#ozone meter

[deniselabmate]

Ozone Meter

Labmate Ozone Meter utilizes UV absorption based on the Beer-Lambert Law to monitor low concentrations of ozone. It operates between 10°C to 40°C and maintains a flow rate of 1.5 L/min, ensuring continuous operation for real-time data acquisition. Featuring advanced microprocessor technology and a minimal sampling time of 10 seconds, it ensures dependable stability, reproducibility, and rapid, precise results.

[vasthi-instruments12]

[sofiyalabtronus]

Online Ozone Meter

An Online Ozone Meter involves ozone(O3) sensing, detection, signal processing, calibration, data display, and control mechanisms to manage ozone levels in a given environment. The sensors detect and quantify the concentration of ozone in air or water. Sensors are processed by the meter's electronics concentration readings, Calibration maintain the accuracy of the measurements and standard concentration of ozone and also provide alerts or indicators. Ozone measurement range=0-ppm∼ 600 ppm; Flow rate=1.5 L/min; Resolution=0-001-ppm; Sampling Time=10-seconds, for more visit Labtron.us

[andypantsx3]

ANDY U CANT LEAVE US HANGING I NEED MORE DRAGON SHOUTO?,!?.!. please… i think ill die if u dont elaborate WHAT DO U MEAN WE’RE FACE TO FACE WITH HIM… what does he say… what does he DO… i need to know more omfg

Riffing off of @mhathotfic's tags on my original post, which I absolutely loved.

It happens on a cold January evening, just a few months after you've reached your majority.

You escape out into the frosty winter evening to join Shouto, unable to bear your family's increasingly-regular discussions of your marriageability now that you're of age.

Once you dragged home a dragon fledgling, you'd always sort of imagined that the question of your eligibility would be somewhat moot. Not many men wanted a wife who came with little dowry, and even fewer might want one who came with an enormous fire-breathing lizard who barely let her out of his sight.

You thought Shouto would sooner burn down your husband's house than listen to any sounds of discomfort on your wedding night—you didn't think many men would be willing to consummate a union with that threat lingering just beyond the window.

Not that you wanted to be married to any of the village men. Ever since you were little, you'd always had this feeling—a feeling like there was someone out there for you, just out of reach, like they were just a step beyond the next corner. Close, but somehow impossible to catch. So you'd never wanted a husband from the village, and you certainly don't now.

So once the discussion turns towards the topic of your being married yet again over dinner, you excuse yourself, and go out into the night to find Shouto, who is never more than a few hundred meters away.

You find his enormous form easily, his red-and-white patterned scales glittering in the light of a fire he's set, out in the fields you'd found him in as a child, as if he'd somehow anticipated you'd be coming out to him.

He cracks open a fiery blue eye, watching your approach, and lifts a wing as you near him, crowding you between the fire and his warm scales, creating a sort of tent with his wing to keep the heat in, and keep you close to him.

You absently pat his side, sinking down against him, sticking your hands out to the fire.

"They're talking about husbands again," you say, and Shouto cranes his neck around so that he can rest his head across your lap, nearly as large as you are, heavy and warm. You reach out to rest a hand across his snout, petting the glittering scarlet scales there.

You've always known he can understand you, given his reactions to the questions you ask, the way he sometimes watches you with knowing eyes. But how much of what you say to him he truly understands will forever be a mystery, as you'll never be able to ask him.

You think he understands enough, though, to know you're displeased.

"A husband," you repeat in disbelief, scratching over his scales again, listening to the rumble that builds up in his chest almost like a purr. He always likes to be petted, though you get an intentionally blank look from him whenever you dare to bring it up, as though he does not like to be made fun of.

"When they should know you're the only boy for me," you tell him, teasing.

Shouto's eye blinks open again, and you lean back to watch him watching you, something curious in his gaze. You begin to recognize the look for what it usually is—the precedent to some type of mischief—whether that be digging up a garden when he was still the size of a particularly fat cat, to accidentally setting a man's pant leg ablaze when he'd whistled after you, the evening of your sixteenth birthday.

You make a curious noise, and you're just about to ask him what he thinks he's up to when there's a crackle like lightning, and the hot, burning scent of ozone reaches your nose.

There's suddenly a rush of cold air over you, Shouto's massive form gone from around you, and the weight in your lap is suddenly much smaller and lighter.

When you look down, Shouto's head is no longer across your legs. Instead, your gaze meets the perfect pale skin of a very strong, very naked back. You realize belatedly that there is a stranger in your lap, a man with a mop of red-and-white hair, scarlet and snow, who has one warm, muscular arm curled around your waist.

You let out a scream, scrabbling backwards, but the stranger's arm locks around you, and the man's face tips up to yours, blinking curiously.

You freeze, your gaze meeting eerily familiar grey-and-blue eyes, set into the most utterly perfect face you have ever seen. The man's features are careful and exact, the slope of his nose blade-straight, his jawline strong, his mouth pretty and plush and weirdly captivating in the flickering firelight. You cannot help but feel you know him, though you are incredibly certain you have never seen him before.

There would be no forgetting a man as beautiful as this.

"Who the hell are you?" you demand, shock rendering you frozen and dumb.

The man blinks, slow and catlike and so hauntingly recognizable. His eyebrows scrunch, as though something's confused him, and then he speaks, slowly and carefully, as if he's just getting a feel for the shape of words in his mouth.

"I am...Shouto," he says, his voice so deep and smooth. It reminds you so much of the deep, rumbling purr Shouto had just been letting out moments ago—your mouth drops open, disbelieving.

"You're Shouto?" you echo, thrown. Though you're beginning to realize that this devastatingly handsome, distractingly naked man is horribly familiar in hundreds of different ways—from the timbre of his voice to his eyes to his hair to the way his arm suddenly curls even more possessively about your waist, the way Shouto's tail sometimes does to keep you pressed close to him.

