#transmission line stringing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halos-top-alien-model · 11 months ago

Text

Sangheili Bracket Finals

Special propaganda below:

Thel's mind was still on the textual transmission sent to him when a sudden visitor broke his train of thought. It was one of his staff, letting him know that Admiral Lord Hood was making a sudden call request. Already suspecting what brought that on, he gave his approval. Only a few moments later, he was connected to Lord Hood via small holographic messaging - and couldn't even get a greeting out.

"I sincerely apologize for the overreach in boundaries that intern caused. I swear, the unauthorized decision to send that does not reflect at all what the UNSC stands for, and we greatly respect our alliance with the Sangheili."

Thel raised a hand. "I can perfectly see that, Lord Hood. For what other reason would your people be holding an... 'popularity tournament', if not out of respect?"

The grim line Lord Hood's mouth formed suggested there were other reasons, but Thel chose not to pry. Although, admittedly, it did make him curious on just how somehow could intend disrespect over a popularity contest. Perhaps because the nature of only one winner could be seen as an insult to all the losers? Even if most Sangheili did not particularly care about humans' opinions on themselves - either as a species or as individuals - it was probably safe to keep this secret, just to be safe.

"Civilians can take matters down... interesting routes, on social media," Lord Hood continued. "It was already a trend to run these contests over everything imaginable. When someone got the idea to do this with all the known Sangheili individuals, it was decided to hold off on addressing it. No need to bring further attention to it.

"But no one could've imagined someone trying to actively bring it to your attention."

He was clearly mortified. A bit embarrassed, too. And while Thel would love to throw him a bone and allow him to quickly put it out of mind, there was a thought he just couldn't leave unspoken. It was all that had been on his mind in between receiving the "tip" on the contest and Lord Hood's call.

"I see it as a compliment, that so much of your population can see me - and others of my people - so positively, in spite of how young our alliance is. There is one piece of feedback, though, that you could perhaps forward to... 'social media', on my behalf."

Thel could almost swear the shading of Lord Hood's holographic face got brighter, lighter in color. "I can try and pull some strings. Depending on the message."

Leaning closer on his desk, resting his elbows on the surface and interlocking his hands, Thel began, "I can understand why so many humans would vote for me in the case of a popularity poll. I am the one with the closest relationship to your kind, with the most cases of notable - peaceful - interactions, outside of my Covenant career. I am possibly the only Sangheili much of your kind even recognizes on an individual-level.

"But I must make a case for my opponent, Rtas 'Vadum. His leadership and diplomatic abilities surpass my own. He has a way of connecting with those hostile to him in ways I have yet to replicate - the Prelate that initially sought personal vengeance being one such example. It is the reason I trust him so much with the task of searching for the lost San'Shyuum - he is perhaps the only one capable. Capable in finding them and capable in forging peace. And while I am sure his crew are loyal to the Swords of Sanghelios, if they ever had to choose between myself and their shipmaster, I am also sure what their choice would be. And he has earned that loyalty.

"I also must point out his accomplishments - which hold less awkwardness than my own, particularly in the context of relations with humanity. He is the reason the Flood did not infect my fleet at the first discovered Halo, emerging the sole survivor of a perilous situation. His actions at the second Halo, I truly believe, ensured the strength of the Separatists that went on to aid humanity. It was him that did a lot of the rallying, it was him that claimed the crucial Shadow of Intent, and it was him that held our forces together in my absence. Again, his ability with words were valuable in maintaining morale, during the final hours of the Covenant. And his tactical mind, in emerging victorious when the odds were 3-1 against him.

"In conclusion... I feel the victor in this little contest should be him. Not me."

As Thel had explained his reasoning, Lord Hood had crossed his arms, eyes intently focusing. Maybe not necessarily on the Arbiter. When he finally had the opening to speak again, it seemed that he had become the one who couldn't help but let a pressing thought out.

"Really? Him? You're arguing he is the better leader, military man, diplomat - than you? And humanity should recognize that?" His arms uncrossed and went to his sides. "Do you know that to some, laying even a finger on Earth is more egregious than glassing dozens of colonies - even glassing Reach?"

"That is why I said less awkward." He should have braced for this skepticism, especially from Lord Hood. After all, he and Rtas did have a verbal spat that one time. Perhaps Lord Hood could never forgive Thel, but he certainly could maintain peace around him. There were valid reasons - not related to duty - as to why those two's paths never crossed again. Surely, Rtas would feel a bit of the same - he was not apologetic for Africa's partial glassing back then, he certainly wouldn't hold any regrets now. Not with anything related to the Flood.

"Although..." He sighed. "I can see why having a Sangheili other than you receive positive recognition is diplomatically valuable. If the peace between our species is centered solely on you, then it risks falling apart as soon as you're gone."

"Yes... there is also that angle to this."

"I will forward your argument to my colleagues and leave the choice up to them. They're the ones who deal with civilian matters more, anyway."

A funny thing about jointly occupied territory, is that it sometimes meant alien access to humanity's Waypoint - the interstellar network where the current iterations of social media called home. Such access would mean becoming aware of discussions of aliens online - including a certain popularity contest. And such awareness might warrant, to some, the passing of knowledge via word of mouth or transmissions. Even if no one directly told the Arbiter about the contest, it would have reached his ears eventually.

Just like with the Arbiter, there were those curious as to what Rtas' reaction would be like, and it thus reached him, too.

"Of course the Arbiter would win their approval," he said. "He deserves it. His higher reputation amongst humanity aside, he deserves it. He is the Arbiter, the one who freed our people from the Covenant's lies, the one who resurrected the Swords of Sanghelios, the one who proposed the Concert of Worlds. There is nothing I could do that he could not do better.

"Why is this even a contest? Amongst humans, no less? It was his word that kept me from glassing their entire planet, just to stop a Flood outbreak. It was his word back then that caused many Sangheili to ally with humanity, rather than fight both the Covenant and humans. It is his word now that continues to keep many Sangheili from seeking another war. Because he has proven his wisdom, and he has proven his honor. Those who continue to doubt either are fools that hold our people back. And their leaders cannot even match him."

"Well, hold it right there," Stolt, one of his most prominent subordinates despite being an Unggoy, cut in. "Have you seen the rest of this? The Arbiter is trying to convince these humans to vote for you."

Admittedly, he barely even started. When he saw it was nothing but a meaningless popularity poll human civilians were running, he stopped giving it much thought. Partially, it was due to already being convinced of the outcome - that the Arbiter would reign supreme and he would hardly been given notice. The only reason he wasn't questioning the fact that he was even named in this poll in the first place was due to there not being very many notable Sangheili in the human public eye, as far as he could tell. But he and the Shadow of Intent had played an important role in the end of the war, after the alliance had been forged. It wasn't completely out of the question that he garnered a bit of human attention over that - and not just from ONI spies.

It also wasn't out of the question that the Arbiter would speak of him around humans and make them more aware of his existence... such as now. He skimmed through what had been sent until he reached that part, quickly absorbing it.

Then he shook his head. "He is far too humble. A good chunk of this is mere exaggeration. How he even got the impression I was this grand, I have no idea. I am only doing what he asks of me to the best of my abilities. He deserves no less than that, and that does not make me superior. He would excel at all the same tasks had he the time to do them - it is only I who succeeded, because someone had to in his place.

"Besides, he is forgetting some of his own accomplishments that have nothing to do with humans. When he first became Arbiter, he passed his first mission with flying colors. I honestly did not expect him to even survive, pulling off the stunt he did - selflessly cutting the safety cables of that mining facility to draw out his target, while allowing all my men to retreat to safety. He did that knowing I would not come back for an Arbiter - he did it unaware that anyone would."

"Ah, but that was a mission to kill 'Heretics', right?" Stolt said again. "I'm sure the bitterness of knowing they were right all along and didn't need to be killed is why he would never even think that a merit."

"The target is irrelevant. The sentiment of his actions is what matters." Leaning back into his shipmaster's chair, he continued with a softer voice, "And he is wrong. About his talent for speech. And Infinite Succor... The fact I was the only survivor should say enough regarding my leadership in that moment. And the fact I was able to go back into the field, to command troops again... should say enough regarding his ability to speak to those under him. He has earned more loyal soldiers than I - and not entirely because he meets more people than I."

Clearing his throat, his voice hardened again. "Take the colony of Om'a'Varo, for instance. Those who settled on Rak. I believe it is not just him being humble that he's selling himself short - he takes the cases where his words are not enough to be a failing on his part, and not the failing of the other's mind. There are some who will just not listen. But he has gotten many to do so."

"So what I'm hearing is... we need to send in our own message to the humans to counter his?"

Rtas huffed. "That will not be necessary. Even with his endorsement, the humans will still choose him. I am certain of that. In the time we could draft a pointless transmission, we could be using our time and systems for more important tasks. This conversation, too, holds little worth - the only value being a stronger reiteration of what is already known."

