#number on a flex cable or something

[identifying-cellphones-in-posts]

Super slow day at work so I identified and labeled every recycled android we have in our parts bin.

Isn't it beautiful

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[princess--misery]

[007]

The screen flickered, the steady hum of power surging through the cables.

The Shepherd stepped back as the android’s body stiffened, its joints locking in place as the system rebooted. Its optics flickered to life - a dull, mechanical glow, expression unreadable.

It did not struggle. It did not speak.

It only existed again.

The Shepherd folded his arms, his gaze drifting over the thing in front of him. Even with its limbs suspended, its wires spread behind it, it looked wrong. Unnatural. Its mouth and hands were still stained - red and brown, dried and fresh. The evidence of what it had done.

What it would have done to him.

He exhaled slowly, keeping his voice even. "You awake in there?"

The android’s optics adjusted, scanning the room. Assessing. Its lips parted.

"Yes."

The Shepherd frowned. The voice was strange - neutral, flat. But human enough to be unsettling.

He glanced at the monitor. Lines of code ran steadily across the screen, processing, waiting. He tapped the side of the terminal, pulling up the active command log.

The same phrase repeated in an endless loop.

/CONSUME.

The Shepherd clenched his jaw. "Alright," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s start simple."

His eyes flicked back to the android. "Why are you eating?"

The android’s head twitched, a slow, mechanical tilt. Its fingers flexed slightly, despite the restraints. Its optics dimmed, then brightened again.

"Order received."

The Shepherd narrowed his eyes. "From who?"

The android was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly:

"…Unknown."

The Shepherd exhaled sharply through his nose. Not helpful.

He shifted his weight, glancing again at the dried blood on the android’s hands, at its mouth, the red staining the synthetic skin around its lips.

He hesitated, then asked the real question.

"When you eat… where does it go?"

The android did not blink. Did not process. Did not think.

It only answered.

"Unknown."

The Shepherd’s stomach twisted.

He turned back to the monitor, scrolling through the data, searching for something, anything that explained the function. He pulled up consumption logs. The numbers made his breath hitch.

This wasn’t new. It had been eating for a long time. But nothing was stored. No organic matter, no secondary processing system. No waste.

The Shepherd’s grip tightened on the edge of the desk.

It consumed.

And then - the meat was gone.

[006]

[008]

[translightokme]

Signal Control Cable Specifications: What to Look For Before Buying

Choosing the right Signal Control Cable isn’t just about grabbing the first one you see on a shelf. The wrong specs can cause signal loss, system failures, or expensive replacements down the line. Whether you're working on automation, robotics, or any type of control system, knowing what to look for will save you a lot of time—and headaches.

Here’s a simple guide to help you make the right choice.

1. Conductor Size & Material

Start with the core: the conductor. Most signal cables use copper because it's a great conductor of electricity. But you’ll also want to check the gauge (thickness). Thinner conductors are fine for short distances or low-power signals, while longer runs or heavier-duty systems may need something thicker.

✔ Look for: Copper conductors with the right AWG (American Wire Gauge) rating for your application.

2. Number of Cores

How many separate signals do you need to transmit? A Signal Control Cable can have just 2 cores or go up to 30 or more. The number of cores you need depends on how many devices you're connecting.

✔ Look for: Multicore options if your system needs to handle several signals in one cable run.

3. Insulation & Sheathing

Insulation protects the conductors from each other, while the outer sheath protects the entire cable from damage. Depending on the environment, you may need:

PVC: Good for general use

PUR: Tough and resistant to oil, abrasion, and chemicals

LSZH (Low Smoke Zero Halogen): Great for indoor or enclosed spaces

✔ Look for: Materials suited to your operating environment—especially temperature, moisture, or chemical exposure.

4. Shielding

Signal integrity matters. If you’re working in a noisy environment—near motors, generators, or other electrical systems—shielding helps block interference and keeps your signal clean.

✔ Look for: Foil or braided shielding if there’s any chance of electromagnetic interference (EMI).

5. Voltage Rating

Even though signal cables typically carry low voltage, it’s important to match the cable’s rating with your system. Overlooking this could lead to breakdowns or even short circuits.

✔ Look for: A voltage rating slightly above your system’s max requirement for safety.

6. Flexibility & Installation Needs

Will the cable stay in place, or will it need to move constantly—like in drag chains or robotic arms? If there’s a lot of motion, flexibility and durability become essential.

✔ Look for: High-flex cables if your setup involves frequent bending or movement.

Final Thought

A Signal Control Cable might be small, but it plays a huge role in keeping your operations smooth, safe, and efficient. Choosing one with the right specifications isn’t just a tech detail—it’s a key step in getting the performance you expect.

Need help figuring out what specs match your setup? Our team can walk you through the options.

[zetlandcomputer]

A First-Timer’s Ultimate Guide to Mac Screen Repair: How to Prepare Your MacBook, What to Expect, and Tips to Avoid Future Damage

Facing your first Mac screen repair can feel overwhelming — but don’t worry, you’re not alone! Whether your MacBook took a tumble, developed flickering lines, or suddenly went black, knowing what to expect can make the process much smoother. In this ultimate guide, we'll walk you through how to prepare your Mac, what happens during the repair, and how to protect your MacBook from future screen disasters.

1. Preparing Your MacBook for Screen Repair

Before you hand over your precious device to a technician, there are a few important steps to take:

✅ Backup Your Data

Even if you're only dealing with a screen issue, there’s always a slight risk something could go wrong during the repair. Use Time Machine or another backup method to save your files to an external drive or cloud storage. Tip: Double-check that your backup was successful before moving forward.

✅ Turn Off "Find My Mac"

Some repair services, especially Apple-authorized centers, require you to turn off Find My Mac.

Go to System Settings > Apple ID > iCloud > Find My Mac, and toggle it off.

✅ Remove Accessories and Cases

Detach any connected devices like USB drives, chargers, or external displays. Remove your MacBook case or keyboard cover too, to make the device easier to handle during repair.

✅ Record Your Serial Number

Write down your Mac’s serial number just in case you need it for warranty claims or to check repair status. Find it under Apple Menu > About This Mac.

2. What to Expect During Mac Screen Repair

Understanding the repair process can ease a lot of the anxiety that comes with it:

🔵 Diagnosis

When you bring in your MacBook, technicians will first inspect it to confirm the issue. If the damage is clear (like a cracked screen), diagnosis is quick. But if it’s something subtle, like a backlight or flex cable issue, they may need to run detailed tests.

🔵 Quotation

Once they know what’s wrong, you'll get a repair estimate. Screen repairs can vary widely depending on the MacBook model — newer MacBooks with Retina or Liquid Retina displays are usually pricier to fix.

🔵 Repair Time

Most Mac screen repairs take between 24 to 72 hours, depending on parts availability and how busy the repair center is. Some simple repairs might even be done same-day.

🔵 Warranty and Guarantees

Always ask if the repair includes a warranty on parts and labor. Most reputable repair shops offer 30 to 90 days of coverage in case anything goes wrong after the fix.

3. Tips to Avoid Future Mac Screen Damage

Once you get your MacBook back in perfect condition, you’ll want to keep it that way. Here’s how:

🌟 Invest in a Hard Shell Case

A durable case can protect your MacBook from drops, scratches, and bumps — and it’s a lot cheaper than paying for another screen repair.

🌟 Use a Screen Protector

Just like with smartphones, a screen protector can shield your Mac’s display from minor scratches and cracks.

🌟 Be Careful When Closing the Lid

Always check for objects like headphones, pens, or cables before closing your MacBook. Even tiny items can cause significant screen cracks if trapped.

🌟 Avoid Pressure on the Screen

Never pick up your MacBook by the screen or stack heavy items on it. Pressure damage is one of the top reasons people end up needing Mac screen repair.

🌟 Regular Cleaning

Use a soft, microfiber cloth to clean the screen. Avoid spraying cleaning liquids directly on the display — moisture can seep in and cause damage.

Final Thoughts

Getting a Mac screen repair for the first time can seem intimidating, but being prepared makes a huge difference. By backing up your data, knowing what to expect, and taking smart preventative steps afterward, you’ll protect both your MacBook and your peace of mind.

Remember, accidents happen — but with a little care, your Mac’s screen can stay crystal-clear for years to come. 🚀

Have you recently gone through a Mac screen repair? Share your experience or any tips you picked up along the way in the comments!

