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2024.05.16 16:56 chickenStripsz modal save changes button not clickable
im having some issues with a modal in a Django project im working on. im encountering a strange issue where the submit button is not intractable, almost like it has a lower z-index than the rest of the modal. it also seems like it only happens on the first post object. the rest of the modal lets me type and click out of it but the submit button is a lot more finicky. any ideas as to what is going on?
here is some of the template ```
submitted by chickenStripsz to bootstrap [link] [comments]
here is some of the template ```
{% for post in page_obj %} {{ post.poster }}
{{ post.text }}
{{ post.created }} {% if post.updated %} Updated on: {{post.updateddate:'M d, Y, h:i a' }} {% endif %} {% if post.poster == user %}
{% endif %} {%if user.is_authenticated %} {%endif%} {{ post.likes }} {% endfor %}post.idpost.idpost.idpost.idpost.idpost.idpost.idpost.id ```2024.05.16 16:51 Wilhelmena_ AITA For cutting ties with my best friend after she sent my sister death threats?
I had transferred to a new school in year 8 along with someone else who transferred to the exact same school. Let’s call her Ava. She and I immediately clicked as friends and we were close but still distant. I was trying to find my place among my peers and she seemed to find hers.
Last year, she started dating a guy, James, and they hit it off pretty well. A couple weeks into dating they were sexually active and she was very open about it. At the same time, I had been going on dates with my current boyfriend, Henry.
Henry and James were childhood friends and Ava and I were already close so it was a perfect match. We would go on double dates and spend time at each others houses. Our relationships were perfect. Ava was very open about her relationship to me and unfortunately to other people as well.
Our prom started being discussed around the school and the boys were talking about what they were planning. I, however, had no interest in going to prom. I’m not one to dress up all fancy or enjoy a night out. During the boys conversation I pulled Henry aside and told him that I don’t plan on going to the prom because it’s not my setting and I would prefer he ask a friend to go with him.
This upset Henry a little but he didn’t want to make me upset and told me that if I won’t go then he won’t go and we can spend time together instead of going out. James overheard this and said that he wouldn’t go either. This gesture was so nice and I insisted that they still go but Ava wasn’t having it. She called me selfish for not wanting to go and said that I need to think more about other people than myself all the time because if I don’t go then Henry and James won’t go and she’ll be all alone.
This disheartened me and I felt obliged to go so I simply nodded and agreed and said I would go as to not upset the apple cart.
Fast forward a couple weeks and we find out that the prom will be held on my birthday. This then arises another disapproval of the ball for me and I decided I didn’t want to go again. The exact same conversation happened and I felt as though I should go.
Ava was so excited and started asking me what dress I was thinking of wearing. Since my favourite colour is red and it was going to be my birthday I told her that I wanted to wear a red dress. She was quick to tell me I wasn’t allowed to because someone else in our group was wanting to go in a red dress. This deeply upset me and once again I didn’t wish to go.
I ended up breaking down in front of Henry’s mum and she told me to wear whatever dress I’d like and that I should go and not thinking about anyone else, just Henry and my friends. So I agreed and decided to start talking with my other friends instead of just her.
Finally, two months to go and everyone was so excited for prom. Our teachers had sent out a message saying to book a table as quick as possible because positions will be running out soon. I put forward my friends names plus Henry, James and Ava. I took a picture of the message and sent it to everyone. After receiving a thumbs up or spoken approval I sent the message off and was approved of our table.
Everything was finally going smoothly and I was somewhat excited for prom until I get home after work and have my sister running to me, crying and squeezing me tight saying she loves me and doesn’t want me to die. Of course this scares me and I wrap my arms back around her and ask her what’s going on. She tells me that Ava sent her a message saying that she’s going to murder me and she doesn’t care if she has to go to jail because she’ll do it.
This made me absolutely furious. I opened my phone and found similar messages to me. Some on discord, Snapchat, instagram, group chats and direct messages. All of them referring to how she didn’t approve of the seating plan (which she did) and that I have to remove it right now. How dare I put that through without thinking of others before me.
Apparently, James’s friend group was wanting to organise a seating arrangement that included Ava, James, Henry and I and were pissed that I put a seating arrangement through, even though they never told me.
I messaged in the group chat as everyone was wondering what I did and how cruel I was, asking if Ava was okay because whatever I did must’ve been bad. I responded with a message explaining what happened and that she is to never contact me again. This argument went back and forth for 48hrs before she finally had nothing else to say and just left me on read.
This whole argument has caused a rift between our friend group and legal matters may be coming into action which I can go into further detail in a part two if people are interested.
Sorry for the long explanation! Thank you so much for reading xx
submitted by Wilhelmena_ to u/Wilhelmena_ [link] [comments]
Last year, she started dating a guy, James, and they hit it off pretty well. A couple weeks into dating they were sexually active and she was very open about it. At the same time, I had been going on dates with my current boyfriend, Henry.
Henry and James were childhood friends and Ava and I were already close so it was a perfect match. We would go on double dates and spend time at each others houses. Our relationships were perfect. Ava was very open about her relationship to me and unfortunately to other people as well.
Our prom started being discussed around the school and the boys were talking about what they were planning. I, however, had no interest in going to prom. I’m not one to dress up all fancy or enjoy a night out. During the boys conversation I pulled Henry aside and told him that I don’t plan on going to the prom because it’s not my setting and I would prefer he ask a friend to go with him.
This upset Henry a little but he didn’t want to make me upset and told me that if I won’t go then he won’t go and we can spend time together instead of going out. James overheard this and said that he wouldn’t go either. This gesture was so nice and I insisted that they still go but Ava wasn’t having it. She called me selfish for not wanting to go and said that I need to think more about other people than myself all the time because if I don’t go then Henry and James won’t go and she’ll be all alone.
This disheartened me and I felt obliged to go so I simply nodded and agreed and said I would go as to not upset the apple cart.
Fast forward a couple weeks and we find out that the prom will be held on my birthday. This then arises another disapproval of the ball for me and I decided I didn’t want to go again. The exact same conversation happened and I felt as though I should go.
Ava was so excited and started asking me what dress I was thinking of wearing. Since my favourite colour is red and it was going to be my birthday I told her that I wanted to wear a red dress. She was quick to tell me I wasn’t allowed to because someone else in our group was wanting to go in a red dress. This deeply upset me and once again I didn’t wish to go.
I ended up breaking down in front of Henry’s mum and she told me to wear whatever dress I’d like and that I should go and not thinking about anyone else, just Henry and my friends. So I agreed and decided to start talking with my other friends instead of just her.
Finally, two months to go and everyone was so excited for prom. Our teachers had sent out a message saying to book a table as quick as possible because positions will be running out soon. I put forward my friends names plus Henry, James and Ava. I took a picture of the message and sent it to everyone. After receiving a thumbs up or spoken approval I sent the message off and was approved of our table.
Everything was finally going smoothly and I was somewhat excited for prom until I get home after work and have my sister running to me, crying and squeezing me tight saying she loves me and doesn’t want me to die. Of course this scares me and I wrap my arms back around her and ask her what’s going on. She tells me that Ava sent her a message saying that she’s going to murder me and she doesn’t care if she has to go to jail because she’ll do it.
This made me absolutely furious. I opened my phone and found similar messages to me. Some on discord, Snapchat, instagram, group chats and direct messages. All of them referring to how she didn’t approve of the seating plan (which she did) and that I have to remove it right now. How dare I put that through without thinking of others before me.
Apparently, James’s friend group was wanting to organise a seating arrangement that included Ava, James, Henry and I and were pissed that I put a seating arrangement through, even though they never told me.
I messaged in the group chat as everyone was wondering what I did and how cruel I was, asking if Ava was okay because whatever I did must’ve been bad. I responded with a message explaining what happened and that she is to never contact me again. This argument went back and forth for 48hrs before she finally had nothing else to say and just left me on read.
This whole argument has caused a rift between our friend group and legal matters may be coming into action which I can go into further detail in a part two if people are interested.
Sorry for the long explanation! Thank you so much for reading xx
2024.05.16 16:50 AutoModerator IF YOUR NAME IS JONATHAN, YOU SHOULD SPEND YOUR MONDAYS DOING THIS
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/DdJxUSevYf0
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2024.05.16 16:46 larsvr06 Apple Watch makes up elevation gain
 | I’ve been tracking my daily walks from the train station to my workplace and back for a while now using the Strava app on my Apple Watch. A short walk, just below 1 km. Today I tried the Apple tracking app for better GPS accuracy. Indeed the map looks much smoother now. But suddenly, there’s an elevation gain of 7 meters. I live in the Netherlands and I’m sure as hell that my walk is as flat as a pancake. When tracked with the Strava app, I don’t even get height and angle as options for the map. How come that this data differs, based on which app I use for tracking on my watch? I only thought it’d mean more GPS accuracy. submitted by larsvr06 to Strava [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 16:43 leogian4511 Kiryu and the Daidoji's Relationship feels like a pretty big retcon. (GaidenSpoilers
So does anyone else feel like Kiryu's relationship with the Daidoji was retconned sometime between LAD and IW? At the end of 6, Kiryu is the one with all the power in the negotiation. He turns down their bribe and they make a deal on HIS terms. When they threaten his family, he basically says "Fuck around and find out." and they back down because they're just that scared of him.
In LaD it didn't really seem like anything had changed. Kiryu very much seemed to be himself acting under his own will, upholding his part of the deal by still pretending (very poorly) to be dead.
Then we get Gaiden and Kiryu is the Daidoji's lapdog, completely powerless to oppose them because they'll kill the kids if he steps out of line (the thing they were literally too scared to do at the end of 6). Gaiden definitely has Kiryu go to further lengths to hide his identity, but in LaD he's literally walking around Yokohama in his iconic suit, which just makes no sense with the later context established by Gaiden. If Kiryu's relationship with the Daidoji was always the plan, he'd definitely be in a plain black suit or literally anything other than his iconic silver and red in LaD.
submitted by leogian4511 to yakuzagames [link] [comments]
In LaD it didn't really seem like anything had changed. Kiryu very much seemed to be himself acting under his own will, upholding his part of the deal by still pretending (very poorly) to be dead.
Then we get Gaiden and Kiryu is the Daidoji's lapdog, completely powerless to oppose them because they'll kill the kids if he steps out of line (the thing they were literally too scared to do at the end of 6). Gaiden definitely has Kiryu go to further lengths to hide his identity, but in LaD he's literally walking around Yokohama in his iconic suit, which just makes no sense with the later context established by Gaiden. If Kiryu's relationship with the Daidoji was always the plan, he'd definitely be in a plain black suit or literally anything other than his iconic silver and red in LaD.
2024.05.16 16:42 k_g_a New Strawberries & Creme Pancake & Waffle Mix + Super Strawberry Sorbet (Both $3.99 each) 🍓
 | submitted by k_g_a to traderjoes [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 16:40 CompassWithHat Top Lasgun: Broadsides
FIRST CHAPTER
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
I'm Back Bitches! Again!
//////////
Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero knelt before a semi-sparking control panel and sighed. She, and a large band of her fellow Engineers with Marine support, had boarded the pirate frigate with the singular goal of ensuring that the pirates didn’t scuttle their floating hulk and doom the slaves aboard to a, if they were lucky, a swift death in space.
The problem, of course, came with the pirate’s maintenance schedules and decisions to forgo certain… safety measures when it came to repair.
Like the panel before her. Usually a perfectly functional control system for the reverse-magnetic bulkhead doors that ensured void seals in power outages, some pirate at some point in their dumb, dumb life decided to fix the panel blowing a fuse… by ripping the fuse out and replacing it with a high density power cable. Which meant the entire thing was one massive shock hazard and actively sparking as the reactors deep in the ship flickered and surged due to damage.
Che’keero swore as an arc of electricity flashed towards her face after a tool that was not supposed to be magnetized, cheap dick WaDepth requisitions, caught a magnetic field, fusing the entire system shut and turning the formerly barely functional control system into nothing but pretty, decorative wiring and cheap solder. She punched the now utterly unfunctional control box and toggled on her radio. “Three-Two to Three-Lead, this door’s fried. You’ll need to bring in the cutters if we want to get to the rest of the ship. Might as well also bring in an inflatable airlock, I’m not liking how some of the metal strain sensors are flashing at me.”
A semi-synthetic voice replied back to Che’keero, “Three-Lead copies. I’ll be over there shortly with the stuff. Double check those sensors, I’m not getting the same readings, so let’s make sure something isn’t blocking errors from reaching me.”
“Copy that Three-Lead, Three-Two ou-” Something tapped against the back of her helmet and Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero mentally swore.
“Now, now, lassie, how about you sit right there and don’t move.” A nasally, unfamiliar voice called out to her while tapping what a camera she set up to watch her back revealed to be a laser pistol to Che’keero’s helmet. “I think that you’re going to be our new best friend and way off this dead end ship.”
Che’keero paused, letting the situation settle in her mind, “Wait, what? Are… are you taking me hostage?”
“Yes!” The pirate replied.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking me hostage? This won’t work, none of the shuttles are jump capable and if you try anything, you’ll just end up jumped by marines. They specifically train to deal with pirates taking their engineers hostage. If you want to survive, you should just surrender and take the penal colony when it’s offered.” Che’keero mentioned, shrugging and continuing her inspection of the door.
The pirate seemed baffled at the sheer nonchalance of this response, the pistol slowly falling to merely point at her upper back instead of her head, “You… you really aren’t taking this seriously. I’m a pirate! I’ve killed people! I’ve killed boys, and you’re just sitting there like this doesn’t mean anything!”
“I mean… I wouldn’t say that.” Che’keero replied.
“THEN WHAT DO YOU MEAN!” The pirate screamed, the pistol moving away from Che’keero’s body by a fraction of an inch during an angry gesture.
It was at that point, a ceramic alloyed, carbon steel blade punched clean through the back of the pirate’s suit, slicing through their central nervous system and striking with enough force to shatter the faceplate of said pirate’s helmet on the way out. Muscles twitching, the laser pistol fired off randomly, missing Che’keero and slagging a chunk of bulkhead.
