#scaffold decks

[tianjinwellmadescaffold]

32x157 cm Scaffolding Steel Plank In Weld - European Allround System Com...

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[silverskye13]

Ooooo it was so hard picking just one prompt, but for the Situation Game- Could you do #48? Enemy caretaker fic with Tanguish and Wels? Tanguish finds Wels unconscious and (against his better judgement) takes care of him until he wakes up. (Alternatively, you could do Helsknight and Tango, if that first prompt doesn't click. I've been drawing those two interacting so they've been on my mind lol)

He hadn't expected to find him there, was the thing. Tango had asked him to go check through Decked Out while he was gone -- some meetup with Impulse and Zed, it sounded like it would take awhile. Tanguish had heard rockets and wisely hid, and then the rockets left. He assumed someone was dropping something off, or maybe had planned to see Tango only to realize Tango wasn't there. And maybe that was exactly what happened.

The important thing was: Tanguish didn't hear what direction the rockets went. He didn't hear the Warden caged downstairs growl or shriek. He didn't hear a crash, or a scream, or any other indication that an accident had happened. So when he stumbled on Welsknight on the lowest floor of Decked Out, unconscious, it had been... Well it had been a shock. He hadn't even known it was a person at first. He saw a bundle of something on the ground, and he placed down the shulker box he'd been carrying and went over to investigate. When the pile of elytra and armor resolved itself into Welsknight, Tanguish froze, heart racing.

(He should leave him here.)

It wasn't a kind thought, but Tanguish was, rightly, he thought, terrified of Welsknight. If their situations were switched, and it was Welsknight walking up on Tanguish crumpled and unconscious on the floor, he was sure the knight would kill him and he done with it. Just one less problem to deal with. Simple. And while Tanguish was far from able to kill in cold blood -- or killing in general -- leaving the knight here would serve a similar end. Not his problem. He would wake up, or he wouldn't. Tango would find him, or he wouldn't. Whatever happened, it didn't have to be Tanguish that dealt with it.

Except, standing over Welsknight, Tanguish was struck by how much he looked like Helsknight. Their differences were unmistakable up close. He was an inch or two shorter, his hair a sun-gilded auburn, and even bruised he looked gentler, like the world had been kind to him. Their resemblance was brotherly, something about the build and the set of the jaw. But it was enough that Tanguish imagined Helsknight crumpled on the ground somewhere, and how terrible it would be to leave him behind. So, lanced with guilt that made no sense, but compelled to act on it regardless, Tanguish set to work making sure the fool knight didn't die.

Tanguish didn't have much on his person to help with healing, and even if he knew where Tango kept potions, it would be a long climb back up to the Decked Out storage room. He did his best to check for broken bones, looking for odd angles or swelling or crooked joints and finding none. He had to take off the knight's helmet to check for a head injury, found a pretty decent welt, but nothing that suggested blood or breaking.

Tanguish glanced around. They weren't really in the safest place. Beneath the unfinished game, scaffolding blocks and incomplete redstone lines cast long shadows where creatures spawned and congregated, and it wouldn't do to get them both killed by a spider or a zombie down here. Tanguish tentatively explored around, and managed to find a suitably defensible crevasse (a hole in the wall really, probably dug out while Tango was measuring something or other to do with the game). He circled his arms around Welsknight's chest and, as gingerly as possible, tried to drag him in that direction. Then less gingerly, when the knight barely budged. And then Tanguish slumped to the ground because, gods and saints, were people always that heavy? He knew he wasn't the strongest, but he could carry his own weight up the side of a building. Surely he could drag a knight a couple dozen blocks?

Tanguish huffed out a sigh and stared down at Welsknight thoughtfully. "You're more trouble than you're worth, you know that?"

(That was mean. Even enemies were worth saving, so long as they didn't do something mean to make him regret it after.)

Tanguish took another pensive look around, and content nothing was about to attack him for his efforts, knelt and began taking the knight's armor off. He had a little knowledge of all the different buckles and bracers and how they worked (he'd seen Helsknight take them on and off a thousand times). It took some fumbling, especially around the chest plate, where he had to gently turn Welsknight over and prop him up, and support his head because flopping around on his neck like that couldn't be good for him, and, gods, this was stupid and awkward and terrible. He really, really should've just left. But then he was done, and when he slipped his arms around the knight to drag him again, he actually managed to move him a few steps without his back breaking, so he took that as his sign from the universe to keep going.

Tanguish wanted the universe to know he tried to be gentle. He wasn't big and strong like Helsknight (and probably Welsknight too). He couldn't casually pick up people and carry them around, or throw them over his shoulders. And if Welsknight were conscious enough for a piggy back ride, Tanguish was pretty sure he would just fall over if he tried to take a step. So dragging the knight two dozen blocks to a little hidey hole in the wall was the best, safest, and really only option at his disposal. Once inside, he scurried out to his shulker box, snatched it up, and dropped it in the entrance to the hiding place so anything that might want to come in would have a harder time. He wished there was something useful inside. He had planned on mob proofing while Tango was gone, stringing around glow lichen so his double would have a safer time working on his game. He had a few snacks, some water, and about a stack and a half of lichen left. That was all he'd bothered to bring with him. Now he wished he had brought something actually helpful.

