#abms

[morocosmos]

FFxivWrite Day 2: Bolt

There was a weary, yet content atmosphere in the air as Moro’a observed the scene taking place around him: Tailfeather’s residents huddled around clustered fires across the encampment, exchanging smiles and lighthearted banter made warm by the fullness of their stomachs. He watched as a gaggle of young hunters burst into raucous laughter on the opposite side of the river over a well-told joke; another group further down had leapt into the beginnings of a lively tune.

All the signs of a good day’s hunting…save for the unmistakable lack of a certain bard.

If anyone felt it most, it was the man next to him. “I apologise….I fear I have wasted your time. We should have left for Anyx Trine before nightfall,” said Sanson, looking down into his bowl of not-quite-finished stew. “I’ve asked around the encampment all week, but not one soul has seen Guydelot. For the bard not to show himself on such a merry night, where the hunters would surely want for ballads to be sung of their successes – I can only conclude he has returned to Gridania after all.” 

“You haven’t wasted my time,” Moro’a assured him. “I could not be here when you rescued Sylviel. Helping you now is the least I can do.” Guilt twinged in the Keeper’s chest as he recalled Sanson’s tale – how he and Guydelot had at last received news of Sylviel’s imminent return, only to have to rush to the scholar’s aid in Lost ast Gnath unaccompanied, for Moro’a had failed to answer Sanson’s linkpearl that sennight. He’d hated that despite this fact, the hyur had only complained of the hunters’ reluctance to help, insisting that his own absence was of no issue; Moro’a saw in Sanson’s words how the frayed nerves between him and Guydelot had stretched to a breaking point under the weight of battle, and how they had at last snapped in the aftermath of their narrow success. He’d had his own trials to deal with, yes, but perhaps if he had made the effort….

Truth be told, Moro’a had never seen the Serpent Captain in a more dour mood, not even when they’d watched Celaine sing for her fallen friends, and the reason why struck him as odd. Their journey to Tailfeather had done little to improve Sanson and Guydelot’s relationship, and when Moro’a had last left them, still they’d been bickering, like hot oil thrown into a cold stream. 

Much and more had changed in the past moon. Or mayhaps he’d simply been too mired in his own troubles to notice what was changing.

Sanson sighed, for what may have been the tenth time that evening. “Thank you. Sylviel has told me all that he knows; we can but place our faith in the Moogles now,” he resolved. “We must,” he added quietly, more for himself than for Moro’a’s benefit.

Moro’a was about to respond when a sudden blur of movement in the trees behind them caught his eye. There it is again. And this time, his eyes had caught a flash of teal.

There was no mistaking it now.

Sanson was distracted, and Moro’a thought he could steal away for a quarter-bell at most. “I’d promised to meet one of the hunters over yonder. Some dispute or other, to be resolved discreetly – I won’t be long,” he lied, excusing himself as he stood up and made for the cluster of trees in question. Once he’d made sure that Sanson was of no mind to follow him, he called out to Guydelot as quietly as he could.

“Nophica’s teats – you Keepers and your night-blessed senses,” the bard hissed from the gap in the trees that he’d wedged himself into. 

“You got too close,” Moro’a replied simply, glancing behind them. The coast was clear. “Why are you still hiding from Sanson?”

“...You know what happened, then?” There was a shuffling noise as Guydelot emerged halfway from the gap. “Alright, alright. When I saw you’d come, and Sylviel told me what you’d told him – of Moogles atop the Churning Mists, I needed to know….” Guydelot trailed off, shaking his head. “What should I do?”

Moro’a blinked. “What?”

Consternation was plain on the bard’s face, but he looked Moro’a in the eye as he found his words. “You always seem to know what’s best. Tell me – should I come back, after what I said to him? To Sanson.”

There was a pleading note in Guydelot’s voice, and it baffled Moro’a as much as Sanson’s low spirits did. Guydelot felt remorse, undoubtedly, but there was also a great deal of indecision. And something else that Moro’a could not identify.