“I’m just buying time,” Che’keero replied cheekily.
“You really need to remember to check your cameras,” The semi-synthetic voice of Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns commented as the ex-pirate fell to the ground and blue blood dripped from the long blade sprouting from her right arm and a toolbox hanging from her left hand. “This isn’t the first time you have been flanked, and this one wasn’t during training.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Che’keero replied a bit testily.
“I’m sorry…” Ventures Forth prodded.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Much better. Right, now what do we see in this- yeah you were right on it being fried.” Ventures Forth gently shoved the Junior Systems Engineer aside and took her place at the control panel. “Do a sweep of the strain systems. I don’t want this section of the ship breaking apart. Feel free to call up our hull patches. We’ve got plenty to share and this might have to be a lifeboat.”
“Aye, ma’am aye,” Che’keero replied with a crisp salute before rushing off to her duty.
Deeper inside the ship, Ventures Forth could hear laser fire, clashing of metal on metal, and cries for help.
The pirate ship was doomed, it was shattered and broken, but it was not destroyed. Not yet. \
And if she had her way, Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns would keep it that way.
//////////
Roshal stood still as her steward continued to clean the dark blue and rapidly congealing blood off her armored form. “Comms,” She called out, “Do we have any contact with the shuttle we sent to the station?”
“Negative, ma’am.” The comm officer replied. She wasn’t the same one that was present when Roshal left to fend off the boarders. At the unspoken question, the woman continued “Communication’s Mate Second Class Lev’tal, ma’am. My superior got a concussion when the pirate ship rocked our ship during boarding. Strap snapped, prior damage. I took over.”
Roshal nodded approvingly, “Good initiative. Send a message to the station, see if we can’t rai-”
“Ma’am! Contact!” One of her sensor techs called out, “Belay that, two contacts. First contact, nav point 782 spinward, possible bogey, cruiser weight. Unknown movements. Second contact, nav point 102 coreward, aerospace assets inbound. Small flight. Hard to determine numbers due to damage. No less than two, no more than five.”
“Focus on getting a hard contact on that possible cruiser. Weapons, what is the status of our anti-aerospace.” Roshal demanded, holding her sword arm out for the steward to scrub at a particularly clotted chunk of blood splattered over her wrist.
The weapons officer shook her head, “If we’re lucky, then we’ve got 20% coverage on half our sides. If we’re very lucky, I might be able to bump that number up to 35%. Not going to quote doctrine, but that’s not nearly enough to fend off a flight of Aerospace assets on a strike run, and that’s assuming they don’t hit us on an unprotected flank.”
Roshal nodded once more, “Sound general quarters and get weapons and tactical back online. Tell the damage control parties to not be distracted and focus on critical systems first. Engine room, report. Can you give me maneuvering thrust?”
The nearby ship phone chimed in with a staticy hiss, “Negative, ma’am. The shot we made with the spinal mount tripped breakers up and down the reactor room. This isn’t an engine problem, we need to make sure our reactor doesn’t blow up when we siphon power. Before you ask, emergency power is still flowing and none of their circuits tripped, but that means we’re down to life support, basic systems, and dockyard thrusters. It will take at least 20 to get the reactor in a safe state. If you want 10, send the chaplain down so we have someone praying for good luck. The fact most of our structural engineers are doing an EVA boarding to ensure the pirate ship next to us doesn’t go critical and render the entire exercise moot isn’t helping matters at all.” The engine room replied Roshal bit down a bit of annoyance at the snark, but engineers were always a finicky sort with authority. They were the first to remind uptight officers that while the Captain’s word may be iron law, it was their work that truly moved the ship.
“Confirmed, engine room.” Roshal instead replied. “Chaplains will be arriving shortly. Do what you can and inform me when you’re three minutes out from full power.”
The engine room didn’t even bother replying, just sending over the affirmative light as they got to work. Roshal approved of that. Sometimes, you just had to insult someone in order to get it working right.
“Captain, we have confirmation on contact. He’s an Alliance Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser on intercept course. Energy readings are spiking… they’re charging their guns, ma’am!”
“Issue a hostile challenge and give me a firing solution with any gun still functional.”
“No response, ma’am. Hostile Karcharidon is increasing speed. Hard contact in 15 minutes.”
Roshal snarled, emotion breaking through her mask. “Of course, the pirates had one more vessel. Helm, fire our maneuvering thrusters, use the pirate hulk as cover. Weapons, get whoever’s left of our Interceptor flight to engage the enemy. Comms, get me in contact with the merchant fleet, tell them to evacuate. We’ll provide cover.”
“Aye ma’am.” The Communications Mate Second Class said with a shiver in her voice. “Sending-”
“Update on Aerospace assets!” Her sensor tech called out.
“Deliver!” Roshal demanded, cutting off the comms officer with a slice of her hand.
“Weapons fire. Definitely less than four contacts. Seems to be two grou- negative, only two contacts remaining- weaponsfire- one contac- IFF received, oh goddesses, IT’S RUNOFF THREE! FRIENDLY AEROSPACE INBOUND!”
//////////
Milk gripped her crash harness hard as Cookie slammed the Interceptor’s fusion torch clean past its safe thrust marker and into the red as g forces crushed her chest. “Last target down.” She reported after Cookie’s final laser burst hit something critical inside the final Aerospace fighter’s frame. “That’s 20 for 20. All enemy bogeys down. All standard munitions are in the black. Static drive is 48%, dump core ejected. All we’ve got left is our ASM and front laser.”
Cookie flashed back an affirmative signal.
“We going for that cruiser?”
Another affirmative.
“Well, I’m braced and ready on the release. Ready.”
“Ready.” Cookie spoke, his voice horse.
It’s funny what people think when their lives are on the line. Because charging towards a fresh enemy Heavy Cruiser, nothing but a single anti-shipping missile worth a damn, no allied support but the faint glimmer in IFF screens of their fellow flight doing the same… all Aoibhinn McDermott could think of was a poem she had read at least a decade ago or more at the Naval Academy.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
//////////
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns could do nothing but furiously swear as the basic sensor system her engineering team had restored on the thoroughly ventilated secondary command bridge of the pirate hulk revealed an enemy Heavy Cruiser bearing down upon their homeship.
“Weapons are trashed. We cored their reactor, anyway.” One of the tangential engineers reported, “Other teams are calling in. Things are worse where they are. We’ve found the slaves, though, luckily it was one of the few airtight bays. Also, have some more captives, but that really doesn’t matter right now.”
“No shit.” Ventures Forth replied, “Can we do anything?”
The engineer looked back to her, visor depolarizing so the Gearschilde can look into the black and yellow eyes of her Shil coworker.
“Pray.” The woman replied simply.
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns did just that.
//////////
Low chanting filled the engine bay as a small group of priests stood around the engine praying to whichever god that would listen to allow them one more shot. One more fight.
Around them, black handed engineers scurried, ripping out blown fuses and replacing them with soldered in high strength wire. A final measure of desperation. Sparks flew as engineers swore and chaplains prayed, power still remaining in circuits needing to be bled out before bypasses could be installed, turning every bit of solder and every ripped out fuse into a deadly gamble.
Already, someone was lying on the ground, no longer twitching.
They didn’t have time to check on their fallen comrade, the work was too important.
A clock ticked down. Four minutes elapsed.
//////////
Lieutenant Commander Cenywyn swore as she watched Runoff 2 die.
Their single Interceptor had mistimed a maneuver and had been caught dead in the middle of an Anti-Aerospace array, shredded in an instant. The only consolation she could take was that, seeing as the first shot went clean through the cockpit, they didn’t even notice they died.
“Runoff 4, stay in formation.” She ordered over the radio, “We’ll lead you in for the run.”
“Yes ma’am.” The hesitant voice of Junior Flight Lieutenant Griogill replied. She swallowed, “We’re- we’re ready when you are.”
“No fear, Lieutenant,” Cenywyn called back to the child she was leading to her death. “We’re pilots in the Imperial Patrol. We do our duty. No fear.”
A clock ticked down. Six minutes elapsed.
//////////
“Talk to me!” The last remaining senior engineer in the reactor bay called out to anyone who was able to reply.
Someone, she didn’t even bother looking to see who, called back “We’ve bypassed 60% of the fuses. Should be able to give ourselves a burst of combat power. No more than 10 minutes of it before the entire system overheats and we either die, or the reactor shuts off.”
“Any chance we can get more than 10 minutes?”
“Not before that Heavy Cruiser delivers us straight to the stars.”
“Fuck it, good enough.” She slammed her fist on the ship phone’s dialing button resting near the console the engineer had just ripped the last safety override out of. “Captain. We’ve got your power. You give us the word, and we’ll give you ten minutes.”
//////////
Roshal breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. 10 minutes of combat power before the entire ship shut down into uselessness. She’d done more with less. She couldn’t remember when, but she had. Luckily, this was a Patrol Carrier instead of a standard ship, so it was more than capable of combat maneuvers with nothing but RCS thrusters. That should give her some time.
Movement, movement was going to be the key.
“Comms, tell the engineering crews on the hulk that they are ordered to figure out anything that could draw the attention of the Heavy Cruiser,” She began, “Systems, break our mooring lines. We’re going to have to split from the hulk. Helm, prepare for maneuvers. RCS only. We are going to have to do this carefully. Engineroom, prepare for power activation, but hold until my command.”
This needs to be perfect, Roshal thought, A single mistimed action ruins it all.
A clock ticked down. Ten minutes elapsed. The Karcharidon had entered maximum weapon’s range.
//////////
He of Slender Tail shivered where he stood. The secondary command bridge was silent as Roshal began giving orders to fight. This was… this was insane.
They were in a ruined ship with nothing but a merchant fleet beginning to flee and a three thirds dead pirate hulk on their side against a fresh Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser.
They couldn’t win.
This was suicide.
They would die here.
\ So why didn’t He of Slender Tail feel afraid?
He stood at his post, a secondary bridge console where he would relay orders to other departments, freeing up the other Watchkeeper to collate those orders, there was nothing he could do to help win this impossible battle, and yet…
And yet he felt heat blossoming inside his chest with every single order delivered.
“Mooring teamsss, you are to cut your linesss immediately.” He relayed to a crew of Shil scurrying around the ruined bulkheads, “Damage control, prepare for electrical firesss and arcsss.” He commanded, switching between teams instantly.
He didn’t feel fear. He could see his Watchkeeper shiver every time the sensors reported the enemy contact was still closing, but he didn’t feel the same.
What he felt… was indignation.
How dare this pirate scum threaten his vessel, his crew. How dare they ambush this valiant ship after they had fought so hard to win. How dare they.
He let his fangs fold out as he spat the next order, “Anti-Aerossspace teamsss, prepare your batteriesss for grouped fire. Gunnery calculationsss are on their way.”
How dare they stand up to him.
A clock ticked down. 12 minutes elapsed. Weapons fire.
//////////
Roshal swayed slightly as she could feel the ship beneath her feet move. Movement is life in naval warfare, movement is death. “Right RCS fire, bring us clear of the hulk. Bow thrusters, up twenty.”
“Aye, ma’am, aye, right standard and bow up twenty.” The Helmswoman replied.
“Confirmed. Next maneuver, give us rear thrust-”
“Torpedo!” The sensor operator called out in a shrill voice, “Two marks on intercept course! Range, twelve K and closing fast!”
“Decorum!” Roshal snapped at the panicking sensor technician. “Comms, order Runoff flight to divert and intercept those torpedoes. Rear RCS to full, give us momentum.”
Roshal turned away from the bridge as affirmations were shouted, and the ship began to move, “Engineering, prepare to activate combat power on my mark and prepare for hard maneuvers. Mark in five.”
//////////
Griogill swallowed bile and tried not to feel too thankful that the enemy vessel had fired torpedoes at their home ship. Being diverted from an attack run had a much higher chance of survival than striking through an AA bubble.
“Runoff 4 engaging far torpedo. Moving in for intercept. Bre’kas, give me lock.”
Griogill’s backseater muttered something, and a target lock appeared on the far torpedo as Runoff 1, their previous Drill Sergeants, dashed by in a hard burn and blazed away at their own target.
“Right. We can do this. We can do this. No fear.” The rookie muttered as the sight of her friends in Runoff 3 being turned to vapor echoed in her mind. “I can do this.”
The target locked. She fired. The torpedo detonated.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in four.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser loomed closer as the comparatively tiny Patrol Carrier spat its defiance in the form of two Interceptors dancing between the stars.
As a pair of torpedoes detonated, four more were launched, the anti-shipping weapons built for this specific purpose. Destroying disabled vessels.
And so the last two remaining Interceptors on CAP dove into the fray, risking themselves against an ever approaching AA bubble in order to save their ship.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in three.”
//////////
All Cookie could do was stare and push his meager aerospace fighter further on its nuclear thrusters as shimmering dots of torpedoes lanced out from the Heavy Cruiser attacking his new home.
He pushed his hand forward and felt the throttle once more push back against him, the lever pushed all the way past safe thrust and into the further setting on his console.
The Interceptor was fast. It didn’t feel fast enough.
And so he spoke the words he spoke once before, back when he’d had to listen to his backseater’s screams of pain and the rush of wind after shrapnel pierced his fuselage, and the hospital was so, so far away.
Father, I pray that you will not hide your face from me. Whenever I pray, Lord please hear me and answer me speedily in Jesus' name. God, I pray that you will grant me speed through your help.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in two.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser shifted, engine flaring and it began to close the range. A single disabled ship on emergency RCS thrusters and a pair of Aerospace fighters was nothing it would have to deal with.
It fired a third spread of torpedoes.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
They took the bait. Roshal thought with a vicious grin.
“Mark in one.” She paused, “Execute.”
In an instant, power flowed through the ship, emergency lights flickered off as the burning red boarding lights returned their fiery glow. The entire ship shook as the main thruster came back online, and capacitors began to charge for maneuvers.
