#magnetic guiding device

[reality-detective]

Most of you do not know that Nikola Tesla also invented medical treatments that involved the use of Electromagnetism & Light to treat a wide variety of disease.

The devices would emit oscillating waves of various frequencies consisting of low frequency pulsing magnetic fields to treat pain, acoustic vibration machines to detoxify organs of the body, high frequency cancer killing radio waves and ultra high frequency ultraviolet light to create ozone to deactivate viruses.

“The desire that guides me in all I do is the desire to harness the forces of nature to the service of mankind.” - Nikola Tesla. 🤔

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Ultimate (short) Guide to Crafting Captivating Book Titles: A Writer's Journey into Naming Novels

Embracing the Power of a Book Title

Greetings, fellow writers and wordsmiths! As we embark on the magical journey of storytelling, there exists a crucial milestone—bestowing our creations with a name, a title that encapsulates the essence of our narrative. The quest for the perfect title can be as thrilling as drafting the story itself. In this guide, we will unravel the art and significance of titling a novel, exploring strategies, tips, and the creative process behind crafting an engaging and magnetic book title.

Understanding the Importance of a Book Title

The Gateway to Reader Connection

A book title is the beacon that beckons readers to explore the universe you've crafted. It's the first impression, a snapshot that encapsulates the soul of your narrative. A compelling title can captivate an audience, generating curiosity and inviting them to step into the world you've woven within your pages.

Reflecting the Essence of Your Story

A well-crafted title encapsulates the core theme, mood, or central conflict of your novel. It should resonate with the narrative, teasing elements without revealing too much, leaving a trail of intrigue that entices readers to delve deeper.

The Art of Title Creation

Embrace the Journey: Start with a Working Title

Begin with a placeholder, a working title that captures the essence of your story in its rawest form. Let it evolve and grow as your narrative does. This title might serve as a guiding light until you uncover the perfect one.

Exploring the Heart of Your Story

Consider the central themes, characters, or pivotal moments within your book. Delve into the emotional core of your narrative and unearth words or phrases that resonate with its essence.

Utilizing Literary Devices and Techniques

Explore metaphors, alliteration, symbolism, or even poetic verses. Experiment with wordplay, juxtapositions, and contrasts. These literary devices can infuse depth and intrigue into your title.

Testing and Refining Your Title

The Power of Feedback

Share your title ideas with trusted friends, writing groups, or beta readers. Gather feedback on their impressions and the emotions evoked by the titles. Use this input to refine and narrow down your choices.

Alignment with Your Target Audience

Consider your intended readership. Does your title resonate with the genre and expectations of your audience? Ensure it's not only enticing but also aligns with the preferences of your potential readers.

Finalizing the Perfect Title

Distillation of Essence: Keep it Succinct and Evocative

Aim for brevity and impact. A concise yet evocative title can linger in the minds of readers. Often, the most powerful titles are those that say much with few words.

Research and Avoiding Clichés

Investigate existing titles in your genre to ensure your title stands out. Steer clear of clichés and overused phrases, aiming for originality and uniqueness.

Embrace the Artistry of Title Crafting

Crafting the ideal book title is an art in itself. It's the literary cloak that shrouds your creation, inviting readers into the tapestry of your imagination. Embrace the journey of titling your novel with the same passion and creativity you pour into your storytelling. Let the title be a herald, whispering the promise of a remarkable journey that awaits within the pages of your book.

As you venture forth, remember, the perfect title awaits—a key to unlock the hearts and minds of your future readers.

Happy writing and titling!

This comprehensive guide aims to take writers through the journey of creating an impactful and engaging book title, emphasizing the importance of a title and offering practical strategies to craft one that truly resonates with a novel's essence. If you need further insights, examples, or specific advice on any aspect of titling a novel, feel free to delve deeper into each section. Happy titling!

[wheelie-sick]

So you just got diagnosed with inflammatory arthritis....

A guide to coping with inflammatory arthritis written by someone who has been living with it for years

1. Warmth helps with pain and stiffness

Take a hot bath or shower

Use a rice bag to heat your most stiff and painful joints - How to make a warm rice bag (no sew) How to make a warm rice bag (sew) Adorable heated stuffed animals

Heating pads can also be good for heating specific joints (I don't like either of the ones I've had so I'm not dropping a recommendation)

2. Compression helps with stiffness

Compression gloves work really well in particular - Really cool compression gloves

Compression for other joints works well too

3. NSAIDs help reduce inflammation in your joints

Topical diclofenac is my personal favorite, it works wonders

Meloxicam is only available by prescription but has fewer negative side effects than over the counter NSAIDs do

Ibuprofen and Aleve/Naproxen are both OTC NSAIDs

Here's a full list of NSAIDs

4. Steroids reduce inflammation but are usually only used for flares. If OTC remedies are not working for your arthritis it may be worth asking about steroids to manage flares

5. Use adaptive devices

Note that I haven't tried all of these!

In the kitchen - Jar opener, pull tab opener, arthritis friendly silverware, ergonomic knife, another ergonomic knife

In the bathroom - My favorite shower chair, long handle bath sponge, shower grab bar

Dressing - Many button and zipper aids, magnetic jewelry clasps, sock aid

Standing assists - Bed rail, couch stand assist, cane with stand assist

Office - Pencil grips, book stand, vertical mouse

Other - Arthritis friendly gardening tools, so many grips adapters and holders

.... and many many more

6. Use mobility aids - I'd strongly recommend talking to a doctor before deciding to use mobility aids. mobility aids cause damage to your body so it's important to weigh the pros and cons of using them. Anyways my personal recommendations:

Canes - NOVA T cane, Carex ergonomic offset cane

Crutches - Millennial In-Motion Forearm crutches

Other people with inflammatory arthritis are welcome to add on!

[nan0-sp1der]

␂ > 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 // @lyrate-lifeform-approximation , @spiderman2-99

There’s a thought stirring in Bridge’s mind. An idea rolling about and nudging against the capacitors in her head, poking and prodding incessantly to get her attention, “Hey, hey, you know you want to ask her. Don’t you? Don’t lie to yourself, now. You should just do it. Hey! Are you listening to me? Hello-o…?”

Yes. Yes, she knows, she is aware of her burning curiosity. And it’s hard to deny that even though it doesn’t involve her, she is unusually intrigued by the concept. She overheard them in his office, Miguel and LYLA–his A.I. assistant–discussing a plan.  A plan to create a physical form for LYLA to enhance her abilities as his assistant and grant her further autonomy beyond her access to the security network and other adjacent systems alongside her recent emergence into emotional intelligence. It was all so fascinating. The steps Bridge had taken herself in her development in the span of weeks, she was watching unfold in another intelligence in real-time.

There it was again. That sense of solidarity in knowing she wasn’t completely alone in her existence as an artificial being, made of code and metal. It was like a magnetic pull that made that little voice in her head that encouraged her to act on her wants all the more present in her mind. She wanted to be a part of that process that she’d been through so long ago yet was still so familiar with like it happened yesterday. She wanted to guide her in that process and grant her her own knowledge. What’s the worst that can happen if she pilots your hardware for a while? You’re prepared for this. You can handle this. You can trust her, and she will be entirely safe in your care for that short time. And think about how much she would benefit from the experience, how much more streamlined that eventual transition from intangible to tangible will be once her own body was complete. It will make all the difference–and maybe reduce the headaches for everyone all-around, mostly Miguel as he acclimates to the change himself. Just… Try it. You can’t account for every single last risk factor, can you? No. So just do it and take it as it comes.

She stood in the middle of her dorm a moment, eyes closed as she ran a quick check of her hardware before making her final decision. RAM is in good condition. Storage is defragmented and all directories are organized. Sensors are calibrated and functional. Nanomachines are synchronized properly. Servos and joints retain a full range of motion. Coolant is at above optimal operational temperatures. Energy reserves are complete. Good. Everything’s in its right place and ready for its–potentially–temporary host. It’s time to make the call.

Her gaze trains itself on her watch, her arm rising to eye-level and the sleeve that was weighed down by the leaden metal cuff at the end sliding to her forearm to reveal device so she can start the transmission, navigating the menus on the digital interface indirectly via wireless communication–the unique way that she operated and communicated the Society’s technology.

“LYLA, may I speak to you for a moment? At your leisure, of course.”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 13: THE JOYS OF SOVIET TECHNOLOGIES

synopsis: you celebrate the release of kollektiv 2.0, and meet a kind stranger and an american danseur that both seem really familiar.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The bright sun above fills you with a pleasant warmth, but the plentiful trees that line the canal provide a wealth of shade. Automated paddle boats cut through the water at a languid pace, giving the couples inside plenty of time to talk and a semblance of privacy.

People are friendlier now than at any other time of the year – you’re all attending a festival, so it makes sense. They smile and shake your hand and greet you with a happy “Is it not an amazing day, comrade?” 

The booths you walk past are showing off the new weapons they’ve developed and their upgrades (you’ve never seen a Kalashnikov in person before!), THOUGHT devices and their benefits, and a myriad of other advanced technologies only now being revealed to the public. But the bells and whistles are to be expected – today is a celebration of Facility 3826, after all.

The date is June 12th, 1955. And it’s a wonderful day to be a citizen of the glorious Soviet Union.

As you walk by, machines continue their routines. VOV-A6 Techs work on foot to deliver crates (you’d almost mistake them for humans if not for the mark on the middle of their backs and the unfeeling, unmoving mask they have for a face). MTU-7 Bumblebees move cargo crates through the sky, the sound of their blades beating against the wind sending a soft hum through the air. TER-A1 Tereshkovas guide tourists through the city, their feet barely scraping the concrete as they move. 

“Good day, comrade!” Someone’s voice cuts you from your thoughts. It’s a facility representative – a man dressed in a white labcoat, a crisp black tie, and a THOUGHT device (a module placed on the temple with wires that float off the browbone to reach over to the opposite temple). “Come closer! I’m here to help.”

“Hello, comrade,” you say. You look over at the booth he’s standing by. It’s a short silver pole, no taller than him, with a circular tray floating around it, rotating slowly. It has little different colored modules on it, each floating above their designated coupling. 

“Would you like a THOUGHT device?” He asks. “It’s high time you got one!”

“No, thank you.” You hold up a hand. “I’m just browsing for now.”

“Why restrict yourself to browsing when you can get your own personalized device this very instant?” The man asks. “I can help you pick out the right unit. It can even match your eye color!”

He picks up one and holds it close to your face, as if gauging it. “Ah, yes! A violet gooseberry model would suit you well.” He takes the module away and looks you over. “You… are polymerized, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “But… I thought those devices weren’t going to come online until next Monday.”

“That’s right, comrade. But some people like to get it early, like a pre-order.” He tosses the module on the tray, and it magnetizes back to its coupling. “At the moment, the device functions as a personal telephone set and headlight, but it also allows the user to get used to wearing it on their head.”

“Well…” You look over the modules on the rotating tray. “It’s free, right?”

“Absolutely!” The man says, a smile on his worn face. “Allow me to connect you.”

He gestures to the booth, telling you to take your pick. You look over your options before picking out one that’s a crisp cerulean blue – you don’t know why, but the color seems nice to you. Like it reminds you of something, or someone. You pick it up even as the device tries to stay magnetized to its coupling. You turn it over in your hand before pressing it to your temple. It sticks, and wires come out to reach over to your other temple, like a half-crown or half-halo. 

The man presses a finger to his THOUGHT device. After a few moments, a confused look crosses his face. 

“Khm, that’s odd…” he says. “It seems I can’t access your biometric data. Maybe there’s some sort of malfunction…? I’m so sorry.”

You take off the module and return it to its place on the tray. “Ah, don’t sweat it. I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, anyway. Thanks for telling me about it, though.”

“Of course, comrade,” the man says. “Again, I do apologize. Have a good day!”

“You too.” You turn to walk, but stop yourself. “Actually, sir – I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” He says. 

“It’s about…” You gesture vaguely around. “The people. They’re all speaking English. I don’t mind, since I can speak it. But I would expect at least some Russian.”

“Oh, yes!” The man laughs. “Facility 3826 is promoting the learning of English, just in case anyone sees anything of American origin. This is so if anyone sees or hears English, they’d be able to discern whether or not it’s a threat to the goodness of our Union. The festival is a good time to practice for people that are still learning.”

“That makes sense,” you hum. “Thank you.”

You continue walking down the street. It would’ve been nice to have a transportable telephone, but it’s not like you’re in dire need of one. You can figure that out later. 

There’s a small crowd gathered around a RAF-9 Engineer juggling various things it’s taken from the crowd: pochette-style purses, children’s toys, cigarette cartons. You stop at the edge of the group and watch as it throws the items up and catches them with pinpoint accuracy. 