Moro’a opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it as he found himself hesitating. Did Guydelot really trust him that much? Come with us, then, he wanted to say. The words remained lodged in his throat.

The bard seemed to take his silence for an answer. “You want me to think for myself, is that it?” He’d turned away, closing himself off. “Well, then. I'll do just that.”

“Wait–” But the bard had taken off, disappearing into the dark once more.

[buckyswinterbaby]

Always By My Side — Prologue

Synopsis: Young Bucky and Ziarah learn about the story of the fates and soulmates. Whether the tales are true or not is left to be seen.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Black!OFC Ziarah Heartwell

Warnings (will change with each chapter): none that come to mind for this chapter besides a referencing to God.

Word Count: 1,189

Acknowledgement: I’ve created this AU alongside my best friend Taylor in roleplays, along with many of the plots and scenes that will be featured. I’m posting this with his expressed permission as we both continue to work on the story in our chat. Credit for its creation goes to both of us.

Please like, comment, and reblog (I love that shit). Click here to fill out the form to be added to my tag list!

Note: This is is kind of a teaser/prologue to the series I’ll be posting the first chapter to soon called Always By My Side. It’s an AU my best friend Taylor and I have been building off of an imaginary friend prompt. I’m hoping this snippet will give you a bit of insight into the purpose of the soulmate bond in their world so you have some context going in. Hope you enjoy.

Addition: I said I’d tag you when I posted my WOC OFC story so here’s the first part, @bucky-the-thigh-slayer!

[Brooklyn - Late 1920’s]

Faded hues of yellows and oranges could still be seen through the thin panes of glass of the Barnes residence. The table had just been cleared from supper, the delicious aroma of Winnifred’s cooking still clung to the air.

Bucky and his sibling gathered on the floor in front of their mother, all freshly bathed and dressed for bed. The anticipation was clear in the younger ones’ faces as they prepared for their nightly story, though Bucky decided Rebecca’s shown the brightest. The woman couldn’t help but laugh as she settled into the wooden rocking chair that had soothed all of her children throughout the years.

“What story would you like to hear tonight, dears?” Winnifred’s smooth voice interrupted the youngest pair’s fit of giggles.

Charles, the second oldest after Bucky, was the first to answer. “Tell us the one about the coal miners again!” It was always his answer as he loved the voices his mother would use during her retellings.

Rebecca seemed less than sold on the idea as her freckled nose scrunched in distaste. “That one is silly! I want to hear about soulmates. Will you tell us that one, ma?” The glint in her eyes only seemed to grow as her mother hummed in agreement.

The rhythmic creaking of wood on wood could be heard as she began to rock, summoning the tales of lovers separated by miles being brought together with a bond that only true love could create, or so they said. Her blue eyes fell to Bucky’s, which mirrored her own, as she began to speak.

“They say the bond of soulmates is rare, God’s way of bringing together two people destined to meet and fall in love. The first stories were from long ago, before planes, cars, or even trains existed. When the corners of the earth were undiscovered and untouched by man. A time when mere miles could act as a barrier to keep others from ever meeting. The two individuals would see visions of one another, guiding them closer together over time. A mirrored reflection of their fated love.”

The children listened to her words with great interest as she continued her story, even Bucky’s attention seemed to turn her way. He had heard the stories a million times when he was younger. He’d lean in the doorway as she rocked a babe in her arms, telling them the tale that he had deemed himself too old to care about. Yet, as he found himself at the age where the pretty young dames around were of great interest, he also found himself considering the possibility. That there was someone out there in the world who was destined to love him in the truest way.

Bucky was sure it was a fairytale at its core, meant to spark a light of hope and possibility in the young eyes of youth. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more akin to fate at play.

[Brooklyn - 2004]

Ziarah leaned over the top railing of the bunk bed she shared with her older brother. The boy on the lower bed rolled her eyes at the continued antics of their nightly routine as this was the third time his sister had been brought to bed that night alone. The four year old grinned goofily as her mother, Hanna, adjusted the silk bonnet on her head.