“Hard burn, full thrusters, right, on my mark.” Roshal watched as the Heavy Cruiser began to react to her movements, the enemy ship was alive, you needed to roll to broadsides to begin bombardment, come on come on…
Roshal watched as a torpedo flickered out of existence, Runoff 4 gaining another kill.
Come on, dammit, you don’t get put in charge of a Heavy Cruiser without- THERE!
The Heavy Cruiser flinched, turning her bow away from the no longer stricken vessel, preparing for broadside.
The Captain’s grin showed more teeth than smile. “Execute! Full right thrust!”
“Full right thrust! Aye ma’am aye!” Her helmswoman called out as maneuvering thrusters dead cold roared to life and physically threw the vessel to the side, causing everyone not strapped in on the bridge to rock as a barrage of fire flew past their former location, manual targeting systems in play since the automatic systems would still be getting warmed up.
“Full thrust forward, prepare to divert all power to secondary weapons. Weapons, give me a firing solution.” Roshal commanded, hand raised and pointed at the enemy’s display as if she were commanding from a tall ship.
A chant of “Aye ma’am aye” flowed out across the bridge as the weaponsmistress was silent before calling out. “Port side is up to 45% secondary fires and 32% point defense. That’ll be our best bet.”
Roshal nodded. “Make it so. Target their main weapons. Helm, get us that facing.”
“Ma’am. We’re getting a call from Runoff 3. They are entering the AO and are asking for a target.”
Roshal smiled, “Weapons, shift target. Aim for the anti-aerospace systems. Let’s give Runoff 3 the opening they need.”
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Cookie, we’ve got a targeting path.” Milk called forward. “Putting it up on your HUD.”
“One second… I’ve got it. Moving to comply. Did the Captain give us a plan?” her front seater replied, causing her stomach to do funny things as the Aerospace Fighter maneuvered while under high thrust.
“Something like that. She asked for a munitions report and specifically about our anti-shipping weapon.”
Cookie paused.
“Ah.” He finally said.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“Well, let’s hope they’re able to open us up to a window of opportunity. Or this will be a short charge.”
“Not our place to question why.”
“Just our place to do and die.”
Time to target… three minutes.
Into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
Two vessels, three Aerospace fighters, one chance.
Six minutes of power remained. All actors took their places on the stage.
One hundred kilometers, close enough to check the weld quality of hull seams, the two ships danced across from each other. Maneuvering.
Five minutes of power remained.
The Karcharidon Heavy Cruiser rolled itself trying to keep the vulnerable top deck away from the Patrol Carrier’s presumably still working main gun as Roshal’s vessel jumped to the side. Thrusters roared.
Four minutes of power remained.
Runoff 1 and 4 shot towards their formerly separated comrade, forming up behind them in a wedge. The trio climbed towards the sun as their captain continued to chase and harass the Karcharidon.
Three minutes of power remained.
Roshal spoke. The lances of her vessel fired. Laser blasts carved across the hull of the enemy ship as it rolled.
The rolling ceased. A helmswoman swore as a full broadside caught the Patrol Carrier in the flank. The port hangar pod was ruined, armor shattered and all inside exposed to hard vacuum. Those who could scream died the fastest. The Interceptors had their opening.
Two minutes of power remained.
Silent wings swept through vacuum as three Interceptors began their dive, their formerly speedy arrowhead shape giving way to an inverted t as their wings swept out for stability, the ASF dove and dove and dove.
Five Kilometers away.
The range was too wide. They had one shot. It had to be perfect.
One minute of power remained.
The Into Harm’s Way spat its defiance into the world, limited power drained to give her pilots a seconds more of time.
30 seconds of power remained.
Three Kilometers.
Hard Lock! Milk shouted from the back seat of Runoff 3. Cookie was silent. The range was still too wide.
15 seconds of power remained.
Two Kilometers.
The Karcharidon seemingly began to roll before the Patrol Carrier once more fired, its last remaining weapons spouting their defiance against the world. Deep in engineering, systems began to blow, wires that replaced fuses sparked power and delicate circuit boards shorted out into useless scrap.
The lights went out.
No power remained.
Roshal, in her head, began to count down as lances of light began to sweep across her ship. Damage control did what they could, but the beams began to cut like an overly enthusiastic shipbreaker.
Five.
One Kilometer.
Four.
Cookie’s thumb depressed the firing stud as the Interceptor screamed at him.
Three.
The ASF launched its deadly payload.
Two.
Three Interceptors pulled back hard on their sticks to avoid colliding with the deck.
One.
The thruster of the anti-shipping missile roared as it rocketed the point blank aerospace distance to target.
Impact.
The armor piercing tip of the missile punched into the upper deck plating of the Heavy Cruiser, classified alloys allowing it to pierce into the armored plating just enough to allow the shaped charge to open up a hole as momentum kept the weapon moving.
Within the frame of a single second, the warhead of the missile had entered the ship and, before the alarms even had time to sound, detonated.
A new sun appeared in the void for a split second as a plasma-fusion warhead detonated inside the Karcharidon heavy cruiser’s hull.
//////////
Roshal allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief inside her head as the emergency power lights flickered overhead and the gravity ever so slightly lightened. What was left of their sensor arrays showed the enemy vessel powering down. “Engineering. Good work, your 10 minutes were just what she needed.” She called out, picking up the ship phone.
There was no answer from engineering.
She signed externally before pointing at one of the marines guarding the bridge, “Find a crewmate in a void suit. I have need of runners.” The marine clasped a fist to her chest before leaving to execute her captain’s commands. “Comms, do we have any contact with the engineering teams on the pirate hulk?”
The Comms officer held up a hand, Roshal waited, “No, ma’am. We aren’t getting- wait. We’ve got visual on flashing lights from the hull. Apparently, something shorted, so they’re having to rebuild broadcast arrays. They can receive just fine, though.”
“Good, once we can maneuver, bring us broadside of them. What’s the status of the merchant fleet?”
Navigation spoke up now, “Still heading for the Jump Point. Should we send the recall order?”
“Not yet, we are still unsure if the area is safe. If we have any sensors remaining, begin sca-”
The mentioned sensor technician interrupted Captain Roshal, “Ma’am, new contact, signature unknown. Just jumped in from outside the starlane!”
“Give me details. Course, range, and speed?” She demanded.
“Signal confused, can’t get a lock!” Navigation called out, “Can’t tell if confusion’s from them or us.”
Not another one… Roshal sighed, “All forces prepa-”
“Ma’am, we’re being hailed.” Communications called out.
“On squawk.”
“This is Captain Al’yosha Cal’rada of Her Imperial Majesty’s Ship Spear of the Knyaginya, responding to Merchant vessel distress calls. Imperial Patrol Carrier, are you in need of assistance at this time?”
Roshal recognized the voice. A junior officer from her days in the Navy and a fellow Sevastutavan. The memory of the fresh faced girl when she’d joined her as an Ensign straight of the Naval Academy flashed before her eyes. “Captain Cal’rada. Your timing is impeccable as always.”
“Admiral?” Roshal could hear the shock in her old protege’s voice.
“That’s Captain, now, Al’yosha. I require your aid in ensuring the disabled vessel still glowing from an ASM strike remains disabled along with Search and Rescue teams for our sister Carrier.
“Whatever you want, you’ll have it, Admiral_… Helm! All ahead flank and plot course to intercept. Launch gunships and prepare to deploy Bluejackets. We’ll test our _Orcas’ teeth today!”
The line cut out a moment later than it should have, and Roshal nodded in approval.
“Captain, I still don’t have a read on new contact. What is it?” Sensors asked.
“A Drep’na inspired vision, come to life.” Roshal watched, feeling an odd sort of parental pride as Al’yosha’s experimental warship began closing the distance towards the Karcharidon at breakneck speeds. “A swift sailing vessel and ten carriage guns…” Roshal murmured the line from an old Vaasconian poem from the ancient Age of Sail. She had heard Cal’rada had succeeded in petitioning the Navy to build her dream-ship, burning every favor and passing out favors to any and everyone to see the program through. Now, there she was, standing on the bridge bearing down on a ship twice her size, but if the rumors were true, only half her guns.
“Ma’am, contact is still not resolving, but IFF confirms Imperial Navy designation. An Akula Class Attack Transport. I’ve… I’ve never even heard of this class.”
“Perhaps we shall hear of them more in the future. Fortune favors the active.”
“Contact is disgorging multiple signals, moving at speeds consistent with aerospace assets.”
“That is our signal we may disengage. Comms, inform the merchant fleet that the area is secure and to begin refueling procedures. Helm, get us alongside the pirate hulk, we have people to recover. Marine, get me a runner to the MP’s, we shall need the port hangar prepared for an old tradition the Navy has regarding pirate prisoners…” Roshal commanded. The fight was over, it was time to begin the cleanup.
//////////
So… that took a while. Sorry about that.
Turns out when a combination of writer’s block, decision paralysis and LIFE hits you over the head, it becomes a touch difficult to get your shit together long enough to write something down.
On the plus side, we are out of the “unplanned bits” and right back into the parts I have brainstormed, so I won’t be staring at a screen trying to think how to make things connect as much anymore. On the other hand, that means we are now entering the epilogue of book 1 of Top Lasgun.
Don’t worry, the story isn’t ending, I’ve got “three” books plotted out in my head, so we’ll see how that shakes out, but for the most part, this is where I start wrapping up plot threads, laying down threads for what comes next, and all that other good stuff.
So yeah, next chapter is going to involve everyone wrapping up what happened here, some fun little Military Justice, and potentially a bunch of plot. Also, I’m planning on starting a “rewrite”/edited version of this to go up on AO3, so keep an eye out for that. Early installment weirdness is a bitch and I’m not proud of what the older stuff looked like.
Well, I hope you have a wonderful morning, afternoon or evening whenever you read this and I will see you next chapter.
[NEXT CHAPTER]
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PREVIOUS CHAPTER
This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
I'm Back Bitches! Again!
//////////
Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero knelt before a semi-sparking control panel and sighed. She, and a large band of her fellow Engineers with Marine support, had boarded the pirate frigate with the singular goal of ensuring that the pirates didn’t scuttle their floating hulk and doom the slaves aboard to a, if they were lucky, a swift death in space.
The problem, of course, came with the pirate’s maintenance schedules and decisions to forgo certain… safety measures when it came to repair.
Like the panel before her. Usually a perfectly functional control system for the reverse-magnetic bulkhead doors that ensured void seals in power outages, some pirate at some point in their dumb, dumb life decided to fix the panel blowing a fuse… by ripping the fuse out and replacing it with a high density power cable. Which meant the entire thing was one massive shock hazard and actively sparking as the reactors deep in the ship flickered and surged due to damage.
Che’keero swore as an arc of electricity flashed towards her face after a tool that was not supposed to be magnetized, cheap dick WaDepth requisitions, caught a magnetic field, fusing the entire system shut and turning the formerly barely functional control system into nothing but pretty, decorative wiring and cheap solder. She punched the now utterly unfunctional control box and toggled on her radio. “Three-Two to Three-Lead, this door’s fried. You’ll need to bring in the cutters if we want to get to the rest of the ship. Might as well also bring in an inflatable airlock, I’m not liking how some of the metal strain sensors are flashing at me.”
A semi-synthetic voice replied back to Che’keero, “Three-Lead copies. I’ll be over there shortly with the stuff. Double check those sensors, I’m not getting the same readings, so let’s make sure something isn’t blocking errors from reaching me.”
“Copy that Three-Lead, Three-Two ou-” Something tapped against the back of her helmet and Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero mentally swore.
“Now, now, lassie, how about you sit right there and don’t move.” A nasally, unfamiliar voice called out to her while tapping what a camera she set up to watch her back revealed to be a laser pistol to Che’keero’s helmet. “I think that you’re going to be our new best friend and way off this dead end ship.”
Che’keero paused, letting the situation settle in her mind, “Wait, what? Are… are you taking me hostage?”
“Yes!” The pirate replied.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking me hostage? This won’t work, none of the shuttles are jump capable and if you try anything, you’ll just end up jumped by marines. They specifically train to deal with pirates taking their engineers hostage. If you want to survive, you should just surrender and take the penal colony when it’s offered.” Che’keero mentioned, shrugging and continuing her inspection of the door.
The pirate seemed baffled at the sheer nonchalance of this response, the pistol slowly falling to merely point at her upper back instead of her head, “You… you really aren’t taking this seriously. I’m a pirate! I’ve killed people! I’ve killed boys, and you’re just sitting there like this doesn’t mean anything!”
“I mean… I wouldn’t say that.” Che’keero replied.
“THEN WHAT DO YOU MEAN!” The pirate screamed, the pistol moving away from Che’keero’s body by a fraction of an inch during an angry gesture.
It was at that point, a ceramic alloyed, carbon steel blade punched clean through the back of the pirate’s suit, slicing through their central nervous system and striking with enough force to shatter the faceplate of said pirate’s helmet on the way out. Muscles twitching, the laser pistol fired off randomly, missing Che’keero and slagging a chunk of bulkhead.
“I’m just buying time,” Che’keero replied cheekily.
“You really need to remember to check your cameras,” The semi-synthetic voice of Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns commented as the ex-pirate fell to the ground and blue blood dripped from the long blade sprouting from her right arm and a toolbox hanging from her left hand. “This isn’t the first time you have been flanked, and this one wasn’t during training.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Che’keero replied a bit testily.
“I’m sorry…” Ventures Forth prodded.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Much better. Right, now what do we see in this- yeah you were right on it being fried.” Ventures Forth gently shoved the Junior Systems Engineer aside and took her place at the control panel. “Do a sweep of the strain systems. I don’t want this section of the ship breaking apart. Feel free to call up our hull patches. We’ve got plenty to share and this might have to be a lifeboat.”
“Aye, ma’am aye,” Che’keero replied with a crisp salute before rushing off to her duty.
Deeper inside the ship, Ventures Forth could hear laser fire, clashing of metal on metal, and cries for help.
