#fire alarm components

[quickshipfire]

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Fire Prevention Tips for Construction Sites

Fires at construction sites present unique and dangerous problems when this type of emergency occurs. This type of fire situation is unique, so you need to know fire prevention tips for the construction site.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

(Based on an ask for @pilot-boi About a Wall-E Whiteknight Au, and given Wall-e was instrumental to my childhood, I cannot help but write something for it. Because it's an AU, and they're both Human and not Robots, I took a few Liberties with the scene in the movie.)

~~~~~

Weiss was beyond frustrated. Nothing, after nothing, after nothing - no signs of life aside from the most extremophile of bacteria, protozoans, insects, and the occasional mold on fecal matter to imply the continuation of species on this gods-forsaken ball of mud.

She slammed the door of the cargo ship she was investigating shut, the rust sticking to her now dirtied gloves. Ugh.

She drifted by the crane of it, not noticing the creaks as it followed her, eventually ripping her back onto the magnet that hadn't fallen in the centuries of just sitting there.

And so Weiss snapped.

She whipped Myrtenaster out, igniting the plasmic blade and slicing the disc that held her back to pieces, before using her energetic glyphs to shred the the hulking metal antique, making it into even more scrap than it already was.

It toppled into the next ship, and then the next one, like dominoes. Deep, resonate bellows of creaks from the sudden movement after centuries of dormant stillness shook Weiss to her core.

She watched them fall, and for the time since her landing, let her feet settle against the ground. It was hard, dry, and barren, like the rest of this abandoned home. Weiss sat against an anchor, the fire and sparks filling a growing void in her chest, not unlike the one meant for plant life in her pack.

She sat there in silence - something the Passengers spoke of when in the few times she was allowed to meet them crossed her mind - A campfire. Whatever that was, it was meant to be shared with Family, something she'd been missing for a long time, her siblings being designated to different vectors of maintenance and service.

"AHem?"

Weiss reeled, drawing her sword once more, and startling a nearby person - A Person?!?

"Wer bist du?" She asked on high alert - this planet was meant to be dead, she was meant to find life here - who or what was this ... Person?

The person didn't respond, shaking violently at the sight of her blade - they appeared masculine, broad shouldered with dirty-blonde hair, though it was difficult to tell if that was due to genetics or living situation.

"Quis es?"

No Response.

"你是谁?"

No Response, but they did seem slightly less frightened given the lack of aggression.

"Chi sei?"

Their shaking slowed as they looked more inquisitive and confused than scared now.

"Qui es-tu?"

"OH! Je- Je M'appelle 'Jaune.' Vous parlez Anglais?"

"Yes I speak English."

"Oh, good!"

'Jaune' continued glancing at the glowing rapier. They seemed frightened of it still. Until he drew his own Weapon.

It wasn't as elegant as Myrtenaster, clearly older and having been used more - an old working tool for scrapping large objects, the thin, yellow sheen of plasma raced across it's edges.

"This is my Cutting tool. Your's is cool to!"

Weiss, once again, was thrown for a loop. He had drawn a dangerous device and waved it like it was a piece of extra piping.

"Jaune? Do you have a title or last name?"

The (boy?) seemed to flush at her pronunciation at his name.

"Jaune, of the A.R.C. Ministry"

"Arc?"

"Allocators of Recycled Components."

"How are you alive? Are there others like you?"

"Oh yeah! A lot, like, two hundred, three hundred others in the Bunker? Primarily we survive on Spirulina Compound. It provide most of our Oxygen and Food stuffs."

Weiss stood for a moment, deactivating her sword and pondering this - They'd been living in space for centuries. Earth was dead, barren, she was only barely able to survive due to advanced CO2 recycling.

"Have .. have you been following me?"

"Yep! You just seemed so pret-"

He was cut off by an alarm in his overalls. He lowered the visor to the helmet he wore, staring past her Weiss's shoulder.

"We need to leave Now." Jaune said, grabbing Weiss' wrist with a surprising amount of force, which she took none too kindly.

She reactived her Blade as she tore her hand away from him. "WHAT make you think You can grab me-"

"SANSTORM!" Jaune shouted, pointing past her "WE NEED TO GO, FOLLOW-"

Before he could even move to grab Weiss again, he slammed a massive tower shield in to the ground, covering himself from the blast of sand that tore at her skin and suit -

Weiss was whipped away, barely able to keep upright against the torrential winds, her Glyphs her only saving grace.

She Called out for the boy, anyone, frightened and alone, her suit's helmet the only thing allowing her to keep her eyes open even as it because scratched and muddled.

A hand found it's way to her wrist again, a dim yellow glow standing out against the violent dust letting her know she'd been found by Jaune.

It gave her some small comfort to not be alone as he dragged her somewhere, hopefully safe.

~~~~~

I fucking LOVE Wall-e. I made my First OC for Wall-e (Not that I knew what that meant at the time.) I had the Three-Disc Special edition, the Movie and it's Featurette Presto, The Second Disc with a gallery of the Bots, the Lots of Bots read-along, Burn-E (Who I imagine to be Qrow with his luck) and all the other special features, and the Digital Copy Disc to download it onto a Laptop or P.C. back when owning a digital copy of a movie was something special, and that's not even halve of it!

[pinkkittysaw]

pairing: mike schmidt x gn! reader

summary: you save the holiday with some chinese food

word count: 1,864

content: fluff, established relationship, reader is celebrating american thanksgiving, no use of y/n or gender specific pronouns. pure self indulgence due to the stress that the holidays give me

a/n: based off an hc i had where mike can’t roast a turkey to save his life. this was written, edited and posted all in the same day so PLEASE be kind 😔 i watched the fnaf movie twice in three days i think i have a problem. anyway ty josh hutcherson for ending my writing slump DJDJDJJD 🙏🏻🙏🏻

dividers by @/firefly-graphics

"Shit," Mike hissed through his teeth, hastily pulling out the very well-done turkey from the oven and placing it aside on the counter as a bloom of gray smoke erupted and filled the kitchen air.

A muffled "swear" is heard from the living room, a faint pout forming on the young girl's lips. Her bouncy brunette curls are tossed from side to side as she peels her eyes away from the Thanksgiving parade on TV to peer over her shoulder and chastise her older brother for his "transgressions". 

"Sorry," he grumbles, pulling out a dollar and sliding it into the lid of the makeshift swear jar Abby had made. The money will end up back in his wallet at the end of the week anyway, so he offers no pushback against the girl.

More smoking from the oven ensues, flooding the kitchen and living room in an ashen veil. It's only a few seconds later that the grating beep beep beep of the fire alarm begins to go off, the noise ringing all throughout their home.

"Too loud!" Abby yells, covering her ears with both hands as she bounds toward her bedroom to try and escape the noise.

When you roll up to Mike's house, pushing through his front door with both hands occupied by the plastic bags of processed carbs and fat you bought for the night, you're greeted to him bouncing up and down on a dining room chair, one of his ears tucked into his shoulder as an attempt to spare his eardrums from the blaring sound as he wildly reaches for the smoke alarm stuck to the ceiling. 

You're quick to place the bags down on the kitchen table, doing your best to avoid inhaling too much of the smoke. With the oven already turned off, you rush over to the windows, opening them up, and grabbing a discarded shirt that was left on the couch to air out the two rooms as best as you can. 

You smile up at him, and after a few more attempts, he successfully snatches the alarm from its place on the ceiling, unceremoniously pulling out the batteries as he hops down from his elevated position, then tosses both the alarm and its components onto the counter, alongside his multiple failed side dishes. 

"Hey," he finally greets and exhales, letting go of the breath he was holding while he wipes his brow, small droplets of perspiration accumulating on his forehead from the impromptu workout session.

It was clear that he was having quite the day. With Abby having the better part of the week off from school and Mike wanting to prepare all of Thanksgiving dinner himself, to say he was a little stressed would be an understatement.

"Hey," you respond back,  grinning as he runs his fingers through the dark curls that sit atop his head, similar to those of his younger sister.

You peer over his shoulder at the mess of dishes and other burned food before making eye contact with him once again, nudging your head toward the bags still on the table.

"Got the Chinese food."

A look of relief washes through his face as he makes his way over toward you, cupping both cheeks in his palms and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"You're a lifesaver," he mumbles into your hairline. 

A giggle worms its way from between your lips when you state, "Always am."

It's not like Mike was a bad cook, per se. You've witnessed him cooking for Abby on multiple occasions, even sometimes for yourself as an apology on nights he came home later than expected, but to say he was a good cook was also a bit of a stretch, at least when it comes to meals made solely from scratch.

His specialties were breakfast foods and simple meals, ones that don't require more than five steps, like tomato soup, mac n cheese, frozen pizza, grilled cheese, and so on and so forth, with his best dish being spaghetti and meatballs. Though you were determined to sit him down and go through the step-by-step recipe for your homemade meat sauce so that he wouldn't have to keep buying the store-bought crap. 

Regardless, when discussions of Thanksgiving plans arose, Mike suggested getting Chinese as an absolute last resort. So you were prepared when you eventually received the phone call from him earlier on that day "to resort to Plan B" as his "cooking endeavors kept going from bad to worse."

You could tell he was anxious about the whole thing. It was your first Thanksgiving together as a couple after having been Abby's sitter for a few years. He wanted it to be perfect. He and his sister never had much time or drive to celebrate the holiday as "families should", (his words), due to his work and money situation. It just didn't make sense for him to prepare a huge feast for the two of them and put more than a minimal amount of effort into cooking when most of the food would end up in the fridge for weeks on end. Uneaten due to texture changes after the food had been cooled, refrigerated, and then eventually warmed up again.

Ever since, their tradition has been Chinese food, something they both enjoyed and could get delivered if need be.

You reassured Mike over the phone earlier that morning, while twirling the spiral cord of your landline around your finger, that it didn't matter what type of food you ate, whether it was roasted turkey and mashed potatoes or crab rangoons and fried rice, it was about being together.

Abby peeked out of her room a few minutes later as you and Mike set the table, laying out three paper plates and setting the various dishes in the middle of them. The young girl is quick to crash into you, pulling you into a bruising hug—a bruising hug that a ten-year-old girl can manage. 

"Hey Rugrat," you chuckle, ruffling her hair. "Got your favorite."

"Really?" she beams, bouncing on her heels slightly as she peers up at you with big eyes.

You kneel down til she's at eye level with you and whisper in her ear. "Don't tell your brother, but I got an extra order of crab rangoons just for you." She tries to stifle a giggle at the shared secret between you two, barely able to contain her excitement as you rise to your full height once more, sending her off with a wink and a tap on the back to wash up before dinner, taking note of the extravagance of her cute little outfit as she bounces down the hall to the bathroom. She was always the little fashionista, as you frequently compliment her on her choice of color blocking, but it's only when setting up the table for dinner that you notice that both Abby and Mike are dressed up as well.

He's sporting one of his "nicer" sweaters. It's a deep maroon color, one that's most likely been stashed away and hidden in the back of his closet for occasions such as this. The sweater is coupled with a pair of his least faded jeans.

Despite the earlier frazzles, Mike looks good, all things considered. He appears significantly less tired; his umber eyes are bright and attentive, the dark circles are subdued. Even his hair was styled, his curls set in a distinct pattern rather than ruffled and combed through with his fingers five minutes before walking out the door to go to work. It was cute how much effort he was putting in to make this holiday special for the three of you. Something that you wouldn't let go unnoticed.

While Abby is taking her time washing her hands, you round the table to where Mike stands, cup his cheeks, and pull him in for a sickly sweet kiss. His lips are chapped, but only slightly, due to your insistent scolding of him for never using enough lip balm.

His eyes are slightly glazed over when you pull away.

"You look handsome," you tease, giving a light pinch to his cheek as he continues to gaze upon you with a lovesick look.

"Don't you start," he smirks, removing your hand from his face and placing it back by your side.

"What?" You feign innocence, shrugging your shoulders while raising your palms in defense.

"I can't compliment my own boyfriend now?"

"You know what you're doing," he chuckles, shaking his head from side to side as he pulls down three cups from the kitchen cabinet, filling each with the soda you bought alongside the food.

You're about to retort when Abby makes an appearance in the dining area once more, eagerly sitting down at the table in anticipation while Mike finishes with the drinks. 

You sit down beside her and admire the cute Thanksgiving decorations that are plastered all over the fridge. Various multi-colored feathered turkeys, along with a multitude of autumn plants and vegetables, are hung amongst her other drawings with random letter magnets.

You had become a big feature in her regular artwork alongside her brother. The pictures often depict the three of you together, with her in the middle and you n Mike on either side of her. You always took the chance to marvel at her artwork whenever you could, always commenting to Mike that he's got a talented little artist on his hands whenever she was within earshot. 

You're amazed at how quickly the three of you became a little family, a welcomed addition to the two of them despite your worries early on about how Abby would react to you having a different role in her and her brother's lives outside of being her sitter.

Although it wasn't verbalized as articulately as she would've liked, she was glad that her brother had someone to look out for and care about him as he did for her. It also helped that you were way more fun than he was.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when Mike plops down in his seat across from the two of you.

"Still can't believe you don't like egg rolls," he mutters, motioning in the direction of his sister before taking a huge bite of the eggroll in his hand, leaving a satisfying crunch in his wake as his teeth sink into the fried food.

"And I can't believe you have such bad taste," she sticks her tongue out at him playfully as he scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"She's still young, Mikey. Her palette still has time to develop."

