#Reed Relay Coupled

[rmnd2tis]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/electromechanical--relays--solid-state-relays/cpc1976yx6-littelfuse-8076185

Solid state relay applications, solid state relay disadvantages

CPC1976 Series 600 V 2 A OptoMOS line of Rapid Turn-On AC Power Relay

[prick2nie]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/electromechanical--relays--solid-state-relays/cpc1976yx6-littelfuse-8076185

Solid State Relay Through Hole, Reed Relay Coupled, Photo Coupled

CPC1976 Series 600 V 2 A OptoMOS line of Rapid Turn-On AC Power Relay

[weerd1]

ENT Rewatch Starlog,  18 February, 2024: Episode 3.12 “Chosen Realm”

As Travis and Trip complete a recon mission inside the cloaking field of a sphere, a small alien ship observes them heading back to Enterprise. The leader, D’Jamat remarks that this is what they have been waiting for. 

Later on Enterprise while T’Pol is reviewing the Sphere data, the bridge alerts Archer that a small ship is sending out a distress signal. They rescue the ship and the people on board. Soon it becomes apparent that D’Jamat and his people worship the Sphere builders and consider their presence how the Builders are making the Expanse-The Chosen Realm-into a paradise for their followers. T’Pol is disdainful, but Archer tries to get along. Soon after though D’Jamat reveals his entire crew are basically suicide bombers as they are biologically modified with explosives. One of them detonates to prove the point.

D’Jamat reveals he will destroy Enterprise unless they can use it as the advanced technology that will allow him to end a century long holy war against heretics on their planet of Triannon. 

D’Jamat also tells Archer he must choose one crew member to pay for the sin of violating the sphere as he deletes the database with the Sphere information. Archer chooses himself, convincing D’Jamat that the transporter serves as an execution chamber. He has T’Pol beam him to a secluded location. 

In collusion with Phlox, Archer realizes there are two members of the intruding forces that have issues with D’Jamat’s tactics. Yarrick and his wife Indara have enough problems with this war that Indara approached Phlox to give her an abortion since she does not want her child to be part of this madness. Archer gathers the data Phlox needs to neutralize the explosives, but someone will have to go to the bridge to route the system Phlox needs to sickbay. Archer approaches Yarrick and convinces him to do so. (He also discovers the holy war is a result of one faction believing the Sphere Builders created the Spheres in nine days; the other say it’s ten and this has caused a century-long war.)

Meanwhile, Enterprise is approached by Triannon ships from the other faction, and D’Jamat commences to use Enterprise to start destroying them. While distracted by this, he does not see Yarrick come on the bridge and relay the controls to Phlox he needs, rendering the explosives useless. Archer frees Reed, and in turn, they MACOs, and they begin to retake the ship deck by deck, seizing the bridge just before the last of the other faction are destroyed. 

Back in control, Archer takes D’Jamat and his people back to Triannon where they discover that the two factions had a nuclear exchange eight month previous. There are no major cities left. The war is indeed over, and there are no winners. 

Certainly a dig at fundamentalist ideology in true Star Trek fashion. Recognizing this episode was made just a couple years after the US started a “war on terror” in response to ideologically motivated terrorism, the imagery of the suicide bomber cannot be a coincidence. This episode may not explore those themes as deeply as Ron D. Moore’s “Battlestar Galactica” did around this time period (where the HUMANS were using suicide bombers against CYLONS), but it is an interesting look. Add in the discussion on abortion, written in a world that never dreamed that within a couple of decades the Supreme Court would overturn Roe v. Wade, Enterprise here continues to prove as I have said many times that “Star Trek is always relevant.”

A couple of things this episode also brought to mind for me: The Holy War being fought over whether the period of creation was nine days or ten reminded me of the great Cat exodus from the Red Dwarf in THAT series over whether the novelty hats the chosen should wear would be red or blue. The ending here also echos the ending to one of my very favorite Classic Star Trek episodes, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield,” where two members of ethnic factions on the planet Cheron have been chasing and fighting one another for thousands of years, and finally return to their homeworld…to find that world destroyed.  Lokai and Bele chose to keep fighting in the ruins of their people; I wonder if D’Jamat’s people would do the same?

Next Voyage:  Hello, Pinkskin. Everyone’s favorite Andorian captain returns to help Enterprise out in a “Proving Ground.”

(Images taken from the main website for @trekcore; I am happy to remove the images if asked.)

[musiconanironingboard]

10 April 2022: Who’s Greatest Hits, The Who. (MCA, 1983)

MCA, and every label to own the Who catalog after it, always took every opportunity to release a Who compilation. Two years prior to this hits comp, the label released a double-vinyl Who hits album called Hooligans. The group reportedly spent a good chunk of 1983 working on a new Who album, to be their third with new drummer Kenney Jones, but it didn’t work up and near Christmas of that year Pete Townshend disbanded the group. I suppose MCA had been excited to get some new Who product and this was issued instead to fulfill a contractual obligation. I remember when it came out; I stood in Musicland at the mall and looked at it, wondering what in the world it was; it looked pretty fake and cheap to me at the time, even though I sort of wanted it. I didn’t buy it, but at Christmas 1988 when I received my first compact-disc player, I was also given a copy of this on CD. My parents knew I was a Who maven at the time, and I was thrilled to have a selection of their tunes on this wild new format! I played the dickens out of it, but I still found it a kind of bizarre release and there was no Internet where I could learn about the origins and purpose of the album. It does contain a couple tracks of note: “Relay” was a 1972 non-LP single, and apparently the version on Hooligans is edited; here we have the full version. The album also includes the single edit of “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

Above we have the front and back covers. That plain design, leaning on imagery of a Union Jack suitcoat, seemed like a rush job to me, even if it does have a connection to Who iconography.

I’d never gotten to examine a vinyl copy of this album until last month when my brother and I visited my neighborhood record shop. The clerks told me that they’d just bought a giant collection from somebody, and while some of it was in the new-arrivals bin, they’d put a bunch of things out in the main vinyl section as well. As we flipped around that day, it was pretty clear what had come from that collection. Much of it was pristine, and a lot of it was of interest to me. It was mainly ’70s and ’80s stuff, nothing mind-blowing but a lot of good foundational things. Some of them were record-club pressings, which can be a turnoff, but there was a RCA Record Club edition of Neil Young’s Harvest that was in such gorgeous condition that I fretted buying it even though I have no need for it (spoiler alert: I did not buy it, and it’s no longer there). Among these albums was a copy of Who’s Greatest Hits. I was fascinated to see it, especially because it contained a custom inner sleeve I had never seen. The CD is very bare-bones and did not reproduce this imagery. Here are both sides:

Here is side one’s label:

I obviously bought this album, but I didn’t buy it that day. I only bought the Midnight Oil and Reed/Cale albums in my two previous posts. After we left, though, I kept fantasizing about all those pristine albums in that collection the store had bought. Hell, my brother and I talked about that RCA Club edition of Harvest over and over! There were too many things I wanted in that selection, and the next day on our way to get sandwiches we took a detour back to the shop and we both snapped up several things, including this copy of Who’s Greatest Hits. It will be fun to play this on vinyl. On top of that, not long ago (while this blog was on hiatus), I also bought a sealed copy of Hooligans, so I have a couple of ’80s Who comps coming up on the horizon.

Below are the three CDs I received for Christmas 1988, my very first compact discs. I would imagine the other two were on a wish list I had made, but the Who comp was a total surprise! 

[captainneverever]

Snow Day

written for @lightsonparkave's Prompt Challenge Round 6 -- Love

The Avengers think that Steve and Tony got engaged at the annual holiday party. It’s news to Steve and Tony. (light 616, 1900 words)

Tony rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, vaguely aware of the Avengers alarm going off. Usually he’d be off like a shot heading for the armor, Steve’s voice in his ear relaying mission information. Instead, he saw Steve standing shirtless in his workout pants, coffee mug in one hand, watching the snow dance outside the Tower windows.

“Um, Steve, there’s a mission --”

Steve sipped his coffee and watched the snow. “We’ve been benched.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that your call?”

“Not today. Carol called it.”

Tony couldn’t recall a single thing that occurred during the annual Avengers holiday party that would have resulted in them being benched. Food was excellent. He drank seltzer and lemon all night and Steve his craft beers. The Cards Against Humanity game hadn’t resulted in blood-letting. No one had stupidly challenged Thor or Carol to arm-wrestling. No one had complained about the silly, the serious or the thoughtless presents. 

He glanced over at the small black box with the arty cufflinks Steve had given for him on the nightstand. Steve had commissioned the artist sometime last year to craft “space geode” cufflinks. The gift stemmed from a long-standing private joke that would be impossible to explain to anyone else. He grinned, thinking of how Steve said “space geode.” 

It all went off the rails when Steve had given him the box in the kitchen when it was just them alone instead of during the group present opening. Jan had walked in on Tony enthusiastically kissing Steve and then jumped right out with profuse apologies.

Now that he wasn’t on call, Tony snuggled deeper into the sheets and blankets and blatantly ogled the lovely ass sight in front of him.

He asked, “Why? As far as I can tell, you and I still have all our limbs attached, no concussions, no body swapping …. Unless there’s a surprise you’re about to spring on me. Like a visit from our clones or something.”

“Team thinks we got engaged last night so we’ve got the day off.”

Tony could hear the touch of amusement in Steve’s voice and wondered if Steve had put up much of a fight about being benched. Probably he did; he didn’t take benching well, even for a good cause.

Then it sank in what Steve had said. “What?! Wait -- did Jan think --”

“It wasn’t just Jan. Clint overheard us talking about big news before the party.”

“The new quinjet redesign?”

Steve set down his coffee mug and joined Tony on the bed. He swung his legs up, and rolled onto his stomach, and smiled at Tony. He kissed Tony’s bicep. “Only you and T’Challa would consider that big news.”

“The team will love the more comfortable seats are bigger galley,” Tony grumbled. “So, the whole team thinks that you and I are getting married.”

“Jess asked if we’d set a date yet.”

“July, of course. Best weather in the Hamptons,” Tony replied automatically. “Hard to get hotel rooms, and we’d have to book the venue a couple of years ahead of time. It’d be worth it.”

Steve booped Tony’s nose and chuckled. “That’s the official date -- we’ll have already gotten married in private a few months earlier. City Clerk’s office.”

“That’s just complicated and unnecessary.”

“So are supervillain attacks and alien invasions. Have we gone to a single superhero wedding that didn’t get interrupted?”

Tony had no answer. He couldn’t think of one, and he’d gone to his share of the events. Sue and Reed couldn’t even have a baby shower without a supervillain attack.

Steve concluded, “If we’re already married, then all Zemo or Kang or Ultron would be breaking up would be a party.”

“Or the Controller or whoever is in charge of AIM these days or -- let’s be real, there’s at least fifty guys and gals that would go a long long way to bust up our big day.” Tony drummed his fingers on the bed. “Wait -- why did they jump straight to us getting engaged? Why not moving in together? I could have given you a box with a key to my suitet.”

Steve collapsed on the bed, his body shaking from laughing. Tony swatted at him as Steve shifted away from him and wiped tears from his eyes. 

“What’s so funny, big guy?”

“The team and reserve Avengers thought we’ve been living together for the past year. I was informed of this fact this morning.”

“Oh, wow. How could we have missed that?” 

Steve looked thoughtful. “I do spend most nights here already.” He poked Tony in a ticklish spot. “If I moved in officially, I’ll need some closet space, more than the two drawers I’m using --”

“I’ll build you your own closet. I can draw the plans up right after breakfast. I’m going to design you a closet that’s going to be on the cover of Architectural Digest.”

Steve wriggled back under the covers and the sheets, and propped his arm up on the pillows. “Are you asking me to move in?”

“Do you want to move in?” Tony replied. His breath hitched and pulse beat faster as that old fear that Steve would bail on him reared its ugly head. A lifetime full of disappointments and Steve’s workaholic tendencies had taught him to be wary.

But he’d give his eyeteeth to have more of Steve.

Steve fiddled with the blanket and looked at a spot at the end of the large bed. “I always imagined you’d ask in a more romantic way. Involving a dinner.”

Tony’s heart flipped. “You’re one of the most unromantic people I have ever met. We can order takeout and eat while we make space for you and your toothbrush in the bathroom.”

Steve slid an arm around Tony’s waist to draw him close. “Home is where I hang my shield. A nail in the wall, a nightstand, and one side of the closet, and we’re all set.”

“Ha,” Tony snorted. “Do you think we could get all that done before the team returns?”

He grinned as he watched Steve analyze and calculate the team’s chances. He adored Steve’s brilliant tactical mind, the little half-smile he always had on his face as he considered and weighed strategies. Just part of Steve’s charms. 

“The main factor is whether or not the Wrecking Crew are having a magically juiced-up week. Weather forecast has more snow. Team is worse for wear because of the party. Odds are that they’ll be out for a couple of hours minimum.  

“Well, now that we know it’s the Wrecking Crew --”

“I didn’t want to leave the Tower to fight the Wrecking Crew,” Steve confessed.

“Instead you settled for moving in with me? Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” 

Stevet tugged him closer, letting Tony tuck his head into his shoulder. The idea of waking up to this every single morning warmed Tony from head to toe. Something they could build a life around.

“Now that we’re living together, when are you going to make me an honest man?” Steve teased.

“Wow, we haven’t even hung up your medals and had a fight over your hideous chair --”

“Team thinks we’re engaged already. We can’t undermine their trust in us.”

“You just don’t want them to know that you didn’t tell them the truth that you didn’t want to fight the Wrecking Crew in a blizzard.”

Smiling, Steve ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. “They saved me from planning the proposal.”

Tony pulled away to stare at Steve. “Wait. Slow down. You just talked me in letting you move in --”

“A formality -- I have clothes and uniforms here, my pile of books are next to my side of the bed, I was just asking for more closet space.”

“Right. Back to that proposal thing. What?”

Steve sat up a little straighter so Tony could curl into his side. They could see the snow coming down in thick white flakes, the sort of snow that promised many inches, school closures and miserable fighting conditions. The Avengers had been more than generous to let the newly engaged couple sleep in. 

“I bought more than the cufflinks at the jeweler’s. Just waiting for the right occasion. I made reservations at L’Artusi for Valentine’s -- was working on other ideas, like flowers, that sort of thing.”

“Steve,” Tony exhaled with all the love he felt for Steve. A Valentine’s Day restaurant date was a big, fussy ordeal -- with a planned proposal thrown into the mix -- and Unromantic Steve was planning to do it all for him. A big risk, given all the space wars they’d been in recently.

“We’ve talked about it, getting married.” Tony nodded in agreement, and Steve continued. “I picked up the ring and all I could think about was when I could ask you. I almost asked last week at breakfast when you were fixing the coffee machine.”

The thought of wearing Steve’s ring took Tony’s breath away. Steve had always wanted to be married, though Tony had a healthy fear of marriage, considering his parents and the strong likelihood he’d wake up and find that he’d married sentient armor or a Skrull. It could happen -- he’d lay good money that it would. Tony’s luck ran on the rotten side.