The pirate ship was doomed, it was shattered and broken, but it was not destroyed. Not yet. \
And if she had her way, Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns would keep it that way.
//////////
Roshal stood still as her steward continued to clean the dark blue and rapidly congealing blood off her armored form. “Comms,” She called out, “Do we have any contact with the shuttle we sent to the station?”
“Negative, ma’am.” The comm officer replied. She wasn’t the same one that was present when Roshal left to fend off the boarders. At the unspoken question, the woman continued “Communication’s Mate Second Class Lev’tal, ma’am. My superior got a concussion when the pirate ship rocked our ship during boarding. Strap snapped, prior damage. I took over.”
Roshal nodded approvingly, “Good initiative. Send a message to the station, see if we can’t rai-”
“Ma’am! Contact!” One of her sensor techs called out, “Belay that, two contacts. First contact, nav point 782 spinward, possible bogey, cruiser weight. Unknown movements. Second contact, nav point 102 coreward, aerospace assets inbound. Small flight. Hard to determine numbers due to damage. No less than two, no more than five.”
“Focus on getting a hard contact on that possible cruiser. Weapons, what is the status of our anti-aerospace.” Roshal demanded, holding her sword arm out for the steward to scrub at a particularly clotted chunk of blood splattered over her wrist.
The weapons officer shook her head, “If we’re lucky, then we’ve got 20% coverage on half our sides. If we’re very lucky, I might be able to bump that number up to 35%. Not going to quote doctrine, but that’s not nearly enough to fend off a flight of Aerospace assets on a strike run, and that’s assuming they don’t hit us on an unprotected flank.”
Roshal nodded once more, “Sound general quarters and get weapons and tactical back online. Tell the damage control parties to not be distracted and focus on critical systems first. Engine room, report. Can you give me maneuvering thrust?”
The nearby ship phone chimed in with a staticy hiss, “Negative, ma’am. The shot we made with the spinal mount tripped breakers up and down the reactor room. This isn’t an engine problem, we need to make sure our reactor doesn’t blow up when we siphon power. Before you ask, emergency power is still flowing and none of their circuits tripped, but that means we’re down to life support, basic systems, and dockyard thrusters. It will take at least 20 to get the reactor in a safe state. If you want 10, send the chaplain down so we have someone praying for good luck. The fact most of our structural engineers are doing an EVA boarding to ensure the pirate ship next to us doesn’t go critical and render the entire exercise moot isn’t helping matters at all.” The engine room replied Roshal bit down a bit of annoyance at the snark, but engineers were always a finicky sort with authority. They were the first to remind uptight officers that while the Captain’s word may be iron law, it was their work that truly moved the ship.
“Confirmed, engine room.” Roshal instead replied. “Chaplains will be arriving shortly. Do what you can and inform me when you’re three minutes out from full power.”
The engine room didn’t even bother replying, just sending over the affirmative light as they got to work. Roshal approved of that. Sometimes, you just had to insult someone in order to get it working right.
“Captain, we have confirmation on contact. He’s an Alliance Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser on intercept course. Energy readings are spiking… they’re charging their guns, ma’am!”
“Issue a hostile challenge and give me a firing solution with any gun still functional.”
“No response, ma’am. Hostile Karcharidon is increasing speed. Hard contact in 15 minutes.”
Roshal snarled, emotion breaking through her mask. “Of course, the pirates had one more vessel. Helm, fire our maneuvering thrusters, use the pirate hulk as cover. Weapons, get whoever’s left of our Interceptor flight to engage the enemy. Comms, get me in contact with the merchant fleet, tell them to evacuate. We’ll provide cover.”
“Aye ma’am.” The Communications Mate Second Class said with a shiver in her voice. “Sending-”
“Update on Aerospace assets!” Her sensor tech called out.
“Deliver!” Roshal demanded, cutting off the comms officer with a slice of her hand.
“Weapons fire. Definitely less than four contacts. Seems to be two grou- negative, only two contacts remaining- weaponsfire- one contac- IFF received, oh goddesses, IT’S RUNOFF THREE! FRIENDLY AEROSPACE INBOUND!”
//////////
Milk gripped her crash harness hard as Cookie slammed the Interceptor’s fusion torch clean past its safe thrust marker and into the red as g forces crushed her chest. “Last target down.” She reported after Cookie’s final laser burst hit something critical inside the final Aerospace fighter’s frame. “That’s 20 for 20. All enemy bogeys down. All standard munitions are in the black. Static drive is 48%, dump core ejected. All we’ve got left is our ASM and front laser.”
Cookie flashed back an affirmative signal.
“We going for that cruiser?”
Another affirmative.
“Well, I’m braced and ready on the release. Ready.”
“Ready.” Cookie spoke, his voice horse.
It’s funny what people think when their lives are on the line. Because charging towards a fresh enemy Heavy Cruiser, nothing but a single anti-shipping missile worth a damn, no allied support but the faint glimmer in IFF screens of their fellow flight doing the same… all Aoibhinn McDermott could think of was a poem she had read at least a decade ago or more at the Naval Academy.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
//////////
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns could do nothing but furiously swear as the basic sensor system her engineering team had restored on the thoroughly ventilated secondary command bridge of the pirate hulk revealed an enemy Heavy Cruiser bearing down upon their homeship.
“Weapons are trashed. We cored their reactor, anyway.” One of the tangential engineers reported, “Other teams are calling in. Things are worse where they are. We’ve found the slaves, though, luckily it was one of the few airtight bays. Also, have some more captives, but that really doesn’t matter right now.”
“No shit.” Ventures Forth replied, “Can we do anything?”
The engineer looked back to her, visor depolarizing so the Gearschilde can look into the black and yellow eyes of her Shil coworker.
“Pray.” The woman replied simply.
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns did just that.
//////////
Low chanting filled the engine bay as a small group of priests stood around the engine praying to whichever god that would listen to allow them one more shot. One more fight.
Around them, black handed engineers scurried, ripping out blown fuses and replacing them with soldered in high strength wire. A final measure of desperation. Sparks flew as engineers swore and chaplains prayed, power still remaining in circuits needing to be bled out before bypasses could be installed, turning every bit of solder and every ripped out fuse into a deadly gamble.
Already, someone was lying on the ground, no longer twitching.
They didn’t have time to check on their fallen comrade, the work was too important.
A clock ticked down. Four minutes elapsed.
//////////
Lieutenant Commander Cenywyn swore as she watched Runoff 2 die.
Their single Interceptor had mistimed a maneuver and had been caught dead in the middle of an Anti-Aerospace array, shredded in an instant. The only consolation she could take was that, seeing as the first shot went clean through the cockpit, they didn’t even notice they died.
“Runoff 4, stay in formation.” She ordered over the radio, “We’ll lead you in for the run.”
“Yes ma’am.” The hesitant voice of Junior Flight Lieutenant Griogill replied. She swallowed, “We’re- we’re ready when you are.”
“No fear, Lieutenant,” Cenywyn called back to the child she was leading to her death. “We’re pilots in the Imperial Patrol. We do our duty. No fear.”
A clock ticked down. Six minutes elapsed.
//////////
“Talk to me!” The last remaining senior engineer in the reactor bay called out to anyone who was able to reply.
Someone, she didn’t even bother looking to see who, called back “We’ve bypassed 60% of the fuses. Should be able to give ourselves a burst of combat power. No more than 10 minutes of it before the entire system overheats and we either die, or the reactor shuts off.”
“Any chance we can get more than 10 minutes?”
“Not before that Heavy Cruiser delivers us straight to the stars.”
“Fuck it, good enough.” She slammed her fist on the ship phone’s dialing button resting near the console the engineer had just ripped the last safety override out of. “Captain. We’ve got your power. You give us the word, and we’ll give you ten minutes.”
//////////
Roshal breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. 10 minutes of combat power before the entire ship shut down into uselessness. She’d done more with less. She couldn’t remember when, but she had. Luckily, this was a Patrol Carrier instead of a standard ship, so it was more than capable of combat maneuvers with nothing but RCS thrusters. That should give her some time.
Movement, movement was going to be the key.
“Comms, tell the engineering crews on the hulk that they are ordered to figure out anything that could draw the attention of the Heavy Cruiser,” She began, “Systems, break our mooring lines. We’re going to have to split from the hulk. Helm, prepare for maneuvers. RCS only. We are going to have to do this carefully. Engineroom, prepare for power activation, but hold until my command.”
This needs to be perfect, Roshal thought, A single mistimed action ruins it all.
A clock ticked down. Ten minutes elapsed. The Karcharidon had entered maximum weapon’s range.
//////////
He of Slender Tail shivered where he stood. The secondary command bridge was silent as Roshal began giving orders to fight. This was… this was insane.
They were in a ruined ship with nothing but a merchant fleet beginning to flee and a three thirds dead pirate hulk on their side against a fresh Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser.
They couldn’t win.
This was suicide.
They would die here.
\ So why didn’t He of Slender Tail feel afraid?
He stood at his post, a secondary bridge console where he would relay orders to other departments, freeing up the other Watchkeeper to collate those orders, there was nothing he could do to help win this impossible battle, and yet…
And yet he felt heat blossoming inside his chest with every single order delivered.
“Mooring teamsss, you are to cut your linesss immediately.” He relayed to a crew of Shil scurrying around the ruined bulkheads, “Damage control, prepare for electrical firesss and arcsss.” He commanded, switching between teams instantly.
He didn’t feel fear. He could see his Watchkeeper shiver every time the sensors reported the enemy contact was still closing, but he didn’t feel the same.
What he felt… was indignation.
How dare this pirate scum threaten his vessel, his crew. How dare they ambush this valiant ship after they had fought so hard to win. How dare they.
He let his fangs fold out as he spat the next order, “Anti-Aerossspace teamsss, prepare your batteriesss for grouped fire. Gunnery calculationsss are on their way.”
How dare they stand up to him.
A clock ticked down. 12 minutes elapsed. Weapons fire.
//////////
Roshal swayed slightly as she could feel the ship beneath her feet move. Movement is life in naval warfare, movement is death. “Right RCS fire, bring us clear of the hulk. Bow thrusters, up twenty.”
“Aye, ma’am, aye, right standard and bow up twenty.” The Helmswoman replied.
“Confirmed. Next maneuver, give us rear thrust-”
“Torpedo!” The sensor operator called out in a shrill voice, “Two marks on intercept course! Range, twelve K and closing fast!”
“Decorum!” Roshal snapped at the panicking sensor technician. “Comms, order Runoff flight to divert and intercept those torpedoes. Rear RCS to full, give us momentum.”
Roshal turned away from the bridge as affirmations were shouted, and the ship began to move, “Engineering, prepare to activate combat power on my mark and prepare for hard maneuvers. Mark in five.”
//////////
Griogill swallowed bile and tried not to feel too thankful that the enemy vessel had fired torpedoes at their home ship. Being diverted from an attack run had a much higher chance of survival than striking through an AA bubble.
“Runoff 4 engaging far torpedo. Moving in for intercept. Bre’kas, give me lock.”
Griogill’s backseater muttered something, and a target lock appeared on the far torpedo as Runoff 1, their previous Drill Sergeants, dashed by in a hard burn and blazed away at their own target.
“Right. We can do this. We can do this. No fear.” The rookie muttered as the sight of her friends in Runoff 3 being turned to vapor echoed in her mind. “I can do this.”
The target locked. She fired. The torpedo detonated.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in four.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser loomed closer as the comparatively tiny Patrol Carrier spat its defiance in the form of two Interceptors dancing between the stars.
As a pair of torpedoes detonated, four more were launched, the anti-shipping weapons built for this specific purpose. Destroying disabled vessels.
And so the last two remaining Interceptors on CAP dove into the fray, risking themselves against an ever approaching AA bubble in order to save their ship.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in three.”
//////////
All Cookie could do was stare and push his meager aerospace fighter further on its nuclear thrusters as shimmering dots of torpedoes lanced out from the Heavy Cruiser attacking his new home.
He pushed his hand forward and felt the throttle once more push back against him, the lever pushed all the way past safe thrust and into the further setting on his console.
The Interceptor was fast. It didn’t feel fast enough.
And so he spoke the words he spoke once before, back when he’d had to listen to his backseater’s screams of pain and the rush of wind after shrapnel pierced his fuselage, and the hospital was so, so far away.
Father, I pray that you will not hide your face from me. Whenever I pray, Lord please hear me and answer me speedily in Jesus' name. God, I pray that you will grant me speed through your help.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in two.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser shifted, engine flaring and it began to close the range. A single disabled ship on emergency RCS thrusters and a pair of Aerospace fighters was nothing it would have to deal with.
It fired a third spread of torpedoes.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
They took the bait. Roshal thought with a vicious grin.
“Mark in one.” She paused, “Execute.”
In an instant, power flowed through the ship, emergency lights flickered off as the burning red boarding lights returned their fiery glow. The entire ship shook as the main thruster came back online, and capacitors began to charge for maneuvers.
“Hard burn, full thrusters, right, on my mark.” Roshal watched as the Heavy Cruiser began to react to her movements, the enemy ship was alive, you needed to roll to broadsides to begin bombardment, come on come on…
Roshal watched as a torpedo flickered out of existence, Runoff 4 gaining another kill.
Come on, dammit, you don’t get put in charge of a Heavy Cruiser without- THERE!
The Heavy Cruiser flinched, turning her bow away from the no longer stricken vessel, preparing for broadside.
The Captain’s grin showed more teeth than smile. “Execute! Full right thrust!”
“Full right thrust! Aye ma’am aye!” Her helmswoman called out as maneuvering thrusters dead cold roared to life and physically threw the vessel to the side, causing everyone not strapped in on the bridge to rock as a barrage of fire flew past their former location, manual targeting systems in play since the automatic systems would still be getting warmed up.
“Full thrust forward, prepare to divert all power to secondary weapons. Weapons, give me a firing solution.” Roshal commanded, hand raised and pointed at the enemy’s display as if she were commanding from a tall ship.