[cleverhottubmiracle]

Mother Monster is back on the dark-pop wave. Her first studio album (not tied to a questionable movie) in five years is out today, and we were in the room for her Spotify press conference to hear all the deets on the creation of Mayhem. In honor of our “Perfect Celebrity,” we took a look through the archives to winnow down her 30 best party looks — if we did a street-style roundup for Gaga, it would easily pass into the thousands. During the promotional eras for The Fame Monster and Born This Way, she stepped out in half a dozen looks in the same day. But as lovers of what happens late at night (and really early in the morning), we’re taking a look at the ‘fits she’s slithered into clubs in, and wobbled out of in her infamous seven-inch platforms. Her signature black sunglasses and heavy bang make appearances, and her more mature looks come around when she crosses over into acting. We’ve covered it all — from her humble Lower East Side beginnings, to her starring roles in American Horror Story: Hotel and A Star Is Born, up to her all-black looks for Mayhem. Keep scrolling to see some of her fashion you probably haven’t seen. 2008, Dylan George Launch PartyPatrick McMullan/Patrick McMullan/Getty ImagesClassic early Gaga. The lightning-bolt eye detail is poking through the flash-blacking sunglasses. The cut-off shorts and latex leggings are so 2000’s New York it hurts.2008, Interscope American Music Awards AfterpartyBrian To/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesAnother classic Gaga look, with a heavy bang, even heavier eyeliner, and the heaviest spray tan.2009, Nokia 5800 Launch PartyDave M. Benett/Dave Benett Collection/Getty ImagesThe bow hair matches the bow on this latex skirt so well, and we love to see her in the Ray-Ban Wayfarer.2009, Monster Cable PartyAnita Bugge/WireImage/Getty ImagesThe iconography of her hand-on-hip pose needs to be studied. This is a classic Haus Of Gaga creation; we can tell due to the multiple fabric-clashing (latex, lace, metal, vinyl). 2009, VMAs AfterpartyAmy Sussman/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesMickey Mouse on acid, with pearl-drop earrings and a sequin dress. 2010, Universal’s Brit Awards AfterpartyDave M. Benett/Dave Benett Collection/Getty ImagesHer infamous Alexander McQueen lace bodysuit she wore to the Brits got a tough edge when she threw this studded leather jacket over it for the afters.2011, Mugler Show AfterpartyWhen your longtime collaborator debuts his first collection at a French brand, naturally you wear something off the runway and party ‘til the sun comes up. 2011, Lady Gaga x Terry Richardson Book Launch PartyJames Devaney/WireImage/Getty ImagesMother loves a jumpsuit, and this lacy number is offset by her piled blonde hair and some beaded stompers.2011, Gaga’s Workshop OpeningErik Pendzich/ShutterstockCustom Chanel is the ultimate flex, and this stamp of approval from Karl Lagerfeld cemented Gaga as one of the greats.2012, Fame Fragrance New York Launch Party Gregory Pace/BEI/ShutterstockShe came out of a life-size bottle of her own perfume in this Iris Van Herpen beetle couture. What could be more Gaga than that?2012, Fame Fragrance Launch AfterpartyFor another Fame Fragrance party, she wore this Comme des Garçons Fall 2012 floral piece backwards, signaling a shift towards more, er, art pop tendencies.2013, SNL AfterpartyAlo Ceballos/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesHer natural makeup and mature hair mark a new era for Gaga, where she stripped away some artifice.2013, Artpop New York Release PartyLaura Cavanaugh/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesBut she still remembers who she is, and Artpop was freaky Gaga at her finest.2013, Artpop Berlin Release Party picture alliance/picture alliance/Getty ImagesFur, lingerie, and a mustache? It could only be Artpop.2013, London Jingle BallBeretta/Sims/ShutterstockWhen you’re called upon to sing at a Christmas-themed show, why not show up in custom Vera Wang and a Grinch-green wig topped with a fir tree?2013, Leaving Annabel’sBeretta/Sims/ShutterstockThis Pam Hogg outfit is so London, and of course Gaga brought her own flair to it with round glasses and a white blob fascinator.2014, Vanity Fair Oscar PartyJon Kopaloff/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesGaga all grown up. She had just booked her first acting role in American Horror Story: Hotel, and her relationship with Donatella Versace was never stronger. 2014, Elton John Oscars Viewing PartyStefanie Keenan/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesSee: Versace all day and night.2014, Concert AfterpartyMarc Piasecki/GC Images/Getty ImagesEven though she’s growing up, thank god she knows how to have fun. This inflatable spike couture was made by a Central Saint Martins student, Jack Irving, and got as much hate as it did love when it first hit the Internet. We think it holds up.2015, Vanity Fair Oscar PartyDavid Livingston/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesA lady of the night in Alaïa.2015, Met Gala AfterpartyRaymond Hall/GC Images/Getty ImagesBlack-hair Gaga was a rarity in these days, but for the Met Gala look, she’d do anything.2016, V Magazine PartyGilbert Carrasquillo/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesRemember when she was in her Bowie bag? This custom Brandon Maxwell dress fit like a glove. 2016, Met Gala AfterpartyThis is so 2008 of her, and only Versace can nail her high-fashion-meets-dive-bar energy.2018, A Star Is Born Premiere AfterpartyKevin Mazur/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesShe’s an actress! This Ralph & Russo Couture was very demure of her, and she was dead serious about becoming a star of the screen.2019, Grammy AfterpartyGabriel Olsen/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesPartying with Mark Ronson in lingerie is the only way to celebrate picking up a Grammy for “Shallow.”2019, Met Gala Pre-PartyPierre Suu/GC Images/Getty ImagesWhen the theme for the Met Gala was announced as “Camp: Notes on Fashion,” Little Monsters rejoiced, because who embodies that better than Gaga? This Marc Jacobs (with the tiniest purse of all time) was just a taste of what she’d get up to on the red carpet. 2022, Elton John Oscar Viewing PartySteve Granitz/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesThis yummy butter yellow tulle dress works with her complexion so well, and the red lip brings it home as an Old Hollywood homage.2023, SNL AfterpartyGotham/GC Images/Getty ImagesAfter introducing Bad Bunny as the musical guest on SNL, she partied all night in this Celine jacket.2023, Rolling Stones Album Release PartyShe’s a rocker, baby! She paired this custom jumpsuit with all Celine accessories, as one does.2025, SNL50 Pre-PartyFinally, before the Mayhem began, she rocked out at SNL50 and gave a taste of what’s to come via this opulent jacket and classically Gaga hat. Source link

[norajworld]

Mother Monster is back on the dark-pop wave. Her first studio album (not tied to a questionable movie) in five years is out today, and we were in the room for her Spotify press conference to hear all the deets on the creation of Mayhem. In honor of our “Perfect Celebrity,” we took a look through the archives to winnow down her 30 best party looks — if we did a street-style roundup for Gaga, it would easily pass into the thousands. During the promotional eras for The Fame Monster and Born This Way, she stepped out in half a dozen looks in the same day. But as lovers of what happens late at night (and really early in the morning), we’re taking a look at the ‘fits she’s slithered into clubs in, and wobbled out of in her infamous seven-inch platforms. Her signature black sunglasses and heavy bang make appearances, and her more mature looks come around when she crosses over into acting. We’ve covered it all — from her humble Lower East Side beginnings, to her starring roles in American Horror Story: Hotel and A Star Is Born, up to her all-black looks for Mayhem. Keep scrolling to see some of her fashion you probably haven’t seen. 2008, Dylan George Launch PartyPatrick McMullan/Patrick McMullan/Getty ImagesClassic early Gaga. The lightning-bolt eye detail is poking through the flash-blacking sunglasses. The cut-off shorts and latex leggings are so 2000’s New York it hurts.2008, Interscope American Music Awards AfterpartyBrian To/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesAnother classic Gaga look, with a heavy bang, even heavier eyeliner, and the heaviest spray tan.2009, Nokia 5800 Launch PartyDave M. Benett/Dave Benett Collection/Getty ImagesThe bow hair matches the bow on this latex skirt so well, and we love to see her in the Ray-Ban Wayfarer.2009, Monster Cable PartyAnita Bugge/WireImage/Getty ImagesThe iconography of her hand-on-hip pose needs to be studied. This is a classic Haus Of Gaga creation; we can tell due to the multiple fabric-clashing (latex, lace, metal, vinyl). 2009, VMAs AfterpartyAmy Sussman/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesMickey Mouse on acid, with pearl-drop earrings and a sequin dress. 2010, Universal’s Brit Awards AfterpartyDave M. Benett/Dave Benett Collection/Getty ImagesHer infamous Alexander McQueen lace bodysuit she wore to the Brits got a tough edge when she threw this studded leather jacket over it for the afters.2011, Mugler Show AfterpartyWhen your longtime collaborator debuts his first collection at a French brand, naturally you wear something off the runway and party ‘til the sun comes up. 2011, Lady Gaga x Terry Richardson Book Launch PartyJames Devaney/WireImage/Getty ImagesMother loves a jumpsuit, and this lacy number is offset by her piled blonde hair and some beaded stompers.2011, Gaga’s Workshop OpeningErik Pendzich/ShutterstockCustom Chanel is the ultimate flex, and this stamp of approval from Karl Lagerfeld cemented Gaga as one of the greats.2012, Fame Fragrance New York Launch Party Gregory Pace/BEI/ShutterstockShe came out of a life-size bottle of her own perfume in this Iris Van Herpen beetle couture. What could be more Gaga than that?2012, Fame Fragrance Launch AfterpartyFor another Fame Fragrance party, she wore this Comme des Garçons Fall 2012 floral piece backwards, signaling a shift towards more, er, art pop tendencies.2013, SNL AfterpartyAlo Ceballos/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesHer natural makeup and mature hair mark a new era for Gaga, where she stripped away some artifice.2013, Artpop New York Release PartyLaura Cavanaugh/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesBut she still remembers who she is, and Artpop was freaky Gaga at her finest.2013, Artpop Berlin Release Party picture alliance/picture alliance/Getty ImagesFur, lingerie, and a mustache? It could only be Artpop.2013, London Jingle BallBeretta/Sims/ShutterstockWhen you’re called upon to sing at a Christmas-themed show, why not show up in custom Vera Wang and a Grinch-green wig topped with a fir tree?2013, Leaving Annabel’sBeretta/Sims/ShutterstockThis Pam Hogg outfit is so London, and of course Gaga brought her own flair to it with round glasses and a white blob fascinator.2014, Vanity Fair Oscar PartyJon Kopaloff/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesGaga all grown up. She had just booked her first acting role in American Horror Story: Hotel, and her relationship with Donatella Versace was never stronger. 2014, Elton John Oscars Viewing PartyStefanie Keenan/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesSee: Versace all day and night.2014, Concert AfterpartyMarc Piasecki/GC Images/Getty ImagesEven though she’s growing up, thank god she knows how to have fun. This inflatable spike couture was made by a Central Saint Martins student, Jack Irving, and got as much hate as it did love when it first hit the Internet. We think it holds up.2015, Vanity Fair Oscar PartyDavid Livingston/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesA lady of the night in Alaïa.2015, Met Gala AfterpartyRaymond Hall/GC Images/Getty ImagesBlack-hair Gaga was a rarity in these days, but for the Met Gala look, she’d do anything.2016, V Magazine PartyGilbert Carrasquillo/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesRemember when she was in her Bowie bag? This custom Brandon Maxwell dress fit like a glove. 2016, Met Gala AfterpartyThis is so 2008 of her, and only Versace can nail her high-fashion-meets-dive-bar energy.2018, A Star Is Born Premiere AfterpartyKevin Mazur/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesShe’s an actress! This Ralph & Russo Couture was very demure of her, and she was dead serious about becoming a star of the screen.2019, Grammy AfterpartyGabriel Olsen/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesPartying with Mark Ronson in lingerie is the only way to celebrate picking up a Grammy for “Shallow.”2019, Met Gala Pre-PartyPierre Suu/GC Images/Getty ImagesWhen the theme for the Met Gala was announced as “Camp: Notes on Fashion,” Little Monsters rejoiced, because who embodies that better than Gaga? This Marc Jacobs (with the tiniest purse of all time) was just a taste of what she’d get up to on the red carpet. 2022, Elton John Oscar Viewing PartySteve Granitz/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesThis yummy butter yellow tulle dress works with her complexion so well, and the red lip brings it home as an Old Hollywood homage.2023, SNL AfterpartyGotham/GC Images/Getty ImagesAfter introducing Bad Bunny as the musical guest on SNL, she partied all night in this Celine jacket.2023, Rolling Stones Album Release PartyShe’s a rocker, baby! She paired this custom jumpsuit with all Celine accessories, as one does.2025, SNL50 Pre-PartyFinally, before the Mayhem began, she rocked out at SNL50 and gave a taste of what’s to come via this opulent jacket and classically Gaga hat. Source link