"Mikey?" Abby quips, quirking a brow toward her brother.

"Eat your food or you get no dessert." His skin turns a slight tinge of pink as the blush crawls up his neck and blooms over his face, clearly embarrassed at the discovery of his petname.

Abby gives you a knowing look, and the rest of dinner is spent trying to muffle your giggles and snickers. Despite the laughter being at his expense, Mike wouldn't have it any other way. The mess in the kitchen would be cleaned up later; right now, he just wants to cherish the moment.

[blackmetalbats]

Dies Irae

I am so sorry but i did a deep dive on the Dies Irae because of the last malevolent episode and now its gonna be all of you's problem.

one of the oldest and most frequently borrowed of all melodies is the ecclesiastical plainsong to the sequence 'Dies Irae', because of the theme's intrinsic merit, but also its liturgical associations. No record of its origin remains, but both words and melody appear to have been suggested by a passage from the Respond ' Libera me, Domine', which follows the Requiem Mass (catholic mass for the dead) on solemn occasion.

SOURCE: Gregory, R. (1953). “Dies Irae.�� http://www.jstor.org/stable/730837

the Requiem Mass contained several special components; the Dies Irae was one of these, formally added to the Mass in 1570. Its text was penned by Thomas of Celano during the late 11th or early 12th century, and it offers a graphic depiction of the horrors of Judgment Day for sinners. the New Catholic Encyclopedia states that

"The medieval Sequence stresses fear of judgment and condemnation."

SOURCE: Brooks, E. (2003). "The Dies Irae ("Day of Wrath") and Totentanz ("Dance of Death"): Medieval Themes Revisited in 19th Century Music and Culture." https://scholarworks.uark.edu/inquiry/vol4/iss1/5

Centre panel from Memling's tryptich Last Judgment (c. 1467–1471)

the text contains three basic references:

(1) Zephaniah 1:15,16

That day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of the trumpet and alarm, against the fortified cities, and against the high battlements.

(2) II Peter 3:10-12

But the day of the Lord will come as a thief; in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall be dissolved with fervent heat, and the earth and the works that are therein shall be burned up. Seeing that these things are thus all to be dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy living and godliness, looking for and earnestly desiring the coming of the day of God, by reason of which the heavens being on fire shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat?

(3) finally, the judgment portion of Matthew 25 is cited as part of the scriptural basis for the "Dies Irae."

THE TEXT, in an english translation from the original latin

Day of wrath and doom impending, David's word with Sibyl blending! Heaven and earth in ashes ending!

O, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth. On whose sentence all dependeth!

Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth, Through earth's sepulchers it ringeth. All before the throne it bringeth.

Death is struck, and nature quaking, All creation is awaking. To its Judge an answer making.

Lo! the book exactly worded. Wherein all hath been recorded; Thence shall judgment be awarded.

When the Judge His seat attaineth, And each hidden deed arraigneth. Nothing unavenged remaineth.

What shall I, frail man, be pleading ? Who for me be interceding. When the just are mercy needing?

King of majesty tremendous, Who dost free salvation send us. Fount of pity, then befriend us!

Think, kind Jesus! my salvation Caused Thy wondrous Incarnation; Leave me not to reprobation.

Faint and weary Thou hast sought me. On the Cross of suffering bought me; Shall such grace be vainly brought me ?

Righteous Judge! for sin's pollution Grant Thy gift of absolution. Ere that day of retribution.

Guilty, now I pour my moaning. All my shame with anguish owning; Spare, O God, Thy suppliant groaning!

Through the sinful woman shriven. Through the dying thief forgiven. Thou to me a hope has given.

Worthless are my prayers and sighing. Yet, good Lord, in grace complying, Rescue me from fires undying.

With Thy favored sheep O place me, Nor among the goats abase me. But to Thy right hand upraise me.

While the wicked are confounded. Doomed to flames of woe unbounded. Call me with Thy Saints surrounded.

Low I kneel, with heart submission. Crushed to ashes in contrition; Help me in my last condition!

Ah! that day of tears and mourning! From the dust of earth returning, Man for judgment must prepare him;

Spare, O God, in mercy spare him! Lord all-pitying, Jesu Blest, Grant them Thine eternal rest.

the first six stanzas describe the Judgment. the other stanzas are lyric in character, expressing anguish of one of the multitude there present in spirit; his pleading before the Judge who, while on earth, sought him unceasingly over the hard and thorny ways from Bethlehem to Calvary; and now, in anticipation of the Judgment, pleads before a Savior of infinite mercy, who, on Judgment Day, will be a Judge of infinite justice, before whom scarcely the just will be secure.

SOURCE: Demaray, D. E. (1965). "Thomas of Celano and the" Dies Irae". https://place.asburyseminary.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2018&context=asburyjournal

[batneko]

Here's an idea I originally planned to write as another Bowuigi scenario post, but I decided to turn it into a ficlet because it would be too short. Now it's about 2000 words, lol.

It had been clear from the beginning that something as simple as a "Science Expo" wouldn't be simple at all in the Mushroom Kingdom. Luigi had been braced for disaster from the moment he heard about it, and Bowser's attack almost came as a relief.

No, his mistake had been un-bracing after Bowser was captured and locked in a cage one of the scientists had invented.

Sure, it looked sturdy. Sure, the scientist assured Princess Peach that the cage was completely indestructible. Sure, the only key had been moved from the display table to a security toad's neck after Bowser gave up on trying to bend the bars and started sneakily (as sneaky as anybody his size could be) reaching for it instead.

None of that was the problem. The problem turned out to be another experiment all the way on the other side of the hall that collapsed and caught on fire. That toad scientist said he wasn't even sure how it caught on fire - there weren't any flammable components! About half a second before the blaze spread to the next table, which happened to be full of chemicals, and turned into a giant green fireball.

"Okay, everybody out!" Peach exclaimed, calmly but firmly. "Evacuate the building. Walk, don't run!"

People tended to listen when the princess talked - Luigi supposed that was a skill you had to pick up when you ruled a country. But the fire was pretty eye-catching, and panic set in before he and Mario could start working on crowd control. There was screaming, running (what did Peach just say?), scientists attempting to pack up their exhibits, and for some reason several people tried to head for the same exits that the fire was creeping toward.

"Doesn't this place have sprinklers?" he heard Mario ask.

"I thought so," Peach said. "I don't know why they're not-"

An alarm started to blare, and then they all felt the sudden downpour of the sprinkler system. There was a mass exhale, relief settling in, calming the crowd.

And then something new exploded into flames.

"My elemental sodium!" a toad exclaimed.

Memories of 8th grade chemistry flashing through his mind, Luigi clenched his teeth and got back to guiding the evacuation. There was nothing he wanted more than to head for the exits himself right now, especially with the added discomfort of water dripping off his hat onto his nose, but a hero had responsibilities - and besides, he was the second tallest person in the room.

It only took a few minutes, nobody exactly wanted to stay, and then Luigi was safely outside and wringing water out of his hat. A disaster, but one in which no one got hurt. About the best he could have asked for.

The security toads were doing their jobs now, keeping the crowd away from the merrily burning building. The one with the key around his neck was explaining to a very distraught toad that if the fire didn’t ruin his cardboard model of a bathysphere, the water would. Which was probably ironic in some way.

Wait a minute.

Luigi lunged forward and grabbed the toad’s arm, startling both of them with how fast he’d moved. “Did you let Bowser out?” he asked.

The toad took a second to register what he’d said, glancing down at the giant key as long as his chest. “Oh! Uh, no. I didn’t think-”

“Give that to me.”

The toad obliged, struggling to get the chan over his head until he managed to pop the clasp in the back. Key in hand, Luigi took a step toward the building… and stopped. He looked back over the milling crowd, at Peach’s head of blonde hair. She was the only one tall enough to see, but Mario was rarely far from her. He could find him, ask him to…

No, there was no time. Gritting his teeth, Luigi ran back toward the expo hall to the sounds of several panicked shouts.

The heat was like walking into a wall. Since the fire started on the opposite end from Bowser’s cage, Luigi didn’t have to worry about actually dodging flames, but he could feel the heat and the smoke getting into his lungs. Pulling his shirt up over his nose and trying not to cough, Luigi made his way to the corner he’d been trying to avoid before.

Bowser was still sitting there, arms folded, scowling. He was looking at the floor when Luigi ran up, and Luigi tried to focus on getting the key into the lock with wet gloves on as an excuse to not meet his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Bowser asked.

“Getting you out of here,” Luigi said. Luckily the lock opened smoothly, and Luigi threw the door open so hard it clanged against the bars. "Come on."

The cage was too small for him, Bowser had to duck to get out the door, and as he straightened up to his full height for a second it felt like he was blocking out the sun. Luigi was very, very aware of the difference in their sizes.

He swallowed, forced himself to say, "This way," and tried to ignore the way it came out as a squeak.

"You're an idiot," Bowser said.

Luigi hadn't exactly been expecting to be thanked, but the insult didn't seem necessary. Just because they almost forgot him didn't mean they did.

But arguing would waste time, and the fire was still creeping along the walls where the sprinklers didn't reach. He adjusted his shirt again and turned toward the door he'd come in through, still open and still safe.

He hadn't taken two steps before a wooden beam crashed down in front of him. Luigi yelped and jumped backwards, hiding behind the first large object he saw - which turned out to be Bowser.

"Uh… sorry."

Bowser just shook his head.

There was more crashing, and the crackle of flames was a lot closer than Luigi liked. Had it spread to the ceiling already? If the walls weren't safe and the open spaces weren't safe, what were they going to do?

If anybody had remembered to let Bowser out in the first place they wouldn't be in this mess. Unfortunately, Luigi counted as "anybody," meaning this was as much his fault as anyone else.

"I'm sorry," Luigi said again. "Let's just make a run for it."

Bowser reached behind him and grabbed the back of his overalls, hoisting him into the air like a toy in a claw machine. Luigi heard himself squeak, then he was thrown back into the cage Bowser just left.

The door clanged shut, and Luigi’s heart sunk into his shoes. He was locked up. Just like Bowser had been, behind bars in a burning building, soon to be abandoned. Okay, they’d forgotten him, but did it really deserve this? Did Luigi really deserve to die over it?

He saw Bowser bend over next to the cage, grip the bars with one hand, and then he picked the whole thing up off the platform. Luigi toppled over onto the side, then back again as Bowser balanced the cage on his shoulder. What was he doing?

They turned back and forth. Luigi could see the fire creeping toward all the doors now. If they ran, and rolled as soon as they got outside - but the ceiling was still falling in too.

Bowser turned completely around, facing the back wall now. There was a small door near the middle, but the rest of it was nothing but windows. There was no safe path unless…

“No,” Luigi said, softly.

Bowser chuckled, and charged straight ahead.

For a few horrible seconds Luigi was aware of nothing but the smoke-filled air rushing past him as the wall got closer and closer. Glass shattered around them as Bowser kicked out a window and leapt through the frame, cage and all.

Bumping, rolling, and finally stillness. Luigi took a deep breath of still-smoky but much cooler air. He was tempted to scream. It wouldn’t accomplish much at this point, but it would make him feel better.

He yelped, at least, as the cage was picked up again. The door popped open and the box turned, and Luigi was shaken out onto the ground like the last penny in a piggy bank.

“Ow,” Luigi said.

“Wimp,” Bowser said. But his tone was light, and when Luigi looked up he saw him smiling.

He chucked the cage back over his shoulder, where it landed on the ground with a heavy thud and a gouge driven into the dirt. After a moment’s consideration Bowser threw the key in the same general direction, then turned back toward the expo hall, folding his arms and watching it slowly burn.

“This science expo thing’s more fun than I thought,” he said. “Maybe I’ll have one.”

Abruptly, he leaned over Luigi, really blocking out the sun this time. They were all alone out here, Luigi realized. Everyone else had evacuated out the other side of the building. If Bowser wanted to do anything to him, there was nobody to stop it.

But… he wasn't. And he hadn't. Right now he was just staring at Luigi with something like confusion on his face.

"You break anything?" Bowser said.

"No…" Luigi said. He'd been thrown around a lot, but he was used to that now. He probably wouldn't even bruise.

Carefully, Luigi climbed to his feet and brushed off any bits of broken glass or charred wood that had stuck to his clothes. Bowser quickly scrubbed a hand through his hair to do the same.

"Grazie- I mean, thank you for getting us both out," Luigi said.

Bowser rolled his eyes. "Don't do that. It's gross."

"What, thank you?"

"Ugh," Bowser said, so that must have been it.

Was that not what he'd been waiting for, then? Why did he keep looking at Luigi like that?

"Did you have to throw me in the cage, though?" Luigi asked.

Bowser shrugged. "That Poindexter said it was indestructible. You're not fireproof or roofproof, so I figured it'd help. Or whatever." He frowned, slightly. "Roof-proof. Roof, proof. That's a hard one."

While Bowser seemed interested in the pronunciation of the word he'd just invented, the specifics of what he'd said were sinking in for Luigi.

"You… are fireproof," Luigi said slowly.

"Ye-up," Bowser said.

"And roofproof?"

"Dunno about that one, but I've survived bigger buildings than this falling on me."

"And the cage is indestructible."

"Yyyyup."

Luigi buried his face in his hands. "I didn't need to go back for you at all, did I?"

"Nope," Bowser said, almost cheerfully.

"I'm an idiot."

"I told you you were."

Luigi groaned.