A chant of “Aye ma’am aye” flowed out across the bridge as the weaponsmistress was silent before calling out. “Port side is up to 45% secondary fires and 32% point defense. That’ll be our best bet.”
Roshal nodded. “Make it so. Target their main weapons. Helm, get us that facing.”
“Ma’am. We’re getting a call from Runoff 3. They are entering the AO and are asking for a target.”
Roshal smiled, “Weapons, shift target. Aim for the anti-aerospace systems. Let’s give Runoff 3 the opening they need.”
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Cookie, we’ve got a targeting path.” Milk called forward. “Putting it up on your HUD.”
“One second… I’ve got it. Moving to comply. Did the Captain give us a plan?” her front seater replied, causing her stomach to do funny things as the Aerospace Fighter maneuvered while under high thrust.
“Something like that. She asked for a munitions report and specifically about our anti-shipping weapon.”
Cookie paused.
“Ah.” He finally said.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“Well, let’s hope they’re able to open us up to a window of opportunity. Or this will be a short charge.”
“Not our place to question why.”
“Just our place to do and die.”
Time to target… three minutes.
Into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
Two vessels, three Aerospace fighters, one chance.
Six minutes of power remained. All actors took their places on the stage.
One hundred kilometers, close enough to check the weld quality of hull seams, the two ships danced across from each other. Maneuvering.
Five minutes of power remained.
The Karcharidon Heavy Cruiser rolled itself trying to keep the vulnerable top deck away from the Patrol Carrier’s presumably still working main gun as Roshal’s vessel jumped to the side. Thrusters roared.
Four minutes of power remained.
Runoff 1 and 4 shot towards their formerly separated comrade, forming up behind them in a wedge. The trio climbed towards the sun as their captain continued to chase and harass the Karcharidon.
Three minutes of power remained.
Roshal spoke. The lances of her vessel fired. Laser blasts carved across the hull of the enemy ship as it rolled.
The rolling ceased. A helmswoman swore as a full broadside caught the Patrol Carrier in the flank. The port hangar pod was ruined, armor shattered and all inside exposed to hard vacuum. Those who could scream died the fastest. The Interceptors had their opening.
Two minutes of power remained.
Silent wings swept through vacuum as three Interceptors began their dive, their formerly speedy arrowhead shape giving way to an inverted t as their wings swept out for stability, the ASF dove and dove and dove.
Five Kilometers away.
The range was too wide. They had one shot. It had to be perfect.
One minute of power remained.
The Into Harm’s Way spat its defiance into the world, limited power drained to give her pilots a seconds more of time.
30 seconds of power remained.
Three Kilometers.
Hard Lock! Milk shouted from the back seat of Runoff 3. Cookie was silent. The range was still too wide.
15 seconds of power remained.
Two Kilometers.
The Karcharidon seemingly began to roll before the Patrol Carrier once more fired, its last remaining weapons spouting their defiance against the world. Deep in engineering, systems began to blow, wires that replaced fuses sparked power and delicate circuit boards shorted out into useless scrap.
The lights went out.
No power remained.
Roshal, in her head, began to count down as lances of light began to sweep across her ship. Damage control did what they could, but the beams began to cut like an overly enthusiastic shipbreaker.
Five.
One Kilometer.
Four.
Cookie’s thumb depressed the firing stud as the Interceptor screamed at him.
Three.
The ASF launched its deadly payload.
Two.
Three Interceptors pulled back hard on their sticks to avoid colliding with the deck.
One.
The thruster of the anti-shipping missile roared as it rocketed the point blank aerospace distance to target.
Impact.
The armor piercing tip of the missile punched into the upper deck plating of the Heavy Cruiser, classified alloys allowing it to pierce into the armored plating just enough to allow the shaped charge to open up a hole as momentum kept the weapon moving.
Within the frame of a single second, the warhead of the missile had entered the ship and, before the alarms even had time to sound, detonated.
A new sun appeared in the void for a split second as a plasma-fusion warhead detonated inside the Karcharidon heavy cruiser’s hull.
//////////
Roshal allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief inside her head as the emergency power lights flickered overhead and the gravity ever so slightly lightened. What was left of their sensor arrays showed the enemy vessel powering down. “Engineering. Good work, your 10 minutes were just what she needed.” She called out, picking up the ship phone.
There was no answer from engineering.
She signed externally before pointing at one of the marines guarding the bridge, “Find a crewmate in a void suit. I have need of runners.” The marine clasped a fist to her chest before leaving to execute her captain’s commands. “Comms, do we have any contact with the engineering teams on the pirate hulk?”
The Comms officer held up a hand, Roshal waited, “No, ma’am. We aren’t getting- wait. We’ve got visual on flashing lights from the hull. Apparently, something shorted, so they’re having to rebuild broadcast arrays. They can receive just fine, though.”
“Good, once we can maneuver, bring us broadside of them. What’s the status of the merchant fleet?”
Navigation spoke up now, “Still heading for the Jump Point. Should we send the recall order?”
“Not yet, we are still unsure if the area is safe. If we have any sensors remaining, begin sca-”
The mentioned sensor technician interrupted Captain Roshal, “Ma’am, new contact, signature unknown. Just jumped in from outside the starlane!”
“Give me details. Course, range, and speed?” She demanded.
“Signal confused, can’t get a lock!” Navigation called out, “Can’t tell if confusion’s from them or us.”
Not another one… Roshal sighed, “All forces prepa-”
“Ma’am, we’re being hailed.” Communications called out.
“On squawk.”
“This is Captain Al’yosha Cal’rada of Her Imperial Majesty’s Ship Spear of the Knyaginya, responding to Merchant vessel distress calls. Imperial Patrol Carrier, are you in need of assistance at this time?”
Roshal recognized the voice. A junior officer from her days in the Navy and a fellow Sevastutavan. The memory of the fresh faced girl when she’d joined her as an Ensign straight of the Naval Academy flashed before her eyes. “Captain Cal’rada. Your timing is impeccable as always.”
“Admiral?” Roshal could hear the shock in her old protege’s voice.
“That’s Captain, now, Al’yosha. I require your aid in ensuring the disabled vessel still glowing from an ASM strike remains disabled along with Search and Rescue teams for our sister Carrier.
“Whatever you want, you’ll have it, Admiral_… Helm! All ahead flank and plot course to intercept. Launch gunships and prepare to deploy Bluejackets. We’ll test our _Orcas’ teeth today!”
The line cut out a moment later than it should have, and Roshal nodded in approval.
“Captain, I still don’t have a read on new contact. What is it?” Sensors asked.
“A Drep’na inspired vision, come to life.” Roshal watched, feeling an odd sort of parental pride as Al’yosha’s experimental warship began closing the distance towards the Karcharidon at breakneck speeds. “A swift sailing vessel and ten carriage guns…” Roshal murmured the line from an old Vaasconian poem from the ancient Age of Sail. She had heard Cal’rada had succeeded in petitioning the Navy to build her dream-ship, burning every favor and passing out favors to any and everyone to see the program through. Now, there she was, standing on the bridge bearing down on a ship twice her size, but if the rumors were true, only half her guns.
“Ma’am, contact is still not resolving, but IFF confirms Imperial Navy designation. An Akula Class Attack Transport. I’ve… I’ve never even heard of this class.”
“Perhaps we shall hear of them more in the future. Fortune favors the active.”
“Contact is disgorging multiple signals, moving at speeds consistent with aerospace assets.”
“That is our signal we may disengage. Comms, inform the merchant fleet that the area is secure and to begin refueling procedures. Helm, get us alongside the pirate hulk, we have people to recover. Marine, get me a runner to the MP’s, we shall need the port hangar prepared for an old tradition the Navy has regarding pirate prisoners…” Roshal commanded. The fight was over, it was time to begin the cleanup.
//////////
So… that took a while. Sorry about that.
Turns out when a combination of writer’s block, decision paralysis and LIFE hits you over the head, it becomes a touch difficult to get your shit together long enough to write something down.
On the plus side, we are out of the “unplanned bits” and right back into the parts I have brainstormed, so I won’t be staring at a screen trying to think how to make things connect as much anymore. On the other hand, that means we are now entering the epilogue of book 1 of Top Lasgun.
Don’t worry, the story isn’t ending, I’ve got “three” books plotted out in my head, so we’ll see how that shakes out, but for the most part, this is where I start wrapping up plot threads, laying down threads for what comes next, and all that other good stuff.
So yeah, next chapter is going to involve everyone wrapping up what happened here, some fun little Military Justice, and potentially a bunch of plot. Also, I’m planning on starting a “rewrite”/edited version of this to go up on AO3, so keep an eye out for that. Early installment weirdness is a bitch and I’m not proud of what the older stuff looked like.
Well, I hope you have a wonderful morning, afternoon or evening whenever you read this and I will see you next chapter.
[NEXT CHAPTER]
2024.05.16 16:38 fmeupdad Nose piercing suddenly infected ?
 | I’ve had my nose piercing for 2 years now, i previous had it pierced before (hence the second hole) but it was a cheap ring and my nose closed up over it so I had to get it cut out for work. submitted by fmeupdad to piercing [link] [comments] A couple of days ago it became a little sore and now it’s red, itchy and has a little bit of pus. I’ve never had any issues with it until now, I’m using salt and water with a Q tip and have ordered some sterile saline spray from Amazon. What can I do to prevent this escalating? I’d rather not have to go the doctors or remove the piercing. |
2024.05.16 16:33 clearliquidclearjar TALLAHASSEE WEEKLY EVENTS, 5/16 – 5/22
Y’all, I’m really not sure what’s still around. This list is somewhat edited, but please still make sure to check on all the regular events before you make big plans – I may have missed something.
Events are listed by the day. Events that happen every week appear first, one time stuff after that. If you have anything you’d like people to know about, comment here or message me and I’ll add it in. If you’d like further info about any of the events, look it up! I usually don’t have any extra to add.
Large Scale, Ongoing, and Multi-Day Events
Guided Paddling Outings all around the area: https://www.facebook.com/hsmithoutdoors
Tallahassee Film Society Showings: https://www.tallahasseefilms.com/tickets/
Book Clubs for all tastes: https://www.facebook.com/midtownreadeevents
Live Theater:
submitted by clearliquidclearjar to Tallahassee [link] [comments]
Events are listed by the day. Events that happen every week appear first, one time stuff after that. If you have anything you’d like people to know about, comment here or message me and I’ll add it in. If you’d like further info about any of the events, look it up! I usually don’t have any extra to add.
Large Scale, Ongoing, and Multi-Day Events
Guided Paddling Outings all around the area: https://www.facebook.com/hsmithoutdoors
Tallahassee Film Society Showings: https://www.tallahasseefilms.com/tickets/
Book Clubs for all tastes: https://www.facebook.com/midtownreadeevents
Live Theater:
- Making Light Productions: https://www.makinglightproductions.org/
- Theatre Tallahassee: https://theatretallahassee.org/
- Mickee Faust Club: https://www.mickeefaust.com/
- Monticello Opera House: https://www.monticellooperahouse.org/
- FSU School of Theatre: https://theatre.fsu.edu/productions/
- Young Actors Theatre: https://www.youngactorstheatre.com/
- Quincy Music Theatre: https://quincymusictheatre.com/
- Tallahassee Hispanic Theater: https://tallahasseehispanictheater.wordpress.com/
- Lake Ella Grower's Market: Wednesday and Saturday, 11am-2pm. You can always find organic vendors, and foragers: The Holistic Cannabis Community, Artzi Farms, Hickory Nut Gifts, and others. Including Pita Queen! Farmer's Market Nutrition Program Coupons gladly accepted!
- Tallahassee Downtown Market: Saturdays, 10am-2pm, Park Ave Parks. Vendors display their arts and fine crafts, jewelry, handmade soap, pottery, Fresh from Florida produce, hand-raised beef and pork, fresh baked bread, jams and jellies, and honey. Live music from different local musicians every Saturday.
- Frenchtown Heritage Market: 524 N MLK Jr Blvd. Third Saturday of the month 10am to 2pm. Come grow community and support your local farmers and makers, while you get your groceries for the week! Don’t forget! We match SNAP/EBT, so you DOUBLE your money to go towards locally grown fresh fruits and vegetables! If the guy with the pineapple is there, get it. This is currently only happening on the third Saturday of the month for the next few months while road work is completed.
- Tallahassee Farmers Market: 2904 Kerry Forest Pkwy, Saturdays, 8am to Noon. Come see us at Tallahassee's longest-running farmers market! We are a year-round market, featuring local farms and vendors that provide the best seasonal produce, meats, baked goods, and more. We welcome you and your whole family (leashed pets included) to come out and meet your local farmers! Ample parking is available between our lot and the shopping center lot next door (by Red Elephant). Come early for the best selection.
- The Hub at Feather Oaks: Bingo. 6pm
- Dreamland BBQ: Weekly Open Blues Jam. If you'd like to sing, please bring your own mic. 6pm
- Honest Living Vape: Chess-Master Thursdays . Beginners and experts, join us every Thursday from 6-9 for Chess-Master Thursdays. All ages. Bring your board or play ours! Tournaments coming soon! 6pm
- Lake Tribe: Trivia. 7pm
- Takko Market Square: Bingo Night. 7pm
- The Getaway Grille and Bar: Karaoke with Jared Walker. 7pm
- Amicus Brewing: Trivia. 7pm
- Smitty's Taphouse: Trivia Lab Thursdays. Teams of 6 or fewer players can compete for $30 / $20 / $10 Prizes + The Golden MacGuffin prize table! New format! Interactive smartphone answering for your comfort and safety! 6 Fun Rounds - 42 Total Questions. 7:30pm
- Studio D: Bachata Fever. We always have a bachata workshop at 8 pm before Bachata Fever. We dance afterwards to the sounds of DJ Bacharod. The class is at 8 pm and Bachata Fever will start at 930 pm. Many times people are learning in class and may feel uncomfortable social dancing while they are still learning moves. We have a welcoming environment so stay and have fun and dance with everyone. That is how we learn. 8pm/Class $5/Bachata Fever $5.
