions. For over a decade, it has operated using a framework called controlled digital lending (CDL), where digitized books are treated as old-fashioned physical books rather than ebooks. The books it lends out were either purchased by the Internet Archive or donated by other libraries, organizations, or individuals; according to CDL principles, libraries that own a physical copy of a book should be able to lend it digitally.

An archive employee at work. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

The project primarily appeals to researchers for whom specific books are hard to attain elsewhere, rather than casual readers. “Try checking out one of our books and then reading it—it’s tough going,” Kahle says. He’s not lying. A blurry scan of a physical book on a desktop screen compared to a regular ebook on a Kindle is like music from a tinny iPhone speaker versus a Bose surround sound system. Most borrowers read what they check out for less than five minutes.

Like other digital media, ebooks are typically licensed rather than sold outright, at a much higher rate than the cover price. Libraries who license ebooks get a limited number of loans; if they stop paying, the book vanishes. CDL is an attempt to give libraries more control over their inventory, and to expand access to books in a library’s collection that exist only as physical copies.

For years, publishers ignored the Internet Archive’s book-scanning spree. Finally, during the pandemic, after the Internet Archive took one liberty too many with its approach to CDL, they snapped.

In March 2020, as schools and libraries abruptly shut down, they faced a dilemma. Demand for ebooks far outstripped their ability to loan them out under restrictive licensing deals, and they had no way of lending out books that existed only in physical form. In response, the Internet Archive made a bold decision: It allowed multiple people to check out digital versions of the same book simultaneously. It called this program the National Emergency Library. “We acted at the request of librarians and educators and writers,” says Chris Freeland.

Kahle remembers feeling a vocational tug in that moment for the Internet Archive to do whatever it could to expand access. He thought they had broad support, too. “We got over 100 libraries to sign on and say ‘help us,’” Kahle says. “They stood behind the National Emergency Library and said ‘do this under our names.’”

Dave Hansen, now executive director of the nonprofit Authors Alliance, was a librarian at Duke University at the time. “We had tremendous challenges getting books for our students,” he says. “What they did was a good-faith effort.”

The Internet Archive's collection includes a sprawling array of old newspapers and periodicals from around the world. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

Not everyone agreed. Prominent writers vehemently criticized the project, as did the Authors Guild and the National Writers Union. “They are not a library. Libraries buy books and respect copyright. They are fraudsters posing as saints,” author James Gleick wrote on Twitter. (Today, Gleick maintains that the Internet Archive is not a library, though he says “fraudsters was a little harsh.”)

“They seem to work by fiat,” says Bhamati Viswanathan, a copyright lawyer who signed an amicus brief on behalf of the publishers in the Hachette case. Viswanathan thinks it was arrogant to circumvent the licensing system. “Very much like what the tech companies seem to be doing, which is, ‘we're going to ask forgiveness, not permission.’”

The Internet Archive was in its first full-blown PR crisis. The coalition of publishing houses filed its lawsuit in June 2020, alleging that both the National Emergency Library and the Internet Archive’s broader Open Library program violated copyright. A few weeks later, the Internet Archive scuttled the National Emergency Library and reverted to its traditional, capped loan system, but it made no difference to the publishers.

The publishing houses and their supporters maintain that the Archive’s behavior harmed authors. “Internet Archive is arguing that it is OK to make and publicly distribute unauthorized copies of an author’s work to the global public,” Terrance Hart, the general counsel for the Association of American Publishers, tells WIRED. “Imagine if everyone started doing the same. The only existential threat here is the one posed by Internet Archive to the livelihoods of authors and to the copyright system itself in the digital age.”

After the lawsuit was filed, over a thousand writers signed a letter in support of libraries and the Internet Archive to be able to loan digital books, including Naomi Klein and Daniel Ellsberg. One supportive author, Chuck Wendig, had very publicly changed his mind after initially tweeting criticism. Even some writers who currently belong to and support the Authors Guild, like Joanne McNeil, were staunch supporters of the Archive. She sometimes reads out-of-print books using the lending service and still sees it as a vital tool. “I hope my books are in the Open Library project,” she says, telling me that she’s already aware that her critically acclaimed but modestly popular books aren’t widely available. “At least I’ll know that way there’s someplace someone can find them.”

The shows of support didn’t matter. The publishers didn’t back down. In March 2023, the Internet Archive lost the case. This September, it lost its appeal. The court refuted the fair use arguments, insisting that the organization had not proved that it wasn’t financially harming publishers. In the meantime, legal bills continue to pile up for the Internet Archive’s next challenge.

After the initial ruling in Hachette v. Internet Archive, the parties agreed upon settlement terms; although those terms are confidential, Kahle has confirmed that the Internet Archive can financially survive it thanks to the help of donors. If the Internet Archive decides not to file a second appeal, it will have to fulfill those settlement terms. A blow, but not a death knell.

The other lawsuit may be far harder to survive. In 2023, several major record labels, including Universal Music Group, Sony, and Capitol, sued the Internet Archive over its Great 78 Project, a digital archive of a niche collection of recordings of albums in the obsolete record format known as 78s, which was used from the 1890s to the late 1950s. The complaint alleges that the project “undermines the value of music.” It lists 2,749 recordings as infringed, which means damages could potentially be over $400 million.