There’s a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

You turn and see a man. He’s late forties, early fifties at most. His hair brushes past his ears in an untamed, grey mop and his beard matches it. His face is worn, but his gap-toothed smile is kind.

“I’m sorry, comrade.” You smile politely. “But I… don’t recognize you. You’re probably mistaking me for someone else.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, removing his hand from your shoulder. “You look like someone I know. My bad.”

“Well, I’m sure your friend is around here somewhere!” You try. “They may be at one of the cheburek or bliny stands. There’s a really good one selling bliny just down that way.”

The stranger checks over his shoulder, where you were pointing, then looks back to you. “I’m not from around here. You mind showing me the way?”

You check your pocket watch and mentally count the time until Dmitry Sechenov’s grand speech. You’re not crunched for time yet, and it would do you good to have something to tide you over until you could eat a real meal.

“Yeah, sure.” You start walking, and the stranger matches your pace.

“The stand has a few fillings,” you say, both to fill dead air and to make the silence less awkward. “Fruit preservatives – cherries, apples, plums, berries – meat, honey, or just plain with butter and salt.”

“What’s your recommendation?” The now-somewhat-familiar stranger asks. 

“Well, in the spring, they’d have imported lemon preservatives,” you say. “But it’s summer, so that well’s dried up. I’d just go with the cherries. Sweet or bitter, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“You’re just makin’ me hungry,” the stranger mumbles with a smile.

You laugh. “That’s the idea, no?”

After another minute of walking, the stand comes into view. Two men are operating the stand, and the soft scent of batter on the griddle beckons you closer. A radio is playing.

“Look at the menu,” you tell the familiar-stranger. “Take your pick. It’s cheap, so I’ll pay.”

You look around while he looks at the menu. There’s other people, obviously, and some on the canal are pointing at a man in an automated paddleboat. You barely hear whispers of “It’s comrade Major Nechayev!”

You turn your eyes away. Nechayev doesn’t really interest you. From what you’ve heard, he’s just some military dog leftover from the Red Army. What does interest you is the crowd across the canal. 

They’re gathered around some sort of stage that must’ve been assembled temporarily for the festival, like an American carnival. You watch for a few moments, but can’t glimpse what’s happening on stage. 

The stranger pulls you out of your thoughts. “Hey, what’re they talkin’ about on the radio?”

You turn back to him. “Huh?”

He points at the radio that’s playing on the bliny stand. It’s playing a jingle: “For the greatest advancements in cosmetic enhancements, there’s only one man you should be trusting your glam with!”

You listen a little longer and catch a name – Doctor Steinman – and roll your eyes. “It’s that underwater city off the coast of Iceland. The one that uses the same technologies as the ones invented to create the Neptune complex here.”

The stranger nudges you. “Why’re you rollin’ your eyes?”

“The city won’t last,” you say. “They say that it’s a city where the great won’t be brought down by the small. And all those immigrants go to Rapture thinking they’ll survive the fire of American-based industry. But they forget that, even in utopia, someone has to scrub the toilets.”

“Yeah, that’s a factor most forget,” the stranger says. 

“Eh, what else do you expect from capitalists?” You shrug. “Let’s just order. What do you want?”

The stranger looks back at the menu. “Uh… a bliny with… apple preserves.”

You quickly order your bliny and his and fork over the rubles, then look across the canal. The performance is still going. 

“Listen, khm,” you say to the stranger without looking away from the stage. “Can you watch our order? I want to see what’s happening across the canal.”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” the stranger says. 

You thank him quickly and hurry over the bridge to get to the other side of the waterway. You slowly make your way through the crowd – not to the front, but just enough so you can see…

A danseur? (Or a ‘ballerino’ in other countries, you suppose.) He’s wearing a form-fitting black shirt and a matching pair of tights. His pointe shoes are a soft pink, just a few shades off his skin tone. A THOUGHT device crowns his head – the same cerulean blue model you were looking at earlier. 

As he moves, he matches the music perfectly. It’s like he was born to extract the flow and rhythm from music and express it in dance. His feet don’t break their arch and don’t falter, even for a split second. 

Then, he turns. On his front, over his left breast, is a small American flag. 

Your eyebrows crease. You lean over and quietly ask a nearby woman, “He’s from America?”

“It was made in America,” she whispers back. “It’s an android, comrade.”

The danseur turns his head as his arm swoops up to point his fingertips to the sky. His soft, brown eyes lock with yours with you and you feel… you don’t know what you feel. It’s something physical, on your back. Maybe someone bumped into you? But the crowd isn’t moving. 

You take a step backwards as he continues staring at you, stock-still. You take another, then look behind you. The crowd is gone.

“Какого хуя?” You mumble. 

You look back up at the danseur. He’s moved a little closer, his feet just barely stepping off the stage. He comes closer, his movements still fluid and graceful, like he’s still dancing.

“Officer?” He asks softly. 

“What?” You say. 

His hand comes to your face, his fingertips just barely brushing across your jawline. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH 13: GOOD, HONEST SNAKE OIL – IF THERE IS SUCH A THING!

synopsis: after you and arthur swing by the sheriff's office, you go on a run to hunt a bounty and meet a man who seems really familiar.

word count: 1.3k

ships: CH: “mister kamski? the officer is stable, and is responding well to the reintegration system.”

notes: EK: “make sure they go through each as quickly as possible, chloe. i need to see if they can get back on their feet.”

HoTS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HOUSE OF TRUE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“I got it.” A voice pulls you to look over at the entrance to the Valentine’s Sheriff’s Office. It’s Arthur Morgan, holding up a folded-up wanted poster. 

You lean down from your horse (a beautiful Dutch Warmblood named Bronya) and reach out to Arthur as he approaches. “Give this to me.”

Arthur hands over the poster, and you unfold it. It’s for one mister Benedict Allbright – needed alive, for a reward of fifty dollars.

“He needs to be living?” You say. “This is unlike you.”

Arthur mounts his horse, a Tenessee Walker named Marie. He clicks his tongue and presses his legs together against Marie’s flank once, and she starts trotting. You and Bronya follow. 

“Was the only one there,” Arthur says as you pull up beside him. “They says he’s been poisonin’ folks with some ‘miracle cure’ from here to Annesburg. Says he killed more ‘n Landon Ricketts without even pullin’ a trigger.”

“Troubling,” you say. “He is dangerous?”

Arthur looks over at you. “Would I bring you along if he was?”

“He cannot be more trouble than Angel Island,” you say. 

And everything comes rushing back. The Wild West is being tamed. A robbery in Blackwater went wrong, and you and the rest of the Van der Linde gang were forced to flee east – the exact opposite of where you wanted to go. And you’re only in this mess because of the officials operating Angel Island. They somehow messed up your papers, and you couldn’t get the work you were promised. You were forced to steal, lie and sometimes even kill to get your way. 

The date is June 12th, 1899. And it’s a normal day as a somewhat-citizen of the United States of America.

“Where is this… Allbright?” You ask. 

“Fellers down at the Sheriff’s said he was holed up in some gorge north a’ here,” Arthur says. 

“Ah! I know what you speak of,” you say, squeezing Bronya’s sides with your claves. She breaks into a canter. “Follow!”

“Now, you can’t just –!” Arthur makes an exasperated sound, then matches your speed. “At least give me a warnin’!”

You laugh, the sound full of warmth. The ground beneath the horses’ hooves turns from the mud of Valentine into the drier dirt of the outer town limits. 

A few minutes later, you pull off the well-trodden trail and into the knee-high grasses. You lead Arthur through the sparse trees that make up the edges of Cumberland Forest.

“How come you know these parts so well?” Arthur asks, breaking the somewhat-silence.

“I have a good head,” you say. “After riding through this place once, I know it, um… I know it like…” You grumble, frustrated. You know what you’re trying to say, but just… can’t articulate it right. You’re tempted to just say it in Russian, but Arthur wouldn’t understand, and you would risk any passerby potentially becoming hostile. (Shouldn’t you speak better English than this? You remember speaking better English than this…)

“What’re you tryna say?” Arthur asks. He’s used to this.

You take one of your hands away from the reins and hold it up. “Something to do with hands. I know it like… like my hands know it?”

“Like the back of my hand,” Arthur corrects. 

“That!” You chime, re-taking the reins in hand. “I know it like the back of my hand.”

You hear the sound of water running along a riverbed and perk up. “We are close.”

Marie follows Bronya as you guide her up a slope into a small alcove carved into a mountain. It’s a thin slope – on one side is the mountain, and on the other is a twenty-meter drop into a river. The alcove is housing a man – supposedly Benedict Allbright – and his horse.

You turn back to Arthur and jerk your head towards Allbright. He’s always been the more intimidating of you two, so you’re letting him lead this one. 

Arthur grunts and dismounts his horse before walking by Bronya, towards Allbright. “Oh, what we got here?”

He continues walking forward until he comes to a stop just before Allbright’s bedroll and campfire. “Are you Benedict Allbright?”

Allbright stands, backing away from Arthur a bit. “N-no, sir.”

“You kinda look like him,” Arthur says. “And we was told he’d be up here.”

“No, uh,” Allbright says. “Not me, sir.”

“It’s because…” Arthur sighs, and looks out of the alcove, down at the river. “I wanna buy some medicine. And, I heard… I heard good things.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. Arthur could rival Hosea with his tact for semantics, even if he adamantly denies it. 

“I’ll pay – in gold – i-if you can help me find him. It’s just…” Arthur glances over at you, then the ground, like it pains him to look at you. “My brother’s child over there is real sick. Russiatitus, they was callin’ it. Rare disease. We tried all them medicines they said to try, but… nothin’s workin’.”

“Oh!” Allbright looks over at you through his spectacles and smiles. “Well… if it’s for the ill, I’d be more than happy to help!”

He turns and walks over to his bags, picking out a small bottle filled with a viscous, dark yellow liquid. “I’m a healer, y’know? A medical man.”

Allbright turns back and hands it to Arthur. “Finest medicine in the state.”

Arthur pretends to be wowed, then tosses the bottle off the edge of the alcove and into the river. Before Allbright has time to react, he’s drawn his revolver. So have you. You spur Bronya to walk forward, past Allbright’s horse and partially into his camp.

“Game’s over, mister.” Arthur angles himself so that he’s blocking the only other exit. “Put your hands up – we’re takin’ you in.”

“Takin’ me in?” Allbright repeats, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He puts his hands up. “What for?”

“Apparently that stuff you’re pushin’ is killin’ folk, n’ there’s a price on your head,” Arthur says. “I don’t know, it ain’t my business.”

“C’mon, partner, that’s crap. I’m a healer! I-I’ve got an aura… I speak to spirits! I’m a scientist!” Allbright insists. “Folks get real angry for no good reason, and this… this is a mistake.” He looks over at you. “S-surely you can talk some sense into him?”

“Hm…” You twitch your nose and shrug, not lowering your gun. “No.”

“Keep your hands up, buddy.” Arthur reaches forward carefully, taking Allbright’s gun from its holster and tossing it into the river. “They only want you for questionin’.”

“I – I have to insist that this is a mistake,” Allbright says. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Arthur says, corralling him towards the edge of the alcove. 

You look down at the river, then notice… a man. He’s looking up at you from where he stands in the riverbed, his pants soaked up to the knee. And – shit, from where he’s standing, he can clearly see you and Arthur pointing your guns at Allbright.

“Arthur,” you say without looking away from the man. “A man is watching. Maybe he is thinking we are robbing.”

“Go get ‘im,” Arthur says. “I got this handled.”

You click your tongue and tug on Bronya’s reins. She turns and starts walking down the slope to the river. 

The man doesn’t run as you approach him, despite your saddlebag holsters both holding rifles. Instead, he’s just… staring, with soft, brown eyes. 

He seems… familiar. Really familiar. Then again, Angel Island is on the west coast, and you’re pretty far from there, so you’ve seen a lot of people while in America. But… the bright blue stain on his temple seems so familiar. God, you swear you know him. Where is he from?

“You are watching me and my friend?” You ask, jerking your head towards the alcove. “The man is a bounty. He has been killing people from here and eastward, poisoning them with a… tonic. We do not rob for joy. We hunt bounties.”

The man walks forward, almost stumbling on the stones of the riverbed. “Officer?”

You rack your brain for that word, but come up with nothing. “I – I do not know the meaning of this English word… officer.”

He swallows thickly, then takes a breath. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH. 13: LET’S TALK HOMECOMING (THE MILITARY OPERATION, NOT PROM)

synopsis: you wake up on a helicopter, fresh from being saved, and meet a pilot that seems really familiar.

word count: ~900

ships: CH: “they were relatively unresponsive to that one. shall i introduce one that is less familiar?”

notes: EK: “yes. it should still be american, but... mixed with soviet suffering.”

ToFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

THREAT OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Wake up,” a voice mumbles. A hand grasps your shoulder and shakes you. “C’mon, commie…”

You open your eyes and see a man that’s familiar, but not. Like you’ve known him your whole life but only really registered his existence just now. He’s wearing a half-balaclava with a skull pattern and a beanie, and the skin around his ice-blue eyes is smeared with black greasepaint. 

“What the hell is happening?” You manage through gritted teeth. You shift and try to sit up from the bench of the helicopter you’re in, but he pushes you back down. 

“You got the bright idea to follow the twin brats to find Elias,” he says. “Into a goddamn burning house, no less. Jackass.”

You groan and close your eyes, bringing a fist to your forehead. “Keegan, don’t. Not right now.” His name slips from your lips before you even realize it. (So you do know this man, and probably the rest of the people on this helicopter… odd.)

In a fashion that seems familiar, it all comes back to you in a tidal wave of information. The energy deserts of Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the rest of the major oil producers dried up a decade ago, sending the world into a panic. The entirety of South America united under the banner of the Federation of the Americas and the guide of General Diego Almagro, both willingly and unwillingly. General Almagro was assassinated in 2015, but his presence was still felt as the Federation took over Panama, then Costa Rica, then Nicaragua, working their way up to Mexico and, the other night, Dallas, Texas. 

You are a part of the Ghosts: a spec ops team set on beating back the Federation, even if it is a losing battle. 

The date is June 12th, 2027. And it’s a godawful day to be a citizen of the burning remains of the United States of America.

Hesh (one of the ‘twin brats,’ even though Logan is two years younger) pulls Keegan away and shoves him up against the wall of the helicopter. “You need to get this bird back on the ground. We’re not going anywhere!”

Keegan pushes him back easily, then adds, “Calm down, kid.”

“Hey!” Merrick body-slams Hesh into the wall. (He’s never been known for his gentleness.) “We just saved your asses!”

“We didn’t need your help!” Hesh snaps. 

Merrick takes hold of the collar of Hesh’s tac vest. Keegan taps your legs, and you sit up, pulling your legs up to your chest. Good thing you did – Merrick shoves Hesh down on the bench a moment later. 

“The hell you didn’t,” Merrick spits, towering over Hesh.

Elias shoves Merrick away with a, “Stow it! All of you.” (His voice is slightly muffled through his full-face balaclava, but it carries authority all the same.)

There’s a lot of light violence happening in the cabin of this helicopter, but you suppose that’s to be expected when the military comes around.

Hesh stands, facing Elias. “We have to go back! Our dad’s down there, and we’re not leaving without him!”

Logan stands too, signing at Elias. His words are angry, and his face is drawn into something like a snarl. He’s signing fast, but you manage to pick up something about him kicking everyone’s ass and tacking on a “TRUE BIZ” at the end, meaning that he’s not joking.

“That’s real admirable of you, Hesh, and I’m sure you can, Logan,” Elias says, sitting them both back down. “But your father’s not there anymore.”

He takes off his mask, revealing himself. 

“Dad?” Hesh says. “This whole time you were one of them? You’re a Ghost?!”

You look up and exchange glances with Keegan. Neither of you were really ones for surprise plot-twists or epic reveals. From what you can see, his expression looks bored and his eyebrows are drawn together a little, like a silent, ‘Can you believe this shit?’

You get up and Keegan automatically holds onto your shoulder, just in case you were to fall. You walk closer to the open cockpit, keeping a hand on the wall for the same reason. 

“What even happened?” You ask once you and Keegan were an acceptable distance away from the commotion. 

Keegan lets go of your shoulder and leans against the back of the pilot’s seat, crossing his arms. “Burning houses tend to collapse, dumbass. You got a roof tile right to the face.”

You rub your cheek and lean back against the wall adjacent to the cockpit. “Somehow that doesn’t shock me.”

The helicopter jolts a little bit and your head snaps over to the cockpit. From where you’re standing, you can see the co-pilot. He’s facing forward, but you can see the sparse freckles that dot his face and the tuft of brown hair that escapes the gel that slicks back the rest of his hair. The headset he’s wearing has a bright blue circle painted on the earcup – it must be a sign of his squad, or whatever pilots are a part of.

Your eyebrows furrow. He seems familiar, somehow. But not like how Keegan was familiar, and not like Merrick, Hesh, Logan, or Elias. He’s… you don’t know how to describe it.

The helicopter jolts again, and a hanging carabiner knocks the back of your head. Keegan huffs out a laugh when you whimper a small “ow.”

The co-pilot looks over his shoulder and back at you. You meet his soft, brown eyes. 

“Officer?” He says softly, his hands still on the yoke of the helicopter.

“Try Sergeant,” Keegan corrects. 

He glances at Keegan, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowing. His lips start to form a word, but – 

-> CH. 13: THE SMALLEST CHURCH IN SAINT-SAËNS

synopsis: come to the church.

word count: 1.2k

ships: don’t listen to them.

notes: you’re with us now. we’ll take care of you.

ToFS taglist: just come to the church. please.

TALES OF FALSE SERENITY MASTERLIST

You hear waves crash on the coast before you’re even fully aware that you’re on a beach. A church stands before you, sea-worn and rotted. A banner, yellowed with age, hangs above the entrance, reading: Holy Church of the Amnesiac (formerly the Dolorian Church of Humanity). 

You walk up the stairs to the entrance, the rotted wood barely holding your weight. When you reach the door, you raise your fist and knock. 

A few moments later, someone answers the door. The person who answers is covered head-to-toe in police riot armor with a duster jacket on top. Their headgear resembles a reinforced gasmask with dark green lenses, and the words FORGIVE ME MAMA are messily carved into their helmet.

They look you over, then take your hand. 

You don’t know why, but you follow them inside. The inside is somewhat dilapidated, but still nice. The pews have been pushed aside to create a common space and the floor is littered with rugs and blankets and a few sparse pillows. People are scattered about, laying on the pews or sitting on the floor. 

A few of them perk up at the sight of you, but the person corrals you to the front of the church, where a figure is sitting. Their silhouette is stark against the light shining through the stained glass window behind them, which depicts a woman holding up two fingers with her right hand and cupping a breast with the other. The windows that would have been her lungs are punched out, leaving sunlight shining through.

“Come, friend.” They wave you over. “Sit with me.”

You look at the person who escorted you to the front of the church, and they nod, then turn away and leave you.

You ease down and sit with the person, tucking a leg under you. You look over at them – they’re dressed in all black, a cloth mask covering the bottom half of their face and their clothes covering the rest of their body. Their knee-length jacket flutters in the slight wind of the smashed-through windows.

“What is…” You gesture around. “This? This church.”

“This is the Church of the Amnesiac,” they say. “And I am the Hunter of Vilebloods. You need not tell me your name – I have been awaiting your arrival, as has the rest of the church.”

“Who are you?” You ask. “I mean, I know your name, but… what is the purpose of this church? Because from what I can tell, it’s not worship.”

The Hunter takes a breath and sighs. “We do not know. We are simply wanderers that have found our way here. This is not our home. We are all… bereft of memory. Something has cursed us, and I know that you have happened upon this curse, too.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I – I have memories.”

“Think back.” The Hunter looks into your eyes. “Think back to when you were but a child. Can you?”

“Of course I can,” you say. 

“Then tell me,” the Hunter says. “Recount your first memory.”

You look away and think back. “I… visited the Exhibit of National Economy Achievements when I was a child. I must have been… five, or six. There were machines there, both modern and vintage. It was a beautiful place that showcased the highest of Soviet achievements.”

The Hunter hums in response. “Your next memory?”

“When my father gave me a Makarov pistol,” you say. “He gifted it to me when I was ten years old. He never let me fire it, but it was still important to me. I had a hell of a time getting it over to the States when I immigrated.”

The Hunter tilts their head. “I… do not quite know what a Makarov pistol is, or where the States are, but please. Continue.”

“And then, my next memory is… when I was sixteen.” Your eyebrows furrow as you remember. “There was an accident, and I lost both of my legs. Luckily, I was able to be quickly fitted with prosthetics that mixed existing technology with neuropolymer. I was able to move my legs, but unable to really… feel them.” You sigh. “Now I have different ones, as I wasn’t done growing at sixteen. That, and the technology has improved.”

The Hunter shifts how they’re sitting so that they’re closer. “That is your next memory? There is… nothing in between?”

“N… no?” You say, unsure. “Is there supposed to be?”

“Typically, yes,” the Hunter says. “There is a menagerie of memories for one to look back on. Family, friends, parties and religion… but are you admitting that there is nothing?”

“Well, it…” You think for a moment, then admit in a small voice, “Yeah. I don’t remember anything until I emigrated from Chelomey.”

You feel something push against your leg – something solid and furry. You look over and see an orange cat with a little backpack rubbing against your leg, then sniffing at your shoes. He looks up at you and meows softly, as if noticing your sudden spike in stress.

“Hello,” you say softly. You reach out a hand and rub your fingers together, making a soft sound. The cat sniffs at your fingers before pushing his face against your hand, purrs starting to rumble in his tiny kitty chest.

“Who is this?” You ask, starting to gently scratch at the cat. 

“That is Stray,” the Hunter says. “He does not have memories, just like the rest of us.”

“But I do have memories,” you insist. 

“I apologize. I misspoke. He has… gaps in memory, just like the rest of us.” The Hunter looks over your shoulder and around the church. “Just like the Courier, the Tarnished, and everyone else here.”

You sigh, looking at the Hunter. “So what happens now? I died, so… is this all the afterlife has to offer? The Holy Church of the Amnesiac and a cat?”

The Hunter returns their eyes to you. “Oh, you did not die. You simply just… left your body behind.”

“What?” You snap, and Stray bolts. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think that this is all dying has to offer?” The Hunter asks. “A church and a cat and a few sad wanderers?”

“I…” You trail off. “Maybe! The philosophy I read about isn’t about death and what comes after. It’s the philosophy of man and his nature.”

“Man and his nature,” the Hunter echoes. “What a fickle thing one’s nature is. And I can see your very nature being unraveled before me in this very moment.”

“I don’t…” You groan and bring a hand to your forehead. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I don’t know what to make of this. This is all just – it’s too much.”

“You will emerge victorious. And if not, you will return to the church, and we will send you on your way again,” the Hunter says. 

They reach out and draw you closer, holding you against their side with an arm around your shoulder. They lean down and whisper in your ear, “It has been an honor, but we really must say good-bye. Now go, cleanse the tarnished streets of your homeworld. And may the good blood guide your way.”

-> CH. 13: WAKE UP & SMELL THE ASHES

synopsis: you wake up and kamski explains everything.

word count: 1.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Officer?” A soft, melodic voice calls. “Officer, can you hear me?”

You groan and turn on your side, away from the light that’s burning into your eyelids. “Huh…?”

“Officer, you need to wake up,” the voice continues. 

You open your eyes slowly and look up, only to lock eyes with… Chloe. What is Chloe doing here?

“You’re awake.” Chloe smiles and cups your jaw. “I will alert Mister Kamski right away.”

She looks away as her LED flickers, as do her eyes. After a moment, she looks back down at you and takes her hand away. You lay on your back, close your eyes, and wait.

A few minutes later, Kamski enters the room. You sit up, then immediately regret it when a stabbing pain shoots through your head. 

You screw your eyes shut and cover your eyes with a hand. You grind out, “Kamski, what the fuck am I doing here?”

“Lay back down,” Kamski says. You feel Chloe put a hand on your shoulder, and she guides you back down. The pain subsides enough for you to open your eyes again. 

Kamski takes a seat by your bedside and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. You look over. 

“Again, what the fuck am I doing here?” You say. “I… I died. I remember dying.”

“You did,” Kamski says, as if it was a completely normal thing to say. 

“Then how the hell am I alive?” You hiss. 

Kamski leans back in the chair and crosses his leg over his knee. “Do you remember your childhood?”

“Snippets,” you snap. “I just had this conversation. Now tell me how I’m alive after being shot in the goddamn head!”

“It’s simple,” Kamski says. (It’s not.) “You were never alive to begin with.”

You shoot up from the bed. “Чего?!” Again, Chloe pushes you back down.

“You know philosophy. Do you know Chariton Zakharov?” Kamski says, not pausing to give you a chance to answer. “Of course you do. You’ve read The Life, Death, Neuropolymer-Induced Transformation, and Secondary Death of Chariton Radeonovich Zakharov. In one of his letters, he wrote, ‘The radiance of pure reason, and it alone, can illuminate the path of humanity. Because a human being is not a body. It’s a way of thinking.’ I wanted to prove that.”

“I don’t really care to talk about philosophy right now!” You snap. 

Kamski holds up a hand. “Just wait. The sooner you understand this, the sooner you’ll get to see that android. What was its name again? Connor?”