But here was Steve, right next to him on a snowy morning in New York, and he was going to Officially Move In today. He’d loved Steve forever, since Steve opened his eyes in that sub a few years ago. He couldn’t possibly name anyone he’d want to marry more than his Avengers co-leader -- they had saved each other’s lives too many times to count, they finished each other’s sentences, he could practically read Steve’s mind by now. 

No wonder the team thought that Steve had proposed last night. They should have been married years ago. They should have gotten married the afternoon Tony found him. It was ridiculous the amount of time they hadn’t been married. 

“Since you’re asking, yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Steve kissed the top of his head. “How about next week?”

“Next week?”

“City Clerk’s Office.”

“I take back what I said about you being unromantic. You’re such a true romantic, through and through.”

“We could get married Tuesday at the City Clerk’s office -- we get a license on Monday and there’s a 24-hour waiting period.”

“Tuesday? Hmmm -- I probably have something scheduled that day.”

“You’re free, I already checked your schedule.”

“You planned this,” Tony accused Steve. 

Steve put his arm around Tony and hugged him. “No, that’s giving me too much credit. I researched possibilities, in case they came up. Be prepared.”

“I couldn’t possibly love you more than I love you now.”

“You will when the Masters of Evil crash that fancy wedding the wedding planner put together and we have to drop everything to arrest them. And we’ll be married during the whole fight.”

“Our secret.”

“Just us.”

The wind picked up outside and the snow fell harder. “I should feel bad about the team out there in the snow,” Tony admitted.

“It’s their gift to us,” Steve replied. “An early wedding present --”

“For the men who have everything,” Tony finished. 

“Yeah.”

Tony tapped the bed thoughtfully. “I have some favors to cash in for the honeymoon, in that case.”

“I’d like to go to Europe,” Steve offered. “It’d be nice to visit on our own, not as Avengers.”

“I have ideas already -- you won’t regret it. We’re still going to L’Artusi for Valentine’s, right?”

“You bet.”

[saudadeonly]

burn my heart out: remember the words (Chapter 1)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 3 or 4 chapters. 

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

Minerva’s regular visitor brings worse news than usual.

Word count: 3940

___

March 1983

Throughout the war, Minerva has become used to her office being not only a safe place for her students and colleagues but also a transition point for all those who wish to go home to be with their families. Although sometimes a foolish decision, given the frequency of Death Eater attacks outside Hogwarts, no one ever tries to stop them. At this point, it seems only a matter of prolonging the inevitable and Minerva cannot fault anyone for wanting to spend their last days with their loved ones rather than studying for a future that may never come.

Therefore, it is by sheer dumb luck that her office is hosting no one but her when the door opens and the familiar figure of Sirius Black steps through, wand already in hand to make himself visible again, his outline slowly colouring in.

Even before he looks up, Minerva knows something is terribly wrong. Sirius rarely comes to Hogwarts – not since James nearly discovered him in the office when swinging by to pick up Harry – instead preferring to arrange other, less conspicuous meeting points, and only ever with a letter sent days in advance so she can make sure no one so much as detects his presence. It’s a wonder he even managed to get to her door unnoticed since Flooing was thrown out of the picture when Voldemort took over the Ministry.

His hair is pushed back from his face and wind-swept but not a string lies out of place otherwise. His robes, much the same as always, are clean and pressed, his shoes polished. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, giving a clear view of the gauntlet strapped across his forearm, where he now tucks his wand. He lifts his hands easily when Minerva points her wand at him and he shifts into Padfoot, shaking his fur out. Even as a dog’s, the grey eyes are dull.

Minerva follows his example a moment later and takes the opportunity to stretch her back as a cat before they both shift back into their human forms.

Sirius picks at lint on his robes. “I have bad news and terrible news,” he says, with less worry than the words would necessitate, considering they’re from him. As a matter of principle, his news are bad to begin with. “Which ones do you want to hear first?”

Minerva rises from behind her desk, putting her wand away, and steps around it. “Well, in keeping with the spirit of the game, I suppose terrible news.”

It might have coaxed a smile out of him otherwise. As it is, he only presses his lips together and then says, “Voldemort is attacking Hogwarts within hours. As soon as the sun is down.”

Minerva allows herself a moment to take a deep breath, to absorb not only the fact that this is happening but all other things this drags along; she considers the dangers of it all, of the inevitable fight and pain and blood, coming not only her way but the other professors’ and most importantly the students’ as well.  She has done her fair share of spying in the course of the war, has been on the brink of discovery or even torture more times than she could count but she’s never felt death quite as close as it dallies now. It’s come sooner than she would have preferred.

“Alright,” she says, lifting her chin, straightening her back, and the corners of Sirius’s mouth do turn up imperceptibly now. “We have to let Albus know.”

Sirius’s eyes flick away before they meet hers again. “That’s the bad news,” he says, running a hand along his jawline. A slight stubble covers it. “Dumbledore isn’t here.”

Minerva’s heart stops then continues to beat at twice the pace. Albus’s absence means their chances reduced by half. “Why isn’t he here and why do I not know about it?” Then, after deciding the loss of her friend has to come after the loss of their headmaster, “Is he dead?”

“He’s alive and well, as far as I know.” He moves to stand next to one of the desk chairs, his hand gripping the back of it until it turns white. Now that Minerva takes a proper look at him, she can see that his cheeks, although slightly filled out over the past few months, are as pale as a sheet. “This year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor wasn’t whoever you thought he was but Rabastan Lestrange. He led Dumbledore away on a goose chase this morning.” He breathes deep, looks at Minerva with eyes weighted by dark bags. “Dumbledore sent Professor Howe to relay the news, but she was never to make it to you, per Rabastan’s Imperius Curse. She exited Hogwarts through one of the hidden tunnels and relayed all the information to Voldemort. She was then tortured to death.”

Bile rises in Minerva’s throat. It’s not so much the news itself, although they are horrid, as it is the blunt, blank tone of Sirius’s voice, the pure resignation she can read in every part of him.

“Paula,” she whispers. The Muggle Studies professor was young but dedicated and beloved, not to mention incredibly talented. Her loss strikes not only on an academic or personal level but also with the loss of not having her here to fight for Hogwarts.

Before she can let her thoughts wander deeper Minerva forces herself to focus on the matter at hand, which is all the protection she has to ensure for the castle in only a few hours. If she were a woman of curses she wouldn’t have shut up for the past few minutes.

“Is there time to evacuate the students?” she asks instead. She will do anything if only the students get to come out of this unscathed. The young ones, the little ones – oh, Merlin. She can only wish now that they had all gone home when there was time.

Sirius shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “All the secret passages are being utilised as we speak,” he says, “and there are no others.” His voice grows quieter when he adds, “I told them about all of them. They wouldn’t have stopped otherwise.”

Coming from a boy who was a part of a group that probably knew Hogwarts better than the backs of their own hands, Minerva doesn’t doubt it. She can’t find it in herself to blame him for telling them either but –

Those children, those bright children. Dumbledore promised – he promised – they would be safe here. Minerva did, too, and she doesn’t like going back on her promises. She’ll have to alert the others, then call on all other residents to fight for Hogwarts and make sure the Order is informed, summoned as soon as possible –

Something scratches against the door, low enough she wouldn’t have even heard it if she wasn’t so focused on every little action around her. It makes her flinch, just the little bit.

“There is another thing, Professor –” Sirius starts but Minerva has already moved to open the door, wand at the ready, trusting him to move out of sight from whatever awaits on the other side.

She blinks down at a black cat that stares back at her with slanting grey eyes. It’s unusually large and has a burst of white fur across its neck and down its chest. An old piece of parchment, torn at the edges, hangs from its mouth. It steps past her and, in the distance between the door and her desk, shifts into Regulus Black, who holds out the parchment to Sirius, saying, “Filch’s bloody cat nearly killed me for it, too.”

Sirius gives a sideways, sheepish look to Minerva, one she hasn’t seen long enough it takes her a moment to readjust. “That would be the other thing,” he says.

Minerva sighs. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she says as she stores away her wand and moves to sit back at the table. She looks at Regulus, his serious face a pleasant shade of tan, his figure broader than the reed-thin boy she last saw years ago. She knew that he wasn’t dead, although Sirius never really said anything to either confirm or deny and, similarly, she didn’t ask. In a way, she understood he only wanted to save her from knowing things she didn’t need to. Strange, that not knowing could help you in the war. “You did have a couple of years for yourself there.”

The right side of Regulus’s mouth turns up. She never knew him as well as she did Sirius but in their school years, his quiet talent and pride were a welcome contrast to his brother’s boisterous, roundabout way of achieving the necessary. “Good to see you, too, Professor,” he says, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Should I be expecting any other supposedly dead Blacks?” she asks as she reaches for a piece of parchment.

Sirius and Regulus exchange a look, Sirius lifting a shoulder at Regulus’s wide eyes.

“Ted was badly hurt, past full recovery,” Regulus says after a minute, softly, “and Andromeda’s wand will fight against her before it will fight for her. They’re safe.”

Minerva nods. Ted and Andromeda were pleasant students, certainly preferable than anyone else of Andromeda’s relatives, and she never really wanted to know of their fate for sure, no matter how loudly Bellatrix Lestrange pronounced her triumph over the black sheep of her family. She never dared to ask Sirius but she should have known he was brilliant enough to have pulled it off.

Sirius steps forward and puts the old piece of parchment down on her desk. It’s familiar, with its tattered edges and bent corners, lacking only four bright grins around it, and Minerva glances up at Sirius. His face is caught somewhere between reminiscence and deep-seated heartache.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he says, the words soft, tapping his wand to the front of it and both Regulus and Minerva lean closer to look as the parchment unfolds itself, ink bleeding out from the tip of Sirius’s wand, fanning out and crisscrossing into a familiar outline. The words that bloom up at the front are not unfamiliar to Minerva – nor, it seems, to Regulus, whose mouth pulls up in a half-smile.

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

“Brilliant,” Regulus breathes, looking over the names that mill about the castle. Most of the students and professors are in classrooms, unaware of the attack coming their way, but there are a few individuals scattered throughout the corridors and other rooms. Outside the castle, beyond the students from Professor Kettleburn's class, there are no people – except for the few names, names Minerva has heard too many times in the past few years, slipping through unnoticed.

Sirius runs his finger across seven lines leading out of Hogwarts in what Minerva would call unconventional ways. “These are all viable options for entering,” he says, then settles on a passage on the fourth floor. Little dots are already gathering there, milling about: Amycus Carrow, Alecto Carrow, Barty Crouch, Rodolphus Lestrange. “This one is spacious, makes for good ambush. Watch out here.” He moves his finger to the one underneath the Whomping Willow, one of the few Minerva actually knew of. “They won’t use this one, probably. No one’s too keen on passing through the Shrieking Shack so if you want to get anyone inside this is probably the best option. Not so much for getting out though. He’s had us cast alerting spells on all exits.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Didn’t think about the people wanting in.”

“Your best bet is to keep the students away from precarious places,” Regulus says, eyes flicking over the names of the people he must have once known well, slept and studied beside. “No towers.” He taps the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor common rooms. “These students should be split between Slytherin and Hufflepuff.”

“And put in fail-safes,” Sirius adds. “Change the Slytherin password once everyone’s inside, add protections, make the rebuttal for the Hufflepuff common room worse.”

“We have hours, not days,” Minerva reminds them. “It will take half of that to even get everyone gathered and sorted. And there’s the matter of sympathisers among the students themselves –”

“Evan,” Sirius says, as if it was ripped out of him, almost as if he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. He presses a hand to the side of his face briefly and doesn’t look at Regulus, who has gone pale. “Evan Rosier talked to the students before his death. Voldemort thought it was in his favour.” His other hand touches the side of his neck, the golden chain glittering there. “It was against.”

“The last generation vanished up in smoke when they graduated,” Minerva says, remembering the young, imperious faces that suddenly disappeared, that wanted no part in the fights all previous generations had been so keen to start. It makes much more sense now. “But there weren’t many new Death Eaters.”

“Evan did that?” Regulus breathes. Minerva can’t read the expression on his face but she does remember Regulus by Evan’s side throughout their school years – and Barty Crouch always on the other side.

Sirius nods, pressing his mouth into a thin line momentarily. “There were three generations he talked to – the other two should still be here. Sixth and seventh years by now. Talk to them. They must have sway over the others. Some might even want to fight for Hogwarts.” His grey eyes are firm. “You should let them.”

Sirius had cared for Evan before he died, had watched over him and never uttered his name to Minerva unless it was to tell her that he wasn’t bad. Once, he even asked her to help him but it seems long ago now, longer than the war, and it was too late by then. Evan’s death, and the one that followed it, gouged deep wounds into Sirius, wounds that are barely scabbed over by now and still foaming at the edges. Minerva’s chest hurts. She’s had years to see Sirius lose all that he loved and be slowly stripped of all that he was, bent to the point of breaking, but she only now notices how worn to the bone he is.

She nods, ducking her head lest he sees the pain in her eyes. Now is no time for crying. “Very well.”

Regulus sighs, a bridge between the lost world of yesterday and the crumbling one of today. “There is also the matter of Harry Potter.”

Harry, little Harry. Minerva’s grown attached to him this past year and a half, often playing the role of his minder while James and Lily were busy with either assisting at one of their classes or minor missions Dumbledore allowed them to keep them from going off on a tangent. He’s a bright little boy, rarely fussy and as loving as both of his parents combined. The thought of him being the key to ending the war hasn’t settled in yet – even if it has been over two years since the news – and even less so after Minerva saw him stuff no less than three marbles into his mouth.  

“Voldemort will tear down Hogwarts to find him,” Sirius says, running a hand through his hair. He sounds shaky, nervous for all that Harry means to him – he’s not just the son of his best friend anymore; he loves the boy for himself, probably even more than Minerva does. “If he stays here, no one will be safe. You have to get him out.”

Minerva swallows, giving him a long look. He knows as well as she does that that is easier said than done. “Sirius –”

“Give them the Map. It’s their best chance.” He licks his lips. “There is no other way to get out of Hogwarts but on foot.”

Minerva racks her brain but Sirius must have done his due diligence – there isn’t. The Floo is under Ministry’s supervision and so are Portkeys. Apparating is possible only outside of Hogwarts grounds and that’s only if the Potters make it to there. Hogwarts, the safest place in the world, has now become a prison for those it is supposed to guard.

“James will know the Map came from you. There is no one else that could have given it to me.”

Sirius shrugs. “My affiliation to Voldemort ends tonight, one way or another,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument, although Minerva wasn’t about to make one. “There is no way he will not suspect me after everything I’ve done today and I won’t live another minute in a world in his chains.”

Minerva glances at Regulus. His face is ashen, eyes focused on Sirius, deep with a pain that she can nearly understand, before they meet hers. They tell her all she needs to know, all she needs to quell nausea gathering up in her; Regulus will not lose Sirius, not again, and neither will she.

“There is an artefact Regulus has to find. It is key to Voldemort’s downfall,” Sirius goes on saying, either oblivious to or ignorant of the exchange between Minerva and Regulus. He moves back from the desk. “It’s here in Hogwarts.”