Tanguish weighed his options, staring down at the still unconscious knight. Leaving sprung to his mind first -- Welsknight was reasonably safe now. The chances of something finding him was relatively small, and if he hung up some glow lichen before he left, the light might ward off anything that did notice him. He thought about maybe bringing the knight to hels, where he might find some help. But that help would probably be Helsknight, and he didn't know how much he trusted those two together. He was... Reasonably sure Helsknight wouldn't kill his double while he was unconscious, but he had no idea what he would do when Welsknight woke up. And Welsknight probably wouldn't take kindly to waking up in hels anyway. He could try to get help? Wander around the server just hoping he stumbled upon Tango, alone? No. No he wasn't going to do that.

Tanguish sighed, rolled his eyes at his own powerlessness. After a few more moments of deliberation, he pulled out his water and a few clumps of lichen. He had a half-remembered thought from somewhere that lichen could be medicinal. He had no idea if this lichen was, but he at least knew it was spongy and could hold a bit of water. He made himself a little ball with the stuff, soaked it, and gingerly placed it against the lump on Welsknight's head. He knew his hands would chill it, and frost crept around his fingertips the longer he held his makeshift compress. He pillowed the knight's head in his lap -- it seemed the most comfortable for both of them in the combined space -- and settled in to wait until Tango came back, or Welsknight awoke, and he hoped the knight would either be too incoherent or too grateful to kill him if the waking came first.

Outside his little hideaway, Tanguish listened to the sounds of monsters crawling to life. The tip-tap-skitter of spider legs. The moans and grumbles of the nearly sleepwalking dead. The occasional croaking mutter of an enderman. He didn't hear creepers (He didn't think anyone could hear creepers.) They crept around on quiet claws, a breath of fur and dark, glaring expressions. One snuck up to his hideaway and peered inside, gazing at him with bottomless black eyes. It hissed, smelling or sensing him and trying, vainly, to threaten him. It couldn't come through the wall, and it didn't give off its tell-tale flashing. Tanguish narrowed his eyes at the thing and hissed back, a keening noise that sent a shiver down his spine, and echoed off the walls of his little hideaway like a sculk shrieker. The creeper lurched backward (most natural things feared sculk on an instinctual level) and it scuttled away into the dark. Tanguish snorted in the general direction of the fleeing creature, and looked down at Welsknight. He gently moved his compress, and felt some satisfaction at seeing the swelling had gone down.

"You know, you knights really are strange sometimes," Tanguish informed the unconscious Welsknight, as though he could hear. "All the armor, and the oaths, and reckless danger -- and you're just as mortal as the rest of us." Tanguish leaned his head back against the wall behind him. "Do you have tenets like Helsknight does? Stuff you swore to do? You've got to, right? That's what makes you a knight, instead of just a guy with a sword."

Tanguish's tail twitched thoughtfully. "You and Helsknight feel the same way about technicalities, so you probably can't truly lie. You just dance around the truth a little, like he does. Let people come to their own conclusions... You shouldn't do that."

Tanguish readjusted his compress. "It makes people feel patronized, like you think they're too stupid to figure out what you're saying. And it makes us feel stupid for trusting you. Like on the aqueduct. I didn't really have a choice but... I really did believe I was safe. It was... Cruel... To take that back."

Tanguish felt nervousness reignite in his stomach, a turning and writhing at the danger he was in, implicitly.

"That would be like me waiting for you to wake up, just to hurt you," Tanguish said quietly, his free hand dipping down to the dagger on his hip. The cold metal, the waiting intention the weapon held, felt almost electric and alive against his fingertips. "All this trouble and effort to keep you safe, discarded over something as petty as who the universe likes best." He thought about Helsknight, and the importance he placed on time. "What a terrible waste of time."

Tanguish sighed and studied the ceiling, tracing the textures in the stone overhead with his eyes. He could see the pickaxe marks where Tango had tunneled this out, long gouges and sharp-edged chips.

"I think I understand why he feels the way he does about you. About all of you. You don't understand what you have." Tanguish looked down at the knight, who, despite what had surely been a terrible fall, merely looked like he slept. "It isn't just death that's a mild inconvenience. Everything is. Eternity is sitting in front of you. Even the largest problems, miseries that could span decades, will be nothing in the blink of an eye. There is no such thing as wasted time. There is no discomfort in doing something badly, or even passably. There's just... The endless possibility to try again. Even my saving you right now is, at best, a very odd, kind gesture, because you don't have a limited number of times to come back. There's no fear in the universe deciding this time it will just swallow you. What I'm doing is meaningless, so meaningless it might not even change your opinion of me, unless it's impressive to you that someone who shouldn't have bothered, did. Impressive, and not terribly stupid."

(He was starting to feel terribly stupid, all things considered.)

Movement caught Tanguish's eye, and he sat quietly as some monster or another passed their hiding place, shuffling off in the dark.