[chilimili212]

Mother Monster is back on the dark-pop wave. Her first studio album (not tied to a questionable movie) in five years is out today, and we were in the room for her Spotify press conference to hear all the deets on the creation of Mayhem. In honor of our “Perfect Celebrity,” we took a look through the archives to winnow down her 30 best party looks — if we did a street-style roundup for Gaga, it would easily pass into the thousands. During the promotional eras for The Fame Monster and Born This Way, she stepped out in half a dozen looks in the same day. But as lovers of what happens late at night (and really early in the morning), we’re taking a look at the ‘fits she’s slithered into clubs in, and wobbled out of in her infamous seven-inch platforms. Her signature black sunglasses and heavy bang make appearances, and her more mature looks come around when she crosses over into acting. We’ve covered it all — from her humble Lower East Side beginnings, to her starring roles in American Horror Story: Hotel and A Star Is Born, up to her all-black looks for Mayhem. Keep scrolling to see some of her fashion you probably haven’t seen. 2008, Dylan George Launch PartyPatrick McMullan/Patrick McMullan/Getty ImagesClassic early Gaga. The lightning-bolt eye detail is poking through the flash-blacking sunglasses. The cut-off shorts and latex leggings are so 2000’s New York it hurts.2008, Interscope American Music Awards AfterpartyBrian To/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesAnother classic Gaga look, with a heavy bang, even heavier eyeliner, and the heaviest spray tan.2009, Nokia 5800 Launch PartyDave M. Benett/Dave Benett Collection/Getty ImagesThe bow hair matches the bow on this latex skirt so well, and we love to see her in the Ray-Ban Wayfarer.2009, Monster Cable PartyAnita Bugge/WireImage/Getty ImagesThe iconography of her hand-on-hip pose needs to be studied. This is a classic Haus Of Gaga creation; we can tell due to the multiple fabric-clashing (latex, lace, metal, vinyl). 2009, VMAs AfterpartyAmy Sussman/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesMickey Mouse on acid, with pearl-drop earrings and a sequin dress. 2010, Universal’s Brit Awards AfterpartyDave M. Benett/Dave Benett Collection/Getty ImagesHer infamous Alexander McQueen lace bodysuit she wore to the Brits got a tough edge when she threw this studded leather jacket over it for the afters.2011, Mugler Show AfterpartyWhen your longtime collaborator debuts his first collection at a French brand, naturally you wear something off the runway and party ‘til the sun comes up. 2011, Lady Gaga x Terry Richardson Book Launch PartyJames Devaney/WireImage/Getty ImagesMother loves a jumpsuit, and this lacy number is offset by her piled blonde hair and some beaded stompers.2011, Gaga’s Workshop OpeningErik Pendzich/ShutterstockCustom Chanel is the ultimate flex, and this stamp of approval from Karl Lagerfeld cemented Gaga as one of the greats.2012, Fame Fragrance New York Launch Party Gregory Pace/BEI/ShutterstockShe came out of a life-size bottle of her own perfume in this Iris Van Herpen beetle couture. What could be more Gaga than that?2012, Fame Fragrance Launch AfterpartyFor another Fame Fragrance party, she wore this Comme des Garçons Fall 2012 floral piece backwards, signaling a shift towards more, er, art pop tendencies.2013, SNL AfterpartyAlo Ceballos/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesHer natural makeup and mature hair mark a new era for Gaga, where she stripped away some artifice.2013, Artpop New York Release PartyLaura Cavanaugh/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesBut she still remembers who she is, and Artpop was freaky Gaga at her finest.2013, Artpop Berlin Release Party picture alliance/picture alliance/Getty ImagesFur, lingerie, and a mustache? It could only be Artpop.2013, London Jingle BallBeretta/Sims/ShutterstockWhen you’re called upon to sing at a Christmas-themed show, why not show up in custom Vera Wang and a Grinch-green wig topped with a fir tree?2013, Leaving Annabel’sBeretta/Sims/ShutterstockThis Pam Hogg outfit is so London, and of course Gaga brought her own flair to it with round glasses and a white blob fascinator.2014, Vanity Fair Oscar PartyJon Kopaloff/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesGaga all grown up. She had just booked her first acting role in American Horror Story: Hotel, and her relationship with Donatella Versace was never stronger. 2014, Elton John Oscars Viewing PartyStefanie Keenan/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesSee: Versace all day and night.2014, Concert AfterpartyMarc Piasecki/GC Images/Getty ImagesEven though she’s growing up, thank god she knows how to have fun. This inflatable spike couture was made by a Central Saint Martins student, Jack Irving, and got as much hate as it did love when it first hit the Internet. We think it holds up.2015, Vanity Fair Oscar PartyDavid Livingston/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesA lady of the night in Alaïa.2015, Met Gala AfterpartyRaymond Hall/GC Images/Getty ImagesBlack-hair Gaga was a rarity in these days, but for the Met Gala look, she’d do anything.2016, V Magazine PartyGilbert Carrasquillo/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesRemember when she was in her Bowie bag? This custom Brandon Maxwell dress fit like a glove. 2016, Met Gala AfterpartyThis is so 2008 of her, and only Versace can nail her high-fashion-meets-dive-bar energy.2018, A Star Is Born Premiere AfterpartyKevin Mazur/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesShe’s an actress! This Ralph & Russo Couture was very demure of her, and she was dead serious about becoming a star of the screen.2019, Grammy AfterpartyGabriel Olsen/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty ImagesPartying with Mark Ronson in lingerie is the only way to celebrate picking up a Grammy for “Shallow.”2019, Met Gala Pre-PartyPierre Suu/GC Images/Getty ImagesWhen the theme for the Met Gala was announced as “Camp: Notes on Fashion,” Little Monsters rejoiced, because who embodies that better than Gaga? This Marc Jacobs (with the tiniest purse of all time) was just a taste of what she’d get up to on the red carpet. 2022, Elton John Oscar Viewing PartySteve Granitz/FilmMagic/Getty ImagesThis yummy butter yellow tulle dress works with her complexion so well, and the red lip brings it home as an Old Hollywood homage.2023, SNL AfterpartyGotham/GC Images/Getty ImagesAfter introducing Bad Bunny as the musical guest on SNL, she partied all night in this Celine jacket.2023, Rolling Stones Album Release PartyShe’s a rocker, baby! She paired this custom jumpsuit with all Celine accessories, as one does.2025, SNL50 Pre-PartyFinally, before the Mayhem began, she rocked out at SNL50 and gave a taste of what’s to come via this opulent jacket and classically Gaga hat. Source link

[lcdportatiles]

Laptop repair experts mount new hinges on HP

Marbella laptop repair experts received  an Hp Envy with broken hinges. This job is very difficult due to the number of parts of the laptop that have to be disassembled. Therefore, precision, mental order and total organization are required.