Minerva gestures with her hand, palm up. She doesn’t expect to find out the story behind it, nor does she have the time for it. “Be my guest,” she says. “We will secure the school in the meantime and try to relay the message to the Order.” She looks back at Sirius, leant against the mantelpiece, inches away from fire. “How many other supporters does he have?”

Arms crossed, Sirius pulls his mouth to the side. “Giants in large part, Dementors in full. They brought those you’ve imprisoned with them.” He pauses, then adds, “Werewolves. But they, with few exceptions, shouldn’t be a problem.”

Minerva raises her eyebrows. The Azkaban outbreak and the giants' affiliation, both conveniently not mentioned in the papers, are not news to her – she heard it from Sirius himself hours after it happened – but the werewolves' cooperation is. Sirius did spend nearly half a year combined with werewolves but she never knew that he got anywhere with them, at least not on the personal loyalty he’s implying.

Regulus looks at him sharply. “What did you do?”

Sirius shrugs. “I made a deal.” His eyes meet Minerva’s. “Hold your fire with them. They won’t harm unless they have to keep up the pretence.”

“Sirius,” Regulus hisses, taking a step towards him. “What did you promise them?”

Sirius sets his jaw, straightening up to stare back at Regulus. “What they deserve.”

“You know that’s risky, Sirius, they –”

“They wanted their voices heard,” Sirius says forcefully enough it makes Regulus pause. “I was in a position to give them that, at least.”

“If this comes back to haunt us, Sirius, I will take it very personally.”

Sirius blinks slowly. “It probably will,” he admits but he there is no trace of apology in his tone. Minerva doesn't know if Remus would be happy to hear what Sirius did or furious with him; when she finds out, she'll follow his lead. “We’ll discuss it then.”

Regulus drags a hand across his face, muttering something about headlong crashing and free rein, but his expression is clear once he looks back up. “Fine.”

“Now that we’ve settled that,” Minerva says, drawing their attention back to herself, “we should get going.” She glances at Sirius. “What will you do?”

“My place is, for the time being, at the Dark Lord’s side. I will try to tear the ranks down from the inside for as long as I can.” He inclines his head. “Then I cross over.”

It’s a bold plan, precarious even, but none of Sirius’s plans throughout the years were ever anything else – it was breath-taking, the brilliance with which he wove every little string through his checkpoints, the most important things in his life. Minerva has to trust that he will make the best of it now, too.

“Very well.” She flicks her wand and four silvery cats jump out of her wand, preening for only a second before Minerva sends them away. The zap of their power is getting to her but it will be better in a moment when they relay messages and disperse; only the one to reach Albus might have a long way to go. He doesn’t know what he’s left behind but that doesn’t mean he can’t find out about it. She stands up, letting the tips of her finger brush across the worn wood of her desk. She takes the Map and folds it over. James and Lily, currently in their quarters on the sixth floor, will know how to properly manage it. Even so, Minerva's heard the hastily whispered Mischief managed over the worn parchment enough times to make her own assumptions about it. “This is it, then.”

“I guess it is,” Sirius says and steps forward, jostling his shoulder against Regulus’s. The look Regulus gives him in return is fond, despite everything, and Minerva’s chest warms at the sight. At least they are on common ground after all these years. “I will exit through the passage leading to Honeydukes. After that, it won’t be safe to use anymore.”

“Understood.”

They leave her office together. The hallway outside is empty, so confirmed by the Map, and filtered with the warmth of the setting sun. It bathes Sirius’s and Regulus’s proud faces in gold but its dispersing warmth mostly reminds her that there is not much time left before the worst comes.

Sirius sketches a half-bow and the expression that crosses his face is almost amused; fond, at the very least, and a little bit scared. This option predicts only my hurting. “Pleasure doing business with you, Professor.”

Regulus, more reserved, bows his head. “Good luck, Professor,” he says, his voice all calm reassurance. “The stars are with you.”

They turn to go, both already several feet away, but Minerva’s heart aches. Through all the years of her and Sirius’s arrangement, he always came when the meeting was arranged, never failed to let her know what was going on and, above all, that he was alright. This is final, in a way that hurts, the stakes so much higher than they have ever been.

“Sirius,” she says and he turns, looks over his shoulder with his hair framing his face, mellowing out the sharpness of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. He’s not that much older than he was all those years ago, not where it matters to her, and it still hurts to think that he might not get to live out the rest of his life.

Be careful, she wants to say, or, Don’t do anything stupid, but he knows all those things because he’s gone years with only them as his guidance and it will do no good to tell him again. Thank you for trusting me, perhaps, or, If this is it, I’m glad I got to see you through it, but the words won’t come out. Funny thing, oncoming death and the turmoil it drags along.

“If we get through this, I’m confiscating the Map,” is all that she manages to say.

It feels flat, inadequate compared to everything behind them and all that they have yet to go through but a small smile crosses Sirius’s face. “I would expect nothing less,” he says and pushes Regulus down the hall.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

“It’s a fake article apparently.” The quotes from the parody account are fake, but there is real article about Harry Lambert in The Times.

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/meet-harry-lambert-the-a-lists-secret-style-weapon-8ml3q06jl

Meet Harry Lambert, The A List’s Secret Style Weapon

Whether it’s Harry Styles’s internet‑breaking cardigan or Emma Corrin in head‑to‑toe Miu Miu, he’s the stylist responsible for the hottest celeb looks of the moment. So how did a former River Island shopboy become the man influencing the way we dress today?

In February 2020 Harry Lambert was helping Harry Styles get ready to perform on NBC’s Today show. Lambert, an affable, bright-eyed 34-year-old, had been Styles’s stylist for a good five years by then, helping the One Directioner develop a distinct visual brand — and yet Styles still wasn’t quite sure why Lambert was so insistent that he wear a bright, multicoloured patchwork cardigan by JW Anderson.“I remember him saying, ‘OK, I love it, I just don’t know why we’re wearing it for rehearsals,’” Lambert relays from his east London studio. But the stylist had “a weird feeling”, he says with a little smile. “I was like, ‘Wear it for rehearsal — I promise you.’”The choice of the garment, and the knowledge of when and where to wear it, sums up Lambert’s gifts neatly. Pictures of Styles promptly went viral, so much so that the cardigan became a TikTok craze, with fans trying to replicate the knit at home. By the end of the year the V&A had announced it was buying the original, since it said so much about fashion in 2020. “It makes me a bit giddy, I guess,” says Lambert, to think that this moment he concocted will sit in a national collection for ever.

Right now Lambert can lay claim to being one of the most influential stylists in the world. The Styles collaboration is of course his calling card: a parade of eye-raising and/or mouthwatering outfits that have progressed from a much-memed floral suit at the American Music awards in 2015 to a couple of feather boas at this year’s Grammys and a Gucci women’s handbag at the Brit awards last month. His few other celebrity clients (it’s an elite bunch) include Emma Corrin, who, in the absence of any awards ceremony red carpets to be seen on following her star turn as Princess Diana in The Crown last November, took to Instagram to showcase a series of exciting, adventurous looks; and also her Crown co-star Josh O’Connor. It’s no surprise that, along the way, Lambert has become a name in his own right: his Instagram account boasts more than half a million followers. And to think — the Topman in his hometown of Norwich turned him down for a job as a teenager because “I wasn’t cool enough”, he giggles. He got one instead at River Island, where he was occasionally allowed to style the mannequins in cardigans of a somewhat less avant-garde calibre.Lambert, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and a plaid shirt, is sitting in his whitewashed studio surrounded by clothes racks for each client and mementoes from friends. He was an up-and-coming stylist, with lots of edgy editorial work and a long stint working for Topman’s head office on his CV (the brand did eventually hire him), when industry insiders introduced him to Styles in 2014. The 1D megastar was setting out his solo stall (1D would officially split in 2015) and Lambert brought racks filled with pieces by JW Anderson, Saint Laurent and future long-term collaborator Gucci on the hangers. He got the job the next day.“Harry has always been interested in fashion essentially,” Lambert says. “You could kind of tell already from the way he was dressing and the decisions that he was making with brands. So there’s never been, like, a battle. Everything with Harry is super-collaborative and it’s always been, it sounds cheesy to say, heavenly, but … !”

The two are clearly mates — they call each other Susan and Sue (Lambert is Susan), and a poster from Styles, signed “To Lamby” (his other nickname), has pride of place on Lambert’s desk. From the way he tells it, neither has blinked when it comes to the sexy, campy, gender-twisting work that has made Styles stand out from his peers. Indeed, other boy band veterans — Robbie Williams or Justin Timberlake — never tried anything this visually brave. But Lambert is clear that this isn’t just him dressing a marionette: “I think it’s part of his, you know, part of his character — it’s part of him. I never want it to feel like he’s wearing a costume, I never want to feel like something is wearing him. We’re not doing it for lols — it should feel like part of the performance or part of the whole, you know?”Lambert admits to finding online critique culture overwhelming, but he points out, slightly apologetically, that most them, for him, have been good (no doubt partly thanks to the millions of Styles superfans). “I’m lucky that I have a lot of positive feedback. But when I see something that is negative, you remember that so much more than the positive things. I used to be like, ‘Social media doesn’t bother me,’ but it does kind of f*** with your head.” Still, he’s all for it: “What’s worse — being so boring that nobody talks about you?” As for Corrin, they actually met at a Styles gig and the two became friends before she asked him to work with her for the media blitz for The Crown. “There’s something about her energy that’s just so infectious,” he raves today. Many have loved her appearances in fashion-forward London brands such as Knwls (a stringy black sheer party number, showcased in a lift), or more eccentric insiders like new-era Schiaparelli and Miu Miu. For Lambert, who loves to champion up-and-coming British brands such as Maximilian, SS Daley or his good friend Harris Reed, it was a no-brainer. “There’s a tendency sometimes for young actresses or young talent to make them look older or more ‘mature’. People are trying to hurry them along.” Corrin may be a leading lady already, “but she’s young too, and cool”, he reasons. “We didn’t want it to feel stuffy.”

Being a stylist is a star turn in itself now. In the glory days of the Noughties Rachel Zoe styled the likes of Nicole Richie and Lindsay Lohan in a very Zoe way (big sunglasses, bigger bags, gladiator sandals and anything boho). She has been followed by the likes of Karla Welch, who has put clients such as Tracee Ellis Ross and Elisabeth Moss in considered yet still fashion-forward choices, and the other current hot favourite Law Roach, who earned the respect of the entire world for decking out Céline Dion in Vetements. Lambert’s contribution is to blur not only genders, a bit, but also the distinction between “editorial” (traditionally edgy, fashy) and “red carpet” (which is to say glossy, a bit staid).Lambert finds most red-carpet dressing fearsomely dull, to be clear: “I really cannot see another black tie! Just no. No, thank you.” The last “iconic” red-carpet moment was, he thinks, Rihanna’s omelette dress at the Met Ball, and that was 2015. In fact what has really got him buzzing is RiRi’s latest series of outfits papped as “she comes out of restaurants, goes up escalators … it looks so good”, he says. “It’s better than most of what’s on the red carpet!” Back in Norwich, Lambert had no clue what a stylist was when he was growing up. The child of a policeman dad and a nurse mum, he had an extensive interest in clothes but no knowledge of fashion per se. It was only when he went to study photography at the University for the Creative Arts Rochester, in Kent, that he was alerted to it. He interned at fashion magazines during his summer holidays, then started working for a senior menswear stylist, and then the position at Topman came up. He speaks fondly of home — he says his dad is quite a “flamboyant” dresser, actually — but admits it took everyone a minute to suss out what he does. “Even up until five years ago my parents would tell people, ‘He’s a stylist,’ and they’d say, ‘Oh, he does hair?’

.

[insane-control-room]

Mirrored Gravity

A commission for the wonderful @marie-lamb-b <3

ao3 link

Shawn had gotten quite used to strange things going on in their cottage. Things like Wally, Sammy, and Thomas sleeping on a couch all piled one on top of the other. Marina and Linda making a sculpture out of moving ink, then setting it ablaze. Gonner’s odd experiments with wires and potions. But this?

This took the cake.

Twisting the ring on his finger, a forming habit, he managed to comment on the situation.

“Wills.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are ye on the ceiling?”

“Huh?”

“Yer on the ceiling.”

“I am?”

Willy glanced at himself, and found Shawn to be correct - he was, indeed, on the ceiling.

“Huh. So I am.”

“Do you know… why yer defying the laws of physics? Or how?” Shawn asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but his intrigue dumped excitement into his tone. Willy shrugged. “No clue at all?”

“No, not really,” the man confessed, the soft red of his mouth contrasting with the rich dark tones of his face as he yawned and stretched. “It’s not exactly an everyday thing, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shawn nodded, then leaned against the wall. “How do ye suppose we’ll get ye down from all the way up there?”

Shawn had a point - the ceiling of the cabin was rather high up, and had Shawn not looked up to determine where the slight sound of snoring was coming from, it would have been unlikely that anyone would have spotted the snoozing janitor.

“What do you think about a rope?” Willy suggested. Shawn nodded and headed out to the shed to grab the coil that rested there. When he returned, he tossed the end up to Willy, who snatched it out of the air. “Try and pull me down.”

Shawn pulled - and then rose up along the rope himself, with an exclamation of surprise.

“Wills?!”

“Uh, if you’re gonna ask if you’re comin’ up, the answer is yes!” Willy yelled, but with an incredulous look on his face. “Stop! Go back down the rope, quick!”

Shawn scurried backwards, and his toes brushed the floor once more. He and Willy looked at one another and burst out laughing.

“Number one, I’ve got no idea how to get you down,” Shawn guffawed, “And number two, hell! That was weird as all hell in a soup pot!”

“Yep, I’m with you on that!”

Shawn twisted his ring again, and Willy bit his lip, and tried to swim through the air. He looked like a puppy in water for the first time - hovering in the same place despite the effort and will to move along.

“What time is it?” Willy questioned. “Maybe when Gonner gets back from school she can figure out somethin’ to get me down.”

“It’s twelve,” Shawn answered after glancing at his watch. Willy groaned. “I know it’s a pain, muirnín, but she’s not gonna be of use. We’re gonna have to figure this one out on our own.”

“Well, then, let’s think,” Willy replied. “How would you get down from a ceiling?”

“I don’t think I would be on a ceiling in the first place,” Shawn responded with ease. Willy nodded, and sighed a, “That’s fair.”

“Now, what about… um, ya demon?” Shawn fumbled. “Mirror. Mirry. Can that lil’ bastard do anything to help?”

Willy looked over at the corner of the ceiling.

“He’s too busy laughin’ his tush off,” Willy pouted. Shawn wanted to kiss him, and then climbed up the rope that Willy still held and twisted in nervous knots. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it off dumba- Oh! Hello, Shawn. What’re ya doin’ up here?”

“I’m gonna give my absolutely gorgeous fiance a big kiss, ‘cause he’s the cutest fella I’ve ever met in my whole life,” Shawn stated, before putting his hands on the sides of Willy’s face, pulling him close and kissing his nose, then his lips. “There. How was that?”

“Lovely,” Willy giggled, then noticed - “We’re on the floor.”

“Oh, are we?” Shawn looked down, lifting his toes and finding his heels firmly on the polished wood floors. “Wow. That was some trip, if ye ask me.”