“Lay back and tuck in, my little bumblebee,” the woman said fondly, climbing the first few rungs of the ladder to pull the blankets up to her daughter’s shoulders. Once she was satisfied, she climbed back down to sit on the stool she kept nearby for bedtime stories. “Which one shall we read tonight?”

Hanna couldn’t help but sigh as Zara popped straight up in her excitement, wiggling out from under her pile of blankets and stuffed animals as she made her way right back down the ladder and onto her mother’s lap. She knew any scoldings she would give would be fruitless so she settled for gathering the girl warmly in her arms.

Zara seemed to consider the question for a moment, emerald green eyes scanning the small bookshelf tucked only a foot or so away. Her gaze settled on a small book on the second shelf. As her mother selected it, Zara’s hands reached out to run over the watercolor themed cover. Shades of blues and pinks blended together to create the scene of a galaxy, two lover constellations drawn into the stars.

“Ahh, yes, the lovers. This was one of my favorites growin’ up as well,” Hanna mused, memories of her own childhood swimming to the surface of her eyes. She shifted her daughter in her arms slightly so she could open the cover more easily, clearing her throat before she began to speak. “Once upon a time there were two fates, old and wise women who spun the tales of all humans. They did not control the stories as much as they were scribes--”

“Momma, what’s a sk-shir-scribe?” Zara looked up at her mother for an answer, her head leaning back against the woman’s shoulder.

“It’s someone who copies things down to keep a record,” she answered, placing a kiss on Zara’s forehead before continuing. “Of life. Occasionally, the threads of time would become twisted and out of line so the women would step in to correct it. That is how the existence of the soulmate bond came to be. Some time ago it was believed to be caused by the distance that separated two people meant to be together, but now they believe it’s changed--”

“To what?” Zara’s eyebrows knitted together in a line as her cheeks puffed out at her impatience.

Hanna couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatics. “I don’t know, love. Though, perhaps if you let me read more than one page without interruption, we’d know by now.” While the color was barely visible, the girl’s cheeks heated up as she bared her baby teeth, one of her less subtle ways of defiance. Even so, Zara nodded for her to continue.

“They believe it’s changed to times when one or both halves won’t survive without the other. The fates trigger the bond to preserve life and sanity, to provide support to both halves when they need it the most. The occurrence is more rare than ever now, as it relies on both sides truly needing it,” She went on to finish the rest of the story as Zara’s eyelids seemed to grow heavy. She was ever so careful as she stood to carry the girl back to her bed, tucking her in for what she prayed would be the final time that night.

Zara let out a large yawn as she pulled her stuffed bunny, Frankie, to her chest. “Momma,” she called out through another yawn, blinking over at her lazily. “Do you think that I have a soulmate?”

She was asleep before Hanna could even answer, but even so she gently brushed her thumb over the girl’s soft cheek. “I hope that you never need to find out if you do or not.”

[morocosmos]

A Blue Moon’s Songs - 4. Alarm

Prompts - music, snow, red

Endwalker lvl 83 MSQ spoilers.

The walk through the Enceladeum is taut with silence, save for the hum of Garlean machinery all around them, constant and almost alive. Moro'a follows his guide with as much haste as he can, taking care to maintain the lightness in his footsteps; ahead of him, the Lente's Arrow moves as soundlessly as a ghost.

Silence gives way to rumination, and Moro'a finds himself straining for sounds beyond the confines of the building – what exactly, he does not quite know. He could almost mistake the ticking of pistons for magitek gunfire, or the high whines of unknown machinery for arrows. Had the Alliance's diversionary force already crossed paths with the Garleans? No...he thinks not, not yet.

He should be saving his thoughts for what's to come: entering the Tower and stopping the Telophoroi. Destroying Anima, assuming they would even find the wretched primal. And yet for a moment, they seem intent on turning towards yesterday – only yesterday, when his body had been taken from him, stolen from him. Even now, his soul back where it belongs, it doesn't feel right, and the discomfort scratches at Moro'a from behind a paper-thin wall, threatening to unbalance him.