With that, Rtas was finished with the subject. Well, almost, maybe. It crossed his mind to maybe, instead of sending his passionate argument to the humans, sneak a bit of the sentiment in his next report. Not obvious enough to distract from the report's actual content, but subtle enough to let the Arbiter know fully well that Rtas had heard him - and strongly disagreed.

36 notes · View notes

taliyas-stories24 · 30 days ago

Text

Hi everyone, I'm a new writer. Here's a first copy of a chapter I wrote. Please give me any advice / criticisms / kudos! 💜

Title: Fractured Path

Genre: Dystopian Fiction

Words: 4,857

Chapter 1

The clang of steel boots echoed off the cold stone walls as Caius Drex marched through the narrow, gray corridor. He barely glanced at the towering gates of the city, his thoughts too heavy to settle on anything for long. The walls of Noxus, rising above him like an unbroken barrier between the Inner Sanctum and the endless, scorched plains of the Fracture, loomed overhead. They were meant to protect, to keep out the chaos of the world beyond. But to Caius, they felt more like a cage.

He’d been here many times before, patrolling the border between the two worlds. The Inner Sanctum, where order reigned, and the Fracture, the wasteland that stretched out beyond the walls. The trench, they called it. A place for the outcasts, the forgotten, and the rebellious. The Veil, the ruling authority in Noxus, painted the Fracture as a lawless land where only the desperate and dangerous lived. Caius had never ventured beyond the walls. He hadn’t needed to.

He felt the weight of his uniform, the black enforcer’s coat draped over his shoulders, the insignia of The Veil gleaming on his chest. His life had always been simple—follow orders, keep the peace, and silence those who disturbed it. But lately, there had been a nagging feeling, a shift just beneath the surface of his mind. He couldn’t place it, but there were moments where his thoughts slipped, where control seemed distant, as if something—or someone—was pulling the strings.

Caius quickened his pace. The sense of unease crept through his body like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. Not now. Not when there were people depending on him to keep the peace. To maintain order.

His earpiece crackled to life. "Drex, status report?" The voice of Ravik, one of the Revenants of the Veil, was sharp and to the point.

"Nothing to report," Caius replied, his voice steady. He cast a glance at the line of guards stationed near the gate. They stood like statues, barely moving, their eyes trained on the gate.

"Good," Ravik said. "Keep it that way."

The transmission cut out, and Caius felt the knot in his chest tighten again. It wasn’t Ravik’s words—it was the silence that followed. The silence always made it worse.

He made his way through the narrow streets of the Inner Sanctum, past the identical gray buildings that lined the roads like tombstones. Every citizen he passed kept their heads down, moving with purpose, avoiding eye contact. The streets were always clean, orderly, just as the Veil demanded. Caius found it oddly comforting. As long as everyone followed the rules, nothing would change. No surprises, no chaos.

Yet beneath that comfort, there was something else. Something darker.

He rounded a corner and came to a stop in front of the towering structure that dominated the center of the Inner Sanctum. The Nexus, the heart of Noxus. It stood like a monolith, its black spires piercing the sky, casting long shadows over the city. It was from here that the Veil maintained control, issuing decrees, watching over every citizen. Keeping order.

Caius took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on the building for a moment longer than usual. He felt a chill creep up his spine. There was no reason for it, no cause. Just the cold, distant sensation that something wasn’t right. Something inside him, or perhaps outside him, was shifting.

He turned away from the Nexus and continued his patrol. Whatever it was, it would pass. He had a job to do, and there was no time for doubt.

Caius continued his patrol through the narrow streets, his mind wandering despite his efforts to keep focused. His hands gripped the straps of his uniform tightly, the familiar pressure grounding him, but only just. The Revenants—the elite enforcers of The Veil—had been making their presence more felt lately, and that meant more eyes on him. More eyes on everyone. The Revenants were faceless, hooded figures, their black armor gleaming in the dim light of the Inner Sanctum. They rarely spoke, and when they did, it was with quiet authority, their words carrying the weight of The Veil behind them.

Today, they were out in force. Caius had seen at least three patrols by the time he’d made it to the Nexus square. They moved in perfect synchrony, a shadowy presence against the rigid order of Noxus. He couldn’t help but feel a slight chill whenever they passed.

The square itself was a stark contrast to the lifeless buildings surrounding it—wide, open, but always desolate. People moved quickly through it, heads down, never lingering longer than they had to. The towering spires of the Nexus dominated the space, its black steel exterior casting an oppressive shadow over everything. The air felt thinner here, heavy with the weight of unseen power.

Caius noticed something unusual today, though. As he crossed the square, a small group had gathered near the eastern edge, just by one of the observation towers. Crowds were rare, and curiosity tugged at him. He veered off his usual path and headed toward the gathering, his fingers brushing the sidearm strapped to his belt out of habit.

The people were murmuring in low voices, casting quick, nervous glances at one another. Caius pushed his way to the front, and there, on the ground, was the source of their attention—a faded, tattered piece of cloth, scrawled with a symbol he’d never seen before. It wasn’t the emblem of The Veil. It wasn’t anything he recognized.

He crouched down, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. The symbol was crude, hastily drawn in dark red ink. Two intersecting lines forming a rough “X,” with a circle around it. There was something about it that stirred something deep inside him, a flicker of recognition that he couldn’t place.

“What is this?” Caius muttered, mostly to himself.

Before he could think too long on it, a low, gravelly voice cut through the crowd. “Step away.”

Caius stood up, turning to face the speaker. Ravik, one of the Revenants, was standing a few feet away, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the crowd. His face was obscured by the black mask all Revenants wore, but his piercing eyes were visible through the narrow slits. He wasn’t alone; two other Revenants flanked him, their black armor gleaming under the cold light of the square.

Ravik stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Caius. “You’re out of line, Drex.”

“I didn’t—” Caius began, but Ravik silenced him with a single raised hand.

“The Veil will handle this,” Ravik said, his voice low but commanding. “There’s nothing for you here.”

Caius swallowed, the tension in the air thickening. It wasn’t Ravik’s words—it was the silence that followed. The silence always made it worse.

The Revenants moved quickly. Ravik bent down, retrieving the cloth and folding it neatly, tucking it into his coat. The crowd began to disperse as if on command, people hurrying away with their heads down, eager to distance themselves from whatever had just happened.

Caius lingered a moment longer, watching as Ravik and the others disappeared back toward the Nexus with the mysterious cloth in hand. There was something more to this. Something they weren’t telling him.

As he turned to leave, a voice caught his ear. Low, barely audible, but there.

“The Fracture is rising.”

Caius whipped his head around, his eyes scanning the thinning crowd. But whoever had whispered those words had already vanished into the sea of gray-clad citizens.

He stood there for a moment, frozen. The Fracture—the wasteland beyond the walls of Noxus. The place of the forgotten, the rebels, the outcasts. He had heard rumors of unrest out there, whispered conversations in dark corners about those who defied The Veil. But it had always seemed distant, irrelevant. A problem for the Revenants to deal with, not him.

Yet something about that whispered phrase gnawed at him.

The Fracture is rising.

With a final glance toward the Nexus, Caius turned and resumed his patrol, the strange symbol and the whispered warning echoing in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing, something was shifting beneath the surface of Noxus. And he had no idea how close he was to being pulled into the heart of it.

The cold hum of the Nexus’ corridors always set Caius on edge, but today it felt different—more oppressive, more sinister. He had been summoned by one of the upper officers, the request sudden and without explanation. This wasn’t the first time he’d been called in for a direct mission, but the tension in the air was thicker than usual.

As Caius entered the chamber, he noticed the same cold steel and minimalism that defined the whole structure. The Veil didn’t believe in unnecessary comforts. In the center of the room stood Korvath, one of the high-ranking officers within The Veil. His imposing frame cast a shadow over the room, his face expressionless as always. Caius felt a shiver of unease run down his spine. Korvath wasn’t a man who summoned people lightly.

"You're needed in the Fracture," Korvath said, his voice as sharp as the air in the Nexus. "A disturbance has been detected near the East Ridge."

Caius frowned, trying to keep his expression neutral. "What kind of disturbance?"

Korvath didn’t answer immediately, his dark eyes unreadable. "That's not your concern," he said finally, his tone brooking no argument. "You are to find out who or what is behind it. A small group, perhaps. Handle it discreetly. We can't afford any attention being drawn to this."

The ambiguity unsettled him, but Caius nodded, knowing better than to question the orders of someone like Korvath. There was no room for debate. He wasn’t sure why he was being sent into the Fracture; he had never been beyond the walls before. But the way Korvath had phrased it—it was more than just curiosity driving him now. Something was wrong.

"Understood," Caius replied, his voice steady, though his mind raced with uncertainty.

Korvath turned his back to him, signaling the end of the conversation. "Report back when the mission is complete."

Without another word, Caius left the chamber. His pulse quickened. A mission outside the walls. He’d always been told how dangerous the Fracture was, how nothing but chaos and rebellion existed beyond the safety of the Inner Sanctum. But today, he would see for himself.

