#concrete cure and seal

[elacular-kink]

July Hicth 2025: Water's a bad cure

So, here's a little story with a brief pass for editing about a couple girls at a pool party, one of whom is trying and mostly succeeding to hide her hiccups. Notably, in the spirit of disability pride, I have included a deaf character (though this is not the kind of disabled I am, and I know that deafness and disability is sort of a complicated thing). Bearing that in mind, if I did anything wrong in writing this deaf character, please do not be afraid to call me on it.

TW: Social anxiety, mistaken for drowning, minor drunkenness, deaf character written by someone who is not deaf and doesn't know deaf people.

Kinks: Pretty much just Hiccups.

As she shied away from other people in the large pool, Midge considered just how much she regretted being here.

Midge liked pools. She wasn't a great swimmer, but it was a way to cool down in the summer, and when she was small, she'd always had fun getting into water wars with her brothers and sister. And there was no way in hell she'd ever have enough money to have one of her own, so if some rich frat douche enemy-of-a-friend-of-a-friend was willing to share a rental, it was at least worth considering.

However, also worth considering was the fact that Midge didn't like parties. Midge didn't like people generally, and events at which people congregated were dicey at best. So bearing that in mind, she really should have known better than to show up here. But the boiling temperatures were temptation enough to overrule her stupid forebrain, as was the promise of mediocre-to-terrible barbecue and beer. So now she found herself here. Sulking near one of the walls of the deep end, treading water and scowling at anyone who came too close.

She might normally have been inclined to sulk in the shallows closer to other people where she could sit comfortably on the rough-ass concrete stairs at least, but right now, Midge was particularly uninterested in being noticed, and particularly unhappy to be present at this party. Because at the moment, every few seconds, Midge's stomach would thump out into the water, her shoulders would jerk back, and she'd use every muscle in her upper body to prevent a single sound from coming out of her mouth.

Hiccups. God dammit. Just tipsy enough and overstuffed enough to get the hiccups. Embarrassing. Distracting.

...a lot of things.

But what could she do except shy away into an unused corner and hope the bobbing of her relative buoyancy camouflaged her jerking.

Well, she could leave. That's what a smart person would do. But Midge was definitely not smart, which she knew because she was staying here because it felt really...weird. It felt weird to hiccup with most of her body underwater. And she was weird about it feeling weird. So she wanted to feel it more. All the more reason to avoid the slightest contact with any other human beings at this party.

There was nowhere in this pool that would make that easy, but Midge was fairly sure she'd found the closest to perfect spot. However, her hopes were dashed when she saw a long pair of arms and a kicked-up wake moving towards her with shocking speed, and she just barely got out of the way before some human sea lion did a perfect flip in the water near her, launched off of the wall, and dolphinned the fuck over to the other side of the pool. 

Right. She was hiding in the area that'd be used for swimming laps if this place wasn't currently rented out to a flight of douche-canoes. Midge wondered if some poor professional swimmer had thought they were coming here for practice today and decided to do so in spite of all the college students. Well, whoever they were, Midge wasn't going to get any more in their way than everyone else already was, so she inched further along the edge of the pool and out of their lane.

After a moment, a loud "*HUP!*" burst out of Midge's open mouth, and she slapped a hand over it, face red. Fuck, that fucking seal distracted her enough to forget that she still had the hiccups. Looking anxiously around, it didn't look like anyone had noticed. Nobody seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to her. Good. She closed her mouth again and sunk into the water as best she could, just barely keeping her nose up.

Observing the human seal was at least interesting. She was one of the few women here besides Midge wearing a one-piece swimsuit, and her hair was completely concealed under a swim cap. Her eyes were also hidden behind a very professional looking pair of goggles. Midge was no expert, but she was fairly certain this woman's form was perfect (though that may have also been her lesbianism talking), and she sped back and forth across the pool faster than Midge had possibly ever moved anywhere under her own power, including on bicycles.

...something was also familiar about the woman, but fuck, Midge just couldn't place it. It was surprising that she thought that at all, considering how face-blind she usually was, and her being completely wrong was definitely a possibility, but that made it harder to stop paying attention to the woman and her laps.

She must have paid a little too much attention to that and nothing else, because before she knew what had happened, an early hiccup sucked air in through her nose and caught the surface of the water, and Midge was horrified to start coughing and hiccuping through a face full of chlorine. Just a few seconds later, she was even more horrified when the human seal was suddenly pressed against her, forcing her back into the rough edge of the pool, somehow having hauled her body halfway out of the water. "Are you okay?" the seal yelled in a voice way too loud, words slurred, possibly by a mouthful of water.

"Gah–kuh–*HUCK!* F-fu–*HUCK*, get off–*AULK!* G-gah!" Midge squirmed away from the seal, something made both easier and more difficult by the fact that she was about two thirds of her height and half of her wingspan. She coughed and sputtered, but started managing to swallow her hiccups again, though her little misadventure with the chlorine had made them significantly worse. With one arm thrown over the pool's edge to keep her body above water, Midge glared at the seal for lack of any smarter idea how to react.

The fact that the human seal responded to that by shrinking in on herself made Midge feel like a real piece of shit. "I...I'm sorry." Her voice was still too loud, and her diction was weirdly terrible. If this woman was as drunk as her tongue seemed to think she was, Midge had no idea how she was swimming back and forth so goddamn fast and in such a straight line. "I saw that you..." she trailed off, and Midge abruptly realized that she was doing something with her hands.

"W---wait, wa---ait," Midge forced her hiccups back and turned to face the woman more fully, looking her in the begoggled eyes before she started moving her own hands. "<Are you deaf?>" The seal woman's eyes went wide and she smiled as her hands started moving again. "H---hold it hold i–*IC*–i-it!" Hiccuping out loud made Midge's face burn, but she forced herself to keep focusing on the woman. "<I suck at this, I'll need you to go slow.>"

"I-I can speak out loud if that's easier!" she said quickly. "And I know how—how to read lips."

When the seal finally pulled her goggles off, Midge abruptly realized where she recognized her from, which was frankly incredible by her standards given that her hair was still completely hidden. She was that one gorgeous girl Midge had seen around campus for the past two years (and embarrassingly, half the reason she decided to take the sign language courses). And now here she was, hiccuping like an idiot, and also being a complete asshole directly to this poor woman's face. "No, whatev–*URK*–g-guh!" She pulled a hand to her chest before remembering just what an obvious tell that was and adjusting herself in the water to be able to sign more clearly. "<Whatever's most comfortable for you. I need the practice anyway.>" Not to mention, she could really use an excuse to be able to keep her throat shut as much as possible.

The woman exhaled, then began signing back, obviously going deliberately slow for Midge's sake. "<Alright. Are you okay?>"

Midge's face burned and she had to force herself to maintain the gaze she knew it'd be shitty etiquette to break. "<Yeah. I'm fine. Just got some water up my nose.>" The woman winced sympathetically, and Midge assumed (and hoped? It was complicated) that would be the end of it, but she didn't look away. After a long second, Midge felt compelled to keep "talking", if only because the movements helped keep her hiccups camouflaged. "<It probably looked worse than what it was since I'm so tiny.>"

The woman let out something kind of like a laugh, and there was a silence between them that definitely felt awkward to Midge. After a moment, the former started signing again. "<Are you sure? You still look like you're having trouble breathing.>"

Well fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Midge's cheeks probably could have been used as a stop sign at this point. Despite everything in her saying to sink back below the water and rejoin her fish ancestors in the primordial ooze, Midge couldn't be quite that much of a jerk, so she signed as best she could. "<I'm fine. I've just got H-I-C-C-U-P-S.>" She fingerspelled it as if that wasn't one of the first signs she'd ever looked up on her own.