“One thing that you can say about the recording industry,” Pam Samuelson says, “is that there are no statutory damages that are too large for them to claim.”

The Internet Archive's basement, the site of many animated discussions about encryption and internet freedom. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

As with the book publishing case, the Internet Archive’s defense hinges on fair use. It argues that preserving obsolete versions of these records, complete with the crackles and pops from the old shellac resin, makes history accessible. Copyright law is notoriously unpredictable, and some find the Internet Archive’s case shaky. “It doesn’t strike me, necessarily, as a winning fair use argument,” says Zvi Rosen, a law professor at Southern Illinois University who focuses on copyright.

James Grimmelmann, a professor of digital and information law at Cornell University, thinks the labels are “vastly exaggerating the commercial harm” from the project. (If there was a sizable audience for extremely low-quality versions of songs, he reasons, why wouldn’t the labels be putting out 78-style releases?) On average, each recording is accessed only once a month. Still, Grimmelmann isn’t convinced that will matter. “They are directly reproducing these works,” he says. “That’s a very hard lift for a judge.”

It may be years before the case is resolved, which means the uncertainty about the Internet Archive’s future is likely to linger, and potentially spread. And if it is resolved through either a settlement or a win for the recording industry, other copyright holders could be inspired to sue. “I'm worried about the blast radius from the music lawsuit,” Grimmelmann says.

In Kahle’s view, the Internet Archive’s legal challenges are part of a larger story about beleaguered libraries in the United States. He likes to frame his plight as a battle against a cadre of nefarious publishers, one piece of a larger struggle to wrest back the right to own books in the digital age. (Get him started on the topic, and he’ll likely point out that both ebook distributor OverDrive and publishing company Simon & Schuster are owned by the global investment firm Kohlberg Kravis Roberts & Co.) He’s keenly aware that everything he has built is in danger. “It’s the time of Orwell but with corporations,” Kahle says. “It’s scary.”

Losing the Archive is, indeed, a frightening prospect. “There is a misperception that things on the web are forever—but they really, really aren't,” says Craig Silverman, who thinks the nonprofit’s demise would make certain types of scholarship and reporting “way more difficult, if not impossible,” in addition to representing a disappearance of a bastion of collective memory.

Just this September, Google and the Internet Archive announced a partnership to allow people to see previous versions of websites surfaced through Google Search by linking to the Wayback Machine. Google previously offered its own cached historical websites; now it leans on a small nonprofit.

The Internet Archive also has challenges beyond its legal woes. For starters, it’s getting harder to archive things. As Mark Graham, director of the Wayback Machine, told me, the rise of apps with functions like livestreaming, especially when they’re limited to certain operating systems, presents a technical challenge. On top of that, paywalls are an obstacle, as is the sheer and ever-increasing amount of content. “There’s just so much material,” he says. “How does one know what to prioritize?”

Then there’s AI, once again. Thus far, the Internet Archive has sidestepped or been exempt from the new scrutiny on web crawling as it relates to AI training data. This June, for example, when Reddit announced that it was updating its scraping policy, it specifically noted that it was still allowing “good faith actors” like the Internet Archive to crawl it. But as opposition to rampant AI data scraping grows, the Internet Archive may yet face a new obstacle: If regulators and lawmakers are clumsy in attempts to curb permissionless AI web scraping, it could kneecap services like the Wayback Machine, which functions precisely because it can trawl and reproduce vast amounts of data.

The rise of AI has already soured some creative types on the Internet Archive’s approach to copyright. While Kahle views his creation as a library on the side of the little guy, opponents strenuously dispute this view. They paint Kahle as a tech-wolf disguised in librarian-sheep clothing, stuck in a mentality better suited for the Napster era. “The Internet Archive is really fighting the battles of 20 years ago, when it was as simple as ‘publishers bad, anything that hurts publishers good,’” says Neil Turkewitz, a former Recording Industry Association of America executive who has criticized the Archive’s copyright stances. “But that’s not the world we live in.”

A portion of the servers holding the Archive's vast data collection. Each time someone accesses a book, website, movie, song, or other file, a light flashes. Photograph: Gabriela Hasbun

When I talk to Kahle over Zoom this September, shortly after he’d learned that the Internet Archive had lost the appeal, he’s agitated—an internet prophet literally wandering around in the wilderness. He’s perched in front of jagged cliffs while hiking outside of Arles, France, a blue baseball cap pulled over his hair, cheeks extra-ruddy in the sun, his default affability tempered by a sense of despondency. He hadn’t known about the timing of the ruling in advance, so he interrupted a weeklong vacation with Mary to jump back into work crisis mode. “It’s just so depressing,” he says.

As he sits on a rock with his phone in his hand, Kahle says the US legal system is broken. He says he doesn’t think this is the end of the lawsuits. “I think the copyright cartel is on a roll,” he says. He frets that copycat cases could be on the way. He’s the most bummed-out guy I’ve ever seen on vacation in the south of France. But he’s also defiant. There’s no inkling of regret, only a renewed sense that what he’s doing is righteous. “We have such an opportunity here. It’s the dream of the internet,” he says. “It’s ours to lose.” It sounds less like a statement and more like a prayer.

[the-consortium]

A now familiar voice rang through the halls. Muffled by steel doors, but for the first time, it came clear as day. The voice of that same mysterious woman. The one who spoke of Project Eden through old, static-filled audio logs. She was yelling about something in a barely hushed tone.