And with Shouto the dragon suddenly gone...

"You're my dragon? My Shouto?" you demand.

The man blinks, shifting in your lap so that's he's fully turned towards you. He props up on one hand, his face drawing alarmingly close as his other arm presses you into him. He looks very much as if he likes the sound of that.

"Yes, your Shouto," he purrs, pupils going darker. Your heartbeat suddenly kicks back to life in your chest, stuttering and tripping over itself as his large, hot palm presses proprietarily at the small of your back, as he leans in to bring his mouth close to yours.

"And you..." he says, his tone going rich and smoky and dark, like dragon fire. "You have always been mine."

[reasonsforhope]

The 1987 Montreal Protocol, which phased out the production and use of chemicals that were depleting the ozone layer, has long been considered one of the most successful environmental treaties in history. New research finds that the global pact achieved another unforeseen benefit: delaying the melting of Arctic sea ice.

In a study published Monday in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, researchers from the University of Exeter and Columbia University found that the implementation of the Montreal Protocol is delaying the first ice-free Arctic summer by up to 15 years. That’s because the chemicals banned under the agreement are also potent greenhouse gases.

“Our results show that the climate benefits from the Montreal Protocol are not in some faraway future: the protocol is delaying the melting of Arctic sea ice at this very moment,” Lorenzo Polvani, one of the study’s authors, said in a press release. 

The study authors ran a series of climate models based on two different scenarios: one that included levels of ozone-depleting substances that would be expected if the Montreal Protocol never existed, and another accounting for the global treaty. The researchers concluded that the protocol is postponing the first ice-free Arctic summer by a decade or more, and entirely due to the phasedown of ozone-depleting chemicals. 

The Montreal Protocol was created to address a hole in the stratospheric ozone layer over the Antarctic. The ozone layer protects the Earth from harmful ultraviolet radiation that causes skin cancer and cataracts in humans. The treaty phased out almost 100 chemicals — including aerosols used in hair spray and other products, refrigerants, and solvents — that were found to be responsible for destroying stratospheric ozone.

Those banned chemicals, collectively called ozone-depleting substances, or ODS, are also potent greenhouse gases, with up to tens of thousands times the global warming potential of carbon dioxide. The report authors estimate that 1 metric ton of avoided ODS emissions leads to 7,000 square meters (more than 75,000 square feet) of avoided Arctic sea loss. By way of comparison, 1 metric ton of carbon dioxide emissions results in about 3 square meters (about 32 square feet) of sea ice loss. 

Given the potency of ODSs as a greenhouse gas, the authors are not surprised at this outsize impact on Arctic sea ice levels. “Nonetheless, such a large mitigating impact of the Montreal Protocol on Arctic sea ice loss is remarkable if one keeps in mind that the protocol was aimed at preventing ozone depletion in the Antarctic stratosphere, and little was known of its effect on Arctic sea ice when the protocol was signed,” the authors noted.

According to their projections, the Montreal Protocol has already prevented more than half a million square kilometers (about 193,000 square miles) of sea ice loss. By 2030, that amount will rise to more than 1 million square kilometers, and to 2 million square kilometers of prevented Arctic sea ice loss by 2040.

-via Grist, 5/24/23

[mindblowingscience]

Air pollution dramatically reduces pollination because it degrades the scent of flowers, affecting bees' ability to find them, a study has found. A research team comprising the UK Center for Ecology & Hydrology (UKCEH) and the Universities of Reading, Surrey, Birmingham and Southern Queensland, found that ozone substantially changes the size and scent of floral odor plumes. It reduced honeybees' ability to recognize odors by up to 90% from just a few meters away. Ground-level ozone, which aggravates respiratory conditions, typically forms when nitrogen oxide emissions from vehicles and industrial processes react with volatile organic compounds (VOCs) emitted from vegetation in the presence of sunlight.

Continue Reading.

[forcesung]

Barriss rose to her feet-just how, Jos could not have said. She seemed to levitate-one moment she was sprawled on the ground, and the next she stood upright. Impressive as that was, however, it was nothing compared to her next action. As Jos watched in astonishment, the Padawan leapt across the bota field, covering a distance of at least ten meters in a single bound. As she arced through the air toward the droid, Jos saw another flash of light. At first he thought the droid had fired again, but then he realized the glow came from Barriss’s hand. She had drawn her lightsaber. Jos had seen images and holos of the Jedi weapon in use, but he had never before seen one in real life. Barriss’s energy blade was an azure streak about a meter in length. It made a sound like a nest of angry wing-stingers, and, even over the noisome stenches borne on the breeze from the nearby swamp, he could smell the acrid scent of ozone it produced. He watched, openmouthed, as Barriss landed next to the battle droid. Before it could fire again, she struck a single blow with the energy weapon that sheared halfway through the droid’s torso. Sparks erupted, and the droid collapsed.

—Medstar I: Battle Surgeons, Michael Reaves

[livingforstars]

The McMath-Pierce Solar Observatory - March 15th, 1996.

"This odd-looking structure silhouetted in the foreground houses some of the three largest solar telescopes in the world. Located in Kitt Peak, Arizona, the largest telescope inside the McMath-Pierce Facility is 1.6-meters in diameter and contains only mirrors. The telescope contains no windows or lenses, because focusing bright sunlight would overheat them. Visible in the background of this sunrise photo are the Moon and Venus. The telescopes are used in many research projects including determining the Sun's structure, researching the cause of the solar corona, monitoring Sun-spots and solar flares, and observing bright planets and comets near the Sun. The telescopes even help monitor the Earth's atmospheric content of ozone and CFCs!"