"There's no urgency for change." Tanguish whispered. "There's no pressure for legacy. It's like building sand castles in the desert, with no waves to knock them down. There's no reason to find them precious, no urgency to finish before the tide comes, no cherishing the seconds before they're weathered away. They'll just be there tomorrow, or the next time you get around to paying them attention. It's a beautiful gift, and you have no context to appreciate it. I understand why. You've never lived anything different to give you perspective... But I also understand why he hates you for it."

Tanguish blinked out at the world beyond his little keyhole, where danger stalked, undisturbed and wholly uninterested in him.

"No wonder the universe makes us," Tanguish said. "Why else would you have any reason to change?"

Tanguish looked down at Welsknight again. He studied the knight's face, all the things about him that stayed steadfast and unchanging, uncaring that his existence weathered Helsknight away everyday. That he was a wave, and Tanguish and Helsknight and everyone like them were just sand castles waiting.

"You probably won't," Tanguish murmured, "but I hope someday you figure out how to love him. Love the parts of yourself you hate so much right now. Helsknight is terrifying, and overbearing, and too strong for his own good. He walks through the world like he wishes he could bully it into being fair." Tanguish let out a breath. "But he tries so hard to be good, and any goodness I've learned, I think I learned from him. In spite of him. Because of him."

A sadness washed through him then, and Tanguish spoke soberly. "Someday it will be just you and Tango. A month from now. Or a year. Or whatever our lifetimes amount to. When that day comes, I hope you'll look at each other, and somewhere, me and Helsknight will glimpse each other again. I hope whatever the end looks like, it isn't lonely."

Tanguish fell silent, waiting with infinite patience for Welsknight to wake. He must have dozed off, because he roused to the sound of a groan, and Welsknight slowly rolling over to reach the sore spot on the back of his head. Tanguish held his breath. He probably should have figured out what he was going to do when Welsknight woke up. He had no plan, no idea-- hels he was trapped in a confined space with him! Wait -- his coin. Right.

Welsknight's eyes fluttered open. He frowned first in confusion, then recognition, and then Tanguish's coin was in his fist and he was gone.

In hels, Tanguish leaned against the front door of the house, eyes closed, trying to calm his breathing. It really shouldn't be a big deal. Welsknight hadn't even had the time to threaten him. It was just the residual terror of past bad experiences, the adrenaline rush of realizing he was trapped in a room with a tiger. But he was home now, and he shouldn't be afraid -- didn't have to be afraid.

"You're home early," Helsknight said, sounding concerned, and very close by. He must have been writing at the table. In the time Tanguish had been forcing himself to calm, Helsknight stood and cautiously crossed to him. "Did something happen?"

(Did Welsknight happen?)

"N-no," Tanguish said unconvincingly. And further discredited himself by stepping forward, and hugging Helsknight. He could feel Helsknight's concerned frown in his posture, in the slow way he hugged him back, offering confused comfort.

"Are you... sure?"

"Just glad you're still here," Tanguish said.

"Ah." Helsknight hummed, as though he understood. His hug deepened a bit. "Still here. Are you?"

"I think so."

"Good. I guess I'm glad too, then."

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU ~ Part 4

He's Still in There: Part 2:

The second half is here. Addair is next. This is currently the longest chapter, and it might be for this entire mini-series. You'll notice I've experimented with my writing style here and there, but I hope you all still enjoy!

TW: Needle. Just one needle.

Part 5:

'Muir? I'm here.' The sound of heavy footsteps moved towards Innes, and the unmistakable silhouette came into view. 'Muir-' A tendril grabbed Innes' ankle and pulled him towards the centre of the deck, but it made sure he didn't collide with any dangerous equipment. He sheltered his face with crossed arms and waited until he came to a stop after nearly 5 seconds. Not much, but that's because you're not Innes, who was quiet frankly shitting himself. Giving himself a moment to process what had just happened, he lowered his arms, whilst Muir let him go, towering over him, casting a shadow.

The pair were silent. Their eyes locked. Muir's full of hurt. Innes' full of regret.

Sunil, McLurg and Dobbie peered through the container, then left their hiding position. They knew the fog would act as good enough cover, but they had to be quiet. Hard to do with metal practically everywhere. Every step and breath counts. Sunil lead and managed to get under a collapsed piece of the rig, but it wasn't big enough for all of them. It acted as a tunnel and you had to army crawl to move. McLurg and Dobbie stayed hidden behind a large stack of crates. Sunil crawled until he was somewhat out of hiding to observe.

'Innes...'

'Yeah, I'm here, mate.' Innes awkwardly stumbled to his feet, not taking his eyes off Muir. He was terrified and Muir knew that. He could hear his heartbeat. It hurt. Everything hurt. He couldn't describe or compare the pain. His mind was being pulled in all directions, and whenever he had a moment of clarity, there was a sudden pressure crushing his brain. Muir wanted to let go, but something deep down made him hold on. Fight through the pain.

'Why did you run?'

'I...I'm sorry, but I was scared and-'

'You left me!'

Tendrils suddenly shot out in all directions and Muir reared his head back, letting out an ear-piercing scream that turned into a wail. Innes stood still. Tears rolled down his face. The guilt washed over and consumed him. A lump in his throat formed. If he could turn back time, he would have stayed, but he panicked. No one could blame him. It was out of instinct.