He ignored the guffaw of laughter next to him, and the massive hand that slapped his back. It was only when Bowser muttered something that Luigi forced himself to look up again.

It had sounded like, "Not like I don't appreciate it."

"What?" Luigi said.

"Nothing, shut up."

"I didn't-"

"Shut up," Bowser repeated firmly, and turned away from him to watch the burning building once again. One of the windows collapsed inward, and Bowser pumped his fist and gave an only slightly forced cheer. "Whoo! Good one."

For a while they both stood there, Luigi regaining his breath, Bowser apparently entertained by destruction. Bowser had said not to thank him, had told him to shut up, but Luigi had this feeling like… he was more bark than bite right now.

“Welp, I’m out of here,” Bowser said after a moment. “Much as I’d like to stay and watch the fire work, I’m not letting anybody lock me up again.” He gave a low growl. “Had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Ah… take care getting home.”

Bowser gave him another odd look. “I don’t get you.”

“Don’t you?”

“I didn’t need saving. I don’t need your niceties.”

“It’s not for you,” Luigi said, “it’s for me. I’m doing - and saying - these things because I’d feel wrong if I didn’t.”

Bowser shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t get you.” He took a step in the direction his airship had gone when the crew abandoned him. “But uh… grazie, or whatever.”

Luigi blinked. “Prego,” he said, automatically, but Bowser had already started moving.

He stood there, alone, watching Bowser leave with nothing but the crackling of the fire to accompany the thoughts swirling in his head. Did Bowser know he’d just thanked him? He must, right? Luigi had said it right afterward.

Come to think of it, he’d have expected Bowser to be offended that Luigi thought he needed rescuing. But he wasn’t. He returned the favor, thanked Luigi, and walked away without causing any more trouble.

Was Luigi losing his mind? Was this smoke inhalation?

“Luigi!” he heard his brother cry out, and turned around to see Mario running at full-tilt across the grass. He braced himself just in time for Mario to grab him in a bone-crushing hug. 

He knew he’d done the right thing, and he knew Mario would agree once he heard the story, but he still felt a little silly that he’d rushed into danger for the sake of someone who was danger-proof.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Luigi said. He glanced back over his shoulder, even though he knew Bowser was long gone.

Maybe that was it. Maybe so many people knew Bowser didn’t need rescuing that no one ever did it.

Maybe… Bowser had liked having a hero, for once.

[acourtofladydeath]

Hello all and welcome to the depths of depravity my masterlist! Here you will find all of my fics to date, which are available to read on AO3. While most of my work is currently ACOTAR based, I write for multiple ships across many fandoms and will happily hear your requests!

✍🏻 indicates a WIP

🌶️ indicates spice

🗡️ indicates depictions of violence, battles, and/or injuries

📚 indicates a multichap fic

💞 indicates fluff

❗ indicates heavy emotion/emotional trauma/death, however this may not be inclusive as every person experiences and reacts to emotions differently.

💤 indicates a hiatus

Please be sure to check all fic tags on AO3 as well as these initial indicators! Many of my fics include explorations of physical and/or emotional trauma.

Azris

All Things End ❗ This fic has an immersive, direct read playlist component that you can read about here!

The Soft Heart & The Shadow 🗡️❗

The Soft Heart & The Little Fox 🗡️❗

One Bed, One Bond, and a Pair of Wings

Enter: Uncle Autumn 💞

Fighting Fire with Fire 🗡️❗

And So Our Life Begins (ASOLB) ✍🏻📚💞

A Second Chance, *part of the ASOLB series

Finding His Shadow: An Azris Peter Pan AU **please note this fic is very aged up from the original material 📚🗡️🌶️ in Ch. 2 only

Fire Alarm

All I Want For Solstice Is You, part 1 of the Winter Cabin series 💞

Forest Fever, Soothing Shadow 💞

To Speak Through Smoke, part 2 of the Winter Cabin series 💞

Pieces of Us, part 3 of the Winter Cabin series 💞

Nessian & Nessriel

In Due Time 💞 (Nessian)

What Happens In The Night 🌶️ (Nessian)

Complications Arose, Ensued, Were Overcome 🗡️ (Nessian)

Take These Broken Wings ✍🏻🗡️❗📚 (Nessriel)

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tender 💞 (Nessriel)

Our Greatest Adventure 💞 (Nessriel)

Multi-Ship or Other ACOTAR

3 Jewels In The Hewn City 📚🌶️ (Feysand, Nessian, Azris)

Lovers Live & Die Fortissimo (LL&DF)💤✍🏻📚 (Azris, Nessian, Feytamsand, Elucien, HelionXLOA)

Publicly Pleasing, Silently Drowning 🗡️❗ (Eris Vanserra)

How I Met Your Fathers 💞 (Feytamsand)

Stairway Snoops (Azris X Nessian polycule)

Into the Fire 🌶️ (Feytamcien/Lufeylin)

Return to the Hewn City ✍🏻📚 🌶️(Azris X Nessian swinging)

Welcome to the Family, part 1 of the "To Become A Vanserra" series 🌶️ (Elucien, Berlain, Erislain, Elain X all Vanserra Brothers)

Rules are Rules, part 2 of the "To Become A Vanserra" series 🌶️(Azris, Berzriel)

ACOTAR Drabbles

The Fawn, The Fox, & The Fiend 🌶️(Eltamcien)

Live, and Be Happy ❗ (Feytamsand)

The Wall Comes Down 🗡️ (Azris)

Just One More 🌶️(Nessriel)

The Empyrean

The Quiet Game 💞 (Tairn/Sgaeyl and Andarna)

Baby's First Birthday 💞 (Tairn/Sgaeyl and Andarna)

Last One Standing 🗡️❗ (Tairn/Sgaeyl, Andarna, Violet/Xaden)

Other Universe Fics

A Place Eternal 📚❗🗡️🌶️ in Ch. 5 (TSOA/The Illiad/Greek Mythology: Patrochilles, Hades X Persephone)

Reunited (Dr. Who: Amy X Rory)

The Final Moments ❗ (Torchwood: Jack X Ianto)

The Days We Thought We'd Never See 💤📚 (Spartacus: Agron X Nasir)

Event Week Masterlists

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 🌶️💞

Azris Week 2024 🌶️💞

Eris Week 2024 🌶️💞🗡️❗

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Lock-Up

Lyle Bolton was a military veteran who went on to become a corrections officer.  He was tasked as head of security abroad the USS Halsey when the decommissioned naval ship was used as a temporary prison during the construction of Blackgate Penitentiary.  Thereafter Bolton was hired as the chief security officer at Arkham Asylum.  

Arkham was renown for its lax security and the alarming pace at which inmates were able to escape.  Bolton was brought on board to address this matter. He issued severe, draconian measures to ensure the patients of Arkham stay in line.  Bolton’s authoritarian regime over the asylum caused great duress among its patients, so much so that many sought to escape just to get away from Bolton’s intolerable treatment.  

Batman took note of the terror The Scarecrow showed toward Bolton when returning the villain to Arkham.  To further investigate the matter, Bruce Wayne asked for a board review to assess Bolton’s efficacy as the asylum’s chief of security.  The review descended into chaos when the inmates began to complain about Bolton’s treatment and Bolton lost his temper. In a violent rant, Bolton expounding on how the inmates were mere animals and should be treated as such.  He was promptly fired.

Several months later, Bolton resurfaced as ‘Lock-Up’ a masked vigilante looking to bring about a more permanent type of justice.  He had decided that the root cause of crime in Gotham was the inept politicians, the liberal media and the permissive psychiatrists... all of whom neglected to see criminals as mad dogs needing to be put down.  As such, Lock-Up’s initial acts were to kidnap Mayor Hill, television journalist Summer Gleeson and Arkham’s chief physician, Dr. Bartholomew.  He kept his hostages on the now-abandoned USS Halsey.  The Dynamic Duo were able to track them down and Robin tended to releasing the hostages whilst Batman took on Lock-Up.  

Lock-Up was greatly disappointed Batman did not share his vision and attitudes toward criminals.  He thought they were of the same clothe, men fed up with the broken system and willing to take the law into their own hands.  Batman could catch the criminals and then Lock-Up could put them down.   For Batman, however, the sanctity of life and the belief in a person’s ability to change were essential components to his notion of justice. In some ways Lock-Up’s moral skepticism was exactly what Batman had dedicated himself to fight against.  

Batman ultimately triumphed over Lock-Up. In an ironic twist, Lyle Bolton ended up incarcerated in the very asylum he had once been hired to secure.   

Actor Bruce Weitz provided the voice for Lock-Up with the authoritarian villain appearing in the fourteenth episode of the second season of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘Lock-Up.’  

[crying-fantasies]

Terraformer AU: Basic 1

Masterlist

When I think of the techno-organic sparklings in my AU, one that takes places after the end of Lost Light were everyone gets their happy ending, I think about Sari from tfa in some way, when she first appeared in the show as what she really was it was so incredible that I, as a child, couldn't stop myself from thinking how cool was that, same with the Terrans from tfes.

She didn't need energon in all her life, she grows up just like a human and could look human while also looking like a cybertronian, Sari is, in some way, a part of evolution of her whole race, just like the Maltos, since they don't really need energon, they just drink water to keep going and that is also a form of adaptation to their surrounding.

With the sparklings in my AU since they are a mix, a protoform that scanned human DNA and cybertronian CNA, it gets to look more like the latter, but so still have some particularities of the organic/human side.

They need less energon to live on but they also have something similar to human taste buds, and so energon sometimes can be described as bland in flavor and they prefer flavored options, they like human food but they can also consume living matter, (quite upsetting for some cybertronians since what they are eating was once ALIVE), they don't excrete since their bodies consume to the last atom of organic matter, worst case escenario they will throw up what can't be digested (and also learn not to eat it again, kind of get an stomachache)

Funny thing, they also produce oxygen and nitrogen to some degree (Perceptor noticed when Sunset catched fire in outer space) having something similar to a little atmosphere around them but they don't rust when exposed to water or oxygen, Brainstorm had the brilliant idea of calling them Terraformers, since, well, they could terraform the original environment around them (Mariah stayed in a planet with an atmosphere rich in methane and where she stayed the most started to have more oxygen, living and organic matter expanding around) with the given oxygen and the radiation of their sparks (the degree is optimal to the development of microorganisms) they are quite well looked and welcomed back in Earth.

It's good, but not for the organics with bodies that react aggressively bad to this components (there are planets or sectors that the kids can't go without being taken as biochemical weapon or an intent of colonization), since many species are afraid of cybertronian mechs the news of these hybrids are quite an alarm.

[clever-fox-studios]

Free Runner CH 1: Alarm Bells (eyestrain warning)

Got a little carried away with splash art for the first chapter, whoops

White.

… White?

That was wrong.

Fluttering, heavy and pained, he opened his eyes to the white light overhead, his processor humming incessantly as it fired to life in his head. An alert came and went–location data unknown–but he didn’t care. Everything felt… heavy. Had he been sleeping?

No, this wasn’t sleep.

Slowly, carefully, Moon sat up, feeling something give slightly underneath him, creaking as his weight shifted on it. The hum quieted down a bit, but still sounded like it was struggling in his head–a headache, if he ever thought he could get one. Another alert as his system caught up to his waking mind–location data unknown. Yellow eyes found focus on the wall, a white but beaten block of metal that had seen better days; the spot he found appeared to be… scratch marks?

He barely had time to consider why that was strange before the flood began.

//SYSTEM ERROR//

/DEVICE TAMPERING DETECTED_

/Unauthorized user attempted to remove vital component_

/System crash detected_

/TM_moon10300.sys corruption detected_

/NF_moon00010.sys corruption detected_

/System stability corrupted_

/Tower data not accessible_

Clawing at his head, Moon doubled over, the errors ringing internally and externally like ripping metal–he felt himself rocking, the flurry of errors and feedback becoming nails against his shell. Wires twisted, diodes burned, everything was too much–too much–

Something moved.

His attention ripped itself from his inner display to his outer awareness, following the flicker of orange and gold until he recognized what–or rather, who–he was looking at, laid out on a table a few feet from him, moving slightly as if coming out of a deep sleep but not fully awake yet. Sun. Yes, Sun! But he was bare, stripped of his clothing save for a blanket of some sort draped over his groin.

That was wrong.

Looking down, he realized he also had a blanket, but nothing else.

That was wrong.

Why was that wrong–

//HOST ACCESS GRANTED/

/SYSTEM PRIORITY OVERRIDDEN_

/COMMAND: clear errors_

>Errors cleared.

/COMMAND: run diagnostics%background_

>Running diagnostics…

/COMMAND: ping nearest tower_

>Searching for nearest tower…

…

>Tower located: WARNING_

>>Third party tower detected.

>>Compatible system shields not available.

>>Secured network detected.

>>//Status: Private//

/COMMAND: Check memory_

>Checking Memory…

…

…

…

/ERROR: Memory Discrepancy Detected_

>Cause: System Crash.

>>Notes: Area of minimal activity detected; last active hour log does not match last dated memory file; flagged as potential tampering by system host.

>Diagnostics completed.

>>NO ERRORS.

A matter of seconds passed, Moon’s system settling itself forcibly as he commanded it to ignore the errors, to push through the processes and quiet his grinding components so he could think straight. This room was not familiar, but he didn’t know how he got there, or when. Everything was fuzzy, foggy and mixed up in his mind, a nagging feeling of wrongness wasn’t out of place if he had to consider everything up until that moment.