Then they remove the hard drive and Ram protector . We remove the optical drive and the hard drive along with its flex cable. We continue unscrewing to dismantle the rest of the bottom chassis. We take out the wifi antennas and the Ram. By lifting the front rubber feet we can see that they hide the hinge fixing.

With the pick we remove the casing. We observe that the problem does not lie there. It actually happens that the 4 hinge nuts grab the middle casing (the one that normally supports the keyboard).

As we can see, this job really requires excellent hardware knowledge. Something that seemed forgotten is the hardware.

[jsms01]

Chest exercises for women to improve strength

Women don’t always put their chest on top of the list when it comes to fitness. The focus is generally on hips, stomach and thighs where fat can easily get accumulated. Since work from home became a thing, back exercises also started getting attention. But you should know that chest exercises are not just for women who want to transform their chest or firm up their breasts. Chest exercises for women are extremely important as they can add more strength to do daily activities. HealthShots reached out to fitness expert Varun Rattan, who shared why you women shouldn’t skip chest exercises. The chest involves some of the biggest muscles in the body. The chest muscles should be exercised as regularly as any other muscle group to get it stronger and well-defined, suggests Rattan.

Chest exercises are essential for stronger you. Image courtesy: ShutterstockWhen you do multi-joint exercises like the bench press, a large number of muscles are used, enabling you to lift more weight. This will burn more calories during your workout than if you only did a bunch of isolation exercises such as front raises or triceps extension. Be it pushing a door or throwing something, your chest works in these activities. Training your chest will make you stronger in doing these daily activities.

5 best chest exercises for women

1. Bench press• Lie down on a bench and hold the barbell with your hands placed slightly wider than shoulders. • Unrack the barbell by lifting it up and slowly lower it to the base of the sternum. • Push the barbell back up by pressing yourself into the bench. There are different variants of this exercise, such as incline and decline bench press, dumbbell press, cable press, and smith machine bench press, says the expert.2. Cable press or crossover• Set up two cable pulleys at shoulder height and take a handle in each hand. • Step forward and extend your arms outwards, keeping the elbows slightly bent. • Bring your hands together in the front of your chest and pause for a second before returning to the start position. 3. Chest pass• Hold the medicine ball in both hands at chest level. You can do this either seated or standing, in front of a wall or with a partner. • Thrust the ball away from your body. As you’re catching it, make sure to flex your elbows and shoulders to absorb the shock.

Push-ups for the win! Image courtesy: Shutterstock4. Push ups• Get into a kneeling position on a mat or floor and then straighten your legs behind you. • Your hands should be shoulder-width apart and fingers pointing forward. Engage your abdominal muscles, glutes, and quads to maintain a rigid torso and make sure your head is aligned with the spine. • As you inhale, lower yourself towards the floor, letting your elbows flare out as your chest touches the mat or floor. • While exhaling, push your body back up until your elbows are completely extended. Make sure to keep your spine in the neutral position, and don’t let your lower back sag or hips rise up (push up variations). Track your health on the go ! Download Healthshots App

5. Banded punches

• Stand in a split stance with your back tall, and knees bent slightly. • Secure a band around a pole that is at shoulder height. Turn your back to the pole, and firmly grasp the band’s other end with your palm facing downwards. • Steady your feet into the floor, engage your core, and straighten your arm forcefully. • Once you reach the end of the motion, hold it for a second before slowly returning to start position.

Tips to keep in mind for chest exercise

Yes, chest muscles are important for our everyday activities. But don’t overstrain any particular muscle group. You might end up with postural imbalance. Rattan of The Body Science Academy, Noida, says that it is just as important to exercise the back muscles like the rhomboids, trapezius, erector spinae, and rear delts. They act as anti-gravity, helping us to maintain an upright posture. Neglecting your back muscles and only working on chest exercises can give a slouchy appearance. Source link Read the full article

[thefreakshowwww]

Now for all you unfamiliar with how this works, tonight we treat you to a series of performances, followed by us granting access to the wider fair grounds to participate in our carnival games!

[the ringmaster was every bit the endo-skeleton Uzi had described. His design the most exotic and mysterious to everyone there. Everyone except Cedr of course]

[The performers dispersed barring Rudy and the drone who seem to be using metal cabling for muscles. The red drone produced meter long hot iron spikes from his hands before dancing as a harlequin, jaming them in his back. The bulkier drone merely sat in focus as if nothing could touch him. When the rods numbered I the twenties, the harlequin drone fell back onto the ground. ]

Watch closely Outpost 3, this is something you'll have right never seen!

[with a single flex the rods were launched high in the air. Just high enough four identical tailed drones to be noticed as they each trapezed across the space between, kicking the metal rods with their feet and tails rapids. They danced and stuck midair with the grace and precision of creatures born of pure fantasy. Every rod stuck down in rapid succession created the perfect outline around the UWD. Each less than a millimeter from the drones plating.]

@thefreakshowwww [as most of the colony exited the bunker, sure enough search lights were waving into the sky around what appeared to be a collection of striped tents around a massive red and white tent. Due to a lack of extra busses, it decided everyone would walk. It wasn’t a long trek but that didn’t stop some people from complaining]

Ughhh, can't we just fly? My legs are sticking.

Mine too.

Oh hush, you'll be fine. It's not our fault you two have poles for legs.

[cipheramnesia]

No one was trying to rebuild anything very tall just yet. The number of towers and skyscrapers knocked over in the '79 Burn haunted the empty horizon. Alice stood on a modest five storey warehouse converted to apartments up top and a biker-bar on the ground floor. It was high enough to get a light breeze touching the shaved sides of her head and whipping her raggedy bleached hair, and to put her on eye level with the man growing out of the asphalt of the raised highway across from the warehouse.

The shunts on her upper arms twinged, but didn't itch anymore. She remembered when Dr. White had presented the pair of large, circular saw blades to her in her old room. "It's based on spark buffers," he said unhelpfully. "But I've modified it to aggressively pull the unstable external wavelengths and particles out of the cascade, rather than simply catch the burnoff as an entropic stabilizer. The older sparkbuffers are usually twenty percent efficient at best, but this design..."

He'd gone on for awhile. Now she was wearing them on the outside of her arms. Sleek metal assemblages ran the length of her forearm to a bit past her elbow, and a flick of her palm would set the buzzsaw blades spinning. A series of heavy cables linked to her shunts. One of the sets circulated her blood through the machine and the other Dr. White had just gone on so long about some "interface for synaptical reprocessing of the disentanglement," and he'd been very detailed but Alice mostly just took from it all that they'd let her pull even more of all that beautiful bright burn into herself.

"This is why I was away so long, I put this on the fast track for you, I'm so sorry," he'd apologized over and over for every meaningless thing that she'd never asked. Fine enough by her to leave him unforgiven for all the trespassing he held himself blameless over. She didn't like the wraparound ski-goggle things, but the photosensitive glass worked, picking out the asphalt man in easy shades of blue, green, and yellow to target the burn.

The boots felt good and she remembered how to do a jackhammer push and leap. Dr. White had showed her video cards of closers - Jill of course, also Crowe, the Midnight Twins (Harm and Les), and a smartass calling himself Bat Man. Sometimes they went out. Dr. White let her sit in the truck without the cuffs on, irritatingly correct in his belief she would restrain herself from running until she learned to use the new equipment.

It took months before she had even understood how to move around in it, almost a year before she'd been able to freely and quickly dash and dance along the badly damaged asphalt on the top floor. The bright thread was there. She hadn't asked questions about it, maybe later.

The burner was trying to grow legs. This happened sometimes, no one knew why. The burns would find parts of the world and live in them, or find people and change them. She heard a few places some people thought the burn was alive and trying to talk.

The bright streak of it poured out of the asphalt man's back. Thin, snarled lightning crackled into the sky. "I feel bad," Alice had said, after watching Jill rip the arms off a thirty foot tall mutant, "they must want something."

"They very must," Dr. White agreed. "But what? What do we not know? We must address the immediate danger before all else." He waved at the screen where Crowe was using a peculiar three stringed instrument to demolish a burn. "Look at these ramshackle jobs. Wires, robot arms, a baseball bat. None of them working together at all. Well, I'll soon see this type of thing set to a new standard."

The asphalt man looked at her, and opened his mouth, letting out a scream that pulsed along glass vibrating intervals with a rumbling undertone so deep that the building she was on shook.

Alice took a couple deep breaths and let them out, flexed for a jump. "First one, Alice! First one, you got this." Alice's buzzsaws sparked to life, and she jumped, hurtling towards the burn.