The swimming woman's eyes went wide, and she let out a strange sort of laugh as she smiled an offensively beautiful smile. And then she actually did the fucking sign for hiccups, pointing up and popping her fingers out from in front of her chest, silently opening her mouth, and even bouncing herself in the water, and it frankly amazed Midge that her head didn't just explode right then and there. She let out a few more laughs before signing some more. "<No wonder I was confused, I couldn't hear them.>"

"<Hopefully nobody else could either. That's why I'm hiding over here.>"

"<I can feel them though.>" The pool didn't immediately catch fire, which meant that Midge couldn't have been burning as hot as she felt like she was, but goddamn, this was going to kill her. The woman gestured at the water between the two of them, which Midge abruptly realized was an extremely small volume compared to the entirety of the pool. "<Your belly keeps pushing the water out. I can feel them pulsing.>"

Thank god this woman couldn't hear, or else the steam coming out of Midge's ears would have been the most incriminating thing in the universe. "Sh---Shit, sorry, I'll m---"

"No!" The woman seemed to be somewhat aware of how loudly she'd spoken, as a hand went up to cover her mouth, but then she shook her head and started signing again, visibly having to slow herself down for Midge's sake. "<I don't mind it. It doesn't hurt or anything. And...>" she paused, wringing her hands and making a possibly involuntary sound under her breath. "<And it's nice to have someone to talk to here.>"

Midge arched her eyebrows and looked around, seeing all the people all over. "<Not a single one of these jerks knows sign language?>"

"<Some of them do, but they have their own things going on. And I can read lips, but people are drinking and having weird conversations with lots of others that don't make sense, so it's really hard to follow.>"

A laugh half forced itself out of Midge and she swallowed back another hiccup. The idea that her...pulses were being felt through the water made her shudder, but she concealed it with a small head shake. "<Sounds like a normal party to me. Hate these things.>"

"<Then why are you here?>"

Midge opened her mouth, hiccuped out loud, covered it abruptly, then slowly closed it and rolled her eyes before signing again. "<Yeah. Great question. Honestly, I just wanted to swim in a pool.>"

"<Me too.>" Midge absolutely believed her, considering what a clip she'd been moving through the water at. After a moment of not talking, she waved a hand in front of Midge's face. "<I'm A-D-R-I-A-N-N-A.>"

"Adrian–*nnk*–na," Midge mumbled it to herself. "<That's a pretty name.>"

"<A lot of people say so,>" Adrianna said, and Midge abruptly wondered if that was a shitty thing to say to a deaf person. "<What about you?>"

"<I'm M-I-D-G-E.>" She fingerspelled it, then waited for her next hiccup to pass to say it out loud.

Adrianna looked a bit shocked. "<People actually call you that?>" Midge nodded. "<I thought that my friends told me that as a joke.>"

"Pah! *HNK!*" A loud, single laugh burst out of Midge, a pretty audible hiccup escaping her, but at least for now, she was too amused to be terribly self-conscious. "<No, yeah, that is my actual name. Kind of. It's short for M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T.>"

Adrianna squinted. "<Do those sound more similar than they're spelled?>"

"<Not really. I think it's one of those nickname for nickname situations. Like how R-I-C-H-A-R-D somehow becomes D-I-C-K. And if that's the alternative, I think I came out ahead.>" Adrianna did her single, drawn-out laugh and Midge smiled before something occurred to her. "<Wait, your friends talked about me?>"

Adrianna's face went a bit red this time, and she made a small, possibly involuntary noise in the back of her throat. "<Well, some of my friends are taking sign courses too, and I can't help but be curious about the other students, you know?>" The fact that there may have been some ulterior motives at play made Midge grin far more than she probably should have, and Adrianna's face got a bit redder. Before Midge could figure out how she'd want to respond, though, Adrianna abruptly changed the subject: "<Your hiccups are gone.>"

"Shit, really?" Midge looked down at her stomach distorted through the water and took a few breaths, and though the hiccupy feeling wasn't completely gone, they did seem to have stopped for the moment. "<Oh shit, yeah, they are. I didn't even notice.>" After a moment, Midge bit her inner lip and decided she could be a bit...bold? Bold was probably a charitable word for it. "<I feel like they might come back, though.>"

"<I always get anxious when I catch them. I have no idea how to tell how loud they are.>"

"Well—" It occurred to Midge just what she was about to say out loud, and she abruptly shut her mouth, but when Adrianna stared curiously at her, she took a deep breath and started signing. "<Well, if I'm around when it happens, I can tell you. And I won't mind if they're loud.>"

Adrianna laughed again, and Midge found that she really liked her unique laugh. "<I guess I won't mind if yours are loud either. And as long as we're in the water, I can tell you if you catch them again and don't notice.>"

That was literally fucking impossible, but Midge still loved the idea of it happening. So there was no reason not to stay near Adrianna for the rest of this party. Adrianna never found a reason to leave her side either, even when she did end up catching the hiccups again. And Midge found herself wondering if she would notice every time she caught the hiccups, and hoping she'd get a chance to find out.

[mieberoc]

With the help of some lovely messages and AI here is a story.

Beneath the lowest sub-level of Fort Resolute’s bio-sealed annex, six men of CBRN Task Force Theta—Hauptmann Friedrich Adler, Oberfeldwebel Lukas Krüger, Stabsunteroffizier Wilhelm Stein, Unteroffizier Markus Vogel, Gefreiter Erik Weiß, and Gefreiter Johann Köhler—sat in regulation combats, boots planted on the metallic floor, awaiting the irreversible. Each had been hand-picked: Adler, the only commander in Europe to log three consecutive zero-casualty extractions from nerve-agent zones; Krüger, a demolitions savant whose calm pulse under fire never rose above fifty; Stein, an endurance record-holder able to remain conscious through fifteen minutes of hypoxic gas testing; Vogel, a virological prodigy with natural resistance markers to mutagenic particulates; Weiß, a former Olympic triathlete whose cardiovascular efficiency bordered on superhuman; and Köhler, confirmed by military psychiatrists as possessing the rarest trait of all—complete affective detachment in the face of mass casualties. Doctor Karczek, architect of the Permanent Protective Integument Programme, activated holoscreens that unfurled a vivid breakdown of the six-phase metamorphosis awaiting them. Phase One: Exfoliative Etch—their outer epidermis would be misted away by enzymatic solvent as pink rivulets dripped into drains, an agonising itch muted only by intravenous analgesia. Phase Two: Polymer Suspension Bath—each man would float in black, mercury-like fluid while nanoscale carriers welded synthetic latticework to raw dermis, sliding between toes, beneath nails, even along gumlines, twitching muscles like marionettes. Phase Three: Fusion Cure—immobilised in induction sarcophagi, electromagnetic pulses would shrink-wrap the polymer deeper, flash-hardening every molecule; Karczek likened it to the T-1000 poured over living flesh. Phase Four: Respirator Integration—a seamless mask, sculpted from sister polymer, would be pressed to their bared facial bones, microspikes rooting into maxilla and mandible in under thirty seconds; speech would emerge through a sub-glottal vocoder, accents flattened into submarine basso. Phase Five: Sensory Calibration—the sealed figures would be bathed in chlorine vapour, VX simulant, and neutron-irradiated dust, sensors confirming zero uptake while phantom itches flared across fingertips soon to be fingerprint-less. Phase Six: Psychological Lock-In—EEG-guided neurofeedback would teach their brains that the suit was self, every recollection of old flesh punished by cascading migraines, cementing loyalty to the integument for life. Krüger asked the final question: what becomes of them when wars end? Karczek answered with clinical certainty: they would return, but so would the suit; children might hold their hands yet feel only polymer, their eyes forever staring through respirator lenses. Tablets slid across the desk, black screens awaiting fingerprints soon to dissolve; one by one the men pressed, committing skin, name, and future. Cradle doors hissed, releasing a metallic scent like rain on scorched iron. Boots struck concrete in perfect cadence as six elite soldiers marched towards dissolution and rebirth, destined never again to wear protection but to become it—living weapons forged from fear and rubber, able to tread where no unsealed man could follow.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 51

Twin Bed

     The heat had settled in early that June—thick and without apology. A heat that seemed to seep from the earth itself, pressing close and damp against the skin, working its way beneath collars and cuffs and the fine joints of the spine. Today, the air inside the cabin had taken on a permanent sheen, swollen with salt and labor, the walls fingerprinted with sweat. 

     Ford and Fidds had their T-shirt sleeves rolled and cuffed over their shoulders—Ford had started gathering his curls back with the rubber bands filched from the lab drawers. Fiddleford didn’t bother—his hair hung in limp ropes that stuck to the back of his neck. The rhythm had calcified into something mechanical—lift, ascend, descend, drop, repeat. They were hauling crates up out of the lab and down to the newly reinforced bunker. One at a time, or two, if Ford felt like being stubborn.

     The project was finished. Officially. Forty-seven days of poured concrete and wiring, of sealant fumes and battery backups, of vent testing and emergency lock cycles. A generator hum now threaded faintly beneath the floorboards like a low, persistent thought—quieter than the cicadas, but deeper, more permanent. It never stopped. Neither did Fidds.

     That was new. Or maybe not. Ford couldn’t quite say when it had started, only that he saw it now—clearly, in hindsight, where clarity always lived. A slow shift at first, quiet. Like sediment moving along the riverbed. Barely perceptible until the shape of things had already changed. Fiddleford had grown restless. Withdrawn. Less quick to make eye contact. He’d begun spending longer stretches underground before the structure was complete, citing airflow concerns, structural integrity, systems diagnostics—but Ford could tell. The excuses were sound. But the tone was different. 

     Lately, Ford would come down to check on the progress, finding Fidds crouched beside an open panel, one arm elbow-deep in a tangle of wires. Or else he’d be hunched over the schematics with a red pencil in hand, marking adjustments in the margins no one else would ever read.