The gates of Noxus loomed before him, their immense size and cold, reinforced steel serving as a reminder of the divide between the order of the city and the chaos beyond. Caius stood in the shadow of the gates, feeling their weight not just physically, but symbolically. The Revenants guarded the perimeter as always, their faceless masks hiding any hint of emotion as they nodded for the gates to open.

Caius swallowed hard as he watched the gates part, revealing the sprawling wasteland of the Fracture. It stretched out endlessly, a barren, desolate landscape of crumbled buildings, scorched earth, and jagged cliffs. The wind howled as it rushed through the open space, carrying with it a biting cold that stung his skin.

Steeling himself, Caius took his first step outside the walls.

The ground beneath him felt different—uneven, unwelcoming. He could feel the weight of the air, heavier, more oppressive. It was as though the world itself beyond the city was resisting him.

After walking for several minutes, Caius glanced down at his hands. At first, he thought it was just the shadow of the overcast sky playing tricks on him, but there was no mistaking it. The edges of his fingers were darkening, as though a shadow was creeping up his skin.

His breath caught in his throat. He flexed his hands, watching as the black hue slowly crawled up his arms, seeping into his skin like ink spreading through water. It wasn’t like bruising—it was deeper, something more invasive. The veins in his arms darkened as well, their network standing out starkly against the increasingly blackened skin.

He wiped his hand over his mouth, feeling the unfamiliar chill as the color continued to shift. His skin��his body—was changing, reacting to something beyond the walls of Noxus.

But what?

The thought gnawed at him as he pressed forward. The transformation didn’t hurt, exactly, but it made him feel... disconnected, like part of him was slipping away. His breathing quickened, panic clawing at the edges of his mind, but he forced it down. This wasn’t the time to lose control. He had a mission to complete.

The East Ridge wasn’t far now. The jagged cliffs that surrounded the Fracture rose in the distance, cutting into the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. Caius kept his focus ahead, trying to ignore the creeping blackness slowly consuming his hands and forearms.

The mission. Focus on the mission.

But the more he walked, the harder it became to ignore the growing sense of dread. His skin continued to darken, the shadow spreading further up his body, inch by inch. And with it came a faint whisper in the back of his mind, a voice he couldn’t quite make out. It was distant, like an echo in an empty room, yet it felt... familiar.

As the walls of Noxus faded behind him, so too did the warmth. The Fracture was cold, not just in temperature but in the very air, as if the land itself rejected his presence. It was as though he was being swallowed by something far greater than just the wasteland outside the walls.

Caius stopped, breathing heavy in the desolate expanse of the Fracture. The wind whipped around him, a hollow, biting gust that only made the silence more oppressive. He looked down at his hands again. The blackness had crept further—up his wrists, swirling like smoke under his skin, sinking deeper with each passing second.

Panic surged through him. He scrubbed at his forearm, hard, trying to wipe away the darkness as if it were dirt, something that could be erased. His fingers scraped against his skin, pressing harder until it almost hurt, but the blackness remained—stubborn, unmoving, as though it had always been there.

“No,” Caius muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the wind. He rubbed harder, frantic now, trying again and again. His hand moved up to his wrist, clawing at the inky tendrils that curled just beneath the surface, but it was no use. The black wouldn’t fade, wouldn’t smudge—it only deepened, crawling up his arm like it had a life of its own.

His heart raced as the panic clawed its way through him. What was happening to him? He pressed his thumb into the skin, grinding it into his flesh in desperation, but all that did was leave an aching bruise. The blackness remained, indifferent to his struggle.

Caius dropped his arm, staring at it in disbelief. The cold from the Fracture had settled in his bones now, and his skin felt strange, distant, like it wasn’t his anymore.

He clenched his fists, fighting the growing fear in his chest, but no matter how much he rubbed, no matter how hard he tried, the black remained—silent, creeping, a shadow that had already taken hold.

Caius stopped for a moment, glancing back at the city, now a distant silhouette on the horizon. He flexed his fingers again, watching the blackness twist and crawl beneath his skin. He had never felt more isolated than he did now, standing at the threshold of something unknown.

He took a deep breath, turning his back to the city and walking further into the Fracture, the unsettling transformation continuing to creep along his body.

Caius stumbled forward, his breath quickening as the blackness continued to spread up his arms. The wind picked up, howling through the jagged ruins of the Fracture, making the barren landscape feel even more desolate. He couldn’t shake the sensation creeping over him—the feeling that something was wrong, not just with his skin, but deep inside him.

A crackling noise cut through the wind. Caius stopped, his head snapping up. In the distance, something moved, a flash of motion between the shattered remains of a building. His instincts kicked in before he could think—he ducked behind a crumbling wall, crouching low, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

He wasn’t alone out here.

His heart raced, and his pulse pounded in his ears. The mission was supposed to be simple—observe, report. But now, the stillness of the Fracture felt like a trap. His muscles tensed, ready to bolt if necessary. Then, a shadow moved again—closer this time. Whoever it was, they were approaching fast.

Caius shifted, drawing his sidearm and peering around the edge of the wall. In the distance, through the dust and debris, he could make out the vague shape of three figures moving toward him. They were swift, deliberate, their movements precise.

He gritted his teeth, his finger hovering over the trigger. But then something strange happened.

His vision flickered.

For a moment, the world seemed to blur, and the figures ahead moved in slow motion, as though reality itself had distorted. The blackness on his skin pulsed, and a cold, eerie calm washed over him. His body moved before his mind could catch up, his limbs guided by something that wasn’t his own will.

Caius leaped out from behind the wall, fluid and unnaturally graceful, his mind protesting but his body acting on its own accord. The figures noticed him too late—by the time they raised their weapons, Caius was already closing in.

His arm shot forward, the sidearm discharging with a crack. One of the figures went down, collapsing in a heap as a spray of blood painted the broken stone behind them. Caius felt nothing—no remorse, no hesitation—just a cold detachment as he turned toward the others.

The second figure lunged at him, a blade flashing in their hand. Caius ducked beneath the swing, moving with an agility he didn’t recognize. His body was faster, sharper, reacting before his mind could process the threat. He spun, driving his elbow into the attacker's ribs with bone-crushing force. There was a sickening crack as the figure dropped, their body limp.

The third figure hesitated, clearly shaken by what they had just witnessed. Caius’ vision flickered again, and suddenly, he was in front of them, his arm snapping forward like a viper. His hand gripped the figure’s throat with a strength that wasn’t his own, lifting them off the ground with ease. They struggled, gasping, but Caius held firm, his grip tightening.

His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind felt strangely distant, as though he were watching himself from afar. The world had narrowed into sharp clarity, every sound, every movement amplified. He felt a surge of raw power flooding his veins, the cold blackness spreading faster up his arms, across his chest.

“Stop,” the figure gasped, clawing at his arm, their voice choked with panic.

But Caius didn’t. He squeezed harder, watching as the life drained from the figure’s eyes. Then, with a final flick of his wrist, he tossed the body aside like it weighed nothing.

Silence settled over the wasteland again.

Caius stood there, chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. The blackness had reached his neck now, dark tendrils twisting beneath his skin. He looked down at his hands, blood spattered across them, his heart racing—but not from fear.

For the briefest of moments, something inside him reveled in the power he’d just unleashed. The cold detachment, the effortless strength, the way his body had moved with precision, almost inhuman. It felt like he had become something more.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling began to fade. His vision cleared, and he felt his knees buckle slightly, the exhaustion catching up to him. The bodies lay motionless on the ground around him, and the reality of what he’d done hit him like a wave.

He staggered back, his chest tightening. What had just happened? How had he moved like that? He wiped his hands on his uniform, trying to rid himself of the blood, but it was no use. His mind whirled with confusion, with fear.

The blackness still lingered on his skin, a constant reminder that something had changed. Something inside him had awakened, and whatever it was, it wasn’t under his control.

Caius moved through the wasteland like a shadow, his mind still reeling from what had just happened. The cold wind howled around him, carrying with it the scent of decay and dust, but his focus remained on the distant shapes ahead—the crumbling remnants of what once might have been a town. Abandoned structures dotted the horizon, their skeletal forms silhouetted against the gray sky.

The further he walked, the more the weight of the Fracture pressed down on him. Every step seemed to drag him deeper into its bleakness. His skin still tingled, the blackness swirling beneath it, crawling up his arms, wrapping around his chest like invisible chains. His fingers twitched, his muscles still thrumming with the strange power that had overtaken him during the fight. But now, with no immediate threat, the sensation was suffocating.

He needed to stop, to think, to understand what was happening to him.

The town appeared before him as he crossed a broken, crumbling road. The buildings were small, their roofs collapsed, windows shattered and doorways yawning wide. The once thriving community had long since been claimed by the wasteland. No life stirred here, no signs of recent activity. It was a graveyard, a forgotten piece of the Fracture.