“It was,” Willy agreed, and pecked Shawn’s cheek. “I guess that I just had to feel like flyin’ to come back to earth, doncha think?”

Shawn erupted into full laughter, Willy’s soft giggling accompanying it. He wrapped his arms around Willy, swaying slightly in time with the rhythm of the turntable, until he realized that no one had turned it on, and it certainly was not playing when he came in from his walk.

“D’ye hear that?” he murmured by Willy’s ear. The man cocked his head, like a dog might, and nodded. “The turntable’s on fer some reason.”

“Leave it on,” Willy coaxed him, kissing his cheek with a smile Shawn could feel. “It’s nice. Wanna dance?”

“With you?” Shawn felt his heart flutter. “Of course. I’d love to.”

They turned and swayed, as though they were reeds by the shoreline, soft water wafting around them, only them in the ocean of their home. It was a genuine, sweet, lovely, fun, wonderful time for them both, each laughing and humming along to the beat.

“Oh, I love ya,” Willy sighed, smiling, leaning up just a tad to kiss Shawn. Shawn grinned broadly, and kissed him back. “I’m so happy you’re here, with me….”

“I’m happy yer here with me, too,” Shawn beamed. “And that we’ve got the family, and everythin’, and everyone, and can work together… I’m so happy we’re here.”

“Do you think our house is haunted?” Willy asked, not quite out of nowhere, but Shawn certainly was not expecting it. His head lifted from Willy’s shoulder, looking into his eyes with some surprise. “Well, aside from Mirror. But he normally’d tell me if something supernatural was goin’ on in our vicinity.”

“What do you think? Do you think it’s haunted?” Shawn looked around, his eyes resting once more on Willy. Willy shook his head. “Well, that’s good enough for me. Maybe Mirror built up some extra power he couldn’t control. What do you think o’ that?”

“Possible, possible,” Willy nodded, smiling. “As said in ‘Sherlock Holmes’, once you rule out the impossible, what remains however shocking, must be the truth, or somethin’ like that, but our problem is that what happened was, according to most people, ‘impossible’.”

“Y’know what?” Shawn rolled his eyes, and dipped Willy, making him laugh. “I don’t quite think I care enough to find out what caused it. What matters is yer safe down here on earth with me.”

“Agreed,” Willy’s chuckle was infectious, and Shawn found himself grinning as his fiance kissed his cheeks, once left, once right. “You’re my lovely leprechaun, you know? LepreShawn. It works, doesn’t it?”

“Terribly,” Shawn wrinkled his nose, but his eyes twinkled. “Terribly well, that is.”

***

The next incident occurred while they were at work. Shawn was happily stitching away at his quota of dolls, prideful that it was coming along smoothly. Johan did not mind one in every few dolls to have crooked smiles, he laughed and remarked that it gave them personality and would make them collectors items, and Shawn was more than happy to agree, remarking that the man’s ass could also potentially be a collector’s item. Whist Joey was clearly not amused, Henry certainly was.

“Is there no time that you don’t think about fella’s butts, though?” Willy had questioned later, brown eyes sparkling with mirth. Shawn could just imagine the kick Mirror was getting out of those words, and decided to indulge the man.

“Not really,” Shawn shrugged one shoulder to keep his grip on his paintbrush. “All this irish brain thinks about is butts and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Willy rose a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “What kind of stuff?”

“How much I’d like to sweep you off your feet,” Shawn replied, finally looking up to the man - and realizing that he was hovering beside his loft, not merely standing beside him in his usual work station. “Um. Wills? How’d you get up here? Some sort of voodoo hoodoo magic again?”

Willy looked down.

“Huh. Didn’t notice again,” he remarked, pursing his lips. He looked so positively adorable that Shawn just had to kiss him, and so he did. Willy shrieked as gravity grabbed him, and his arms instinctively wrapped around Shawn’s shoulders and pulled him down with him. Luckily, they landed on two giant plushies, a Boris and a Charlie. They looked at each other with wide eyes, bursting into laughter and surprise. “I’m really startin’ to think that Mirror is up to something with doing that.”

“That whippersnapper tryin’ to make us kiss?” Shawn laughed, and Willy laughed happily along. A mischievous light Shawn adored came into his eye. He leaned close to whisper in a sing-song tone, “Somethin’s on your mind….”

“We can fool him, if you wanna know how,” he replied, grinning coyly. “Play the same trick back, if you will.”

“Oh?” Shawn felt an excitement bloom in his chest as he grinned in return. “And just how do we do that, muirnín?”

“Listen closely,” Willy replied, then cupped his hand by Shawn’s ear to whisper his plot. Grinning ever wider now, Shawn marveled at the cleverness of his Willy. After he finished muttering his plan, he looked at him. “What do you think, Shawn?”

“Absolutely great,” Shawn replied. “And I’m one hundred percent certain that I can get the trio’s help to make it work all the better. Even if they don’t wanna, I’ve got blackmail.”

“Even on my own brother?” Willy gasped in mock offence. Shawn stammered an excuse, silenced by a kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll never tell him. Go on ahead. Have fun. I wish there would be a way for you to see Mirror’s reaction to it all, but alas, there ain’t.”

“I’m sure that Jameson would be happy to relay it to me,” Shawn shrugged. “It’s still a great way to get back at him.”

‘Get back at what?’ Mirror asked, returning from his foray into the lighting system after the couple had come back to earth, in that literal sense. ‘Gonna ambush Thomas for stealing his belt? Gotta see that!’

Willy only answered the demonic fae with a smile.

***

“G’night Shawn,” Willy yawned, snuggling into bed beside his partner. Shawn, wrapping an arm around him and giving a gentle squeeze, kissed his forehead. “I love ya. See ya in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Willy,” Shawn hummed. “I love you, too.”

Before long, the sleepy janitor was in dreamland, and Shawn knew that Mirror was too - unlike usually. Mirror was out like a light, thanks to some magic spells of binding that Joey found for them.

Shawn slipped out of bed, and let in Jameson and the three boyfriends.

Jameson glanced around, then up at the ceiling corner. He nodded with a slight smile.

“Alright,” Shawn whispered, feeling his own smile grow. “Let’s do this, then.”

***

Mirror, groggy, stretched out each unnatural joint in his body, neck cracking in forty places.

He found everything, everything, upside down.

Even the pictures on the walls.

Confused by the situation, he looked around, seeing Willy and Shawn still cuddling in bed, in their upside down bed.

He had no idea what was happening, and even his unending humor seemed quenched by the encapsulation of his world literally upside down.

Needless to say, he disliked it. Immensely. He poked Willy’s face with a fingerlike claw to wake him fully, and the man rose a brow as he gazed at him.

‘Why is everything on the ceiling,’ he demanded, his voice crackling without humor, but with confusion and mild curiosity. Willy only tilted his head in question to understand. ‘You’re on the ceiling.’

“I most definitely am not on the ceiling,” Willy mumbled in reply, snuggling back into Shawn’s side to stifle his laughter. “You’re on the ceiling.”

‘I am not!’ Mirror gasped, then spasmed with mirth. ‘How can I be on the ceiling?’

“Maybe you lost track of how gravity works,” Willy cuddled closer to Shawn. “That’s something a demon like ya could do, right?”

‘I don’t think so,’ Mirror replied, and burst out into laughter, some shocked, some self incriminating. ‘I’m pretty sure that ain’t somethin’ I can do.’

“You can’t switch off gravity?” Willy inquired, peering at him with one eye. “That’s not one of your nut job abilities?”

‘It is, though I am limited to my tormentees,’ Mirror guffawed, then froze, looking at Willy with big eyes that still held merriment. ‘Oh ho ho, Mister Clever Willy, caught me red handed, huh?’

“Precisely,” Willy replied, smug. Shawn poked his head up, looking to his fiance. “G’morning, Shawn.”

“Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Willy,” Shawn yawned. He grimaced after. “Feels weird to wake up like this. Did the demon fess up?”

“Just did,” Willy flipped off Mirror, making the devil stick his tongue out at the two. “Apparently he can’t switch off gravity for everyone.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he secretly could,” Shawn muttered. Mirror settled onto Willy’s head, shrinking to be a size relative to a ping pong ball. “Er, Wills, question.”

“Yeah, love?”

“How the hell do we get down from here?”

Everything had been nailed to the ceiling. And they were taped to their bed. Willy had evidently not thought of that.

“Um.”

“Very much um.”

***

It took a while, effort, and Shawn falling flat on his face, but in time, they managed to get down and right everything to its proper location. Shawn counted about three hundred nails before he lost track, and Willy was snoozing on the couch yet again from the work out.

Shawn looked over the edge of his book when the motion of Willy stretching his arms caught his eye, and to his surprise, he noticed Willy floating once more, about two feet above the couch’s cushions. It was, admittedly, the perfect height for Shawn to put his arms under him to hold him, even weightless, so he did. Acting on his impulse merely was something Shawn tended to do and benefited (or lost) from doing so.

“Hello, darling Willy of mine,” Shawn greeted the waking man. Willy grinned and kissed him, and plopped into Shawn’s arms. “I love you. Floating or not.”

“I love you, Shawn,” Willy responded happily. “It looks like Mirror wanted to get the last laugh. Kudos to him for the effort, doncha think?”

“Yep,” Shawn beamed. “All in all, ‘twas an excellently fun time for all of us, I suppose.”

Willy glanced over his shoulder and frowned for a moment, rolling his eyes.

“What did Mirror say?” Shawn asked with curiosity. Willy shrugged. “Aw, come on, tell me!”

“He commented on a threesome idea,” Willy grumbled, and Shawn laughed. “I’d rather not have that spawn of the devil involved with you and me.”

“And I’m pretty sure he was only joking, Willy,” Shawn assured him. Willy sighed and nodded. “He did do a good job of making us weightless though.”

“I’d rather have another kiss.”

“Anything for you, muirnín.”

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 1)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken Word Count: 2,842

Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15​)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 9:45 PM

From the outside, the looming auditorium locally known as The Mellon was unchanged. Whatever techno-aesthetics the Capitol had adopted in the last two decades, Washington, DC’s architecture was still mostly the same neoclassical Roman-inspired drivel the Founding Fathers probably thought the height of grandeur that any respectable city could model itself after. This particular building was very much a product of its time- a perfect encapsulation of the stiff right angles, thick brooding columns, and bleak texture-less walls, suggested nothing of what might actually be happening beyond the foyer. The red-green cutout projections of trees and reindeer and ornaments dancing across the Columbia pediment sculpted across its tented promenade and the delicate string instruments currently honoring an orchestral cover of one of a hundred classic Christmas songs was a hint though.

Noah stepped out of the Jaguar to be accosted by a shower of holographic white and blue snowflakes, mixed with the real-life equivalent wafting about that cold winter’s night. They swarmed like his very own plague of too-friendly gnats. Whatever property-wide projection program the event had been accentuated with, the programmer had evidently spent too much time re-watching Frozen as a child. He pulled his sunglasses down just far enough to peer over the lenses as a few flakes fluttered in, close enough for him to see their individual fractals, and gave an irritated huff through his nose. “Still bitter over the demise of Disney, I see.” A few seconds later, the shy valet swept around the roadster’s red taillights and apologized profusely for a near-nonexistent delay in offering to take the car to be parked. Noah felt nothing but amusement at their blathering, patted him on the shoulder and held the door open. “Quit fussing. It’s early yet, and you’ve a lot more rides to tuck in before the night’s over. Treat this one like the queen she is and there’ll be an extra fifty in it for you… Fredrick.”

The kitschy light-show and dear hapless Fred weren’t as bothersome as the front ranks of guards posted at the velvet rope-fenced entrance. The nearest man put up a hand and stopped him in his tracks at the top of the stairs. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is a charity function for contributors only. Have you made a donation?” It seemed only pre-approved guests were being permitted inside- a slight oversight on his part, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from his goal. He had a conversation to close out.

Noah popped his brows and donned a charming smile as he presented the falsified credentials, nestled in a flip-fold ID bearing the name Erwin L. Yvonne, complete with the most abhorrent manipulation of his likeness ever produced. “Not to worry, gents. I’m intimately acquainted with the curator, Mr. Sharp, and I’m here to deliver my contribution in the flesh.” Everything about the little white lie he’d spun on a whim was unnatural to him, but convincing to the two confused humans -poor, overworked and underpaid minions as they probably were- relaying questions into their headsets. After a few moments of conferring with whoever was heading security (most likely the Special Agents in charge of the sting this event was a front for), they motioned him through for a pat-down just beyond the rope. Noah didn’t bother feeling offended at them for only doing as they were instructed, but he did have a little fun making them as uncomfortable as possible as they searched his person for weapons. If his disguise, an old favorite thrown together on such short notice, held up to that much, then the rest would be a cakewalk- not that he had ever harbored a desire to actually go skipping through a fully-stocked dessert table. As fun as it sounded, he had enough messes splashed all over his real name without adding another to the list.

To his relief, the reach of the holographic snowflakes stopped at the door and vanished as he crossed the threshold of the foyer. The marble floor of the lobby had been buffed and waxed to a soft shine, and was still holding up to the foot traffic four hours after the meet’s commencement. Noah only paid enough mind to the guests still loitering about in groups no larger than six people to disinterestedly scan their faces at a glance and assign his background processes the menial task of matching names and dossiers to them. At the moment, he was far too focused on finding the one disguised face among them who was of any real importance to care about much else.

Mr. Vincent Sharp. Or should he say, Gabriel Reed.

The main hall was a wide, cavernous space, with rows of columns standing off to either side. Gold leaf sconced wall lamps provided an accentuating glow compared to the three giant chandeliers of brass and aluminum that bathed the room in ambient light. The dazzling light-show playing outdoors was only outdone by the splendor of one thirty-foot tall balsam fir erected in the center of the floor, adorned with no less than one hundred feet of multicolored string lights, dozens of strands of tinsel, swaths of garland, and a few hundred bauble ornaments. The topper, a white tinsel angel with glittery wings, faced the entrance with its hands pressed together and head bowed as if to thank all who arrived. A few outlying rings of cocktail tables surrounded the roped-off centerpiece. Those guests who weren’t conversing had taken seats to sip champagne or nibble on appetizers while they caught up on their gossip. Each cloth-covered table possessed its own small topper of a larger holographic projection of snowflakes hanging stationary in midair, which constantly shifted from one pattern to the next, spinning like a globe on a stand whenever a curious hand reached out to ‘tap’ them.

A small stage nestled in an alcove against the back of the ballroom hosted a classical band (ruled by one full-size concert piano) who looked as superfluous as the snowflakes that had greeted him outside. They wound through the last chorus of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire as he descended the staircase, before starting back up with Jingle Bell Rock. Between the cello and violins, Noah’s hypersensitive ear detected at least three strings in need of tightening before he shunted that note aside to take a backseat with the rest of his anxieties. He hadn’t spent two hours biting his knuckles over ever approaching the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium just to show up and critique its acoustic entertainment.