He spotted Sunil out of the corner of his eye. Both exchanged a look before turning back to Muir, who's tendrils had now planted themselves across the deck in all directions. He hung his head in shame and wished to just disappear. Innes found the courage to move closer and place a hand on the hard-hat, making sure to not touch the flesh Just keep him focused.

'Hey. Remember that time you hit me?' Well, that caught Muir's attention. The look of pain turned into confusion, and he slightly raised his head. 'It was only your second week here and I had you carry the replacement scaffolding because I couldn't be fucking bothered. You didn't hear what I said and turned, and skelped me in the face. Gave me ten stitches and a reason to grow a beard.'

Sunil couldn't believe what he had just heard. His mouth was agape, brows furrowed and head tilted. McLurg mouthed 'what the fuck?' And poor Dobbie just had a look of defeat on his face and stared at the ground, expecting it to have the answers.

A chuckle. Then another. Soon it became a laugh. A mix of relief and the memory itself. Muir reared his head back again in laughter. The fog had been lifted. His mind was his own again. Still didn't stop the chronic pain shooting through his body or the fact he was now ironically half-blind, but that didn't matter. Whatever it was telling him to not give up worked.

'I say I did you a favour.'

The guilt left Innes. His posture relaxed, his heart rate calmed, and he smiled. He began to laugh along.

'Still a smart one, aren't ya?'

'Well, someone has to be.'

They continued to laugh until it hurt. All the years of smoking caused Innes to have a small coughing fit and Muir kept laughing until he had to stop. Neither of the men could describe how they felt. Relief? Happiness? No, it was something else but they couldn't put their finger on it, or they didn't want to admit it.

A tendril wrapped around Innes' waist. A hug from Muir. Innes returned the favour and hugged what he could of Muir's neck. Neither wanted to let each other go.

Sunil, McLurg and Dobbie left their hiding spots yet kept their distance. It was very obvious from their perspective how much the pair loved each other. Not their place to judge. They just wanted to go to Accommodation. It was the best place to find others. Kelly should still be in his room and Scooby did take off in that direction.

'Oi, Love Birds?!' McLurg really wanted to go to Accommodation. 'Can we go now-?'

Suddenly The Beria began to shake. The terrible sound of metal bending rang through their ears. Muir pulled the men towards him and used his body to act as a shield. His tendrils planted themselves firmly after one of his legs slipped and gave out. He moved to regain his footing, but his vision began to blur. After a moments panic, he felt a twitch in the back of his head. Something grappling to the back of his mind was slipping away, like a plug being removed from the socket. His sight quickly returned to normal when the feeling stopped.

He wasn't the only one. Trots, Gibbo and even Caz went through the same experience. The Shape that had been trying to lure them in was getting quieter. It's song fading.

The rig came to a halt.

'Right,' Innes said, catching his breath he had been holding for the last several seconds. He turned to Sunil, McLurg and Dobbie. 'You three go find the others. I'll stay here with Muir.' Because he was too big to fit inside, let alone get up the stairs. 'Just let them know we're out here getting the lift ready if we need it.' The lift was fine.

Despite the ribbon-like things blocking the doors and making themselves at home in the corridors, it was comforting to feel the warmth from the inside. They'd still be outside battling the rain and fog for hours. Of course they knew that, but it was still nice to feel the damp leave their uniform and they can literally hang up their hard-hats. Voices came from the crew lounge and they followed, happy to see just how many members were there in wait. However, McLurg couldn't help but give a look to Scooby, who hung his head and moved away from his window seat. McLurg was quick to take it.

Gibbo and Trots were the obvious standouts. To make room for them, especially Gibbo, all the tables and chairs were pushed to the side and the jukebox moved into the corridor. Roy sat in the corner injecting his much needed insulin into his arm. Trots was wearing his black polo jumper and gray trench coat whilst lighting another smoke for himself. Today was the perfect excuse to take up smoking for the first time in a decade. Raffs was shakily holding a coffee by the door. Brodie and Caz stood by Roy. The latter patted him on the shoulder and told him to rest.

Sunil did a quick head count. All of the deck crew were here, minus Innes and Muir. No Finlay, Roper, Davros, Archie and most of Engineering and Pontoons. Oh and Rennick. Still more than 70% of the staff were here. Dobbie rushed to Gibbo and began to ask a flurry of questions.

'You lot seen Innes and Muir?' Raffs asked Sunil, offering him the rest of his coffee, to which he refused.

'Still on the Deck. Muir has been infected, but he's fine. He's too big to fit inside, though. Where's everyone else?'

'Caz and I are going to get Archie then Roper,' Brodie explained as the pair went to leave. 'He called and said he's radioing for help but the power keeps dying. We lost Gregor. Don't know where anyone else is.'

Douglas, who was sat besides Kelly and had been explaining what he'd miss, overheard. 'I saw Finlay in Engineering. She might still be there helping O'Connor.'

'Why, what's going on down...' Caz's voice trailed off, whilst his eyes widened and everyone else mirrored his expression. The pieces slowly came together and the men all shared the same dread.

'...Shit.'