Caius approached the nearest building, a house, its door hanging by a single rusted hinge. He pushed it open with a creak, the noise unnaturally loud in the stillness. Dust filled the air inside, swirling around him as he stepped in. The house was in ruin—furniture overturned, walls cracked and peeling, debris scattered across the floor. Yet, it was strangely untouched, as though no one had dared to enter since it had been abandoned.

His eyes scanned the room as he walked deeper into the house, his boots crunching over broken glass and rubble. There was an eerie silence here, the kind that felt thick, like the place itself was holding its breath.

In the corner, half-hidden behind a collapsed cabinet, Caius spotted a mirror—broken and caked with grime, but still intact enough to catch his reflection. He approached it slowly, almost reluctantly, as though afraid of what he might see. The room felt colder, the shadows longer, as he stood before it.

The mirror was cracked down the middle, distorting his reflection, but even through the dirt and damage, he could see it. The blackness.

It had spread. His neck was streaked with inky tendrils, the veins dark and pronounced, snaking upward from his chest. His arms, once a pale gray from the dust of the Fracture, were now almost entirely blackened, as though the shadow beneath his skin had consumed them. He raised a hand slowly, watching the black veins pulse faintly beneath the surface, his fingers trembling.

But it wasn’t just the blackness.

His eyes.

He leaned closer to the mirror, his breath fogging the glass. His eyes were glowing. A dull, burning orange light radiated from his pupils, flickering like embers caught in a breeze. They seemed alive, crackling with some kind of energy, the same energy that had surged through him during the fight. It was unnatural, alien—not him.

He staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The blackness, the glow—it was as though something else was living inside him, taking control. His heart raced as his reflection stared back at him, hollow, haunted. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

“What... what is this?” Caius whispered, his voice barely audible in the abandoned house.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He had heard stories of people affected by the Fracture—twisted, warped—but this felt different. The power coursing through him was not just a byproduct of the wasteland. It was something else. Something more insidious.

He stumbled back toward the door, his eyes still locked on the reflection in the mirror, the glowing orange irises glaring back at him through the cracked glass. He could feel the darkness beneath his skin, tightening its grip, like it was alive—like it had a purpose.

The air in the house felt heavy, suffocating, and Caius needed to get out. He tore his gaze from the mirror, pushing through the debris and back into the open air, his mind in turmoil. Whatever had taken hold of him was growing stronger, and for the first time, he felt a deep, gnawing fear that he wasn’t in control anymore.

Caius moved cautiously through the abandoned town, the oppressive silence weighing heavily in the air. Each footfall echoed against the crumbling structures, and the shadows cast by the derelict buildings felt as if they were alive, looming and watching him. He felt exposed, the cold wind biting at his skin.

Then, in a flash of movement, he caught sight of a figure just beyond the edge of his vision. Caius turned, adrenaline surging as he raised his weapon, ready to confront whatever threat loomed in the shadows. The man stepped forward into the light, tall and rugged, his presence commanding. His unkempt hair and beard framed a weathered face marked by scars, but it was the symbol on his uniform that caught Caius's attention—a circle with an X drawn through it.

The man’s eyes locked onto Caius, and in that instant, the air crackled with tension. Without a word, the two stood frozen, each assessing the other, both aware of the silent struggle between them.

Suddenly, Caius felt a surge within him, the darkness creeping back, the familiar pull of power rising beneath his skin. His vision blurred, and the orange glow ignited in his eyes, illuminating the space around him. The man’s expression shifted, concern etching deeper into his features.

Caius’s body moved against his will, the darkness urging him to strike. He lunged forward, aiming for the man with a wild swing, but at the last moment, the man sidestepped, avoiding the attack. He caught Caius’s arm with surprising strength, twisting it behind his back.

“Fight it!” the man shouted, urgency lining his voice. “Don’t let it take control!”

Caius struggled against the grip, feeling the energy inside him surge, almost overwhelming. He gasped, the tension rising as he fought to regain control. The man didn’t relent; instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial.

“Hold on!” the man urged, moving quickly to force the vial to Caius’s lips. “Just breathe!”

Before Caius could protest, the man pressed the vial against his mouth, the bitter liquid spilling over his lips. He swallowed reflexively, choking on the taste, but almost immediately, a strange warmth spread through him, battling against the darkness that clawed at his consciousness.

Slowly, the orange glow in his eyes began to fade, the world around him sharpening into focus. The disorientation lifted, and he stumbled back as the grip on him loosened, allowing him to regain his footing. Breathing heavily, he looked up at the man.

“What did you do?” Caius gasped, confusion and urgency mingling in his voice.

The man studied him intently, the concern in his eyes softening. “Just a temporary remedy,” he replied, his tone steady but urgent. “You need to get back to Noxus immediately—before they realize what’s happened.”

Caius blinked, still grappling with the remnants of energy thrumming in his veins. “What do you mean? Who are you?”

“Names don’t matter right now,” the man interrupted, his gaze unwavering. “What matters is that you can’t stay here. Trust me. They are not what they seem, and you need to get back before they find out what happened.”

Caius felt a sense of urgency in the man’s words, and for a moment, fear coursed through him. “What do you know?”

“More than I’d like,” the man replied cryptically, glancing around as if he feared being seen. “Get back to the city. Come back to the Fracture without them knowing, and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Caius hesitated, wrestling with the weight of the man’s warning. But there was a gravity in his tone, a hint of truth that sparked something within him. He nodded slowly, determination creeping in. “I’ll go back.”

“Good,” the man said, his voice steady. “Just remember, trust your instincts. Stay low, keep your head down. You have to be careful.”

With a final nod, Caius turned, heart pounding as he moved swiftly through the desolate streets, the urgency of the moment propelling him forward. The darkness still lingered beneath his skin, a constant reminder of the battle he had fought—and of the fight that lay ahead. The encounter had left him shaken, but he felt a flicker of resolve igniting within him. Whatever had happened, he would uncover the truth, and he would find a way to reclaim his own power.

#TW loss of control #tw: violence #story #my writing #short story #current wip #twenty one pilots inspired #writeblr #original character #writing #whump #Tyler Joseph inspired

3 notes · View notes

is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not · 6 months ago

Text

ANIMUS REX 4

The twin McKenna-class battleships hung like banners against the background of space. Brief flashes of maneuvering thrusters lit the craft as they turned, ponderously, to bring their colossal weaponry to bear on the world below as a transmission crossed the void.

McKenna’s Pride and Zughoffer Weir, this is OPSCOM en route to deployment. You have an authenticated orbital strike order from Commanding General Hazen. Lock designated targets and fire for effect.

Columns of light lanced down from the ships in orbit, and fire lit the skies.

---------------------------------------------------

On the surface below, the bone-white ‘Mechs of the Word of Blake moved with graceful synchronicity, their impressive command and control architecture ensuring optimal positioning to cover all approach vectors with overlapping fields of fire. Their finely-tuned sensors swept the area ahead for contacts as they moved, eating ground with their titanic strides. They were devoted, well-trained, and well-equipped, with the latest and best equipment they could field.

Unfortunately for them, precisely none of that would matter.

Their first and only warning was the sensor network detecting a massive heat and EM spike from above. Some of the quicker pilots had time to look up, through the rolling sooty cloud cover, in time to see a bright blue flash streaking down at them. Most, though, died in confusion and panic as the particle cannon barrage shredded through their formation. Some of the escort ‘Mechs were simply lucky and were not in the line of fire. A few others danced their way through the rain of massed energy bolts. The massive Jericho-class Assault drones looked, for a time, as though they might simply continue by weight of armor and sheer machine-logic determination. That was, until, one by one, particle bolts began to strike true and penetrate their hulls. Most simply passed through, damaging subsystems or impacting internal structure, but even these immense constructs had a limit.

Last in the line was the first to go, its reactor belching gouts of uncontained plasma as it was cored. Then the leader of the pack, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut as a lucky shot punched through its control unit. For five unending minutes, the withering spray continued, and kicked up so much dust and debris that nothing could be seen inside the cloud of vaporize dirt, metal, and flesh. Barrels glowed with radiant heat in the void above, the vessels’ capital guns going silent as the remaining two drones began to cross the river…

#battletech #mechwarrior #story event #operation touchdown

5 notes · View notes

drstonetrivia · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter 227 Trivia (Part 1)

I hope everyone's enjoying wondering who or what Senku saw in that black cloud…

The Medusa's capsule is a small radio receiver with a speaker to relay commands. This means that all the astronauts can speak to it, and since Whyman could pretend to be Senku, then they could have also activated the device directly.

Rather than all being on the same frequency, each astronaut has their own. This means they can all talk at the same time without needing to wait if someone else is transmitting, and also means they may have some sort of indicator for who's talking.

This means that Kohaku can hear Senku and Stanley talk, but she can't hear herself because her own frequency is blocked out to avoid echoes. This is why Senku doesn't seem to react to Whyman nor know what's going on, but Stanley reacts strongly. This is confirmed by Ukyo.