My memory was tampered with, he affirmed, giving it the credit for the unsettling wrongness in his guts.

Systems?

He could eat, so perhaps “guts” wasn’t incorrect, though his last meal was…

//REMAINING BATTERY: FULLY CHARGED/

How could that be?

Looking to Sun again, the navy robot realized his companion–his brother–was awake, sitting up and holding his head as the lights that encircled his cranium shimmered to life, organizing themselves into the elaborate radial pattern Moon knew so well. The familiarity did little to temper his unease, though.

“Oh…” Sun groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “My head…”

“Sun?” Moon finally croaked, sounding strange in his auditory sensors as if he hadn’t heard his own voice in a long time.

Sun’s eyes snapped open, teal illuminations under softly glowing lashes standing out brightly in the whiteness of the odd room. “Moon!” he said with relief and confusion. Moon pulled himself over the edge of his table, still feeling heavy, confused at the sight of grass instead of tile for the floor. He almost didn’t catch Sun yelping. “Why are you naked–” The brightly colored bot looked at himself, voice shrill with concern. “Why am I naked???”

It was a valid question. One he didn’t know how to answer.

Finally, Sun looked around himself. “Where… are we?”

Moon felt his internal system suddenly run cold. “You… don’t know?”

Faintly, Sun shook his head, one foot sliding off the table as he sat up more. “We were outside…”

Not good. Not good. Not good.

Sun’s line of sight went somewhere to his left, drawing his attention that way until he saw a small end table of sorts with neatly folded fabric and glittering wire jewelry that looked painfully familiar to him. He knew those were his clothes–the answer to the lingering question neither had spoken regarding their mutual nakedness–but hesitation froze his hands from daring to try and take them. Even Sun didn’t move to collect his things, stuck in place, gaze focused on the fabric and jewels yet also a thousand miles away.

The seeping, creeping, dreadful feeling tickled down his back and neck like the tips of unwanted fingers–Sun’s ventilation system heaved his chest in a facsimile of a human breath, even having the wherewithal to shudder slightly at the peak of his inhalation–as he stared at the familiar silks and golden threads that shimmered from the light his radials exuded. As much as he hated the idea of being skyclad–let alone without his permission–the idea of donning those things now that they were gone from him was, somehow, worse. Tensions twisted through his inner parts, shuddering and shaking his joints faintly until he was finally able to snap out of his stupor at the sound of his brother saying his name.

“Sun? What is it?”

Moon’s voice seemed hoarse, but still soft and gentle as it had always been…

No. Not always.

Closing his eyes, Sun rubbed his forehead. “I’m… sluggish, I think? My battery… It was so low before.”

Concerned, Moon pressed, “What about now?”

He turned inward.

//REMAINING BATTERY: FULLY CHARGED/

“I’m… charged.” Confusion tinged his voice as he understood his system was shaking off the fatigue and priority shuffle from what he could only assume was the first time he’d ever drained himself dry of any power.

Moon’s background systems came back to full faculty as Sun spoke, which sent a shock through his awareness, making him jump up as he finally gained some sense of situational awareness. “Sun–get up. Quickly.”

A bit startled, Sun picked himself up, holding his blanket to himself where Moon simply let his fall to the ground–he looked down as grass tickled his haptic sole sensors, baffled. “What–what’s wrong?”

Moon’s body language as he yanked the navy and night colored silk to himself, the wire jewelry falling to the ground somewhere behind the nightstand, was slightly uncertain, his yellow eyes flashing with his own intense confusion. “What do you–we don’t know where we are! Grab something, we need to go!”

“Wait, h-hold–” Sun could barely keep up as his own system was still rebooting, Moon dragging bolts of fabric off the table and shoving it in Sun’s hands, the blanket falling to the ground at Sun’s feet, until the golden robot found instead, tucked into the alcove under the silks, two rough-hewn cloaks of muddy gray.

Their cloaks.

Dropping the silk in hand, Sun knelt and pulled the knitted, itchy fabric out and offered the darker one to his brother. As if glad to have another option, Moon ditched the blue and silver wrap for the plain, woolen weave without hesitation and shrugged it onto himself, tying it closed while urging Sun to hurry. He tried, he really did, but Sun’s internal system was taking its sweet time sorting itself out after being drained to zero; wistfully he wondered if this was why others often commented about regularly shutting their companions off on occasion and if that somehow made it easier for them to restart later? Neither of them had ever been shut off since first being turned on, that he could recall.

Tying the cloak on, Moon didn’t wait for him to even fix himself to be presentable before telling him to cover his radials and grabbing his arm, pulling the gangly bot to the open doorway that had been there at his back the entire time. Barely through the threshold, hood half on his head, Sun bumped into his brother as Moon came to a sudden, dead stop, nearly toppling over. The jolt seemed to finally knock his system into place as Sun came-to fully, the weight of their situation finally coming into full focus as he found himself staring alongside his brother at a moderately sized creature the color of rust and mud that stood at attention a few lengths away.

It had gruffed at them, a deep, warning rumble, and halted Moon in his tracks; one ear and the opposite foreleg of the beast stood out in oxidized green from the rest of its body, each eye shining a different color in a way that felt incorrect. Had it not been metal, Sun would think it was mismatched like fabric–stitched together parts from different things that wouldn’t otherwise be together. Yet this was a machine.

One of them.

Four legged with pointed ears–the green one flopping at the tip–and jaws lined with small teeth, a pair of canines visible as its lip curled; threatening was definitely applicable, though aggressive didn’t readily come to mind as Sun stared at the creature. Moon’s body tensed against him, pressing Sun back as he took a half step away, though the only place they could go was back into the strange, white room.

The thing matched Moon’s pace, faintly stepping forward and gruffing again, its tail at attention.

Something inside Moon’s messy, corrupted coding urged him to be ready–to crouch–to run. Not away, but at it. A desire to fight, to use what he had at his disposal to remove the threat and make a break for it. It wasn’t fueled by fear, however, as much as he felt he should be afraid of this unknown thing, but simply a calm, decisive, simple notion that he could. That if it was blocking his exit, he should simply remove it.

He knew he could do so.

Somehow.

The chance was short-lived however, as the creature–Moon’s system finally pinged a possible match as a Sirius-class Stellaris unit–managed to draw attention from another metal thing in the area. It drifted down from the sky, golden and glittering, to roost in a tree nearby, its magenta eyes piercing over the distance and making them both feel very, very exposed. This one was also unfamiliar, though if he had to guess it was some sort of Cygnus drone, but one that had far more agency than to just look pretty and pretend to be a bird. No, this one was very much aware of them and had purpose in its gaze.

Sun’s hand squeezed his bicep worriedly, voice weak, “M-m-moon?”

“I know,” he replied, feeling in his core that these were decorations or simply pets roaming the estate.

These were guards.

“Ah.”

The sound nearly made them both jump out of their shells, heads whipping up to the left where more branches twisted well above them.

“So you’re finally awake then.”

It took only a second for the pair to register the human presence that observed them from a platform in the branches; blue eyes peered down at them, cool and unbothered, while their owner leaned their elbows on a railing crudely covered in vines and leaves by overgrown shrubbery. Their hair was a messy clump of ashen blonde, stained deep blue at the tips but partly shaved at the sides as if it had been flocked but grown in over the weeks, with a white tank top and powder-teal shorts barely visible from this angle behind the leaves–hardly the garb of someone intending harm, and yet it took less than a second more for the brothers to notice this person wasn’t simply a human passerby.

Sun’s gaze fixated on the white and blue gleam of ceramastic plating that covered–or made up–their right arm while Moon could only focus on the long shaft of white-stained metal made to lean on the rail, right within reach–he knew it was a gun before he even fully comprehended its shape. A rifle.

He’d never seen one up close before, yet he knew without a doubt it was just that.

“How’re you feeling?”

They were still speaking, their voice flat but polite; they didn’t wait for a reply as they grabbed their armament and descended a staircase the pair didn’t previously notice. As they came closer, the boys noticed they were barefoot and their attire was more appropriate for sleeping or lounging than wandering around outside. Both of them immediately felt their default program trying to register the human presence before they could consider an answer.

//HUMAN DETECTED: SCANNING/

…

/IDENTITY NOT FOUND/

>>Name: unknown_

>>Body data: Female.

>>Age: Unknown_

>>Height: pending_

>>No history of interaction detected.

Stranger.

Stranger.

Moon moved his body to block Sun entirely from their–her?--approach, which gave the stranger pause, seeming to acknowledge his protective intentions.

Ever the affable one, Sun finally answered, “We’re… alright, I think?”

“Good.” The stranger stopped fully next to the mismatched Sirius that hadn’t budged an inch since its warning step. “Now that you can talk…”

She hefted the rifle into her arms and made a very decisive clatter while loading the chamber, her eyes never breaking contact with them.

“You wanna tell me a good reason for landing in my front yard?”

[cloaksandcapes]

You know we had to do an illustration for Bork, Mighty Protector!

If you're a Dungeon Master or Game Master and you're seeing this, give this to your party! Just do it. No questions. Go!

If you're a player, you have my permissions to give this to your DM or GM and they have to add it to the campaign. They HAVE to.

Bork, Mighty Protector

Wondrous item, rare

“A construct of an adorable, precious little puppy. Bork may be small, but they are ferocious!”

Bork, Mighty Protector serves as a familiar and acts independently of you, but always obeys your commands. In combat, it rolls its own initiative and acts on its own turn. Bork can't attack, but can take other actions as normal.

Bork has an AC 15 and 30 hit points. It takes reduced damage from all sources. If reduced to 0 hit points, Bork ceases to function but will repair itself back to perfect working condition after a long rest. If reduced to 0 hit points it must be retrieved.

Bork cannot be surprised, gains a +5 bonus to initiative and has advantage on perception checks.

Bork can cast the alarm, dispel magic and faerie fire spells once per day without requiring material components. Once each of these spells has been cast Bork must finish a long rest before casting them again.

ALSO

If you want to join us and our community when we make and draw new magic items, you can do so by following us on Twitch or joining us in discord! :)

[justforbooks]

The new tool in the art of spotting forgeries: Artificial Intelligence

Instead of obsessing over materials, the new technique takes a hard look at the picture itself – specifically, the thousands of tiny individual strokes that compose it

In late March, a judge in Wiesbaden, Germany, found herself playing the uncomfortable role of art critic. On trial before her were two men accused of forging paintings by artists including Kazimir Malevich and Wassily Kandinsky, whose angular, abstract compositions can now go for eight-figure prices. The case had been in progress for three and a half years and was seen by many as a test. A successful prosecution could help end an epidemic of forgeries – so-called miracle pictures that appear from nowhere – that have been plaguing the market in avant-garde Russian art.

But as the trial reached its climax, it disintegrated into farce. One witness, arguably the world’s leading Malevich authority, argued that the paintings were unquestionably fakes. Another witness, whose credentials were equally impeccable, swore that they were authentic. In the end, the forgery indictments had to be dropped; the accused were convicted only on minor charges.

The judge was unimpressed. “Ask 10 different art historians the same question and you get 10 different answers,” she told the New York Times. Adding a touch of bleak comedy to proceedings, it emerged that the warring experts were at the wrong end of a bad divorce.

It isn’t a comforting time for art historians. Weeks earlier, in January, the Museum of Fine Arts in Ghent, Belgium, was forced to pull 24 works supposedly by many of the same Russian artists – Kandinsky, Malevich, Rodcheko, Filonov – after the Art Newspaper published an exposé arguing they were all forged. Just days before, there was uproar when 21 paintings shown at a Modigliani exhibition in Genoa, Italy, were confiscated and labeled as fakes. Works that had been valued at millions of dollars were abruptly deemed worthless.

The market in old masters is also jittery after an alarming series of scandals – the greatest of which was that paintings handled by the respected collector Giuliano Ruffini were suspect. A Cranach, a Parmigiano, and a Frans Hals were all found to be forged; institutions including the Louvre had been fooled. The auction house Sotheby’s was forced to refund $10m for the Hals alone. Many experts are now reluctant to offer an opinion, in case they’re sued – which, of course, only intensifies the problem.

Adding fuel to the fire is another development: Wary of being caught, more and more forgers are copying works from the early to mid-20th century. It’s much easier to acquire authentic materials, for one thing, and modern paintings have rocketed in value in recent years.

For many in the industry, it is starting to look like a crisis. Little wonder that galleries and auction houses, desperate to protect themselves, have gone CSI. X-ray fluorescence can detect paint and pigment type; infrared reflectography and Raman spectroscopy can peer into a work’s inner layers and detect whether its very component molecules are authentic. Testing the chemistry of a flake of paint less than a millimeter wide can disclose deep secrets about where and, crucially, when it was made.

“It’s an arms race,” says Jennifer Mass, an authentication expert who runs the Delaware-based firm Scientific Analysis of Fine and Decorative Art. “Them against us.”

But what if you didn’t need to go to all that trouble? What if the forger’s handwriting was staring you in the face, if only you could see it? That’s the hope of researchers at Rutgers University in New Jersey, who have pioneered a method that promises to turn art authentication on its head.

Instead of subjecting works to lengthy and hugely expensive materials analysis, hoping a forger has made a tiny slip – a stray fiber, varnish made using ingredients that wouldn’t have been available in 16th-century Venice – the new technique is so powerful that it doesn’t even need access to the original work: A digital photograph will do. Even more striking, this method is aided by artificial intelligence. A technology whose previous contributions to art history have consisted of some bizarre sub–Salvador Dalís might soon be able to make the tweed-wearing art valuers look like amateurs.