Innes sat on the container he used to hide from Muir. The fog lifted and snow began to fall. Fitting for Christmas. The weather out in the middle of the North Sea was unpredictable. One minute there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Give it an hour and hail could be bouncing off you. He lit a cigarette and sighed. He watched Muir 'sit' by tucking his legs under his body like a cat. A part of him wanted to laugh, but he didn't know if that would cause offence.

'How do you know what you're doing?'

'Eh...Good question. I actually don't know. I just knew this is how I sit now.'

Innes raised a brow and pursed his lips. 'And how does that make ye' feel?'

A pause. Muir didn't know. At least to some extent. He knew he wasn't 'human' anymore, but his mind was in tact, yet he knew how to work this mutation as if he has always been this way. He made a motion similar to a shrug. 'Weird. I'm gonna miss my hair.'

'I'm sure it'll grow back. Your beard's still kicking.'

'What, like Rennick is now?'

They shared a small laugh together, then fell quiet. Both looked out to the endless vastness the sea offered as a view. God how they both missed home. Remind me why they decided to work through Christmas? Because neither could remember. It wasn't for the money. Both just agreed after hearing that one or the other would be here. Wasn't the first time either. No, they knew why.

'What going to happen to me?' Because Muir didn't know. He knew he could never walk down a main road to do a daily shop or even enter a house anymore. It stung. Strange how the mundane was something to crave when you realise it's gone.

'I'm not sure.' Innes had to be honest. 'But I'll be with you.' He held out a hand and Muir accepted by gently wrapping a tendril for Innes to stroke with his thumb.

The sound of the catwalk above caught their attention. Caz and Brodie could be seen sprinting to Administration. The pair noticed them and stopped.

'You fellas alright?!' Caz called.

'We're fine. Where you two going?'

'To stop that Rennick bastard from taking off without us. Archie needs to get help, but he needs to know what's happening. Then we're gonna fetch Roper.'

'Good plan.'

'Oi, McLeary!' Muir called. 'Give Rennick a good kick up the arse.'

[lonestarbattleship]

November 17, 2024 update from the Battleship Texas Foundation

"Happy Restoration Update!

Work has continued apace on the Battleship since the last update.

There is now over 2/3s of the wood deck has been laid on the bow and it looks like all wood decking on the bow will be laid by the end of the 1st week of December (weather permitting).

Superstructures all the way up to the foretop has been painted. Look at that purty paint!

The last areas of to be blasted and painted (the superstructure deck) are in progress with the starboard side superstructure getting primed today. Portside superstructure deck will get blasted and primed next week, followed by top coats and then cleanup.

Freshly blasted starboard superstructure deck.

Same area, black primer applied.

More primer on the superstructure deck.

The repairs to the steel deck on the stern were completed this week and the welders and fitters turned to on the Galley area repairing damage uncovered by abrasive blasting -including repairing the drainage system above and in the Galley.

Repaired deck drain above the Galley.

Repaired decking, deck drain, and railing above the Galley.

More repaired railing and decking above the galley

Scaffolding came down the Aft Fire Control Tower and the cranes, allowing the first good look at the AFCT since it was repaired and its appearance restored.

What the Aft Fire Control Tower looked like before restoration started.

What the Aft Fire Control Tower looks like after being repaired and externally restored.

Freshly painted and repaired port crane.

And lastly a few of our awesome volunteers came out today to help get the ship ready for tours by removing a dumpster load of scrap wood.

Battleship volunteers sending bad wood down the chute into the dumpster.

A nearly full dumpster of bad wood and scraps.

A job well done by all hands!"

Posted on the Battleship Texas Foundation Facebook page: link

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, now this is a castle. It looks to be in good shape for being built in 1973 and it's in New Orleans, Louisiana. 3bds, 1ba, $500K. Whoever took the photos didn't know what they were doing- most of them are so small and there aren't many. But, here it is, and it's a bargain. I don't know what they're talking about but it's 2 properties- one is the castle, and the other is a 2bd, 1ba "camp" on the water. They don't show the "camp."

Some of the photos are so tiny.

This must be one of the entrances. There's an open entrance way with a door on the other side.

This quite a kitchen It looks very castle-like and is in the round.

Plus, there's a throne in the kitchen. I wonder how long it's been empty- look at the dust.

This kitchen is cool- look at the view of the water from the sink.

This is probably a photo of what it looks like now. The scaffolding must mean they were doing work. Does that carousel horse convey? What about the ghouls on the newel post?

The stairs in the kitchen lead up to this area with doors to the bedrooms and bath. Small picture of the ceiling details.

One of the bedrooms, not sure if it's the primary. Looks like it has new furniture b/c there's a tag still on it, plus a small closet in the wall.

This is the only bath. The shower can fit a very tall person and the toilet has a great view.

They don't show any other rooms, like what's in the turret, but it has access to a nice rooftop deck.

Look at the little turret in the corner. That is so cute. Looks like you can climb up and look out the little window in the roof.

The view at dusk.

The home is on a small water outlet of Lake Pontchartrain, called Castle Bayou.

They've got a photo of this house, which I'm guessing is the camp they say is included in the sale.

I like this castle, it's so cute, like a mini castle. Wish they had some decent photos of the whole thing.