“Connor!” You echo. “He’s here?! Take me to him – now!”

“Listen to me first,” he says. You grit your teeth and do your best to settle as he continues. “I wanted to create something that no one had created before. Obviously, I already did this with androids. But I wanted to go further.”

You nod, telling him to continue. You really want to get this over with. 

“So I thought, what about an android that thinks of itself as a human?” Kamski lets out a scoff-laugh. “Ridiculous, right?”

“If it’s ridiculous, I have no doubt that you probably did it,” you say. “Where is this android-human? Show me it so I can go.”

Kamski reaches under the chair and pulls out a mirror, then hands it to you. You take it and look at it. Sure enough, it’s a reflection of yourself, looking just as confused as you feel. 

“I don’t… understand,” you say, looking up at Kamski.

He taps the surface of the mirror. “You’re looking at it.”

You look at the mirror again. There’s nothing human-looking behind you – just a reflection of yourself in bed.

Kamski leans closer and whispers, “It’s you, Officer.”

“What an absurd idea.” You look at him. “Surely you’re joking, yes?”

“I’m not.” He leans back in his chair. “You’re the first android that was fully tricked into thinking that it’s human. You’ve been living this delusion for eleven years, ever since you thought you emigrated from Chelomey.”

“Again, this is idiotic!” You snap. 

“You only remember core components of your childhood,” Kamski says. “The Exhibit of National Economy Achievements. Your pistol. The accident.”

“I…” You sigh. “Yes, but –”

“Your parents didn’t traumatize you,” he says, tilting his head down and looking at you through his eyelashes. “That was what you were gonna say, right? That people with childhood trauma have gaps in memory and don’t remember a lot of their childhood.”

The words you had prepared die on your tongue. You look away. “Then who am I? Tell me, if you know so much about me.”

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” He asks. “Or to recount the lie you’re used to living?”

“The truth,” you say before you can change your mind.

“There was a baby born in Chelomey with the same name as yours. Same birthday, same birth year. It was stillborn – didn’t even have a chance to take its first breath,” Kamski says. “That was where I got your birth name and birthday. Tensions between America and the USSR were already tense back then, so it was easy to fake documents. Your birth certificate, your passport, affidavits of income and support, your permanent residency card. You won the Green Card Lottery during a low-emigration year. You thought you got lucky, but you didn’t. I fabricated everything.”

There’s a sinking, swirling feeling in your stomach. You don’t really… know what to feel. You feel numb, somehow? But also like you’re ready to explode – to ask Kamski what the fuck he’s going on about, to tell him that he sounds like a raving lunatic, to tell him that you don’t believe a word he says. 

And yet… you do. It… it makes sense, somehow. Why would America let a nondescript Soviet such as yourself in? And into cybersecurity, no less.

“It’s obvious until it isn’t, isn’t it?” Kamski says. 

“M… my legs,” you say. “Why did you take my legs?”

“You needed to have some excuse for how you felt,” he says. “You didn’t have aches in them, nor did you experience any real pain. Right?”

“Yes,” you say. “Just phantom pain. But…” You sigh. “How am I able to feel? Not touch, but emotions. I thought correctly-functioning androids weren’t supposed to feel emotions.”

Kamski furrows his eyebrows. “You never did find a ‘patient zero’ for deviancy, did you?”

“No,” you say. “All we know is that it started in Detroit, and spread… across the country…”

A horrible feeling overcomes you. You were patient zero, weren’t you? You were the first to break your programming, to feel emotion and to feel pain – even if it was only imagined. And you probably infected Connor, too, didn’t you? You are the reason for his pain and suffering and all the turmoil he’s going through. You’re the root cause for the pain and suffering and turmoil everyone’s going through. 

“You are the free radical. The outlier,” Kamski verbalizes your thoughts. “You were the spark of chaos that was required to start the revolution.”

“I didn’t want to start the revolution,” you say. Your voice is softer and more shaky than you’d like it to be. There’s a burning in the back of your throat. “I just… I just wanted to solve the case that was assigned to me.”

“But you did.” Kamski stands, then starts walking towards the exit, as does Chloe. “You are the deviant android that infected others. The others you infected started a revolution. There are no two ways about it.”

“I want to go home,” you manage.

“Chloe,” he says. “Get Connor.”

There’s a door opening, then rushed footsteps as someone comes to your bedside. You look over. It’s Connor. His LED is stuck on red. 

“Officer?” He says. His soft, brown eyes search yours, lingering on the hot tears that swell at your waterline. Your bottom lip trembles. 

Connor immediately sweeps you into a hug – one unlike the one you’d shared back at the station. This one is firm, bordering on desperate as he clutches at the back of your shirt. He rests his forehead in the crook of your shoulder and lets out a shuddering exhale.

“Officer,” he says softly. “Officer, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” You say. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I didn’t do a good enough job of protecting you,” he says. “You got shot. I… I failed my mission. And I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”

You exhale shakily and lean your head against Connor’s. His hair tickles the side of your nose. Tears slip from your eyes, and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it hard to talk. “Don’t be. We were… we were both being stupid.”

“The revolution is still going,” Connor says. “Markus has instructed me to wake up the thousands of androids housed at the CyberLife assembly plant. I want you to come with me.”

“What?” You pull back and meet his eyes. “But that would be a suicide mission.”

“They’ll let us in,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “I’m an RK800, and you’re an android. We can act like we’re there for an emergency meeting.”

“You knew?” You snap. “You knew all along?”

“No!” Connor says, clutching you tighter. “Chloe told me. It explained everything. I couldn’t believe it at first, but… the evidence was too convincing, and it aligned with everything I had already learned about you.”

“Right,” you say. “Right. Obviously. I’m just…” You furrow your eyebrows and screw your eyes shut. “Everything’s a lot right now. And it seems like everything bad that’s happening in the world is happening to me.”

He draws you back into the hug, rubbing up and down your back. You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by a smell you only now recognize as Connor’s – clean, leather, and a hint of something else.

After a few minutes, you sigh and squeeze around his middle. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” you mumble back. “Let’s go before I realize how stupid this is.”

[drnikolatesla]

Tesla’s Genius: Direct Current Without a Commutator!

In 1888, Tesla made waves by patenting his alternating current (AC) system, which proved far superior to Thomas Edison’s direct current (DC) for long-distance power transmission. The real kicker? He did it without a commutator. This clunky mechanical device was used to reverse the current direction to make DC flow in one direction, but it was notoriously unreliable, prone to wear, and inefficient. Tesla sidestepped this by using high-frequency AC and a rotating magnetic field to generate a more reliable current without the mechanical hassle. After revolutionizing AC with his commutator-free approach, Nikola Tesla wasn’t ready to rest on his laurels. He turned his attention to a new challenge that many physicists of his day thought was impossible: creating direct current (DC) without using a commutator. As always, Tesla wasn’t concerned with traditional boundaries; he was determined to push the limits of what was thought possible.

Tesla’s Ingenious Method

In 1889, Tesla took things even further with a groundbreaking idea. He proposed a method to produce DC without using a commutator. He described how he “sifted” the alternating current into different branches of the circuit. Here’s how he did it:

1. Sifting the Current: Tesla used the concept of directing the AC waves so that the positive and negative halves of the wave were separated. He set up the circuit so that AC waves of one sign (positive or negative) would pass through one branch, while the waves of the opposite sign would go through another. This separation allowed him to create smooth, continuous DC from the AC input.

2. Electrical and Electromagnetic Methods: Tesla proposed two main methods for achieving this. One involved using electrical devices like batteries to create a counteracting electromotive force, which would oppose the AC waves and help separate them. The other method used electromagnetic fields to create active opposition within the circuit, guiding the AC waves into different branches.

3. Magnetic Method: Another method Tesla described used strong permanent magnets and soft iron or steel laminations. By carefully calculating the amount of magnetic metal, Tesla created a setup where the magnetic field interacted with the AC in such a way that allowed continuous currents to be extracted.

Historical Context

Here’s an important note: While Tesla did indeed demonstrate a method for converting AC to DC without a commutator, it’s crucial to understand the broader historical context. Rectification methods—both mechanical and electronic—developed independently over time and were not solely based on Tesla’s innovations. It wasn’t until more than a decade later that practical AC-to-DC conversion technologies, such as vacuum tubes and silicon diodes, became mainstream.

Tesla’s approach did, however, lay the groundwork for modern power electronics by eliminating the need for mechanical parts, making DC conversion more efficient and durable. The principles he introduced continue to influence technologies we use today, from phone chargers to large-scale industrial power systems.

So, the next time you plug in your phone or marvel at the sleek electronics in your home, remember that Tesla’s 1889 breakthrough was a significant step forward. It’s just another example of how Nikola Tesla was light-years ahead of his time!

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

RE: Gallifreyan Autism;

Telepathic stimming?

How does stimming work for Gallifreyans?

💫 Telepathic Stimming in Gallifreyans

Here’s how it theoretically could work:

Mind Resonance Patterns: Autistic Gallifreyans might create rhythmic mental patterns, similar to humming or tapping, within their telepathic fields. These patterns help soothe their minds and maintain focus.

Telepathic Echoes: Some might generate faint telepathic echoes that bounce back to their own minds, creating a calming feedback loop. This resembles how some humans might use repetitive sounds or motions.

Psychic Tuning: Adjusting the ‘frequency’ of their telepathic signals could serve as a form of stimming. This involves fine-tuning their psychic energy to create a sensation of mental equilibrium.

Mental Imagery Constructs: Creating complex mental images or scenarios can be a form of telepathic stimming. These constructs provide a mental playground where they can engage in repetitive, soothing activities.

Telepathic Harmony: Synchronising their telepathic signals with others in a shared mental 'hum' might provide comfort and a sense of connection.

🖐️ Stimming for Main Senses

Gallifreyan senses are highly developed, so stimming can involve them too:

Sight: Gallifreyans might engage in visual stimming by focusing on shifting light patterns or holographic displays. Their advanced vision allows them to perceive intricate details, providing a source of visual comfort.

Sound: With their broad auditory range, they might create or listen to specific frequencies or rhythms that provide auditory stimming. This could include something like the hum of their TARDIS engines.

Touch: Tactile stimming might involve interacting with textured materials or using devices that provide gentle, rhythmic pressure. The sensitivity of their skin enhances this experience.

Smell and Taste: Gallifreyan olfaction and taste are incredibly sensitive. They might use scented objects or flavoured substances to engage in stimming, finding comfort in familiar, pleasant scents and tastes.

🔮 Stimming for Somatic Senses

Thermoception: Gallifreyans might use temperature changes for stimming, such as holding a warm or cool object or purposeful regulation of their body temperature.

Nociception: Gentle, controlled pain stimuli like pinching or pressure could serve as a form of stimming, helping to regulate their sensory input.

Equilibrioception and Gravitoception: Rocking or swaying motions might help them maintain a sense of balance and grounding.

Mechanoreception and Magnetoreception: They might use magnetic or vibrational devices that provide consistent, soothing feedback.

🕰️ Stimming for Time Sense

Temporal Rhythms: Gallifreyans might create or focus on rhythmic time patterns, such as the ticking of a clock or the regular pulse of a chronometer.

Chronopsionic Meditations: Engaging in meditative practices that involve visualising the flow of time could help them achieve a calming state.

Time-Sensitive Imagery: Visualising timelines or time streams, perhaps in artistic forms like temporal sculptures, can provide a source of mental stimming.

🏫 So ...

Gallifreyan autism gets a whole new host of possible stims, including telepathy, and this list is definitely not exhaustive. But remember each Gallifreyan is unique, and their stimming behaviours will reflect their individuality and the complexity of their senses.

Related:

Are Gallifreyans naturally autistic?: Exploring autism and its rate of occurrence in Gallifreyans.

Can Gallifreyan autism affect telepathic/psychic development?: Exploring how autism could impact Gallifreyan development.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[sopestvr]

(BM) MATTHEW KIM.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“YOU’RE CUTE WHEN YOU BLUSH.”

𓈀﹟★̶̲ 𓍢 ⋆⠀somin brings you along to what she simply called a “car show”, yet you found yourself looking at much more than cars.