At least that’s the theory, says Ahmed Elgammal, PhD, whose team at Rutgers has developed the new process, which was made public late last year. “It is still very much under development; we are working all the time. But we think it will be a hugely valuable addition to the arsenal.”

That theory is certainly intriguing. Instead of obsessing over materials, the new technique takes a hard look at the picture itself: Specifically, the thousands of tiny individual strokes that compose it.

Every single gesture – shape, curvature, the velocity with which a brush- or pencil-stroke is applied – reveals something about the artist who made it. Together, they form a telltale fingerprint. Analyze enough works and build up a database, and the idea is that you can find every artist’s fingerprint. Add in a work you’re unsure about, and you’ll be able to tell in minutes whether it’s really a Matisse or if it was completed in a garage in Los Angeles last week. You wouldn’t even need the whole work; an image of one brushstroke could give the game away.

“Strokes capture unintentional process,” explains Elgammal. “The artist is focused on composition, physical movement, brushes – all those things. But the stroke is the telltale sign.”

The paper Elgammal and his colleagues November 13, 2017 examined 300 authentic drawings by Picasso, Matisse, Egon Schiele, and a number of other artists and broke them down into more than 80,000 strokes. Machine-learning techniques refined the data set for each artist; forgers were then commissioned to produce a batch of fakes. To put the algorithm though its paces, the forgeries were fed into the system. When analyzing individual strokes, it was over 70% accurate; when whole drawings were examined, the success rate increased to over 80% . (The researchers claim 100% accuracy “in most settings.”)

The researchers are so confident that they included images of originals and fakes alongside each other in the published paper, daring so-called experts to make up their own minds. (Reader, I scored dismally.) One of Elgammal’s colleagues, Dutch painting conservator Milko den Leeuw, compares it to the way we recognize family members: They look similar, but we’re just not sure why. “Take identical twins,” he says. “Outsiders can’t separate them, but the parents can. How does that work? It’s the same with a work of art. Why do I recognize that this is a Picasso and that isn’t?”

The idea of fingerprinting artists via their strokes actually dates back to the 1950s and a technique developed by Dutch art historian Maurits Michel van Dantzig. Van Dantzig called his approach “pictology”, arguing that because every work of art is a product of the human hand, and every hand is different, it should be possible to identify authorship using these telltale strokes.

The problem, though, was that there was too much data. Even a simple drawing contains hundreds or even thousands of strokes, all of which needed to be examined by the human eye and catalogued. Multiply that by every work, and you see how impractical it was.

“It just wasn’t possible to test it,” says den Leeuw, who first became aware of pictology as a student. “I saw many attempts, but mostly it ended in ideas that would never be.”

But can AI now do what humans failed to, and give an art historian’s trained eye some sort of scientific basis? “Exactly,” says den Leeuw. “Very often it’s a gut feeling. We’re trying to unpick the mystery.”

Though Mass says she’s unlikely to throw out her fluorescence gun just yet, she admits to being impressed. “A lot of people in the field are excited by AI It’s not a magic bullet, but it’ll be another tool. And it’s really valuable when you’re dealing with a sophisticated forger who’s got everything else right – paint, paper, filler, all the materials.”

There are issues. So far, the system has been tested mainly on drawings from a handful of artists and a brief time period. Paintings, which generally contain thousands more strokes, are a tougher challenge; older paintings, which might contain numerous layers of restoration or overpainting, are tougher still. “It’s challenging, but it doesn’t mean we can’t do it,” Elgammal says. “I’m confident.”

What about style, though, particularly where an artist changes over time? Think of Picasso’s wildly varying periods – blue, African, cubist, classical – or how in the 1920s Malevich abandoned the elemental abstraction of his black squares for figurative portraits that could almost have been painted by Cézanne (pressure from Stalin was partly responsible).

Another expert, Charles R Johnson, who teaches computational art history at Cornell, is less persuaded – not so much by the AI as by the assumptions that lie behind it. “A big problem is that strokes are rarely individualized,” he says. “Overlap is difficult to unravel. Plus, one must understand the artist’s style changes over their career in order to make a judgment.”

In addition, Johnson argues, many artist’s brushwork is essentially invisible, making it impossible to unpick; it might be better to focus computer analysis on assessing canvases or paper, which can be more rigorously verified. “I remain quite skeptical,” he says.

Elgammal and den Leeuw concede there’s a way to go. Currently they’re working on impressionist paintings – infinitely more complex than Schiele and Picasso line drawings – and hope to publish the results next year. Even with the drawings, the machine can’t yet be left to learn on its own; often the algorithms require human tweaking to make sure the right features are being examined. Artists whose output isn’t large enough to create a reliable data set are also a challenge.

Asking Elgammal if he’s worried about being sued. He laughs, slightly nervously. “That’s something I think about.”

It’s a reasonable question, particularly pressing given the number of fakes that are circulating: What if your database accidentally becomes contaminated? Many people argue that the art market is hopelessly corrupt – so much so that some economists doubt whether calling it a “market” is even fair. Could the algorithm become skewed and go rogue?

“It’s like any system,” Mass agrees. “Garbage in, garbage out.”

Does she think that’s a possibility? How many fakes are out there? “Put it this way,” Mass says, “when I go into auction houses – maybe not the big ones, but smaller, local ones – I think ‘buyer beware.’ It might be between 50 and 70% .”

Rival solutions are coming down the road. Some have proposed using blockchain technology to guarantee provenance – the history of who has owned a work. Others have called for much greater transparency. Everyone agrees that the system is broken; some kind of fix is urgent.

Of course, there are big philosophical questions here. When someone goes to the effort of finding exactly the right 17th-century canvas, dons an antique smock, and paints a near-flawless Franz Hals, it should perhaps make us reconsider what we mean by the words “real” or “fake”, let alone the title of “artist”. Yet the irony is inescapable. It is hard to think of something more human than art, the definition of our self-expression as a species. But when it comes down to it, humans aren’t actually that good at separating forged and authentic in a painting that has all the hallmarks of, say, a Caravaggio but is merely a stunt double. Relying on our eyes, we simply can’t tell one twin from the other. We might even ask: Why do we care?

Forget cars that pilot themselves or Alexa teaching herself to sound less like the robot she is – AI seems to understand the secrets of artistic genius better than we do ourselves.

The irony is that, while machines might not yet might be able to make good art, they are getting eerily good at appreciating it. “Yes, it’s true,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to very complex combinations of things, humans are really not so good.” He laughs. “We make too many mistakes.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[kp777]

By Vishal Shankar, Revolving Door Project

Common Dreams

Nov. 18, 2023

President Biden has utterly failed to hold DeJoy to account for his internal attack on the US Postal Service.

In a time of historic distrust in government, the United States Postal Service has accomplished something extraordinary: it remains a universally beloved federal agency. Second only to the Parks Service in public favorability (a jaw-dropping 77% approval rating, per Gallup), USPS is arguably also the most frequently-interacted-with component of the federal government: packages and letters are delivered to Americans’ mailboxes six days per week. But these warm feelings – already under threat by Postmaster General Louis DeJoy’s continued destructive leadership – could quickly chill if the Postal Board of Governors has its way.

At least four times per year, the Board (the governing body that votes on DeJoy’s agenda and has the sole power to fire him) holds an open session meeting, its sole formal contact with the public. In recent years, these meetings have concluded with a well-attended public comment period, where in-person and virtual attendees have excoriated DeJoy for embracing a privatization-friendly agenda. Just this year alone, public commenters at Board meetings have decried the mail slow downs and price hikes, demanded changes to DeJoy’s gas-guzzling and union-busting fleet plan, raised serious concerns about transparency of DeJoy’s facility consolidation plans, and pushed DeJoy to expand community services offered at the post office.

The future of the people’s most treasured public institution depends on public participation and feedback

But when the Postal Board of Governors met this week for their final open session of the year, there was one major difference from its previous quarterly meetings: virtual and remote public comments were, without explanation, banned. This abrupt new barrier to public accessibility led the number of public commenters – which in recent meetings has been a double-digit tally – to drop to 4. The decline in attendance was also likely compounded by an unexplained shift in the meeting time: whereas past meetings have been held at 4:00pm ET, Tuesday’s session was held at noon – the middle of the workday.

The Board’s decision to not allow virtual comments at the November 14th meeting follows another alarming recent attempt to suppress public input. At the August 2023 meeting, each public commenter was allotted only 25 seconds to speak, in sharp contrast to the typical 3 minute time limit. And past meetings were not beacons of accountability, either. The Postal Governors never responded to any comments raised by the public, and the comment period itself was always excluded from the official publicly available USPS recording of the formal session.

But next year, the Postal Board’s accountability problem will get even worse. During Tuesday’s meeting, Postal Board Deputy Secretary Lucy Trout explained, starting next year, the Postal Board will only hear public comments once per year in November. In other words, though the next three Postal Board meetings (February, May, and August 2024) are ostensibly “public sessions,” members of the public will have no opportunity to inform the Postal Board about their concerns until a year from now.

And it’s not as if postal workers, customers, and public advocates don’t have anything pressing to alert the Board about. On the contrary, DeJoy has continued to advance a destructive agenda that includes:

Five successive postage rate increases, which have risked driving away business and failed to improve USPS financial standing, despite DeJoy’s promises.

A 10-year stealth privatization plan that is being advanced with zero opportunities for public input and would increase delivery times, slash 50,000 jobs through attrition, and cut operations at more than 200 post offices and sorting facilities, which could devastate rural and Indigenous communities.

A next-gen postal fleet contract with Oshkosh Defense that is nearly 40% gas-guzzler and 100% built with non-union scab labor. UAW workers from Oshkosh have regularly attended postal board meetings (including Tuesday’s) to call for an investigation into the company’s union avoidance scheme and for the Board to rebid a new, union-built contract.

Failure to protect USPS staff from a dangerous summer heatwave that killed one postal worker, even after members of Congress urged improvements to the USPS heat safety protection plan and letter carriers alleged their managers were routinely falsifying safety documents.

Refusal to support alternative revenue sources that could strengthen USPS, such as postal banking, grocery delivery, or electric vehicle charging stations.

President Biden has utterly failed to hold DeJoy to account for any of this, instead inviting him to White House stamp ceremonies and staying silent as the Postmaster General laughably reinvents himself as a “Biden ally” to credulous reporters. This is particularly egregious given the President’s power to nominate members of the Postal Board of Governors:

Biden has inexplicably failed to name replacements for two Trump-appointed Governors – including DeJoy-supporting Democrat Lee Moak – whose terms expired last December. This has allowed Moak and his Republican colleague William Zollars to stay on the board for nearly a full year (their holdover terms will expire on December 8, 2023) and continue occupying seats that Biden has been statutorily allowed to fill.

The Save The Post Office coalition has endorsed former Congresswoman Brenda Lawrence and postal expert Sarah Anderson – two strong critics of DeJoy’s leadership with decades of actual postal experience and policy expertise – for these positions. Biden has yet to indicate he will nominate anyone to these vacancies.

Though Biden has already nominated five of the Board’s nine governors (on paper, enough to fire DeJoy), at least two of his picks have been DeJoy backers: Democratic ex-GSA head Dan Tangherlini (who approved Trump’s lease of D.C.’s Old Post Office Building) and Republican Derek Kan (a former Mitch McConnell/Elaine Chao advisor). As I’ve written before, Biden’s choice to nominate Tangherlini and Kan (instead of two anti-Dejoy reformers) squandered a key opportunity to finally give the Board a pro-reform, anti-DeJoy majority.

The Postal Board’s restrictions on public comment are unacceptable. They must reverse course by allowing both in-person AND virtual public comments at ALL open sessions next year, and take further steps to improve accountability by responding to public comments and posting recorded comment sessions to the USPS website. Congressional Democrats and the Biden administration must publicly call out this shameful barrier to transparent government and fast-track filling the Moak and Zollars Postal Board seats with anti-DeJoy, pro-accountability reformers.

The future of the people’s most treasured public institution depends on public participation and feedback–that’s how public service works.

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme - LINK - Update

-Added "especially pockets" to this part:

Another important component in my theorizing is that Good Omens 2 is especially interested in these three things: doors, windows, and pockets—especially pockets. We'll be seeing these things a lot within the spaces when studying the sideburns, especially once I get to making more in-depth posts.

-Added a new section titled "The Past". Here are the contents:

The Past The Season 2 present day storyline is broadly solvable for the sideburns without examining the minisodes. Even so, once those minisodes are examined, other aspects of the spaces come into play as what may affect the hair or sideburns. These things suggest even season 1 had factors affecting the spaces to make his sideburns look more consistently short for its present day. For instance, he never wore a hat when driving and never had plants behind him in the car when driving either in season 1. These things affect how the sideburns change in season 2. In season 2's present day, they shorten during his drives in episode 1 when the plants are shown behind him both times. That happens yet again before the closing credits start in episode 6. In 1941, the car is surrounded by fire, Aziraphale is with him, not wearing a hat, and Crowley's wearing a hat. The sideburns lengthened instead of shortened for that drive. Nonetheless, the content below is primarily based on the season 2 present day storyline. You can find more about the minisodes in the links at the bottom.

...