     They were nearly through the fifth load of the afternoon. The air between the lab and the stairwell had thickened into something visible—veils of kicked-up dust catching the sun through the back window, suspended like spores. The low whine of exertion had become part of the background noise, indistinguishable from the creak of old boards or the cyclical grunt of bodies folding and unfolding with each lift. And still, somehow, the place looked no emptier.

     The lab was a hoarder’s den of erratic priorities—half the filing cabinets still full, the drawers sticking from the weight of handwritten notebooks and incomplete reports, everything annotated with Ford’s looping script. Tupperware tubs brimmed with unclassifiable compounds or expired cryptid samples sealed in resin. Then there were the vials—too many to count—wrapped lovingly in bubble wrap, rubber-banded into little clutches that Ford refused to part with on the grounds that they might “prove useful later.”

     The bunker, by contrast, was clean and new. The walls still smelled faintly of sealant and heat-cured paint. Down here, they worked in a different rhythm—repositioning, assigning, settling. Everything had to be given a new place, a new logic. It felt like domesticity in miniature: the great migration of their strange little world into something organized and survivable.

        Fiddleford had even decided to move Stache.

     He didn’t ask. Just grumbled something about Ford’s “incessant whining” over the squeaky wheel distracting him during late night experiment sessions—though Fidds was personally convinced Ford couldn’t possibly hear anything over the sound of his own mutterings and half-audible debates with nobody. Still, the solution seemed reasonable enough: a bigger cage, deeper bedding, tucked into a quiet corner of the bunker. 

     Ford, for his part, was dragging an ambitious stack of three labeled crates—filled with books—onto the nearest available bench. The crates landed with a hollow, echoing thud. He paused to wipe his forehead with the back of his wrist, catching his breath—

        —and then a sharp, immediate sound snapped the air.

           A hiss—tight, involuntary, all teeth.

     Ford’s head whipped around like a compass needle finding north just as Fidds was yanking his hand away from the cage. “What happened?”

     Fiddleford stood frozen, one hand clamped around the other, his face pinched in a wince. “Son of a—he bit me.”

     He peeled his fingers away to inspect the damage. Blood welled along the ridge of his thumb, bright as pomegranate juice, a single bead sliding into the shallow curve of his lifeline. “Little bastard’s been weird lately.”

     Ford straightened from his half-crouch, arms full of hardcovers and binders, and watched him for a moment. “Weird how?”

     “Well, to start with, he’s never bitten me before.” Fidds glanced toward the cage, which sat half-shrouded in shadow beneath one of the steel counters. Stache was visible inside, perched in a corner on his haunches, strangely still. His whiskers didn’t twitch. His eyes gleamed. “Maybe he misses the old cage,” Fidds muttered, voice unreadable.

     Ford turned away, sliding the books—methodically, alphabetically, categorically—into one of the built-in shelves he’d already pre-sorted by Dewey decimal classification. “He’ll adjust.”

        That was the end of it, apparently.

     Fidds wiped his hand off on his pant leg, though it didn’t do much to stem the blood. He gave the cage another glance, then turned on his heel and headed back up the stairs for another round of boxes.

       Outside, the afternoon light slanted sideways through the trees, a golden spill filtered through swaying pine—casting long stripes across the dusty earth. The insects were louder now. Every day brought a new crescendo of wings and legs and heat. A living chorus that thickened the air.

     But inside, down under the cabin, the world was narrowed to the clink of metal trays, the shuffling scrape of boxes being dragged into line, and the quiet, rasping pull of his own breath.

     Fiddleford paused mid-haul, shifting his grip on the containment bin. It was full of raw ore—dense, jagged and dangerous.

     He should have been wearing more. A jumpsuit, at least. Gloves, definitely. The handling protocols were posted right there above the bench in Ford’s precise, uncompromising hand. But it was now his sixth load of the day and the heat had turned his clothes into a second skin. His tank top clung to him in patches, and his shorts were soaked along the waistband. The thought of cramming himself into rubber or Tyvek made his skin crawl. He just needed the bin out of the way. A couple feet to the left. Quick and easy.

     But it was heavier than he remembered. Bulkier, too. The metal edge bit into his ribs as he heaved it up, trying to clear space on the bench. He leaned it against the table to get a better angle, swiped a slick hand across the back of his neck. His skin was hot to the touch, overheated and buzzing slightly. He squared his stance, tipped the bin.

              —it happened fast.

           The latch slipped.

        A clean, metallic snap,

     The lid popped free and caught the heel of his thumb on its way off—just a slight blow, but enough to make him flinch. The container pitched forward with a clatter, the weight of it spilling downward as three chunks of ore—raw, irregular, their surfaces veined with mica and that eerie green filament—tumbled out like loose teeth.

     They struck the ground hard. One skidded under the shelving. Another bounced once, twice, and landed at his feet. The third rolled sideways into shadow.

     Fidds stumbled back without thinking, adrenaline snapping through his chest like a tripwire.

        Nothing—

           Nothing?

     Slowly, his gaze dropped to his hand. One of the pieces—he was sure of it—had struck his palm as it fell. Right at the base of his fingers. He flexed it. Once. Twice.

              …Nothing.

     No burning. No stinging. No pins and needles racing up his arm. He turned the hand over, inspecting the joints, the folds of skin between the knuckles. The skin was a little red where the lid had caught him, but… everything felt fine.

     His breath was shallow, tight in his chest. He crouched without meaning to, lowered himself automatically, like his body didn’t trust standing. He reached out with his left hand—hesitant, careful. The closest shard was less than a foot away.

     First, he barely touched it, almost swiped at it. Then he tapped his fingers on the surface, recoiling them quickly. 

        And again, nothing happened.

     More boldly still,  he grabbed it. Let it rest in his palm. He counted to ten. And the waited another ten seconds. 

     Then, almost casually, he tossed it back into the open bin.

        The sound it made was sharp. Final.

             It didn’t make sense.

     Ford had touched this stuff once—just once—and he’d crumpled like someone had yanked the plug from the back of his neck. Fiddleford could still see it, clear as a film reel: Ford on the cave floor, face bleached of color, breath caught in his throat, pupils wide and empty as if the soul had been vacuumed out—for several agonizing minutes, Fidds had thought he was dead. 

        So why not him?

     He looked down at the shard in his hand, then back to the box where the rest had spilled. His skin was dry now, suddenly very cold. A chill crept down his spine, tightening the air around his shoulders.

     The door groaned open behind him, followed by the quick, uneven rhythm of boots on wooden stairs—descending with that stubborn, unrelenting force he applied to most things. Ford appeared a second later, flushed and breathing hard, sweat streaking through the curls at his temple. His eyes snapped to the containment bin before they registered anything else—and the moment he caught sight of the scattered ore, something behind his face changed.

     “Hey—careful!” he barked, voice tight with alarm. His hand shot out as if he could stop time with it. “That’s unprocessed—”

     “I know,” Fiddleford interrupted quickly. The lie came out fully formed, polished like a coin. “The lid slipped. I didn’t touch it.”

     Ford’s gaze narrowed, his eyes flicking between the shards on the floor and Fiddleford’s face. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. Just stretched his back with a long exhale, vertebrae clicking audibly, the sound sharp in the tight room. “Obviously you didn’t touch it,” he muttered, sarcasm paper-thin. “You’re still standing.”

     He crossed the room and snapped on a pair of industrial gloves—thick, chemical-safe, reinforced at the palms. Fidds just watched as Ford crouched, carefully handling the stones as if they were live mines, setting them back in the bin and snapping the lid on tight.

       Only then did he glance back over his shoulder. “What’s with the bed down there now?”

            Fidds, mind wondering, blinked. “What?”

     “In the bunker,” Ford clarified, waving vaguely over his shoulder as he stood. “That cot you dragged in. Kinda cozy, don’t you think?”

     Fiddleford turned, grabbed his clipboard from the edge of the bench, and flipped a page he’d already worn soft at the corners. “It’s just practical.”

     Ford tilted his head, one brow lifting with theatrical skepticism. “Practical, huh?” He pulled the gloves off and tossed them aside before leaning on the edge of a nearby bench. “Because from where I’m standing, it kind of looks like you’re planning on moving in.”

        “It’ll only be used in emergency situations.”

     Ford wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and glanced down at himself, exhaling a tired laugh. “If we end up needing to shelter in place down there, you really think we’re both fitting on that little twin bed?”

        There was the faintest pause—

     Fidds tucked a damp strand of hair behind his ear, eyes still fixed on the clipboard. His thumb smudged graphite as he flipped another page without reading it. “I must’ve overlooked that detail,” he murmured.

     A low hum answered him—not from the generator this time, but from somewhere deeper.