[notwhelmedyet]

things i learned this year on wikipedia: you can microwave metal actually

there is an ancient (ANCIENT) microwave in my work breakroom. you could fit an entire turkey in there. there's no turntable, if your food ends up uneven that's on you. And, most mysterious of all: it has a metal rack in the center of the microwave.

(example image from wikipedia)

after spending 4 years at this place avoiding the Big Microwave and its Probable Death Rack i finally went on wikipedia and made a discovery. I had been lied to my entire life. You can put metal in the microwave.

It's the shape that gets you, not just the material. It's just that you can only put things without points in the microwave, which rules out almost all metal items you were potentially thinking of microwaving. Unless you have a metal orb at home. that might be okay. Quothe wikipedia:

Contrary to popular assumptions, metal objects can be safely used in a microwave oven, but with some restrictions.[77][78] Any metal or conductive object placed into the microwave oven acts as an antenna to some degree, resulting in an electric current. This causes the object to act as a heating element. This effect varies with the object's shape and composition, and is sometimes utilized for cooking. Any object containing pointed metal can create an electric arc (sparks) when microwaved. This includes cutlery, crumpled aluminium foil (though some foil used in microwave ovens is safe, see below), twist-ties containing metal wire, the metal wire carry-handles in oyster pails, or almost any metal formed into a poorly conductive foil or thin wire, or into a pointed shape.[79] Forks are a good example: the tines of the fork respond to the electric field by producing high concentrations of electric charge at the tips. This has the effect of exceeding the dielectric breakdown of air, about 3 megavolts per meter (3×106 V/m). The air forms a conductive plasma, which is visible as a spark. The plasma and the tines may then form a conductive loop, which may be a more effective antenna, resulting in a longer lived spark. When dielectric breakdown occurs in air, some ozone and nitrogen oxides are formed, both of which are unhealthy in large quantities.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Chapter 21 of Chained: To Wield The Blade We Have Forged

A/N: This chapter is stephcass focused enough that I think people might enjoy this as a standalone thing, so I'll be posting the chapter both on AO3 as usual, and right here in this post! This also connects to the reblog I wrote up the other night gushing about Batgirl (2000) #19 and the potential in a Cass vs Jason confrontation!

For this chapter only, NOT the whole fic: Rated T for Teen Ships are Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain and vaguely hinted at Jason Todd/Tim Drake There's gonna be a LOT of plot points that don't seem to go anywhere, cause they're parts of much bigger arcs, but there's some really sweet talk about deep stuff towards the end and the start is Steph handling a deescalation scenario Hope you enjoy ^w^ !

Dear War Diary,

You know, some days I don't even think Ivy should be in Arkham. Logging, pollution, hair spray tearing a hole in the ozone layer, pesticides - if I could feel plants' pain as they were broken apart, I'd want to feed people to ambulatory venus fly traps too. Heck, back in high school I was sure tempted to let her have at some of my more obnoxious classmates.

Unfortunately, today was not one of those days.

We knew something was weird this time around when the docs at Arkham called warning us that she woke up screaming and her powers went out of control. Usually when this sort of thing happens she goes towards a clear goal. Like, there'll be a construction site or a factory or something damaging the land and drawing her out.

Thing is though, the more we chased her, the clearer it became that she wasn't running towards anything.

She was fleeing, and seemingly had no clear place to bolt to. First she fled to the meat packing district. Then she ran down to the water, and like, we expected her to follow the coast? But she just swam right in! Left huge algal blooms in her wake too; like the lacy train of a queen's dress. She even left Gotham altogether for a hot minute only to turn back again for no reason. She was very obviously out of her mind frightened of something, but we had no idea what it was, and frankly, we still don't.

Tonight had real big 'predator running from the wildfire' energy, is what I'm saying.

It took several days, but eventually she gave up on running and bunkered down in one of the parks. The concrete storage shed she picked as her new home was so overgrown by the time we got to it that it was impossible to see a single square inch of the structure. The hardwood and thorn vines covering it had to have been at least a meter thick.

And that little backstory finally brings us to tonight's patrol.

I tapped my earpiece, "We getting anything on the seismic, O?"

"Nope. If she's digging she's doing it slow enough we're not gonna get any warning. Good news though, I finally got an answer back from Waller. Harley Quinn can be on the line within ten minutes notice."

"Awesome. Speedy, you good to cover me?"

"Yup! Got a whole quiver full of tranquilizers and frog crotch arrows ready for her."

I snort-laughed, "God, what a name!"

"I know right?! But yeah, you're good to go. I'll be aiming from the East, so gimmie a sign if you think you'll need me at a different angle."

"Got it. Alright O, give that ten minute notice and I'll start the approach."

Step one: Get the cops to back up the perimeter by at least ten feet all around. Frankly they were gonna be useless in a fight if it came to that, and the whole goal here was to get this done without bloodshed.

This part was pretty damn easy. I knew one of the cops there by name and she was more than happy to back her fellow officers out of the negotiation zone.

Step two: Establish a desire for peaceful communication.

I spoke through a megaphone into the general direction of the tree-bunker, "Doctor Isley? Would you be willing to come out and talk?"

The woods creaked and groaned, shifting minutely. My heart pounded in my chest, waiting, watching, every leaf bud an acid spitting behemoth in the making.

Nothing came out.

I called out to her again, "Okay. Doctor Isley, you seem really upset, and we don't understand why, but you haven't hurt anyone yet so we're not going to hurt you."

I glanced around surreptitiously at the cops. Lucky for me they all seem to be on their best behavior tonight. No one was grumbling about wanting to hurt her loud enough for me to hear, and I just had to trust that meant the grass couldn't hear them either.

"If you don't want to talk to me, that's okay. We want to get you some help, so we're going to try and get Harley on the phone so you can talk to her."

Against my ear, the phone crackled to life.

Time for step three: Get negotiation partner on board.