It wasn’t until a few curious eyes had turned his way, nodded and bid him good evening, that Noah realized how entirely inappropriate it was to be wearing sunglasses indoors, much less an event so high-class. The rest of his ensemble was tame enough- a dark navy blue suit bearing pointed lapels and a Zion sigil pin, complimented by a black dress shirt and loafers. The mild dose of glitter effect (same as could be found on the snow outside) projected into his black hair, accented with blue highlights, wasn’t as much of an affront as the pair of Ray Bans. Before anyone could make much of a fuss about it, he pulled them off and stashed the specs in his jacket’s breast pocket; in this kind of crowd, acting appropriate was of the utmost priority. Except when it wasn’t. Off to the left was a fully stocked pop-up bar- heads of the handful of people standing near it were turned away, giving off all manner of unapproachable vibes, including the only familiar silhouette in the room. Noah fought back a smirk when he spotted one particular set of ears before the facial recognition software even kicked in. As much as he would have loved to surprise him with his presence, he knew better than to sneak up on the owner of said ears. The last time he’d done so, Noah had wound up laid out over the fragments of his former coffee table, and he wasn’t eager to experience the cocktail hour equivalent of that encounter.

A half-hearted sweep of the room offered a few other suggestions of anything amiss, and that conclusion was about as dull as dishwater. Noah wasn’t really feeling making a scene with another guest (this event was far too classy for such delinquency), nor was he feeling at all confident enough to steal the mic off its stand and serenade the entire room. But that Christmas tree… it was giving off far too many signals to only be rigged with illumination accents. On his optical spectrum, a cloud of static encircled the poor displaced flora from top to bottom, a few of which were emitting from little lens-capped nodes disguised as burnt-out bulbs along the string. He drifted over casually and leaned in as if to admire his reflection in one of the gold metallic baubles, then carefully reached past the rope to twist and unplug one of the planted camera bulbs like plucking a petal off a flower. The fir gave only a whisper-quiet tink at this attack. The light strand continued to blink and cycle away, regardless of the missing piece. Noah held it up to eye level with a triumphant, yet mischievous grin. He knew exactly who was on the other side of the monitor observing the footage.

And having the most important discussion of the holiday season. On the other end of the feed, tucked away in the off-limits green rooms of the hall, Special Agent Reed was too busy engaging in one of his favorite pastimes of discussing classic action flicks with the unbaptized to notice that one of their cameras was moving. “I’m tellin’ you, man, Die Hard is THE Christmas movie, and if you don’t agree you’re just wrong .” “No way,” a second agent argued, “Bruce Willis himself denied that shit more than twenty years ago…” Reed let out a laugh that bordered on mocking, shook his head, and gestured to the man with one scolding finger lifted off his coffee cup. “John McClane would disagree-“ “Hey! Dumbasses! Stay focused!” Director Thomas Falken -who had insisted on overseeing the sting himself, in the event that something went horribly wrong - barked at the yapping men with a threatening leer that snapped Gavin’s head around and back into focus. On the feed of one of the bulb-cameras, an unrecognizable man rolled the glass node between his fingertips like a gem, and smirked as he held it up to the light. Reed’s brow furrowed in distress as he mumbled “What the fuck…?”, then swiped the walkie off the counter to relay the information. “Gabe.” “What is it, Reed?”

All done up in the swankest cocktail suit anyone would ever see him in, ‘Vincent Sharp’ turned, then leaned with his back against the bar and nursed a drink as he scanned the room through half-framed, squared-off, horn-rimmed glasses. One idle hand reached to throw back the hem of the tweed charcoal gray blazer, exposed the light brown waistcoat hugging his waist and hips, and slipped into the pocket of a pair of perfectly tailored, black slim-legged slacks. “We may have trouble, one of our spycams has been compromised.” Gabe tipped back his head and emptied the glass in his hand to smother the outward reaction of surprise, then set it down on the counter and gestured to the bartender for another. Rather than reach for any of the bottles displayed on the back counter, she went for a decanter on the shelf below the bar and refilled the glass with a burgundy brown liquid- thirium, distilled and dyed to mimic the appearance of Scotch. "Just one?” he asked in a curious tone as he searched the crowd around the tree. From his vantage point, he couldn’t clearly see anyone acting suspiciously. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing… little shit’s just holdin’ it up and grinnin’ like he knows we’re here…” And that he did. The harsh whisper to emanate over the commandeered camera’s mic said as much:

Good evening, Special Agent Reed. Fancy seeing you here.

From the other side of the room, Gabriel’s head turned a tic at the sound of crashing equipment and a few muttered ‘shit Shit, SHIT’s coming from the other end of the frequency he was currently tuned to. Like a bull in a china shop.

“How does he know you’re here… !?” Falken -known in his social circles as Tomahawk, for good reason- boomed from across the room as he rose from the couch and stormed over to the monitors. He shoved Reed’s chair aside, and scrutinized the face of the man making a mockery of their carefully planted monitoring equipment. Gavin’s heels scraped against the hardwood as he backpedaled and held his hands up in surrender. “I- I- I don’t… I don’t know, I didn’t tell anyone, I swear-” “Then who is THAT?” Falken punctuated with a slam of his palm against the monitor that made everyone in the room jump. “That’s… that’s, uh-...” He could explain that, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. No matter how he looked at it, he was to blame for his presence that evening. His negligence had compromised months of careful planning.

“...Gavin?” His target rose from a table toward the front of the ballroom and directed his attention toward the bar, leering with the clear intent of starting a conversation. What impeccably bad timing for this to go down. “Reed! Talk to me!”

Gabriel’s intrusion provided him with the convenient excuse he needed to disengage for a moment. One visibly-shaking hand swiped the walkie off the desk and Gavin turned to break away from the glower of Falken’s death-glare long enough to respond to his partner in the field. The other hand ran through his hair with a nervous twitch in his fingers and he glanced over his shoulder as he cleared his throat and swallowed, then mumbled, “It’s-... it’s Noah,” under his breath just loud enough for him to hear.

Gabe’s thought processes came to a screeching halt as his personal life collided with his alias for just a moment. To hear that Noah was in Washington, DC, much less at the Zion Founders Fundraiser, was the last thing he’d expected to hear that evening. As Reed continued to drop curses in the background, Gabe turned to face the bar and flashed a polite, but forced smile at the bartender as she eyed him with nervous sweeps. He didn’t reach for the glass right away as it was set in front of him on a small black napkin. “Please, tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I did…” he muttered internally as a dozen different possibilities for how the night would turn out flashed thumb-nailed pre-constructions across his HUD. But Reed’s uncomfortable sputtering confirmed what he was hoping was just a joke.

“No, you heard me right.” One hand swiped over his face in a downward motion and scratched in frustration at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave in almost a week and desperately avoided Falken’s infuriated ‘what the fuck’ gestures in the background. “The bastard’s actually here, arrived in DC last night with Hannah and President-Elect Kamski. H-he stopped by the house lookin’ for you, but I told him you were undercover an’couldn’t make an appointment. I told him t’keep his nose outta our shit, but he-” Reed paused and squinted over Falken’s shoulder as Noah slipped the tiny camera into his pocket with a ‘Can you hear me alright in there?’ “Oh, son of a….” “What the hell is he doing…?”

The camera-bulb didn’t act as a walkie. And to their credit, all the personnel Noah could plainly see -now that his recognition software had sorted fact from fiction- didn’t stir, much less blow their cover. He knew without being told what this sting was about, and who it was the FBI were really here to keep tabs on. Perhaps him showing up was akin to being a ‘fly in the ointment’, but as yet he hadn’t done anything other than offend their Christmas tree. He gave the indifferent lens one more wordless glance as he rolled the bulb between his fingers. For a brief moment he considered winking at it, but decided at the last moment to pocket the device instead. Perhaps it’d come in handy elsewhere- for someone who hadn’t been properly equipped for this operation, it was the best he could do on such short notice. Failing that, he could always speak very loudly and deliberately at Gabriel’s collar mic, if he’d let him get close enough. The owner of the ear he recognized from before still hadn’t turned around. Outwardly he didn’t look very distressed. Only the new hunch in his shoulders, invisible to the human eye as it was, said it all. Far be it from him to keep ‘Vincent’ in suspense.

[texastheband]

Texas: Is not from Texas; Has never been there; Has a terrific debut LP

By Kim Reed Taken from "Pulse !", the US Tower Records magazine, September 1989 Transcription by Sophie van Rooijen

Texas is a band of multiple ironies. It takes its name from a state with powerful images and traditions, yet it hails from Glasgow, Scotland. Its members are barely out of their teens, yet the band sounds like it's been playing for years. And its debut LP – Southside – offers ample proof that Texas is gonna be around for a long time. Sydney's winter sun slips under the Harbour Bridge as Texas – a talented group from the unlikely locale of Scotland that has released one of the most stunning debut LPs in recent memory – enters the Sebel Townhouse for its last interview of the day. Post-concert parties are frequent in the cozy bar of the Sebel, where the walls (decorated with hundreds of glossy eight-by-tens) have absorbed many a tale. Lead singer Sharleen Spiteri and guitarist Ally McErlaine retire to one of the adjacent alcoves. Both members are eager to talk, despite the fact that they've probably relayed the basic history of the band to the press over and over ad nauseum since Mercury/PolyGram released its first single, "I Don't Want a Lover," earlier this year. The album, Southside, followed on its heels. “We toured the U.K. extensively before the album came out,” Spiteri begins. “When it was released there it entered the charts at number three and then went straight to gold. Even the record company was surprised because they really hadn't done anything or pulled all of the strings.” In fact, not only did Phonogram (the U.K. parent company of the band's label, Mercury) take a conservative approach in promoting Texas, it was downright blasé about the band since it was signed three years ago. Which is not to say that the label was unsupportive; on more than one occasion Texas got itself in a sticky situation and the record company came to its rescue. Three years ago, Spiteri was on her way to international status as a hairdresser when a friend told her about a band that his friend was putting together. He convinced her to take her guitar down and play a few songs with him. The result was an invitation to form a band. Despite McErlaine's affinity for Cooder's fretwork, the Texans are adamant that the name for their group evolved after they had developed their unique brand of contemporary blues. “We saw the movie 'Paris, Texas,'” explains Spiteri patiently, “and we just liked everything about it. We liked the soundtrack, too, but everything in the film is just so open. And, in turn, we feel that our music is very open and sparse.” Apparently, the name didn't evoke the wrath many had predicted when Texas started taking off, and it has been the freshness of McErlaine's playing and the natural power and control of Spiteri's singing that has been attracting all the attention. “Johnny and I got together and wrote a few songs,” says Spiteri, referring to bass player John McElhorne, “and then sent them off to various record companies. Within weeks Phonogram signed us up without ever seeing us play !” It's a story that every frustrated musician cringes upon hearing, but the fantasy sequence stops there. “Only a couple weeks after we signed I got a call from Chic producer Bernard Edwards telling me that he'd heard our tape and he wanted us to go to L.A. to record,” she explains, “but he had a lot of personal problems, and after a month we ended up scrapping everything and going home.” “It was a great learning experience for me because it was the first time I had worked with a producer,” she continues. “Things just didn't work out, though, and I guess I discovered that everybody isn't nice.” When Spiteri and McElhorne returned to Glasgow, their hometown, they concentrated on getting the band together, and that's when guitar-mad McErlaine was enlisted to join Texas. He had a reputation for skipping school in order to stay home and practice the licks of his idols, players like Keith Richards and Ry Cooder. “The band had lost a lot of money trying to record in the States,” says McErlaine, taking up the story of how Texas floundered before hitting paydirt. “When I joined the band we tried a few other producers in Glasgow in order to do it as cheaply as we could, but things weren't working out, and so we scrapped them, and there was more debt.” Eventually Texas connected with producer Tim Palmer, who has worked with Robert Plant (Now and Zen), the Mission, Mighty Lemon Drops and David Bowie's Tin Machine. His enthusiasm for the band's material and his easygoing manner endeared Palmer to the band, and he's already been enlisted to produce the next album. The other two members brought experience into the studio – McElhone had worked with Altered Images and Hipsway; drummer Stuart Kerr had been with the group Love and Money. With Spiteri and McErlaine, they were able to maintain the sound they'd developed, which was not dramatically altered by Palmer in the studio. “What Tim really did for us was give us confidence,” says McErlaine, while ordering some potent Red Back beer. “We just wanted to make an album that we wanted to hear.” “The album is really one long story about our lives in the past three and a half years,” says Spiteri. “We really put our necks on the line for this record and we fought for everything.” “People told us that 'I Don't Want a Lover' was too long because it was over four minutes, but we refused to let them edit it,” adds McErlaine. “They told us that radio wouldn't play it, but we said that if radio liked the song, they'd take it no matter what.” The band's insistence paid off, as “I Don't Want a Lover” can be heard on a majority of the globe's seven continents these days. “Lover” – with its atmospheric slide guitar runs knifing through a (now standard) modern MTV-pop synth/guitar/walloping drums rhythm track, over which Spiteri's husky contralto lays down the law – is, like the remainder of Southside, uncommonly confident for such a young band. You know how some records just sound like smash hits, even on the first listen? Southside sounds massive, with at least three other potential chartbusters – “Tell Me Why,” “Everyday Now” and “Thrill Has Gone” – lurking in the album's grooves. Texas' sound is a unique reflection of the music that has been imported to Scotland via radio, TV, records and tapes. And by the friends of Texas who sought out the rock, pop, soul and blues of North America on their trips overseas. “My dad was in the navy and went to San Francisco during the flower power days and brought back all these records,” says Spiteri, laughing. “'These Boots Were Made for Walking' by Nancy Sinatra was one of the first records I can remember listening to. But my dad's also a big Stones fan, and he even gets into Beatles vs. Stones arguments with people!” Spiteri cites Billie Holiday, Patsy Cline and Sarah Vaughn as her biggest influences; she also admits that critics who compare her to former Lone Justice singer Maria McKee aren't far off. McErlaine doesn't hesitate when naming London Calling by the Clash as his first album purchase. The names of guitarists Jimmy Page, Keith Richards, Eddie Van Halen, The Edge and Peter Buck also creep into his conversation, and it isn't hard to see what other albums and tapes he checked out in order to forge his slide guitar style. Radio is definitely not an influence on Scots who wish to discover the talents of artists outside the mainstream. “Radio stations in Britain are so conservative,” Spiteri moans. “It's all monopolized by the government, and Radio One seems to have a playlist of about 20 records. That's all you hear.” Spiteri and McErlaine like to reflect on the quick rise of Texas and with it the newfound freedom of leaving your past behind, not always a pleasant thing when you're used to a close group of family and friends. “It's very weird traveling to different countries,” says McErlaine. “You know how it is when you go home at night and you feel very comfortable? Well, now we don't have that security.” “Plus, when you go on the road,” adds Spiteri, “you become like a little family. You try to stay in touch with reality, but you can understand how some people lose it after so many years.” “But when you go back to Glasgow it brings you right down again,” says McErlaine. “Like, my dad's unemployed and I feel very lucky to be doing this. You know, my friends won't even tell me that they have a copy of our album! Sometimes we'll go to friends' houses and you'll hear our album blaring out from the living room, but as soon as you arrive at the door, it's off.” The down-to-earth attitude that Spiteri and McErlaine have toward their music (and the music business) is not as unique as it is refreshing. “Sometimes it's hard to believe that we're in a real band,” says McErlaine. “It's like when we were in Ireland for some Irish music awards,” Spiteri says. “We were just standing there watching everybody when they started saying 'U2 are here! U2 are here!' Suddenly somebody tapped Johnny on the shoulder and there's Bono and The Edge standing there! Bono says, 'I just wanted to tell you that I really like your record.' I think my jaw dropped wide open and we didn't stop smiling all night.” “We know that they're real people like us,” says McErlaine, “but we've grown up loving their music and still respect them. Now we're in the situation where we can talk to these people. Like when we met Robert Plant when we were doing the album. He had that voice that you've heard a million times on record !” Not all their meetings are as pleasant, however. “Sometimes we'll be taping a TV show or something and I'll say something to one of the other bands there, “Spiteri says, “and they'll just ignore you. Some people really do have problems. “We always think that civility costs nothing,” she continues. “You're nobody special if you are in a band; it's just a job.” Unlike most professions, however, musicians are fair game for the media. As the band is finding out, music journalists have incompetents in their ranks like everybody else. “We had one reviewer at our gigs who wrote that he didn't like the way our guitarist was standing!” Spiteri recalls. “And we think to ourselves, 'This is supposed to be a music paper?' The article went on to say nothing about the music or the songs we wrote, but at the end he wrote, 'Texas are a very good band.'” Live performance is the band's current focus, and it puts the group in a put-up-or-shut-up situation with the press and punters alike. Spiteri agrees that Texas' material like “Thrill Has Gone,” “Tell Me Why,” “Future is Promises” and the band favorite “Fight the Feeling,” is much harder to play live now than it was before going into the studio. The precision that Palmer helped the band achieve has a sharper edge than its previous rehearsal halls of Glasgow sound. The material on Southside, even after a few listens, is so sophisticated and mature that virtually anyone hearing the album will swear that the band must be longtime veterans of the music business. The album's 10 tracks (the compact disc contains the bonus track “Faith”) contain music so rich and full that it's leaving journalists scrambling for yet another way to say “brilliant”. Texas' material is completely original – with obvious influences by Cooder, Richard et al. in the guitar department – and the sound is not only a surprising hybrid, but one that's decidedly non-Celtic. Simple Minds, Big Country, Aztec Camera and newer outfits like Gun and Slide have nothing on these guys. The band is already responding to the pressure that comes with this type of recognition. “We know that there is a lot expected of us for the second album,” says Spiteri, “but we won't go into the studio until next year because we don't want to get off tour and go in tired and bored. This is very important to us, and we're not going to rush into anything.” “We recorded Southside in two and a half months,” McErlaine adds. “So we know that we don't need a year in the studio. But, we want to do it right.” Doing it right means heading back to the States for a tour of the clubs in August and September before returning to Europe for another sweep across venues teeming with an ever-growing number of Texas converts. The band has chosen to play the smaller clubs in preference to supporting a major artist in a stadium tour, and this game plan may just work. Countrymen Simple Minds did three pub tours of Australia before cracking it overseas. Now it's up to the denizens of the U.S. to decide whether to embrace a Scottish band, bold enough to name itself Texas, that has made the rootiest, most American-sounding record of the year. The welcome mat, unused as of late, is all theirs.