- The Sound Bar: Comedy Night. 8pm
- Finnegans Wake: Open Mic. 8:30pm
- Brass Tap in Midtown: Karaoke with DJ Rah. 9pm
- 926: Karaoke. 9pm
- Bird’s: Karaoke with Nathan. 9pm
- Fire Bettys: Slasher Bash. This week we'll be showing: "Zombeavers". Prepare for an evening of horrific hilarity with comedy narration and devilish drinking games!🍻 Hosted by local comedians. 8pm/21+
- Blue Tavern: Seep's Gumbo Nation ft. Shanice Richards. 8pm
- Blue Tavern: Happy Hour with Steve Malono. 5pm
- Lake Tribe Brewing: Flannel Fridays with Live Music. 6pm
- Hobbit West: Friday Night Dart Tournament. Anyone can Enter! Sign ups at 7:30, Darts fly at 8:00/$10 entry fee
- Ouzts Too: Karaoke with DJ Nathan. Best karaoke DJ in town. 8pm
- Just One More: Karaoke with DJ Rah. 9pm-11pm/21+
- 926: The Hot Friday Night Party and Drag Show. 9pm/$5/18+
- The Hub at Feather Oaks: Rachel Hillman. 5:30pm
- Lake Tribe: Ben Wentworth. 5:30pm
- Amicus Brewing: The Tanglers. 6pm
- The Getaway Grille and Bar: One Year Anniversary Celebration Featuring Queen of Hearts Band. 6pm
- Southwood Golf Club: The Rhythm Remedy. 6:30pm
- Goodwood: The Big Bash Havana Nights presented by Brent Hartsfield. The Big Bash is Big Brothers Big Sisters of the Big Bend's signature fundraising gala of the year and directly supports the agency's youth mentoring programs. Guests will enjoy Cuban Cuisine, champagne mojitos, cigars, flights, classic cars, photo opportunities, silent auction vacation packages, LIVE music and dancing, and an exciting LIVE salsa dance performance from 12 community volunteers! The event is a tremendous networking opportunity for Tallahassee's top business professionals, local community leaders and philanthropists to come together to enjoy an evening to celebrate the achievements of Big Brothers Big Sisters. 7pm
- Blue Tavern: Wil Fulkerson Jazz Night. 8pm
- House of Music: Belly Dancing: Journey From The Nile To The Tigris. Habibi, join us on a groovy carpet ride across ancient deserts: Disco Iskandar embarks on a voyage of belly dance, folklore, cinema, and history in a theatrical dance production, JOURNEY FROM THE NILE TO THE TIGRIS. Highlighting the prominence of belly dance in films of the Middle East from the 1940s through the 1970s, we present a live showcase exhibiting dances from Egypt, Turkey, Iraq, and beyond. It goes so much deeper than you think. Hookahs! Swords! Rhinestones, literally everywhere! This cross section of entertainment and education is the culmination of years of obsessive learning, two national tours, and travels to Egypt & Lebanon. JOURNEY FROM THE NILE TO THE TIGRIS is a trip unlike any other-- where the Middle East meets Vegas. This show’s cast is Gabi Corazon, Gia Bee, Liz Azi, Olya Clark, Vania Ojeda, director Veronica Lynn, and special guest star Omaris! 8pm/$15/21+
- The Sound Bar: The Old Schoolers. 8pm
- Vino Beano: Your Scumbag Neighbors. 8pm
- The Bark: Medians, No Yeah, Sleep John B, and Cloud Storage. 8pm
- Brinkley Glen Park: Invasive Plant Removal. Join Master Gardener Volunteers at this weekly invasive plant removal event. This is a great way to learn to ID our invasive plant species and how to remove them. We recommend wearing long pants and sleeves, closed-toed shoes, gloves, a hat and mosquito spray. Bring gardening tools such as hand clippers, loppers, trowels, etc. if you have them. We are removing coral ardisia bushes and berries, nandina, tung trees, Tradescantia flumenensis, cat's claw vine, winged yam, Japanese climbing fern, skunkvine and more. Directions: The best way to get there is to take Meridian Rd to Waverly Rd, go to the next intersection and turn left onto Abbotsford Way, then turn left at the next road called Woodside Dr. At the stop sign turn left onto Lothian. Lothian ends in a cul-de-sac and there is a sign that says Brinkley Glen Park. 8:30am-11:30am
- Gamescape: Saturday Gaming. Gamescape has relocated from Railroad Square to the Huntington Oaks Plaza (Suite 302, next to the Library) at N Monroe St and Fred George Rd. Open gaming tables are available. Noon-6pm
- Duke’s and Dottie’s: Line Dancing Plus Lessons. 7pm/21+
- Bird’s Oyster Shack: Laughterday Night Fever. * Join us every Saturday at Bird's Aphrodisiac Oyster Shack for a free comedy show!* 8:30pm
- 926: Latin Night. Dance to the irresistible beats of Zeus and prepare to be dazzled by a spectacular drag show at midnight. It's more than a party, it's an experience. 9:30pm/$10 21+, $15 under 21
- Crawfordville: Big Bend Biodiversity Tour. See why our area is so ecologically incredible! Get up close and personal with creatures and plants galore. Join expert guide and outdoor educator, Ryan Means for this limited opportunity to tour the Apalachicola Lowlands Preserve. The day-long trip stops at points along the way to the privately-owned preserve nestled deep in the Apalachicola National Forest near Sumatra, FL. Explore the longleaf pine ecosystem, pitcher plant bogs, ephemeral wetlands, and blackwater streams - home to some threatened and endangered species. Learn what makes the Florida Panhandle one of the five richest biodiversity hotspots in North America. Perfect tour for photographers, outdoor enthusiasts and ecologists. $75 tour fee includes round-trip transportation (from 46 Kinsey Rd, Crawfordville, FL) , complimentary beverages, and supports efforts to preserve the incredible biodiversity of the Southeastern Coastal Plain. Spaces limited. Register here: https://coastalplains.networkforgood.com/events/71083-big-bend-biodiversity-tour for full details. 8am
- Dreamland BBQ: Rock Type One to None. Let's rock to find a cure for Type 1 Diabetes! The Unicorn Wranglers are back on Saturday, May 18th at Dreamland BBQ in Tallahassee, Florida for the 2024 "Rock One to None" show. This show is benefiting the Juvenile Diabetes Research Fund (JDRF) and will feature musical guests Midnight Caravan, Fallen Timber, and the Unicorn Wranglers. The show starts at 4 pm and runs until 7 pm at Dreamland BBQ in Music Alley, and is open to all ages. While the show is free, we encourage all rockers attending to donate to the cause. You can contribute at the show by visiting our donation station or by heading over to our online Unicorn Wranglers team page. Together, as one big mosh pit, we can help cure Type 1 Diabetes. 3pm
- The Hub at Feather Oaks: Ethan Kyllonen. 4pm
- Amicus Brewing: Beza Alford and Rev. Dr. Sheldon Steen. 5pm
- Lake Tribe: Flamingo Party. 6pm
- The Getaway Grille and Bar: Billy Rigsby Band. 6pm
- Vino Beano: Brett & "Dangerous" Dave. 6pm
- Salty Dawg: Hot Mess. 6:30pm
- La Tiendita: Rhys Bennett & the Gringos as Vontade. Join us for an energetic evening filled with the vibrant sounds of Latin music, Brazilian beats, and jazz rhythms. Our local band, Rhys Bennett & the Gringos, will transform into the versatile ensemble Vontade, treating you to a delightful mix of rancheras, bossa nova, and more! Whether you're a seasoned dancer or a newcomer to the dance floor, you're in for a fantastic time at one of Tallahassee's hidden gems. Immerse yourself in a night of cultural fusion and musical celebration that is sure to create lasting memories! 6:30pm
- The Sound Bar: Tillman & Taff. 7pm
- Island Wings: Midnight Caravan. 7pm
- The Bark: Saturnalia, Brass Wizard, Van Season, and Psycho Tropical. 8pm
- Fire Bettys: 80's Video Dance Party. 8pm
- Just One More: One Eyed JAK. 9pm
- Bicycle House: Sunday Ride. Ride at 10:30 AM from Bicycle House. We will ride the Cascades trail to the St Marks trail and down to Wakulla station and return, about 31 miles. Ride speed is 12 to 14 mph, with periodic regroups. Vernon Bailey is the ride leader. Vernon is a new CCC member who’s been biking for 50 years enjoys riding with small groups and weekend touring. 10am
- E Peck Greene Park (Behind the LeRoy Collins Library): Food Not Bombs Free Mealshare. We offer free vegetarian/vegan food, water, coffee, personal care & hygiene products, bus passes, and clothing when we have some available to those in need. Contact foodnotbombstally@gmail.com to find out about getting involved. Noon-2pm
- LeRoy Collins Library: Tallahassee Go Club Meetings. Come play the captivating ancient game of Go, also known as Baduk, with some friendly games and discussions. Beginners welcome. Visit https://www.tallahasseegoclub.com for more information. 1pm
- Gamescape: Pokémon League. Come learn, play, and trade with the Pokémon Trading Card Game and the Pokémon video games! We LOVE seeing new players, so come learn how to play! We play both the Trading Card Game and the Video Game casually and competitively. The store offers lots of different seating arrangements to meet our group's needs, as well as food, drinks, and Pokémon products for purchase. We are also hold regular, officially sanctioned tournaments for Pokémon Trading Card Game and Video Game Competitions! 2-4pm
- The Plant: Open Jam. All instruments, all players welcome. 4pm-9pm
- Pedro’s: Mariachi Clasico. 6pm
- Fermentation Lounge: Open Mic Night Hosted by Conor Churchill. 7pm
- Ology Powermill: Marauders Market. Noon
- The Hub at Feather Oaks: The Barber Bros. 1pm-4pm
- Goodwood: Ice Cream Social. Get ready for a spectacular day of family fun at Goodwood Museum & Gardens! Treat your taste buds to a family fun day of FREE ice cream, FREE crafts for the kids, FREE activities, and more, all on the beautiful Goodwood grounds. Family-friendly musical entertainment will be provided by The Safari Man, who will have everyone tapping their feet and dancing along to his whimsical tunes. 1pm
- Common Ground Books: Contemporary Queer Poetry Book Club: Time is a Mother. This month, we’ll be reading “Time is a Mother” by Ocean Vuong. “In this deeply intimate second poetry collection, Ocean Vuong searches for life among the aftershocks of his mother's death, embodying the paradox of sitting within grief while being determined to survive beyond it. Vivid, brave and propulsive, Vuong's poems contend with personal loss, the meaning of family, and the value of joy in a perennially fractured American spirit. The author of the critically acclaimed poetry collection Night Sky with Exit Wounds, winner of the 2016 Whiting Award, the 2017 T. S. Eliot Prize and a 2019 MacArthur fellow, Vuong writes directly to our humanity without losing sight of the current moment. Bold and prescient, and a testament to tenderness in the face of violence, Time is a Mother is a return and a forging-forth all at once.” 6pm
- Just One More: Bingo. 5pm-6:30pm
- The Getaway Grille and Bar: Margarita Monday, Open-Mic Night hosted by The Saltwater Cowboy. 5:30pm-8pm
- American Legion Hall: Cha Cha - Weekly Lessons. 6:15pm/$5
- Hangar 38: Bingo. 6:45pm
- Vino Beano: Tipsy Trivia. 7pm
- Blue Tavern: Happy Hour. 5pm
- The Getaway Grille: Tuesday Night Bikes and Trikes. 6pm
- Crafty Crab: BOOMIN' Karaoke. 7pm
- Gamescape: Hobby Night. Slay the grey together! Join your fellow gamers and turn your pile of grey miniatures into a battle ready army. Need some painting tips? Feel free to ask at hobby night. You can bring any miniature for any game to paint. 7pm
- Ology Midtown: Jazz Jam Sessions. 7pm
- Island Wings: Trivia. 7pm
- Brass Tap in Midtown: Trivia. 1st Tuesday of the month is General Knowledge with rotating themes the rest of the month. 7pm
- House of Music: Tuesday Trivia & Karaoke. 7pm
- American Legion Hall: Tallahassee Swing Band Tuesday Night Dance. 7:30pm
- Fire Bettys: Comedy Night. 8pm
- Poor Pauls: Trivia. 8pm/21+
- Blue Tavern: Bluesday Tuesday with Bill Ricci. Every Tuesday is Blues Day @ the Blue Tavern and Blues Meets Girl is a Tallahassee favorite. This perfect, intimate venue provides just what you need for both a mid-week break and authentic blues music experience. 8pm/$5
- 4th Quarter: Professor Jim's Tuesday Night Trivia. Popular for a reason! 8pm
- Argonaut Coffee: Trivia Tuesday. 8pm
- The Sound Bar: Karaoke. 8pm
- Fire Betty’s: Open Mic Comedy Night. 8pm/21+
- 926: Tacos and Trivia. 9pm
- Tallahassee Junior Museum: Basic Blacksmith Skills Program. Light your curiosity at our upcoming Basic Blacksmith Skills Program! Join our resident blacksmith, Michael Murphy, as he shares his history of being a Smitty. Participants will be able to keep the fire going, sling a hammer, and throw knives during this two hour lecture program. This is an outdoor event. Must preregister online at tallahasseemuseum.org/events. This program is free for members and regular admission price for non-members. 10am
- Sugar and Spice Tally: Game Night. Join us every Wednesday Night for community game night. Bring your own or use ours! Let me know if you need to reserve space for a large group. Free to attend! 5pm
- Goodwood: Wonderful Wednesday. 6pm/$5
- Level 8 Rooftop Lounge: Trivia. 6pm
- La Florida Coffee & Wine: Trivia Night. 6pm
- The Great Games Library: Open Game Night. 6pm/free
- American Legion Hall: Sue Boyd Country Western and More Dance Class. Session 2 - Beginner 6:30 to 7:45 pm What: East Coast Swing and Waltz. Cost: $8.00 per person. Wear comfortable shoes you can turn in. 7:45 to 8:15 - Practice dance with paid admission. 8:15 to 9:30: Intermediate - 2 Step and WCS. $8.00 per person or $13.00 for both classes. Vaccines are required. Face masks are optional. Changing partners is optional. 6:30pm
- Perry Lynn’s Smokehouse in Quincy: Wed Night Open Mic w/ Steven Ritter and Friends. 6:30pm
- Hangar 38: Trivia. 6:45pm
- Proof: Trivia. 7pm
- Vino Beano: Wine Bingo. 7pm
- Fermentation Lounge: Trivia. 7pm
- Blue Tavern: Wednesday Open Mic with Doc Russell. The open mic night that has run continuously for almost 20 years, once housed at the Warehouse, lives on at the Blue Tavern. Doc Russell continues as the host with the most. Sign up starts at 7:45pm/free to attend
- House of Music: Bar Bingo! Free to Play & Late Night Karaoke. 7pm
- Fire Betty’s: Karaoke! 8pm/21+/free
- Dukes and Dotties: College Night and Line Dancing Lessons. 8pm
- Finnegans Wake: Trivia. 8pm
- The Sound Bar: Open Mic Night. 8pm
- The Bark: Karaoke with DJ Nathan. Best karaoke DJ in town. 9pm
- Peppers: Karaoke. 9pm
- 926: Dragged Out Wednesday. 10pm
2024.05.16 16:27 Ojuice96 New PC is stuck on startup
 | Hi, I just built my first PC a few days ago and have had no issues since then. Today my PC started up normally but it would not react to my keyboard or mouse. submitted by Ojuice96 to PcBuildHelp [link] [comments] I noticed that the motherboard green light was not on, I checked and saw that the light would turn red, orange, and then would turn off. I tried getting into bios but I just got a purple screen as shown. I’d appreciate any help or tips you could give me, thank you. |
2024.05.16 16:26 ChannelAb3 How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III
How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III
I’ll know the time is right when the howling begins. It will be after sundown of course, the Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen only scream after sundown, and only on the clearest of nights.There is no town of Jebsen listed on any map, even in its heyday of the 1940’s it was too small to be worthy of notice. It’s nothing more than a collection of buildings at the end of a dead end road. On one side it is bordered by long untended corn fields, on the other the swampy remains of Lake Campbell. The most noticeable of the town’s buildings is a red brick edifice with a wide domed roof of fractured glass. The rest is just barns and single story homes. Along the border of the swamp is row after row of barbed wire and bear traps.