"Which bat-brat do I have the displeasure of speakin to today!?"

"It's Batgirl; we need your help getting through to Ivy."

"HAH! Well fat fuckin chance, asshole! I ain't talkin her inta anythin she don't wanna do!"

"And we're not asking you to! She hasn't even hurt anybody, and she's not making any threats, but she is clearly terrified. We think there's something or someone after her, and it's not us."

I gave her a moment to think it over. She's got to know we wouldn't let Ivy die, but there's always the chance we're just lying.

"Fine. Alright, what's the plan here?"

"Thank you! I'm gonna hold the speaker up to the megaphone, and you let her know you want to talk, then I'll slowly approach and once in speaking range I'll take the megaphone off of the phone to give the two of you some privacy."

"An you'll still be listinen the whole damn time of course."

"Yeah, sorry about that, but at least the cops won't be."

Harley sighs, "Turn the lights down in the house and start the music then. Lets get this show rollin an' over with."

Step four: Negotiate and deescalate.

Through the phone megaphone combo she said, "Hey Sweetpea, mind lettin me hear yer pretty voice again?"

The protective wall started growing again, getting thicker. I chance a few slow steps forwards anyway, since nothing offensive starts growing either. Or at least I hoped there wasn't something offensive in there.

"I've missed ya. Not the same kickin ass with these bozos in here, ya'know?"

As I got closer, the smell of ozone got stronger, breathing started to feel weird, and every drop of sweat evaporated off of me, leaving me parched. Her hypergrowth vegetation was stripping the carbon dioxide and water out of the air so fast that the atmosphere around it was going haywire.

Just as I thought she was waiting for me to get close enough for her tree's roots to just use me as a nutrient bag, an opening formed over the doorway to the storage unit, and she shakily poked her head out, calling for Harleen.

She was messed up. She clearly hadn't been able to take care of herself and

I'm not writing the next part down verbatim. Just seems too... invasive. They said a lot of sweet an

I don't feel great about this, but just in case I need it, I am going to record what I remember of how Harley talked her down.

Harley said, "Pumpkin, I'm so sorr

Okay. Third time's the charm?

This was not a criminal wrecking havok for profit. This was not a terrorist making demands. This was someone having a breakdown due to forces outside her control and her girlfriend comforting her as best she could. I shouldn't even have been hearing it, really, so yeah I think I'd feel too skeezy to keep dinner down if I wrote it all out 'just in case'.

Informationally speaking, hopefully the only part of their conversation I'll ever need to know again is that Ivy said "The green is dying" and "She's made the world barren; the flowers will never bloom again" and basically made it really clear that the damage was already done and no one was after her.

If you're reading this Future Me and you desperately need to know exactly what happened, sorry not sorry, get a time machine or something.

Anyways, after it became clear that there was nothing we could do for her other than get her back to mental help, I gave Speedy the signal to take the shot. The tranqs hit her before she realized anything was up, and there were only a few seconds of scuffle, then she was down for the count.

I picked up the phone again to cut the line and Harley said, "So that's it, huh? I talk her into openin' the treeline, you drug her up, and that's curtains?"

"There clearly wasn't anything else we could do for-"

"Fuck off you insufferable, controlling, shitty, furry knock off cops! I shoulda told her ta mulch ya!"

There were the muffled sounds of the phone being taken out of her hand, and then a voice I didn't recognize, "Well, I hope that clown to plant heart to heart was worth the favor."

"Zero injuries, zero deaths, zero horrifying poison scares: I'd say it was."

She, whoever she was (I assume it was Waller) chuckled, "Well you aren't the one picking up the tab. Tell Oracle it was a pleasure doing business again."

The line went dead.

"You get that O?"

"Loud and clear. And hey, don't let what Quinn said get to you. You did great."

"Thanks," I kinda didn't feel it, but the sentiment was nice.

The rest of patrol was a long and boring ride on the top of a police van, making sure that no one ambushed her on her way back to Arkham, and then a short conversation about what they're going to do to keep her there this time.

They've had a couple different ways to cut her off from whatever The Green is for a while now. Every method has nasty side effects, and half her breakout attempts were in direct opposition to using them. At this point their policy is to just help her manage being connected. Considering what I saw that connection putting her through tonight? The docs rubber stamped cutting her off from The Green again, at least temporarily, and I'm pretty okay that.

So yeah. We won. Yippee. And all it took was arm twisting a woman held prisoner by a shadowy government agency in order to trick the love of her life into making herself vulnerable to us...

God this job sucks sometimes.

And the suck was not over yet, not by a long shot! And the suck was not only reserved for me either. Uh, okay obviously since Harley and Ivy, but also!

Oracle called to tell me this: "I need to give you a heads up before you return to base, and Speedy needs some time to handle a private phone call so I'm telling you this now. Black Bat got into a fight that upset her pretty bad. She's been on the training sims and dummies for over three hours, and I'm kinda worried she's not gonna sleep unless someone helps her untangle her head."

"I thought everything went smooth on her end, what the heck happened?"

"Easier if I just show you," Oracle said and fed a video taken by one of the Bat-House's internal cameras into my HUD.

It showed Ca (gah trying not to write anyone's names is a mess) Black Bat in civilian clothes, standing in a doorway. She's staring at the Red Hood from across the room with an expression of frustrated determination.

He ignores her for a while, continuing to read, curled up on the couch in a posture so terrible I have to wonder if he's trying to give himself back problems.

She just... kept staring. And staring.

Finally he asked, sounding very snarky and annoyed, "Can I help you?"

"Why did you pull the trigger again? You were better. You did better for so long. Why?"

"I don't owe you that shit," He narrowed his eyes at her, "And you don't get to decide I was better just cause you liked it more when I was docile."