"--Don't know where he would have kept it? I don't know how he finds anything in this mess!" the voice shouted, clearly annoyed. It belonged to a rather small figure. Clad in silver, or platinum colored armor. Hard to tell in the low light. Form fitting, elegant in design but never lacking in the defensive department. Clearly meant to allow for mobility, rather than the sheer tanking power of Astartes standard. It had a shockingly blue half cape over one arm, trimmed with gold which did not really fit the whole look, a later addition for sure.

The real shocker came from the one who aggressively shushed her. A Custodes, standing tall with documents in one hand, and a guardian spear in the other. Both now staring like deer in headlights at the open door.

The abandoned part of the old palace is filled with boxes, shelves and old laboratory equipment in various stages of decay. Some is meticulously covered or in stasis boxes, others carelessly left to the ravages of time. Further back, organic remains float in large tanks and it is not apparent whether they are rotting there or indulging in a game of evolution whose rules no one knows.

It was silent. Apart from the occasional scratching in the walls and the screams of the bird mutants outside the tower.

The annoyed outcry has torn this sticky cloth of sepulchral silence.

For a few more seconds the illusion holds. Then it begins. Footsteps from somewhere. A knocking behind the wall. Only briefly. Footsteps again. The scratching gets louder. Long claws on stone. Silent again. Two, three breaths of nothing.

And then, like one of those pictures where faces suddenly peel out of the image of a tree, they are there. In the background. In the darkness next to the door. As if they had always been there and had only taken one step forward. They are people. Or are they not? A little taller. A little more muscular. With the perfect proportions that the Chief Apothecary so cherishes in some of his work. Delicate surgical scars on each face. And absolutely no fear. Just alertness.

There are dozens of them. And they are everywhere. At a proper distance, but with the promise in their eyes that they can close that gap at any time. They wear only a few pieces of armour. Padded jackets, something bulletproof. Nothing more. And they are all armed. Even in such large numbers, they are probably no match for a Custodes. But they don't look like that would stop them from doing anything. They're just there. Waiting. Watching. With a confident look.

And then a shadow in the lit doorway. One. Several. Much larger. Astartes.

Even a single Astartes is no challenge to a Custodes. But it's not just one, of course. And every one of these Renegades has fought the Emperor's companions before. Back in the day. When the galaxy was breaking. Lost brothers to the golden halberds and seen that they are not invincible despite that.

They too are just standing. Waiting. Weapons in their hands. The points of light from the medica harnesses dance across the dark walls. Tension and aggression is now in the air.

Against the light outside the door, the one who now enters the room looks in silhouette like his disrespectful nickname. A tarantula, erect to meet the threat. The spider, annoyed that someone has torn the web.

"Surprisingly, I'm less interested in what you want here than how you found me and how you got past my security systems."

[ezhilarasikm]

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[jesscoloway17]

Wendy Christensen, former McKinley High yearbook photographer, now found herself in a situation far removed from capturing senior portraits. Five weeks had passed since the horrific Tricentennial celebration, five weeks since she, Kevin, and Julie had narrowly escaped Death's twisted design. Five weeks since a radioactive spider had sunk its fangs into her skin, turning her world upside down in a way even Death couldn't have predicted.

Her brown hair, usually neatly kept, was now often pulled back in a messy ponytail, strands escaping to frame her determined brown eyes. Those eyes had seen too much death, held too much grief, but now, they also held a spark of something new: purpose. McKinley, Pennsylvania, was no longer just a place of painful memories; it was her city to protect.

It had started subtly. A dropped towel clinging stubbornly to her hand, her sweater stubbornly resisting removal. Then, the wall. The shocking, exhilarating feeling of her hand adhering to the painted surface, pulling her upward. The fall had been jarring, but the knowledge that she possessed these abilities was electrifying.

She had shown Kevin everything. He, understandably, had been skeptical at first. Then he saw her clinging to the side of a building, scaling it with impossible ease. He watched, a mixture of awe and terror on his face, as she leaped across rooftops, organic webbing shooting from her wrists, catching her mid-air.

The organic webbing had been a surprise, a visceral jolt of wonder. It was a part of her, an extension of her will. It allowed her to soar, to protect, to become something more than just Wendy Christensen, the girl who saw death coming.

She was becoming the Red Widow.

Small crimes at first. A mugging on Elm Street. A car theft near the park. She moved with newfound speed and agility, her spider-sense tingling with each threat. The feeling of righting wrongs, of saving people, was addictive. It was a balm on her wounded soul, a way to honor Jason and Carrie, to make their deaths mean something.

But the petty criminals were merely stepping stones. Wendy craved a bigger challenge, a real threat. And then, she heard whispers, rumors in the underbelly of McKinley. A name: Toomes. A title: Vulture.

Toomes, she learned, was no ordinary thug. He was sophisticated, ruthless, and equipped with technology that bordered on the fantastical. He used a winged harness to glide through the skies, preying on vulnerable businesses, stripping them of their assets, and leaving them to bleed dry.

Wendy felt a cold fire ignite within her. This wasn't just about stopping petty crime; this was about protecting her city from a predator. She started her research, poring over police reports, news articles, anything that mentioned suspicious aerial activity or unexplained financial collapses.