I’ll let them scream for an hour or so, let them become tired. Even now it amazes me how I had learned to pick out the individual voices in the cacophony. The Widow Toth tires easily but the Garrets will be at it until dawn.
And what will I be doing while every able-bodied adult is on the rooftops? I’ll be slipping these pages into this mason jar and sealing it lid in place with the wax from a melted crayon. The Children of Jebsen won’t miss just one, especially not purple.
Twenty-five years ago a calamity befell the town of Jebsen. The authorities blamed it all on the after effects of an experimental insecticide but the Old Book the town elders read from every Sunday said otherwise. It told the citizens of Jebsen that a curse was carried by those twinkling dots in the sky. A malevolence traveling at 186,000 miles per second that would twist their Children into nightmares should a glint of it ever touch their skin.
That is why they scream at the starlight; hating it, cursing it, raging at it.
You can’t see what their Children have become and not feel the same way. The changes are heartbreaking and horrifying all at once but after you spend time with them you feel differently. There is mockery in the mis-set eyes that peer from those mollified skulls.
They know secrets. On quiet, cloudy nights I would put my ear to one families’ basement door or another and hear them murmuring and giggling as they writhe in their basement styes.
I think of their weeping mouths and soft teeth and remember that day half a decade ago the ill-advised shortcut and along the neglected county route 99. I remember approaching the train bridge and seriously considering turning around, it looked decades out of repair and I half suspected it would collapse as I passed under it.
But I didn’t turn back, my ego wouldn’t let me. I was right and the road was wrong so I drove under the train bridge, momentarily marveling at the strange and elaborate graffiti that covered it.
I was just past the structure when a small, bent figure ran out from the long grass.
The sounds are what I really remember; the squeal of the brakes, the thud of the body on the hood of my car, the thick crack of laminated glass.
I would later learn the name of the child I had hit was Julius McCarty but all I knew then was that there was an emaciated, bloodied shape lying halfway through my windshield.
Human instinct made me reach out, to see if the little boy was alive. When my fingers brushed his skin he twisted around to face me. His mouth lashed out proboscis-like and nuzzled into the flesh of my arm.
Pain bristled out from where the boy had latched on to me. I screamed, thrashed. I shoved the car door open and tumbled out onto the asphalt. The boy coughed once and died.
At first the wound held all my attention. How could it not? I had expected to see torn flesh and blood but instead the boy’s distended mouth had left behind a cluster of thick, festering ulcerations.
But then I became aware of the men making their way out of the tall grass. These were the Fathers of Jebsen understood immediately what had happened.
They had brought everything they might need to bring one of their Children back home to its basement; rope, bandages and cudgels. It was also everything they needed to make a captive of me.
They, dragged me away from the accident site, through the tall grass and over the collapsed remains of a chain link fence to leave me in the care of the Mothers of Jebsen. Those gaunt women had cudgels of their own and I was a mass of bruises and welts by the time the hole in the Earth had been made to their standards.
The menfolk returned carrying the child wrapped in a linen shroud. They dropped it roughly into the ground. There were no ceremonies, tears or headstone. It was well after dark by the time I had filled the grave back in.
Now here it is years later and I’ve had to dig a dozen more graves, one by one the Mothers and Fathers are dying out, it’s always a surprise when it happens. Every mother and father of Jensen is withered and white haired but every year a few more die in their sleep, or at work in the fields or at prayer in their red brick observatory.
The Children are dying too, not a one has ever lived past seventeen. One by one they waste away, except of course for the occasional accident like the one that trapped me here.
Despite these curse that has befallen them the people of Jebsen continue to reproduce, each mother convinced that this time she will give birth to the Great Redeemer as was foretold in the Old Book. Each time they fail and each time the result is locked away in it’s family’s basement.
You can’t imagine those basements, the smell of rotten meat, the ankle deep fecal matter and the perfectly clean toys. They draw equations on the walls, gold and silver crayons are their preferred color. Every Tuesday I have to visit each of those cellars and scrub the theorems and postulations away.
The youngest of the Children is a newborn, still angry from the womb, the oldest is seventeen and nearly rotted away. No matter the age they all taunt me as I work, sometimes with bites, sometimes with maledictions. Both have left unimaginable scars.
So many scars now, I’m marked, I could never walk among the people I’d known before. They’d refuse to recognize me and insist I was a stranger
The Widow Thoth says this is my penance for the death of Julius McCarty, she even went so far as to cite chapter and verse on the subject from Old Book itself. The Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen, base every aspect of their lives on that thick volume of prophecies and homilies.
I wonder if anyone will notice me as leaving. I doubt it, even when they’re not screaming their heads off a long dead suns they barely notice my comings and goings.
As I said before, the Mothers and Father’s of Jebsen have become so sure of me. Some families think I’ve become a true believer, the rest think the cinder block chained to my ankle is enough to keep me in my place.
I don’t know who you are or when you’ll find this message. My only hope is that you will believe me. If you do, please bring this document to the proper authorities. Don’t let my death be for nothing.
I go to the bottom of the swamp with two regrets. One is that I won’t be there when the town of Jebsen is discovered and burned to the ground.
The other is that six months ago I accepted Father Garett’s invitation to join in their celebrations. I went willingly with them to the old brick observatory. I prayed with them. I danced with them. I partook in all of their debasements.
And for a little while, perhaps an hour, I was happy.
They even asked me to give reading from the Old Book. I eagerly stopped up to the podium and began flipping through the thick volume.
Everyone waited for me to choose a passage and speak but all I did was shake and weep at what I beheld. My knees buckled. My mind shut down. I had to be carried out and put to bed.
You see, the Old Book was blank from cover to cover. You’re even holding some of those pages in your hands now.
I used them to write my story.
2024.05.16 16:23 ChannelAb3 How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III
How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III
I’ll know the time is right when the howling begins. It will be after sundown of course, the Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen only scream after sundown, and only on the clearest of nights.There is no town of Jebsen listed on any map, even in its heyday of the 1940’s it was too small to be worthy of notice. It’s nothing more than a collection of buildings at the end of a dead end road. On one side it is bordered by long untended corn fields, on the other the swampy remains of Lake Campbell. The most noticeable of the town’s buildings is a red brick edifice with a wide domed roof of fractured glass. The rest is just barns and single story homes. Along the border of the swamp is row after row of barbed wire and bear traps.
I’ll let them scream for an hour or so, let them become tired. Even now it amazes me how I had learned to pick out the individual voices in the cacophony. The Widow Toth tires easily but the Garrets will be at it until dawn.
And what will I be doing while every able-bodied adult is on the rooftops? I’ll be slipping these pages into this mason jar and sealing it lid in place with the wax from a melted crayon. The Children of Jebsen won’t miss just one, especially not purple.
Twenty-five years ago a calamity befell the town of Jebsen. The authorities blamed it all on the after effects of an experimental insecticide but the Old Book the town elders read from every Sunday said otherwise. It told the citizens of Jebsen that a curse was carried by those twinkling dots in the sky. A malevolence traveling at 186,000 miles per second that would twist their Children into nightmares should a glint of it ever touch their skin.
That is why they scream at the starlight; hating it, cursing it, raging at it.
You can’t see what their Children have become and not feel the same way. The changes are heartbreaking and horrifying all at once but after you spend time with them you feel differently. There is mockery in the mis-set eyes that peer from those mollified skulls.
They know secrets. On quiet, cloudy nights I would put my ear to one families’ basement door or another and hear them murmuring and giggling as they writhe in their basement styes.
I think of their weeping mouths and soft teeth and remember that day half a decade ago the ill-advised shortcut and along the neglected county route 99. I remember approaching the train bridge and seriously considering turning around, it looked decades out of repair and I half suspected it would collapse as I passed under it.
But I didn’t turn back, my ego wouldn’t let me. I was right and the road was wrong so I drove under the train bridge, momentarily marveling at the strange and elaborate graffiti that covered it.
I was just past the structure when a small, bent figure ran out from the long grass.
The sounds are what I really remember; the squeal of the brakes, the thud of the body on the hood of my car, the thick crack of laminated glass.
I would later learn the name of the child I had hit was Julius McCarty but all I knew then was that there was an emaciated, bloodied shape lying halfway through my windshield.
Human instinct made me reach out, to see if the little boy was alive. When my fingers brushed his skin he twisted around to face me. His mouth lashed out proboscis-like and nuzzled into the flesh of my arm.
Pain bristled out from where the boy had latched on to me. I screamed, thrashed. I shoved the car door open and tumbled out onto the asphalt. The boy coughed once and died.
At first the wound held all my attention. How could it not? I had expected to see torn flesh and blood but instead the boy’s distended mouth had left behind a cluster of thick, festering ulcerations.
But then I became aware of the men making their way out of the tall grass. These were the Fathers of Jebsen understood immediately what had happened.
They had brought everything they might need to bring one of their Children back home to its basement; rope, bandages and cudgels. It was also everything they needed to make a captive of me.
They, dragged me away from the accident site, through the tall grass and over the collapsed remains of a chain link fence to leave me in the care of the Mothers of Jebsen. Those gaunt women had cudgels of their own and I was a mass of bruises and welts by the time the hole in the Earth had been made to their standards.
The menfolk returned carrying the child wrapped in a linen shroud. They dropped it roughly into the ground. There were no ceremonies, tears or headstone. It was well after dark by the time I had filled the grave back in.
Now here it is years later and I’ve had to dig a dozen more graves, one by one the Mothers and Fathers are dying out, it’s always a surprise when it happens. Every mother and father of Jensen is withered and white haired but every year a few more die in their sleep, or at work in the fields or at prayer in their red brick observatory.
The Children are dying too, not a one has ever lived past seventeen. One by one they waste away, except of course for the occasional accident like the one that trapped me here.
Despite these curse that has befallen them the people of Jebsen continue to reproduce, each mother convinced that this time she will give birth to the Great Redeemer as was foretold in the Old Book. Each time they fail and each time the result is locked away in it’s family’s basement.
You can’t imagine those basements, the smell of rotten meat, the ankle deep fecal matter and the perfectly clean toys. They draw equations on the walls, gold and silver crayons are their preferred color. Every Tuesday I have to visit each of those cellars and scrub the theorems and postulations away.
The youngest of the Children is a newborn, still angry from the womb, the oldest is seventeen and nearly rotted away. No matter the age they all taunt me as I work, sometimes with bites, sometimes with maledictions. Both have left unimaginable scars.
So many scars now, I’m marked, I could never walk among the people I’d known before. They’d refuse to recognize me and insist I was a stranger
The Widow Thoth says this is my penance for the death of Julius McCarty, she even went so far as to cite chapter and verse on the subject from Old Book itself. The Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen, base every aspect of their lives on that thick volume of prophecies and homilies.
I wonder if anyone will notice me as leaving. I doubt it, even when they’re not screaming their heads off a long dead suns they barely notice my comings and goings.
As I said before, the Mothers and Father’s of Jebsen have become so sure of me. Some families think I’ve become a true believer, the rest think the cinder block chained to my ankle is enough to keep me in my place.
I don’t know who you are or when you’ll find this message. My only hope is that you will believe me. If you do, please bring this document to the proper authorities. Don’t let my death be for nothing.
I go to the bottom of the swamp with two regrets. One is that I won’t be there when the town of Jebsen is discovered and burned to the ground.
The other is that six months ago I accepted Father Garett’s invitation to join in their celebrations. I went willingly with them to the old brick observatory. I prayed with them. I danced with them. I partook in all of their debasements.