     “Looks like your touch-starved assistant is fishing for excuses,” Bill purred, threading himself like smoke through the ridges of Ford’s mind, voice velveted and smug. “Can’t blame him, though—just look at you.”

     His tone coiled, sharpened. “Wear those little shorts tonight—I wanna take ‘em off with my teeth.”

     Ford exhaled through his nose, jaw flexing. A bead of sweat rolled from temple to collarbone, gliding along the hollow of his throat. He forced his gaze downward, toward the crate of drives.

     “Cut the chitchat, muscles—” Bill whispered. “I wanna watch you sweat some more.”

      Ford exhaled and gave a dry snort, “Don’t go spacey on me now, cowboy,” he said, patting Fiddleford’s shoulder as he passed by him. Then he ducked around him, lifted another stack of boxes, and started back toward the stairwell.

     The sound of his footsteps faded upward, swallowed by the drone of the lab.

     Once Ford had gone, the silence shifted—no longer merely quiet, but thickened somehow, pressurized. Like the stillness after a storm, when all the birds have gone quiet and the air remembers where the thunder used to be. It rang in his ears in a way that felt both familiar and new. Fiddleford stood motionless, clipboard slack in his hand, eyes unfocused.

        Fiddleford didn’t move. Not at first.

     Then, slowly, he brought his hand up and flexed it again—just once. He still felt nothing.

        And that didn’t feel right at all.

     He gave his head the smallest shake. Turned back toward the workbench, intending to reach for the coil of copper wire he’d set aside—and promptly fumbled it.

     It slipped from his grip and hit the floor with a metallic clatter. The spool rolled—almost enthusiastically—off the tiles and away from his reach, bouncing once before vanishing beneath one of the side consoles and skittering into shadow. It disappeared toward the back of the lab, behind the towering racks of equipment where the light never reached and the dust hung thick enough to taste.

        “Oh, brilliant,” he muttered, rising stiffly. “Confound it.”

     He stepped around the nearest terminal, ducking under a low shelf and easing past a trolley stacked with glassware. The air back here was different—still and stale. He squinted in the dimness. The spool had come to rest near the base of an old shelving unit, tucked beside a sagging stack of cardboard boxes. As he reached for it, he noticed.

     The boxes weren’t fresh. Their edges were softened, warped with time. Cobwebs stitched the corners like sutures. Dust lay so thick it curled in uneven ridges, recording the shape of every past tremor. Fiddleford dragged a finger through the topmost layer, exposing the cardboard beneath.

     These hadn’t been stacked recently. More than that—they hadn’t just slumped. They’d been nudged. Disturbed. Pushed out from within.

        He followed the trail, breath slowing.

     There—just beside the shelves, half-disguised by the slump of storage and the clutter of forgotten tools—was a doorframe.

     Not new. Not concealed, exactly. Just… tucked away. Easy to ignore. Easier still to forget.

     A thin metal ruler was wedged between the jamb and the frame, a makeshift deadbolt. Not accidental. Deliberate. As though meant to keep something closed.

        Or keep someone out.

     His skin prickled. The hair along his forearms stood to attention with that unreasoned kind of instinct—something old and deep in the marrow that said: Don’t.

        And yet his hand moved.

     His fingers closed around the edge of the ruler. It stuck for a moment—then gave with a metallic rasp, sliding free like a blade being drawn.

        He stood very still. Listening.

           Then his hand found the doorknob.

               Cold. Heavy. He turned it.

     The door creaked open on stiff hinges, revealing a narrow room—barely six feet square. He reached inside and flipped the wall switch. A single bulb clicked to life overhead—dim, yellowed, swaying faintly in its socket—for a moment, Fidds forgot to breathe.

     Every wall was consumed with matching symbols. A single triangular figure, repeated over and over again in exacting variation—Ink bled down the drywall like open veins, seeping into the plaster. Each line etched with deliberate pressure. But the floor—

        The floor was worse.

     There, burned directly into an old woven rug, was a sprawl of interlocking shapes converging on a complex geometric star. The angles radiated outward like thorns—too sharp to step through, too precise to be casual. The rug had been marked not with ink, but fire—each line scorched, melted through the weave.

     He didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know what language it belonged to, or what purpose it served. But he knew—unequivocally, with the precision of the line work, the obsessive repetition, the dark insistence of purpose—who had made it.

        And that it wasn’t meant to be seen.

     His hand went to the switch. He flipped it off. Darkness spilled instantly, devouring the symbols and returning the room to silence.

     He pulled the door shut and, with the same deliberate motion, slid the ruler back into the jamb.

     He stood there a moment longer. Listening. Not for sounds—but for the absence of them.

     Then he bent down, retrieved the coil of wire, and without another thought squeezed past the equipment and headed up the stairs.

     Fiddleford stood in the kitchen, the spool of wire still curled in his hand. He set it down slowly on the counter and leaned his palms against the cool laminate edge, his shoulders tight with something he couldn’t name.

        The silence felt unnatural.

     He let his gaze drift toward the window above the sink, fingers flexing faintly on the counter. Outside, beyond the thin pane of glass, the clearing shimmered with heat. The air looked liquid. Pine branches shifted lazily in the breeze, but Ford moved through them with purpose.

        He was alone. Talking to himself again.

           Fiddleford watched.

     Ford was pacing in a loose figure-eight, half-gesturing as he moved—one hand drawing shapes in the air, the other curled at his side. His head tilted now and then, like he was listening, like he was being answered. And every so often he gave a soft laugh—warm, private, deeply amused. The kind of laugh meant for someone else’s benefit.

     He wasn’t monologuing. He wasn’t muttering for clarity or arguing through equations—he was having a conversation.

        Fiddleford had seen this before. Hundreds of times. Ford talking to the empty room. Ford scribbling heated margins into his own notes and circling them days later like someone else had written them. Ford staring into space with a grin like he’d heard the best joke in the world.

     He’d always explained it away—chalked it up to genius, to intensity or lonliness, to Ford being Ford. A mind too fast, too saturated with ideas to stay still. Some strange neurological combustion that required external release to stay balanced.

        But now… now it landed differently.

     There was something about the angle of his smile. The warmth in it. The way his body leaned slightly left, like there was a presence at his shoulder. 

     Fidds felt it low in his stomach. A lurch. Not quite nausea. Not quite fear. Just… something off. Something sickly and creeping and unnamed. Like the sensation of missing a step in the dark and not yet hitting the ground.

        He turned away.

     His room was dark, blinds drawn, the air stagnant. He didn’t bother with the light. Just dropped to one knee beside the bed and reached beneath it.

     A military-grade lockbox—nondescript, scratched, dented along the seam where it had been pried open years ago and never quite resealed. He slid it out, popped the latches with two quick snaps.

     Inside—his cache of Playboys. He pushed them aside without ceremony. Beneath them, nestled between foam padding and a folded flannel handkerchief, was the memory gun.

     It gleamed dully in the low light. The dial still set from last time. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t deliberate. His fingers knew the contours, the safety, the switch. He adjusted the dial lower—just a notch.

     Just enough to smooth the edge. He raised it to his temple. The barrel met his skin, cool and unblinking. He drew in a single breath.

         Click.

           The effect was immediate.

     His body stiffened—not violently, just a soft arc, like a current passing through. A quiet sound escaped his chest—caught between a breath and a release. The tension behind his eyes unspooled. His scalp prickled, then eased. His heart slowed from a shallow flutter to a calm, even beat. Not numb, but loose. Cleared. Like a glass wiped clean of fingerprints.

     He let the gun rest a moment longer against his skin, then pulled it away.

        The world had quieted.

     That feeling in his stomach—gone. The memory still there, technically. But dulled. The context had eroded just enough to let him breathe again.

     He slid the gun back into the case, re-covered it with the magazines, and shut the lid with a firm snap. Then he pushed it back under the bed—deeper this time.

     He stood, ran a hand through his hair to smooth it, and left the room without looking back.

     The hall stretched ahead, bright with filtered sunlight, filled with the scent of sawdust and sweat. Fiddleford rolled his shoulders once, loosened his jaw, and went back to work.

[Previous Chapter][Next Chapter]

[Read Entire Work Here]

[Playlist!]

[hellhoundmaggie]

wait whats the big SH headcanon you aren't into? I love SH but haven't interacted with the fandom a ton

Thank you for asking!

The theory I can’t agree with is that Wayne is a sentient fungus colony occupying Sam’s body. I do agree that there’s something inhuman puppeteering Sam Wayne’s body, but there isn’t any clear textual evidence suggesting the something is fungal.

There’s a couple of supporting arguments people tend to make for Fungus Theory, but I find them weak and tenuous:

Wayne’s body is rotting at a fast pace. Fungus is a cause of decomposition. Therefore the body must be colonized by a fungus.