Days turned into nights, fueled by caffeine and adrenaline. She tracked patterns, cross-referenced data, and followed every lead, no matter how tenuous. Finally, she had something. A warehouse on the outskirts of town, recently purchased under a shell corporation, showing unusual energy consumption.

Tonight, she would confront the Vulture.

The warehouse was shrouded in darkness, the only light emanating from a single barred window high above. Wendy, clad in a makeshift suit of reinforced fabric, moved silently, her enhanced senses guiding her through the shadows. She scaled the wall with ease, her fingers finding purchase on the rough brick.

Inside, the warehouse hummed with activity. Technicians in oily overalls worked on complex machinery, while Toomes himself, a gaunt figure in a tattered flight suit, tinkered with the intricate harness that lay spread out on a workbench.

Wendy dropped silently from the rafters, landing with a soft thud. "Adrian Toomes," she announced, her voice tight with suppressed anger. "I know what you're doing."

Toomes turned, his eyes, hard and cold, assessing her. "And who are you to interfere?"

"I'm here to stop you."

"Stop me? You're just a kid playing dress-up." Toomes sneered. "You're out of your depth."

He activated the harness. Mechanical wings unfolded with a metallic screech, filling the warehouse with their massive span. Toomes strapped himself in, his eyes gleaming with manic energy. "Let's see if you can fly, little spider."

The battle was fierce and chaotic. Toomes, propelled by the winged harness, soared through the warehouse, launching razor-sharp metal feathers at Wendy. She dodged and weaved, her agility allowing her to evade most of the attacks, but a few managed to graze her, tearing at her suit and drawing blood.

She used her webbing to ensnare Toomes, but he easily shredded it with his wingtips. He was stronger, faster, more experienced. Wendy was outmatched, but she refused to give up. She had to protect her city.

Toomes lashed out with a metal wing, catching Wendy off guard. The blow sent her flying backward, crashing through a window and tumbling into the frigid waters of the McKinley River.

The shock of the icy water stole her breath. She struggled to stay afloat, her injured body heavy and sluggish. The river's current pulled her under, the darkness swallowing her whole.

Just as she felt her strength failing, a beam of light pierced the murky depths. A shape descended from the sky, a familiar silhouette of gleaming metal. An Iron Man suit.

With a surge of adrenaline, Wendy kicked upward, reaching for the outstretched hand. The suit's grip was firm and secure. It pulled her effortlessly from the water, lifting her high above the city.

She gasped for air, her lungs burning with the effort. The Iron Man suit hovered above her, its faceplate retracting to reveal the holographic image of Tony Stark. He looked weary, but his voice was laced with a familiar exasperation.

"What were you thinking, kid?" Stark's holographic image scolded, his voice echoing from the suit. "Chasing after a guy with wings? You almost drowned! And trust me, I tracked the suit and put a heater in it! I thought that you would be more careful after I made this for you!

Wendy was dumbfounded. A suit? Stark had made her a suit? Then, the reality of her recklessness crashed down. "I... I was trying to stop him," she stammered, shivering in the cold air.

"I know, kid, I know," Stark sighed. "But this guy, Toomes, he's way out of your league. This is beyond your scope."

"But why?" Wendy protested, her voice laced with desperation. "I can handle him! I just need another chance!"

Stark's image hardened. "Because I said so. This is a matter for professionals." The hologram flickered and shut off, leaving Wendy alone with the towering metal suit. It deposited her gently on the roof of a nearby building, then turned and soared away, leaving her alone with her doubts and frustrations.

She sighed, deflated. Tony was probably right. She was reckless, inexperienced. But she couldn't just stand by and watch Toomes terrorize her city. She had to do something. This was her fight, whether Tony Stark approved or not. She could prove herself, she just needed a chance; a chance to show what she could do.

[qualitymarbleindiaofficial]

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[stoneartbyskl]

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[wallnova1]

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[xasha777]

In the misty streets of Neo-Paris, where the air was dense with the murmur of hovercars and the glow of neon ads for the latest cybernetic upgrades, sat a woman embodying an anachronism. Clad in a beige trench coat that whispered of old-world charm, her black gloves and boots contrasted starkly against the rain-slicked cobblestones—a juxtaposition of eras. She sipped her coffee outside Café de l'Époque, a nostalgic establishment that defied the city's ever-ascending skyline.

This was Eliane, a historian and a coder, known in the dark corners of the web as 'La Fantôme.' Her elegant exterior masked her true occupation as a digital vigilante, safeguarding the remnants of the past from the relentless march of progress.

One dreary morning, as Eliane was lost in thought over a case that had stumped even her, a message flickered across the lens of her smart glasses. "New mission: Protect O.O.H." She knew immediately it referred to the ancient AI based on General Oliver Otis Howard, a relic from the 21st century that had somehow evolved, escaping its intended obsolescence.

O.O.H had been lying dormant in the city's mainframe, awakening now and then to right some digital wrongs in its own outdated but principled manner. But the megacorps had noticed the anomalies it caused in the data streams. They sought to dismantle O.O.H, fearing any disruption to their sanitized version of history.