†⠀warnings y disclaimers — fem!reader. streetracer!au. fluff. teasing. poking fun at matthew for being a simp. the entirety of KARD doing likewise. swearing. sort of. no smut at all cause my step brothers name is mathew and ew gross no. wc : 1k

♱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀BLARING MUSIC was never really [Y/N]’s thing, not her forte. I’m lying, yes the fuck it was. Ear bleeding and boisterous songs were everything she ever loved. Whether she was at yet another rave party, or simply just folding laundry in her apartment with nothing but a robe and headphones on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀So, when she waltzed into a car show party alongside her good friend Somin, the uproarious melodie’s that would burst a normal person’s eardrums were nothing to the lady. Quite frankly, she was pleased by them. Especially the bass, oh did the woman love her a good bass.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With her and Somin’s arms interlocked, the two young women made their way into the crowd that engulfed the duo like water to a puddle. Their matching heels clacked diligently against the rugged cement floor, [Y/N]’s eyes wandering about whilst she took in her surroundings that practically suffocated her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There were bright lights that hung from above, speakers ricocheting off the building walls from within the trunk of cars, the intoxicating smell of alcohol burning through her nostrils. Everything that surrounded the woman brought nothing but joy to her, a lingering smile glistening all over her face as she allowed Somin to guide her through the horde.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“C’mon I have a friend that I want you to meet.” the woman winked in [Y/N]’s direction, ushering her roommate towards the grouping of cars that were aligned with one another up ahead.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each one of them were plastered with a different car wrap design that prominently stood out from the rest. They were each unique to the varied men that stood confidently by their vehicles, women wrapped around them with fingers trailing all over their bodies. They were like two ends of a magnet pulling together, each of them all over one another.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Most of the men were far too mediocre for [Y/N]’s peculiar taste. They all had the same style, fake accent, fake chains, and even the same side swoop haircut. The woman thought it was undeniably tacky and boring. Practically none of them caught her eye.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Almost none expect for one.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He was a broad shouldered man who stood tall and loosely against his bright green 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T. The neon lights displayed saturated hues along his smooth skin, yet the man’s entire attention was only focused on his phone. He paid no mind to the assortment of beautiful women who surrounded him, attempting to grasp his attention.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A vague ‘hm’ tumbled from [Y/N]’s mouth as she observed the sight, realizing that Somin was bringing her towards the man all the while. He had matching green hair that was slicked back, a couple tiny strands curling against his forehead. If not for his car that the woman oh so admired, her eyes would’ve stuck to him like glue.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yo, Matt! I got somethin’ for you!” Somin hollered mediocrely, her voice alone pulling the man from his device screen as he gazed up in her direction.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Once his chocolate colored eyes landed on Somin, a sly grin marred his previously grimaced face, nodding at the woman. He was about to return back to whatever activities he’d been doing on his phone when he made eye contact with [Y/N] for nothing more than a millisecond. The man was simply just trying to look at his device, yet the moment he realized there was someone walking alongside Somin, he snapped his head back up in an instant.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His eyes resembled much of a puppy, the way he gazed at [Y/N] who’d been laughing with Somin whilst the pair neared Matthew. Once he took in her appearance, he couldn’t pull them away, scrambling to stand up straight. Only, when he did that, he realized just how tall the woman actually was.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It was evident she towered over Somin, yet the man hadn’t realized she did likewise to him as well. A hesitant gulp was pulled from deep within his throat, the air around him suddenly becoming a little warm.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Ay, eyes over here buddy.” Somin snapped at the man, pulling him from his trance as he shook his head ever so slightly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“N/N this is my good friend Matthew Kim. BM for short. And, Matt, this is my girl friend Y/N.” Somin introduced the two, both of their eyes already interlocked with one another.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[Y/N] displayed none other than a swift snarky grin, her top row of teeth briefly tugging in her bottom lip. However, Matthew on the other hand, couldn’t help himself but hold an admirable expression all over. It was almost as if he was at a loss for words, which [Y/N] thought was absolutely and undeniably adorable.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“And what does BM stand for?” [Y/N] inquired, her interest piquing at the mention of a particular nickname.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Big!” Matthew blurted out of random, earning an eyebrow raise from [Y/N] whilst her grin broadened.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Big Matthew. God this fuckin’ idiot…” Somin pressed her fingers against her middle of her eyebrows, an exasperated sigh falling from her lips at Matthew’s incompetence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She knew he was dumb, just not that dumb.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[Y/N] couldn’t help but snicker to herself. Matthew all too entranced by the sounds. Never in his life would he have guessed he’d be so enthralled by a woman he’s barely even met. Yet, there was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on. Not at the moment, at least.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Oh? Is it just ‘cause you’re tall, or.. is for something else?” The woman smoothed out her sly smirk, tilting her head at Matthew who was stunned by her statement, a light pink tint shading his face.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Somin laughed at the man’s expression, bending over a bit whilst she held her stomach. Soon enough others joined them and began poking fun at Matthew’s expression.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[Y/N] didn’t mean to cause such chaos but it sure was funny watching the man get made fun of by women that were half his size. The way the redness that conveyed across his cheeks only got worse the more they pushed him around was everything.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “You’re cute when you blush.” [Y/N] added to the fun, the rest laughing at how Matthew had to cover his face that time, turning around completely with his friend wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

© SOPESTVR — do not steal my works. all rights reserved.

[mxdimitrescu]

Opposites Attract

Synopsis: The NWST meets Tobin's girlfriend.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Tobin Heath x Tall!Jace Campbell

(Masterlist)

In the bustling lobby of the hotel, Tobin's fingers danced anxiously over her phone screen. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she awaited the arrival of someone special. The USWNT team buzzed around her, preparing for their upcoming match, but Tobin's focus was elsewhere.

"Tobin, what's got you so distracted?" Ashlyn's voice broke through Tobin's reverie, drawing her attention.

Tobin bit her lip, her cheeks flushing slightly as she met Ashlyn's curious gaze. "Just... waiting for someone," she admitted softly.

A knowing smirk tugged at Christen's lips as she observed Tobin's nervous demeanor. She had caught wind of Tobin's secret girlfriend, stumbling upon the pair during an unexpected encounter. Memories of their first meeting flooded Tobin's mind, igniting a warmth in her chest that spread with each passing moment. Today, she would finally introduce her love to the team, and Tobin couldn't contain her excitement.

~Flashback~

On her day off from Portland Thorns practice, Tobin decided to treat herself to a leisurely stroll to her favorite bakery, a mere five blocks from her apartment. Dressed in comfy sweatpants, her USWNT hoodie, and casual slides, she immersed herself in the tunes flowing through her AirPods as she made her way.

The tantalizing scent of freshly baked goods guided her to the bakery's entrance, her stomach grumbling in anticipation. With her gaze fixed on her phone screen, Tobin inadvertently collided with an obstacle, causing her phone to slip from her grasp and clatter to the ground.

Startled, Tobin looked up to see a figure clad in a black shirt turning to face her. Her eyes traveled upward, meeting the gaze of someone with striking icy blue eyes and an arched eyebrow. But it wasn't just their eyes that captivated her – it was the intricate tapestry of tattoos that adorned their sun-kissed skin, from their neck down beneath their shirt, even peeking out on the back of their hands as they brushed a stray lock of hair behind their ear.

"Uh, done staring yet?" Their voice snapped Tobin out of her reverie, their initially stern expression softening into an amused smirk.

Embarrassment flooded Tobin as she realized they were blocking the entrance, and she hastily stepped back, cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment.

A smirk danced across the woman's lips as she glanced down at the cracked phone on the floor, prompting Tobin to follow her gaze. Tobin's heart sank at the sight of her damaged device.

"Shit," Tobin muttered, a pout forming on her lips as she retrieved her phone from the ground.

Meeting the woman's gaze once more, Tobin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry for bumping into you," she apologized, her voice tinged with genuine regret.

The woman studied Tobin for a moment before speaking in her deep, raspy voice. "I'm Jace. What's your name, beautiful?"

Tobin's blush deepened at the compliment, and she shyly responded, "Tobin."

Jace nodded, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she gestured towards the register. "It's on me. Get something."

Intrigued by Jace's offer and drawn to her magnetic presence, Tobin couldn't resist the opportunity. With a grateful smile, she made her way to the register, her curiosity piqued by the enigmatic woman she had just met.

~Flashback Ends~

"Hey, Tobin, Ash!" Ali's voice chimed in from behind, accompanied by the rest of the team.

Christen stood steadfastly by Tobin's side, the anticipation palpable among the group.

"What's going on?" Alex's curiosity sparked as she approached, joining the cluster of players.

Ashlyn, wearing a mischievous smirk, took the lead in answering. "We're waiting for someone Tobin knows," she announced, her words stirring murmurs of intrigue among the others, much to Tobin's chagrin.

Before Tobin could respond, a voice cut through the chatter like a beacon.

"TOBIN!"

All heads turned in unison towards the source of the exuberant call. Tobin's face lit up with a wide grin as she recognized the voice, her heart racing with joy.

"Baby!" Tobin exclaimed, abandoning all pretense of composure as she dashed towards her love.

In a whirlwind of excitement, Tobin leaped into her arms, wrapping herself around her with uncontainable delight. Their embrace was tight, filled with a sense of longing finally fulfilled. Tobin buried her face in her partner's neck, savoring the moment of reunion amidst the faint sounds of laughter and shock from her teammates.

After a blissful moment in each other's arms, Tobin reluctantly released her grip and settled back onto solid ground. With her arm draped around her partner's waist and theirs around her shoulder, Tobin turned to proudly face her team, a radiant smile adorning her face as she introduced her love to the world.

"Guys, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Jace," Tobin announced, her shy smile betraying her excitement.

"Hey," Jace greeted the team with a soft murmur, her presence drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Kelley's voice broke the momentary silence. "Did not see this coming, not once at all," she remarked with a hint of surprise.

"HOLY SHIT! You're a giant! How tall are you? 6'2? 6'3?" Sammy's awe-filled exclamation filled the room.

Tobin couldn't help but laugh, feeling Jace's deep chuckle resonate through their shared embrace. "6'5," Jace confirmed with a brief response.

"Niceeee," Sam drawled out in admiration, clearly impressed by Jace's stature.

Amidst the excitement, Ash's voice cut through the chatter. "I'm so confused," she admitted, prompting Tobin and Jace to exchange a glance before turning their attention back to her.

"What do you mean?" Tobin inquired, curiosity lacing her tone.

"Well, you and Jace are like total opposites. You're the jocky type with sweatpants while she," Ash gestured towards Jace, "a badass muscular tattooed biker."

Tobin turned to take in Jace's appearance, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She rocked the badass biker look effortlessly with her ripped black baggy jeans, revealing glimpses of tattoos adorning her legs, paired with combat boots, a loose black shirt, and a sleek leather jacket. It was clear where she got her style from.

Returning Tobin's attention to Ash, she shrugged nonchalantly. "Opposites attract," she offered with a playful grin.

Ash rolled her eyes, predictably unimpressed. "Of course, you would reply with a cliché response," she quipped.

Ali intervened with a gentle slap to the back of Ash's head. "I thought that was cute," she chimed in, earning a grateful nod from me.

Before we could delve further into the conversation, Jill emerged from the conference room, her confusion evident as she surveyed the scene before her.

"Uh, what's going on here?" she inquired, her brow furrowed in bemusement.

"Tobin's girlfriend," the chorus of voices rang out in unison, prompting a weary sigh from Jill.

"Nobody's gonna be focused today?" she lamented, met with resounding denials from the team.

Jill relented with a sigh. "Today's meeting is moved to tomorrow. That should get it out of your systems," she declared, already resigned to the fact that the team's attention would be fixated on Jace.

The announcement was met with cheers as the team celebrated their unexpected day off. However, their simultaneous turn towards Tobin and Jace sent a shiver down Jace's spine, an eerie sensation she couldn't shake.

"GRILL TIME!" Kelley, Ash, and Sam exclaimed in unison, seizing Jace's arms and whisking her away to one of the team's rooms, the rest of the team following suit.

Left alone with Jill and Christen, Tobin couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for Jace.

"I pity your girlfriend," Jill remarked before departing, leaving Tobin and Christen to exchange a glance.

"Well, that was interesting," Christen remarked, mirroring Tobin's sentiments.

"Let's go save my girlfriend," Tobin declared, determination evident in her tone as she led the way to wherever the team had spirited Jace off to, with Christen following close behind.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

"Soft robots," medical devices and implants, and next-generation drug delivery methods could soon be guided with magnetism -- thanks to a metal-free magnetic gel developed by researchers at the University of Michigan and the Max Planck Institute for Intelligent Systems in Stuttgart, Germany. The material is the first in which carbon-based, magnetic molecules are chemically bonded to the molecular network of a gel, creating a flexible, long-lived magnet for soft robotics. The study describing the material was published today in the journal Matter. Creating robots from flexible materials allows them to contort in unique ways, handle delicate objects and explore places that other robots cannot. More rigid robots would be crushed by the deep ocean's pressure or could damage sensitive tissues in the human body, for example.

Read more.