She marches over to him, "I know how it hurts. I see it hurt you! I want to help. I want to know why."

"No," He said, standing up to loom over her, as though she couldn't kick his ass five ways from Sunday with a hand tied behind her back, "You want me to get on my knees and sob and beg for forgiveness. As though any of you shitheads ever even deserved my forgiveness!"

"No! I want to see you get better! I wanted another little brother!"

"Well congratu-fucking-lations, you got one! Don't worry, Dickie hates it just as much. I'm sure he can give you some pointers on how to go fuck yourself about it."

My jaw started hurting from how tight I had my teeth clenched as I watched her face twist in open rage-hurt-sorrow, "Why won't you stop burning our house down!? You're in it!"

"I. Don't. Owe. You. That."

She glared up at him defiantly, "You owe someone."

"No. I don't."

"Sheezus!" Black Canary said as she entered the room, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you're already picking a fight with her? Seriously?"

Black Bat's anger simmered below the boiling point again, "Not a fight."

"That sure looked like-"

"Not a fight." She declared bitterly, storming out of the room.

BC raised an eyebrow at Hood.

He smiled all teeth and irritation, "Not a fight!"

She rolled her eyes and took her post back up as the video ended.

I sighed, "Well. That'd do it. Thanks for the warning, I'll see if I can talk to her, take her mind off it."

"Appreciated. I tried but... I dunno. You'll probably have more luck."

"We'll see I guess! So, am I good to check in with Speedy, or is she still on her phone call?"

"You're good."

When I grappled up to the roof she was on, Speedy looked pretty damn unhappy. So, like, clearly tonight was sucking complete ass for everyone. Mercury in retrograde or some shit, idk.

"You got news I take it?" I asked.

"Mhm, great news! By which I mean totally shit news. Apparently the lab I get my bloodwork done at broke, as in everything is giving false negatives. So yeah, all my bloodwork for the past who knows how long might have been wrong!"

"Oh shit. You want us to test you in the Batcave? Guarantee the lab down there could handle whatever you need!"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll need to fast for twelve hours beforehand no matter what, so it wouldn't really be any quicker. Also my civilian GP would be pretty leery of a Bat-Diagnostic, especially since they already got me an appointment with the closest available people."

O cut in over comms, "That is suspiciously fast..."

Speedy shrugged, "I've got a feeling Green Arrow might have pushed me up the list somehow. He might not be (secret identity stuff I can't write down here :P ) anymore, but he's still got some pull."

"Hmm, well, both of you get back to base and we can figure out the logistics once you're here."

"Roger."

"Aye Aye Captain."

Once she cut off I offered, "Grapple line tag on the way there to take your mind off it?"

"You know what? I could use something to stretch my legs out after all that sniper crouching. Fuck it, let's do this."

Swingy swingy swingy over the buildings, across the bridge, to grandmother's imposing, minefield-surrounded cave we went!

We got into the cave, changed out of our gear, and sure enough, Black Bat was still in the training section, running herself ragged. Speedy went up to get some sleep since she couldn't eat dinner now anyways (do NOT envy that). So I went straight into an attempt to pry Black Bat off the training mats.

"Heads up!" I called out and tossed a bottle of water at her head.

She caught it without even looking, swapping to kicks and using her other hand to demolish her sandbag opponents, "Been drinking enough just fine."

"Sure. What'll it take to convince you to take a break and drink it with me anyways?"

She paused, leg still raised to kick, perfectly poised like gravity wasn't even a factor. It always makes my legs hurt looking her like that. Makes the rest of me swoon too.

"Would um..." She frowned, like she expected me to think less of her for making the request, "You bring dinner down here? For us both?"

I gave her a smile, "Yeah, of course. Mind saying how come?"

"Because Hood's up there and I want to fight him more. If I fight him, have to look at him. Have to watch him feeling and thinking and..." She finally put her leg down, and fidgeted with the cap of her water, "And I just don't want to."

"Didn't realize you hated him that bad."

"Not sure I do? Messy."

"Yeah, messy for me too."

Translation: I still don't know how to feel about him taking grisly revenge against Black Mask 'in my honor'. Still also super don't know how to feel about his welcome home gifts of a gun and an offer to come murder criminals with him.

Then I add, "But I'll have you know I'm a first class mess messer with-er! So if you want to talk about it, I'd be happy to."

She very briefly smiled, then her face feel again and somber moment passed before she said quietly, "Yeah, okay. Bring food down and... we can talk."

"On it."

"Um, wait!"

"Huh?"

She caught my arm and reeled me in for a kiss on the cheek, "There."

I laughed and gave her a proper kiss, "There! Love you."

Diary, have I ever told you about how she looks when she blushes? Because I seriously think I'll need to pull out the old poetry textbooks in order to do it justice.

Upstairs took me passed the dining room, where Red Hood and Red Robin were talking.

"The fuck is that?" Hood asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Blueprints. I'm having a section of my house renovated while I'm stuck here."

"Wwwwhy?"

"I am swiftly being driven mad by boredom and saw a really neat indoor garden set-up on pinterest."

"An indoor garden? In Gotham? Do you fuckin want to get strangled to death in your sleep by vines?"

RR does the little 'tch' thing he picked up from Robin, "Whatever, it'll be fine, these are tiny little arboreals and I'll have reinforced airlocks leading in and out."

"That does fucking nothing for attacks in your sleep."

"Which is why I'll have the whole lockdown system automated. I was already going to do automation for the plant care stuff anyways, cause lets be honest here, there was no way I was ever going to keep them alive on my own."

"...The speed and ease with which you oscillate between self depreciating paranoia and megalomaniacal hubris is fascinating."

And even as pissed off as I am with both of them, that still almost made me friggin lose it laughing, RR seemed so offended too, it was great!