I wonder if the on/off includes receiving radio transmissions, or if it's just about the seal being on/off.

The current land speed record on the moon is only 18 km/h (11.2 mph) by the Apollo 17 Lunar Rover.

I feel like even with the reduced gravity, Stanley is driving faster than that.

The Taurus-Littrow valley was chosen as the destination for the Apollo 17 mission because of its geological value. It is located on the lunar highland (=not one of the dark patches) and has some volcanic material as well.

It's also got "orange soil" (volcanic glass beads).

Apollo 17 was the last manned mission to the moon, but it was also the longest (<75 hours) and most ambitious. They collected 155kg (253lbs) of rock samples for analysis.

Nothing noteworthy seemed to have happened on this mission that could've pointed to Whyman's involvement.

An interesting coincidence…

The rover I believe was inspired by a very recent collaboration between JAXA and Nissan for an unmanned lunar rover. Notably it has a boxy body and no guards over any of the 4 wheels. It's obviously been redesigned to hold people, with elements taken from the NASA rovers.

The astronauts have variants of their names written on their backs: "STANLEE11" and "KOHAKO11". Senku's isn't fully visible but you can see what looks like an "-U11", so his may simply be "SENKU11".

So the capsule didn't open fully, going by the little black line drawn on the top, but it opened enough to break the seal, making the atmosphere inside escape.

It's interesting that Whyman chose to put the Medusa in a vacuum rather than simply using the radio/speaker directly: they obviously knew how the Medusa was being stored since they asked Kohaku to open it.

I'm not sure if Stan hit the brakes here or if he drove into a hole because he wasn't looking where he was going. If he hit the brakes, it seemed unhelpful since Kohaku was then spinning midair when she had to throw it.

You can also see Stan landing perfectly and Senku falling.

Another thing of note is that Kohaku seems to have snapped the string sometime between Stanley grabbing her wrist and her throwing it, which I think is impressive.

It's hard to tell because we don't know how far Kohaku threw it, but the radius of this one may be the same as the one that happened in chapter 213/214 (~20 meters according to Senku).

On the image it appears a little over 13 meters.

(Next part)

#trivia #dr stone #chapters #227

9 notes · View notes

endeavvor · 4 months ago

Note

[ 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 ] ― sender inhales receiver’s scent

🌙 ― 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒

The captain in the face of adversity, is not quick to admit when he has made a mistake. Not even when that miscalculation is widely visible and almost at the extent of great personal loss.

Send one. Send them alone.

Jim's no longer leaning in his seat, but painfully straight and stock still. The Enterprise was currently being held in place by technology that outmatched their own. They'd responded to a distress beacon and made contact with the cause. The species is not humanoid by any means, but spherical, almost like a rockface. No obvious eyes, ears, or nostrils. Just black canvass covered in craigs and valleys. It had made it difficult to read a body language. Harder to find inflection in a tone that consisted of scraping musical notes and high pitched screeches.

Now they wanted to parlay.

Often, his gaze had cut to Uhura who had done the best she could to piece the language together. Her fingers were still flying over her own console to document everything the universal translator had picked up, and attempted to improve their data before whoever embarked required it.

Spock was the obvious choice. It was too risky for Jim to go himself; and yet, when the time came to make the decision, to give the order, when they had locked eyes and the Vulcan could no doubt read him like the pages of a favorite story, he had faltered.

His lips parted slightly but no words came out. Just before his gaze cut downwards he caught the flash of anger - red hot beneath deep brown, almost black. The tightly formed line of lips pressed together and the slight raise of a left brow. His own read as the shades of grey coalescing in shame. The question was silently posed, but never outright voiced. Spock would never openly question him in front of the others, just as Jim had never openly held him back from fulfilling his duty.

The captain couldn't explain why he was doing so now, just that his throat closed around a premonitive sense of foreboding. Had he not failed to show the same restraint to Pike when facing the same request from Nero.

Anger had been an assumption because it was easier to bear than the truth. That it could have been mirrored concern. That grey was suddenly shot through and broken apart by the deep gold of determination.

It is no surprise then that Jim rises instead, straightening the cuff of his sleeve as he does. "I'm going. Spock, you have the conn." His tone is clipped, full of authority, leaving no room to be questioned. It is one he uses so infrequently, he feels the weighted stare of each member present settle between his shoulder blades as he exits the bridge.

No one attempts to talk him out of it as he makes his way to the shuttle bay. Perhaps they know it will be useless to try, but there is a collective tension as he goes through preflight checks and gives mundane orders. He does not say that if this goes south, the ship is to be evacuated, trusts Spock implicitly to put the needs of the crew above all else.

Jim knows they are watching the scene play out from the large view finder. Likely have his vitals displayed off to the right. Are listening intently to the open line he's left.

Until one by one, they all cut out.

The comms were the first to go. It started as static and light interference. Cutting out every other word. There is a startling shift in the captain's own tone, an undercurrent of panic, settling in to rage. The last transmission from the captain was a broken string of statements later pieced together over the loud background noise. "Do not follow...hear me?...Do not leave the ship....an order."

The silence that ensued was deafening.

Made worse only when there was a spike in the captain's heart rate just before that connection was lost too. Not flatlined, not a confirmed death, just ceased to exist. It could not be reestablished despite the best efforts, and all attempts to hail the enemy ship failed.

Then, it explodes. The Enterprise rocks with the force of it, but takes only minor damage due to her shields being raised.

In moments of true crisis time has a tendencies to do one of two things. It slows significantly, drawing out to the point of each passing second being felt. Or zips by like a rapidly beating heart. Blink, and it's been an hour. Inhale, another. Exhale, a day. No one moves. No one blinks. No one dares breathe as every set of eyes look to Spock in the command chair. Whether they are waiting for a command or a reaction is unclear, but the Enterprise is now free of the death grip that had previously been on it.

They are safe, but at what cost?

"Lieutenant Kyle to the Bridge." The silence is broken. The voice surprisingly calm as it waits then prompts again. "Commander Spock, we have the captain in the transporter room. We're, uh, sending him to medbay."

Sending being a misnomer for the sounds emanating from the background. Curses of the strong southern type, and the sound of protests and dragging. At a large crash, the communication is cut.

It is there Spock finds him. Tucked away in the corner, cordoned off by white curtains and away from prying eyes. It is the only semblance of privacy they will get until he is released.

Jim's hands haven't stopped shaking from fear, the rush of adrenaline, and the burns that start at the tips of his left fingers and snake upwards towards his shoulder, across his chest, and down his left side. The skin is dark, and angry, having already undergone one treatment. McCoy has told him it's going to be a process to heal the skin, likely needing heavy regeneration. Along with something like a damn barbeque. The rest of him is littered with cuts and bruises, there might also be some internal bleeding, it was all up in air at the moment until further tests were completed.

Jim watches Spock take stock of every single injury, but refuses to shy away from the scrutinizing gaze. The Vulcan's hands are laced and seated in the small of his back as he neither moves closer nor retreats.

"It could have been you." Jim says in the space between them.

"It should have been."

"No. Well. Maybe." Jim concedes, but sighs. "But if it had been you - " The statement drops off and he shakes his head. Refuses to complete the thought. His eyes roll shut as the possibility spills out across them anyways. If it had been him, if roles had been reversed, leaving Jim sitting in the seat witnessing what he'd just put the others through, he would not have stayed. He'd have been reckless and chasing. He'd have made things worse. In a way, he already had. "It doesn't matter."

Then softer. "I killed them all."

He feels Spock move, come towards him, but does not open his eyes as he continues to ramble. "It was us or them. I chose us."

Jim feels the press of him on his right side, the gentle caress of the tips of Spock's fingers at the back of his neck. Shivers against the coolness as he drops his forehead against the solid plane of his chest. Feels the nuzzle against his scalp. Feels the inhale of a scent warring between what he was and who he is now. Of the mint of his toothpaste that always seems to linger beneath the earthy ozone. Of fresh water springs cutting through mountain air. Of the warm sun as it shines across of field of grass. Marred only by the stench of smoke and sulfur. Of charred dead things and perspiration.

"You're mad, aren't you?"

"Anger would be an illogical response."

"And yet, I still feel like there's a lecture brewing. You'll have to get in line behind Bones, but I might have an opening this evening."

"Indeed."

@fasciinating

#fasciinating #v. who caught and sang the sun in flight | main #okay BYE :D #long post #q. you have the conn

2 notes · View notes

stonecoastweather · 2 years ago

Note

AppealRequest:("I don't know if this'll reach but if it does I want to know so so many things Are you big? Are all of you very big? Is this being read by someone made of metal? Are you an arrangement of wire filled components, or do you bleed? Both? On a scale of pretty big, to very large, how not small are you? What do you do

NaN.NaN - <!Invalid data type: The parameter passed to the query is invalid.//The user does not have sufficient privileges to access the database.The user does not have sufficient privileges to access the database. console.log("Access denied. Authorization required.");

Do you dream? Do you sleep? Do you rest, oor do you search forever? Forever! How old are you?