Part 2: The Lonely Extermination of Athena Six

Awhile after Dr. Stevenson left, and after Dr. White's visits were rarely more often than once or twice in a month, Athena began to notice the iron cage. It grew very slowly between the earth and the sky, deep shadow bars tinting narrow strips of the world. The first ones she saw were in the sky, on a day where she could feel the sun inside her room. She felt the slim bands connect to each other overhead.

The small transistor radio at the nurse station had a square of dark bands around it. Dark lines grew from light fixtures and intercom speakers. While she sat with an orderly doing a geometry workbook that Dr. White was supposed to supervise, Athena noticed dark lines on the overhead fluorescent lights. The orderly said it was okay for her to go back to her room and read, so she sat at her desk to re-read a set of old fantasy novels. They were about a prince who was always beset by tragedy and sickness. Now matter how much good he tried to accomplish, he always hurt someone important. In some of the stories he traveled to other versions of his story and met happier versions of himself, or sometimes sadder versions, but mostly happier. Athena thought there were probably happier versions of herself somewhere.

The dark bands grew and crossed and multiplied. The more of the bands she could see, the harder it became for her to find the dancing light. She wasn't supposed to make the light dance anymore since Dr. Stevenson's accident, and the times the orderlies caught her, they stuck a needle in her and she fell asleep right away. That was also okay, but the lights made her happy, so she played with tiny sparks against her wall, too tiny for the camera in her room to see. Except with the dark bands the lights were harder to coax put and she was usually exhausted after trying.

Eventually the grid of darkness covered the sky in its iron cage. She only sometimes saw little dark smears from the radio or people's eyes sometimes. No one else noticed the grid, but she could tell because her thread was less bright and the omnipresent iron bars were visible through the walls and ceiling. She wished she could take them down and so she practiced more and more to control her lights. They were still waiting for her, only a little more out of reach, but she got stronger and reached further every day.

A little while after the grid was in place, Dr. White visited her. He was always very nice, but Athena noticed he didn't listen very much to what she talked about. He seemed to care more about if the orderlies and nurses liked him, but she could tell they didn't anyway. He opened up a box and laid two flat rectangles of woven metal on the table, then pulled his hands away quickly. Athena noticed he always did that.

"Athena, for the next few weeks we're going to try some new games and I think you'll like them very much." He gestured at the smaller, darker screen. "Closers call this a spark buffer, do you know about them?" He kept his arms close to his body, she shook her head for no. "It's okay, not a lot of people do." He gestured at the larger screen, with shiny metal weaving, and some kind of stone under it. "This is possibly a new prototype, and I hope you can help me make sure it works right."

Athena looked blank. "I don't know how... how it works."

"Don't worry," he laughed the fake laugh a little. "All I need is for you to make the dancing lights, and make them touch the buffer."

"The cage makes it hard," she said. "Can we go somewhere out of the cage?"

"Cage? What... I'm not sure what you mean."

Athena just shook her head and Dr. White slotted the new buffer into a small box. He stood up and took several steps back, suggesting Athena begin, so she did.

It was harder than ever before but eventually a flicker of light danced in her palm for an instant. Then there came a spark out of the buffer like a mosquitos into a bug zapper, and her light blinked out. She jerked back her hands as well, feeling a sharp stab of pain at her fingertips.

Dr. White wrote notes and she sucked her fingertips because they hurt. He said "Okay, let's repeat it and then try the other one."

Athena wished Dr. White would go away again.

[falconfriend]

AU where some different things are possible. Don't read too much into Jay's techno babble, quite honestly, I might edit some of it out, it's not the point.

Don't be surprised if you see this edited before the final ff.net post, but it's here, and I'm happy with it. The original concept has a chapter in which our two main characters talk together and process, and that is still very, very important to me, I'll probably bring it back.

See tags for warnings.

--

The amount of power Zane is channeling right now shouldn't be possible. Jay made darn sure to learn everything he could about Zane's possible repairs while Dr. Julien was still alive—the other guys didn't like to think about it back then, but come on, he was old, Jay knew, everyone else knew too even if they weren't saying it— so anyway, he'd spin wild hypotheticals, ask what happens if one tiny piece of machinery goes wrong.

Lloyd would hit the point where he wanders off, self-consciously chuckling that this isn't really his area but he feels like he's kinda learning things, and Jay would watch the clock tick until Nya got bored... and then, that was his opening, to fire off whatever question would come off as too rude while the others were around.

The doctor would smile in a sort of understanding, if slightly flummoxed, way, and he'd start answering. Jay got a lot of answers! He figured out how to put all of Dr. Julien's numbers into his numbers, you know, the kind we learn in the modern century, and made a copy of Zane's schematics with his notes. He had a harder time finding the focus to figure out the Falcon, but Nya and Lloyd are on that anyway. Logical division of labor.

What is he talking about. What was he thinking about. Zane's dying.

Distractedly, he answers- "I said critical mass. If he doesn't contain that, he could go nuclear."

"He's containing it, right?"

"It doesn't- matter." Containing it also means dying.

"Why wouldn't it matter, Jay-"

Jay asked a lot of questions, but he never did even think to ask about Zane's power source. Shouldn't that be the first thing? Why weren't we asking questions about the power source?

He knows approximately how much power Zane runs on. He knows it isn't this much. He knows how a storm feels, right before lightning is about to strike, what builds up in the air and how much damage it can do, right before he—

Jay takes a step forward.

Wu puts an arm across his shoulders, pulling him back. Jay just about slaps him off before realizing that's a quick way to get himself thrown to the ground and shut up before he can start,

So he waits, a frustrating two, three seconds, until he finds words.

"I can help." His throat is dry and he wouldn't mind except that he needs to be louder. "Get me to him, I can help!"

The rest of the ninja are turning to look at Jay… so… slow. Cole looks like he could be swimming through molasses. Jay seethes, and flexes and unfurls his fists by his sides to let it out, and takes a small step back instead of forward.

It works. Sensei releases him, almost.

Kai looks like he might be committing a crime if he lets himself look away from Zane, which isn't helping. Finally, though, he opens his mouth before Jay can. "Your powers? …Do you think?"

"'Do I think-' yes, I think, that's electricity. Or, electromagnetic- whatever. It's energy. I can feel it, Kai- this is taking too long! Where's Pixal- Pixal! Pixal, yoo-hoo, tell them I can help!"

"That won't be necessary," says Wu. Everyone is moving like an old man right now, taking their time; Jay's sure of it. Remember that comment about Cole? It feels like Jay's the only thing who isn't wading through molasses. Jay and the Digital Overlord, that is, and Zane, who cries out so bad Jay spends that moment sure that everything's over and Zane is gone now-

Everyone is moving like the slow old man Sensei talks like, but then Jay sort of- must have blinked, or something, because suddenly, they're all shifted. Cole sets a hand sturdily against his shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize that they're all on his side.

Jay finds a hardened, gold feeling deep in his chest, and latches onto it, and uses it to find his voice. "Okay." Okay. Look. Think. "Cole, I'm going to run at you and I need you to launch me, onto that web. Lloyd, use your energy to boost me."

"But-"

"We don't have time! It's just a scratch."

"Keep him on the edge of the blast. Try to center it about two meters from him." Jay looks back at Nya, Nya looks back at him. It's like they're both realizing how small everything has been. They're nineteen- Jay's nineteen, Nya's eighteen. It's like- like, we didn't need to know the shape of the care right now, I care about you.

Nya waves him away to the task at hand with a smile that means What? Anyway, you're coming back.

Jay looks at Cole and Lloyd. They look back at him. "Well, let's go." With a serious expression, not a word in response and not wasting a second, Cole stoops, palms up and fingers intertwined, a foot-sized platform.

"I'm ready for you, Walker."

He gulps. Time freezes for a second and then skips forward again, like half a second that definitely shouldn't be allowed to be that long. "Okay."

Kai steps forward, like he's going to- hug him, maybe? Rub his back? Push him forward?

"Okay ninja-go—" he kicks off and twists. Off the ground, off Cole's intertwined hands, launching him into the air- about to panic and yell Now, Lloyd when Lloyd finds the right moment anyway, blast re-aiming him just as he's about to fall-

He's sailing through the air, back sore and ears still ringing as the wind whistles past them. Ninjago city sails beneath him. He's two feet short of Zane's hand. He's going to miss.

He's going to miss, he's sorry, and they don't have a second shot, and not that it would be okay if he didn't but now he's going to get all caught in the explosion too,

And Zane reaches back, and grabs his hand.

The jolt that immediately moves through Jay is an absolutely massive electrical discharge. It tries to run from him straight to ground; at first, he was not connected to the circuit, so the electricity is looking for him as its way out. Here's the thing about electricity—it doesn't ask questions. It's already moving by the time your question is halfway out of your mouth, and that's why you need to either be five steps ahead or be ready to start improvising right now or else you're dead.

Something about that isn't how electricity should work, though. It doesn't rush into... a wire that isn't connected to a throughline. Batteries have two ends, positive and negative, and a wire that isn't connected to both of them might as well not be a wire at all— electricity isn't trying to get out, it's trying to get to somewhere, electrons hungry to get to that battery's positive side. Every single electrical invention in the world is formed by humans forcing those electrons to take the long way.