And for a little while, perhaps an hour, I was happy.
They even asked me to give reading from the Old Book. I eagerly stopped up to the podium and began flipping through the thick volume.
Everyone waited for me to choose a passage and speak but all I did was shake and weep at what I beheld. My knees buckled. My mind shut down. I had to be carried out and put to bed.
You see, the Old Book was blank from cover to cover. You’re even holding some of those pages in your hands now.
I used them to write my story.
2024.05.16 16:21 ChannelAb3 How I Wonder What You Are
How I Wonder What You Are by Al Bruno III
I’ll know the time is right when the howling begins. It will be after sundown of course, the Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen only scream after sundown, and only on the clearest of nights.There is no town of Jebsen listed on any map, even in its heyday of the 1940’s it was too small to be worthy of notice. It’s nothing more than a collection of buildings at the end of a dead end road. On one side it is bordered by long untended corn fields, on the other the swampy remains of Lake Campbell. The most noticeable of the town’s buildings is a red brick edifice with a wide domed roof of fractured glass. The rest is just barns and single story homes. Along the border of the swamp is row after row of barbed wire and bear traps.
I’ll let them scream for an hour or so, let them become tired. Even now it amazes me how I had learned to pick out the individual voices in the cacophony. The Widow Toth tires easily but the Garrets will be at it until dawn.
And what will I be doing while every able-bodied adult is on the rooftops? I’ll be slipping these pages into this mason jar and sealing it lid in place with the wax from a melted crayon. The Children of Jebsen won’t miss just one, especially not purple.
Twenty-five years ago a calamity befell the town of Jebsen. The authorities blamed it all on the after effects of an experimental insecticide but the Old Book the town elders read from every Sunday said otherwise. It told the citizens of Jebsen that a curse was carried by those twinkling dots in the sky. A malevolence traveling at 186,000 miles per second that would twist their Children into nightmares should a glint of it ever touch their skin.
That is why they scream at the starlight; hating it, cursing it, raging at it.
You can’t see what their Children have become and not feel the same way. The changes are heartbreaking and horrifying all at once but after you spend time with them you feel differently. There is mockery in the mis-set eyes that peer from those mollified skulls.
They know secrets. On quiet, cloudy nights I would put my ear to one families’ basement door or another and hear them murmuring and giggling as they writhe in their basement styes.
I think of their weeping mouths and soft teeth and remember that day half a decade ago the ill-advised shortcut and along the neglected county route 99. I remember approaching the train bridge and seriously considering turning around, it looked decades out of repair and I half suspected it would collapse as I passed under it.
But I didn’t turn back, my ego wouldn’t let me. I was right and the road was wrong so I drove under the train bridge, momentarily marveling at the strange and elaborate graffiti that covered it.
I was just past the structure when a small, bent figure ran out from the long grass.
The sounds are what I really remember; the squeal of the brakes, the thud of the body on the hood of my car, the thick crack of laminated glass.
I would later learn the name of the child I had hit was Julius McCarty but all I knew then was that there was an emaciated, bloodied shape lying halfway through my windshield.
Human instinct made me reach out, to see if the little boy was alive. When my fingers brushed his skin he twisted around to face me. His mouth lashed out proboscis-like and nuzzled into the flesh of my arm.
Pain bristled out from where the boy had latched on to me. I screamed, thrashed. I shoved the car door open and tumbled out onto the asphalt. The boy coughed once and died.
At first the wound held all my attention. How could it not? I had expected to see torn flesh and blood but instead the boy’s distended mouth had left behind a cluster of thick, festering ulcerations.
But then I became aware of the men making their way out of the tall grass. These were the Fathers of Jebsen understood immediately what had happened.
They had brought everything they might need to bring one of their Children back home to its basement; rope, bandages and cudgels. It was also everything they needed to make a captive of me.
They, dragged me away from the accident site, through the tall grass and over the collapsed remains of a chain link fence to leave me in the care of the Mothers of Jebsen. Those gaunt women had cudgels of their own and I was a mass of bruises and welts by the time the hole in the Earth had been made to their standards.
The menfolk returned carrying the child wrapped in a linen shroud. They dropped it roughly into the ground. There were no ceremonies, tears or headstone. It was well after dark by the time I had filled the grave back in.
Now here it is years later and I’ve had to dig a dozen more graves, one by one the Mothers and Fathers are dying out, it’s always a surprise when it happens. Every mother and father of Jensen is withered and white haired but every year a few more die in their sleep, or at work in the fields or at prayer in their red brick observatory.
The Children are dying too, not a one has ever lived past seventeen. One by one they waste away, except of course for the occasional accident like the one that trapped me here.
Despite these curse that has befallen them the people of Jebsen continue to reproduce, each mother convinced that this time she will give birth to the Great Redeemer as was foretold in the Old Book. Each time they fail and each time the result is locked away in it’s family’s basement.
You can’t imagine those basements, the smell of rotten meat, the ankle deep fecal matter and the perfectly clean toys. They draw equations on the walls, gold and silver crayons are their preferred color. Every Tuesday I have to visit each of those cellars and scrub the theorems and postulations away.
The youngest of the Children is a newborn, still angry from the womb, the oldest is seventeen and nearly rotted away. No matter the age they all taunt me as I work, sometimes with bites, sometimes with maledictions. Both have left unimaginable scars.
So many scars now, I’m marked, I could never walk among the people I’d known before. They’d refuse to recognize me and insist I was a stranger
The Widow Thoth says this is my penance for the death of Julius McCarty, she even went so far as to cite chapter and verse on the subject from Old Book itself. The Mothers and Fathers of Jebsen, base every aspect of their lives on that thick volume of prophecies and homilies.
I wonder if anyone will notice me as leaving. I doubt it, even when they’re not screaming their heads off a long dead suns they barely notice my comings and goings.
As I said before, the Mothers and Father’s of Jebsen have become so sure of me. Some families think I’ve become a true believer, the rest think the cinder block chained to my ankle is enough to keep me in my place.
I don’t know who you are or when you’ll find this message. My only hope is that you will believe me. If you do, please bring this document to the proper authorities. Don’t let my death be for nothing.
I go to the bottom of the swamp with two regrets. One is that I won’t be there when the town of Jebsen is discovered and burned to the ground.
The other is that six months ago I accepted Father Garett’s invitation to join in their celebrations. I went willingly with them to the old brick observatory. I prayed with them. I danced with them. I partook in all of their debasements.
And for a little while, perhaps an hour, I was happy.
They even asked me to give reading from the Old Book. I eagerly stopped up to the podium and began flipping through the thick volume.
Everyone waited for me to choose a passage and speak but all I did was shake and weep at what I beheld. My knees buckled. My mind shut down. I had to be carried out and put to bed.
You see, the Old Book was blank from cover to cover. You’re even holding some of those pages in your hands now.
I used them to write my story.
2024.05.16 16:17 Ojuice96 New PC is stuck on startup
Hi, I just built my first PC a few days ago and had no issues using it until today. My PC goes straight to the windows startup screen when I turn on but it won’t react to my mouse or keyboard.
I noticed that the motherboard light is not on, it turns orange and red but instead of turning green like usual, it turns off.
I tried getting into bios to see if I could fix the issue but I just got a purple screen.
I assume there is a connection that is not seated well or something, but I have no idea. I’d appreciate any help or tips you could give, thank you.
submitted by Ojuice96 to techsupport [link] [comments]
I noticed that the motherboard light is not on, it turns orange and red but instead of turning green like usual, it turns off.
I tried getting into bios to see if I could fix the issue but I just got a purple screen.
I assume there is a connection that is not seated well or something, but I have no idea. I’d appreciate any help or tips you could give, thank you.
2024.05.16 16:08 _ratboi_ Washed flour seitan deflated into a brainy pancake minutes after steaming
 | Should I have waited after steaming and before opening the lid for it to settle like steamed buns? submitted by _ratboi_ to seitan [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 16:06 RiverCityRhythmRVA Calling RVA Songwriters
Hey folks
If you're a local songwriter interested in playing a writers round style gig, here's your chance. Ignited (local music community platform) helps organize these events in town, with this upcoming June 12th event happening at Red Amp Studio. Applications are due Monday, May 20th by end of day. To get a feel of what these events have looked like in the past: https://www.instagram.com/p/C67EPUFOobt/
submitted by RiverCityRhythmRVA to rva [link] [comments]
If you're a local songwriter interested in playing a writers round style gig, here's your chance. Ignited (local music community platform) helps organize these events in town, with this upcoming June 12th event happening at Red Amp Studio. Applications are due Monday, May 20th by end of day. To get a feel of what these events have looked like in the past: https://www.instagram.com/p/C67EPUFOobt/
- Participants must be living in Richmond or Charlottesville and apply by end of day May 20th.
- Each musician out of the four chosen will be expected to play four originals. Keep that in mind when applying.
- Join the Ignited community to stay in the know of these events and more! https://community.ignitedva.com/signup
2024.05.16 16:04 AToyotaGasPedal Analisi I e Fisica I libri?
Salve UniRed,
Ho tutto l'anno per studiare per il TOLC-I mentre lavoro!
Quali libri mi consigliate per Analisi 1 e Fisica 1 per superare il test d'ammissione? Tengo a precisare, sono bloccato dalla Matematica della 3 media... Per questo parto da Analisi 1.
Stavo studiando attraverso Analysis I da Terence Tao -- non ho problemi con l'inglese -- e, mi è stato detto che è troppo overkill solo per superare il test.
Vorrei evitare video avendo difficoltà a memorizzare.
Tuttavia, accetto ogni consiglio che sapete darmi!
Vi ringrazio in anticipo!
submitted by AToyotaGasPedal to Universitaly [link] [comments]
Ho tutto l'anno per studiare per il TOLC-I mentre lavoro!
Quali libri mi consigliate per Analisi 1 e Fisica 1 per superare il test d'ammissione? Tengo a precisare, sono bloccato dalla Matematica della 3 media... Per questo parto da Analisi 1.
Stavo studiando attraverso Analysis I da Terence Tao -- non ho problemi con l'inglese -- e, mi è stato detto che è troppo overkill solo per superare il test.
Vorrei evitare video avendo difficoltà a memorizzare.
Tuttavia, accetto ogni consiglio che sapete darmi!
Vi ringrazio in anticipo!
2024.05.16 16:01 Fit-Ad4260 Dmg numbers are really unimpressive sometimes
Hey so I know my build ain’t meta but I don’t mind the the offence with a tiny bit of defence in my 4 piece heartbreaker all red build not all of its god rolled including my police m4 but they’re all pretty close I’d say within at least 1-2% of max including fox prayer knee pads for the extra 8% out of cover damage. And the coyote mask pretty much god rolled, I’m pretty sure I’m pulsing all my enemies with my technician laser and flatline perk but I’m still only hitting like 500-650k max on my criticals so far which is the best I’ve gotten so far. My CHC is around 40% and CHD is at 97% and my m4 is 104k damage but I see other people’s builds with less criticals hit way higher dps than me any tips would be greatly appreciated I’m also up to SHD watch level 100.
submitted by Fit-Ad4260 to Division2 [link] [comments]
2024.05.16 15:59 Individual-Ticket868 Looking for recommendations for upgrades. Below is current set up
Case BitFenix BFC - NEO -100 WWXKR - RP Neos Midi - Tower PC case ( ATX , 2x 5.25 External , internal 2x 3.5 , USB 3.0 ) white / red , 185 x 429 x 470 mm
Mother board -
MSI B85-G43 Gaming Intel LGA1150 B85 Gaming ATX Motherboard (4x DDR3, 4x USB 3, 8x USB 2, GBE, LAN, VGA, HDMI, DVI
CPU- Intel Core i5 4690K Processor (3.5 GHz, 6 MB Cache, LGA1150 Socket)
Gpu- Palit NVIDIA GeForce GTX 960 Jetstream Graphics Card (4 GB, GDDR5, PCI Express 3.0, HDMI, DVI-I, DVI-D, Display Port)
Psu- Corsair CP-9020120-UK CX Series 450 W CX450 ATX/EPS 80 PLUS Bronze Power Supply Unit
Ram- HyperX HX318C10FRK2/16 FURY Red, 16 GB, 1866 MHz DDR3 CL10 DIMM (Kit of 2)
submitted by Individual-Ticket868 to buildapc [link] [comments]
Mother board -
MSI B85-G43 Gaming Intel LGA1150 B85 Gaming ATX Motherboard (4x DDR3, 4x USB 3, 8x USB 2, GBE, LAN, VGA, HDMI, DVI
CPU- Intel Core i5 4690K Processor (3.5 GHz, 6 MB Cache, LGA1150 Socket)
Gpu- Palit NVIDIA GeForce GTX 960 Jetstream Graphics Card (4 GB, GDDR5, PCI Express 3.0, HDMI, DVI-I, DVI-D, Display Port)
Psu- Corsair CP-9020120-UK CX Series 450 W CX450 ATX/EPS 80 PLUS Bronze Power Supply Unit
Ram- HyperX HX318C10FRK2/16 FURY Red, 16 GB, 1866 MHz DDR3 CL10 DIMM (Kit of 2)
2024.05.16 15:55 Chloe11-7 Favorite recipe using buckwheat flour: Here’s mine, what’s yours?
I do this recipe on repeat (I freeze and heat up in the toaster for a quick breakfast), but it’s the only thing I make with buckwheat flour and looking to expand :)
https://www.pickuplimes.com/recipe/fabulously-healthy-buckwheat-pancakes-185
submitted by Chloe11-7 to glutenfreecooking [link] [comments]
https://www.pickuplimes.com/recipe/fabulously-healthy-buckwheat-pancakes-185
2024.05.16 15:52 Jodalene_weird_bot Loungefly delivery 🙃
 | Oh dear! Ordered from Vinted and seller sent in parcel bag with no stuffing 😣 bags as flat as a pancake. Luckily I’ll be using this one and not displaying. submitted by Jodalene_weird_bot to Loungefly [link] [comments] |
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