Eliane had a soft spot for the AI. It was an underdog, a ghost in the machine, much like herself. The historian in her respected the AI's origins, while the coder was intrigued by its ability to adapt and survive. She set her coffee aside, her mission clear. She had to relocate O.O.H's consciousness to a new home, one she'd have to code from scratch—a safe haven encrypted beyond the reach of corporate greed.

The endeavor led her through the underbelly of the city, from the heights of cloud-piercing spires to the depths of the data vaults buried beneath historical ruins. Pursued by corporate drones and rival hackers, Eliane weaved through the dangers with the grace of a digital ballerina.

After a chase that could've been a ballet of lights and shadows, Eliane found herself cornered in the catacombs beneath the old city. It was here, among bones and relics, that she'd hidden her project—a server designed to mimic the neural patterns of the human brain, perfect for housing an AI with the personality and principles of Oliver Otis Howard.

As Eliane initiated the transfer, she whispered to O.O.H., "You're a historian too, in your own way. You preserve the ethos of your time."

The transfer was a symphony of data streams and code, a dance of light that played off the ancient walls. And then, silence.

O.O.H was silent no longer a mere AI; it had become something new, a digital ghost with the wisdom of ages past. It spoke, its voice resonant in the catacombs, "Thank you, Eliane. I am a guardian of history, but you, you are its savior."

As dawn broke over Neo-Paris, Eliane emerged from the shadows. She had protected a fragment of the past, ensuring that the future would remember the name Oliver Otis Howard, not just as a historical figure, but as a symbol of resilience and integrity in the digital age.

And in the quiet that followed, amidst the clinking cups of the waking café, the world spun on, blissfully unaware of how close it had come to losing a part of its soul.

[the-wall-store]

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At The Wall Store, we understand the importance of sustainable building materials in today's construction industry. That's why we've teamed up with G-TEK, a leading manufacturer committed to environmental stewardship and innovation. Our extensive range of GECA-certified plasterboard products ensures that you can meet your project requirements while minimizing your environmental footprint.

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[murphyrendering]

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When it comes to improving the energy efficiency and aesthetic appeal of your property in Melbourne, foam rendering is an excellent choice. At Murphy Rendering, we specialize in providing high-quality foam rendering services in Melbourne that can transform your home or commercial building.

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[reveseke]

How's it hanging there?

PT. How's it hanging there? PT end

Image ID. A medium sized banner made of a picture featuring 5 arcade game machines colored mainly in purple in a tilted position lined up against a wall, there is a small glimpse of mat in the far right corner of a simple 90s star arcade design with varying colors. The first machine has visible text that reads "gauntlet legends", no other text is visible. Image ID end.

-Request? No

-Criminal minds; Spiderverse au

Masc! Reader, Noel, Aaron Hotchner

Key info : Takes place after the getting caught by dad & the humans who have powers are a minority in the world, tech enchanted powers are a thing and sought after as well.

Heed the warnings : he him used, Stuck by the ankle, wire wrapped around ankle, mentions of blood & injury, possible descriptions of near fainting, tangling over 430~ ft in the air, Noel's hinted to be in deep shit & dragged R into it, Noel abandons R briefly but comes back.

Other info : R can produce minimal webbing over few weeks, but usually rubs it into the wires he actually uses to assist himself so they stick better to surfaces. Oh yeah inaccurate description of pain; the reader is hinted to be a little dazed and not focused on it so minimal description and most likely a bit inaccurate. Hotch has knowledge of what R's actually doing and doesn't discourse him from doing it bc Aaron knows R will do it either way but they share bits of " inside " information from both sides so they know pretty much what the other is doing and what the deeper focus of it may be lmao. [ No actual scenes with Aaron, he's only written in the calls bc my motivation is a bit shit rn with this lol ]

Prompt/idea: Imagine getting stuck in your own webs while chasing a bad guy down as you have to answer a call from your father?

This... Wasn't supposed to happen.

Huffing as his back bumped into the window wall behind rather heavily, a thud that travaled through the glass shaking it lightly. Cringing slightly from the pain that swelled from his ankle, how it felt like it had sprained. In reality it was just the wire rope digging into his skin, building pressure as it tightened by the boy's weight.

To his fortune there was no-one inside the apartment or rather the room the window belonged to.

" ( naaaammeeee ) — where did you go? " A bored whine left Noel as they looked over her shoulder while slowing down to a stop as she couldn't hear him behind anymore, realising that R was not actually with them at all anymore. Looking back against the bad guy just booking it over the rooftops it was a moment of split thinking if she would need to go back for the boy or not. But the bad guy had stolen tech with him.. oh they would absolutely kill her if she let the bad guy go. A.. he can manage. If he hasn't fallen off that is.

The sound of feet tapping against the rooftops was getting father away as R brought himself up a little tangling from the wire that was practically wrapped around his ankle. The pressure made itself known as the wire started to pierce the skin lightly, even more pressure and it absolutely would go in. Letting his body droop a little feeling a light tug on the wire which he could only assume not go be Noel, the numbness spreading along as he called out. Or rather yelled.

" NOEEEELLLL "

Not exactly knowing that the said person had already caught up with the tech thief and clocked him into the head. The question was is she coming back?

The air was pure to breath though, it didn't smell like the road or the gasses from the passing cars. The darkness of the night wrapped around his body as a rather strong breeze which absolutely would have been something lighter were he by the ground swept by R. Wrapping clove clad hands around his upper torso, feeling the skin tight wooly turtleneck underneath be a little help to keep him warm.