[todaysdocument]

Mail For Plymouth, Dock at Le Havre

Record Group 30: Records of the Bureau of Public RoadsSeries: Historical Photograph FilesFile Unit: Foreign - France

Original caption: 42-857 - Pictures taken by Dr. L I Hewes - delegate to International Road Congress in Germany - 1934. Mail for Plymouth - August 30, 1934.

Original caption: 42-858 - Dock at La Havre - September 1, 1934.

Original caption: 42-859 - Dock at La Havre - September 1, 1934.

This document is three black and white photographs pasted on a yellow card.  The first on the left shows the deck of a small ship taken from above.  Several people stand on the deck.  A life boat is visible on the side of the ship.  The center photo shows a building on the dock at Le Havre with the letters C.I.M. displayed.  A statue of a bird is over the sign.  Equipment for unloading the boats is visible.  The third photo on the right shows the pier with the English Channel in the background.  The edge of a boat pulled alongside the pier.  Again, towers of metal scaffolding are on the edge of the pier.

[aurora-boreas-borealis]

The RPM rangers make a minecraft server and it’s either the most relaxing time or it’s complete chaos:

Scott just wants to play the game as normal and go through the main story of the game (fight the enderdragon)

(Gem, Gemma, Flynn and Summer do help out from time to time— Gem and Gemma getting blaze rods and Flynn and Summer helping with getting ender pearls and finding the stronghold. And during the fight, Gem accidentally places a bed down and blows both himself and Flynn up in the process)

(To also add, it was agreed that Scott kept the enderdragon egg in the end as he was the one who originally wanted to go through the story. He has it displayed in his base)

Flynn really loves playing around with redstone and makes some of the most terrifying looking contraptions to ever exist (one time he brought up a warden to the surface and you can guess how that escalated lmao)

(He also briefly broke the server by causing atrocious amounts of lag via too many chunks loading in)

Summer is really into PvP and will often duel Scott and Dillon (she’s also really into terraforming and adventuring too!)

Ziggy has a barely put together dirt house and tried to kickstart a mafia (it didn’t last very long)

Dillon meanwhile doesn’t have a base, not even have a dirt house to his name. He just has a horse and unnecessary amounts of TNT he likes to place down (Ziggy sets it off accidentally, Gem and Gemma set it off on purposely

Dr K is having a wonderful time. She’s the builder of the server and really enjoys building intricately detailed builds and terraforming

(Her base and builds are not to be tampered with whatsoever, because it’s both booby trapped and that the others understand that building gives her solace. But, she also has several pets! At least four dogs, five cats and a single bird. Additionally, Gem and Gemma have rooms in her base)

(However, a server wide prank war goes off after Ziggy accidentally blows up Flynn’s cactus farm, which derails into a good chunk of Dr K’s base being blown up. Quickly, they resolve the prank war and spend time repairing any damages that were made — Flynn and Summer are pulling up screenshots and are frantically trying to fix the damages whilst Scott, Ziggy and Dillon are getting the materials. Gem, Gemma nor Dr K weren’t there, they were instead exploring the nether for netherite and quartz)

(Dr K however still notices what happened and as an extra measure, the others gift or help her out with things! Flynn makes a flower farm and both he and Summer spend time building a greenhouse to go with it, Ziggy and Dillon get her some extra materials in case it happens again, and Scott gifts her scaffolding, an elytra and some fireworks so building is easier)

Gem, Gemma and Dr K are the only ones who are completely decked out in the server. The twins are often going caving and exploring, blowing things up and as a result, they have some of the best tools and armour. They often gift most of these things to Dr K

(They do also gather any materials for the others if needed, but only if it’s a trade. For example, they get materials Flynn needs for a contraption as long as he helps them out with anything explosive related, such as making a ghast canon or with setting up spaces to be detonated for any future builds)

Collectively as a group, they do eventually go exploring via a flying machine Flynn puts together (kind of like the road trip, but it’s actually a good time)

[memento-morri-writes]

AAAAHHHH, ONCE AND FOR ALL MY BELOVED!!!!!! That's my favorite song from Newsies! We did Newsies my junior year of high school, and even though I was on stage crew (deck crew) I ended up front & center stage at the end of that song because of my part in spinning a massive piece of scaffolding.

10 songs 10 people

Come one, come all, it’s time to talk about my weird music taste! Thank you for exposing me–ahem–tagging me, @lady-grace-pens @memento-morri-writes and @blind-the-winds.

Rules: list ten songs you’ve listed to recently and tag ten people

W.I.T.C.H. - Devon Cole

Lady Madonna - The Beatles

Giant Steps - John Coltrane

It Won’t Be Long Now - In The Heights

Now She Knows She’s Wrong - Jellyfish

Penny From Heaven - Stan Getz Oscar Peterson

But Not For Me - Chet Baker

Or Am I Losing My Mind - Jeremy Jordan

Once And For All - Newsies

Teach Me Tonight - Blossom Dearie

I’m pretty late to the game, so no pressure tags for the last ten people in my notifs! @dogmomwrites @on-noon @aalinaaaaaa @arbys-haunted-turnover @megannabell @baroquesse @eccaiia @arigalefantasynovels @pluttskutt @perasperaadastrawriting <3

[tianjinwellmadescaffold]

190mm Scaffold Planks Manufacturing Video - Ringlock Scaffold Steel Deck...