[connywrites]

of flesh and blood 24

start - part [23]

“His disciplinary warnings are almost worse than yours,” Fowler begrudged.

“I just don’t know what’s going on anymore.” Hank raised his eyebrows, somewhat amused, but didn’t want to take the situation lightly.

“RK900’s gone now, of course he’s gonna act a li’l bit weird, considering…” he didn’t feel the need to finish the sentence. Fowler, lacking understanding of such a situation, squinted his eyes to glare at Hank, but took a moment to reconsider the statement. Leaning forward, he pressed his thumb into his chin, staring intently at the files on his terminal.

“That’s cute and all, but I can’t have our primary detective acting like this. It’ll cost him his job, and it’ll be a big dent in the force if he can’t work.” Hank huffed, shrugging.

“All you think about is work, Jeffrey. Think about what he’s been through.” He was hesitant to say it especially after Fowler gave him a particularly ugly look, but after a moment his expression lightened while he mulled over the idea.

“One week off. That’s all he gets.” Hank took that as a signal that he was the one that should relay the message, rolling his eyes and turning around to leave the glass office.

-

“Reed,” Hank said with a determined voice, but it still held his reluctance to tell him what was going to happen next. Gavin raised his eyebrows in surprise, before glaring vehemently.

“You’re off the case,” he informed him, and the expression on Gavin’s face made it clear how uncertain and afraid he was.

“What?” He almost swore, but gritted his teeth tight so he wouldn’t. Even if 900 wasn’t there, he could still feel its presence, and he figured that was why it worked so well – there was no ignoring it, even when he really wanted to. It followed him to his house and back again whether he wanted it to or not, and now Fowler was telling him he was essentially fired?

“It’ll hurt the DPD to lose our best detective,” Hank stated with a hint of flattery for the pure sake of trying to get Gavin to feeling a bit better.

“But I think ya need the break.” Gavin was too tired to glare, slouching in his office chair with a fold of his arms and a mild pout.

“I don’t need anything,” he retorted. Hank’s face showed the doubt he tried to express.

“Want?” Hank tried again, but Gavin scoffed.

“I have a new house, a new car, food to last me for the next year…” he trailed off. Hank still looked surprised, trying to understand what, exactly, happened this past couple months.

“I don’t need your help, Anderson,” he repeated, gaining a disappointed stare from the older man. Gavin wondered why, as he’d usually avoided talking to him.

“If you insist,” Hank offered with a nonchalant shrug and walked away, although his acting wasn’t particularly up to par. If someone didn’t want help, there was no way to force it; he knew from his own experience.

-

“No, no, please, p-please don’t do this,” he begged in that now-familiar low, pining, groveling tone as he’d learned so well from the 900. Jeffrey looked disgusted.

“Ugh,” Fowler groused with a snarl of disdain, shooing his arms in the direction of his office door.

“If you want to work this job again, Reed, you need to stop crying over a fuckin’ android, alright?” It was callous, a bit heartless, and he felt a bit guilty for being so strict; but this was the last thing he expected Gavin to behave like, and it was miserable for everyone around him, as they were now in the position of picking up the pieces.

“It’s not like that,” he griped, but Jeffrey didn’t care, pointing straight at the office door.

“Out.” Gavin’s eyebrows lowered and there was a twitch in his jaw as he didn’t particularly want to leave, but knew when it was time to call it quits, turning to walk away.

-

The drive home felt particularly long as he glowered at the road ahead of him, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his glove box to take one out and light it. He finished it in about a minute, before snubbing out and lighting another one. Then did it again. And again.

By the time the car parked itself, he spat the collected clump of yellow phlegm onto the sidewalk as he stepped out of the new vehicle, leaving his new garage to go to his new door and walk into his new house, looking as shining and pristine as it had when he left. It was so large and somewhat empty that it was almost unsettling, and he mentally noted to go find some decoration later; he wasn’t much of an interior designer but he had thousands of dollars and a nice, new place to live, so he found it hard to find a reason why not to.

Shedding his clothes down to his boxers, he made his way to the bedroom, laying down on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling.

He longed for the kisses, the warm touches, the sex, and his heart ached with yearning as it seemed to crush his heart beneath the ribs within his chest. Why had he become so emotionally attached?

Gavin remembered some of its explanations; loneliness, codependence, human psychology. No more of those words and he thought he’d find himself happy, but what used to be excuses now seemed like reasonable commentary as he acknowledged that, as always, it was probably right.

Androids. The way brown eyes had followed him around the room no matter where he went, and silver with the same face. And green, and blue, and hazel too, until there were enough androids watching your every move you might get confused which really were machines if you didn’t pay close attention.

Their eyes zeroed in on you, and it made him feel like a cornered mouse. A target.

Gavin had made the mistake, running into ‘somebody’ and going to apologize, only to have an android turn to face him, stare, and say nothing. Never was it the opposite, though; never would he challenge human without double-checking for the bright blue ring, a giveaway and an excuse for him to care less about his actions.

At least, that’s how it was. With how more androids took on new jobs, human unemployment rapidly increased and all the faces of strangers began to blur together. That’s what the androids wanted, but the human race hadn’t been so sure.

That wasn’t to say he was a big fan of humanity on its own, either. Romantic relationships were like pulling teeth, as any idea of equality was far-removed in his mind. While he’d grown up with a stereotypical sexist view of being in power and getting the women to do everything for you, he’d grown out of it in favor of thinking he could, and should, get anyone possible to do something for you. Once androids came along, they were a perfect scapegoat.

RK900 was compliant, at first, but as he thought about it, the more time they spent together, the more defiant it became; it never shut down a command, but it’d started talking back to him, pointing out his faults and how he was slacking on the job, which he didn’t consider fair as there was no way to measure up to a being computed for perfection.

Even as it gradually changed its behavior, he didn’t think anything of it until the day he came home and was immediately slammed against his own end table. Still he felt like it would come around the corner at any given moment to grab him by the hair, or lift him by the neck, or tase him, slap him, push, slice, spank, anything it had done in their past two months and then some together, and whatever else his racing, scrambling imagination could come up with.

He saw it in his peripherals every waking moment with images and memories that popped up any time he closed his eyes. Sleeping was no better, as vivid, sometimes lucid dreams came to visit him, usually showing him the scene of the eyeless android on the ground, shot twice with its face crushed into itself. The way it spoke to him, warned him with that garbled, auto-tuned voice, the way it told him the event would haunt him for a long time coming.

Yet again, it was right.

[aaasayer]

Dancing With The Stars Outcomes Display Season 9 Week 7

ABC announced the 16 competitors for the next season of "Dancing with aaron carter chris crocker the Stars" on Monday morning's Good Early morning America. As typical, there had been a couple of "Who in the heck is that?" names mixed in amongst the real stars who have determined to make a cash get, I mean publicity stunt, I mean appreciate stimulating competitors while challenging on their own to attempt something new. Yeah, that last one. "I Want Sweet" by Aaron Carter. Although it was initially recorded by The Strangegloves in 1965, most children are much more familiar with the 2000 blog edition.

Chuck Liddell and Anna Trebunskaya. Chuck Liddell is a mixed martial artist and greatest fighting winner. He also penned his own autobiography known as Iceman: My Combating Life, which rapidly became a New York Occasions Bestseller. His partner Anna Trebunskaya has been involved with DWTS on and off because season two when she made it to the finals with partner Jerry Rice. Her other companions include Albert Reed and Steve Guttenberg. With Steve's power and Anna's grace, this couple may shock the judges and the voting audience.

Aaron Carter Pictures

"The Addams Family" theme song written by Vic Mizzy. Although The Addams Family only aired from 1964-1966, its theme tune remains hugely recognizable.

By joining Dancing with the Stars, Hold off has gotten one up on Rod Blagojevich, who failed to be a part of the actuality Television circuit when he was turned down for I'm A Celeb.Get Me Out Of Here! Aside from Tom Hold off, the Dancing with the Stars new cast has its typical mix of expertise and B-checklist star power. Joanna Krupa and Derek Hough/Quicksteps/Paso Doble - With a standing ovation, loaded with content, Carrie Ann disliked Joanna's ft. Lacking physique get in touch with and containing as well much running about still left Len non-plussed. Bruno stated it wasn't 1 of their very best dances. Joanna's Paso Doble was engineered in the future. Bruno known as it a masterful reinvention of a classic. Carrie Ann known as it excellent and perfectly executed. Len stated Derek was a genius bit of choreography. Rating 23 & 29 for a total of fifty two.

Aaron Carter Pictures

I would see myself, ideally, with some CDs out. You know, making some CDs, heading someplace, and being in a position to carry out for individuals. I truly picture myself sometime like that. I want to write more tunes, include much more tunes. Just maintain operating at it. I began to create my usual "Dancing with the Stars" evaluation when I all of a sudden realized that I didn't really feel like doing it. For the initial time since the ABC television show began, I truly wasn't that intrigued in what experienced happened or even what was going to happen in the subsequent weeks. That was a mild bulb moment for me. Ashley Hamilton will be competing towards a lot of talented celebs, they are: Donny Osmond, more, Debbi Mazar, Chuck Liddell, Louie Vito, Macy Gray, Melissa Joan Hart, Mark Dacascos, Michael Irvin, Mya, Natalie Coughlin, Tom Delay, Joanna Krupa, Kelly Osbourne and Kathy Eire.

Aaron Carter Trump

Yes, Miley Cyrus' newest video was premiered next, but I'm ignoring it. I'm not pleased with her. Disney and pole dancing don't belong in the exact same sentence, states this mama. The last two elements of the evening were "relay dances," in which four pairs of partners at a time competed, with the judges naming initial through fourth place winners and awarding factors in accordance to placement. In the salsa relay, it was Donny Osmond, Ashley Hamilton ,Louie Vito and Chuck Lidell. Osmond received the greatest from the judges.

Aaron Carter On Drugs

Q: You are a songwriter; you've worked with some incredible artists like Robbie Williams and Hilary Duff, who do you like pay attention to when you're not coaching? Michael Irving received a 23, which was the next lowest rating to be dished out by the Dancing with the Stars judges. Michael has enhanced significantly in the final two weeks. Will Michael's improvement keep him out of tonights Dancing with the Stars double elimination round? Will Michael obtain sufficient votes from the fans at house to keep him out of the dance off? Ashley Hamilton was happy to be there he said, son of George Hamilton and just attempting to follow in his father's footsteps. Companion Edyta Sliwinska wore an outfit that was very complementary and both seemed dapper on the flooring, but Ashley also looked very stiff. Complete rating of 19.

[azvolrien]

Anchored Tempest - Chapter One

New story time! This is one that I’ve been thinking about for a while, so I’m pretty excited to start getting it out of my brain and into the word processor. The title will make more sense with later instalments.