This electricity doesn't have a destination.

The Digital Overlord is always destroying. That means energy in him is leeching outward; this isn't just entropy, this is entropy gone rogue. Jay doesn't know where he's getting the electricity from, but- if he can destroy, maybe he can create. Who knows. Whatever. What becomes apparent right then is that it seems like the Overlord needs to always leech outward, and what Zane is doing is containing him. Sooner or later the snake eats its own tail.

Zane nods, with a firm little hum, as if he can tell from Jay's face what's going on in his head. It's businesslike, and it jolts Jay back to work. Jay can stand this for a few minutes longer, but Zane- Zane's dying.

So: parallel paths. Create two paths, two options, and the electricity will keep looking for how it can be the least crowded. It's like the reason air leaves a popped balloon, kinda like pressure but with a thousand electrons that all hate each other and feel indifferent about you. Or picture... getting into a crowded convention center, and someone coming running to announce they've just opened a second doorway, and that you can get in through either line. Create two paths, and only half of it goes through Zane.

Zane releases his hand.

They really, really need to have a talk later, but Jay is relieved it's not a talk about being willing to be saved. He's helping himself be saved.

Jay holds one of the golden contact points in one hand, and one in the other. The energy rolling around his ligaments and bones deflates, taking the easiest path.

"I had hoped you would do that behind me," says Zane, whose eyes are now closed.

Jay doesn't really try for a little laugh, so much as his body tries for a little laugh, like his brain is fine-tuned into making his excuses with or without him. "You could've said that earlier."

"No, it's alright. Just… here, scoot a little to the side-"

"This is pathetic," hisses a condensed-evil murmur over their shoulder, like it's obligated to, "YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME?"

"Yes," says Zane.

And the bluewhite what-is-that-stuff that he'd once used to take down a plain old treehorn beams closer past Jay's cheek than he can really say he's comfortable with. It's almost like being near a fire- a live wire, static. He's not too cold, but he's sure if he touched it, it would move straight through rapid-action frostbite into part of his face falling off.

"Jay, now." Jay isn't sure what he means by now, that uh, isn't very clear, but he spends a half-second in panic before realizing Zane's ice is running a cable to ground. It'll keep a direct hit from coming back for them. It means, since this is the only window before it connects, they need to hit him now.

Jay pulls the electricity out of himself, out of the air- he takes whatever excess Zane will give him, when he touches his hand- and he breaks the circuit. He shoves it, with force, the opposite of the ways electrons want to work, not the way lightning wants to work—but that's the first step of making lightning. You build up a gap. The buildup snaps from him into the Digital Overlord's metal body. Something is wrung out of him like a sponge.

There's a thunderclap that shakes the city and an explosion that's- like a video game character died. Like it's not a real explosion, it's just something- dissipating. The city just turns white.

Jay becomes aware that he's flying again for the first time in two years, and Zane is holding onto him but losing strength. And then it turns out that he's got his arms around Zane, too. He only figures that out when he starts to panic that Zane's going to fall, and the tug of Zane's weight on his arms doubles, and alerts him that they're there, secure. His body was thinking ahead, even if he wasn't.

Zane's out. He's… fine. He's fine. He's got to be fine.

And while we're at it, Jay's hoping he's fine. His heart feels- wrong.

The first thing he needs to do is get back to land, the second thing he needs to do is look at… is get Nya to look at Zane, he's not even sure he can trust his senses. Huh, hang on, there's a sound other than the ringing in his ears.

"Jay!"

That's Pixal.

"Jay!"

She's standing on the roof of Borg Tower, waving her arms, and just as Jay starts to settle enough to realize he's not frozen, adrenaline's not gonna stop him from moving and he should fly somewhere. ...Huh. He has to pick where.

It would be a really good move to let their friends see they're alive. Nya's good at robotics.

Pixal and Borg… can probably fix him faster.

Zane sparks, hard.

Like Superman, made of light, Jay descends toward Borg Tower in a graceful arc. His feet connect with the roof with a very soft patter. He locks eyes with Pixal to hand off their boy to her.

"Whoa, okay, Sparky, geez. Just thought I'd keep the sweat out of your eyes."

Well. That's not correct.

There are the tiles of a hospital ceiling in front of his eyes, which feels more correct. Apparently, Kai is also in the room, because—

"Yeah. He's okay."

—well, because that's Kai.

Cole, of all the things that could happen here, squeezes Jay's hand. It occurs to Jay that he could have died on- on really, really weird terms with him.

Whoof. Jay takes stock of his body. He starts by feeling the sheets, just to figure out where his body is, then investigates the muscles and aches beneath them. He's in one of those medical gowns that closes in the back.

Everything feels... pretty okay? No, everything feels like he's just been stretched in every direction like a piece of toffee.

No, everything feels like he's just been stretched in every direction like a piece of toffee, but also maybe like he is toffee, so he's fine.

He, uh, definitely can't move. And that feels wrong, but at least he's identified the reason he's in a hospital bed, rather than wondering. He'd find this a lot harder to process if he had walked away from it without a scratch at all, even though it would have been cooler. He sort of wonders if anyone would bring his chart over where he can read it.

"Uh, yeah, that's all great, but what about Zane?"

Kai lets out a small, slightly-amused very-concerned snort. "Jay, you asked that already. He's okay."

"Go easy on him."

That's Lloyd. There are, wow, a lot of people in this room. It's gotta be a pretty small room? Hospital rooms aren't that large. Are his parents here?

"They're on their way."

"My mouth keeps saying whatever's in my brain."

Cole laughs. "Hey, don't worry everyone, he's back to normal."

Jay's breath does a weird thing in his lungs. It's like his body is focusing on every sensory detail except where it hurts. "Yeah, you're just jealous of how I looked up there."

Cole could nearly double over laughing at another time, but right now everything about him is subdued, gentle. Jay could see him ruffling his hair if he wasn't, you know. In a hospital bed. "Sure am, sparkplug."

And there's quiet for a beat.

Jay continues, still staring at the ceiling, "Hey, Nya, how bad are you gonna kill me."

"Oh, uh—" That's Lloyd again, kicking one heel awkwardly back against the wall. Kai speaks quickly—

"She wanted to be here. It's killing her not to, I mean— everyone did. Sensei, too. We told them we've got you."

"That's nice."

"I-I said I'd run and call her once you're awake, just to let her know. I should probably go do that now. She's—"

"With Zane," Jay finishes, no bones about it. Kai nods. "That's nice." The way energy thrums from Jay's palms feels different now, like he's not just pulling it from the air, like there's a battery under his skin, but that's. That's a question for training time. It's sleep time, now.

A/N: Why did the writers say "it's reaching critical mass." I still don't know what that means. Zane's power source is presumably based on some kind of nuclear fission then, but I'm not sure what "critical mass" has to do with the Digital Overlord encounter? If anyone knows how that's relevant to how Zane died, please lend me your knowledge, I'd be very grateful and schooled.

Anyway, critically, this is an AU where it is possible for Jay to help, not an AU where Jay notices he can help. It's built on the assertion that there was nothing Jay could do in the original, but in this universe, different things were possible.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

coda [pre-pragma]

coda - a concluding event, remark, or section

pairing: frankie ‘catfish’ morales x f!reader

warnings: angst

a/n: this is it y’all! the last pre-pragma one shot and it’s not a happy one. i apologize in advance.

summary: frankie says goodbye to one of the only good things in his life.

pragma masterlist

FIVE YEARS AGO

Frankie had lost himself. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the man staring back. Help. It’s what he needed, but would he get it? That was yet to be seen.

His phone rang but it wasn’t who he wanted it to be. “What Pope?” he answered.

“Go to her. Now.”

“Wait…what?” He walked out of the bathroom to his bedroom and sat on the bed.

“Just go and see her. Fix it.” Pope hung up leaving Frankie sitting there staring at his phone. He pulled up her number and his finger hovered over the ‘call' button. He couldn’t bring himself to press it.

Stop avoiding her, he thought.

His thumb came down on the screen and the phone rang and rang and…

“Hello?” Her voice was sad, tired. She sounded as though she had been crying.

“H-hey. I…uh…” He squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his fingers before speaking again. “Can I see you?”

“I don’t-"

“Please? I just wanna talk.” He waited and waited for a response.

“Okay.” She didn’t sound happy about it. If anything, she sounded like she’d rather not see him ever again. He tried to speak again but she already hung up.

Frankie ran into the bathroom and fixed himself up as best as he could. He looked rough. He looked sick. She would know right away. Hell, everyone knew by now. His sickness wasn’t something you could cure with a week of antibiotics though. He turned away from the mirror because he couldn’t look at himself as he did what he normally did to calm his nerves now. A quick sniff and he felt alive again. He felt as though he could face her.