And speaking of pissed off? Yeah, seeing RR acting so chummy with Hood was kinda making my blood boil! Like, maybe he didn't even know they fought. But he's supposed to be her friend too, and it's still sticking in my craw, and I'm busy with the whole damn city needing patroled, and so bottom line: I didn't talk to him tonight, and I'm probably not gonna talk to him tomorrow night either!!

Agent A had several plates set to the side already when I got into the kitchen. I think he assumed at least a few of us were gonna go off in our separate corners after the argument. Made it nice and easy to snag two and bring it down.

She had clearly been pacing, waiting for me, back down in the cave.

We sat together and she held my hand while we ate - pretty awkward, but super worth it. We stayed quiet, me cause I wanted to give her the space to start talking, and her probably because she wasn't sure where to start.

Once all the peas and mash were gone and she was pushing her drumstick around the plate she asked, "Ready?"

"Go for it. All ears."

"It's a guilt thing I think? Least a little?"

"Kinda always figured you were uh, how to put it, I guess invested in him, cause of that sort of parallel between you two?"

She nodded, "Not all of it's that, though. Different guilt," She gives me a rueful smile, "I'm layered in it, huh?"

"Like a lasagna of angst," I told her solemnly.

She huffed a quiet laugh, fidgeting with my hand, "Am I um. A tasty lasagna?"

"Oh yeah, you're delicious," I said with a cheesy wink.

"Terrible," She laughed a bit more, running her thumb over the back of my hand, and the nervous sad crept right back in, "You know about um... One day, I rescued a man? Murderer. From the gas chamber?"

"Yeah. Not well, you've never said much, but I've read a bit about it. Was kind of a big news thing."

"On the way out I met the mother of his victim. She demanded justice. She demanded his death. I didn't know how to- to reconcile her grief. Still don't. But back then... I put him back in the gas chamber. I look at Hood. Wonder if he's the murderer or the mother or the executioner. Wonder what the mother was. Wonder what I was. Wonder if the distinction matters at all."

"Hood's trying to cut all the bad people out, trying to bleed the world better. You're trying to keep it all alive, trying to keep everyone growing. Maybe the other distinctions don't matter, but I think this one has to."

She squeezed my hand tight and kissed every one of my knuckles delicately, "I hope so. Trying to believe so."

"I kinda think you already do. You may be an angst lasagna, but you don't do what you do just out of guilt, yeah?"

"Guess so... I wanted so bad to find out that they'd been replaced by aliens or something. Find out that wasn't him. Not now and um. Not on TV all those months ago. At the very least I was hoping to find regret."

"I really wish I had something better to say than, you know, his determination to be an asshole isn't something we can fix. Just gotta keep growing our garden and hope he decides to join us for real sometime."

"Yeah..." Another round of knuckle kisses, "Yeah, you're right," She wrinkles her nose, "Sucks you're right."

"Yup."

She pressed her forehead against our intertwined hands for a while.

Then she asked, "Tell me about one of your shows?"

"Sure."

So I chattered about some light stuff she nodded along to until we were both ready for bed. It was honestly really nice, and I think I needed it too, a lot more than I realized.

So yeah, here's hoping tomorrow is less of a complete shit show from start to finish.

- Batgirl IV

[queenofbaws]

hello my friends, and congrats on making it to yet another wednesday. oh how the time simply flies, huh?

a quick status update over here: things are still pretty nuts with family stuff, so as i said over the weekend, if you've sent me a flash fiction prompt i haven't gotten to yet, i promise i haven't forgotten! <3 most of my energy's been going elsewhere lately, what can you do.

my big goals for the near future are still (1) to finish the tale(s) of the champion, (2) to finish of mummy men & bathtub soup, and (3) to get another chapter of like wringing blood from a stone out, but i've learned my lesson and will not be making guesses as to timeframes there, hehehehe. if you're looking for a sneak peek or two to tide you over in the meantime, i'm including snippets from tales, wringing, and a SECRET MYSTERY PROJECT under the cut.

as always, hope you're hanging in there, and hope you're taking care of yourself as best you can, whatever that looks like for you <333

the tale(s) of the champion

“I’m not proud of my time in Kirkwall, Inquisitor,” Cullen said sharply, an answer to an accusation she hadn’t raised. “All I did then, I did to fulfill the duty expected of me, but even so there are things I said, things I did, things…” The muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched over his working throat. “…things allowed to happen under my watch, which I regret so thoroughly as to know they will follow me well into my grave. But the actions I’ve taken against Hawke and her cohort—ordered or otherwise? No.” A brisk shake of his head. “Those I do not regret in the slightest.”

It was times like these, times where the tension crackled like ozone before a storm, that made her worry for the whole of the Inquisition. For Thedas, really. There she was, meant to be their benevolent leader, even-tempered and understanding, and instead of backing away with arms raised to allow the situation to defuse, she ground her boot that much harder into the softer bits offered up to her, hoping to wring out as much blood as she could before the wound scabbed over.

It was times like these that she worried the Chantry was right, that she’d never be accepted as the voice of the people, as a protector and guide; maybe she’d always be who she’d been before the Conclave…no matter how brightly her armor shone.

“You make her sound like a monster.”

Cullen scoffed. “A criminal.”

“Is there a difference?”

like wringing blood from a stone

A branch snapped behind him.

And something let out a deep, growling breath.

Bobby didn’t whip himself around. Everybody else could say and think what they wanted, but he wasn’t any fucking moron—you didn’t make sudden moves when you were being tracked. Hunted. He knew that same as he knew his own name.

What he did instead was jam as much of his weight as he could against the door, grimacing with effort when his shoulder made contact. Inside, he heard Mom scream.

“Don’t you let him in here, Jed!”

“No one’s gettin’ in.”