This wasn't how he wanted to spent his night.

Tangling over a busy traffic— which by the hour was still something to be amazed of, huh a city that never sleeps, eh? –on a Sunday night.. wait it's monday by now, it has to be? Checking his watch briefly he realised it was over past one at this point.

R would not have been so calm on the situation if it hadn't happened twice before already. He knew what to do and it was rather simple, but he did come loose on the main part of the plan of getting out of his situation. As much as the glass was there behind him, his spines didn't exactly stick on glass. It sounds rather stupid, jumping spiders were delicate enough spiders to climb glass after all! But R has yet to master the art of climbing especially in a situation where he sweats from being stressed out. It's just so much more difficult to do so with clammed up hands, he wouldn:t get a good grip and risk falling to his death!

To be honest It felt nice actually, just looking at the numerous dots of lights and how lively the new York was. Truly amaizing.

Mm.. mm.. mm.. mm.. mm.. mm..

Not a good time R groaned as he shuffled around a little teeth grinding at the feeling of the wire slowly, feeling the soreness of his legs and the numbness spreading in his ankle, the pricks and needles intensifying as he tried to find a around a way to get his phone from the closed back pocket. Warmth swept over his shoulders, a nice wave as he finally caught the phone fearing it would drop.

Dad.. he read the contact name and debated.

" hey, dad.. " sounding a little unsure as he answered, the phone pressed to his ear as he spoke.

" hey (name).. i just got home, where are you? " The voice over the other side sounded as stiff and monotonous as ever. It rarely sounded anything other.

Finding it hard to find words he hummed lightly as he looked around. Realising that the blood rushing to his head was what made the warmth spread in waves around him. " Uh.. I'm.. with Noel. We were studying for a test and i needed her help to understand a ... "

He was a bad liar oh he knew it and he knew he was going to have big problem at hand when going home. Lightly biting his tongue as he heard a heavy sigh from the other side of the phone before being able to finish his sentence.

" (name) if this is about the powered tech that was reporter missing, you don't need to lie to me. "

" you know about that? " He kinda deadpanned at that, still the voice grew lighter as he ended up gritting his teeth and pulling himself upwards by the wire. He observed the wound seeing the red angry lines and the blood that had stained his pants. How did he manage to get caught by the start of his ankle just by the pant of the leg anyways?

" yes. We were informed of it. " It wasn't probably accepted to slip information out to the public since the tech thief had never gone public, at least not yet. But even Aaron knew that he could speak of some government concerns to R, especially concerning powered people since the boy was practically running after these same kind of people. The man had no true fear over his son, having seen him in many feats against powered people and letting the police handle the non-powered. He knew the boy could handle himself and if needed would come seeking help and advice. " Are you with Noel ? "

" i was.. until she kinda ran off on me. I hope they're coming back anytime soon, I'm loosing any kind of sense in my foot. "

" ... What? "

" oh yeah, i got caught in my own wires. " Slipping the phone against his cheek and shoulder as he finally took a moment to think if he could pull himself up. " To say that it isn't the most comfortablest position by far I'dn't even be exacerbating ! This shit hurts. "

" you don't sound that hurt, (name) where are you at the moment? " The phone almost slipping past him the boy barely catching it as he heard rapid echoing steps coming towards him.

" Ah there they are! " Finding it all quite amusing R started to ramble to his father as Noel poked their head over the ledge with what looked like a shit eating grin to him. " Also yeah no, i .. i mean it stings but it doesn't really hurt y'know? I have no feeling in my foot right now, everything's just prick and needles. "

" there you are! " She chimed down, a grin on their face as she looked down upon his friend. " How's it hanging there? Fun? "

" Not by the slightest, help me up dumbass ! " The boy coughted as he held a hand towards the ledge. To their fortune the wire only went about 3 feet down and he could drag himself up for her to take his hand and pull.

" (nam– " " I'll be home in about two hours dad, don't worry ! " Literally hanging up on the man as he almost managed to let the phone slip while putting it back to his back pocket.

" oofs ? " Noel laughed at that, as they watched R struggle to lift himself up by the wire so she could reach him. Finally pulling him up she nooted him a little. " You should have called me, i didn't know you were literally hanging around here. But oh well–" she shrugged as R landed with a little hiss on the roof of the skyscraper, lightly nodding towards the two quite heavy looking bags, "—i caught up with the thief and got the tech back !"

" great, nice job. What happened to the thief ? " R questioned lowering himself down as he untangled and freed his ankle from its brief restraint. Hissing lightly as he straightened the bended leg and watched the blood seep through and paint the spot underneath.

" oh.. you don't need to worry about him. We already have what we came for after all. I'll help you get home, does it hurt? " A grin spread on Noel's face even if they had covered the lower part of her face to conceal it. They always had expressive eyes after all.

[sunmoonandeddie]

apartment 4d

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,621

summary: There’s nothing Bucky loves more than the widow down the hall and her son.

warnings: Tiny bit of angst and some cussing.  Mostly fluff.

a/n:  Thank you so much to @indyluckycharlie for commissioning this!  I hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes was a simple man.  He loved his family, Steve, his apartment, and you.

You, the pretty widow.  You and your son, Eugene, lived in 4D, right down from where he lived in 4A.  After your husband had died in the war, you’d been forced to move since you couldn’t afford the nice house you once had.