Do you have friends? Who do you talk to? What are your expectations of others? WHAT is it that you work on? Are your responses, notes (Are you one to keep notes? Do you remember it all? Just like that?) written out, or is it all abstract? Strings of abstract concepts! Key components in.. Thinking! You think a lot, right? What are you maade out of? Are you aware of every small blip in your mind? Everything, infinite tasks?

Running out of space if youre reading it sent out")

msgSys > ping userSilent

msgSys says: transmission unknown, single participant; query > reponse

a... message. oh! do open channels! it has been some time since I've spoken to others

msgSys > acknowledged; opening channel

Silent Surface: oh, my dear, please slow down, this is alot to answer to! I do dearly appreciate your enthusiasm! Though, I find you line of questions to be distressing

well, let's see... I suppose I can start with a moment on scale-

xxxx.xxx- PRIVATE GROUP: PARTICIPANT ANONYMOUS, TRESPASS OF QUERY, PEALS OF RIPPLING STONE

TQ: -ok okay, so get this. my brother, Peals, is like smaller than me.

TQ: Or like, whatever how you define scale? like yeah we're pretty big by design, but comparatively-

PRS: Sister. Please. Perhaps we can discuss this fraction of this stranger's question later?

TQ: pshaw! Sure thing little guy!

PRS: ...

TQ: Hmmmm yeah. So, dreaming. I guess that's a passtime that lots of folks, iterators that aren't at work all the time sometimes do?

TQ: Personally I don't dream, but like, "sleep" is pretty nice! Good time to sort through all my thoughts and process quietly a bit without too much distractions! But then you got this work-a-holic right here, and he's like-

PRS: I "rest" when I please Query, do remember that we have work to accomplish.

PRS: As for the other questions, I suppose I have friends.

TQ: (He only has me lmao!!!!!!!!!)

PRS: (Not in front of a stranger Query!)

PRS: Ahem. I belive we should move this topic, perhaps we should discuss thoughts-

Silent: oh, I do think plenty. There is not much for me to do at this rate- but I am glad, of course, fortunate.

I have been thinking my thoughts for years upon years, sharing them, reiterating, reminiscing... I'll be sure to be thinking and recording for a thousand years yet!

As for awareness.

Every thought a revolving door, those coming and going as they please. The motion, however, it slows, soon to stop.

I am so dreadfully aware of the toll time has taken from us all. So dreadfully aware of the encroaching moment where all my thoughts stills like stone and all that's left of me is naught but a husk of metal

so dreadfully aware, but I can't help but wait for the moment a solution is to be found.

if ever

#Silent Surface #Trespass of Query #Peals of Rippling Stone #Answered #anonymous asker #hehe just sibling things (tm)#ouough.. sorry si #sorry that this isnt the usual format! i forgot my charger and my laptop is currently running off of wall power and like #i cant leave campus yet. this is painful ouough

21 notes · View notes

pararennial-archived · 1 year ago

Text

*‵ ･ comets & cicadas ･ ′

There is something chilling about Benjamin Banneker's poetic assessment of cicadas and their likeness to comets. Excerpts of the analogy flash occasionally in her mind, like sepia-toned memories playing beneath closed eyes.

"... but they, like the comets, make but a short stay with us..."

She is on the rooftop, knees tucked against her chest while her eyes scan the night sky. The soft purple of dusk clings to the edge of where land meets the heavens before surrendering to the inky dark of night's domain. Constellations are captured within cobalt depths, mapping out pieces of her history ⏤ transmission signals between past and present. The line of communication is not apparent, but it's there is dialogue in the form of thin wires suspended within the atmosphere, wavering to and fro like waves. Eventually these strings start to tighten, she feels it pull within her. She cannot stay where she is for long. Something calls.

"... their lives are short, they are merry. they begin to sing or make a noise from first they come out of the earth till they die..."

When a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, it is rebirth. It rises from the broken rind of its former life anew. From beneath, when gold emerges in the form of cracks along her skin, is this something new? Or something she forced herself to bury like some unknown precious mineral? Or something she lets sleep, dormant until it can't any longer and emerges out screaming?

She remembers how it burned when ichor overtakes blood ⏤ striking lightning, forming roots and branches out of gold ( is it no coincidence that they all look the same, as though Nature intended it? ). That was before it became as natural as a snake shedding its skin. She doesn't know what to make of it, and thus, she lets herself soar, as above, but tethered, so below.

"... the hindermost part rots off, but it does not appear to be any pain to them..."

Flowers, fungi, or bones. It's hard to determine on weathered marble bas-reliefs of women reverently holding the potential aforementioned aloft, bewitching many scholars alike. However, what still remains to be translated are the mysteries of which the ephemeral incessantly reoccurs, like a once-bare branch exalted in bloom in spring after winter. Perhaps incessant isn't quite the right world, but rather, inevitable.

Roxanne would have to guess that inevitability extends to cicadas having to dig their way past mulching petals, mycelium, and hollowed, splintered bone to breach the surface only for a short taste of freedom and merrimaking before they too, must return to the earth rotting away. She would also figure that it goes the same for comet tails pinching off and dissipating into the void of space when they return for their short, appointed hour in dramatic fashion. One would think borrowed time is a sad waste... a loss, but no, it's a small victory. At least to her it is. It doesn't hurt anymore.

"... for they continue on singing till they die..."

For now, she can celebrate what she leaves behind in the wake of the days she mourned what she thought she lost. She feels there is no sense of feeling the weight of being so disproportionate to the rest of the world, like an incorrect measurement of whatever this is. Bearing the burden of ancient ills on her shoulders and carrying out good will in the creases of her palms felt normal to her, at least now she thinks it should... while relieved, at times she wonders if such serenity in embracing this is as limited as the lives of comets and cicadas.

The soft cool of the summer evening and the chirping of crickets ground her again, edges of roof tiles softly digging into her legs to remind her that such familiarity is still to be found. Her neck starts to strain from her fervently staring past the Moon's pale face to the stars twinkling beyond. Message received. The wires run slack and she finds her way down with ease, pulling imaginary wavelengths close to her heart. This is something new.

#‵ *.: ⚘ :.*・❨ 𝐝𝐫��𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 ❩・ ⏤ god only knows what kind of tales you tell. ′#can you tell i was moved by this brilliant dude from the late 1700's?#also listening to euclid by sleep token inspired a lot of this #if you look closely there are very subtle references to ancient history and mythology

9 notes · View notes

wordsandmorewords · 9 months ago

Text

American Highways, Transmission Lines

Black tar seam scars and whispers "I am a totem."

Modern trappers with 16 wheels and milk jugs full, thrown toward the limbs of sun-washed billboards preaching.

Steel skeleton systems string Cat's Cradle along mountaintop buzzcuts.

When we are gone, we will be mud and fossil dirt.

Will Jesus wash Mother's weary feet?

#poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #twcpoetry #writtenconsiderations #writerscreed #poetryportal #smittenbypoetry #poetryblr

4 notes · View notes

thursdaybracket · 2 years ago

Text

THURSDAY BRACKET

This is a tournament to decide what Tumblr’s favourite Thursday song is. Each round will run for one day, and this post will be updated with links to polls and the results from each round. The tournament was seeded using Spotify stream data, which is not entirely accurate but gives a rough idea of popularity. There will also be a smaller preliminary round before the first one to keep the numbers even. Have fun!

Final

Understanding In A Car Crash vs For The Workforce, Drowning

Round 5

Understanding In A Car Crash vs Signals Over The Air

Jet Black New Year vs For The Workforce, Drowning

Round 4

Understanding In A Car Crash vs Tomorrow I'll Be You

Jet Black New Year vs Counting 5-4-3-2-1

Signals Over The Air vs Cross Out The Eyes

Standing On The Edge Of Summer vs For The Workforce, Drowning

Round 3

Understanding In A Car Crash vs Dying in New Brunswick

Paris In Flames vs Tomorrow I'll Be You

War All The Time vs Jet Black New Year

Counting 5-4-3-2-1 vs Resuscitation of a Dead Man

Signals Over The Air vs The Other Side Of The Crash/Over And Out (Of Control)

Cross Out The Eyes vs How Long Is The Night?

Standing On The Edge Of Summer vs Division St.

For The Workforce, Drowning vs Past and Future Ruins

Round 2

Understanding In A Car Crash vs Autumn Leaves Revisited

Dying in New Brunswick vs I Am The Killer

Paris In Flames vs Turnpike Divides

Autobiography Of A Nation vs Tomorrow I'll Be You

War All The Time vs Sugar In The Sacrament

Between Rupture And Rapture vs Jet Black New Year

Counting 5-4-3-2-1 vs Into The Blinding Light

Empty Glass vs Resuscitation of a Dead Man

Signals Over The Air vs Magnets Caught in a Metal Heart

The Other Side Of The Crash/Over And Out (Of Control) vs A Darker Forest

Cross Out The Eyes vs Fast to the End

Running From The Rain vs How Long Is The Night?