Fungus may be a cause of decomp, but it’s not the only cause. Many kinds of organisms contribute to decomposition — insects, scavenger animals, microbes, etc. — and fungus is not necessary to the process. I’m not completely ruling out the possibility that the rapid rot is caused by fungus, but in the absence of concrete evidence, there’s no reason to assume this has to be the case.

Sybil is helping Wayne in some unspecified way. Sybil specializes in folk medicine, which has potent magical effects in her hands. Sybil specifically uses chaga, a fungus, to make a mind-control tea. According to the homeopathic principle of “like cures like,” Sybil must be using chaga or a similar fungal ingredient to support the fungus in Wayne.

This argument might be more convincing if Sybil used fungal cures exclusively, but she doesn’t. In fact, chaga is the only fungal cure she is shown to cultivate or use. The castor beans she gives Doc come from a plant. She grows poison flowers in her tea nook. Even the unspecified blend she gives to Tabitha is herbal, not fungal. Also, one of the effects of the chaga is to make the drinker trust Sybil, even to the point of not registering information that makes her look bad. If Wayne is drinking the chaga, then shouldn’t he trust her? Why does he assume she would hurt an aged MC? It doesn’t make sense to assume Sybil’s giving him chaga.

Wayne zaps Reese with what appears to be a set of yellow tendrils slithering out of his wrist; there are yellow fractal networks in a couple of Reese’s paintings. Some fungi are fractal networks, some fungi conduct electricity. The thing in Wayne’s arm must be part of a fungal network!

I can think of something else that zaps people with electricity: lightning. I plan to elaborate on this more in a series of theory-posts, but suffice it to say that I find my theory about lightning to have more textual support than the fungus theory while requiring fewer assumptions. Occam’s Razor, baby!

Abby Howard tends to take inspiration for her monster designs from her study of evolutionary biology. Reese’s monster design is an excellent example of how biology influences Abby’s art: he is a chimera of several real animals, both living and extinct. It would only make sense for her to have based Wayne on something biological too — like fungi!

This makes sense to me as a meta-textual argument. But again, there’s no textual evidence that Wayne is fungal, so there’s no reason to accept that Abby took inspiration from fungi when designing Wayne.

Again, I plan to write up my own pet theory — which not only explains what Wayne is, but also helps explain Reese’s origins, the nature of the Seals, the influence the Scarlets had over the town’s past, and the parts MC and Tabitha have to play in the town’s future — someday soon. But I hope this post helped convince you that, despite Wayne’s sense of humor, he is not a Fun Guy. Have a good one!

[eu0n1a]

you just couldn't resist, could you? you were so eager to find the love of your life, to be loved, be wanted.

while visiting your family, you went through an old book in the attic that your parents told you to never touch.

after rummaging through countless pages, "here it is!" you thought. a love spell. you thought it would make your crush fall for you so you went straight to work.

buying all kinds of herbs, even the rarest that were worth a hasty price. it would be worth it, for him.

but in actuality it was more than that. after consuming it, it had changed you in a way you could never imagine...

developing black patches over your limbs. you hid them with clothes. but then grew things you couldn't hide. dark veins under your eyes. you looked ill, disgusting even. excused yourself, hiding your body from you family, without an explanation.

by the time you arrived to the train station, your vision became hazy. the world swirled all around you. and nothing felt certain, not even the concrete. falling out of the three stairs left. crawling and before you can lift yourself to sit on the bench. lights are out.

you didn't understand anything. why the potion would be such a curse. maybe you had ignored all the red flags, specifications, warnings. barely focused on the part that said soulmate. the potion wasn't meant for crushes.

Beware the brew that binds with might, a love-born curse from darkest night. Though hearts entwine, the price is steep, For restless souls, no peaceful sleep. For soulmate's only, not desire's flame, the potion seals them, bound by name. First, limbs will pale, then turn to black, Dark veins beneath the eyelids track. In webs of fate, their love shall twine, But tangled paths they can’t define.

citizens alerted a nearby prohero about the poor woman lying beside the bench in horrible posture. She seemed to not like any homeless person, but an ill soul.

he arrived. seeing her in such a form, she was in shock to see such a figure. she was already embarrassed by being seen in this way by family and friends.

but he seemed sweet enough, just like on TV, asking her about her condition. when did it start. does anything hurt.

she didn't know it yet, but he would be the cure for her illness.

---

-follow me on tiktok: @sunnytingz69 for ur fav character edits & help me hit 1K so i can livestream games, book streams, n more

[paigegonerogue]

Ficlet where Ellie gets a fever/mild cold while still on the road to Lincoln or Pittsburgh? There's just so much time skipped in that whole period before jackson where endless bonding moments and potential for learning to trust can exist

Sorry this took a hot second! Thank you so much for the request!

Anyone can send me asks for specific TLOU story ideas and I’ll write a bit for them! So anyone reading this—feel free to send me requests!

(1.1k words. Mentioned character death.)

(Also I know you said before Pittsburg but I did right after because it worked a bit better for this story)

They were nearly a week out from Kansas City when Ellie’s cough started to worry Joel. It had started small, just a sound he’d attributed to the dusty tunnels they’d all gone through with Henry and Sam. But it had gotten worse. Small, sharp exhales to guttural roars that racked her tiny frame. 

She’d been quiet since KC, something Joel had been trying and failing to convince himself was because of how raw her throat most likely was.

Eventually they found a small town, a place called ‘Lecompton’, as far as he could tell from the worn, tattered signs scattered around the eerily empty neighborhoods.

It had been one of the places FEDRA tried to clear out before they gave up and started barricading civilians in the QZs, or at least he thought, judging from the tank tracks etched into the concrete, bullet holes in the shabby, cracked plaster of houses, and homes burnt until they were just charred frames.

They barricaded themselves in an old bar, Joel sealing all the windows in an attempt to muffle their sounds to the outside. Ellie’s coughs were loud enough that he felt like everyone in the world could hear, and even if the town seemed relatively safe there was probably a stray infected or two somewhere nearby.

”Hey, Ellie, I’m goin’ out for a second.” He took her shoulder after her latest round of hacking screeches. She looked up at him with a pathetic choke, her eyebrows drawn together. “Try to be quiet.”

She looked up at him, widening her eyes and making an explosion gesture above her head. ‘Woah, really?! I hadn’t thought of that’. 

Joel sighed, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Somehow she could still manage to snark him with her voice blown out.

“Yeah yeah, I get it.” He told her. “I’ll be right back.”

He took a seat outside the abandoned bar, letting his head fall back as he stared up at the cloudy sky above him. The cough was making him nervous. A frantic kind of nervousness that could only be cured by getting it to stop. Getting Ellie okay.

He couldn’t trade for medicine. Even if he found another party, people offering something as valuable as medicine almost always had an ulterior motive.

He made a mental note to tell that to Ellie later.

Really all he could do at this point was hope that the cough wasn’t an infection or strep throat. But he was never good at waiting or hoping, and as he stood and prepared to try and find anything useful he could in the small houses surrounding them, he spotted a small pine tree off in the underbrush where the town trailed off twenty feet away.

“Brought you some tea.” He said gruffly, sitting down next to where Ellie was curled in her sleeping bag on the floor. “Need some fuckin’ peace and quiet.” He handed her the tea he’d brewed, still hot in his thermos from the fire he’d snuffed out outside.

Ellie looked down at it, a crease between her eyebrows as she looked back up at him.

“It’s Eastern Red Cedar tea. You make it using the pine and boiling it. Helps with coughs.”

Ellie looked back down at the tea, slowly lifting the cup to her lips and tilting her head back to drink. She made a face, nearly dropping it. 

Joel’s first instinct was to snap at her, but she hadn’t really done anything wrong.

“Yeah, I know it doesn’t taste great,” he told her instead. “But it’ll help.”

Ellie scrunched her lips to the side, nodding once before she reached over towards her backpack, unzipping it and shuffling through the contents.

She pulled out a sketchpad they’d found a few days ago in an abandoned gas station and a blue pen which she shook a few times.

‘U botenist now?’ She wrote in the smallest possible font, trying to save as much room as possible for her surprisingly good drawings.

“First off it’s spelled with an ‘A’, not an ‘E’. Second off… just drink the fuckin’ tea.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, scratching down a quick ‘fine’ before pausing and staring at the letters.

He knew they were both thinking of exactly the same person.

Suddenly the silence didn’t seem so refreshing anymore.

“A couple years after the outbreak this young woman joined our little group of raiders—me and Tommy’s.” He started before he could think better of it. But by the way Ellie lit up he knew it was the right choice. “Drink your damn tea while I’m tellin’ you all this.” He told her, gesturing at his thermos. “So her name was Poppy, which was pretty funny ‘cause she loved plants. Loved ‘em.” He scratched his cheek, considering his words. “She was the caretaker of this garden at her college before the outbreak. Brought the whole thing back from just a couple dead weeds. She was real proud of it.” 