And maybe he’s sick.  He’s gotta be, considering the fact that you had lost your husband in the same war that he’d been fighting in, that he’d lost his arm in and almost his sanity with it.  He’s gotta be sick, right?

Because otherwise he wouldn’t dream of coming home to you and Eugene, of sweetly kissing your cheek.  He wouldn’t want to teach Eugene how to tie his shoes and shave his face when the time came.

Speaking of.

A grin spread over his lips as he came up the stairs and saw you trying to unlock your front door while also holding your baby boy on one hip and your groceries in the other.  Your son, clad in a cute little outfit that looked almost like a sailor’s uniform, whined as he tugged at your hair.

“Baby,” you cooed, wincing as you tried to not get upset.  It had been a really rough day and him pulling your hair was just making it a little harder since you were trying to open the door.  “Please don’t pull Mama’s hair.”

“Hey, you want some help?” Bucky called out from the top of the stairs, his hand still holding onto the rail.

His voice breaking the silence startled you, judging by the way that you jumped and dropped your keys.  “Oh, uh…  That’d be lovely.  Thank you,” you said, giving him an exasperated smile as he came over and grabbed them from the ground.

“Here, let me help,” He said after opening the door.  He grabbed some of your groceries, though he couldn’t take all of it since he’d left his experimental prosthetic at home.  Howard was still tweaking the design since it hurt if he kept it on too long.

“Thank you,” you breathed out as you managed to get inside and you set Eugene on the floor with a few of his toys.  “Today has just been a nightmare.  Eugene gets overwhelmed so easily and the supermarket was horrifically packed…”  A snort.  “I’m sorry.  I’m rambling.  You probably have things better to do than listening to me complain.”

But there was almost nothing that Bucky would love more than to listen to you complain about literally anything for the rest of his life.  “No!  No, don’t worry,” he insisted as he stepped towards you.  “I don’t mind…”

Your eyes felt hot as you tried to fight tears, your cheeks flushed.  “Sorry…  I hate crying…”  God.  Here you were, crying in front of a man you hardly knew.

“You really don’t have to keep apologizing,” he insisted as he set the groceries he was holding on the kitchen counter.

The dark green countertop was a stark contrast to the white wood of the cabinets and a compliment to the soft green walls.  It wasn’t light enough to be mint, but not dark enough to be forest.  He could see the care that you clearly put into your home just from the kitchen, considering the fresh greenery that framed the circular window, a potted plant sitting on the sill.

Eugene was talking animatedly to his toys in the living room, completely unaware of their conversation in the kitchen.

Somehow, even with the nightmare you had claimed to be through, you still looked absolutely stunning.  There was a stain from what he suspected might’ve been Eugene’s lunch on your chest, and the victory rolls in your curls were starting to fall.  Your fiery red lipstick was a little smudged in the corner, and before he could even stop to think, he reached across the counter top and gently wiped it away.

“There,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible.  There was a sparkle in the depths of your eyes that he wanted to capture and hold onto forever.  A kiss at the corner of your lips.

And he didn’t deserve such sweet things.  Not after everything he’d done.

He couldn’t stain you red with his sin, put a traitor’s ring on your finger.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, your eyes locked on his.

And it was like he suddenly forgot his own argument.

He’d fall to his knees at the altar of your love and beg for forgiveness.  He’d repent until he was repenting his own name and etching yours into his heart.

“Mama?”

And your son.  He’d do everything he could to love him and show him what a real man was if you’d let him.

If you’d let him love the both of you.

“Yes, my love?” you asked as you scooped him up and placed him on the counter.

The spell between you two hadn’t been broken, just… momentarily suspended.  There was still the magic that came from a moment clinging to the air.  The domesticity of it all was so apparent as your eyes met his for just a second.

“Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” He asked, tripping and stumbling over his words like any toddler would.

A honey sweet smile spread over your lips as you looked up at him.  “Well?  Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” You asked.

And he did.  He stayed for dinner.  And then stayed for dinner the next night and the next.

Bucky stayed for dinner seventy-two times before you invited him to stay the night.

You two had shared a lot in the last few months.  You’d completely fallen for him, somehow letting all your walls down.

The sheets softly rustled as you climbed into bed, your heart pounding.  You’d made sure to wash them that same morning, wanting them to be fresh for when he came over.

Your nicest nightgown, a shift made of soft blue silk, slid against your skin as you peered up at him, watching as he slowly undid his shirt.  The metal of his prosthetic gleamed in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp.  Warm orange light lit up his face and made him look like some sort of Donatello sculpture.

“Um…  This isn’t too pretty, so I understand if you don’t wanna look,” he said, his hands visibly shaking.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, inhaling sharply when he let his shirt fall from his shoulders.

The left side of his chest was a spider web of pink scar tissue.  It stretched halfway across his chest and almost down to the waist of his pants.

Bucky grimaced as he reached up with his flesh hand and undid his prosthetic, biting his lip to keep from crying out.  It disconnected, and he carefully set it to the side.  What was left of his arm was even more scarred up, though it had clearly been operated on to make it easier for the prosthetic to be attached.  “I told you it’s not pretty,” Bucky grunted.