-Updated about the "Standing with precision" at the ending part for longer sideburns. Here are the contents:

-Standing at the threshold with utmost precision in the season's ending The sideburns are at their longest-length in the season's ending up to the final cut right before the credits start. I currently think it is because of a combination of stillness, his left arm's exclusive touch on the threshold, his right hand pocket touch, and having his legs crossed. Every cut of him from the front ensures a symbol of fire from the coffee shop to his right, and a hat-wearing human somewhere visually to his left, even if it's all the way across the street in the first of the three cuts.

...

-Updated about how the present day sideburns shorten during the drives while specifically including the plants behind Crowley. Here are the contents:

-Driving the Bentley for a long enough time after de-activating it as a home base. His plants are ensured to be behind him as well.

...

-Updated that in addition to thresholds being able to force or counter the effect of shorter sideburns in human spaces...so can hats...still working through fire and roofs:

-Being present in human spaces. Thresholds can both force and counter this effect, dependent on their design. In the past, hats can also help force or counter the effect. There are things about fire and roofs I'm still working through as well.

...

Added the following as an activation point for shorter sideburns:

-Standing with his left hand in his pants pocket as Maggie and Nina are leaving while Aziraphale enters the bookshop in episode 6. He is shown blurred from some distance, so it's easy to miss him. He's to the camera's right behind Nina. Both humans are no longer looking at him. It's a cut that ensures Crowley is briefly visible before the next Muriel scene.

...

-Got more specific about where the car is actually parked each episode when it's near the bookshop.

...

-Committed to saying the border expanded.

...

-General light re-wording in various places. I did remove the "former" of "former demon" since he technically claimed "demon" twice in front of Muriel compared to the one "former demon" in front of Shax. As noted many times by this point, I think Crowley has a deep trust in Muriel.

...

-Added the following when talking about Crowley being alarmed at the demons arriving:

There is something about layering and switches they seem to have in the games they play that I don't fully understand.

-Added the following about the pub and music shop encounters:

Each encounter mentions lights of a similar nature.

-Updated the section on the simple answer to Heaven as part of The Bigger Thresholds Trick to the following:

I don't know the true simple explanation for Heaven though as more time passes, I lean most toward "pretended to be arrested". That's because it's emphasized as how he gets in with Muriel. His own dialogue brings it up once he's actually inside the threshold. It has a little rhythm to it. The problem with that solution is that the ideal one would include a noun, such as "buttons" or "cells" or "doorknobs," to represent the Triple. Another good solution would be something like "engaged in misdirection", especially given the context of the entrance scene itself. The "LETTERS" mailbox is a potential clue as is the doors closing in so specifically on Crowley's watch. So, I'm not fully convinced "pretended to be arrested" is the answer. It's still the one I lean the most toward as of the latest update.

-Added some more wording near the end about the "Separately Together" theme. So, generally updated that part to the following:

Crowley is giving everything he has in himself to see Aziraphale off without truly giving his full self up in the process. Aziraphale is going to a place Crowley will not follow. Even so, the demon of the pair has put pieces in place to help Aziraphale from the distance they will have between each other in the foreseeable future. They both contributed to creating and maintaining a connection with each other during Good Omens 2. They also had to work together separately. They both love Earth, and they are going to work to protect Earth in Good Omens 3. In my view, there's a hidden "Separately Together" theme in Good Omens 2 that one cannot find—or will very much struggle to find—unless you figure out at least some of the pocket puzzles. Linked to The Door Trick is something truly magical called The Door Catch. I found it on accident through never fully solving The Pocket Trick.

[theoscout]

This article is behind a paywall so I'll add it under a 'read more'

I already removed a bunch of unnecessary stuff such as website formatting but if you go to the article you'll see images and stuff.

Points of interest:

Stockton Rush throwing a tantrum and freaking out his guests because he went against instructions and got the sub stuck under a boat

"give him the fucking controller"

Rush ignoring safety instructions from David Lochridge aka the guy who got fired for saying the sub was dangerous but giving him the controller after he couldn't unjam the sub after an hour

Lochridge getting the sub out in 15 minutes

everyone in the submarine community including Susan Kasey (the article writer) watching Stockton Rush like a horror movie

they warned him but couldn't do shit :(

really a lot of the stuff in the previous article I reblogged but daaaammmn if you read between the lines this thing is scathing lol

THE ABYSS

The Titan Submersible Disaster Was Years in the Making, New Details Reveal

To many in the tight-knit deep-sea exploration community, OceanGate’s submersible dives were reckless and often dangerous, writes best-selling author Susan Casey.

By Susan Casey

August 17, 2023

OceanGate’s Titan submersible prior to its final dive on a mission to see the Titanic wreckage.OceanGate Expeditions/Handout via Xinhua News Agency.

41.73º N, 49.95º W, North Atlantic Ocean, June 18, 2023

Fate cleared up the weather, blew off the fog, and calmed the waves, as the submersible and its five passengers dived through the surface waters and fell into another world. They entered the deep ocean’s uppermost layer, known as the twilight zone, passing creatures glimmering with bioluminescence, tiny fish with enormous teeth. Then they entered the midnight zone, where larger creatures ghost by like alien moons. Two miles down, they entered the abyssal zone—so named because it’s the literal abyss.

Deeper means heavier: pressures of 5,000, then 6,000 pounds per square inch. As it descended, the submersible was gripped in a tightening vise. Maybe they heard a noise then, maybe they heard an alarm.

I hope they watched the abyss with awe through their viewport, because I’d like to think their last sights were magnificent ones.

As the world now knows, Stockton Rush touted himself as a maverick, a disrupter, a breaker of rules. So far out on the visionary curve that, for him, safety regulations were mere suggestions. “If you’re not breaking things, you’re not innovating,” he declared at the 2022 GeekWire Summit. “If you’re operating within a known environment, as most submersible manufacturers do, they don’t break things. To me, the more stuff you’ve broken, the more innovative you’ve been.”

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In a culture that has adopted the ridiculous mantra “move fast and break things,” that type of arrogance can get a person far. But in the deep ocean, the price of admission is humility—and it’s nonnegotiable. The abyss doesn’t care if you went to Princeton, or that your ancestors signed the Declaration of Independence. If you want to go down into her world, she sets the rules.

And her rules are strict, befitting the gravitas of the realm. To descend into the ocean’s abyssal zone—the waters from 10,000 to 20,000 feet—is a serious affair, and because of the annihilating pressures, far more challenging than rocketing into space. The subs that dive into this realm (there aren’t many) are tested and tested and tested. Every component is checked for flaws in a pressure chamber and checked again—and every step of this process is certified by an independent marine classification society. This assurance of safety is known as “classing” a sub. Deep-sea submersibles are constructed of the strongest and most predictable materials, as determined by the laws of physics.

In the abyss, that means passengers typically sit inside a titanium (or steel) pressure hull, forged into a perfect sphere—the only shape that distributes pressure symmetrically. That means adding crush-resistant syntactic foam around the sphere for buoyancy and protection, to offset the weight of the titanium. That means redundancy upon redundancy, with no single point of failure. It means a safety plan, a rescue plan, an acute situational awareness at all times.

It means respect for the forces in the deep ocean. Which Stockton Rush didn’t have.

Stockton Rush in front of his Antipodes submersible EyePress News/Shutterstock.

Unfortunately, June 18, 2023, wasn’t the first time I’d heard of Rush, or his company OceanGate, or his monstrosity of a sub. He and the Titan had been a topic of conversation talked about with real fear, on many occasions, by numerous people I met over the course of five years while reporting my book The Underworld: Journeys to the Depths of the Ocean. I heard discussions about the Titan as a tragedy-in-waiting on research ships, during deep-sea expeditions, in submersible hangars, at marine science conferences. I had my own troubling encounter with OceanGate in 2018 and had been watching it with concern ever since.

Everyone I met in the small, tight-knit world of manned submersibles was aware of the Titan. Everyone watched in disbelief as Rush built a five-person cylindrical pressure hull out of filament-wound carbon fiber, an unpredictable material that is known to fail suddenly and catastrophically under pressure.

It was as though we were watching a horror movie unfold in slow motion, knowing that whatever happened next wouldn’t be pretty. But like screaming at the screen, nothing that came out of anyone’s mouth made any difference to the ending.

In December 2015, two years before the Titan was built, Rush had lowered a one third scale model of his 4,000-meter-sub-to-be into a pressure chamber and watched it implode at 4,000 psi, a pressure equivalent to only 2,740 meters. The test’s stated goal was to “validate that the pressure vessel design is capable of withstanding an external pressure of 6,000 psi—corresponding to…a depth of about 4,200 meters.” He might have changed course then, stood back for a moment and reconsidered. But he didn’t. Instead, OceanGate issued a press release stating that the test had been a resounding success because it “demonstrates that the benefits of carbon fiber are real.”

Rush didn’t even break stride. He ran right on ahead, plowing hard into his director of marine operations, David Lochridge. Lochridge had emigrated from Scotland to work for OceanGate—selling his home in Glasgow, moving to Washington State with his wife and seven-year-old daughter. Unlike many of his new colleagues, Lochridge was an established undersea pro: a submersible and remote-operated-vehicle pilot, a marine engineer, an underwater inspector for the oil and gas industry. He’d piloted rescue subs for the British navy to save men trapped aboard downed military submarines.

By January 2018, the Titan was nearly completed, soon to begin its sea trials. But first Lochridge—who according to his contract was responsible for “ensuring the safety of all crew and clients during submersible and surface operations”—would have to inspect the sub and pronounce it fit to dive. And that wasn’t going to happen.

Lochridge had been watching the sub’s progress with ratcheting alarm. He’d argued with OceanGate’s engineering director, Tony Nissen; OceanGate had responded by refusing to let Lochridge examine the work on the sub’s oxygen system, computer systems, acrylic viewport, O-rings, and the critical interfaces between its carbon fiber hull and titanium endcaps. Mating materials with such wildly divergent pressure tolerances was also…not advised. (Nissen did not respond to requests for comment.)

When Lochridge voiced his concerns, he was ignored. So he inspected the Titan as thoroughly as he could. Then he presented Rush and other OceanGate senior staff with a 10-page “Quality Control Inspection Report” that listed the sub’s problems and the steps needed to correct them. “Verbal communication of the key items I have addressed in my attached document have been dismissed on several occasions,” Lochridge wrote on the first page, “so I feel now I must make this report so there is an official record in place.” These issues, he added, were “significant in nature and must be addressed.”

“Titan could not get classed because it was built of the wrong material and it was built the wrong way. Once he made up his mind, he was on a path from which there was no return.”

Lochridge listed more than two dozen items that required immediate attention. These included missing bolts and improperly secured batteries, components zip-tied to the outside of the sub. O-ring grooves were machined incorrectly (which could allow water ingress), seals were loose, a highly flammable, petroleum-based material lined the Titan’s interior. Hosing looped around the sub’s exterior, creating an entanglement risk—especially at a site like the wreck of the Titanic, where spars, pipes, and wires protrude everywhere.

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Yet even those deficiencies paled in comparison to what Lochridge observed on the hull. The carbon fiber filament was visibly coming apart, riddled with air gaps, delaminations, and Swiss cheese holes—and there was no way to fix that short of tossing the hull in a dumpster. The manufacturing process for carbon fiber filament is exacting. Interwoven carbon fibers are wound around a cylinder and bonded with epoxy, then bagged in cellophane and cured in an oven for seven days. The goal is perfect consistency; any mistakes are baked in permanently.

Given that the hull would be “seeing such immense pressures not yet experienced on any known carbon hulled vehicle we run the risk of potential inter-laminar fatigue due to pressure cycling,” Lochridge wrote, “especially if we do have imperfections in the hull itself.” The hull would need to be scanned with thermal imaging or ultrasound to reveal the extent of its flaws. “Non-destructive inspection is required to be undertaken and subsequent results provided to myself prior to any in water Manned Dives commencing,” he added, digging in his heels on the scanning. This would reveal any weak spots and provide a baseline that could then be used to check for signs of fatigue after every dive.

Scanning the hull shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Lochridge noted in another document that OceanGate had previously stated the hull would be scanned. (Spoiler alert: The hull was never scanned. “The OceanGate engineering team does not plan to obtain a hull scan and does not believe the same to be readily available or particularly effective in any event,” the company’s lawyer, Thomas Gilman, wrote in March 2018. Instead, OceanGate would rely on “acoustic monitoring”—sensors on the Titan’s hull that would emit an alarm when the carbon fiber filaments were audibly breaking.)

Lochridge’s report was concise and technical, compiled by someone who clearly knew what he was talking about—the kind of document that in most companies would get a person promoted. Rush’s response was to fire Lochridge immediately, serve him and his wife with a lawsuit (although Carole Lochridge didn’t work at OceanGate or even in the submersible industry) for breach of contract, fraud, unjust enrichment, and misappropriation of trade secrets; threaten their immigration status; and seek to have them pay OceanGate’s legal fees.

In the lawsuit, OceanGate cited its grievances. According to the company, Lochridge had “manufactured a reason to be fired.” In 2016, he had “ ‘mooned’ through the large viewing window Tony Nissen and other members of the OceanGate engineering staff through [sic] with whom he had been arguing.” He had “repeatedly refused to accept the veracity of information provided by the Company’s lead engineer and repeatedly stated he did not approve of OceanGate’s research and development plans, insisting, for example that the company should obtain a scan of the hull of Titan’s experimental vessel prototype to detect potential flaws….”