But then, in the darkest hours of the night: quiet breaths and falling snow, watching the Twin Adders' standard flap in the wind as he'd huddled in a cramped tent that wasn't his own. Familiar bodies pressed against either side of his, as though to shield him from further harm. They'd insisted that he not spend the night alone.

I will be fine. After everything Moro'a's been through, what's one more notch on his heart? One more demon to overcome.

You mean you have to be. Guydelot had only pulled him closer, and Sanson had leaned in as well, something unspoken transpiring between the two of them then. We know you, Blue. I'm not saying you have to feel like shite either, just...feel as you do, eh?

He hadn't been able to say it then, but he'd felt warmer for their words, their touch. And just maybe, a little less vulnerable.

Moro'a and his guide reach the underground station uninterrupted, and it isn't long before the rest of the team arrives as well. The Scions are tense, speaking nary a word save for a quiet muttering here and there; even Sadu and Magnai, normally unabashed and boisterous, have elected to wait with wordless anticipation.

Pipin announces that everyone has arrived, and that's when the first explosion takes off, followed by an alarum from high up above. Moro'a's head whips up. More explosions, strong enough to reverberate through the station; Cirina's talking through her linkpearl, before she nods towards the Flame General. “Consider the enemy well and truly distracted!”

The train would be arriving any moment now; Moro'a takes his place with the rest of the team behind a massive steel crate, awaiting their passage into the Tower. He pictures Sanson at the forefront of the force, bravely staving off soldiers and magitek alike; Guydelot never far behind, the bard's songs taking flight even as he fires arrow after arrow into the Garleans' ranks.

Moro'a closes his eyes, sparing his wayward thoughts a moment more. Be safe, you two.

[morocosmos]

A Blue Moon’s Songs - 5. Seek

Prompts - music, snow, red, alarm

As they make camp betwixt a protective ring of large rocks, halfway up the winding ascent to the Churning Mists, Moro’a notes a longing in Sanson’s eyes that hadn’t been there before.

It’d been almost a moon since Moro’a had last seen the man, and Sanson seems well enough by most accounts – he’d greeted Moro’a enthusiastically in Tailfeather, and though he’d initially seemed disheartened by the parade of dead ends he’d run into, it had only taken the mere mention of Moogles in the Churning Mists to fire the serpent captain up again. Moro’a knows by now that Sanson would rather be hauled back to Gridania by a dragon than willingly give up on his quest, and it relieves him to know that the man is as determined as ever.

As for Guydelot…well. The bard had seen fit to make himself scarce the moment Moro’a made it clear he would not determine his path for him. Moro’a can only hope that Guydelot has; he’d watched them leave for Anyx Trine, Moro’a’s certain of it. But would Guydelot follow them? Or follow his heart, should it lead him elsewhere? 

With the camp pitched and their hunger sated, they make easy conversation as they had before. For a soldier, Sanson the Stiff has ample eyes and words for beauty: the sights of Anyx Trine and Sohm Al are unlike anything he’d ever imagined, and he’d committed them to memory in his journal alongside the notes taken down for his report. There’s remorse in his voice as he recalls Celaine’s requiem, sung plain but true. Moro’a’s part in ending the Dragonsong War – or at least what Moro’a has deemed safe to tell – is a tale as preposterous as it is a marvel to hear told. “Feats worthy of being turned into a ballad of its own!” Sanson had proclaimed.

And all the while, Sanson keeps returning to the same name, as though hoping that including him in their conversations might suffice to draw the bard back to them. Guydelot would, perhaps Guydelot might…there’s that familiar longing again. It’s in the way the crease in Sanson’s brows shifts towards something softer; how he refers to the bard not with complaint in his voice, but consideration.

What is it you seek now? Moro’a wonders, as he listens to the man sigh for the tenth time, glancing back and forth between the mountain’s summit and the way they’d come. Something in Sanson Smyth had changed, clearly – not his goal, but perhaps the reasons behind it.