Ellie finally took another sip of her tea.

“Once we’re all headin’ through Kansas and she points out this pine tree. She says ‘that’s an Eastern Red Cedar, it’s good for coughs and bronchitis and joint pain and digestion’. And I really didn’t give a shit, but I go ‘damn, why ain’t we usin’ this all the time?’ And Poppy goes—” he smiled a bit, thinking back to it. “—‘’cause it tastes like if a pinecone could shit’.”

Ellie let out a small laugh, wincing and reaching her hand to her throat. 

“So there’s your story. Now drink.” Ellie grudgingly took another sip, reaching towards her notebook and scribbling something down.

‘What happened to her?’ 

Joel forced himself not to wince.

“We went our separate ways.” He lied. “The group disbanded eventually and we just said our goodbyes.” He could still hear her screams, trapped, rattling around inside his skull, clawing for his eardrums.

He blinked, her decimated corpse flashing behind his eyes.

Ellie looked down, taking another sip.

‘Really?’ She wrote. Joel nodded.

“Yeah. Saw an old ally of mine and they said she’d settled in the Phoenix QZ.” He knew he shouldn’t lie. Shouldn’t come up with tall tales trying to spare Ellie’s already gone innocence, but he didn’t want to see that look in her eyes anymore. The one she got when he knew she was thinking about just another person who died.

“Y’know, I had another ally. His name was Hank, but we all called him ‘Barrel’ because he could handle a rifle best I’ve ever seen.” 

Ellie perked up, looking surprised he kept talking. 

“So one day me and Barrel, we’re out scavenging for food—drink your tea—and we get ambushed. There’s ten raiders on us and we’re dashing like hell to—”

THE END

Remember, send me requests for more! This was super fun to do!

[ultrar0s4]

Figured I had to make a "main" post about what the heck this project is about, so here it is!

ULTRAROSA, also stylized as ULTRAR0S4, is a very silly worldbuilding project about a world based on girly media, such as Barbie animated movies, Monster High (gen 1), Bratz media, Totally Spies, Winx Club (seasons 1-3), Sailor Moon, Pretty Cure and much more!

The world of ULTRAROSA mixes both fantasy and sci-fi, and it doesn't have a concrete story. It's just a for-fun project where I can add as much glitter as I want to! The world was originally made by a big pantheon of goddesses and gods, however, some centuries before what I am calling the "current days" of this world, a rebellion was made by the mortals, who were tired of being treated as toys by such uncaring goddesses. This rebellion culminated in the killing of the Goddess of Light, the originator of this world, with other goddesses and gods being next.

Nowadays, there are no higher entities to play with mortals anymore, but another problem was born: Killing a goddess is no easy task, as even her body leaves a mark in the world! The temples of the goddesses are now incredibly dangerous places where monsters are being born. If left unnatented, these monsters will cause chaos around the entire world! Warriors are trained to deal with them, as well as technologies are developed in order to seal these temples away.

ULTRAROSA features mermaids, fairies, were-people, dwarves, vampires, robots, "normal" humans and other species! I'm currently working on how they all work, and it's been pretty fun. Also, important thing to notice, anyone and everyone is able to do magic, and it's common practice to know at least a little bit of it.

Atm I don't have much to share, but maybe one day I will! Thanks for the attention, byeee <3

[wandaluvstacos]

Chapter 13 is up!

Mikayel Simonian was a fledgling vampire once, though he doesn’t remember how he was turned. What he does remember is waking up in the year of 1986 to a group of magical misfits with the ability to cure vampirism—with exceptions, of course. Their history as fledglings themselves combined with the power of their magic enables them to do what no normal human can: hunt vampires. Over forty years, Mikayel has brought an end to more fledglings than he can count, and even a few full-fledged vampires. He’s seen most things. What he’s never seen before is a vampire deliberately seeking his coven out with a new fledgling in tow to beg them for a cure. Because a cure for the fledgling would mean turning her into a vampire hunter. But this handsome and unusually principled vampire named Eric Krüger seems insistent, so Mikayel and his team agree to try.

People have started dying on Mikayel’s home turf, and new fledglings are the cause. Whoever is controlling them is wily and secretive, and neither Mikayel nor his fellow hunters can track the fledglings down once they vanish into the night. It may require the help of a foe. Erich claims to know the vampire villain and has insight into what he has planned. But no one has ever teamed up with another vampire to hunt a vampire—Mikayel may be the only one crazy and desperate enough to try. 

Contains: mxm with some light fxm, blood (obvs lol), gore, murder, sex scenes, slow burn romance, some nazi shit (bigotry, homophobic/transphobic slurs, etc)

Genre: Horror/romance/thriller

Rating: 18+

EXCERPT:

  “I think David should go home. It’s very late,” Klaus replied. To David he said with sickening sweetness, “David? Would you mind heading home?”

            Footsteps tapped across a concrete floor and a door was opened and closed without remark.

            “Don’t fucking do that,” the woman snapped. “He’s not yours to compel.”

            “I didn’t know I was doing it.”

            “Bullshit.”

            “I cannot help that his mind is fragile and simple like a child’s.”

            “Say what you will, but he’s one of the few who has stuck with me this long, and so that makes him valuable. I don’t need to be hiring new people every time you have a tantrum about something.”

            “You should stop hiring humans with fragile and simple minds. You should also be careful about what you discuss and to who you discuss it with.”

            “I am careful. This room is sealed.”

            “No, it’s not.”

            At this, Klaus finally stepped into view of the vent. He did not strike an intimidating figure at first, being only about five-foot-nine and a 160 pounds. In a crowd, his plain face and dark hair would be instantly forgotten, and whatever power his voice carried was put there by centuries of experience, not by nature. He was not extraordinary in any way beyond what cruelty he was capable of enacting, and that’s precisely what made him immensely dangerous. He was not born with the charisma of a leader, but he had the doggedness of a workhorse behind the scenes, and he was brutally efficient. It was why the Nazis had liked him so much and never asked questions about where he’d come from.

            “What do you mean?” the woman asked, face pinched.

            Klaus turned, and his eyes landed directly on the vent through which Erich was watching. “It seems we have a visitor. Erich? Care to join us?”

[macro-pulse]

THE HEROES WHO SUED: MEET THE PLAINTIFFS

pregnant women, advocacy groups, and entire states said "not on our watch"

let's talk about who actually had the courage to immediately sue the Trump administration. these people and organizations are heroes.

THE LEAD CASE: CASA v. TRUMP

What is CASA?

Full name: CASA de Maryland (but they operate in multiple states)

Founded: 1985

Mission: Immigrant advocacy and support

Members: 120,000+ across Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania

They've been fighting this fight for 40 years

Why CASA had standing:

Their pregnant members would be directly affected

They'd have to divert resources to help stateless babies

Their entire mission would be undermined

Some staff members were personally affected

Individual plaintiffs with CASA:

Several pregnant women (names sealed for safety)

Due dates ranging from March-July 2025

Mix of undocumented and temporary visa holders

All fearing their babies would be stateless

One plaintiff's statement:

"I came here to study engineering. I fell in love. Now they want to punish my baby for existing."

THE STATE CASES: WASHINGTON v. TRUMP

Lead plaintiff: Washington State

Why Washington stepped up:

Large immigrant population

Tech industry depends on foreign workers

State constitution has stronger equal protection

Governor Jay Inslee personally pushed for the suit

Joined by:

Oregon

Illinois

Nevada

New Mexico

Their argument: "This will cost us millions and create chaos in our systems"

THE MEGA-CASE: NEW JERSEY v. TRUMP

Lead by New Jersey, Massachusetts, and California

This was the BIG one - 18 states total:

New Jersey (lead)

Massachusetts

California

New York

Connecticut

Rhode Island

Vermont

Maine

New Hampshire

Delaware

Maryland

Michigan

Minnesota

Wisconsin

Colorado

Hawaii

New Mexico

Nevada

Plus:

District of Columbia

City of San Francisco

Their collective argument:

30% of all US births would be affected in some states

Massive administrative burden

Violation of states' sovereign interests

Constitutional crisis

THE INDIVIDUAL PLAINTIFFS

While sealed for protection, court documents revealed patterns:

"Jane Doe #1"

PhD student from India

Married to another student

Due in April 2025

"I'm getting a doctorate in biomedical engineering to help cure diseases. My baby will be stateless?"

"Jane Roe #2"

From El Salvador

Fled violence

Asylum pending

Due date: May 2025

"We escaped death threats. Now my baby faces a different kind of death - civil death"

"Jane Poe #3"

Tourist visa overstay from Canada

Partner is British on work visa

Due June 2025

"We fell in love in America. Our child will be from nowhere?"