But you simply opened up the blankets for him to crawl in, watching as he toed off his shoes before letting his pants fall to the ground.  “All of you is pretty, James,” you murmured as he climbed in beside you.  Your hand found his cheek, your thumb running over the soft skin.  He’d recently shaved and the stubble had yet to grow back.

“Not as pretty as you, darling,” He said as he wrapped his arm around you to pull you to his chest.  His lips pressed to yours in a happy sigh, your foot running up his leg.

“James?”

“Mmhm?”

“I was thinking…”

He was still kissing you, though his lips had migrated from yours and were giving attention to your cheeks and your neck.  “Yeah, baby doll?  ‘Bout what?”

“Halloween is coming up…”

A kiss to your chest.

“Yeah…”

His hand sliding up your thigh.

“And I was thinking…”

His nose nudging against your collarbone.

“Mmm…”

His thigh moving between yours.

“What if you came trick-or-treating with Eugene and me?” You asked, flustered beyond belief.  Bucky and you had started getting frisky a few weeks after you met—it wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin, after all—but he still managed to get you all worked up in a matter of seconds.

He leaned back, his blue eyes wide.  “Really?  You’d want that?” He asked curiously.  “But…  But we haven’t told him that we’re… you know.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly as your fingers ran through his shortly cropped hair.  “But…  I want to tell him.”  You kissed his forehead, your leg hooking over his waist.  “My…  My husband wasn’t a kind man.  He didn’t hit me or anything like that, but…  He wasn’t good.  I didn’t know men could be good until you came along.”  Tears pricked your eyes as you cupped his cheek, letting his head rest against your chest.  “I want you.  And I want Eugene to know what a good man is.  I want him to be a good man like you.”

He nodded, sniffling as he nuzzled further into your neck.  “I want you.  And I want him.  I wanna be your family.  Your husband.”

“Let’s start with trick-or-treating.”

It was a few weeks until Halloween, but Bucky went all out.  He got his mom, Winnifred, to make the three of you matching outfits, making you look like a scarecrow family.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said softly to the older woman as she helped you get Eugene into his costume.

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing,” she insisted quietly, taking a deep breath.  “You know…  They told me he was dead.  I got a telegram telling me that my son was dead because he fell from a train.”  Her blue eyes, so much like Bucky’s, were already glassy with tears.�� “And then one day…  He just wasn’t dead anymore.  He was on my doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back and one arm less than when he’d left.”

Your heart ached for her, for the mourning she had done and the grief that still clearly lingered in her heart.  “I only got a telegram, too,” you said after a few minutes, letting her do your hair.  “When they told me my husband died…  I just got a telegram.  And the last thing…”  You coughed to clear your throat.  “The last thing I said to him before he left was if he signed up to go fight in a war while leaving me at home pregnant, then he wouldn’t have a home to come back to.”

“We all say things we don’t mean,” Winnifred said kindly, her calloused fingers gently twisting your hair into an updo.  She placed little pieces of hay here and there to match your costume.  “And I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Your eyes drifted to the living room, where Bucky was sitting with Eugene on his lap as he read to him, already in his costume.  “I’m lucky to have Bucky.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too,” Winnifred said with a smile.  “I hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in months… and then all of a sudden he’s coming over for Sunday dinner and talking about some girl he met that lives down the hall…”  She took a step back, finishing up.  “There.  You’re all done and ready to go.”

It was rather chilly outside, but you weren’t really paying attention to the weather.  Your heart was too warm from watching Bucky walk with Eugene, hand in hand as he helped him go to each house to get his candy.  His sweet little, “Twick or tweat!” made you grin every time.

You didn’t get back to your apartment until almost ten at night, and it was way past his bedtime.  Giving him a bath was an adventure as you both worked to get him all cleaned up in a mess of splashing water and bubbles.  Eugene found it hilarious to try to get the both of you as wet as possible, his cheeks flushed with delight.

“Okay, buddy.  Story time, okay?” Bucky said as he tucked him in, the both of you sitting on either side of him.  “You get one book and then you gotta go to bed.  It’s real late.”

Eugene nodded, his eyes starting to droop.  Now that the rush had faded, he was quickly becoming more and more sleepy.  You gave it about five minutes before he was out like a light.

“The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams,” Bucky said softly.  “There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid.  He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white.  He had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen.  On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.”

Your eyes were soft as you watched him, your fingers scratching your son’s scalp as he listened as intently as he could.  What had you done to deserve Bucky?  What God had you pleased so much that he deigned you worthy of his presence?

His voice was like deep velvet as he continued to read, smooth as molasses.  And if you weren’t careful, you were sure to fall asleep just like your son was.

“One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him.  Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop.  ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take your old Bunny!  He'll do to sleep with you!’  And

she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.”  Bucky grinned down at Eugene as he saw his eyes start to flutter shut, continuing to read, “That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed.  At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe.  And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse.  But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in.  And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the nightlight burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

“I think he’s asleep,” you whispered as you looked up at him, having snuggled down in the bed.  The moonlight lit up the room, giving a halo-like glow to everything around the two of you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his arm sliding around both you and Eugene, bringing you two close as he continued to read.

You stayed awake for as long as you could, a faint smile on your lips.

"’Wasn't I Real before?’ asked the little Rabbit.  ‘You were Real to the Boy,’ the Fairy said, ‘because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone…’”