Now unemployed, distressed by OceanGate’s allegations, and beset with legal bills, Lochridge was in a vulnerable position. He countersued for wrongful termination and sent his inspection report to the US Occupational Safety and Health Administration. OSHA, in turn, passed it to the Coast Guard.

OceanGate’s onetime director of marine operations, David Lochridge (foreground), who raised concerns about OceanGate’s engineering, speaks aboard the Cyclops 1.Andy Bronson/The Herald/AP.

Ironically, Lochridge had saved Rush from himself at least once before. In June 2016, Rush piloted OceanGate’s shallow-diving sub, the Cyclops 1, to the site of the Andrea Doria, a hulking 700-foot ocean liner and epic entanglement hazard that had sunk in 1956 off Nantucket, in a patch of the Atlantic known for its murky fog and seething currents. The ship lies in 240 feet of turbid water, cobwebbed with discarded fishing lines. At that depth, it is accessible (and just barely) to advanced scuba divers, 18 of whom have died there. Rush was headed down to “capture sonar images of the shipwreck” with Lochridge and three clients.

Word gets around in the deep-sea community. I learned of what happened next from two sub pilots from other companies, who both told me the same story on different occasions after hearing it from OceanGate personnel. I also reviewed correspondence related to OceanGate’s lawsuit against Lochridge and his wife, in which Lochridge describes the incident. (Lochridge declined to be interviewed.)

As chief pilot and the person responsible for operational safety, Lochridge had created a dive plan that included protocols for how to approach the wreck. Any entanglement hazard demands caution and vigilance: touching down at least 50 meters away and surveying the site before coming any closer. Rush disregarded these safety instructions. He landed too close, got tangled in the current, managed to wedge the sub beneath the Andrea Doria’s crumbling bow, and descended into a full-blown panic. Lochridge tried to take the helm, but Rush had refused to let him, melting down for over an hour until finally one of the clients shrieked, “Give him the fucking controller!” At which point Rush hurled the controller, a video-game joystick, at Lochridge’s head. Lochridge freed the sub in 15 minutes.

The expedition had been planned to include 10 dives, but instead it ended abruptly, with OceanGate citing “adverse weather conditions.” After returning to shore in Boston, Rush held a press conference. “We were able to view the Andrea Doria area for nearly four hours, which is more than 10 times longer than scuba divers can,” he announced. The dive, OceanGate’s website noted, had “focused on the bow of the vessel.”

Writing this now, I feel a variety of emotions. Empathy, of course, for the families of those aboard the doomed Titan. Despair for the “mission specialists” whose trust in OceanGate was so misplaced: Shahzada Dawood, Suleman Dawood, and Hamish Harding. Sadness, because I knew and admired PH Nargeolet—a deep-sea icon whose expertise on the Titanic led to his fatal association with Rush. PH and I sailed together in the Pacific on the 2019 Five Deeps Expedition, when explorer Victor Vescovo piloted a revolutionary sub, the Limiting Factor, to the deepest spots in all five of the earth’s ocean basins. (Journalist Ben Taub was on the Five Deeps Expedition in the North Atlantic and wrote about it for The New Yorker.)

Vescovo had commissioned the Limiting Factor in 2015 and hired Nargeolet as his technical adviser to vet the sub’s design and build. Happily, PH didn’t have much to do. The Limiting Factor was built by Triton Submarines, a company known for its high quality and smart designs, whose cofounder and president, Patrick Lahey, is regarded as the world’s most experienced submersible pilot. Vescovo’s sub was certified—at great cost and difficulty, over several years, from inception to completion to sea trials to dives—by senior inspection engineer Jonathan Struwe from Det Norske Veritas (DNV), a Norway-based international marine classification society that is the gold standard for safety.

And my God, the testing. Every piece of the Limiting Factor was pressure-tested to 20,000 psi, equivalent to a depth of 43,000 feet—20 percent greater than full ocean depth. There was so much testing that Triton built its own state-of-the-art pressure chambers in Barcelona, Spain. The only high-powered pressure chamber large enough to fit the passenger sphere was located in St. Petersburg, Russia, so the four-ton titanium orb was shipped halfway around the world. For days the sphere was squeezed mercilessly, simulating repeated dives to depths beyond any existing on earth. Afterward, it showed zero evidence of fatigue. “Even millions of cycles would not adversely affect it,” Lahey told me. The crushing pressure only makes the sphere stronger.

When I boarded Vescovo’s ship in Tonga, I had already digested Nargeolet’s incredible résumé. It was given to me by Captain Don Walsh, Navy deep submergence pilot number one. He and Jacques Piccard made history by diving 35,800 feet to the Mariana Trench’s Challenger Deep, the ocean’s absolute nadir.

Struwe dived with Lahey to 35,800 feet—he wanted to, but also he had to. How else could he certify the Limiting Factor worthy of the first-ever DNV class approval for repeated dives to “unlimited depth”? Struwe was so integral to the sub’s success that Lahey considered him to be a codesigner.

All this made Rush look awfully foolish within the community as he trash-talked the classification societies. “Bringing an outside entity up to speed on every innovation before it is put into real-world testing is anathema to rapid innovation,” he complained in a blog post. His sub was simply too advanced for the uninitiated. But Rush also used slippery language to infer to clients that the Titan would be classed: “As an interim step in the path to classification, we are working with a premier classing agency to validate Titan’s dive test plan.”

“He actually had the DNV logo up on his website for a time,” Lahey recalled in disgust. “I told Jonathan Struwe about it and he called Stockton and said, ‘Take it down, and take it down now.’ ”

When I boarded Vescovo’s ship in Tonga, I had already digested Nargeolet’s incredible five-page résumé. It was given to me by Captain Don Walsh, Navy deep submergence pilot number one. Walsh commanded the bathyscaphe Trieste in 1960, when he and Jacques Piccard made history by diving 35,800 feet to the Mariana Trench’s Challenger Deep, the ocean’s absolute nadir. Walsh was 87 years old when I met him in 2019; he had dedicated his entire legendary career to deep-sea science, engineering, and exploration. “PH is kind of my parallel on the French side,” he told me. “He’s a walking history. He can give you the European angle on deep exploration.”

Nargeolet had been a decorated commander in the French navy, the captain of France’s 6,000-meter sub, the Nautile, and the leader of his country’s deep submergence group. As commanding officer of the French navy’s explosive ordnance disposal team, he’d de-mined the English Channel, the North Sea, and the Suez Canal. And that was just on page one.

I felt awed to meet him, and a bit intimidated. But PH was a deeply humble man. He talked about how much he loved the ocean, how diving brought him a sense of peace beyond anything attainable on land. He described how the French pilots in the Nautile would stop for lunch on the seafloor, laying a tablecloth, breaking out silverware, and decanting a bottle of wine. What’s your favorite place to dive? I asked him. “Volcanic vents,” he replied without hesitation.

PH also loved the Titanic—he made his first manned dive to the wreck in 1987 and had revisited the site more than 30 times. No one knew the ship’s past and present as intimately as he did. (He would later write that from the moment he saw it, the Titanic had “placed itself at the center of my life.”) He laughed as he explained why he got a kick out of seeing the Titanic’s swimming pool: “Because it looks like it’s empty and it’s full of water! You don’t see the surface, you know?”

One morning, as the Limiting Factor was being launched, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder: I was standing too close to the winch. Nargeolet guided me to a safer spot, cautioning me in his lovely French accent: “When something goes wrong, it goes wrong very fast.”

If empathy and sadness were the only emotions I felt, I’d be able to sleep better. But I am also angry. Angry at Rush’s disrespect for the deep ocean, a realm he professed to want to explore but in reality did not understand. Angry because five people are dead and many others were jeopardized (all of whom must feel like they’ve survived a game of Russian roulette) after Rush was warned for years that his sub wasn’t fit for purpose.

My anger is also personal, because when I first heard about OceanGate back in 2018, I was just beginning to learn about submersibles, just beginning to report my book. I didn’t yet know how reckless, how heedless, how insane the Titan was. I didn’t know that the 4,000-meter sub’s viewport was certified to only 1,300 meters. I wanted desperately to dive to abyssal depths but at the time couldn’t see a way to do it. The handful of vehicles in the world that can dive below 10,000 feet were all dedicated to science.

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Then suddenly there was Rush, holding forth in the media about how his brilliant new sub would take people to see the Titanic and saying things like, “If three quarters of the planet is water, how come you can’t access it?” and “I want to change the way humanity regards the deep ocean.” I wasn’t very interested in diving to the gruesome Titanic, but I was extremely interested in diving to 13,000 feet. Rush’s operation sounded like exactly what I was looking for.

I called OceanGate and spoke to a marketing executive, a young person I won’t name because they left the company long ago. The 2019 Titanic trips were nearly sold out, they told me, but there would be future expeditions even deeper: “The end goal is not 4,000 meters. We’re already building to go to 6,000 meters.” This was possible because of Rush’s many advanced innovations, they explained. The Titan’s pressure hull would be made of “space-grade” carbon fiber, monitored by an array of acoustic sensors. “Steel just implodes,” they said with assurance, as if this was something that had ever happened. “But carbon fiber gives a warning 1,500 meters before implosion. It makes very specific snapping sounds. There’s no other acoustic hull-monitoring system in the world.” True. No other deep-sea submersible in the world had such a system. Because no other deep-sea sub needed one.

Fortunately, I knew enough to speak to a few people before I got anywhere near the Titan. One phone call was all it took.

Terry Kerby, the veteran chief pilot of the University of Hawaii’s two deep-sea subs, the Pisces IV and the Pisces V, recoiled when I asked him what he thought about OceanGate. “Be careful of that,” he warned. “That guy has the whole submersible community really concerned. He’s just basically ignoring all the major engineering rules.” He paused to make sure this had sunk in, and then added emphatically: “Do not get into that sub. He is going to have a major accident.”

Kerby referred me to marine engineer Will Kohnen for a more detailed explanation of why the Titan was “just a disaster.” Kohnen is the chair of the Marine Technology Society’s Manned Underwater Vehicles Committee. He helped write the class rules for submersibles, owned and operated a company that manufactured submersibles, and had decades of experience in the field.

And Kohnen, a straight-shooting French Canadian, knew all about the Titan. “It’s been a challenge to deal with OceanGate,” he said with a sigh and then launched into a two- hour explanation of the reasons why. Carbon fiber is great under tension (stretching) but not compression (squeezing), he told me, offering an example: “You can use a rope to pull a car. But try pushing a car with a rope.”

The bottom line? A novel submersible design was welcome—but only if you were willing to do the herculean amount of testing to prove that it was safe, under the gimlet eye of a classification society. OceanGate decided that process would be too long and expensive, Kohnen said, “and they were just going to do whatever they wanted.”

His committee had recently written a letter to Rush—signed by Kohnen and 37 other industry leaders—expressing their “unanimous concern” about the Titan’s development and OceanGate’s “current ‘experimental’ approach.” Rush needed to stop pretending that he was working with DNV and start doing it, stop misleading the public, stop breaching “an industry-wide professional code of conduct we all endeavor to uphold.” The group concluded by asking Rush to “confirm that OceanGate can see the future benefit of its investment in adhering to industry accepted safety guidelines…” The letter, which has now been widely publicized, was a stern warning, the epistolary equivalent of being hauled into the principal’s office and smacked with a ruler.

Surely, people in the submersible world thought, Rush would come to his senses. Surely he wouldn’t actually go through with this?

Rush ignored the Marine Technology Society’s letter. He ignored the fact that it was signed—at the top—by Don Walsh. Don Walsh! If you know anything about the deep ocean, you know that when Don Walsh speaks, you shut up and listen.

“He doesn’t tell the truth, what’s his name—Rush,” Walsh observed to me. “He’s absolutely 14-karat self-certitude.”

“Have you met him?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” Walsh said tartly.

“What was your impression?”

Walsh chuckled. “Oh, he tolerated me. He was correct. He was polite. He really wanted to tell me how he was all out on the cutting edges of technology, places I couldn’t even imagine.”

Rush ignored the fact that the letter was signed by the cofounder of EYOS Expeditions, Rob McCallum, whom he’d known since 2009 and had tried unsuccessfully to hire for OceanGate’s Titanic operations. McCallum’s client list was awash in wealthy ocean explorers. He’d led seven expeditions to the Titanic with Russia’s two Mir submersibles and had dived to the wreck himself. When McCallum learned more about the Titan, he wanted nothing to do with it: “I’ve never allowed myself to be associated with an unclassed vehicle. Ever.”

Rush ignored the fact that the letter was signed by Terry Kerby, a former Coast Guard navigator who led the Hawaii Undersea Research Lab for 38 years and had made more than 900 sub dives in the Pacific. “You have enough to worry about if you’re exploring volcanoes or shipwrecks without having to worry about whether your submersible is going to survive,” Kerby told me.

“Would you ever agree to pilot a sub that wasn’t classed?” I asked.

“Never. Nope. No.”

Rush ignored the fact that the letter was signed by Patrick Lahey, a man who forgot more about manned subs yesterday than Rush would learn in his lifetime. Lahey had not only signed the letter and warned Rush repeatedly about the Titan’s dangers, he also quietly paid the Lochridges’ legal fees in the hope that the inspection report would be dissected in court and made public. But to Lahey’s “bitter disappointment,” Lochridge decided to settle, withdrawing his OSHA complaint and agreeing not to discuss OceanGate publicly in exchange for being left alone. “I think Stockton had really intimidated him and frightened him,” Lahey said. “I certainly would have continued that fight, because I believe you take something like that right to the end. But he didn’t want to, and I knew it wasn’t my decision.”