THE ORGANIZATIONAL PLAINTIFFS

Beyond CASA:

ACLU - Representing individuals nationwide

Mexican American Legal Defense Fund (MALDEF)

Asian Law Caucus

National Immigration Law Center

Various local immigrant service providers

Each organization showed:

Direct service impacts

Resource diversion

Member injuries

Mission frustration

THE STANDING ARGUMENTS

Why courts agreed they could sue:

States:

Administrative costs (new systems needed)

Conflicting federal/state citizenship records

Public health impacts (people avoiding hospitals)

Education system chaos

Economic impacts (brain drain)

Organizations:

Diversion of resources

Frustrated organizational missions

Direct member injuries

Associational standing

Individuals:

Immediate injury (baby would be stateless)

Concrete and particularized

Actual or imminent (due dates approaching)

Redressable by injunction

THE SPEED OF RESPONSE

Timeline from EO to lawsuits:

January 20, 3pm: Order signed

January 20, 11pm: First suit drafted

January 21, 9am: CASA files in Maryland

January 22: Washington State files

January 23: Multi-state coalition files

By January 25: 15+ lawsuits nationwide

The legal community was READY.

THE COURAGE REQUIRED

Think about what these plaintiffs risked:

Undocumented plaintiffs exposed themselves

Named their due dates and locations

Became targets for harassment

Put their families in spotlight

All to protect their unborn children's rights

THE COALITION BUILDING

What's remarkable is the diversity:

Blue states and purple states

Large states and small states

Border states and interior states

Different affected populations

United in opposition

Massachusetts AG:

"This isn't about politics. It's about the Constitution and basic human decency."

THE MISSED OPPORTUNITY

These plaintiffs did everything right:

Filed immediately

Made compelling arguments

Showed concrete injuries

Built broad coalitions

Won at every lower court

They should have been able to protect everyone.

Instead, the Supreme Court said they could only protect themselves.

That's not justice. That's just selfish.

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[epoxyflooringcontractors]

Grinding and sealing concrete floors is a popular method to create a smooth and durable surface. The process involves grinding the concrete to remove imperfections, followed by applying a thermally cured epoxy coating for protection and an enhanced appearance.

[screenmobile]

How Do You Repair a Patio?

A well-maintained patio enhances your outdoor living experience, providing a relaxing space for gatherings, dining, or simply unwinding. Over time, though, patios can develop cracks, uneven surfaces, or weather damage that need attention. If you're wondering how to repair a patio, this guide will walk you through the steps to restore its beauty and functionality.

Assess the Damage

Before diving into repairs, evaluate your patio's condition. Identifying the type and extent of damage helps determine the best approach. Look for:

Cracks and Chips: Small cracks can be filled easily, but larger ones may require patching.

Uneven Pavers or Slabs: Shifting ground can cause parts of your patio to sink or rise.

Loose or Missing Pavers: These create tripping hazards and disrupt the patio’s appearance.

Stains or Discoloration: Weather, spills, and mold can leave unsightly stains on your patio surface.

Fixing Cracked or Damaged Concrete Patios

If you have a concrete patio with minor cracks, you can seal them to prevent further damage:

Clean the Area – Remove dirt and debris from the cracks using a wire brush or pressure washer.

Apply Concrete Crack Filler – Use a liquid crack filler for thin cracks or a concrete patching compound for wider gaps.

Smooth and Let Dry: Spread the filler evenly with a trowel and let it cure according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Seal the Surface – Apply a concrete sealer to protect against future wear and weather exposure.

You may need to resurface the entire patio using a concrete overlay for larger cracks or deep structural damage.

Leveling an Uneven Patio

If your patio has sunken areas or uneven pavers, follow these steps to restore a smooth surface:

Remove Affected Pavers – Lift the uneven pavers with a flat pry bar.

Add or Adjust the Base Material – Pour sand or gravel underneath to level the ground.

Reposition and Tamp Down – Place the pavers back in their original spots and press them down firmly.

Fill Gaps with Sand – Sweep polymeric sand into the joints to stabilize the pavers and prevent future shifting.

Replacing Broken or Missing Pavers

If you have missing or damaged pavers, replacing them is a straightforward process:

Remove the broken pieces carefully.

Place a new paver of the same size and material.

Adjust the base if needed and ensure the new piece sits evenly.

Secure the area with joint sand and water to lock the paver in place.

Dealing with Stains and Discoloration

Outdoor patios are exposed to various elements, leading to stains from dirt, mold, or spills. Cleaning methods vary based on the type of stain:

Oil and Grease Stains: Use a degreasing agent or dish soap with warm water and a stiff brush.

Mold and Mildew: A mixture of vinegar and water or a specialized patio cleaner can help remove stubborn growth.

Rust Stains: Lemon juice and baking soda work well for light rust stains; commercial rust removers are best for heavy discoloration.

Regularly sealing your patio can prevent future stains and extend its lifespan.

Enhancing Your Patio with Patio Enclosures

Consider installing patio enclosures consider installing patio enclosures if you want to protect your patio from us. Enclosures help shield your space from rain, wind, and excessive sun while creating a cozy and stylish outdoor area. With custom enclosures, you can transform your patio into a versatile space perfect for year-round enjoyment.

When to Call a Professional

While DIY patio repairs can save money, some situations require expert intervention. Consider professional help if:

Your patio has significant structural damage or extensive cracks.

You’re dealing with a drainage issue that is causing erosion.

The repair involves heavy lifting or specialized tools beyond your capabilities.

Revitalize Your Patio Today!

Repairing a patio doesn’t have to be overwhelming. You can restore its appearance and functionality with the right approach, making it the perfect outdoor retreat. Whether you need simple fixes or a complete upgrade with patio enclosures, Screenmobile of Michiana Shores, MI, offers expert solutions tailored to your needs. 

[cryotripsy]

This is legit so autism of me but I'll say it anyways, Maf has concrete shoes, which is a method of murder commonly associated with the Mafia. The mafioso is usually incapacitated and gets their feet shoved in buckets full of wet concrete. Some media portrays the person as being awake but in the one recorded death the person was already lacking a reliant air supply before being thrown into the body of water, so the mafioso was already unconscious. My little theory was Maf had been hurled in, but the concrete wasn't fully sealed which caused oxygen to seep into the concrete, which at some points can cause bubbles. Russel's gay ass saw this and thought he'd FINALLY found an underwater anomaly. But he sees multiple items floating to the surface, such as a tie, a glove of some sort, a small first aid kit. OH LAWD THAT'S A GUY. Russell tosses something down for Maf to hold onto, the concrete shoes would be much lighter than if it was fully cured or whatever the word is so Maf was either able to climb up the rope or Russell was able to pull him up

[snaggsville]

Coming along...

The concrete steps are fully cured. I replaced the top bluestone step since it was already loose. I'll fully install it this week. Once it's sealed it should have a dark, wet look to it. The color should be close to the shutters and the roof.

[nainad123]

Epoxy Resins Market with Recent Industry Data, Emerging Trends and Forecast to 2031

The consumption of epoxy resins is poised for a robust surge, with an anticipated high Compound Annual Growth Rate (CAGR) of 6.9% from 2022 to 2031. In 2021, the global epoxy resins market (エポキシ樹脂市場) held a value of US$ 11.22 billion, and it is expected to ascend to a noteworthy US$ 21.87 billion by the conclusion of 2031.

Epoxy resins have emerged as one of the most versatile and widely used materials across various industries. These synthetic thermosetting polymers, known for their exceptional adhesion, durability, and resistance to chemicals and moisture, are witnessing a remarkable surge in demand.

For more insights into the Market, Request a Sample of this Report: https://www.factmr.com/connectus/sample?flag=S&rep_id=7318 

Diverse Applications

One of the key drivers behind the surge in epoxy resin consumption is their diverse range of applications. Epoxy resins are used across numerous sectors, including:

Construction: Epoxy resins are widely used in construction for bonding, sealing, and structural reinforcement. They offer a strong and durable solution for various applications, from concrete repair to floor coatings.

Electronics: The electronics industry relies heavily on epoxy resins for encapsulating delicate components, protecting them from environmental factors, and enhancing their longevity.

Aerospace: In the aerospace sector, epoxy resins are utilized in the manufacture of lightweight and high-strength composite materials, contributing to improved fuel efficiency and safety.

Automotive: Automotive manufacturers use epoxy resins in the production of lightweight body parts and structural components, contributing to fuel efficiency and safety.

Adhesives: Epoxy-based adhesives are preferred for their high bonding strength, making them indispensable in various industrial applications.