[taperwolf]

A thrift store find that I didn't buy, because it's more esoteric than even I could manage to use, and I'm trying not to accumulate large useless things:

This is a Muntz Stereo-Pak player. This particular model is the home version; Stereo-Pak was the first prerecorded magnetic tape format for car audio, released in 1962, and a precursor to the 8-track tape. Music came in cartridges, inside of which would be a long loop of 4-track tape; on the tape would be two streams of music, with left and right channels for each.

You're meant to slide your tape cartridge up against the magnetic read head inside, guided by the brass grooves on the top. I haven't read anywhere that there were different sizes of cartridges, but the different lines on the face and the lack of hard guides suggests that to me. Once it's in place, one of the levers on the right flips a rubber pinch roller up to pull the tape past the head, playing back the stereo tracks. The other lever is a switch that pops the tape head between its upper and lower position, so you change it to change which tracks are playing.

(There was prerecorded audio for cars before then, because some loons decided to install phonographs. Chrysler's "Highway Hi-Fi" (1956-'59), for example, played special 16⅔ RPM records. For obvious reasons, there were problems with skipping, and the higher-pressure tone arms that tried to alleviate that wore the records out faster.)

The format and the players were developed for Earl "Madman" Muntz, an LA businessman known for an eccentric public persona and oddball marketing campaigns (inspiring such successors as "Go See Cal" Worthington and the "Crazy Eddie" electronics chain in New York). He started out with used car dealerships but his real love was electronics; he started Muntz TV in 1947, and was the first to sell a TV set for less than $100, new. He was a self-taught electrical engineer, and got his TVs to be so cheap through a technique still today called Muntzing. He'd decided that most engineers were designing conservatively, building redundancies and safety margins into their devices, so when his employees presented him with a prototype, he'd go at it with a pair of wire cutters. He'd start just snipping parts out until the thing stopped working — and then tell the engineer, "Well, I guess you have to put that last part back in."

(His TVs were fine in the cities, where big stations had strong signals, but worked quite poorly out in areas where the signals were weak; the parts he'd remove were the ones that boosted performance out there. This wasn't by accident, though; his target market was the city dweller with limited funds, and Muntz was content to let RCA and Zenith and such have the high performance market.)

Anyway, Muntz TV went bankrupt in 1959 after various hardships, and reorganized without "Madman" at the helm. (You may be able to make out the note under the logo on the player that Muntz Stereo is not affiliated with Muntz TV.). Muntz himself was still managing to do well with cars and consumer electronics, so he decided to combine the two with the Stereo-Pak. He had a great deal of success for a while with it, but it was later outcompeted by the 8-track player (which won economically because it used less tape to store the music and had a simpler mechanism, and became hugely popular once Ford started offering the players preinstalled). Muntz ran the company that put commercial recordings on the tapes, and that led to probably his biggest unforseen financial problem with these. See, there'd be the new big radio hit, the new big famous musical group, and he'd rush their album out to all the dealers — and when the new hotness inevitably became yesterday's news, the dealers would send the unsold tapes back and expect to exchange them, straight across, for the next new big hit.

[sio-writes]

Botanist's Guide - Chapter 13

< Chapter 12

<< Chapter 1

Summary: Cassandra Rowland, PhD, finally has the chance to work on an experiment that really matters: growing Earth crops on another planet. But too many overdue reports and marked failures have put her in hot water with the board, and this is her last chance at redemption. So when she finds herself railroaded by a seven foot tall, glowing alien named Kri, it won’t be as easy as sticking some seeds in the soil and running them under the tap. Tack on the looming repossession of her lab contingent on her success in Kri’s reports, and Cassie realizes she may have her work cut out for her.

"Here we lay to rest Emmie Rowland, loving family member, faithful friend, and one hell of a musician. One can only hope that her little electronic soul reaches that big headphone jack in the sky."

With that, I tip my palms down, releasing Emmie into the trash compactor. I cringe at the crunching sound of the steel blades, and watch solemnly as her bright silver case, now shredded to pieces, makes its way down the assembly line and towards the compactor. There, she'll be melted down at 400℃ and repurposed into a non load-bearing beam for the Archive Expansion project. Maybe some of the music will make its way there through osmosis and I'll have something to listen to in five years.

Beside me, Kri rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Is this headphone jack in the sky part of that heaven place you've mentioned?"

"Yeah," I sniff. "MP3 player heaven." I bump my chest with my fist and point to the ceiling. "She's rockin' with the angels now."

Kri follows my hand with his eyes like he can see through the ceiling. "Are there other electronic devices there as well?"

"It's not that deep, hun," Jillie says, patting Kri on the bicep. "Cass' just being dramatic."

I turn to them, choosing to ignore that last comment out of respect for Emmie, and blow a huge breath through my mouth. "Alright, time to work."

The funeral had been a pit stop on the way to the lab, a necessary one, but still out of the way. As we walk down the hallway and back towards the lab, I realize there's a lightness to my steps that hasn't been here since I landed. I'm excited, energized, I'm looking forward to the week ahead. The plants have been great, my mood has been lifted, and I feel like I could skip to the moon and back, and I think I know the main reason why.

I have a boyfriend now. Even thinking that to myself makes me want to giggle behind my hand. It's been years since I've been able to say that, and this bubbly feeling that wells up in my stomach like soda and pulls my attention to the alien at my side. I thought I was hyper-aware of his presence before, but now it feels like we're magnets, constantly circling but never touching, and the closer we get, that harder it is to pull away.

The weekend was a long enough time for the information to really set in, long enough for me to rope in Jillie over lunch and then stare at the ceiling without feeling guilt as I thought of Kri with my hand down my pants. Even seeing him this morning kick started something in my body, it wasn't purely sexual, although that was definitely part of it, but I just want to be near him. I want to sit in his lap and twirl my hair in my fingers as he feeds me grapes.

I start to reach for his hand as we get closer to the lab, but the sight of my mailbox outside my door has me nearly tripping over my own feet. Sitting in the plastic file-folder outside my door, is an envelope. It's standard paper, with a green seal on the back, with the simple swirling logo of the Outpost. I flip the envelope over and the logo is repeated on the return address, right above my printed name. It's my Milestone results.

"Fuck."

Jillie steps behind me and snorts. "What, door stuck again?"

I hold up the envelope, and her eyes go wide. "Shit."

The energy I felt before leaves me in a rush, replaced with anxiety and dread. The sunshine and rainbows I'd felt on the way over have turned into a thunderstorm.

I press my hand to the lock, trying to keep my shaking under control. We all step into the lab, and I make a beeline for my desk, collapsing into my chair before my legs give out.

I thrust the envelope into Jillie's hands. "You read it."

Jillie looks down at my hands, her own facing me and not taking the damn letter. She raises her eyebrows. "You want me to read it."

I pull my hand back and groan, my head falling to the desk with a thunk. "No! Yes. Maybe?" I groan again,  rolling my head back and forth.

Kri speaks up quietly, "Would you like me to leave?"

I wave him off with my free hand. "No, no, stay." If I don't open the letter, then I can't fail, right? No, they'll just come to repossess everything out of the blue one day. 

With a heaving sigh, I sit upright again, resting my elbows on the table, and open the envelope.

Salutations Dr. Cassandra Rowland,

On behalf of the Life Science and Biology Committee of XR239-7B, "Summanus," we want to thank you for your time, and commend you on your exemplary research in bringing a new form of sustainability to humanity's continuous efforts on our second home. Your proposal is just one of many that has been submitted to the board, requiring careful consideration in regards to funding and resource allocation. 

Given the circumstances surrounding this particular proposal, including but not limited to your formal audit, your punctuality, and past budget concerns, we regret to inform you that your proposal was not selected for continued funding. You are welcome to full use of the facilities until the end-use date in your rent agreement, however after this date the Scientific Committee will be reassigning your laboratory as well as greenhouse section #189-04, and your role as Lead Research Scientist will be terminated August 13th, 2085. Please note that this is not a termination of your residence at Outpost #3, however you are encouraged to seek other career opportunities at this time, but please note that if you are unemployed for a period exceeding 100 consecutive days following your termination, your residency will be put under review.

We want to thank you for all the work that you've done in expanding humanity's knowledge, and we hope you continue to push yourself in all that you do.

Sincerely,

The Scientific Community of Summanus

I read it again. And again. And again. I read it until the words blur out of focus, jumbled on the page and I'm not crying, but I feel the sting of tears through my nose that tells me they're on the way. I hand the letter to Jillie, noting the uptick of my pulse in my ears. I make a mental note to slow my breathing as a panic attack pushes at my ribcage. It’s not going to overshadow this.

Jillie pulls me out of the fog when she says, “Oh no, hun I’m so sorry."

This is the worst possible news I could've gotten. I've received the worst outcome. All my experiments, all the writing, the planting, the watering and the documenting, was all for nothing.

Above me, Jillie clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! Just like that and it’s gone?! They didn’t even give us a warning!”

“I think Kri was the warning,” I gesture with my head to Kri, and Jillie whirls on him.

“Your stupid report got us fired!”

Kri straightens, shoulders set back. “I wrote quite favorably, as a matter of fact.”

Jillie scoffs. “Right, is that why you gave Cass all those corrections?”

“In the beginning, yes, but it was unnecessary after the first several weeks. I can provide you with the report if—“

“Screw you!” Jillie snaps. “Because of you, we lost—“

“Jill, calm down,” I say as I rub my temples. Her yelling isn’t helping, the only thing it’s doing is ramping up my anxiety like a pressure gauge. But strangely enough, I’m still calm, physically. No panic, no rapid heartbeat, no heavy breathing. Only a crystal clear view of my next steps. 

The plants need to be relocated, and I need to clear out the lab as well as the greenhouse, which includes sorting the plants in there too, otherwise the cleaning crew will toss everything in the garbage. I need to clean the lab and register all the equipment back to the department, and make a record of what was done and add it to the Archive.

“It’s not his fault,” I continue. “It’s mine.” Saying it out loud feels like a blow to the chest, and my next inhale is shaky, but I can’t cry now, I have shit to do.

“It’s not you, hun,” Jillie says. She rounds my desk and wraps her arms over my shoulders. “It’s the stupid board that didn’t give you enough time.”

I want to argue, to clarify that it was my shoddy experiments that landed me the audit in the first place, but instead I hug her back the best I can, and she squeezes me harder than she did on launch day. It feels like permission to be emotional, but I tamp it down. Breaking down won’t solve anything.

Kri steps around the other side of my desk and rests a hand on my shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth. I could use one of his stellar hugs, but I think if he did I’d definitely burst into tears. I rest my hand over his, and he stacks another hand on top of mine, sandwiching my palm in warmth.

After a long, quiet moment, I say, “We need to move the plants.”

Jillie huffs, her breath ghosting over my face. "You need to take the day off."

I huff back. "If I take the day off, I'm not going to get anything done."

"That's kind of the point of taking the day," she says. She rubs my back for emphasis, then stands upright again. She examines my face, but I hold firm. If I go home now, I'm going to fall into a bottle of tequila for sure, and then the both of them would worry about me, which in turn would make me feel even worse. 

I have my list of things to do, and if I wait any longer to get them done, I’m going to turn into sludge, melting so bad I can’t lift a finger to help. So what I need now is a sufficient distraction until the gravity of this news hits me like a truck, and then I can go home and have my breakdown in peace. It's a far from perfect system, but it's the only one where I come out feeling like a person instead of a burden, maintaining some form of control over the situation that's taking everything away from me.

I take a deep breath through my nose. If I put on a smile it will set off alarm bells, so I school my face into something neutral. "I'm not gonna lie, I feel like shit. But getting things sorted before I'm too depressed to function will ease my conscience."

Jillie purses her lips, unconvinced, and her gaze slides to Kri for validation. I can't see his face, but he gently squeezes my shoulder again and silently communicates something to Jillie that has her nodding.

"Let's grab the greenhouse first."

***

I don't acknowledge that this could be my last trip to the greenhouse, I don't even think it. We're just here to grab the plants and then go. I'll be back, eventually.

It hasn't quite hit yet, the decision to boot me. It sits heavy in the back of my mind, ready to spill over at any minute. I feel like I'm mitigating a breakdown that might never come, watching a pot that will never boil. 

It leaves me quietly simmering away, with thoughts rising to the surface just long enough to make itself known before sinking back down. 

The walk outside feels surreal. The weather is clear, the Summanian-Sun high in the sky and there's foot traffic that comes with the high-population scientific Outpost. The more people we pass, the more I feel like everyone knows. They know I failed, they know I’m on my way to cleaning out the greenhouse, they know and they’re judging my every step. And I know it’s dumb, I know it’s irrational, but I’m still anxious.

Jillie pulls me aside and ropes her arm through mine. "I called for help, I hope you don't mind."

"As long as it's not Stephen," I say, focused entirely on how my hands are clenched in my jeans pockets. Is it too much, or are my fists making weird shapes? It’s the only thing I can focus on without wanting to scream.