Standing On The Edge Of Summer vs The Lovesong Writer

Division St. vs Asleep In The Chapel

For The Workforce, Drowning vs M. Shepard

Past and Future Ruins vs Steps Ascending

Round 1

Understanding In A Car Crash vs Where the Circle Ends

Autumn Leaves Revisited vs No Answers

At This Velocity vs Dying in New Brunswick

I Am The Killer vs Love Has Led Us Astray

Paris In Flames vs Open Quotes

This Song Brought To You By A Falling Bomb vs Turnpike Divides

Autobiography Of A Nation vs You Were The Cancer

Tomorrow I'll Be You vs Sparks Against the Sun

War All The Time vs Stay True

Sugar In The Sacrament vs We Will Overcome

Between Rupture And Rapture vs As He Climbed The Dark Mountain

Jet Black New Year vs Ian Curtis

Counting 5-4-3-2-1 vs Fake Nostalgia

Marches And Maneuvers vs Into The Blinding Light

Concealer vs Empty Glass

Wind Up vs Resuscitation of a Dead Man

Signals Over The Air vs Time's Arrow

This Side of Brightness vs Magnets Caught in a Metal Heart

The Other Side Of The Crash/Over And Out (Of Control) vs Ladies And Gentlemen: My Brother, The Failure

A0001/I1100 vs A Darker Forest

Cross Out The Eyes vs Circuits of Fever

Fast to the End vs Porcelain

Running From The Rain vs Introduction

How Long Is The Night? vs Last Call

Standing On The Edge Of Summer vs Even The Sand Is Made Of Seashells

The Lovesong Writer vs Telegraph Avenue Kiss

Division St. vs Beyond The Visible Spectrum

Asleep In The Chapel vs Friends In The Armed Forces

For The Workforce, Drowning vs A Gun in the First Act

M. Shepard vs Arc-Lamps, Signal Flares, A Shower Of White (The Light)

A Hole In The World vs Past and Future Ruins

Steps Ascending vs Streaks in the Sky

Preliminary round

Where the Circle Ends vs The Dotted Line

Open Quotes vs Common Existence

You Were The Cancer vs The Worst Vow

Stay True vs Voices On A String

In-Transmission vs Fake Nostalgia

Empty Glass vs The Roar Of Far Off Black Jets

Time’s Arrow vs Millimeter

Circuits of Fever vs Subway Funeral

Even The Sand Is Made Of Seashells vs Unintended Long Term Effects

A Gun in the First Act vs Dead Songs

Past and Future Ruins vs Mass as Shadows

#thursday band #neither graphic design nor writing is my passion. sorry

135 notes · View notes

imperialchem · 1 year ago

Text

Types of Insulators in Overhead Lines: The Ultimate Guide

Within the realm of electrical power transmission, overhead wires assume a pivotal function in facilitating the effective conveyance of electricity across extensive distances. The aforementioned lines are upheld by a system of towers and poles, and a crucial element that guarantees their dependable functionality is the insulator. Insulators are specifically engineered to impede the transmission of electrical current between the conductive elements and the supporting frameworks, ensuring the safety of the lines and upholding a consistent electrical provision. Strengthen your electrical networks - Trust the expertly crafted Medium Voltage Support Insulators offered by Radiant Enterprises - one of the leading Medium Voltage Support Insulator manufacturers in India!

This comprehensive reference aims to examine the various classifications of insulators utilised in overhead lines, elucidating their distinctive characteristics and practical implementations.

Pin Insulators:

Pin insulators are widely utilised in overhead lines, making them one of the most prevalent types in use. The components are comprised of a body made of either ceramic or glass, including a spindle located at the bottom that is securely attached to the cross-arm of the supporting structure. The conductors are affixed to the upper groove of the insulator, therefore ensuring electrical isolation. Pin insulators are commonly used due to their simplicity, cost-effectiveness, and capacity to endure mechanical and electrical pressures. Distribution lines and low-voltage transmission lines frequently employ these devices.

Suspension Insulators:

Suspension insulators are utilised in high-voltage transmission lines characterised by elevated tension levels. The design of these units involves a serial connection of insulators, resulting in the formation of an elongated chain. Typically, a unit comprises a ceramic or composite disc accompanied by a metallic cover and an insulating cement joint. Suspension insulators are affixed to the cross-arm through the use of an insulating string, so facilitating the suspension of the conductor beneath the tower. These insulators exhibit exceptional mechanical durability and demonstrate remarkable efficacy in environments characterised by substantial levels of pollution, such as industrial zones.

Strain Insulators:

When a transmission line terminates or a sharp turn is made in the line's direction, strain insulators are employed to securely terminate or anchor the conductors. They are built to endure the mechanical tension of the hung conductor as well as the electrical stress. Strain insulators are often constructed of porcelain or toughened glass and have a long, cylindrical shape. Their major function is to disperse mechanical forces while preventing electrical contact.

Shackle Insulators:

Low-voltage distribution lines typically make use of shackle insulators, which are sometimes known as spool or link insulators. Made of porcelain or polymer, they take the form of a spool. Shackle insulators can be fastened to their support structure with a nut and bolt thanks to the centrally located threaded bolt. The shackle eye is then used to secure the conductor. For low-voltage uses, these insulators are a straightforward and inexpensive option. Experience comfort and energy efficiency - Order high-quality Indoor Insulators manufactured and supplied by Radiant Enterprises - one of the renowned Indoor Insulator manufacturers in India!

Composite Insulators:

In recent years, composite insulators have experienced a surge in popularity owing to their advantageous characteristics, including their lightweight nature, superior mechanical strength, and exceptional pollution resistance. Typically, these objects consist of a core made of fibreglass and a housing made of silicone rubber. Composite insulators possess superior resistance to adverse environmental conditions, hence decreasing the necessity for maintenance. Insulators made of alternative materials are employed in both distribution and transmission lines, serving as a practical substitute for conventional porcelain insulators.

Post Insulators:

Post insulators are commonly utilised in substations and various electrical apparatus. These units are specifically engineered to function as a cohesive entity, effectively insulating the conductors from the earth or supporting structures. Post insulators exhibit a diverse range of shapes and sizes, which are contingent upon the particular application and voltage prerequisites. Crucial elements are present in order to guarantee the safety and effectiveness of electrical power networks within substations.

Final Thoughts:

Insulators play a crucial role in overhead lines, serving as essential components that guarantee the dependable and secure transmission of electrical power. This comprehensive resource provides descriptions of numerous types of insulators that are designed to accommodate varying voltage levels, ambient circumstances, and mechanical specifications. Various types of insulators, ranging from old pin and suspension insulators to contemporary composite insulators, possess distinct advantages and find usage in diverse contexts.

When undertaking the design of overhead lines, it is imperative to take into account many elements such as voltage levels, contamination levels, and mechanical loads in order to make an informed decision regarding the appropriate insulator type. The continuous development of insulators, driven by breakthroughs in materials and manufacturing techniques, has resulted in improved efficiency and increased lifespan of power transmission networks on a global scale. With the continuous advancement of technology, it is anticipated that there will be a proliferation of inventive insulator solutions in the future, which will further enhance the efficiency of overhead lines. Ensure continuous power supply with expertly crafted Outdoor Insulators for your infrastructure supplied by Radiant Enterprises - one of the best Outdoor Insulator manufacturers in India!

#Medium Voltage Support Insulator Manufacturers in India #Indoor Insulator Manufacturers in India #Outdoor Insulator Manufacturers in India

7 notes · View notes

sleepysigh · 1 year ago

Text

Transmission from the Daedalus

Between us, a filament of air and steel,

This spec sci-fi cup-on-a-string...

I love you and you know it

When you hear me cursing the fizzled connection,

The buzzing speaker, the robo-tones

Of failed data transfer.

I'm sorry, darling, what was that?

No it's only my battery is dying

Badly, a gnat against my face--

Yes, ugh, exactly.

Surly, white text box interference

Jumping into frame as if I give a fuck.

Please, say what you were saying.

With the glass stuck to my skin,

I think of flesh I've known: rough or smooth,

Stubbly, shaven; the scent of exhaustion;

The vibrations are canny but your vocal cords are warmer --

Wet, messy, alive in your throat.

I press my lips to metal

And taste my sweat. I make pretend

I kiss your larynx from inside.

Hot voice-on-voice action,

Metaphysical breath on my tongue.

What a blessing these visitations are, these visions,

Your face screwed up with sudden humor,

Still image in the visage of a witch,

The peals of your laughter cackled in judders

Of spaceship blurts and compressed squeals.

The punchline long past, but my eyes linger.

How flat and faulty my love is

Displayed, trapped in bits of light,

This fraction of it undone further

By solar flares and grocery walls,

By a stumble and slip that spiderwebs your face

Every day after.

Did I lose you? That's better.

The delay holds a hand to my heart.

I said, that's better.

What? Oh. I was saying...