Part One: In which Una and Star are given a job to do.

~~~

           Dear Mam and Tad,

           I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter; a lot’s been going on here, and between everything I’ve had to do I’ve hardly had time to sit down and write.

           First, six more of the eggs hatched! That brings the dragon population up to fifty-three, and the little ones are a handful; even with human helpers, their fathers (Red Clouds, Grim, Long Reeds, Falcon, Shiver and Echo Song) are kept busy looking after them. Baby dragons, it turns out, can and will get into everything if you don’t keep an eye on them. They don’t have proper names yet; Star tells me that that’s something that sort of develops by itself, and the babies aren’t old enough to tell anyone yet. She and I aren’t directly involved in the childcare, but we’ve been roped in to gathering food for them and herding the karnax closer to the village.

           Which brings me to the second big event to write about: after much, much, much discussion in the council eyrie, talking round and round in circles and bringing up examples and records from centuries back, the Balaurin have come to an important decision:

           Journey’s End is to be evacuated. No, that’s the wrong word, makes it sound like there’s something to escape. Abandoned.  

           Big step, isn’t it? Especially with new hatchlings. But after the altercation (‘battle’ feels like giving them too much credit) with the Sea People in Stormhaven, it was pretty obvious that the Balaurin’s continued existence wasn’t a secret any more, and they could either rejoin the rest of the world on their own terms or wait for it to come to them whether they were ready or not. A couple of emissaries from the Empire – with a whole train of guides and porters, needless to say – have already made the trek up here. The Balaurin won’t be joining up as a province or client state of the Empire, but the Emperor’s not stupid and wants to stay friendly with a force that can reduce a Sea People armada to ashes in minutes, however small the population is.

          All of the dragonbound pairs and a few of the riderless dragons have been out scouting for a new base, somewhere less isolated. Reclaiming the old capital – Eyrie Spire, that is – was ruled out, as it’s too big and nobody’s keen on living that close to Devourer’s Fall, but there are loads of abandoned Balaurin installations all along the mountains, and after checking over what feels like a hundred different possibilities, it’s been decided to move everyone to a site at the western end of the range, far enough east of the Sea Loch Country not to worry the Imperial authorities in Duncraig but close enough to make trading and travelling much, much easier; Shoreen and the other councillors have already put out some feelers with those emissaries about rebuilding some of the old trade routes from the days of the Balaurin Empire. Getting the new place liveable again after however many years it’s been left to the wind will be a lot of work, but once we’re all settled there I hope Star and I can visit you at home much more often.

           I hope everyone in Stormhaven is doing well too. Say hi to Calburn, Rhona, Ari, Alwen and everyone else for me; with any luck we’ll at least be able to make it down for the Midwinter festivities, even if we can’t stay for long.

           Lots of love,

           Una (and Star!)

           Una put the pen back in its stand and waited for the ink to dry, before folding the letter and sealing it into an envelope. Bright Star in the High Cold Dark glanced up from where she curled in her nest, made a soft krooo-ing sound, and returned her attention to her nap. Star loved her rider dearly, but even with their deep empathic bond did not fully understand the point of such things as ‘writing letters’. Una picked up the letter and left their eyrie.

           Between caring for the new hatchlings and preparing for the move to the new village to the west, Journey’s End was far busier than usual. Dragons waited in harness as humans loaded supplies and other belongings into nets and panniers; carpenters carefully dismantled furniture and packed it away, ready to be reassembled in their new home. Echo Song herded his new daughter back into the nursery eyrie, where Falcon and Red Clouds brooded over the other new hatchlings with the help of the human assistants; father dragons, it seemed, were very big on cooperative child-rearing. Below the great stone half-bowl of the village, a vast herd of the giant goat-like beasts known as karnax waited rather nervously as their herders mixed a sleeping potion in a large cauldron; the plan was to sedate the karnax and carry them in dragon-harnesses rather than herd them through the mountains on the ground, at constant risk from bears, snow leopards and other predators.

           Una nodded to one of the carpenters – everything she and Star had that couldn’t be left behind was already packed – and climbed the steps to the eyrie of Star’s father. Jarak, Shoreen’s husband and another dragonbound, glanced up from painstakingly stacking books into a carrying case.

           “Afternoon, Una,” he said, looking back at the cover of a particularly ancient-looking tome, its karnax-leather cover worn and the edges of its pages flaking. “Need something?”

           “Is Ripper here? I was going to ask if he could do a letter drop for me.” Una waved the envelope by means of explanation. Yawning Chasm Ripped in the Fabric of the Sky was the biggest and oldest of the male dragons, and had the power to open portals of almost any size over hundreds of miles.

           “He’s out hunting, but I’ll have him send it for you when he gets back,” said Jarak, taking the letter. “You want it sent to the Stormhaven drop point, I take it?”

           “Yes, it’s for my parents.”

           “It should be easier for you to visit them from the new village.”

           “I know, I’ve said that in the letter.” Una paused. “There was one thing I didn’t tell them…”

           Jarak raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

           “Welllll…” Una rolled up her sleeves and held out her arms. “Should I be worried about these?”

           “Ah.” Jarak leant forwards to inspect the hard, coin-sized, blue-grey scales that had formed along the outsides of Una’s forearms, from the backs of her wrists almost to her elbows. The colour made an odd contrast to her otherwise brown skin and red hair. “No. No, you shouldn’t be worried about those. You’ve been bonded with Star for… how long, now?”

           “Two and a half years, almost.”

           “It’s quite normal for a dragonbound. The draconic blood-bond has a few… physical side-effects on the human partner that show up after the first couple of years. Nothing too extreme – you won’t be sprouting wings or a tail – but… yes, a few scales is the usual effect, maybe a slight sharpening of the teeth. They shouldn’t extend much further than they have now; maybe as far as your shoulders eventually, but no further than that.”

           Una let out a breath of relief. “Good. I was starting to wonder if it was some weird interaction between the dragon blood and my Falkari blood.”

           “Oh, of course, I’d forgotten you’re a shapeshifter. No, it’s purely a dragon blood thing. You’re quite lucky in their placement, actually – some riders get them in much more uncomfortable spots.” Jarak wrapped the ancient book in a cloth and packed it into the case. “Shoreen was looking for you, by the way – she wants you and Star both to meet her in Fury’s eyrie.”          

           “Now?”

           “As soon as possible.”

           “Huh. I’d better go see what she wants.”

           Star was none too pleased to cut her nap short, but she met Una as requested with a minimum of complaining. Harsh Fury of the Northern Gale rumbled a greeting as the young dragonbound pair reached the eyrie, Una breathless from the long flight of stairs and Star flying easily in through the wide entrance hole.

           “Good, you’re both here,” said Shoreen from her desk.

           Star wanted to know what was so important that it couldn’t wait until after her nap. Una relayed the request, a little more politely.

           “I have… a task in mind for the pair of you,” said Shoreen. Una gestured for her to continue. Shoreen leant on her desk, linking her fingers over her mouth. “I want you to understand, this isn’t an order. It could be dangerous, and you’re free to refuse.”

           Star gave a little get-on-with-it growl. Fury gave her a sharp look and she subsided into a more respectful silence.

           “Most likely, it’ll just be a few weeks of exploring,” said Shoreen. “But there’s a chance that it could develop into something more serious. I know everyone is happy about the new hatchlings, as they should be… but the sad fact of the matter is, even with the long lifespans of dragons and how careful we are with recording who mated with who, fifty-three dragons isn’t much of a breeding pool.”

           “No, it isn’t,” said Una quietly. Star nudged her muzzle under Una’s arm; she wouldn’t be old enough to breed for another decade.

           “I’ve been poring over all our records, going back about as far as we have records, and I’ve found something that… well, I wouldn’t say it’s solid enough to even call a hope, but it could be interesting.” Shoreen pointed at one of the crates stacked beside her desk, waiting for someone to carry them to the new settlement. “About thirteen hundred years ago, there was a schism among the Balaurin.”

           “A schism?”

           “A… division between two factions.”

           “I-I know what a schism is, I meant – just go on.”

           “Indeed.” Shoreen laid her hands flat on the desk. “It was similar, in fact, to the arguments that arose following the fall of our empire, after the Devourer – one faction wishing to remain in the mountains and the other, smaller faction pushing to invade and rule the rest of the continent to the south. Fortunately events didn’t develop into a full-blown civil war; what happened was the smaller faction – some three thousand dragons and their riders – left for the south. And at that point, they disappear from our records; nor do they show up in any from the Kiraani Empire or from the lands east of the Inland Sea. It’s as if they just dropped out of history.”

           “You want us to go and look for them,” said Una. “You can’t find any sign of them with the scrying pool? I thought you could check the whole continent with that.”

           “Well, that’s where things get a little interesting,” said Shoreen, and unrolled a map of Stranatir on her desk. “This is us, here at Journey’s End,” she said, laying a finger on the paper. “This is the new settlement – we’ve got to come up with a proper name for it – to the west. South of the mountains: Stormhaven, Kiraan, Huaxia, et cetera. I have been looking in the scrying pool, studying anywhere a dragon might be hiding. The thing is… when I try to scry here…” She ran the same finger down the east coast of the continent, from the southern end of the Inland Sea almost to the equator. “These mountains-”

           “The Eastern Highlands,” said Una.

           “Yes, those, and the archipelago immediately east of them – they call them the Chain of Fire. When I try to focus the scrying pool on them, all I can see is mist. There is something along the eastern coast, from the mountains to the islands, that completely hides it from Balaurin scrying. And as far as I’m aware, only Balaurin magic could do that.”

           Una gave a low whistle. “Three thousand dragons would be quite a help in the breeding programme.”

           “Indeed.”

           “I’ve never heard of anyone living there,” said Una. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t anyone there, but when I was at school they taught us that there aren’t any trading links through the Eastern Highlands, or with the Chain of Fire.”

           Shoreen shook her head. “No. The Sunrise Islanders do sail south along the coast to trade in Mwituni, but they don’t land in the Chain itself. Rough seas, difficult reefs… and legends of ‘hairy giants’ living there.”

           “Probably gorillas,” said Una.

           “Probably,” said Shoreen. “Now, I can’t be certain that there are Balaurin living in those mountains. Maybe they left Stranatir altogether and took their chances across the Wild Ocean. But…” She let her head drop into her hands. “Surely it has to be worth looking.”

           Star thought it sounded like a grand adventure. Una smiled and scratched the top of her muzzle. “It does sound like it’s worth checking out,” she said. “But… why Star and me? Wouldn’t one of the more experienced pairs be better? Snowy and Runo, or Dark Sky and Varan?”

           Shoreen was silent for a few seconds, biting her lip. “You see,” she said, “going by the records, those original Balaurin exiles… they weren’t very nice people. They were led by a truly vicious dragon with an incredibly destructive power; he could summon earthquakes and make volcanoes erupt, and apparently his rider did nothing to try and rein him in – if anything, he just egged him on. If there are people there, not just gorillas, and that was what their first impression of dragons was like… they probably don’t look at them with fondness. Star is younger and smaller – she’ll be much less intimidating to any nervous locals you might run into.”

           Star took exception to that and arched her back, wriggling until her spines rattled, showing just how intimidating she could be. Fury just snorted, unimpressed; Star was little bigger than her head.

           “Especially compared to Dark Sky,” said Shoreen with a grin. “I know she’s about as sweet-natured as dragons come, but you have to admit she looks pretty nightmarish.”

           Star subsided, admitting that this was indeed the case.

           “I suppose we’d better nick some supplies for a long trip,” said Una. “Out of curiosity, did those records you found include the names of any of the exiled dragons? Well, self-exiled.”

           “Oh, they’ll all be written down somewhere,” said Shoreen, “but the document I was working from just listed the main leaders of their faction. Let’s see, I did have a note somewhere. Here – the primary dragons of the expansionist Balaurin. Storm Clouds Roiling over the Deepest Green Abyss. Shattering Rage that Breaks the White Ice. Shifting Blaze Coursing in the Heavens. Great Flood of Swift Black Waters.”

           “Well, they sound like a friendly bunch,” said Una.

           “They do, don’t they?” said Shoreen, grinning again.

           “Which of those was the volcano dragon?”

           “I didn’t get to him.” Shoreen glanced back at her notes. “He actually had a less ostentatious name. Funny how that happens sometimes.”

           Una nodded. “Some people just don’t like to advertise, I suppose. So, volcano dragon?”

           “Oh, they just called him ‘Voice of the Mountain’.”

~~~

Some historical dragonbound eventually grew horns, but this isn’t something that happens to everyone and never before the blood-bond has been in place for at least four decades. Nevertheless, Balaurin armourers have had to get good at adapting flying helmets.

[macmazatlan]

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 352

[The following is an account given to commander Pride relaying critical information followed by a meeting between the Legion commanders]

Harbinger report: ”Recently my legionaries scouting out the mountain range directly south of this location. According to linkage communications we’ve encountered a number of warborn in the area. Imagery was taken and will be forwarded to your personal terminal. The warborn are in two groups and some are not identifiable from our current memory databases. The legionaries were ordered to withdraw as to not induce a conflict as per our agreement. We will leave this information with you.”

[shortly after Harbinger gave his report, commander Pride called an emergency meeting]

The first commander to enter the room was Mason, followed quickly by Era and then Titus. Pride began the meeting, “Guardian Harbinger recently brought this to my attention. A couple of his legionnaires identified warborn in the southern mountains. Some of which we may recognize.”

After a moment of analysis commander Era stated, “In the first image, there is a light pulse tank along with Engineer Adams and Infantryman Cornelius. Engineer Adams was a leader of my mechanized shock unit during the battle of Barkaren. He is an adamant trooper with ample experience in vehicular warfare and would be an excellent addition to your unit Mason. Infantryman Cornelius also originates from my legion and is an experienced trooper who is an excellent candidate for a captain promotion. The other troops in the image belong to a specialist corps that I don’t recognize.”

Titus replied, “The other three individuals in the image belong to warborn commando specialist corps. Specially commando unit 73, members include Ferrus, Snap and Quad. Quad is the commando in blackened phase I commando armor equipped with a laser repeater carbine. Snap wears blue tinted phase I commando armor, he uses a modified heavy ion rifle. Ferrus wears untinted phase I commando armor and uses a handheld ion cannon. These warborn are experts in spec ops operations and Ferrus is their captain. This unique commando unit is unlike others in that they worked within warborn command structure.”

Once Titus finished his reply Mason added, “That tank is a RLV-2, capable of long stretch reconnaissance and fire support operations.”

Era took this opportunity to speak, “I’ve sent our two jet troopers to their last known location with a preset message to recruit them into the legion. With no solid command chain we can assume they will be willing incorporated within the legion.”

[Legionaries image 1]

Pride replied after Era finished his statement, “This is the second image provided by the sentient legionnaires. I can recognize only captain Frey from the 43rd Ironborne Legion. He wears blue tinted phase VIII armor with a custom insignia and wields two laser carbines. I don’t know any others within this group.”

Era replied, “I recognize the only commander present. His name is commander Kenai, born of the second generation commanders wearing orange tinted phase VIII armor wielding two laser pistols. His is the hardy commander of the 47th Warden Legion. He would make a fine addition to this council and his experience would be handy to have.”

Titus continued, “I recognize two individuals in this image. First of which is captain Reed from the 89th Helldivers Legion along with one of his infantrymen. Captain Reed wears customized phase VII armor wielding laser pistols. He is one of the few captains from the second generation along with commander Kenai who is still known to be alive. At least prior to the singularity event.” Titus finished his statement while looking at commander Era.

Mason took an opportunity to interject, “I… I think I know who the other individuals are within the image. Prior to leaving for citadel 34D, on the staging world of Oigio I witnessed a combat shuttle with markings of unknown designations. The crew of this shuttle wore modified commando armor, but I wasn’t able to identify them directly. This seems to be a black ops commando unit.”

Era replied, “Mason your statement makes sense, I would not be surprised if that is in fact the case. Black ops units answered only to the high council of the federation. I’m not sure if they will being willing to follow our orders much less join us. Especially considering our pact with the Sentients of Primus Dawn.”

Pride interjected, “Well, with this added manpower and a suitable combat vehicle we can-”

Mason interrupted, “No! I know where this is going and we can’t do this! We’ve just fixed coms back up and we are midway through additional repairs. We couldn’t have done any of this without the sentients. Haven’t each of you seen at the pact we made is beneficial to keep?”