*

The drive to her place wasn’t a long one, but Frankie sat in the car for another ten minutes before getting the courage to walk into the building. He knocked on the door then stood back, removing his hat to smooth his hair back before replacing it. The door opened and he smiled, expecting to be met with a friendly face, but the smile on his face fell when he saw that she wasn’t smiling. She moved away from the door so he could walk in, but didn’t speak a word. He hugged her but she didn’t return it and that hurt more than anything. She was stiff in his arms and leaned away from him as he held her. Letting go, he looked for any sign that she felt something, but her face stayed the same.

“What do you want, Francisco?” she asked monotonously.

He let the door close behind him before speaking. “I…wanted to see you.”

“Did you? Are you sure Santi didn’t put you up to this?” She stood a few feet away from him, avoiding his gaze.

“Why would he need to put me up to this?” He forced a small laugh. She looked at him then. There was something in her eyes—contempt? He wasn’t sure but it’s not how she used to look at him.

“Look at you,” she said barely above a whisper. “Look at what you let yourself become.”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

She gave him an exasperated look. “Bullshit.”

He smiled. “You’re sounding like yourself again…”

“I’m leaving,” she said suddenly.

“You’re…what?” He heard her perfectly. Steadying himself, he sat on the couch and looked up at her.

“I’m leaving.”

He finally looked around and noticed the bags she had packed. “But you’re coming back, right?” Another forced laugh.

“No, Francisco, I’m not.”

“I…I don’t understand.” His heart felt heavy—heavier than the weight of the world he had been holding on his shoulders.

“I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t stay and watch you kill yourself. I can’t let you keep breaking my heart.” Even as she said this, she remained stoic as if she was all cried out. It was his turn to cry now and, god, did he cry.

“But…you can’t go…” He sat back on the couch. He was never one to beg, but he was prepared to beg for her. His vision blurred with tears as he stared at her, pleading silently.

“Frankie…” Her sad, quiet voice floated to his ears and he sat up straight. “There’s nothing here for me anymore.”

“There is. There’s…”

“You?” She shook her head. “You haven’t been you though, Frankie. Not for a long time.”

“I can be if you…if you help me,” he said.

“I’ve been trying to help you for the past few years! The help you need is not something I can give, not without me losing myself in the process.”

“I-I can’t do this without you. I’ll die,” he cried. She looked indifferent. And that’s when he realized. That’s when he knew he had finally done it—he had used up every last bit of her happiness until there was none left. Even as he sat there, crying and begging, she stood there unmoved, looking at the wall behind him.

“I have to do this for me. No matter how much I love you, I just can’t do this.”

He looked at her for a long time. His sadness and anger finally overcame him and he lost himself. “Why won’t you cry?! Why won’t you look at me?!” He saw her flinch a bit then close her eyes. “It’s still me. It’s still Frankie.”

“No.” Her voice cracked. He walked up to her and she stumbled backwards, making him stop in his tracks.

“You scared of me now?”

“You should go.” She turned away to hide her own tears that she finally allowed herself to shed.

“What?” He stood in the middle of the room which now felt cold and unfamiliar even though he’s been there too many times to count.

“You need to leave,” she said without even turning her head to look at him. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said and that’s when she turned to him.

“I fucking mean it!” she snapped, pointing at him. “I don’t want you here anymore! I want my Frankie back not whoever…this is!” She waved her hands up and down at him.

“I am your Frankie. I’ll always be your Frankie.” His voice cracked again.

“No…not anymore.” She looked over at her bags. “You need to leave so I can finish packing.”

“So…just like that, huh?”

“Just like that?” she repeated and laughed bitterly. “It’s not just like that…it’s been coming for years now! I tried so hard. I held on thinking you would get better but you didn’t. You only got worse.”

“And what do you think will happen if you leave?” he asked, moving closer to her.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Frankie. You are not blaming me for whatever you decide to do.” She moved away from him and walked to the window. “I love you so much it hurts,” she sobbed.

“Please don’t go.” He shook his head. “I can’t…”

“Maybe we’ll find each other again in another life. A happier one.” She sniffled and turned to him. He knew he looked a mess. “I need you to take care of yourself and be happy someday.”

“How can I be happy without you?” he asked. He shrugged, feeling lost and lonely.

“I can’t answer that.”

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and choked out a sob. He had never cried like this before. His entire body shook and his chest hurt from the shaking, wracking breaths he had to take. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was. He had to be because there was an angel kneeling with him. The angel took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.

“Get better then come and find me,” she said.

“I won’t be able to find you if I’m lost myself,” he whispered. “Please stay.” She was his guiding light and without her he had neither purpose nor direction.

But he knew. He knew he had lost her already. Her mind was made up and he had lost the only woman he had ever loved in the blink of an eye.

No.

It wasn’t in a blink of an eye, he realized. She was right. It had been going downhill for years. He had been pushing her away, watching her drown in her sorrows for fucking years and she had finally had enough.

Then she touched his face, lifting it so he would look at her. Her eyes held a sadness that shook him to the core. She wiped his tears even as her own stained her cheeks.

“Frankie,” she whispered. “We’ll see each other again.”

“Will we?” he cried.

“I hope so.”

“When do you leave?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“Can I hold you till then?” He smiled sadly and she actually wrapped her arms around him. So, here they were, two people kneeling in the middle of the floor, holding each other. And it felt better than anything had in a long time.

*

Frankie watched as she said goodbye to Santiago feeling a little jealous that he was still able to make her smile and laugh like that. With one more hug from Santiago, she made her away over to him.

“So,” she said quietly, stopping right in front of him.

“So,” he choked out, nearly bursting into tears. He pulled the cap down a little more and lowered his head. “You sure about this?”

“I have to, Francisco.”

“Will you come back?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe one day.”

“So, I have a little hope.” He tried to smile but he cried instead.

“Come here.” She wrapped her arms around him and let him cry. He laid his head on her shoulder and did just that.

“I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you too.” She made him lift his head then held it in her hands and…kissed him. Their tears mingled on each other’s cheeks as their lips touched. He never wanted it to end. He never wanted to say goodbye but he had to.

She pulled away and held onto his hands, squeezing them gently. “See you when I see you…”

“Sometime soon I hope.”

“You never know.” She dropped his hands and he flexed them, trying to his best to remember what her hands felt like in his.

“Bye,” he said sadly.

“See you.” She was never good at goodbyes. She turned away and walked to her car and he didn’t expect her to turn back this time. He didn’t deserve it.

But she did and just like the first time, everything went in slow motion and they were the only two in the world. In that moment, he mattered. In that moment, he had hope.

“I love you,” he said quietly knowing she couldn’t hear him.

And in her car, hiding away from the world, she had said the words too.

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sorry if i forgot anyone!

[just-a-fellow0]

Just some things about my brother playing Obey Me!:

- only does Nightmare, sometimes battles for animations and surprise guest

- doesn't really understand english, knows nothing of the story

- has like 5 accounts, adds new delete-after-summoning when there's free dvs

- always pronounces battle wrong (to my amusment)

- likes using whip on the guys (he thought he's giving them a cable at first, cracked up when it hit them - I had to tell him it's a whip)

- CEO of bullying Mammon

- highkey in love with Levi

- told him Solomon's my fav, now flexes every Solomon SSR+ card he gets (what a bitch)

-thinks Levi has a gf due to the UR+ sleeping card with Ruri pillow (I just laughed, I didn't tell him anything :D)

- plays strictly when there's free dvs, especially tries when there's something I want (what a bitch pt.2)

-said Simeon is ugly (how is that even possible) but thinks the bathroom UR+ card looks good, somehow thinks he's hanging from a chandelier in it

- probably hates Asmo bc of that free UR+, he doesn't like it

- his reaction to Asmo's Devilgram cards was "gay"

- likes Satan a lot

- Belphie = flexing cards number 2

- likes Belphie too, when I first asked him who's the best he pointed at Belphie (I mean I lowkey named our guinea pig after him so...)

- we're getting a dog soon, a lot of "what if we name him Satan" jokes (or other OM characters, but it's usually Satan)

- thinks Lucifer looks good, overall neutral about him

- doesn't really like Beel

- calls Barbatos "chess player"

- doesn't like Luke too much but thinks his UR is cute

- overdramatic af

For the info, I haven't asked him about his sexuality yet

[huntsman-ash]

RWBY V8E4 LiveThoughts

And were back at it again, this week with turkey and Italian preserved sausage as a snack! Lets see what RT has for us this week.

Oh, 20 minutes. Are they normally this long?

Oh, wait, the openings almost 2 minutes long. Thats more like it.

And now to Robyn and Qrow. Seems Robyns actually liking Qrow a little bit now. 

Guess the cells aren’t secured if a fly got into Schnee’s. This a “Fly on Mike Pence’s face” reference?

Qrow sounds more growly again. Did he get smacked back two seasons by Clover dying?

If by “darkness” you mean “Tyrian” then, yes. Also dude, its Clover. He was shit anyway. All the Aces are shit. Dont feel too bad about him.

And he’s got a point too. If Clover had thought with his head instead of his dick (yes, Im sure they were gonna fuck, Fair Games totally a thing), he probably wouldnt be dead now, and Tyrian would be the one with the sword through his chest.

But of course this is RWBY and V7/8 so things cant go their ways.

Ouch. Deep thoughts of Qrow. And some interesting stuff from Robyn too. I still think I’d prefer hopeandharmonizing’s Briar, though.