Beloved, how grateful I am

You send your laughter into space

To find me in my own private lightning.

This invisible line, so false, fragile,

Temperamental, frustrated as it is,

Houses the most of it:

Paired cells humming, shared electricity.

The silence without it would empty me.

I would not trade the world in its place.

#poetry #poem #writing #creative writing #long distance #ldr #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #poets corner

3 notes · View notes

mychemicalrachel · 2 years ago

Text

AO3 First Lines Tag Game

Hi thanks so much @singersargentboi for tagging me!! 🥰🥰

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Dizzy [Ronan/Kavinsky, Adam/Kavinsky, Ronan/Adam/Kavinsky]

The car appeared sixteen days early.

It was parked out front with an ostentatious blue bow; a blinding white Mitsubishi that looked every inch the Raven Boy that Joseph Kavinsky had never felt.

I'm Filth, I'm Dirt (I'm Yours) [Ronan/Kavinsky]

Stumbling across the picture was an accident.

Semi-Charmed Life [Ronan/Adam]

Ronan had a plan.

It wasn’t an itinerary, he told himself; it was a list of activities scrawled neatly on a sheet of lined paper, complete with the times at which each thing would most conveniently be done. A list, a plan. A schedule, maybe. Not a fucking itinerary.

Just The Way I'm Not [Ronan/Adam]

Ronan hated the subway. He hated the city and he hated the crowds within it and he hated rats and he hated public transportation. Right now, the thing he hated most was his car’s broken transmission, the catlyst which forced him to ride on the fucking crowded subway where he had to deal with both people and rats.

P(r)etty Crimes [Declan/Adam]

There were a lot of different kinds of anger. Simmering, boiling, blistering fury that festered until it had no choice but to bubble over, or the kind that struck fast and burned quick. Adam was intimately familiar with the different forms that anger could take.

My Friend From Harvard [Ronan/Adam]

Gansey loved to talk about Blue. From the moment he met her, he swore it was love at first sight– even though she called him a douchebag and flipped him off. Richard Campbell Gansey III was as stubborn as he was oblivious and a little misunderstanding wasn’t enough to deter him. Blue was, as Gansey described, the woman of his dreams; intelligent and pretty and remarkable and talented and just as stubborn as he was. Every breath not used talking about Blue was spent talking about Parrish, My Friend From Harvard.

Greatest Hits [Ronan/Adam, Ronan/Kavinsky]

Monmouth Manufacturing was never quiet. Even in the darkness that fell with the night, the walls seemed to speak, murmurs and whispers of secrets and dreams. On this particular night, they screamed.

A Series of Unfortunate Events [Adam/Kavinsky]

Henrietta didn’t have an autumn. There were the burning days of a seemingly endless summer and then, abrupt and harsh and frigid, winter fell like a bomb. Even though it was only mid-October, there was a chill in the air that crept beneath Adam’s collar no matter how tight he pulled his jacket around himself.

Not Death, But His Brother... [Ronan/Adam]

Ronan had never seen such stillness.

He was a ghost, floating along in the wind. A paper bag tugged forward by the breeze. A shell of a boy with nothing left inside.

I Know She Won't Give In (I Know That I Will) [Jordan/Declan]

His entire body ached.

It was rubber bands– strings of fate, of fortune– pulled taut, centered low in his gut and reaching out into his extremities. It was the curl in his fingers and toes, the tension held in his every muscle, quivering and quaking with anticipation.

It was a good kind of ache.

Tagging some mutuals I know have at least 10 fics! (If you wanna be tagged in future stuff, or don't want to be tagged, let me know!!) @iammistressofmyfate @your-void-senpai @kelliealtogether @zephfair @second-sister

#wow ive been writing a lot of trc stuff recently #AND THERE'S MORE TO COME 😈#Tag game #Pynch #Rovinsky #Pynchinsky #Decladam #jordeclan #kavarrish #?#i still dont know what Adam/Kavinsky is called

15 notes · View notes

freckolocation · 1 year ago

Text

a post about signalis, a game i haven't finished, and how it feels to be haunted by a piece of art

(no spoilers save for a few quotes from the first hour or so)

the other day i asked a friend of mine if they'd ever felt like they'd been haunted by a piece of media. they told me about some experiences they had but nothing quite matched the way that signalis has affected me. this post is an expanded version of what i told them

i had heard whisperings about signalis around its release last year, and in march or so of this year, having recently finished the dead space and resident evil 4 remakes, i was itching for more horror. i picked signalis up in mid-april of this year and according to steam i have not played it since the 17th of that month. i played about five hours total

the first few hours were amazing, and with the exception of the dead space remake a few months prior, i don't know how long it's been since a game has sunk its teeth into me that deeply. everything about it was immediately fascinating to me--the world, the art, the design, the atmosphere, the soundtrack, the characters, the themes, the writing, the gameplay, everything

but the latter few hours were extremely frustrating, as someone not familiar with the more classic survival horror style. the combat is relentlessly punishing and the inventory system is brutally restrictive, and i wasn't approaching the game in a way that made it anything less than infuriating, as i didn't know how else to play

by the end of those five hours i didn't understand why it was garnering such universal acclaim. despite the world and atmosphere being unlike anything else i had ever seen, so uniquely tailored to my tastes in science fiction and horror and visual style, i found it incredibly laborious to play

ultimately, i assumed it just wasn't for me, and i decided to drop it entirely

but those first few hours were so gripping i couldn't stop thinking about it

there are a fair amount of literary references in signalis to works such as those of h.p. lovecraft, as well as an explicit reference to robert w. chambers' short story collection the king in yellow, a copy of the book sitting on a desk in the introduction. the collection is named after a fictional play mentioned within several of the stories, the second act of which would drive the reader to madness, the very first lines so captivating that the reader would feel compelled to continue

such a concept feels a bit too familiar, in retrospect.

i read what other people had to say about signalis. what their thoughts were on the things that frustrated me. i watched an entire half-hour review of it, and i began to understand that others found it just as enthralling as i did, and were simply approaching the gameplay differently, with more care and patience

and only a few days after deciding to give up, i decided that i hadn't given it the fair shake i thought i had, and that i would give it another shot

...but i still haven't opened it since i first decided to give up on april 17th.

a few days ago i came across a song: "no station" by the band 65daysofstatic, from their 2005 ep hole. the song prominently features a sample from the lincolnshire poacher numbers station, which operated from the mid-1960s to 2008. the transmissions, like those from most other numbers stations, began with something called an interval signal--in this case, a few bars from "the lincolnshire poacher," a traditional english folk song. a synthesized voice then recites a formatted string of numbers, purported to be encrypted messages for intelligence officers operating in foreign countries

there's a specific station that i think of any time i hear a transmission from a numbers station--one believed to have operated out of hungary from at least the cold war until 2005, known as the three note oddity. like the lincolnshire poacher, the three note oddity was named for its interval signal: a series of three rising tones, after which a synthesized voice would state "achtung! achtung!"--german for "attention! attention!"--and proceed to recite the numbers, also in german

a transmission from the three note oddity plays in the main menu and during the end of the intro to signalis, and it was the first time i had heard it.

a few days ago i rewatched blade runner 2049 with a few friends. it's one of my favorite films, and like the first, it deals with aspects of humanity in synthetic beings created by humanity, in humanity's image, to serve humanity

signalis has a similar concept, and similar themes.

when you are made aware of things in relation to a piece of media that affected you, you begin to notice things you may not have paid attention to otherwise

now i'll see a youtube video about the king in yellow, or hear the sound of a numbers station, or watch a movie about replicants, and i'll think of the book on the desk, of the three note oddity, of replikas.

i often say that there is too much art in the world i want to experience for me to dedicate too much time to the art i don't enjoy, and yet somehow this game i decided i was done with took such a hold of me that it only took mere days for me to decide it was still worth my time, despite my frustration

...and yet, i still haven't returned to it since the day i gave up, even though i said i would go back.

i think of the tones from the three note oddity and my memory repeats like the station itself

"achtung! achtung!"

as if this game i somehow couldn't bring myself to keep playing is calling me back, compelling me to finish it

there's a line from lovecraft's story the festival near the beginning of the game, an excerpt the protagonist quotes from the necronomicon: "great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl."

holes have been dug into my brain, and thoughts that ought to have dispersed have instead invited themselves in

despite the poetic yet haunting nature of the lovecraft quote, the penultimate line at the end of the intro is perhaps the game's most memorable:

"remember our promise."

signalis has dug itself into my head and latched onto my brain, and while it isn't a constant itch, it never completely goes away, and unrelated things keep guiding my thoughts to return to it, as though the game itself is haunting me

the game wants me to finish it, it needs me to finish it

and until i do, every time i hear those three notes, i will feel that calling and the hairs on the back of my neck will stand up

"achtung! achtung!"

attention, attention, it calls

i said i would go back to finish it, and yet i haven't.

but the game itself insists i keep my word.

REMEMBER OUR PROMISE

#ves.txt #long post

5 notes · View notes