[22to22]

It's my birthday

and the thing you can do to celebrate is check out Spindlewheel, a tarot-like storytelling system where you weave a story from card to card.

Spindlewheel is a unique system where the deck has as much to say about the story as you do, but the story is bespoke to you and your friends every time. Every Spindlewheel game is a constructed scaffolding for story structure, ranging from western four-act stories in Spindlewheel Classic, to tense bombastic duels to the bitter end in Meet Me In The Field of Honour At Dawn, to sorting out a trio's complicated feelings for each other in Love Machine.

The goal of Spindlewheel is to tell a satisfying story. Your character might win wealth and fame, or they might crash and burn. Both of these are victories if they fit the arc of the story you’ve told, and bring satisfaction to you as a storyteller.

How do you play? Well, I'm glad you asked!

Spindlewheel’s fundamental verb is interpretation.

Each card’s text evokes an idea.  The upright and inverse text are different. Sometimes they’re diametrically opposed; often, they’re two sides of the same coin.

Use the card as an anchor for the part of the story that you’re telling.

A card can be a person, an event, an attitude, or a physical object. Use as much as the entire card, or as little as a single word. A card is interpreted twice: once when it enters your hand, and again when you play it. It does not have to be the same interpretation.

FOR EXAMPLE: I might draw the Hearth card and Reflect that I feel like people closed their doors to me; but I might Engage that card later, declaring I won’t do the same to someone else, and play it to invite someone into my home.

It's a really excellent one shot system: it takes no prep, every setting is procedurally generated for each table, and most games are GMless. The games that are GMed are designed to support improvisation and provide coherent throughlines so the GM can focus on moment to moment play. It also works as a GM tool within other systems for when you need an ominous portent or an answer to a question where a dice roll just won't cut it.

It also makes for pretty damn good radio. Check it out on Party of One, An Atlas of the World Unknown, You Don't Meet In An Inn, Follow the Leader, and played extensively in the devlog Spindlewheel Stories where you can listen as the game takes shape over time.

Did I mention it's got an open SRD? Anyone can hack the system and sell their games. Here's a collection of people who have done just that!

Curious?

There's lots of ways to try Spindlewheel online for free! give @spindlewheelbot (by Caro Asercion) on twitter an @ for a "classic" spread inspired by the celtic cross, or a single card "vibe check"; print and play the deck with the original legacy art or play it on playingcards.io; or play it on Tabletop Playground and Tabletop Simulator.

Convinced?

Head over to www.teacabbage.com/spindlewheel to pick your digital copy of Spindlewheel on itch.io and roll20!

[tessatales]

The Sins of the Winter Soldier Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky x Female reader

Warning: Non really, Nightmares still?

Notes: slow burn romance, find the first chapter here.

A/n: Hey! Thank you everyone who read the first chapter! Here’s the second with several more backed up ready to go :)

Tags: @scott-loki-barnes @kandis-mom @identity2212

Chapter 2

It took exactly one week for you to break your promise. You never intended too, but something about that night had drawn you to exactly where you shouldn’t be.

You’d woken up from another nightmare, your alarm clock clutched in your hand like a weapon as you scrambled to ground yourself. Once the demons had run away and your heart rate had calmed, you’d decided to go for a walk, the shadows in your room looking more and more like bad memories the longer you stared into the dark. Padding through the halls, you’d picked up a bag of cookies you kept for bad night’s as you passed the kitchen; your feet silent as you wondered the dark corridors.

You’d been wondering for a while before you realised where you were, the normal halls and doors being replaced with the reinforced scaffoldings and deadlock entrances.

Shit

You were stood in the doorway of the Pit then. Panic rising in your throat as you wondered if you’d already messed everything up.

Does he know? Can he sense me? I’ll have to leave again. Shit shit shit

Placing your hand on the door, you took several deep breaths, imagining the square technique Natasha had told you about. The memory of her hand on your back from the first time you’d experienced an attack at the tower throwing itself to the forefront of your mind as it battled against itself. When your breathing finally steadied, you watched as the subtle glow from your powers faded from your skin. With the room around you no longer spinning, you steeled yourself for something stupid.

With a final deep breath, you engaged the lock on the Pit deck. Striding into the quarters before you had chance to bottle it.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the edges of the cell itself. Since your first visit, the Winter Soldiers cell had been furnished with a simple bed. Or at least it looked like a bed. The remains of it were scattered about the cell floor like they’d been imploded from the inside. The only thing intact being the thin army style blanket that must of once covered the frame.

He wasn’t stood this time. Instead he sat amongst the chaos, legs crossed and eyes closed as he seemed to sleep. You knew he was awake though. You knew it in the slight hitching of his arm as he heard you approach.

“Hello” You said to the dark, your voice loud in the empty observation deck. The Winter Solider didn’t move.

“I know you’re awake.” You carry on, taking a step closer till you stood at the very edge of the main cell deck. He opened his eyes then. You couldn’t see him properly in the dim light, but you felt the chill of his gaze as it settled.