Paints and Coatings: Epoxy resins play a vital role in the formulation of paints and coatings, providing protection and aesthetics to structures and products.

Marine and Wind Energy: Epoxy resins are utilized in the production of lightweight yet robust components for marine vessels and wind turbine blades.

Environmental Considerations

Another significant driver of epoxy resin consumption is their relatively lower environmental impact compared to alternative materials. Epoxy resins produce minimal volatile organic compounds (VOCs) during curing, making them an environmentally friendly choice. This aspect aligns with the growing global emphasis on sustainability and eco-conscious manufacturing.

Competitive Landscape

Manufacturers of epoxy resin are making substantial investments in various aspects of their operations, including the establishment of new manufacturing facilities, the development of training and research centers, setting up distribution networks, and acquiring smaller companies with complementary expertise.

As the epoxy resin industry becomes increasingly competitive, key players are strategically prioritizing the expansion of their production capabilities to meet the ever-growing demands of their customers.

For example:

In 2020, Kukdo Chemicals India achieved a significant milestone by inaugurating its state-of-the-art epoxy production facility in Gujarat. This state-of-the-art epoxy facility boasts an impressive industrial capacity of 40,000 tons per year. Following its success in China, the company strategically launched its second overseas plant in India. This move not only aims to cater to the burgeoning domestic demand but also underscores the commitment to providing consumers with top-notch epoxy solutions.

Key Segments Covered in Epoxy Resins Industry Research

By Raw Material :

DGBEA (Bisphenol A and ECH)

DGBEF (Bisphenol F and ECH)

Novolac (Formaldehyde and Phenols)

Aliphatic (Aliphatic Alcohols)

Glycidylamine (Aromatic Amines and ECH)

Other Raw Materials

By Application :

Paints & Coatings

Wind Energy

Composites

Construction

Electrical & Electronics

Adhesives

Others (Vinyl Gloves, Metal Protection, Handbags, Eyeglasses, and Plastic Tooling)

By Region :

North America

Europe

Asia Pacific

Latin America

Middle East & Africa

Research and Development

The continuous research and development efforts within the epoxy resins industry are leading to innovations that expand their applicability and improve their performance. New formulations with enhanced properties, such as improved thermal resistance and flame retardancy, are opening doors to previously unexplored markets and applications.

Contact:  US Sales Office 11140 Rockville Pike Suite 400 Rockville, MD 20852 United States Tel: +1 (628) 251-1583, +353-1-4434-232 Email: sales@factmr.com

[evoet]

Epoxy Flake Flooring: Durable, Decorative & Low-Maintenance Solution

Epoxy flake flooring is rapidly becoming one of the most popular choices for both residential and commercial environments. Known for its durability, attractive finish, and minimal maintenance requirements, this versatile flooring system is ideal for garages, showrooms, commercial kitchens, workshops, and even residential interiors.

In this article, we’ll explore what epoxy flake flooring is, its key benefits, ideal applications, and why it's an excellent investment for long-term flooring performance.

What Is Epoxy Flake Flooring?

Epoxy flake flooring is a multi-layered resin flooring system that incorporates decorative vinyl chips (flakes) broadcast over a pigmented epoxy base coat. The flakes are sealed with a clear, UV-stable topcoat, creating a seamless, textured finish that is both durable and visually appealing.

Key Benefits of Epoxy Flake Flooring

1. Exceptional Durability Epoxy flake floors are resistant to heavy impact, chemicals, oils, stains, and abrasion. They’re ideal for high-traffic areas where longevity and strength are crucial.

2. Decorative Appearance With a wide variety of flake colors, sizes, and blends available, you can customize your flooring to match your aesthetic preferences—ranging from natural stone to bold designer looks.

3. Slip-Resistant Surface The textured finish of the flakes provides natural slip resistance, making these floors safer in wet or oily conditions.

4. Easy to Clean & Maintain Thanks to its non-porous surface, epoxy flake flooring resists dirt and moisture, requiring only regular sweeping and occasional mopping to stay looking new.

5. UV & Chemical Resistance Unlike standard epoxy, flake floors with polyaspartic or polyurethane topcoats resist yellowing from UV exposure and degradation from harsh chemicals.

6. Fast Installation Time Modern installation techniques, especially with polyaspartic coatings, allow for rapid curing and minimal downtime—ideal for businesses.

Popular Applications

Garage Floors: Strong, stain-resistant, and easy to clean—epoxy flake floors transform garages into clean, professional-looking spaces.

Commercial Kitchens: With their chemical resistance and hygienic surface, these floors are perfect for food preparation areas.

Retail Showrooms: Stylish and durable enough to withstand foot traffic while enhancing product presentation.

Healthcare Facilities: Seamless, anti-microbial surfaces reduce the risk of bacteria buildup.

Warehouses & Workshops: Withstand forklifts, dropped tools, and spills with ease.

Installation Process Overview

Surface Preparation: Diamond grinding or shot-blasting ensures proper adhesion.

Base Coat Application: A pigmented epoxy or polyaspartic base coat is applied.

Broadcasting Flakes: Vinyl flakes are spread across the wet base coat for full coverage.

Scraping & Cleaning: Once cured, excess flakes are scraped off and vacuumed.

Topcoat Application: A clear, UV-stable topcoat seals the surface, locking in the flakes.

Why Choose Epoxy Flake Flooring Over Other Systems?

While concrete, tiles, or plain epoxy have their place, epoxy flake flooring offers a better balance of aesthetics, performance, and cost-effectiveness. It resists delamination, cracking, and fading better than many traditional alternatives.

Conclusion

Whether you need a heavy-duty floor for your garage or a visually stunning yet functional surface for your business, epoxy flake flooring offers unmatched value. With a blend of durability, safety, and customization options, it’s a smart investment for long-term use in any setting.

[ivareriksson78]

Polymer-Based Corrosion Protection: Boosting Durability for Contemporary Construction

Corrosion continues to pose a severe threat to the lifespan and integrity of infrastructure across various industries. From bridges, pipelines, and marine structures to reinforced concrete buildings, the corrosion-related degradation not only poses risks to safety but also incurs enormous maintenance and repair expenses. To address this chronic problem, polymer-based corrosion protection has become a highly effective countermeasure that provides long-term resistance to environmental aggressors while enhancing the lifespan of vital assets.

Polymer-based corrosion protection utilizes synthetic polymer materials like epoxies, polyurethanes, acrylics, and polyvinyl chlorides to create a protective covering on metal or concrete surfaces. The polymers are designed to be resistant to moisture, salts, chemicals, UV rays, and other corrosive substances that start and enhance corrosion. Polymer coatings seal surfaces and keep them from coming in contact with extreme environments, slowing down the corrosion process significantly or stopping it altogether.

Perhaps the most widespread use of polymer-based corrosion protection is in construction, specifically in reinforced concrete structures. The steel reinforcement bars (rebars) are coated with polymer coatings prior to embedment in concrete. These protect the steel against chlorides and water, the primary causes of corrosion in concrete. Fusion-bonded epoxy coatings, for instance, have been demonstrated to be exceptionally long-lasting and find extensive applications in highway and bridge construction.

Aside from rebar protection, polymer-based coatings are applied to the exterior of concrete surfaces for exclusion of water ingress and carbonation. Such coatings are usually elastomeric or permeable to facilitate the passage of moisture vapor out of the concrete but exclude water and aggressive ions from entering. This two-way functionality is crucial in maintaining long-term durability, particularly in humid climates or freeze-thaw environments.

Polymer-based corrosion protection also forms a part of the oil, gas, and marine industries. On offshore platforms and pipelines, polymer coatings resist harsh conditions of saltwater immersion, high pressure, and temperature changes. Not only do these coatings impede corrosion, but they also minimize friction, enhancing the efficiency of fluid flow in pipelines. Polyurethane and polyurea coatings, which are renowned for their durability and resistance to chemicals, are generally chosen for such challenging applications.

Yet another benefit of polymer-based anticorrosive protection is its versatility and simplicity of use. The coatings can be rolled, brushed, or sprayed onto surfaces, making them applicable both to new construction and repair work. Moreover, numerous polymer coatings tend to be fast-curing and low in VOCs, being in line with today's environmental and safety requirements.

Recent advances in polymer-based corrosion protection are the evolution of smart coatings that contain corrosion indicators, self-healing capabilities, and nanotechnology. The new materials improve protection through dynamic response to environmental or mechanical disturbance, thereby granting an intelligent shield.

In summary, polymer-based corrosion protection is a vital component in maintaining infrastructure and industrial facilities. Its capacity to form a long-lasting, impermeable protective barrier against corroding factors makes it an irreplaceable asset in contemporary engineering. As the need for robust and sustainable structures keeps growing, polymer-based technologies will continue to lead the pack in corrosion inhibition methods.