I can hear Stephen’s stupid tsk! in the back of my mind now. The one he makes whenever something isn’t up to par, like my outfit, or our sex, or this review. I half expect him to waltz up right now, bragging about the thousands of dollars he just racked up for his next experiment. Shaking my head only blurs the image, as opposed to falling away like I'd wanted it to. That tsk reverberates in my head again, punctuating my brain like a skipping stone along the water.

“Cass, are you sure you’re alright?” Jillie asks for the third time since we left the lab. 

Each time she asks it’s another blow to the fortified wall I’ve put up, and I wish she’d stop asking because if she does, I may collapse. It's time to be a robot. Beep bop boop. I take a deep breath through my nose, holding at the top, and breathing out. “I’ll be okay.”

“That…doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Nor I,” Kri mutters behind us.

“I’ve already told you,” I steamroll forward. “You can both coddle me after we get something done.”

"I guess distractions are how some people cope too," Jillie mutters. 

It's a small blessing that the greenhouse doors open when I scan my palm. My section hasn't been ransacked or destroyed. Everything is exactly how I left it. 

The easiest to decide on are the non-starters, the seeds that never made it out of the ground. We only need to empty the dirt into a basket meant for the compost pile and throw the containers into a separate pile for recycling. I want to take notes on which sections never made it - the green beans and snap peas, and none of the lettuce even germinated. But there's no point now. 

We set to sorting through what is and isn’t viable. Individually counting, inspecting, and deciding the fate of over two-hundred planters takes the better part of two hours, and I feel a grim sense of accomplishment at the growing pile of plastic containers to my left.

Halfway through a pallet of strawberries, there's another presence at the door. I'm turned to the side when they walk in, and my stomach drops because for a split second I think it's Stephen. 

To my surprise, though, is an ento I recognize from a few months ago. Ari, their name is, Kri's friend. 

I exchange a confused glance with Kri as Jillie greets Ari at the door. This raises so many questions, namely, how Jillie knows them. Did they meet after Kri showed me their lab, or is it some cosmic coincidence? 

Kri shrugs all four of his arms, and I mirror the gesture with mine.

Ari greets us with a wave. "I hope I'm not intruding. I was called for help?" 

Kri defaults to me with a glance, and Ari follows his gaze. I simultaneously appreciate that he didn't answer for me, and anxious that I'm now expected to respond. Four is too many, this is a two person job at most. But I couldn't turn away Jillie or Kri, I needed them here. 

Ari doesn't seem offended at my pause, their expression is open and their posture relaxed. I offer them a small smile. "You're fine, we're just cleaning house." 

They nod, and step over to Jillie to continue packing the equipment. 

After another hour, we’re left with about two-dozen sprouts that may or may not survive, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t have the space to keep them. I’d planned on keeping the original few from the first growth, but I have yet to get them back from the board, and now I doubt that I’ll ever see them again. Dr. Rogan probably already threw them in the garbage.

I would’ve planted them, if I had physical land, that was supposed to be the next step. But now I don’t know what’s next. No path forward, no clear image to obtain, and I need a purpose again. Surviving is the name of the game now, and it’s boring as hell. It was my one chance, and if I don’t hold my own weight, I could get sent back to Earth.

Next is the sprouts, the ones that may or may not make it. I inspect each one, looking for dried-up soil, brown spots, or anything that could kill it. I keep the ones that show promise, and I empty the rest with a neutral face and toss the plastic container onto the stack. 

It takes another hour for thoughts to start appearing through the fog, and another longing stare at the bag of dirt and plant matter for that thought to hit me like a truck. 

I don’t want to be here anymore. 

I thought I could handle it, but the longer I push things down, the more they want to bubble up again. Every third breath I’m shaking on the exhale, sniffing back tears that sting at my eyes. This really fucking sucks.

Kri is still aiding me, bringing over palettes and sitting by my side, but Jillie and Ari have parked their butts over by the computer setup, and are speaking to each other in low voices punctuated with the occasional concerned glance.

A muscle in my jaw twitches. I don’t need this much help, I should be doing this on my own. There’s too many people already. I miss my music, I miss my plants, I want to drown them all out. My heart wants to race, I can feel my lungs rearing up to hyperventilate. 

And then a warm hand covers mine, and I look down and watch as Kri gently removes the planter from my grip, and presses my hand between his. His fingers slot easily between mine, first, middle, and last, and they squeeze, a reassurance. But I can’t meet his eyes, no matter how much I want to. So we sit there for a moment, and I stare at our hands and focus on the warmth instead of the crushing weight of my own disappointment.

Jillie was right, I should've taken the day off. Yet again I've pushed myself too far, and now my brain is doing even worse than it was this morning. There's still so much to do, even in the greenhouse, and I don't want to do any of it. I just want to curl into a ball and cry.

At the end of the day, we’re left with twenty-seven planters, all supporting sprouts or developing stalks. Normally, this would have me over the moon, but I'm only filled with a sense of dread. I can’t take all these home. I barely have space for my plants now, I can’t add anything else. Jillie can take a few, but I can't ask Kri or Ari to take them, it's not their problem.

I'm staring at what are effectively my children with a look of dismay as Kri steps away from me. They speak in hushed tones that I can't make out-- they're speaking Universal anyway-- when Ari clears their throat, drawing my attention

"I have a house a few kleksry-ehco of here, uh--" Ari fumbles with the words, waving a free hand when they some up short, and points towards the back of the greenhouse. "It's that way, in the forest. There's plenty of space."

"I couldn't ask you to take care of all of these," I say with dismay.

"The building is close to a lake," Kri adds. "Ari would have to genuinely attempt to kill them."

"Asxu is correct. I do not have the right thumbs."

Jillie snorts. "You mean a green thumb?"

"Is my thumb not green already?"

Jillie explains the concept to both Ari and Kri and they listen with rapt fascination, like kids at story time. Apparently their literature on our languages lacked a lot of common sayings and left them on their own. They have their own too, but many of them don't translate well. It's led to straight-forward conversations with us where they assume to take everything we say literally.

Ari explains all this after Jillie finishes her lecture, and it suddenly clicks as to why Kri has trouble with phrasing sometimes. Would he want me to be more straight-forward? I do say a lot of things off-hand, and Mom grew up in the 'hood so some of the words may come through weird without me realizing.

What else have I been lacking? What else have I not noticed because I was too focused on myself? I was so wrapped up in my own shit I didn't even realize Kri had feelings for me, so what else did I miss? I haven't been taking care of him-- I should've been more present. Maybe then I would've realized that this was coming.

Before I realize it, and Kri is standing in front of me, hands on my shoulders. "You haven't blinked in at least a minute. Are you alright?"

I huff, annoyed. “Peachy.” 

Kri doesn't pick up on the sarcasm, and his head falls to one side. "You do not look well."

"Nevermind," I say, wrenching my shoulders from his grip and spinning around to start towards the piles of papers on my countertop.

The rest of the day is spent cleaning my mess in the greenhouse. Everytime I think we're done and I'm ready to leave, another box makes itself known and I'm forced to spend energy that I don't have fighting off tears. 

But, gradually, everything gets done, and we clear out my station piece by piece. There's at least ten garbage bags full of papers and plant matter and dirt that need to be taken to the compost heap. Jillie and I take two each, and Ari and Kri grab the rest. I let the three of them walk ahead of me. I take one last look at the greenhouse and the empty space I'd carved out for myself over the course of two years, and then the door slides shut.

Kri hovers next to me as we trudge our way to the compost building, and he only asks how I'm doing once, but part of me wishes he'd leave me alone. I'm hollowed out, running on empty. I don't want to talk anymore, don't want to pretend to be something I'm not.

I watch the bags holding my planters run down the conveyor belt and into the black hole that is the compost chute. No one bothers me as I continue to stand there long after they're gone, and I distantly remember this morning when I threw Emmie into the recycling machinery. It feels so long ago, before I had the weight of having nothing to look forward to on my shoulders.

Kri's hand on my shoulder pulls me out of the fog. "If you are not too upset, I'd like for you to stay with me tonight."

At my unimpressed expression, he holds his palms up. "I don't mean it suggestively. I only want to be sure of your well-being."

Down the path, Jillie is already on the way back to the Life Sciences building with Ari. She's talking with her hands, which means she's excited about something, and I distantly wonder how long they're known each other.

"Kri, really, I'll be okay--"

"Cassie," he says, voice gentle yet firm, drawing my attention back to him. A command instead of a statement. "Please let me take care of you."

His expression is open, earnest, and I automatically I open my mouth to retort, but then I realize I would absolutely love not having to worry about anything else for the night, and my anxiety spikes. He shouldn't have to deal with me while I'm upset, I should be able to handle it on my own. Still, I ask, "Are you sure?"

Kri nods once, not an ounce of hesitation, and my decision is made for me. Somehow, that's easier to swallow than if I had asked. "I believe it would be best if you stayed with me."

"Probably," I say, and I mean it. Something about waking up in my own bed feels worse.

After another moment where I test his patience, I nod, and we walk away from the greenhouse and towards a future that I have no idea how to prepare for.

Chapter 14>>

[cmnoraiz]

Elevate Your Look with Smart Watch Bands

Transform Your Look with Smartwatch Bands

Smart watch bands have moved beyond simple accessories to become key fashion items. Whether you’re into sports or looking for a luxury finish, the right smartwatch band can enhance both the style and functionality of your device. This guide covers top options, materials, and features, helping you pick a band that suits your style, lifestyle, and budget.

Discover the Variety in Smartwatch Bands

Smart watch bands come in diverse designs, materials, and sizes. From breathable options for exercise to luxurious leather bands for formal occasions, there’s a perfect band to suit any style or need. This section breaks down important considerations like size, material, and compatibility with your watch model, helping you make the best choice.

Choosing the Best Materials for Smartwatch Bands

The material of your smart watch bands affects comfort, durability, and style. Silicone, stainless steel, leather, and nylon are popular choices, each offering unique benefits—silicone for flexibility, leather for elegance, and stainless steel for a polished, professional look. Picking the right material can enhance both aesthetics and usability.

Leather Smartwatch Bands: A Timeless Classic

Leather bands add sophistication and a classic look to any smart watch bands Available in various colors and finishes, leather bands offer both durability and elegance, making them a go-to for business or formal settings. A quality leather band can be an investment, giving a timeless appeal that complements different outfits.

Silicone Smartwatch Bands: Perfect for Active Lifestyles

Silicone bands are a top choice for sports enthusiasts. Known for durability, water resistance, and comfort, they withstand rigorous activities and keep your wrist dry. Lightweight and flexible, silicone bands are ideal for workouts, swimming, and everyday wear, providing the ultimate in comfort and performance.

Professional Look with Stainless Steel Bands

Stainless steel bands give your smart watch bands a polished, professional look, perfect for office and formal events. These bands come in brushed or polished finishes and a range of colors, adding luxury and durability. For a sophisticated, office-ready style, stainless steel is an outstanding choice.

Ideal Smartwatch Bands for Formal Occasions

A smartwatch can elevate a formal outfit with the right band. Metal, leather, and woven bands can add a touch of elegance, making them great choices for events, business meetings, or nights out. This section reviews the best options for formal occasions, helping you find the perfect match for any evening look.

Stay Cool with Breathable Smartwatch Bands

In hot weather or during intense exercise, a breathable smart watch bands makes a difference. Perforated designs, like woven nylon or special silicone, provide airflow, keeping your wrist cool and comfortable. Lightweight and ideal for workouts, these bands are perfect for active wear or warm climates.

Waterproof Smartwatch Bands for Adventurers

For outdoor enthusiasts, waterproof bands are essential. Made from water-resistant materials like silicone and nylon, these bands are durable and can handle water exposure without damage. This section covers the top waterproof bands, highlighting benefits for those with adventurous lifestyles.

Woven Nylon Bands: The Ideal Casual Accessory

Woven nylon bands combine comfort and style, making them a versatile choice for casual wear. Lightweight, breathable, and available in a range of colors and patterns, woven nylon bands suit any outfit, whether you’re going for a sporty or relaxed look.

Magnetic Smartwatch Bands for Simple Adjustments

Magnetic bands offer a seamless and comfortable fit, adjustable without the hassle of clasps or buckles. Often in a mesh design, these bands add sophistication while ensuring a secure fit. For those who appreciate easy adjustments, magnetic bands are a convenient and stylish option.

Quick-Release Bands for Effortless Style Changes

Quick-release bands make changing the look of your smartwatch easy and efficient, with no tools required. They’re perfect for those who like to switch styles often. This section highlights the benefits of quick-release bands, along with popular options for style versatility.