“Are you comfortable?” Your hands fiddled with the bag of cookies clutched in front of you as your voice echoed around the room. He said nothing.

Unsure what to do, you took a seat on the top step, opening the cookies and taking one out.

“These are my favourite. When I was younger, I had a terribly good imagination. Still do really.” You began to ramble, needing to fill the silence.

“My issue was my imagination was very good at taking bad things I’d see on tv and such and making them worse. So I’d have a lot of nightmares” You continue, taking a small bite of the cookie.

“So when I’d wake up after a nightmare, my mom would scoop me up and take me down to the kitchen. We’d bake any cookie or cake I wanted, then stay up eating them with milk until I was so full I’d fall asleep” You finish, taking the final bite. The Winter Soldier remained motionless, nothing in his posture showing that he was even listening.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I shouldn’t even be here. Your handlers want me for my powers. Though I’m sure you already know that. You’ve probably been plotting how to get out and take me to Hydra since I was stupid enough to wander in here.” You say, your voice becoming fragile as you thought out loud.

“But I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve decided I’m not going to fear you. You know why?” You ask the motionless man before you.

“Steve doesn’t shut up about you. You’re his best friend. And if he believes the old you is in there somewhere. I’ll believe it too.” You finish, brushing the crumbs off your legs as you got up.

“Goodnight” you say over your shoulder, never looking back at the man in the cell as you left.

A/n: Chapter 3 can be found here

[websysteminternational]

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[cricketnationrise]

For the ficlet fest: 6:42 pm, a private stage, and Arthur Fox please. My ao3 is katsudonforthesoul. Congratulations on the followers!! It's so kind of you to give back to us as a way to celebrate, especially on top of all the other things you do!

thank you so much for your kind words! the not so secret part of the ficlet fests is that all y'all's prompts are so fucking cool that i have an absolute BLAST writing them <3 for once the Arthur feels are non-angsty, which is exciting for all of us, frankly. enjoy!

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

6:42pm, a private stage

“O, for a muse of fire that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!”

No one becomes an actor hoping for small audiences. 

Famous actors can wax poetic all they want about how “reaching even one person is meaningful,” but at their core, in their secret egos, all actors want to be able to interact with the largest possible audiences. That dream is why Arthur tolerates filming; the reach is so much greater than live theatre. Even so, he’d much rather be on a stage, in front of a live audience. That feedback, that energy of a crowded room, solely focused on him and the story he’s telling is intoxicating.

“A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, and monarchs to behold the swelling scene!” Arthur winks at Catherine as he finishes the line, making her giggle. As much as he loves a packed house, there’s something special about performing for her alone, hidden away in his flat for once. She’d worn down her PPO’s enough that they’d grudgingly allowed her to stay the night, and that they’d monitor from down the hall instead of right outside his door after sweeping his place. Arthur can’t stop looking at her, casual in a way she rarely is, even in her own rooms in Kensington, completely at home here with him. The next line, something about Mars and hounds, pours out of him automatically, years of muscle memory serving him well, but Arthur couldn’t have told anyone what it actually is right now. He’s too distracted trying to memorize the precise configuration of laugh lines around her eyes.

He comes back to the text in time to appreciate the irony. “But pardon, gentles all, the flat unraisèd spirits that hath dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.” It’s one thing to try to imagine vast battles and courts of ages past when you’re watching from The Globe, the building itself drenched in echoes of people imagining the same things for centuries—it’s another thing altogether to try and imagine fantastical settings and the grand scale of the story with a backdrop of worn out floors and his amazingly shit telly. Can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of France, indeed?

“Or may we cram within this wooden square the very casques that did affright the air at Agincourt?” Arthur recites, swapping “O” for “square” to reflect the shape of the room, grinning when Cat catches the change. She’s a princess, and she’s bloody brilliant, and she’s dating him. And if she wants him to perform Shakespeare for her, he’ll do it with bells on.

He bows a little at the next line. “O pardon, since a crookèd figure may attest in little place a million, and let me, ciphers to this great account, on your imaginary forces work.” Arthur meets her bright gaze steadily, as the lines ask her to imagine mighty monarchies and proud-hoofed horses.

Arthur paces forward and kneels before her where she’s perched on the couch. “For ‘tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, turning th’ accomplishment of many years into an hourglass.”

“Did you mean, my entire life?” Cat snorts. 

Arthur just chuckles in response and takes her hand for the last line. “Admit me chorus to this history, who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.”

Cat twines her fingers with him and leans her face close to his. “I can’t believe you memorized a scene that wasn’t your own from Henry V, you gigantic nerd.”

“It’s a good monologue,” he protests. “And you like that I’m a gigantic nerd.”

“God help me, I really do,” she admits, standing up and pulling him up after her. “Now, let’s put a different gigantic part of you to work, shall we?”

“Well, if you absolutely insist…” Arthur fakes a heavy sigh, but lets her tow him toward the bedroom, more than happy to do her bidding.

[dabiconcordia]

A kingdom for a stage

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all, The flat unraised spirits that have dared On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest in little place a million; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work. Suppose within the girdle of these walls Are now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide on man, And make imaginary puissance; Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. By William Shakespeare