“DON’T YOU LET HIM IN THIS GODDAMN HO—”

He didn’t wait to hear her finish the sentence. Nah, he hauled back and kicked the door with every ounce of force he could muster. But even though he did it the same way he’d seen Uncle Jack do a million times before, it didn’t budge.

Mom just screamed again.

The sound made his skin stand up, not like goosebumps or shivers, more like the hot, stinging welts you got from snapping a rubber band or touching poison oak. It was a sickish feeling, making his palms sweat and his vision double. He didn’t know if he wanted to puke, scream, dig his fingers into his own skin…or maybe just curl up there on the porch and cry until he couldn’t anymore. In the end, he split the difference.

SUPER SECRET MYSTERY PROJECT WOOoOoOoOoOO

Her breath hitched as she saw a sliver of moonlight ahead. Emily pushed away the horrible, impossible, image of Beth’s rotting face and surged forward the last few meters to the doors. She slid between them before slamming them shut, her hands chapping in the cold even as she yanked the latching bar down into place. The doors rocked under her palms, and the thing she’d locked inside shrieked in fury as obvious as it was alien. She could feel it beat against the doors with fists the size of her head, felt it fight to get to her, but no matter how the doors shook on their hinges, the latch held.

Her body slumped as her exhaustion caught up with her. A breath tore out of her in a shaking, ragged sob…or maybe it was a laugh. From where she stood, it was impossible to tell.

And then something grabbed her.

Too tired to fight, too tired to run, too tired to do so much as gasp in surprise, Emily found herself yanked away from the doors and around a bend, her point of view torn suddenly from the mine’s processing facility to the trees. That wasn’t the most worrying part, though.

That was the hand.

It came to her in pieces-parts, her panic growing with each revelation. First was the hand on her face, clutching her so tightly it hurt; it covered her mouth, it squished her nose, leaving her only one nostril to breathe from—not nearly enough for her to catch her breath. There was another hand too, its heel pressed hard to the spot below her ribs where her stomach began, the fingers gripping so hard she could feel them through her jacket. Her leather jacket. And the body…the body she registered last, solid and sinewy and pressed flush to her back. She could feel the rise and fall of the chest at her shoulder blades. There was hot breath displacing her hair.

When finally her brain put it all together, her hands snapped up to beat at the one covering her face, pulling and scratching—anything to get even a little more air into her lungs.  

It was the wrong thing to do. The hand only gripped her harder, tightening until the soft, fleshy insides of her cheeks ground into her teeth.

[vasthi-instruments12]

[sofiyalabtronus]

UV absorption ozone meter is a portable unit used to measure ozone concentrations. A built-in printer facilitates to direct printing of records.Ozone measurement range=0-ppm-sim-100-ppm-0-ppm-sim-1000-ppm; Flow rate=1-l-min; Accuracy=0-01-ppm; Measuring time=10-seconds; Boot time=le-10-min;Shop Online at Labtron.us

[fanfoolishness]

connection (Jedi: Fallen Order)

Cal attempts to reconnect with the Force on his first visit to Bogano. A little expansion of the scene where he meets BD-1. ~1280 words, Jedi: Fallen Order, a little angst, a lot of rambling about the Force and Bogano.

-

Cal doesn’t make it five meters from the Mantis before he stops, reaches out, and lets a tall blade of smooth, sweet-smelling grass fold across the crease of his palm.

His senses are on fire.  The misty sunlight is painfully bright after the rainy dark of Bracca and the close confines of the ship.  Mud and loam squelch, springy, beneath his boots.  He smells green growing things and marshy bogs and dense moist peat.  Insects drone lazily around him; the breeze sighs.  He tastes clean fresh air with no hint of ozone or oil.

Cal shakes his head.  It’s beautiful here.  

It’s overwhelming.

Cere hadn’t warned him about Bogano, not like this.  He breathes in deeply.  More than sight and smell and the drone of insects, this place is different from Bracca.  It reminds him of the sanctuaries within the Jedi Temple; it reminds him of the bitter cold of Ilum.  The Force is rich here, and while this place is nothing like Coruscant or Ilum, it feels familiar all the same.  Familiar, and so incredibly distant.

Cal trots along the bank of the mesa, looking for a place to continue towards the temple, faint and blurry in the shifting clouds.  Cere’s putting her faith in him, for some reason.  The Empire knows he exists now; it’s taken from him again.  Prauf, he mouths, his fist curling painfully at his side.  His lightsaber swings at his hip openly for the first time in five years.  There’s no point in hiding anymore.  

I have to reach out to the Force, Cal tells himself.  It’s an easy enough thing to think about.  He just has no idea how he’s actually going to do it, given it’s been years since his last attempt.  His stomach swoops with a sudden fear he tries to squash down.

He leaps down from one shelf of jutting land to another, following a group of funny little mammals with a bouncing gait.  They squeak in warning and scatter as he approaches.  He can’t help a half-smile, watching them.  They’re cuter than scrap rats, and he likes the way they chatter to each other.

He jumps down to another shelf of land, stumbling, but is slow to get up.  He pauses.  The Force feels… Concentrated, here.  He straightens up, looking around.  It looks just the same as the rest of the land, but it feels worlds different.

“This looks like a safe place to meditate,” Cal says carefully.  For a moment, Master Tapal flashes across his mind’s eye, his stern face softening into pride and encouragement.  I can do this.  

It had been so easy before.  Cal had learned how to slip into meditation anywhere: the Temple gardens, noisy youngling quarters, a crowded ship’s galley.  The Force was everywhere, Master Tapal had reminded him, and so he should be able to access his connection anywhere.  And that had been true, until he crashed down on Bracca and found himself utterly adrift.

Don’t think about that.  This is a new world, a new place, a new chance.  Breathe.