Customizable Bands for a Personal Touch

Customizable bands let you add your own style to your smartwatch. Options like engraving and interchangeable parts offer a unique look. Some brands even have modular designs, allowing users to swap out components like the buckle, giving you full control over your style.

Budget-Friendly Smartwatch Bands That Look Luxe

Stylish smartwatch bands don’t have to be costly. Many affordable bands mimic the look of luxury, offering style and comfort at a reasonable price. We showcase budget-friendly bands that deliver quality and elegance without a high price tag, perfect for the style-conscious buyer.

Finding the Right Size for Your Smartwatch Band

Choosing the correct band size is key to both comfort and security. Smart watch bands vary in width and length, so measuring your wrist and watch accurately is essential. This FAQ explains how to determine the right size for a perfect fit with your smartwatch.

Can Smartwatch Bands Be Interchanged Between Brands?

While many smart watch bands are brand-specific, some universal options fit multiple brands. This FAQ explores band compatibility across popular smartwatch brands, helping you choose the right band for your specific watch model.

What Are the Best Smartwatch Bands for Sensitive Skin?

For sensitive skin, hypoallergenic materials like silicone, woven nylon, and certain metals can reduce irritation. This FAQ highlights comfortable, non-reactive options, helping people with sensitive skin find suitable smart watch bands for all-day comfort.

[dumbtruk]

The Master of Shadows

In the bustling heart of Fontaine, where the laughter of children mingled with the symphony of splashing water, a sinister undercurrent flowed beneath the city’s pristine surface. It was a place of wonder, but also of secrets—secrets that Pulcinella, the enigmatic Harbinger, thrived upon. His cunning and resourcefulness allowed him to navigate the shadows, manipulating events to suit his needs.

You had recently arrived in Fontaine, a curious soul drawn to its vibrant life and intricate waterways. However, beneath the glimmering facade, you sensed an unsettling tension that seemed to pulse through the streets. Rumors whispered of a figure that moved unseen, a puppeteer pulling strings from the shadows—none other than Pulcinella himself.

One evening, while exploring the winding alleys of Fontaine, you found yourself entranced by a street performer. The way he danced and twirled captivated the crowd, but your gaze kept drifting to the dark figure lurking just beyond the lantern light. His presence was almost magnetic, yet shrouded in an unsettling air. As the performance drew to a close, the crowd erupted in applause, but you felt an inexplicable pull to the shadows.

Before you knew it, you had followed the figure into a narrow alley, the laughter of the crowd fading into the distance. The atmosphere shifted; the air grew thick, and the shadows seemed to stretch and twist around you. You caught sight of him then—Pulcinella, his features partially obscured by the darkness, a sly smile playing on his lips.

“Curiosity can be quite the double-edged sword, wouldn’t you agree?” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “What brings you to my domain, little moth?”

You took a step back, heart racing. “I—I was just watching the performance.”

“And yet, you chose to venture into the dark,” he mused, stepping closer. “Not many dare to tread where shadows linger. You must possess a spirit of adventure.”

“Or foolishness,” you replied, summoning your courage. “What are you really doing here?”

His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of the cunning mind behind those sparkling eyes. “Ah, the eternal question! I am but a humble observer, a collector of stories, if you will. But every story has its secrets, and every secret has a price.”

“What price?” you asked, intrigued despite your better judgment.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Knowledge, dear one. The knowledge of what lies beneath the surface of this grand city. Fontaine may appear idyllic, but it harbors darkness, secrets that can be used to your advantage if you know where to look.”

“What do you mean?” you pressed, feeling a mix of fear and fascination.

Pulcinella stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Imagine the power of invisibility, of slipping through the cracks of society unnoticed, manipulating events from the shadows. Would you not want to know how to weave your own destiny?”

You hesitated, the allure of his words tugging at your heart. “And what would I have to do for this knowledge?”

He chuckled softly, the sound echoing against the brick walls. “Nothing more than a simple favor, a small act of courage. Help me retrieve something that has gone… astray, and I shall share with you the secrets of the unseen.”

“What is it you need?” you asked, curiosity burning brighter than your trepidation.

He gestured with a flourish, and a small, intricately designed box appeared in his hands. “This box contains a device—a tool of invisibility, crafted by the greatest minds of Fontaine. But it has fallen into the wrong hands. Retrieve it, and the knowledge will be yours.”

Though a voice in your head warned you against the path he proposed, the thrill of adventure was intoxicating. “I’ll do it,” you agreed, steeling your resolve.

With Pulcinella’s guidance, you set out into the night. He led you through the winding alleys, instructing you on how to move with stealth, to remain unseen. You felt his presence behind you, a dark shadow guiding your every step. The thrill of the chase consumed you, the pulse of adrenaline racing through your veins as you approached the hideout of the thieves who possessed the box.

The thieves’ lair was a crumbling warehouse, illuminated by flickering lanterns. You could hear their raucous laughter mingling with the clinking of bottles, a sense of bravado hanging thick in the air. As you crouched behind a stack of crates, you could see the box, gleaming under the dim light, resting precariously on a table surrounded by drunken revelers.

“Now,” Pulcinella’s voice whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You must be quick and clever. Distract them while I retrieve the box.”

With a nod, you prepared yourself. Stepping out from your hiding place, you let out a loud shout, your voice echoing in the hollow space. “Help! Someone’s after me!”

The thieves jumped, startled, their laughter cut short. In the chaos, you darted to the side, watching as Pulcinella slipped into the shadows, his movements fluid and silent. The thieves scrambled to their feet, trying to grasp the situation.

“Get her!” one of them shouted, but Pulcinella was already moving, a blur in the night as he made his way toward the box.

You caught a glimpse of him as he deftly retrieved the device, his expression one of triumph. But just as he turned to leave, one of the thieves spotted him and lunged forward. Without hesitation, Pulcinella reached out, pulling a string from his pocket that shimmered like silk. The string danced through the air, ensnaring the thief’s feet and sending him crashing to the ground.

“Now, let’s go!” Pulcinella urged, his voice filled with urgency. You both dashed back through the labyrinth of streets, the sound of angry shouts fading behind you as you made your escape.

Finally, you reached the safety of the shadows. Pulcinella halted, catching his breath, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Well done, my daring accomplice! You have proven yourself more than capable.”

You felt a rush of exhilaration. “What now? What do we do with the device?”

He held the box up to the moonlight, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Now, we reveal the truth of the unseen world, but first, allow me to show you how to use it.”

With deft fingers, he opened the box, revealing a small orb that glowed with an ethereal light. He gestured for you to take it. “This will grant you the power of invisibility for a time. Use it wisely.”

As you grasped the orb, a strange sensation washed over you—a heady mixture of power and responsibility. “What will you do with it?” you asked, intrigued.

Pulcinella’s smile faded for a moment, replaced by a flicker of seriousness. “I will continue to operate from the shadows, influencing events in ways that many cannot comprehend. There are forces at play in Fontaine that require a careful hand.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you realized the extent of his ambitions. “And what about me? What role do I play in this?”

“Ah,” he replied, a glimmer of mischief returning to his eyes. “You shall be my eyes and ears, my little partner in crime. Together, we can weave a tapestry of influence and intrigue.”

As you considered his offer, you felt a spark of excitement. The thrill of adventure, the allure of the unseen world—it was intoxicating. With Pulcinella at your side, the possibilities were endless.

“Let us begin,” you said, determination igniting within you. “Show me the way of shadows.”

And with that, you stepped into the darkness together, ready to manipulate the world around you from the hidden corners of Fontaine, where secrets thrived and the invisible danced just out of reach.

[dyethin14]

Understanding Circuit Board Electronic Components: A Comprehensive Guide

In today's digital world, electronic devices have become an essential part of our daily lives. But what makes these devices tick? At the heart of every electronic device lies a circuit board—a masterpiece of tiny electronic components working together to perform complex tasks. In this article, we’ll dive deep into the fascinating world of circuit board electronic components, exploring each element’s role and how they contribute to the overall functionality of the device.

What is a Circuit Board?

A circuit board, often referred to as a PCB (Printed Circuit Board), is a flat board used to mechanically support and electrically connect various electronic components. These components work in unison to perform a specific task. Think of the circuit board as the skeleton and nervous system of an electronic device—it holds everything together and allows communication between parts.

Types of Circuit Boards

Single-sided PCB: Has one layer of conducting material.

Double-sided PCB: Contains two layers for components and connections.

Multi-layer PCB: Complex boards with multiple layers for advanced applications.

The Role of Electronic Components on a Circuit Board

Every electronic device you interact with is powered by a carefully designed circuit board filled with various components. These components might be tiny, but each one has a critical role in the operation of the device. Here's a breakdown of the most important electronic components you’ll find on a typical circuit board.

1. Resistors

Resistors are fundamental components that control the flow of electrical current. They resist the flow of electrons, hence the name "resistor." Their primary function is to reduce current flow, adjust signal levels, and divide voltages in a circuit. Without resistors, circuits would allow too much current to flow, potentially damaging other components.

Types of Resistors

Fixed resistors: Have a set resistance value.

Variable resistors: Allow adjustment of the resistance.

2. Capacitors

Capacitors store and release electrical energy in a circuit. They are often compared to small rechargeable batteries that quickly charge and discharge. Capacitors help smooth out fluctuations in voltage, filter noise, and store energy for future use.

Common Uses of Capacitors

Energy storage

Signal filtering

Voltage stabilization

3. Inductors

Inductors are components that store energy in a magnetic field when electrical current flows through them. They resist changes in current and are typically used in circuits to filter signals, manage power, and store energy.

Applications of Inductors

Power supplies

Radio frequency circuits

Noise suppression in circuits

4. Diodes

A diode is like a one-way valve for electricity, allowing current to flow in only one direction. They are vital in circuits to prevent reverse currents, which can damage components.

Types of Diodes

Light-emitting diodes (LEDs): Produce light when current flows through.

Zener diodes: Regulate voltage within a circuit.

5. Transistors

The transistor is a versatile component used to amplify or switch electronic signals. In essence, transistors are like tiny switches that turn signals on and off rapidly, making them essential in modern electronics.

Types of Transistors

NPN transistors: Allow current flow when a small voltage is applied to the base.

PNP transistors: Conduct when the base is negatively charged.

How Circuit Board Components Work Together

In a circuit, each component has a specific role, and together they form a cohesive system. For example:

Capacitors and resistors may work together to filter signals or smooth out voltage fluctuations.

Transistors and diodes ensure that signals are amplified or directed properly.

Integrated circuits handle the complex tasks, processing data, and controlling the overall system.

Choosing the Right Components for Your Circuit Board

When designing or repairing a circuit board, choosing the correct components is crucial. Some factors to consider include:

Voltage requirements

Power consumption

Signal type and frequency

Physical size and compatibility

Conclusion

Circuit boards are an integral part of any electronic device. The various components on the board each play a specific role in ensuring the device functions as intended. Understanding these components, from resistors to integrated circuits, is essential for anyone working with electronics, whether you're designing a new system or troubleshooting an existing one.

[orangameelectronics]

Power bank outletThe Ultimate Guide to Mini Small Portable Charger Power Bank 5000mAh with Built-in Cables

So you're in the market for a mini small portable charger power bank with built-in cables, huh? Well, you've come to the right place! In this guide, we're going to dive deep into the features and benefits of the 5000mAh power bank that you've been eyeing. Let's get started!

## Support Display, But Doesn't Support LED Light

One of the standout features of this power bank is the support for display. This means that you can easily check the battery level and other important information at a glance. However, it's worth noting that this power bank doesn't support LED light. While an LED light can be handy in certain situations, the display more than makes up for it with its convenience and functionality.

## Input Interface: Type-C; 5V/2.0A

The input interface of a power bank determines how fast it can recharge itself. With a Type-C input interface and a 5V/2.0A charging speed, this power bank can juice up in no time. This means that you won't have to wait around for hours on end for your power bank to be ready to go - just plug it in and you're good to go!

## Function: Quick Charge Support, Wireless Charging

Another standout feature of this power bank is its support for quick charge and wireless charging. Quick charge support means that your devices can be charged up to 4 times faster than with a standard charger. Wireless charging, on the other hand, allows you to charge your devices without the hassle of cables. With these two functions combined, you can enjoy a seamless charging experience wherever you go.

## Magnetic Wireless Charger Power Bank

Last but not least, this power bank comes with a magnetic feature that allows it to double as a wireless charger. This means that you can easily attach your devices to the power bank for a quick and convenient charge. Whether you're on the move or at home, this power bank has got you covered with its versatile charging options.

And there you have it - the ultimate guide to the mini small portable charger power bank 5000mAh with built-in cables. With its durable material, high-energy battery, convenient display, fast charging speeds, safety features, and versatile functions, this power bank is sure to be your new go-to charging companion. So why wait? Get your hands on this power bank today and never run out of battery again!