Pride replied, “I see your reasoning, but it is something that needs to be considered. We have an experimental cruiser that the sentients could access and steal technology meant to spur their downfall. Not only that, what makes you think that our potential reinforcements will respect this pact?”

Titus added, “Pride raises a good point. The black ops commando unit is not subject to our authority and they are an extremely deadly fighting force. Should our pact alienate them then we risk more than a mere skirmish between warborn. My assessment is that even if its only the black ops team that revolts, they can decimate the last of our legions.”

Mason argued, “That’s a possibility, but not inevitability. Some of the men belong to commander Era’s legion-”

Pride interrupted, “Only two of those men! The rest are either commandos or officers of other legions that do not share the values that both you and Era have towards the sentients!”

The atmosphere in the room tensed as Pride’s retort at Mason resulted in silence. The silence was eventually broken by Era who stated in a neutral voice, “Do you care to elaborate that statement Pride?”

Pride responded, “It has been weeks since we made that pact with the sentients. If either of you have been watching our… ‘allies’ then you would know that the guardian known as Apocalypse has been making working to make a breach in one of our sealed entrances!”

Mason uncharacteristically retorted, “Do you even know the reason for why he is making the breach? Did it ever occur to you that I asked him to breach one of our sealed doors to scavenge for needed parts in our repair efforts?!”

Titus countered, “Those doors were sealed for a reason Mason! We all agreed that it is better to seal access points since we don’t have the manpower to cover them. We even took into account salvaging benefits during our first meeting as a legion! The costs here outweigh the benefits!”

At this point the three arguing commanders were on their feet within the room. Pride and Titus allayed on one side of the meeting table with Mason on the other. All three were ignorant of the fourth commander, who silently tapped a sequence into his command tool and proceeded to stand. The other three having run out of breath took this moment to regain their composure.

Era began, “Mason has good intentions. I have reason to believe that he accounted for the extra manpower of the sentients in helping us defend the ship even with more access points. However-”

Pride replied, “That doesn’t excuse him for rash decisions without the agreement of the other commanders!”

Titus added, “I concur with Pride, this is something that could have been a severe security risk to the legion. Pride and I have-”

Era interrupted, “Be silent. Both of you decided to take things into your own hands, is that not right?”

Shocked Pride and Titus did not reply while Era continued, “I know that both of you have been preparing an Ion bomb within the manufacturing bay secretly. If you have been observant then you should have picked up that your men don’t agree with your actions. The materials need to create such a weapon are also well known to sentients as when I went to inform guardians they had known about the construction for some time.”

At this point both Pride and Titus sat back down in their seats, their helmets masking their faces but their body language was informative to the observant eye of Era as he continued, “Do you realize that the second you both began the construction of the bomb, the sentients began making a fail safe plan to seize this ship? One of the legionnaires while on a scouting mission informed this curiosity to one of your men, this one warborn had the courage to find, verify and inform me of the bomb’s construction since he couldn’t go against his unit commander. You should know that the sentients took note of this action, hence why they waited for me to come see them prior taking action.”

Mason followed, “They were preparing to attack us?”

Era replied, “Yes. They would have killed every single warborn on this vessel for our associated treachery with two commanders of the Legacy Legion. I’ve been fighting the sentients for years but I’ve never known one to betray it’s word or promise. There is a reason why so many federation planets surrendered peacefully without fighting the sentients of Primus Dawn.”

Moments of silence followed Era’s statement with realization dawning on each respective commander with differing thoughts running in their minds.

Era sat back down and tapped another sequence within his command tool, after which the doors of the room opened with four sentient legionaries walking in with two warborn from the Darkmoon, Lion and Shock units. The legionaries leveling arms at commanders Pride and Titus who in shock stood up and began to draw their weapons.

Titus yelled to his troopers, “Steel, Saren open fire on those legionaries!” However instead of leaving their laser carbines at the legionaries, they hesitantly turned their weapons on their commander and looked to Era for confirmation of an unsaid order to which Era nodded. Steel the most veteran trooper from the Darkmoon combat unit then said, “Commander Titus, I’m afraid you need to come with us to your quarters for detainment.”

Pride realizing what is happening looked to his own men and said, “What are you doing? The sentients of Primus Dawn are the enemy!” Pride drew one of his pistols only to have it blasted out of his hand by a precise shot from a legionnaire mass driver. The two troopers Quilan and Varen the Lion unit proceeded to restrain their commander.

Two legionaries then moved behind commander Mason and stood at attention. After both Titus and Pride were disarmed Era stated, “I expected this from Pride, but you Titus… to have you agree with Pride’s point of view is disappointing. Had I not taken action today then your actions would have violated the pact with made with the sentients of Primus Dawn. You may have actually succeeded in destroying the lesser sentients, but what would you do to the Guardians? They are to powerful to be killed with a Ion bomb. I take no pleasure in stripping you both of command until Mason and I regain the trust of the sentients. Steel, Quilan please take your former commanders to their quarters and detain them. Varen and Saren inform your respective units they are now under my command.”

The troopers complied and began escorting their commanders out of the room. Pride was still struggling and Titus resigned himself to his current condition. The remaining two legionaries left the room to stand guard with the loyal warborn, leaving only Era, his men, and Mason with his two legionaries.

A minute passed with the last two commanders remaining at the table until Mason broke the silence, “I thought we were just going to talk them down Era! This wasn’t a part of the plan…”

Era replied solemnly, “I know Mason. I didn’t want this to happen either. I made a deal with Harbinger and Omen that when we confronted those two and we took action then they wouldn’t involve themselves.”

Mason taking a moment to understand responded, “I know. But this doesn’t make it any easier. How did you convince them to place these legionaries under my command?”

Era shrugged while one of the legionaries responded, “Designated organic commander Mason, each legionnaire unit requested a shift in central command due to your efforts in strengthening relations.”

Era tacked on, “There you have it. Most of the warborn are loyal, or at least not willing to alienate an agreement we’ve made. It is clear that commanders Pride and Titus worked alone in this, which attributes to why the construction of the device took so long.”

Mason agreed and asked, “But what about them?”

Mason gestured to the images of the lost warborn, “How are we going to present our current situation? How will we convince them to abide by the pact and accept the leadership of newly formed 1st Legacy Legion? It isn’t beneficial that two of the founding members are imprisoned under the orders of two other founders.”

Era took a moment before replying, “The orders I dispatched out to our Jet troopers is to have the two groups rendezvous 5 miles due south of the Colossus. From there they will make their way towards the main hanger entrance of the colossus. Once they arrive we will greet them as a united front.”

Mason gestured, “Define greet them, like as a unified Legion with all four commanders or just us two?”

Era, “It is simple. Both of us, two of the four guardians of Primus Dawn, and Captain Aurelius will greet them. We need to present a united front to properly represent the Legacy Legion as it stands for. Because not only are we warborn a legacy but the sentients and the coalition of order forces legacies that need to stand united in this unknown time.”

Mason replied, “You always had a way with words Era… However, what if they refuse to join us?”

Era responded, “Then we will give them an option to withdraw, but if they decide to attack us then we will respond in kind. We must begin the preparations at once, I will begin preparing the warborn while you brief the sentients.”

Mason stated, “Very well, I will do what I can.”

The meeting was adjourned, two of the legion commanders under arrest while the remainder attempt to pick up the pieces.

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 352

[The Legionaries image 2]

Venator Star Destroyer 114 call sign “Colossus” Ship Log 352

[lewsimon82]

Ceramic Magnets Market Size, Share, Application, Segment, Analysis, Regional Outlook, Growth Strategies and Forecasts, 2019-2026

The global ceramic magnets market size is expected to enlarge during the forecast period, 2019 - 2026. Ceramic magnets are reasonably priced and employed for major applications in various products owing to the properties possessed which on a global scale contributes to more than 70% of the demand for hard magnets. For instance, in the metal industry, magnets are used for anti-corrosion and demagnetization properties at large which enables a high importance in the industrial domain.

Technically, ceramic magnets can be hard ferrites or ferrite magnets that comprises iron oxide at high proportions. Even though their maximum energy is relatively lower than permanent magnets, their applications are much broader. Currently, the demand for ceramic magnets stands high as compared with other counterparts. Major advantages such as chemical stability, reasonably priced and high electrical resistivity are found. Ceramic magnets are bound to have a good resistance, thermal stability, corrosion resistance and excellent demagnetization. Major applications such as DC motors, loudspeakers, sensors, holding devices and reed switches hold a high demand for employing ceramic magnets.

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Currently, industrial ceramics are primarily supporting healthcare, aerospace, automotive, marine, and telecommunications industry. As the market witness crunch in acquiring high-quality material as a magnetic resource contained with impurities, it is anticipated that more metal is needed for production of industrial ceramics. Therefore, magnetism is highly used in the manufacturing and filtration process in order to produce a high quality ceramic material. Manufacturers now emphasize on using materials having zero contamination whether it is alumina ceramic, steatite ceramic or zirconia ceramic. Majorly, extraction process depends upon industrial filters, magnetic grates and clean flow magnets.

Other trends such as reasonable price and resistance to demagnetization are evident. Ceramic hard ferrites have major advantages such as versatility and prolonged life that enables them to result in mass production and have a high coercive field. For instance, alnico magnets are produced through casting or blending aluminum, nickel, cobalt with minimum proportion of elements to enhance the properties of magnet. Sintering enhances mechanical properties whereas casting results in a high magnetic field that enables the shapes the inner design for a ceramic material. Business names for alnico are alni, hycomax, columax, ticonal and alcomax. In another aspects, rare earth magnets are called as ceramic magnets that are extremely brittle and susceptible to corrosion. Hence, they need to be plated and coated to protect them from breaking or becoming brittle.

Ceramic magnets market is significantly driven by the rise in demand for enhanced connectivity in applications such as hard disks, motors, generators and alternators. Use of ceramic magnets also enhances power saving and results in a high efficiency of motors. In addition, rising demand for magnetic principles for augmenting high performance in electric devices is likely to trigger the market growth. Moreover, ceramic magnets are economical and relay a high potential and are used for acoustics, motors and holding instruments. However, low awareness and dearth of technical competency is likely to hinder the market growth throughout the forecast period.

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Application category for ceramic magnets market comprises automotive industry, electric bicycles, magnetic separation, sensors, torque-couple devices, generators and wind power generators. Generators held a high significance in the forecast period due to excessive demand for power generation and backup. In addition, the market is also influenced due to accelerated demands for hard magnets in the computer industry.

Based on geographical segmentation, ceramic magnets market can be segmented into North America, South America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Middle East and Africa. The market in Asia Pacific is expected to gain traction particularly in China owing to the significant presence of automotive players. In addition, the market is expected to gain a traction owing to industrial presence and high demand for permanent magnets.

The market in Europe is anticipated to grow at a high pace owing to government support and increased use of magnet-based applications in the aviation and maritime industry. The market also witness an increase in demand for ceramic magnets in the construction industry attributing to its chemical properties and long life.

Some of the key players in the ceramic magnets market are Alliance LLC, Arnold Magnetic Technologies and Neo Magnequench. Product launches, mutual agreements, strategic collaborations, mergers and acquisitions are some of the strategies adopted by major vendors in order to strengthen their business presence and geographical reach.

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[sueboohscorner]

#TheGifted Season 1 Episode 5 "boXed in" Recap & Review

Episode 5 begins with Agent Turner's flashback to the Mutant incident in Dallas four years prior. We learn that he was at a picnic when his daughter was killed by an explosion coming from a mutant protest. We still do not know what led to the explosion, but it was the catalyst that propelled him from Dallas cop to Sentinel Agent.

Meanwhile, on current time the Struckers and Mutants continue to flee Sentinel Agents and attempt to reach their base. After Thunderbird informs the others about Pulse's return, they agree Eclipse and Polaris will lead a Sentinel drone on a diversion while the others return to base. Eclipse and Polaris combine their powers to destroy the drone on the decoy run. They continue driving and discuss their baby and future. The name of Aurora for a girl is proposed by Polaris, but she shoots down Rory for a boy. The couple has at least a few moments of relaxing normalcy before the next crisis. 

At base camp, the parents are reunited with the teens and learn that Harry was shot in the rescue mission. Blink also realizes that her memory of Johnny may have been altered by Dreamer. Reed is confronted by Tex who calls him out as a traitor to the Mutant cause based on his wearing a wire during the previous meeting at the bar. There is an extreme increase in mutants at the base as pressure by Sentinel agents has caused all of them to flee as a result of the attack during the rescue.

On the road, Agent Turner has established roadblocks to recapture Polaris. When the duo hits a block, the plan backfires as a ticked off Polaris quickly dispatches the agents and captures Turner instead. The duo then takes him prisoner and move to a safe location for questioning related to Pulse's conversion. They are unable to gain information with force but do learn about his daughter. Polaris contacts Dreamer is seeking her assistance in the questioning.

At base, Johnny jumps in to stop the attack and hostility on Reed. Reed attempts to apologize and offers his assistance in defence of the base. He also asks Kate and the twins to help treat Harry who appears to be on the brink of death. Reed joins Sage and Johnny in the base center where they are monitoring Sentinel communication. Kate and the twins work to save Harry who is in need of surgery to remove the bullet and stop the internal bleeding.

Blink and Dreamer join the duo to question Turner. Dreamer uses her powers to enter his memories which verifies Blink's idea that Dreamer had altered her mind. Unfortunately, before obtaining the information, the hideout is surrounded and attacked by Sentinel Agents.

Back at base Reed discovers in the radio calls a pattern indicating Sentinel will be closing in on the base via a grid search. He volunteers despite Kate's objection to lead Sentinel away by going into the city and being seen on police camera. Tex unenthusiastically agrees to go with and be Reed's escape driver. Meanwhile, Kate performs surgery on Harry to remove the bullet.

At the hideout, Dreamer is forced to break out of the mind link with Agent Turner. Blink has opened a portal to the Home base as the others are unable to repel the Sentinel assault any longer without killing agents. Dreamer warns that she has broken to rapidly from Turner's memories and he appears to be in extreme pain. They do portal back home despite a tear gas barrage and Sentinel assault.

On the street Reed's plan to be seen on camera works but he now must escape police capture. Tex, of course, is not at the meeting place and Reed flees upstreet amid police bullets. He runs into Tex's invisible car, and Tex relays that he had to see Reed's loyalty. The two then escape and head for home as Sage monitors Sentinel communication which indicates the success of the plan.

Kate manages to remove the bullet from Harry but is unable to stop a ruptured artery. Lauren then jumps in using her power to place pressure around the artery saving Harry while Kate sews the damaged artery together. The Struckers work saves Harry and is witnessed by the other mutants at the base. This combined with Reed's actions has made them welcome by the others.

The final scenes involve all the results of the day's actions. Blink confronts Dreamer, and after her admission to mind-altering Blink's memories, Blink warns her to stay away from her. The Struckers sit together for a meal and agree to stay at base and help the mutants with their operations. The episode ends with Agent Turner returning home to his wife, and sadly we hear that he believed his daughter was still alive. We see how destructive Dreamer's powers can be if they go wrong

The show continues to thrill I would give this episode a 9.