He sinks down to his knees, settling into the pose that had always been his favorite for meditation, hands resting atop his thighs.  He squares his shoulders.  The light breeze plays across his cheeks, fluttering in his hair, the scent of the air fresh and clean.  

The Force wants to connect with him here.  He can feel it pressing around the edges of his awareness, urging him to open himself.  Beyond that, he can feel Bogano itself, the heart of the planet shimmering in the Force, a world dazzlingly complex in its apparent simplicity.  He closes his eyes, cloaking himself in calm curiosity, and reaches out.

His awareness spreads out, out, out, amplified by the Force’s richness here.  He touches simple lifeforms burrowing in the soil, crawling through the mud, lurking in the caves, leaping through the air.  He senses grasses and flowers, lichens and rushes, mosses and vines.  He brushes against dripping pools in deep caves and rocks crisscrossed with shadowed crevices.  He glimpses something old and vast and gentle, a spirit filled with a sweet, slow curiosity; he hears faint echoes from the temple, singing a luminous harmony that weaves itself into the very soul of this land.  

He’s overwhelmed again.  His chest aches with it, the beauty of this place, the delicacy of his connection with it.  At any moment, he could falter, disconnect, lose the Force again.  The thought shakes him --

Suddenly his focus is back on his own body, not the shimmering music of Bogano.  His heart beats, straining within his chest, the rhythm quickening with stress.  Sweat beads on his forehead.  His gut knots.  His fingers grip against the cloth of his pants, bunching it beneath his palms. 

He’s here on Bogano, he reminds himself, he’s here -- not in an escape pod on Bracca -- not a child sobbing over his master’s broken body -- not shaking with anger and terror and the sickening sense of betrayal --

The Force twists around him, its song discordant and detuned, a dizzying tangle.  Cal pants, pain surging sharply through the connection.  There’s fear, there’s hatred -- there’s something foul and terrible lurking deep within the nearby caves -- there’s the stench of putrid decay, the forgotten voices in the temple lost to time’s dissolve, the cries of the helpless mammals thrashing in the grip of a predator’s jaws, the bite of smoke and metal in his throat from the crash --

With his awareness open like this, the past floods back into his mind, a confusing flash of images he’s long tried to scrub from his memory.  He struggles against them, trying not to close himself off to them, but they’re blinding, impossible to ignore -- blue blaster fire, a lightsaber’s hum, his footsteps clanging in a ventilation shaft --

He’s so helpless, just a Padawan frozen in the wreckage of an escape pod, trying to lift his master’s body from the wreckage for a proper burial -- metal shrieking around them, hot sparks showering his arms, Master Tapal’s body still as ever, unmovable, unburied -- Cal nothing but a failure even in this, even in his master’s death --

He breaks the connection at last, gasping.  

I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.  He opens his eyes, squinting and blinking, and the hazy Bogano sunlight greets him.

That, and a little droid in red and white.

Cal blinks.  A droid?  Here?  It’s the last thing he expected in this place, teeming with simpler lifeforms.  But the droid seems friendly, peering at him in obvious curiosity.  Even better, the droid has no presence in the Force.  Cal’s glad.  He feels prickly and overstimulated, twitchy in his own skin.

He takes a few breaths, trying to settle himself.  The Force quiets around him, the connection with Bogano fading away once again.  He misses the gentle beauty that he glimpsed, but he’s grateful to have escaped the storm.

Deep down, Cal knows he can’t keep running.  Not forever.  But maybe he can run a little bit longer; maybe he can avoid those dark, terrible memories for just a little more time, and focus instead on the task at hand.

The droid burbles cheerily at him in binary, bouncing up and down on its sturdy legs, its amplifiers twitching back like a pet’s ears.  It trills its name and asks boldly for Cal’s.  

“Hey, Beedee-One,” he says.  He glances around, looking for the droid’s owner, but there’s nobody else.  It’s strange to see the droid here all alone, but then again, this world’s a little strange itself.  “I’m Cal.”

The droid chitters, asking him a question.  An oddly perceptive one.  Cal considers it for just a moment before he answers.  

“Yeah,” he says cautiously.  “I’m… okay.”

[ratatatastic]

highsticking in the ozone with 8.8 seconds left against one of the leagues most explosive pps? oy vey... his silly meter is off the charts

also before the whistle swaggy taps his stick against ekholms skate and ekholm and pushes him gently away like hes nothing more than yorkie nipping at his heels

into the silly box for being too silly its where whimsy goes to die also if anything it did give us the funniest intermission interview of all time

You /are/ going to start the second period in the box, what does discipline mean to you guys in this series?

Yeah, obviously, we need to stay out of the box, they have a really good powerplay, obviously— that's a tough play at the end by me, but I mean we gotta stay out of the box.

"we" swaggy its funny that you say "we"

edmonton oilers @ florida panthers game 1 | 6.8.24

[bullet-prooflove]

Final Words - Connor Rhodes x Reader

It was the lilt in Connor’s voice that tipped you off. The sharp edge of his cadence, the grimace under the softness. Even with two thousand miles between you, talking over the phone you could tell that something was off.

“I just really needed to hear your voice.” He told you quietly, the sound seemed to echo in the background. “I just needed to tell you how much I love you…”

You heard the crackle of something, you could practically taste the ozone in the air. You’d been caught up in a building collapse a couple of years ago during an earthquake, it had taken them hours to dig you out. The entire time a frayed electrical cord had hissed and twitched barely a meter away. You had been positive you were going to die that day.

“I love you ok? Never doubt that.”

The tv was on in the background of the conference room you were standing, your eyes flickered up towards it. An explosion in Chicago Med, the anchor was talking terrorism but all you could focus on Connor’s familiar car in the background, glass blown out from the concussive force of the blast.

“Connor…” You whispered, the line was still open but the voice on the other end was gone.

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