By spring 2018, it was evident that Rush’s deep-sea sub would never be certified. “Titan could not get classed because it was built of the wrong material and it was built the wrong way,” McCallum said. “So once Stockton made up his mind, he was on a path from which there was no return. He could have stopped, but he could never fix it.”

Rush was angry that McCallum had been steering EYOS’s clients away from diving in the Titan, though many had expressed interest. “I have given everyone the same honest advice which is that until a sub is classed, tested, and proven it should not be used for commercial deep dive operations,” McCallum wrote to Rush in March 2018. “4,000 [meters] down in the mid-Atlantic is not the kind of place you can cut corners.”

“It is my hope that when you cite OceanGate’s missing classification that you also offer the following,” Rush replied in a sour email. “1) that this need is expressly your opinion, 2) that there has never been a fatality in an unclassed sub, (3) that there are subs in current commercial operation that are not classed, (4) and that Virgin Galactic, Blue Origin, and SpaceX all follow the same ethos [False: They had to get FAA approval] and relevant and respective industry certification paths.” He concluded by lecturing McCallum: “Industry attempts to disparage innovative business, operational and design approaches will not help advance subsea exploration.”

PH Nargeolet, who died in the Titan implosion, poses next to a miniature of the Titanic, his life’s obsession.JOEL SAGET/AFP/Getty Images.

At Kohnen’s invitation, I attended the Marine Technology Society’s 2019 meeting. By that time Rush had been ignoring its letter for a year. “The program is an overview of manned submersible operations worldwide,” Kohnen said, addressing the group. “Today we’re doing the deep submersible review work.” This consisted of an alphabetical rundown of every deep sub and the status of its operations. When he got to the letter O, Kohnen cleared his throat. “Anybody here from OceanGate?” (Silence.) “No?”

OceanGate’s recalcitrance was like smog hovering over the conference room. During a coffee break, I heard the Titan mentioned in the same breath as the UC3 Nautilus, a creepy Danish sub whose owner had killed and dismembered journalist Kim Wall on a dive. In a corner, two marine engineers were worked up, and I caught a snatch of their conversation: “When it’s compressing it can actually buckle,” one engineer said in an exasperated tone, referring to Rush’s carbon fiber hull. “Like if you stand on an empty soda can.” The other engineer snorted and said: “I wouldn’t get into that thing for any amount of money.”

Clearly, Rush would do as he pleased. He would register the Titan in the Bahamas and sail from a Canadian port into international waters, thus skirting Coast Guard regulations that any commercial sub must be classed. OceanGate’s lawyer, Thomas Gilman, emphasized in a legal filing against the Lochridges that the Titan “will operate exclusively outside the territorial waters of the United States.”

Anyway, Rush wasn’t carrying paying customers—he was enlisting “mission specialists.” This wasn’t some cute marketing ploy, like American Airlines giving a kid a set of plastic pilot’s wings. In maritime law, crew receive much lighter protections than commercial passengers—and to Rush’s mind, calling them mission specialists and putting them to work on the ship made them crew. On a podcast, CBS reporter David Pogue noted that, in advance of shooting his segment on the 2022 Titanic expedition, OceanGate had emailed him “a document that basically said, ‘In thy news reporting thou shalt not use the terms ‘tourists, customers, or passengers.’ The term is mission specialists.”

So, yes. Many people felt that a catastrophe was brewing with the Titan, but at the same time everybody’s hands were tied.

On the Titan’s second deep test dive in April 2019—an attempt to reach 4,000 meters in the Bahamas—the sub protested with such bloodcurdling cracking and gunshot noises that its descent was halted at 3,760 meters. Rush was the pilot, and he had taken three passengers on this highly risky plunge. One of them was Karl Stanley, a seasoned submersible pilot who would later describe the noises as “the hull yelling at you.” Stanley was no stranger to risk: He’d built his own experimental unclassed sub and operated it in Honduras. But even he was so rattled by the dive that he wrote several emails to Rush urging him to postpone the Titan’s commercial debut, less than two months away.

The carbon fiber was breaking down, Stanley believed: “I think that hull has a defect near that flange that will only get worse. The only question in my mind is will it fail catastrophically or not.” He advised Rush to step back and conduct 50 unmanned test dives before any other humans got into the sub. True to form, Rush dismissed the advice—“One experiential data point is not sufficient to determine the integrity of the hull”—telling Stanley to “keep your opinions to yourself.”

When the world learned of the Titan’s disappearance on June 18, no one I know in deep-sea circles believed that it was simply lost, floating somewhere, unseen because—the mind reels—it didn’t have an emergency beacon. “The fear was collapse,” Lahey said bluntly. “The fear was always pressure hull failure with that craft.”

“I remember him saying at one point to me that one of the reasons why he had me on that dive was he expected that I would be able to keep my mouth shut about anything that was of a sensitive nature,” Stanley told me in a phone interview.

“Like what?” I asked.

“I don’t think he wanted everybody knowing about the cracking sounds.”

Shortly after that, Rush did make an accommodation to reality. He sent out a press release heralding the Titan’s “History Making Deep-Sea Dive to 3,760 Meters with Four Crew Members,” and then a month later canceled the 2019 Titanic expedition. (He had previously scrubbed the 2018 expedition, claiming that the Titan had been hit by lightning.) Now, Rush was off to build a new hull.

Surely, people in the submersible world thought, Rush would come to his senses. Surely he wouldn’t actually go through with this?

But he did. 2020 was a write-off because of COVID. In 2021, Rush took his first group of “mission specialists” to the Titanic—and with him now, as part of his team, was PH Nargeolet.

It’s not that Nargeolet's friends didn’t try to stop him. “Oh, we…we all tried,” Lahey said. “I tried so hard to tell him not to go out there. I fucking begged him, ‘Don’t go out there, man.’ ”

It’s that Nargeolet knew everything they were saying was true and wanted to go anyway. “Maybe it’s better if I’m out there,” Lahey recalls Nargeolet saying. “I can help them from doing something stupid or people getting hurt.” In the implosion’s aftermath, the French newspaper Le Figaro would report that Nargeolet had told his family that he was wary of the Titan’s carbon fiber hull and its oversized viewport, assessing them as potential weak spots. “He was a little skeptical about this new technology, but also intrigued by the idea of piloting something new,” a colleague of Nargeolet's, marine archaeologist Michel L’Hour, explained to the paper. “It was difficult for him to consider a mission on the Titanic without participating in it himself.”

Now the reports are emerging about the plague of problems on OceanGate’s 2021 and 2022 Titanic expeditions; more dives scrubbed or aborted than completed—for an assortment of reasons from major to minor. A communications system that never much worked. Battery problems, electrical problems, sonar problems, navigation problems. A thruster installed backward. Ballast weights that wouldn’t release. (On one dive, Rush instructed the Titan’s occupants to rock the sub back and forth at abyssal depths in an attempt to dislodge the sewer pipes he used to achieve negative buoyancy.) Getting all the way down to the seafloor and then fumbling around for hours trying to find the wreck. (“I mean, how do you not find a 50,000 ton ship?” Lahey asked me, incredulous, in July 2022.)

One group had been trapped inside the sub for 27 hours, stuck on the balky launch and recovery platform. Other “mission specialists” were sealed inside the sub for up to five hours before it launched, sweltering in sauna-like conditions. Arthur Loibl, a German businessman who dove in 2021, described it to the Associated Press as a “kamikaze operation.”

Fair is fair: Some people did get to see the Titanic and live to tell about it. Plenty more left disappointed, having spent an extremely expensive week in their branded OceanGate clothing, doing chores on an industrial ship. (OceanGate’s Titanic expedition 2023 promotional video, now removed from the internet, showed “mission specialists” wiping down ballast pipes and cleaning the sub.) And when Rush offered them 300-foot consolation dives in the harbor, even those were often canceled or aborted.

Sadly, those problems now seem quaint.

When the world learned of the Titan’s disappearance on June 18, no one I know in deep-sea circles believed that it was simply lost, floating somewhere, unseen because—the mind reels—it didn’t have an emergency beacon. No one believed that its passengers were slowly running out of oxygen. If the sub were entangled amid the Titanic wreck, that wouldn’t explain why its tracking and communications signals had vanished simultaneously at 3,347 meters. “The fear was collapse,” Lahey said bluntly. “The fear was always pressure hull failure with that craft.”

But the families didn’t know, and the public didn’t know, and it would be ghastly not to hope for some slim chance of survival, some possible miracle. But which was better to hope for? That they perished in an implosion at supersonic speed—or that they were alive with hardly a chance of being found, left to suffocate for four days in a sub that had all the comforts of an MRI machine?

“When I found out that they were bolted in…” Kerby told me, his voice anguished. “They couldn’t even evacuate and fire a flare. You know, there’s a really good reason for those [hatch] towers. It gives everyone a chance to make it out.”

“The lack of the hatch in the OceanGate design was a serious deviation from any and all submersible design safety guidelines that exist today,” Kohnen wrote in an email, seconding Kerby. “All subs need to have hatches.”

No knowledge of the tragedy was preparation enough for watching television coverage of the Titan’s entrails being craned off the recovery ship Horizon Arctic. Eight-inch-thick titanium bonding rings—bent. Snarls of cables, mangled debris, sheared metal, torn exterior panels: They seemed to have been wrenched from Grendel’s claws in some mythical undersea battle. But no, it was simply math. A cold equation showing what the pressure of 6,000 psi does to an object unprepared to meet it.

One person involved in the recovery effort, who wishes to remain anonymous, told me that the wreckage itself was proof that no one aboard the sub had suffered: “From what I saw of all the remaining bits and pieces, it was so violent and so fast.”

The abyss doesn’t care if you went to Princeton or that your ancestors signed the Declaration of Independence. If you want to go down into her world, she sets the rules.

“What did the carbon fiber look like?” I asked.

“There was no piece I saw anywhere that had its original five-inch thickness,” he said. “Just shards and bits…. It was truly catastrophic. It was shredded.”

Now, back on land, he was still processing what he’d seen. “I think people don’t actually understand just how forceful the ocean is. They think of the ocean as going to the beach and sticking their toes in the sand and watching waves come in, and stuff like that,” he reflected. “They haven’t a clue.”

“Is there any possible reason the Titan could have imploded other than its design and construction were unsuitable for diving to 4,000 meters?” I asked Jarl Stromer, the manager of class and regulatory compliance for Triton Submarines. Stromer, who has worked in the industry since 1987, began his career as a senior engineer at the American Bureau of Shipping. He’s an expert on the rules, codes, and standards for every type of manned sub—the nuts and bolts of undersea safety.

“No,” he replied flatly. “OceanGate bears full responsibility for the design, fabrication, testing, inspection, operation, maintenance, catastrophic failure of the Titan submersible and the deaths of all five people on board.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. In the beginning, OceanGate’s mission had seemed so promising: “Founded in Everett, Washington in 2009, the company provides manned submersible services to reach ocean depths previously unavailable to most individuals and organizations.” But there’s a vast chasm between intention and execution—and pieces of the Titan now lie at the bottom of it.

After the tragedy OceanGate went dark, suspending its operations. Its website and social media channels were suddenly gone, its promotional videos deleted. Emails sent to the company received this reply: “Thank you for reaching out. OceanGate is unable to provide any additional information at this time.” Phone calls were greeted with a disconnection notice.

Only one person familiar with OceanGate’s thinking would speak to me on the record: Guillermo Söhnlein, who cofounded the company with Rush. And Söhnlein left that post in 2013. “So I don’t have any direct knowledge or experience with the development of the Titan. I’ve never dived in Titan. I’ve never been on the Titanic expedition,” he told me. “All I know is, I know Stockton, and I know the founding of OceanGate, and I know how we operated for the first few years.”

Okay, then. What should people know about Rush? “I think he did see himself in the same vein as these disruptive innovators,” Söhnlein said. “Like Thomas Edison, or any of these guys who just found a way of pushing humanity forward for the good of humanity—not necessarily for himself. He didn’t need the money. He certainly didn’t need to work and spend hundreds of hours on OceanGate. You know, he was doing this to help humanity. At least that’s what I think was personally driving him.”

Before the Titan’s last descent, there hadn’t been a fatal accident in a human-occupied submersible for nearly 50 years—despite a 2,000 percent increase in the annual number of dives in that period. In the 93-year history of manned deep-sea exploration, no submersible had ever imploded. “Ultimately it comes down to not just technology,” Kohnen told me, “but the rigor of the nerdy, detailed engineering that goes behind it, to determine that things are predictable.”

“This disaster validates the approach the industry has always taken,” McCallum agreed. “Stockton could have been held in check by professional engineers, independent oversight, and a genuine culture of safety. That he wasn’t will be the subject of much investigation. For those within OceanGate that enabled this culture there should be a long period of self-reflection. This tragedy was predicted. It was avoidable. It was inevitable. It must never be allowed to happen again.”

Those rules Rush so disdained? They had been refined, honed, universally adopted—and they had worked. Submersibles had earned their title as the world’s least risky mode of transportation even as they operated in the world’s riskiest environment. Because there is one last rule that every deep-sea explorer knows: The goal is not to dive. 

The goal is to dive, and to come back. This story has been updated.  CORRECTION: An earlier version of this story misidentified the provenance of the UC3 Nautilus. It was a Danish submarine. 

Susan Casey

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