Marrows glare gives me life. Hare’s just a moron right now though, but thats no real surprise. She’s immature emotionally.  Honestly, shes...kind of like a less bad version of our current President. Always has to be the best at everything, fastest, leader, whatever.

Thats probably why this is grating on her so much. Even though shes TECHNICALLY the Ace’s leader now (I think? Seemed like she was Clovers lieutenant, so by rate of succession she’s in command now)

A glance at the little floating control pad... “Clerance access only”. Okay, that...seems weird. Shouldnt it say something like authorized personell only? Maybe it means access by clerance only or something.

Then Robyn’s name, and then process ID 4591-27. No idea what thats useful for but its there.

Also Marrow seems to be the only competent member of the Aces rn. 

Ah now we get to see some of the hills around Atlas. For those of you who have seen my headcanons on the Hunter-Killers and their base of operations, Fortress Academy, its out in these hills somewhere.

The music sounds like a boss fight.

The screen on Ren’s hoverbike reads “HVB Rhino” and “HD5800″ I can only assume HVB stands for “hoverbike” and Rhino must be its name, like how the dropships are Mantas. No clue what the number is. 

Also apparently the cold in Solitas is so bad it corrupts machinery?

Ahh, good, some action. Lets see what we get now. Ohh, teamwork. And again, signs that aura allows you to move faster and farther than a normal human

Heh, it really is like a boss fight, like the chase scene at the end of the first Viking level in For Honor.

Oh, and it can call for reenforcements literally out of nowhere? Or is the whole tundra of Solitas just CRAWLING with Grimm?

Yes, yes it did just call for backup, Yang. Maybe these are all forward scouts and ambush units from the Grimmstorm. They did say its the biggest...

Another banger from Casey Lee Williams...

What the hell happened in Solitas to cause this geography? Seriously, its a line of bridges over a gap in two cliffs...that cant be natrual, not that equal in distance.

Man, those bikes didnt even last half an episode...I guess thats fair, they are facing obsurd odds. Or maybe they just want Yang to be the only one with a bike.

And there goes the dropwall. Woops.

Also you can just kinda see it but they bounce off the rock and thats why they slow down. Useful.

Also this part with them falling off the edge reminds me of the ending cutscene of Halo 4s Forerunner level, where Chief flies out of a portal and almost goes sailing off a cliff in a Ghost.  Except here, the bike stays on the land and THEY go off the cliff.

I paused at just the right time cause YANGS FACE XD

Holy shit what are Ren’s weapons cables MADE OF? The one atop him is holding him AND the weight of his two teammates. And the one below has both Jaune and Yang. No sign of slippage or breackage at all. 

Ahhh there’s the whaleship (Monstra? Fuck it Im gonna keep calling it the whaleship). So yeah my headcanon now is the mountain its right next too is Menachite, where Fortress is. 

Oh hey back to the Schnee manor of all things! Does...this mean military invasion of the Schnee grounds. Hey Whitley. Lesbians are here. 

Someone make a video cut of Weiss banging on the door to the “Knock knock open up the door its real!” part of that one song.

Hehehehhe. Nice Weiss.

Also convenient about the house staff. Good thing RT doesnt need to animate them or Willow now...

I hope the staff took some of the silverware and some paintings on the way out.

Why is MAY the one carrying Nora.

Ah so now they’re stuck out there with no cell service. Hehe.

Ah okay so the cold in Solitas DOES eat aura. Good, my headcanon still kind of stands. 

I wonder, does wearing proper cold weather clothing (like bundled up stuff) help? Or does it cut right through...

Why is JAUNE the one hauling the bike? Isnt Yang the strongest? Or maybe they take turns.

Ahhh inter-team talking. Also, outpost. Hmm. Atlas one? Overrun if I had to guess. Unless he saw Fortress. Which I doubt.

I do love the circling shot here, with the light on Yang’s hair and the shadows on Ren. Its...really artistic and emotional. GREAT WORK RT. 

Rens got points. And hes saying stuff I myself have been saying for ages, which is good. I wonder why this is how Ren is now...working with the Ace Ops? Being afraid of loosing Nora? No one tell him what happened last episode.

Also, Jaune’s hair seems to have gotten less crazy in recent episodes. It looks less like a banana and more like a close tactical cut.

Yangs got a point.

Ahhh and now we get to see the inside of the whale. 

SALEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SHOWING THE FUCK OFF. SERIOUSLY. WE GET IT. 

...this is gonna be a really criingy torture section, isnt it.

Someones gonna take that “hound didnt break you” line in the WRONG direction 

It is amusing the only thing holding Oscar down is the Hound actually. 

Ah so they’re still searching the remains of Beacon.

Also I like how Salem calls them “her forces” as if its anything but a random bunch of expendable monsters. Like, bruh, you cant search anything with THAT.

Ignoring the boring chat between these two, notice how the Hound’s shoulder literally flexes and shifts when Salem touched it. I dont think this thing is solid at all aside from the head and the bone claws...the whole thing is just amorphous Grimm material that can adapt to whatever situation it requires. A specialist unit. A...Hunter hunter.

Yo what the fuck was that. Magic? Huh. Did we actually SEE magic for once in the show? Only took us 8 FUCKING SEASONS...

Doesnt seem to be anything but an energy blast/pain never firing though. I assume his auras still gone, cause its completely singed his shirt, but it didnt do much else.

...Im not impressed.

She really needs to stop touching his face, its creeping me out.

HAHA SHE CANT DO IT HERSELF SHE HAS TO RELY ON HAZEL BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF HIM. I think we know where she stands now, doesnt she...say what you will about her letting Hazel have his vengeance (which is very valid, even he admits hit), but me? I think she A) cant actually beat up on Ozma herself because she still cares and B) shes almost out of magic too. Its weakened as the Gods have been gone and shes been forced to rely on the Grimm and on pawns. Basically, once she and Oz are both gone? That’s it for magic. Remnant will belong to the Grimm...and to technology. 

At which point without Oz around to hold them back Atlas is going to go fucking BONKERS and basically ensure the Grimm get pushed back into a corner and then finally permenantly STAMPED OUT.

More Whale insides. Seems like most of its empty grandious spaces. Or possibly muscle? Hard to tell. Either way theres a lot of open air in there...with tight corridors. If you fired a thermobaric warehead into one of the chambers the resulting blastc could possibly blow the doors off and send a raging fireball through the entire thing...Hmm. Filing that away for later.

NEO IS SO SHORT ITS FUNNY TO ME. I know its just positioning BUT SHE LOOKS EVEN SHORTER IN THIS SHOT THAN USUAL.

More note on the Hound; the “flesh” around its right shoulder spike actually sinks down when it stops moving. Its neck shifts and moves too, like the material isnt solid, but recirculating.

I also dont see any eyes. And it looks like it has some kind of...forehead mouth? Def looks like teeth down the ridge of its spine.

Oh boy yeah that...whole thing is basically melting in on itself.

I wont lie; hearing Cinder get berated by CORTANA (and yes, I still hear Cortana in Salem, espeically now that the two characters are kind of one and the same, both megalomaniacal leaders of giant armies, bar the fact that one of them is about a TRILLION times more dangerous than the other because one of them has access to Guardian Custodies and the other one is...well kind of lame and has to have beefy dudes beat up on small children etc) is pleasing to me. 

Get fucked, Cinder.

And THERE is Cortana again too.

Neo Marry Popins’s Ya’lling is fucking CUTE. And I love her little smirk.

Wait the whale’s that close?

..oh my...hold on.

...thats it. THATS ATLAS’S AIR FLEET!?!

12 AIRSHIPS? 12? EXCUSE ME!?

ARE YOU LEGITAMETLY TELLING ME THE BIGGEST MILITARY ON REMNANT HAS FEWER AIRSHIPS THAN THE SMALLEST NAVY ON EARTH HAS FRIGATES? YOUR FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT? THERE HAS TO BE MORE SOMEWHERE. THIS IS A JOKE, A STRAIGHT UP FUCKING JOKE.

...

No, thats...thats it. Thats Atlas’s airfleet. 12 tiny vessels. I swear it was bigger last season...

...HA! HAHA! HA! Oh, Ironwood, and Atlas as a whole...you deserve everything your about to get. I hope you die SCREAMING, and that when your bodies fall bleeding and shattered to Mantle, the people down there will realize that, no. You cant just assume Hunters will do all the work for you

THIS IS REMNANT. ITS KILL OR BE KILLED. YOU EITHER MAKE A FORCE POWERFUL ENOUGH THAT THE GRIMM RUN FROM YOU  OR YOU DIE INSTEAD. ATLAS FAILED. NOW THEY SUFFER.

Emerald stop simpin.

Also that is...the SHITTEST outpost...I have ever seen in my life. My overall thought process of Atlas is...sinking even LOWER than before. 

Though it seems more like a waystation. Bed, Dust, some dudes coat on it. Dead heater. Its probably a rest spot for Specialists out in the tundra.

Ren does the emo sit. Lol. Yang even says it. Brood himself to death.

Alright whats this now...something forcing itself out of the tundra?

And thats it for today! Cool ass concept art at the end there too.