Come back, Guydelot, Moro’a thinks to himself, as he finds he might just know the answer.

[morocosmos]

A Blue Moon’s Songs - 2. Snow

Prompts: music

Snow fell from the endless skies above as Sanson wiped the sweat off his brow, though it did little to alleviate the sharp chill it left on his skin.

Somewhere in the middle of fighting, frustration had begun to set in – waiting, waiting for Celaine to sing, for the chance to hear what might just be what he'd struck out this far for. After days of fruitless searching, here was a hopeful path at last! But that hope had only sputtered out, like a candle's flame dwarfed by the Coerthan winds, leaving him with disappointment's bitter dregs.

Everyone else seemed no more cheery than he was. Despite their success, the Convictory had incurred heavy losses. Guydelot had pointedly ignored him for the duration of the fight, staying only as close as he'd needed for his song to reach him.

The bard's continued persistence in chafing against him frustrated him too, and yet – he still felt foolish for misinterpreting Guydelot's intentions when he'd sought Ser Alamenain. That he had gone out of his way to not only deliver the knight the best news of his life, but had in his spontaneous act granted him the chance to experience it as well?

It filled Sanson with a squirming discomfort, and something else. Something more. Something he'd yet to confront in full, only in thoughts scribbled down half-formed at the end of his entries each night.

The bard continued to ignore him now, walking instead towards Celaine, who was preoccupied with checking on the rest of her fellow soldiers. Sanson turned to Moro'a, watching as the Warrior of Light stooped down in front of one of the fallen dragons, which had been impaled through the chest with a lance.

Surely Guydelot must have noticed it too – the drastic change in their companion's demeanour since they had last met. Moro'a was as calm and battle-ready as ever, but gone was the inquisitive optimism with which he'd pledged his aid towards Sanson's mission in Gridania. When he spoke, he was quiet and to the point, polite but distant. Something ill had clearly befallen him, though what exactly, he had yet to share.

“More dead,” Sanson heard Moro'a say, speaking for no one's ears in particular. “How many more...?”

A choked sob tore Sanson from his thoughts, and Moro'a turned towards the sound in the same instant. Celaine. The woman stood with her head bowed and hands clasped tight. “Farewell, my friends,” she called out, her voice clinging to the wind. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” And then she opened her mouth and sang.

A requiem. Not a song for to smite one's foes in battle, but a requiem.

Gods strike him down for a callous fool.

[certificationconsult]

ISO 37001 Manual Structure (Clause-wise Overview)

ISO 37001 Manual Structure Based on Clause-wise Requirements

An effective anti-bribery management system (ABMS) requires proper ISO 37001 documentation and a structured approach. ISO 37001 provides a g

ISO 37001 provides a structured framework for building an effective anti-bribery management system (ABMS). For certification, organizations align their documentation with Clauses 4–10.

Clause 4 – Context: Identify risks, stakeholders, and ABMS scope Clause 5 – Leadership: Define policy, roles, and management commitment Clause 6 – Planning: Conduct bribery risk assessment and set objectives Clause 7 – Support: Ensure resources, competence, and document control using structured ISO 37001 documents Clause 8 – Operation: Apply due diligence and anti-bribery controls Clause 9 – Evaluation: Monitor performance through audits and reviews Clause 10 – Improvement: Implement corrective actions and continuous improvement

Conclusion: A clause-based ISO 37001 manual simplifies compliance, strengthens governance, and supports smoother certification. Many organizations use ready documentation to speed up implementation.

[paraujog]

2.25 Para iniciar o finalizar con el Podcast de Modelos Basados en Agentes y Ciclo de Modelado

#IBMs #NetLogo #Modelización El modelado basado en agentes, especialmente utilizando una plataforma como NetLogo, ofrece una poderosa herramienta para abordar la comprensidad y los problemas multinivel presentes en sistemas reales. Un modelo es, por definición, una representación simplificada y con propósito de la realidad, diseñada para responder preguntas de investigación o resolver problemas…